It Is As Titled

New blog to reblog and share a bunch of One Piece content cause I am a WhoreTM (half joking) My name is Cyrus! Im over 21 so uh, warning to minors if at some point I post something nsfw/Nsft lmao my main blog: @i-am-all-love-puns-and-lazy

[onepiece-treasurecove]

I GOT MY AWARD FROM @where-does-the-heart-lie !!!!!! I fucking CACKLED when I opened it and read the note, that is such an older brother thing to do DHDBDBD

Thank you and ur brother for this, he’s gonna sit right next to my Luffy figure that my gf got me!!!!

[kuravix]

I love the thought of Usopp tending to one of his grass type pokemon! 🌷

It doesn't hurt, it's like clipping nails

[standfucker]

Post-Injury Hurt/Comfort Series - Law, Shanks, Mihawk, Rosinante, Blackbeard

Characters: Law, Shanks, Mihawk, Rosinante, Blackbeard

Reader: GN (afab in Rosi's)

Word Count: 5.7k

CW: blood, gore, graphic depictions of injury, stitches, sepsis

Summary: Continuing the series. Blackbeard's is more of a small bonus drabble that came to me, so his doesn't meet the 1k minimum I was shooting for in these. (And Rosi's went way over...)

Ao3 Link

Law

Your opponent is quicker than you're used to. As a cat mink, his reflexes are far better than yours. However, he fights unarmed while you use twin short swords, so you're able to keep some distance between you and even the playing field.

You tilt your head left to avoid his swipe, claws barely missing your face. Acting quickly, you return with a jab that pierces his armor and stabs into his shoulder. He hisses in pain and you grin–that's one arm he can't use anymore.

Your moment of confidence makes you slip up. Focused on the movement of his remaining arm, you're taken by surprise when he suddenly kicks one of your swords right out of your hand. He hasn’t used kicks at all until now, likely to catch you off-guard like this. Before you can recover, he follows up by thrusting his claws into your chest, digging in and unleashing electricity into your body.

Law looks over just in time to see you drop like a stone. “Y/n-ya!” he shouts–but you're unresponsive. He turns to Bepo, fighting by his side. “Bepo! Count to two, then kick as hard as you can where I am!”

Bepo, wisened to Law’s tactics, nods. “Aye-aye!”

Law flexes his fingers. “Room!”

The sphere of his power expands wide to cover the battlefield. He swaps places with the cat mink, hearing it yowl a moment later as Bepo’s foot connects with its gut. Grabbing your arm, he creates one more room from where he is and teleports you both to its perimeter, a safe distance from the fight. Aside from some bloody claw marks, he can't see major injuries.

“Scan!” Law calls, voice tinged with panic as his ability checks your vitals. To his horror, the scan of your body shows your heart has stopped entirely, and his own seems to follow suit. He quickly removes your heart from your body, holding it in his hand. Focusing, he runs his own electric current through your heart in a swift, measured jolt.

The muscle twitches once and remains still.

“No, no, come on.” Law tries again. Zap. No response. “Don’t you do this.” He tries again. Zap. And again, no response. “Come back.” Zap. Your heart is still.

This time, he uses both hands and runs a higher voltage, shouting, “Come back right now!” Your heart jumps–then, finally, starts to beat. The relief is almost nauseating.

Clutching your heart to his chest with one hand, Law tilts your jaw open with his other hand and seals his mouth over yours, delivering rescue breaths until he feels you start to breathe on your own.

Slowly, your eyes open, your breaths shallow but even. He's hovering right over your head, looking into your eyes. “Law?”

“Just stay still.” He runs another scan, making sure everything's running normally.

You try to get up, fighting the sluggishness of your body. “The fight–”

“It’s still going. Lie down.” Law pushes your shoulder, forcing you to recline.

“Then you need to go help them.”

“The rest of the crew has it handled. I'm not leaving you.”

You’re not sure what happened–everything went black while you were fighting–but whatever it was, it must have been bad if Law’s saying that. Still, you’re eager to rejoin the battle. “Am I going to die?” you ask stubbornly as you try to sit up again.

“Don't be ridiculous. I'd never let that happen. Lie down, Y/n-ya.”

Law doesn't let you fight. He doesn’t even let you get up, not until he's checked everything–blood pressure, oxygen level, potential blood clots, your ability to follow commands–and even then, he doesn't give you your heart back, stating he needs to keep an eye on it for a while “just in case.” The battle ends in victory, and you walk back to the crew with a square hole in your chest.

You don't know much about electric shock effects, but you suppose it's okay to make sure your heart hasn't been thrown out of rhythm. It is weird to go about your day with the hole in your body. And it’s weird to feel Law’s fingers around your heart. It’s difficult to describe–a sort of warm, sensitive, almost ticklish physical contact that you feel within your chest, despite it being outside your body. Every time Law picks up your heart, you’re aware. You don’t know where he keeps it, but it must be somewhere on his person; you feel it at random throughout the day or as you’re laying in bed at night. You can infer he stays up late, as you often fall asleep to the sensation of him holding it in his hand. 

Throughout all those days, you’ve never felt more secure, never slept more soundly than when you do knowing he’s keeping your very heart safe by his side.

Every day Law does another exam, taking the time to run a scan on your body. It seems a bit excessive to you, but you’re not about to tell him that. You’re just grateful for the attention, truth be told. You and Law have been close for a while now, even exchanging some fond words in the rare moments you’re alone, but neither of you have the courage to risk damaging your friendship. But having him literally hold onto your heart makes you feel linked to him in a way you never have before, and it’s driving you insane.

“All clear?” you ask as Law finishes another scan.

“Yes, you look good,” he says, making your cheeks warm at the phrasing, “though, occasionally your heart rate picks up when you’re at a resting state. I haven’t figured out why yet, but I will.” He holds up your heart in front of his face, scratching his beard with his other hand as he thinks. “Like now.”

That answer is fairly obvious to you, and entirely his fault. Watching him inspect your heart so closely makes you oddly nervous. And he puts his hands on you during these exams, too, feeling lymph nodes on your neck and instructing you to breathe in and out while he listens to your lungs. What are you supposed to do? You can’t help it. It’s involuntary.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

Well, there was a hole where your heart should be that only he could fill. But you don’t say that. You just mumble, “I feel fine.”

“You always say that.”

“It’s always true.” Aside from some fatigue in the beginning, you’ve otherwise been back to normal. “What do you think? Can I have it back?”

He thinks for a second. “Alright, one more day, then, just to be safe. Do you mind?”

“No, I don’t,” you say. “It’s weirdly comforting, to be honest.”

“How?” Law looks at you incredulously. “I could crush your heart in my hand right now.”

Of course that would be his perspective. The risk of trusting someone so intimately isn’t lost on him. But after all these years, you would easily trust Law with your life, so you simply shrug. “You wouldn’t break my heart, would you?”

He stiffens. Surely you didn’t mean for it to come out that way, but the way you say it–so earnestly, so innocently, looking at him with those big doe eyes of yours–he can’t help but feel a pang of longing. He desperately wants to protect you, to make right where he failed in the past. Law wants to reassure you, to bring you comfort that he hasn’t figured out how to give.

Instead, he says, “No.”

“Promise?” you ask softly.

“I promise, Y/n-ya.” Your heart beats faster in his hand. Law looks down at it, then at you, and there’s a flash of understanding in his eyes.

“Okay,” you say. If he’s finally figured it out, maybe…maybe this is your chance. “Prove it.”

“How?” He looks a bit shocked, and the way his eyes keep flitting between your heart and your face tells you that he knows exactly how. 

You’re slow in your approach, and even slower when you put your arms around his neck, giving him plenty of time to back away. He’s uncertain, frozen in place, but if he wants you to stop, he isn’t saying so.

You lean in. Law closes his eyes. Your heart beats like crazy in his hand.

You kiss him. Just a brief, soft touch of your lips.

“Law,” you breathe. “Was that okay?”

Law responds by cupping your cheek and pulling you in for another.

Afterwards, he jokes that he doesn’t want to give your heart back. But that’s alright. Truth be told, he’d stolen it a long time ago.

Shanks

You return to consciousness through a cloud of black spots in your eyes, flashing in and out of your vision like raindrops on glass. It's immediately accompanied by the piercing whine of your ears ringing. You can’t hear anything else, nor can you tell where you are. A battle…you were pretty sure there was a battle. 

The spots recede to the edges of your vision, and you can see a cloudy sky, filling with gray smoke. You’re on your back. Faintly, you can hear shouts, filtering in through the shrill whine. A few seconds later, your brain starts putting names to the voices. Yasopp, Benn, Shanks.

Your captain’s face fills your vision a moment later. Instantly, you know something is very, very wrong, because you’ve never seen Shanks look panicked before. It’s just not an emotion in his repertoire. Always cool, always collected, always joyful, until now. He’s shouting something–your name.

“–you hear me? Just hang on. Hongo’s on his way. Fuck, fuck!”

“...Shanks…” you rasp, dimly becoming aware of your body. “What happened…?”

“It’s my fault, I didn’t stop them in time, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

It’s distant, but pain starts trickling through your body. Dull, throbbing pain, everywhere. Well, almost everywhere.

“It’s okay,” you say, trying to raise your head to assess yourself.

“Don’t!” Shanks stops you with a hand on your forehead. “Don’t move.”

Gradually, you start remembering the battle. The chaos, the noise. Now, there’s no more sound except the ringing in your ears, so it must be over. You were fighting someone who specialized in explosives, that was it. That explained the hurt, and the confusion.

“I was hit,” you say slowly.

Shanks just nods, looking grim.

Benn appears on your other side, crouching next to you and frowning. You search his face for an idea of the damage, but he keeps it carefully still as he looks you up and down. Then his eyes meet Shanks’, and they exchange a look that gives you a bad feeling.

As the ringing dies down just a little and your vision clears, the pain grows. It’s distracting, more so than you’re used to, but what’s even more distracting is the particular lack of it where it should be.

“...Shanks?” you say. “I can’t feel my leg.”

His lower lip wobbles, and then his lips press together in a tight, thin line, and that’s when you know. You lift your head to try and see, but he stops you again. “Don’t look. It’s better if you don’t look.”

It’s funny–he looks like the one on the verge of falling apart. You hate to see him so distraught, so unlike himself, all his cheerful confidence vanished.

“It’s my left leg…” you say.

“Yeah...”

“That means we match.”

He smiles ruefully, tears breaking from his lash line and running free. “Yeah.”

“It’s gonna be okay,” you say, reaching for his hand.

He takes it gently. “That’s my line.”

Coping is a funny thing. You spend most of your energy post-surgery comforting Shanks. Not because he can’t handle it by himself, and not because he asks you too. It’s just easier to externalize the situation, to make it about his self-blame rather than address the gaping loss of your body.

Shanks tries to hide it from you, to not burden you, but you know him too well. Eventually, you get tired of how he drinks himself into a stupor most nights. You get tired of how your crutches irritate your armpits, tired of how you keep losing balance, tired of the phantom pains that shoot through nerves that aren’t there anymore. You snap at him. You shout. You cry that blaming himself won’t regrow your leg, so can’t he please just be there for you? You need him–you’ve always needed him–now more than ever before.

It’s an ugly, broken confession, but it finally reaches him.

Shanks pulls you in close and apologizes. His eyes are moist even though he’s not usually a crier, overwhelmed by what he’s put you through, overwhelmed that you’re finally admitting your feelings under such nightmarish conditions.

“I love you,” he whispers, over and over. “I love you.”

Healing is both easier after that, and yet harder. Now, with no distraction from your loss, you have to face it head on. It’s easier because he’s there. That he’s been through this before makes you cling to him more than you would have, surrounding yourself in the grim comforts of someone who understands. Shanks holds you tight on those nights when you scream “it’s gone,” over and over, lets you squeeze his hand when you have phantom pain, helps you shower when you can’t manage it by yourself, supports you on your first shaky steps using the prosthetic. The recovery journey is an arduous one, but you make it out the other side closer than ever before.

Years later, it’s something you can joke about without feeling that twinge of loss, especially when your crewmates call you and Shanks a complementary set. Now that you’re finally official with him and back to your full battle capacity, you can appreciate what happened to you for what it proved: that together, you and Shanks are complete.

Mihawk

You and Mihawk were opposite sides of the same coin. As different as you could be from each other, but still inexplicably connected as longtime rivals. Being warlords was the only thing you really had in common: He was a swordsman, you used guns; he sailed alone, you commanded a large crew; his colors of arms was better, your colors of observation was better. He preferred not to talk much, while you loved to egg him into trading banter. Many clashes with each other throughout the years solidified your strange, thrilling rivalry until you looked forward to the rare times you ran into each other.

Nowadays, you only really see each other during warlord meetings. So, when you were ambushed by your own crew, Mihawk was the last person you expected to save you.

He took out the four men holding you down, tossed you your pistols, and fought by your side. Your crew wasn’t weak by any means– you hand-picked them to sail with you–and had you been alone, you wouldn't have survived. With your combined strength, however, the battle was over quickly.

It surprised Mihawk, then, that you didn't stick around to bother him like you usually did. You fired a smoke round and disappeared. He figured that you were demoralized from the mutiny and didn't have it in you, but when the smoke cleared, he saw tell-tale drops of blood where you were. 

Mihawk finds you in an abandoned shed not far from the battle. You're panting, hunched down against the wall and facing away from him, a first aid kit at your feet. He's as quiet as a cat when he approaches, but naturally you sense him anyway.

“How did you find me?” you ask without looking up.

“I followed the blood trail,” he says flatly. “You should have stemmed the flow before running off.”

“I’m working on it.”

“Did you tie a tourniquet first?” he asks, and even from there he can see you roll your eyes.

“Can’t. It’s not in the right place.” You raise shaky arms to your head, fiddling with something–stitches, most likely.

“Let me see.”

You glare at him for a moment, eyes uncharacteristically hard and angry. Then you quietly relent by turning, letting him see your other side. There’s a long, deep gash going from your temple down to your neck. Still oozing blood, he can't see for sure, but estimates it's gone down to the bone. You’ve got a few crude, clumsy stitches started in the top, the needle hanging from the wire, but without being able to see what you’re doing, it’s a piss poor job.

Mihawk wordlessly approaches you and crouches down, sharp gold eyes fixed on your wound. “It needs to be redone,” he says, unsheathing Kogatana and cutting through your stitches. You don’t so much as flinch when he pulls the wires out–you wouldn’t dare in front of him, he supposes. He’d likely do the same. Maybe you were more alike than he thought. 

He takes the first aid kid from the ground and re-threads the needle, then starts to stitch your wound, pressing gauze to soak up the blood as he goes. “It's deep,” he says.

”That explains why it stings so bad,” you mumble. While you successfully resist the urge to wince, you can’t stop yourself from tearing up. “Man…”

“It could be worse. It went down to your skull, but the bone itself wasn't damaged.”

“What, are you trying to cheer me up?” You turn to look at him, but he tilts your chin back to the side and chides you to hold still.

You exhale harshly through your nose at the unpleasant sensation. “I hate needles,” you say suddenly. “I hate sharp things in general. The thought of a blade going through skin gives me the creeps.” He doesn’t respond, and you feel awkward, but you continue anyway, feeling the words tumbling out of you before you can stop them. “I’ve teased you about using swords, but the truth is, I could never.”

Mihawk doesn’t pause in his stitching, only hums. “If it’s worth anything, I’m a terrible shot.”

The corner of your lip twitches up. It does make you feel a little better, to be honest. 

You glance at the swordsman as he works. His eyes are always so much more intense up close. You used to find it unsettling, but right now, focused as they are on your wound, it just seems oddly endearing. You glance away, blinking quickly, and a tear breaks from your lash line.

When Mihawk pauses to wipe it away, it’s so fluid and unhesitating that you debate if it really happened at all. Warmth creeps into your cheeks, and you avoid looking at him.

“Hey, ‘Hawk,” you say.

“What?”

You stare at the ground carefully. “Why did you help me?”

He’s quiet for a while, perhaps thinking about his answer, perhaps just keeping up his mysterious image.

“You’re the only one who’s ever successfully shot me,” he finally says. “To think someone of your caliber would be taken out by such cowardly tactics doesn’t sit right with me.”

You let that sink in while he finishes his work, tying off the stitches and applying the bandages. It’s weird–all the times you’ve bickered, all the times you’ve fought with lethal intent, and yet you trust with all your heart that Mihawk won’t harm you right now.

You’ve let your guard down too much, you think to yourself. That’s how you missed the warning signs of your crew’s mutiny, that’s how you got injured in battle, that’s how you’ve let Mihawk get this close.

Even then, you find yourself leaning your head into his hand. He doesn’t say anything, just brushes his thumb over your cheek.

The reality of what you’re doing hits you a moment later, and you quickly stand up, only for the world to spin and your knees to buckle.

Mihawk catches you easily. “You've lost a lot of blood.”

“It'll refill,” you mumble.

“In time. You need to rest.”

“Alright, alright,” you say. His hold is so secure, you kind of never want him to let go. Damn, you have lost a lot of blood. “I owe you for this, Mihawk. Somehow I'll pay you back.”

“How about dinner?” he asks, and you’re so caught off-guard that you stare owlishly.

“H-Hey, come on, now,” you say, but Mihawk has never really been one to joke. There's a crack in your confident demeanor. “Serious?”

“Serious.” He takes your hand, raising it to his lips, and kisses your knuckles.

Rosinante

“It’s not a fucking show,” you snap at the crew, crowded around where you are in the med bay of the Numenca Flamingo. Doflamingo is bent over the wound in your side, a string attaching his finger to the bullet still inside. Corazon holds your body down.

“You gonna scream?” Diamante teases cruelly, but you roll your eyes.

“You’d like that, huh, you sick–FUCK!” you shriek at the end as Doflamingo yanks out the bullet, body jerking against Corazon's iron grip. Diamante and Trebol both chuckle like the bastards they are, but Doflamingo waves them and the rest away as he moves in to disinfect the area.

You shiver, fighting not to tear up in front of the two of them. It is of the utmost importance not to show weakness around Doflamingo. After years of dedication and rigorous work, you’ve clawed your way into a promotion from a top Donquixote Pirate to one of the people in his Family.

It’s imperative, as an undercover Marine, that you don’t lose this chance. Your job is to support Corazon. You’d rather not cry in front of him, either, but that’s more about pride than anything else.

Doflamingo traces your hip as he finishes sewing you up with his string. “Buffalo said you took the bullet for Baby 5.” 

You stiffen at his touch, an oddly soft contrast to the string that nonetheless makes you ill at ease. “Yes, Young Master.” Are you in trouble? You don’t want to act soft, but you couldn’t stand by and let a child get shot, either.

“I see,” he says, and you hold your breath. “I’d expect no less from someone I hand-picked.”

He pats your head once, then leaves the room, and relief courses through your veins alongside the adrenaline.

Corazon gives you a look you can’t decipher. He doesn’t speak to you, of course–too risky. His voice is a distant memory at this point, all the way from back when you were in training together.

A few uneventful days pass as the crew sails back to base with their spoils. The pain in your side seems to spread to right below your gut, intensifying as it goes. The wound area isn’t red or swollen, so you realize you must have gotten your period on top of everything. Great.

You’re the unlucky type that suffers from hellish, unpredictable menstruation, the pain often debilitating enough to put you out of commission until it abates. It was easier to cover up back in the Marines, feigning illness, but you wouldn’t be granted such liberties in the pirate world. You've had to fight through the agony to keep up your appearance as a tough-as-nails pirate commander. It seemed you were being tested again, as now you had to resist while under watch of the Family.

The cramps continue to get worse by the day until you’re nauseated from the pain. You end up vomiting over the side of the ship more than once, which you claim is from eating bad food. You try everything to take your focus off the pain. Meditation, breathing exercises. But for some reason, it just keeps getting worse. There’s one day where it seems to slightly abate, and you go to bed believing you’re past the worst of it, only to wake up the next day in complete, room-spinning agony. Moving makes it worse, every time you go to the bathroom or help with the ship tasks it feels like you might pass out. You can’t get comfortable no matter which position you lay in, and you sweat like crazy even though it’s cold.

You’re shaky while you help haul in ropes, thoughts so consumed by how terrible you feel that you jump when Corazon taps your shoulder. He scribbles something on his notepad, then shows it to you. 

‘You look like shit.’

“That obvious?” you ask, even as your guts and head both swim in a thick fog of pain. Corazon scribbles some more.

‘Your pain tolerance is high. This is unusual for you.’

“It’ll pass,” you respond, turning away from him. He starts writing letters on your back, something he does to make absolutely sure no one can read your conversation later through his notepad.

‘Worried.’

The guilt eats at you before he can even finish writing it. As Doflamingo’s right hand, Corazon has himself to worry about. You’re supposed to make his job easier, not be dead weight. So even though this is the worst it’s ever been, even though you just want to cry at how much it hurts, you steel yourself. You can’t crumble now. “I’ll be okay, Cora,” you dismiss.

Law stands at the foot of your hammock that night as you writhe, a curious Baby 5 next to him.

“What do you want, Law,” you grit out.

“List your primary symptoms,” Law says. You glance at him to see he’s holding a notepad and pencil. “Also, you should let me look at how your wound’s healing.”

“I don’t need the opinion of an eight year old,” you spit, the pain making you lash out. You’ve already looked at your wound, you’ve dealt with many in the past, and the area around your incision looks fine.

Law clenches his fists, irritated. “You’re being a real bitch.”

Baby 5 gasps. Law shoots her a glare that makes her whimper and hide behind your hammock. He mutters to himself as he storms out.

“Why don’t you tell someone if you’re feeling bad?” Baby 5 asks timidly once Law’s gone.

“Because,” you say, taking a deep breath to try to focus on getting the words out. “I don’t have a devil fruit. My haki abilities are rudimentary. I can’t fall behind, Baby 5. I want to be useful to the Young Master.”

“I don’t understand.”

“One day you’ll get cramps, and hopefully they won’t be this bad. But when it happens, you have to be tough and not let anyone know. It’s looked down upon by those who don’t get them. You’ll be left behind…”

“That’s gonna happen to me?” Baby 5 looks worried.

You try to reassure her that since she’s handled everything the adults have thrown at her thus far, she’ll be fine. Baby 5 doesn’t look convinced, but you don’t have it in you to care right then.

By the next day the pain is so searingly, blindingly intense that no amount of willpower can overcome it. You’re woken up by it, and this time it’s unmatched by all the previous days combined. It feels like someone’s poured molten lava into your guts. It feels like your organs are being ripped out of your body. Pressing a pillow into your gut gives you a fraction of relief, but even the slightest relief is like heaven when the pain is that bad–until you’re ripped back down, not to earth, but to hell, and it’s agony all over again.

Somehow, you manage to get out of your hammock, only to end up on your knees on the floor, holding your stomach and making pitiful noises.

Distantly, you get the sensation that Corazon is writing words on your back, but you’re so out of it that you can’t parse them.

“Need help,” you whimper, voice breaking.

Corazon sends someone to get Doflamingo, who has Law assess you. After taking your vitals and pressing on your abdomen (you’ve never considered killing a child before, but it hurts so bad that you scream) Law declares you need to be hospitalized immediately, and also says he told you so just to rub salt in the wound.

It’s a miracle that there’s an island within a few hour’s sail. You don’t remember those hours very well. It’s in and out, coming and going with the waves of pain. All you remember is Corazon, staying by your side the entire time. He keeps the crueler Family members away from you, lets you squeeze his hand for comfort, holds your hair back when you throw up. When you make it to the island, he’s the one to carry you to the hospital.

You get palpated again by the hospital doctors (your own special hell) while Corazon holds your hand, get scanned by a machine, and finally diagnosed with a severe infection that’s gone septic. Post-surgery finally has you in relief, doped up on painkillers, but very, very weak.

Recovery is its own trial. Combined with the strength of the painkillers, plus your body fighting off the infection, you see things when you close your eyes. You’re not sure if members of the Family come to visit you, or if you’re imagining they were there. The only constant is Corazon.

You wake up one night to see him hunched over in a too-small chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. Even half-awake, you get the sudden sense that he’s trying not to cry. He probably wouldn’t want to see you like that, and you’re so, so tired still, so you go back to sleep.

You dream that he speaks to you. Perhaps it’s a memory, but when you wake up, you see his silhouette in the door.

“Cora?” You smile, lifting your head, but your smile dies when you see Doflamingo stepping inside. 

“Young Master,” you say weakly. Why is he visiting you alone? What could he possibly want, aside from telling you that you were demoted?

“Baby 5 was inconsolable,” he starts, sauntering up to your bed. “Someone told her she’d suffer the same condition that you did. Then she said something strange...” He trails a hand on the railing of your bed as he walks up to your side, looming over you. “She begged us not to abandon her.” You feel your blood run cold as Doflamingo grins. “What a silly notion.”

You open your mouth to speak, but can’t find the words. He reaches out a hand to brush back your hair and cup your cheek. It takes everything in you not to flinch away.

“Could it be, perhaps, you thought I’d abandon you, Y/n?” he asks, your daunted face reflected crimson in his sunglasses.

Swallowing, you nod, and he grips your chin harshly.

“In your concern, you almost got yourself killed,” he says. “I selected you to join me for a reason. You're no good to me dead. Do you understand?”

You nod quickly, and after another terrifying moment where he stares into your eyes–maybe your soul–he finally leaves.

Corazon writes furiously later, berating you for being so dismissive of your own condition. 

‘You were on death’s door! Your CRP was over 200!’ 

“How much is it supposed to be?”

‘Zero! Fool!!’

You apologize endlessly, and more so as he helps you recover, until he gets sick of your apologies, too–but when he takes your hand, his gaze is soft.

From here on out, no more suffering alone, he writes into your palm, we fight together.

He holds your hand in both of his larger ones and, doing a quick check to make sure you’re still alone, brushes his lips against the tips of your fingers.

Suddenly you understand just how much he’s longed not to fight alone in his mission, and how important it is for you to be there. You bow your head, pull his hands so they’re at your chest, and kiss the back of one. “I understand.”

Blackbeard

Comparatively, you are the better in sheer physical strength to your opponent, but the other pirate outspeeds you. You fail to dodge back far enough from the downward stab of his dagger, and it sinks into the meat of your thigh.

You snarl in pain while he roars in triumph. His roar gets cut off as you suddenly grab his throat.

“Insect!” you snarl as you squeeze hard, grinding his windpipe to his spine. He flails, making horrid choking noises and digging his nails into your hand. There’s a brief struggle where he tries to reach the dagger in your thigh, but you grab his wrist before he can and, with a surge of armament haki, snap it in your grip. He can’t even cry out like this, just writhes around like mad, and you wait a few more seconds before the blood flow is cut off to his brain for too long, and he goes limp.

The rest of the crew watches from the seats of the bar as you snap his neck sharply before letting him drop. The other patrons of the seedy bar cheer, and cash is begrudgingly exchanged while you hobble back to the Blackbeard Pirates. Doc Q starts to look over your leg as you lean against the bar.

“Thirty seconds,” Lafitte says, looking at his pocket watch, “you said it would take you ten.”

“Shut the fuck up, Lafitte,” you warn. The pain wracking through your leg gives you no patience for his snide commentary. “Or I’ll choke you out next.”

“Promise?”

In an instant, you yank the knife out of your thigh and stab it into Lafitte’s so deep it’s almost at the hilt. He screams while Doc Q yells at you, “Don’t pull out the knife–!”

“They fucking stabbed me!” Lafitte shrieks as Blackbeard, Burgess and Auger burst out into laughter. 

“I missed your femoral on purpose,” you grumble. “Next time I won’t.”

Doc Q rushes to stem the bleeding from your thigh, and you cross your arms, trying to quell your temper. Because the Doc has to sew you up first, Lafitte will have to wait a while with that dagger sunken into his leg. It’s a fitting punishment, but you still kind of want to kill him.

Blackbeard, wearing his shitty grin, drapes his arm around your shoulders. You throw him a warning look that he ignores, as usual. Most times he does this, you push his arm away and otherwise reject him to his face. This is one of the rare times you don't. You’re still in a lot of pain, and there’s pretty much nowhere else–no one else–on this planet that you could get a comforting touch from. You let him hold you to his side, if only to abate the burning of your injury, and ever so slightly, you feel your rage boil down to a simmer.

“Better, trinket?” Blackbeard asks you, smirking.

“No,” you lie.

[standfucker]

OOOOH ZEN UR SO BIG BRAINED!!! Oooh I’m gonna add that to my list of ideas for Zella omG (it also fits cause I added a factoid about him having a long tongue 👀)

OH so idk if u have seen, but I actually added more about her which I sent as ask to @quinloki about!! Gushed a little about her and another OC of mine cause, I like gushing about them and Captain Q is really cool idk dhdhdh

As for Zella’s backstory, ooooh boi, it’s not pretty but I mean, how many backstories in One Piece are, right?? He grew up island hopping with his folks who only care enough about him to keep Zella alive, abandoning him when they decided he could take care of himself at 10 years old. The island she was left on didn’t start out awful, the folks were nice enough to offer food and soare hand-me-downs, but no one wanted a stray kid in their house, so she made due with what she could find.

Zella did try to befriend the other kids on the island, wanting some comfort, someone to talk to, letting them pick and belittle her without a fight. One day it turned much, darker, but she gritted her teeth and bared it until finally, after months of borderline torture, something broke in her. She fought her way out tooth and nail, and took the first ship she could out of there, using long fingerless gloves to cover the scars left behind.

After some months trading and negotiating his way from island to island, until the last one he landed on somehow, through a series of events and compassion, became his home.

Some years later she would meet with a loud, wild redheaded pirate captain and his crew, and the rest is history (aka I’m still figuring it out LMAO)

HEHE I hope u like it 🌷

I'm not able to keep up with my dashboard the way I used to, so I missed your ask to Quin even though I follow them. I searched their blog for the ask but tumblr's search function is so garbage I wasn't able to find it. :(

I like that backstory for Zella! It's always fun to have a dedicated signature clothing item that has backstory attached. I'm always a fan of scarring and secrets, so I dig that!

I'm really interested in how he discovered his identity as a bigender person. It's a pretty rare gender identity to have even in the queer community, so especially in a OP setting I'd be curious as to how she figured that out about herself. (I have one bigender OC! He's newer to my OP roster.)

[quinloki]

AHHHH thank u for ur advice and encouragement 🥹🫶🏻 I immediately followed her so I can devour her entire blog and study up (wiki can only do so much lmao) I will do that crew justice 😤

Ok, my next OC is Celeste Greyscale(she/her)!! The only other OC on my list who was initially inspired by a fic (tho she has diverged far more at this point compared to Zella)

Warning for heavy topics for this one, but here is the link if anyone is interesting!~ https://archiveofourown.org/works/50155342/chapters/134294377?view_adult=true ~

Celeste is a 20-22 year old leopard seal selkie with long dark brown hair and spotting to matching her seal species on her human skin, and currently a proud crew member of the Straw Hat Pirates. She’s also my shortest, standing at 5’4”, but don’t let her height and soft, curvy appearance fool u, she’s got hella muscles under her blubber and can lay the best of them out flat! She tends to favor wearing swimsuits or wet suits under her pelt as she likes to regularly jump off ship and swim in her seal form for fish and fun/exploration!

Now, my bullet points

• thankfully had a fairly normal childhood in a small shipwrights village in the North Blue, living with her parents and 2 siblings. During one particular repair visit, she was inspired to paint and travel by a famous pirate artist who stopped on their island with her crew, amazed by her works and stories and wanting her own adventure, to tell it through her paintings and inspire others.

• All was well until it went up in smokes when she was 13. A group of poachers disguised as merchant sailors found them and raided her village, capturing most of the younger selkies to be sold where they saw fit. Celeste was sold off with a few of the older, stronger kids to be ring fighters on island on the Grand Line, surrounded by a mix of human, mink, fishmen, and other selkie slaves. She only escaped once when her parents (who had miraculously survived the initial attack) had found her, but even that was short lived and she was returned to her prison parentless. She spent several more years there, believing there was no hope or future for her anymore, only a life of cruelty (in so many ways) as the Ring Leader’s shining favorite.

• Her true freedom came in the form of our favorite rubber lad led crew, when one of the doctors working for the ring fell ill and they needed a replacement, snatching up Chopper after overhearing a conversation. He met Celeste post fight, who slowly managed to get her talking, saying how his captain was going to help! That everything would be ok! While he managed to wiggle his way into her heart, she and the others still doubted him and his hope. Boy were they shocked when he was right! The crew swinging in looking for their lost crewmate, invoking and aiding a riot, returning the pelts to the selkies and freeing them, with Celeste at the lead of the other fighters. At the end after they ran down and dispatched their enslavers, a daunted Celeste was approached by a bounding Luffy and bright little Chopper, with an invite to join their crew. After a week of recovery and consideration, and a heartfelt convo, she said yes and hasn’t looked back since

• She fights with a javelin and is well experienced in hand-to-hand, packing more punch (and claws!) when in her halfway form where she stands at 6’6” (a full 11’ in her seal form!) She is also gifted by the Sea Mother with the ability to manipulate water and its various forms, even being able to heal minor-mid injuries with it (though it is more exhausting than transforming*, healing especially so)

• *her Leviathan form is the only exception, as she transforms into a spiked, long clawed 60’+ monster of a seal. But it puts so much strain on her body that she’s susceptible to fainting and heart attacks afterwards

• She’s got a more quiet personality, vibes really well with Robin in that way, but more gentle and easily flustered. Her trust in others is kinda funny, going from 0%, to 50%, to 110%. Has even fallen for a few of Ussop’s lies from time to time, which Nami is quick to fix

• Has her own painting desk that she uses for mainly storing extra supplies (and rainy days), instead using a travel easel and sketchbooks to work on her projects, often joined by Ussop when on the ship, and finding her own spot when they visit a more quiet island

• She has go-to nicknames for her crew; Bug for Luffy and Ussop, Minnow for Chopper, Honey for Sanji, Zoro, and Nami, and Dear for Robin, Franky, Brook, and later Jinbei. Used usually when having silly/fun convos or when she’s trying to smooth them when they get huffy

• Kisses to the forehead are part of her selkie culture, to bestow them good fortune and well wishes when departing. After witnessing Celest me interact with other selkies and an inquiry, Luffy and Zoro were the first to lower their heads to her when she drew the short straw to be on ship duty. From then it became a more regular thing for her give and receive for the whole crew.

• She is, not a happy camper when she gets sick, becoming more weepy and refusing to eat or take any medicine in pill form. After a particularly hard flu she caught, Chopper made sure to underline his notes to only give her liquid medicine whenever possible. Is this a trauma response? Maybe hehe

• Speaking of she has, so much, for so many reasons. Between loss of home and freedom, she had gained and lost a mate during her enslavement, even later losing her child after only getting to hold her for two weeks before they ripped her from Celeste (did she die? Sent away? Who knows [me 👁️])

I’m gonna stop there for now, I have so much for Celeste she is my beauty, my blorbo, lives rent free in my head in pretty dresses and happiness (and maybe some sadness but shhhh) (id also like to say if this ever gets too much or anything, im happy to tone it down im just, really excited to share but so nervous haha. Thanks for letting me basically spill my guts about them)

Sincerely,

The 🌷

\o/ Thank you for sharing again =D

Sorry it took me a bit to get to this - I am not, unfortunately feeling much better today compared to yesterday, and I had to read it a few times to really grasp what I was reading 😵‍💫 The brain just wasn't keeping up.

But I got there, and I love her! From the name to the culture, to the story to the names 😍🥰❤️

I love the different sizes of her, and the abilities too! xD Luffy and Zoro tilting their foreheads down like "okay now us" is just such a cute visual and I really love that too.

Man, going through hell and having a very assured, very bright and cheerful Chopper be there to help. T-T my heart. I love Chopper, he's just so sweet and genuine. Lil' guy. gibe him all the head pats.

[quinloki]

Ok so, I shit u not, since u said I could pick who to talk about, I decided to use a number generator to pick for me and it picked my Kid Pirates OC LMAOOOO who was inspired by this, really fantastic fic by @standfucker (if I remember right the title is “Rotations” but don’t quote me on that)(also note that this is the crew I am the LEAST familiar with but the most FASCINATED by atm)

So, let’s get into Zella(he/she), my newest OC (like, literally came up with her in the last couple of weeks)! She is a 5’5”, 22-24 spunky lil shit from the West Blue, who loves her crew and ONLY them, fuck the rest of the world. He’s punk (ofc), usually sporting a cropped deep red and green leather jacket, long fingerless gloves, and black tank top and high waisted pants, with boots (a pair she’s had since before the Kid Pirates and would stab a bitch for as they were a gift). Short dark green hair, with two little white tufts that poke out in front of her ears and frame her face. (Im kinda shooting for like, a hummingbird kinda vibe for her, but not like “cute smol, wants some flowers” and more “I will stab u with my beak if u get near my flower” deal. A colorful chihuahua if u will)

Since Zella is so new I don’t have a lot aside from design vibes, but I have some key things

• as One Piece characters tend to have, his childhood? Fucked up. Got dragged around hopping island to island with their shitty parents until they finally abandoned him. He tried to find comfort and friendship with the local kids and it, didn’t go well. Let’s just say the fingerless gloves r there for more than fashion. Once she managed to leave THAT shitty place, Zella found an island home that, while on paper it’s not a good place, there were few people who actually took her in. Until that too was taken, resulting in Kid Pirate Zella.

• can and has climbed her crewmates like trees to get a better vantage point. It’s usually Wire or Killed, Kid in a knee-jerk reaction threw him overboard. Zella has not let him forget about it since.

• Has the filthiest mouth of my OCs, but is not immune to being flustered into place (which happens more often than she’d like)

• will pick the spiciest food and eat it with no reaction (Dive took a bite thinking she could handle it. She could not)

• very skilled at sewing and has helped her crew with fixing and customizing their clothes on many occasions. Do NOT touch her chaotic corner of supplies, she knows where everything is and somehow always knows if it’s been messed with. A l w a y s.

• has two tattoos (atm, may add more later), one in particular being an under chin tattoo of a red star/flower shaped pattern. Does not remember the night it happened, at all.

• always has a knife hidden somewhere on her person. Full body searched? HA u missed the one between her ass cheeks bitch

And that’s it for rn!!!! I have a lot more I want to develop and figure out for Zella, but I also have to get to know her crew first lmao thanks for letting me ramble!

Sincerely,

The 🌷

Holy shit - hey Zen - idk if the tag in an ask will ping you, but I'mma assume yes - Your one-shot birthed an OC for someone!!

And yeah, it's called Rotation - that one and Whiteout whew.

Anyway, we're talking about your Zella and I love him \o/ What you have so far is fantastic, and it's certainly enough for a full fledged OC, so I don't think you have to worry about that.

And it doesn't take much honestly, sometimes character creation is a long long process, and sometimes they come to us all at once. And sometimes real development happens in the parameters of a story, but you've got her down solid already. I love the bullets and the little personal bits here and there with the crew.

If you're fascinated with the Kid Pirate crew, I gotta make sure you're aware of @swampstew - she's got a Meet the Crew series, and yeah it's based on her head canon of them, but it's a great place to start in my opinion. (I imagine you are if you follow me, I love her Kid Pirate passion, and I bet if you're nice and ask for some head canons she'd share as much as me xD ❤️🥰)

[standfucker]

I am still so, so incredibly honored that my fic inspired a whole OC! I can't think of anything better tbh, I'm so happy to hear this!!!

Zella is cool as fuck and I think they (and Celeste) should hang out with my OCs 😤

one day I'll get them all drawn up (whether that's my shitty sketches or actual commissions) and get their full bios done.

[grandline-fics]

Hi Kerrie! I really enjoy your writing can I request short/small reader hc for Kid and Law? 🥺

DESCRIPTION: You’re shorter than him

WARNINGS:  just fluff

CHARACTERS: Kid

WORDS: 444

A/N:  I'm so glad you enjoy my work and thank you for this request. I haven't been well the last couple days so only did something short and sweet with this idea with just Kid. Hope you like it

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

MASTERLIST | PROMPT LIST

———————

Kid’s a tall and broad man to begin with and it’s clear he’ll have a head over most people. However the difference in your heights is even more pronounced because your height is naturally on the smaller side. He absolutely can not and will not be subtle about how much he loves you being short. When he’s standing next to you he will always rest his arm on your head and pathetically pretend he’s not doing anything but the large grin and his gaze constantly dropping down to watch your expression shift throughout the exchange. 

The first time he’d done this to you, your eyes had grown so wide out of shock and uncertainty about what to do in response that it made Kid smitten with you. He’d already had a clear soft spot for you beforehand but that moment was the point of no return for him and his awakened feelings for you. 

Now that you’re a couple though, whenever you sense his approach to engage in this banter that occurs at least three times a day you like to make a game out of it. Sometimes you like to move out of the way just in time for his arm to lurch on just air. Other times you like to let his weight settle on your head before you sit down or purposely drop something so you have to crouch down lower to retrieve it, forcing Kid to stoop further and further to the ground. other times you pretend he isn’t even there until his patience snaps and he has to scoop you into his arms and force you to look at him. When he does you can only grin and press a kiss against his cheek in playful greeting. 

Kid is also a menace to you when he demands your attention. It doesn’t matter if you’re doing something important, if he’s in a mood and wants to spend time with you then his needs win. There could be times you’re in mid-conversation with Killer, going over the current provisions on the ship and what needs to be urgently restocked the second you dock at a new island when you hear the heavy steps of Kid coming closer. Before you have the chance to turn your head, his arm is already around your waist and he’s lifting you off the ground. You’ll either be set over his shoulder or tucked under his arm, your limbs dangling in the air as you let him carry you to your shared quarters. You don’t complain though, you feel just as content and secure as he does when you’re curled up in his arms.

------------------------------------------------

TAG LIST (If I've missed anyone or if you want to be added just let me know) @3v37773, @tsaaps , @i-am-all-love-puns-and-lazy , @sanemisnonexistenteyebrow , @fiery-captain-spider-santa

[onepiece-treasurecove]

Redraw of an impact frame that I want to consume with my s o u l

Screenshot reference below!

[onepiece-treasurecove]

I have, so many screenshots of things I wanna draw, and this is the one my brain picked.

And I mean come on, how could I not draw this little ball of chaotic af sunshine? The heart wants wat it wants

Originally from @where-does-the-heart-lie ‘s WITTB comic!!! Which u should read, rn even if u can. This is a threat 🫶🏻 (kidding ofc)

[where-does-the-heart-lie]

I think next time, it may be in my best interest to only have the challenge go for one month…

@princyvish, @whitewyrmings, @fahrenflame, @cavernofstars, @random-moth, @glucosegaurdian-art-writings, @aidakhar, @ikebanaka, @otaku553, @revolutiionarys , @chronokepts , @quantumbluenautilus , @izzybuggs , @radrogues , @fadingspyhandswagon , @uncannyjj , @piratespencilart , @kobycetacean , @matty-the-bathroom-mat , @rainnartt , @gloomins , @xxnotinmylobbyxx , @latelierderiot , @ace-of--the-spades, @artistic-fool , @sleepynoodleart , @sleepyendymion , @theparticlegraviton , @peachfrogdraws , @smuggonifico-lmao , @swimming-karyss , @the-obsessed-runaway , @dhirondelleetdepainfrais ,

@onepiece-treasurecove , @ghurei-pike, @ahomosexualsimp , @madbunsy , @secretuncle , @majestick-posts-op , @emotionallyconstipatedturtle , @theprettygirl23 , @arinadepan , @adigitalsky , @mega-ringsandthings-world , @eatinmabiscuits ,

@immortal-raine, @skialdi, @onenotedragon, @monocub, @12leafclover,

[onepiece-treasurecove]

AHHHHHHH CONGRATS TO EVERYONE!!!!!

This was so awesome to be apart of and be able scroll through all the spectacular submissions and see just how AMAZINGLY talented and skilled everyone was, and I’m so honored to have been among them

Bless u Whery, for ur masterful storytelling, wit, care, and overall charm. May ur infectious joy continue to spread onto every person u come in contact with, and never leave u 🫶🏻🌷

[indydonuts]

Mean-Mugging

Summary: You always joke that Zoro is your "big and scary boyfriend," but after you and some of the crew are turned into children, your words become a bit literal.

Zoro x gn!reader, established relationship, silly fluff

A/N: I'm about to be head-down in requests for a bit, so enjoy this silly scene from my drafts. It was meant to be part of a longer story but didn't quite get there.

Zoro is at his wit's end. 

For three days now, Robin, Usopp, Brook, and you have been stuck as children thanks to an incident with a cursed spring. As near as anyone could tell, you all were somewhere between 5 and 7 years old, with none of your adult memories. 

It goes without saying that convincing four kids to get on a boat with (in your minds) total strangers had been difficult, but Zoro and the others managed. 

The Marines charging in and firing at everyone had helped. 

After some sleep and food, you all seem to be adjusting. Luffy and Chopper quickly become the favorite playmates, with Nami and Franky landing the roles of adoptive parents. Sanji makes the food and keeps handing out sweets, so he also quickly found himself in your tiny good graces. 

Zoro, however, seems to terrify you. 

Any time he enters the room, takes a seat on the deck, or sits at the table, his presence sends the four of you scurrying as from him as possible. 

He doesn't know what he's done to deserve it. Sure, he’d snapped at Usopp and Brook when they tried to mess with his swords. And he could have been a bit more gentle when grabbing you and Robin to get you safely back on the Sunny. 

He knows he isn't the warmest person on the crew either, but still, he isn’t a monster. 

He could live with Brook, Usopp and Robin’s fear, but seeing the terror on your tiny face—he has to admit—stings a little. 

"Have you seen yourself?" Nami asks when he finally brings it up. "You've literally cleared street corners."

"Doesn't help you always look like you want to punch someone," Franky adds.

"And that your face is stuck in a permanent scowl," says Sanji.

"Don't forget your cool scar and missing eye!" Luffy cheers.

"Thank you for all your unwanted opinions about my appearance," Zoro says tightly.

"Um, Zoro? I have a suggestion," Chopper says shakily.

The swordsman raises an eyebrow. 

"What is it?"

"Well,” Chopper begins, “I remember being terrified of humans after I first changed. They were so big and strong and strange looking."

"I got it, I'm scary-looking," Zoro growls.

"W-what I mean is—try making yourself smaller. Sit on the ground. Find something they might like, maybe snacks or a toy. And don't approach them; let them come to you on their own terms."

The doctor clicks his hooves nervously. 

"It's what worked for me when Dr. Hiruluk first took me in." 

Zoro gives a half smile and pats the young doctor on the head, "Thanks, Chopper." 

"At least one of you is actually helpful," he calls back to the others, leaving the galley.

Later, Zoro makes his way to Sunny's lawn. You and the others are playing some kind of game on one end, so he quietly heads to the other side and takes up a spot. 

He's brought a book with him. It’s old, with a cracked spine and deep blue cover. The title has mostly worn off, and the pages are yellowed and dog-eared. 

Well-loved is how Robin once described it. 

"This had better work," he mumbles to himself, opening the book and flipping to a specific page.

He can hear the sounds of the game behind him—Usopp insisting he was allowed to do whatever he did while you, Robin and Brook argue with him. 

Finding the page he was looking for, Zoro quietly began to read aloud.

"Long ago, on an island far from any known sea, there was the small village of Aurelia..."

It was your favorite story. 

Years ago, when you were still fresh to the crew, you'd found the book at a small shop when resupplying. You'd said it was just like the one your grandmother read to you when you were little. 

"...the boy said to the Sea King, 'If I could have just one scale, my village would be saved.'"

Zoro hears a small noise to his right. From the corner of his eye, he can just see the beginnings of tiny feet.

He keeps going.

"The sea king roared a great laugh. 'Who are you to ask a king for a scale? What makes you so worthy of such a grand prize?'"

You’re right behind his shoulder now, craning your neck to get a peek at the book in his lap.

"Is that...your book?" you ask softly.

"Sort of, I'm borrowing it," Zoro replies, keeping his eye on the page. 

"That’s my favorite story," you tell him. 

He risks a look. You’re staring at the ground, fidgeting nervously.

"Can you read it to me?" you practically whisper.

Zoro fights to contain his enthusiasm and remain neutral. After clearing his throat a time or two, he manages a soft smile and says, "Sure."

He expects you to sit next to him. Instead, you wriggle under his arm and into his lap. 

"You can keep going now," you inform him once you’re settled.

Zoro resumes the tale and slowly, the other three drift over to listen. Anytime one of them tries to interrupt, you shush them harshly, like royalty overseeing their subjects. It’s a struggle for Zoro not to laugh.

After that, things are better. Chopper says the effects should wear off in a few more days. Until then, at least you’re running toward him instead of away from him.

Though he’s never going to live down the teasing from the rest of the crew. 

Of course, you made him do the voices.

[onepiece-treasurecove]

This story was SO precious, I love the exploration of a softer side of Zoro that we don’t see as often 🥹🌷

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

reblog if fanfic writing has been a source of happiness for you and has helped with your mental health

[indydonuts]

Adrift

Summary: Brook doesn't expect to find a painting of his old West Blue stomping ground in the middle of the New World. He expected to see the old flame who painted it even less.

A/N: I might be processing some stuff with this one, so read at your own risk.

CW: Angst, hurt with no comfort, aging, dementia.

Brook looks at the painted door in front of him, comparing the address to the one scribbled on the scrap of paper in his hand. It was a match.

He knows that. He’s checked three times already. Now he is just stalling.

The address is written on the leaflet for a local art gallery. He’d been doing errands with Sanji and Chopper when he saw it — a landscape of a sleepy seaside town flanked by a bright red lighthouse.

He knew that town. Hell, he’d been to that town. A literal lifetime ago in West Blue, before he'd even joined the Rumbar Pirates.

Most of all, he remembered the woman who painted it. He recalled her slim hands and the way she stuck her tongue out when she made delicate strokes on the canvas, how she laughed at his jokes til tears came to her eyes, the taste of her lips on his.

Rosa.

He almost lost it when the curator told him that not only was the artist still alive, but she also lived on the island.

But now his nerves are getting the better of him. 

What if she doesn’t remember him? It’s not like their tryst had been long or particularly deep. Brook knows that. But alone and adrift in the darkness of the Florian Triangle, the only source of comfort he’d had often came from looking into the past.

It had taken a long time to start looking forward again.

Maybe he shouldn’t be here at all.

But that there is even the slightest chance that someone who had known him in his first life is within his reach — it's too tempting.

With a steadying breath, he raises his fist and raps on the door. After a moment, there is rustling on the other side and the click of a lock as it peeks open. 

And closes almost as fast.

“Wait, please don’t!” he shouts, sticking his arm through before he can think.

He yowls in pain as the woman behind it slams the door on his arm repeatedly, trying to force him back through.

What kind of cruel trick was it to be nothing but bone and still feel lots and lots of pain?

“P-please! I promise I’m not here to hurt you! I just came to see Rosa!” 

The door stops slamming. 

“What did you say?” 

He looks up to see a young woman with dark hair and darker eyes staring at him wide-eyed, her hand still firmly on the door’s edge.

“I’m here to see Rosa Clemente,” he repeats, rubbing his freshly cracked arm. “My name is Brook. We were…friends. A long time ago.”

He waits for the door to slam a final time. It wouldn’t be the first since he’d gotten this non-face. But it stays open, though the woman still guarded the entrance carefully. 

When he finally gets a good look at her, Brook has to stop himself from pulling her into a full-on hug. She looks exactly as Rosa did when he’d last seen her: the same eyes, hair, even her hands look like Rosa’s. But the smile isn’t the same. 

The Rosa he’d known had never met a stranger. She’d been kind and trusting and open. The woman who stands in front of him is weary and aloof. Though that was probably in part because of the skeleton thing.

“Where did you meet?” she asks.

Brook is surprised by the question, not expecting to get this far and scrambles for the answer. “A bar in West Blue — Figaro’s. I’m a musician. I used to play there sometimes. She was working as a waitress. She used to draw me sketches on napkins.”

It's more than she had asked for, but the details of their time together are practically branded into his skill. Regardless, the answer seems to satisfy her. She steps back from the door.

“Would you like some tea or something to eat?” she asks, leading him to a small sitting room. “Oh—I’m sorry, is that…insensitive?”

Brook chuckles, “No, no, it’s not. Tea would be lovely. Thank you.”

He takes a seat as she heads into the kitchen. The room's walls are covered in paintings of all sizes and subjects. There are more landscapes like the one he spotted in the market, some portraits, several ships at sea, and even a few of children playing in the front yard.

And there, on the far wall, tucked in the corner, is a painting of a cramped stage with shitty overhead lighting and a familiar figure playing the violin. It's darker than the others, almost hazy looking, like looking through smoke. Pretty close to what the real Figaro's had been like, to be honest.

“That’s you, isn’t it?” the woman asks, as she catches him staring when she returns with the tea.

“I haven’t aged a day, have I?” he teases.

She tries and fails to hide her small laugh as she sets down the tray and takes the seat across from him.

“My name is Anya,” she says, introducing herself. “Rosa is my grandmother.”

“You look exactly like her. It’s like I’m looking back in time,” Brook replies with a slight bow of his head.

Anya’s expression dims a bit as she picks up her cup.

“Mr. Brook, you should know…my grandmother isn’t doing very well.”

Brook finds a sudden interest in his own cup.

“I’m…sorry to hear that,” he replies. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised at her age. Our age. How bad is it?”

“Physically, she’s fine. She’s slow, and she gets tired, but she gets around well enough. But, mentally…she has good days and bad days. The bad days are getting more and more frequent. It can be hard to tell where she is or when.”

"That is a feeling I'm familiar with," he replies, staring into his cup.

“I just…want you to be prepared. In case she doesn’t remember you,” Anya explains.

“I understand. Thank you for telling me. And for letting me try.”

Anya leads Brook upstairs to a cozy back bedroom. The afternoon sunlight pours in through the window, casting light on even more paintings adorning the space. In the center of it all is a bed, thick with quilts and blankets, where a frail old woman reads peacefully.

She's dressed in a plain nightgown, with her wispy silver hair tied in a simple braid. The years had added spots and wrinkles to her skin. There are scars Brook doesn't remember being there, a gold ring on her left hand that he doesn't recognize. But he'd know that face anywhere. The memory of it had kept him company for more than fifty years.

“Rosa,” he says softly, taking her in.

She turns her honey-brown gaze towards him, eyes narrowing a bit as she takes him in.

“Maria,” she says, glancing at Anya, “is this your new boyfriend? He’s so skinny!”

“No, Gran, he’s not my boyfriend,” Anya says patiently. “I think he’s a little too old for me.”

Rosa continues on, ignoring Anya’s words. “You’ve got to fatten him up! What kind of girlfriend lets a man starve like this? Look at him. He’s all skin and bones!”

Brook can’t help it; he bursts out laughing. It’s too hard not to. Between the stress of the situation, his nerves and seeing the shell of a woman he once might have loved, there’s nothing he can do but laugh.

Rosa stills and looks at him, eyes wide.

“That laugh…” she says, continuing to scrutinize him. She takes off the pair of reading glasses that are perched on her nose and continues to stare. “That hair…it can’t be…Brook?”

Even though he doesn’t have a heart, Brook can’t help but relish in the warmth that spreads through his chest at her words.

“Hello, Rosie,” he says, giving her a slight bow. “You look as beautiful as ever.”

Rosa lets out a loud cackle.

“Still quick to lay on the charm, I see,” she says, reaching a hand out toward him.

Brook glances at Anya, who gives him a cautious nod, before taking it gently. Rosa grips it hard and pulls him close.

"Maria! Maria, this is my musician!" she exclaims. "The one you used to ask me about in my paintings! This is Brook!"

She looks back toward Anya excitedly, but then her forehead crinkles in concern.

“You’re not Maria,” she says softly.

Anya gives her a half smile and smooths her grandmother’s hair. 

“I’m Anya,” she tells her, “your granddaughter. Maria was my mother.” 

“Yes…yes. You’re Anya. I'm sorry, dear. It must have slipped my mind.”

“It’s alright, Gran. I’ll let you two catch up, okay?” Anya says, giving her forehead a kiss. “Would you like some tea?” 

Rosa nods, “Yes, please. And do get something to eat for Brook. He’s so skinny.”

“Coming right up, Gran,” Anya replies, making for the doorway. She pauses by Brook’s shoulder and says quietly, “She’s usually lucid for about a half hour or so.”

As Anya disappears, Rosa continues to smile at the doorway. “What a lovely young woman. She reminds me of my Maria.”

Brook can't help but notice how thin and frail Rosa's fingers look, even when laced alongside his bony ones.

He knows he's old. He feels old, but it occurs to him in that moment that, in many ways, he never aged. He'd never know the feeling of his body slowly failing him. He had no joints that would ache, no heart that would wear out, no brain that would dull with time. It was cruel, but he wasn't sure for whom.

“Brook?” Rosa’s voice calls, pulling him back from wherever he was.

“Hmm? I’m sorry, my dear, what did you say?” he asks.

“I asked why it took you so long to come and see me,” she says, wearing a mocking pout.

“I’m sorry, Rosie, I…got a little lost on the way,” he replies.

Rosa’s smile takes on a tinge of sadness as she says, “It’s alright. I get lost, too, sometimes. Probably more than I realize these days.” 

“I saw your paintings in the town market,” Brook says after a moment. “And all the ones downstairs. They look beautiful, Rosie! Though, I’m still partial to your bar napkin period, myself.”

“Those were some of my best works. I remember I used to use the wine and beer stains as ‘inspiration,'" Rosa says with a chuckle.

“Don’t forget the peanut shell sculptures. I still say you were on to something there.” 

“I’d forgotten about those!" she exclaims. "My friend Brook, he used to build me little art galleries out of glasses for me to put them on. Oh, he had the best sense of humor. The best laugh!” 

She smiles.

“You remind me so much of him.”

[onepiece-treasurecove]

The silly lads for @sibmakesart ‘s DTIYS!! 🌷

If only these bitches could talk like normal people 😔

But where’s the fun in that hehe

[xhartbigx]

Reblog if you’re over 20 and still read/write fan fiction.

I’m curious!

[elegyofthemoon]

It's still surprising to see people say that when they see the upcoming strike post I made that this is the first time they're hearing about it, especially because I've seen several posts now talking about the same strike.

That being said: regardless of what kind of blog you are, please spread the news about the genocide, the strikes, boycotts, etc.

Even if you are a small blog, spreading word allows for more people to know what's going on and also do their part in protests and strikes, and maybe even the right people will be able to do more than what you're able to do.

And reminder: there is an upcoming strike on February 18th-25th. Prepare accordingly, protest, boycott, call your reps, and spread the word so more people are aware.

[kuravix]

I've finally drawn all the Straw Hat Pirates with Pokemon Teams! Individual posts below ⬇

Luffy | Zoro | Nami | Usopp | Sanji | Chopper | Robin | Franky | Brook | Jinbe

These are just my opinion and for fun!!!

[onepiece-treasurecove]