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Chapter Text

Two hours into Hina’s off duty hours, time she should have been sleeping, had instead been spent gripping the fabric of her hammock tightly in her fingers. Once again, her ship pitched starboard before being slammed portside, the quick release belts holding her tightly down digging into her tights and midsection. She may not fall from the cot, but momentum still tossed her head about, still made her stomach tighten.

Truthfully, Hina hated the Grand Line. Or rather, hated travelling it. Islands stabilized their nearby surrounding climates, but once they were in no man’s land, all bets were off. One hour it could be sunny and lovely, the next, a storm cycling between drizzle and ship sinking waves. Terrible for morale, terrible for her beauty routine, and most of all, terribly dangerous for her and her men. 

Once again they lurched starboard, a grimace pursing her lips. So focused was she on keeping the nausea at bay, that when her door slammed open and two bodies toppled through into her quarters, Hina squealed. 

Hina does not squeal. She barked. Threateningly, and not at all in a high pitched and startled manner, of course. The door slammed shut with the swinging of the ship, the two bodies smacking into it.

“Miss Hina!” “Captain Hina!”

Jango and Fullbody flailed to untangle themselves and crawl over to her. “Don’t sit up!” Oh, Fullbody dared to order Hina? They had reached her cot, clinging to the deck as it quivered under their feet. “Not on our worthless accounts!” Jango wailed. Hina sighed. 

“What is it, you fools?” Hina sighed. 

“We came to help you sleep!” Jango’s head popped up above her cot, his gangly limbs following. It seemed that despite the Navy’s regimented eating schedule, he was to be permanently a bag of bones. “We refuse to let a storm bother our beloved Lady Hina!” Fullbody said, hands grabbing at the end of her swaying hammock. 

And before she could punt them both away, they had settled in next to her, on either side. Jango’s sharp elbows dug into her ribs, Fullbody’s strong shoulders pressed against her chin. The effect was near immediate. The ship still hurled about, but Hina? Practically immobilized, her head and limbs pinned in place. 

The idiots had had a good idea for once. She sighed, warring internally with whether or not to tell them to leave, or to let them stay. “We’ve got you,” the two idiots said in tandem, their fingers white knuckling as the ship swooped downward. 

“Fine,” Hina decided, “It is too dangerous for you morons to be wandering the ship anyway.” 

An hour later, when Hina buckled them in next to her as their useless snores filled her quarters, she pressed a kiss to their foreheads. Not that she would ever admit it, of course.

Chapter Text

“And it t’was there that Sora stabbed the great pirate demon on the mountaintop, but her… but her… um…line!” Hibari cringed, grimacing as Helmeppo sighed dramatically. 

“But her foe was not so easy to vanquish and rose up from the freezing snow, letting out a roar to shake the heavens! But our Sora was not to be intimidated for she had the might of justice at her back, e’er to lift our bravest heroine in times of…” Helmeppo gestured from his chest, sweeping his arm out over the imaginary audience, turning his face towards the sky. 

And continuing, far past Hibari’s asked for line. Rear Admiral Grus’ clay minions turned towards the blonde with rapt attention, easily distracted from their task of set building. She watched Helmeppo jab at his invisible foe with an invisible rapier, sidestepping with a flourish and a boisterous laugh. 

Why had she even volunteered for this play…

“Helmeppo-san’s at it again, huh?” came a gentle voice behind her. Butterflies formed in her stomach as Hibari turned around to greet her commander, Captain Koby. His glasses were slightly askew where they rested atop his bandana, pink hair a little disheveled from the outside. 

“He knows my part better than me,” Hibari smiled nervously, tucking her hands into her jacket pockets to keep from fidgeting. He just looked so cute with his nose slightly pink from the cold! 

“Yeah, he was like this last year too,” Koby chuckled. Helmeppo was now whisking back and forth across the floor, twirling while calling out the names of Sora’s famous attacks. “I barely got to practice my parts, I ended up having to ask Garp-san for help in the middle of the night.” His grin faded, mention of their beloved Vice Admiral only reminding them of his terrible absence. 

“Um,” Hibari’s eyes darted around the gymnasium, a massive G-14 painted on the walls. “Have you had much of a chance to practice for this one y-yet?” 

Helmeppo leaped across the makeshift stage, pivoting, hair whirling. “Not yet, though I probably should.” Koby scratched the back of his head with a small laugh. 

“W-would you like to practice? With me? I mean, you don’t have to, I’m sure Helmeppo-san would be a better choice,” Hibari worried her bottom lip between her teeth, desperately willing herself to stop shaking. He was just Koby, her favorite senpai! Just kind and gentle and strong and sweet and–

“That’s a great idea Hibari-san!” He smiled at her and she nearly passed out on the spot. Too cute! Too cool! “Let me just read over the script again quickly, okay?” she nodded, thankful for the breather. She would need to be at her best to help him!

Just a scant few minutes later, when she was not at all ready, Koby tapped her on the shoulder. “Alright, I’m ready. I am Prince Bub-le of Gumgum Kingdom, and you’re Sora. And this is our first meeting.” He stepped a few feet away from her as her eyes widened. Wait, Koby was playing the Pirate Demon, not the Prince! Helmeppo was playing the Prince, but the words died in her throat as he took a deep breath and began–

“Lady Admiral Sora of the Navy, it is an honor to meet you at last,” he dropped to one knee and reached for her hand. The moment he touched her, her heart near exploded out of her chest. He was holding her hand! And looking into her eyes! 

“I wish to fight by your side against the tyranny of the Pirate Demon and his fearsome crew.” Wait, she knew what was coming next! Oh NO she wasn’t ready! In slow motion, Hibari watched as Koby brought his lips to the back of her hand. “Would you do me the honor?” And kissed her there, gently. 

Hibari promptly passed out as Helmeppo yelled at them from across the gym “What are you doing Koby?! Those are my lines!”

Chapter Text

A gray sea, waves slow but gaining in power under the cold gloomy sky. Picturesque though imposing, something Hina was sure she’d seen in paintings within the bounded halls of Marineford. She had never cared for them, the agonized faces of soldiers being blasted apart by cannonfire were depicted too much like the damned, the look in their eyes haunting and full of regret. 

She understood now though, as she gazed at the sea through the porthole. There, on the edge of the horizon, were dark sails. Dozens of them, all full of soldiers in black suits and black hats. They were coming to fulfill God’s will. 

From her quarters, she couldn’t see the white sails of justice flying on her mast. Just one single ship against an onslaught of once-allies. A single speck before an island surrounded by chaos, civilians desperately scrambling onto the few ships with red sails. 

They would leave their paintings behind to burn. 

So many pathways to get here, roads that were walked, choices that were made. Each one a bar in the proverbial cage she was trapped in now. 

Purupurupuru

She turned from the sea to the den den mushi on her desk. 

“We’re pulling out.” The scratchy voice on the line said. Hina could practically taste the cigarette between their lips. Hina stayed quiet on the line, unsure for the first time in her life what to say. Regret tasted like mud, and she longed instead for the sweet taste of open waves and sunny skies. 

“Never thought we’d be on the same side again after I quit, you know.” The snail’s eyes look haunted. Hina wonders if hers look that way too. 

“Hina knows.” 

Rapid voices in the background, the sound of running feet. “I hate you marines,” Betty sighs when it’s quiet again. “It’s easier when you stay hypocritical. Your heroics just make us revolutionaries look bad.” 

“You could never look bad,” Hina says, marvelling at how easy levity comes to her in this time of despair. Perhaps Jango and Fullbody had always been onto something with their amusing and inappropriate antics. 

The snail’s eyes water before being blinked away, uncharacteristic of her, Hina doesn’t like it. “The day you left the Navy, there was something Hina had planned on asking you,” Hina says into the looming quiet. They don’t have long. She can clearly make out the shapes of the black sails beyond. 

“Was it about my skin care routine? The secret is spite,” Betty says, though Hina hears the crack in her voice. 

“Hm, Hina will take that under advisement.”

“Commander! Five minutes until radio silence!” Hina hears in the background. It’s as quiet as death in Hina’s office, though she knows her men are on deck, doing their last preparations before their fated folly. Hina hopes the history books will recall this moment as one of noble sacrifice and not the beginning of a doomed and foolish rebellion. 

“Would you still, when this is over, join Hina in matrimony?” 

“Matrimony? We’re supposed to get dinner first,” Betty chuckles. 

“Hina would rather skip to the forever part.”

“It’s about the journey, not the destination.”

“Says the revolutionary,” Hina smiles gently at the snail. She hopes it captures her exact likeness on the other end of the line. She hopes Betty can see her, picture her clearly. Her red lipstick applied perfectly, not a smudge to her eyeliner, not a rosy hair out of place. 

“Quite the downer if I say yes,” Betty says, voice hitching. 

“It will raise Hina’s spirits, imagining this future.” She doesn’t wipe at her eyes, knowing that doing so will smudge that flawless eyeliner. 

“Well, that’s kind of my thing, isn’t it?” Betty responds hoarsely. “Then yes. You may kiss the bride and all that nonsense.” 

“I like the nonsense,” Hina whispers, voice cracking. 

“Commander, radio silence in one!” the snail bites its lip, tears running freely down its eye stalks. A truly terrible look, den den mushis should not cry.

“Then here’s one for the road,” Betty breathes. The snail mimes a kiss but to Hina’s now closed eyes, it’s Betty’s beautiful red lips, her purple bob framing her flawless cheekbones, her eyes glittering with mirth only meant for Hina. No tears, no pain, no regret. She would look lovely in a white tuxedo with the jacket open. Or perhaps it would have been a nudist ceremony. Anything for her. 

She puts the receiver down as the call ends, looks back at the ships bearing down towards them, and takes a deep breath. Surely, this fight had to be easier than that call. Hina leaves her office without another look out the porthole, she’ll see the horizon soon enough.

Chapter Text

WHY did Buggy always end up getting involved in things he wanted nothing to do with?! Was it truly so beyond the powers that be to just let him dig up enough treasure to keep him awash in babes, grog, and fine dining for the rest of his life?! One Piece be damned, no way it could be worth this! Buggy shrieked as the building around him was split in half. Crocodile just had to go and poke the hornet’s nest! WHY had Buggy agreed to go along with his insane schemes to take over a whole ass Navy Base?! 

Same reason he was screaming now, as above his head two powerful blades belonging to two terrifying monsters clashed. Mihawk versus larger but babier Mihawk! What hell was this?! One Mihawk was bad enough! A feral grin had placed it self over normal Mihawk’s face, an expression that made Buggy want to weep. Well, more than he was already. 

The two streaked towards each other, a chasm opening below them from the sheer force of it. Buggy screamed as he fell downward. He hated this! Really! He scrambled away from the chaos, but it seemed to follow him everywhere. If it wasn’t Mihawk and his creepy lookalike, then it was Crocodile and his! 

What was with this navy base?! Why did they have freaky baby versions of scary people?! 

Worse, why wasn’t there one of him?! 

If he got out of this alive, he’d kiss his savior’s boots! He swore it on his career as a pirate! 

Famous last words as they say, because attempting to kiss Mihawk’s boots proved to be more dangerous than the Paramount War. Oh why oh WHY did hunting for treasure always involve so much terror?! There had to be a better way to live the high life!

Chapter Text

The swill that passes for beer in Shakky’s bar scrapes down Edward’s throat, leaving his mouth a barren desert. He grimaces but takes another sip as a beam of sunlight bursts into the saloon through the door. It swings wildly as a few tiny figures dart through it at a frightening speed. High pitched shrieks and giggles run around the room, bouncing off chairs and under tables, the few pirates taking refuge within grumbling under their breaths. 

They wouldn’t dare make a bigger fuss though, even as one of the little brats takes off with someone’s wallet. No one messed with Linlin’s kids and got away with it. Well, as long as she was watching anyway. 

Which she wasn’t. Edward frowns. 

His gaze fell on his crewmate as she downed a beer probably larger than some of her kids, a toddler curled under her stool, asleep. “Linlin, go easy on that,” Shakky says, cleaning a glass. She does it eloquently, even if the rag is absolutely filthy. 

“Can it, you didn’t have the night I had,” Linlin smacks her lips, leaning back on the barstool. Her pink hair shifts and Edward can see a multitude of small bruises forming on her neck. Disgust rises in him. 

“I will admit…” Shakky lights up a cigarette, holding it lightly between two fingers. Her gaze is full of something Newgate feels holds a meaning he cannot comprehend. Soft, disappointed, confused but full perhaps of something like empathy. A man could lose himself in that gaze. 

“That I don’t know why you went home with that man last night. You could have any number of better ones,” Shakky finishes. She tops off Linlin’s beer and pushes a bowl of peanuts towards her. 

“Oh he was crap alright, those nasty fishman teeth were something I ain’t tryin’ again.” She crams a handful of peanuts in her mouth, shells and all. “And I won’t have to,” she grins then, fingers tapping her stomach. Seriously? Again? Newgate swallows another gulp of shitty beer.

“Should I get you water instead?” Shakky puts her cigarette out as Linlin laughs. 

“Nah, if they can’t handle a little alcohol then they’ve got no place being brats of mine.” 

“It’s not a little,” Edward rumbles, shooting Linlin a glare. 

Linlin flips him off and stares directly at him as she proceeds to chug the damn thing. The door whacks open again as two of her brood come charging into the bar, one of them with a bloody nose, the other with a bloody fist. The aggrieved one doesn’t run to his mother, but instead to Shakky, clinging to her legs with tears in his eyes.

“He hit me! He hit me, Miss Shakky!” He wails as his brother, taller, lanky and looking a lot like Streusen, sticks his tongue out and blows a raspberry. 

Before Shakky can respond however, Linlin leans over the bar. “Oh? Did you now, Pero-chan?” Both kids freeze, going wide eyed as they gaze at their mother. The smaller one, Edward feels like his name is Stove, or something dumb like that, pales and detaches from Shakky quickly. 

“He did Mama!” 

Linlin looks at her oldest, and Edward almost feels bad for the brat. That was a heavy gaze to bear. “Pero-chan, we don’t hit family,” Linlin says, her gaze dark, “...Unless they deserve it. Did Oven-chan deserve it?” She crosses her arms, voice almost sickly sweet. 

The two boys look at one another, and Edward raises an eyebrow. He knows a bond when he sees it, a rarity on Hachinosu, among the Rocks pirates. “I deserved it, Mama,” Oven squeaks. She nods, then reaches forward and ruffles both of their hair. 

“Next time, hit back harder. Now go and bother Kaido, that idiot is sleeping in too much.” They rush away as Linlin leans her elbows on the bartop, a fond smile on her face, not directed at her kids but at the bowl of peanuts.

“Are you sure you want more, Linlin? You already have quite the handful,” Shakky comments drily. Edward notes that she’s watering down Linlin’s next beer. Not like it could make the taste any worse. 

“Of course, I want the biggest family there is!” 

Edward stiffens. There was no way she and he held a similar want. He would never let a bunch of his brats run wild on an island full of deadly pirates, or let his woman down alcohol while their next was barely a seed. 

“Oh? Is that why you went home with that man?” Shakky leans on the bar, her focus solely on Linlin. 

“Duh! I need a couple brats with fishman traits,” she shrugs, “But what I really want are a few rarer ones. Tontattas, Long Legs, Minks… Giants.” Newgate makes a face. 

“Family isn’t just blood,” He growls, getting both women’s attention. “It’s more than that.” It’s honor, a bond, care and protection. It’s a commitment, something beyond reason. Love, even when it burns. 

Charlotte Linlin sizes him up in a way that makes him feel like meat in a butchershop. He wonders if Shakky feels like that all the time. “Way I see it, Newgate, blood is all that matters. Can’t hate each other if you’re family.” 

He hates, that in a way, that’s the same as his own reasoning. 

“Hm, don’t you want a family too, Edward-san?” Shakky is the only one who calls him that. He likes the way it sounds, but he wishes she hadn’t said that in front of Linlin. 

“Oh? You, Newgate? A family? Mr. Stussy-get-off? Mr. Too Good for the rest of us?” Linlin flips her hair over her shoulder and he considers leaving the bar. Except that would be running, and Edward Newgate doesn’t run. Not from anything (well, maybe a few things, like that crazy fucker Garp, or Stussy). 

“What are you anyway? Too big to be human, too small to be a giant,” she asks suddenly. The room goes tense with a sudden pressure as he glares at her. 

“None of your damn business, Linlin.” 

She meets his gaze in a way that clearly says she doesn’t like his tone as the few other pirates in the bar pass out from the tension. 

“Hey you two, not in my bar, if you please.” Shakky pouts at them as the toddler under Linlin’s seat wakes up and begins to cry. An unexpected look of concern paints over Linlin’s face as she scoops the brat up with one hand, making soft shushing noises like any other mother in the world. It looks strange on her, this woman who fights and eats and fucks like she’ll die tomorrow. Leaves a sour taste in his mouth. 

As the kid calms down, Linlin gets up from the bar. “Thanks for the beer Shakky, shit as always.” 

Edward goes back to his drink, fight averted. It’s almost always averted. He wonders how long that will last. 

He doesn’t look at Linlin as she heads for the door and comes to a stop. “I don’t like you, Newgate,” she says suddenly. He rolls his eyes and glances at her over his shoulder. “But like I said, you can’t hate family.” She laughs at the look on his face as she blows him a kiss and leaves.

Chapter Text

Tashigi does not enjoy New Marineford. Don’t get her wrong, she doesn’t mind the soaring white towers of Justice, or the halls filled with soldiers like herself. She doesn’t mind the port filled with warships large enough to hold giants. She doesn’t mind the entire multigenerational navy families who have set up lives for themselves to support the troops. 

No, Tashigi doesn’t like Marineford because it makes her superior officer twitchy, irritable, petulant, and worst of all, rude. To their taskmasters, to their troops, and to her. “Smoker-san, we should be polite, perhaps it’ll have more sway,” she says but it’s no use and falls on deaf ears. Tashigi steels herself as they pull into port after the fiasco of Punk Hazard. Smoker was being nigh insufferable, the Strawhats and Dressrosa and his still healing injuries to both body and pride make him a snarling mass of acrid smoke stalking down those white hallowed halls with only the thought of retribution in mind.

Someone needed to pay for the absolute bungling of the public perception, someone needed to pay for the length of Vergo’s deception, for the pain innocent children suffered at the hands of bureaucratic neglect, for turning monsters into allies, for… for so many sins. ‘The white halls are hollow for a reason’, Tashigi thinks as she follows her commander up flights of stairs, though she knows this effort will be fruitless. But her commander’s need for a target will not be satiated until he has one. 

She barely cringes as Smoker brusquely shoves past the small army of assistants supporting Fleet Admiral Akainu. They wring their hands and for a moment, Tashigi feels for them. They will no doubt be chewed out for her commander’s actions. They were just trying to do their jobs. 

But so was she. So was she at Punk Hazard battling for her and her men’s lives, so was she as she wiped sweat from little Mocha’s brow as drug withdrawal wracked her exhausted frame. So was Smoker-san when he got in the way of someone who was supposed to be their ally, muscles and skin torn to shreds in doing so. 

Some jobs were only jobs, others a service to something more. And it was that dedication to more that made Smoker-san worth following behind as he kicked down the Fleet Admiral’s door. There would undoubtedly be consequences for this. 

Fleet Admiral Sakazuki is an imposing figure in white behind his desk. Absolute Justice is splashed across the back wall, a window overlooking the Navy’s domain leaves the room in shadow, the sun outside but not within. A cigar is burning between his fingers, his eyes narrowed at their interruption. 

Smoker holds up a copy of the paper from two mornings prior, showing Dressrosa’s destruction and Admiral Fujitora’s public apology in one hand, and today’s paper with a statement from the world government disavowing Fujitora’s actions in the other. 

“What the fuck is this?” Smoker snarls around the cigars in his mouth. Fleet Admiral Sakazuki looks unamused as he stubs out his thick cigar. Tashigi remembers her own advice earlier and quickly shuts the door to the anxious gazes of the paper pushers beyond. 

“What are you doing here? Who gave you the order to leave your post?” The temperature in the room rises as their Commander-in-Chief narrows his eyes, voice low and deadly. She recalls him on the battlefield of the Paramount War, blood dripping from his nose, half his face aflame and bubbling, pirates and soldiers alike turned to ash before him in blind pursuit of his goal. 

“Barring Fujitora from Naval Bases for having the guts to do the right thing, is that how the Navy is running things?! Is that what my men fucking died for?!” Smoker ignores the questions and doesn’t care about the alarm bells ringing in Tashigi’s head. He throws the newspapers onto Admiral Sakazuki’s desk, getting close enough to yell in his stony face. 

The new leader of the Navy is not calm, collected, and savvy at defusing tense situations. No, instead he cuts right to what he thinks. Tashigi would admire that, except the world is not only nails and hammers. 

“Your men died because you disobeyed orders. Punk Hazard was not on your radar! And now we have lost faith with the public and lives! Our protocols demand obedience to avoid this exact scenario! Wild dogs get put down for a reason, Vice Admiral Smoker,” Akainu snarls, words cracking down onto her commander, prodding exactly in the wrong spot. She knows how much their soldiers' deaths weigh on him. How heavy the weight of Alabasta and now Dressrosa sits on his shoulders. 

On her shoulders. 

She wants to say something, stop the train before it crashes, defuse the situation, open the window and let the breeze cool them off. Anything. 

“What good are the protocols if they allow pirates to operate unchecked?!” Smoker roars in the Fleet Admiral’s face, fist smashing into the top of the desk, heedless of the danger he’s inviting. 

In a fight, Tashigi knows the Fleet Admiral will prevail, nor will he hold back. Her fingers tense on Shigure. She will lose if she gets between them but–

“What good are men who don’t follow orders?!” The Fleet Admiral is now on his feet. The edges of the newspapers are beginning to crisp–

She sees it in an instant. Fire clashing with smoke, boiling roiling white hot earth grasping for willowy tendrils, the office floor melting, the screams of the people down below. The newspapers blaring “Navy Top Brass Feud Amidst Pirate Uprisings!” And Mocha shivering in fear under her pink blanket as Vegapunk injects chemicals to shrink her bones, her skin, her organs. 

It’s too much.

“HOW DOES THIS HELP?!” Tashigi screams, her voice echoing off the walls. Both men freeze, their eyes darting to her. “Orders and protocols and posturing! How does that help the children who are hurting?!” She flings her arm out, pointing at Absolute Justice scrawled on the wall like blood. 

“Where is their justice?! It doesn’t matter now who disobeyed orders or how pirates used us for fools. It happened. It’s over. What matters is what we do to help those who have suffered! So sit down and… and make it work!” Her whole body shakes as they stare at her, the echoes of her words dying to leave them all in silence. She needs air, she needs to hit something, she needs to be held and allowed to cry, she needs to get stronger still. 

Tashigi marches from the room without a backwards glance.

—

The sunset is a riot of red, pink and gold. Dying rays bounce off New Marineford’s arches. It’s beautiful, the seagulls coming home to roost like bats. She watches them, knees pulled up to her chest from the deck of her ship. She wants to go home, back to her small dilapidated quarters at G-5, or to the women’s barracks in Loguetown, or to the tatami mats in her mother’s village in the East Blue. 

Footsteps bring a body to her side. She knows who it is without having to look. 

They watch the sun disappear, the colors fading to the grays and deep blues of murky twilight. The blinding white lights of the watch towers guarding the island flicker on one by one. 

“Be polite huh?” Smoker tries after a time. She supposes she deserves the slight jab. She’s a Navy soldier, hypocrisy and all. The thought makes her hunch even smaller. 

“Tashigi.” Her eyes slowly crawl to look upon him. There’s a still healing bruise under his right eye, and he holds himself in such a way that she knows the stitched slices across his abdomen pull and ache with every breath. She bites her lip. 

“You did good,” Smoker says once her gaze meets his. 

“But it’s not enough, is it?” she whispers. He turns his gaze on New Marineford, hard to see through the harsh lights meant to invoke safety, strength. Instead, they just make her feel cold. 

“No, but it’s still good, and that counts for something.” Tashigi knows his words aren’t meant only for her. She leans against him as his arm comes up around her shoulders, and his lips press against her crown. 

Next time, she’ll do more than just make it count.

Chapter Text

Robin knows something most others do not. This is not an unusual occurrence, after all, many people have died for the knowledge she possesses, though the knowledge in question is not the one that gives her a bounty. 

She watches the dust of Baltigo turn the stars hazy, the moon fuzzy, craters indistinct. Somewhere out among the darkness revolve other celestial bodies, too hard to spot by eye alone. But they spin and spin around and around their world, shaping things in ways no one can fathom. 

The massive solar system replica that had sat in the heart of the Ohara Library had used to occupy her for hours. Perhaps if history had not been in her blood, she would have pursued study of the stars. Balls of gas surrounded by the possibility of other places with other lives and other people. 

But history had called to her, compelling her to read every book in the library, to devour the shelves, the stacks, the leatherbound covers and brittle papyrus scrolls. It was this quest, this thirst, that led her to the particular bit of knowledge that sat in the forefront of her mind. 

Something she rarely let cross her mind. After all, a friendly face alone was hard enough to come by, let alone something… more. Rare, precious. Like Luffy, like Nami, like Chopper and Franky and Zoro. Like Brook and Usopp, and Jinbe and Sanji. Like Saul.

A bond, but this one… this one fated by the stars. 

The wind tastes of the last of the day’s heat, like salt and the gentle perspiration of lichen clinging to sedimentary towers of earth from long ago. Robin can still picture the cover of the tome, hidden at the back of a bottom shelf in the least populated part of the library. A pale cloth, treated with a chemical Robin had only seen used in the East Blue, but not for many centuries. The pages were few, the paper thin, the font spidery and littered with fragments of questionable block printing. An art lost for many years after the void century. 

It should have been kept in the part of the library dedicated to archival care and restoration. She had meant to bring it there, but never had the chance. 

A door opens behind her, swinging shut on hinges that needed to be oiled, though the sand would interfere again far too soon. Baltigo is not a place designed for the delicate. Harsh winds batter it from all sides and the sun burns away what water collects in the crevices among the rocks. 

Yet still, there is life. Under the surface, humans, fishmen, minks and more are a flurry of activity. It’s never still, never quiet. “The enemy nevers sleeps and neither do they” is a motto that's been engraved on the stone walls. 

“You’ve returned,” Robin says as a man comes to stand next to her. She watches the eastward sky, waiting for the sun to rise. 

The book had been so slight in her hands, the language old like a fairytale, which is what she thought it was at first. A story as old as time, the moon lonely and longing meeting the sun, hopeful and curious. The two were never to meet but once a year, when the sky would go dark to allow them their privacy. 

A legend to explain a very real phenomena. But then the legend turned into something else. A ritual, theorems, complicated mathematics and physics. Modern and arcane all at once, strange and disconcerting. She had spent hours attempting to follow the reasoning, understand the arguments and graphs and theory only to come away with the vaguest understanding. The book was less a fairy tale and more a guide, a map, a compass, a light in the dark. 

It was only as Robin grew older, slept with her back always to a wall and never in a place with less than two exits, that she found herself recalling the details of its pages. Night after lonely and frightening night, it became a comfort to her. She began to write out the math she could see so clearly behind her eyelids, remember the diagrams and carefully drawn maps of the sky.

For the ultimate posit of this book, was that among the stars, if the correct lens was applied, one would find their match, the moon to their sun, the sun to their moon. 

“Just in time for you to leave,” he responds. At dawn, Robin would be boarding a skiff to take her to the next island, and from there, to Sabaody to fulfill a promise two years in the making. 

“Would you like me to pass on a message?” she asks, turning at last. Dark hair, dark eyes, ink on his face to remind him of his past and his hopes for the future. She knows there is a matching band around his arm, more by his heart, another across his thighs. He looks so little like her captain and yet…

“No, what words I have will be said when I see him at last.” Dragon’s eyes hold the same warmth as his son’s. Robin nods. The moon is beginning its descent, a breeze coming to play with the hair that has grown so long on her shoulders. Dragon leans against her and when they kiss, Robin knows it will be a long time before she sees him again. 

But she will see him again, as the sun and the moon go round and round.

Chapter Text

Mashed potatoes first. No, steak! No wait, curry! Or maybe… dessert? Drool formed in Linlin’s mouth, her stomach growling furiously. Her rotation was almost over! Although… she tapped her lips, leaving her post for just a minute or two couldn’t hurt right? Any dumb pirate foolish enough to antagonize a ship headed by Vice Admiral Kong wasn’t going to be stopped by cute little her. 

Well, unless she got much hungrier. Then the rest of the crew was in a lot more danger from her than from any pirate. 

Linlin’s eyes darted side to side, checking if the coast was clear. It was. A smile took over her face as she quickly scurried towards the mess hall. It was late, but there was always some snacks or leftovers for the night crew! 

She couldn’t wait to get back onto a normal rotation with normal lunch and normal breakfast and normal dinner. Then she could get more than two portions! Linlin ignored that that was what had got her put on night crew to begin with. Vice Admiral Kong just didn’t understand the needs of a beautiful woman was all. 

She busted into the mess with a little jig. Oh time for food! Chips or apples or bread or steak or cupcakes or–! Linlin froze mid-wiggle. There were no snacks on the tables. No chips. No apples. Her ears began ringing, but hope was not all lost yet! She darted to the large refrigerator, where the prepped meals were kept and yanked the door open. 

Nothing. Just a measly mostly empty bottle of ketchup. 

Linlin’s heart began pounding. No food. Where was the food? She needed to eat! How could she fight pirates on an empty stomach?! Or sleep?! Or LIVE?! Her breath came heavy, blood feeling too hot in her body. 

The kitchen. There had to be food there. That was where they made the meals! 

Her pink hair streamed behind her as she bolted for the kitchen doors faster than the eye could follow. There had to be something, she’d ever eat raw flour! Eggs! Milk, cheese, hard tack! Her stomach was screeching in her ears as she tore through the doors, the metal denting inward before clanging to the floor. 

It was dark in the kitchen, the only light coming from behind her, making her shadow loom across the floor. Linlin was not alone. A man was standing there, a rice cracker in his mouth. 

Lieutenant Charlotte Linlin saw red. How DARE he?! How dare he eat HER food?!

What happened next was a blur of punching fists and furious grapples, screeching and clawing. If Linlin had been less hungry, she would have recognized her foe to be that new ship transfer, the young man with the scar by his eye. 

Instead, they ended up on the floor wrestling for a bag of rice crackers, until Linlin reared her head back and brought it down with a skull cracking smack onto her foe’s forehead! He yelped, and she snatched the rice cracker from his mouth with her own. 

Near instantly, the hunger fugue state began to fade from her, the rice cracker, though only half of one, delicious in her mouth. Of course in this moment, a fist whacked into her chin, shoving her onto her ass. Linlin blinked, looking into the face of the new guy. A dribble of blood was dripping from his nose, and his lip looked oddly swollen. Like someone had bit it. 

The fact that the guy was still alive however, was the most surprising thing. Linlin had never met anyone who could survive her hunger rampages before, even the smaller ones tended to leave… desolation. But Linlin didn’t want to think about that. She wanted to think about the fact that this idiot man had a whole bag of rice crackers in his hand. 

“You’re pretty strong,” he said, maybe a little awe in his eyes. 

Linlin snatched the crackers from his hand, cramming them into her mouth as he laughed. A loud Bwahaha! that made her want to throw him overboard. “Shut up recruit! Don’t get between a superior officer and her food!” She barked around the crumbs in her mouth. 

A wild grin split his face then, like he had just encountered the best thing he’d experienced all day. “Yeah yeah, listen, I know Vice Admiral Kong has a whole roast in his quarters. Let’s go get it!” 

Linlin did not have to be told twice. 

It was only later as the two of them were serving latrine duty as punishment that she learned his name was Monkey D. Garp.

Chapter Text

A gray morning rises through the smoke of God Valley. The fires have dwindled, the bodies have not. Garp watches the tide sweep out, taking the fallen forms of soldiers, pirates, and civilians with it. 

For once, he’s not hungry. Instead, there’s a cold hollow in his chest. The world is not what he thought, the world is not what he wants, the world is…

A body drops down beside him with a tired whump. Garp doesn’t so much as flinch. A lone seagull hovers over the shore, as if unsure whether to venture closer. If it knows what’s good for it, it would go far from here. Farther than the horizon, beyond the sun. Distant shores where a new world was possible. 

A new life. 

“You were right, about the pitfalls of adventure.” Roger’s voice shocks the silence. Garp feels as though he’s looking down a long tunnel. He stands on one side, everything else is on the other. All he need do is walk into the dark. 

“What would you know about “right”?” he grunts, though it has no fire. Just a deep weariness. Like when she passed, blood on his hands. Sudden, terrible, like walking through a doorway he could never go back through. Dragon was so small. He still was. He shouldn’t have been here. He shouldn’t have–

“If you wanna hit somethin’, I’m right here.” Roger pokes him in the shoulder, like they were the friends they once were. A thousand lifetimes ago. The three of them: him, Roger, and her. Her death started it all, didn’t it? Roger setting out, his joining the navy. 

But nothing would really protect those with D in their name, would it? 

Garp glares at the sea, fist curling. “All I know is violence and what good will that do?” he finally spits. He doesn’t like that Roger’s eyes are on him, doesn’t want to see the look there. Pity, or empathy, or understanding. He wants none of it. Just yesterday, he wanted to drag Roger in kicking and screaming, turn him away from the life of a pirate.

Now? The Navy and pirates could all go to hell. 

“...It’s not the violence, but the people who do the most of it,” Roger says and it lands all wrong. Garp finally looks at him and in a moment the two of them are grappling in the sand, fists and teeth and only the kind of blind rage pain can bring. 

Some time later, they lie on the sand, looking up at the sky. 

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do from here,” Garp says through a swollen lip. 

“World changing events and all that will do that to a guy,” Roger says unhelpfully. Garp gives him the finger, which Roger ignores in favor of digging the hole deeper. “You’ve only got two options though, right? Stay a marine, or don’t.”

He says it the same way as deciding lunch. Important, but every day. This was not an everyday decision. It wasn’t when he joined up, and it wasn’t now. How was he supposed to stay in the Navy after this? How was he supposed to leave? Where would he go? Piracy… was not an option. He thought of Sengoku and Tsuru and Zephyr and Bogard and–

Dragon. What was he supposed to say to Dragon? Just seventeen with eyes that reminded Garp of his entire reason for becoming a marine in the first place! All at once, Garp feels his age, older, maybe the oldest he’s ever been. The oldest he could fathom, the naivety of youth drained like blood into the sea. 

“But…” Roger says suddenly, “I’d miss you chasing me. Fighting you makes me feel something.” 

“You are a selfish piece of shit, you know that?”

Roger laughs loudly, the sound echoing over the water. Joy even in the most inappropriate of places. “That’s why I’m a pirate, and why you keep hunting me. I want what I want, and I do what I want, and nobody else really matters.” 

Garp considers punching him. Hard. In the mouth. But his knuckles are already bruised and bloody, so it wouldn’t make a difference. 

“But you’re not like me,” Roger’s voice turns sober and he turns from the sky to look at Garp instead. His nose is crooked, hair matted with sand and spit and blood. A cut under his eye, but not from Garp. From the world. Garp wonders if he matches but doesn’t want to find out. 

“You care, and that means you can’t be a pirate. So, do what you can.” Something fills the hollow space in between Garp’s ribs. 

Roger presses a kiss to Garp’s forehead, like he had when they were brats, and leaves the beach.

Chapter Text

Get to the stage in the center of the town. Get to the stage. Get to the stage. Get to– it was too hot! Fire on the ground eating the walls– the stage. Get– keep your head down, bullets cracking the ground– to the– don’t trip don’t fall just keep running– stage– don’t take Ginny please don’t take Ginny– 

What was that light? A giant spider sits atop the stage but its head is Kuma. Kuma’s mouth opens wide wide wide, a shining light glowing within. It shrieks as it fires towards them and there’s Ginny and she’s crying and begging and–

Ivankov’s snap open as the world goes white. They stare at the dark ceiling, sweat soaking the sheets, cold and too hot all at once. Their heart pounds like a drum, rattatattatatatatatatat. It hurts. Their nerves tingle unpleasantly, not convinced the dream was just a dream. They knew all too well the pain of a pacifista’s beam. How many battlefields must they traverse until liberation? 

Movement on their scalp pulls Ivankov’s attention back to their dark and plush room. One had to fight the world order in style after all. “...Iva?” a sleepy voice mumbled into the quiet air. 

“Did I vake you, Ina-chan? Go vack to sleep,” They hummed gently. Contrary to Ivankov’s wishes, Inazuma proceeded to sit up fully and climb out of Ivankov’s hair. 

“Another dream?” they asked after a moment, curling up next to Ivankov’s face, fingers gently tracing their browline. Comforting, though the oil from those fingers was not good for their make-up less skin. 

Shifting suddenly, Ivankov’s body shrank, curves becoming more pronounced, the bed getting larger as their bones and muscles and fat reproportioned themselves. A better size to curl around Inazuma, who wasn’t at all put off by the sweaty sheets now drying in the air. 

“You’ve been having them more lately,” Inazuma prodded gently. Ivankov hummed noncommittally. “You know I’m here to listen, if you’d like,” they continued. Iva let out a huff. They did not want to talk about it. They wanted to talk about the latest candy dandies, and waterproof make-up and who could pull off a thong best. 

They did not want to talk about Kuma’s likeness laying waste to islands across the seas. They did not want to talk about the way seeing the Red Line made them feel sweaty in all the wrong ways. They did not want to talk about Ginny or her daughter or Lulusia or God Valley or the thousands and thousands of lives wiped off the map in blood and death and horror. 

“I don’t, vut thank you, Ina-chan,” they murmured. Inazuma began braiding a few of their wild curls. Not a hairstyle Ivankov would ever be caught wearing, but… but right now, it was okay. 

Right now, everything was okay. They shifted, their proportions widening, muscles thickening, until Inazuma was curled around the side of their face again as they turned to press a kiss in the middle of their bicolored hair gently. 

It was okay. It would be okay. One day.

Chapter Text

G-14 was pretty lame as far as choices for a base to be stationed at went. Cold, but too rocky for skiing. No lakes for ice skating, no hills for sledding. Worse, the snow was either always doing some shitty blizzard or too watery for anything other than making a gross mess. 

The bar (there was only one, thanks Vice Admiral Doll) sucked because again, cold and wet and miserable. And far from other islands except Egghead, where you needed clearance to set a single toe upon. For the entirety of Grus’ military career, shore leave was a time to celebrate. Get drunk, screw around, go to the beach, get drunk, go dancing, see the kids, get drunk. A time of revelry! Debauchery! Relaxing in the sun while watching the hot babes play volleyball on the sand. 

Yeah, shore leave might as well have been a death sentence of boredom on G-14. Nothing to do but lay around and wish you were somewhere better. That being said, Grus’ always liked a challenge (not that he would ever admit it).

“So?” he asked, as the sun set in the west, pinks and yellows like a painter vomited across the clouds. This particular spot on top of G-14 took him eight days to find. The angle had to be just right for the sun’s fading rays to hit the snow and the ice juuuuust right. Then they went from boring white to dazzling rivers of gold. 

It had taken him four days to choose the music, a combination between light girly pop stuff like Uta, to the rolling skiffs of Soul King, to the beats of Apoo. Personally, he preferred the deep cut dulcet tones of the Navy’s own Aokiji (under the label Jerez), but hey, the things you do for love.

NOT that he was in love or anything. Unless…

Kujaku tapped her angelic lips with a perfectly manicured finger. Her blonde hair looked electric in the light of the setting sun, her blue eyes like sapphires, her cherry lip gloss dewy like a sakura blossom in the morning. Her curves, those incredible mountains and valleys, were dressed in clothing that if it was sentient, would sing a never ending aria. 

Or that’s how Grus would describe her if he wrote poetry. Which he didn’t because he wasn’t lame. 

A bottle of Dressrosian wine was chilling in a bucket behind them, a dinner of freshly caught fish and greens he snatched from the Mess Hall before the chefs could butcher it. Not one, but nine different blankets were thrown on the cold roof, candles and torches all around, a small fire burning in his clay made pit. 

“Well…” Kujaku leaned in closer to him, her eyes leaving the sunset to land on him. Grus’ heart thumped in his throat and he swallowed. Her eyes fluttered shut. Oh god. Oh this was actually happening. Oh god oh man oh boy oh wow–

Sweat broke out over his forehead, hands clammy, as he leaned in, pursing his lips together. Closer, closer! Two inches, one inch, a half inch, a quarter inch, an eighth of an inch–!

Achoo!

The sun set behind the horizon, taking Grus’ hopes and dreams with it. Kujaku’s eyes reopened, her head tilting in confusion at Grus writhing on the ground in some bizarre sort of agony. 

“I’m allergic to dandelion greens,” she stated. Grus made a noise one could only describe as a dying seagull, giving her the thumbs up. “But…” she smiled as she crouched down next to him and took his chin in her palm. 

Kujaku pressed her lips to his cheek, Grus freezing in place like one of his clay statues. “Good try for a first date.”

Grus really did love a challenge.

Chapter Text

“There you are.”

Kuzan blinks slowly, turning away from his view of the sea, to face the lovely soft spoken voice. Nico Robin, the Devil Child leans against the doorway that leads back inside the cavernous maze of tunnels within the mountain that makes up Hachinosu. 

From his perch on top, Kuzan can see the entire island spread out below. Torches glitter like moths around the massive bonfire in the middle of the town. Drums and shouts and the echoes of freedom reverberate into the night air. Liberation, or something like it, makes the air taste different. 

Kuzan cannot decide if he likes it or not. What is liberation to the undeserving, after all? 

She approaches him, her steps near silent. A skill she must have learned to survive, something he can attribute to his failures still. When she reaches his side, she too takes in the view, her gaze sweeping across the spikes of ice, the destroyed buildings, the sheer swath of destruction the battle between the Straw Hats and the Blackbeard Pirates has left in its wake. One must burn it all away to start over, or something poetic like that. 

Kuzan decides then and there that he wants to be done with the metaphorical, with the figurative, with the murky and the gray. Philosophy is an exercise best left in theory, and he would prefer application. 

“Quite the view from here.” She turns at last, a small smile on her beautiful face that he does not deserve. When she leans against him, Kuzan wonders if it would be terrible to tell her that she’s more beautiful than the moon, more than the stars, more than the bottle in his fist. But what right did he have?

“You’re the best part,” he says and she chuckles. The scars down his arm tingle, his stump twinging. Pain and pleasure really do light up the same parts of the brain. Kuzan marvels when she moves from simply standing beside him to sitting carefully in his lap, using his chest as a place to rest her head. 

“Comfortable?” he asks, refraining from wrapping his arms around her tightly like he longs to. She does it for him, an extra few hands tilting his head down to look at her while she looks up at him. Twenty years ago, he watched her disappear into the dark while her home burned to the ground. 

Now she looks at him with blue eyes that offer him the world. His scars twitch, a too real phantom come to visit. 

“I confess…” Robin says, the air from her lips puffs against his face. “I’ve never cared for the cold, but it’s a small price to pay,” she whispers against his lips. 

Kuzan would rather her not pay any price at all.

Chapter Text

Oh no. Oh boy. Oh god. Oh all the saints in Mariejois. Oh sweet sweet Davy Jones. Diez Drake moaned, pacing back and forth. Well, he interpreted the noise he made as a moan. The dog that had just turned the corner into the alleyway between the less used barracks interpreted the noise as a terrifying growl and bolted away with a yip. 

“Stay calm… stay calm,” Drake murmured to himself. The growls shook the windows as his enormous form paced back and forth, a single pane falling and shattering on the concrete. Unfortunately it was hard to stay calm when Drake could feel his humanity fraying at the edges. What on earth had possessed him to try figuring out awakening his devil fruit?!

The allosaurus that was him but also not, did not feel this way. Drakeasaurus thought being an allosaurus forever was a great idea. Think of all the things he could eat, all the smells to smell! All the dogs to chase!

The allosaurus within did not understand the concept of consequences.

If he could just calm down, surely he could transform back! Right? WRONG! Because he had been trying for an hour and had no luck. His steps were beginning to wear away the concrete. Being a several tons allosaurus would do that. What if he could never turn back? What if he was stuck this way forever? He’d never be able to command his own ship, or use forks! 

Panic rose inside him quickly. All the suffering he’d endured with his father’s cruelty, all the hours of training in boot camp, all of it would be for nothing. Nothing, what his humanity was threatening to become. 

“Drake-kun.” 

He heard his name like an echo down a long tunnel. He saw her through the strange grays and reds of his allosaurus eyes. She smelled of cheap cigarettes (sulfur, nicotine, cloves) and expensive perfume (coconut, ambergris, carnation, citron), and the chicken ramen (with egg and bamboo and corn and mushrooms) she’d had for lunch. The standard navy detergent was gentle in his nose despite its bleach-y undertones. Her white uniform blazed against the gray buildings, her pink ponytail nearly apple red. 

He knew her. Hina. 

He knew her and yet the wild beast he was transitioning to didn’t see her as his friend, a beautiful woman, a comrade. No, the beast saw her as meat. Drakeasaurus saw red, and charged while Diez Drake wailed and pleaded with himself to stop.

Hina threw her hand out, palm up. Fearless in the face of being lunch. The shock of this tiny being staring at him with such force locked Drakeasaurus’ knees and he skidded to a short stop, smashing into the ground. 

It hurt, but Drake was thankful. He made a noise, whether a plea for help or a warning growl, he was unsure. 

Hina stepped forward calmly and placed both her hands on his snout. “It is alright, Drake-kun.” He blinked one large eye at her. She leaned her forehead against him, her nose to his. She smelled like strawberry shampoo and cherry lipgloss. “Breathe.”

And just like that, the allosaurus vanished. 

Drake lay on the concrete, breathing hard, before turning to look up at Hina who had sank into a crouch, her hands on his shoulders. 

“Not a word to Smoker,” Drake mumbled after a minute. 

“No promises.” Hina smiled as she pulled him to his feet.

Chapter Text

Waves bash into the rocks below the cliff. A freezing wind whips Sakazuki’s white cape into a frenzy. Rain from the recent storm has washed away the footprints in the mud, but Sakazuki knows where he’s going.

After all, it’s always here.

It starts at the beginning. 

It starts at the end.

It starts the day they are born. 

It starts the day they die. 

A hundred eons ago, before men left the trees for the plains, before the seas split, before the Redline and the Gods and the voice of all things, there was a pool, warm from the still cooling earth’s crust. It bubbled and sizzled lowly for millions of of revolutions around the young sun, meteors whispering across the sky and striking the rocky surface. 

Until one day it was more than a small pool. Until one day the first clouds formed, the barren surface enshrouded. Time passed, tracked by no one, until the smallest building blocks of life whispered into the universe. 

Their beginning. 

The arms race of biology begins for them in a tussle. One absorbs the other over and over in an endless cycle. They grow, they change, fins and scales. Still they meet, they merge, they kill and be killed. Their corpses become the rocks they leave the warm oceans for, tooth and claw and leg replace fins and scales. 

They meet in the endless plains of grasses, the air warm with the scent of loamy young soil. Their feathered bodies clash, blood splattering across the pebbles and the insects. They screech and claw and bite until–

Until they do not.

Change comes slow. They wander the plains together, hunt side by side. The seasons pass, nests come and go. Until the harsh life of nature takes its course. 

Millions of years later, they repeat. Their bodies change, from large to small and back. Plants change, animals change, the seasons change. Life restarts over and over until the seas form and the continents settle. The earth reaches a comfortable young adulthood, its surface teeming with mammals big and small. 

In what would become the South Blue, the first man stares across great plains. In what would become the North Blue, the first man stares across the mountains. They begin to forget the feeling of knowing, but it always there. That somewhere out there, the other exists. Distance and mortal frailty keep them apart until–

Until it doesn’t. 

In the First Age, they lock eyes in front of the same door, where once a warm pool began it all. There is only one position available, only one employer willing. Of the two, only one of them will get it. Only one of them will feed his family with his success. They fight once more, first with words, then with fists. 

In the Second Age, the era of wild dreams and nightmares, a godhood, they bash heads on the battlefield where once sat the warm pool that began it all. Plasma cannons and toxic gases spew across the seas, drowning all in fiery doom. They stand on opposite sides as Joy Boy destroys it all and the continents sink beneath the waves. 

In the Third Age, Sakazuki is born in the North Blue. He grows strong, he grows hard, he grows to forget the past that is in his very DNA. Kuzan is born in the South Blue. He grows lithe and quick, powerful and brittle. He forgets because he must. 

Until they meet, wearing matching outfits of white and blue. They fight, they bicker, they argue. They love, they meld, they cling. It is only now that they can come to understand the eons of cycles that have made them meet over and over and over. Billions of years of always coming back again. 

Kuzan stands where Sakazuki knows he’ll find him. Once upon a time, a small warm pool sat here. Now, it is the near barren landscape of Punk Hazard. The earth below their feet is made of the billions of battles life has fought to reach this point. They will fight, this Sakazuki knows. But first, he must say goodbye. 

They kiss, then the cycle begins anew under heaving lava and crackling ice.

Chapter Text

Tsuru is used to the glances. The eyes that follow the movement of her toned legs, the curve of her chest, the dip of her waist. Her very shape is marked with desire. Men are simple things, they stumble over the words they direct her way, trip over their feet to open doors, fall to their knees in what they hope will make her look their way. 

She learned long ago not to give them the time of day, for she will always be disappointed. Men know nothing of a woman’s body, least of all her heart. Sengoku would call her a cynic, but she need only quell him with a glance about his home, empty of family, empty of partnership. 

Optimism is reserved for fools like Garp, but he’s alone too. Perhaps it’s their profession, if your soul isn’t tarnished, then the sea takes your lovers all too soon. She allows herself a moment to stroke her thumb over the photograph in the shrine in her home. 

Her husband had had a beautiful smile. She wished that the photograph had better captured it. Tsuru blows out the incense burning in the small bowl, and leaves. Today is full of young recruits. Fresh out of basic, or fresh from their first foray into the field, they will swarm her base and find that their cocky youth is unwelcome. 

Newly minted Vice Admiral Tsuru does not suffer fools.

And fools are all she finds, their eyes not on her face as she gives orders, but on the red of her lips, the tie that leads down her torso. A woman, and a beautiful one at that, bossing them about, how novel for them. This is something she longs to change. As she leaves the courtyard, her orders still echoing off the soaring stone walls that make up G-34, one gaze lingers longer than the others. 

It is not the last time. 

The new recruits learn quickly and those that don’t are culled. There will be no stains on her base. They jump when she says jump, they march when she says march, and they fire when she says fire. 

She feels him staring at her while she puts her soldiers through drills. A cocky thing, this man. Lithe, taller than her already though her junior by decades. It does not surprise her when he takes on extra tasks. He climbs the lower ranks quickly, which does not surprise her either. She knows talent, and better still, skill when she sees it. 

It’s not long before he stands among her officers. He speaks slowly, a curious lilt to his commentary designed to get under the skin of those who think too highly of themselves. It does not amuse her though she knows he wishes it would. Tsuru knows the twisting, crafty movements of a bureaucrat-to-be. 

She does not like that he knows she knows. 

And when he fails for the first time, losing nearly all the men under his command, his ship limping into the harbor, Tsuru finally decides to call him by his name. And for the first time, he surprises her. 

Borsalino doesn’t leave active duty for a desk job and dinners spent whining and dining monarchs and business moguls for funding, for treaties, for little slips of paper that make or break the world. No, he stays under her command, and his cocky attitude adapts to harsh reality.

That there are some fish bigger, stronger, and smarter. Only the cream of the crop can stand in self-assuredness. The top of the pyramid is small and surrounded by the bodies of those who have failed. 

Still, his gaze lingers on her and Tsuru begins to recognize something within it. When he places reports on her desk it is there, when he stands by her side as she gives orders, it lives in the shape of his brows, when he slaughters pirates with impunity, it sits dark and menacing. 

Hunger.

But she has been around the block. Down the road, down this path. She knows where it leads. Disappointment, time wasted. Still, the dance continues. He watches her, she watches him watch her. 

Things come to a head as they always do. A successful campaign, two hundred souls for Impel Down, leads to revelry at the bar. She doesn’t often indulge. She doesn’t like the noise, or the stench of men unable to comprehend limits, their own or otherwise. 

But even she gets lonely sometimes. Every woman’s downfall. 

He offers her a drink, whiskey, above his pay grade for a silly attempt. What should be a silly attempt. Tsuru accepts, falling into the pattern of the dance. From here, she will bring him back to her home, past the shrine to her long gone beloved. He will kiss her with too much tongue, tug at her clothing with too much desperation, and all too soon but not soon enough it will be a morning she files away as a mistake to be rectified. 

But perhaps… 

Borsalino stares up at her from his knees, kneeling before her in her living room. Wine sits in champagne glasses on the table, the light is low, the moon outside the window lower still. He does not reach for her clothing, does not attempt to drag his hands across her like a possession. 

Instead, he waits. 

“Good boy,” she says. He kisses the hand she holds out towards him. As he looks at her with starvation burning in his eyes, Tsuru comes to understand that this one… this one she can train.

Tsuru smiles.

Chapter Text

Rocks D. Xebec smirked as he stood over his pile of stolen jewels in the middle of his ship. His small crew was celebrating around him, all of them but Shiki worthless. But the gold before him would make a difference, that Rocks knew.

Shiki was scooping handfuls of beri back and forth, a mad gleam in his eye. “More where this will be coming from?” He asked. 

“This is just the start,” Rocks grinned back. One small step on the path to everything the world had to offer. 

“Then consider me nakama,” Shiki cackled. 

Shiki cackled loudly, drunk off his ass on the liberated wine they’d taken from the heavenly tribute ship. The small collection of beautiful women to be sold as slaves were passing out food, singing, dancing. Rocks’ men hooted and hollered around him, eating, drinking, whoring. The gold from this raid was another stepping stone, the entire point to making this raid sitting in front of him.

“And you say you’re willing to spend this…” Buckingham Stussy gestured at the piles of treasure, “On my science development project?” 

“All this and more,” Rocks grinned. Stussy smiled, her red lipstick curving upward like a gash. 

“Heyyy, come on,” Rocks nudged Edward Newgate with his elbow. The bar was so loud he could feel the music and partying in his teeth. The huge blonde looked annoyed, taking a long pull on his massive beer. So far, the great bastard was the most stubborn to date, not interested in Rocks’ grand plans, or seemingly too much in the gold and jewels. But, Rocks had seen the way his eyes lingered on the beri Shiki was tossing around like a fool. 

Less interested didn’t mean not interested, and everyone had a price. 

Newgate finished his beer and poked around in his pockets, but apparently came up empty. “It’s on me,” Rocks offered graciously. 

“You offerin’ a free ride?” Newgate eyed him. 

“That what you want?” Rocks watched as Newgate’s gaze went from off to on. He grinned. “Oi! Bartender!” Rocks clapped Newgate on the shoulder, “My new crewmate here gets whatever he wants tonight on me!”

The seas were full of people. Most were nothing, less than ants. Some were actual ants, and fewer still… were strong. Strong enough to change reality. Rocks eyed the man at the buffet inhaling every bit of food in reach. He could smell power from a mile away and this guy had it. Broad shoulders under a hawaiian shirt, large calloused hands, a presence that Rocks could feel buzzing in the air around him. 

Rocks dropped into the chair across from him, taking in the cheeks stuffed to the brim, the scar around his left eye. A blackberry pie sat in front of the bastard, one huge chunk now in the mouth of what Rocks hoped would be his latest recruit. Poor bastard, the pie here was god awful.

“Pretty terrible blackberry pie, I know where you can get better.” 

The guy stopped chewing, eyes focusing on Rocks and narrowing. Food was the way to this guy’s stomach, Rocks could feel it. 

“The hell’re you talkin’ about? This pie is great!” 

Rocks stiffened, momentarily thrown off guard by the clearly wrong opinion. “What? The crust is soggy and the berries are sour!”

“The crust is the best part and the berries are supposed to be sour! They balance out the sugar in the jam part!” 

The two of them glared at each other, Rocks rethinking inviting him onto his crew. See, with the others, they agreed and went along with him because he had proven right from the get go to be the real deal. This guy though… this guy had bad opinions. That meant he had bad sense, and worse, he was strong, which meant he would be trouble.

But–

But, Rocks did like a guy who spoke his mind. 

“We’ll go try this other pie and I’ll prove it’s better,” he challenged. 

“No thanks, if you don’t like this pie, then whatever you think is better is shit.” Hawaiian shirt guy, a particularly offensive pattern of pineapples and coconuts, chewed on his next chunk of pie. 

“You got a name?” Rocks’ eye twitched. 

“Yeah, it’s This-Pie-Is-Better,” The bastard grinned, flinging a bit of it onto Rocks’ shirt. 

Three days and one destroyed beachside town later, Rocks flipped Hawaiian Shirt fucker the bird as his ship appeared in the port. Unfortunately a Navy ship was following hard on its tail. Good, those soldiers could take in that fucker. See if Rocks would help him out, dumb bastard!

“Good luck with the Navy on your own!” Rocks cackled as he leaped onto the deck of his ship, Newgate and Shiki bickering as Stussy ordered them to reverse course. 

“You’re a pirate?! Knew there was something wrong about you!” The stupid big bastard snarled as he jumped onto the Navy ship. Why the hell would he go directly towards danger?! ‘Crazy idiot,’ Rocks gaped. It was only as the stupid soldiers started saluting the bastard and he grabbed a white cape that Rocks realized– 

“You’re under arrest by order of Captain Monkey D. Garp!” 

Well, he couldn’t recruit ‘em all, Rocks supposed, making a face. With that thought, he turned around, slapped his ass, and blew him a kiss.

“Come and get me then, Navy Dog!”

Chapter Text

“Grab the alcohol! The stuff from that one island, ya know, the…”

Rayleigh stilled in his bunk, keeping his eyes closed as he listened to his crewmates rush back and forth outside the door. They were planning a party to celebrate the news of Shakky opening up her new bar. Of course, that meant alcohol, food, music… the works. 

As per usual, even from two decks down, Rayleigh could hear Roger’s booming laugh from on deck. He waited until the footsteps receded to open his eyes and roll onto his side, pulling the newspaper from under his ratty pillow. 

“Shakyaku, former Amazonian Empress opens new bar on Saobaody!” It was the top headline, even higher than the report of the island of Ohara disappearing from a rogue tsunami. The front page photo showed the bar with a huge line of people waiting to get inside, all cheering and hollering at the center of the camera’s view. 

There she was. She’d cut her hair, her black locks now a bob around her ears. Her eyes sparkled, a cigarette sitting pretty between her lips. He skimmed the article, the journalist describing the bar in detail, trying to paint a picture with too many descriptive nouns. Rayleigh shook his head lightly, huffing slightly in amusement. 

But there, tucked near the end of the article, Shakky had given the WENP about two minutes of her time. 

“We’re open from noon to midnight. There’s a waitlist, don’t be rude or I’ll toss you out. This bar is my dream and everyone is welcome. But most importantly…” The journalist described the way she smiled gently, breathing out smoke from her cigarette, her eyes warm and holding some secret that only she knew within their depths. “Don’t be late.” 

Ray smiled and pressed his lips to the photo. 

“OI! RAYLEIGH! Get up here! The Cap’ challenged Gaban to a drinking competition and now they are– ahhh!” came a distressed voice through the door. Rayleigh sighed. He was going to be late, but at least he could blame Roger.

Chapter Text

Robin has many titles to her name. Assassin, archeologist, pirate. She has been to many islands, and done many things. She’s run underground drug rings, attempted monarchy coups, managed a casino, read thousands of books, wandered ruins from forgotten ages. 

And yet, despite her vast experiences, Robin has never before been a teacher. 

“This is a ‘ch’?” Trafalgar Olvia pointed at the symbol in front of her. Books and scrolls pilfered from various hidden stashes by the powerful were arranged neatly (if a little chaotically) around the wide, newly constructed library. The sun shone through the window, the sky bright and as blue as the sea in the distance. A few large branches reached upwards. Smaller than its predecessor yet, this new library on the revitalized Ohara had a long way to go, but Robin was confident it would get there, and perhaps, surpass it. 

“Almost, that’s a ‘sch’,” Robin corrected gently, pointing out the upper swoop that distinguished the two symbols. 

Her daughter groaned, muttering the sound under her breath. Robin hid a smile behind her hand. A sudden odd film engulfed the two of them and their half of the library, a ‘pop’ filling the air as two bodies instantly displaced it. 

“Again! Again!” Loud childish laughter filled the room. Robin turned to see her young son, black shaggy hair with her blue eyes begging his father to shambles them to another location. Law met her eyes, a small smile on his face. In his other hand was a carefully bound old scroll.

“Another successful acquisition,” he walked forward to pass her the priceless artifact as their daughter shrieked and ran towards him. She collided with his knees, her long white hair a scraggly mess. Robin took the scroll from him and used her powers to place it out of harm's way on a nearby shelf. 

“Daddy! You’re home! I have so much to show you! Do you know the difference between ‘ch’ and ‘sch’? I’ll show you! Did you bring anything for me? Can we go to the treetop?!” Olvia bombarded him with questions. Robin stepped forward to tug Cora out of his arms so he could pick up Olvia instead as she chattered excitedly. 

Robin pressed her lips to his cheek, a promise for more later.

Chapter Text

The sun slid through the gap in the blinds, burning its way across the clayfired floor and up on the sheer and light fabrics that made up the bed. Already, Smoker could tell the room was going to get too warm to stay within. Same with the rest of the building. How the locals could stand every day being a heatwave, he had no idea. 

Shipping out into the chaotic weather of the Grandline would be a relief, although… lips pressed between his shoulder blades, a toned arm wrapped around his middle, perfectly manicured nails tracing a pattern down his side. 

Smoker rolled over, Hina’s amethyst eyes narrowing playfully, her pink tresses scattered like rivers of ink across the pillows.

He could stand the heatwave a little longer.

Chapter Text

Kuzan sat at the edge of her bed, a place he hadn’t been welcome in a decade. It was funny that this was the place he found himself, here at the end. Hadn’t they started here too? The first night he’d met Saul, he’d wound up getting plastered and Doll had dragged him to her bed.

Kuzan could still picture the perfect shape of her lips in irritation when he didn’t leave for the next two nights. Like an unwanted ghost, the memories played in his head. The first time Doll smiled at him, the time Saul had accidentally broken the entire west wall with his giant strength, catching them in mid-sheets. Their first fight over Kuzan’s schedule never fitting time in for them. He’d been too fired up, isn’t that what she’d said?

How he longed to return to those simple times. 

Before Ohara, before Doll’s stunning blue eyes reminded him of another with her coloring, before she pleaded with him to bring Saul home and his failures to do so. Before the nights of drinking that all blurred together except for the pain.

Their first break up should have been their last. But broken people don’t know how to start anew, only how to repeat the same patterns that destroyed them in the first place. How many times had he arrived in the late hours of the night to find shelter in her arms? 

And how many times had he left her before the sun rose?

And now, here he was. But this would be the last time. No more would duty bring him into her waters, no more would Doll have to suffer his drunk and maudlin ramblings. No more would she need to pick up his pieces. 

Kuzan pressed his lips to her pillow one last time, and never looked back. The sea was calling, and he would answer at last.

Chapter Text

Words on a page don’t really get the concept of size across. Neither do photos or video snails. Perhaps it’s the lack of depth, or the self-awareness that you are actually very small and something near you is truly large. Looking at a photo of a tree does not capture the tree for instance. 

There really needs to be a better medium to capture reality other than seeing something for yourself. Perhaps the world would be a kinder place, or everyone would have appropriate fear and awe reactions to the truly awe inspiring. 

For example, Koby had heard of giants, and of Elbaf, and of the Giant Division in the Navy. Seeing photos in WENP confirmed that they existed, but it wasn’t until he saw his first real live giant that he understood the concept “giant”. 

And that was just a single giant. Something alive and walking around like that was enough to reorient Koby’s entire worldview. One day he was Koby, normal boy, a little on the short side. The next, he was Koby, minuscule and the world was more than he could ever hope to comprehend. The same thing happened the first time he saw a real live dinosaur. One day, he was Koby. The next day he was Koby who understands that he is not much more than a snack to most of the world.  

Luckily, Drake did not eat him. 

Now, to be bombarded with both concepts at once, a giant and a dinosaur, or rather a GIANT dinosaur was yet again, an alteration of Koby’s worldview. He watched from his “small” marine warship as a pteranodon of indescribable proportions flew overhead, the rainbow clouds and mists of Elbaf providing a backdrop that may as well have been endless. 

“I feel like an ant,” Drake mumbled from next to him. Koby nodded numbly. What even was the world? What was he? How could he, a tiny, minuscule, iota of a creature ever have hope to have an impact on it? 

“Makes me feel… pointless,” Drake added, voicing Koby’s own thoughts back at him. Koby’s eyebrows furrowed. Drake-san wasn’t pointless. He’d survived Kaido’s crew, entire kicks from an Admiral, years of being undercover. 

And by that logic, Koby wasn’t pointless either. Tiny, sure but actions could be taken even by the tiniest beings. 

He turned his gaze away from the awe inspiring sight of the pteranodon, and instead looked at his commanding officer. Tall, broad shoulders, bright orange hair sticking up like a rooster crest. Blue eyes that saw everything and nothing all at once. 

Koby took action. He hopped up onto his tiptoes and pressed his lips to Drake’s chin. It had the desired effect of tearing his commander’s attention away from the world around them and to Koby instead.

“Uh?” was all Drake managed to say, his cheeks turning a rapid pink. 

“Our actions have meaning!” Koby stated, then walked away quickly to go hide and hyperventilate.

Chapter Text

Smoker’s back hit the dirt with a whump.

“You’re gonna have to try harder than that to get my number, Recruit,” Commander Doll stood over him, blocking his vision of the sky, a smirk on her lips. His entire body hurt from the last three weeks of beatings he’d been taking all because the only logia commander on base had told him “Get Doll’s number and I’ll train you.” 

By the time Smoker got her damn number, he wouldn’t need to be trained by Vice Admiral Kuzan at all! 

“You know… most other men would have tried a different approach by now, instead of challenging me to a fight.” Commander Doll dropped to a crouch, resting her chin on her hand. “Chocolates, flowers, shit poetry. The usual ways to a woman’s heart.” 

With a herculean effort, Smoker pulled himself into a sitting position. His left eye was swelling up, and he could feel a split in his bottom lip. Despite that, he tugged a squashed cigar out of his pocket and tucked it into the corner of his mouth. 

“Tch, only cowards lie to get what they want,” he grunted. He pulled out his lighter, flicking it. No sparks, damn thing must of broke during the spar. He glared only to hear the flick of another lighter. He blinked, holding still in surprise as Doll lit his cigar with her own (far better quality) lighter, the silver metal glinting. Once the end of it lit, she lit a cigarette for herself.

The two of them smoked in silence. A cool breeze dried the sweat on his face, a seagull cawing overhead. Smoker’s gaze settled on studying Doll’s profile as she looked out at the ocean. Her jet black hair and blue eyes were the opposite of his own coloring, one of her powerful arms tattooed with a sleeve of purple flowers. 

She was quite striking. And she threw an unbelievably mean left hook. 

“You know, Smoker,” she said after a few minutes of quiet. “You might just get my number yet.” With that, she turned and pecked him on the cheek before getting up and sauntering away like she hadn’t just been beating his ass for the past hour. 

Smoker suddenly wondered if giving her number to Kuzan was a worthy trade. He might just keep it for himself.

Chapter Text

The stairwell is cold. Beyond the stone walls, Issho can feel the howls of the damned, the agony of the imprisoned. There is no justice here, only punishment, which is not the same thing. 

He walks slowly, his cane tapping the old stone, the only sound of life that follows him. It was not unexpected that things would turn out this way, after all, history has a knack for repetition. Perhaps that’s what makes him such a poor gambler, expecting past patterns to have an influence on a game of chance. 

He descends deeper and deeper below the sea, perhaps below the earth, perhaps to the very bowels of Hell itself. That was the blueprint of Impel Down, and wouldn’t surprise Issho. What does surprise him, is the unexpected bright warmth that greets him as he reaches the bottom. 

Issho’s reason for coming sits calmly in the center of the room. All other prisoners have been cleared. All around him are gifts, flowers and letters and photographs. Toys and treats and all the little things that bring life color, hue, warmth. 

“Oh, it’s you old man!” comes his voice. It’s still as warm as that day in Dressrosa. Issho finds a smile blooming on his lips despite the circumstances that have brought him here. 

“Are you well?” Issho asks as he stands outside the ring of tributes. The King of Joy laughs, bright and airy and so wonderfully alive. But Issho is no fool. He can hear the exhaustion, the weariness within it. Issho has seen and heard the same from all walks of life. When one is at the end, one is at the end. 

“I’m glad It’s you ya know, and not Koby, or Smokey. They wouldn’t get it.” Luffy says after his own laughter finishes echoing off the walls. “Can’t make anything new if only the old stuff is there.”

“And yet, you are glad it is this old man,” Issho crosses the threshold, placing his own tribute between himself and Luffy.

“You’re different! You see what I see,” the boy turned man turned god says. Issho hums, neither agreeing or disagreeing. Change will come, it always does. This is what he sees. 

“Will you allow this old man the honor of a send off?” He asks after settling down on his knees. He hears Luffy shuffle closer to him, hears the pain in the movements, the finality of this form. Issho undoes the wrappings of his gift. A simple basin, water and cloth. He feels the King’s permission instead of hearing it. 

To bathe one is a mark of great love, why else do parents bathe their children? He pours water into the basin, dips the cloth in. He cannot see the marks of a life well lived to know they are on the young man’s skin. He cannot see the grime and the signs of an imperfect world to know it is there. He washes gently. Mugiwara no Luffy will not go into the great unknown unclean. He will arrive there shining and bright like he did here. 

When he is finished, Issho presses his lips to the sun’s feet. 

They ascend the steps.

Chapter Text

The sky above Little Garden is enormous, bigger even than the two giants looking up at it. It doesn’t snow in Little Garden, and it’s something Brogy misses. 

“Dorry, when you lose to me, first place we’ll go is somewhere with snow. All this jungle heat is boring, gababababababa!”

“When you lose to me, we can go to fishman island! No snow, no heat, only beautiful mermaids! Gegyagyagyagya!” Dorry laughs from the other side of the bonfire. They’ve split a brontosaurus, not wanting to overhunt the animal on the island. They don’t say it, but both of them are glad for the forced truce, if only to spend time side by side. 

They eat and break out ale from the pirates who have landed on Little Garden’s shores. The night drifts on, the moon rising and setting into the early hours of the morning. 

“Oi, Brogy,” Dorry says as the sun prepares to rise. Brogy turns to look at him, head tilting in curiosity from the serious tone to his voice. “If we never get off this island, and tie until the day we die, that’s alright with me.”

Somewhere, an island whale sings over the ocean. Brogy scratches his beard, then leans in and kisses Dorry like there was only the two of them. 

“Yeah, that’s not a bad end. But I’m gonna win, and then we’ll see snow and mermaids!” Their rumbling laughter shakes the trees as the sun breaks over the horizon.

Chapter Text

The first time Smoker catches his Captain smoking, he says nothing. She’s allowed to do whatever she wants, and he can’t blame her for needing a smoke after the disaster that is Alabasta. He just watches her, the way she places the cigarette between her lips, her long black hair down around her shoulders instead of up in its usual bun. 

Her brown eyes stare at the ocean from the back of the ship, the sword at her side missing in action. It is perhaps, the first time he sees her as a person and not just his commanding officer. Tashigi’s cigarette burns down and she stubs it out under her heel before picking up the bud to dispose of properly. 

He shakes his head at her need to still cling to order when smoking itself is a little bit of chaos, and returns to his duties.

The second time Smoker sees Commander Tashigi smoking is after the Paramount War. Marineford lays in ruins before them, their ship one of the ones sunk by Whitebeard. Somewhere under the ocean lies the reports he was half done with, the cigars he’d just purchased, and the bodies of many of their comrades. 

The sun is setting a bloody red, medics and search and rescue still scrambling among the rubble. Unlike months before, this time, Smoker comes to stand at her side. She keeps watching the sunset, her eyes blood shot. Once again, her sword is missing. Boa Hancock had snapped it in half in the battle, and Smoker wonders where she’ll get her next blade. 

“We’re going to the G-5,” she says as the sun disappears. “Will you come with me?” she adds after a moment. Always trying to be considerate. Smoker rolls his eyes and nods. He wouldn’t be anywhere else.

The third time Smoker finds his recently promoted commander smoking, is in the medic bay. She is sitting near the open porthole, the curtain drawn haphazardly around her cot. Smoke drifts into the world outside and she almost stubs it out when he walks in.

The bandage around her head covers one of her brown eyes. She was lucky not to lose it. A new sword leans against the cot, her most recent acquisition. “How’re the men?” she asks, trying so hard not to look sheepish as the cigarette twitches in her fingers. 

“How’s the head?” he asks instead. It bothers him that her first concern is their soldiers, and not herself. He can see the way pain from her new headwound keeps her shoulders stiff, her uncovered eye tired. 

If no one else will look after her, then he will.

The fourth time Smoker finds his Vice Admiral with a cigarette clutched between her fingers, she’s furious. She doesn’t apparently care that the bandages holding her torso together are spotting with pink. She paces med bay, a few copies of the World Economic Newspaper on the cot. Doflamingo abdicating, Doflamingo being re-instated, Doflamingo being taken down and Admiral Fujitora bowing before the newly instated former King of Dressrosa. 

The smoke from her cigarette swirls violently in the air as she huffs on it with a wince. “All those people… just like Alabasta! Where is their justice?! And the children?!” Tashigi kicks the trashcan next to the door, tipping it over. 

Instantly she looks aghast at her own actions, bending to right it. It’s a bad move. Anger swirls in his gut as he darts forward to catch her as she doubles over in pain. “Rest,” he growls, easing her over to the cot. 

“Sorry for the trouble,” she whispers. He gazes at her face, the scar over the right side, her brown eyes contrite but still full of fire. 

“Don’t be,” he mutters and rights the trash can before leaving her to rest. He’ll get strong enough so that this never happens again.

The fifth time Smoker catches Tashigi smoking is because he’s hiding out on the terrace of the Navy Hospital Base, not wanting to be around anyone. Least of all the distraught and defeated SWORD unit. Over and over he sees Hachinosu in his mind, feels that helplessness. They retrieved Captain Koby, his comrade, but at what cost? The cigars between his lips taste like ash. 

“There you are,” she says gently, coming to stand at the railing overlooking the sea at his side. A new sword sits on her hip, one he doesn’t recognize. The few months they have been apart were supposed to help him grow stronger but again, he sees Hachinosu. Former Admiral Aokiji, the man who had saved Vice Admiral Tashigi’s life, icing the ship, the sea, them. 

And he’d been helpless to do anything! And if he was helpless there, how could he hope not to drag Vice Admiral Tashigi down?!

He pulls on the cigars furiously, glaring at the horizon as he feels a touch on his shoulder. “I lost my lighter somewhere, would you mind?” she asks, holding out her cigarette. Her gaze is gentle, there is no reproach there. No reprimand, no disappointment. 

He looks at the cigarette between her fingers, the cheap kind you get charged too much for. No doubt wherever she’d bought them had taken advantage of her kind smile. A smile he wanted to protect. 

“Smoking is bad for your health,” he growls. Her eyes widen and he knows he looks a hypocrite. Feels it too, then feels worse because suddenly she looks apologetic and sad. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to upset you,” she says after a moment and he wants to kick himself. Instead, he snatches the cigarette from her fingers and lights it with the end of his own cigar, embers now burning bright from his irritated pulls. 

He holds it out to her as she gazes at him. She doesn’t take it and Smoker feels off kilter and unmoored. Nothing is right, the world is a mess, and he can’t fix anything! Therefore, where her palm comes up to gently cup his cheek, he freezes in place. 

Her thumb carefully brushes over his jaw, his cheek. The cigars in his mouth burn down and the cigarette falls to the cement, but he doesn’t notice and doesn’t care. Because her brown eyes are gazing at him with something he can’t put into words and wants to hide from. 

When Tashigi’s thumb brushes over his lips, he pulls her close. It’s too much, it’s not enough, it’s all he wants and nothing she needs. He expects her to push him away, to apologize and smooth things over. To set things right and orderly like she always does. 

Instead, she leans against him, her forehead touching his. Dying wisps or smoke drift into the air. “Is this alright?” she whispers. 

“No, but I want it anyway.”

Chapter Text

Hachinosu was a smouldering ruin fading into the distance. Good riddance and it should have happened sooner as far as Sengoku was concerned. His joints ached, his muscles were exhausted. He felt spent, and knew, deep down, that that was his final battle. Never again would he fight at the same level, be one of the world’s strongest. That part of his life was now closed. 

He turned his gaze away from the view out the porthole as Tsuru moved out of the corner of his eye. Her hands, spotted with age like his own, were carefully wiping grime and sweat from Garp’s brow. Garp, their entire reason for coming here. He was unconscious on the cot, wounds healing terribly in bandages Tsuru had just changed, perhaps for the first time in weeks. 

The tough bastard was lucky to be alive. Or unlucky. The world he would wake to was embroiled in a war where his blood family was one one side and the strongest powers of the world were on the other. And the Navy was caught in the middle of it, along with everyone else. 

Tsuru’s lips twisted, Sengoku’s eyes darting back to her. She looked wane and pale, and Sengoku suddenly wondered if she felt as he did. Old and done. A horse out to pasture, where even the pasture was losing its appeal. 

But she was still serving in the line of active duty. Sengoku did not envy her.

She presses her lips to Garp’s sweaty gray forehead but he doesn’t stir. Eventually, her eyes rise to meet his, and he knows they share the same thought, the same hopes, the same fears. He takes her hand and presses his lips to the back.

The future would come what may.

Chapter Text

“Nope, it’s left foot,” Bluegrass sighed from her bunk. Tsuru grimaced, then resumed the starting position. She began again, first the right foot, shuffle backwards, shuffle forwards, turn, turn, arms over head, bring down with a turn and–

“Nope, left foot.”

“Fuck,” Tsuru hissed. 

“Language, language,” Bluegrass snarked as she tossed her short legs over the side of the bed, sitting up. Tsuru rolled her eyes, dropping on her own bunk with a huff. There was one advantage to being the only two women in their platoon, they had an entire barrack on the ship to themselves. 

“If one can start a war just because they don’t make the correct movements during an absurd gala, then it is no mystery why this country is embroiled in multiple conflicts,” Tsuru muttered darkly. Worse, she had been chosen as the Navy’s emissary due to “her outstanding record”. Code for “you’re the only woman we could find that might not fuck this up”. 

“Well, I could puppet you, if you were willing to make outfit alterations. There are far stranger oddities on the sea than a woman with a humpback,” Bluegrass grinned, “Then at least I could provide back-up.” 

“Hmph, and then who would I trust to keep the men in line while I’m performing at this circus?” Tsuru sighed, getting back to her feet. This time, Bluegrass joined her, offering to be her dance partner. 

Once more, she began. Right foot, shuffle backwards, shuffle forwards, turn, turn, arms over head, bring down with a turn and— left foot! Bluegrass grinned, as they moved in to repeat the entire thing but mirrored, then end with a twirl. 

As she finished the twirl, Bluegrass swept her hair back with a flourish and dropped to her knee. “Milady, you have succeeded in ending this war with your perfect steps, but now you must take my hand in marriage!” She held her hand out dramatically. 

“Don’t even speak it into the world, with my luck a nobleman fool will do just that,” Tsuru chortled, but offered her hand anyway. Bluegrass, blonde bowlcut catching the light, kissed it with an exaggerated “Your Majesty!”

They both laughed, then began again.

Chapter Text

The Navy was hard, not for the faint of heart. Up at the crack of dawn and working all day until lights out. Your entire life in regimented shifts, learning to shoot, to swordfight, to man cannons and swab decks. The job of a soldier is never done.

And if you wanted to get stronger? Be the best? You had to do all that, and throw extra training on top. Day in, day out. 

Sweat poured down Kuzan’s forehead as he pulled his aching arm back to aim another punch. The metal echoed a dull thud as his blow landed on the old ship. He’d been at this since he’d woken up this morning, and it was now late afternoon. No breaks, no breathers, only punch punch punch. 

He’d go for as long as Garp-san did. Kuzan snuck a glance towards his begrudging mentor, who looked as fresh as he had when he’d arrived at sunbreak. Back and powerful shoulder rippling, strong jaw focused. His form was perfect, each blow to the ship precise. His strength never flagged, or was misapplied. That was what awed Kuzan the most. 

Ten thousand punches, all in the same precise spot and the same amount of strength. He swallowed, thinking of how far he had to go to even come close. He turned his eyes back to his task just in time to notice that his wrist was just slightly bent at the wrong angle–!

“Ack!” he half swallowed a yelp of pain as his knuckles hit the metal wrong, the skin cracking, pain jolting up his arm. He shook his hand out, breathing through his nose and cursing. It hurt like hell! 

“Oi, kid.” Kuzan turned his head just in time to get smacked in the face with something. On reflex alone, he caught the object before it dropped to the ground. A paper bag? Kuzan stared at it, blinking in confusion as he flexed his throbbing fingers. 

“Let’s eat,” Garp stated, sitting down on a large rock. His paper bag was larger, a massive hunk of salted meat sitting inside. Kuzan opened his own to find a smaller chunk of the same thing. Warmth trudged its way into his cheeks. He’d never had anyone pack him a lunch before, let alone someone as cool as Garp-san. 

He took a bite, trying to ignore the way the pain was evolving into a fun squeezing throb in time with his heart beat. The sky overhead was a bright summer blue, the sea a greener version, the waves scraping against the derelict ships all around them. In the distance, Kuzan could make out an active warship limping into harbor. 

“How do you do it Garp-san?” Kuzan asked. “Keep it steady, I mean.” He pointed at how even Garp’s dent was versus his own wildly developing crater. Months he’d been at this and still he couldn’t figure it out.

“You just do it,” Garp shrugged. Kuzan waited to see if more was coming. There wasn’t. He took another bite out of his meat chunk, chewing over Garp’s answer. You just do it. Do it. You do it. Just do it.

What a cool manly piece of advice. Like asking a pretty girl out, you just do it. Of course! His hand throbbed, not agreeing with this at all. “Just doing it” had given him bruises and cuts for weeks. But hey, he had a crater of his own. It wasn’t perfect but–

His hand took that moment to cramp up on top of the pain. 

Kuzan made a strangled noise, grabbing his wrist and doubling over. He tried to breathe through his nose, force his fingers to uncurl. The pain marched up his wrist into his forearm, gaining ground into his bicep. 

And then a larger hand was grabbing his wrist, straightening it out from the terrible curling position it was seizing into. Kuzan yelped, gritting his teeth. Garp-san had never offered more than a few annoyed glances for months, only recently graduating to telling Kuzan when to show up in the last year or so. 

Kuzan tried to focus on the fact that Garp-san was taking an interest in him over the pain. His enormous calloused hands were firm but surprisingly gentle as they rotated Kuzan’s wrist back and forth. He swallowed, finding it a little harder to breathe, which was not helping his hand cramp. 

“You gotta eat more, less cramps,” Garp grunted. “Next time I’ll bring more food. You’re too much like a stick.” 

Kuzan turned his face away to hide the smile that wanted to eat his whole face. “Yes, Sir,” he finally mumbled. 

“None of that crap,” Garp growled, pressing a thumb into Kuzan's palm firmly. Slowly the muscle stopped shrieking, a dull throb replacing the sharp. 

“I always wanted a sensei though…” the words slipped past Kuzan’s lips before he could stop them. 

“Save that for Zephyr, he’s all sappy like that,” the Vice Admiral huffed. 

“Zephyr-sensei? Sentimental? You sure?” 

Garp laughed, the sound making Kuzan’s stomach do a little flipping thing. Heat colored his cheeks, and he realized that Garp-san might be able to feel his racing pulse through his wrist. He tugged his hand away, swallowing. 

“You good?” Garp asked, looking Kuzan square in the eyes. Kuzan wished he had that kind of bravery, that ability to be so forthright. 

“Why, you wanna kiss it better?” he joked instead, looking away so Garp wouldn’t see the way his mere interest in Kuzan’s well-being was making a thousand little butterflies form inside him.

“Does that work?” 

He sounded so earnest and surprised that Kuzan turned back, a “no” dying on his lips as Garp grabbed his hand and pressed a kiss there between his knuckles. He could feel the roughness of his growing beard, the slight way his lips were chapped. The sun on Kuzan’s skin was too warm, the rock he sat on too smooth from years of wear and tear. 

“Uh, yep! Yup! Let’s uh, get back to training!” Kuzan said in a whoosh, practically running back to start punching his ship. 

“Huh…you learn something new everyday,” Garp mumbled in amazement, returning to training until it was too dark to see.

Chapter Text

Every night is tough, that’s the deal she made when she put her life on the line against the strongest power in the world. Betty’s toes bump the bar, one long leg crossed over the other as she fingers the tiny purple umbrella in her martini. 

It’s not a good bar, but it has all the right components. Smoky air, sticky tabletops, a blues band singing songs of yearning and bad endings, and alcohol that burned on the way down. She pulls a crumpled cigarette out of her red jacket’s pocket. Across the wall, plastered near the door are old wanted posters, one of which is hers from a decade ago. She’s wearing her custom red hat, the damn photographer making her bared breasts more the focus than her face. She and Ginny had shared a good laugh over it. 

She fiddled with her lighter, the top cracked. A peril of her duty she supposed. Cracking skulls, raising flags, marching the streets. All in a days work on an island like this on the border of World Government territory. 

This island would stay free if she had anything to say about it. 

A lighter drifted down the bar towards her. She watched in curiosity as the top flicked, the end of her cigarette flaring to life. Her gaze followed an odd trail of fuzzy smoke to the other end of the bar where it solidified into a shirtless man with white hair, a jitte strapped across his back. 

She tipped her cigarette in his direction, taking a long drag, her purple lipstick leaving a smudge on the filter. The bar around them began to fill up, late shift workers crowding in before last call. Miners, fishermen, runners, farmers. Salt, sweat, tobacco, and heartbreak clouding the air. 

The smell of humanity ground under the heel of labor for people who look down their noses at the labor that provides for them.

Men crowd around her, oogling her open jacket and her long legs, trying to catch her eye. They ply her with drinks, with cigarettes, with offers of a good time and beri to spare. Betty takes their drinks, lights their smokes, takes their beri and offers to dance. 

They cheer and whoop as she sashays across the bar top. She doesn’t even need their powers for this. This is where she was born, where she was made. They clap and shout and when one gets too close, she slaps him on the hand and scolds him. It makes his night. The music picks up, the blues get raucous, a reminder that it hurts but it's worth it. 

When the bar feels like freedom, Betty steps out outside for another smoke. The night air is dusty, this desert town reminds her too much of Whiskey Peak, too much of home and nights above the saloon, listening to her mother make a living. 

She flicks her broken lighter to no avail when a familiar smoky hand appears. Her cigarette flares to life, the light casting her face in the whiskey orange. The hand returns to its owner, standing a few few down, leaning against the wall. 

Two cigars sit in the corner of his mouth and Betty likes the way the hazy moonlight makes him seem a ghost. She blows a smoky “o” in his direction as a thanks. They stand in companionable silence, and Betty allows herself to think of a normal life. 

How she would close the gap between them, incline her head towards her room for the night, run her fingers through the ghost’s white hair, sweat mingling between her sheets until the morning light reveals whether he is real or an apparition. 

Betty’s cigarette burns down and she lets it drop to the dust. As the last embers die, her purple gaze meets amber, and for a moment, she is tempted to close the gap. Follow this path where it leads. But duty calls.

Betty walks away and doesn’t look back.

Chapter Text

“C’mon! This way! This WAY!” 

It was the shiteating grins on the stupid swordsman’s and damn Vinsmoke’s faces that got under Smoker’s skin as the damn rubber brat’s hand latched on to his jacket and yanked him around the ship. 

First the Cat Burglar’s ridiculous orchard (These are really tasty but Nami is scary so you can’t touch them!), then down a bunch of stairs to the sniper’s messy workshop (Usopp makes such cool stuff! MAYBE he can make you a cool weapon like Nami’s! Make it shoot boogers or something!) Then back UP the goddamn stairs to the kitchen where that pervert was moping over getting him and not Tashigi (Aw, don’t be sad Smokey, we’ll see her soon!), and over to the doctor’s office, the only sane room on the ship he’d seen (We have emergency food just like the Navy!), then bolting to the other side of the ship because the reindeer was pissed while the skeleton played something that Smoker was sure was somehow making fun of him.

This ship’s design would have made every Navy engineer have a heart attack, and he missed the calm efficiency of his warship the way a husband missed their wife. The rubber hand kept a firm haki grip on his jacket, or Smoker would have stopped this madness, and he would rather not leave half his body standing on deck like an open target. Down to the bottom of the ship they scurried to the Cyborg’s workshop, then an explosion later, back topside to the crows nest where the Pirate Hunter got pissed over being trampled, and around and around… 

“This is the bathroom! You can poop here! Wait, DO you POOP Smokey?!” 

“This is the girl’s bathroom, don’t go in there or Nami gets scary!”

“This is MY seat over here! You can’t sit here! You can’t sit here Smokey. Okay? No sitting.”

The headache Smoker was developing was on par with the worst hangover he’d ever had after graduating boot camp. He was regretting joining the Straw Hats on their damn voyage to Laugh Tale, but someone sane had to make sure these idiots didn’t blow up the world. 

“AND THIS!” Straw Hat flung open the door hard enough for it to bounce off the wall and whoosh through him to slam closed again. “IS THE LIBRA–!” 

The Devil Child looked up from her seat on the couch, a hand having sprouted over Mugiwara’s mouth. Smoker could have kissed her, the momentary silence as good as a hit of nicotine. 

“Oh right, this is the library Smokey! We have to be quiet!” 

How was his whisper still so loud?! The brat dragged him from the library far too soon and through what he was pretty sure was the last room on the ship he hadn’t been shown. Smoker stared as Straw Hat beamed. “This is where Jinbe sleeps! And poops maybe, I dunno. The other fish do!” Accidental racism aside, this, Smoker decided was the ideal spot on this ridiculous ship. 

Fish swam calmly in the large aquarium, the soft glow from the tank giving the entire room an ethereal quality. A couch with a coffee table sat before the tank, and on the table was a pile of rocks likely taken from various islands the Straw Hats had visited their chaos upon. 

This, Smoker decided, was his spot. 

“And that’s the ship! I want Franky to make it even bigger and we can have a roller coaster and a second kitchen and a ball pit and a–” Smoker stepped away from Mugiwara to drop himself upon the couch, the idiot’s stretchy arm not letting go.  

Much to his chagrin, the bastard slingshotted over to slam him into the couch, flat on his back. The little shit’s grinning face looked down at him and didn’t even look fazed when Smoker threw him onto the floor. Smoker’s eye twitched when he dropped down next to him, sitting like a five year old. How was this idiot the one that was throwing the world on its head?

He started stacking rocks, hoping Mugiwara would get the hint and leave him be, knowing that if he told him to fuck off, then the brat would definitely stay. Smoker closed his eyes, ignoring him as he started prattling about yet another thing. Worse than Tashigi about swords. A pang shot through him. She would be alright, and he knew he could count on her to keep his men safe, but she was… an anchor, and now she was gone. 

He frowned, reopening his eyes to watch a fat orange fish slowly swim past. Adjusting to life aboard this ship was not going to be easy, each one of these pirates was insane in their own unique way, and… now he was a member of their crew. Smoker picked up a rock on the table. 

Now he was a pirate. The frown deepened. He had never wanted to be a pirate, no matter how much bureaucracy and bullshit grated on him. Pirates were chaos, and chaos… hurt people. Even good chaos. He eyed the rock tower he had begun, feeling unmoored. As a Marine, he always had something to fall back on. A basic principle, a set of ethics (no matter how poorly the organization itself portrayed them). Now he would have to rely on his own self, and the people around him not to fuck this up. 

Because the world was depending on it. 

“Hey.” 

Smoker blinked, only then realizing that it had been quiet for a while now. His eyes flicked to Mugiwara, sitting calmly (for him) beside him. 

“It’ll be okay, Smokey,” he said, futzing with his straw hat on his lap. Smoker’s fingers twitched around the sandstone rock he was holding. Nothing about this was okay, not really. A wave of something washed through him that reminded him of when he first left home to join the Navy so many years ago. 

“We’re gonna find the one piece,” Straw Hat stated, with the same conviction that the sun would rise each morning. That was the problem. Smoker wasn’t sure anyone should find the fucking one piece, not if it somehow put the world at risk! 

“That’s the problem,” he growled. 

“Nah,” Straw Hat chuckled. 

Smoker gave him his full attention, about to tear him a new one–

“That’s what you’re here for, Smoker,” Monkey D. Luffy smiled at him. Not that aggravating sugar high smile, or the shit eating grin he wore when fighting, no. A real smile that made Smoker feel like he was being seen for the first time in his entire life. “You’re here to make sure it’s not a bad thing.”

“And if it is?” Fish swam by without a care in the world, as if this moment was the only moment. No future where they would be caught and turned into lunch, just here and now with the water clear and crisp. 

“Then you’ll stop us.” 

Smoker looked at Luffy for a long moment before he had to turn away. The conviction in those eyes was too much. 

“Hey, Smokey.” Luffy poked him a few minutes later. He grunted, giving him his attention again. 

“You never answered, do you poop?” And just like that, the stupid moment or whatever was broken. 

“Get the fuck outta here!” He swatted at the dumb brat who cackled his little ‘shishishi!’ and–! 

Smoker froze as chaos incarnate smooched him on the cheek, wet and disgusting, then bolted for the door. Not a second later, Smoker was hot on his heels, not knowing that this would become as routine on the Thousand Sunny as Nami in her map room or Sanji cooking, or Zoro napping.

Chapter Text

“Man, why did she have to open her bar in Rocks’ stupid territory?” Rogrip griped as he kicked a bunch of pirates out line to get in the door. Rayleigh, Gabban, and a bunch of the rest of his crew followed him inside. 

Roger let out a low whistle as he looked around the place, all decked out for some holiday they celebrated on Kuja. Or something. Anyway, the place had fake cobwebs and pumpkins carved with funky smiles and creepy tombstones painted on the walls. It was also packed with drunks wearing way weirder outfits than usual. The Kuja knew how to party! All the more reason for Shakky to marry him and join his crew!

“Oi, you’re not in costume, get out,” growled Newgate from next to the door. He had a fake bone that looked like his mustache going through his head. 

“Costume?” Roger looked at Rayleigh who looked at Gabban who shrugged. 

“Three stooges is what you morons are,” cackled whats-her-name, uh… Charlotte Pink Pink! Yeah! Roger gave her the finger, which she returned. 

“Then that’s our costume. Boys, go find something to wear,” Rayleigh barked at the crew who looked broken hearted until they realized there were a bunch of unconscious idiots to take from. That’s the spirit boys!

Roger sauntered toward the bar, grabbing a lollipop from the candy pile spread across it. “Shakuyaku! Happy Costume Day!” He grinned widely, giving her his best smile. She was dressed like…Roger swallowed, oogling her up and down. Her amazing hair was in a stunning tall beehive updo thing, and she wore a wedding dress torn in places he would really enjoy touching. With more than his hands. 

“Oh, Ray-san, good to see you,” she smiled. Rayleigh inclined his head towards her then turned to start talking with Captain John who was dressed as a… Roger had no idea what he was. Some kind of metal-man? 

“Roger!!!!” 

He stiffened as arms wrapped around his shoulders. Ah jeez, no! Gloriosa smiled at him, dressed up like a vegetable. Gabban and a few others swooned like idiots behind him as he tugged her arms off from around his neck. “I didn’t know you were coming for Halloween, I would have dressed up…” Gloriosa tried and failed to hide her body, which now that Roger got a good look was like some sort of green plant lady. 

Bizarre costume but not as weird as Rocks, who was grinning at Shakky in a way that made Roger want to fight him right now. Except Shakky wouldn’t like that, so… he had to get creative. 

“Oi, Rocks, the heck are you supposed to be?!” Roger stared at him. He was dressed in all black, including a hood that made him a long dumb pickle shape, and he was wearing bonkers red contacts in his eyes. But nobody else had a nose like him, so it could only be him. 

“The scariest thing in the world, you moron,” Rocks flipped him off like Pink Pink, then turned back to Shakky. “So, Shakky, what’s with the sign?” He pointed at a colorful painted sign that hung over the bar. Roger eyed it as he threw himself in the seat next to Rocks. He was not going to let that bastard dominate her attention all night, no way! The sign read Trick or Treat, his gaze zeroing in on Treat. Treat. Treats were good! 

“Well…” Shakky leaned on the bar, looking at the two of them. She looked beautiful in flawless make-up meant to make her look like a corpse. What a talented woman~

“What would the two of you like? Trick,” she winked and Roger nearly fell out of his chair. “Or… treat?” 

“Treat!” Roger said at the same time as Rocks. They glared at one another, Roger’s hand automatically going for Ace at his side. Rocks copied his movements. 

“Treat it is!” Shakky said with a smile that Roger would have been happy to gaze upon until the sun burned out. She leaned towards them, her hands out, he and Rocks enraptured. Was she going to kiss them? Roger would tolerate her kissing Rocks if it meant he got a kiss!

Her hand landed on the back of his head. Roger puckered his lips. Oh, oh he loved Halloween, she could touch him forever~

She smushed both he and Rocks’ faces together.

“A treat for me it is!” she winked and giggled before going over to grab Rayleigh a drink. Roger and Rocks were both frozen in place, then split from each other, gagging and wailing. Gloriosa sobbed that Roger’s kiss should have been for her, while Rocks ran to go dry heave outside. 

Newgate laughed from the doorway, Halloween was great.