And of course, because Sharpy is the most ill-mannered Canadian ever, he opens up the newspaper like he doesn't have the most entertaining thing in Chicago across the table from him anyway. He's totally pretending to read it, just to make Patrick salty, but two can play at that game, so he snatches the Sunday inserts out of the folds, smirking at Sharpy. But he glances down and staring up at him, looking like, all of eighteen and strangely soft and sweet is Jonathan fucking Toews.

Hawks takes baby steps backwards, getting closer and closer to the door, as everyone continues to get loud and look at eachother for answers. Well, almost everybody; Dabi is watching him limp away with an unimpressed expression. “Those are torture wounds,” Shigaraki points out, crossing his arms and leveling Hawks with a dead-eyed stare. “How do you even know what torture wounds look like?” Hawks throws back as he continues to plan his escape. Shigaraki looks at him with raised eyebrows until Hawks looks away again, feeling like an idiot. These people are villains, he knows that (but its so easy to forget-). “Right, fuck.” Hawks flicks him a two fingered salute before turning tail like the coward he feels like and making for the door. He doesn't get more than four feet before Dabi grabs him by one of his wings and yanks him back.

None of them called him the "ship's omega." It wasn't... really like that. A lot of ships had omega crewmates whose station was defined by their secondary sex, or at the least who joined up knowing what their job was among a shipful of pirates out to sea for weeks at a time. Zoro was not that. He wasn't a friend with benefits or a glorified servant or even one of the so-called Crewman Os who had their own jobs and stations but lay down and made their bodies available when a crewmate needed it. He was just... Zoro.