#my first pirate fic

[vikingmagic33]

@beaumaismortel I don’t deserve you, but I love you just the same.

You just motivated me to work on my edits to the next chapter! Moonlit cove… a little rum perhaps?! Tension anyone?

Get caught up on AO3

Tags for my feral friends, but don’t forget… a little slow burn never killed anyone. 😎

@trashforazriel @mmiscbutterflies @sunshinebingo @captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship @headcanonheadcase

[beyondplusultra]

You look like you've seen a ghost.

—

👻👻👻

It's been a year since @tzviaariella published A Call from the Grave, but I still think about it every day of my life. Happy Halloweekend!

Find this fic and the rest of Brigverse, an amazing Pirate!akeshu AU series, here!

[stevethehairington]

He needs a break. A chance to breathe for a moment. This lifestyle sometimes feels like the corsets that Robin is always complaining about — too tight, too constricting, and superfluously unnecessary. Steve pities Robin, and the rest of the poor women, who have to deal with both. The circumstance and the corsets.

Steve knows better than to complain, though. He lives a lavish existence, one that many people would give anything to have. It isn’t fair of him to pity himself like this when there are so many people out there that are so much worse off than him. He should feel grateful. Lucky, even.

But it’s hard not to feel suffocated instead, sometimes.

The alcove is quiet, thank god, and void of any stray party guests. It’s hidden away, tucked between two rocks that overlook the seaside, and the crash of waves from down below has a mollifying effect on Steve’s agitated disposition.

He reaches for the cravat at his neck, loosening it with deft fingers. He’s in the act of tugging it away from his throat when the clear crunch of a footstep has him spinning around sharply.

And there, emerging from the shadows to block Steve’s only escape route, is a man.

The first thing Steve notices about the man is the curtain of dark curls that frame his face. They’re long enough to tumble freely over his shoulders, and they’re pulled back by a thick swath of fabric, deep red in color. The ends of his bangs peek out from beneath the bandana, as do a pair of thin braids, each tied off with two hollowed out pearls.

With his hair out of his face, Steve can see it all. Every single feature, open and on display — those soft cheekbones, that sloping nose, the gnarled scar that stretches across the left side of his jaw and pulls the corner of his mouth into a twisted, permanent smile.

Steve is sure that he’s never seen this man before, and yet there is something achingly familiar about him. A tugging within his gut; it feels like he should know him, but from what, he can’t quite place.

The man’s left ear is pierced through twice, two identical gold hoops looped through the skin. And just beneath his ear he has a small mark. A tattoo. Steve isn’t quite close enough to make out just what it’s of. He squints his eyes and nearly takes a step closer to take a proper look, but catches himself before he does.

It’s then that Steve realizes that he’s been staring, borderline ogling, for much longer than is appropriate, too. His cheeks warm as he averts his eyes to the ground. But rather than the cobblestone path below, his gaze falls to the man’s feet.

Flared brown boots cover those feet, rising up nearly to his knees. They’re old looking, worn and well-purposed, but still sturdy, even after countless strops though mud and water and sand and all sorts of other rough terrains. Beneath the boots, his stalwart calves and strong thighs are encased in rough-hewn black breeches, tight, yet functional.

Steve’s eyes stray further up, despite his best efforts. 

The man wears a thick brown leather belt, layered with a silken red cloth and an even thinner black belt, this one scaled like a dragon, with a shiny gold buckle. It sits around his waist, atop an open black vest that accentuates his slim figure. His blouse beneath is a deep wine red, made from a gauzy looking material that clings to his skin. Steve imagines that if it were to get wet it would be absolutely sinful. The neck of it is rather plunging, too, exposing the man’s collarbones, and the corner of another tattoo on his chest. 

And there, above his heart and to the right, in the very center, hangs a pendant — some sort of serpentine creature with wings, gaudy and golden and absolutely eye-catching.

Steve feels a little hot under the collar, taking it all in. He has to look away.

The man makes an amused humming sort of noise. “Like what you see, sweetheart?” He drawls, flicking both eyebrows up at once. A lazy grin unfurls across his full lips, and he practically drapes himself over the rock behind him.

The position puts his whole body even further on display, in an entirely new way this time, and looking away is futile now. Steve’s eyes are heedlessly drawn back to it, raking over every inch. It feels… dangerous, to be looking this much, this long, but he can’t help it.

The man lifts a hand to examine his black varnished nails, an air of boredom to the action. His fingers are adorned with chunky silver rings that glint in the mid-afternoon sunlight. Casually, he pulls a dagger from its hiding place amongst the belts and uses the sharp tip to pick at one of his nails.

Idly, he starts to whistle — a low, warbling tune that has an almost menacing edge to it.

It, too, strikes a chord of remembrance in Steve, and he wracks his brain trying to think of where he’s heard it. And then it hits him.

“You’re a pirate!” He gasps out. It sounds scandalized, when he says it, though, really, he isn’t scandalized at all. He doesn’t find himself very afraid, either, though he knows he should be. Instead, he’s just intrigued.

The man snickers. “Very good, sweetheart,” he commends, tucking the dagger away again. He brushes his knuckles against his shirt. “What gave it away?”

Steve frowns. “What are you doing here? Where’s your ship?”

“What am I doing here?” The man repeats. Laughs this breezy little thing. “I’m meant to be taking you prisoner, actually,” he tells Steve.

“Take me— prisoner?” Steve repeats, shock coloring his tone. He doesn’t know what he’d been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t that.

“Oh, yes,” the man replies, pushing himself off of the rock. He starts to circle Steve. “I’m meant to be snatching you up— well, that’s the interpretation of it, anyways. All they said was that I needed to deal with you, and, really, that’s so vague.”

He starts to circle Steve, slinking around him slowly, purposefully. His voice carries as he does. “Pirates are supposed to be unscrupulous, though, aren’t they? What with all the threatening and the stealing and the killing and the like. I figured it only makes sense that I take you.”

Steve has a million questions — like who the hell is they? And what do they want with him? And why did they send a pirate to do their dirty work?

Instead, what comes out is, “I guess that would make sense.”

He folds his arms over his chest, just for something to do with them, and then a thought surfaces to the forefront of his brain.

A crease forms between his eyebrows, and his lower lip pushes out into a contemplative pout as he mulls it over. “But what if—” he starts. Pauses. Cuts himself off like he won’t dare finish the thought.

Only it’s too enticing, too tempting not to. 

“What if you didn’t take me?”

The man comes to a stop right in front of Steve. He’s close, much closer than anyone would normally be comfortable with, but Steve doesn’t care. If anything, he has to refrain from curling his fingers into that necklace and using it to leverage him even closer.

Steve looks into the man’s dark eyes. Big, endless, easy to lose himself to. But he doesn’t. He meets them head on, unwavering with his gaze, as if he’s challenging him.

“Sweetheart,” the man starts, dripping with condescension. He raises a hand and flattens it against the rock behind Steve, boxing him in. Another wry chuckle tumbles past his lips. “I don’t think you get it,” he says. “I have an order. I need to follow it.”

Steve just his chin up, defiant. “I don’t think you get it,” he returns, poking the man in the chest, much to his astonishment.

“What if you didn’t take me,” Steve repeats slowly, putting emphasis on his meaning. “But what if I… went with you anyways?”

It takes a moment for the words to properly sink in, but when they do, a slow spreading surprise settles over the man’s face. “Oh,” he says, sounding pleased. His lips curl back into a grin that bares his teeth. “How rebellious of you,” he tuts.

“You say rebellious, I say free-thinking,” Steve replies, brushing him off.

The man’s smirk grows, but he doesn’t accept the proposition. Not yet. Instead, he watches Steve carefully, like he expects his bravado to fall away any second now and for Steve to renege. 

But Steve holds his ground. He’s not taking it back. He’s not chickening out. In fact, he’s never been more sure of anything in his life.

He’s going to go with this man.

Finally, the man relents. “If that’s what you want,” he says.

“It is,” Steve replies, without hesitation.

The man gives a firm nod, and without another word, he turns on his heel and starts to briskly walk away.

Steve scrambles to follow him, out through the opening of the rocks and across the open courtyard that leads towards the port. He glances behind him every so often to make sure that he hasn’t been spotted or followed by any of the partygoers. By any of his family. 

But each time he looks, there’s no one.

He doesn’t know whether to be disappointed or thrilled by that.

The further he gets from the party, though, the easier it gets to breathe. Like the noose around his neck loosens with each step. That almost makes him want to laugh, considering his choice here would earn him a real one, permanently.

Ships line the port, when they finally make it to the water’s edge. Great big ones, with hulking hulls and dozens of ballooning sails. There are at least four, anchored in the bay, but none of them stick out to Steve as a pirate ship. Not that Steve’s ever actually seen a pirate ship before. He’s only heard tales. Still, he expected that they’d be distinct.

The man approaches one of the ships, and he doesn’t hesitate before tromping up the shoddy wooden gangway and stepping foot onto the polished deck. His hands slide onto his hips and he casts a wide glance around. He takes in a deep breath, then lets it out slowly, his whole body relaxing as he does. Like he’s finally home.

He turns then, back towards Steve and offers out his hand.

Steve looks down at it, then back up at the man.

“I’m Steve,” he says, taking it. The man’s palm is rough against Steve’s, but it’s warm too. It feels nice.

The man laughs. “I know,” he says. “And I’m—”

It’s then that Steve notices it. It’s subtle, in the sense that it’s just the one detail. But that detail itself is anything but. Just past the man’s head, right in the center of the biggest sail, a red devil. Pointed horns protruding from its skull, wicked yellow eyes, razor sharp teeth. 

It is unmistakable.

“You’re Eddie Munson,” Steve says, recognition finally hitting. And, jesus christ, he feels so stupid for not realizing sooner. The most notorious pirate in all of the seven seas — how could he have forgotten?

“That I am,” Eddie muses. Then he uses his grip on Steve’s hand to pull him the rest of the way onboard.

It tightens, and he doesn’t let go right away, like maybe he thinks Steve will try and make a run for it now that he knows who he is. 

But Steve doesn’t. He stands his ground, holds Eddie’s gaze steady.

Something zings up Steve’s spine as Eddie’s big eyes bore back into his own, and he thinks briefly to himself that whatever he’s gotten himself into here, it’s going to be well worth it. He’s in for the adventure of a lifetime here.

Eddie drops his hand then, and a slow grin, just as devilish as his flag unfurls across his pretty lips. He flourishes one of his own hands out around him.

“Steve Harrington,” he practically purrs. “Welcome to Hellfire.”

[pointycorgiears]

Crocodile was on the outer balcony, watching the dark waves. It was a moonless night and thousands of stars littered the sky. He gave a puff of his cigar and gazed out on the horizon. Shark Rock, a tiny island off the coast of Karai Bari, was a black silhouette against the starlight. It was given that name because of the tall dolomite that jutted out the middle, resembling a shark's dorsal fin. There was a scout ship milling about it.

It was quiet. Just the soft tumbling of the breakers and Mihawk's shuffling books around the shelves inside to keep him company. Buggy was already passed out somewhere. No Marines, no rival pirate crews, no activity whatsoever. It was peaceful.

He took one more drag of his cigar. As he turned to go inside, something caught his eye.

He looked at Shark Rock. The orange lights of the scout ship seemed higher than they should be. He blinked to clear his eyes, thinking it was a trick of the darkness. But no...the lights hovered above the water...all three of them.

"Huh..."

He watched them for a moment, squinting to focus. Maybe a rogue wave had lifted the boat upwards? That idea was shot down as soon as the lights rose higher....and higher, far past the shoreline of the rock. And they kept going.

And then they moved.

They changed their position, spinning around each other while simultaneously rising, until they were at the tip of the shark fin. The arranged themselves, by some force of their own, into a triangle pattern, hovering over the rock.

"Mihawk..." Crocodile quietly called out to his partner. The other didn't hear him. And he was too transfixed to look to see what the swordsman was doing.

The lights grew brighter.

"Mihawk..."

The lights became so bright that they began illuminating the rock...and then they illuminated something else. Something metallic-like, nestled in between them as if they were attached to it. Triangular, silver, and solid. A light shot from the middle of the thing directly onto the shark fin. As bright as a pillar of light from God himself.

"Mihawk!" His voice was now strained, and he didn't know why. The air on his arms stood up. His hand trembled his cigar. And he didn't know why.

"Yes?" Mihawk answered from inside and began walking to the balcony.

The lights pulsed, flashed, and disappeared in the blink of an eye. Shark Rock was dark again.

Mihawk finally appeared on the balcony. "What is it, Crocodile?"

Crocodile tried to find his words and choked. "Uh...nothing. I just...I thought I saw something."

****

[[About a week later...]]

The beach was nice and moonlit. The palm trees swayed overhead, their fronds dark and gentle in the wind. Crocodile liked to smoke on nights like this. The moon cast a caressing glow over the whole island and it soothed away the hectic moments of the day.

He walked to the edge of the trees, looking across the beach to the water. The waves rolled calm and easy. He took one final drag and blew the smoke through his nose. He bent down to crush the embers of the cigar in the sand. Some flitted along the ground and burnt out. One caught the breeze and flew up past his eye before simmering into nothing. Crocodile turned away to head back through the trees.

The little ember appeared in the corner of his vision. He tilted his head to make sure it went out.

Then froze.

Oh no.

Three lights glowed an eerie orange further down the beach. His gaze was stuck. He could not look away from the three orbs hovering several feet above the sand, casting their luminance on the beach. He paused and waited in the trees.

What are these things? he thought. He never expected to see anything like this again. He stared at them from his hiding spot in the treeline. They could be a threat to Cross Guild. As he observed, he noticed a black shape between the lights, connecting them together into one form just like the first time he saw them. It was slender and narrow. It looked like a cake platter and cover. The lights glowed on the underside, arranged in a triangular pattern. He was fixated on it.

Then the beam shot down from its belly, just like it had on Shark Rock, only this time it hit the sand a few feet below it. Crocodile narrowed his eyes. Something moved behind the light pillar. He blinked again, and there was a humanoid form with long arms and legs. It looked…off. Like parts of it were transparent or made of a mirror.

Crocodile froze. Every hair on his body became alert. It felt like the wind was knocked out of him and he almost gasped for air. Instead he made a quiet inhale of breath in fear of drawing the thing's attention.

The fear.

Crocodile was a veteran as far as battles were concerned. He faced Marines, pirates, Whitebeard, all head on. He was never afraid. He could not be shaken. The thing moved its glittering head.

He was afraid. And he didn't know where the fear was coming from.

He was thankful he was in the dark shadows of the trees. The head moved again, turning, and two black, soulless eyes were suddenly looking in his direction. Crocodile instinctively dropped into a pile of sand next to the tree stumps. He dared not move a single grain on the ground.

The thing turned away. One of its long arms reached down to where the water curled on the beach and scooped some of it up into some kind of vial. Then it shimmered and dissipated into the light beam. The light disappeared, and the orange orbs and black mass began floating out toward the ocean, slowly, and was eventually far enough out to sea that the lights could have been ordinary stars on the horizon. They vanished into the night.

Crocodile crawled as a sand pile all the way back to his tent.

****

Dinner was quiet. Crocodile did his best to keep his fork from rattling in his hand and his hook from carving holes in the table. Mihawk asked him what's wrong. Crocodile couldn't answer. He wasn't sure if he wanted to. Buggy was staring at him to. He drank a little bit more than usual that night. Buggy bumped into him in the hall as they prepared for bed.

"You ok?" he asked. There was something in the clown's eyes. Crocodile nodded.

"Did you see the lights too?" Buggy asked, deadpan.

Crocodile stuttered and his voice cracked. "W-What?"

****

Mihawk had forgotten the book he was reading in the common room of the main tent. He went down the hall that connected the living tents to the main tent, walking brisk and silent with barefeet. He trotted up the stairs intending to retrieve it and go back to bed, but he found something unexpected that made him take pause.

Crocodile and Buggy were still there, talking excitedly about something on the sofa. He peeked from the top steps. They were dressed in their night clothes and Mihawk wondered what was so important that it was stalling them from going to their quarters to sleep. He walked up the last steps. "Why are you two still here?"

"AAAAAHHHHAAIIIIEEEEHHH!"

Mihawk was taken aback. Both Buggy and Crocodile had just screamed, at him.

Buggy's eyes were wide as he was pressed against Crocodile's chest, a knife gripped his hand pointed at Mihwk. Crocodile's hook was also raised in his direction in a defensive stance.

Mihawk lifted a brow. "Are you in distress?"

"We can't go to sleep!" Buggy exclaimed."

And why is that?"

"Because they'll come for us!"

"Who, exactly?"

"The Star People!" Buggy exclaimed and Crocodile silently nodded. His eyes were bloodshot.

Mihawk was now concerned. "What are you idiots talking about?"

****

Mihawk never should have asked. He never should have indulged them. Because then, maybe he could be sleeping snug and comfortable in his room right now. Instead, he had to hear a mad rant from Buggy about the "Star People" and how they were flying around at night in invisible vessels, and they got into people's heads to hear their thoughts, and how Gol D. Roger had seen them once, and how Roger had told Buggy to beware of them, and how they somehow lived among the stars, and...

Mihawk didn't really remember the rest. He stopped listening after awhile. All he knew was that Buggy, and somehow Crocodile, had convinced him that they were suddenly incapable of sleeping tonight because they needed to be on guard and they wanted Mihawk to stay with them in the common room all night. Because he was the most powerful, they reasoned. He could protect them.

While it was flattering that his crewmates thought so highly of him, he had a slight issue when it meant he was going to be protecting them from ghosts and fairytales like a couple of scared children.

Actually, Buggy and Crocodile were terrified. Of what exactly, Mihawk did not know. Crocodile was not easy to scare, so it had to have been something serious. All he knew was that both of them saw something to put them in this state, and it was his duty as the only currently sound mind of the leadership to care for them and be on guard. Cross Guild couldn't afford to be vulnerable. If that meant sleeping in the common room with them, then so be it.

So here he was, bringing some blankets and pillows from his quarters for himself to sleep on. He reached the top of the stairs and walked in the room. Buggy was in a reclining chair with a blanket over him and a very large lion plush toy caught in his death grip. Crocodile was laid out on the sofa, draped by blankets and his coat. Both of them seemed to be settling down at least, finally.

Buggy caught sight of him from the chair. "Did you bring Yoru?"

Mihawk raised the sword with his hand, making sure the blade was displayed sharp and intimidating in the low light.

"Good," Mihawk heard Crocodile mumble from under his coat.

Mihawk sighed. He set his blankets and pillows on the floor between the sofa and chair, arranging them so he would be comfortable. As he began to lay down, he heard footsteps on the stairs. Mihawk stood, taking Yoru with him to the landing.

Daz Bones met him there in the dark. He looked at Mihawk curiously. "I was doing a security check. I thought some children had snuck in here. It sounded like little girls screaming."

Mihawk sighed. "Do not worry. I will handle any children that need attending to."

Buggy yelled from his chair to see what was going on and if they should put the foil on their heads and start running. Luckily, Daz caught on to Mihawk's exasperation.

"I see. Goodnight, Sir."

Daz left and Mihawk returned to his luxurious bed on the floor. He laid down, Yoru dutifully lying next to him within arm's reach. Just in case there were any...intruders, or something.

🛸🛸🛸

[wormzandgutz]

I have out of nowhere decided baby five is one of my favourite characters (Already enjoyed her deeply in the show, saw Vibrantshoyo’s au post, read hearts and kisses by mellow_of_the_marsh)

[sailor-aviator]

If you're reading this, this is your sign to write that weird/fun AU or trope even if it's been done before.

[sysig]

You’re new to the Princess-Rescuing business, aren’t you? (P1 | P2 | P3) (Patreon)

[gladumfdoodles]

the time has come!!

chapter 1 of the boatem pirates fic is out now!!

if you like grian centric, found family, hurt/comfort, and pirates, this fic is for you!!

enjoy!!

[lawomi]

Transmasc!Trafalgar Law & Straw Hats

Fun little writing exercise about Law coming out to the Straw Hats. Minor hints at LawSan, LawLu, ZoLaw, ZoSan.

Cw: 🔞 Mature topics, trans coming out scene, fluff, humor, bicurious Sanji, mastectomy scars, mentions of phalloplasty, Law is okay having a vulva, masc terms for parts.

Law is spending time with the Straw Hats at a bath house. He keeps his waist covered all the time, which leads different directions. Was it shyness? Was it some hidden tattoo? The guys devolve into comparing dicks. Law refuses to show them anything. The Straw Hats reveal just how accepting their crew can be.

Law sat on one of the stools to use the shower head. The bathhouse was noisy. The water splashed as Luffy jumped in; Zoro yelling at him for spraying water everywhere ending in a silly splash fight. Jinbe, Franky and Brook sat against some of the rocks to the back in relaxation, Sanji was busy trying to peak at the women without going over the wall and Usopp was sitting near Law, showering himself.

Law, unlike the rest, was wearing a towel around his waist even as he sat facing away and running water thru his hair. He seemed relaxed despite all the noise, though his face still held that classic scowl. Usopp glanced at him curiously as Law took to washing his privates, but maintained the towel so Usopp couldn't see.

"Say, Torao" Usopp spoke up, "Are you shy around us?"

He could see Law's eyes widen, his cheeks flush, and then Usopp received a glare. "What?"

Usopp scratched the back of his head, laughing nervously, "Sorry, weird question. None of us are wearing towels so..."

Law rolled his eyes and shrugged. "I'm not a Straw Hat. Plus, is it a crime to not want to show your genitalia to people? Tsk, people are obsessed with that."

Having heard the conversation, Sanji walked over. "Hm, that is a weird question, Usopp."

"YOU'RE THE WEIRDO IN HERE," Usopp raised an arm to gesture towards the wall where he had just been trying to peep.

"I am curious, though," Sanji ignored him. "Do you have tattoos on your inner thighs or something?"

Law pinched the bridge of his nose. "Sure."

"Really?!" Luffy called from the water. He hung out at the edge, leaning towards Law. "I wanna see, Torao!"

Law groaned, "No! Mugiwara-ya, you can't."

Luffy whined, pouting with furrowed brows. Zoro waded over to him. "I bet he's just embarrassed about his dick size," he nudged Luffy. Law could hear the shit eating grin on his face without turning around.

Law took in a sharp breath, trying to relax his heart. He didn't want to have to talk to them about this. Luckily, Sanji was already on Zoro's case, since it reminded him that Zoro always boasts about his dick almost exclusively to make Sanji angry (or...something).

Brook had gotten out of the water and sat near Law, washing off his bones. "Well, I don't have a penis, yohohoho!"

Somehow, that made Law feel better.

"Yes, what does it matter?" Jinbe was now sitting on Law's left. "It depends entirely on your genetics, your race, your size."

"Yeow!" Franky grinned, "And I can change mine to be bigger," he half-joked.

Jinbe laughed at Franky's remark, "Well I have two of them!"

"TWO?" Sanji and Zoro had stopped in surprise and Luffy's eyes sparkled. "That's crazy!" Luffy laughed.

Law was smiling. He liked that the men casually defended him. Should he just up and say it now? Did it matter?

"I'm transgender," he finally said, his voice slightly wavering from nerves, "Are you all satisfied, now?"

"Ohhh!" Luffy got out of the water and walked over, to Law's horror. "So you're like Yamabro! Or... Okiku? You're a woman?"

"No, first answer was correct, I'm a man."

"Yeah, either way, that's no big deal," Luffy beamed, "Yamabro bathed with us!"

Jinbe smiled at Law, "We appreciate your willingness to open up to us; I'm glad you can trust us. Yes, we see no problem in that."

"Heh. Torao!" Zoro called over, "I definitely have a bigger dick than you!"

A very rare genuine grin spread across Law's face. Somehow, Zoro had enough empathy to know treating him any different was what would be upsetting.

"Me, too!" Sanji copied him. He was blushing slightly though, as if he was thinking about something.

Law shrugged, he stood and dropped his towel. Usopp and Sanji were the only ones to have a shocked reaction, Sanji's nose even trickled a bit of blood. Law froze up as he realized that everyone was actually scanning, not looking to his vulva per say, but for tattoos.

"I don't have any more tattoos!" He barked. "Just let it go."

Luffy came closer and observed, making Law blush, while most of the men continued what they were doing casually.

"So, that's your dick, huh?" Usopp pointed out, having come close, too. Sanji was still staring, he looked very conflicted. Franky also leaned in with interest.

Law sighed and tried to go into doctor mode now. "Yeah, with testosterone the clit increases in size. I think I'm two inches."

"But," Franky glanced up at his chest, "You did your chest right? What stopped you from changing the bottom?"

"I feel indifferent to it," Law said simply, "I don't want to change it." He jolted as Luffy gently touched the scars on his chest. "Hey! Too close."

Luffy backed up, grinning. "Sorry... Your tattoos are just so cool, I never noticed the scars there."

Law was blushing furiously now, feeling his dick peak thru his folds. He twirled around and used the shower head again. "Thanks for accepting me," he sounded honestly grateful, but was also trying to finish the convo.

Luffy sat beside him to the right, showering himself off too. Law tried (tried) to ignore him. Sanji was still staring at Law's back, but was snapped out of it by Zoro who began to make fun of him. "Into men now, Swirly?"

"No!" Sanji chided.

"It wouldn't be a big deal!" Zoro snapped back. Hell, he was into men. If Sanji weren't so fucking straight maybe he'd ask him ou--

"Absolutely not," Sanji rolled his eyes, "I'm just into certain parts. Doesn't mean I like men."

"It does if the parts are men's parts," Zoro sneered. Sanji was dumbfounded at this comment. Shock befell Zoro to see Sanji go into pensive mode instead of growing angry. Sanji pinched his chin, diverting his eyes to the ground.

"Tsk," Zoro rolled his eyes. "Well, technically if you viewed Yamato as a woman and view those part as female- gross - then you're straight. Quit worrying so much, no need to be fragile."

Sanji sighed. "You're right. I know Yamato is just as much a man as Law. I just... have to sort through my thoughts."

[gyokujyn]

CATWS 10th Anniversary | March 30th » Prompts: TWS Cast for @catws-anniversary

a loving homage to A Softer World and @asofteravenger

[vikingmagic33]

Chapter 7 is up just in time for the weekend. We have a pirate race, ladies and gents! Hope you enjoy. Looks like this will be about 10 chapters all said and done so we are getting close. 

Read on AO3

@booknerd87 @beaumaismortel @trashforazriel @mmiscbutterflies @sv0430 @sunshinebingo @shadowsxgwynriel @headcanonheadcase @captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship @foreverinelysian @buttoncup @srabergara @shadowriel @awkwardscience @propagandaprincess @hlizr50 @mystical-blaise @hellogoodbye14

[doks-aux]

My kink is when Izzy Hands is loved and cherished and treated gently.

[sleepiestwizard]

title: my life was a storm since I was born, how could I fear any hurricane

warning(s): graphic depictions of violence

chapter(s): 1/?

relationship: scar/grian

summary:

Grian resists the urge to groan out loud. Fucking Scar. And the rest of his ragtag crew of pirates. Which he doesn't really have a problem with, his main issue is their captain. And the fact that they are pirates.

There is no way he is going to ask Scar for help. The blond shivers in disgust but even he has to admit he's running out of options, and by running out of options he means that he has no other options.

“Fuck!” he swears to himself. He can't believe he's going to ask Scar for help.

ao3 link here

[thebluestbluewords]

OT3 Week Day One: Meet-Cute

a sea ot3 meet-cute of sorts :) I'm going to be trying my best for the @ot3-week prompts! Mostly Gil and Uma, pre-ship, more of a meet-ugly than a meet-cute. Because they're terrible adorable children and I think Gil is an underrated sweetheart even when everyone else is being terrible all around him.

+

“I HATE YOU!” 

“I HATE YOU MORE!” Uma shouts back, balling her hands into fists so she’ll be ready when he stupid slimy ex-best friend starts swinging at her. “YOUR MOM IS STUPID AND YOU’RE EVEN STUPIDER BECAUSE YOU’RE JUST MINI-HER.” 

Mal, daughter of Maleficent, the undisputed queen of the Isle of the Lost elementary school playground, narrows her eyes. “Take it back.” 

Uma, daughter of Ursula, the queen of nothing except for possibly her mother's bad graces, sticks her tongue out. “No. You’re mean and boring and so’s your mom.” 

“Take it back, Uma! Or you’re not invited to my birthday party!” 

“You’re not having a party,” Uma sneers. “Nobody has parties anymore, not after what your mom did to the last girl who left you out. You’re the one who ruined parties for everyone, because you’re the worst, and you’re not even interesting about it. You’re just a baby who hides in your mom’s shadow all the time, and you–” 

“TAKE IT BACK!” Mal screeches. Uma’s plenty accustomed to screaming. It’s her mom’s main way of communicating with the staff at the chip shop, and Uma is seven years old now, which is more than old enough to be considered part of the staff, by both her mother’s expert opinion, and her own assessment of her precocious skills. She can catch fish with her mom, and slice the bones out of a flounder faster than any other kid she’s pulled off the docks, and she hardly ever drops ice cubes into the fryer anymore, even when she’s carrying a whole tray of drinks from the icebox and has to lift it over her head to dodge the knives Petey the main cook throws at her sometimes. 

What she’s less accustomed to is her former best friend launching herself at her teeth-first. 

“FUCK!” Uma screeches back. “Biting’s cheating! You’re not just a boring baby, you’re a boring, stupid, mean cheater!” 

“Take it back!” 

“No! You’re a boring baby and so’s your mom!” 

“You’re boring! You’re so boring that you don’t even know how to use the swings!” 

Uma shakes Mal’s teeth out of her arm, and shoves her back with both hands. “I know more than you.” 

Mal bares her teeth again. One of her front ones is loose, and there’s a scrape mark in the neat imprint on Uma’s arm that matches up with it. “Do not.” 

“Do so. You’re not invited to parties because everyone hates you. Because you can’t do anything without your mom there to make people do it for you.” 

Mal narrows her eyes. “I bet you I can make everyone kick you off the swingset. And the climbing bars. And the tower.” 

“You can’t.” 

There’s a dangerous green light in her ex-friend’s eyes. “Can so. You can have the sandbox. It’s for babies. Not even a baby like you can have fun in there.” 

The sandbox is widely regarded as the worst part of the school sulking ground. It smells like cat pee and cigarette butts, and not even the cats that pee in the alleys around the school will go in it anymore. 

It’s also boring. Nobody ever falls off and breaks their face on the sandbox, and you can’t do flips off it or anything. There’s no gold coins buried in the sand like there sometimes are on the real beach, and there’s not even any sharp shells left after the first group of elementary school kids, the ones a year or two or even three older than them came through and pulled them all out for makeshift knives. 

Sometimes being the second group of kids born on the isle sucks even more than usual. 

“Make me.” Uma snaps. 

Mal’s eyes flash green. “I will.” she spins around to the crowd of dirty boys who’ve been climbing up the rickety wooden tower that’s the best place to play. “HEY GUYS. I HAVE A NEW GAME. IT’S CALLED KEEP SHRIMPY FISH LOSERS OFF THE TOWER.” 

The boys stare. 

Mal sighs. “I mean, GET HER OUT OF HERE.” 

The future brainless henchmen of the isle already understand how to follow orders. “GET HER” is pretty clear even to a brain-damaged kid, so Uma makes her second smart decision of the day (the first being ditching Mal, because ugh) and turns to sprint to the sandbox before the boys realize that the base of their precious tower (with all the cool climbing spots and platforms and places to hide and pretend to stab each other) is built on a pile of small, easily throw-able rocks. 

“This isn’t over, princess!” Uma shouts. Even though it is. She’s smaller than the henchmen boys, even though she’s strong enough to work in her mom’s shop already, and she can throw rocks back, but she’s better than fighting against henchmen. She’s going to be a captain of her own crew someday, and she’s got to out-plot her slimy, cheating ex-best friend. 

“IT TOTALLY IS.” Mal shouts. 

“It’s totally not,” Uma grumbles under her breath. “I’m gonna be so much cooler than that ass-kissing baby. She just follows her mom and calls it cool, and everyone’s too scared to tell her anything else. I’m not gonna be like that.” 

She kicks a lumpy patch of sand. “Stupid. Stupid slimy Mal.” 

The sand– 

Uma kicks the sand again. Sand isn’t supposed to move like that, and even though she’s pretty sure that nobody at school is powerful enough to do magic under the barrier, because even her mom can’t use magic with the spell, and nobody at the elementary school is more powerful than a real sea witch, even one without most of her powers, there’s a lot of bad stuff and dangerous stuff and stuff that wants to hurt kids on their island, and she’s not too sure that the sandbox is actually clear, because it’s the worst and nobody’s played there for weeks. Partly because they haven’t had school in a week, because they only have Dr. Facilier and Mother Gothel as teachers, and they both left to do some other stuff that was “more important than teaching brats like you lot” last week, but also because the sandbox is the worst and nobody wants to play in it. Because it sucks. 

“Hey!” The lumpy sand says. 

Ume jumps back. “Are you a creep? Are you going to start licking my toes? My mom says creeps do that to little girls who don’t stay away.” 

“I’m hiding.” 

Her mom’s stories about creepy men don’t include many details about them hiding in sandboxes. “Have you considered not hiding?” Uma asks. “I could use a minion right now.” 

“Oh. No. No thanks.” 

Thanks? 

“Who the fuck says thanks?” Uma asks. “Are you sure you’re not a creep?” 

“I’m sure.” 

“That sounds like something a creep would say. One who’s lying.” 

Finally, the sand shifts again. “I’m not!” it says indignantly. “I’m just hiding a little bit.” 

Uma plops down next to the sand, which now that she’s actually looking at it, is all disturbed in a big pile right around where the kid is hiding. She hadn’t noticed before, due to being so mad that she wanted to spit on everything and maybe burn down the stupid play tower. Which isn’t even real. She’s not even kicked off a real tower, which would be something cool and evil and not lame at all. 

“Why’re you hiding anyway? All the kids are busy kicking me off the fun stuff anyway.” 

The pile shakes a bit more, and a blue eye emerges from the sand sort of near where Uma’s feet are. “Are you sure?” 

She snorts. “Sure’s snakes.” 

“Shakes?” 

“Snakes. Like, hiss hiss?” 

“Oh.” The pile shakes a little bit more, and a freckled nose peeks out. “I know what snakes are. I’m only a little bit stupid. My brother Third, he brought home a dead snake one time, and he wanted to put it in a stew, only my dad wouldn’t, and Third put it on a stick instead and roasted it over the fire, and then Dad said we couldn’t eat it cause the scales weren’t safe for kids, only I was awake later, and he totally said that ‘cause he was just waiting for us to go to bed so he could eat it himself.” 

Uma wrinkles her nose. “Gross.” 

“No, it looked good! I mean, wicked. It looked– tasty, I mean. Yeah.” 

Uma snorts, but not because she’s annoyed anymore. “You’re not very evil, are you?” 

“I’m super evil!” 

“Then why’re you hiding?” she shoots back. “Evil kids don’t hide from each other. We fight, like villains.” 

“You’re hiding,” the sand-kid points out. “In the corner with me. That makes us both not very evil.” 

Uma’s chest does a little flip at that. She’s the most evil. She’s just…plotting. “I’m taking a tactical retreat. To plot my next move. I’m super evil. Even more than you, blondie.” 

The kid shakes his way loose of the sand pile. He’s really blond, more than just the little pieces of hair that were sticking out with his nose before. He’s like a bleached broom, all pale and fluffy and covered with dirt, even though it’s mostly sand.  “It’s okay to hide with me. If you want. I’m Gil.” 

Uma sticks out her hand to shake like her mother does with new staff. “Uma.” 

She squeezes, just like her mom does. It’s not quite the same, because she doesn’t have tentacles and octopus strength behind her grip, but that’s okay because she shouldn’t care what some loser who buried himself in the sandbox thinks about her. 

He squeezes back. And smiles. 

What a weirdo. 

“You’re cool!” Gil announces, dropping her hand abruptly. “You should come meet my other friend!” 

“We’re not friends,” Uma says, because this is important to her. She doesn’t have friends anymore. She has enemies and people who aren’t her enemies yet, and she’s the coolest, evilest, most independent future-ruler of the school. She doesn’t need friends, not like that stupid fairy. She’s better than that. Better than all of them. “I don’t have friends.” 

Gil blinks at her. He’s tall, and he’s got big arms, Uma realizes. He could probably throw a rock a lot further than she can. He could get one all the way up to the second or third layer of the tower, maybe. “I have friends.” 

“No, Gil. Villains don’t have friends. You can be…” 

It’s a bad idea. It’s a monumentally bad idea. Villains don’t have friends, and she shouldn’t want to use weird boys who hide in the sandbox, but she doesn’t have many other options. “You can be my sidekick,” Uma finishes. “Just for today.” 

Gil beams at her. “I like that! I’ll be your sidekick every day, Uma. Let’s go get Harry now!” 

He grabs her hand and starts tugging. 

“Gil.” 

He stops. Perfect. A useful sidekick follows orders. 

“What?” 

“I’m the leader,” Uma explains, tossing her braids over her shoulder. “That means I lead the way, and you’re the one who follows me.” 

“Oh. But– but I know where Harry is, and you don’t know him yet, so I could show you? If you want?’ 

Sidekicks. Never the brightest. “You can tell me where he is,” Uma explains. “And then I can lead us both to him. Because–” 

Gil picks up on the cue this time. “You’re the leader, and I’m your sidekick. Got it, Uma.” 

“Perfect! Now, where’s my sidekick number two?” 

Gil frowns. 

He spins in a circle. 

“Um.” 

Oh, evil.

 “Is he real?” Uma asks, with enormous patience, considering the circumstances. Playground exile is no laughing matter, and she can still ditch this kid if he’s the sort of baby who still talks to imaginary friends. It’s not like anyone still believes in ghosts, not when they can’t die on their island. 

“He’s totally real!” Gil instsis, still spinning. “He’s the coolest ever except for you and he’s got a red coat and he steals crocodile teeth from his sister Harriet and he’s got real fish in his lunch and– there he is!” 

He points to a teeny, tiny little stick of a kid with the craziest black hair Uma’s ever seen, and yes, okay, a red jacket. 

A kid who’s in the middle of being thrown off the tower. 

Perfect. 

“Okay, blondie,” Uma laughs, over the sound of Harry’s shriek as Gaston Junior pitches him off the tower platform. “We’re mounting a rescue mission.”

[arsenicflame]

i really liked my tags on this post so i wanted to touch them up and post them as a stand alone! i ended up adding quite a bit to this ''':)

What artistic skill does Izzy possess?

I think he has a lot of 'practical' artsy skills. he’s decent at sewing (mending your own clothes isn't just useful, it's almost a requirement at sea with limited possessions and resources) he's probably decent at braiding hair from having to splice rope- simply anything with roots in being useful I think he has done enough to be decent at by this point in his life.

Singing comes into this as well, holding a rhythm is important for certain sailing tasks, and while I think he can sing in ways that don't translate to shanties, I don't think he has utilised this in a long long time (so excited that we are apparently getting an Izzy singing scene in s2!!!! I need him to know he can have fun)

Another thing is I think he was a really good tattoo artist! I don't actually see him as having the creativity to come up with interesting and unique designs but I do think he is excellent at the act itself, and at copying requested designs. you need a swallow? an anchor? a ship? any common sailors tattoo? he can absolutely do it and it will probably be the best tattoo you have. it was always a mark of honour if you could convince him to do yours on the Queen Anne- he was very busy and didn't often do them, and definitely wouldn't do them if he didn't respect you. He's done a lot of Ed's 'quality' tattoos (though I think Ed also does a lot on himself), he's done tattoos for Fang, and Ivan, and he will do them for the rest of the kraken crew in the future. (he will even do one for Lucius one day, one of his own pieces of art as long as its not an Ed face or a dick. They understand each other now)

anything else? I don't know, I see him very much as, he won't let himself do things if they aren't practical. his canon whittling is as close as he gets and that's more of a 'thing to do with your hands while watching the deck' kind of thing. have knife will whittle

I think ultimately, Izzy doesn't let himself do things for himself. if you love something, if you have a soft spot, it can be targeted, taken away.

I do think he maybe dances though. He always plays it off as something Ed forces him to do when they're drunk/on shore but... he loves it- the motion; the reliance on another partner and the intimate understanding of exactly what they're gonna do next? I think he would love that actually.

I think dancing might be the one thing he always does for fun. He never lets himself have it, but if Ed demands a partner? Yes, of course, anything for his Captain.

(Ed always demands a partner. he likes dancing well enough but he likes seeing Izzy do it more- he knows Izzy will never do it on his own, he understands why, but Ed is Blackbeard. Nobody fucks with Blackbeard- and if he wants to dance? if he wants his first mate to dance? they're fucking dancing.)

but that's not the truth of the situation, really.

It always takes him a second to let his guard down, but he relaxes into it. He lets himself loose in a way Ed only sees when he's deep into the rhythm of a swordfight. And perhaps it's the same, to him- finding the flow of the battle, of the music. Feeling his partner, understanding them and being understood in return? It's all the same- but dancing is safe. Dancing is fun. In a swordfight there are stakes- and he loves the stakes, he loves that this thing that means everything to him matters, but sometimes, just sometimes, it really is nice to move like that in a way that doesn't matter.

And when they really get going- all twirls and jumps and frankly being a little ridiculous, Izzy laughs. A deep belly laugh, a kind of joy you didn't think was possible from him. But here he is, letting go at last. He laughs and he smiles and he feels such joy, the rest of the world melts away, and it is just him and his partner, dancing.

(later- much, much later, a man will play a battle song over their raids, a jaunty little tune that throws off everyone they fight against, and Izzy gets to dance, and fight, and feel free, unburdened by the weight that he's carried with him his whole life. They'll dance after too, and he will have finally found a place where he completely belongs)

(if you liked this, can I recommend Talking Bodies by ItsClydeBitches, i feel like that fic fits the themes of dancing incredibly well)

[ibrokeeverything]

hELP

The gay pirates have taken over my brain. Like, I was already super excited for season two before today, but ever since the trailer came out, I'm completely incapable of thinking about anything else.

So now I'm stuck listening to because the night and rotating the babygirls in my head like a microwave