#𝕳𝖊𝖑𝖑'𝖘 𝕭𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖘: [ KIDD PIRATES ]

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As I wait for the glasses-

Spoilers ahead for the Kidd Pirates Timeskip nightmares.

This makes me wonder how Benn did it. How did he manage to take them down? Obviously, he'd have to gave taken Eustass down first because Eustass is THE heavy hitter on the team, followed closely by Killer. Which makes me think he stunned Eustass first- and ripped off the arm. Literally, more than likely, because of his armament haki.

So you take down the Captain, and throw the crew into disarray. It confused them. Makes them want to run to Eustass, who is screaming, who is bleeding, who is... silent? Is he dead? Did he die?

Then, you take out the fast one. Killer. He's trouble. He's quick on his feet and he strikes hard and fast. But it's easily enough done when you have so much hair to grab onto. Put down, like a bad dog.

Wire, next. Tricky. Tall, lithe- what is their role? Ah, tripwires. Explosives on the run. Oops, caught up in his wires. Tossed aside.

Heat. The dangerous one. Whose hearth is glowing bright in their sternum- shot. Once, just once, a shoulder. Enough to stun, to dampen down the flames that lick up their throat. And finally-

They beg. Heat, who thinks begging shows weakness. Heat, who knows that they have nothing that could be of note to save their lives, at least... not monetarily. Poneglyph pieces and notes.

Benn takes them. Takes all of them. Let's them live. Maybe tells them where the nearest doctor is.

And just like that- the Victoria is safe. The rest of the crew is safe. But Eustass is missing an arm and bleeding out and your crew just got put down like a pack of wild dogs.

[naviculariis]

Wire is heavy on the brain today.

-Wire's vocal chords were damaged roughly 13-15 years ago in an incident in which he had screamed so loud, so hard, that he ended up causing significant damage to them.* Due to this, he ended up going through a partial ventriculocordectomy- removing part of the vocal chords. He can still speak, but it's rarely above a murmur. He primarily relies on sign language.

-He was the leader of his gang from the age of 14 to the age of 27, when he left with Kidd. The gang itself was family-based; his father, his father's father, his father's father's father... But he'd been in the game of running things the longest out of the Core 4 [ Kidd, Heat, and Killer ].

-Explosives Expert. He'd been building explosives since he was a kid for his father to use in territory wars between gangs. It's how he got the nickname of Wire. He can make explosives on the fly like no one else. Just give him five minutes and you get a boom.

-He didn't take Kidd seriously at first. He was young, brash, bullheaded. But seeing the way he'd gathered so many people to help with taking down Victoria's killers- well. Shit. Who was he to doubt him, after that?

[ This is entirely verse dependent, but if he isn't shipped, his default ship is with Heat. ]

* The incident [ verse dependant, but it is the default I use ] was due to an altercation with the Volk Pirates. Hestia, Malekai's first mate, branded him while Malekai used his DF ability ( weight of the Sea ), so the combination of the atmospheric pressure + screaming in pain from the brand was what caused his vocal chords to rip.

[naviculariis]

Eustass is dyslexic. It's something he's very well aware of, something he's struggled with since he was old enough to read. Couple it with not having had a proper education as a child, Eustass Kidd doesn't know how to read. Numbers, he understands. He can make sense of them, sometimes.

So his crew reads for him.

Heat has taught Dive how to read and write; Dive likes to tease Eustass about him not being able to read until he scoops her up and hangs her upside down by her legs while she screams and squeals and giggles so hard she feels sick.

Killer reads for Eustass most of the time. Wire handles their logs and anything Eustass needs written. Heat handles most of the finances.

And Eustass is forever thankful and grateful for them. He doesn't know how he would have gotten this far if it wasn't for his crew.

[naviculariis]

Heat is Dive's father.

It hadn't started out that way, not at all. When Dive was born, Heat was there- for their sister, Ash. Ash's partner had skipped out, left the city ( later to be found and beat to death by Heat themself but that's a story for another time- ) Ash had a rough pregnancy with Dive, had struggled with her morning sickness, which turned into day sickness, and night sickness...

Ash passed away shortly after giving birth. Which left Heat as the only living relative. Heat had no issue whatsoever with taking on being a parent; they were barely eighteen at the time, but it was something that was necessary. Dive was just a wee babe, she didn't ask for this.

And so, Heat became a father, and a mother, to wee little Dive. Dive refers to them as her Da, but also sometimes her Mam, it doesn't really matter. But when she says either of those words, Heat comes running.

Heat's been a parent for twelve years. And Dive has been alongside them for each milestone. It was non-negotiable about Dive coming with them when they joined Eustass' crew. If Eustass wanted them, he had to also accept Dive.

Turns out it was good. Dive is a feral kid with razor teeth and a knack for biting ankles.

[naviculariis]

Modern AU Kidd Pirate thoughts

Eustass owns an autobody / detailing shop named after himself, and co-owns the dive bar directly next to it with Killer, Wire, and Heat called the Victoria Punk. Killer works in the kitchen & yes, pasta is their specialty. Heat and Wire work in the evenings mainly on weekends bc shit gets rowdy.

Killer also works in the shop. They all do; the girls ( and Quincy ) man the bar for the most part.

Dive does her homework at the shop or the bar, depending on where Heat's working.

The bar gets rowdy, they have live music ( Eustass will occasionally sing, Killer on the drums, Wire on bass and Heat on guitar ), sometimes they host a Battle of the Bands event. The bar's well known.

Eustass is still Big. Big and soft and sometimes covered with grease splotches. Killer puts his hair in a big ass pony tail. Refuses to cut it.

And yes, the bar is still named after their childhood friend.

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Killer & Wire teaching the rest of the Kidd Pirates how to gather & clean fresh produce without accidentally poisoning them all after Eustass tried to eat a very very much not yet ripe apple bc he just thought it was a normal green apple.

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My Kidd's accent: Gerard Butler, but drunk. Not posh at all. Rough as hell. Draws out his vowels, sort of. Skip and a rise in the words.

Killer: Closer to Sam Heughan; it's a bit lighter, the vowels are more pressed together rather than a Glasgow drawl.

Heat: Inverness, also tighter, a bit posh sounding. Twiney.

Wire: Back of the mouth. Deeper, rougher. A bit nasally, but deep, Eastern shore-esque.

& Bonus

Shanks: EDINBURGH.

[naviculariis]

Fat Bottomed Girls never fails to make me think of the Kidd Pirates bc I can 100% see that fuckin crew scream-singing that at the top of their lungs.

[naviculariis]

What kind of herb are you?

Killer:

Oregano

You are home to so many people and yet you're not at home with yourself. Everyone needs something from you and you desperately try to prove that you're enough but you're never enough, never good enough, never even you despite all of that. Your hands shake but only when you're never looking at them and your smile is so ever-present you can't help but wonder if its fake, wonder how much of you is real. You're a caretaker, but are you even good at that, or are you faking yourself out into believing you're something that you wish you could, someone that someone else needed you to be when you were small and so full of need and hope and fragility? Who are you underneath the need to be someone's home? Who are you when you come home to yourself?

Heat:

Dandelion

You grew up too fast and all you know is the calluses on your fists and the thousand invisible scars that you pretend don't ache. Your anger burns so bright, so hot or maybe not at all, so deep you could never tell it was there. You are yours and you will defend that to the death after so many years of being ripped apart and denied your own agency and maybe you are still facing the bastards who stole your innocence but you will survive because that's the only thing you know how to do without breaking, the only thing you know besides protect, protect, protect, protect, yourself or sometimes those few others you claim as yours. You are a thousand sharp edges but impenetrable, a traumatized child so covered by thorny armor that you promised yourself you're grown now, you're stronger than anyone who has ever hurt you. You're safe. Nothing will ever hurt you again. You're so alone though sometimes, in a world that sees you as too much or too broken or too angry or too hurt, and you want to scream with the too-much of it, prove that you're okay, that you're self-reliant, that you are strong enough to stake your claim on your body, on your mind, on your heart, on your people, and protect it from any who dare take it away from you. You are the sea in tempest, a howling sky, a tsunami in motion, a force of nature, no matter how much you sometimes yearn to be still, to be safe, to be small. You are a dandelion, stubborn and determined to grow in the rockiest of soil, and bloom again in spring.

Wire:

Basil

You wear a thousand masks and you claim them all. You say they are all you, all parts of you but some of them you picked up when you needed to be brave, some you picked up when you failed because you were yourself, some of them you picked up because you needed to be stronger for someone smaller, better for someone bigger, useful for someone crueler, and you can't help but desperately scramble for first place, for usefulness, to prove you're worth keeping around, to prove you're the best, to prove you're good enough, valuable, enough. You just want someone to tell you you're enough. You strive for success, to be a role model, to take the lead, to be someone everyone loves, someone who can't fall, someone who can't be hurt the way you were once, the way you're running from even now. Sometimes you just want someone to hold your hand and let you spill all your broken fragments outward but you know you could never let it go. The only thing holding you together some days is the image of perfection and success and security and the worst part is that everyone else needs you to never falter either because you so often are the one holding everyone together too. You can't help but wonder if your emotions are ever your own, if you are just an actor in a life that's not your own, if you were cursed to be a mannequin, a doll, from the moment you were born and placed into a life where you were a child meant to be seen, not heard, to perform, not live, and the jealousy the injustice or the pain is fueled into masks as you take the world by storm.

Stolen from: @a-musing-mixologist

[naviculariis]

@a-musing-mixologist sent: i’m in love with being noticed and afraid of being seen. (Kid fer Killer?)

[ from STICK SEASON: WE'LL ALL BE HERE FOREVER. ( accepting! ) ]

ㅤ⠀The deck of the Victoria was quiet in the early morning hours. The sun was just starting to peek over the edge of the horizon, causing the sky to shift from navy to royal blue, tinted with soft, deep lavenders and baby pinks. The breeze that guided the ship was from the south west, driving them forward slowly. Wire was at the helm, silent and steady, leaving Killer to have a few scant moments of peace before he got to work tending to the crew with breakfast. Maybe something from home this time? He had some bacon curing in salt, and Lorne sausage, maybe he’d fix up some black pudding and haggis, too. They were running low on scones- and the supplies for him to make said scones, so they’d do with toast, and some eggs-

ㅤ⠀That is, until his captain- his oldest friend- spoke, startling him out of his reverie with the sky.

ㅤ⠀His head turned, studying Kid as he settled in at his side. ❝Feelin’ a wee bit introspective this mornin’, aye?❞ Killer murmured softly, brows furrowing behind the helmet. Fingers reached up, unclipping the mechanism that held it in place, letting the two halves fall into his hands for the moment. The feeling of the sea breeze on his skin, through his hair, was always a treat. Kid could be crass, could be harsh, but he was far smarter than anyone outside of the crew gave him credit for. Hotheaded, too-

ㅤ⠀But weren’t they all, just a touch? Being a pirate meant being crass, meant throwing caution to the wind when necessary. Lips curving into a small smile, he turned away from studying the horizon to lean instead against the bannister, arms crossing over his chest so that he could actually see Eustass. ❝Wha’s on yer mind, then?❞ Came the soft question; had he had another awful dream? Another sleepless night?

[naviculariis]

Playlists are the biggest thing for me when it comes to musing a character, so, new series time:

Playlists.

On this edition: the Kidd Pirates.

Eustass "Captain" Kidd

Massacre Soldier Killer

Heat

Wire

[ images of the playlist below the cut if the links don't work for some reason ]

Eustass

Killer

Heat

Wire

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Okay but a running gag pre-ts in which Killer consistently gets mistaken for a woman from behind. Gets mistaken for a hey mama's lesbian constantly. He's flattered, but the reactions are hilarious every time they hear this deep ass Scottish man's voice come out.

*cue Dude Looks Like A Lady*

[naviculariis]

BORN TO BREAK.

Rating: Explicit Warning(s): Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Blood & Gore, Injury, Amputation, Hysteria, Waterboarding, Specifically Post-Marineford but before the end of the Timeskip. Spoilers. Relationships: Eustass Kid/Killer [ lowkey ] Characters: Shanks, Benn Beckman, Yasopp, Lucky Roux, Eustass Kid, Killer, Heat, Wire, Original Male Character(s) Summary: “Captain!” Heat called from behind them. They’d covered them in water- had splashed them once, twice, three times before ducking his head under the water of the river. Waterboarding him, drowning him, snuffing out the fire that they spewed regularly. That’s why he couldn’t help, Killer thought as Shanks relented, stepping away, blade pulling free of his throat. “Captain, get up!” Heat called out once more. “What did you do?” Killer whispered as sat up slowly, body screaming in anguish. His ribs were certainly broken; how many? He couldn’t tell, but breathing hurt, moving hurt, his arm was bloodied and oh, god, was that blood surrounding Eustass? “What did you DO?!” He howled, launching himself to his feet only to be met with the muzzle of that damned sawed off shotgun that Beckmann used.

Notes:

PLEASE PAY ATTENTION TO THE TAGS. This gets gnarly. Remember how I've mentioned I can get into Dead Dove territory? Here it is. Oh, right. Do y'all remember that scene in episode 67 of the original Naruto series where Gaara is screaming hysterically during the exams about his blood?

Yeah. Keep that in mind for me, will you? You'll know when it comes into play.

Sometimes, you really underestimate how things will go.

The sound of footsteps was loud in the silence that followed after the clash. The movement caught Killer’s attention first; he glanced up towards Shanks, who watched with an almost smug expression. That spiked something in him, some dormant fear that prickled with anxiety, that had his hands sweating, had his heart racing in his chest. He shifted, attention turning towards where his Captain should have been. The ground was dry, too dry; dust was kicked up with every small movement. With the blood and sweat that was in his own eyes, it was hard to see, hard to make out what he was seeing.

Beckmann was walking away- no, walking towards him. That’s why Shanks was so smug, pinning him with his foot on his skull, his blade at his throat. Anytime he swallowed, the steel dug in a little more, drawing forth scarlet that trickled slowly down the length of it. His breath caught in his throat as the dust finally cleared away, giving way to… Kidd? Why was he on the ground? “What-” he croaked out, only to groan as Shanks pressed his weight into his foot. The pain was excruciating, his jaw clenching as a yell pulled free from somewhere deep within him.

“Captain!” Heat called from behind them. They’d covered them in water- had splashed them once, twice, three times before ducking his head under the water of the river. Waterboarding him, drowning him, snuffing out the fire that they spewed regularly. That’s why he couldn’t help, Killer thought as Shanks relented, stepping away, blade pulling free of his throat. “Captain, get up!” Heat called out once more.

“What did you do?” Killer whispered as sat up slowly, body screaming in anguish. His ribs were certainly broken; how many? He couldn’t tell, but breathing hurt, moving hurt, his arm was bloodied and oh, god, was that blood surrounding Eustass? “What did you DO?!” He howled, launching himself to his feet only to be met with the muzzle of that damned sawed off shotgun that Beckmann used.

His finger was on the trigger.

His arm was black; coated in Haki. Haki- Beckmann had Haki?

Shit. Killer blinked hard beneath the mask, trying to clear his vision. “Heat, what do you see?” He asked their third mate, who was silent. Silence was never a good answer. “Heat, answer.”

“I uh…” The waver in their voice was enough to set them all on edge. “I don’t think-”

“An arm for an arm, though your captain wasn’t the one to cost me mine.” Shanks answers in a near-chipper manner from behind him. “What will he do now? The Captain of the Kidd Pirates, beaten like a bad dog. But that’s what you all are, aren’t you?” The chuckle that escapes from Shanks is nothing short of sinister. “You come here to challenge us, to challenge me… For what reason? I have nothing to give you.”

An arm. Beckmann took Kidd’s arm.

“I-” Killer began to retaliate verbally before a sound caught their attention.

It started softly. Like a pained whine from a dog, high and reedy and nerve-grating. “My arm,” Kidd whispered, his gaze trained on the limb sitting on the ground three feet in front of him. It bled, oozing garnet onto ivory sand. He could see the bone standing out; shattered mid-way, nothing near a clean break. This wasn’t a break. That was his arm. Those were his fingers, painted black. Those were his rings.

That was his arm.

His arm.

“My arm.” His voice was barely above a whisper as he blinked once, hard. His heart was hammering in his chest so hard, he could see the remnants of his shirt moving with each beat. “My arm.” He repeated, dazedly. Adrenaline was starting to leave his bloodstream, sweating out through his pores. The pain was odd. He could feel his arm, still- no, no, he can’t. That’s only his mind thinking that he can feel it, that he can feel the sensation of his fingers twitching, of the nerves dying, of his hand growing numb and cold because the blood isn’t returning, it’s leaking out on the ground and oh, gods, that’s his FUCKING ARM. “MY ARM!” He screamed as reality set in. He reached over to the freely bleeding stump, fingers meeting torn flesh and muscle and fatty tissue that just hung limply, and shattered bone that pricked at his fingertips. “MY ARM! YOU TOOK MY ARM! MY ARM! MY ARM! MY ARM!”

“Ah, the hysterics.” Shanks hums, cleaning Gryphon on the edge of his trousers. The steel hissed as it returned to its home within the sheath.

Wire was stilled in the grasp of Lucky Roux, blood trickling down his forehead as he stared at Eustass. They took his arm? His arm ripped clean off. How the fuck did Beckmann do that? Did he have a devil fruit? Haki? He felt sick to his stomach, turning in Roux’s grasp to gag once, twice, before the bigger man released him to allow him to spill the contents of his stomach.

“I could finish him off,” Shanks offered Killer, reaching out to settle his arm around his shoulders, pulling him back against himself as if he were some friend, some companion. “What do ye say, lad? I finish off yer Captain, you lot come an’ join me and my crew?”

“Fuck you.” Killer spat, shaking in his grasp. “Fuck you.”

“Not my type.”

Beckmann snorts as he turns the gun, aiming now at Kidd. “One shot to the head, all it takes.”

“NO!” Heat screamed, pulling himself free from Yasopp, rushing forward to stand between Beckmann and his Captain, who was muttering under his breath about his arm. Hysterical; they couldn’t blame him. “Please- spare him. Spare us.” They pleaded, falling to their knees before the two men. “We won’t come after either of ye again. Just- spare him, spare his life. Please.”

Shanks and Benn study one another; a silent conversation between Captain and First Mate, something Killer was familiar with. He and Kidd did that often, knowing the other well enough to not have to use verbal language. “Fine.” Shanks shrugged, grinning as he released Killer, and stepped back. “I’m tired of this anyway. Find us in the New World, if yer Captain survives. I’d like a rematch, there. Get stronger.” Brown gaze settled upon Kidd, taking in the damage Beckmann had dealt. “You’re in the big leagues, now.”

And just like that, it was over.

Killer rushed forward, falling to his knees in the blood soaked sand before Kidd. “Eustass?” He whispered, reaching up to cup his cheeks, dragging his head up. His pupils were blown; his skin was pale with blood loss and shock. “We gotta get you up. It’s gonna hurt.”

“The arm-” Eustass tried to argue.

Killer shook his head. He didn’t argue as Heat came round the other side. It took a moment of figuring out where hands could rest before they had him up and balanced between themselves. Wire did grab the arm, wrapped it up in his jacket. The Red Haired Pirates went back towards the beach; they retreated to the town.

Eustass Kidd passed out two minutes into the walk, much to the alarm of his crew.

The next time he came to, he was laying down on a cot in what he assumed to be a doctor’s office. He blinked hard, eyes squeezing shut. Everything felt dulled; his head lulled to the right, meeting with a white wall. Huh. To the left, then. Ah, that’s better. A room! Killer is standing, talking to some dude in a white coat. Doctor, he hopes and assumes. Wire is sitting across from him in some chairs; Heat is slumped against his shoulder, their eyes closed, breathing even. Sleepy, sleepy Heat.

Eustass looks down to his torso. Bruising already beginning to bloom; he can feel a cracked rib or two, certainly. Drip, drip, drip. What was dripping? Did someone leave a faucet on? He huffed, going to sit up, only to find himself suddenly unable to. Something was holding him down. What? He frowned at the black straps that held his shoulders and chest. Why was he pinned?

“Hey, doccccc,” he drawled out, slurring his words like a drunkard. “Wha’s happenin’? Why cannae I… Shite.” He winced at the sudden flare of pain. What the fuck? “Wiiiire?”

“Eustass-” Killer began, stepping over as Wire shook his head. Heat woke up, then. Rubbed at their eyes, smearing their eye black. “You need to stay still.”

“Why?” He didn’t WANT to stay still. He needed to piss. “I need t’tae a leak.”

“You-” Killed glanced back. Wait, where was Killer’s mask? Why could he see his pretty blue eyes so clearly? Why was his lip split open? What-

The fight.

It all rushed back suddenly, playing out in the forefront of his mind. Eustass reels from the memory, from the pain that also returns in a weird, dulled form. “My arm,” he whined, head lifting to look at the bloodied bandages that covered the stump. “He took my arm!”

“I’m afraid there’s still work t’be done, lad,” the doctor murmured, coming to stand by his head. Eustass looked up, ruby gaze frantic as he searches this strange doctor’s face. His eyes were lighter than Killer’s, hair a mousy brown. “I’ve got to close you up.”

“You can’t reattach it?”

“No, laddie. I cannae.”

Oh. Kidd swallowed roughly, looked to Killer who reached up, cupped his cheek. “I’m not leaving the room.”

“Okay.”

“Bite down on this.” The doctor placed a block in his mouth. Wood, thick, slotted between his jaws to allow his teeth to clench down onto, grind into.

His breath started coming quickly, then. Chest rising and falling rapidly as Killer was forced to move, to stand at his head while the doctor moved further down. He couldn’t watch, didn’t want to watch, squeezed his eyes shut as Killer settled his hands on his shoulders.

Killer watched, instead.

He’d seen his fair share of amputations over the years. Things got bad back home; sometimes, you do what you must to survive, even if that means sawing through your own leg because it’d grown necrotic. That was the fear, here, that Kidd’s stump would grow necrotic. Stump. That’s what it was, Killer realized as the doctor- a man named Ronan- removed the wraps. Already soaked through, a small puddle on the floor had formed. The bandages landed with a harsh splat on the ground. He looked beyond, gaze settling upon the bone saw that sat on the table.

They should have called Law.

But Trafalgar was Gods know where, now. A hundred meters under the water, probably. Or less. Or more, Killer didn’t know how that weird ass yellow submarine worked.

Ronan sprayed the stump with water. Kidd hissed, whined, whimpered, wheezed at the sensation.

“Can’t we knock him out?” Heat asked from the side.

“I did. He woke up.”

“Killer?” Heat pleaded, and Killer shook his head.

“The pain will knock him out in a minute,” Ronan added as he grabbed hold of the bonesaw. “Or the shock.”

“Are you sure you’re a doctor?”

“As sure as you are that you’re a pirate.”

Killer shut up, then. Lips pressed tightly together, the bolt of pain like lightning from his split lip. His helmet had been cracked in more than one place; it would need to be repaired, eventually. But not right now. Not now. No, now-

He felt like he would puke.

The saw settled on the exposed bone. At least three inches of bone was still exposed after Ronan had cut away the “skin flaps”, as he’d referred to the loose skin. Eustass had been under for that. Ronan began to move his arm back, forth, back, forth.

The scream that escaped Eustass had every hair on Killer’s body standing on end. It warbled, high and pained and oh, Gods, he wished he would just pass out. Just pass out, pass out, pass out now. Please, Gods, please! Eustrass tried to pull away, but Killer held him in place.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Killer whispered over and over as Eustass sobbed, tears rolling from his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Boss.”

Eustass fell limp. For a brief moment, Killer assumed he’d just died. No- no, he was still breathing. It was a relief, then. He wouldn’t be able to feel any of this. The bone was cracking beneath the saw, falling away after ten minutes of consistent sawing. Ronan worked quickly, suturing and cleaning and doing things that Killer wasn’t really sure of, but the bleeding had slowed, and if Kidd died, he knew where to find this doctor.

It was dark when Kidd woke again. His mouth felt like it was full of cotton, his head felt just as heavy. The bed beneath him was soft, though; it didn’t rock with the movements of waves, meaning he was ashore. He groaned softly as pain rocked through him. “Shite,” he hissed, reaching up to rub at his face.

His arm didn’t move. His left arm didn’t move.

He looked down in confusion and saw empty space and blood speckled bandages instead. That’s right- he’d lost the arm. Beckmann had ripped it off of his body. Movement drew his gaze up, watching as Killer stepped in. Maskless, bandaged, hair tied up in a messy bun. “Eus?”

“‘M awake.” He grumbled, rising up with a hiss and far more effort than it should normally take. His back settled against the headboard. “Where are we?”

“Same island we’ve been on. It’s-... It’s been a week.”

“A week?”

“Yeah.”

“How?”

“Kept you loaded up on pain killers. You uh…” Killer rubbed the back of his head. He had been asleep in the other room. “You needed them.”

Eustass frowned as he stared at his partner. Killer shifted his weight. “C’mere. Bed’s cold.” He huffed, watching Killer carefully climb into the right side. He didn’t wait for him to settle, leaning in against him heavily. “Beckmann ripped off my arm.”

“He did.”

“I’m gonna kill him.”

“We are.”

“We are gonna wipe those shitty little rodents off the map.” Eustass muttered, eyes closing. His breath started to grow uneven; the hint of a sob escaping. “I’m gonna fuckin’ kill them all.”

Killer didn’t speak as he wound his arms around Eustass, pulling him close, lips pressing to his temple as Kidd broke down. Yes, they would kill Shanks, and Beckmann, and Yasopp, and Lucky Roux. They would all die for what they did to Eustass. To his Captain. His partner. His world.

Killer would make sure of it.

[naviculariis]

The mask had been a gift.

He’d been nineteen years old, wearing a bandanna across the lower half of his face when Kidd had walked over with a sense of purpose. One year since the death of Victoria, one year since the formation of the Kidd Pirates. He’d known Kidd for years before this, though; had considered him his closest friend, despite their own past gangs having clashed on occasion. But that was in the past, really; not something that was worth being brought up. Not when Kidd had done so much for all of them.

For him.

“Here.” Kidd plopped a hunk of metal in his lap, drawing his attention down to stare at it for a moment.

From his point of view, it looked like a bowl. “Is it a bowl for my noodles?” He asked, listening to the way Kidd groaned in frustration as he reached over to flip it around. “Oh!” His eyes widened beneath heavy blonde bangs, taking in the sight of the mask. A mask. “For me?”

“Who the fuck else would it be for?” Kidd huffed, reaching up to rub at the back of his neck, cheeks flushing a shade of red that nearly rivaled the vibrancy of his hair. “So you don’t have to wear that stupid bandana anymore.”

Killer reached up, moving his hair out of the way to grasp the ends of the bandanna, tugging the knot free. The blue and white fabric fell; the tone was close to the colors of the metal Kidd had used to create the mask. And he’d drilled holes into it? Holes- holes that would allow him to eat his pasta through. Or any noodles, at that! Anything stick shaped-

With shaking hands, he brought the helmet up and settled it over his head. It was a perfect fit; cushioned inside to aid with protecting his head from any damage sustained in a fight. “Boss,” he murmured, feeling a swell of what could only be described as fondness take over. He reached out, tugging Kidd into a tight embrace that he immediately tried to squirm out of like an angered feline.

“Lemme go, you big oaf!” Kidd huffed, before relenting, arms winding around Killer’s middle. “Looks better than a stupid bandanna,” he muttered, even though he felt near bursting with pride.

That had been almost eight years ago. And still, the helmet remained. Killer’s lips pulled into a grin as he polished the metal with careful touches, making sure it gleamed when he held it to the light. Sure, it’d sustained damage over the years, but Kidd always fixed it, or Heat would help heat up the metal enough that it could be readjusted, or Wire would work some magic with his talent for fixing things.

They’d be nearing Dressrosa soon; the New World had already posed more than a few challenges for them. Nothing that they couldn’t handle surely. Fingers tapped along the surface of the mask as Killer looked up from it, catching sight of his reflection.

Wire had cut his hair a week ago; it was getting too long, hanging past his knees, and there was simply too much to even wear the helmet with. So, Wire had sat him down one evening when the ocean had been calm and started cutting away. Inch after inch of golden tresses had fallen to the deck of the Victoria until the longest layers no longer fell to his knees, but rather, to mid-back. He even thinned it out a touch, reshaped the layers and his bangs to fall better, settling in a manner that would no longer impede upon his vision within the helmet.

He watched as his lips pulled into a smile before grimacing at the sight; sangria lipstick only highlighted the movement, but he’d be damned if he stopped wearing it. A habit picked up from Kidd, years ago. He couldn’t stand to look at himself. It made his skin crawl to see the features that were reminiscent of people he’d loathe to call family. Turning quickly on his heel, he pulled the helmet down over his head. The sound of his own heartbeat echoed within his ears as his pulse kicked up; his breathing made for a backing track. His own wretched symphony.

“Kill?” Eustass called, poking his head into Killer’s quarters. His head tilted as he studied his partner curiously. “You comin’ up on deck?”

“In a minute.” Killer replied tensley, voice straining.

Ah. Kidd sighed as he crossed the small room with large strides, the distance closing quickly. He reached beyond Killer, tugging the nearly sheer blanket down over the grungy old mirror they’d found on another ship nearly four years ago. “C’mon, you’re gonna wanna see it when we get to Dressrosa, yeah?”

Killer swallowed roughly before bobbing his head in a ‘yes’.

“I’ve got you,” murmuring, Kidd’s arm wrapped around his shoulders, nudging him into movement. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere.” The rough lilt of his words was familiar; a comfort to him. A sigh spilled free as they left the room. The deck was busy above them. Kidd didn’t force him up just yet- pausing at the steps that would lead them up onto the deck of the Victoria Punk. “We’re in this together.”

“We are.” It wasn’t something that was necessary to say out loud; Killer would be by Kidd’s side until their end. Hell, he’d gladly sacrifice his life, his everything, if it meant keeping Kidd alive, keeping him safe. His closest friend, his confidant, his Captain. Swallowing down the feelings that threatened to spill from his lips, he moved past Kidd, stepping up and into the cool air that greeted him. The sea breeze was nice, better than the stuffiness from below deck.

To his left, Heat stood, engrossed in conversation with Bubblegum. To his right, Wire sat on the deck, attempting to tame Dive’s hair for the day. Kidd stepped beside him, his hand clapping over his shoulder, jolting him. Awake, aware. “How long until we drop anchor?” Killer asked, following Kidd by half a step as they moved across the deck. He could just barely see a spot on the horizon. Dressrosa.

“Couple’a hours, yet,” Kidd decided after a moment of contemplation, glancing over his shoulder up to the helmet that covered Killer’s face. “Sound right to you?”

Killer nodded; he could no longer hear his heartbeat within his ears, nor could he focus on the sound of his breathing. He wasn’t back on that island in the South Blue. He wasn’t kneeling with blood on his hands, tears in his eyes. He wasn’t watching Kidd make a decision that would change their lives.

He was here, on the deck of the Victoria Punk

[naviculariis]

Heat burns too hot.

That's something Killer has known since they first met, well over fifteen years ago, before Heat ever ate the Devil Fruit. Even then, Heat was full of passion, of anger, of this cold resilience that Killer admired from a distance. Heat was strong. Heat was stable, sturdy, a rock in a river that refused to be moved.

Heat burns too hot.

Kidd was there when Heat ate the Devil Fruit. It was six months exactly after his mouth had been split into what would eventually be called the Glasgow Smile. Ear to ear, split open and healed over. He sat with Heat as they studied the Devil Fruit, as Wire explained what it was, as Killer explained what would happen when they ate it.

And eat it, he did.

Heat burns too hot.

Wire remembers the fear in that moment as Heat wheezed, as they clutched to their chest and coughed and hacked, as their insides burnt to a crisp, as blood and ash and smoke fell from their lips at first before they fell quiet.

Still.

As their heart ceased to beat, burnt to a crisp within his chest. As his skin paled, graying to the tone of light smoke. As their hair’s color bled from vivid obsidian to pale blue. As they all sat and waited, wondering if they had just killed their friend, their fourth member.

Heat burns too hot.

Heat doesn't remember dying, not really. They remember pain, the taste of blood, of heat in their stomach and their chest. And then it was dark, and quiet. And suddenly, they were breathing again. He was breathing, and he felt brand new. Sitting up, smoke pluming out of of their mouth, billowing up to the sky. As their chest filled with air, as what would be explained to be a hearth lit within them.

Heat burned too hot.

And nothing would be able to put that fire out.

[naviculariis]

HEAT

is not allowed to give head.