AN: There is a sad lack of SI/OC stories for One Piece so I thought I would try my hand with my own. I honestly don't know if I like how this came out, so I might go back and add more detail at some point (I also still have to edit it too). I'm also not a 100% sure where this is going other then Corduroy is not going to end up as the most mentally stable person in the world. Oh, she might also be Luffy's mom, but that is still up for debate because I'd have to figure out how she and Dragon would even have a romance and she be a rather young mom. Truthfully, this story needs a ton of work.

Anyway, if you read any of my other stories, I am indeed still working on them. It has been really slow going as inspiration comes and goes as it pleases. Most notably, I am reworking on chapter one of 'A Shark in Calm Waters,' as after rereading I felt it was too undetailed and I am also grappling with 'Blade of the Senju.' BotS has been giving me tons of trouble in its' own right from trying to decide whom I want to live, to how I want Kakashi - Kama - to grow. It has been a pain really. A long, rewarding pain.

Donquixote Corduroy couldn't decide what was more messed up: that she could see the dead or that she was named after a fucking teddy bear from a children's book she read in a previous life long past. It was probably more the dead people thing considering her she stood with her recently deceased brother in front of her – goofy face paint and all.

She was really starting to wish she never devoured that godforsaken devil fruit.

Corduroy's story, however, started many years before this fateful encounter with her twin brother, perhaps it had even started before she had even had a twin, when she had been known by another name when she had lived a life in another world. And, this, this is that story – her tragedy.

She had died young. Nothing to her name other then a battered picture book, yellowed with age, pages crinkled from having dried after getting wet and torn from near constant flipping, and nobody to really remember her or carry on any sort of legacy she never even had the opportunity to create. She had been a lonely child and she had suffered a death even lonelier still. She had been eight years old.

She couldn't remember what her name had been then, if she had even had one in that life. She could only truly remember the aching pain of having been abandoned – having been left for dead by a family that didn't want her anymore, had probably even never wanted her from the start. The young girl had only been left with her favorite book – Corduroy. It had been the only present she had ever received in this life. A secondhand copy that she was sure had been stolen from a library somewhere, but she had cherished it. Oh, how she had cherished it. Now, it was her only companion.

At first she had gotten by. The streets were no place for a child, it was harsh. The little girl spent much of her time in dumpsters tucked away in narrow alleyways competing against rats and feral dogs for small scraps of food that people had carelessly tossed away. Still, she survived.

That was until winter set in.

The temperature had dropped rapidly and it wasn't long before the freezing winds rendered the girl hopeless. She could barely feel the tingle in her limbs anymore, as if they weren't even there at all. The only things she had truly felt were the pains of hunger and the stab in her heart.

As she closed her eyes for what should have been the final time, hugging her one true possession close to her chest, one final thought whispered near silently, almost as if the small wish didn't want to be heard, in her mind.

'I don't want to be alone anymore.'

Homing worriedly paced the elaborate hallway waiting for news on his wife and the child that she was currently bringing into the world. His two year old son, Doflamingo, rested peacefully in his arms his small head against his father's shoulder, his short, blond hair tickling against the underside of the man's chin as he slept unware of his father's nervous excitement.

After what felt like hours, more then likely because it had been so, the anxious father had been called into the delivery room to formerly greet his new child. When he first walked through the overly large, ornate doors the first thing he saw was his wife. She was sweaty, her long, pale blond hair plastered to her forehead and the sides of her neck, her plain silk gown crumbled, and her face grimacing in lingering pain. Yet, Homing couldn't help but to stop briefly and admire her – she was as beautiful as the day her met her.

The young women looked over to him when she heard a slight intake of breath, offering her husband a fond look, her eyes near glowing with warmth and love for the man before her. "Homing."

At his wife's quiet call, he moved closer, adjusting his napping son into a more comfortable position, when he finally noticed his wife was not holding one bundle, but two. Homing's eyes widened, his wife's name falling from his lips as he felt his throat tighten. He had to cough before he could continue, "Adalicia, we had twins?"

Adalicia nodded and happy tears started to escape from her husband's as the man spoke once more, "What are their names?"

"My sweet little boy will be named Rosinante," a small, tired small made its' way onto the young mother's face as she stared down adoringly at her newborn son before turning her gaze to the other small baby nestled in the crook of her other arm. "And my precious baby girl will be Corduroy."

Homing smiled just as gently as his wife as he touched each of his new children, two more treasures that instantly become the center of his world, lightly on their heads being careful not to jostle his oldest son from his slumber.

"Donquixote Rosinante and Donquixote Corduroy," the proud father whispered reverently. "I promise you both, just like I did with your older brother, I will be the best father ever."

If only Homing had known what would happen in the future.