#Battle Lord Pirate

[universalzones]

Sonic Egg Bosses Icons

13 Icons For Abyss Here

18 Icons For Akhlut Here

32 Icons For Axel Here

71 Icons For Cassia Here

62 Icons For Clove Here

18 Icons For Kukku Here

20 Icons For Maw Here

23 Icons For Mordred Hood Here

37 Icons For Nephthys Here

33 Icons For Phage Here

33 Icons For Conquering Storm (Connie) Here

55 Icons For Thunderbolt Here

30 Icons For Tundra Here

Free To Use And Edit No Credit Needed

[apricusapollo]

i have this thing where if i love an actor, i try to squish the personalities and the stories of their different characters into one specific character so. any idea how i can make legolas a pirate.

[queen-daya]

Happy 46th Birthday Orlando Bloom (January 13, 1977)

[hjbirthdaywishes]

May 29, 2024

Happy 44 Birthday to Adam Brown.

[writebackatya]

It’s not fair to put two kings against one another!

[ikkaku-of-heart]

Tomasu’s Candid Opinions on Golden Age Characters Part 2

Sengoku: “I don’t like many Marines. He’s definitely not among the few exceptions. Pretty sure if he knew I was alive, he’d try t’ arrest me, an’ not even just for my smuggler career. Got a real black ‘n white view of things that hasn’t changed.”

Tsuru: “Ok, her I at least respect. Tsuru was always the clever one. Was kinda fun, tryin’ t’ outmaneuver her. Had t’ actually use my brain to deal with her. Still couldn’t do shit against me goin’ underwater though.”

Oden: “Nice guy. Shit ruler, though. He just up an’ left it all because, what, he was bored? Ed said I was envious, an’ maybe I was, but still doesn’t change the fact that he had it all, an’ he ran away from his responsibilities. It wasn’t even his criminal record that kept him away from home like mine did. Then when he did go back, he never even opened Wano’s boarders. Only thing I really respected was that he clearly loved his wife an’ kids. Think that’s where mosta my envy came from.”

Rayleigh: “That man is the reason Roger fuckin’ lived long enough to become Pirate King. Held the most braincells on the ship, for sure, an’ his smarts are what made Roger the King of the Pirates. I’m still not entirely sure why a man with his mind put up with Roger’s madness, though. I sure couldn’t’ve done it.”

[bunabi]

I finished Veilguard btw so here's my long thoughts (be warned I've been writing notes during my entire playthrough so this is very long) for folks who want it:

My favorite parts of DAV:

Best level design in any DA so far. The platforming grew on me, and I think the levels were well-thought out and mostly fun to navigate. Arlathan Forest was exhausting but other areas felt nicely balanced with branching paths, hidden rooms, etc. Exploration in smaller contained maps done right imo.

Mage combat is really satisfying at higher levels. Pure ranged combat is totally impossible unless you have Davrin and Taash popping taunts back to back, but dropping a massive AOE while fighting close-range feels good too.

Being able to auto-equip and compare new gear is great.

Same with the codex entries. Not having to hunt down whatever note I just picked up is a huge improvement.

Upgrading equipment via duplicates incentivized treasure chest hunting, which I would have otherwise skipped lol. It really helped me slow down and take time exploring areas, and I appreciated that.

The final act didn't make the previous 70+ hours feel better, my fault for spoiling most of it for myself, but it was neat. Cool set pieces, cool fights. I was worried Elgar'nan was gonna have the same moveset as the Regrets, but his final battle was great.

Oh, I forgot Felassan! His notes were a tragic delight. Such a good man. Funny too. They didn't need to kill Varric to make Solas less sympathetic...I think Felassan's betrayal(s) serve that purpose well already.

Rook & Their Faction:

Without rehashing what I've said over the past few weeks: this is my least favorite protagonist.

Being a funny and sarcastic and irreverent hero in a DA game is not new. Not having a choice in the matter is. The Inquisitor was pretty fixed in their tone too (cant even choose a personality for them in CC) but even they had better aggressive options available.

Folks say not to judge Rook's depth by a Lord of Fortune playthrough but since factions are asymmetrical on purpose here are my impressions:

The Lords of Fortune didn't contribute to my run in any meaningful way other than getting Emmrich hot which is not unique, as it turns out, to any particular background. In fact, learning Natalene was a galley slave as an aside detracted from my experience. Being a former galley slave, former Circle mage (again: Rivain doesn't have Circles), semi-Dalish city elf with DIY vallaslin is unreal. Especially as characters continuously imply Rook is a young 20-something. The fact this wasn't immediately caught and course-corrected shows -- to me -- how hectic and spread-thin DAV's development really was. :(

Story & Antagonists:

Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain have cackling witch disease. No motivations outside of power. That was a little disappointing. Was also hoping they'd at least comment on Rook/Davrin/Bellara's vallaslin but they're too busy plotting world domination to really notice. Love their designs though. I'd love to hear a deep dive on how they animated Ghil's tentacles.

Veilguard feels like an immediate follow-up to Trespasser, not the ten year timeskip it says it is. I wonder if that's a symptom of adapting the live service story (content that was likely meant to stretch, similar to Anthem and Destiny, over a decade) for single-player.

I miss the politically-motivated meddling. Every villain is allied with the Evanuris. We needed some that aren't. The Right and Left Hand of the Black Divine, corrupt brothers of the Imperial Chantry, the agents of the Archon, a Minrathous street gang, some Rivaini pirates, anything, anyone.

It's crazy how all elven resistance seemed to evaporate with the dissolution of the Dread Wolf Army. As much as I'd hate seeing them duped and betrayed by Solas…I prefer that to just pretending everything's fine now. I could easily see alienage elves and slaves take Cyrian's path, desperate for change no matter the source, especially since oppression is all they've known and there's no end to it in sight. Especially with their gods confirmed as the source of the blight. All downhill from here I fear.

The Butcher. Would. That voice and that frame....it purred I fear. But even he was not immune to cackling witch disease. Wish he stuck around longer for personal reasons. My South is under siege and I aint talking about Ferelden.

Combat:

I found myself switching builds a lot, which was nice and kept things fresh. That being said: DAV needed loadouts for skills and equipment and a menu showing active passive skills + enchantments. A QOL update for this stuff would have been amazing. I want to try an archer run, but I dread (🐺) fussing with skill tree nodes again.

After fighting Mythal (my first full dragon fight) I was disappointed how all dragons share her same attack patterns. They didn't have to reinvent the wheel or anything -- this was the case with dragon battles in DAI and I thought it was fine -- but Mythal of all enemies should have been unique.

High-level demons are limited to Rage and Pride. High-level darkspawn are limited to Ogres. I miss those little scrungly lookin' despair demons and nasty ass hurlock emissaries. After 60 hours I did get a little tired of the same handful of mobs over and over.

Companions & NPCs:

The Veilguardians feel like my kids. Except Emmrich who's absolutely convinced he's in an age-gap relationship with my older lady Rook. It's not that they're uniquely dependent or rudderless, it's that their struggles are solved with nurturing pep talks. Reaffirm their worth, give them a hug, and all that inner turmoil is cancelled. Rich coming from the 'I should have been able to influence my companions more in DAI' girl, but Rook's impact on the Veilguard, the way their doubts vanish completely via some life coaching, feels off.

Speculation: I think the companions were originally planned to be NPCs. Their written banter in some of the notes, their verbal banter throughout the Lighthouse, they feel like they're meant to stay in the hub and act as quest-givers in the live service game. Especially with how Rook is excluded. That's fine btw it just helps explains some things. (Just remembered something else: when you talk to quest NPCs out in the world and the camera focuses in on the conversation, you can't see your companions. They chime in with disembodied voices, always hidden out of frame. That also gives me the feeling they were added later. Not confirmed btw just my hunch!)

Torn about Taash. I love them for breaking the 'agreeable companion' monotony but hate the ~animalistic race~ tropes they were saddled with. I've had issues with Weekes' handling of race and culture in the past. I'm disappointed to see it continue a decade later. I'll leave it there. Sten cannot smell ovulating coochie!

I tried to kill Lucanis during the final assault. Had full faction strength but I didn't complete his personal quest. It didn't work. Sorry Zevran!

Shathann's VA was acting her ass off. Great performance. Absolute bars from Taash's VA during their scenes too.

I dreaded (🐺) opening the Lighthouse map to see who wanted to talk. I usually love chopping it up and getting to know my party; that's my favorite part of any DA game. But so many conversations were just spent restating the obvious (Bellara is worried about The Gods and her brother, Harding is worried about her powers and Solas, Davrin is worried about the griffons and Gloom Howler, you know like in case you forgot). Running person-to-person-to-person and feeling no sense of accomplishment or progress for it seriously drained me.

The Inquisitor… I assumed vowing to stop Solas would block my Lavellan from pining and questioning herself after a decade apart and two very clear rejections. She kept asking whether he could still be reasoned with even in the midst of the final operation. I'm disappointed how little that choice mattered in the end. The second-hand embarrassment was crazyyy.

Romance:

Now this part is a little unique. Sorry for what I'm about to say about Emmrich. If it helps: I found him the most fun of all the companions. He's handsome, thoughtful, and has a fascinating past. But I ended up being dissatisfied by the end, and not just because of being soft-locked into a May-December fling, cringe commentary from Rook, and feeling like I was straight-up harassing Emmrich in early flirting dialogue.

The main issue: I don't care for the Mourn Watch. I like the Mourn Watch characters, but the organization makes me crazy. We hear so little about how they function in the context of an Andrastian nation like Nevarra. Summoning the dead in a world that still believes souls join the Maker's side in the Fade is huge. I wanted to really dig into discussions on the afterlife but in the end I'm supposed to go 'waow cool skeletons' and forget that religion is such an important facet of Thedas. I was so bummed!

I made him a Lich because he didn't seem to care either way. Reuniting him with Manfred is morally good, turning him into an eternal protector of the Necropolis is morally good. Emmrich is happy with whatever, so I gave him whatever, and I said 'whatever' when it was all over. My god is that man cute, but the romance overall just didn't do it for me.

Should've known when I saw his rotunda lol Bioware you sly dogs you got me again!

Personal final thoughts:

Well? I don't think I'm sad anymore, but I am left with complicated feelings. Obviously things are a little different for me being an EA Partner and getting an idea of just how much work has gone into making the game exist period. And I think because I can't blame it all on one person, shit all over it, and move on that these feelings are just kinda churning with nowhere to go.

Things could have been handled better. Didn't like the attempt to hide the world states until launch, or the dismissive comments from writers about it. Didn't like the AMA answers. And this isn't really my business but I'll say it anyway: I feel like the community council was thrown to the wolves, having to base their DA4 impressions around the sliver of content they were allowed to see, and having a much more hands-off role than implied.

I hope DAV is taken as an opportunity to refocus, double-down on what makes Dragon Age so beloved, and lean into those strengths unapologetically. Easier said than done -- as much as I loved Swen's speech about creating games free of marketing expectations and mimicking the latest trends that's often times impossible -- but I want to believe it can be done in this case.

Anyway both Sabine & my antibiotics are complete and I'm overcoming my moodiness and getting back to work on commissions! I've cured the Blight in more ways than one! 😄

[maxx-the-queer]

I do enjoy the fact that each faction gives Rook a couple of unconventional familial figures.

Antivan Crow Rook gets the perpetually together-and-split-up Teia and Viago, whose love languages are bickering and poisons. Rook is Viago's favourite and he would never admit it to them, even if Teia is all too happy to expose his affection with her playful barbs.

Mourn Watch Rook gets Myrna and Vorgoth, the former of whom is akin to a college professor who found a baby in their science lab and the latter of whom is most definitely one of those mysterious executors from across the sea but it's fine because they're just Vorgoth and nobody questions it.

Shadow Dragon Rook gets T4T icons Tarquin and Ashur, a Templar who absolutely despises his job and the literal Black Divine, whose anti-slavery group is so full of queer people it may as well be a gay club. Same bickering energy as Teia and Viago, minus the poisoning and cyclical divorcing.

Grey Warden Rook gets Antoine and Evka, the most married wardens to ever exist. Antoine is the absolute sweetest man alive, and the only Orlesian allowed ever. Evka is incredibly competent and has everything under control. Their dates end with explosions. Everything is perfect.

Veil Jumper Rook gets Irelin and Strife. Strife is battling Viago for the grumpiest and meanest dad award. Irelin is clearly the golden child and favourite sibling and he makes that clear to Rook.

Lords of Fortune Rook gets Isabela and Rowan, a pirate turned allegedly somewhat ethical treasure hunter and Rivaini seer who regularly convenes with spirits. Neither of them are parents to Rook, they hold the most insane much older cousin energy though.

[deadlysoupy]

as i prepare myself (mentally) to replay da2 i think about Isabela and Rook's relationship and how there's so little of it it makes me want to throw up (and how i imagine their relationship to be)

with Rook's background of being a Tevinter galley slave (i think this happens regardless of race which. Okay) Isabela could so easily see Fenris here. even in da2 she has a banter with him about freeing slaves:

Fenris: "So you freed a group of slaves?"

Isabela: "Would-be slaves. They weren't slaves yet"

Fenris: "Still, you did a brave thing. Many would turn a blind eye"

Isabela: "Don't read too much into it, alright? It just... seemed like a good idea at the time"

so this part is totally in character. she may joke about a lot of things, but she believes everyone should be free, as do mages, who are met with disgust by so many people in Kirkwall. so imagine her freeing our Rook and taking them in to give them a better life, so they wouldn't end up like Fenris did: angry, full of prejudices and uncontrollable rage

it would be odd for her to want to have kids, considering what her mother was to her and how quickly she gave Isabela away, but it would be interesting to delve into that side of her, especially if she's in a relationship with Hawke. if Teia and Viago get to have that dynamic, why can't she? with the way they bantered with each other after Rook and Taash come back for the first time, it's very subtly implied that she taught them everything they know

and with the way the Lords are, it's no wonder Rook's personality would be shaped by them: Isa is a cocky swashbuckler, and she'd hate to have that rob off on them, but it does. they're both so awful at feelings and emotions, so Isabela wouldn't be able to outward say how she wanted to protect them from harm by Politics, and they wouldn't be able to admit how they want to be back and how they miss being with the Lords

and during the finale i really wanted Isabela and Rook to have some closure. it felt like they separated on a sour mood, and with so much happening in the final battle i would have loved seeing Isabela giving Rook some affection because, in a way, they're her apprentice, her special little guy, and she worries for them even if she really hates to do that. maybe she even promises to get Rook back into the Lords (why they were expelled in the first place is always a mystery to me but whateverrr)

i almost wish the Lords weren't an official faction but a pirate crew or something, a trader's post, a guild, but they have so little content i don't even know what they are, fully. and who cares at this point i say we headcanon the shit out of them

[fanaticsnail]

This is probably asking for much more than you already do and considering the dreaming of you prompt are mainly one shots for characters totally understand if you don’t do this but would you consider writing a pt2 or at least an ending for katakuri’s one. Recently read it, love it, can’t stop, thinking about it

Please🥺

I got you, anon. I wanted to have them see each other, at least. He didn't get to talk with them like the others in his NSFW fic prior, and I wanted him to have a happy ending. You're making me work today!

Elegia

Masterlist Here,

Word Count: 970+

Synopsis: After the events of Elegia with Tot Musica and Uta, you awaken to the looming figure of Katakuri standing above you. You apologise for the events that transpired, asking forgiveness for putting his siblings in danger, and only have respect meet you in your wake.

Themes: Katakuri x afab!reader, sfw, feelings, fluff, mentions of battle, mutual respect, mutual pining. Part 2 for Dreaming of You (NSFW) Here, One-Piece RED fic.

Tag list: @sordidmusings @nerium-lil @feral-artistry @since-im-already-here @writingmysanity @indydonuts @gingernut1314 @i-am-vita @carrotsunshine @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training

Waking up alone and isolated from your crew was not the way you anticipated your time in Elegia to conclude. A vicious battle between the demonic presence of Tot Musica, under the command of the siren-song of Uta, was not what you envisioned for your getaway. If you knew this is what awaited you, you would have especially taken more consideration in inviting your new friend Brûlée along with you to the island. 

Looking to your side, you noticed her form remained unmoving and unconscious as you stirred from your position lying in the grass. You immediately crawled over to her, your lethargy weighing you down and prompting your movements to be slow and staggered. 

Just before you managed to reach her, you felt a presence behind you and a large hand placed on your shoulder. You slowly winced up, your mind in a haze as you turned your gaze towards the presence. 

Charlotte Katakuri crouched down beside you and looked at his unconscious siblings just beyond you with an unreadable expression in his eyes. In his mind's eye, and in your own, you were all engaged in a vicious battle to take down the entity in perfect unison: you within the dream-land from the sing-sing fruit, and the reality combated by him externally with the Red-Hair pirates. 

You felt him in your eyes, and he felt you in his; both your observation Haki working in perfect synchrony to take down the demon and save the civilians and marines only there to enjoy Uta’s music. He placed a little more pressure on your shoulders, pinching the muscle beneath his wide fingertips. In unison, you spoke immediately in a hurried tone. 

“I’m so sorry, lord Charlotte,” you bowed your head and began to utter your sincere apologies to him, “If I knew this is what was waiting for us when I invited Brûlée here to the concert with me, I never would’ve-,” you started your hurried apology, only stopping when you focussed on his words.

“-I have never experienced fighting alongside such a skilled Haki user before. Observation and armament alike, you are truly a revered warrior,” he complimented you, shifting his grip on your shoulder to caress your cheek with his large hands. “Your grace on the battlefield and protection over my family did not go unnoticed here.” 

Your breath hitched, darting your eyes between his before looking down to the bodies of his unconscious siblings. Shaking your head away from his grip, you slowly sink to your knees and bow your head to him further. 

“I deserve no such praise, my lord,” you admit to him with a soft quiver in your tone and your mind racing with the aftershocks of adrenaline, “This is the second time your sister Brûlée has been injured because of me, and Oven did not fare much better.” Katakuri collected your chin beneath his fingers and angled your face up to gaze into his eyes. 

“They are unscathed,” he searched within your expression and thumbed over the apple of your cheek, “And they are unharmed physically.” He leaned forward and lowered himself down from his crouched position to kneel in front of you. “I am grateful for your friendship with my sister, please do not ever apologize to me for it.” 

A weight lifted off your shoulders as you darted your eyes between his, feeling something within his orbs suppressed below the surface. You dart your eyes down to the fur shroud covering his lips before returning to gaze up into his hazel-colored orbs. 

“Thank you, lord Charlotte,” you hang your head once more, choosing to honor him further with a low bow. He chased your gaze by lowering his head and angling his chin down, the shroud loosening over his lips and revealing a soft, toothy smile. 

“Please call me by my name,” he smiled further, both of you not noticing the two other Charlotte siblings stirring beside you and glancing up at you. You sighed, a small and shy smile rising to your lips, as you looked down to view his sharpened teeth and eel-like jaw. A soft rosy blush of shame and embarrassment grew on his cheeks as he noticed your gaze down on his lips. 

Wincing away, he retracted his hand and attempted to relift his shroud back over his lips, halting when he felt your gentle hand reach forward. You looked between his eyes, slowly adding a soft amount of pressure on his hand and softly urging him to reveal his face to you once more. 

“Would…” you began, searching his now revealed face with more purpose and a soft flush rising to your nose, ears and cheeks, “...Would you like to stay with me a while, Katakuri? Just until your siblings regain consciousness?” Katakuri looked beyond you to where Brûlée and Oven were looking at him, immediately falling to their backs and closing their eyes to feign unconsciousness. 

He smiled a soft, knowing smile and leaned forward, prompting your hand to raise from his hand up to cup his cheek. 

“I would like that very much,” he whispered your name, pressing his forehead to yours and closing his eyes upon impact. 

The connection between you was strong and powerful, short sparks of ignition tingling between the press of his head and the flames of new beginnings rising in your heart. You both raised soft smiles in unison, in view of his ‘sleeping’ siblings, and your crew now catching up with you in your place on the island. 

Katakuri now knew it was not only a possibility to have his dreams potentially become a reality with armament haki, but you may feel affection for him as he did feel for you. Breathing each other's air and holding one another close, you felt at peace and hopeful of what new beginning these sparks meant for the both of you.

[dilatorywriting]

Monster Mayhem: Siren's Song

Gender Neutral Reader x Vil Schoenheit Word Count: 6.1k

Summary: What do you call a deaf pirate? Not 'Siren Food' apparently, which is really sort of hilarious when you've been kidnapped by a hungry Siren. Not for the Siren though—he's definitely not having a good time.

A/N: *rushes in at the 11th hour* Happy Mer-May!! I've been back and forth with clinical rotations and also working on some commission things and Leona's Part 4, but like, it's a fanfiction holiday. I couldn't miss out. And for one of my favorite tropes nonetheless. So here we are.

[PART 1] [PART 1.5] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4] [PART 5]

There was a legend that floated throughout the Sage Island Seas of the Pirate With No Ears. Which was ridiculous—half because such a tall tale managing to survive so long and so wildly really showed just how pathetic the rest of the gossip around here was, and half because you still had ears. They just didn’t work very well was all.

Some said you’d been deafened by a prowling sea sorcerer who had tricked you into trading away your once keen sense for some mortal foible or other. Others whispered about how you’d been trapped in an ice cavern, surrounded by electric eels and sharks, and that the only way you’d been able to weasel your way out was by cutting off your own ears so that you’d have enough wiggle room to escape from your bindings. Which made absolutely zero sense at all.

In reality, all you’d done was stand far too close to a canon for far too long when you were far, far too little, and ever since all you could hear was the dull ringing of post-battle silence. Sometimes it was a bit sad. When the waves crashed against the shore, or when the gulls flew overhead—you were sure all those things sounded very lovely. You remembered music and laughter and sometimes they echoed in your head at a distance—a memory not quite forgotten but certainly fading at the edges. But other times, like now, where your fellow crewmates were bawling into their ales and wailing about lord knew what… well, it was always nice to find a silver lining in these sorts of things.

One of the tipsy lads tottering around the deck of The Rose Queen tripped and landed against the wood with something that looked like it’d be a very loud smack. Your brain helpfully filled the silence with some nonsense noises and park-play-style laughter instead. You watched Cater stumble by out of the corner of your eye. He patted your head and said something that twisted his mouth into a gaping ‘uuuuu-eeeee-oooo’ before he puttered away to leech off First Mate Clover instead. Ace threw a drunken arm around your shoulder and burbled something against your cheek that popped with the scent of stale booze, and you decided to pretend that you were as alone at sea as your muted senses would like to think.

The party raged on long into the evening and you stared down at the rabble contentedly from your perch in the crow’s nest. They were a good bunch—dullards though they may be. You’d heard (hardee har har) that they were planning to raid the Port o'Bliss, and something must have gone terribly right. You only really hung around to scrub barnacles off the paneling and keep an eye on the tides well enough that Deuce wouldn’t run the lot of you ashore, so you weren’t really sure how the whole ‘pirating’ business actually went about. But clearly they were doing a pretty good job of it.

You rested your chin on your crossed arms and sighed into the salty breeze. The night was warm and pleasant, and before you knew it, you were nodding off against the rough fabric of your sleeves. You weren’t quite sure how long you spent dozing there tangled in the ropes of mast, but it was long enough that by the time you snorted back awake the festive lights had dimmed to embers and most of the crew had sidled away below deck to either keep drinking themselves blind or collapse in a pool of their own colorful vomit.

There was a lone figure swerving towards the bow—precariously close to the railing for someone so clearly unsteady on their own legs, if you did say so yourself. You squinted suspiciously at his mused lavender hair, not entirely sure you recognized the head bobbing around below you. But perhaps The Rose Queen had picked up some fresh recruits at the Port, or maybe the crew had gotten a bit too booze happy with some dye. Purple Hair leaned up against the rails and tipped forward on his toes like he was thinking about diving in, or maybe barfing. Either or, you sighed and shimmied your way down to stop him from tumbling into a watery grave.

“Oi!” you called, the shout vibrating up and out of your throat, and the kid jumped half a foot in the air. “What do you think you’re doing? Get away from there. Riddle’ll have your head if we have to send out the rescue rafts this late at—”

The kid turned to face you with wide, wide, glowing eyes. Your own went round as dinner plates as you watched his too-dark pupils pulse like drumbeat. They were so bright, practically illuminating the whole of his delicate face, but there was no light to them. Matte and sleek like a shark’s eyes.

He shouted something at you so whip fast that you couldn’t even begin to make sense of, and then he was glancing nervously back and forth between the roiling waves at his back and the encroaching deckhand at his front—making all sorts of nonsense gestures that had you sighing behind gritted teeth.

“Look,” you said, interrupting whatever indiscernible gibberish he was spouting, “I don’t know who you think you are. But you’ve picked the wrong ship to try and—I don’t know—seize? Pirate? You can’t pirate a pirate ship! But either way, you—”

Then the kid opened his mouth like he was screaming, and you frowned again. There was strange prickle along your arms that had goosebumps crawling up your skin and the hair raising at the back of your neck, but you shook it off and moved forward with another weary sigh. You pulled a length of rope from the belt slung around your hips and held the limp bundle of salt-soaked mesh up like a threat.

“I will throw you overboard. And hogtie you first,” you promised cheerily. “So you actually sink.”

Purple Hair just looked like he was trying to scream louder, and you were sourly tempted to stick your fucking tongue out at him and make petulant ‘nyeh nyeh nice try’ noises at him, but then there was a heaviness behind you. A creak in the wood that you could feel if not hear. You rolled out of habit—tumbling across the deck just in time to avoid a nasty swipe along your back. And oh no. The thing crawling up over the railing was worse than any lavender would-be ship thief. The black tipped claws and flared fins were telling enough, but the sharp-toothed grin was somehow more so. It tilted its unnaturally lovely head at you and spoke politely—clearly and very, painfully, slowly.

“What’s—this—perhaps—” you were able to vaguely make out. Maybe. The dark and your panic were both a terrible hindrance to putting shapes to sound. His lips curled into something wicked before parting far more smoothly than the younger man’s had. Singing. It was singing, not screaming. Hauntingly green eyes glowed bright and you felt the tunk tunk tunk beneath your feet of the rest of the crew starting to move around beneath you. Around you.

Then there were more of them—crawling up over the railings, trilling into the night air. All far too lovely and far too sharp to be anything but predators. The moonlight illuminated their fangs and scales in a ghostly white glow. There were shivers running along your spine, but otherwise nothing but silence echoed through your head. Small mercies. You watched several of your fellow crewmates rush out of the cabins only to double over with their hands clasped over their ears. Others stuttered and tumbled forward towards the railings as if they were being dragged along like puppets on a string. You cursed and ducked between them—looping your rope around their legs as you went and tugging them to their knees like a line of falling dominoes.

You let your hapless comrades collapse to the deck and curled the last throws of rope around your fists. You were decent enough with a knife when it came to dueling an unmoving, completely unaware foe—like a barnacle or some rusted over door hinges. But real people? Sirens?Fucking literal blade-tipped-merfolk straight out of every sailor’s nightmare? No thank you. So the teeny blade stayed sheathed at your hip and you dove into the fray to find something rope-wrangle-able.

At the other end of the bow, you watched Purple Boy straighten from a crouch. There were new, silvery blue scales crawling up his neck and forearms. He was still tottering around on legs that he clearly wasn’t all too used to, and you watched as the little guppy started to make a furious beeline for Captain Rosehearts. Which—no. Absolutely not. You were never one of those pirates who was like ‘oh, Captain, my Captain~’ but Riddle was good. He was tough, and taciturn, and could throw a tantrum that could bring down an entire harbor. But he’d written out all of his ridiculous six hundred rules by hand so that you could have them. And the teeny furrow in his brow as he staunchly taught himself hand sign after hand sign so that he could yell at you in earnest was so endearing that you’d protect that little firecracker for as long as you breathed.

So you went after Lavender Head, and then of course Lavender Head turned and tried to shout at you all over again. When that continued to not work at all, the Siren began to backpedal in earnest. He turned his head and squawked at whoever was around to listen, but in the chaos of the attack there didn’t seem to be many of his pod free to lend him a hand.

You descended on the little snake, rope at the ready and perfectly happy to make sushi out of the fucker, when something big overshadowed the both of you. Another Siren crested over the side of the ship, larger and clearly more impressive than the rest of its kin. Which matched your stupidly terrible luck just fine. Ah, yes, Mister Big Bad. Please. Go for the deckhand rather than the literal trained mercenaries less than ten feet away. Brilliant. The Siren bared its fangs like some great, terrible, beast and tore into the paneling with its curved claws as it attempted to drag you down to your watery grave. You cursed, and kicked, and yelped in a panic when the thing managed to get one of those cold, pale hands around your ankle.

Despite the fact that all of it surely happened in less than a few seconds, your descent seemed to progress in steps. First, the Siren tugged you over the side. Second, you smartly flipped the loops of your rope up to try and lasso yourself a handhold. Thirdly, you outright missed the ship and instead tangled the spools of thin rope all around your Murderer To Be. Said Murderer’s eyes widened in shock as your unintentional trap wrapped the both of you up like a mess of bugs in a spider web. And finally, the pair of you crashed towards the churning ocean in a knotted-up heap and slowly sank beneath the waves.

.

.

You rubbed the grit and salt from your eyes and sat up with a groan. Where were you? Not too far out at sea, hopefully. Washing up ashore had been nothing short of a miracle, and you weren’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth if it meant you got to avoid becoming chum for another day. The sand beneath your fingers was soft and white, and it slipped beneath your palm like water. You moved to push yourself to your feet and froze—a blur of amethyst swiping out and knocking you back onto your ass with a splash.

You spluttered and spat, and had just barely managed to flip yourself over like a turtle who’d been upended on its back when you caught sight of the absolute last creature in the world that you’d ever wanted to see again.

The big Siren had washed up nearby.

Because of course it had.

The creature narrowed his eyes at you and immediately set about lashing his rope-twisted tail against the sand like a rattlesnake. He bared his pointed teeth in a hiss and you were dowsed in a barrage of saltwater ammunition.

“Stop! Stop!” you begged, spitting out wayward chunks of seaweed, and shells, and gods knew what else. “I get it! I won’t come near you, jeesh! I wasn’t planning on it to begin with!”

The Siren curled his lips unpleasantly, putting that wonderful row of dagger-like pearly whites on display. He spat something completely indiscernible—the line of his mouth so harsh and flat that you couldn’t have even begun to pick up the shape of things if you tried—and you scooted as far back as you could without toppling yourself over again.

He dug his clawed hands into the sand and said something else, just as clipped and tight. You assumed it was an accusation. You were very used to recognizing the glare that accompanied those. When you didn’t respond, his brow tugged down low and he snapped something else—this time jabbing those pointed, black, nails in your direction. Ah, so definitely a complaint then.

You cocked your head at him out of habit and that griping turned into a snarl so ferocious that you could feel it racing up your skin like static. Which was definitely pretty trippy.

“I don’t know what you’re saying,” you told him honestly. Which just made the spiked fins flatten all along the side of his head and another wave of those zippy sneers dance up your arms. “Literally,” you tried. “I—”

The Siren opened his mouth and that sparky static from earlier amplified into something near painful. It was strong, and prickly, and left the imprints of invisible shackles all along your already aching joints. You could feel his voice carrying on the breeze—brushing against your cheeks and playing with hair. Thin, icy, fingers digging their way into your brain and yanking. But there was something missing from all that ethereal hypnotism. Something pleasant and sweet to complete the circle of temptation. A voice, you’d guess. There had to be a call after all, or else it hardly mattered how deep and all encompassing the need was to answer.  

When you didn’t immediately, like, fall to your knees in subjugation or drown yourself in the inch and a half of tepid water pooling at your hips, the Siren’s eyes dimmed with something that almost looked like hesitance. His brow pinched tight and he parted his red lips wider. A seagull dropped from the sky. Three different crabs crawled out of the sand to bow down.

“I can’t hear you!” you tried again, loud enough to have your teeth aching. His mouth went wider, and an entire ass tuna beached itself to flop pathetically near your ankles. “It’s not a challenge!” you wailed. “My ears literally, actually, do not work, you fucking overgrown anchovy!”

The static disappeared all at once, and the Siren’s lips slipped into a small, surprised sort of ‘o.’ He blinked his too-long lashes at you and stared you down like you were some sort of escaped alchemical experiment.

“There,” you huffed. “Finally.” And then went quiet and a bit concerned. Because apparent Song Immunity or otherwise, the thing was still hugely impressive and scary looking. His claws definitely wouldn’t have any problem picking the leftover bits of you out of his teeth, and you knew well enough that if he dragged you into the depths with that powerful tail of his, there would be no resurfacing.

The Siren too was using this time to glare at you like you were somehow a threat to be taken seriously. Which was half flattering, half pretty funny.

“Well…” you said after a long moment. “I should get going, I suppose.”

You made your way to your feet in the mucky sandbar and started heading off to see where you’d been stranded. You could feel the Siren’s heavy gaze on you the whole while, and decided he was probably trying to figure out if you’d taste better paired with seaweed or a nice jellyfish spread.

.

.

The pair of you had been stranded on a small, crescent, islet that couldn’t even rightly call itself an island. You were able to walk from its curling east to west coasts in just under fifteen minutes, and that was at a meandering pace where you stopped to peer into all kinds of little grottos and rocky formations. There was some vegetation at the heart of it—short palm trees and tufts of grassy knolls—and thankfully a few deep divots that had collected some still rainwater, but otherwise it was entirely boring and stupid. Not even any weird tortoises or anything meandering about to make friends with.

By the time you circled back around to your original stranding point, you had fully expected the Siren to have flipped you the metaphorical bird and fucked off back into the ocean, never to be seen again. Instead, he was still stretched out in the shallows of the bay, carefully fanning his long tail out in the seafoam and picking through the mess of it with his pointy claws.

He reminded you of a beta fish—with wide, flowing, fins that looked far more like silk than skin or scales. The tips were a deep, plum purple that gently faded from near black to violet and finally a vivid sort of lilac at their junction. The bulk of his tail looked like it could be made from literal gemstones with the way it shimmered in the morning light (gems that had perhaps been a bit dinged and/or literally torn out in chunks from where he may or may not have been smashed into the rocky shore curtesy of your terrible hogtie, but who’s to say).

There were jagged cuts lining the right half of his pale torso. They oozed a strange sort of silver ichor that was probably some kind of mystical merman blood, but you absolutely refused to get close enough to try and find out. The fins framing his pelvis were tangled and thin looking, and the sweeping ones that trailed all the way down to the tip of his tail were battered and torn. Clearly pulled to bits by your handy, dandy lasso skills. Which… was still tied up at the base of them. Huh. You’d assumed he’d be able to slice through all that knotwork without issue. But maybe…

You approached the Siren cautiously. You caught the exact moment he must have realized you’d returned because the fins along the sides of his head flattened like the ears on a pissy cat and he turned on you with a very dramatic snarl that probably sounded all sorts of menacing.

“Hello,” you greeted, and the merman spat something that you assumed was probably a very polite ‘fuck right off.’

You nodded because, well, fair enough. And then pointed to his injured fins and the waterlogged ropes still twisted up around the heart of them.

“I can get that off if you promise not to eat me.”

He shouted something no doubt very indignant and then was back to hissing at you. Which definitely didn’t sound like an agreement not to immediately murder you on the spot.

“Alright,” you shrugged. “Your loss, I suppose.”

Well, your loss, really. Keeping a wounded Siren around was just asking for trouble. Their pods were viciously protective for one thing, and that wasn’t even taking into account the poachers and rivals who’d be more than keen to come sniffing after the fresh trail of blood in the water. Maybe you could find a big stick or something and just, I don’t know, push him back into the ocean and be done with it.

The thought must have shown on your face, because suddenly he was smacking his tail against the sandbar and spitting something that you very much assumed was a demand along the lines of ‘you are going to take accountability for this.’

Which absolutely no way in Hell. He’d kidnapped you sort of, so that made you his problem, thank you very much.

You felt your stomach gurgle, and it must have been pretty loud going off the stink eye he sent your way. You turned your nose up at him and went about collecting the various critters that had been washed ashore in his tenor’s tantrum.

“Thanks for the food!” you chirped petulantly as you worked on scaling the tuna with the knife from your belt—making long, pointed, eye contact as you did so.

The Siren sneered at you and went back to grooming the shredded ends of his fins.

The rest of the afternoon became a sort of pissing contest between the two of you to see who could earn the title of Bitchiest Beach Bitch. You thought you were definitely winning with the whole ‘eating something that could have been his long-lost cousin’ thing, but then he went and swamped the entirety of the small fire you built (and all of said ‘cousin’ being cooked over it) with one sweep of his tail, so now you were at the very least tied. You set up a nice little shaded hutch out of driftwood and ferns to escape the sun, he called down seagulls to shit all over it and pick it to pieces. He tried to roll around to reach some of the tighter fibers tangled in his pectoral fins, and you chucked rocks at him until he reared on you with a scream that had all the hairs on your arms standing on end. Y’know. Perfectly mature things like that.

That night you curled up beside a tall, jagged rock just at the outskirt of the bay—determined to get some shut eye but to also keep within range of your newest pest in case he decided to try and pull something sneaky. But every time you’d just about settled in to sleep, the shallow tide would lap against your toes in harsh shush shush shushes that had you furrowing you brow until you finally had enough and sat up to see what all the hubbub was about.

The Siren was tossing around in the shallows like a fish in a net—throwing his long body against the bindings and flailing like his life depended on it. And as much as he’d definitely deserved to get caught up in your unintentional hogtie, watching something as large and no doubt powerful as he was wriggling around like a worm on a hook was… Well. Something soured a bit in your gut as you watched him give one, final, great buck against his bindings before collapsing back into the shallows in a circle of seafoam. He panted against the surface of the water, the tips of his pale hair dripping down in a curtain around his haggard face, and you could see a fine tremor running along his shoulder blades.

You turned back to your rock and ground the heels of your palms into your eyes, fighting the absolute batshit insane urge to feel bad for a monster who had literally tried to drag you to your death less than twenty-four hours ago.

The water was calm and still for the rest of the night.

.

.

The next morning, you picked up a few of the crabs who had crawled up to shore and went about getting them clean and fit for eating. You glanced at the Siren, who was busy preening over his janky fins and fussing over his hair. It was entirely unfair that you probably looked like a half-drowned rat, and yet this creature that wasn’t even meant to exist on the surface was somehow managing to put himself together well enough to rival the courtesans you’d seen meandering around some of the wealthier coastal towns.

You stared at the crabs. There were three of them. It wasn’t really sharing if it was meant to be a bribe to keep him from eating you whole. Or at least, that’s what you reassured yourself as you cautiously tiptoed back to the water’s edge.

The Siren swiveled on you with a snap of something that looked sort of like a ‘What?!’ and you held up one of the gutted crabs in offering.

“I don’t know if you all eat fish or whatever, but…” You waved the limp crab awkwardly.

The Siren rolled its purple eyes and said something fast and sharp that you couldn’t really parse. Something, something, not, something, something, are crust—Something, something, are you that stupid? (you recognized the impressions of those words well enough to mouth them even in your sleep).

“Look, do you want it or not?” you interrupted, and he bristled—all those delicate, violet, fins flaring up like a porcupine’s spikes.

The Siren crossed his arms stiffly and pointedly turned in the other direction with a mutter of something you had no hopes of catching.

“Whatever,” you snapped and went to bite into your meal. Only to immediately forget that these pointy little fuckers still had their shells on them. You reeled back with a yelp as you stabbed a million, tiny, carapace-shaped holes in your tongue.

The fucking Siren had the gall to turn back around so that you could see him laughing at you.

.

.

That night he was back to flipping around in the shallows like a miniature hurricane.

You counted out the waves sloshing against your heels, telling yourself you’d intervene in his self-destructive tsunami once it hit one hundred. And then it became two, then three. You shifted hesitantly to peek over the rock’s edge and watched him curl into himself like some terribly wounded creature before shaking himself out of the fog of pain that had clearly settling over his nerves, and then continued with his nonsense.

You hurled a big, pink seashell at his head and he whipped on you like a rabid dog, practically foaming at the mouth and raring for a fight. When he lunged forward with the waves—seething with hatred, and blame, and nearly crashing onto his already shredded front in the process, something angry in your snapped.

“Look, fish face! You were the one who attacked me! You!” you demanded, stomping perhaps a bit closer than would be rational. “So stop acting like I’m some scheming shithead who was planning to trap you like this from the start!”

The Siren roared something back and slapped his tail in the surf. Static zipped along your cheeks and you grit your teeth. He glared at you bitterly and then began to repeat one word over and over—slow and angry.

‘Eeeeehhh-Pppe-llllll’ said his lips. Strong and harsh with the shape of it.

And then he was back to spewing all kinds of rapid-fire vitriol that you wouldn’t have bothered to keep track of even if you could. Something in his expression shifted almost quicker than you could notice and he lifted his massive tail out of the water. He smacked the fins in your direction and pointedly jabbed a clawed finger at the creases of them—where delicate, silky, tendrils met strong, gem toned, muscle. Where the purple was light and clean. A pale, shiny, lavender. Almost just like—

“That kid?” you frowned. “You attacked me because of Purple Head?!”

He sneered again and pointedly sent a splash of seawater into your face.

“You—” you grit your teeth. “He was still attacking us first! He was going after my friend!” you snapped, kicking your own wave back. For all the good it would do. “You don’t get to act all noble and protective, and like any of that makes any difference when you all were going to eat us!”

The Siren’s face twisted up like you’d force fed him soured milk, and he looped back around with a dramatic fwoosh of water to dive into the shallows. It was maybe two or three feet deep at best, and he was barely submerged. Not to mention how utterly ridiculous it looked to see a creature that was no doubt usually the peak of grace and athleticism reduced to flopping belly first into the waves with his proverbial legs tied up behind him. But you recognized a door slamming in your face when you saw it, no matter the species. Fine. Let him be a petty bastard. He could rot away in the sandbar for all you cared.

.

.

The next day you woke up with goosebumps crawling up and down your limbs.

There were all sorts of gulls crash-landed in the sand around you and more sad, little, sea creatures gasping on the beach than you dared to count. You shoved a particularly chubby octopus back into a tidepool as you passed and wondered just what sort of nonsense your co-strandee was getting up to now.

The Siren was circling the bay with his head held high above the low waves—lips parted and clearly caterwauling like a dying porpoise. The surface of the water trembled with whatever was making its way out of his mouth, and he looped and looped around the shores. It reminded you of the time you’d seen a whale calf separated from its pod. It had gotten trapped in a shallow inlet when the tides had changed, and your ship had been anchored just off the same coast. You’d watched it circle and circle, lifting its heavy snout to snort sharp jets of water into the air. Deuce had passed you a scribbled note when you’d asked him what it sounded like.

‘It’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.’

There was a moment where the Siren paused in his paces and tilted his head. The fins there flared out to the side, like he was listening for something. But after a long moment the spines drooped back against his damp hair and he went back to his singing an aria to no one.

‘It’s looking for its family,‘ Riddle had signed to you when you’d asked him why the calf didn’t simply leave once the tides had turned in its favor. ‘This is where they last saw it, so this is where it will stay.’

“Maybe they forgot about him already,” you mused petulantly, turning back towards the center of the islet to try and scavenge up something to eat from all the poor creatures who had collapsed beneath your nemesis’s wailing.  

The bitter thought wasn’t nearly as satisfying as it ought to be.

.

.

That night, the waters were still.

You squinted suspiciously at the merman curled in the shallows of the bay. He’d pulled himself half-out of the water, resting his more human looking bulk in the soft sand as gentle waves lapped at his tail. He slept on his front with his arms crossed beneath his pointed chin—his unbound fins sticking up behind him in a way that deliriously reminded you of bedhead. You watched him carefully for nearly an hour, searching for any tightness in his muscles or change in his breathing that might indicate he was faking it. But as the evening stretched on and he never lurched awake to try and gauge your eyes out, you assumed he might actually be properly resting.

He'd been swimming in circles all day—the aborted, stuttering, beats of his bound tail looking painful even by your non-tail-having standards. Eventually the tremors along the ocean had grown stuttered and strange, like perhaps his voice was giving out on him. And once that had happened, he’d curled up exactly where he was now. And hadn’t moved since.

You stared at the Siren hesitantly. He was certainly in enough of a state that you could probably pull off that whole ‘shoving him into the depths with a stick’ thing. He’d probably just let you do it—sink to the bottom in a mess of shredded fins and tangled twine and never rise again.

You gnawed at your lip, feeling something unpleasantly hot and sticky twist up your stomach.

The knife glinted between your fingers and you thought of crying whales and of the crew that you already missed so much that it felt like a gnawing chasm had opened in your chest.

You huffed out a miserable sigh and lamented for not the first time in your life that you really were just so fucking stupid sometimes. And then you were cautiously making your way down towards the waterline and the sleeping Siren sprawled out in the sand. Slowly—so very, very slowly—you tiptoed towards the mer and tried to get a quick glance at what amounted to the worst of the damage.

The rope had been thin and long, and the more he’d struggled, the more he’d dug the twine into his fins. You reached forward at half speed and slipped the blade into one of the too-tight creases beneath the bindings. You winced a bit in sympathy at the raw, pink skin beneath. No wonder he hadn’t been able to just rip the fibers away. He’d probably just ended up tugging them over and over against the oozing wounds beneath.

The first strand broke beneath your fingers with something that almost felt like a pop. Like seams ripping on a shirt. You glanced quickly at the sleeping Siren to confirm he was still lost to the world and not gearing up to bite your fingers off at the knuckle, and then continued making your way through the worst of it. It reminded you a bit of the time Ace had accidentally snared a sea turtle in one of his fishing nets and the lot of you had spent the better part of an hour slowly working the thing free of the seemingly endless tangles. You delicately worked the tightest edges away from the harsh indentations they’d left against his scales and peeled back the muckier bits with enough gentleness to avoid mangling anymore of his already battered fins.

The last of the rope finally came away with a satisfying, wet weight and you let it fall to the sand beside you with a pleased nod. Now you could let Mister Merman swim away in the morning with no unpleasantly gross sense of moral obligation weighing down your consciousness. Maybe he’d even be thankful enough to look at you with something other than a venomous glare for once. Certainly nothing like the one leveled at you right now. And—

Oh.

You didn’t even have time to properly gasp before you were being flipped and pinned into the wet sand. The Siren loomed over you, digging his black claws into your shoulder until you could feel the first pricks of blood breaking the surface. He snarled in your face, the curtain of his pale blonde hair shadowing his eyes in something so dark it was nearly black. The brilliant purple cast off his glowing irises were like little spots of stars in an otherwise empty night sky.

He leaned forward, teeth bared, and then some sort of tight expression flickered over his face. He paused, brow tugging together steep and angry. He hunched down once more, fangs at the ready, and then ducked back out. He shook his head, like he was trying to clear fog from his brain, and then he was snapping his canines at you all over again.

The Siren reared back with a booming snarl that sent ripples through the soft tide lapping at your ankles. He turned with one, final, icy glower and dove back into the shallows, disappearing beneath the surface in a flash of amethyst scales. He flicked his tail sharply as he went, and one of the tattered fins snapped against your nose with enough of a crack to make you yelp.

You sat up in disbelief, rubbing at your aching skin and watching in outright consternation as the great predator of the oceans swam tight laps beneath the warm waters of your little lagoon—fins occasionally cresting over the surface to smack pointed fistfuls of water into your gaping face.

Deliriously, one of The Rose Queen’s hundreds of nonsensical rules bounced about your head. Happy to fill the otherwise entirely empty space behind your eyes.

‘Never save a Sea Serpent on a Sunday,’ Riddle had demanded, hands at his hips. ‘No Serpents, or Sea Horses, or Sirens to speak of.’

‘Man,’ you thought wildly, brain high on adrenaline and static as you watched one of the aforementioned Sirens swan about like he hadn’t probably just been a half second away from gnawing on your literal bones. ‘If I get out of this alive, Captain’s definitely gonna collar me this time.’

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.

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[tbshorts]

The Best Panels of One Piece, Romance Dawn (chapter 1-7)

Full video scripts below the cut

Chapter 1:

What are the best panels in One Piece?

Chapter 1, being the very first one, obviously has quite a few contenders. Luffy's very first Gum Gum Pistol is an obvious one, setting the tone of One Piece's battles with its mixture of goofy and badass. Plus, god damn, even in chapter one Oda knew how to do an epic splash page.

I also like this panel, where Lucky Roux shoots a mountain bandit in the head. This too is a major tone setter, driving home the seriousness and danger of pirate life. The story up to this point mostly plays as fairly lighthearted comedy, and seeing the jolly cartoon fat guy casually murder a man shocks the audience a little bit. Despite the cartoony artstyle, this isn't a kiddy pirate adventure.

But the crown has to go to the passing of the straw hat from Shanks to Luffy. It's a panel that has only ever taken on more meaning as the story has gone on, and the symbol of the straw hat has taken on more and more importance. It represents the promise between Luffy and Shanks to meet again, Shanks recognizing Luffy as an equal, and it's the passing of a torch. That straw hat means something, and Shanks is passing it on to someone who he feels is a worthy heir to that significance. “Romance Dawn” indeed.

Chapter 2:

What are the best panels in One Piece?

Chapter 2 is all about establishing Luffy's character now that he's grown up, and especially the scale of the odds he's up against. What does his dream to be king of the pirates really mean?

And this is where Oda shows his skill not just as an action and comedy artist, but as a storyteller. He introduces Koby the Cabin Boy, a character who mostly exists to contrast Luffy. Scared, self-defeating and cowardly, even his body language is Luffy's direct opposite.

When Luffy says he will be king of the pirates, Oda drops the angle down low, playing Luffy's chill, unaffected sitting posture against Koby's shouting. His arms are wide, foreshortening even out of the panel as the nervous boy tries to communicate the jaw-dropping scale of what Luffy has said he will accomplish. "Don't tell me you're after the One Piece"?

We feel the weight of Koby's astonishment here, the monumental nature of what Luffy has promised to do. The One Piece isn't a silly bed-time story for children, it is a real thing, and to go after it is to march to almost certain death. And the fact that Luffy is so casual about it, because he has accepted death, is not normal. Luffy is not normal, and Oda establishes this visually through acting in every interaction he has with Koby.

Chapter 3:

What are the best panels in One Piece?

Chapter 3 introduces Zoro with this amazing panel, which, given how much of a martyr he is for the crew and Luffy, WOW what a hell of an establishing shot. But it also establishes one of the great running themes of One Piece, which is the abuse of power, and the value of freedom. Helmeppo lords his status as a navy failson over the townsfolk, abusing his position and status in a way we will see villains in the story do over and over again.

And Luffy does what Luffy will always do to those who use their power in this way. When he learns that Helmeppo lied to Zoro, let him believe he would be free if he survived a month tied up, only to plan an execution behind his back…

This happens.

There are many reasons One Piece is a fun and satisfying narrative to follow, Oda's dynamic and exciting art is a big one for me, but the thing I love the most might the vicious delight the story takes in showing us the ruling classes getting the ass-kicking they so richly deserve.

Chapter 4:

What are the best panels in One Piece?

Chapter 4 gives us perhaps one of the weakest villain designs in the series, which is Axe-Hand Morgan. His obsession with power and control foreshadows many of One Piece's best villains, but… hoo boy, not Oda's best character design.

On a better note, though, we're getting one of the most important recurring story beats in the narrative, which is the effect Luffy has on people around him. Koby, who not two chapters ago was a cowering appeasing wretch, walks into the execution grounds to free Zoro because he can't stand to see the navy oppressing people this way. He accepted abuse from Alvida, but no more. Luffy changes the people around him, and the most important thing he does is set them free of their fear. He teaches people to pursue their freedom, even if it costs them their lives. He will do this many times throughout the story, and Koby won't be the last person who almost dies to chase the dream Luffy kindled in them.

Chapter 5:

What are the best panels in One Piece?

In Chapter 5 the obvious choice might be Luffy taking bullets for his friends in the nick of time, which is a very Luffy thing to do, but I think the best panel is something much quieter. We get a flashback to Zoro's backstory, and his rivalry with childhood friend and swordfighting prodigy Kuina, who is idly one of the most transmasculine characters in anime history.

The panel that strikes me the most in this chapter, though, is this one. It's just a little transitional panel, Kuina lying there, dead, with the words "humans are fragile things Zoro" hovering above. Oda uses crosshatching to just barely hint at the eye sockets under the cloth, which otherwise erases Kuina's face, erasing identity, erasing life. It's such a quiet and disquieting panel, such a matter-of-fact reminder of cold mortality in the middle of all Zoro's hotblooded shouting. It's a death that is so meaningless, and Zoro, in taking Kuina's sword with him, is trying desperately to make it meaningful. If he becomes the greatest swordsman in the world, then everyone will know that Kuina was his greatest rival.

I think it's the same reason so many One Piece fans want Tashigi to turn out to be Kuina in the end. Because the idea that people can just vanish from our lives, so coldly and so pointlessly… it's a scary thought to have.

Chapter 6:

What are the best panels in One Piece?

In Chapter 6, the easy answer, I guess, is the big epic Oda splash page of the Gum Gum Whip taking out a dozen Marines, but… I mean you know it has to be the introduction of the Three Sword Style. Dear Zoro, with his cool bandana and his intense looks and his tragic backstory… and here he is with a sword in his mouth.

This is the power of One Piece. Because on the one hand, this is stupid. This is objectively stupid. Holding a sword in your mouth is dumb, this looks dumb, this doesn't work, this is cartoon nonsense that doesn't make any goddamn sense.

On the other hand… this totally fucking rules. Oda presents it so perfectly with that hunched over power pose blocking ten swords at once, and the black bandana over his head, although I'll never forgive the translators for covering this much of the art over with sound effects. You miss the rope still falling from his body and the scabbards still in the air from Zoro unsheating them so fast. This panel bypasses every critical neuron in my brain, and speaks to the primal, stupid lizard and monkey part of my man brain that goes "ooooh, three swords cool!" And nobody does that like Oda.

Chapter 7:

What are the best panels in One Piece?

Chapter 7 sees our first parting of ways, with Koby remaining behind to enlist in the Marines. It's mostly an exposition chapter, a cool down from all the action with Axe Hand Morgan, but Oda once again uses what could be boring exposition to do good character building. Because Luffy and Zoro are pirates, they can't stay in a navy town, and as they leave, Luffy begins to spill the beans on how Koby was a cabin boy for a pirate, which might ruin his chances to enlist. And Koby, desperately torn up about saying goodbye to his first real friend… punches Luffy to shut him up. Which then becomes evidence that Koby isn't with them, isn't a pirate, so he can enlist.

It's the first moment Koby fully asserts himself, it's the first punch he throws for his dream as a Marine, but it is also a moment of revelation. However simple-minded Luffy seems, so straightforward and oblivious, here he reveals a deep understanding not only of other people but of the things they need, the push they need to find their courage. He pushes Koby's buttons to force him to commit to his dream, to force him to renounce piracy, and when Koby does… Luffy couldn't be more proud. And maybe a little smug.

[diminuel]

Doflamingo as a babysitter/parent is so funny because he is an evil insane crazy villain man BUT he is ALSO canonically VERY good at the TECHNICAL aspects of childcare. He WILL encourage Luffy to kill people but he WILL also make sure he eats his vegetables and is asleep by 9 on the dot and has had a bath.

You know if Dragon and Croc (in ANY crocdad canon) knew about Dellinger it would drive them crazy!!! Thats like the one piece equivalent of being an instagram parent with a spotless house and straight A kids and homebaked bread and designer nails and—

He had a BABY on his SHIP during BATTLES and the kid didn’t come out with a SINGLE scratch!!! Dellinger wasn’t even a secret!!!! Every dangerous pirate and gang Doffy dealt with for 16 years knew he had a little baby nephew and the kid has been seemingly FINE this entire time!!! Yes he’s CRAZY and EVIL but so is Doflamingo!!!!!!!

(The idea of Instagram parent Doflamingo delights me!)

In the one universe where he is babysitting Luffy he's not an insane crazy villain since he was most likely picked up by the marine together with Rosinante (it's potentially the same universe as this comic). The kid clearly has issues that growing up with marines is definitely not going to fix and he does abandon his marine career in favor of becoming a pirate and underworld crime lord. So he could still encourage Luffy to kill (but honestly, Crocodile might encourage that too. He'd much rather have a child that will know how to kill than a dead child.) But definitely, out of anyone he'd probably be the best at actually meeting Luffy's needs as a child and enforcing child appropriate rules (eating veggies, taking baths, bed time.)

And yes! Dragon and Crocodile did so much in order to conceal that they had a child, fearful of him being killed for the sins of his fathers or Luffy being abducted/ used against them. It would probably be especially bitter in an universe where they abandoned Luffy for his own good. It's frustrating to see that Doflamingo could do it so effortlessly but Doflamingo has the benefit that he trusts his crew. He's not just one man with a kid against the world. Crocodile doesn't trust anyone. And Dragon of course doesn't even have the protection that being a warlord grants Crocodile. But I think Crocodile would be livid if he ever found out that Dragon took in a child to be raised on their secret head quarters. Why a random child, why not their child?

And then years later Sengoku announced the truth of Luffy being Dragon's child to the whole world during battle in what must be Crocodile's worst case scenario.

Crocodile (in any Crocodad AU) is not having a great time X'D

Sorry, I drifted off mentally because I'm rereading OP and am about to get to Marineford.

[hjbirthdaywishes]

January 13, 2024

Happy 47 Birthday to Orlando Bloom.

[naritaren]

As we inch closer to WK/WD, a few things people should know if they want to watch.

1. Both events are on njpwworld as part of the subscription. Subs renew on the first so you can sub right before WK and then cancel afterwards. It'll be like $10 USD. For both events. That you can watch on delay if you need to.

2. Pirating the stream is possible but godspeed. The company that handles the broadcasting for NJPW is notorious about killing streams and doing so fast. The lord works fast but TV Ashai works faster.

3. Speaking of them. Don't post clips, gifs, edits, or even screenshots on Twitter or Instagram. Just ask how TDE lost their original Twitter account. Tumblr and Blue sky are safe.

4. An 11pm EST start time for each night is a treat and people should not complain. This translates to a 1pm local start time. That being said, there is no shame watching on delay. JP start times are what they are.

5. There is English commentary for both shows. Walker and Chris are the main two. There might be a couple of guests like Gino or Rocky. Or both! There will be dick jokes on commentary. That's how it goes. Point of reference: Walker is like 21-22 years old. It's wild when you hear him and know that fact.

6. If you're going to make gifs, you need to turn hardware acceleration off in your browser.

7. Do not repost JP fan photography without permission and credit. These fans do a great deal for the fandom and you are entering their fandom space. Be respectful. Same goes for fanart.

8. If you have a complaint about a wrestler, do not put it in their main tags. Keep that shit to yourself on your own blog.

9. There is going to be a ranbo (think battle Royale but with pins and submissions as well). No one knows who is in it until it happens.

10. Have fun! WK is fun and should be interesting. Hopefully everyone has new gear 😌

[circeius-invidioso]

I do not get why the Red Corsairs are not a popular choice.

Like.

Like here is the elevator pitch for the warband and then we can come to some justified conclusion.

What isn't there to love?

You want me to turn into an infomencial and make a top 3 reasons why the Red Corsairs are great?

Cause I can.

And I will.

The Diverse Working Enviroment

Here in the Red Corsairs we might have started as Ultramarines but the barrier for entry is on the floor. So anyone can join.

You are Night Lord with a bad rep and no ship.

Buckle up we got you covered.

You are a Fallen and have 20 Dark Angels all up in yo business? Trying to shoot down the boss babe you are?

Fear not, or in our case. Know no Fear. We are strapped and don't get clapped.

You are a traitor that likes their Legion but sadly you got in our way?

Tough luck buddy, you will join or die and your geene seed will join our cause. Nothing personal battle brother. Just business as usual.

Everyone is welcome as long as they follow Huron's guidelines and don't aggitate the topless sweaty Khorne worshipping Ultramarines in the basement.

Sustainability

Unlike the corrupt Imperium of man and the corpse Emperor our leader is powered by miracles (which is trully a miracle how he survived but that on the next section), and we use 0 psyckers to power our crap.

Our carbon footprint is also minimum as we use salvaged goods and don't indulge in toxic industries that destroy worlds.

The Red Corsair base of operation is in the Eye of Terror and from there we expand our scope. A place greatly known for its constant shifts, and horrible conditions but the tan our serfs have are spectacullar from all that cosmic radiation.

Finally we are commited to recycling. As in we take from our victims benefactors and put those stolen goods to some great use. Nothing goes to waste, neither mortal, nor static object. If something is not nailed on the floor we will take it.

In fact we might take the floor too and the nails used to set it in place.

Nothing goes to waste!

Unmatched Leadership

Last, but certainly not least.

The man.

The myth.

The Legend.

Huron Blackheart.

Aka Lufgt Huron.

Aka what would happen if we gave a compressed Guilliman a daemonic familiar and left him to ferment in a warp storm.

Not only the name is so edgy you might cut yourself by saying it out loud. But also it's complex enough that if you say it quickly three times without twisting your tongue theres is a chance furniture might start levitating.

The man has put his Ultramarine brain to use and amased enough influence and power to put the Black Legion to shame.

Huron went from 0 to 100 in no time, he is a self made Warmaster. With no daddy issues or troubles in the world, he goes into battle blasting Alestorm in the voxxcasters.

He does not care.

He probably wears this when he wants to relax.

You think he cares?

He does not care.

He has a biker gang specifically organized to hunt down those who have betrayed him.

They slap those things on their armors not for the usual biker reason

(which fun fact the meaning is, 99% of the bikers are law-abiding, where the 1% are not. That's where the 1% comes from. The more you know 🌈)

no they wear that 1% because that's how high are your chances of escaping from them are.

Is that a bit extreme?

Yes.

You think he cares?

He does not care.

The dude once gathered his buddies and decided...

to you know. Have a casual outing. Nothing too serious, it was a sunday afteral.

So they decided on.

Kidnapping Guilliman.

Which they almost did if not for a Fallen of all people getting in the way.

But still.

The mad lad took Macragge's Honour and went on a joyride/ mini civil war.

Who in the galaxy can turn and say.

Yeah, I stole Macragge's Honour, almost captured my old Primarch. Told a daemon prince they are irrelevant on my way there. Anyway after crushing a fool who thought he could take my crown as king of the space pirates, I went to the home planet of the White Scars and kidnapped and tortured their Chapter Master. What did you do this week? 💅

Who wouldn't want to be a part of that?

You tell me I can be an immortal, gorgeous chaos Ultramarine goth boy going on pirate adventures across the galaxy?

Where do I sign up?

I don't need ink for a signature.

I will use my own blood.