@toffiyiu: something light today #onepiece #luffy #portgasdace #sabo #aslbrothers garp

ken
ken
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Region: PH
Wednesday 24 June 2026 02:41:51 GMT
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d3vildarling
dottore's #1 a$$ sniffer :
if u were my grandma I would sing
2026-06-24 08:46:34
1602
10straw_hat_pirates
10Straw_Hat_Pirates :
Sorry to hear about your accident next week…
2026-06-24 07:10:23
10558
evan.evan5864
mei-Ackerman あ :
ken?, hm nice name
2026-07-07 09:12:43
0
l4rissa_hajj
larissa🇱🇧 :
hire a bodyguard im so serious
2026-06-24 10:04:03
5384
pengwingco
aya :
I hope your phone charger only works at a specific angle. I hope your favorite show gets canceled right before the finale. I hope your pillow is always warm on both sides. I hope you always get stuck behind someone walking slowly and aimlessly. I hope your favorite pen runs out halfway through something important. I hope every soda you drink is flat. I hope you always bite the inside of your cheek right after it heals. I hope your socks are always slightly damp.. I hope you always itch in a spot you can’t reach. I hope your ice cream always melts too fast. I hope your shoelaces always come untied. I hope every time you sneeze, someone says “bless you” two seconds too late. I hope your autocorrect always changes your words to something embarrassing. I hope your favorite song gets stuck in your head but you only remember one line. I hope your favorite mug gets chipped just enough to be annoying but not enough to throw away. I hope you always spill just a little bit of coffee on yourself. I hope your toast always lands butter side down. I hope you always get notifications just as you fall asleep. I hope you always forget why you walked into a room. I hope the person in front of you at every drive-thru orders for 12 people. I hope every vending machine eats your money. I hope every hoodie you wear has the strings uneven. I hope you always get the squeaky shopping cart. I hope your shampoo bottle always has just a little too much left to throw out. I hope your battery dies every time you're 1% away from saving your progress. I hope you always miss the skip ad button by 0.0005 cm. I hope your popcorn burns in the microwave every time. I hope your Netflix always buffers at the good parts. I hope your neighbors practice tap dance at 3 a.m. I hope every pair of earbuds you own gets tangled instantly. I hope you always stub your pinky toe on furniture. I hope your packages always arrive one day after you needed them. I hope your pizza is always just slightly undercooked. I hope every pair of pants you own develops a hole in the worst possible place. I hope your toast never pops, it just sits there until it's cold.
2026-06-24 11:31:30
400
swagbyami
amira :
i will forever defend garp. he loved his kids so so much.
2026-06-24 16:43:05
1211
portgasd_ann
ann🦫 :
and I was having a good day
2026-06-24 08:44:11
678
_cryclown
࣪ ִֶָ☾. Clown ٠࣪⭑ :
Hire a bodyguard, I’m so fr
2026-06-24 08:46:10
875
superkkun
superkuun :
agora pra salvar o koby ele até entra na frente pra levar o golpe
2026-06-24 13:43:11
446
migi43
Stuart Bailey :
Man you can’t be doing this to me I’m at work big dog.
2026-07-06 17:21:12
0
trooper8345
🍐Eli Pear🍐 :
Ya you going to need to hire somebody after this one😭
2026-07-06 17:20:03
0
mishita389
Mishita :
🥺 nada me hara odiarte garp
2026-06-24 19:26:43
63
tomy_tomate_uwu
Tomy-Dono (Smoker's Bf) :
Yo Si Te Quiero Garp 💔
2026-06-25 01:00:28
16
kojimayouhei
soohyun :
if this is light to you I'm afraid of watching your other works now
2026-06-24 05:24:24
181
piecesoface
Ace ˃ᴗ˂ :
2026-06-24 08:30:46
40
wyutao
★ 𝓜ary . ⩜⃝ :
PQ VOCÊS FAZEM ISSO😭
2026-06-24 12:33:09
20
onionssnoino
onionssnoino :
Sorry I hate garp so much
2026-06-25 19:15:36
5
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There's a woman you've called just to hear her say nothing important. The one who picked you on a Tuesday and never once made you audition for it. You spent years studying love through people who could leave. Men who chose you on Friday and forgot you by Sunday. You learned to read silence, to brace, to earn your way back in. You got good at being chosen for a week and quietly dropped by the next. And the whole time, she was sitting across the table from you. Splitting the last bite without asking. Laughing too loud at your worst joke. Driving to the airport at 6am because you asked once, half-serious. Texting you the next morning just to make sure you got home. Nobody calls that a love story. So nobody calls it serious. We saved that word for the people who could break our hearts. Nobody says this part out loud. The friendships were teaching you the standard the whole time. How it feels to be chosen without performing for it. To be known on your worst day and kept anyway. To be loved in a way that never kept score, never went cold to punish you. That love had a shape long before any man tried to take the credit. You thought those years were the practice round. The warm-up before the real relationship finally arrived. But the real thing was already happening. It just never came with a label that made the world treat it as important. She cried at your kitchen table. She remembered your mother's birthday. She sat in the hospital hallway when the men were nowhere to be found. She loved you through versions of yourself you were ashamed of. That wasn't rehearsal. That was the love quietly showing you what you should NEVER accept as less. And once you've felt it, you can't unfeel it. Every cold text, every half-effort after that gets measured against her. The bar was set years ago — across that table, by her.
There's a woman you've called just to hear her say nothing important. The one who picked you on a Tuesday and never once made you audition for it. You spent years studying love through people who could leave. Men who chose you on Friday and forgot you by Sunday. You learned to read silence, to brace, to earn your way back in. You got good at being chosen for a week and quietly dropped by the next. And the whole time, she was sitting across the table from you. Splitting the last bite without asking. Laughing too loud at your worst joke. Driving to the airport at 6am because you asked once, half-serious. Texting you the next morning just to make sure you got home. Nobody calls that a love story. So nobody calls it serious. We saved that word for the people who could break our hearts. Nobody says this part out loud. The friendships were teaching you the standard the whole time. How it feels to be chosen without performing for it. To be known on your worst day and kept anyway. To be loved in a way that never kept score, never went cold to punish you. That love had a shape long before any man tried to take the credit. You thought those years were the practice round. The warm-up before the real relationship finally arrived. But the real thing was already happening. It just never came with a label that made the world treat it as important. She cried at your kitchen table. She remembered your mother's birthday. She sat in the hospital hallway when the men were nowhere to be found. She loved you through versions of yourself you were ashamed of. That wasn't rehearsal. That was the love quietly showing you what you should NEVER accept as less. And once you've felt it, you can't unfeel it. Every cold text, every half-effort after that gets measured against her. The bar was set years ago — across that table, by her.

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