#(it's a blast watching this terrible man obsess and spiral and I'm sure if he got his hands on her my girl would be in for a bad time)

[ikkaku-of-heart]

The High Priestess and the Magician

(Insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. True insanity comes from getting that result.)

Stalking into his quarters, Basil Hawkins slammed the door behind him so hard a few straw dolls on his bookshelf fell over. It was unusual for him to show much emotion, but his temper had been growing dangerously short as of late. Even Faust was not exempt from his displeasure. A rare thing, as he valued the feline Mink more than the rest of his crew, but his mind had been ill at ease since his reading one hundred days ago.

In truth, he should have known better than to ask them such a dangerous question. It had been his own hubris that had driven him to ask about his own future. To demand to know when he would reach Raftel and claim the title of King of the Pirates.

Instead, the cards had foretold his failure. Predicted his eventual, inevitable death. They hadn’t specified exactly when, but he had received enough information to paint an unpleasant picture. At the time he had brushed it off, as the Tarot was up to interpretation, even if his readings were generally highly accurate. Except he received the exact same reading when he’d tried again the next day. And then the next. And every day since.

Ninety-nine days. Three cards. Always the same.

The Magician reversed. The Ten of Swords. The Emperor reversed.

Hawkins had always treated the Magician as an avatar for himself. He had claimed it as his epitaph for a reason, after all. Even reversed he accepted it, and the cards had never presented it in a reading that did not end up directly involving him. So it was concerning he had drawn it in succession with the two other cards. The Ten of Swords meant painful endings and betrayal. The Emperor reversed referred to domination and lack of discipline, which made him think that his fate was in the hands of one who embodied these traits. And there were four Emperors standing between him and the title of Pirate King…

Growling in frustration, he shoved a pile of books off of his desk, the hardcover tomes scattering as loose pages flew about. Since the twentieth identical reading, he’d been furiously researching ways to potentially avert his fate. The cards did not lie. Not to him. They told him the odds of overcoming any obstacle that stood in his path, allowing him to act accordingly. They gave him an undeniable advantage. At least, they did most of the time.

Now, they spoke of his inevitable failure.

So far, the odds were nearly 100% that he would not succeed in his ultimate goal, and in fact he would fall disgracefully. He was a man of control. He enjoyed telling others that their fates were out of their hands. He did not appreciate that misfortune being reversed. He did not appreciate his own cards defying him.

“You don’t scare me, Hawkins. I’m from Joras. As far as I’m concerned, your spooky ass barely registers a 7/10 on my weird shit-o-meter.”

A feminine voice danced blithely through his head, its very presence as mocking as the words themselves. The speaker had been the catalyst for his current fit of anger. He’d encountered one of the Heart Pirates while attempting to find more obscure literature that might help him reinterpret his cards’ message.

Ikkaku, the submarine’s engineer. The sole woman he knew of aboard Trafalgar Law’s vessel. He’d glimpsed her in the past when his and the fellow rookie’s paths had crossed. A pretty face, and an attractive figure that was shamelessly put on display in her wanted poster. A point he would acknowledge briefly on lonely nights, but no more than that. He was not one to be brought to his knees merely by a woman’s body. However, despite recognizing her, this was the first time she’d spoken to him. It had started as empty politeness on her part, which he’d responded to with an idle threat to her life. He had no time for pleasantries. Yet instead of cowering or even just leaving, she’d jutted out her hip and spat out a disrespectful retort. The woman was far bolder than she had any right to be. She didn’t even have the decency to fear him despite their clear gap in power! She was a normal woman with a distinctly non-combative role, while he was a powerful pirate captain and a Devil Fruit wielder!

She was as infuriating as her smug bastard of a captain. Had Marines not stumbled upon them, he would have gladly shown her their difference in strength before handing her over to Trafalgar in pieces. Or perhaps challenged the man to a fight and used his Straw Man technique, making her captain slaughter her in Hawkins’ place. That would serve them both right.

Inhaling deeply, Hawkins forced his face back into its usual stoic expression. He needed to focus on the task at hand, not some irritating woman. She was hardly worth his attention, much less his fury. Just a subordinate of one of his rivals. Nothing special. Her arrogance would get the better of her sooner or later.

He had no reason to concern himself with her fate, anyway. He had his own to consider.

Sitting down at his desk, he pulled out his deck of tarot cards. There was only one question on his mind – was his fate truly set in stone? Was his death 100% certain?

One hundred days. Ninety-nine identical card readings. This would be the last attempt, no matter the outcome.

He shuffled the cards for a solid ten minutes, though he acknowledged deep down he was merely stalling for time. It didn’t matter how he cut the deck – the cards would be drawn as they were meant to be.

With a sigh of acceptance, he gracefully slid the first card off of the top of the deck, setting it down on the surface of his mahogany desk face-up.

The High Priestess. This was…unusual. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d drawn her. Yet there she was. She symbolized the divine feminine, sacred knowledge, and the subconscious mind.

Why did he draw her?

Brow furrowing, he set down the second card. The Tower reversed. Personal transformation, fear of change, averting disaster. Now that was far more positive than anything he’d drawn in months. Were his cards telling him he might have a chance to avoid his fate? He scarcely dared to hope.

His hand shook faintly as he pulled the last card. The Devil, also reversed. Releasing limiting beliefs, exploring dark thoughts, sexuality, and detachment. Quite the swerve from the past two cards.

He sat back in his chair, attempting to make sense of his reading. He felt as much confusion as he did relief. Three of the major arcana had been drawn, which was unusual. More than that, they implied a woman was involved. But whom? Could she really avert his fate? And where did the Devil come in?

“You don’t scare me, Hawkins. I’m from Joras. As far as I’m concerned, your spooky ass barely registers a 7/10 on my weird shit-o-meter.”

Ikkaku’s voice once more drifted through his skull, and this time he actually listened. Joras. She was from Joras. Of course he knew of that bleak, superstitious island. It was a land once known as Innsmouth before it had been heavily industrialized. A place of fog and darkness, full of stories that were fantastical and frightening. Dead bodies rising from their graves, plagues that drove people mad, ancient rituals and sacrifices that were used to gain favor from eldritch horrors that slept deep beneath the ocean waves.

It was a land Hawkins had often been accused of coming from himself, and while it was not true, he had always felt a sort of longing for it. He’d greedily read every bit of information he could get his hands on, enthralled by the twisted lore of the Old Ones. He’d always held a strong inclination toward the morbid and the supernatural, and though he’d concluded they were likely nothing more than stories, he’d still gladly taken a copy of the Necronomicon from a book seller who had attempted to sell it to him for an extortionate price. A book bound in human skin and written in mermaid blood made a lovely addition to his collection, regardless of the validity of the myths and rituals etched on their pages. He’d even taken the time to learn the language of Innsmouth so he could read and appreciate it properly.

His earlier irritations towards the woman shifted into intrigue. Now her lack of fear made sense, and his ego was soothed. It was rather hard to measure up to eldritch horrors, though he’d still be happy to give a demonstration of his powers to remind her that while they were stories, he was very much a reality.

More importantly, her appearance had broken his losing card streak. The cards had ceased predicting his failure to instead speak of her. There had to be a reason for that.

“Tell me more about this woman. Who is Ikkaku of the Heart Pirates?” he whispered to the deck, praying his cards might give him more insight.

They did not disappoint. First, he drew the Sun. Not that he needed the cards to tell him she was a woman of positivity, warmth, and vitality. The woman practically glowed with it, especially compared to her dark captain. Perhaps that was why Trafalgar kept her at his side. He could imagine many found her easy to like and were drawn to that warmth.

Nine of Swords reversed. Inner turmoil, deep-seated fears, and secrets. How interesting, considering the previous card. Perhaps she hid some insecurities beneath that sunny shell. A dark secret, perhaps? She was a subordinate of Trafalgar Law, after all. No one innocent would bear to be around that man, or if they did, they didn’t remain innocent for long. And she spoke so casually of being from an island renowned for twisted beliefs. People with happy, well-adjusted pasts didn’t become pirates. There was certainly more to Ikkaku than meets the eye.

Long, pale fingers set down the final card. The Star. It represented hope, faith, and purpose. Another card seldom associated with someone who sailed with a pirate crew. Stars were often used to guide the lost. To navigate vast, unforgiving seas and guide them to safety. But she was no navigator as far as he knew. That job belonged to the polar bear Mink. So why was it associated with her?

It was all quite interesting. He’d drawn two forms of light when he’d asked about Ikkaku. Very curious, especially for a pirate who willingly followed a man like the Surgeon of Death. Especially for a woman who came from such a bleak, oppressive island. Yet he could not deny that the cards suited her. It appeared despite the darkness that surrounded her, she kept a bright, almost blinding aura.

An old story tickled his brain. Most of the tales of the Old Ones he’d heard whispered throughout the North Blue, as they were common campfire stories and bedtime fables to scare the cowardly and superstitious. But the Necronomicon had told him tales he’d never come across before. Getting up, he strode quickly to his bookshelf to pull out that morbid tome. Flipping through the pages, he at last came upon the deity he was looking for.

The Creator Turtle. The sole being of light in the pantheon who existed to counterbalance the twisted and shadowy Old Ones. He had gifted the humans he’d vomited into existence with the lighthouse that sat upon Joras’ jagged cliffs. The story stated he’d given his chosen Light Keepers the power to stand against the darkness and alter reality with their belief. It claimed they’d willed a weakness into the otherwise unstoppable Old Ones’ reality.

Through pure belief, they’d found a way to make the impossible possible. To rewrite reality and fate.

A fantastical story? Most certainly. But his cards did not lie. They had shown her to him for a reason. Was she a Light Keeper? Were the legends true? Did such a power lay within the heart of such an ordinary woman?

Maybe, maybe not. Yet even if the stories were just fables, it was undeniable that Ikkaku was still a key player in avoiding his fate.

Hawkins hated jokes, and because of that, he was a man who seldom laughed. Yet the raspy sound of elation that escaped his mouth and throat could only be described as such.

At last. He had his answer. A way to cheat destiny. It was a 1% chance, but it was still a chance. An opportunity Hawkins would greedily grasp with both hands.

Being told ninety-nine times how you would die was enough to crack even “the Magician” Basil Hawkins’ mind, it seemed. And like a weed in a sidewalk, an idea sprouted and began to grow through that narrow opening.

“To think I considered killing you,” he chuckled, a twisted grin on his lips as he stroked the illustrated cheek of his High Priestess. The woman on the card even bore a stunning resemblance to Ikkaku, now that he looked closely. A warm smile and dark curls peeking out from beneath her veil. He found himself wondering what they would feel like between his fingers. He pictured them twisting like tentacles around his digits, her disrespectful tone now full of reverence as she gazed up at him with adoration.

Was he the Devil? Were the cards telling him he needed to release the beliefs he had and instead explore darker thoughts? Because oh, his thoughts were already straying into rather unsavory territory. If she was the key to diverting his path, he couldn’t simply let her galivant about with Trafalgar. No, he needed her at his side. He needed her to be utterly devoted to him. To believe in him enough that perhaps this fabled Light Keeper power could make him unkillable. Failing that, perhaps she could spill the secrets of the Old Ones. Tell him who might give him the knowledge and power to twist reality himself. Perhaps in exchange for a lovely sacrifice upon their limestone altar?

Even the more mundane option of her simply dying in his place to whichever Emperor he was unfortunate enough to cross was an acceptable outcome. Sometimes the best solution was the simplest.

But how to do this? Well, she was a woman. Were they not all slaves to love? Puppets pulled by the invisible strings of emotion? Surely, she was just as easy to manipulate. Hawkins simply needed to take advantage of that weakness. To seduce her and make her love him. Surely, that would not be difficult. The only real complication was her captain. He would be forced to either kill Trafalgar Law or manipulate Ikkaku into betraying him. The former would take cunning and force, while the latter would take subtle seduction and perfect timing.

And, well, if that failed, there was always old-fashioned kidnapping and torture. Even the strongest will could be broken with enough pain and creativity. And a man desperate to defy his fate was willing to commit atrocities a lesser man would balk at.

Plan taking shape in his mind, Hawkins opened his cabin door, calling out for his first mate. “Faust! Did you happen to see which way Trafalgar’s ship sailed?”

The cat Mink paused mid-step, surprised at the uncharacteristic grin on his captain’s face more than the question. Had he not been angry less than an hour before? “Trafal-nya’s ship? It seemed to be headed towards the next island, based on the log pose.”

“Excellent,” Hawkins purred, patting Faust’s head before heading towards the top deck. “Tell the helmsman to stay close, but not overtake them. We don’t want them thinking we’re following them.”

“We don’t?”

Blonde locks draped over Hawkins’ shoulder as he glanced over it. “No. Because we’re not following them. We’re following her.”

“‘Her’?”

“My High Priestess. The woman who will make me a god,” he replied before leaving a confused Mink with no further explanation. Not that one would have made sense to anyone but Hawkins. But he didn’t need his crew to understand. He just needed them to obey. To remain devoted, just as Ikkaku would be when he was through with her. She’d sealed her fate the moment she’d crossed his path. The cards had spoken. Light would succumb to darkness. The High Priestess would submit to the Devil. The Magician would become Pirate King.

Hawkins would not die. It was not his fate.

Deep beneath the waves, shadowy tendrils writhed as an ancient being laughed to itself, pleased that the seed of madness it had planted in the mortal’s fragile mind had taken root so perfectly.