#crewmate: lemon

[ninebaalart]

Fruity Among Us

some crewmates as various different produce. apple, durian, lemon, garlic, orange, pear, strawberry, tomato, and pepper

[chibinasuu]

Date? | Zoro x Reader

Summary: Zoro asked you out on a date. (You thought it was just an errand run at the market)  Tags: fluff, pre-relationship, first date(?), GN but written with F!Reader in mind, no use of y/n

a/n: happy birthday zoro!! this is not a birthday-centric fic, just wanted to write something fluffy for the birthday boy :)

You sat on one of the swings on the main deck of the Thousand Sunny, gently swaying as you waited for Zoro. As the minutes ticked by, you started impatiently glancing at the door to the boys’ room. 

It was taking Zoro unexpectedly long to get ready today when he usually only needed less than five minutes to throw on whatever non-wrinkled, semi-clean clothes he could find strewn around beneath his hammock. 

“Want to go to the market with me today? Just us two?” was what Zoro asked you this morning. Of course, you said yes without a second thought. It wasn’t unusual for you to accompany Zoro on errand runs whenever you docked at a new island – it seemed the crew had appointed you as his (un)official chaperone, tasked with ensuring the directionally challenged swordsman could find his way back to the ship at the end of the day. With that being said, you couldn’t say that you didn’t enjoy every single second you got to be alone with your green-haired crewmate.

The Sunny was currently docked at a small, but lively harbor town. Nami already scoped out the area this morning, and she reported that, thankfully, there were no marine bases here, so the crew could spend the next three days in peace while waiting for the log pose to set.

Some muffled bickering came from inside the boys’ room and you were straining your ears to hear what they were saying when the door suddenly swung open. Zoro was quickly shoved out of the room by a pair of hands you recognized as Usopp’s, and a telltale flash of blonde hair, before the door slammed shut, told you that the cook was also in on… whatever this was. 

You looked at the man in front of you, his green hair still slightly damp from a bath (he took a bath?) but combed neatly. He was wearing a black, slightly oversized, short-sleeved shirt – unbuttoned over a white tank top – paired with some light blue jeans. 

You could only gape in awe, genuinely taken aback at the sight of him actually dressing up for once, but at your silence, Zoro stiffened and did a one-eighty, reaching for the doorknob, “I’m gonna go change.”

You touched his arm lightly to stop him, “No, don’t.”

He turned to face you again, and you placed your hand on his shoulder as you admitted, “You look really great. It suits you.”

The tips of Zoro’s ears turned red at your compliment. A breeze suddenly picked up, bringing about faint traces of lemon and eucalyptus… Was he wearing cologne?

You couldn’t help but lean towards him, inching your nose closer to his neck to catch another whiff of the lovely aroma. As if reading your thoughts, Zoro said, “Usopp sprayed it on me before I could get away.”

Ah, so that’s why the scent was familiar. You’ve smelled it on the sniper a few times before, but on Zoro, the cologne smelled slightly different, tinged with a scent that was so uniquely him. 

“Well, you smell fantastic.” You reassured him. “Shall we go?”

The walk to the market was brief, with you and Zoro strolling side-by-side in companionable silence. As the hustle and bustle of the market came within sight, you nudged him and asked, “What did you need from the market, by the way?”

“I didn’t really need anything in particular,” He thought for a bit, “But I guess I’m running low on sword polish.”

After Zoro made a quick purchase at the arms shop, you two wandered around the market with no directions in mind, stopping at whichever stall caught your eye. 

An old lady sat behind one, carefully weaving a bracelet out of thin, colorful threads. Her table was filled with more of her creations, each of them with unique patterns and color combinations. You picked one that you thought was the prettiest, admiring the intricate details of the different shades of green mingling to create a mesmerizing design. You checked the price tag and put it back down. As much as you wanted it, you really needed to restrain yourself. You told yourself you didn’t need another accessory – not when you just purchased a pricey silver necklace at the last island. 

A few stalls down was a table laden with vials and bottles of all sizes, and you excitedly dragged Zoro by the sleeve towards it. 

“Welcome, welcome!” The owner of the kiosk greeted you, “We have fragrances of every kind here – even imported oils from Alabasta! Do you have any particular scent you prefer?”

“Oh, it’s not for me!” You smiled before jerking your thumb at your companion, “I want to find something for him.”

“Well, take a look around.” He gestured to the samples, “I’m sure we can find something suitable for your boyfriend.”

You felt heat rush to your cheeks as you frantically waved your hand, while Zoro was similarly flustered.

“He���s not–”

“We’re not–, I mean–”

The two of you gave up explaining as the man profusely apologized for making inappropriate assumptions. After you assured him that it was fine, he began putting drops of the different fragrant oils on small pieces of paper and handed them to you. You sniffed each of them, bringing the ones you found interesting up to Zoro’s nose. All of the scents were alluring in their own ways, but one in particular stood out to you. It opened with a fresh burst of bergamot, layered with a spicy rush of cardamom and a hint of green tea. 

“How’s this?” You offered the paper to Zoro.

He took a cautious sniff, and his eyebrow raised ever so slightly. Zoro was never really into colognes or perfumes, but he was surprised at how much he actually liked the scent you picked for him.

He nodded and you beamed, turning towards the merchant, “We’ll take this one!”

As the man filled a vial with the fragrant oil, you reached into your pocket for some Berries, but Zoro’s hand on your wrist stopped you, “You don’t have to–“

“I know.” You cut him off, “But I want to.”

You grinned at him, “You can wear it the next time we hang out, so you don’t have to borrow Usopp’s.”

A smile slowly crept up Zoro’s lips, “Thanks.” 

The merchant was wrapping up the glass vial when Zoro tapped you on the shoulder, “Hey, I need to go to the restroom. Wait here for a minute.”

Before you could stop him, he was gone. 

Your heart dropped. If there was one rule to going anywhere with Zoro, it was to never let him out of your sight.

You quickly handed some coins to the merchant and began searching in the direction that Zoro went, standing on your tiptoes to look over the crowd in hopes of catching sight of that familiar green. You were just starting to descend into a panic when a hand suddenly grabbed yours. 

“I’m right here,” Zoro said softly into your ear.

You smacked him lightly on the chest, “Don’t run off like that again! You scared me!”

“Sorry,” He grinned, before shrugging and saying nonchalantly, “But you know what, I don’t know how but I could always find my way back if it’s to you.”

You wondered if he knew the effect he had on you.

Your grip on his hand tightened just a little bit. You knew he was just holding your hand so you wouldn’t lose each other in this crowded market, but you couldn’t prevent your pulse from quickening at the feeling of his strong hand in yours. It certainly didn’t help that he didn’t let go even after you left the market and the crowd behind you. 

You caught a glimpse of a massive flower field at the edge of town and tugged Zoro’s hand to grab his attention, “Nami heard that field’s a popular picnic spot for the locals. Sure looks pretty, doesn’t it?”

“Wanna check it out?” 

You looked at the field longingly before shaking your head, “It’s getting late, maybe tomorrow. We should probably head back to the ship for dinner soon.” 

“Actually,” Zoro said, “I was thinking we could try out one of those restaurants in town, if you’re up for it?”

You were surprised at Zoro’s suggestion – he was normally the type to return to the ship as early as possible and take a good, long nap after a day out – but you agreed to it nonetheless. When else would you get a chance to dine with your swordsman, just the two of you?

The restaurant Zoro took you to was a quaint place, but the food they served was beyond your expectations. Zoro was unusually talkative throughout dinner, and you couldn’t say that you didn’t adore this side of him. You two laughed and chatted through bites of steaks and sips of beer, and then dinner was over before you realized, far sooner than you would’ve liked. 

The walk back to the ship was also shorter than you remembered. As you walked beside Zoro, fingers brushing in featherlight touches, you had to resist the temptation of linking your fingers with his. The night was getting chillier and you would give anything to feel his warm hand in yours again, but you know you shouldn’t. This was just a friendly outing anyway – you wouldn’t want him to think that you got the wrong idea, or worse, what if he rejected your advances?

Zoro walked you all the way to the door of your quarters, “Did you have fun today?”

“I did.” You smiled up at him, “Best day I had in a while, to be honest.”

All of a sudden, Zoro took your wrist and slipped something onto it, “A return gift. For the perfume oil you bought me.” 

Your heart skipped a beat when you noticed that it was the green woven bracelet that you admired earlier. He must’ve gotten it when you were briefly separated at the market.  

“Oh, Zoro,” You leaped toward him, bringing your arms around his neck and enveloping him in a big hug, “Thank you!” 

Zoro’s arms tentatively wrapped around your waist and you melted into his embrace. You leaned back and brought your wrist with the bracelet to beside his head, giggling as you noted, “It matches your hair.” 

Zoro’s expression was unreadable as he gazed at you, and then, without warning, he leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on your cheek. You froze at the sudden act, your smile dropping in shock. Your heart was pounding faster than ever, and your fingers unconsciously went to the spot where you could still feel the touch of his chapped lips.  

Zoro mistook your surprised reaction as rejection and immediately dropped his arms from your waist, stepping backward as he brought his palm to his forehead, “Sorry, fuck, I shouldn’t have taken that dumb cook’s advice.”

“Huh?” You voiced, still in a daze and not understanding a bit of what he was saying, “What advice? What’s Sanji got to do with this?”

He hesitated, before admitting in a small voice, “He said a kiss on the cheek would be okay for a first date. If it went well.”

“D-date?” You asked in confusion, “Are you telling me today was a date?”

Zoro ran his hand through his hair in frustration, “Well, what the hell did you think it was then?”

“I thought it was just one of our usual errand runs!” You stammered out, before jabbing your pointer finger on his chest accusingly, “You didn’t say it was a date!”

After belatedly realizing that he, in fact, did not, Zoro flushed and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, “Uh, I did say it would only be the two of us?”

You blinked, still processing his words and this absurd miscommunication.

“You know what, forget it.” Zoro's face was bright red as he began walking away from you in the direction of the crow’s nest, “Good night.”

“No, wait. Zoro.” You caught him by his hand, before placing yourself in front of him. “It was a really nice day.”

He refused to look at you, but you placed your hand on his chin, guiding his eyes to yours, “But if you wanted to ask me on a date, maybe you could’ve been a little more… explicit?”

You laughed in embarrassment as you gestured at your casual t-shirt and shorts, “Gosh, look at me! I would’ve dressed up better!”

“You look great no matter what you wear.”

You flushed at his sincere compliment, before taking his hands in each of yours, “I’d love to go on a date with you again, you know.”

You squeezed his hands, “Preferably one where I knew it was a date?”

He was silent for a few seconds, before muttering, “Tomorrow then.” 

“Tomorrow what, Zoro?” You teased, “Use your words.”

Zoro took a deep breath, looking you right in the eyes, “Would you like to go on a date with me tomorrow? We can have a picnic at the flower fields. You wanted to go there, right?”

“It’s a date.” You smiled, before giving him a peck on the cheek, “Good night, Zoro. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You entered your room, quickly shutting the door as your legs gave out under you. You sat stunned on the floor, hand on your chest to dampen the drumming of your heart, cheeks hurting from the wide grin you were sporting.

You knew you probably wouldn’t sleep a wink tonight, too filled with excitement for what tomorrow would bring.  

↳ masterlist

[gav-san]

Soul Shanked 4/4

Main Masterlist Here

One Piece Masterlist

Soul Shanked Masterlist

Chapter Title: A Man Worth Hitting (and Maybe Loving) Length: 10 K+

FINISHED

Previous

(Looking for a Beckman epilogue ;)

Taglist: @wontknowbetter, @sleepydang @flav1a0 @pleasantkittenpersona @heartsforseo + For all the baddies who helped protest this weekend.

The scent of salt and canvas was the first thing to pull you from sleep.

It didn’t belong.

Neither did the creaking of wood beneath your back, nor the low murmur of male voices drifting from beyond the wall. You stirred slowly, awareness returning like the tide. Thick, uncertain, then all at once.

The hammock was too firm. The sheets smelled like sun and steel. There was sea movement.

This room wasn’t yours.

You sat up abruptly.

It was a ship’s cabin, small but clean and well-kept. Morning light spilled through a single porthole, casting a soft glow over the tangled blankets.

Someone had left a folded nightgown on the chair beside the hammock. It was yours, freshly washed.

There was also a tray with a cup of tea, still faintly warm and scented with lemon. Thoughtful. Too thoughtful.

You moved to the window.

Outside, a red flag flapped in the wind, bearing a familiar Jolly Roger.

And not a speck of land in sight. 

Your stomach dropped.

Shanks.

You were on his ship.

Shanks had kidnapped you.

He stolen you.

You were now a heist item.

You swung your legs over the hammock's edge, breath shallow, fury waking faster than your balance. You cussed him out in at least three languages, two of them fluently, one of them mostly just creative growling.

Shanks had taken you from Amazon Lily without so much as a little goodbye, while you were sleeping. 

Like some overconfident pirate raccoon with a romantic streak and no impulse control.

You stood, wobbling slightly, and scanned the room again, and yep, still kidnapped on a ship. And very few places to hide the murder weapon that you were going to need in about five minutes.

The throb of your soulmark indicated the distance of the victim.

You stormed up the stairs barefoot, hair wild, heart racing, slamming open the hatch. Sunlight crashed against you like a wave, making you wince. It takes a minute to adjust. Dozens of eyes turned to you, men of every size and color, pausing mid-task. A few adjusted their grips on swords, but most just stared at the sight.

A woman. You. On the Red Force.

Barefoot. Disheveled. Murder in your gaze.

And then, him.

Shanks was leaning against a barrel by the door, a wine bottle in one hand and his shirt half-unbuttoned, flapping dramatically in the sea breeze. He was laughing at something one of his crewmates had said.

Until he saw your face.

He stopped cold.

Then, without a word, he turned and casually walked to the other side of the deck, like that would help.

He was absolutely in deep shit, and he knew it.

“Thought I felt a tug,” he called, flashing that grin that filled the entire damn sky. “Morning, sweetheart.”

You growled.

Shanks looked like a man who hadn’t slept, hadn’t regretted it, and wasn’t planning to. That only made it worse.

He was using his crew as a human shield.

It didn’t work.

You crossed the deck in six thunderous strides and slapped the bottle clean out of his hand. It hit the railing and somersaulted overboard with a perfectly timed, mocking plunk.

Dozens of pirates paused.

Some froze mid-coil, rope in hand. Others looked up from polishing blades or shifting barrels. A tall, dark-haired man with a pipe between his teeth raised an eyebrow. Another, younger, let out a low whistle.

You stood there barefoot, in a rumpled linen nightshirt, radiating fury.

“…Oh,” said the man with the pipe behind you. “She’s awake.”

“I can explain,” Shanks said, wearing a smile that was far too sorry and far too late.

“Can you?” You snapped. “Because I’m forming a pretty solid theory. It involves sleeping powder, a pirate abduction, and you losing your damn mind!”

Behind you, someone coughed. Another voice murmured, “Dibs on his sword if she kills him.”

“Crew not helping, thanks,” Shanks muttered, not taking his eyes off you.

You took one dangerous step forward.

He flinched.

You pointed at him, trembling with barely-contained fury.

“You said you wouldn’t take me unless I chose to go!”

“I did,” Shanks said, hands up in mock surrender. “But I’m a pirate. And no illegal substances were involved. And, you didn’t complain—”

“You knocked me out!” you shouted. “That implies a very clear lack of consent!”

“I resettled you.”

“You—!” You gestured wildly at the whole crew. “Pirates!”

He had the audacity to grin. “I’ve said that before, sweetheart.”

“Another lie– because you also said you cared!” Your voice cracked. Tears blurred your vision, hot and frustrated.

Immediately, the crew began backing away. Even the bold ones.

Shanks looked like he’d just been told his favorite bar burned down, and he’d lit the match himself.

He stepped in, slow and careful, voice dipping low enough to curl around your breath.

“I did listen,” he said gently. “You said you weren’t ready.” He paused. “I was just… preventing any potential Love Sickness complications—”

You reeled back, eyes scanning for something that could be turned into a weapon. Your furious retreat ended with your foot smacking into a wooden pole. A pole that had been oh-so-helpfully nudged directly into your path by the pipe smoker. The only man on deck bold enough not to retreat.

He remained exactly where he was, calmly puffing like this was his favorite tavern drama.

“Really, Benn?” Shanks snapped, eyes narrowing. “This is Mutiny.”

“You earned it, Captain,” Benn replied without blinking. “Frankly, I held back.”

“Pay attention.” You growled at him. “I’ll acquaint you with the meaning of mutiny.”

Shanks started circling. Lazy steps. Loose hips. That infuriating grin playing at the corners of his mouth like this was all foreplay.

“I made an executive romantic decision.” Shanks smiled, cocky as hell. “You’ll thank me by month three.”

You kept your weapon raised, turning with him. The tension between you wound tighter, like a drawn bowstring ready to snap.

“Sure you want to do this?” he murmured, flicking his hair out of his face with infuriating ease. “We’ve been getting along so well—”

“Until you kidnapped me.”

“We can talk this through—”

“You can shut up and die.”

Behind you, Benn exhaled a long drag of smoke, already stepping out of the way as steel met steel with a clean, ringing clash. Sparks kissed the deck.

Shanks parried without effort, the impact sliding down his blade. His stance was solid. Shockingly so for a man who’d been flirting seconds earlier. His grin didn’t vanish, but it changed. Sharpened.

Less teasing now. More… intent.

“You always this dramatic when someone offers you breakfast?” he asked, deflecting another strike like it was nothing.

You didn’t answer. You weren’t trying to kill him. Not really. But he needed to feel it. The fury. The betrayal. The heartbreak wrapped in a nightshirt.

He twisted mid-parry, spun low, and when your foot slipped—just barely—he stepped in. Fast. Clean. Close enough to catch your wrist. He didn’t hurt you, didn’t disarm you. Just stopped you. Gently.

The grin was gone now.

“One year.”

His voice had changed, and it was anchored now, steady in a way that made the fight feel foolish in hindsight.

“That’s all I’m asking. One year to show you what it means to be wanted, not owned. To be chosen. Every day. No pressure. No tricks.” A pause. “You can keep the pole.”

You didn’t pull away. Not yet. The weapon hung between you like a held breath. His grip was warm. Solid. Unflinching.

“And after that?” you asked, voice low. Eyes narrowing.

Shanks met your gaze without flinching.

“If you still want to run, I’ll give you the map.”

You hissed through your teeth.

“Captain,” a calm, drawling voice cut in. “Should I assume she’s staying, then?”

You turned to find the broad-shouldered man with the weathered face, pipe in hand, and the patient expression of someone who had survived hundreds of truly idiotic plans… and fully intended to survive this one too.

“Right!” Shanks said, instantly chipper again, clapping his hands. “Crew introductions. Love, meet the maniacs.”

“You call me love again and I’ll gut you,” you muttered.

“Noted,” Shanks said brightly. “Affection pending formal approval.”

“Shut up.”

“See?” He turned to the crew, beaming. “She’s fitting in already.”

Laughter rippled across the deck. They clearly knew their captain well.

“This,” Shanks said, gesturing to the pipe-smoking man, “is Benn Beckman. My first mate. He keeps me alive.”

Benn gave you a nod, deadpan. “Nice aim with the wine bottle.”

Before you could respond, Shanks pointed upward. “And that one in the crow’s nest is Lucky Roux.”

A plump man waved cheerfully from above, chewing on a drumstick the size of your forearm.

“Don’t race him to a meal,” Shanks added. “You’ll lose. Possibly a hand.”

You stared at the man in the crow’s nest, still mid-chew and grinning like a happy menace. You distinctly remembered him being referred to as “the big one with meat.” A potential ally, you decided grimly. Possibly even a good one. Everyone underestimated the food-motivated.

“Yasopp’s the sniper.” A wiry man with sharp eyes and a cocky grin winked at you from near the rigging. “He’s also convinced he’s the best looking on board.”

“Because I am,” Yasopp called. “Got proof if you want it!”

“You’re married,” Shanks reminded him.

“Exactly.”

Shanks rolled his eyes and kept going. “Then there’s Limejuice, Bonk Punch, and Monster—he’s the monkey. Don’t challenge him. You will lose.”

You blinked. The monkey bared its teeth in a smile. Or a threat.

“And that’s Hongo,” Shanks added, nodding toward a serious-looking man with glasses. “Our ship’s doctor.”

Hongo gave you a polite nod. “I hope you won’t need my services. But knowing the captain, you probably will.”

“And that’s the core crew,” Shanks said breezily. “The rest come and go.”

He turned back to you, eyes steady.

“Except you. You’re staying.”

Your hands balled into fists at your sides. “You can’t keep me here.”

“I can,” Shanks said softly. “Because if you really wanted to leave, you’d already be threatening to jump overboard.”

His gaze didn’t waver.

You clasped your arms, letting the pipe smack the floor. Your eyes promised that you would find a way to swim home once you weren’t leashed to this degenerate.

“You’re angry, very understandable,” He grinned, “But you are also a woman of science. Aren’t you curious about us? Or even the world?”

You opened your mouth. Closed it again. Words piled up in your throat but refused to cooperate. Shanks didn’t press. Didn’t smirk. Just watched you, something achingly gentle in his gaze.

“Give me a year,” he said softly. “You don’t have to love me. You don’t have to kiss me. But let me try.”

Behind you, Benn muttered under his breath, “Should’ve just courted her like a normal lunatic.”

Yasopp leaned against a beam with all the smug energy of a man watching a play he didn’t pay for. “This is so much better than shore leave.”

Lucky Roux let out a delighted laugh. “Can we call her First Lady of the Red Force? Do we bow? Should we bow?”

Shanks held up a hand without looking away from you. “No one lays a finger on her. No jokes. No bets. No dumb hazing rituals. Got it?”

A dramatic chorus of groans and exaggerated sighs rose from around the ship.

“You’re ruining morale, Captain,” Yasopp called.

“You’re ruining my chances of not getting stabbed,” Shanks shot back, still not looking away.

“What about respectfully basking in her wrath?” Limejuice called out from somewhere near the ropes.

Shanks glanced sideways. “Up to her.”

Benn Beckman, Shanks’ long-suffering first mate, sauntered forward with the slow, deliberate grace of a man who routinely explained catastrophes before his morning coffee.

You already respected him.

Not because he looked dangerous, though he did. Not because he carried himself like a man who knew exactly how many seconds it would take to end a fight. But because he radiated the quiet patience of someone who had spent years cleaning up after Shanks and had not once committed murder.

That took strength. Possibly sainthood.

You weren’t sure if he was brave, tired, or both. Either way, you respected it.

“Captain’s made his bed,” Benn said. “He’s volunteered for the stabbing. We’re just here for the fallout.”

You stared at him. “And you’re all just… calm about this? I could slit your throats in your sleep.”

From the rigging, the man with goggles and a lopsided grin cheerfully piped up, “It’s free entertainment.”

“Not helping, Lucky,” Shanks muttered.

“You brought her here,” Benn reminded him. “You’re lucky the bottle was all she threw.”

Lucky Roux raised his drumstick like a toast. “To survival!”

You crossed your arms, chin tilted just enough to be defiant.

Shanks hesitated, just for a heartbeat. His smile shifted, softening into something real, something almost reverent.

“Think of it as an extended vacation,” he said, voice low. “With the most competent crew on the Grand Line.”

You raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“And, if after a year you still hate me,” he went on, more serious now, “I’ll sail you straight back to Amazon Lily. No tricks. No bargaining. I’ll drop anchor offshore and row you there myself.”

He paused.

“I’ll even let Hancock hit me. Straight in the family jewels.”

That got a collective oof from the crew.

You studied him. Really looked at him.

This was the man who’d stolen you away in the middle of the night. Who flirted like breathing, fought like dancing, and apparently had no survival instincts when it came to women with weapons.

His crew, usually rowdy and irreverent, stood deathly still. No muttering, no comments. Just a wall of eyes, waiting to see if their captain lived or died.

Your fingers twitched once at your side.

The wind stirred your nightshirt like a flag before battle.

“Well,” you said coolly. “I hope your arm is strong. Because if I hate you by the end of this, I’m making you swim back.”

The crew erupted.

Cheers, laughter, someone blew a damn horn.

Shanks just grinned like a man who’d won everything, even though you’d just threatened to kill him again.

“And,” you added coolly, “I want my space. And weapons. Preferably sharpened. And alphabetized.”

A ripple of approval moved through the crew like gossip at a tavern.

One pirate muttered, “She’s got standards. I like her.”

You turned on your heel and stomped toward the stairs, the nightshirt billowing behind you like the robes of a vengeful sea goddess recently inconvenienced by love.

But not before muttering, just loud enough for the entire deck to hear.

“One year. Then I’m leaving. And I’m taking the alcohol.”

A stunned silence.

Then a single gasp.

“Not the rum,” someone whispered, truly horrified.

Shanks watched you go, looking mildly lovesick and extremely doomed.

“She’s gonna make me earn every minute, isn’t she?” he whispered, more in awe than fear.

Benn took a long drag of his pipe, exhaled slowly, and gave the faintest smirk, like he’d seen this coming from ten nautical miles away.

“Oh, you poor bastard,” he said. “You’ve never been happier.”

Shanks just grinned like a man watching his own ship sail toward a storm he couldn’t wait to drown in.

The Den Den Mushi rang once.

Twice.

Shanks answered it, whistling a jaunty tune as he flipped the receiver open.

The snail immediately contorted into the furious visage of Boa Hancock, her hair flaring like divine judgment incarnate.

“RETURN HER THIS INSTANT OR I WILL FLAY YOU WITH MY EYES.”

“Morning, Hancock,” Shanks said pleasantly, like she hadn’t just threatened ocular murder.

The Den Den Mushi trembled with her fury.

Behind him, Benn Beckman sighed and started counting silently, probably how long until Shanks got another bounty.

Or turned into stone.

Or both.

“You abducted an Amazon Warrioress,” Hancock seethed through gritted teeth. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

“Offered her breakfast?” Shanks offered, still infuriatingly calm.

“She is not a collectible!”

“Agreed,” he said easily. “She’s more of a limited-edition, one-of-a-kind treasure.”

Benn paused his count, rubbed his face, and muttered, “And there it is. The sound of warships mobilizing.”

“Do not speak of her that way!” Hancock snarled, voice rising like a divine curse. “I swear on every stone statue in my garden—I will crush your bones into sand!”

Shanks, sipping his coffee like this was a brunch chat, added cheerfully, “By the way, she’s fine. I brought fruit.” Behind him, the crew waved like idiots. One held up a basket of mangoes with both hands, grinning proudly.

“Supporting local business and stuff—”

“YOU STOLE HER!” The Den Den Mushi screamed in Hancock’s voice.

“Borrowed,” Shanks said, calm as sea glass.

“I WILL BURN YOU!”

Unbothered, Shanks held the receiver toward you. “Want to say hi?”

You took it with shaking hands, staring at the snail like it might explode.

Your voice cracked out, high and appalled, “I was peacefully dreaming, and he Haki-napped me! I was ASLEEP, Boa!”

There was a beat of silence. 

“HE WHAT?!” Hancock shrieked. The Den Den Mushi’s little body lifted off the table from the sheer force of her rage.

Shanks winced slightly and took a small step behind Benn, who did not move. Benn simply took a longer, steadier drag of his pipe and exhaled like a man watching a very slow avalanche hit a town he warned six times.

“Hancock, listen—” You started.

“No! I knew it. I knew he was trouble! I said he looked like a man who would kidnap someone and call it ‘romance’!”

Shanks muttered under his breath, “It is romantic. There’s fruit.”

“He Haki-napped you!” Hancock hissed. “That’s not even a word!”

“I know!” you cried, still holding the Den Den Mushi. “I had plans! I was going to wake up, have tea, and not be on a pirate ship!”

“Did you tell him no?”

“I didn’t tell him yes!”

“That counts!” Hancock bellowed. “We are launching the warships.”

“Oh god,” Benn sighed.

“Wait, wait—” Shanks stepped forward, hands raised like he was surrendering to a very stylish firing squad. “Look, I get it. In hindsight, there may have been some mild miscommunication.”

“You drugged her!”

“Haki,” he said quickly. “Just haki! Very… localized. Gentle. Nap-like!”

“You Haki-napped an Amazon Warrioress!” Hancock shouted again. “The audacity! The daring!” The Den Den Mushi turned briefly purple with fury. “You’re lucky I don’t turn your entire crew into a decorative stone garden and auction off their limbs!”

Someone behind you whispered, “She’d probably get a good price, too.”

You elbowed them in the gut without looking.

The Den Den Mushi didn’t speak right away. Hancock’s silence was somehow louder than her screaming had been.

“…Are you hurt?” she asked at last, voice low and tight.

“No.”

A beat. Then, softer—dangerous.

“Has he touched you?”

You paused.

“…Define ‘touched,’” you said carefully.

Behind you, Shanks—who had been smugly sipping his coffee—choked mid-sip. Benn slowly lowered his pipe like a man preparing to witness a public execution.

The Den Den Mushi twitched. Hancock’s eye narrowed into a slit of volcanic murder.

“Red-Hair.” Hancock’s voice was flat enough to shatter stone.

He coughed. “To clarify—I caught her wrist. In a moment of extreme tension. Respectfully. With consent-ish. It was very gentle.”

Benn closed his eyes like he was updating Shanks’ last will and testament in his head.

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “He’s still alive, isn’t he?”

“Temporarily,” Hancock muttered. “I consider that a diplomatic courtesy on your end.”

Behind you, Shanks whispered, “Honestly? That’s progress.” 

You hissed, dragging a hand down your face. “Stop talking.”

Another added, “Do we send thank-you fruit or—?”

Benn didn’t look back. He just mouthed, “Not. Helping.”

“I hate men,” Hancock snapped.

“Get in line,” you muttered. “However, you can’t chase an Emperor of the Sea to the New World for one woman. The optics would be terrible.”

The Den Den Mushi twitched, Hancock silent on the other end.

“…Then I’ll say it’s for diplomatic retribution.” Her voice was calm now. Too calm. “I’ll sink his ship, retrieve you, and leave a formal apology carved into his bones. That’s balanced.”

“Very balanced,” you deadpanned.

Behind you, someone whispered, “I think I love her.”

“Not helping,” Benn growled over your shoulder.

Shanks cleared his throat. “Well, if we’re negotiating, can I request it be a non-lethal carving?”

“Silence, pirate,” Hancock snapped. “Your voice irritates the heavens.”

The snail snapped back into focus, Hancock seething.

“Put her back on.”

You hesitated.

“Now.”

You raised it slowly. “Yes?”

Hancock leaned in so close that the Den Den Mushi’s eye twitched.

“If you want out, say the word. We will come for you.”

You glanced at Shanks.

Messy. Barefoot. Coffee in hand. Hair mussed. Trying to look innocent and failing spectacularly.

Then, at the basket of fruit, proudly held aloft like an apology you hadn’t asked for.

Then at Benn, already pouring rum into his morning tea with the practiced ease of a man who’d seen too much and planned to see it drunk.

Then back at Shanks.

Still barefoot. Still sleep-rumpled. Still smiling like he hadn’t just committed high-seas romantic piracy and called it a love letter.

You sighed like someone accepting an unfortunate cruise.

“…give me one year. Against my better judgment. Against your better judgment. Against several international laws. If I don’t strangle him with a rigging rope by then, we’ll reevaluate.”

Shanks smirked.

Unapologetically.

Boa let wind escape from behind her teeth.

“Smile again, and I will test the structural integrity of this ship with your skull.”

Shanks raised his coffee like a toast. “Noted, Commander.”

You brought the Den Den Mushi closer, eyes narrowing with the fury of a woman two seconds away from turning that snail into a long-distance missile.

“I’ll check in once a week. I’ll keep my weapons sharp. He knows the rules. He doesn’t have another arm to spare. He will behave.”

Behind you, Shanks gave a jaunty little salute with his one remaining arm, still beaming like a man personally blessed by the Sea Devil and thrilled about it.

The Den Den Mushi squinted in disgust.

“…He’s smiling again,” Hancock growled.

You didn’t even look. “He does that. I’m working on it.”

“Doing amazing, sweetheart.”

Benn muttered behind him, “There’s still time to dive overboard.”

“One year, Red-Haired.” Hancock’s last words crackled through the line, low and lethal.

Click.

The Den Den Mushi slumped in your hand, traumatized.

Shanks looked at you with a grin that was far too soft for someone who had just been threatened with dismemberment by a war goddess.

“…She likes me.”

You didn't know what to say when Shanks offered you the captain’s quarters.

You’d expected a spare hammock. Maybe a curtain. Something tucked behind crates or below deck, out of the way. Functional. Temporary.

Instead, you stepped into a room that felt nothing like a pirate ship and everything like a quiet, stolen promise.

Polished wood floors gleamed beneath your bare feet. A thick rug softened your steps, hand-woven and dyed in warm reds and golds that reminded you, uncomfortably, of home.

A basin sat in the corner, steam still curling up from the surface. The water was warm. Fragrant oils floated on top, the scent barely clinging to the air: Jasmine, sandalwood, and something that smelled like the temple gardens at dusk. Someone had prepared it carefully.

There were books. Dozens, maybe more, stacked haphazardly on the desk and in crates beneath it; maps, journals, and worn adventure novels with cracked spines. A saber hung on the wall, sheathed but sharp, the kind meant for both show and threat.

And then your eyes landed on the chair.

His coat was there.

Black, worn, and unmistakably his. The lining caught the light, deep red, almost blood-colored. It looked like it had been casually tossed over the back of the chair, but you could tell he had placed it there deliberately.

You turned to the doorway, eyes narrowing.

Shanks stood there, hands shoved in his pockets, watching you with the lazy amusement of a man who had just set something on fire and was waiting to see if anyone noticed.

He grinned.

“This is our—” he started.

Your glare cut him off.

He cleared his throat, trying again with exaggerated innocence. “Your room.”

Your eyes didn’t budge.

He scratched the back of his neck, ruffling his already wild hair, clearly pleased with himself anyway.

“You’re my soulmate,” he said, like it was the most reasonable explanation in the world. “You get the bed.”

He nodded toward it. The bed was large, neatly made, and looked entirely too inviting. It had soft linens, a heavy quilt, and extra pillows; not a pirate-standard bedspread.

Your brow arched. “…But it’s your bed.”

He shrugged, casual as ever. “Ours. Pending approval.”

There was that grin again. The one that made you want to throw something and maybe kiss him later, in that exact order.

You stared at him.

At the way he leaned in the doorway like he hadn’t just abducted you in your sleep. The way he smiled like this was some kind of romantic gesture instead of full-blown high-seas emotional hostage-taking.

You stepped closer to the bed. Pressed your hand into the mattress.

It was disgustingly soft.

You hated how nice it felt. How clean the linens were. How it smelled faintly, not like sweat or seawater, but like citrus and something warm and familiar you refused to identify as him.

You turned back to him slowly, arms crossed.

“Do all your kidnapped guests get luxury accommodations?” you said, voice like a blade, “Or am I just lucky?”

Shanks lifted a shoulder in a lazy half-shrug. “You’re the first. And I’m very motivated not to disappoint you.”

Behind you, the tea on the side table was still faintly steaming. Mocking you. You picked up the cup and took a long, scalding sip, never breaking eye contact.

He leaned a little farther into the doorway, arm resting on his lip.

You opened your mouth. Closed it.

“You’re sleeping on the floor, aren’t you?” You muttered. 

“Technically,” He said, pointing to the wall just outside the door, “I’m sleeping outside, down the hall.”

“The soulmark won’t stretch.”

“It will if your willing to adjust the bed. I measured.”

He flashed a grin. “Nine feet, eleven inches. Give or take a smile.”

You sighed. 

“If you keep getting tugged, and would rather take your chances,” he said lightly, “I can have one of the crew set up a cot, or I’ll sleep in the chair. Won’t even snore.”

You raised your eyebrows.

“Okay. I’ll try not to snore.”

You stared at him for another long moment.

Then you walked over, picked up his coat, and shoved it into his chest. Hard.

He caught it with a startled laugh. You pointed at the door.

“One year,” you said coldly. “You’re not sharing anything but your guilt.”

He clutched the coat dramatically over his heart like a war widow.

“Understood.”

Then shut the door in his face.

And locked it.

The click was satisfying. Final. Necessary.

You stood there for a moment, hand still on the knob, listening for footsteps. He didn’t move. You could feel him smiling on the other side of the door like an idiot dog who thought that counted as progress.

Eventually, you heard him walk away.

You tried to sleep that night.

Tried to ignore the steady creak of the ship’s hull as it rocked through the water, the muffled shuffle of boots on the deck above, the occasional low murmur of voices as the crew kept their watch.

You tried not to listen for his voice among them. Or wonder if he was still awake.

The bed was too soft.

Too warm.

And no matter how many times you flipped the pillow, his scent lingered. Smoke and citrus. Salt and something sweet that made your throat tighten and your heart furious.

You buried your face in the cool side and growled into it.

This wasn’t comfort. This was tactical psychological warfare because even the damn sheets smelled smug.

Most of all, you tried to ignore the sound of his voice.

Soft.

Quiet.

Humming.

You froze.

Then—words. Low and familiar.

A lullaby.

Not a sea shanty. Not a pirate’s tune meant for long nights and loud drinks.

No, this was something else.

A song from your childhood. The one the temple matriarch used to hum when the storms were bad and the walls shook with wind. The one sung in quiet corners and safe arms. A song no outsider should know.

Your breath caught.

It wasn’t perfect. The words faltered at the edges, pronounced just wrong enough to sting, but it was unmistakable.

You sat up slowly, sheets forgotten, heart thudding in your chest.

You crossed the room before you realized you were moving. Slid to the floor. Pressed your ear close.

And lay flat against the floorboards.

Through the narrow gap beneath the door, you saw Shanks.

Sitting with his back to the wall, one leg stretched out, the other drawn up, elbow resting on his knee. His head was tilted toward the stars, eyes half-closed, humming like it was just for himself.

He wasn’t performing.

He wasn’t waiting for you to react, likely thinking you were asleep. He was just… bringing you home in the only way he knew how. And for the first time since waking on this ship, something in your chest ached that you couldn’t pretend was just anger.

You blinked hard, jaw tight.

Swallowed once. Then again.

Without a word, you crawled back into bed. Pulled the blanket up to your chin like it could shield you from whatever this was.

You didn’t open the door. You didn’t speak. You didn’t hum back. But your soulmark burned warm against your skin all night. 

The two weeks ended quietly. No flash of light. No sudden ache. Just… stillness. You felt it the moment it lifted. Like someone had loosened a cord around your chest, letting air return to your lungs in full for the first time.

You looked at him.

Shanks was sitting across from you on the deck, one leg drawn up, lazily carving something into the edge of a crate with a small blade. Focused. Calm. The sun caught in his hair.

The mark on his chest still glowed faintly.

You tested it, took a step away. No burn. No tug. No warning.

You were free.

You could leave. Now. Walk off this ship, never look back, never feel his presence like a flame under your skin again. Dive into the water and just sink, if it seemed the best way to avoid a conversation.

Shanks didn’t move. Didn’t look up. Didn’t say a word.

Didn’t indicate if he’d known this moment would come. As if he were willing to let you go before asking you to stay.

Your chest tightened.

Freedom wasn’t supposed to feel this heavy.

You didn’t jump into the sea, to your own disappointment.

Over the next hour, you kept waiting for him to shift. To drift.

To finally start reclaiming his space, his ship, and his crew, and act like an Emperor of the Seas. The version of him that probably existed before the soulmark. Loud, loose, insufferably magnetic. The man who stole you like a pirate and smiled like it was a gift.

He still brought you tea. Still leaned against the same post while you read. Still handed you your sword each morning with that maddening tenderness, like you were something sacred and breakable, not a girl who’d nearly stabbed him on arrival.

He stayed close.

Quietly. Without comment. Without expectation.

And it was worse than anything else he could’ve done.

So, later, as the sea stretched black and endless around you, as the stars blinked faintly overhead and the air turned cool against your skin, you sat at the edge of the deck and finally asked it.

Softly. Carefully. Like the words might break apart in your mouth.

“You know you don’t have to stay this close anymore… right?”

He looked up from where he sat just a few feet away, one arm resting over his bent knee, a half-finished carving still in his hands.

He didn’t smile this time. Didn’t tease. Shanks turned to face you fully. The wood forgotten. The sea wind lifted his hair just slightly as it passed between you.

“I know.”

The words settled between you like an anchor.

You looked down at your hands, picking at a hangnail you hadn’t noticed until now.

A beat passed. Then another.

The waves rocked against the hull, steady and slow.

He was quiet for a moment. Not the kind of silence that meant he didn’t know the answer, but the kind where he was weighing whether you were ready to hear it.

Then he set the carving down beside him. The motion was quiet and deliberate, like laying something fragile to rest.

He sat a little straighter, eyes steady, voice low.

“I don’t stay close because of the bond.”

You looked up.

He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t asking for anything. He just watched you with the open calm of someone laying down their sword. Not surrendering, just offering it.

“I stay because I love you.”

The words didn’t echo. They didn’t need to.

They fell between you with no drama. No hesitation. No pressure.

Just the truth.

Raw and unguarded. Offered like a blade held flat between two hands. Sharp if you chose to take it, but never forced.

You blinked once, then again. Something behind your ribs twisted painfully, like a rope pulling taut. You hated how warm your face felt. Hated how your throat closed up. How much worse this was than any flirtation, grin, or stolen moment of kindness.

Because this wasn’t a line, this wasn’t a game.

This was real.

You dropped your gaze back to the ocean, its dark surface rippling beneath the stars. Somewhere far off, a gull called. The waves lapped quietly at the hull.

You drew in a breath.

And then, softer than you meant it, barely above a whisper, “…I like it better when your annoying.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the barest flicker of a smile tug at his lips. He didn’t speak. He didn’t laugh. He just stayed beside you. Not touching. Not pushing. Just there.

You said nothing. You couldn’t.

The bond might have faded.

But something else had grown in its place. You could still feel it, pressing behind your ribs like a second heartbeat. No title. No claim. No magic.

Just a man, admitting a truth like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Close enough to feel safe.Far enough to let you breathe.

You just sat there, shoulder to shoulder, not bound anymore. But still not drifting apart.

And life continued.

Life aboard Red Force was unlike anything you had ever experienced.

Men.

Everywhere.

Loud, laughing, brawny, bearded men. Some sharpening blades, some hauling ropes, one balancing an entire keg on one shoulder like a sack of flour. You braced for barking, chest-beating, or a surprise duel to assert dominance.

Instead, one of them handed you a peach.

You blinked. 

“You… speak?”

“Yes, ma’am.” The man nodded.

You narrowed your eyes. “Coherently.”

“Y-yes?” He looked slightly alarmed. “Most days?”

“With manners?”

Another nervous nod.

Behind you, Shanks strolled up like he was on a morning walk, hands in his pockets, grinning. “They’re trained.”

You turned, eyes wide. “They don’t throw things? Or grunt? Or compare—”

You gestured vaguely around your hips. “—spear sizes?”

From behind a crate, Yasopp shouted helpfully, “Only on Sundays!”

Shanks waved him off. “Don’t listen to Yasopp. He was raised by birds.”

You turned in a slow circle, trying to take it all in.

“They’re… capable. And… clean-ish?”

Shanks looked delighted. “You sound dissatisfied.”

“I just assumed the average man’s brain was like… a moist sponge. Held together by aggression and meat.”

Someone dropped a barrel in the background, and another muttered, “Fair.”

You were still reeling as you passed through the middeck later. Rows of hammocks, spare boots tucked neatly to the side, a small shrine made entirely of snacks (Lucky Roo’s, apparently), and not a single visible injury caused by stupidity.

Curiosity got the better of you.

You pulled aside one of the younger crewmates, a sharp-eyed gunner named Lee, and whispered, “Okay. Tell me the truth. Is it actually true men have a vulnerable spot—”

A hand settled gently on your shoulder.

You froze.

Shanks, smiling like he’d just caught you cheating at cards. “I love that you’re curious.”

The man-child fled at the speed of dignity.

You folded your arms, looking put-out. “He was revealing man-secrets to me—”

Shanks stepped closer, voice warm and entirely too amused. “Sure. But maybe… don’t ask the crew about their bits.”

“I wasn’t—!”

“They’re sensitive. Private. Possibly haunted.”

You gave him a look. “I wasn’t asking for a tour.”

He leaned in slightly, the absolute nerve of the man. “Still. If you do want to discuss any parts that twitch, rise, or have ceremonial value—”

He paused, watching your jaw drop.

“—please let me be your guide.”

You gawked. “That is not cultural diplomacy.”

He winked. “It is if I use respectful language. And a chart.”

You stormed off in a flurry of indignation and stolen laundry, determined never to speak to him again. Later that day, a peach appeared beside your lunch tray. Tucked under it: a folded sketch labeled

“FOR STUDY – Figure 1: The Twitching Sword and Other Male Myths”

You stared at it. You stared at him.

Shanks had stolen the Karma Kuju scroll.

And then you threw the peach—and the chart—overboard.

Shanks caught your eye across the deck, looked scandalized, and called out:

“That was educational!”

You didn’t answer.

But that night, when you passed Lucky Roux and he offered you another peach, you muttered:

“…I’ll take it. But if it has a diagram, I swear to god I will set something on fire.”

The Red Force was many things: a warship, a sanctuary, a floating tavern when necessary. But above all, it was loud.

You learned this within days of being reluctantly relocated.

It was not the kind of ship that barked orders and marched in lockstep. No, this was a vessel crewed by grown men with terrifying weapon skills and the social decorum of overgrown children who had collectively decided chaos was a lifestyle choice. This also translated into their fashion.

They applauded your tantrums.

They cheered loudest when you insulted Shanks. You weren’t sure if they actually liked him.

They bet on how long you’d last without punching someone.

And somehow, you stayed.

And you fell into a routine. 

You became used to the crew of the Red Force.

Mostly.

One morning, you tied your shirt to a line strung between two masts because someone had to clean your laundry, and it wasn’t going to be Shanks. You did it peacefully, rationally, with the air of a woman who just wanted dry clothes and some semblance of dignity.

Then Limejuice wandered by, squinted at it.

“Think it’d make a good sail patch if it catches wind.”

Before you could stop him, he yeeted it skyward.

It fluttered like a surrender flag and smacked Shanks directly in the face as he emerged from below deck.

He peeled it off with a blink, looked at the shirt, then at you, and said with infuriating calm, “If you wanted me to wear something of yours, sweetheart, you could’ve just said so.”

You vowed to drown him in his sleep.

He winked.

Shanks offered to cook to make amends.

“Romantic gesture,” he declared. “Very domestic. Very husband-coded.”

“Man-creature coded.” You hissed.

You didn’t trust it.

You were right not to.

Twenty minutes later, the galley was an apocalyptic battlefield. Spices had been weaponized. Smoke curled out from under the door. Yasopp was weeping. A single seagull lay unconscious on the windowsill.

Shanks emerged, eyebrows singed.

“So, uh. Turns out I can’t cook.”

You sat beside him on the upper deck, covered in flour, watching the smoke plume skyward.

“I noticed.”

“Still,” he said, nudging your knee. “We technically made dinner together. That’s relationship stuff.”

You didn’t respond. But you didn't push him off when he rested his head against your shoulder and muttered something about needing a fireproof cookbook.

Later that week, Benn Beckman dragged Shanks aside with the slow, weary patience of someone who’d seen this exact situation unravel dozens of times.

You paused near the mast and listened.

“She is not one of the tavern girls, Captain.”

“I know that.”

“She has a brain. And knives. And principles. Stop flirting like a drunk raccoon.”

“I like drunk raccoons.”

“You are one.”

A silence.

“Benn,” Shanks said, solemnly. “I think I’m in real trouble.”

“We all are,” Benn muttered, lighting his pipe. “But mostly you.”

There were other moments, quieter ones. Rare things, like pearls in sand.

Like when you woke up from a dream, unfamiliar stars above, the sea humming soft beneath the board, and found him sitting nearby, eyes fixed on the horizon, his hand resting next to yours.

He didn’t know you were awake.

He just watched the sea, wind in his hair, hand outstretched like he was reaching for something sacred.

“She’s not mine,” he murmured. “Not yet. But gods, I want her to stay.”

Your breath caught.

You closed your eyes and pretended to still be asleep. The next morning, there was a peach beside your breakfast plate. No note. Just a single, perfect fruit.

You didn’t throw it overboard this time.

You ate it quietly, cheeks warm, and didn’t speak of it.

Life on the Red Force wasn’t simple.

But it was full.

Of noise. Of absurdity. Of terrible singing and better wine. Of men who made room for your presence without hesitation.

And of one red-haired pirate who was trying to become the kind of man worth choosing.

You didn’t miss home.

That’s what you told yourself.

You didn’t miss the palace baths, the temple bells at dawn, the scent of wildflowers braided into your hair by hands you trusted.

You didn’t miss your sisters.

You certainly didn’t miss their habit of fussing over your appearance, brushing your hair while gossiping about trade envoys and cursed scrolls. 

You were fine. Absolutely fine. A big girl in all respects.

Right up until the third morning on the Red Force, when you couldn’t untangle the braid you slept in and snapped:

“Do all men shed like lions?!”

Shanks leaned against the doorframe of your quarters, arms crossed, head tilted.

“Want help?”

“You are one-handed.” You blinked. “And you want to do my hair?”

He shrugged, wiggling his fingers. “I’ve got one very good hand for it. Used to braid my fellow cabin boy’s hair during long voyages. Therapeutic.”

You squinted. “That’s a lie.”

He stepped closer, gently plucked the comb from your hand, and said,

“You trust me to sail through storms with you, but not brush your hair?”

“I don’t trust you with anything soft,” you muttered. “You’d probably flirt with the brush.”

But you sat anyway. Grumbling. Like a martyr.

“Only if it has good bristles.”

You laughed and conceded. It became… a thing.

A quiet thing, one you didn’t ask for. He never announced it. No grand declarations. No smug commentary.

Just routine.

Each morning, after you washed your face and settled into your corner of the cabin, he’d appear, comb in hand. That stupid, serene expression on his face like this was regular. Like he was normal, like he hadn’t abducted you, charmed half your fury into submission, and now somehow declared himself your personal hairstylist by divine pirate law.

He never said anything cutting. Depending on the day, just knelt or stood behind you and then he’d start combing with slow, careful strokes like you were made of spun glass and threats.

At first, it was infuriating, unnerving, and intimate in a way that battle and banter could never be.

His breath on your neck, the way he’d bring your hair to his mouth if he needed to hold it a certain way. You’ve told him to stop. Twice. He pretends he can’t hear without both arms.

He just hums.

Softly. Casually. Whatever song was stuck in his head or stolen from your past. Sometimes he hummed low, thoughtful melodies that blended with the creak of the ship and the soft splash of waves against the hull. Sometimes he tapped lightly on your shoulder when he needed an extra hand, like he trusted you to help him with your own hair.

And eventually, you stopped telling him to leave.

Mostly because you knew he wouldn’t.

But also because he was careful. Always.

Not a single pull. Not a single wince. Just the rhythmic sound of the comb through your hair and the quiet steadiness of his presence.

It was the kind of attention that didn’t ask for anything back.

Which made it worse.

So you sat there each morning, pretending it didn’t mean anything. And he stood behind you, pretending he didn’t already know it did.

He was careful with the tangles. Gentle with the knots. He never tugged, never rushed. He moved with the quiet focus you’d only ever seen in people handling something sacred.

He never looked at you through the mirror unless you met his eyes first.

And when he tied the final ribbon, or looped a braid through your crown, he’d step back, tilt his head slightly, and say with maddening warmth,

“There. Ready to conquer something?”

At first, you told yourself it was practical.

You had no sisters here. No one tends to the small things. No one to fuss or remind you of the rituals that tethered you to who you were.

This was just convenience.

It was efficient.

But then he started leaving small things by your basin.

A carved wooden pin you’d admired once while walking through a port town, tucked beside your brush without a word. A softer comb, better suited for your hair. A ribbon in Kuja clan colors, dyed just right, wrapped in cloth like an offering.

And once, a sprig of your favorite flower. Not from this region. Not from this ship. Something you’d mentioned in passing, only once, on a sleepless night beneath the stars. You found it lying gently on your towel the next morning. Still dewy. Still fragrant.

You turned on him then, suspicious, unmoored.

“What is this?” you asked, voice sharper than you meant.

He looked up from his journal, relaxed, unaffected.

His answer came simply.

“Because you deserve to feel as lovely as you are.”

You hated how your heart stuttered.

How your fingers clenched uselessly around the flower.

How part of you wanted to throw it at him, and the other part wanted to press it between the pages of a book and carry it for the rest of your life.

One evening, you sat with your hair loose, brushing it absently.

The air was soft and salty, heavy with the warmth of late light. Lanterns glowed gold across the wooden walls, and the hum of the crew had long faded into quiet. Only the sea remained, and the sound of bristles moving slowly through your hair.

Shanks passed behind you, his footsteps easy, his presence unmistakable. He stopped.

You did not turn, but you felt him watching. Something unreadable lingered in his silence.

“Want help?”

You kept your eyes forward. “You did it this morning.”

There was a pause. Then the sound of him stepping closer, the creak of old wood beneath his feet, and his voice, lower now.

“That was for you,” he said, the words brushing close. “This one is just because I like touching you.”

You went still. The kind of still that lived deep in your chest. Then, without a word, you held the brush out to him. He took it gently, with a care that said he understood exactly what you were giving him.

He settled behind you, quiet as dusk. One leg folded, the other stretched lazily beside him, familiar and close.

His fingers moved with steady purpose. The brush passed through your hair in long, patient strokes. He touched you like he was listening, like your silence told him everything he needed to know.

The tension in your shoulders eased before you realized it had. The rhythm of his hands made the air feel softer and safer.

Your soulmark began to glow. Faint, warm, steady. A slow burn just beneath your skin.

You noticed his love in the little things.

The way he didn’t speak when you lit incense by the railing that first morning. He just stood nearby, quiet, eyes on the horizon as the smoke curled skyward, as if the act belonged to a world he wasn’t part of, but one he was willing to protect.

The way he offered your cup during meals with both hands. Not casually, not thoughtlessly. He set it in front of you with a softness that suggested he knew it mattered, even if he never asked why.

The way he never stepped too close when you were angry. He hovered at the edge of your reach, waiting, watching, giving you space to burn. But he was there when sadness settled into your shoulders and silence stretched too long. Just close enough. Not touching. Just there.

And when he braided your hair, he didn’t ask if he was doing it right. He didn’t fumble, joke, or make it performative.

He just did it.

One-handed, slow and steady, with the same rhythm your sisters used. Fingers threading through strands like memory. He looped, twisted, and tucked with a reverence you had not expected from anyone outside the island. Let alone him.

At first, you told yourself it was a coincidence.

A fluke.

But then came the bow. Not the kind of bow pirates used, careless and exaggerated.

No, this was different. Controlled. Intentional. The kind your elders taught you to return before crossing into sacred ground. The kind reserved for gods, shrines, and quiet places where your voice did not belong.

He did it without hesitation, without needing to be told.

You stared at him.

“…Where did you learn that?”

He glanced up from the satchel he had been packing, then straightened with a shrug.

“This place is sacred now you’re in it.”

Simple. Like it was obvious.

He never touched your shoulder when guiding you, even in chaos or haste. His fingers always found your wrist instead; the touchpoint of trust in your culture. The place a warrior offers freely to those they deem safe.

You never told him that.

But he knew.

You didn’t say anything at first.

You let it sit there, unspoken. Let it build, day by day, in the rituals he never named but honored all the same. In the small choices. In the way he had stopped trying to belong to your world and started making space for it on his ship. He was so much more than the man who stole you from your home. He had learned you. Without demand. Without claiming. He had listened. And somewhere along the way, you had stopped trying not to be heard.

One night, long after the others had gone below deck, you sat together in silence.

The stars spread wide above you, sharp and cold in the black sky. The sea was calm for once, rolling in slow, deep breaths. He sat beside you, legs stretched out, arms resting on his knees, gaze fixed somewhere far ahead.

You watched him for a long moment, the breeze brushing your cheek like a question.

Then you whispered it.

“You learned all this on purpose… didn’t you? While you were at the Amazon Lily.”

He didn’t look at you.

Didn’t blink. Just smiled.

Soft. Quiet. Eyes on the sea.

“I wanted to learn you.”

Not your title.

Not your power.

You.

And somehow, that quiet confession undid something in you that nothing else had.

Because he hadn’t said it like a prize. Or a strategy. Or a clever line.

He had said it like a vow.

The Red Force cut through the sea like it belonged to it. Like the water had parted just to let it pass.

You stood on the deck, arms crossed, wrapped tightly in one of the crew’s coats. You had refused the blanket Shanks offered, on principle. The coat was scratchy and a little too big, but it didn’t smell like him. That was the essential element.

The wind tugged your hair into knots. Your soul mark pulsed gently beneath your glove. It was warm, steady, and insufferable.

And you were livid.

Not just because he’d taken you while you were asleep, like a romantic idiot with no concept of boundaries. Not because he had done anything that typically provoked your ire.

But because he left.

“Where is he?” you muttered, eyes scanning the horizon like he might be foolish enough to stroll back mid-storm.

Benn Beckman looked up from his map table with the ease of a man who had heard every tone of fury known to mankind. He barely glanced over.

“Meeting with a rival crew. They crossed into our territory.”

You blinked. “So he just leaves us here?!”

Benn didn’t even look up.

“You mean he left you here?”

Your jaw locked. He went back to his charts.

“He left you where you’d be safe.”

“That’s not the same,” you snapped. “He didn’t even ask—”

Benn raised a brow, eyes still on the map. “You care that much?”

The question hit like a slap.

Not cruel. Not loud. Just… true.

You froze.

Then scowled. Harder. Sharper. As if you could hide behind it. As if fury could keep you from unraveling under something as quiet as truth.

Your silence was enough.

Benn sighed. The kind of sigh that came from knowing too much and saying too little. He reached for his mug and took a slow sip, like he was rationing his patience one swallow at a time.

“He’s not trying to trick you,” he said. “He’s not off charming some tavern girl or vanishing to avoid you.” His tone stayed even. Measured. Not pleading. Just honest.

“He’s giving you space. That’s all.” He said calmly, “Which, for him, is progress.”

You didn’t reply.

You turned away instead, fists balled in the sleeves of the borrowed coat, the fabric coarse and unfamiliar against your skin.

The wind pulled at your hair like it had something to say, but it said nothing useful; Just the salt and cold and quiet.

It didn’t take your anger with it.

It only left you with the weight of your own breathing. And the maddening, persistent heat of your soulmark, pulsing steadily under your glove like it knew something you refused to admit.

Later, in the privacy of your cabin, you stood for a long moment in front of the coat rack.

The borrowed coat hung heavy on your shoulders.

You didn’t sigh. Didn’t groan, roll your eyes, or make a dramatic scene removing it. 

You just reached for his.

It was warmer.

Softer.

It smelled like salt and citrus and something that made your throat tighten.

You put it on without a word.

And Benn, who had seen the whole thing from where he leaned outside the door, mercifully kept his mouth shut.

Because he knew a surrender when he saw one.

Even if it came in the form of a stolen coat.

You stormed to the bow of the ship, muttering under your breath in three languages and inventing a fourth out of spite. The wind snapped at the sleeves. His sleeves. The damn coat fit too well.

Too warm. Too steady. Too his.

Hours passed.

You didn’t move much.

Just sat on a crate near the railing, hunched like a stormcloud, soulmark faintly warm under your glove. Not burning. Just there.

Persistent. Irritating. Smug.

You glared at the moon like it owed you a personal apology.

And then, you heard him.

Before you saw him.

Boots on wood. Familiar. Steady.

Laughter. Easy and low, like a man returning from a brawl he enjoyed.

The clink of a sake jug.

And his voice. Low. Casual. Amazed.

“Sweetheart, is that my coat?”

You didn’t turn. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t answer.

He was close enough now to lean against the railing beside you, and of course, he did.

You didn’t look at him. You stared out at the water like it had better answers than he ever would. He waited. Patient. Annoyingly quiet.

His hand brushed your shoulder, and you couldn’t help the way you stood straighter, back tingling.

“Looks good on you,” he said, gently, like he wasn’t trying to win anything. Just… telling the truth.

You shifted, not enough to give him the satisfaction of eye contact.

“Don’t read into it,” you muttered.

“I never do,” he lied, eyes dancing.

Your soulmark flared a little warmer. You adjusted the collar to hide your face from the moonlight. He grinned into the night air like he’d just been handed treasure.

You didn’t turn around.

“I considered throwing myself overboard.”

“But you didn’t.”

“I like boats.”

“You like me.”

You turned then, slow and lethal, eyes blazing.

“Don’t start.”

He raised his hands in mock surrender, but stepped closer anyway. The soft kind of close. Careful. Intentional.

“I had to check the borders,” he said, voice lower now. “Someone crossed into my waters.”

“And you couldn’t just tell me?” You turned him before you could stop. The coat swayed around your legs, heavy with warmth you refused to acknowledge. 

Your faces were the closest you’d ever dared.

“I woke up and you were gone. I thought—” You stopped short. Swallowed it. “I thought—.”

His expression shifted. Just a little.

He gave you that soft, infuriating look. The one that made your soulmark glow and your fury spike all at once.

“I thought if I explained,” he said carefully, “you’d try to talk me out of it.”

You stared at him. Furious. Hurt.

Silent.

“Would you have?” he asked, quieter.

You clenched your jaw. Looked away.

“I don’t ask for your permission,” you snapped. “But I deserve your trust.”

“You have it,” he said. “All of it.”

The words hung in the air like they might fall apart if you breathed too loudly.

You said nothing. You just crossed your arms, the coat sleeves slipping past your wrists.

He smiled, smaller now. Real.

“I didn’t want to leave you,” he said. “I just wanted to keep you safe.”

Your soulmark pulsed warm under your glove. Unhelpful. Unwelcome. Steady.

“I wouldn’t have tried to stop you,” you said tightly.

“You would,” he replied, voice soft. “Because you care.”

“I don’t.”

“You do. And it scares you.”

You stood, fists clenched at your sides, breath quickening.

“It doesn’t scare me.”

“Yes, it does,” he whispered. “Because if it didn’t… You wouldn’t understand why I had to go.”

And that was the part that hurt the most.

You did understand.

You understood perfectly. Every reason. Every instinct. Every shadow of duty behind his decision.

And that made you angrier than anything else.

Because understanding him meant forgiving him, which meant this was already more than it should be.

You looked away.

He stepped forward, crossing the invisible line you’d both silently honored for days. Close enough for the mark to hum gently between you. Close enough to feel the heat where your souls still reached.

“I always come back.”

Your voice cracked before you could stop it.

“Stop being like this.”

“Like what?”

You grit your teeth. “Like someone I could fall in love with.”

He didn’t smile.

Not this time.

His expression softened slightly, and he reached up, fingers brushing his chest where your name still glowed.

“It’s only fair we match.”

You did not notice how close he had gotten.

Not at first.

You had been talking about nothing, really. The stars. The wind. Something one of the crew shouted earlier that made you laugh harder than you meant to.

He smiled when you laughed.

Not a flirtatious smile.

Not smug.

Just warm.

Like someone who had been waiting a long time to see you happy.

When you turned back to him, you were already closer than before.

There was no soulmark burning.

No fate tugging.

No divine push.

Just you. Just him. Still close.

His hand shifted slightly between you. Not reaching. Not coaxing. Just there. Still. Waiting.

You looked at it. Then at him.

He did not ask.

He did not move.

And when you leaned forward, heart hammering, you were unsure if you would brush his cheek or shove him into the sea.

But your lips met his.

And the world held its breath.

It was not urgent or desperate. It was soft. Intentional.

You kissed him like a question.

And he answered it gently, like it had always been his to answer.

His hand rose, careful and reverent, cupping your cheek like he could not believe you were real. Like he would have to earn this moment all over again if he blinked.

When you pulled back, you did not go far.

Your breath mingled as your foreheads touched.

Neither of you spoke.

There was no smirking. No teasing. No clever lines.

Just him. Steady like the tide.

“Not because I am weak,” you whispered.

“No,” he said. “Because I’d choose you, even without fate.”

.

.

.

When you were nine, you ‘learned’ what a man was. Years later, you finally met a real one.

Red-haired Shanks.

Charming.

Clean.

Beautiful red hair.

Nice hands.

Didn’t scream. Didn’t grunt. Didn’t conquer anyone that day.

Smiled at you like you were something sacred.

You can forgive yourself for adopting this man-creature.

[marlynnofmany]

The Good Perch

“You would think,” Captain Sunlight said drily, “That a spaceport organized enough to have a whole section for courier ships would have a more visible labeling system.”

“Yeah, really,” I agreed with a frown at the small sign marking our ship’s berth. The thing was barely ankle-height and a thin font. Not even a bright color; it hardly stood out from the pavement in its gray-and-black subtlety. With all the spacefarers parading past in a rainbow of body types and clothing styles, not to mention the equally wild spaceships everywhere, those signs were easy to miss. I asked the captain, “Have you been here before? Is this normal, or did the wrong person take charge of designing things?”

“It’s been a while,” said Captain Sunlight, crossing her scaly arms. “I don’t recall this being a problem before. But I suspect our wayward client is still wandering the walkways looking for us.”

“Normally I’d say our ship would stand out, but the visibility’s not great for that either.” Lemon-shaped spaceships with foldable solar sails were pretty uncommon. The one parked behind us would have been easy to spot from a distance if not for the larger ships looming close on either side. These berths were too close together.

Captain Sunlight pulled her phone out of a belt pouch. “Still says they’re on the way.”

“Maybe we need to scoot forward a bit?” I suggested. “Make the ship easier to see?” I stepped up to the walkway for a better look at the view from there.

This turned out to give someone else a better view of me.

“Hey, person who climbs things!” called a cheerful voice. “Come help me brace this.”

After a confused half-second, I located the speaker on top of the gray-brown ship next to ours. I realized with a start that this wasn’t the first time our ships had been parked side-by-side. “Hey, Acorn!” I called back. “Are you waiting for clients too?”

“We were,” the fellow courier called back, waving something that looked like a wrench. She herself still looked like a baboon crossed with a crocodile. “Now it’s time for errands and maintenance, and this needs fixing before we get back into space. Care to give me a hand? Everybody else is either busy or too much of a coward to get up this high.”

“Sure thing!” I said with a glance at Captain Sunlight, who was waving me on. “What’s the best way up?”

Acorn directed me to a row of handholds on the other side of the ship, which made for a nice easy climb. A pity her crewmates didn’t appreciate heights; the spaceport was a beautiful, chaotic sprawl of color from here. And the top of the ship was flat enough to feel plenty safe.

“Welcome to the good perch,” Acorn said, offering me a wrench. “It’s a very exclusive club. Can you hold this part in place so I can adjust that?”

“Absolutely,” I told her. “This end, right? Wait, got it.” I actually had no idea what this open panel was for, but I like to think I hid it well. The job was a simple one with two of us. I could see how it would have been awkward with just one, though. I wondered if she’d resorted to using her feet to hold things in place. I sure would have.

“Got it!” she said. “Now to close it all up. I knew that would be quick.”

I removed the wrench. “What’s the saying? More hands means less work?”

“Makes sense to me. Though by that logic, your friend there could get everything done by himself.”

I looked down to see that Mur had joined Captain Sunlight, in all his many-tentacled squidlike glory. “He probably could, actually. Though I don’t know how he is with heights.”

“Well, no need to share the good perch,” Acorn announced, snapping the panel shut. She spread her arms. “Look at this panorama!”

“It is a nice one! I was just thinking that. What kind of ship is that blobby green one over there? I haven’t seen it before.”

Acorn stood up for a better look. “I think it’s a Waterwill design?”

“That makes sense.” I got to my feet too, glad the ship we stood on wasn’t one of the shiny racer models. Those were much too slippery to make good sightseeing towers.

Not that Acorn seemed bothered either way. She probably would have found grippy shoes somewhere and run up the side just to prove she could. Her appreciation for climbing had been a nice change the first time I ran into her, and was no different now, given how much time I spent among alien crewmates who didn’t have tree-swinging monkeys in their family trees.

“That ship looks like it would make an excellent climbing structure,” she said, pointing at a pink model with grooves along the sides. “Pity it belongs to a security force who are likely to be uptight about such things.”

I laughed. “Isn’t that always the way of it? There’s a police station in my hometown with a roof that slopes down to meet a very climbable wall, and you have no idea how tempting it looked. Well. Maybe you know.”

She definitely understood, and we spent an enjoyable few minutes talking about which buildings and spaceships looked like the most fun to climb.

Then I spotted someone wandering from one berth marker to the next, looking both lost and a little nearsighted, and I had a suspicion that I’d found our missing client. This was a fellow human wearing the kind of drapey clothes that spoke of dignity and no little wealth. Her expression was exactly the kind I’d wear if I had to deal with those hard-to-read signs long enough to be late.

“Hey Captain!” I called down to Sunlight. “Is that her?” I pointed.

Captain Sunlight hurried forward with her phone out, matching the look of the person with an image there.

Yup. Called it.

Acorn chuckled while the pair of them exchanged greetings and complaints about the station layout. “Nice one. The wisdom of the heights strikes again. Do they need you down there now?”

“Probably,” I said. “Actually not yet, this package is a small one. Mur’s got it.” As I spoke, Mur pushed a hovercart forward with a box on it liberally covered in “fragile” stickers. It had a carrying handle on the top, which it had come with, and rubber bumpers on every corner, which Paint had added just to be safe. All precautions had been taken.

“Oh good,” Acorn said. “Then enjoy the view with me a little longer.” She bent to pull something from the toolbag’s side pocket. “Top-of-the-tree snack?”

“Are those the ones you’re named for?” I asked, remembering a conversation the last time I’d seen her. Translations being what they were, her name meant a similar nut from her homeworld. It had been an amusing conversation, since we were both named after things found in trees. She didn’t know what a robin was, but once I explained it, she claimed to have met a number of people back home with similar names.

“Yes, the salted version,” Acorn said, opening the bag. “I recall these were on the safe list for your species.”

“Safe and tasty,” I agreed. “Thank you.” I accepted a handful of alien acorns and marveled quietly at how universal salt was on snacks. Well, for some species. I don’t think Waterwills or Strongarms were that into overly salty food in general. Probably for slug-like reasons. Eggskin the medic would know. I should ask him later.

Acorn peered over the other side of the ship. “Ohh, Riverbrook’s wearing his goofy helmet. I owe him some acoustics since he played that loud music while I was working.” She crouched, peering down at a crewmate who had just emerged. With care, she selected a nut from the bag. “Think you can thwack him from here?” The grin she threw over her shoulder was full of teeth.

I joined her at the edge. “I like my odds.”

The crewmate was one of those people made of crystals instead of flesh. I forget the species name. Very interesting to look at, and unlikely to be hurt by a high velocity acorn no matter where it hit. The helmet was golden, shiny, and probably a fashion statement of some kind.

“First we throw, then we hide.”

“Got it.”

“One, two, throw!”

Ping! Ping!

“Ow, what was — Acorn, is this yours?!”

We both giggled in childlike glee, just out of sight.

“No thanks, you can have it!” Acorn called back.

“I’m going to put this in your fruit drink next mealtime.”

“Good luck with that!”

I nodded. “Ah, a prank war. A noble pursuit.”

“See, you get it.” Acorn offered me more nuts.

I took them and made myself more comfortable. “I don’t suppose you know what a rattlesnake is?”

“Nope.”

“Then let me tell you about the time I got Trrili — the big scary Mesmer on my ship — with a classic prank from Earth.”

“Oh, do tell!”

I didn’t have to get back to my ship for a few minutes yet, which left plenty of time for more anecdotes and snacks on the good perch.

~~~

The ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book. More to come! And I am currently drafting a sequel!

[abardnamedreginald]

im a wolf-demon-salamander-grey treefrog-katydid-cricket-luna moth-klingon-trad vampire-cat-romulan-harry potter wizard-gnome-drow-orc-wood elf-high elf-werewolf-twilight vampire-chihuahua-android-bard-druid-sorcerer-d&d wizard-lotr wizard-mind flayer-kraken-owlbear-genetically modified human-andes mint-harry potter merperson-h20 mermaid-great white shark-raven named nevermore-amontillado-sewer clown-animatronic-ink person-reality bender-ringwraith-chicken-fairy-telescreen-multibear-manic pixie dream girl-d class-horcrux-dragon-unicorn-pegasus-among us crewmate-among us imposter-game master-sharpie king size marker-dwarf-dragonborn-toothbrush-rock-paper-scissors-lizard-vulcan-politician-god-phone guy-icebreakers ice cubes pineapple-a doctor not a miracle worker-troll-ent-poodle-rabbit-Bear.-orange zombie-purple zombie-green zombie-professor plum-col. mustard-in the library-with a knife-hoola dancer-fish-villager-pelecan-defense against the dark arts professer-mafia boss-peep rabbit-peep chicken-gymnast-hairbrush-philosopher-music freak-school teacher-kidnapper-police lieutenant-farmer-trash can-dumpster out back-turtle-tribble-my little pony-kratt brother-high diver-pearl diver, dive, dive, deeper-chef-fire-earth-water-wind-wasp-bee-hornet-yellowjacket-mud dabber-grasshopper-rattlesnake-armadillo-cowboy-flashlight-starfleet science officer-harlet-elephant-gater-muppet-emo-goth-preppy-teabag-loser-sucker-mouse-rat-a puppet-a pauper-a pirate-a poet-a pawn-and a king-father albert-the pope-a nun-pastor jeff-gambler-metalhead-death rocker-the grim reaper-angel-lighthouse-paw patrol dog-hobbit-starfish-sponge-crab-squid-shrimp-jellyfish-chipmunk-hammerhead shark-nurse shark-humpback whale-blue whale-orca-sexual harrassment panda-south park character-jakoffasaurus-scrabble board-ouija board-pillow-toilet paper-period pad-tampon-baby diaper-elderly diaper-martian-touch tone telephone-starfleet operations-starfleet command-kirk-spock-bones-sulu-chekov-uhura-scotty-yeoman rand-KHAN!!!-mudd-the uss enterprise-the uss reliant-botany bay-v'ger-valeris-saavik-sybok-surak-sarek-the abbreviation 'idk'-sheldon-leonard-penny-howard-raj-amy-bernadette-mary cooper-george sr-george jr-missy cooper-meemaw-tam-dr sturgis-dr linkletter-dr jack bright-dr clef-dr gears-dr kondraki-dr mann-dr iceberg-dr crow-dr rights-dr sherman-scp 049-scp 3008-scp 4231-scp 166-scp 682-scp 2521-scp 590-O5 6-bill cipher-stanley pines-stanford pines-dipper-mabel-wendy-soos-schmebulok-gideon-mcgucket-dipper goes to taco bell-sheriff blubs-deputy durland-tad strange-andy taylor-william afton-michael afton-elizabeth afton-crying child-henry emily-charlotte emily-dave miller-jack kennedy-dee kennedy-peter kennedy-steven stevenson-aragorn-sam-frodo-merry-pippin-boromir-legolas-gimli-gandalf-faramir-denethor-sauron-elrond-thranduil-harry-hermione-ron-voldemort-pettigrew.-moony-padfoot-prongs-snape-edward-bella-alice!!-carlisle-charlie-cthulhu-greg heffley-pennywise-bendy-sammy-norman-jack-alice (susie)-allison-henry stien-joey drew-bruenor battlehammer-raskolnikov-heather-heather-heather-veronica-jd-kurt-ram-martha-kurt cobain-david bowie-freddie mercury-hozier-mitski-lemon demon-jack stauber-tally hall-hamilton-burr-jefferson-madison-washington-phillip-angelica-eliza-peggy-king george iii-king henry viii-ben franklin-catherine of aragon-anne boleyn-jane seymour-anne of cleves-katherine howard-catherine parr-dracula-𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂-evan hansen-conner murphey-john adams-raymond barron-fred randall-jane doe-ocean-noel-mischa-constance-ricky-karnak-vergil-alternate-thatcher davis-ruth-dave-cesar-mark-adam-sarah-jonah-evelyn-gabriel-trump-biden-sunny-basil-kel-aubrey-hero-mari-vanessa (the mean girl that kinda likes u)-tux the linux penguin-perry the platypus hybrid princess...dont fw me

[ofmdrecaps]

08/18-19/2024 Daily OFMD Recap

TLDR; David Jenkins; Taika Waititi; GalaxyCon SanJose: Vico, Con, Kristian, Nathan; Leslie Jones; Madeleine Sami; Connor Barrett; Tell Tale TV Poll; Fan Spotlight: BairNecessities Affirmation Cards; Our Flag Means Fanfiction; Love Notes; Daily Darby/Tonight's Taika.

== David Jenkins ==

Davi's sharing more love for our crewmates and their dedication to OFMD. @smolbus, you're right hon, there is always hope! Ty for sharing your ink!

Source: David Jenkins Twitter

== Taika Waititi ==

More birthday shenanigans for Taika and Rita!

Source: Rita Ora's Instagram

Annnnd More Time Bandits Articles! This week Taika's gonna be in quite a bit of the final episodes it looks like!

Image Sources: The Taika Archives Twitter

= GalaxyCon San Jose: Vico, Con, Kristian, Nathan =

These four had such a lovely time in San Jose, and so did so many of our crewmates!! The cast was kind enough to post lots of pictures of the convention! Hope yall had fun! Please feel free to share your pics/stories!

Source: Kristian Nairn's Instagram

Source: Vico's Instagram

Nathan was out with Harvey Guillen and lots of other friends at the Winchester Mystery House while out in San Jose!

Source: Nathan Foad's Instagram Stories

== Leslie Jones ==

Leslie's going to be doing another stand up tour-- coming up Sept 29 you can see her at the Because They're Funny Comedy Festival at The Wharf in Washington D.C.! Learn more on their website!

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by BECAUSE THEY’RE FUNNY- BTF (Property of NICE CROWD) (@becausetheyrefunny)

Source: BecauseTheyreFunny Instagram

== Madeleine Sami ==

Nice to see Madeleine was out with the ladies of Deadloch at the 2024 TV Week Logie Awards!

Source: Prime Video AUNZ's Instagram

== Connor Barrett ==

Our beloved Hornberry out and about watching Angel City FC!

Source: Connor's Instagram

== Tell Tale TV Votes ==

Our dear friends over at @adoptourcrew are keeping us appraised of Tell Tale TV's new polls! You can vote for Ed and Stede for Category 3: Ship of the Year (Comedy or Animated Series)! While you're there if you want to help support some other queer shows, What We Do In The Shadows - Nandor and Guillermo are up in Ship You'd Most Like to See Sail (Round 1)!

Source: Adopt Our Crew Twitter

== Fan Spotlight ==

= BairNecessities =

Back again tonight is the kindest soul, Mik, aka bairnecessities! Her OFMD Affirmation cards continue to make me smile every time I look at them! Did any of you get to stop by her table this past weekend at GalaxyCon San Jose? If you didn't get to you can check out her shop/follow her on the various socials here: Instagram / Twitter / Linktr.ee / Etsy

First up is probably my favorite card from her S2 Deck:

The next two are from her secondary character expansion! I adore that we get Alma and Louis in there, and even Doug NoLastName and Jeffrey Fettering get a spotlight with wonderful messages for all of us!

Mik does other series too aside from OFMD (like Good Omens, and Helluva Boss!) You can check them out on her instagram below!

Source: Bearnecessities Instagram

= Our Flag Means Fanfiction =

New Epitizer this week from our good friends over at Our Flag Means Fanfiction. Seriously, the amount of content they put out, keeping us all engaged is amazing. If you haven't given them a listen or a follow please do! You can check out the new "when life gives you lemons" on their linktree!

Source: Our Flag Means Fanfiction Instagram

== Love Notes ==

Hey there lovelies, I hope your Monday started your week off well <3 As I'm sitting here typing this I have my son asleep under one arm, so I apologize if this is a bit scattered. I saw this infographic today and it made me think of you all. I don't know about you, but I spent a lot of my life thinking I had to do everything, excel at everything, have all the money, and the car, and the house, and the kids, etc. But you know what? Life isn't about having everything. It's about finding the things you love and matter most to you and focusing on them. The things that matter most to me will absolutely be different from everyone else (we may share some of the same) but no two people are exactly the same when it comes to interests, and thats beautiful. Dig deep into the things you love crew, and remember you don't have to feel any shame for the things that mean the most to you. Do you like video games? Or Ornithology? How about fanfiction? Or maybe Indy 500 races? Do you find joy when you're alone in the woods? Or sitting out with friends at a bar? Do you enjoy being alone? Or maybe you love to sing your heart out at karaoke? Whatever it is you love-- embrace it, whether it's "Weird" by someone else's standards or not. If it makes you smile, if it makes you enjoy your time on this little blue dot-- dive in lovelies, with no regrets. I so very hope that even if it's only little bits at a time this week you get to spend doing the things you love, whatever that may be. Rest well and drink some water tonight <3 Love you crew

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== Daily Darby / Today's Taika ==

Happy Murray Monday, and Taika Tuesday everyone! Tonight's gifs are courtesy of @fandomsmeantheworldtome and @meluli, thank you so much for keeping us well fed with fantastic gifs of our favorite folks <3 You are doing Calypso's work my friends.

[cryingpariah]

I have some questions for you about one of my OCs (If you don’t mind me asking)

The OC in question is [Rein Jay]

1. If you could give him a different Epithet, what would it be?

2. What is your take on his themes? I mean, I usually try to make him charismatic and one of his biggest themes is gamble-core but what do you think?

3. Do you like his devil fruit? While we’re at it, if you had to give him a new one what would it be?

4. What’s a headcanon of yours about Rein? (If I like it enough, it may be canon 😉)

5. Do you enjoy Smiling Fortune Antics?

6. I’ve already voice claimed him as Kellen Geoff but what character comes to your mind when Rein Speaks?

I love talking Sneak-Waves!!

1. Maybe it’s the treatment to his left side but ‘Right as Rein’ comes to mind 😭?? Maybe also Rein ‘Strix’ Jay in reference to the bird from Greek Mythology.

2. He's a smooth-talking, sharp-eyed conman with a conscious who’s (poorly) hiding the effect of years of financial instability by cosplaying and fucking with the rich and not at all hiding his self-worth/martyr behind his undying love for his crewmates!

3. Im immediately biased here since I think owls are awesome and it definitely suits Rein well! Maybe I’m just sick of it going to assholes and creeps but Rein would do wonders with the Clear-Clear fruit and already respects women!

4. Rein can sing, dance, create disguises, and act but he absolutely could not write a script for his cons for the life of him. A plan? Easy peasy lemon squeezy! Dialogue? Difficult difficult lemon difficult. He can get away with it by successfully winging it but it still bugs him.

5. I adore Smiling Fortune antics!! I am 1000% rooting for Sol to go for it/Rein to acquire a crumb of clarity! (Will it happen? Doubtful but I’m gonna believe anyway!)

6. Kellen Geoff fits so well I can’t really think of anyone else 😵‍💫😵‍💫! Before though I imagined Rein with Steven Blum's voice (specifically as Spike Spiegel). I feel like Rein would appreciate a girl that could kick his ass (LIKE SOL)

[lost-technology]

I was alerted to Trigun Fanfiction Appreciation Week! I have recs! It's Cinco de Mayo and I am full of tacos. Let's roll! Roleswap The Purple Hyacinth bouquet of stories by @somereaderinblue Summary: A universe in which Vash was born as the first Independent Plant and it is Tesla and Nai who are the twin-siblings. Other characters switch roles as well - Luida and Rem, Livio and Wolfwood, each retaining their unique selves. The symbolism of the purple hyacinth and little details like Tesla's love of lemon-cake really make this. Tesla is a rougher kind of heroic desperado, being more nuanced, rougher and less absolutist than Vash, making for an amazing ride. (The first tale, centered on Luida and little Vash, though, will break your heart). Canon-typical violence and abuses of children and science. General AU Sun, Moon and Stars by @tragic-unpaired-electron Summary: At a crucial moment, Rem does something crazy to save baby Tesla and the entire universe changes. What follows is the saga of the Saverem family - mothers, daughter, sons, a more hospitable planet, but not without social and political challenges for Plants to gain legal personhood. This had me hooked like a thrill ride, beginning to end. One of my absolute favorites in the fandom. Each and every character has a realistic, organic change stemmed from this one pinpoint. (Nai doesn't go genocidal for example, but has points where he could have gone dark and has reasons to choose a better path). Treat yourself and read this! Canon-typical violence. Conrad being particularly a bastard. For my fellow Rem-enjoyers Out Cold by Miricals Summary: Vash, Wolfwood and the girls find themselves sheltering in an old crashed escape ship they found with coldsleep capsules still running on half-dead solar power. Guess who they find. Some sadness with unnamed characters' deaths, otherwise no warnings. Accidents Happen by exai_lostjune Summary: Set in the 1998 anime / first anime only. Rem finds out that crewmate Steve has been beating her kids, not just being bigoted in speech. She beats his ass with a crowbar. That's it, that's the fic. Little Plant Twins get protected by their Mama Bear, Steve gets what he deserves. In-Series / Main Timeframe Let the Ransomed be Free by SpiritusRex Summary: Wolfwood and Meryl impersonate a pair of rich-bitches to get into a auction attended by all of the planet's worst billionaires. Their mission? To find an extract a certain Vash the Stampede, who is up on the auction block as a slave to the highest bidder. Shenanigans ensue. Canon-typical violence / un-fun use of a cattle-prod on our poor Vash. Just Follow My Yellow Light (And Ignore All Those Big Warning Signs) by haveloved Summary: In the aftermath of Vash getting hurt, Wolfwood notices that Meryl hasn't eaten. Milly usually helps her remember to eat. Just a little story about self-care and others-care. Canon-typical violence. WTF? Aaaah! Why did someone write this? / are people going to look at me weird for reading this? Aaaaaaaah! Horror. Sin Eaters by @dragonofeternal Summary: There is an old tradition Vash read of once wherein a ritual meal is consumed to absolve the sins of the deceased. Livio, however, was Wolfwood's first friend and does not intend on letting Vash dine alone. BIG WARNING HERE! This was written for Trigun Body Horror Week. NOT for the faint of heart or the weak of stomach! While I think this is the best story to come out of Trigun Body Horror Week... it is... just that. This one's for gore-fiends - outdoes canon.

[thesharktanksdriver]

Hey! Its me again! :D

I love the fact that Reader plays a ukulele to distract themselves away from their thoughts, it's wholesome oml.

*THE TOXIC GOSSIP TRAIN FLASH BLACK*

(ALSO Your post abt Zoro and reader is so funny and gives me the giggles- I love platonic one piece ITS SO UNDERRATED)

Anyways, I have a few random memes and incorrect quotes for your reader and the Determination! Series! Hope you'll like it! :)

———————

*this takes place after Zoro just joined Luffy's pirate crew and Reader is tagging along*

Luffy : Hey Zoro! I just have one question for you

Zoro : What is it Luffy? *His arms behind his head trying to nap*

Luffy : What color is an orange?

Zoro : Luffy you bonehead, the color is just the same as its name. Just like a lemon *he is proud of himself*

Reader : *questioning their decisions*

———————

Crewmate : You're smiling. What happened?

Young!Buggy : What? Can't I smile just because I feel like it?

Reader : Shanks tripped and fell down the stairs today. *Treating shanks broken nose*

Young!Shanks : *with a broken nose* >:( jerk (to Buggy)

: You lying, cheating, piece of shit!

————————

* they're eating dinner*

Reader : Can you pass the salt?

Shanks : *throws Buggy across the table*

— 🛎️ Anon!

Hi!!!!!!

Never thought I’d be getting the honour incorrect quotes for my series from someone else : D

I shall also post some as well

Nami: Every time I hear someone talking about updog, I’m torn between not wanting to fall for it and wanting to help them complete their joke.

Luffy: Okay, but what is updog?

Sanji: Updog is a long sausage in a bun, often served with ketchup, mustard, onions, and/or relish.

Ussop: No, that’s a hot dog. An updog is when a new version or patch of an application is released.

Y/n: No, that's an update. You’re thinking of the fourth largest city in Sweden.

Zoro : Surely, that’s Uppsala, where’s updog is the giant spider in Harry Potter.

Nami: That’s Aragog. Updog is a symbol conventionally used for an arbitrarily small number in analysis proofs.

Ussop: You’re thinking of epsilon. Updog is an upward-moving air current.

Zoro: No, that’s an updraft. An updog is the modern version of a henway.

Luffy: What’s a henway??

Nami: Oh, about five pounds

===

*Squad reactions to being told ‘I love you’*

Y/n and Luffy: Thanks fam!

Ussop: Oh no.

Zoro: Sounds fake, but okay.

Sanji: *A flustered mess*

Nami : Can I get a refund?

===

Ussop: Imagine if someone handed you a box full of all the things you lost throughout your life.

Zoro: It would be nice to have my sense of purpose back...

Y/n: Oh wow, my childhood innocence and My will to live! I haven't seen these in years.

Sanji : I knew I lost that potential somewhere.

Nami: Mental stability, my old friend!

Ussop: Jesus, could you guys lighten up a little?

===

Y/n: *dies*

Luffy: Timer starts now! When are they coming back? I say two months!

Zoro: Bullshit. One month.

Ussop: Nah, half a month.

Sanji , sobbing: WHAT ARE YOU DOING? Y/N JUST DIED!

Nami, scratching chin in thought: One week.

(This one is wayyy to real lol)

===

*after the Squad has been separated for a few years*

Luffy: So what have you been up to recently?

Zoro: Leading a revolution with Sanji.

Luffy: Good for you two! Me, I've joined the mob.

Zorro: *nods* Oh, how cool! That's awesome!

Luffy: I know! Anyway, have you heard from the others? Y/n ?

Zoro: Happily living as a hermit in the woods. Ussop?

Luffy: Wrongfully locked up in an asylum, which reminds me, we need to break them out later. Nami?

Zoro: Cult leader.

Luffy: Yeah, that sounds about right.

[shuhuflesh]

heya i am quite enamored by lyrebranch and would really love to learn more. would you be interested in elaborating on their personalities and history together? :3

EXPLODES I LOVE LYREBRANCH SO MUCH !!!! im so obsessed with them theyre so unhealthy

now im not gonna go super into detail because 1. im tired and 2. these two are actually characters ive got for a possible meowdy bit, so i dont wanna spoil Everything

Calypso Nudibranch - calypso nudibranch is a triton/fish person from the undersea. specifically, she's their beloved princess. shes a natural-born leader, flounders when she has to lie, and is generally calm and collected. she's an incredible warrior, known and loved by her people for her dedication to being their guardian and future leader. there's one thing that gets her so, so angry, and thats people like jasmine lyre

Jasmine Lyre - now jasmine lyre... well. do you remember what chip jrwi was like? in the first few riptide episodes? shes like that but like, wayyy worse. way worse. and also a bisexual woman. my first ever message/concept idea for her was literally this

i have a playlist for her and it only has two songs so far but theyre So Her its insane. shiny from moana and a mask of my own face by lemon demon. she cares about one thing, and one thing only; gold. gold, jewelry, fame, power. and i guess she cares about her crew mutinying a bit. she sucks so bad she broke up with her girlfriend the day she met calypso because she hated calypso more passionately than she loved her gf. most of everything about her is a lie. she even made up her last name, but she wont spill the beans on if her first name is fake too. and yes, "lyre" sounding like "liar" was very purposeful.

LyreBranch - THREE CHEERS FOR TOXIC YURI!!! they hate each other so much they want each other (dead. and sexually) so bad. they want nothing more than to kill each other and to be the ones To Kill the other (so no assassins or crewmates/guards doing it for them). i have some images that are very Them

theyre obsessedddd which each other. jasmine's crew is verymuch sick of her shit. calypso's guards are concerned, but not enough to intervene (they think that if anything happens calypso will just kill jasmine). they daydream and dream about killing each other (and in weaker moments, about more suggestive situations). i usually talk mostly about how much jasmine flirts with and mocks calypso and how obsessed she is, but dont get the wrong idea. calypso is just as obsessed as she is. she just doesnt flirt or externalize it as much as jaz does, which gives it the appearance that jasmine is the one pursuing calypso and fighting her when in reality theyre both fucked up and toxic about it

ive got so, so much more about these two (both as individuals and together) but its almost 3am and ive got a headache, so i'll let that be a topic for tomorrow o7 hope you enjoy them!!! o/

[mamamittens]

A Lone Melody (Pt. 7)

soft Platonic Yandere Arlong & OC (Melody)

Previous|Main|First

Warnings: Canonical mentions of slavery and racism. As well as mentions of branding but, to be honest, I'm pretty damn sure re-branding an ex-slave isn't the most... sensitive way to address trauma. So uh... I'm not doing that. Maybe Koala gets a tattoo over it later but like... no.

Anyway! Howdy! Been a bit, yeah? Well, there's no going back now, I suppose. I wanted to get at least a chapter out before tomorrow since I'll absolutely be playing Pikmin 4 this weekend lol

Thank you all for your patience as things start to get heated soon~!

Word Count: 1,489

Koala… didn’t know how to handle this.

It’d been three years since she was ‘freed’ by Fisher Tiger’s unexpected rampage and fleeing to this island. Sure, she was free now. No longer a slave. She understood that.

In her head.

But even three years later she flinched at loud voices. Messes made her anxious until she cleaned them up herself. Any mistake had her heart pounding. What was once a desperate hope to cope with her cruel reality became a hazy daydream.

Home.

Her mother, sweet and loving in the kitchen making breakfast. Her quant village full of faces she couldn’t remember. It was all fading away under the brutality of her memories of slavery. The name branded into her mind out of desperation, hotter than the brand that sealed her fate. She would go home but… she was just a kid. And the seas were a big place.

And then, shockingly, a vaguely familiar face came into port. Fishmen, which brought back memories of screams and smoke, lead by Fisher Tiger. Bright red skin and dark eyes staring out as he looked around.

His crew, the Sun Pirates, were in port. And possibly the only crew willing (maybe) and able (definitely) to take her home.

The townspeople asked on her behalf, nervous but hopeful to send her back home finally.

Fisher Tiger had a strange look on his face at that. A twisting expression that seemed to be an awful mix of emotions as he looked down at her. ‘Happy slave’ smile still etched onto her face—had been since she was beaten unconscious for frowning so long ago the edges of the pain blurred.

His eyes held sympathy and heartache as he smiled.

“Of course I will take her home.” He promised, elation rising in her chest.

Though, uhm, he didn’t appear to clear that with his crew. Several looked like they swallowed lemons.

A fishman with blue skin and a jagged nose looked like he wanted to beat her to a pulp before a small body darted between his legs.

“Hi! I’m Melody!” The little girl giggled, a bit shorter than herself. Light gray skin flush with a warm blush as red peeked out from under thick, white, black-tipped bangs. Her teeth were sharp and impressive as she bounced in excitement. “Are you human?!” she asked.

Koala… was incredibly lost.

“…Yes?” She flinched at the questioning tone, expecting someone to lash out at her—which may well have been the blue fishman if it wasn’t for a taller, broader fishman shoving his crewmate’s head down.

Melody gasped in elation.

“Cool! I’m half!” She crowed reaching out to grasp her hands. Her skin was smooth with a strange texture. Stronger than herself but aware of it.

Half? Half?

Somehow, this was the most shocking piece of information Koala had heard in a long time.

Melody grasped Koala’s hand and rubbed the back against her cheek with a giggle.

“You’re so soft! Wanna play?” She asked, still bouncing in elation. “Pah banned Dah from hosting tea parties cause he keeps going on and on about how cool fishmen are and ruins the fun.”

“… A tea party?” Koala asked.

Melody nodded.

“Yeah! Auntie Shar and her friends taught me! It’s easy, you just gotta drink tea and talk.” Melody informed her seriously. “And if we’re quiet we get to have cookies too—oops. I wasn’t supposed to let Pah hear that part.” Melody grimaced.

The taller fishman sighed, shaking his head.

“I already knew, pup. Arlong isn’t half as slick as he thinks he is.” He huffed, settling his hand on the other fishman’s shoulder with a stern look.

‘Arlong’ looked like he wanted to scream and rip her to pieces.

“Oh… does this mean I don’t gotta sneak cookies anymore?” Melody asked innocently, completely ignoring the tense atmosphere.

Tiger Fisher snorted.

“You go play tea party, pup. Jinbe will bring you two some snacks while I… talk to Arlong.”

Judging by the sour look on Arlong’s face, he already knew what kind of lecture he was in for.

“And let some filth—” Jinbe slammed his hand onto Arlong’s head with a hiss, Melody already dragging Koala away. An octopus fishman waved his many arms around and smiled nervously.

“W-Well! How about that tea party!”

“Okay! Wait… do you need six cups or is one fine, Hah-chan?” Melody asked curiously as quickly ushered them away.

“J-Just one, Melody~” He laughed with a look over his soulder.

She just heard Jinbe’s voice as she rounded a corner.

“Do. Not. Ruin this for her. Let her have a friend or I’ll—"

--*--

Fisher Tiger scowled at the maps, not really reading any of them. He already knew that he had never sailed to Foolshout before. But a little girl had been away from home long enough.

He had never really considered where the slaves he freed only a few years prior would go when he acted as he did. Just that they all deserved to be free. It was luck that Koala ended up on such a kind island, though she was human so it wasn’t much of a worry to begin with. He didn’t remember her, not really, but there was no mistaking that look in her eyes.

The look of someone made a slave too young. Emotions masked behind a fixed, unnatural smile. Hair a mess from lack of basic care. She was about ten or maybe eleven, old enough to know how to care for it. But just like him, she was still haunted from her time as a slave. It was a miracle she even remembered where she came from.

It was difficult to look at her, sometimes. But Fisher Tiger had grown a lot from that sad man in chains. It helped that he had such a supportive crew and, though he wasn’t sure how, the childlike wonder of his niece. Without that, he would have taken on this task with bitterness in his heart. Seen the marks of slavery still on her soul and done something drastic to try and wipe it away as he had tried with himself.

But Melody was taken with Koala. Always wanting to play with her hair and have Koala braid hers.

Arlong hadn’t stopped scowling since Koala boarded, pissed off that his daughter was close to a human. The first human she’d actually met, in fact. His amusement at Arlong’s plight helped temper that desperation in his soul. Jinbe certainly had his hands full keeping his friend in check around the little girl.

“Uncle Fishy!” Melody bounded into the room, her small hand grasping Koala’s thin wrist as the human’s fake smile faltered with nerves. Melody beamed, ruby eyes glittering behind her hair.

“Yes, Melody?” He asked with a fond smile.

“It’s food time! Food! Eat!” Melody bounced, reaching out for his hand. Fisher Tiger reached back and allowed Melody’s painfully small hand to pull on his fingers. He glanced at Koala with a soft smile.

“We’ll find your home soon, Koala. I promise.” He reassured her, “You’ve been free for three years… it’s time you went home.”

Melody paused, tilting her head as she glanced between the two of them. Letting go of his hand, she reached out and rubbed her thumb over Koala’s cheek, the human flinching at the motion.

“…It’s okay to cry, you know. Dah cried last week when Pah measured my height and found out I gained another half inch.” Melody informed her gravely.

That false smile wavered like a mirage and Fisher Tiger sighed.

“She’s right you know.” He whispered solemnly. “It’s okay to cry.”

He’d wept for hours in the comforting embrace of the sea when he finally found freedom. His brand burning in his flesh as he sobbed and wailed so deep only the sea beasts heard him.

Koala’s eyes watered, wavering smile falling to pieces as Fisher Tiger instinctively scooped up the two children.

He never would have done this a few years ago.

He still felt weak and pathetic from his time in chains, but he was undeniably a stronger man now. Shame no longer dogging his steps so heavily.

Koala would find her way to true freedom. The kind that cleanses the heart and soul that even he had yet to find. She just needed support and kindness she never had while in chains.

It wasn’t, after all, piracy or his flag that brought light to his heart after so long in the dark.

Fisher Tiger looked at Melody who reached out to Koala with gentle hands to pet her hair and shoulders soothingly. Not truly understanding the cause of Koala’s sadness but reaching out anyway.

He was a better man now… but deep in his heart, he knew he was still that pathetic wretch who could never quite let go of his hatred.

Maybe given time they’d both put the past behind them.

[bunbeeplays]

The Lemon Legacy: Generation 1, Chapter 128 - Adventures in Paisleysitting

It's time for Trent's first piano lesson with Ophelia at the Esposito penthouse. Hopefully private lessons from his favorite celeb will get him to warm up to his stepmother Paisley more.

Paisley is going to be keeping an eye on the kids in an attempt to bond with the twins.

Leave it to Juan Esposito to have a whole playground for his baby girls at his penthouse. Gemma is still wary of Marina and Claudia, but at least it's nice to have some other toddlers to play with. She's really missed Jaden, but her parents keep telling her he can't come play…

Paisley hopes showing she can not only handle, but bond, with the girls will prove to Juan (and to an extent Trent) that she should be taken more seriously.

Paisley: Do you want me to play with you, Claudia?

Claudia: No!

Well, you've got to admire her honesty.

Claudia's a tougher nut to crack. Marina seems to be more open to her.

Paisley: Hi, Marina. What are you doing?

Marina: Pirate ship!

Paisley: Oooh, I see. Got room on your ship for another scallywag?

Marina: Yeah!

Paisley does her best pirate impression, acting as Marina's second-hand crewmate.

Paisley: Arr, avast ye mateys! Like, uh, gimme your debloons!

It's not very convincing but luckily it sounds piratey enough to Marina! She didn't know her stepmommy liked playing pretend.

Meanwhile, Ophelia and her new pupil are preparing for their first lesson.

Trent: Thanks for doing this.

Ophelia: Hey, thank Paisley. She gave up her singing lessons so we could make this happen.

That wasn't the full story but anything to make him hate Paisley less.

Trent: So what's the dirt on the band breaking up?

Ophelia: Hey, this is a music lesson, not a gossip sesh! Don't worry, there's no drama. We're just pursuing different things. It's good to shake it up, you know?

She conveniently leaves out the fact she had a meltdown over it.

Paisley's plan is working! Marina is finally really wanting to interact with her… And she's honestly surprised how much fun she's having with her.

Looks like Claudia's realizing how fun it looks too.

Marina: Wooo! 'gain, Pais'ey!

Paisley: I need a bit of a break, sweetie. You're getting so big… But that was fun, huh?

That was the first time Marina hasn't called her "lady", she called her by her name! Well, as close as she could get.

The lesson is going as well as a teenager's first-time piano lesson possibly could, but Trent seems distracted.

Trent: Maybe I should check on the girls. They've probably killed Paisley and started eating her.

Ophelia: Have some faith in her! Paisley might surprise you.

Trent is in heaven. Being mentored by his favorite celebrity is insane! He can't believe Paisley arranged this for him. It's not like he's been the nicest to her…

Listening to a level one piano player is torture to a music lover, but Ophelia knows it'll be worth it.

After Paisley stretches and Marina runs off to play in the ballpit, Claudia runs up to her stepmother.

Claudia: That looks fun! I want a turn!

As tired as Paisley is, she can't deny the chance to bond with Claudia, who usually acts like she's not there.

Paisley: Of course!

Claudia seems to be having a lot of fun with Paisley. She didn't know Paisley COULD be fun. Trent acted like she was bad, and her brother's a teenager so obviously he knows everything, but this stepmother lady really doesn't seem half bad after all…

By the time they're gone, they're both giggling their heads off.

Claudia: Again!

Paisley: Sorry, hun, I've gotta make us lunch. You play nice out here, okay?

Claudia: Okay, Pay-Pay.

Claudia didn't call her "that lady"! Victory!

Paisley goes into the kitchen to cook a lovely lunch, only to remember she hates cooking, and she also has her husband's credit card so she just orders a pizza instead. Play smarter, not harder, Paisley!

Paisley comes upstairs to tell Trent and Ophelia the lunch plans.

Trent: Dad never lets us order pizza!

Paisley: You told me you get cheese pizza for your school lunch everyday, so I hope that's okay.

His favorite! She remembered that? He doesn't even remember mentioning it.

Let's see if the tots get into trouble in their brief window of being unsupervised.

Gemma: That looked fun!

Claudia: Yeah, I didn't know my step-mommy knew how to be fun! I thought she just liked diggin' for gold like hermano always says!

Gemma: Think she'll play with me?

Claudia's fussy trait kicks in, as well as her inability to share with anyone other than her sister.

Claudia: No! That's MY stepmommy!

Gemma: Bu-But I-

Claudia: NO! I don't WANT you to play with her!

Trent and the adults arrive outside just in time to watch Claudia kick at Gemma.

Well, now Gemma knows how Jaden felt when she kicked him, and it doesn't feel good. Is that why he hasn't played with her recently? Does he not want to be friends with her anymore?

Trent's getting ready to step in, like he usually does when his sisters act like gremlins, but Paisley once again surprises him.

Paisley: Claudia, kicking isn't nice. You need to apologize.

Claudia: But-

Paisley: No buts. You need to treat others how you'd want to be treated.

As Paisley continues to lecture Claudia and teach her the importance of saying sorry, Trent goes to pick up the pizza from the front door.

He doesn't have to be the adult for once. He's still not sure why she's with his dad, but maybe she's not as untrustworthy as he thought.

[junypr-camus]

Hi juni

Please list the roles of your blorbos if they were a pirate crew.

Hello sleepy! Thank you for the ask!

Janette would be ye captain, with a jaw of iron and perhaps a fist of literal iron. Also some chonky boots with brass buckles.

Camus would make a fine responsible quartermaster, quelling the arguments and watching over the treasure.

Emmy would be the surgeon... perhaps a little too eager to get stabby with the scalpel.

Marco would be the bos'n, pillaging lemons so his crewmates never got scurvy (or had to eat maggot-infested hardtack).

Terry would be both master gunner and carpenter. After all, you need something to amuse yourself after hours of repairs...

[a-garden-of-roses-and-ruin]

 pirates don't play

Words: 610

Rating: G

oc: Beau, Freja, Angel, Lemon

Pairings: sanji x beau (Unrequited), Angel x Buggy (mentioned)

Notes: Angel Kohen belongs to my bestie @yumesacha

  boorish, chesty laughter carried a sour scent across the deck, burying well-hidden pain beneath floorboards. No pirate would give two shits about  another's past so long as promises were kept- and why should they? No man was an island.

       A gentle voice played on a barely-there breeze, dancing on not-so-kind ears. Two men created harsh harmomies against the other, while one man's drunken friend would stumble back to his bedroom, barely being held upright by his own crewmate.

      "Shit, Beau, what the hell's gotten into you?" Her quiet voice filled with concern as she struggled to keep Beau's head and heart above water, her eyebrows kit in concern as the red-haired man laughed and fell backwards onto the bed.

      "Sanji found another girl to sleep with!" He palmed his face, exhaustion sewn deep into his features in spite of that giant grin twisting what should have been heartbreak into rage and denial.

      "Beau..." She sighed, sitting at the foot of her friend's bed. From within these four walls, sanji's moans were just as far away as buggy's laughs, but Freja and Beau both knew memories would cling to every corner, every bedpost, every single inch that had once been shared between the men, "you know you don't have to play bedwarmer, right?"

       "Don't you think I know that?" Beau spat, his dark eyes rimmed with red- not from eyeshadow applied daily and washed thoroughly off at night to cover his dark circled, but from anger, and heartbreak, and hurt, and sadness, all compounded by the alcohol flowing freely through his veins. Lemon could look upon him with pity, and Angel's eyes gazed sadly at Beau with a haunted look of familiarity, but Freja had never done that to him. And he didn't want her pity to begin tonight, "I could-" He fumbled, "I could tell him! I could break it off! Tonight'll be the last 'n' I can be with s'mother guy!"

       She took in a deep breath, he words muffled slightly as usual, "You and I both know you won't do that."

       "Why not? I could!" He sat up and immediately fell back over, staring at the ceiling, "i could march right next door and dump him right now!"

        "He's not even next door." Freja deadpanned, "look, you're my friend, so let me level with you: your lack of self-worth is sad. I feel bad when I see you following Sanji around like a lost puppy, and I know Lemon and Angel do too. But they wanna ease you into stuff. The facts are that Sanji's never going to change as long as you let him use you. We can all see that this is crushing you, and it's sad, but we can't dump sanji's pathetic ass for you. So either get some self worth and stop being that guy's last choice, or stop destroying yourself over it. Got it?"

  Freja shook her head, pale hair bouncing as she turned on her heel, "I need to get back. Someone's gotta make sure Ragamuffin doesn't wreck this ship. Just... think about it, okay?"

The door to Beau's cabin shut quietly, leaving the man alone, words of those that cared about him echoing throughout his consciousness. Maybe Angel was right. Maybe Freja was right. Maybe he should stop making empty threats and just go through with it. After all, they were stopping at a port tomorrow, and Sanji had made it very clear they weren't exclusive- so, Beau would just have some fun, and prove he was worth someone's time. And he wouldn't end the night in sanji's arms, but maybe he would end it with a full heart for once.

[starrynightarchive]

*slams my tankard of lemon tea on the table* sanji fights exclusively with his legs and zoro with just his hands. sanji who trusts zoro to protect what's the most important to him (women, his sanity) and zoro who trusts sanji to be good (trusting he'd take care of his crewmates, eating anything and everything he puts in his plate). sanji with his empathy and determination and zoro with his unshakeable morals and loyalty. sanji who tells zoro, kill me if im not myself (but he's saying I want to live as myself. don't let me lose myself) and zoro who responds, i will kill you myself, so don't die till then (and he's saying, don't you dare die on me. stay). zoro, battered and bruised, saying, i came back from hell to kill you (i came back from hell for you). sanji, knowing when to raise his leg to boost zoro into the skies and zoro who never, ever doubts the strength in his kicks, the unspoken promise that he will make him fly. zoro and sanji, standing in front of anyone who tries to stop luffy, teeth bared and weapons raised (don't get into the way of our captain).

they are pillars that hold up the home the future pirate king built. zoro and sanji, the protectors of their captain's smile, his throne. zoro and sanji, the wings of the pirate king.

zoro and sanji. it's them. it has always been them.

one piece post-ts character designs are insane but one that makes me go particularly wild is how intrinsically zoro and sanji's design is linked with luffy (and each other).

pre-ts, sanji covers his left eye and zoro is very much not blind in one eye. so so here's the thing right. zoro is considered luffy's right hand man and naturally sanji is his left. zoro and sanji, wings of pirate king. coincidentally (or not), zoro can only see through his right eye post-ts and sanji only through his left. the right and left wing. it's almost reverant in a way; like their purpose and even their body has been molded to make luffy pirate king. like they are devoting themself to luffy, like the entirety of their being exists to make his dreams come true.

what's even more insane is how their design compliments each other. i will see what you can't. i will be your eye, your compass, your strength, if you need me be. you are everything i am not. i will be everything you cannot be. you won't need to turn your head all the way, because with me by your side, your back will never have to scar. you don't have to raise your fists to fight armies your eyes couldn't scout soon enough, i will bring them down to your feet to crush. you are my mirror, my shadow. we are complete without each other but with each other, we are glorious. untouchable. invincible.

[lyfrassireddatsct]

Magic anons lemons, limes, and oranges.

". . . More fruit. And less chance of scurvy, I suppose?"

"Nothing for the apple ration, though."

"Nastya's promised to work on the replicators. Apples are easy enough to get with that."

". . . she stabbed Ald."

"And she and I have talked about that. No stabbing fellow crewmates or electronics."

"Even the speakers?"

"Even the speakers."

"Ald, you. . . you decided to stay behind, right, back on Hel? How would you feel if a group of complete strangers grabbed you then?"

". . . why were you out there?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"All right. Fix the replicators. Then we can talk."