#I have a thing for space pirates now | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

antilocaprine · 1 year

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I got an anon ask that wondered if I had any plans to continue this prompt fill, which is an AU of my already-an-AU Among Us/HLVRAI crossover Some Stars Are Not Enough. This is the result. (You don’t have to read Some Stars to get this, but you should read the prompt fill linked above, since this picks up right where that leaves off.)

45% Chance

The ship groans around Benrey as he sprints through the corridors. This time, he’s literally going through them - with no humans left on the ship, he’s free to clip through the structure. It slows him down a touch, since he needs to make sure nothing is exposed to the vacuum of space before he steps into it, but he’s got all his senses flared out like a net, his form warping into a dish-like shape with limbs in order to catch all the information he can get before he reaches the lab and the spacewalking suits.

Something cracks on the other side of the bulkhead he was just about to cross into and he jukes to the right, pounding through several hissing pipes and another bulkhead. He stumbles out into the lab and steps sideways to get himself free of the bed he’d walked into. Casting a frantic glance around, he lunges for the spacesuits and wrenches them out of their cabinet, breaking the door lock so he can pull them free.

The lock floats by his face and he pauses to stare at it, then at the rest of the room. The lab is a mess of floating jars and colorful liquids that are coalescing into wobbly balls, drifting aimlessly through the air. The gravity is failing, and that means the second reactor is close to failing, too. Benrey moves faster.

There isn’t enough time to try to rig the suits together. Benrey jams himself into the biggest one, which will allow him to keep his own suit on with its auxiliary oxygen pack. However, that means he’s down to two arms and two legs - the spacewalking suits weren’t designed to change with him.

The screaming alarms rise in pitch and distort, then fall silent with a strangled chime. Benrey whips his head around and listens. There is a faint whine coming from the rear of the ship, which is now below him - he had to brace himself against the wall to get into the suit in the failing gravity. The reactor is going, and he’s running out of time.

He’s not really sure what his plan was beyond this. He’s in a suit that will give him four hours of oxygen on top of the two hours of oxygen his own everyday suit contains. (The people who sent them on this mission - the humans, not the Supervisors - figured if something in the ship broke and they lost oxygen for over two hours, it wasn’t going to be fixed. Why waste resources?) Benrey’s own, ahem, unique physiology means that he can use the same amount of oxygen for about twice as long as a human. It’s still probably not going to be enough.

The ship groans in protest of what’s happening to it. Benrey feels a bit bad - it’s not the ship’s fault it was chosen for a mission that was doomed to fail. They’re all just playing pieces in a bigger game that none of them know the rules to. It’s not fair - but what is?

Gordon’s shocked face flashes through Benrey’s mind, and he takes a sharp breath. He shouldn’t leave it like that. If there’s any way to get back to them -

Probably not quite a 45% chance, now. Maybe 20%, at least? Benrey’s not great at calculations, but he can probably swing 20%.

The ship screams and something wrenches. Suddenly, half of it falls quiet.

“Hull breach,” Benrey hisses. “Fuck.”

He shoves the huge spacewalking helmet between his legs, locking his ankles around it. Upside down in the far corner of the lab, he pulls his torso out of the spacewalking suit and shoves more arms out, catching the walls and ripping them free. Rivets ping loose and tumble through the air as Benrey curls the walls around himself. He doesn’t need a lot of room - just enough space to keep all the suits folded inside with their fresh caches of oxygen. The tricky part will be getting a solid enough seal to maintain the atmosphere with no gaskets and no external bulkheads.

Unless…Benrey glances up through the narrowing space above his head. If he can reach the right wall panel, then maybe he could get a secondary layer. He’ll have to move quickly, though. Already he can hear cracks forming in the nearby bulkheads.

The vacuum is closing in.

* * *

“Dad? Shouldn’t you put your helmet back on?”

Joshua’s voice is shaky, and Gordon snaps back to himself. He’d been floating away, his eyes on the porthole window of the escape pod that is rocketing away from the stricken spaceship.

“Yeah - yes, right.” He shoves the helmet back on and engages the locks with a hiss. Then his eyes flick to the control panel and he curses. 45% oxygen? That must be what Benrey saw, what made him back out. Just Gordon and Joshua will be okay, but adding another adult would have shortened their conscious time by a potentially lethal amount.

“Is Benrey gonna be okay?”

The pod is traveling on a surprisingly straight path, and Gordon can still see the ship. The pod must be rotating - or the ship is, because it’s tilting nose-down in the porthole view. He finds himself thinking about terrestrial ships sinking at sea.

“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Gordon reassures his son, though his voice is strangled.

He feels like he’s going insane. Benrey kissed him. What the fuck?

“Oh. Okay.” Josh looks around, but the jumpseat harness keeps him from moving too much. “Where’re we going?”

Gordon glances back at the control screen. “The pods are all - uh, they’re programmed to rendezvous with each other to form a raft. Then they’ll send out a distress signal, and someone will pick us up.”

“Okay.” Josh kicks his feet. “Um. How long?”

“It depends, buddy. Might be in ten minutes or two hours, or tomorrow.” Or a week, but Gordon isn’t going to mention that. Hopefully someone had gotten off a long-range distress signal from the ship’s transmitter while he and Joshie were locked in the stargazing room. Otherwise they’ll be at the mercy of interplanetary shipping schedules. All the planet-to-planet people transfers are limited to once a month, and they certainly don’t have enough air to hold out that long.

“Okay,” Joshua says, sounding preoccupied.

Gordon knows that tone. He tilts his helmet against the shoulder harness to look over at his kid. “You have to go to the bathroom, don’t you?”

Joshua nods.

Gordon sighs and checks the control panel. “Can you hold it for ten more minutes? We’re supposed to dock with the rest of the raft then, and after that you can get up and use the cubicle.”

“Can I go now?”

“No. If we get knocked around by something you could get hurt.”

“Okay,” Joshie sighs, and Gordon stretches himself up to peer back at the ship, now inverted in the pod’s window.

It looks…weird. Some sort of vapor is coming off the snout, and it’s tilting away from the wispy trail.

Gordon breathes in sharply through his nose. That’s atmosphere. The ship is venting atmosphere, which means there’s a hull breach, which means -

“Shit,” he swears under his breath.

“Huh?”

“Nothing!”

Joshua seems like he’s ready to protest, but Gordon holds a hand up. “I’m - watching the numbers, okay?”

Apparently that sounds boring enough to satisfy Joshua, and he ducks his chin and pats his legs in an off-kilter drumbeat.

Through the window, the ship cracks in half.

Gordon’s muscles are so tense his vision is starting to darken around the edges. His heartbeat is pounding in his ears, and he forces himself to breathe steadily as he watches the front half of the ship droop, then disconnect from the back half. A burst of debris is expelled from what must be the cargo hold - Gordon clinically picks out chairs, gas cans, crates, and tables.

He doesn’t see another pod. He’s not sure there were any left. Benrey was bunking with Tommy, and Tommy’s pod is blinking in the image of the raft on the control panel, so that means that, unless someone else hopped into that pod and left their own, Benrey’s trapped on the dying ship.

He must have a plan, Gordon’s sure of it. He must. There’s no way he would have sent Gordon and Joshua away without having a plan - right?

But he’d kissed Gordon. And it felt like a goodbye. It feels more and more like a goodbye with every passing second, as Gordon watches the field of debris expand into the vacuum of space.

“Dad, can I -”

Gordon can’t pay attention to what Joshua says, because at that moment, the ship explodes.

It should make noise, he finds himself thinking wildly. It should be making a sound, or there should be a shockwave that hits the pod and sends it spinning. But this is the void of space, and all there is is a bloom of terrible light that obscures the intact rear half of the ship. When it clears - fire can’t live without oxygen - the entire stern of the ship is so much blackened debris, scattered chunks of bulkhead tumbling away in all directions. Without air resistance, their momentum will keep them going practically forever. Maybe someday, one of them will end up crashing through the atmosphere of the planet the ship came from. Maybe someday, some tiny remnant of their vessel will find its way home.

The pod’s transmitter crackles with static. “...Freeman! Mr. Freeman? Can you hear me? Mr. Freeman, come in!”

Gordon reaches out and hits the transponder button with numb fingers. “I can hear you, Tommy,” he says, voice hollow. “Can you see -”

He can’t finish, but luckily Tommy doesn’t need him to. “We saw it. You’ll connect, um, you’ll be docking with us in just a second.”

Sure enough, a heavy clunk sounds through the bulkhead behind Gordon’s jumpseat, and the whole pod shudders. Some sense of motion that he hadn’t even noticed ceases. He twists his head around, but he can’t see past the helmet, and there’s no window back there, anyway. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He doesn’t know what to think.

“Fucking finally,” Forzen’s voice snaps through the static. “What took you so long?”

“We were trapped,” Gordon rasps. “On the observation deck. The doors locked on us.”

Several voices clamor at that, but Gordon can’t pick any of them out.

“Dad!” Joshua whispers. “Can I go to the bathroom?”

“Yeah - yeah, go ahead.” Gordon unclips his own harness at the same time as Joshie does, but he kicks away from the jumpseat and plasters himself against the window.

In the distance, the ship continues to drift apart.

Tommy’s voice cuts through the chaos. “Mr. Freeman, is Benrey with you? He’s not showing up on the scans.”

Gordon swallows. “No,” he chokes out, then stops. What else can he say? They already know he’s not with any of the others.

“Oh,” Tommy replies, and then he, too, falls silent.

“So…maybe he’s the one who sabotaged the ship,” Forzen says after a moment, and Gordon’s vision whites out. Luckily, several other voices are jumping to Benrey’s defense, Dr. Coomer and Bubby flinging curses over the channel and Darnold’s voice trying to call for calm.

“It wasn’t him.” When Tommy speaks, the others go quiet. “One person couldn’t do that. Watch - look at it! It was broken from the start.”

The others go quiet, and Gordon’s throat is hot and thick with grief and fury as he looks at the desolation. Benrey was supposed to get out of that. How could he just kiss Gordon, push him away, and then - and then die?

How dare he?

“I got a signal out before the, um, the ship’s communications went down,” Tommy continues. “My - um, I mean, we should be getting picked up soon.”

“How soon is soon, my dear Tommy?” Dr. Coomer’s normally jovial voice is tight.

“Um, really soon.”

Light blooms across the pod window again, and Gordon flinches back, squinting into the glare. This isn’t the dirty yellow-orange glow of an explosion - this is the clean white light of a spaceship.

“Is that a courier?” Forzen’s tone is disbelieving. “Is that a fucking courier? Who the fuck heard you and has the clearance to re-route a fucking courier -”

His voice cuts out with a screech of static.

Please stand by, the courier says in a gentle voice. You will be relocated shortly.

“Dad?” Joshie has finally emerged from the tiny restroom cubicle, and pulls himself along the wall to reach Gordon. “Who’s that?”

“It’s a courier,” Gordon says blankly. “They’re - living ships, with a mind and everything. They’re the fastest commercial vessel in the quadrant.”

Joshua peers through the window at Gordon’s shoulder and gasps. “Is that our ship?”

“Um-”

“But where’s Benrey?” Joshie twists around to look up at Gordon in distress and ends up knocking himself loose from the wall. Gordon catches him as he floats by upside down. Zero-G is weird. “He was supposed to follow us - you’re supposed to get married!”

“What?” Gordon sputters, completely derailed.

“He kissed you, so he has to marry you!”

“He did WHAT?!” Several voices shout in unison from the control panel.

“Fuck,” Gordon swears vehemently. He’d thought the courier had cut them off, but apparently it had just overriden their speakers for a moment. “Uh - nothing! It’s not - it doesn’t…matter.”

He clenches his teeth and listens to the others yelling at him.

“Is Benrey okay?” Joshua whispers.

Gordon bites the inside of his cheek. “I don’t know,” he says quietly, even though he does know. No one could have survived that explosion. Hell, he’d probably been killed when the ship broke in half and started venting atmosphere.

He’s probably been killed.

The pod shudders, and Gordon’s boots hit the floor with a clank. He curses and stumbles, juggling a suddenly-heavy Joshua, and they both nearly fall before the gravity slips and they tumble weightlessly up into the air again.

My apologies, the courier says calmly. Please be seated for relocation.

“Shit - sorry! Let’s strap in, Joshie.” Gordon kicks off the wall and fumbles them both into their jumpseats, fastening Joshie’s harness, then his own. He looks over at the control screen to see that the raft of pods has detached and is rising in a steady line into the bright spot of the courier above them.

Are you fully secured? The courier sounds slightly tetchy.

“Yes - sorry, yes, we’re strapped in,” Gordon replies, and the weightless feeling disappears as the courier pulls them into line. On the control screen, Gordon can see the first two pods already vanishing into the courier’s cargo hold.

Thank you, the courier replies blandly. Gordon catches a glimpse of the vessel’s hull as the pod passes by, and it is just as sleek and white as the advertisements make it seem. Then the hold encases them and his view of space is cut off by the darkness of the ship’s interior.

The pod slows, then settles with a clank as some sort of mag-locks catch it with a hum. The view outside the window spins, then flips, and then Gordon can see two other pods facing him across the open hold.

Please remain seated and secured while retrieval continues, the courier says.

“Continues? Who’s missing?” Tommy asks. “Mr. Freeman?”

“We’re here,” Gordon replies. One by one, the rest of the crew responds.

There is one more signal to retrieve, the courier says.

Gordon freezes. “Who is it? Can you hear -”

One moment, please, while the signal is boosted. The courier sounds tired already.

Static buzzes, then resolves into the monotone beeping of a spacewalking suit’s emergency beacon.

“No fucking way,” Forzen growls, but even his bad attitude isn’t enough to keep Gordon’s heart from lifting in his chest.

The beeping stops. And now that Gordon thinks about it, it hadn’t sounded like an actual machine beeping so much as someone saying “beep beep” in the same tone as the emergency beacon.

He takes a breath, and hopes. “Benrey? Is that you? Can - can you hear me?”

“Uh…beep…beep…nope…beep…”

Gordon laughs in disbelief. “I heard that! Where are you? What happened? Are you okay?”

Fifty-three meters and closing, the courier says. Then it says, What is THAT?

“Uh…I’m fine, I'm in a burrito. Beep.”

“You don’t have to keep saying ‘beep,’ you idiot, we can hear you,” Bubby bursts in.

“Oh hey, cool, everyone’s here.”

“What happened to you?” Bubby snaps. “The ship blew up!”

“Yeah,” Benrey hums. “That was…kinda sucks.”

Stand by for relocation, the courier says.

“Can’t really stand, bro,” Benrey replies over the comms. “There’s, uh…no gravity out here.”

Please be secured for relocation, the courier tries.

“Yeah, this, uh, burritos’s not very secure.”

“Why the fuck do you keep saying you’re in a burrito?” Gordon laughs. Just hearing Benrey’s voice is filling his chest with bubbles.

“It’s a metal burrito,” Benrey replies, as if that’s supposed to make any sense.

The courier apparently gives up. Just don’t move, it tells him.

“Sure,” Benrey says easily. “No controls on this thing.”

The object that rises into the hold a few moments later defies explanation. It’s a long cylinder of metal that’s rolled up and twisted around itself at least twice like some sort of giant soot-smeared pirouette cookie. One end is blown open like a cartoon cigar, and it’s from that end that a battered spacewalking helmet pops out.

“You look like a weasel in a cardboard tube,” Bubby says.

“Thanks,” Benrey mumbles over the comms, and attempts to pull himself free.

What are you doing? the courier says sharply. Remain seated - remain still - stop MOVING.

“Kinda busy,” Benrey says as his makeshift pod spins. The spacewalking suits have darkened helms, but Gordon can see his head turning as he peers at each pod. “Where’s Freeman?”

“Over here!” Joshie bounces up in front of Gordon to wave through the porthole, and Gordon yelps and swipes his kid out of the air.

Can none of you follow orders? the courier asks in apparent exasperation as it closes its hull doors.

“Not - not really,” Tommy replies. The courier sends a burst of static over the comms in a machine version of a sigh.

Pressurizing atmosphere, the courier says, then it says, Seal lock. Atmosphere present. Gravity is not available at this time. For your safety, please remain seated.

“Fuck that,” Benrey mutters, half-out of his handmade pod and spinning around upside down. He seems to be hung up on the bulky spacewalking oxygen tanks.

Yeah, Gordon agrees. Fuck that. He plonks Joshua down into his own seat and straps him in. “Stay here, okay? I’ll be back when it’s safe to grab you.”

Joshua tries to protest, but Gordon is already keying in the sequence to check the outside conditions and open the pod door. The pod seems to open almost sulkily, and Gordon tumbles out and kicks off the hull in a trajectory he hopes will send him colliding with Benrey.

He almost misses, but Benrey flings out an arm and Gordon snags the oversized spacewalking suit’s glove. They spin together and smack into each other, and Gordon kicks his feet down and engages the mag-locks on his heels, slamming his boot soles onto the floor of the hull.

Someone is applauding on the comms, but Gordon isn’t listening. He needs to see Benrey’s face. He frees one hand to wrestle at the clasps of the spacewalk suit’s neck, popping them loose with a series of clicks. Once it’s free, he bats it away and it tumbles lazily through the air, fetching up against one of the pod windows.

“Hey, I can’t see!” Forzen barks.

Benrey’s eyes are golden, with a red ring around the outside of the pupil, and they glow. Gordon always figured it was just a bodymod, but now he wonders. The explosion certainly couldn’t have rolled this sheet of metal up so neatly. And Benrey had talked about “humans” like he wasn’t one.

“Hey,” Benrey smiles lazily, sticking sideways out of his horizontal tube. He reaches out with the massive, clunky spacewalk glove and taps at Gordon’s helmet. “Off, please?”

Gordon pulls Benrey’s other hand down and fastens it to his waist so he can reach up with both hands and pull his helmet off. He feels his hair float up behind him, and Benrey’s grin widens, his glowing eyes crinkling at the corners. He wiggles and pulls his free hand out of the heavy exo-suit’s shoulders to flick his own visor up so he can lean forward, but Gordon is already pushing in to meet his lips.

This time, he closes his eyes and kisses back. This time, he savors the touch of Benrey’s chapped lips, feels the rush of air against his cheek as Benrey inhales sharply through his nose and presses harder into the kiss.

The comms are a cacophony of whistling and clapping, cut through with Forzen complaining that his view is still blocked and asking for someone to describe what’s happening. Gordon leans back and opens his eyes. Benrey looks concussed, slowly rotating in his “burrito” until he is nearly vertical, with his head facing down. Gordon snorts and pulls his helmet back on.

Please do not engage in dramatic emotional moments in my hold, the courier says. Save that for the private rooms.

Benrey blinks several times. “You, uh, have private rooms?”

Of course.

“Can I, uh, request - oh, hey, where are you going?”

Gordon had started to pull away, but Benrey tugs him back with the grip on his waist. Gordon is suddenly very angry again.

“I’m going to get my kid, Benrey, so he can see that you’re alive. The ship blew up, dude! We thought - I thought you’d died.” His voice cracks awkwardly. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Bubby squeeze out of his own pod, muttering something about claustrophobia. Dr. Coomer soon follows, and Darnold joins them with a sigh, tapping something into his wrist panel.

“Oh…well, I’m okay, see?” Benrey spreads his arms, then has to grab Gordon’s waist again to keep from rotating away.

Gordon reaches out and smacks his shoulder, hard enough to knock him loose. “You’re an asshole,” he snaps. “What the fuck was your plan?”

Benrey’s makeshift pod bounces off the ceiling and starts to descend again. “Oh…you know.” He pulls both arms out of the exo-suit and wiggles himself free, kicking off from the metal tube, which flies like a javelin straight at Dr. Coomer. Dr. Coomer catches it and flings it away, where it slams into Forzen’s pod just as the door opens, knocking him back inside with an inarticulate curse.

“No, I don’t know, dude,” Gordon growls. “Enlighten me.”

Very suddenly, Benrey is in front of Gordon, both hands on his helmet. Gordon’s own hands snap up to keep him from pulling it off - but he’s not doing that. He’s holding down the comm button, which means they’re on a private, proximity-based channel.

Benrey leans in close, golden eyes flashing intensely. The red ring around the outside seems to be growing. “The plan was to keep you alive,” he says quietly. “Mission fucking accomplished, huh?”

Then he presses a smacking kiss against the curve of Gordon’s helmet and flicks his visor back down, pushing away from Gordon and corkscrewing through the air with a shout of “TOMMY! Did you see that explosion? Fucking sick, right?”

Please be warned that this hold is equipped with liquid water hoses, if their use becomes necessary, the courier says pleasantly.

“Uh - sorry,” Gordon waves a hand. “Won’t happen again.”

Please refrain from lying, the courier says.

Gordon ducks his head and clomps across the hold, heading back to his pod so he can release his child, who will probably immediately attach himself to Benrey and ignore Gordon for the rest of the cycle. He can’t win.

But then again…

He pauses and glances up at Benrey and Sunkist spiraling around each other, the giant dog apparently perfectly accustomed to moving in zero-G. The other crew members stand or float below, commiserating and complaining, but miraculously alive.

Then again, maybe he’s already won.

#hlvrai #half-life vr but the ai is self aware #hlvrbtaiisa #kiss prompts continuation #my words #45% chance fic #some stars fic #i really enjoyed the courier #i wasn't expecting her to show up and now i want to keep her #she's my new favorite character #picture the attitude of a 70s air stewardess #but she's built like a learjet and armed with multiple types of weaponry #neither snow nor sleet nor space pirates nor hail #none of these will stop the mail #yes she's a continuation of the usps #we don't have many things going for us but by god do we have a mostly-functioning postal service #and if the usps special cops are after you that's when you KNOW you're in trouble

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avelera · 2 years

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Listen, I don't think HBO Max was ever against Our Flag Means Death as such, but during the months of waiting for the renewal news, stewing in the fear and disappointment of past queer or queer-hinted shows being canceled or ignored by their distributors just because they were queer, I was passive-aggressively checking the likes over every single HBO Max tweet that came out, smirking with vicious delight every time an OFMD tweet went out that invariably got ten or even a hundred times the attention than any of the other shows they were trying to push at any given point, and part of me just hopes that there was someone at HBO Max who didn't want the queer little pirate show to succeed and they had to pick their fucking jaw off the floor when they saw the renewal announcement got 80,000 likes when most of their other tweets barely broke a couple hundred

#our flag means death #don't mind me being vindictive towards a most likely fictional executive at HBO Max #thing is I even liked shows like Winning Time #but I still seethed with hatred when they pushed it SO HARD on twitter when all I wanted was OFMD news #the ptsd towards homophobic executive decisions is still painfully real #thing is HBO Max actually hasn't canceled almost any shows #and with Taika attached even the initially lackluster reception probably never doomed it #quite the opposite I think the delaying the announcement after the popularity exploded WAS because it was doing so well #so it would have its own space to breathe #and clearly with filming in NZ they're going to get a lot of love from HBO Max going forward #I just like to think SOMEONE there who wanted to push stupid sports biopics over a queer little pirate show is pissed right now #and the money and popularity of OFMD is just twisting the knife into the wound of their wrongness #for verily i amst a spiteful bitch

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bucket-of-mold · 1 year

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So I am reading through the mechs fiction, and I read Archive Footage, and now I'm thinking about the difference between Ivy's brain and Brian's brain. Based on the way they talk and act, their brains obviously work very differently. Ivy usually talks in statistics and her fiction shows that she stores memory as data, more like a usual computer would. She shows that dilemma of trying to keep messy human thought inside of a binary computer. Brian on the other hand seems to speak more like someone normally would, and I haven't seen anything about his brain working in a similar way to Ivy's (I haven't read all the fiction yet tho so i might be missing something). He does have the morality switch though, which is something Ivy doesn't have. It makes me wonder about how their mechanisms were made for them to both have such different experiences with having a mechanical brain. Maybe because Brian is mostly mechanical, his brain integrates more smoothly with the rest of him, while Ivy's is more stark of a contrast? Or maybe Brian's was an attempt to have a computer brain be more outwardly human, which caused the bi-product of a morality switch that Ivy didn't need? There is much to think about and this is not even scratching the surface of my thoughts on how the mechanisms function, or how Brian and Ivy work in general.

#I may just be applying science to stuff that does not need/cant have scientific explanation #but it is fun so whatever #I am also very curious about brians blood and how his heart works and lives in a mechanical body #does he have blood? does he eat? can he taste things? does he have touch sensation? how does this metal man work oh my god #and Ivy is so interesting she makes me think of the guy that ate his computer in tma #something something the angles cut me when i try to think etc.#just the idea of human thought and how hard it is to translate it into such a binary black and white language #and what that then means for Ivy #i have to teach myself chemistry for a quiz tomorrow but instead I am thinking about fictional space pirates #I am sorry if none of this makes sense #i wrote it in a frenzy before i forgot my thoughts and now i want to know other peoples thought please tell me your ideas on this #the mechanisms #drumbot brian #ivy alexandria #the mechs

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nucleiaster · 1 year

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Sketches and fun facts about the Radio Isotope characters because I want to infodump but I don't know what to say haha

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volant-endeavor · 7 months

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"Last time I saw ÿou, you said you would feed me prices of my flayed skin"

Ok, so ed is traumatized by threats of autocannibalism from his previous captain. [Aka boss] And when he is spiraling in self destruction, he does that exact thing to his close friend (+whipping boy?)

In his death images, the electrical activity happening as the body dies, his big radical shift in perspective is to place his behavior in the identity of his former abuser. And continue his own identity, "ed" in contrast, and at the whims of that person.

Now, the captain continues his life forward. Nourishes his body. Does what he has to do. And even, in this moment, treats him with respect! Dignity, even.

But underlying, there is a threat. Ed is afraid.

I think Ed has sought power to escape the abuses of hierarchy, and used those violences himself to get there. To build an image.

This made him lose himself, in a lot of ways. It's extreme masking trauma. It's made him feel so trapped that he has become suicidal, long before canon.

Ed realizes that to continue to be a pirate, he would rather himself be dead.

...or he can retire?

#but stede was the balm. it made him feel spontanious and like himself again #if we r thinking about relationship anarchy. stede has sought out new ways to relate to other peoples away from arostrocratic sociery #ed has been boxed into the behaviour of being a pirate. certain patterns started when he had no autonomy and have continued now that he is #in power on the ship. izzy is acclimated to the navy #he is loyal and he takes orders. he has souht a life outside the norms. in piracy. but he still upholds some of the shit #he internalized about being strong and useful. he doesnt have a hugh self worth. izzy isnt enough of s catalyst to break Ed's patterns #and i think its bdcause he js a subordinate. and because he doesnt habe #have a radical approach to intimacy. he just tries to keep things going.#fuck idk im sortimg my thoughts. my personal endga #endgame is ot3 #ed has a lot to come to terms w tho #ofmd season 2 #edward teach #edit: so sexy and systemlike of u edward. ive noticed u fracture ur identity into underlying parts which sometimes share space and time.#this intrigues me #edit edit: lost im the sauce im about to lose keyboard privleges sianora fuckers

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quillyfied · 1 year

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#that feel when in your latest chapter on your journey of being white and unlearning racism #you have once again found yourself in the Massive Pit Of Fear Of Writing Race Wrong #and this time it’s about your latest fandom obsession #and since you have now effectively cut yourself off at the knees from your usual fandom participation method #and are so blocked you can’t write fanfic you really want to write bc you’re afraid you’re going to Do A Racism about it #you just kinda. exist. in the fandom space now #forever consuming but not creating any output or outlet #until you die you guess #I wanna write gay pirate romcom fic so bad but I clam up when I open my word docs #y’all it’s bad I’m petrified and it’s making me angry bc like #YOU TOOK MY ORIGINAL WRITING FROM ME AND NOW MY FANFIC TOO???#DAMN YOU FEAR THAT I HAVE TO PUSH THROUGH AND BE OKAY WITH MAKING MISTAKES AND HUMBLE ENOUGH TO LEARN FROM THEM #MAKING EVERYTHING SO DIFFICULT #almost makes me want to tear down my fic and start over #but if I go down that route I may not come back with anything at all #keep moving forward and all that #again. do a racism again. I want to clarify that part of this blockage is bc I have indeed written racist things already #and now that I know about it I don’t want to do it again #anyway carry on I guess just venting to the void

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devilsskettle · 2 years

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thank u so much ur takes r so sexy, I also loved X but felt so conflicted on what literally just felt like "ew old people" and ageism and demonization of dementia? like I was just waiting for more and was disappointing but everything else was pretty well handled, but could have done better!

omg thanks for reading!! i agree, like i do find the intergenerational conflict an interesting premise but i wasn’t thrilled about the direction they went. like there was really no nuance lol

#x 2022 #the other thing is that you really can tell it was written by a man….#that doesn’t always mean a movie is bad but i feel like you can tell the lack of depth in thought and understanding about women’s #experiences of their bodies and sexuality being commodified and potentially men feeling like they have a stake in controlling that #and women trying to gain control from that even as other people use it against them…. or something idk #not that the movie totally had to be about that but it seemed a little too girlboss in certain parts in ways i felt were red flags tbh #and i thought the movie was making space for that conversation but then they just never really went there #but that’s part of the ‘postures as deep and raises interesting questions but doesn’t really say anything’ problem #anyway!! i think i’m gonna rewatch this tonight now that i’m assuming it’s easy to pirate now lol #x series

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skylordhorus · 2 years

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hello i am currently watching gravity falls like. 10 years later lol

#*deep space noises*#eritha watches gravity falls #i always get distracted after the first few episodes when ive tried bedore but im determined this time #i just finished series one #all the mystery stuff is so fun its a shame i cant go in blind now #but we dont have cable and i hadnt properly worked out how to pirate things back when it first aired #also i had a lot going on- it wasnt rly on my radar #anyway i only know the VERY bare bones of stuff; essentially only that stan has a twin who wrote those books #so i can still try and guess some things

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hauntingblue · 2 months

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Luffy needs to grab that witch and pull her thru the mirror and break it. Fuck katakuri and leave him in there

#dont attack my cute siblings ajdjaka ?#they are overduing the pudding heart eyes.... sanji needs to bleed a little more #JESUS CHRIST!!! BREAK THE MIRRORS!!!!!#BIG MOM SURFING THE WAVE????#nami DONT SAY THAT!!! NAMI!!!!!#is jinbe gonna make the sunny surf the waves??? no fucking way right.... like i know he is cool as hell but damn.... no way #nvm empty space under the wave.... it does look cool still.... jinbe reigns supreme mvp #episode 853 #at first i thought i didnt like this opening but it is growing on me.... 'if you want inmense power just show our unbreakable bonds' insane #and also so true and also we are going to sail together forever we all know this.... and the dawn is coming thing with pedro now.... well...#the mirror..... omg #ENOUGH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#luffy???? smiling and shit to sound good for his friends omg 😭😭 jinbe noticed tho...#JUST REALISED THE SHAPES IN FRANKYS WANTED POSTER BREAK ARE MIZU AND KIWIS HAIR #katakuri stood up as soon as he was born and slept sitting down on an armchair lmao #episode 854 #one thing katakuri hasn't planned is that luffy is sooo skinny he fits in between his trident blades #doffg and matakuri both have their habilities awakened... i see #pekoms crying bc of pedro..... LEAVE THE BIG MOM PIRATES!!!! THEY KILLED TWOOO OF YOUR FRIENDS!!!!#the chicken guy has been afflicted with the sickness that makes all of pedro's haters turn into dickriders.... time...#nonji has been nani'ed..... breaking news #and where is judge #the fucking mochi turd katakuri put on luffy..... look how they massacred my boy...#katakuri just said merienda..... omg #its an afternoon snack in between lunch and dinner (at like 5-6pm) like when you finish school or get out of work at 5 you go and have it #SPANISH CULTURE REPRESENTED🇪🇦🇪🇦🇪🇦🐃🐃🐃🐃WHAT THE FUCK IS A JOB??? 🇪🇦🇪🇦🇪🇦🐃🐃🐃🐃 OLEEEE 🇪🇦🇪🇦🇪🇦🇪🇦🐃🐃🐃🐃#talking tag #watching one piece #episode 855

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felixwriting · 1 year

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Space Pirates (name still undecided) WIP Intro

What Is It?

Title: TBD

Genre: Dark romance, horror, sci-fi, fantasy (a whole mess of things)

Status: 150k into a first draft and I'm not even halfway through the plot

Summary: 10 years ago the Monroe family home was burned to the ground when the pirate Zephyr and his crew raided it and stole their eldest children, 16-year-old Sirena Monroe and 18-year-old Tobias Monroe and the teenagers were assumed dead when no ransom was asked. Today, Felicity and Rosalia Monroe, the twins who were left behind, find their family home cursed and those within it trapped in time, doomed to fade into shadows if the curse isn't undone. With the advice and help of a witch, they disguise themselves and find a crew willing to take them to Pluto, a place no one goes. The Captian and first mate of this ship are faces that the twins had thought they would never see again and, as they soon realize, a lot can change in 10 years.

How It's Written: I'm weaving together Felicity and Rosalia's quest and Tobias and Sirena's 10 years in alternating POV chapters. So there would be a Sirena chapter taking place at the start of 10 years ago, then a Felicity chapter in the now, then Tobias in 10 years ago, then Rosalia in the now, then the cycle starts again. I'm hoping this will create a sharp contrast between the Sirena and Tobias that we first meet at the start of their story and the Sirena and Tobias that we meet at the start of Felicity and Rosalia's story and as the story progresses you'll see how these characters came to be as they are. That said, I prefer to write chronologically so I've only written from Sirena and Tobias's POV so far.

What The Fuck: Yes, Sirena and Tobias are siblings, yes they fall in love. This is an incest dark romance story about a pair of siblings who are wildly codependent. Their relationship is not healthy and it's portrayed in a romantic light, but if they were real people they would need therapy and I would be horrified by them. Luckily, they are fictional. I will slap some warnings on the story so no one will go in without knowing what it's about, but. Yeah. Also, both Sirena and Tobias kill people and Sirena eats people, if the ONLY thing you're objecting to is the incest idk what to tell ya.

Main Characters

Sirena De Ville (prev Monroe): Pirate Captain of the Kraken Rose, known as the Siren of the Void, reputation for being cannibalistic and unhinged. Her moral compass is inscrutable to anyone but her and Tobias (and Holly on most days). Beneath it all, Sirena is kind of awkward, having had very little social interaction and even less normal social interaction since she was 9 and her parents all but abandoned her and Tobias. She tends to feel her emotions at a blinding intensity or not at all with little in between. She has been doing witchcraft in secret with Tobias since she was 13. She views Holly as her truest and closest friend (besides Tobias) and Tamzin as a mother. She does NOT view Zephyr as a father no matter how often he tries to be her dad and does, in fact, hate his guts and want him dead.

Tobias De Ville (prev Monroe): First mate of the Kraken Rose, known as Sirena's right arm and the only one able to control her. He doesn't actually control her at all and enjoys how batshit she is. He is seen as the more reasonable of the pair mainly because he is a generally quiet person. Has been doing witchcraft with Sirena since he was 15. The list of people he truly trusts is very small, though he doesn't treat people with any sign of distrust. He views Holly as a close and true friend, second only to Sirena, and he views Tamzin as a mother. He hates Zephyr about as much as Sirena does. Lets Sirena do the talking because he somehow has less social skills than she does, and that's not a very high bar.

Felicity Monroe: Angry, openly distrustful of most, not a fan of her parents no matter how much they started trying to be better after Sirena and Tobias were taken. She has a perfect memory, having never forgotten a single moment in her life, and this has given her a lot of depression, frustration, and anger at the world and the people around her. She is, on the surface, a deeply bitter person who hides how much she can care about others for fear of being hurt. She is afraid all of the time, though you would never guess that by interacting with her.

Rosalia Monroe: Cheerful, considered naive by most because of her optimistic outlook on most things. He is genderless, though they don't mind presenting as a lady because he likes dresses. She is a bit silly and wildly charismatic, though they have no friends to show for it because, like his twin, she is terrified of making deeper connections with people. They also have a keen interest in engineering and the construction of starships, much to her parents' delight.

Other Important Characters

Holly Graves: Habitual thief and former rich kid who was abducted by Zephyr a few years before Tobias and Sirena. She quickly forms a close friendship with the pair, realizing quickly that they probably come from a similar background.

Zephyr Crescent: All around terrible person and Captain of the Serpant's Revenge before Sirena and Tobias took the ship from him and renamed it. There is a curse on him and he has learned how to manipulate it to keep others under his control. When he sees Sirena bite a man's ear off he decides that he wants her to be his heir. Sirena, quite frankly, does not want to be anyone's heir, but Zephyr doesn't care what anyone else wants.

#writblr #writeblr #wip introduction #wip intro #dark romance #cw incest #cw cannibalism #long post #space pirates #felix speaks #this is a pretty....dead dove do not eat story #in that it will be Fucked Up but also clearly labeled #disclaimer that just because I'm writing an incest story doesn't mean I think incest is okay irl #it also doesn't reflect my real life desires in any way either #the only thing it means is that I thought this would be an interesting story to write #if you follow me and you aren't comfy with this stuff please please please block the space pirates tag #I don't want people to get hurt or whatever just because I wanna talk about this thing I'm working on #anyway now that I have this wip intro up I might post snippets and shit from the story itself sometimes? maybe?#if anyone is interested in that lemme know #I am turning anon off so if anyone wants to harass me they have to do it to my face #so if you wanna lemme know you're interested in this but don't want anyone to know that just tell me in the ask to not post the ask #or just DM me either works #I'm not expecting anyone to actually be interested enough to do either of those things but you never know

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basketonthedoorstepofthefbi · 17 days

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Wingwoman (Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader

Summary: You take your good friend/coworker, Spencer, out to the bar to find him a girl to hook up with. Things do not go as planned.

Word Count: 5107

Warnings: Romantic/sexual tension! Mentions of drinking / sex

A/N: Hi! I haven't written posted fanfic in like, 8 years, please be nice xD I would love to know your thoughts - if you have any requests or anything, I'm happy to oblige. ALSO -- I have only seen up to Season 7 of Criminal Minds because I'm a fckn loser. Anywayyyyy enjoy! Not my gif btw, all credit to the owner :)

———————————

It was kind of your fault, now that you were thinking back on it.

Actually, it was definitely your fault, now that you were thinking back on it.

It had been your suggestion to go out. It had been your idea to act as Spencer’s wingwoman, some last-ditch effort to try to get him out of your mind. He was your coworker, for Christ’s sake. And your best friend. And you’d thought about him desperately for eight of the nine months that you’d known him.

Emily, Derek, and Penelope had all agreed to tag along, but as the work day went on, each of your coworkers had found some kind of excuse to opt-out. Derek’s niece wanted to Facetime. Penelope forgot Kevin’s birthday was next week and needed to go shopping for a present. Emily had a headache.

Finding Spencer a romantic prospect on your own was certainly not the plan, but, stupidly, thoughtlessly, you’d decided to go along with it. You could do this. Just one night in a bar, chatting up women for the man you’d slowly been falling for the past eight months. As good of an idea as any, right?

You and Spencer took an Uber to the bar the group frequented. Ski-ball and pool in one corner, a vintage jukebox and small space set aside as a makeshift dance floor in the other. But the best part - half-off drinks for federal agents. You’d never been one to abuse the badge before, but…

Three Jack-and-Diet-Cokes later, your moral code had a bit of a crack in it.

Spencer stood next to you - towered over you, actually, because that man was a fucking beanpole - and you felt his eyes on you as you scanned the crowd. “What about her?” you suggested, jerking your chin to the woman at a high-top table against the wall. She had her nose stuck in her phone and an untouched martini on the table in front of her.

“She’s clearly waiting for someone,” Spencer pointed out, and you realized he was right just as the woman looked up from her phone and towards the door for the third time in the past minute. “I also don’t understand why you’re so dead set on finding someone to hog me up with.”

You snorted into your drink. “Hog you up with?” you repeated, turning in your barstool so you faced him. Your knees brushed his thighs.

“Yeah, is that not…” realization dawned on Spencer and he grimaced. “That’s not the phrase, is it?”

“Hook,” you corrected, but not impatiently. You made a little hook with your index finger, like a pirate. A little giggle escaped you. “And I’m not dead set on it,” you argued. “I just didn’t want to be the only one leaving the bar with someone.”

Your eyes flickered up to Spencer’s to gauge his reaction. He seemed surprised by this implication that you planned to leave with someone - someone who was not him.

“Yeah? Who are you leaving with, matey?” Spencer countered, arching a brow and pointedly looking at your index finger, still in its hooked position. You dropped your hand.

“It doesn’t matter right now,” you blushed furiously, desperately trying to drive the conversation back to his romantic conquests. Your thought process was that if you actually saw Spencer with someone else in any sort of romantic capacity - dancing, flirting, kissing - you’d finally hurt yourself enough with the sight for those stupid feelings for him to dissipate. “We’re looking for you.”

Spencer merely hmm-ed in response, an indecisive non-answer, and you noticed he shook his head. Like he was annoyed, but trying not to show it. You swallowed the lump in your throat and polished off your drink before returning to examining the patrons in the bar. You nudged Spencer’s elbow with your own and your gaze landed on the group of three women giggling around one of the tables. “Any of them? The blonde is cute,” you pointed out.

“Not really into blondes,” Spencer muttered, and you glanced back at him. You could have sworn his eyes were locked on your brunette hair. You opened your mouth to say something, but Spencer cut you off. “But, sure, if watching me strike out will amuse you, Y/N.” Before you could protest, Spencer set his glass down on the bar and started towards the trio of women at the table.

You leaned down to sniff his glass, curious as to what he’d been drinking. Clear liquid. No smell. Was he… totally sober?

You watched with narrowed, studious eyes as Spencer approached the women. You could only see the back of his head, but the three women’s faces were perfectly visible. They smiled, friendly, unassuming, and then something came out of Spencer’s mouth that changed their expressions. The blonde in the middle furrowed her brows, and the two women on either side cocked their heads slightly. Spencer’s hand tapped the table and he earned awkward smiles as a goodbye was bid, and when he turned around to head back towards the bar, he just shrugged his shoulders and shook his head, like what are you gonna do?

“What happened?” you asked as he returned to you.

“I blew it,” Spencer said matter-of-factly. Too accepting of his defeat. Further supporting your theory that he’d gone over there and purposefully botched it.

“Right,” you flagged down the bartender to order another drink.

“You’re getting another one?” Spencer asked.

You whirled your face to meet his and didn’t see judgment, but rather, concern. “Why does it matter?” you asked, no, dared.

Spencer shook his head, defeatedly. “It doesn’t,” he grumbled.

“What about that girl you were talking to earlier by the jukebox?” you asked, nudging his shin with your foot. “The grabby one. She seemed really into you.”

Spencer visibly gritted his teeth. “I’m not interested.”

“Are you interested in anyone in this bar tonight?” You asked. The words came too quickly for you to stop them. They were too real. Especially as Spencer’s frown hardened just slightly and you watched him look away from you.

You took in a sharp inhale, the realization hitting you, the possibility that Spencer might actually feel the same way about you. And that you’d dragged him out here tonight to try and set him up with someone else. You were selfish and thoughtless and stupid.

You hopped off the barstool, your feet wavering beneath you. “I’d better go home,” you said suddenly, grabbing your bag. You had to leave. You had to go home before you said something stupid, something irreversible.

You stalked out of the bar and onto the brisk, late-autumn sidewalk. You’d forgotten your coat at the office and insisted you’d be fine. The chill smacked you in the face and you tucked your bag beneath your shoulder so you could cross your arms over your chest and hug yourself for any semblance of warmth.

Thirty seconds hadn’t even passed before the door creaked and Spencer appeared at your side, throwing his coat wordlessly over your shoulders. “What did I do?” he asked. You looked up at him and saw his eyes - hurt, frustrated, confused.

Your lips parted and there was a small shake of your head. “No,” you breathed. He furrowed his brows and you explained further. “You didn’t do anything.”

“Then why the hell have you been so weird around me lately?” Spencer asked, scuffing his shoe against the sidewalk. Like a temperamental first-grader.

“Weird how?” You asked, trying to pretend like you had no idea what he was talking about. Like your stomach didn’t flip every morning when you saw him.

“Like you’re… like you’re mad at me. Like you don’t want to be around me,” Spencer looked at the street ahead of the both of you rather than at you. “You always find an excuse to leave the room when it’s just the two of us. You pull Derek or Emily or Penelope into the conversation so you don’t have to interact with just me. You’re out here trying to find me someone to hook up with?” he phrased the last sentence as a question, shaking his head. Your heart lurched. He let out an incredulous laugh. “It’s either you’re trying to shrug me off as a friend entirely, or -”

He stopped himself. His eyes were fixed on the streetlamp a few feet in front of you. They widened and you felt your heart pound as he slowly met your gaze. The realization hit him, the second half of his sentence lingering, heavy and palpable between the two of you.

“Or,” you repeated, not phrasing it as a question. Your voice was soft as you said it, your tone anything but a question.

“Or?” Spencer asked, and you could see his chest start to rise and fall more slowly.

“Or,” you confirmed, taking in a sharp breath.

Spencer’s throat bobbed as he looked at you, his gaze piercing and soft, studious and lazy, hungry and satiated all at once. “Oh.”

Oh.

“How long?” he asked, turning his feet towards you.

Your face went red and you lifted your chin, refusing to make yourself feel ashamed of it anymore. There wasn’t any point, not when he knew now. “Since March,” you admitted. Your voice was squeaky.

“March?” Spencer repeated, incredulous. It was early October now.

“Yeah,” you exhaled, shrugging his jacket off your shoulders and bunching it up by the middle. You handed it to him. “You don’t have to say anything,” you said. Your body felt like it was on fire. “You don’t have to-”

“I’ve had feelings for you since the day we met.”

You thought maybe you were hallucinating for a second. Your mouth fell open and despite your three drinks, you remembered clearly that Spencer had been drinking water. This was not some drunken confession, not for either of you, because the second he’d asked you why you had been so weird lately, you had instantly sobered up. “Oh,” was all you managed to choke out.

Oh.

“Yeah, oh,” Spencer’s mouth twitched up into a smile. That playful, friendly, teasing little smile you’d learned to love on him. He stepped towards you.

You let out this little half-garbled laugh. Spencer reached for your hand, and you let him. Your fingers spread, allowing his in the spaces between. You looked up at Spencer and little fires shot up your hand. How could merely holding hands feel so monumental?

“What do we… what do we do now?” You asked, your mind in a haze, like a computer awaiting command.

Spencer let his jacket fall to the concrete and used his other hand to slowly, almost hesitantly, cup your cheek. He looked down at you and your entire face reddened. “Well,” his voice was soft, crackling, like a fireplace, and he met your gaze with searching eyes. “I’d like to kiss you now, if that would be okay,” he said finally. Your lips turned up into an idiotic smile.

“I think that would be okay,” you whispered.

His hands were so soft, you realized. His grip on your hand loosened and he was now cupping your face on both sides. And every nerve in your cheeks was firing off signals - Spencer is touching my face, Spencer is touching my face. Like it was some forbidden thing. But then, as if in slow motion, he ducked his head down and his lips touched yours. Gently, at first, tentative and wobbly like a foal taking its first steps. Your hands rested on his torso - taut beneath that stupid little sweater vest.

He pulled back after just a moment. It was really only five or six seconds at the most, but you were red-faced and breathless by the time your eyes fluttered open, into his. Spencer’s smile was now a full-blown grin, and your expression mirrored his. “Yeah?” He asked, the word carrying more meaning. You’re into this, right?

“Yeah,” you exhaled as Spencer dropped his hands from your face, but your hands remained on his torso, not wanting to step away just yet. The syllable meant more coming from you, too. I’m really, very much, super into this. Please, for the love of god, kiss me again.

Spencer arched a brow ever so slightly, and you nodded your head.

Just like a dance, Spencer’s hands moved to your waist, and at the same time, you slid yours around his neck. He backed you up, completely disregarding his jacket on the sidewalk, until you were flush against the brick wall belonging to the bar. The brisk October breeze ruffled through his hair and yours, yet, suddenly, neither of you were terribly concerned about the weather.

He kissed you again, and this time it wasn’t as timid. Slowly, at first, his lips pressed against yours, and then his tongue darted out. It teased your lips in silent invitation, and you opened them to grant him access. His hands were everywhere, your hips, your hair, your face. You had moved your own down to his torso again. He coaxed the tiniest little mewl out of your throat, a completely uncontrollable and inevitable noise.

Spencer’s low, gravelly groan reverberated through your mouth. Your hands gripped the bottom half of his shirt, balling it up in tight, white-knuckled fists. An unmistakable hardness brushed against your thigh. You were perfectly content to stay right there, pinned against the exterior wall of a D.C. bar, but the sound of a car honking its horn peeled Spencer off of you.

His face was flushed and you released his shirt from your grasp. He let out a small grunt, stepping away from you to grab his jacket off the ground, wrinkling it haphazardly in his hand, holding it strategically over his middle.

Oh, he liked you a lot.

“You okay, Spence?” You asked all-knowingly, cocking your head to the side, leaning against the wall, lifting a foot to plant against it.

Spencer shot a set of narrowed eyes at you, as if noting your smirk and storing it for later. “Yeah, I’m great,” he said, obviously struggling a little bit. His eyes quickly left yours and looked everywhere but at you.

You didn’t want to embarrass him too much. So you just crossed your arms over your chest and looked at the sidewalk. But the smirk on your face wasn’t going away quite so easily. You considered briefly trying to talk to him about baseball or something to try and help him out, but you decided pointing it out would just humiliate him. Plus, it was a nice little ego boost, knowing you could get him like that with just a simple touch.

He took a second, but he finally cleared his throat and met your gaze. You sucked your front teeth with your tongue and then bit your lip. “Want me to call an Uber?” You asked.

Spencer just nodded, and you pushed yourself off the wall, stepping over to join him, digging your phone out of your pocket to order the car. “You okay?” You asked him again after submitting the request on your phone. Spencer’s face was still flushed, but he just nodded and reached for your hand. “Careful,” you warned, unable to resist the opportunity to tease him. “Don’t want you having an-“

“Shut up,” Spencer cut you off, and you snickered.

——————————————————

You had never been in Spencer’s apartment before. It was unmistakably his, with stacks upon stacks of books in lieu of furniture.

There was a sofa in his living room, along with a coffee table, a couple of lamps, and a television on a stand. The remaining space, besides a few spots here and there and a clear path with which to maneuver the room, was filled with books.

You had never seen so many books in someone’s possession before. And sure, you were an avid reader yourself. But nothing like this. Your heart fluttered at the sight, not only because books simply just made you happy, but because it was an incredibly endearing detail about Spencer. Your Spencer.

He shut and locked the door after you stepped inside, looking around with a childlike, awestruck grin. The TV had a thin layer of dust over the screen - he clearly didn’t use it often. And as you trailed a finger along the top of the nearest stack of books, you felt a pair of eyes watching your every move.

You and Spencer had both been quiet in the Uber ride here. He had simply held your hand, swiping his thumb across the back of your palm every few seconds. You would occasionally meet his gaze, but then quickly, bashfully, look away, like the two of you were teenagers.

It was so strange to think of what he had said to you - I’ve had feelings for you since the day we met. How had you not figured it out before now?

You supposed you had been hiding your true feelings as well, so he was allowed to, too.

There wasn’t any point in wishing to change the past, you reminded yourself. All you should be focusing on is right now.

And right now, the street lamps peeked in through Spencer’s living room window, glinting off of his endless brown eyes and making them look like he had the moon in his irises.

“So,” you said softly, not nearly as wicked as you had been when you were teasing him on the street by the bar. “This is where you live.”

“Uh-huh,” Spencer bobbed his head, that awkward, straight-line smile crossing his face.

“Lot of books,” you pointed out.

“Yep.”

You arched a brow, a teasing smile crossing your face once again. “What’s with the monosyllabic conversation?”

Spencer clenched and unclenched his fists at his side. “It’s just… really difficult to just stand here and not touch you,” he admitted, a sheepish smile crossing his face.

You grinned. “You can touch me,” your voice dropped an octave, without you even really thinking about it.

Spencer licked a canine with the tip of his tongue. God, that tongue. You remembered how he’d teased you less than an hour ago outside of the bar. “Maybe I will,” he shrugged, and you rolled your eyes.

“You can’t really play it cool, right now, Spencer. Not when I just gave you a-“

“Please stop talking,” Spencer laughed, crossing the room and cupping your cheeks in his hands all in the same movement. You snickered and he kissed you and anything you might have been wanting to make fun of him for was forgotten about.

You pressed your hands against his chest - holy pectorals, Batman - and craned your neck up so you could reach him. Spencer slid his own hands down your arms and to your hips, and you looped your arms around his neck. One palm flattened against the back of his head, holding him in place, fingers curling around pieces of his soft hair.

Your heart was hammering away, and there was this aching, hot feeling that was pooling in your core and you all of a sudden felt hungry. Starving for Spencer, for every piece of him, for fully and finally crossing that line from friend to lover. An insatiable hunger for nearly every moment since you’d known him.

Finally you broke away from him, simply because oxygen was a necessity, and he rested his forehead against yours. Your eyes were still closed and your fingers ground into his scalp. “Look at me,” he requested, his voice low.

Your eyes opened obediently and one of Spencer Reid’s hands curled under your chin. His face moved away from yours but his gaze was locked on yours, a pinpoint, a Northern Star.

And when Spencer spoke again, your knees buckled.

“I want you.”

Your mouth fell open, ever so slightly, and you nodded. “I want you, too,” you whispered.

“Are you still…?” He asked, his eyes searching yours. You’d had three drinks earlier that evening, after all, but you’d polished the last one off nearly an hour ago. Maybe not fully sober, but sober enough to know what you wanted.

“I’m fine,” you assured him.

Spencer inclined his head to the side. “You’re sure? Can you pass a sobriety test?”

You narrowed your eyes at him before you realized he was being sarcastic. You stepped back from him, shrugging off his hands, and extended your arms, touching your nose with your left hand, then your right. Spencer just laughed, and reached out for you, tugging you back to him. “Okay,” he chuckled, planting a kiss on your neck. You let him. “You’re fine, then?”

“I’m fine,” you agreed, shrugging him out of his sweater vest, and then reaching for the buttons on his shirt underneath.

Spencer kissed your neck as you fumbled with the buttons - how were buttons suddenly impossible to undo? Your head craned back just slightly on instinct, wanting - needing - to allow Spencer more access. Your dexterity had become abysmal at this point, and Spencer’s lips were kissing your neck, down your throat, teasing at your collarbone. “Spencer,” you managed to groan out, a wave of annoyance present in your tone.

“What?” he asked, pulling back, concern filling his face.

You realized you had actually worried him. “Oh, no, no,” you waved it away, and he visibly relaxed. “I’m just really frustrated, because… because your shirt,” you stammered, and Spencer’s mouth twitched up into a smirk.

“My shirt,” he stated.

“That one, right here,” You laughed softly, curling your fingers around the buttons. You managed to wiggle one free, then another. Spencer leaned forward to continue kissing your neck, but you held a hand up to stop him. “Hang on,” you murmured, working through another button, and one more. “I’m concentrating.”

“You’re sticking your tongue out,” Spencer snickered. Your eyes met his and your cheeks flushed.

“I’m concentrating!” Your voice rose slightly in self-defense. Spencer’s hands went to your hips.

“It’s adorable,” he told you. “You make the same face at work. When you’re in the middle of filling out a form or trying to open a new bottle of coffee creamer without spilling it,” Spencer rubbed circles in your hips and your fingers stopped working again.

“You noticed that kind of stuff?” You asked softly, looking up at him with doe eyes.

Spencer just nodded. “All the time.”

I’ve had feelings for you since the day we met.

You inhaled sharply, finally undoing the last button.The skin beneath the shirt was pale, smooth, and perfect. And when he slid his arms through the sleeves and the shirt fell to the ground, you bit your lip, unable to help it.

“Y/N?”

You met Spencer’s gaze and let out this awkward little laugh. Embarrassing, really, if you hadn’t been in the company of your best friend. “You okay?” he asked, and you felt a little giddy as you nodded, moving your hands to his neck and standing on your toes to kiss him again.

You didn’t know which direction the bedroom was in, so you just took a guess, pushing him back towards one of the doors. He kept his hands on your hips and his lips pressed against yours as he guided you, walking backwards, to the right door. You entered the bedroom and could not possibly be bothered to look around right now, not when Spencer was guiding you in a circle by merely touching your hips, not when the back of your knees hit what was unmistakably a mattress, not when you fell back against it.

Your eyes were shut, unwilling to take in your surroundings as Spencer guided you onto your back. You toed off your shoes before lifting your legs, and Spencer hovered over you. Your lips were locked with his the entire time. And when you finally opened your eyes and you saw only Spencer, you grinned like a fool.

Spencer’s fingers were like taking a shower. They were all over you - your hips, first, then your stomach, and you had to resist the urge to giggle because they tickled as he teased the bottom hem of your shirt up. You sat up slightly to get the blouse over your head and you watched him discard it onto the floor. And then his hands were over your chest, thumbs teasing under the wire of your bra, outlining the shapes of your breasts.

Your breathing had gone heavy and staccato by this point, your body sinking into the mattress, shipwrecked as Spencer touched you. His eyes wandered over your and that little smile on his face was enough for you to know that he was immensely enjoying himself.

“Can I…?” Spencer’s hands wandered down and gripped your pants as he looked into your eyes, a brow arched.

You swallowed a lump in your throat and your blush appeared over your cheeks at the same time as his. “Yeah,” you whispered, and Spencer helped you wiggle out of your pants - black slacks, since you had gone straight from work to the bar. They were soon tossed to the floor, and you were only in your underwear and your bra. And Spencer’s brown eyes did not make you feel objectified or embarrassed, but safe.

“You’re so beautiful, Y/N,” he told you, seriously, and your breath hitched in your throat.

“You-”

“I’m not done,” Spencer cut you off, lifting a hand to run his thumb down your chin. “You’re so beautiful. And you’re so kind, and smart, and funny. And I’d really like to show you how much I care about you,” he looked into your eyes as a sort of request.

“I’m not on birth control,” You breathed out in response, feeling your cheeks redden for even bringing it up. Way to damper the mood. Still, you wanted to be responsible. “Do you have a c-”

Spencer’s soft smile turned into a wicked grin and he shook his head. “We’re not going to need one,” he promised, and after looking into his eyes for a moment, you understood.

________________________________________

Spencer had thoroughly worshiped you, until you quaked and cried out with absolutely no thought to how thin his apartment walls might be. Usually, you didn’t allow yourself to be the center of attention for too long, but Spencer had insisted, and, well, you couldn’t very well deny him what he wanted, right?

Covered in a thin sheen of sweat, your hair matted to the back of your neck, Spencer finally lay down beside you. Your breathing was just starting to come back to you as you turned on your side to face him. Spencer’s body mirrored yours, the tips of his fingers - those fingers - trailing up the side of your arm. “That was…” his voice was soft, gravelly, and he looked at you like you had anything to do with it. It was literally all him. “Incredible.”

“Yeah,” you managed to breathe out, unable to really focus on anything besides the curve of Spencer’s lips, the way the apples of his cheeks appeared when he smiled like this. Spencer kissed your lips, unlike any way he had before. All the other kisses tonight had been hungry and excited, exploratory and new. This one was lazy and slow and you let his tongue dance across yours, and when he finally pulled away, your nose scrunched up in delight.

Your eyes traveled from his lips, down his neck, his collarbone, then back up, taking him in. The glow of his skin, the tired yet exhilarated look in his eyes. So different now than at the beginning of the night, when he’d looked at you with that slightly annoyed expression as you had tried to set him up with other women. You recalled how he had gone off to that group of three women right before you’d abandoned the bar, how he had struck out on purpose just to satiate your nagging. “What’d you say to those women tonight?” You asked him curiously, furrowing your brows at him.

Spencer, in turn, arched his brows at you. “Why?”

“Because I’m curious,” you said as his fingers continued to trail, feather-light, up and down your arm. You traced your thumb along his jawline, stopping at his chin. “You were obviously blowing it on purpose.”

Spencer rolled his eyes. “I actually do have some game, despite what Morgan might say,” he said, his tone defensive.

You snickered. “Sure you do, Spence. Took you, what, eight months, to get me in your bed?”

Spencer shot a playful glare at you and pinched the skin on your arm. You squeaked in response and he just laughed. “I just asked them how they were doing tonight,” he said finally, and you knew just from the look on his face that he was lying.

“You did not,” you pushed back. “Come on, Reid, spill it.”

“Ok, fine,” Spencer heaved a sigh and rolled his eyes, sitting up in the bed, his back against the headboard. You sat up, too, looking at him with concern. Why was he so embarrassed? “I told them… Jesus.” Spencer rubbed the space between his brows with his thumb and his forefinger. “I told them I was here with a coworker that I had a massive crush on, and that you were trying to set me up with someone else,” he began.

You started to smile.

Spencer continued. “I told them that I had absolutely no interest in going home with anyone tonight, and that I had been purposefully striking out all night long because I couldn’t stand the thought of even trying to look at someone the way I look at you.”

Your smile grew and you moved to sit on your knees, inching closer to Spencer and throwing one leg over him, effectively straddling him against the mattress. “So I asked them,” Spencer continued, his lips turning slowly from an exasperated frown to a small smile. “I asked them if they could just look at me like I had said something stupid, and then I would leave them alone.”

“Did they say anything to that?” You asked as Spencer’s hands found your hips, contouring to match the curves into the small of your back.

Spencer’s voice got slightly lower, more serious, when he said, “The girl in the middle did. She said ‘that girl definitely has feelings for you, too’. And then they did what I asked, and I walked back over to you.”

“She did not say that,” you rolled your eyes, just as Spencer kissed your lips.

“I have an eidetic memory, Y/N,” he reminded you in a low whisper, as his lips lingered against yours. “Would I lie to you about that?”

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fanfics #spencer reid x you #basketonthedoorstepofthefbi #fanfic #spencer reid x fem!reader

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halfvalid · 7 months

Text

the blade daughter, pt. 1

ABOUT

pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3

alternate title: dracule mihawk cures your daddy issues!

rating: mature

characters: live action!roronoa zoro | fem!reader | live action!dracule mihawk | live action!straw hat ensemble

pairing: live action!roronoa zoro x fem!reader

word count: 23.6k total | 8.3k this part

description: as the daughter of dracule mihawk, you've been living alone at home, unwilling to go out and find a life of your own due to the belief that your father needs you around. but when he sends you off to buy him a jacket, you end up running into a pirate crew—and a particular swordsman—that end up changing how you feel.

tags: mihawk's daughter!reader, female reader, canon-typical violence, cursing, no use of 'y/n', pet names per mihawk ('dear', 'darling', 'sweetheart', 'little hawk'), emotional hurt/comfort, sexual harassment (from nameless OC), slow burn

author’s note: finally she's here! i'm posting it spaced out because i don't want to overload you all with a 23.6k fic in one post... IMPORTANT NOTE: i did some research from the animanga for mihawk's personality, weapons, and home, but this is still very much only a fic for OPLA and not the other iterations of the material.

the fic is not exactly only a romance; it focuses a lot on the reader's personal character development along with her relationship with mihawk too. i hope you guys don't mind! i kind of lost the plot lol.

reader is mihawk's biological daughter, but is stated to take after her mother and doesn't bear similarity to mihawk. so the fic is poc reader friendly!

Your dad was late to dinner again.

To be fair, Dracule Mihawk didn’t exactly follow a schedule. He was fickle—back when you’d been a girl, he’d been around all the time, because although he was a lot of things, Mihawk was not an absentee parent. But as you’d grown older, he started being less strict, leaving you alone for days and weeks until you’d finally matured into an adult. Mihawk spent most of his time away from the house, now—but you agreed to have dinner together every week, no matter what part of the ocean he was in.

And he was late.

You’d started cooking the meal early, only for Mihawk to not show up when everything was ready. Or after everything was ready. Or even when everything had cooled, and you’d eaten your fill, and waited in your chair for him to arrive. He finally showed up a quarter past two in the morning, the doors of the dining room bursting open to announce his entrance.

You cracked an eye open from where you’d been dozing in your seat. “You’re late.”

“I’m sorry, darling,” Mihawk said, taking his hat off and bowing with a flourish. He pressed a kiss to the back of your hand. “I got a little busy. Garp had me deal with a pirate in the East Blue.”

You made a face at him as he sat down to eat. “Could’ve at least let me know. Den den mushi exist for a reason.”

“Ah, well, my apologies.” Mihawk sighed, dramatic as ever—you couldn’t find it in you to be mad at him for more than a few minutes, though, something he knew well. “It would’ve gone quickly had some upstart not challenged me to a duel. So I had to spend the night.” He tsked, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “And then I went to visit an old friend. Red-haired Shanks.”

“I remember him.” You got up from your seat, moving to the kitchen to rifle in the icebox for a popsicle. “Another duel? What’s this week’s body count?”

“You know I don’t tally such trifling matters, sweetheart,” Mihawk said. You shrugged, leaning against the doorway of the kitchen to watch him start eating. “This pasta is cold.”

“Wasn’t cold four hours ago,” you said, languidly licking at your popsicle. “No sympathy here, dad.”

“Fine,” Mihawk said. “Anyway, I don’t suppose you’ve ever heard of the man. Tall, green hair, three swords.” He wrinkled his nose. “Said people called him the Demon.”

“Roronoa Zoro,” you affirmed, slipping into the chair beside your father. “Scariest pirate hunter in the East Blue. You killed him?”

“Clearly not much of a pirate hunter, considering he’s a pirate now,” Mihawk said, the scrape of his knife and fork ringing around the room. “Joined the man I Garp sent me after, this little boy in a straw hat. And no. I let him and his crew go.”

You paused, voice faltering as you registered the words. “You let him live?”

“Yes. He was rather interesting. I expect he’ll come find me later,” Mihawk answered. You stared at him, still baffled. Your father was a lot of things, but a man of mercy was not one of them. Your earliest memory of him exacting his power over others was when you’d been two, watching from your crib as he speared the nanny for calling you a brat. A touching gesture, for certain, but still. “But enough about work. How have you been, little hawk?”

“Bored,” you said with a sigh. “It’s so dull on this island.”

Mihawk looked amused. “You could leave. I’m not restricting you here anymore.” Back in your teen years, Mihawk hadn’t let you leave the house—something about enemies wanting to kill his daughter or whatever else nonsense. He’d trained you personally, though, so you were nearly as fearsome as your father—able to beat anyone in combat in the blink of an eye. “You don’t have to stay.”

“The house would get all dusty,” you protested, lips tugging into a line. And it wasn’t like you hadn’t done any exploring. Mihawk had taken you to all four seas throughout your adolescence, and you’d taken vacations to everywhere of importance. You just—didn’t have much of a point to leave, really. You very much preferred not to, something tying you firmly to the island, to your castle. “And besides, where would I even go?”

“I hear the East Blue is interesting this time of year,” Mihawk said. “You could venture around here, but…” He shrugged. “The Grand Line is dangerous.”

You made a face. “I’ve lived here my entire life. I can take care of myself.”

“Certainly,” Mihawk agreed easily. “But it’s simply not worth it. You really should get out more, dear. It’s not good for your health.”

“Maybe,” you said, but you weren’t very enthusiastic about it. “Here, I’ll clean Yoru for you while you finish eating.” You moved around the back of his chair, lifting his sword off the jacket he hadn’t bothered to shed from his back. You grimaced upon seeing a line of dried blood along the blade. “Dad.”

“Sorry, dear,” Mihawk said, and you rolled your eyes, carrying the sword over to the living room. You set Yoru down with a heavy thud, pulling out a box of materials. Mihawk came over to watch you, one arm propped against the doorway as his aureate eyes gazed down as you worked.

Compared to your dad, you looked relatively normal. You’d always taken after your mother—a mysterious woman you barely had any memories of—and the relation between the two of you was never immediately obvious. The fact your eyes were plainly normal instead of bearing the golden hawk eyes Mihawk had was another factor added to that, too.

You pulled out a bottle of oil, pouring it generously over Yoru’s blade before grabbing a cloth to carefully wipe it with. “Where in the East Blue?” you asked abruptly, not looking up. Mihawk’s fork clinked along the ceramic of his bowl, presumably surprised you’d actually consider the offer of leaving.

“Well, I could send you out to run some errands if you wish. I’ve got some things to attend to,” Mihawk optioned. “There’s this one store in Loguetown with a rather nice jacket I’ve had my eye on.”

You shot him a disbelieving look. “You want me to go to the East Blue to buy you a jacket.”

Mihawk shrugged. “My birthday’s coming up.”

“No, it’s not.” You slid your rag along the edge of Yoru’s blade, folding it in half before wiping the entire thing again to ensure there was no grime left. “Finished. Maybe I’ll just stay—”

Mihawk gave you a look.

“Fine. Loguetown it is,” you said with a sigh. “Don’t give me a crew. I’ll just take one of the sloops. I’ll get your dumb jacket for you.” You got up, tossing the cloth over a shoulder to hand wash later. “I’ll leave later today.”

Mihawk clicked his tongue. “You’re so enthusiastic, darling. I can practically see the excitement oozing off of you.”

You rolled your eyes, moving past him to go up to your room. “Short trip,” you said. “No more than a couple of days.”

“The little hawk, so incited to leave the nest.”

“Shut up.”

Mihawk had complied with your wishes, as when you woke up the next morning, he had already prepared a sloop for you to board alone. You packed some of your things, not being too fussy about the clothing or other objects, knowing that the boat was already well-stocked on its own. Mihawk waited to send you off, though you knew he probably had affairs to attend to by now.

“Be good, darling,” he said, while you were loading up the last of your stuff. Just like your father, you preferred to wear your sword on your back; a present he’d given you at the age of thirteen. “I’ll call you. I’ve got business in the South Blue.”

“Have fun,” you said, and he kissed the back of your hand before pushing you off.

Loguetown was just how you’d remembered it, buzzing with civilians and pirates alike. The stores were plentiful, and filled to the brim with customers—it was all a little overwhelming compared to the peace and quiet you were used to. Still, it wasn’t a bad place to stay for a few weeks, and you might as well take your time there.

You slung your coat on as you exited the docks, glancing around the town in search of something to do first. Since you weren’t especially interested in retrieving a jacket for your father just yet, you beelined to the nearest tavern to grab something to eat. It was a lot easier traveling without Mihawk at your side—as much as you loved him, he had the habit of attracting both trouble and fear wherever he went, and he was near impossible to go out with.

The tavern was full, but not too crowded, and you managed to slip over to the bar without much trouble. It seemed to mostly consist of pirates—rough men with flowing jackets and holsters of guns and swords at their hip, clustered together in groupings that clearly proved their alliances with each other. You were one of the only patrons who was alone.

You gestured for the barkeep, and she bustled over from where she was serving a particularly ragtag group of pirates. They were mismatched, colors oddly paired—a girl with neon orange hair, a short man with a straw hat, one wearing a flowery shirt and goggles and the last man dressed in clothes far too formal for a bar. “What can I get for you?” she asked, a thick brogue dragging down her words.

You told her your drink order, still eyeing the group. The barkeep followed your vision and let out a sigh. “Don’t bother. Three men have already tried to capture him for the bounty. Broke half my furniture. And we got a rule here, anyway—no fightin’.”

“Does he have a bounty?” you asked with a frown. She scoffed.

“Does he ever. Thirty million berry, child. Highest in the East Blue.” She shook her head. “That crew won’t let anyone touch ‘im. Hell, I think his first mate’s still outside cleaning up the bodies.” She sighed again. “Well, I’ll have that drink out for you in a moment.”

You nodded, slipping into the closest available chair. Now that you were paying attention, you could see practically every pair of eyes fixed on the group—specifically, on the man in the center wearing the straw hat.

Before you could ask another question, the door to the tavern opened, and a lean, green-haired man filled the doorway. You glanced over at the barkeep, a flash of recognition in your eyes. “That’s Roronoa Zoro.”

“Aye,” she said, setting your drink in front of you. “If there’s someone who might be able to cash in that bounty, it’d be him. But believe it or not, he’s with the Straw Hat.”

You watched as the pirate hunter made his way to the table the others sat at. The glint of his famed three earrings reflected off the tavern lights, and the sword on his hip swayed as he walked—but there was only one rather than the three you’d heard tales about. “Yeah, my father said something of the sort.”

The barkeep hummed, turning to attend to a pirate who’d taken a seat at your left. “And who’s your father, lass?”

“Dracule Mihawk.”

The pirate beside you raised his head, turning towards you in almost alarm. Beside him, his crew quieted, and the barkeep glanced up to meet your eyes. “Dracule Mihawk?” she repeated incredulously.

“He sent me to buy him a coat,” you said. “I don’t suppose you know where any shops are around here?”

“Er, there’s a shop off main you might want to see,” the barkeep said, eyes flickering over to the pirate crew that had changed their focus to you. “Anything else for you, then?”

“I’m good, thanks,” you said, taking another sip of your drink. She nodded, leaving the bar in favor of moving over to another table. The pirate beside you turned slowly, stool scraping against the floor as he sneered down at you.

“Dracule Mihawk’s daughter, eh?” he asked. “Care if I buy you a drink?” Behind him, the rest of his crew tittered. You just sighed.

“Sorry, my father doesn’t let me go out with anyone who hasn’t bested me in combat.” You knocked back the rest of your drink, glancing up and down the pirate’s figure. He didn’t look like much—two pistols strapped to the hip, a longsword on the other, a raggedy leather jacket with a hat to match.

The pirate scoffed. “Please,” he said, though you could see his skin turning rapidly crimson. “I doubt you’re even related to him. No hawk eyes or nothing.”

You met his gaze, lips tightening into a line. “I take after my mother.”

“Biggest lie I ever heard, aye, crew?” The pirate turned back towards the rest of his men, and they cheered in agreement. You huffed out a sigh, trying your very best not to turn combative—despite everything, you were proud of your relationship with your father, and anyone trying to call you a liar for your lineage just left you vexed and angry. Before you could step away, though, the pirate turned towards the rest of the tavern, apparently having had a bit too much liquor. He raised his voice, practically yelling now. “Oi! This girl thinks she’s the daughter of Dracule Mihawk!”

Out of your peripheral vision, you saw Roronoa Zoro look up, the rest of his crew glancing over at you at the words. You were distracted within a second, the pirate shoving your arm. “Hey, don’t look away, girl. I’m trying to—”

You grabbed onto his wrist, nails razor-sharp as they embedded into his skin. “Don’t touch me.”

“Oh, you think you’re tough, do you?” The pirate yanked his hand out of your grip. “Did your daddy teach you how to fight, huh? Think you can beat me?”

“I know I can beat you,” you answered. The pirate reached for his sword, then, fingers tightening around the hilt.

“Alright, let’s make it a bet then. You beat me, I believe your claim about being Mihawk’s daughter.” His lips curled back into an ugly sneer, and you debated stepping out of the conversation and just going off to find that shop for your dad’s coat anyway. Fights like these were never worth getting into, and you really didn’t want to break any more of the barkeep’s furniture after she’d let out her annoyances to you.

Before you could, though, the pirate opened his big mouth once again.

“I beat you, and you go to bed with me.”

You were whipping your sword out before you could even think, red flashing in your vision as you scraped your blade out from the holster on your back. The metal gleamed under the lights, white steel bright as day as you leveled it in your hand. It wasn’t the largest weapon, a perfectly balanced cut-and-thrust spadroon with a golden hilt wrapped in white ribbon. You tightened your grip on the handle.

“I beat you,” you hissed, voice low, “and you’re dead.”

He lunged for you, pulling his sword out in one solid stroke and meeting yours in a loud clang. You shot an apologetic look towards the barkeep, spinning on your back leg and kicking the pirate away. The force caused him to stumble, sword skittering to the side as you shoved it off your blade.

One of his crew members had cocked a gun to your head, and you spun your swords toward him, blade cutting through the metal like it was butter. The rest of the crew stepped back, one or two of them lunging for you. You parried all of their attacks, shoving them to the ground until they stopped trying to fight.

The captain had gotten up, a fierce snarl upon his face as you slammed your blade down towards him. He blocked it with his sword, and then went for various attacks towards your figure—you dodged each one of them, parrying them easily as you moved backwards. At the last one, you used your weight to buck the sword back in his direction, and he stumbled again.

You ducked down, sweeping him off his feet with a well-aimed kick to his shins, and he fell, sword clattering out of reach as he dropped flat on his back. You towered over him, pointing the edge of your blade at his throat.

“You want me to go outside to kill him?” you asked. The barkeep sighed.

“If you don’t mind, lass.”

“Not at all.” You bent over, grabbing firmly onto the pirate’s shirt and yanking him upwards. His crew made a move towards you, but you just shoved your sword in their direction, and they stepped away. You spun your sword’s hilt around in your hand with a flourish, then started dragging the captain out the tavern door.

“No—wait—let me go,” the pirate begged, once you dropped him to the gravel outside and moved your sword to his throat again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—I didn’t mean it—you’re a pretty girl, that’s all—”

“I don’t date men who can’t beat me in combat,” you said coolly. “Lower your expectations.” With that, you spun your sword again, sliding it back on the holster of your jacket. “I’ll let you live just this once. If you ever make any comments towards a woman again—”

“I get it. I’m sorry,” the man said, scrambling to his feet. You just eyed him.

“I need another drink.”

The tavern was dead silent when you returned to your seat, gingerly sitting back down on the stool you’d first occupied. “Another drink, if you don’t mind,” you said to the barkeep, and she nodded. A moment passed as she filled your mug, and then she asked—

“Is Dracule Mihawk really your father?”

“Unfortunately,” you muttered, taking the drink she offered and taking a swig. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see the Straw Hat pirate and his crew muttering amongst themselves. One of them nudged Roronoa Zoro in the side, and he grimaced, the loose shirt he wore parting with the motion. You caught a glimpse of bandages, wound tight with blood seeping through a familiar line. Yoru’s doing.

Zoro stood up, making his way over to the bar beside you. He propped his elbows on the table, but he didn’t sit, nodding at the barkeep. “Another round for my friends,” he said. His voice was quieter than you’d expected; a low mutter and almost soft in timbre. He glanced over at you, eyes flickering down and up again before he spoke. “I tried to kill your father.”

“Yeah, he told me,” you said. “Roronoa Zoro. What happened to your other two swords?”

Zoro scoffed. “Your dad.”

“He can be a little dramatic sometimes,” you said apologetically. He glanced over you again.

“You don’t look much like him.” He paused. “Figured I’d know if Mihawk had a daughter.”

“I take after my mother, and he’s very overprotective,” you said, getting just the slightest bit annoyed about everyone questioning your parentage. The barkeep returned then, sliding five beers across the table over to Zoro, and you stood up. “Now if you’d excuse me, I have some shopping to do.”

You exited the tavern after paying your tab, wandering around the streets of Loguetown to find the closest clothing store. Your father’s style was ridiculously grand, so it’d be something in the nicer branch of the city—you had just entered your best guess when you pulled out a shell phone, pushing the little snail into your ear and calling your father’s number.

He picked up on the first ring. “What is it, darling?”

“Did you have a specific coat in mind?” You glanced through a row of black leather, trying to find one that’d match Mihawk’s liking. “I’m at this place called Lady Tide’s Dressing Boutique. It’s the bougiest place I could find.”

“Lady Tide’s would be correct,” Mihawk said. “I trust your taste. Pick something I’d like.”

“You better be paying me back for this,” you threatened, turning the corner as you spoke. You jumped back in surprise, letting out a squeak as the Straw Hat pirate from before appeared right in front of you, a grin stretching up his face.

Mihawk’s laugh crackled through the line at your surprise. “Get startled, dear?”

“The pirate Garp sent you after is stalking me,” you deadpanned. The Straw Hat pirate’s grin only widened. “I’ll call you back.”

You hung up, taking the den den mushi out of your ear and back into its case. “What?”

“You’re a really good fighter,” the Straw Hat said brightly. “I’m Monkey D. Luffy, and I’m going to be King of the Pirates. You should think about joining my crew!”

“I—” you stared at him in disbelief, mind reeling from the whiplash of his words. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m not a pirate.”

Luffy tilted his head to the side in question. “But your dad is Mihawk.”

“That doesn’t make me a pirate. I just stay at home for the most part,” you said. Luffy continued following you around the store, however, even as you stepped past him to browse more jackets. You glimpsed the rest of his crew hanging around the store, though none seemed to do any actual shopping. You figured Lady Tide’s was probably out of their price range. “Why are you still following me?”

“I think you should join my crew,” Luffy repeated. “Have you ever been to the Grand Line? That’s where we’re headed next.”

You gave him a look. “I live in the Grand Line.”

“Whoa,” Luffy breathed. “Well, you must know all about it, then!”

You turned away from him, picking a jacket off the rack in front of you and appraising it. Golden buttons, long tailcoat, wide lapels—not really Mihawk’s taste. You set it back. “Not really,” you finally answered. “Like I said, I stay at home for the most part. Haven’t done much exploring.”

“Don’t you want to?” Luffy asked, taking a step closer to you. You flinched. “Your dad’s one of the Seven Warlords of the Sea! You should be going out and adventuring, not just staying at home and doing whatever Mihawk tells you to!”

“Don’t,” you snapped, voice low. “I stay home because I want to. Not because my dad forces me to.” Your words bore no lie, but still, there was a rumble of uncertainty deep in your gut. Mihawk had always been supportive, but pirating had always been his thing. You preferred the solace of your own home, and there was no point in adventuring when Mihawk had seen it all before.

“I’m just saying, what do you even do all day?” Luffy asked with a quirk of the lip. “Stay home and clean? Go out once in a while to buy groceries or get stuff for your dad?” He gestured at the coat you were holding, and you flushed, shoving it back onto the rack. “Isn’t it boring? Don’t you want more than such an average life?”

“I’m perfectly happy with my life right now, thank you,” you snapped. “Go preach to someone else.”

Luffy had stopped walking, then, looking at you with an almost sympathetic expression on his face. “Living isn’t the same as thriving, you know,” he said. “You should go out. Find adventure. Aren’t there things you want to know? Questions you want answered?”

“Luffy.” You turned to see Roronoa Zoro move to his captain’s side, head dipping as he spoke to him. His tone was quiet, but you could still overhear— “Leave her alone. We’ve got business.”

Luffy looked dejected at that, but he agreed, bowing his head towards you before turning to the rest of his crew. They’d gathered by the mouth of the store, engaged in their own various activities as they waited. You watched Luffy turn to leave, words climbing up your throat even as you tried to swallow them down. “Wait!”

Luffy turned, that bright smile reappearing on his face. “What?”

“I want to know one thing,” you said, taking a step closer to the captain and his first mate. You glanced up at Zoro, who met your gaze. His face seemed carved of steel, skin bearing no grimace, eyes betraying nothing. “Why did my father let you live?”

Zoro looked away, and you realized he probably didn’t know the answer himself. Before you could speak again, though, Luffy interrupted.

“Because Zoro’s the best,” he declared, capturing your attention away from the injured swordsman. He slapped Zoro’s bicep with a heavy thud, and you were surprised when the other man didn’t even flinch. “And he’s gonna be better than Mihawk one day. He’s going to defeat him in a duel and take his title and become—”

“The world’s greatest swordsman,” Zoro finished. The words were muttered under his breath, clearly to himself rather than intending for you to hear.

You watched them for a moment before finally turning away. “Okay,” you said. “Good luck with that.”

Luffy stared at you for a moment longer, but Zoro was already turning away and walking towards the rest of the crew. There was an unsettling feeling in your gut, one you tried to squash. Whatever—you had better things to do than worry about some Straw Hat pirate and a retired pirate hunter.

You returned to your browsing, looking through various jacket designs until you finally fell across one you were certain your father liked. It was ridiculously expensive, but your father’s taste had always been so—you purchased it without a second thought, slinging it across a shoulder and returning to your sloop for the rest of the day.

To your great disappointment, the Straw Hat pirate’s words continued to echo throughout your head. His demeanor was off-putting, to say the least—the extreme amounts of candor and cheeriness he had made for a disorienting combination. Even as you tried to stop thinking about his terrifyingly honest words, you couldn’t. Don’t you want more than such an average life?

You sighed, mood irritable from the day's events. You’d returned to your sloop and hadn’t done much of anything for a few hours—past having a meal and cleaning up your boat, there was nothing to do. You mulled over your options, wondering if you shouldn’t just start the journey back home. But Luffy’s words came back to you.

“I need a drink,” you muttered, donning your coat and leaving to attend the first bar you could find.

You went someplace ritzy this time, near the peak of Loguetown where neon lights glimmered in the dark hour. It was crowded, and music blasted through the bar, pounding bass nearly making the floor reverberate. You slipped inside without much trouble, squeezing through the crowd and making way for the bar at the other end of the room.

You bought yourself a drink, knocking it back in just a few gulps. There were marines patrolling around in the building, although none of them seemed too keen on completing any of their duties. Pirates walked around freely too, but these ones were more dignified than the ones you’d seen in the tavern at town.

“You hear Straw Hat Luffy’s here at Loguetown right now?” someone muttered to your right. You glanced over with a furtive gaze to see who was speaking—two men, dressed in fine silks and coats. Swords dangled from their hips. Pirates, maybe, or pirate hunters. “His ship’s docked over by south port.”

“You’re not going to try and nab him, are you?” the other pirate hunter asked, fingers pinched around a thin glass of something. “That bounty’s hefty, but fighting them’ll be…”

“I’m getting a bunch of hunters together,” the first one said. “We’ll split the bounty. At midnight, once the whole crew’s asleep. I followed the navigator; seems they’re not leaving until the morning.”

“Thirty million split between many isn’t much.”

“Well.” The hunter made a vague gesture, a smirk playing at his lips. “I doubt we’ll all be alive by the end of the night, if you know what I mean.”

“Right.” The second hunter downed the rest of his drink. “I’ll be there. Where’s the rendezvous point?”

“Slip forty at south port. Come at midnight,” the first one replied. “My boat. Theirs is at fifty-two.”

You turned away, knocking back the last of your drink before setting the glass back down on the counter. Your mind reeled, and you pulled out a pocket watch to check the time. Nearly eleven. Only an hour left.

“Another drink,” you called, but you stopped after that one. Logically, you knew the Straw Hat crew would be able to handle themselves. Your father wouldn’t have let Zoro go had he not been an impressive fighter—and Luffy certainly had to have some tricks up his sleeve, having such a high bounty and all. But an ambush was an ambush.

You needed to go home.

You paid your bill and slunk outside, taking the long road down to the port. You were docked in the east, but you found yourself wandering towards south port, hands shoved in your pockets and sword heavy on your back.

There was no logical reason to get involved with pirates, you tried to tell yourself. That was Dracule Mihawk’s area of expertise. That was Dracule Mihawk’s life. Not his daughter’s. You were not a pirate—there was no point in being one. Mihawk has done everything already.

You stepped onto the pier of south port, the wooden ramp trembling under your feet. They were shoddily constructed; oak on water, with pegs every few feet or so and ropes thrown casually across the walkways. It was overcrowded with boats, too—ships of every kind and size, smushed into spots not big enough for them depending on how much you paid the dock men. The moon shimmered on the surface of the East Blue. She was calm today, waves lapping at the edges of the docks, tranquil in the night.

You checked your watch again. Nearly midnight.

Dock forty moored a relatively small ship, but it was crowded with men—ten or fifteen, maybe, and you knew they’d be killing each other when the fight was through. Thirty million berry divided between so many people was barely worth it. You slunk past them, counting the numbers of the boat berths.

You knew the boat before you looked at the slip number based on appearance alone. It was large in size, a caravel sporting a gigantic goat figurehead. You stared at it, brows furrowed, jaw slack. Well, it was certainly a ship. There was a large sail boasting the ship’s jolly roger—a crudely designed skull and crossbones sporting the same straw hat their captain wore.

With a sigh, you pulled yourself onboard, careful to not make a sound as you landed on the deck. It was quiet, but you doubted the crew didn’t have at least one lookout for trouble. You tiptoed around the mast, moving towards the foredeck.

You were just about to step a foot on the staircase when a gleaming katana came to your throat.

“What are you doing here?”

Roronoa Zoro was as calm as ever as he held a blade to your jugular, posture perfectly straight, eyes tilted in your direction. You glanced down at the blade, registering the smooth metal. It was the white-handled one; upon seeing it closer, you could better register its quality. It must’ve been insanely durable, more so than his other blades considering Yoru hadn’t shattered this one in battle—one of the strongest blades in the world.

“What’s the sword’s name?” you asked.

Zoro ignored your question. “What are you doing here?” he repeated.

You sighed, turning towards him, although you were careful not to touch the sword. Zoro’s grip didn’t budge. “There are pirate hunters coming here,” you answered. “At midnight. An ambush.”

Zoro still didn’t move. The night sky cast his entire face in shadow, the only light on board being a trembling lantern by the interior doors. You could just barely see the gleam of one eye, yellow light shining on his cheekbone. “Why would you come?”

“Honestly, I don’t know,” you answered coolly. “My father let you go for a reason. It’d be a shame if you died before you realized why.” It was an easy lie—because the real reason was one you didn’t want to think about. Because Luffy’s words struck something in you. Because they rang true.

“We don’t need your protection.”

You shrugged, only one shoulder moving upwards before relaxing again. “Just a friendly warning.”

Carefully, Zoro lowered his blade, the steel scraping along the edge of its scabbard opening before he slid it closed. “The Wado Ichimonji.”

Your eyes were still on the sheathed katana. “Hm?”

“The sword. Its name is Wado Ichimonji.”

You tilted your head back, angling it towards the sword strapped to your jacket. “Hiru,” you said. “That’s mine.”

“Day,” Zoro translated. “You have matching swords with your father?”

“Just matching names,” you answered. “It’s a spadroon, not a kreigsmesser. Much smaller than Yoru. Birthday present. When I was thirteen.”

Zoro eyed you. “I’ll wake the rest of the crew,” he said. “You can go.”

You made no move to, consulting your watch as Zoro rang the ship’s bell. Five minutes to midnight. You could already hear the near-noiseless patter of footsteps on the pier.

The orange-haired woman was the first out, fingers wrapped around a short wooden rod. She exchanged a look with Zoro, and he nodded towards the pier. She somehow knew exactly what he meant from that, dodging back inside the ship and returning, dragging a dark-haired man out.

“Uh, what’s going on?” the man asked, stifling a yawn as he fiddled with a slingshot. Both Zoro and the woman shushed him. “Jeez, okay.” He noticed you then. “Oh, hey, you’re the hawk dude’s kid—”

“Shut up, Usopp,” the woman snapped. She’d moved by the boat’s side, ducked under the rim. The footsteps were getting louder.

The blond man came out next, hands shoved casually in his pockets and dressed in clothes you genuinely did not think functioned as sleepwear. “Hunters,” the orange-haired woman said. “Ambush.”

“Isn’t that lovely,” the blond man murmured. He caught your eye, and a smile lit up his face. “Well, hello there.”

Both Zoro and the woman rolled their eyes. Before the blond could say anything more, though, the hunters’ footsteps abruptly stopped.

The orange-haired woman spun up from her crouch, wooden stick extending into a long staff as she whipped it out. She slammed one end of the staff into an incoming hunter’s gut as he leapt aboard the ship, forcing him off the side of the vessel.

Everything happened all at once, then—you heard the slick shing! of Zoro unsheathing his katana, and the blond was up and running towards another gaggle of hunters within the second, legs flying in an assortment of well-placed kicks.

You reached over your shoulder, tugging Hiru out of its straps. The blade shone bright under the moonlight, and you caught an incoming hunter’s sword with the lick of it, shoving him backwards as you spun.

“Why’s Mihawk’s girl here?” the blond called, as he slid across the deck, leg raising up into a spinning hook. “Not that I’m complaining, of course. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” He met your eyes and winked, leaving you staring in utter disbelief until another hunter distracted you. “I’m Sanji!”

“Okay?” you asked blankly, letting out a huff of exertion as you whipped your sword toward the hunter. He’d pulled out one of his guns, wielding his blade one-handed as he fumbled with the trigger. You breathed in, recalling your father’s words from the thousands of hours spent training. Take advantage of any imbalances, sweetheart. Focus on the center of gravity.

You aimed a sliding kick at the man’s gun, using Hiru to push against his blade. The pressure caused him to fling halfway across the ship, body thudding against the mast before falling to the ground in a heap.

“Impressive,” Sanji whistled from his spot across the ship.

“Shut up,” Zoro and the orange-haired woman said in unison. Zoro was beside the fallen hunter in a second, katana slashing cleanly through his torso before he spun and shoved the blade straight into an incoming man’s stomach. Sanji just scoffed.

“Show-off,” he said accusatively. Zoro rolled his eyes, turning towards Sanji to argue, when you glimpsed someone at his back. You lunged for the man, sword cutting cleanly through his jugular before he fell across the deck, decollated.

Zoro turned, glancing over his shoulder at the body and then up at you. “You’re welcome,” you said, flicking Hiru to the side. Spatters of blood dripped off its blade.

“...Right.” The number of hunters had considerably thinned, only three or four left. The orange-haired woman was still fighting two of them, placing hits of her bo staff along two mens’ skulls. Usopp had crouched by the forecastle, firing pellets off with his slingshot. Sanji dusted off the final two men, until only the ringleader was left.

“Wait, wait.” The hunter backed away until he ran into the ship’s railing. He scrambled for his pistol, but as Zoro, Sanji, and the orange-haired woman advanced on him, apparently realized the idea was in vain. “We—we can talk about this.”

“I don’t think we can.” You turned at the new voice, watching as Luffy slipped out from the captain’s chambers. His hand came up to adjust his hat, crowned atop his head as always. “You came aboard my ship and tried to hurt my friends.”

The hunter’s jaw fell slack, mouth drying over as Luffy came to stand in front of him. The rest of the crew had parted to allow him space, and Luffy titled his head up, the lick of light from the lantern shining against his skin. A crescent-shaped scar under his eye glowed bright, the skin paler than the rest of his face.

“Gum gum…” he started, voice steadily rising in volume as he extended his hand backwards, fingers curled into a fist. To your surprise, his arm just kept stretching back, limb getting longer and longer with a distinctly rubbery stretch until it was all the way at the other side of the ship. “Pistol!”

His arm snapped back all in one, knocking the hunter straight in the jaw and shoving him off the ship in one, devastating blow. You stared at his flailing body, watching as he dropped straight into the ocean ten or so meters away with a loud plop.

You turned towards Luffy, one brow arched in question. “You’re a Devil Fruit eater?”

“The Gum Gum fruit,” Luffy said brightly. He adjusted his hat once more, fixing it atop his head before reaching an arm out to pat you on the shoulder. “Thank you for warning us. You’re a good person.”

“Don’t mention it.” You glanced down at Hiru. “Have anything I can clean my blade with?”

“Sure! Let Sanji cook you something while you’re here,” Luffy said. “It’s the least we can do.”

“Of course,” Sanji said with a little bow. “What would you like? Name anything and I’ll make it.”

You eyed him. “…Anything.”

Sanji let out an exaggerated sigh. “So uninspired. Meet you in the kitchen, then. We can leave the mosshead to clean up the bodies.”

The orange-haired woman just rolled her eyes. “I’m going back to bed,” she declared. She glanced over at you, appraising you in one solid sweep up and down your body. “I’m Nami.”

With that final word, she departed, snapping closed her staff and slipping back into the boat. Luffy, Usopp, and Sanji shuffled into the boat, presumably the kitchen. Zoro just sighed, setting his katana to the side to start cleaning up the corpses left after the battle.

You made no move to follow the others inside, watching as Zoro easily lifted up one of the hunters. The lines of his biceps strained as he climbed off the ship, still hefting the body before finally placing it down on the pier.

“Just toss them into the ocean,” you called. Zoro glanced over his shoulder, registering you standing there. He picked another body up.

“I don’t want to block our slip,” he answered.

“Fair enough. Any oil around here?” You wandered to the ship’s side, glancing through the boxes fixed to the deck. Zoro gestured in some direction that harmed more than it helped, really, but you dug through some boxes before unearthing something you could clean Hiru with.

You worked in silence, slicking the blade with the oil and rubbing off all the blood and mess that had gotten onto it. Zoro was quick, piling up all the corpses and barely-alive bodies by the dock. He shoved a few of them awake with his boot. “Go find a doctor,” you heard him mutter under his breath. You suppressed a laugh.

Eventually, Zoro climbed back on board, searching for his sword only to find it in your hands. You carefully polished off the last of the blade, then presented it to him. “You’re welcome.”

“…Thanks,” Zoro said, sheathing it in one smooth swipe.

“The cut,” you said, glancing down at his torso again. His shirt was covering the bandages, but you knew they were still there. “It was Yoru that did it. Not Kogatana.”

“The big one, yeah,” Zoro answered. You watched him thoughtfully, although you didn’t say a word. He seemed to get impatient by that, and was speaking just a moment afterwards— “Why?”

You gave a quick shake of your head. “Nothing,” you answered, the lie slipping easily off your tongue. But your mind churned with thoughts, the mere brain activity making your stomach curdle. It hadn’t clicked before, but now—your father didn’t use Yoru on anyone who wasn’t worthy. And letting Zoro live—letting the entire crew go, against Garp’s orders?

This was a more interesting group than you’d anticipated.

Zoro eyed you for a moment as you were lost in thought, though he didn’t say anything to interrupt you. Once you finally looked up, he adjusted, clearing his throat. “Should go inside to make sure the waiter isn’t burning down the kitchen,” he said, straightening.

You stood up, sliding Hiru into its scabbard on your back. “The… waiter?”

Zoro shook his head. “Long story.” He gestured with his head, nodding towards the double doors. “Kitchen.”

You followed him, the soft aroma of garlic and meat wafting around the room the instant you stepped foot inside. Everyone was crowded around the kitchen island, propped on chairs and staring as Sanji prepared a meal before them. You joined the group, glancing over Usopp’s shoulder to watch.

There was a stir-fry on the stove, garlic and onions joined by various other vegetables. Sanji drizzled soy sauce along the pan, scraping it around once with his spatula before turning down the heat. He added in some rice—leftover, it looked—along with some battered eggs, mixing it all together.

“Vegetable and chicken fried rice,” Sanji said, turning off the heat once everything had cooked through and starting to distribute it into servings. “I went for something universal because I don’t know what you like.” He met your eyes, flashing a giant, warm smile again. You took the bowl he offered, fingers wrapping around the warm ceramic.

“Thank you,” you said. The four of you stood in silence, and you had the feeling that you were intruding. The crew was a tight unit, that much was certain—wound tightly around each other, ropes intersecting in delicate knots and bows. You turned your attention to your meal. You hadn’t had a real supper, so the food was a welcome surprise, and it was damn near close to the best thing you’d ever tasted.

“So,” Luffy started, “Not to bug you about it a hundred times, but…” You glanced up. His expression was earnest as he met your eyes, lips tugged upwards in an encouraging smile even as he spoke. “Are you joining us?”

“Am I—? Oh,” you said, realizing what it was Luffy was referring to. “Is the offer still standing?”

“Always,” he answered brightly. “You’d be a good fit for our crew, you know.”

Would you really? There wasn’t much of anything special about you besides your parentage. You were as skilled a swordswoman as any, but there were hundreds better and stronger than you. There was no one thing you truly excelled at. “I’ll think about it,” you said hesitantly.

“Well, think quick. We leave at dawn,” Luffy said. “Meet us back here at blue hour if you’d like to join up.” He smiled again, all unassuming, and it was hard to believe a boy so pleasant had a thirty million berry bounty hanging suspended over his head. He yawned, stretching out his long limbs. “Well, I’m off to sleep. Sanji’s next watch.” He glanced over at Zoro. “Why don’t you walk her back to her slip, Zoro?”

Your brows furrowed, about to object, but Zoro was already standing up. He opted to say nothing, leaving you to set down your empty bowl and say your goodbyes in a hurry to follow him out.

The bodies on the pier had thinned, the alive ones presumably having dragged themselves to town to find a doctor. Zoro stepped over the heap of corpses, and you followed suit, walking in silence down south port. “I’m a little far,” you said. “You might lose your way heading back.”

“I’ll be fine,” Zoro dismissed. “I’m… sorry about Luffy. He can get overly enthusiastic.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” you said with a shake of your head. “Are the rest of the crew open to me joining, though? It didn’t seem like he consulted any of you.”

Zoro’s brows lifted at that, though you weren’t certain why. “We’re all fine with it,” he said eventually. “Luffy wouldn’t invite someone who wouldn’t fit.” He hesitated, the plod of your footsteps creaking against the dock walkway for a few paces before he parted his lips again. “I’m going to fight Mihawk again, you know.”

“I figured,” you answered. You could feel Zoro’s eyes on you, scraping along your skin like they were blades themselves.

“You’re not upset by that?”

“Everyone wants to kill him for some reason or another,” you said. “You’re not the first.” Though there was something undeniably special about him. The fact he was still alive, for one. “I figure you’re a long way from that, so I’ll have a father for a few years more until you try to kill him again.”

There was something in the way you phrased your words that sounded so very ironic, and Zoro couldn’t suppress the light grunt from escaping his lips. It was dry, brittle—but closer to a laugh than a scoff, you could tell. “Is that your blessing?”

“Sure,” you said. “I, Dracule Mihawk’s daughter, hereby allow you, Roronoa Zoro, to murder my father in a duel.” The lightness in your tone dropped. “If you don’t mind me asking…” you took in a light breath, letting the taste of the words melt on your tongue before slipping them out. “Why do you want to, anyway? Defeat him, I mean?”

“I made a promise to someone a long time ago,” Zoro answered. His footsteps slowed as you reached your slip, the small sloop you’d sailed all the way to Loguetown calm as ever where it was moored. The black sails—vague, nondescript—sucked away all the light the moon attempted to cast on it, so it was even darker than the rest of the surroundings. “I told her I would become the world’s greatest swordsman.”

“That’s heavy,” you remarked, turning to face your companion. His skin was waxy and dull under the moonlight—aftereffects of the injury he still hadn’t fully recovered from. Zoro just shrugged.

“Maybe. It’s my life’s dream.”

“He’s a good father,” you said. “I think he’d like you.” You paused. “Well, he does. He wouldn’t have let you live if he didn’t.”

Zoro stiffened, the lines of his body tightening, spine pulling up just slightly. You noticed the change—you always did. Observation had always been one of your biggest strengths. Maybe you hadn’t gotten the golden irises your father had, but you had hawk eyes of your own in that way. Never missing a thing, picking out all flaws and details in a scene. “I’m not sure if I want him to like me.”

“He doesn’t feel hatred for a lot of people,” you said. “Just disdain. Though I’m fairly certain he’d have skewered that drunk at the bar earlier if he’d been with me.”

“The one who—” Zoro looked distinctly uncomfortable as he remembered what the pirate had offered you. He made a vague gesture instead, just mildly vulgar in motion. You suppressed a laugh.

“Exactly,” you agreed. “He doesn’t have patience for that sort of thing. He also feels no man who’s weaker than me in combat isn’t man enough to be with me, though I have questions about that particular rule.”

Zoro snorted. “You could definitely do better than the drunk pirate.”

“Right.” You glanced up at the moon, watching the steady silver glow of her face along the edge of the horizon. She was full, round and white, soft powder creasing the dents and shadows of her face. “I’m out for the night, then. Thank you for walking me.”

Zoro shrugged. He didn’t say anything, so you turned away, stepping onto your sloop without another word. You ducked into the interior room, closing the door firmly behind you so you could finally relax.

You had only a handful of hours of rest ahead of you, after all.

pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3

i'll be making a taglist for this series; just comment if you'd like to be added!

#opla zoro #opla roronoa zoro #opla #roronoa zoro #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x you #reader insert #x reader #one piece live action #one piece netflix #one piece live action x you #one piece live action x reader #opla fanfic #opla fanfiction #dracule mihawk #opla zoro x reader #kiki writes!

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sordidmusings · 7 months

Text

Tender Love and Care - Hair Care (Buggy x Reader)

Art by Capitanpoops (link keeps expiring QnQ)

A/N: Ah yes, another 'taking care of Buggy's head' fic to take up space on the internet. Just gotta indulge in giving this man some tlc. Did I write four thousand words of simping for the cringefail pirate clown's hair? Yes. And I'd do it again >:p

Word Count: ~4 k

Warnings: feminine leaning afab!reader (no pronouns or gendered titles), Lots of Feelings, yearning, possibly angst?, probably hurt/comfort?, waxing very poetic, Buggy being a prickly bitch who doesn't know how to receive affection, Buggy also being a delusional bitch who immediately latches on to that affection

amab!Version

Next ->

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

“Touch the makeup and I’ll bite your fingers off!”

“I’m quaking.”

“...I’ll spit in your face.” His eyes narrowed while you blanched. “I’ve got damn good aim too so you better watch those big ol’ eyes.” Almost a compliment? Progress.

“To save us both from catastrophe, I’ll let you keep your grease-face,” you promised. After a few more seconds of giving you the stink eye (really, you should be taking notes because his form is exemplary), Buggy finally settled back into your hold. His stubble scratched lightly at your palms and you allowed your thumbs a scant few passes from his cheek bones to the back of his jaw. That was easy enough to play off as mindless movements while you examined him for the coming wash. Hopefully. You were at least putting in the effort to keep the affection in your chest from blooming into a wide smile on your face, lest he begin spitting like a wet cat again.

After placing him down on your clothes chest, you began gathering together the things you’d need to clean him up. You had already prepared a large basin of steaming water before you had grabbed Buggy from Zoro for your night shift with him. If he had truly protested against you then you’d just have extra water to pamper yourself with for your nightly routine. What a loss. While you flitted around grabbing a cup, a pile of towels, and care products, Buggy took to commenting about whatever his eyes fell on around your room. Your half-assed replies did nothing to discourage his gentle roast of your safe space. He only shut up when you picked him back up and brought him over to the basin.

You were taken by surprise when you took off his bandana. You had guessed that his hair was thick from the pieces that framed his face, but you hadn’t expected long locks to be wrapped up in there. They slipped and fell down like silk despite being in clear need of a wash, and you started to become a bit excited to see how they would come to shine under your care.

“What’s wrong with you? Never seen hair before?” There was a bit more bite to him all of a sudden and it hit you that he may be self-conscious from your staring.

“Never seen yours before, duh,” you teased. “You should wear your hair out as a power move against all the scrangly ass men in these waters.”

Buggy took a blank-faced moment to process your words. Probably weighing your sincerity against the backlog of insults he’s heard in his life. Unfortunately, one joking compliment never stood a chance.

“Whatever, just do your job.” His bitter tone made you keep your mouth shut and drop the topic. For now.

Seeing how he had a lot more hair than anticipated, you got up again to grab yet another towel so that you could use it as a cushion. Finally settled, you grabbed Buggy in one hand, the cup in the other, and got to work. You had laid a small board across the basin so you could rest Buggy on it instead of having to hold him up the whole time. You may have gotten strong in this life, but you were not masochistic enough to try holding him up throughout this process. You made sure to be extra gentle when you put him to rest on the back of his head, mindful that the hard plank wasn’t the most comfortable.

Wetting his hairline was taking longer than you thought. The soft noises from the pouring water hitting his scalp and trickling through his hair into the basin below felt loud in the stillness of the room. Everything had a languid air like you could breathe freely without thought or time to measure the passing of each exhale. Wanting to check in, you looked down from your task and into Buggy’s face. Despite all his past showboating, Buggy was having difficulty keeping his gaze anywhere near your face. You decided to take pity on him in his discomfort but not too much. “So how’d you get your damn good aim?”

Silence.

You’re beginning to think that him looking at you like you’re stupid is his comfort zone.

“You know, that ‘damn good aim’ that makes my ‘big ol’ eyes’ easy targets?” you supplied. At first, you thought he would roll his eyes and make more digs at you, but he finally caught you off guard.

“It’s a trade secret,” he said with a growing smile and a glint in his eyes. His face grew even more pleased when you smiled mischievously back at him.

“Clown trade?”

He hummed out an affirmative. You saturated the last of his hair at the front and sides and now needed to dunk the rest in the basin. The sheer amount of long blue locks that this pretty, pretty man had may cause it to overflow, but you supposed that’s just a workplace hazard when becoming a glamor clown’s hairdresser. You paused in lowering him to look around quite dramatically (squinty eyes, pursed lips, and all) before leaning slightly closer to stage whisper, “You can tell me; I ain’t no snitch.”

You barely caught the laugh that he choked short in order to keep up his serious facade. He let his eyes wander the room to double check your surveying and pretended to be in thought. He let out a heaving sigh and said, “Okay, okay, but you have to lean in close. Can’t have this getting out.”

Ever obliging, you turned your head and leaned until you felt his warm breath on your skin and the roundness of his nose tickling to top of your ear. You were thankful he couldn’t see the little shiver down your spine or the goosebumps spreading down your neck. He was thankful you couldn’t see him close his eyes to savor the scent of your perfume. All was still for a few breaths too long.

“The secret?” you prompted, thinking he was waiting for your urging or that he was just trying to make you squirm. You didn’t see his eyes flutter open while he forced thoughts other than your closeness back into that head of his. Okay, he really needed to do something to reel himself back in and get some control of the situation. Easier said than done when he’s only a head.

You felt as much as you heard him take a deliberate inhale… only for a loud raspberry to be blown right next to your ear.

Nearly dropping him in shock, you quickly pulled your head back and held him at arm’s length like a misbehaved puppy. Through his canting cackles, Buggy met your wide eyes with a proud grin. It didn’t even need the help of his makeup to split his face. Damn, you could stare at that forever. He had just the prettiest eyes you think you’d ever seen. The way they shifted color under the low lights and sparkled with his smile had you feeling entranced. It had the same commanding presence and addicting warmth as flames with their own swirling colors and sparking embers. You thought your poetic idioms for him would always center around the sea, especially for his blue-green eyes, but here we are.

The corner of his smile started to twitch downward under your stare until wild and cheerful giggles burst from your lips. They were the kind to shake your shoulders and scrunch your cheeks up into your eyes and he’s now certain that he has fucked right up. Buggy felt alarms blaring in his mind as he took in your joy and was certain he would make an absolute fool of himself in any and all ways possible to keep getting hits of it. Between your settling laughter, you managed to say, “Don’t worry, I’ll bring that wisdom with me to my grave.”

Readjusting your grip, you moved forward and dunked the back of Buggy’s head fully into the water. He sighed out at the sensation, but he fully melted when one of your hands went to support the back of his skull and the other flowed through his tresses to make sure all of them were wet. You let yourself take your time, both to make sure you were thorough and to indulge yourself in the comfort of the moment. A tenderness spread through you when you saw that this was also indulging Buggy. His breath was slow and steady, and his eyes were resting closed to better focus on the sensations coming to him. You truly were a people pleaser at heart and seeing someone so bedraggled and affection-starved accept your care made your heart and head feel fuzzy.

You slowly leaned him more upright and used your other hand to wipe out some of the excess water. Buggy felt you shuffling around, and his eyes opened to see what you were up to. After you moved him to rest on the flat bottom of his neck on top of the softest towel that he’s felt in ages, he realized that you went through the trouble to try to make even that wooden board comfortable for his sake. He was starting to feel even more uncertain and out of his element.

Careful fingers carded through and spread out his hair behind him while an equally careful gaze watched over their work. After lathering your hands with a shampoo bar scented by vanilla and spices, you set to work giving him the scalp massage of a lifetime.

While focusing on doing the best job possible and maybe also the beautiful color of his hair was keeping you from thinking about anything else, Buggy had no such luxury. He had nothing to direct his nervous energy at - didn’t even have fingers to fidget with! - so he closed his eyes and tried to keep his face neutral. Everyone enjoys a good scalp massage or at least some kind of pampering so it wouldn’t have been weird for him to visibly enjoy it, but something watery and vulnerable was pressing at his throat under your tender care. His mind and body (well… head) were at odds. While his train of thought spun every which way only to be tethered back to the word ‘why’, his muscles melted until they were soft and pleasantly limp. Has his brow ever been so smooth? His jaw so loose? His lips so softly set? Oh God, you must have noticed the stubborn stiffness in his neck because your fingers abandoned his hair to firmly rub from the base of his skull to where he met the towel and that was truly his undoing.

With a rumbly hum, Buggy finally gave in to temptation and tied his mind to your movements. He let himself imagine affection there - imagine that this was special and just for him. You’ve never tended to anyone else like this. You offered because you simply had to know what his hair felt like. You just wanted to touch him. You wanted it much more than you ever wanted to touch anyone else. If he opened his eyes and looked up at yours, he would see them pouring with love, just like your hands were, and you would look sweetly down at him with your pretty eyes and pretty smile and say lovely things and you’d love him-

You’d love him.

Fuck.

You noticed Buggy suddenly flinch under your hands and you tensed up.

“Are you okay? Did I snag your hair?” You hadn’t felt anything tug but you supposed you could’ve missed it.

Buggy cleared his throat before stiffly responding, “No. Keep going.”

Something thick in his tone caught your attention and you looked to see his expression was tense instead of the blissed out one you had admired not too long ago. That won’t do. You went back to the tried and true pressure points on the scalp that you knew from experience eased anyone up. Checking his face again, you noticed it was more relaxed but still too guarded for your tastes. Deciding he must be getting antsy, you switched to working the shampoo down his hair after getting a touch more product on your hands. The time it took to get it properly sudsed and rinsed was calm, despite the fact that there was some undercurrent to the air that felt charged. Maybe it was just from seeing the talkative and bratty clown be so subdued. As you began spreading conditioner through his hair, you decided that it was time to engage him again.

“This bar is my favorite; nothing makes my hair softer,” you said. Already, his hair was relaxing to glide even more smoothly between your fingers. You weren’t ready to give the feeling up, so you spent the entire time that the conditioner was setting to run your fingers through his hair.

Buggy couldn’t do anything at the moment to judge your claim, but the smell alone made him understand why it was your favorite. It matched that of the shampoo bar, but the richer ingredients in the conditioner highlighted the comforting tones of the vanilla and the sensuality of warm spices and wood. He relished in it on every inhale, hoping to unravel and memorize its every undertone. Was that a touch of orchid in there? A little pink peppercorn? Maybe some incense and amber at the base? Buggy suddenly felt ridiculous. He was never one to give much thought to fancy perfumes, yet here he was trying to dissect your scent like a sommelier tasting a new wine.

You made quick work of rinsing his hair this final time and gently pushing and squeezing any excess water out. You set Buggy back on a towel, this time one that was spread on the floor. It was the one that you had just been sitting on. Buggy was embarrassed that he noticed and enjoyed the fact that he could still feel your body heat on it.

“How many of those things do you have?” Buggy scoffed as you pulled yet another towel over to dry his hair. You bopped his forehead with a finger in warning against further sass.

“You can never have too many. It’s something that you use daily and they come in handy during emergencies,” you explained.

“Oh yeah like what?”

“Well, I was thinking of situations like having to soak up a spill or blood, but the state of your hair definitely qualifies.”

The outburst was immediate.

“I KNEW YOU WERE MAKING FUN OF ME YOU DAMN LIAR! HOW DA-”

Good thing you were prepared for this and stuffed some of yet another towel into his screaming mouth. He bit down on it harshly and glared at you with all his might. Snarls and grumbles still made their way through the cloth, letting you know just how displeased he was. You were a little shocked to find that despite being gagged and despite just being a head that his glare still actually intimidated you. The time spent with the crew treating him like a harmless little pest had helped you forget that, when push came to shove, he could back up his talk with violence.

The brief glimpse of fear in your eyes gave him a twinge of satisfaction but mostly felt a lot more hollow than he’d expected. Wasn’t this what he wanted?

When you reached back out to continue drying his hair, you were more tentative than he had ever seen you and his mood dropped even further. Even with your caution, the way that you moved the towel over his hair and gently squeezed more water out of it was filled with care. The whole thing felt very foreign to him. Buggy usually rubbed his towel through his hair chaotically like the more forceful he was the sooner he could get done with the bothersome task. You were working over him like any undue force would be an insult. Like he was something precious. That watery feeling started pressing on him again.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you started quietly. “I just meant to poke fun, not make you actually feel insulted.” After a few more soft pats with the towel, you slowly removed his makeshift gag. He took a moment to wiggle around his jaw and get the dry feeling out of his mouth.

“Yeah, well good job, dumbass,” he bit. You winced at the hurt in his tone. “Just finish up.”

You took a moment to recenter yourself while you grabbed your comb and brush. This was not how you wanted this to go. One wrong comment had sent this whole interaction spiraling and it made you sad. Sensitivity like that was usually built up from years of feeling the same hurts over and over again, and you didn’t ever want to be someone to aggravate an already festering wound, especially not on someone who you genuinely enjoyed. Not on someone who you were increasingly craving affection from. This needed to be fixed. Steeling yourself for the resistance you were about to meet, you began combing the ends of his hair and spoke, “The blue color is so pretty.”

He ignored you. As expected.

“It was one of the first things I noticed about you.” He still wouldn’t even glance up at you. “Also how it brings out the color of your eyes.”

He snorted dismissively in a way that very clearly told you he wasn’t believing a word you said. Also expected. You’re just going to have to soldier on until this eventually worked… maybe worked… hopefully worked?

Just as in the rest of the process, you were slow and thorough when combing his hair. You murmured compliments to him about how soft it is; how thick and how beautiful. By the time that you had switched to using your brush, he was showing signs of being worn down by your flattery. His face was more relaxed and he let himself look around instead of trying to burn a hole through the floor. All you could focus on, though, was how downcast and tired his eyes looked.

“Alright, I’m all finished up,” you told him. “I’m going to put you in the hammock for a minute while I get ready for bed.”

After placing him in the middle of your bedding, you disappeared behind a dressing screen. The routine of bathing yourself with a washcloth and bowl of soapy water eased you. Since you had taken so much time tending to Buggy, the last bowl of fresh water had become lukewarm. Despite this, the final wipe down had you feeling refreshed and ready to jump into bed. It was no soak in the tub, but still left you feeling much better after a long day of helping work around the ship.

You had set about your routine briskly so that you didn’t leave Buggy waiting too long. Little did you know, he didn’t mind the time of having nothing to do besides enjoy the soft blankets you curled up in every night. He was trying to soak it in before you inevitably put him back down on the floor. If the night had taught him anything, you’d at least put him on one of those fluffy towels instead of throwing him back in the bag like the others did.

You came over to him on the hammock and he admired how you looked, now clean and fresh in a modest slip. When you picked him back up, your face and body language were as placid as he had ever seen them and he was surprised at how content that made him feel. He readied himself to be moved away, left cold and forgotten, but he was astonished when you plopped yourself in your bedding instead with him still in your hands. The shock must have shown on his face because you giggled at him and gave him a bright smile. Even with the bumpy road that the night had been, your smile made him soft and content. He was realizing with more and more resignation that your smile and laugh would let you get away with anything when it came to him.

“So no floor? Trying to bribe me with favors?” His voice was mostly back to that sarcastic lilt you’ve come to adore.

Content that he was feeling better, you answered, “Nah, just using you so I can have a teddy bear. Haven’t had a good one in ages.”

Making good on that promise, you made sure that he was securely nestled into your neck and shoulder. You used both of your arms to cradle him there and both hands to continue your worship of his hair. It was just barely damp and the coolness felt nice on your hands, especially in contrast to the cozy heat emanating from his head. His long eyelashes tickled at your neck every time he blinked, just like the light scruff on his jaw teased at your chest. His big nose felt cozy rested on your clavicle, and you had to resist the urge to reach down and trail your fingers on it. A giddy and victorious feeling flushed through you when you felt him close his eyes a final time and sink into your embrace.

Buggy should have known that he was doomed from the start. He was having a hell of a time trying not to moan at your fingers scratching and massaging his scalp, both during the hair care and now, when he was held in your arms. He couldn’t stop his little movements to nestle into you and get just that much more of your warmth and touch. If he thought that he loved the smell of you before, he was absolutely intoxicated now that he knew what it was like when it floated over the two of you while wrapped in body-warmed sheets.

He wanted to ask you why you were doing all of this, but he didn’t want to know the answer. Not right now. Right now he was going to let himself go back into that place in his head where you lo- cared about him. A place where each night he would crawl into bed with you and, no matter how the day went, you would be there to empty his mind of anything but the two of you. You’d greet him with a kiss or a laugh or an embrace and you would shine with so much joy because he’s next to you again. He’d know what your love felt like, how your body felt under his hands, how your skin felt under his lips. All these daydreams swirling in his head started to make him sick with want, and he needed to know at least one of them. He couldn’t handle all of them staying forever in his mind.

The tiniest increase of pressure from his lips brought your attention to where they rested below your collarbone. The almost kiss was so heartbreakingly shaky and hesitant that you felt your eyes burn with the threat of tears. To reassure him, you dragged your cheek across his temple before turning to leave a deliberate kiss there. Buggy relished the contact, the satisfied sigh you let out afterward, and the gentle weight of your cheek as you snuggled back into him. Your reward came in the form of a grinning cheek pushing into you.

All his humor and posturing certainly caught your attention in the best way and even his explosive temper was something you couldn’t say turned you away. This gentleness, though, this uncertain and wounded place, had you bursting with affection and you were hoping to keep experiencing it. You’d meet it each time with steady affection until it turned into something he embodied with the same surety that he had in his beloved spotlight.

Both of you slipped more sweetly into dreams, curled up together as you were, and with more peace and ease than the years before had allowed. Neither of you would let the years to come be absent of this sweet treasure, either.

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