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Chapter Text

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

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

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

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

“Miss Hina!” “Captain Hina!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter Text

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

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

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

Why had she even volunteered for this play…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter Text

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

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

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

They would leave their paintings behind to burn. 

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

Purupurupuru

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

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

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

“Hina knows.” 

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

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

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

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

“Hm, Hina will take that under advisement.”

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

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

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

“Hina would rather skip to the forever part.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter Text

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

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

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

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

Worse, why wasn’t there one of him?! 

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

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

Chapter Text

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

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

Which she wasn’t. Edward frowns. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He did Mama!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“None of your damn business, Linlin.” 

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter Text

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

On her shoulders. 

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

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

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

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

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

It’s too much.

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

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

Tashigi marches from the room without a backwards glance.

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter Text

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter Text

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing. Just a measly mostly empty bottle of ketchup. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Linlin did not have to be told twice. 

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

Chapter Text

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

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

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

A new life. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter Text

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter Text

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

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

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

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

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

NOT that he was in love or anything. Unless…

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

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

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

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

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

Achoo!

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

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

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

Grus really did love a challenge.