#Milo Yellow Hair

[moviemosaics]

Lakota Nation vs. United States

directed by Jesse Short Bull and Laura Tomaselli, 2022

[allfortheslay25]

Sorry to that one person who asked about more Milo in my inbox. The ask disappeared and has yet to come back after the draft refused to post so I’ll be posting it just like this.

Hopefully you see it🙏

I should probably mention I wrote this chapter years ago but only adjusted some things at the beginning of the year before January

Milo Future Spoilers

There was nothing like the humidity of South Carolina; damp, sweltering, and mouth drying.

Neil smacked his lips and wiped sweat off the back of his neck. No, nothing like it.

The press of something freezing was soothing for a split second before it was alerting. Neil flinched away from the cold glass bottle Andrew pushed against his neck before taking it.

"Thanks."

Andrew squatted next to him, picking under his armbands to collect the sweat building up under them. Neil stared because Neil liked this pair. A shade of white with the thinnest pair of double orange stripes down the inner forearm. Andrew didn't wear them for much. It didn't go with the silver and gold tone of his uniform nor the black of his wardrobe. He hadn't really put them on since Allison gifted them to him back in 2012.

Andrew took Neil's soda from him after watching the man do little to open the damn thing. He popped off the cap, licking the back before pressing it to Neil's forehead.

Neil quirked up a smile. "It's fresh."

Andrew just turned away with his own drink half done.

"Where the fuck is Nicky? It's boiling out here!" Allison shouted from where she was handing out drinks.

Aaron flicked cooler water at Matt when the man attempted to steal the last lemonade. "Probably got sidetracked talking about Germany again. He acts as if we haven't been caught up with him in the last week."

Kevin rattled the doors like a madman. "Let me in.

We're right here, let me in!"

It would have been hilarious, enough to bring smiles and teasing from the old Foxes. But recently, with Kevin's publicized relapse and his alleged divorce from Thea, well, no one was laughing at Kevin these days.

The outer court walls had seen better days too.

The orange paint had faded to a yellow hue, chipped and dusty with tagging unwashed at the corners. Neil knew the Palmetto Foxes had been on a fortunate rise and he knew sometime after his leave did it begin to fall apart. Wymack bit off more than he could chew, they said. Too many scandals, too many suicides and murders, too many delinquents being allowed on a court. But Neil supposes they did well enough to keep those doors open another year.

Neil's drink was promptly swiped from his hands, the culprit? His son, Milo.

"If you're not gonna drink it at least don't let it go hot."

Neil squinted up at the boy. He did that standing too. Milo had hit puberty and outgrew Neil sometime between 12 and 13, but then the growing never stopped. He stood now, at an even 6ft with no chance of finishing his growth spurt.

Lanky and awkward teenage limbs, freckled and messy haired, Milo somehow stopped looking like Neil. Everyone always says his baby face is nostalgic to first year Neil Josten, but if you put the pictures side by side, Milo always had something Neil didn't. There was a sharpness to him, something he couldn't hide better than Neil.

"Kevin, stop playing with the doors, you'll break them." Renee chastised. It was a miracle to have her here with them in the flesh at all. She spent most of their reunions on video chat with low internet. "I'm sure Coach will be here soon with the keys."

Milo, soda long finished, turned to Kevin with an otter pop between his teeth. "Does it bother you that much?" He mumbled.

Kevin let go of the doors with reluctance. "No... I just... I want to see it already."

Milo hummed around his treat before standing and marching over to the doors. He hip checked Kevin—an eerie sight as they stood head to head in height—and pulled something from his pocket.

Milo fiddled with the fence and it sprung open.

The Old Foxes stared in disbelief.

"You had the keys the whole time? Milo!" Dan said.

Milo shrugged, displaying a paperclip and a hairpin. He shoved the fence out the way and marched on to the doors he'd need a code for. As Milo fooled around with it, the Foxes all turned to Neil with faces of amusement and exasperation.

"He's your son alright." They said.

"Little Josten."

"Little Monster." They all cooed.

"That's 'Little Minyard-Josten' to you." Milo announced before punching a button on the door.

It beeped and clicked and Milo turned the handle to allow everyone inside.

"How did you know the code!?" Kevin wondered.

"They just had a baby, no?" Milo pointed out. "It's always been someone's birthday."

The foyer was almost the same as they'd all last seen it. Orange benches were set here and there, and the floor was white tile with orange paw prints. Orange cones were stacked in a corner, three deep and six high. A white door was on the wall to their right, and an orange door was opposite them. Only difference was there was a crack in the wall no one patched up, and the white tiles had muddled down to a moppy grey.

Milo moved past it to the gear closet. As the Old Foxes looked around and chatted about memories a decade old, Milo had suited up and stolen a racquet.

"Should we let him keep doing that?" Allison muttered to the rest.

"Leave him be, this is the most excited we've seen him since before the B R E A K U P call." Dan whispered.

"You know he can spell faster than us, right?"

Aaron whispered back.

"And you know you're a bad whisperer, right?"

Matt countered.

"Cousins!" Anything Aaron was about to say was cut off by Nicky's loud arrival. He raced towards Aaron and Andrew, bringing them into tight squeezes despite the twos wriggling.

Neil smiled because it'd been three years since Andrew had told Nicky he could hug him without asking. Andrew sometimes snapped that he was sick of it, but Andrew had also told Neil years ago that he didn't do regret.

Nicky let out a sharp gasp from his position in hugging Neil. He all but shoved the man into Matt before springing himself onto Milo. "My baby nephew! You've gotten so big! Last time I saw you you were definitely a head shorter! What are they feeding you? Is it Kevin's diet?"

Milo smiled and hugged Nicky as hard as he could despite the pads. "A mix of junk food and Kevin's dietary plan I only follow when I'm bored."

Kevin sent him a glare for that but went back to finding proper gear without a word.

"How did any of you get inside?" Wymack wondered gruffly. Standing in the flesh, was their beloved coach who hadn't seemed to age a day in their eyes. The only thing new was the baby attached to his chest.

Everyone flooded his space in an instant, cooing and awing at the little infant with orange bows in her curly hair. It was a shame Kevin had to be the one to tell them Wymack and Abby were having a baby. He was too excited to remember they wanted to surprise everyone. Sarah was adopted by them as soon as she'd been born, the baby of a previous Fox who didn't want children. None of them knew her from anything other than the tabloids that printed her face everywhere on Exy news the week after her discharge from the hospital. She dropped out of Palmetto soon after and was in the wind before Wymack and Abby could say goodbye.

"Okay you animals, get your diseased faces out of my baby's face. And Kevin, get your face out that closet and hug me dammit."

Kevin paused from where he was pulling a pair of gloves out of the gear closet to sheepishly shuffle over to his father.

"Where's Abby?" Kevin asked as he smiled at

Sarah's squinty face.

"Napping. She wanted to come by but I told her we'd be here all day and she can stop by when she's had at least an hour of sleep." Wymack said.

He tossed the court keys at Neil who used them to unlock all of the doors inside.

Before anyone finished dressing, Jeremy Knox and Jean Moreau knocked on the locker room doors. This reunion was special, a chance for Jean to see Renee, and Jeremy to see Kevin in an act of support in these dire times.

Having so many professional exy stars in one room felt charged in a way. Kevin seemed ready to cream his pants, or so Andrew commented.

Jeremy looked good in orange and Jean looked like he'd rather do the scrimmage naked. But Neil only had eyes for Andrew whose old uniform stretched on him like a wet dream.

"Can you even play like that?" Aaron smirked, silently laughing at Andrew's predicament. Aaron hadn't been on his college grind in so long, he'd lost muscle mass but gained a healthy weight that his uniform fit almost perfectly.

Andrew silently knocked Aaron on the shoulder with his racquet and clicked his tongue at the weight of it. Neil understood the feeling. Their old racquets were like feathers, Neil wasn't sure he could play with something so lightweight.

Milo was setting up cones and baskets of exy balls with cheerfulness. He was running around the court with a giddiness that rubbed off onto everyone else.

"Don't forget to stretch," Kevin reminded him.

Milo turned and threw his body into a bridge position before resting into a handstand.

"Show off." Kevin grumbled as Jeremy laughed.

Milo properly stretched afterward, first to finish as he picked up the basket of exy balls.

"I wanna show you something. Miss Renee, may you take the goal for me?" Milo asked.

“My pleasure,” Renee said with a smile. She gave Andrew a friendly pat on the shoulder and took her place in the goal.

“We don’t have all day, Milo.” Kevin complained.

“Let him do what he wants, it’s his first game playing with us.” Dan said.

“My first game playing with you guys was actually in the morning of July 14th, 2006. It was my ‘Unbirthday’ as uncle Nicky put it and Matt knocked me onto my back.” Milo said as he got into position.

“You can’t count that as a real game.” Kevin said.

Milo smiled over his shoulder, one of the ones that made the Foxes refer to him as ‘Little Monster’ at times. “Shut up, Day, and watch this.”

He looked back at Renee who nodded at him and got into position. The stance was loose but almost as sturdy as it’d been all those years ago. Milo took up a ball and tossed it to her lightly, allowing her to hit it back far enough he’d have to chase it down the court. And Milo did. He didn’t want to see where it was headed. With bullet-like speed he took off, throwing himself from the wall, flying down the court before anyone could do much as turn their heads. The ball hit a far wall and came back. Milo jumped, snatching it from the air and landing on his left foot before propelling himself forward. He made light work of the cones and within 10 steps, scored on Renee. Neil didn’t know why but when Milo had taken the ball, he waited for a pass to someone who wasn’t there. It itched at his brain in a familiarity he couldn’t place.

Andrew narrowed his eyes before his mouth quirked into one of his amused expressions.

“What?” Neil wondered a little too loud.

“He’s just doing the most for no reason.” Kevin interrupted.

“He just mimicked Neil’s exact play his first time at a Fox match.” Andrew corrected.

Everyone turned to him in confusion.

Neil looked back, running it through his head but that game had been so long ago he didn’t remember.

Dan's eyes lit up, though. “He passed to me. Neil, you did that same jump thing your first game—back when Seth was taken off and you made your debut. You passed to me because someone was on your ass.”

“There’s no way. We can’t even remember it clearly. No one can say for sure.” Allison said.

Andrew tapped his temple. “I can. Memory like a steel trap, I never took my eyes off him. I’m the one who passed the ball to Neil.”

“It’s a fluke.” Kevin said.

Milo whistled at them to get everyone’s attention. “I’m not finished.” He tossed another ball to Renee. “I’ll call it for you this time; Seth Gordon 2006.” Milo changed the grip on his racquet, hands lower as his fingers gesture higher. He straightened his back and ran a few seconds after the ball flew, watching it with his eyes and racing at a slower yet more desperate pace. Once he’d caught it, he whipped it over his shoulder with such speed and strength, it nearly clipped Renee on the shoulder.

“There’s no way to guarantee that.” Kevin hissed.

Milo tossed another ball and cocked his head at Kevin. “Really? Let’s get more famous. Let’s see…” Milo tapped the button of his racquet against the floor and passed his stick to his left hand and the movement was so specific, Jean and the Foxes straightened in disbelief. “Kevin Day, 2007.” Milo called, once again changing his posture. The ball went and Milo moved, catching it and weaving around cones with such single mindedness it was breathtaking. Renee was serious now as she waited, eager to stop Milo but incapable of accomplishing it. The ball whistled past her ear and the Foxes roared in incredulous excitement.

“Join me, will you, Mister Knox?” Milo asked.

Jeremy smirked and followed onto the court. He attempted to take up a backliner position but Milo moved him into the striker mark. He passed a ball to Jeremy and motioned for him to continue. The Foxes readied for whatever trick Milo held up his sleeve next. He moved his racquet back to his right and hunched his shoulders a bit in a way that left him open for injury. Jeremy moved to get past him and Milo hooked his foot around his and sent him stumbling. Milo then yanked his stick out of his unassuming hands with a simple twist, stealing the ball and sending it across the court to be slammed into the goal wall.

“Jean Moreau, 2005.” Milo said. Jeremy was on his ass behind him, clutching his wrist in surprise.

“That was a dirty move. I had so much faith in you.”

Milo gave him his racquet, using it to pull Jeremy to his feet. “You were expecting Jean-Yvves Moreau, 2009. But I like surprises.”

Jean frowned from his place by the Foxes. “That move is long dead. You can hurt someone with it.”

Milo held up Jeremy’s arm by the elbow, waving it at Jean. “He’s all in one piece. Now I’ve got something special for you all. Get on the court, Miss Renee, Drew, you may wait for my last demonstration off to the side.

As they all took their marks, not for a scrimmage but for shooting on the goal, Milo sauntered onto Renee’s place, tossing his racquet for hers. He spun it around and moved his hands before crouching and staring them down the court. Even with the helmet over his eyes, there was an intensity that boiled the cool air into something claustrophobic to the group. No one had to guess who Milo was mimicking now, but he still called out to them.

“Andrew Minyard, 2016.”

Neil got first dibs as he was the first to line up. He moved past Nicky and shot at the goal with a ferocity he saved for real matches. The deafening crack that boomed through the space as Milo’s racquet connected with the ball made everyone flinch in their spots. The ball sailed through the air like a jet before smacking into the other goal.

“There’s no way you did that!” Nicky screamed.

“That’s Andrew’s move. Do you know how many goalies have attempted to replicate that and succeeded?” Kevin shouted. “Eight! Only six have accomplished it in all exy history!”

“Seven, counting me.” Milo said, tossing the racquet over his shoulder. “But if I’m truly honest, I wouldn’t be able to do it again as accurately. Especially during an intense game. I’ve practiced your moves since I could hold a racquet and I've mastered your techniques in less years than you’ve all been playing. But Drew’s moves are special.”

Kevin was still staring at the ball across the court. “We need that tape. Get us that tape. You’ll need to show it to recruiters—”

“Slow down, Kevin.” Jeremy said.

“You’re turning red.” Jean said.

Kevin seemed close to fainting. When he’d had some water and Wymack promised to send him the security tape, they all got their chance to shoot on Milo who didn’t allow a single one through. After the showboating, they played a real scrimmage. Whoever won got to play with Milo next and even as Kevin lost thrice in a row, he never stopped his giddy chatter about the places Milo would go and the changes he’d bring to the sport.

[enwoso]

A cute blurb of Lovie having the best time playing dolly’s with all the new youngsters on the team (Katie, Viv, Freya, Michelle) and having the best time

new friends | alessia russo x child!reader

grumpy masterlist

it was pre-season and the team had been spending an evening together. a lot of the girls playing some sort of card game. it sometimes getting quite competitive at times.

but alessia was getting wary, you had been quite for a while. which wasn’t always a good sign as sometimes that would mean you were up to no good. not always but it was usually a good indication.

“had anyone seen lovie?” alessia asked as the round of cards had just finished the girls shaking their heads as the cards were thrown onto the table to be reshuffled before the next game.

“actually i seen her, she was dragging freya along to play whatever she was playing” lia said as she placed her cards back on the table. remembering seeing you pull freya and a couple of the young gunners along.

“oh good god knows what she’s doing then” alessia sighed as she began to stand up from her seat next to codi, “i’ll quickly go and check on her!”

alessia followed the hushed sound of your talking along with the voices of the young gunners voice and as she turned the corner she doesn’t know what she expected you to have roped the young girls into doing but you siting and playing dolly’s with the girls was definitely not top of the list.

she stood at the doorway and watched as you had a full story line going on with the young gunners; freya, viv, katie and michelle all with doll in their hand as they played along with your little imagination.

alessia soon clicked that the storyline you had was of that the dolls were the arsenal girls just with different names. a smile couldn’t help but creep on your mummy’s face before alessia fake coughed to make her presence known to the small group of girls.

“hi mummy!” you beamed as a small hello came from the young gunners too.

“i see you’ve made some new friends!” alessia raised an eyebrow as you nodded. alessia knew she was being a little exaggerate with that, of course you knew of the young gunners the group of them having been on the team that traveled to australia and they’d been in and around the first team for the past season, so of course you knew them.

this was just the first time she had seen any of them properly sitting down and interacting with you instead of a usual hello or little wave every time they seen you in and around the team.

“yes! we playing a game” you explained the game and just like alessia thought, you were playing your own little version of arsenal but with different names.

“this is you less!” viv held up a blonde barbie, “but her name is alyssa. tiny’s idea, all the names were” viv carried on as alessia laughed at the name choice.

“let’s hear them then!”

“this is leanne and you can probably guess who this is by the frown!” katie joked as she held up a barbie again with blonde hair and a bob with two longer bits at the front, one basically identical to leah’s.

another giggle came from alessia as she listened to each explanation, “i love it!”

“this is kacey and she’s loves yellow cards and just the colour yellow in general!” michelle laughed as she held up a brunette barbie dressed all in the colour yellow with a bit of green.

“this is betty and she loves dogs look she even had her own called milo” freya held up another barbie which had a little puppy dog accessorie, a knowing nod coming from alessia as she knew exactly who that was.

“and this is jones! and he tells everyone how to play football!” you held up a male barbie as alessia hummed as she listened a little more to your little fantasy world you’d created with the young gunners.

“well this sounds lovely and i won’t interrupt anymore!” alessia said as she tapped her knees ready to stand back up. “if you need me i’ll be out there with the girls” alessia smiled looking at you but more talking to the group of young gunners as she placed a light kiss to your cheek before leaving you to get back to your own little world with your new friends.

“what is she up to then?” beth asked curiously as alessia joined back with the group of girls she was originally playing cards with.

“oh she and the young gunners have made us in barbie form!” alessia explained as the girls’ faces turned to confusion but also intrigued.

“that’s so- wait, what?”

[urmum-lovesme]

Thoughts on JJ Maybank x Kook! Sunshine! Reader...

Sunshine!reader is good friends with Kie (the two of them met at Kildare Academy when Kie's parents forced her to go there for a year)

Sunshine!reader stayed in touch with Kie even after she left and now they go to clean the beach together every Thursday!

Sunshine!reader loves the beach, its her favourite place to be, she loves surfing, swimming, tanning (lowkey pretending to be a mermaid with Kie but ssshhhhhh don't tell anyone)

Sunshine!reader who always has a pair of Adidas Gazelle's on her feet, she's a sucker for colourful things.

Sunshine!reader has an record player she got from her grandma, and she plays all of her dad's old records all the time, her house is never quiet unless her step dad is home.

Sunshine!reader has a vintage yellow bike, with cute white ribbons tied to the handles, and a small brown woven basket attached to the front, where she stores the seashells she's found at the beach when she cycles down to the shore.

Sunshine!reader who is no stranger to the Pogues as Kie is telling her about the gangs adventures all the time, and the brown haired girl invites her to join them all the time, but she's too busy with things at home.

Sunshine!reader's dad was a Pogue, but after he opened a florist in Figure 8, his business expanded and now she lives in a huge house, with a pool in the back yard, a small white picket fence, and her orange cat Cheeto (she was 6 when she named him and her parents tried to change it to Milo but Cheeto seemed to stick).

Sunshine!reader's never really fit in with with any of the kook's in her school, as they don't really see her as a 'real kook', but she could care less because they're all stuck up anyways.

Sunshine!reader who has a grudge against Rafe because he called her a 'prude' in front of everyone at a party when she refused to get with him (she threw her drink at him after he said it and they've been on bad terms ever since then).

Sunshine!reader is friends with Sarah though! but she's tried to convince her to dump Topper, the Cameron girl won't listen to her no matter how hard she tries.

Sunshine!reader volunteers at the sea life sanctuary on the island, and when there's a turtle hatch, she's always one of the first people there (besides Kie of course).

Sunshine!reader who cooks from the heart, and anyone who's ever had her food will praise her endlessly.

Sunshine!reader who drives a clapped up yellow ford cortina, which was her dad's first car, and now she's just too attached to it to get another car.

Sunshine!reader who finds herself regretting her decisions when on a really hot day her car breaks down on her in the middle of the cut on her way home.

Sunshine!reader who just happens to get lucky when a curious Pogue with a head of blonde hair is driving by on his dirt bike and sees her waving her hand around in the air holding her phone trying to get signal.

Sunshine!reader who is surprised at the sound of a revving engine and turns to see a handsome boy who's offering to help her out...

I may have already written the first chapter of this... should I post... ? 🤭

[moronkyne]

More redacted headcanons because sleep is for the weak!!

help me.

❃ AFAB!Angel with an ovaries disorder that makes their hormones MONSTERS. Acne galore, hair grows on belly and under chin very easy, weight is super weird for them, and emotions are CRAZY. David was the first person who didnt make them feel invalid for it. Telling them that they’re gorgeous either way. And Angel knows it. (PROJECTING ON ANGEL AGAIN)

❃ Southern Sweetheart. Southern. Sweetheart. Thick and deep accent, smooth talker and seductive.

❃ Aaron writes checks for no reason. I dont know why, he doesnt know why. He finds it easier and more efficient meanwhile smartass has grown to somehow find that ATTRACTIVE.

❃ To follow up on that first one—DAVIDS BACK ACNE IS NOT SAFE. THAT MAN IS NOT SAFE.

❃ Baaabe is the typa person to scream whenever their favorote webtoon/webcomic gets an update. Asher was AT FIRST startled by it—But, now he just asks which one and for Baaabe to fill him in about ‘the hot gosp’

❃ Ive talked about Milo ane Bruno Mars—BUT HEAR ME OUT ON MILO AND JOHN LEGEND.

❃ Milo and Asher have kissed. Idk where—I don’t know when or why, but it was funny as shit. Asher grabbed Milo by the collar of his shirt, both fists clenching around the fabrics—SMOOCH. Milo discovered he was into manhandling that day.

❃ Morgan is slightly intimidated by his listener.

❃ Honey was a band kid. Marching band. Guy was a theatre kid. Let that sink in. Band X Drama my beloved

❃ Talking about Honey, theyre the type of person to look their HOTTEST when they wake up—This WAS KILLLLLING pre-confession Guy. Their tank top slightly hanging off on their neck? Waistband a lil too low? Hair all frizzy and fucked up? UUUUUGH

❃ Darlin’ walks around shirtless 99% of the time.

❃ Also… I’ve always seen Aggro as a black cat with yellow eyes that kinda resemble Sweethearts eyes. Idk why or what caused this but Aggro is a black cat to me and thats neat. :3

[fanaticsnail]

Chapter 6

Masterlist here, Moodboard here

Sapsorrow Masterlist

Word Count: 7,353

The Storyteller - Sapsorrow"Whom so ever fits the ring becomes wed to the warlord who owns it"Themes: enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, forced proximity, lord and subordinate, one bed trope, apprehension, mutual pining, obligation, slow burn, eventual love, protective, "where is my wife" trope.

(Image Source)

Tag List: @sordidmusings @writingmysanity @gingernut1314 @since-im-already-here @feral-artistry @be-good-please @little-bunnybabe @sukilovesyou @buggyenjoyer @thesailus @under-kitty @acehyacinth @andriannag @one17 @canthebest1 @khaleesihavilliard @quirkyrascal @hungrhay @sentieence @lebanese-afg-ya @captaincupio @szired @sexc-snail @alphaash99 Thank you to @i-am-vita for her banner!

Song Accompaniments: Crumbling Dreams - Milo the Otter!, Moon Dance - Danny Elfman

Reopening the large double doors to the large ballroom, Mihawk ushered you through the threshold with his guiding hand placed on the small of your back. He allowed himself the luxury of closing his eyes and taking a moment to compose himself as your perfume danced past him upon entering the room. Stepping behind you and reopening his eyes, his yellow hue was met with the intense purple gaze of the giant, reptilian man darkening your radiancy with his intimidating aura. 

“My lady,” Sir Crocodile addressed you at his side, “If I may be granted the luxury of taking your arm a moment. I have decided to rescind my invitation for your beau to view the creation I have crafted and allow it to be a moment for you to take with your eyes only.” You cocked your head to the side, turning your chin towards the lord of Kuraigana at your side, but continuing to hold firm your gaze onto the large man in front of you.

“I hope you are not suggesting I am to enter a room alone with you, unchaperoned, Sir Crocodile?” you quipped, your left brow arching and lips pursing at the suggestion. Sir Crocodile allowed the rumble of his chest to exhale his sour cigar through huffs of laughter. 

“Of course not, my lady,” he uttered once his laughter stifled. Mihawk bore his golden gaze into the smirking face of the dangerous reptilian man, baring his own intimidation onto his towering body, “There will be three others with me, one of whom I likely deem the most competent out of the bunch. I take it you know the Red-Hair Pirates a little more than you do the blue-haired clown?”

You sighed, nodding your head in confirmation before turning back around to face your intended. He was less than impressed at the notion you were to be spirited away by the three men he tasked with aiding him with his impossible tasks, with the potential notion of viewing you in a variety of states of undress. It was written all over his face: jaw clenched, eyes narrowed and brow angled down to depict his displeasure at the suggestion. As he was about to speak up, another presence with a familiar scent of dried tobacco leaves and gunpowder arrived at his side. 

“Don’t you worry yourself, Hawk-Eyes,” Beckman hushed his rumbled drawl against his shoulder, “If anything goes awry: I’ll shoot first, and apologize later for ruinin’ your marble walls.” Mihawk snapped his gaze over to the silver-haired first-mate of the red-hair pirates, continuing to hold firm his scowl and hissing in a firm breath through his nose as he eyed him.

“I take it you’re the competent member of this coup to pry my bride from my arms and away from our engagement soiree,” Mihawk snarled, his brow deeply furrowing in the center of his forehead. Beckman smirked, his lips ticking up at the corner of his mouth.

“Would you prefer to place the safety of your bride in the rat, the reptile, or the idiot?” Beckman shrugged his shoulders up in question. A crackly, sharp “Hey!” growled from behind the crocodilian man, followed by the chuckle of the red-headed captain you have come to enjoy. Mihawk tilted his neck sharply to the side, a short ‘click’ elicited from his spine as he processed the words. 

Mihawk unwove his arm from your back before claiming your right hand within his left, turning you to face him in an intricate and elaborate twirl. Stepping sidewards, he withdrew you from the towering and unwanted company without excusing himself and halted your movements. Gazing deeply and lovingly into your eyes, he drew your right hand up and placed a kiss atop the back of your knuckles. Your breath hitched in your throat, floating your gaze between focusing on each of his eyes as he broke the deep kiss against your hand. 

A thousand questions flew between the two of you internally. From you, mainly, was how long had he felt this way for you. Surely not for only the month you had stayed at castle Kuraigana, but a lord should not be turning his head to a governess at decorative galas. For Mihawk, he was questioning how deeply he trusted the four to be alone with someone so dear to his heart… Or how much trust you placed in Beckman in your interactions prior. 

Through the unspoken discussion, you fought an unwinnable battle internally. You chose to disregard your formal training and allow a moment of softness to overtake your stoic form. Reaching upwards, you placed your left hand on Mihawk’s cheek and shepherded him into yourself, placing your lips gently against his left cheek as you cradled him against your palm. He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth and froze his shoulders in place. 

His eyes snapped up, meeting first with the brown hue of Red-Haired Shanks’ eyes, who shot him a playful wink as soon as he witnessed the small gift of affection. 

“I will not be away from your side if you are uncomfortable with this, beloved,” Mihawk uttered in a voice little above a whisper. You smiled against his cheek, withdrawing your lips from him and looking up at him through your eyelashes. He quickly drew his honeyed eyes back to meet with yours, softening as soon as he met your affectionate gaze. 

“These are the gentlemen you trusted enough to complete this task,” you whispered under your breath, a smile dancing at the corners of your mouth, “And I trust Beckman to handle it should it become too much for me.” 

“As do I,” Mihawk confirmed, leaning down towards you. He drew his hand up to your face, hovering it over your hair with a small apprehensive quake to his movements; invisible should one be not looking for it, “I would not see a single hair atop your head harmed.” He brushed your cheek with his fingertips gently as his hand found itself cupping your shoulder.

“There was a time I did not see eye to eye with these men,” he uttered his warning sternly, ensuring you held firm to each word he relayed to you. Allowing a small giggle to fall from your parted lips, eyes upturning in a taunting glee, you allowed your eyes to fall to rest on his mustache-topped lip. 

“My lord,” you uttered darkly, drawing your eyes up to meet slowly with his once more, “You are behaving as if you forget the true reason you invited me here in the first place.” Stepping your body closer to his had him drop his hand and draw themselves to your hips once more, head head angling down to meet with your approaching lips to whisper in his ear. 

“I handle the most undisciplined of pupils,” you sighed against his ear, Mihawk closing his eyes to resist the shudder of joy at your breath dancing against his lobe, “Getting them to behave,” you watched his shoulders finally give into the shudder, prompting your lips to curl up into a sly grin, “Is one of my strengths.��

You withdrew from his proximity, allowing your half-hooded eyes to meet his through your eyelashes. Mihawk was holding his composure to his regular stoic rigidity, but his slightly blown pupils held a different prose. He lightly ticked his lip up to the side, allowing a softness to rise within his eyes as he gazed at you. Although neither of you confessed to harboring deep affection on the balcony moments prior, you could tangibly feel how far Mihawk truly held fondness for you. 

“Perhaps we should draw this evening to a close,” Mihawk suggested, glancing past you and around the room, “It would seem the preferable option, considering it could look to others that you are abandoning me to flee into the night with four men you met moments prior.” Both Mihawk and you allowed a small laugh to fall between you at the notion. He retracted his hands from your waist and elevated his right hand in a gesture to the orchestral arrangement to halt their performance. 

“Honored guests,” Mihawk spoke up, his voice alerting the surrounding participants to halt their conversations and turn to face him, “My bride and I have been delighted at your attendance here this night.” Mihawk turned, interlacing your right arm within his left and presented you both to the crowd gathering.

“I trust you can all find your own way from the halls to take your leave,” Mihawk nodded to the great doors, aligned with rows of candelabras dancing and illuminating the castle’s exit’s. He smirked at the corner of his lips before adding, “Should you desire aid in your exit, I would sooner ask Perona to navigate you than Zoro. He has a knack for getting lost within the walls.” A small grumbled groan was almost audible to the side of the room, no doubt in your mind it was thrust from the lips of your green-haired gentleman in training. 

“We will be looking forward to accepting your responses regarding your future attendance at our upcoming wedding,” You curtseyed to the crowd, bowing your head respectfully; a gesture which was returned with equal enthusiasm by your prior students in attendance with their chaperones, “It has been a delight to make your acquaintance, and to see you all again.” You danced your eyes over your students, them all returning your smile with vigor. 

The guests began to file out of the open doors of castle Kuraigana, the large reptilian man once again extending his elbow in a gesture for you to take it. Paying one more glance to the side at your intended and meeting his eyes a final time, you unlaced your hand from within the crook of his elbow and interwove it within the arm of Sir Crocodile. 

“He doesn’t love you.”

Your brows furrowed, looking straight ahead and not sure where the doubts were coming from. Shaking your head to rid your mind of the thoughts, you engaged Sir Crocodile, Buggy and Shanks in polite conversation as they ushered you throughout the halls; the protective presence of Benn Beckman behind you aiding you in feeling safe with the two strangers alongside the red-haired rat. 

Perona watched your retreat with great interest; her wide eyes narrowed as she witnessed the exit with the four men. Zoro smirked, his brow arched up as he playfully gave his commentary on the situation. 

“What is it?” He smirked down, hovering over her shoulder, “Don’t like the thought of our Governess being without the great lord to protect her from the three burly men and that stupid clown?” Perona’s lips were tight in a firm line, her focus on the back of your head. She began to hover in the air, slowly finding her body drawing itself closer to your own, staring off into the distance.

“I just thought I saw-...” Perona began, cocking her head sharply to the side and holding firm her gaze, “Something watching.” 

—----------------

Beautiful. 

Everything was simply beautiful. The layers of satins, silks, chiffon, ivory, embroidered golds and silvers. The two dresses were everything your greatest fantasies could have ever dreamed up, and then exceeded the expectations tenfold. Each gentleman presented their designs to you; Sir Crocodile’s first. The hue alone was enough to make your eyes gloss over and a sigh pulled from your lungs at its mastery. Buggy the Clown’s presentation had the gloss begin to prick at the corners of your eyes and trail their diamond lines down your cheeks. 

But Shanks. Shanks. Shanks’ contribution had the change of pace from dreaminess to a bashfulness you had not experienced in some time. Excusing yourself from the other two men after bowing respectfully to the hulking Sir Crocodile, and encumbering the clown in and embrace for their efforts, you were chaperoned into a small room with both Beckman and Shanks to accompany you.

“Now, love,” he began, prompting your eyes to fall forward and dance over the mannequin’s bodice, “This is the concept only. I’m still working on the finer details, and I won’t leave the port of Kuraigana before it finally comes to me,” he took your shoulder beneath his palm and ushered you over to the bodice, the curtain draping behind you to shield the three of you from the other two gentlemen. Beckman continued to hold his eyes firmly against the sealed crack in the velvet curtains to ensure no prying eyes view the lingerie Shanks had made for you. 

“See, this is where it goes over your breasts,” he gestured to the torso of the onyx bodice of the mannequin, releasing your shoulder from beneath his palm and tugging at several robes of gold hanging limply, “And these tie everything in place. The symbolism behind it is you, yourself, are the sun. The gold is what encases you beneath it, the rays,” he released the golden rope and adjusted the sheer robe over the shoulders, “The rays are bound by each of the knots tying it together.” 

“How would you ever expect me to remember how to assemble the knots and the strings myself?” you furrowed your brows, attempting to see the vision Shanks had for the outfit. Shanks chuckled, clasping the back of his neck as he winced a little in anticipation of your reaction. 

“Well, Exterminator,” he laughed at you, prompting you to arch your brow and seek him out in the corner of your eye, “Some assembly is required by another person. I’d never do anything you, yourself, are not comfortable with, but,” He drew himself in front of you, “If you’d prefer it just me, I can use my right hand and my teeth to bind you within it.” Your eyes widened at the suggestion.

“I do not desire your sharpened rat-teeth near me, Shanks,” you reprimanded him, your brow decreasing and resting in a straight and serious line. Shanks winced a little at your elevated words, but nodded to your boundary. 

“Would you prefer it if Beckman did the knot tying?” The usually stoic man had his ears pricked up at his name, still holding his eyes firmly against the line of the curtain but listening more intently to the conversation behind him, “What say you, Becks? You keen on doing some knot tying for our most precious and beloved exterminator on her big day?” Beckman sighs, shaking his head and takes a few moments to answer that very pointed and heavy question. 

The first moment you met him, he found you effortlessly managing the crew of Red-Haired pirates from their lustful advances on a menagerie of young ladies in silks and satins. This piqued his interests, him desiring to learn more about the protective exterminator and her role in shepherding the youthful gentlemen and women in society. 

After many years of running into you from port to port, he treated you with the utmost respect and found himself hanging onto your every command as a loyal knight taking instructions from his queen. From then on, you were the friend he confided in and trusted to handle the troop easily when ushering you throughout the seas on the red-force. Of all aboard, you trusted Beckman the most to treat you well. 

“If you would prefer me to complete this task for you, teeth free,” he smirked, placing a cigarette between his lips and igniting the tip with a lighter, “Wouldn’t wanna do nothin’ you’re uncomfortable with, my lady. This would be a rather intimate experience, and I wouldn’t dream of putin’ ya in a position you’d not deem appropriate.” 

Your breath hitched in your throat, truly now realizing what task you placed on your intended when you initially requested the former warlord to complete.

“I require a dress that meets the intensity of the sun with its rays of gold and copper. An accumulation of material so outrageously forbidden, it be intended for your eyes alone with its intended purpose. A dress so scantily designed, that you will find none to ever match its equal in both color and provocative appearance.”

Your heart panged with guilt, eyes wide but frown depending as you relayed your own words within your mind. Before your words had enough time to gather more thoughts behind their intentions, you found yourself murmuring below your breath; Beckman responding in a similar tone to your question. 

“Could you do it blindfolded?”

“I will do my best, my lady.”

“You better get to planning your wedding, love,” Shanks called up from behind you, prompting you to turn back around to face him, “I think I’ll have it for you sooner than you might think.” 

—----------------------

Tucked beneath the duvet after ridding yourself of your gown and scrubbing the night off your skin, you reminisced the words Shanks spoke over you. You shook your head, laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation you had found for yourself. A small shriek allowed itself to exit from your lips as you hid your face beneath the covers; yourself devolving to a teenager encumbered by their own stupidity circulating within their minds. 

“It won’t be enough. It will never be enough.” 

Your ears pricked up at the voice, prompting you to throw the covers of your bed from your face and seek out its source. Slowly scanning the room, you found no such presence within the corners of your wing. The bothersome thoughts circulating within your mind seemed to have a physical presence; a presence that continued to watch over you as an executor would watch a prisoner place their head within the circle of a guillotine. 

Laying back down against your plush mattress, you began to be eclipsed by invasive and tiresome thoughts so tangible that your body felt more tired upon reawakening than it did attempting its slumber. Once again, no birds serenaded the morn due to its distance between breaking the daylight against the purple hue of cool nightfall. 

Sucking in a breath from your nose, you flung the covers back with your exhale and began to aggressively tug trousers and a blouse onto your body, alongside your socks and boots. Perhaps pushing yourself further to exhaustion may coerce your body to allow slumber to claim you. 

Attempting to furiously walk in silence was no easy feat. The desire to allow the remaining members of the household to enjoy their restfulness overcame your own need to behave erratically and childish in the moment, but you were looking forward to enjoying stomping to your heart's content to satisfy your inner angry teenager once walking among the grounds. 

After opening the cold, wooden door to the castle; you silently crossed the threshold and clicked the latch behind you as softly as you could muster with the iron-barred door’s affinity for squeaks and clanks. You turned and hastily embarked on your descent down the stairs and onto the footpath leading towards the vast grapevines throughout the castle grounds. The pebbles kicked up with dust beneath your heels, scuffing your shoes as you picked up your brief sprint to the winding and heavily fruited vines. 

Upon reaching the first row, your steps halted their motion as your mind began to process exactly what was happening before your eyes. Your fingertips began to shake at your hips, your jaw slackened and eyes wide. 

Dracule Mihawk, lord of castle Kuraigana and lands surrounding, former warlord of the seas, current world’s greatest swordsman, your betrothed and intended husband, was gardening. Hands holding firm to the base of a mattock and humming under his breath, he slammed down the iron tip to pry the earth of its rest. His brown trousers were stained with the waxy coat of the ground, cementing itself against his calves and leather boots. 

His shirt was hanging on a post beside a small, dirty triangle of cloth and a round, large brimmed straw hat, leaving his entire chest and back exposed to the sunlight as it began to share the radiance of the dawn. Beside the hat lay an intricately designed bouquet tied with twine and lace and laying carefully within the circle of the upturned hat. 

A grunt fell from his lips per impact of the earth, halting his hum as his body continued upheaving the ground to a point he deemed far enough to stop digging. His forearms and biceps shook upon impact, his pectorals and abdomen compressing upon retracting the object from its place embedded in the earth. As he turned away from the hole he dug, he rubbed his forearm against his brow to rid it of the sweat and grime. 

He sighed as he began retrieving a small vine with bare roots and placed it within the hole, kicking the dirt beneath his boot heel to place the earth securely around it, and stomping to resolidify the ground. Straw hat, ruffled pale shirt, covered in mud, gardening, flowers in a bouquet. 

It all began to swirl within your mind, watching as he sighed once more before placing the pale shirt over his head. He secured the face shield over the lower half of his face and began spraying the hole he had just covered with rain water. The earth began to splash up under the pressure of the nozzle of the hose, dampening his pale shirt and caking the top half of his body with sticks, mud and hay from the compost. More water began to splash up into his face, him shaking his head and grumbling below his breath, verbally reprimanding himself.

“Never messy in combat, never messy in gardening,” Mihawk yelled at himself in a hushed tone, “But you slip below the vines one time and now you’re this-this-...” He sighed again, raking his fingers through his exposed locks a final time before shaking his head, “This Farm-Hand. The creature from the earth created to serve as friend and confidant to your beloved. Why must she make me so-... so-...” He growled, intentionally now splashing his body with water, raindrops falling like glass from each curl attached to his radiant head. 

Hastily, you stepped as quietly as you could away from the scene in front of you, hearing the vocal chastations echo with each angry grumble exiting from his mouth. You placed your back against a nearby oak tree and took a moment to process internally what you had seen and heard. Clapping both hands over your mouth, you began to teeter into a giggle. 

The lord of Kuraigana, your betrothed and beloved, had intentionally been attempting to woo you all this time with flowers each day for a month. The first time you had caught him was when you were wandering the halls in your nightdress, apparently the first time he had ever fallen amongst the sludge while gardening: covering his body from head to toe in an amassment of the earthly elements. 

You risked a peek at him, witnessing as he shook his head further; now completely under the disguise as your friend: the Farm-Hand. Fur, feather, straw, clay, mud, sticks and stone cover all apart from his honeyed eyes and his straw hat. He has assembled his beastly persona, a caricature of the man you had come to adore through your time spent with him. 

A portion of you wanted to continue this torturous facade for him, not one to enjoy trickery or deceit and wishing to punish him in some way for his lies. Although immediately after that single thought, you smiled for your sweet Farm-Hand, adoring the extent he was willing to go to enjoy speaking with you with no filter apart from the muck and slop he adorned on his body. After toying with the notion within your mind, you decided on behaving in the former: not wishing to allow him the upper hand in this next interaction. 

“Farm-Hand?” You called to him, weaving your body from behind the tree and exposing yourself under the first light of the dawn, “Farm-Hand, is that you here so early?” You watched as he began to scramble, at first attempting to askew the floral arrangement behind his back from view before holding it at heart-level. 

“Lost-Lady,” his voice called to you, disguising what you thought to be a small stumble in his footing as he began to clamber towards you from his prior position gardening. His boots met with the sludge, sliding the earth from beneath his footstep and successfully dropping him down to his knees. You sucked your lips into your mouth, witnessing a man full of dignity and grace be brought down to his knees while cradling flowers against his chest. 

“Sir, are you alright?” you asked, beginning your hasty descent towards him and almost losing footing yourself. 

“I would not be so hasty-!” Mihawk called at a moment too slow, watching as you lost your own footing beneath the sludge of his own making and being dropped to a low crouch; managing to collect yourself at the last moment. “My lady, are you alright? Are you hurt?” 

“I am uninjured, my darling,” you reassured him with a small chuckle, bringing your eyes up to meet with his shielded face, “It is you I am more concerned. Do you tumble often? Must be very poor on the knees.” You silently hoped he both would and wouldn’t catch onto your vocal slip up, darting your eyes between his to check over his reaction to the name. 

“I try not to lose my footing often, my lady,” he confessed, reaching out his unoccupied left hand to you to ensure you were steady enough in your crouched position, by offering you additional aid should you need it, “Contrary to what you might think, I am actually rather competent at gardening.” You smiled, rising to your feet and collecting his left hand within your right to support him in his rise. 

“I believe the world of your abilities, sir. Now, allow me to aid in your rise to your feet once more,” you smiled down at him, his eyes meeting your own with an almost overwhelming amount of adoration. You hoisted him up to his feet, uncaring at the passing of grime onto your clothes from his. 

You began to walk in silence, the destination of the castle steps once more in sight for Farm-Hand. You noticed his shoulders slouching and the weight of a mental burden begin overencomber him beneath the waves of thought. You furrowed your brows at his posture, unsure as to how to address such an issue. 

“Is there something the matter, Farm-Hand?” you asked him, slowing your step beside him to check him over. 

“All is well, Lost-Lady,” he uttered in a half-hearted manner. You purse your lips, a frown finding its home against the center of your brow as you looked him over once more. You decided against continuing this little facade further, and halted your steps all together as you both stood at the entrance of the doorway. Sighing out a huff of agitation, you shook your head before hardening your resolve in addressing the proverbial elephant in the room: although you were truly unsure as to how. 

You rotated your neck, a small crack produced from its circular motion in response. Drawing your eyes up to meet with his and stepping into his aura, you looked down at the floral arrangement in his hands. The hues were as vibrant and beautiful as each day prior, although this bunch seemed to hold an almost desperate apprehension and appreciation. There were so many intricate elements, it looked as if he absolutely scanned each leaf, petal, and stem within the greenhouse and beyond to draw each piece into it. 

“Will you be joining me for breakfast this morning?” you coyly asked him, trying to tease out whether he would give himself up willingly or continue with this little facade no matter how much it pained him to do so. He looked at you, puzzled and perplexed, and began to attempt to assemble a response to your question.

“I will be where I always am for breakfast, my lady,” he responded, his eyes looking very pleased with his retort. You hummed in response, nodding your head externally while internally agitated at his successful avoidance of the question. Your betrothed seemed to not desire giving himself up willingly; which spurred you on to push harder.

“Even now he hides his face from you. He intends to deceive you until the bitter end.” 

You shook your head of the thoughts whispering into your consciousness, casting them aside by closing your eyes and assessing your internal monologue. Reopening your eyes, you gazed back into his honeyed hues and smiled once more at him.

“Then I shall bid you farewell, sir,” you nodded politely and began to take your leave of him to only be halted by his firm grip holding firm to your right bicep beneath his left hand. You halted in your steps, turning back to look at him with your eyes filled with something Mihawk was not expecting to see from you. 

Sorrow. Doubt. A deep and upturned sadness eclipsed over your face and caused him to stumble over his next words to you. 

“I thought we were past all of those titles, Lost-Lady,” he attempted to reassure you with his words, only for you to pull away from his grasp. You apprehensively drew your right hand up to his face, hovering in front of his hat and mimicking the same movement over his features as he did the night prior. You sighed as your thumb brushed against his shielded chin before finding yourself cupping his shoulder beneath your palm. 

“Would you prefer me to call you ‘Farm-Hand’,” you sighed, a smile pricking at the corner of your mouth as you continued to watch his eyes stagger beneath your pointed look, “Or shall I return the title you bestowed onto me?” 

Mihawk was perplexed. Had you been spying on him? Did your ears hear the internal monologue he decided to relay verbally, actively mocking himself for his idiocy? Surely not. Hopefully not. He yearned for this deceit to flee from his form. No longer desiring to adorn this shield and to be the man beneath this amassment of muck for you; he wanted so desperately to cast aside titles and just truly be yours. 

“And what title may that be?” Mihawk whispered beneath his breath caught within his throat. His gaze followed your fingertips as they circled around the flowers within his hands, prompting him to release them into your grip. You slipped your hand from his shoulder and turned to begin your withdrawal into the manor with one final quip over your shoulder.

“Thank you for the flowers. I will cherish them as I do all of the others you have presented me each day.” Beginning your ascension to your wing, you couldn’t help but wonder why he decided to continue adorning the mask you had already seen slipping and cracking at the corners. 

“Perhaps it was truly because he does not truly love you.”

After retreating back into your designated wing, you shook the thoughts away from your mind and replaced the flowers atop your table with the fresh assortment he had crafted for you. You sighed out a small breath and began changing from your soiled clothes into your regular gown for tutelage of your two wards for the day. 

Breakfast was far from silent that morning. Perona had begun chittering away about which lord and lady had begun courtship. She provided her commentary on the dresses and suits adorning each member of the attendees, focussing on the amassment of silks and satins clinging to the infamous clown-captain of the east blue. 

“Did you see his frilly collar? Wasn’t it stunning?” her voice did little to hide her excitement regarding the frills and feathers, “And how beautiful his hair is! How does he keep his locks so silken on the seas, Mihawk? In fact, how do you keep them so-.”

“-Why must you continue to listen to the whining of the insufferable child? Flee from this land and find a suitor attuned to your interests and class-.”

“-And the amount of weaponry on the red-haired pirates! Did you see Yassop’s pistol, Zoro?” Perona continued with glee. Zoro grunted, reaching for a small rice-ball and placing it onto his plate before pouring himself a small, ceramic dish of tea from his ocha teapot. 

“And the green-haired boy? Do you think he truly need of your services? He is a swordsman, no mere gentleman in need of a few curt lashes upon his behind. You can do nothing to train him further in the ways you know best. Leave.” 

“I did see,” he grunted, rising the small mug to his lips and taking a sip, “I aim to tell my sharpshooting crewman about it when I get back to ‘em. Usopp would be keen to-.”

“Even now your intended ignores you. He has no interest in fostering the flames of your affection.” 

You inhaled a deep breath, a shaken hand reaching forward to grasp your teaspoon within it and stirring a spoon of honey within the mug. You placed the spoon beside the mug and began to raise it to your lips and take a small sip of the liquid within. 

Mihawk was not accustomed to this amount of silence from you. You often engaged with the wards in conversation over breakfast and went over the agenda for the day. Routine, structure and discipline were the three aspects alongside true professionalism he had come to enjoy with your mornings. Whatever plagued your thoughts held you completely in silence and unable to speak those words to life. 

“Beloved-?” Mihawk began, attempting to regain your attention, only to witness your eyes continue to stare at the teapot placed in front of you. 

“The moon, the starlit sky; they are beautiful dresses. But the golden assortment? Do you truly think that be enough-?”

“-My love, are you quite alright?” Mihawk attempted to gain your attention once more, only to become more concerned at the state of your daze. Perona halted her conversation with Zoro, looking over to Mihawk before drawing her eyes over your hunched form. 

“Why don’t you set them in a glorious blaze, hm? What would be the harm in setting fire to those beautiful gowns? It should save you both the trouble of going through this sham of a marriage-.”

“-Hey!” Perona’s booming and otherworldly voice held dominion over the room, prompting your eyes to immediately draw themselves up to your pink-haired ward in confusion. Her rounded, dark pupils were holding firm to a space beside your left ear, the internal monologue halting itself as you glanced up. Perona began to levitate above the breakfast table, her hands reaching forward with her palms presented outwards.

“Step away from my governess, Hag!” Her voice held several tones within the single vocal strand, the air sucked from its delight of the morning rays. Zoro immediately was drawn to his feet, unsheathing his sword from beside him and brandishing it with flourish. Mihawk also rose to his feet, nodding to Zoro briefly, before he closed and reopened his amber eyes; now a ruby iris surrounding its glow. Zoro did the same, his iris crackling under the new color within his orbs. 

You felt a weight being shifted off you as Perona’s hands sunk into the air beside you and cast it upwards. Feeling the rush of wind beside you, you inhaled a shaken breath and closed your eyes in a tight squeeze and held your lips in a tight and firm line. Feeling alone of the inner monologue, your hands were taken within the cool hands of your betrothed; prompting your eyes to flitter open. 

“She is gone, beloved” he crouched at your left hand side, looking up into your eyes with concern interwoven within the once more amber hue of his irises. “Have her words bring you no hindrance nor whisper of worry. She can do no harm on this plane.” He reached up his hand and claimed your cheek beneath his palm, soothing you with his thumb rubbing circles within your smooth skin. “Her words are poisonous. The only harm she can truly do on this plane is with her words alone. I promise you, you are safe.” 

“How long has she been here, Mihawk?” Perona asked at your other side, her eyes fixed on a pinned point in the roof and remaining unblinking, “She seemed so sad.” Mihawk continued to hold you within his sights, as he desired to ensure your emotional wellbeing after an encounter with the spectre of the witch that plagued him. 

“She has been here with me since the ring was placed atop our governess’ unity finger. I had heard her voice only once before such a time,” Mihawk informed the three of you within the room, “And it was when I commissioned the ring to be set within the woven band itself.” 

Drawing your eyes over to his, you danced your sorrowful eyes between his and allowed yourself a moment of weakness to lean into his palm with your cheek. He sighed at the small gesture, leaning his crouched body further into your and searching your eyes for any thoughts you desired to relay onto him. 

“She fled from me two days ago when I had began concluding the task placed on me,” Mihawk continued to confess, removing his hand from your cheek and collecting both of your hands within his own, “I thought we were rid of her, considering-,” he halted his words, continuing to leave them unspoken within the air, but written all over his face.

Considering I love you.

Your soft smile in return had Mihawk’s heart swell within his chest. He drew your hands up to his face, the knuckles on your hands brushing his mustache as his lips caressed each joint above your fingers gently and deliberately. Perona smiled an impish smile as her eyes met with the display of affection between her lord and her governess, prompting her to swiftly gather the arm of the swordsman and direct him away from the room with an echo of protestations: “Hey, but I didn’t get to finish my breakfast-!”

Mihawk used his right leg to hook beneath a chair at your side and draw it close to him. His cocky smirk continued to hold against his lips as he continued gazing into your eyes, prompting you to roll them and chastise him with a click of your tongue. He drew it close to yours, sitting directly beside you and released one of your hands to collect your teacup and present it to you. 

“My, my lord,” you smirked, taking the teacup from his hand and raising it to your lips, “offering to serve a lowly governess at breakfast?” It was his turn to chastise you with the click of his tongue, tutting you at your personal degradation. 

“I thought I told you,” Mihawk began, choosing his next words by searching within his mind, “What was it you told the clown? We are more than the titles that make us?” You giggled, watching the corners of his eyes gather as his lips drew up into a small smile, “And we are far beyond simplistic roles, do you not agree?”

“Like the roles we chose for ourselves?” you offered the first extension of the relationship between your alter-egos to unmask between the two of you. He sighed, closing his eyes and bowing his head down in deep thought. 

“I never thought of you as a lady who was ever lost,” he whispered, his tone low and deliberate, “I had always thought of you as a woman who commanded every space she found herself within. Even as a man far more advanced in his years,” he continued, reopening his eyes to look lovingly into your face, “I had always seen you as a woman who could have the mighty fall to their knees- much as you had me do this morning.” 

Sighing your laugh, feeling the physical weight fall from your shoulders as your smile elevated your lips with its relief, you drew yourself closer to your beau and placed your forehead against his own with your eyes shut tightly. 

“Does this mean I will no longer be receiving flowers from my beloved Farm-Hand, adorning an assortment of mud and grime?” you quipped at him, taking your bottom lip beneath your teeth. He huffed out a laugh of his own, withdrawing his forehead from yours and replacing it atop your brow with his lips. 

“If you so desire for your Farm-Hand to bring his Lost-Lady your daily gift of flowers, I will gladly become him once more for you. However,” Mihawk drew his eyes back to yours, an almost playfulness dancing behind his honeyed gaze, “I expect my Lost-Lady to be in naught but her nightdress in return.” 

—-----------------------

“I-I think I’ve done it,” the redhead captain exclaimed, his shaken right hand gathering the material beneath his hand and looking over it one last time, “I’ve done it! Becks! Becks!” 

Shank’s cries of glee echoed throughout the red-force, his crew alerted to his excitement and began gathering themselves at their posts. Beckman rose to his feet, beginning to direct the crew in their duties to prepare to board the pier of Kuraigana once again. 

“All hands! All hands on deck!” Shank’s voice called, his right hand waving a piece of parchment paper in absolute delight, “Hoist the colors, sound the alarms! We got to get the word to Hawk-Eyes! He marries on the morrow! Beckman, Becks-,” Shanks halted his feet, thrusting the parchment into the awaiting and overworked hands of his first-mate, “You reckon you could do that blindfolded, mate?” 

Benn Beckman straightened the parchment with an assortment of intricately composed directions with diagrams and mathematical equations correlating with the design. He frowned, eyeing the minute details and beginning to commit their paths to memory.

“As I said, Cap’n,” Beckman confirmed, meeting the hazel gaze of Shanks’ awaiting and hopeful face, “I will do my best for the lady.” Shanks clapped his hand over his shoulder and began making his way to address his crew as Beckman began visually putting together the guide and its make within his mind, practicing several intricate knots with the strands of the rope beside him. 

“The Vile Exterminator is getting married to the Hawk of Kuraigana! What a match!” Shanks cried in glee, the red-haired pirates cheering as they readied themselves to exit the ship and leave it behind to once more celebrate with the former rival of the captain.

“I will find your ring, Red-Haired Shanks,” Shanks’ smile dropped from his face as he snapped his head to seek out the voice, “I will find your ring and I will claim your soul as penance for your aid in keeping Mihawk’s from me.”

Shanks’ rubied eyes met with the cursed and haunting spectre of the ghoulish witch haunting his former rival and his former sailing companion. 

“Do your worst, witch,” he addressed the spectre, “I would sooner lay down my life than see those two part from one another. You should be happy! You’ve got what you wanted. They will be unified and your curse shall be lifted. That’s what you want, isn’t it? To see others have what was taken from you? To see them happy and thriving with each other?”

The spectral woman, her hair thrashing and wild, snarled at him before her form dissipated from its place in front of him. Shanks mockingly snarled in return at the position the ghostly woman was prior, opting to pay her warning no mind as he began prematurely celebrating with his crew by opening a fresh keg of ale. Gathering his den-den-mushi to inform the bride and groom of his success in completing the task, he dialed after placing the receiver against his shoulder and waited for the other end to pick up.

“It’s done, Hawks. Congratulations, you marry on the morrow!”

[https-milo]

3 ☾ Party / Denki Kaminari !!

DAY THREE OF FLUFFTOBER!

Summary

- "You new around here?" "I'm in your math class."

flufftober masterlist!

Parties were never your thing. You'd much rather spend your time lost in the library, trying your hardest not to fail and lose your scholarships to attend the prestigious U.A. Academy. But this time you were dragged by your close friend Mina Ashido to Yaoyorozu's house party. With a heavy sigh, you walked over to the corner because Mina split from you the second you entered the house. You sat on the couch separated from everyone else. There were a few faces you recognized, but you weren't close enough with anyone to actually talk to them. So you sat in silence and brushed your fingers through Yaoyorozu's cat's fur.

"I shouldn't have come, pretty girl," You cooed to the feline. "Mina is too much of a butterfly to stay and talk to me. Plus, she deserves to have fun." You had a soft smile on your face as you thought about your friend.

A boy with striking blonde hair approached you, he had a red solo cup in his hand and a bright grin on his face. "Hey! You new around here?"

You squint your eyes at the blonde, "I'm in your math class."

Immediately his face drops and flushes in embarrassment. "Oh," He rubbed his neck nervously. "Sorry, the lighting is weird. I just didn't recognize you!"

You hummed and continued petting the cat. "it's okay. I don't talk a lot so I don't blame you for not remembering me."

Kaminari's eyes sparkled and he sat beside you, "Well, I love talking! We should talk!" You looked at him reproachfully before a small, indiscernible smile crossed your face for a second.

'I must look really lonely,' you mused in your head. "Okay, what should we talk about?" Kaminari placed a finger to his chin in thought. He had set his cup down (but still in sight) and his other hand trailed through the cat's fur along with you. "Why don't you tell me about yourself?" You offered.

"You'd wanna listen to that?" He asked in astonishment, surprised you-- who was basically a stranger-- would want to listen to him. You nodded passively and gestured for him to start.

20 minutes later, you could recite his favorite things, childhood stories, and interests. Every word he said was soaked into your brain like it was the most important thing in the world. "You're nice to talk to," he said with sincerity.

The party lights shined on his face in a beautiful array of colors. They illuminated the boyish grin plastered on his lips and his charming yellow eyes, which were locked on your own. You couldn't bring yourself to look away. "Well, you're nice to listen to," You replied as smoothly as you could.

His grin widened, "I'm glad you think so. We should hang out again sometime. You know, alone, together, not at a party."

Immediately, almost eagerly, you nodded. "Oh yeah, for sure! Like a date, maybe?"

Kaminari chuckled, "Yeah, like a date. I'll talk your ear off again."

You smiled, "I'd really like that."

© https-milo. please do not repost, steal, copy, or modify my works!

FLUFFTOBER TAGLIST:

@drxgonspine

[countjesterrr]

More Personal Headcanons for Gordie (cause yes :3):

I have mixed feelings on whether he can handle his spice; I would say he’s slightly good in tolerating it (better than his mother) but since he’s still British—he wouldn’t handle the real spicy shit.

Very much a meat loving kind of guy; in Twilight Wings, he is shown to be eating two steak patties, carrots (?? Wtf are those two squared shape ones idk), and maybe mashed potatoes (??? I rlly can’t tell). The main portion of the meal is the steak, so I’d say he enjoys his protein. Plus he does state somewhere probs in the dlc how he eats a ton in order to do the training he does !

Enjoys drinking. Again, from Twilight wings because they gave me a crumb of Gordie content— he definitely takes a liking towards going out drinking or enjoying a can of beer! Something to just take the edge off yk??

Does collab videos with Raihan; I feel like they are close friends (same thing with Milo cause they literally stand next to each other in the Tournament waiting room) and both have large fan bases with adoring fans! Only makes sense they do photos or videos together!

Hates the heat, he’s just so used to Circhester’s constant snow and feverish weather that once he steps out of his town..it’s overwhelming sweat especially in Wyndon.

As someone who also takes up so much time to get dressed and be aesthetically me, Gordie definitely has to wake up or do his hair and pick out clothes an hour or two ahead of time. ESPECIALLY HIS HAIR— it takes up the most time and he doesn’t like feeling rushed!

He reads every fan’s letter to him; in Twilight Wings, you can see the HUGE amount of gifts and letters he has. And he WILL go through all of them damnit! (Although he does feel uncomfy with the ones that cross the line but he tries to not let it get to him-)

He def studies the other gym leaders battles; just to see if he can improve on his own battle skills while maintaining his unique style!

When he was younger, he had prescription glasses. A bit of a bad eye sight but wears eye contact lens, plus he thought he wouldn’t cool with his normal glasses so he opted to wearing those fuckass shades (jk I love them 🫶)

His favorite color is yellow, because of Shuckle and cause he thought it would be a cool color to dye his hair. Makes him stand out!

Gets really bad bed head, also going along with how he has to get ready an hour or two early for shit..his hair is a mess in the morning

Rarely goes to family holiday trips or dinners; most of the time it’s to avoid the awkward conversations with his mum and the other 5% being cause of work— he does goes to drop off gifts to his family tho :))

Love languages are definitely gift giving and words of affirmation; his fanbase fuel his need for praise and acknowledgment. Although, he isn’t one to shy away from telling others that they are amazing as well (YOU SEE HIS GYM CHALLENGE?? HE LITERALLY PRAISES U IN YO EAR—).

His handwriting is either really neat or angular and sharp (this is me speculating his signature on his league card)

Would actually be so down to get other piercings,, not too crazy ones like snake bites or ones in the eyebrows. Just two more piercings on the outer shell of his ear would be cool!!

okay that’s it again yippiee!! I love doing these (me in my old wattpad era shudders)

[redactedasmrproject]

“Tricking Your Feisty Werewolf Boyfriend Into Playing a Scary Game”

ID: a digital drawing of Milo and Sweetheart on a couch. Milo is a man with tan skin and short, curly brown hair. He wears a white sleeveless hoodie with orange drawstrings, grey sweatpants, and white socks. Sweetheart is a white trans man with green hair that fades into pink at the tips. He wears a black sleeveless turtleneck, black and yellow pajama pants, and white socks. Milo sits with his knees pulled up to his chest, a controller held in both hands as he leans forward intently. Sweetheart sits cross legged and looks at Milo smuy while holding open a sketchbook. The couch is black, and the wall is a desaturated burgundy. End ID.

[thottythoughtdaughter]

If ure still looking for fic requests can I request some Elliot and Sunshine fluff? 👉👈 Or Milo or Avior if ure not as comfy writing them. Tysm :)

GOODMORNING, GOODNIGHT. elliot x sunshine . fluff . undetermined timeline

Thin beams of gold sun shot through the window, bathing rumpled sheets and tousled blankets in liquid yellow. You yawned, rolling over, cuddling into Elliot beside you.

He chuckled sleepily, tucking you under his arm. "G'morning, Sunshine," he mumbled, pressing kisses to your bare neck.

You snuggled into him, eyes half-closed. "Hi."

"You sleep okay?" His fingertips trailed along your arms, goosebumps rippling in their wake.

"Mhmm," you shivered. "That feels good."

"Good," his voice was full of smiles. "What should we do today?"

"Anything," you flipped over, burying your face in the crook of his neck. His arm tightened around your waist. "Everything. What do you want to do?"

"Anything," his chest rumbled with his voice. "Everything. You, maybe."

"Eli!" you smacked his chest teasingly.

He laughed. "Sorry, Sunshine, but you're a sweetheart and I got a craving for sugar."

"Corny," you rolled your eyes, beaming from ear to ear.

You settled into silence, breathing in the fresh morning air and the smell of Elliot, something sweet and subtle and reassuring at once.

"Hey, uh..." he began to toy with your hair. A nervous fidget he had.

"Yes, baby?"

He grew confident at the pet name, tugging a strand of your hair gently. "Wanna go back to bed?"

You gave him a smirk. "We're already in bed, dummy."

"Yeah, I mean, to sleep. Perchance to dream," he put on a dramatic accent.

You leaned your head up, kissing his chin, his cheek, his lips. "Yeah. Okay."

"Okay," he whispered. "Good morning."

"Good morning," you whispered back, and shut your eyes.

And Elliot created worlds. Breathable ocean water, where you watched giant whales sail over you like hot air balloons. Fluffy, edible clouds that tasted like warm milk and honey. Outer space swirled about you like you were the sun itself, and Elliot watched you dance among the stars with love in his eyes.

Again and again and again, he dipped you into magical worlds, the stuff of your dreams.

Breathless, you stumbled off a carousel of real tigers and lions. You fell into his arms, laughing.

"Eli-- my God-- let's take a break," you panted, giggling, holding on to his arms for support.

His expression fell, smoothing into neutrality. "Oh. Yeah, right, sure. Like, do you want to--"

"Let's wake up," you said, squeezing his hand.

"Okay, sure. Let me just--"

He snapped his fingers, and you both fell into awakeness. Outside, it was dark, the stars glittering above.

You gasped. "Well, good night, I suppose! We spent all day sleeping."

Elliot shrugged, his lips downturned. "Sorry, baby, I just--"

"Why are you apologizing?" you asked, giving him a perplexed grin. You caught his expression, downcast and hurt. "Baby, are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," he shrugged. "I-- are you okay? Why did you-- did I do something wrong?"

Your heart melted, and you pulled him into a hug. "Oh. No, no, you didn't!"

His head was cradled in your neck, voice muffled. "Then why did you want to leave?"

"Because," you gently drew his face level to yours, locking eyes with him. "I want you. No dreams, no fantasy worlds. I just want you. That's enough for me."

A tear filled Elliot's eyes, and you laughed, kissing it as it streaked down his face.

"Sweet boy," you admonished gently. "You're wonderful. I love what you can do with your powers. But most of all, above all, I love you."

"You're too good to me," he muttered, but smiled, holding you close. "You're everything."

"You too."

[mrbambii]

i just wanna say the reference to venus de milo in ur aphrodite design is literally genius omg??? anyways here are some tidbit thingies to help u design the rest of the god games dudes

ARES symbols: spear and helmet, dogs, vultures, venomous snakes, and boars

apparently theres a myth which states the reason he wears his helmet is because he’s ashamed of his feminine face but i cant find it so 🤷

HEPHAESTUS symbols: donkeys, guard dogs, cranes, hammer, anvil, a pair of tongs

he has a deformity in his right leg and usually wears a pileus (some greek hat)

APOLLO symbols: lyre, bows, ravens, crows, roe deer, swans, cicadas, hawks, foxes, mice, snakes, hyacinth or gladiolus flower

other than god of the sun he’s also god of poetry, healing, music, plagues, knowledge, order, prophecy, beauty, agriculture, and archery

also he apparently looks like a “beardless youth”

omg thank you!! both for the compliment and these ideas :D

i'm still working on them but these are my intial ideas.

ares

i haven't really included his animals in his appearance here. but i'm currently thinking of adding a boar insignia to the back of his armor

and yea i've read about his baby face and i love the idea he wears the helmet cuz it doesn't fit his image. it makes him weirdly endearing? he's kind of adorable in that sense.

also it's not fully shown in these sketches but whereas athena's armour would be more elegant and more sleek, ares' would be scratched and stained with blood. his cape isn't shown her but that would be ripped - wheras athena's would be pristine

hephaestus

i'm strugging with the hat but i'm rlly happy with his body. he doesn't have his mouth open here to see it but to ref donkies, he would have buck teeth! ofc i'm designing his hammer too, that's iconic.

and he would have clothes btw but i'm still figuring it out. idk if it's noticable here, but his chest is not symetrical.

i love how he's turning out sm

the orange will be paired with black and his clothes will reference lava in some way. i'm thinking of making his skin really dark but with bright orange markings.

like this lady

apollo

no font yellow rip

so the earings and necklace have the sun shape but lil music note bit on one of the rays. and there is a jewel in the middle of the circle to make it look like an eye to reference prophecies.

the hyacinths in the hair is temporary. i don't love it just by itself. i think it would look better if i kept this hairstyle but have a bun behind the hyacinths.

i think i achieved the beardless youth here. i've seen some good androgynous apollo designs so i wanted to put my own spin on it

also the sun tattoos/markings. artemis has moon ones so they match <3

also here's a very quick concept for his lyre. the ends make swan heads and there's sun symbol too ofc

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

A foe most frightful 1

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐚𝐬 𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐮𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐩𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐲𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐜𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬. 𝐌𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐞𝐱𝐡𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞, 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐤.

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤!𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭. 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲. 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲. 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐧. 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐢𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐮𝐩𝐬𝐞𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐃𝐮𝐤𝐞 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐥𝐝, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬: 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐨𝐱!𝐋𝐥𝐨𝐲𝐝 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧

𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: 𝐰𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐢𝐭, 𝐲'𝐚𝐥𝐥. 𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐞, 𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐞.

𝐀𝐬 𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐮𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥, 𝐈 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬! 𝐑𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐝, 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐨 𝐈 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤. 𝐈 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐝𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧. 𝐈’𝐦 𝐭𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐭 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐩 𝐬𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐬 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐞.

𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 (𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐖𝐢𝐏𝐬, 𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧’𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞!)

𝐈 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐲. 𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞. 💖

A carriage rattles by as you pull Altun out of its path. The boy is the second youngest in your charge, a rowdy rabble bunching around you with hopping and vibrant chittering. Your siblings, six in all, hang off of your skirts as you carry a basket in one arm and Adela on your other hip. Marcella, nine-years old and quiet walks ahead of you, shoulders low as she trods grimly towards the sweltering horizon.

Beyond, the village awaits you. You are to barter at the market for some wool and grain, and several other things your mother listed as wanted but not required. She also warned you not to stay too long even if the sun may linger.

As you press on, the early summer beating down on your swarm, Rowena, only just three, tugs on your dress and whines. You tell Sidney, the second eldest to you, to take your skin and give her some water. Milo, Marcella’s twin, asks for a drink too.

The noise of horse hooves hammers in the distance, an unusually fleet pace that bears down on the party of the children. You move further onto the grass, withered yellow patches burnt where the sunlight beams most hotly. Your siblings sidle along with you, Milo craning to see the approaching cacophony.

A train of horses dressed in livery approaches. You glance over your shoulders as the children are distracted and stop in their tracks to watch. You turn as Adela’s eyes round at the jostling noblemen in their saddles. How odd, you don’t know you’ve ever seen Duke Hansen's men outside the fair days.

The group is headed by two young pages, their haircut short in the current style, not shanky or scraggly like the men and boys on the farm. Then older men in dyed vests, their sleeves bloused in a most fashionable way. At the centre is a man sat high on a warhorse, its limbs and rump nearly twice as wide as the rest. 

The man’s silver hair shines in the summer hue, the sides of his head shorn close in a warrior’s cut, and a trim of hair across his lip. His blue eyes are dark even in the bright morning and he wears an overcoat with a high-collar unsuited to the season. On his breast is the Duke’s crest, a dragon with its tail curve in a perfect arch around its body.

As you try to quiet your siblings and keep them from wandering underfoot, your gaze meets that of the party’s centerpiece; the man with the silver hair and stony jaw. You almost gasp, quickly retracting your gawking eyes. It isn’t proper to stare at a man of his stature.

Adela covers her ears as the clomping of hooves grows discordant. She starts to whine and you hug her closer in an effort to calm her. The men do not slow, they do not stop, as they barrel by upon a mission. You stare after the horse tails, another four men at the rear.

Milo lets out a noise of awe and the children begin to chatter about the knights and their pages. You smile to humour them but your curiosity is much more sober. Your parents always warn to be weary of the rich.

The basket grows heavy so you hand Adela to Marcella as you come across the plateau right before the village. You cross the wooden bridge as the furor of the market roils in the air. You pass the stables near the cobbler's stead and enter the square where booths are set up with wares as sellers holler about their goods.

The crowd clusters to one side as marketgoers are distracted from their bartering by the men striding along the stalls. The nobles in their coloured cloth peruse the lengths of woven wool and the handcrafted figurines. Milo stares and you tug on his sleeve. 

“Stay close,” you bid your sibling, “we need eggs and wool, yes?”

“I want to see his sword!” Milo proclaims and Altun agrees giddily. Before they can run off, Sidney herds them back to you.

“Don't! They are knights,” she hisses as she holds them by the wrists.

“Row,” Marcella calls as the little girl dawdles across the dirt. The elder sibling can do little as she holds the youngest in her arms.

“Rowena,” you cry out and follow her, hanging the basket from your arm as you give chase. 

Before you can reach her, she is amidst the men, barely able to escape their treads. You bend and scoop her up, an arm hooked around her as she wriggles and fusses. She shrieks in your ear as you try to escape unnoticed.

You turn to flee but stumble back as a figure blocks your path. The man with the soldier's hair and the badge sewn across his chest. You gulp and your eyes flit past him to the rest of your clan, huddled together as they watch agape.

“Sir,” you keep your chin down, “apologies, I did not mean to impede–”

“That would be ‘your grace’,” he corrects you, “though I can assume you don't oft entertain dukes. Likely the farmers in their hay by the looks of your brood.”

“P-pardon, your grace,” you eke out as Rowena continues to squirm and you fight to keep your hold on her.

“Yes, pardon, run along before that thing should dribble onto my coat,” he sneers.

You wince and bend your knees slightly, trying to curtsy but are unused to the gesture. You clumsily sidle past him and go back to your brothers and sisters. You shove Rowena at Milo and wiggle your nose. It isn't the man's words so much as his assumptions that sting.

“Come,” you bid the children and point them to the stall with a pen of hens clucking around it, “we will fetch some eggs.”

Sidney steps up next to you as the others follow behind, “was that knight very mad?”

“Duke,” you swallow dryly, “that is the duke and he was not very kind, no.”

“Duke…I thought…”

“Perhaps he is retired from the battlefield, or there is no war to be fought,” you shrug, “it hardly matters, sister, let us stay clear of him.”

“That is what Jeremy says,” she counters, “his brother lost a hand when a hunting dog went missing.”

“Oh my,” you murmur.

“Particularly cruel with how little the duke is in house to seek game,” she shakes her head.

“Yes, well, we shouldn't trouble him or ourselves,” you gird, “mother wants a wooden spoon if we can have one at a good bargain.”

🏰

You have your eggs, your wool, the wooden spoon, and even some goat cheese to take home to your mother. Rowena sleeps in Sidney's arms as Adela snores in yours. Marcella and Milo carry the basket between them, and Altun clings to your skirt as he drags his feet. It's a far walk back to your family's plot but it must be done before night falls.

As you set off, the sun begins its slow descent. The village is still in its throes as those more local continue their barter and some begin to sink into their cups. Your back aches and your soles throb. It's not a pain you haven't bore before. It is much better a journey to town than a day in the field.

Further down the road, you stop to sit for a while. The summer has the days stretching longer. You share a truncheon of bread among you, even the children saying little as they chew. Up again, you take Rowena and let her have the lighter toddler for the last leg of the trip. As you begin anew, hooves once more pound the ground, shaking it like thunder as they approach.

You step into the divet of grass that runs parallel to the beaten road. It is no farmer's cart but the nobles upon their return to the castle.

As they pass, a soft tomato splatters across Sidney and Adela, tossed by the riding men. She cries out as Adela wakes and begins to sob. You hush them as the horses trot unbothered ahead of you. You stop once more, this time to help your sisters get clean. A sickly red stain remains on Sidney's wool dress and Adela's hair is flecked with gooey seeds.

"That was mean," Marcella pouts.

"Be happy you were not the one hit," Sidney snaps then turns on you, "you did not lie, sister, when you said they were unkind."

"Perhaps they didn't see us," you murmur, "no matter being upset. We have some way to go."

"Ugh, you are too meek," Sidney remands, "if they'd let their horses trod over us, you'd say it was our fault."

"Not at all, sister, but what can we do? The duke owns father's plot, he pays for the land we till and the scythe, he makes sure we have what little we do."

"Oh, valiant knight," she drawls dryly.

"And he's got a big sword!" Altun proclaims.

"That too," you tilt your head at Sidney, giving your brother's innocent fascination another gleam of meaning.

Sidney rolls her eyes and hitches Adela higher, turning down the road ahead of you. You let her lead as the twins pick the basket up again and you bring up the rear with Altun and Rowena. The boy is the only one with the energy to bounce with his steps.

You hear hooves again but not from behind you. It is rather late for any to be coming to market just then. You look ahead and see two horses. You squint as your siblings' heads perk up in curiosity. It is the nobles, not all of them, only two. A page and the silver-haired duke, lazily cantering in your direction.

You put your head down and quiet the others, bidding them to keep along. There's whispers and mutters but they listen. The day stretches on like the road, winding and tiring.

“Aye,” the holler frightens you as the horse kicks up dust not far away, “you, boy!”

The page points at Milo who stops and nearly overturns the basket. You flutter your lashes and peer between the nine-year old and the man on his steed. Behind him, the duke slows on the speckled gray war beast.

“Think you're clever, eh?” The page accuses as he draws his horse to a halt. “Small as you are, that voice is like a squawk.”

You step up and put a hand on Milo's shoulder, “respectfully, sir, my brother did not speak of your passing.”

“Aye, aye, we heard. Our men do have keen ears. We heard the little imp say it,” the page continues anon. “So say it again, boy, let the duke hear it.”

“I… I didn't…” Milo stutters and look up at you, squeaking your name, “sister, I swear it, I didnt–”

“It is the duke who asks,” the page insists, “so confess.”

Milo shakes and sniffles, his sobs breaking through as he chokes. You put yourself in front of him protectively. You know even if he had spoken, it could never be anything wrong.

“We all heard as well and he said nothing, sir,” you stare at the horse's snout, not brazen enough to look at him straight. 

“You are defiant, woman,” the duke speaks at last, “you speak in the place of men. The boy must face his own words.”

You frown and peer over towards the tall warhorse. What game is this?

“What was it the boy said?” The duke asks, “Llewellyn has a sharp ear.”

You watch the duke's gloved hands, folded calmly around the reins as he sits slackly in his saddle.

“Bastard…” the page hisses sinisterly.

“No!” Milo exclaims, “I wouldn't… I do not know that word.”

“We are only peasants, honest,” you plead as Marcella begins to tremble and Rowena wakes in your arms. Sidney coos at Adela as she rouses at the voices. “Please, your grace, sir, we would swear it on the lord–” 

“Then the lord would have you a liar,” the duke insists, “Llew,” he flicks his fingers brusquely.

The page swings himself from his horse and his boots send up a cloud of dry dirt. He comes towards you and Milo. You know you should not but you try to obscure him from reaching your brother. The man gives you a harsh shove and you stagger, barely keeping from dropping your sister. 

You whimper and apologise to Rowena. You put her on her feet and turn back as the page grabs Milo's arm, jerking him so that he drops the basket and Marcella does the same as she tries to smother her bawling. You rush forward and clasp onto your brother's elbow.

“Please, sir, do not hurt my brother–”

“You are petulant,” the page faces you and reaches to his belt where a danger is sheathed, “a woman like you would fare better without her impetuous tongue.”

“He's done nothing–”

“Carry on on your defiance and I shall take the younger too,” the duke declares.

Your breath catches at the threat, the malice that tinges his voice. Your eyes snap up and meet his, forgetting yourself as you find him smirking. Just as quickly you tear your gaze away.

“Where do you mean to take him?” You plea.

“I do not answer to commoners,” the duke snorts, “but he looks fit enough to dump my pot.”

Your lips part as you're left speechless and helpless. You look at the others, Sidney hugging a wailing Adela, Marcella hugging Altun, and Rowena babbling wetly as she grabs at your dress. Milo quavers as he's caught between you and the page.

“Sister don't let them take me, please,” he whines.

“I–”

“We take you, boy, or leave you here holding your innards,” the page barks and cackles.

“Milo…” you croak, “I don't… I don't know what to do…”

“I'll go. I said it.” Sidney steps forward, “I sound much like a young boy, don't I?”

The duke guffaws, “all of them liars.”

“It was me,” your sister insists.

“Enough. You will surrender the boy or you will all face the king's justice,” the duke puts his hand to the pommel of his sword.

You drop your head as Milo trembles violently in his terror. You let your hand fall too and utter a hollow apology. You can only hope the duke does not harm him much before you can fetch your parents.

[febreze-bottle-without-febreze]

☆More random Redacted ASMR/Audio drawings☆

Tag list☆ @plutobutartsy @hammerhead-jpg @blocked-zombieartist @tuerescringe @annahhopee @everything-redacted-and-others

Closeups and me rambling about the drawings/characters

I had way too much fun drawing Hush too my love for drawing aliens came out while drawing this I wanted to make him more alien-like but I'll save that for Brachium design. but look at the precious fish boi and his beautiful eyes.☆

just made it to where you can see his eyes and makeup better with out his hair in the way, also a little Doc doodle and yes they did his makeup☆

Sam is giving pumpkin pie in the best way but pumpkin cream pie cause I don't fuck with regular pumpkin pie. The sun spots covering his are quite bittersweet in my opinion his flannel looks so cozy ☆

I know It may look I spelled Scorpius's name wrong but I didn't the fount I used is just weird. Were has Scorpius been like I know his still in the down basement with Sunshine but what he been up to is he chilling? Is he doing okay? I want to know also what type of demon is this man cause I don't know but at least one of yall know or have a pretty good guess. I love the XOXO neck tattoo I gave him. I may say I don't have a favorite color over and over again but if I had to choose purple would be one of them☆

Can you tell who I had the most fun drawing. You know what I find hilarious when a character is going through it then you cut to the D.A.M.N Crew and their living their best life not all the time but most of the time especially FL and Gav. Can we take a moment to appreciate how gorgeous Gavin is in general☆

Milo"freak-a-leak"Greer that his middle name until fauther noticed. Can we all agree that any shade of yellow/orange is Milo's color well any color is his color but especially those two. This is making me want to work on my sweetheart design but I shall ignore those thoughts for now. Also that coat his wearing is definitely not his it's Sweetheart's

[yeszzs]

MiloxRyan AU: Stockholm Syndrome

"There was also another change that Ryan didn't expect, and that was Milo's behavior becoming that of a baby koala."

[6.9k characters and 1.2k words... Narration is Ryan-biased]

Milo's place was filled with the sour stench of dried blood mixed with a strong odor of insect repellent. The walls were covered in peeling yellow paint, and dust gathered in every corner. Spider webs hung on the ceiling, and Ryan suspected that ants were starting to infest the space beneath the wooden floorboards.

In short, Milo's place was shit.

But to be fair, Ryan wasn't entirely convinced that this ramshackle dump was the guy's real place or if it was some cheap temporary flat he rented for a couple of bills and weed. After all, you can't exactly get caught holding the son of some wealthy bastard hostage, right?

Ryan sighed heavily, his face pressed into the worn sofa cushions as he fought to keep the rising bile in his throat at bay. The rough, itchy sensation of the cuffs chafing against his legs was a constant pain but he was too exhausted to do anything about it. He lay there listlessly, feeling the weight of his anxiety grow heavier. Trapped in this dilapidated, poor excuse of a house for months, his hopes of escaping seemed to dwindle with each passing day. He had clung to the thought that Milo might eventually release him, but the asshole's recent behavior had grown increasingly erratic and unpredictable.

Ever since Eris dumped Milo (Ryan overheard Milo muttering to himself once), Milo had apparently kidnapped him as a way to prove his worth to the crazy fucker.

However, the whole kidnapping thing has been going on for too long and Ryan's pretty sure that Eris isn't coming back. Milo seems delusional though, and is only getting worse every time he comes to visit Ryan. In fact, Ryan has been seeing his face around more often than not and it's become incredibly off-putting.

At first, Milo was only around to either beat the crap out of him or to feed him the little food he had left to spare. But as time passed, his living conditions upgraded. Ryan went from living in the shitty basement to living in the equally shitty living room. The windows were boarded up so he couldn't see anything from the outside, and he couldn't even reach the main door if he tried because of the metal cuffs tugging his ankles back.

In short, Ryan still felt like shit.

And yet, he didn't complain. At the very least, he wasn't getting any limbs sawed off, and his testicles were still perfectly intact. It was a good thing that Milo didn't hate him so much as to castrate him but the lonely thought brought little comfort to Ryan's turbulent mind.

He mentally sighed.

There was also another change that Ryan didn't expect, and that was Milo's behavior becoming that of a baby koala.

Speaking of koalas, Ryan let out a grunt as Milo shifted behind him, maneuvering him onto his back and pressing his face against Ryan's collarbone. Milo's arms encircled Ryan’s torso tightly, creating an uncomfortable embrace that left Ryan with a sense of fear and tension.

The unexpected closeness made Ryan's blood run cold, as he couldn’t shake the feeling that Milo might try and do something to harm him. Milo’s hug felt like a deliberate move, done to lower Ryan's guard and exploit his vulnerability.

"Stop moving," Milo said firmly, his hand closing around one of Ryan's wrists and positioning it gently on top of his thick, black hair. Ryan instinctively froze and began petting Milo's head.

Ryan had absolutely no idea how this strange transgression even occurred. He really had no idea! He was ripping his hair out on the inside and dreaming of slamming his thin face into the piss-colored walls because;

What! The! Fuck! Is he doing with his kidnapper?! Is he playing some sick game of house with this little shit now?! Has he truly gone insane? He really had no clue how this happened in the first place and when Milo began acting like a newborn infant.

...

Well.

Actually... Ryan may have an inkling.

A month ago or so, Milo had forgotten to chain Ryan back up after letting him bathe in the tub and Ryan–seeing the opportunity–took it and ran. He had practically ripped the door off its hinges and bolted out the house. Milo quickly noticed Ryan's escape and hurriedly chased after the man. After realizing that Milo had begun hunting him down–evidenced by the chain of distant curses behind him–he started to pray to the gods above that the maniac would either trip over a stick or get run over by a car.

They both ran several yards, with Ryan shouting for help and Milo in close pursuit. Eventually, they reached a busy road with speeding cars. Ryan managed to make it to the other side, but Milo wasn't so fortunate; he was struck by a black Volvo and knocked unconscious, his rib crushed in the collision.

Ryan was relieved to finally have Milo off his ass but for some odd reason, he felt incredibly guilty leaving his kidnapper–who had beat him on multiple occasions–out on the road to get run over again. It was incredibly ridiculous but Ryan figured that he may as well just drag Milo over to the concrete sidewalk to protect him from the other cars. But after doing so, his guilt still hadn't been appeased so he decided that he'd at least patch the guy up and be back on his merry way. You know, since he's such a nice guy!

But it was still incredibly ridiculous.

Of course, Milo had woken up before Ryan was finished bandaging his wounds and was rewarded with a punch to the face. That's what you get for helping people, huh.

Looking back on it now, that's probably when Milo had began to visit this grimy home more often. Ryan really should have just gone home, seriously! He should've left Milo to die on that road. It's what he deserved anyway.

But...

Milo rubbed his face into Ryan's shirt, almost affectionately. He took a deep whiff of Ryan's scent and let a contented hum slip from his lips at the feeling of Ryan's fingers gently combing through his hair. Ryan grimaced, wrinkling his nose in mild discomfort but still continued stroking Milo's head, afraid of angering his hot-headed companion.

Nowadays, for some reason, Milo had become accustomed to entangling himself in Ryan's embrace much to the latter's dismay. Sniffing his hair, watching him from afar, finding minor excuses to touch him, all that weird stuff.

Ryan was distressed.

What is fucking happening.

Ryan gave Milo a gentle pat on the back, subtly nudging him to get off. Milo glanced up at him with a look of irritation, his brows knitted and eyes sharp. Ryan exhaled sharply, a mix of frustration and resignation in his voice. "Calm down, will you? I'm starving and just want to make something to eat." He then placed his hand back on Milo's head.

Milo looked as if he was deep in thought before murmuring something into Ryan's neck and begrudgingly standing up, stomping into the kitchen.

Ryan watched Milo's retreating back leave the living room and slowly raised a hand to his warm neck. He felt that his face had grown a little flush and decidedly buried himself back into the sofa cushions.

Living in this dump was still shit, Ryan swore.

But maybe it wasn't so bad.

[liannaedgelord]

Milo kinnie pride bracelet. The blue heart represents transmasculinity, the yellow and green represent his bleach fried/manic panic stained hair

[art-of-a-ghostie]

After three centuries, I am here with art, specifically Ramsey's minions in Epithet Traded (AU where the trio swap roles)!!

Have some fun facts about them under the cut:

Tumult and Omen go by they/them, Omen, Chimera and Yellow by she/her and Genie by he/him

Unlike Giovanni's Boys they made it in the cut and have been given a captain (Ramsey), the only exception is Yellow, who was instead "transferred" from Arnold and Bugsy' team to Ramsey's (they found her annoying and wanted to get a reason to have contact with Ramsey for his epithet so they killed two birds with a stone by literally abandoning her in the same way a birth parent abandon a baby, leaving her at the feet of Ramsey's team with a card taped on her forehead and the ran away)

The reason why they all have a nickname is not because they impressed their team but because Ramsey didn't want to risk to out them during missions and slapped the first things he thought while seeing them

Also Ramsey at first didn't really care about them, or better saying, he didn't want to care about them, but they easily got inside his heart anyway. He almost feels bad to have given Yellow such a lame nickname.

They all have matching earrings <3. They are friends :]

They are all mundies except Genie, but Chimera and Omen THINK they MIGHT have one as well, but don't know the word

Genie has the epithet "Manufacturing". It's a mix between "soulmates", "augment" and "parapet". He can create anything at the cost he knows what materials they are made and what are the procedures behind the process of their creations. His stamina allows him to do that only three times and this is why he was nicknamed "Genie" (that and his incredible resemblance to the one in the movie Aladdin)

Omen is like Milo Murphy in the sense that she is extremely unlucky but adapted so well that she is thriving. If it's a side effect of an epithet she doesn't know to have, a curse or just herself is something she has no clues about. Put her in the same room with Car Crash and you get a slapstick comedy a la Tom and Jerry.

Chimera is similar, but is more a "YAY ADVENTURE :D" and a bit of an adrenaline junkie instead of Omen who is more a "OkayThisIsHappening ApparentlyAndOnlyICanGetMyselfOutOfThisShit ":/" and mostly gets herself in trouble because she wants to.

The reason the rest thinks she is inscribed (she doesn't really think about it) is because she survived ridiculous things in her life, but on the other hand, this is Epithet Erased, and humans are just built differently

I imagine her coming from an eccentric hippie rich family for some reason. Their aesthetic might be the opposite of Addams Family's but they would be on the same wavelength.

Her hair is dyed btw. (The rest have natural hair)

Medium is sort of like Sylvie, likes to pretend they are intellectual and the voice of reason but they are a dork like anyone else

They have a cat they called "Maximus Leopold The Third" they spoil so much that when they talked about him to their crew for the first time the crew was thinking that Medium was a teen parent

Tumult is actually the voice of reason, and sometimes the closest Ramsey has as a second in command/therapist, which makes Genie and Medium so pissed because they want to be Ramsey's second in command >:(

Yellow still hangs out with the rest of the Jennifers :] (mentioned in chapter 5 of Bold at the museum)

She also shares a one-sided rivalry with Flamethrower (yeah, he is still a Giovanni's boy) because she is in the basketball team and he is in the male cheerleading club and train in the same gym and she is like "Hey wanna jog with me? :]" and his hot headed ass just assumes this is a declaration of challenge, says yes, and gets even more pissed when she is just "Wow you are so fast :D" because he thinks she is mocking him. (This happens in the normal canon universe too btw).

They all have a music playlist where they put their favorite songs together and it's a headache inducing nightmare between ABBA, musicals, meme songs, pop songs, remixed classical music, Nightcore cores edits and vocaloids. Ramsey listens to it while he draws commissions.