#captain's logbook

[dxppercxdxver]

*tomska voice* FLINTLOCK FORTRESS IS BACK BABEYYYYYYY. anyway uh. clapping pots and pans together You People Like Sniper/Spy? Come Get Your Sniper/Spy

[falcie5]

[quatregats]

I'm rereading Master and Commander and I'm deeply in danger of just posting every single passage from it ever but I did love the way that the capture of the prize in Chapter 6 was framed on either side by the logbook's entry, and also the way he transitions out of it to set the scene and tone:

Sunday, July 1 … Mustered the ship’s company by divisions read the Articles of War performed Divine Service and committed the body of Henry Gouges to the deep. At noon dº weather. Ditto weather: but the sun sank towards a livid, purple, tumescent cloud-bank piled deep on the western horizon, and it was clear to every seaman aboard that it was not going to remain ditto much longer. The seamen, sprawling abroad on the fo’c’sle and combing out their long hair or plaiting it up again for one another, kindly explained to the landmen that this long swell from the south and east, this strange sticky heat that came both from the sky and the glassy surface of the heaving sea, and this horribly threatening appearance of the sun, meant that there was to be a coming dissolution of all natural bonds, an apocalyptic upheaval, a right dirty night ahead. The sailormen had plenty of time to depress their hearers, already low in their spirits because of the unnatural death of Henry Gouges (had said, ‘Ha, ha, mates, I am fifty years old this day. Oh dear,’ and had died sitting there, still holding his untasted grog) – they had plenty of time, for this was Sunday afternoon, when in the course of nature the fo’c’sle was covered with sailors at their ease, their pigtails undone. Some of the more gifted had queues they could tuck into their belts; and now that these ornaments were loosened and combed out, lank when still wet, or bushy when dry and as yet ungreased, they gave their owners a strangely awful and foreboding look, like oracles; which added to the landmen’s uneasiness.

[...]

Jack leant back against the curved run of the stern-window and let Killick’s version of coffee down by gulps into his grateful stomach; and at the same time that its warmth spread through him, so there ran a lively tide of settled, pure, unfevered happiness – a happiness that another commander (remembering his own first prize) might have discerned from the log-entry, although it was not specifically mentioned there: 1/2 past 10 tacked, 11 in courses, reefed topsail. AM cloudy and rain. 1/2 past 4 chase observed E by S, distance 1/2 mile. Bore up and took possession of dº, which proved to be L’Aimable Louise, French polacre laden with corn and general merchandise for Cette, of about 200 tons, 6 guns and 19 men. Sent her with an officer and eight men to Mahon.

[bisexualshanks]

no wonder he always keeps that damn shirt unbuttoned it wouldn't fit otherwise

[strawhat-pirates]

what if, ontop of being able to find one another through vivre cards

you can also communicate through the vivre cards too?

Imagine this,

Luffy, after receiving Ace's vivre card updating Ace on his most recent adventures:

ACE

Yeah?

WE ARE IN THE SKY

That's great Luffy

I MET GOD

What.

[thebaffledcaptain]

I don’t know how to explain my love of history without inevitably returning to the fact that history is so human. Our history will always be human. I’m transcribing a virtually untouched whaling logbook from just about 200 years ago knowing well that the man who wrote it is long dead, but somehow even from just his run-on-sentence-length entries for every day of his voyage it is impossible not to think about how human he was, too.

Sometimes his straightedge wasn’t level because he was human. He spelled the name of another ship wrong based on the way he heard it because he was human. He wrote about getting dinner right after writing about killing a whale because he was human, and he had a favorite way of ending his entries because he was human.

It’s just so strange and wonderful to think about how even two centuries apart I find things to adore about this unknown, unassuming man I never shared the planet with. I don’t know anything about this whaleman besides what he writes in his logbook. I don’t even really know his name. But though his name may be lost to history, at the very least I know he is not, because I know that on December 21st of 1825 he thought it was important to tell me that the water was very blue.

[nocternalrandomness]

ATP Aesthetics

[felixs-voice-makes-me-wanna]

[mnkeydluffy]

i am not immune to the sabo luffy reunion i am on the floor sobbing

[mydearlybeloathed]

"do not kiss me again"

Whenever you leave a room, you leave a kiss on Zoro’s cheek. It’s become such a habit that you do it without ever thinking (and he’ll deny everything, but he leans toward you when he sees you get up to leave).

Sometimes you did it without ever saying a word, eyes still on the logbook Nami had you double check as you stood to put away your coffee mug. Zoro, still sat in the chair beside yours, barely acknowledges as you cradle the back of his head, angling his cheek toward you to press a chaste kiss there. 

It’s somewhat of a ritual, a way for affection to be shared without the need for words, which neither of you were particularly good with. Sure, the crew rolled their eyes and gagged nearly every time, but they thought it was sweet for the most part (save for the stupid cook).

Luffy would think it's sweet too, if he actually understood, that is. He knows you and Zoro are exclusive cause you love each other and all that jazz, but he doesn’t get that the affection you’ll show each other is reserved for that type of relationship. So after the first ten times he sees you leave a kiss on Zoro’s cheek as you leave a room, he assumes this is some new thing to do. A new way to say goodbye.

Safe to say, Usopp was less than receptive to his farewell leaving breakfast that day.

“Gah! Luffy!”

“They started it!”

You froze at the sink, trying so very hard to not smile, but then you looked at Zoro, and laughter bubbled out of you. “Luffy—” You giggled “—that’s a me and Zoro thing. Like, a me and Zoro thing.”

He blinked slowly, nodding even slower. “Psh, I knew that.”

Usopp was still wiping his cheek with his napkin, shooting his captain a narrowed look. “Do not kiss me again.”

[dxppercxdxver]

day four!! of bweirdOCtober!! underappreciated oc day!!! wrote a little ficlet about gertrude, our favorite kittycat who is the worst in the world to look at and touch and be in the presence of generally

steep road, high and weary

The foul creature enters their lives when his incorrigibly curious sister pulls it from a bag of grain in the train car they’ve stowed away in.

When Aoife first presents the thing to him, Brendan thinks she’s somehow caught and plucked a chicken from a nearby farm, if not for the fact that the train hasn’t slowed for hours and he simply cannot fathom why in the world she would do such a thing. Upon closer inspection, however, the wretch wriggling about in Aoife’s iron grip is some sort of cat. It blinks up at him with big, watery eyes, set in wrinkled pink skin stretched over the protruding bones of its tiny skull.

“María,” he says gently, watching the mangy kitten squirm and mewl pathetically, “what have you got there?”

“Kitty!”

Brendan forces a smile that he fears Aoife will recognize as a grimace, and turns to Isaiah for help. Of course, he’s buried in whatever book he’s read cover to cover since they left Louisiana, hardly batting an eye when Aoife runs up to him and plops her finding in his lap. The poor animal merely turns its nose up, disgruntled, before burrowing into the lining of Isaiah’s waistcoat, sticking its sniffly nose out into the dusty air.

Despite the sudden intrusion, Isaiah merely sniffs, turning the page. The gargoyle tucked in his clothing hisses.

Sighing, Brendan pinches his nose, desperately looking for a place to gently usher the kitten out of the train car (and presumably to its death) whenever Aoife isn’t looking. Of course, his sister is coddling it, prodding at its paws and tail and whatever else of it doesn’t fit inside the folds of Isaiah’s clothing. She coos at it like it’s her own child, dropping whatever detritus she can find on the floor in front of it, coaxing it out. Isaiah raises an eyebrow at the dead plants and rocks piled up on his stomach, but when Aoife looks up at him, he ruffles her hair and goes back to his book.

“Darling,” Brendan says quietly, settling in on the other side of Isaiah, “we can’t take it with us. We barely have enough to feed ourselves, let alone a… kitten.”

At his words, the creature pokes its nose out of its hiding place, expression somehow reproachful. Needle-thin kitten teeth are bared, and its abnormally large pupils are blown wide. For a moment, Brendan has half a mind to snatch the thing from its nest and hurl it from the train in one fell swoop, but he could hardly bear to see Aoife heartbroken, and as much as the miserable critter sends a chill down his spine, needless cruelty has never suited him. Instead, he waves at the kitten, hesitant, and it snarls.

“Let the girl have her,” Isaiah murmurs, turning another page.

“But—”

“Oh, please?” Aoife is pleading now, clutching Isaiah’s leg, and both she and the cat turn their owlish gazes on Brendan. He knows Aoife well, knows that expression means tears are soon to follow, and after ripping her from their home for strange horizons, he doesn’t have it in him to take this one thing away from her.

“Alright,” he relents, and Aoife cheers, scooping up her new charge and twirling it over her head.

“Did you hear that, Gertie?” she beams. “You’re going to be my best friend forever and ever!”

Brendan cocks his head.

“Gertie?”

“This is Gertrude,” Aoife explains in a way that doesn’t really explain anything, too busy affixing a ribbon from her dress around the creature’s–Gertrude’s–neck. Gertrude looks none too happy to be dressed up as she is, but from what little Brendan has seen of her, he doubts Gertrude looks happy about much of anything.

Leaning against Isaiah’s shoulder, Brendan watches Aoife dote on Gertrude, dragging a piece of straw across the floor that Gertrude bats at with bony paws. The creature looks rather more like roadkill than something flesh and blood, but Aoife is laughing for the first time he’s seen since they left the coast. He closes his eyes, rubbing his cheek against the coarse cotton of Isaiah’s shirt.

“She’ll be alright.” Isaiah’s words are hushed, spoken to the crown of Brendan’s head. And with the rattle of the train beneath them and Aoife’s giggles filling the air, Isaiah’s chest rising and falling against his shoulder, Brendan can almost believe it.

[falcie5]

[nightmare-foundation]

Honestly it lowkey annoys me whenever people say that Michael has 'very little personality' outside of hunting down his father.

N like- on the surface, that seems true, but like. If you look deeper, that's... not really true?? Because there's a LOT that actually speaks to his character, but you have to be willing to catch onto the connections his character has

Like, for example, Michael has a very straightforward way of speaking. He's dry and sarcastic ("They thought I was you... [laugh]"), has a foreshortened sense of the future (the drawing of a gravestone in the security logbook), not to mention the dialogue of foxybro in fnaf 4. He doesn't beat around the bush, but he's bitter and dry and sarcastic. Even as an old man, his anger and cynicism towards Freddy's shows in his drawings, but he has a sense of humor (the exotic butters and casual bongos referenced in the logbook, not to mention the silly drawings), plus he's sentimental (as said before, exotic butters and casual bongos). Not to mention he's stubborn as shit, given he keeps coming back to Freddy's, even after 30 whole years.

A lot of people also really like to write Michael off as being stupid, for... some reason. The games really say otherwise; the fact that he tampers with the animatronics regularly, figured out what his father did and what happened to Elizabeth in less than a week, freed the dead kids, helped make FFPS and ran a business, likely Also made the fnaf 3 location too, knew what was gonna happen to him in SL (pretty clear given the fact you can ignore Baby's directions on the last night), can manage several animatronics at once throughout an entire night...

Michael is very clearly Really Fucking Smart. Smart enough that I'm willing to bet that was one of the reasons why William sent him to the SL bunker. Michael is FAR from an idiot, and the FNAF movie even proves this further! He's SCARILY smart!

There's a lot more too; him using a red foxy mask speaks a lot to his character too. Red is often used to denote everything from passion to anger (yknow, 'seeing red' being a term for when you're blind with rage), and he wears it the entire time he bullies CC. It's not just a literal mask, it's figurative too; Michael puts up a mask of anger, he pretends to be this scary bully. The cruelty isn't real, Michael is just the scapegoat and he's acting out (very very common).

Also, Michael is 100% who you play as in fnaf 4 based on the movement, and who rubs away in Midnight Motorist. CC is the type of kid to freeze up, curl up into a ball and cry when he's scared, as seen several times in fnaf 4. It wouldn't make sense for him to suddenly turn around and start running around, or fighting back. It's very Michael to run around, constantly looking around, or to break out and run away.

Another note on Michael's character is that he's associated with Foxy. The Funtimes are clearly modeled after the Aftons (Ballora and Baby are, why wouldn't the rest match CC (Freddy) and Michael (Foxy)?), and using that we can gleam some parts of Michael from FT Foxy (since William clearly was trying to mock and make fun of him with the angsty teen voice). FT Foxy is a performer; he's dramatic, he's vicious, attacking even when he 'shouldn't', and wants his stage solely to himself.

This fits Michael; Michael put on an act of viciousness and cruelty, always attacking when you least expected it. So it makes sense that Michael, too, is a performer, and FFPS hammers this in using the business bear. Again, the mask represents Michael acting, pretending, and it wouldn't be the first time an Afton would pretend (William, Elizabeth, and to an extent, CC). The rest of the Aftons are also theatrical and dramatic, so again, this tracks. He's also represented as one of those hand puppets in the ffps alleyway poster, something used to ACT.

And again, with Foxy, we can gleam that Michael likely is also a sort of 'leader' figure, since Foxy has been depicted as not just a pirate captain, but also as a Ringleader. This also tracks, not just bc the Aftons have a circus theme, but Michael is the eldest of his siblings, and thus the de facto 'leader'. He's the first to act, to put things into motion when everything 'ends'. Foxy is also, well, a fox, which are depicted as cunning and intelligent, which only lends credence to Michael being intelligent.

It's also implied that Michael... doesn't really care about people who Aren't his family?? Whether that's by blood or not, he doesn't care abt others who isn't his family. This is implied by the fact that he only cared about freeing Elizabeth, showing absolutely No care about the Funtimes despite them clearly being sentient. Not to mention the lawsuits he regularly gets in FFPS, or the state Fazbears Frights is in in fnaf 3. And, judging by Henry's final speech, he and Michael just. Don't seem to talk At All. At the very least they definitely don't communicate since Henry assumed Michael wanted to die (which is left Very Ambiguous).

Honestly this doesn't even BEGIN to get into everything that the Glitchtrap Michael theory says about his character that also hammer in all of these traits Even Further.

And like. Michael is SOOO much like William when you put all of this into perspective. Like, they are SIMILAR similar, but differ in ways that are important. Michael is a performer, an actor, he doesn't care about anyone outside of his family, he's stubborn as fuck, he's smart as hell, he's sarcastic and dry, etc.

He has SO. MUCH. CHARACTER. You just have to dig a little- this is ALL gleamed from the games and Security Logbook. There's more if you believe he's Glitchtrap- which he very likely is.

Just... it's nuts. He's such an intriguing character, he's not perfect and he's morally gray, yet people love to dumb him down to "hehe sad uwu arsonist zombie boy who's also Stupid"

Please just let Michael be a problematic old man (he was born in the 60s ffs, he's almost in his 60s by the time ffps rolls around).

[laughtalelogs]

❄snow angel - sanji x reader❄

❄ day 1 - first snow, getting soaked, “your hands are so cold”  ❄ fandom/character(s) - one piece - sanji x reader ❄ warnings - fluff, no beta reader, use of terms like “princess” otherwise mostly gender neutral, no ending ❄ word count: 2.4k

this is the first day of the @12daysofchristmas challenge. this rushed asf and not edited. sorry no ending lmao, i had an ending in mind but If i stared at this any longer i was gonna bang my head against my keyboard :) tomorrow's zoro, so stay tuned! check out here to read more

The Sunny rocked in the gentle evening breeze, the sun retreated behind the horizon. Purple and orange hues stretched across the galley. A book laid heavy in your lap as you relaxed with the remnants of the crew after dinner. You had means to finish a chapter before you wound down. But, the rare, sweet peace made your body feel like lead. The soothing song of clinking dishes, muffled snoring, and soft scribbling filled the space with a cozy air. Since you joined the merry-band of pirates, you quickly learned that times of silence were few and far between. You wouldn’t dare disturb it. 

Nami hunched over her logbook next to you, charting a map with fervor. On the other side, Luffy rested on your shoulder. Food crumbs were scattered across his drooling mouth as he slept. Across the way, Sanji hummed a soft tune as he flitted around the room. The song pulled you in and with each note, you found yourself lost in thought, rereading the same words over again. 

From the corner of your eye, you felt the cook’s lingering gaze on you. Not that it bothered you; it gave you another reason to abandon your book. You both were playing a silent game 一 a game you had been playing for weeks. A game he was failing miserably at. 

Your eyes lock again for a moment, the darkened cerulean meeting yours with uncertain curiosity. 

You raised a playful brow, letting your eyes wander. His neck and jaw tightened, a splatter of red rising to his ears as his adam’s apple wavered in his throat. His tune faltered, and he quickly glanced away, fumbling with the cutlery he had in hand. You feel a chill run down your spine, trying to quell the trail of goosebumps on your arm. 

Nami let out a groan, looking at the porthole behind you. The wind rattled against the glass, and Luffy stirred, pressing closer to you for warmth.

"We're getting close to a winter island,” she announced, tapping her pen to the journal. "Expect snow in the morning."

 “Snow?” you felt your heart flip in your chest, excitement rising in your voice. “Like a lot of it?”

“...That’s right,” Nami smiled, pushing her glasses up the brim of her nose. “Should’ve remembered snow isn’t common for you.”

“Does frosted grass count?” you offer sheepishly.

Sanji chuckle grabbed your attention as he approached with a folded blanket tucked beneath his arm.

 “Here, you’ll be needing this, then,” He hands the soft fleece to you and you reach out, gentle fingers brushing yours. It was a quick, unassuming exchange. You stare at the crisp white linen of his shirt ruffled at the cuff, straining under his toned arm. 

 “I would hate to see you catch a chill,” He looks up at the ceiling, avoiding your eyes. He cleared his throat and whipped around, busying himself again. You mumble a weak ‘thank you’, ignoring how your fingers still burn from the feathered touch. You shimmy the warm fleece over you and Luffy’s shoulder. It smelled like smoked tobacco and vanilla extract, and you pushed the urge down to bury your nose in the fabric.

He turned to an unimpressed Nami. “Guessing soup or stew for tomorrow?” 

“Soup?” Your insatiable Captain groans in his sleep, a dazed smile playing on his drooling lips. 

Nami scoffed, rolling her eyes. A pen flies through the air and hits Luffy square between the eyes.

“Ow..! What was that for?” He croaked blearily,  rubbing his head.

“All you ever think about is food, I bet you were dreaming about it too.” She chides, closing her journal with a soft thud, collecting her things. “Come on, time for bed. Tell the others about the snow.”

“It’s snowing?!” Luffy boomed, soaring up, wide-eyed with joy. The blanket fell off your once-taken shoulder.

“Not now, later.” Nami re-iterated with annoyance. “Come on,”

“Night, you two,” “G’Night guys!”

And with that, the galleyway soon was draped in another tranquil silence. With how cold the temperature was dropping, you wouldn’t have been surprised if it was snowing right now. You pull the blanket towards you closer, brain racing with the promises of a new experience tomorrow. You had joined the straw hats out of desperation for adventure, to see the world for more than what your tropical island could offer. Now, it felt like it was finally paying off.

“Excited?” Sanji’s voice jerked you out of your thoughts. You look up, watching him polish spoons like second nature, blonde hair falling like golden silk in front of his eyes. 

“Uh- yeah, ” You mumbled into the fleece, burying yourself further. “I guess you say that,”

“Come on,” He throws the towel over his shoulder, voice low and teasing, “ indulge me, sweetheart.” 

Ignoring the way your stomach flips at the deep rumble of his voice, you give in. 

“I dunno, it’s just,” You admit, shifting in your seat, “There’s only so much reading you can do before you wonder what it would be, ya’know?” You stare down at the forgotten book, closing it and placing it on the table.

“I think I get what you mean,” The tenderness in his voice caught you off guard as he continued. “-beauty like that you can only witness in person, no words would do it justice,” When you meet his kind gaze again, your mind goes blank, and you have to remember how to breathe.

“S-so true,” You cleared your throat, mouth impossibly dry. “Well, u-uh, let me get ready for bed, I want to be the first one up!” You jumped up, the blanket forgotten on the bench as the pen in your lap clattered to the ground. You scuttled quickly out the galley way with a rushed ‘good night!’, leaving Sanji as the last one standing. 

Sanji blinked, and sighed, staring at the door where you had left. His shoulders drooped low at the brief, sweet moment. He fished in his pocket for a cigarette, shaking his head.  He lit the cigarette and watched hot smoke curl in the cool air. He lets his mind wander to the promise of tomorrow, the promise of seeing you again. 

“Goodnight, Princess.” He murmured out to the empty room. 

-

That chilly night you tossed and turned. Even as your body thrummed with hot adrenaline, you shivered. As much as you tried to bundle yourself deeper into your blankets, the cold seeped into your bones. Your nose and cheeks burned from the chill. You stared out the porthole, watching the clear black of night until you drifted off to sleep.

-

You wake up with a start. Bright white light shines in, and you look over at the others, who are still fast asleep. Nami’s soft snores and Robin’s even breathing are muffled by their blankets. You slowly peel the covers away, hissing at the cold that bites your skin. Excited breaths plume in the air like smoke, as you tip-toe slowly out the room. Opening the door, the sight blows you away, air escaping your lungs. You didn’t think it would be this magnificent. Soft snow covered the tops of everything in a thick layer of bright white made you squint. The rising sun shot gorgeous rays of yellow across the falling snow, sparkling in the morning light. 

An icy blast of cool wet air brushes past your legs and feet, and you quickly shut the door to not disturb the women sleeping. Your barren feet take their first steps onto the deck, and you barely can contain your excitement with each skip you take down towards mens quarters, you couldn’t be the only person to witness this. Thinking back to your conversation with Sanji last night, heat fills your body even as your toes begin to turn numb.

 Fresh footprints lead you to the door, and you quickly slip inside. enveloped in a loud chorus of groans and snores. You scan the room as your feet heat up on the solid wood. You tiptoed over Zoro and Chopper who huddled for warmth. Past Usopp and Luffy’s hammock, you looked for a tuft of blonde hair with no luck. You cursed under your breath. He must be up already, you thought. You turn behind, looking at your sleeping Captain. 

Guess he would do. You poke at his cheek softly.

“Pstt.. Luffy..” He groaned, swatting your finger away and turned over. You shake him this time, watching his head jostle around. “wake up, it's snowing, come o-” 

“SNOW?!” His eyes shoot open, screaming at the top of his lungs. The rest of the cabin jumped up with a bewildered confusion. Before you could apologize, Luffy was grabbing Usopp by the nose and you by the wrist, pulling you out onto the deck.

-

You screamed as you skipped around the deck. The snow crunched under your feet, the frigid air biting your exposed skin as soaked in the new sensation. You squeal as you flounce around,the fresh snow upturned by each step.  

-

Sanji watched from the doorway curiously, and he couldn’t help the cheesy smile stretching his face. God, you were gorgeous like this, He thought. He watched you play in the snow with wonderment, Luffy and Usopp’s cheers muffled in the background. How could he deny himself with the pleasure of watching you? You were like a dream, something he was convinced he conjured in his brain to torture himself with. 

All night, he was awake, picturing your first moments in the winter, how you would glow against the snow. How the snowflakes would fall on your eyelashes, begging him to swipe them away.  He imagined would be able to provide you with warmth after a day of reliving your childhood anyway you needed him to, if you willed it. These thoughts plagued him well into the night, till the sun threatened to peek over the horizon as he watched out the port hole as it began to fog over with frost, too late into the morning to fall asleep. He rubbed his tired eyes, the sight of you absolutely vibrant with joy fueling his exhausted and needy heart. 

Even with his answered prayers, he couldn’t help but worry about your lack of clothes. Where the hell were your coat and shoes? He worried on his bottom lip, glancing at the ice bitten soles of your feet, trying to keep his eyes away from the way your shirt rode up with every leap forward.

 Had he been careless? He felt responsible for your lack of winter preparedness. His brows furled in worry as he watched you slip onto your back. 

His stomach dropped. He vaulted over the railing, dress shoes sinking into the frigid snow. With each determined flounce towards you, his socks became sodden with cold water.

 “You alright, gorgeous? Where’s your coat and shoes?” He flits above you nervously, his shallow breaths fogging in the crisp winter air. 

“You’ll freeze solid in this weathe-” He was cut off by your floaty laughter, his heart seized and banged rapidly against his ribs. 

“This is so much fun,” You laughed, arms outstretched as you made snow angels below him, beaming with happiness. “Join me Sanji!”

His brain was short-circuiting as he stood there with his mouth agape. Everything in his body wanted to get him into the snow next to you, to bury his hands into your side and roll around in the fluff, but looking at your bright red palms made him stop.

 “No, We need to get ready first, up you go,” He holds out a hand, and you whine in protest, but begrudgingly take his hand. He hisses at the soft cold hand, clasping it gently as he pulls you up. 

“Your hands are so cold...” He murmured. Without thought, he rubs your fingers softly in his hand, his curly eyebrows furrowing. A chill runs through your spine, but you feel like you're sweating at the soft touch. 

He slowly brings life back into your fingers as you stare in silence.His other hand catches yours and he cupped them gently, bringing them to his chapped, pink lips. They form into a soft ‘o’ as he exhales balmy, heavy breaths into your trembling fingers. Even with the winter that surrounded you, you were going to melt into the deck of the Sunny if he continued. You squeeze your eyes shut and look away. It was all too much. 

You squirm under the touch, but don’t pull away. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Yes I do,” He shakes his head, cheeks dusting pink, “Wouldn’t want any of these pretty fingers to freeze and fall off, right?” You don’t respond, staring at your feet. He always had a way with words that left you speechless. His gaze follows your, smacking his teeth. 

“You’re killing me,” He sighed, before dropping your hands, “Up you go,” With a swift movement, your frozen feet are swept off the ground. You let out a small noise of protest, but quickly wrapped your arms around his neck. 

“But the others-” 

“-Are complete idiots. You can come back out here later when you have appropriate winter clothes.” He made quick, determined strides towards the galley door swinging it open. Sweltering heat embraced you as he placed you on the bench, the smell of tomato and garlic wafting in the air. 

“Let's warm up and dry off first. I’ll make you hot chocolate, too.” He rambled, clasping his hands together as he scanned the room, “Or would you rather have cider? You think on that,  I’ll be back in one minute, my little snow angel.”

As quick as he leaves, he’s back again, shutting the frigid air out. “I brought a towel, a change of clothes, and a spare coat. Nami picked them out, don’t worry, I didn’t want-” 

“Someone’s mothering me right now,” You finally cut him off.

You watch his windburned face twist in embarrassment. “Someone has to, don't they?”

“And that someone should be you?” You tease with no bite in your words, but shift uncomfortably in your seat. The more you warmed up, the more you were hyperaware how your soaked t-shirt clung to your back, dripping onto your legs. 

You weren’t the only one who had notice, when a towel was shoved quickly in front of your face. Sanji’s eyes glued to the ceiling. You take it, wiping and patting yourself dry from the melted snow. 

what a weird way to end a fic ik i suck for it, but I got pretty uninspired there at the end. I have so many ideas but I suck at the romance sometimes. I used to rp a lot eons ago when I was a teenager and am just really trying to gain confidence in my writing again after that trauma, iykyk LMAO

I dunno if i’ll come back to edit this or finish my idea. Let me know if you liked it though!

wanna read more? check out my other fics (x)

[strawhat-pirates]

I think Luffy talked about his brother, Ace, a lot

Before Marineford I mean. Maybe right after Alabasta where the rest of the crew first met Ace

They knew how much Ace meant to Luffy very well. So when they eventually receive news about Ace...

They all had one thought: I need to be there for Luffy.

[thebaffledcaptain]

Been doing some more transcription work and I've just been consistently delighted by what I find in this logbook, so I present:

A collection of delightfully imperfect doodles from the first several pages of George E. Folger's logbook of the whaleship Mariner from 1840-44

Starting off strong with a lovely bird and an American flag right on the inside front cover, under where his name is written out in big block letters (not pictured).

...and immediately cutting to this funky little man. We've got a little bit of Picasso going on.

Here's a lovely 18th century gentleman. I’m not sure who he is but he’s actually quite... proportionate (I mean no offense to some of his other drawings, but... well, you'll see) and the shading is excellent! I feel like he must have had a reference.

Another 18th century gentleman. If he looks familiar to you, I’m pretty sure this is just Thomas Jefferson—he looks remarkably similar to George Healy's portrait of him. Once again I feel Folger must have been working from reference.

(More under the cut)

Oh. Hello. (Maybe no reference on this one.)

Another bird, in a similar position to the first one.

Ah. You don't look... quite finished.

Had to include this one because of how intricate this is—"A Breech Loading Shot Gun."

Does this look a little like John Adams to you? I want to say it's this portrait judging from the buttons on the waistcoat. The wig is not the same, I know… if anyone can identify a more similar portrait or subject, I'd be curious.

Two drawings on this page. Not sure who the first man is but the second one looks like another Jefferson.

I figure I'll end for now with this fantastic macaroni. I can only imagine he's from the author's imagination with the 18th-century getup but the rather 19th-century hair and mustache. Either way, I'm fond of him.

It just brings me so much joy to look at this logbook—as always, it's so human. He loved to doodle, so much so that he would do it over his writing and sketch paintings of the presidents and little characters he came up with... I find it so endearing.