Digital de-aging is bad not just because it always looks creepy as fuck no matter how much money they pour into it, but because it deprives me of getting to see the fucking black magic of a) the casting director somehow finding someone who looks unnervingly like the original actor despite not being related at all and b) the actors completely convincing me that they are, in fact, the same person at different times in their life.
This is actually so bad that I have trouble believing it's true
The entire narrative of Lilo being at risk of being taken away by CPS was a clear incorporation of the US Governments history of destroying indigenous families via kidnapping. It was incredibly on the nose criticism of the history AND PRESENT of American imperialism against the native indigenous population.
And supposedly the live action movie just. Is pro American imperialism? It ends with the indigenous child being stolen away from the only family she has left?
What the actual fuck? So much for family means nobody gets left behind Jesus Christ.
Sanji x fem!reader | accidental feelings | bet with Zoro | flirty banter | jealous Sanji | besties with Chopper | rivals-to-chaos | theatrical Sanji | mutual pining | One Piece Live Action | 2k words
Sanji should have known better than to let Zoro get under his skin before breakfast.
The morning had started normally enough on the Going Merry: the sea was calm, the sky was bright, and the galley was full of the familiar sounds of him working—knife against cutting board, pan crackling over heat, kettle beginning to sing. Luffy was hovering like a menace, trying to steal slices of orange before the fruit salad was finished. Usopp was half-awake at the table, his cheek pressed to the wood. Nami had already claimed the best chair by the window. Chopper, in his little blue hat, sat on the counter kicking his feet while you stood beside him, carefully crushing herbs with the back of a spoon the way he had shown you the night before.
It was a ridiculous sight, really. The future king of the pirates trying to steal breakfast. A sniper drooling into his sleeve. A reindeer doctor lecturing you about the difference between medicinal and culinary herbs. And you—laughing softly at something Chopper said, leaning close as he pointed out which leaves could help with nausea and which ones would just make dinner taste like grass.
Sanji would have been content to watch you forever.
Not that he would ever say that aloud.
He was too busy plating eggs with all the care of an artist and pretending not to pay attention to how your laugh drifted across the room like music.
“You’re using too much pressure,” Chopper told you seriously. “See? If you bruise them too much, they get bitter.”
You frowned down at the herbs like the fate of the world depended on it. “I’m trying.”
“I know, I know.” Chopper puffed up with importance. “That’s why I’m teaching you.”
Sanji smiled to himself. You and Chopper had become attached faster than anyone expected. Somewhere between patching his scraped knees after training mishaps, listening to his endless medical facts, and helping him organize the shelves in his little infirmary corner, you had become his favorite person to drag around the ship besides Luffy. He trusted you with his supplies, which Chopper did not do lightly. Sometimes Sanji would find the two of you tucked away together—Chopper reading from one of his medical books while you listened with your chin in your hand like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.
It did strange things to Sanji’s chest.
He was in the middle of setting bacon on a plate when Zoro wandered in, all loose limbs and sleep-mussed hair, swords at his hip and attitude already sharpened for the day.
He took one look at you smiling at Chopper, then at Sanji watching you, and smirked.
Sanji immediately hated that smirk.
“What?” he snapped.
Zoro reached for a strip of bacon from the plate.
Sanji smacked his hand away. “Touch it and lose the fingers, mosshead.”
Zoro ignored that. “You keep staring like that and your eye’s going to get stuck.”
Luffy looked up. “Can that happen?”
“Yes,” Usopp said with complete confidence. “My uncle’s cousin had that happen once.”
“You do not have an uncle’s cousin,” Nami said.
Sanji kept his attention on Zoro. “Say what you mean.”
Zoro leaned against the doorway, clearly pleased with himself. “I mean all that flirting you do works on waitresses, sure. But her?” He jerked his chin in your direction. “Not a chance.”
You finally looked over. “What?”
Chopper blinked. “Why are we talking about you?”
Sanji set the pan down with more force than necessary. “Excuse me?”
Zoro shrugged. “You heard me. You lay it on thick with every woman who smiles in your direction. But she knows you too well. Couldn’t charm her if you tried.”
The galley went quiet in the way it always did right before something stupid happened.
Sanji gave a short laugh, the kind he only used when he was deeply offended. “Couldn’t charm her?”
“That’s what I said.”
Nami looked delighted already. Usopp actually lifted his head off the table. Luffy shoved half an orange slice into his mouth like he didn’t want to miss this.
You pointed between them with the spoon. “Please do not drag me into your weird little ego fight before breakfast.”
Too late.
Sanji turned, one hand over his heart, expression wounded and dramatic. “My love, you wound me. As though your company could ever be a burden.”
“See?” Zoro said. “That only works because you say it to everyone.”
You narrowed your eyes. “You know what, I hate that you kind of have a point.”
Sanji stared at you. “You take his side?”
“I’m taking the side of peace and quiet.”
“Coward’s side,” Zoro muttered.
“Oh, that’s rich coming from a man whose idea of romance is glowering in someone’s general direction,” Sanji shot back.
Zoro smirked wider. “So prove me wrong.”
Nami sat up straighter. “Oh, absolutely not.”
“Yes,” Luffy said instantly. “Absolutely yes.”
Usopp pointed excitedly. “Make it a contest.”
Chopper’s eyes went round. “A contest?”
Sanji crossed his arms. “Fine.”
You nearly dropped the spoon. “No.”
“Fine,” he repeated, eyes never leaving Zoro’s. “How long?”
Zoro looked amused. “A week.”
“A week?” Sanji scoffed. “I could do it by lunch.”
Your mouth fell open. “Excuse me?”
That got his attention. He turned to you at once, all silk and charm. “No offense meant, sweetheart. Merely pointing out that I have certain gifts.”
You stared at him. “I am not part of your stupid bet.”
Chopper puffed up indignantly beside you. “Yeah! She’s not a game.”
The guilt landed quickly enough to sober Sanji’s temper, but only slightly.
Zoro, because he was incapable of leaving anything alone, said, “What’s the matter? Scared?”
Sanji’s jaw ticked. “Name the stakes.”
Nami groaned into her hand. “Men are embarrassing.”
By the end of breakfast, despite your repeated objections, the entire ship knew.
If Sanji could get you to blush, stumble, or otherwise show that his flirting worked on you before the week was over, he won.
If not, Zoro won, and Sanji had to do Zoro’s chores for three days without complaint.
It was idiotic.
It was humiliating.
And worst of all, it became entertainment.
For the first two days, Sanji treated it like a performance.
No, worse—he treated it like war.
He brought you tea in the afternoon with little flourishes of his wrist. He called you sweetheart, darling, angel, pretty girl, and once cherie in such a low voice that Nami nearly choked laughing from across the deck. He pulled out chairs for you with theatrical bows. He offered you the best portions at dinner. He kissed the back of your hand once in front of everyone, just to be obnoxious, and looked so smug about the way your eyes widened that you could have shoved him into the sea.
Chopper hated it on principle.
Not because he disliked Sanji. But because every time Sanji cornered you with another ridiculous line, Chopper would come trotting up with his tiny hooves planted and glare like an angry parent.
“She’s busy,” he’d say.
Sanji would smile pleasantly. “With what?”
“With me.”
And somehow, unbelievably, Chopper kept winning.
By day three, it had become routine.
You would be helping Chopper sort his bandages or reorganize medicine bottles or carrying a tray of chopped fruit to the deck, and Sanji would appear as if summoned by the laws of irritation themselves.
“Careful there, love,” he’d murmur when you passed, taking the heavier side of the tray with a smile. “Wouldn’t want those lovely hands strained.”
“Give it back.”
“As you wish.”
Or he’d lean in the infirmary doorway while Chopper lectured you about proper splint placement and say, “I do hope the doctor isn’t overworking you. Though I suppose there are worse ways to spend an afternoon than under your careful attention.”
Chopper would frown. “What does that mean?”
You would snort. “Nothing good.”
At first, it was easy to dismiss.
Because it was Sanji.
He was ridiculous with everyone. Dramatic with every pretty face. A shameless flirt with no self-preservation and too much charm for his own good. You’d known that from the beginning. So even when he focused all that energy on you, you refused to let it matter.
Which was why it became a problem when you started having fun.
Not because of the lines. Most of the lines were terrible.
But because Sanji, when challenged, became even more theatrical than usual. He’d lean against the mast like he was on a stage. He’d place his hand over his heart in false offense whenever you rolled your eyes. He’d sigh heavily and tell anyone who would listen that your cruelty would be the death of him. And every single time you laughed, truly laughed, his expression changed just a little—like he’d forgotten the audience was there.
That was the dangerous part.
It stopped feeling like a joke when you caught him watching for your reactions.
Stopped feeling like a joke when he remembered your favorites without asking. The exact way you liked your tea. The fruit you always picked first at breakfast. The little wrinkle between your brows that meant you were concentrating too hard. The fact that Chopper always stole the marshmallows out of your hot chocolate, so Sanji started putting extra in both mugs.
You noticed.
And once you noticed, you couldn’t really stop.
By day four, even Zoro looked bored by his own bet.
By day five, Sanji was not.
It happened in the late afternoon.
The sky was streaked orange and pink, and most of the crew had drifted into their own corners of the ship. Luffy was napping in the figurehead’s mouth. Nami was reading. Usopp was mending something badly. Zoro was supposed to be training but was mostly just sitting there with his swords beside him like an especially judgmental statue.
You were on the deck with Chopper, helping him restock his medical bag after he’d used half of it on Usopp’s scraped elbow.
“This one goes here,” Chopper said, handing you a small jar.
“And this one?”
“No, that’s antiseptic cream. Other side.” He paused, then brightened. “You’re getting better at this.”
You grinned. “High praise from the doctor.”
He giggled into his hooves. “Don’t say it like that, you jerk.”
Sanji came up from below deck carrying a basket of peeled oranges and stopped when he heard you laugh.
It hit him strangely hard.
Not the sound itself. He’d heard you laugh a hundred times this week. But something about the way you and Chopper were folded into your own little world, the warmth of the evening light on your face, the softness in your voice when you praised Chopper—it made the basket feel suddenly too light in his hands and his chest feel too full.
He had started the week wanting to win.
That was the humiliating truth.
Zoro said he couldn’t charm you, and Sanji, being a fool with a bruised ego, took it as a challenge.
Only somewhere along the line, it had shifted.
He no longer cared if you blushed in front of the others.
He cared that you smiled when he brought you tea.
He cared that you took the orange slices he offered and always split one with Chopper.
He cared that when he spoke, you listened, even while pretending not to.
Worse, he cared that the thought of the bet ending made something sink unpleasantly inside him.
Because if it ended, then what?
Would you look relieved?
Would you laugh and tell him he’d been insufferable?
Would you go back to treating him exactly as before, while he stood there like some idiot who’d accidentally stumbled into real feelings while trying to make a point?
“Sanji?”
Your voice snapped him out of it.
You were looking at him now, brows raised.
“The oranges,” you said. “Are you planning to hand those out or just stare at them until they get uncomfortable?”
Chopper giggled.
Sanji opened his mouth for something smooth, something practiced and easy.
Nothing came out.
That had never happened to him before.
You tilted your head. “Are you feeling okay?”
“I—yes.” He cleared his throat. “Perfectly fine, darling.”
Zoro, from across the deck, made the fatal mistake of laughing.
Sanji shot him a murderous look.
You squinted. “That was weird.”
“It was not weird,” he said much too quickly, then thrust the basket toward you and Chopper. “Oranges?”
Chopper took one happily. You took another more slowly, still looking at him with suspicion.
Then, to Sanji’s horror, you smiled.
Not a laugh this time. Not amusement.
Something softer.
“Thank you.”
He felt his ears go warm.
Across the deck, Zoro straightened, sensing blood in the water.
Interesting.
That night at dinner, Sanji was a disaster.
Not visibly, maybe. The food was perfect. The table was full. Everyone was talking over each other as usual. But every time you spoke to him directly, his brain seemed to leave his body.
“Can you pass the bread?” you asked.
He nearly dropped the basket.
Usopp noticed first. Then Nami. Then, fatally, Zoro.
“Oh, this is getting good,” Zoro said around a mouthful of rice.
Sanji glared. “Eat and die quietly.”
“Sanji,” you said, trying not to laugh, “did you just hand me the salt instead of the bread?”
It was said casually. Flatly. Like an observation instead of an accusation.
Sanji’s silence answered for him.
Zoro’s grin slipped into something smugger, quieter. “Wow.”
“Shut up.”
“You actually do.”
Sanji ground the cigarette under his heel. “I said shut up.”
For once, Zoro didn’t push. He just shrugged. “Then maybe stop making it a joke.”
That should have felt like a victory. Zoro retreating from an argument, even slightly, was nearly unheard of.
Instead, Sanji stood there for a long moment with the wind off the sea moving through his hair and realized he felt sick.
Because Zoro was right.
You found him that afternoon in the galley, alone for once, staring at a cutting board like it had personally betrayed him.
“Chopper says you’re moody,” you said from the doorway.
Sanji looked up too fast. “He what?”
You stepped inside, smiling. “He’s worried about you. Which is rich, considering how much you annoyed him this week.”
A groan slipped out of him. “I deserve that.”
You leaned against the counter. “You do.”
For a moment, neither of you said anything.
Without the crew around, the galley felt smaller. Closer. The sounds of the ship creaking around you filled the silence.
You looked at him more carefully. “You really are acting strange.”
Sanji opened his mouth with something prepared—something easy, playful, charming.
It died before it reached his tongue.
You waited.
And that, somehow, made it worse.
“I owe you an apology,” he said at last.
Your brows lifted. “An apology?”
“Yes.”
“What for?”
He set the knife down. “For the bet.”
Something flickered across your face. Not surprise exactly. Maybe relief that someone was finally saying it aloud.
“It was stupid,” you said.
“Yes.”
“And rude.”
“Yes.”
“And you were being insufferable.”
His mouth twitched despite himself. “That too.”
You folded your arms. “So why are you apologizing now?”
Because I stopped knowing where the joke ended, he thought.
Because every time you laughed, I wanted to hear it again.
Because now the idea of you thinking none of it meant anything makes me feel slightly insane.
Instead, he said, “Because you didn’t deserve to be turned into some contest.”
Your expression softened.
Sanji looked down at his hands. Suddenly the galley felt too warm.
“I started it because Zoro annoyed me,” he admitted. “And because I’m an idiot. But somewhere in the middle of all of it, I…” He laughed once, quietly, with no humor in it. “I made a mess of things.”
You were very still. “Sanji.”
He forced himself to meet your eyes.
And there it was again—that terrible, impossible nervousness. Real this time. No performance left to hide behind.
“I like making you laugh,” he said softly. “More than I should, probably. And I like when you come into the galley just to steal fruit off the counter when you think I don’t see. And I like that Chopper trusts you enough to boss you around, because it means you’re kind.” His voice dipped lower. “And I like you. Not because of some bet. Not because I’m trying to prove anything.” He swallowed. “Just because it’s you.”
The silence afterward felt enormous.
You stared at him like he had upended the ship with one sentence.
Then, very quietly, you asked, “Are you serious?”
It was almost insulting, except the question was so careful that all he felt was awful for ever giving you reason to doubt him.
“For once in my life,” he said, “painfully.”
You laughed at that—small and startled and fond.
And God, there it was again. That sound. That bright thing he’d ruined himself on all week.
You stepped closer.
Not much. Just enough that he noticed.
“You are a complete idiot,” you informed him.
“Yes.”
“You let Zoro bully you into turning a crush into a competition.”
“Yes.”
“You flirt with everyone, so I had no idea if any of it meant anything.”
That one hurt, though he deserved it. He looked down. “I know.”
Then your fingers touched his wrist.
Lightly. Warmly.
His head came up.
“But,” you said, and now there was a smile trying to happen at the edges of your mouth, “you also make really good tea. And you always remember the things I like. And Chopper says you’ve been extra nice to him all week because you were trying to impress me.”
Sanji blinked. “That little traitor.”
You laughed properly this time. “He’s my best friend. Of course he told me.”
Before Sanji could recover, Chopper himself appeared in the doorway, carrying two bottles and looking far too pleased.
“I told you she’d figure it out,” he said.
Sanji stared. “Were you spying?”
“No,” Chopper said, then paused. “A little.”
You beckoned him over, and he trotted to your side at once. You scratched under his chin, and he melted into the touch.
Chopper looked between the two of you and said, with all the solemnity of a doctor delivering news, “I think if you like her, you should stop being weird and ask her properly.”
You covered your mouth, laughing.
Sanji put a hand over his eyes. “I’m being counseled by a reindeer.”
“A very smart reindeer,” Chopper corrected.
“The smartest,” you said loyally.
Chopper beamed.
Sanji looked from your grin to Chopper’s proud little face and realized there was absolutely no recovering the dignity of this moment.
So he sighed, straightened, and did the only thing left available to him.
He leaned into it.
Stepping closer, he reached for your hand, slower this time, giving you every chance to pull away.
You didn’t.
His fingers curled carefully around yours.
“Then let me ask properly,” he said, and to his horror his voice came out genuinely unsteady. “Would you allow me to take you to dinner tonight?” His mouth twitched. “A real one. No audience. No bet. No mosshead.”
Your eyes softened in a way that made him feel abruptly, terrifyingly hopeful.
“Yes,” you said.
Chopper made a tiny delighted squeak.
Sanji let out a breath that was almost a laugh. “Yes?”
“Yes.”
Something bright and disbelieving cracked open in his chest.
From somewhere on deck, Zoro shouted, “Does this mean I win?”
You and Sanji both yelled, “Shut up, Zoro!”
Chopper clapped his hooves together, thrilled by the unity.
You turned back to Sanji, still smiling. “For the record, you did make me flustered.”
He blinked. “I did?”
You squeezed his hand once. “Around day two.”
The grin that broke over his face was helpless and boyish in a way he would deny under torture.
“I knew it.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“No,” he admitted, laughing softly. “I really didn’t.”
Then, because he was still Sanji, because even with his heart halfway out of his chest he couldn’t help himself, he lifted your hand and brushed a kiss over your knuckles.
This time it wasn’t theatrical.
This time it was careful. Warm. Almost reverent.
When he looked back up, you were blushing.
For real.
Behind you, Chopper gasped so loudly it nearly counted as a cheer.
Sanji smiled, softer now, a little dazed by his own luck.
“Well,” he murmured, “that’s much prettier than winning any bet.”
