#captain of hearts // canon verse

[medicus-mortem]

@sillygum liked [+] for a early pirate career starter.

   This is new and not wanted at all. There is a kid standing before him. A kid with a scar on his face, wearing sandals and tears rolling down his cheeks. Law feels an eyelid twitch, his grip on his nodachi tightening. He’d come into this town with the intention of getting some supplies for his ship and moving on. It’s a while since he’s found a pirate friendly port that didn’t have a Donquxiote pirates jolly roger hidden somewhere in the shadows. He was hoping to relax a little, as much as this angry, revenge driven teenager can. Instead, this is what he comes across.

    Law had turned a corner in the markets and found the kid stumbling away from the tavern. He’d bumped into Law and promptly started crying about being lost. Now, that is not something Trafalgar Law needs to give a fuck about. A lost kid is not his problem but now he’s latched onto Law’s shirt and the crying is drawing attention.

   “Fuck,” Law hisses, teeth baring with a snarl. He really wants to punch this kid and be done with this, but he knows that won’t go well with this crowd watching. “Look, kid, I don’t have time for this. Go find someone else to help you.”

   He shoves the boy back, the motion harsher than he means it to be. He just wants to stop that snot from getting onto his new jeans.

[medicus-mortem]

   Law can’t help but chuckle at Ikkaku’s surprise and her struggle to stay standing. He, on the other hand, have become so accustomed to these shifts that he is unphased by them. The young doctor casual and in control, as he always is within his Room. Everything within this blue dome is his to control and there is a joy in seeing his new crewmate come to realise that. The stunned look on her face is wonderful to see and then comes the questions, the doctor grinning.

   “I … wouldn’t call it teleportation,” he says, striding over to a desk at the archive entrance, gaze looking for a kind of logbook. “More … translocation, but yeah, I did that. My power is very versatile.”

   To illustrate his point Law raises a finger and the chair at the desk begins to float into the air, acting according to his will. He steps around the desk, leaving the chair floating as he leans Kikoku against a set of drawers. Another gesture with a finger has the chair settling back onto the ground and Law sits in it, rolling closer to the desk so he can open a drawer and start rifling. After a moment he finds what he wants, a map of sections and files. A way to locate what it wants in all this mess.

   “Come on then,” he continues, getting up from the chair, grabbing Kikoku, and heading off into the files. “Lookin’ for a Doctor Francis Truman. His work should be down this way.”

Ikkaku considered the locked door in front of them, trying to figure out how they could best deal with it. Law could slice it in half like he had the statue outside, but that would cause an even bigger commotion than their little interaction with the front desk nurse. Plus, it would make it even more obvious where they were should the nurse finally pluck up the courage to call security.

Could Law pick a lock? Ikkaku had some practice with the skill but she wasn’t necessarily the fastest at it. She’d have to work on that if she wanted to be a proper pirate.

Before she could even try, however, Law’s voice behind her gave a vague explanation as to why he was interested in the room, as well as his arm around her shoulders, caught her off-guard. She barely managed to get a flabbergasted “Lose my footing?” before a blue light surrounded them, everything shifted, her stomach seemed to drop out from under her like she was falling from a great height, and within the span of a blink she was no longer in front of the door, but in another room. Her knees wobbled and she nearly lost her footing from shock, but she managed to grab onto Law’s sweatshirt to catch herself before she could look like a total fool.

It took her another few seconds to process what had happened. They were inside the archive room? Had Law done this? That blue light had happened back at the docks, when Law had cut off her old boss’ head, but this was completely different.

“Wait…did you teleport us? I thought your powers just let you cut shit!” she exclaimed before clamping a hand over her mouth, realizing she’d been inadvertently too loud. They were supposed to be sneaking around, after all.

[nexadarling]

Trigun Fics

Here I am compiling all my fav Trigun fics, from heart wrenching to fluffy, and everything in-between. Mostly Vashwood! This is a living document and is updated regularly ^.^

(Explicit fic recs are listed separately due to link limitations in Tumblr posts)

Organized by rating > word count > status. Any fic that features "+" after the word count is on-going/uncompleted. As they finish, I will add the final word count.

Please tag an author if I haven't! I tried to find them all, but there are a couple I couldn't/wasn't sure about

Special shoutout to the YAT and Pen Pal Discords for providing so many of these (and writing several)

Read the tags, you know how it goes! And feel free to leave your own recs as well!

Waiting for me (Waiting for you) by @mariadperiad20 - 8k; Vashwood; Not Rated;Trimax/98; Soulmate AU; The Eye of Michael took Wolfwood's soulmate mark, but they can't take his soulmate; Fuck, god, okay... wow I had so many emotions reading this?? Wolfwood's self-hatred is piloting this whole thing he has so many feelings and he thinks Vash deserves so much better than him GOD

sandgrouse by Evercovi - 4k; Vashwood; G; 98 verse I think? Could also be early Trimax; Vash's birthday is coming up and Wolfwood is stressed about getting him the perfect present; They're so stupid! They're so cute!! The author's note at the end killed me in one sentence!!!!

Polyguns Presentation Night! by WateredMyCrops ( @what-immortal-hand-or-eye) - 7k; Polygun; G; Modern AU; Milly notices her partners are shy about talking about things they love, so she sets up a surprise presentation night for them

kindergarten crush by @jumpinginmuddypuddles - 12k; Vashwood; G; Modern AU; Kindergarten Teacher Vash; Wolfwood's little brother (Livio) is in Vash's class and oh no the teacher is really cute

a promise or a threat by  @beelzebby666 - >1k; Vashwood; T; Canon-verse; Super short, but an exploration of a visceral love and trust between Wolfwood and Vash; Wolfwood wouldn't stop Vash from hurting him, but Vash never would

your touch, your glance, your hand by @procrastinating-bookworm - 1k; Mashwood; T; Canon-verse; much needed comfort for Wolfwood, on account of the hell his wrist goes through carrying that stupid cross

Miracles and Other Blunders of Providence by @aboxthecolourofheartache - 1k; Gen; T; Tristamp; Vash is delirious after Nai cuts off his arm, and Luida tries to comfort him; whump

the secret about that boy by puphf - 1k; Vashwood; T; Modern AU- College; You ever sit in your college class, bored, and think "huh wouldn't it be funny if there was a mind reader in here?" Vash does that, except his crush is the one who can read minds; this is tragically short, but it's so cute and silly I had to add it

Marked by Dozycerberus - 1k; Vashwood; T; Canon-verse; A short look into Wolfwood's mark from the Eye of Michael and his relation to it in different Trigun canons

hold you through the night until you smile by @fionanotjuliet - 2k; Mashwood; T; Canon-verse; wing grooming ❤️❤️

Never Let Me Go by Puffls ( @whimsicmimic) - 2k; Vashwood; T; Transistor AU; rewrite of the opening cut scene of the game Transistor; Vash is a singer, Wolfwood is his body guard; Wolfwood ends up in the Punisher; no I don't know how it works, yes I think it's cool as fuck; (edit: I have now played Transistor and can confidently say not only do you have to read this, you should also play Transistor for maximum emotion)

built to die here by @jes12321 - 2k; Vashwood; T; Soulmate AU; Soulmate worries show up on your skin. Vash doesn't think he deserves his soulmate

oceans to drown in by @hashtagcaneven - 2k; Stryfewood; T; Pirate AU; Captain Meryl challenges Wolfwood to a sword fight to earn a place on her ship, the most sexually charged sword fight follows; Vash is a siren in this which isn't super important to the plot but it is important to me; Kuro you have the honor of being the only Stryfewood fic on this list lol

you know i tell the truth (we are just the same) by haveloved ( @markcampbells) - 2k; Vashwood; T; Trimax; After the Ark, Vash and Wolfwood talk about what they've been through to become what they are. Or, you know, as much as they talk about anything; I am shaking these two and begging through tears for them to get their shit together just once

Sanctuary by @thechaoscryptid - 2k; Vashwood; T; Tristamp; T4T; Vash knows the violence that has created Wolfwood, but he also sees the care and gentleness of Nicholas; Pleeaasseeee they're so soft here, taking care of each other even though things suck I fucking love them

in the afterglow of an isolated heart by the14thmusician - 3k; Vashwood; T; Canon-verse; touch-starved Vash gets emotional after an unexpected hug, Wolfwood talks him through it

the heaviness we've known by CosmicJourney ( @cosmictapestry) - 3k; Gen; T; Tristamp; Brad fixes Vash up after the events of the sandsteamer and tries to do right by his kid; I'm not gonna lie, this one hurts. It fucking hurts a lot and it doesn't get better at the end, but it's still filled with such sweetness. Just, watching someone you consider your son be Vash the Stampede is never going to be easy

your pride like water in your lungs (drowns all the words it stole) by haveloved ( @markcampbells) - 3k; Vashwood; T; Trimax; Wolfwood helps Vash deal with his phantom limb pain; please god there is much emotion in this tiny little fic Vash why are you like that please just kiss the man!!!!!

Straight Edge of Intimacy by @bendycxmet - 3k; Vashwood; T; Canon-verse; Wolfwood gets them run out of a town, and Vash asks him to help him shave to make it up to him; The tension, the pining... the not-so-casual intimacy of shaving someone's face... I am eating this Whole

i am a diamond on the inside (just add the pressure) by @sascake - 4k; Vashwood; T; Modern AU; Soulmate AU; tattoos show up on your soulmate, Wolfwood has A Lot, Vash kind of loves it

i went too far (when I was begging on my knees) by @flowercitti - 4k; Vashwood; T; reincarnation through the different Trigun versions; soulmates; this is beautifully poetic and achingly sad

walking in your landscape by @pushclouds - 4k; Vashwood; T; Modern AU; Vash takes a vacation trip to a farm and meets cowboy Wolfwood

tell me why your hands are cold (show me how) by desertblooms - 4k; Vashwood; T; Canon-verse; Sick fic; Whump for both of them honestly; Vash uses too much power at once and makes himself dangerously sick, Wolfwood is left to desperately try to keep him alive; This hurts, the way that Wolfwood needs Vash is so obvious in every one of his actions

proximity by @corvidrogue - 5k; Vashwood; T; Canon-verse; Touch-starved Vash has trouble accepting physical affection from anyone but Wolfwood

touch me like nobody else does (lovely) by @flowercitti - 5k; Vashwood; T; Canon-verse; Vash tries to get rid of his wings, Wolfwood grooms them for him; pretty big self harm cw for the beginning of this

Guardian Angel by @hypermoyashi - 5k; Vashwood; T; Post-Trimax; A year after the events of Trimax, Vash hears Wolfwood's voice; Let this fic be known as how to cry in less than 5k; this is very bittersweet, but it is precious and so worth a read

not to me, not if it's you by tickyicky - 6k; Vashwood; T; Trimax; Wolfwood struggles to help Vash through the aftermath of being run out of a town he tried to help

but to me, the comet brings no fear (no, i gaze joyfully) by haveloved ( @markcampbells) - 6k; Vashwood; T; Trimax/Post-Trimax; When a comet comes across the sky once every 50 years, it is a once-in-a-lifetime chance for most people. For Vash, it is a reminder; When I tell you I cried, that I sobbed reading this I am being so fucking serious. Trai does such a wonderful job exploring grief and mourning and Vash's anger and loneliness; and it's Vashwood, but it's not really about them, it's about so much more and anyway I'm gonna go lay down and cry into a pillow thanks

Non-Threatening Touch by saturninesunset - 6k; Vashwood; T; Trimax; Touch-starved; Wolfwood loses track of where they stand with each other when they start sharing a bed to help with nightmares. Vash crosses some lines; This is so cute????? I'm screaming???? All of my ailments have been fixed pls shove this in your face immediately

i have a heart made for taking flight by corvidcaper ( @not-miss-marple) - 8k; Vashwood; T; 5+1; Creature Vash; Vash accidentally courts Wolfwood like a bird. It takes them a while to figure out; PLEASE THIS IS SO CUTE

to god, who i hate so much by @skittidyne - 9k; Vashwood; T; Trimax; A close call forces some feelings into the open in a way that nobody involved is ready for; God, jesus fucking christ, this one is all about the vicious co-dependency of Vashwood and it hurts and they love each other so fucking bad; maybe have some fluff prepared to read after this one

lost in the sugar rush by @pushclouds - 10k; Vashwood; T; Modern AU - Coffee shop; Wolfwood falls for the cute barista; Nai and Wolfwood have coffee-based standoffs; I was giggling to myself through this whole thing

absol(utely) obsessed by @earlgay-milktea - 11k; Vashwood; T; Modern AU - College; Vash is president of the Pokemon society, Livio is a huge Pokemon nerd, and no one here is normal; this is pure silly, goofy fun and it made me smile so much. They're so stupid I hate them. They deserve the world

whose woods these are (i think i know) by intimatopia ( @ciaran) - 13k; Vashwood; T; Fairytale AU; Prince Wolfwood; Suspiciously magical(?) Vash; Vash runs from what he wants as per usual, Wolfwood just wants to know he'll come back

Cheap and Cheerful by AllegedlyAnnie ( @niftyanswersorryiasked) - 13k; Vashwood; T; AU but still on NML; Vash answers a help-wanted ad for an orphanage in need of a handyman, Wolfwood sees through his bullshit in every universe; this might be the most 98/Trimax characterization I've read so far. Their banter is perfect!!!

Sentido by @orcelito - 19k; Vashwood; T; Canon-verse; Vash's relationship with each of his senses, as an inhuman Plant with incredibly advanced senses. Spoiler, it's not always pleasant

ghosting by @orcelito - 22k; Vashwood; T; Modern AU - early 2000s; T4T; Vash owns a B&B that he's pretty sure is haunted, Milly and Meryl convince Wolfwood to exorcise the ghost for him. Wolfwood is not an exorcist; I injected this directly into my bone marrow actually; Wolfwood and Vash are so outrageously down bad for each other, I love them; This also deals beautifully with just the grieving process in general. I wanna give Vash such a huge hug

Strap the Wing to Me, Death Trap Clad Happily by Rayawastaken - 24k; Mashwood; T; Canon-verse; pure 100% hurt/comfort centered around Vash's wings and general eldritch horror-ness

Malediction by @revenantpoet - 28k; Vashwood; T; Mythology AU; Sun-god Wolfwood; Moon-god Vash; Wolfwood finds a poor creature locked away, and something about it tugs at him; Hell yeah sun god Wolfwood!!!! He's so warm and caring he gets to be the sun!!!!; This is genuinely so beautiful and the world building is just!!! So lovely!!!!

ritornello by allandnothing - 29k; Vashwood; T; Modern AU - College; Demi Vash; Seeing Vash renders Wolfwood entirely useless, Livio makes fun of him for it (that's it that's the fic); the tone and humor of this had me on the fucking floor. Might be a new comfort fic

Calendula by @a-bi-disaster-writing - 32k; Vashwood; T; Modern AU - College; Vash works at the greenhouse, Wolfwood works at the college daycare. He takes a tiny Rollo to visit the greenhouse and promptly falls in love

with you, the sun rises slowly by @beesinspades - 33k; Vashwood; T;  Modern AU; Wolfwood's cute neighbor loses his apartment to a fire, so he spontaneously offers to let him stay at his place while the damage is repaired; Asexual Vash!! I really like how the author handled Vash's sexuality here, and especially Wolfwood's reaction to it. It felt real (Beelio I love your ace Vash tysm)

an odious damned lie by @riverenne - 47k; Gen with a heavy splash of Vashwood at the end; T; His Dark Materials/The Golden Compass x Trigun AU; Alternate Timeline AU; Takes place on NML, roughly in the (altered) Tristamp timeline; Good GOD I cannot possibly recommend this enough! The writing is beautiful, the daemons are perfect, and the exploration into the characters and their relationships is so!!! Amazing!!! Read it, just read it, please

Gunsmoke - A Coffee Shop/Mafia AU by evil_moo_bunny - 13k+; Vashwood; T; Modern AU - Coffee shop; Vash works at a coffee shop, Wolfwood works for redacted, Meryl and Milly work also redacted at the coffee shop with Vash, everyone has secrets, and Milly is a wonderful matchmaker; This is a series, but I didn't want to link both works separately

if you're looking for a sign: this is it by @elemmacil - 33k+; Vashwood; T; Modern AU; "Nicholas D. Wolfwood has taken over sign duty for Saint Michael’s. Across the street, Vash Saverem is giving out free hugs."; This is so freaking funny and cute and I am frothing at the mouth for more of it

the monster in the ruins of ship five by @beesinspades - 48k+; Vashwood; T; Tristamp; Creature Vash; After Julai, Wolfwood searches for Vash. What he finds is a creature in the shell of a spaceship; VASH GETS THE ZOOMIES; this version of creature Vash is so delightful, Wolfwood's inner monologue is perfect, Sheryl and Lina are The Best

whispers (of the damned) by ValiantRose ( @sleepyartcryptid) - 2k; Vashwood; M; this is just... a Moment of the two of them being so tired but so in love and glad to have not lost each other yet again

all the blood that you still owe by @procrastinating-bookworm - 4k; implied Mashwood; M; Tristamp; Tristamp Wolfwood takes too many vials, and Vash and Meryl try their best to take care of him

Like Petals in a Storm by @maadskittlez29 - 5k; Vashwood; M; Canon-verse Hanahaki AU (w/ a happy ending of course); When Wolfwood realizes what's happening to him, he resolves to hide it from Vash as long as he can, then leave when things are too bad to handle. Of course, things don't exactly go to plan

if only the rain were gasoline by halfdemonvash - 5k; Vashwood; M; Wolfwood takes a bullet for Vash. Emotions ensue; god I have so many of this author's stuff on my lists lol if anyone knows their tumblr pls tell me so I can tag them? I clearly love their writing

you can spend all your love making time by Anonymous- 7k; Vashwood; M; Post-Trimax fix it (this is my new canon)

you are my religion and my religion is you by reddiextozier - 7k; Vashwood; M; Modern AU; Vash confesses his thoughts to his priest; I do think this should really be E, but regardless it's a really fun read. This fandom has given me a penchant for vw fucking in confessionals whoops

wild horses couldn't drag me away by littleghost ( @ghostlandtoo) - 8k; Vashwood; M; Wild West AU; Wolfwood's POV of a kind heart to haunt (E)

white pony by tagteamme ( @phaltu) - 10k; Vashwood; M; Vampires and Demons AU (but still on NML); Vash comes into town searching for a "creature of the night," Wolfwood is the crux of the community as the charismatic priest

Something Fruity, Something Sweet by frankiesin ( @wolfwoodweddingdress) - 11k; Vashwood; M (I think it should be E tho); Modern AU - Coffee shop; Vash is a Starbucks customer with an insane sweet tooth, Wolfwood is just fucking in love with him

Someday out of the Blue by @tenshinokorin - 11k; Vashwood; M; Post-Trimax/reincarnation AU; 100 years after the end of Trimax, Vash runs into a man with the same name and face as his Wolfwood; I put off reading this for so long cause I knew it would make me sad. And it did! But it was also so cute and sweet and warm. And also thinking about it makes me want to cry, but read it anyway pls

his keeper by princecl0ud - 11k; Vashwood; M; Canon-verse; Vash disappears after a skirmish and is gone so long that the gang starts to give up, but Wolfwood can't let him go so easily; Vash had no clue anyone would be so dedicated in looking for him

Gun to a Bar Fight by ValiantRose ( @sleepyartcryptid) - 11k; Vashwood; M; Modern AU; VW get caught up in a bar fight and kind of maybe feel stupidly drawn to each other; shaking these dumbasses they're so cute I hope they get married

Shoot the Moon by @hypermoyashi - 14k; Vashwood; M; Canonverse; Wolfwood Whump; Wolfwood has to make some not very safe decisions to break Vash out of his creature/Plant state; "the existential horror of being in love with a nuclear reactor" is my new favorite tag; Vash gets so upset about hurting Wolfwood and Wolfwood is so intentional with his love in this, I adore them

Black is the Color by @tenshinokorin - 15k; Vashwood; M; Post Trimax fix-it/resurrection; Three years after the events of Trimax, Vash realizes his hair is coming back in blond. He also realizes he's not as alone as he thought he was; I bought a poster of fanart for this, is how much I love it. In case you were wondering

I Believe in the Kingdom Come by @tenshinokorin - 17k; Vashwood; M; Sequel to Someday out of the Blue; Post Trimax fix-it/reincarnation AU; Vash and Nick are still together, though they both have their secrets. Wolfwood is closer than anyone realizes

i know i'm known for giving love away by molotovhappyhour - 18k; Vashwood; M; Post-Trimax; Wolfwood stays at a haunted house in the middle of the desert to try to get rid of the spook; The spook is not, in fact, very good at being spooky... and something feels familiar about it, he just can't quite recall why....; This made me wanna cry for so many good reasons, holy shit! And such good story telling UGH

i sought him whom my soul loved by molotovhappyhour - 20k; Vashwood; M; Vash doesn't age, but Wolfwood is reborn after every life and at every time is hit with the full force of his past lives. He always seeks out Vash; crying in the club about this one! Fellas is it gay to search the planet time and time again in every lifetime for the same person? To wait every time to be found, never knowing when that time may be? I hate it here

Figure Me Out by WateredMyCrops ( @what-immortal-hand-or-eye) - 33k; Vashwood; M; Canon-verse; 5+1 of Vash being inhuman and Wolfwood showing him he doesn't care; really check the tags on this one

Entertaining Strangers by @deludedfantasy - 41k; Vashwood; M; Modern AU; Fiber Artist Vash; Guardian Angel Wolfwood; Wolfwood is sent to the human world to find a child to protect, but instead he meets Vash, who lets him stay in his home and takes care of him; So nice to see angel Wolfwood, and I really loved how it was done; Seeing Wolfwood's care for those around him is precious

Kill Me With A Smile by @ShyKokiriMouse - 43k; Vashwood; M (treat this like it's E, it does contain explicit sex scenes); Tattoo Artist Vash; Florist Wolfwood; Spanish speaking Wolfwood; Wolfwood works next to a tattoo shop and is intrigued and confused by Vash, who always seems to cover his tattoos; First of all I am a tattoo artist Vash truther, thank you very much; This is my favorite VW flavor!!! Both pining, Wolfwood so hopelessly gone he can't stop himself, and Vash incredibly emotionally constipated

Open Me Up by WateredMyCrops (@what-immortal-hand-or-eye) - 47k; Vashwood; M; Canon-verse; part 2 of Figure Me Out, but this time Wolfwood gets Known; for real, check the damn tags

Fatherhood Looks Good on You by frankiesin ( @wolfwoodweddingdress) - 62k; Vashwood; M; Modern AU - Roommates; Social worker Wolfwood; Vash comes to Wolfwood with a desperate plea to help him adopt two children, and Wolfwood has never been good at saying no to the man he's in love with

Aces in Space by @hypermoyashi - 70k; Vashwood; M; Sci-fi AU; Royalty AU; Prince Vash; Childhood friends; Demi Vash; Greyace Wolfwood; Wolfwood has long accepted that prince Vash is dead, no matter how hard Knives tries to find him. But when a stowaway on his ship looks very much like Vash might at this age... it gives him an idea; Listen I love Moya's writing, their world-building, Meryl and Milly's whole existence!!! And the budding relationship for Vashwood is so, so precious

Make Light Work by @hypermoyashi - 77k; Vashwood; M; Tristamp; T4T; Vash wakes up with severely impaired vision and has to learn to adapt; The description of this as Vash navigates his world with barely any ability to see is honestly just so fucking good

home is just a room full of my safest sounds by halfdemonvash - 29k+; Vashwood; M; Modern AU - Neighbors; Wolfwood takes in a cat only to find her rightful owner lives literally across the hall from him. He gets too attached to both of them very quickly; cat dad Wolfwooooooddd!!!! And him and Vash are so cute and Kuroneko is a little shit I love her so much

Cryptobotany - The Study of Plants That May or May Not Exist by @puffinpastry - 61k+; Vashwood; M; Modern AU - Appalachia; Creature Vash; Wolfwood and Livio find a creature? person? that has crash landed in the forest and can't bring themselves to leave him there. Especially not with evidence of a harsh past on his body; okay okay LOOK I know I'm so biased about creature Vash but this is so good okay the world building and Vash's characterization and KNIVES!! CHRONIC ILLNESS WOLFWOOD

The Courtship of Nicholas D Wolfwood by @screamingshark - 107k+; Vashwood; M; Modern AU; Mermaid AU where Plants are mermaids and working with humans in research facilities; Wolfwood is a new security guard at the institute where Vash and Nai reside. Vash decides to court the hell out of him (no one thinks to inform Wolfwood that that's what's happening)

In the Next Life by @orcelito - 109k+; Vashwood; M; post-Trimax time travel (fix it?) AU; Vash goes back in time to try to make things better, but he still carries the weight of what he went through

Make it to Daybreak by @hypermoyashi - 161k+; Vashwood; M; Demon Slayer AU; Demon Vash; Meryl meets Vash, who challenges her beliefs about demons

come and see by @avoidingavoidance - 427k+; Vashwood; M; Post-Tristamp S1; Canon Divergence; After July, Wolfwood struggles to find his place in the world, but some things are too precious to give up on; I am screaming and crying and aggressively rattling the bars of my enclosure; Please for the love of Vashwood read this; the yearning, the angst, the fucking writing, all of it is so perfect I cannot give enough praise

if you scrolled this far down, you're so fucking gay, i love you

[wood-white-writer]

"Didn't mean to make your heart Blue" || [6/...]

— OPLA!Buggy x F!Reader

“On sunny days I go out walking, I end up on a tree-lined street. I look up at the gaps of sunlight. I miss you more than anything."

— Mitski, "Francis Forever"

Pairing: Buggy the Clown (Live action) x F!Reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 7

Summary: You were an apprentice of Gol D. Roger’s crew in your youth, long before his eventual demise. Along with the Red-Haired Shanks and Buggy, you were a formidable trio; the embodiment of a new generation of pirates yet to come. But times changed, and so did you and your friends.  The crew arrives at the Baratie, and several things go down in a matter of hours. Decisions are made, both stupid and not so stupid. Old and new faces come back into your life, and unable to deal with the events in Orange Town, you handle it in the worst best way possible: through the bottle.

Warnings: Canon typical violence, fem!reader, LA!Verse, slight canon divergence, alcoholic indulgence on a catastrophic scale (drink responsibly ppl), blackouts, morally grey reader, violence, mentions of everyone (marine, fish people, pirates, etc.) having a past beef with Reader/"Cross-Hairs", Buggy POV in the end,

A/N: So, since this chapter was delayed, I think it compensates due to the fact that it is approximately 7k words long. The chapter jumps a little between the events of the Baratie, but there's a reason for that: the reason being that the Reader is shitfaced for most of the time during this chapter. Also, shout out to @ay0nha for putting up with my rambles during this period, really appreciate it XD

It hurts. Everything hurts. That’s the first thing he feels. 

His feet, his back, his torso, but especially his head. It’s like a hamster is running on a wheel inside the bones in his skull, squeaking, chirping, driving him insane from the inside. 

The wheel is pounding, and pounding until all he wants is to chuck that fucking hamster into–

“Hey, he’s waking up!”

Shanks? Why is he in his head? Fuck, he takes it back. The hamster can stay, rent-free, for as long as it fucking wants to, as long as it isn’t fucking Shanks—

“Buggy?”

On second thoughts, that voice doesn’t strike any sense of irritation with him. In fact, he finds it comforting, like the morning sun shining atop the ship deck. He doesn’t mind listening to that.

“Buggy?”

His eyes open, and he thinks he's seeing the sun for the first time. The sun and the moon, in fact, at the same time. Golden, blinding, warm, and cold, but he wants to watch them until his vision turns white and all sense of sight abandons him. 

It’ll suck to be blind, but damn, what a hell of a way to go.

The more he stares, however, the more everything else falls back into place. He realizes it’s not suns he’s staring at, but two sharp eyes and a concerned face that makes him feel just as warm.

He’s in a bed, he finally discovers. There’s a pillow under his head, a fresh sheet up until his midsection which strangely smells of vinegar, inside a room he just now remembers is the Oro Jackson’s de-facto ‘infirmary’ which really is just an old storage space that was refurnished when they first got the ship.

There’s something wrapped around his head, tight but not too tight that it’s squeezing. It’s been done by precise and sturdy hands; a professional, someone who knows what they’re doing.

He blinks once, then twice, and everything around him finally settles. Including everyone perched around the bed.

“Ah, Buggy, my lad!” It’s hard not to recognize the booming voice of his captain, who proceeds to lean over him with his hands pressed around his biceps until the massive mustache trickles his chin. “Thought you were a goner for a moment!”

He kind of wishes he was one because the strength of Gol D. Roger is not to be underestimated. His ribs squeeze and it's hard to breathe, but out of respect for his captain, all that leaves his throat is a guttural groan that he hopes conveys the message clearly enough.

Gol D. promptly removes himself from his poor apprentice with his hands raised, and when he steps back, Shanks takes his place next to the bed. “Gods, Buggy! What were you thinking? You could’ve been killed! Rayleigh said you were lucky it was just a concussion!”

That’s when it dawns on him. Riiight, there was a scuttle. Some asshole pirates trying to ambush them, they picked the wrong fucking targets. Some … guy was flying over him? Did that happen, or was it just a fever dream?

He remembers kicking someone in the balls, and then … and then …

Lightning. Making its way for him as the darkness embraced his vision. A line of gold, straight as a sword, narrowing in on him.

Did it catch him before the darkness did? 

He hopes so.

“Lay off me, will ‘ya!” he shouts at his friend, trying to get up. However, the fucking hamster wheel in his head keeps spinning until he settles back down against the pillow. “I was doing good!”

“Yeah, until you weren’t!” Shanks disputes and grabs his fellow apprentice by the collar of his sleeve. “I told you to fucking move, but it’s like you spaced out! She had to carry you all the way back here with your head all bleeding!”

Carry him?

He glances at you, finally. You’re sitting there, hunched slightly over the bed with those eyes looking at him, and he’s thinking you fucking carried him? It’s not that he’s ashamed, not at all, but if anything, he was always hoping the roles were switched. 

He’d be the one carrying you. With your strength, he imagined it would be quite the weight to uphold, but he would do it. For you, he would move the seas if he could, Devil Fruit or not.

“Buggy, are you alright?” 

You’re the one talking this time. Not the captain, nor Shanks, just you. The lighting is here, and he feels his skin prick. It’s electric. Cold. Warm. All and nothing combined. He could listen to it – feel it – for hours, days, maybe even years without ever growing weary of it.

He puts on his best brave face and scoffs, forcing his arms to cross themselves despite the surge of aches that rush through his body doing so. “Of course I’m alright! I’m Buggy! I bounce back, always!”

“Still,” your hands fall on top of his, and he feels his body freeze. “I was worried.”

“’Worried’?” Shanks cackles and gestures to you with his thumb over his shoulder. “You should’ve seen the damage she left behind. The entire place was smithereens, I tell you, Buggy! She knocked over those assholes like frickin’ chessboard pieces!”

“What did I always tell you?” Gol D. slams a hand on top of your shoulder, knocking you slightly forward. “She’s got eyes sharp enough to cut through steel, and pirates too, apparently.”

You laugh awkwardly. “I didn’t cut through them, really. I just … knocked them a little over.”

Shanks cackles. “Don’t be humble. You should’ve seen the guy who knocked you out. I swear, none of his bones were where they were supposed to be. He won’t be walking, or doing much of anything, ever again.”

Buggy can imagine it, but also not. He looks at you now, and he sees his concerned friend with those kind eyes that contain both the sun and the moon. He’s always known you’re strong – the strongest person he knows of save for his captain, but not unkind. Not cruel. Not sadistic.

Yet, if what Shanks just said carries any weight, it confirms what he’s always known. 

You’re a beast, and beasts only follow their prime instincts. They don’t allow others to harm what or who they consider theirs.

And it means that you consider him yours. 

Maybe in a different way than he’d prefer, maybe in a way that’s different from the kind he harbors towards you, but it still confirms he’s yours. 

He will never want to find himself on the opposite side of that. Of you. Never you.

When he looks at you again, looks down at where your hand is pressed on top of his, he takes it in his own. 

“I’m fine,” he finally says, his lip tugging in what is supposed to be a smile. “Remind me not to get on your bad side, though.”

You chuckle softly, and he smiles. Fuck, how can he not? He remembers it all so clearly. The way your dimples are shaped, the length of your hair, the soft tint of your lips.

“You? Never.” You finally say. “Never you”

---

You reflect on how it's weird that some things change whereas others don't. 

Flowers prosper and bloom and die. The sun ascends, stays up for a few hours, then descends back into the horizon. 

Friendships grow strong, stay strong, then they aren't.

Some things change, some don't. 

Baratie being among the latter.

It's bright enough inside to momentarily blind you, just like it was a little over ten years ago. Save for new faces with the employees and some design choices, the overall place has stayed the same. 

There are people there of prestigious backgrounds - both pirate and not - and you think of how receptive the restaurant must've been to make both parts come together without any regular scuttles. 

A neutral ground for all to come and enjoy the feast. Well, that is the principle, but not everyone abides by it.

It’s been a while since you last visited the establishment, and last time, you were banned for life. 

Frankly, you don’t recall much of the events; too drunk on rum at the time.

What you do remember is that it involved a few broken bottles of Baratie’s finest wine, some mashed-up furniture, and cutlery, a rival captain who wouldn’t take a “fucking get lost” for a “no”, and it ended with you standing surrounded by a bunch of broken bodies of your own making.

Needless to say, Zeff was pissed. 

More than pissed, actually. He was fuming.

He probably still is.He has a thing for grudges if he’s still alive.

Maybe … Just maybe the old man’s chewed off something more than his leg and kicked the bucket? That’d be a sight to see considering he only has one remaining foot.

"My name is Sanji. What can I get for you?"

The waiter - Sanji - is fine, not going to lie. A good fighter, too, if his little display seconds ago is a testament to that. A bit too young for your preference, with a nose too small, and hair too bright and blonde. Not quite blue colorful enough.

All in all, not a bad look at all. Just for the aesthetics, though. A solid 7/10, you conclude.

"One of everything, please!" Luffy requests enthusiastically.

For whatever reason, Sanji does not seem to share your general affinity for the restaurant. That’s odd. Most people who work here tend to boast about their occupation in the famed restaurant.

Though, if you have to make a guess, Zeff is likely a contributing factor behind that disdain. He’s tough on people, even tougher if he likes someone.

As discontented as Sanji seems, however, it does not keep him from trying to withhold his flirtatious demeanor with Nami. A Casanova, it looks like. Funny.

"Waiter, can I get a beer and something for my friends?" Zoro asks, fed up with the one-sided dalliance going on between your shipmate and the waiter.

"Two beers!” Usopp promptly adds. “though, I usually have three."

"And one milk!" Luffy chimes in.

"Three beers and a milk," Sanji notes. His eyes land on you, and that signature smile falls to his lips. "And for the ladies?"

You’re already here, you think to yourself. Why not make the most of it? For nostalgia’s sake.

"A bottle of Baratie's Finest," you request, your chin resting in your palm. "Not the kind you keep for customers, though. Pick one from Zeff's private stash, if you can afford to smuggle it past his bushy nose?"

"A classy beverage for a classy lady, I see." A mischievous glimmer shines in his eyes and smile. "Although that stash is off-limits, what kind of a man would I be if I refused a lady her desired beverage?”

You tilt your head a fraction to the side. "I'm sure he won't mind. At his age, he needs to watch his liver."

"That is true,"

Quite frankly, everything else evades your attention the second the waiter arrives with your order. Sanji brings you your meals, and your pricey bottle of Baratie's Finest, and it’s the Red Apple edition.

Perfect.

You eat, and eat, and drink, and then drink some more, not even stopping to concern yourself with the price tag. 

The food at the Baratie's has not been in decline when it comes to quality above all else. It's delicious, and not a lot of places have earned that kind of claim in your life.

The food is good, but the drinks are ethereal. 

One glass turns into two, and two promptly becomes three. So forth, and so forth. Anything to dull the tightness lodged in your chest. 

A tightness that has not left you alone in the past couple of weeks.

You've developed a pretty good tolerance over the years, and after several more units, you begin to feel the tickle on the edge of your hands. Baratie’s Finest indeed.

After five, the feeling settles on the tip of your spine.

After seven, you start to wonder what went wrong. It's a dangerous area to indulge in, especially if liquor is involved, but you don’t stop.

What went wrong?

What did you do wrong?

In another life, you would've traveled the world with them, doing nothing but drinking, fighting, exploring together.

Instead, you’re here, drinking with a crew yet still feeling like the loneliest asshole in the world. It’s not your crew.

You lose a smidgen of focus, and in the grand specter of things, focus is something you could do well with less off. 

You can afford to think less, feel less, and know less. Life has been full of ups and downs, and quite frankly, you've grown weary of it all.

Fuck, maybe Luffy’s onto something? Maybe you are sad?

… Nah.

Once Zoro orders another beer, you go as far as to share your bottle with him. His face scrunches at the taste and he coughs several times, but he admits that it’s good.

As you sit there on the edge of the couch, sipping your beverage and tasting your food, Sanji arrives to collect the bill. You know Luffy doesn’t have a berry to his name yet, and so you wonder how long it'll take before Zeff notices.

More specifically, how long it’ll take him before he realizes he's missing something from his private collection?

“Who the hell is Monkey D. Luffy?!”

Speak of the Chief… and he shall appear.

This time, you do not interfere when Luffy attempts to bargain for his lack of cash. You simply sit back and observe. 

As much as Luffy tries, he does not have the words or mind suited for this kind of business yet. It’s Capitalism at its finest. 

“You eat, you pay!”

Thoughts and dreams can only get you so far in life, but at the Baratie, it’s coin.

When Zeff grabs Luffy by the front of his shirt, the chief's eyes turn to you, and holy hell, is he furious. 

“And what in the blazing hell are you doing here?!"

“Zeff,” You greet him and raise your beverage his way, a tilted smirk on your face. "It’s been too long."

"Not long enough! I thought I told you to get fucking lost last time? The damages you did cost a fortune!"

“In my defense, it was the other guys that started it.”

He gives you such a dirty look that his jaws clench. “Don’t give a shit. Why are you here?”

You twirl the bottle around in your hand. "Just enjoying the ambiance, as always. I was in the area, and so how could I pass up the chance to try your scrumptious meals again? Or drinks, for that matter?" 

On cue, you raise your - or rather his - bottle closer up to him. 

It’s stupid, the rational part of your brain argues. One does not fuck around with the Chief of the Baratie, but among the few joys you have left in life, this remains one of them.

His eyes narrow in on the bottle and there he is.In the blink of an eye, he snaps it out of your hand with such fast precision that you're almost caught off-guard. 

Zeff narrows in on the mostly empty flask like it's personally insulted him and his entire lineage. “Where did you get this?"

"It was on the menu."

"It sure as shit was not! How could you—" He freezes like a thought suddenly dawned on him, and if a man can become purple from anything other than oxygen deprivation, Zeff's current mood is the closest thing to it. "Sanji. Why that snot-nosed, little—! ... When I get my damn hands on him."

It seems that whatever vendetta Zeff has towards his employee, it outweighs the one he has for you tenfold, which says something. Without another word, he yanks Luffy by the scruff and all but drags him with him to the kitchen. 

Ordinarily, you would’ve intervened on behalf of your captain, but with Zeff now preoccupied, it’s your chance to rob the bar of a few more beverages.

And in your dictionary, “a few” is the equivalent of “a shitton”.

"Wow," Usopp murmurs with a low whistle. "That guy really hates your guts."

"What are you talking about? I’m his favorite customer." You raise what remains in your glass to them. “Anyone want another one?”

"I do," Nami relents.

Zoro laughs, probably for the first time since you’ve met him. "Now you're talking."

Maybe, just maybe, you’re beginning to like these people. 

With a couple more drinks, maybe you’ll be able to tell.

———

“You know, I kind— I kinda assumed you were an asshole when we first met?” 

Usopp’s struggling to stand on his feet, legs bent slightly forward as he makes a half-assed attempt at ordering another drink. You can’t tell if the bartender is electively ignoring him or not, and truth be told, you don't blame the guy if the former applies.

Between the two of you, you’re more adept when it comes to dealing with liquor. Sure, your lips are a little looser now and the bright lights are starting to hurt your eyes, but all in all, you’re not even half as drunk as you want to be. 

Seriously, fuck me sometimes. You just had to go all out when you were younger. Days and nights spent pouring bottle after bottle left your liver hardened rather than weakened.

Now, because of the high tolerance you stupidly developed, it's come here to bite you in the ass and keep you from getting wrecked. 

“Oh?” Your sarcasm couldn't be any more discernible than it is now as you eye your crew mate. “What made you reach that conclusion?”

Usopp twirls around, horribly off-balanced, and slaps a hand over your shoulder. 

A little too personal for your liking, but you let it slide for now.

“I mean, for starters, you—,” he hiccups. “You always have that look about you. Like someone just pissed in your ale.”

You give him an unimpressed but vaguely piqued once-over. “Descriptive. Go on,”

“And soso— And so I and the guys are wondering if you’re like that because some clown broke your heart or—,” he hiccups again. “Or some— something? Did he piss in your ale?”

You shrug his hand off at once. You don’t want to think about him, now least of all. "No.”

Not even a second later, his arm his back over your shoulder and he leans closer. It's probably meant as a comforting gesture, but given how absolutely wasted he looks, you perceive it with a grain of salt. 

"Y-You can tell the great Capt— I mean, the Great Usopp, alright? We've all been there before, I—I'm ssssure. I mean, Zoro doesn't strike me as much of a ladies' man, but he's probably got stories, too."

The bartender finally stops by and leaves a beer bottle in front of you on the table, completely ignoring your companion, and disappears to make his next rounds.

You take the flask and flick the cork off with your thumb. "Well, if you really want to help, —" 

You turn around so that your back hits the bar counter, twirl Ussop around with the guidance of your hand and shove him lightly towards where Nami and Zoro are sitting. "— Talk to the others first about their heartbreaks."

If he wants to object, he's too drunk to for it. Instead, he recollects his limited stance and all but wobbles over to the corner where your other companions are seated.

He’s their problem now, but it’ll be an interesting display.

You recline against the bar counter to chug your beverage in peace when a voice suddenly speaks up from next to you. 

“I thought you were retired.”

With how loud the music is, it might have slipped your notice completely. Then again, the owner of said voice has always had that thing about him. 

He could whisper, and the entire room would’ve heard.

You glance up at your side, and you’re halfway tempted to smile when you see who it is. 

“It’s been a while, Hawk-Eyes.”

Everything from the feather on his hat to the cross around his neck and the pointy way his beard is trimmed has stayed the same. Not a scar, a bruise, or blemish to spot on him.

In ten years, he looks to have aged only one. Some people are fortunate in terms of youth, and you would definitely consider Dracule Mihawk one of them.

“Cross-Hairs.” He inclines his head to you, a silent courtesy reserved only for those whose company he tolerates. “I believed you abandoned your life behind the mast years ago.”

You take another generous gulp from your bottle before you respond. "So did I, but life finds a way, doesn't it?"

"Indeed." He peeks over his shoulder to where your companions are seated, his countenance less than impressed. Then again, that's just his face by default, so hard to tell with him. "And last we met, you were a Captain."

"Last time we met, you almost cut my right arm off." For emphasis, you pull back your sleeve to show off the straight scar that separates your upper arm from the rest. It's faded, old, and never noticeable unless you decide to wear anything short-sleeved, but it's there all the same.

He doesn't apologize. Of course, he wouldn't. Instead, he raises his sparse glass of wine to you. "Nothing personal."

You raise your bottle to him in turn. "Of course not,"

Clink!

You drink your respective beverages in companionable silence. However, even with your halfway inebriated state of mind, you can't help but think of the reasons for his presence. 

You have your suspicions, and you're not shy about voicing them.

"This isn't your usual scenery." You say. “What makes one of the great Warlords of the Sea seek out a place such as this? Business or pleasure?"

"Business," he answers curtly, as though he'd prefer to do anything but. "I'm looking for a captain."

“It’s not Shanks, I take it?”

“No, it’s not. It’s a captain by the name of Luffy.”

It doesn't surprise you. It should, but it doesn’t.

The lengths the vice-admiral is willing to go to retrieve his grandson, which apparently includes hiring a Warlord to do so, doesn’t surprise you in the slightest. Unbreakable willpower is a family trait, after all, if you've learned anything from Luffy. 

It wouldn’t suffice with a gun; he had to send the entire fucking arsenal.

Still, at least it’s Mihawk of all people. It shouldn’t be a source of relief, but had it been anyone else, be it Kuro or Axe-hand or Bu-... 

Your fingers subconsciously dig into the fragile, empty bottle you’re holding.

The point is, had it been anyone else, you would've intervened. You��have intervened, several times by now, but not tonight. 

Tonight, you're here to drink and forget, then drink some more. You don’t have the sobriety to worry about much of anything anymore.

"Garp must truly be at his wit's end if he employs you for his endeavors." Once you retrieve the bottle at your disposal, you pluck off the cap and swirl it lazily in your hand. The lights from the bar dance around the transparently brown rim, like a shooting star with no exit and no entrance to the rest of the universe. Forever stuck. "Seems excessive to send you of all people after something so seemingly simple."

"From what I've heard, this particular quarry is something of a wildcard."

"If you’re here, I’m sure of it."

Mihawk tilts his chin up, eyeing you curiously in your peripheral vision. "Are you saying that you're acquainted with this Luffy?"

"I'm saying no such thing. It's just mere speculations on my part." Another fistful of alcohol travels down your esophagus. "You're only employed when it's truly serious, and the vice-admiral is known for only getting involved in those kinds of matters. It adds up, is all I’m saying."

“I hardly consider it dire. It's more a means of killing some time on my part." He does not take his eyes off of you, and even in your current state, you can tell that something is brewing beneath those sharp eyes. "However, if said captain has you in his arsenal, then I feel like some investigation is warranted. After all, the Captain of the Cross-Haired pirates is not particularly known for her tendency to submit to others."

You quirk an eyebrow at him and circle your finger around the bottle rim, pondering on the subject yet not biting at the metaphorical carrot he dangles in front of you. "Technically, it’s just like you said: I'm retired, and the Cross-Haired pirates are no more. I’d think most people are aware of that.”

"The Marines believe otherwise,” he counters calmly. “The Cross-haired pirates may be disbanded, but their captain’s bounty remains on the posters. The vice-admiral was quite adamant that, while he wants the boy alive, he’d prefer it if you weren’t."

“I see.” The vice-admiral should learn to take a fucking number. “Tell me, have you elected a means of execution, or is it the dealer's choice?"

"I recall he mentioned something along the lines of wanting your head on a spike."

"Crude."

"I agree."

"Then," you raise your glass. "Am I to have my last drink here tonight?"

He shakes his head. "No, I'm here for the boy and nothing else."

You'd expect him to be forward with his line of questions; demand you just give Luffy up and be done with it, not side-stepping the subject like he's doing now. 

If he suspects something, he'll sniff it out like a bloodhound until he gets what he's searching for, regardless of how many cards or people fall around him. You’ve not exactly been subtle about your affiliations with his quarry, something you’ll berate yourself for come morning, but it all depends on how this plays out now.

"I won’t give you the answer you seek. You’ll have to do that on your own.”

You're not friends, but you're not necessarily foes either. 

For as long as you’ve known the swordsman, Mihawk's only ever had a beef with Shanks for reasons undisclosed even to you. Even after you parted ways with your red-haired crew mate, Mihawk never seemed to have anything personal against you despite the rather brutal nature of your previous encounter. 

If anything, there's a certain level of respect veiled between you, one former pirate to another semi-former one, and it’s something you hope he'll honor just this once.

To your relief, he decides to not push the matter, but the interest lingers in his eyes. 

It's not easy to notice, but you make it a habit to take note of limited details. "The boy must be something special to have earned your loyalty like this, Cross-Hairs." 

"I suppose you'll have to find out for yourself." 

"Perhaps so," he concedes.

You chug the rest of your drink in one go, put the empty bottle on the tabletop in the space between you, and push yourself off the counter. "For what it's worth, I wish you good fortune with your endeavor. However, I’ll warn you; if anything happens to the kid, I'll get involved.”

“Duly noted.” Once again, he dips his head to you. "And Cross-Hairs,"

"Hmmm?"

You glance at him from over your shoulder, but his gaze is fixated on something else this time. Something on the other side of the bar, to the borders of the waters. If he sees anything, you can't tell what it is, and he doesn’t share. 

Not explicitly.

"There is unrest brewing in the seas," he finally reveals, casually as if he's discussing the current state of the weather. "I'd suggest you keep your feet dry for now, at your convenience."

You don't know what he speaks of, but whatever it is, you'll follow. He is not a man who prides himself on his capacity to proclaim falsehood. If he tells you that the sun is green, you'll believe it, and you make it a habit not to believe in a lot of people.

That applies to this warning too.

"I'll see you around, Hawk-Eyes."

You need another drink.

———

You slip in and out of consciousness a couple of times throughout the night, never coming to the same places twice, with a belly full of rum, beer, and whatever else with enough alcoholic percentage to knock out a horse. 

At one point, you're in the restaurant munching on some bread rolls.

At another, you're puking your guts out in the bathroom stalls. 

At the third, you're chugging even more liquor straight out of the bottle while a bunch of people cheer you on.

The circle goes on and on and on until it spins out of control like a zoetrope. Faces flash in front of you, one after the other, never the same two times in a row. 

It's alright, you tell yourself, as long as you forget.

You forget about blue eyes, blue hair, and red noses. 

You forget about Gol D. Roger and the time you spent on his crew.

You forget it all, if only for a few hours.

Next time you come to, you're still miraculously standing on your feet. You’re currently in the kitchen on the Merry, and currently listening to Nami telling a ridiculous story about how Zoro challenged Dracule Mihawk to a duel.

What a funny story.

In fact, it’s so funny and so outlandish that you can't help but snort. Since when has Nami been the kind of person to tell jokes?

Maybe Usopp's tendencies have rubbed off on the standoffish young woman, or maybe she's smoked something along with her drinks? 

Fuck, you have to ask her where she got the stuff.

It takes a few moments of awkward silence until you realize that no one is joking, Nami least of all. The room is still, and as if all alcoholic content has left your blood, it dawns on you last of all.

Oh hell no.

You slowly turn to Zoro with a deadpan look in your eyes, and despite the urgency, you ask him as calmly as you can, "You challenged Dracule Mihawk to a duel?"

He bobs his head and continues polishing his swords. "Which he accepted,"

You blink, and blink, hoping that this is just a fragment your beer-and-bottle-drenched brain has conjured to fuck with you, but Zoro remains where he is and so is everyone and everything else.

Fuuuuuuuck…

You thought he was one of the smart ones, too. His sense of navigation doesn't work for shit and if anyone can get lost on their way to the lavatory, it's him. Still, you withheld some semblance of hope that he would exhibit the same kind of recklessness as his captain.

Turns out, it has all been for naught.

You rub your temples hard enough to sting. With a nasty headache developing, you decide to pop the question. "Cremation or burial at sea?"

"... What?"

"Pick one or the other, I'll see to it that arrangements can be made."

"I'm not going to die.”

"You are a fly to him." Nami grimaces. "Something to be swatted and forgotten,"

"Not if I win." Zoro is steadfast and determined, like every new pirate on their first voyage.

It’s a look you remember well. In a way, the young swordsman kind of reminds you of Mihawk himself, and if there's one thing you can link to both, it's that annoying stubbornness that never yields. Even when the odds are against them.

"You're not going to win," Nami tries.

Zoro remains infuriatingly unconvinced. "You don't know that."

"You won't." This situation, to your chagrin, sobers you up enough that you can't blame the liquor on your next actions or words. 

You take a step towards him, and with an iron fist, grab him by the front of his shirt and force him to face you. He's unamused. “I think I liked you better when you were drunk,” he murmurs.

"I want you to get this, really get this.” You snarl. “Once you go against Mihawk, and there's no coming back for most. He's not known as the World's Greatest Swordsman for no reason, and as good as you are, take it from me. He'll end you."

He inclines his head to the side with deep-rooted skepticism. "Sounds like you really know the guy,"

"It doesn't matter whether I know him or not." 

"Everywhere we go, we make enemies, and for some reason, they've already got a grudge against you, Captain Cross-Hairs." 

With one hand clenched against your offending wrist, he starts to list off his other hand. "Since you know just about every asshole we come across, you might as well tell me about Mihawk's preferred method of execution. Will he chop me in half, or is he excessive like the damn clown and goes all the way with splitting someone into pieces?"

You feel your nails begin to pierce through the fabric of his shirt, inches away from leaving open gaps. You're not their guardian or their mentor. You're not the one supposed to keep the crew at ease or lead them towards certain victories. 

That's the captain's role, and you're not it. Not on this ship, with this crew.

Your only purpose here is to keep them from killing themselves on their first voyage, but if they're so determined to do it themselves despite the warnings you provide, then it's not on you.

Pulling him a few inches closer to you, you look him straight in the eyes, and that's when you see it. The aforementioned stubbornness that follows each and every young pirate you've come across in your life. The notion that they're invulnerable; unkillable. 

Nothing can hope to end them.

You remember what it was like, that feeling, and it almost breaks you to see it in front of you like this. 

You know aggression won’t do it for him, so you try an approach you haven’t tried in years. Bargaining. 

“What will it take for you to pull back from this?”

“He’s coming for Luffy. I’m his first mate, it’s my duty to protect the captain.”

To protect the Captain…

That's how you know that there's no convincing the young swordsman to stand down, not this time. 

He's persistent, exceedingly so, and if there's one thing you've learned during this voyage with these people it's that hell hath no fury like a straw hat pirate determined.

This is not on you, yet it doesn't make it any easier to let go of him. But you do.

Taking a deep breath, you uncurl your fingers and let him step back. 

"Fine."

You need another drink.

Glancing over your shoulder, you meet Luffy’s concerned gaze. “This is your call, captain.”

You don’t need to be here for this. You’ve done your part, and now it’s his turn to do his.

You give Zoro a pat on his back, just one. It's not meant for comfort, it's not an act of sympathy either. 

It's just a pat, like the kind you give your friend when they're about to gamble away all their savings over a game of cards. It’s the “fuck around and find out, but do it yourself”-kind of gesture.

Heaving a sigh, you sidestep him and let your fingers fall off his shoulders. "It's been fun, Zoro." 

And the worst part about this all is that you mean it, truly. It has been fun to sail with them, share a few beers, and joke at the expense of others. Your time on this ship has been fun. 

Like old times.

You won't go as far as to call Zoro a friend, you never do, but it's close enough that you'll probably miss him in the long run.

Zoro looks at you, his countenance indecipherable. "Say that to me again when I win this fight,"

"I can't." Because you won't.

---

The water forces its way into his lungs at such speed that it feels like he's swallowed buckets by the time they finally come up for air. He harks and coughs and tries to get as much of it out, but he doesn’t feel any lighter. 

Get it? Lighter, because he’s just a head now and— alright, forget it.

For once, he's happy his head is disjointed from the rest of his body because if it wasn't, he'd probably sink to the bottom of the ocean from the fluid in his belly alone.

The taste of salt and sand stays like a sour afterthought on his tongue, and as much as he tries to spit it out, he can't be rid of all the grains. "Fuck! Give me a warning next time, will ya?! Kinda vulnerable to seawater and all that!"

Whatever fish-guy has him strapped to their back this time does not dignify his complaints with a verbal response. Instead, all he hears is a couple of snickers, like their humor is fuelled at his expense. 

Assholes, the lot of them. 

It takes some time for the tangy scent to abandon his nostrils, but once it does, it's immediately replaced by the fine scent of something divine. Something delicious. 

It smells of food. Actual fucking human food. Not whatever Arlong and his litter gorge on, which he personally believes to be carcasses of dead sea animals they happen to catch on the shores of their island. 

It's honest-to-god cooked, seasoned, edible food.

Buggy can feel his mouth water, and for once, he cannot blame it on seawater.

They're finally at Baratie.

The finest restaurant in all the East Blue, renowned for its excellent taste and unrivaled quality. Only the richest of the rich get to dine here, and while he's not exactly flowing with berries at the moment, he’s famished.

“Hey, Lips!" he yells out as loud as he can through the shitty bag. "How about you order me some hot dogs once we get a seat? A clown's gotta eat!"

The only sort of response he gets is an elbow to the bag, which incidentally clashes right into his nose. "FUCK!"

"Shut up!"

There's scuttling to be heard, doors opening, and a shitton of gasps echo from all around him. They have an audience, he deduces, and not a particularly receptive one at that. 

Arlong makes a spectacle, something about "serve" and yish and yash about dinner and last meals as they get a seat.

Fuck, what he would give for a meal.

For the first time in what feels like forever, he feels solid ground settle under his neck. Though it's a pleasant reprieve from being thrown back and forth like a yarn ball caught in a cat’s game, he won’t consider it much of an upgrade. He's fucking hungry, damnit!

"Who are you, old man?" Arlong speaks, and Buggy hears uneven steps approach them.

An unfamiliar voice answers. "My name's Zeff, and I own this place."

Right, the Chief. Maybe he can ask him for some crumbs since his captors aren’t exactly on the generous side.

"Well, I'm Arlong, and I own the East Blue."

"No one owns the sea. Not even a fish man."

Ooooh, burn! Suck on that, shitface!

"Listen up!” Arlong exclaims when the chief’s negotiation tactics fail to appease him. “I'm looking for a pirate in a straw hat! Goes by the name of Luffy!"

The saw-nosed motherfucker truly has to be even more extravagant than himself, Buggy admits to himself with no short amount of begrudging compliance. Fishface even goes as far as to threaten the poor diners with having them for dinner instead, by the sounds of it. 

Buggy can appreciate the message it conveys; he’s used it himself, but he refuses to find any common ground with his captor, so he buries the sentiment ten feet down into wherever the hell his body is.

He listens as the diners lose their appetite, all the while Arlong begins to gorge on whatever he has on his plate. For a while, all he can make out is the sound of meat being torn off something and the occasional cry from one of the diners in the distance.

Even from miles and miles away, Buggy can feel his stomach twist painfully due to the lack of food in it. Oh, it’s hell on earth to smell everything you want yet being unable to even grasp it. And here his captors are, toying with him, torturing him with it.

Seriously, fuck them.

He’s about to demand to get something to chew on when Arlong’s other henchman — Kuroobi or some shit like that — beats him to it. "Hey, boss, I'm feeling for a bottle right about now."

Arlong laughs. "Don’t have to tell me. Take what you please. I don’t think that one will mind sharing one of hers.”

“And get one for me too while you’re at it,” Lips supplies.

The henchman cackles and gets up to his feet to retrieve what he’s looking for, but not before lightly kicking the bag that is Buggy’s current prison cell in the side. 

“HEY!”

“Sorry.” He apologizes unapologetically.

Buggy grinds his teeth together and tries to think of something — anything — to keep his mind off his ever-rising hunger. When he gets his body back, he'll take some bottles and shove them right up these fuckers a—

CRASH!

Buggy hears the sound of something breaking from the opposite side of where the fish man just headed. Countless gasps ring through the restaurant’s interior, bouncing on the walls, and he hears the henchman’s painful wails from a distance away.

He’d laugh - he does laugh, because it seems like someone didn’t want to share their precious drinks and decided that full-on attacking one of the fish people was the appropriate kind of response.

It’s impressive, he thinks. Very much so. Oh, he’d pay to see that again, and he’ll have to give that person a fucking kiss, just for making his day a little bit better.

It’s a shame he can’t see the—

"Fucking get lost."

Buggy feels his head freeze in the bag.

He recognizes that voice. The morning sun shone atop the ship deck. Warm. Cold. All of them at once. 

He's finally found you.

---

Taglist: @kurinhimenezu, @carpinchootaku, @ay0nha, @teh-vampire-bunny, @lokiscure, @internationalsuper-spy, @detectivesparrow , @yuriwk , @notyuralycat , @angeli-fucking-cat, @machinema7k , @shuujin, @avatar-lover, @gingernut1314, @autumn-slaves. @marvelouskatie, @floristoflillys, @dizzyenby, @redpool, @deliri-yum22, @aemondsb1tch, @ackroxia, @gayandfairycore (If you want to be tagged for this story, just send me a message or leave a comment :))

[medicus-mortem]

@thenorthblues liked [+] for a starter with Shachi.

   Trafalgar Law snarls as he skids to a stop, dirt dusting his boots. He’s hearing voices coming from ahead of them, angry voices to accompany the angry ones coming from behind them. Guess these dumbasses have some grasp of strategy. They’ve tried to cut him and Shachi off. Irritating but not an impossible situation to escape from.

   Thinking quick, Law summons a small Room around him and his friend. He doesn’t make it big enough to be seen by either group of angry pirates, but it is big enough to achieve his goal. With a gesture the dirt beneath their boots is thrown into the air about them, swirling as Law creates a small dust cloud to obscure them and confuse their tracks. A hand reaches out, snatching his friend by the collar and dragging him along with him. They duck into a building as the Room vanishes, the place long abandoned and empty.

   “Why the fuck did you punch him?” the young captain hisses, voice low.

   This is not what he wanted to happen when they walked into that run down bar. He had questions and the pirate crew milling about that shit hole had the answers. It was just going to be a little drinking and conversation. Law’s sixteen and looks like he can’t take a single drink, what with his gangly, underdeveloped body, but he was going to use that to his advantage but apparently Shachi couldn’t control himself. Funny, because Law thought he was the one that was going to lose his shit when the asshole captain looked at him like that.

   “Now we’re separated from Pen and Bepo,” he continues, dragging Shachi down behind a fallen bookcase. “Fuckin’ hell Shach!”

[humanitys-strongest-bamf]

OK I WAS TOO UPSET TO WRITE THIS BUT NOW I AM ONLY MILDLY UPSET SO I WROTE IT

Your Worth | Canonverse Oneshot

✧ word count ➼ 1.3k ✧ notes ➼ canon!verse, hurt/comfort, negative self-talk, levi being comforting in his levi way

The door to your office flew open. It was already well into the evening. Nearly everyone should have returned to the barracks. You were hoping to have some alone time to process and catch up with paperwork. The previous few hours haven't been easy and you were coping by drowning yourself in tedious work.

Your body tensed as you heard Levi's distinct footsteps step into your office.

"What the hell is going on?" he asked sternly.

You put your pen down as you slowly looked up at your visibly agitated boyfriend. You had an idea as to what got him so upset, although you hoped it wasn't the case.

"What are you talking about?" you asked quietly.

He was holding a few sheets of paper in his hand. He placed one on your desk in front of you. Your heart sank upon reading it.

It was your request to the Commander to be removed from Levi's squad. You had submitted it early this morning, putting in substantial effort to get it to the Commander's office without Levi catching on.

You took the page from him roughly, frowning.

"Tch," you muttered in irritation. "He showed you?"

"It's my fucking squad, of course he showed me," Levi scolded.

You didn't respond. You knew he had a point. It was Levi's squad. He was the Captain. Of course he was going to find out sooner or later.

"Why are you requesting to be removed?" he asked with a gentler tone. "Did something happen?"

It wasn't like you to just suddenly do something like this. He had noticed that you had been acting differently or have been more reserved for the past few days. He had been expecting something to eventually happen, but nothing as extreme as this.

"_____," Levi nudged you once you didn't respond.

After a while, your lips finally parted to speak.

"I'm..." you mumbled quietly, "I'm holding you back."

"Ah?" Levi muttered, genuinely not expecting those words to come out of your mouth.

"You heard me. I'm holding you back," you reemphasized. "Everyone you had chosen for your squad is skilled with the gear or has a high amount of Titan kills and I'm just...me."

He took the paper back from you and set it to the side, sitting on your desk as he looked down at you as you sat in your office chair.

"...the fuck do you mean 'just' you?" he asked, although he already somewhat knew the answer. He knew that you were frequently plagued with feelings and thoughts of inadequacy.

You knew that he knew.

"What do you want me to say?" you exclaimed, frustrated beyond belief. "No matter what I do, there's someone that's better at it. There's someone with more kills, faster times, more respect, or whatever! No matter how much I try, no matter how much effort I put in, I will never be the person that someone goes to for help. There isn't the One Thing™ that I'm good at where someone would be like 'hey, _____ should be the one you ask for help from'. No, I'm always in the fucking background and being dead weight, so that is why I requested to be discharged from your squad. The last thing you need is to have me drag you down."

Levi was silent the entire time you rambled, never taking his eyes off you as he listened.

"You done?" he finally said once you stopped speaking.

You scowled at him again.

"Get out."

Levi promptly got up, but instead of walking out the door, he walked around your desk to where you were seated at.

"Get out!" you repeated, raising your voice.

"Not until you tell me that everything you just said was bullshit," he said sternly.

You clenched your jaw, frustrated. You wanted to tell him what he wanted to hear, but you couldn't lie to him. You did legitimately believe in everything you just said, in every flaw that you had just listed.

You groaned in frustration as you buried your face into your hands while gripping at your hair.

These feelings of inadequacy were not new. Feelings of never being good enough and your fear of failure was something that was just drilled into you as a child. You were always being compared to others and you eventually developed a worldview that made you feel like you had to "earn" your right to exist by being good at things. Not only that, but you had to "specialize" in it, which made it so that anytime someone else came along that was just as good at if not better than you at something, you felt like your entire life—including your right to live it—spiraled out of control.

Levi gently placed his hand on your shoulder.

"Hey," he said quietly.

He shook you a little bit once you didn't answer or move.

"_____, look at me."

You slowly leaned back from your desk to look at him.

Before your eyes could even focus properly on him, he gently flicked at your forehead.

"Quit pitying yourself," he said as he scowled.

You rubbed at your forehead, which was now slightly red as you pouted at him.

The pout was a good sign for him. It meant you were listening to what he was trying to say, despite how strong those intrusive thoughts were being.

He knelt down, so that he was eye-level with you, gazing at you with gentler eyes.

"What started this?" he asked quietly.

You looked away, but he immediately grabbed your chin and turned you towards him so that he was making eye contact with you.

You tried to resist against his grip, feeling incredibly embarrassed that he was still able to read you like an open book. You had prided yourself as being able to mask well to not be a burden to those around you, but that was never the case around Levi. You hated and loved it at the same time.

You sighed in defeat.

"I just heard some of the prospective recruits talking and mentioning who in the Scouts they looked up to, and I guess it was foolish of me to even think that my name would be mentioned, but a dumb part of me hoped that I at least contributed something, something to be remembered for if I died," you began rambling, taking a deep breath to keep your voice from breaking as your frustration and self-hate threatened to boil over. "But there isn't, is there? As far as everyone else is concerned, I'm either your partner or just another soldier. I'm not anyone special-"

"Cut that shit out," Levi scolded, not giving you a chance to finish your rambling this time.

You stopped talking, but looked at him with hurt in your eyes.

"I know how important external validation is to you, but the cadets are talking out of their ass and you know it," he said as he looked intensely in your eyes. "You know they don't know shit about what any of us actually do—and it certainly doesn't warrant you requesting to be discharged from the squad."

He sighed and let go of your chin, instead moving to gently place his palm on the side of your face, allowing you to take comfort in his touch. It at least helped ground you when you felt like your emotions were taking over your entire world.

"You're worth more than you know," he said gently before pulling you in and gently placing his lips against yours, lingering for a few seconds until he felt you relax into him.

He placed his other hand on your thigh and gently squeezed as he slowly began to deepen the kiss before finally pulling away and resting his forehead on yours.

"And if I have to remind you of that every single day of your life, I will."

ok this was cathartic, ty to anyone who took the time to read :3 #: @chaotic-on-main @romantichomicide95 @lovolee3 @svftackerman @levisbrat25 @leviismybby @idkks4m @moonmalice @elnyrae @sleepyfairyxo @averysmolbear @cathybarn @tclbts @belovedackerman @bejewelledd @fuyulvr @sad-darksoul @levis-squishy-cheeks @roseofdarknessblog @anviacker @aam1na @luvjiro @noctemys @sixpennydame @dumbfound-princess @raenacreates @deepzombieyouth join my taglist!

[wood-white-writer]

"Didn't mean to make your heart Blue" || [8/...]

— OPLA! Buggy x F!Reader

"My love is mine, all mine. I love, my, my, mine. Nothing in the world belongs to me but my love,"

— Mitski, "My Love Mine All Mine"

Pairing: Buggy the Clown (Live Action) x F!Reader

Parts: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

Summary: You were an apprentice of Gol D. Roger’s crew in your youth, long before his eventual demise. Along with the Red-Haired Shanks and Buggy, you were a formidable trio; the embodiment of a new generation of pirates yet to come. But times changed, and so did you and your friends.  Buggy, desperate for your attention, can't help but think about what led to this situation.

Warnings: fem!reader, LA!Verse, slight canon divergence, morally grey reader, depiction of blood and wounds, DIY suturing, slight alcoholic indulgence, Buggy realizing he's fucked up big time

Buggy recalls the first time he caught your smile.

It had been several months since the Captain introduced you to the crew. Despite the sorry state you were in at the time of your debut, your eyes were so bright even back then, as though illuminated by something internal.

He’s heard about fish glowing in the dark even when in the deep depths of the ocean, thousands of miles out of the light, and they require nothing but themselves to keep the light on.

He wondered if you’re like that. You didn’t look like a fish, nor did you remind him of any fish people he had encountered; too pretty and earthbound but glowing all the same.

Glowing, but dull. A knife that's not been polished for long, but still being used as intended.

Everything about you, how you walked and moved, all the way down to how you blinked, felt placid and stale from his perspective. He himself was an expressive man, never denying himself the capacity to show how he felt, so to witness it from you felt like a foreign sight. 

You didn’t smile, nor show much of anything really. No sadness, anger, or joy. Just a blank canvas without any colors.

He compared you to a doll; a mannequin having come to life from behind a display case, breathing and blinking and moving, yet maintaining its lifeless nature all the same. You were strong, exceedingly so, and you followed orders without question or complaint. Like a machine working on auto.

He wondered whether you had been a slave or some kind of child soldier before Rogers found you. You must have been because no one becomes this … this … cold of their own volition.

He found that your apparent incapacity to live annoyed him, and so he set out to change it. He didn’t know why, but he just had to.

Quite frankly, he didn’t know what he said or did. Maybe he told some silly joke, the kind his crew mates usually smacked him in the back of the head for due to its cheesiness, but you smiled. 

The image of that remains stuck in his head like a stain that won’t wash off. He remembers everything about that moment. The way you wore your hair, with a singular braid on the right side of your face. Asymmetrical and messy, yet you made it look just right.

He remembers the way the gray sky parted just in time for a ray of sunlight to shine across the deck, further illuminating your face. It was like the heavens above decided to put a spotlight on you.

He recalls the way your eyes glistened in the sun.

He remembers it all.

Maybe that’s when it first began? This … thing that’s been gnawing at him for so long? This feeling that won’t leave him in peace, even in his sleep. It tugs at his chest, pinches his stomach, itches his skin, and warms his face. 

This feeling that’s been clawing at him in the twenty years you were parted.

The source of that feeling that’s currently looking at him from across the room.

His eyes light up like fireworks upon seeing you enter the kitchen area. “Hey! Look who it ...—!" The moment he sees the state you're in, whatever words were about to exit subsequently fall dead on his tongue. "— ... is."

You look like shit, mildly put. He's never seen you look as terrible before save for the time you first joined Rogers’ crew, and it feels like he’s back there again.

Back to sitting on the sidelines as the Captain procured you from under his oversized coat; a kid who looked smaller than she really was, now with a fresh bruise in development across your cheek, sunken eyes, and a pale complexion to your skin that wasn't there before. 

You're leaning onto Rubber Boy like he's your only lifeline from falling headfirst into the floor, and upon squinting his eyes, Buggy notices the edge of a bandage peeking out from under your shirt, with a drop of blood staining the material.

In all the time Buggy's known you, he's only seen you bleed maybe once or twice. It was a rare occurrence; no blade could pierce your skin, nor daggers or swords. Your hide was impenetrable, like molten armor in the flesh. Arlong really did a number on you. He couldn't see much during the time he was stuck in that God-awful bag, but by the sounds of it, it was not a fight you were winning. He always held onto the notion that you were unbeatable; unbroken. Nothing could hope to harm you. 

However, this diluted image of you he’s presented with confirms the opposite. You’re not invincible. You’re human. Faster, stronger, indefinitely more dangerous than the rest if your track record is anything to go by, but still bitterly human to the core.

When he led Arlong to Baratie, he thought you'd be able to finish the fucker off without a struggle. He'd watch the spectacle from the front rows, popcorn in his metaphorical hands while cheering you on from the sidelines. 

Now, seeing you like this, like you've just walked through hell and back, he can't help but acknowledge the fact that he did this to you. He led Arlong to you. 

He swallows the lump in his throat and stores the guilt away for another day.

Your eyes finally meet, for the first time since Orange Town, and he can see the confusion in your eyes. The hesitation that gradually morphs into the anger that he's become acquainted with as of late. You promptly yank yourself free from Luffy, stomp over to the table with uneven and unsteady steps that threaten to topple you over, and finally slam both of your hands on each side of Buggy's head.

The table cracks lightly under your grip, sending several splinters flying in every direction. Buggy gulps nervously.

"H-Heya, doll," he tries, but the darkness over your eyes leaves no room for sugarcoated words. They never did.

"Luffy," you say calmly while never taking your eyes away from the clown's, unbridled rage simmering in their depths despite your compromised state. "Why is he here?"

"About that ..." Luffy sheepishly scratches the back of his head. "He's the only one who knows the way to Arlong Park."

"To Arlong P— … " Your nails leave crescent-shaped holes in the soft tablecloth, and you glance at Luffy from over your shoulder, looking far more tired after seeing Buggy for ten seconds than you did beforehand. "And you're sure there'sno other way of getting there?"

"Nope!" Buggy interjects with a prominent pop!, hoping to catch your attention again. "He was real secretive about where his little fish-mancave's located. Lucky for you, I memorized the way back to my body!"

He's disappointed that you won't turn to even acknowledge his contributions to the conversation. You won't look at him again, and he discovers that he can't bear it. 

Please look at me!

But you don't. 

The silence is suffocating until you push yourself from your table, and he notices the way you cradle the side of your stomach while doing so. A silent hiss leaves your lips that he would've been unable to catch onto had he not been so focused on your reactions.

You look at Luffy, your back turned to Buggy, and limp over to the pathetic captain. Buggy predicts you’re about to shout at him, tell him the stupidity of this decision, and maybe even smack him across the face for emphasis. He hopes you will; the kid needs to have his ass kicked a few times to compensate for the humiliation the clown suffered at his hands.

To his bitter disappointment, you don’t commit yourself to any of the aforementioned. Really, not even a smack? Instead, all you do is heave an exhausted sigh before you prepare to exit the kitchens. "It's your decision," you say, and that's all you say before Buggy has to suffer your absence again.

———

It's the bounty hunter's turn to keep watch over him tonight, and Buggy, for one, would rather prefer to get tossed into the ocean than suffer like this.

He finds that this asshole is the worst one among the bunch to be keeping an eye on him. While the waiter and the long-nosed idiot would rather ignore him and leave him be, Moss-hairs over there seems like he has it out for him the most. Maybe it has to do with the fact that he almost killed him, but hey, all is fair in piracy?

"YAH!" Buggy shrieks when the asshole yanks him by the scruff of his hair with an iron grip, pulling out several blue hair strands while doing so. "CAREFUL WITH THE HAIR, SHITHEAD!"

"Shut up."

He can only hang when Zoro takes him inside to the kitchens, where the pretty-boy with the blonde hair is already cooking something up. Even before they entered the threshold to the kitchen, Buggy could hear your voice. You were talking to the blonde, and judging by the lightness in your tone, you were at ease enough not to be spiteful.

Buggy feels himself become annoyed, and not even the smell of food can tame it regardless of how hungry he is.

"Also, you should stitch up that wound soon," says the blonde, his voice growing more audible the closer they get to the kitchen. "Wouldn't want it to get infected."

"I'll handle it," you say in turn. "Wouldn't be the first time I've had to do something like this."

"You know, if you want to, I can lend you my hands. I'm told I have quite dexterous fingers, molded for delicate work."

"I'll pass, thank you."

"As you wish, but my offer is still on the table should you have a change of heart."

Buggy doesn't even know the guy, and he already wants to drown him. Whatever hunger occupied his stomach miles away with the rest of his body gets promptly replaced with something far sharper. Far uglier. It has teeth long enough to bite through flesh, claws that can tear open flesh, and it’s starving.

They finally enter the kitchen area, and whatever conversation previously took place shifts into silence upon their entrance.Buggy grins as he meets your eyes. "What's tonight’s specials?" he asks, hoping you'll actually respond with something this time, regardless of how sardonic it is.

He wouldn’t mind it if it’s something along the lines of “Fuck you” or “Eat shit” or “I hope you die, asshole.” It only has to be something, but it seems that even that is too high of a criterion for you to bother with.

You merely get up to your feet, unsteadiness painting your steps, and try to excuse yourself from the room without as much as a look his way.

For the duration of his uncomfortable stay with these shitty nobodies, Buggy's main priority aside from navigating this useless crew and getting his body back is your attention. 

However, whenever someone — whether it be that shitty cook or the bounty hunter or the slingshot — brings him someplace where you coincidentally happen to be, you excuse yourself from their company and go someplace else. 

He finds it more torturous than the bounty hunter's hold on him. It's been like this for the past two days. You won’t talk to him, won’t look at him, you won’t even acknowledge him even when he’s being the loudest head in the room.

Sure, he can piss off the rest of the bunch without even trying, but no matter how much he tries to catch your ire, you don’t take the bite. 

The string that’s been dangling him above the water is just about ready to snap at this point. 

"Hold up," Zoro says and proceeds to hold up Buggy's head for you, ignoring the string of curses that flow from his lips. "I want to eat my dinner in peace, so you take him."

Your face, while blank, cannot disguise the irritation laced in your words. "Give him to Ussop."

"He's on watch duty tonight,"

"Sanji?"

"My fine lady, as much as I'd desire to ease your woes, I'm currently preoccupied with preparing the meals." The blonde raises his pan for emphasis. "I would have lent you my aid, do not doubt that."

You’re not convinced. "… Right." Your eyes finally settle down to Buggy, and with great reluctance on your part, you slowly raise your hands up to take him. 

Zoro smirks and deposits the clown into your hands. The absence of pressure at the top of his head is a welcomed reprieve. Your hold — while firmer around his cheeks than he'd prefer — is not uncomfortable per se. At least, not in comparison to your other crew mates.

He considers this a win. It's been far too long since he's been granted your touch, the last time being when you bid him a bitter goodbye back in Orange Town. 

"Also," you say to Zoro. "I need a bottle of rum and a rag."

The swordsman tilts his head skeptically to the side. "Haven't you had enough to drink?"

"I need it to sterilize the sewing equipment."

Realization dawns on his face and Zoro relents. He hands you a bottle of rum from the kitchen cabinet, and after thanking him, you make your way to your cabins with the bottle in one hand whereas Buggy rests in the crook of your other elbow.

The walk is excruciatingly quiet, only the sound of your feet making any noise. It's deafening, and he can't stand it. He needs noise, preferably from you, but he doesn’t mind being the instigator.

"... So," he begins. "You know how to stitch yourself?"

You don't answer, and when he peeks up at you, your eyes are solely aimed at the path ahead. 

"You gotta have the right technique," he continues, a little more energized. "Or it'll become an ugly scar. I can help you with it, I'm a pretty good seamster if I do say so myself."

Again, you don't dignify him with a response. He bites his cheek. Fuck, this is getting tiresome.

He looks up at you again, and he notices just how different you've become from when you were younger. Your eyes were bright, but your smile was even brighter. You'd happily chat with him for hours and hours on end without ever growing bored of the conversation. You'd joke, you'd playfully hit him (though your definition of 'playful' usually had him stumbling in his steps), and you'd smile.

Now, your eyes are dark, and sunken, and there are several wrinkles in development; not from age alone, but simple exhaustion. The years have truly changed you, and the itch nagging him at the back of his head reminds him that it's partially his fault.

He decides to shut up until you reach your cabin.

Your place, he discovers, is vaguely minimalistic at best. You have the basics: a hammock in the far corner, a chair with a small table next to it, a barrel serving as both a nightstand as well as what he assumes to be a storage space of sorts, and a lantern on the top that's already been lit.

You close the door behind you and head for the table. He expects you to all but pummel him down on it, like your crew mates, maybe even drop him altogether for the heck of it. He braces himself for impact and shuts his eyes when you raise your hands.

To his surprise, you simply put him down on top of it without any unnecessary pressure or force. He feels the wooden surface under his neck without any discomfort, and he can't help but notice that you've deliberately positioned his face towards the window. 

He tries to plop around, like a fish out of water, but your hands - a little tighter around him this time - retract his movement. "Hey, what gives?!” 

He doesn’t know why he’s even bothering to ask, already knowing that you're probably not going to answer.

To his surprise, you actually do this time.

"Don't look." Despite the sharp enunciation of your voice, the one he's been aching to hear for the past two days, it sounds hushed. 

Not wanting to piss you off in case you decide to completely ignore him again, now that he's regained a smidgen of your notice, Buggy complies and elects to stare out of the window in spite of the desperate need to remain focused on you.

However, Buggy's never been one to completely follow the rules, so he decides to bend them. The window provides him a half-measured view of you in its reflection, with the dark waves serving as an addition to your image. A beautiful addition at that.

How sad is it that this is the only way he can look at you now?

He listens and watches as you put the liquor bottle on the table inches away from him, and then you proceed to retrieve a box of something hidden under the wood. It's not until you put it down next to the bottle and open it that he discovers that it's some kind of sewing kit. 

You take a small mirror and put it on the edge of the window frame at a very specific angle.

Eyes sharp and focused on the task at hand, you withdraw a needle of adequate size from the box, carefully pull a thread through the pinhole, and douse them both with booze. Shortly after taking a generous gulp of the liquor yourself, you put them both to the side to draw up the side of your shirt.

Buggy pales slightly when he sees the bloodied bandages hidden under the fabric. If the semi-transparent reflection of it is enough to make him nauseous, he can't imagine what the real deal is like. 

The three marks that stretch across your ribs look ugly. Scratch that, they look grotesque. Old blood rests dried and cracked along the edges, and the fresh flesh between your severed skin looks even worse. Like an animal maimed you and left you to rot on the ground. He’s seen his fair share of shitty shit in his life as a captain, but this is something he considers almost too much for him. It doesn’t make sense, he’s seen someone amputate on themselves due to a canon blast, but he only considered it a nuisance at best.

Maybe it’s because it’s you this time?

“God,” he whispers more to himself than anyone else. When snap your eyes to him, having heard him speak, he is quick to deflect. “I- Erhm, I never noticed how shitty the weather is tonight.”

He can’t tell if you buy it or not, but if you do, you don’t voice it and continue with your makeshift patchwork. With the rag you procured, you pour some of the alcohol over and press it tightly against your open wound with no delay. Buggy winces at the same time you do. He's had to disinfect wounds similarly before, and it hurts like hell. Fucking hell. He doubts you disagree with the notion. 

You grit your teeth tightly, face contorting and your lips wobbling as a quiet "Fuck" leaves you. One second becomes two, two become four, four become eight until finally, you withdraw the now stained rag. He notices your hand shaking, your breath hitching, and the way you're all but forcing yourself to stay calm. 

Since when did you limit yourself like this? Deny yourself the capacity to feel? Fucking scream, he wants to yell at you. Feel something. Say something! Show him that you still feel anything. Don't pretend like you don’t.

If that pot ain't calling the kettle black, he doesn’t know what is.

He looks at your reflection, watches as you pick up the needle and inching it towards your severed ski— 

“DON’T!”

You abruptly stop and snap your eyes over to him, and he realizes he’s efficiently blown his cover. While still selectively mute, all the anger and irritation you need to convey is done so through your glare alone. Scorching. Sizzling.

He licks his lips. “If you do it like that, it’ll scar real fucking bad and won’t hold the skin together.”

At first, you only stare, and he thinks you’re going to ignore him again. However, like some miracle, you answer. “I know how to patch myself.”

“Sure as shit don’t look like it,” he retorts snidely. “With an angle like that, you’re lucky if—”

“I didn’t ask for your input.”

“Fucking looks like you need it.”

“I don’t need anything from you.”

You all but throw the needle into the nearby wall, which just happens to be the same one he‘s positioned next to. The needle lodges itself right into the wood, sticking out with the thread still dangling from the eye.

Buggy stops breathing, and a drop of sweat trickles down his forehead. He expects you to throw the bottle at him next, just for good measure.

But you don’t. You don’t do anything.

He spends a minute deliberating whether it’s appropriate to continue the flow of conversation. “Look,—” He turns his head around to face you directly. “I’ve been around the block; I know what is best suited for your kind of scratch.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“Between the two of us, who do you reckon has the most experience with having their asses kicked? The walking-talking tank who can launch people twice her size in the opposite direction, or the clown?”

“Thought you couldn’t be cut.”

“Correction; I can’t be sliced. There’s a difference,”

The look you give him is a culmination of everything ranging from indifference, irritation, boredom, and subtle agreement towards the statement. In lieu of an answer, Buggy prevails, "If you move the needle in a wavelength through the skin, it keeps it together better and is easier to remove. I know your name would make crossed stitches better fitted, but it sucks by comparison. Trust me."

You don't. Buggy knows that already, but if only for a second, your eyes shift to something other than the four aforementioned. Maybe it's contemplation, perhaps a softer edge around your crow's feet, but it's indecipherable from where he's perched. If he got closer, he might have a better chance at figuring it out.

To his surprise, you actually follow his word on it ... after retrieving the needle that's been embedded into the wooden wall with at least two-thirds of its length.

He corrects you here and there, and provides you pointers while weighing his words. He's just now got your attention, he's not about to risk losing it. "- Not too deep, remember? God, what are you trying to do, give yourself another scarring? Keep it tight!"

... Well, he weighed his words, but maaaan, is he bad at measurements.

After a few more glares from your side and some non-verbal threats of bodily harm, you finally manage to stitch the skin together. Your hands, while precise and experienced in the art that is self-suturing, didn't get to do it perfectly. He knows it hurts like a bitch, he winces every time he sees the needle protrude through your flesh, and while you show no facial reaction, he knows it hurts you as well.

If he'd had his own hands at disposal, he would've made it perfect. So perfect that you'd not even have a scar at all. That, and he’d finally be able to touch you.

But this is as appropriate a substitute as anything, and all in all, it's not too bad. It's you, of course, so nothing you do can be too bad. He keeps that thought to himself as he watches you wrap up your midsection and put away the equipment.

"So, how did I do as an instructor? Pretty damn flashy, am I right?" He says with a low chuckle, only for it to disappear once he's discovered that you're not talking or looking at him anymore. "What? Back to the silent treatment?"

Evidently, yes.

He chews on the inside of his cheek and comes up with another approach to get your eyes on him again. It’s a risky one; might get him your attention, or it might land him into the opposite wall, but it’s a risk he’s willing to take. "I heard what you said, you know? To Rubber-Boy."

He observes no palpable reaction, so he tries again. "Shanks seriously never told you what happened that day it all went down?"

There it is. The fish on the line. Bull’s eye. He sees you stiffen just slightly, and he gets his wish. A shiver runs down his spine when your eyes fall on him again; he can feel it, even from miles and miles away. 

No distance can hope to expel the feelings your gaze bestows him with.

You speak one word. Just one. So low, yet so clear all the same.

"No."

... Buggy the Clown wants to vomit. 

He's not sure if his current disproportionated state can manage it, not to mention it's been days since he last had a scrap of food, but it does not ease the nausea that threatens to overwhelm him. 

Fuck.

When he first heard you tell Luffy this, he thought you were ... lying, somehow. It was stupid; you're not the kind to lie, always telling things as they are without skipping a beat. But he could not see your face, could not see the face you were making, and so he took it with a grain of salt. Or a bucket-load of it.

There was no way you didn’t know, no way Shanks didn’t tell you… Right? Buggy used to come up with excuses for his own righteousness, telling himself that this thing that happened was never his fault.

Now, he knows for certain. He knows you're telling the truth, he sees it, and he feels a bile rise in his throat.

One conclusion is made in the messy pile that is his brain.

He fucked up. 

He fucked up BIG TIME.

It's a fuck-up that'll go down in history as the biggest fucking fuck-up ever to cross the seven seas in all fucking time. He fucked up so bad, in fact, that it cost him more than he'll ever be able to pay for.

The sound his throat makes is pathetic.

"Oh."

BANG!

A good-sized piece of the wooden table snaps under the pressure of your fist and descends to the floor with a plat. Buggy imagines if that was him instead, getting crushed to the floor like a maggot crawling in the dirty as an unsuspecting hiker walks across..

With the shove of your chair, you get to your feet. "I'm getting Zoro."

"NONONONO! WAIT! PLEASE, ANYONE BUT HIM!"

You don't care. You're already halfway across the room when he, in his desperation, shouts two words he's never said before. 

"WAIT! I'M SORRY!"

… You stop.

He takes the moment right out of fate's hands.

"I didn't know, alright! I didn't know that you didn't know, and I thought you knew." He hopps his head a little closer to the edge of the table, right where the cracked piece currently on the floor once was. "I thought you knew, and then went with that fucking red-haired asshole! How was I supposed to know that you didn't know?!"

Wrong words. Very wrong words. He finds out soon enough just how wrong they were.

You're inches away before he can even blink, hands clenched on the table counter with one at each side of his head. Your noses almost touching, and he can feel the fire in your throat threaten to scorch him alive like a pig above the pyre.

"You could've asked." You say, softly at first, but bit by bit, your voice opens up to the deep-rooted anger that's laid dormant for years. "You could've asked me." 

Craaaaack, and another splinter pops off the table and lands in his hair. 

"You could've talked to me."

The entire table shakes now, and Buggy struggles not to slip from it. He thinks you're about to tear the whole damn thing to shreds with the way you're clenched around it. It's on-brand by now for you, comes with the name and everything.

"Cross-Hairs. Captain of the Cross-Haired Pirates, the Beast of the East, and Breaker of Tables and Faces and Bones and Jaws and Clown Noses."

He expects the additional titles to apply to him any moment now. He'll have to jump around the ship in search of his misplaced jaw next time, and probably the nose too. The crew of nobodies will have something to laugh about in years to come, and he'll never live the shame down.

But like with Orange Town, instead of the hand that will bring about his demise, all he feels is a breeze across his cheek. So light, and so brief, yet there lingers a warmth he wants nothing more than to grasp it. A thirsty man searching for his oasis.

You remove your hands from the table. "I would've traveled across the seas with you if only you'd asked it of me."

... What?

He feels his head freeze for the umpteenth time as your words circle in his head, garnering a storm of long-forgotten memories and feelings and hurt and betrayal.

You would? 

You really would? 

You would have gone with him all those years ago, if only he'd asked it of you?

He looks at your hands; the cracked knuckles and bruised skin, adjusted fights and blood and the impact of bones. The same ones currently threaten his safety as a dislocated head. He looks right into your eyes despite the risks it warrants.

You refuse to look at him, more now than ever, like there’s a rope wrapped around your neck that’s forcing you to face down. Like you're afraid that he might see something you'd prefer to keep in the dark. And yet he sees something wet and salty gathering in the corners of your eyes, and he sees the ways your body scrunches like a child wanting nothing more than to curl up to the floor and cry.

When was the last time he saw you even come close to crying? You never cried, for as long as he’d known you. If there ever was a time, it was the day he left you behind on that dock so long ago, and he had already turned his back before he had a chance to see the waterworks leak.

He finds it strange how some things seem to change whereas others don't. When Rogers first brought you onto the crew, disheveled and thin as you were, you never made a sound or showed any emotions. Being a man who wore his feelings and thoughts on display, he found it fucking weird. You were weird. You are weird, now more than ever.

Now, seeing you like this, knowing he's the one who brought it out, he doesn't know whether he's the detonator or the executioner. Maybe a bit of both?

His general nature is to deny accountability and put the blame on something or someone else to save face. It's always been like that; a habit by now. Call it cowardice, but he calls it a way of life. A bank getting robbed after the employees got knocked out by Muggy Balls? Not him. The white lion having a stomachache after eating old slabs left for too long in the cooler until it developed an ecosystem of its own? Not his fault.

But you crying?

You being hurt.

You hurting.

His fault. All his.

You, the strongest person he knows of; the same person who laughed at his jokes, worried about him, kicked ass seven days 'til Sunday, and shone so brightly in the moonlight by the docks, crying ... 

His fault.

You're the strongest person he knows. Hell, you're probably one of the strongest people in all of East-Blue, yet still, he's the one who managed to make you cry. A beast rendered to a tearful child, still so small even after all this time, all because of him.

What does that make him? The strongest person in the East Blue? Or the worst? He's never minded being the worst at what he does, but he realizes in that moment, perched on the tabletop, that he can stand anyone's tears but yours.

Never yours.

You’re fighting those tears the same way you fight everything else; putting every ounce of strength your body has to offer, clawing at it, gripping it, doing everything in your power to keep the tears from spilling and potentially revealing something more.

Still, it doesn’t matter how strong you are. You could’ve lifted the world and held it in the palm of your hands, and the tears still would’ve proved the biggest challenge you'd face yet.

If he had his hands, he’d cradle your chin, hold you close, and promise to never let go ever again. You’d fight him all the same, kick his ass, claw at him, break all the bones in his body, and he’d let you.

He’d endure your strength, dance across the blazing charcoal that is your wrath, but nothing you’d do would make him let go, even if you were to separate every atom in his body one by one.

He'd hold on, and when he gets his body back, that’s what he’ll do.

“I’m sorry …” he whispers, the apology tasting like bitter peppercorns on the tip of his tongue. “I … Shouldn’t have left. I shouldn’t have” Fuck, he sounds pathetic. “… I’m so … so fucking sorry.” 

For all of it.

He’s never once apologized in his life, not to anyone, but for you, he’d apologize a thousand times over. He’d learn “I’m sorry” in every language known to man, recite every prayer, suffer every penalty in the book.

This could all have been avoided if he’d just fucking talked to you that day instead of running. As if divinity decided to deliver punishments, he was haunted by that thing he ran from for twenty years; torturing him, driving him mad with longing.

Twenty years of bullshit in your absence … all of it avoidable had he not been the fuck-up he acknowledges he’s been.

He’d dive head-first into the ocean if it meant he could take back what he said that day. He’d take on the Marines too if he had to. He’d find the One Piece and give it to you, forgo his own dreams. He’d do anything, just to take back what he did.

Just to have you look at him with something other than scorn. Just to have you look at him the same way you used to.

A few drops of salt land on the table right in front of him, and save for the occasional sniffs and heavy inhales, you remain stubbornly quiet. This time, he keeps his mouth shut and awaits your judgment. The likelihood of you refusing to forgive him is the most probable one, and he can’t fault you for that as much as he’d hate it. The chance of you forgiving him just like that … is less. 

A minute of silence becomes two minutes, and two become three, and five, and ten.

You raise your head to peer down at him, your eyes reddened and heavy, but you finally do look at him. He holds his breath in anticipation and wonders what’s working behind them.

What are you thinking?

What are you feeling?

Is it rage? Is it vengeance?

Will you wrap your hands around his neck and squeeze until there’s nothing left but an ashy head? He doesn’t know if asphyxiation will have the intended effect given his condition, but there’s only one way to find out.

He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and imagines that it will be his last.

The door slams and the room rattles, throwing him off in surprise.

Buggy opens his eyes and sees that you’re not here anymore.

You’re gone, again.

He releases the breath he’s been withholding, not knowing what to make of this. Will you come back, or will you leave him here by himself: put him through the same state as he left you in?

His head burns thinking about it.

Not even a minute later, you return to the room, and the scent of something delicious fills the atmosphere.

You’re holding something in your hand, a plate. It takes him a while to realize what it is, and as he’s about to open his mouth to ask, you wordlessly put the plate down in front of him.

Buggy drools like a dog. It’s food. Actual fucking food. Some kind of dish (fish?) with boiled potatoes and cabbage on the side, with sauce distributed evenly over it. He usually hates cabbage, but as hungry as he is now, he thinks it looks like the most delicious thing of all. Even better, the food is still hot, and it’s been cut so that it’ll be easier for him to take in.

He looks up at you expectantly and watches as you sit down, cross your legs, and put a glass of water with a bendy straw next to the plate. Did you bring him a bendy straw? Holy fuck, you brought him fucking bendy straw! He can’t help but stare at you like you put the sun in the sky because, how could he not? You brought him food, you brought him a drink, YOU BROUGHT HIM A FUCKING BENDY STRAW! 

Bored eyes turn to him as you rest your chin in the palm of your hand. “It’ll get cold,” you state matter-of-factly, which he interprets as Hurry up and eat, asshole.

Buggy doesn’t have to be told twice, and he digs in like an animal. Decorum was never his thing anyway.

Maybe this isn’t forgiveness, and maybe you’re still rightfully pissed, but that’s alright. This gesture implies that, at the very least, there’s a bridge now. It’s made of rusty nails and unsteady planks and runs over a shitty river, but it’s a milestone from his point of view.

He’ll wait for as long as he’ll have to, even if it’s takes another twenty years to make up for it, even if it takes a hundred. He'll wait and he'll work for as fucking long as he have to, just to see your smile again.

He knows your dream.

He knows you care; you protected him, after all. You held him close, put yourself in harm’s way just to keep him safe.

That means, even after all this time, you still consider him yours.

All that remains is for you to finally find our for yourself.

-----

Taglist: @kurinhimenezu, @carpinchootaku, @ay0nha, @teh-vampire-bunny, @lokiscure, @internationalsuper-spy, @detectivesparrow , @yuriwk , @notyuralycat , @angeli-fucking-cat , @machinema7k , @shuujin, @avatar-lover, @gingernut1314, @autumn-slaves. @marvelouskatie, @floristoflillys, @dizzyenby, @redpool, @deliri-yum22, @aemondsb1tch, @ackroxia, @gayandfairycore, @knightsfavoriteprincess, @asterizee, @aamethyst23, @lizzie1107, @cyberwears, @heylookliisten, @f41k47, @beep-beep1, @crimsonflameproxy, @unpopular-sober-thoughts, @rayleeya, @timeladyrikaofgallifrey, (If you want to be tagged for this story, just send me a message or leave a comment :))

[medicus-mortem]

@chatcambrioleur answered [+]

She wasn't sure how long she'd been in the dark. It had been a while, now --- days, maybe weeks. She was resilient --- after all, it was only a matter of time before the Straw Hats got here, she knew. It didn't make captivity any easier. She'd never forgotten the sensation of a cold, metal chain around her neck, and it was all too soon to feel it again, for Nami's taste. Unfortunately, her newest accessory wasn't chosen with her comfort in mind. The navigator's heart hadn't stopped pounding since she'd woken up. Not only panic from horrid memories, but a fear of what her future held. Did they plan on turning her in for her bounty? Exploiting her captain for her return? Or perhaps she would become a slave to a Celestial Dragon. Too many terrible possibilities ensured the tears that did not stop rolling down freckled cheeks. Her captors weren't particularly bright, but they were strong, a few with impressive Devil Fruit powers. From what she'd gathered, they didn't recognize her, when they'd attacked her from behind. The village the Straw Hats had been visiting seemed friendly enough. Certainly safe enough to wander around, to visit the bookstores and shop a little. The moment she lost track of her crew, the men had been waiting, and pounced, before the cat thief had the chance to reach for her cloudy protector. The next thing she knew, she was ... here. Wherever here happened to be. It was dark, it was cold, and dirty--- her clothes had been ripped and tattered. She wasn't sore enough to imply the worst, though it was possible someone had felt their way around her soft curves as they were searching her. When she woke up, her den den mushi was gone. Zeus was gone. Her crew had no idea where she was, she was chained up, and she had no idea how long she could go on like this. Before they did something terrible. The sound of rusty door hinges creaking open had quickly become a blessing and a curse. One of them, maybe bringing her food --- or coming to taunt her. The famed Weather Witch, Cat Thief, Straw Hat Nami, pathetic, dirty, and chained to a wall. The only relief was the crack of light from the outside hallway, which she basked in, every chance she got. Her head lifted as she heard the sound, searching for the reprieve, the literal light at the end of the tunnel. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust, although there wasn't much to see. At most, she was expecting to spy one of the monsters who'd taken her hostage. Instead, she saw a much more familiar soul, one far more welcomed by the navigator.

"Law..." Her voice, a pitiful, dry croak, hardly audible. Her eyes were still adjusting --- as the moments passed, it became easier to recognize that the Surgeon of Death was spattered in crimson. Grateful her hands weren't restrained, she reached for him, desperate for an ounce of kindness after a lifetime of cruelty. "You --- you came for me...?" She'd expected her crew to find her first. For some reason, she hadn't expected Law's presence, at all. Take me home. "The key --- please. I need to get out of here." Not just her cell. Not the prison she'd found herself in. She needed to be freed of the iron links, keeping her trapped like a human pet. Desperation shined in glassy eyes, a sob choking in her throat. "You found me..."

   Another guard falls with a dying gasp, his blood splattering on the stark white walls. Another splash of fresh, metallic scent to add to the aroma of death that follows Law down the hallway. In this moment he doesn’t care about the lives he’s snuffed out here. He cares not for the blood that stains his shirt and mixes with the black of his coat. Law no longer registers the agonised cries coming from the rooms above. Most will fall silent soon enough. At this moment it is all background noise, all distraction. He has only one focus now.

   Law can feel her presence down the hall. He can hear the distress in her Haki, in her voice. He breaks into a run, heart pounding in his desperation to see Nami alive and safe. Fear curls in his gut, the thought that he is too late still swirling in his mind. He finds her door, fumbling with her key as he takes a deep breath. He has to calm down some, has to be strong to keep her tethered, especially after an ordeal like this.

   The big metal door creaks as he shoves it open. Golden gaze falls on Nami, the light hitting her and glinting off the collar around her neck. A hissed breath in through his teeth and that rage is back. He should have left more of them alive so they could suffer longer. He does not linger in that fury, instead Law is quick to come to Nami’s side. Her weak words and desperate, reaching hands tugging at his heart.

   “I found you. I got you,” he says, deep voice becoming impossibly soft.

   He drops to his knees before Nami, a bloody Kikoku getting dropped to the concrete beside her. Law takes one of those reaching hands, grasping it tight as his focus drops to the collar. He scowls at it, jaw tight. His free hand rises and he makes a localised Room around Nami’s head. He doesn’t have the patience to fumble with keys. Gently he releases her hand and grasps the collar. His other hand runs a finger against the metal, creating a cut in the front. He continues the process on the back and a moment later Law eases the two halves from Nami’s elegant neck before throwing them aside. In the interplay of light and his shadow Law sees the raw, bleeding flesh beneath. Golden eyes become cold, hand rising to gently touch Nami’s neck as his Room vanishes.

   “I’m gonna get you out of here,” he says, voice hinting at that cold, unyielding rage. “And then I’ll fucking tear this place apart.”

[medicus-mortem]

��  Trafalgar Law stalks away from where they landed, away from the swarming scientists and the watching guards. A pair try to follow him, their identical faces a bit disconcerting. Guess that means the cloning thing going on with Germa is true. Definitely something Law wants to know more about and with this chance he has to get in good with their king Law will have all the openings he needs to steal some premium medical tech, but right now he’s not in the mindset for negotiations.

   All he can think about is Bepo and Shachi. His crew mates currently in the hands of an organisation that seems to delight in suffering. Sure, Law is the hostage here. He’s even come here without Kikoku in hand, her sinister whispers no longer in the back of his mind, no longer providing the comfort that he’s never alone. Instead, he is alone. Alone and surrounded by enemies, by people who want nothing more than to manipulate and control him. Not something new to him but still not ideal. He’ll have to find some kind of ally, even if it means he has manipulate them himself. And so, he moves away from the crowd to clear his mind, to put his concerns for his friends aside and to take stock of where he is.

   The two soldiers trying to keep an eye on him get a middle finger flipped in their direction. Neither say anything, just continue to watch. Law moves over to a railing, one that faces the ocean and not the war tearing a country apart. He takes a deep breath, trying to absorb the calm and peace the sea can give him, but in amongst the salty brine scent in the air is the smell of smoke and fire. War on the edge of his awareness, like it always is. An irritated groan and the doctor pulls out a metal cigarette case. He flips it open and tugs free a joint, the marijuana cigarette getting placed between his lips.

   Law puts the case away and pulls out his lighter, the small thing adorned with his mark. He leans on the railing, raising the lighter to the end of his joint and clicks. No flame, just another click. An angry growl and he tries again, getting the same result. He turns about, leaning the small of his back against the metal and glaring at the soldiers still watching him.

   “Either of you got a light? No? Then fuck off,” the Surgeon of Death hisses. How tempting in his to Room the two fuckers into pieces but he’s gotta maintain some manners, even if dismembering someone relaxes him like nothing else.

Yes, but that wouldn't have been as fun. Sanji's amusement doubling when Law shoves himself away. Ichiji was liable to break those fingers, a faint childhood memory of being on the receiving end doesn't dampen his mood. Law's snapping that Judge can wait however is more interesting. Did he care about them that much or was he nervous to do business behind enemy lines? 

Buzzing around him like a lost moth, the scientist gives Sanji a thorough once over. “And you didn't come in contact with his ability?”

“No.” Curious eyes never leave the tall silhouette of the surgeon who stalks away, willingly unarmed; he still makes powerful threats that leave the prince wondering if they have the seastone to subdue him if worst comes to worst. “His fruit—” gloved fingers peel down his mask before pushing tinted glasses back to sit on his head. “Do we have any records of previous users and their limitations?”

Gloved fingers pause their inspection. “The ope ope no mi is a highly sought after fruit, users still require medical training. The little we've managed to dig up doesn't detail its use in combat.”

Unsatisfying and uninformative, the prince frowns before speaking again. “He ripped Reiju's poison out of a resident. Teleported multiple times and that bubble he creates— when he does it again I want it recorded.” Law is yet to do any parlor tricks outside of the space and assuming he couldn't is a mistake. However given Germa's interest in him another showing is unlikely, his friends no doubt being treated like untempered glass.

“They've reached the dock and are beginning to board.” Reiju's voice in his ear has attention clicking away from Law to the clouds above. 

“Thanks, our guest is being a little moody.” He can hear his sister sigh and parrot’s the sound back.

[nanaosaki3940]

My bae Baji is back again, y'all!!!! AHHH!!! 😍🤩🥰💖

Yeah, Ryusei!! Have more faith in Baji!! He isn't the 1st Division captain for no reason, ya know!! 😤😤😤

This is illegal!! This is a crime!! Why do you look like that when your enemy's taking your picture, Baji?!?!?! Who gave you the fucking permission to look this beautiful and sexy?!?! I'll put you in jail for stealing my heart and making me lose my sanity!! Take responsibility for it, dammit!! 😳😭💖 (Ladies and gentlemen, the most beautiful man in the TokRev verse. Canonically proven. Period.)

That's my man, bitches!!! 😤😎😘💕

[theconstantsidekick]

Captain America: Civil War ft. Static (10)

Pairings: Tony Stark x Stark!Reader (siblings), Steve Rogers x Stark!Reader

Genre: Angst with a sprinkle of happiness?

Summary: Goodbyes are a bitch, aren't they? Especially when you the future better than the people in question.

(These scenes incorporate y/n, codename—Static, into the pre-existing story as a character without making drastic changes to the plot or mythos. All the major plot points from the MCU remain in place with the addition of the reader as Static, who is not only a Stark but also enhanced. Whatever events from the canon aren’t mentioned, take place without much change.)

Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of Past Trauma

a/n: i wrote this before the entire fucking series

Captain America: Civil War ft. Static (9) | Series Masterlist | Age of Ultron (Static Origin Story) | The Avengers (ft. Static) | Captain America: The Winter Soldier (ft. Static) | Static Verse Masterlist

“I have been thinking. I do that these days. I think a lot—all the time. You’ll be surprised to hear that it started long before whatever this shitshow was… I have been thinking a lot and I have to tell you, I hate thinking.” Tony’s sitting in his workshop at the compound as a hologram projection of his sister’s recorded message plays in front of him. He watches as she shakes her head with something akin to sorrow.

“It makes me heavy. It bogs me down with the weight of my thoughts—which inevitably turn into feelings. And you—you, Anthony Edward Stark, know better than any man who’s ever lived that my feelings are so. very. big. Humongous. Ginormous. Brobdingnagian.” Y/n laughs then, a broken small little thing, and shifts in her seat where she’s manspreading like she owns whatever place she recorded this message in.

“I think… I think about friendships. I think about you, and Nat, and Rhodey, and Howie, and Maria, and Peggy. Then I think about Thor off in space somewhere. I think about Bruce too and wish he’s miraculously found Thor and is on his way home, hopefully. I think about Sam, I think about Wanda and Vision and Happy and Pep and—it…it makes my heart heavy. Because sometimes I think about family and somehow all the same names pop right back into my head. It makes me feel warm.” She smiles, and his heart—his cheating, broken, angry heart—takes some solace in knowing that at least that was real.

“I remember when Maria handed you to me after she had spent hours screaming for you to just get the hell out of her in that hospital room. I wasn’t in there—in the room, I mean… I was too scared to go in—private moment and all that… Until your father came barging out, all sweaty and scared, like he was about to shit a brick. He walked past me at first but when he did, I got up on my feet and he turned and looked at me and his face went slack. I have never felt that kind of fear. But it was gone as quick as it came cause Howie was shouting at me, asking me where the fuck had I been this entire time while shoving me inside the delivery room. The moment I went in, your mother fucking screamed ‘thank fuck you’re here’! And that was that. If there was a doubt about it before, it was gone now. I was a Stark, through and through. Alien blood be damned. This was my little family.” Her eyes seem misty, Tony notes. She’s all dressed up in a spectacular all-white three-piece suit, with her blazer laid carefully on the back of her seat.

“I held your mother’s hand and watched as the most important person of my life came into existence. We were all crying by then, tears of joy. 

“After it was over, she wanted to get some rest. Howard had apparently shat that brick he was so desperately holding onto by his perky asshole and was therefore already deep in slumber… which by the way—typical Howard. So anyway, Maria wanted a well-deserved nap so she handed you off to me. And I will never forget what she said. ‘Look after him, will you?’ It might have been framed as a question, but a question it was not. It was an order, as clear as day, written in blood and tears and leftover placenta liquid.” It makes Tony wonder how many more stories he has yet to hear. He’s known this woman his entire life, quite fucking literally and yet, in moments like these, the moments that matter the most, she always has a new story for him. 

“I held you in my arms and I had a purpose. From that point on, I would have a purpose for the rest of my cunty god-forsakenly long life—watch out for you. To have your back, no matter what…” She exhales as her head falls, seemingly too heavy with thoughts for her to carry with any ease at all. “I had a duty of care.”

He watches as she brings her palms over her eyes, pressing them in to try to relieve whatever pain she can… None of it lifts, he knows. He’s speaking from experience.

With a deep breath in, she sits up once again. “I am not telling you all this to say that I would have chosen differently. I wouldn’t have. I never could have, I hope—I just hope one day you can understand why that was. I am, however, telling you all this in some twisted way to explain perhaps? All your life you have been used to the idea of me having your back no matter what happened, and this—this fucking cock boggling mess was the first fucking time I ever faltered. And for that… For that, I am deeply sorry, Anthony. My intention has never been to hurt you, ever. I said a lot of things. Really shitty stuff. I said those things in the heat of the moment—I couldn’t fucking stop it, Stark. I just couldn’t. Try as I might, they kept spilling. Th—there was a fucking hole in my chest, burning and itching and drilling deeper still. I couldn’t control it, it ached and hurt and burnt and I just… I couldn’t stop. Because it was fear. Because I was scared. I was—I still am. I am so fucking scared, Tony. I am always so goddamn scared, you know?” She’s a mumbling crying mess now, and Tony feels like absolute fucking shit. 

“The life I had before all this, before you—it was horrid, Tony. It was so bad. I woke up every day hoping it would finally be the day I’d meet the bullet with my name on it and it would be my last. And every fucking day it wasn’t. Which was worse… but it was also better because I didn’t want to die, you know? I didn’t want to die without knowing what it—what it fe—felt like to be happy.

“I kept living in that filth.” There is so much fucking disdain in her voice as she speaks, his own blood starts curdling. “I kept going, kept doing The Orphanage’s dirty work, then I did HYDRA’s dirty work, then I did S.H.I.E.L.D.’s. Because I was scared. And as badly as I wanted to die, I wanted to live way more. I wanted—” She’s out of breath and she looks so fucking distraught, he doesn’t even know how to fucking react. He has never seen her like this. Years and years of living with his sister, an entire life’s worth of memories, and never did he know she was hurting this badly… How the fuck did he not know?

“I just wanted to live. I wanted to escape… one day. And back then, when I was in the fucking thick of it, it never felt like I could. You have to understand, up to that point, I had lived my entire life in what was the equivalent of one fucking jail cell after another. Never in my wildest dreams did I even think of having a room with a window, let alone a view. Even when I thought of it all ending—when I thought of my freedom, I thought of the ways I could hide, of where I could get passports, of what supplies I would need while being on the run from whatever organization had control of me at that time. I just wanted to own myself—and that would have been freedom enough.” 

She composes herself.

“So, when you came to me with all your, honestly, very good intentions of getting us to sign the accords I was—” Her composer slacks, “I was back there again! I was back in a small tiny room, with an open fucking toilet and a bed that made you want to sleep on the floor. I was back to being controlled and tortured and experimented upon and I was back to being played with like a goddamn machine!” She’s almost pleading now, tears running down her face. 

“I would do anything for you, Tony. You have to know that.” There is a seriousness in her words that scare the shit out of him, cause she says, “I would do anything for you. You want the world? It’s yours. I will burn it to the ground if you asked me to, not even question it. You want it whole and pure? I will conquer it for you in a fortnight. But–but,” she breaks once again, “But I couldn’t—I cannot do this. I cannot go back.” She wipes away her tears.

“I have tasted freedom now. I didn’t know how sweet it was before. I didn’t know what it felt like to have a family, to have friends who love me. I didn’t know what it was like to have a room with a view… I didn’t know what it felt like to have a choice. I can’t give it up now, Tony. Please, you have to understand, I can’t. I can’t go back. Please.” She’s fucking begging him now, she’s so desperate that it rips him apart. Is this what went on in her head when he talked about it all? She seems so fragile and afraid… he did this to her? He wasn’t aiming for this. He was never aiming for this. He just wanted to make up for his sins but… at this cost? At her cost?

“You know why I got the cruelest fucking missions they had? The ones that would rot you from the inside out? Cause they knew my past. They’d see my record, and they’d send me off to missions that were soul-sucking, motherfucking shit that made me puke my guts out the moment I was in the clear. Because jobs that filthy belong to people of filth. I got the jobs that couldn’t be done by someone with a soul, done by a man who was whole. It didn’t matter if it was The Orphanage, HYDRA, or even S.H.I.E.L.D. I got the soulless job because they knew I never had one, to begin with…” 

Fuck him.

He’s the most selfish asshole out there.

She exhales then… a pause, a beat, and a moment of soft introspection. He can practically pinpoint the moment she decides to compose herself. It happens between the nervous bite of her lip and her jaw clicking in place. He knows her at least that well…

She sits up straight. “But that was then, and this is now. Now I have. Now I want. I won’t even let anyone touch my freedom, not even in death.” She clicks her tongue. “So it just makes me think, you know? I think about things like this. About you and your parents, and my friends—my family. I think about them. I think about these things when I wake up, when I fight, when I dream. All that is to say… I’m not callous about this life. I am not callous about the decision I made. It weighs on me heavier than you know. It wretches me apart, with every breath…”

He doesn’t want to hear the part that comes next.

“But—but I can’t stay, Tony. You know I can’t… and for that too, I am sorry.” 

He’s never really spent a day in his life when he couldn’t reach out to his sister. He’s a fairly old dude, so you have to pardon him if he’s quite scared of it. He doesn’t know how to do it. He just doesn’t.

“I didn’t know about Barnes. Fuck, I didn’t have the faintest clue. And I absolutely did not know about that traitorous bastard who I won’t even dignify by naming. I—” Her fist clenches as she brings it up to cover her mouth. Her anger is so fucking palpable that Tony thinks he might just be able to sense it, that is until the footage starts glitching and he realizes, it’s cause her anger is making her emanate power. He thought he could hear static because there is fucking static, it is coming from her. She’s trying to calm herself down.

She breathes in, the footage settling. “He doesn’t matter,” She says with cold unfocused eyes and he can see how deep that secret has dung into her. “This isn’t about him. This is… this is about me, pleading with you, urging you to—to” she pauses, long and hard, with a small smile on her face. It’s the same one she wears when she knows she’s about to do something profoundly fucking stupid. Consider Tony terri-fucking-fied. “This is me urging you to, at a much later date in life—try and forgive Sergeant Barnes.”

“Woman, have you gone fucking crazy?!?!! Did you hit your fucking head when you decided TO DROP A BUILDING ON US?!” Tony knows he’s screaming at a holographic projection but it’s not for naught.

Because his sister is waving away his screams with an annoyed face, “Don’t fucking freak the fuck out. Just like, listen to me! TONY!” His tirade stops. She—her recording, somehow just knows. Cause then she exhales. “I am not saying now, and I am certainly not saying you have to. I am just pleading with you to consider it… Because—well because there are countless people out there in the world who…” she bites her lip. “I am to them what Barnes is to you. Except, unlike me, Sergeant Barnes never even had the chance to rebel, he was brainwashed and tortured, and broken down to be used.” And before Tony can begin to protest, her hands fly up to stop him. “That was all I wanted to say about that. I am done, the decision is completely up to you. Just you, and there is absolutely no right answer, just the one you choose. This was just…” she smiles, “something for you to think about.” 

He can’t help the corner of his mouth from curling a little as well.

She kicks back then, hands crossed in front of her as she looks around wherever she is. “That, yeah. I think that was my grand speech. I know it feels like I’m leaving you behind somehow, but I promise you I am not. I’m just a… actively hunted fugitive of the state.” She shakes her head from side to side in consideration before adding, “And I have a few dues to pay… I’ll be back once they are cleared.” 

She looks up at him then. It almost feels like she’s in the room with him.

“But no matter what happens, I’m here, Tony. You know how to reach me. And I will always come when you call. I will always be there for you. Even if you don’t see me there, trust me. I am there. I will always have your back.”

Something catches her eye, she pulls out her phone and checks it.

Rolling her eyes, she pockets the device and looks back up at the camera.

“Ugh, yeah. I think our time here is up…” She finally smiles, happy and true. “You just pulled in, so I gotta run.”

WAIT, WHAT??

HE JUST PULLED IN? 

TO WHERE?!!

He runs back to his station, “F.R.I.D.A.Y. run diagnostics on the recording, analyze it top to bottom, tell me where it was taken.”

Meanwhile, he watches as his sister stands up. 

“I love you, kiddo. And I’m always right behind you.”

More commotion on the recording as F.R.I.D.A.Y. responds, “Sir, the footage was taken here, at the Avenger’s compound.”

“That cocky bitch,” Tony curses, almost in awe of her. Cause fuck! Even Rogers had the good sense to courier his fucking apology. What was this woman thinking? “Tell me when F.R.I.D.A.Y.!”

He watches as his sister puts on her blazer and fixes up her suit.

“17 minutes ago, sir,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. answers.

“WHAT?!”

“There was a gap in the security footage, it was cloned to play in a loop. It’s almost seamless sir, except this,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. presents the footage on the screen in front of him.

Meanwhile, the hologram of his sister walks up close to the camera and leans down to look at it face-to-face. She presses a kiss to her fingers and presses the fingers to the camera.

“See you, space cowboy.” With that, the holograph is gone.

Tony falls onto his chair in complete surprise and an unwitting smile on his face, as he watches his sister on the CCTV footage waving at him with a wink.

“That fucking—”

Find the series masterlist here. Find other Static Verse works here.

tag list: @aryksworld @freeflyingphoenix @arikarapli @just-anotherstan @justab-eautifulmess @ceo-of-daichi @roxannejblack @liketearsintherainn @paintballkid711 @starkleila @heyitsmereading @fairlygothparents @euphoria-svt @sidepartskinnyjeans @mini-kunoichi @third-broparcelicito @siwiecola @haleybutnotthecomet @mvaldez7821 @iamspeed16  @ashpeace888 @hopeofwinter @percabethfangirl987 @lilfuturescars @hailqueenconquer

i post at weird times, please join the tag list to get notified. DMs are open

[medicus-mortem]

   Tears fall freely, the boy crying in a way a part of Trafalgar Law wishes he could. He could never be so open with his tears, with his sobs. So determined to cry in silence in those rare, dark moments when he lets the pain free. His fingers stay in the kid’s hair, the doctor remembering a time when he cried as a child. When he was met with bullying and ridicule at school and how his own father comforted him in a similar way. Gentle fingers carding through hair as a young Law would sob and whimper into his chest. A moment of weakness and comfort forever taken from him. He wonders if Ace provided a similar comfort to Luffy, so Law continues with his gentle touch, seeing no signs Luffy doesn’t appreciate it.

   Straw Hat’s pleas cause the Hearts captain to open his eyes. He gazes down at this distraught kid, his jaw tight and an ache in his chest he wishes he wasn’t feeling. He knows he should make himself cold to this, should pull away and leave the boy to it, but all he can think about is how alone he was in his own grief. He’s still alone in it.

   “You’ll get better,” Law says, words soft but the weight of certainty in them. “You’ll get stronger. It won’t be easy, and some days will be harder than others, and the pain won’t ever truly go away, but it will be easier to carry.”

   He’s not really talking about the injury. Law has done everything he can for Straw Hat Luffy at this point. It’s up to Luffy and his own body to heal. It’s up to him to get the rest he needs. No, Trafalgar Law is talking about grief and loss. A wound that never truly heals.

Was screaming all day not enough? Why is the pain still so sharp, still stinging his eyes as he fights back tears determined to stain his cheeks. Crying isn’t going to help and Luffy’s surprised he has more to give. Arm bends across his eye, the small darkness a gentle relief. Sob chokes his throat, body trembling as grief washes over him again. Numerous happy memories of his crew hang around the loss, vaguely blunting the nasease ticking through his core. This time it’s quieter, settles over him like a wet blanket and it’s suffocating again.

Ace is gone and he’s never coming back.

Luffy cries softly to himself, too tired to scream out, too tired to move away from the surgeon’s gentle fingers. “I-I don’t know what’s wrong with me!” He'd never been naïve enough to think any of this would be easy but Sabo, his crew, Bon-chan, Ace. "I won't let it happen ever again!" He'd be strong enough to protect his broken little family, strong enough to do away with the world government if it so much as breathed in their direction. "You- you 'ave to make me better, I gotta be good enough for them! W-We gotta make it to the end together!" Plea is broken between wet heaves and snot, voice so small he's not even sure it's his. "I can't loose any of them too."

[t-tomuras]

post canon Mithrun x elf reader

Mithrun deciding to discover and create new desires for himself after his retirement from the Canaries becomes adventurous for you in turn. Previously assigned as his caretaker you chose to continue the roll even though you had no obligation to do so. Stealing away the coveted spot from another Canary that didn’t want to go back to prison but you wanted to be selfish too. 

Wanted to continue to be in his presence because of the affection you held for him, worsened by every moment you’d spent alone with him inside and outside of dungeons. 

Learning him better than anyone else ever had, even better than Mithrun had himself. Educating yourself on what he enjoys or detests, what soothes him or distresses him, what calms and what angers him. 

Anything and everything, long since well versed in the inner mechanisms of your Captains mind after his tragedy; it’s only natural you traverse this new unknown with him the same as before. Only now you aren’t forced together, willingly eager for the new adventure by his side and you’d be remiss to think the fact didn’t cause the slightest ghost of a smile to his lips. 

But how could you not choose to follow him into the sunlight after delving into the darkest pits of hell for over a century? 

Elect to have the possibility and privilege to nurture a tenderness with himself that he’d overtly neglected for too long. The very idea of it made your chest feel warm, your heart fluttering tirelessly within its bone cage in the early weeks of your new lives.

You’d be elated to find that first desire, to discover what ignited his heart again and caused a pang of emptiness in his belly that food could never hope to quell. 

But you learn, before long, that what brings him pleasure is you and how the discovery brings out a hunger in him only you’d be able to satisfy. 

Nights of common intimacy such as shared meals and baths in the privacy of his home you share with him weighed on your captain, unwittingly to yourself. Ignorant of every liberal touch of unadulterated tenderness and unmitigated care for Mithrun building a pressure between you both until he touches you back. 

Grabbing your wrist one fateful night as you both get ready for bed. Carefully and thoughtfully Mithrun’s hair while you stood between his knees clad only in your own fluffy towel. 

Humming a tranquil sound he’d voiced that he liked, appreciating every effort you made for him. Efforts that so obviously transcended duty, Mithrun was no fool. 

Everything happened in a blur, from the gasp he swallowed the moment his lips sealed over yours to the pleased mewl he muffled after leaving you bare before pulling you to him. 

Lustful pawing to experimental teasing that you don’t need much of before you’re ready to take him. A carnal desire in you, silently stoked for years now ready for his own consumption. 

His first taste of you already developing a craving that you’re sure will make a glutton out of Mithrun for as long as he has you from the first moment he sinks into you. 

“Captain—“ breathless as Mithrun’s healing lips brush along the apple of your cheeks before his teeth nip at the pointed tips of elongated cartilage. 

“Mithrun,” he corrects but you only whine in confusion, fingers gripping at his waist as your thighs tighten around his hips. His pace still unrelenting as he ruts into you, the lewd squelching of your cunt he causes by the pleasure he provides warms your skin. Nails digging crescent moons into scarred alabaster as he grits his teeth and fists the pillow the opposite side of your head, “call me by my name.” 

It could almost be taken as a plea, the clipped husk of his tone insistent in the notion as you clutch tightly to him. Pressing your chest into his as he curls around you, heeding yet another command from your captain as euphoria washes over you, “Oh Mithrun.” 

Crying his name, carrying it on your tongue like a sweet melody that coaxes him to follow shortly after you. Spilling into your inviting warmth as he grips at your hips to angle your pelvis better to take him. Stroking downward in a way that leaves you gasping, pearly tears clinging to long lashes as your lips part for another moan only for no sound to escape. 

Given no time to shy as you notice him staring at you intently, the deep obsidian of his remaining eye flickering into the vibrant steely silver he once possessed so many decades ago. 

Cupping your cheek as his thumb presses onto your plump lower lip, pulling it down tenderly before he swipes the pad along the curve. Rhythm slowing to gently rocking until he stills in your cunt completely as he leans down for another kiss. Slow, relaxed as he exhales slowly, gaze falling lidded as you sigh into the contact. 

Melting in his hold, relishing in how his desire for you is the first he’s had in so long.

[wood-white-writer]

“Didn’t mean to make your heart Blue” || [7/…]

— OPLA! Buggy x F!Reader

“It's funny how I still forgot, it would be a hundred times easier if we were young again,”

— Mitski, “Two Slow Dancers”

Pairing: Buggy the Clown (Live Action) x F!Reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 8

Summary: You were an apprentice of Gol D. Roger’s crew in your youth, long before his eventual demise. Along with the Red-Haired Shanks and Buggy, you were a formidable trio; the embodiment of a new generation of pirates yet to come. But times changed, and so did you and your friends. 

In the aftermath of your drunken escapades, you wake up to find yourself faced with new challenges, including a killer headache, a group of fish people, and the very clown responsible for putting you in this position. Needless to say, it does not bode well to take on fights while still inebriated.

Warnings: Canon typical violence, fem!reader, LA!Verse, slight canon divergence, alcoholic indulgence on a catastrophic scale (drink responsibly ppl), morally grey reader, violence, descriptions of blood and wounds,

A/N: The next chapter will be fully dedicated to Buggy and Reader/"Cross Hairs"

"Chug, chug, chug!" Both Buggy and Shanks cheer you on as you all but inhale the contents in your bottle in one go, not stopping until all of it has gone down. You pull back with an audible inhale, and after a couple of quiet seconds, the loudest BUUUURP! ever to cross the oceans erupt from the pits of your stomach.

Your two crewmates watch in awe, then erupt into hard fits of laughter that have them rolling on the ground while clenching their stomach. 

After pumping your fists victoriously into the air and discarding the bottle, you join them soon after and settle down around the campfire. You three barely managed to put one together, but with the help of a few thin twigs and a bottle of the captain's purest liquor, you got it going soon enough.

Buggy wipes the tears away from his eyes and pulls another bottle of stolen beverages from his bag. "Not bad, not bad at all. Still, listen to this."

Jumping to his feet, Buggy swings the bottle, takes a glorious gulp, and punches his chest a few times. Out comes a large BUUUURP! that surpasses yours by miles, and continues to echo from around the island.

You immediately raise your hands in applause, laughing in that sweet way that makes his pulse quicken. In truth, your laughter is hardly elegant, more like the sounds a dying boar makes, yet he enjoys it all the same.

With one arm straightened out whereas the other goes to his chest, he makes a dramatic bow in front of you across the fire. "Thank you, thank you, my fair lady. I'll be here all day."

When he straightens up again, he sees the fire shine so clearly in your eyes; the flames dancing in your irises, and he feels warmer than the fire itself. You're looking at him - him - with such adoration that his stomach feels funny. Maybe it's the liquor playing a part in this, yet he doubts it.

"Buggy, that was so gross!" Shanks says with mirth, then gestures for the bottle. "Give it here! I'll show you how it's really done."

"Sure, I'd like to see you try!" Buggy hands him the bottle.

"There's no way you can surpass that, Shanks." You oppose lightly. "No fucking way."

"Yeah, watch me!" 

Shanks takes a generous portion, pats his stomach, and out comes yet another BUUURP! 

Sure, it's impressive enough, but nowhere near Buggy's, and the redhead acknowledges this with a defeated sigh before anyone even says anything.

"It's alright," Buggy severs his hand to pat him patronizingly on the back. "You tried. Imitation is the highest form of flattery, you know?"

Shanks pushes his hand away with a grin. "Oh, lay of it!"

The night continues like that, with some more drinking, some more burping contests, and sharing their thoughts on the latest endeavors of the Oro Jackson. Whenever the crew docked for a while someplace, the three of you would usually find some way to enjoy your time off away from the crew's supervision like this.

It also involves the three of you singing sea shanties together, arms hooked around each other as you sing at the top of your lungs:

"Gather up all of the crew, It's time to ship out Bink's brew. Pirates we, eternally, Are challenging the seas!"

It is just fun; three teenagers enjoying their teenage years to the fullest until the day they can venture on their own.

After a while, Buggy starts to feel his bladder press, probably from the liquor. He tries to ignore it at first, not wanting to miss anything, but it does not take long before he has to oblige with his body's request.

You're the first to notice him moving. "Where are you going, Buggy?"

He waves his hand dismissively. "Just got to take a piss."

"Don't go too far," Shanks adds with a twinge of mischief in his eyes. "I've heard there are boars on this island, don't want to get chased, do you?"

Buggy feels chills run up his arms, but he refuses to acknowledge it. "S-Shut it! There aren't any shitty boars here, or we'd see them by now!"

"Yeah, but I've also heard that they catch the smell of piss particularly strong,"

"Bullshit!" He trudges off. "Boars, my ass!"

"Be careful, Buggy!" you call after him.

The chills across his body immediately get replaced with a sense of pride, and he disappears to do his business with a smile.

Once he's finished and headed back, he can hear your soft laughter as he approaches the makeshift campsite. His heart nearly drops into his stomach when he sees what's going on.

You and Shanks are sitting closer together now, knees width apart, and you're laughing. Shanks just told a joke, a terrible joke that makes even Buggy cringe, yet you laugh all the same. 

That soft laughter, just not for him this time.

It shouldn't make him feel as shitty as it does, yet a nauseous feeling settles in the pits of his stomach. You and Shanks are crew mates and friends, just as he is. He's never caught onto any implications that you like him in that sense, but why does it sting so much then to watch the two of you like this? So close, so at ease, so carefree and soft.

He often thinks about the time you saved him, about the time you brought an entire crew down just for him. You held his hand, you were worried; he’s been thinking that maybe there’s something there that isn’t just in his imagination.

But, wouldn’t you have done the same thing for Shanks, too? Has he maybe mistaken camaraderie for something else? Something that's not there?

Buggy suddenly feels ill, and he can’t blame it on the alcohol this time.

He thinks that it makes sense, in a way that gives his deep-rooted insecurity a boost. Shanks has always been the better of the two; a natural leader, calm in battle, and strategic in the ways that he himself is unable to be. 

Meanwhile, Buggy is ... Well, just Buggy. 

Buggy with the weird, red, enlarged nose people always make fun of. 

Buggy, who can never seem to pull off the same stunts as successfully as Shanks can. 

Buggy, who cracks the worst kinds of jokes that oftentimes make people laugh more out of pity than genuine humor. 

You always laugh at them, laugh with him, but maybe he’s been mistaken there too?

It's obvious that Shanks is the better choice. Buggy would follow him anywhere, and he'd follow you anywhere, yet the thought of you following Shanks whereas Buggy trails behind the both of you like a stray puppy just feels ...

"Ah, there you are." Your voice snaps him out of his head as you wave him over. "You didn't come across any boars, did you?"

It takes him a moment to respond, and when he does, it's nothing grand. His voice has been reduced to a demure murmur as he steps closer to the fire. "No, there is nothing."

"You sure?" Shanks asks with a grin. "Thought I heard some noises back there!"

For some reason, Buggy snaps "IT'S NOTHING!"

His outburst evidently catches the both of you off-guard. 

"Buggy, are you al—?"

"I'm fine." He's not. "But we should head back before the captain instigates a damn search party for us. We've probably been out too long."

He turns his back to you and starts heading in the direction you came from, and he feels his chest tighten so fucking much it makes breathing hard. He tries to tell himself it's not what he thinks, but at the same time, that nagging whisper in the back of his head that always stalks him is incessant.

"It makes sense," it whispers. "After all, it's never you."

———

"What in the hell is the matter with you?"

It takes you several minutes to force your eyes open. You're in the restaurant, you uncover, lounging over a table with a thin napkin serving as the only cushion for your cheek. 

By some miracle, you manage to aim your eyes up from behind your arms and see Zeff standing there with his hands on his hips, like an angry grandfather of sorts.

"Zeff," you groan and heave a tired breath. Fuck, your head is killing you, as though a hamster wheel has found residence in your cranium. "It's too early for this."

"It's almost eleven o'clock, the sun is up."

"Still too early," 

"Heard you practically robbed the bar last night; the bill is through the damn roo-"

Before he gets to finish, you dig into the pocket of your pants and pull out a hefty pouch of berries on the table. A few spill out on the wooden surface, clinking. "Just take this as compensation and give me another bottle while you're at it."

Zeff looks at the pouch, does a mental count, and finally takes it after deciding that it's enough. "Huh, thought that scrawny chore boy was broke?"

"They are." You turn to let your chin rest on the table, giving you a little better view than before. "But I did have a pension plan before I retired. Keep it with me when it counts."

Zeff sighs and pockets the berries without complaint, but not before giving you an unimpressed one-over. You're happy you don't carry a mirror with you; probably look like shit, and you feel like shit, too. Your hangover could've been considerably worse, but at this moment in time, you'd prefer it if you went to sleep and didn't wake up for another twenty years or so.

"What the hell is going on with you, lass?" Zeff finally asks, and this time, he retains some of his usual roughness. 

"Nothing ..." you murmur.

His bushy eyebrows scrunch. "I've been working at this place for almost a decade, seen people at their worst. People down on their luck, people who've lost, people who've grieved."

"And?"

"And I'll tell you something, lass. No one looks quite as damn destroyed as someone who's had their hearts broken."

The hamster wheel comes to a screeching halt, and you abruptly sit up to glare at him. "I'm not heartbroken. Why does everyone insist on that?"

His lips tug into a halfway smirk like he's just caught a fish on his hook. "You're strong, I'll give you that much, but no one's above the loss of love. So, who was the bloke?"

"No one," you almost spit, narrowing your eyes. 

Zeff remains undeterred, even a little proud. "Couldn't have been a 'no one' if they managed to capture the interest of the Beast of the East, can they?"

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from lunging at the old man for even insinuating that someone - specifically him - has managed to put you in such a sorry state. You won't give the Chief the satisfaction.

With some herculean effort on your part, you take a deep breath and recline in your seat. Quietly, without looking at the chief, you order: "Three beers and today's lunch."

Zeff shrugs. "Fine, but after, you should check on your crew. That swordsman really took a hit,"

Right, Zoro challenged Mihawk to a fucking duel, and the memories come flooding back to you. You glance up at that chief, masking the underlying concern with a face of indifference. "He alive?"

"Yes and no. If you want to know, go see for yourself."

You nod, and he leaves you to stir your hangover. Maybe it was a mistake to get as shitfaced as you did, but that doesn't change the fact that you tried to keep them from making mistakes. You did what you were supposed to, yet still, why does it feel like this is your fault?

You've grown fond of the crew, and it's become more of a headache than you initially bargained for.

The waiter comes with your order on a plate, not Sanji this time, you discover. In fact, he's nowhere to be seen. 

Without wasting your breath, you immediately dig into your meal like a woman starved of sustenance. It tastes delicious, but the residue of yesterday's liquor on your tongue dilutes the taste. You don't care, though.

Shortly after finishing half a portion of your lunch, you resume with your bottles. A slower pace this time, to ensure that your current condition doesn't significantly worsen, but still fast enough to keep you from remembering.

Remembering too much.

Half a bottle into your stupor, the entrance doors slam open and a pang of pain burst through the nerves in your brain. All you can think is that it's way too early for someone to be stirring shit up.

A round of gasps echoes through the establishment, and when you peek up from over your shoulder, you see three fish people making their entrance from the top of the staircase. 

You've had your share of encounters with fish people in the past, some more ... tolerable than the rest. In hindsight, there's no difference between the way you treat people; if they get on your nerves, you deal with them. If they don't, you leave them be.

Your instincts tell you that these people will fall into the former category.

However, you notice that the one with the sharp nose looks awfully familiar, but your temporary amnesia might have something to do with the alcohol circling in your veins. Still, it's not a face that's easy to forget.

A few people try to get up from their seats, but with a simple, "Sit down!", they comply.

You narrow your eyes at the spectacle but don't move to get away. As long as he doesn't bother you, there's no reason for you to get involved. Baratie's had worse customers before, so this is nothing new. Zeff'll handle it like he always does.

So, you continue with your drinks, already annoyed and in desperate need of the numbing sensation only the bottle can provide. Zeff appears to deal with it, and it doesn't pique your interest until the fish man proclaims: 

"Listen up! I'm looking for a pirate in a straw hat! Goes by the name of Luffy."

Now this catches your attention mid-sip. 

You look at the particular fish man discreetly over your shoulder, your sobriety making a quick return once you discover that you do know of him. He's Arlong the Saw; a misanthrope who makes a living killing humans. 

"Arlong," he said moments ago to Zeff. "I own the East Blue."

You don't know why he's after Luffy, and quite frankly, you don't care. With your fucking luck, he's after the map, too. 

He can pretend to own the seas all he wants, but what matters to you is that he won't get to the boy, and it's something that Zeff seems on board with if his negotiation tactics mean anything.

So, in silence, you continue with your drinking, content with laying low until one of Arlong's henchmen - one with black hair tied up on each side of his head - appears at your side. 

He leers over your shoulder, the stench of seawater evading your nostrils, and reaches for one of your bottles.

"Hope you don't mind sharing," he chuckles, and for some reason, this gesture pisses you off.

You're not in the fucking mood.

Before his hand can as much as graze the bottle's fine surface, you grip the back of his shirt and all but fling him back from whence he came. The sound of a table breaking behind you interrupts the eerie quietness that's befallen the other patrons, and you get up from your seat to glare at the other fish people.

"Fucking get lost," your voice rings out like an ominous warning across the air of the establishment, rendering everyone mute. Well, everyone except for Arlong, who proceeds to laugh heartedly at the spectacle whereas his other henchman quickly moves to aid his fallen colleague.

"Well, well, who do we have here?" He stands up from the table, two sharp rows of teeth reflecting the light from the restaurant as he grins. "If it ain't the Beast of the East, in the flesh." He tilts his head to the side. "I was expecting someone ... younger."

"I'm retired."

"So I've heard, but someone else seems to think otherwise."

"Well, this 'someone else’ must’ve been mistaken."

"No, no," he wags his 'finger?'. "You see, he was quite adamant that you're back in business. If that is the case, I am owed tribute for the stunts you've pulled."

You quirk an eyebrow, so lowly that it hardly seems to move at all. "Tribute?"

"Half of whatever plunder you acquired during the years you were active," he waves his hand. "And half of what you've acquired as of late."

Capitalism, truly. Seems that not even fishmen can deny its pull.

Your answer is simple. 

"No."

Arlong's grin shapes into a snarl quite easily. "You may have the highest bounty, but it is still I who own the East Blue."

"The sea belongs to no one," you counter sharply. "Not me, and certainly not you."

It's clear that he perceives this as a slight in the highest degree if the downward tug of his lips serves as an indication. "Do you even know who I am?"

"I don't care who you are." Your fist clenches into a tight knot that almost draws blood as you stare him down from across the room; two beasts in their own respective ways. 

"I'm Arlong the Saw."

"More like Arlong the Nailfile." This earns you a growl you're not nearly sober enough to worry about. "Look, I don't care who you are, and I don't care why you're here. The point is, you're not wanted."

You glance over at Zeff. For once, in the time you've known him, he's cautious but allows you to get your words across.

Arlong does not share the same sentiments. "When I learned that Cross-Hairs was here, I expected a woman with fists of irons and eyes sharp as knives. However, all I seem to be presented with is an old captain who does not know how to hold her liquor. It's pathetic, even by human standards."

This time, you're not vocal about your rather ... brutally honest opinions about him. Without breaking eye contact, you reach for your bottle and take a hefty swing from it. It all goes down without pause, and once it's gone, you put it back with enough force to permanently dent the table. Zeff'll be pissed.

Arlong snorts at the display. "I'm not here for you specifically. The boy, Luffy, where is he?"

"Never heard of him,"

"I don't quite believe that."

"Not my problem."

Arlong tilts his head to the side, almost condescendingly. "My informant knows otherwise."

"Your informant seems to know a lot of things," you say, dangerously low. "If you tell me who they are, and I'll pay them a visit myself to set the record straight,"

He chuckles. "There's no need for a visit. He's already here, and he's famished." He snaps his jaws to a nearby table, scaring the patrons into fleeing. "But I don't need the meals from the menu to quench my hunger."

You glance over at the other patrons, seeing the fear in their eyes reflect the light above. You've seen it before; you used to see it back when you were still Captain of the Cross-Haired Pirates. People used to quake at the sound of your footsteps, and whisper among themselves. in fear of evoking your wrath.

Back in the day, you lived up to your reputation. You didn't necessarily enjoy installing fear into people's hearts, but it was a means to an end. You were angry, and all that anger manifested itself in the way you acted as a captain. All that fighting, all that beating, all that rage.

Now, when you see the patrons acting like a herd of sheep, you can't help but feel like you're back there. But they're not afraid of you, not this time.

You look back at Arlong. "Find your meal someplace else."

He growls and steps closer. "I'm telling you this, Cross-Hairs, one beast to another. You may be strong, but we both know that you're not strong enough to take me on. Fish men are superior to humans in every single way. Stronger, faster, —"

He gets close enough to grab for your hand and lift it, his face a breath's width from your own. You can smell the stench of salt on him, of raw meat. "— Hungrier. Wouldn't you agree?"

In a flash, you grip your other hand around his wrist, fingers digging into his flesh until you can find the corners of his joints. You relish in the pained expression that crosses his face.

"You're not a beast," you say, not raising your voice a pitch. "You're vermin."

Arlong parts his jaws when the doors to the Baratie burst open. 

"Which one of you is Arlong?" 

You snap your attention to the top of the staircase, and your face drains. Fuck, it's Luffy. Why's he here?

"Who's asking?" Arlong asks, his grip around yours remains tight.

"I'm Monkey D. Luffy. I hear you're looking for me."

Once Luffy descends the stairs, Arlong lets go of you and turns to face the younger opponent. You watch with mild impressiveness as Luffy faces the bigger fish man, and you have to grant him that, he doesn't exhibit an ounce of fear. 

"How'd you find me anyway?" Luffy finally asks.

Arlong snickers. "An old friend helped track you down."

Then, you watch as the big-lipped fish man pulls something out from his bag and it's ... and it's ...

"Heya, Straw Hat! Did you miss me?"

It's fucking Buggy!

Your heart skips several beats before it remembers to start pumping again. He's here. You thought Orange Town would be the last time you saw him, but he's really here. Truth be told, he looks worse for wear; his make-up is all smudged, a bruise forming on the right side of his cheek, and he's been dowsed in seawater.

But it's him. It's him.

Buggy's eyes glance over at you, and the smile that was previously there gets momentarily replaced with an expression you can't precisely pinpoint. "Hey, there," he says, surprisingly demure. "how's it going?" 

You're not nearly sober nor coherent enough to reply.

"Burpy?" Luffy asks surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"Believe me it wasn't my first choice either, but these fine fishy folk persuaded me to point them in the right direction, which ain't easy when you don't have any hands."

"How'd you even know how to find me?"

"I told you, I got eyes and ears everywhere."

To your horror, you watch as an ear pulls itself out of Luffy's hat and attaches to the clown's head. That ear was there all along, which means ...

"You were listening all along?" Luffy cradles his hat. "You heard everything?"

Everything, you think to yourself as you feel the blood drain from your face. He heard everything, everything you'd said to Luffy, everything about your whereabouts. Every—

"Everything," Buggy answers. "And that got old quick, 'cause you shidiots got no idea what you're doing. Hey, Lips!" He turns his head sideways to face the fish man who's just returned from aiding his colleague. "How about a scratch behind the old ear, huh?"

"Sorry, honey."

You don't know what compels you, but something fierce does. An animalistic instinct settled in the marrow of your bones, rampant with rage and assertiveness. When the fish man grabs a hold of Buggy and puts him in the bag, you feel the need to get him out. Free him.

You were friends with him once, something even more from your side long ago, and you've tried to kill each other on at least one occasion. Still, that piece of you that remains in your youthhood demands that you get to him before anyone else.

The conversation that takes place between Luffy and Arlong doesn't register with your ears, as all you can focus on is him. Before you know it, the sound of gunshots echoes through the restaurant, and a fight erupts between Luffy's crew and Arlong's.

Truth be told, it all flashes in front of you like pictures from a movie you've seen. All you can recall, with the alcohol still flooding through your veins, is the feeling of flesh between your digits, the sound of cries and painful moans from Arlong's henchpeople as you force them to the side, and the pure adrenaline that muddles all your thoughts of ration.

Before Arlong can even hope to make a grasp at Luffy, you're there to deflect his claws with your wrist. The impact pushes his hand several inches away from your skin, and without a moment's notice, you strike him in the middle of his sternum.

He's knocked several feet back and into a nearby pillar, not enough to completely knock him out, but enough to keep him away if only for a few moments.

He laughs, his teeth bleeding from the gums. "The Beast of the East. I was wondering when I'd finally get to meet you."

You don't say a word, with the primitive instincts overwhelming your rational ones. In a second, you lunge for him, your hand aimed towards his head. Someone, most likely yourself, must have miscalculated because as much as you intend to hit him and maim him and strike him, the most prominent sense that strikes you is not the feeling of blood under your knuckles.

It's pain.

You're in pain.

Arlong manages to hit you with his clawed fingers. The sharp feeling of something piercing the side of your abdomen through your clothes causes an eerie feeling of hurt. You gasp and bend to your knees, clutching your side. Blood paints your palm as you withdraw it. You're bleeding. Fuck, you're actually bleeding. It's not a light cut either, it's several ones, an inch deep each, and they're bleeding profusely.

When was the last time you bled like this?

The collision between your head and something hard knocks you back before you can even hope to register your state properly. The floorboards leave stinging burns across your lower back until a pillar cushions your fall.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"A pity, truly." Arlong taunts, towering over you. "My informant seemed so confident in your skills. How disappointed he’ll be, seeing you crawl like a maggot on the floor."

You know this is a fight you cannot win, not as you are right now, but you don’t care. Pure spite motivates you to do your worst, even if it’s all for naught.

An act produced from pure adrenaline, you jump back to your feet and prepare to pounce at him. An outstretched hand — Luffy's — beat you to it and preoccupied the fish man in the nick of time. He's pulled away from your reach before you can hope to get him, and a familiar feeling of bloodlust in your veins awakens to life after its hibernation.

Hot, boiling.

You want to kill him. 

Maim him. 

Crush him until his bones break. 

Feel the warmth of his blood coat your fingers as you dig into his body, through veins and arteries and flesh. 

You want him dead.

Suddenly, you catch it from your peripheral vision. A bag on the floor that's currently being tossed back and forth amid all the fighting like a ball of yarn between two quarreling cats. A string of curses erupts from the fabric.

He's still here, you remember. Buggy is still here. 

You have the option to leave him at the mercy of the fight between the Straw Hats and Arlong, but something in your body won't let it. Call it instinct, call it sentiment, but you move towards it all the same. Before any man can even touch the surface of the bag, you lunge for it like a flash of light. 

Grabbing the top of the old fabric, you all but yank it from the floor and maintain him in the steady grip of both your hands. 

"Hey, hey!" the voice in the bag calls. "Keep me out of this!"

"Shut up!" You shout back.

The voice immediately quiets down. In the middle of the fight, while you cling to the bag like a sacred object, you can hear him call your name several times, though you don’t answer.

You cradle the bag in the crook of your elbow as someone — doesn’t matter who — kicks your ribs and sends you crashing into a nearby wall. The impact knocks the air out of your lungs and leaves you with stars at the corners of your vision, yet all you can seem to think is ‘keep .... safe, keep .... safe, KEEP .... SAFE’.

You cough several times, static noise filling your eardrums as you crawl back to your feet. The sensation of something warm dribbling down the side of your ribs strikes you, yet your only concern in the midst of the blood loss is to carry that damn bag to safety. 

It doesn’t make any sense. Luffy should be your only concern, but you can't find him, and the core of your being wants nothing more than to just get that bag the hell out of there. 

Why? you think to yourself in a haze, your breath becoming heavier. What’s in that bag again? Why does it mean so much?

You try to get up, but the weight of your body overwhelms you. You stumble and fall back to your knees, dizziness making everything hazy and disoriented, but pure spite motivates you to keep going. At least, it tries to, but sheer will cannot outweigh the body’s needs alone.

Someone calls your name, and as your cheek meets the floor, an image of blue hair invades your vision. Blue hair, soft promises, and tight embraces.

Then, there are scornful glares, a shove against your body, so firm and cold that it’s reminiscent of ice.

“I hate you,” a blurry voice says, so filled with resentment that it reminds you of a knife. “I wish we’d never even met. Go be with him if that’s what you fucking want. What do I care?”

It hurts. It hurts more than your ribs do. It hurts to listen to those words — that voice — as it reverberates through your skull. It hurts so fucking much that you don’t think you can survive it. You feel small, small and vulnerable; like a child stuck in a crowd of people they don't know.

“He- Hey! Are you there?” The same voice - deeper and darker now - calls desperately as darkness starts to cloud your vision. “Come on, get up!”

You can’t tell if this is a voice from inside your head or outside it, but you don’t fight it when the darkness decides to lay claim over you. The same voice calls your name urgently, time and time again, but you can't answer it.

———

Everything hurts. Your body, your arms, your legs, but most prominently, the right side of your body. It’s burning, stinging, fucking carving at you. Whatever you call it. It just hurts.

“You’re awake!”

You barely have time to open your eyes when a warm body presses itself against yours from above. A sting of pain from the side of your body immediately surges through your nerves and you hiss.

“Oh, sorry, sorry!”

When you finally do look up, you see Luffy sitting beside you, a concerned yet hopeful look in those round eyes of his. You blink at him, then shift your head around to see where you are. You’re in your cabin, a blanket pulled up to your midsection, with something wrapped tightly around your stomach under your shirt.

At first, you’re at a loss for thoughts, but it only takes you a moment for everything to fall back into place. You immediately sit up, only to regret it as the pain explodes once more from your wounds.

“Don’t move too much,” Luffy protests and puts a hand on your shoulder to guide you down, but you resist it.

“What happened?” you demand. “How long was I out for?”

“Only a few hours.” Luffy frowns and gestures to your side. “You were badly hurt and lost a bit of blood. Zeff looked over it and managed to stop the bleeding, but he said you’ll need stitches eventually.”

You stare at him for a few seconds before your gaze trails down to your side. Lifting your shirt far enough so that you can evaluate the damage. Crimson-stained bandages greet your vision, under which you can only guess Arlong left his mark. Several marks to be precise, if your memory holds any value.

It’s not the wound itself that fills you with shame, but it’s the fact that you let your own grievances put you and – to some extent – the crew in such a vulnerable position to begin with. 

If only you’d stopped feeling so sorry for yourself, then maybe this wouldn’t have happened.

“Luffy,” you say softly, not removing your focus from the bandages. “I’m … sorry.”

“For what?” he asks, completely confused.

“… I got distracted.” You slowly swing your feet to the edge of the hammock, the movements warranting more bouts of pain, yet you ignore it. “I … Let my guard down, and it put the crew in danger.”

“I don’t think so.” He says it so casually like he doesn’t find you at fault in the slightest. You don’t know whether deem his forgiving demeanor endearing or naïve to a fault. “You were sad.”

“That doesn’t excuse anything!” You jump to your feet while cradling your side. Luffy immediately comes to your side and offers you a shoulder to lean onto. “You could’ve been killed!”

“I’m fine,” he insists. “And so is Zoro! He’s alive!”

“That’s … good.” Relief floods your body.

“But Nami…” Luffy pauses as he helps you out of the room towards the kitchen. “She went with Arlong,”

You raise an eyebrow, not expecting this. “Why?”

“I don’t know, but we’re going to find her.”

“And how are we going to do that?”

“Well …” he trails off sheepishly, and you’re immediately suspicious. 

It’s not until you finally reach the kitchen that you hear it.

“Hey! Look who it ... is ...”

It’s Buggy … 

His head is on top of the kitchen table. 

———

Taglist:

@kurinhimenezu, @carpinchootaku, @ay0nha, @teh-vampire-bunny, @lokiscure, @internationalsuper-spy, @detectivesparrow , @yuriwk , @notyuralycat , @angeli-fucking-cat , @machinema7k , @shuujin, @avatar-lover, @gingernut1314, @autumn-slaves. @marvelouskatie, @floristoflillys, @dizzyenby, @redpool, @deliri-yum22, @aemondsb1tch, @ackroxia, @gayandfairycore, @knightsfavoriteprincess, @asterizee, @aamethyst23, @lizzie1107 (If you want to be tagged for this story, just send me a message or leave a comment :))

[bulkyphrase]

Cap-IM Rec Week - Early Canon Wednesday

Day 3 of @cap-ironman's rec week event! Today's list features stories set in the early days: comics stories set in the time when the Avengers lived in the mansion and no one knew Tony was Iron Man, or movie-verse stories from the beautiful 2011-2013 era.

Get Some Now by @sineala (616, Teen And Up Audiences, 10,376 words)

Summary: Avengers Mansion has a mysterious feline infestation. Meanwhile, Steve just can't figure out how to ask Tony out on a date. And the thirteen teleporting cats sure aren't helping matters any. Also available as a podfic read by where_thewind_blows (@flowersthroughthecracks)

Homefront by @copperbadge (MCU, Explicit, 12,860 words)

Summary: Steve Rogers is a capable leader, a kind and cheerful man, a good friend, a strong role model, and a loyal soldier. He's also teetering on the edge of suicide. Also available as a podfic read by watery_weasel

More below the cut!

Love among the Hydrothermal Vents by DevilDoll (MCU, Explicit, 26,816 words)

Summary: In which Namor has a thing for Steve, an octopus has a thing for Tony, and Steve and Tony eventually have a thing for each other. Also available as a podfic read by RsCreighton (@rosecreighton)

Semaphore by DevilDoll (MCU, Explicit, 40,040 words)

Summary: "I’m trying to like you, Tony. You’re just making it very hard." Steve Rogers/Tony Stark Also available as a podfic read by crinklysolution

Slipping off the Page into Your Hands by @sineala (616, Explicit, 68,149 words)

Summary: Soulmates have their first words to each other written on their wrists. This should make it easy. For Steve and Tony, it is anything but. Steve's problem is that the future he has awoken into is nothing he was ever expecting: he has a soulmate now. Who might be a robot. And if his soulmate is Iron Man, how can he be so attracted to Tony Stark? It should be impossible. Tony's problem is that he is Iron Man, his soulmate is a man whom he in no way deserves, and he is going to fight everything in his heart and do his best to make sure Steve never, ever finds out the whole truth. Also available as a podfic read by RsCreighton (@rosecreighton)

Someone to Love by blue_jack (@some-blue-jack) (MCU, Mature, 47,161 words)

Summary: What does it matter that it’d been because of Loki and his damn magic? He’d fallen in love with Steve once. He can do it again.

Team Building Activities by valtyr (MCU, Mature, 37,938 words)

Summary: Fury's a beautiful princess. Clint's plotting a Communist revolution. Rhodey's not sexy. Wall-E's not a documentary. Clint's not gay but he does give a great blowjob. This fic is not an AU. Also available as a podfic read by kalakirya

The Unlikely Wingman by @sineala (616, General Audiences, 1,074 words)

Summary: Clint doesn't see why he should have to follow Captain America's orders. But he also doesn't see why Captain America should have to sit around looking miserably lonely, either.

Think of This as Solving Problems (That Should Never Have Occurred) by @sineala (616, Teen And Up Audiences, 35,216 words)

Summary: No one knows Tony is Iron Man. Then Tony gets amnesia, and literally no one knows Tony is Iron Man.

Tomorrow Belongs To Me by valtyr (MCU, Explicit, 87,241 words)

Summary: Steve wakes up in the 21st Century. He doesn't think much of it, and it's dubious about him. He meets a Norse God, joins a superhero team, and feels terribly awkward about the whole monument at Arlington he's rendered obsolete by not being dead. Meanwhile, Tony is trying to make his mark on history by being the man who finally drove Nick Fury over the edge. Also available as a podfic read by kalakirya

What Lies Inside by Penumbren (616, Explicit, 21,808 words)

Summary: When the Avengers discover Captain America in the Arctic sea, they find more than just a new team member: Tony Stark discovers his fated mate. The problem is, Steve Rogers is a man out of his own time and apparently straight, and Tony's not about to force anything on the man he loves--even if it means his own death. Besides, Tony's spent his entire life keeping secrets. How can he possibly tell Steve that he's really Iron Man, let alone a werewolf? Also available as a podfic read by Saphirerose

[medicus-mortem]

@devilofthecresentisle liked [+] for a starter.

   The Polar Tang breaks the surface of the water, rising into a sheltered cove that is set into the island's southern cliffs. It is small, barely wide enough to fit the bulk of the submarine, but deep enough that the Tang can submerge if need be. It also helps that there is a good path through the reefs to get to this cove. It'll give Law and his crew a reason to go back to those pristine reefs. There were so many interesting fish species to study. Vibrant little creatures Law could watch for hours and feel some measure of peace. A beauty in those depths he can get nowhere.

   Plus, there is the fact that this small island seems relatively safe. No signs of people when they approached and the jungle above seems lush, perhaps even filled with resources. A good place to stop for a break and refuel. A place to restock their supplies. Also, a place where Law can stretch his legs. He's in need of a good wander.

   Once the Tang settles in place, the Hearts getting to securing her and keeping their home safe, the captain emerges from the depths. Kikoku sits on his shoulder, golden gaze taking a moment to appreciate the efficiency of his crew. He creates a Room, spreading it into the cliff side to find the path up and out of these caves.

   "Gonna take a walk," Law projects, telling everyone within ear shot. "Shachi you keep the Tang safe. Clione heads the foraging effort. I'll mark the path out of the cave. It's pretty short so nothin' to worry 'bout. See you guys in a couple hours."

   With that he teleports off the ship and strides through the crack in the wall that is the path to the surface. Using the spatial data of his Room Law strides confidently on, a piece of chalk gets pulled from a pocket and used to put arrows on the wall as he walks. Arrows to point the way and a cross to mark bad paths. Soon enough, the Surgeon of Death with his travel pack steps out into the sunlight. He breathes deep of the tropical air. Yeah, this seems like a nice place.