Jun 2, 2025
Frankenstein but it's Vinsmoke Judge trying to create the perfect wife so he can have the perfect kids and a perfect legacy, gaining immortality via cloning technology, only to be undone by his own hubris
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Frankenstein but it's Vinsmoke Judge trying to create the perfect wife so he can have the perfect kids and a perfect legacy, gaining immortality via cloning technology, only to be undone by his own hubris
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Revelation
Rating: Gen Word Count: 3000 Summary: “I thought it looked like a sun,” Koala said.
For the first time, emotion flashed across his face. Shock, perhaps. It was gone too quickly for Koala to place it. But a smile came after, and he said,
“Oh, so you do know the stories.”
AO3
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When Koala was fourteen, she left for the Revolution. There had been no sudden breaking point, no hastily packed bags in the dead of night. Koala might have felt better if there had. Instead, after spending so many years yearning for her return, she was left with the slow, inextricable realization that home was no longer home. Where closeness once existed was now an unbridgeable chasm, with Fisher Tiger at the center of the divide.
Daughter of Wind and Lightning
Summary: When the moment came to decide upon a name Bellemere chose Nami. It seemed fitting for a girl who seemed destined from birth for the sea. Word Count: 2200 Rating: Gen AO3
The baby was smiling when Nojiko found her. Somehow, amongst the destruction of the city, this tiny scrap of humanity was able to laugh. Nojiko—tired, afraid, scarcely more than a baby herself—didn’t understand it. All day and night the air had boomed like thunder, and now wind whipped around air brimming with gunsmoke and ash. But still in the corner of a ruined house the baby babbled happily, pink round cheeks smudged with dirt, the stink of blood all around.
Nami was too young to remember the battle that left her an orphan, but Nojiko would never forget
The candle had long-since gone out by the time the fighting finished. Nojiko sat, huddled in the corner of the cellar like her mother told her, shivering against the cool and musty air. At some time during the night she must have slept, because the last thing she remembered was staring into the heart of the dim flame that flickered and wobbled in time with the shaking earth.
Everything was still, now. There were no shots or shouts or cannons. Nojiko strained to hear, but there was only a gaping Nothing, the vastness of which threatened to swallow her whole.
“Mom?” Nojiko ventured timorously. “Dad?”
They had promised they’d come back. They’d left after making her swear to be a good, quiet girl. They’d said it wouldn’t be long until they were safe once more.
Then why was she by herself? Time was meaningless in the pitch blackness, but Nojiko was sure an eternity had passed. The silence was worse than the sounds of war. Fear clawed at Nojiko’s insides. Confused and exhausted and in the dark, her mind spun images of monsters with guns and blood-hungry beasts. She could feel them breathing at her neck. The darkness was heavy as a blanket, except instead of inviting warmth and comfort, it only offered the cold embrace of death. Jerking herself upright, Nojiko stumbled forward looking for a way to escape it, running head-first into a shelf that lined the walls of the cellar.
A glass jar smashed against the floor and the acidic tang of canned tomatoes cut through the musty, earthen stench. Nojiko slipped in the broken mush and stumbled to her knees. Sharp pain cut through her growing terror as a shard of broken glass slashed her shin. Biting back a yelp, she once again called for her mother.
Once again, there was no answer.
Somehow Nojiko found the stairway that led out out out. Tears stinging her eyes, she clambered up the stairs as fast as she was able, her leg throbbing with every step. It was only when she reached the top that she remembered her parents had locked the door to keep anyone from finding her.
“Mom!” Nojiko yelled, pounding her tiny fists against the rough wood. “Daddy! Lemme out!”
Her next howl caught in her throat and came out as a sob. She didn’t understand. She was a little girl and couldn’t understand the battle that had taken place outside her cellar door. All she knew was that it was dark, and her parents had left her, and that she was very afraid.
Pounding turned to pushing. In the throes of a panic-stricken tantrum, Nojiko put all her strength into escape, and while the chains lashing the door closed had made it through the battle unharmed, the same could not be said of the cellar’s hinges. With animalistic desperation, Nojiko forced the doors open just enough to squirm through a toddler-sized hole only to see her whole world destroyed.
Nami was too young to remember the battle that left her an orphan, but Nojiko would never forget. The pain and fear was momentarily forgotten as her mind tried to process what her eyes saw. Rank death permeated the air, the stench of blood and smoke filling her nostrils.
Her house was gone. So was the neighbor’s. And the little corner store the next block over. Wind whipped down streets clogged with fallen men and women. Some looked like they were sleeping. Others were little more than bloody smears against the shattered pavement. In the distance, a carrion crow called.
Benumbed, Nojiko stumbled forward once more, desperate to find her parents.
(Instead she found a baby with orange hair and a smile like sunshine. Nojiko’s arms burned with exertion carrying her, almost tripping again and again as she tried to walk over rubble and debris. But Nojiko didn’t leave her. Couldn’t leave her. Not after hearing her laugh.)
Xxx
If the aftermath of the battle was crystal clear in Nojiko’s mind, her journey to Cocoyashi was nothing but a fever dream. The cut on her leg festered while the strange marine woman scavenged for food and clean water. There was no medicine to be found, and it took precious days to scrounge up a ship and supplies for the journey. By the time they set sail the baby’s babble had reduced to a pathetic, mewling cry and all Nojiko wanted to do was sleep and sleep forever.
She remembered the roll of the sea and the crack of lightning. Despite the marine woman’s best attempts to shelter them, rain of the bitterest cold cut through their layers of clothing, offering a momentary reprieve to Nojiko’s inflamed cheeks. Her injured leg throbbed and her joints felt like they were being ground to dust, and behind her eyelids visions of war danced to the rhythm of the sea.
Thunder became the explosions of cannons. Streaks of lightning flashed like the muzzle fire of rifles. The cold, unforgiving sea was dark as the cellar basement, with Nojiko just as helpless.
But not alone, this time. Strong arms wrapped around her, refusing to let go, as half-delirious with sickness, Nojiko called out for her mother.
(Afterword, Bellemere would name the baby Nami after the waves. Nojiko always thought it appropriate to christen her after the force that had bound them together as family.)
(All the appreciation in the world couldn’t get Nojiko to ever again set foot on a boat of her own free will. It was just as well that of the two of them Nami was the nameless child. What little Nojiko remembered of the trip was horrific enough to give her nightmares the rest of her life.)
Xxx
It did not strike Nojiko until she herself was forced to live alone how very young Bellemere had been when she took her two daughters in. She had known, of course, that Bellemere struggled. Nojiko remembered the times Nami wouldn’t stop crying to the point Bellemere had no choice but cry with her. She remembered Genzo chastising her for teaching bawdy marine shanties to Nojiko to skip rope to. She remembered bursts of temper, years spent in painful trial and error learning how to keep a farm, late nights counting coins.
Bellemere was certainly nothing like Nojiko’s fuzzy recollection of her birth mother. She would be lying if she said there hadn’t been times she wished for the creature comforts of her old home, but Nojiko wasn’t a dreamer. She didn’t waste energy wishing for the impossible.
Besides, as Bellemere so often preached, good times always followed bad. Nojiko remembered just as fondly cuddling on the broken-in couch with a book in hand (Bellemere made the best voices), late nights playing games over drinking chocolate (a rare treat), and days spent running through the woods that she came to know like the back of her own hand (but never as well as Nami. It didn’t matter how deep into the forest they went, Nojiko could always count on her sister to guide them home).
“You’ve got two feet rooted to the ground and a good head planted on your shoulders, you know that, kid?” Bellemere told her once, before ruffling her hair. Nojiko didn’t know what that meant, but she liked the way Bellemere smiled when she said it, and locked the compliment into her heart as if it were a great treasure.
Nami was too little to remember the hardest times, but she grew wild and free as the wind. Flights of fancy took her to all corners of the world, wishing against the stars she would someday chart, dreaming for what was never to be. Bellemere never told her of those darkest days, and neither did Nojiko. By unspoken agreement they left those nightmares in the past where they belonged.
(Nojiko never did call Bellemere Mother, and without asking why Nami followed suit. If it bothered Bellemere she never said, and it never made them any less of a family.)
(What Nojiko never told her was that while she remembered her birth mother’s face, time had wiped her name from her memory. Bellemere was both Bellemere and her mother, but her birth mother was and could only be Mom . And while she never said so aloud, it did bother her more than she’d like to admit.)
Xxx
Nojiko did not return to the house the first night Arlong took Nami. Or the second. Or the third. Genzo made sure she ate and tried to make her sleep. A useless and hypocritical notion when the whole village stood on a knife’s edge.
But she couldn’t stay. The fishmen registered her name and address, and there wasn’t a family in Cocoyashi who could absorb the cost of a child month after month after month. When the harsh truth became apparent, Genzo offered to spend that first night with her, but Nojiko didn’t let him. He had too many responsibilities already, and so after an inconspicuous burial that had the whole village mourning but only two in attendance, Nojiko returned to the empty house alone. Â
It had always been the exact right size, before. A cozy home fit for three sitting on enough acres to occupy a small child for days on end. Nojiko knew every nook and cranny of those four walls, which floorboards squeaked, which windows to open to best coax a summer breeze. She’d helped Bellemere paper the walls, and could point out the sections where Bellemere had been forced to redo all of her work.
After almost a week away a fine layer of dust settled over the furniture, and suddenly the walls seemed to squeeze too tight while simultaneously smothering her under the weight of its own emptiness. At once Nojiko was transported to that half-forgotten cellar from all those years ago. Her breath fractured in her lungs, ribs collapsing in like a vice and making it impossible to breathe. She ran out of the house, terrified to step foot into her own home, and spent the night under the branches of the tangerine trees.
(Genzo would find her in the morning and curse himself for leaving her alone, while less than a mile away her sister would suffer even worse terrors, with no way to escape.)
(Just when Nojiko gave up all hope of staying, Nami returned to explain the meaning of that tattoo hidden on her shoulder. Nojiko’s shame of her own weakness eclipsed even her hatred of that house, and she did her best to turn her prison into the sanctuary Nami so desperately needed).
Xxx
There were so many things Nami didn’t know. For her sister’s sanity, Nojiko never spoke of the events that took place while she was away. Besides, after awhile life settled into a new normal. So long as the village paid its dues Arlong stayed in his Park, content to rule over his subjects from afar. It was a different sort of evil than the cackling villain who came in a thunder of fury, turning over houses and murdering innocents for the crime of being poor. More banal in its way. Oppression became mundane, righteous indignation fading as the desperate clawing for survival took precedence. Â
Still, Nojiko never spoke of it, and Nami knew better than to ask. It was a necessary and mutual understanding that their brief moments together were a respite to the differing horrors of their existence.
Sometimes when she was alone Nojiko would be haunted by remembering. She came to the conclusion that ghosts were nothing but the past given weight, and she wasn’t sure how much farther she could go without breaking. Nojiko was too firmly rooted to abandon the home she’d learned again to love, but Arlong had no right to shackle the wind, and that knowledge was killing her a little more every day.
Patiently she waited, remembering each of Arlong’s crimes and tallying them against him, never banking her rage but slow to display it out of respect for a promise she was sure he would never keep. Nojiko bore her burdens, as well as the burdens Nami would share with her, because whatever pain she happened to feel she knew her sister’s was a hundred times greater.
When that promised day came and Arlong stole Nami’s hope along with her freedom, Nojiko felt herself plunged into the same darkness of her childhood. And just as she had in that cellar all those years ago, there was nothing to do but stumble forward, pushing with all her strength against the obstacles in her way.
(Nojiko knew what awaited her, remembered the aftermath of that battle. She didn’t care. She’d give up anything if it meant her sister could laugh like she had the day she’d saved Nojiko’s life, all those years ago.)
(Her only regret was not living long enough to hear it).
(But to her surprise, she did, and it became the sweetest memory of all).
Whumptober 7: Back from the Dead
Brook woke in mist and darkness.
With a gasp, he jerked up from the piano he’d died at, slamming his hands against the keys in a discordant sound that mimicked his present confusion. For too long his soul had floated around the expanse of the Florian Triangle without a ray of sunshine to mark the passing of the days or stars to guide his journey.
Slowly he regathered his senses. Here was the flapping of the masts in the breeze. There was the smell of salt and rot.
And rot?
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Whumptober 5: Toxic
Reiju remembered when she was young her tutors telling her that cold was merely the absence of heat. She hadn’t believed them then, when Northern winters weighed so heavy, biting winds and plunging temperatures burning like fire. Cold was a force of nature all its own, living up to its reputation year after year as General Winter.
After Mother died and Sanji left, Reiju understood. Whatever warmth they had brought to the Germa Kingdom vanished. The small, softening signs of their kindness were left neglected until they withered and died. The head cook no longer greeted the Vinsmoke children with a hearty good morning at breakfast. The science corps no longer designed their tests with Sanji’s weaknesses in mind. There were no more wistful smiles as the old servants told stories from when their queen was young, healthy, and happy.
Whumptober Day 2: Gun to the Temple (yes I accidentally looked at the wrong prompt don’t judge me)
All things came to an end, and after twenty years of lies and intrigue Iceburg had reached his. They came violently and without warning, too quickly for it not to be premeditated and too quietly for it to be anyone but the World Government. As he lay on his back gargling on his own blood, Iceburg could do nothing but stare defiantly in the face of death.
Whumptober 3: Caged
The lights were blinding. Blinding and intense and hot. Fisher Tiger squinted out at the crowd of the auction house, but the giant floodlights that pooled the stage in light hid the audience in shadow.