Summary: A trip into a forgotten memory, featuring the youths of Swallow Island. Inspiration from Law Novel. (Silver Bells)
One Piece belongs to Eiichiro Oda
Snow covered the forest floor, enveloping the path toward Mr. Wolf’s house, painting a beautiful, untouched scene of a North Blue winter. Law walked along the woods’ trail, the stillness of the surroundings allowing only the snow falling off branches and the crunching of the soft ice under his feet to be heard. As he walked by a stream, he saw someone standing against a tree —a girl his age, the edge of her long dress wet from the snow, trying to wrap her ankle, or what he assumed she was doing from his angle.
“Hey,” Law called out, seeing the girl place her foot down and look over toward him. Golden yellow eyes stared into his grey ones, the narrow slits interrogating him as they mapped him head to toe. “You’re wrapping it wrong.” Stepping off the path, he slowly made his way over. The girl stepped back but quickly reached down to rub her ankle, clearly dealing with some kind of injury.
When Law reached her, she was a little shorter than he, her face unfamiliar and unlike those he’d seen in Pleasure Town. Although he had no reason to, he couldn’t ignore a terrible medical wrapping job as a doctor’s assistant. “Sit down.” He sighed, gesturing to the rock near them, “I’ll re-wrap it.”
Tenrou slowly sat down, smoothing out her dress before pushing him with her left foot away when he went to lift the dress to her knees to access her ankle. She sent him a nasty glare, and Law sent one back. Once he successfully got her to stop, he threw the dress to her knees and lifted her leg so he could slide her boot off. Kneeling in the snow, he carefully unwrapped the ankle to properly wrap it to ensure it wouldn’t come off again.
Tenrou watched him silently, the only sound being the unfrozen brook nearby and the tussle of trees within their area. When Law looked up, his eyes mapped the way her black dress flattened against the rock, the snow stuck to it resembling the stars against the pitch-dark sky, yet when he went to slip her boot back in, his eyes looked up to meet hers; he could’ve sworn time was frozen.
The evening horizon was setting behind her, the light shining around her through the trees, her eyes meeting his gaze. There was a faint glow in her eyes that started to make his chest feel weird. He quickly broke eye contact and slid the boot back on, helping her stand up.
The two stared at each other before Tenrou gently put all her weight on the ankle, a smile breaking out as the pain didn’t appear from the proper wrapping. Law felt his heart start to pound; clearly, the cold causing the red hue to settle on his cheeks, just as the cold started to bring the same hue to the girls.
Before anything, she ran off, stopping at the woodline. She turned back, flashing him a smile, her missing front tooth breaking apart the brilliant pearls in her mouth. Law watched as she disappeared, slowly heading back to the path to Mr. Wolf’s house.
As Penguin, Shachi, and Bepo chatted in the living room of the house, Law leaned against the window, staring out into the snow. His eyes widened as he saw a small white fox appear, chased by another; the two raced back and forth before disappearing back into the woods.
Unknown to Law, Mr. Wolf watched. He felt the corner of his mouth twitch upwards as he saw Law look longingly out the window.
Summary: Zeran visits Alessa for the holiday, bringing gifts and flowers. Despite being beyond the grave, Alessa and Zeran find reach other all over again. (Red and Pink Roses)
Alessa Reed belongs to @wrennyx
The snow sprinkled from the sky as the grey clouds hid any blue away. Boxes rested tucked under one arm, with a bouquet of red roses and white lilies on top. The newly fallen snow crunched under the boots as the lone individual walked down the row to a private corner. A stone carved into two intertwined hearts stood covered with snow. Zeran snapped his free hand, and the snow melted off the stone, adding a soft shine to it. As he laid the flowers down and set variously colored gifts at the base, he traced the engraving.
Alessa Reed, as beautiful as red roses in the peak of bloom, XXX - XXX.
Zeran traced the letters of her name with his finger, closing his eyes as he remembered the striking personality and the fiery red hair. How many times did he savor watching her raise a cup of warm Earl Grey tea to her soft lips as her fingers flicked pages after her eyes slowly glanced down the page? How long had it been since her red hair was found stuck to his clothes, to the walls of his bathroom; since it was tied up in braids as younger children who occupied the guild would haphazardly stick flowers in it in the springtime?
Such moments were only fleeting memories now, ones he would hold onto until they faded from his body. He loved her as she deserved, without restraint and with the knowledge it would hurt in the end.
”You would be accompanying me to a warm cafe, if you were here. Dragging me out at dusk as the center of town lit up, and I would not let you spend a berry on anything. You’d look to the lights, and I’d look to you…and see something much more beautiful than the town holiday spectacle.” Zeran said, placing a warm cup of tea by the clean and now festival-decorated stone. The gifts stood out against the cold snow, conveying the endless love and warmth of year after year.
As he walked away, another’s footsteps walked through the gate toward the organized rows of dearly departed. As Zeran passed the individual, his shoulder bumped them, causing their cemetery gifts to fall onto the ground. He turned and immediately helped them. As he slowly stood up, holding the now snow-covered packages, his heart stopped. The red hair was like a bright rose against the dull surroundings.
”I am…..so sorry.” Zeran started, “Allow me to assist you...”
”Oh no, it’s fine really. I’m just here to decorate some old family graves.” They said.
Zeran smiled softly, shaking his head, before adjusting his monocle. “Honoring loved ones is a commendable task. Let me extend a hand, I have nothing to lose.”
As they walked in steps, the fiery red person recounted stories unfamiliar, while Zeran listened. The snowflakes died down as the lights of nearby homes turned on. They walked past Alessa’s grave, and he shook his head. He truly loved every version of her, and now he would make sure not to miss another holiday, making them smile.
‘I’ll always know you and wait for your next life here. But the you I loved first…will always hold this man’s old heart.’
Summary: Holidays are merry and bright, but sometimes they also involve your bratty step kids recreating Home Alone out of fear and entertainment. (Scrub Daddies)
Peter and Malia belong to @loganwritesprobably
“Mama, what’s a ‘Santa’? Isn’t that the red thing with horns?” Tenrou asked, stabbing the sausage with a fork before Lyle pinched her, hissing about no playing with food. Keskil was quietly chewing on his own breakfast
“That’s Satan. Santa is a man who delivers presents at night.” Keskil responded, which earned him an ear pinch as well. The kitchen was simple, a sink of half-washed dishes.
“We do not tell lies here, loulou,” Lyle said as Peter sat on the other side of the table. Little 5-year-old Malia sat on her chair, making a mess of both her plate and face. From his seat, Lyle reached over and wiped her face clean, much to her annoyed pout. “There’s no such thing.”
Before Malia could interrupt, Peter leaned forward across the table toward Tenrou and Keskil, where Tenrou was trying to scoop the rest of her unfinished bowl of soap into Keskil’s, who just kept nudging her spoon away with his own. “You know he’s real. I’ve even met him in my grand traverse of the world’s ocean.”
“REALLY?! MAMA, I WANT TO--”
“Stop fucking around and finish your breakfast before I feed you myself.” Lyle glared, picking up Malia and slowly grabbing a blanket on the back of a chair to wrap the little girl around his chest to free his hands. “Peter, a random man entering homes at night without anyone noticing, is clearly not real. Presents do not randomly appear."
Peter's right corner of his mouth quirked up as ideas started to form inside his brain. Malia was enjoying a constant piggy-back ride as Lyle’s hands scrubbed dishes home, snowflakes flying by the window, soft records wafting from the living room. Once Tenrou was finished, and had a mini spoon battle with Keskil before they both got their spoons confiscated, she dragged Keskil outside to shovel.
Peter slowly stood up and followed the bow-bunched runner in the hall, lined with even and uneven photographs of the large group that was expected to arrive the following late morning. Some older images were burnt around the ages or were without the colors of modernity, but all conveyed the warmth of the past. He thumbed the old portrait frame of the big holiday with everyone that Lyle managed to stumble upon and gifted him for his birthday; 15 people all squeezed into a frame in front of a tree decorated with care and tradition. Something he missed this time of year. Next to the photo was a frame of a younger Lyle, with his cousin, a little Tenrou mid-bite into her uncle’s hand while Lyle held a small bundle whose face was hidden by the thick blanket cradling him.
Peter looked out the window, turning the knob to turn on the light by the front door, slowly illuminating the two individuals outside who had clearly started on their chore. Keskil shook sand onto the exposed area as Tenrou shoveled snow, slipping now and then, landing in the snow. The trees glimmered as the little light of the sky bounced off each drop of ice on a branch in the wind. As Peter glanced back into the living room, small candle lights decorated the tree, as did small glass and porcelain ornaments that sat on every branch all the way up to the top, where Lyle had demanded a star go. The fire crackled and popped, the light flickering across the entire room, painting the various furniture pieces in gold.
“That’s the plan,” Peter smirked, glancing toward the few presents under the tree before slipping his way upstairs into the attic, where the other four occupants never truly ventured. As he snagged red and white fabric and white fluff from Lyle’s fabric collection in the bedroom closet, he started to work on crafting his perfect plan for those below. Keskil stood up and looked back at the door, already knowing what was going to happen, but chose to stay quiet. His train of thought was interrupted by Tenrou throwing a snowman-sized snowball at him, which consumed him, leading her to panic in thinking she had just killed her brother. He was fine, but very cold.
Peter adjusted the fake white bread on his face in the dim candlelight of the downstairs bathroom. Malia was curled up in his bed, her feet imprinting between Lyle’s ribs as he slept on his back. She had her own bed in the other bedroom, but given the holiday and unconscious worries, Peter and Lyle let her slip into bed. (To be fair, winter was a time when Peter wouldn’t be surprised to wake up to a crowded bed of warmth and safety) The other bedroom for Keskil and Tenrou was quiet, no lights peeking under the door.
As he lifted the small sack of presents that he had re-wrapped to be different, Peter slowly walked down the hallway, carefully walking down the creaking steps into the living room. When he stepped into the living room, he turned and noticed Keskil and Tenrou. Keskil stood there holding a small lit candle, and Tenrou…held a bat with an expression of terror.
“Holy shit, a random guy did just enter the house; he's going to hurt mama and Peter and baby sister,” Tenrou whispered. Peter’s eye flickered to Keskil’s smug smile. The little shit knew it was him and was NOT telling his sister.
“We need to protect mama, sister. From the stranger.”
“You know a brat gets coal for this, right, Keskil?”
“Mama said coal is hard to come by. How interesting.”
Chairs fell over, the table cleared, items falling left and right as a mini battle started to commence. As Peter quietly ran around, avoiding traps and tricks set by the two under the name of home invasion protection, he was slightly concerned that Lyle had not come down and thrown all three of them into a timeout that would’ve lasted until the North Blue went a year without snow. Peter laughed as Tenrou missed again, putting a dent in the wall. He unfortunately looked over, and Keskil, being the ever-so-loving brother, assisted his sister with a frying pan to Peter’s face.
These bruises would be fun to explain.
Lyle raised an eyebrow the following morning, rubbing a crying Malia’s back after she had a nightmare that she woke up in bed to a bloody Santa Claus sneaking into Lyle and Peter’s bedroom to steal her away. “Peter, why do you look…like that?”
Peter held the icepack to his black eye, the only part of the Floquet children's attack that could not be hidden by makeup. “I..fell”
“You... fell?”
“Into a doorknob.”
“Don't stain my couch.” Lyle huffed as Tenrou dragged Malia to look at the piles under the tree. “Marvella, stop rushing.”
Tenrou shoved a present wrapped in silver and blue paper into his lap, which he lifted gingerly, looking at the box. Tenrou handed one to Keskil and then to Malia. “Look! It’s from Santa! He is real and magic!”
Peter smiled as they all opened the gifts, and slid his arm around Lyle’s shoulder as Tenrou helped Malia open other gifts. Keskil was walking toward the door as the sound of multiple voices grew louder outside the home. Lyle opened his box to pull out an old book.
“This…how did he find it?” He said, flipping through the old book. “I haven’t seen this book since I was Malia’s age.”
“Merry Christmas, Lyle.” Peter pressed a kiss to his cheek as Lyle continued flipping through the book. “Now…time for your gift to me.”
“And what is that?”
“How old are you again?” Peter teased, causing Lyle to turn as red as the presents Derek was holding when he, Laura, and Cora arrived mid-conversation. “Or should I ask you to marry me without knowing?”
“I will put your head into the pine tree, Peter!” Lyle hissed as he was dragged up for hugs and the pestering of family, beloved. And although Peter smirked, his heart fluttered inside his chest. In a small box, hidden under the tree…was a small silver band; waiting for the family to bear witness.
Summary: Those born to handle winter, do not always handle heat. And that struggle can be the reason something ends.(One Piece)
Note: Cobra x Lyle Floquet (OC), Mostly mutual breakup. Please stay hydrated this Summer those in the Northern Hemisphere.
OP belongs to Oda
Lyle vomited into a bucket again, the curtains drawn in his room, the cool cloth that was on his forehead now warm on the bedside table as he emptied an already empty stomach.
Alabasta’s hot sun bested the curtains, leaking across the floor. Lyle’s usual clothes were thrown off, the black robe pooled at his waist. Drool dripped down his chin as he tried to calm his breathing. The loose shirt he was wearing was almost soaked with sweat and the rain was very rare.
Lyle groaned and rested his head on the edge of the bucket as the door pushed open.
“Go away.” He said, in a hoarse voice. “Leave me to be.”
Cobra offered a soft smile, “When I heard you willingly accompanied Vivi outside, I figured I would find you here. You and the sun don’t mix.”
Lyle only groaned in response. Cobra looked around the room, adapted to attempt to protect such a cold climate dweller. He had suffered every-time he stepped outside,
opting to be nocturnal when it was coldest.
“Lyle…I don’t think you’re meant for here.”
“….I know you’re right.” He sighed, slowly sitting up, his skin red and blotchy. “The heat illness has made
me sick nearly every moment….” alyse
said, sighing as the two silently accepted their paths were not to be romantic or even as neighbors down the street.
Cobra simply shook his head, “You will always be welcome to visit. Maybe bring some ice next time to keep you cool.”
Lyle huffed before getting sick again, Cobra gently rubbing a circle into his back.
Later, Lyle stood on the balcony, staring at the dark sky and just watching the moon. The stars sprinkled against the sky and the sands were finally tolerant for his body. He closed his eyes before opening them, sending the visitor who had materialized on his balcony. “You’re usually asleep now.”
Cobra leaned against the balcony railing with in. “Well…it wouldn’t be right to send you off without a proper goodbye. We were together a year, abit you were sick most of it.”
“The gator gifted me a compass,”
“How…nice of Sir Crocodile.”
They stood in silence watching the sky. Lyle’s eyes drifted down to his hands, still red and patchy. He had thought he had found a good place, but the enviorment was not for him.
“Will you call sometimes?”
“I do not know Cobra…that is for the stars to decide”
