So I think one of the reasons why AC0TAR fails as a book is that Maas does not appear to be in love with the world she has created (n.b. I am going entirely off what I took away from the text; I have not read interviews from her or what she thinks she wrote).
This occurred to me after I just reread "A Wizard of Earthsea" in which Le Guin is very much in love with her fictional world, and while there may be a few blindspots in the worldbuilding, Earthsea is lovingly constructed and feels very rich and very real; the reader wants to explore the world with Ged while he's on his adventure, and we feel wonder and discovery and immersion. I did not get that from AC0TAR at all, and it really just felt like Maas created Prythian or whatever so it could be where the plot happens. So much in that book is just there to facilitate The Plot (which is mediocre at best.) Various aspects of the worldbuilding are not explored any deeper than what is necessary to introduce a plot point.
And we really just do not get much immersion into the world at all; the human culture seems very shallow; we don't get a sense of their mythology and oral tradition, religion, and cultural practices (like we do in Earthsea), their languages (as in LotR,) (somehow there is no language barrier between Feyre and tamlin) their political history (as in the Witcher) (yes there is a war history in thorns and roses but it feels super shallow and unrealistic) and Maas is very insistent that they don't have religion. Which is utterly absurd and honestly fucking infuriates me because EVERY human society has religion; even secular societies have religions (civic religion, football, etc.) Like I think there was a mention of holidays or festivals or something but Maas is really insistent that there are no gods and I just cannot believe that a pre-industrial society has no gods or functionally similar deity-figures (defined loosely.) Because obviously the main character girlie has to have all the same exact ideas about herself and the world she lives in as a hyper-individualist 21st century american suburban liberal white woman.
Which is the THING. None of these characters seem to be products of their environment and culture at all. There is zero thought put into how their culture might differ from 21st century middle america and how that might shape the characters' beliefs, behaviors and personalities. See also how Tamlin is not nearly racist and entitled enough for someone who grew up in a house with enslaved people. See also how we don't get any sense of how Feyre's relationship with her gender, sexuality and body may be impacted by her culture. We are told that their society has dowries but almost nothing else about how gender is constructed or what kinds of misogynies are happening and I'm sorry but I can't get off to a romance story if there isn't something in the text about how gender roles and misogyny shape a woman's psyche. And honestly it makes Feyre profoundly unrelatable to me. Because also she has this whole not-like-other-girls tomboy schtick and the whole text feels vaguely misogynistic towards the gender-conforming women, and I would have like to see her actually in an intelligent way wrestling with her femininity and the restrictive womanly expectations placed upon her etc etc. But NO that would involve thinking critically about gender! Which Maas doesn't want to do, same as she doesn't think about race or class.
Also another thing pisses me off is how this whole book is so profoundly post-industrial capitalist/consumerist. We see multiple mentions of Feyre's sisters buying things. They should not be buying their clothes! They should be making their clothes! They should be spinning and weaving! Every woman here should be weaving and sewing. There is ZERO understanding of how people in pre-industrial societies acquired the goods and tools they needed (they made a lot of them or traded with neighbors.) But no! Feyre doesn't have a relationship with her neighbors either! And she feeds her family by...hunting. In the fucking woods. and selling the pelts. It just feels so completely and utterly horribly unrealistic. Why doesn't she have a garden! Honestly I would find it so much more believable if she was a sex worker or something.
“Have you always looked this troubled with life or is that new?”
You gave Whitebeard a look that had him laughing loudly, proud of his taunt. Your hand still hovered at the door. “It’s new,” you said dryly. “Your children are troublesome.”
He chuckled and took a deep drink from his mug. “That they are but you mustn’t let them get under your skin so much. You give Marco a hard enough time in return.”
“And I’ll keep doing it,” you said with sincerity. “But it’s not him alone this time.”
Whitebeard’s smile didn’t shrink though there was a glint in his gaze that told you he knew far more than you had assumed. “At least he is easy enough to solve if you would want to. Simply speak to him about the reason you’re here.”
“There’s no point,” you said as you gestured to the door. “I could tell him I’m a literal angel descending from the heavens and he’d think it’s code for my plan to run you through in the middle of the night.”
“Ace already tried that method. You can see it didn’t work too well for him.”
You chuckled softly to yourself, still resenting that you had never quite had the opportunity to witness Ace’s attempts. “I don’t believe I would see any different results,” you admitted.
“Likely not,” Whitebeard conceded. “Though I do have a favour to ask. Whatever part of this trouble Thatch is involved in, I need you to fix it. I don’t know what you broke but I can taste the effect it has on dinner.”
You sighed. “I don’t know what I did either but he isn’t keen on telling me.”
“Then figure it out and soon.”
“That sounds almost like a threat,” you said with a half-laugh.
Whitebeard waved a giant hand, smile still in place but his gaze sharp as ever. “Rest assured, it is one. I know you’re responsible for this.”
You were but that didn’t mean you were going to ask the ship’s collective father for assistance in solving it. “I’ll try,” you said with a small laugh. “But I’ve been avoiding the kitchens, you see. I’m trying to not eat my weight in sweets before I leave.”
“Ah then that’s why he’s sulking. Well, at least it’s an easy fix.”
You wished it was. Still, you inclined your head and promised to try your hardest one more time before you left the room, silently praying that the solution would divine itself onto you.
Instead, you got a very moody Marco.
“You definitely wouldn’t be able to actually injure him,” Marco said immediately, having long since dropped the pretence that he didn’t listen in on your conversations. “If Ace couldn’t lay a scratch on him, your own odds are slim.”
“My arms are a little thin for it, aren’t they?” you said. “Maybe I should try poison. I have some connections in the kitchen.”
You shouldn’t be sarcastic with those kinds of things but not even a minute into talking to Marco and you were getting annoyed. You had to antagonise him a little. So far, he was the only person on this ship behaving like normal and you’d like to keep it that way.
It seemed he disagreed though because instead of a retort, his gaze caught on something on your arm. “You walk into something, yoi?”
The verbal tic caught you off-guard enough that you didn’t respond immediately. He’d used that maybe twice before when speaking to you; a clear indication that he overthought just about every interaction he shared with you.
Even in your most heated debates, he rarely slipped into it and it stunned you enough that you just looked toward a small scratch on your upper arm.
“I walked into a crate earlier,” you said slowly. “I didn’t see Haruta carrying it.”
It had bled slightly, the thinnest line of blood running toward your elbow, but it was hardly something to catch the eye.
Marco shook his head. “You can’t look where you’re going?”
Okay, that was better. Less strange of a comment from him. “It’s a scratch.”
“Have you even considered how much time and energy you’d waste if it got infected? We don’t have infinite supplies for clumsiness.”
“Oh my word,” you huffed. “Don’t worry, doc, I don’t plan to waste your resources or die on your ship. Trust me, I’d much rather find somewhere peaceful to croak.”
He pressed his lips into a thin line and then, unexpectedly, reached for you.
You stiffened as blue flame curled over your skin. The heat wasn't hot enough to burn, only warm, sinking into your arm like sunlight through fabric. The scratch disappeared beneath it, the thin line of red fading until there was nothing left at all. Your heart lodged itself somewhere in your throat.
His hand lowered. You stared at him and he stared back, both of you clearly unsure what the appropriate response to that was.
You saved him and yourself from the awkwardness by coughing. “That was an overreaction. It’s not contagious.”
“If it was, I’d imagine Izou might be walking into everything.”
“What does Izou have to do with anything?”
He crossed his arms over his chest, firmly locking them as though he might reach for you again if he stopped paying attention. “He’s been permanently attached to you since yesterday. It’s hardly any kind of secret and I imagine it’s the cause of Ace’s attitude of late.”
“Attitude?” you repeated. “Asking perfectly reasonable questions that you don’t like isn’t having an attitude.”
Marco scoffed. “Are you two behaving as guard dogs for one another now?”
“No. I’m just being a good friend,” you said though the word sounded strange in your head, all things considered. “And not letting you jab at him just because you have a problem with me.”
“Friends? I don’t know how many friends follow each other around and neglect their duties.”
“Actually – ”
“Your co-dependency with Izou does not count either.”
You blinked. Ouch. You couldn’t help but feel that Marco’s comments surrounding Izou in particular had been getting sharper over the past few days. Things that were becoming harder to brush off with a casual shrug and his usual excuse.
His usual paranoia about your intentions had almost faded in exchange for the passive aggressive remarks towards the other commanders.
Maybe he was actually acting strange too. You didn’t like acknowledging that.
“I wasn’t even going to bring up Izou,” you said bluntly. “Though I can see you struggle to understand the concept of enjoying somebody’s company.”
“Hardly. I just don’t pretend that’s all it is.”
“Oh, really? And what is it then?”
He hesitated for a second, as though saying the words would somehow be far worse than just implying it. But honestly, if he was going to accuse you of these things, he should at least say it to your face.
“The entire crew knows what’s happening there,” he said, still not giving you what you wanted. “It’s getting ridiculous to pretend otherwise.”
“The entire crew? I wasn’t aware we were a circus display.”
“If you knew what subtlety was, maybe you could have avoided it.”
You stepped around him, moving toward the door, not quite getting into his space but still hovering. Your voice was lower as you responded, quieter. “Right, you’re one to talk about subtlety. I never notice when you’re brooding and glaring from the corner of the room.”
“That’s because you’re the trigger for it. I’m perfectly fine when you’re not around.”
“Guess I must be pretty bad for your stress levels then.”
“You’re bad for plenty of things on this ship.”
That comment felt less pointed than the other ones though objectively, it should have hurt more. It just didn’t have the same bite to it as the rest had and you breathed out, feeling that this argument was probably going to wind down into something more normal. Something beyond random healing.
You still couldn’t quite get that out of your head.
“Too bad you’re not the captain,” you said. “So, you can’t get rid of me.”
“Oi! Raise the volume back up!” Whitebeard’s voice boomed from his room. “You kids don’t have any idea how hard it is to listen in when you’re whispering!”
You paused, almost laughing at the realisation that he had been listening in. At least you never had to prove that you weren’t imagining Marco’s constant hostility.
“Pops is right,” Marco said after a second where you almost thought you saw him smile. Almost. “You need to talk to Thatch. I’ve already tried but he won’t say anything to me.”
“He won’t speak to me either,” you admitted. “I’ll ask…”
“Izou?” Marco filled in when you trailed off. “I wouldn’t have guessed.”
You wondered if strangling him was even possible.
Instead, you pointedly left and didn’t go speak to Izou because he was probably busy and definitely not because you had a feeling Marco was watching you and you refused to prove him right. That would be ridiculous.
You found the second division busy toward the back of the deck and they didn’t seem to mind too much if you distracted their commander a little.
Some even seemed grateful that he had somebody new to look at his skiff even though you had no idea what the little boat-thing was until he started explaining it, pointing to the different parts as he went about repairing it.
“How did it get so broken?” you asked.
Ace gestured behind him, his tongue a little out of his mouth as he concentrated. “I crashed into the side of the ship.”
“What?”
“I want to make it so that when it goes under the water, it pops up again after a distance,” he explained. “So imagine I’m coming up to a ship, right. If I jump up, I want it to go under and then come back up again so I can land on it.”
“What if you miss and fall in the water?”
He grinned and shrugged. “Guess I just have to make sure I don’t miss. When it’s done, do you want to give it a try?”
“Not even in the slightest,” you said. “That doesn’t look like it could hold two.”
“It probably could.”
You laughed and shifted onto your back across the sun-warmed deck. The wood pressed pleasantly against your shoulders, carrying the lingering heat of the afternoon. Somewhere above, sails snapped softly in the breeze while voices drifted across the ship in scattered bursts of laughter and conversation. The second division moved around you without much concern, stepping over ropes and crates as though you had always belonged there.
“I thought you said you wanted to help,” Ace teased with a broad grin. “But now you’re just lying there.”
“I’m supervising. If you fall in the water, I’ll call for Namur.”
“You’re sunbathing.”
He laughed and basically threw himself down next to you, arms propped behind his head. You turned to look at him slightly and counted the freckles on his cheeks, stark against his sun-warmed skin. He had to know how he looked. Especially given his hatred for shirts.
Beneath you, the Moby Dick creaked softly and for a while, neither of you spoke, just lay there. You almost thought he’d fallen asleep until he suddenly propped himself up.
“Can I kiss you again?”
You laughed, surprised by the suddenness and immediately catching the nerves he was trying very badly to hide beneath casual confidence. It was strangely endearing to hear the uncertainty from someone so fearless in every other aspect of his life.
“Maybe,” you said.
He groaned dramatically. “Aw, that’s not an answer.”
“It’s a maybe,” you said. “As in, I’m thinking about it.”
“What can I do to change it to a yes?”
“Hm…” You tapped a finger against your lip, aware of his gaze lingering on your mouth. “I’ll think about it.”
“You’re evil.”
“I know.”
Your stomach grumbled before you could continue teasing and Ace immediately perked up as though sensing an opportunity. “You’re hungry?”
“I did skip lunch,” you admitted.
“Okay, then I’ll go grab something to eat for you. What do you want?”
It was the perfect opportunity to keep avoiding Thatch and for a second, you genuinely considered asking him. You hadn’t told Whitebeard how fast you’d get the problem solved for him…
But then again, you shouldn’t be avoiding him. It wasn’t really fair.
“It’s alright,” you said. “I wouldn’t want to send you back to the scene of the crime.”
“Oh, it’s fine. I’m sure everybody’s forgotten by now.”
You stood and shook your head. “They definitely haven’t.”
“I’ve got supporters now!” he called after you. “At least three votes for me!”
“Seas, Ace,” you said with a laugh.
You forced yourself to walk fast so your nerves couldn’t catch you before you got to the galley. It was warm in there, welcoming and always smelling faintly like a bakery. Thatch looked up the second you entered, not even a second passing before he smiled at you as though nothing had been wrong at all.
“Well,” he said, glancing briefly toward the clock on the wall. “Look who finally remembered where the kitchen is.”
You smiled despite yourself, stepping through the doorway toward him. “It’s been a busy day.”
“So I’ve heard. You’ve been starting fights with our doctor again and flirting with Ace. Sounds very important.”
“Fighting with Marco is the most important part of my day. It’s like the first cup of coffee in the morning.”
Thatch laughed good-naturedly. It wasn’t the busiest time for the kitchen though a few members of the fourth division moved around the kitchen. They greeted you when they saw you looking, your attention drawn by the smell of garlic and butter.
You stepped closer to Thatch, not fully into his space but enough that you were out of the middle of their path.
“Hungry?”
There was nothing you could steal from him unfortunately. The fish he was filleting was still very much raw. “A little,” you admitted. “I was going to scavenge.”
You always enjoyed watching him work like this with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his forearms flexing. It was a little indulgence you always allowed yourself. And if he’d ever noticed, he never mentioned it.
“You alright there?” he asked suddenly.
You looked up and blinked. “Hm?”
“You’ve been staring at my hands for a concerning amount of time. I’d prefer you not to eat raw fish.”
You huffed and looked away while your cheeks warmed, focusing on his face instead. “I was remembering that your captain talked my ear off today about dinner.”
“Really? Pops looking forward to it?”
You considered telling the truth but Thatch was in a good mood and you weren’t about to ruin that. “He always does.”
Thatch smiled proudly and put his knife down. He moved the fish carcass aside, washed his hands, and gestured for you to follow him. “Come on. If you’re looking for something to eat, I have an idea.”
You followed without question, moving deeper into the galley toward the large row of ovens.
The cooling counters were mostly empty aside from a single tray filled with unidentifiable golden balls. He picked one up and held it up to you, moving it away when you reached for it with your hand.
“Careful,” he said. “It could be hot and I don’t want you to burn your fingers.”
But he held it to your mouth as though willing you to take a bite.
“It won’t burn my lips though?”
“Nope. It’s magic.”
He placed it against your tongue and for a brief second his fingers brushed the corner of your mouth. The contact was light enough to pretend it hadn't happened at all, but your pulse reacted immediately, stumbling somewhere beneath your ribs. By the time you swallowed, you could hardly remember what the food tasted like.
“Well?” he asked.
You were suddenly very aware that you were in his space. “That depends. Are you trying to feed me or seduce me?”
“Bit of both.”
Somewhere behind you, somebody in the division wolf-whistled before another voice informed them to shut up. That made you laugh despite the way your pulse had begun to flutter unevenly beneath your skin.
“It’s very good,” you admitted.
Thatch smiled. “Good. You know, I heard something very interesting last night.”
“Oh no…”
He shifted the tray further away so he could lean against the counter. “Apparently, you’ve been giving out kisses.”
You closed your eyes briefly. “Izou…”
“Now to be fair, he didn’t volunteer the information.” The corners of Thatch’s mouth twitched up. “I did go asking for details after what happened yesterday.”
“You two gossip worse than old ladies on the dock.”
He chuckled. “I care deeply about the morale of the crew and to be honest, I wanted to see if congratulations were in order. Imagine how surprised I was when Izou told me that Ace was involved in all of this.”
“I know. I know.”
You had no idea what you could even say. You’d been considering doing it again only a few moments ago, after all.
But Thatch didn’t seem at all bothered by Ace’s involvement because he continued, nearly stopping your heart when he said, “I suppose I’m just wondering if there’s any chance of something like that happening between us too.”
You froze, momentarily shocked at the blunt acknowledgement… at the question you’d never allowed yourself to wonder.
“Of course.” It wasn’t a question you had to even think about. You both knew the answer. “It’s just… I don’t have a schedule or anything. Izou kissed me without warning really and Ace just kind of happened.”
“How does one just happen into a kiss?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, that doesn’t help me very much,” Thatch chuckled. “I’m trying to figure out how to get the opportunity here.”
Your eyes flicked to his lips instinctively. “You don’t need to do anything,” you said. “You just never asked.”
He stared at you for half a second before he shook his head. “Sugar, I wasn’t about to just demand you kiss me. Didn't seem right asking when I wasn't sure where your head was at.”
“Well, I want you to ask.”
You saw the surprise settle in in real time. Watched the brief widening of his eyes and the crack in his composure and for once, he didn’t look like he’d been ready for that answer. You almost would have thought he went over this conversation in his head.
But he didn’t prepare for that.
“You do?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He breathed out slowly, looking away for just a second before his smile returned and he stepped closer. “Alright. Can I kiss you?”
“You’ve always been able to.”
That was all the permission he needed before he leaned in. Thatch kissed you gently at first, one hand settling against your waist while the other tilted your chin upward. His touch was careful in a way that made your chest ache. As though he was still giving you room to change your mind even after everything you'd just said.
You felt his smile before you properly registered it, warm against your lips and entirely impossible to resist.
You couldn’t help but laugh softly, moving away to give him a look. “You’re smiling too much.”
“Can you blame me?”
“Not really.”
Then he kissed you properly. The hand around your waist slid slowly around you, drawing you close with natural ease. Familiar laughter lingered faintly against his mouth even as the kiss deepened. You barely noticed yourself moving forward until there was no space between your bodies anymore, your fingers curling instinctively into the front of his coat.
By the time you broke away, your breathing was uneven and Thatch looked ridiculously pleased with himself.
“This is going to be a problem,” he said. “I’m going to get addicted to you.”
And then, because apparently he had no intention of behaving anymore, he kissed you again. You made a soft, offended noise against his mouth that lost all meaning the moment your arms slid around his neck willingly.
Warm hands settled against your waist before he turned and lifted you easily onto the edge of the counter behind you.
“Thought I wasn’t allowed to sit on counters that weren’t my spot.”
“There are exceptions.”
He rejoined your lips before you could point out any other flaws in his logic.
The galley had started filling slowly around you as more fourth division members filtered in to begin dinner preparations and you only bothered taking note after the fourth cough of surprise and the second dropped pot.
“Get back to work,” Thatch called without even looking away from you.
The entire ship would know about this within the hour but you really couldn’t find it in your heart to care too much.
You dropped your forehead to his shoulder, focusing on your breathing while you heard the scurrying of his division getting back to work. “I was told I needed to make sure tonight’s meal was good,” you said. “So I shouldn’t distract the head chef this much.”
“They’ll be fine. They know what they’re doing.”
Warmth still curled lazily through you from his attentions but it seemed you had made your point because he stepped away with a sigh.
“I’d love to keep you with me for the whole night doll but I did just remember I promised Izou I would send you his way if I saw you.”
“You just remembered?” you asked teasingly.
“I was very distracted.”
You very much didn’t want to leave but you knew you should all the same. Thatch helped you down from the counter, pressed one kiss to your head and immediately switched into his commander voice to organise dinner. It seemed that his division hadn’t really managed to keep their focus with everything happening.
You laughed and waved as you slipped from the galley, still mildly floating as you made your way through the ship, pointedly avoiding Marco when you spotted him.
Izou was never a hard man to find. Especially not to you.
The sixteenth division had dispersed from their duties for the day and you found him, in almost a crude imitation of the first day, sitting in his quarters, a book in his hand and an ochoko beside him.
You walked in without knocking, closed the door behind you and leaned your back against it, unable to stop from smiling at him.
He looked you over and shook his head. “You’re lucky my possessiveness is very tempered right now otherwise I’m not certain I’d welcome you into my room anymore.”
“You knew Thatch was going to do that.”
“Of course. He asked me at least three times today if I was sure it was a good idea.” He tapped the seat next to him and reached for another ochoko. “Come. You’re clearly feeling quite proud of yourself.”
“Proud?” you said, dropping into the seat. “I don’t know about that. This is all getting very entangled.”
“And yet.”
“And yet,” you repeated, taking the ochoko from him with a grateful nod. “It feels a little wrong to come to you with this when you’re also part of it.”
Izou smiled. “Oh, don’t worry about me. I see this as a rather important consideration about it all. After all, you certainly aren’t turning to anybody else when you need to talk, are you?”
“No,” you said, humoured.
“Then that says a great deal. Have your drink and then we can discuss how Marco plans to flay you tomorrow when he hears the news.”
Is it ok to request Izou x Reader content, maybe first meeting and falling in love or any relationship headcanons? I think his so underrated . Thank you so much and have a good day
One Piece | Izou | 3.4k | Masterlist
“You should watch your step rather than me. It’s quite slippery.”
You breathed out gently, watching the air mist in front of your face. “I’m trying,” you defended yourself. “But you suit this kind of place so well.”
Izou glanced toward you with a faint smile. Small, delicate snowflakes had settled over his hair, resting like glitter amongst the dark strands. “Why? Because it’s cold?”
“No,” you laughed. You reached for him and he leaned closer, allowing you to brush a stray flake from his cheek. “Because it’s elegant, beautiful, and just the slightest bit dangerous.”
He pressed a small kiss to the corner of your mouth, one that would certainly leave a small red smudge. “I’m glad you think so.”
You still thought so even now… although maybe it wasn’t the best thing to mention anymore. Would the lipstick smudge still be on your lips now that it was mostly gone from his own? Red had always been a good colour on him. It suited the snow too, all bright against the white.
You only wished it wasn’t your own blood.
You could enjoy it more then.
Your step stumbled and you held his arm tighter. His gaze flicked to you immediately and you tried to smile and reassure as best as you could. There was nothing to worry about. You would be fine.
You barely felt it.
“It’s not much further,” Izou said and though you knew he meant to reassure, you didn’t like how forced the words sounded.
Looking over your shoulder, the path down the mountain was clearly marked in red. “I didn’t know I had that much blood to spare,” you commented. “It looks like a painting.”
Izou didn’t look. “Most paintings aren’t quite so deadly.”
“I know but I’m just imagining it like that,” you said. “Makes it feel less dangerous.”
“Try not to waste your energy on thoughts about it.” He tightened the pressure he had against your side and that made it hurt – a burning ache pushing through the frigid temperature of your skin. “Focus on your steps. We’ll be close enough soon.”
Walking was getting hard. The snow was thick and you had to drag your legs through it like heavy logs. Even with Izou’s coat tight around your shoulders, you were only getting colder the more you moved. You tried to lean closer to him but each time he nudged you back onto your feet, refusing to let you shift your weight into his chest.
“It might be worth carrying you,” he said. “Though I think it may worsen it, if you feel you cannot walk anymore, I’ll do so.”
Somewhere in the back of your mind, you connected that he wasn’t stopping you from leaning against him; he was righting you when you began to tip unsteadily. Honestly, walking wasn’t going very well with that in mind.
But Izou would be much slower if he had to carry you and you didn’t want that.
“I can sit,” you said. “Then you can go and call somebody. I’ll stay put.”
“There’s nowhere here that’s not covered in snow.”
“That’s fine,” you said.
It was cold, true, but you had his coat and the snow wasn’t anywhere near as cold as the surrounding air. It was almost warm even. You wouldn’t mind sitting in it for a bit... perhaps lying down and just –
“Try to stay awake for me.”
“Sorry?”
“Don’t drift off.”
Had you been drifting? You’d only been thinking of resting. The walk up the mountain had been tiring to begin with and then the fight and your injury…
Izou pulled his coat tighter around your shoulders as though that would get more heat into you. His forearm brushed over yours, near burning in temperature. You flinched away on instinct alone though the movement caused a slight ache in your side.
“You’re really hot,” you mumbled. “Like, in a different way to usual. Do you have a fever or something?”
He didn’t meet your eyes no matter how hard you stared at him. “No,” he said. “I don’t.”
You passed beneath a tree, its boughs heavy with untouched snow and you remembered it from earlier in the morning. That was good. It meant the village wasn’t too far and from there, the Moby Dick was out in the water. Marco would be able to deal with this injury quickly.
It hadn’t been that bad when you first saw it. Though it had been difficult to see properly through the churning bubbles and the dark, murky water. You hadn’t even known you were hurt until you saw the blood stream past your face as you swam for the surface. Izou had his coat over your shoulders the second you were out the water, a final shot finishing your opponent.
You tried to move the coat aside and Izou caught your hand before you could.
“Leave it for now,” he said. He tugged off his glove with his teeth and slipped it over your hand. “Try to stay warm.”
He didn’t offer you the other one; drenched in blood and pressed against your injury.
“Once we get to the port, I’ll fire some shots rather than sailing back,” he said. “Marco moves faster than any vessel would.”
You took extra steps to think about his words before you nodded. “Marco doesn’t like you shooting at nothing though. He says it draws unneeded attention.”
“He will understand the situation is a little different to when I usually fire at idiots.”
“Okay. Just don’t get in trouble for me.”
He didn’t respond. He was probably just focusing because the village didn’t seem to be getting much closer.
You were feeling sleepier than ever but the good part about the Moby Dick was that it was always warm. And Marco was always warm too. Which made sense because sometimes he was made of fire. Especially when he was healing you.
“Wake up.”
You startled and looked to Izou, raising your head from where it had drooped toward the ground. You hadn’t been sleeping though. Just thinking.
“I’m not that tired,” you lied to him in hopes it would make him feel better. “And I know I shouldn’t sleep yet.”
“Good. You can rest once we’ve arrived.”
“You should sleep too,” you mumbled. “You also had to walk very far.” You couldn’t remember where he had been during the fight. Most of it felt very blurry in your memories at the moment. “Were you hurt?”
“No.”
“Oh, that’s great.”
The snow turned to cobble beneath your boots and walking got marginally easier after that. You felt almost better. The ground was steady under your shoes. People passing by blurred slightly so you watched your steps instead. One step in front of the other, keeping time with Izou but you quickly got distracted by the red on your left boot.
“Cover your ears.”
“Hm?”
Izou had drawn his pistol and for a second, you looked for a potential threat before you remembered his plan. You lifted your hand to cover your one ear, tucking the other against his shoulder and closing your eyes.
Even with your ears covered, the three he discharged into the ground were blaring loud. You flinched away from each one.
Then he let go of you for a split second before his grip redoubled, his pistol clattering to the ground as he caught your shoulder and dragged you into his chest. No. That hadn’t been what happened. He caught you.
Your legs had given out. You couldn’t even move them, trying to force them back into working like they should be.
You weren’t home yet. You had to stay fine.
“Can you stand?”
Yes. You could. You obviously knew how to but when you tried to push away from Izou, you found your legs just weren’t cooperating. You shifted your head a little, tilting it back so you could see him again.
His perfect face, hair still decorated by the snowflakes from the storm. You counted them rather than answer, appreciating how the light caught each one.
“Soon,” Izou said, his eyes locked over your head. “He’s flying.”
Oh, that was good. Somebody was on the way and you could get rid of the concern that furrowed his brow. You really didn’t like it when he frowned that way because it meant he was upset with something and you much preferred him happy.
You blinked and he shook your shoulder hard. You startled in confusion at the sudden roughness and snapped your eyes open.
There were blue flames around you now. Those hadn’t been there before you blinked.
“What happened?”
You recognised the voice asking but you didn’t have time to answer.
“I’ll explain later. Take her and go.” Izou pushed you back into somebody else. “Now.”
You’d never heard him sound that angry before. Though maybe angry wasn’t the right word for it. It was an emotion you’d never heard him use before, a rough and desperate one you didn’t recognise but that you wanted to reassure him away from.
But then warmth was wrapping around you, flickering flames that lingered on your stomach and you were being carried away from Izou which meant Marco had arrived.
And that meant you could finally sleep.
So, you did.
When you woke up, you were warm.
The last thing you remembered clearly was snow pressing against your boots and wind biting at every bit of skin left exposed. Now there were blankets over your legs, heavy enough that moving beneath them took effort.
Your throat was dry. Your limbs lagged behind your brain though and instead of grabbing the cup at your bedside, you backhanded it and sent it spinning across the wooden floor of the infirmary.
You watched it for a second, water seeping over the ground and sighed, sitting up to grab it when a bolt of pain erupted through your stomach.
Thick white bandages wrapped tight around your torso where you grabbed for it, palms pressing against the burning pain and breaths coming sharply. For a blissful second, you couldn’t remember what had happened before your brain gracefully flooded you with almost too many memories of the source.
Shit.
The ice had cracked under your feet. You hadn’t even known it was a lake. And that distracted you enough for a blade to slice into your side right as you plunged through.
Everything after that was a blur. You’d swum for the surface but then… then there was just red spilling over the snow and stone.
The door swung open and you looked toward Marco apologetically, still biting your tongue from the ache.
“Sorry,” you said and winced at how rough your voice was. “I missed the cup.”
He picked it up without concern and stepped over the water he’d normally have lectured you for causing. Then again, you supposed this was hardly a usual situation. You were very rarely a patient of his.
“It’s alright, yoi,” he said. “I’m glad you’re awake. Are you feeling cold at all?”
You had to pause and think about it but you didn’t feel cold. Your joints were stiff and there was a slight chill in your legs but it didn’t feel bad.
“Not really.”
“Alright. Move your fingers one at a time.”
You did so and it took a surprising amount of effort. Each one ached as though you had been sitting still for far too long but they still moved. Marco observed clinically before he nodded and called some of his phoenix fire to his palms, pressing it over the top of your knuckles to soothe the ache in your joints.
“You won’t lose anything to frostbite at least,” he said. “That’s very good. I was concerned that the blood loss might have accelerated the danger.”
“Did I lose a lot?” you asked.
“Far more than I would consider healthy, to say the least.” For a second, he looked at you in the same way he did whenever a member of the crew had done something spectacularly stupid. “You gave everybody a hell of a scare, yoi. Can you tell me the name of the island you were on?”
You said it instinctively, more focused on trying to remember the events that occurred between the lake and the infirmary. It was like squinting through water to try and remember anything more than the shock of cold.
Marco picked up the cup. “At least you’re fully conscious this time. I’ll bring you some water and then I’ll fetch Izou for you.”
At the mention of his name, your attention snapped back to Marco, memory racing away from thoughts of injuries and blood to settle on something nicer. How beautiful he had looked with the snowflakes in his hair and the slightest smile on his lips.
“Is he okay?”
“He’s not injured. It is late but… well, I doubt he’s asleep.”
You glanced toward the infirmary’s windows but found them drawn shut and the clock on the mantle was shadowed enough that you couldn’t read it properly. Marco didn’t give you a chance to ask many questions though before he disappeared, returning only for a brief second with water that you gratefully took.
Then he was gone again and the anticipation almost made you forget your thirst. You sipped from the cup and waited, almost buzzing.
Izou stepped through the door with his usual composed elegance – so perfect that you might forget anything was even wrong. His hair had been perfectly pinned back, his outfit as spotless as ever.
You smiled on instinct but he didn’t return the expression, face unmoving as he looked over your half-seated position on the bed.
“Marco says you’re awake properly now,” he said.
“I am,” you said. “And no frostbite.”
Izou nodded, the slightest inclination of his head. He didn’t cross the space between you and you wished you could do it for him but that likely wouldn’t end well. You took another sip from your water and twisted slightly to put it down.
The silence felt loaded. He looked over his shoulder. “I imagined Marco might want to test to make certain you’re alright but it seems he’s vanished.”
You waved your hand. “He’s checked on the important things, I think. No missing limbs and I remember all the important stuff. Though it does get a little muddy after I fell into the lake.”
“That’s unsurprising.”
“But I do know I should thank you. For bringing me back safely.”
The corner of Izou’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “Even though you forced me to climb that mountain to begin with, I was hardly going to leave you to die atop it.”
“I thought you might like it,” you defended.
“And I did until you decided to make the trip more eventful. Next time, I’d prefer you add excitement in a way that features far less blood.”
You laughed softly and even the small movement sent little jabs of pain through your stomach. It was going to be hell to recover from this, to say the least.
“I am sorry for waking you up,” you apologised. “Marco said it was late but he didn’t give me a choice on calling you.”
Though honestly, you didn’t think Izou had been woken. He didn’t exactly sleep in a full-face of makeup to begin with. Nor would he have had time to fully correct himself before coming down here.
“It’s actually early,” he corrected. “I imagine the sun will be rising quite soon. Thatch is already preparing breakfast.”
That did worry you a little. It had been early in the morning when you asked Izou to join you in walking around the village which meant almost a full day was missing from your mind…
“Don’t frown so hard,” he said. “You’ll give yourself a headache on top of the damage already done to your body.”
You smiled at the comment. “It’s not that bad. I’m still breathing.”
“You nearly weren’t.”
The words came out sharper than any blade and hit with the subtlety of a knife to the stomach. You startled at the edge but he didn’t take them back. Not even a flicker of remorse crossed his expression at the snap.
You hesitated, thinking, before you responded. “It was close,” you admitted.
For a second, he didn’t respond. Then he breathed out slowly and walked to your bed, his movements as flawless as ever. He stopped beside you, his façade unreadably perfect except for one tiny detail.
The edges of his lipstick were shaky. Nothing you would notice if you weren’t this close.
But Izou never messed up his makeup.
He took your hand and you tightened your grip tight enough to hurt. If it hadn’t been for the thin bandages, you would have squeezed even tighter.
You could have died.
He wiped away the two tears that managed to escape down your cheeks, fingers cool against your skin. You leaned into the touch and he lingered there, lightly touching your face as though to soothe the realisation from you.
“I don’t remember much of the walk,” you admitted after a second. “Snippets here and there. But one memory that keeps coming back is just how pretty you look with snowflakes in your hair.”
“What a foolish thing to focus on.”
But there was no heat or bite to the comment. You couldn’t help but smile and this time, he returned the expression; amused by what you thought was important while on the edge of death.
“You’re not very cooperative when you’re bleeding out,” he said.
“Unintentionally.”
He shook his head in disbelief. “Freezing, covered in your own blood and barely conscious but instead of worrying over that, you’re more concerned with the snow and if I was hurt.”
Your cheeks warmed. “I’m glad you weren’t though I can see you haven’t slept?”
“Is that truly so obvious?”
“To me? Yes.”
He chuckled. “It’s funny. Most have taken the assumption that I’m entirely unaffected by everything. True, I’ve perhaps allowed them to believe that in my answers to their questions but truthfully, I’ve had too many hours to reflect on things.”
“What were you reflecting on?”
He brushed his thumb over you bandaged knuckles. “Too much. Most pointedly that I would give just about anything to keep you with me.”
You couldn’t help but feel guilty though it was not your fault at all. Izou didn’t panic or worry when things didn’t go according to plan; he was one of the most reliable people on the ship when it came to keeping his head. But your eyes caught on the slight shake in the way he’d applied his lipstick. The faintest fear.
“I’m sorry,” you said, genuinely. “I never wanted to ask you to do something like that.”
“I don’t wish to ever do it again.”
It was a plea, unspoken but heavily implied. You pulled his hand closer to you, pressing a kiss to his knuckles and wishing you could hug him. But for now, this would have to do. It succeeded in making him smile either way.
“I’m also sorry about your clothes,” you said. “I’ll try to get the blood out – ”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“But it was such a pretty fabric on you though. I loved the pattern.”
“I’ll find something new,” he reassured. “I can’t say I’m awfully fond of that kimono anymore.”
You sighed, enjoying how much he’d relaxed. You were drawing the tension away from his shoulders, one comment at a time. “Well, you could wear anything and still put everybody to shame so I suppose new isn’t bad.”
He shook his head. “Recovering from being on death’s door and still you don’t cease with your compliments. At this rate, the others will assume I pay you.”
“I just enjoy feeding your vanity,” you teased.
“Vanity?” he repeated with a soft laugh. “Maybe.” He leaned down to press a small kiss to the top of your head. “I expect you to heal quickly. I can’t say I’m too fond of having to give you to Marco for excessive periods of the day.”
You couldn’t help but chuckle at the slight possessiveness. “If he bothers you that much, I’m sure I could ask for help from somebody else in his division.”
“That would do very little in fixing the problem that I am not the one able to help you.”
“You already saved my life. What more do you want to do?”
“Ensure you stop giving me reasons to worry.”
You leaned closer to him and silence settled comfortably between you, warm and soft. Izou remained beside your bed, his hand still tight in yours as a faint light crept through the infirmary windows. Barely there at first but gradually growing brighter as you watched.
You leaned back against the pillows, the heaviness slowly returning to your body.
“I think,” you said softly. “I’d like to see the snow with you again someday. It does suit you greatly.”
He looked down at you and smiled. “I can’t say I’ve ever been too fond of snow,” he said. “But as long as you promise not to get stabbed again, I’ll consider indulging you.”
(One Piece) Loki x OC,
18+ Based on this: prompt
Length 2K+
Next
Sugar, spice, and everything nice: what are the ingredients to a perfect dynasty?
Was there a more delicious archipelago in all the wide world than Totto Land? Surely not. And there was no family greater in number, nor more various in its making, than the Charlotte Family—eighty-six children born to a single matriarch, Charlotte Linlin, most of them stamped indelibly with the traits of their many fathers. Longlegs and longarms, three-eyed and tall-as-towers, soft of voice or sharp of tooth; she had collected her children the way a confectioner collects ingredients, and from that pantry she meant to bake something the world had never tasted.
For these children were no idle indulgence. She who called herself Big Mom had big plans indeed. To raise an entire dynasty and spread it across the seas was a tall order, and yet one she was wholly confident of finishing well before the end of her childbearing years. From her throne on Whole Cake Island, she had grown her holdings from a single isle into an empire, one territory folded into the next like layers of a cake too grand to ever be finished in a single sitting.
And while Linlin was not displeased with the children she already had, she had always known, with the certainty of an artist, that her favorite was yet to come. For though her children arrived in a great many flavors, none born in those first years could ever be that flavor. The one whose perfection went undisputed, the staple at the heart of every sweet thing she had ever made.
For the perfect flavor, to her, was Vanilla.
Now, some might be surprised that a woman of so voracious an appetite, a woman who could swallow castles and call it a snack, should set her heart on something so plain. Vanilla, after all, is the flavor one chooses when one cannot think of another. It is the beige of the dessert world, the default, the dull cousin of chocolate and the wallflower beside strawberry. To call vanilla favorite seemed less a preference than an absence of one.
But Linlin would have laughed at such a notion, and the laugh would have shaken the windows out of their frames.
Because vanilla is no plain thing at all. The fool sees only its modesty and overlooks its complexity. The orchid that bears it blooms for a single day and must be coaxed by hand to fruit; the pod is cured for months, sweated and dried and turned again, until what began as a tasteless green sliver becomes the costliest spice the kitchens of the world will ever weigh out in grams. To love vanilla truly is to love patience itself: to love the slow to grow, and the rare and the painstaking.
And there was more to it than rarity. Vanilla is not a flavor that demands the stage; it is the flavor that makes the stage. It is the warmth beneath the chocolate, the depth under the cream, the quiet voice that lets every other taste sing louder than it could alone. Take it away, and the whole dessert collapses into something flat and stupid. It is not the decoration, but the foundation.
That was what Linlin wanted. Not a louder child, nor a stranger one, nor a child more monstrous than the last—she had those in abundance, a whole cabinet of curiosities and giants and oddities. What she wanted was the keystone. The pure thing. The child upon whom every other flavor of her sprawling family might rest, the one whose perfection would need no embellishment to be understood.
And so Big Mom waited, and planned, and watched the cradles of Whole Cake Island fill year upon year—confident, always confident, that one day the right pod would at last be pressed into her hands. That somewhere, sometime soon, her perfect flavor would be born.
From far and wide, she searched for the perfect suitor to sire her perfect Vanilla. From the north to the east to the south and west, she cast her gaze, and found there were few worthy men in all the world, and fewer still who might make a perfect father.
For the perfect Vanilla must be bred of the rarest of beings. And to Linlin, only one creature still eluded her grasp, the single ingredient her vast pantry had never managed to hold: a giant. Preferably one of ancient lineage, with blood that ran deep with the old strength of the warrior-kind, so that his strength might pass whole and undiluted into the child she dreamed of.
But here the world conspired against her. Elbaf would not tolerate her, not since that unfortunate business in her childhood, a wound the giants had neither forgotten nor forgiven. And the proud lineages allied to that land would sooner march to war than be charmed into her bed. Her honeyed words, all her methods of persuasion, which had melted kings and toppled the resolve of weaker men than these, found no purchase against a people who remembered. The giants of the Grand Line were closed to her, every door barred, every name struck from her list before the ink was dry.
And so Big Mom did what she had never once deigned to do for any other ingredient. She left. Far from her empire, far beyond the familiar waters where her name alone could buy obedience, she set her course out past the edges of the Grand Line itself, into seas where the giants had not yet learned to fear her, in search of one man worthy enough, ancient enough, and ignorant enough to give her the flavor she craved.
And she found one indeed. And while he was not so friendly, nor particularly ancient, he was foolish enough to be drugged and made drunken, and so, at long last, Linlin fell pregnant.
Back to Whole Cake, she returned triumphant. Casting aside the cares of her youngest children, she made the most unusual choice of settling in for the pregnancy proper, letting her eldest children take on more of the work of the empire while she rested. It was a tenderness she had never once shown those who came before (and never again after); she who had borne children the way other women drew breath, scarcely pausing in her conquests to do so. But this was different. This was Vanilla. And though she had rarely lost a pregnancy in all her long and fruitful years, she knew with grim certainty that she would not again have the chance at a giant’s child.
And so, Vanilla Charlotte was born, the twenty-first daughter of Big Mom, and one of the very few children large enough to make her mother feel the bringing of her into the world. For Linlin, who had birthed giants of reputation and monsters of appetite, had seldom birthed a giant in truth, and the babe came into the world with all the heft her ancient hopes had promised. It was pain, real pain, the kind she had not tasted since girlhood, and rather than curse it she welcomed it. To her, it was proof. A flavor this rare could not come cheaply, and the agony was simply the price written plain upon her own flesh.
As Streusen lay the child in her arms, still red and squalling and larger already than infants twice her age, and Big Mom looked down upon her perfect Vanilla and, for the first time in a very long while, felt something close to satisfaction. It settled over her as warm icing poured slowly on carrot cake. Here at last was the keystone. Here was the pure thing. Here was the child upon whom the whole towering confection of her dynasty might one day rest.
She did not yet know what manner of person that child would grow to be. She did not, in that moment, much care. She had her favorite flavor. The rest, she was certain, would follow as sweetly as everything else always had. After all, this daughter was made of sugar, spice, and everything nice: an heir apparent and a triumph.
And no one had the courtesy to warn the child.
And so Vanilla Charlotte, princess of Totto Land, began her much-anticipated life. And while things at first seemed promising, soon the child would come to realize that being Vanilla wasn’t quite everything it was whipped up to be.
The problem with being born a long-awaited, brilliant baby is that everyone, sooner or later, feels entitled to one day witness your greatness.
From the very first day, Vanilla’s mother, numerous siblings, and underlings had expectations.
At first, those expectations were almost reasonable, the ordinary tariffs levied on any infant: Turn over. Make a noise. Look at me. And always, always, Eat More.
These she could meet. These any child might meet these conditions, given time and milk enough.
But infancy is brief, and the appetites of a large family are not. Age one became age two became age five, and somewhere along the way, the requests shed their swaddling.
For Vanilla was half-giant, and up she shot. While her clothes remained as sweet as ever, all sugar-spun and frosted lace, Vanilla herself grew very, very large, in both senses of the word. At age five, she stood twice as tall as a grown man and four times as strong. Taller and taller, larger and larger, and with every inch she gained, the demands seemed to multiply to match. For it was hard to refuse an errand when you could not hide long enough to fetch a moment’s peace. Especially when her temperament was as soft as taffy.
To be capable in the Charlotte Family was not a gift but a sentence.
By five, she was no longer the youngest; even her siblings found the time to pester her, and the cleverer and stronger she proved, the more they found to ask.
Beat this idiot for me, he keeps winning at cards, and I know he’s cheating. Settle this argument before Cracker and Daifuku break another wall. Which is bigger, this cake or that one? No, look properly. Remember where I hid it so Mama doesn’t find out. Tell me a number, any number, but make it a smart-sounding one. Hold this. Watch this. Don’t tell anyone about this.
And of course, eternal as the tide and twice as relentless: Eat more sweets, Vanilla, Mama wants to see you grow.
There were endless mountains of food for Vanilla, as it was assumed the more she ate, the more she would grow.
And grow, grow, grow she did. As she grew to ever greater heights, the family came to know something the outside world had not yet the faintest inkling of.
The Marines drew up no bounty for her. The newspapers printed no warnings. The other Emperors did not so much as whisper her name. But on Whole Cake Island, where it mattered, it grew quietly and unmistakably clear: the true heir of the Charlotte dynasty had arrived.
At only eight, Vanilla was crowned heir apparent, though Linlin found it expedient that her favorite remain out of sight until she had grown powerful enough to be worth revealing. Linlin knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that her clever daughter would one day be an Emperor of the Sea, if not the Pirate King herself.
The future was limitless as the sea itself. And things might well have remained upon that golden path, save for the damned day where everything would inevitably fall to shit.
But Big Mom had no way of knowing yet how very wrong and misplaced her optimism was. How her endless hunger would devour the very future she had dreamed of. Nor how much it would cost her to find out.
For if one does not take care to follow the recipe precisely, the perfect creation may yet curdle in the pan. And the finest ingredients in all the world will not save a dish from the cook who cannot properly handle them.
Vanilla may be the perfect flavor, but it is one that will turn the moment it is mishandled. Leave it too long over too high a heat, ask of it more than it was ever meant to give, and the very sweetness that made it precious sours into something bitter and strange. The most delicate things break in the cruelest ways. And no one, not even a mother, can take and take and take from such a flavor without one day discovering that there is nothing sweet left to give.
Once, when you thought you had a good understanding of how he worked, you were certain Shanks was best enjoyed in pieces.
Drinks shared and nights spent with his hand at your hip and his mouth against your neck before dawn. But always in fleeting moments. Never for more than that. It was easier that way. If you stayed longer than a night, it became more difficult.
And Shanks had never been the type for anything more than easy.
You had assumed, at least.
The first time he made the offer was in a room already hot with the lingering aftermath of the evening. Rough sheets twisted around your legs, sticking to sweat-slick skin while the open window did little to chase away the summer air. Bruises were already beginning to bloom along your throat from the lazy path of his mouth before he slipped between your legs and pressed a kiss to the inside of your knee, softer than anything he'd given you before.
“Come with me tomorrow,” he said, offering another further up your thigh. “Sail with us.”
You lifted your head, curious at the gentleness of his words and his touch. “Join you?” you asked. “Do you not have a full crew already?”
“We do,” he said, his smile lazy as ever. “But I’ll make space for you.”
You laughed quietly to yourself, brushing some of his hair away from his face so you could appreciate him better. Too handsome for his own good. He knew he could get away with anything if he looked at you like that.
“I see a problem with your offer,” you said and he kissed further along your thigh.
“What is it?”
“It’ll make you lose interest too quickly.”
Shanks paused, leaning his cheek against your skin. “Lose interest?”
You moved your leg from his shoulder and leaned down to drag him higher up your body, fingers tangled in his hair and lips locked in a messy kiss. He still tasted of the drinks he’d downed earlier and that explained enough about his impulsive offer.
“It won’t be fun if I’m already on board your ship,” you teased.
“Nonsense. If I had you on my ship, I'd never get anything done. Becks would have to start captaining properly.”
“Don’t you do that when I’m around anyway?” you asked.
He hummed and kissed you again as though to distract you. “Maybe.”
You chuckled softly, unwilling to admit to him how much his offer tempted you. He was far too addictive to turn down. Especially when his tongue was in your mouth and his hand was dragging your leg back up his hip. If you didn’t focus, you could almost believe he wanted you to stay with him. But pretty words alone couldn’t sway you.
You still left the next morning and he didn’t stop you, just pressed a kiss to your shoulder as you slipped from the bed.
“We’ll see each other soon,” he said and he sounded far too confident.
You smiled. “I suppose it depends on if the sea favours us.”
“The sea’s a big friend of mine,” he reassured you. “I’m sure she’ll bring you back to me.”
He wasn’t wrong. No matter how far you sailed, the ocean didn’t give you long before it reunited you with the Red Hair Pirates. You stopped shying away from them after the third encounter, growing bolder with each offer Shanks tossed your way.
Now when you saw the Red Force docked in harbour, her flag snapping high above the masts, you'd wander the island until you found the right tavern. It was never difficult. Somewhere there would be a building with music spilling from the windows, laughter loud enough to shake the walls and patrons pretending not to stare at the cluster of infamous pirates occupying half the room. The Red Hair Pirates had a talent for making themselves at home wherever they landed.
They were a friendly crew. A mostly peaceful one, even. But they were the crew of an emperor and people respected that deeply.
You walked in most times, walked out with your hands in Shanks’ hair every time, and it was never a problem.
Not until the one evening when you waltzed in and half of his crew nudged their captain as though he hadn’t already raised his head to look at you. You smiled at him and made your way to the bar, not bothering him and the woman currently pressed to his arm.
But he never wasted time in approaching you, even if he was busy. He slipped up behind you as you ordered your drink and nodded to the bartender.
"Whatever she's having is on me."
You hummed. “You’re going to run your ship dry if you pay for the drinks of every girl that smiles at you.”
His arm slipped naturally around your waist, resting on your hip as though it belonged there. “Not every girl with a great smile,” he corrected. “Just the ones who need a bit more convincing to dance with me.”
The music in this tavern wasn’t quite suited for dancing. It was softer and almost impossible to hear over the shouts of his crew.
“I might need more convincing than a drink,” you commented.
“Name your price.”
Shanks was far too good at making your heart flutter, no matter how often you were exposed to his seemingly endless charm. He already knew he’d get what he wanted that night and you knew it too but sometimes, making him work for it was part of the fun.
“You’ve been trying to guess at my price for a while now,” you said. “You haven’t gotten any closer.”
“I’ll figure it out with enough time.”
You turned to face him fully, draping your arms loosely over his shoulders. “I’m lucky I managed to find you without any other pretty women around, hm? Ones with more reasonable demands?”
He chuckled and leaned in to press his lips against the side of your throat. “There are plenty. Funny thing is, I keep ending up back here.”
You tilted your head to the side. “As easy to lead back to your bed?”
The expression he gave you was off – a smile that didn’t quite get to his eyes. “Such little faith in me. You’re lucky I don’t get hurt easily.”
“It’s not a lack of faith,” you corrected. “But I know you enjoy the chase more than the reward.”
“I enjoy both as long as you’re there.”
You smiled. “I think you’d miss it too much.”
“Miss what? Waking up alone? Sounds awful.” He pulled you closer. “Can’t say I’d mind having you there instead.”
“The pining,” you corrected. “The wondering when you’ll see me again. Trying to convince me every time. If I was already there, it wouldn’t be nearly as fun.”
Something unreadable flickered over his face. “You think I’m trying to convince you for fun?”
“You wouldn’t do it if it was unpleasant.”
“Or if it wasn’t worth it.”
You couldn’t help being flattered by him, always so smooth. You loved the way he spoke sometimes – the way he made you feel as though you were the only important person in the world.
“I’m surprised your crew isn’t filled with women thanks to those pretty words of yours,” you said. “Even I struggle to tell you no.”
Shanks laughed, a short sound. “Wouldn’t have guessed you struggle with it.”
You leaned in, your mouth hot against his. He kissed you lazily as though you had nowhere else to be, allowing you to lead him through it.
“I’ll get us a room upstairs,” you said with a hum.
For a second, he smiled. Then he leaned in to press a swift peck to the corner of your mouth and said, “No.”
It was as though even the music itself paused as you blinked at him. “No?”
“As much as I love chasing you,” he said, stepping away and leaving the space in front of you feeling very empty. “I’m starting to think you enjoy being chased more than you want me. We set sail in the morning. The offer still stands.”
You watched him walk away in mild confusion, still a little lost before his words caught up to you.
Was he serious?
The bartender placed your drink down next to you but you barely heard it. The music carried on around you as though nothing had changed. A few members of the Red Hair Pirates were starting up a song. The woman he’d been talking to earlier grinned when he returned but he took a seat aside Yasopp instead.
You looked around the party and shrugged, taking your drink and a seat at the bar. If he didn’t leave, you had no reason to either.
Maybe he was trying to prove a point? You thought he might look for another woman whose words didn’t sting as bad as yours did, but he drank and laughed with only his crew and you pretended not to see the way he looked at you. As though he was waiting for something.
You finished your drink and swung off the stool, sliding the beri across to the bartender.
“Isn’t – ”
“I can pay for myself.”
The cold night air was refreshing against your face but the familiar curl of cigarette smoke drew your attention to a very unaffected Beckman. You paused when you saw him, not sure if he had something to say. He looked like he did.
“Running away again?”
“No idea what you mean,” you retorted.
He tilted his head toward the swinging door of the tavern; each time it moved, the raucous din bled through into the night. Beckman wasn’t even really what you would consider an acquaintance but he’d dragged Shanks out your bed more times than you could count.
“It’s early for you to be leaving alone,” he noted.
You didn’t have any reason to explain the break in routine to his first mate. And yet…
“Change of pace tonight,” you said. “I think I offended him.”
Beckman nodded. “You did.”
“I didn’t even know that was possible.”
He shrugged and offered you a cigarette. “I didn’t think it was until recently. Not many people can get under his skin.”
“I’m not wrong though,” you defended yourself.
“No,” he agreed. “You weren’t at one point. I’ve long since lost track of how many women I’ve had to drop off at port in the mornings but none of them were recent. Since he met you, there’s been no others.”
You didn’t want to admit to the way that made your heart flutter just slightly. “It’s the challenge. He tries to get me to join your merry little crew, I do, and then he gets bored in a month.”
“It’s possible.”
You didn’t know why it annoyed you so much that he agreed with you but you felt the glare before you could stop it. True or not, he could have said it in a better way.
“Why does it bother you so much then?” Beckman asked. “If you’re so sure that it’s the truth?”
“It’s still not nice to hear.”
“Because you’ve fallen in love with him?”
You shot him a sharp look. If you didn’t know quite how dangerous this man was, you may have snapped a little more venomously. How you hated him for saying the quiet parts of your worst thoughts out loud.
“I don’t fall in love that easily,” you huffed. “I just don’t particularly feel like joining a pirate crew to be a pretty face on the sidelines.”
“He says you have good enough aim that you won’t be wholly useless. And I’m sure he’ll teach you more if you ask.”
You had no other defence. On a different crew, you may have believed him but you’d heard the legends of the Red Hair Pirates and their skills. You would not sail with an emperor just for the sake that he found you attractive. That was a ridiculous decision. Even without the risk that he lost interest once you gave him what he wanted.
“You can see where we’re docked?” Beckman asked.
“Hard to miss.”
“Then you may as well prove your point.” He blew a puff of smoke into the sky. “You can be useless, let him lose interest and I’ll concede that you’re right.”
“And if I would rather things remain as they are?”
“They won’t. You’ve already ruined that part.”
You almost didn’t board. The Red Force came to life while you stood on the dock, shrouded in shadows and watched the sun rise over the horizon the next morning. The crew woke with complaints of headaches and aches as they got to work.
They were about to weigh anchor by the time you finally found the courage to walk forward, catching Hongo with a look right before he raised the ladder.
He stared for a second and then gestured you to board.
It was a strange feeling to step onto the Red Force. The gangplank creaked softly beneath your boots and the ship rose and fell beneath you with the easy rhythm of the sea. For years she had existed as something distant, spoken about in stories and rumours across countless ports. Yet the deck felt solid beneath your feet. The tarred ropes smelled no different from those of any other vessel. No monsters waited beyond the railings. Just a few curious glances and shouted greetings as the wind swelled her sails.
“He’s downstairs,” Hongo said. “Drank more than usual so he’s still nursing a hangover if you want to see him.”
You looked toward the ship’s doctors. “With how much you lot drink, I’m honestly surprised you don’t have a cure already.”
He smiled. “Maybe I do but I simply enjoy the peace in the mornings. Do you want a tour?”
It wasn’t as though you had anything better to do although it did catch you off guard just how unsurprised the Red Hair Pirates seemed to be about your arrival. Not one of them even mentioned your arrival as the wind caught her sails.
Not even Beckman who gave you a simple nod.
The Red Force was kept in beautiful condition. She was evidently loved and no room felt neglected as you followed Hongo through her passages.
Hongo walked you through the galley, the infirmary, the stores, and everywhere else you might need aboard. You memorised the route as best you could, making note of scuffed boards and chips in the wood rather than considering the ship as anything more. It was easier to focus on that, you realised.
Hongo stopped at a door at the end of a passage that led through the quarters and he pushed it open with casual ease.
“This one’s yours.”
You frowned at the way he said it before stepping inside.
A warm, clean room waited beyond the doorway. Sunlight spilled through the small window, stirring the pale curtains where the sea breeze caught them. A narrow bed sat against one wall with blankets folded neatly across the end while an empty chest waited beside a small desk untouched by clutter. Nothing looked lived in. Nothing looked abandoned either. The room carried the strange feeling of something prepared and patiently waiting.
Guest quarters maybe? Though that hardly made sense and this didn’t look like a spare room, briefly swept out when you stepped aboard. They wouldn’t have had time for that.
There was an explanation that made sense though not one you fully grappled with.
“How long has this been here?” you asked.
“Couple months now. Captain wanted it ready if you ever changed your mind.”
You tried not to let it show just how much that made your stomach twist. He’d prepared a room on his ship in case you joined?
Still, you tried to ignore the topic for a little longer by returning to the deck after leaving your bag. You found an opportunity to lean against one of the cannons, talking to Yasopp about nothing of importance while you watched the island fade behind you.
The door onto deck opened and Shanks stepped out, dishevelled and hiding his eyes from the sun.
Naturally his crew all shouted at once in response to his obvious headache and he winced visually, which only made the others laugh harder. You couldn’t help but smile, chuckling softly at their torment.
He spun at the sound, grin disappearing at once.
Your heart lodged in your throat as you stared, not certain what you should say.
“You’re here?”
Well, he didn’t have to sound so surprised.
“Have been for the whole morning,” you said, your voice quieter than you meant for it to be. “But I thought I should let you get your beauty sleep.”
He chuckled as he walked over, smile gentler than you’d ever seen it before. His eyes glinted with barely concealed excitement as he approached. “Did somebody show you around? To your room?”
“You set that up a while ago,” you said. “Very confident.”
“Hopeful,” he clarified. “How long are you staying for?”
You hesitated before you answered. If you really wanted to, you could disappear the next time you found yourself at an island. But something about that room sitting and waiting for you made leaving feel far less appealing than it ever had before.
“I haven’t decided yet,” you settled on saying.
“That’s fine. When you do leave, just tell me before you go.”
“I will,” you promised.
How many years had passed since you made that promise now? You thought back on it, trying to remember while you swirled the drink in your hand, Shanks’ hand still resting on your hip where it belonged.
“Lost in thought?” he asked.
“Lost in memories,” you corrected with a small smile.
“Oh?” He leaned in close and pressed a kiss right behind your ear in the way that always made you laugh. “Which ones?”
“Ancient ones. I realised that I’m still waiting for you to get bored of me so I can run away.” You took a sip of your drink and tilted your head toward him. “You getting there yet?”
He laughed proudly. “Nowhere close. I should probably be more careful though. Think you’d sooner shoot me than run away now.”
You chuckled in agreement and leaned in to kiss him, slow and lazy as ever. “Maybe. I’m no longer much of a runner.”
Plot: Trafalgar Law is very good at control. Unfortunately, he is less good at falling in love. It’s inefficient. It’s disruptive. And attempting to correct it only makes the problem worse.
Deviation — Law is annoyed when he realizes he has feelings for you.
Encroachment — You get drunk and Law has to intervene.
Correction — You hadn’t planned the kiss. It wasn’t calculated. And now, watching him move through the ship like nothing happened, you start to wonder if you imagined that part.
Exposure — Law stops denying his feelings for you.
Detection — You and Law just got together. The crew has questions. So do the Straw Hats.
Scheduled Intimacy — Law is trying to work and you’re trying to…get him to work on someone something else.
Normalization — Your presence becomes normal and that terrifies Law, because it means he finally has something to lose.
Come Back — Goodbyes force the truth between Law and you.
Stay — He had told himself love was a liability. Inefficient. Dangerous. But when death came close, it wasn’t fear that made him fight. It was you.
You waited for Sabo in your temporary room, sitting on the bed and paging through the worn chapters of your journal when Ace slumped against you. You startled at the sudden weight against your back, heat pressing heavily against you as he buried his face into your neck and snored once.
“Ace?” you asked, twisting to see the mop of black hair rested heavily on your shoulder.
He didn’t move and panic slipped through you for a second. You shrugged to try and adjust him and he grumbled before responding, his voice thick.
“What’s wrong?”
“Are you okay?” you asked. “You just fell asleep.”
“I did?” he rubbed his eyes but didn’t move, his voice almost muffled against your shoulder. “It’s okay. I do that.”
“You do that?” you repeated.
“Sleep randomly. Marco called it, uh, something. I’m good though ‘cause it’s not serious or anything.”
Your heartrate calmed significantly and you shook your head at him. He’d just about given you heart failure with that. Sure, it wasn’t like he could be dying, but you didn’t know everything about the dead.
“That’s not detailed,” you teased. “But next time we’re on Sphinx Island, I’m asking him about it.”
Ace laughed softly. “It’s just sleeping. I can’t even remember the last time it happened. Must have been Alabasta maybe? It stops when I get worked up so ‘s been a while.”
You shook your head. “So, I should expect this more often?”
“Probably. It’s your fault, anyway.”
“Mine?”
“Mm. You’re too comfortable.”
Embarrassment curled in your stomach briefly but you replaced it with a soft laugh. Ace shifted further against you, his chin digging into your shoulder as he leaned heavier on your back. You almost toppled yourself, moving to the side so he wasn’t about to crush you.
“Well, you should try and wake up before we go,” you told him. “Unless you want to stay and sleep more?”
“It’s not like I have a choice, really.”
You huffed and ran your fingers through his hair awkwardly. “Yes, you do. Sabo will understand if I ask for a few more days before we go. I’m not critically low on supplies yet.”
Ace sighed dramatically but sat up, shook his head and seemingly bounced back to his normal tone without a problem. “It’s fine,” he said. “This stuff wears off quickly when I need it to. Why do I even need to sleep when I’m dead?”
“I have no idea.” You turned around to find him still slightly bleary-eyed but most certainly awake, the faintest of smiles on his face. “It’s a market so they’re going to have food. Got any requests for what I can get you?”
“You going to bring it back here?”
“Don’t be silly, we’ll find some time to send it across.”
The door opened before he could answer. Sabo’s broad grin was unmatched beneath his hat. “Ship’s here,” he told you cheerily. “And Koala says I probably managed to get everything done today so we’ll have no trouble.”
“Probably?” you asked.
He sighed and shook his head. “You should see the list of things I need to get done. I get eye strain just looking at it.”
“The pains of being so important,” you teased. “Everybody needs your signature.”
Ace snorted softly under his breath but when you glanced to him, he wasn’t even looking at you.
“Tell me about it,” Sabo continued as though he hadn’t seen you look away. “But I’ll meet you downstairs?”
“I won’t be a minute.”
His eyes flicked around the room for a second, searching, before he stepped out. You sighed, wondering if you should have let him know where Ace was. But you couldn’t keep doing that forever, especially because Ace himself didn’t seem to worry too much about it.
You got off the bed and grabbed his hand with your working one, tugging him to his feet. “Come on. I can’t swim there if we miss our trip.”
The moment you arrived, you realised a festival was going on. Food stalls crowded the already narrow streets, smoke curling thickly into the air from grills packed shoulder-to-shoulder. People spilled across the cobblestones in noisy waves, brushing against each other as music rattled from small wooden stages wedged between market stands. You couldn’t help a quiet breath of disbelief at how tightly packed the streets were.
“Sabo,” you asked. “Is there another path or are we just going to have to go straight through?”
You stood close to him, watching the way he surveyed the crowds before he grinned awkwardly. “I’m not sure,” he admitted. “This isn’t normally my job so I don’t visit often.”
Ace pressed close against your back the second you stepped off the ship, close enough that heat bled through your clothes, but even that wasn’t enough to stop people from walking straight through him.
The air smelled heavily of salt, grilled meat, and far too many people pressed together in the afternoon heat. The decorations of the town might be beautiful when evening arrived but not with these crowds. Not when most of them couldn’t even see you.
“You take me to lovely places,” you informed Sabo.
“I know, it’s an excellent start to the sales pitch I was told to give you.”
At least the crowds parted for him with relative ease. A man shoved past without looking and his shoulder clipped your injured wrist hard enough to send pain sharply up your arm. Ace said something that was lost over the crowd and Sabo slipped an arm around your shoulders, moving you out of the way.
“Careful,” he warned.
The man offered you a quick apology and disappeared into the crowd again. You shook your head and kept closer to Sabo who was at least tall enough to demand some space.
“People don’t notice me properly,” you told him. “It’s a side effect of the fruit.”
“Really?”
You nodded. “Unless I make myself known, the living struggle to see me as well as the dead do.”
Sabo inclined his head as though impressed. “Sounds like a good side effect to deal with. Useful too, if you decide to work with us.”
“Still trying to get that sales pitch in, aren’t you?” you joked.
“I was told to do it naturally,” he said. “In my defence.”
The warmth on your shoulders was fading enough to notice and you twisted your head to look for Ace. He’d drifted back from you a little, his shoulders drawn tight and trying pointedly to just stare ahead as another person passed through him. You winced in sympathy but even reaching for him was going to be difficult.
You stopped for just a second to let him catch up and then laced your fingers with his.
“Stay close as you can,” you said.
He startled, hold on your hand tightening before his expression softened. “This sucks,” he muttered.
“You’re not a fan of crowds?”
“That’s not it,” he said. “I love these kinds of things. It would be fine if I was alive.”
You watched him for a second, saw which stalls his gaze lingered on and made a soft sound of realisation. “Well,” you said. “I can’t get people to stop walking through you but I think I have an idea. Sabo, mind if we grab some skewers?”
The blond blinked at you. “For Ace?”
“Who else?”
Sabo beamed. “I know the best ones.”
He didn’t lie to you; he made his way through the tight crowds and directly to a stall lined with skewers still crackling over the heat, glaze shining beneath the flames while the smell of charred meat and spice curled thickly through the air. And almost no customers gathered around it which was suspicious until you saw the pricing on them.
You were still blinking at the large number when Sabo ordered at least four of each and even more of the premium ones.
“I didn’t know revo – your work paid this well,” you commented.
“Work definitely doesn’t,” he told you. “But I’ve found that some people don’t always think about changing the permissions for beri withdrawals. Not even after what, twenty years?”
You had little idea who he was referencing but you certainly wouldn’t complain.
“Anyway, it’s for Ace so the price doesn’t matter.”
Ace grumbled something under his breath and you turned to him. “He doesn’t have to do that,” he repeated, loud enough for you to hear.
“I’m sure he knows,” you said.
Ace looked over your shoulder towards Sabo and he breathed out with a slight huff. “Could you tell him thank you?”
You smiled, pleased to be able to accurately translate something for once. “He’s saying thank you,” you told Sabo who immediately grinned so wide it had to have hurt.
The next challenge came in finding space big enough to draw a circle for the amount of food you now had but eventually you squeezed into a small, forgotten square adjacent to the market and managed to pile them onto a big sheet, handing several to Sabo before you sent them over. He found a seat against the wall and watched you curiously.
He even sat the same way as his brother, you noticed, one leg folded and the other propped up.
“So, once you’ve sent it to the dead realm or whatever, is it gone for good?”
“For you, yes,” you said. “Not so much for me because I can still interact with it but you could walk through here and you’d just pass through everything.”
“That’s pretty neat. I can see why you’re short on supplies though.”
“It does use them up pretty fast if I do it too often.”
Ace huffed and sat down next to the circle. “Then you should stop doing it multiple times a day.”
“Not a chance,” you told him. “It’s worth it.”
He stopped complaining once you passed him the first one and clearly it was good because you didn’t hear a word of upset from him afterwards. You happily took your spot next to him, only a short distance away, but Ace wrapped an arm around your waist and tugged you closer until your body was flush against him.
“Here, try this.”
You reached for the skewer by yourself only for him to move it away from your hand. You sighed and rolled your eyes, taking a bite of the perfectly charred meat.
“It is very good,” you admitted.
“I know it must be something you hear often,” Sabo said. “But it’s quite entertaining to see you interact with something invisible.”
“Entertaining isn’t one I’ve heard before,” you answered. “Strange and disturbing are far more common. People really hate the idea that there might be something around that they don’t know about.”
Ace scoffed. “It’s not that weird. They’re just being stupid.”
“You two are always like this though?”
You frowned at Sabo. “Always like what?”
His expression betrayed no hint of malice or disappointment, only benign curiosity. “So close? It helps me see him but is that normal?”
“Yeah,” Ace said as though it was the simplest thing in the world.
You coughed slightly, rubbing your chest as you realised that Ace was very much pressed against your side still. “It’s not normal for other spirits I meet but I’ve made plenty of exceptions lately.”
Sabo leaned back against the wall behind him and nodded. “That’s good. I’m happy he has somebody to trust after everything.”
You smiled, trying to hide the melting feeling in your chest, and let your eyes drift over the crowded marketplace again while Ace demolished the food. Crowds spilled across every street; banners fluttered overhead and you saw at least two stalls with supplies you could use before something stood out.
A small symbol, sewn in the corner of a high-flying flag on a cart a little off the main street.
Your stomach dropped hard enough to hurt. You knew that symbol as an informant network you’d used before and you weren’t surprised it was here – they had people spread everywhere – but with it came a dangerous thought.
One that you shouldn’t have entertained for longer than a few seconds but Ace was close, you could feel him moving against your side, and the opportunity lingered in your head for far too long.
“Everything okay?”
“Yes,” you said, your attention turning to Sabo. “But I think I see my source of supplies. Can I have a moment alone?”
Concern crossed his expression instantly. “Sure. Do you want me to stay nearby?”
“Yes,” you said. “Just not too nearby. I need to talk about something with Ace too.”
Sabo inclined his head respectfully and stepped away. You looked around the alley rapidly, scanning every inch to be sure that nobody was listening in on what you had to say. Your heart should not have been beating this fast but it was loud in your chest.
“Are you alright?” Ace asked.
You steeled yourself. First, you needed details and he was the only one who could give them to you. To see if it was even possible before you paid for useless supplies.
“This is going to be sudden,” you warned. “But it’s important and I’m not going to be able to explain why I need to know. So… I’m going to need just a little bit of trust.”
Ace shrugged, clearly not at all bothered by the obvious panic in you. His grin was lopsided and his attention focused on the food. You prayed silently that what you were about to ask wasn’t going to ruin this moment.
“Kinda late to doubt you now.”
You hated the guilt that brought with but you forced the question out. “I need to know what killed you. Specifically.”
His smile disappeared in an instant, expression turning ashen in a way that you hated. You saw the way tension returned to him, his body wound tight.
“Not every detail,” you hurried to say, hoping to at least do some form of damage control. “Just who or what caused you that.”
You looked down at the injury despite yourself, something you usually avoided to the best of your ability. The warped flesh curled blackened around the open space through him, the very nature of it making your stomach churn.
Ace shifted slightly to cover it. “Why? Did you hear something?”
“No,” you said, refocusing on his eyes instead, pleading for him to know you didn’t mean to bring this up now. “No, I know nothing but that’s why I’m asking you.”
“Does it matter?”
“Right now, yes.”
He hesitated before he muttered under his breath. “Admiral Akainu,” he said.
There was a strange regret in his voice, not quite the anger you had expected. You shifted even closer, hoping the press of your shoulder could give him what little comfort you might offer. It was a person.
Somehow, despite that being the answer you wanted, it felt unsuccessful next to Ace’s expression.
“Thank you,” you said.
He shrugged loosely, picking up one of the skewers again. “I was stupid. It was my fault. We were out and everybody worked so hard for it too.” He laughed once, rough and thin. “I turned around.”
You reached for him and he folded into you instantly, the food dropping from his hand as he pressed his face hard against your shoulder. The grip on you turned tight enough to hurt. Heat flared unevenly around him, burning hot for a second before it dulled again.
A name was enough.
You could work with a name. You only wished it had been somebody a little easier to get close to but it was fine.
You stayed like that for a while, listening to the noise of the festival spill faintly down the alleyway. Music drifted somewhere nearby, muffled beneath conversation and laughter, painfully normal against the way Ace clung to you.
His breathing wasn’t real. You knew that. Ghosts did not need air in their lungs and yet you still felt every uneven exhale against your shoulder.
Your fingers curled tightly.
No. You could not accept this one quietly.
Ace let go of you after a few minutes and you gracefully ignored the red rimming his eyes. Each painful heartbeat that passed brought more certainty to your mind as you made your way to the merchant.
Ordering was easy.
You knew what you wanted and you chose your incense and scribbled a code onto a piece of paper, sliding it to the old woman behind the stall. She looked it over and pulled a face, tapping her nail thoughtfully against the table.
“A month. Maybe two.”
“Excuse me?” you repeated.
“One of a kind component,” she said as though that made it better. “Going to have to send somebody to get it. It’ll be expensive too.”
You pinched the bridge of your nose. A month was already pushing it to keep a ghost stable. And Ace had already been with you for weeks now. It wouldn’t be easy but it would be fine, it would give you time to gather everything else. You repeated that in your head.
“Name the price.”
She said an eye-wateringly high number and Ace gawked at you. “What are you ordering? A hit?”
“That might have been cheaper,” you muttered. “But I must have it for the ritual. Give me the order form.”
It wasn’t like it was binding but you knew the man in charge of this network was very sticky with his nonsense. Dread swirled deep in your stomach as you took it from her, the pen hovering above the paper as you stared at it.
If you did this, you were locking yourself into a problem that would be far from easy. Ace leaned over you, curious about what you were signing and the warmth of his chest against your arm made signing far easier than it should have.
The pen scraped harshly across the paper and something deep in your stomach twisted with every letter.
“Same location for delivery?” she asked. “Or do you want it here?”
“I’ll pick it up from here,” you said. “One month.”
“Maybe two.”
“Try for one.”
You bought a small wooden token alongside the rest, handing it to Ace through the same circle you’d used earlier. Thankfully, it seemed nobody had disturbed it while you shopped and you sat down once more, your heart pounding in your chest.
Before Ace could comment on your obvious nerves, you offered him the token. He twirled it in his hands.
“What’s this for?”
“It’s a wish token,” you said. “It’s supposed to bring luck.”
And though you’d never felt like you needed one before, you were going to need as much as you could get in a month’s time.
“What did you wish for?”
“A cute ghost,” you teased. “But seeing as I already got mine, I thought maybe you could use it.”
He made a short, barking laugh, the edges of his ears twinged with red but he tucked the token away in his pocket regardless. “You can’t just say things like that.”
“Who’s going to stop me?”
At least the tension had broken. It felt slightly more normal now. You stared at the chalk circle smeared faintly beneath your boots, white dust dragged across the stone from where people had nearly stepped through it earlier, and imagined what it would look like to simply place something into Ace’s hands without rituals or circles between you. What had taken his life hadn’t been fair. Death never was but this… this was important.
By the time you looked back toward Ace, he had finished all the food and his head dipped slightly. You giggled behind your hand.
“Sleeping again?” you asked.
“What? Nah…”
“Sure.”
He looked deeply offended but you saw his head dip and you moved closer, waiting for it already.
“Don’t laugh,” he complained.
He slumped forward without warning, full weight dropping against you fast enough that you barely caught him before his cheek knocked awkwardly against your collarbone. You winced and adjusted him so he was sleeping easier against your chest; his back could not be comfortable with that angle but it was fine.
“Alright,” you said quietly. “You’re so lucky you’re not going to get stiff muscles like this.”
How long you sat there with Ace sleeping against your chest, you weren’t entirely sure but when you heard approaching boots, you smiled at Sabo.
“He fell asleep,” you said, nervous the words would wake Ace but they did very little. “Apparently this is a thing he does?”
Sabo chuckled and took a seat next to you, a considerable distance further than Ace sat. “The narcolepsy? Yeah, he’s done that since we were kids. Luffy imitated it for so many years because he wanted to fit in.”
You brushed a few strands of hair from Ace’s face, fingers gently brushing over the small bruise under his cheek.
It was an ugly, yellowing thing but you hesitated before stealing another injury. He would not be happy if you took anything off him but still, you were tempted. He should have only freckles on his face, not cuts.
“You’re not meant to get this attached to spirits, I’d assume?” Sabo asked. “If you’re meant to make them move on?”
You huffed. “No. I’m not. But your brother’s too charming for his own good.”
“Is he… was he happy? Before everything happened? I never found out much about what he was doing before.”
“I think so,” you admitted. “And I think he was but he’s not very interested in sharing anything about what happened. I don’t blame him. Death is very traumatic.”
Sabo nodded. “I still struggle to believe he’s gone. Ace wasn’t the one that died, you know? He’s far too strong for that.”
“Anybody can die,” you said. “But…”
You hesitated and looked toward the blond. You needed an ally. It would make things far easier if you did but you didn’t want to get any hopes up. Not when you were still figuring out the finer details.
“But?” he repeated.
“I need to complete a ritual,” you said. “Or I’m hoping to.”
He straightened immediately as though he could read your mind. You winced, trying your hardest not to be obvious even if part of you wanted to eagerly talk to somebody about this. To discuss the finer details.
“What would it do?”
“I… do you need to know that to help me fulfil it?”
There was a very loaded pause. Sabo’s gaze flicked to your hand, undoubtedly resting awkwardly above your chest from what he could see. You waited and then he smiled.
A far-too-knowing smile.
“If there’s even a chance, I want in. So what do you need?”
You smiled in return, uncertain but bordering on pleased. “It’s a close timeline,” you admitted. “But I need to get it done as soon as possible. I’ve ordered one thing, I need to find a way to get the other, and then… then I need to go to Marineford. I need to visit the spot he died.”
Sabo froze and you ran a hand gently over Ace’s hair, hoping desperately that sleep kept him from hearing you discuss it. He snored softly against your skin.
“What’s there?”
“If we travel there, it’s where he’ll be closest to life,” you said. “And if there’s any chance of this working, we need to be there.”
“Is there a chance?” he asked.
“A small one,” you admitted. “A very, very difficult one.”
He gave you a look from the corner of his eye, tapping against his boot before he nodded. “In our line of work, odds are always quite poor. A chance is still a chance. I can probably pull some strings. Have you told him?”
“Not yet.”
“Seems like something you should mention.”
“I don’t want to get his hopes up if it might fail,” you said.
Sabo gave you a look. “It doesn’t matter if it does. I know Ace. Trust me, he’d rather know you tried.”
“He doesn’t deserve more disappointment.”
“I don’t think he’ll see it that way.”
They were as stubborn as each other. And Sabo, unfortunately, was probably right.
