#shanks is reading it with a dumb journalist voice

[ellii0tt]

LGLWLAIGILSAII OMG THANK YOU THIS IS SO PERFECT

@ellii0ttI @reineyday @reineydraws: hope this makes sense, my general knowledge of hockey is flimsy at best, my general knowledge of figure skating is non-existent, but my absolute favorite genre of fanfic to write is fake newspaper articles, the more salacious the better. Hope y'all enjoy it. Picture this getting published in whatever equivalent to Page Six /TMZ is there in the one piece world.

LOVE IS IN THE ICE. Olympic icon Dracule Mihawk goes on ice with Pirates' jersey after Akagami’s coming out sparks rumors of romance

LOGUETOWN (19).— Dracule Mihawk (43) appeared last night at the Loguetown Exhibition Gala with a Pirates’ jersey, a month after Akagami No Shanks’ (39) coming out sparked rumors of romance.

It appeared to be Akagami’s first jersey with the Pirates, from when the ice hockey legend was first drafted. Dracule proceeded to skate to the tune of Eye Of The Tiger, ending his routine with an axel that made the audience fear an accident, and that brought to mind Akagami’s career ending injury. 

Dracule has declined to make any comments, opting for skipping altogether the media after the exhibition gala. On his part, Akagami was seen at the VIP section alongside other past and present Pirates’ players, although it’s unclear whether or not he was present for Dracule’s routine. 

Monkey D. Luffy (19), Akagami’s protégé, posted a selfie sitting next to his mentor with the caption: ‘Power isn’t determined by your size, but by the size of your heart and dreams’. Fans believe that it references Akagami and Dracule’s relationship. The Pirates’ winger, Roronoa Zoro (21), has fueled the speculation ‘liking’ a Tiktok that breaks down the theory. 

The Pirates’ new captain came out shortly before Akagami did, telling Marineford reporter Rocky Port Koby (23) that he’s “pretty proud of who he is, which is not straight in any shape, way or form”. Akagami openly supported him, citing him as an inspiration when he came out through a message in ‘X’. 

Although the rumors about Akagami and Dracule’s relationship are not new —they have been linked on and off since the Olympic Games of 09, the first one in which they both competed— Akagami’s recent coming out has done nothing but fueling further the rumors of romance. 

Akagami and Dracule have been sighted together various times throughout the city during the past month, from the exclusive Baratie to the Thousand Sunny ice ring’s parking lot, and to Roronoa’s birthday party last week, a star studded event which gathered the biggest names in the ice hockey community. 

[occupyscifi]

The free fyre zone

Incendiary bombs lit up the ruins of the civil war torn city. It lit upon the fort lay grand buildings, reduced to ruin by warring militia groups. It lit up the casinos that had become killing ground and the hotels that had become bombed out shells. It also illuminated a straggling line of hipsters making their shell shocked way to the weed choked outdoor theatre. Once there had been great concerts, when the civil war hadn’t turned tourism into a sick joke. When this had been a desirable place to take a holiday. That the hipsters in their burning man tshirts and faux ironic trustafarian beads didn’t seem to have got the memo was just another hollow irony. They came clutching tickets that promised the concert of a lifetime and an experience like no other. That the experience was likely to be death from a either bullet or cholera was not mentioned. “its…its here right?” asked one boy who had been mugged as soon as he’d stepped out of the perfumed safety of the international airport. Relieved of his passport, his bitcoin e-purse and a fair amount of his innocence he had still doggedly journeyed through the desert heat, past wilted palm trees and rubble piles to the bombed out ruin of the old Hilton hotel. “sure…I guess” said a girl whose face was smeared with soot from the cooking fires that had kept her alive. Best not to ask what she had killed and cooked over it, but it was unlikely to be the organic free range fare that her rich complexion was hitherto used to “its menna be…its menna be….” However words had failed as her spirit had been crushed, the thousands of lolcoin spent on flights and supposed exclusivity to the party of the century. “yeah” said another boy, who had used the last of his e-glass charge to google how to make weapons from the everyday trash left behind by the civil war. He held in his hand a shank made from the remains of a crashed drone cam, downed by some local fighter irritated by network news overflights filming their plight for youtube Epicwarfails videos “stage is down here” he gestured down steps that were pocked with bullets. Beyond there lay an amphitheatre that had clearly been used for executions and had what could be charitably described as a stage. That it was daubed with fundamentalist slogans from one of the more extremist militias did not suggest it was likely to host any international pop acts. “three days…” said the first boy “three days and this…” he sighed in exhaustion. The hundred or so other hipsters, representing a mix of nationalities and ethnicities but all hailing from the richest one percent of the youth demographic were either sitting or wandering about in shellshocked horror. What little light there was came from the few remaining working e-glasses or bespoke antique retro blackberries. The rattle of machine gun fire in the distance and the crump of explosions were now so familiar that the hipsters didn’t even look up. Those that had been fashionably slim before were now unfashionably gaunt, gym trained muscles unused to dealing with the strain of living in a war zone. All of a sudden the last of the lights failed and the amphitheatre was plunged into darkness. The sound of booted feet on the stairs and the whispered crackle of callsigns over radios boded no good at all. The audience all suddenly remembered all the stories their nannies had told them about ISIS and White Pride gangs and what they did to little rich kids when they caught them. “oh my god…” said the girl hysteria in her voice “this is….” “ladies and gentlemen!” boomed a voice from speakers hidden all around them “Freefyremedia entertainment are proud to present – the Beastie Boys!” Spotlights flashed on, illuminating the stage. With a flourish the cloth covered slogans calling for death to blasphemers and heretics fell away to reveal to the now iconic flame logo that had become the byword for ultimate extreme live entertainment. On the stage the cloned and copyrighted heirs to the New York rappers struck a pose. “this first one goes out” cried the cloned Mike D, his DNA reset to License to Ill era youth “to all your crazy mofos who hiked through a goddamn desert war to see us. Make some noise!” “epic!” continued the girl drowned in the sound of people fighting (for their right) to party “absolutely epic!”

The idea to run luxury festival in a warzone had come to Gigi Khan Rodriguez Tesla after the fourth time she had been kidnapped on her Instagram sponsored charity yacht tour of Somalia. “it’s like, you have to give something back” she said, being interviewed on the first day of the Free Fyre festival. Behind her the broken skyline of the city served as the perfect backdrop to her earnest interview. Indeed she had called in her own drone team to demolish a particularly unsightly building that had advertised one of her rivals sponsors “I wanted to both create the ultimate party experience for the spartan race, climate change fighting generation -  and to raise money for kids like these” she gestured to where some local boys - their faces  photogenic in their malnutrition -  lounged adoringly. They were skinny, but not too skinny – that would upset people too much -  and they were dressed in Gigi’s own line of refugeeware tees “I mean, we’ve all done burning man, and Coachella got yawny after the third orgithon” she smiled her perfect smile “when you’ve lived in the bubble of luxury all your life what’s left to experience?” she gestured behind her at a city torn in two by civil strife. Where those left behind feared their own government as much as the roving bands of extreme religious militia. Where the buzz of drones overhead meant either foreign bombs or worse, foreign journalists. “except the real world?” “but Gigi” asked a journalist through a small floating camdrone “what about those who say you’re exploiting these kids for your own gain?” the journalist was not, as might be suspected, talking direct to Gigi. Most journalists from serious publication wouldn’t be able to afford the ticket price to a free fyre zone event. Instead this journalist was skyping from a café in downtown Mumbai “that if anything your events actually cause more instability to the communities they are meant to help, and serve as nothing more than a chance for dumb rich kids to pretend they are facing the real world?” “an excellent question” replied Gigi, who had zoned out slightly during the longer sentences. As a seasoned social media pro she was an expert in the art of multitasking. She had been loltagging her latest set of Instagram pics, hitting the right balance between artistically beautiful shots, perfectly toned flesh and serious photo documentary of ruined buildings that her people told her had historical value. Her lack of attention hardly mattered as there were enough of her paid PR staff to feed her the next lines as she paused to look thoughtful over the heat hazed ruins of the city. One reason to chose this particuatl warzone, the desert climate made it an excellent backdrop to their photos, the sunsets alone were worth the ticket price. “you know, these are people that have lost hope” she said, reading the lines of her e-glasses autocue “They’ve been abandoned by their own government . The international community doesn’t care. The UN doesn’t even bother to send aid anymore. If nothing else we’re making this place cool. And if a place is cool then people will care again. Because of us its trending on social media. People are actually talking about this city. That has to help right?” The journalist wanted to ask another question but has been shunted to the back of the queue. There are other media organs who had paid more money and want to shoehorn in either paid hashtagged phrases or to begin some celebrity faux flame war arranged weeks in advance between Gigi and her carefully curated list of frenemies. “Okay good people!” Shouted Gigi to the crowd. It was the last night of the festival and the renaming in hipsters that had not been airlifted out due to injury, food poisoning or their mummies and ad dies getting scared cheered loudly “we’ve had a great time these last couple of days. We’ve all had a blast – literally” she nodded at the members of the vegan fundamentalist militia who had allowed the hipster to get access to their social cache  of weaponry for just a small extra fee. For even more the audience could choose their own list of targets to be destroyed. All proceeds going to a good cause, of course “but we shouldn’t forget the real reason we’re here, and I’m not talking about your awesome pecs, Bieber junior” at the side of the stage the excellently quaffered but definitely illegitimate child of the singer showed his famous chest. That he had been created without his fathers consent hardly mattered, after all if Beiber senior had wanted to remain childless then he should not have tried to pay off his legal bills with access to his own DNA “no, its all about the good people of this city. Kids like the ones I’ve been speaking to” behind her graphics of more cute kids show, all of them with cute injuries – nothing too disturbing. Research shows that kids with arms missing don’t make people feel anything but sad, and sad doesn’t help anyone “they are the ones that have to live here while we get on with our lives” Gigi does her serous face, it’s one she carefully practices and highlight best the doe eyes her parents paid so much money to have encoded into her genes “so let’s give it up one more time for everyone living in…” there is a pause when Gigi realises she’s forgotten the name of the place. Well all these little shithole desert cities in their failed states all sound the same. Was it Spanish? Latin? Arabic? Didit even matter? “ this great city” there is a roar from the crowd of approval and the noise of elegantly manicured hands that have never known a days work clapping away “and now make some noise for our final act!” With that the lights go down and Gigi exits the stage, grabbing her smart glasses from an assistant. “You said I didn’t need these. Said I looked cleverer without” muttered Gigi angrily “I looked like an asshole instead. Not knowing the name of the place” she pulled on the glasses as behind her the band began one of their most famous numbers. The one from the advert, or the film. Gigi never bothered to remember . It was hummable, that was all that mattered. She climbed into her private APC and the engine coughed into life, driving her out of then city and never looking back. As she passed the edge of the city limits a bullet perforated sign reminded her of the name of the city. “Las vegas!” She said proudly, as the former casino city vanished into the background – now one of many front lines in a bitter civil war “how could I forget?” Behind her the sun set and against the backdrop of a rocket attack Coldplay began their set in earnest. It was going to be epic.