Help Me I Am Literally So Unwell About One Piece Ep 1112. Shanks. Shanks My Beloved. My Gorgeous Red

Katakuri appreciation post. No reason for it, I just thought of him and how amazingly edible he is and I thought he deserved some appreciation for being so versatile :)

He does have one very close friend on the the ship he's on. Because I was making this story whilst incredibly sleep deprived I decided to name that friend Bobicus. Think of the relationship odysseus has with polites and then double it and that's Bobicus and Steven-dave. Bobicus will figure out somethings up almost immediately but he trusts Steven-Dave with his life so he won't bring it up unless he needs to.

And Steven-dave was on Odysseus' ship, that's why he's managed to survive as long as he has.

re: epic time travel fix it

do you mind sharing more about steven-dave? was he one of the guys that was in the cave with polyphemus? was he part of the group that turned into pigs by circe? or did he stay back on the ship for those? (no pressure to answer tho! i’m just very invested in the life of your intrepid time traveller :D)

Steven-dave was there for everything. In the og timeline, he was in the cave with Polyphemus, got turned into a pig, the whole lot of it. Now that he's regressed, he's stuck being the only one who has common sense whilst the rest of the crew continue to do more and more stupid shit. Honestly, he's going to need a pay rise by the time I'm done with him. If you want to know more about steven-dave in general then feel free to pop me another ask :)

I am so fucking normal about them. I swear I'm not foaming at the mouth, you're just seeing things I swear-

There is no future tense in the English language. It's literally just the present tense with a modal verb tacked on the beginning.

"Seeing Cale suffer is my guilty pleasure."

No. No it isn't. Why would you feel guilty for witnessing our lord and saviour Cale-nim go though immense suffering to defend the rest of the world(s)? If you didn't see it then nobody would know of his magnificent deeds. Nobody would be able to compose ballads in his honour, craft sculptures or write accounts of his various heroic feats. Nobody would join our glorious religion, Caleism.

Watching Cale-nim suffer isn't a guilty pleasure, it's just a pleasure.

Do you think Katakuri could turn his Mochi into a glome?

Yes, our lord and saviour katakuri the mochi man is so incredibly versatile that he can do absolutely anything

The night hung heavy with anticipation as the neon glow of the city's underbelly illuminated the makeshift racetrack. The air crackled with the energy of imminent competition, and the distant hum of engines hinted at the approaching storm.

Amidst the throng of racers, Diana revved the engine of her cherry pink Chevrolet Corvette, the sleek curves of the sports car gleaming under the neon lights. The scent of burning rubber permeated the air as she eyed her opponent, the legendary 'Tyrant' known for his burned orange Toyota Supra MK IV.

Engines roared to life, and the racers edged to the starting line, the anticipation mounting with each passing second. Nick, masked and clad in the shadows of his reputation, revved his Supra's engine, the orange glow of the tail lights casting an eerie aura around the car.

With a signal, the race exploded into motion. Tires screeched as the two vehicles catapulted into the night, streaks of cherry pink and burned orange leaving trails of color in their wake. The city became a blur as they navigated the winding streets, each turn a test of skill and nerve.

Diana's Corvette, agile and daring, hugged the curves with precision. The roar of her engine harmonized with the pulsating beat of the city, creating a symphony of speed. Nick's Supra, a manifestation of controlled power, surged forward like a burning comet, the orange glow illuminating the darkness.

The roar of engines intertwined with the pulsating beat of the city, and amidst the chaos, Nick's Supra and Diana's Corvette danced, each maneuver a carefully calculated step in their high-speed ballet. The neon-lit streets became their canvas, and the race, their masterpiece.

As the racers hurtled through the urban labyrinth, each strategically timed drift and acceleration became a subtle exchange of wits. The neon-lit streets transformed into a high-stakes chessboard, where every move could be the difference between victory and defeat.

The crowd lining the racetrack erupted into cheers, their voices blending with the roar of the engines. In the heart of the race, amidst the adrenaline and rivalry, Diana and Nick pushed their cars to the limit. The finish line loomed, a distant beacon in the chaos.

As the finish line neared, the air crackled with the tension of uncertainty. In a photo finish, the two cars crossed the line simultaneously, leaving the outcome hanging in the balance. The crowd erupted into cheers, and even in the anonymity of their masks, the exchange of glances between Diana and Nick spoke volumes.

The silence that followed was broken by the announcement, "It's a tie!" The racetrack echoed with the revelation, and in that moment, Diana earned her moniker as 'the Empress.' The mysterious 'Tyrant' had found an equal, and the legend of their rivalry had begun.

Just started rewatching mha but this time I'm watching it with the express intent of figuring out how the hero's PR teams as well as the HPSC managed to spin certain situations *cough cough* Overhaul situation *cough cough* Kamino situation *cough cough* in order to not have people rioting against hero society and it's incompetency as a whole. Tbh I just really wanna be able to observe a top hero's PR department for like a month just to see how they do it. Tbh I wouldn't even be a hero in the mha universe, the PR department is where the money is at and with minimal risk of bodily harm.

Hello, my friends, I hope you're all well 🫂💗

Thank you from the bottom of our hearts for your generous and constant support. During these challenging times, you are our true source of hope. With your kindness, we are one step closer to regaining stability and security. 🙏🏻🍉🍉

However, we’re still far from our main goal and have not yet reached even a quarter of what we’re striving for in this campaign. 😔

Reaching $9,000 as soon as possible will ease the burdens we face and help us rebuild our lives. 🙏🏻🇵🇸

Every contribution, no matter how small, brings us hope and takes us one step closer to a brighter future. 🙌🏼❤️

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I'm still really not sure how to do these but I'd really appreciate it if anybody who can would donate what they can and keep supporting in other ways if they can't donate

Dick Grayson barely registered the creak of his apartment door as he stumbled in, shoulders sagging under the weight of another grueling night. Three jobs and a patrol shift in Blüdhaven would do that to a guy. He kicked off his boots, dragged himself toward the couch, and froze mid-step.

Someone was already here.

For a split second, instinct had him reaching for the escrima sticks he kept stashed near the door. But then he caught the faintest whiff of something familiar—coffee beans? The expensive kind. And the faint rustle of someone shifting in the dark. He relaxed. Probably one of his siblings. Jason liked breaking in unannounced when he was in a mood, Tim treated locks like they were a mere suggestion, and Damien was Damien.

"Tim, if you're raiding my coffee stash again, at least leave some for me this time," Dick grumbled, flopping onto the couch without bothering to look.

Silence.

"Jason? Did you lose your keys, or are you here to eat all my leftovers again?" He paused. "Duke, if that's you, I—okay, actually, no idea why you'd be brooding in the dark, but it's been a long day, so I'm just gonna roll with it."

The silence stretched on, but Dick was too exhausted to care. Whoever it was, they could wait until morning. "Look, I’m on your side. Or, I will be in the morning when I’ve had some sleep." He yawned, dragging himself up off the couch and toward his bedroom. "I’ll make breakfast. We’ll talk then. Pancakes or eggs, your call. Just...try not to trash the place while I’m out, yeah?"

The figure didn’t move, and Dick didn’t wait for an answer. He fell into bed and passed out almost immediately.

---

When Dick woke up, the first thing he noticed was the sunlight streaming through the blinds. The second thing he noticed was the smell of coffee.

He frowned. Coffee? He hadn’t made any.

Dragging himself out of bed, he shuffled into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. There, on the counter, was a steaming mug of coffee and a note. Beside the note sat a printed receipt and a bag of fresh groceries.

Dick blinked, reaching for the note first. The handwriting was sharp and precise:

> "Not one of your siblings. Sorry for the confusion. Came to deliver a message, but your ‘brotherly’ assumption and hospitality caught me off guard. Your fridge was so pathetic it offended me, so I ordered you groceries. They should last a week. Try to survive the next visit. You seem like a stand-up guy. —K"

He stared at the note, then at the receipt. The assassin—or whoever they were—had bought him eggs, milk, bread, fresh vegetables, and even a few snacks.

Setting the note aside, Dick opened his fridge. Sure enough, it was freshly stocked. His two protein bars and box of expired cereal were still there, now dwarfed by the bounty of fresh food.

He shook his head, a grin tugging at his lips. “Only me,” he muttered, sipping the coffee. It was good. Better than what he usually bought.

Dick leaned against the counter, rereading the note. Whoever this “K” was, they clearly didn’t know how to keep things impersonal. And while the whole “message from an assassin” thing was technically alarming, he couldn’t help but feel amused.

“I guess I should be worried,” he mused aloud, glancing at the groceries again. “But hey, at least they care about my nutrition.”

It was the weirdest start to a morning he’d had in a while, but for Dick Grayson, that wasn’t saying much.