#but when i drew them they look pretty stiff 😭 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos · 1 year ago

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Well fuck, I guess this is gonna be three parts instead of two

It was an accident I swear I'm sorry 😭😭

Just kinda want it to develop naturally instead of forcing it

Soooooooooo

Oooh that smile 😌🫠

Well, here we go.

Blacksmith's Daughter

Part 2 of 3 (I'm POSITIVE this time I swear)

Part 1 here

OPLA!Shanks X AFAB!Reader

Wordcount: 4.3k

Hurt/comfort, fluffy as goddeng cotton candy, I guess slow-burn now too? Idfk

Trigger Warnings: mentions of death of loved one, trauma

Tag requests: @zzbloody-animezz

Perfectly harmless.

You very highly doubted that claim was true.

"Well," he said, tilting his head a little closer, "mostly harmless."

Still, almost as if to prove it, Shanks released his hold around your waist, his hand resting at your lower back a moment before slipping away to hold the cell door open for you. You stumbled just a little on your first steps out of the cell, your legs trembling, stiff and weakened in equal measure from three days and two nights stuck with the very limited range of movement that your bindings had allowed.

"Easy, now," said Shanks lightly, briefly slipping his arm around your back to steady you by your waist. "You haven't been on your feet in days, you can take a minute to get your footing. We're not in any rush."

"R...right," you said, uncertainly. You swallowed as he helped guide you over to the brig officer's desk, where you sat heavily in the chair, stretching your legs out for a moment. "I still don't really want to stay here too long. Three days has been more than enough." You leaned forward, pulling your swords across the desk and resting your forehead on one of of the black leather sheaths, laying your hand over the hilt. "Don't want to keep the crew waiting, either."

"Ah, they'll be busy a while," he said dismissively, pulling himself uo to sit on the desk. "There's a good bit of cargo to transfer." He nodded down at the swords. "Yours, I take it?'

You nodded, lifting your head. "I didn't even know if they were brought on the ship or not," you said. "My father made them for me." He had made them just over ten years ago, given them to you on your fourteenth birthday.

"Well, he was damned skilled. They're beautiful. May I?" He gestured a hand toward them. "If you don't mind."

"Go ahead," you said. You lifted one of the cutlasses and drew to from its scabbard, handing it over. His hand brushed across yours as he took the blade, clearly intentionally if the small smirk that briefly curved the corner of his lips was any indication. You watched him flip it deftly in one hand, holding it upright, his eyes scanning slowly down the edge of the blade.

"And well cared for. Sharp as a razor," he commented, impressed. He turning it sideways, flipping it around once more and nodding. "He teach you anything about smithing?"

You shook your head. "Not much," you said. "My brother was his apprentice. He taught me maintenance mostly. He instructed me in a few different weapon types, but swords were always my favorite." You took the weapon back when he handed it off to you, slipping the blade back into its scabbard. "And his."

"Experienced thief, weapons expert...." He leaned back a bit, smiling as he shook his head. "Yeah, you'll fit right in, sweetheart."

The way he was looking at you, the way his eyes burned into yours, had your face growing a little warm again as you turned your own gaze away, swallowing nervously. It wasn't as if no one had ever flirted with you before; you were honestly pretty used to it, ever since you had ended up living in the streets, used to crude comments and catcalling.

And yet here sat an incredibly notorious pirate captain, being incredibly respectful about it, all but making you swoon every time he lowered his voice or so much as touched your hand.

You stood from the chair, picking up your swords and setting to strapping them to your belt at either side of your hips, glancing down at the Marine cadet still bound in the corner of the room as his eyes passed between you and Shanks. You had never been around any pirates before now, but you had encountered your fair share of Marines, as many of them had been customers at your father's smithy.

Many of them had been self-righteous prats, and all the Marines aboard this ship had treated you like scum they had dragged in on the bottom of their boots.

"I think I will fit in fairly well," you finally said, quietly.

"Now that's the spirit!" His enthusiasm was honestly infectious, and you couldn't help but smile a little as he slipped off of the desk. "There's a fair chance you'll end up with a bounty on your head once word of your escape reaches Marineford, anyway. Between that and breaking into a base in a major city." He still sounded particularly amused about that as he rest his hand over the small of your back, stepping over the Marine cadet as if he weren't even there. "I'm eager to find out how you managed it. Oh, no, not yet," he added when you opened your mouth to respond. "I'm sure the whole crew's going to want to hear that tale."

Well, it was quite a tale. You were honestly surprised you had made it as far as you had before getting caught.

Before everything went to hell in a handbasket.

You lifted a hand to shield your eyes as you emerged onto the bustling deck of the ship; the mid-afternoon sun was blinding after days of only seeing it through one small, rounded window in the brig. The Red Hair crew was working quickly and steadily on robbing the Marine ship completely blind, right before their eyes—the entire crew of around fifty Marines was tied up on the deck, bound at their hands and feet, the captain and his officers situated at the center mast to give them the best possible view of the entire debacle.

Shanks called and motioned for his own officers to line up at the starboard side of the caravel, and took his time in introducing you to each of them individually. He glanced back occasionally at the Marines' captain and mates with a smirk, clearly reveling in their growing annoyance.

"Our newest thief has two years experience," he dragged on loudly, pacing slowly between you and his officers—many of whom were cracking up themselves, well aware that the whole spectacle was being orchestrated for the sole purpose of riling up the captive Marines, "and was arrested for—if you can believe it—breaking into a Marine base in a major port city in Arabasta with only one accomplice, and getting so far as to open their treasury vault before being captured."

And he paused for effect at that, waiting as the crew began to break into laughter, as you struggled to keep a straight face yourself, glancing toward the infuriated Marine captain, who had told you before shoving you into the brig a few days ago that he would personally see to it that you never saw the light of day again. For once in your life you were seeing karma in real time—and it was a positively beautiful sight to behold.

"And I'm sure we're all dying to know," Shanks went on, ceasing his pacing and stopping just in front of you, grinning, "how the hell she managed it."

He had given you more than enough time to go over the details in your head. A lot of your success had been pure dumb luck, for sure, but you drew up your resolve to relay it.

"Overheard a few cadets in a tavern talking about how the vaults were never heavily guarded...and the roof access was never locked." His eyebrows shot up toward the bright red fringe of his hair as you spoke. His officers glanced between each other. "A couple days later we climbed the back wall of the base. Knocked out a couple Marines at the top floor, stole their uniforms, and made our way down."

"Bullshit." All eyes shifted onto the Marine captain when he spoke up, glaring daggers at you. "That base is constructed out of sandstone. Five stories of completely smooth stone. There's no way anyone could climb the walls."

"Tell your comrades at the base to check the back wall for holes," you said coldly, your eyes lingering on his. "We used climbing spikes."

The man's teeth gritted together in a visible scowl. You turned your head back toward the snickering pirates, in time to see Shanks mumble something to Benn, who rolled his eyes and scoffed.

Then you heard the Marine captain behind you again, speaking in a low growl. "Disrespectful wench." You turned your head in time to watch him spit at the heel of your boot.

"Disrespectful?" Though the rest of his crew continued to chuckle, Shanks wasn't laughing as he put himself between you and the oposing captain, his forearm resting over the hilt of his saber at his hip. "I get the impression you haven't done much to earn anyone's respect," he said. "That being said, respectfully, captain...."

And with that, he placed the heel of his sandal against the man's shoulder and shoved him over. With the Marine's hands and feet bound, there was nothing he could do to right himself—nothing except glare daggers at Shanks as he crouched down in front of him.

"Don't interupt." Shanks gave him a smile and a rather hard clap on the shoulder before straightening back out and turning to face his own crew. "Now—"

"Goddamned pirates," he spat. Shanks looked back over his shoulder at the man. "A thief's a thief," he said viciously, glaring daggers at you from where he lay on the deck floor. "The whore'll rob you lot blind same as she tried with us."

There was scattered chuckling around the Marines as Shanks stared down at the captain for a long, tense moment. You saw something shift in his eyes, the warmth and humor leaving them.

"Whore?" he repeated lightly, raising his eyebrows. His eyes swept around the rest of the Marines, before he turned to you, taking a couple steps closer. He brushed a few strands of hair behind your ear, offering you a warm smile. "I take it," he said slowly, quietly, "this is how you were being treated for the past three days, sweetheart?"

You swallowed, glancing over toward the Marines, whose laughter had quickly subsided. "More or less, yes," you affirmed.

"Hmm." He nodded, his hand drifting down to your shoulder, lifting the torn strap of your black tank top—torn when you had been flung into the cell in the brig by a couple cadets, while the captain stood watch and told you then that you'd never see the light of day again. His eyes shifted over to the Marines again, and he spoke aloud. "Change of plans, men. We take everything from this ship that isn't nailed down...and then we sink her."

The protest from the Marines was immediate, loud and desperate—some begging to be spared, others calling you several other colorful names and shouting claims that you were lying. Even you found yourself staring wide-eyed at the red-haired captain, at the knowledge that he would sink an entire ship just because of how the crew had treated you.

You were beginning to understand the reason for his bounty.

Shanks ignored the Marines entirely—it seemed his mind was made up. "I think we're just about done here." Your eyes remained wide as he turned his head back to meet your gaze, his expression softening into a smile again, his hand resting at your lower back. "What say we get you over to our ship and..." He glanced down at your shoulder briefly, at the broken strap of your shirt hanging down, "maybe find you something to change into."

You nodded, tugging unconsciously at the broken strap to pull the neck of your shirt up. "I...suppose that would be..."

"There's no need to worry, love" He clearly noticed your unease—there was no doubt it was written all over your face. He curled his arm around your back, leaning in a bit so he didn't have to raise his voice over the mounting protest of the Marines behind both of you. "You're part of my crew now, and we always look out for each other." He glanced over at the metal clink of a lighter igniting at his other side, and grinned at his first mate. "Isn't that right, Benn?"

Hi first mate quirked an eyebrow, taking a puff from his cigarette. "What am I agreeing to?"

"Ah, don't worry about it," Shanks laughed. "Anyway—I'll trust you to handle preparations here." He nodded back toward the Marines as the three of you stopped at the starboard railing around the deck, and he leaned forward against it, his eyes scanning over his ship floating only a few feet away, over the rest of the crew getting the supplies they had taken from the Marines organized. "Half a keg of powder should do the trick, we'll bring the rest with us."

"Right," said Benn, stubbing out the cigarette he had just lit on the railing and tucking it behind his ear.

"After you've—"

There was a light metallic clink right behind you—and all three of you heard it, glancing over your shoulders.

In the same instant you drew one of your swords and spun around, leveling it with the Marine officer's throat, Benn had his rifle pointed at the man's forehead. The officer dropped the flintlock pistol he had pointed at Shank's back, his eyes widened in shock, shaking as he slowly raised his hands.

Shanks turned around and leaned back, hanging his elbow over the edge of of the railing and glancing at you with a quick nod of approval. Then he turned his eyes on the Marine, giving a small chuckle and cooking his head to the side a bit.

"Now that wasn't a very smart decision, was it?" he said, grinning. "You could have just snuck by and sent out a distress call. Did you?" he added, lifting his eyebrows.

"I—I—no, I—I just—I—"

"Check," said Shanks, cutting his eyes toward Benn.

Benn gave a short nod, shouldered his rifle, and headed off toward the quarterdeck in quick strides.

The Marine remained standing there, shaking and stammering, his eyes darting between your blade and Shanks as the red-haired captain rolled his gaze back over to you. "Quite a set of reflexes you've got, sweetheart. You said your father trained you?"

You glanced at him only briefly before training your eyes back onto the Marine, and nodded. "We didn't live in a great area," you said. "He wanted to make sure I could defend myself."

"I would have to say he succeeded," he chuckled, shaking his head a little. He leaned back a bit further, placing the toe of his sandal over the Marine's pistol and sliding it across the deck, stooping down to pick it up. "What other tricks have you got up your sleeve?"

"Well," you said, watching as he turned the pistol over in his hands, and then casually reach behind him and drop it overboard. Benn was heading back down the stairs from the quarterdeck with a coil of rope hanging from one shoulder. He seemed to be in no hurry, so clearly no distress signal had been sent off. You went on, "He rigged this for me, in case I ever get disarmed."

You shifted your weight onto one foot, and hit the back of your right boot heel on the deck, and a three inch blade shot out from a slot in the front of the sole.

The Marine drew in a sharp breath, and Benn stopped a few feet away, speaking one word that clearly echoed his captain's wide-eyed expression.

"Shit."

Shank's brief look of shock quickly faded into an almost childlike excitement.

"God, that is brilliant," he laughed, crouching down and tilting his head to examine the blade. "How's it work?"

"Some sort of spring-loaded trigger mechanism," you said. You knocked your heel down again and the blade retracted. You smirked a little yourself as Shanks straightened back out—his enthusiasm truly was contagious. "My father called them 'Ball-Busters.'"

That cracked him up immediately—he leaned his shoulder into the railing, laughing, while Benn gave a scoff and shook his head. "I'd say that's pretty goddamned accurate," the first mate said. "I got it from here," he added, pulling his rifle down from his shoulder and shoving it against the Marine's shoulder as you pulled your cutlass away and slipped the blade back into its scabbard. "Alright, over there with the other assholes," he said, nudging him with the barrel. "We're as sick of being here as you are of having us here."

You watched Benn usher the officer over toward the main mast, feeling oddly as if you were stuck in the middle of some strange dream you might wake up from at any minute—wake up back in the dark and dingy cell below the deck, down in the brig, getting dragged out to be shoved into an even darker cell in Impel Down for the rest of your days.

"Oh, you are just a treat." So lost in that thought were you that you jumped a little when Shanks wrapped an arm around your back again. "Come on, love. Let's get you changed and cleaned up." He pulled himself up onto the railing and stepped into a sturdy plank laid out between his own ship and the Marines', offering you his hand. You took it and he helped pull you up as well, his fingers lacing through yours as he gave you another charming smile. "I'd say you've more than earned it."

Your eyes remained locked for a long, tense moment, his thumb brushing across the back of your hand, your heart racing a little faster—until a particularly strong wave rocked both of the ships and made you stumble a little. He chuckled lightly, before leading you across the plank and onto the main deck of his own ship.

You felt more than a little out of your element a few minutes later, lingering near the door of the captain's quarters with your arms crossed over your stomach while Shanks rifled through a wardrobe against the wall. You were still a little apprehensive, your mind still lingering on the man's decision to sink the Marines' vessel solely on your behalf, but there was a charm about him that was almost intoxicating, and it was drawing you in quickly.

"Don't really have anything that's going to fit you properly," he said, pulling one shirt out and frowning at it before hanging it back up. "But there might be...something...."

You swallowed, glancing around the cabin—at the table to your left that was covered in maps, a desk in the corner with a closed logbook, a four-poster bed in another corner with a pair of floor to ceiling windows that overlooked the port side of the ship. It still all felt uncanny enough to be a dream.

"No...other women on the crew, I take it?" you said slowly.

"No," he affirmed, still pushing aside hangers and frowning. "Not as if it's intentional, it just...turned out that way, I suppose?" He said it with an air of genuine surprise himself that almost made you chuckle. "Seems most women aren't interested in sailing around with a ship full of—ah, this should do," he interjected, pulling out a white shirt on a metal hanger that seemed at least a little smaller than the others. "Probably haven't worn it since I was a teenager," he said, looking it up and down.

He gave the shirt an appraising nod, and then tossed it to you before crossing the room to take a seat at the desk. He noded once more toward the corner by the wardrobe where there stood a fold-out changing screen.

"You'll have to forgive me if I'm a little averse to leaving a stranger alone in my personal quarters. But..." He lifted his hand, smiling, before covering his eyes with it. "I promise I won't peek. Pirate's honor."

You did chuckle a little at that. It wasn't as though you weren't used to changing in less than totally private conditions—you had been living on the streets for just over two years. You crossed the room yourself, ducking behind the divider screen and pulling it out.

"Nor do I wish to be on the recieving end of the Ball-Buster," he added, and you laughed aloud at that.

"I've never actually used it," you said, hanging the shirt over the top edge of the screen and pulling your tank top over your head. "Not as more than a threat a couple times. The sight of it usually gets the point across."

"I can't fathom any circumstance where it wouldn't," he laughed. You heard him sigh after a moment, while you pulled down the hanger and unbuttoned the shirt he had given you. "Out of curiosity," he said finally, "why exactly were you being shipped to Impel Down?" You paused, your eyes flickering up to the changing screen, in the direction of his sillhouette—and noting that from his shadow alone you could tell he still had his hand over his eyes. "That's a privilege normally reserved for pirates and revolutionaries rather than petty local thieves."

"I, uh...." You swallowed, pulling your arms through the sleeves of the shirt. You hadn't been completely clear on every detail, but it seemed now was as good a time as any—even if it was painful to recall. "I...killed two Marines before I was apprehended."

"Did you?" he said lightly.

"Mmm." You set to buttoning the shirt, slowly, glancing toward his silhouette again. "I didn't...really mean to. After...I guess after my brother took a bullet for me, I just sort of...reacted. I don't even really remember much of it. Just—him falling, then them taking my swords and locking me in a storage closet before carting me off to the ship."

You truthfully weren't even sure how long you had remained at the base before being taken to the docks—locked in the dark, your arms wrapped around your knees, wondering if you were ever going to see daylight again, hoping it was all just some awful nightmare you might wake up from.

"That's...." You heard him sigh heavily. "That's a lot." You gave a small hum in agreement, looking down at the shirt, and sighing yourself—it fit you like a nightgown, the hem drooping nearly down to your knees. You shook your head and set to unbuttoning it again.

"I suppose the Marines had a good reason for treating me like trash," you allowed, rolling the hem of the shirt up and tying it in a knot at your midriff. You fastened a few of the buttons above the knot, and set to rolling up the sleeves. "I did kill a couple of their comrades."

"And they killed your brother," he pointed out.

You frowned to yourself, swallowing back a lump forming in your throat at his quiet, understanding tone. You glanced up again when you heard him shift, and watched his shadow stand and cross the room through the screen as you rolled up the other sleeve to just above your elbow. You pulled the screen back just as he reached it, your eyes meeting his the moment you did. The sympathy in his dark eyes was almost enough to break you in an instant. You glanced down at his hand when it came to rest on your shoulder for just a moment before your eyes snapped back to his.

"That doesn't—" He shook his head. "Nothing excuses fifty plus grown men treating a young woman like something a dog dragged in. Particularly not after what you went through." Your gaze fell away from his at that, down to the floor. "I'm assuming from what you've said—and forgive me if I'm wrong—that you'd never..." He paused, seeming to search for the correct words. "You'd never been forced to defend yourself before?"

You shook your head. You had practiced with your swords for years, sparred with both your father and your brother regularly, but you had never been in a situation where you had to truly fight for your life. You had definitely never killed anyone before. You barely recalled the details even now, and you honestly didn't want to remember them at all.

"Oh, sweetheart..." He let out a slow sigh, and wrapped his arm around your shoulders. You closed your eyes as he rest his hand lightly over your head, as a little tension you hadn't even been aware of released from your shoulders. Your head fell forward, resting against his chest, and you closed your eyes as he lowered his head over yours. "Just so we're clear...you don't have to stay here," he said gently, his thumb brushing across the crown of your hair. "You're not a prisoner, you're a guest. You can take a few days to decide. Or longer. But if you do..."

He moved his hand to your cheek, lifting your head gingerly until your eyes met his.

"This crew is like a family." He lowered his forehead to yours, his hand drifting down to your shoulder again as he offered you a warm smile. "And you'll be welcome to stay as long as wish. Alright?"

You swallowed, and nodded.

Lowered your head again, your breath shaking as it left your lungs, and you rest your forehead against his chest again, your eyes closing tightly. You weren't used to this—this degree of kindness, of compassion from much of anyone, much less a stranger...but something in his eyes, in the warmth of his touch, told you that he was being completely sincere.

"Th...thank you," you whispered—you couldn't think of anything else to say than that, nothing that could wholly express the emotion swelling in your chest.

He just chuckled lightly, wrapping his arm around your shoulders again.

"You're welcome, love."

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