Long Forgotten Fairy Tale, Chapter 13 (Soft Yan Shamrock x Reader, NSFW, canon divergent / adjacent)
18+ MDNI | On Ao3 | the other chapters
Thank you for your patience <3
Your POV
You stood beside Crocodile, your hands balled into fists. You were so angry you could hardly think, wanting to impale the powerful man with his own golden hook. If your places had been switched, you had no doubt there would have been a sandstorm inside the cabin. As it was, you didn’t think there would be a great outcome to violence against him, so you didn’t try.
“I can’t believe you told Mihawk where we’re going,” you bit out, your nails digging into your palm.
“You should. I told you not to trust me,” Crocodile said, ashing his cigar into the ashtray he’d stolen from Mihawk. You felt your blood boiling, so you did the only thing you could think of. You picked up the ashtray and hurled it out the open port window. Sound of splashing water told you that you’d hit the mark.
“Foolishness. I liked that ashtray. Do you feel better now?” Crocodile said, his eyes narrowing.
“No,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest. You were behaving petulantly, but you were too angry to care. Crocodile sighed and crossed his legs, blowing his smoke up in the air.
“Nothing is going to happen to you, even if Mihawk makes his way to Baltigo. First of all, he will have to find someone to tell him where it is, though this will be the easiest of his troubles. Second he will likely sink in his stupid coffin ship on the notoriously rough waters on the way. If he actually makes it to Baltigo, it’s not like Dragon will let him take you back to that gloomy island. You’re a revolutionary now, like it or not, and Dragon takes care of his own. Not even Mihawk can take down Dragon alone. And I would be aiding Dragon, in that event.”
“Only if it can benefit you somehow. You don’t care what happens to me, so forgive me if I don’t believe you,” you growled.
“You’re forgiven. Now find another ashtray,” he said, his smile stretching across his face. You wanted to scream, Crocodile was so fucking frustrating.
“What else aren’t you telling me?” you gritted out, wishing there was something else to throw.
“Quite a lot. I deal in information, and business is booming,” Crocodile drawled, ashing his cigar on the ground. You watched the ash settle into the carpet, making your skin itch. It was so disgusting you almost regretted throwing the ashtray out the window. You looked at him, your ire cooling slightly. There was a lot on your mind and you had been meaning to talk to Crocodile anyway. You might as well ask since perhaps he would feel remorseful about telling Mihawk your plans.
“Do you know who owned me before?” you asked.
“I have my suspicions. I believe I do, but I don’t know for sure,” he said, pulling on his cigar.
“Who?” you asked in a whisper, drawing nearer to him. If you were able to find out anything about your past, maybe you’d be able to remember more. Despite all your efforts, you’d never been able to recover any new memories. It was like they had all been wiped from your mind, with no way to retrieve them.
“I said I’m in the information business. I don’t make money by giving things away for free. And as far as I can tell, you’ve got nothing to give me. So until you do, I’m keeping that to myself,” he said, his smirk returning to his face. You blinked as more murderous thoughts entered your mind. Maybe you could dump him into the sea and take over as acting Captain of the ship…maybe Dragon would thank you…maybe Mihawk would stab Crocodile for you if you promised to return to Kuraigana with him…
Your bad mood returned tenfold as stormed out of his office, slamming the door on the way just for good measure. Regardless of Crocodile’s betrayal, you were headed to Baltigo. You just hoped Crocodile wasn’t lying when he said that Dragon would help you.
Shamrock POV
“This really is your ship,” Shamrock said, his lip curling as he looked at the boat in front of him. “I thought you’d have something a little less…dingy.”
“Well then, get on your own ship and sail to Baltigo,” Shank replied, climbing the gangway before turning around with a smug grin.
“Oh wait, you don’t have one,” he said, like a taunting child. Shamrock scoffed but dutifully followed his brother up the gangplank. He only had to survive Shanks for the time it took to get to Baltigo, then he’d never have to deal with his brother again. He would find you, give you back the scant memories he kept on his person, and surely you’d fall in love with him again. There could be no other options, no other outcomes. If you didn’t, well…
Shamrock’s thoughts returned to the present as he stood on the deck of the so-called Red Force. Settling his weight on one hip, he gave a quick look around the dirty ship. It was large enough, he supposed, but littered in old bottles, cups, and various sundries.
“Well? Whaddya think of the flagship of the Red Haired Pirates? Just had it built last year,” Shanks said, his chest held high.
“It is putrid,” Shamrock said honestly, beginning to walk towards the stern of the ship. He had only sailed for a few days at a time in his life, but most ships seemed to follow the same general design and the Captain’s quarters should be there. Since he had left his abode so quickly, he hadn’t brought much with him aside from a few essentials he always carried on his person.
“Putrid?!” Shanks said, stopping his brother with a hand on his forearm. “It’s got the best sails money can buy, incredible artillery, an amazing dragon figurehead –”
“ And it smells like stale body odor and old piss,” Shamrock stated, yanking his arm away.
“Ah, yeah. Well, we’ve been partying. Nothing a little spit shine can’t fix. We’ll get to it,” Shanks said, his smile returning to his face. Shamrock wore a grimace as he continued towards the stern, carrying his valise.
“Would you like a tour of the ship?” Shanks asked, placing his hideous straw hat atop his head.
“After I put my belongings down in my cabin,” Shamrock replied, continuing on his journey.
“What cabin?” Shanks asked, rubbing his chin “There’s only two, mine and Beckman’s.”
“I wouldn’t presume to reside in Beckman’s cabin. He is diligent and hardworking, he needs adequate rest,” Shamrock said, stating the obvious. Did Shamrock get all the intelligence in the womb?
“Then you’ll want to go down below. The crew quarters are –” Shanks began before Shamrock interrupted that particular train of thought.
“ – are not where I’ll be staying. I will be in the Captain’s cabin,” he said. Shanks’ eyebrows hitched in the middle.
“Uh, no? You’re not?” Shanks said, crossing his arms. Shamrock pursed his lips.
“Uh yes? I am?” he said, mocking Shanks’ way of speaking. He felt like a child doing so but he couldn’t help himself. Something about his brother brought out the worst in him, or at least the most annoying version of himself.
“I don’t want to share my cabin,” Shanks moaned, throwing his head back dramatically.
“I didn’t want to have to ask you to take me to Baltigo or to remove my own arm, and yet here we are,” Shamrock replied languidly.
“I’ve only ever shared with Buggy and that wasn’t since the Oro,” Shanks groaned, apparently not listening to Shamrock.
“We don’t have to share, you can go stay with your crew in their quarters,” Shamrock suggested.
“You can sleep on the deck,” Shanks countered. Shamrock rolled his eyes, something Father would have made him bleed for.
“I will be staying in the finest accommodations you offer, which is your cabin,” Shamrock replied, before thinking for a moment.
“And where is the Clown?” Shamrock continued, stopping in his tracks. He hadn’t seen the blue haired pirate anywhere, but perhaps he had remained on the ship during the festivities. Shanks looked at the sea for a moment before answering.
“Buggy’s not here,” Shanks said, his smile slipping from his face. Shamrock pursed his lips – yet another disappointment from his brother.
“Unfortunate. I wanted to meet him. But probably for the best that he separated from you,” Shamrock scoffed.
“I asked him to sail with me and my crew, but he said no,” Shanks said quietly, his thoughts elsewhere.
“Smart decision. I could tell the Clown was intelligent,” Shamrock said, giving a short nod of affirmation. After he reunited with you, perhaps you would want to meet the Clown yourself.
“What do you mean ‘you could tell’? How do you know about Buggy? I thought you were beyond the Lower Worlds or whatever,” Shanks said, now focusing back on Shamrock. Shamrock remained silent, unwilling to divulge that knowing about his brother’s life had been one of his biggest pastimes as a child. Shamrock just gave Shanks a practiced bored look, one that he’d perfected during his many years of Marie Geoisie.
Normally, people apologized upon seeing it grace his features but Shanks had Figarland blood in him as well. The two brothers stared at one another for a moment in silence, each one in their own thoughts. Shanks broke the silence by sighing.
“Listen, if you’re going to be staying here, you need to unclench your asshole,” Shanks said, pinching the bridge of his nose. Shamrock straightened his spine, his eyes flashing with warning as he got into his brother’s face.
“Excuse me?!” Shamrock roared. “No one has ever dared even think –”
“WELL I’M TELLING YOU NOW. UN. CLENCH. YOUR. ASS. HOLE.” Shanks yelled back, standing right in front of Shamrock. Some of the crew was beginning to watch the fight between them, but Shamrock couldn’t have cared less.
“I should remove your head from your shoulders,” Shamrock hissed, standing toe to toe with a face so similar to his own. Shamrock was used to people cowering in his presence, but Shanks wasn’t backing down.
“Yeah, well, you can’t. Like it or not, you’re a guest on my ship, sailing with my crew, under my protection. So shut the fuck up for once, go put your shit down, and try to act fucking normal!” Shanks shot back, pointing to the cabin.
Shamrock narrowed his eyes, his haki starting to crackle in the air. Shanks mirrored him, the pressure in the air rising by the second. Shamrock took a breath, intentionally bringing memories of you to the forefront of his thoughts before replying.
Shamrock really wanted to harm Shanks, but in this particular scenario, Shanks had the upper hand – and he knew it. Shanks was wrong about one thing though; Shamrock didn’t need protection. What he needed most from Shanks was good will, the assurance that Dragon would at least hear him out before entering another fight. Yes, Shamrock was much stronger than he was the last time he’d fought Dragon, but presumably the Revolutionary had grown in power as well.
So as much as he was loath to admit it, Shamrock needed Shanks. So for once, Shamrock would need to back down. Shamrock swallowed his pride and controlled his haki. Taking a deep breath, he flicked his hair back over his shoulder.
“Very well.”
Later that evening, the ship was sailing off towards Baltigo on the unusually smooth seas of the Grand Line. Shamrock had rearranged Shanks’ cabin to his liking, his younger brother having left him alone after their row. It took longer than expected to move the heavy bed and desk, but the outcome was worth it.
It wasn’t only because he had only one arm, but also because he’d never had to actually move anything before. Normally Shamrock just called out for someone to complete tasks and they were completed moments later. However, the crew seemed to be engaged in putting the ship to sea, so he would forgive them this transgression.
Shanks’ cabin was cluttered, but overall less disgusting than Shamrock had been expecting. There was a large, comfortable looking bed as well as a fairly large couch. Shamrock assumed the bedding needed changing, he would have Shanks do that later. There was a desk filled with papers, several navigational tomes, as well as various sailing apparatuses. Shamrock recognized the instruments, though had never needed to use any himself. He had also found quite a few bottles of alcohol, which he sampled freely. Some were repellant, but some weren’t completely terrible.
Other than that, the cabin was quite tidy, only a few chests filled with Shamrock’s clothes, trinkets, and some weaponry. Shamrock moved the bed against the opposite wall of the window – he disliked being woken by rays of sun and shifted the position of the desk to better fit the layout of the cabin. Now the couch and bed were facing one another, both away from the sun. He found it quite charming, if he did say so himself. Shamrock let out a half laugh to himself, perhaps you would find it amusing to see him working like a servant.
After his time spent moving things around, Shamrock became irritated. Surprisingly, no one had brought him dinner, even though he had heard a dinner bell ringing a while earlier. A few hours had passed and Shamrock was now quite hungry, he had never had to wait for his dinner this long before. He heard sounds of laughter and chatting outside, yet no one thought to bring him food? It was already evening time, surely they wouldn’t have forgotten him.
Opening the creaking door to the cabin, Shamrock saw that the crew was (once again) drinking. Even Beckman had a tankard in his hand and a small smile on his face. Shamrock frowned as Shanks hailed him over with a large wave.
“C’mere! Come meet everyone,” Shanks yelled, beckoning for Shamrock like a dog. Nonetheless, Shamrock walked over to his brother, looking down at him as Shanks sat crosslegged on a crate.
“Where is my dinner?” Shamrock demanded. Shanks laughed loudly, his eyes crinkling with delight. Shamrock quickly weighed the odds of being able to kill Shanks immediately and found them the same as before. Did Shanks do everything in his power to humiliate him? Shanks held the power in the relationship for the time being, that was certain.
“Wondered where you were. You gotta get it yourself when Lucky calls it, no one’s gonna wait on you here,” Shanks said, yanking his brother to sit down on the crate. Despite training for years, the recent loss of Shamrock’s arm left him off balance in unexpected circumstances, so he ended up practically toppling onto the crate next to his brother. Shamrock took a shark inhale of breath, annoyed that his residual weakness showed in front of his brother’s crew. Was Shanks forcing Shamrock to participate in these humiliation rituals his way of evening the score for that one night long ago?
For all his anger earlier, Shanks seemed to be in a better mood now. Perhaps the bottle of spirits in his hand had something to do with it. Shamrock gave an impassive look, like everyone was an insect before him. He didn’t feel that it was far from the truth.
“So, like I said, this is Shamrock. He’s my brother –”
“What’s yer last name? I always wanted to know,” a man with dreadlocks asked. Shamrock raised an eyebrow at Shanks. This was his crew, if he wanted them to know, he could share the information. It made no difference now, it wasn’t like either one of them could enter Marie Geoise.
“Pass,” Shanks said, drinking again from his bottle. Oh? He thought it was a shame to be a Celestial Dragon? Shamrock thought it would be worse to be some pissant pirate sailing aimlessly, but what did he know?
“Younger or older?” someone called out. Shamrock frowned and crossed his legs. It was absolutely jarring hearing human-like scum use his given name, especially without his honorific title of Saint. To do such a thing was suicide on Marie Geoise, and yet here he was supposed to allow it? Barbaric.
“OIder! Can’t you tell by my more youthful, sweet, cherubic appearance?” Shanks yelled back with a laugh.
“You look like what was left after Shamrock laid out on the deck for two weeks straight,” someone else called out. Despite himself, the corners of Shamrock’s mouth quirked a little bit. He would never tolerate such insubordination from a crew, but it was slightly amusing to hear it directed at his brother.
“Yeah, you’re way more freckled. And his hair is nicer, too. Looks luxurious,” a man with long blond hair said, pretending to flip it like Shamrock often did.
“I mean, I don’t think I look too bad. No one else does either – I get more tail than all of you combined,” Shanks said with a smile, taking a swig from his bottle.
“Doubtful,” Shamrock said under his breath, pulling his own flask out of his suit pocket. The crew laughed as Shamrock untwisted the cap as easily as he could, taking a large drink himself.
“At least we know they won’t be playing tricks and switching places, Shamrock’s lost his arm,” a man with black hair noted.
“I didn’t lose it. I removed it,” Shamrock said, swirling the liquor in his flask. Unfortunately it was only half full, he would run out soon. The crew let out some oohs and aahs, suitably impressed by Shamrock’s feat.
“Did it hurt?” a bald man called out, biting his fingernails. Shamrock stared at the man as his reply. Chatter rose among the crew as they debated whether they could cut off their own arms.
“It’s not that interesting,” Shanks groused, drinking more.
“When did you remove it?” a man with a bun on his head asked.
“About a week ago,” Shamrock replied, rescrewing the cap on his flask. He didn’t know why he bothered, he would be drinking heavily to rid himself of his annoyance.
“I’m Hongo, the ship’s doctor. D’you need me to look at it?” the man asked. Shamrock had looked into every member of Shanks crew at some point, the doctor wasn’t some hack.
“Perhaps. The cut was clean, and a physician already sutured the wound. Of course there was no need as I cauterized it myself with my haki, but it was a preventative measure,” Shamrock said, his empty sleeve fluttering in the evening wind.
“My left arm needs to go too. Were you left handed?” Shanks asked, setting down the bottle to rub the back of his left arm. Oh, how Shamrock wished he could do the same.
“I was.”
“I am too. Cutting off my arm is going to suck,” Shanks said with a sigh.
“I didn’t have much trouble with it. I can cut off your arm if you wish,” Shamrock said with a smirk.
“No way! I can do it myself –”
“I can cut off both of your arms,” Shamrock countered. He would be surprised if Mihawk hadn’t offered the same.
“Fuck off,” Shanks said without bite, picking the bottle back up and taking a large gulp. Shamrock did the same from his flask.
“They even have the same mannerisms,” a comically rotund man said with a gasp. “I wonder who’s stronger?” he wondered aloud. Shanks scoffed.
“Don’t need to wonder, because it’s –”
“ –me.” Shamrock finished his brother’s sentence for him. Shanks frowned.
“Definitely not. You didn’t train under Gol D. Roger,” Shanks said.
“You didn’t train under the Elders,” Shamrock said, shrugging a shoulder.
“Roger and his crew fought off the Elders many times –”
“And yet weren’t able to kill any,” Shamrock retorted. Though, Shamrock wouldn’t have cared if the Roger pirates had slain every single elder, truth be told. He didn’t mention his brief training under Lord Imu, that was a topic of conversation for another time.
“Well, there’s only one way to settle it then,” Beckman said, lighting a cigarette. “The same way we do everything here.” Shamrock steeled himself – no matter the contest, he would persevere against Shanks. There was no option, he had to win if he was to see you once again.
Beckman looked at Shanks, who smiled widely before holding up his arms and yelling to the wind.
“DRINKING CONTEST!”
Many hours later, deep into the night, Shamrock made his way to the cabin he now shared with Shanks. He didn’t stumble, but the deck was more tilted than he remembered. The drinking contest had come to a draw, neither brother being able to outdrink the other even after hours of drinking. Shanks was currently warbling some long forgotten tune about sake, while Shamrock had been staring out into the sea in deep contemplation.
All of a sudden, the clap of a hand across his shoulders had Shamrock grabbing the pommel of his sword. Was he really that deep in his cups to not notice someone advancing upon him? Shamrock drank daily, but he didn’t remember drinking quite this much in one sitting for some time. The red hair in his peripheral vision had him relaxing, at least he could enjoy his alcohol without having to use haki to drain it.
“That was great! I didn’t think you would make it, I’m usually the last man standing,” Shanks said, leaning on his brother for support.
“I told… I told you that I am your superior in every way,” Shamrock said, tossing his hair back from his face and pushing Shanks’ arm off his shoulders.
“Yeah, right,” Shanks said with a laugh, kicking his door open.
“Shut up, you buffoon,” Shamrock said, stifling a burp as he entered behind Shanks.
“You moved my stuff?” Shanks asked, his mouth agape.
“I did,” Shamrock confirmed.
‘That’s rude! I liked my room the way it was,” Shanks complained, setting his hat on his desk.
“It’s better this way,” Shamrock said, starting to remove his boots by kicking them off with the other heel. “Gods I would kill for a servant right now –”
“Could ask for help,” Shanks said, already stripped down to the nude. It was impressive, if not a little disturbing how quickly Shanks had disrobed. Shanks dove into the bed, covering himself with the blanket.
Shamrock sighed and made his way over to the couch, sitting down heavily, his head starting to spin a little. He supposed Shanks was the Captain and could sleep in his own bed. Shamrock settled in on the large sofa, still in his rumpled clothes. Maybe he’d ask for a change of clothes tomorrow – his high society garb wasn’t the right fit for a pirate ship where it seemed like he’d be expected to mill about among the crew.
It was quiet for a few minutes as the ship sailed through the waters, the light of the moon streaming through the windows. Shamrock’s eyes were closed as he brought to mind memories of you, like he did every night.
“Want a blanket?” Shanks asked, breaking the silence and Shamrock’s concentration.
“Yes,” Shamrock replied, his eyes still closed. A soft blanket landed on top of him, which he spread out as best he could. Silence again descended on the cabin as Shamrock closed his eyes once more.
Shamrock tried to summon your image, your soft grace, but he couldn’t concentrate. In this instance it felt like something was pricking at him. He didn’t know why, but the alcohol in him felt like it was compelling him to speak to Shanks. Shamrock had never been a chatty drunk before, but he would indulge himself just this one time.
“I often imagined sailing the seas and having adventures with you when I was a child,” Shamrock said, voicing a secret he’d never spoken aloud.
“Really?! I thought you hated me,” Shanks said, turning on his side to face his brother.
“Not exactly,” Shamrock said softly, though he didn’t elaborate. His feelings towards Shanks were complex and he didn’t want to get emotional just because he was drunk. It was quiet again for a few moments before Shanks spoke.
“What was it like growing up in Marie Geoise?” Shanks asked quietly, his hand under his face.
“A nightmare. What was it like growing up on the Oro Jackson?” he asked. Shamrock had imagined sailing with Roger and his brother many times, but of course that had been a childish fantasy.
“A dream,” Shanks replied, now staring up at the ceiling. “But both dreams and nightmares don’t last forever, yanno?” Shamrock hummed a non-answer. It was unreal to be on his brother’s ship, just like he had always wished for.
“Do we look like anyone?” Shanks asked, changing the subject.
“Exactly like Father, though he doesn’t have red hair,” Shamrock said, happy for the reprieve of the previous conversation.
“Yuck,” Shanks said, sticking out his tongue.
“On that, we agree.”
“The room is actually better this way. I don’t like the sun in my eyes when I wake up,” Shanks said with a yawn. Shamrock mirrored his brother’s action, feeling lethargy wash over him.
“The name of your crew is ill advised. Think of something better,” Shamrock said, turning to face Shanks.
“You’re wrong. It rules,” Shank said, turning back to face Shamrock.
“No, it makes it sound like everyone has red hair. Red Haired pirates. But really only you and I have red hair,” Shamrock explained.
“Pfffff. You’re not even on the crew, it’s just me. And I’m not changin’ it,” Shanks said with a huff. “I got a question for you,” Shanks said into the night.
“And I for you. I will answer yours, if you answer mine,” Shamrock suggested.
“Alright. So how’d you find me so quickly? You said you chopped off your arm like a week ago. So you made the decision and then found me right away, yeah?” Shanks asked.
“Correct. Luckily we weren’t too far apart. Even so, I have a piece of your vivre papers –”
“WHAT?! HOW?! FROM THE CELESTIAL DRAGONS?!” Shanks was already sitting up in his bed, ready to fight. Shamrock rolled his eyes.
“Calm down. Not from Marie Geoise, from Monkey D. Dragon. I realized about a year ago it was yours. I never told anyone about it and I have the paper with me,” Shamrock explained.
“How did he get it?” Shanks asked, laying back down.
“I do not know. You can ask him yourself at Baltigo, I suppose,” Shamrock said, having no other answers.
“What’s your question then?” Shanks said, putting his hands behind his head.
“Why did you agree to ferry me to Baltigo?” Shamrock asked. The question had been irking him since they boarded the ship. For all his bravado and assurance that Shanks would say yes, Shamrock actually hadn’t known the outcome before he asked. Sure, Shanks liked you, but that wouldn’t be enough to sway him if Shanks hadn’t wanted to. Shanks was quiet for a moment as he considered his words.
“I think there’s only one thing, really only one person you care about in the world. And if you were unable to get to her, you’d burn the world to the ground in your rampage. You’d be an overpowered maniac with conqueror’s haki, and nothing mooring you to reality,” Shanks said.
“True,” Shamrock said with a nod. That was a much more logical answer than he had been expecting. And yes, if anything bad happened to you, the world would be…changed. Shamrock hummed in happiness, that was a good estimation of his position in the world. Shanks yawned and turned over on his side, covering himself with his blanket.
“And even former Celestial Dragons deserve to chase their dreams.”
I really think Nic chose on purpose to publish on her grid the Shit Stirrer pic. It could have been a story. But I think it was an Easter egg. That's she's a little shit stirrer. And she was when she decided to tag JD. She knew what she was doing and that the real Lukolas would be unbothered.
I think we'll know why really soon...
She was letting us know before the stirring began.
