the blog: my one-piece themed side blog for posting all of my OP art (#mew art) and writing (#mew writes), occasional memes, as well as reblogging others lovely works. i am very positive about oc x canon and self-shipping so a lot of the art i post is of my one piece oc or of my self-insert. i prefer interactions on this account. see my main @mewiyev for a more pristine collection of my art.
the artist: i’m mew and i am an adult.
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i pretty much leave asks open because i like talking about dumb katakuri stuff. >:)
Waking up in an infirmary bed, on a boat set out to sea, with no recollection of how I ended up there, or anything else for that matter. With no idea where I am, who I am, or what I'm going to do, the best this reluctant drifter has going is that I know everyone else on the boat!
When in Rome, do as the Romans do, so I guess it's time to hoist the colors!
CW: Swearing, violence, smut, bad puns, comedy, angst, romance, fluff, death and salvation.
Chapter 2: WELP.
Well… shit.
Something went wrong.
I have no idea what it was, but I’m not a baby, or some degree of child, which means I’m missing at least twenty years worth of memories, if not more.
Twelve lives, over 1,200 years of life, I didn’t need much to sort out when things are wrong. The biggest difference right now isn’t what I can remember, it’s what I can’t remember.
This has to be my thirteenth life. I remember dying after the war ended. It was relief mostly, that allowed me to let go, I just needed to be sure. But I don’t remember anything about this life. I don’t know what name this body was given, or why I’m laying in a bed wrapped in bandages with a saline IV in my arm.
It’s a simple clinic. Wood built, the soft scent of oak, or whatever this world calls oak, and the deep scent of sterilizing agents and cleaners rubbed into it all. The soft rocking motion is almost imperceptible, but the strong scent of sea water was enough for me to realize I am on a boat.
No one else is in here with me, I’m in clean simple linens and there’s no restraints, so I’m probably not in a bad situation. Hard to say if the shock white hair was something I was born with, or if some tragedy caused it. Maybe the same one that’s locked away all of my memories of this life. Memory loss this complete would be a hell of a shock to anyone.
Sighing, it feels like a relief to sigh, but I stay laying in the bed. My body feels heavy, like it’s still healing, but I don’t have any major aches and pain, so maybe it was just long term exhaustion. Not being able to remember is frustrating, but there’s nothing I can do about that. Maybe one of my other lives will help jar my memories of this place, and give me something to work with.
Prime life is almost useless, so I’m not going to worry about that. I had no idea what I was going to be enduring in that life, and I didn’t deal with memory loss, short term or otherwise. Life number 1… yeah, never mind, I can skip that one and life number 2, they aren’t going to do me any good. I don’t need to wallow in the worst lives of my long existence.
Even if they help, thinking about them always ends up bad.
Life number 3, I died at age 12 from the plague, so not a lot from there. Would’ve loved to smell the acrid scent of astringents and cleaning agents during that life. Too poor to even get the church to look at me. Dying on a bed frame with no mattress and a threadbare blanket wasn’t the best way to go.
The fourth life was fairly mundane. Made it to 56 years of age, that was a new record at that point. Queer as hell, me and that life both, of all things to take me out was a fucking car crash. This doesn’t seem like the kind of world that has cars, so I don’t think I need to worry about that. But the medicine seems comparable. This world knows about germs and the importance of cleanliness. No holy symbols scattered around the room, so it’s probably more scientific medicine than magical or divine in nature.
Life 5 was unique. Every time I got hit with water I changed sexes. Cursed springs in an alternative China. Lots of martial arts though, stuff I might be able to use in this life. If the technology isn’t too advanced being able to physically fight would be a boon. I only learned four dozen fighting styles in that life alone, I’m sure something will come in handy here.
Flexing my fingers, I breathe in deep and smile softly. I can feel it. Some worlds call it ki, or haki, or whatever they want, it doesn’t matter. It’s all the same stuff. Martial energy. Usually hand in hand with manna, but magic usually requires instruction, and if I’ve had any of that in this world, I’ve full on forgotten it. I’ve used magic before, but unlike martial energy, it’s so variable and unique I’d rather not risk it.
It does me no good to realize I need a core after I’ve blown myself up trying to use it. Once I figure out what the rules are, I can use that to my advantage for certain. Hopefully I can hit that sweet spot of enough money to be independent, and poor enough to not attract attention I don’t want. A nice, quiet, retired life would be nice after the last few ones.
But, it’s good news. It’s something to hold onto when I’ve got no idea what’s going on. Some people have comfort foods and toys, here I am being comforted by the fact that there’s ki in this world.
Stay focused, there’s still more to mull over. Better to be over prepared than under prepared when someone finally walks through the door to this room.
Life 6 was pretty straight forward too, and way more technically advanced. I needed to lay off the cigarettes, but it was what it was. Life 7 was gone to war, but I did learn how to use a lot of different types of guns, and thanks to that one mad man I was pretty good with canons too.
Life 8 was nice, but I doubt knowledge about tea and nobility is going to do me much good. At least I hope not. I did enjoy that life, but high society is exhausting. I’d almost rather deal with wars. At least when people are trying to kill you, they’re pretty blunt about it. Intrigue and politics is only straight forward when you’re dealing with someone who’s stupid or ignorant.
Life 9 was the elf-.
Something pulses inside me and disrupts my thoughts. For a split second it’s almost like I can see a sonar of my surrounding area, but it’s gone so fast it’s hard to hold onto any real details. It’s a big ship though, that much is for sure. That blip of vision didn’t go out far enough to hit anything dense like ocean water, and I swear I saw at least five decks worth of space.
More than five decks on a wooden ship?
It wasn’t impossible. There were ships in my prime life that I’d read about that were massive and made of wood. Off the top of my head you had no idea how many decks they had, only that they dwarfed the frigates of the west by a significant amount. Of all the lives I’ve lived, I never really learned a lot about boats. Probably not a bad idea to be reminded I don’t actually know everything, even with so many years of life under my belt.
Hubris is a completely avoidable pitfall.
The size is only half my problem. That was a lot of people that I think I saw. Vaguely humanoid, softly glowing blobs moving through the decks, had to be people. Which means the blip was from the… haki? Ki was something I have experienced, and it was different from whatever this was. It gave you a sense of where people were, but it wasn’t easy to translate how or why.
It just did.
But haki, which was something I’d only ever read about, was visual like this was. I’d always assumed it was visual because the story itself was a visual medium, but even so.
It can’t be.
“Impossible.” I mean to grumble the word, but my voice is hoarse and talking hurts. I know what I mean to say but the sound that escapes me is far from intelligible and barely even audible at that.
I’ve got to be dehydrated. That explains the saline, and also the reason why I feel so heavy without hurting. Maybe I’d been lost out at sea. That would be a first.
Firsts are rare anymore, so that at least means this is going to be an interesting life. Not that interesting necessarily means good, but interesting at least means I’m likely to learn more things I can add to my little black book of skills.
Dammit, I wish I could remember the beginning of this life! It’s so difficult to navigate cultures and conversations without learning about a society from within. If nothing else it’s one of the reasons I was always glad to be born into a new world, versus coming into a fully grown body and fumbling around.
Your senses suck as a baby, but it’s a great way to learn. People talk to you constantly, and when you make mistakes, no one gives a shit. I got so used to getting roughly five free years to learn the ins and outs of a given society, and from there it’s easy money.
Maybe not for those first few lives, but by the 5th one I had it down really well.
Right now, however, I have nothing. Other than knowing I’m on a massive ship, I don’t know where I am, how old I am, what my name is, what language or languages are spoken around here, or anything else. I don’t know the currency rates, or even basic shit like what things cost.
I do have experience though. I’ve haggled before, and built up wealth from almost nothing. I’ve survived places that would’ve ended me if not for all the lives I’d lived. I might not know anything about this world, but I do know things, and that has to count for something.
I snort, not quite able to laugh, and nearly choking from the snort. Who would’ve thought that I’d be finding solace in this fucking awful curse? Maybe I am finally adjusting to the inevitability of it all. I hate that thought, I don’t want to adjust to this, I don’t want it to continue.
I just want to rest.
Sighing again a small smile wriggles its way onto my lips. I can hear him, lifetimes ago, warning that I shouldn’t sigh so much, because my soul will escape.
If only.
Maybe if it could escape I’d finally find peace. Rest. Anything but-.
A knock at the door shatters useless thoughts and I turn toward it in time to hear a voice from the other side. I’m just hoping it’s a language I already know, because if it’s something unique to this world I’m going to be screwed until I can learn it.
omfg the yoi at the end got me 😭😭😭 i like the expansion on the different lives, like how you’re a culmination of everything youve ever read except you literally were there. it’s a fun start to a fic!!
Oh hey, I wrote a bunch of words for my OC's story during my March Writing Challenge, so here we go.
Quill/Marco
Summary: 13 lives and what do I get?
Waking up in an infirmary bed, on a boat set out to sea, with no recollection of how I ended up there, or anything else for that matter. With no idea where I am, who I am, or what I'm going to do, the best this reluctant drifter has going is that I know everyone else on the boat!
When in Rome, do as the Roman do, so I guess it's time to hoist the colors!
CW: Swearing, violence, smut, bad puns, comedy, angst, romance, fluff, death and salvation.
Chapter 1: I Hate it Here
Oh? You’re here.
Don’t ask me why you’re here, or why I’m aware of you, I don’t have any answers for you about that. I’ve just learned to go with the flow when it comes to such things.
It’s difficult to communicate when there’s nothing really to see or feel, right? A formless space like this is a little discomforting when you face it by yourself for the first time, but you’re not alone and I’ve got some experience, so it’ll be okay.
It’s hard to say how much time is, or isn’t passing, who you are, or who I am, but that’s no reason to just sit here in sorry silence, is it?
Well, silence is what we’re going to sit in, since I’m not talking in the strictest sense. Think of it like a kind of telepathy. You’re having a hard time talking back because you don’t have any practice, and I’m communicating clearly because I’ve gone through this a lot.
I think this is the first time I’ve felt like someone else was here, but that’s hard to say. My memories of this space are difficult to hold onto. Like a dream you know you’ve dreamt before, but you only really remember it while you’re dreaming it.
Otherwise it just feels like something pawing at the edges of your existence, and when you turn to get a better look it disappears completely. Absolutely fucking frustrating, honestly.
I can’t tell you how long we’ll be in here, or if you’ll even remember this conversation when you move onto the next thing, but there’s no reason to just sit here, vaguely aware of one another, and not communicate in some way.
Annnnd, since you can’t tell me to shut up, I’ll tell you a story.
A long, long time ago I died.
Not the way you usually start a story, yeah? But that’s how it goes.
For me, at least.
I’m really good at dying. It’s the easy part of all this, I just can’t seem to make it stick, and I have no idea what the afterlife is like, or if it even exists. Hell, maybe this right here is the afterlife, and it’s just some sticky nebulous way station before you’re shuffled off into the next life. No rest for the wicked, the neutral, or the good it seems.
But, if you’re hoping for a story on reincarnation full of comfort and solace, you’re not going to find it here. I got nothing comforting to say, honestly.
I can’t forget any of the details of my past lives, so if there was something like heaven, or even hell, I’m sure I’d remember. All I have is the undeniable sense of being here. Again and again and again.
If you need comfort, you’ll have to find it somewhere else. This is my story, and as easy as dying is, living sucks donkey toes. It’s exhausting. I loathe being alive, but I never get to be anything else.
Every time I die I end up in a different world. History’s different, rules are different, and I’m different. Boy, girl, man, woman, elf, human, noble, commoner, hero and villain. I’ve been everything at this point and it’s only been twelve lives since my first.
And I don’t get to forget.
Every life, every mistake, and every person I cared about that I’ll never fucking see again. I remember it all. Hells and demons I remember it better after I die than I do when I’m living it.
If that isn’t a curse, I don’t know what is.
…
I wish I had a body and lungs right now just so you could hear the bone-deep sigh I need to get off my chest… The scream I yearn to scream.
Fuck.
I don’t know who I pissed off, or what I did wrong, but I have no idea why this is happening to me. I don’t know if it happens to everyone and I’m just the only one lucky enough to remember from one life to the next, or if I just got singled out for some reason.
For all I know, I could just be a system error. A stupid cosmic glitch skittering my way from one operating system to another pissing off some divine IT department that can’t figure out how to patch me out. So many memos, overtime, and angry conference calls about how this has been going on for three divine days and nights, or whatever, and someone needs to figure out the fix.
But here I am, and here you are.
I don’t know if we’ll stick around here long enough to cover everything, so here’s hoping you follow me into my thirteenth life. Lucky thirteen. I did always like that number, even if it’s fairly unlucky in quite a few worlds, it just seems fitting for me. I’ve lived over a thousand years at this point, all because I had to spend a few centuries being an elf, and nothing about any of it feels lucky.
… I wonder when I’ll stop counting them.
How long will I have to live before I can’t add up the years, the worlds, and the memories anymore? How many lives until the ones at the beginning finally start to fade? Or worse, when the memories start to mingle and I can’t untangle one life from another.
Or an old life from a new one.
I was ready to die, you know, at the end of my very first life. Life zero. The only one I lived before I knew my fate. It wasn’t a bad life, and I really thought I did pretty good. No regrets. No weight on my heart or my soul.
At least not so far as I was consciously aware.
Whether death had anything on the other side of it or not didn’t matter. I was ready to rest. I’d had a good life and I just wanted to sleep. I’d earned it too.
Living is the hard part, it’s the hardest thing any of us have to do. It’s worth it, in the end, I can’t argue that, even with as much as I’m tired of living. But it’s worth it cause it ends, or because we experience it ending. You do your best, give it your all, rage against the things what need raged against, and keep safe yourself and your people as much as you can.
But then you get to rest. That’s the trade off. That’s the promise. You give it everything you have, no matter how much or how little anyone else can give, and then you get to rest.
alright i’m buckling down and reading this series ☝️ conceptually it’s just so fun, reincarnation into different universes and you remember it *all*. no eternal slumber after the difficult endeavor that is life, just your body breaking down and then suddenly…LIFE AGAIN.
katakuri once disobeyed mama in his younger years.
it was a disagreement about the handling of a delicate situation that led him, alone, down the path of hachinosu, otherwise known as pirate island. the details didn’t matter. he’d spent too long with a mind clouded by anger, loneliness and helplessness to worry about how unyielding his mother would be if she found out. he sipped an alcoholic beverage at a small bar, sitting alone at a table, wondering what his life could have been if not for everything that made it what it was.
there, he met a person who treated him like he mattered. but not like the important person he is in the wanted poster, or as a result of the fearful whisperings about big mom’s strongest son. this person could see the lonely boy hidden behind the mask. maybe, they were the same in that way. he wasn’t sure. he hardly remembers now.
all good things come to an end, he’d learn.
with the blink of an eye, the wave of mama’s hand, and his sister’s devil fruit erasing memories from a mind who had come to cherish, he was alone again.
faced with the fear of loss, he closed himself to others from then on, becoming the charlotte family shield he is known as today.
The emotion on Maren’s face doesn’t reflect the emotion on Kataluri’s face. Maren’s memory of him has such a soft and gentle expression and it probably leads Maren to more frustration than not.
It’s hard to read. It looks warm and inviting, but is it just civility? Is it just kindness and not something else? Why does he remember this face and that sense of comfort but not the name or the nuance?
Maren strikes me as a character who wouldn’t easily believe he was so effortlessly loved.
Maybe if he gets into a fight, or drinks a little more, or swims a little faster, or plays music a little louder he’ll be able to drown it out so he doesn’t have to wonder.
