#another giant snail

[lulublack90]

Prompt 10 - Favour

@jegulus-microfic January 10, Word count 253

Previous part First part

What the hell was going on? James yanked Regulus’s hand and forced him behind his back, shielding him from the enormous snail. Its beady eyes turned in their direction, its body still facing in the opposite direction. 

With a sickening squelch, the snail began to turn. It moved much faster than he’d expected. Thankfully, they both had quick reflexes thanks to years playing quidditch and took off back the way they'd come. 

“Why is it so big?!” Regulus gasped as James all but dragged him down the corridor.

“No idea,” He grunted as he made a sharp left, the snail still on their tail. 

They ground to a halt as they came face to face with another of the enormous shelled gastropods. “Fuck!” James exclaimed as he changed course, spinning Regulus around to go back the way they’d just come, but it was too late. The other snail had caught up with them.

James panted, spinning his head this way and that, looking for a way out.

“Do me a favour and stop trying to be the hero,” Regulus drawled boredly, as though they hadn’t just legged it down two corridors. He tugged at James’s hand, with a lot more strength than James had given him credit for, and opened a secret passage beside them. They fell into it just as the two snails collided with each other slimily. James shuddered at the sound and lit his wand, taking in Regulus’s scowl.

“We need to find my brother,” Regulus spat through gritted teeth.

Next part

[gullivertravelstowonderland]

Hey theoretically if you were an outdoor borrower with a bug farm in Central Florida what would you make a harpoon out of so it can be shot out of one of these things?

So its like... around toothpick size and it has to have a barbed tip so it latches into the target like a normal harpoon, preferably out of something natural but I'm not opposed to other options

No specific reason tho.

[darius-1]

In another world where Kurozu-Cho is a peaceful town without the City of Spirals, where Kirie and Shuichi are living their lives without the horrifying events that transpired around them. Everyone living normal lives without tragedy and horror. What if the City of Spirals never existed? With Shuichi's father not obsessed with spirals, Azami wouldn't have been corrupted and consumed into nonexistence alongside Okada. There would be no giant snails, no one being intertwined with each other, no hospital horror, no whirlwinds out of thin air, nothing. A world where Kurozu-Cho was never cursed by the Spiral.

[dilfslayer1080p]

I pulled this guy out of my pond thinking it was a huge bladder snail

WHO ARE YOU WHY DO YOU HAVE CAT EARS

[cryptotheism]

Is there any cunnilingus in amber skies? or is that simply an art lost to time…

I know y'all are being silly and I don't want to discourage that but yeah this is actually something I've given a lot of thought to given the themes I wanted to explore with AS.

Sex and sexuality in a world with so much morphological diversity is extremely complex. What sexual intimacy means between two partners can vary wildly based on physiology, culture, and the individual. You know, just like now.

What if you're an Ambrosate in menopause. You have a non-functional insect orifice that can experience sexual pleasure, and you want to be physically intimate with your partner; an atlantean, a hermaphroditic gastropod with no vaginal opening. Atlantean sex mirrors real world gastropod penis fencing. Although, most get the barbs on their penis filed down for safety reasons. It's similar to circumcision. As such, atlantean sex involves specially crafted knives designed to cause shallow wounds that heal easily for maximal pleasure during penetration.

As such, these knives are *deeply* culturally significant. There are cheap ones that parallel condoms, more expensive ones that can be a declaration of going steady, and custom ornate ones that are essentially a marriage proposal. There are styles for courtesans, styles for cheap whores, styles for expensive whores, styles that evoke atlantean romantic epics, a whole careful formal language of what is essentially a sexual aid.

So if you're a giant insect who wants to fuck your snail wife. Maybe youve been together for a while, and you know that the sex knife feels great for them as long as you're careful. What are the cultural associations with oral? Is that associated with subservience? Dominance? Is that especially taboo?

And, as we all know, the Ambrosate are a an insectoid ethnoreligion. What may be an acceptable sex act between two people in another culture might be shocking and strange for two members of the hive church.

What would it mean for these two people to have kinky sex? That would require an established, shared, understanding of what normative sex between these two people would be.

So while yeah a proboscis might be touching a vaginal opening, it's not necessary going to be "eating pussy." Dragging your slug teeth over your husband's bug cloacea could be as tame as kissing, or deviant as any number of things. Presumably though, somewhere in there is a sex act socially equivalent to cunnilingus.

Spiritually, people might be eating pussy. But physically, its entirely different.

[facts-i-just-made-up]

THE 5 WORST NEW ZELDA ECHOES

The new Zelda game, Echoes of Wisdom, is great fun and adds many new forms of gameplay to the Zelda world. But not every new summonable Echo is fun to play with. Here are the five worst:

5 - THE CHAIR

Not many people even find the chair echo as it's located in a storage room behind Sahasrala's pizza parlor. The chair is too small to stand on, too light to block anything, and doesn't even catch on fire. It's the most useless of all echoes in the game and considering the difficult and long puzzles needed to attain it, it's best to ignore.

4 - LORD ONEIROSIOSO

This optional boss is the only boss that can be used as an echo once defeated. Sadly, the dream lord just lays around sleeping, and will not get up out of any bed echo around him. Nothing can wake him and once created, it will not go away, robbing you of two triangles you can no longer use, and another 1-3 depending on bed he ruined.

3 - THE COLOSSAL SWORD

This giant sword is too heavy for Zelda or any of her echoes to lift. It just sits there. It can weigh down objects, but as it's 5 screens long, it's too large to summon in any dungeon with a switch to set it on. It also takes 14 triangles, and as your maximum is far fewer, you can't ever even do it.

2 - GIANCARLO ESPOSITO

The first real person possible to summon in a Zelda game, Esposito is most famous for his villain roles in Star Wars, Breaking Bad, and Spike Lee's film biography of Malcolm X. When summoned in Zelda however, he mostly just signs autographs and talks about acting with interested NPCs. Nice guy by all accounts, but not a great echo.

1- THE SPIRAL

The spiral or "Uzumaki" echo is a very powerful groovy thing that everyone wants to see, allowing Zelda to infuse enemies and items with the power of the spiral, obsessing them or turning them into snails. Unfortunately, it can also derange the villagers of Kakariko and lead to an eternal curse. It looks nice on fish cakes though.

[reddpenn]

I'm back from the rock show! Here are the Cool Rocks I got!

Let's start with the fossils this time.

This year I finally tracked down a Tully Monster, which is my state fossil! He's not a complete fossil, but you can see his eyestalk and the bottom of his proboscis very clearly.

A big chunk of dinosaur bone from Utah! Dino bone is easy to ID due to its distinct pattern, where agate and jasper have filled in the porous structure of the bone.

This is a coprolite, a piece of fossilized dinosaur poop! This one is from Madagascar.

This one is a stromatolite, a rock formation created by a colony of bacteria! Stromatolites are some of the oldest fossils on Earth. In fact, the microbes that make them were likely the very first lifeforms on the planet. And they're still around today, mostly unchanged from their ancient ancestors, and still making rock formations! This little stromatolite came from Madagascar.

A giant chunk of Turritella agate, which I won at the silent auction! Turritella agate is made of a bunch of fossilized snail shells all packed together and filled in with agate. (Despite the name, they're not actually Turritella snails, but rather Elimia tenera.) When cut and polished, it reveals beautiful organic patterns. This stuff comes from Wyoming.

That's all the fossils I brought home! Now on to the minerals!

I was very responsible and didn't come home with a million agates this year, but I couldn't resist this gorgeous rain flower agate! Hailing from Nanijing, China, these agates are naturally polished by the Yangtze River and have a unique, frosted finish.

Another cabochon for my cab collection! This is afghanite, a blue mineral that isn't related to the sodalite family, but likes to grow alongside it.

It fluoresces!

Vesuvianite, a mineral that gets its name because it was first discovered on the slopes of Mt. Vesuvius! The dark crystals growing on its surface are garnets. This piece is showing off a great example of vesuvianite's crystal habit and terminations.

A huge zircon crystal! Zircon is the oldest mineral on planet Earth. There's a deposit in Australia which has been radiometric dated to be about 4.4 billion years old! Not this guy, though. This one is from Pakistan.

It fluoresces!

An AMAZING specimen of anatase! It's extremely rare for anatase crystals to grow this large. In fact, the only other anatase crystals I've seen in person had to be viewed under a microscope!

Here's the most expensive piece I came home with - a South African diamond! Can you believe I didn't have a diamond in my collection yet? That problem has been remedied.

It fluoresces!

And finally, my friends and I broke open a few geodes at the geode-cracking booth. I picked out some Trancas geodes from Mexico.

This locale produces weird, wavy, wormy crystals! These formations occur when quartz (in the form of chalcedony or hyalite) grows atop hair-thin, curly crystals of anhydrite.

They fluoresce!

And that was my haul from the rock show!

[theoarfishexpress]

Giant spiders, by which I mean like human-sized, are really common in fiction, so I got to thinking about how one would actually look. I referenced arthropods that actually achieved this kind of mass in the paleozoic, especially hibbertopterids. A lot of these giant bugs existed when oxygen levels were unusually high, and it does seem that oxygen is a limiting factor on the size of insects, but the very biggest arthropods weren’t insects, and some of them existed before or after the highest oxygen levels. What I’m getting at is that maybe only insects are limited this way, and arthropods that breathe differently could get huge even at present oxygen levels. Of course, they don’t, but that may have to do with competition with vertebrates, or being unable to keep up with faster-paced nutrient cycles.

So let’s say this giant spider lives on an isolated landmass, or in an alternate timeline, where vertebrates aren’t a problem, and ecosystems move slowly. It’s descended from tarantulas or related spiders that exclusively use book lungs to breathe, unlike most spiders that also have insect-style spiracles and tracheae. To efficiently move that oxygen to all of its tissues, it’ll use copper-based hemocyanin like a horseshoe crab, making its blood bright blue. The sprawling posture of a spider isn’t the best at bearing 100 kilograms, so its legs are short, and attach close to the midline of the body. The abdomen rests partially on top of its carapace to help support its organs. Being so bulky, and having a slow metabolism, it can’t sustain high activity, so actively chasing prey won’t work. But its caloric needs are also high enough that sitting in a burrow and waiting for food to come along is risky. Instead, it slowly roams like an eight-legged tortoise, “grazing” on whatever is too slow or oblivious to get out from under it as it rummages in the leaf litter and soil of damp forests with shoveling forelimbs. Insects, worms, snails, carrion, even fruit, all get shoveled between its grinding maxillae, mixed with saliva, and sucked up into its stomach. This kind of small prey is most abundant near water, so I imagine they would be shoreline animals.

Another struggle giant arthropods face is molting. It’s a long process, and it takes even longer for the new exoskeleton to harden. This giant spider would dig a burrow to molt in, and then remain dormant underground as its exoskeleton fully tans. It would emerge from its den weeks later, ravenously hungry, like a bear after hibernation. Lastly, sexual dimorphism is often more extreme in larger animals, so the males of this species would hardly grow bigger than the largest real spiders. They would still ambush prey from burrows like the ancestral tarantulas, but would also go on long journeys to find female partners. Like real tarantulas, once a male reaches adulthood, the sexual organs on its pedipalps prevent it from safely molting again, capping their lifespan at around 10 years. The females however are so large that they take 20 years just to reach maturity, and can live past 80.

[radiance1]

Okay guys.

Dragon Danny, this time not eastern.

BUT HEAR ME OUT, HEAR. ME. OUT.

He's made of....

GOO!

Not just any goo, obviously. But ectoplasmic goo :3

This au is gonna be disconnect from both the Ghost King and Ghost Prince headcanon I should say. Instead of being king of all ghosts, he's basically like...

A mega Blob ghost.

King of the Blob ghosts, even.

Like, basically the equivalent of those giant slime monsters or that King slime boss from Terraria but a dragon!

Whenever he's in dragon form, he can choose if he wants legs or not, if he doesn't, he basically just moves like, well, a snail. Obviously faster than a snail, but still. He doesn't leave a trail behind most of the time though, because he actually needs that stuff thank you very much and leaving a trail behind is pretty messy obviously.

Whenever he uses legs he just walks as any other two legged creature.

Because of his unique biology, he can basically shift between Eastern and Western dragon form at will. He can manipulate his body far more than that, but anyways.

So, Danny has outlived his friends and family, so there isn't much for him to really, well, do anymore. Like, at all.

The GIW was and still is persistent as ever though. Even if he's outlived the original members that were gunning for him.

Apparently, becoming a goo dragon and ascending to his status as King of the Blob ghosts bumped up both his valuableness and his threat simultainously.

Which he guesses is fair because if he saw a guy turn into a giant dragon and he doesn't have a positive relationship with he would see him as a threat too.

So, how did this lead to him being locked up inside of a heavily fortified base created explicitly for him to be contained within.

Well, funny story that (It's not).

He was just minding his business, having recently broken out of another containment facility by the GIW to try and contain him, and he went back to the forest near Amity Park to just chill as he always did.

A few... weeks? Months? He honestly couldn't remember, he was confronted by the GIW. Didn't take them seriously, got this gas/liquid thing shoved inside of him, knocked out, then woke up in contaiment.

Which is basically a giant hole in the ground.

Except that it's a high-tech hole in the ground.

Something, something, ectoplasmic suppressors or whatever that leave him less able to manipulate his own ectoplasm, which is a bummer. He can still manipulate it, of course, just to a far less degree than he could've before, along with that liquid that'll be pumped into him via some metal round in the ground directly below him whenever he gets too rowdy.

Well.

Consider him effectively contained.

So, time passes, how much he couldn't tell you since his concept of time is warped after living for so long plus, it's not like anyone there would really tell him if he asked now would they?

However, today seemed to be an exciting day, because something was happening.

He could see it in the way scientists scramble for an exit and how the guards run through his area. Of course, some still stay to 'guard' him, since he thinks he's some kind of priceless item.

A scientist's words, not his, but being referred to as priceless is nice.

And then wouldn't you know it?

That one scientist that said they would do their best to help him actually pulled through with their words! Thanks, Henry, he has decided that he will not kill you!

(He wasn't going to do it anyways, but it's fun to scare people.)

With both the guards gone, the ectoplasmic suppressors down, and no one to stick that liquid shit into his system.

Well.

You can say he finally gets to go apeshit.

And a dragon is a formidable foe any day. Add to that a rampaging, bored of his mind, petty, dragon that's able to manipulate himself however he wants?

Even better situation for him, how the facility is seemingly being raided right now!

Danny then, no warning, shoves Henry inside of himself. For protection, and then continues his rampage.

Meanwhile, the Justice League, the ones raiding said facility, is currently here because of the Anti-Ecto Acts.

A set of laws they do not, and will not, stand by.

[physics-of-one-piece]

Part two of my thing. Reader probably gives up at some point and just hops on doffys back. Saying something like its easier than trying to keep up with your walking speed. New problem has occurred now reader is now drowning in the soft fluffy feathers of the coat. But its probably better to deal with that over getting lost,running into his legs or booty all the time. Guarantee reader gets accidentally bounced back into the floor each time theyve ran into him. Just like i guarantee doffy sometimes thinks reader is bumping into him on purpose or he does actually stop suddenly just to tease them 🐦‍⬛

🐦‍⬛anon

You. Have deserved a little drabble. Bcs I love this idea, and YES, TOTALLY, WOULD HAPPEN, GET ON THE MAN'S BACK, HONEY. BEHOLD. A little drabble for you, 🐦‍⬛anon. Thank you for sending such great asks and ideas! 🥹 This is set in the Red Suit Doffy Fic ie North Blue Doffy x Rosinante's Wife!Reader. I hope you like it.

You fell to the floor. This time, the collision with Doflamingo's leg was too sudden, and you'd been walking three times your speed to keep up with him in the city — at one point, you’d started to pant because you started jogging to keep up with him.

Doflamingo looked over his shoulder. He noticed you lying on the ground on your elbows, groaning as your butt hurt.

He snorted.

The bastard.

Snorted.

“Sorry,” he said, flashing you his wide, large grin, not looking sorry at all. You were sure that this time, the bastard stopped on purpose. In fact, you were sure that this entire day, he’d stopped on purpose randomly just so your face would bump into the back of his upper thigh.

“That's it!” you shrieked, your shout startling the ignorant citizens walking down the street of the town. “I’ve had it with you! And your stupid long legs!”

Doflamingo was still smiling, even as he turned to you, looking down at you. “It’s not my fault you’re so short.” He reached down with his arm — he didn't even have to bend down — and patted your head condescendingly. “And slow.”

You growled. You knew he wouldn’t let you walk around town alone, and it would be a hassle if you got lost because he decided to walk ahead without checking that you were following him. For such a tall man, he could disappear unnervingly easily from sight.

“Look at you,” he cooed, the tips of his fingers ruffling your hair slightly, like you were a pet. “Already panting just from some walking.”

“Your walking steps are three times the width of mine!” you said, slapping at his wrist. Doflamingo chuckled. “And your legs are as tall as my entire body!”

“Actually, my legs are taller than you,” said Doflamingo, smiling widely at you.

You inhaled, your fists clenching, and you were about to punch him in the groin — it would be easy enough — or his knee, which would also be easy enough. Whether your punch would reach him was another thing entirely.

This time, Doflamingo did bend down, his upper body and face taking up your entire vision, his hands in the pockets of his red suit pants, his grin devilish and wide as an evil cat's.

“Well, you can always let me carry you in my arms like the spoiled thing you are. I wouldn’t mind.”

Your eyes widened. Oh. So that was his plan. You watched him, and his face. He was certain he'd won, and you feared that, too, until...

Your eyes settled on his large pink coat. Then, slowly, a grin unfurled on your own face, frighteningly similar to Doflamingo's.

“Actually,” you said, “I’ll ride on your coat.”

Oh. Oh. The way Doflamingo’s face fell as he realised he couldn’t say no without making it obvious he wanted to carry you bridal style across the city for the rest of the day was priceless.

You wished you had a Photo Snail to capture the moment for eternity.

You waved your index finger at him in a motion to turn around. “Come on, you giant menace. Turn and squat a bit.”

Doflamingo’s jaw clenched. He scowled, sneered, but relented, and turned around, then squatted slightly, bending his knees. Wasting no time, you jumped as high as you could, leaping right for the huge pink feather coat — which was also bigger than you — landed on it, and started climbing your way up it. Maybe you kicked Doflamingo in the ass and gave him a light shove on his lower back as you climbed, but he couldn’t say anything to it unless he revealed his true intentions.

So, he stayed quiet — fuming all the while, you were sure — as you clambered up his pink feather coat, popped your head up over the collar, gripped onto the underlayer, and settled yourself across it.

It was extremely fluffy, the feathers soft like clouds. They tickled across your face and brushed against your nose.

“You better not be clinging to the feathers.” he grumbled. By the sound of his voice, this was definitely not how he imagined this to go. “And don’t put your shoes on it.”

You scoffed. Saints forbid his perfect coat gets dirty. But... You brushed your fingers gently over the feathery softness, feeling a smile lift on your face.

“I’m holding onto the coat. Your feathers are fine.” you assured, rolling your eyes at him. Then, you gave him a little nudge with your feet in the back as revenge for all the times you crashed into his legs facefirst today. “Go, donkey.”

“I will throw you over, woman.”

You settled your head close to his ear, and whispered. “No, you won’t.”

Doflamingo didn’t say anything. Slowly — almost as though he was being considerate of the sudden height difference and surge of height you would gain — he straightened up.

Your eyes widened as you sat on the immense height, staring at the vision of the street before you. It was amazing, and so different from how you saw it. Was this how Doflamingo saw the entire city, and all the people? No wonder he thought he was a god on earth. Anyone who was this height must think something similar.

Doflamingo started walking, the pink feathers swaying with each move of his legs. The coat was so soft and comfortable... You could fall asleep like this, your face caressed by his pink feathers. Unconsciously, your hands climbed up, your fingers settling atop Doflamingo's shoulders — thick, solid and firm.

“Thanks, Doffy.” you said.

Doflamingo chuckled. He tilted his head to the left toward where your chin sat atop his shoulder, his feathers caressing your face, swathing you in their pink plumage. He couldn’t help it. He leaned down and nuzzled your cheek.

“You welcome, darling.” he purred.

He laughed when you groaned, your face getting red. You retracted your head back into his coat.

“I’m regretting it now...” you mumbled, your voice muffled by the feathers.

Doflamingo laughed victoriously. His plan might not have worked as planned, but you were still close to him, and he was still carrying you.

“You’re not getting off this ride now!” he crowed, laughing maniacally. “So better get comfortable.”

He sauntered down the street, and the more he moved, the more you understood how he had such confidence, because you felt a swell of it slowly pouring in your gut, too.

You chuckled, and rested your face against the feathers, on his broad, firm shoulder covered by soft, pink feathers.

“Aye, sir.”

***

Thank you for the ask, 🐦‍⬛anon!

Tag list: @fanaticsnail @queenmimi2817 @daydreamer-in-training

[11queensupreme11]

I need to know how the yan daddies react to the names Percy chose for their kids, particularly the ones where she named them after characters/people 💀

LMAO OKAY

POSEIDON

axiandros: crashed the fuck out when it clicked in his head that she named THEIR FIRST BORN SON after the LOVE OF HER LIFE, WHO HE ABSOLUTELY HATES 😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂 the funny part is that it took him YEARS to finally realize it so it was much too late to demand a name change (he did try tho but lmao sucks to suck)

ariel: "you named... our SON... after a PRINCESS???????" the fact that she named him after a princess was bad enough, and now he's finding out that disney!ariel also ditched her family to become human and fall in love with one?????

cthulhu: cthulhu isn't THAT bad at least, it's the name of a fictional sea creature, his issue is that she named him after a fictional creature created by a HUMAN 💀

anaklusmos: her stupid sword? really? that annoying pesky thing that's CURSED that she refuses to get rid of????

pontoleon: (he's named after leonidas btw 💖) it's not just the fact that she named him after one of the stupid human einherjar, but it's also the fact that she LOOKED UP TO HIM 😂😂😂

eudorios: not even that mad tbh, dory (the fish) is an idiot so it lowkey fits with his dumbass son 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

HADES

damasios: poor man's in total disbelief that she named their son after DAMASEN 💀💀💀 the giant WHO ATE GODS 💀💀💀💀💀 literally, he went to WAR with the giants, is she trying to give him flashbacks or something?????? 😭

perimelia: "why would you name our poor daughter after some cartoon platypus 😭"

sebastian: a singing crab...... he's not even surprised at this point. at least it's better than being named after an enemy of the gods 💀

theromedes (meaning: "the wise beast-warrior"): like brother like brother, it also takes him too long to finally realize why she picked that particular name and meaning for their son. poor guy nearly loses it and begs and begs for percy to reconsider, but it's already too late

nemokles: "glory of... no one?" "no, no, glory of NEMO 😃" "yes, which translates to 'no one', my dear 🙃" mildly impressed that she managed to come up with that, but is silently grieving that percy essentially just named their kid a loser 💀

CÚ CHULAINN

saorlaith (meaning: "noble wisdom"): HE LOSES IT THE MOST OUT OF THE YANS BECAUSE NOT ONLY IS SHE NAMED AFTER ANTHONIUS, BUT SHE HAS HIS FEATURES (just with paler skin), AND IS A GODDESS OF WISDOM! CÚ CHULAINN'S CHASING PERCY THROUGHOUT THE PALACE WHILE SHE CACKLES 😂😂😂😂😂😂

ponyo: "YOU NAMED OUR YOUNGEST DAUGHTER AFTER SOME IDIOT WHO DITCHES HER FAMILY FOR A HUMAN BOYYYYYY?!?!?!??!?!?!?!?!" (someone get this man some calming tea 💀)

ANUBIS

ra-el: he threw the biggest fit ever when he finds out percy wanted to name their first born son after his shitty great great grandpa 😭 ra was smug as shit too. this is one of the rare occasions where anubis tells percy "no" but he caved in eventually 💖

merliah: he's fine with this! 😂 it's a pretty name, and the character doesn't do anything too crazy

LOKI (this poor man LMAO)

grover: percy's so funny for this cuz loki always goes on about how HE'S percy's best friend when it's actually grover, a "lowly" satyr 😂😂😂😂😂

hugvarr (meaning: "guardian of wisdom"): unlike poseidon and hades, he actually realized right away what she was trying to do with this name and REFUSED to let their son be named after "that filth". sucks for him cuz none of the midwives cared about his opinion, nor did odin LMAO

garmundr: straight up deadpans, ".... a pet snail. seriously" 💀

baldurvæn: lets out the most unholiest screech ever. doesn't know what's worse, percy naming one kid after the love of her life, or naming another kid after the first love of his life who he stupidly murdered which then led to the deaths of his 2 sons 💀💀 she really knows how to hurt him 😂

APOLLO

salione: he's fine with this!

psammaraia (aka "sandy"): a... squirrel living under the sea???? how creative dear...!!!! (he's in pain now)

euphronia (meaning: "joyful wisdom"): when he found out, he cried so much that he caused a huge flood on delos 😭 is percy punishing him??? is this karma for killing his past lovers???? DOES SHE HATE HIM??? WHY IS SHE DOING THIS TO HIM?????

iapetides: OH NOW HE'S 100000% CERTAIN THAT PERCY'S TRYING TO MAKE HIM SUFFER 😂😂😂😂 iapetus??? IAPETUS????????? ONE OF THE TITANS WHO SIDED WITH KRONOS?????????????????? AND WHY IS HIS NICKNAME "BOBBY" THAT MAKES NO SENSE 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

BEELZEBUB

luke: what the fuck do you mean his batshit insane wife decided to name their first born son after the man who essentially ruined her life, gave her trauma, got her sucked into a war, tried to indoctrinate her against the gods, AND TRIED TO KILL HER MULTIPLE TIMES?????? "babe 🥺 it's complicated 🥺🥺🥺" "HE TRIED TO KILL YOU?!?!?!?!?!?!?!"

vorvexion (meaning: "the one who devours wisdom"): like loki, he figures it out very quickly and decides to 😏punish😏 percy for her insolence

ursula: she couldn't have given him an actual masculine name? 💀

[normal-thoughts-official]

In the remote recesses of the world, north even to the great Maghreb, live a people with a weird and offputting cousine.

The French, as they're called, partake in the consumption of unique, and oftentimes alarming, ingredients, such as snails, frogs, fish eggs, and, on occasion, juice made of rotten grapes.

The most surprising part of this appalling cultural norm is that it is not, as no doubt thought our readers, the result of famine or lack of resources. Although mainly known for their violent culture, in which it is widely accepted to burn other people's cars, (and, before modern civilization made its way to the region, even take off helpless people's heads with a giant cleaver called the guillotine), the French also have access to rich resources often not exploited by the modern world. One such place is the Landes forest, home to the adorable rabbit, which recently has become a choice of pet for those leaning towards the exotic.

No, the French don't eat such slimy, questionable items out of necessity; it is by choice. As appalling as it may sound, they actually consider the foods derived from such ingredients to be high cuisine, and dishes containing them can be particularly expensive in the small region's economy.

With the blessing of my editor, and the guarantee that a medical team specializing in gastroenterology would be at the ready in case of an emergency, I agreed to travel to the faraway region to sample some of the so-called "delicacies". They were prepared by real, native Frenchs, although inspected by a health expert to make sure the hygienization was adequate. I've always been an adventurous eater, but even I must admit that the prospect filled me with aprehension. Would I be able to stomach the foreign dishes without getting sick, or worse, offending our arson-happy hosts?

My anxieties were initially heightened by the conversation with the French who hosted me; as is typical in their culture, he was offputting and rude, often commenting on the mistakes I made on the weird, twisting tongue I was doing my best to emulate. Still, in the spirit of cultural acceptance and not getting my head cut off, I accepted his socially inapt behavior with grace.

I must admit that the rotten grapes were what I was most curious about. The juice derived from them, known as wine, is considered a delicacy, and there are hundreds of different types of it. In French culture, there are even people whose entire job is to appoint the correct choice of wine to go with any given food; such men and women are caled sommeliers and held in high regard by French society.

I quickly learned that the making of wine is something of an art to the native Frenchs. As my self-important host dizzied me with endless descriptions of different wine varieties, I realized I may have gotten too deep into the turbulent waters of the unique region's palate. Out of the exhausting and oftentimes confusing technical detail, however, I was able to extract an important piece of information: the extent of the rot is important in the making of wine.

That's right, dear reader: they actually prefer it when the grapes are more rotten! Spanning not only decades, but sometimes whole centuries, the French's grapes are left to rot in humid wooden barrels - a tradition that's been kept alive since the Middle Ages -, becoming thoroughly ruined so that their juice may be extracted for the making of wine. And the longer they have been left decomposing with their local fungus, the more valuable the juice is.

I was simply too curious to wait. And even more delighted to find out about yet another culinary tradition I didn't know about: the social gatherings known as wine and cheese, in which wine is paired with a variety of solid, yellow, rubber-like wheels derived from fat extracted from cows' milk - the cheese.

Such unique, foul-smelling dishes are a frequent part of the everyman French's life, being consumed by rich and poor alike in a variety of different recipes from all sorts of French subregions. Among them, I found yet another that would delight my intellect and terrify my stomach: gorgonzola. To the reader not quite as deep in diving into the intricacies of French culture, I shall explain: gorgonzola is but a piece of the aforementioned cheese, left to mold.

I could not believe my ears. These people drank rotten grapes and paired them with rotten cow fat, and they enjoyed it. What to us would be a nightmare scenario in a case of extreme poverty, and a surefire way to earn a trip to the hospital, to them was a quite enjoyable meal.

I later learned that gorgonzola is actually from a neighboring nation close to the French - the Italians. Although officially considered a different tribe, Italians share much in common with the French, including the love for wine and cheese, a quite long border, and a language derived from the same roots - the long-dead Latin, ancient language in which their holy book, the "Bible", was once written.

I am happy to report that my experimentation did not lead to hospital trips, and the most I got was an unusually long carsickness. But I have taken with me much more than the curious experience: traveling to France has helped me expand my horizons, meet new people, and connect with cultures other than my own. Although violent and offputting, the French can be quite amorous, and I was even gifted a piece of cheese from a little girl. It is not an experience I would like to repeat anytime soon, but it's made for an interesting story that helped me grow as a writer, investigative journalist, and, most of all, eater.

I can only hope my stomach has taken some good lessons out of the experience, too.

Cremilda Castanho is a writer, cat-lover, and known foodie, with a knack for finding unexplored depths of cuisine across the world. Her book, What Weirdos Eat, was a Folha de São Paulo best seller, and paved the way for culinary exploration in journalism, earning her a Pulitzer prize.

[fanaticsnail]

Chapter 6

Masterlist here, Moodboard here

Sapsorrow Masterlist

Word Count: 7,353

The Storyteller - Sapsorrow"Whom so ever fits the ring becomes wed to the warlord who owns it"Themes: enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, forced proximity, lord and subordinate, one bed trope, apprehension, mutual pining, obligation, slow burn, eventual love, protective, "where is my wife" trope.

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Tag List: @sordidmusings @writingmysanity @gingernut1314 @since-im-already-here @feral-artistry @be-good-please @little-bunnybabe @sukilovesyou @buggyenjoyer @thesailus @under-kitty @acehyacinth @andriannag @one17 @canthebest1 @khaleesihavilliard @quirkyrascal @hungrhay @sentieence @lebanese-afg-ya @captaincupio @szired @sexc-snail @alphaash99 Thank you to @i-am-vita for her banner!

Song Accompaniments: Crumbling Dreams - Milo the Otter!, Moon Dance - Danny Elfman

Reopening the large double doors to the large ballroom, Mihawk ushered you through the threshold with his guiding hand placed on the small of your back. He allowed himself the luxury of closing his eyes and taking a moment to compose himself as your perfume danced past him upon entering the room. Stepping behind you and reopening his eyes, his yellow hue was met with the intense purple gaze of the giant, reptilian man darkening your radiancy with his intimidating aura. 

“My lady,” Sir Crocodile addressed you at his side, “If I may be granted the luxury of taking your arm a moment. I have decided to rescind my invitation for your beau to view the creation I have crafted and allow it to be a moment for you to take with your eyes only.” You cocked your head to the side, turning your chin towards the lord of Kuraigana at your side, but continuing to hold firm your gaze onto the large man in front of you.

“I hope you are not suggesting I am to enter a room alone with you, unchaperoned, Sir Crocodile?” you quipped, your left brow arching and lips pursing at the suggestion. Sir Crocodile allowed the rumble of his chest to exhale his sour cigar through huffs of laughter. 

“Of course not, my lady,” he uttered once his laughter stifled. Mihawk bore his golden gaze into the smirking face of the dangerous reptilian man, baring his own intimidation onto his towering body, “There will be three others with me, one of whom I likely deem the most competent out of the bunch. I take it you know the Red-Hair Pirates a little more than you do the blue-haired clown?”

You sighed, nodding your head in confirmation before turning back around to face your intended. He was less than impressed at the notion you were to be spirited away by the three men he tasked with aiding him with his impossible tasks, with the potential notion of viewing you in a variety of states of undress. It was written all over his face: jaw clenched, eyes narrowed and brow angled down to depict his displeasure at the suggestion. As he was about to speak up, another presence with a familiar scent of dried tobacco leaves and gunpowder arrived at his side. 

“Don’t you worry yourself, Hawk-Eyes,” Beckman hushed his rumbled drawl against his shoulder, “If anything goes awry: I’ll shoot first, and apologize later for ruinin’ your marble walls.” Mihawk snapped his gaze over to the silver-haired first-mate of the red-hair pirates, continuing to hold firm his scowl and hissing in a firm breath through his nose as he eyed him.

“I take it you’re the competent member of this coup to pry my bride from my arms and away from our engagement soiree,” Mihawk snarled, his brow deeply furrowing in the center of his forehead. Beckman smirked, his lips ticking up at the corner of his mouth.

“Would you prefer to place the safety of your bride in the rat, the reptile, or the idiot?” Beckman shrugged his shoulders up in question. A crackly, sharp “Hey!” growled from behind the crocodilian man, followed by the chuckle of the red-headed captain you have come to enjoy. Mihawk tilted his neck sharply to the side, a short ‘click’ elicited from his spine as he processed the words. 

Mihawk unwove his arm from your back before claiming your right hand within his left, turning you to face him in an intricate and elaborate twirl. Stepping sidewards, he withdrew you from the towering and unwanted company without excusing himself and halted your movements. Gazing deeply and lovingly into your eyes, he drew your right hand up and placed a kiss atop the back of your knuckles. Your breath hitched in your throat, floating your gaze between focusing on each of his eyes as he broke the deep kiss against your hand. 

A thousand questions flew between the two of you internally. From you, mainly, was how long had he felt this way for you. Surely not for only the month you had stayed at castle Kuraigana, but a lord should not be turning his head to a governess at decorative galas. For Mihawk, he was questioning how deeply he trusted the four to be alone with someone so dear to his heart… Or how much trust you placed in Beckman in your interactions prior. 

Through the unspoken discussion, you fought an unwinnable battle internally. You chose to disregard your formal training and allow a moment of softness to overtake your stoic form. Reaching upwards, you placed your left hand on Mihawk’s cheek and shepherded him into yourself, placing your lips gently against his left cheek as you cradled him against your palm. He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth and froze his shoulders in place. 

His eyes snapped up, meeting first with the brown hue of Red-Haired Shanks’ eyes, who shot him a playful wink as soon as he witnessed the small gift of affection. 

“I will not be away from your side if you are uncomfortable with this, beloved,” Mihawk uttered in a voice little above a whisper. You smiled against his cheek, withdrawing your lips from him and looking up at him through your eyelashes. He quickly drew his honeyed eyes back to meet with yours, softening as soon as he met your affectionate gaze. 

“These are the gentlemen you trusted enough to complete this task,” you whispered under your breath, a smile dancing at the corners of your mouth, “And I trust Beckman to handle it should it become too much for me.” 

“As do I,” Mihawk confirmed, leaning down towards you. He drew his hand up to your face, hovering it over your hair with a small apprehensive quake to his movements; invisible should one be not looking for it, “I would not see a single hair atop your head harmed.” He brushed your cheek with his fingertips gently as his hand found itself cupping your shoulder.

“There was a time I did not see eye to eye with these men,” he uttered his warning sternly, ensuring you held firm to each word he relayed to you. Allowing a small giggle to fall from your parted lips, eyes upturning in a taunting glee, you allowed your eyes to fall to rest on his mustache-topped lip. 

“My lord,” you uttered darkly, drawing your eyes up to meet slowly with his once more, “You are behaving as if you forget the true reason you invited me here in the first place.” Stepping your body closer to his had him drop his hand and draw themselves to your hips once more, head head angling down to meet with your approaching lips to whisper in his ear. 

“I handle the most undisciplined of pupils,” you sighed against his ear, Mihawk closing his eyes to resist the shudder of joy at your breath dancing against his lobe, “Getting them to behave,” you watched his shoulders finally give into the shudder, prompting your lips to curl up into a sly grin, “Is one of my strengths.”

You withdrew from his proximity, allowing your half-hooded eyes to meet his through your eyelashes. Mihawk was holding his composure to his regular stoic rigidity, but his slightly blown pupils held a different prose. He lightly ticked his lip up to the side, allowing a softness to rise within his eyes as he gazed at you. Although neither of you confessed to harboring deep affection on the balcony moments prior, you could tangibly feel how far Mihawk truly held fondness for you. 

“Perhaps we should draw this evening to a close,” Mihawk suggested, glancing past you and around the room, “It would seem the preferable option, considering it could look to others that you are abandoning me to flee into the night with four men you met moments prior.” Both Mihawk and you allowed a small laugh to fall between you at the notion. He retracted his hands from your waist and elevated his right hand in a gesture to the orchestral arrangement to halt their performance. 

“Honored guests,” Mihawk spoke up, his voice alerting the surrounding participants to halt their conversations and turn to face him, “My bride and I have been delighted at your attendance here this night.” Mihawk turned, interlacing your right arm within his left and presented you both to the crowd gathering.

“I trust you can all find your own way from the halls to take your leave,” Mihawk nodded to the great doors, aligned with rows of candelabras dancing and illuminating the castle’s exit’s. He smirked at the corner of his lips before adding, “Should you desire aid in your exit, I would sooner ask Perona to navigate you than Zoro. He has a knack for getting lost within the walls.” A small grumbled groan was almost audible to the side of the room, no doubt in your mind it was thrust from the lips of your green-haired gentleman in training. 

“We will be looking forward to accepting your responses regarding your future attendance at our upcoming wedding,” You curtseyed to the crowd, bowing your head respectfully; a gesture which was returned with equal enthusiasm by your prior students in attendance with their chaperones, “It has been a delight to make your acquaintance, and to see you all again.” You danced your eyes over your students, them all returning your smile with vigor. 

The guests began to file out of the open doors of castle Kuraigana, the large reptilian man once again extending his elbow in a gesture for you to take it. Paying one more glance to the side at your intended and meeting his eyes a final time, you unlaced your hand from within the crook of his elbow and interwove it within the arm of Sir Crocodile. 

“He doesn’t love you.”

Your brows furrowed, looking straight ahead and not sure where the doubts were coming from. Shaking your head to rid your mind of the thoughts, you engaged Sir Crocodile, Buggy and Shanks in polite conversation as they ushered you throughout the halls; the protective presence of Benn Beckman behind you aiding you in feeling safe with the two strangers alongside the red-haired rat. 

Perona watched your retreat with great interest; her wide eyes narrowed as she witnessed the exit with the four men. Zoro smirked, his brow arched up as he playfully gave his commentary on the situation. 

“What is it?” He smirked down, hovering over her shoulder, “Don’t like the thought of our Governess being without the great lord to protect her from the three burly men and that stupid clown?” Perona’s lips were tight in a firm line, her focus on the back of your head. She began to hover in the air, slowly finding her body drawing itself closer to your own, staring off into the distance.

“I just thought I saw-...” Perona began, cocking her head sharply to the side and holding firm her gaze, “Something watching.” 

—----------------

Beautiful. 

Everything was simply beautiful. The layers of satins, silks, chiffon, ivory, embroidered golds and silvers. The two dresses were everything your greatest fantasies could have ever dreamed up, and then exceeded the expectations tenfold. Each gentleman presented their designs to you; Sir Crocodile’s first. The hue alone was enough to make your eyes gloss over and a sigh pulled from your lungs at its mastery. Buggy the Clown’s presentation had the gloss begin to prick at the corners of your eyes and trail their diamond lines down your cheeks. 

But Shanks. Shanks. Shanks’ contribution had the change of pace from dreaminess to a bashfulness you had not experienced in some time. Excusing yourself from the other two men after bowing respectfully to the hulking Sir Crocodile, and encumbering the clown in and embrace for their efforts, you were chaperoned into a small room with both Beckman and Shanks to accompany you.

“Now, love,” he began, prompting your eyes to fall forward and dance over the mannequin’s bodice, “This is the concept only. I’m still working on the finer details, and I won’t leave the port of Kuraigana before it finally comes to me,” he took your shoulder beneath his palm and ushered you over to the bodice, the curtain draping behind you to shield the three of you from the other two gentlemen. Beckman continued to hold his eyes firmly against the sealed crack in the velvet curtains to ensure no prying eyes view the lingerie Shanks had made for you. 

“See, this is where it goes over your breasts,” he gestured to the torso of the onyx bodice of the mannequin, releasing your shoulder from beneath his palm and tugging at several robes of gold hanging limply, “And these tie everything in place. The symbolism behind it is you, yourself, are the sun. The gold is what encases you beneath it, the rays,” he released the golden rope and adjusted the sheer robe over the shoulders, “The rays are bound by each of the knots tying it together.” 

“How would you ever expect me to remember how to assemble the knots and the strings myself?” you furrowed your brows, attempting to see the vision Shanks had for the outfit. Shanks chuckled, clasping the back of his neck as he winced a little in anticipation of your reaction. 

“Well, Exterminator,” he laughed at you, prompting you to arch your brow and seek him out in the corner of your eye, “Some assembly is required by another person. I’d never do anything you, yourself, are not comfortable with, but,” He drew himself in front of you, “If you’d prefer it just me, I can use my right hand and my teeth to bind you within it.” Your eyes widened at the suggestion.

“I do not desire your sharpened rat-teeth near me, Shanks,” you reprimanded him, your brow decreasing and resting in a straight and serious line. Shanks winced a little at your elevated words, but nodded to your boundary. 

“Would you prefer it if Beckman did the knot tying?” The usually stoic man had his ears pricked up at his name, still holding his eyes firmly against the line of the curtain but listening more intently to the conversation behind him, “What say you, Becks? You keen on doing some knot tying for our most precious and beloved exterminator on her big day?” Beckman sighs, shaking his head and takes a few moments to answer that very pointed and heavy question. 

The first moment you met him, he found you effortlessly managing the crew of Red-Haired pirates from their lustful advances on a menagerie of young ladies in silks and satins. This piqued his interests, him desiring to learn more about the protective exterminator and her role in shepherding the youthful gentlemen and women in society. 

After many years of running into you from port to port, he treated you with the utmost respect and found himself hanging onto your every command as a loyal knight taking instructions from his queen. From then on, you were the friend he confided in and trusted to handle the troop easily when ushering you throughout the seas on the red-force. Of all aboard, you trusted Beckman the most to treat you well. 

“If you would prefer me to complete this task for you, teeth free,” he smirked, placing a cigarette between his lips and igniting the tip with a lighter, “Wouldn’t wanna do nothin’ you’re uncomfortable with, my lady. This would be a rather intimate experience, and I wouldn’t dream of putin’ ya in a position you’d not deem appropriate.” 

Your breath hitched in your throat, truly now realizing what task you placed on your intended when you initially requested the former warlord to complete.

“I require a dress that meets the intensity of the sun with its rays of gold and copper. An accumulation of material so outrageously forbidden, it be intended for your eyes alone with its intended purpose. A dress so scantily designed, that you will find none to ever match its equal in both color and provocative appearance.”

Your heart panged with guilt, eyes wide but frown depending as you relayed your own words within your mind. Before your words had enough time to gather more thoughts behind their intentions, you found yourself murmuring below your breath; Beckman responding in a similar tone to your question. 

“Could you do it blindfolded?”

“I will do my best, my lady.”

“You better get to planning your wedding, love,” Shanks called up from behind you, prompting you to turn back around to face him, “I think I’ll have it for you sooner than you might think.” 

—----------------------

Tucked beneath the duvet after ridding yourself of your gown and scrubbing the night off your skin, you reminisced the words Shanks spoke over you. You shook your head, laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation you had found for yourself. A small shriek allowed itself to exit from your lips as you hid your face beneath the covers; yourself devolving to a teenager encumbered by their own stupidity circulating within their minds. 

“It won’t be enough. It will never be enough.” 

Your ears pricked up at the voice, prompting you to throw the covers of your bed from your face and seek out its source. Slowly scanning the room, you found no such presence within the corners of your wing. The bothersome thoughts circulating within your mind seemed to have a physical presence; a presence that continued to watch over you as an executor would watch a prisoner place their head within the circle of a guillotine. 

Laying back down against your plush mattress, you began to be eclipsed by invasive and tiresome thoughts so tangible that your body felt more tired upon reawakening than it did attempting its slumber. Once again, no birds serenaded the morn due to its distance between breaking the daylight against the purple hue of cool nightfall. 

Sucking in a breath from your nose, you flung the covers back with your exhale and began to aggressively tug trousers and a blouse onto your body, alongside your socks and boots. Perhaps pushing yourself further to exhaustion may coerce your body to allow slumber to claim you. 

Attempting to furiously walk in silence was no easy feat. The desire to allow the remaining members of the household to enjoy their restfulness overcame your own need to behave erratically and childish in the moment, but you were looking forward to enjoying stomping to your heart's content to satisfy your inner angry teenager once walking among the grounds. 

After opening the cold, wooden door to the castle; you silently crossed the threshold and clicked the latch behind you as softly as you could muster with the iron-barred door’s affinity for squeaks and clanks. You turned and hastily embarked on your descent down the stairs and onto the footpath leading towards the vast grapevines throughout the castle grounds. The pebbles kicked up with dust beneath your heels, scuffing your shoes as you picked up your brief sprint to the winding and heavily fruited vines. 

Upon reaching the first row, your steps halted their motion as your mind began to process exactly what was happening before your eyes. Your fingertips began to shake at your hips, your jaw slackened and eyes wide. 

Dracule Mihawk, lord of castle Kuraigana and lands surrounding, former warlord of the seas, current world’s greatest swordsman, your betrothed and intended husband, was gardening. Hands holding firm to the base of a mattock and humming under his breath, he slammed down the iron tip to pry the earth of its rest. His brown trousers were stained with the waxy coat of the ground, cementing itself against his calves and leather boots. 

His shirt was hanging on a post beside a small, dirty triangle of cloth and a round, large brimmed straw hat, leaving his entire chest and back exposed to the sunlight as it began to share the radiance of the dawn. Beside the hat lay an intricately designed bouquet tied with twine and lace and laying carefully within the circle of the upturned hat. 

A grunt fell from his lips per impact of the earth, halting his hum as his body continued upheaving the ground to a point he deemed far enough to stop digging. His forearms and biceps shook upon impact, his pectorals and abdomen compressing upon retracting the object from its place embedded in the earth. As he turned away from the hole he dug, he rubbed his forearm against his brow to rid it of the sweat and grime. 

He sighed as he began retrieving a small vine with bare roots and placed it within the hole, kicking the dirt beneath his boot heel to place the earth securely around it, and stomping to resolidify the ground. Straw hat, ruffled pale shirt, covered in mud, gardening, flowers in a bouquet. 

It all began to swirl within your mind, watching as he sighed once more before placing the pale shirt over his head. He secured the face shield over the lower half of his face and began spraying the hole he had just covered with rain water. The earth began to splash up under the pressure of the nozzle of the hose, dampening his pale shirt and caking the top half of his body with sticks, mud and hay from the compost. More water began to splash up into his face, him shaking his head and grumbling below his breath, verbally reprimanding himself.

“Never messy in combat, never messy in gardening,” Mihawk yelled at himself in a hushed tone, “But you slip below the vines one time and now you’re this-this-...” He sighed again, raking his fingers through his exposed locks a final time before shaking his head, “This Farm-Hand. The creature from the earth created to serve as friend and confidant to your beloved. Why must she make me so-... so-...” He growled, intentionally now splashing his body with water, raindrops falling like glass from each curl attached to his radiant head. 

Hastily, you stepped as quietly as you could away from the scene in front of you, hearing the vocal chastations echo with each angry grumble exiting from his mouth. You placed your back against a nearby oak tree and took a moment to process internally what you had seen and heard. Clapping both hands over your mouth, you began to teeter into a giggle. 

The lord of Kuraigana, your betrothed and beloved, had intentionally been attempting to woo you all this time with flowers each day for a month. The first time you had caught him was when you were wandering the halls in your nightdress, apparently the first time he had ever fallen amongst the sludge while gardening: covering his body from head to toe in an amassment of the earthly elements. 

You risked a peek at him, witnessing as he shook his head further; now completely under the disguise as your friend: the Farm-Hand. Fur, feather, straw, clay, mud, sticks and stone cover all apart from his honeyed eyes and his straw hat. He has assembled his beastly persona, a caricature of the man you had come to adore through your time spent with him. 

A portion of you wanted to continue this torturous facade for him, not one to enjoy trickery or deceit and wishing to punish him in some way for his lies. Although immediately after that single thought, you smiled for your sweet Farm-Hand, adoring the extent he was willing to go to enjoy speaking with you with no filter apart from the muck and slop he adorned on his body. After toying with the notion within your mind, you decided on behaving in the former: not wishing to allow him the upper hand in this next interaction. 

“Farm-Hand?” You called to him, weaving your body from behind the tree and exposing yourself under the first light of the dawn, “Farm-Hand, is that you here so early?” You watched as he began to scramble, at first attempting to askew the floral arrangement behind his back from view before holding it at heart-level. 

“Lost-Lady,” his voice called to you, disguising what you thought to be a small stumble in his footing as he began to clamber towards you from his prior position gardening. His boots met with the sludge, sliding the earth from beneath his footstep and successfully dropping him down to his knees. You sucked your lips into your mouth, witnessing a man full of dignity and grace be brought down to his knees while cradling flowers against his chest. 

“Sir, are you alright?” you asked, beginning your hasty descent towards him and almost losing footing yourself. 

“I would not be so hasty-!” Mihawk called at a moment too slow, watching as you lost your own footing beneath the sludge of his own making and being dropped to a low crouch; managing to collect yourself at the last moment. “My lady, are you alright? Are you hurt?” 

“I am uninjured, my darling,” you reassured him with a small chuckle, bringing your eyes up to meet with his shielded face, “It is you I am more concerned. Do you tumble often? Must be very poor on the knees.” You silently hoped he both would and wouldn’t catch onto your vocal slip up, darting your eyes between his to check over his reaction to the name. 

“I try not to lose my footing often, my lady,” he confessed, reaching out his unoccupied left hand to you to ensure you were steady enough in your crouched position, by offering you additional aid should you need it, “Contrary to what you might think, I am actually rather competent at gardening.” You smiled, rising to your feet and collecting his left hand within your right to support him in his rise. 

“I believe the world of your abilities, sir. Now, allow me to aid in your rise to your feet once more,” you smiled down at him, his eyes meeting your own with an almost overwhelming amount of adoration. You hoisted him up to his feet, uncaring at the passing of grime onto your clothes from his. 

You began to walk in silence, the destination of the castle steps once more in sight for Farm-Hand. You noticed his shoulders slouching and the weight of a mental burden begin overencomber him beneath the waves of thought. You furrowed your brows at his posture, unsure as to how to address such an issue. 

“Is there something the matter, Farm-Hand?” you asked him, slowing your step beside him to check him over. 

“All is well, Lost-Lady,” he uttered in a half-hearted manner. You purse your lips, a frown finding its home against the center of your brow as you looked him over once more. You decided against continuing this little facade further, and halted your steps all together as you both stood at the entrance of the doorway. Sighing out a huff of agitation, you shook your head before hardening your resolve in addressing the proverbial elephant in the room: although you were truly unsure as to how. 

You rotated your neck, a small crack produced from its circular motion in response. Drawing your eyes up to meet with his and stepping into his aura, you looked down at the floral arrangement in his hands. The hues were as vibrant and beautiful as each day prior, although this bunch seemed to hold an almost desperate apprehension and appreciation. There were so many intricate elements, it looked as if he absolutely scanned each leaf, petal, and stem within the greenhouse and beyond to draw each piece into it. 

“Will you be joining me for breakfast this morning?” you coyly asked him, trying to tease out whether he would give himself up willingly or continue with this little facade no matter how much it pained him to do so. He looked at you, puzzled and perplexed, and began to attempt to assemble a response to your question.

“I will be where I always am for breakfast, my lady,” he responded, his eyes looking very pleased with his retort. You hummed in response, nodding your head externally while internally agitated at his successful avoidance of the question. Your betrothed seemed to not desire giving himself up willingly; which spurred you on to push harder.

“Even now he hides his face from you. He intends to deceive you until the bitter end.” 

You shook your head of the thoughts whispering into your consciousness, casting them aside by closing your eyes and assessing your internal monologue. Reopening your eyes, you gazed back into his honeyed hues and smiled once more at him.

“Then I shall bid you farewell, sir,” you nodded politely and began to take your leave of him to only be halted by his firm grip holding firm to your right bicep beneath his left hand. You halted in your steps, turning back to look at him with your eyes filled with something Mihawk was not expecting to see from you. 

Sorrow. Doubt. A deep and upturned sadness eclipsed over your face and caused him to stumble over his next words to you. 

“I thought we were past all of those titles, Lost-Lady,” he attempted to reassure you with his words, only for you to pull away from his grasp. You apprehensively drew your right hand up to his face, hovering in front of his hat and mimicking the same movement over his features as he did the night prior. You sighed as your thumb brushed against his shielded chin before finding yourself cupping his shoulder beneath your palm. 

“Would you prefer me to call you ‘Farm-Hand’,” you sighed, a smile pricking at the corner of your mouth as you continued to watch his eyes stagger beneath your pointed look, “Or shall I return the title you bestowed onto me?” 

Mihawk was perplexed. Had you been spying on him? Did your ears hear the internal monologue he decided to relay verbally, actively mocking himself for his idiocy? Surely not. Hopefully not. He yearned for this deceit to flee from his form. No longer desiring to adorn this shield and to be the man beneath this amassment of muck for you; he wanted so desperately to cast aside titles and just truly be yours. 

“And what title may that be?” Mihawk whispered beneath his breath caught within his throat. His gaze followed your fingertips as they circled around the flowers within his hands, prompting him to release them into your grip. You slipped your hand from his shoulder and turned to begin your withdrawal into the manor with one final quip over your shoulder.

“Thank you for the flowers. I will cherish them as I do all of the others you have presented me each day.” Beginning your ascension to your wing, you couldn’t help but wonder why he decided to continue adorning the mask you had already seen slipping and cracking at the corners. 

“Perhaps it was truly because he does not truly love you.”

After retreating back into your designated wing, you shook the thoughts away from your mind and replaced the flowers atop your table with the fresh assortment he had crafted for you. You sighed out a small breath and began changing from your soiled clothes into your regular gown for tutelage of your two wards for the day. 

Breakfast was far from silent that morning. Perona had begun chittering away about which lord and lady had begun courtship. She provided her commentary on the dresses and suits adorning each member of the attendees, focussing on the amassment of silks and satins clinging to the infamous clown-captain of the east blue. 

“Did you see his frilly collar? Wasn’t it stunning?” her voice did little to hide her excitement regarding the frills and feathers, “And how beautiful his hair is! How does he keep his locks so silken on the seas, Mihawk? In fact, how do you keep them so-.”

“-Why must you continue to listen to the whining of the insufferable child? Flee from this land and find a suitor attuned to your interests and class-.”

“-And the amount of weaponry on the red-haired pirates! Did you see Yassop’s pistol, Zoro?” Perona continued with glee. Zoro grunted, reaching for a small rice-ball and placing it onto his plate before pouring himself a small, ceramic dish of tea from his ocha teapot. 

“And the green-haired boy? Do you think he truly need of your services? He is a swordsman, no mere gentleman in need of a few curt lashes upon his behind. You can do nothing to train him further in the ways you know best. Leave.” 

“I did see,” he grunted, rising the small mug to his lips and taking a sip, “I aim to tell my sharpshooting crewman about it when I get back to ‘em. Usopp would be keen to-.”

“Even now your intended ignores you. He has no interest in fostering the flames of your affection.” 

You inhaled a deep breath, a shaken hand reaching forward to grasp your teaspoon within it and stirring a spoon of honey within the mug. You placed the spoon beside the mug and began to raise it to your lips and take a small sip of the liquid within. 

Mihawk was not accustomed to this amount of silence from you. You often engaged with the wards in conversation over breakfast and went over the agenda for the day. Routine, structure and discipline were the three aspects alongside true professionalism he had come to enjoy with your mornings. Whatever plagued your thoughts held you completely in silence and unable to speak those words to life. 

“Beloved-?” Mihawk began, attempting to regain your attention, only to witness your eyes continue to stare at the teapot placed in front of you. 

“The moon, the starlit sky; they are beautiful dresses. But the golden assortment? Do you truly think that be enough-?”

“-My love, are you quite alright?” Mihawk attempted to gain your attention once more, only to become more concerned at the state of your daze. Perona halted her conversation with Zoro, looking over to Mihawk before drawing her eyes over your hunched form. 

“Why don’t you set them in a glorious blaze, hm? What would be the harm in setting fire to those beautiful gowns? It should save you both the trouble of going through this sham of a marriage-.”

“-Hey!” Perona’s booming and otherworldly voice held dominion over the room, prompting your eyes to immediately draw themselves up to your pink-haired ward in confusion. Her rounded, dark pupils were holding firm to a space beside your left ear, the internal monologue halting itself as you glanced up. Perona began to levitate above the breakfast table, her hands reaching forward with her palms presented outwards.

“Step away from my governess, Hag!” Her voice held several tones within the single vocal strand, the air sucked from its delight of the morning rays. Zoro immediately was drawn to his feet, unsheathing his sword from beside him and brandishing it with flourish. Mihawk also rose to his feet, nodding to Zoro briefly, before he closed and reopened his amber eyes; now a ruby iris surrounding its glow. Zoro did the same, his iris crackling under the new color within his orbs. 

You felt a weight being shifted off you as Perona’s hands sunk into the air beside you and cast it upwards. Feeling the rush of wind beside you, you inhaled a shaken breath and closed your eyes in a tight squeeze and held your lips in a tight and firm line. Feeling alone of the inner monologue, your hands were taken within the cool hands of your betrothed; prompting your eyes to flitter open. 

“She is gone, beloved” he crouched at your left hand side, looking up into your eyes with concern interwoven within the once more amber hue of his irises. “Have her words bring you no hindrance nor whisper of worry. She can do no harm on this plane.” He reached up his hand and claimed your cheek beneath his palm, soothing you with his thumb rubbing circles within your smooth skin. “Her words are poisonous. The only harm she can truly do on this plane is with her words alone. I promise you, you are safe.” 

“How long has she been here, Mihawk?” Perona asked at your other side, her eyes fixed on a pinned point in the roof and remaining unblinking, “She seemed so sad.” Mihawk continued to hold you within his sights, as he desired to ensure your emotional wellbeing after an encounter with the spectre of the witch that plagued him. 

“She has been here with me since the ring was placed atop our governess’ unity finger. I had heard her voice only once before such a time,” Mihawk informed the three of you within the room, “And it was when I commissioned the ring to be set within the woven band itself.” 

Drawing your eyes over to his, you danced your sorrowful eyes between his and allowed yourself a moment of weakness to lean into his palm with your cheek. He sighed at the small gesture, leaning his crouched body further into your and searching your eyes for any thoughts you desired to relay onto him. 

“She fled from me two days ago when I had began concluding the task placed on me,” Mihawk continued to confess, removing his hand from your cheek and collecting both of your hands within his own, “I thought we were rid of her, considering-,” he halted his words, continuing to leave them unspoken within the air, but written all over his face.

Considering I love you.

Your soft smile in return had Mihawk’s heart swell within his chest. He drew your hands up to his face, the knuckles on your hands brushing his mustache as his lips caressed each joint above your fingers gently and deliberately. Perona smiled an impish smile as her eyes met with the display of affection between her lord and her governess, prompting her to swiftly gather the arm of the swordsman and direct him away from the room with an echo of protestations: “Hey, but I didn’t get to finish my breakfast-!”

Mihawk used his right leg to hook beneath a chair at your side and draw it close to him. His cocky smirk continued to hold against his lips as he continued gazing into your eyes, prompting you to roll them and chastise him with a click of your tongue. He drew it close to yours, sitting directly beside you and released one of your hands to collect your teacup and present it to you. 

“My, my lord,” you smirked, taking the teacup from his hand and raising it to your lips, “offering to serve a lowly governess at breakfast?” It was his turn to chastise you with the click of his tongue, tutting you at your personal degradation. 

“I thought I told you,” Mihawk began, choosing his next words by searching within his mind, “What was it you told the clown? We are more than the titles that make us?” You giggled, watching the corners of his eyes gather as his lips drew up into a small smile, “And we are far beyond simplistic roles, do you not agree?”

“Like the roles we chose for ourselves?” you offered the first extension of the relationship between your alter-egos to unmask between the two of you. He sighed, closing his eyes and bowing his head down in deep thought. 

“I never thought of you as a lady who was ever lost,” he whispered, his tone low and deliberate, “I had always thought of you as a woman who commanded every space she found herself within. Even as a man far more advanced in his years,” he continued, reopening his eyes to look lovingly into your face, “I had always seen you as a woman who could have the mighty fall to their knees- much as you had me do this morning.” 

Sighing your laugh, feeling the physical weight fall from your shoulders as your smile elevated your lips with its relief, you drew yourself closer to your beau and placed your forehead against his own with your eyes shut tightly. 

“Does this mean I will no longer be receiving flowers from my beloved Farm-Hand, adorning an assortment of mud and grime?” you quipped at him, taking your bottom lip beneath your teeth. He huffed out a laugh of his own, withdrawing his forehead from yours and replacing it atop your brow with his lips. 

“If you so desire for your Farm-Hand to bring his Lost-Lady your daily gift of flowers, I will gladly become him once more for you. However,” Mihawk drew his eyes back to yours, an almost playfulness dancing behind his honeyed gaze, “I expect my Lost-Lady to be in naught but her nightdress in return.” 

—-----------------------

“I-I think I’ve done it,” the redhead captain exclaimed, his shaken right hand gathering the material beneath his hand and looking over it one last time, “I’ve done it! Becks! Becks!” 

Shank’s cries of glee echoed throughout the red-force, his crew alerted to his excitement and began gathering themselves at their posts. Beckman rose to his feet, beginning to direct the crew in their duties to prepare to board the pier of Kuraigana once again. 

“All hands! All hands on deck!” Shank’s voice called, his right hand waving a piece of parchment paper in absolute delight, “Hoist the colors, sound the alarms! We got to get the word to Hawk-Eyes! He marries on the morrow! Beckman, Becks-,” Shanks halted his feet, thrusting the parchment into the awaiting and overworked hands of his first-mate, “You reckon you could do that blindfolded, mate?” 

Benn Beckman straightened the parchment with an assortment of intricately composed directions with diagrams and mathematical equations correlating with the design. He frowned, eyeing the minute details and beginning to commit their paths to memory.

“As I said, Cap’n,” Beckman confirmed, meeting the hazel gaze of Shanks’ awaiting and hopeful face, “I will do my best for the lady.” Shanks clapped his hand over his shoulder and began making his way to address his crew as Beckman began visually putting together the guide and its make within his mind, practicing several intricate knots with the strands of the rope beside him. 

“The Vile Exterminator is getting married to the Hawk of Kuraigana! What a match!” Shanks cried in glee, the red-haired pirates cheering as they readied themselves to exit the ship and leave it behind to once more celebrate with the former rival of the captain.

“I will find your ring, Red-Haired Shanks,” Shanks’ smile dropped from his face as he snapped his head to seek out the voice, “I will find your ring and I will claim your soul as penance for your aid in keeping Mihawk’s from me.”

Shanks’ rubied eyes met with the cursed and haunting spectre of the ghoulish witch haunting his former rival and his former sailing companion. 

“Do your worst, witch,” he addressed the spectre, “I would sooner lay down my life than see those two part from one another. You should be happy! You’ve got what you wanted. They will be unified and your curse shall be lifted. That’s what you want, isn’t it? To see others have what was taken from you? To see them happy and thriving with each other?”

The spectral woman, her hair thrashing and wild, snarled at him before her form dissipated from its place in front of him. Shanks mockingly snarled in return at the position the ghostly woman was prior, opting to pay her warning no mind as he began prematurely celebrating with his crew by opening a fresh keg of ale. Gathering his den-den-mushi to inform the bride and groom of his success in completing the task, he dialed after placing the receiver against his shoulder and waited for the other end to pick up.

“It’s done, Hawks. Congratulations, you marry on the morrow!”

[turtletaubwrites]

Numbers Game ~ Chapter 21

For Now

Pairings: Cross Guild x Fem!Reader x Shanks

Numbers Game Masterlist

Word Count: 4.8k+

Ao3 Link

Series Playlist: Youtube Music Link | Youtube Link

Summary: It's hard to sleep the night before the big event. Everyone finds ways to cope with the stress.

Author's Note: This chapter contains big TRAUMA/DRAMA/HURT, but also big SMUT and COMFORT, I swear!! However, the flashback includes the trauma of the reader's father's death. I have bracketed that section between these symbols ~~~⚫⚫⚫~~~ and you can skip it without missing the story. Please do not read that section if parental death, trauma, shipwrecks, panic attacks, or grief may be triggering for you!

Alternate POV Symbols:

🌲 ~ Flashbacks from Reader's Past | 🐊 ~ Crocodile | 🗡 ~ Mihawk | 🤡 ~ Buggy | 🔴 ~ Shanks | ⚫ ~ Scenes depicting panic attacks and/or big trauma (These symbols will bracket sections to denote the POV shift)

!!! SPOILER WARNING !!! Fic contains spoilers for the end of the Wano arc

Rating/Warnings: Author May Choose to Exclude some Warnings to Avoid Spoilers for Certain Chapters, Explicit Sexual Content, 18+ ONLY, MDNI, AFAB!Reader, She/Her Pronouns for Reader, Reader-Insert, Use of Y/N, Dark Content, Blood & Violence, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Dissociation, Grief, Death of Minor Original Character, Swearing, Alcohol, Cigars, Smut, Fluff, Angst, Drama, Jealousy, Manipulation, Humiliation, Pet Names, Power Imbalance, Cross Guild boys are VILLAINS, Parental Death, Possessive Behavior, Teasing, Threats, Size Difference, Daddy Kink, Anal, Hair-Pulling, Blowjobs, Face Slapping, Degradation, Inappropriate Use of Akuma no Mi | Devil Fruit Powers, Shameless Shameless Smut, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

| masterlist | about me | rules | ao3 |

~~~🔴🔴🔴~~~

Gods fucking damn it. 

Shanks had the presence of mind to pull on his pants before running away from that room, but now he was wandering down the corridor with sex all over his skin, a sticky reminder of the scene he’d just left. 

Fuck. 

His clothes were in the middle suite, the one nextdoor to the room he’d just fled from like a coward. 

Buggy’s scent, so precious, so craved for so long, made him want to smash his head against the wall. 

The way they kissed…

Shanks opened the next door he saw, finding another suite, remarkably full of exactly what he needed. Except for the fact that it all belonged to that swordsman. 

He’d found Mihawk’s “closet,” an entire suite of wardrobes, coat racks, and shelves for all of his annoying boots.

He wanted to burn it all to ash. 

Shanks stomped across the suite, relieved to find the extravagant bathroom fully stocked. Stripping out of those sticky pants, he struggled with the fancy soap in its pretty packaging. Normally, he’d be able to unwrap it easily, years of practice with one hand. 

But right now, his fingers were shaking, and he needed to get that fucking smell off of him. 

Growling as he tore the soapy paper with his teeth, Shanks managed to get under the water, scrubbing himself like he was warding off disease. He resisted the urge to yell and curse since he didn’t want his old “friend” to hear him.

He fought with piles of fabric, hissing with annoyance until he found one of those frilly fucking shirts, tugging on the softest, loosest pants he could find. He pulled the laces tight, but left them untied, strings hanging down over his thighs as he left his sex-covered pants in Mihawk's giant closet. 

Booze. Where the fuck is the booze?

Shanks became nothing, but that singular goal. The Emperor of the Sea was about to search every fucking room he passed until he remembered where he needed to go. Where he’d find the relief he needed. 

It’s that room. The one with that stupid, green couch. 

~~~🔴🔴🔴~~~

~~~~~~

You didn’t answer. 

No storms. 

No ships.

No voice calling your name. 

Just the snail on the desk, and your pencil in your hand. 

Then there was your body, trapped and suffocating. Too much heat, too much, too much!

You gasped when you woke, tasting the middle of the night on the air. Buggy’s upper body had tilted away from you, but his leg had you trapped, panicking with the need to move. Crocodile’s massive arm wrapped around you like a cage, and your breath went too light, too fast, too close to a scream. 

Whimpers left your throat as you tried to wriggle free without waking the sleeping pirates. You managed to scoot down a few inches before that giant hand grasped your throat, pulling you against his chest. 

“Sorrysorrysorrysor–”

“Fuck, I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Crocodile hissed, pulling his hand and body away from you, letting you breathe. His voice was full of sleep, groaning a bit as he rubbed his hand over his face. “Had a dream you were– Are you alright, babygirl?”

A tiny, sad laugh left your throat, and he kissed the top of your head.

“What do ya need?”

The darkened ceiling stole all of your focus for an unknowable amount of time before you breathed out your answer.

“I want to see Adam.”

~~~

“I thought you hated Adam,” you whispered, tugging on your robe before you left the room. You’d kissed Buggy’s cheek, pulling the blanket over his snoring form. Your mind struggled for a moment when you realized that there was no one else on the bed, but Crocodile touched your elbow, guiding you to the hallway before you could think about it too long. 

“Why would I hate such a tiny creature,” he snorted as he opened the door to that cat paradise. Adam came up to you first, then rubbed himself against Crocodile’s bare ankles beneath his long, velvet smoking jacket. His sharp eyes glanced toward the cat’s servant that was dozing softly by the door. “Come back in two hours.”

Giggling while the guard hurried out, you laid on the carpet to spend time with your little tabby cat. 

Not mine. Just pretend. 

Heat filled your throat as you fought against an odd guilt. Guilt that you weren’t showing this innocent animal the perfect happiness that he deserved. Guilt that you were struggling to keep pretending. 

“Sweetheart…”

Crocodile joined you on the floor. Sitting against the wall with his long legs stretched out for Adam to rub along, he offered you his comfort. He pulled you to him when you nodded, grabbing a pillow from the couch to set on his lap when Adam wouldn’t stop jumping onto that fancy, green jacket. 

You leaned into his warmth, breathing in the scent of cigars while you curled up against him. Petting the purring cat, you smiled at how relaxed Adam was on the lap of your frightening lover. 

No. It’s all just pretend. 

“Your dad told you that story, right,” he asked softly, touching a tentative finger to the top of Adam’s head. “About the Jewel Tree Adam?”

“Yeah.”

“What other stories did he tell you?”

Crocodile’s voice was so deep, so soothing. That question made you sink into yourself, struggling between a smile and a frown. 

“Most stories were about trees, or what they’re used to build. And math, always math. Great mathematicians that made their worlds better. But that story was my favorite.”

His strong fingers were so gentle as he trailed them through your hair, down your face, your arm, rubbing his thumb over your hand before letting you pet Adam again. 

“Why don’t you tell me about him? Anyone that loved my sweet girl like that deserves my respect.”

Strange pride and sorrow made your eyes clench shut, pressing your face into his chest. 

“He loved me,” you agreed, voice almost silent as you slipped away from the moment. 

“But he cursed me.”

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

The end of the semester was close, and you’d already finished all of your assignments. Just the final was left now, and you knew you didn't need to study. You knew you’d already killed this class. 

But the sound of your pencil scraping away, the crisp scent of your textbook, your dad’s comfy desk chair… It was all comforting. 

Moving numbers around was satisfying. Especially when he’d come home, and go over every assignment with you, making up his own so you could show him how you thought things through. 

You were erasing a mistake, brushing the bits off of your paper when your dad’s transponder snail rang. A little yelp left your throat as its lazy eyes turned to stare at you. You’d never heard a call this late before, even after all the nights you’d accidentally fallen asleep at his desk. 

Should I answer?

The snail went on and on, until you finally reached for it, wanting to help your dad by taking a message.

“Y/N?”

“Dad?”

~~~⚫⚫⚫~~~

“Y/N?”

“Dad, is that–”

“Y/N? Can you hear me?”

“Dad?”

“Y/N, sweetheart! You can hear me?”

“Barely,” you yelled at the snail, struggling to hear through whatever chaos was happening.

There were people yelling. 

Noises you didn’t understand.

Until thunder explained it all. 

Waves. 

Wood creaking. 

Sylvad wood creaking. 

Cracking.

“Y/N?”

“Daddy, what’s–”

“I love you, sweetheart. I love you so–”

Louder yells, louder sounds. Your body was about to explode with a terror you couldn’t acknowledge.

I fell asleep at the desk. This is a dream. 

“Y/N?”

“I hear you, daddy,” you lied, pressing your ear close to the snail even as the crashing and creaking echoed through his peaceful office.

“My girl,” he praised, his voice straining over so many horrible sounds. “Knew you’d be working, my little numbers girl. Please be happy, be–”

Daddy’s voice. 

His scream. 

So many screams, and crashes, and Sylvad wood splintering beneath waves, until the snail finally gave nothing but choked, watery gasps. 

…

“Dad?”

Your head was shaking back and forth, warding off what couldn’t be real.

“Daddy, can you hear me?”

The snail’s eyes looked even wider, even more hypnotizing when you clenched your fist around it, shaking the strange creature while you screamed, begging it to bring back the voice that had called for you on that stormy ship. 

“DADDY??!!!”

~~~⚫⚫⚫~~~

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

~~~~~~

“Shh, I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” Crocodile soothed while your panicked breathing made you shake. “I’m sorry you had to hear that. Thank you for trusting me. I’m right here, babygirl. Not going anywhere.”

Why did I tell him that? He’s just going to sell me. Just going to use this against me. 

Those instinctive, defensive thoughts fell apart as his voice kept washing over you. As Adam crawled off of his lap onto you, reaching up to rub his chin along yours until you held him, and sobbed. 

You’d never told anyone about your dad’s last call. That you’d heard your dad’s last words.

The only people that knew about it were people that had used it against you. Had judged you. Had screamed at you. 

Had sent you…

“Don’t tell anyone,” you begged, panic flooding your veins. “Please, don’t–”

“No one,” Crocodile vowed, his words heavier than the island you laid upon. “You know I’m here for you, Y/N. Anything you need.”

Somehow, relaxation moved through your body. Your mind battled between distrust and comfort, fear and peace. The contradictions gave you a headache, but soon you were nodding off against his warm, powerful body. A body that had frightened and satisfied you, overwhelmed and spoiled you. 

A body that was now poised to protect you. 

“You can sleep, sweet girl. Daddy’s here. I’ll keep you safe.”

“Thank you, Daddy.”

~~~~~~

~~~🗡️🗡️🗡️~~~

Mihawk had no trouble crawling out of bed without waking his lovers. No trouble slipping on his silk robe as stepped into the hall. No trouble following that taunting voice to the lounge. 

He had trouble opening the door. 

“Don’t be shy, old friend. Come on in.”

I’m a coward. 

“We haven’t got all night, Hawk Eyes.”

The rage in those teasing words had Mihawk’s hair standing on end. 

I deserve it. I deserve every ounce of anger he wants to drown me in. Don’t be a fucking coward. 

“There you are,” Shanks cheered, holding his arm out wide in welcome, a mostly empty bottle of wine sloshing in his hand. “My gracious host. Take a seat.”

Mihawk walked through the wine scented air, joining his old friend on that pretty, green couch. He wanted to stab himself in the leg for his urge to caution Shanks against spilling red onto the velvet cushions, or onto his stolen clothes that the emperor looked stunning in, even in his haggard state.

“Don’t be so stiff, Hawky,” Shanks laughed, turning to lounge against the armrest. He stretched his legs across Mihawk’s lap, shoving the bottle toward him until the swordsman took it, chugging the rest. 

“What would you like to discuss,” Mihawk drawled, reaching for another already opened bottle on the side table. He almost smiled at how annoyed he used to get when Shanks would open every bottle in sight before drinking, just in case he couldn’t open them later.

He tried to at least look relaxed, but there was nowhere to rest his feet. Servants had cleaned up the splintered remains of Crocodile’s rage, but they hadn’t replaced the coffee table yet. Guilt started filling him again at the thought of all the lovely and terrible things he’d done on that table.

“Gee, I wonder,” Shanks mocked, snatching the new bottle, and taking a generous swig. “Why don’t we start at the beginning?”

~~~🗡️🗡️🗡️~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🔴🗡️🔴🗡️~~~

Shanks was glad the wine had dulled him, because his desire to kill the swordsman was still incredibly high.

Instead, he drank more. 

And more. 

Then he started, and he couldn’t stop. 

“You left me in that tavern,” Shanks growled, almost reaching out to strangle the man when he had the gall to look confused.

The tavern… Of course.

Shame. An incredible amount of shame slammed into Mihawk, and all he could do was nod, grabbing another bottle for himself. Shanks had clearly prepared to stay on this couch, setting open bottles around everywhere, just waiting to spill. 

“You told me love was boring,” Shanks spat, an old scar scraping open. “Don’t be boring, Shanks.”

“I–”

“You laughed at me. I told you I loved you, and you laughed in my fucking face!”

Mihawk had to close his eyes, the burn of bile creeping up his throat. He tried to speak again, but Shanks wasn’t done seething. 

“You left me there. I got over it,” Shanks lied to himself. “We went back to drinking and fucking everytime we’d cross paths. So much fun, pretending that never happened. But I was okay with it.”

He gave a tired laugh at his own words, drinking more before he lost it. 

“You’re Dracule Mihawk. Heartless. Cold. Of course you couldn’t feel that with me. You couldn’t feel it with anyone. I could live with that.”

“I’m…”

Mihawk couldn’t stomach the pain moving across his friend’s face. He wanted to look away, to run away, but this was the least he could do. To witness what his selfishness had caused.

“But now? With Buggy,” Shanks choked, looking up and away while he swallowed the heat in his throat. It wasn’t enough, his voice cracking when he met those horrible, golden eyes again. “My Buggy? Now you’re taking the only other person... Why are you taking him from me?”

“Shanks, I…” Mihawk failed. There were muscles moving in his face that were weak, that had never been allowed to move before. 

Why does this hurt more than a fucking stab wound?

“What the fuck did I ever do to you,” Shanks cursed, stumbling off of the couch, his voice more manic with every step he took while he paced. “Were you sent from the fucking hells just to torture me? To take everything?”

“Please,” Mihawk begged. He didn’t know what he was begging for, but he couldn’t stop the need.

“You broke my fucking heart, Hawk! You laughed while you did it. And now you’re making me watch you… Why the fuck are you doing this to me?”

Shanks couldn’t think, couldn’t even drink, dropping the bottle to stain the soft carpet before tearing at his hair. He needed to fucking scream, to rage, to fight. Anything but let these pathetic tears keep burning in his eyes for this fucking monster. 

“I’m so sorry,” the monster breathed, barely able to speak over the hatred that had replaced every drop of blood in his body. Hatred for himself, for a life wasted, for this pain. This pain that he’d… “I wish—”

“Wish what? Wish there was something else I love that you could fucking destroy? Why don’t you go slice my ship in two, huh? Go ahead, kill my crew. Then you’ll really get me. Take fucking everything you fucking demon. You fucking–”

“I’m sorry,” Mihawk cried out. Falling to his knees, he managed to grab Shanks’ hand with both of his, bowing his head against all those shaking fingers. He begged as he’d never done a day in his life. He cried more tears than he knew existed in his cold, unfeeling body. He let those tears fall onto their hands, vicious sobs ripping through him as he felt his heart break from his own selfish cruelty and cowardice. 

“I’m so sorry, Shanks. I don’t know what to… I know I can’t do anything. I don’t know why it took me so long, I hate… I fucking hate myself for this. I wish I could…”

Mihawk pulled at his hand, desperately crying at his feet, and Shanks was frozen. Shock wasn’t strong enough for the sight before him. The red haired pirate was stunned. He couldn’t fucking believe what was happening. After Mihawk cried enough to soak all their fingers in salty tears, Shanks plopped onto the floor in front of him, leaving his hand to be cradled like one of the stray kittens Mihawk had saved. 

“You didn’t do this on purpose?”

Shanks’ quiet wonderment pulled fresh tears and pleading from the world’s greatest swordsman. 

“No,” Mihawk laughed, raw and weak. “Gods, no. I’d do anything to fix this, but I…”

He caught those gorgeous brown eyes, wide as they scanned his wretched face. 

“I’m a monster. I destroy everything around me. I wish I’d never met–”

Salty, quivering lips, a touch that stopped their breath. Old friends, old lovers, having their first real kiss after decades behind masks. 

They clung to each other, ignoring everything they knew they’d have to deal with. For now, Mihawk and Shanks poured every feeling they’d ever held back into each other. 

For now, they kissed.

~~~🔴🗡️🔴🗡️~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🤡🤡🤡~~~

It’s cold.

Star!?

Buggy reached for nothing, a moment of panic that didn’t fade when he moved his arms around the empty bed. The bed that should have had three of his lovers on it. 

Maybe four…

“Y/N? Are you in here, star?”

Buggy’s body floated through the room in pieces, a silent search that offered no clues, no relief from the pressure around his lungs.

Gone. Everyone’s gone. 

Why would they all leave me here alone? Are they okay? Why didn’t they–

They didn’t want me.

Buggy choked on that thought. Choked on how fucking loud it was. Choked on the fears he’d been swimming in since his old friend had dropped back into his life. 

What if I make the wrong choice? What if I lose everything? 

What if I end up alone again?

He pulled his body together, fighting the sick feeling swirling in his gut while he found his pajama pants. 

“It’s fine. Everything’s fine. They all just got hungry at the same time, and left me all alone.”

His comforting words turned sour too fast, and he took deep breaths like he did before taking the stage. 

“Y/N? Are you out here,” he called softly, the long, empty corridor stretching on like a nightmare, like he’d never find his love again. 

“In here, Buggy.”

The clown caught himself, cutting off the yelp he’d let out at the deep whisper from the door across the hall. 

“Quiet,” Crocodile ordered, barely audible from Adam’s room. 

Buggy held his breath when he opened the door, but still couldn’t breathe when he found the owner of that voice. Crocodile was leaning back against the wall, sitting on the floor. Y/N was curled up beside him while Adam was snuggled into a tight circle on a throw pillow, perched atop the ex-warlord’s lap. 

The clown just stared for a minute until Crocodile sighed. 

“Can you help me? I don’t wanna wake up our girl.”

The larger man raised a brow, glaring until Buggy moved, floating his arms as carefully as he could to lift Y/N into the air. 

Our girl…

~~~🤡🤡🤡~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🤡🐊🤡🐊~~~

Do I just push it off? Will I hurt it?

Crocodile wanted to give his full attention to his pretty lovers as they left this ridiculous room, but he studied the purring cat as if it were a ticking bomb. 

He shifted, tilting slightly as he tugged a corner of the throw pillow to slide it off of his lap. 

Adam made a sleepy, disgruntled noise as he squeezed his paws over his face, almost like pulling a blanket over his eyes to ward off the morning. 

Crocodile snorted, startling the cat out of his relaxed, circular pose, just when he'd gotten the pillow off of his lap and onto the floor. 

Adam stretched toward him as he stood, but Crocodile had much cuter creatures he needed to cuddle. 

~~~

Our girl. 

Buggy didn’t think he’d ever held something with more care, not even his most explosive Buggy Balls. He carried Y/N to the center of that giant bed, floating random parts of his body to shove the pillows and blanket into place before setting her down.

“He’s calling.”

“Shh, baby. Just sleep now.”

Buggy set her up, his upper body floating above her while he made sure her face looked peaceful.

He bit his tongue to fight the surprised yelp he let out when a large hand touched his hip. 

He's so soft with her. 

Crocodile stood beside Buggy’s lower half at the foot of the bed, watching the gentle care his clown gave to their sleeping sweetheart. He chuckled at the shocked sound from Buggy’s throat, glad that it hadn’t woken her up. 

Buggy followed the ex-warlord after he jerked his head toward the far wall, sitting on the new loveseat. 

What happened to the old one?

“Come here,” Crocodile rasped. Buggy hesitated, but let himself be pulled into that world, Crocodile’s warm arm wrapping around his shoulders as he leaned down to whisper. “Sorry we left you alone, little clown. Didn’t wanna interrupt your beauty sleep.”

The tiny noise that escaped Buggy’s lips made Crocodile want to keep teasing. He was looking forward to making his little clown blush and squirm for him.

But their girl needed them tonight. 

“Thank you for protecting her from me. I’ll never be able to repay that debt.”

Buggy was shaking. All the words Crocodile had spoken to him the last few days were overwhelming, confusing, enticing. 

These words held respect, and it hurt. Pride almost poured in, but Buggy couldn’t help but wait for the joke. 

He was everyone’s favorite punchline. 

Crocodile frowned at the frown on Buggy's face. 

“Help me protect her,” he urged, holding his hand out as he stood. “She needs you right now, Buggy.”

The clown stood slowly, unsteady on his feet as he blinked up at that frightening face. 

That face that had terrorized him. Had made him fight, pathetically fail to fight, just for the slim chance that he could save his star from whatever harm this monster might inflict. 

That face that had made her smile, made her scream, that had called him pretty things. 

That face leaned down, a slow smile hovering close. 

“All you gotta do is tell me what you want, little clown,” Crocodile purred, breathing in pleasure at the sight of those wide, crystal eyes, and those lips parted in soft awe while this pretty clown stared up at him. “Do you wanna help me take care of her?”

“Yes, daddy,” Buggy breathed, not realizing he’d spoken until the words left his lips.

“Good boy.”

They shared a kiss, quiet and quick before they cradled their sleeping girl, and fell into dreams. 

That quiet kiss held a weight, a heaviness that seemed to anchor them in place. To draw them close. But for now, they left the kiss where it was.

For now, they slept.

~~~🤡🐊🤡🐊~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🔴🗡️🔴🗡️~~~

Whimpers.

There’d never been so many panicked whimpers between them. Plenty of needy whines, hungry moans, and filthy gasps, but the noises that left their throats tonight needed their own word. 

Tonight, true need flowed through them. A need to make up for every moment they should have cherished. 

Mihawk thought his tears were done, but every time they’d pull back to take a breath, he’d see Shanks’ face. His old friend. That lovely, crooked smile. 

“You gonna help me feel good, bright eyes,” Shanks teased, his voice shaky as it fought for lightness. “I’d say it’s the least you can do.”

The swordsman barked a healing laugh, stretching his body toward the ceiling before wrapping his arms around Shanks’ neck, twisting his fingers into that red hair. 

“I think I owe you a lifetime’s worth of pleasure. How can I—“

“Take your fucking clothes off, slut,” Shanks grinned, his body pulsing at how those simple words made his friend’s eyes flutter with need. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

Mihawk couldn’t hold in a moan at those deep, burning words. His hands flew to work, tearing each garment away from them both, not giving a fuck about where they landed. Not giving a fuck about anything besides feeling Shanks’ perfect cock, rubbing his hands along that silky flesh, licking at him, savoring his taste like the finest of wines. 

“There you are,” Shanks purred, stroking his fingers through Mihawk’s hair as those intense eyes stared up at him. “I always knew you were good. So good for me. Just wanna please me, huh?”

“Mhm,” Mihawk nodded, voice muffled around that thick cock. 

“This’ll be even more satisfying than usual,” Shanks laughed before he yanked Mihawk off of him, tearing at that soft, black hair while the swordsman twitched in painful pleasure. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? My golden boy doesn’t wanna be a monster. You just wanna get fucked by a monster.”

“Fuck, Shanks, plea–”

“Shut your mouth,” Shanks ordered, giving that perfect face a back handed slap. “You shouldn’t have gotten so good at fighting, friend. Can’t get off to getting fucking wrecked if no one can touch you. Must be so desperate, huh, baby? Want me to hurt you?”

Mihawk's eyes were already rolling white, his tongue hanging loose while he nodded. 

“Think you deserve that? If you can’t even let me hear your pretty voice?”

“Shanks, need you so bad. Hurt me, daddy, pleease...” 

“That’s what I fucking thought,” Shanks bragged, pleasure running through him. “Take me to a room I can fuck you in. Need to teach my little hole a lesson.”

“The table,” Mihawk gasped, reaching over the pull at the drawer of the side table, revealing a bottle of lube and a hand towel.

“You fucking slut,” Shanks laughed, shoving Mihawk onto his stomach before grabbing the lube. He poured it over his old friend's ass, smirking at how he twitched when the cold liquid touched his skin, dripping down onto that sensitive little hole he was about to rip apart. Watching his fingers sinking into him wasn’t nearly enough. “Tell me what you want.”

“Want you so–”

“Tell me what my slutty little boy wants before I walk out that fucking door.”

“Hurt me, daddy,” Mihawk cried out, his body twitching and curling with need, the rough fingers inside of him driving him mad. “Hurt me, fuck me so fucking hard, please.”

He was almost sobbing with that plea, his body on fire. 

Shanks. 

Gods, it was Shanks. 

He was–

“How’d you like that,” Shanks taunted, eating up the sight of Mihawk’s reddened ass, the brutal slap bringing a filthy moan from the man’s throat. 

“So good, daddy, please more,” he begged, “Hurt me, ruin– Fuuucck, daddyyy! Mmn, please…”

“That’s right,” Shanks growled, his body taking what it needed from the willing and desperate flesh beneath it. “Missed daddy's cock so bad, huh? Slutty little hole, just waiting for me to find you, to fuck you like the nasty whore you are?”

“Yes, please,” Mihawk begged, drooling onto the carpet.

“Gonna come for daddy? Gonna come like a good little slut?”

“P-please, hurt–”

“Ha, greedy little hole,” Shanks laughed, shoving harder, deeper, while Mihawk made such, delicious, pathetic noises. “Tell me what you are first, and daddy might be nice.”

“I'm your slut, daddy’s whore, your nasty little hole, your–”

Mihawk came onto the plush carpet when Shanks bit into his neck, teeth sinking deep as the red haired pirate filled his needy ass with come. 

“Shanks, daddy…”

Shanks growled through that mouthful of skin, his last few thrusts more brutal at the memory of someone else getting called by his name. But then his eyes rolled back as he finished sinking himself into the perfect body of his old friend. 

His old something more. 

Mihawk whimpered, gasping when Shanks released his neck to kiss, and lick, and breathe along that sensitive skin. Shanks hummed with pleasure at those sweet little sounds, his cock still twitching inside that needy hole. 

“Missed me, didn’t you,” Shanks breathed, heat and satisfaction radiating from him. 

“Always,” Mihawk told the truth. “I always miss you.”

~~~🔴🗡️🔴🗡️~~~

~~~~~~

“What’s he doing here?”

“Good morning to you too.”

“Shh, she’s still sleeping.”

“We need to get ready, it’s–”

“Daddy?”

You found yourself about to cry when sleep was torn away, but all of those voices reminded you of what a strange world you seemed to be caught in. A world that you hoped was real, even if it meant more torment, more people using you. 

Pros and cons. 

One of the pros was opening your eyes to find four incredibly powerful, beautiful men on that giant bed with you. All staring at you like you were precious. Like you were worth more than your name. 

I’m definitely crazy.

“Shh, babygirl,” Crocodile soothed, kissing your temple to quiet your sick laughter before it could take over another day. 

Too tired to panic today, anyway.

Today...

Oh fuck.

Likes, comments, and reblogs bring me much ✨dopamine✨ thank you!!

a/n: I loved writing this one, I hope you enjoyed reading it!

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Chapter 22

Operation Olive Branch has compiled a working spreadsheet of ways to help families fleeing from the genocide in Palestine. If you enjoyed this fic, and are able, please click the link to find a list of GoFundMe's, as well as other ways to help.

| masterlist | about me | rules | ao3 |

[five-thousand-loaves-of-bread]

MY SNAILS FINALLY ATE ANIMAL PROTEIN SO HAPPY CAN CRY do u know what pain n suffering had to endure just to make these little shits act like the omnivore they are

put piece of raw meat in tank for experiment. partly for isopods bc they need protein (should have gotten type that need less protein but still do).

my snails also need animal protein but all past try in feed them dried meal worms de-salted [type of shrimp] they just refuse eat. so basically for past year they not had any animal protein. whichuh. issue

it tiny piece of meat compare to snail but it also too big for 6 isopods eat all so think at least some of it ate by snails!!! hopefully

hope all 6 isopods n at least some snail ate some

gonna feed them more meat tonight !!!!

(know need more isopods but uhhh expensive so hope they breeding)

snail tax

[id: picture of giant african land snails (brown shell white body) try reeaaaach n climb over ledge of white pot. there another snail in background. end id]

[ducks-in-crocs]

hi!! could you write a sturniolo younger sister where she's in the sam and colby video with them? 💙

The Elevator Game

Summary - The triplets sister plays the elevator games

Pairing - The Sturniolo triplets x Sister!reader

Warnings - Ghost, Swearing

“Well there are two elevators, so maybe we should try to do a duel elevator game. One person in this one and one person in that one” Sams says with a little too much excitement.

“I already agreed to go by myself, so who gonna get in the other one” Matt questions.

“I think (y/n) should go since she's the most scared,” says Nick quickly to volunteer me, Chris agrees almost instantly.

“Umm well uh I guess” I agree, trying to keep my nerves at bay.

“You don't have to do it” Colby is quick to assure me, Sam quickly nodding in agreement.

“No, it's okay. I'll do” I agree, twiddling my thumbs. “Alright, here we go” I whisper to myself as I step into the open elevator.

“Wow not even gonna say goodbye to your brothers. You might never see us again” Nick states sarcastically. Giggling softly to myself, I quickly flick them all off before rushing to embrace my brothers in a quick hug. Letting go, I turn around and take a deep breath before stepping back into the elevator.

“Alright guy, let's go. Please take me to another world” I speak into the camera as I hit the button for the fourth floor. The door makes a clinking noise as doors shut, and the elevator hums to life. Arriving on the fourth floor, I quickly scan the hall as the doors open before hitting the number two button. As the doors were closing, I could have sworn could smell the faint scent of a cigar.

“ Okay, now time for the sixth floor” I softly speak as the elevator doors shut on the second floor. As I go to push the button, my ears perk up as a faint giggle fills the air. Freezing in place, standing in silence as I wait for another sound to pierce the air.

“ I don't know if you heard that on camera, but I could have sworn that there was a giggle,” I tell the camera with a shakey breath. “Alright guys, here we go” As the elevator roars to life, I feel a gentle tug on the back of my shirt. Goosebumps fill my arms as I whip around quickly, only to find nothing there.

“ Why, why, why did I agree to this” I speak breathlessly “You all can't tell, but something just tugged in my shirt” Dread fills my stomach as I hit the button floor two. The hairs on my body are standing straight up as the elevator begins, which descends to the second floor. Holding my breath as I wait for something that never comes, the ding of the elevator causes me to blow out a giant breath of air. I'm feeling a little better now. I confidently hit the number 10 button.

“You can do this. you're almost done” I gently reassure myself. The doors open for the 10th floor, and once again, the hallway is empty.

“ Do you guys think Matt is experiencing the same things as me?” I ask the camera.

“ Alright guys, now it's time for the 5th floor. Oh no, isn't that the floor the lady is supposed to get on? Please, please, please don't let there be a lady” I plea as I press the button. The Ovilus at my feet suddenly squeaks to life, spitting out the word “lady” “Oh my god, are you serious” I whisper shout as I point the camera toward the device. My breathing starts to get heavy as the doors start to slide open at a snail's pace. “Out” the device speaks again as the doors finally open. Relief feels my bones when I realize nobody's there.

“Alright last floor to go now, wish me luck” To my surprise, as my hand hovers over the button for the first floor, the elevator doors suddenly close, causing me to jump slightly.

“Exit now” the ovilus speaks as the doors reopen, silently watching as the doors close once more only to fall backwards in fright as I see the face of a blonde little girl staring back at me in the reflection of the metal.

Sitting the camera on the floor, I curl myself up in the corner, hands covering my face as my tears start to flow. Going unnoticed by me but caught through the lenses of the camera, the first-floor button turns orange as the elevator starts to descend, I barely notice that we have arrived at our final destination over the sounds of the near-silent pleas I'm releasing into the air, the voices of my concerned brothers pull me from my trance, as Nick wraps his arms around slowly easing me out of the elevator and on to the hallway floor.

Matt and Chris are quick to join us, rubbing comforting circles onto my back while all three of them whisper soft words of encouragement. As I try to stop the tears from flowing.

“Is she okay?” Sam asked as he and Colby watched the four siblings.

“I'm not sure. She isn't saying much. Maybe check the camera and see if there are any clues on there?” Matt suggests. Colby nods before starting to go over the footage.

“ holy fucking shit” Colby exclaims as he turns the camera around to show the five others, in the still screen of the camera you could see in the reflection of the metal doors the faint image of a small blond child.

[ Thanks for the request, I apologize if this is not what you had in mind and that it mostly focuses on the reader experience and doesn't really involve the other people in the story that much. I would also like to apologize for how long it took me to write your request. Anyway, I hope y'all enjoy - ducky ]