pilawforhire-archived

[pilawforhire-archived]

moved to @pilawforhire​

Firstly, my apologies to those few conversations on Discord or Tumblr’s IM (and Twitter - I don’t think you might see this, but sorry, Liz) that I’ve neglected to reply yet and have left hanging for a while. Thank you for writing / writing back, and I appreciate the messages. Maybe some are familiar with this, but there are regrettably phases during which I’d feel too enervated to respond, and can manage only talking with one or two persons. But I’ll still try to write back eventually.

And everything else:

I ended up taking a short, unplanned break from this blog, and from writing. One of the reasons is because we adopted this little fella (who’s slowly getting not so little anymore…). As first-time cat owners, nothing has ever quite been the same.

Anyway, in spite of the frustrations that could accompany attempts at writing, made worse after a hiatus, however brief, I’d like to try continuing to write, and return to this blog. But after over a year, the blog feels a bit messy, and I’ve decided to archive it and move.

I will (try to) reply to asks and drafts over on the new blog. If you're still interested in a thread we may have together, you can ask me about it.

The past year has been wonderful. There were mistakes I’d realized I’d made, posts I’d be too embarrassed to read back on, but also things learned along the way - even for a hobby, yes! (Not forgetting all the cool people met along the way too!) And after not writing for years, I was surprised that I could take an interest in it again, and I’m very glad and grateful for the interactions had thus far! Thank you very much! For taking an interest in following / following back / writing together / chatting. If you’d like to keep in touch, I’ll be over at the other blog, though I’ll still check back here now and then to refer to drafts and asks.

#ooc

[pilawforhire-archived]

silencedkindness:

Corazon leaned against the counter as he waited for the oven to heat, glancing over at the cake worriedly. “Luckily I haven’t had any accidents that have been too severe. That’s probably how I’m still alive.” He chuckled nervously. “I hope we won’t have to evacuate the kitchen.” He joked lightly, though he was seriously worried about something terrible happening, whether that be the cake or oven or both exploding, or even catching fire, though he wasn’t sure if it was even possible for a poorly made cake to catch fire, so as long as he watches the cake. He’s already checked to make sure it was preheating to the correct temperature. 

At hearing Law’s next words, he felt his heart drop immediately. He felt his throat tighten as tears threatened to gather at the corner of his eyes.

It was absolutely heartbreaking to hear a kid speak so casually about dying, to not sound afraid at all and not have hope; just to be able to accept they could die at any time. 

“I’m not going to let you die.” He spoke softly. “One way or another I’m going to get you cured. I promise.” He gave a pained smile, leaning his hand down to gently ruffle the top of the boy’s hat. “You do mean a lot to me, you know. I’m trying because I care. And I’m not letting some stupid illness get the better of you. I’ll do whatever it takes for you to get to a day where you can smile and be free. If we were celebrating anything it’d be the day we finally get rid of that disease. I’m sure that day will come soon.” He turned briefly to wipe a few tears that managed to slip. “Maybe by then I might know how to make a better cake and we could really celebrate. I really did want to try to make you something special, but..” He gazed at the cake pan momentarily. “I don’t know if it will come out as anything as such.” He scratched his cheek. 

Keep reading

“Mmhm…” Law mumbled quietly to Corazon’s promise of finding a cure. He glimpsed Corazon’s pained smile – don’t you feel sorry for me – and he drooped his head to stare at his feet as the hopeful words poured out Corazon’s mouth. Without fail, Corazon’s tender rubs on his head soothed him, yet the onrush of warmth all of it inspired was overwhelming. Law pressed his lips together. Idly he kicked heaps of flour, spraying flour around the kitchen floor to leave no inch uncovered (including Corazon’s shoes). Corazon’s words were intended to comfort, but Law felt they were cruel.

Hope was a risky thing to bet on. Once upon a time, Law had optimism in abundance, supplied by the love of his family as mutual pillars of strength. But hope, faith, they were otiose, wholly inadequate as past experience had proven, and effortlessly extinguished in the face of the inevitability of harsh reality. Embittered and skeptical, Law wanted to dismiss Corazon’s words. Law thought he knew plenty about what life had taught him, and life from what he knew didn’t work like that. A man’s words and efforts were nugatory against fate.

Yet those were similar words his father and Sister Helen had spoken with reassuring smiles. And he’d believed them. A cure would be discovered, the Amber Lead Syndrome defeated, Flevance saved. But it wasn’t the terminal disease that had gotten the better of him or of his family. Life had; the World Government had. The disease was just a wretched side-effect of their greed and callousness.

“I didn’t slip,” Law insisted, “that was intentional.” He avoided Corazon’s gaze when Corazon crouched down in front of him. Law’s grumpiness, however, was more towards Corazon’s self-blame. Law didn’t like that one bit.

“And I’m fine,” Law assured coolly. “Anything broken was already broken to begin with.” He gave a flippant shrug.

Corazon returned with a damp cloth and, for once, Law sat patiently still while Corazon helped to wipe the flour from Law’s hands and knees. “Was mich nicht umbringt macht mich stärker,” Law intoned, when Corazon said it wasn’t safe to imitate him. “What doesn’t kill me makes me stronger.” Law puffed his little chest out proudly. As if a mere slip-and-fall could hurt him after everything else, he scoffed inwardly at that idea.

While Corazon searched the kitchen for a broom, Law followed Corazon around with a cheeky beat in his stride.

“Yeah, you know absolutely nothi—” A mysterious meow silenced the rest of Law’s words. He paused in his step and spotted the kitten that had caught Corazon’s attention. What a frail looking thing, Law thought, and was surprised when Corazon approached the kitten and offered to help it. It was a quizzical sight, given Corazon’s size difference. He was practically a giant. Law had never kept a cat as a pet either. He had a number of turtles and frogs and mice but they didn’t last very long under his self-guided experiments.

The kitten gave an appreciative meow and scurried toward the can of tuna and bowl of water the second Corazon had set them down. Its tongue flicked out and messily lapped up the water, then the kitten darted to the side and devoured the tuna before it returned to the water and alternated between both.

“It’ll be fine. Everything’s edible to the ravenous man,” Law said, to Corazon’s doubts about the outcome of the cake. “…And I – I believe in you.” There was a wry note in his tone, though his words were not without degrees of honesty.

With the cake safely deposited into the oven, Law crept closer to the kitten and hunkered down beside Corazon. Law observed the kitten, engrossed in eating that it paid no attention to Corazon’s petting. Law glanced sideways at Corazon, curious about the revelation of Corazon’s softer side.

Should they keep the kitten?

Law turned and directed Corazon a confused look. Without getting up, he crabbed sideways until he was crouching directly opposite Corazon, so he could give Corazon a proper confused look.

“Wouldn’t it be more… advantageous to keep a chicken? That kitten’s all bones. Hardly good for a barbecue,” Law deadpanned. “Do you think it’s lost? Maybe it had an owner.” Except the kitten had no collar. “Maybe it’s been abandoned. Maybe it’s lost its family. Maybe its family was killed… What if it’s sick? Are you going to find it a cure too?” Admittedly, he spoke with a sardonic tinge in his voice that he regretted.

He wanted to tell Corazon not to bother. It was a waste of time and effort. Why did Corazon care? They were strangers. Had Corazon lost someone dear to an illness? Did Corazon believe in the prophecy of the name of the ‘D’?

Law felt like he was choking up. He flopped down to sit over a mountain of flour that collapsed under his weight, causing him to sink to the ground.

I want to believe. I want to trust in you.

“Hey, do you believe in God?” Law murmured. “Should I continue to pray? . . . If you don’t believe in God, what do you believe in? How can you be so confident, full of hope?” Shouldn’t he be realistic about his chances? Over expecting a miracle?

“This…” he continued, and swallowed dryly. “Whatever happens, don’t think it’s your fault, blaming yourself like you did earlier.” He started to draw smiley and unhappy faces in the flour with his finger. “Mostly I’ve accepted it… I had, but now…”

Before Corazon, Law had been prepared – or he thought he was. Death didn’t faze him – at least, not on a conscious level. But Corazon had rekindled something snuffed out within him. Law envisioned a life with Corazon. It was a life he found himself inexplicably anticipative about.

Yet the clock was ticking. With every millisecond, he was edged one step away, dragged helplessly by the noose that tightened progressively around his neck, through the encroaching darkness of the tunnel, the light at the end growing smaller, and smaller. Law convinced himself the uneasiness he felt building up inside him was due to his worries about Corazon’s wellbeing. Who would be around to put out the fires Corazon accidentally started, as if in self-immolation? Who would remind Corazon to be careful? Who would help patch up any of Corazon’s wounds? Did he need Corazon, or did Corazon need him?

Law scooched over to Corazon, inadvertently mopping the floor with his bottom. He paused beside Corazon and clutched Corazon’s pant leg in a tight fist.

I’m scared. I don’t want to go yet.

Law opened his mouth but it was as if Corazon’s devil fruit had selectively muted his words. Law drew a heavy breath. He kept his gaze lowered and fixed on the kitten.

“Do you think he’s afraid?” Law asked. His voice was small and almost inaudible. 

“…But,” Law added, without letting go of Corazon’s pants, “it – it’s a plan. If I live, you’ll make me another cake, one as big as a house, promise? And we…” he mumbled, “we’ll celebrate, with… with Cora-Cora here.” Law gestured to the kitten, who glanced up with bright blue eyes at the mention of its new name. “It looks like you,” Law explained. He reached out to poke Cora-Cora’s face. “Should we let Cora-Cora eat the cake first? In case.”

#silencedkindness #v; canon #v; teens #queued #i'm sorry this took so long #and has gotten so long #please don't worry about matching the length #also those words Corazon shared...! #thanks for the feels

[pilawforhire-archived]

singing-sweet-nightmares:

“Oi, watch yourself, Law,” Demitra’s left hand snaked itself into his fluffy locks, nails gently scraping his scalp before gripping them firmly and pulling his head back. Not too rough, no, but enough so that his throat was bare to her. She leaned down enough to whisper in his ear. “Ye take me ‘air ye mig’t not be so keen on keepin’ me around.” Perhaps, just perhaps, she had seen the smallest of blushes grace his features and felt like messing with him. Just because she could. 

Like the smallest of shadows her grip slackened as she straightened up to begin to gently comb through his hair. Louder this time, the woman chortled, “Ye gotta trust me more. I ‘aven’t done anyt’ing ta steer you wrong yet, ‘ave I? An’ that is what it sounded like ye were suggestin’, by the way.” Why did he have to irk her so? This time she did not pull his hair to shut him up, but merely ran her nails from top of his crown back to his neck; very similar to a head massage. “I like me ‘air long. I t’ink I look pretty wit’ it like this. Actually, I do garden! I ‘ave a small one at HQ with chrysanthemums, teacup roses, bell roses, lavender and some herbs like basil as well.” She informed him rather proudly.  

Law stiffened instinctively when Demitra gripped his hair and pulled his head back. Oh, how he wanted to be florid with irritation at her complete disregard of his request ‘handle with care’ yet he could not summon an ounce of anger from the mother lode of habitually suppressed emotions. A slight displeased curl of his lip was all he managed. Perhaps the experience was stimulating like being ‘playfully’ slapped—always good to know he could get a rise out of the most refined women.

His Adam’s apple bobbed in his exposed throat as he swallowed. The subtle threat she whispered only served to confuse him, however, though when she slackened her grip, slowly and deliberately he licked his lips as if in satisfaction of the hair treatment thus far. Still, he lowered his head, disliking how his neck felt vulnerable to an invisible guillotine. As Demitra resumed the massage, Law relaxed again and let out a purposeful groan of pleasure akin to the contented purr of a cat. The groan lasted three seconds (his newest record). He thought that would tease her wonderfully.

“Rest assured, if I took your hair, I wouldn’t ditch you unceremoniously,” he said, affecting a plaintive tone. “I’m not an ignoramus. I’d keep your organs around.” Regardless of her reaction, Law maintained his cool and clasped his hands nonchalantly on his lap. “Don’t worry, I was joking,” he intoned seconds later. “I could keep you around too—what do you think of working as a masseuse?” He wasn’t entirely serious about the proposition, even if he uttered the words gravely. Speaking of trust…

“I trust you . . . just as much as you trust me,” Law said simply. “As for what you have or haven’t done, I’m deducting ten points for the aggression against my hair earlier; it had me worried. This puts you in the negatives, but I’ll give you eleven points for boldness, and one point for the massage,” he deadpanned. “—And nonsense; you’d look nice with any hairstyle.” It was the closest to a compliment she’d receive for now. “What happened to ‘inner beauty’?” He ignored her comment about how suggestive his previous words had sounded.

“Gardening...” he began lazily with his eyes half-closed. “A relaxing, healing, rewarding hobby… Also a pernicious form of escapism, procrastination. But there are life lessons to take from gardening… What got you into gardening? Am I invited? Into your garden? Before you claim I was suggesting anything else, I am speaking only about your garden. The one with roses. And herbs. And whatever else poisonous plants you keep—do you?”

#singing sweet nightmares #v; canon #queued

[pilawforhire-archived]

“All monsters are human.” (from Yesfir) //last one i proMISE

Over the lugubrious pitter-patter of rain, the schwump-schwump-schwump of the windshield wipers, the quiet rumble of the engine, he could still hear it. Oleg’s pleading cries and shrill tormented screams rang in his ears. Law kept his head turned toward the window, vaguely staring at the passing buildings along gloomy and empty streets, that did little to distract his mind from straying and replaying the brutal events of the evening. At least Yesfir couldn’t see his face, and he couldn’t see hers. Would there be guilt reflected in her eyes? Would she glimpse guilt reflected in his? He doubted it. Although Oleg’s agony haunted him momentarily, it had to be done. He felt no remorse. Neither Yesfir nor he had been the ones to personally land the blows (thankfully, they hadn’t been asked to), his conscience reasoned. Instead, Law had stood aside coldly and distantly as a spectator; lifted not a finger, budged not an inch despite that he’d been the harbinger of misfortune to dear Oleg when he’d fabricated evidence (albeit just a single detail) that had permanently sealed Oleg’s fate. It was foolish to think Oleg would be spared his life. The caporegime had demanded Oleg’s treachery and disloyalty be made a ghastly example of.

Yesfir’s words diverted his attention from his thoughts. The grave manner of which they’d been uttered could chill the blood of any average man.

For seconds, Law remained still and silent as if in disregard. He folded his arms, then opted to tuck his hands into his pockets. Without context, her words would’ve bewildered, but given what they’d witnessed… Law reached out and turned down the airconditioning. He fixed a pensive, probing gaze on Yesfir.

“What a dark, curious thing to say,” he commented dryly. “Isn’t the term ‘monster’ coined by humans and accredited subjectively to that which we fear, hate, scorn? Those who look different, behave different, aberrantly; fearsome animals, creatures of the unknown… Do you think monsters know they’re monsters? Do they accept their monstrous nature, or do they live in denial, blending in with the humans?” He shuffled in his seat and angled his body towards her. “When someone’s determined to see through their goals, no matter the expense, they’d consider themselves dedicated, whilst others might consider them ‘monsters’… Ultimately, the weak will always be at a losing end.” Briefly taking his eyes off Yesfir, unless she had anything to say, he would continue on with his monologue.

“And do you think monsters are made? Created by humanity? By life? Life adapts to survive. Are we all born with traces of monstrosity embedded in our DNA? Do certain events precipitate monstrous impulses, metamorphosing one into a monster?

“Or perhaps you meant monsters that reside within us humans, within our heads, poisoning our minds astray…? Now that’s a dangerous belief, when one starts blaming their actions on these ‘monsters’.

“And what about you, Yesfir? Do you harbor intense loathing of monsters? Or do you sympathize, empathize, with them?” He crossed his arms and averted his gaze.

“Are we any different?” he asked, glancing out the windscreen. “Are we any better?

“Does it matter…? At the end of the day, do you believe it matters?”

[ @teniras ]

#teniras #asks #queued #thanks for sending!! #even if it took me quite a while to write this #sorry about the huge chunk of monologue #i admit i'm very bad at selecting which words to edit out #I guess he wouldn't speak all those sentences at once #but pause in between if she would have anything to add #also I guess she could suspect that he might have 'thrown Oleg under the bus' #but this was a good prompt; thanks! #please excuse that it's not the best response i could've thought up

[pilawforhire-archived]

“I’m not eating vegetables and you can’t make me.” Mitsu crossed his arms and huffed, his lips pouted in a frown. “Even if I did like them, I don’t need them!”

Law stood at the entrance of the kitchen. He looked like he’d just completed a marathon, fought, clambered, and finally, groveled his way on muddy ground to the finishing line while his ‘enemies’ (all clones of Mitsu) hurled vegetables at him from the sides. His hair was disheveled (he’d long ago ditched the chef’s hat due to embarrassment over the result of his dishes), he was drenched in sweat. Despite wearing an apron, his clothes were dirtied. Three-quarters of his goatee had been singed. In his hands, he clutched a plate with a large dark-brownish lump, fresh out of the oven. The plate looked more appetizing than the suspicious thing—‘sweet potato and spinach brownies’.

Law felt himself steaming up. Anger bubbled up inside him, about to spew out. Very slowly but surely, his expression darkened, stormy clouds gathering overhead. Inwardly he screamed, ‘How did Mitsu know?’. It was disturbing. Mitsu always knew, no matter the painstaking efforts Law went to, futilely attempting to conceal vegetables in sweet desserts. Did Mitsu have an enhanced sense of smell? Could he smell the vegetables from across the room? Law gave the brownies a sniff. They smelled burnt and admittedly, a tad strange, but he couldn’t detect any whiffs of sweet potato or spinach in them nor could he identify any tinges of green that would suggest they contained vegetables. Law sighed. He stalked up to Mitsu and set the plate down on the table with a loud thud.

“Eat,” Law barked. He mimicked Mitsu by crossing his arms and pouting.

Only in his mid-twenties, Law truly felt he’d met his Waterloo. He had exhausted his solutions. In his quest to coax Mitsu into eating vegetables, he had accumulated a lifetime’s worth of stress and aged remarkably, suffered terrible hair loss, and constipation.

He had tried Googling all kinds of different search terms. ‘How to force-feed vegetables to an adult’, ‘how to force-feed children vegetables’, ‘how to hide vegetables in desserts’, ‘how to hypnotize someone into eating vegetables’, ‘how to brainwash someone into eating vegetables’… You get the idea. He was desperate, and don’t ask him why. Initially, he’d welcomed the challenge; thereafter, he’d simply disliked quitting or losing the battle. Every morning, Law woke up with renewed determination.

He had tried hand-feeding, bringing the fork to Mitsu’s lips, direct mouth-to-mouth feeding (to lower Mitsu’s guard, Law had pretended he’d wanted to kiss Mitsu; then he used his tongue to push broccoli into Mitsu’s mouth), juicing the vegetables into smoothies, baking carrot cakes, threatening to throw away Mitsu’s sweets, bribing Mitsu with an ice cream buffet, etc. Raw, fried, steamed, baked, grilled—Law had tried various cooking methods. Leafy greens, cruciferous vegetables, root vegetables, asparagus, cucumber—Law had purchased every single type of vegetable for sale. He reckoned he’d have better luck feeding a lion a head of cabbage.

Law gave Mitsu a tight smile. Perhaps he would have to switch tactics.

“Let’s pretend I’m a kid. I throw a hissy fit, refuse to eat my vegetables. Shouldn’t you, as an adult, a shining role model to children, set a good example? Wouldn’t you encourage children to eat their vegetables?” Law sat down opposite Mitsu and nudged the plate toward him. “It’s good, I promise… One bite’s not going to kill you—I think. Just try it?” Law pushed the fork into Mitsu’s hand.

“And, even if you did like them, you don’t need them?” Law repeated Mitsu’s words. With a soft, pensive gaze, Law met Mitsu’s eyes.

“...Would you say the same thing about me?”

[ @unknxwnhxcker ]

#thanks for sending! #queued #v; pi #unknxwnhxcker #asks

[pilawforhire-archived]

@glittergcld from [here]

Law took a tentative step toward Aubrey, and then another. In spite of the absence of an intruder or danger, he felt no relief at the sight of Aubrey huddled up in the corner. Light from the corridor filtered in through the doorway, faintly illuminating her face, but it was enough for him to catch a glimpse of Aubrey wiping at her eyes with sort of an abashed hurriedness. Law interpreted it a sign he ought to give her space, lest he further upset her. He stood stiffly a few feet away and offered to make her tea. There were social boundaries he didn’t think he’d be permitted to cross, even if they’d shared the apartment for a while.

“I’ll be back,” he said to her answer. He lingered for seconds before he disappeared into the kitchen, the memory of Aubrey’s tormented expression fresh in his mind that he wondered if he should have left her alone after a clearly distressing nightmare. Nevertheless, he returned minutes later without delay, carrying two mugs of tea, with milk added to hers.

“Here—it’s hot,” he said quietly, extending a cup to Aubrey. “About earlier, I didn’t mean to intrude.” If their roles were reversed, he couldn’t say he’d rather she intrude into his room unless he was being murdered, though he doubted she could do much good under those unfortunate circumstances.

“I… Hang on. I’ll grab something.” He set his mug down on her bedside table and left her side. This time, he strode back carrying a large white teddy, with a soft smile, golden bow tied around its neck, and a heart stitched across its chest. He tossed it at Aubrey and glanced away awkwardly. “It’s clean,” he mumbled. The bear was probably useless in providing comfort since it was, after all, an inanimate object. However, he figured if Aubrey needed to hug something, it would suffice. Law started to leave, but he turned back and leaned against the doorframe, hands slipped into his pockets.

“Do you… Would you like me to stay?” he asked. “I’ll be up, otherwise, if you want to talk about it, or about something else, like…like, well…” Law frowned, words escaping him. “Perhaps not talking is best, sometimes. But should you need anything, you know where to find me. Oh, I’ll charge, of course,” he said in jest, his expression deadpan. “Ten dollars an hour for my company. Comes with a complimentary night-time stroll or snack if it’ll take your mind off things. And if not, I’ll see you in the morning.”

#glittergcld #v; pi #queued #thanks for writing! #don't mind this #wrote it a while back but never got around to editing/posting #please don't worry about continuing it though #thanks!

[pilawforhire-archived]

Contrary to general impression, Law was not always a dastardly killjoy, which could come as a surprise to some, until they met his exuberant crew. Daily exposure to their antics—that he overlooked for his own good—had mellowed him out over the years that gradually he warmed up to the Strawhats’ shenanigans. Chopper was having the time of his life impersonating him, and wasn’t impersonation the highest form of admiration? It had to be. Otherwise, Law could not explain the occasions he had copied Corazon’s makeup. Moving on, point was, who was he to spoil Chopper’s fun?

Wiping the shock from his expression, Law picked up Chopper’s hat that’d been left beside him. He put it on. It fit snugly, though he felt silly, given how the colors were incongruous with his clothes. Pink and blue and yellow? Gnarly. He looked like a reluctant guest to his sister’s doll tea party.

“Hey.” Law stood up, a hand on his hip. “You look like you’re having fun.” He tried to appear cross, but under his deep, dark frown, an uncontainable smile spread faintly on his face, and Chopper’s nonsense was instantly pardoned. Chopper reminded him of a younger Bepo, seemingly with boundless energy, running (from bugs) and tumbling (down hills) and frolicking about. Law briefly pressed a hand to his mouth until his smile faded. He sulked.

“At least use Heavy Point for your imitation,” Law complained, feeling small. He wasn’t that flashy, prancing around like a rhythmic gymnast with a ribbon—was he?

“All right, you asked for it, Tony-Tony. Prepare yourself.” Law had a challenging glint in his eyes. If Chopper was going to mimic him, then he would have his abilities put to the test. “Room,” Law said in his most dangerous voice. A corner of his lips curved slightly in mischief. His Room activated, Law performed several gestures with his hand. Regrettably, in his excitement to begin their friendly match, Law made a terrible blunder and a terrible mix-up happened. While his intention was to use Shambles, followed by Takt, to launch all the candy and bananas available in their vicinity at Chopper, Law may have accidentally used the Personality Transplant Surgery on Chopper and himself instead.

@pilawforhire 

“ROOM!” The little reindeer had somehow gotten a hold of Law’s hat and proceeded to run around mimicking the surgeon. Chopper giggled as he used a mop handle as a makeshift nodachi. Making wooshing sounds and waving his free hoof he imagined splitting the scenery in half.

#cottoncandy doctor #v; canon #queued #1) thank you for writing! #2) that icon is adorable!!! #3) i am sorry for the length; please feel free to shorten it #4) i'll leave it up to you if the personality transplant switch worked and they ended up switching bodies #(it's probably a really unoriginal idea; sorry about that) #otherwise law would just be sending heaps of candy flying towards chopper

[pilawforhire-archived]

"CAPTAIN~"

It mattered not what Law was presently occupied with—farting, minding his toilet business, grooming his thin goatee, bedding another, popping raisins like ‘medicine’—the instant Bepo cried out for him, Law stopped everything and switched into Bepo alert mode. He squeezed his farts back up, yanked up his pants, tossed his brush, shoved his partner, gulped down the last of his raisins, and charged in the direction of Bepo’s voice. Often a head-on collision was inevitable with both rushing towards each other like they’d been launched from a cannon. 3:2 it was Law who rebounded and landed on his bottom.

“What-What is it?” Law gasped. He recovered his hat and sword and scrambled to his feet. “Did-did you see-a female bear?”

“No, Captain!” Bepo grinned toothily. He darted forward to help Law up, albeit with bad timing. Their foreheads met in synchronized greeting with a loud smack and both tumbled back. “Sorry—”

“Did-did you see-a human dressed as a female bear?” Law managed to stand without further resistance and bruises suffered.

Bepo sprang up and adjusted Law’s hat, which Law had unknowingly worn backwards. “No, Captain, I—”

“The crew forced you to watch another of those ‘Bears Mating in the Wild’ documentaries?”

“N-No! … Sorry. But Captain, how did you know about those tapes? You weren’t there when they played—”

“You had a dozen cones of ice cream?” Law swiftly switched topics without blinking. He narrowed his eyes reproachfully.

Bepo dipped his head abashedly. “That was one time, Captain. I only had ten cones this morning—and a jelly doughnut.”

Law nodded, and sighed. “Okay, that’s not too bad. . . . Well, what is it? Is it time for our nap? Has someone sunk my ship? Did you get another letter from Santa?”

“No, Captain! I-The Tang is fine; we’re standing inside it. We’ve already had our nap. And Santa hasn’t written in a long while…” Bepo’s voice trailed off dolefully. Law prompted Bepo with a patient gaze and Bepo perked up as he recalled what he had approached Law for. “Nothing’s wrong! I’m passing through.”

“Oh… That’s a relief.”

“Aerobics class in ten minutes, Captain! Will I see you there in your new shiny spandex wear?”

“Aye, aye.” Law smiled, though he felt a nervous flutter in his belly. “On my way, instructor. See you there.”

(And this is what I wrote initially weeks ago…)

Of smiles, there were multifarious, not always an embodiment of happiness. Misery, contempt, embarrassment, anger—smiles were more often than not masks to conceal true emotions. But there was a smile Law reserved for his closest friend. Rather, it was a smile that came to him naturally, one of the most joyous his otherwise saturnine demeanour could manage.

Law’s eyes widened as Bepo pounded towards him, welcoming arms outstretched wide presenting a forewarning of a hug. The hard creases of Law’s face melted away with magical ease in anticipation of the affection he both missed and craved in the months they’d been apart. He pressed his lips together to subdue an overwhelming surge of relief that poured into him and threatened to open the floodgates to tears unbecoming of his manliness.

Alas, Law’s limbs had become putty from built-up exhaustion and aforementioned relief and, unprepared to withstand the weight of his friend, Law and Bepo collided, reeled back and tumbled down the hill, rolling and rolling, picking up bits and pieces of grass and twigs and one very surprised caterpillar, until they came to a stop after knocking over innocent bystanders like bowling pins. Injuries caused and suffered aside, it was a strike, yet they were denied applause, spared only groans and grumbles.

The impact left Law gasping and wincing but lying sprawled on his back, gazing up at the vast cloudless skies, representing freedom, hope, and opportunity, the sun beating down on his face, Law smiled. For the first time in months since he’d parted with his crew, he felt it—it felt good to be alive, surrounded by men glad for his return, who wanted to continue walking by his side. Law sat up, wearing a bigger smile, one he failed to repress. He crawled over and flopped down on top of Bepo with his ear against Bepo’s chest. Bepo’s heartbeat was his lullaby. Despite the dampness of Bepo’s fur, and an odour rich in perspiration, Law lay languorously, his limbs as deadweight weighting Bepo down.

“I came back,” Law whispered, sounding half in incredulity, half in immense gratefulness that surprised even himself. He had been resigned to a forever farewell, but this time, he was thankful for the unexpected circumstances not included in his predictions. Law closed his eyes and inhaled a slow breath. “…And now, now the rest of the fight begins.” But first, they could take a moment to celebrate their reunion—or nap. Both sounded equally desirable options.

Law patted Bepo’s paw and cradled it in his arm while the caterpillar made a quick escape, afraid it would be crushed. Nonetheless, Law remained unmoving. Habitually, he nudged the pads of Bepo’s paw, with a tenderness uncharacteristic of the Surgeon of Death’s hands. 

“…I missed you too,” Law murmured, the most heartfelt words he’d spoken in years; the most honest he’d been with himself.

As long as we’ve both alive, I’ll always come back.

Would his revenge have been worth the price of the lives of his crew? He hoped he would never have to answer that question once Kaido was done with them.

For things were different now. He’d been wrong before. No man’s journey could be walked alone—at least, not his. Not if he had a choice. 

[ @apologeticbepo ]

#apologeticbepo #nsfw #queued #thank you for sending #asks #v; canon #(wrote two different parts since the one I wrote a while back was just the reunion that I tried to rewrite) #(hope Bepo doesn't notice the caterpillar climbing over him in that) #(and don't mind the silliness of everything) #(and also the ooc of Bepo's parts...)

[pilawforhire-archived]

Noah was currently sleeping on the couch, poor girl was tired and it was chilly outside. He wouldn't mind right? It wasn't like she was causing trouble.

The door opens and shuts, and the howling of the wind is snuffed. A disquieting silence pervades the room, the kind that amplifies the beating of your heart to a deafening thump, thump, thump, chills your blood, heightens your senses in nervous anticipation yet leaves you numb.

Cloaked in black, the spotted-hatted figure halts and his shoulders stiffen at the sight of the lump on the couch. He regards it with dark slitted eyes. Who goes there? His lips curl in disgruntlement though he doesn’t yet launch himself at the intruder. Calmly he arches his neck to the side, and rolls his head left to right, giving it a satisfying stretch. And then he flexes his fingers, cracks his knuckles, and he’s ready.

His boots thud---clomp, clomp, clomp---across the steel floorboards to a slow, grave beat and pause in front of the couch. He lingers, his shadow creeping darkly over Sleeping Beauty, who lies in blissful oblivion to the menacing aura the man tries to exude. The brim of his hat obscures half his face that were she to wake, all she’d see is his thin livery lips pressed slightly together.

In the stillness of the room, only their breaths are audible, yet a tension is unmistakable, intensifying each second after second that ticks by. The man steps closer. He gets a better look at Sleeping Beauty, and, recognition flickering in his eyes—it’s just Noah?—his shoulders relax a tinge though his brows simultaneously rise. In the absence of an enemy, Law sets down the feather duster. Because he is also wielding his sword, he manages only to place one hand on his hip as he stares her down.

Honestly, anyone who decides to crash his couch should know they’re asking for trouble.

Not that he minds though he doesn’t need it becoming a habit. Can’t have rumors circulating about his generosity. Besides, he doesn’t appreciate that she’s skipped the step of asking his permission. Is she hurt? She looks exhausted that he rethinks nudging and prodding her shoulder.

Law considers his options. Eventually, he leaves and returns minutes later. He places a folded blanket on the armrest—he isn’t that kind to drape it over her; she can grab it herself if she’s cold—and pulls up a chair to sit opposite her. Law does his nightly reading while occasionally darting glances at Noah. Not because he’s afraid she’ll fall off the couch or be harmed, but he wants to be there when she wakes.

An hour later, out of restlessness, Law fetches his pet turtle and leaves it on Noah’s person. The couch is wide enough that he doesn’t have to worry about his turtle flying when Noah might startle awake. Pleased with his mischief, Law settles down in his seat and observes Noah and his turtle until she stirs. Law takes delight in whatever Noah’s reaction may be.

“Careful you don’t hurt him,” Law warns coldly, “or I’ll hurt you.” When Noah’s more or less calmed down, Law adds, “Noah, I don’t know where you got the idea that my place is a homeless shelter, but the next time this happens, I’ll charge rent. I’ve got to make a living too. Nothing in life’s for free. This couch, is reserved for animals only,” he jests, wondering if she’ll take the hint. See, Law has always been curious about Noah’s Zoan transformation, and Law is never one to let an opportunity slip. Regardless, before that, Law asks, frowning to conceal concern, “Everything alright?”

[ @theshytigergirl ]

#theshytigergirl #this is really late #but thanks for sending! #queued #asks #v; canon

[pilawforhire-archived]

menagerie-rp:

  Law –he was staring at him with an expression that he couldn’t quite place, but it somehow filled him with anxiety and, to his own confusion, a bizarre and illogical kind of giddiness. Dread and expectation, excitement and fear, all seemed to coalesce within him, leaving Corazon feeling overwhelmed and at odds with himself. In the back of his mind, his brain whispered things that he wasn’t brave enough to really register… things he dare not permit himself to consider.   For Corazon, Law was someone of immeasurable importance, someone that he cared for so deeply that there could be no adequate words to voice his feelings; Law thought Corazon had saved him, but he often thought it had been the other way around.   Yes, he had prevented Law from dying of white lead poisoning, but it wasn’t as if he’d given him more than what was his to start with. Law, however, without even realizing it, had given Corazon something he’d desperately needed, at a time when he’d felt entirely alone — he’d given him purpose, hope, and in his own way, he’d truly brought him happiness; for Corazon, who’d had to smile every day even while living in his own secret world of misery and isolation, real moments of happiness were so rare and fleeting– but Law had given him that, had made him smile a genuine smile, when they were together, and he was profoundly grateful of this. 

Keep reading

Corazon’s warm smile was as effective as rolls of antiseptic gauze wrapped around a migraine. There was nothing insinuating in his tone, and yet, his words rang in Law’s head as clanging bells hurling around a salvo of doubts and questions that shot at Law’s confidence, filled him with creeping dread bleeding in through the cracks.

Explain. What are you thinking?

His cocky countenance faded into a blank look, and Law blinked in stupefaction. His gaze fell to Corazon’s chest, and fixed on the scars that peeked through with the first two buttons of his shirt undone, medals commemorating Corazon’s bravery and sacrifice thirteen years ago. In that regard, Law reckoned his tattoos, inked in commemoration of Corazon, could hardly match up.

Could it be that you’re forgetting that I’m fifteen years your senior?

Did it matter Corazon was fifteen years older? Did it matter? Trivialities. Why? He was no longer a child, couldn’t appreciate being talked down to like a child, an explanation demanded of him as if he’d misbehaved. Granted, Corazon had not sounded reproachful, but — Law shot Corazon a confused scowl. He had risked vulnerability, stripped away his tough armor and laid his feelings bare, albeit through actions that could’ve been mistaken for mischief or lust, that Corazon’s request for an explanation threw him, pitched him down the steep stairs of courage he had arduously climbed. Corazon’s unease must’ve been contagious, for Law felt like he was floundering about neck-deep in a pit of quicksand. A Marine battalion would have fazed him less. If only he could apply his tactical expertise in battle—or even his considerable medical knowledge—to the art of romantic relationships, of which he’d never before taken an active interest in.

Perhaps the only thing preventing Law from flopping over was Corazon’s hands restraining his wrists, holding him in place, in a manner that gave Law an inexplicable sense of security, that he made no effort to jerk his hands free, when any other who dared try the same thing, would’ve been met with fierce resistance, knuckles taking out their teeth. Undignified as it may be though, there was little Law would not do for Corazon. However, an explanation proved far out of his capabilities.

Law released Corazon’s shirt and curled his fingers into loose fists. He pressed them lightly to Corazon’s chest whilst his eyes, wide with a probing gaze, locked with Corazon’s.

Were there signs he’d missed? Misinterpreted? When they’d messed around previously, teased and tried to rile and embarrass each other, oftentimes with actions escalating out of hand, what had Corazon thought then? What did Corazon think now? Had Corazon kissed him back out of courtesy? Had he been blinded by a fear of rejection, of letting go — he could never let go of Corazon nor of his love for Corazon, which would remain immutable and persist until his death — that he’d failed to give Corazon the chance to speak up, to say no?

But Corazon kissed back. Law remembered every millisecond as one would remember their first kiss; the little buzz when their lips first met, the ashy taste of Corazon’s mouth, the shortness of breath, manic racing of heart, the nervous flutter in his gut, the flush of desire—Law became florid as he vividly replayed the kiss in his imagination. His thighs tensed up on Corazon’s lap.

How awkward things would be after this; except awkward was the lesser of his worries.

Law nestled his forehead against Corazon’s shoulder, savoring the comfort and warmth of being in such close proximity to the man he’d mourned for over a decade. With each present moment so regrettably fleeting, Law closed his eyes – as if that could stop time from elapsing – and fisted Corazon’s shirt in his hands, afraid Corazon would slip away again and vanish.

How could he explain this? Words escaped him. He’d never been inclined to express his emotions openly, especially not verbally, and it was not for the lack of vocabulary, but an inability to convey his feelings without fumbling, inadvertently causing misunderstandings, and wanting to activate his Room and skedaddle under the guise of an emergency.

However, Law would not ever apologize for what he thought he felt—what he was adamant he felt. While Corazon’s feelings bewildered him, Law was crystal clear about his own, never clearer. It was love, without a doubt. He wanted him; he needed him—end of story. It was tiring to deliberate over everything else—the whys, the hows. It didn’t matter to him what kind of love this was, just that it was fountaining, overflowing within him, poisoning his mind, swelling in his heart with every vehement throb. It was insidiously taking root; it was cancer.

Admittedly, if asked whether he could be certain his love was untainted by mere obligation out of sheer gratitude, Law would falter. Still, he’d ask himself, did it matter, right now? Love existed in various forms capricious, transmutable. Whatever this was, for once, he was tired of scrupulously and cautiously planning every step ahead and subjecting his emotions through scrutiny. Couldn’t he just live in the present for once and act as his heart yearned?

“Remember the three words you said…?” Law finally broke the silence after teetering between scampering away and staying seated. “It was a different kind of love, I understand...” But— His lips pinched together in mute frustration.

The love he had for Corazon was different back then. He’d loved Corazon like family—the only family he had left—and that undying love had kept him hanging on throughout the years. But something had changed when Corazon returned from the land of the dead. Should it be so surprising, Law wondered, that his love had evolved? He’d dedicated his life to Corazon. Numerous things Law was grateful and beholden to Corazon for; for saving him, believing in him, rekindling his hope and faith. He revered Corazon’s courage, welcomed both Corazon’s strengths and faults. Corazon had given him a reason to smile when he’d lost all reason.

Knowing his luck, the time they had together would be dismally limited. Though he would be saddened to lose Corazon again, he’d accepted the inevitability of such a circumstance. Thus, while life permitted the opportunity, Law was loath to let it slip through his fingers. Was that laughable?

“...Do you want this? Because I… What d’you want me to say?” His voice was brittle and on the verge of breaking. “What can I say to explain it so you’ll understand? If you don’t, after all...this, I-nothing I say will.” A downhearted look descended on his face. “—I just...I want...need—” He heaved a sigh, feeling like a hot oven that would spontaneously combust at any moment from rapidly burning up inside. Honestly, did he have to spell it out?

Law slumped against Corazon’s chest defeatedly. “Perhaps I’ve had too much to drink,” he lied, completely sober. He should leave, scurry away in cowardice. Forget this. It was silly. But he’d lived thirteen years with the heavy regret of things left unsaid. Could he live another thirteen? If he brushed off his actions coolly as mischief, that would crush his own heart. Moreover, it’d be unlike him to quit. He’d started this; he should see it through. Though he ought to have planned his next move.

Chiding himself for his uncharacteristic indecisiveness, before his mind could overthink the impulse, Law kissed Corazon again, softly on the corner of Corazon’s lips. The bristles of his goatee grazing Corazon’s jaw, Law murmured, “You already know what this is. It is what you think it is. It is what you want it to be—nothing more, nothing less.” An ambiguous explanation, intentionally so. He didn’t want to rush Corazon or drive Corazon into a corner. If Corazon felt the same way, only time and patience would dissolve the barriers to Corazon’s heart.

“Go ahead, trap me in a headlock—if you can. D’you think it’d be easy?” Law scoffed cheekily. “Have you forgotten all the times I outran you?” Law leaned his weight onto his hands splayed on Corazon’s chest. “...But if that’s all it takes to spend the rest of the week with you, I’d say, it’s a small, insignificant price to pay—oh, d’you want the handcuffs too?” he whispered with a solemn expression. “A collar?” Law pretended to look concerned, eyes widened, before he gave Corazon a roguish smile. “Tsk, tsk. Your first mistake, thinking I’d learn to know better. Old man, you expect too much of me.” The gleam of amusement faded from his gaze that turned pensive.

“Know what I felt…? It was…nice, but I don’t need nice.��� —Not without you. He didn’t need happiness or pleasure; he just needed him. He wanted nothing more than to shine a little happiness into the darker areas of Corazon’s life, yet he didn’t know how. “Nothing has to change, but if you want to know why, well, I just felt like it. Y’know, like when the prince kisses the princess? Like that. Usually, the princess doesn’t ask for an explanation, but that’s fine.” Granted, it was a bad analogy, but in Law’s defense, his thoughts were presently all over the place; the kiss had induced a narcotic effect.

“...And you,” Law breathed, “what did you feel? You never tell me what you think and feel.”

#menagerie rp #queued #everything you wrote here is beautiful #the imagery you created with your words #and i like the ending #'just keep smiling like usual...like always' #and standing at the edge of a cliff #don't mind me saying all that #it just-that was quite the insight into Corazon's thoughts and feelings #i am moved #v; canon

[pilawforhire-archived]

// Time to appreciate some good writing cause hot diggity damn, you're so good and wonderful. Keep up the good work, friend. u vu

// Hello, dear friend! I’m sure you deserve those words much more than I do! I don’t work hard enough on the writing to be deserving of your kind words. Still, thank you very much for taking the time to send me this and for the thought of sending me this! It is too much, too wonderful of you! I am crying on the inside while I type, but also smiling! This is so sweet! Though I’m sorry we’ve never talked or written together before (yet!), and that’s on me. (Actually, wait! I think we’ve spoken before. On your other blog @eviqeflammer! I hope things have been going all right for you. It was great chatting with you previously! If I’m not mistaken that that’s your old blog!)

I am really grateful to you for the positivity and encouragement. It means a lot! And I think everyone may find themselves in need of a boost from time to time. It is lovely of you to send others nice and supportive words like this! And I am sending them back to you. You are wonderful. I think I’ve followed you for a long time, and I’m glad that you’re still around on your multimuse! 

And, well, in the event anyone else happens to read this or scrolls past, you are wonderful too, and you are worthy. No matter what you’ve accomplished/done today, no matter how you may feel at this point in your life. Keep trying, and I wish you all the best in reaching your goals.

And Mar, or Marie (apologies if I’m mistaken…), thank you very much! ;~;

#mondxs #ooc #asks #<3 #thank you #i just don't feel like i've said thank you enough #but maybe i've rambled enough #and for that I am sorry

[pilawforhire-archived]

sliding in here to say that you are wonderful and i love speaking with you

// Hey! Thank you so much! Thank you for leaving me this! It is absolutely lovely of you. Please know that you are wonderful yourself. And you are a dear. I’m really glad for the conversations we’ve had and for the threads we did together in the past! Thank you for everything!

I hope you’ll have a good week! Thank you!

#unknxwnhxcker #ooc #asks #how could you send me something so nice! #i wish you well #and Mitsu too

[pilawforhire-archived]

"An apple a day keeps the doctor away. But if the doctor is cute, ditch the fruit." Everything is worth trying to have Law smile.

Some days, smiling was an effortless doddle. Threatening smiles exchanged in greeting were second nature and a guilty pleasure, complimentary to enemies, the Marines, and photographers risking their lives to snap pictures for new bounty posters.

Dark smiles were his favorite; shark-like, razor-sharp smiles carved onto his otherwise stony face, his lips curved like the blade of his scalpel, his teeth glinting—at least, that was the intention. Sometimes life got in the way; the wacky poses pulled by his goofy crew lurking in the background ruined his menacing aura.

On rare occasion, his smiles were natural, soft, albeit a tinge shy, like they were ashamed to be seen. Then there were the other days, when forcing a smile was akin to forcing a week’s worth of constipation that refused to budge, lodged in the gut; it would’ve been easier to squeeze blood out of a rock or summon God, for his facial muscles would physically fight the expression of anything close to joy. On those days, Law recognized the importance of makeup. No wonder Corazon had painted a smile on his face.

(Though Morgan ought to note that doctors rarely smiled in the first place. A smiling doctor was both suspicious and worrying. You’d think they’d made a fatal blunder and thus smiled to cover up their guilt.)

That morning was one of the difficult mornings, wherein most things were basically inexplicably, exasperatingly, yet familiarly difficult. Every single movement first had to be fought for in a battle against inertia and the temptation of five more minutes spent passed out in bed. Alas, duties were a-calling.

Law tossed aside the heap of blankets, wrestled with another heap of blankets, and tumbled out of bed. Not his fault. The blankets had entangled his legs like vines of evil resistance. Nonetheless, he managed a painful crawl across the room to get changed—deep breaths—and start the day. Keep moving, was the whole idea, lest the mental tug-of-war over willpower was lost before it could even begin.

It was a surprise when Morgan popped her head in to check on him—or perhaps she’d wanted something? Had the absence of his intolerable flatulence that morning worried her, he wondered. Usually he began the day tooting, farts melodiously trumpeting to a crescendo, but not today. He hadn’t had his favorite snack of raisins in a good while, perhaps to Morgan’s fortune.

“An apple a day keeps the doctor away. But if the doctor is cute, ditch the fruit,” she said. While her words didn’t elicit a smile, Law’s features softened as he laid eyes on her. He didn’t wish to regard her with a scowl when she’d done nothing deserving of such moroseness.

With fatigue weighing down his shoulders, he closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around her. For once, a hug he’d initiated lacked the awkwardness and stiffness of previous attempts. It felt soothing, and different from the hugs Bepo would offer now and then. He only wished sometimes she were a bit taller, but all the same, he burrowed his face into the crown of her head and unconsciously sniffed and nibbled her hair before he retreated slightly. He didn’t smile yet, but he gazed at her with a look of mute thanks and appreciation. Although it’d been mere words, they invigorated, her kind effort a beacon that made it easier to put one foot in front of the other and march through the day with his game face plastered. Law patted Morgan’s head, in a gesture he’d gotten fond of over the weeks, never mind that he would pet his turtle in the same affectionate manner.

That night, they lay in bed in a comforting silence. A smile was difficult still, but he did reflect on her words. He couldn’t consider himself a doctor. How could he? The lives he’d harmed far outnumbered those he’d saved and he hadn’t felt remorse, not for most. Besides, he hadn’t even taken the Oath.

He didn’t share any of that with her. Instead, he turned on his side and snuggled closer to study her eyes as if it was the first time and he was lost in deep admiration in her gaze. When words were scarce and unnecessary, he grazed his fingers over her lips, giving a slight pull at the corners to recreate her smile. Idly he traced her cheekbone to her jaw. Languorously he brushed locks of her hair, first to playfully cover her eyes, then he tucked them neatly behind her ear so that he may have an unobstructed view of her face. Never one who knew how to appreciate fine paintings, he couldn’t fully take in her beauty either—it was too much, ethereal; he was only a man—but he wanted to understand, to unravel her intricacies over time.

They lay there, their chests gently rising and falling in unison, his fingers on her carotid pulse to observe the hypnotic beat of her heart. The stillness of the moment brought the day to a calm closure.

And he tried. His lips twitched into a slight lopsided smile that faded within seconds.

I love you, he almost said. But he doubted she’d have believed he was serious had he blurted those words, given the innumerable lies he’d crafted. Eventually, he found the words, and tried, in his own way, to put a smile on her face.

“…A fruit a day would be more beneficial in the long run than my doctorly presence,” he drawled. “Don’t know if you’ve realized, but the ‘death’ in my title’s nothing to dismiss, missus.” He tapped the tip of her nose in a teasing but patronizing manner before he interlaced his fingers with hers. In a low, comically seductive (his best attempt) voice, he whispered, leaning in, “But if you want a partner in this tango with death, take my hand…”

Her lips were soft and sweet against his, her stomach warm to his touch. Very much aware he was acting embarrassingly, Law murmured the rest of the lyrics to the song he’d overheard in a bar for Morgan’s auditory pleasure.

“And if you want a doctor, I’ll examine every inch of you… Or if you want to take me for a ride, you know you can… I’m your man.”

[ @mxladymorgan ]

#mxladymorgan #tw depression #(allusion/brief mention) #queued #asks #please excuse how this turned out #how the beginning is dreadfully long #how the ending is silly #i tried but the slightly romantic-ish mood only reads awkward ;-; #thanks for sending! #that was a very sweet line btw! #v; canon

[pilawforhire-archived]

As of May 1, 2018, reblog if you are an active One Piece RP Or Ask Blog.

Please REBLOG ONLY. No likes.

Census ends May 31st.

#ooc #queued

[pilawforhire-archived]

silentcigarette:

“…….”

Rocinante runs a hand through the thick mop of hair on his head, gifted by his father. Dolfamingo had inherited the straight, thinner locks of their mother. The actual genetic trait for balding was very difficult to avoid inheriting in Mariejois, with how closely related everyone was to eachother. He tried not to think too much about the royal intermarriage of Celestial Dragon society, but he could recall many of the older men and women talking and trying different treatments for their receding hairlines.

Wanting to distract himself from the thoughts of ‘how inbred am I?’, Rocinante lifts the fake mustache under his nose, and looks at Law for approval.

“…. like this?”

Law would have clapped his hands excitedly like a trained seal if it meant conveying his approval, but he knew better than to be an embarrassment at his supposedly mature age, with a supposedly respected reputation to maintain. Instead, Law did what Bepo had always done to show his support. Law gave Corazon a thumbs up, though Law withheld a smile, his features stony like he’d just crawled out of bed.

“Doesn’t match your hair,” Law said, solemnly studying Corazon’s makeover, “but not bad.” He nodded impassively and gave another thumbs up. “Perfect. You look manly, rugged, hunky. Mustaches, the key to reviving your masculinity; the savior of all life-beaten middle-aged men. The hirsuteness of a man, like the impressive feathers of a male peacock, is to be flaunted.” He spoke in a sing-song voice untypical of his usual monotone, endorsing the mustache for all its worth. Never mind that seconds ago, Law had just stated the contrary, that facial hair didn’t determine masculinity. Regardless, whilst glad to be humored by Corazon, Law wore a frown.

“—You don’t have to do everything I say,” Law mumbled. “…You can tell me ‘no’. ‘No, I can’t stay’, ‘no, I don’t want to’—like that.”

“Want to grab dinner? You can keep the ‘stache, if you need a disguise or a boost of confidence. I don’t mind feeling a lesser man if it’s for your sake.”

#silentcigarette #queued #v; canon

[pilawforhire-archived]

Law risked a glare at Demitra, just for a second. He was eager for his head massage and did not want to waste another precious second. Thus, the very second Demitra stood up, Law plopped his butt down on the seat and his eyes widened sheepishly at the warmth that embraced his bottom. Reminded of how guiltily-pleasing it’d felt to have Demitra sat in his lap, Law could only stare with his cheeks colored as Demitra put her hair up, which to him seemed to defeat the purpose of his painstaking efforts earlier.

“Don’t tell me to sit still,” Law grumbled like an eighty-year-old nursing grievances against the world for reasons he couldn’t remember. Regardless, he didn’t want to drive Demitra away, so he forced a brief smile. “Thanks, scalp’s terribly sensitive and I’d appreciate handling with care. But if I find bald patches, I’ll fashion a wig out of your hair. See, there’s a time for hair-pulling and this isn’t it.” With that said, feeling reassured, Law settled into the chair.

“—And awkward? Shameful? Ah, woe is me,” Law intoned, placing a hand over his heart. “I feel misunderstood, Demi-ya. Out of mere concern, I’d asked about other problem areas. Wasn’t volunteering to . . . ‘trim your pubes’.” Law scowled abashedly. “I’d have called Ikkaku to assist you.” Hastily trying to change the topic, he turned his head slightly over his shoulder and blurted, “Why bother with long hair? Such a hassle. Aren’t there more fulfilling hobbies? Like gardening, knitting...”

@pilawforhire // continuing on lol

“Ya know, fer someone who is awkward, ya like ta ask shameful t'ings,” Demitra mused, cracking her left eyes open as she tipped her head back to look at him. Her lips curling into an amused smile. “Askin’ ta trim me pubes? If ye wanna hit personal like t'at you could always ask, Law.” The woman loved to tease the man when he made a goof of himself. Some may call her mean but she did it out of her heart.

“Alrig’t, just let me shake it an’ put it up in a wrap.” Demitra huffed while standing up from her seat. She bent over and shook her hair down before grabbing for a purple hair wrap and stuffing her red curls into it. Now that everything was set and in place, she grabbed an extra brush before turning back to Law. “Sit. I’ll be gentle.”

#singing sweet nightmares #nsfw #v; canon #queued

[pilawforhire-archived]

despairforme:

     More air was pulled in, and Nnoitra could feel his thoughts start to at least make sense. There was an aching pain in his head, but he was very used to headaches ( perks of trying to read with dyslexia and one eye ), so he didn’t pay too much attention to it. With his vision clearing, he could see the stranger’s face better. He was a young, black haired man with a stupid goatee and piercing eyes. Even if the ‘ don’t move ‘ order was spoken very coldly, it still made Nnoitra feel better, somehow. Maybe because this guy obviously knew some stuff. He knew what Nnoitra should and shouldn’t do in this situation, and he was very thankful for some guidance.

     His life vest was opened, and Nnoitra knew he was being studied or checked out or whatever one would call it. Not a pleasant feeling. He never liked people looking so closely at him ( he wasn’t an animal or an insect after all ). This was no time to worry about that though. Obviously the goatee guy just wanted to check if he was injured. Apart from his forehead, his ribs were hurting like hell. Mah, it was fine. He wasn’t some pussy. A LOT of questions were coming at him now. Luckily, the fresh air and just the knowledge that he was not alone here had made Nnoitra a lot more awake.

     ❝ Nnoitra. ❞ Still, forming sentences was a bit difficult. He tried to remember what happened. He’d been somewhere… Yeah, he’d been on a plane. And then… Oh! Oh yeah, he had been in a fucking plane crash! That’s what had happened!  ❝ ‘Da plane crashed. ❞ Maybe the other wanted some better story, but that was all Nnoitra could manage right now.

     Even more questions followed. About his eye, and whether or not he could sit up - and the dude even asked if he needed to be carried. Nnoitra slowly sat up, and quickly closed his eye from the pain that shot through his head.  

     ❝ Fuck, ah - shit… FUCK ME. ❞ Intelligent cursing, that would make him feel better! Sitting up actually made it a lot easier to breathe though, and after that quick shock of pain, he felt better.❝ Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Ya ain’t gonna be fuckin’ carryin’ me. Yer a pretty funny guy. ❞ Nnoitra couldn’t help but sound a bit spiteful.

     ❝ Where am I? ‘N who ya supposed ‘ta be? Am I fuckin’ dead or wha’? ❞ Nnoitra was looking around now. He was on a beach. A very nice beach… It probably wasn’t heaven though. He didn’t think his head would be hurting if he’d gone to heaven. 

While not an avid reader of fiction, Law had enjoyed several six-word stories shared by friends and strangers alike. Emotional ones, inspiring ones, ones that packed a punch — ‘Within the light was a lie.’ — all amounting to a mere six words. Nnoitra’s ‘The plane crashed.’ was even further condensed, but Law had to admit, it was succinct, impactful, tear-jerking, gripping, and left much to the imagination. Of course, interest piqued, Law needed the gory details, though given circumstances, he knew he couldn’t expect a descriptive narrative from someone teetering on the brink of death. Instead, as Nnoitra sat up, Law extended his hands, hovering by Nnoitra’s side, when curses burst from Nnoitra’s lips. Law minded not the language; verbal explosions could momentarily ease shock, pain, and distress, and Nnoitra appeared to be in agony he would have to bear with, in the absence of analgesics.

“There, there,” Law said, trying to soothe Nnoitra. His words felt inappropriate and empty but he’d been advised they were effective in offering sympathies and thus employed them automatically whenever he detected someone suffering. “And thanks,” Law added dryly, to the compliment about his sense of humor, “I try.” As for where they were…

Law frowned and glanced around their surroundings, as if he hadn’t spent the past weeks on the same goddamned beach picking seashells — well, occasionally, he picked seashells. Those on the beach were quite pretty.

“Some desolate beach,” Law said glumly, intentionally keeping his answer to three words, in admiration of the brevity of Nnoitra’s earlier response. “Why? Afraid I don’t know any better; been stuck here a while . . . Ah.” Law straightened upright, pretending he had an epiphany. “Perhaps my job’s to guide your recently deceased soul to the afterlife, and you were the missing piece of the puzzle till now, and because I’ve not fulfilled my job, neither can I leave...” Law gave Nnoitra’s shoulder a consoling pat. “The name’s Law, God of Death.” He’d always wanted to try saying that title after his name and was glad for the opportunity. Embracing his new role, Law began to dish out unsolicited guidance.

“You must be in a lot of pain, human, but think about it this way. The experience of pain suggests you’re alive.” Law was perhaps a little delirious after risking consumption of fruit he foraged from the wild. “We shouldn’t stay out here too long under the sun. There’s not much of a view, who knows when the beasts could find us, and another plane could crash this very beach at any moment, and we’d be goners for good.” Most importantly, Law reckoned Nnoitra would be dehydrated and it would be to both their advantages if he moved him into the shade and fetched him water.

“So, what’ll it be? Either I carry you, drag you across the sand, or you could try making it on your own,” Law suggested. “Delighted to make your acquaintance, Noitorrra.” Law held out an open palm, either to help Nnoitra to his feet, or to shake Nnoitra’s hand, depending on Nnoitra’s preference.

#long post #despairforme #v; au #v; stranded #queued #sorry i know i said i'd drop it #but it was not fair/too soon of me to decide that #and i gave it another try #but don't mind this #and no worries about continuing though #thanks for your reply! #feel free to cut his dialogue at any point