allgold
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He dashed out of the room right after Robin had made her way back to Nami’s side. The second the cook was gone, Nami stood up and grabbed Robin’s arm.
“You have to help me hide this from Sanji.”
In the article, there was no mention of the Baratie chefs and most of it was about a marine who had valiantly fought off the pirates who were the cause of what happened. The only valuable piece of information in the text was the name of the pirate group: the Foul-Play Pirates. It was familiar, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. She needed more information.
Series
- Part 2 of A Catalogue of Chefs
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There were a lot of chefs on the Baratie. Not all of them stayed for long, but Sanji remembered their names.
(aka a list of 10 Baratie chefs that Sanji interacted with)Series
- Part 1 of A Catalogue of Chefs
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The crew reaches autumn island Selva, home to a small village of 11 all with a curse on their tastebuds. Sanji still smiles and says, "I won’t turn away from anyone who is hungry" and feeds them.
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What she expects, and what she doesn't expect, in a long-distance relationship with Vivi.
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Zeff took one last deep breath in. “You are a cook too though, I might bring you along. I’ll name it the Baratie, how does that sound, little eggplant?”
“The Baratie sounds like a shitty name for a restaurant, old geezer.”
Sanji remembers every word Zeff said, especially his last ones.
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“Luffy? What’s the matter?”
“We’re gonna’ have a wedding,” he says incomprehensibly. Which—no. Absolutely not. Haven’t they had enough of weddings, lately? Nami's certainly had enough for a lifetime, thanks.
“What are you talking about? What wedding?” she demands as coherently as she can while running on only two-and-a-half hours of sleep.
“Mine and Sanji’s,” Luffy declares.
Bookmarked by allgold
17 May 2021
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“I always assumed that I would. I used to think about it, as a kid. Planning a wedding. There was always some… faceless lady. Beautiful but… no one real. I think I’d like to. To stand with the person I love and say the words. Exchange rings and wear them and always know. Shove cake into each other’s mouths. The first dance. It would be… nice. Real. Not political. Not a circus. Real,” he says, every word more thoughtfully chosen than the last. There’s something in his voice that aches. Something that wants.
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Luffy’s eyes are unfocused as he smiles at Sanji. Robin takes a measured sip of her coffee in the same amount of time it takes Luffy to bite clear through half of his sandwich.
Sanji swipes a few napkins off the table and sets about wiping crumbs from Luffy’s face. “I’m so sorry about him, Robin-chan.”
“It’s quite alright,” she says. And it is because there is something very sweet about the scene in front of her. Robin smiles. One out of seven lights click on.
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Luffy, Sanji, the Straw Hats, and how it takes time to notice the obvious.
Bookmarked by allgold
04 Mar 2021
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“Yeah,” Luffy grumbles, lifting his head. His eyes are unfocused as he smiles at Sanji, but the softness in his expression vanishes once he catches sight of the meat and meat sandwich in front of him. Robin takes a measured sip of her coffee in the same amount of time it takes Luffy to bite clear through half of his sandwich.
“Remember to chew,” Sanji scolds.
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Luffy tilts his head. “I asked Sanji to join my crew and be my boyfriend back on the funny ship that looked like a fish. The Baratie.”
“And I said no,” Sanji says to the floor. “To both.”
“But then you changed your mind! To both!”
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Sanji is injured after a particularly bad fight with fed up Marines. Usopp is sticking to his side like glue, and slips into the infirmary bed with him.
"You fought well today."
Series
- Part 28 of Quote Prompts
Bookmarked by allgold
04 Mar 2021
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“Of course, I was going to anyway. I’m sure we can figure it out how to not starve.” He agrees, the cook already feeling a little better about being away from his station. “I’ll guard your precious kitchen with my life.”
Sanji gives his hand a couple loving pats. “Good luck, dear. Luffy goes for the throat.”
“He’s not that bad.” Usopp mainly says for himself. “Right?”
Silence.
A gulp, “Right, Sanji?”
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Zoro gets lost, Sanji gets captured by the marines, the Strawhats break into the ship's prison, and they all escape with a bang.
Not exactly in that order, much to the confusion of Sanji's cellmates.
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Bookmarked by allgold
14 Jan 2021
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He then breaks the door open and casually walks out of the brig.
“He just told us he was the cook, right,” the bearded guy bound beside him whispers at him in disbelief, and, fuck, Beardy is absolutely correct, this guy isn’t the captain. There’s a strong guy with a pain threshold of a god, and the strawhats are making him cook.
Fuck getting saved. He wants absolutely nothing to do with this insane monsters of a pirate crew.
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You can only watch as the whole thing unfolds itself like a scene in a play. The old man is on his knees in a bitter facsimile of a proposal, struggling to get himself upright, but he only has eyes for the cook, standing stiff and emotionless against the window, face turned away towards the sun and black figure stark and unyielding in the kitchen. The morning sunlight streaming in through the kitchen window suddenly feels too vivid, dreamless and unreal, rendering the old man and the cook’s figures as distant and far away as memory; you feel, instinctively, that somehow this scene in the kitchen will be something that you will remember even years down the road, the smallest things the biggest in their significance, the bright edge of something being struck ringing in your ears.
Still not looking away from the window, the cook says, ‘I’m calling Chopper.’
On the Sabaody Archipelago, you meet an old man and a cook. The old man is a swordsman, and is aged close to seventy; the cook, however, is young, and doesn't look aged at all.
Series
- Part 1 of like the seas, you live on (in me)
Bookmarked by allgold
30 Dec 2020
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The cook’s blond hair is spilling itself brilliant like golden sunlight over the old man’s scarred-rough brown skin. The rest of the world might as well not exist, right now—the whole world narrowing itself down to this kitchen with the warm-painted walls and linoleum floors, air suspended like a shiver and strung tight as a breath. Wish and fear thudding themselves equally hard against your breastbone, you scarcely dare to breathe, every slip of air you are able to take into your lungs and heart somehow feeling like an egregious offense against the cook and the old man lying motionless on the floor. Just yesterday, the old man had been practicing with weights three times his size. Just yesterday, the old man had opened a bottle of booze and shared a conversation with you. Just yesterday, the old man had seemed healthy and alive. The air you inhale feels fragile in its heavy implications.
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Smoke curls out from the end of the cook’s cigarette, wispy and incorporeal and seemingly not all there. It reminds you of the swirl in the cook’s eyebrows, all of a sudden. There’s a curl to the cook’s mouth too—a half uptick of a smirk, ageless in both its melancholy and grace, and you can’t stop the shiver that runs through you in that moment. The cook has never seemed more unreal.