Two drabble-things to shock the world...
Yes, I'm back. Did I spend any time writing proper fics? No. Of course not. The first chapters of one of said 'proper' fics will be up here later; until then, I offer...
Crack dinosaur fic. Shut up.
WARNINGS: Crack, AU, pre-slash/implied-slash, general fail.
Title: Jurassic Café
Prompt: 45 - Animal
There’s a reason Smoker made Captain at the young age of thirty-two, and it isn’t because he’s a master of the political game. Like his Devil Fruit, the Marine isn’t one for subtlety. He was promoted because of his competence in a number of matters (including, despite his bitching, paperwork) and the respect he’d gained from his subordinates.
He was also promoted because frankly, a man who can turn into a sixty-foot tyrannosaurus rex scares the shit out of a lot of pirates. And his superiors, not that they’d ever admit that.
It’s not scaring the fuck of this pirate though, and that’s a problem. It’s a problem he didn’t plan on encountering when he walked into this crappy little Arabastan restaurant, despite the description Private Yoshu gave, because seriously, what the hell business does Whitebeard’s second division leader have here?
Doesn’t matter. Smoker knows his job, and he knows his duty, even if he’d rather be hunting down that Strawhat brat with those freaky multiplying limbs that creep even him out. No-one should be able to pick multiple noses at once.
“Sit tight and let me arrest you,” he snaps, knowing full well there’s as much chance of that as Tashigi walking in a straight line for two minutes without tripping over. The brat flips off a cocky reply, and that’s that - talking’s done.
Smoker ignores the patrons who are staring, doesn’t even spend any effort on it, because his attention’s taken - the air is filled with the scent of pounding blood, excitement of a dozen types, and all of it belongs to this arrogant little shit who thinks his own fame and wimpy little Zoan is enough to take out the Great Hunter.
Thirty seconds later, when he’s trying to remove the enthusiastic velociraptor attached to his ankle without destroying the building, Smoker has to admit that Steeljaw’s formidable reputation might be deserved after all. He’s still a brat, though.
And for my next trick, a sequel.
Title: David Attenborough Presents…
Prompt: 16 - Peace
“Don’t you think it’s odd?” the Commodore asks exasperatedly, and knows it’s a stupid question as soon as he says it. Portgas is a D. ‘Odd’ isn’t bad for them, if it appears in their vocabulary at all, and the Grand Line isn’t a place you stay if you can’t handle a little (or a lot of) weirdness.
The brat proves this by cocking his head to the side in that irritating way he has, and staring fixedly at Smoker with that (even more irritating) grin. Yeah, that one. The one that makes Smoker want to ignore the restrictions of the ship they’re currently on, turn into a t-rex, and eat the little shit. Or just fuck him. Whichever.
“‘Odd’?” Portgas drawls, and the Marine can hear the quotation marks as the self-satisfied fuck repeats him. “What’s odd about this, jun~sho?” As if to make his point, the brat sprawls across the Marine-standard bed, proving the precise opposite of his words.
It doesn’t make sense. Really, it doesn’t, even if it sometimes feels like it does. There’s the obvious - Marine, pirate. Not a good mix, not for screwing and conversation anyway, and lately it’s becoming more of the latter without losing any of the former. If anything, the sex is getting better, and that worries Smoker.
Apart from that - well, actually, maybe it does make sense. Neither of them are big on rules, but they have their own codes of honor. If they feel the need to rebel a little, why not with each other? No-one gets hurt. It’s not like they’re trading information or favors (unless you count personal stories and sexual favors), so what’s the big deal?
Maybe it’s a case of opposites attracting. Again - Marine, pirate. That’s clear. Or maybe it’s similarities attracting; despite how finding out how much they have in common increases Smoker’s daily cigar intake, they agree on a lot of things, and would do so on a lot more, if either of them would stop pretending. It’s not as if they’re fooling each other.
Another different/similar puzzle is their Devil Fruits, their Zoan forms. Smoker took the optional course on Devil Fruits at the Academy, passed the mandatory (for him) practical course along with the others who were new to their abilities, studied alone and late into the night in the Academy library or his dorm. He knows all the theories, logical or crackpot. Zeebruck’s Theory states: complementary powers attract. Opposing powers repel.
So what the fuck is it between a building-stomping, big-even-for-a-t-fuckin’-rex and Portgas’ hyperactive, shrimpy-in-comparison velociraptor?
Smoker opens his mouth to patiently explain all this to the little idiot (the burden of being so much more intelligent and experienced, naturally), but then the moron in question changes that dumbass grin to a teasing smirk, his lazy sprawl to a languid stretch, and the Commodore suddenly can’t remember what he was going to say. What was he thinking, anyway?
He moves forward instead, which is always the best way to go.
Comments are made of luv&hugz.
Proper fic soon. Trust me - it's worse.
Crack dinosaur fic. Shut up.
WARNINGS: Crack, AU, pre-slash/implied-slash, general fail.
Title: Jurassic Café
Prompt: 45 - Animal
There’s a reason Smoker made Captain at the young age of thirty-two, and it isn’t because he’s a master of the political game. Like his Devil Fruit, the Marine isn’t one for subtlety. He was promoted because of his competence in a number of matters (including, despite his bitching, paperwork) and the respect he’d gained from his subordinates.
He was also promoted because frankly, a man who can turn into a sixty-foot tyrannosaurus rex scares the shit out of a lot of pirates. And his superiors, not that they’d ever admit that.
It’s not scaring the fuck of this pirate though, and that’s a problem. It’s a problem he didn’t plan on encountering when he walked into this crappy little Arabastan restaurant, despite the description Private Yoshu gave, because seriously, what the hell business does Whitebeard’s second division leader have here?
Doesn’t matter. Smoker knows his job, and he knows his duty, even if he’d rather be hunting down that Strawhat brat with those freaky multiplying limbs that creep even him out. No-one should be able to pick multiple noses at once.
“Sit tight and let me arrest you,” he snaps, knowing full well there’s as much chance of that as Tashigi walking in a straight line for two minutes without tripping over. The brat flips off a cocky reply, and that’s that - talking’s done.
Smoker ignores the patrons who are staring, doesn’t even spend any effort on it, because his attention’s taken - the air is filled with the scent of pounding blood, excitement of a dozen types, and all of it belongs to this arrogant little shit who thinks his own fame and wimpy little Zoan is enough to take out the Great Hunter.
Thirty seconds later, when he’s trying to remove the enthusiastic velociraptor attached to his ankle without destroying the building, Smoker has to admit that Steeljaw’s formidable reputation might be deserved after all. He’s still a brat, though.
And for my next trick, a sequel.
Title: David Attenborough Presents…
Prompt: 16 - Peace
“Don’t you think it’s odd?” the Commodore asks exasperatedly, and knows it’s a stupid question as soon as he says it. Portgas is a D. ‘Odd’ isn’t bad for them, if it appears in their vocabulary at all, and the Grand Line isn’t a place you stay if you can’t handle a little (or a lot of) weirdness.
The brat proves this by cocking his head to the side in that irritating way he has, and staring fixedly at Smoker with that (even more irritating) grin. Yeah, that one. The one that makes Smoker want to ignore the restrictions of the ship they’re currently on, turn into a t-rex, and eat the little shit. Or just fuck him. Whichever.
“‘Odd’?” Portgas drawls, and the Marine can hear the quotation marks as the self-satisfied fuck repeats him. “What’s odd about this, jun~sho?” As if to make his point, the brat sprawls across the Marine-standard bed, proving the precise opposite of his words.
It doesn’t make sense. Really, it doesn’t, even if it sometimes feels like it does. There’s the obvious - Marine, pirate. Not a good mix, not for screwing and conversation anyway, and lately it’s becoming more of the latter without losing any of the former. If anything, the sex is getting better, and that worries Smoker.
Apart from that - well, actually, maybe it does make sense. Neither of them are big on rules, but they have their own codes of honor. If they feel the need to rebel a little, why not with each other? No-one gets hurt. It’s not like they’re trading information or favors (unless you count personal stories and sexual favors), so what’s the big deal?
Maybe it’s a case of opposites attracting. Again - Marine, pirate. That’s clear. Or maybe it’s similarities attracting; despite how finding out how much they have in common increases Smoker’s daily cigar intake, they agree on a lot of things, and would do so on a lot more, if either of them would stop pretending. It’s not as if they’re fooling each other.
Another different/similar puzzle is their Devil Fruits, their Zoan forms. Smoker took the optional course on Devil Fruits at the Academy, passed the mandatory (for him) practical course along with the others who were new to their abilities, studied alone and late into the night in the Academy library or his dorm. He knows all the theories, logical or crackpot. Zeebruck’s Theory states: complementary powers attract. Opposing powers repel.
So what the fuck is it between a building-stomping, big-even-for-a-t-fuckin’-rex and Portgas’ hyperactive, shrimpy-in-comparison velociraptor?
Smoker opens his mouth to patiently explain all this to the little idiot (the burden of being so much more intelligent and experienced, naturally), but then the moron in question changes that dumbass grin to a teasing smirk, his lazy sprawl to a languid stretch, and the Commodore suddenly can’t remember what he was going to say. What was he thinking, anyway?
He moves forward instead, which is always the best way to go.
Comments are made of luv&hugz.
Proper fic soon. Trust me - it's worse.