#thanks so much anon please never mention pirates within earshot again

[hillbillied]

OH could I have Andyeddie 35 and 39 AU and trope please?

35. Pirate AU + 39. Star Crossed Lovers

(apologies for the delay and the fuckin length of this, i got a little too into it and binged PofC, thank you so much for sending this in!)

They say there’s a pirate on the Seven Seas who everybody knows. A Captain Haldane, they say, who once bested Davy Jones himself and now cannot die at sea. Rumour has it he’s over a hundred years old, more rumours say he’s far too handsome for that.  He’s a gentleman and a fighter, a hero to the common and a menace to every Empire that dares fly its flag across the waves. He’s fearsome and beloved, a name that sends shivers down the spine.

It begins at the end, his story (if you believe it’s true, of course).

It begins with Andrew Haldane sinking towards the ocean’s depths. Another corpse drifting ever downward. He’s young and stupid enough to swear revenge on the most feared pirate Captain of the time. He’d hunted the man down but lost the ensuing fight. (You can’t fight an entire crew by yourself.) They tie his hands behind his back and make him walk the plank. He watches the sunlight disappear as he sinks down, down, down.

That’s when the Sailor’s Devil appears. The voice of Davy Jones, asking him if he wants to make a deal. Serve the sea for a hundred years and get whatever you want in return.

Andrew asks for another chance at revenge. Jones agrees.

~

Mr. Haldane finds himself on a ship unlike any other. Blistering with barnacles, draped in seaweed, rotting like a wreck, yet it sails faster than anything. The Flying Dutchman. Its Captain is the same, his clothes rotting and his curly hair always dripping. A tall, tall man, looking down on him coldly. (With a deep scowl that can’t hide his pretty blue eyes.)

“Welcome t’ the crew.” Jones says. Andrew gives him a charming smile and asks “Davy Jones, I take it?” He recognises the voice. What he doesn’t recognise is how a man can look equal parts rotten, fearsome, and attractive in one fell swoop.

The taller man grunts, half a smirk taking his lips. He leans over his newest crew member with a glare. “Tha’s Captain Jones, Mr. Haldane.”

Captain Jones, as Andrew comes to know him, is a mystery and a half. Since they’re going to be spending a hundred years together, however, it’s not like Haldane is short on time for study.

The first thing he learns is that Jones is a man of his word. Whilst it terrifies Andrew the first time the Dutchman submerges, sinking beneath the waves yet leaving the crew breathing salty water like it’s nothing, the destination is worth it. Jones gives him a front row seat as the man unleashes the ship’s fury onto Haldane’s target. They board the dying vessel together and cut down those who remain.

Andrew gets his revenge much sooner than he’d expected. Suddenly, a hundred years seems like a very, very long time. He thanks Jones regardless. The man simply shrugs; “Don’t bore me with y’ reasons.”

The second thing he learns about Jones is his strength. It’s a tidal wave; slamming against a body, it’ll break you in two. Demonstrated when one crewman attempts to rile up some kind of mutiny. It fails, of course, long before Jones comes sidling over the deck. He doesn’t draw his rusty sword, Andrew notes. Doesn’t have to; grabbing the boy by the collar, he slams him into the rail. The deafening crack has even Andrew flinching. Jones doesn’t even seem angry, just unimpressed.

The third thing he learns about Jones is that he has a large, mottled scar across the left side of his chest. Right over his heart, but books don’t survive on the Flying Dutchmen unless you can read water damage, so Andrew has no research prospects. He notices the scar the same day he learns the fourth thing about Jones; The man takes off his shirt in the sun, hat gone but bandana keeping his curls at bay. Working the rigging with his muscles straining and those worn tattoos running over his arms. (What Andrew learns is that he enjoys seeing this. Not so much a Jones-thing as a him-thing.)

The fifth thing he learns is that Captain Jones can play guitar. And he’s really fucking good at it. The crew don’t cheer for an encore because they fear him, they cheer because his tunes and singing make the days pass a little easier.

The sixth thing he learns about Jones is that his crew are never permanent. Once their service is up, they disappear. Everyone is happy for them, except the Captain. Andrew notices how tired the man looks when another crewman vanishes. Haldane wonders is Jones is lonely.

The seventh thing he learns about Jones is that he is lonely. Andrew’s his first mate by then, they spend time together in the Captain’s cabin. It’s always a drunken delight. Andrew has asked all the pointed questions about the afterlife; Jones has dutifully shrugged and told him to ‘fuck off’.

“What made you Captain of the Flying Dutchmen?” Andrew asks instead. “Why’d y’wanna kill that pirate so bad?” Jones counters.

The first answer is Andrew’s; “Because he killed my matelot.” He says, “But I’ll be with him again when my time’s up here.” The words have Jones’ shoulders clenching, his drunken eyes wandering elsewhere for a moment. Then he says; “Y’can’t be with someone in death who ain’t dead.”

If Andrew hadn’t staggered to his feet, demanded to know what he meant by that, he might have noticed Jones avoiding the original question.

The eighth thing he learns about Jones is that the man is never cruel. Unfair, perhaps, but never cruel. He tells Andrew that if his matelot died at sea, he would know. Would probably have appeared to him, offered the same deal he gave Haldane. “I only deal with good men who come t’bad ends.” Jones says.

The ninth thing he learns about Jones is that the man has no heart. Literally. When they stumble into each other on another drunken night, chests pressed close, Andrew can’t feel a heartbeat to match his own. (Their slurred laughter leads to some hilarious wrestling before they both collapse in a pile to sleep.)

Which is a shame, because figuratively, Jones is a big softie. He always lets the crabs he finds in his boots go free. He never lets his beard grow longer than a stubble to ‘avoid lookin’ scarier than he already is’. He works the sails with his men just as much as he steers the ship. His blushes when he laughs as Andrew’s jokes. (He didn’t always do that one.)

The tenth thing Andrew learns is that Jones’ first name isn’t 'Davy or even anything close. The Captain has long since stopped calling his first mate ‘Mr. Haldane’; it’s ‘Andy’ now. But when Haldane tries to reciprocate, he just gets a laugh. “Edward.” Jones says, “M’name’s actually… Edward…”

Andy covers the crushing sadness that consumes him with a forced laugh of his own. “Eddie, then.” He says. How come nobody even knows your real name?

Eventually, in his ninety-ninth year of service aboard the Dutchman, Andy strikes gold. A new crewman who knows the legends of the sea appears. They play dice together and Haldane offers him as much rum as he needs to keep talking. All about how Davy Jones (“Eddie Jones.” Andy quietly corrects.) swallowed the heart of the sea, only to cough up his own instead. Now the man is cursed to an eternity on the waves, only able to set foot on land once every ten years. And if you were to eat Jones’ heart, just like he did all those years ago, you could be the Dutchman’s Captain. And Jones? Well, he’d die the same as any other man.

“He’d be free…” Andy wonders. “Sure,” The crewman says, “But who’d be stupid enough to take on that burden? Better him that us.”

Andy knows where Jones keeps his heart and the key to open it. Because Eddie has told him, never once suspecting things might turn out so strangely. Or that Andrew might be almost at the end of his hundred years’ service and, instead of joy, feel only panic.

That’s how it ends. Just the two of them, under a moonlit sky, on the deck of the Dutchman. The only sound is the quiet tha-thump, tha-thump of the heart in Andy’s hand. He’s never seen Jones’ go pale like that. (Paler than he already is, he supposes.) He’s never seen his Captain with fear in his eyes.

“Andy.” He says, the cold tone ruined by the tremor in his voice, “Put tha’ back. Y’don’t want immortality, trust me.” And Andy has to laugh at the accusation. Because Eddie really can’t imagine that someone might be doing this out of compassion rather than for selfish gains. “I don’t want to be Captain, Eddie!” Haldane cries. “Then why’re y-?” It eventually sinks in.

“I want to free you.” Andy says. “I won’t let ye’.” Eddie shoots back. He takes a step forward. Haldane raises the heart closer to his lips. The stalemate keeps them both still.

“You’ll be trapped f’ eternity.” Jones says. He pretends that it’s the curse that is making his cheeks wet. “You’re already trapped for eternity.” Andy laughs, “And I won’t leave you like this.” “Put it back in the chest, Andy…” Eddie whispers. His voice can barely be heard about the waves. “Please.” He takes another step and Haldane opens his mouth.

Those are definitely tears on the face of the fearsome Captain Jones. “Please, Andy, I love you!” He cries, “Don’t do this f’ me! I’m not worth it! Put it back in th’ chest!” The words bring tears to both their eyes now.

“I love you too.” Andrew says. He glances down at the heart in his hand, steeling himself to swallow the damn thing. The heart of the sea, held so close to his own, beating safely within his chest. “Oh…” He says as realisation takes him. He looks back at Eddie. He’s smiling. His hundredth year is almost up.

“Does it have to be in a chest?”

~

Captain Andrew Haldane is the pirate on the Seven Seas who everybody knows. A man with a scar across the left side of his chest, where they say he cut out his own heart to best Davy Jones. Rumour has it the deal made it so he could never die at sea; an eternity of freedom, threatened only were he to step foot on land. Fortunately, the man doesn’t seem to do that much. He mainly visits quiet islands, once every ten years, with his first mate as company.

Rumour has it he’s over a hundred years old, more rumours say he’s far too handsome for that.  He’s a gentleman and a fighter, a hero to the common and a menace to every Empire that dares fly its flag across the waves. It’s said he once took out an entire armada with only two ships; his beloved Peleliu, and another that rose from the depths itself to fight by his side. Apparently, he threw his first mate overboard before the battle as a sacrifice to the sea, and in return he received this terrifying ghost ship.

He’s fearsome and beloved, a name that sends shivers down the spine. Sceptics say the scar is just an old wound, that if you listen to his chest you can hear the beat of a heart within.

Of course, when asked, Captain Haldane just smiles. “How do you know if the heart’s really mine?” He’ll say. Some are inclined to believe him. Particularly his crew, who have each glimpsed the similar, jagged scar across the chest of his first mate. A tall man named Edward, who is always chosen to watch the ship when they reach port. The crew might feel bad for him, always being the one ‘stuck at sea’, were it not for Captain Haldane always quickly returning so they can be alone together. Every pirate is a little jealous of those two, what a perfect matelotage they must share.

[deathlikesdeep-dish]

Hi! Congrats on having 100 followers! I really like your works😗 can I request for prompt number 2 (SFW)with Law. Thank youuuuu so much!

Hi Anon!

So sorry this took so long, but I hope it was worth the wait!! 

Prompt 2: “In case we don’t make it back...” (Law x Reader) SFW

Word Count: 3k

Synopsis: in the weeks leading up to the events at dressrosa, you find yourself falling for the brooding heart pirates captain. the odds aren’t good. so, in case you don’t make it back...

warnings: language, a little angst, some fluff 

Dressrosa is a hellscape. But only you seem to know it. Everyone around you seems to be content with the facade that has been created--no one ever asks questions, everyone is always smiling. But you know better. You know just how dark the underbelly of this place really is. Everyone seemed to love the Donquixote family--adored them, in fact. From the saccharine persona of Sugar, to the repulsive Trebol, all the way up to the pink bastard himself, Doflamingo--everyone cherished them. The protection that a warlord could provide a country couldn’t be discounted to them, though many of  the citizens of Dressrosa had given their sentient lives for it. But you hoped that one day, the people of Dressrosa would see that though their god wore bright clothing, his soul was nothing but darkness. 

Two Weeks Prior

You’d known of the Strawhat pirates for a while now, keeping track of their movements. Their captain is reckless, but determined to take down Doflamingo, which worked in your favor, certainly. The news of their alliance with warlord colleague, Trafalgar Law was, you admit, a surprise. But you’d been intrigued by the inked captain, so you decided to take advantage of the opportunity and introduce yourself. 

He and the Strawhat captain, Monkey D. Luffy, seemed to be in an argument when you first saw him at the docks. Well, a more apt description might be that Law was arguing with Luffy, who seemed very unconcerned with his ally’s thoughts.

You walk closer, not wanting to alert them to your presence quite yet. As you approach, you hear what they’re arguing about.

“Will you just listen to me, idiot?” Law gritted through his teeth. “This plan is insane, it is not going to work.”

“Lighten up, Tra-guy,” Luffy replied easily, grinning as he slapped a hand on Law’s shoulder. 

He shoved Luffy’s hand off with a huff. “Lighten up?” You took a step closer. “Lighten up?” He asked again, his voice increasing in volume. “Do you little shits have any idea who this guy is? He’s a warlord.” He paused, a sad, distant look on his face, 

“He’s right,” You said, finally within earshot of the two pirates. Their heads snapped to you, alarmed at the interruption. 

“Who the hell are you?” Law said, narrowing his eyes. His body followed the direction of his head, and he now faced you squarely. Now fully upright, you could see just how tall  he was, standing nearly two heads above his pirate ally. Your eyes were drawn to his striking features--dark eyes, dark hair, dark whorls of ink on his exposed skin. You were particularly drawn to his hands. Long fingers stained with black tattoos, the fingers you knew were capable of bringing a person to their knees with just a simple gesture. Room.

You knew he was handsome from his wanted poster, but damn, it did not fully capture the brooding magnetism that you saw in front of you right now. 

“I’m y/n,” You finally replied, closing the gap between you and the pair. “I live here, in Dressrosa.” 

Luffy began to talk, but Law clapped his hand over Luffy’s mouth, silencing him. “Shut up,” Law said with a clenched jaw. Luffy grumbled, trying to rip Law’s hand away.

You dropped your weapon in a show of good faith.. “Just hear me out. Please.” You needed to convince Law (Luffy didn’t seem like he needed much convincing) that you were on their side. Any side that was equally interested in annihilating the Don Quixote family. 

Law looked at you suspiciously, and signaled for you to continue talking. You explained everything to them. You explained how you’d come here to Dressrosa after escaping capture. You’d made a life for yourself, selling your wares at the market in town. Seeing walking toys was jarring, to say the least, but what was even more jarring was the fact that no one seemed to be asking any questions about it. In fact, the citizens of Dressrosa seemed to be downright chirpy. It made your skin crawl. And Doflamingo was too revered, despite his seedy grin and disreputable demeanor. 

So you did some digging, you told them. And you’d inadvertently discovered the awful secret of the country. It all made sense, and it made you despise the oligarchy even more. There were a few that were a part of the underground rebellion, to whom you swore your allegiance. When you found out that Trafalgar Law had potential plans to overthrow the man who once enslaved him, you were practically writhing with vigor and excitement at the prospect. 

The captains listened closely, not interrupting once. Even the rambunctious Strawhat was rapt with attention. When you finally finished your tale, you leaned against the rocky cliff face at the mouth of the dock, waiting for a reaction. 

After a few moments of silence, you spoke again, hoping that with these next words, your trust would be earned. “I’m sorry about Corazon. I didn’t know him personally, but I’ve heard him discussed. It seems like he was a great man.” 

Law’s face went pale at the sound of his friend’s name, and Luffy looked over to him with a puzzled look. But even Luffy could tell that this was not something to ask about right now. He’d never seen Law look like this before. 

He was silent for a long few minutes, and you began to regret your decision. Maybe mentioning Corazon wasn’t the right move. Damn it, damn it, damn it. You needed their trust. Their help. The very lives of the people in this country depended on garnering this rapport.

“Look, I’m sorry. I should have mention--” You were cut off.

“The rebellion,” Law interrupted. “You have strong fighters?” 

Your heart leapt. Maybe this was actually going to work. “Yes, but we need more. Diamante has been on our ass for a few months, so we have a hard time maintaining our numbers.” 

You could see that he was considering, and after another second he said, “Take us to your base.”

That was two weeks ago. 

The plan was made, the date set. Tomorrow, you would join Law, Usopp and Robin in their journey to Green Bit. Aboard the Sunny, one would not think a deadly battle was looming over the pirates’ heads. You’d learned so much about the crew over the past few weeks, and it filled you with such a hope that you’d long denied yourself. 

The Strawhats are fearless, confident. So much so, that despite Law’s ever gloomy pessimism, you cannot find it within you to worry. For the first time since arriving in that dreadful place, you feel at home. You take a deep, cleansing breath in, and exhale fully. Luffy, Chopper and Usopp are restless waiting for the food that Sanji is preparing in the kitchen, jamming their chopsticks childishly into their own noses or ears. Nami smacks Luffy across the back of the head with an annoyed look, and Robin reads quietly to herself. Zoro leans against the side of the ship, a disgruntled look on his face and a bottle of sake in his hand. To Zoro’s right, there’s Caesar scowling petulantly, still confined by his sea prism stone handcuffs.  Franky is waiting for dinner below deck, refueling the ship with cola from the last Coup de Burst, while Brook blankets the whole evening with tinkling violin music. 

The only one missing, you notice looking around, is Law. Standing up from your spot, you approach Zoro and snatch the sake out of his hand abruptly and take a swig. Rather than giving it back, you keep it with you, walking away too quickly for Zoro to object (though you can hear him grumbling irritatedly from behind you, before he calls for another bottle). 

You climb the steps to the helm, and notice him alone at the stern of the ship, leaning over the banister. He doesn’t notice you at first, allowing you an extra few silent moments to stare at him from behind. It’s an usually warm evening, so he isn’t wearing his heavy cloak, opting for black long-sleeved t-shirt, which he has cuffed up to his elbows. With his forearms exposed, you can see how his tattoos wind around the sinews there, seeming to underline toned bands of muscle under the skin. Your eyes rove his back, which is visible through the fitted black shirt. His broad shoulders narrow to a thin waist, and he stretches his arms above his head, exposing a sliver of skin from his lower back. 

You’d been so occupied by the sight of his body, you almost didn’t notice another striking difference in his appearance. Normally covered by his ridiculous mushroom hat, his shaggy hair is exposed and rustling in the salty breeze. He reaches a hand up to run through his hair, pausing to grip the hair at the back of his neck roughly, as if he was frustrated. You find yourself wondering if his hair is as soft as it looks under the light of the moon and the stars. You feel a coil tighten ever-so-slightly within your core, but you approach anyway.

“Don’t you want dinner?” You call, making sure you gave him plenty of time and space before you closed the gap between you completely. He stiffens momentarily, but relaxes as he hears your voice again. “Sanji should be almost done.”

He cranes his head over this shoulder toward you, but makes no effort to turn his body with it before turning his head back face forward, looking out onto the vast ocean. You stand next to him, leaning your elbows on the banisters as he was doing beside you. You offer the bottle of sake to him wordlessly. He takes it, drinking from it for a moment before handing it back to you. 

Though he does not indicate it, he appreciates your silence in moments like these. He never feels pressured to talk around you, to present fake niceties or meaningless chatter. He also, much to his horror, has found that he appreciates your company in and of itself. Your presence simultaneously calms and arouses his nervous system. He doesn’t understand it, but being the man of science that he is, he plans to observe and collect data. For research purposes, he tells himself. Only research purposes. 

“Not really hungry,” He replies, giving you a sidelong glance as you hang on the railing beside him. 

“C’mon, Law, what’s it been? Like three days since you last ate with us?” You jab him in the side in a way that you hope comes off as playful, though you really are becoming increasingly concerned with his disengagement.

He shrugs, neither in confirmation or denial. Over the time you’d spend together, you found yourself growing more and more attached to him daily. You found that you always wanted to have eyes on him, and were viscerally uncomfortable when he wasn’t around. Law, too, had become accustomed to some uneasiness with your absence, or his from you. He had no frame of reference for this feeling, and it scared him. But he wanted to understand it, needed to understand it. 

“You’re starting to worry me a bit,” You say, breaking him from his thoughts. You do your best to keep it lighthearted, but as he flinches a bit at the words, you realize that you have not been very lighthearted at all. 

Law hates that he cares about you, what you think of him. Even worse, he hates that you care about him. He knows from the way you look at him, recognizing your look of longing in his own eyes whenever he dared to look at himself in a mirror. But caring about him has only meant death for the people he’d cared about before. An image of Corazon’s bloodied body flashes through your mind and he cringes again. He casts his eyes downward and presses his mouth into a thin, tight line. 

“Hey,” You say softly. It breaks your heart to see him like this. You want him to feel better. You want to be the one that makes him feel better. You’re warm and brave from the alcohol you’ve consumed and you place a hand gently on his forearm. Recoiling from your touch, he inhales sharply. But you don’t remove your hand. 

“Hey,” You say again even more quietly, afraid that even a decibel too loud will scare the fragile husk away from you. “It’s going to be okay. Tomorrow, that is. We have a solid plan.”

Law finally dares to look at you. Like that first day that you met, his eyes are filled with dejection. He wants very badly to believe your words. Coming out of your mouth, they sound so sweet. Coming out of your mouth, he almost allows himself to yearn. To yearn for a way to change the past, but also to yearn for a new, and brighter future. 

“I’ve lost everyone I’ve cared about.” Law replies. “They’re all either dead, or so far from here that they may as well be, considering the fact that I will likely never see them again.” 

His voice drops to a whisper. “You know as well as I do, y/n. This mission has a very low chance for success.”

You don’t reply. You do know this. It is Doflamingo, afterall. But for some reason, his reply irks you more than it normally would.

“What the hell, Law?” Your irritation is clear in your voice. “Is it so difficult for you to be even a little positive? Is that really so unbearable?”

His eyes narrow. “When you’ve seen the shit that I’ve seen, yeah, it is really so unbearable.” He mocks your tone, making you fume.

“The shit that you’ve seen?” You raise your eyebrows. “The shit that you’ve seen? We’ve all seen shit we’d like to forget, Law! The only difference between you and all of us, is that we don’t carry that shit on our back like a fucking martyr all the damn time.” Your voice climbs to a yell, and it echoes across the dark water in the stillness of the night.

He hates that you’re right. Hates that he’s such a coward, and that he has a martyr complex to top it all off. 

“How arrogant you are,” You continue, your fury propelling you forward. “To believe that everything is always your fault. Sometimes life is just shit, Law. That’s all there is to it.”

Angry tears well up in your eyes, but you don’t back down. You refuse to look away. 

He is silent, but holds your gaze as intensely as you are holding his. You feel the air shift, anger slowly shifting into something altogether new. You notice, with sudden clarity, that you are close to Law. Very close. You are trembling, but he is too. A long, shuddering breath passes through his open lips. His breath smells faintly of the sake, the sweetness of the fruit mingling with the acrid scent of the alcohol itself. 

He places one hand on the railing behind you, brushing against your side as he does. “You’re right, y/n,” He says, never taking his eyes off of you. “Sometimes life is just shit.” 

He leans down and continues. “A lot of times life is just shit. And you can’t deny that this situation is shit too. We’re relying on a lot of variables to fall into place in just the right way, at just the right time, and in my life, that has pretty much never fucking happened.” His tone is hard. 

He is being drawn to you in a way that confounds him. As if he was possessed, he closes the final few inches between you. His chest and yours are pressed against one another, and the tattooed hand on the railing slowly drifts to the back of your head. He leans his forehead on yours and tangles his surprisingly delicate fingers in the strands of your hair.

“So,” He murmurs. Your heart is pounding so hard that you wonder if he has ripped it from your chest already. “In case life is as shit as it’s always been...in case we don’t make it back…”

His lips meet yours. At first, you can’t breathe. You freeze, but you feel him stiffen and try to pull away. He thinks he has made a huge mistake, ruining yet another good thing in his life with his egocentrism. But your hands grasp the fabric of his t-shirt, and pull him back into you, so his lips never leave yours. 

He sighs in relief, moving his mouth deliberately on yours. If this is the last night he has, he wants to make it worth something. He wants one night to be worth something. Your fingers unfurl from his shirt, and you slide your hands up his chest, finally wrapping your arms around his neck. One hand is at the nape of your neck, the other at the small of your back. 

There is not an inch of space between you, not a millimeter. Your lips and his fit together like he and misery always had. He allows himself to believe, just for this moment, that you could replace the misery in his life. He allows himself to believe that this won’t be your last kiss. He gives himself permission to believe that you and he would be here again tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day after that.

For once, he grants himself the license to hope.