#Painting things to make them look wet is very difficult but I think a pirate ship/ocean and gillion and pretzel

[leapdayowo]

Fish and chips

fish eat chips

[oneprompt]

Helloooo! How u doing? Hope things going over there!

Glad to meet another one piece x reader blog! 💕💕 I was wondering if I could have a drabble or headcanons (whichever u prefer honestly) about jealous Zoro x chubby s/o? It can be NSFW or SFW (again whichever u prefer)

A jealous partner just hits different u know? 😳😳😳

Thank u for ur time!

authors note : hello ! <3 im doing rather well , thanks so much for asking <3 hope you’re doing lovely <33 i hope you don’t mind that i picked NSFW for this one ;; jealousy just blends perfectly with NSFW .. Anywho ! i hope you enjoy the headcanons + drabble <3 Oh ! i mainly kept the reader gender neutral , as i wasn’t sure if you wanted it as a female , male or nb. i hope that’s alright with you <3

NSFW WARNING BELOW <3 please skip if such content makes you uncomfortable.

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Jealous! Zoro x Chubby! Reader Headcanons

tags : jealousy , ( slight ) breeding kink , possessiveness , marking

• It takes quite a lot to get Zoro jealous. He’s a swordsman and swordsmanship is all about honor and respect , even towards opponents.

• But if a certain Straw Hat even breathes in your direction, he’s quick to make jealous. Sanji had no limitations when it came to his flirtatious attitude, he didn’t even hold back flirting with you, someone who was knowingly in a relationship, let alone someone who was dating Zoro.

• Zoro doesn’t hesitate to stride over to you and Sanji, quick to shout and possibly hit Sanji. Who does Sanji think he is? Zoro hated that sleezy face Sanji would make, allowing his eyes to trace along every piece of exposed flesh you had as you sunbathed on the ship deck. And Zoro especially hated how your face would flush in embarrassment from the other mans compliments.

• When he’s jealous, Zoro gets a lot tougher when it comes to bed room activities. Most of the time, he’s slow with his strokes, leaving light kisses along your stomach or neck, depending on what position you two were in. But when he’s jealous? Boy, oh boy... Jealousy is the plague! Do not expect to be able to walk straight afterwards

• He’ll definitely bury your body in hickies and bite marks, wherever his mouth can reach, it’ll be throbbing from Zoro’s lips. Zoro lacks shame, really. He doesn’t mind if people notice the marks he leaves upon you. If anything, Zoro wants people to see them, it strokes his ego.

• Zoro wants to be able to see your face 100%. He loves seeing your sweet expression sink with pure ecstasy. The way you’ll drool and blush an unbelievable shade of red as he rams up into the warmth of your body makes him grin with delight. Zoro knows nobody can do this for you, that only he can. And that feeling is the greatest to ever bask within him, the feeling of superiority of all the men who have ever looked at you in a lewd way.

• Zoro loves to grope your body, as well. He likes to feel every bit of you, from your chest to your lovehandles, he wants to feel it all. He loves knowing your plump body is only for him to feast on.

• If you ever show shame in your body type, Zoro is quick to correct you with eager touches. How idiotic do you have to be to neglect such a treasure? Zoro will always be there to remind you of the value your body holds to him, and why you should find pride in it as well.

• When Zoro is in a mood, he often likes to drain his seed inside of you, filling you to the brim with his musky semen. He’s very territorial , as you can tell. Very into marking, wether with marks or his own cum.

Jealous! Zoro x Chubby! Reader Oneshot

“H-hey... can’t you be a bit gentler?” Your voice seeped out in between the harsh pants that circulated from you. The way Zoro was palming at your body was as tight as the grip he would use upon his sword. Mixing such powerful touches with the grinding of his rock hard member made it even more difficult to speak through. You could feel his precum dribble against your hole, making your warm body hotter then it already was.

Zoro didn’t make an effort to reply, as he was clearly in his own little world. All of this over Sanji and his cooking .. All you had done was compliment the chef on the straw berry and vanilla parfait he had graciously served you. It wasn’t your fault Sanji took ever little thing to heart... Yet, even as you had explained the scene, Zoro still didn’t let up with his sudden yearning for your body.

It was embarrassing, nearly. The way Zoro’s face smothered against your stomach, his calloused fingers scaling against the surface of your body. Everytime Zoro would leave a kiss or hickey against your stomach, you’d jolt in pleasure. It felt so good but having him smother your stomach like that... it was far too much.

“Zoro...not my stomach...its-“ You gasped out loudly as you were suddenly impaled on the forth of Zoro’s member, that action completely cutting off your words. You felt your toes curl and your legs tremble from the intrusion. You were already so sensitive, and that certainly amped it up further. Your eyes peered up at Zoro as he sat up, his tanned hands firmly squeezing your love handles as he let you consume every inch of him.

“Eh? It’s not what, Y/n?” Zoro smirked down at you, letting out a raspy laugh. He didn’t hesitate to begin to move his hips, letting his member exit your warmth before burrowing deep inside once again. “You better not have been thinking what i think you were...” Zoro knew how you felt about your body. You didn’t hate it but some days he would notice the way you’d gaze upon yourself, a small frown taking over your face. “Because.. the whole Grand Line can tell how fucking hot you are,” Zoro hissed, his breath growing slightly heavy as he quickened his thrusts.

You couldn’t tell if your face was hot from the temps tire of the room and the man that hovered over your naked form, or if it was hot from what Zoro had just said. Zoro was never new to vulgar compliments but that one was far too for you to handle, making you tighten around Zoro’s shaft. This was certainly different from the sex you two typically had. Zoro was never a man to falter, always staying at a steady pace but today, it was nonstop. You couldn’t help but let the loud moans that brewed within your throat out. You felt guilty, because God knows the rest of the crew was trying to sleep right now. But you couldn’t help it, you couldn’t help but gasp and call out for your lover as he pounded your deepest parts.

Zoro felt a never ending source of confidence against the rest of the ship and their mates. He knew he was the only person to make you scream in such a way. The thought that he was the only one who ever got to see you in such a manner just made him even more excited. Nobody got such a great view, nor would they ever. You were Zoro’s and Zoro’s alone, no one could come between you two, not even a damn War Lord.

Zoro was consistent, never stopping his rapid and rough strokes. He didn’t even pace himself, as you two got further into the session. It was sloppy, at that point. You two had been going at it like animals for about an hour or so, giving not a single Straw Hat time to get a blink of sleep in the time window. Fluids gushed from the both of you, the sticky fluid you dumped against his member just made such a lewd noise every time he would thrust inward. It was loud as he rammed into you, matching with the smacking of flesh.

You were close, and with the look that rested on Zoro’s face, he was just as close as you were. The room was full of moans and groans, the playful banter from before had ceased to be, melted within the bed sheets, along with the sweat that was produced from you and Zoro.

“Zoro...! I’m close!” You mustered out, throwing your head back into the mess of pillows that remained behind you. It was as i you were molding into the bed, slowly sinking into the wet bed sheets, marked with your own juices as well as the ones from your lover.

With how suddenly your walls clamped against Zoro’s shaft, it didn’t give him a single moment to think about pulling out. It was as if you were attempting to milk him of every drop of cum he could produce. And so, you did. The warmth of Zoro’s seed was an overwhelming force that seeped into you, painting your walls white with the thick fluid.

An animalistic groan escaped Zoro as he drained his balls, filling you as much as he could with his semen. It felt so satisfying to fill you, almost as if he were trying to impregnate you, wether he could or not. The feeling of him not just branding every bit of you on the outside but as well on the inside was the best feeling he could ask for.

You were his. Inside and out, you were marked by the worlds top wanted ‘ pirate hunter ‘ , the right hand man to the worlds future pirate king.

[stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale]

[against all odds, your hand is in mine] [1/4]

Seasons change, and with each comes a different story. In a world where the dead roam around, romantic companionship seems unlikely. Yet Ericson stands, and within it are four couples who are proof that it's possible.

Spring: Briolet | flowers, picnics, blueberries, running river

Read on AO3

Notes: Sometimes I get the urge to write four oneshots over the course of two days. This is the first of those oneshots. It’s briolet in spring, but be careful: there is so much hand holding and some smooches. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. 

[screenshot used is from the lovely @pi-creates]

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Brody pricks her finger again. It's easy to avoid that, but she doesn't have a thimble, and her hands refuse to stop trembling.

No blood, and really, it didn’t even hurt. It more startled her, a bit of panic sparking in her gut at the idea of staining the martial and ruining her project. She stops her work to rest her hands and the fabric in her lap, closes her eyes, and sucks in a deep breath. It does little to calm her nerves or her impatience.

“Don’t rush,” she mumbles to herself, readjusting her position on the bed. She crosses her legs and notices a long strand of thick, pale blue thread stuck to her pants. Great, she needed that color an hour ago to finish one of the flowers.

Doesn’t matter now, the floral design is complete and all she has left is to sew the pieces together. If she can finish soon, there’ll be more than enough time to clean up, gather the basket she made up the night before, and head down to the greenhouse. Violet should still be there.

Brody smiles, setting down her needle and holding the handmade eyepatch in her hands. She rubs a thumb over one of the little white flowers. She embroidered them just this morning, a final touch to the overall design. That feeling strikes her gut again, exciting her nerves.

The idea came to her one night after Violet found her in the common room. It was late at night, and the two shared a blanket on the couch and drank tea. Violet's ruined eye was covered with bandages despite being healed over. No one was able to find her an actual eye patch. The best they found was a plastic one used for a children’s pirate costume, so she kept it bandaged.

Violet never complains about it. She considers the bandages her patch, even though they're not the most comfortable to wear every day.

Brody decided at that moment that she would make her one. She tore through her closet the next morning, sorting through old shirts until she found one she never wore. Taupe in color, a thicker material, something she could easily work with.

Though she had no idea how eyepatches were made, figuring those things out came easy to Brody. She made several patterns, testing each one out on scraps until one worked. From there, it was all about creating a design should could see Violet wearing. It wasn't difficult- sewing and embroidery work came easy to her.

A family thing that stuck, she assumes.

Her grams used to do embroidery and cross-stitching work. She made a living off sewing intricate designs, all more beautiful than any painting. If Brody closes her eyes, she can still see the doorway into her gram’s cabin. The framed design of a flowery cottage with a stone path, rural trees and a cloudless sky hung up on the wall. Her gram’s final masterpiece. She worked on it for months, pouring every ounce of love she had into each stitch. It was something Brody admired every time she walked through that doorway.

She learned to hunt and skin animals from her dad and uncles, and sewing from her grams. Best of both worlds, she supposes. Two skills that became handier than she would’ve ever thought at the time.

Though her flowers weren’t as flawless as her gram’s once were, she still put her heart into each stitch just as she did. She hopes that when Violet sees it, she’ll feel the unspoken words Brody threaded through the fabric.

Purple, white, and blue flowers of all sizes, each with a yellow french knot in the center, standing bright against the muted taupe. She sewed a thicker piece beneath it, used a tiny bit of stuffing from an old, ripped pillow to give it some comfortable cushion. A piece of a silky shirt lines the inside so Violet’s skin won’t get agitated while wearing it.

After weeks of work, all she has left to sew is the straps she made. She had no way to measure the fit for Violet’s head since she wanted this to be a surprise, so she figured she could make them extra long enough to tie comfortably while wearing. If she needed to adjust anything, she could do that later.

Brody picks her needle back up.

It doesn’t take long to finish, even with her forcing herself to take her time.

With triumph, Brody sticks her needle back into its rightful container and hops off her bed, singing, “Ta-daah~ !”

Her mind is all over the place. Wrap up the patch-- does she have a box or even a bag?-- and hide it at the bottom of the woven basket she found in the basement, stuff the blanket in as much as she can so the two cups don’t clank together, and start boiling water for tea-- where the hell did she put the jar of blueberries?

She flicks a match to light the heater she borrowed from Clementine, letting the water come to a slow boil as she searches around for the mason jar. It’s right under her nose, of course, sitting in plain sight on her shelf.

With the greenhouse running smoothly and the trading they’ve done with the traveling caravan that comes around, they're able to plant seeds for several different fruits and vegetables. This week, they finally got their first bunch of blueberries in. She managed to pick a bunch and seal them away in a jar yesterday without Violet noticing. She thought they’d make for a refreshing picnic snack to pair with tea.

Brody’s been planning this picnic for a while now, all while she was working and spring came to chase the cold away. Her favorite time of year where it’s finally warm, but cool enough to not overheat everything. Grass grows greener, flowers bloom all over the place, the river flows, and the sun shines bright in the sky most days. Other days, like yesterday, it rains. She was worried it would rain today as well, but there isn’t a cloud in the sky today.

She lets the tea steep in a large mug and squeezes what she can from an old container of mostly crystallized honey. When it’s cooled down enough, she pours it slow and steady into an empty water bottle. Sure, they can’t have iced tea given they have no way to actually make ice once winter ends, but lukewarm tea would be just as good.

Basket in hand, Brody looks out her window one last time before leaving the dorms. With every step she takes, she grows closer to the greenhouse and her heart thumps gaily against her ribs.

Outside, everyone is out and about, enjoying the warm weather. AJ and Tenn color together at the table while Mitch works on sharpening his favorite knife. Willy sulks on the couch beside him with Ruby attending to his bleeding knee. She's going on about him needing to be more careful.

Clementine and Louis sit on the steps leading into the admin building. She sits a step lower, leaning back into his chest as the two talk. Brody waves at them as she passes, and Louis gives her a knowing grin when he eyes the basket.

It’s not a long walk to the greenhouse from there. She stops when she notices the wildflowers growing by the fence of the rabbit coop. Bees buzz around the white flowers, landing in their yellow centers. She hates to disturb them, but these flowers were part of her inspiration when designing Violet’s eyepatch. They're too perfect not to pick. She shoos away a fat bumblebee with pollen sticking to its little black legs, and gathers eight of the flowers, leaving plenty for the rest.

A simple bouquet, if she could even call it that, but it works.

Once inside, the fresh scent of wet soil and leafy greens hits her. Not as refreshing as the sweet air outside, but still, it fills her lungs with warmth. Or perhaps that sensation is from seeing Violet standing beside Omar, watering what Brody believes are the potatoes.

Most of her hair pulls back into a hair tie, apart from the bangs that fall over her forehead and bandages. She hasn’t had a haircut in a while, letting it grow long enough past her shoulders. A surprise, actually. Violet hasn’t had long hair since they were kids.

Not that Brody was complaining- she likes it very much.

Violet breaks her attention from the potatoes to meet her gaze. She grins, and yes, that warmth is definitely from her. Omar continues on about some sort of new stew he wants to try making, only stopping when he notices he’s lost Violet’s attention.

“Everything doin’ okay in here?” Brody asks.

Violet gives a shrug. She sticks her hand out to run along the wooden planter to steady herself. She meets Brody halfway, replying with, “Eh, nothing too exciting. Willy biffed it while watering the rabbits this morning, but other than that...”

“He about crushed one of the babies,” Omar adds with a shake of his head. “More upset about that than he was about his skinned knee.”

“Aw, poor little guy,” Brody laughs. “That why he looked so miserable when I passed him?”

“Probably. He tried to catch it to apologize, but it was too quick even for him, and Ruby didn’t want him getting a bunch of muck all over him with an open wound, so…”

Apologizing to a baby bunny that they’re eventually going to eat? Sounds like Willy, Brody thinks. But never mind that, she has more important things than rabbits.

She reaches out to grab Violet’s free hand, her lips involuntarily curling into a bright smile as she asks, “Are you almost finished ?”

“Yeah,” Violet says, raising a questioning brow. “Why?”

“We’re going on a picnic!”

Violet pauses, only now noticing the basket in Brody’s grasp.

“We are?”

“We are!”

“That’s news to me.”

Brody lets go of her hand to present her with the flowers. Violet stares at them for a moment as her skin flushes, starting at her neck and blooming along her cheeks. If Omar weren’t standing over there, Brody would lean over and kiss that lovely blush.

“And where exactly would we have a picnic?”

“By the river. Already got a spot in mind.”

Violet holds the flowers close to her chest and clears her throat. She glances back at Omar, and says, “Uh, I don’t-”

“Go ahead,” he interrupts with a wave of his hand. “I can take care of the rest. Go have your picnic, be careful. And Brody,” he points to her, putting on a stern voice, “have her home by eight, and don’t have too much fun.”

Brody laughs.

“Yes, sir!”

Violet shakes her head, but her smile betrays her amusement.

“Well, okay, I guess we’re going on a picnic. There better be peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in there... that's what people eat on picnics, right?”

“Yeah, but no. Close, though.”

Locking their hands together once more, Brody leads Violet out of the greenhouse and through the gates. Soon, they’re outside the walls of Ericson. Heading down the path, she makes sure to keep watch out for any obstacles to warn Violet about.

Brody knows that Violet’s other eye works perfectly well, but given that her depth perception isn’t what it used to be, she can’t help but be extra careful. She used that excuse to hold Violet’s hand before they were together, both still recovering from their respective injuries. Better safe than sorry, use the buddy system, and that system requires hand-holding. Brody didn’t make the rules.

“Never been on a picnic before,” Violet breaks the silence.

“No? Not even before?”

“No.”

“We used to go out on picnics to eat and play games all the time. Me, my grandma, my daddy and uncles, cousins- if it was warm out, we were out.”

“That sounds nice.”

“Most times it was,” Brody says, giving Violet’s hand a squeeze. “ Just because those days are gone doesn’t mean we can’t do that kinda stuff now, y’know?”

“Yeah, I guess so. Though there are more walkers around than there were back then.”

“True, but that shouldn’t be a big issue today,” Brody smiles. “I asked James to check the area and he collected the walkers he found. The river should be clear.”

Even without looking at her, she can sense her surprise. Violet’s quiet for a moment, turning her head to peer around them before saying, “You planned this.”

It’s not a question, but more of a realization.

“I thought this was a spur of the moment thing,” Violet admits. “I, uh…”

When she doesn’t continue, Brody says, “ Not many opportunities to take you out on a date,” the word makes Violet blush and repress a smile, “and when one does arise, you bet your bottom dollar I’m gonna take it .”

Violet says nothing more, but her grip on Brody’s hand tightens.

They make it to the river without spotting a single walker. She kept her knife handy in case, but James was thorough, it seems. Brody makes a note to thank him again for helping her out.

The running water is soothing and the grass colors with golden dandelions. It’s nice to be down here without the intention of working up a sweat while fishing, she thinks. They find a flat piece of grass, kicking rocks, sticks, and pinecones out of the way to lay the blanket down. Together they sit side by side with the basket between them.

Rubbing her hands together, Brody digs in to pull everything out. Except for the eyepatch. It remains, wrapped in a pillowcase she found. Hopefully Louis won’t notice she snuck it from his horde of pillows.

“Alright, we got tea and blueberries,” Brody says, handing one mug to Violet and opening the mason jar of berries. Their sweet scent escapes into the air, making her mouth water.

“How’d you manage to sneak these past Omar?” Violet asks, popping a blueberry into her mouth. Her face twists at the taste, and for a moment Brody worries they might be sour, but Violet shakes her head. “They’re good, just not used to that.”

By now the tea is completely cooled, and while not cold, still delightful to sip on.

“Open wide,” Violet says, holding up a blueberry. It misses Brody’s mouth, bouncing off her chin. Violet laughs. “Pfft, c’mon.”

“Okay, okay, I’m ready, try again.”

Another miss.

“Aww, nope!”

“Well, let's see you try!”

Brody throws up a berry, and Violet misses it completely.

“Damn depth perception,” she grins, grabbing the berry and tossing it up herself. It hits her cheek, lost to the grass. “Damn it!”

Violet’s laugh, while rare, is as bewitching as it is infectious. It’s been so long since Brody heard her laugh like this, and to know that they’re here together, comfortable together…

Emotion builds in her throat, and she has to eat berries to suppress it. She aims the blueberry just right, and Violet catches it this time. As she chews, they both let out victorious giggles.

Once the laughter dies down, Violet brings her knees to her chest as she watches the river.

“Think we’re missing out on a fish haul?” she asks.

“Nah,” Brody pulls the basket closer to look inside, biting her lip as she runs her fingers over the covered patch. “And if we are, I’m sure the traps’ll make up for it.”

Should she do it now? They did just get here, did she want to surprise her early, or…?

Brody grabs a flower instead, bringing it up to her nose to inhale the soft scent. An idea occurs to her as she admires the girl before. Scooping up the flowers, Brody breaks off most of the stems. The flower slips in through Violet’s hair, right where the hair tie is.

Violet jerks her head around to look back, but Brody says, “Don’t move.”

“What are you-?”

She doesn’t need to answer the question, she merely secures a few more flowers within the light strands of hair before leaning back to admire her work. She even tucks one behind her own ear so they match.

Violet remains quiet, but lays her hand on Brody's. A silent, content thank you.

Brody doesn’t know how long they sat there watching the river, sipping tea, and listening to the birds chirp from the trees . A small butterfly flutters by them, and for a moment, Brody forgets the world around them. Forgets the walkers, forgets Ericson, too swept up in the way the warm air blew against her skin, in how Violet’s hand felt in hers, and the strange sense of wonder, a desire to kick off her shoes and run through the river.

It took Violet kissing the back of her hand to break her out of it.

Violet grew sheepish, glancing away as if she needed to come up with an explanation for the kiss, and that was it.

“Vi,” she started, pulling her around to face her. “I have- I made ya somethin’.”

The nervous pounding in her chest thumps in her ears as she reached back into the basket, pulling out the pillowcase.

“Aw, from Lou’s stash,” Violet grins, amused. “You shouldn’t have.”

“No, no, not the pillowcase,” Brody fidgets with it until she finds what she’s looking for. Her thumb brushes over the flowers beneath the thin material. With a deep breath, she goes for it. “Listen, I’ve been thinkin’ a lot about you. Us... just everything, and- Remember that night we stayed up in the common room talkin’? I thought… well, I wanted to do this for you.”

Brody hands her the pillowcase. Not once does she take her eyes off Violet’s face, noting the curiosity and confusion playing in her features as she accepts the gift.

The eyepatch is finally brought out into the sunlight, laying in Violet’s palm.

Neither of them speaks. Violet’s lips part, eye widening.

Brody lets the air out of her lungs slow, and then the words spill from her lips before she can stop them.

“We couldn’t find you anything to wear other than that stupid costume patch, and I know you said you didn’t mind the bandages but then I got to thinkin’ ‘bout how bandages might not always be the comfiest-”

“Brody…” Violet’s voice is quiet, trembling as it breaks.

“-and I want you to be comfortable in somethin’ that you like, so I made this for you- the whole thing, hand sewed it myself. I- but y’know, if it’s maybe too much- I wasn’t sure if it might bring too much attention and you wouldn’t like that-”

She’s cut off when Violet practically throws herself at her, burying her face in the crook of Brody’s neck and holding her tight. Brody doesn’t hesitate. She embraces her back, pressing a hand to cradle her head.

“I… don’t know what to say,” Violet's voice quivers.

“You like it?”

“Yes.”

“Then that’s enough.”

Violet pulls back, and without warning, her hands cup Brody’s face. She presses their lips together in a way that’s anything but gentle. It’s firm, purposeful, and loving. All tension from her body melts away, and Brody truly believes she could kiss her all day and that tingle? The one that coursed through her veins, the butterflies that fluttered in her belly? It would never go away. It wouldn't even lessen.

They break apart, and Violet’s staring down at the eyepatch in her hands.

“Holy shit. It’s… I don’t-” she tries again. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“I wanted to,” Brody assures her, brushing the bangs that fell over her face.

“No one’s ever made me anything like this before. I mean, not a patch, just … you know.”

“Want to try it on?”

Violet nods, and Brody’s undoing the bandages with ease. Her eye's healed from the damage the raiders inflicted, leaving only angry scars. The patch is a perfect size, covering everything.

“Does it feel okay?”

“Yeah, it’s… nice. Soft.”

“Does this feel tight enough? Like it won’t fall off, but not too tight?”

“Yeah, it feels good.”

“Couldn’t figure out a good way to clasp it together, so it ties. If ya want me to change it or anything, I can make adjustments... There!”

Violet turns back around, avoiding her gaze. Brody studies her face, the way the colors of the embroidered flowers make the green in her other eye vibrant, how the taupe of the fabric flatters her.

“Beautiful.”

Violet scoffs, ducking her head to hide the flustered smile that betrays her lips. This gives Brody the perfect excuse to place a quick kiss on her forehead.

“You’re so mushy,” Violet says, embarrassed but trying to force a playful tone. “Y’know that?”

Well, to be fair, Brody could be mushier, so she replies with an over-the-top, sweet, “Only with you.”

Violet groans and they laugh once more.

They know their little picnic will wrap up soon, so together they sit close and enjoy the comfort of nature for a few minutes longer.

“Thank you, Brody… really.”

Brody responds with another kiss.

Yeah, she thinks. She could kiss Violet all day.

[apolloamy]

LITTLE WOMEN FANFICTION

CHAPTER 2, PART 1: INVISIBLE STRING

Horizons and Sunsets

 

"Time, curious time, gave me no compasses, gave me no signs"

- invisible string, Taylor Swift

Concord, Massachusetts, 1868

 

Rays of sunshine playing on her skin. Soft grass under her fingers. Little specks of dirt scattered across her face. Leaves tangled up in her hair. It's not a common happening to be able to see yourself in such a way. A way that makes it seem like you are not you, but somebody else wearing somebody else's clothes, guarding somebody else's heart, owning somebody else's thoughts. Like you are only an observer, a background noise in your own life. These descriptions are usually used in unpleasant connotations, usually as metaphors, usually as another way of saying you feel transparent, forgotten and small. But in Jo's case, the phenomenon is not even a tiny bit metaphorical. Maybe it's the impact of the books. Maybe it's her imagination. Maybe it's just her. Whatever it is, Jo has always been able to see her life as a theatre piece, herself an audience member, her past self, no matter how far back she might travel to reach a certain memory, a performer.  And Jo craves those moments of remembrance. She craves the feeling of transparency. She craves to exist less.

 

Everything she remembers, she remembers in flashes. Her memories do not understand concepts such as "chronology" or "order". Her brain resembles an unsolved puzzle. Every piece of information she has makes sense. But when to be put together with another aspect of her being, it does not fit. Nothing about her ever seems to fit. And now, she doesn't fit within herself.

 

No, Jo March is not a puzzle. Puzzle, no matter how difficult and complex, can be put together.

 

She's a living breathing contradiction.

What else to describe the utter ridiculousness of her mind? She is not happy and she is not sad. One second she is completely content with her life, the other, she is not. She wants to receive love, love and love, but she is afraid to offer it.

 

When Josephine March loves someone, she does not tell them. She does show, but never tells. She never uses the famous simple phrase. Never not once.

 

Her best friend burns for the people he loves. Jo burns for them in secret.

 

And here, as she is seeing herself splattered in sunlight, Jo March is preoccupied with three actions of extraordinary importance.

 

One is chasing ghosts.

Other is rearranging thoughts,

Final is accepting sunsets.

 

***

 

Paris, France, 1868

Theodore (yes, he is "Theodore" now) is not exactly sure where he is or how did he get there. His vision is blurry and his body feels heavier than usual. What is fascinating about his situation is the fact that consuming certain "substances", (and substances being of alcoholic nature), were supposed to prevail him from feeling like this. From feeling the way he's been feeling his entire life. Like everything around him was frozen and he was the only one moving. He was just too fast, too warm, too different. Enormous in emotion, reckless in thought. All of this often led to conclusions too horrific to comprehend, so he tried to avoid thinking.

The thought of having too many emotions might be terrifying. But the thought of having too much love for everything and everyone but himself was rather paralyzing. It was ridiculous to expect anybody to feel with as much passion as he did. It was ridiculous to demand such a thing from people. Why would anyone put all of their energy into someone else when there were so many things to be done in the world? But those other things rarely sparked an interest in him. Adventures, boarding schools, trips and experiences seemed irrelevant and hollow unless they were intended to be shared. It's funny how he always craved the one thing he never had. And when he finally got a glance of the love he so desperately wanted, he lost it because of his stupid absurd annoying emotions.

When Theodore Laurence loves someone he does not tell them. He screams it until his lungs are on fire.

 

His best friend loves with her whole entire heart. He loves with his whole entire being.

 

And now, vision blurry and body heavy, Theodore Laurence finds himself preoccupied with three actions of extraordinary importance.

 

One is chasing ghosts.

Other is rearranging thoughts,

Final is accepting sunsets.

 

***

Concord, Massachusetts, 1862

 

Step one: chasing ghosts

Sand beneath her bare feet. Water. Silent whispers of the sea. Birds. Colors. Nothing. Everything. Oh, to be crafted in such a way to believe you shall always be sixteen and silly and reckless and real. That is how Jo feels right now. Real. Right here, observing, enjoying, doing nothing but existing. And the sea! So mystical and wide, appearing endless in its presence, it looks like something in possession of a dream rather than this time and place. And the best part of this? Her family. They all resemble a painting in their natural messiness. Amy with her hair half wet, positioned in a way she believes to be ladylike, smiling at the horizon, sketchbook in hand. Meg, holding her hat so that it doesn't leave her in its desperate wish to follow the wind, shoes untied, eyes glistening from laughter she experienced seconds before. Beth, oh sweet Beth, kneeling by the water, touching the shining surface, mouth moving as though she is singing to the sea itself. Teddy is by her side, like he always is, sitting with his eyes closed, head held high up to the sky. He would probably refer to his current position as a way to "suck out all the marrow out of life", which always sounded a bit inappropriate coming from his mouth, but Jo loved the symbolism of the phrase, so she decided to put her friend's foolishness to the side.

 

"Isn't it simply ethereal, dearest Teddy?"

 

"Yes, I did indeed think my face had a particular glow to it this morning, your kind remark is very well appreciated, Miss March" came a teasing response shortly followed by a light smack to the arm (because Jo, being an experienced bookworm, always had a book weapon down her sleeve).

 

"Oh Teddy, you're such a boy sometimes. I find it quite disappointing really." said Jo being perfectly aware of the effect the comment might cause. Teddy shot her a look of a supposedly hurt individual, put a hand over his heart and exhaled loudly, as though he was a character in a Shakespearean tragedy. Jo rolled her eyes at the glamorous gesture, but pretty quickly, her features were changed with a thoughtful expression. She turned her head to Teddy timelines after, only to be greeted with a no longer playful, but a reassuring smile. He knew her too well.

 

"You know, it doesn't make it any less beautiful. The fact that it's all going to end one day, I mean. Quite the opposite actually."

 

She does not answer that. She gets up from the ground and extends her hand to him.

 

"If it's going to end, we might as well suck all of the existing marrow out of it."

 

"Oh, what a wonderful choice of words, dearest Jo!" he exclaims theatrically while gladly accepting her hand

 

"Oh, what a wonderful life, dearest Teddy."

 

And with that, they run to the sea, their lungs almost too full, smiles almost too big. Spirits almost too free.

 

 

Childhood is a thing of dreams.

 

 

Concord, Massachusetts, 1863

 

Step two: rearranging thoughts

 

Trousers under skirts. It's scandalous. Scandalous and inappropriate. At least that's what society will label it as. And society loves labels. But Laurie finds a solace of sorts in his friend's choice of clothes. He isn't sure how to explain it (he is not as good with words as Jo is), but it's comforting to see someone be so unapologetically themselves, whoever that person might be. He tells her this one day because he's Laurie and he isn't familiar with the concept of "silencing your emotions".

 

"Teddy, don't flatter, I told you I do not enjoy nor support such doings. You might as well go practice your gentlemanly manners on Amy, I'm sure she will accept your words of so called admiration with much more enthusiasm than yours truly." says Jo, her voice a tiny bit too loud, her thoughts meeting the outside world in grave speed. Laurie often finds himself wondering how one speaks with so much passion and rush, it's like Jo's sentences are running instead of flowing. She shares her mind without looking at him, her hands busy with rearranging the dining table previously covered with Amy's unfinished drawings and Beth's beloved dolls.

 

"I meant what I said, Jo. But since you believe I'm incapable of offering sincerity, I shall escort myself out."

 

He gets up from the place he was sitting at and rushes out of the March house, leaving his waistcoat behind him. Jo knows better than to follow him right away. She will bring him the forgotten object later, once he's ready to start unravelling burdens.

 

 

***

 

Night.

 

Light.

 

 

These two nouns aren't supposed to get along very well, yet here we are. Jo finds herself awake in the middle of the night, which circumstance she is no stranger to, but this time it is not her restless mind that steals her from the arms of dreamland. It's light. Jo gets up, careful not to make a noise, and looks out the window to further investigate the strange occurring. And the sight her eyes are met with is a sight so undoubtedly Teddy-like that she isn't sure if she will be able to forgive herself for not coming up with such a conclusion sooner. The house of her neighbour, who happens to be her dearest friend, is shining with what she presumes is light of about two dozen candles. The scene would've been inspiring, if not captivating, especially for a person of her making, but Jo knows Teddy and this cannot mean anything pleasant. Therefore, she decides to pay her fellow pirate a visit, armed with a forgotten piece of clothing as a faithful enough excuse.

 

Proud of herself for avoiding all the obstacles successfully (and the obstacles being sleeping family members who have yet to be introduced to the pleasures such as "sleepless nights" or "windows"), Jo runs to the construction once known as a house, now as a gothic castle and knocks. Her efforts are answered with a voice of not a person, but a peculiarly human like ghost.

 

"Who is it?"

 

"Do you really think I will dare share information of an importance so big, oh so grand, without seeing your face, kind sir?" says not Jo, but a righteous, noble knight, his devotion as admirable as amusing.

 

Laurie opens the door only to be met with a grinning Jo.

 

"I believe you have forgotten this, my friend."

exclaims an unlike lady, kneels down and offers him his waistcoat in a way so grandiose, some might think she actually was a knight in shining armor, sharing sunlight, providing hope.

 

"Don't be a goose Jo" came a gentlemanly response followed by an annoyed sound and indifferent expression. Laurie turns around, but leaves the door wide open. Jo, understanding the message quite well, follows him inside to a candle lit room. Laurie approaches the piano and sits down as though he is about to start playing the instrument, but he doesn't confirm the logical assumption. Instead, he closes his eyes and remains like that for what feels like eternity, looking like a human statue. It would've been comical if it were anybody else, but Jo was familiar with Teddy's passion for extravagance. His behaviour does not spark laughter, but concern.

 

"Teddy, I think you should start explaining whatever it is you need to explain. Keeping it in won't do anybody any good despite you believing it will. I promise, you won't be a burden."

 

Laurie shifts in his position and exhales loudly, his eyes still closed. When he starts to speak, his voice is not his. It's distant and decorated with occasional trembles which he is desperately trying to avoid.

"When I told you today how I find solace in the way you carry yourself and how you wear trousers and don't care about what people think of you, I wasn't trying to mess around or anything. Sometimes... Sometimes I feel like I am not me... Like I'm not a good match for myself and I..." he opens his eyes at that, not sure if he wants to receive a response to any of the things he has just said.

 

"I am deeply sorry Jo, this doesn't make any sense, you can go, I don't know what came of me."

 

"Oh Teddy, but it does make sense! It makes so, so much sense." Jo doesn't say that like she wants to comfort him. She really seems to mean it. Their gazes meet at the exact same time, their eyes glossy (which observation they will both dismiss in immense respect to one another), their faces now beautified with soft smiles.

 

"You do realize you are wearing a night gown right?"

 

"I am not the one randomly lighting up candles, impersonating ghosts now, am I?"

"It's called dramatic effect, Jo! Dramatic effect! And keep the waistcoat, I never really liked it anyways."

***

After that day, Jo and Laurie's closets were left grieving for lost members of their separate societies. Blouses, neckties and waistcoats were introduced to the idea of travel and adventure. And even though the closets were left in grief, their owners were more than satisfied with the not so sudden change.

[thebeethathums]

Observers - 54

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Warnings: Mention of past injury and abuse

“Oh no you don’t.” John gently scolded when you all arrived back at the flat and you tried to unlock your door- your hands shaking as they fumbled with the keys. You brother pulled them out of your hands and used his other hand to carefully encourage you towards the stairs, “I know you, Squeak. If I allow you to stay down here it will end in one of two ways and neither of them is good.” You opened your mouth to protest but he cut you off, reading your mind, “You can borrow some night clothes from me and whatever jumper you’d like. Up you go.” There was no point in arguing, he was in full big brother protective mode, so you just shuffled up the stairs, following Sherlock as John made sure you didn’t try to go back down. You collapsed into John’s chair, throwing your legs over one of the arms, and Sherlock, having noted that your shoes were rubbing painfully a long while ago, reached to pull them off. He found your feet quickly out of his grasp as you shot him a glare and growled, “I can do it myself.” He looked adorably confused for a moment but you just scowled and leaned over to unstrap the red heels from your aching feet. It took him a few blinks to realize you were still upset which confused him even more and he defeatedly flopped down on the couch just as John emerged from his room with a bundle of clothes. You took it from him without a word and padded away to change, bathroom door shutting with a little more force than necessary behind you. John looked worriedly after you before turning back to Sherlock to demand, “Alright. Enough of this. You need to tell me what happened.” 

There was a period of silence as John waited for some sort of answer with his arms crossed before Sherlock finally decided he didn’t really have very many other options, “I may have misspoken about something important.” John sighed, “So nothing new then… Did you explain to her what you really meant?” “I apologized.” Sherlock grumbled and John gaped at him for a second, “You apologized…?” “Yes, John. That is what I just said, isn’t it? I know it’s difficult for you to process things but could you at least try to keep up?” John rolled his eyes with a huff, reminding himself that he was doing this for you and not the difficult twat in front of him, “Alright so the great Sherlock Holmes apologized… did you tell her why you were apologizing?”   There was a pause before Sherlock begrudgingly admitted, “No.” John rubbed at his brow in frustration, wondering how exactly he could explain to Sherlock why doing so was important before venturing an attempt, “You can’t just apologize and expect everything to go back to normal. She needs to know why you were apologizing… it’s like… you wouldn’t wrap up a case by just saying someone is a criminal without giving a full display of your deductions, would you?” Something seemed to click and Sherlock sat up to lace his fingers underneath his chin, “So you’re saying it’s not enough to be sorry… I also have to explain why? Your sister is not an idiot, John. She is perfectly capable of figuring that out on her own.” “How are you so… so… DENSE?” John seethed lowly, “If you don’t say what it is you are apologizing for you could be apologizing for anything and even if she did figure it out, there are some things that need to be said aloud to actually have an effect.” Sherlock rolled to face the back of the couch, displeased with John’s advice, and went back to trying to come up with his own solution to this problem while John let out an exasperated sigh and went to make tea for when you came back. In the bathroom, you slid off your dress, letting it fall to the floor, before taking a wet towel to your face and neck to get rid of the make up you’d used to cover your choke bruises. You traced the love bite Sherlock had left you with a finger before tying back your hair into a sloppy ponytail and splashing water over your face with a heavy sigh. There was too much going on in your head for you to think clearly. You weren’t a genius like Sherlock who could compartmentalize everything and handle the multitude of things that were thrown at him in a blink- you were normal. That was all… just normal. You couldn’t handle so many things in the course of one day without feeling like you were drowning. You almost wished that John didn’t know you so well and he’d just left you alone with your thoughts. Ultimately, he was right- if he had you would have either torn apart your apartment and then lain on the floor in the mess or started painting almost frantically in an attempt to deal with your thoughts and stayed that way for days. You tugged on the shirt and sweatpants John had given you and then the cream jumper he knew you loved, burying your face in the front of it to deeply breath in the familiar scent. What would you do without John? Padding out to join them again, you sat down at the living room table, pulling your feet up to sit cross-legged as you flipped open your sketchbook. John pursed his lips when he saw you, thinking that you should rest, but he knew better than to disturb you when you were drawing and just set your cup of tea next to you. He stroked your hair lightly and then pressed a kiss to the top of your bent head, “Try not to stay up too much longer, Squeak. You’ve had a long day.” You mumbled something that sounded like, “Night, Johnny,” as you grabbed an array of pencils to try and find the one you wanted and John slipped off to his room with a yawn. Sherlock shifted on the couch so he could watch you work, noting that this was a different level of sketching than what he’d seen from you before with you hastily switching pencils as you moved across the paper, and then closed his eyes to block out the rising sun and think. After a few hours and numerous, highly detailed drawings, Sherlock was brought out of his thoughts by the sound of your pencil point snapping from the intense pressure you were putting on the paper. You huffed, using the interruption of your work to flex your hand with a slight grimace before trying to find your pencil sharpener with the other. He narrowed his eyes when you started up again but with your non-dominant hand, cradling the one you’d been using in your lap. He got up and grabbed it before you could do anything to stop him.  You blinked at him angrily through the haze of your thoughts as he slipped into the chair next to you, taking your hand in both of his in a way that demanded your attention. He pressed the pads of his thumbs firmly into your palm and you gave a pained gasp, trying to pull away from him as he started to rub circles across the appendage’s sore muscles. You relaxed after a moment when he got past the immediate stiffness and he lifted his eyes to look at you, “He left more scars on you than I originally thought.” You shifted uncomfortably, letting him keep your hand as you turned back to continue with your work, “It’s not a scar, Sherlock. It just gets stiff sometimes.” He moved to your fingers, gently tracing one before pressing his thumb against it just above the bottom joint. You squeaked, attempting to pull away again, but he kept a firm grip on your hand. Loosening it when you gave up, he traced each of your fingers as he quietly hummed, “Multiple fractures in every finger… the internal scaring is obviously extensive. It’s no wonder it bothers you.” You didn’t bother to ask how he’d known what your ex had done to your hand, setting down your pencil to look at him with sudden seriousness, “What do you want from me, Sherlock?” He looked down at your hand in silence for a moment, sandwiching it between his before flatly stating, “Patience.” Looking up to see you tilting your head at him in tired confusion, he continued, “I’m aware that at times I can be… insensitive... and I’ll admit that this is an experiment but not in the way you think. I’m curious about how I react to anything involving you… everything I do with you is an experiment because I’ve never attempted it before and as such can only hypothesize what the outcome may be. The only thing that I can say for certain is that it is not nor will it ever be my intent to hurt you.” There was a tense moment as you blinked to try and process that and then you sighed, rubbing at your temple, “I’m more than willing to be patient, Sherly, but you did hurt me. I think maybe we should take a step back…”

He moved a hand to cup your cheek and you inadvertently leaned into his touch, causing him to smirk as you sleepily hummed, “That’s not playing fair, Sherlock.” Pulling you up with very little resistance, he murmured, “All’s fair in love and war, darling,” before stretching out on the couch and tugging you to his chest. Too exhausted to try and fight it or to even verbally protest, you just snuggled into him and slipped off into a dreamless sleep.

Tags <3:

@team-free-sherlock @multifandom-ramblings @madshelily @severusminerva @yes-but-theyre-my-dorks @smitemewiththysherlock @not-fandom-addicted @unknownwonder @deducingdevil @aviien @mrsfrankensteinsworld @lolamurphy @bakerstreethound @musical-doll-x @protectteamfreewill @delightful-pirate @lilcutekittykat @broke-and-overwhelmed @adri1ii @turtle-at-the-disco @fanfictionsilove @chasedbyhowlingwolves @thorkyrie-rights

[earthlostgirl]

The Arrow of the sea

Chap 1 / Chap 2

-Life, Then-

July, 1624.

Aerugo Coast.

A few yards into the sea lay, rocked by the waves, a beautiful ship of dark wood, three masts and luminous white sails. "The Arrow of the Seas" was a magnificent ship. A brig of 24 meters in length with ten guns per band had capacity for 90 well-off men but despite its size was light and moved quickly both in the deep sea and on the coast, but certainly its most recognizable part was the bow mask, a representation of Medea, mother of witches, daughter of Triton and a nymph, was painted in bright colours and her hair at the wind seemed to break the waves. It was also the ship of a terrible pirate, Berthol Hawkeye, feared and known from one side to the other. The kids threw themselves exhausted on the sand, covered in sweat, letting the waves wet their bare feet.

"Look at this," Roy said as he stood trying to catch his breath. He reached into his pocket and showed her a thin gold chain from which hung a medallion in the shape of a burning heart. "It's my part of the loot, the Captain says I earned it on my own merits," he said with pride.

"It's a Sacred Heart," Elisabeth murmured, looking with attention at the little heart that swayed in front of her eyes.

"It's for you," he smiled extending his hand but she turned her head.

"I don't want jewelry. What I want is to be able to participate in the pillages," she muttered angrily, snatching the chain from her hands. "This is ridiculous, till a few months ago I was"the little captain" and now I'm just the girl on the boat. How is it possible they didn't realize I was a girl?"

"I guess they didn't pay attention to the captain's little brat but now you're twelve years old and you have tit...," He turned as red as a tomato when he realized what he was going to say and quickly changed the subject. "You've never behaved like a girl does," suggested the young boy shrugging his shoulders.

"How's a girl supposed to behave, Roy?" she asked irritated, pursing her lips.

"The crew is very superstitious, and your father wants to protect you..."He stuttered more and more nervous.

"You have no idea what you're saying," she interrupted full of anger."I don't want it," she grumbled, returning the necklace.

He looked at her sadly, without taking his eyes off the small piece of gold that swayed in front of him.

"Listen to me carefully, Liz, when I become captain of my own ship, you will sail beside me and you will be able to do whatever you want. You will see, you are an excellent pirate, a great swordsman and your aim is impressive. It doesn't matter you are a girl..."

She smiled at that childish statement of intent and sat a little closer to him.

"Keep the necklace; it's not a jewel. It's a promise, my promise," he said, placing the necklace in her hand and closing it with his own.

"Thank you Roy" whispered squeezing the necklace against her chest.

They stared at the sea in silence until they heard the screams of the helmsman approaching from the beach, professing all sorts of insults to the boy for not being at his post and skipping his chores.

"And now get to work because from a cabin boy to captain you can't go by magical means" Elisabeth stood up holding out her hand to help him up"

"Yes, little captain, I guess for the moment I'll have to take your orders..." he joked blocking in front of her. "If Old Will doesn't hang me from the major mizzen," he added as he listened to the plethora of punishments the helmsman had prepared for him.

...

September, 1628.

Pirate life, best life prayed the old song. Which was only true if you were something more than an eighteen-year-old sailor, perched on the ratchet stick, punished to stand guard for sighed as he sat on the sail and saw the captain's young daughter holding the helm while the old helmsman gave her lessons in navigation. She was wearing black trousers and a blue shirt. The rising wind her hair her laugh and distracting from the of her master. A and badly faced who was only in a mood if around, although him for that. Liz looked up at the sky and greeted him smiling, it was as if she could tell he was looking at her. But it wasn't very difficult either, he always did. He lifted himself up again and contemplated the magnificent horizon. Enjoying the view, the smells, the colours, the sun warming his face. He loved the sea, there was something wild and untamed about it. The song told no lie, even when he was punished.

At that very moment something caught his attention, a ship sailing too close to them.

"Ship in sight," he shouted with all his might. "The Hammer to starboard"

No matter how much he shouted, no one seemed to hear him. The wind carried the sound of his voice in the other direction. Until it was too late, the first cannon fire made him lose his balance and he had to hold on to the order to avoid falling into the deck and breaking his head against the ground. He descended the ladder as fast as he could. Bradley's ship attacked them by surprise, the entire crew ran to defend their posts. The guns made a deafening noise. Everything was chaos around them. All were screams and orders that were repeated from one to another. He had to defend The Arrow. He had to defend his home... He crossed with his companions who, covered with blood, constantly loaded the cannons. And with an unusual speed. In a consciously meditated plan they were boarded, the ship was filled with pirates. Who shot down the unprepared crew. He ran through the fortress dodging bodies and enemies. He was one of the youngest sailors, more agile, but seemed incapable of repelling the attack. He ran to port, looking for something to fill the cannons with, something to defend himself with. He could hardly hear anything and the smoke barely let him see. Suddenly he saw someone approaching him; it was Old Will with an inert body in his arms.

"What happened,?" he asked frightened as he recognized her, she was very pale from the loss of blood, she wasn't moving and couldn't even tell if she was breathing.

"A cannon shot...I found her under the rubble; she doesn't wake up...we have to get her out of here," he explained hysterically. "She can't stay on the boat."

"What?" He couldn't understand anything; they were in the middle of a fierce battle.

"We are losing," Will said in defeated form.

"We have to fight," he insisted, a part of him wanted to go back to starboard. Kill all those bastards who came to disturb his home. But something tied his feet to the ground.

"What do you think Bradley's men will do to a young woman like her?" cried the angry old helmsman. "Don't be an idiot boy, help me get her on the lifeboat."

"Damn it, old man, I want to fight, a man does not abandon his boat, it is cowardly. Why do you do this?"protested angrily, The Arrow of the sea seemed to be in flames and he was being treated like a small child.

"If there's anyone who loves her, more than I do on this damn boat, it's you, boy," he shouted from the top of the deck. "Protect her."

He didn't know what to say as the waves that the Arrow produced as it moved removed the small boat away from the battle.

They had been three days in a small semi-abandoned fishermen's cabin, placed in one of Turtle Island's that time Elisabeth had been travelling between consciousness and unconsciousness, ravaging from fever, had cleaned and bandaged her wounds and felt unable to leave her side. He wet the cloth and returned it to his forehead, then leaned against the wall with his head in his hands. When he lifted his head again, she was looking at him, and she was pale and thick drops of sweat bathed her forehead.

"Hey, where are we? What the hell happened,?," she asked in an exhausted whisper.

He was unable to answer her questions, and she tried to sit up, released a groan full of pain and he ran to hold her.

"The Arrow was assaulted a few days ago by Captain Bradley," he explained in calm, meditating on the following words.

"Has no one survived?" she asked after a dread silence.

"I don't know."

He tried to explain to her what had happened. What he had seen and how they had reached that place. Liz listened in silence, without taking her eyes away from him. She looked tired, there was much sadness in her eyes, but she didn't say a word, nor cry. She only hugged her knees in silence, hiding her head between her legs. Leaving him paralysed, unable to do anything but squat in front of her and remain silent.

"Can I ask you something?" he muttered nervously, not quite sure how to start the conversation.

She didn't lift her head, but she noticed how all the muscles in her body were tightening. Feeling where the whole thing was going, after all the clothes she was wearing weren't hers.

"Your back... What?," he swallowed, he didn't know what to say, he had been thinking about it for days, searching for explanations, looking for a meaning to what he had seen.

But she didn't say anything, nor moved, she just let out a long sigh.

"I don't want to be intrusive but... Did you want that?,"he insisted on caressing her head with care.

"No!" she said almost shouting "Of course not," she continued lowering the tone of her voice to just one inaudible whisper.

"I don't understand anything... it's a map... a part...The map on your father's wall... in his cabin... I spent hours looking at it and couldn't even understand it...Why? When? I can't understand it...

"It turns out that your beloved captain wasn't as good as you thought," she said, raising her head to look into his eyes. "He was nothing but a monster."

"Fuck, Liz, when did this happen? Why,?"Everything was more and more confusing, he reached out to touch her face but she turned off.

"Two years ago," she said, looking away.

"What?" he shouted angry holding her by the shoulders to make her look at his face "Why the fuck didn't you say anything to me? Where was I? Nobody on the boat noticed?

"You're hurting me," she whipped away from him without daring to look up from the floor."Do you want to hear the fucking story? Well, The bloody treasure is real. Hawkeye was obsessed with it. He was almost sick. Every night he lifted the planks of his room to contemplate it. As the years went by, he became more paranoid. He mistrusted everyone. He believed someone was going to betray him. He changed the gold place. I don't know where he hid it," she interrupted herself to get oxygen. "We had returned from Drachma, loaded with tobacco. Hawkeye took out a large amount of money on the black market and distributed it. His great act of generosity. All the crew came out to celebrate, except me, he forced me to stay."She clenched her fists tightly until they lost their colour."He came into my cabin, asked me to do him a favour... I said yes...I...let him... I allowed him..."she shut up again muttering things that only she could hear.

"Liz, it is not your fault for what that son of a bitch did to you..." he interrupted her by holding her arms gently.

"I should have stopped him. I'm a pirate. I can fight, but all I was able to do was cry and ask him to stop."

"Why didn't you tell me?" he implored incredulously, his voice full of sadness.

"My father would have killed anyone who knew," she muttered, burying the head between her knees.

"But I... would have done something... would have..."he tried to continue trying to convince himself that he would have been able to do something to help her.

"Roy... I don't want to talk about this..."she cut him dry.

"But...Liz."

"Leave me alone, cabin boy" she shouted, lying down again and turning her back "I want you to leave, please."

He went out of the hut, dizzy. He remembered that night to perfection, the men had taken him away. They wanted to make him a real "man."He got drunk and spent the night with a precious redhead with a freckled face, he still remembered the mole between her breasts. He sat on the sand feeling terribly guilty, angry with himself. He was her friend and had been unable to notice what was going on.

"It was strange to see you outside the hut," he heard behind him and became aware that it was getting dark.

He recognized the voice; it was Maes Hughes a young man who had found them on the beach, when he was so desperate to save her that he hadn't repaired on his own wounds. He offered them his help without asking questions and without asking anything in return. And if it wasn't for him, he would have gone crazy. Roy had never seen such a display of generosity on the part of a stranger.

"She's awake," he answered, standing up.

"And how is your friend?" he asked, throwing a shiny green apple that he picked in flight.

"I think she's fine, but she needs to rest."

Maes pulled as high as he could, he was quite tall and would have been imposing but there was nothing but skin and bones in him. "I have heard rumours in the village... Bradley attacked The Arrow...And killed all the crew, they talk about the treasure. And they say the daughter has the map. But they didn't find any woman on the was three days ago...the day of your shipwreck and...I have seen her back and...".

Before he could finish the sentence he put the tip of his foil in his throat. Maes was paralysed, feeling like a small trail of blood slipping down his neck to the inside of his shirt. He raised his hands very slowly dropping the bag of provisions to the ground.

"Listen to me Maes, you have helped us. You have sheltered us and I thank you but I will not hesitate to cut your throat and throw you to the sharks. If you say a single word on the map, of her... I'll kill you," threatened him with rage. He had spent some horrible days. It was the worst moment of his bloody life. He wasn't going to tolerate being blackmailed by a punk.

"I think it would be an unfair fight between a pirate," he said, emphasizing the last word, "and a poor fisherman, we can negotiate this situation.

"We have no money; we have nothing at all. You picked us up from the shore, you know that," insisted pricking him again.

"You can offer me something I've always wanted..." despite the situation, he was calm, full of confidence, as if he had nothing to lose.

"What?" Roy raised an eyebrow he was curious, and Maes drew a sly smile full of complicity.

"Life at sea, piracy, I want to sail the seas, know other worlds, other cultures, I want to fall in love in every port, I want to drink rum..." he explained with his arms extended, full of emotion, enjoying like a child.

"You make it sound fucking romantic, Maes," he said, pulling his sword out of his throat, smiling wide. "All right, you'll be part of my crew, but you'll see that being a pirate is a far cry from those dreams of yours.

"Your crew? Do you have a ship?"he asked with sarcasm.

"That's the plan."

next

[thekytchensynk]

Ain’t No Picnic (6/9)

Summary: They were just supposed to head over to the island real quick, just to see what was going on. After all, if pirates were trying to ambush and kill the Straw Hat crew, how could Coby NOT go? And how could Helmeppo let him go alone? It should be simple enough, but nothing can be taken for granted in the New World, and when things go awry, Helmeppo finds himself separated from his captain on an island chain full of pirates who probably won’t be too happy to see a Marine if their paths cross.Oh yeah. And one of those pirates is the infamous “Surgeon of Death,” Trafalgar Law… Warnings: Occasional strong language Read it on AO3

__________

Law hadn’t been kidding about any of it. His power absolutely felt weird, and while Helmeppo managed not to freak out outwardly, the sense of literally being dissected, even if there was no pain with it, certainly had him freaking out on the inside.

So he could literally just cut my brain out or something? I wish I could see… no, no I think I’m glad I can’t see what’s going on. What if … come on, if he wanted you dead, he didn’t even have to waste the energy to walk over here. Please just hurry up, hurry up, hurry up…

When the rest of the pirate crew returned with their guns, Helmeppo found that news mildly interesting. Apparently, when you have one of the most powerful pirates on the seas messing around in your cranium, a few mooks seem way less dangerous, with or without guns.

Luckily, as weird as Helmeppo found the situation, apparently the band of pirates found it even weirder. They approached, took in the sight of their dismembered-yet-still-living crewmates and fled. One of them retched on the way out. Even the big guy turned tail. Apparently once you hit a certain level of notoriety, this level of problem just sort of solved itself.

Only one -- Arlen, Helmeppo recognized, the one who’d been here earlier to keep watch -- didn’t immediately run. He stood there shaking, holding a gun but not actually pointing it at anyone. “G… give them back,” he said in a quavering tone, his voice breaking on the last word.

Helmeppo didn’t know what happened next -- the scary pirate was behind him, out of his line of sight -- but Arlen let out a terrified moan and cowered back, clinging to his weapon as though it were a child’s toy but still not aiming it and still not backing down. “Please,” he forced out, and you could almost feel the desperation in every word. “Please. Give them both back.”

“Why?” Law’s voice demanded a full explanation, not just a plea.

Arlen looked down at the ground. Took a breath. Clearly steeled himself. Then looked up, past Helmeppo to where he was presumably meeting Law’s gaze. Brave bastard, Helmeppo thought.

“B… because we all need to leave together!” Arlen said, leaning forward a little with the urgency of his words. “Because it won’t be right if it’s not all of us. We can’t just … just leave them here!”

“So because you want me to,” Law clarified.

The guy frowned, but didn’t disagree. Instead he said, “I’ll do anything if you let them go. Please.”

“And what can you do?”

“Maybe he can tell you about The Twins,” Helmeppo suggested.

“The Twins?” Huh, Law could sound surprised. Seemed like this might be new information to him, which was unexpected. The guy gave off an air like he already knew everything about his situation.

Arlen hesitated, looking down at the head of his captain.

“Don’t-” she said in a warning tone.

But Arlen’s mouth was set in a thin line, and he looked back up at Law. “Yes. I’ll tell you what I know. So please.”

Law walked past Helmeppo to stand by -- actually, to veritably tower over -- Arlen. The guy was only a couple inches north of five feet tall. Helmeppo decided that had to be a sign the treatment was over, and to be fair, he did feel better. The headache remained, and the light of the sun -- now definitely heading toward the horizon, though it hadn’t begun to turn sunset just yet -- still felt way too bright. But his brain felt like his own again. He also found Law had removed the rope at some point, so he busied himself gathering the weapons from the two partial pirates.

One of the knives, he stuck in his belt. It was tiny compared to the weapons he preferred -- it would be like fighting with a needle. But better than nothing, he supposed. The rest of the weapons, he sought out one of the frequent holes in the giant lilypad where the water peeked through and tossed them into the depths.

It looked like something had actually either cut or fallen through here, and he could see the plant itself was almost as thick as his hand was long, made of leathery plant fiber and composed of an interlocking series of chambers that presumably trapped air and let it buoy up this whole island thing. Leave it to nature in the New World to make everything, including lilypads, bigger and tougher than anywhere else.

All the while, he listened to one pirate grill another. The Twins, it turned out, had been conjoined at one point and eaten a devil fruit that gave some sort of push-and-pull power. They’d hoped the power might be able to separate the two of them, and to be fair, it apparently had. But the devil fruit split as well, leaving one of them with the ability to push things that approached him and the other with the ability to pull them.

Normally that wouldn’t be too much of an issue. But on an unsteady, flimsy island like this one? Could the push guy use it to push someone into the ocean? Keep them there?

Helmeppo had thought days ago, when they first heard about this whole thing, that it sounded stupid to try to overwhelm a crew like the Straw Hats with sheer numbers. But if you could force them into diving deep after their crewmates with devil fruit powers? It might work then. If they could just get them in the water and keep them there, it might work. It wouldn’t be easy still, not with monsters like them, but it would give them a shot.

Of course, he also assumed they expected to only be fighting the straw hats. The Heart Pirates and Coby showing up too probably were a whole other wrench in the plans.

When he returned after tossing the weapons, Arlen was helping his captain scurry off into the underbrush, followed by Butterfingers. Law watched them until they were hidden in the undergrowth, then said, “He said your weapons are over there.” He indicated “over there” with a tilt of his head.

Wordlessly, Helmeppo followed that … well, direction seemed too strong, so that suggestion and, sure enough, not that far along he found his weapons both stuck in the stalk of one of the massive leaves. He wondered if they’d found them a bit too unwieldy to use properly. Why else abandon them like this rather than replace some of the clearly inferior weapons they had?

Still, there was no denying, having them at his hips again made him feel a lot better. He still kept the extra knife as well though. At this point, he wasn’t interested in taking any chances.

Once he returned to the little clearing, he didn’t even have to ask “what next?” Law had started walking away the moment he arrived, and in a continuation of nearly each time before, Helmeppo followed. This time, though, he got where they were going. He could see the thinning of the branches and leaves in this direction now. They had to be reaching the edge of the island.

A couple minutes walk and they finally broke out of the foliage. The ocean stretched before them: dark, fairly calm and deceptively beautiful. The sunlight shattered across the low little wavelets, painting with a broad and glittering brush. Outward, dotted on the horizon, lay other lilypad islands. Water kept the very edges of this one free of plants and debris. As the men walked out to the very edge, it dipped slightly under their weight, wetting Law’s already-sodden shoes and Helmeppo’s bare feet.

Helmeppo tried to take stock of the situation. Three lily pads visible from here. The one to the left looked like it might be the main one -- at the very least, even at this distance, it clearly dwarfed the other two he could see, and he got the sense it was bigger than this monster as well. The one almost dead ahead looked … well, not great. A dark cloud lay low over it, painting the whole thing in shadows. As he watched, lances of lightning struck once, twice, thrice in quick succession. The target was hidden in the undergrowth, but he winced in sympathy.

Sometimes when Coby got too pent up with fanboyism, he needed someone to listen as he explained just how cool Luffy and the rest of the crew he’d built were, and Helmeppo played that role pretty much exclusively. He didn’t always listen closely … OK, he usually didn’t listen all that closely. But he remembered the broad strokes. Their navigator had some sort of magic wand or something that let her control weather, so that would be her, he presumed.

Way off to the right, a third lilypad floated -- the smallest of the group. It only had a few low sprouts.

Nothing like a way out of their current situation presented itself. He glanced back at the pirate, hoping to catch a lead there.

Law stared down into the water and had begun walking along the shore. He was looking for something, and Helmeppo wasn’t exactly sure what, so he followed at a distance, mostly keeping watch for danger. He doubted much of anything on this island could give the pirate much of a workout now that he knew to keep a watch for those drowning vines. But Helmeppo figured it couldn’t hurt to keep an eye out.

It took about ten minutes, but at last Law stopped and crouched down at the edge of the water, the “shore” dipping further beneath him the closer he got to the side. Curious, Helmeppo neared and peered down into the water too.

At first, it was an exercise in futility -- the glinting of the sun on the unquiet water made it difficult to see. But when he followed Law’s example, crouching and leaning a little closer (and boy did that make his back feel exposed) he finally saw it. Faint and indistinct under the water, he could see pale lines, twisting and cris-crossing one another in the darkness a dozen feet or more down.

Vines? But they weren’t vertical, like most of the ones he’d seen under there before. They were winding around one another in a horizontal direction. It extended out toward the main island, and disappeared under their feet to some point further under this one. What was it for? Catching fish, maybe? But … no, that wouldn’t work.

“Like an umbilical cord,” Law said clinically.

And it clicked. That first fight. The way they’d been dropped into the water, and all funneled along a very specific route, onto this island, where they’d been left to wander. The main island had … had it fed them to this one?

And would it work both ways?

It kind of made sense. Sure, stumbling around on the island had its own hazards. But there would be benefits to also ping-ponging potential meals around. Exhausting them. Separating them. And he remembered hitting a couple branches on his way here. So, some people probably never made it out of the tunnels themselves. Easy pickings for those vines to drag down toward the ocean floor.

And if they were…

“We’re looking for an area of open lily pad?” Helmeppo asked.

“Yes,” Law confirmed, turning and working his way back into the underbrush, following the direction that tangle of underwater vines had been taking.

Well, Helmeppo thought, he’d need to re-evaluate his thoughts on the Surgeon of Death. Still really cool, and very scary, but also incredibly observant and smart. He’d already kind of understood what he was looking for before they reached the edge of the island, and worked out how it probably worked. He was just trying to find the right area to find the way back.

He wondered why the pirate didn’t just try to make a raft to return, then dismissed it in the same moment. There wasn’t anything sturdy to build with on this island, even assuming either of them knew how to build a solid raft with proper materials. And there were the sea kings. And the vines. It might be incredibly dangerous for someone with a devil fruit to trust himself to an underwater passage, but it had taken less than a minute to make the crossing. It actually would be the better option.

So he searched.

It only took a few minutes to find, between the two of them. Helmeppo discovered it first, an open spot about twenty feet across and surrounded by long plants that looked like some form of wild rice to his inexpert eye. A way to draw people to the spot, perhaps? Unsure how formal he was supposed to be with a powerful pirate, he shouted “Over here!” to get Law’s attention.

Which led them to this moment -- standing across from one another in the little clearing, trying not to look like they had anything to do with one another.

Helmeppo still wasn’t sure where he stood with the pirate. They’d each gotten the other out of a bad situation, which might make them allies, of a sort. Or it might just make them even. In everything he’d seen so far, Law seemed a spare individual, not just in build but in action. He did the things he had to, not wasting time or energy elsewhere. So he might be tolerating Helmeppo’s presence because he trusted him not to do anything dumb for the moment, and trusted his own ability to put the Marine down if he was wrong. Or he may have just decided that stopping a Marine from following him wasn’t worth the energy. Who could tell.

Was dealing with pirates always so confusing?

At least with most of the Marines, Helmeppo knew generally what they were thinking and what they wanted. They were usually really straightforward about it within the ranks, actually. Clear orders were key in their hierarchy. And in his personal life … well, Coby was his best friend. And he could be almost hilariously direct. It was charming, in its way, even if it could also be highly embarrassing. They guy often wore his heart all the way out on his sleeve.

So dealing with this taciturn person was kiiiinda stressful. ‘Course maybe he was just worried because a trip through the ocean couldn’t be a fun thing for a devil fruit user, even on purpose.

“So … we’re just waiting for it to do what it did before?” he asked at last, to break the silence.

“Probably.”

Not exactly a conversation, this. Glancing over his shoulder in the direction of the island they hoped to travel to, he asked, “Since we got there late, what did we get ourselves tangled up in?”

“An ambush,” Law said, as though it were obvious, which … yeah, it was. He knew that.

“How many crews were there? I know the numbers don’t really matter for you, but it would help me know just how terrified to be.”

Again, that barely-there eyebrow raise. “I was starting to think you were too foolish to be terrified.”

Helmeppo tried to bury the sudden thought -- I’m being laughed at by a super scary pirate -- and sighed. “Not an entirely incorrect assessment.”

“Well. I’m not sure exactly how many,” Law said, answering the original question instead of commenting on that. “They were trying to hide their numbers at first. Our group intended to sneak up and scout the situation. But then Strawhat-ya…”

He let the sentence sort of drift off there, but it didn’t need an end to be understood. And it wasn’t just that Coby had regaled him with so many tales of Luffy’s exploits. He’d seen it himself. In Luffy, back when he took his father down. But also a little closer to home.

“He saw the setup and couldn’t stop himself?” Helmeppo asked.

“He never wants to stop himself,” Law said, almost dismissively. “I assume your friend too?”

“He can,” Helmeppo said, feeling a little defensive. But… “Sometimes, though, he doesn’t. It’s an impulse. When he sees something wrong that he can stop, I think his feet move before he even realizes it.”

“An animal instinct,” Law agreed. He shifted his stance, glancing around the surroundings, before adding, “So how’d you end up working with him? If he’s who I think, he seems all in on the Marine hero stuff. You guys seem pretty… different.”

A bit rude but not wrong, really. Helmeppo considered and discarded a snarky answer, and went with, “I tried to kill him?”

“With those?” He seemed a little doubtful, which was fair. If he knew something about Coby, then he had to know that current-Coby probably wouldn’t be in significant danger from those weapons wielded by the likes of him.

“A gun” he said, somewhat proud of the fact that this got another slight reaction out of the pirate. “But this was a while ago. He wasn’t quite the same then as he is now.”

Whatever Law was imagining, Helmeppo doubted it was anything like the short, slightly chubby kid he’d first met. Hell, past Coby could be seen basically nowhere in current Coby’s features. For Helmeppo it had been a gradual change, so much so that looking at old pictures felt like looking at a stranger -- for both of them actually. He wondered if everyone had that experience.

Law seemed about to ask something, then stopped himself and actually smiled, very slightly and very ruefully. “I guess no one can tell how things will go.”

Quiet fell again, but this time it was a little less awkward. When Helmeppo broke it this time, it was less about any noise, and just a strange need to say, out loud, something that had been gnawing at him since he washed up here. “Well, I’m sure everything is fine. But I’m going to feel a lot better when I can keep an eye on him.”

“You believe you can rein him in?”

Helmeppo laughed. “What? Hardly. But I can watch his back.”

“Fair enough. Sounds like he really is like … well. Sounds different, for a Marine.”

He almost retorted something like Marines aren’t all exactly the same, but he thought better of it. Not just because gainsaying the Surgeon of Death still felt mildly suicidal, but because … weren’t they? Of course, not exactly. But weren’t there some penalties for marines who didn’t fit into the proper marine mold? Wasn’t it what got Smoker stuck with G5 originally? Hadn’t it driven off Admiral .. no … Aokiji? He had a feeling it was why Garp had kept them -- more particularly Coby -- close when he could.

“Yeah. He’s different,” he settled on. “But I want to help him out because of it.”

“I’d like to get back to my crew too,” Law said, tones low as though admitting this wasn’t something he expected to be doing this afternoon. “The ship’s just off the main island, so wherever they ended up, they should be regrouping there. And then I guess we’ll see how well planned this whole thing was.”

“Why’s that?”

“We know the plan was to lure the Straw Hats in, and to ambush them,” Law said, speaking slowly as though checking his work as he talked. “And clearly they expected to be dumped into the ocean. That crew in the cave had coverings on their guns to protect the powder. But they seemed surprised to be dumped here, with us.”

“So you think they may not understand about the underwater tunnels?”

“Yeah. In which case they may not think to try to pull back together, or do so quickly. So us regrouping on the main island makes the most sense. Our ship and the Straw Hats’ is there. And yours, I assume.”

“Well…”

“No?” He sounded a tiny bit surprised. “One of the smaller islands then? How did you get to where the fight was?”

Helmeppo suppressed the urge to squirm as he admitted, “We don’t... actually have a ship here. Exactly.”

Law looked up, eyes disbelieving. “You just got a ride here?”

“More or less.”

Every inch of the idiocy of that decision was laid out in Law’s expression. “And you planned to get home by-”

“Our ride is coming back later?”

Law just stared for another long few seconds before uttering the only possible question. “Why?”

“So the rest of the crew wouldn’t know,” he said, trying to explain, because yeah, looking back now, it was an even stupider plan than he’d originally thought. “You have to know this sort of excursion isn’t exactly approved by the hierarchy.”

“So you stranded yourselves.” Law’s flat tone left no room for interpretation about what he thought of that plan. At least he didn’t seem angry, just baffled.

“Y… yeah.”

“Because the other Marine really wanted to check on Starwhat-ya.” He didn’t audibly add a seriously? But Helmeppo could hear it in his voice.

“Pretty much.” Don’t back off, don’t back off, he’s scary but I don’t think he’s going to kill you for being an idiot.

The expression remained for another few long seconds, then Law let out a sigh that spoke to whole cargo ships full of baggage. “I guess your friend really is taking after him.”

Helmeppo was saved from answering when the ground under their feet suddenly dropped a couple inches. Both men clammed up, looking down. You’ve been through this once before, it’s going to be fine. But his abruptly hammering heart didn’t seem to believe his thoughts. He took a couple deep breaths, mind suddenly running over a bunch of questions he should have thought of before. Like if he should try to swim or just try to relax. Relax, right? If the goal was to push food from one island to another then-

You just thought of yourself as food. Garp would be laughing his ass off right now if he knew. And Coby would-

Everything dropped away and the lights went out again. He had just enough time to hope Law’s read on these interconnected islands was right, then the current hit them like a sea king and up and down lost all meaning.

One blessing -- with far fewer people being swept along, there was less running into people. The current actually swept him down the middle of the tunnel, it felt like. Either that or it was flushing them down into the depth of the ocean. There was no way to know.

Things actually seemed to be going right for once, until he was brought up short in the middle of the howling current. This time it felt like the back of his vest got snagged by something, yanking him to a halt in the middle of the rushing water as the strong fingers of the current yanked at his hair and clothes. He tried to reach back and untangle himself but the water pressure battered his hand away.

Maybe the stress of the day was getting to him, but his first thought was, How many times is this stupid island going to try to kill me?

He struggled once more to get at the snag, but it was high up and behind him. Seconds ticked by as his fingers crept up along the fabric, looking for the problem, only to eventually be brushed back by the immense current. After probably far too long, he switched plans -- If he couldn’t get to the snag, he needed to get out of the vest and leave it behind. How long had he been down here? As long as last time? His lungs were getting tired of all the stress.

His first absurd thought was to try to wriggle out of it, because that was how he put it on, but quickly he realized that wasn’t going to work. The current was limiting his movements too much. He couldn’t get a good angle, and it was exponentially harder to shed clothing under water. Something else, something else...

Giving up on the rest, he yanked the lady pirate’s knife out of his belt and slipped it under the bottom edge of the vest. The pressure from the continuing current pulled it nice and taut, and his body made a little pocket of calm in the tumult, so it only took a quick slash to cut it loose. The current yanked him free of the torn cloth, and on through the dark.

Come on current!

It yanked him along again. Helmeppo covered his head with his arms as he got swept away again, through the darkness. The other island had to be getting close, right?

But even as he thought this, the pressure shoving him along began to lighten up. The current slowed, then came to a stop and left him under the surface.

Honestly, it was starting to feel intentional at this point.

A glance up showed a ceiling of near darkness. The lilypad, and who knew how much crap on top of it. His best bet lay in the opening on the far end.

He just had to get there.

He began swimming along the tunnel, following the track by keeping an eye on the entwined plants that enclosed him. It had to lead to air. It wouldn’t just leave him off in the ocean. He had to believe that. Had to keep going. He pushed through the darkness, trying to ignore the fire in his chest and the shaking in his limbs. Just keep going. Keep going. Keep going.

And then the light was back.

Helmeppo made a sharp turn and pulled toward the glow with all his might. It swam in front of him, tantalizingly close, then there was air, sweet air, all around him. He got a hand on the edge and hauled, dragging himself into the open air with an incredible sense of deja vu. One more heave, and more-or-less solid ground at last lay beneath him. Helmeppo just lay there, relishing the sunlight and the solid ground and the air, sweet sweet air. That made three times this damned island had tried to drown him. Didn’t they say bad things came in threes? Maybe this would be the last one?

At last he rolled over and opened his eyes, then tried to get to his feet. Everything still felt unsteady though -- until a strong hand latched onto his right arm and hauled him upright. As he caught his balance, he looked over to find Law staring at him, that inscrutable expression he seemed to favor planted firmly on his face.

“Thanks,” Helmeppo said.

“Yeah.” Law released him and stepped back. “You have some terrible luck.”

“Yeah. Today’s not my day.”

“You good?”

“I’ll live. I-” He paused, then turned his head as a coughing fit took over. “Sorry. I thought you’d be gone though. Looking for the crew?”

“We’re still not sure what’s out there,” Law said dismissively. “So two might be better than one.”

His own words, coming back around. Having him around was barely better than Law being by himself, in this situation. He knew it. The wildness of this place was probably easy to overcome for most of the really strong folks here while Helmeppo had his hands full. But still. He appreciated the sentiment.

“Now where?”

“Just wait a moment. I thought I heard something.”

Helmeppo fell quiet, straining to both listen and to suppress further coughing. It took a few seconds, but then he heard it too.

A jumble of words came faintly on the wind from their right. Helmeppo understood all the words separately, but as a group, they didn’t really make sense. It ended in the word “star,” followed by a low whistling sound. A … shooting star?

A ways ahead of them, the foliage seemed to revolt, the leaves being pushed aside by what looked like massive … wolves? Made out of leaves? With bright red noses?

Sure. Why not. Weirdness followed everyone in the New World, but today’s particular measure of weirdness was officially all the way off Helmeppo’s personal chart. May as well accept it.

He was ready to give the whole area a wide berth, but Law turned toward it and started forward, his steps quickening. “Hey, wait!” the marine said, following after him. “Should we really-”

“Your captain will be with the Straw Hat captain, right?” Law asked, not looking back.

“Yes, but-”

“That was his sniper,” Law said. “He’ll know where Strawhat-ya is.”

“But we’re all the way out here and-”

“He’ll know where his captain is.” There was such utter certainty in his voice that Helmeppo felt like there had to be a story there. But there wasn’t time to ask.

Instead, his mind tried to wrap around the fact. “Haki?” he wondered aloud. Law didn’t answer, but he didn’t need an answer. As soon as he’d thought of it, it made perfect sense.

Coby’s use of the ability bordered on the uncanny, though it had come at a cost Helmeppo wouldn’t want to have to pay. Just thinking about it, he could feel the echoes of the terror that had fueled him, trying to drag his friend through the combat hellscape while Coby gasped and clawed and felt, felt everything. He hadn’t been able to understand what his friend was feeling or talking about at the time, he’d just been sure that Coby was just going to drop down and curl up one of those times and just … stop. Just shut down to hide from all the horror assaulting him, and there would have been nothing Helmeppo could do to bring him back.

As he followed Law through the undergrowth, he sincerely hoped the sniper had awakened his ability in a far less awful moment.

[dracoandluna]

Prompt: Pirate AU. Son of the esteemed British Navy Admiral Lucius Malfoy, Draco finds himself sailing with the notorious Captain Voldemort against his will. But a new captive they've taken on just may be the key to his escape...

Draco feels like jumping up and down in joy when he first sees her.

She’s bound tightly by rope, and there’s a wound on her forehead that looks relatively new, judging by its angry red color. Her long hair is in complete disarray and her eyes are wide in fear.

She’s perhaps the best thing he’s seen since he’s come aboard the Death Eater.

“Send her down to the hulk,” Captain Voldemort orders, and Wormtail quickly comes forward to grab the girl by her arm. “As long as we have her, her father will be obedient.”

This earns a round of laughter from the sailors, though Draco doesn’t really see the humor in what he just said. But maybe that’s because he’s too goddamn excited.

                                                           *

There’s almost always someone up on deck, which makes sneaking around difficult, but if Draco’s learned anything as Voldemort’s first mate, it’s that a bottle of rum can get you far when dealing with sailors.

He climbs down the wooden stairs slowly, so not to startle her, and is surprised to find the floor covered in at least five inches of water. There’s obviously a leak, but it’s so miniscule at this point, that no one has paid it any heed. He certainly won’t.

He sloshes over to the only occupied cell to find her standing, seemingly peering at the wall.

“Hello, Draco Malfoy,” she greets cordially, not turning away from her spot.

“How did you know it was me?” Draco demands, off put by her strange demeanor.

“From the sound of how you walk,” she tells him, finally turning to look at him. This offers him a view of what she had been staring at: a small hole in the wall; probably where the water was coming in from.

“Forgive my earlier tone, m’lady,” Draco apologizes, looking sincerely repentant. She was imprisoned on a ship with the most sinister man in all the oceans and a crew of just as dammed sailors, she wasn’t to be faulted for acting a bit barmy. “I wanted to come in and check on you…. your captivity saddens me beyond words.”

“Then don’t use words,” the girl suggests, sitting down on the small wooden ledge that was to serve has her bed.

“Well, I-uh,” Draco was momentarily taken aback by her boldness. In all his planning’s, he had not once calculated her being immune to his charms- no woman was!

“Certainly,” he says finally, clearing his throat. From his pocket, he retrieves a loaf of bread and an apple. “It isn’t much, but if I took anymore, someone would have surely noticed.”

To his relief, she looks very happy at the sight of food, and quickly comes forward. Before she takes it from his outstretched hand, however, she pauses and looks at him closely. He shifts uncomfortably under both her gaze and the cold seawater that was starting to seep into his boots.

“Why does my captivity sadden you?” she asks with a tilt of her head.

Finally, some ground he could work on.

“I fell in love with you the moment I set my eyes on you!” Draco declares, holding her gaze as he keeps his features downright suave. “And I swear on my life I won’t rest until I have you freed from Voldemort’s wretched grasps!”

She stares at him to the point where he wanted to squirm. This was not how he had imagined things to play out.

“You’re not in love with me,” she says finally. “But I will happily accept the food. The apple core is good for attracting charmkricks.”

Draco gapes at her, completely flabbergasted as she greedily bit into the bread. Forcing himself to inhale deeply, lest he say something he may regret, he says in an even of a tone as he could manage in his rage, “You may not believe me now, but I will prove my love and devotion to you, until my dying breath!”

She just hums and bites into the apple.

                                                             *

He visited her again the next night, and the one after.  She was frustratingly difficult to convince, but with each visit, she seemed to be more responsive to his advancements, which Draco took as a good sign. But tonight, it was his last chance to woo her, and it was imperative that he did.

“Luna,” he greets as she comes into view. Her name was just one of the many things he had learned about her in the past two nights.  He had also learned that she may very well be insane, but it wasn’t like he had any other option to work with. “I need to speak with you about something important.”

He wasn’t really surprised by anything she said anymore, he had come to learn that with Luna, you must always expect the unexpected, but it was a lie to say he was expecting it when she shook her head and agreed with him.

“Yes, you do,” she says in that dreamy voice of hers. He only thought of it has dreamy because he kept hearing it his dreams, which frustrated him to no end.

“We must leave tomorrow tonight, my love,” he tells her urgently. “But I can only take you with me if you can trust me completely- can you do that?”

Instead of answering him, she stands and walks over the whole in the wall and peers out. He bites the inside of his cheek in frustration as he awaits her answer.

“Yes,” Luna tells him, and Draco can’t help but grin at hearing that. Luna grins too. “But you must dive left.”

“What-“ but Draco’s question is cut off at the sound of footsteps directly above them.

“I have to go,” he whispers quickly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

                                                             *

In hindsight, Draco should have really known better than to think he could outsmart Voldemort.

The start of his day had been atypical. He usually was awoken by the morning bell, but today, a quick glance out the small window told him it was nearing midday—they were never allowed to sleep in this late.

After hurrying to pull his boots on, Draco ran up the stairs into the blistering heat only to see that the entire crew, and a once more bound Luna, was waiting for him.

Of course.

“I must say,” Captain Voldemort began. “I found it rather pathetic, that you tied your little escape plan to a young girl. Didn’t have to gall to go rogue on your own?”

Draco knew better than to answer, so he simply stood there, biting down the nausea that comes with accepting one’s grim fate.

“Mutiny under no circumstances is tolerated here on the Death Eater, Draco,” Voldemort informs him. “Just imagine the remorse admiral Malfoy and his wife will feel upon hearing that their only son walked the plank.”

He is violently shoved forward by Crabbe. Someone had put out the plank on the hull.

“I see now that you bring with you too much temptation to the crew,” Voldemort says to Luna, who listens to him calmly.

“So please,” he sneers at her, gesturing with a pale hand towards the plank. “Ladies first.”

One of the sailor’s lifts her, as her arms were still bound, onto the plank. Luna gracefully walks to the end of the plank before she looks back.

“At your next stop, I would suggest investing in some dried mint, it’ll drive away the globberstrims, and you have a rather severe infestation of them.”

And then she dives to the left.

Draco is once more shoved forward, and despite the terror he feels, he can’t help but glare behind him in annoyance.

He pulls himself onto the plank and makes his way with shaking legs.

“Oh, I nearly forgot,” Voldemort calls out. Draco turns around only to catch a pistol thrown at him. “One bullet, as is in accordance with the pirate code.”

“As there are two of us, shouldn’t we have two pistols?” Draco pleads. “Or at least two bullets?”

Voldemort just laughed. It was the most harrowing sound Draco had ever heard.

“You can be a gentleman and shoot the lady,” he suggests, his voice light.

Draco turns back to the blue waters and takes a deep breath. Then he does something he has never done before-he puts his trust in a stranger, and dives to the left.

The current immediately pushes him backwards, and Draco is flipped over several times before the waters calm enough for him to open his eyes and take in his surroundings.

The waters were a bright blue, and there was a multitude of colorful fish swimming around him. Had the circumstances been different, Draco would have stopped to appreciate the other worldly beauty that only the ocean could offer. Even pale Luna, sinking, with her arms still bound, looked like something out of a Greek painting.

Deciding that if he was to die, he might as well do one last good deed. He swam towards her quickly and retrieved a dagger from his vest. The rope cut away easily enough, and lopping one arm around her small waist, Draco began his ascent up.

When he finally cleared the water, gasping for air, he was shocked to find that they weren’t all that far from a small island. Glancing at the still motionless Luna in his arm, he taps into an inner strength he frankly did not know he possessed, and begins to swim with just one arm.

Not more than ten minutes later, he and Luna collapsed onto the wet sand, him heaving for breath as Luna’s chest barely moved.

Getting to his knees, Draco forces his exhausted muscles to crawl, and begins to manually pump her chest with his hands. As he works, Luna begins to spit up mouthfuls of water, sometimes gagging on it. When she finally stops acting like a human water fountain, Draco allows his arms to slow.

She opens her large eyes, and he’s surprised to see warmth in them.

“Thank you,” she whispers, her voice raw no doubt from all the sea water she swallowed.

Draco rolls his eyes.

“Oh, no need to thank me,” Draco bites sarcastically. “Now you can die from starvation instead!”

Luna sits up and Draco realizes her white dress is nearly translucent now and quickly averts his eyes.

“We won’t starve,” she says both gently and firmly.

“In case you haven’t noticed,” Draco hisses. “You and I have been marooned on an uninhabited island!”

“Uninhabited yes,” Luna says with a smile. “But unfit for habitation? No.”

Draco collapses onto the white sand tiredly, unable to argue with her any further. If she wants to hunt her imaginary creatures for food as the last thing she did before she died, who is he to stop a lunatic?

He hears Luna get up and walk away, and he nearly calls for her to come back; he doesn’t necessarily want to die alone, but he estimates that he has at least a day or two worth of energy in his body, so he can always meet up with her later.

He must have fallen asleep right there on the beach, with the waves tickling his feet with every tide, when Luna comes and shakes his shoulder.

“Wake up,” she says softly, shaking his shoulder once more. “You need to eat, you’re looking weak.”

Unable to hold back his curiosity, Draco cracks open one eye. Then sits up immediately, despite the protest of his abdominal muscles.

Davey Jones locker! She really did have food!

Digging into the food without a second thought, Draco scarfs down all the food before realizing with a small pang of guilt that he hasn’t saved any for her.

It must have shown on his face, because she just smiles and shakes her head. “Don’t worry, there’s plenty more where that came from.”

Draco suddenly has, albeit belatedly, an epiphany.

“What do you know that I don’t?!” Draco shouts, jumping to his feet to glare accusingly at her. Draco did not like being played a fool, and he had already been played as one today.

“Oh, well, a lot, I suppose,” Luna answers surprised at his reaction. “Though I’m sure you know a lot about some topics I know nothing of.”

“I don’t mean in general!” Draco yells. “What is this island? How did you know to dive left? What is going on?!”

Luna nods like she had been expecting this. Getting to her feet, she brushes the sand from her now mostly dry dress and motions for him to come forward with a wave of her hand.

Too curious to refuse, Draco follows her into the line of palm trees when she stops suddenly. Draco looks down and realizes why.

There was a wooden door in the ground.

Pulling on the handles, the door reveals a ladder which makes its way down into a dark tunnel. Luna begins to descend the rope ladder when she realizes that Draco remains glued to his spot.

“Aren’t you going to come?” she asks him, as if this was the most normal thing in the world.

Draco just shakes his head and follows her lead.

A lantern hangs from the dirt roof, which provides Draco enough light to assess the small bunker. It’s one wall was lined with shelves that are stocked with provisions. He even catches sight of a flare, which floods him with hope. One the opposite wall is a small bed, and a detailed map hangs above it. In the middle of the bunker is a rounded table with, curiously enough, two chairs.

“Have a seat,” Luna says, motioning to one of said chairs, sounding every bit the perfect hostess his mother was. He sits.

“I’m the navigator for Captain Harry Potter,” she tells him, carefully assessing his features, which are currently totally neutral. “My father is a well-known map maker, many pirates come to him for not just maps, but advice on sea routes, and thus whatever he says is spread quite far.”

“So Voldemort kidnapped you to influence what your father says, because he needs more supporters,” Draco adds tonelessly, knowing this by sitting in on the planning of this himself.

“Correct,” Luna says with a tilt of her head. “But the reason why my father went into map making is so he could record his travels in his search for his creatures.”

So, her craziness is inherited, apparently.

“This island is rumored to be the home of the crumple-horned-snorcack. My father had this bunker made and stocked so that he could come this winter- their mating season, in hopes of spotting one.”

“You were looking out the window all that time to spot this island,” Draco chips in, starting to see a larger picture form.

“Yes, I also knew there was a pipe in my cell that most probably lead to the captain’s quarters, most probably placed there so Voldemort could eavesdrop on anything the prisoners had to say. That’s why I didn’t play on with your infatuation initially, so he wouldn’t immediately throw us overboard,” Luna explains patiently.

“What about diving to the left?” Draco asks, thoroughly engrossed in the inner workings of her mind. “How did you know that would carry us furthest towards the island?”

Luna just shrugs. “I work on a ship. I know a bit about them, besides, I had been studying the current for a couple of days, and most captains usually place the plank to the right of their quarters, probably because the hilldurk lives on the left side.”

“You are absolutely incredible,” Draco admits, completely in awe. Maybe she isn’t insane, so much as a misunderstood genius.

She smiles then, but it’s different from all her earlier ones….it was shy, girlier.

“One thing, though….” Draco begins, frowning as he realizes one part of her tale didn’t make sense. “How did you know I wasn’t attracted to you?”

Luna, uncharacteristically, does not meet his eyes when she answers.

“Well, I still had a sense of smell, and knew mine was rather unpleasant. But besides that, your pupils never dilated while looking at me and your chest never moved quicker to indicate a raised heart rate,” she says quietly, twirling a long lock of golden hair around her forefinger.

“Forget being a navigator, you need to be a detective,” Draco compliments, somewhat actually serious.

Luna gives him a small smile, but continues to look resolutely at the corner.

Draco too looks at where she’s staring, but finds nothing.

“Do you see a crumple horned snowman or something?” Draco finally asks, growing a bit peeved at the fact that she suddenly refuses to look at him. Did he get horribly sunburnt during his impromptu nap? A quick touch to his cheek tells him no, his skin wasn’t red and peeling.

“If only,” Luna sighs. She finally looks at him, and Draco can’t help but lean in towards her. Their ‘dip’ into the ocean had mostly cleaned her of the grime and blood that had coated her, and Draco can say with ease that she really is a beautiful woman-too beautiful to be married to the ocean.

“It’s just…” Luna whispers, before trailing off uncertainly.

“Tell me,” Draco says soothingly, placing his large tanned hand over her much smaller one. The softness of her skin contrasted so starkly to the brittle sand that surrounded them.

“Your pupils have dilated, and your chest is moving up and down quicker than earlier,” Luna confesses, her cheeks beginning to take on a pink tint.

Draco can’t help but smile devilishly at this.

“Can you blame me? I like my women beautiful and intelligent.”

Luna blushes once more and Draco remembers with glee that there’s only one bed.

[ultraairconditioning-blog]

What You Need certainly to Know Before Setting Up An Inflatable Toy

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