#And when Croc refused to leave they just. Didn't seem to argue against that. Like they weren't going to follow him to Impel Down

[moongothic]

Crocodile's inability to truly get people to follow him is so interesting though, because in that way he's like the polar opposite of Luffy, who has the ability to draw people in and get them to follow him instead

And like it's not surprising Crocodile can't get anyone to be truly loyal to him (Daz Bones aside), since his primary method to get people to do as they're told is through (threats of) violence and money (if he has any). Like yes, that will get people to do as they're told, but you can't buy loyalty, you can't beat people into trusting you. And so, when shit hits the fan, who the fuck would stay for you, when you're like that

Of course, Crocodile is like that due to his trust issues, and god only knows what caused those trust issues. It's possible he was always like that, or past trauma caused him to become like that-- if it's the latter though, even if he was like more trusting of others once in the past, people still didn't stick with him in the end. The trust was one-sided

I think this also reflects in a really interesting way in Cross Guild actually, 'cause like. Despite being scared shitless, not even Buggy is willing to keep on taking Crocodile's shit. Even that clown has his limits before he starts a mutiny against Crocodile

And while Buggy hasn't really done anything to "earn" his current position in the world (like he hasn't Proven Himself in Combat, he's just Faked It Until He Made It), because he has treaten his underlings with basic kindness and respect, even if he's been lying through his teeth the whole time, that has been enough for Buggy to gain his followers' trust. And that's why Buggy's able to rile up people to follow him. While Crocodile can't.

Unironically makes me wonder what Daz sees in Crocodile that makes him want to follow Croc to literal hell and back

And I wonder what it really would take for Croc to be able to inspire people to follow him and be loyal to him, if it's even possible

[sosimsofmaddi]

Shifting Together

Reese's hand covered her face, her finger and thumb pressing into her temples. She was leaning against her kitchen island, staring at the lament counter-top, and trying not to snap at her ten-year-old.

Kelley Geroux sat on the hardwood floor in the living room, shoving his feet into shoes and complaining the whole time. He was late for school, having missed the bus by a good fifteen minutes. He'd refused to leave the house without a certain pair of sneakers, and Reese was trying not to lose it.

Her son didn't seem to understand urgency, or the fact that her patience was already running thin. She tried not to bother him with things like money problems and the moon phases, but sooner or later he'd catch onto the fact that Reese's temper grew impossibly short twice a month: rent due date and the full moon.

The full moon was more concerning, because not only was her stress level through the roof, but there was always a slim chance she might not be able to slow her rapid pulse.

"Get up, and let's go," Reese ordered, cutting off a fourth round of Kelley's tirade. "Now you'll have to walk in late in front of everyone." Normally she'd feel a little bad pushing that anxiety on her child, but today especially, he deserved it.

"I don't care," he argued, stomping to his feet. He flung his backpack from the floor and through the arch leading to their foyer. His crinkled pile of homework still cluttered the desk tucked into that little alcove. The floor creaked beneath him.

"You're going to wake your aunt," Reese commented dryly, bracing for another I don't care.

Kelley threw open the front door and stomped out to the small front porch. Reese sighed and slipped into a pair of crocs. She shuffled his homework into one haphazard pile and thrust it at him, dragging the door shut behind her.

Neither she or Kelley wore coats, but she wasn't sending him back into that house again. Instead, she headed for the truck. He followed, deliberately crushing leaves beneath his feet.

She walked her son into school twenty minutes later, ignoring the looks from the office staff. She was a mess, still in the oversized shirt and faded black sweatpants she'd worn to bed. Her hair was a disaster, her teeth unbrushed, and she didn't trust herself not to glare. She avoided eye contact as she signed Kelley in, then thrust him through the second doors when they buzzed open.

"Have a great day," she said blandly.

Kelley tromped off without a word.

"Ms. Geroux," the woman on the other side of the glass stopped her.

Reese shoved her hair back behind her ears.

"This is the second time this week that Kelley has been tardy," the woman said. "It's only Tuesday."

Reese pasted a placating smile on her face. "I know what time it is," she told the woman, crossing her bare arms over her chest. She tucked her fingers beneath her upper arms, regretting the decision not to grab a jacket. Hopefully they'd keep Kelley in for recess.

"We do have an attendance policy," the woman spoke again. "Tardies add up to missed attendance.

"He's fifteen minutes late," Reese replied, ignoring the fact that she'd rounded down another fifteen minutes.

The main doors opened and another frazzled family blew inside. Reese took the momentary distraction and slipped out behind them. The receptionist instantly warmed, greeting the parents and their daughter by name. Reese got the sense that everyone seemed to know each other, which made Reese and Kelley's standoffishness even more apparent.

Gunnar's Moonwood Mill history lesson gave context to the town. From the humans' perspective, it was fractured in two. Those who sent their kids to public school and made friends with their neighbors, and those who didn't. It was obvious that there were people around who kept to themselves, but no one knew the lycanthropes were more than just unfriendly, strange people.

Leaving her son's school, Reese thought about Gunnar's explanations a lot, mainly the thought of the lycanthrope kids all being raised and educated together. For as much as she hated the idea, she felt as though she might be ostracizing Kelley - making him an outsider with a secret at his current school and keeping him away from kids like him, who might understand themselves better.

The werewolf stepped out from the corner of the house when she got home. She glanced nervously at the house where Roxana was like getting her morning started.

Gunnar smiled at her, all knowing. He didn't take a farther step out, but he nodded for her to come closer. Reese obliged, taking quick steps across the yard. His smile turned in a full-blown grin when she reached him. He took a few steps back, leading her toward the woods.

She spared one more uncertain glance toward the house, then stepped between the trees with a werewolf. "What are we doing?" she questioned, almost at a whisper.

Gunnar was barefoot and shirtless. He must've snuck into her shed to get the jeans that he left there, because he at least partially dressed. He reached for the button of his jeans as she watched.

He did that a lot.

Reese turned around. "What are you doing?"

"Shifting," he answered unabashedly. "So are you."

She laughed. "No, I'm not."

He spoke as those he didn't stand naked behind her. "Why not?"

"Because it's broad daylight!" she argued. "And I only shift when I have to."

Gunnar's tone became more wary. "You only shift when the moon makes you?"

Reese didn't answer. He was so free with who he was, so uninhibited by the pull of daily life. Her life was ruled by the clock, by the money, by the survival. Gunnar was different. He came and went as he pleased. He shifted when he pleased. He walked through the woods as a wolf as though he was entirely safe between the trees.

Reese never felt safe her entire life.

Gunnar was so rooted.

"Run with me," Gunnar pushed. "Shift and run with me."

Reese shook her head. She could almost feel the step he took toward her. He was nowhere near close enough to touch, but she was aware of him. His voice dropped into something almost pleading, compelling. He spoke with compassion and almost pity.

"Please, Reese," he his voice cracked.

"It's not safe," she stressed, looking at him out of the corner of her eye.

Gunnar caught the look, and how uncomfortable she was. He jumped back into his jeans and came around to face her. "It's safe enough. I know every inch of these woods. I can keep us away from both packs' land."

She looked up at him, those forest green eyes. "What about the logging company? They're bull-dozing entire stretches not far from here."

His expression darkened for a moment, concealing the pain and concern. He hadn't talked to her about Fraser Timber Company, but if it was on her mind, it was definitely on his. Maybe even his entire pack's.

The company bought land just to cull it, wiping out miles and miles of wolves that housed the wolves for generations. Reese thought of the pack house and bunker where Gunnar was raised by his community. She imagined it tucked within a copse of trees, vulnerable to being discovered.

"Can your pack buy the land?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Not enough of us. We've bought up all that we could. We have property --spread out in each of our names so that we don't catch too much attention. But the company bought a third the preserve."

"Why would the town let them do that?"

He pushed his hand through his hair with a sigh. "Exporting timber is good money," he muttered. "Moonwood is a small town, but it still needs money. It's trying to modernize."

"Does anyone even want that?" she muttered. "The population is so small. People who want big cities have moved to big cities."

Gunnar met her eye. "That's the problem. People are leaving for San Myshuno, Del Sol Valley, and San Sequoia. Moonwood needs to draw people back in."

"So they're selling the timber."

"But not the land," Gunnar finished. "We'll probably seen housing developments pop up everywhere in the next few years."

Reese's heart dropped. "So what are the wolves going to do?" Like would become even more difficult for the wolves when that happened. Their lives would be condensed, their secret even harder to contain. They wouldn't have the freedom to shift and lose themselves in the woods.

Gunnar brushed her hair over her shoulder. "Enjoy it while we still can," he told her, unbuttoning his jeans and twisting away from her.

Reese didn't argue this time. She could feel how much this meant to him, how much it would mean to her if she had ties to this community, if she'd grown up in a pack like this. Moonwood was a safe haven for the werewolves. Gunnar told her there were other packs in Henford and Evergreen Harbor, but Moonwood was the foundation of pack-life. It was a different kind of life.

Gunnar turned his back without a word, and Reese folded her clothes and tucked them up near a tree, hoping that bugs wouldn't go near them. She watched as Gunnar shifted in a blink. He was beautiful. Snow white that transitioned into an ashy gray, like his hair.

He loped off into the woods. Reese closed her eyes. She rarely shifted if she wasn't compelled by the moon cycle. When she was young, she struggled to turn at will, so much so that she tried to believe it was impossible. She knew that wasn't true; her own father had shifted on accident. At eight years old, she watched him shift too close to her mother. She watched the woman bleed out while her father struggled to regain control.

He flailed in his wolf's body, keening an agonized noise. Reese wasn't sure if the wolf was still her father, so she threw herself on her mother when she crumpled to the floor.

The wolf lunged, tearing at Reese's clothes to drag her away, like a predator hoarding its prey. His claws cut her face from forehead to chin, and he released Reese, throwing her little body onto the floor.

Her younger sister, barely four, was crying before she even came into the room. She'd been sleeping in her parents' bed midday, and her little toddler body was sweaty and disheveled, her hair messy around her head like a little halo.

She screamed when she saw the wolf, not yet old enough to know what her father was. Their father had watched them closely their entire lives, scanned their little bodies for signs of lycanthropy. He discovered Reese's birthmark moments after she was born, and he always looked at her as though she was his biggest regret. He couldn't look at her and see beyond his own guilt.

Roxana, however, bore no mark of lycanthropy. Not until her father, the wolf, growling over their mother's dead body, threw her back with a heavy snap of his head. Roxana knocked into the door frame, then fell forward again, landing within inches of his claws. He lifted his paw and marred her.

Their mother died before their father regained control. Even through the blood, Reese hadn't been able to look away as he cradled their mother's body against his bare chest. He was racked with sobs, distraught. He didn't see either of his children. He didn't move except to squeeze their mother.

She'd married him knowingly. She married him knowing what he was. Knowing that his biggest fear was to pass his curse down to a child. But she'd begged him for a baby, and he loved her enough to give her one.

His skin was mottled with the blood that flowed from her neck and dribbled from her mouth. His black hair was coated, iridescent like the coat of his wolf.

Through his sobs, his pink, cursed eyes lifted to Reese. She tried to get over her mother's legs to get to Roxana. The child was wailing, but her father couldn't hear her. Reese froze when her father's head snapped to her.

She watched horror, beyond his guilt, play over his face. He saw his daughters for the first time, their faces cut and bleeding. Reese's clothing was sliced from her neck to her stomach, her skin peeled and clotting. Yet she moved, crawling over the horror of her parents to her baby sister.

Their father's voice was a croak. "Call 911, Reese. Take Roxana and go."

Reese was still too little to lift a solid four year old, but she did anyway. She dragged her sister out of the kitchen, listening to her scream, clenching her jaw when the child smacked her head back against Reese's wounds.

But Reese dropped her bodily in the living room on the other side of the couch, as though the bulky furniture could hide her from her father. She found the phone on the hook. She dialed 911.

She didn't say a word. Not when they answered. Not when they asked about Roxana sobbing in the background. Not when they heard a gun go off.

Reese didn't say a word when the police arrived and found the girls huddled together in the living room behind the couch. She didn't say a word when two black body bags were carried outside.

But she snarled when they came for her, pretending to be her father. They separated the girls, Reese snarling the whole time.

"Reese?"

The woman looked up, finding Gunnar in a shadow.

"I'm coming out," he warned her. He pulled his eyes from the three long scars that ran down her chest. He knew of the ones on her face, but seeing the rest told him so much more about her story, about the horror of her background.

He stepped into his jeans and grabbed her shirt. He looked away while she pulled it on. He asked again, and Reese couldn't find the words.

He wrapped his arms over her shoulders, tucking his head against hers. "I'm right here," he said, nuzzling at the scars on her face. They almost matched his own, his tokens of life in a wolf pack, but hers were cruel, while his were memories.

Reese held him, tucked her face into the crook of his neck. She breathed him in, smelling the soil and the rain, feeling the warmth and realizing that this was someone who knew her. Someone who could look at her and see all the things she couldn't say.

Reese shifted with Gunnar in the woods.

And it changed everything.