#some members of the swallow tail family but thatch all i got

[pomegranateteeth]

Pinned butterfly specimens from Panama (?) Collected in 1971

[yukipri]

On the Baratie, Part 5 Epilogue - a One Piece Mermaid AU Text Story

Here’s the final part of the Baratie series!

Includes my personal headcanons for Thatch’s backstory in this AU (and possibly canon, as I doubt we’ll learn much more about him sigh).

WARNINGS (actual warnings this time):

＊Trigger warnings for non-graphic violence, gore, unwilling self-harm, mention of thoughts of suicide, and body horror. Canon-typical dark backstory.

Slight ship warnings for: minor Sanji x Luffy, Thatch x Luffy, hint of bg Sabo x Luffy, but not ship-focused.

Continues off of past parts!

👒🐟On the Baratie, Part 1

👒🐟On the Baratie, Prologue

👒🐟On the Baratie, Part 2

👒🐟On the Baratie, Part 3

👒🐟On the Baratie, Part 4

~~

They've been traveling together for a while now. With more additions to the crew, Sanji's no longer the newest member. They leave East Blue, crossing over to the Grand Line. Their voyage continues onward.

Fitting into his role as the second cook of the ASL Pirates was easier than Sanji could have ever hoped, and he knows it's largely due to Thatch. Thatch, who, for all his incredible skill and titles and history, turns out to be...a remarkably normal person. It takes less than an hour for Sanji's awe over Thatch being his childhood idol to turn into pure indignation when the other cook professes his love for Luffy, and now their daily proposals to Luffy with food are just part of routine on the Merry.

(Sanji still knows his cooking is amateur in comparison to Thatch's, but none of their crew seems to realize, and Luffy eats all their food with equal gusto. Even Thatch himself only ever compliments Sanji, often with ridiculous faux outrage that Sanji's cooking looks better, which is absolutely false, Sanji would know. But even so, the man sounds so genuinely offended that Sanji can't help but appreciate the lengths the older man will go to in order to keep Sanji from feeling inferior.)

It's during a rare moment of calm, when the skies are clear and Deuce and Nami seem relaxed about their progress, when Sanji decides there's never going to be a better time to ask. He finishes washing the last of the pastry plates from the desserts the crew had just finished devouring (his hands momentarily pause on a plate that Ace had to pull out of Luffy's throat when she swallowed it whole along with the pastry, and Sanji allows himself a moment of imagining that the plate with her slobber is somewhat like an indirect kiss...), before he exits the kitchen to go to his locker.

From the locker, buried beneath gravure magazines of buxom ladies whose beauty will never compare to Luffy's, he pulls out a magazine far more valuable to him, the only one of its kind that he'd brought with him from the Baratie.

Back up on the main deck, Sanji finds Thatch sitting by the mast while watching Luffy and Usopp play with some new contraption the latter made. He looks up when he senses Sanji's approach, grimacing when the movement makes the wind blow his now loose hair into his mouth.

"I need a hair tie if Marco's not going to send me my damn hair wax," Thatch complains, even as he pats the ground next to him for Sanji to sit.

"You could always ask our lovely navigator," Sanji grunts as he drops down, careful not to fold the magazine, which Thatch has yet to notice.

"Ah, beautiful Miss Nami might have one, but her hair's pretty short...honestly more likely Deuce'll have one." Thatch sulks, because he'd really rather get a hair tie from a pretty lady, but as it is, Thatch probably has the longest hair on the crew at the moment, followed by their first mate. "If only our ladies had longer hair...ah, my darling Seastar with long hair..."

Sanji lets himself get drawn into imagining their most dazzling Lady Captain leaning against the rail of the Merry, sunlight sparkling off the waves in the background paling in comparison to her radiance. Her face is shadowed by her trademark straw hat, before she raises her head, causing long, silky strands to ripple around her like dark angel wings, glittering threads of black diamond dancing across her cheeks before she tucks them behind her ear with a small smile--

Both cooks sigh dreamily in perfect unison.

"Hey Luffy, they're thinking somethin' pervy about you again!" Usopp shouts in the background.

Both cooks ignore him, likewise in perfect synch.

Thatch regretfully pulls out of his Luffy Vision first. "So, you got something to talk to me about?" He knows it can't be about dinner, because they'd already started prepping for that.

Sanji blinks, and oh, there's Luffy, with her short hair, still just as lovely, probably doing something incredibly stupid and dangerous, but that's okay because Sabo's stepping in, and the Revolutionary may be batshit crazy but he won't let Luffy hurt herself--and right, he wanted to talk to Thatch.

He carefully brings the magazine out in front of him, and Thatch leans over curiously. The pages easily fall open to the column, remembering the page Sanji poured over countless times. Sanji hears Thatch's breath hitch.

"This you?" Sanji asks, looking at the faded photo of the smiling boy, before his eyes flick to Thatch.

The older man's eyes are wide, glued to the page. Sanji wordlessly offers him the magazine, and Thatch slowly takes it, his hands handling the paper carefully as though worried it'll crack.

"Yeah, that's me alright," Thatch murmurs, eyes scanning the column before his lips twist into a wry smile. "How the hell did you get your hands on this fossil?"

"Found it while we were looking for stuff for the Baratie's collection, some old second hand shop," Sanji says, and it's not a lie, but it's not like he can admit he was obsessed with them and actually hunted for them after obtaining the first ones.

Thatch makes a low sound of understanding, before he starts flipping through the rest of the magazine, pages that Sanji honestly doesn't even remember. "I wonder if this magazine's still even going..."

"It is," Sanji informs him. "It's changed a lot, but we still get it delivered."

Thatch laughs then, shaking his head as he closes the magazine and hands it back to Sanji with the same care. "I'm sure it has changed, after what happened, oh man..."

Sanji frowns. So something did happen.

"So how did the kid in this end up a Whitebeard pirate?" he asks, but he means, How did the boy's adventure end?

"Mm, you sure you wanna know? It's not a particularly nice story, though I suppose it has a happy end." Thatch leans back heavily against the mast, his hand subconsciously reaching up to brush hair away from his face, lingering on the deep, if old scar around his left eye. Sanji wonders if it's related.

"If it's something you don't mind sharing. I'm sure I can handle it."

They're interrupted by a crash, and look up to see Sabo heaving Luffy up back over the rail by the end of her tail. She'd clearly almost fallen overboard, again, but is laughing as carefree as ever, even as Usopp wrings his hands apologetically behind them. Sabo doesn't look mad though, and is stroking Luffy's hair now that she's safely back on deck and in his arms, his face disgustingly besotted.

Deuce and Nami come out of the cabin at the noise, and Ace and Zoro startle awake from their respective naps as well. Deuce takes one look at what's going on, and launches into a full blown scolding session for all three of the members involved, clearly dissatisfied with the way Sabo handled it. It had only taken the first mate a few days in his company before Deuce had determined that no matter how sensible Sabo may seem at times, he's still Another Stupid Brother, and therefore gets the same treatment.

The rest of the crew listening in winces when Deuce hurls a, "Luffy being stupid is one thing, but you're WAY too lenient with her, you foolish Revolutionary!" Nami and Koala cheer him on in the background.

("Told you," Ace mouths, before hastily looking away when Deuce's gaze snaps to him.)

Usopp looks thoroughly chastised and sincerely sorry, Sabo looks weirdly pleased as though being told he's lenient is a compliment, and Luffy looks bored and is searching for an escape when her gaze lands on the two cooks.

"Thatch! Story time?!" is all the warning they get, before Luffy's arms grab onto the mast behind them and the mermaid torpedoes head-first into Thatch's chest. It's a testament to the Whitebeard Commander's sturdiness that all he does is grunt at the considerable impact, even as Sanji winces in sympathy. That'll definitely bruise.

"Alright, yeah story time, if anyone wants to hear my boring old past," Thatch agrees, and Luffy cheers, turning herself sideways and flopping down on Thatch's crossed legs to look up at him with eyes sparkling with expectation. Sanji isn't even jealous, because in her new position, Luffy's thrown her tail across Sanji's lap, and he begins reverently rubbing circles into her soft scales, heat creeping up his cheeks when her flukes flick with pleasure.

Deuce sighs, giving up on his scolding as everyone gathers around the cooks. But he doesn't seem too disappointed, and pulls out his notebook as he joins them, as though he intends on recording whatever Thatch's going to say. Ace plops himself down on Thatch's other side, ruffling Luffy's hair distractedly and hiding his curiosity poorly. Sanji gets the feeling that despite knowing him for much longer, Ace hasn't heard much about Thatch's past either.

"Well, so..."

~~

Thatch was born to a middle class family in a relatively active port town on the Grand Line. His parents ran a modest diner, certainly nothing high class, but popular enough among the locals to almost always have full seats.

Thatch was what they called a "child prodigy." He'd started helping in the kitchen simply because he wanted to do the same things as his parents, but by the time he was seven, he'd already surpassed both of them in skill. His parents decided to leave the kitchen to him, while they focussed on management.

With Thatch behind the menu, the restaurant's popularity grew, drawing more traffic. Among their visitors were occasional food critics, who spread their business's reputation and made it something of a cult tourist spot.

When Thatch was nine, his father came up with the idea that it might be good publicity, for people to know that a literal child was behind their now famous restaurant's food. And in the name of said publicity, he also decided to have the restaurant officially under Thatch's name, although is parents still managed it.

"Child prodigy chef owns his own restaurant," was definitely a headline that journalists latched onto. The berries were rolling in.

Thatch himself, he didn't really care about that. He rarely ever left the kitchen now, constantly cooking, constantly coming up with new menu items, constantly training new chefs as their once small family diner expanded into a chain. He didn't really mind it, he loved cooking after all, but he often wished he still had time to talk to patrons, or explore town. While there weren't any child labor laws in their country, he couldn't go to school or make friends or do anything a normal child might otherwise enjoy.

So when the largest, most prominent cooking magazine sent a representative to talk about a potential column centered around him, Thatch was hopeful. He'd always dreamed of leaving the island, and it'd never seemed like an achievable dream. He wanted to exposure to new things to expand his cooking repertoire, and he wanted to be able to challenge himself as a cook--but more than anything, he also just wanted go and see what might be out there, outside of his diner's kitchen.

His parents reluctantly agreed. At this point, Thatch had trained enough experienced cooks, and their reputation was established enough that Thatch's temporary absence wouldn't damage them. And Thatch knew his parents were drawn by the potential for greater publicity from the column, and Thatch (and their restaurant) possibly becoming a household name not just on the Grand Line, but across the world.

(Thatch never thought his parents were bad people, or even bad parents. He hadn't wanted for anything, and they let him pursue and nurture his passion. That they were business-minded, and had also come to see Thatch as an asset and publicity tool was something he understood. They still loved him, in their own way.)

His parents' only condition was that Thatch return in a few years, before he was fifteen. A "child prodigy" becomes less interesting with age, and eventually becomes "a normal adult." They wanted Thatch back before that, to reestablish his connection to their diner, before he inevitably faded out of public interest, or had to re-establish his identity as an adult cook.

And so at eleven years old, what seemed like the entire town saw off Thatch, who set sail on a small ship manned by experienced sailors, and chaperoned by the journalist who would be documenting his voyage.

For the first two years, the journey was everything Thatch had ever wanted. They would go to new islands, information provided to him by the journalist, and then he would be given free reign to do whatever he wanted, so long as it included food and cooking, which is what Thatch would have been drawn to do anyway. That there were always a handful of adults a few paces behind him, documenting everything he did and forcing him to voice his thoughts out loud, all eventually faded into the background. Thatch got used to voicing his inner thoughts for their benefit. It was hardly a chore, and Thatch was having the time of his life.

But all things eventually change. Due to the success of the column, Thatch's journalist was given a promotion, and the last stretch of his journey before Thatch was to return to his home island was assigned to a new journalist. Thatch had always known that their relationship was strictly professional, and was used to changing traveling companions at this point. It felt a bit lonely that the first journalist, the only person who had remained a constant, was leaving...but he understood.

It's just business, after all.

The new journalist replaced the old one, and their journey continued--or at least, it was supposed to.

Child!Thatch, adult Thatch would later think, was remarkably naive and sheltered for all that he was a veteran cook. He was used to having things being laid out in front of him on a neat platter, for the adults in his life to control all aspects of his life, conveniently convincing himself that it's what he wanted anyway. He was used to the adults taking care of all the details, because all Thatch had to do to make everyone happy was cook. He not once doubted those responsible for his life, and blindly trusted that they would keep everything smooth and safe for him.

Because when one day, thirteen-year old Thatch woke up to see red staining the walls of the cabin, and then looked around to find the corpses of everyone else on the ship strewn around him, it took a remarkably long time for him to process that this definitely wasn't what was supposed to happen.

He was disoriented, too numb to even feel panic or put up a fight when the new journalist came in and tied him up to pass him to the pirates who had decimated the crew.

Pirates. It wasn't the Golden Age of Piracy yet, and although the Roger Pirates and other famous names were often whispered about, most sailors didn't expect to personally run into pirates. Thatch had been warned of their existence, but hadn't really thought much on them, as they had seemed irrelevant to his own peaceful civilian adventures.

The pirates and the journalist had a deal, he gathered. The pirates had wanted to get their hands on the famous child prodigy cook, and were willing to pay good money. The journalist had agreed, and had summoned the pirates to their location. Everyone but Thatch and the journalist had been killed to erase witnesses.

Before handing Thatch off to them, the journalist demanded payment first. Thatch remembers wondering why the journalist hadn't demanded anything before agreeing to the deal--it seemed a bad business tactic.

Thatch was standing right next to the journalist when the pirate captain drew his sword. Thatch wasn't scared, because he knew he wouldn't be hurt. He was an asset. And he probably knew what would happen before the journalist did.

He still remembers feeling the whoosh of air as the sword came, the sound of it hitting flesh, the dull thunk, the loosening of the arms gripping the rope that held Thatch bound.

Thatch thought ah, so human heads can be severed just as easily as fish heads.

Thatch didn't put up a fuss, going with the pirates. It was clear he couldn't have stayed on the ransacked ship, because even if he did, he had no way of manning the ship alone, even if he even knew how. And so he wordlessly followed, and continued to do what he'd done his whole life: obey adults.

And at first it wasn't bad. A kitchen was a kitchen, no matter how dirty, and Thatch knew how to please people with food. The pirates seemed overjoyed with Thatch's skill.

But some part of Thatch really wondered if that's all they wanted from him, and that bad feeling manifested itself as reality soon.

Hey brat, the captain said one day, and dumped a sack of ingredients Thatch had never used before into the kitchen. Turn this into something good. We need to get rid of an entire rival crew, and they're gluttons.

Thatch may never have used them before, but he recognized the things in the bag. They were all things he knew to avoid.

The pirate captain was asking him to make poison.

Thatch was a cook. No matter the reasons why people wanted him to cook, no matter who benefited and what money was passed around, and no matter how terrible the conditions--Thatch was alright so long as he could cook. Thatch cooked so that he could make delicious things that would in the end, contribute to nourishing people. He polished his skills to make that experience better, to make his patrons happier, to make himself feel more accomplished as a result.

Poison...that wasn't something that a cook could make.

Thatch, for the first time, spoke back to an adult. He felt that numb feeling again, over any fear.

I'm a cook, I can't make anything that can harm people. Please let me start preparing dinner. Thatch stated it as fact, and to him, it was.

The pirate struck Thatch. It was the first time he'd ever been hit, because as a child prodigy, as an asset, he'd always been too valuable to damage. But now...

You'll make it, or we have no need for you.

Bars were added to the kitchen, making it Thatch's cell. All edible ingredients were confiscated. And every day, the pirates came in with more ingredients, more demands.

Make an aphrodisiac. Make a date rape drug. Make something that'll make someone lose feeling in their limbs. Make something that'll cause loss of senses. Make something that'll cause crazy hallucinations. Make something deadly, but undetectable in water. Make something that can dissolve guts from the inside out. Make something that won't kill, but cause excruciating pain. Make something that WILL kill, but only after several days.

The pirates didn't want a cook. They wanted a master poisons brewer. Which, Thatch was not.

Every time Thatch refused, they beat him. They threatened to cut off his legs, because why would he need them, when all he needed were his hands? They threatened to carve out his eyes, and the captain stabbed a knife close to his left eye to show how serious he was. They left Thatch with running water, but didn't give him anything to eat, other than the deadly, horrible ingredients they'd left inside the kitchen for him to turn into even worse poisons.

Thatch sorted the ingredients by those least harmful, and kept himself alive by reluctantly eating those first, but knew that the longer this continued, the more permanent and fatal the damage those ingredients would cause.

(He tried to come up with ways to use what he had to nullify effects, but he was just a kid, and it was his first time trying to make actual medicine. His experiments were risky, and often failed.)

Thatch didn't know how long he was in there, his sense of time and self muddled as he survived off of numbing agents and aphrodisiacs and hallucinogens. They barely kept him alive, and made him feel horrible. He tried to remember why it was so important he kept eating them, and rationing them like they were valuable.

In the corner of the kitchen was an ever growing pile of bright, beautiful fruits that he knew would cause immediate agonizing death...but they looked so lusciously juicy and ripe, and it was getting harder to remember why he couldn't eat them.

Perhaps it was the hallucinogens, perhaps it was everything wrong with his body that Thatch had unwillingly caused himself by eating, but one day, Thatch realized he was going through the movements of peeling those fruits, chopping them, squeezing the juices and watching with fascination as they sizzled into the bubbling pot he was brewing. He was too entranced by the concoction to even notice that his hands were burning and blistering, or perhaps they were just too numb.

He added spices, adjusted heat, and hummed. It had been too long, since he had cooked.

Except he wasn't cooking, because this wasn't food.

It smelled quite delicious, Thatch thought, mildly impressed with himself. Something tropical and fruity, mellowed by mushrooms and a great many other herbs. And it looked aesthetically pleasing, with its dancing, hypnotic colors. If he hadn't known what had gone into it, he'd consider it presentable to critics as his next seasonal special.

But now that it was done, and ready to be served, Thatch had no clue what to do with it.

He hadn't thought that far (he wasn't thinking at all), and didn't know how to think about the thing he made, when it wasn't edible.

He supposed he could possibly see if it could melt through the bars of his cell, though he wasn't sure where he'd even go if he could escape. The cell didn't have any windows, and Thatch wasn't even sure they were at an island, they could still be on open water. Thatch might be able to throw it on a pirate, as a weapon. But there were dozens of pirates on board, and not nearly enough for all of them.

He could drink it himself. It would be an escape of sorts, he supposed.

It never crossed Thatch's mind to offer the concoction to the pirates, as a creation to be used.

He stood in the kitchen for hours, aimlessly stirring the pot, watching the brew get darker and darker, its magical colors turning into murky brown. Eventually, it became a thick, black tar-like substance that reflected no light, that looked like a void as Thatch stared into it.

A thin gray haze gradually began filling the room, and Thatch was well aware of it. He was already starting to feel noticeably worse than before. He supposed that was one way of giving himself a time limit: he'd either decide what to do with the brew, or succumb to the fumes first.

He distantly heard muted sounds overhead, and he realized the pirates may be fighting someone. It happened once in a while. But it was usually with other pirates, and he doubted it was the marines, and no civilian vessel would dare get close to such an obvious pirate ship. And well, if it was pirates...that's just more of the same, wasn't it?

Thatch eventually heard footsteps approaching the room, and someone coughing as they inhaled the fumes, now dense enough to be a dark smog that made it hard to see his own hands (or maybe that was the effect of the poison in him).

A creak--the cell doors were opening.

Thatch could barely think anymore, but made a split second decision. He didn't know what the consequences would be, but had a hunch he wouldn't survive long enough to find out anyway, so what did it matter.

He picked up the pot, and hurled all of its contents at the approaching figure.

There was a FUCK! and then--

Thatch won't ever forget what happened when that brew hit a human body.

But as he fell, the last of his strength gone, wondering if he should feel horrible or proud that he killed someone on his way out, Thatch saw the room light up, the black haze vanishing into searing, brilliant turquoise flames.

~~

"And so that's how I met Marco!" Thatch says, voice surprisingly chipper, even though Sanji feels like retching.

"You melted him," Ace says flatly, voice a mix of horror and awe.

"Sure did, if he had been anyone else they probably woulda been a puddle of human goo, and even he got halfway there," Thatch agrees, his hands stroking Luffy's hair harder, as they'd been doing all throughout his story telling. "Though lucky me, to have thrown poison at possibly one of the only people in the world with instant self-regeneration and possibly immortality."

"Was he mad? Pineapple bird-man. Melting doesn't sound very fun," Luffy frowns. She'd admittedly fallen asleep for most of the story, but woke up again when Thatch's hands in her hair got more tense, more urgent. She contentedly nuzzles into his thigh, more interested in making sure that Thatch's alright than in his answer, and she purrs when he crooks his fingers to scritch her reassuringly.

"Oh sure, he was mad for a little bit, but he's a nice guy and was a worry-wort even back then, so he brought me to Pops. And well, it took a while, but we're best buddies now and have been for years! Fancy that."

Deuce was shaking his head. "I still can't believe that stupid crew wanted to take down Pops with poison of all things, and were stupid enough to enter his territory without it even being ready."

"Well, it's not like they could have won in direct combat, and to be fair, back then the Four Emperors weren't that established, and territories in the New World were a lot looser than they are now." Thatch shrugged. "If nothing else, it was a creative angle, if a poorly thought out one, unlike some people's way of challenging Pops." Ace fidgets uncomfortably here, and Deuce snorts.

"You..." Sanji's finally recovering from his queasiness, because fuck Thatch's tale really wasn't pretty, especially from a cook's perspective. "You don't mind fighting, and killing people now?" He glances at the swords strapped to Thatch's belt, and thinks about his own insistence to never use his hands in combat.

"Well, I'd prefer not to do it, same as anyone else. But I don't mind fighting in general, and once Pops adopted me, I wanted to be able to defend myself." Thatch laughs here, and it sounds bitter, making Luffy look up. "Haruta actually suggested I use poison, if I knew how to make one that could almost take down the Phoenix, and, well...that's a no. May have thrown him overboard for that, but he deserved it. I told them I was good with knives, and Vista helped me develop my own style."

The conversation moves on then, the other crew members chipping in with questions, but Sanji sort of tunes it all out. He thought he was over his queasiness, but it's back again. Being forced to brew poison, and being offered nothing but harmful things to eat...fuck. Even Judge hadn't done that...

He feels something wrap around him then, and Sanji looks down, and realizes that Luffy's looped her tail so that her flukes curl behind his back, securely holding him, even as she continues to nuzzle Thatch's leg for attention.

How weak he must be, Sanji thinks, to need his captain's comfort now. But it helps, and he gradually relaxes.

Eventually the others realize that the story's over, and disperse back to their usual tasks, leaving Thatch and Sanji and a snoozing Luffy curled around both of their laps.

"Well, I guess that explains how the boy prodigy's journey ended," Sanji says, reaching over to Thatch's side to run his hand through Luffy's hair, smiling when she hums happily.

Thatch makes a soft sound, that sounds like possibly disagreement. "Well, sure, I ended up joining the Whitebeard pirates, and never ended up going back to my hometown. Everyone thought I was dead anyway, and being on the Moby was better than any restaurant for me, because I got to feed my brothers and travel, at least wherever the Moby goes, and that's still a fine adventure in its own way. But I guess you're right in that with a territory and a literal army backing me up...it's not quite the same kind of adventure, without the trill of the unknown."

Thatch looks up then, and when his eyes sweep across their little ship, and the small crew strewn about it, he looks fond. "But I guess in a way, that's what I'm doing now, isn't it? I may no longer be a 'boy prodigy,' but me traveling with you guys, going back up the Grand Line...it's sorta like that journey again."

Sanji blinks.

"The end of that journey...maybe you're on it with me, right now." Thatch winks.

Sanji snorts. "That's so cheesy," he says, but he doesn't meant it, not really, because he can't deny the giddiness that begins welling up in him at the thought.

Because what adult doesn't still have a child inside them, buried underneath layers of years, still craving those wishful dreams from long ago?

There's a moment of silence, before both cooks break out into laughter, carefree and boyish.

And so their journey continues onward.

~~

~~

Aaand that's a wrap! For this lil story series within this ever growing AU at least!

It may be a cheesy ending, but it still feels like an ending of sorts? which, is something I usually never actually manage to write to, everything I write is usually either short or abandoned....so I Feel Accomplished ^ ^;;

If you managed to get through it all, thanks so much for reading and sticking with this!!!! ;A; I’m definitely extremely curious to know if you have any thoughts regarding my take on Thatch's past, or anything else, because as always any comments are HUGELY appreciated!

Thanks again!

❀ ❀ Send YukiPri an Ask! ❀ ❀

~This ask has been added to the Mermaid AU Text Headcanons Compilation post~