#foredeck

[ashleyriverboatworks]

Restoring the wood on a Riva Iseo

  Sun and moisture have severely damaged the wood veneer of the foredeck.   One fine June day, a 2013 Riva Iseo showed up at the shop after the owner asked if I could do varnish work on a wooden deck.  He had purchased the boat used from someone in Miami, FL. Continue reading Untitled

[smuclge]

I certainly dont have the skills atm to do it from scratch but I think I know juuuust enough blender to alter some thingiverse files and print up a full pirate ship for my pathfinder game

[jim-webster]

Harken to the music of the children of the night

Rumwigeon Tarpeddle was a man who loved flowers. He was by inclination a gardener and otherwise was never happier than pottering amongst his plants. The problem arose because he lived in the Warrens. These are huge brick buildings, many stories tall, and he was lucky to have a whole room to himself many floors up. Now obviously he could have a window box. Many do. But Tarpeddle took it further.…

[halfvalid]

Hiii! If its no trouble could I have a zoro and reader fic with the one bed trope? The others know about their crushes on each other so they force each other to share a room? Anyway they end up cuddling and its all cute (the others will tease them forever about it lol)?? Thankss

intertwined ribbons

ABOUT

alternate title: opla zoro makes my hated tropes less hated

rating: general audiences/teen & up

characters: live action!roronoa zoro | fem!reader | live action!nami | live action!straw hats ensemble

pairing: live action!roronoa zoro x fem!reader

word count: 4.9k

description: unbeknownst to you, your crush on zoro is reciprocated. the rest of the straw hats take it upon themselves to get you together by locking you in his bedroom overnight.

tags: strawhat!reader, only one bed, forced proximity, confessions, no use of 'y/n', nami is a true instigator, cuddling, soft zoro, humor

author's note: thank you so much for the request and i hope it meets your expectations!! fun fact i actually used to hate the 'only one bed' trope, so i decided to challenge myself in writing this. and i think it's one of my fave tropes now lol

(you have an inner spirit that helps you make decisions except it’s just nami.)

“I just think that maybe you should stop avoiding him,” Nami started. You bit your cheek, ignoring her as you tied up the last of the ship’s rigging into a careful knot. Nami had been going on for the past few minutes, and you’d zoned out exactly three seconds in, when the name Zoro had first been spoken. Because of this reason you weren’t really listening, so you blinked up at her in confusion. 

“Sorry? Who am I avoiding?” 

“You’re impossible,” Nami grumbled. “And you know exactly who I’m talking about.” Which, well, fair. The math added up: you heard the word Zoro, you stopped listening, Nami continued talking until she realized you’d stopped listening. “Especially since you’re, you know—” she gave you another look, eyes rolling over to stare dead into yours— “Avoiding him.” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you said innocently. Nami sighed, leaning over to tug the rope dangling from your hands out of your grip. You tried to reach back for it, but she didn’t let you. “Hey!” 

“Yes, you do. Face it. You’re avoiding Zoro.” 

You made a face at her. “I think there are ropes on the foredeck that I can attend to.” 

“No, there aren’t,” Nami answered. “Now stop changing the subject. There’s this wild concept called communication. It works wonders.” 

“Says you,” you muttered, though your arms crossed defensively across your chest. You noticed the action after a split-second and unwound your arms with a scowl. “Look, I just don’t see the point. And I haven’t been avoiding him.” 

You were, in fact, avoiding him. Ever since that dreadful night a week ago when Nami had gotten you tipsy and stuck her hand in your chest cavity fishing for secrets, you’d been avoiding him. The other girl was ridiculously good at prying truths out of you, and during the conversation, you’d accidentally spilled your crush on the Straw Hat crew’s resident swordsman. 

You’d managed to keep the secret for the months you’d been together, wherein the unfortunate feelings had developed, and you should’ve figured once somebody knew they wouldn’t leave you alone about it. Because Nami refused to talk about literally anything else. You’d expected this sort of behavior from Luffy, or maybe Sanji, but Nami? The world was more amatonormative than you'd thought. 

Nami cast you a look. “You’re blushing.” 

“Am not.”

“Are too. What’s the harm in talking to him?” Nami demanded, one hand on her hip as she stared you down. You gaped at her. 

“Um, literally everything? One, Zoro can’t talk about feelings or emotions for shit, so when he rejects me it’ll be in the most excruciating, offhand manner that will probably leave me at the bottom of a barrel of rum, two, after being rejected I’m going to have to leave the Straw Hats, three—”

Nami rolled her eyes, looking increasingly fed up with you. “For someone so obsessed with not telling our resident grass-headed swordsman about your feelings for him, you’re talking rather loudly.” 

You shut up, snapping your jaw closed with a glare. “Stop it,” you hissed. 

“Besides, who knows if he actually will reject you?” Nami turned to work on the next section of rigging, glancing over her shoulder at you. “You’re catastrophizing.” 

“I’m being realistic,” you snapped. “Okay, fine. He reciprocates my feelings. Then what? We date, we break up because all relationships eventually end, it becomes awkward, and—voila—I’ll have to leave the Straw Hats anyway. It’s a bad idea all around.” 

Nami just let out a huff of breath, the exhale laced with irritation. “Catastrophizing,” she repeated. 

“I am not—”

“Sure. Go help Sanji with dinner.” 

You gave her an exasperated look, but at this point Nami wasn’t paying attention anymore, so you stormed off into the underbelly of the Going Merry. Speak of the devil, apparently, because once you entered the kitchen you spotted not only Sanji occupying it but also Zoro. He was lounging at the table, swords strapped to his waist and a bottle of something he was nursing in hand. 

You averted your gaze from him, head running a million miles a minute. Had he noticed you’d been avoiding him? You’d tried to be furtive about it, but if Nami had noticed, maybe—

“Well, hello there,” Sanji called from where he was in the midst of dinner preparations. “Come to help?” 

“Nami sent me,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest. “I think she’s appointed herself queen of the Going Merry.” 

“Oh, she did that long ago,” Sanji chided. “You’re only noticing it now. Pick up a knife, then. I’d like some help dicing the carrots.” 

You stiffly moved over to the counter, ignoring Zoro as you went even as you felt his gaze following your figure. You picked up the first knife you found, positioning yourself in front of the cutting board to start dicing the vegetables already laid out for you. Abruptly, Zoro stood up. 

“Heading out,” he muttered. “Call me when dinner’s ready.” 

With that, he left the room, leaving you and Sanji to exchange looks. “He’s moody today,” you said. 

“Probably ‘cause you’ve been avoiding him.” 

You felt the familiar pinprick of a blush starting to warm your cheeks. “You too?” 

“You’re rather obvious about it,” Sanji said with a raised eyebrow. “But enough of that.” Weirdly enough, he didn’t seem to question why. There was no way Nami had told him, so you were left confused, but no matter. The point was that for now, you were safe. 

The hour dipped to evening, and soon the moon was glowing in the sky, a shining beacon of white amidst the ocean of stars and shimmering sea. You suppressed a yawn, busing the dishes from dinner as the rest of the crew got up from their respective seats to dissolve to their own rooms. Zoro had already retired for the night—if you were avoiding him, he seemed to be doing the exact same—so at least you didn’t have that to worry about. 

“Ah, wait,” Nami said, after you’d finished washing the dishes and was ready to head out. “Zoro wants to talk to you.” 

You jolted, glancing nervously around you before grabbing her wrist. “What did you do?” you hissed. Nami just laughed. 

“Calm down. I didn’t do anything.” Off your glare, she relented. “I promise. And I swear it’s not about feelings or emotions or whatever. Even though it’s obvious you’re avoiding him, you know Zoro wouldn’t say anything.” 

You were still suspicious, but you dropped your hand. “What, then?” 

Nami shrugged, tilting her chin up just so. “I guess you’re going to have to find out.” 

“I don’t trust you,” you muttered. There was that look in her eye, the one she got whenever she was thinking of something truly devious. Still, you couldn’t figure out what she was up to, so— “Fine, I’ll go to his room. Walk me.” 

Nami rolled her eyes, but she fell into step with you as you made your way across the ship. “You should bring it up to him, you know,” she started, but silenced after your sharp glare. “Okay, okay. I get the point. I’ll stop bothering you about it.” 

You stopped by the mouth of Zoro’s door. “Wait, really?” 

“Yes, really,” Nami said with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. She leaned against the wall beside the door, arms crossing over her chest. “I’ll leave you alone about Mr. Prince Charming over there. Knock.” 

“You can't call him Mr. Prince Charming,” you said, though you did knock. “Prince’ is already a title.” 

Nami gave you a look. “Okay, smart-ass.” 

The door creaked open before you could give your response, and you turned, heart pounding in your throat as Zoro stared down at you. His arm was propped up by the open doorway, the other hand still clutching the doorknob. “What.” 

“Um, Nami said that you wanted to talk—” you swiveled your head towards the other girl, but before you could finish your sentence, Nami was raising up your arm and unceremoniously shoving you into the room. 

You shrieked in surprise as you fell into Zoro’s figure, stumbling into him and causing him to lose his balance. Your head shot up in offense, only to see the gleam of a golden padlock in Nami’s hand before she was yanking the door closed.

A dull click echoed through the room. The only thing you could hear for a few seconds was your own heavy breathing and the sound of Zoro gathering himself.

“Did she just—” You gaped at the closed door. “Lock us in?” 

Zoro swiftly pushed past you, jiggling the doorknob for a few moments before giving up. Sure enough, Nami had sealed it with the padlock from the outside, so there was no possibility of either of you getting out of the room. You could vaguely hear sounds from the outside—dull thuds and scrapes—and watched as Zoro started banging on the door. 

“Nami,” he called, voice dangerously low. “Let us out.” 

“Sorry, Zoro!” Your jaw practically unhinged from your skull once you heard your captain’s familiar voice, all bright and cheerful like always. “We’re putting barrels in front of the door, so don’t even try breaking it down. Have a good night!” 

“Luffy? What are you—” Zoro’s knocking quickened in pace, his voice getting increasingly louder. There was no response from outside, though you could hear snickers that sounded suspiciously like Usopp. What was going on? 

You kicked into action, joining Zoro by the door and trying the door handle again. “Nami!” you yelled. 

Nami’s soft laugh came from outside. “Sorry!” she called. “We’ll let you out in the morning.”

You gaped at the door, only aware of Zoro’s gaze sliding down to you as you dropped your hand from the doorknob. There were some more tigers from outside, and then receding footsteps. Zoro tried knocking one last time, but it was evident that the rest of the crew had all but abandoned you. 

“Okay,” Zoro muttered, moving away from the door. “I need a drink.” 

You watched him move across the room, picking up a glass from his bedside table that was only slightly full. He knocked it back in one swallow, Adam’s apple bobbing with the motion. “Um, what now?” you asked uncomfortably. 

“Nothing. Whatever,” Zoro said, turning to glance over at you. After a moment’s thought, you noticed that he refused to look you in his eye—his gaze was firmly trained at a spot beside your head. He turned away, stripping off his sword scabbard and setting them on the floor. 

You glanced around nervously. Zoro’s room wasn’t that different from yours, really—less decorated, but the constitution was the same. There was the bed, a wardrobe, a desk with various paraphernalia across it, and a little couch in the corner too. “You can look through the closet for something to sleep in. I’ll take the chair.” 

The words didn’t register at first, and you were left standing there, staring as Zoro kicked off his shoes and assumedly started getting ready to sleep. “Um, what?” 

Zoro glanced over his shoulder. He still wouldn’t look you in the eye. “They’re not letting us out until morning,” he said slowly. “You can take the bed. Might as well sleep.” 

“It’s your room,” you started, crossing your arms. “I can sleep in the chair. I’m smaller than you, anyway, so I’ll fit it better.” 

Zoro regarded you with such a reproachful look you almost wanted to laugh. “That’s ridiculous. Change.” With that, he turned around, leaving no room for discussion. You stared at him for a second before giving up, moving to his wardrobe and opening it up to search for something to sleep in. 

“So, uh, any ideas on why they stuck us in here?” You asked, although you already knew the answer. Whatever Nami thought locking you in a room with Zoro would achieve, you were stubbornly not going to let her be right. God, you were so going to kill her once you got out of there. 

“Nope,” Zoro said, with such a degree of finality you figured it wouldn’t be safe to question him further. “They’re just stupid.” 

“I mean, I feel like they would have a motive?” You rifled through his clothes, trying very hard to detach them from their owner. Wearing Zoro’s clothes was not something you wanted your mind to linger upon. Eventually you found a shirt of his that would undoubtedly be oversized on you, and you hastily changed into it, satisfied to find it draped well to your knees so you weren’t exposing too much skin. 

You stole a glance over your shoulder at Zoro, only to catch him in the action of peeling his shirt off. The stretch of the muscles in his back gleamed in the dim light of the room, and you tore your gaze away, heat rushing to your face. “Um. Anything?” 

“Nope,” Zoro repeated. Carefully, you closed the wardrobe door, lingering in one spot with your hands clenched together. Once you heard him start moving again, you deemed it safe enough to turn towards the rest of the room. He’d changed into a loose tan shirt, and had settled back into the chair. 

“I said I’d take the chair,” you told him hotly. 

“Yeah, and I said no,” Zoro said, tone dismissive. He had his eyes closed, and you stared at him in disbelief. 

“I’m not sleeping in your bed,” you said, and then, just to emphasize your point, plopped down on the floor. Zoro cracked an eye open and stared down at you. He sighed. 

“Get up. Don’t be stupid.” 

“I’m not being stupid,” you said. “It’s your room. It’s your bed. You will sleep on it. If you’re not giving me the chair, I’ll sleep on the floor.” 

Zoro let out a long sigh, closing both his eyes as if he was contemplating all his life decisions. “I’m not sleeping in the bed, you know,” he said. 

“Okay, so neither of us do.” 

Zoro’s brows creased, and he opened his eyes to glare down at you. “Seriously? At least take the chair, then. I’ll sleep on the flo—”

You gave him a sharp look. “Zoro.” 

“This conversation isn’t getting anywhere,” Zoro muttered, and finally got up from his chair. You glanced up at him expectantly. “What can I do to convince you to take the bed?” 

“Uh, nothing.” 

“We can work out a compromise,” Zoro said with a sigh. “I want you on it, and you want me on it, and neither of us are willing to take it ourselves.” He paused, brow creasing as an idea seemed to form in his head—one he didn’t seem to be a giant fan of, but an idea nonetheless. “How about.” His lips pursed, before he parted them again to finish his sentence. “How about we both take it?” 

It felt like someone had hit you square in the chest, air kicking out of your lungs and leaving you gasping for breath. Your windpipe was all raw, and you had to fight to tear any words out from your throat. “Ex—excuse me?” 

“It’s big enough,” Zoro said stiffly, though his hands were clenched at his sides. “I can take one side and you can take the other. Since you’re so dead-set on me sleeping on it.” 

“I—” You cut yourself off, suddenly far too aware of Zoro’s eyes fixed on you. Watching your every move. Oh, Nami was in for it now. How were you supposed to survive sleeping in the same bed as—you didn’t even want to think about it. 

“Well?” Zoro prompted. 

“Fine,” you agreed hastily, ducking your head lest Zoro catch any of the flush that was undoubtedly rising steadily up your cheeks. It was bad enough you were stuck in his bedroom and wearing his clothes—but this had quickly become your own personal circle of hell. “Good enough for me.” 

“Finally.” With that, Zoro climbed into bed, settling himself on the very edge of its side. Your throat had gone dry, and you stared at him for another second before hurriedly turning away to flick the lights off. You approached the other side of the bed with an extreme lack of enthusiasm, staring at the empty sheets like they were cackling up at you. Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

Eventually you slid into the bed, busying yourself with arranging the blankets around your figure. Zoro’s breaths were steady and deep from beside you. You didn’t know what to do for a second, but then Zoro’s voice was cutting through the darkness. “You’ve been avoiding me.” 

You jolted, then suppressed your sigh. “Have not.” 

“Yes, you have, and everyone knows it, and you’re not very subtle,” Zoro said, sounding almost bored as he rattled off the words. “Why.” 

“I haven’t—”

“Don’t.” 

You ran your tongue along your teeth, sucking at the valleys between them in annoyance. “It’s not important.” 

Zoro paused before speaking, like he was mulling over asking the question. “Did I do something?” 

“What? No.” You shook your head, despite knowing he wouldn’t be able to see. The sound did well enough to indicate the action to him, though—he scoffed, a low murmur from his chest that buzzed through your nerves. “I don’t want to talk about this. You’re giving the rest of the crew what they want.” 

“They definitely did not lock you in here to talk about why you’re avoiding me,” Zoro muttered. Now it was your turn to scoff, because if only he knew. “Are you sure I didn’t do anything?" 

“Positive. It’s all me.” 

“Okay, so why?” Zoro prompted. You swallowed hard, trying to dodge around the subject. “Are you sure—”

“Please just stop talking,” you said, one hand reaching out to grip his arm as if the physical contact would make him shut up. There was a stagnant moment of silence, your breath catching as your brain caught up to your body. Your hand was on Zoro’s arm. Your hand was on Zoro’s bicep, and you were in his bed. 

You cleared your throat, a panicked choke bursting from your lungs. “Um.” Your eyes skittered sideways, and then you finally turned on your side to stare at him. To stare at where your hand was still clutched around his arm.

You could just barely make out the angle of his jaw in the darkness, but you could see it was clenched, the vein along his neck protruding just slightly. Hastily, you removed your hand, the skin of your fingers tingling like you could still feel him underneath the tips. “Sorry. Why—why are you so certain that you did something for me to avoid you?” 

There were a few moments of silence that ticked by, nothing but the rock of the ship interrupting it. Finally, Zoro spoke. “Because the reason they locked you in my room is because—”

“What? The reason they locked me in your room is because of me,” you said. Zoro finally moved from his position, head tilting to face yours so you were eye-to-eye. You swallowed. “Nami, um—Nami specifically forced me in here so I would… talk to you.” 

There was a question evident in Zoro’s voice. “About?” 

Your lips parted, and then closed again. “Um.” 

“We can just sleep, if you want,” Zoro muttered. 

“What if they don’t let us out in the morning because we haven’t talked, though?” you hissed. Zoro let out a low laugh. 

“You realize you’re giving them exactly what they want.” 

“So you’d be more comfortable if we just… fell asleep?” you asked. Zoro shrugged. Since you weren’t exactly averse to the idea of not confessing, you nodded in agreement, heart beating a million miles a second. “Okay. Fine by me.” 

You settled back into your pillow, but soon came to realize that, due to the fluttering butterflies in your stomach and the fact you were very aware of the man of your affections being barely a foot to your right, you could not sleep. Evidently Zoro felt the same way, because he kept shifting around under the blankets—your hands brushed against each other a few times before he jolted away like you’d burnt him. 

“Sorry,” you muttered. Zoro didn’t say anything in response. Somewhere in the back of your head, you could hear Nami hissing at you—I didn’t shove you in a room with Mr. Prince Charming just for you to not take advantage of the opportunity. You tried to get her out of your brain—it was a bad idea all around—but the words kept reverberating around in your mind until you found yourself suddenly speaking. “Zoro?” 

“Hm?” 

“Nami stuck me in here so I would tell you that, um—” 

“You don’t have to say it,” Zoro murmured, and you shivered, his voice sounding suddenly closer. You squirmed, your hand brushing against Zoro’s again, except this time it took him a delayed moment to drift away. He had gotten closer—or maybe that was you, instinctually leaning towards the dip in the middle of the bed when you’d been lost in thought. 

“The reason they locked me in here with you is so I would tell you about my feelings towards you,” you blurted, the words slurring together, consonants and syllables all in one rush. “Because I have them. Feelings, I mean.”

Zoro’s voice was very low when he spoke. “Excuse me?” 

You sat straight up, the blankets previously nestled around your chin falling to your waist. “I have feelings for you and that’s why everyone locked me in here.” 

“I—” Zoro coughed, and then coughed again, ridding his throat of whatever was preventing him from making full sentences. He slowly sat up, and you stared down at the blankets in your lap as you saw him rise to his full height beside you. And oh, this was it. He was about to reject you in the most excruciating, offhand manner that would probably leave you at the bottom of a barrel of rum. “That’s not possible.” 

“Why is that—” you decided to shut up instead of finishing your sentence, allowing him to speak instead. There was a soft burning starting at your skin, all red hot, and your brain buzzed, regret filling up your lungs and making it hard to breathe. 

Zoro didn’t say anything, but you heard his hand before you felt it. It slid across the bedsheets before finally resting beside yours, fingertips grazing against your knuckles. “Zoro?” you whispered. 

“The reason they locked you in here with me is so I would tell you about my feelings towards you,” Zoro said blankly. You blinked. It took you a moment to realize that he wasn’t just quoting you—that he hadn’t switched the pronouns accordingly. Your heart dropped. 

Your voice was very faint when you spoke. “What?” 

“I like you,” Zoro said carefully. Languidly, the words dripping off his tongue all saccharine-sweet like molasses, or honey. You shivered, your hand accidentally knocking against his, and he took the opportunity to draw it in closer, fingers pushing up your palm, just a hair’s breadth away from interlacing with yours. “Luffy unfortunately found out. He doesn’t know how to keep a secret and told the rest of the crew.” 

You gaped at him. “I like you,” you said, dumbfounded. You could feel yourself trembling, fingers sliding against Zoro’s hand with every shake. “Nami yanked it out of me. Which is why I’ve been avoiding you for the past week.” 

“I thought you were avoiding me because you found out I liked you,” Zoro muttered. His fingertips brushed against the pads of your hand, and you swallowed, mouth all dry. “So.” 

You tentatively lifted your gaze, finding Zoro’s eyes even amidst the darkness. They were shining, a slight glint from the moon coming in through the window reflecting along the shadows of his face. Carefully, his hand slid fully into yours, fingers lacing together, and it was like the final piece of a puzzle clicking into place. 

Zoro slid back down onto his back, tugging you along with him. You settled back on your pillow, using your other hand to pull the blankets back over your chest. For a full stagnant minute the two of you lay there, hands intertwined in the space between. 

You were the one who made the first move, then, thumb running up and down the length of his index finger. Zoro ran with the action, tugging your hand just slightly until you were leaning into the dip of the mattress, gravity pulling you closer to his body. 

He lifted your entwined hands, tugging you towards him until your back was pressed right to his chest. Then he settled your arms back down again, the back of his palm resting against your belly. 

You swallowed hard, able to hear the sound of your throat in the utter silence. Zoro exhaled, his breath softly brushing against your neck. “Good night,” you whispered. 

Zoro pressed a soft kiss to the nape of your neck, a ghost of something that left tingles fluttering down your spine, the drunken butterflies in your stomach swaying at the action. “Good night,” he murmured, and your breath caught. 

He was warm, oh so warm, like a campfire with licks of flame that softened your hands in the dead of night. And even though you wanted to speak up, question when he’d started liking you, if he was lying or not—you were content to stay here in his arms and drift off to sleep.

So you did, settling back into his embrace with your head spinning and senses murmuring, all dizzy like you were caught in a dream. Eventually, your tiredness got the better of you, and you felt your senses fading as the world around you darkened to black. 

The two of you jolted awake to the knocking and the very unpleasant hum of Nami’s voice. “Rise and shine!” she called through the door, and you blinked, bleary eyes adjusting to the light as you suppressed your yawn. 

Zoro jolted up beside you, practically giving you whiplash as his arm was still comfortably around your waist. Your fingers tingled, and you realized that you’d fallen asleep with your hands laced together. 

“Nami,” you grumbled, about to rise out of bed before Zoro stopped you. You turned towards him in question, only to stop short as you registered the look in his eyes. His gaze was deep, piercing; those butterflies rose up again in your stomach, apparently awake after they’d passed out from their drunken stupor. You swallowed. “Hi?” 

“Hey,” he murmured. “They locked you in my room.” 

“I’m going to knock Nami over the head with a rowboat oar,” you said blandly, eyes flickering towards the door, which Nami was still pounding on. You vaguely heard shuffling sounds, like the crew were working to move the barrels they’d stuck in front of the door to free you from your prison. “You can have the rest of them, if you want.” 

“I’ll take you up on that offer,” Zoro agreed. “But first…” 

“First?” you prompted. 

Zoro brought your hands—still intertwined—to his mouth, pressing a gentle kiss along your knuckles. “Good morning,” he said, voice low and awkward, like he wasn’t used to letting the words out of his mouth. He let your hands drift to his lap, leaning forward until his forehead brushed against yours.

A faint sigh escaped your lips when he finally kissed you. It wasn’t rough or hard; it was a soft press, like your hands had been just a few hours ago. There was a degree of finality to it; a held-in breath that’d exhaled from your lungs, one you hadn’t realized was building up that much pressure until you finally let it all go. 

The door flung open, and you jolted away, but Zoro tilted your head back towards him before you could. At the mouth of the room, Luffy had started screaming. “Aww,” Nami cooed. Behind her, Usopp and Sanji were gripping onto each other like they were watching a particularly engaging fight. 

A steady blush rose along your cheeks, but Zoro was absolutely shameless, the hand not held in yours raising up to give them the finger. “Get out of my room.”

“Told you it’d be okay,” Nami sing-songed, and then you really did break away from Zoro, picking up the object nearest to you and barrelling towards her. She shrieked, dodging out of the doorway as Zoro laughed from behind you.

“Wait!” she stopped you from whacking your pillow against her head, raising up her arms in defense. “I was right. I saw you two—” 

“Nami,” you started, dangerously low. “You locked me in his room.”

“Yeah, to help you!” she cried defensively, slowly taking backwards steps as you gained on her. “Come on. We can talk about this.” 

“Good luck,” Zoro called out from behind you—you turned around, catching his gaze. He had gotten up, leaning against the doorway and watching you with a sparkle of fondness in his eye. “You’ll need it.” 

You blew him a kiss, ignoring the long groan it pulled out of Luffy from beside Zoro in the hallway. And then you turned around. Nami had darted off, taking the time you’d been distracted to run off. “Oh no you don’t!” you yelled, and then lunged after her with Zoro laughing all the while. 

Maybe it hadn’t been such a bad thing, you thought. But you were still going to beat Nami’s ass. 

© halfvalid 2023

[revasserium]

Hey, can I request zoro x reader (established relationship) where the Strawhats end up going to reader’s home island (unknown to anyone in the group aside from reader), and the reader is super nervous and refuses to leave the boat, so the crew goes out and walk around and they find a missing/wanted poster of the reader and find out she’s a run away princess that needed to be. Later they coke to find out that reader ran away cause her parents and the servants mistreated and was about to marry her off to a violent prince

opla requests are: open

lips on every cross

opla!zoro; 5,989 words; fem!reader, semi-established?? relationship, posessive!zoro, strawhat!reader, no "y/n", reader gets kidnapped, fluff and angst, very brief! mentions of past familial abuse and trauma, nicknames ("Princess"), slow-ish burn???, more plot than not

summary: zoro has never thought himself a holy man. but he'd kiss every cross if it meant finding his way back to you.

a/n: idk why every opla fic i write is like... more plot than i bargained for but here we are. literally, this fic was just supposed to be "zoro calls the reader 'princess'".

01. when love arrives

(“Hey Princess —“)

The nickname starts, as almost all things do on the Going Merry, as a joke. And, as with most jokes made amongst the rag-tag crew, it sticks. He’d said it because he’s sure you’d mentioned your name once or twice already, but he’d been napping or eating and he didn’t feel like looking like an asshole right that moment.

The ribbon in your hair had caught the light in just the right way, pale pink satin — such a strange, soft color amidst the careening, careless ocean, and the word just… slipped.

“Why’dyou call her that?” Luffy asks, lounging back against the main mast as Zoro works through the umpteenth rep of single-armed pushups.

Zoro puffs out a breath and switches arms.

“Dunno. Seemed like it fit.”

Luffy slates you a long glance, blinking owlishly.

“Really? Eh — I guess… well, she is really pretty.”

Zoro only grunts, jumping up and stretching both arms over his head with a long, steady breath. His eyes flicker towards you as well, laughing with Nami on the foredeck, sipping on cocktails, Sanji probably simping somewhere nearby.

He thinks back to where they’d found you, hood pulled low over your eyes, the tell-tale signs of distress carved into every line of your body, from the curve of your spine to the bend of your shoulders.

Luffy hadn’t asked questions, so Zoro hadn’t either.

Curiosity, the fatal flaw that runs so sharp and obvious through the entirety of Luffy’s being, hasn’t always been rewarded well in Zoro’s experience. And he’s learned by now that “truth will out”, or so they say.

(“C’mon, Princess, I thought you said you could drink.”)

Caution, on the other hand, is Zoro’s oldest friend. You are cautious, if nothing else, and the first time he sees you relax in his presence, he wonders to himself if there’s a drug in this world strong enough to induce this feeling.

Later, he would learn that this is simply called falling in love.

He isn’t the only one who notices how you casually dip a silver fork or knife into every single drink before you take a sip, or that sometimes, you blurt out the word “no’ like a promise to yourself, and “sorry” like a plea for help.

And he’s spent long enough being a hunter to know what being hunted looks like. So he doesn’t ask, and you don’t answer, and somehow, you still manage to make yourself a home in the dark caverns of his chest, curling up there till he can’t count his heartbeats without it sounding like the shadow of your name on the midnight wind.

02. a study of light and dark

The drinking game starts off innocently enough (and don’t they always), but it takes half a round for the questions and subsequent answers to devolve into loud laughter and debauchery, delirium and debasement.

“Alright, alright —“ Sanji holds up a hand, tossing back his shot to raucous cheers, “worst thing you’ve done in a closet. Go —“

Zoro rolls his eyes and takes the shot, foregoing his answer. Nami simply grins, catlike, swirling her own drink around her glass.

“In your wildest dreams, cook,” she says before taking her shot as well. Sanji lets out a contemplative whistle, followed by a good-natured wink.

“Define worst, cause… I mean, I’ve puked in like… most of them back in Syrup Village,” Usopp says. Sanji only chuckles, shrugging.

“We’ll take it, we’ll take it.”

Luffy hums, frowning for a second before smacking a fist into his open palm, grinning, “I took a nap!”

Everyone laughs, helpless and buoyed up by the casual effervescence of a night like this — when the moon is dark and the stars are bright and thin wisps of silver clouds mar the sky like tendrils of lost daydreams, caught on the wrong side of sunset.

When the laughter settles down, everyone turns to you.

You purse your lips, feeling the weight of your answer pressing down on the tip of your tongue — I hid. And I waited. And I tried not to listen.

As the silence stretches on, Zoro leans forward and uncrosses his arms, reaching out to nudge a full shot glass towards you.

“Times up, Princess — drink,” and though there’s nothing soft or even forgiving in his voice, but you feel yourself relax as everyone boos and you take your shot.

The heat of Zoro’s gaze only lingers on your skin for a moment longer before he leans back again, that familiar almost-grin tugging lazily at his lips as he turns half-lidded eyes towards the rest of his crew.

(“Talk to me, Princess.”)

When you find him later, fumbling in the dark of the hallway just outside his room, you kiss him without saying “thank you” and he doesn’t question it when, pressed beneath him on the rough linen of his sheets, you ask to keep the lights on.

03. etymology

Princess — it’s a nice word, Zoro muses to himself. The light pop of the ‘p’ rolling into the warm, round ‘r’, thinning out into the sensual layering of the double ‘s’s, till you’re left with nothing but a hiss, a shadow, a memory.

It’s a regal word; a pretty word. Though its origins might be anything but.

From the Latin primus “first” and cept “catcher”, or so Robin had told him over the pages of an ancient book he hadn’t bothered to ask the name of, because Princes and Kings have always obtained their powers through taking, and never asking. Reaping, and never sowing.

Zoro thinks then that this, too, is a form conquest — you over him. The totality of your power stunning to behold, if only because he has to let you take it in the first place. And he does so willingly.

He wonders if you, too, are as multifaceted as his nickname for you — delicacy and desire wrapped around a darker something, lace laid over a knife’s unforgiving edge.

The first time he dares to kiss you, he feels you kissing him back, the sharp canines of your teeth catching on his lower lip, drawing out a soft grunt from him. You’d paused, and then you’d bitten down harder just to hear him gasp into your mouth.

He knew then, without ever having to ask, that you are.

04. tip of the iceberg

It is winter when they arrive — but then again, it is always winter here. Here, the cold runs so deep it drives frost crystals into the marrow of your bones. Here, the wind howls like a wounded animal and the night falls with a savage, carnal vengeance, all black velvet and a blood-tinted moon.

Here, the snow storms turn living, breathing heroes into song lyrics and poetry rhymes.

You inhale a single breath before turning and heading back below deck.

Zoro frowns, and at a single look from Luffy, he follows you beneath, only to find you rummaging around the kitchen, tugging a bottle of moonshine out from under the sink.

“Whoa,” Zoro says, reaching out to stop you from uncorking the bottle, an eyebrow raised. He doesn’t miss the way you shiver, “bit early, isn’t it?”

“Bit rich, coming from you,” you snap, eyes sharp, voice stinging.

Zoro only cocks his other eyebrow in tandem and pulls the bottle from your hands before turning and grabbing two glasses from the cupboard. He takes his time filling them both with ice, and then pouring a finger into each glass.

You don’t meet his eyes as you reach out for your glass, but he catches your wrist.

“A drink for an answer,” he says.

You pause, your lips pressed into a thin, white line. And he knows it’s unfair, to turn this game around on you, because he can tell from the hard set of your shoulders that this is so much more than a drinking game but if this is what it takes to get the truth — then so be it.

“Fine,” you say, glancing away, voice clipped.

You move to take a sip, but Zoro pushes down your hand again.

“No lying.”

You scoff, narrowing your eyes, “Obviously.”

He eases off, picking up his own glass and clinking it against yours before taking a light swig, “You know this place.”

This time, you’re the one who turns around with a cocked brow.

“Got a question in there somewhere?”

Zoro’s lips twitch, “Yes, or no.”

You sigh, tapping a finger against the edge of your cup, “Yes.”

Zoro hums, “Your turn.”

You chew on your lips before taking a sip, “Why do you care so much?”

Zoro ticks his tongue against his teeth, “Stupid question. Next.”

You huff, “That’s not how this game goes.”

Zoro swirls his glass before setting it down on the counter with a loud clack, “Because I care about you.”

You pause with your own drink halfway to your mouth and look up. Zoro doesn’t shy away from meeting your gaze and for a moment, time statics to a halt around you.

Then, Zoro sighs, unclenching his jaw as he attempts a lopsided smile.

“Hey, talk to me,” he reaches out to trail a finger along the high of your cheekbones, up to the shell of your ear.

The ‘please’ hangs silent in the air between you; the ‘Princess’ is implied.

And for the first time, he thinks he sees you flinch. He makes to pull back but you tug his hand forward, pressing your cheek against his palm.

“This island,” you say, finally, the tremor in your voice like a hairline fracture snaking through a porcelain vase, “it’s… well, it used to be… my home.”

05. the secret history

It is the most beautiful place any of them have ever been.

The castle is made entirely of ice, the cold winter sun refracting the light into a million and one unseen colors. Giant ice-carved sculptures dot the crystal-flower gardens, and it takes them all a few minutes to realize that the gorgeous, delicate blooms are made of glass, blown and shaped to mirror real-life snowflakes — each unique, glittering, and eternal.

“Dude… how long do you think all this took to make?” Usopp asks, his head turning as if on a swivel, his jaw hinging off his face in awe.

Robin sighs, “Too long, perhaps.”

Zoro stays quiet, and beside him, so does Nami.

You’d insisted on staying back, to guard the ship, you’d said. But the space you usually fill in the group hangs solid in the air, a gaping hole of lack when there should be none.

Luffy hums and he marches out in front of them, ever the dubious, fearless leader. Though most of the crew has now come to terms with the fact that “courage” and “sheer bull-headedness” are often two sides of the same coin for him.

It’s Sanji who pauses first, causing Chopper to ram into the back of his knees.

“Ouch! What’dyou do that f —”

“Look,” Sanji says, pointing at a poster pasted to the slick outer wall of the castle gates.

And they do, leaning in, crowding too close. Zoro grunts as Chopper jumps and scrambles up his back to peer over his shoulder at the face plastered on the dew-soaked poster, the words LOST PRINCESS: 120,000,000 FOR ANY INFORMATION THAT LEADS TO HER WHEREABOUTS printed in giant, familiar block letters along the bottom.

Beside him, Zoro can feel Nami swallowing. Hard.

“A hundred and twenty million berry…” she murmurs, her breath going shallow as they all stare, dumbfounded at the poster of what is unmistakably you.

You, with your exquisite features schooled into something like solemnity, your usually wind-swept hair twisted up into a tight braid across the crown of your head, a diadem of ice-white silver and light-cut jewels jutting up from your severe updo like so many broken teeth, sharp and unforgiving as stalagmites.

If none of them had known, it’d be impossible to reconcile you with this cold, distant portrait, your eyes rendered lifeless and dull by the depthless black ink.

Luffy, however, only blinks and turns to stare at Zoro.

“Did you know?”

“What?”

Luffy continues to stare, “When I asked why you always call her ‘Princess’.”

Zoro sighs, turning his eyes back to the WANTED poster before shaking his head.

“No. Like I said… I thought it just… fit.”

06. eternal day

Zoro is itching to get back to the ship. There’s a fish-line sliver of worry tugging at the place behind his chest where his heart should be, and he knows implicitly that something is wrong.

“Don’t worry, she can take care of herself!” Luffy says, smiling bright, his confidence unwavering.

“No Luffy, Zoro’s right — someone should be with her. What if —” and here, Nami glances at Zoro before turning her attention back to Luffy, “— she might need the backup,” is what she finally settles with. And to Zoro’s great relief, Luffy agrees.

And then, to everyone’s horror, off in the distance, your voice rises over the wind in a blood-curdling scream.

07. endless night

By the time Zoro makes it back to the ship, you are already gone.

08. torn asunder

Gone, gone, gone. The word echoes like an ill-fated alarm bell, ringing through Zoro’s entire body as he catapults himself through the ship, slamming open every door, checking every nook, corner, and crevice. Signs of a struggle, that much is clear, scuffs on the freshly waxed planks of the aft deck, nail marks along the railings, and —

Zoro’s breath freezes in his chest.

A smear of blood that drips over the side of the ship, trailing down the ladder.

A flash of pale pink catches his eye.

Your satin hair ribbon lies abandoned on the wharfs’ boardwalk, the faintest splatter of red soaking its ends.

He picks it up between gentle fingers and tucks it deep into his pocket.

His vision blurs red as he thinks about the things your captors might’ve done to you before dragging you off. He’s seen you fight and it wouldn’t have been easy to bring you down.

And by the time the rest of the crew reach him, he’s already sprinting back towards the castle, his jaw set, his teeth gritted.

It takes the combined effort of Sanji, Luffy, and Robin to stop him from charging through the castle gates and tearing the whole place down.

“Runnin’ round like a headless chicken’s not gonna do her any good, mate,” Sanji says, a smoke already caught between his teeth. A pre-fight ritual of his.

Zoro jerks his arm out of Sanji’s grasp, stalking down the street with a huff.

Robin strolls after him, somehow keeping pace, looking unhurried as Zoro tamps down the blind urge to slash the entire island in half.

“We’ll find her,” Robin says, her voice level, even as her sharp eyes scan the white-specked horizon, the usually amused half-twist of her lips laid flat by worry, “and she’s stronger than you think.”

At this, Zoro whips around, “I know —” but he bites down the venom threatening to surge up the back of his throat with a sigh. Robin doesn’t flinch, and Zoro attempts a steadying breath before repeating himself in a slightly softer tone, “I know… I’m just…”

Robin nods, and Zoro is thankful that he doesn’t have to finish his sentence.

09. the tower and the throne

The cold greets you like a scorned lover— a spiteful, savage mistress. Tendrils of frost creep along the walls of your old bedroom to caress your cheeks. You shiver and wrap your arms around yourself, sitting on familiar satin sheets.

“Dinner is soon, darling,” your mother’s cool voice calls from outside your bedroom door, “and make yourself presentable — we’ve got guests.”

The sadistic lilt of her voice as she says the word ‘guests’ makes you jerk your head up, staring at the door as if you might be able to bore through the thick wood with nothing but your eyes. And, almost as if she can feel you staring, you hear your mother’s cold, tinkling laughter.

“Hurry now… I had your favorite dress put out for you. It should still fit — and we don’t want to keep them… waiting.”

The slow, sanguine pause before her last word makes you want to rip out your hair and scream into the wind till your voice gives out.

Instead, you push yourself up and reach for the dress laid out at the foot of your bed with shaking fingers.

The dress fits you like a second skin, the delicate lace trim barely sweeping the floor as you adjust the bodice, grimacing at your reflection in the large, floor-length mirror. It is as if the last ten months had never happened, as if you’d never escaped this terrifying hellscape of a winter wonderland. As if you’d simply dreamed every single sun-filled afternoon, every star-strewn night spent laughing and singing amongst your new-found crew.

Here, in the fragile glass reflection, you are once again a girl trapped behind her own ribcage, with a destiny carved into stone and ice, with no hope of summer in sight. You take a long breath and tighten the ribbons of your dress.

You are still and silent as the maid slips in through the door after a single knock and begins to twist up your hair. Tighter and tighter, till it sets your teeth on edge. When she pins the crown in place, it takes everything inside you not to fall apart, to shatter at the weight, the sight of it sitting on your head. You swallow as the maid dips her head and backs out of the room with a murmured dinner is served, Princess.

For the first time, you wince openly at her words.

10. waiting for the rain

The hall is just how you remembered it, huge and cavernous, gaping like the empty maw of some petrified monster, the ceiling hanging with so many cold, sparkling chandeliers, ice-carved statues jutting up from the floors like teeth.

You’re marched in like a show animal, the great marble doors swinging open before you as you step forward and feel your breath freeze in your chest.

There, strung up on a massive statue of some long-forgotten saint, is Zoro, cuts and bruises marring his already scarred and puckered torso. But he smirks as he sees you come in, his eyes bright as he spits a mouthful of blood onto the seemingly endless white floors. Around him, the rest of your crew sits, tied and slumped over in chairs like so many sleeping mannequins.

“Hey there, Princess. Just in time for dinner.”

You nearly wince at the raspiness in his voice, the faint trickle of blood that leaks out the corner of his mouth.

“Silence,” your father’s voice echoes out from the high-backed chair at the head of the ludicrously long table. You don’t have to see to know his face is as smooth as just-applied plaster. But Zoro only has eyes for you — and he continues to talk as if he hadn’t been interrupted.

“If you’d told us we’d be welcomed like this, we might’ve packed differently.”

You bite down on your bottom lip so hard you almost taste the metallic tang of blood.

“Our daughter has always been a skillful liar — though it’s a habit we tried to… rid her of in her youth. The lesson never seemed to have stuck.” Your mother this time. And now, you can see the muscle ticking in Zoro’s jaw as he scoffs.

“Really? And here I always thought she was shit at lying.”

You swallow down a whimper as the maid wordlessly leads you to the far end of the table, where Zoro is still tied. You drop into the seat between a snoring Luffy and an eerily still Nami, and it’s all you can do not to turn around and retch onto the silk embroidered rug.

“Be that as it may…” your mother’s voice drops a few degrees — an admirable feat, as her voice is usually just on the other side of frigid, “it’s bad luck to kill on the eve of a royal wedding.”

At this, Zoro’s head snaps around and you shrink back in your chair, your eyes fixed on your fists, clenched in your lap.

“Mother,” you grind out, finally forcing your head up so as to meet her piercing, blizzard-bright gaze, “I’ve told you, I’ve no intention of getting married. At least not to the mongrel you’ve decided to set me up with.”

You spit out the last sentence, trying to remember all the snark, all the confidence that’d built up inside you over the past weeks and months. Away from this dreaded castle and on the sun-soaked bow of the Going Merry, it was the first time you’d begun to discover who you are — the things you liked, the ways of life that you yearned for.

Your father slams a hand on the table at the same moment that Zoro lets out a bark of laughter.

“Insolence!”

“Damn, Princess — you never told me you could bite.”

And, to your horror and perhaps deep-seated pleasure, a blush works its way into your cheeks at Zoro’s words. Your eyes snap towards him, catching his gaze as he smirks at you. And even though his shirt is slashed, his sword hilts hanging woefully empty at this hip, his hands twisted painfully behind him on the statue, he still manages an easy, condescending air.

You seize at this tiny tendril of normalcy as you force a wane smile.

“I might be persuaded to do more than that… if you ask nicely.”

Zoro’s snicker is drowned out by your mother’s sharp gasp. But you don’t look away, holding Zoro’s gaze for as long as you dare — in it, you find an entire abyss of barely concealed rage (and is that… amusement?), his entire body straining against the shackles that hold him. Then, his eyes slip from you to a point just over your shoulder.

It’s then that you realize: Luffy’s not snoring anymore.

11. to reap and to sow

You’re never quite certain of how the Merry’s crew seems to always just wriggle out of frankly gruesome and untimely deaths, but here you are, racing for the docks like your lives depended on it. Because, well, it kind of does.

“Remind me —” you shout between pants, one hand clutched firmly in Zoro’s, the other doing its best to lift the ridiculous dinner dress they’d put you in — a confection of lace and tulle, the bodice laced with pale pink satin ribbon, “how the hell did you guys manage to trick my parents into thinking you’d eaten the spiked food?”

Sanji flashes you a toothy grin, “Ah love… you know how it is — ask us no questions, and we’ll tell you no lies!”

Luffy, however, whoops as he launches himself from a pair of solid brick buildings, catapulting himself over your sprinting crew.

“We just — pretended to eat! I mean — I did kinda actually eat a bit — but — it wasn’t that bad!”

You resist the urge to pinch your nose bridge at the nonchalance with which Luffy is talking about consuming poisoned food, but you’ve only got two hands and both are equally occupied at the moment. You settle for an exasperated sigh.

“That was — really stupid! — What if — they’d — poisoned the food — with something — other than — sleeping medicine?!” you ask, forcing air into your lungs as finally, you all round the bend onto the bustling pier, the Going Merry’s unmistakable shape silhouetted against the misty horizon.

“We can talk when — we’re all back — on the ship!” Nami calls as she sprints passed you, reaching out a hand for Luffy, who’s elongated arm grabs her and slings her onto the deck of the ship. You barely have a second to breathe before Zoro’s arm loops around your waist and you’re being pulled tight into his side.

His breath is hot against your collarbone as he smirks, “Hold on tight, Princess.”

It’s all you can do to listen as you’re suddenly whipped through the air like a doll on a drunken marionette’s string. A bright peal of Luffy-tinted laughter later, you thud onto the deck of the Going Merry, the breath knocked clean from your lungs as the world spins and spins. You’d expected to hit solid wood, or maybe even the railing or the mast but —

Zoro groans beneath you, and it takes you a long second to realize that he’d cushioned your fall, your bodies pressed chest to chest, hip to hip, your arms still wrapped around his shoulders, his still steady around your waist.

“O-oh! Sorry —” you try to pull away but Zoro’s grip on you only tightens.

You freeze as he blinks up at you, eyes slightly narrowed.

“Crown’s crooked,” Zoro finally says, that tell-tale smirk twisting the edge of his lips as his gaze flickers upwards. Your hand jumps to the crown, somehow still clipped into your now disheveled hair, lopping to one side as the braids start to come loose. You purse your lips.

“I never liked it anyway…” You make to tug it out but Zoro reaches up to right it, though he lets his hand linger as he falls along the side of your face.

“Nah, looks good on you.” His voice is so low, and suddenly, air is such a language that you’re certain you’d forgotten how to speak. Slowly, he pushes up till you’re both sitting, you still pressed against him and him still pressed against you. Distantly, you can hear shouting, Usopp’s voice raised high over the wind as the Merry careens out of port and towards the open sea.

But strangely, no one makes to pull you away from him, or him from you.

“I should’ve told you guys…” you say, eyes casting down as you rest your palms against his chest. Beneath it, you can feel his heart — pounding, pounding, pounding. There’s a light sheen of sweat glimmering on his honeyed skin as you swallow, looking back up even as he chuckles.

“Sure, but we should’ve asked.”

You bite your lips, “I think you did.”

Zoro grins, shrugging as he helps you up, somehow managing to keep his arm slipped around your waist.

“Well. Should’ve asked better, then.”

12. lost stars

It takes you a while to tell them the story — the real story, the whole story. And there’s drinking involved, but it’s mostly just you clutching at your half-filled glass, Zoro’s knee pressed comfortingly against yours, even though his eyes are closed, his head leaned back, his arms crossed loosely over his chest.

You tell them about the dark underbelly of royalty that everyone knows but no one wants to talk about — the blood and teeth beneath the silk and silver. You tell them about being raised a bargaining chip, of being sold and promised like a prized heifer on auction day.

You tell them about the moonless nights when the only thing you had to keep you company was the cold, about the “lessons” your mother would teach you, about how the maids would be instructed to hide the bruises just so, about the Prince who you were set to marry and the rumors that plagued his castle —

“They say that he’d take the prettiest girls from the surrounding town as his maids and that none of them ever walked out of his castle again,” you say. The moonshine burns on its way down your throat as you finish your drink.

Wordlessly, Zoro reaches over to pluck the glass from your hand and set it on the table. It’s only then that you realize your fingers are white and trembling.

“Did he hurt you?”

Zoro’s voice is not loud, but everyone turns to look at him. You shake your head, clasping your hands in your lap.

“No. I only ever… met him once, at a dinner party. It was after that that I… ran away.”

Zoro hums, leaning back again, “Good.”

Across the room, Sanji blows out a series of smoke rings and frowns.

“Were you about to offer to hunt him down?” Robin asks, sounding amused.

Zoro shrugs, “Wouldn’t have offered — would’ve just done it.”

“He sounds like the kinda guy we should hunt down anyway, no?” Luffy asks, cocking his head as he looks back at you, “I mean, I’m glad he never hurt you but… he’s still hurting people!”

“Luffy’s got a point,” Sanji says, stubbing out his cigarette.

“For once, I agree with Sanji,” Nami says.

There’s a light squabble during which Sanji makes an aggrieved noise and Nami rolls her eyes, and then everyone is laughing and chatting and more drinks are being poured. Next to you, Zoro reaches out to wrap his arm around your waist again. It’s something he’s been doing more lately, and you can’t honestly say that you mind it much at all.

“We don’t have to,” he says, leaning forward, almost as if to brush his lips by your ear, “if… if you don’t want to.”

You shiver at the base rumble of his voice, at the way his eyes are so warm and full of some uncertain promise.

“No, I… I do want to. It’s just…”

Zoro’s fingers trace small, absent-minded circles into the skin of your waist and you fight down another shiver.

“I don’t plan on letting you get kidnapped again, Princess.”

Your gaze snaps up to meet Zoro’s, and there’s a faint smile kissing the line of his lips. And suddenly, the lightness of his touch doesn’t feel so thoughtless as heat curls out from the place where his palm meets your skin, radiating out till you’re breathless with it.

“Oh?”

“Never liked people trying to take what’s mine.”

And the dark possessiveness with which he says mine leaves little room for interpretation, even as you lick your lips and try to think of something witty to say.

“I don’t remember agreeing to be yours.”

It’s the best you can come up with; Zoro’s only response is a soft, contemplative grunt.

“What’s that saying? ‘Actions speak louder than words’?” he flashes you a satisfied grin as you narrow your eyes at him, swatting at his chest as he laughs.

“I meant it though,” he says, a moment later, as the rest of the crew all chatter around you, “about calling it off if you don’t want to. But…” he reaches up a free hand to tug a strand of your hair free from the ponytail it’s tied up in.

“Figured you might sleep better at night knowing he’s gone.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t been aware you were holding, your whole body softening as you lean into him, pressing your palms to his chest as he looks at you.

“Yeah… I think I might. And… like you said… it’s not like I’m gonna get kidnapped again.”

You smile, letting your eyes flicker down to Zoro’s lips. His smile is pleased and just a little jagged as he tugs you up by the hand and the pair of you slip from the room.

Above deck, the sun is setting, and the warm, slanted light casts the entire ship in a glaze of gold that looks almost gilded. You lean against the railings, closing your eyes and letting the warmth of the sun seep into your skin, chasing away the chill that’d been lingering at your fingertips since you’d all made your spectacular escape from your home island.

You feel rather than hear Zoro join you. You take your time breathing in the salty tang of the humid sea air before opening your eyes and slating him a side-long look.

“Thank you,” you say.

“For what?”

“For coming after me.”

Zoro scoffs, turning away from the roiling waves to lean back against the railings, his head cocked as he looks you over.

“Like I said… I don’t like it when people try to take what’s mine.”

But this time, you laugh, nodding, “So you’ve said. But still… thanks.”

“Hn.”

Zoro closes his eyes, seemingly enjoying the last vestiges of the setting sun as it sinks ever-lower along the horizon. Then, he opens one eye to peer at you.

“Though I’ve been meaning to ask —”

“Hm?”

“What’s this about doing more than biting… if asked about it nicely enough?”

You try to duck your head but Zoro catches your chin in his fingers.

“I — I just… knew it would piss off my mother if she —”

“Mm, sounded like more than that to me.”

Your breath hitches as Zoro’s thumb traces a rough line along your bottom lip.

“How about… I show you?” and the offer is barely out of your mouth before Zoro is kissing you, his mouth seeking out yours with a soft groan that betrays all the lightness in his touch as he trails his free hand down your arm to pull hard at your waist.

And it’s not the first time you’ve kissed. It’s not even the first time a kiss with Zoro has become more than just a kiss, though you’d always been careful before to make sure that he knew (though thinking back, it might’ve just been an ill-fated attempt at lying to yourself) that the pleasure shared between bodies was just that — pleasure and bodies.

But this — this kiss becomes, and becomes.

It becomes breath and heartbeats, pleasure and heat. It becomes truth and promises and the tantalizing taste of fairy-tale endings.

“Z-Zoro…”

“Yes Princess?”

You hiss as his teeth grazes along your pulse point and your fingers fist in his hair.

“Y’know…” your voice comes out as nothing more than a soft pant as Zoro tugs you over to one of the reclining chairs beneath the orange trees and pulls you over his hips, “I’ve never liked being called that but…”

“But?” his thumbs inch beneath the material of your shirt, circling your hipbones as he smirks up at you.

“I don’t mind it when it’s you.”

Zoro’s grin goes wide and wolfish. Above him, the first stars spark into being as the sun finally sinks beyond the far horizon. For a second, his smile softens as he reaches up to toy with the end of the pale pink ribbon in your hair. Then, he gives it a single, solid tug, and your hair falls open around your shoulders, tumbling down in waves.

Zoro leans up to press a light kiss to the blood-stained satin before letting it flutter off in the wind, twisting into the rapidly darkening night.

“Good… cause I ain’t about to let anyone else call you that either.”

[mydearlybeloathed]

── 𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐓 𝐆𝐀𝐃𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐆𝐈𝐙𝐌𝐎𝐒 𝐀-𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: being a mermaid, it's part of you nature to bring the object of your affection gifts in the hopes of swaying their gaze. how do these pirates handle your onslaught of treasures?

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: nami, luffy, and sanji x mermaid!reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.7k (.6k luffy, .4k nami, .6k sanji)

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: mermaid!reader, continuation of this fic, requested

LUFFY

When you first began to court Luffy via your pod’s traditions, you quickly realized you’d have to improvise; Luffy had no clue what any of your actions meant, no matter how obvious you made it.

You brought your captain countless gifts, ranging from perfect pearls to slightly chipped sand dollars, and each time all he did was smile, thank you, and skip away to add your gift to his growing collection.

This time, however, you would make sure he understood, lest your sanity slip away. 

He sat criss crossed on his special seat, the mast of the ship, and you stood on the deck with a pretty pink and blue conch shell in hand. Hopeful eyes set on the man you admired, you failed to notice Robin coming up beside you. She hummed softly, startling you. “Oh, hi.”

“He’ll like that one.” Robin smiled cheekily. “But you want my advice?”

“Please.”

A chuckle left her as she looked on at her captain. “Be as straightforward as you can. Ask him what his feelings are.”

Blinking widely, you gazed back at Luffy. That surely seemed easy enough. Steeling yourself with a sigh, you nodded once and trudged forward, up the stairs to the foredeck and all the way up to where the masthead met the deck. Words rose to your lips and fell short, breath caught by the way the wind and sun sat around him like good friends. Luffy sat leaned back on his hands, eyes gently shut, easy smile on his face. You couldn’t dare to break such a moment, not till you nearly dropped the shell and let slip a little yelp. 

Luffy reacted instantly, tilting back his head to see what was the matter. He grinned upon seeing you, sending jitters through your belly. “Hey!” His eyes lowered to the conchshell tight in your grasp, jabbing a finger at it. “What’s that?”

He already knew it was for him; Luffy grew to look forward to your random gifts, treasuring them in his quarters and spending a little time each morning just admiring them. 

You glanced down at your gift, mustering up your courage and hoping beyond hoping that he’ll finally understand. “It’s for you. I found it this morning.”

Found was an understatement. You’d scoured the seafloor all morning to find something worthy of bestowing upon your love. Luffy beamed even brighter, if possible. “Really?” He slid off the mast and landed right in front of you. 

Luffy’s eyes shown like stars, his lips slightly parted as he ghosted his hands over the silky surface of the shell. You passed it on to his caloused hands, skin sparking as his fingers slid against yours. You stood transfixed upon him and how gently he handled the gift, turning it this way and that to see every nook and cranny, leaving no part of it unknown. A sharp ba-dump ba-dump echoed in your chest.

“It’s great,” he breathed, raising his eyes to peer into yours. Soft wasn’t a word one would use to describe Luffy. Brash and loud, yes. But not soft. Yet, there was this secret shadow of him that was softer beyond compare, only revealed in moments of deep distress… or right now, when you hand him a piece of your heart.

You felt a soft prod at your back, hand lunging back to catch a phantom wrist. You quickly released Robin’s hand, whipping around to spy her, but she was nowhere in sight. Puffing your cheeks, you swiveled back just to find Luffy leaning close over your shoulder, eyes squinted. “What’re we looking for?”

“N-Nothing.” Gazing into his face, you coiled your fists. “Luffy, I have a question.” 

Instantly, all his attention was on you, pleasantly awaiting. “Mhmm?”

“I… I was wondering… do—do you—do you like… tangerines?”

Luffy blinked a little blankly, before shrugging a shoulder. “Yeah, I like ‘em. What an odd question.” He ruffled up your hair and hurried off. “I’m gonna add this to my collection. Thanks a bunch!”

“Yeah… no problem.” Cupping yoru face in your hands, you groaned disparingly. Cracking open an eye, you found a single arm sprouting from the deck rail sporting a thumb’s up of comfort. 

NAMI

The gifts had been a constant before you and Nami made it official, but after? Nami was running out of room to keep all the nick-nacks you showered her with. She’d never tell you that though, the smile on your face each time you offered up a gift a treasure in itself.

So Nami settled for becoming the ship’s interior decorator, making it a project to find the best places to present your increasingly beautiful finds. 

Hanging from the wall in the galley was a giant piece of seaglass wrapped in fishing net. On the kitchen table an array of shells sat in a decorative bowl. Each of the boys had a whole sand dollar they were not allowed to touch on the their bed table.

It took you a few weeks to notice it, with the decorations growing over time, but when you did a surprised yet excited beam took you face. You noticed the solid pink clam shell you’d found a month ago among the table decorations, immediately whirling on Nami with a bright smile. “I found that, didn’t I?”

She was worried you’d be upset with her decorating, but now you coudln’t have looked happier. Nami’s cheeks reddened as she laughed, nodding. “You did. I thought I’d put some of your treasures around so we can all admire them.”

You shot up from the table and bounded off. “How many more are there? Did you hide them?”

Nami watched misty eyed, heart warm as the sound of your voice echoed back to the galley. Robin chuckled behind her hand, winking when Nami caught her eye. Nami blushed deeper and, flustered, got up to chase after you.

After that, she really set out to hide the gifts you brought her, tucking them between books and pans. Your search grew to be a calm sort of game. You would be lying in a hammock by Nami’s side, her reading a book aloud, when you lazily pointed to the bookshelf and murmured, “There’s the blue one I got last week.”

The whole crew even joined in after a while, and a board was set up in the galley to tally the scores. Even after four months of the treasure hide-and-seek, you came out on top with the most finds, and if someone dared to come close to taking your title? Well, you reminded them that you have two rows of razor-sharp teeth, and suddenly you were champion once again.

SANJI Sanji treasures each and every gift you bring him, to the point where his nose starts to bleed every other trinket. He doesn’t love the gifts a normal amount, okay. He will set them up all over the kitchen and randomly point them out to anyone nearby.

“Look at that one! She had to have dove down so many depths to get it. Ah~”

“Mosshead, get your slimy, bottom-feeder hands away from my seashells.”

Everyone knew to treat your gifts to Sanji with immense care, and that fact sent a wave of pride through your heart. You sat at the kitchen counter watching him cook, lining up the shells just to admire them, every once in a while making them into the shape of a heart and sending him into cardiac arrest. 

Oh, but the gift he’s most proud of? It’s the one he wears round his neck every single day.

The first pearl you brought him was a small thing, around the size of a pinky, and you handed it to him shyly while saying you couldn’t find a bigger one to display. Sanji barely breathed, rolling it in his palm and just thinking of how lucky he is to have you, that you would dive down into the sea just to find him the most beautiful treasures. 

Yes, it was part of your culture, so part of this was customary to you, but after each of his lovely reactions your gift-giving grew into more of a habit of the heart, eyes always peeled for any trinket Sanji might enjoy. So when you noticed how he held the pearl with such care, the milky white of it looking so nice against his palm, you got an idea.

Every single morning for the next two months you gathered pearl after pearl, keeping them in a little box under your bed. Sneakily, you even managed to take the original pearl from the ring box Sanji kept it in. The scare it gave him when he awoke, turned to his bed table, and his prized gift from his lovely mermaid was missing?? He was inconsolable, so much so that you rushed to give him his gift a day earlier, giggling as you cut off his apologies.

“It’s okay,” you beamed, handing him a small paper wrapped object. “I think this will fix it.”

You bounced on your heels as Sanji sat down at the counter and delicately handled the paper, revealing the pearl necklace within. For the longest moment, he said nothing at all, only staring down at it blankly. You ducked to catch more of his expression, worrying your lip between your teeth. “Do you like it?”

Sanji’s lips ticked upward, eyes holding so much affection you could feel it hit you as he raised his gaze. “I love it. Thank you, my love.”

You couldn’t hold back the magnitude of your smile, reached to help him put it on. As soon as the cool pearls hit his skin, he felt a sense of wholeness only you could explain. He ran a finger over the necklace, wiping away a trail of blood with his wrist, and turned to take you in his arms. 

From that day forth, he never took the necklace off. 

Sanji never wasted a moment he could show it off, unbuttoning the tops of his shirts so it was more visible. You were more than pleased by this, hanging off his arm as you swept through markets, casting every admiring woman a lethal glare before reaching to toy with the pearls around his neck.

Let’s just say the gift satisfied a more possessive part of your nature you did your best to hide from your lover.

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭:

@100520s

[cuckolding-books-library]

Perhaps you’ll never know if your wife really had forgotten to pack a swimsuit or if she had planned in advance what ultimately happened. But your boss fucked her on the foredeck, in front of you, and you had to witness for the first time another man’s big and hard cock fully submerge deep into her visibly wet pussy.

[mircsy]

I was listening to "Scylla" from EPIC, and wrote this short scene cuz perspectives are important CW: gore and cannibalism

Something approaches...

Six lights slowly close in. Oh please, be birds, sharks or even sirens, anything but people. But as the shadows reveal the ship with sailors, she can't help it; her saliva thickens, stomach rumbles. When was the last time she could eat?

We must do what it takes to survive...

The voices in her head chant. And try as she might, she cannot keep them at bay, her heads lunge towards the lights.

Leaving them feeling betrayed…

She raises her arms towards the sky and cries with the dying sailors as her barking heads rip the flesh of people. Sweet blood flows down her throats, each head wants more and they fight over one. In the chaos, the limp body drops in front of her… Ugh! That ironish smell! Her guts twist of disgust yet her mouth fills with desire to tear. Glaucus, don’t you love me? Had been turned to a God, but can’t do anything about this?

Give up your honor and faith…

Sharp teeth dig into soft flesh, still warm. Red liquid drips down and sticks to her naked breasts. Eating so greedily, she chokes on the blood and her own tears. Curse the Gods! They prohibit to feast on the same kind, yet force her to do it.

Deep down, we’re lonely demons from Hell…

She hungrily catches an intestine that falls from one of the monstrous mouths. As her eyes dart up, there he stands alone on the soaked foredeck; eyes lightless, broken, teary. She stops chewing, fingers clench around the warm gut, cheeks full and smudged red, and they just stare at each other as the boat floats on the crimson water further and further away from her, slowly towards the horizon.

We are the same, you and I…

They will end other lives if they must, little price to pay, for their own survival.

[kkachi-rkcl]

Fic WIP

Fandom: One Piece

Ship: Law/Zoro

Digging back through old WIPs and I totally forgot I wrote this scene lol~ Zoro being all flustered is perhaps not the most in character but I don’t care, it’s adorable.

******

Zoro watched their new ally’s back as they boarded the Thousand Sunny after the departure of the Marines. Despite the bulk of the coat, Zoro could tell that Law’s every movement had a deliberateness to it, almost graceful. It reminded Zoro of a cat.

“Torao!” Luffy called as he bounded onto the ship behind them. “We need to give you a tour!”

Law barely had time to turn around before Luffy had grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him away, chattering about his favorite parts of the ship (“This is Sunny’s head! It’s a great napping spot, even though I fall off occasionally!”). Zoro chuckled and set about helping the others to get the ship underway before finally settling down for a nap under his favorite tree.

He was woken up some time later by the creaking sounds of the deck swing beside him. He blinked his one eye open and saw Law rocking back and forth on one heel, looking up at the tree contemplatively. He plucked off a low-hanging leaf, twirling it between his fingers. Zoro remained motionless and watched as the swing slowly came to a halt, with Law still staring at the leaf in his hand.

“It must’ve been a while since you’d seen anything green,” Zoro finally said.

Law looked up, not expecting Zoro to be awake “Yes, I was just thinking my crew would be jealous,” he said, looking out over the lawn. “There’s no place for greenery on a submarine.”

Law’s fingers began toying with the leaf again, drawing Zoro’s eye to the motion. His fingers were long and slender, but certainly not fragile; well suited to the precise motions required for surgery. Fingers that could take him apart as easily as they could put him back together.

A sudden gust blew across the ship, knocking off Law’s hat and sending it tumbling across the lawn. Law started to activate a ROOM but Zoro lunged and caught it before he could finish. “Here,” he said, holding the hat out to Law.

As Law looked at him, the dappled sunlight slipped through the tree’s rustling branches and reflected off his eyes, lighting them up like pools of molten gold. Zoro’s heart skipped a beat in his chest as he realized that beneath that stupid hat, Trafalgar Law might have most handsome face that he has ever seen.

“Thanks,” Law said, running his hands through his shaggy hair before slapping the hat back on. His attempts at taming his windswept hair didn’t do much, and a few stray pieces still stuck out the sides at odd angles.

The thought of Law tugging on Zoro’s own short cropped hair flashed intrusively at the back of his mind, and Zoro’s mouth went dry. “I should check on Luffy,” he said, abruptly turning towards the stairs. He focuses on the clack of his scabbards as he walks away, the rustle of his clothes, the sounds of his boots on the deck. He times his breath with his steps— in two three, out two three four—

“I’ll go too,” Law said, standing up and propping his enormous sword on his shoulder.

Zoro did his best to seem nonchalant and continued to the foredeck (in two three, out two three four), where Usopp was regaling Kin’emon and Momonosuke with some tall tale or another and Luffy was perched in his usual spot on top of Sunny’s mane. Zoro smiled when he heard Luffy cry out in excitement as the ship crested a wave and picked up speed as they descended into the trough.

“It’s a sea-hill. You see them all the time,” came Law’s voice behind him, and Zoro’s stomach did a flip that had nothing to do with the speed of their descent. He looked over the railing at the churning waters and took deep breaths of the salty air. In two three, out two three four. Breathe, settle down. So what if he’s got a gorgeous face, Zoro tells himself, it’s not a big deal.

[csuitebitches]

A Brief Guide to Yachts

This is a continuation to my cultural education segment (aka my rich bitch guide).

The yacht is an invention of the 14th century Dutch. The Dutch used small, fast boats for chasing smugglers, pirates and criminals. Rich ship owners and merchants began using these small “jaghts” to sail out to celebrate their returning merchant ships.

The first yacht club in the world, called the Cork Water Club, was established in Ireland in 1720.

Some famous clubs include:

USA:

1. Annapolis Yacht Club: Surrounding the Spa Creek Bridge in Annapolis, the Club boasts over 75 wet slips and dry dockage. The club began in 1886 as an informal canoe club, and today has 1600 regular members active in social, racing, and cruising programs

2. Chicago Yacht Club: Founded in 1875, Chicago Yacht Club is one of the oldest and most respected yacht clubs in the world. The Club is home to more than 1,400 members, including a winning America’s Cup skipper, and Olympic medalists.

Italy:

1. Circolo Canottieri Aniene

2. Circolo degli Esteri

3. Compagnia della Vela

Canada:

1. Royal Canadian Yacht Club

2. Royal Vancouver Yacht Club

Yachts are most active in the summer months (May- August in the northern hemisphere) or the winter months. many yacht owners decide to keep the maximum number of guests onboard to 12 (plus crew) for chartering.

Different types of yachts:

Sailing Yacht: a yacht mainly propelled via wind and sails

Motor Yacht: a yacht propelled via one or more motors

Gulet Yacht: a hybrid yacht with both sails and motors

Open Yacht, Cruiser, Cabin Cruiser, Express Cruiser: an otherwise uncategorized standard yacht for cruising and entertaining

Luxury Yacht: a yacht that includes high-end finishes and features and the latest in modern performance technology. The term ‘luxury’ can precede any type of yacht, i.e. “luxury motor yacht”, “luxury sailing yacht”, etc.

Sports Yacht: a yacht geared towards fishing, water sports, or cruising with a sleeker design and more powerful motor for faster cruising speeds.

Catamaran Yacht: a yacht with two hulls (pontoons) often made of fiberglass that can be used in shallow waters.

The most popular destinations:

1. Monaco

2. The French Riviera

3. Greece

4. U.S. Virgin Islands

5. Palm Beach, Florida

6. Costa Smeralda, Italy

7. St. George’s Parish, Bermuda 

8. Newport, Rhode Island 

9. Nantucket, Massachusetts

10. Greater Victoria, Vancouver Island

Insane super yachts

Football club owner Shahid Khan's 95 metre Lürssen Kismet was delivered in 2014. On match days, a four-metre silver statue of a jaguar, its paw resting on a football helmet, graces the bow. Elsewhere, its sizeable foredeck has enough space for Khan's beloved football team, the Jacksonville Jaguars, to stage a practice.

The 70 metre Feadship superyacht Joy features a deck that's wide enough to enjoy a tandem jog around. This yacht is all about exterior living, which includes making use of these ample decks with some great sporting facilities. A basketball and badminton court is set all the way forward on the owner's deck. This is complemented by her large gym and dedicated spa. All of this adds up to make Joy an ideal choice for those interested in a yacht with ample fitness, wellness and sporting amenities.

[outofgloom]

RUPTURE

After twelve days at sea, the others began to notice the change in the sky. Only slight at first, an odd roughening at the horizon, but steadily it got worse. 

Kio on kio we sailed, and the clouds began to do strange things, move in strange ways. I could never describe it well. Behind the clouds, lines traced up through the gray-blue haze. Dark patches here and there, and before you knew it…it wasn’t a sky anymore. It was a barrier, a wall that went up, up, and never ended.

Some of the passengers quailed at the sight. Others stared transfixed. One of them–the scholar Eyrsuk–leapt overboard and tried to swim away. They fished him out of the water, and Shuldak, the ringleader of my captors, commanded him to be hung from a hook on the mast, "to let him dry off". 

"There are no stars here," I remember Eyrsuk babbling...

The ship’s crew showed no great surprise, of course. They were Carekxans, not bound by the Edicts. They lived their lives on the wide and terrible sea, and most had probably set foot on those alien shores more than once, though they knew better than to speak of it openly. They saw the world for what it was and was not, and accepted this. I admired them, though they served my captors for now.

An eerie calm fell as we went on, and oars were produced to finish the journey. The shore grew closer; even with my failing eyesight I could see it now, rising in segmented pillars from the water, crusted with the residue of eons. I stood on the foredeck with the Caraga, the ship’s elder-captain, perhaps the closest thing to what I am, a Turaga of the Matoran. We were not alone, of course. Shuldak and his bruisers were ever-present, but he wisely gave the Caraga space.

"Where," the captain asked me in the characteristic flat tone. My memory was still clear, though my eyes were dim. I gestured north, along the shoreline. The groove there was well-camouflaged unless you knew to look for it. The Caraga nodded and made signs to the rowers. 

"Very good, Turaga," Shuldak called from his place, lounging at the stern. "Your cooperation is noted."

Eyrsuk complained lamely from the mast. "We shouldn’t be here…" He kept his gaze stubbornly fixed upon the deck.

"You are very right," I said to him as I made my way down to midships. Shuldak grinned his wide Phynaran grin, and I saw that he had applied the red markings to his face; markings of the Pridak, which were now forbidden in his homeland.

Here though, on the margins of the world, he could show his true colors.

We made landfall an hour later, and my captors brought us ashore–myself and two Matoran they had taken hostage in order to compel me, a Ga-Matoran and a Ba-Matoran. They had been kept below for most of the trip, despite my protest. I did my best to minister to them while Shuldak spoke with the Caraga. The three Steltaxian bruisers stood over us, waiting obediently until their employer returned. In the end, Eyrsuk stayed on the ship with the crew; some excuse about amending his charts. Shuldak barked laughter and called him a coward and "no true Phynaran", but left him alone. Finally it was time.

The staircase was still there, carved out of the strange metalstone. It brought back many memories; how my brothers of Stone and Iron had marveled at it when we first came there, had tested their powers against it…

We began to climb, and I was reminded that the stairs were not made for beings like us. Each step was a bio deep and almost half a bio tall: a staircase for giants. My joints are not what they used to be, and so the Matoran were obliged to help me up each step. They were both trying to be very brave.

My mind wandered as we climbed, back before the journey, back to my hut in the lower district of Metru Prynak, when all this started.

The clamor of the Great Port was diminishing, and I was retiring for the night. The knock at the door startled me out of a doze, and the crack of the frame splintering inward brought me fully awake. A figure crammed itself arm, head, and shoulders into the room and laid hold of me. I burned through its wrist with my plasma-fire, and it dropped me roughly on the pavement. I prepared to flash-burn my attacker's eyes next, but then I saw the other bruisers, and the two Matoran they held, limbs stretched taut.

"No more violence, Turaga," a voice said. "I have a job for you."

Shuldak had not worn the red markings then.

"Job?" I rubbed my bruised chest. "I'm as old and broken-down a Turaga as you’ll find hereabouts. My job is to ministrate to the Matoran workers and to lead the Amaja on the odd months. I’m fit for no better duty these days." I coughed for emphasis.

"The service I require is navigational in nature. You were a seafarer once, a traveler to far shores, I believe. 'Toa Triox and his brothers', the story goes. I intend to retrace your steps."

I stared at the Phynaran, considered lunging at him, trying to weld his smug smile shut. Maybe I could've done it, got away...but the Matoran would surely not survive. My duty was to them. And anyways, I was weak...

"That journey cost me much, Phynaran," I said after a few moments. "It was the last journey I ever took."

"Not the last, no. You’ll make one more. With me. To the place where you and your brothers ended the Void Storm, all those millennia ago..."

Up we went, and the sloped staircase took us closer to the wall of the world. Shuldak was ahead with two of his guards, and the third Steltaxian brought up the rear. We kept a steady pace, but not too fast, which I was grateful for. Shuldak was a patient Phynaran and very methodical, I had found. Even so, I did not fully understand his plan yet. 

When we came to the first landing, I began to understand more. The stairs ended in a wide platform carved into the slope. At the other end of the platform, the stairs continued. 

In the center of the platform, there stood a Titan. 

Solid as bedrock, clad in a mountain of gleaming gray armor. Two mighty hands rested atop the haft of an immense hammer. Blue eyes gazed upon us out of a strange mask.

I betrayed myself then, foolishly. I stepped forward and called out, "Axoss, it’s me, Triox! You must help me and these Matoran, as you helped me and my brothers before. We–"

A hand smothered me, and the Matoran cowered away from the bruiser as he lifted me into the air, covering my mouth. Strangely, the Titan did not move. I struggled feebly, got free for a moment:

"Axoss, quickly!"

"Hear me," said Shuldak, who I realized had advanced to stand before the figure. The two other guards stood with weapons ready, but the Titan wasn’t looking at them, nor at me. Shuldak was holding something: a round, flat stone.

"I bear this Tablet of Transit, of the Order of the Pridak," he said, speaking in a form of Archaic Matoric, "and I therefore have right of passage, both me and those accompanying me. Stand aside, warden, and let us pass."

No sooner were the words spoken, than the Titan was gone. Vanished into thin air. Shuldak turned to me and smiled very wide.

"Weren’t expecting that, were you, Turaga?" he said. My heart sank.

"How did you…"

"Recovery is my business," he replied. "Someone had to clean up all those wrecks from the Wars of Order, and wouldn’t you know, there’s a lot of treasure to be found. This though…" He turned the tablet over in his hands. "This is on an entirely different level of value."

"What do you intend to do with it?" I asked.

"That’s not important. What is important, however, is that trick you pulled. You didn’t mention a guardian."

A hand signal from the Phynaran, and the Ba-Matoran was lifted yelping into the air by one of the bruisers, arms stretched painfully tight.

"Any more information you’d like to divulge?"

I was beaten. 

"The guardian…" I stammered. "The guardian watches over the Opening, high above. She met us when we first came, and aided us. You have everything now, I swear."

"Hm…" Shuldak rubbed his chin. The Ba-Matoran cried out again, and I heard one of his joints pop.

"On my title as a Turaga, I swear it!" I begged. "There is no more. Please, spare the Matoran."

Shuldak looked at me, then nodded to the bruiser. The Ba-Matoran dropped, and I stumbled over to him. His arm was injured, but nothing worse. I welded the elbow-joint back together with a blast of plasma. It would have to do.

"Turaga," Shuldak said, tapping his clawed foot, "if you betray me again, these two Matoran will be flung from the top of the slope. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Good."

We continued up the staircase, one laborious step at a time. The minutes blurred into hours. At long last, the stairs leveled out into a flat mesa which stretched inward, under the curve of the wall. Here and there, the plain was dotted with strange pillar-shapes and great piles of rubble, broken off from the wall above in ages past.

Shuldak waited expectantly. I moved to the head of the group and began to pick my way over the uneven ground. The two Matoran moved with me, to keep me from stumbling. Over my shoulder, I called back:

"A walking stick would be most welcome."

"Your attendants will have to do, Turaga," Shuldak replied. "Last time I gave you your stick, you nearly burned a hole in one of my guards. I haven’t forgotten."

"Yes, yes…"

I picked out the trail slowly, working my way back through my recollections. My muscles complained, and I was out of breath, but I went on. I had to do it, for the Matoran, though I worried still that Shuldak would not release them once it was over. Ah, I was tired…

Why had she not helped us? Many millennia had passed, but surely she would still remember. All throughout our journey here, I had staked my hope on it, and now...

"Turaga? Turaga, are you alright?" The Ga-Matoran was shaking me, her voice a whisper. Some time had passed, and I had dozed on my feet. The Ba-Matoran stood just ahead, stock-still. It was dim here, and the wall was much closer now, looming over us oppressively. We had just rounded the edge of a great heap of stones, I saw, and…

And the Titan was there again, just as before. Motionless between two great pillars she stood, not a stone’s throw away. Her blue eyes shone in the gloom. 

I glanced back. Shuldak and his guards were approaching, but they could not see the Titan yet. I chanced a hoarse whisper:

"Axoss, if you know me, then please…The Matoran and I are under duress. We are innocent. These others seek the Opening of their own accord. Test my words and know them to be true."

"Hush, Turaga!" the Ga-Matoran hissed. Impudent, but entirely deserved. Shuldak and his guards rounded the corner, and he fixed me with a quizzical look. I gestured ahead, and he saw the figure of the Titan. I waited to see what would happen…

Nothing happened. Shuldak stepped forward, drawing forth the tablet again, and spoke the same words. The Titan’s eyes burned in her face, and then she was gone again.

I cursed, inwardly, feeling fully betrayed by now. When my two brothers and I had come here long ago, stumbling beneath the raging wind of the Void Storm, we had encountered her–the Gray Titan Axoss–and she had been our guide. Through the terror of the hurricane, she had led us safely to our goal, to the source of the Storm. And afterward…when it was done…I–

"Well, Turaga," Shuldak said, interrupting my reverie, "that’s more like it. Although do I detect some disappointment in your face?"

"Not at all. I am here to cooperate."

"Much farther, is it?"

"Not far, no."

"That’s good! We have made good time–"

"Shuldak," I said hurriedly, "I must ask you something."

"Mm…I suppose I’m feeling generous. Ask, then."

"Why do you seek the Opening?"

Shuldak grinned slowly.

"Ah," he said, "the ‘Opening’. I heard you call it that. Such a Matoran turn of phrase. In the legends of my kind, it is called the Great Door."

"I have never heard such legends."

"Of course not. They are Phynaran, the secret seer-legends, from the time when our people ruled our lands and sought out every nook and cranny, before the time of the Oppressors." He spat out the last word.

My eyes widened. "You are a revolutionary, then?" I asked.

"Hah! Maybe…" A change came over him, and he began to pace, rubbing his clawed hands together. "I trust you know the history of the Barraki, Turaga?" he continued. "How the Lords of Order were raised up, and then how they betrayed Mata Nui and were destroyed for their arrogance?"

"It is no history to me, Shuldak," I replied. "I am as old as the Wars of Order are young. You must be fresher than I thought."

Shuldak’s eyes narrowed slightly and twitched. He continued:

"Well, that is only the simple Matoran version. Phynaran legends tell it different, and truer: How the Lord Pridak, our firstborn and the greatest of the Barraki, was elevated so far in his authority that he saw the shape of the world." Shuldak stopped pacing, and his voice fell almost to a whisper. "And in perceiving that shape," he continued, "Pridak saw also beyond the world, beyond the great barriers, and the knowledge he found there was so mighty, so terrible, that the Great Spirit himself trembled and was afraid. Then, Mata Nui’s goatdog Makuta, being jealous of Lord Pridak, rose up and slew him."

"Beyond the walls of the world…" I mused. "Shuldak, I assure you, that Opening will not grant you knowledge, and it will not bring back days of old. It is an endless maze of shadows, and…and the...and They–” My voice wavered, as it always did, and I shuddered, "They will not let you pass."

"I know of whom you speak," Shuldak said. "The Zyglak infest the walls of our world, gnawing at it, wallowing in their diseased flesh. But they are no Rahi. I know they listen to reason."

"You’ve had dealings with…with Them?" I blurted out.

"Hah! My business is recovery, as I said, and you will find that the deepest of seas are not uninhabited. How do you think I acquired this trinket?" He spun the Tablet of Transit on his finger. I had no reply.

"Well," he said, "I believe your question is answered. Now it’s time we made the last leg of our journey. Lead the way."

Through the dry ruins of stone, deeper into the dimness we trudged, and my hope was all but gone. Soon, we would reach our destination, and Shuldak would enact whatever insane plan he had in mind, and the Matoran and I would be of no more use. I was too weak and too old to do anything. My limbs ached, and the scars in the metal of my armor were starting to bother me again. Still, I led on, delaying the inevitable. The ground sloped upward slightly for a time, and then down in a wide scoop. There was the wall, as close as ever, with crags rising in layers up and over us, as if carved from stone with giant chisels.

And in that wall, there was an Opening.

Even at a distance, it could be seen now: a hole in the wall of the world. Perfectly round, boring straight back into darkness. I shivered with memories, memories of the last time I had stood there with my brothers, bowed against the terrible winds of the Void Storm which rushed endlessly into the hole, endlessly into nothing... 

Behind us, back in the real world, the skies had been in turmoil. Hurricane had covered the Continent and threatened to drown the islands of the world as the atmosphere was torn and devoured by the Rupture that had been made somewhere beyond that dark portal. That was why we had been sent there, through roiling seas and sheets of lightning, sent to alien shores at the end of the world. Just us three, sent to find and seal the breach…

Shuldak wasted no time in closing the distance. He took the lead now, and his guards jogged us along with him, straight toward the Opening. My muscles burned, and my breath came in gasps. The Matoran did their best to help, but there was little to be done. Finally, Shuldak called a halt. The Opening was straight ahead, across an open area flanked by a few cracked pillars. There was no sign of life here. No sign of the Titan either. I was perplexed. What could have happened? 

As we approached the Opening, my question was soon answered.

What from a distance had seemed to be just another broken pillar was actually the back of a gigantic chair, hewn from the gray metalstone, facing directly into the dark of the Opening. And on that chair there sat a figure. My spirit quailed, and the Matoran covered their faces in terror. 

Skeletal. A mountain of rusted armor, scarred all over, and now crumbling into dust. The immense hammer rested upon emaciated knees, its surface blackened by corrosion; a disease that I recognized…

Shuldak beckoned to his guards, who took up positions on either side of the chair, then he stepped forward carefully, tablet held aloft. 

"Warden!" he called out. "Can you hear me?"

Silence. 

He repeated the litany in Archaic, as he had before. Nothing changed. He peered up into the gigantic face, nudged a gigantic foot. Then, all at once, Shuldak laughed.

"It seems fortune is with us, my friends! Time wears down all wards. Even here, at the end of the world."

"It seems you have achieved all you set out to do," I said, stepping closer.

"Indeed, and you have served your purpose admirably–"

"I have. And now, honorable Phynaran, of the same kind and core as the Pridak himself, I charge you to uphold your promise to me, to release these Matoran, lest wrath seek you out."

Shuldak blinked, surprised, I hoped, at the ancient invocation of his honor. I had lived among the Phynaran peoples long enough to know it.

"It is true that they will be of little use where we are going," he said after a moment. "They may return to the ship, if they can find the way."

Without a moment's pause, I turned to the Ga-Matoran and Ba-Matoran, placed my hands on their shoulders. 

"You have done your duties well, and I thank you. Your valor is deserving of new names, and if I am ever again in Metru Prynak, I shall administer them myself. Until then, remember the path we have taken, and return to the sea."

"Turaga," the Ga-Matoran whispered. "Will you be alright?"

"I’m not sure," I replied. "But you must leave while you can. Go quickly. Do not stop."

They hesitated, glancing between me and the smiling Phynaran, then they turned and ran, disappearing up the path.

"Now, Turaga, I have another job for you."

Fear iced through me as I turned to the Phynaran.

"What more could you possibly require?"

"A guide. Of all creatures, it seems that you are the only one living who has walked upon the hallowed ground beyond the Great Door. You shall lead on as before."

"I can’t…I can’t go back in there."

"The Matoran are close still. My guards can bring them back if you continue to require motivation."

"No, Shuldak, I mean…you don’t know what’s in there. I’ve tried to tell you. If we go in, we won’t return. I barely escaped the...the Z-Zy..." I could not pronounce the name. "And that was only because…because…"

"Nonsense. We are well equipped for the journey, and as I said, I have certain experience with those that you so fear."

He turned away from me, away from the mummified body of the Titan, turned to the darkness of the Opening, and gestured for me to follow. Cold air washed over me as I took a halting step, knowing that I was going to my death. Shuldak took another step forward, then another, into the darkness…

Blue eyes opened in an ancient mask, and a voice rang out over the stones:

"Shol of Old Phynar, hear me," the voice said, and Shuldak whirled, eyes wide. The Titan had not moved. Only the eyes glowed dimly now.

"That name is no more," Shuldak hissed. The tablet was in his hand again. He waved it back and forth, trying to regain his composure. "Ahem, forgive me, warden. As you see, I bear this Tablet of Transit, of the Order of the Pridak–"

"I am bound to guard this gate," the voice boomed, "and to destroy any who cross its threshold, from within or without."

I saw Shuldak’s posture change. No longer magnanimous. "You are bound to follow the Edicts of Transit, from of old," he said. "By the Order of the Pridak, I–"

"I am a bearer of the Mask of Truth, Phynaran Shol. I test the truth of your words, and they are lacking."

Shuldak bared his teeth in an unpleasant smile.

"Why do you not recognize my claim?"

The Titan’s mask pulsed faintly. The tall blade affixed to the mask’s forehead hummed a high-pitched sound, dividing truth from falsehood. "I see your core, Phynaran, and through it. I see the world you have constructed to justify your belief. Old Phynar is no more, and the Pridakian Orders are dispelled. Your claim is null."

"I see." Shuldak stepped forward, his eyes narrowing. "Forgive my impertinence, warden, but can you see me? Your eyes glow, but if I’m not mistaken, they are scarred behind your mask."

"I am a bearer of the Mask of Truth, and truth is sight."

"Well, my eyes tell a different story. You are old, warden, and much damaged, and there is rust upon your hammer. The Void Storm was not kind to you, it seems, just like your friend here." He gestured toward me. "Would you not rather rest and leave your burden aside, just this once?"

The mighty head moved slowly, creakingly. The Titan’s blind gaze settled upon Shuldak.

"As I said, I am bound."

"Very well."

The bruisers acted with surprising speed, hurling themselves forward at the stone chair, arrays of weapons sprouting from their arms. I fell back as a mighty sound echoed off the wall above, and the ground shook with the impact. Choking dust filled the air. Then, it was over. The dust settled, and the combatants stepped back. 

The stone seat was pulverized into broken rubble. Empty. A moment of bewilderment passed…

And then the gigantic right fist that swung down from out of nowhere caved in the head of the first Steltaxian, and the backhand which followed sent the second bruiser flying away to smash through a stone pillar in the distance. The Titan Axoss was there–the Axoss I had known. Still as wizened as the apparition that had sat before us, but animated now by the same grim violence I had witnessed when she laid waste to the encroaching Zyglak all those years ago. She was still blind, but it didn’t seem to matter. Her mask glowed with a revealing light.

The third Steltaxian roared and sprang forward across the rubble, and her hammer split the air to–

–I was being dragged by the neck, claws dug into my shoulder, feet skipping helplessly across the ground as Shuldak hauled me away. I could not even cry out. We crossed the space toward the dark opening. It rose up and over us, and cool darkness fell on my face, and all the horrible memories broke loose once more…

The black maze was filled with an avalanche of sound. Wind tore at our bodies like the teeth of an animal. Desperately, my brothers and I had searched down the winding passageways and through empty vaulted corridors, harried always by the rage of the Void Storm…and the hateful eyes of those who had caused it.

Axoss was lost. She had been with us for most of the maze, but then They had finally caught up. Out of the dark They had sprung, and They hated her most of all.

"Flee!" she roared as the Zyglak overran her and blue lightning crackled from her fists and from the head of her hammer. We fled, turn after turn after turn in the mindless dark, until finally, we emerged into a great honeycombed place, vast beyond belief.

And we found it there–

Shuldak had me under his arm now. He was clattering down the passageway, and the light from the outside world was growing smaller. He was taking me back, back into the black maze. I would not go back. My arms hung limp at first, but not anymore. His knee swung past my hand, and when it returned for the next step, it met the plasma-torch of my outstretched fingers.

He screamed and dropped me to the ground, cursing and stumbling. He made as if to grab me again, but stopped as he looked back toward the opening of the tunnel. 

"You’re a coward, Turaga," he hissed. "Too cowardly to face the knowledge behind the Great Door. Well, we shall see how I fare."

He kicked me hard, rolling me over with the force of it, and I was…I was…

They were pouring in from every opening, teeth gnashing, eyes blazing. Their touch was poison, disease. They had already touched me and Ahak, and I felt it in my armor.

I burned them. I seared them. I poured forth plasma-fire upon them in great waves, but the wind hindered me. Relentlessly it howled out of the darkness, into the darkness. The Rupture stood above us in the high wall like a great mouth, and the wind howled into it, devouring the life of the world. It had to be stopped. 

Behind us, Thu had bound himself to the ground with iron chains, holding fast against the gale. His metal seemed the most effective in sealing the breach, and so we defended him while he worked. Ahak worked relentlessly to close off the honeycomb passages with stone, but there were so many, and I could see that he was flagging. They had touched him first, back in the passageway. His armor was already turning gray, flaking off, but he continued nevertheless. By this time, Thu had fashioned a metal lattice and was raising it up into the opening, buffeted by the wind.

"Almost done!" he called out.

A spear whizzed out of the darkness and buried itself in Ahak’s chest. I watched as the light in his eyes died, and his body was battered away into the Rupture.

Thu saw as well. His cry of grief was lost in the cacophony. An iron half-sphere formed around him as more spears descended, splitting the chains that tethered him down. 

"Triox!" he called out as the hurricane wind picked him up and sucked him and the great spreading mass of protodermic iron into the breach. "Seal it!"

And I...I tried to...I fought and...I wanted to...

I did as he asked. I poured rays of plasmatic energy from every fingertip and joint, burning plasma-fire from my heartlight and mouth and from my eyes. To the limit, to the breaking point, until my mask melted away and my eyes were scorched black, and my armor fell in gouts of slag.

And the Rupture was welded shut, a great scar of white-hot metal. 

Then I fell headlong in the sudden, deafening silence, and tears sizzled on the scorched metal of my face–

I awakened on my back, chest throbbing. I sat up and wheezed a bit, but found that nothing was broken. I was not in the tunnel anymore. I was at the entrance, just beyond the darkness. I backed up, feet scraping on the stone, and found that I was not alone. 

Axoss sat cross-legged behind me, over me. Her eyes were closed, hammer laid across her knees. Despite her stillness, I detected the rise and fall of her breathing. The remains of her attackers were��here and there. I didn’t look too close.

"That is the second time you have retrieved me from that hole," I said at length. "Thank you."

She nodded. Moments passed.

"So, what now?" I said, settling myself on the stone beside her. "Shuldak is...he's still in there, right?"

"Yes, he is. Let us wait here for a time, and see what transpires."

"And the Matoran? Are they alright?"

"They are safe, back along the path. It is the truth."

"After everything that has happened in the past few days, waiting patiently here is not my first choice, but you are built for patience, aren't you?"

"Wait with me, please," Axoss said.

We waited together. Moments became minutes, and minutes piled into an hour, maybe more. Axoss meditated, and I half-dozed. It was perhaps the most rest I’d gotten since I had left Metru Prynak. All at once, Axoss broke the silence:

"When I found you the last time," she said slowly, deliberately, as if she had planned the words, "after the Void Storm had subsided and the Zyglak were fled, you asked me a question."

"Yes?" I cleared my throat groggily, rubbed my eyes.

"You could barely speak–your mouth and throat were burned from inside–but still you asked: 'Did I do right?'"

"I think I remember."

"I did not answer. I was dying of the flesh-eating plague, and the only thing in my mind was to remove from that dark place, to die in the open air. So I did not answer, nor care. Even after we emerged and you gave up your power in order to heal me, and became Turaga, still I did not care. There was no right or wrong. Only duty. You had fulfilled your duty."

"At the time, I did not see it that way," I replied. "My brothers were dead...are dead. Was that the fulfillment of their duty?"

"It was, and of your own."

"Well, I confess that I could never balance that equation. The Rupture was sealed, but the...but the Z-Zy--" I stammered, coughed. "but They remained. And my brothers were dead."

There was no reply.

I continued: "We were the only Toa left on the Continent, you know, when the Storm started. I don't think I ever told you...There were already few of us, at the time, and somehow no one foresaw the calamity. For many years I wondered why no one saw it, neither seer nor prophet..."

"The Rupture came from beyond the world, beyond our stars. It could not have been foreseen."

"That makes sense, I suppose. Still, it couldn't have happened at a worse time. If we'd had just one more Toa with us...maybe..."

"These thoughts serve no purpose, not for those who serve as the tools of Mata Nui. All that matters is what is."

"I'm not so sure about that. I think it matters to me--what might have been..."

The titan frowned slightly, and I smiled, having managed to break her usually solemn expression..

I continued: "When I healed you, Axoss, and gave up my power, I did not expect to survive. I was burned, inside and out. I could not see, nor breathe. I only knew that I was ending, and that I needed to leave something behind...something more. There was no clever strategy, no sense of duty in the act."

"Intended or not, that choice saved us both. The transformation revitalized you, and the healing power halted the progression of the plague that afflicted me."

"Well, 'revitalized' is a strong word. My scars can attest to that." I rubbed my sore limbs. "And it could not restore your sight."

"I serve the Mask of Truth. It provides all the sight I need. In the end, by fulfilling your duty, you enabled me to continue mine."

"Duty is not kind, Axoss. Not kind to us."

There was a long pause, and the mountain of armor shifted slightly. A long breath exhaled.

"No, it is not kind."

"So what do you say now, after all these years? Did I do right?"

Axoss did not answer. Footsteps sounded in the dark passage, far away. Their echoes were approaching, overlapping, and other noises followed. Clattering and scraping, the rasp of metal on stone, the murmur of distant voices.

Louder and louder it became, and I felt my muscles tightening with fear. Louder and louder, until all at once, Shuldak stumbled from the Opening and fell to the ground gasping.

His eyes raved in his skull. His mouth moved, but no sound came. His hands opened and closed on nothing–his tablet was gone. There were marks on his armor, from head to toe, and the red paint that had adorned his face was scratched and peeling. Peeled off, in some places, as if by many razors.

Axoss opened her blind eyes and inclined her face to the miserable Phynaran. After a few moments, Shuldak’s gaze met hers, and he grew unnaturally still.

"In an ancient time," she said at last, "I would not have hesitated to destroy you now, Shol of Old Phynar. Could not have hesitated. Such was the strength of the bond of my duty. But now, a change has come, and I may choose, at least, the method of judgment. Do you comprehend this, Phynaran?"

The eyes blinked, the mouth moved. Axoss saw the truth of it. The noises in the passage had continued as she spoke. There was a skittering sound in the dark. Many dragging limbs and spines. Something was crawling along the floor, on the walls, on the ceiling, all around.

Red eyes opened in the blackness, just beyond the reach of the light, a hundred of them at least. I shrank back as a familiar voice issued:

"Give him to us," it said in tones of hatred. "He is a child of the Pridak, that chosen one of Mata Nui, whom we curse. Pridak who slew many of our kind in elder days. This one is a bargainer, a dealmaker, a seeker of amnesty and allegiance in exchange for our knowledge of the beyond." A harsh croaking, which is Their laughter, followed this. "But we do not palter with such. We will rend this one and devour his core. Give him to us, warden."

Axoss reached down and took Shuldak in one great hand, lifting him bodily. She held him toward the darkness, and all his cunning was gone. She spoke:

"Your violence would fulfill my duty to the Great Spirit. Will you send him on the Red Journey for me, this day?"

A hiss and curses poured from the portal. Shuldak hung in the air, staring, mouth agape.

"Keep him then," the voice said at last. "We shall not partake in your duty, which is accursed. We see that your eyes are dim, warden, and your body grows ever frailer. What strength have you left in those limbs, after all these years?"

"Strength enough to slay another ten thousand of your kind, Zyglak, and to clean the rust from my hammer with your bones. I am bound to this duty for eternity. I do not waver."

"Neither we. Neither we…We gnaw at the world even now, though your Toa sealed the breach. One day we shall open it again, and then–"

Axoss laughed suddenly, a terrible peal of laughter, and a flash of white light issued from her mouth, blazed down the tunnel, and in the radiance I looked upon Them once more, and the air was filled with the cries of Their burning. They fled away, away into the dark…

When my sight returned to normal again, I realized that Shuldak was gone as well. His figure careened away across the flat, back toward the horizon. 

Axoss had let him go.

======

The Amaja was in shadow by now. I stood creakily and retrieved the various stones. The Matoran were filtering out, some to their night-tasks in the city above, but most to rest. A few remained to speak with me.

"Your stories are strange, Turaga," the first said, a Fa-Matoran, "different from the legends of the other elders."

"I expect so. I’m afraid I am not a good teller of legends."

"No, no. We look forward to your tellings on the odd months."

"Turaga," another spoke up, this time a Ce-Matoran, "What became of the two Matoran, the Ga and the Ba? Were they accosted by the Phynaran as he fled?"

"They were returned safely to the ship, along with myself. The Phynaran…he did not fare quite as well."

"Is it true that the touch of Zyglak eats away at one’s armor and flesh?"

"It is true, and the Phynaran Shuldak would tell you so, if he could still speak."

"So he lived?"

"Yes, he lived, though the Carexkans boxed him up for the return journey. Axoss accompanied me back to the shore to make sure of it. The sailors seemed to understand what her presence meant. I believe it was not the first time they had encountered her, or one like her. Who can say?"

"And did she ever answer your question?" the Ce-Matoran asked.

"What question?"

"Whether you did right, long ago."

"Ah, no…No, she didn’t."

"Of course he did right," the Fa-Matoran piped up. "He saved the world from the Void Storm. The Fire Turaga told the legend last month. It's not a hard question."

"Well, maybe not for you," I said.

"Did she go back then, to continue her duty?" the Ce-Matoran continued.

"What do you think?"

"Well, I hope so, because the Zyglak frighten me. But at the same time, I think it's...it's a hard thing."

"How so?"

"To be bound to a duty like that, I mean. For all time. To never...to never be able to rest."

I realized that there were tears in my eyes. When had that happened...

"I think so too," I said. "But maybe one day...one day our tasks will all be done, and then we can rest."

The scars hurt, in my armor and flesh. My throat was raw from too much talking, and my eyes were tired from too much seeing.

"I've never thought about it. Do you really think so, Turaga?"

Duty is not kind, Axoss. Not kind to us.

"I hope so."

[sadclowncentral]

you sail!! tell us more about that. i did a course and got a licence last year but idk what to do with it now except for go online and look up people going on those long as hell trips from gdynia to mallorca and Yearn

I sail indeed!! my dad and my brother have been/are professional sailors respectively, so that sport is taken very seriously around here, and i basically grew up on sailing boats. i never became as good as my brother, who does international racing and is a captain now, but I pride myself in being a good navigator and being great at anything on the foredeck except the spinnaker, so i can stand my own. me and my brother have this beautiful boat right here, the VILA!

she is a Cayenne 42, twelve metres long, an absolute beauty but definitely not built for high sea voyages we take her on throughout the baltic sea (we bought her from lake constance, where the wind is not that strong, so she was rigged for much fairer seas) and is therefore the ship equivalent of a nervous horse - one wrong move and she tries to throw you off - but once you get attuned to that, she is one of the fastest boats i have ever been on, and that is saying something.

we spend on average a month a year on longer voyages and go racing every wednesday, so i am definitively spending a lot of time sailing, but it's absolutely worth the money, sweat tears and pain of shipyard time, and general chaos, because there is nothing on this earth better than having a beer in one hand, sheet rope in the other, staring out at nothing but blue skies and bluer water, waiting for the next maneuver. nothing.

[lh7]

On March 22nd, with the world’s attention fixed on the crisis at Fukushima, the Ocean Link reached its worksite 160 miles to the south. They had chosen one of the faults farthest from the meltdown, but the winter wind was blowing from the north and the crew remained inside the ship until it was deemed safe to go outside.  As the chief engineer and one of the oldest members of the crew, Hirai felt it was his duty to perform the radiation checks. He pulled on the slick yellow coveralls and boots, strapped on a mask and goggles, and opened the heavy steel door leading to the foredeck.  The sky was overcast and low, and the ship rocked on a building swell as Hirai walked out onto the pocked green-painted deck and held out the wand of his Geiger counter to see what the wind carried. To his relief, it registered only background radiation. Next, he walked to the side and lowered a sensor into the sea. Again, nothing. He would do it all again in two hours, but for now, work could begin.  They spent the first day and night surveying the worksite, moving slowly along the cable route while measuring the depth and current. Conditions worsened overnight and dawn greeted them with 15-foot waves and gale-force winds, too violent for delicate cable work. They would have to wait. At the most basic level, a broken cable is fixed by patching the break with a piece of new cable, but because the break is miles away on the ocean floor, this must be done in several steps. The first step is to cut the cable near the break (often, the cable will have been damaged but not cleanly severed, and cables are laid with so little slack that they cannot be pulled to the surface in one piece). This is done by dragging a bladed grapnel across the cable in a so-called “cutting drive.” The ship then swaps the bladed grapnel for a hooked one and catches one end of the severed cable, hoists it to the surface, and attaches it to a buoy. Then they catch the other cable end, splice the spare cable to it, and tow the spare cable back to the first buoyed cable to complete the patch. The ship is now holding a working cable but one that is considerably longer than it used to be. This process of bringing each cable end to the surface separately means that every repair makes a cable longer — in deep water, by several miles. In order to minimize slack that could get tangled and snagged, the loop of new cable is towed to the side of the original route until it can lay taut on the ocean floor once again.

[wispstalk]

8. rules

prompt from this list paired with a character suggestion from @druidx - this one features Baurus.

--

Baurus, at times, misses the Imperial City. The bustle of it, mostly, the swirling motion of commerce, the cacophony of the bells and half-a-hundred languages tossed around like cargo at the waterfront, and sometimes even the smell. He expected the hermetic rhythms of life in Cloud Ruler to chafe at him; braced himself for it on the trek north.

He could not predict the extent to which he took the amenities of city life for granted. Namely, the abundance of healers. Cheerful apothecaries with their tailor-made remedies, gentle hands at the temple coaxing wounds to seal.

For such things now they must rely on the Hero of Kvatch. Martin Septim, former priest, is a healer, but he has too important a role to play to be bothered with such trifles. Tanis Irathi is competent, but he is also a tyrant. A fortnight ago, the Grandmaster assembled them all to review reports on the Mythic Dawn’s movements. Baurus might have coughed a few times as Jauffre spoke, only to dislodge an itch in his throat. Afterward, Irathi — pacing the barracks like a captain dressing down his crew on the foredeck — forbade the Blades from catching disease.

He foists upon them bitter preventative tonics and sneers when they grimace at the taste. He sees someone sucking a cut and demands they sit for a healing, all the while relaying tales of rotten battlefield wounds that make even stalwart Captain Steffan go green around the gills. He nudges aside whoever’s on cooking duty to upend a mortar full of foul-tasting roots into a perfectly good soup, to make it more “fortifying.”

Irathi takes a scorched-earth approach with any malady. Baurus must admit it’s effective, and not entirely irrational. The Hero and his apprentice are the only residents of the temple with true freedom of movement — they cannot afford to fall ill, even for a short time. Baurus, too, would like to think that any miasma creeping up the barren mountain slopes would quail before his stern resolve.

—

Baurus is on cooking duty, crisping up fat little brook trout for breakfast. This is not the White-Gold Tower, there are no cooks or scullions here.

The heir pads in and mumbles out a greeting. He looks drawn, the pouches under his eyes darker than usual. He ladles up some tea from the pot boiling over the fire. Muffles a wet racking cough in his sleeve. Spills half the tea in his convulsion, curses. “Please, your Grace, let me.” Martin ignores him, mops up the mess, shuffles out.

He feels like a tattle-tale, but one look at Jauffre’s face tells him that the Grandmaster shares his concern. This cough could be the first sign of ruin to come, like the untimely reddening of the skies before an Oblivion gate bursts up from the soil. The end of the world precipitated by a cold. They are not healers, and thus find it easy to spin every little sneeze into a deadly portent.

And worse, Irathi and Coradri are due back in a week’s time. If he returns to discover the Blades keeping watch over a bedridden man, they will never hear the end of it.

Jena helps him locate Irathi’s cache of elixirs, jumbled at the bottom of a kitchen cupboard. “They’re not labeled,” Baurus says with dismay, examining the murky contents of a glass bottle. When he shakes it, some ominous dark sediment swirls and clings to the glass.

“He only just learned how to write. Look, they’ve all got cords with different knots, maybe that’s the trick.”

Jena is sharp like that, noticing things even her fellow Blades miss. There does seem to be a system to the neat and pleasing sailing knots tied around the neck of each bottle. “We don’t have time to decipher some secret string language. And I’m not drinking out of random bottles to see what’s what. I might poison myself and then what use will I be?”

“He’s a healer. I don’t think he makes poisons, even to sell.”

“What does he always say?” Baurus prompts, and they recite together: “A fine line between medicine and poison.”

—

When the Hero and his apprentice are not around, Baurus takes up the mantle of errand-boy. Bruma is only three miles away as the crow flies, but as the man creeps upon the treacherous ground, it’s a good two hours of hiking. One way. Too far to sprint back if something happens. Tree cover down on the shanks of the mountain, obscuring the view. It makes him uneasy, being outside the range of a useful patrol, but even Jauffre agrees this needs doing.

The apothecary is owned by an old Nord woman, tiny and withered as a winter apple, whose eyes sparkle out of her spectacularly folded face. She grills him on the symptoms as she pulls jars down from her shelves.

Witbane fever cooking the heir’s brains, collywobbles leaving him too feeble to hold his reed pen, fluid settling in his lungs to drown him in his sleep, parasites sapping the strength from his limbs. Death death death. “A wet cough,” he says.

He returns to the temple, armed with sachets and clinking bottles and a list of instructions. The apothecary’s handwriting is tiny and wavering. This happens as one ages; the mind starts to go and the limbs cease to obey and the act of putting words to paper demands a shrinking focus. Uriel’s penmanship was like that. Martin’s, from what Baurus has spied, is a cramped but fluid scrawl.

The heir is in the great hall when Baurus arrives, a blanket around his shoulders, painstakingly throwing kindling in a basket. Baurus rushes to his side. “Please, Your Grace…”

“I’m perfectly capable of building my own fire,” the heir snaps, “and stop calling me that.”

“Of course, but—”

“For gods’ sake, it’s just a cough, I haven’t lost a limb or something. And I’ll be back to the Xarxes in a day or two.”

Baurus is no healer but he knows all the folksy maxims. Starve a fever, feed a cold. Lots of liquid. And lots of rest. For instance, no lugging of heavy loads. No reading of accursed, dream-haunting books. No enduring of icy quarters, because you’re loathe to use up firewood that must be hauled up on the backs of mules, and you cannot reconcile the spendthrift habits of your rural past with your future as an Emperor.

“That’s not—” Baurus splutters. “Martin, just give me the damned basket.”

The words leave his mouth before he can stop them. He drops into a hasty bow, words of apology bubbling up in his throat, but the heir only blinks at him in bemusement. “Fine,” he says, and hands it over.

The Emperor’s quarters are indeed frigid, the bed unmade, blankets tossed in fitful sleep. The Xarxes sits unopened on the nightstand and Baurus moves it to the desk, gingerly and discreetly.

He props his blade across his lap to shave tinder from the wood, a base use that would send the swordmaster who trained him into a conniption. Sparks the nest of shavings in the hearth, feeds it sticks, gets it roaring. Hangs a little pot to boil water. The heir, watching this laborious process, threatens to intervene with a simple fire spell. Baurus is no mage but knows the mental strain of casting will only impede rest. He positions himself before the hearth to box Martin out.

The tea steeps. Baurus ladles it out and hands it over and nods at the Martin’s murmured thanks. Then he pulls a stool up by the bedside to supervise recovery. He is captain of the Blades, personally promoted by the previous Emperor. Bodyguard, guard of the body. If duty calls for him to play nursemaid, then nursemaid he will be.

Martin arches an eyebrow. “So this is how it’s going to be, eh?”

“This is how it’s going to be.”

“You’ve been spending too much time with Tanis,” Martin gripes, but smiles a private smile behind his cup.

[two-hands-toward-the-sun]

i’m reading flood of fire by amitav ghosh and it’s pretty good so far, but the chapter i’m on currently is riddled with some of the most egregious euphemisms for various sexual or anatomical terms that i have ever had the misfortune of reading.

highlights: “thrusting your cargo through a hatch,” “winching up your undertackle with your own maulers,” “tap their kegs,” “beanpoles,” “fiddle-block,” “bullet-pouch,” “foredeck,” “an overly energetic bout of musketry,” “polishing your pistol,” “his tackle stirring in its stowage,” “his hawser was trying to bore a hawse-hole through the flap of his breeches,” “his jib-boom would be a-taunt in his trousers,” and last but not least “hoisted his mizzen.” all within five pages.

i’m suffering.

[mydearlybeloathed]

── 𝐐𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you and zoro train together every morning, so it was only a matter of time till one of you got hurt (spoiler: it's not zoro)

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: roronoa zoro x gn!reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.4k

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: requested, sword fighting, reader gets injured, artist!reader

𝐎𝐏 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

The deck of the Going Merry was hot and blistering under the heat of the sun. You’d just taken a few steps outside when you turned right back around and bolted back below deck, grumbling as you found a set of shoes.

“Stupid heat,” you lamented, somewhat longing for the days you’d galivant your village barefoot without a care in the world. Now, you had a very many number of cares due to your new way of life.

Who knew piracy could be so stressful?

Certainly not you, but you wouldn’t trade any of this for the world. You may be fighting for your life every other Tuesday, but you were loved and cherished and that was something you treasured far more than the security of a home that didn’t jump on the waves.

Besides, the Going Merry was cozy once you got over the sea-sickness.

You raced back into the sunlight of daybreak, practically skipping as you headed up to the foredeck to meet the crew’s swordmans. You shouldn’t be so chipper to see him, after all he made it clear he didn’t want you intruding on his daily training. Still, you couldn’t help but admire Zoro in every sense of the word, and then some.

Nami said you were caught in the web of love. You only laughed, never once denying it, but never agreeing either. 

The swordsman was just about to begin running through his katas without you, almost daring to hope you’d slept in. He knew it was foolish when he heard your cheerful humming as you bounded up to him, and then he was daring to be relieved you hadn’t forgotten.

(He liked your presence more than he’d ever admit to anymore, and that was a very close guarded secret).

“Ready?” he said simply, always wanting to tell you so many things, aching to ask you questions so mundane they felt silly, but always settling for one word. You never minded; that much was clear from the way your smile warmed and your eyes met his unabashedly.

“Always.” You beamed as he handed you one of his swords, Yubashiri, and Zoro quickly averted his gaze. You pretended not to see right through him. “Are you?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah.”

By the end of an hour, you were thoroughly exhausted, yet somehow feeling alive enough to run a marathon. You spun the sword around your wrist, a trick Zoro had taught you a while back, and giggled to yourself, drawing Zoro’s attention.

Caught offguard by the way the sun beamed down and highlighted everything he liked about you, and how your skin shimmered like glass with how you sweat now, Zoro couldn’t help but stare and pray you didn’t notice.

The gods must’ve been merciful that morning, for you turned your back to get a drink from your water bottle the next moment, only turning back around once Zoro had composed himself. Still, you must have caught the awkward stiffness in his shoulders. You tilted your head the way you did when you were concerned, like some lost puppy, and Zoro’s heart dropped. 

“You wanna stop now?” you asked without a hint of disappointment, but Zoro knew better. This was your favorite part of the day, or so you said. He hadn’t a clue as to why fighting him in the blazing sun was so memorable, but he never tried to come up with a reason why your smile was so bright every day. 

Either way, he would never cut this short himself, for reasons quite beyond him. 

“And leave it at a draw? Not a chance.”

That grin slid across your face, the one that told Zoro he’d wait for your every morning, even if you were three hours late, if sparring like this made you happy.

But then he made a mistake. He got too cocky, too comfortable—Zoro’s usually solid restraint wavered as you snickered and ducked under his sword, passing your hand over his side to tickle him. He stammered and jerked away, unable to help but smirk as he surged forward once more.

The next blow of the two swords knocked you off balance. You stumbled back, losing a solid grip, and raised the blade to parry another attack. Your sword faltered and clattered to the deck, but Zoro out too much power behind his move. The edge of his sword stabbed the air too close to your arm, and Zoro felt all the air leave his lungs.

Well, he thought it only caught the air until you inhaled sharply, fighting back a wince as he practically jumped away from you. Zoro’s sword was back in its sheath in seconds. He inched toward you, hovering a hand over your shoulder as crimson starting to spread from a slit in the material. “Shit, I—”

“It’s fine,” you said through a weak smile, rolling our your arm with a barely there laugh. “See? Just a scratch.”

“I’m—Sorry…” He searched for something better to say, eyes wide whilst you just grinned up at him, eyes all squinty. 

You knelt to pick up Yubashiri from the ground with your good arm, handing it back to Zoro as tears started to well in the ducts of your eyes. A pit formed in Zoro’s chest as he just set the sword right back down, holding you by your good shoulder. He ignored your swatting hands an delicately pulled up your sleeve, gawking at the less-than-fine gash he’d inflicted. 

His eyes darted up to meet yours suddenly; your hand was now placed over his, your gaze reassuring as you blinked swiftly. “Really, it was an accident. Don’ worry.”

Nodding, Zoro backed away silently, looking anywhere but at your face. “Should probably let Chopper look at that.”

You nodded too, waiting for him to say anything else, staying put for an awkward amount of time just watching him. You felt awful, really, even though you’re the one who got hurt. Hopefully, he wouldn’t beat himself up too much.

The next morning when you rose with the sun as you had every other day, you sauntered up to the deck with a sketchpad and pencil in hand. Zoro was leaning against the mizzenmast, idly tapping at the hilt of the Wado Ichimonji. 

“Hey,” you greeted, inwardly sighing when his eyes were instantly drawn to the bandage on your arm. You stopped short and tilted your head, a tired look in your eye. “Look. I’m fine. I know it was accident. Let’s just move on, ‘kay?”

Instead of answering directly, he nodded at the sketchpad in your hand. “What’s the book for?”

“Chopper told me to take a break until it heals over,” you said with a roll of your eyes. Confusion swarmed Zoro’s face.

“So… if you’re not training, why’re you up?” Everyone else would still be asleep by now, save for the cook if he was doing breakfast that day. 

You shrugged and nearly skipped to a barrel a few feet off, dragging it closer to where Zoro would be training and perching yourself atop it. You crossed your legs and set the pad in your lap. “I still wanna spend time with you.”

It was like you wanted to kill him, saying stuff like that. Zoro’s cheeks felt all warm all of a sudden as he cleared his throat, biting down on his lip to keep from smiling. He steeled his face with a grunt, muttering, “Back at you.”

Zoro might have shown off more than he normally would that day, and you might have ended with more sketches of him than needed. 

As the rest of the crew rose from sleep and lumbered into the kitchen, Sanji asked Nami ever so sweetly to alert you that breakfast was served, and you could stop humoring the mosshead. Nami rolled her eyes, grinning as she bounded above deck only to falter as she found the foredeck empty.

A quick search led her to the afterdeck, where she stood silently out of sight, spotting two figures in the shade of her tangerine trees. Your spoke with avid hands, holding your sketchpad up for him to see, and Zoro listened with a captivity Nami didn’t think possible of him. 

She chuckled as you leaned into him without realizing, distressing a frazzled Zoro. Eh. You two could probably do without breakfast. As strange as the pairing was, if you were happy, she was happy. 

And from the way you looked at him as if the very stars were hung in his big dumb eyes, you were very happy indeed.

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @100520s