#Ch. 6

[daily-chilchuck]

[sednonamoris]

american dream

Pairing: John Marston x gn!reader

Summary: Need, morality, and family are difficult to conceptualize in a life defined by crime, and your vision of the world has been shaped almost entirely by the Van der Linde gang.

Warnings: Brief alcohol mention

Word count: 1,156

A/N: Kind of like certain RDR2 missions coming in parts, this is part one of a series of three chapters that will be interspersed throughout this story. The naming conventions should give it away, but this is short and sweet largely to set up the later, much heavier chapters that happen within the scope of the game.

Series masterlist • AO3

—

After you ran away from your aunt and uncle and became the Ghost printed all over wanted posters from Gaptooth Ridge to Tall Trees, your entire perception of crime was based on survival. You stole horses because you knew horses; they had been your family’s livelihood. The fact that you were so good at it garnered infamy in the eyes of the law and the locals, but to you each fenced animal was no more than coin to put food in your belly and keep some semblance of a roof over your head. 

With Dutch it’s different.

There are plenty of mouths to feed in camp, sure, but he lies and steals and murders his way across the country not just to survive, but because he believes in something. A higher order. A call. 

“Poetic justice, my child,” he told you when you first joined up. Like you’d read poetry. Like you’d known justice. “Poetic justice.”

You spent your whole childhood watching him, listening to his stories, peeking over his shoulder to catch glimpses of Evelyn Miller’s reported genius. Even now, just shy of twenty, there’s plenty you don’t understand. But his mythology of murder helps you pull the trigger and you let that be good enough.  

—

“Ghost, there you are,” Hosea says, always so pleasantly surprised when he sees you around camp. “Fancy robbin’ a ‘coach with me this afternoon?”

“Sure thing,” you say, and he smiles.

Jobs with Hosea are fun. 

He makes you feel like the Robin Hood figures Dutch has always made the gang out to be; Swashbuckling rogues who prey upon the wealthy and give back to the poor, disillusioned Americans that far outnumber them. Merry you are indeed when you come upon your quarry in their hand-carved stagecoach painted royalty red. 

If you were doing this with Arthur or John your bandanas would already be on, horses racing alongside the carriage before one of you took a flying leap to take out the driver and pull off the road somewhere quiet to rob everyone blind. Maybe to kill them, too, depending how it went. But this is Hosea, so of course he has an entire charade planned out. 

It’s your turn to play the damsel. With your horse hidden in the brush nearby and Hosea waiting in the wings to pop out when the moment is right, you call out from a predetermined spot on the side of the road.

“Help! Oh, please, someone help! It’s my leg!”

The irony that you once really were in such a situation is not lost in you - Hosea thinks he’s hilarious. But you put on your best distressed look and wave your arms as the carriage passes by anyhow. Just as they’re about to leave you in their dust, a woman’s voice calls for the driver to stop. 

“Don’t be dreadful, Albert! This poor soul needs our help,” she says with all the moral righteousness of a woman who’s never had a hard day in her life. 

The driver hops down to let her out of the carriage, all satin skirts and done-up hair and carefully reapplied rouge. Albert follows grudgingly behind, his pressed suit crisper than the disapproving line of his mouth. 

“Please, you gotta help me,” you beg. Crocodile tears prick your eyes. 

The woman picks her way carefully across the dusty road to where you lay ‘incapacitated’. Her porcelain face is all pity. 

“Poor dear, tell us where it hurts,” she says. “My husband will look at it for you. He’d be happy to help.”

Albert grumbles something that you’re certain contradicts such a sentiment under his breath before joining his wife at your side. “I’ll take it from here, Ruth, darling.”

“My leg,” you wince out, “I think it’s broken.”

If Albert knows anything at all he’ll feel within a second that’s not the case, so you make sure to twitch and cry out at his every medical advance. He doesn’t bother to hide his irritated glare. You distract them all with a tragic tale - how your horse got spooked by a snake and dumped you in the middle of the lane, how you heard the sickening crunch of bone as you landed funny on your leg, how you were supposed to meet your cousin a ways up the road, how the feeling of hopelessness overcame you as no one would stop to help. No one but them. 

Ruth gasps appreciatively at the spectacle. Though you make sure not to look over at Hosea and give him up, in your peripheral you see he’s snuck his way over to their luggage and started stashing fistfuls of cash and any valuables he can get his hands on into a satchel. 

Hook, line, sinker.

You’ve got them.

Hosea runs off to stash the goods on his horse and rides down the lane on the opposite side of the carriage only minutes later. He ponies your horse off his mare, trotting up with a face just the picture of concern. 

“A thousand blessings for finding my cousin, strangers! I was about to head to the law about a missing person,” he calls. 

“Oh!” Ruth exclaims, delighted. “We’re happy to help any soul in need, isn’t that right, Albert?”

Albert flashes a smile stiffer than the starched collar of his shirt. “Of course.”

Pleasantries are exchanged - mostly, you suspect, so that Hosea can get his money’s worth out of that ridiculously overdone accent of his. By the time you’re helped onto your horse he’s talked them in circles thrice over, and you both wave a cheery farewell before trotting down the lane in triumph. 

You laugh together the whole way home.

—

“Just what are you fools laughing about?” Dutch asks upon your arrival. There’s a glint of good humor in his eye that has you both grinning in return. 

“See for yourself,” Hosea says before he even dismounts, and tosses his satchel over. 

Dutch lets out a low whistle when he sees the spoils.

“Not bad, not bad at all.” The moment your horses are tied he puts an arm around each of you. “I think this calls for a little celebration.”

There is a speech, of course. You sit on one of the logs around the campfire tucked between John and Hosea while Dutch rails against capitalism and the vanity of the upper class. He’s practically preening when he recounts how easy it was for you and Hosea to fool them, like he was actually there. 

“To the founders of the feast,” he cries at the end, raising his bottle to the two of you. 

“To the Van der Linde Gang!” you toast back, and everyone cheers to the sound of clinking glass and good cheer. 

Bathed in the warmth of firelight and family, the evils of America shrink away to nothing. Stealing to survive, to scam, to make a pretty speech - in this moment it’s all irrelevant. You’re invincible. Untouchable. Home.

[blconnoisseur]

Calling it a stray petal is so🥴🥴🥴

[brainfuzzz]

Old Truths Ch. 6 "Freedom Part 1"

Yep, another Crocodile learns that he's Luffy's mother fic because why not? Also, I'm making him the Snake Princess before Hancock because I'm already in Crocomom hell so why not pile on more to it, right? Expect a reunion with Dragon as Crocodile goes on a journey for the truth and eventually finds peace Also, I would like to just clarify that while writing backstory I refer to Crocodile as Crocodile during monologues. Since we don't know Crocodile's dead name (assuming Oda actually makes all these headcanons true) I didn't want to just make one up. So, in dialogue I try to avoid anyone referring to him with a name (besides Dragon calling him Sir as a little poke to his current name, Sir Crocodile LOL) but I keep the name Crocodile when he refers to himself in thought to simplify things.

            Crocodile sips what must be his fourth cup of coffee, while locking eyes with Daz from across the deck. The afternoon sun shines high in the sky with little to no cloud cover to provide any relief from its scorching heat. Daz stands with his arms crossed, frowning at his boss as beads of sweat roll down the sides of his face, never moving from his spot. They’ve been like this for hours. A few of the pet crocodiles took notice but lost interest almost immediately and left to sunbathe. The largest of the five, stays by Crocodile’s side, sleeping in the shade of his chair. Crocodile sets his cup down and leans against the back rest when he feels sweat drip between his shoulder blades. 

            “Just go to bed.” Daz says when Crocodile’s concentration slips, letting his head bob down before jerking it back up.

            “I don’t need you mothering me.” Crocodile crosses his arms, mimicking Daz’s frown. They return to silent staring. He’s not sure when they started this childish standoff, but one thing is for sure, neither is backing down.  

            They probably could have gone on like that till sundown if it weren’t for a splashing sound coming from the port side of the ship. Daz is the first to pull his eyes away to see what’s causing the noise. Glad for the momentary ceasefire, Crocodile gets to his feet—pausing when everything starts to spin—and crosses over to inspect the noise.

He smiles when a familiar sight approaches the ship. He calls down, “Hawkeye.”

The warlord lounges in his ridiculously small ship, staring back at him, “Crocodile? You look like hell.”

Crocodile feels Daz’s eyes turn on him, but he just waves him away. “Why don’t you come on up? I’ll pour you a drink.”

 “That depends. How many crocodiles do you have on deck at the moment?” Hawkeye raises a brow.

Crocodile glances down at the five creatures crawling around the deck, each growing more curious and hissing with excitement at the sound of another person. He turns back to Hawkeye and says, “No more than usual.”

Hawkeye considers this for a moment before leaping up onto the deck while Daz secures his ship. Hawkeye takes in the five reptiles, shaking his head with a sigh as he follows Crocodile into the captain’s quarters. Crocodile pours two glasses of wine and hands one to him. 

“So,” Crocodile says once they’re seated, “I assume everything at Marineford has officially wrapped up?”

Hawkeye swirls the wine gently in his glass, “You assume correct.”

“I was surprised to see you so obedient. Very unlike you.” The battle is still vivid in his mind. If he thinks about it for too long, he can still feel the vibrations racing up his left arm from where they had collided. Hawkeye gives a tired sigh and rests his head against his propped fist.

“If I hadn’t, they could have revoked my status as a warlord. I did my part and now they can leave me alone.” He takes a sip of his wine before staring across at Crocodile. “Besides, your actions were far more surprising than my own.”

Crocodile stays silent and takes a larger sip of his wine. He savors the rich full flavor until he realizes how fast it puts him in a fuzzy haze. He slowly lowers the glass, realizing he hasn’t eaten anything today. Or last night for that matter. 

“Care to explain why you protected Straw Hat?” Hawkeye doesn’t take his eyes off Crocodile, studying his movement and expression with a deep severity.

“Do you really want to know?” Crocodile meets his gaze, challenging him to press further. Finally, Hawkeye turns away.

“I suppose not.”

This was one of the reasons why he and Hawkeye got along so well. They didn’t prod into each other’s business. Unlike Moria who likes to flaunt his plans and prod others into revealing their own. Or Doflamingo who dances around the subject, dangling it in front of you like a carrot. He wants to draw you in, make you curious, all while never revealing a thing. He pisses Crocodile off the most. Kuma and Jinbei have never interested him, and Boa… well, he usually steers clear of her. Hawkeye is the only warlord he’s ever been able to tolerate. He’s silently glad their confrontation at Marineford hasn’t changed that.    

After a moment, Crocodile says, “So, I suppose you’ll be heading back to that morbid island of yours?”

Hawkeye pauses mid drink and says, “My island is not morbid.”

“Right,” Crocodile chuckles into his glass, “And I’m not made of sand.”

“If you must know, I am looking forward to some peace and quiet. On my completely normal island.” Hawkeye straightens in his seat.

“You’ve been gone for awhile now. I wouldn’t be surprised if someone moved in while you were away.” Crocodile grins when he grimaces.

“Please do not say that. You might accidently manifest it into existence.” He frowns deeper than usual and rubs the spot just above his brow.

Crocodile continues to chuckle until Daz steps into the open doorway and says, “Boss, we have an issue near the bow.”  

Crocodile sets his glass down and pushes himself out of his chair. He walks out onto the deck, cringing away from the intense heat he had momentarily forgotten and crosses towards the bow, searching for any sign of trouble. One of the pet crocodiles stares at him as he stands at the front of the ship, not seeing anything out of the ordinary.

“Daz, what issue were you…” he trails off when he realizes that Daz never followed him out of the room. He looks back towards the open door of the captain’s quarter and spots Daz speaking with Hawkeye. He watches Hawkeye’s expression change from a frown, to arching a brow, to a curious grin, until he laughs and nods before eerily smiling in Crocodile’s direction.

“Daz,” Crocodile glares at him when he returns to the room. “What’s going on?”

“Sorry, sir. Must have been my eyes playing tricks on me.” Daz shrugs his shoulders and leaves Crocodile standing in the doorway. Crocodile shuts the door, eager to keep the heat and Daz out.

Hawkeye gives a chuckle while refilling their glasses and says, “Come, sit and drink with me.”

Crocodile takes his seat, eyeing Hawkeye suspiciously. He’s smiling, something the man rarely does. Unable to justify a reason to doubt him, Crocodile takes his glass and takes another sip. The wine immediately rushes to his head, making him slouch with his head propped by his hand. Before he can finish what he already has, Hawkeye is refilling his glass.

“You’re suddenly in a good mood.” Crocodile says, noticing the slight slur in his words. Hawkeye frowns, tilting his head as if he hadn’t noticed.

He tops off his glass and relaxes back into his chair, “Am I? It must be because I’m glad that the whole Marineford business is behind us. Cheers.”

He clinks his glass with Crocodile’s and takes a sip. Crocodile does the same, taking a bigger sip then he had intended. Before he knows it, his glass is empty and Hawkeye is refilling it once again. Crocodile holds up a finger, prompting Hawkeye to pause.

“Is that a different bottle of wine?” He struggles to point at the bottle in Hawkeye’s hand. Hawkeye looks down at the vintage and shakes his head.

“Now, don’t tell me you’re already drunk? When did you become such a light weight, Crocodile?” Hawkeye arches a brow with a slight grin. That grin pisses Crocodile off, prompting him to down his glass almost immediately. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand as his head and body feel 10 times heavier. Hawkeye tilts his head, “Not looking so good there. Perhaps you should lye down. Take a nap.”

Suddenly, it clicks. This is why Daz came up with a bullshit reason for Crocodile to leave the room so he could get Hawkeye in on… he rests his forehead in his hand, suddenly too exhausted to even think. His thoughts are scrambling. He can barely focus on why he was so angry just a second ago. Arms are hoisting him out of the chair and dragging him to the bed. Daz and Hawkeye heave his drunken body onto the lumpy mattress while he tries to remember when Daz entered the room.

“Traitor.” Crocodile mumbles when his head feels like its doing somersaults. Hawkeye and Daz exchange a look, each wondering who that was directed toward.

“You need to sleep. It’s been days.” Daz says, reiterating what he’s already told him several times before.

Hawkeye gives a sigh, “Honestly Crocodile. Try not to be such a trouble to your single crewmate. Though this has been quite amusing.”

“Thank you.” Daz gives a slight bow to Hawkeye who shakes his head.

“No, thank you. The wine was delicious. But I must be off now. Until next time, Crocodile. Maybe next time you’ll be well rested.” Hawkeye chuckles as he turns away.

“I hope your island is covered in tourists!” Crocodile snarls but it does little to stop the other man from laughing.

Daz looks back down at Crocodile, “Forgive me, but this is for the best.”

Crocodile wants to hurl a threat at him but he’s unable to get the words out. Eventually he’s the only one in the room. Everything spins around him and with no more strength remaining, he fell into a deep sleep. Sleep that forced him to relive his past.    

*

It had been hot that day too. Crocodile remembers squinting up at the sun, wondering how it could be even hotter within the city walls. He walked through the bustling streets with the Kuja warriors surrounding him as a layer of protection. Whether he liked it or not, they always accompanied him when he left Amazon Lily. The people cowered when they saw them, their infamy spreading even this far across the Grand Line. As he walked, he glanced down at the invitation sitting heavy in his hand. The second they left the Calm Belt; they discovered a Navy ship waiting for them. He had almost ordered his warriors to sink the ship until he noticed a Vice Admiral waving a white flag. It had intrigued him enough to spare their lives and get close enough to receive the invitation. He brushed his thumb across the blue words neatly pressed into the thick expensive paper. Granny Nyon had strongly advised against coming here, which was all he needed to convince himself to come. But still, now that he was here, he wondered if it was such a good idea after all.

When they approached the building where the event was taking place, a marine stopped them.

“Your invitation, please.” He held his rifle in front of him. A subtle reminder that this was anything but a friendly visit. Crocodile handed the invitation over and the marine stepped to the side. When the other Kuja warriors tried to follow, the marine stepped back in the way.

“What is the meaning of this!” Granny Nyon had stamped her cane on the ground angrily.

“Only the Snake Empress may enter. You must wait out here.” He had said it so naturally that even Crocodile commended his bravery.

“Absolutely nyot!” Granny Nyon looked like she was about to burst a blood vessel. Crocodile had grinned and waved them away.

“It’s fine. Wait here.” He had happily left his entourage in the blazing heat as he went on alone.

He had never realized how suffocating it would be being the Empress. It’s not like he ever actually tried out for the position. It had been thrust upon him when he proved himself to be the most skilled fighter. At first, he had been pleased to hear the news, after all, the Empress may leave Amazon Lily whenever they wish. He had first thought it would mean freedom. But now he wished he could go back in time and punch himself in the face for thinking that. This isn’t freedom. It’s being paraded around in an invisible cage.

A different marine had led him into the building and guided him to a waiting room. The dome shaped room was large and dimly lit with several large couches curving along the walls. Crocodile paused when the dark outlines filling the room revealed to be famous pirate captains.

“Please wait here. They’ll call you when they’re ready.” The marine had bowed and turned away.

“Ready for what?” He asked but the marine was already gone. Fighting irritation, he moved to claim an open spot on the couch closest to him. He sunk into the overly soft cushions, slightly wishing he had opted to stand against the wall instead. He could feel the eyes of those around him bore into his skin. Crossing his arms over his chest, he frowned, determined not to be intimidated by these fools.

“Hey, isn’t that the Snake Princess?” a deep moronic voice pierced his ears. Two large men approach him, each with hungry perverted eyes. Crocodile set his jaw, already struggling to contain his anger.

“No, she’s wearing too much to be from Amazon Lily! You’ve seen what they wear.” They both laugh disgustingly to each other. They plop down onto the couch beside him, one on each side. Their weight puffs the cushion up under him, causing him to struggle to keep from leaning to either side. They both stretch an arm across the backrest, letting their stench clog his nostrils, nearly making him gag.

“Well, we can change that.” The one on his left grins, exposing crooked yellow teeth. Crocodile grits his teeth, ready to coat his arms in armament haki and take these assholes out. But just as he’s about to do it, the man on his left stiffens.

“Hey, what’s going on?” the man asked as his arm twitches while awkwardly extending away from his body.

“What are you doing?” the other man asked, clearly annoyed by this behavior.

“I don’t know! I’m not doing this!” the man yelled just before his arm bent and hurled his own fist into his face. The man fell to the floor leaving everyone in the room shocked. The other man got to his feet.

“What the hell is wrong with you!” But the second the words are out of his mouth; he stiffened just like the other one had. Crocodile watched, both amused and startled by what was unfolding before him. Just like the other man, this one watched in horror as his limbs betrayed him and sent a powerful punch to his face. When both men are unconscious on the floor, Crocodile grinned, trying to keep his composure before bursting out in laughter. Everyone in the room stared at him, some shocked, others deadly serious.

“Did she do that?” someone whispered.

“That was unreal.” Another murmured within the shadows of the room. When he’s able to stop laughing, he ran a hand over his hair and glanced around the room. So far, no one seems capable of pulling something like that off, that is until he locked eyes with a man directly across the room from him. He leaned against the only window with the light pouring over his tall frame. Crocodile got to his feet, stepped over the fools on the floor, and crossed over to him. The man was tall and with Crocodile being 8’3, that’s saying something. The man gave a wide grin and side stepped, making room for Crocodile to stand at his side.

“I didn’t need your help,” Crocodile said once he was leaning against the wall.

The man gave a low chuckle, “Oh that, I’m sure. But I hope you’ll forgive me. Filth like that doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air as us. So, I did the only right thing to do, and took them out.”

Crocodile smirked, “Next time you should snap their necks.”

This made the man grin wider and give another deep laugh. Crocodile relaxed his shoulders and took in the stranger next to him. Unlike the rest of the trash here, this man wore a tailored suit that was free of any wrinkles or stains. His expensive cologne hung in the air, tempting Crocodile to lean in closer. Everything about him was impeccable. From his polished shoes, clean cut jawline, to even the pink feathered coat hanging from his shoulders. It was clear that this man was in a class above the rest.

The man extended his large hand to him and said, “The names Don Quixote Doflamingo, a pleasure.”

Crocodile stared at his extended hand before crossing his arms and staring out towards the room.

“So, how’d you pull something like that off?” he nodded his head towards the two men still unconscious on the floor. Doflamingo slowly curled the fingers on his extended hand closed and then turned his hand with his palm facing down, bending every other finger.

He leaned in closer and said, “I’ve got magic fingers.”

Crocodile rolled his eyes and said, “A devil fruit then.”

“Bingo.” Doflamingo retracted his hand and slipped it into his pocket. He doesn’t explain what type of devil fruit he’s eaten, and Crocodile doesn’t ask. They stood against the wall, both conscious of the other but never fully turning their gaze in the other’s direction.

When the door across from where they entered opens, a marine stepped out and said, “Don Quixote Doflamingo. We would like to start with you.”

Doflamingo grinned and stepped away from the wall, “My, how lucky of me.”

He didn’t look back at Crocodile as he stalked over to the marine and disappeared behind the doors. With Doflamingo gone, the room felt dull and empty. Crocodile leaned against the wall, ignoring his restlessness. Time seemed to crawl after that. When Doflamingo exited the room, he was laughing that low laugh of his. He never even glanced Crocodile’s direction before leaving the dome room. Crocodile frowned down at the tile floor not sure why that pissed him off as much as it did. He was almost grateful when they finally called his name. He frowned while pushing himself away from the wall, eager to get this over with.

Once inside the smaller room, Crocodile frowned deeper. An Admiral sat behind a desk with a Vice Admiral standing next to him. The Admiral had a serious set in frown while the Vice Admiral munched on rice crackers, looking bored.

“Snake Empress, please, have a seat.” The Admiral gestured to the seat in front of his desk. Crocodile approached it slowly and sat. “I am Admiral Sengoku; this is Vice Admiral Garp. We’ll be conducting this interview.”

Crocodile let out a snort, “Interview? An interview for what?”

“All will be revealed in time.” Sengoku had frowned down at the papers on his desk. Apparently, he didn’t like this idea anymore then Crocodile did. Crocodile rested deeper into the chair. He propped his right ankle on his left knee while digging into his coat pocket. He pulled out a cigar and slipped it between his lips.

“Got a light?” he glanced up at Sengoku.

“I’d prefer it if you don’t smoke.” The vein near his right temple twitched.

“Fine,” Crocodile shrugged and lit the cigar himself. He took a deep draw, taking in the smoky rich flavor before letting out a large cloud of smoke. Sengoku bald his hands into fists, crinkling the papers beneath them. Crocodile smiled, “Please, go on.”

By the time the interview was over, Crocodile had managed to make the vein in Sengoku’s right temple throb more than 20 times. He even managed to make Vice Admiral Garp laugh so hard that he nearly choked on his rice crackers, making Sengoku’s face flush red. He left with a smile while Sengoku rubbed his temple, drained from their interaction. The interview had consisted of a series of questions, all involving Crocodile’s past run-ins with pirates. There was nothing that the Navy didn’t already know, so instead of answering the questions, he opted to either keep silent or answer with a lie so apparent that even the most naive would be able to sniff it out. Ultimately, this had been a waste of everyone’s time.

Crocodile let out another stream of smoke as he rubbed the back of his neck while walking towards the doors exiting the dome room. He wasn’t ready to rejoin the Kuja warriors. While the interview with the Navy had been annoying, it still didn’t measure to the constant nagging that comes from Granny Nyon. When he stepped through the doors to the lobby of the building, he caught a whiff of Doflamingo’s cologne.

“So, how was it?” his voice brings Crocodile to a stop. He glanced over his shoulder to see the man leaning against a wall, waiting for him. Crocodile wanted to kick himself in that moment because the fact that Doflamingo had waited for him, actually made him happy.

“Pointless,” Crocodile had half turned towards him, keeping his expression neutral. Doflamingo grinned while stepping towards him.

“Naturally, but my instincts tell me that this could be the start of something promising. So don’t go brushing it off just yet.” He stops with his shades peering down on Crocodile. “Come on, lets get out of here.”

Crocodile had stiffened. “What do you mean?”

Doflamingo pulled his long pink coat from his shoulders and draped it over Crocodile.

“You don’t want to go back to being a Princess just yet, do you?” He tilted his head, widening his grin. “Come on. I’ll buy you a drink.”

Crocodile swallowed, realizing how dry his mouth had become. He quickly adjusted the pink coat on his shoulders, trying to ignore how the man’s scent now encased him, and followed Doflamingo out of the building. He kept his head down while pulling the side of the coat closer to his face. The Kuja warriors were standing in the shade of a building, waiting for him to come out. Luckily the disguise worked, and he was able to get past them unnoticed.

Crocodile followed Doflamingo deeper into the city until they came to a restaurant. When they enter, the hostess bows and directs them to a table in the back without either of them uttering a word. When they reach the table, its filled with people of all shapes and sizes, all waiting for Doflamingo’s return.

“Doffy!” the table raised their glasses when they spotted Doflamingo.

“So, tell me Doffy, what was this invitation all about?” a man in a suit with a cigarette hanging from his lips asked. Doflamingo gestured for Crocodile to take a seat next to where he sat at the head of the table. The others eyed him suspiciously.

“I’ll explain later, but for now let me introduce you to my friend. They’ll be joining us for dinner.” Doflamingo lifted his glass so a waiter could fill it with wine. When Crocodile’s glass was filled, he greedily sipped it, trying not to focus to much on Doflamingo’s use of they. The night dragged on, mostly uneventful. Crocodile learned that these are the Doflamingo pirates and at one point he even found himself speaking casually with a man named Gladius. For most of the night Doflamingo stayed silent, only speaking when one of his crewmates spoke to him. Finally, by the time Crocodile’s glass had been refilled for the third time, Doflamingo leaned closer so only he would hear.

“So, what do you make of my family?” Doflmaingo sat with one leg bent, the heel propped on the edge of his seat, while the other stretched out almost touching Crocodile’s foot. He rested his cheek against his propped fist, waiting for Crocodile’s response.

Crocodile considered his words carefully, “Why do you care?”

Doflamingo grinned, “I’ve seen how you are with the Kuja warriors. You don’t exactly fit in.”

Crocodile frowned into his glass and took another sip. When he stayed silent, Doflamingo went on, “I get the impression that you’re the type of person that would feel more comfortable wearing a suit and tie rather than a dress, if you catch my meaning.”

Crocodile nearly choked on his wine. He kept his face blank and stared at his mostly empty plate, refusing to make eyecontact. How could Doflamingo read him so plainly? What had he done to be found out? His heart began to race.

“Relax,” Doflamingo topped his glass off, “I’m not gonna out you. I only bring it up to say that you’ll never live the life you want if you stay with the Kuja warriors. Not to mention your talents are wasted on that lot.”

This pulls Crocodile’s eyes towards his. He can see his reflection in the pink shades, unable to read the man at all.

He went on, “Join my crew and be free for once in your life.”

Crocodile’s blood froze. Doflamingo slid a piece of paper his way. “You don’t have to answer now, just give me a call when you’re ready to live the life you want.”

After that, Crocodile had shot up from the table, causing the plates and glasses to clink together. The crew turned their gaze on him, but he didn’t care. He took the paper with Doflamingo’s number and darted for the exit. His heart pounded against his chest as his lungs struggled to suck in enough air. Once out into the street, Crocodile kept moving in no clear direction. All he knew was that he needed to put space between himself and Doflamingo. He squeezed the paper in his hand, crumpling it into a ball. He was furious. Furious that Doflamingo was able to read him like a book. Furious that he was reacting the way that he was. And Furious that he actually wanted to say yes. He had never been able to admit it to himself, so hearing it from a complete stranger sends him spiraling into a state of furious panic.

After what felt like endless running, he finally came to a stop when the sky began to cover with dark storm clouds. He leaned against a shop window, panting, and wiping away the sweat from his brow. He stared down at the wrinkled paper. Part of him wanted to hurl it into the street, but instead he found himself folding it and slipping it into his pocket. A cool breeze hits the back of his sweaty neck like an act of mercy. The heat was finally letting up. He tilted his head back, taking a deep breath of the cool air.

A gasp down the street made his head turn. He stared down to where a large crowd had dropped to their knees and pressed their foreheads to the dirty street. Crocodile frowned, feeling a chill run up his spine. A Celestial Dragon. Luckily, the Celestial Dragon was moving away from him. He started to walk away, not wanting to get swept up in Celestial Dragon drama, when he notices a person in a long cloak standing in the center of the empty street. He blinks, taking in the figure, wondering why it seemed so familiar. Until it clicks and Dragon’s face becomes clear from under his hood.

He hasn’t noticed Crocodile yet. His usual bright and hopeful eyes have turned dark. There’s something about him that sends a chill up Crocodile’s spine. He frowns, his expression deadly. Crocodile pauses, wondering what could make this man react this way. Thunder rumbles overhead. He follows his gaze back down the street and feels his heart stop when he realizes what Dragon has his eyes set on. The Celestial Dragon.   

To be continued…

Read full story HERE on AO3!!!

[pixiedustandpetrichor]

First prank!

(Peter really feels like an afterthought in this, which I don’t really like. I prefer it when he’s really one of the Marauders not just a tagalong)

[eternalsnowfan02]

✨Theatre Kid Rescue Squad✨

[soapyakships]

I KNEW HE WAS GONNA BE AN ASSHOLE!! I KNEW ITTT!!!

[galedekarios]

I accept. I'll marry you, Gale Dekarios.

[daily-chilchuck]

[jccatstudios]

Kaz hair headcanons (left to right)

Age 9 (arrival to Ketterdam) - hair cut by da, grown out since his death

Age 12 (pre-Dregs) - hasn't been cut since 9 (except trimming his bangs every once in a while to keep it out of his eyes), mainly focused on survival

Age 13 (Dregs grunt) - greater access to hair care tools, starts cutting his own hair after understanding his touch aversion, less about style and more about learning to cut hair (bangs too short due to novice skills)

Age 14 (post-bank heist) - better at cutting hair, gets his classic undercut, more about style to imitate the merchant class and look overqualified to be a Dregs lieutenant

Age 17 (present) - even better at cutting hair but still clumsy with a razor and getting the back pieces even, a bit messier due to his confidence in his position in the Dregs

[blconnoisseur]

Only reading Feel My Benefit cuz I’m reading it with a friend but omgggggggg ain’t no way Minwoo gonna get the second lead treatment CMON

The same face syndrome in this manhwa is CRAZY WHO TF IS WHO

GIRL CHECKMATE HAS MORE VARIATION WITH THEIR MINIMALISTIC STYLE THAN THIS

So this guy is just a notorious r* got it. À la Jaekyung

He did you fuckface kys😭

[hanasnx]

MINORS DNI 18+

“Give it to me, baby. C’mon,” JJ MAYBANK gestures to you, beckoning you with his sets of fingers flicking towards him as you gun right for him. He stoops, ripe to catch you, strapping his forearms under your thighs as he growls in approval with his teeth sunk low into the skin past his lips. You sling your arms around his neck, bumping the bill of his backwards-cap, so you fix it for him with a giddy lovesick grin.

“Jayj,” you sing, folding your legs around his hips coyly. The alcohol has reached your head, all woozy as you lull back. Preemptively, JJ arches away, counteracting your weight with his to rebalance you and bring you back to him. A tinge of hot color dusts your cheeks from the tipsy intoxication.

“How’re we feelin’, babycakes? You look a little out of it.” he asks but you know he doesn’t care about the answer, he just wants to point out how cute you look when you’ve been drinking. In your little stringy bikini, you let him grab onto your ass as he walks with you in hand. With every step, you jostle limply, breaking eye contact to pick yourself up again. Aware of your drunken state, you grin in spite of yourself, and it curls his lips too. There’s a mischievous gleam in his eyes when you meet his gaze again after you take a while to answer. “There’s my girl.”

“M’feelin’ al-right.” you reply with a committed nod, mustering up an endearingly determined expression as you draw closer to him. Sweetly, he pecks your unresponsive lips, kissing your wet teeth a bit and pulling back a string of saliva between you two that breaks. Instinctively, you chase his mouth, and murmur: “Bored.”

“‘Bored’?” he parrots, playfully incredulous, as if his princess could dare be bored. “You’re bored, huh? Well, that just won’t fly.” He shows you he’s about to drop you with a little double pat to your ass cheek, and you brace yourself for it, landing on your feet and adjusting the straps of your swim suit. “Want another beer? I’ll make it special for you.” His way of making beer from a keg in a red solo cup special is to blow a little kiss on it before he hands it to you. But you’re not interested in that right now.

This beach-side bonfire party had gotten to your head, and now you’re looking for a change of pace, so you grab onto two of his fingers to lead him away. As you walk in front of him, swaying your hips, he gets a glance at your backside stuffed into that teeny bikini bottom and he moans through his nose, head lulling back. He straightens, rolling his tongue between his lips, eyes glued to the way that ass moves when you take a step. “You look fuckin’ good, baby.” He gives you a sharper smack this time, one that makes you face him to hit him scoldingly with a scoff. As if he didn’t just swat you, he holds his arms up in feigned bewildered surrender, mouth gaping in obtuse shock. When the novelty wears off, he drops the act and steps to you. You press your hand to his chest to ward him off, but he checks you out, “You feelin’ slutty?” his low voice isn’t low enough, and you consider shoving him for saying something like that amongst all these people.

Indignantly, your jaw hangs, blinking at him in disbelief as he flashes you a raise of his brows. You concede with a roll of your eyes and a huff, snatching back his hand in which he leisurely follows you by. He knows where he’s going, what you’re about to beg him for. Find your car and finger blast you in the passenger seat until you’re ready to rejoin the party like nothing happened. Maybe if he’s lucky you’ll wanna sit on his cock a bit, play a little game of just-the-tip which always ends in you getting plowed. Warily, he glances over his shoulder to gauge any prying eyes as he lets you lead him away.

[beaulesbian]

One Piece ch. 004 - 006 || ch. 485 (ep. 377)

What good is ambition if I can't even save the life of my own captain?

[pixiedustandpetrichor]

the slytherin common room feels wicked 🙄

the “all slytherins are evil” trope is really in effect rn but I’m hoping that changes over the course of the book?

[octopuspot]

A drawing I did back around Vil's Birthday :')

[insoukokuhell-434]

“Quit it with that habit of rolling all over the ground whenever you’re worrying. It’s annoying to look at, dazai.”

Ok but doesn’t this sound exactly like soukoku fanfic dialogue where they’re disguising their care for each other 😭❤️