#cw mental illness

[turtletaubwrites]

Numbers Game ~ Part 20

Those Lovely Things

Pairings: Cross Guild x Fem!Reader x Shanks

Numbers Game Masterlist

Word Count: 7349

Ao3 Link

Ongoing Series Playlist: Youtube Music Link | Youtube Link

Summary: You fight to find some joy while your little world falls apart. Is there anyone you can trust?

Author's Note: Hi friends! I realize that most of you came for the smut, and stayed for the drama, lol. Going forward, there will be some heavier topics including trauma, scenes depicting panic attacks, etc. I'll try to bracket the most intense sections off with ~~~⚫⚫⚫~~~ and I will do my best to make sure you still understand what's going on in case you'd like to skip past those parts. Thank you so much for staying with me, and letting me take this story where I always wanted it to go!

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, SH (scratching while panicking), Swearing, Alcohol, Cigars, Smut, Fluff, Angst, Drama, Jealousy, Manipulation, Humiliation, Pet Names, Power Imbalance, Cross Guild boys are VILLAINS, Possessive Behavior, Teasing, Threats, Size Difference, Daddy Kink, Double Penetration, PIV Sex, Anal, Multiple Orgasms, Hair-Pulling, Inappropriate Use of Akuma no Mi | Devil Fruit Powers, Shameless Shameless Smut, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

| masterlist | about me | rules | ao3 |

~~~🤡🤡🤡~~~

She’s perfect. She’s everything. She’s—

Stupid, red hair.

Buggy held Y/N close, hearts still racing, still breathing with each other.

This morning he’d woken up tense, sweating with guilt that she wasn’t in his arms after all the shit they’d been through to get back.

But the arms that had wrapped around him… The lips that had kissed his neck…

“Mornin’ Bugs.”

“Morning, shithead.”

Then there were her tears. More fucking tears today. That was all he could think about. The near panic of needing to make her feel better, make her smile, make those tears stop touching her beautiful face.

Now that those tears had stopped, his mind cracked open, letting that red hair shine through like the first light of the morning sun when you’re not ready to see it.

Gods, I’m such a piece of shit. 

“Buggy?”

“Hey, star! How ya doing? Can I get ya anything?”

“No,” she laughed, the sweetest fucking sound in the world. “Just you, Bugs. Just stay with me for a while, please.”

He held her close, his head falling back against the headboard. 

“I’ve got you.”

~~~🤡🤡🤡~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🐊🗡️🐊🗡️~~~

Buggy’s name echoed through the halls, so loud that Mihawk wasn’t the only one that heard.

Crocodile sighed, shaking his head slowly at the sound.

“Should we punish our pets,” Mihawk drawled, the words spilling out like acid.

“Sorry,” Shanks called as he sauntered back into the lounge, a pleased smile on his face. “My other hosts are a bit busy. Mind if I—“ 

“Fuck off.”

Shanks smirked up at Crocodile, sand fading from reality after the larger man had shifted across the floor. 

“You two seem awfully grumpy,” he taunted, his voice too even, too calm. “It almost seems like you care about your captives. But that can’t be right...”

Mihawk was there, stepping slightly between the two men. Two men he’d betrayed.

“Is it really necessary to gloat, Red Hair?”

“Who’s gloating,” Shanks countered, his sunny smile falling fast. “I just wanna know that my friend and his girl are safe. Can’t blame me for that, can you? Not after everything you did to him.”

“We won’t stop him if he wants to go,” Crocodile rasped, the veins in his hand pulsing as he clenched his fist. That thought soaked his blood in a rage he didn’t know what to do with.

He knew there was nothing to be done. 

“How kind of you,” Shanks mocked, walking away from Crocodile’s glare to stand in front of his old friend. He didn’t look back at the frustrated sound that left Crocodile’s throat at the dismissal. 

Mihawk hated the itchiness in his fingers, the instinct to reach for his sword. 

“You’ve been trying, haven’t you, old friend,” Shanks breathed, his eyes scanning over every slight movement on Mihawk’s face. “Looks like it’s too late to play nice, though. Why would such a sweet girl wanna stay with monsters like you?” 

A clash of hook against sword.

Shanks’ serene face, inches from the striking metal as Mihawk blocked that golden hook. 

“I think I’ll have lunch on the Red Force. Give my friends some time to cool off. All that screaming sounds exhausting.” Shanks winked at Mihawk, nodded at Crocodile with a smirk, and strutted toward the door with a laugh. “If you hurt them while I’m gone, I’ll level this place to the fucking ground.”

With that threat, the red haired emperor left the two ex-warlords frozen, their weapons still caught together in a useless battle between defeated men. 

It was hard to say who lowered first, but as soon as their weapons were down, Crocodile brought his to the other’s throat. 

Mihawk let him.

“You knew,” Crocodile raged, eyes flaring as he failed to spot any fucking reaction on his new lover’s face. “You knew, didn’t you? He’s gonna take them both!”

“Don’t you think he should,” Mihawk choked, wishing it was just the sting of the hook making his throat tight. “We’ll get through tomorrow, then we'll say goodbye to our little pets. Our little prisoners. They’ve served their purpose—“

He hissed, knowing there was blood beneath that press of metal, wet heat dripping down his skin. It was almost enough pain to relax him. Almost.

“You don’t get to decide that,” Crocodile growled, bringing his face in close to breathe scotch scented fury over Mihawk’s skin. “You spoiled, selfish, little prince. Finally grown a conscience, and now you’re making it everyone else’s fucking problem.”

Mihawk was away, leaving the hook empty, except for his own pretty blood. He didn’t bother to stop the flow of it down his chest before he snarled back. 

“We can’t force them to stay, sandman,” he declared, his breath heavier than he’d expected. “I won’t do that to them again, not—“

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Crocodile sighed as he cleaned his hook with a handkerchief, white fabric staining red. 

“And why is that,” Mihawk purred, eating up the anger, preferring it over everything else. 

“If they wanna go, we’ll let them go,” the larger man conceded. His deep voice was almost weak with those words, though his next were spoken with power, with the need to make them true. 

“So, we’ll convince them to stay.”

~~~🐊🗡️🐊🗡️~~~

~~~~~~

Fuck.

You wished that Buggy’s arms could make you feel safe from the parade of memories, of demands that dragged you back down. 

It was stupid. Of course you couldn’t be free. 

A choked laugh tore from your throat. Buggy tried to soothe it away, but the insanity of it all was too much.

You had felt safe. You’d felt fucking happy with these men that threatened to kill you, to sell you into slavery. Even though you were never without fear, you’d somehow felt good with the men that owned you. Felt good with the men that threatened to kill your lover, that had beaten him bloody, humiliated him, then made you crave them so fucking badly that you almost begged them… that you had begged them to fuck you like a whore in front of him. 

Just to escape your boring, privileged life.

All of that guilt you’d tried to shove down deep was back, and Buggy’s sweet smile that had made it all okay felt like a mirage. His loving arms around you made you feel sick. 

I am sick.

He was right. He wouldn’t even have to fake it. I’m everything he said. Damaged. Wrong. Worthless. 

Buggy deserves better. 

“What’s wrong?”

More brittle laughter escaped your raw throat, and Buggy chuckled at himself.

“Sorry, baby. That list is fucking massive, isn’t it,” he soothed, hands tracing over your skin. “Wanna take a shower with me?”

He carried you, helped you, kissed you, dried you, and made you wear some of his lipstick, chasing your lips with it until you laughed and gave in. 

“Why don’t you care?”

“What,” he coughed, eyes wide as he reached for you.

“About my… About who I am?”

He looked confused, almost as if he’d forgotten. Almost as if he really didn’t see you differently. You couldn’t fucking handle that thought either way. 

“Why would I care about your shitty family,” he scoffed, grabbing and squishing your cheeks. “All I care about is how long I have to wait before I can start making fun of you for your fancy trust fund.”

Your mouth would have fallen open in shock if he hadn’t been squeezing your face so hard. He smirked at you, looking way too fucking proud of himself.

“You. Dick,” you hissed reaching out to punch his arms, his stomach, anything you could reach. Buggy cackled as he floated each body part away just before you could hit it. You squirmed out of his grip, and he floated around you, sticking his tongue out while you huffed. “I’m gonna kill you!"

“Ooh, how much do hitmen cost? I bet rich girls can hire all the best assassins!”

“Buggy– mnf.”

“I still love you,” he whispered against your lips after shoving you against the wall. “That’s never gonna change, no matter what happens, star.”

Somehow there were still tears left in you, but he caught them with his gloved thumbs, giving your red lips a gentle kiss. 

“I love you too, Bugs.”

"Of course you do,” he winked, leading you out of the suite. “Ya hungry, pretty star?”

~~~

“Good afternoon, Y/N,” Mihawk drawled as he pulled a chair out for you. “How are you feeling?”

Uncomfortable wasn’t even close to covering it. 

They let you sit by Buggy, let him hold your hand, and they stared at you with eyes that might have held concern. Or they might have had dancing berries behind them, imagining what sort of price tag you had branded under your skin. 

“Not great,” you said blandly, hating not knowing what they were going to do with you. 

The lunch went on, and they didn’t push. Didn’t try to speak with you more than some awkward small talk, and a polite request for the salt shaker. All they did was observe you.

“I want to call my sister.”

“Of course, swee– of course,” Crocodile rasped after a pause, pulling his hand back before it could reach across the table. 

“Do you already have a buyer in mind?”

That vicious growl left your throat like lightning, too fast for you to catch. Buggy’s hand went still on your shoulder while you shook with rage. 

“Y/N, we’re–”

“Y/N,” you mocked, almost proud of the way Mihawk’s lips parted when you cut him off. “No rabbits? No sweet girls? Already distancing yourselves from your old pet, huh? I guess you can’t get too attached when you have to put ‘em down, can you?”

Your chair toppled over when you stood, but you resisted the urge to shove those pretty, round tables because you had to stop being there right that fucking second. Had to stop looking at them. You backed away from their shocked faces, the pain and anger in your blood making you dizzy. 

“I hope your next pet survives a little longer,” you spat as you turned to run inside, fleeing down that long corridor. Your eyes were burning with tears, staring at the floor just ahead of your frantic steps.

It felt like only a few seconds had passed before you were caught.

“Hey, bunny,” Shanks cooed, pressing you against him. You clung to his waist, tears spilling against his chest, bare between his loose shirt. “You’re okay, sugar. I won’t let them hurt–”

“We’re not going to hurt you,” Mihawk breathed over your shoulder, so close. Shanks tensed, tilting you ever so slightly, as if preparing to pull you away. Mihawk’s wicked fingers trailed down your back, sending chills through you while he made his promises. “We’re not going to sell you, or ransom you, or hurt you, Y/N. I swear it.”

Detangling yourself from both of them with a shudder, you caught Buggy and Crocodile waiting, watching. 

“Why are you talking to me like that,” you asked, hating how hard it was to swallow the lump in your throat. 

“We didn’t think that you’d want us to talk to you so… intimately, after everything,” Mihawk explained. His fingers flexed, and you closed your eyes against another wave of exhaustion. 

“Can we just pretend today?”

Pathetic.

“What do you mean?” Crocodile came closer, that frightening face going soft, breaking you down. 

“Can we pretend everything’s alright? I just wanna pretend you care until it’s over. Do whatever you want with me, just let me feel… Just let me pretend you care,” you begged softly. Buggy’s arms wrapped around you from behind before his lower body could catch up, squeezing more tears from you. “Please?”

“Rabbit…”

“Come here, sweet girl.”

Buggy let them take you. You let them take you.

Golden eyes were so close, the scent of him making you sigh while he stroked your hair, kissing down your temple, your cheek, your jaw, before helping to lift you into Crocodile’s arms. 

Silver eyes poured over you, his deep voice so calming while you cried against another silk vest, cried as he brought you back to that magical place filled with pleasure and pain. That place where you’d felt both shackled and free.

That stupid, green, velvet couch. 

“My sweet girl. I’d never send you away. Never hurt you, babydoll. Daddy’s here. Whatever you need.”

“My little rabbit, my love. I want you by my side. I want to watch you, my fierce, little bloodhound. Tell me what I need to do, darling. Anything.”

“My shining star. You’re my everything. You’re everything I need.”

Pretty, pretty lies.

~~~

“President Buggy, sir?”

Buggy huffed while he floated his head across the room, sticking his tongue out when he flew over Shanks’ grinning face. His hands didn’t stop petting your legs while you laid across the three laps on the couch. 

“What is it,” he snapped at the intruder through the cracked door. 

“So sorry to interrupt, sir,” the man sputtered, clearing his throat. You couldn’t see him, but his anxiety radiated through the door. “The final dress rehearsal is meant to start soon. Should we… would you like us to run through it without you, sir?”

“No, I…”

Buggy’s hands went stiff, and you turned your head to look over at his concerned face, almost pained when he glanced at you. 

“It’s okay, Buggy,” you croaked, your voice a wreck after all your tears. 

“We can watch your show over dinner again,” Mihawk suggested as he laid his hand over Buggy’s.

“We’ll freshen up,” Crocodile agreed, brushing a bit of hair from your face. “How does that sound, sweet girl?”

The tiniest, most exhausted of smiles touched the corner of your lips before he lifted you, and followed Buggy’s headless body toward the door. 

“Mind if I take a peek backstage, Bugs,” Shanks flirted, wrapping his arm around the clown’s shoulders. “I always love your shows.”

“Don’t get in the way,” Buggy grumbled. You heard Shanks’ pleased laughter while Buggy floated up to press a soft kiss to your lips, and Crocodile’s wide chest kept you warm, and sleepy. “Wanna watch my show, star?”

“Always,” you breathed, wishing you were worth that perfect smile. 

~~~~~~

~~~🤡🔴🤡🔴~~~

“Don’t be so stressed, Bugs,” Shanks beamed, following his grumbly clown through the halls. “You’ll blow ‘em away at the party tomorrow. Then we can take Y/N, and get out of here. Help her smile again. She needs to–”

“You don’t know her,” Buggy hissed, rounding on his old friend. His old friend whose eyes widened a bit at his words, but still kept that fucking smile. 

That perfect fucking smile that made his eyes go a little unfocused every time he saw it. 

So he turned, continuing his scolding while he walked toward the banquet hall, avoiding that face. 

“You don’t know what she needs.”

“You’re right,” Shanks apologized, walking backwards so he could look at his clown. Look at those perfect eyes. “You know her. You’re fucking beautiful together, Buggy. It makes me so happy to see you like that. Loved. She loves you, doesn’t she?”

Shanks watched all those expressions move under that greasepaint, studying each and every one. Trying to figure out the right words to say. 

“She does,” Buggy hesitated. He shouldered past the red haired pirate, forcing the other man to keep up with his quickened pace. Forcing that smile out of his line of sight. 

“Let’s get her out of here,” Shanks urged. Even with their speed through the halls, his voice was calm, quiet, soothing. “You can protect her, Buggy. I’ll help you. You know she’ll never be safe with them. I just want you both to be safe and happy, Bugs.”

Tears. 

Too many fucking tears in her eyes. 

“When did you ask her?”

“What do you mean,” Shanks chirped, skirting around a servant with a stack of nameplates for the tables. 

“I mean, when did you ask her to come with us,” Buggy breathed, pulling Shanks backstage after looking around the banquet hall. The stage was tiny compared to the three rings he was used to, but he could get used to that swanky, private dressing room. 

Especially now that he had Shanks pinned to the mirrored wall inside, those brown eyes flashing with a challenge, and a promise that almost made him forget the world. 

Forget her. 

“When,” he growled, more forcefully than he’d meant to as he shook himself out of Shanks’ spell. Shanks didn’t answer right away, his eyes roaming over Buggy’s face, concern and charm oozing off of him. 

“The first night,” he whispered, cradling Buggy’s cheek, tilting his hips closer. Wanting to get this stress out of Buggy’s eyes, help him feel good, help him get out of here. “You still snore like a sea lion, Bugs. Mihawk didn’t hear me.”

Buggy’s red lips fell open, but he pulled away before Shanks’ thumb could rub across them.

“And the dance. What did you say to her?”

“Just this,” Shanks reassured with a smile. “I can protect you both.”

Shanks’ smile had always brought irritation or need. No, not need. Awe. Buggy had tried to compete with his friend, had fought and struggled for years. 

“I want you with me, Bugs.”

He’d never felt good enough compared to his perfect friend. His perfect friend that was always in charge. Even though his perfect friend said such lovely things about him. 

“I don’t wanna find the One Piece without you, baby.”

Those lovely things. They couldn’t be true. 

“And I don’t wanna leave your pretty star with these monsters.” 

Until finally, Buggy had believed those words. Believed that perfect smile. 

“Let me make it all up to you. Anything you need.”

But in the end, that smile had brought him nothing but pain. 

Nothing until…

“Come with me,” Shanks purred, not caring about all that greasepaint when he flipped Buggy around, shoving his clown against the mirror to kiss the surprised, little moans from his lips. “I want you so bad, Buggy. I’ve wanted you for so long.”

Buggy’s eyes fluttered closed when Shanks’ fingers reached for him, finding his cock already hard beneath that bright, red fabric. Shanks let out a satisfied hum as Buggy lost himself, melting under that smile that said so many lovely things. 

Melting under that hand that knew his body so well.

“President Buggy, sir?”

~~~🤡🔴🤡🔴~~~

~~~~~~

The snail went on and on. 

You’d let Mihawk take care of you, wiping your face, kissing you, rubbing cool lotion onto your flushed skin, kissing you, fixing your face up before kissing across it again.

“Lovely, little rabbit,” he’d purred before setting you up with the transponder snail. You were shocked when they left you in the lounge all alone, until you remembered that he could hear you from a mile away. 

Pretending. We’re just pretending.

“Hello?”

“Kat? Oh gods, hi! Kat, it’s me,” you panicked, realizing you hadn’t planned anything to say. 

“Y/N? Are you okay? Fuck, tell me it’s you, sis.”

“Kat,” you laughed, relief and joy flooding your drained body, waking you out of your daze. “It’s me. I helped you cheat your way through stats so you would—“

“So I would help you get out of those creepy match making parties mom kept—“

“Kat, I’m so sorry.”

…

“Kat?”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I mean,” you grimaced, hating it all. “You were right. They found out who I am.”

“How much is the ransom?”

Sighing, you leaned back, tapping your head against the chair. 

“I don’t know yet, but I’m okay. They let me call you.”

“… The Cross Guild?”

Fogginess filled your mind again, trying to mesh all of your worlds together.

“That clown,” she explained, her voice getting hushed. “Your clown, and his cronies, right? I saw the flyers.”

“Oh,” you relaxed, picturing that colorful flyer that had caused so much trouble. “Yeah, but don’t worry. They haven’t hurt me. I think they’ll just ransom me back. Uncle’s gonna love—“

“You should really listen to him.”

Kat’s voice was lined with stress, something you never missed. 

“Kat, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she clearly lied, your sister’s shrill voice too easy to read. “It’s just been long enough, you know? Things are good here, and you could… we could all be happy.”

“Happy,” you breathed, not wanting to give in to anger. 

“Yeah,” she brushed off, clearing her throat. “Mom’s coming, so I… I love you, sis.”

“Love you—“

“See you soon.”

…

The snail stared back at you for too long, its slow moving eyes making you dizzy. 

Unease bubbled under your skin, Kat’s strained voice replaying in your mind. 

“Something’s wrong,” you declared to empty air, your voice hollow. 

“What is it, love,” Mihawk asked, appearing on the desk before you. 

“Kat’s stressed.”

“What about, sweetheart,” Crocodile prompted as he came to lean over the desk beside the other man. 

“He’s done something,” you trailed off, mind going hazy around the edges. 

“We’ll help you, darling,” Mihawk whispered before kissing your wrist, your eyes fluttering from his simple touch amidst all your chaos. 

“Please, don’t send me back.”

~~~⚫️⚫️⚫️~~~

The plea was dry, futile, almost silent while your eyes got lost around the desk. The moment the words left your lips, you went limp. Your mouth slack, drool forming, ready to spill if you got stuck for too long. 

Nothing. 

Nothing. 

Just how he wants me.

What looked like panic in their eyes at the horrifying laugh you let out made you laugh even more, your fingernails scraping deep into your thighs while that grating sound tore through you.

“You can try to own me. I tried to let you. But he won’t let you. You’ll have to buy me first,” you warned in a harsh whisper, insanity creeping and creeping. 

“Sweetheart?”

“Nope,” you giggled, shaking your head too fast. “No sweethearts for me! No love for me. Just work. Nothing else.”

“Y/N…”

“Y/N,” you parroted Mihawk again, your voice breaking. “Please pretend. Please pretend you—“

~~~⚫️⚫️⚫️~~~

“Please, tell me what’s wrong,” he urged, kneeling at your feet, your head in his hands. “Let us help you, rabbit. I…”

“Help me by pretending,” you sat up, voice clear when you brushed the fresh tears away. “I want to pretend. I want you to pretend to care for one more day.”

His strong hands gave in as you stood to walk away. 

“Please, pretend.”

You were in his arms, resting your head in the crook of his neck, feeling Crocodile’s strong presence beside him.

“Thank you.”

“All you gotta do is tell us what you want, sweet girl.”

“Thank you, daddy.”

~~~~~~

~~~🐊🗡️🐊🗡️~~~

Murder. 

Murder roiled just beneath the surface of their skin, bodies made up of raw nerves.

A panicked glance shared between them helped nothing, except to confirm that something was fucking wrong. 

Something far worse than what they’d thought.

Mihawk held Y/N against him, pretending to be light, pretending to be the person he’d been for her before.

The person he’d been when he wasn’t scaring her, using her, showing her what a monster he was.

But all he wanted to do was shake her. Drag out whatever horrible truth there was inside her precious, little soul so he could stab it to death. 

She’s going to leave us like this. She’s going to leave here broken. 

He glanced at the other man again, wondering if he was just as terrified as he was.

Crocodile was terrified. All he wanted was to protect her. To never hear that jarring, scraping laugh leave her throat again. It was demonic. Wrong. 

His sweet girl should never be in that much pain.

He had to fight not to tear his hook across every wall they passed, through every door frame he ducked under. 

Had to give her what she wanted. To pretend everything was alright. 

To pretend that he wasn’t one of the monsters that made her cry. 

He sat and watched the show, watching her tired face pretending to be happy while her sick laughter clawed through the back of his mind.

I can’t let her leave like this. I can’t let my sweet girl hold that pain. I’m gonna fucking gut him. 

~~~🐊🗡️🐊🗡️~~~

~~~~~~

Woozy. 

But okay. 

So nice to sway back and forth between them. To watch your clown perform. To forget the world. 

Forget everything.

You were pretty good at it. 

Practiced. 

It helped when they’d call you pretty names, trace their warm, strong hands along your back, your thighs. Massaging your hand while you smiled at the shining star on the stage. 

Even the red haired pirate made you smile with his laughter and jokes, with his charm and soothing voice. Even with that missed smudge of red paint on his chin, you smiled at the thought of Buggy being happy. 

“Look at my star,” he hummed, his upper body racing to you faster than his legs could when the show was done. They left the band going for you, letting you sway. “You okay, baby?”

“Mhm,” you lied, not caring what Crocodile did to you now. “I think I need to stand.”

Pushing away from the table, every eye on you felt like pressure, felt like the real world was crushing you.

“Pretend,” you ordered, huffing a laugh at what a spoiled, little rich girl you were. “Everything is fine and we’re having a wonderful night, all of us together. Okay?”

Your three men promised, their voices soothing, but the forth voice cut through when the red haired man stood. 

“Everything is wonderful,” he beamed, offering you his hand. “Would you like to show me what a wonderful dancer you are, bunny?”

He looked so pleased when you snorted, and even more so when you took his hand. You didn’t think about why you shouldn’t or why anyone would stop you. 

I just want to pretend. 

~~~~~~

~~~🔴🔴🔴~~~

This poor thing. I’ve gotta get her out of here.

Shanks led Y/N to that gleaming floor, sparing just a glance at Buggy. His clown didn’t match his smile, and he couldn’t blame him. 

How could he smile when his poor girl was coming undone?

“Your technique is amazing,” he teased as he kept her from rolling her ankle. “Where did you train?”

“I trained at— shut up,” she narrowed her eyes, so fucking cute. 

“You actually trained,” he laughed, pulling her squirming body against his until her eyes went wide, her breathing slowed. His next words came out soft, but there was no need to hide from his old friend anymore. Mihawk couldn’t stop this. 

“I’ll protect you,” he vowed, watching her eyes clench shut. “Come with me after the party. I don't care about your family’s wealth. I don’t care where you came from. I just care about Buggy, and the One Piece. And now you.”

Those pretty eyes were teary again when they opened, and he felt a twinge of guilt before he charged on. 

“You can be free, Y/N.”

“Tomorrow,” she sighed, body slumping a bit against his. “Tonight we’re pretending that everyone cares, that everyone gets along, that no one would ever use me. Can you pretend?”

The emptiness in her voice made his stomach twist, something foul hiding behind her tired request.

“Of course. Anything for you, bunny,” he promised, kissing the top of her head. When he turned to look for Buggy, he clenched his jaw, fighting to keep tension out of his body while he danced with Y/N. 

Mihawk’s hands were on Buggy, stroking his hair, smoothing over his thigh while the clown laid on the table in front of those scumbags. Even Crocodile leaned closer, rubbing his large hand along Buggy’s back before heading to the dance floor.

“May I have the next dance, sweetheart?”

“Yes, daddy,” she hummed, pulling away from Shanks, not even meeting his eyes before skipping toward her kneeling captor. She wrapped her arms around his neck, giggling when he stood. Her feet dangled while he held her thighs against that massive chest. 

“Mm, see? My sweet girl doesn’t need to be a good dancer when daddy’s around.”

She squealed as the tyrant carried her across the gleaming floor, satisfied laughter floating along behind them. 

Shanks tried not to gape at that sweet girl giggling in the arms of a man that destroyed an entire country for his own fucking greed. 

Poor thing.

~~~🔴🔴🔴~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🐊🤡🗡️~~~

“Aren’t you gonna stop them,” Buggy asked, watching his two favorite people head toward the empty dance floor. Wondering why he didn’t feel happier seeing them together. 

“We’re never gonna do that again,” Crocodile rasped, the strange tension in his words making Buggy whip his head around to frown at that intense face. “We’re not going to force either of you to do anything you don’t want to.”

Buggy was rarely out of words, but he simply stared at the man, his red lips parted in almost comical confusion. 

“I’m sorry, Buggy.”

Those words from the swordsman’s lips had Buggy fearing that he’d died, that his mind was imagining ridiculous scenarios while his body left this world. 

But those golden eyes didn’t fade to nothingness. They kept staring at him, those dangerous fingers reaching for his own. 

“The fuck…”

“We’re bad people,” Crocodile announced, and the firmness of it made Buggy crack up, his pretty throat exposed while that blue hair fell back. 

Crocodile felt the urge to be angry. To demand fear. 

That shit was getting old. 

And his little clown was cute when he laughed. His little clown was cute when he made everyone laugh. 

Still annoying. But cute.

“We’re bad people,” Crocodile apologized, smoothing his hand along Buggy’s back. “That’s not gonna change. But I wish we hadn’t been bad to you. We hope… I hope you’ll let us make it up to you.”

Buggy blinked up at Crocodile in shock, and Mihawk almost laughed. It was surprising to hear so many nice words out of such frightening lips all at once, especially without their darling in front of him.

Mihawk cut through layers and layers of guilt to touch Buggy’s lovely hair, to smooth a hand over his thigh. 

No matter which direction he went, he would be hurting someone. There would be no true redemption for a wicked soul like his. 

But he could start here with crystal blue eyes, and a silly nose. A nose he used to ridicule, but lately had caught himself almost smiling at when he saw it. Fighting not to reach for his little clown. And why shouldn’t he reach? Who the fuck was he trying to impress? This clown was more interesting than anyone he could think of. 

“I am a terrible person. A selfish, cruel bastard. An asshole,” he whispered, staring into his clown’s wide eyes.

“Uh, yeah,” Buggy agreed cautiously, a nervous laugh leaving his throat as his eyes flicked back and forth between his tormentors. 

“I’m sorry too, little clown,” Crocodile rasped, fingers pressing in gently against Buggy’s sore muscles. “I know it’s not worth much after everything, but I’d like to take care of you now. Make sure no monster like me hurts you, or our girl again.”

Crocodile watched his little clown try to understand him. He knew it wasn’t worth shit. How could a few words make up for the terror and pain he’d caused? He fought the instinct to slam his hook into the table at his own discomfort, his body not used to accepting guilt. 

But this brave little clown had stood up to him. Over and over. Protected his sweet girl from him before he knew how precious she was. Made her laugh. 

Made him laugh.

“We won’t hurt you if you leave, even if you take her with you. I hope you stay though,” Crocodile confessed, leaning over Buggy as he stood to walk toward the dance floor. “I’d love to spoil you, little clown.”

Buggy almost fell off the table when Crocodile kissed his temple, and the playful smirk on Mihawk’s face didn’t help. 

These men were fucking horrible.

Dickbags. Monsters. Pieces of shits.

But they were also interesting. Relaxing. Intoxicating. Overwhelming. 

They made her smile. Made her scream. 

Mihawk chuckled softly, and Buggy realized that his eyes had fluttered when he thought about these big, scary, bad guys fucking his pretty star. 

Fucking him. 

“So, where’s the after party, Mr. President?”

Buggy let out an embarrassingly high yelp at Shanks’ question, breathed along the back of his neck.

“Our little rabbit wants us to pretend we all get along,” Mihawk purred, danger and challenge in those golden eyes. “Think we can all get along on that giant bed, or should I tell–”

“Can we,” Buggy asked, looking up at Shanks’ grin. 

What if this is it? What if this is the end?

Buggy wasn’t sure which “end” he was more concerned with, and that made him want to beat his head against the table. 

What the fuck do I want?

~~~🐊🤡🗡️~~~

~~~~~~

I want to forget everything. I want everything to freeze right here, tonight. Never start again. Just this.

“All you gotta do is tell us what you want, sweetheart,” Crocodile promised, his hand tracing down your bare skin after Mihawk freed you from those fancy clothes they’d picked out for you. You giggled when Buggy started from the bottom, kissing up your ankle and shin, shivering when Shanks mirrored him on the other side. 

“You said we all need to get along, right, love,” Mihawk teased, his voice alone making your body tighten with need. “My little vixen… You want everyone to get along inside you, don’t you? Want us to spoil our little darling? Want us to drown you in come?”

“Fuck, please,” you begged, interupting Crocodile’s weak argument against it. Interrupting whatever flimsy excuse he could muster up for why they shouldn’t fuck your brains out tonight. “Please, fucking take me.”

“Anything for you, little rabbit.”

Oh gods.

 So many things. So many sensations. 

Buggy on his knees in front of you, his tongue finding your clit like a fucking magnet. Shanks behind you, his hand holding one of your cheeks aside while his hypnotic tongue made you cry out, teasing, and then fucking your ass while you twitched. 

Mihawk gripped your hair, forcing his tongue into your mouth while you whined before he shoved your head down, shoving your mouth over Crocodile’s thick cock. You cried, struggling against his size, until Mihawk took your place, showing you how it’s done. 

Crocodile threw his head back, and the needy moan from Mihawk’s stuffed throat was enough, Buggy and Shanks’ tongues sending you screaming for the first time that night. 

“Don’t stop,” you begged, falling back against Shanks’ chest while you devoured the sight of Crocodile fucking Mihawk’s throat, fisting that soft, black hair, and calling him his “sweet, little prince.”

“Want us to fuck you, little bunny? Want us inside you?”

“Please, gods…”

“You heard her, Bugs, let’s–” 

“Shut the fuck up, and fuck my girl’s ass already.”

Buggy was already kissing along your cheek as they kneeled on either side of you, whispering to check if it was alright. Lubed fingers were shoved up your ass while your eyes rolled back, not ready for the pressure that was about to fill you. 

“Oh, ffuck…”

“Little bunny likes getting fucked like this, huh? Like my cock in your tight, little ass? How did I know you’d feel so fucking good? Fuck her, Buggy. Let me feel your cock inside her.”

“Buggy!”

“Fuck, star… Gods,” Buggy moaned as he forced himself inside your needy cunt. He kissed you while you fell apart, whimpering and screaming with every greedy thrust. “Shanks…”

“I feel you, Bugs,” Shanks purred, his strong fingers finding your clit. He made you come, screaming your voice away while he talked to your clown. “She’s perfect, Buggy. Let me feel you come inside her. Let’s fill her up. You wanna please him so bad, don’t you? You want his come, bunny?”

“Need it,” you managed to moan while you twitched. 

They may have said more words, but all you knew was their achingly hot pleasure pouring so fucking deep inside you. They filled and filled you while they kissed each other over your shoulder, letting out sweet, little moans while you took everything that their cocks could give you. 

Before they were done fucking each other through your body, you felt Mihawk’s fingers in your hair, tugging just hard enough to pull you out of the feelings you were about to dip into. 

 “Want more, darling?”

“Please.”

“So voracious. I wonder if these little boys can keep up.”

“We're just getting warmed up,” Shanks taunted, fucking his come into your ass with a few wicked thrusts while you spasmed against him. “Can’t wait to see what other tricks our pretty bunny can do.”

“Come here, sweetheart," Crocodile purred from the bed, sitting against the headboard. “Daddy’s cock’ll make you forget everything.”

Whining, you begged to get off of the two cocks that had just made you scream, and onto the one that would rip you apart. 

“Come on, boys,” Mihawk ordered as he helped you line yourself up, their come dripping down to mix with the lube Crocodile had rubbed over himself for you. “Let’s watch our lovely girl’s sweet pussy get destroyed.”

“Fuck, daddy,” you cried out, the stretch of him inside you still a shock after all your time together. “Daddy, it’s too much.”

“Nah, babygirl,” he soothed, kissing your neck while his hand guided your body over his. “You can take it. Take it for daddy. Take everything...”

“My little rabbit,” Mihawk hummed, kissing up the back of your neck. “You love it when we take you like this, don’t you?”

You started to say yes, but when he shoved himself into your come-soaked ass, all you could do was scream. All you could do was pant, and twitch, and come, and then fucking come again when they told you what a good, little girl you were. 

“You fuck our girl so well, little prince,” Crocodile praised, bringing a soft moan from Mihawk’s throat. “Gonna stuff her sweet ass for daddy? Show me what a pretty mess you can make?”

You both cried out, their cocks twitching inside you. So fucking good.

“Mm, be a good boy, and kiss me first. Make our sweet girl come with your fingers again.”

“Daddy,” you fell apart, feeling his lips on yours before you watched him kiss Mihawk over your shoulder. Your head fell to the side, and your eyes rolled back at the sight of Buggy and Shanks with hands and lips all over each other.

But Buggy’s eyes were on you. 

“Buggy,” you whispered at the sight of him, and suddenly he was there. He was kissing you. 

“My little clown,” Crocodile purred, fisting his hand through that gorgeous blue hair. “Wanna make it up to him, little prince?”

“Yes, daddy,” Mihawk breathed, his fingers still making you twitch. 

Buggy had already stopped kissing you, staring back and forth between the two men while they fucked into you, while he trailed his hands down your skin. 

“I wanna take care of you,” Crocodile promised, his voice getting rougher as he fucked you open. “You know I’ll take care of you, don’t you, little clown?”

Your mind was almost lost to it all, almost fucked out, but his words felt heavy, vital. Your breath caught, waiting for your clown to answer. 

“Yes, daddy.”

“Mm, such a good boy for me,” Crocodile praised, tugging that blue hair a little harder while you came on their cocks again. “Show him how sorry you are, little prince. Suck his dick. Let Buggy fuck that mean little mouth of yours.”

If you weren’t already coming, you knew you would have at those words, at the shocked look on Buggy’s face when Mihawk opened wide, at the sounds they both made when Buggy shoved his floating cock so deep, so fucking fast into the swordsman’s throat. 

“Fuck yeah, daddy’s so fucking proud of you,” Crocodile groaned, thick come spilling down the sides of his cock as he filled you. Mihawk made delicious whimpering noises while he came in your ass, Buggy’s cock strangling him, then spilling across that perfect face when it pulled away. 

You caught Buggy’s eyes when he stared at his mess, his satisfaction making you twitch again. Mihawk reached for Buggy, kissing him hard over your shoulder. 

The door closed. It wasn’t a slam. That probably would have helped you remember why there was a door at all, let alone another human being on the fucking planet. 

But the door shut, and Buggy was gone, leaving your body screaming until your other lovers let you loose, praising, and kissing, and touching, until you shivered with pleasure. Carrying you into the shower like they had that first night. 

Buggy returned, helping to scrub Crocodile’s shoulders, making you all laugh under that lovely, warm water. 

So many pretty lies. 

Smiling against Buggy’s chest, with Crocodile curled up behind you, and Mihawk’s hand touching you from around Buggy���s body, you felt perfect. 

This was exactly what you’d wanted. 

Exactly the kind of pretend you had asked for. 

Tonight you only dreamed of the transponder snail, and you decided not to answer. 

~~~~~~

~~~🔴🔴🔴~~~

It was already too much. Too much that Buggy couldn’t keep his eyes off of them. 

It’s okay. He loves her. We’ll take her away.

Those words rang through Shanks’ mind while his clown couldn’t look away from the monsters in that bed. It was okay, even when Buggy left him without a second glance to kiss her. It was just for her.

Until it wasn't.

He called him daddy.

He let Mihawk… 

Mihawk had… 

Now they're kissing like that… 

Shanks had to leave. 

“Shanks, hey! Where ya going?”

The red haired emperor rarely had to lie. Rarely had to fake a thing. Never had to fake a smile. 

But he did now.

Shanks plastered a smile on his face, tilting his head at his lovely, old friend. 

“I’m good, Bugs,” he lied, moving close. He was about to touch his chin, but the thought of Mihawk there made him pause. “You should sleep in there with her. If you come with me tomorrow, then this is your last night to play pretend with them.”

“But–”

“It’s okay,” Shanks lied again, getting over himself to kiss those faded red lips. “I’ll be here in the morning, Bugs. I’m not going anywhere without you.”

Soft, sweet eyes scanned his face, so Shanks held onto that fake smile as tight as he could. Wanting his clown to be happy.

“Okay,” Buggy whispered, reaching for his hips to pull him closer. "You can join us if you want. I’m sure–”

“I’ll be alright,” Shanks laughed, fighting not to shove Buggy back into that room, and slam the door on his new life that made no fucking sense. “Goodnight, baby. Dream about me.”

A bit of satisfaction ran through him at the shudder Buggy gave when he teased those words, kissing below his ear. The emperor turned around before his clown could say another word.

Shanks needed to get the fuck out of there. 

Before he hurt someone. 

~~~🔴🔴🔴~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🗡️🗡️🗡️~~~

Mihawk couldn’t recall feeling the amount of pleasure, safety, and comfort that he had tonight. The warmth and slow breathing of his three lovers would have had him drifting off. 

Yet, he couldn't recall feeling the level of terror and helplessness he had felt when he watched Y/N fracture, the chaos in her distant eyes sending ice through his veins.

His darling's secrets kept him awake, especially at the searing thought that she might leave with Shanks. She might leave before he could hunt and kill whatever had poured that poisonous laughter down her throat.

That laughter.

“Hey, Hawk Eyes.”

Shanks’ quiet voice taunted through the halls, dangerous laughter floating with it.

“I know you’re awake, old friend. Let’s have a chat.”

~~~🗡️🗡️🗡️~~~

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

a/n: Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed the DRAMA! How's everybody doing?

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Part 21

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 |

[howlsofbloodhounds]

I am having some thoughts about, like, Killer struggling to understand himself. Why he behaves he does, his Stages, his soul, his Determination, his emotions, his thought process and beliefs.

Cause like Killer is a clearly a traumatized mentally ill person who is undiagnosed and unmedicated and not in any position to reach any diagnosis or treatment or support or help because he is isolated from the rest of Multiverse in many ways.

He does not trust himself and fundamentally doesn’t trust anyone else, and his situation keeps him in a toxic, abusive environment where he is operating in survival mode. He has never left it in who knows how long.

He doesn’t know what’s “wrong” with him. Just that something is. And he has to “fix it” somehow. Or be replaced.

Like he doesn’t know why his thoughts feel so disconnected and fragmented and like they aren’t even his. He doesn’t know why he doesn’t see himself looking back when catching sight of a mirror. He doesn’t know what he looks like when he tries to imagine himself.

He doesn’t know why it seems like the body has a mind of its own. He doesn’t know why the body cries about things that didn’t hurt. He doesn’t know why nothing and no one ever really seems real. He doesn’t know why certain things make his soul and body react and act in ways that he’d never do and care about things or people he doesn’t care about.

He’s fine and yet somehow something is still wrong with him. It was easy to ignore and not question it with Chara but it’s a problem with Nightmare now. It’s a problem with everyone. He doesn’t know why the body just can’t stay still, he tried to make it stop.

He doesn’t know why it’s so hard to pay attention and so hard to organize tasks and to remember spoken instructions and why it’s so hard to remember what someone just told him. He doesn’t know why his body always seems to hurt or where it’s coming from.

It’s easier to just not think about it but it’s hard to do that when that’s all everyone around him seems to have an issue with lately.

[ickypuppi3]

billy’s mom waking him up while it’s still dark, whispering even though neil’s working the night shift. it’s a couple days before his tenth birthday and she’s telling him they’re going to have their very own adventure, just like the ones in billy’s books. she grabs an already packed suitcase from under billy’s bed and kisses him on the nose, tells him to get dressed quick. the two of them leave in an old beat up yellow bug that she managed to get for a third of the asking price and keep parked around the corner until now. they stay with friends and jump from place to place so neil can’t track them down. billy gets used to surfing couches and staying in motels.

he spends his tenth birthday in a diner, his mom gets him a big stack of pancakes and a milkshake with extra cherries. gets a candle out her pocket along with her silver lighter. sings happy birthday and pulls a face when the waitress frowns at them, just to make billy laugh. she sips at her coffee while billy tucks in. smiles when he holds some out with a “c’mon mama, share with me.”

billy thinks it’s neat. thinks it’s the best birthday he’s ever had.

they eventually end up with a place in california, a little bungalow near the coast and billy grows up with his mom. billy gets pretty shirts from the thrift store ‘cause his mama lets him do stuff like that. doesn’t call him a queer, doesn’t force a baseball bat into his hands whilst yelling at him for crying, for being a pussy. his mom lets him read and keep a journal and press flowers between the pages of the neverending story, she plays hendrix and dusty springfield and laughs when billy comes home from his friends’ house with his first piercing at thirteen. she doesn’t tear down his posters or yell when she finds him using her eyeliner.

and everything’s perfect. sort of.

they have bad days- billy’s mom has bad days. billy calls them gray days ‘cause that’s how the world looks when she’s like this. all her color gone. no singing-dancing in the kitchen or baking five different kinds of cake because she couldn’t decide which one was best, no last minute trips to the beach or sitting outside at night and telling billy about the stars. instead she’ll stay in bed, won’t go to work. she’ll stare at the wall blankly and look right through billy when he tries to talk to her. she won’t take the pills the doc gave her and billy doesn’t know what to do. never knows what to do. just chews at his lip until it bleeds, bites at his thumb until it’s red raw. he’ll get in the bed with her. lay beside her and just talk like she used to do with him when he had a nightmare. hum a song to her.

billy’s still pissed at the world just slightly less so. still has that anger and anxiousness simmering just below the surface and shows his teeth when cornered. he’s still hardened in a way that a kid shouldn’t be but. it’s different. there’s no neil. the only bloody noses he gets are at school, when he fights with the kids who call him a fag and a fairy, call his mom a basket case. he uses fists when they laugh and ask if she’s all there with a finger pointing at their heads, ask if billy will “catch the crazy.”

those are billy’s bad days. sitting in the principals office, icing his knuckles.

when he’s fifteen, billy manages to bag a job at the local auto repair by turning up every day and telling howie how good he’d be, that he knows cars and it’s all he wants to do and please please please. eyebrows pulled together, eyes puppy dog wide and hands clasped in front of him until howie grumbles, throws an oily rag at billy. says fine but billy’s gotta pay for anything he damages. someone brings in a chevy camaro and billy asks howie to let him help fix it up. does the begging again until howie laughs. says get a hold of yourself, kid, voice fond as he ruffles billy’s hair.

billy’s four months away from turning seventeen when the doorbell goes. he’s eating a sandwich and watching knight rider. he’s wearing the necklace his mom got him for his last birthday and- he answers the door. doesn’t think twice. freezes when he sees neil standing there. he looks different. hair a little shorter and more wrinkles. where billy’s gained weight, gained muscle, neil’s lost it. his eyes are a little sunken and he’s still got his wedding band on. he reeks of booze. billy has to remind himself to speak, just says “yeah?” his voice comes out small and neil smiles at him. smiles and billy feels this weird twist in his stomach ‘cause .. that’s his dad and he hasn’t seen him in years and it twists and twists and-

turns out. not much has changed. billy realises a little too late that neil will always be neil. they run again. have to leave everything behind. billy doesn’t get to say bye to his friends, to howie, to the car. they leave a lot of stuff behind and head in any direction away from neil. they both try to keep the mood light, take turns driving and play the tapes billy grabbed. they end up in indiana- hawkins. they stay at a motel until billy’s mom finds a place for dirt cheap. it has two bedrooms and a dingy bathroom, a living room slash kitchen and one hell of a damp problem. it’s dirt cheap for a reason.

it’s above a shop in town and- it’s fine. their landlord is an asshole but they’re together and they’ve got a roof over their heads. billy’s enrolled at hawkins high and his mom gets a job at the laundromat. he tells her that he doesn’t need to go to school, that he could just work and help pay the bills but his mom won’t have any of it. says that she wishes she had finished school and that billy’s too clever to waste it. that he has potential.

billy knows the reason she dropped out of school was because she had him. he just nods, rests his head on her shoulder.

it’s billy’s first day at school and his mom drives him to make sure he actually goes. he gets out the car and tries to shake the nerves off. straightens up and puts on his act. plasters a fake smile on his face and it’s working, he’s got most of the girls swooning and the boys at least seem curious. billy looks around and his eyes land on a guy leaning up against a bmw. his hair’s coiffed to high heaven and he’s wearing a polo, preppy as fuck but- pretty. it’s one of the first things billy realises about him, all doe eyes and moles dotted just about everywhere. he’s got a smirk on his face. not aimed at billy but the guy beside him.

pretty-boy walks over to him and billy raises an eyebrow, plays it cool. he introduces himself as steve and billy gets the idea that he’s top dog at hawkins high, is immediately proved right when they step into the building. king steve, freckles calls him. billy laughs- catches steve looking at him when he does and feels his face get hot. steve just smiles wider, calls billy california and tells him to sit with them at lunch. billy tries to ignore the way steve’s smile makes him feel like the rug’s been pulled out from under his feet.

he nods and steve grins. tugs at one of billy’s curls.

says “i think you’re gonna like it here, california.”

[shoyohnt]

when kafka said “what are you? I am miserable” and anaïs nin said “what are you? a chaos” and sylvia plath said “what the hell is tragedy? I am”

[queerly-autistic]

You really can't engage meaningfully with Ed's story in S2 without firmly centring his mental illness and suicidality, because that's inherently what the story is: it's the story of a man having a severe mental breakdown and going to increasingly erratic extremes in order to achieve his end goal, which is to not be alive anymore...and then it's the story of his recovery from that.

And so much of my frustration with the way I see this being talked about (or, in many cases, not being talked about) reflects my more general frustration with how we talk about mental illness and neurodivergence, so buckle in because this got long (also I am going to be discussing suicide here, as well as very brief mentions of psychosis and ocd, so please take care). There's this trend when we talk about mental health: we go 'oh mental illness isn't an excuse' or 'mental illness doesn't make you do bad things' or variations thereof. These are, in my opinion, some of the worst things to ever happen to the discourse around mental illness. It's reductive. Absolutely mental illness can lead you to do things that you would not have otherwise done, even things that you would be absolutely appalled by, if you were mentally well. What do you think mental illness is if it's not something that impacts your brain and how your brain functions? If your mental illness doesn't directly lead to problematic behaviour, then that's fantastic, but that experience is not universal. It's not an 'excuse' - it's an explanation for certain behaviours that's vitally important to acknowledge and understand in order to try and mitigate harm.

There's also this thing that happens with discourse around mental illness where we assume that what you do in the grips of mental illness is reflective of something that's innate inside you. You were violent whilst in the middle of psychosis? Oh, it's because you're an innately abusive person and this just reveals who you really are. You have Tourette's and one of your tics is a racial slur? Oh, it's because you're an innately racist person and this just reveals who you really are. Your OCD is rooted in a fear that you're going to murder your family? Oh, it's because you inherently do want to murder your family and this just reveals who you really are. It's bullshit. What you do in your mentally ill state is not some deep philosophical reflection of your true character, and the idea that it is is something that causes really deep, dangerous harm to mentally ill and neurodivergent people.

So, now that that's over with, back to Ed.

Ed was behaving in ways that were acknowledged in canon as being extremely out of character whilst in the midst of a severe breakdown. Fang himself said that he'd 'never' seen Ed behave this way; even Izzy, who actively pushed for Ed to embody the extremes of his Blackbeard persona, ended up concerned because it became so extreme and out of character that it was impossible not to be concerned by it. The crew who mutinied on Izzy within a day didn't mutiny on him for months, not until their lives literally depended on it, because it's heavily insinuated that they were hoping he would get better. Because this wasn't the Ed that they knew (the Ed that we came to know in S1 - an inherently soft man who is caught in a culture of violence and is tired of it).

The show wasn't subtle about this. It didn't bury the lead. As well as the constant reminders that he was acting out of character in increasingly alarming ways, this was very clearly depicted as a breakdown, an almost total collapse of Ed's mental health. We saw Ed detached and numb and completely dissociated from the world around him. We saw him in private moments of despair, breaking down. We saw him behaving erratically in the grips of mania. We saw him display absolutely textbook warning signs of someone whose made the decision to die by suicide. We saw him smile and say 'finally' at the moment when he knew he was going to die.

The show basically painted a giant neon sign over his head flashing 'THIS MAN IS EXTREMELY UNWELL' in bright lights, and if you miss that, then it's because you're deliberately avoiding looking properly.

(And, important to note, that most of the people that I've watched the show with outside of fandom discourse absolutely took away from these episodes what the show was intending - they saw how unwell Ed was, they were devastated for him, and they desperately wanted him to get better.)

When Ed steered the ship into the storm, and threatened to put a cannonball through the mast, his clear goal was to create a situation where the crew had no choice but to kill him. I've seen people describe this scene as Ed 'trying to hurt the crew', and I think that's very much a misrepresentation of what the show was depicting. It was very blatantly a suicide attempt. He wanted to die, and he didn't care what he had to do in order for him to achieve that goal. That doesn't make it good behaviour, and it doesn't mean people didn't get hurt, but it does make it a very different situation than if causing harm had been his main intent.

There is a fundamental difference between 'he is doing this because he explicitly wants to cause harm to the people around him' and 'he's doing this because he's suicidal and beyond the point of being able to rationally consider who might be getting hurt in the process of ensuring that he ends up dead'. One of those is a bad person who enjoys causing pain - and the other is a deeply unwell person who can be supported and helped to recover and be better (and should be, for the good of themselves and the people around them).

And on that note, the failure to engage with this as a mental health story is also, I think, why I've seen some people get so upset about the show not doing Ed's redemption arc 'right' - because this isn't a redemption arc, and it's not trying to be. One day I'll do a separate post about how much I love that the show explicitly rejected a carceral approach, opting to essentially put him through community rehabilitation rather than punishing him, and even mocking punitive prescriptive measures (that rubbish youtuber apology speech was supposed to be rubbish and unhelpful), but that's one for another day.

The fact is that the show is telling a story about mental illness, and that inherently means that Ed's arc is a recovery arc, not a redemption arc. And if you're expecting a redemption arc, then you've fundamentally misunderstood the story that they're telling (and the revolutionary kindness at the heart of the show).

I have a lot of feelings about this because I genuinely believe that it was one of the best depictions of mental illness and suicidality that I've ever seen. Within the confines of it being a half hour, eight episode comedy show, they told a story about mental illness that was surprisingly realistic (with the obvious fantastical over the top elements of it being a pirate show - and piracy is explicitly depicted as a culture where violence is heavily normalised), and that didn't shy away from the messier, darker, more complex elements of mental illness (particularly of being suicidal).

And then, most importantly, after all that, the show took me gently by the hand said 'you are not defined by what you do in your lowest moment - you can make amends, you can recover, you are still loved, and you are worth saving'.

[cosmic-d1ce]

q!Phil's mental illness is portrayed so well

it's so clear that something is wrong, to everyone else and to himself but he will deny it forever. He won't admit something is wrong or that these things really are messing with his head

He can't. He just can't do it! it's nothing and he's fine and he isn't sure if he's a real person anymore but that can be fixed!!

He can just distract himself with small tasks and talking to people and accompanying Tubbo and Fit when they want to go somewhere. He can just venture out 300k blocks or go do dungeons or explore those places where he knows he really shouldn't go. There has to be something he can do. Something that will make him feel real again. Can't feel pain in a dream!

None of it was real so why does he feel like this? He's certain it isn't real, it couldn't be. But he doesn't feel real either. None of it is real. He isn't real. He's stuck in a never ending nightmare and he's never going to wake up and- god he needs to find something to do before he starts questioning things again.

He can check on Fit or go see someone else, it's a distraction, it stops him from thinking about everything. It stops the feelings and thoughts for a time but was that bird there a second ago? Is it real? Why is there a bird in a cage here?? What the fuck??? That's real, right? Yes. Okay, it is there. Why? He should take it home. He needs to go home. He'll catch up with the others later.

But he doesn't. He doesn't come back and nobody will notice and he knows that and it's okay it doesn't matter! He doesn't want to be bothered he needs to go to bed. He wishes his friends would check on him more.

He wonders how long it would take for someone other than Fit and Tubbo to notice if he disappeared. He doesn't want to think about it, he needs to go to sleep. He goes to the nest to sleep. It's nice out here.

[askquarantinedredheart]

Content Warning: Slurs, mental illness, Described assault

Volume 1: Isolation

First - Previous - Next - Last

Asks from three anonymous users.

[gor3sigil]

I have to share a story about why I HATE the term "trauma dumping".

So basically, we were at my at the time partner's house with friends of them and we were talking about mental health.

I don't remember exactly how we came to this but one woman started talking about psychosis and her sister who is schizophrenic.

She had a lot of preconception about this and, while I am not schizophrenic, I dealt with psychosis and hallucinations.

So I started to talk about my experiences with that, stating AGAIN that I wasn't schizophrenic but I thought it was an interesting point of view.

Some other people started asking questions so I answered them, asking here and there if it was okay for me to talk about it, and nobody, INCLUDING the woman who started the conversation in the first place, said anything.

And at one point I saw she was uncomfortable and asked her if she'd rather drop the subject.

And then, she BLEW UP on me saying that I was trauma dumping, that she felt like she was partaking in a conversation she NEVER ASKED to partake in (again, she was the one who brought up the subject), that I was being insensitive and over sharing shit and that she didn't like it.

Like, bitch, I asked a bunch of time if it was okay, you were the one talking about these symptoms without even living it and trying to teach people some crappy over the counter shit, but now that she wasn't the Main Character with the Knowledge it became an issue and I was the problem.

I know that I'm open about my experiences and tend to talk about it but I ALWAYS make sure that people on the other end are okay with me sharing this. This was just utter bullshit.

And online or IRL, I just noticed that the term "trauma dumping" is just the easy way out of a conversation that makes you feel uncomfortable while putting the blame on the person doing it.

You can absolutely put boundaries, but don't you dare guilt someone just to avoid being seen as an asshole and make yourself clean of anything. It's healthy to state that you are uncomfortable talking about things, but you can do so without making up shit about others.

[lightseoul]

still can’t get over my psychiatrist telling me distractions like writing and playing video games can only get me so far and that i have to start addressing the root causes of my suffering eventually

[lexirosewrites]

I'm totally expecting this to be pushed to the next Slick Sunday, but.

What are the signs of someone who's suffering from isolation sickness?

In ur "going to urgent care for a hug" drabble you mentioned fever and body aches, but do you have anything else in mind?

good news, we have time left this week to discuss this and not many other asks!

and the fun part about isolation sickness/isolation syndrome is that it looks different every time i write it😉

i tend to say that early isolation sickness is cold symptoms (fever, body aches, tiredness). as it progresses without being treated, it takes more of a toll like the flu (exhaustion, severe chills, generalized pain, loss of appetite, dehydration).

those are just the physical symptoms though! in my new buddie fic, i’m exploring more of the emotional state of an omega going through isolation sickness.

i think emotionally, it can lead to anxiety, depression, paranoia, and even suicidal thoughts/ideation if it goes untreated long enough.

if you guys want to read fics with isolation syndrome, i have two that feature it as a key plot point:

“And The Sun Will Rise”- Steddie

“Community Service”- Buddie

[paroroland]

since some of you wanted to read it, and i'm honestly not sure when i can finish the whole thing because of school 🙄 here is all the parts of Pink Fantasy Life so far! :3

i hope you like it!!!

[turtletaubwrites]

Numbers Game ~ Part 30

I’m Coming for You

Pairings: Cross Guild Polycule x Fem!Reader x Shanks

Numbers Game Masterlist

Word Count: 7249

Ao3 Link

Ongoing Series Playlist: Youtube Music Link | Youtube Link

Summary: You spend some quality time with your family while you learn about the wedding plans. The boys make some plans of their own.

Author's Note: Thank you for waiting, and for all the love on the chapters! Love y'all so much!! 🙏🏼💜😭 There is a flashback scene within this chapter that involves another panic attack/dissociation episode similar to what we've seen from the reader before. I'll bracket it with these symbols: ~~~⚫⚫⚫~~~

Alternate POV Symbols:

🌲 ~ Reader | 🐊 ~ Crocodile | 🗡 ~ Mihawk | 🤡 ~ Buggy | 🔴 ~ Shanks | ⏰ ~ Flashbacks for listed POV | ⚫ ~ Scenes depicting Dark Content as listed in Author's Notes

!!! 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, Mental Illness, Grief, Toxic Family, Swearing, Alcohol, Cigars, Smut, Fluff, Angst, Guilt, Drama, Jealousy, Manipulation, Pet Names, Power Imbalance, Cross Guild boys are VILLAINS, Possessive Behavior, Teasing, Threats, Relationship Drama, Drugs, Masturbation, Inappropriate Use of Akuma no Mi | Devil Fruit Powers, Shameless Shameless Smut, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

| masterlist | about me | rules | ao3 |

~~~🗡️🔴🤡🐊~~~

Fighting the urge to ask how Y/N was doing had Crocodile tapping the side of his hook against his thigh, harder and harder, until his little prince shot him a look. He cleared his throat, downing his scotch before interrupting the other men in their various perches around the suite. 

The night had dragged on. Dinner, drinks, then more drinks, had all passed while the four men reviewed every note, rehashed every theory, and tried not to ask Buggy about his star. 

“Couldn’t get anything on the doctor tonight, but I put out some feelers. Let me know if you hear anymore details–”

“You got it boss,” Buggy agreed, although his voice wasn’t holding much. Adrift and empty while he laid on his back, his floating hands held page after page above his tired eyes. 

The scarred man took a breath, pushing himself up from the loveseat to head toward his dresser, removing his hook before he kept hitting things with it. 

“I also offered some former officers a position in the Guild if they can bring us any useful intel on him or Sylvad.”

“Officers,” Mihawk asked, appearing beside the larger man to take over unbuttoning his silk vest. 

Crocodile felt his lips twitch up, the hint of a smile as the swordsman fussed over him. 

“Yeah. I didn’t wanna bring them on after… I’m glad Daz Bonez followed me here. He’s shown skill, competence, loyalty.” 

The ex-Warlord let out a sigh when long, wicked fingers traced over his now bare chest. 

“Galdino’s shown that he might not be as much of a coward as I’d thought, but I still wouldn’t send him out without a partner. As for the rest of the Baroque Works failures, I would have happily forgotten about that worthless cafe of theirs if we didn’t need all the help we can get right now.”

“How big of you,” Mihawk purred, his teasing eyes bringing a laugh from his frightening business partner. 

The swordsman felt drugged. The guilt, pain, and rage he carried for his tortured darling filled his body every moment, but there was something else pouring in. 

He was high. 

Mihawk had always taken care of his lovers. It made wrecking them magnificently more fun, but now he couldn’t seem to stop. Today, he’d drawn smiles and laughs from his three lovers while they all fought for his fourth, and each moment steadied him. 

This is what I was running from? Caring if someone else is happy?

His reverie crashed hard, the next words uttered in the room bringing them all to attention.

“I’m gonna call Sylvad in the morning,” Shanks announced, leaving his seat on the coffee table to join his clown on the floor, while the eyes of the Cross Guild burned into him. 

“I think I’ll—“

“We don’t have enough yet, moron,” Buggy scolded, shoving him a little harder than he meant to. “Star’s gotta have a reason. She would have told me… Your stupid card is our only opening right now. Don’t be a fucking idiot and give away our best shot.”

“I know, Bugs, but I–”

“I agree,” Mihawk cut in, all of his feelings brought back to her, and the danger and distance between them. “We can’t waste that opportunity until—“

“Why now?”

Crocodile’s voice made the room pause, that deep, gravely sound doing almost as much as the blunt, yet inquisitive tone. He stared at the prettyboy, giving him a chance to explain.

Shanks straightened up, offering the larger man a crooked smile for the chance to prove himself.

To make it up to her. 

“Sylvad’s bringing all those men there to marry Y/N,” he started, smoothing his hand over Buggy’s arm when his clown started grumbling. “Sounds like he wants to make some sort of deal, wants powerful ‘friends.’ What if—“

“Of course,” breathed the swordsman, dangerous eyes flicking between the other men. 

“Can you do it, Red Hair,” Crocodile urged. “Can you play the villain?”

“What the fuck are you talking about,” Buggy growled. He’d finally heard his star move. It felt like hours had passed after dinner, but she’d stayed so quiet. 

She hadn’t been sleeping, she’d just been... still. It had been wearing on him, but now Buggy could hear her body moving around, slowly, but more than that frozen emptiness that had chilled his heart. 

He could hardly think in the room he was in, until Shanks grabbed his shoulder, drawing him in with those soft, brown eyes. 

“I’m gonna charm the sea beast, Bugs,” he whispered, fear and hope tingling through him. “I’ll make him want to cut deal with me, so he’ll let me—“

“MARRY HER,” the clown almost screamed, everything in this room becoming crystal fucking clear. “You’re gonna marry my—“

“Bugs, baby, hey. We’re gonna get her out of there before the wedding, okay,” Shanks soothed, trying to exude the confidence he used to have. This Emperor of the Sea didn’t think he’d return to his old self until he saw Y/N’s empty eyes filled with light again. 

Those empty eyes had branded guilt onto his heart, and he refused to mope about it for the rest of his days. He found Crocodile waiting for him again, so he answered that frightening man’s question. 

“I was already a villain to her,” he confessed, knowing that he couldn’t stop now. Nothing would stop him from fixing this. From protecting her. 

“I owe her,” Shanks vowed, showing Buggy the truth in his eyes. “I’ll do anything to get her back. Even become a monster.”

~~~🗡️🔴🤡🐊~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

Waking up. 

You were not a fan. 

Servants were already milling about in your room, and you wished that screaming at them was an acceptable hobby. Instead, you gave in, letting strangers dress you, do your hair, your makeup. 

The way he liked it. 

“Pros and cons,” you muttered to yourself while they ushered you through gilded corridors. They fucking announced you at the door, as though your own family didn’t know your name.

“Oh, Y/N,” your mother cried out while she ran to you, gripping you into a tight hug. Her wheezing sobs had you shushing and soothing her until you pulled away with a strained smile and empty words, finding your seat next to Kat. 

Uncle Cedrick sat at the head of the table, with your mom and sister on either side, lording over the little family he owned. He smirked at your mom while she settled beside him, before playing with you all again. 

“You can’t begin to imagine what you’ve put your mother through all these months, dear niece,” he scolded, slow to pull his gleaming eyes from her to you. “Making her worry all this time, and now you hardly have a word to say?”

“I…” 

I’m out of fucking practice. It’s time for the less fun kind of pretend.

Forever.

“I’m just so glad you’re home safe, sweetie,” Mom crooned, still dabbing at her eyes, though she was already quiet. Uncle Cedrick never did care for crying in any of his massive homes, even though he enjoyed the lead up so very much.

“It’s just as the doctor warned, Delaine,” your uncle cautioned, smiling at you over his latte. “Your daughter isn’t well. We should always be prepared for this sort of selfish behavior.”

“Can we not? I haven’t even finished my coffee yet,” Kat sneered while she grabbed a piece of toast. She spread the jam thinly, yet evenly, over the bread how you liked, before forcing it into your hand, glaring until you took a bite. 

Don’t cry. 

Eating when you were upset was hard, the heavy emotions seeming to take over your body. You never wanted to be weak, so you made sure to eat enough, even when your appetite was gone, but sometimes a reminder helped. 

Your sister had always been your reminder. 

“Thank you,” you breathed before giving Delaine Sylvad your full attention. “I’m sorry I put you through so much, mom. I–”

“Y/N, I’m more concerned about what you put yourself through,” she began, that familiar tone of a ‘disappointed Mom scolding,’ about to play out. “I know you’ve always run from your blessings, but to put yourself in harm’s way like that? They didn’t hurt you, did they?”

“She’s perfectly fine,” Uncle Cedrick cut you off, patting her shoulder. “Our little Y/N seemed to have charmed those filthy pirates. I can’t imagine how.”

“Apologies for the interruption sir.”

A practically quivering servant had stepped up beside him, and your uncle just stared, a maniacal tilt to his head while he watched the man sweat. 

“I’m so sorry to intrude, sir. However, you've received a call. It’s one of the names on your priority list–”

“Are they still connected,” Uncle asked, already pushing away from his half eaten breakfast to follow the servant out of the room. He didn’t say goodbye, except to poke his head back through the door before leaving. “Delaine, I expect you’ll get your daughter prepared for polite society? Gods know you’ll have your work cut out for you.”

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🗡️🔴🤡🐊~~~

The whole concept of marriage is fucking stupid. Just another shackle the World Government tries to tie us all down with. 

Gotta keep the shidiots all bored, and struggling to pay rent for the shoeboxes they’re allowed to fuck their legally recognized, orgasm partners in, otherwise they might have too much fucking fun. 

And too much fun usually means hopping on a pirate, or their ship. Whichever gives the better ride. 

Buggy almost made himself laugh with his internal rant, but Shanks’ confidence, and the almost nauseating amount of beauty on that earnest face, sobered the clown. No matter how hard he tried, his mind refused to stop blaring those words. 

Marry her. Marry her? He’s gonna marry her. She’s gonna marry… My star wouldn’t want... It’s just pretend. Doesn’t matter. Marriage is pointless anyway, it doesn't mean anything. 

He gave his old friend a weak smile, lost in those faint, faraway sounds. She was so quiet, yet he could hear endless shuffling, the soft sounds of moving fabric, drawers opening and closing, and that anxious heartbeat. 

The clown wanted to ignore his own feelings until he got her out. He wanted to be her hero, and nothing else. 

The red haired pirate had stolen one of his hands, that overwhelming charm spilling out while he pressed warm lips to gloved fingers. Buggy couldn’t stop the poison from filling his gut, and climbing up his throat like bile. 

Shanks is the hero, not me. 

Familiar jealousy turned rancid after all these years as it mixed with all the fear and guilt for the heartbeat in his head. 

“If you marry my star, I’ll fucking skin you,” he whispered, trying not to break apart and float away. 

“Buggy.” Shanks’ voice came out sweet and shocked, his face softening while he watched his lover struggle. “I fucked up, Bugs. I hurt you, and I hurt Y/N. Please, let me help her. It’s your call, alright?”

Old pain had poured into new wounds, but as the clown counted to ten, he remembered her smile. 

You love me, don’t you, star? I’m sorry, baby. I almost forgot. 

“Don’t fuck it up, idiot,” Buggy ordered, the gleam in his eyes making Shanks’ breath catch. He almost sobbed with relief when his clown accepted his warmth, his touch, his kiss. 

Crocodile and Mihawk had already climbed into bed, sitting up against the headboard while they re-read the pile of notes, although the view had distracted them both. Mihawk curled up against that massive chest, the two villains watching their clown kiss the hero. 

“Why don’t we get some rest,” Crocodile rasped, setting the rumpled pages on the nightstand. “Now that we have something we can fucking do tomorrow, we should get our heads right.”

“Come on, baby,” Shanks hummed. The effort it took to pull away from that kiss left him shaky, but he couldn’t be selfish again, not if he was going to get her back. “Gotta keep your strength up for her.”

Buggy let himself be dragged toward the bed, let Shanks help him undress, settling under the covers. Soothing hands, soothing whispers, too much. 

“She’s still awake,” he breathed. Mihawk turned to ice against his chest, the room once again filling with the unspoken demands to share her every moment. The clown groaned, fighting not to break into pieces to escape the comfort of that massive bed. 

It shouldn’t have felt comfortable without her warmth beside him. 

“I can’t sleep yet, what if she–” 

“Bugs?”

I know that breathing.

The clown couldn’t keep track of the barrage of emotions those tiny sounds burned him with. She was so muffled, so quiet. So fucking perfect.

But she didn’t know he was listening. 

“What’s wrong,” Mihawk demanded softly, this helplessness making him sick.

“I…” Buggy was dizzy with need and guilt, disgusted with how eager his body was for his star in her lonely prison.

“Buggy,” Crocodile breathed, violence seeping through his skin. “Tell us what’s happening.”

It’s wrong. I won’t use her. Won't hurt her. Can’t–

‘Buggy…’

“Star,” he cried out, reacting to her strangled moan as though it were his body bringing that beautiful sound from her lips. His back arched almost painfully, eyes rolling white, as need pulsed through his veins. He was achingly hard, and so fucking ready to take care of her, to give her what she needed. “Fuck, baby…”

Then he let out a frustrated sob, covering his face with his hands while his other lovers reached for him. 

“What’s–”

“I believe our little rabbit is taking care of herself,” Mihawk whispered, soothing the larger man’s growing anger, leaving silver eyes to blink slowly at their little clown. 

“She’s so quiet,” Buggy trembled, his lips and jaw tensing while he swallowed the heat in his throat. “She’s all alone. I shouldn’t be–”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Shanks rasped, breathing along Buggy’s neck while he pulled his clown against him. “You’re gonna save her. She said your name, didn’t she, Bugs?”

“B-but she doesn’t…”

“Breathe, little clown,” Crocodile’s deep voice washed over Buggy while his large fingers brushed the hair from his face. 

Mihawk rested his cheek against Buggy’s chest, feeling the rhythm of that frantic heart against his skin while he fought not to pull closer, to reach for the need he knew he’d find. 

“It’s not right.”

“I know, Bugs,” Shanks purred, slipping into the voice that Buggy could never resist, and just the sound of it brought a little whine from the clown’s throat. “You’ll say sorry after you save her, alright? But she just said your name. Your pretty star still wants to please you, Buggy. Remember when she said that? When I made her come on my fingers, but she only had eyes for you? She’s so good for you, huh, baby?”

“F-fuck,” Buggy gasped, finally gripping his swollen cock while he listened to Y/N’s lovely breath. 

I’ve got you, star. I’ll help you. I’ll make you feel…

He almost lost himself in it, until the sound of the nightstand drawer closing brought him back to reality. That lovely breath was far away from him, trapped in a cage. 

“She craves you, Buggy,” Mihawk hummed. The swordsman pressed soft kisses against Buggy’s chest while he rolled onto his back, gasping when that sharp tongue teased around his nipples. The clown opened his mouth, but whatever he might have said faded away when Shanks grabbed his hand, making him fist his own cock again while hushed praises filled the air. 

“Our sweet girl said no one can make her feel the way you can,” Crocodile rasped, tossing an extra towel to the other side of the bed. He spread his legs a bit, massaging his balls before slowly dragging his fingers up and down his length while he remembered that pretty show, and the mess he’d left on her perfect face. “Why don’t you tell us how you’re gonna take care of her when you bring her home?”

“What,” the clown choked out. Opening his eyes was almost as overwhelming as the distant, needy sounds he was hearing. Three, dangerous lovers watched him while they held themselves, gorgeous, heavy cocks freed to the air. “What are you doing?”

“She needs you, Bugs,” Shanks smirked, scraping his bottom lip through his teeth at the delicious sight before him. “That means you need to take care of yourself, alright? Now, do you wanna tell us how you’re gonna make your star come, or do you want one of us to guess?”

Y/N had paused a few times, muffled breaths slowing before her heart fought for relief. Buggy had to get to her, to save her from that shitty, suffocating life. Had to make his star laugh, and smile, and scream, until she was the last fucking star in the sky. 

“Sh-she’s so sweet,” Buggy groaned, a collective sigh filling the air as his consent let them all give in. “Gonna suck her clit like candy. Her pretty thighs squeeze my head so fucking hard when I do that.”

“Fuck,” Mihawk rasped. His mind’s eye made the vision so clear that he begged for more. “What next?”

Buggy caught those wild, golden eyes, and Y/N’s needy moans set him free. 

“Then you’re gonna hold her down for me, and choke her while I fuck her with my tongue. She tastes even sweeter the deeper you get.”

“You fuck our girl so well, little clown,” Crocodile purred over Mihawk’s desperate whine, gifting Buggy with a hungry smile, “and she loves watching you get fucked. Her sweet, little pussy squeezed my cock so fucking hard when you let this one tear you open.”

Buggy and Mihawk twitched while delicious memories on this giant bed tore through them.

“She’s close,” he shivered, chills rolling with pleasure across his body. “She’s fucking perfect. I don’t care where we are, when I save my girl, I’m gonna fuck her into the ground, gonna make her pretty eyes cross, gonna fuck– fuuuck… Gods, star…”

Each of these men found their pleasure in their own hands, yet the sounds and memories of each other were so good that they almost went too far, but she was always there.

Messy, noisy relief was found as four, sticky men kissed the taste of sweat from each other's skin before towels were passed around. Yet, the relaxation those blissful moments brought was tainted by her absence.

Y/N's men fell asleep in each other’s arms, but knew that they’d never truly relax again. Not until their numbers girl was curled up between them.

~~~🗡️🔴🤡🐊~~~

~~~~~~

~~~⏰🌲🌲🌲⏰~~~

“Mom, please.”

“It’s just dinner, sweetie."

“I don’t want to have dinner with another creep,” you spat, pulling away from her fingers while she toyed with your hair. 

A familiar rage burned through you, that you were learning fast how to swallow down. 

But not fast enough. 

“They’re not all creeps,” Mom sighed, and her voice was still like nails on a chalkboard against the overwhelm inside you since Dad… since your world changed. “That’s why I'm helping you with this, honey. I’m helping you look for a husband that will treat you well, so you can be taken care of.”

“I’m sixteen,” you fumed, disgust making you snarl at her. “I don’t want to live your boring life. It’s not my fault that dad never loved you guys, so why don't—“

A soft, wounded noise snapped your attention to the open doorway, your little sister’s wide eyes going watery. Shame doused your rage faster than a tub of ice water. 

You ran, chasing her dainty steps through the hall until she ducked into a spare room, and you caught the door with your foot before it could slam shut. 

“I’m so sorry, Kat, I didn’t mean it!” Self loathing dragged you down, fighting between panic at the pain in your little sister’s eyes, and the nausea that your selfishness had stirred up. 

“Don’t lie,” she quivered, clearly holding in her sobs to keep that fierce look on her face. “And I don’t want you to marry one of those jerks either.”

“Thank you,” you choked out a laugh after you closed the door, plopping down in front of her. She joined you on the floor, sad sisters hiding in another darkened room. “We don’t need to live like mom, okay? There’s a whole other world out there. No more leeches.”

Kat snorted at your favorite nickname for them. It became more disgustingly accurate the more time you spent with those so-called suitors, and their pushy families.

At least there was one other person in your world that saw them for what they were, but she sighed again, her hands going limp in yours.

“Dad did love you though,” Kat breathed. The words crushed your heart, and that cruel truth was a stain that could never be wiped clean. “Maybe someone else will love you too…”

Exhaustion ate at you, no more energy to try to shape the world the way you needed it to be. 

“Maybe. I don’t know who could love an annoying sister like me though.”

“Shut up,” she scoffed, wrinkling her nose at you. You fell into being a sister again, and the desire to make things a little better for her sake woke you up. “Besides, if you don’t like your date, you can just bore him with math problems, or break his ankle when you dance, or—“

“Hey,” you laughed, trapping her arms in a struggling hug. “Speaking of math problems, don’t you have that test coming up?”

“Ugh, you’re so lame,” she teased, crawling out from your grasp to open the door, blinding you with the light from the hallway. “Come on. I’ll read you my practice test while mom does your hair, but only if you promise not to chew her face off.”

“Seems like a shit deal to me,” you smirked as you followed her out, chuckling at her panicked search for any ears that could have heard you speak so foul on such a lovely day. 

“There you are, sweetie,” Mom hummed when you returned, with Kat already rattling off word problems at your side. You let her guide you, sitting you down in front of the vanity, while all of your edges went fuzzy.

Mom’s careful touch always made you look like a perfect, doll-like version of yourself before sending you out on a date.

Not really a date. More like a test drive for the hopeful buyer. 

Your eyes got lost in the mirror, the image of a perfect doll reminding you of pretty boxes, all wrapped up. 

“Unboxed,” a feral voice giggled, but you couldn’t pull yourself all the way back into the room to acknowledge the tension on their faces. All you could do was slump into the chair, mumbling about your pros and cons. 

“Sis,” Kat whispered, and the part of you that was still aware floated above your shoulder, screaming at you to stop, to not let her see.

“Kat, go tell Oliver to fetch your sister’s tea, please.”

“But—“

“Gotta buy the doll before you take her out of the box.”

Your head lolled back with laughter now, missing some of the real world. 

“Mom, why can’t she wait? It’s only been—“

“She’ll be fine, angel. Your sister just needs help. Don’t worry—“

“Don’t worry,” you cackled while you rubbed your hands over your face, smearing lipstick down your chin. "It’s just dolls! Just pretend. Just a brokendollbrokendoll. But mom’s got glue!”

Kat had more tears flowing down her cheeks, but you couldn’t stop yourself, until your mother’s soothing voice pierced through your heart.

“Y/N, sweetie. You’re not feeling well. Do I need to call for the doctor?”

You hadn’t come back, and you hadn’t gotten better, but you had gone quiet and still.

The way dolls are supposed to be.

The only movement you could manage was the slow, shallow breathing that kept you alive, until your mom brought spoonfuls of lukewarm tea to pour over your tongue, your body choosing to swallow.  

“I’m so sorry, sweetie,” Mom whispered while she cleaned up the mess you’d made of your face. “I just want you to be alright. Please, let me help you.”

A soft whine left your throat once you were able to look around, realizing that you’d missed when Kat had left. 

“None of this is your fault,” Mom soothed, kissing your temple before laying a fresh coat of makeup on your skin. “But you’re not well, honey. You need to let people take care of you.”

~~~⏰🌲🌲🌲⏰~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

“Shouldn’t I pick a spouse before I pick a dress,” you drawled, tracing your fingers over the rack of perfectly tailored wedding dresses your mom had ordered to be wheeled in. 

Mom had declared that the suite across the hall from yours and Kat’s was to be wedding prep central, presumably so she could snatch you out of bed at a moment’s notice for whatever life altering decision was next on the list. 

“I’d adore that, honey,” she frowned, holding up another pale shade of fabric against your skin. “I hope you’ll be taking your future seriously this time. I’m sure that we can find a good match for you. There’s a variety of suitors—”

Kat snorted, stepping out to spin in a gorgeous, bridesmaid dress. 

“Your ‘husband catalog’ is on the dresser if you want to start there.”

“Can I have a drink first,” you joked, only breaking your heart a little bit more. 

The pause surprised you, especially when Mom’s warm hand cupped your cheek.

“Why don't I order us some mimosas? This doesn’t have to be a chore, sweetie.”

“I… okay,” you breathed, wishing you could take all the comfort her voice promised, but it had been too long for that. Still, you were here. It was over. 

“Come on, nerd,” Kat ordered after slipping out of the dress, and into a monogrammed robe to match yours, in an elegant shade of green, of course. “Let’s make some bar graphs, or would pie charts be better to rank the hottest hubby?”

“Shut up— what the fuck,” you gave a real laugh before picking up the heavy binder, flashing your eyes toward your mom while she walked toward the door. “How many suitors do I have?”

“Don’t worry, sweetie,” she laughed, pausing to open the door and order drinks. A proud smile pulled at her lips when she joined you and Kat on the large couch, taking the binder from you. “It’s heavy because I gathered as much information as I could. You do have a lot to choose from though, plus there might be…”

Kat mirrored your exasperated look when Mom trailed off, and you cracked a smile. 

At least I have Kat.

“There might be what,” Kat asked while you tried to hang onto as much lightness as you could. 

“We have so much to take care of.” Mom shook her head, trailing her fingers over your book of buyers. “The banquet’s in two days, you'll be meeting most of your suitors then, although there might be a few newcomers that I haven’t had the chance to add to your list yet. They’ll all be spending time here, and most will be staying at the estate during the…”

You didn’t need to ask about her pause, as she cleared her throat, nodding at the violence in your eyes.

“It’s supposed to be fun, dear, it’s—“

Apparently you did need to ask.

“During the what, mom,” you waited, wishing the mimosas would hurry the fuck up. 

“The games, sweetie,” she simpered, the words sinking in too slow. “Since they’re all here to compete for your hand, that makes it a game, doesn’t it? You have a month to pick your match, and they’ll—“

“Take turns playing with Uncle’s, little doll,” you spat, ripping the stupid binder from her careful fingers. “I’d like a break from you, mom. Kat will make sure I look for my new owner.”

“Sweetie, I don’t think—“

“You know, I still have to decide, right,” you purred, sick pleasure pouring through you while you threatened your mother. “You don’t get your inheritance unless I become the heir, and decide to release it to you. So why don’t you go get me my fucking drink, and then go back to following Uncle around like a trained dog. His favorite, little bitch still wants her own berry, don’t you, mom?”

Kat had gone still beside you, but said nothing, Mom’s gaze flicking uselessly between you. 

“Y/N, I—“

“Sorry, Mom! You know how brides get,” you laughed, wicked and wrong. “Uncle ordered you to get me ready, so why don’t you fetch me my drink, and get the fuck out of my sight so I can focus? Maybe there’s someone else’s daughter you can whore out with all of your free time?”

She was shaking, but your mother was too good at pretending for you to read all of the emotions behind her wide, calculating eyes. 

Mom stood gracefully, and almost made it to the door, before freezing at your icy voice. 

“You know, mom, all these wedding jitters have been making me nervous. I’d feel a lot calmer if you tasted everything for me.”

“What are you—“ 

Delaine Sylvad turned to look over her shoulder, with not a drop of motherly concern on her face.

“I won’t be eating or drinking anything for the next month unless I watch you taste it first. You do want me to cooperate, right, mom?”

She nodded, but you looked down at the binder, flipping through the pages for a moment before glancing back up. 

“Move along now. The bride is thirsty,” you dismissed with a wave of your hand. Your guilt was drowning under the sick satisfaction you felt at making that pretend smile leave the room. 

“Sis…”

“I’m sorry, Kat,” you sighed, wishing you could have enjoyed your villainy without forcing her to see it. 

“Don’t be,” she assured, scooting closer to look over the first dossier with you. “Mom deserved that.”

You couldn’t say 'thank you,' so you just leaned against her while your throat went hot, clearing the mist from your eyes before you could study the picture of the first potential husband. 

“Hey, he’s cute,” Kat praised, snagging a notebook and pen from the coffee table. “Should we rank them on hotness first?”

“What are you talking about,” you snorted, pulling the image closer. “Look at his clothes! And what’s with his hair? He looks ridiculous!”

“Says the girl that fucked a clown— Oh my gods, I’m so sorry, Y/N! I shouldn’t have said that!”

“No, it’s okay,” you laughed, fidgeting with that heavy locket. 

The bittersweet pain almost felt good, and you tried not to let the fact that he could still make you laugh make you cry. 

“This guy’s got nothing on Buggy’s style though.”

“I missed you,” Kat confessed after joining your much needed giggles.

“I missed you too, sis. Help me find the least shitty leech?” 

“No settling,” she ordered, thumping her fist on the heavy pages. “There has to be at least one Prince Charming in this giant book.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

Flipping through the pages left you feeling empty, but not as horribly, painfully empty as you could have been in this calm moment. 

“Mom said there might be more, too,” Kat soothed, that awkward lilt to her voice showing how hard she was trying to stay light for you. “Maybe your Prince Charming just isn’t on the guest list yet.”

The names you wanted to appear on that list echoed through your mind, and you had to hold your breath to stop the fantasies that would only make this harder. 

“Two days until the banquet… let’s make some graphs.”

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🔴🔴🔴~~~

“Good morning, Shanks. I didn’t expect pirates to be working so early.”

“Come on, Cedrick. Who said anything about working,” Shanks purred, propping his feet up on Mihawk’s desk. The lounge was empty, but he could practically feel those listening ears. “I’m just looking to make some fashionable friends, remember?”

The pleased laughter through the snail almost made Shanks gag. Buggy’s notes, and rage, and the emptiness in Y/N’s eyes, left this Emperor of the Sea almost paralyzed with guilt and disgust.

He had to get over it. Play the villain.

For her.

“I have to say, you have impeccable timing.”

“How’s that,” Shanks asked, his body tensing with anxiety, fighting to keep his voice loose.

“I’m holding an event in a couple of days,” Cedrick drawled, a rhythmic sound coming through the call, as though his fingers were tapping close to the snail. “It’ll be discreet, just a gathering of worthy friends. I’m sure you’ll enjoy the festivities, and we’ll have plenty of time to discuss what our friendship might entail… I’d be happy to host you if you can make it in time.”

“What’s the dress code? I’d hate to stand out—“

“I’m sure my tailors could whip something up for you,” he chuckled, both of their voices mixing like sweet, heavy cream. “What do you say, Shanks? Should I add you to the guest list?”

The red haired pirate couldn’t remember feeling this panicked. 

He couldn’t seem too eager. Couldn’t risk him thinking he was too connected to the Cross Guild.

He couldn’t fuck this up.

“It’s in a couple of days, you said,” Shanks risked a muffled yawn. “That’s pretty last minute.”

“True,” Cedrick agreed lightly. 

He gets everything he wants. 

“But there’ll be booze,” Shanks teased, his voice promising things he never wanted to keep. 

“But, of course,” Cedrick scoffed, sickly, sweet triumph in his words. “I treat my friends very well.”

“Looking forward to it,” the Emperor lied, grabbing a pen. “Where can I find you, friend?”

~~~🔴🔴🔴~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🐊🔴🗡️~~~

Convincing the other men to give him privacy for the call took some doing, but given how raw everyone’s nerves were, Shanks was grateful they’d let him be. Mostly, he was just grateful that he’d succeeded. 

“Where’s Buggy,” he frowned, charging back into the suite with multiple copies of Sylvad’s coordinates stuffed into his wrinkly pockets. 

“Listening,” Mihawk sighed, nodding his head toward the door, toward the cat’s room across the hall he’d been holed up in. “Y/N's mother is preparing her for suitors today. Apparently, she’ll be meeting them all at a banquet in two days.”

“That’s—“

“Yes, excellent flirting,” the swordsman teased, his dangerous eyes too focused on their task to tear the man into delicious little pieces. “Now you just need to convince him that you’ll be the best nephew in law he could ever hope for.”

“You’re not in the race yet,” Crocodile reminded while he rubbed his palm over his face, blinking away the start of a headache. “We don’t know why he invited you. You can’t let on that you know anything about the wedding, or the will, or—“

“I know,” Shanks nodded, plopping into an armchair, “but something’s been bothering me…”

The other men raised eyebrows, but looked back at the fresh notes, new batches that Buggy kept tossing into the hall. 

“Clearly he’s forcing her to marry someone that’ll cut him a good deal, but as soon as she marries, won’t she take over Sylvad’s as the heir," Shanks mused, tapping the pad of his thumb against his knee, frowning deeper with every new thought. "And her husband will get his own piece too, right? So why is Cedrick pushing for this? Isn’t he running the company now?”

“I don’t see Sylvad as the type of man to enjoy working under another person’s name,” Mihawk sneered into his espresso. 

“If he is about to lose control of Sylvad’s, then he’ll be looking for a hell of a deal to make up for it,” Crocodile growled.

He needed to get some of this violence out soon. 

“Exactly,” Shanks agreed while he leaned toward them, dropping the coordinates onto the table. “What the fuck do I have to offer that could compete with that?”

...

“Our girl didn’t act like she was off to lead an empire.”

Crocodile’s own voice was too much for him to listen to, so he let himself pace, this large suite still too small for him. 

Buggy’s laughter through the hall had all three men tensing for danger, then just pausing to listen. 

“Notes!”

Mihawk skirted around Crocodile’s pacing form to gather up the next pile of crumpled paper from the corridor. The golden eyed man let out what might have been a snort, handing the top page to Shanks before spreading them out on the table. 

“I believe this one’s for you.”

~~~

PrinceCharming?? 

She really thinks there’s gonna

be a "Prince Charming" in

this group of ASSHOLES??!! 

               Oh Yeah!! ! 

Our ASSHOLE CHARMER!  

You’ve got a hole month.

A Game? You can stay & play, and my star will fucking Kill it.  maybe kill you, my babys so

My baby's got such

good style!!

✩

You MIGHT stand a chance.

~~~

~~~

“He seems to be in better spirits,” Shanks smiled, resisting the urge to go shower Buggy with affection, to make him laugh again. 

“It sounds like our sweet girl showed her fangs today,” Crocodile purred. The thought of her fighting her battles alone was unacceptable, but Buggy’s messy note praising her vicious words filled him with a pride he needed to do something with, especially since he didn’t know what had happened yet. 

“She’s afraid they’ll drug her food,” Mihawk reported, letting the larger man steal that particular note from his long fingers while they shook with rage. “My little bloodhound just coerced her own mother to be her poison tester.”

“What the…” 

“All these worthless leeches will be fucking foie gras when I’m done with ‘em,” Crocodile cut in, rage practically burning the air around him. “Think they can use her, scare my sweet girl, TOUCH MY—“

“Tell me how to play the villain.”

Shanks stood between Crocodile and the patch of wall he’d been about to smash, as calm as a mountain against a storm of sand.

Mihawk held his breath while he waited for these larger than life men to wake up from their spell, and for whatever havoc they might wreak.

“So, the prettyboy needs a lesson from the monster, huh,” Crocodile finally let out a breath, still resisting the urge to punch the smirk off of that pretty face. 

“I believe ‘Prince Charming,’ was the title,” Shanks laughed, relaxing when the veins on the ex-Warlord’s forehead started to shrink.

“Not according to our lovely clown,” Mihawk teased. He wasn’t sure what to do with the sight of his two daddy’s getting along, but he tried not to get distracted. Didn’t try hard enough. “You are our lovely ‘asshole charmer,’ remember?”

Something about the way his little prince could say such wicked, filthy things with such a straight face made Crocodile want to fucking squeeze him. Shanks joined him in surrounding their lovely swordsman, enjoying the laughter he and Buggy had drawn out, before reality crawled back into the room. 

“This’ll need to be a short lesson,” Shanks warned. He smoothed out one of his notes with his fingers, tapping on the numbers that would lead him to their girl.

The Emperor of the Sea had his goal, and he knew where to go, yet this mission was unlike any he’d carried out before. How could he convince this rich piece of shit that he could offer him the best deal to marry his niece? What would his competition be offering up? 

Shanks frowned at his wrinkly pants, hoping that he could lie, that he could pretend to be whatever level of asshole needed to get her out of there. 

“How much time do we have,” Crocodile growled, eyeing the coordinates Shanks had smoothed out on the table.

"I should head out after lunch."

"For fuck's sake," the ex-Warlord laughed, wrapping his arm around Mihawk's shoulders before eyeing the prettyboy again. "Let's get started."

~~~🐊🔴🗡️~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🤡🤡🤡~~~

Adam was good company, but Buggy had to spend half the time writing his notes while floating against the wall or ceiling, since the cat went wild for the pen while frantic words covered the pages. 

He quickly learned that if he didn’t tie up his hair, then his back and thighs would be sitting targets for sneak attacks. Those tiny daggers couldn’t pierce his skin, but he didn’t want to let out another embarrassing yelp like he had during the last ambush. So, the clown’s spare pens were shoved into the thick bun on the top of his head, and the more it came undone, the more the value of Adam’s company was called into question. 

But then the cat would curl up beside him, and make cute, little twitchy faces while he slept. 

“Shithead,” he breathed, scratching behind those furry ears while he waited for the Sylvad sisters to stop giggling, although he wished he could listen to that sound all fucking day. 

The way her heart celebrated every time she made her bitch of a mother chug half of her drinks before accepting them made the clown itch to join her. 

“I’ve got you, star,” he promised, picturing all the lovely, gruesome scenes. “We’re gonna make ‘em all pay.”

“This guy seems alright,” Kat approved, her voice close to his ear while they went through the binder together. “But boring, so…”

“I think that’s okay,” Y/N sighed, and something about her voice set Buggy on edge. “I wanted to escape. I was tired of being bored while I avoided all of this, but…”

“But what,” Kat asked, soft, waiting. 

“It’s time for me to grow up,” his star declared, somehow sounding further away. “What if I already turned away a decent life because I didn’t want to be bored? Because I wanted…” 

“Sis?”

“It’s over. There might not be a 'Prince Charming' in here,” she gave a cold laugh, a light knocking coming through before the sound of pages flipping, “but mom’s right about one thing. I need to take my future seriously. I have to marry one of these creeps, otherwise– I am marrying one of these creeps. And boring isn’t the worst trait a husband could have.”

No, star, you’re not gonna–

“Would it be weird for me to say, ‘you go, girl?”

“So fucking weird,” Y/N laughed, groaning as their breath moved together. The sound of her hug seemed like a strange thing to recognize. 

“Too bad there’s no measurements. I bet you wouldn’t mind a boring hubby with a monster cock.”

Y/N choked until Kat thumped her on the back a few times, while Buggy couldn’t decide if he wanted to hug or throttle her little sister for making her laugh, for helping her drift away.

“Pros and cons,” his star laughed when she could breathe again. Guilt ripped through Buggy when he realized that he felt closer to his love when she was falling apart. He needed her to be alright, needed her to be happy, even if it wasn’t with him.

But he had to hear it.

The clown had to listen to her steady voice, and feel the warmth of her laughter, while she decided to move on.

I’m coming for you, baby.

“Let’s find me a husband.”

~~~🤡🤡🤡~~~

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

Author's Note: Y'all... what have I gotten myself into?? 😅 Anywho, any guesses on the suitors? I've got my list and my outline, and I'm going BONKERS. I will say, I have a sometimes restrictive urge to keep things as close to canon compliance/possibility as I can, but I'm still super excited about our guest list 🤭

Tag List: @shewrites02 | @caniseethefourthsword | @hey-august | @chaoticqueen33 | @destinationmars | @novakitten0901 | @h0n3y-l3m0n05 | @dorky-birdie | @szired | @pinejayy | @laws-wife-things | @jadeddangel | @gingernut1314 | @urlocaltwink | @blue-rae18 | @bontensbabygirl | @bbnbhm | @0-sparkling-lace-0 | @ihearthazuki | @mikisspeak | @djloveyou3000 | @mercymccann | @horse-and-writer97

Part 31

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 |

[dreamwatch]

The Last Song

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest

Day #31 - Prompt: Your Song | Word Count: 996 | Rating: T | CW: referenced alcoholism, mental health issues | POV: Eddie | Pairing: Steddie | Tags: mild angst with a happy ending, future fic, the band is a family, reflection, Eddie’s had a rough year

Eddie’s not sure what wakes him. He turns awkwardly onto his side, head on his arm, watching the tops of the trees rustle, light twinkling through the branches. It’s warm, like it is all year round in Los Angeles, hard to tell one season from the next.

The bedroom door clicks open, the sound of bare feet on bare floors as Steve approaches the bed. He sits on the edge, his hand already reaching out for Eddie.

“You look tired. You want me to call them? Tell ‘em you’re not coming?”

He is tired. Not the kind that feels earned, from hard work or hard play, the kind that seeps into your bones and sets up home there, the kind sleep doesn’t cure. The warmth of the sun and the comforter, of Steve’s hand on his skin, will pull him back to sleep if he stays.

“No, I promised them, I should go today.”

“They won’t mind if you don’t.”

“I’ll mind.”

So he showers carefully, dresses slowly, and allows Steve to drive him to the studio. 

The boys are at the mixing desk playing back some of their tracks that have already been recorded. It’s been a struggle, this album, over a year with a record label breathing down their necks, turning the screw, piling on the pressure as the time in the studio drags on.

And that’s on him.

The thing about fucking up when you’re in the public eye is they never let you forget. It’s like a bad report card (and fuck knows he had plenty of those in his time), it hangs there over everything no matter what you achieve. One trip to rehab and they never let you forget it.

He hasn’t had a drink in three years. He deals with it, has good support, puts in the work. But there are other things in play, things from his childhood, things from Hawkins, Upside Down things, and they’re fucking insidious. There’s no twelve step programme for that. He tried therapy years ago; he said probably ten words about his mom, five about his dad, and fuck all about things that go bump in the night. It was pointless.

His mind and his body and his soul are being held together with bandaids. The band have been beyond supportive; they’ve had their hard times over the years but they never leave anyone untethered, it’s just not how they roll, you know? They’ve given him time, kept the heat from him as much as they can. And he loves them for it.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” Gareth says, grinning from ear to ear. 

“Poison’s fourth best album,” he replies, laughing at their looks of disgust.

“Fuck, dude, no.” Matty scowls like he’s been physically wounded. “We’re not bringing that neon juju shit into this sacred studio of metal.” He stands and takes Eddie in a hug. “Fucking good to see you man,” he says lowering his voice, and Eddie squeezes him back tightly.

The thing about them is they don’t have to hide; there’s no shame in struggling, they’re long past all that shit. So it’s comforting to be back here, the studio feels like home.

“So what are we doing?”

Jeff spins on his chair. “Last track of the album. Drums and bass are locked in so those lazy fuckers are done.” Matt and Gareth protest but Jeff ignores them. “Just you and me now, man.”

Something hits him, something about the wording of that. Just you and me now. It’s always Matt and Jeff or Eddie and Gareth, but it’s the two of them out front every night. Jeff who all but told him to fuck off when he auditioned with Wayne’s shitty acoustic. Jeff who gave them their name. Jeff who held him over hotel toilet bowls while he emptied his stomach, telling him he was okay. 

It’s funny how they’re all pieces of a puzzle but the parts fit together whichever way you place them.

Eddie settles on the stool, grabbing his guitar. “Okay, so Defeat the Darkness, right?”

Jeff taps the edge of his guitar. “Actually, we’ve changed it up. I’ll play you what we have, and…” Jeff shoots a look to the control room, Matt and Gareth watching them keenly, “we’ll go from there.”

“Sure.” It’s not what he prepared for. And okay, he hasn’t been around but changing the track list without telling him? That’s not cool. But he’s a pro, and he doesn’t want to fight, so he gives a thumbs up.

The track comes through, and he doesn’t recognise it. They had a couple of maybes they cut, but this isn’t one of them. It’s fast and messy, the floor toms heavy in the mix, Matt’s bass reverberates in his ears. It’s almost punk. The guide vocal and guitar part come in and—

Oh.

Jeff cocks his head. “You recognise this?” he asks, clearly amused.

He hears those words, those stupid fucking words they wrote in Gareth’s garage, Jeff and Eddie on their own because Gareth and Matt were watching the Dukes of Hazzard and even back then Eddie wasn’t giving one flying fuck about Daisy Duke. So they wrote a song. And they laughed until they cried, because it was awful, and stupid, and hilarious. 

Eddies doesn’t really know why he’s crying, maybe because it’s just been an awful fucking year and he’s raw with pain. But it’s not sadness, or not entirely. It was so fucking innocent then, so simple. This singular point in time where life was, well not perfect, he’d lost his mom, he was poor, but everything else was so rich. And sometimes he yearns for those days, without contracts and lawyers and commitments.

“It’s been good, right?” Jeff says smiling, like he knows exactly what Eddie’s thinking. Maybe he does.

All these years, four stupid kids who wanted to be rich and famous. Still friends, still killing it.

“Yeah,” Eddie smiles. “It’s been really good.”

Okay so the song they wrote was called Fuck Hawkins, and I wrote lyrics but ran out of words. I’ll save it for another time!

I can’t believe it’s over, it’s been a blast! ❤️🤘🏻

[shaanks]

anxiety is the dumbest disorder, how's it gonna make me terrified to fail AND terrified to succeed. bbygirl what do you WANT

[caseyscraftycorner]

a little thing i made after my most recent brush with hypomania. i've always struggled to explain to people what the 'core' of mania is, since it can take on so many feelings. for me at least, i think this is it. this is what mania is at it's core.

[dryococelas01]

I've been thinking lately about a particular character archetype that's been really emotionally resonating with me for a while. I've had trouble pinning down exactly why and thought if I rambled on a bit maybe that would help get my thoughts in order.

I'm gonna dub the archetype the Quixote, for reasons that will soon be obvious. Both of my examples are, funnily enough, created by games workshop.

Content warning for, I guess, severely altered states of mind, alzheimers/dementia, insanity, cannibalism and I'm not sure what else. This is a bit of a weird one to tag. I'll put mental illness as a tag even if its a fantasy mental illness rather than anything real.

So I'm gonna introduce the 2 examples first, so everyone's on the same page. They are Nemesor Zandrekh of warhammer 40k and the Flesh-Eater Courts of Age of Sigmar.

So quick Zandrekh crash course. He was part of a race called the necrontyr, they got forcibly uploaded into robot skeleton bodies by soul eating gods called the c'tan and got their souls eaten in the process, becoming the necron. In the process most of them lost all personality, with the nobility being allowed to keep between aspects and the whole of theirs. They then managed to turn on and kill the ctan, and went into a several millenia long sleep. Many of the ones who still had their personalities have odd quirks as a result of their uploads, the long sleep, too early wake ups etc.

Zandrekhs condition is that he does not see the world as it is. To him, his body is flesh and blood. The many aliens and armies he fights are necron rebels and separatists, the mindless robot armies he commands loyal troops.

He has a bodyguard, Oberyn. Oberyn takes care of him. He stands by as his Lord holds feasts of rotten food for prisoners of war he regards as enemy ambassadors, watches his lord attempt to shove food into the flat metal grin where his mouth was. If one of these PoWs or a noble under zandrekh, sick of his nonsense, tried to deal with Zandrekh, Oberyn deals with them.

He stands by him until the end. He knew and loved his lord before they were machines, and he does so now.

(Quick note: some people interpret this as romantic love. I don't but I can see why. To me I have strong recent memories of my dad and me taking care of my grandma whos mind has aged, and that's how I see it. We do explicitly as of the novel Severed have obyron describing it as love). (Second quick note: these 2 are explicitly based on Don quixote and Sancho, one of Zandrekhs old abilities was called something like tilting at solar mills)

That's your crash course on Z. Now the Flesh Eater Courts.

The FSC ars a faction of flesh eating undead ghouls. They are withered and rotten, riding giant bats and undead dragons into battle, devouring the flesh of soldier and citizen alike.

But much like Zandrekh, that's not how they see things. They have a form of infectious delusion.

They are Noble knights. The giant bats are magnificent pegasi, the zombie dragon is alive and majestic, their barren wastelands beautiful and fertile, the hordes of ravenous ghouls the loyal citizenry at their command.

When they invade a civilian village, tearing at their flesh, devouring young and old alike, that's not how they see it. They see a goblin warcamp, a chaos cult hideout, a Necromancers castle. They ride in on their noble steeds, their loyal armies at their back, and save the day. And after? They have a grand feast, peasant and knight feasting side by side on rich and expensive meats.

You get the idea

This archetype so interests me for so many reasons.

Lets start with them as a moral question.

Is The Ghoul Evil? The ghouls have taken part in the butchery of innocents, the slaughter of villages and destruction of homes. They've eaten people and serve the whims of a far less deluded master.

But they don't see it that way. Not only that but they are incapable of seeing it any other way, their senses and minds completely in thrall.

There are plenty of people who do horrible things and see their actions as good, but they have the capability to be different. A violent white nationalist will no doubt say everything they are doing is for some greater good, but they have the capacity to change, they can be something that isn't a voilent white nationalist and there is evidence in the world around them that their views are wrong and abominable.

The ghouls cannot not be ghouls, they can't see the evidence in the world around them.

They can't see their rotten fraying flesh, their sharp teeth. They can't see the farmer they killed, they taste delicious chicken instead of human flesh, drink wine not blood.

They are Noble heroes to their eyes. And there's no way for them to know otherwise. They are doing good, to their eyes.

So is the ghoul evil? I don't think so. Their acts are evil acts, but there is no evil intent to them.

It's a very interesting moral question to me. I'm curious on your thoughts, if anyone sees this.

When the veil lifts.

Nate crowley recently wrote a novella about zandrekh called Severed, from the perspective of obyron. In it he based zandrekh on his experience of a relative with, and I can't remember which, alzheimers or dementia (hence the / in the content warnings).

There is an amazing moment, at one point, that I'm just gonna quote.

So obligatory, spoiler for the novella Severed.

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‘Well fought, old friend,’ said Zahndrekh, with companionable warmth. ‘You really ought to have rested more, but we need to leave. I must commend your rather… straightforward method of dealing with the sorcerer’s engine, and it very much appears to have done the trick. Doahht has gone off like a light, and its legions with it. But without the engine, I fear the stability of the planet itself won’t last, so we’d be much better off in orbit. Are you ready for a short jaunt up to the Horaktys?’

Obyron nearly said yes, but then he remembered the engine’s true purpose. Or what it might have been – it was so hard to recall now.

‘But… our souls, Zahndrekh. The machine… it could give us our souls back. It could give us our bodies. Please, lord, let’s at least take part of it with us, so we can know for sure.’

‘Oh, dear vargard, why do you hold on to such things? You must let the thought of this awful contraption go.’ Zahndrekh put an arm round him in consolation, and continued.

‘Let me pose you this thought, Obyron, in the hope it will bring you ease. What do you think caused you to hold true to me for all this time despite all the power you might have enjoyed through betrayal if it were not a soul? What can love, but a being with a soul?

‘Even if we all ceased to be flesh and blood millions of years ago, which of course I don’t be-lieve for a moment,’ – Zahndrekh actually winked – ‘wouldn’t it have suited us better to live in denial of that, as some fools might say I had done? Wouldn’t it be better, Obyron, just to accept our fate, and enjoy immortality for the everlasting life of merry campaigning it has proved to be?’

Obyron stared hard at Zahndrekh, unsure of what he was hearing.

‘You old bastard. You knew all along.’

‘I knew nothing of the sort, old friend. But since you seem to be labouring under some delusion that you’re a soulless machine, I thought I should at least make some attempt to set you straight.’ Zahndrekh stood up then, and patted his thigh for Obyron to join him. ‘Come now, soldier. Up on your feet, and let’s return to the flagship. If we’re quick about it, we can have this all cleared up in time for a truly astonishing feast.’

Obyron, ever loyal, obeyed his lord. He would have wept, but he had no tears.

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With the authors statement I'd say this is a moment of clarity, not zandrekh having known all along as Obyron imagines. I've seen grandma having many similar ones.

Zandrekh sometimes sees the horrifying reality he lives in, sometimes the fog lifts. And he prefers the fog. There's a lot more to pick apart from that quote but that's what I want to focus on.

Age of Sigmar has a trpg called soulbound, in which you can play a ghoul. If I ever find a play group I will.

Imagine a scenario, out adventuring team has just butchered a village. The ghoul is huddled on the ground, lifting the arm of a murdered young man who tried to defend his home, ready to eat it.

For a moment, the veil lifts. The noble Knight, defender of his people looks around him.

His good freind, the hedge mage, is raising an undead abomination out of murdered civilians. The noble Knight he rode besides has lined up survivors and is draining them of their blood. The beautiful noble lady he traveled with and hoped to court has no flesh, she's a vengeful spirit.

He sees his claws, and sees what he's eating.

Imagine the horror that sets in in that moment.

He doesn't know if he's seeing the truth, or if he's gone mad. If it's the truth then he knows he's a monster, his friends terrors, the people he saved flesh eating ghouls and the people he killed innocent civilians. If its not the truth, then he's gone mad, he's being tormented by some daemon or spirit, he's cursed.

Now, the veil would likely fall shortly after and he'd forget that moment of horror, but let's say it doesn't.

Let's say our noble Knight has a choice. He knows the truth of the matter, and can choose between the veil falling again or staying lifted.

Does he choose to keep it lifted?

I like to imagine I would, that I'd accept the guilt and horror of my existence and past actions and try to be a force for good.

I know that I wouldn't. I would accept the delusion, because fundamentally the horror of what I am and have done would be too much. Reality would break me, so I would retreat and allow the delusion to take me.

I'd like to imagine my noble knight would stand up and become a force for good, redeem himself. He is a noble knight, after all.

Zandrekh sometimes sees past the veil, but keeps acting like he doesn't because the veil is preferable to reality.

It makes a wonderful character moment, something beautiful and tragic beyond my words.

Whenever I think of these moments the veil lifts something in me cries. There's something so tragic about, in the case of the ghouls, someone that is noble, is trying to do good, but is incapable of. Something sad but strangely beautiful about zandrekh choosing to retreat into joy and fantasy rather than face reality.

I don't know how to put it, it just touches something in me.

I don't know, there's a lot more I want to say but I can't figure out how to say it. Hope my rambles were at least interesting.