#selfship fic

The gaudy lightning bolt and cape patterns in the scuffed linoleum kept to the theme of the rest of the store.

Today, our heroes found themselves in Harvey’s Hero Must-Haves, a small tourist-trap a little ways away from Torrance’s shoreline, packed from floor to ceiling with a vast array of superhero merchandise.

As Robert asked the cashier to borrow a phone charger, Nevermore walked by Equilibrium mini-fridges, Brainbook school supplies, and even almost tripped over a clearance rack of Phenomaman costumes before finding an entire aisle dedicated to the Mecha Man lineage.

Mugs and coasters were dedicated to Mecha Man Prime, Astral’s face adorned cookware and ashtrays, and there were action figures lining the shelves of all three… Mecha Men.

Nevermore giggled like a gremlin as she took hold of a Mecha Man Blue action figure and seated herself on the floor to examine it closer.

She figured it was well designed for a toy. Sure, it smoothed out some of the features Nevermore was familiar with—She found the smooth chin as opposed to his usual scratchy stubble almost jarring—but the overall model was mostly true to its inspiration.

Beside the toy’s boots, the box advertised a mech suit accessory that was sold separately.

“The economy’s in shambles,” Nevermore mumbled to no one in particular. “They’re pimping out your mech-”

As she adjusted her grip on the toy, her thumb pressed into its chest, and a pre-recorded voice crackled to life through the small speaker.

“My family kept Los Angeles safe for years. Now, evil answers to me.”

Nevermore’s mouth fell open. She was silent first, taking a moment to process what she just heard. The line must’ve been recorded from a past interview, and the sound quality was as grainy as one would expect a toy’s internal speaker to be, but the voice within was unmistakably Robert’s.

Amused laughter spilled out of her as she filled with the same bubbly feeling his voice always sent through her. The feeling of suddenly walking on air through calls as that same voice directed her course of action. The tingling in her fingers and the tips of her ears as that same voice whispered kind things to her with his arms wrapped around her. The sudden urge to kiss him as he was paragraphs deep into an explanation on coding programs that Nevermore had no hope of understanding.

She bit her thumbnail as she contemplated how much she loved that voice in all contexts she had the privilege of hearing it. And now, that fact led to her growing excited over a miniature plastic version of her boyfriend.

Nevermore quickly glanced around at the empty aisle before daring to press the doll’s chest again.

“I’m Mecha Man.”

“I can see that,” She laughed out. Surely, a child wanting a Mecha Man action figure wouldn’t be confused as to who the doll emulated. Children were young, not stupid… Right?

Nevermore pressed the figure’s chest again.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright. I’ve got you. You’re safe now.”

Nevermore clapped a hand over her mouth. Shit, that was hot.

“Aren’t you a little old to be playing with toys?” The same voice found her ears again, but this time it wasn’t through a grainy speaker.

As Robert appeared at the end of the aisle, shoving his hands in the pockets of his brown Detroit jacket—one of the many garments Robert owned that Nevermore grew thoroughly acquainted with through occasional “borrowing”—the elemental yelped, her back hitting the aisle behind her and sending a blond wig tumbling onto her head.

Robert’s laughter floated through the air as Nevermore dragged the synthetic hair off of her own and tossed it aside.

“What?” Nevermore picked some straggling strands out from between the studs on the shoulders of her own jacket. “You never seen a grown ass woman play dollies before?”

Behind Robert, the cashier from the register folded their arms and scowled. “That’s not a ‘dollie’. That is a collector’s item. Mecha Fans come here from all over California to get their hands on that model.”

“Mecha Fans?” Nevermore impishly grinned up at Robert, whose freckled cheeks dusted a faint pink as he quickly turned away.

“Yeah,” The cashier continued, oblivious to Nevermore’s silent ribbing at Robert. “And if you drain the battery you’re paying for it.”

“Okay, okay, damn.” Nevermore raised her hands in surrender as she took to her feet. “I was just messin’.”

“Yeah, messing up my store.” The cashier turned and stormed off in a huff, unaware of Nevermore raising her middle finger at their back.

“Well,” Robert bent over to pick the neglected wig off of the floor before returning it to the wall of Blonde Blazer themed items behind her. “If you’re done playing with ‘collector’s items’—” Nevermore rolled her eyes. “—my phone’s charged and I can take us home.”

“Coolio,” Nevermore sounded more relieved than enthused. “I’ll meetcha up front, yeah?”

Robert nodded and walked off as Nevermore turned to return the action figure to its shelf.

But, as she set it down, another trinket caught her attention from the corner of her eye, and she grabbed it before following Robert to the cash register.

“Didn’t mean to get your panties in a twist,” Nevermore set the trinket down on the counter as the cashier folded their arms. “I just wanna buy this and then I’ll be out.”

Robert and the cashier looked down at the elemental’s pick—a navy blue dog collar with Mecha Man’s logo printed along the band. A gold tag dangled off the front in the same double ‘M’ shape.

“You have a pet?” The cashier asked as they rang it up.

“Uh, yeah, actually,” Robert answered. “A dog. His name’s Beef.”

For the first time since Nevermore first walked into the store, the cashier cracked a small smile. “Now that your phone’s charged, you should show me pictures.”

Robert mirrored the smile with a bashful curl of his own lips. “Maybe another time. Me and my girlfriend should really be-”

He trailed off mid-sentence as he and the cashier looked at Nevermore in horror.

Nevermore, who’d extended the collar to its widest size and just finished fastening it around her neck, frowned back at them. “Uhhh, what?”

The cashier’s smile dropped faster than it appeared. “Get the fuck out of my store.”

This was all incredibly pointless, in Senku’s eyes. The goal of humanity’s revival was to get thousands of years of science back to where it was before the petrification. That meant they were trying to rebuild everything to exactly how it was before.

But Tsukasa just had to go and revive a reformist before becoming an ally of the Kingdom of Science.

So now, here he was. Sat as a member of a board with Taiju, Ukyo, Chrome, and Kinro, listening to inane squabbles between the reformist, Hara Baru, and the capitalist, Ryusui Nanami.

Hara spoke first. “I say that a capitalist society will only hurt the poor while making the rich richer,” he said. “I’ve seen plenty of it in my time: famine and disease will consume the poor, who can’t pay to survive. It’s something that a rich boy like you has never seen firsthand.”

Ryusui spoke immediately afterward. “And I say that a capitalist society breeds innovation and productivity,” he said. “Unlike the old world, where we lived entirely different lives, we’ve both seen how money has gotten people more motivated to work. It’s why our boat’s building timeline is right on schedule.”

“That’s only because these people have only known a world where monetary value is everything!”

“And what about the people of Ishigami Village? They seem stoked to work for money, despite having never seen it before.”

Tch. Hara looked down, scowling, and racked his mind for another talking point. “And what about the elderly who can’t work? What do they do? Will they just have to starve now that we charge for food?”

It was Ryusui’s turn to scowl. It took a few moments of gripping the table before he looked up and snapped his fingers. “Their younger family members will take care of them, of course!”

“So you agree that those who can’t work should be taken care of despite their uselessness in a capitalist society?”

Ryusui went completely silent. Senku couldn’t help but chuckle. He got you there, Ryusui, he thought to himself.

“But how will we provide for all of those people?” Ryusui asked. “We don’t have a government yet.”

“We’ll get to that when it’s time,” Hara answered. “But for now, the conditions I want are that free food and shelter are set aside for those who need it. And not any of the shitty leftovers, I mean food and shelter that is good. I’ll accept the rest of your conditions if you abide by that.”

Ryusui thought for a few long moments. “Then my conditions are that we continue using Drago as currency, and that finer accommodations are bought with those.”

“Then if the quality of those finer accommodations improves over time, the baseline for free necessities will, too,” Hara said.

Ryusui finally broke his professional demeanor with a “Ha-ha!” and a snap of his fingers. “It’s a deal!” he exclaimed. He extended his hand to shake Hara’s.

Hara also relaxed, shaking Ryusui’s hand with a grimace. “I still don’t like you,” he said, “but I’ll respect your conditions so long as you respect mine.”

Ryusui shrugged. “I suppose I’m not for everyone,” he said. “But I will do the same for you.”

The room was filled with unenthusiastic clapping from the five board members as Hara took his leave through the door. Well, it was more like a door hole with a curtain for privacy.

“Well, that was quicker and more productive than I thought it would be,” Senku said, walking up to Ryusui. “Turns out I’m actually glad this peace conference was held.”

Ryusui wasn’t listening. His eyes fixated on the distance, a sign he was dreaming of grandeur. “I want him,” he muttered.

Senku looked over to the man. “Huh?”

Ryusui didn’t hesitate to clarify. “That confidence! That kindness! That authenticity! That Hara Baru! I want him!” His face erupted in a smile, his gaze fierce.

Senku hummed in agreement. “Yeah, he’s a pretty good ally when he’s on your team,” he said.

“Not like that,” Ryusui said. “This might be the first time in my life where I feel as though I don’t want someone to work for me. I want him. I want Hara as a partner, a lover!”

Senku let out a laugh. “Yeah, I figured you meant it like that,” he said. “But trust me, you have no shot with him.”

“Don’t you know me, Senku?” Ryusui put his hands on his hips. “My greed knows no limits. If it wants the impossible, it gets it. And there’s only one way to earn the affections of Hara Baru!”

Ryusui stormed out of the room, confidently walking towards his crush. “Hara!”

Hara stopped, turning to Ryusui with a nasty look. “What? We already shook hands, you can’t back out n-”

Hara’s words stopped as Ryusui grabbed his hands. “Hara, I must admit, I’ve taken quite a liking to you. I know it shouldn’t work, but love can sprout from the most unusual places. I’d love to take you out sometime, if you would be willing.”

Hara stood, dumbfounded, for no shorter than five seconds before shouting, “Excuse me?! Let go of my hands, you creep!” he snatched his hands away from Ryusui’s. “Didn’t you just hear me say I don’t like you? What made you think that changed in the minute we were apart?”

Ryusui simply smiled. “I had a feeling you would answer like this,” he said, “but that’s okay. Now that you know my feelings for you, I’ve no reason to hide it. And Hara Baru, I swear to you, I will make you love me. When the time is right, you can confess to me.”

“Get your head out of your ass!” Hara exclaimed. “I can confess to you?! What a load of shit! If you make me love you, then you’ll have had to become an entirely different person! Good luck with that, dumbass!”

Ryusui said nothing as he flashed a playboy-like grin to Hara and walked back to Senku.

“So, how did it go?” Senku asked.

“You know you're wasting your time trying to pretty me up like this,” Arthur says. 

Madeline rolls her eyes from where she sits on his lap, one of his hands on her back as she combs his hair. “Hush. You're very handsome as is, I’m just tidying you up a little bit. And the mustache is a very nice look for you.”

“Is it now?” he says, a grin coming to his face as he looks up at Madeline. He shaved for this event, not being completely clean shaven, but having little more than faint stubble in the place of his beard and a thick mustache. Madeline thinks it’s cute seeing him like this— as much as she likes his beard, this suits him well. 

“Mhm. It makes you look very respectable,” she says, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. 

“Respectable? Me? You sure you’re seeing alright?” Arthur replies. 

Putting the comb down, Madeline lightly smacks his arm. “Take a damn compliment, Arthur. You look good.”

“If you insist,” he says, a cocky grin on his face that seems to go perfectly with his new mustache and neatly combed hair. He’ll still need to put some pomade in his hair to keep it smoothed back throughout their upcoming night together, but his current look matches well with the suit he’s dressed up in. 

And despite Arthur’s protests, the goal for tonight is for both of them to look respectable. That was part of Madeline’s idea behind suggesting he shave his beard— beards have begun going out of style in higher society, and a mustache would suit his face well. It should allow him to blend in as they go to Henri Lemieux’s garden party this evening, and Madeline can’t deny that it’s nice to see Arthur cleaned up like this. As much as she loves his usual rugged looks, there’s something so appealing about seeing him in a neatly pressed suit, a white bowtie at his neck. It reminds her of the well-dressed men she would meet at her father’s parties, and almost makes her imagine what it would have been like if Arthur could have settled down with her in Valentine, joining her for every event she normally would dread. 

Madeline knows that idea will never be anything more than an idle fantasy. Arthur would chafe under the life her father would have wanted her and her husband to have, and she has no intent to tie him to something he would only end up hating. But it’s a nice fantasy, and one that she’ll get to indulge in tonight. 

“You need any help getting ready?” Arthur asks as Madeline gets up from his lap. 

“Do you have much experience doing someone’s hair?” she asks, making her way over to the desk in their shared room here at Shady Belle. The desktop is covered in a mix of things— maps and pens, a tin of pomade and hand mirror that Madeline had brought with her from her house. 

“Not a lady’s,” he admits. 

“Then I think I can handle things myself, but I’ll let you know if I do need anything.”

“Alright, then,” Arthur says. He gets up from the bed with a grunt, hand brushing against Madeline’s back as he passes her. “You shouldn’t need too long to get yourself looking nice anyway.”

She can’t help but smile at that. It’s still strange to be complimented like this. Madeline has gotten used to the idea that no one would have much of an interest in her over the years. She picks up the hand mirror, turning it over in her hand. “Thank you.”

Madeline waits a moment for Arthur to leave their room before she goes to her trunk in the corner of the room, opening it up. She didn’t take many remnants of her past life in Valentine with her, figuring some of the luxuries she was used to from living in a city wouldn’t make sense to take with her. But she couldn’t resist taking some things beyond the bare necessities with her— some of her various notebooks of story ideas she’s had over the years, a few novels, a picture of her and her sister, some jewelry, and her favorite dress that she had worn for one of the parties her father hosted. It felt like a waste to just leave it behind, even if she had no idea if there would ever be a reason to wear it again. But now she pulls the dress from the depths of the trunk, straightening it out on the bed. 

Madeline doesn’t miss her old life. For all of the conveniences that she had to sacrifice in leaving it, she can’t help but think it was worth it for the newfound freedom of being with the Van der Linde gang, and being with Arthur. Maybe she won’t get the chance to be a doctor like she had hoped here, but the chances of that happening in a town that already decided she was tainted by her attractions were slim to none too. Still, it’ll be nice to have one night almost like the ones she knew before leaving home. And she hopes Arthur likes this dress as much as she does. 

She doesn’t have long before they’re supposed to go to the party. But for the first time in a long time, Madeline is excited to get ready for an evening out.

Madeline is nervous as she makes her way down to the carriage that will take her and the others into Saint Denis. She’s careful not to let the hem of her dress drag against the ground, not wanting it to get dirty before they even make it to the party. It is a fairly new dress, after all— styled after the Art Nouveau movement with curling black lines going from the bottom of the skirt up to the neckline. The patterns have always reminded her of wrought iron fences, the black lines standing out stark against the white material of the rest of the dress. The dress’s sleeves are white and frilly, going down almost to her elbow, and she has a pair of white gloves on to match with it. 

Madeline can feel attention on her as she makes her way through the camp, but it’s different from the attention she’s used to while moving through a crowd. Less judgmental, more appreciative. Tilly tells her she looks beautiful as she passes and she offers a quick thanks, but her eyes search first and foremost on Arthur. 

His eyes are locked on her as she approaches, tracing her up and down like he’s never seen her before. He’s never seen her like this before, at least— she does try to look nice for him, but this is a different kind of nice. More heavily styled to look pretty, just like she’s styled him to look well-groomed and handsome. 

“What do you think?” Madeline asks, closing the distance between them.

Arthur is quiet for a second, his mouth falling open wordlessly at first, like it’s moving faster than his brain is. But eventually he says, “Very pretty.”

“Thank you,” she replies, a smile coming to her face.

“Where… where did you have that all this time?” he asks.

“The bottom of my trunk. I think I was feeling a little sentimental when I packed it, but it works out nicely for us tonight, didn’t it?” Madeline says.

“Real nicely,” Arthur agrees. His eyes haven’t left her from the moment they first landed on her, and with his lower face now more exposed without his beard, she can easily see him wet his lips with tongue. He meets her eyes now though and motions to the carriage as he says, “You should get in. Can’t have that dress getting dirty.”

“Are you sure that you’re not just wanting to sneak in some time alone with me before the others get here?” Madeline teases, though she accepts Arthur’s offered hand to climb up the steps to the opened carriage door. It’s nice to feel desired, especially by Arthur. She rarely ever feels special or like someone to be appreciated, yet appreciation seems to come so easily from him. 

“Maybe,” he admits. “But go ahead and get settled.”

“You’re such a gentleman, Mr. Morgan.” 

Two years. It had been two years since Nero was last seen. Two years since they had been a loyal member of the family. Two years since they had laid beside the King of Dressrosa in bed, with love and adoration shimmering in their aquamarine eyes.

Two years since their betrayal.

Doflamingo did not want to call it that. He didn’t want to believe that his most beautiful, loyal, and treasured subordinate had betrayed him. There was no evidence it was intentional, after all. They had disappeared suddenly, without a trace. There must have been an accident, a kidnapping, or something urgent that Nero had to attend to. They would never run away from him, Doflamingo believed that. He swore to cut off the tongue of anyone who dared to spoil his fantasy. He wanted to believe it was real, and so it was.

Nero’s scent dwindled and faded from the bed as the years passed. Doflamingo desperately grasped at the sheets where Nero used to lie, wishing he could capture each hint of sweet treats and salty ocean water in his grasp. He never dared to wash his sheets until the scent had fully faded. He made sure to check for any trace of Nero before tossing the pink cloth into a machine. He would press his nose deep into the mattress and breathe in until he was too lightheaded to get back up. Only when it failed to bring him any more pleasure did he give up.

There was little to grasp onto after that. He often cursed himself for washing Nero’s clothes. At the time, he did it for the toothy grin that would spread across Nero’s face when they’d spot their favorite pajamas folded neatly over the bed… and the praise he would receive after. Now, it was far too rare to find anything that had been worn. Even then, the smell would have faded at this point.

As morning dawned, the king rose from his bed. Layers of soft, pink blankets fluttered down to expose his bare chest. He squinted his eyes against the harsh sunlight pouring in through the window, which illuminated half of his bed. Rays of sunlight reflected off of his form, causing him to glow and shimmer like the sun. However, the area beside him stayed pitch black, cold, and empty. He patted the blankets beside him, as if comforting someone that was no longer there. His lips pressed into a deep frown as he slipped out of the comfort of his nest and quickly shut the blinds, dousing the pink room in complete darkness.

His heels clicked against the tiled floors of the palace as he entered his throne room, clutching a leather-covered book in one hand. He settled into a seat near the only open window, providing the only source of light in the room. The sun had just finished rising, and its rays gave the king just the right amount of light to trace the words on the pages. The wooden chair creaked underneath him as he leaned forward and brushed his hand over his phonograph. He traced the wooden patterns engraved into the side with his fingertips before placing the needle onto the already set CD. A comforting tune echoed off the walls as he leaned back, swinging his legs over the table and crossing them. He gently stroked the cover as he turned the pages of his book, engrossed in its writing.

Unfortunately, a soft knock at the door interrupted his quiet moment. “Young Master?”

“Come in,” he ordered, a hint of annoyance present in his voice. Though, his expression softened once he saw Baby 5 open the large door, holding a cup of coffee and a newspaper in her slender hands. Doflamingo slipped a silk bookmark between the pages of his book and gently shut it to give his full attention to Baby 5.

She placed the cup of coffee on a small plate by his thigh, right at the corner of the table. At the same time, she offered him the rolled up newspaper. Doflamingo happily accepted, clutching it in his hand before unraveling it with a giddy smirk on his face. He thanked his servant before turning his attention to the headlines. Pirate alliances, Marines abusing their power yet again… apparently Strawhat Luffy had raided Enies Lobby and caused a bloody massacre. Doflamingo twitched his foot in excitement. The world never changes. Humans never change. Just violence and blood splattered all over the news. As he began to turn the page, he noticed bounty posters sandwiched between the thin paper. He gently slipped them out and set the newspaper on his lap; no harm in checking if some pirates were on the rise. He flipped through the posters. Of course Strawhat’s bounty went up, as did Pirate Hunter Zoro’s. There were some new faces as well: Sanji, Franky, Sniper King…

He paused when he flipped onto the next poster, a pirate going by the name “Fishbones.” Not an impressive bounty, and he didn’t recognize the name. The picture, however…

“Fishbones?” Baby 5, who had been looking over his shoulder, furrowed her brown in confusion, “Isn’t that--”

Nero.

Nero. Nero. Nero. Nero. Nero. Nero. NERO.

What the FUCK.

Doflamingo shot up from his seat. His hip clashed with the edge of the table, but this failed to slow him at all. The mug fell and shattered to pieces while hot coffee spilled from its wounds. Baby 5 watched with concern as the king stomped out, slamming the door behind him. A loud thud echoed through the now silent throne room. Baby 5 quietly retrieved a broom to sweep up the remnants of ceramics.

Doflamingo flung himself into his bedroom and kicked the door behind him so hard the walls rattled and shook. He clutched the crumpled up wanted poster in one hand, knuckles turning white from the strain. As the palace settled from its trembling, he collapsed onto his bed, the frame creaking under the sudden weight. Only when he was sprawled across the bed on his back did he realize he was sweating. As he unraveled the paper tucked between his fingers, veins became prominent on his forehead and his brow twitched with anger. He laid there, panting and heaving, his chest rising and falling in an attempt to calm himself. However, each time he saw their face, his anger bloomed in a matter of seconds. He examined the poster regardless, tendons bulging from his hands. There was no doubt that it was Nero. Though, they had a different appearance, a different name, and most likely a different crew. The one person he had loved, had cared for, had cleaned and folded pajamas for, had betrayed him. A wasted effort, he thought. After all the years he trained himself to believe in them, believing that they would never betray him, this confirmation felt as if they had slapped him in the face and spit in his mouth. Surely, this was just a way to piss him off.

His fingers tensed in rage, clenching the poster with one hand while the other wiped sweat from his brow. As he grit his teeth and groaned with frustration, his hand slid down his face. Down his chest, to his abs, to the rim of his pants.

After everything I gave to you, after every bit of love I showed you, after you promised me we’d be together forever.

Their eyes printed onto the thin paper stared into his soul, and mocked him. He slipped his fingers beneath his pants.

Everything we shared, every time we touched, and kissed, was it all nothing to you? Is this the thanks I get?

A tiny spark surged through his body as his fingertips traced over his sensitive skin.

Are you trying to mock me? To make me angry? Did you want my attention so bad that you became a wanted man on purpose? Whatever the hell it is, it’s working.

Doflamingo’s fingers began to loosen up, the bulging veins and tendons fading and allowing color to flow back into them. He sighed, the fabric of his pants straining, stretching, and moving with his hand trapped inside. It squirmed vigorously, almost like a mouse trying to escape the belly of a snake through its skin. Though, it was already far too deep to hope.

He stared down the eyes of the poster, grunting as his hands worked to please him. He brought the paper closer to his face, entranced by the image of his lover and the rage that clouded his mind. He opened his maw and unleashed his tongue, pressing it to Nero’s face and ravishing the damp paper. There was no taste, but he loved to imagine. He bucked his hips into his fingers harshly, gasping as fluids leaked down his body.