rubber grips

Learning to Ride

A while back @audreycritter and I were talking about Jason and bike riding which bloomed the idea for this story. Thanks so much Audrey for all your help getting me through this. : ) 

Words: 5,200

Rating: Gen

Summary:  Bruce was going to teach Jason how to ride a bike, but he’d died before they’d gotten to try. When Jason finds his bike in the attic Bruce decides it’s maybe time to try again.

Warnings: None

AO3 Link


Jason couldn’t remember why he’d gone up to the attic. There’d been a reason, he was sure, but whatever it had been was lost on him the moment he laid eyes on the bike. Unlike most everything else in the dimly lit space it was pristine. Not a speck of dust or dirt rested on it. The paint was as fresh and red as the day Jason had picked it out at the store. The tires were full and the chain looked brand new.

He reached out and touched his hand to the rubber grips on the handles, brushing his fingers over the rough edges of one of the bike’s only imperfections. The rubber was scuffed just so on the handle from where it had hit the concrete. If he reached down, he’d find a matching scruff on the hard plastic of the pedal. He’d been supposed to go out with Bruce to ride it. Instead he’d been late, caught up at a meeting. What it was for Jason couldn’t remember, he hadn’t cared enough at the time, only that it had ruined a promise. He’d wanted to show Bruce, show him what he’d missed out on, by learning himself.

He’d found out quickly that the bike was a bit too big for him, just like Bruce had warned him, and the weight of it had been too much. Too much to attempt riding, especially when he didn’t know how. Except he’d been so angry. So, he’d acted out, wanting to stir an emotion from Bruce, even if it wasn’t the one he actually needed. All he’d gotten for it was a scraped knee and a scuffed bike.

He had the distinct memory of shoving the bike against the brick of the shed he was supposed to keep it in and stomping inside. He’d blown past a worried Alfred and disheveled Bruce, just come back from his meeting, only half an hour late for their promised time.

He’d seethed with self loathing for the rest of the night. At falling. At scratching his new bike. At himself for not waiting for Bruce. He couldn’t get Bruce’s confused look out of his head, or his words twinged with hurt. He’d promised. He’d left early. He’d even come back. If only Jason had waited. There was still a faint scar on his knee from the accident. A little white line as a reminder of how impatience and hotheadedness could mess up something good.

“There you are, do you need some help finding the box?” Bruce’s voice, jarring in the way it was so normal, erased the lingering tones of hurt Jason had almost been able to hear moments ago.

Jason turned to look at him, Bruce had noticed the bike. A small smile turned up the corners of his mouth. “I remember when I got that for you.”

It hit him again how dusty everything else was. How the room was filled with the disused, old, and forgotten. His hand fell from the handle like it had burned him. His mind went back to the memorial, always in sight, always ready to bring fresh the memory of his death. And his room, the first time he’d walked in it had been like a tomb. Frozen in time. Not a thing moved from where he’d left it, socks draped over his chair, a book half open on the bed. There hadn’t been a speck of dust to be found there either, it had even smelled clean. Like lemon, the bright scent a burning contrast to the dreary weight of memory. A room should never smell like lemon.

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Oneshot fic inspired by this amazing comic.

Comic by the amazing @disteal

The blizzard had come out of nowhere.

Sweeping over the horizon as McCree and Hanzo scrambled to find shelter in the wilderness outside of Eichenwalde. The scouting mission turning into survival. The two running through the forest, battered by wind and shards of ice. They had personal tents but they would be shredded by the beast barreling behind them.

They had minutes before a white out.

“Here!” Jesse grabbed his hand and yanked him to the side.

He snarled, snatching his hand back. “Your arm if freezing.” The cowboy’s prosthetic chillingly cold. His teeth were chattering as he followed anyway. The fur of his wolf pelt already collecting ice crystals.

The forest lashed around them, seeming to roar. They just needed cover, a wind break, anything except trying to stake a tent down and try to hold out. The tent they had been issued for their stealth mission not meant for more than a light flurry.

The thin bedrolls wouldn’t keep them alive.

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Mugs and Sippy Cups

Words: 2,776

Summary: Dan and Phil are in a dd/lb relationship, in which Dan is the little. Early mornings combined with accidents cause Dan to believe he’s going to be punished, sending him straight into his headspace and filled with worry. Luckily, Phil is there to sort things out for him.

Warnings: swearing, small blood mentions, minor injury

a/n: shame me if u want tbh,,, i just wanted some nonsexual little!dan and daddy!phil fight me

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anonymous asked:

I saw you said you were gonna do a tutorial series type thing about your taako cosplay, and i really wanted to know how you made the handle of your umbrella look like wood, if that isnt too much to ask! your taako is one of my favorite cosplays ive seen of him tbh

FIrst of all I’m so sorry it has taken me forever to respond to this!! Life was a little crazy there for a hot second. But now i’m home and back in the saddle so lets do this. Also, thank you so much !!! I’m so honored you like my cosplay ahh

Okay so my base umbrella i’m about 90% sure was this one , which i just found in my closet but I loved the size of it. I am also very small so an umbrella that was a little bit taller works really well proportion wise. LIke it almost could actually be a staff. Here is what the umbrella handle started out looking like: 

I started by removing the rubber grip thing and I was basically just left with the metal pole that makes up the center of the umbrella. I built a base shape with tinfoil so I could build onto it: 

Then for the fun part!! I used this new stuff called “Sculptamold” that I found in my local craft store. It was just the last bag sitting at the back of a shelf, i had never heard of this stuff before. Basically it’s like a plaster/paper powder that you mix with water, and the consistency depends on how much water you add. If you add a lot, you can use it like plaster to cast things in a mold. But if you don’t add a lot of water, it ends up with a very sculptable consistency like clay! 

Now unfortunately i’m incompetant and totally did not take any WIP pics of this stuff being put to use but basically: it takes a wHILe to dry, like at least overnight if not a couple days, and it dries really really rough. I basically just took clumps of it and covered my tinfoil base, waited an hour or two until the consistency was a little more set, and then went through with my fingers and a little water to smooth out big bumps. It WILL dry very rough regardless tho, but the beauty is–this stuff sands like a DREAm. Just with some regular sandpaper and like twenty minutes I was able to get it very very smooth, and for any particularly rough patches I just hit it with my dremel. 

So I had a smooth hook on the end of my umbrella, but i wanted to add a wood texture. Origianlly I tried dremeling it in, but that didn’t work so well because it did crumble a bit. So of course i turned to an obvious solution–hot glue! Seriously. I just started dripping hot glue all over this thing in a wood-grain texture. I took pencil and sort of patterend out the general idea of where my wood grain would go and followed that. A tip: don’t use hot glue that is super incredibly bubbly hot; if its a little cooler then it will hold its shape better as it lays down and it wont run into itself. 

Heres a quickl little example i did on some scrap paper::

Then you paint! I did a base coat in brown, then went in and added shadows and highlights in other colors

This was super fast and I only did one layer of shadow/highlights. For my actual handle i did probably five or six layers, just adding brush strokes and lines to give it more dimension! 

Also: Make sure you use MATTE paint!! Gloss or even satin will make it look shiny and not like wood! 

Yeah basically that is it!! It isn’t the *most* realistic wood texture, but I kind of like the stylized cartoony vibe that it gave! 

anyway, i hope this helps! Thank you so much !


@hippocratessocrates​ wanted me to make a post about my mst3k headcanons so 

  • Gypsy was built first and Cambot was built last, making them the oldest and youngest siblings.
  • Joel built Tom and Crow concurrently and activated them within minutes of each other, essentially making them twins. Crow is five minutes older than Tom and will not let him forget about it. Tom was very happy when Joel made Cambot because it meant he wasn’t the baby sibling anymore. 
  • Joel wasn’t really thinking about gender when he was programming the bots and just kind of assumed they were all guys since he’s a guy. Gypsy eventually tells Joel she’s actually a girl and he is very supportive of his trans daughter. 
  • Cambot’s gender is Cambot. Joel ask them about their gender once after Gypsy comes out and 
  • Joel wears a lot of those socks with the rubber grips on the bottom. No need for shoes indoors but the SOL floors are cold and slippy. 
    • Mike wears slippers
    • Jonah is one of those people who wears shoes around the house for some reason  
  • Kinga is trans, and also a genetically modified clone Clayton made of himself.
  • Kinga inherited her dad’s unruly hair. She wears it in a bun because otherwise its gonna fluff up everywhere. 
Sword Fighting for Fic Writers: Chapter 10

You can follow the tag #Swords for Fics if you want to keep up without following me :)

Available Chapters:
1: Dumb Ways to Die  2.May Your Blade Be True! 3.On Your Guard!
4. Making the Cut 5.Stick ‘em With the Pointy End 6. It’s Like a Dance
7. The Measure of A Man 8.A Crossing of Blades 9.Like Chess, but with Knives
An Interlude About Story Telling
10. You Can Barely Lift Your Sword 11. Buckle Some Swash 12. Dual Wielding
13.Everything is a Weapon 14.Got Your Sword!

You Can Barely Lift Your Sword

Weight and Required Strength: Swords aren’t as heavy as you think. When you first pick it up it can feel surprisingly light. Even swinging it around it feels OK. You’ll be hard pressed to find a healthy person who actually has significant trouble lifting a sword. But when you need to hold it out and maintain a guard, that’s when things become difficult.

I’ve never been an arm sports person. It took me about a month and a half of doing two one hour classes a week before I felt comfortable with a long sword for 5min stretches of just holding the sword pointing forward while I was a practice prop for my partner. Not super intensive, someone could condition themselves faster with more upper body fitness background and daily hours of training.

It took me even longer for one handed swords despite having built my strength from two handed swords. I started with the lighter sword the first month, and switched to the heavier sword the next month in a personal bid to better my stamina. Months later and I’ll still get shaky by the end of the hour.

With a longsword that second hand let’s you support a lot of weight with just leverage. With a one handed sword, it’s just your arm muscles and your grip.

Shaking Arms: 
When you’ve been standing there with your sword pointing at your opponent for too long, the arms get shaky. This can be very noticeable, or something subtle.

Drooping Point:
The more tired you are the harder it will be to keep the sword tip pointing up at your opponent. You may not even notice as you focus on just keeping your arms up, but your opponent will notice the opening.

Sweaty Hands:
I never noticed it on the longsword, the rubber grip and dual hands giving me enough traction to hold on, but with the one handed swords I found my hands getting sweaty. I had to grip the hilt twice as hard to keep my sword point up making my arms tire even faster. It was especially bad on the wood and metal grips. There were times I expected the sword to slip right out of my hand. I wear leather gloves now and haven’t had a problem since.

The Usual:
Ever had to do a hard run in gym class and found yourself shaky? Panting? Like heat is rushing to your temples and trying to escape all at once? It all applies. All that stepping back and fourth and dodging is just as tiring as the sword swinging in a long session. Put them together and you’ve got some hard work ahead.

Switching Hands: 
With a one handed sword being comfortable with both hands is a huge advantage. Arms tire more quickly because they’re not sharing the load. Trying to do everything with your wrong hand feels weird, but if your strong arm is tired  you’ll be glad of the ability to switch.

There’s minimal benefit to switching your lead hand if you’re always going to have two hands on the sword. Any changes you’ll notice will mostly be mental adjusting. 


Clement M1907 pistol

Manufactured by Charles Ph. Clément in Liège, Belgium c.1907-1908 - serial number 5894.
7,65mm/.32ACP 6-round removable box magazine, blowback semi-automatic, vulcanite grip.

The .32ACP variant of the M1907, which was also available in .25 caliber. Vulcanite hard-rubber grips were very popular in the French speaking regions of Europe in the early 20th century.

You Go, I Go (Bucky Barnes x Reader x Steve Rogers)

Previous Chapter

Link to Master Post

Word Count (1,972)

AN: Y’all notice the title change lmao

“So, what made you so special?”

“Nothin’. I’m just a kid from Brooklyn.”

Steve had a smirk on his lips, because this was exactly what he wanted to happen. Schmidt was distracted, and he didn’t particularly like Steve’s answer. His fist met his face, and Steve grunted.

“I can do this all day.”

With a laugh, Schmidt grinned, “Oh, of course you can. Of course. But unfortunately I am on a tight schedule.” As he finished his sentence, he removed his cube-energy pistol and aimed it directly at Steve.

“Funny. So am I.”

Right on cue, a door blasts open, and the Howling Commandos along with Agent Carter, Col. Phillips, and you came through the door, Peggy holding a large gun while you favored a revolver. Schmidt cursed under his breath and disappeared. The three of you ran down to hall, Steve breaking open his restraints and grabbing his shield, “He’s heading for the hangar,”

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Threatening Strawhat

Whether asleep, awake, near-death, or delirious, Strawhat was a troublemaker. That was a fact that Penguin and the rest of the Heart Pirates learned from having seen him almost punch a hole through the submarine in one go had the Hearts captain been a second slower to swap him with a rock outside. But after surviving that kind of rampage, Penguin learned that beyond the heavy fists and stubborn attitude, the young man was undoubtedly friendly. Strawhat Luffy was just so damn cheerful and warm and vibrant that he made friends out of almost anyone and anything. If Akainu had not murdered his older brother, maybe he’d managed to be friends with that man, too. But then again, there were exceptions to everything, weren’t there? Maybe that was why when Captain of the Heart Pirates Trafalgar Law returned to the Heartbeat with a boy of Luffy’s age following closely, Strawhat wasn’t the most welcoming.

Maybe it was Black Leg’s fault for mistaking the new kid for a girl because he looked pretty. Or maybe it was the Cat Burglar’s fault for commenting, “Oh, looks like Torao-kun’s picked up a cutie.”

Both crews perked up at that. Heads turned. Murmurs rumbled. There was a blonde, fair-skinned fellow who was trailing after Law and looking quite attractive despite his simple clothes. His button-up shirt was already a yellowish white and his brown ankle pants had patches here and there. But his face was endearing and his skin was like porcelain. And, oh, his green eyes just shimmered while he tried not to smile too much while staring at the boring back of Law’s head. Penguin knew that doe-eyed, fascinated look the kid was wearing and honestly, this wasn’t anything new to the Heart Pirates. They’ve seen this look on other faces of different genders and sometimes even different races. This wasn’t the first time their captain had unintentionally smitten someone enough to trail after him like a love-drunk puppy.

It was definitely a first for Strawhat Luffy, though. Oh, it was an entirely different story on his face. While the rest of the Strawhat crew gathered abuzz about the yet-to-be introduced young man, their captain looked on in apparent disbelief, as if Law had picked up something he shouldn’t have; that he should put that thing right back where it came from. Strawhat had leaned so far over the railing on the deck of the Thousand Sunny and god damn the look on his face made the most interesting transition from curious to disappointed to suddenly becoming a blur when he decided to slingshot himself towards his beloved ally.

Leave it to Strawhat to recognize a threat and deal with it aggressively.


Law immediately stopped walking. Strawhat landed heavily a few paces away from him, dust clouding from the impact as he wobbled forward before Law caught him firmly by the arm. Laughing, Strawhat’s rubbery body swung before Law pulled him up to stand next to him.

“Torao!” Strawhat almost bounced, flashing his blinding smile as Law waved the dust away from his face. The blonde stranger was coughing behind him. Luffy laughed over the sound in some sort of happy domination.

Well, now. This could either be disastrous or hilarious. Possibly humiliating. Definitely interesting. Worth watching? Yeah, worth watching. Both crews seemed to think so because everyone had stopped what they were doing to see what was going on.

Penguin didn’t realize he was grinning.

“Hey, Torao-kun!”  Nami yelled from the deck of the Thousand Sunny where she was standing behind Sanji, “Who’s your friend!?”

Shachi whistled lowly. Ever so aggressive, this crew. Well, true enough, both captains have obviously been flirting in their own weird, shitty ways. Law had shown a higher level of concern towards Luffy than he would with regular people. Just recently, in fact, Law wiped dirt off Luffy’s cheek using his thumb. His own thumb willingly came in contact with dirt. Trafalgar Law who was just a few notches from legitimately being germophobic. Why? Strawhat was single-handedly capable of breaking the older captain’s guard without even trying. Law should hate him. But, no. And as if that wasn’t enough, what the hell were they doing whenever they locked themselves in Law’s cabin? How come Strawhat often came out of it wearing Law’s shirt instead of his own? When did hickeys come out of nowhere?

The thing was, everyone had caught onto it but nothing and no one had made anything official. It was like an  unofficially taboo thing to ask about and none of the crew members—not even Nami—even brought it up. Well, at least not, upfront and frankly, but, yes, everyone knew. Both crews have even discussed this lightly. These two captains had to be more than just friends.

“I’m Hyle!” blonde boy was now saying to Nami, giving her a sweet, sweet smile and Luffy could not help but stare. The stranger noticed and offered his hand to Luffy, “Pleased to meet you.”

“Luffy.” said the younger captain as they briefly shook hands, “The man who’s gonna be Pirate King.”

Law looked away quietly. No one was ever really sure how he felt about Luffy being his rival by saying that.

“Oh! Monkey D. Luffy! I figured as much from your hat.” Hyle pointed cheerfully and Luffy looked like he wanted to make the blonde stop doing that, “Your alliance with the Captain has been making waves.”

“The captain?” Bepo blinked and there was a low sound of murmurs from the yellow submarine. The Strawhats were also discussing with each other as Sanji and Zoro stared threateningly at Law. Penguin thought they did a good job at that considering they only had an eye each to work with.

“Captain?” Luffy looked up at Law, then at the curious Heart Pirates, and then back at Law, “You recruited a new crewmate?”

“No.” Law told Strawhat, but was looking at Hyle instead who immediately opened his mouth to say something had Law not spoken sooner, “I already told you, you can’t join my crew.”

“But why!?” Hyle’s expression was immediately sad and desperate, “I want to follow you!”

“I don’t need followers.” Law said apathetically, moving his sword to rest on his other shoulder, “I’m a pirate, not a pastor or a priest.”


“I have no use for you.”

There was an “Ooooh” from the Strawhat crew. Law wasn’t really one to mince words. Strawhat tilted his head in a rather curious manner, smiling so smugly. Hyle, on the other hand, was speechless for a while, obviously shocked at the bluntness that was thrown at him. He regained composure almost immediately and—oh dear—batted his eyelids at Law. Suggestively.

“Oh, I’m sure…” Hyle’s lips curled a sweet, innocent smile worth of temptation as his hand reached out to trace two fingers along the waistband of Law’s pants, “…You can find some use—”


An unmistakable slapping sound was what ended that sentence. Strawhat had just casually slapped Hyle’s hand so hard, the impact brought the boy stumbling forward with his shoulder jerking in pain. As if adding insult to injury, Strawhat casually pulled Law back by the arm away from Hyle for good measure; as if he didn’t want any more of this kid’s anything touching his Torao. Hyle winced as he took his throbbing hand back, caressing it to see if it was broken.

Penguin shrugged. It wouldn’t be surprising if it was broken and even if it wasn’t, that hand would definitely swell later. Meanwhile, the Strawhats were giggling on their ship. Even Pirate Hunter Zoro was smirking supportively.

After making sure his hand was still on his wrist, Hyle turned to Luffy in a very offended way, “Excuse me?

“No.” was Luffy’s immediate answer, not bothering to let go of Law’s arm that he had grabbed earlier, “There isn’t an excuse for what you did.”

“What I did?” Hyle raised an eyebrow in disbelief, “You slapped my hand, Strawhat.”

Of course, I did.” Luffy responded with more disbelief, looking at Hyle from head to toe as if he was a rock that wasn’t supposed to talk, “Stop touching my stuff.”

Your stuff?” the blonde stranger’s head darted back, covering his lips with his fingers as his short laughter spilled in between, “I’m sorry, but… The captain is your stuff?”

Strawhat took a deep breath. Law’s tattooed fingers immediately gripped the rubber hand that was holding his arm as if halting whatever Luffy was going to say or do next. Strawhat grabbed his arm back in refusal, causing the older pirate to turn to him supposedly to say something until Luffy roughly grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him down for—what the fuck—a very, very messy kiss.

No, really, what the fuck?

There were gasps all over the place, loudest from the Strawhat crew who obviously didn’t know their captain was capable of doing such a thing. Nami was firing rapid questions at no one in particular, frantically shaking Usopp as the long-nosed sniper pulled on his hair disbelievingly. And honestly, who could blame them?

Now the Heart pirates were expecting their captain to shove Strawhat away and tell him off because he’d always been a private person. It was just the Trafalgar Law thing to do. Apparently, that wasn’t the case. Or at least not anymore because Trafalgar Law had closed his eyes and tilted his head to lock his lips properly with Strawhat as one of his hands snaked towards the small of Luffy’s back so he could pull the boy closer and his other hand caressed the side of the younger captain’s face.

“Ooohhh, dear…” Bepo managed to say. Shachi was also saying something, but Penguin wasn’t processing the information because Strawhat was now on standing his tiptoes, being so drowned in the kiss enough to forget that he was a rubber man who didn’t need to tiptoe. One of Luffy’s eyes cracked open so he could look smugly at Hyle who was standing in disbelief, eyes wide, mouth open, and body stiff.

Law pulled away, but Luffy quickly pulled him back into another open-mouthed kiss, making so damn sure the people watching knew he had his tongue in Law’s mouth. Nami and Usopp had shrieked at this point and Cyborg Franky lifted his shades just to be sure he was seeing right.

Strawhat was being met with no resistance. In fact, Law picked him up by the waist and just… kissed him back. Fervently. And Strawhat was still all for it, wrapping his arms around Law’s neck and burying his hands in Law’s hair, knocking his white fluffy hat off.

“U-um, guys…” Usopp choked with a hint of nervous laughter, “I… I think he gets it. Y-you can stop aaaaanytime now…”

If it was Usopp’s statement or the lack of air that caused the two captains to stop, no one would know. That or Strawhat’s legs around Law’s torso were becoming uncomfortable. Penguin wondered when the boy had managed to climb the captain, but what did it matter? Penguin’s brain was still busy processing the reality of Trafalgar Law engaging Monkey D. Luffy in a heated lip-locking session that involved tongue. Did someone just swap his captain with someone else?

“Ggghh… Toraooooo…” Strawhat was now burying his face into Law’s shoulder, “We kissed. In front of everyoooooone…”

Well, what do you know? The boy thought this was the proper time to be embarrassed. A bit too late, but better late than never maybe? Luffy was red up to his neck and ears as he hugged Law tighter, keeping his furiously blushing face as obscure as possible.

“Don’t tell me you’re embarrassed now, Strawhat-ya?” Law spoke as if there was no one around them as he tried to catch his breath, “You’re actually capable of shame?”

“Shut up!” Luffy managed to yell without lifting his head, “I just wanted to prove a point!”

“P-point… Y-you…!” Hyle had finally found his voice, “T-the two of you… Are the two of you lovers…!?”

Oh, finally. That question! Something good was coming out of all this shit and Penguin could now focus on something else than the disturbing image of his captain’s intense make-out session with the allied captain. There was a slightly awkward silence between the two crews. Penguin thought he heard Jean Bart swallow hard.

“Nothing official.” was Law’s cool answer, “We haven’t talked about it yet.”

Nami and Usopp drew deep gasps of disbelief. Zoro and Sanji immediately turned towards the Heart Pirates with murderous intent. Okay, what the hell for? Penguin felt the need to point out that it wasn’t like they knew anything more than what the Strawhats did. They were on the same boat of not knowing what the fuck was going on. Sure, they’d back the captain if the Strawhats tried to tear him apart, but, seriously, they weren’t planning this whole “nothing official” thing as a crew.

“Oh, fuck you!” Nami blared with an accusing finger as she gripped the railing she was leaning forward on, “After all that, there’s nothing official!? Luffy, how can you let him say that!?”

“But it’s true. We haven’t talked about it.” Law shrugged again, turning his head to look at Luffy, “Have we, Strawhat-ya?”

“But we’re aaaaaalliiiiiiiiiiiiiiies.” Luffy managed to say as if begging for people to stop talking to him, “Come on, Toraaaaoooooo…”

Someone had to define “allies” to Strawhat. And quick.

“Well… I…” Hyle managed to say and for a moment, Penguin had forgotten he was there and that he was the main trigger for the intense kissing activity, “S-since you’re not lovers… I… I’m not giving up…! I’m st—”

A blur of flesh, the sound of snapping rubber, and Luffy’s knuckles on Hyle’s cheeks punctuated the second sentence that Hyle never got to finish since he met Strawhat.

“Quit being stupid!” Strawhat yelled with angry brows knit tightly together, “You’re annoying!”

Hyle’s head threw back, his body following the movement until his back met the ground as Strawhat’s arm retracted quickly. The pretty young boy fell with a thud, the ground clouding up from the disturbance before gradually settling down. Hyle continue to lie there. Unconscious. Zoro’s arms fell from being crossed over his chest and Sanji’s mouth hung open enough to drop his cigarette. Luffy had just hit a person who was not a pirate, or a tyrant, or a generic bad guy. Well, he was attempting to be one a while ago, but whatever.

“You broke his neck.” Law broke the silence without a tinge of worry or concern as he watched the dust settle.

“Well, at least he’s not dead.” Luffy was not uncoiling himself from his ally who only made a low sound of agreement. Penguin noted how his captain looked more amused than surprised, as if this was just one of the outcomes he had in mind. Come to think of it, why did the captain let Hyle follow him all the way to the ship? He was very good at losing these “smitten little shits”, as he called them, by swapping himself away or by casually and literally taking their legs. Hyle couldn’t have been special after what transpired. What was the whole point of bringing him here for Strawhat to—Oh.

“Luffy!” Nami was the first to say something after a long chorus of shrieks with Usopp and Chopper who were both calling for a doctor, “Luffy, you don’t just punch regular people like that! My god!”

“Yes, I do!” Luffy’s head snapped towards Nami, his tone laced with disbelief and annoyance, “When someone’s trying to steal what’s mine, I do! I’m a pirate, don’t you forget it!”

“I know, but still—!” Nami groaned, “God, a little self-restraint could’ve gone a long way.”

“You could’ve just used Haki.” Sanji reasoned, a new cigarette between his lips as he felt for his lighter.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Luffy told his cook, “Haki wouldn’t have fixed his head!”

“Is he dead?” Zoro asked.

“He’s not dead.” Law answered.

Zoro shrugged. That was good enough for him it seemed.

In the background, Chopper was having trouble debating with himself whether to help this person his captain had punched in a fit of jealousy. Robin was telling him to go ahead and that Luffy would understand because he wasn’t a devil that killed people for the crime of kissing his Torao.

“I don’t think he would die if we left him here.” the well-endowed woman was saying with a calm smile, “But the birds might peck out his eyes.” The tanuki screeched at that, turning to Luffy desperately. Penguin could hear Bepo discussing crows with Jean Bart.

“If you want to help him, you can go on ahead.” Luffy yelled and Chopper beamed at that before turning into his human-like form and jumping off the ship with his medical bag in hand.

“But…” Luffy said, hopping off Law and giving him a stern look, “Don’t even think about Torao helping in any way!”

“I’m in a good mood so whatever.” Law shrugged and was the corner of his lips lifting to form a smile as he picked up his hat? Penguin smiled a bit as well. His captain was in a good mood indeed.

“Good.” Strawhat nodded before he took the older pirate’s hand and started towards the submarine.

“Your ship’s that way.” Law pointed to the Sunny and if he were still trying to hide his small knowing smile, he was failing miserably. Penguin wanted to yell at his captain to stop being a dope.

“Shut up.” Luffy growled at him, “After all of that, the only body you’ll be touching in the next few hours is mine.”

I somehow love the idea of Luffy just grabbing Law and kissing him senseless to prove a point.


In January 1982 Jeffrey Dahmer bought a gun from a store in Milwaukee, it was a .357 snubbed-nose Magnum with a black rubber grip handle. He used it only for target practice.

“Once my dad and grandma got wind thay I had that, they didn’t think it was a good idea so my dad took it away and ended up selling it down in Ohio.”- Jeffrey Dahmer

He only had the gun for about 6 months.

╰ ♬  ᶜᵒⁿᵗᶦⁿᵘᵉᵈ ʷᶦᵗʰ @christtinedaae

𝑀𝒾𝓈𝓈 𝒟𝒶𝒶𝑒:

          Christine was a writer at heart. Working with words was a talent that had always seemed to seep from her bones, urging her on through grades and through college. From the time in preschool spent teaching her to hold a pencil ( those silly rubber grips never really helped — Christine wanted to write, and she wanted to write her way ) to the day she got her degree from NYU, she knew that journalism was the career for her. Endless AP classes, honors classes, sleepless nights and difficult people had pushed her to her very limits until she was offered this. An internship with one of the best news agencies in the country, the opportunity of a lifetime — everything Christine had worked for finally coming together to present her this final challenge.

          The job was perfection. The journalist she was shadowing wasn’t.

          He was horrid !! He was so bitter and one-sided about everything, it was almost as if he didn’t realize that with journalism comes a necessity to talk to people. They had recently t r a n s f e r r e d him over to a more social area of the company, and clearly he wasn’t happy about such a fact — but didn’t he see that with journalism comes risks you have to be willing to take ??

          ( it also didn’t help that he was physically attractive imposing. Tall, sharp features — at least, the ones she could see were. The other half of his face was hidden behind a smooth mask, disguising every emotion that might play across his face. Every emotion except DISGUST. That one was clear as day. )

          Things had been rocky from the start. An early-morning call and improper shoes ( wasn’t being an intern just fetching coffee and listening to writers talk through closed doors ?? Christine hadn’t expected to actually be allowed out onto the field !! ) had started the spitfire until it had developed into an all-out war. And now, clearly, temperatures had reached an all-time high.

          ❝ You’re RIGHT. It hardly matters. I don’t want to work with a writer who doesn’t care !! ❞ It was a lame comeback, but it was all she could manage before shoving open the door and running to the bathroom for a good cry.

          She didn’t bother going back to finish the last three hours of her scheduled day. The man — Aaron ?? She couldn’t remember — clearly didn’t want anything to do with her. She wasn’t scheduled until Friday to return, anyway. Days passed and she sat in awkwardness, unsure of what to do, before Friday rolled around.

          There was no more waiting to do. Pulling out her laptop, Christine drafted an email.

          To whom it may concern

          I’m scheduled to come in at 9 am Friday morning. I’ve received no word of any sort of reassignment — so, with that fact, I’ll make a Starbucks run before hand. What’s your order?

          Christine Daae

In the following days off, after that humiliating incident, he found it was not the change in his position, but rather Miss Daae that made the memory one that was unforgiving ; bothersome. he was not easily flustered. he never has been, always professional in his dealings regardless of the wariness of those around him. he was respected from a distance in his career — one built upon dedication, intense focus and a drive he possessed for few other areas. all had been well, or as well as things could be or had ever been in his life. then a quick bureaucratic decision turned it all to shambles. his position was not lost. seniority and the evidence of his work kept his superiors from ever firing him — even during his outbursts, which although rare were always infamous.

when he’d managed to find Christine Daae’s direct superior ( directly, without hesitation or a moment’s pause after leaving the girl’s presence ) Giry had informed him that reassignment was impossible. And as desperate as he was, he’d gone over her head to Khan instead. In turn, he only reaffirmed Giry’s claim, stated that there was nothing he could do with the board decision being concrete during a slump in profits, flattered him by being the only capable journalist without an intern or assistant, and advised him to put up with his unfortunate student ( as if he were any better off ! ) until further information was known about the agency and its situation. it was with no small amount of amusement that his colleague also seemed to to respond to the consequent tirades and irritation of the scene Erik made in result. Give her a chance, Erik. She’s at the top of her class. She’s bright. she’s not bad, either —don’t make me envy you. who knows, you might hit it off. at that, Erik glared. if looks could kill, Nadir Khan would be as much a CORPSE as he was. it was only after exhaustively rubbing his face that he realized he forgot to replace the mask. she’d hit it off.

days later, staring bitterly at the monitor and the article he was working on ( no thanks to she who scattered his notes : it took hours to reorganize his incoherent script ) he saw an alert on his screen. an email from — shit. he stared at the desk, tapping his fingers and felt so anxious that a drink or cigarette felt suddenly very necessary — NO. he bit his lip and grimaced as he opened the message.

and then the confusion settled in. his fingers hovered over the keyboard, indecision radiating through the veins of his arms, trembling hands, weary mind. he typed anyway.

Miss Daae —

I’d apologize for getting back to you on short notice, but I’m sure you’ll agree it’s considerably late for that. I’ve held off on informing you until every chance was spent — out of absolute necessity. The board, your superiors and mine will not reassign either of us. The obvious conclusion is a continuity of our working conditions until further developments. I‘m willing to ignore Monday if you will extend the same courtesy. You’ve made me an offer I can’t refuse.

venti espresso, breve. no syrup. no foam. two extra shots. negative on the cyanide. Although I’ll take my chances. I’ll be in at 10.

— Erik Rivière

he shut the laptop and fell asleep in the recliner, observing the lights just outside and wondering what had compelled her to offer a branch he was formerly sure had already s n a p p e d.

The war had begun and nobody saw it. The storm was lowering and nobody knew it.
Wars are being fought all the time, with the world outside no more the wiser: the war on crime, the war on poverty, the war on drugs. This war was smaller than those, and huger, and more selective, but it was as real as any.
A falling girder in Manhattan closed a street for two days. It killed two pedestrians, an Arabic taxi-driver and the taxi-driver’s passenger.
A trucker in Denver was found dead in his home. The murder instrument, a rubber-gripped claw-headed hammer, had been left on the floor beside his corpse. His face was untouched, but the back of his head was completely destroyed, and several words in a foreign alphabet were written on the bathroom mirror in brown lipstick.
In a postal sorting station in Phoenix, Arizona, a man went crazy, went postal as they said on the evening news, and shot Terry “The Troll” Evenson, a morbidly obese, awkward man who lived alone in a trailer. Several other people in the sorting station were fired on, but only Evenson was killed. The man who fired the shots–first thought to be a disgruntled postal worker–was not caught, and was never identified.
“Frankly,” said Terry “The Troll” Evenson’s supervisor, on the News at Five, if anyone around here was gonna go postal, we would have figured it was gonna be The Troll. Okay worker, but a weird guy. I mean, you can never tell, huh?“
That interview was cut when the segment was repeated, later that evening.
A community of nine anchorites in Montana was found dead. Reporters speculated that it was a mass suicide, but soon the cause of death was reported as carbon monoxide poisoning from an elderly furnace.
A lobster tank was smashed in the lobby of an Atlanta seafood restaurant.
A crypt was defiled in the Key West graveyard.
An Amtrack passenger train hit a UPS truck in Idaho, killing the driver of the truck. No passengers were seriously injured.
It was still a cold war at this stage, a phony war, nothing that could be truly won or lost.
The wind stirred in the branches of the tree. Sparks flew from the fire. The storm was coming.
—  Neil Gaiman - American Gods, 2001