#like this!

[lord-pretzel]

Never noticed the simulant's gun in Justice has "Make My Day" written on it before

[kindaoptimisticsquirrel]

Ok I laughed when Wolfwood ran into the metal bars :D

[nebulanewts]

Oh look,another thing I was thinking about a lot,here’s the official school uniforms for Ikizuraibu! I love how realistic yet idol-costumey they are,since I THINK they’re supposed to be idol costumes?? Not sure but they’re super super cute,especially Shion + Miracle’s imo :3

(Also does Hanabi have the first kimono school uniform? Bc idk if I’ve seen it in any other anime,but hers is really cool too :0c)

[theeofficialnightmare69]

Thinking about how Buggy would still lose in life even if Roger had lived.

Think about it!

Roger survives his illness and everyone is happy but that doesn’t exactly mean Buggy’s lackluster treatment as a second to Shanks would stop. Then Roger surviving means Rouge probably would have survived and they would have raised Ace together fully thrusting Buggy into a middle child position.

Without Roger dying Shanks and Buggy would also never have their separation in the rain so Buggy probably would have ended up as Shanks’s “Co-Captain” but everyone treats Buggy like a second in command regardless. So now Buggy’s just trapped in a position he doesn’t really care for and never achieves dreams of his own forever overshadowed by Shanks.

He really just starts to wither away in such an odd sense that he’s still there and still important for everything to function but he’s not really needed in a social sense. Slowly becoming someone who goes through the motions than anything and watches as his family grows around him with more kids full of promise than he ever was.

Be nice if a strong blond marine who found himself in a similar predicament recruited Buggy to help him take down his crazy ass brother lol 🤷

[k1d1c4rus]

crepuscular - jehoney

Young Dracula (TV) // Vladimir Dracula/Robin Branagh, Vladimir Dracula & Dracula // Explicit // Graphic Depictions of Violence

vlad is ten, and he's being shaken awake by the cold, insistent hands of his father. or robin tastes like copper and menthol. he slips down vlad's throat easy as anything, fills him up like a three course meal. or vlad is twenty-six, and he still has nightmares.

read in full on ao3

Vlad is ten, and he's being shaken awake by the cold, insistent hands of his father. His face looms out of the darkness, grotesque mask, nightmare fuel. 

Vlad had been having a nice dream: he was in a playground - the one backed on to the school down the hill. The children he watches through binoculars from the castle, that he sees in glimpses through trees, were surrounding him. They were playing marbles, or hopscotch, or some kind of game he only knows how to play a version of that he and Ingrid have made up themselves. The other kids had warm, bright smiles, and the sun was shining, and Vlad was happy.

He tries to hold onto this feeling as nails dig into his arms and tug him upright in bed, out of the dream world sun-soaked playground. Dad's hungry, he can tell that much - knows well enough when his eyes get dark like this to leave him alone. The only problem being, Dad won't let him. 

“Get up, Vladimir, come on. We've got to get you out of this abominable diurnal habit.”

Vlad doesn't know what diurnal means. He doesn't understand why he's being shaken awake in the middle of the night and thrown his cloak to wear on top of his pyjamas. He doesn't even get chance to put any shoes on before he’s being set on the window ledge, trying not to look down into the spiralling dark.

Vlad doesn’t like the dark, or heights, or these excursions that his dad has started taking him on. He wishes he'd take Ingrid instead. He’s always exhausted the next day, can’t keep his eyes open for whichever stern Romanian woman is supposed to be tutoring them until Dad grows tired or suspicious of her. Or hungry. The last one whipped red lines into his palms after he dozed off over his Latin translations, while Ingrid laughed, and he at least got some satisfaction from tearfully showing his dad and seeing the brand new hire the next morning. 

Then his feet leave the stone sill, and the wind whips his face, and he screws his eyes shut against the landscape rushing past, the sight of his Dad as some airborne nightmare, grasping his shoulders until they hurt.

--teach you a thing or two about hunting...

The words fly past him, he can’t tell if they’re spoken or thoughts, but there are others that press into his mind too - ones that are bloody and hungry, that he doesn’t understand, that scare him. Before he can parse too many of them, they’re back on the ground.

They're on the edge of the forest - he hasn’t been into the village enough to know where, but there’s what he thinks must be a bar through the trees, lights and music and laughter from inside. Dad disappears upwards in a flash of smoke. He scrunches his bare toes up against the mulch underneath them.

Dad’s gone for a while. Vlad can see the lights in the bar, and he's so tired - wonders how angry Dad would be if he fell asleep. He sits as comfortably as he can in the damp undergrowth, pulls his knees up to his chest to try and keep warm. Then, he sees it - on the far side of the building - two figures emerge from the back door, all pressed up against each other. 

Vlad knows he's supposed to watch. It feels weird, though. Wrong. He doesn't like seeing them rub up against each other, but at the same time he can't look away. The woman has long, dark hair, and Dad manœuvres her behind the building, tilts her head to the side, and kisses her jaw. 

Then he tips his head back, and clamps his teeth into the stretch of her neck. 

It hits him all at once: the choked-off gasp, the smell of blood, the panicked wide whites of her eyes as she scans the treeline for someone to step in and save her. He wants to screw his eyes shut, but he can't, watches paralysed as Dad drinks the life out of her until her hands fall limp by her sides and she slumps against him. He thinks he might be crying, breaths coming fast and shallow.

Then the back door of the bar swings open, a man emerges and Dad's gone, leaving her a crumpled thing on the floor. The man staggers over to her.

He screams, (her father? husband?) and Vlad sees the way he falls to his knees, his face contorting in grief.

Then there's an arm around him, and his feet leave the ground, tugged into the air and pulled through the black night.

read in full on ao3

[fictionadventurer]

I won Wordle on the FIRST WORD!! Same word I start with every single time just happened to be today's word! This feels way cooler than it should! Rejoice with me!

[weirdplutoprince]

Look, I understand if something isn't happening at the time of the writing you might be tempted not to tag it in the fic. It's not technically being depicted, you say. But there is a point where dealing with the aftermath of something is very much engaging with that something, and that might warrant a warning. A point where it's absence just highlights its presence, making it all the more obvious to whoever witness it. What I'm trying to say is if you're going to make me read about teen wolf men breastfeeding then I think I at least deserved a mpreg tag to prepare myself first . maybe?