#iva writes

[suddencolds]

insatiable appetite [1/?]

sooo... this is one of the thirstiest things i have written—and also one of the only times i've written a character with the kink, ever T.T warnings in advance for mess, character getting sneezed on, implied contagion, possible ooc-ness, & me writing this entirely with my d instead of my head

ivan and till are from al//ien sta//ge (a very fun watch which will only take 30 mins out of your life; i really recommend it!!). that said, this fic takes place in a modern au setting, so feel free to read it without any prior context :)

special thanks to @6pmsoup for sending me a very cute alnst doodle of these two which altered my brain chemistry permanently

—

Summary: Till shows up to a dinner outing with a brewing cold. Ivan suffers. (est. relationship, kink!Ivan, ~2k words)

—

For all Till tries to hide it, Ivan can tell immediately.

There’s this: Ivan has been paying attention to Till for most of his life. A full decade before they’d gotten together officially, and some more—this is how long Ivan has had to observe his tells. Always from the sidelines, always with a detached air of indifference that, in reality, was anything but.

All the signs are there the night before. Till, turning up the thermostat a couple degrees higher than he usually keeps it. Spending a little too long in the shower and using up almost all of the hot water. Clearing his throat one too many times in the morning before Ivan leaves for work, his smile distracted, the rasp of his voice nearly indistinguishable—but only nearly.

Now, Till is here for dinner—it’s a dinner they’ve had plans for a couple weeks now, at one of the nicer restaurants downtown, in celebration of Till’s recent promotion. Ivan had booked the reservation a couple weeks in advance.

When Till arrives, stepping out of a taxi cab, he’s wearing a scarf, even though the weather is too warm for it. Ivan steps up to meet him. 

“Sorry I’m late,” Till says. “Traffic here was the worst I’ve ever seen it, swear to god.”

“Was it cold outside today?” Ivan asks, a little pointedly, tilting his head towards his scarf.

Till looks at him, his expression unreadable. Then he nods. “Colder than usual, for this time of year.”

“Strange,” Ivan says, just to be difficult. “But the weather forecast says it’s the same temperature today as yesterday.” 

“It’s probably just windier today,” Till says, readjusting his scarf around his neck. His face is a little flushed.

“Your voice sounds a little off, though.”

Till clears his throat with a scowl. “You must be imagining it,” he says. “It always sounds like this.”

No admission, then. That’s fine. Ivan will get the truth out of him at some point. He lets Till guide him into the restaurant.

It’s a nice restaurant—worth the hassle of the reservation, Ivan thinks. Each table is set with flowers arranged tastefully in long glass vases, empty wine glasses turned on their heads. The server—who leads them to their table in a small, private booth—is wearing a suit.

It’s a shame, really. Ivan has a feeling that he won’t be able to pay attention to any of that tonight.

They sit. Ivan looks down at the menu, picks out something at random in a matter of seconds. Truthfully, he can hardly think of anything less worth his attention right now. He turns his attention to Till instead—Till, who’s seated directly across from him, the scarf still around his neck, obscuring the lower half of his face. 

Till sniffles, reaching down to turn the page, and oh. The sniffle is terribly liquid—has he been sniffling like that all afternoon? Perhaps it’s a good thing that they work at different offices—Till at a law firm, Ivan as a senior manager at a consulting company—because Ivan certainly doesn’t think he’d be able to get any work done with Till sniffling like that. 

It’s not two minutes later that Till is reaching up to wipe his nose against the back of one knuckle. All in all, it’s discreet. Just a quick brush of the fingers against his nose, which is still hidden under the scarf. Though, the look of sheer ticklishness that passes over his features for a brief moment there is...

“What are you thinking of ordering?” Ivan asks.

“I can’t decide,” Till answers. He turns the page again. “It’s between the ribeye steak and the… snf! The pork belly. Is this the kind of place that skimps on the portion sizes?”

“Not from their Yelp reviews,” Ivan says. “You know, if you really can’t decide, I can flip a coin.”

“I’ll pick,” Till says. “Why? Hungry already?”

He looks up, now. His eyes are a little watery. There’s a faint flush over the bridge of his nose. Ivan thinks that if he reached out and touched him, he’d probably be running warm. The thought is almost unbearable.

“Your taxi did take forever to arrive,” Ivan says, by way of explanation. 

“Did you really wait that long?”

He looks uncertain, for a moment. Ivan says, “Not at all. But you know, I’m always impatient when it comes to you.”

Till rolls his eyes, but it’s fond. “There was a meeting that ran late. I wasn’t avoiding you.”

“Is that also a part of your new position?” “I guess so, yeah.”

“I can see why they were eager to promote you, then,” Ivan says. “How productive can late afternoon meetings be, anyways?”

Till snorts. “Not that important. It definitely could have been an email instead. I was about ready to doze off.”

He sniffles again. “Okay. I think I know what I want.” The way he says know betrays the slightest hint of congestion. 

“At long last,” Ivan says, just to be a little bit of an ass. “I’ll call over the waiter.”

He flags their waiter down, waits for Till to order first.

“A spiced apple cider,” Till adds on, at the end, with the slightest of coughs. “Hot, if you can.”

That’s new, too. Till seldom orders hot drinks at restaurants, though he’ll drink tea without complaint if it’s offered. Perhaps his throat hurts, then, from the cold that has clearly started to settle in his system. Subtle, still, but Ivan is familiar with colds like this. He knows it will probably only be a few hours before this deceptively “small” cold turns into…

Ivan orders, too, and thanks the waiter, who leaves with a curt nod. When he looks back over to Till, there’s a… strange something to Till’s expression, a slight distractedness. Irritation.

Ivan swallows hard. He should look away. 

He should, but then, Till’s breath hitches. He pulls the scarf higher over his face preemptively, as if he anticipates having something to have to cover for. The sharp intake of breath that follows is breathy, though Ivan can hear Till’s voice in it. He should really look away.

Instead, he takes the scene in, painstakingly, little by little, as Till’s shoulders jerk forwards. As Till presses a hand to the scarf, presses the fabric closer to his face, to muffle a sneeze into his fingertips:

“hhH-Ih!! hiHH-’IESCHH-eew-!”

God. It sounds utterly miserable, the harsh release of it scraping against his throat, the spray tearing into his scarf. It’s the kind of cold sneeze that is undeniably telling: this is going to be one hell of a cold. It’s not very quiet, either, even muffled into the fabric.

For more reasons than one, Ivan is glad they’re in a private corner of the restaurant, not somewhere more public.

“Bless you,” he offers, once he can trust himself to speak. It’s a good thing that Till is too distracted to look up at him right now. Ivan isn’t sure he can keep what he’s feeling off of his face.

Truthfully, he isn’t sure he’s going to be able to endure a whole night of this.

The problem here is that Till—Till, of all people; Till, who Ivan has been pathetically in love with for almost as long as he can remember—has no idea about Ivan’s… relatively niche interests. That is to say, he has no idea what effect it has on Ivan when he does that.

“Thanks,” Till says, a little stuffily. He sniffles again, lowering his hand. 

Ivan can’t help it. He knows he shouldn’t pursue this line of questioning, but he can feel his self-control dwindling by the second. “Don’t you think it would be better to take off your scarf, now that we’re inside?”

Till freezes. “Y-You know what,” he says evasively. “It’s pretty cold in here.”

Ivan tilts his head in question. “And just how do you plan on eating like that?”

“I’ll take it off when our food comes.”

“I can ask the waiter to turn the temperature up, if it’s a problem,” Ivan says. 

“It’s not a problem.”

Ivan rises from his seat. Till watches him, perplexed, as he heads to the opposite side of the table, where Till is seated.

When he gets there, he stops. Stands, unmoving, so he can study Till from above. 

“What are you—”

Ivan reaches out, settles his palm across Till’s forehead. As expected, it’s warm. Not quite feverish, which is a good sign, but warm enough to be notable. 

“Just how long were you intending to hide this?”

Till stares back at him, wide-eyed. “Hide what?”

Shouldn’t it be obvious? “The fact that you have a cold.”

“I didn’t think it was worth mentioning,” Till says, slowly.

“Hmm.” Ivan drops his hand to his side. He is a little concerned, now. “We could’ve called a rain check.”

This time Till really does roll his eyes. “For the reservation we planned weeks ahead?” he sniffles again. “That just sounds completely and utterly unnecessary. Are you the type of person to call things off just over a little cold?” 

Ivan leans over, tugs down the edge of Till’s scarf. Till bats his hand away just a moment too late, cups his other hand over his face to shield his face from view. For a moment, he looks faintly mortified.

Then his expression settles into something more disgruntled. “What are you doing?” he hisses.

So uncooperative. “Let me see,” Ivan says. Slowly, gently, he pries Till’s hands away from his face, and then—because the restaurant is dimly lit—tilts Till’s face up slightly so that it catches more of the overhead light. 

Till’s nose is redder than usual. He’s probably been rubbing it all afternoon, if the redness that percolates into his cheeks is any indication. There’s  a damp, liquid sheen on the underside of his nose.

“What’s there to see?” Till says, a little crossly.

“Your face, since you’ve been so intent on hiding it under that scarf,” Ivan says, leaning in to get a better look.

Till scowls at him, but there’s no heat to it. “You see my face every day.”

“On the contrary, I don’t see it nearly enough,” Ivan says. “And you hardly ever get sick. Is it so wrong for me to be concerned?”

Without looking, he reaches behind him with one hand to grab a couple cocktail napkins. The other hand he keeps held up to Till’s cheek. 

But then, Till’s breath hitches. “Wait,” he says. Panic flashes through his face. “Ivan, move, I—”

Oh. Well, seeing as there’s no way he’ll be able to get the napkins over in time, it looks like he’ll have to improvise. If Till wants to cover, Ivan can help with that. He moves his hand to cup it loosely over Till’s mouth. Not a second too late, it seems. Till jerks forward unceremoniously, his nose twitching, his eyes squeezing shut.

“hHheh-! HHh’EIITShHh’yYiew!” he gasps sharply. Two? “Hh-! hHiiH’DSSCSSHh-IIew!”  

The jolt of the sneezes is practically electrifying—all of that force, brought to an abrupt halt behind Ivan’s waiting palm. He feels the expulsion of air against his skin, the warmth of Till’s breath, feels the slight dampness behind his hand as the spray mists over his fingertips.

Ivan swallows, hard. Thank god it’s so dark here, otherwise Till might notice what this is doing to him. 

“Bless you,” he says, withdrawing his hand at last to wipe it on one of the cloth napkins. It comes out slightly raspier than he intends it to, though perhaps it’s a miracle that he’s still able to talk at all. “Some cold, hmm?” Belatedly, he hands Till the stack of napkins.

Till practically snatches them from him, turns aside to blow his nose wetly into the top few. The way he sniffles afterwards suggests that his nose is still very much running. 

“Do you have no self preservation? It’s as if you want to catch this,” Till says, drawing back with another sniffle.

Oh, Ivan thinks, fighting back a shiver. That would be far from the worst thing.

[applecherry108]

Being so absurdly late to the game in terms of one piece is insane bc how am I just now finding out that there’s a prevailing fan theory that Crocodile was born female. I thought it was just a silly fandom gag, what the fuck do you mean it could be potentially true?? 😭

[cosmicrhetoric]

i don't know if fishman island era sanji is genuine flanderization or im somehow giving him too much and too little credit at the same time. and maybe i was just frustrated that he regressed so bad after two years on Gender Island when i erroneously assumed (after watching iva + co at impel down express that queerness is as close to the ultimate ideal of freedom that one piece is about as you can get) that he would be better for the experience. and i know im going to turn around on him by the time i get to whole cake island but literally brother can we cut this shit out lmao

[hauntingblue]

The marines calling Roger the worst man of the world is something but considering ace renounced him and luffy kinda blindly admires him bc we don't really know much about what he has done past his travels....

[kermit-coded]

Like A Dog At The Shrine Of Your Lies (1319 words) by kermit_coded Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: One Piece (Anime & Manga) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Koala & Sabo (One Piece), Monkey D. Luffy & Portgas D. Ace & Sabo, Emporio Ivankov & Sabo, Monkey D. Dragon & Sabo, Nico Robin & Sabo Characters: Sabo (One Piece), Koala (One Piece), Monkey D. Dragon, Emporio Ivankov, Nico Robin Additional Tags: Inspired by Tumblr, Grief/Mourning, Hurt No Comfort, Dead Portgas D. Ace, Post-Marineford, ASL Brothers (One Piece), Character Study, Government Corruption, fuck the world government all my homies hate the world government, POV Sabo (One Piece), Mentioned Monkey D. Garp, Mental Instability, Sabo (One Piece) Needs a Hug, Sabo-centric (One Piece), Mentioned Monkey D. Luffy, Title from a Hozier Song, Past Character Death, waffled on whether or not to tag it as that or mcd, but decided on past bc it takes place a year after marineford, Mild Gore, Emetophobia, Panic Attacks, Survivor Guilt, Sabo (One Piece) is a Mess, hes hanging onto his sanity by a very thin thread at this point, Emotional self-harm Series: Part 32 of yo ho yo ho (one piece fics), Part 7 of asl trio fics Summary: The events of Marineford were filmed in their entirety.

[katierosefun]

Howdy Caroline, I saw a post about Talk shop Tuesday so I thought I'd be nosy on main. I wonder, how does research factor into your fic writing, and what was the most taxing research you had to do for a fic? 🐸

oooh hi, iva!!! thank you so much for shooting the ask--god knows i always love talking about fic!

to answer your question: i think most of my fic-related research is limited to "what episode did character x do this/say that", just so that i have the timeline of events down. i know it's not the end of the world if i don't perfectly remember how a certain scene went down, but i can't help it--i like being precise when it comes to at least recalling canon events.

outside of that specific brand of research (just making sure my timeline/recitation of quotes is all set), i'll sometimes do wilder research for like ... au projects that are set in a different time. that doesn't happen often (i think the reason why i tend not to write au's that are set other than present day is specifically because i get overwhelmed by the amount of research to be done), but when it does, i'm usually stuck researching for hours. that's probably why i just never got around to posting this one period jwds au i have. the plot keeps shifting, mostly to suit the research that i've done. deep sigh. one day i swear i'll finish writing that story and post it, but right now it's just gotten a little away from me. it's marinating.

outside of that story though, i think i've been lucky enough to not need to do too much research for fics . . . maybe that'll change one day (especially if i ever fall in love with a more period-drama-esque story), but ! ! ! as of now, i think my research time really only takes up 10 - 15% of my fic writing process.

[catsafarithewriter]

A/N: I’m starting to think ya’ll are lying about getting poll privileges. Anyway, part 9!

x

Haru turned the ribbon over in her hands while the carriage bumped around her. The ends were marked with their initials – pre-marriage – and Haru tried not to think of another wedding ribbon she’d encountered not so long ago.  

Across from her sat Baron. Her (temporary) husband. 

Wary of not being too presumptuous, he’d gone out of his way to take the seat opposite her, rather than taking the one at her side. The only slight issue with this act of chivalry was that Muta had already been occupying most of that side of the carriage. The two Cats were elbow-to-elbow and were doing their best to make it look manageable. 

“It’s usual for one of the newly-weds to wear it for the following day,” Baron remarked, probably meaning to be helpful, but mostly managing to make Haru very aware her fidgeting was rather overt. “We probably should adhere to that tradition, if nothing else if to keep my family’s suspicions at bay.”

“Are they likely to be suspicious?” Haru asked. 

“Well, I am turning up with a bride who I failed to mention until yesterday.”

“So you have told them?”

Baron hesitated. “My uncle has passed it on to the rest of the family.”

“You haven’t even given them the news yourself?” she demanded. 

Baron held up his hands defensively – or as best he could while his shoulders were pinned between Muta and the carriage door. “For what it’s worth, I discovered my sister’s wedding through a great aunt.”

“So yer whole family’s like this,” Muta grunted. 

“Not – not all of them,” Baron said, although the hesitation made it sound as if such folk were in the minority. “My uncle on my mother’s side – Toto – is a fairly down-to-earth Cat. He’s also,” Baron added, “the only family member who knows the true circumstances of our marriage.”

Muta coughed, with what might have been covering for a laugh. “Yer have an uncle called Toto? Like the Wizard of Oz dog?”

Haru kicked Muta’s foot. “Says the Cat who goes by Muta No Last Name. Be nice. Or,” she added, remembering just who she was talking to, “at least civil.”

“Toto won’t tell anyone the realities of our situation,” Baron assured them. “He may doubt my sanity, sometimes, but he’s loyal.” 

“That’s at least one thing we can agree on,” Muta muttered. 

Haru kicked Muta’s foot again. To Baron, she asked, “Do you think they’ll like me? Your family, I mean?”

“What do you care, Chicky? It ain’t like yer sticking around for the long term.”

“They’ll love you,” Baron promised. “And you won’t be the only new addition to the family; my sister is bringing along her recently-wedded wife too, remember? And, if my sister is still the same as ever, I’m sure she’ll be hoarding all the limelight.”

Haru thought back to Baron’s (brief, it had to be said) cape phase, and somehow doubted that this elusive sister had inherited all the dramatics the von Gikkingen family had to offer. She held out the ribbon to her ‘husband’. “Since this started life as your bowtie, do you want to be the one to wear it?”

“Seems sensible.”

"Well, that’s no good,” Muta said once Baron had returned the tie to its rightful place. “Yer can’t see the ends.”

“Are the ends important?” Haru asked. 

“If yer can’t see the initials, it just looks like an ordinary tie. You’d better put it into yer hair, Chicky.”

Haru grinned. “Aw, I didn’t know you were such a romantic.”

“If yer gonna be sticking with this ridiculous ruse, you might as well make it convincing. Right, Fancypants?”

Baron’s whiskers twitched with only a hint of irritation at the nickname, but he removed the bowtie, passing it across to Haru without any complaint. She turned it over in her hands, preparing to set it into her hair, when her eyes lingered over the initials. “Hey, Baron, what’s the ‘A’ stand for? Your side says ‘B.H.A.vG’?”

There was a flash of something which may have been mortification on Baron’s face. “That must have been a mistake.”

“But they used your birth certificate to validate the paperwork?”

“Yes, but you recall our clerk,” Baron said. “He was a few fish short of a lake.” 

 “You’ve got a secret middle name and you won’t tell your wife?” Haru demanded, faux-insulted. Her hand pressed against her heart. “We’ve been married not even two days, and you’re already keeping things from me! Oh, the betrayal!”

Muta grinned. “Good luck, Baron.” 

“Haru, you know my first name is Humbert,” Baron said. “Don’t you think that if my middle name was any less embarrassing, I would be going by that? Not all of us were blessed with reasonable names like Haru Yoshyko.”

There was a pause. 

“Yoshyko,” Haru echoed. 

Muta snorted. 

“Yes,” Baron said. “I – that is, was, your name, was it not? Am I... Is that the wrong pronunciation?”

“Oh, no, it’s perfect,” Haru replied.

Muta’s snorted again, and this time his shoulders began to shake with unshed laughter. 

“I rather feel,” Baron said slowly, “that you might be lying to me, dear wife of mine.”

“And whyever would I lie to you, Baron Humbert Ambrose von Gikkingen?”

“That was a good guess, but wrong.”

“Albert?”

“No.”

“Antigone?”

“No, and it’s pronounced ‘an-tig-gony’ not ‘anti-gone’.” 

“Bold words from the Cat who can’t even remember his wife’s maiden name.”

Muta leant back in his seat, grinning. “You’re perfect for each other.”

[warraigoe]

i know i said i was gonna watch kfp2, but i wound up watching trolls 3 and why is that the best movie in the franchise. 💀

[mycrappyrpsideblog]

Iva Khalir

[TW: Parental abuse, physical abuse, manipulation, and trauma] This is a short story about Iva’s past starting with her history with her father and ending with her first meeting with her partner Raivo.

It ended up rather long so here’s the link to the word document for easier reading.

[nerendus]

I forgot how much I love religious horror (horny) ((evil horny)).

I tried out Libre Office and it's...not the best, so I'm sticking with Docs for a bit until I can find a suitable replacement, but now, every WIP title is just going to be "i don't wanna be here" because I no longer feel at home on Docs.

[tiffanylamps]

i may have said this before, but i want all my mutuals to know that in my mind you have an english accent, even if i know you're from a different country. i'm sorry.

[hauntingblue]

Adding to my asexual reproduction is real in one piece post: there is a guy that ate the preggo preggo no mi and can make anyone pregnant with a pretty close clone of themselves

[ivaverseblog]

🌻Ladies of Blaine house

Meet the ladies of the Blaine house from my webcomic (new title to be announced)! respectively: Serenity, Clara (Clarabella), Ashley, Supah, and Astra. Non-related house members inhabiting the same house owned by the Blaines. (I'm sorry that's all I can talk about them for now).

just a few tweaks here and there in their designs since i like their originals. wanted to quick draw my gals so i used this prompt as an excuse (haha). i may have took some liberties with the consistency of the marigold colour. hopefully based on how the size of the shirt hangs on their body one can presume their size differences.

As for the reboot of the webcomic, I'm still in the process of writing the chapter outlines. i may have said this before but writing is hard =~=;;). Nonetheless I want to finish the chapter outlines by next year so that I can move into drawing storyboards.

[extrashortshorts]

“That’s the secret that Ivankov knows.” WRETCHING, dying laughing over the mental image of Iva looking over Crocodiles shoulder while he pretends to write down important business and looking at his little drawn Crocoself like “Is that your Fursona? That’s fabulous!!”

It's about 🫴 and about🐊🐊🐊

[eroguron0nsense]

The Mysterious Mysteries of Mr Sir Crocodile (Character Analysis)

(Apologies in advance for discrepancies from my usual tone and for holding off on everyone who voted for this on my last poll. Honest to God I hope y'all enjoy this in some capacity because I've been procrastinating on this meta so long it's derailed ALL my other One Piece writing and I only accomplished it through addy-fuelled mania)

This was such a fucking pain to write. I really wanted to say something about Crocodile and what makes him so fascinating that wasn't like, another fan theory or just a set of headcanons, but that's easier said than done?? We could boil it down to immaculate design, screen presence, attitude, or just the fact that he got brought back as an unlikely ally who shocked everyone by saving the protagonist, but I don't know that those factors in and of themselves make for a villain who's become such an object of fandom obsession.

Whatever it is, it's certainly not backstory or depth, because 24 years and hundreds and hundreds of chapters after his introduction, we still know nothing about Sir Crocowani's past beyond a vague confrontation with the Late Great Edward Newgate (that apparently like, ruined his dreams or something?), and some totally-not-just-a-threat-to-out-him-if-he-betrayed-the-alliance blackmail material the Queen of the Queers is holding over his sandy reptilian ass. I was born and grew into adulthood in the time it took Oda to tell the world fuck all about where he's from or his inner thoughts, or his actual honest motivations and traumas.

All we have about this character are questions. Why did he save Luffy and Ace –very conspicuously after both of their lineages were revealed to the world– against all logic and reason? Does he have ties to the revolutionaries? Is he the long-lost son of Rocks D. Xebec? Did he bounce on Comrade Dragon's Monkey D and squirt out the fucking Warrior of Liberation? I assume Oda's going to tell us more about him, but at this point, he's managed to keep a tighter lid on Sir Crocs, Inc.'s past than the fucking Secret History

You may be wondering, dear reader: what the fuck is my point? What is there, at this final stage of Long Running Pirate Manga, for me–Frankie EroGuroNonsense, OP Tumblr Community Z-lister with like, 7 mildly popular meta posts under my belt–to write about the legendary Sir Krokorok that hasn't already been said or theorized? What eagle-eyed observations did I make while rereading Alabasta and writing toxic Crobin fanfic? Am I going anywhere with this? Sorta. Yeah.

Let's start with listing things we actually know about Crockpot, in roughly chronological (??) order: –attended Gol D.'s execution way back when he was my age, along with anyone else who's anyone from his generation.

–At some point, met and was known well enough by Iva that she could effectively blackmail him

–Made it far enough on the Grand Line, somehow getting to the New World, and managed to pick up an 81,000,000 bounty (low end for a warlord, presumably scouted fairly early in his career)

–Wanted to be Pirate King until he gave up on it, not 100% explicitly confirmed but most likely due to getting his ass beat so badly by Whitebeard that he settled for picking off small fry and racketeering behind a government desk job. This makes him profoundly relatable to the rest of us depressed fucking losers who acquiesce to our own mediocrity.

–At 30, after presumably licking his wounds for a hot minute, sets up shop in Alabasta, comes up with a clever evil plan to quietly build up enough arms to conquer the world with a WMD, and then gets his years-long bioterrorist coup attempt foiled by a 17-year-old.

The rest we know: after a brief moment of glory as the unsung MVP of Impel Down/Marineford, he immediately reverts to Failguy Mode, gives all his money to a literal clown, and consequently gets roped into the neverending uncontrollable PR nightmare that is Cross Guild. It's still super vague and we know little to nothing about his past before the Alabasta Saga (for all we know he had a fling with King Cobra)

...Onto his personality and mannerisms. This shit's a lot more revealing. Superficially, he's everything: immaculate Bond villain levels of charismatic villainy, unbelievably ostentatious, dripped out like a Pimp, constantly smoking cigars, absolutely dripping with smugness and grease and disdain. Owns exotic pets and a giant casino, and spends every waking moment either grinning like a maniac when he's got the upper hand or storming around in a fucking mood when anything goes mildly wrong.

He's also pretty hardened underneath all that, obviously couldn't have lived a day on the grand line or survived Impel Down Torture otherwise. But even in Alabasta, Crockery gives off an air of being distinctly more grounded and willing to get his hands dirty than other flashy, established villains who flaunt their wealth and status. A big part of it is just his really hyper-masculine indomitable tough guy persona, but even early on he's very much micromanaging his operation, fighting people hand to hand in (as opposed to, say, Doffy, who literally puppeteers people while lounging around) and makes a point to keep almost all of his followers at a distance and rely on them as little as possible. He rants a bit about how dreams and whatnot are pointless follies, as One Piece antagonists tend to do, and repeatedly taunts Vivi about how her idealism can't save her, but with the context that he wanted to find Laughtale himself, it feels a lot like projection.

The character trait that's harped on a LOT in canon, and probably the most pertinent one to whatever demons he has, is Croconaw's profound pathological distrust for everyone around him. It's a huge part of what makes him a good early foil to the Nefertari family and the Straw Hats, whose collective strength is derived from organic human connection; Crocalor, by contrast, makes sure that up until the very last moment, he keeps most of his people so distant from him that they genuinely have no idea he's even their boss. His relationship with Robin is interesting, but he turns on her immediately when he realizes she either can't or won't give him the location of Pluton and has his dramatic stabbing/"I forgive you" lines about how he never trusted her or anyone from the start. He says the same shit to Mihawk when he suggests they join forces, even citing their mutual distrust as a kind of paradoxical justification for why they'd actually work well together.

Arguably the only exception is Daz Bones, but even that relationship is still a pretty reserved one; one of the few traits Daz exhibits is a similar avoidance of human connections to his boss and even though they've ironically formed a bond despite it, I can't imagine that they're emotionally close. I find these more explicit declarations of paranoia a lot less indicative of what's actually going on in Croconut's head than subtext, but I feel inclined to mention them just because it more or less tells us that his background/trauma has something to do either with betrayal or alternatively just being jaded and deprived to the point of self-isolation.

Krookodile's character gets a little bit more interesting when we get to see him again in Impel Down being a smug little manipulative rascal right up until he gets blackmailed by his endocrinologist, which is definitely medical malpractice but also funny as hell. I also appreciate that literally the first thing he does after getting out of his cell is change into a big coat and cravat to keep up appearances, but it's not until Marineford proper that things get really complicated. Saving Luffy and Ace is the first selfless thing we see Crobat do–while yelling at Luffy that he needs to protect what matters to him properly, no less– and he just keeps fighting for them after that, teaming up with his most hated rival crew to cover Luffy's retreat and telling the entire WG to go fuck itself multiple times over. He fights everyone on sight with no regard for his own safety, talks mad shit to Doffy, and demonstrates a genuinely compelling amount of honest to god chivalry.

For a short time, we see Crocomotive less as a really entertaining cartoon villain and more as a person with hidden, profound emotions and a confusing moral code that's seemingly incompatible with the vicious little creature we met in Alabasta. We come to understand, in a few very brief lines that give us way more questions than answers, that Cromagnon has deep-seated, emotional convictions he actively suppresses, and that whatever baggage he has is probably tied to wanting to or failing to save something of his own. His resentment of Newgate, who he really really wants to have a go at (despite theoretically no longer caring about the ambitions of his youth) is indicative of a desire to revisit the fight that probably ruined his dream and ego, but it's also tinged with a deep-seated grudging respect for a living legend.

Crock–Afire Explosion's obvious seething hatred of Doffy also gives us a few more insights into what's wrong with him. On a surface level, it makes sense that he dislikes a profoundly obnoxious, even flashier fellow warlord who achieved more or less the same goal he set out to in a shorter time, fucks with his business, and then mocks him/tries to recruit him right after his very public defeat and imprisonment. He postures a lot, especially with his lines insisting he's on a higher level and that Doffy could only ever join him as a subordinate, but he's visibly steamed in their initial encounter and clearly hasn't liked him for quite some time. I bring this up because if we stretch our interpretation a little (for the sake of my argument), Croc Holliday's distaste for someone who's (outwardly) so much like himself and embodies all of his villainous characteristics from back in Alabasta might also suggest that deep down, he doesn't actually like the things they have in common; he sees right through Doffy because he's done the same shit and he hates what he sees.

Having gone over all that, I've come up with some key characteristics of Crocomelon that I'll use going forward:

–Extremely performative: puts an ungodly amount of energy into maintaining a carefully curated persona, and projecting a certain amount of power, masculinity, and prestige. Not necessarily an unnatural or inauthentic one, but a constructed and purposeful one nonetheless

–Deep-seated paranoia, hidden secrets; probably intertwined. Keeps personal details on tight, tight lockdown, probably afraid of being known.

–Constant projection of his own insecurities and failures onto other people, making a point to be uniquely cruel in Alabasta to an idealist who loves her people and a dreamer who wants to be the Pirate King.

Ironically, he demonstrably respects and defends two people–Luffy and Whitebeard–who theoretically embody everything he hates or scorns (ambition, goodness, love, connection, romanticism, greatness in the traditional sense) and he intensely dislikes the villain most like himself, or at least the one who shares a lot of his worst characteristics (ostentatious manipulative scheming rat bastard backed by people stronger than himself) –The Grinch's heart grew three sizes at Marineford because of like, the compelling power of brotherly love and reminders of his youth or something

SPECULATION, CONCLUSIONS??

The difficulty with writing anything definitive about Crocko's Basilisk is that he's such a mystery, which functionally lets the fanbase project literally whatever weird personality traits, potential backstories, or anything else they could possibly come up with onto him. So I want to be clear that I have absolutely no interest in theorizing about the specifics of his past or secret identity or potential baby daddy or anything along those lines; I'm only interested in what we can infer about his personality by extrapolating from canon. And the conclusion I keep coming back to, the one that I'm convinced is true on some level, is that Crocodile is living a lie and he fucking hates himself. Everything he does, from how he acts to what he claims to believe, is a desperate effort to cope with his own insecurity and failure and cover up a past version of himself he's deeply ashamed of.

Now, unfortunately, Oda did not conceive of Crocodile as a trans man but stories belong to the people and we can do what we want let's forget about that and play it straight because he's constantly performing gender as a means of compensating for a deep-seated shame and self-loathing from whatever traumas and secrets he keeps hidden. Even assuming he's a cis man, he deliberately chooses a hypermasculine persona with a Capital V Villain moniker and pimp outfit and speech pattern he's carefully curated to project masculine power–physical, political, and financial–and we know it's performance because we see him break kayfabe and get legitimately fucking angry whenever he's confronted by a person like Luffy, who's crazy and brave enough to try and do what he couldn't and risk everything for love and hope that he cannot bring himself to feel for another person, or reminders of the past he tries so desperately to bury.

The lessons he's wrongfully obtained from his past are as follows: Idealism is a weakness. Dreaming is a weakness. Connections to other people and being known are crippling liabilities (If he is, in fact, trans and closeted, that's all the more reason to be existentially disgusted by what he used to be). All the hope he brought to the Grand Line, all the excitement of trying to carry on where Roger left off, needs to be purged and buried because all he got to show for it was loss and humiliation. But he can't stop wanting more, and ironically, after he gives up on conquering the Grand Line, he ends up chasing the same fucking poneglyphs and weapons because his ambition's still there; it's just compromised and much more jaded.

Everything he does that's seemingly contradictory makes sense when you realize that Crocodile resents his failure and wants to avenge himself. He makes a big show of talking down to Luffy and Vivi's petty ideals and shit-talking Newgate and his family, but he still wants to fight Whitebeard like he did way back when and help Luffy protect what matters to him. He hates Doffy, who's honestly just a more successful schemer than he is because it's a constant reminder of what he settled for when he took that warlord post and fucking gave up. He claims to trust no one, but he keeps Daz by his side and rewards his loyalty because he can't help but trust someone who respects him so deeply and follows him to the ends of the fucking earth long after losing the material incentive to do so. He claims to look down on people who aim for the stars and fight for love and joy and freedom and yet, in his most vulnerable moments–not in the face of violence or imprisonment, but when he's emotionally compelled to defend a child and help save his brother–we see how badly he wants that for himself.

TLDR: Crockman Holic is deeply insecure in his masculinity, desperately needs psychological help, and his character/potential redemption arc in One Piece is just dealing with his midlife crisis.

[starlostastronaut]

im happy you liked it! ❤️❤️

DAY 05 | MORE THAN THIS NOW

PAIRING: bang chan x reader

GENRE: fluff

WC: 1.17k

CW: nothing i think

PROMPT: accidentally saying they think the other one is pretty

i am terribly sorry for the delay, but tuesdays are the worst in terms of free time (but its almost 10:30pm here so i didnt technically fail lol). but we should be back to your regularly scheduled program for day6 ;)

my personal hc is chris being a confident flirt until it comes to his own crush. like he's a mess. so anyway, don't think too much about the storyline here, there really isn't one lol. i just wrote what came to mind to get it out for you. i hope you enjoy haha <3

title from crushcrushcrush - paramore

general masterlist here

<< previous | mctc masterlist | next >>

Your eyes skimmed over the closet and ended up on the pile of clothes on Chan's bed. You had stayed at the dorm so often that the boys decided to keep some of your clothes there for emergencies such as this. It was your annual movie night, where you met up with the boys and their girlfriends (if they had them). The night went on as usual without a hitch, until it didn't. But to be fair, someone should have predicted Jeongin tripping over somebody's legs and spilling his drink all over you. They were apparently used to accidents like these because Chan immediately went to pick out a new shirt for you while Felix's girlfriend helped you clean yourself up. Chan came by the kitchen, telling you he left some clothes in his room so you could change in private. 

Yet there you were, completely ignoring the carefully picked-out shirt in favour of Bang Chan’s closet. Looking at the black shirts, you felt as if they were calling you. What harm would it do to wear one of Chan's shirts, right? You have worn his jacket hundreds of times when you were cold. But this was something different. Wearing his shirt unprompted indicated that you were his. You ignored the excited fluttering of your heart as you picked out a shirt you knew Chan would recognize. So maybe you had a tiny crush on the singer. Damn you for indulging a bit, right? This was harmless fun, and if you were to be completely honest, you looked forward to seeing Chan's reaction.

When you came back to the living room, a few people turned around to stare at you. Changbin and Minho shared a knowing look before they went back to organizing the snacks. You didn’t miss the smirks on both of their faces. The rest too looked away again one by one, focusing on whatever activity they were doing. Well, everyone except Bang Chan. You felt his eyes follow you as you walked across the room to sit next to Jisung, who began filling you in on what movie they picked out while you were changing.

Chan was at a loss for words. He couldn't take his eyes off of you in his shirt. Of course, he recognized it. How could he not? Firstly, it wasn't the one he laid out for you, and secondly, you yourself bought him that shirt not so long ago. There was suddenly something different about you, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. He couldn't help but wonder what even caused you to wear his shirt. Did you not like what he picked out for you? Did you lose some bet and the whole accident was scripted? Or did you just decide to be a tease for no reason?

The movie night resumed in the meantime, and when Chan finally tore his gaze away from you, he noticed the film was already playing. He tried his best to catch up on the plot and characters, but his efforts were severely undermined by the fact that he kept glancing in your direction. He usually managed fairly well in your presence, having mastered the sneaky looks and “No, I definitely don't have a crush, why would you say that?" But today was different somehow. And then it hit him. He liked seeing you in his clothes, acting so casual about it. It sparked a certain sense of possessiveness in him. To an outsider, it would look like you’re his partner. 

Realizing staring was rude, Chan turned his attention back to the TV. It didn't stay that way for long, though, because every time he tried to focus on the movie, his eyes always found their way back to you. Your laugh, the way your eyes sparkled, and the slight blush that appeared on your cheeks after Jisung whispered something to you. It all captured his attention like never before.

“Chan? Are you okay?”

Your voice seemed to bring him back out of his trance, because he blinked a few times to snap out of his dazed state. “You're gorgeous,” he blurted out, catching his mouth in the following seconds. “I… I mean…” he stuttered, hiding his face in his hands, silently admitting defeat. He missed the way your cheeks went red and a smile appeared on your face. “Sorry.” Chan quickly stood up and ran out of the room, the embarrassment too high to manage.

You were left there, hopelessly looking in the direction in which Chan disappeared. “Go after him,” Felix and his girlfriend said in unison. They stood up, each taking one of your hands and pulling you up. “Go,” Felix urged you and pushed you in the direction of Chan's room.

“Alright, I'm going. I'm going.” You held your hands up in mock surrender, but you did go after Chan.

Without knocking, you entered and found Chan sitting on his bed. “What's wrong? Why did you run away?” you asked, sitting down next to him. He raised his head when he heard you.

“That was not how I wanted to say that,” he murmured.

“Say what?” you questioned, tilting your head to the side.

“That I think you're pretty? I don't know. I guess I imagined something more intimate than a room full of our nosy friends.” He chuckled at the irony. This situation was pretty close to his vision of an intimate situation. Shame it happened this way, he thought.

You stayed silent, confused by his words. This wasn't like him at all. Chan was a natural flirt; he said things like that all the time. It was just a word, so why was he making a big deal out of it? Sure, it couldn't have been because he might have felt something for you. Or could it? Now that you have thought about it, it would make sense. He seemed to always find you, even in a crowded room. He stayed by your side at every social gathering, keeping you company and then making sure you got home safe. He was always there when you needed something. You chalked it up to him being a good friend, but what if there was something else behind it? You voiced your theory.

Chan's bitter laugh rang through the room. “Was I that easy to read?" He tore his eyes away from you. “Look, can we just forget this? I don't want to ruin anything.”

You pretended to carefully weigh the option, but you decided the moment he confirmed having a crush on you. “We could do that,” you nodded. “But I have a better idea. What about we discuss it somewhere else, preferably on a date?” You winked at him, which sent Chan into another round of laughter, but this time a much happier one.

“Your flirting sucks, but you're hard to resist,” he smirked, all of his previous mood gone. He was back to the playful Chan you knew. “So when you're free?”

taglist: @stayconnecteed @saintriots @vivioluh @ivaneedssleep @jazziwritesthings

©starlostastronaut 2023 | do not repost/translate my work without permission