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aaaghhhhhh · 3 months ago

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ficlet feb dump

i did ficlet feb this month, writing 200-400 word ficlets each day. (aimed for 200 but got carried away a few times). didn't edit, didn't think too hard about them, the pacing is all over the place, i didn't always like my own characterizations, but i had fun writing them and figure i should post the results somewhere.

so. beneath the cut we have 6250~~ words of a hodgepodge of very early swallow gang, the epic highs and lows of teenage hormones, a few misc add-ons to my heart pirate week 2024 fics, my regularly scheduled law wangst, a few snippets from the lawcav soulmate au verse, vague early Heart thoughts, and a surprise crossover episode. enjoy????

1 | survive

The shack is good enough.

It’s tiny, barely four walls and a roof, all of which look drafty as hell. When it storms, vicious biting winds waiting to eat you alive, Penguin cannot imagine this building being much protection at all. He can imagine the walls crumbling apart or crushing them or letting in hungry wolves. If he was alone, maybe he’d keep walking, use the few hours till sunset to try for somewhere better.

But Shachi’s next to him, small and sniffling, a bundle of all the layers Penguin could find, the gullpox rashes peeking out from behind all the scarves. He needs shelter. The shack is good enough, and so Penguin herds him inside, settles Shachi in the single forlorn bed, drapes his last coat over him, the influx of chilly air creeping goosebumps up Penguin’s bare arms. He doesn’t mind. He’s tough, and Shachi’s sick, and his stupid aunt and uncle hadn’t let him rest, even when the shivering got bad. Just sent them to steal another round of stuff, and so Penguin had stolen supplies and then Shachi.

Shachi, half-delirious, who asks what they are doing here.

“We’re free,” Penguin says, promises them both. “We’re surviving.”

2 | trapped

Law’s not trapped. He sits on the deck of the Thousand Sunny, watches the cloudless sky, and knows logically he’s not trapped. He’d chosen to be here, chosen to ensnare all the Straw Hats in his plans, chosen this deadly path all the way back when he was sixteen and never once looked back. If this is a trap, it’s one of his own design, Law the bait and not the victim.

But on this ship, waiting, he feels trapped. Surrounded by sea, he couldn’t run if he wanted to. Surrounded by temporary allies, he couldn’t change his mind if he wanted to. Surrounded by Caesar’s stink, he couldn’t halt the momentum even if he tried.

Before, there’d always been a way out. Under the sea in the Tang. His Room and Shambles. Picking his moves as to not disturb the beast. Schemes to escape repercussion. Setting traps on delayed triggers, safe but never enough to catch his prey.

So he’d built a better trap. One with him at the center. And so, no, he’s not physically trapped here, a guest on the Thousand Sunny. They’re all trapped, no escape until Cora gets his vengeance or until Law dies trying.

3 | nonverbal communication

The Hearts hold a vote.

It’s barely a formality, although Penguin doesn’t present it that way, not to the accused. He offers a jury of behalf of Uni, still in his coma, unable to deliver judgment. Makes it sounds almost reasonable. Almost civilized. Orderly, even.

But they’re pirates. This is part of the punishment. Hope.

Not much hope—it’s not a trial, all of the Mouth-Mouth man’s mouths gagged, no arguments offered by or for either side—but a smidgen of it is enough. What if they were merciful pirates, kind-hearted, willing to forgive or at least offer second chances. They’ll dangle it before him, long and slow, a night in the cell to wonder and pray as the Hearts sail out to open the ocean and its watery grave.

The next day, Law’s still operating on Uni and so the Hearts file into the mess. No words are spoken, save for Penguin, acting as judge. This man ate Uni. What will we Hearts do to him? it’s the last chance to back out, to turn away from this path.

They don’t. There are no deliberations. Just grim, vicious looks and one unanimous show of hands, given without hesitation.

Guilty. Sentence: death.

4 | pirate

“I was thinking,” Penguin starts, the two of them huddled around the fire pit eating their freshly-stolen bread, “Maybe we should become pirates.”

“Pirates?” Shachi asks, “Wha- for?”

“Gets us out of here. Pleasure Town will hunt us down if we keep this up. It’s only a matter of time until they clap us in irons or worse.”

Drags them back to Shachi’s relatives, Shachi thinks, and glances at Penguin’s grim face cast in firelight. No—worse—and fights back a shudder. Doesn’t ask.

“But, why pirates? We could join the marines and that’ll get us away. They’ll show up recruiting eventually.”

“With our records?” Penguin says. “We can’t. And—“

He trails off, eyes shadowed as always, shoulders tense and thorny. Defensive. Keeping Shachi out, or protecting him, or both. In these past months, Shachi has learned it’s most often both. And that Shachi doesn’t like it.

“And what?”

“We’re free now,” Penguin says, a sigh. “After—what happened, I don’t want to be pressed under legal authority again. Not when their morality means shit.”

“So, follow pirates instead?”

“They’re honest about it.”

And, well, Shachi can’t argue with that. It’s a nice thought. To be as unrestrained as a pirate. Utterly free.

5 | pack

Penguin’s been packing for days, weeks, months, even before Shachi got sick, but that had been casual. Easy, almost. Squirrel away a bit of preserved food, a set of clothing or two, a scattering of loose change the Relatives wouldn’t know to miss. Weapons. Blankets. It had been a furtive, careful endeavor, bits and spurts whenever the despair had been too much. Packing had let him hope, that they would be able to get out, and even if he didn’t know when or how, it had been something.

But now Shachi’s sick. Gullpox, and it shouldn’t be deadly. Penguin had it as a child, spent two weeks tucked in bed, fire roaring, given spoonfuls of warm broth along with the bitterest of medicines. He’d recovered without issue, the typical gullpox outcome on any half-civilized island with half-civilized care. Any decent family members.

Shachi doesn’t have those. The Relatives had seen the symptoms—rash, fever, shakes—and they had to know, but they’d thrust him out into the winter cold to steal all the same. Penguin had yelled at them—stupid—gotten a bruise for an answer.

That, and a new determination to finish packing. Quickly, because it matters now. He’s getting Shachi out, now.

6 | pay the toll

It’s when they’re heading over the bridge back out of the city, laden down with loot, that the bandits strike.

Before, it had been a good supply run. Penguin had haggled for a deal on the various sacks of rice and oats and coffee beans and they’d even managed to score some tinned fruit as treat. Bepo would be thrilled—for a carnivore he had a sweet tooth. Shachi was proud of them, even if he’d only contributed standing around looking cool.

But then the bridge. Bandits. A toll to pass.

Law had told them not to cause trouble. Not with the crew still raw.

But—all their Beri? Losing that would be more trouble. So Penguin and Shachi exchange looks. Put down their sacks as if they have to reach for the Beri. Pull out weapons instead. Four against two, but they’ve trained for this, years now, and what’s the point of being pirates on a quest for revenge if they’ll cow to local thugs?

Last island, they’d gotten into a fight, and Law had come to save their asses. This time, they win. Law isn’t happy, all the bruises and blood, but that’s the toll you pay to get stronger.

7 | pit stop

Law’s a devious little bastard, and Penguin knew this already, of course, but even so it sometimes still gets him all over again. The three of them—Penguin, Shachi, Bepo—are lying on Law’s bed, hanging out, and Law’s at the desk, reading. His idea, a chill recovery night, or so they’d thought. But then he’d looked up, at them, nineteen and tense, and Penguin realized it was a trap. They weren’t going to like what came next.

“Change of plan,” Law says. “We’re not going to the Grand Line yet.”

“Why?”

“You all almost died in that last fight. Grand Line’s worse. You have to get stronger.”

“We lived! We won!” Shachi protests. Penguin elbows him. Doesn’t help. “We’ll get stronger on the Line!”

“I saved your sorry asses,” Law snaps, whatever little patience he started with used up. “I’m not dragging you behind me.”

He’s right, but Penguin winces all the same. Is glad Bepo’s the one that asks.

“But what about—you know. Doflamingo. Are you going alone then?”

“No,” he says finally, begrudgingly. “This is just a pit stop. You’re my crew.”

It’s a relief. Law’s not abandoning them, even though he could find better. But it still stings.

8 | soulmate

The White Knight Cavendish. Blond. Shiny. Self-possessed (hah) and vainglorious. A dangerous pirate in his own right, one with motives so completely alien that Law cannot imagine beginning to fathom him. Beaming up at him on the front page, collarbone rose soulmark exposed for all to see. His soulmate.

The worst part, Law supposes, is that this could be worse. Way worse. He could have met the man first. Touched him by accident and watch both their collarbones light up gold. Binding them in a connection neither had expected or wanted. Cavendish wouldn’t know to be careful, because Law’s mark has been long covered by ink. Law wouldn’t know either, wouldn’t have ever guessed him.

Now, Law knows. When the opportunity comes, Law can let it slip by unrealized. He doesn’t have to let it happen, and he was never planning on it, but now he can be certain. It’s a gift, almost. By telling the world, Cavendish has told his soulmate who to avoid.

He had said—and Law has read this stupid article so many times he can quote it, a fact he will be taking to his grave—he wanted to give his soulmate the opportunity to know him in advance and seek him out if they so chose. He made it sound noble and winning, this attempt to speed along this destiny bullshit. Cheating the system, and Law had sneered, just a bit.

But Cavendish had also said he wanted his soulmate to know about who they were getting attached to before they met. The curse, and Law remembered the rumors and the bounty and scowled because that, that was honest and noble and. Gave him a choice.

Infuriating. Law shoves the article back in its drawer and slams it shut. He’s choosing no. It’ll be better for the both of them, really. Because Law’s just as cursed, but unlike Cavendish, he’s not nice enough to warn anyone.

9 | deer in the headlights

Law, possibly, did not think this all the way through.

He’d known that, of course, but it had been a lot easier to ignore the fact that this had not been thought out (at all) on Barthomelo’s ship where it didn’t matter. Where nobody else would think twice about it—at least not in the right direction.

But now, Law and Cavendish are pushing through the Zou forest toward Law’s crew—because Cavendish, annoyingly perceptive, and even more annoyingly persistent, had noticed him slip out and had insisted on coming along. And Law definitely had not thought agreeing through. Because his—Bepo, Penguin, Shachi, they will think twice. Correctly. And Law has no idea how they’ll react. They’ll look at him, and Law will be pinned in their gaze, a deer caught in searchlights, and he doesn’t know what those gazes will say.

It’s possible they’ll think he told Cavendish. Act like it. And then the jig is up. Secret’s out, Law’s hit by the back end of his own poor decisions. A deer not smart enough to flee.

It’s not too late, he tells himself, but he knows that’s not really true. He’s in it now. Will have to survive the wreckage.

10 | making your own traditions

At home, Hakugan hadn’t been a shrine-weaver. He could have been. As a child, each month, he’d watch as his mother and aunts took all the hair they’d collected and went to the family shrine, the shed on the edge of their collective, and wove. He’d sit back and watch, all their deft hands adding to the Great Knot, all the family lives woven together in strength and prayer. As he got older, he’d been given yarn, weave his own practice Knot so he’d be ready for his first bleed, his spot in the weave.

But when he’d bled, he’d donned a man’s mask instead of a woman’s. It was more right, and he would have no regrets. None, but sometimes he’d visit the shrine for his prayers, and wish he could have added his skill to his family just once. Instead, he had left.

The Hearts have no shrine, no endless tangle of history or protection. Few have met anyone from his island, but even the ones who hadn’t don’t question the mask.

And so Hakugan collects hair. His own only, at first, woven in a box under his bunk. But then the Captain finds out—Hakugan still isn’t sure how—and gives him a proper shelf. Offers up the clippings of his haircut, quiet, hesitant, and Hakugan does cry, safe behind his mask. The rest of the crew joins in, Shachi dutiful with every haircut he gives, scraps from hairbrushes, the spattering of loose hair. And so Hakugan weaves a new family shrine, one for his new family. The Hearts.

11 | fairytale

Once, his soulmark had been a fairytale in the making. A rose like an anatomical heart, a promise on his collarbone. There was someone out there, someone who would find him, an epic love in the making. Two souls joined in harmony, a universe-divined connection. He’d daydream about it, eyes meeting across a crowded room, knowing even before he knew. It would be perfect.

That was before Hakuba. Before realizing his parents had matching peonies on their pinkies, the kind of tattoos they could causally twine together. And before Cavendish had nothing better to do than to sit in his rooms, examine the petals of his rose and wonder at who was on the other side. Who were they expecting? What kind of fairy tale was this, a beast-man without love as a cure?

When he meets them, it’ll be easy enough to pretend otherwise, at least for a little while. Long enough to bond. Trap. Chain.

And he supposes that would be a fairytale too. A parable. A warning. The kind of fairytale he never liked, and one he refuses to live.

Cavendish will not chain anyone. His soulmate will choose him despite it all or not at all.

12 | snack

Penguin’s already in the kitchen when Law attempts to creep in, perched on a stool with a mug wrapped in his hands, a sole light shining down on him. His hat is off, dark strands of hair curling against his forehead, and Law almost turns around to go back to his newly claimed Captain’s quarters. But he doesn’t. He stands there, unmoving, and Penguin sighs, long and heavy, and Law’s stepping in before he can consider doing otherwise.

“Law—Captain?” Penguin says, quiet. “Couldn’t sleep either?”

“Yeah. Mind if I join you?”

Penguin nods, and Law goes to put on the water kettle for hot chocolate. Pulls up a stool. Roots around in the cupboard for the cookies—one left. Snaps it in two—Penguin accepts the larger half with what could be a smile, eyes softening without the hat to hide them. He’s exposed, vulnerable, Law thinks, and then darts his gaze away—he’s not wearing his hat either. Easier to make his hot chocolate, scooping in the powder, stirring in the water.

Eventually, though, he has to sit, mug and cookie in hand. He takes a bite. Crumbly. And Penguin hasn’t said a word, crumbs dusting the tops of his sealed lips, and Law swallows. He doesn’t do this.

“Peng—you okay?”

“Just bad dreams,” Penguin tells him, and takes a sip. “Nothing to worry about.”

He sounds reassuring. His eyes don’t look reassured. But clearly he doesn’t want to talk, and so Law’s nodding—he’s not going to pry, Penguin would tell him if needed, right?—and saying ‘if you’re sure’. And at that Penguin smiles, again, but the look in his eyes is pure relief. He leaves shortly after, his cookie finished, and Law sits there a long while after. Sighs, long and heavy. Feels every bit seventeen, for once. Impossibly, stupidly, small.

13 | wish you were here

Law hates everything about Punk Hazard. The thick snow. The stifling heat. Caesar Clown and his experiments. The bargains he’s made.

Most of all, he hates being alone, surrounded only by eventual enemies. Trapped here without his heart. Both his physical one and more importantly his figurative one. His crew, his Hearts.

They would have liked Punk Hazard. The Northern chill. The Vegapunk machinery, ripe for the plunder. The adventure. Shutting down Caesar Clown—because if the Hearts were here, Law wouldn’t be playing nice. Law would kill him—better than he deserved—and be done with it. Slip away, Caesar’s benefactors none the wiser. He would have liked Punk Hazard, then.

But Law’s going to see Doflamingo killed if it’s the last thing he does. And working with Caesar is his way in, the chink in the armor Law has to burrow through. And it’s not suicidal, but dangerous enough to be the same thing in the end.

The Hearts aren’t with him. They’re gone, safe. And that’s the sole relief Law has as he cooperates with Caesar and gathers rope for his trap. His noose. Either way, his Hearts won’t be caught in it with him.

But. Law wishes they were.

14 | attraction

They go to a bar.

They go to a bar, because Penguin had wanted to go to a bar, and Law couldn’t think of a good reason to stop him so he’d gone with instead. To keep an eye out, and Shachi had shot him a look that could mean nothing and said he’d go too. Bepo and Ikkaku could watch the Tang, both thrilled by the responsibility.

So they go. They get drinks, and Law and Shachi take theirs to a table and Law realizes too late Penguin’s not with them. That he’s lingering by the bar, talking to someone with long black hair, and he’s laughing, head back, neck exposed. Smiling, bright as he leans his back against the counter, drink forgotten by his side. Tucking in close to whisper something to his companion, and Law should look away. Cannot.

Watches as they move to the corner. As Penguin’s fingers curl themselves in black hair, his hat knocked back enough that Law can just barely see as his eyes flutter shut. Can imagine it, all long eyelashes. Shit.

Shachi’s giving him that look again. But he doesn’t say anything, a pitiful relief. Just orders another round of drinks.

15 | disdain

Cavendish shows up again mere hours before they’re set to leave Zou, looking like there’s not a care in his world. He strides across the clearing to stop in front of Law, head high, stare unflinching. Golden hair braided back, a loose strand curling around his jawbone, and Law swallows back inane thoughts of tucking it safe behind an ear.

“I’m going to Wano,” Cavendish snaps out. “But I’m still pissed.”

“Okay,” Law tells him, and remembers belatedly half the crew’s in the clearing with him, and worse, half the Straw Hats. Penguin, studiously unruffled next to him, knows, but the rest—Law can only imagine what they’re thinking. Cannot imagine what Cavendish, still glowering, is.

“Okay?” he echoes. “That’s it?”

“Remember, on my ship you’ll be under Heart authority. Will that be a problem?” Cavendish grits his teeth. Nods, sharp. “Good. Go talk to Shachi. He’ll put you to work.”

There’s a pause, Cavendish’s eyes narrowed to daggers, before he sniffs, spins on his heel and stalks in the direction of Shachi, disdain clear. And Law doesn’t sigh, just lets Penguin grimace at him in what he hopes is sympathy.

Shit. It’s going to be a long voyage to Wano.

16 | poetic

The water churns against the sides of the Tang like a poem without words. Like all the poems Law’s never written, restless within their confines. Like Law himself, turmoil reduced to a choppy sea without effect. Meaningless as the Tang glides through, undaunted.

Law sighs, his breath hanging in the chill of the night’s air, all his senses standing on end. Turns, to see Cavendish coming on deck, wrapped in a blanket Law hadn’t been aware the Tang owned. Instinct, his grip tightens on Kikoku and Cavendish laughs, brittle.

“Relax. Hakuba’s sleeping.”

“You’re not?”

Cavendish leans on the rail next to him, hair loose and gleaming in the moonlight.

“Penguin told me night watch was the best time to catch you alone.”

Law is going to ki—no. Law is going to do nothing to Penguin.

“Why? You’re pissed.”

Cavendish looks out, towards the angst of the sea, and pulls the blanket tighter around himself. Eventually he speaks, barely addible over the rush of waves.

“That’s proving difficult.” A sigh. “I keep sympathizing.”

He scowls as he says it. Law says nothing, the moment glass he cannot risk shattering. Waits, for Cavendish to face him again, steeled.

“So, Law, talk. Why?”

17 | oath

Law operates on Uni for sixteen hours straight. It’s the longest, worst surgery of his life, the welcome to the Grand Line he should have been expecting. They’d grown too comfortable in the North Blue, wreaking whatever havoc they pleased, strong enough to damn the consequences.

And now Uni’s still teetering by the possibility of dying, still in his coma. Stable, but worrisome. But Law needs sleep—needs to be well rested so he doesn’t fuck up, first rule of surgery—so he gives Clione his stomach and lies on the couch. A quick nap.

But sleep won’t come. He was—is—Uni’s captain. He’d sworn to himself, when he started his crew, he’d protect all of them. That’s what a Captain did. And first stop on the Grand Line, he’d failed. Succeeded, but too late.

Law is going to kill Doflamingo. He’d sworn an oath to himself, to Cora-san’s ghost. Kill Doflamingo, get him killed, or die trying. A promise far more dangerous than the beginning of the Grand Line, a fact he’d known and never feared. But his crew? He cracks an eye, looks at Uni heaving his unsure breaths, and swears a second oath.

Law will protect his crew from himself.

18 | fake dating/pretend relationship

It’s a seedy, miserable bar with shit lighting and shittier drinks and Law wishes they’d never come but they’d heard a rumor one of the bartenders is a distributor for Doflamingo and so here Law is. Nursing his beer in a corner. Watching Penguin, with hat off and no boiler suit, chat with the bartender. Law can see the exposed ink of the wave circling his arm, all the muscles underneath, and doesn’t like it. People don’t mess with the Hearts. But an unaffiliated stranger?

That’s why he’s here, disguised in a corner. Just in case, and he takes another sip of beer and swallows down the bitterness.

When he looks back—Penguin’s been approached. A blonde man twice his height and leaning over and in. Close, too close, and Law’s fingers tighten around his glass, rather than a Room. Tightens further as Penguin ducks out of a—something and grabs his drink. Heads over to Law and he mouths something at Law, eyes wide as the blond slinks behind.

Play along?

“Hey babe,” he says, sitting himself in Law’s lap, free arm wrapping around him, and shit. “Sorry I took so long.”

“Making friends?” Law asks, and barely recognizes his own voice. Deeper, darker, perfect for the act. Perfect, because the blond stops short, flinches like he’s only now realized he’s a fool. Law smirks at him, his own free arm going around Penguin, fingers curling into the Heart tattoo on his shoulder, all because he can.

“Yeah! Friends!” the man squeaks out. “I’m sorry to bother you!”

With that he scurries away, leaving just them, Penguin warm, still on his lap, leaning against him.

“Thanks,” he says. “I could have stabbed him but didn’t want to cause a scene. Not in front of the barkeep. This seemed easier.”

Easier? But Law nods. Penguin presses in closer, his breath warm against skin as he continues.

“The tip we got was onto something. Barkeep’s connected. Not sure how, but his shift’s over soon. Figure we can follow him home.”

“Sounds good,” Law says. There’s a pause where he should say something, all uncaringly casual, but he doesn’t. Just takes a sip of his drink—it’s growing on him—and doesn’t move. Penguin doesn’t either. The blond man must still be here, but Law cannot find it in him to care. The man lost. And, although it won’t last past this bar, Law has won.

19 | off course

It takes Law too long to notice, because Cavendish isn’t acting like there’s anything to notice. He’d help usher them out of Dressrosa, leading the charge to flee on a motley collection of ships. He’s all smiles and laughter as they escape, as the Marines give up chase, as party barrels on. With the rest of the gladiators, he’s egging on the Fleet captains as they drink their sake, damn what Straw Hat Luffy himself wants.

But he doesn’t drink the sake. Take the oath that had been his idea. And it bothers Law, enough for him to really look around, count the ships and realize that one is missing. The Steed.

It’s easy enough to tug Cavendish aside, careful not to actually touch him, until Law asks and then his whole face shutters into stone blankness.

“They left when I was a toy,” he says. “Haven’t come back.”

“Bastards,” Law tells him, and Cavendish doesn’t laugh. “What are you going to do now?”

“What the hell can I do?”

He’s all but snarling, teeth working like gnawing at Law’s insides. And Law doesn’t have an answer, really, because what does one do when thrown so off-course, now adrift in the New World without anyone? It’s not—he’d help free Law, he’d waited with Law, he’d—his crew has run off and Law’s heart is pounding and Cavendish is glaring, and it’s a terrible idea.

“Come with us,” Law says, before he’s even thought it through. “I want another competent person on board.”

Cavendish stares at him, eyes wide and blue and shining. And he’s agreeing, a new spring in his step as they rejoin the others. As he flings an arm over Law’s shoulder to announce the news, hand dangling where the soulmark is, beneath Law’s shirt. And Law thinks, shit.

20 | souvenir

The port has a gift shop.

It’s weird. The whole island is weird—no offense to Hakugan, who seems rather cool if also weird in his own way, not that Shachi thinks any of the Hearts have room to judge weird—but the masks and temples and unusual accents are one thing, a variation on a pattern of the small, more isolated islands of the North Blue. The gift shop, the first thing they’d seen after docking three days ago, is just weird. There’s no possible way it can be financially viable, except when Shachi, trying to make conversation with Hakugan, says this, Hakugan just laughs behind the mask.

“You’d be surprised how much new Marines on their first tour will pay for random souvenirs from an exotic island.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah, they shell out,” Hakugan says, nodding aggressively. “Pirates too.”

Shachi’s never owned much stuff, and he cannot imagine wanting to pay exorbitant amounts for stuff, but at Hakugan’s urging they go check out the shop anyways. There’s a bunch of little models of temples and tacky shirts and shoddily made hats, all horrifyingly priced, and Shachi’s feeling quite good about his moral superiority until he spots the commemorative coins. Shiny imitation gold—the sign claims real gold, but Hakugan says otherwise—coins, stamped with the Great Temple at the island’s center. The detail is impressive, Shachi will admit, and he remembers one hazy afternoon on Swallow, Law and him sitting on Wolf’s roof for no good reason, Law telling him about coin minting. Shachi cannot remember how the topic came up, but Law had known a weird amount about the process, had told Shachi he used to collect coins, before.

Law had admitted to missing it. And so, in the end, Shachi falls victim to the gift shop and Hakugan’s very mellow and polite teasing. Because when he gives the souvenir coin to Law, the quiet delight he gets in response makes the rip-off utterly worth it.

21 | superpowers

“Do you actually think they’ll find a Devil Fruit?” Ikkaku asks, bored of standing guard on deck while the others explore the island. She’s still new to the crew, even if Uni and Clione are newer, and while it was fair, it still stings to draw the short straw. Especially with the rumors. “Would you eat it?”

“Nah,” Shachi says, not looking up from his book. “And no. Not worth it.”

“How do you mean?”

“I couldn’t swim.”

“Okay, yeah, but you’d have powers,” Ikkaku says. Duh. “Wouldn’t that be way more cool? Anyone can swim.”

“Not the Captain,” Shachi says, and he’s put down the book, gaze inscrutable behind his sunglasses. “I’d rather know I can save him at sea than gamble on powers.”

“If the powers were cool enough, you could stop him from needing to be saved in advance.”

“Hah,” Shachi laughs, teeth uncannily sharp as he does. He doesn’t sound terribly amused, but how well does Ikkaku know him, really? “There’s no Devil Fruit in the world that could prevent everything. Bad shit kills the most prepared people all the time. You need backup plans.”

Ikkaku nods. Doesn’t ask if he’s content being a backup plan.

22 | museum

Usually, Law doesn’t turn to arson.

Never, actually. Flevance had gone up in flames, including his home with his baby sister trapped inside, and Law had fled covered in the soot of his life’s demise. Afterwards, he’d dreaded fire, but he was lost and dying and that hadn’t mattered much. And then there’d been Cora-san. Burning down hospitals because they wouldn’t treat Law, and Law had been horrified and touched and confused and afraid and the fires would lick at the sky like they had in Flevance and Law didn’t say anything at all. He was dying and Cora-san kept trying, each fire more proof.

After Minion, fire had reminded him of Cora-san too, another good reason to avoid them.

But this museum has an exhibit on Flevance, the White City, and Law had foolishly gone to visit it, hoping against hope it held something of home. It is not. The artifacts are fakes, painted fearful whites, and the plaques are lies. The White City, lost to a deadly contagion, the nations around saved by the swift and brave actions of the World Government. No survivors.

Lies.

The museum burns like Flevance did, except this time, people give a shit.

23 | oddity

Jean Bart has been a part of many pirate crews. He’s been a ragtag ruffian, a swabbie, a bruiser. A captain, decades learning the seas, the rules, unspoken and not. He’s seasoned, knows who and what to expect, familiar with all the patterns.

But the Hearts are an oddity, a crew he’s never seen before. A ship for skulking and hiding, slipping through cracks and under walls. A loosely organized formation of mainly mechanics and medics, most without either bounties or the desire to claim one. Their Captain, the Surgeon of Death, a terrifying force surrounding himself with weaklings, or pirates content to appear as weaklings. Jean Bart is starting to suspect the later, that the Hearts slip themselves under the radar for reasons of grand design, but even so.

It doesn’t make sense. But Jean Bart’s rescue makes the least amount of sense. Because he doesn’t fit this odd crew, with a bounty and reputation at odds with the others. He adds to their target, stands out in every crowd, takes up space in a crew that, by clear design, doesn’t. He’s the real oddity here, a relic from a different age.

So why did the Captain want him?

24 | scenic route

For twelve years now, Bepo has been preparing to navigate to Zou. He’s pored over the maps and read all the books and he, Shachi and Penguin would strike up conversations with worldly sailors in bars who rarely were actually useful. He’s learned to read the sea and sky, trust his nose and his instincts, became the best navigator and pirate he could be. For this, for now, the Heart pirates finally going…home?

Well. Twenty of them.

He’d imagined a swift journey in the past, Bepo and the Hearts racing towards Zou with joy. Instead, he finds himself stalling. No—not stalling. Taking them on the scenic route. All the refueling stops they could possibly want, islands they spot on the horizon that could be interesting, a distress signal that turns out to be an easily-handled trap, every excuse Bepo is presented as they meander towards a homecoming.

A homecoming without Law. To a home they’d promised to find, together. All four of them, and Penguin and Shachi are still here but. Bepo allows another detour to an island rumored to have treasure and allows Penguin and Shachi to think he lacks a spine. It’s easier, and so maybe he does.

25 | crossover AU - possibly the most deranged divine cities crossover. also screw this cora lives.

The life of Trafalgar D. Water Law’s is one of segments, one as neatly divided as an orange. Befores and afters, cause and effect, each one another piece of him eaten away.

He is thirteen, and dying, and Cora is bleeding out in front of him, near dead in search of a miracle that had either never existed or has been since long decimated by Saypur. He is thirteen, and he howls in pain, and the world skips a beat. Time shudders, and Law has no way of knowing this, none at all, but in that instance, the world itself has been unmade and remade by a girl only a few years older than him, a girl who has howled the same howl.

A Divinity. A being of pure power, stuffed into a pair of human lives repeated again and again and again. A power that knows grief. A power that is then set free.

Later, scholars will dedicate their lives to analyzing the miracles and who got them. What kind of miracles they awoke in what kinds of people. They will never reach a conclusion better than random chance, Divine power finding new homes with all the finesse of an explosion. And maybe that’s true.

And maybe not. Because when time resumes, in the middle of Law’s howl, his heart hums with a sudden certainty. A knowledge, a Room. A miracle, when he needs one most. Cora’s life, and then his own, both saved by his own newly miraculous hands.

26 | decorate

Packing up to become pirates is more difficult than Law had anticipated.

Sure, he’d expected supplies to be a pain, and they were, even riding off the goodwill of saving Pleasure Town. Hauling and loading and trying to decide what they needed and how much—Law has a sneaking suspicion they were too conservative with the coffee grounds and overzealous with the medicine—but caffeine withdrawal headaches are an option. No medicine isn’t.

Anyways. It had been a pain, but an expected one. But packing their items from Wolf’s house—that was supposed to be easy. They were four teenagers in one shared bedroom. They couldn’t own much stuff. But. Maybe they do. All the things tacked on the wall—Law’s anatomy posters and Sora cutouts, Bepo’s maps, landscape pictures from magazines that Penguin had put up. Penguin’s art, bones washed up from the sea and carved. Their mugs and clothing and a few functional inventions of Wolf’s. All the books. The stuffed animals they’d won Bepo (and Law) at the carnival. Shachi’s small collection of sea glass. All this random, precious, wonderful stuff they’d gathered for themselves in three years, decorating their lives.

But their new life starts now. The’ll have to redecorate.

27 | scars

Penguin’s scar is the first one Law is proud of.

It’s not his first scar. He did surgery for Doflamingo and violence for Doflamingo, and both left scars in his wake. Messy gnarled things Law cannot remember well—much of those two years Law cannot remember well—each meaningless, each one bleeding into the next.

But Penguin’s scar, a ring around his arm, is beautiful. Careful, neat stitching, all the blood vessels and nerves and tendons made whole, skin knit together like it had never been parted. A clean line of raised, healed skin. Proof. Law still had decency in him somewhere. Law could heal and feel something about it. Law could be worthy of his parents’ names again. He could choose to. Penguin’s arm and its scar is the manifestation of who’d he had wanted to be, once. Who he could be.

He doesn’t tell Penguin this. It’s too big to mention, too hideously true to put into words. Too exposed. And so Penguin gets the scar tattooed over, a great swirling wave like one that had swept his parents away, snarling black ink, and Law cannot stop staring at it, the scar hidden beneath.

And again, he doesn’t tell Penguin.

28 | time loop

Shachi jerks awake in his bunk, head narrowly missing the Tang’s ceiling, a hacking cough rattling through his bones. A nightmare. It had been a nightmare—he’s here, on his ship, whole and undamaged. He can hear Clione snoring and feel Penguin’s presence beneath him and if he stretches his awareness out, Hakugan at the helm and Law and Bepo hanging out in the mess. All is well, in the soothing darkness of underwater.

Yet. The nightmare.

Blackbeard and his cronies, a fight they couldn’t win, a blackness vast enough to swallow the sun. They’d fought valiantly, he’d dealt some damage, but it hadn’t been enough. Shachi had been struck down, he’d seen Law knocked to the ground, Bepo turning Sulong to save him. A miracle, as the darkness crept in to swallow Shachi whole, and it had, the world quaking and—Shachi thinks he fell into the sea. An inky black sea, and it had whispered to him before he woke up.

Good luck.

He shudders, and climbs out of his bunk. After that, he doesn’t much feel like sleep. Maybe he’ll see what Bepo and Law are up to. That’ll help him relax, wash away the nightmare.

But. Good luck?

#aghhhhhh has fics #well. ficlets! tiny and rough but fun!

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