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3nhydra · 1 month

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A little oneshot I made, also posted on my ao3 account revolving around a hc of @beatrixblog

Here’s the link to the post regarding the hc for a little background context: https://www.tumblr.com/beatrixblog/742019626528096256/abalone-curse-auhc?source=share

It’ll be under the read more and I’ll link the chapter in the fic at the end.

With a groan, Abalone awoke. Sunlight filtered through the window in his bedroom in the ship, casting a strip of horrifically bright light directly across his eyes. He made a startled, strangled noise in surprise as he opened his eyes, pain searing through them as he struggled to adjust to the sudden brightness. He blinked once, then twice, eyelids actively rebelling against him as he twitched disorientated. His head pounded, like some sort of thing had crawled into his head during the night and was now stomping around trying to get out. God, it hurt, the light not doing the pain any favours, intensifying the aching throb. His headache seemed to rebel against him blinking, his eyes dry and sore, matching the pain in his head.

Just what had happened last night? Squinting, he glared at the ceiling at he attempted to piece together what he had done last night that warranted this god-awful headache and sore, gummy eyes - there was an awful amount of sleep-crust built up around his lashes. Trying to think was useless, as was moving his head and blinking. The headache was just too severe for that.

Another pressing question was ‘when had he fallen asleep last night?’ He didn’t remember going to his room, nor getting changed or lying down on the bed. Then again, he didn’t really remember anything from last night. Was he hungover? Was this a really bad hangover? How much had he had to drink? Heavenly divines he hoped it was a hangover. Saying that though, there wasn’t really much else that it could be.

Grunting, he laid his palms flat on the bed and pushed himself up. Or attempted to. The moment his palms came into contact with the mattress and pushed, pain erupted up his back and down his fingers. Gasping with the suddenness of it, he collapsed back against the bed, staring at the ceiling in shock as the boat rocked under him in a gentle rhythm that came with living on a boat. What the hell. His whole body ached, but his fingers and his back felt like they were made out of lead, entirely incapable of moving, or bending to any significant degree. Why the hell was he so stiff and why did he ache so bad.

He’d never had a hangover like this before. Slowly, with his back and his fingers protesting his every movement, he got out of bed. Stumbling as the boat rocked to the side, he stabilised himself on the wardrobe as his body smacked against it and his head bumped against the ceiling. Ouch. Sometimes, he wished that the room was a little taller. Sighing, he looked down.

For some reason, he was only dressed in shorts and an extremely tattered tank-top that looked like it’d been attacked by a pair of scissors, with the way it hung off of him, completely in shreds. Well, it would have to go in the bin. There was no way it could be salvaged with the state it was in.

Oh well. Luckily, he was in-front of the wardrobe, so finding a change of clothes would be an easy task. He’d have to change to go up on deck anyway. Heaving open the doors, attempting to remain steady with the rock-and-roll of the ship, he flicked his hands through the multiple copies he had of his main outfit. Snatching one out, his numb, stiff fingers curled against thick fabric (why were his fingers so stiff?) before launching the fabric that used to be a shirt and his shorts over his shoulder, to some other part of his room. He’d deal with them later. Pulling on his clothes, not caring for how much his body ached, thick fabric soon cloaked his body. Just as he pulled on the last piece, the whole ship lurched to the right. Abalone’s whole body suddenly tilted off balance, not prepared for the sudden tilt of the floor under his feet. His feet slid out from under him, his whole body sliding across the floor as he was forced off-balance. He smacked against the wall, pain sparking up his aching spine.

Fuck, that hurt.

Abalone Cookie groaned, his head lolling forward as he pulled himself up.

He pressed his back against the wall, eyes pressed shut, as his head brushed against the ceiling. Where was his hat? Why did his body ache so much? Had he overexerted himself yesterday? That didn’t make sense. He’d spent enough time in the seas for his body to build up enough muscle to be comfortable enough to move the heaviest of things on the ship. So why did he ache? Picking up his hat from where it had fallen, he moved across the room, swaying with the movement of the ship.

Sighing, he threw open the door, with fingers that didn’t want to co-operate in any way. Irritation built up thick in him, seeping out onto his face, as a scowl twisted his features, teeth bared. He stomped out of his room, out into the corridor. Up above, he could hear muffled startled shouting from his crew, and the repetitive thump of them scurrying about to-and-fro up there. What the *hell* was going on up there? The irritation grew and grew, his feet almost cracking the floor with how hard he forced them down. Down the corridor, up the stairs, a path well traveled. An arm smacked against the hatch as he blasted it open, appearing on the deck.

“What the fuck is going on!”he roared, voice booming out across the entire ship. All eyes instantly snapped to him, as bodies tensing as he loomed over them, unfolding himself to his full height. One of his crew stepped forward shaking. The tallest of them, although they only came up to Abalone’s collarbone. They stumbled over the words, their face a pasty white before pressing their lips together tightly and pointing silently towards the Republic, their eyes remaining firmly glued to the floor.

Abalone Cookie groaned, rolling his eyes in frustration at the crew-members silence before turning to eye the Republic.

He grunted “ What, cat got yer toun-“ he trailed off in shock, as he turned around fully. The Republic was destroyed. Well, half of it anyway, flattened into a shambled mess of bricks and flames, destruction marking its path up towards the Upper City. Smoke marred the sky, a black smear against the gentle blue that muddied and smeared around the edges. What the fuck. What had happened when he was asleep?

For a moment, his mind trailed back to Black Pearl for a minute, of the abyss magic she blasted at him, a curse that forced a new, twisted form upon him, forcing his body to shift unnaturally to some sort of giant crab, body embedded with mechanical adjustments. Had he…? No. He’d know if that had happened. The transformation was slow and excruciatingly painful, as his bones broke and reformed, muscles shifting in ways they hadn’t before. He’d know. He’d remember if it had been him.

He brushed the thought off. He’d know. He huffed, eyeing the Republic. How the hell did he sleep through that? He rolled a stiff shoulder, flexing aching fingers as he thought for a minute.

A crew-mate approached him, a different one to the one from before. Before he could speak, Abalone Cookie snapped around to face his crew.

“Right,” he grunted, “Off to sea we go, then.” Abalone really didn’t want to be there for the fuss that was probably going on in the Republic, as they fretted over the destruction. He stomped over to where the wheel of his ship was, as his crew prepared to set sail. He faced the Republic once again, a brief flicker of curiosity leading him to wonder what had happened while he was asleep. He lazily discarded the thought. It didn’t really matter. It didn’t happen to him, and he didn’t particularly care too much about the Republic, so he didn’t care.

With that, he and his crew set sail, to travel the seas until the fuss died down.

#cookie run kingdom #cookie run #headcanon #npcs #cookie run npc #oneshot #cookie run fanfic #abalone cookie

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