#Crewed Overnight Boat

[girlscience]

EXTREMELY UNPREPARED FIELDWORK AAAAA

[fandomnerd9602]

All Too Well

Actress!Wanda x Stunt!Reader

Inspired by the film ‘The Fall Guy’

You couldn’t remember what drove you and your girlfriend, the famous actress Wanda Maximoff, apart. Maybe it was the different schedules. Maybe it was the nagging feeling that an actress of her caliber deserved better than a stunt person like yourself.

So you made the biggest mistake of your life and broke up with her. If you could take it all back you would.

It had been four months since you broke up. The stunt industry was hitting a slight lull due to a bigger focus on special effects and deepfakes. So you were shocked when Tony Stark, a good friend and famous director in his own right, called you saying that he needed a stunt person of your caliber to help out on his latest blockbuster.

“You’re gonna love it (Y/N)!” He exclaimed over the phone’s speaker, “it’s the biggest film of my career and I want you for a few stunts. Two weeks, Australia, it’s perfect.”

“Fine.” You huffed, “if it was anyone else, I’d say no but…”

“Yeah yeah never say no to a Stark” even thru the speaker you could tell he was smirking.

So you boarded the overnight flight to Australia. You ran over the stunts via Zoom with Clint and Natasha - the best stunt team in the world. The first big stunt was a motorcycle crash into the bed of a truck while the lead actress rode away on her own. You'd be playing the henchman chasing her that ends up in said truck bed.

You arrived on the set the following day and go your horror, you saw her from a distance. Your ex, Wanda Maximoff. Her back was to you but you knew it was her, her reddish brown locks. You’d know her anywhere. She was talking to some British dude, she seemed happy. It broke your heart, shattered it into a million pieces.

You quickly ducked into a trailer and came face to face with Tony.

“So how was your flight?” He smirked.

“You didn’t tell me Wanda was here!” You whispered-yelled at him.

“You wouldn’t have come if I did.” He shrugged, “listen you’re the best fall person in the business. This movie needs you. And even if she doesn’t know it, Wanda needs you too”

You let your brief anger subside, "so who's the guy? Wanda seems happy"

"That's Vision, her costar"

"Vision?"

"I don't know he's European or something like that" Tony passes you a cup of coffee, "for the jet lag. Your stunt's coming up, Fall Guy"

Tony gives you a wink and heads out of his trailer. You gave it some thought. Wanda did need you. This movie had to be a success. Wanda deserved all the success, all the happiness in the world. And if you can help in some small way, that's all that mattered.

You readied yourself, crash suit, helmet, crash pads, and your sense of danger and confidence. You put down the visor and made your way to the set.

You walked past and saw Vision gently talking to Wanda, "go get it, super star"

Superstar. That was your nickname for her. You boarded your motorcycle and she boarded hers. Tony took his place behind the camera.

"Camera rolling. Speed. Action!"

Wanda revved the motorcycle and took off. You took off after her. You kept the safe distance per the plan.

"And cue motorcycle crash!" Tony called out. Wanda fired her fake gun. BLAM! BLAM! The blanks went off.

You fumbled and crashed right into the crash cushions hidden in the truck bed. Your motorcycle went up and over, according to plan and landed with a crash.

"And cut!" Tony called out. You stumbled and fell onto the street.

Wanda ran up to you, "are you alright?" She didn't even know it was you and yet she still had the same care for a stunt person. You gave her a thumbs up. Wanda's eyes went wide.

"(Y/N)?!" Wanda asked in sheer shock.

You stumbled to your feet and yanked off your helmet. "h-hey Wanda"

"And that was perfect! We're moving on!" Tony called out. The crew grabbed their gear and moved out, leaving you and Wanda staring at one another.

"I can't believe you're here" she shook her head.

"Believe me I'm in the same boat" you shrugged, "you look great"

"its the costume"

"no it's you. You look great in everything. You look good in nothing" you stuttered out.

"Same old (Y/N)" she shook her head and walked away. You could feel her slipping from your grasp yet again.

"Wanda" you called out, "I'm sorry"

She stopped dead in her tracks, "what?"

"I-I'm sorry" you apologized, "you deserved better and it looks like you're on your way to that."

"t-thank you" she whispered out before walking off. Vision approached you with a smile.

"You're (Y/N) (L/N)!" the British actor said, "I hope this is alright but I am such a fan of your stuntwork. I've looked up your reels so many times. Wanda's told me she loved working with you"

"Working. Yeah." you gave him a smile before heading off set, "it was nice meetin' you Vision."

Tony walked by and handed you a set of car keys. "Your hotel's set up on the GPS. The GMC's yours to keep" Tony gives you a genuine smile.

It was dusk. Everyone was readying to head back to their respective lodgings. You found the GMC Tony spoke of. It was GMC Sierra 1500 AT4X, pretty expensive for a little token of Tony's appreciation.

You hopped in, and immediately all your hopes came crashing down. Why did you have to mess it up? Wanda was the best thing you've ever known and now she's got that British actor Vision. All proper and well mannered.

You turned on the truck and out of all the songs the radio could've played, it just had to play All Too Well (Taylor's Version).

'Cause there we are again on that little town street You almost ran the red 'cause you were lookin' over at me Wind in my hair, I was there I remember it all too well

Your head just sunk a little. Your eyes went up and saw her walking with Vision and a couple other actors. She looked happy. How you wanted to be happy with her. Guess you'd have to be happy for her instead.

The memories just came flooding in. Every stolen moment. Every kiss. Every laugh that the two of you shared.

And maybe we got lost in translation Maybe I asked for too much But maybe this thing was a masterpiece 'til you tore it all up Running scared, I was there I remember it all too well

Tears just began running down your cheek. You lost her. And you'd never get her back.

Never again would you hold her in your arms. Share cuddle sessions in her trailer. The little brainstorming sessions that you had with her on how she could run a scene. The little stunt practices where she'd smash a prop bottle over your head. The little concern that she'd have only for you to give her your signature thumbs up.

And you call me up again just to break me like a promise So casually cruel in the name of being honest I'm a crumpled up piece of paper lying here 'Cause I remember it-

Knock! Knock! Knock! A knock at the truck's window stirred you from your thoughts. You turned to find Wanda looking at you. Her brow was fraught with concern. Her eyes still showed the same adoration and care that she had for you on your first shared film.

You rolled down the window. "um...hey" you tried to say.

"were you listening to Taylor Swift and crying?" she asked you.

"It's just how I unwind after a day of stunts" you tried to cover your tracks.

"may I come in?" she asked. You didn't hesitate to unlock the passenger door. Wanda slipped around the truck and got in.

"You never told me why" Wanda whispered. "why did you break up with me?"

"Where do I even start?" you found yourself at a loss for words.

"Just one reason."

"You deserved better. I'm a stunt person, you were on your way to becoming the starlet you are today and I-i..."

"You were an idiot"

"I know."

"I could do without a lot of things. But losing you was the worst feeling I ever went through." Wanda admits.

"I'm sorry, super star" you look her dead in the eye, "I loved you too much. I thought I would hold you back."

"We were in it together" Wanda looks you in the eyes, there wasn't a hint of anger or malice, "I wanted to be your side."

"And I wanted to be by your side too...Vision seems nice. Does he treat you right?"

"What? I'm not dating Vision."

"Wait what?"

"You thought I'd move on that quickly?" Wanda begins to giggle. Her laugh always made your heart beat out of your chest.

"I-I...um...thought so?" you found yourself blushing.

"Maybe we just needed to learn to communicate better" Wanda takes your hand, "do you think maybe we could start over?"

You offered her a genuine smile and held out your other hand, "(Y/N) professional stunt person"

Your favorite actress giggles and shakes your hand, "Wanda Maximoff. Actress and huge fan of Taylor Swift"

The two of you share a little laugh, "I really missed you Wanda"

"I missed you too...Fall Guy"

She leaned in. So did you. The mere touch of her lips sent shocks thru your whole body. How you missed her touch. The two of you became lost in one another. And this time, you'd never let her go again.

'Cause there we are again when I loved you so Back before you lost the one real thing you've ever known It was rare, I was there, I remember it all too well

Wind in my hair, you were there, you remember it all Down the stairs, you were there, you remember it all It was rare, I was there, I remember it all too well

Tony walked by, catching the sight of the GMC's windows beginning to fog up. He caught just the glimpse of you and Wanda kissing softly through the window.

"Mission accomplished" he laughed to himself as he walked to his own car.

THE END

Tags @lifespectator @olsenmyolsen @supercorpdanbeau @scarletquake-n7 @iamnicodemus @iiconicsfan25 @multi-fandom-enjoyer @pinklawyerwinnerzonk @russianredassassin @revanshand @family-house-of-m @holiday-house-of-m @ab1nsur @aloneodi

[la-muerta]

[ENG SUB + Translation] Hou Minghao's farewell message to Zhao Yuanzhou, 16 Nov 2024

"There's always a breeze or two in the mortal world that can send me on beautiful dreams for 18,000 miles."

This trip in the mortal world is a journey that I, Zhao Yuanzhou, had to make.

A one-word spell: Dream. Now, let me tell you a story...

In the Great Wilderness, everyone knows me, and everyone sees me as the Great Demon that has committed every evil deed, deserving of death. But I made the unexpected choice to enter the fray with sworn enemies, old friends, and new acquaintances, embarking on a new path investigating cases and hunting demons together. To voluntarily sign a contract that decided my death date... most people would think that is an ill-omened beginning. But to me it was a relief, to finally be free of the prison that was of my own making...

Fate bound our demon hunting team together, and as we solved cases together, we got to know each other's true hearts. Some amongst us conquered might with gentleness, some amongst us were full of righteousness, some soft-hearted despite our tough exterior, some are lively troublemakers, some holding on to a true heart. Such a motley crew coming together and the only thing they seemed to be able to agree on was: that I wasn't to be trusted. They know me as Zhao Yuanzhou, but they can't forget all the evil I did as a Great Demon. But it didn't matter since I didn't hold much hope for myself as well, so all these other emotions didn't mean anything to me.

If you asked why I came here, I would tell you it's because I am the Great Demon Zhu Yan, forced to bear the burden of being born as a "vessel". I lost control and made an unredeemable mistake, and only death can eliminate the pain in my heart. Living is torture; Death is the gift of relief. However, I also wanted to give myself a chance at redemption, a boat rowing against the current.

Along the way, the demon hunting team encountered many complicated cases, but we worked hand in hand to solve them and the blades that we had pointed towards each other were turned towards the outside. Sworn enemies became comrades in arms, and as we took one step closer to saving the world, we also uncovered wounds that had already scarred over. As we saw each other's past wounds more clearly, we saw the past laughter that was used to hide the pain. Those who had a responsibility to protect found themselves unable to, those bearing the burdens of upholding the family's honour were just trapped in a dream, and those should have grown up with no worries found their world turned upside down overnight...

If you have a nightmare, someone might comfort you by saying don't worry, everything that happens in a dream is inverted. But what if it's a beautiful dream? Everything I'd experienced felt so real to me. As I journeyed on, I began to get lost in the dream. I started to wonder, what was I going to do if I was the one who lost everyone else in the end? I have to confess, I began to feel reluctant to part with everyone...

The lonely boat travels across the bitter seas, but friendship caused waves to rise in a heart that had died. Along the way, we mended each other bit by bit. What I have experienced is too beautiful for the other "me" to ever understand. The wish to enjoy the passing seasons and happiness of an ordinary life held great hidden strength, so that even though I already knew the ending, I did not give up the struggle. Because of all of you, I was driven not just by my thoughts of despair, but by my desire to protect all of you.

Be it the Great Wilderness or the mortal realm, everything must return to its original path. If you grieve over the fact that Zhu Yan did not get a chance to choose, then I will tell you that it was only a dream. If you are looking forward to embarking on a new journey with Zhao Yuanzhou's companions, then you have to wake up to hear the rest of the story. By the way, don't forget what I said – in the future, when it rains, that means I've come to accompany you. Turn the boat around and think of it as a big dream. On the other shore, someone is searching for me. A one-word spell: Wake.

The days I spent with Zhu Yan/Zhao Yuanzhou, confining myself to my shell and experiencing a life seeking an inevitable end, but I also felt the redemption in the countdown. For an actor, this was a very special creative process. The director's help, encouragement, and trust played a huge role in letting me experience this unique and meaningful role of Zhao Yuanzhou. He gave me a lot of room to interpret the one and only Zhao Yuanzhou, and with this support, I was able to accompany Zhao Yuanzhou through this journey, and finally entrust him to you, the audience, with peace of mind.

Also unforgettable were our companions who were with us every step of the way, and the process of everyone coming together in the creative process is very enjoyable, very satisfying, very worthwhile, and I will remember those scenes vividly. I will miss the Great Wilderness, the Demon Hunting Bureau, and the Kunlun Mountains... places where we left our joys and sorrows. Thanks to Wen Xiao, Xiao Zhuo-daren, Pei Sijing, Xiao Jiu, Ying Lei – because of our little demon hunting squad, Zhao Yuanzhou left knowing he was loved. Thank you to my ride-or-die Li Lun, we didn't forget our oath to protect the Great Wilderness. Thank you to my dear friend Zhao Wan'er, and Grandpa Yingzhao, who gave Yuanzhou the rare warmth of familial affection! Last but not least, I would like to thank all the crew behind the scenes for their hard work over the past few months. I have woken up from the dream, but my heart will always remember.

Signed, Zhu Yan/Zhao Yuanzhou, with remorse but no regrets

[rubyin-wonderland]

Jealous Boy

opla!Zoro x gn!reader

Summary: When your drink is taking too long to make, a stranger makes his intentions known. Zoro isn't pleased.

WC: 1.9k

Warnings/tags: getting hit on, jealous Zoro

The bar has never been your scene. You aren't exactly fond of alcohol and while you can enjoy a lively locale, bars just don't do it for you. You'll put up with a few drinks for your crew, as long as everyone else is drinking as well, but that's it.

You know Zoro likes to drink. However, his social preference leans toward sitting alone nursing a bottle, instead of sipping from a glass surrounded by fellow drunks.

For the sake of the crew, the both of you go to bars whenever asked. The two of you rarely go out of your way to call attention to yourselves, but you have fun nonetheless.

You sit up at the bar, waiting for your drink. Everyone else is waiting at the table for you to rejoin them, but you've put in a complicated order apparently, so you must wait.

At first, Zoro had stayed with you, but when it was clear you would be staying there for a while, you urged him to go back with the others while you waited.

The wait has been long, and you wonder if the bartender is even trying to get something for you at all when you feel a presence at your side.

A stranger has sat down next to you. He's around your age and clearly local. You offer him a half hearted smile and turn away, trying not to engage.

You aren't exactly a big talker. At least not to drunken strangers at bars.

He orders his drink and it arrives almost immediately. You try not to look offended when his drink arrives and you begin to question if anyone is even working on your drink in the first place.

The man next to you taps the bar and a bartender arrives almost instantly, practically summoned to your neighbors call. "Get my friend here something too, okay?"

The bartender looks at you and you realize after one long second of blank staring that he's waiting for you to order. You repeat what you want and the bartender immediately gets to work, instead of ducking behind the counter and ignoring you like you hadn't even ordered.

"Thanks." You mumble to the stranger.

"No problem." He gives you a friendly smile and this time you feel as though you should put some actual effort into smiling back.

"So, what's someone like you doing in a place like this?" The line is overused, and less than enticing, but you entertain him anyways. "I'm trying to drink. The day is behind me, and so are my faults."

The stranger smiles as the bartender arrives with your drink, and you thank him.

You turn to leave, to go back to your friends, but the stranger speaks up again. "You're not from here." You turn to face him again. "Good catch." "How long are you staying?" His tone is getting more suggestive than you'd like.

"I'm staying for as long as my boat is docked." "Will it be docked," a suggestive grin appears on his face, "overnight?" He raises an eyebrow and you lean back, surprised and a little taken aback at his confidence. "What are you implying?" You ask, raising a brow.

"I think you know." He winks and you resist the urge to run away. "If you're up for it now, we can finish our drinks and leave before things get rowdy in here." You laugh at his advance, mostly out of shock. "Wow. You are something."

Zoro watches this whole interaction like a hawk. He has positioned himself at the table to assure the best view of you while you wait for your drink. Instead, he's forced to watch some idiot attempt to flirt with you. His eyes are laser focused on the stranger's head. He wants to put that man on his ass for even talking to you. For sidling up to you and convincing the bartender to fix your drink, unlike the one that ducked behind a curtain immediately after taking your order.

He watches the man's lips, deciphering the words as they come out. He sees the man call you "his friend" to get you your drink faster. He sees the cheesy pick up line and has to stop himself from grimacing at the rather pathetic attempts at wooing you. He sees the smile crossing the stranger's face and feels palpable disgust at the sight of it.

Worry sinks through his stomach and spreads through his veins as he tries to see any indication of reciprocity on your end. Your back is facing him. He's terrified that this man has managed to charm you, knowing full well he's not the most romantic of partners. He's no charmer, but you picked him, he picked you, and that is worth your loyalty.

Nami briefly snaps him out of his anger fueled trance. "Zoro. Did you hear a thing I just said?"

He frowns at her for breaking his concentration. "No. What?" "I wanted to know if our missing crewmate," she gestures at the empty spot in between him and Usopp in the booth, "has a drink yet. Since you insisted on facing the bar, I thought you'd know."

"Yeah, the drink's there. But some asshole is being chatty."

Nami raises an eyebrow and turns to look, seeing your conversation. "Jealous?" She tries to ask, just in time for Zoro to read the words "docked overnight" on the man's lips, a flirtatious eyebrow raise added to the words. What is he proposing? Zoro feels an extra bout of rage when he hears your surprised laugh. His vision is nearly red. In an act of necessity, he pushes out of the booth, trying to look as calm and collected as he can while he pushes through the bar, eventually ending up behind you.

"If you think I'm something now, just wait." The stranger gives you a sly grin that looks a little wrong, before it slides off his face completely. His eyes focus on something behind you. You turn to look, and a wave of relief hits you to see Zoro standing there.

You notice almost immediately that his hand is not at his side, or lazily hung over the hilt of his blade, but gripping it, as if ready to pull it out and demonstrate his swordsmanship in front of the entire bar.

"Hey Zoro, what's up?" You ask as kindly as you can, hoping he's there to bring you back to the table.

"We were wondering what was taking you so long." He says, his voice as level as he can keep it. "Oh, I just got caught up in conversation. No big deal." You give the stranger a false apologetic smile and reach down to pick up your drink.

"My offer stands for as long as I'm here." He slips a small piece of paper across the bar, his hand grazing yours as the paper slips under the pads of your fingers. Next to you, Zoro straightens up a little more, trying to look bigger, more intimidating. Like a threat. Because he is. The only physical thing keeping that man from a bunch of broken bones is you.

Your hand retreats, pulling the paper up with it, and carrying the drink closer to you, not even muttering a goodbye. Only turning back to give him a half smile just as Zoro shoots another death glare his way.

On the walk back to the table, you tap Zoro's hand with the death grip on his sword. "Relax." You order. He lets go, the tension still present in his hand. "Thanks for getting me." You smile, for real this time. "I was not having fun."

That lightens Zoro's mood. At least you didn't like the stranger too. It makes him feel a little proud for seeing it.

You slide into the booth without much fanfare, there's acknowledgement, but the conversations continue pretty quickly without you.

"You don't have to be such a jealous boy, Roronoa." You murmur under your breath, your hand gently patting his leg under the table. He's still tense, and his eyes keep shooting back to the bar, where the man frequently glances back at you. Zoro has shifted slightly closer to you about five separate times.

Zoro stiffens at your accusation. "Excuse you?" "Stop looking at that man at the bar. I'm not sitting with him anymore. I'm right here. Looking at you. Not him. You "

He grunts in return, slipping just a tiny bit closer to you, pushing the limits for his sheaths. They're starting to tug on the fabric of the booth, so he opts to tug you closer to him, an arm around your waist, pulling you even closer.

You pull the paper out of your pocket and set it on the table. "Are you worried about this?" You unfold it, revealing an address. Likely to the man's house. "You don't have to worry, Zoro. That's one hell of a walk. I'd never go for it."

He rolls his eyes and you laugh at him. One loud, short noise. "I wasn't going to accept his offer, if you were afraid that was ever going to happen."

"I wasn't afraid of that." He scoffs, looking away from both you and the man at the bar. "Sure you weren't." Your arms are crossed as you sit back lazily in the seat.

"Don't say it like that. I knew you wouldn't." "Sure you did."

He rolls his eyes again, and you refrain from joking about how he could fix a wagon with the amount his eyes were rolling.

Instead, you decide to play a game. "Though, he did seem quite charming. Perhaps I'll go see if he can get me a second round?" You swirl your drink, which is still half full, but the ice rattles against the glass.

You move to stand but you're pulled down. Two hands, one on each side of your waist, settle you back into the seat, right next to Zoro, closer than before, if that was even possible.

"Not so fast." He says, pulling you even closer, so that your leg presses against his. He speaks as if he has just volunteered to save you from an active volcano. "I can get your drinks."

"And leave me alone at the table? What if a handsome young man approaches me? You won't be here to fend him off." You tease, resting your chin on his shoulder, a wicked grin on your face.

"You're impossible." "Come on, Zoro." You loop your arm through his, running your hand lightly along his forearms. "You like the challenge. It makes you feel stronger when you win."

You press a feather light kiss to his cheek. "And you did, by the way." He furrows his brow in confusion. "You won. I don't even remember what that guy at the bar looks like."

A proud smile makes its way to his face. "You're right. I do feel stronger." He puffs his chest up a bit and you suppress a giggle at the action.

"Don't worry about losing." You now snake your arm around him, pressing ever closer, until there's no space left in between your bodies. You even cross your ankle with his, touching all the way from your shoulders to your heels "I don't think you can."

He smiles at you as you take a sip of the drink, crumpling up the piece of paper slipped to you at the bar, discarding it on the floor, to be trampled on by a million feet. "You have my heart Zoro. Only you."

[jezebelblues]

let it snow | h.s

summary: summer of 1979. where y/n just got a new position in the DEA with harry’s little crew in miami. but are there ulterior motives?

cw: 18+ drugs / drugs usage. unedited. fem!reader. maybe angst? idk, this is just a testing-the-waters type series.

word count: approx 4.2k

miami 1979 - a bright veneer. hazy pink skies, palm trees that swayed with you, and sandy beaches that stretched out like golden ribbons into the atlantic. the tropical sun held a golden gleam over the city, its absence allowing for crystalline stardust to waft through the breeze and send electric currents through the air, fueling a restless energy.

cocaine moved like a phantom through the streets, arriving in covert waves, slipping silently onto speedboats and creeping through clandestine airstrips hidden in the everglades. brick after brick, miami became a gateway for an avalanche of white powder that invaded the city, uprooting the once ordinary streets and turning nightclubs into sanctuaries of indulgence. a gorgeous juxtaposition of beauty and ruin.

sirens scream in the distance, cutting through the humid air like a warning. the city was electrified, humming with a violent undercurrent as families, law enforcement, and politicians tried to navigate a world suddenly awash in drug money. the city basked in its secrets however, becoming a neon dream seemingly overnight. corruption boomed underground, and the feds knew it.

agent harry styles was essentially head-honcho of his little team. the feds sent down their own group of people to each hotspot they could, miami, cuba, the texas border; in order to get the smuggling under control. harry was an exuberant man, vibrant and eccentric. he always had a toothpick balanced between his rosy lips, a gleam of sweat covering his sunkissed skin.

the sun beamed down directly above them, glistening in the blue waters of the shipment dock they stood upon. they were tipped off about in exchange in product, waiting patiently for the little fishing boat to glide into the shoreline. harry was in his usual bright attire, a hot pink button down tucked into his black slacks held up by his duty belt. a black cowboy hat casted a shadow over his face - the usual toothpick in between his lips, a punctuation to his smile. some of his curls fell beneath his hat, over his ears and flat against his damp forehead. his shirt was down a few buttons, revealing his pretty silver cross and the swallows inked onto him.

harry drew his shoulders back with a grin as his men detained two smugglers, the product dragged onto the pavement as they stood silently in handcuffs. “whoo-wee!” styles beamed, a familiar southern twang laced in his words. flamboyant. two gutted swordfish sat in front of him, stuffed with carefully wrapped bricks of cocaine that were poorly sutured into the carcasses - a rushed job done on the boat. “ain’t this ‘bout a bitch.” harry laughs to himself, kneeling onto the ground in front of the dead fish. the breeze whisked around the saltiness in the air, a nose-twitching sourness emitting from the fish.

he unholsters a pocket-knife from his duty belt, slinging the blade open and slicing across the botched sutures. every piece of the fish’s anatomy was gone, replaced by blocks of cocaine. he twists the toothpick between his teeth with his tongue, his fingertips spreading the belly open a bit to catch a better sight of the mountainous blocks inside this fish. his lips curl, a dimple greeting the men he shot a look toward. harry stands up in a swift movement, waltzing toward the two smugglers. “m’just tickled pink. could kiss you both right now.” he muses, placing his large hands on one of their shoulders. “y’all just get more creative by the day - i love it!”

y/n stands on the sidelines, a forced bystander. press analysts have to go to these operations, jotting down whatever happens on a quaint little notepad that sat in the back pocket of her jeans. only essential information was written down, basically the who, what, when, where and why’s of the situations they found themselves in. nothing more, nothing less. y/n’s first choice was surely not drug bust coverage, but she was new to the unit and couldn’t exactly protest direct orders.

she lucked out, in a way, to be apart of style’s team. he’s more of a lighthearted leader in comparison to his peers. he wasn’t his commander’s favorite, (due to his attitude) but he got the job done and always received immense respect from his subordinates. at first, y/n was taken aback from her boss’ electric personally, but quickly grew accustomed to it - a weight lifted off her shoulders.

the notepad that previously sat in her pocket now rested in her palm, a red pen twirling between her fingers. her eyes narrow as she watched the event before her unfold - internally cursing herself for not wearing sunglasses to avoid the blinding of the sun. her lips part, eyes flickering toward harry. “how many kilos?”

harry flicks his toothpick onto the pavement that glittered in the light, looking at y/n over his shoulder while words softly get exchanged between him and two other agents. strands of her hair danced with the breeze, and harry was convinced he could smell her shampoo from where he stood. he grins, his gaze barely noticeable from the tip of his hat. “n’moment, sugar.” he dismisses, averting his attention back to his peers.

y/n wasn’t super successful at reading harry very well since she started working with him. he’s extremely animated, always upbeat and enthusiastic despite the job they had to do. he dressed differently from his men, too. the other agents were always in some sort of black clothing, maybe throwing in a Hawaiian button up or denim jeans. harry, on the other hand, stuck out like a sore thumb. his fingers were always clad in rings, a cowboy hat his best friend had gotten him usually resting upon his curls (if the heat wasn’t too unforgiving). his nails were often covered in some sort of chipped nail polish, something he only did on away-operations because if the men at the home unit saw, they wouldn’t understand.

he ambles back over to the fish, bottom lip tucked between his teeth. y/n draws in a bit closer, watching the agent intently. his eyebrows are furrowed beneath the bill of his hat, going to an abrupt stop. the pavement creates an audible scratch against his feet as he toes the fish. the tip of his boot gently pushes it upward - seemingly trying to estimate how many kilos there could be stuffed in there. they don’t have a scale, but she would trust his judgment - he’s been doing this too long to be inaccurate. his head tilts to the side slightly, his hands finding themselves on his hips. “80..70?” he utters, dropping his hands and turning on his heel to face her.“ ‘bout 80 kilos for both.” he states with his lips curled, jutting his chin upwards a bit - expecting y/n to write it down.

she glances back toward her paper, red ink filling any blank spaces as she mumbles the information back to herself. harry twists his torso to look at niall, a close friend on his team. he mutters something incoherent to y/n, his fingers pointing in different directions as he speaks. he then lifts his hat off his head, running his digits through his curls. he lets the breeze sweep through the strands, chasing away the heat that sat idly between the hat and his head.

y/n glances up from her notes, immediately meeting harry’s gaze. his expression was stoic, unable to read. as he starts to adjust the hat back onto his head, she averts her gaze to niall, who removed two bricks from each fish and placed it into a black duffel bag. no one seemed care very much, or simply didn’t notice. but curiosity dances onto her features, her hands lowering to her waist.

harry doesn’t miss a beat, eyes flickering between the two nonchalantly. “s’got your face in a twist?” he teases, lips pursed into a smile. she doesn’t respond, sinking her teeth into the flesh of the inside of her cheek. with an exhale, she brings the pen and paper up toward her chest again, preparing to scribble anything extra down.

“ah-“ harry tuts, grasping her attention. he steps her direction, y/n’s expression blank as he stands mere inches before her. she can see his face clearly for the first time today, a slight stubble dusting his jaw and upper lip, his cheeks a tinge of red from the sun. the collar of his shirt flutters slightly with the wind, his scent dancing along with it - vanilla laced with tobacco. he gently takes the notepad from her fingertips, his larger hand seemingly swallowing it whole. his head tips down, his hat hiding his eyes as he flips through her papers. “s’no need to write that down.” he mumbles, reading over her cherry red words. “just protocol, darlin’.” he pauses, “takin’ it over to analysis, test if its laced.” he shrugs, handing the notes back over as he looks at her through his eyelashes.

“don’t i still need to mention that-“

“y’mention every time we read someone their miranda rights?” he quips, a familiar smile back on his lips. her silence responds for her, putting the notepad back into her pocket. he steps back, creating more space between them as she fidgets with her own fingers. she doubted harry’s response, not fully, but enough for her heart to sit a bit lower in her chest. when evidence is removed from a scene they go in it’s appropriate containers, not a beat up duffel from the trunk of a car. but harry was an odd leader, this might as well be something else he does differently.

satisfied, harry gives her a nod and saunters his way back over to niall, who had already threw the dark bag into the back seat of his car. the badge clipped to his belt shimmers in the light, the sun starting to dip into the horizon with a creamsicle orange haze. his hand delves into his pockets, pulling out a red and white cigarette box with beat-up corners. used. he flips the top open, revealing a huddle of fresh toothpicks and about three cigarettes smushed to the left side. he bites onto one of the picks, rolling it over to the corner of his lips with his tongue. it hangs lazily as he shoves the box back into his pocket. he’s been doing this for over a year now, wanting to quit his smoking habit. the toothpicks would hold the scent of the tobacco, harry almost tasting it if he focused hard enough. “you look like if mick jagger was in a western film.” niall laughs, adjusting his belt to sit a bit higher.

harry grins, his tongue fidgeting around with the toothpick. “s’what i go for.” he mumbles sarcastically, his eyes meeting the blue ones across from him. his brows knit together, his face hardening barely. “how many did y’grab?”

“four.” he pauses, “told her 80 kilos when it’s clearly a bit less than that, four will go unnoticed.”

he booms out a laugh, catching the attention of the rest of his team. he turns to take a step beside niall, shoulders almost touching as he takes the hat off his head, bringing the rim to his lips as he mimics blowing a kiss toward the people in front of him. “‘nother successful bust.” he beams, “i’ll handle the report tonight, i don’t wanna see any of you for the rest of the evening.”

the group smiles, a bit eager to enjoy the rest of their friday. nightlife made the city alive, it also helped that not one person that roamed the busy streets on a friday evening was sober. pupils were so big you could see your own reflection in their eyes, the alcohol off their breath alone enough to give you a buzz. y/n’s heart quickened at the thought of having some free time - she hasn’t been able to do anything in the city (that wasn’t work related) since she got here almost two weeks ago. not a drop of alcohol has touched her lips in a month, the three short dresses she owned collecting dust in the wardrobe of her hotel room. at this point she thinks that a pair of heels would be more comfortable than the converse that adorned her feet.

“-but not miss y/n.” he chuckles, pointing at the girl with his hat as he shamelessly rips her out of her own daydreaming. her shoulders falter, lips threatening a frown. “that file cabinet brain of yours will help me write the most earth shattering report the cap’n has ever seen!” he taunts with a smile, plopping the hat back onto his head with one hand. he didn’t need any of her help writing a report, he’s been doing it for nearly a decade. but, harry didn’t trust her well enough to believe she wouldn’t overthink the not-so-discreet taking of four bricks of cocaine. he also had a rapport with his team, y/n now apart of that - he wanted to at least try to get on her good side.

her lips press into a flat line, nodding absentmindedly to her boss’s words. harry peals over to niall, whispering into his ear, smiling softly at whatever he said. niall steps away, pulling car keys from his pocket and whistling toward two men to come along with him. everyone started to disperse in the few shared vehicles, niall going a different direction than the others who took off toward the hotel.

harry glances over his shoulder, watching as evidence is collected officially and placed into a van. he chews on the toothpick, striding toward y/n and throwing her keys that previously were hooked to his belt loop. her eyes widened as she caught it, almost slipping her grasp and clambering onto the pavement. “you’re drivin, honeybee.” he smiles, not breaking his stride as he rounds the car, waiting patiently at the passengers side door.

y/n stood frozen for a moment, lips parted in surprise, before spinning on her heel toward the sleek black trans am, unlocking the door and pulling it open without a word. she dips into the seat, pressing the unlock button so her boss could fall in beside her. he places his hat on the dashboard while y/n adjusts the seat, pulling it forward toward the pedals and up a bit higher to see the road - which earns a small laugh from harry. the engine roars to life, keychain dangling from the ignition. she one hands the thin, leather wheel as she turns to pull out the dock, their silence broken with a soft tsk from harry. “seatbelt.”

her eyes roll, not entertaining his reminder as she already pulled out onto the main road. the agent sighs, reaching past her and tugging the seatbelt down over her frame, and she froze momentarily. there was a comfortable distance, but his breath caressed her check coolly, peppermint. he handles the seatbelt carefully, clicking it in beside her hip. “i coulda gotten it.” she mumbles, shifting in her seat as harry adjusted back into his own. “do you really need my help?” she asks genuinely, but also wanting dispel the heat rising in her chest from how close he was.

he juts out his bottom lip, almost as if he was thinking about it. (he wasn’t). he slowly shakes his head into a nod, casting a sideways glance at her. “absolutely.”

the trans am glides along the coastal highway leading to their hotel, the rhythmic hum of the engine blending in with the distant crash of the waves. miami, in all of its chaotic beauty, stretched out before them - a city on fire, burning with neon lights and the darker flames of a burgeoning drug trade.

y/n keeps her eyes on the road, the wheel steady in her grip while her mind spins. harry is an easygoing man, sure, but his nonchalance over it all felt a bit unsettling. there’s a nagging feeling within her, a sense that there’s more to this than meets the eye. she didn’t consider herself to be type A, but protocols existed for a reason - especially for law enforcement. nevertheless, she was new to the team, and didn’t want to press into things she may not understand.

“y’did good today.” he admits, lounged comfortably in the seat. his arm casually rested on the door, his legs stretched out before him, ankles crossed.

y/n glanced at him, then back at the road. “just takin’ notes for press. that’s all.”

harry chuckled, the sound light and easy. “y’sure do, sugar. but it’s necessary - if those guys were up there, they wouldn’t know their ass from their elbows.”

she didn’t reply right away, trying to stifle her smile. his accent wasn’t thick, but it was obvious he’s from the south. “how’d y’know it was 80?” she asked, trying to move the attention away from her, and back onto him.

he shrugged, shifting the toothpick to the other side of his mouth. “been doin’ this for a while. estimatin’ gets easier.”

she hums, her brows knit together. “and the four bricks are getting tested?”

she earns another chuckle from him, harry adjusting in his seat as he looks toward the pretty girl in his drivers seat. she was smart, and he started to pick up on her stubbornness. “yeah, darlin’. it’ll get analyzed, nothin’ to lose sleep over.”

but she was already mulling it over, something gnawing at her. perhaps if the product was treated like evidence she wouldn’t think twice, maybe if harry didn’t share whispered exchanges with his partner she wouldn’t have noticed. but, she swallowed hard - pushing the thoughts behind her. what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.

“y’need to loosen up.” harry grins, pulling her from her thoughts. “know what i’m doin’, trust that, at least.”

she sighed, nodding along with his words. he was right, he was her superior after all. her demeanor was disrespectful, and if she acted this way at the home-unit she would’ve already been chewed out. she exhales softly, cheeks puffed out as she did so.

y/n pulled into the parking lot of the hotel, the city lights polluting the sky above them as it fell into dusk. there were few parking spaces, everything occupied by either agents or tourists. the doors to the lobby were propped open, allowing the breeze to sweep through. a few men sat at the hotel bar, and a couple in dainty florals swayed - no music playing. harry walked in front of y/n, flicking the toothpick into a nearby trashcan. the lobby smelt of cigarettes and a citrus candle as they approach the elevator, a comfortable silence between the two.

“y’okay workin’ in my hotel room? or do you want something’ more public?” he asks genuinely, taking the keys from yn and sifting through them to find the hotel key.

“yours is fine.” she mumbles, not really caring. harry didn’t come off as a creep, albeit a little mysterious. but she didn’t feel unsafe with him. so, she follows him into the room, the door closing softly behind her. the agent tosses his keys onto the bed, setting his hat to dangle off the closet handle. he raises his hand to gesture toward a desk tucked into the corner of the small room, reaching into the tiny fridge below him.

y/n complies, taking a seat onto the grey rolling chair after taking out her notepad and pen. harry hums a tune unbeknownst to y/n, ambling over to desk and setting down two mini bottles of liquor. harry still doesn’t say anything, stepping off to grab an uncomfortable looking wooden chair to sit beside her. a larger notebook already sat in the corner of the desk, accompanied by two different books, a pen, and a few files.

she does the favor of slipping the notebook toward him, along with his black pen before she opens her own notepad, reading over her information.

harry flips open the book, landing on a blank page. he effortlessly writes out the beginning part of the report, elaborating on the tip they received, jotting down the execution of the bust. she watches intently, his words neat and small. she shifts in her seat, clearing her throat to grab his attention. “remember to put down how many agents we had on the ground.” she pauses, her eyes meeting his as he glances toward her. “and um.. who was there, and did what.” she trails off, noting the smile playing upon his lips.

“file cabinet brain.” he murmurs, chuckling to himself before he averts his attention back to the paper, continuing to write. “let me see y’notes.”

she slides over her notepad, harry not breaking eye contact from his pen and paper as she does so. she watches the man before her, curls falling in front of his eyes and the muscles in his forearm flexing with every word he wrote. a small chuckle escapes his lips, letting his pen fall onto the paper as he leans back into his seat. “a fuckin’ fish.”

her eyebrows furrow, his expression shifting from concentration to amusement. “a fish.” yn says back, harry grinning.

“i love it.” he laughs, shaking his head. “never a dull moment.”

her lips curl upward, a breathy laugh emitting from her. she shakes her head, fidgeting with the red pen between her fingers. “why a fish do y’think?”

he shrugged, his smile still present. “desperation and innovation go hand in hand, darlin.” he mumbles, a hint of mischief in his gaze. he shakes his head from his own thoughts, leaning forward again to continue the report.

the night wore on, exchange of details between the two. occasional laughter fell from them, recounting the events from today. it was unusual, and a drug stuffed fish was a first for harry. y/n often stole glances at the man beside her, he was pretty, undeniably so. harry could feel her gaze, too, but didn’t mind it. her eyes on him felt good, a warmth settling in his chest. it was no question that she was beautiful, arguably the prettiest woman in their unit. and it was exactly that, that grounded him. the bureau, an agent. she wasn’t just a pretty face, she was a colleague. not only that, but his subordinate. he remained silent as he printed his name on the final page of the report, turning it toward y/n to allow her to do the same.

“and it’s only 11.” he sighs with a smile, carefully taking out the pages from the notebook and setting them into a manila folder. he slouches into his seat, taking the small liquor bottle and twisting off the cap, throwing it aside. he shoots her an expectant glance, which prompts her to do the same with the other bottle - and they both swallow it bitterly.

y/n’s face twists, placing the bottle back onto the table and shaking her head. she wasn’t use to drinking without a chaser, and although she tried to remain stoic in front of her boss - the taste simply prevented her from doing so. harry laughs, letting his head lean back against the chair with a smile. “can’t hold your alcohol?” he hums.

“i tried to keep a straight face, at least.”

he shifts with a smile, sitting up and letting his arms cross over his chest. “that you did, sugar.”

light laughter lingered in the air, filling the small room with an unfamiliar warmth. y/n tried to shake off her slight embarrassment from her previous whiskey induced face scrunch, forcing a half-smile. “i can handle alcohol.” she insisted, sounding a bit more defensive than she wanted. “just been a while.”

harry raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing in his eyes. “coulda fooled me, honeybee. that was quite the scene.” he chuckled, leaning farther into his chair. “no shame in admitting it.”

she grins, the lightness in the moment contrasting the tension in her chest. “alcohol isn’t my forte.” she shrugs. “besides, i’m working anyway.”

“work hard, play harder.” he smiles, a glimmer of something in his eyes that made her shift in her seat. the more time she spent with harry on this job, she became more aware of the unspoken boundaries between them that almost seemed like they could burst if you squint hard enough. harry was her superior, a flamboyant force of nature, while she was still figuring out her place in the world. working alongside him felt like it could be intoxicating, but y/n felt the weight of her reservations.

silence befalls them once again, and before she could speak, a knock echos from outside harry’s door. he perks up, crossing the short distance and pulling it open, revealing an exasperated niall. he pushes past his tall frame, not acknowledging yn as harry shuts the door behind him, confusion settling upon his features. niall’s back is turned toward y/n, the man mumbling something unintelligible as harry flickers his eyes between the two before him. his face hardens, gaze stuck on yn before he parts his lips. “i’ll see you in the mornin.” he dismisses, nodding toward y/n.

she’s taken aback, but shifts to stand up. she bites the inside of her lip, picking up her pen and notepad before warily looking back up at harry. his expression didn’t falter, eyes trailing her frame as she slips out the hotel room with a small frown. she lets the door click shut behind her, the conversation between the two men muffled and fading into the background. with a sigh, she headed toward the elevator to go up to her own floor, the unsettling thought that abrupt meeting between harry and niall was somehow connected to the four bricks of stolen drugs gnawing at her. each step felt heavier than the last as the weight of the situation settled in, leaving her with an uneasy sense of curiosity and concern.

[hannahbarberra162]

A Negative Outcome, part 2

on Ao3

Thank you to all the Nonnies and @alexa-fika and @luarsunny for your amazing ideas. Now it's a coherent story with a love interest, because I can't stop myself. Based on like 2 people asking me to continue the series haha.

Note: Marco isn’t as dark in this one, he’s more conflicted about your treatment. There's less whump but canon typical violence. I kept the same picture because I like it.

~

For as much as your life completely changed overnight, it also became very predictable. You woke up in the morning, locked in your room. You waited until Marco came and unlocked the door and herded you down to the mess hall for breakfast. You sat at a table full of people you didn’t care to know and ate your food. Marco brought you to the infirmary where you sat with a needle in your arm for two hours. You ate a snack. Marco healed you. Your blood was taken. You ate a lunch Thatch brought you. Marco healed you. Your blood was taken. You ate a snack. Marco healed you. Marco let you leave. You went to the deck to spend the remainder of the day outside. You ate dinner. Marco brought you back to your room, locking you in for the night. The cycle repeated.

You had some small variations during your interminable days in the infirmary. You read various books in different genres while sitting in your phlebotomy chair. The nurses would come and chat with you sometimes but they were often too busy to stay more than a few minutes. Sometimes you’d have a visitor or two, sometimes Deuce would write in the phlebotomy room while you read or he’d read to you. Sometimes Thatch would sneak you in something tasty, sometimes the weather would be bad and you didn’t want to go to the deck and you’d go to the ship’s library instead. Even with the minute changes, it was a predictable, boring, miserable time. 

At first, it wasn't so bad. You’d never been on a pirate ship, certainly never with an Emperor and his crew. Everyone was pleasant to you, trying to make you feel like you had a place in the crew. You knew your place was a kidnapped blood bag, but it was still nice they made the effort. You were still scared of Marco, so you did whatever he told you to. You were a perfect meek little patient, sitting quietly and waiting to be told what to do. You foolishly thought that it might be fun to travel the world with an Emperor, being able to see the sights of the Grand Line. But it wasn’t like that at all. 

Even though you were compliant, Marco was tightening the leash on you constantly. You weren’t allowed to go into the crow’s nests after you almost fell climbing the ladder once. You weren’t allowed to make desserts with Thatch anymore in case they raised your blood sugar too high. You weren’t allowed to go swimming off the side of the boat, even when Namur was near you, in case there were predatory fish. You weren’t allowed to drink after you once had three beers at a party on board. You knew the boat stopped at islands for restocking, you could feel when the ship wasn’t sailing the waters of the Grand Line. You begged Marco to let you off the boat, but he never allowed it. He said he was worried about your safety in case there was trouble or fighting, but you knew he was worried you’d try to escape. Everything fun was getting prohibited, your life was getting smaller and smaller. 

Not only that, but you couldn’t bear being in that room for a minute longer than you had to. You were still squeamish, despite being subjected to medical treatments daily, and hated the sight of your blood being removed from your body. Just approaching the room made your heart rate spike and your breath came in short pants. You always flinched back from Marco’s hand reaching for you once you were in the phlebotomy room, but were only met by his firm grasp on your arm and the chair at your back. Marco had tried reassuring you and praising you for your good behavior, but it didn’t help. You wanted to rip the needle out of your skin every time you saw it, no matter how many times it had been. You tried to have Marco move the machinery to another space, just to give you something different to look at. But he said that the phlebotomy room was the only space that could accommodate the machinery, so you had to stay there. His solution was to put a potted plant on a small table in the corner. You wanted to kick it over every time you saw it. 

As you spent more time around Marco, you saw that he wasn’t as cruel as you thought in the beginning. If anything, he seemed conflicted about your presence on the ship. You almost asked him about it but you didn’t think it would be a “productive conversation.” Marco used that phrase whenever he shut down what you wanted to talk about - your captivity, when it would end, your lack of freedoms, if you'd see your family again.

“Maybe you could find someone who wants to be on the ship?” you asked as a non sequitur a few days into your kidnapping. You sincerely meant it, surely there were people who would love to join the infamous Whitebeard Pirates. Marco hummed but didn’t answer.

“I’m sure you could hold, like, auditions or -” 

“This isn’t a productive conversation yoi. Let’s move on,” Marco said dismissively. You clamped your mouth shut, hurt bubbling up inside. Any conversation you wanted to have went that way, with the Commander shutting you down quickly. Shortly after that you’d received your first “gift” from Marco. He often tried to do small gestures for you to make your stay better, especially after he made you upset. You felt he was trying to assuage his own guilt more than anything else. He never said anything, just put things in your room that he thought you would like. Books mostly, but sometimes nicer clothes or toiletries, shoes, a length of rope, a mirror. All the items were nice, but you would rather leave it all behind and go back home.

You understood Marco was conflicted but the amount of resentment you had for him trumped any of your other feelings towards him. He was the one who planned and executed your kidnapping, he was responsible for your misery. He was the one who poked you every day and made sure you sat in that goddamn chair. He was the one who healed you unnaturally fast, making you able to give more and more blood. It was his rules that were making your life monotonous and boring. Ultimately, you didn’t care if he was conflicted, you weren’t. You wanted off the ship, permanently.

Not only that but Marco monitored everything you did and consumed to an incredible degree. He had you on a special (bland) diet promoting nutritional balance, he made sure you only drank water and 2 cups of tea a day, he monitored how many hours you slept and the quality of your sleep. He made sure you walked for at least 30 minutes a day and he monitored your vitals every 12 hours. He even groomed you now, cutting your nails so you wouldn’t accidentally hurt yourself. You didn’t know if it was a bird thing or a Marco thing, but you hated it. He was up your ass every minute of every day. You. Were. Sick. Of. It. 

You begged Marco for days off, for a single day where you didn’t have to have your blood slowly extracted, only to be healed and repeat the process over and over. You implored him to leave you alone in your bed, to give you a break, to let you be, but nothing worked. You screamed, cried, and sobbed, but nothing moved the Phoenix. Every day without fail, Marco dragged you off to the infirmary, sat you down in the chair and took your blood. On days you were particularly defiant, he threatened to strap you down. He only had to follow through once. He looked upset after he’d done it, but you weren’t in the mood for dissecting what Marco was feeling. After that, you were more compliant as you realized the lengths Marco would go for his Captain. You hated needles, you hated the infirmary, you hated the ship, you hated Marco, you hated Whitebeard, you hated everything and everyone you came into contact with. 

Well...you actually didn’t hate Whitebeard. You tried really, really hard to hate him, but you just couldn’t. You’d met him a day or so after Marco had brought you on board. Whitebeard had wanted to meet and thank the person responsible for saving his health. You hadn’t wanted to meet him, but Marco marched you up to the Captain between one of your many blood donation sessions. 

“I apologize, child,” Whitebeard began. Of all the things you thought he would say, that was not one of them. “I am not sorry you are here, I am glad for it. You are saving my life and countless other lives, those who depend on my strength as an Emperor. But I do apologize that you were uprooted. I hope you can find some fulfillment here, even if it was not what you envisioned for yourself.” You stared at the old man, who was receiving your platelets via IV at that very moment. 

“It’s…ok,” you replied, after you realized Whitebeard was waiting for a response from you. What were you going to say? “Please return me home?” “Statistically, 60 people on your crew also have A- blood, can’t you use theirs?” “I don’t care about the islands and people under your protection?” It wasn’t ok, but what was there to say to the strongest man in the entire world? Whitebeard looked down at you from his high vantage point and gave you a kind smile. 

“It will all work out, child.” Marco shuffled you back to the infirmary before you could say anything else. Of course it would work out, you thought, for you. But nearly every day, when you came up to the top deck, Whitebeard would beckon you and have you come over to talk to him. He always thanked you for your "contributions" and asked how you were feeling. At first, the conversations were stilted and awkward, but after a while, you enjoyed your brief exchanges with the aged Captain. You could tell he was doing better, he didn’t look as tired as when you first arrived on the ship. He was friendly and kind in his own way, telling you stories of his travels and journeys, letting you sit on his shoulder if you were tired, giving you sips of his good alcohol when he could sneak some. Marco also wouldn’t bother you if you were with Whitebeard, which made you seek the Captain’s company all the more.

“Leave her, my son,” the Captain boomed to an annoyed Marco. You resisted the urge to stick your tongue out at him from Whitebeard’s shoulder.

“But, Pops, it’s time for-” Marco was cut off, something you hadn’t seen anyone dare to do before.

“In due time, Marco. For now, she is resting.” You could have kissed Whitebeard for the reprieve from sitting in that room. If you looked at the gray walls and dull green chair for any longer you’d go crazy. The longer you were on the ship, the better Whitebeard was doing, even you could tell that. He had more energy and vigor, he needed oxygen less frequently. You were happy for the Yonko, but the better Whitebeard was doing, the more Marco managed your life. Marco was obsessed with keeping you healthy to ensure Whitebeard continued to do well.

The fourth division Commander Thatch had also made a huge effort to get to know you and connect with you. You didn’t really know why he bothered, it wasn’t like you’d joined the crew or anything. If you had your way, you would escape and never see any of them again. You rebuffed Thatch’s initial attempts at friendliness, but the chef was not easily deterred. You were suspicious, thinking that he drugged your food or that he was trying to find your vulnerabilities to use against you. You even made him take a bite of food from a random spot on your plate before you ate anything he brought. He took it in stride, eating whatever you asked. But it turned out, he was just kind and friendly. Eventually, you did start chatting with him, it wasn’t like there was much else for you to do while you sat with your arm out. 

He tried to find out your favorite food, your favorite drinks, your favorite colors, anything that he could do to brighten your day. He would personally bring you lunch and stay with you for as long as his schedule allowed, chatting and trying to get you to smile. He told you funny stories from his youth, sea legends, anything that you showed a modicum of interest in. He brought you flowers from whatever island he stopped at, leaving the phlebotomy room filled with vases. Thatch called you all kinds of ridiculous food related nicknames, trying to get a reaction out of you.You liked spending time with him even if you didn’t say so outright, and missed him when he was too busy to come up for lunch. One day you were chatting and eating the tomato soup he’d made for you when a question crossed your mind. Thatch was walking around the room, wiping down the counters and muttering about dust.

“Thatch, do you think we would have been friends if we met another way?” The chef stopped his movements and turned to you.

“Why do you ask Sugar?” he flipped the rag over his shoulder.

You shrugged. You’d been thinking about the same in relation to Marco lately. You thought that if you and Marco had met under different circumstances, you might have enjoyed spending time with him. He was smart and funny in a sarcastic way, which you appreciated. But under the current circumstances you’d never want to be friends, not as long as he kept you under lock and key. Thatch crossed the room over to you, tilting his head to look at you. 

“I think so,” he replied, putting his hand on your shoulder. “I think we could be more than - maybe close friends,” he finished, a light blush across his cheeks. It sounded like he was saying two different thoughts, but you didn’t ask anything further. You stirred your soup, the red of the tomatoes reminded you too much of blood and you couldn’t eat any more. 

“I think so, too.” You said, smiling and handing him the bowl. Your fingers touched as he reached to take it and now you were the one with a flushed face.

Even with your friendship with Thatch, as the weeks went by you receded into yourself more and more. You were the most depressed you’d ever been, and it was only getting worse. Marco told you that there was no physical reason for your lethargy, that when he healed you, you were returned to picture perfect health. But after six hours of having your blood drawn, you were lethargic and withdrawn. You started sitting in one spot on the deck, watching the waves and birds, knees hugged to your chest. If the weather was bad, you sat in an old lounge chair in the library, feet curled under you.The crew tended to leave you alone, they were busy and had their own friends and siblings to talk to. Besides, you were usually angry and snippy, you’d bitten off the head of more than one crew member who talked to you after your six hours in the infirmary. You didn’t want to do anything or see anyone.

Weeks passed and your life dwindled down to almost nothing. You didn’t see the point in doing anything beyond what Marco forced you to do. Thatch still came and tried to talk to you, but you zoned out a lot while he was talking. He kept trying to give you new foods to try, to see what you liked, but everything tasted the same. You had bags under your eyes and you were losing weight, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Everything made you tired, you spent most of your time dozing, both in and out of the chair. You didn’t stay on the deck anymore, you walked your required 30 minutes and went back down to your room, waiting for whatever you were told to do next. You’d even stopped reading, just spending your time in the chair looking out the window, thinking about nothing. 

You knew people were concerned about you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care about that either. They probably thought you were being overly dramatic and whiny, or just wanted you to accept your fate. Even though you’d given him no cause, Marco had taken away all sharp objects from the phlebotomy room in the infirmary as a precaution. You’d even stopped getting knives with your silverware, which was more annoying than anything else. One day while you laid in your bed, you overheard Marco and Thatch talking as they walked down the hallway together. Thatch was probably on his way to bring you something else to try and get you to eat. He said you were losing too much weight too quickly, or something like that, you didn't listen to what he said anymore. Their muffled voices were getting louder as they approached your door.

“ - really depressed, Marco,” you heard Thatch say.

“I know, I know. I see it too,” Marco replied, sighing. If you could see him, you thought he would be rubbing the back of his neck. You assumed they were talking about you.

“We need to do something -”

“I know, I know,” Marco repeated.

“Ok, so you know, but what are you going to do about it?” Thatch said harshly. They were right outside the door. You didn’t even pick your head off the pillow. Let them talk, what did you care?

“I don’t know yoi. I can’t let her go, you’ve seen Pops. He’s so much better than before, he doesn’t even use oxygen anymore. And he didn’t get that West Blue fever that ripped through the crew -”

“Yeah, I know she has to stay, but we have to think of something , she’s gonna -” You stopped listening, dozing off instead. Nothing they could offer you was something you wanted. All you wanted was to go home, and that was decidedly off the menu.

~

One day, after your required afternoon walk, you returned to your room, ready to face plant on your bed and nap until dinner time. You opened the door and came into the room, taking off your boots and shutting the door behind you. As you walked towards your bed, you had the sensation you weren’t alone. Turning around, you saw a man with a large black beard grinning at you as he lurked in the shadows. You’d talked with Teach a few times but not many, he creeped you out. He took a step towards you and you took an instinctive step back. You eyed the door, wondering if you could make it before he caught you. 

“You won’t make it,” Teach said, almost cheerfully. “And you’re not going to make it any farther than today either.” 

“W-what do you mean?” you asked, scared. The man moved towards you, the length of rope Marco had given you in his hands.

“I’m going to help you. Put an end to all your suffering, like you want.” He threw one of the ends of the rope over the scaffolding of the ceiling. The other end hung down, you saw he’d made a noose. You realized the length of rope wasn’t from Marco, Teach had put it in your room all those weeks ago. You wondered how long he’d been planning this - this wasn’t some fly-by-night plan, this was premeditated.

“All you need to do now is come here, look, I’ll even do the work for you if you want,” Teach spread his hands out, like he was doing you a favor. “C’mere, I’ll hang you myself,” Teach said with another smile. You felt the blood drain out of your face, he was serious and not backing down. You kept moving backwards but your back hit the wall, stopping your progress. 

“I d-don’t want to -” you stammered, before Teach interrupted you.

“Of course you do, we’ve all seen you moping around the ship. Depressed little thing. Wouldn’t it be better to end it now, on your own terms? Show Marco who’s really in control?” He kept getting closer to you, making your chances of escape lower and lower with each footstep. 

“N-no, wait, please, I- I don’t -” you were trying to tell him that you didn’t want to die , you were just having a hard time lately. 

“ZEHAHAHA, well I do!” Teach grabbed for you and you tried to dodge- but he was faster than you anticipated and easily captured you. He slammed you against the wall with one hand and put one of his large hands around your neck, squeezing harder and harder. He picked you up by your neck, still choking you. You felt the amount of air you could breathe diminish until there wasn’t anything left. 

“It’s more fun to do it this way, and I need to make sure you’re actually gone. Afterwards I’ll string you up, no one will be any the wiser. You’ll be the poor little lady who took her own life to avoid being on the ship. Marco will be gutted, Thatch will cry, and Whitebeard - well, things will go back to the way they were before.” It was difficult to listen to Teach describe your death as he crushed your windpipe, choking the life out of you. You saw spots forming in the corners of your vision, you tried clawing at Teach’s hand but he didn’t even bother to swat your hands away. Your heels were kicking against the wall, trying to find purchase, to no avail. You looked up, the last thing you were going to see was Teach’s face excitedly watching your eyes as he murdered you. You thought about your family and friends, and wished things had ended differently for you. You were on the edge of consciousness, about to fade from life itself.

When a blaze of blue entered your field of vision, causing Teach to grunt and drop you. You heaved in a breath, trying to get as much air in as you could. You gripped your own throat, rubbing it in the hopes of getting air in. You were having some success but you were too panicked to breathe normally. You were on all fours, trying to get a breath in, to stop your overwhelming sensations of panic, to stay out of Marco’s way as he fought with Teach. Blood was spattering on your clothes and face but you barely noticed over the rush of your adrenaline. 

The sound of the fight must have alerted others because you heard voices filling the room, but you couldn’t focus over the rush of the blood in your veins and the breath you were still trying to catch. Someone picked you up like a child, with your head over his shoulder and rushed you out of the room, away from the many people trying to fit in. You looked up to see a worried Thatch, carrying you in the direction of the infirmary. You struggled in his arms, you couldn’t be in the infirmary right now. You just couldn’t.

“Whoa, Sweet Pea, what’s happening?” Thatch walked slower but still on the same trajectory. You weren’t able to free yourself from Thatch’s arms but used your remaining adrenaline to try.

“N-n-no inf  -” you were trying to talk but were barely able to get anything out. Everything was a wheeze as you struggled to talk. 

“You need to go to the medbay, you need help -” you started crying and flailing again, trying to get away from the needles and the blood and the chair and the room. Your crying was making your breathing ragged again. Thatch completely stopped walking for a moment.

“Shhhhhh, stop. Hey, it’s OK, shhhh, I’ll take you somewhere else.” Thatch was rubbing your back, trying to get you to stop crying. “We’ll go, uh, to my room for now.” You didn’t care where he took you, it just couldn’t be the infirmary. He kept walking but turned right at the end of the hall instead of left. You stopped wiggling, content to go anywhere but that damned room.

Thatch brought you up a floor and opened a cabin door, bringing you into his room. Normally you’d want to take in everything, but you were feeling drained. You still felt like you couldn’t breathe normally and you could feel your throat was swelling rapidly. He deposited you gently on the bed and sat next to you, putting a hand on your knee.

“I’m gonna look at you, make sure you’re able to breathe and swallow. Then I think I need to get Marc-”

“N-no. No Marco,” you rasped. Thatch frowned and patted your knee.

“I know you don’t always like him, but being strangled is a big deal. There’s a lot that can happen afterwards if you’re not checked out,” he told you. “Please, I need to make sure you’re OK.” You looked at Thatch and gave a small nod, lifting your face up and closing your eyes. You didn’t want to see him reaching for your throat.

“I’m gonna touch your throat now, just with my fingers,” Thatch said quietly. You felt tears at the corners of your eyes, but you tried not to cry. You tried to take a deep breath but it made you cough instead. “I’ll wait until you tell me its OK.” You coughed again, this time the tears did leak out. You gave another small nod but flinched as you felt Thatch’s thick fingers on your bruised throat. You were shaking but couldn’t stop it.

“Can you try to swallow? Please?” he asked you quietly while palpating your neck. You tried, but it was difficult to get your saliva down. “I’m gonna take my hands off, ok? Can you open your eyes? I wanna check a few things, I’m gonna touch your face. You’re being so brave, we’ll be done soon, OK?” You tried taking another breath and opened your eyes. Thatch looked closely at them and your cheeks, moving your head left and right. You had a headache, you hoped this was over with soon. He removed his hands

“Alright, I think you’re OK for now. I need to go-”

“No -” you started to try to talk, putting your hand on his. You belatedly realized it was spattered with blood, you weren’t sure whose. You didn’t want him to leave, and you didn’t want him to get Marco. It was inevitable that you’d have to see him eventually, but you didn’t want to see him now. Thatch looked at you with pity for the first time.

“No one’s gonna hurt you anymore. You’re safe,” Thatch said softly. You trembled even more. Weren’t you supposed to be safe already? Why had a member of their own crew tried to murder you? None of it made sense but you knew it was related to your blood somehow. Everything bad in your life always came back to the blood running through your veins.

“Do you want me to hold you?” Thatch asked, bringing you back from your thoughts. You didn’t answer, just crawled into his lap. You knew you were gross, covered in blood and drool and who knew what else. But Thatch didn’t mind, just held you as you whimpered in his arms until you fell asleep.

[genshinemblem564]

Chapter 1: Departure

One month later, the entirety of Teyvat now knows of the gold stained arrow, and after gathering the necessary supplies for travel, several search parties are being mobilized towards the land mass that seemed to appear overnight.

In Mondstadt, the knights' reconnaissance crew was being mobilized as well as the Adventurers' Guild.

Jean: Do you understand your mission?

Eula: Crystal clear ma'am, find their grace and bring them back safely.

Jean: Good, I want you to set off as soon as you're prepared.

Eula nods and exits the acting grand master's office before running into Mika.

Mika: Everyone's been prepped ma'am, we're just waiting for the provisions and other supplies to be brought onto the ship. We should be able to depart within a few hours.

Eula: Thank you, Mika. Let's go wait with the others then.

Meanwhile, at the Adventurers' Guild. A certain boy was fighting for a spot on the ship.

Bennett: Come on, you can't expect me to stay here when an entire island appeared overNighy.

Adventurer: No, I don't want your bad luck anywhere near me or my team, not on land, and certainly not at sea. You're staying here.

Cyrus: Oh? Who said that choice was yours to make?

Adventurer: C-Captain Cyrus, but this boy, he's cursed. There's no other way to explain it. He'd be putting everyone in danger if he went.

Cyrus: Danger? Danger comes with the job kid, and you clearly haven't been paying attention. Ever since their grace smiled upon him, his bad luck seems to disappear whenever they're involved, so I say he's going.

The adventurer fell silent in the face of his commanders argument.

Bennett: T-Thank you, Captain Cyrus. I swear I won't let you down.

With that, Bennett rushes to the guild ship, happy as can be.

Fischl: Once again, this boy's fate changes quite sporadically.

Oz: I'm quite sure it's just his luck being better when their grace are involved.

Fischl: Doth mine ears deceive, or are you proclaiming that the being of creation and power is in no way tied to fate's hands?

Oz: N-Not at all Mein Fraulein .

In Inazuma, the ace detective makes his move.

Heizou: Is everything ready for departure?

Soldier: Yes, we can set sail whenever you're ready.

Heizou: Very good. Prepare to set sail!

Meanwhile, below deck, there seems to be an uninvited passenger.

Itto: Alright, snuck aboard and they're non the wiser.

The oni's thoughts were interrupted as he was pulled aside.

Shinobu: What do you think you're doing?

Itto: I'm going to help find their grace, then people will have to stop looking down on the Arataki Gang, or at least stop bad mouthing you guys.

Shinobu: You idiot, you're going to get thrown in jail again or killed.

Itto: Oh, you don't think I can handle this alone, so you're coming along for the ride.

Shinobu: I am not joining this adventure, I'm stopping it and bringing you back.

Itto: Well, if that's the case, then how come the boat's already moving?

Shinobu: What?

Gazing out the nearest window, Shinobu finds Itto's words to be true. Seems she is in for quite the headache.

In Sumeru, theAkademiya gathers their scholars.

Nahida: There aren't going to be that many fighters outside of a few mercenaries, so you should go help them alright.

These words echoed in the Wanderer's head as he heads toward Port Ormos, where he encounters the rest of the expedition group.

Tighnari: Oh. I didn't expect to see you here.

Wanderer: I was brought along as extra muscle. What about these two?

Kaveh: The scholars have theorized that due to their grace's mental state at the time of the islands appearance, there may be a few differences that need to be studied to properly explore this new land.

Faruzan: With my linguistic knowledge and our combined mechanical prowess, there shouldn't be anything too difficult there.

Tighnari: Don't sound so sure of yourself. Remember, this is a god of creation we're talking about. Even our most esteemed scholars may not be enough.

Kaveh: Anyway. We're just waiting on the hired mercenaries. They are coming all the way from the dessert, but they should be here soon.

A few hours later.

Dehya: Hey. I recognize you lot from that interdarshan thing, so I'm guessing I'm in the right place.

Wanderer: Hmm? And you are?

Dehya Huh? Oh, right. Aside from Tighnari, we've never properly met. The name's Dehya, I'm the leader of the mercenaries you hired, pleasure to be doing business with you.

Wanderer: Is everything ready now?

Tighnari: Yeesh! You're a prickly one, but yes, as soon as everyone is on board, we can....

Wanderer doesn't let him finish before walking away, wanting this to be over with already.

Kaveh: (Sigh) This is going to be a long trip.

In Liyue, there were two individuals meeting at Wangshu Inn.

Zhongli: So, you are seeking permission to depart from Liyue to investigate this "demonic presence"?

Xiao: Yes. This demonic presence poses a threat, not to you, but their grace fled, suggesting they are in a weakened state.

Zhongli: Very well. If that is the case, you may depart as soon as you're able. One more thing, you seem troubled. Why is that?

Xiao: I'm just confused. Why would their grace flee only to put themself in more danger?

Zhongli: I believe you've answered your own question earlier. They are in a weakened state, so it is unlikely that this island was created, but more likely, it was summoned. As for why this one in particular. I can't imagine they were in the best state of mind when fleeing for their life, so thinking would have been difficult. This place must have been fresh in their mind for one reason or another.

With their conversation over, Xiao departs for Liyue harbor, where numerous milileth soldiers and Xiangling were preparing to depart aboard the Alcor.

_____________________

Note: Sorry if Liyue's section feels rushed compared to the others, even after leaving this, taking a nap, and continuing afterwards, I was just barely able to finish Xiao and Zhongli's meeting, but I hope you enjoyed this despite this glaring issue. This is also my first time writing Fischl, so I hope I didn't mess up.

[lisenberry]

Part 2 of this one. Completed here!

You meet up with Fisherman Price for your first date.

E/MDNI

"This is your boat?” you asked, as he ascended the steps from below deck to greet you at the railing.

It was ancient. Rusted nearly through and decaying before your eyes. It creaked and groaned above the lazy waves of the River Mersey like a contrary, lumbering goose.

You’d lived along the bay your whole life. You’d thought you’d gone nose blind to the smells of low tide and petrol exhaust, but you couldn’t place the stench that radiated from the relic. Notes of wet tobacco and dead fish, perhaps?

“What’s the matter? She’s not pretty enough for you?” He wiped his grease covered hands on an equally greasy rag, defeating the purpose you thought, and reached up to help you board.

His grip was warm and firm as he helped the bag from your shoulder and caught you against his chest. His meaty palms on the backs of your thighs and his hot tongue down your throat was enough to momentarily distract you from your doubts.

You hooked your own arms around his neck, and the dampness of his sweat seeped through his shirt. It left you to wonder if he’d showered in anticipation of your visit, or if it would’ve even mattered in the end. He was filthy either way.

When he finally set you down, you nearly stumbled backwards from the absence of his steadying mouth. Instead, you let yourself fall forward, further into him.

“You look nice.” His eyes sparked with appreciation as he dragged his gaze from your bare legs back up to your face. “But, are you ready to get a little dirty?”

“What do you mean?” Suddenly apprehensive that you really did have wildly differing ideas of what constituted a date.

“You’re going to be my first mate for this trip. How good are you at following orders?” His hands had traveled to your hip bones, resting as if they were handles molded just for him.

“I’m not so sure I trust this thing in the open water.” Your eyes fell upon a hose pumping some kind of slurry off the side of the boat.

Best case scenario, it was some sort of waste. Worst case, it had a leak, and that pump was the only thing keeping it afloat.

“Oh, she’s fine. You don’t have to worry about her.” He rocked you up against him boldly, as if gauging your pliancy. Your soft edges fit perfectly in the crook of his thumbs.

“Then what do I have to worry about?” You teased, as you blew away an annoying wisp of hair that clung to the beading perspiration along your eyebrow.

The humid air, and your closeness to him, already had your pulse up and your pores working overtime to cool you off. You’d have done anything for a stiff breeze to ease the stickiness between your breasts and thighs. But there was no respite, not from the sun or the intensity of his hungry stare.

“The tides. We don’t have much time to waste if we’re going to make it back tonight.” He slipped a hand behind you to unhook the line from the dock’s cleat.

Being stranded out to sea with him overnight didn’t seem so terrible. Until you remembered the vessel upon which you were standing. You did a quick mental check for the last time you’d gotten a tetanus shot. Primary school?

“I’ve never worked on a boat before,” you confessed as you moved out of his way helpfully. “I just cook the fish, not catch them.”

"Try and relax. There's no such thing as a bad crew. As the Captain, it's my job to take good care of you."

[thebunnednun]

Whispers of the Heart Dracule Mihawk x Fm! Reader (Part 4)

I do not own the artwork its by: @xuchuan25 Tell them they're amazing y'all!

Chapter 4 in the building y'all!!!! I just needed to see my Buggy.

Part 1 can be found: Here

Part 2 is right: Here

Part 3: Right over yonder

Don't be afraid to send me any requests my loves and if you are waiting for the next installment I have another Mihawk story:

*Shadows of the Blade (Dracule Mihawk x Assassin reader)

If you like sexy swordplay and themes of overcoming trauma then this is the story for you!. If you wanna skip to the good stuff try chapter 3.

Backstory:

You've been Dracule Mihawk's personal maid and housekeeper for what feels like an eternity. Let's cut to the chase – you're a badass, sweetheart. Sexy, cool, and confident, with a reputation that precedes you. Been friends with the stoic man for eons by now.

Everyone knows you or knows of you, and it's not just because you keep Mihawk's castle running like a well-oiled machine.

So what happens when you develop feelings for your old friend and boss?

What does he do when he comes home to find you in his room without your panties?

Also, muneca-chan= baby doll

ON WITH THE SHOW!!~

________________Chapter 4: A Clown's Counsel___________________

"Everything is going to be fine," you murmur softly, your voice echoing faintly into the open air. 

Your heart pounds with a mixture of excitement and nervousness as you stand alone in the vast, empty waters of the ocean. With a determined expression, you whisper reassuring words to yourself, trying to quell the rising tide of anxiety.

"You've locked down the castle securely. You just need to make this quick trip and return before Mihawk, Perona, and Zoro even realize you're gone." Taking a deep breath, you glance around the dimly lit deck one last time before turning your attention to your bag.

With meticulous care, you rummage through its contents, double-checking that you have everything you need for your journey. Each item holds a significance, a memory of past adventures and encounters that fuels your determination.

'I am a pirate queen of all the oceans. I was raised on an island in the Grand line and chose to live a life of peace. I can fucking sail a boat!'

After hanging up with Shanks last night, you decided to get up and moving if you were going to make your trip in time. Mihawk rarely ever sent word of his return home, unless he wanted a specific dinner and wine waiting for him.

You knew you'd have anywhere from a few days to two months before you saw him again. With a long sigh, you held your face in your hands for a moment of calm. 

The weather had turned for the worst overnight leaving you to sail the nearby waters in the middle of a rain storm. But, you honestly didn't mind one bit. It reminded you of your home island and like the homesick tall-child you were, you stood there on your little boat without a jacket or umbrella.

Call you crazy, but you wished for it to rain harder so all the confusing emotions inside you could be washed away somehow. Looking behind you, your eyes caught the slight glimmer of two familiar objects looking out of the bag behind you.

"Mhm," walking over, you reached inside, allowing your fingers to grasp the handle of two familiar old friends. The golden ridges caught the light from your dimming lantern.

Two identical machetes gleamed back at you, a parting gift from your mother. Your native tongue etched into the blade, they possessed a soft hum, almost whispering out to you. The temptation to harness your belt on and feel them resting on your hips again was almost irresistible. But instead, you drew your bag closed over them and set it down once more.

Constantly fighting for your life and the life of your crew mates was not something you missed about the old life. Yes, battles of honor were fun and sometimes even lead to creating new friends, however, there were too many attempts of pure murder. 

As a caption, you very much followed Gold Rodgers example of what a pirate should be. However, you also believed in not looking for fights. Now, you weren't out of practice by any means, Mihawk would never allow that.

But you could feel yourself adjust instantly to this old way of living and it kinda bothered you. However, resisting the temptation let you know that you were still you. 

You really have come so far in life. <3

Satisfied that you are well-prepared, you make your way to the shores of a nearby island, your footsteps echoing softly in the silence of the night. As you reach the edge of the water, you pause, your gaze scanning the horizon with a sense of anticipation.

Knowing that discretion is key, you reach into your bag once more, retrieving a carefully crafted cloak. The rumors of your death would fool the general public, but not other pirates or worse- fame hungry pirate captions.

You disappeared under the deck for a moment to find an old mirror. Then with practiced precision, you transform your appearance, concealing your identity behind a clever facade. As you adjust the final details of your disguise, you feel a surge of confidence wash over you. A small smile reaches your lips before a giggle slips out.

'Shanks would love this.'

With your transformation complete, you set off along the shoreline, your eyes scanning the surroundings for any sign of activity. This island was Buggy's last known location, and you are determined to find him. Every step brings you closer to your goal, your senses heightened with anticipation.

'Now or never.'

As you navigate the sandy shores, the salty breeze caresses your cheeks, invigorating your spirit with a sense of adventure. The moon hangs low in the sky, casting a soft glow upon the landscape, guiding your way through the darkness.

With each passing moment, your anticipation grows, fueled by the promise of reunion and the thrill of the unknown. Your senses are sharp, attuned to the subtlest of sounds and movements, as you scan the surroundings for any sign of life.

And then, in the distance, you catch a glimpse of movement—a flicker of movement amidst the shadows.

A big top. 

Without a second thought, you take off running in that direction. Unworried about the rain, you can barely hear the sound of your feet hitting the muddy ground over your pounding heart. Your breath quickens with excitement as you draw closer, your footsteps quickening with each stride.

"No you fucking shit head, it's WRONG!"

"Found you!"

Finally reaching the tent, you poked inside to see where that lovable asshole was. Ducking under the bleachers, you watched as a tall familiar figure threw a barrage of insults at some huddled performers. Several freaks were passing and going throughout the chaos to practice their acts and hone their talents. 

Amidst a flurry of activity, stood Buggy, his presence commanding attention amidst the chaos. You pause for a moment, watching him rehearse with his performers, a fond smile playing at the corners of your lips.

"If you can't get the lion to dance by this Friday, I am going to eat him. I don't give a FUCK how chewy he is!"

There stood a timid man with an animal that cowered before the infamous caption of the East Blue.

Ever the drama queen, Buggy's appearance was as flamboyant and eccentric as ever. He stood tall and proud, his colorful attire adorned with sequins and feathers that shimmered in the light. His hair, a riotous explosion of bright blue curls, framed his face in wild abandon, adding to his larger-than-life persona. His eyes, usually twinkling with mischief and charm, were now almost bloodshot and darted around the room, taking in every detail with a keen sense of curiosity. 

You can't help but chuckle at Buggy's theatrics, a familiar warmth spreading through your chest at the sight of him. Despite his bombastic demeanor, you know there's a soft side to him that few ever see.

As the chaos around him continues, you take a moment to compose yourself before stepping out from your hiding spot. With a mischievous grin, you call out to him in a teasing tone:

"Now that's not nice and you know it." 

Buggy's head snaps up at the sound of your voice, "We're closed right now!"

"Oh, this dumbass." You roll your eyes under the hood before pulling it from your head. His eyes widening in surprise before a wide grin splits his face. Without a moment's hesitation, he strides forward, his arms open wide in welcome.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't my favorite troublemaker," he replies, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. With a dramatic flourish, he strides over to you, sweeping you into a tight hug that almost knocks the breath out of you.

Finding yourself unable to keep your composer, you giggle into the chest of the shockingly 6'5 man and snuggle into his chest to quil the ache in your heart, returning his embrace with just as much intensity.

"How've you been, sis?" he asks, his voice filled with genuine concern as he pulls back to look at you, his hands resting on the apples of your cheeks.

You relish in the familiar comfort of his presence. "Oh, you know, same old same old," you reply, trying to play it cool despite the category 8 hurricane of emotions swirling within you. "Just thought I'd drop by and say hello."

Buggy quirks an eyebrow at your casual tone, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Oh really? Or is there something else on your mind?" he teases, giving your left cheek a playful pinch with his fingers.

You roll your eyes, unable to suppress a laugh at his antics. "Maybe a little bit of both," you admit, your voice softening as you meet his gaze.

"I've missed you, Buggy. It's been too long."

Buggy's expression softens, his eyes reflecting the sincerity of your words. "I've missed you too, [Name]," he replies, his voice gentle as he squeezes your shoulders affectionately. "But something tells me there's more to this visit than just catching up."

You let out a sigh, knowing you can't hide anything from Buggy. "You know me too well," you admit, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "There's something I need to talk to you about."

As Buggy's eyebrows furrow in concern, his gaze searching yours for any hint of distress, you take a deep breath, gathering the courage to confide in him. "What's wrong?" he asks, his voice filled with genuine concern.

You glance briefly at his performers, then lock eyes with Buggy again, a sense of urgency gripping your heart. "Got a place where we can chat in private?" you inquire, your voice barely above a whisper.

Buggy's expression flickers to something fierce, a glint of determination in his sea-green eyes as he analyzes you. Without a word, he stands tall, his shoulders squared, commanding the attention of his crew.

"Everyone is to keep performing," he announces firmly, his voice cutting through the air like a whip. "And when I come back, that lion better know how to tap dance or I'm making good on my promise!" His crew responds with a chorus of "Eye Sir's!" before Buggy ushers you away, leading you to a different part of the tent.

With swift efficiency, he pushes you inside a dressing room adorned with a star, the blue clown's symbol adorning the door. As you step inside, the door closes behind you with a soft click, enveloping you in a cocoon of privacy.

Taking a moment to collect your thoughts, you brace yourself for the conversation ahead, knowing that Buggy's keen intuition will leave no stone unturned. As you await his prompting, you can't help but feel a sense of gratitude for his unwavering support, even in the face of your deepest secrets.

The dressing room is a small, cozy space adorned with whimsical decorations that reflect the flamboyant nature of its occupants. The walls are painted a soothing shade of sky blue, with colorful streamers cascading from the ceiling, adding a playful touch to the atmosphere.

In one corner of the room, a vanity table sits adorned with an assortment of makeup and accessories, its surface gleaming under the soft glow of a dim lamp. A large mirror framed in ornate gold stands at the center, reflecting the room's eclectic charm.

Against the opposite wall, a row of hooks holds an array of costumes, each garment more vibrant and extravagant than the last. Sequins sparkle in the light, and feathers flutter gently as if caught in an unseen breeze.

In the center of the room, a plush red armchair beckons invitingly, its cushions adorned with polka dots in varying shades of blue. A small side table sits nearby, stacked with magazines and trinkets, offering a glimpse into the eclectic tastes of its occupants. The air is tinged with the faint scent of powder and perfume, a lingering reminder of the performers who call this space their own.

Despite its small size, the dressing room exudes an undeniable sense of warmth and camaraderie, a sanctuary where secrets are shared and dreams take flight.

Walking over to the vanity, you plucked a familiar red lipstick off the dresser before turning it in your fingers. "Ya know, I used to hate when you'd steal my lipstick," Buggy joked softly, crossing his arms over the swell of his chest. 

Upon hearing his words, your fingers instinctively squeeze the familiar red lipstick perched on the edge of the dresser. You hold it tighter, feeling its smooth texture against your skin, a sense of nostalgia washing over you. Looking up in the vanity mirror, you make eye contact with Buggy. His eyes sparkle with fond memories, a playful glint dancing in their depths.

You chuckle softly at his remark, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you remember the countless times you had playfully raided his makeup collection. "Well, you always did have the best shade of red," you tease back, your voice laced with affection.

Setting the lipstick back down on the vanity, you turn to face Buggy, the warmth of his presence filling the room. Despite the gravity of the conversation looming between you, his easy demeanor brings a sense of comfort, grounding you in the present moment. 

(You know shits bad when you gotta go to the crazy killer pirate clown for advice and comfort. Love and life advice at that!)

As you lean against the vanity, the soft glow of the lamp casting a warm hue across your features, you find yourself lost in a moment of quiet contemplation. Memories of past adventures with Buggy flood your mind, each one a vibrant snapshot of the bond you share.

"You know," Buggy begins, his tone softening as he meets your gaze, "I've missed having you around. Things just haven't been the same without your antics to liven up the place."

His words stir something deep within you, a mixture of gratitude and longing intertwining in your heart. Despite the passage of time and the distance between you, the connection you share with Buggy remains steadfast, a beacon of light in the darkness.

"I've missed you too," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

"It's been lonely without you."

A flicker of sadness crosses Buggy's features, his gaze softening with empathy. "I know, sweetheart," he says gently, reaching out to gently brush a stray lock of hair from your face. "But you're here now, and that's all that matters." You gently grasp the back of his hand that cradles your face. Almost afraid that you'll wake up in that cold and empty castle again. The warmth of Buggy's palm anchors you to the human world.

In that moment, as you stand together in the quiet intimacy of the dressing room, you are reminded of the strength of your bond with Buggy. Through thick and thin, laughter and tears, you know that he will always be there for you, ready to offer his support and unwavering friendship.

No matter the situation, you'd always been there to defend Buggy and build each other's esteem up. Even Mihawk knew not to slip up when talking about the Flashy Jester if he didn't want to be shanked again. 

Speaking of Mihawk-

"So, you gonna tell me why you showed up all of a sudden instead of sending a letter or are we gonna stand here quietly together?" His voice snapping you out of your thoughts with the buzz of its low tone.

"Don't get me wrong muneca-chan, I love seeing you." He softly muses, stepping closer towards you until he pulled the stool from under the vanity out and sits you on it before dropping into his own red chair. 

"But something tells me there's more to this visit than just catching up."

You let out a sigh, knowing you can't hide anything from Buggy. "You know me too well," you admit, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "There's something really important I need to talk to you about. Shanks already knows before he called me last night, stop making that face, and you can't tell anyone else under any circumstances!"

Buggy's eyebrows furrow in concern, his gaze searching yours for any hint of distress. "What's wrong?" he asks, his voice filled with genuine concern.

Taking a deep breath, you gather your thoughts before speaking. "It's about love," you begin, your voice barely above a whisper. "I... I think I have feelings for someone, Buggy."

"I think I'm in love."

Buggy's eyes widen in surprise, his expression shifting from concern to understanding.

"Ah, love," he murmurs, his voice soft with sympathy. "Love can be a tricky thing, especially when it comes to matters of the heart."

You nod, grateful for his understanding. "I just don't know what to do," you admit, your voice tinged with uncertainty. "I'm torn between staying here and following my heart."

Buggy places a comforting hand on your shoulder, his touch grounding you in the midst of your turmoil. "Listen to me, [Name]," he says, his voice gentle yet firm. "You can't let fear hold you back from pursuing what makes you happy. If you have feelings for someone, then you owe it to yourself to explore them, regardless of the outcome."

You take in his words, feeling a sense of clarity wash over you. "Thank you, Buggy," you say softly, your voice filled with gratitude. "I needed to hear that."

Buggy gives you a reassuring smile, his eyes sparkling with warmth. "Anytime, sis," he replies, giving your shoulder a comforting squeeze.

"Now, let's hear who the lucky one is!" 

Your smile stiffens before you whisper out quietly. Buggy frowns and leans closer from his chair.

"What's that, starshine?" 

As you gather your thoughts, the weight of your confession is lingering heavy in the air. Buggy's concern deepens, his brow furrowing as he leans in closer, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation.

With a sigh, you summon the courage to speak, your voice barely above a whisper. "It's... it's Mihawk," you confess, your words hanging in the air like a delicate thread.

Buggy's eyes widen in surprise, his expression a mixture of shock and understanding. "Mihawk?" he repeats, his voice tinged with disbelief.

"As in, Dracule Mihawk?"

You nod slowly, feeling a sense of relief wash over you as the truth finally comes to light. "Yes, Mihawk," you confirm, your voice steady despite the turmoil raging within you. "I... I think I'm in love with him."

Buggy's initial reaction catches you off guard. His eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and for a moment, a look of concern flashes across his face. "Wait, hold on a second," he says, his voice tinged with disbelief.

"Are you serious?"

You nod, feeling a pang of uncertainty creeping in. "Yes, Buggy," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper. "I know it sounds crazy, but... I think I might be in love with him."

Buggy's expression darkens, his features contorting into a mixture of shock and concern. "Are you feeling okay?" he asks, his voice laced with worry. "I mean, have you been feeling sick or something?"

You shake your head, a sense of frustration bubbling up within you. "No, Buggy, I'm not sick," you retort, a hint of irritation seeping into your tone. "I'm serious about this."

Buggy lets out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his wild blue hair. "Look, muneca-chan," he begins, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "This isn't something to take lightly. Mihawk is... well, he's not exactly the most approachable guy, you know? And besides, he's your boss, for crying out loud!"

You feel a surge of defiance rising within you. "I know all of that, Buggy," you say firmly, your voice unwavering. "But I can't help how I feel."

Buggy's frustration mounts, and suddenly he's popping his hands off in a fit of anger.

"Has he been trying to feel up on you? OW- OKAY! PUT THE PALLET DOWN THAT ONE WAS EXPENSIVE!" 

While you were holding his makeup hostage, the clown was now rubbing where his hair brush had struck his pectoral. Slowly, you sat back down in the chair as he regarded you like a wild hellcat. A pit of dread now knotted your stomach. 

"I'm not joking Buggy, I need thoughts!" 

"And prayers, you're gonna need them with that eagle- NOT THE FUCKING FACE!" You lobbed a jar of hair cream at him before breaking down in the vanity stool. "Don't be an ass okay! I didn't say anything about you and Shanks!" You gasped, hoping that your voice wouldn't crack any further. 

The weight of your words hangs heavily in the air, and you realize just how much you've been holding back. "I... I'm sorry," you stammer, guilt washing over you as hot, fat tears slip from the corners of your eyes.

Before you can even register it, Buggy has crossed the room in a few quick strides and scooped you up into his strong arms, returning to his chair and settling you onto his lap like a small child.

With your face pressed into his striped shirt, you let the dam burst, unleashing all the pent-up tears you've been holding back. Buggy's hand runs soothingly over your back, cradling your head to his chest as he murmurs comforting words.

Reaching into his sleeve, he pulls out a ridiculously long handkerchief, prompting some weak laughter from you despite your tears.

"You've been doing that corny ass joke since we were kids," you sniffle, gingerly wiping your nose before he tosses the hanky into the wastebasket.

"Yeah, well, it still gets a laugh outta ya, so I'ma keep on with it," Buggy replies with a soft smile. He gazes down at you with those piercing eyes of his, scanning your face with a mixture of concern and affection.

Buggy lets out another exasperated sigh, his frustration evident but tempered by genuine worry. "Look, muneca-chan, I get it," he says, his voice gentler now. "Love can make you do crazy things, feel crazy things. But you need to be careful. Mihawk... he's a complicated guy. He's got a lot of walls up, and he's not exactly known for being... well, open-hearted. I know you guys are friends and I was shocked he let you stay with him. But love is a whole different ball game."

You nod, feeling a bit more grounded by his words and presence. "I know he's complicated, Buggy," you say, your voice steadier now. "But I can't help how I feel. I just needed to tell someone, to get it off my chest."

Buggy holds you a little tighter, his grip reassuring. "Well, you've told me now, and we'll figure this out together," he promises. "Just don't go making any rash decisions, okay? Take your time, think things through. And remember, no matter what happens, you've got me in your corner."

His words, laced with both caution and encouragement, bring a small but genuine smile to your face. "Thank you, Buggy," you whisper, leaning into his embrace. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Anytime, starshine," he replies softly, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. "We'll get through this, one step at a time." He wipes the tears from your face with his warm thumbs, "But promise me you'll be careful, okay? I don't want to see you get hurt."

You can see the genuine concern in Buggy's eyes, and it touches your heart. Despite his gruff exterior, you know that he cares deeply for you, and his protective instincts are kicking in full force.

You nod, grateful for his understanding. "I just don't know what to do," you admit, your voice tinged with uncertainty. "I'm torn between staying here and following my heart."

Buggy places a comforting hand on your shoulder, his touch grounding you in the midst of your turmoil. "Listen to me, sis," he says, his voice gentle yet firm. "You can't let fear hold you back from pursuing what makes you happy. If you have feelings for Mihawk, then you owe it to yourself to explore them, regardless of the outcome." Your eyes glance over his right pec, knowing what picture was hidden inside that pocket. 

"But here's the thing about love, [Name]. It's not always easy to understand, and it's certainly not always convenient. But when you find someone who makes your heart skip a beat, someone who makes you feel alive in a way you've never felt before, well, you'd be a fool not to hold onto that with both hands."

Buggy's gaze softens, his features morphing into a look of genuine empathy. "Love is a complicated thing," he murmurs, his voice filled with compassion. "But if Mihawk is the one who holds your heart, then you owe it to yourself to pursue those feelings."

He gives you a reassuring smile, his eyes reflecting the depth of his friendship and loyalty. "You'll figure it out, sis," he says, his voice filled with confidence. "And remember, I'll always be here for you, no matter what."

His words struck a chord deep within you, resonating with the turmoil of emotions that had been swirling inside you since Mihawk's departure. Suddenly, everything seemed to fall into place, the confusion and uncertainty giving way to a newfound clarity. Buggy gives you a reassuring smile, his eyes sparkling with warmth.

"Anytime, [Name]," he replies, giving your shoulder a comforting squeeze.

You nod, grateful for Buggy's understanding and support. "Thank you, Buggy," you whisper softly , a sense of gratitude flooding your heart. "I needed to hear that."

As you stand wrapped in Buggy's embrace, you feel a sense of relief wash over you. His arms are strong and comforting, a reminder of the unwavering bond you share. But as he pulls back, a toothy grin spreads across his face, and you catch a glimpse of a familiar, sinister gleam in his eyes.

"And if he fucks up," Buggy says, his voice low and menacing, "there's gonna be one less Warlord in the sea."

The way he says it sends a shiver down your spine, and you can't help but chuckle nervously. Buggy's expression is a mix of protective determination and a hint of madness that you've come to recognize over the years. His blue curls frame his face, giving him an almost theatrical appearance, but you know better than to underestimate the seriousness behind his words.

His gaze sharpens, and for a moment, the room seems to grow darker as he continues. "I mean it, muneca-chan. Mihawk might be a badass with that big-ass sword of his, but he's no match for my flashy tricks. One wrong move, and I'll make sure he regrets it."

Buggy's eyes glint with a dangerous intensity, and you can tell that his big-brother instincts are in overdrive. Despite his eccentricities, you know that he would go to great lengths to ensure your happiness and safety. You reach out to place a hand on his arm, squeezing gently to remind him that you appreciate his concern.

"I know you would, Buggy," you say softly, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "But let's hope it doesn't come to that. I just needed to talk to someone who understands."

Buggy's expression softens at your words, the sinister edge fading as he looks at you with genuine affection. "Yeah, yeah," he mutters, rolling his eyes playfully. "Just remember, I'm always here for you, no matter what."

With that, he pulls you into another tight hug, his embrace warm and reassuring. You know that no matter what challenges lie ahead, you'll always have Buggy by your side, ready to offer his unwavering support and friendship—even if it means taking on a Warlord of the sea.

"I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Probably live a very boring and un-flashy life."

"Oh no~, what a nightmare, HEY!"

He flashed you a smile as you held your recently pinched side. 

"Now, let's get you set up to spend the night. We've got a lot to catch up on." 

______________________________________________________________

And that wraps up chapter 4 of this series. Oh I am going to make you all work for 'that' delicious chapter.~

Part 5 is now posted.

At the time of this being posted, 5/19/2024, there is a poll ongoing for what, you, the lovely readers, would love to be called. Be sure to cast your votes!!

Make sure you check out the a03 account by the same name. Everything I have posted here is there in chronological order. I also have a few Buggy the Clown x Reader's posted in the masterlist! Give it a read if you please!

Be sure to check out my other works and leave likes and comments, they really help. Drop a follow as well if you please. Don’t be shy to leave me a little reblog if you want.

I promise I bite~

Seen you soon my loves!!~ <<33

[kwebtv]

TV Guide -  May 30 - June 5, 1964

Ernest Borgnine (/ˈbɔːrɡnaɪn/; born Ermes Effron Borgnino; January 24, 1917 – July 8, 2012)  Film, stage and television actor whose career spanned over six decades. He was noted for his gruff but relaxed voice and gap-toothed Cheshire Cat grin. A popular performer, he also appeared as a guest on numerous talk shows and as a panelist on several game shows.

Borgnine made his TV debut as a character actor in Captain Video and His Video Rangers, beginning in 1951. These two episodes led to countless other television roles that Borgnine would gain in Goodyear Television Playhouse, The Ford Television Theatre, Fireside Theatre, Frontier Justice, Laramie, Bob Hope Presents the Chrysler Theatre, Run for Your Life, Little House on the Prairie (a two-part episode entitled "The Lord is My Shepherd"), The Love Boat, Magnum, P.I., Highway to Heaven, Murder, She Wrote, Walker, Texas Ranger, Home Improvement, Touched by an Angel, the final episodes of ER, the first episode of Wagon Train, and many others.

In 1962, Borgnine signed a contract with Universal Studios for the lead role as the gruff but lovable skipper, Quinton McHale, in what began as a serious one-hour 1962 episode called "Seven Against the Sea" for Alcoa Premiere, and later reworked to a comedy called McHale's Navy, a World War II sitcom, which also co-starred unfamiliar comedians Joe Flynn as Capt. Wally Binghamton and Tim Conway as Ens. Charles Parker. The insubordinate crew of PT-73 helped the show become an overnight success during its first season, landing in the top 30 in 1963. (Wikipedia)

Thomas Daniel "Tim" Conway (December 15, 1933 – May 14, 2019) Film and television actor, comedian, writer, and director. From 1966 to 2012 he appeared in more than 100 TV shows, TV series and films. Among his more notable roles, he portrayed the inept Ensign Parker in the 1960s World War II TV situation comedy McHale's Navy, was a regular cast member (1975–1978) on the TV comedy The Carol Burnett Show where he portrayed his recurrent iconic characters Mister Tudball, the Oldest Man and the Dumb Private, co-starred with Don Knotts in several films (1975–80), was the title character in the Dorf series of eight sports comedy direct-to-video films (1987–1996), and provided the voice of Barnacle Boy in the animated series SpongeBob SquarePants (1999–2012). Twice, in 1970 and in 1980–1981, he had his own TV series.  (Wikipedia)

Joseph Anthony Flynn III (November 8, 1924 – July 19, 1974) Film and television character actor. He was best known for his role as Captain Wallace Binghamton in the 1960s ABC television situation comedy McHale's Navy. He was also a frequent guest star on 1960s TV shows, such as Batman, and appeared in several Walt Disney film comedies. (Wikipedia)

[yourlocaltreesimp]

the wind masterlist is empty, and it’s also the only one. So let’s fix that!

thanks to @litrllyvoid for the suggestion!

Wind & mer!reader (platonic)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Tridents and Trinkets

After so long of sailing, wind had thought he’d seen everything. Magic, massacres and men turning into boats he found it hard to be genuinely shocked to the point where he was enraptured. But you, defiant as ever, changed that. He remembered the days prior to meeting you being as normal as ever, sailing and adventuring as expected. Tetra had docked the ship at an unfamiliar harbour, on the opposite side of where most ships would usually. The waters here were calm and crystalline, but untraveled. The ordeal struck him as odd, but not worth questioning. The crew still ran for supplies and traded off what they needed to without issue. The day was so successful that they all saw no need to leave before sundown, docking overnight. But Wind could not sleep, something tugged in the back of his mind, urging him to stay awake. He leaned over the railing and stared down into the water, moonlight scattering across its surface as waves lapped at the hull of the boat. Something moved within the water, disrupting its flow, something larger than your average fish. He leaned further over the bannister to get a better look, getting a glimpse of iridescent teal scales, nearly breaking the surface before retreating into the waters. Figuring there was nothing better to do, he snuck off ship and sat on the very far edge of the dock, keeping a close eye on the water. It took him a few minutes before catching you, peering curiously at him a decent ways away in the water. He dug out a small necklace in his pocket, the pearl pendant gleaming in the moon. It was supposed to be for Aryll, but he had more than enough money to buy another, or find something equally as shiny. Right now, there was a person in the water, and he was determined. He held out the small, shining necklace, offering it out to you. You slowly eased closer, fingers wrapping around the shining pendant, the glimmer reflecting in your eyes. Wind meanwhile, was studying you curiously, shimmering scales in patches on your arms and gills on your neck. And of course, the smile you sent him with sharp teeth. He smiled cautiously in return, finding it within himself to not be scared. You dove back into the water hastily, and he felt the wonder in his mind retreat. He stood slowly and walked back to shore only to be stopped by a loud clicking noise. He turned to see you, propped up on the dock, holding out a shimmering set of earrings. They certainly looked to be expensive, but he doubted you minded much, considering you lived in the sea. He took them gratefully, and returned to the ship, no less tired than when he left.

It was weeks before you’d met, and the memory faded. With the constant flow of adventures, merfolk were a surprising and welcome addition, but incredibly, incredibly uncommon. The ship struggled to keep its way as something in the water tried to attack them. It lurched for the ship, trying to tear out boards and people alike. They were putting up a hard fight, but for the first time in a long time, Wind felt as if they might not win. The thought was shoved back harshly as he jumped into action. A trident soared out of the water, embedding itself in the monster’s head. A lightning strike followed soon after. And it was dead. The crew flocked to the side of the boat in confusion. And most of them would be left without answers. But Wind knew better, the sight of the familiar necklace and shimmering scales making his mind out two and two together.

He asked Tetra about it later, the merfolk. And her answer, be it vauge, was enlightening.

“Some merfolk” She started “make deals with sailors, allowing them passage through the water in exchange for fish and other resources of the sort. But a few take other things such as food, potions or jewellery as pacts or favours. Why, what’d you do?”

“I didn’t do anything”

“Liar”

“Ok maybe I did” Tetra’s face was that of unamusement, expectantly looking at him. He sucked in a breath “i may have accidentally made a deal with a merperson”

“What was that?” He sighed, his shoulders hanging “I may have accidentally made a deal with a merperson”

“And?” she motioned for him to go on

“That’s it.”

“That’s it? I thought you- I don’t know? Killed somebody” She laughed in exasperation, not even stopping as he admitted guilt. He sputtered.

“Wh- Me? No” She laughed even harder and he left, sitting on the information he was given. Well it seemed he’d made a deal with a mer… who had a trident and could apparently smite people. Sick.

It was a little less than two weeks when he found you again, albeit under significantly worse circumstances. You’d been caught, your fins curled in the stiff rope of a fishing net, shivering in fear and sputtering, trying to breathe. The two fishermen that caught you laughing among themselves as you were fading. He took their distraction while he had it and carefully cut the rope, caring little for the integrity of the net. He grabbed your limp body and silently prayed that you weren’t dead before putting you back in the water as carefully as possible. Your head poked above the surface and stared back at him, that same beaming smile of sharp teeth before ducking back under the water.

It was more often now that he caught you trailing the ship whenever they were near your water, and swapped trinkets and treasure. He hadn’t meant to make a deal with you, but perhaps this was one of the better mistakes he’d made.

[shallowoak]

Little Words in the Small Hours

>> Or read on AO3 here! <<

Summary: Finding himself as Law’s guardian and father figure, Rosinante ponders the nature of parenthood through his own experiences. With thanks to @lunarforrest for proofreading! ❤️

Word Count: 6.9k Rating: Mature, No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Donquixote "Corazon" Rosinante, Trafalgar D. Water Law, Donquixote Doflamingo, Sengoku The Buddha, Donquixote Pirates (One Piece), others mentioned - Character

Additional Tags: Rosi-centric, rating is for themes and explicit language, descriptions of physical abuse, descriptions of childhood trauma, Canon-Typical Misery, Canon-Typical Violence, Pre-Canon, One Shot, Character Study, Introspection, spoilers for dressrosa, both Rosinante and Law are autistic, it was just going that way, Autistic Trafalgar D. Water Law, negative views on the military, though this is OP so I don't suppose you were willing to accept authority anyway, but just in case, headcanons galore, what can you do when your fav is taken away 5 mins after being introduced, yes I'm fine thanks for asking, yet another excuse to write a blonde man having a crisis, use of Den Dens as assistance animals, we love worldbuilding, Medical Inaccuracies, (X Drake drowning in the pool) this ain't about him

Through the gap in his cabin curtains, Rosinante watched as snow fell. Aboard passenger ship “The Mixer”, the gentle sway of their overnight crossing should’ve rocked them to sleep hours ago.

Swaddled together under his feathery coat, Law’s breathing was barely visible. Sat upright, one arm supported the small of Law’s back, the other gently petted his hair. Head limply resting against the cabin wall, the scratchy boat-issued blanket was used instead as a foot warmer for Rosi’s too-long legs. Staring unseeing into the dark, unable to find rest, Law clutched Rosi’s unwashed nightshirt as though it were a lifeline.

Not many moons ago, he would’ve craved a journey like this. No knots to tie, no Marine business, no family matters. Just quiet days for reading and long nights for chain smoking with a stranger. Enjoying the easy sounds of a cheap musician as the crew changed over. The liminal space of getting to know a ship, people, the bottom of a glass he knew he’d never see again.

Now, he despised that quiet. The pair could only hold one another as the boy’s laboured breathing filled the room. Quiet gave intrusive thoughts leverage, the pain and lethargy seeming worse at night. Free from the day’s rush of route planning, hospital visits and running, all they had to think about was reality. The increasingly rapid deterioration was more apparent as Law’s skin became less and less his own. The kid scratched it compulsively, wanting to be free of his discomfort, to somehow peel away the poisoned flesh and see himself underneath. He’d tried to teach Law to ground himself, to hold something comforting when he felt the need to itch. His little body had no extra energy to keep stitching up his arms.

An early night had turned into all night.

Nearing thirteen, most kids Law’s age would recoil at the idea of cuddling as the awkwardness of puberty set in. Too proud, too independent to need his love. On the surface, Law was certainly no different. He left a strong impression on everyone he met, unafraid to challenge the world and every blind adult who inhabited it. He’d sooner carve a hole through Rosi’s coat than admit he wanted to be underneath it.

The dark, the relentless cold, the long, fruitless search and endless hours of travel… These things had an effect. One that even Law was not immune to. As extraordinary as this kid was, he was still just a child. A child who had seen and been through things that would leave an adult scarred. A child who needed a gentle hand and comics as a reward for visiting the Doctor.

Over time, his beautiful brown skin had become ashen and cold, all the warm tones cruelly drawn away as the poisoning progressed. White spots-turned patches became increasingly prominent. All but impossible to ignore in the low light.

So, they did the only thing they could do. Wordlessly try to comfort one another, afraid to speak the truth. It did precious little to stop the long note in the back of Rosi’s mind filling him with dread.

Public transport and cosy overnight cabins were a luxury the pair could ill afford. Too traceable, far cheaper and easier to steal a vessel. Between being a Marine and a pirate, manning a small one single-handedly should be a cinch. Equally, it would be easier and safer to leave Law to die. For him to carry on undercover, to not cause a fuss. To let fate take her course and let Law succumb- or live his remaining years believing dying for Doflamingo was ‘love’.

As the deadline loomed, Rosinante’s heart grew fonder. Softer. Determined. It wasn’t justice nor kindness to leave Law to the wolves. It was unbearable to leave Law alone overnight while he manned a stolen boat.

He wouldn’t go down without kicking and screaming, even if he failed. If they couldn’t secure a cure, Law would pass peacefully by Rosi’s side, knowing he was loved. Safe from having to commit atrocities to live. If his brother got hold of Law, he’d sooner shoot the boy himself. He’d choose Law over himself in any situation.

The easiest option was rarely the right one. Rosinante tried to tell himself he deserved to sleep in a bed.

Until a year ago, Rosi had never imagined children in his cards. He’d never enjoyed being a kid, let alone seen the appeal of raising one. He’d never even entertained the idea of a girl -or boy- friend. Before all their strife; Law had been one of two. Rosi was one of two. He did not doubt that Doffy had fathered many more kids than he adopted. People chose to do this all the time. But it never crossed his mind that it was something for him.

A small part of him wished he had a better childhood, a normal one. A small part of him yearned to understand what kind of life Law had led before the disease ravaged his homeland. Maybe then he’d feel more ready for this. Others his age had tried to kill him, just as their parents encouraged. The brothers had been hunted down and punished for their father's and their community's sins rather than their individual actions. He only had Doffy for guidance, a boy brutalised by their ordeal and forced to turn to violence to cope.

They were both changed for the worse. What part of that experience was supposed to help him here? There was so much to fuck up with child development. So many ways to permanently damage a young psyche. So many of Doffy’s learned, twisted ideals he didn’t want anywhere near Law at the most impressionable time in his life. Rosinante hardly felt better. He didn’t feel as though he’d ever truly recovered from his childhood traumas, and now he was tasked with guiding Law through his own. Poor kid had already been through so much. Rosi couldn’t afford to lead him astray.

He’d known a few families in his life, but he wasn’t quite sure what to make of any of them. There was a memory of his birth parents trying to provide Doffy and him with a real life. With more than what they had. To try to give Law more than what he had wasn’t saying much- yet still felt like a mountain to climb. Sengoku had made it look easy, taking in someone so young and vulnerable with only the simple job of raising them on the line.

As a child, he thought Sengoku was awesome. The shit, invincible. He was like a Dragon, rich and powerful with the world at his feet- but he got to blast bad guys, too. He got to go wherever, command whoever, have whatever. For all their birth parents wanted Rosi and Doffy to lead a normal life, he had fallen on his feet with Sengoku. After months of abuse, mouldy food, loss and sleepless nights in drafty shacks, he’d been comforted to find a familiar home with hot water and soft sheets. In the end, what he knew was luxury.

As an adult…? He wasn’t so naive as to think a family had to be nuclear to work. A family could be a single father and his adopted son. That was his normal; lived it. If he had his way, he’d be reliving it for many years to come. But nothing about his life with Sengoku was normal, really. An admiral for a father figure, almost twice Rosi’s current age when he’d chosen to adopt. He was wise and sound, and he had access to the most powerful support network in the world for anything he needed.

Except… Many of Rosi’s first months were spent not in his care- but in that of a hospital or visiting specialist. After that, he was often away on duty for weeks or months at a time. Even at home, he worked long hours, hardly seeing Rosi as he chipped away at his desk. With Sengoku, he’d been shielded from so much of the world he’d known on the streets. That had been nice at first, but he came to miss someone to play with, regular schooling, and unlimited family time. There was good reason why any sensible Marine took leave or retired to raise their family.

But one of the things he’d never wanted for was medical care. Having found a random child on the street, Sengoku had been wise in getting him checked out. The fleet of Navy Doctors had returned him billed with a long receipt of new diagnoses.

A catalogue of the extensive wounds from his clear history of abuse. Horrific, ugly, burned into the memory of the physicians who saw them. But easy enough to identify and begin to treat. Physiotherapy for his torn shoulder muscles, from where he had been strung up for hours on end. Careful reintroduction to food after malnutrition, a specialised diet to build mass and strength. Extensive grafting and liberal use of creams for his burns. Bedrest for his angry bruises and burst eardrums. He was littered with so many cuts, holes and scrapes that just needed respite and time to repair themselves. For months, he’d looked like a moth-eaten quilt while he recovered. Sengoku amused him, studying the diagram on how to wrap bandages on awkward areas of skin like he would a battle plan- hunched over his desk with his brows furrowed.

Then, there was the acceptance of the permanent hearing loss brought on by prolonged -close-range- exposure to gunfire and explosions. His left ear now heard nothing, whilst the right teetered in the 40-50% range. Therapists helped him learn to live with the difference but there was no cure for clumsiness, only fuelled by the new lack of balance.

He’d been offered something special, a then-experimental surgery. A surgery Vegapunk’s team had been fine-tuning for public use by implementing it in Marine hospital trials. An implant into his left cochlear would allow him some hearing back. A specially shaped Den Den Mushi earpiece would sit on the shell of his ear and act as a receiver and interpreter for sounds. The telepathic snails were billed to provide an overall clearer, more stable sound to the internal components -adapted from the telephone originals- than using electronics alone.

At the time, he’d been sick of surgery. The seemingly endless cycle of groggy pain, tubes, and check-ups. Being stuck inside, summer days wasted with their melding together. Adults looked at him with concern as they kept turning up shrapnel in his scans, time and again. Phrases like ‘implant’ and ‘clinical trial’ had been too much for him then, and he’d been quick to turn down any added grief. The Snail solution was also not a perfect one, as it needed rest and to be fed. It would be closer to working with a service dog, and he’d need to learn how to look after it. He wasn’t sure how to look after himself. No, the old wounds were enough.

Perhaps he would’ve taken it now, having felt the impact of hearing loss in his day-to-day life. Perhaps he’d been a stupid, rash kid. He’d often looked back on himself that way. Though if he had taken it… He couldn’t have cheesed the Marine health check. The external components were much too obvious for even Sengoku to be able to hide on his record. He never would’ve gone through basic or field training, never deployed to spy on his brother. Never would’ve come to meet Law. If he’d made the choice he’d always scorned himself for? His dad could still probably swing him a desk job for the Marines: pencil-pushing anti-scurvy fruit deliveries. Safe. Sonless.

On the mental side, there were long-term conditions to contend with. The aspects of Rosi that were harder to pin and even slower to treat. Hordes of unprocessed grief, paranoia, generalised anxiety, insomnia. It culminated with a healthy topping of PTSD. Rosi’s schedule of pills and appointments rivalled Sengoku’s business calendar for a time. Finally, the one that stumped his father the most. Autism. He’d always remember the look on his father’s face as they sat in that office.

In time, it would be something he’d come to learn he shared with Law, although the two experienced it differently. Rosinante’s own was sensory-biased, his social symptoms negligible before the abuse exasperated them. Noise, light and touch. All things he struggled with. Some days, he’d shriek in the bath, find the hospital too bright, or try to bolt when Sengoku hugged him. It had taken a monumental amount of trust and gentle convincing for the hair to be removed from over Rosi’s eyes. He’d resented the sharp, unfamiliar equipment, the feeling of little prickly hairs against his skin, and the prospect of more light hitting his eyes. Audio processing issues combined with hearing loss made calming explanations difficult to understand. Things often needed to be repeated and for a time, the world only grew more terrifying. Sengoku didn’t recommend him for undercover work because he was good with the sounds of battle or because he could process new information quickly. In battle, there was a real chance he’d be stabbed long before he noticed the wielder’s approach.

From what he could gather, Law’s experience was more socially skewed. He struggled to both display and understand emotions. He took things literally and spoke bluntly, the heart on his sleeve sometimes seeming unforgiving to the uninitiated. Law tended to fixate, tunnel visioned for months on end. He could tell you in (literally) nauseating detail about his favourite medical processes. Or his favourite writing techniques used in the comics he liked.

They both found change hard, their new circumstances confusing. Their lack of routine or stability, the constant new faces and towns, made Law antsy. As their journey continued, Law had less to say. Less patience to spare. As a self-conscious teen, Doctors often assumed Law was brought in to be referred for counselling- that he needed help accepting his Autism or ‘Vitiligo’. He probably did, but it was never the main issue. After a while, Law stopped correcting them and stopped speaking up. He let his dad run him through the motions.

It was hard for Rosinante, too, to see and understand that pain. Not being able to do anything to alleviate it. Forced to carry on with the only option they had. He was starting to resent himself for the quiet his power created. For taking Law into a place which made him uncomfortable. For feeling like he wouldn’t be enough.

Sengoku was neither detached nor the most gentle of hands. His job was to be confident and turn the neurotypical into soldiers. He represented the World Government and expected others to fall into line. But even when he wasn’t sure what to make of Rosinante’s behaviour, he’d always been enough. A warm hand to hold, a secure home, a steady job.

Despite his choosing to tackle Rosinante’s trauma response with navy indoctrination. Despite his belief that regardless of Rosinante's disposition- discipline and structure were sure to yield results. That in Sengoku's mind, it was business as usual.

Despite his numerous faults, Sengoku had been a good father to him. He diligently and often single-handedly took care of Rosi when he was around. Rosi had been a quiet, sensitive child, and Sengoku had always been firm enough to slowly push him out of his shell.

Once he’d been deemed old and fit enough, he’d been allowed to accompany his father on safer voyages. Time on the sea had been presented to him as part of his recovery, that it would be good for him to get fresh air and see some sights after being inside for so long. Whilst not untrue, both father and son knew it was cover so they could spend more time together.

His days as a glorified ship’s mascot had been a blast. He had no official job, but he spent his days soaking up information, experiences, and affection from his crew. He got to see his dad daily and get tucked in every night. They played board games in their quarters and identified sea mammals together. When the cannons were tested, Sengoku comforted and taught him how to protect his ears. And why Marines needed those loud sounds he was so afraid of. How they could be used to protect. They bonded, truly, as father and son.

The books and globes in the map room showed him the world, the navigation crew was only too happy to show off what they knew. Having only known sunny, moderate climates, places like deserts and tundras seemed like that of myth. Watching the cadets work by day, he got a good feel for terminology, knots and drills. During mealtimes, they'd chat about daily life back home and regale him with fanciful tales of mermaids and adventure. Being with them was the closest he got to normality his parents dreamed of.

Hanging around with his Dad gave him exclusive access, too, to explore the private areas of a ship without being summoned there for punishment. Eventually, he even learnt what it was that his Dad actually did.

He'd never thought of it as conditioning, but at 16, with a gentle push from dad, he’d signed up for basic training to join the crew full-time on the other end. And sure, he did turn out to be a decent Marine. He never fought back on Sengoku’s ideas. Eventually, they even put him in charge of others, which had always seemed like a mad decision to him. Being a Marine gave him something to do and a way to make his father happy. Being with Law now was the first time he’d ever carved his own path.

Rosinante still felt young in the only way he had left. Even after years of therapy, he felt no closer to true normalcy. Too much to reflect on, much more to learn- and precious little time. His kid couldn’t afford for him to be lost in his head, reeling from the past- wondering if Sengoku was any parent worth replicating. Wondering even if he could. Law needed his guidance, his support, and his answers now. Could Rosinante be trusted to provide a good life for Law- where professionals had failed him?

Thinking back, he was starting to feel that Sengoku had been this way, too. He’d loved Rosi unconditionally but hadn’t really known what to do with him. Nor had he the time to learn. For all his good intentions, it had been easiest to put Rosi into a box of his ideals and call the job done.

Bringing his mind back into the present, he held Law closer, resting his chin on the crown of the boy’s head. As if he wasn’t already too late to shield Law from anything.

Maybe enlistment was the only way Sengoku could think of to keep an eye on his vulnerable son. Maybe he was actually insane, thinking the military was any autistic person’s first career choice. His head spun listlessly. What the hell did either of them know about raising kids?

Shifting at the pressure, Law looked up at Rosinante.

“Toilet.”

Right. They’d been lying here awake for four or five hours now. He should probably go himself. Smiling gently, Rosi shifts the arm supporting his back to scoop up Law, his rear now resting on his arm. Law clings to him like Koala joey as they leave the cabin.

He thinks it sweet that Law still wants his security. That a kid so willing to kill still doesn’t want to walk an unfamiliar hall alone at night. He has to have hope that there’s still time to fix this. Law might not have his sea legs yet, but Rosi isn’t much better. Thank goodness it’s a calm night; he’d rather not go ass-over-hat with his kid in hand. That clumsiness never failed to amuse his fellow seamen. He traces along the wall with his free hand until they reach a small communal washroom.

The pair leave each other to their business, taking a stall each. He takes a longing look at the showers, knowing he’ll have to take a bath stool to fit under the shower head. Tomorrow can’t come soon enough. He’d been putting off washing and using the laundry service so their clothes would stay clean for longer once they were back on dry land.

Eventually, the two finish washing up, and Rosi scoops Law back up to pad back to their room. Even if Law wanted to walk, Rosi couldn’t reach down far enough to hold his hand. Somehow, he feels more tired after having gotten up. He’s thankful every night that Law came into his life not needing to be fed at 3 am.

He lifts the feather coat left on the bed, gently depositing Law underneath it. The small lump on the mattress doesn’t move. Rosi stares blankly at the dozing lump before tucking it in and arranging the sucky boat blanket as a pillow on the floor. For such an underdeveloped kid, be sure does take up a lot of space. He doesn’t mind, though. He’d known this was coming; he’d been too tall for the standardised mattress from the start. Besides, Law had the rule of cute and couldn’t be moved.

Only as Rosi shifts to curl up on the floor does Law stir, shuffling the coat to stare at his dad. Rosi stares back. A little hand appears from under the fluff, patting the bed and making a grabbing motion. His whole body then scoots closer to the inside of the bed, up against the windowed wall.

How can he say no to that? He’s so proud of Law for considering him!

Feeling sufficiently sleepier, Rosi opts to lie down facing towards Law, his knees bent and feet hanging out of the covers. The position isn’t optimal but it makes Law happy. His arm finds Law’s hat and passes it to him before loosely resting on the coat in a gentle hug.

Like them, that hat had been through a lot. It was the one thing Law still carried from his home island. He used it as a plush toy at night and thumbed it during the day when he was nervous or needed to itch. Frayed patches in the brim were already starting to appear. If it wasn’t being held, he wore it as though he’d crumble without its presence.

When Law joined the family, they’d tried to prise it from him. Tried to burn it with the rest of his old, corpse-stained clothes. There was no way they’d ever been clean, healthy enough to wear again. He wouldn’t say exactly how many days he had hidden in the corpse pile, let alone how long ago they had been fresh on. The rest of his wardrobe had been replaced, and Giolla and Baby 5 loved the opportunity to start fresh and dress Law in the same fun patterns as their Corazon. But taking the hat crossed a line. Even for the eccentric family, that hat was disgusting. It still had old, caked in blood on it. It reeked of sweat, bile and death. Turns out Law liked the stench of death. That was what home smelt like.

Law had bitten Diamante several times for trying to take it, threatening to eat his fingers so that Doffy couldn’t sew them back on. Ultimately, Doffy had to oversee an ‘intervention-negotiation’ to sort the matter out. Gladius tried to convince him a replica could be made, as his own clothes often needed replacing. Pica suggested some form of resin encasement. Baby called him a rat boy. No dice. Eventually, they’d reached the compromise that Law could keep the hat after a thorough washing. Sugar was picked as most suitable for the care of materials, and her soul was bored by gold eyes during the entire process.

After the washing, Law wasn’t happy for days. Not until the hat smelled right again- if a little less like death this time. But much to Rosi’s horror, Doffy’s intervention on Law’s behalf had only strengthened their bond.

There was real irony in how Law and a surprising number of other kids liked Doflamingo so much. A man equally damaged by his past as Rosinante and Law, only his trauma had manifested itself in a far more dangerous way. The way Doflamingo dealt with his issues made self-destruction look preferable. It was endlessly worrying to Rosi that these strays found care and support from an adult, he would argue; was the worst he knew. That Doffy would radicalise these kids like Trebol and the others had done to him all those years ago. He could see that cycle beginning to continue and it horrified him.

In trying to appear ruthless, to protect them, there hadn’t been any room for bonding. Even for their safety, he couldn’t allow himself to slip. But being so close to Doffy did allow him to learn the patterns.

He'd never anticipated this many when he’d agreed with Sengoku to ward off kids and stop the crew from growing. For all his brother did underground, he was far from subtle with his daily persona. Dressed loud, laughed loud, dreamed and dealt loud. Where he went, people took notice. People got ideas.

Kids whose parents had chosen the pull of the tide over them. Brave, stupid kids who egged each other on to test their mettle talking to a real captain. Desperate mouths who needed feeding, thinking they could learn his underhanded methods. Those were the ones who were easy to scare off, to knock sense into.

It was the ones with nothing to lose and everything to gain that were dangerous. Doffy was drawn to the ones with strong ambitions and no inhibition. He had been that child. He knew how to exploit brave souls who ignored all the red flags for personal gain. Letting Rosi scare off the ones with sense was an effective screening method, cutting out a lot of legwork for Doffy. Anyone who stuck around after being beaten by the ‘half-giant brute’ was the most vulnerable. The easiest to manipulate.

Easy to manipulate… Diamante's harsh criticisms of Rosi being 'damaged' and 'unintelligent' rang through his mind.

Mariejois was a strange place. Eerie, dreamlike. Nightmarish. It stood perpetually in the witching hour of the Gods, within the veil of unreality. A confusing place. The inhabitants were supposedly the freest, most powerful, most important people in the world. But still, they had to conform. Rosinante and Doflamingo had been expected to dress the same way as their parents and attend the same functions from birth. They were expected to live outlandishly, frivolously, in the same manner as everybody else. Their personalities and futures had been decided from the start.

Their father had been cast out for his sensitivity, for thinking differently. For wanting differently. Ultimately, he had died for it. Doflamingo didn’t think differently. At first, he had wanted back in, more than anything, to ascend both figuratively and literally. Even for a choice the child didn’t make, Doffy’s bubble of conformity burst. Forever outcasted and angry, he was going to destroy them.

Even if Rosinante had never left, he would’ve never truly fit in. No matter how many years passed, there would be no closure as to whether his emotional sensitivity was natural or an effect of his abuse. Attuned over the years to look for imminent threats, the slightest changes. If his difficulty speaking -the ease with which he slipped into his role- was a product of being unsocialised as a child or through trauma. Could even his clumsiness be a mask? A learned behaviour to appear less threatening, less deserving of abuse? He was frequently described as aloof. Off-putting. People thought of him as abnormal, unhinged, and incomplete. Lacking in personal style. That was before he put on his undercover persona. He was still adjusting. He’d never stop adjusting.

It was neither here nor there. Being autistic was not the prescribed way to be a Dragon. There would be no understanding or adjustment. Not if the material of his clothes made his skin crawl. Not if the frequent parties burnt him out or tripped him into social faux pas. He’d be laughed out without ceremony, and for all the power his father didn’t hold, Rosi may have found himself as a servant or even a slave.

For what it was worth, those loyal to Doffy were supported and accommodated. He’d never let anyone talk shit about Pica’s voice or show discomfort around Trebol’s mucus. He happily facilitated Diamante’s weird need for both approval and bloodlust. The kids he took in were provided for and protected by their elders. Despite popular belief and countless reports, he’d defended Law’s right to exist without hesitation. With his countless connections and eye for cutting through bullshit, he’d learnt the truth and dispelled fear from the family. Just once, he’d used his powers for good. But it was useless to imagine his ways ever changing as he welcomed Law’s nihilistic ideals with open arms.

For what it was worth, Doffy had always defended Rosi. From when they were small and Rosi could do nothing to defend himself. To now, riddled with afflictions, real and fake, even if Doffy saw through them- he still accommodated all of them. He never assumed Rosi could do or be less. Didn’t assume Rosi wasn’t listening just because he couldn’t speak. Always checked in after a briefing, explaining things slowly and giving Rosi time to write. He kept the other members off his back and ensured he was comfortable.

It was easy to see why troubled kids liked him, really. To come from nothing and find sanctuary, understanding- and power. To not be dissuaded but enabled. To be pushed to new heights was to serve his needs. Most troubled adults still couldn’t see past his platitudes. But that was how he got people. He lured children, Law, further and further into this underground world of terror, from which they would never be able to escape. Doffy’s latest scheme, to groom Law to die for him as another cog in the Donquixote machine, was perhaps his most heartless yet. How little another Human life meant to him.

Manipulation had always been one of Doffy’s strong suits; he knew what buttons to push. Try as he might to mask it, he had not returned unscathed from their ordeal. It was an open secret among the family that their head was legally blind. He saw in tunnel vision, the dark surround of which flashed with half-processed light. Though his fashion sense was widely regarded as worse than Rosi’s own, the bright colours were easier for his eyes to detect. For a time before his Haki was fully developed, he used the parasite puppet to see his new members. Not accommodating other’s needs would be hypocritical of him.

Physical health aside, that plague-drenched rat of a man had been more apparently damaged in his psyche. He could no longer truly care for anyone except himself and would never be able to put another before him. The last time he had done so, he had lost his entire family. Never again would he be controlled or outplayed. Understanding his people was only a means to an end; allowing them to work harder for him. Making them believe they couldn’t live without him. Trust Doffy to put sanctuary seekers under his thumb. Those with issues were just easier to manipulate. They both knew that from experience.

He knew from the first utterance of ‘family’ that there was more to the dynamic than met the eye. He and Doffy were thankfully dissimilar in all the ways that mattered, but in the end, they both still value family. Doffy had always yearned for what he had lost, forever unable to escape the past fully- and what that companionship and validation meant.

It was foolish to expect it to be innocent. True, you could take the reading that ‘family’ was perhaps more fitting for a crew who largely did not sail. And yet. Whitebeard rather famously referred to his men as sons. Germa was publicly a royal family but presented itself as an army and force first. What his brother had was not a family. It was a collection of people who ate his lies and believed the hype. It was a crime den more akin to a cult than a family. A ring of false promises and safety in numbers, impossible to leave once entered.

In becoming a family, he’d tapped into something more akin to the mindset of Big Mom. With family came loyalty and expectation. It was much harder to betray a family member than a disembodied leader. Not that he’d have any experience with that. He had no doubt he was doing the right thing by running off with Law but ‘family’ always left niggling doubt. No matter how far they ran, the Marines and Donquixotes would always be his family. It would always hurt more to think he was disappointing Sengoku by running. To disappoint mother by harming another. That was a sick power only madmen like Doflamingo would think to wield.

For all those doubts and feelings of self-hatred, Rosi was proud of how far they’d gotten. So far, Law was safe. In another life, he’d take Law further. Keep him safe forever. Truthfully, he knew there was no way they could both survive this. Not for any extended length of time. Even if he cured Law, there was no way Doffy would let Rosi live to see it. He wouldn’t take kindly to his scapegoat being influenced by outside forces or his plans being ruined. Doffy was the type to hold grudges, even if he had to hunt them down for years to come. If Doffy couldn’t live forever, he would at least take Rosi’s years down with him.

But seeing Law peacefully asleep, he allowed himself a small moment to imagine their future- how he’d establish them. A timeline in which this accursed boat wasn't taking them to some dark, Arctic recess of the North Blue.

Naturally, they’d hide in the East Blue. Skip seas to be far away from the family’s eyes. With any luck, the fabled ‘safest sea’ would have a lessened military presence. He’d pick some relatively safe, nowhere island where they wouldn’t be recognised. This meant nowhere too noteworthy or prosperous, lest it attract the attention of pirates and Marines. They’d be poor but happy; nothing wrong with that. He’d known rock bottom before and it wouldn’t be that way again. He wasn't a Dragon now. He was safe, could hold a job and had military training. He could protect them.

Somewhere completely average for a perfectly normal family.

Requirements aside, he wasn’t looking for much from the island itself. All he really wanted was other kids for Law to learn and play with. His mind’s eye chased the fantasy. A quaint schoolhouse of just two classes. Well-used blackboards and slightly rocky seats, old names and jokes scratched into the desks. A quiet, undemanding school where all the parents and kids knew each other. Surrounded by friends and well-meaning adults. Seas, he hoped Law would be able to make some nice friends. How lovely would it be for him to be influenced by normal kids? Kids who hadn’t grown up like Rosi and Law had? Kids who shared games, got messy outside and would copy Law’s homework…

A library or bookshop would be nice, if not a formally organised school. Law had already come so far with self-study; he’s sure they could make a form of homeschooling work. By the time Law was old enough for medical college, they should be safe enough to move island.

His boy graduating. All grown up and helping others. Successful in keeping a heart full of love and compassion. A prodigy who would continue to research new methods of recovery. This fruit could change everything. How nice it must be to be a parent with normal ambitions. He’d love to be there for as long as Law would have him.

As for himself? Well, he’d need a new identity to start. He’d seen enough witness protection procedures to know that much. Easy. Just become someone new. Someone far removed from the records, the bounty posters, the divine descension. Trafalgar Rosi had a cute ring to it. Rosey. Rosy. Rossi. Rosie? Rosie. Then it would look different on paper, enough to deter anyone who didn't already know the name Trafalgar Law.

Of course, it was only practical to change his name if he were to be inconspicuous as Law's father. Father... the thought made him giddy. Maybe he'd finally try growing that beard Sengoku had always warned him off.

As for his career… hm. He’d need something very ordinary for that, too. After burning down so many hospitals, he could definitely have a future in demolition. The medical circle probably wouldn’t want to see his face as a nurse. But then, what peaceful village would have steady work for him? Equally, they were unlikely to need his skills as a trained gunman except as a game hunter in Autumn. There was always childcare; after the kids of the Donquixote Pirates, nothing these ragamuffins had could phase him.

He could set up a Den Den switchboard and direct calls. Plenty of islanders didn’t keep them due to the care and set-up costs weighed against the usage. A small fee to use one when needed was preferable to most. Communication was at the crux of his role as a spy, so he may as well lean into his training. Plus, he’d get to take care of lots of cute Snails. He could see himself whiling away an afternoon painting one or making up the accessories.

Maybe there would be some kind of neighbourhood watch or council? Then he could do all these odd jobs. Get involved with all the news- a good source of information and an easy aid for his sense of security. Sounded peaceful enough.

A peaceful life was all he really wanted. Having tasted freedom from The Family and Marines put things into perspective. Travelling with his son and making his own choices, it becomes harder to want to return to work. Risking his life was a thankless task, one he likely wouldn’t see the benefit of whilst he still drew breath. He’d be excited to be a homemaker. Get to know some people his age and settle into a community. Share fruit and books and make-up tips whilst their kids hang out. Feel his presence in a space. To truly matter to people.

If only they lived in a world where all they had to worry about was where to settle down or which school to send Law to. The worries everybody else had-

Rosinante wiped the growing tear from his eye, holding Law ever so slightly tighter. Enough.

There is nothing material he can guarantee. As with his own parents, there is no home to return to. No money, no power, no community. For better or worse, there is no one to fall back on but themselves. Like Sengoku, he cannot magically fix what is broken. He succeeds or Law dies. Like Doffy, he cannot force Law’s hand. It must be guided.

But. Equally.

Like his own parents, he can hope for a better future for his child. Like Sengoku, he can offer all that he can within his power. Even, like Doffy, he can open Law’s heart to the concept of family once again.

There is no guarantee that he’ll be able to undo the damage done, but there’s hope. Maybe, like Rosi, Law will always be recovering. Maybe that constant growth isn’t a bad thing.

The only promise he can make is that his love will never waver, that he will always try his fucking hardest for his son. With an open mind and heart to go forward in their relationship, with whatever time he has left.

For that, he can't be as bad as he thinks. Surely.

Increasingly tonight, he was getting the impression no one knew what they were doing. That all anyone could do was try not to repeat the mistakes of those before them. To treat each other as equals. They were both different to the others around them. But in that way, they understood each other. And through each other, they found the other was every bit as deserving of love as they were. Rosi would be happy if Law came out the other side of this with even an ounce of love and humanity left in his heart. He would’ve succeeded.

Being around Law brought out the best in Rosinante. Law gave Rosi the courage to follow his idea of justice and choose a path for himself. For Law, he would betray everyone he’d ever known. Start a new family. Law gave his life meaning and purpose and made him smile again. Around Law, Rosi knew no bounds.

Rosinante brought out the best in Law. Rosi gave Law energy and brought out the kid in him again. For Rosi, Law would smile and talk about his fixations for hours. Would show compassion and trust. He would give people, and life, a second chance. He’d hope- and dream of a future. Around Rosi, Law was happy.

Together, they were free.

[fiepige]

More Sea Serpent Hobie thoughts!

(been thinking about this au all day, it's completely consumed my mind!)

I was kinda toying with the idea of Hobie being able to take a human form. (In this version most people wouldn't know that sea serpents exist so he uses it as a way to interact with humans without revealing his true nature to them)

He visits a small local fishing village from time to time to hang out with the locals- mostly at the pub, but he also likes hanging around at the harbour

Cause he just gets lonely sometimes and humans make fun company- he finds tales about daring trips to sea entertaining, but he also loves to hear stories about places from far within the mainland as he's always stayed close to the ocean.

Nobody in the village knows what he really is- they all just think he's this odd but kind loner who visits from time to time.

He's well renowned by the people in the village, both for being a nice and helpful guy and because of his unique skills*

He never pays for anything in cash but instead in old trinkets and treasures he finds while out at sea - this resulted in a few arguments at first, but now people have come to accept it, some even look forward to seeing what he'll pull out as payment whenever he visits

if he doesn't have any treasure to pay with he'll offer to pay in favours- specifically favours that involve diving.

*If you need a diving job done he's your guy

He can stay underwater forever and go far deeper than any of the locals.

So if you need to retrieve something from, let's say a sunken ship, he's your guy!

He insists on going on missions alone- it's just easier to get it done if he can dive unseen in his serpent form.

The only people he doesn't get along with are authority figures and whalers!

There aren't any whalers residing in the village but sometimes a whaling boat will come by to restock. Every time they do Hobie terrorizes the crew as much as he can get away with. While also being very vocal about his opinion of them in general. He's gotten in fights with them more than once.

It's also not unusual for the whalers to find their ship vandalised if they stay overnight.

When he's in his human form he lives on a small island near the village, but far enough away that he can't be seen changing from serpent to human form and vice versa

He has a small hut where he keeps some fishing equipment (mostly for show in case a human comes by and wonders how he's able to feed himself on this tiny island) as well as a small garden where he grows different greens.

He'll trade his food for stuff with the villages, he mostly trades for clothes, sewing equipment or beer at the pub

Sometimes he'll disappear at sea for weeks at a time- if any of the villagers question him about it he'll just say he was out fishing- despite him only owning a small rowboat with a small engine, that doesn't work half the time. - He uses it to get to and from the island in human form as to not alert the villagers to his true form.

At some point he befriends Gwen**, who's a newcommer, when a local overhears her lamenting the loss of her mother's trinket at sea, and they suggest she asks Hobie for help- since the guy has a way of finding things lost at sea

Gwen doesn't really believe he can actually find it but seeks him out nonetheless cause it can't hurt to ask

Hobie accepts the job. In exchange he wants Gwen to tell him about the places she's been to before she moved to the village.

(** you can kinda replace Gwen with any character you want. I'm kinda considering making a small fic for this au where the reader takes Gwen's place, but I don't have the time nor energy to write it any time soon. Also I've never written a fic from the first person point of view so I'm not sure how it would turn out lol.)

Lemme know what you guys think! 💙Any input is welcome- it can be world building stuff, story stuff, ideas for hobie's serpent form or something else!

[ilyamatic]

Oh How the Days Go By

Days Go By by SBTRKT & Toro y Moi

Art by Ace of Swords

But first a word from our sponsor:

Bonswa tout moun, it is I Abby, back with a pirate au!

"Abby," you are probably thinking. "Didn't you already have a pirate au?"

And the answer is yes, yes I did. A wonderful one too, all about vigilante justice against slavery and empires. The thing is... Researching information about the slave trade as a Black person is incredibly triggering LMAO. And some personal things happened as well that definitely would effect the story at large. So, it got scrapped.

But the idea of my OCs sailing the seas and being menaces to society wouldn't leave me. So here we are, another pirate au. This time sorta set in the Arcanaverse, with magic, mayhem, and a hell of a lot more romance. I hope y'all don't mind.

Time moved far too quickly. It felt like yesterday he was young and sprightly, holding his tiny daughter Alexei in his hands. Now his bones creak when he gets out of bed and his hair is thin. Now his tiny Alexei, the one he could hold in both his hands, is tiny no longer. She stood tall and proud, her face a mirror of his own, a mirror of his mother. A mirror reflected in Alexei’s own daughter, his precious Shoshanna. The light of his life, a joy to him in his old age…

“Zeyde!” Shoshanna said as she pulled him along to the den. “You promised me a story!”

… and a pain in his tuckus. 

“Shoshi,” Ilya complained. “I just walked in the door. Have mercy on an old man!”

“You weren’t old yesterday,” she countered.

“That was yesterday. A lot can happen overnight.”

He heard his daughter snort from her place at her desk, scripts and music sheets strewn about. How little things had changed in 30 years, ink stained fingers a permanent fixture as soon as she learned her letters.

Different, smaller ink stained fingers grasped his own, pulling him towards an overstuffed chair in front of the fire. Auburn coils and curls bouncing as Shoshanna stomped over to the seat. Ilya didn’t have to see it to know her lips were downturned into a determined little mou.

Soon Ilya found himself pushed into a chair with a lap full of an excited seven year old, dark eyes looking up at him expectantly. Oh, how little things have changed.

“Alright you little tyrant,” he said with a sigh. “What story would you like tonight? Shall I tell you about my childhood in my shtetl?” 

“No, Maman said you can’t tell those anymore. Too many bad ideas and too many bears.”

Ilya shot a look over his shoulder to Alexei who shot him an unimpressed look back. 

“Fine. What about my time traveling through the Empire?”

Shoshanna wrinkled her nose. “Maman said that you don’t tell the good ones.”

“How would she know?!”

“Because Zaza told me so,” Alexei replied smugly. 

He felt his eye twitch. Damn it Asra.

“Fine. How about I tell you… about the time I was a pirate.”

Shoshanna first looked intrigued, then skeptical. “You were a pirate? Don’t your ankles swell when you’re on a fishing boat for too long?”

“I was young once!” Ilya said indignantly. “And in my youth I sailed across the Seven Seas with the notorious crew of the Solanase and her captain, the Djab of the Turquoise Waters.”

That seemed to catch his granddaughter’s attention.

“Really? The Djab?” Shoshanna asked excitedly.

“The one and only," Ilya answered with a smile.

“Will there be action?”

“Of course!”

“And adventure?!”

“As sure as the sun rises!”

“And love?”

Ilya cracked a smile. “Yes shefele, there will be love. So much that the seas could not contain it.”

[contrasting-realities]

Caleb/Outlander Character intro

You were born with the soul of the caressing. Your nature is one of kindness and compassion to others.

Your earliest years were spent in the kingdom of Rondon with your parents and younger brother, it was a happy life but not one that would last.

Increasing taxes and land foreclosures became commonplace in your country and your family’s farm wasn’t safe from this. Overnight, all the money had dried up and you were left with nothing.

With the last few dimes left in the bank, your father bought a seafare to move to the newly claimed Vinland, however no one knew the truth of this cursed voyage.

What was initially a month-long voyage doubled, with the vessel hopelessly lost at sea both passengers and crew began to succumb to starvation.

One of these unfortunate victims was your mother, who fought until her last breath.

Your father was drowned in guilt from this and took his own life, not only from the grief but so that you and your brother would have ‘something to eat’.

With the sailors praying for the deceased, they decide to respect his last wishes. Both of you are saddened beyond belief, you see the pain in your brother’s eyes but also feel the pain of hunger, you decide to…

Let your brother eat what was left for you (Bloodlust)

You eventually lost your mind to hunger, only recovering once landfall was finally made.

Split the carcass in half and take your fill (Devour)

Eventually, the boat does reach Vinland, and it was worse than you imagined.

Beyond the shores lied a land polluted by energy from the old gods, corrupting anyone who stepped near and taking those who got lost.

The small settlement you lived in was in constant terror of being wiped out by monsters, many went mad from the fear alone. The dark priests were the only ones who could keep their minds pure, ironically.

Either way, your parents died and you were left with Philip, your younger brother, who eventually fell victim to the wilds.

He was found, but lived with corruption from the maddening light since, slowly turning into a ferocious beast and seeing things that weren’t there.

After this you decide to begin training with weapons in addition to your work routine to defend your family, you enter an armory and decide to purchase…

Bow & Arrows (short bow, 5 arrows)

Axe and shield (Axe, wooden buckler)

Years passed and you carried on.

You eventually married one of the dark priests, a woman named Evelyn, and had a child with her but once again life was cruel to you.

Philip, now an adult, kidnapped your son after he was born, not wanting him to grow up in the same place that nearly drove him insane.

Your marriage never recovered after that, you couldn’t blame your brother for wanting to protect your child and you even began to reconsider the situation.

Evelyn wasn’t nearly as forgiving however and searched all over Rondon for him, but never found anything.

Afterwards, you went on an expedition with many other men to explore the interior of the continent.

The place wanted to twist your mind but you prevailed anyway.

Before leaving this realm, your men find a few bizarre artifacts and you consider trying your luck.

Take souvenirs from the interior (Soul Stone, failed conflip: Panophobia)

Unfortunately the relic you found tainted you with Panophobia, a fear of everything.

Don’t touch anything and flee back home (Enables Dash later)

It took many days and nights to return back home but by the time you returned, it was too late.

A mercenary band had raided your village, taking an artifact hoarded by dark priests and killing many.

Sadly, your wife wasn’t spared from this tragedy, none of those like her were.

Those who survived described their leader, a man named Belos who wore a golden dear mask, you recognized him as the leader of the Knights Of The Golden Eagle.

You immediately packed and snuck onto a boat to follow him, if not to settle your anger then to at least calm your grief.

Upon reaching Rondon, you learn that he’d been captured and sent to languish inside a horrible dungeon, but that wasn’t going to stop you.

On your last night before leaving the city, you…

Stock up on equipment (x3 iron arrows, bear trap)

Stock up on food (One Dried meat, a moldy bread, x3 carrots)

Stock up on healing items (x4 blue herbs, a white vial, x2 cloth fragment)

Rush straight after him (Dash if certain choices were made above)