#twin blade thatch

[cosmicxblossoms]

“Try it. Come on, I swear it won’t poison you.” [Ace to Thatch<33]

"If this does poison me or make me sick consider your late night trips to the kitchen for snacks revoked Ace." Of course he wouldn't bar him from the kitchen forever, just until he got over it if trying this did make him sick. But Ace was kind enough to share something he usually ate and as a good friend he should give it a try, grabbing a spoon to give the ghost pepper jelly a taste. The jelly did have a nice color to it and it appears to have been well made, something that Thatch always appreciated when looking at foods made on various islands they docked at. However, when the commander went to eat it he knew he immediately regretted this decision, his head pressed against the counter as he could already feel the heat from the ghost peppers. "I immediately regret this ace, why did I let you talk me into eating this?!"

[alexa-fika]

Hi!! I was the 👻 anon :3

Ok so I have another request a whitebeard pirates x child reader again

So the whitebeard pirates arrived at a spooky island which is dark and gloom like Mohawk island (forgor the name)

So they find reader sleeping with a small teddy bear but when they got close the teddy bear is alive and trying to kill them because the teddy (Name Mr stitchy) is protective over reader because Mr stitchy See's them as family and leader

The reader wakes up but instead of stopping Mr stitchy they just watch because they hate pirates and pirates we're the reason why they are stranded in the island

But then whitebeard appears then starts hurting Mr stitchy making reader to beg and cry to stop hurting their family

So in the end whitebeard coax reader to coming with them

Also can you base Mr stitchy off this? This idea has been in my mind lol

Sorry if this was long :p I'll make the next one shorter :D

Stuffy Meetings (Whitebeard pirates x f!child!reader)

A/N HERE WE GO I KNOW I SAID NOTHING WAS COMING BUT IT CAME AND WHEN I SAW IT WAS YOUR BDAY I HURRIED IT UP. HAPPY BIRTHDAY . Ngl I thought this was a flop but it may be a cook?? Also don’t worry about request ever being long : ) I hope you have a nice bday. In one of the scene I kept thinking about this photo so just so we share the vizion 🕴🏼

Here Reader is replaced by Dokucha which means Reader in japanese

Dividers by @/saradika

“Man, this place is gloomy,” Thatch mutters

“Why did we stop here again?” Ace questioned, wincing as he stepped into what looked like a pile of bones

“We were running down on supplies; this was the closest Island on the way,” Izou replies

“What can we possibly fin- is that a kid?” Ace questions, pausing right in front of the sleeping child

“She got a creepy teddy too; look at that thing; it’s all stitched up; look, the head doesn’t even fit the body,” he said, poking at the plushie

Mr.Stichy moves around at the sudden contact, his eyes flying open as he begins to take in what is happening around him and the danger Dokucha could be in; he is quick to lunge at the man, branding twin sickles

“Man, what is that thing? Is it a haint!?” Thach yells, taking out his dual blades and parring against the attacher

“What the hell?!” Ace exclaims, looking at the odd newcomer

“Get the hell away from her,” the bear growls, pushing Thatch back with his own weapons

“The hell you talking about, you overgrown plushy,” Thatch said, stumbling back

Dokucha rubs their eyes, slowly waking up at the chaos unfurling. She watched how the bear evaded Thatch’s attacks and lunged for him once again, not making any movement to stop or call back the bear.

“Who’s this kid?” Ace asks while keeping a close eye on the stuffed bear

“Not important, the bear’s clearly dangerous,” Thatch shouted back and lunged for the bear, attacking again

“That bear is quick.” Ace comments, igniting his flames and jumping into the fray

“You want to go?!”

Mr.Stichy narrows his eyes, glaring at the flame man

“You’re no match for us!” the man declared while firing off blasts of flames at the bear. At the same time, Izou aimed his way to shoot down the bear

“STOP!” Dokucha screams, running in front of the bear just as Ace was about to make contact. In just a second, as Dokucha stood in front of him, arms stretched to protect him, Mr. Stichy stood behind her glaring at Ace, who had managed to stop, as he pointed his weapons at him

“What?” both of them say at the same time, looking at the screaming girl

“What the hells is going on?” Thatch says

“Don’t hurt him!”

“Him?” Ace said, stopping his attack

“This thing?. Do you mean to tell me you’re attached to this?” Thatch said in a mocking voice

“He’s all I have left,” they cry

“Where are your parents? Izou questions, putting his guns away and approaching the child, ignoring the way Me. Stichy kept his sickles pointed their way, his red eye ominously digging into them

“They died. It’s only Stichy and me now.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” Izou sympathizes while still keeping an eye on the bear as Ace and Thatch glance at each other

“We should take her to the Pops.”

“Are you sure? That bear looks really creepy; I wouldn’t trust it.” Thatch says

“She would still be alone if we let her go; I agree with Izou; we should take her,” Ace says

“ She’s not going with the likes of you.” He growls

“She shouldn’t be on her own,” Ace argues while Thatch puts his sword back into its sheath

“It would be cruel not to,” Izou adds

“Like hell, I will let you take her!”

“Listen, I understand we just met; I know you are wary of us, I understand that, and the decision is ultimately yours, but think about her, do you really think she will be able to survive here alone? Even if she does, do you think she will be happy?” Izou questioned

Stichy stills at that, glancing at the trembling child in front of him and slowly lowering his sickles

“How do I know you are not trying to use her?”

“You don’t, you just have to trust us.” Piped in Thatch

He took one last glance at the child and back at them and back to Dokucha

“Do you want to go?” He questions lowly

She looks at the men in front of her and back at the bear and nods her head

“I want to go with you,” she said, grasping his paws

“Alright,” he said, giving jn

“Don’t worry, little one, we’ll take care of you,” Izou reassures while walking forward to pick her up

She wrapped one hand around him

Instinctively not letting go of Stichy’s hand as they walk to the ship

Izou smiled reassuringly at her while walking to the ship as Thatch and Ace walked a little ways ahead

“This kid’s got no one,” Thatch said, shaking his head

“That’s why we’ll take care of her,” Ace replied while heading for the ship

“This is Whitebeard, but we call him Pops,” Ace said pointing at said Captain

She flinched, looking up, up, up until she was finally able to meet his eyes, tightening his grip on Stichy, who gave her hand a squeeze in silent comfort

Whitebeard was quiet for a few seconds before crouching down next to her

“What’s your name?” He asked her

“Dokucha”

“Dokucha?…” he paused before nodding. “A nice name,” he said while smiling

“Hey, Pops, can we keep her?” Ace questioned

“Oh, now, who’s looking to adopt a child?” Thatch joked as he walked up to them

“Shut up; I want a little sister; I know you guys do too. Don’t deny it.”

“I think we should let her stay,” Izou says, joining the conversation

“Why do you want me to stay so much?” she questions, grasping Stichy’s hand tighter

“You’re alone; that’s no way to be. Especially at this early of an age,” Whitebeard said

“Yeah, plus you’ve got no other family, so we’ll take care of you as such,” Ace explained while Thatch remained silent

“Family?” She questioned

“You’ll be my family?” She mumbled tears growing on her eyes, tears that she is quick to wipe away

She glanced at Stichy, who stood next to her

“But I can’t leave without Mr.Stichy.”

“Who said he would be staying behind?” stated Whitebeard

“H-He can stay?”

“I wouldn’t make you leave you’re only family behind,” He said while picking her up.

“Oh god, Pops, you’re gonna spoil her rotten,” Thatch complains as ace, and izou can’t help but laugh.

Okay I think I like it, I just think I rushed some of the areas but other than that I like how it turned out

Taglist:

@imaginarydreams

@amethystviolin

@h0n3y-l3m0n05

[cosmicxblossoms]

It wasn't uncommon to have things getting tangled up in nets when they were fishing out at sea, however seeing a naked woman come tumbling out of the net was. The first two people to move towards the woman were Ace and thatch, the second commander using his hat to cover his face to not stare at Sedna while he slowly helped her get on her feet. Thatch had taken off his chef's jacket and was trying to look at her as little as possible as he tied the jacket around her waist to help give her some decency, seeing how she had been looking towards Marco. Perhaps she knew him somehow? Marco had not been able to get a good look at the woman that came out of the net at first but when the phoenix caught a glance of her a loud chirp came out of Marco's mouth. What soon followed was the first commander coming up to Sedna, Ace and Thatch with his purple shirt already off, helping to get it on her so that she was now fully covered up and smiled softly at her. "I didn't think that I'd be seeing you again, Thank you again for saving me after I fell into the water, Yoi." The memory was faint but there of this woman saving him from drowning after he had been shot in the leg by marines when they were in a fight with them. He had tried to find her after his family came to pick up but couldn't so he hoped to meet her again one day, looks like the sea goddess was smiling down on them both for them to meet again. Now he would get the chance to know more about her.

The ‘Little’ Mermaid -closed rp-

Sedna had searched for weeks to find the ship that belonged to the crew of the human she saved a few weeks ago. She was interested in the male after saving his life from drowning after he fell into the sea wounded. Originally he was a beautiful creature that had blue flames which caused her to come closer to the surface ended he ended up in the water. The mermaid left the pirate on an island where he was found by his crew, the ship looked like a white whale. Finding a sea witch that gave her a potion to turn human for a full year she was waiting until she found the ship. The female would not be able to remain human as she would slowly revert back to her true form as the potion wore off. There would be side effects, but she would not know until after the potion was already consumed.

When the ship was drifting with a lack of a breeze she noticed a large open fishing net. Smirking devilishly, the large 28 foot mermaid tangled herself up in it to cause the net to close up and encourage the crew to pull it up for a large catch. As the rope tighten around her body as the net started to be lifted up. Various fish species ended up being caught up in it as well, but the female didn’t care. The ravenette drank the potion which burned her throat as her body started to shift and shrink in size.

Moments passed which felt like forever as the pain finally stopped as the transformation was finished the net was thrown open. The woman came tumbling out naked among the fish as she glanced up around her. Sedna was surrounded by a large group of pirates that were in confusion on what she was doing in the net. Seeing the blonde she saved, the female tried to call out and move, but she ended up slipping and face planting on the deck. Blinking in shock she noticed she could not speak.

@cosmicxblossoms

[mamamittens]

Oh, Sweet Child of Mine (Pt. 9)

Platonic Yandere Whitebeard Crew & Reader-insert

Main|First|Previous

Warnings: Yandere behavior, kidnapping (again), and vague descriptions of grievous injury (need I specify whom at this point?). Slight angst. If yandere content makes you uncomfortable, please do block 'oh sweet child of mine' as well as any variation of 'one piece yandere' that you feel is necessary. Do not tolerate this behavior in real life from anyone (especially backstabbing, definitely don't tolerate that and get medical assistance as soon as possible).

What you've all been waiting for (fearfully even) is here. The beginning of the end. The same story but... different now. For the better? We'll have to find out, won't we?

Word Count: 1,788

Apparently, Marco had promised Twin-Blade a party when he returned. And as you’ve seen several times by now—before discretely sneaking back to your room to avoid the shenanigans—Whitebeard Pirates don’t need an excuse to throw a party. Once the supplies were safely stored, Twin-Blade took center stage with a bundle in his arms.

You stared at it with something approaching horror, the pit of your stomach rotting from underneath you. You’ve felt a lot of different fruits before, brushing by them as you worked. But you’d never felt one like this. A little too alive and seemingly aware of your presence in a way you didn’t care for. Miraculously less than you cared for being on a pirate ship. It felt greedy like a spoiled child asking for more sweets with sticky fingers and sugar-stained lips. Like it would take and take and take everything you are if you weren’t careful.

Maybe devil fruits always felt this… intense? When it hadn’t been eaten yet? Just a bundle of raw power and potential.

Regardless, you didn’t like it.

Twin-Blade beamed, sneaking glances at you with his expression faltering.

“O-Oyaji! We were challenged on the way back by pirates. And guess what lovely prize they had?” Twin-Blade removed the fruit from the bag. Massive, even in his large hand, and purple with pointy spikes. The whole deck gasped in shock. Devil fruit users weren’t exactly rare on the Grand Line, but finding a fruit itself was a matter of sheer luck. Twin-Blade glanced at you again only to see your pinched expression. “What is it?”

You wrinkled your nose.

“…nothin’. Just feels… weird.” You shrugged, trying to push aside the sticky, reaching sensation of the devil fruit. Twin-Blade looked intrigued.

“Oh!?” He scrambled over to you, ignoring your flinch as the fruit got too close to you. “What do you feel? Can you tell what it does?”

So close to the fruit you noticed a new sensation. An almost magnetic pull. Not a compulsion to eat or touch it, but a literal draw. Like there was a rope around you gently tugging you closer. You shuddered, hating how it started to feel hard to breath near it.

“Dark. Grabbing. I-I don’t know. Feels weird. Please go away.” You huffed. Twin-Blade paused, looking at your face before frowning.

“Sorry. Got too excited. You don’t look so good, are you alright?” Twin-Blade moved the fruit away from your face and placed the back of his hand to your forehead. You swatted at him with a scowl.

“I’m fine! Stop that!” You hissed.

“Hey, Thatch, are you going to drink some of this booze or are you offering another mug to your loving brothers?” Ace declared, raising two mugs high as food was brought out from below deck to feed the rowdy crowd under the growing stars.

Twin-Blade jolted from his thoughts, immediately incensed.

“Oh, hell no! Gimme that!” Twin-Blade ran to claim his drink. You sighed with relief before quietly heading back below deck. A large hand lowered down in front of you. You looked up to see Whitebeard leaning over with a concerned expression.

“Are you alright, my child?” You huffed, attention torn between the Yonko and the devil fruit somewhere behind you.

“Yeah. Just headed to bed. Night.” You said with clipped words, veering around him hand, shuddering at the gentle pulse of the greedy devil fruit behind you.

Whitebeard’s eyes fixed on you as you walked below deck, dodging party goers and cooks bringing more food and booze up.

--*--

Thatch raised his mug up high with a cheerful laugh, accepting the teasing questions about his new prize. Ace kept glancing back every so often with a frown before drunken cried brought him back.

“What’s the matter, Ace?” Thatch asked, leaning against the younger man’s shoulder with a grin. Ace gave him a sideways glance.

“Nothing… I guess I’m just worried about them.” Ace tipped his head to the side, indicating the entrance to below deck. “They don’t really stay for parties but they seemed really eager to leave this time.” Thatch grimaced.

“Yeah. I think the devil fruit was messing with them.” Thatch huffed, irritated that his plan to drag you from your shell backfired so spectacularly. “What the hell does ‘dark’ and ‘grabbing’ even mean?”

Ace shrugged.

“Don’t look at me. They don’t usually talk about their devil fruit with anyone.” Ace explained. “But maybe you could ask? Couldn’t hurt at least. Maybe not with the fruit—”

“Zehahaha~! Got yourself quite the prize, eh commander?” Teach plopped down next to him suddenly with a cheerful grin and red face. He leaned over to ‘whisper’. “So… are ya going to eat it?”

Thatch sighed.

“…I don’t know. I don’t even know what it does. What if it’s really lame? I only get one shot, you know!” Thatch grumbled. “And your newest sibling seems more on edge than usual.”

Teach smacked his back hard with an uproarious laugh.

“ZEHAHAHA~! You’ll figure it out! Maybe they just need a bit to sort themselves out?” Teach suggested. Thatch smiled, feeling a little reassured at the possibility. Night had long since fallen and the party was still in full swing. They should be asleep by now.

“Ah~ I wish I could talk to them.” Thatch sighed wistfully.

“Well why don’t you?” Thatch looked at Teach in surprise.

“They’re probably asleep…?” Teach grinned.

“Well, it can’t hurt to check! And hey, I don’t think they ate anything, either!” Thatch bolted up.

“Ahck! What! I told them to eat while I was gone!” Thatch whined, his face hot as he swayed on his feet. Teach laughed at his misery, standing up to help steady him.

“Let’s make a food run and see if they’re still up, commander. Who knows, maybe they’ll be in a mood to talk after a bit of food?” Teach suggested reasonably.

Thatch, even a bit tipsy, could see no fault in the logic. Or possibly because he was tipsy? No matter, he was going to do the best damn food run of his life.

He needed to talk to you!

Thatch waved to Ace and, with Teach’s help, stumbled up to hopefully get food good enough to tempt you into speaking to him.

The whole time Teach was laughing and joking, teasing Thatch for getting so damn tipsy—which he honestly deserved, he underestimated the strength of the booze, which is a terribly rookie mistake to make as a Whitebeard Pirate.

“What’s the bag for?” Thatch frowned, rummaging in the fridge to make a quick snack. Teach chuckled, loading up the bag.

“What? Do you think you could carry food and walk in a straight line?” Teach asked.

“Ah. Good idea, Teach, eheh, I’d probably drop it on the floor and waste it all!” Thatch cackled, shaking his head as he grabbed a couple bottles of juice. He was probably grabbing too much food, but he wasn’t sure if Teach would be sticking around for the conversation and as a D, Teach ate a lot.

Teach gave Thatch a slightly odd smile, chuckling under his breath as he finished loading up the goodies.

By the time they made it to the hallway with your room, Thatch was now a lot more sober, aided by two whole glasses of water. He didn’t want to make a total ass of himself by being too tipsy to make any sense.

The door was, unexpectedly, locked. So Marco or someone else had already came by to check on you. Which meant you had to be asleep now. Thatch had a key, sure, but now he wasn’t so sure he should actually wake you up.

He paused in front of the door, looking at the key.

There was a soft, sharp sound behind him.

Like a knife hissing as it was pulled from a scabbard.

The hot, burning pain took his breath away and made his knees go weak.

He collapsed on the floor instantly, thinking hazily that he was having a stroke or something equally terrible.

He gasped, shuddering with agony as he was moved. Teach standing over him as he gently took something from his jacket.

Thatch couldn’t focus. His thoughts circling round and around again.

Teach was holding the devil fruit.

Teach had the key.

Teach had the devil fruit and the key.

He was stepping over Thatch into the room and Thatch found his heart racing under protest. Only capable of gasping weakly as his body refused to cooperate.

His eyes slid shut for only a moment. Briefly lifting up as Teach stepped over him again, locking the door and dropping the key on Thatch’s chest. A second bag slung over his shoulder.

“Zehahaha—nothing personal, commander.” Teach smiled sincerely before walking away.

What?

Thatch closed his eyes again and waited for the world to make sense.

It only grew colder, his erratic thoughts growing increasingly distant and unreal.

He thought there was danger, but where? He was a little cold, sure, but he was fine otherwise… right?

“THATCH!” Hot hands cradled his face, something like molten liquid dripping down his face.

Reluctantly, Thatch opened his eyes, the world growing soft and faint. Someone was crying over him. Probably because he was so damn handsome, heh. Tan skin and freckles all over. Silver eyes like a blade—he’s bleeding out, isn’t he? Seas, he’s not ready to die—overflowing with tears.

“MARCO! QUICK! SOMEONE GET MARCO!” The young man lightly smacked Thatch’s face. “H-Hang in there, Thatch! Y-You’re going to be fine! I promise!” He promised desperately.

But something was bothering Thatch. More than the chill in his bones and strong enough to pierce through the cotton in his head, numbing his tongue and fingers.

He didn’t know why, but your name was the last thing that left his lips.

Where did you go?

“THATCH!”

--*--

You shuddered awake hazily to the rocking of a boat. Your neck bruised and ropes wrapped around your body. The sea waves lapped away near your head.

You could see the rising sun on the horizon and a distant island when you turned your head. Something soft bracing your bruised neck from the wood of the row boat.

“…Mmm?” You hummed, head swaying as you laid back down.

“Hmm, go back to sleep. We’ve got a ways yet before shore and between the two of us, I’m definitely the better rower. Don’t worry—" You closed your eyes reluctantly and began to drift off. “—I’ll get a decent boat to sail properly with, zehahaha!”

You fell back asleep with the distorted sense that something was wrong.

Dark shadows practically wrapped around your ankles as you fell into darkness again.

[thctched]

thctched, an independent roleplaying blog for canon-divergent portrayal of THATCH ( aka ) "TWIN-BLADE THATCH" from ONE PIECE. 30+ MUN. selective and HEAVILY headcanon based blog. please read the STORY and BIOGRAPHY before interacting.

Here be da LINKS: STORY. / BIO. / LAWS.

If you're interested, give this post a like or reblog, but if not, keep it SCHMOVIN'. It's all gravy here! Thanks for reading!

[tanjirou-no-au]

BNHA/RWBY 3

LLAC - The Infiltrators

Letho Glass-Toru

Weapon: Prism-Tommy gun/Battle axe hybrid.

Semblance: Refraction-Light redirection.

Emblem: A green crystal and a pink crystal overlaid into a white crystal.

Lustre ‘Lux’ Tremblay-Aoyama

Weapon: Supernova-Drill Lance/Rifle

Semblance: Magnifying Glass-Enhance rays of light into cutting lasers.

Emblem: A twinkling mirror

Haru Acacia-Ojiro

Weapon: The Honed Edges-Bladed circlets around his wrists, ankles and tail

Semblance: N/A

Emblem: Tail with an axehead

Kangaroo Faunus

Camelia Sekirk-Toga

Weapon: Mosquito-A needle whip. Throwing knives

Semblance: Your Life Is Mine-Drain Aura to copy other’s appearances.

Emblem: Needle with blood dripping from it.

TOMB - The White Fang

Chartreuse “Charlie” Thatch-Setsuna Tokage

Weapon: The Fangs-Dual Cutlass/Pistols. Dust infused razor wire.

Semblance: Disjoint-Split off and Telekinetically control body parts.

Emblem: Sectioned lizard’s tail.

Iguana Faunus (Teeth)

Jack Ochre-Kamakiri

Weapon: Raptorial-Cyberpunk mantis blade gauntlets

Semblance: Blade Burst-Aura Spike generation along surfaces

Emblem: A serrated knife.

Mantis Faunus (Chitin across the face)

Jade Minglong-Hiryu Rin

Weapon: Tooth-Jian/Pistol

Semblance: Dragon Shroud-Creation of Aura “scales” he can overlap as shields/fletchettes.

Emblem: Overlaid scale pattern.

Water Dragon Faunus (Scales)

Cedar Baklava-Bondo

Weapon: Diggers-Twin Shovel Axes

Semblance: Cemedine-Generate globules of a sticky, aura based glue

Emblem: Honeypot

Sun Bear Faunus (Tongue)

[cosmicxblossoms]

"Oh good we got the right house Thatch. Hi Marco long time no see!" Completely glossing over the fact that he gave the man inside a scare if the coffee now splattered against the window was anything to go by. Did he feel bad about it though? A little bit yes but he had to be sure that they were at the right house and this sounded like the best way to get that answer. "I told you just having your face pressed against the window like that was a bad idea Ace. Out of everything that you could've chosen to do when seeing Marco for the first time in two years and that's what you settled on?" Grabbing the freckled man's face between his fingers Thatch was now pulling on it and scolding Ace for doing this to their friend. Continuing what he was doing with Ace Thatch turned his gaze to the window, green eyes looking into the home of his friend and asked "Would you be kind enough to let us in Marco? We don't wish to enter your home without permission."

@cosmicxblossoms

Thatch told him that this may not be a good idea but Ace wasn't paying much attention to his words. They knew Marco was at sphinx so they came here to make sure Marco was ok, simple as that. The way he was doing that though could be questionable, just having his face pressed into a window and just staring. Now waiting for the person inside of the house to open them and he'd see if they got the right house or not.

It had been a long night, most of his time spent tossing and turning as he fought through guilt-fueled nightmares. When the first light of sun painted his room with a pinkish-orange hue he remained still, staring up at the ceiling for a few long moments. Fatigue still caressed him like a long lover but he ignored the heaviness of his eyelids and slid out of bed. Shuffling into the kitchen, he began to brew a cup of coffee, unaware of the snooping intruders.

Spinx was safe and there was no unfamiliar Haki lingering around so he didn't fear an attack from a rival pirate crew or the Navy. With his cup in hand, he walked over to one of the front windows to peer down into the valley and was met with a stranger creature pressed against the glass. He took in a sharp breath, choking on the scorching hot beverage before spewing it out.

"ACE? What the hell?" He asked between choking gasps, thankful his ability was so swift to cure what should've burned his mouth.

[shirohige-gang-appreciation]

Some random WB Pirates Headcanons that I need to get out of my mind

Stefan

Is either a very big or very small dog, in both cases he’s shaped like a friend, very fluffy

He spends but most of his time with WB, but he tends to scurry around the ship and watche the crew going on about their daily activites

Will randomly cuddle up against peoples legs and doze of

He bleps

Stefan wasn’t actually found by Whitebeard, one day while docking on an island and walking around the streets, some crew members found him as a stray

The thought the similarity between him and Whitebeard was hilarious and brought him back on board, Whitebeard saw the little one and immediatly adopted him (He secretly spoils him him)

Marco

Often shakes his head at his brothers shenanigans, but he’s been with them through hell and back, he is used to it by now

Navigation is his passion, but he has been interested in many different subjects

He started to get interested in medicine after he got his devil fruit

Won’t admit it, but he was pretty cheeky as a teen

Jozu

He was still frozen by Aokiji when Whitebeard and Ace were killed, it took a long time for him to  thaw out and when he did, he was very shocked It took him a long time to recover from everything.

As a young boy, he was shy and reserved, but that changed when he got older

As a child, he didn’t have a lot to eat which lead him to become a bit obsessed with food and steal from others. He still loves food and enjoys small snacks from time to time

Thatch

He takes great pride in preparing the food for his family everyday

Will make you your comfort food when you feel down

He can bake really good bread!

Cares a lot about his family and always has an open ear in case someone needs it

Vista

He is a very cheerful and optimistc person, when he was younger he used to be a bit stoic

A very good chess player

If you want to suprise him with something nice, give him some roses. He loves them!

Probably keeps a bunch of flowers in his room

Rakuyo

He got a really weird and loud laugh

Not a lot of people get his stranger humor, but he doesn’t mind

The definition of chaotic good

Blenheim

The crew’s shipwright

You don’t see him around as much as other division commanders. He spends a lot of time in his workshop crafting something

On certain days you can spy him sitting somewhere carving wood

Whitebeard

He was a bit sad when he started to lose his hair, he was very proud of his blond locks

He sleps t-posing to assert his dominance

He is very observant and always keeps an eye on his kids

Loves watching whales, their his favourite animals

[power-house-fan12]

Whitebeards pirates plus OC

This is for fun I found the bounty names of the whitebeard pirates on wikia and they found it on bounty rush I added my oc into it.

Marco the phoenix

Fire fist Ace

Diamond Jozu

Twin blade Thatch

Vista of the flower swords

Blameco the mallet

Morning star Rakugo

One hit Namur

Blenheim of the cutlass

Heavy artillery Curiel

Twin gauntlet Kingdew

Swift saber Haruta

Water buffalo Atmos

Shield-Lance Speed jirou

Fossa the blazing katana

Flintlock pistols izou

And lastly 

Star cross Elise

[lightsong-legacy]

A Fox’s Past

Lost. 

‘This information may change your…..’

Angry.

‘She was not what she said she was.’

Betrayed.

There were swarms of emotions filling the young woman, finding herself not within her Isle home but instead within the walls of her adopted family to hide out the legions of undead that were running rampant within the major cities. But, she couldn’t get her mind off of the events of the last few weeks. Meeting her ‘cousin’ Annalise and learning of the true past of her birth mother weighed heavily as she hid with her twins behind the walls of Lightsong. Something both of her adopted mothers could see quite clearly. 

It came to a head after they found her brooding once more in the garden as the twins were kept busy in the nursey with their ‘grandmother’ Lys. “Lya...If you need t-” Casial started, only to be shushed by Asphodel’s raised hand. “Callyanne. What is it you need to feel peace again? Even the twins can feel you drawing away and becoming stuck within your own thoughts. Do you need us to ease the memory from your mind? Do you need to go fight with the guards for a time to get this out of your system? Or do you need closure? Be swift. During times like this, we cannot afford to be stuck within our own sorrow.” Asphodel’s voice was a bit clipped, distant but she knew it was what her daughter needed at this moment. She didn’t need to be coddled or consoled, but instead reminded of what was at stake and why they needed her here. Not within her thoughts.

The clipped tone made her blink a few times, turning to regard the two elves. They were the ones who were there. Who raised her patiently and lovingly through the traumas she endured. Who were there when she needed them through all her mistakes and growth. But even they could ease the grip she felt on her heart. Before she could think on it too much, the words came tumbling from her lips. “I need to go back. I need to see my old home and just...I need to understand -why-.” But the request felt impossible. How could she go back there? A home lost to her so long ago, she wasn’t even sure where she would start looking. Knowing the forest had long reclaimed that land if the undead had not utilized it.

“Then it is settled. I will have a portal made, it is not a place I would have forgotten. Get in your armor and take your blades, if you get killed searching for your answers I will be very cross with you.” Before she could be argued with, Asphodel turned on her heel and headed towards her office to begin her work. Casial giving Lya an apologetic smile. “She’s worried, we all are Callyane. But, perhaps this will be good for you. I too had to return home before, to remember where I had come from and what my purpose was. We will be here when you’re ready to move on.” The Confessor softly assured, resting a hand on her adopted daughter’s shoulder before moving to follow her elder sister to assist how she could.

Dumbfounded, Lya was standing there for a few moments, watching the elves make their way out of the garden before they disappeared behind the roses that lined the path. Was this really happening? Was she really going home? The grip at her heart grew tighter, what if she found out more that was distressing? What if she lost herself? What if their bodies were still…

No.

Her ma was expecting her to be ready soon and it was never wise to leave Asphodel waiting. So instead she prepared, moving first to the nursery to check in on her twins. The five year olds playing under the doting gaze of their ‘great’ grandmother Lys. The elven woman settled her gaze on Lya as she came in to say her goodbyes and explain she was just leaving for a few days on business, but would be back soon enough. Earning pouts from her son Dawson though Casilyn set her with a stare that did not seem to accept the reasons she was given, but she didn’t question. At least not yet, as Lya gave Lys her bravest smile, that was returned with a slow raise of an eyebrow from the elven matriarch. “Remember, we all have to make choices at times my dear little orchid. Sometimes it is best to just accept and move on.” The older woman advised, of course seeming to know all that happened within the walls of her home. Of course, the emotional woman wanted to argue, but she had long learned that at times it was best to just smile and nod towards the Matriarch. Arguing with her was always a losing battle.

Giving the twins one last kiss, she slipped from the room and headed back to her own. Her mind flooded with thoughts and fears as she moved to pack and prepare. The old armor clinging to her like a well fitting glove, blades familiar in her hands before she slid them into their sheathes. Now was the time. It was a time of answers. To dispel the shadows and confusion of her childhood and to uncover what she could. She knew it was unlikely anything would be there, but she had to try. Lya had to at least know that she gave it her best effort to find the truth before she would let these thoughts ease in her mind once more. Casial was no longer within the workroom when Callyanne arrived, instead it was just Asphodel and the spell circle she had prepared with a box in her hands. “Sometimes, when we go searching for answers. We get answers we are not prepared for, or that we did not want.” The woman stated in a neutral tone, brushing her hand along the box before offering it to the human. “If you feel you are ready to face that, and willing to accept whatever answer you get. Open the box within your old home. It will help you further. But, if you go there and you are unready...Then bury it, and with it bury these emotions that cloud you.” And with that she thrusted the box within her hands causing Lya to fumble to hold the dark wood close. She could feel a thrum of magic from within the darkwood. It made her shudder with unease, but she knew better than to question the magic Asphodel offered. “When you’re ready to return home, you know how to reach me. Now, go. Before you lose your nerve.” A wave of power filled the air around them, arcane sparking around the spell circle until a portal formed within. “Ma…” Lya started, earning a withering look from the older elf who was so sure that her daughter was about to chicken out once more. “...No matter what. Thank you, for everything.” That withering look softened at Lya’s words, but the young woman made her way through the portal before either of them could say much more. Leaving Asphodel to watch the magic flicker out, the grip on her own heart lessening just a tad. She would be here, waiting for when her daughter needed her, no matter how long it took.

Travelling by portal always left Lya feeling lightheaded and sick, biting at her cheek to keep herself from the urge to just collapse as she found herself in the woods. For a moment, she thought perhaps her mother was wrong, that she had sent her to the wrong place. Still clutching that box close she spun, trying to get her bearings when she noticed the cracked and half broken chimney and the dilapidated house it was attached to.

The sight stole the breath from her lungs as if she just took a punch straight to the gut. 

It was home.

Her home.

The remnants of what had been the posts for clotheslines knocked astray, the chimney crumbling and the front door knocked askew. There were no signs of undead or bodies around the cottage that The Matthews had called home, though that did not stop her from slipping into the shadows before she drew closer. 

There was the tree her father had hung a swing from, and the bench that Lysian had gotten proposed to at. The sight of such places in disrepair was almost enough to drive her to tears, but she was on a mission. She needed answers and not just a trip down memory lane. Finally taking a deep breath and swallowing down her fear, Lya made her way into her old home. And it was like a time capsule, untouched in all the years she had been away. Her mother’s favorite cast iron cookware still hung on the walls yet rusted from neglect, the table covered with dark blue tablecloth sporting more holes than cloth nowadays. Moving to the center of the room she just sat down, clutching the box Asphodel had given her as she looked around a place that used to be filled with such light and laughter. A home that welcomed all, carefully created by Lyn Matthews and pondered if she was really a woman who would have kept that big of a secret.

Would she have kept her children from a whole family of support? And if so...Why? “Why…Why would you be out here? Of all places, why run from your own family? Annalise does not seem bad...You had brothers, a mother and father. What would drive you to give all that up?” The young woman asked the shadows, but not even the wind stirred to answer her. 

But, was she really ready for any answer she would receive? Could she accept it if the loving mother she had known was truly a selfish woman who abandoned her family? 

There was only one way to find out.

That box thrummed in her hands, and only seemed to grow in power as she sat there, lost in her own thoughts. Usually magic like this would terrify Callyanne. But, at this moment, her need to know outweighed the fear in her heart. Her hand shook, gripping the lid until she grew white-knuckled before prying it off…

The first thing she felt was cold, unimaginable cold as an unnatural darkness filled the room. Lya felt her back against the ground, her gaze up at the stars above visible through the holes within the thatch roof of her childhood cottage. Was it a trap? Some sort of lesson that at times you just need to be knocked on your back to get your head in order? She was thinking of some choice words for her adopted mother about using magic like that just to scare her before a voice made her grow pale. “My little fox…” A soft pained voice whispered, her tone loving yet sad as it held an unnatural echo to it. For a moment she could not move, she couldn’t even breathe until Lya finally forced herself up to sit and in front of her on the ground sat the ethereal image of her mother. Her auburn hair twisted up in the no nonsense bun that Lyn had always wore, a simple gown with an apron on her form and prayer beads wrapped around her wrist as always. “Momma…” Lya’s voice cracked, tears beginning to freely spill as she stared at the older woman. “Momma....Momma I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I was such a shite child, and I put you through so much pain. And that I was never...I was never able to make you proud. I couldn’t keep Matthias safe either, I lost him Momma. I lost him and its all my fa-” Before the guilt ridden words could leave her, the ghost of her mother drew forward, bringing a hand up to shush her youngest. “Hush...Hush, I didn’t raise you to talk about yourself in that way.” Lyn whispered, trying to console her daughter the best she could. “None of my children were shite, as you so lovingly put it. You all just grew in your own ways. And you were never meant to be your brother’s keeper Lya. He was your elder sibling, and while it pains me, I made my peace long ago. The important thing is that you’re alive. You are alive and you have a loving family and beautiful children. You cannot keep blaming yourself for the past Callyanne. You were just a little girl, and we asked so much of you when we told you to run. I asked so much of you...To see the magic you held, and to know I chose to let you learn it your own way instead of helping you with it. That is a regret I have to live with. That if I had trained you...Maybe you would not have struggled for so long. If I had just gotten that letter out in time…” The woman sighed, leaning closer and resting her ghostly forehead against Lya’s. “We don’t have much time. This magic will not last forever, but in time, if you grow your skills you can learn ways to talk to me when you need me. But, for now...I will try to answer the questions you came here for.” Her words made Lya pause, that hand around her heart gripping tighter even as her mother tried to soothe her. “Trained me...Regret...Does that mean...That you..” “Yes Cally...Your cousin is correct. I am a Harlowe. Anastasia Harlowe by birth.” Her words were soft, but it didn’t ease the blow that came to Lya. “Did father kn-” “Yes...He knew, I had explained my past to him before we married. But, to him it didn’t matter. I was Lyn now, I was his Lyn.” Speaking of her husband brought a soft, bittersweet smile to the spirit’s lips. “But, why...Why hide this from us?” “The truth is never so easy to explain Cally. Your sister knew, but you and your brother were not old enough...I had planned to say something by the time you two were ready to strike out on your own. But, we didn’t get enough time. And even now...My time is limited. Just know, there is darkness in the house my little fox. But it doesn’t always hide in the shadows. I loved my family, with all I was. But, I could not support the choices they made, so I had to take my leave. I wouldn’t let them choose my destiny for me. Instead I followed the call of the Light and trusted where it took me. But, you have allies there, there is one person who knew of you. Who knew where I was, but I can only assume he thought us all dead when he never heard from me again. Solomon, my eldest brother and knight of the House. I wish I could tell you more. I wish...I could give you all my knowledge and help keep you safe. But even now the magic wanes.” Her form began to slowly fade in and out, the magic that had been held within the box beginning to fade. “No...No mother please. Please don’t leave. I can’t...I have so much more to ask. I..” Once more, Lyn rested her forehead against Lya’s as tears ran down the young woman’s face. “Momma, please don’t leave me again. I’m scared…I’m so scared…” And with that, the resolve was broken, and even the spirit seemed to weep. “You’re scared, because you’re smart Cally. My little clever fox...Go under my bed, there is a lockbox. I know now that you should be able to open it. My diary can explain more, and the letters...Just know. I am so proud. So proud of you. And I will always love you little fox. We all will always be here, and we will always love you.” Her words began to ebb off, even as Lya seemed to desperately try to grip onto the spirit, only to fall through and be left gripping the dust on the ground. A wail left her, uncaring of who or what might hear. It was the keening of a woman who felt her loss all over again, to have someone she loved and missed for so long, only be here for the briefest moments. Though her questions were answered, she knew Asphodel had been right. It wasn’t the knowledge she was worried that Lya couldn’t handle, no, but instead it was the knowledge that their meeting would be brief. It was knowing that the grief would come back fresh once more, and the fear that Lya wouldn’t be able to gather herself from it again.

But, she had grown stronger in the past few years. Though she keened and screamed her grief to the heavens, mourning once more the loss of the childhood she was robbed of, and the family ripped from her grasp.

Several moments later, the woman finally picked herself up from the ground, the tears dried to her face as she moved past the broken door to her parents room. The room where she would snuggle up with the loving pair reading her passages from their holy texts, or putting on shadow puppet shows for the siblings to distract them from storms that raged outside. The memories felt empty as she reached under the bed to find the lockbox her mother had mentioned. Her hands gently tracing along the cedar box and the fox insignia carved into the top. The box that would give her all her answers, and that would shed true light onto the messy history of Anastasia Harlowe...Lyn Matthews, and all those steps in between. Sitting on the ground, she took her time opening the box. Revealing at first a choker necklace, a cameo with the image of a dancing fox that held a locket. Inside were the image of a couple on one side and two similar looking men on the other. While the faces seemed familiar to Lya now, she couldn’t quite place them. So for now the necklace was placed aside revealing a letter addressed but never sent. And that name her mother had mentioned written on the envelope. 

Solomon.

Trembling fingers moved to grip the letter opening the seal and peering inside;

My dearest Omen,

I hope this letter reaches you in better conditions than we are having here. Rumors of plague are running rampant and even Henry fears that things may find their way out of control soon enough. I am writing this in hopes that you may be able to help. I know it is a lot to ask, especially with how I left things with Alley-cat, and everyone else and it puts you in a strange position. But, you are the only one I trust. I have already explained everything to my oldest, the other two. They don’t know the truth yet, but in time I hope you can explain it fair better than I could. 

My little Callyanne is showing gifts in shadow magic that remind me of the magic of our family. It scares me, and I keep telling myself I will explain things to her and guide her. But, I scare myself into not doing it each time. I don’t want her to lose herself but I fear that training her might draw the attention of one of our brother’s people. 

Bah, but here I go, rambling again and getting off topic. As their godfather, I want you to take in my children. Lysian will send this letter out once her and the children get to a safe place and add the location of where they are hiding. With luck they may find refuge with some of my husband’s elven allies. You would like them I think, the husband trains spellbreakers. I pray that this letter reaches you well and in time we can all be reunited. Henry and I just know that the children will be safer far from here instead of having to watch us assist with these trying times. I know you’ll love your nephew, he has a strong presence on the training grounds as you did when we were kids.

And Cally will steal your heart and your dessert tarts before you know it, so watch out. She’s a slippery one, but such a caring young girl. I fear you may be wrapped around her finger in no time as you were to me when we were young.

Just...If this is to be my last letter. If things do not turn out the way I pray. Just know that I love you Solomon. I never blamed you or held you at fault for why I had to leave. And what happens next is not your fault. Sometimes, stories just have to come to an end. Just please, please watch out for my children. Perhaps I did them a disservice, trying to raise them with compassion and grace instead of teaching them to strive for strength. Perhaps the world will try to drive their compassion from them.

But, don’t let this world break their spirit. I beg this of you. 

And don’t let the loss of me break yours either.

With all my love always,

Anastasia Harlowe

By the time Lya and finished reading the letter, she could feel fresh tears on her cheeks. Her mother had prepared, she had wanted to get them out. But, it was too late. Before they could leave, the undead were upon them. And in the chaos, the plan was abandoned.

But, this was not her letter to keep, and if there was one thing Lya could do for her mother. It was at least to get her last thoughts to the person she wanted to have them. Finally, her hand moved to a bell at her ear, a spark of magic coming from it as Asphodel stepped out of a portal shortly after, offering a hand to her daughter on the ground. “Did you find what you needed Lya?” The elf asked in a softer tone than before. “I think I did Ma...I think I did…” She placed the contents of the box back, taking it with her as she took her adopted mother’s hand and let her draw her into the portal and back home. The next morning, a simple letter was drafted and sent out to Solomon with her mother’s final letter attached.

‘Honorable Solomon,

You don’t know me, though we’ve seen each other in passing within the Crow’s Nest. I know you may have suspected or heard from Annalise, but let me officially say that. 

Yes. I am Anastasia’s daughter. My mother’s true past was hidden from me all my life, but now I have found my peace and how to move on from it all. I hope that this letter can offer the same to you. I found it amongst her things, and felt that she would want you to have it. Even now.

I hope we can truly meet sometime soon.

Respectfully, Callyanne Matthews’

@annaliseharlowe​ @solomonharlowe​

[monstersandmaw]

Male changeling fae (Mhorrin) x male reader (nsfw)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

So some of you have waited over a year for Mhorrin’s story. I promised someone a long time ago that Mhorrin’s reader would be male, but mostly (as always really with my readers), they’re fairly neutral except for the odd pronoun or body part...

I really hope you enjoy this one - it’s one of my favourites I think, and Mhorrin is a sweetheart who deserves some love. I had a lovely patron who wanted to commission me to write his story, and when I said that a long time ago I'd promised Mhorrin a male reader, they said that was fine, so here it is! I'm pretty proud of this one, and I really hope you enjoy it.

There’s a fight with a big spider at one point, so arachnophobes might not like that bit so much, and a few descriptions of injury, but not life-threatening, and not to the reader. Also Bridget likes to curse a bit. I like Bridget. :)

Wordcount: 10,064

---

Why was it always bloody raining in these parts? Sheets of drenching grey drizzle drifted across the landscape from a low, oppressive sky, and the thick canopy of trees barely offered any real shelter. Heavy drops spattered down from above with almost the force of falling acorns, and sent the decaying leaf mould leaping and scattering.  

Kicking idly at a fallen branch that lay across your path, you scowled as you tramped onwards through another patch of quagmire. Apparently there had once been a half-decent road winding its way between the huge trunks of ancient trees, their bark smothered with thick moss and laced with lichens, branches dripping with ferns and orchids, but now it was little more than a muddy ribbon rutted with potholes and puddles. Ahead and to your right, you could just glimpse the wide, lazy river sliding along between slick, muddy banks just to the south of the approaching town, and you turned your leather collar up further to ward off the fat drops which plummeted from the canopy overhead.

A collection of wooden houses with patchy thatched roofs, composed more of moss than reed, huddled miserably outside the colossal stones of the town’s wall, but hardly anyone was about in this weather. Even the chickens had given up their scratching in the mud. A huge, dark minotaur ducked briefly out of a doorway and glowered up at the small shred of grey sky visible between the branches before grunting something in disgust and slamming the door shut, leaving you to make your solitary way towards the wooden gates of the town. The pair of human guards barely even seemed to notice you as you struggled through the sludge towards them.

Inside the town walls the place was hardly any cheerier or more welcoming than outside. Despite the rain, however, there were a few vendors standing beneath ragged canvases, hawking their wares to those who scuttled by searching for shelter not trinkets, and in the distance a smith’s hammer could be heard ringing on iron. Other towns you’d passed through had bustled with life but this place seemed to be made up almost entirely of humans; any non-humans you saw were scowled at in a way that made you jumpy and wary. There wasn’t a pleasant feeling to this place at all.

A dwarf stumped past you with eyes focused firmly on the distance, heading towards the blacksmith’s, but as you pushed open the door of the first inn you came to, you saw a massive orc behind the bar which reassured you somehow.

The orc nodded at you as you approached and grunted, “Keep your weapons sheathed in here, human, you’re welcome to drink. What can I get you?”

“An ale,” you said, “And a bath.”

“The house ale is a copper,” he said. “The bath is six.”

Too tired and foot-sore to haggle, you nodded.

“Drink up, and I’ll have the bath drawn for you,” the orc grinned, clearly noticing the weariness soaking through your body now that you’d stopped walking. He was huge, with arms easily twice as big as your thighs, and one of his thick tusks had been cracked off, but his yellow-eyed gaze was friendly enough and he waved over a curvy human woman who greeted him with a kiss before letting him speak, which he did with a fond chuckle.

You took yourself off to a quiet corner of the nearly-empty inn, and groaned noisily as you eased your sore shoulders out of the travel pack and your wet leather and mail jerkin. You’d been wearing it for nearly a month solid as you’d moved steadily west in search of… something. Sure, you needed the work, but you could have joined the army if it was steady pay and a meal in your belly that you’d truly been looking for. Your journey had been about something more than that though. Shivering slightly as you sank onto the cool wood of the corner bench, you wondered if perhaps you’d find whatever it was that you were lacking here, in this formerly-prosperous trading town on the banks of a silted up river.

Somehow you doubted it.

Once you’d bathed and changed into the last of your relatively clean clothes, you returned to the bar and asked the orc if he knew of any employment for a young man of considerable skill with a bow and blade, though you didn’t own the former currently. The orc eyed you up and down, clearly getting the measure of you, and then shrugged. “There’s a bunch of mercenaries in the outer buildings,” he said, jutting his heavy jaw towards the direction of the huts outside the walls of the town. “Five of them: a big human woman, elven twins, a minotaur, and… something else. Not sure what he is. Only met them all the once, you see. Still, they might take you on if you’re any good.”

“Thanks,” you said. “I can ask at any rate.”

The rain had miraculously eased up just a little but you still donned your trusty - and now probably a little rusty - mail and leather jerkin once again, and headed out in search of the group. You’d arranged to leave your pack in the care of the orc at the inn for the moment, in case the mercenaries weren’t looking for another blade for hire.

It didn't take you long to find them. With the cessation of the rain, folks had started to emerge from the huts you’d passed on your way in, and outside the one where you’d seen the minotaur, you found two elves, a tall, beautiful woman with short chestnut hair and a scar across her lips, and the one the orc had called ‘something else’. It was immediately obvious why he’d said as much; the creature gave off a strange, almost otherworldly feeling that sent shivers down your spine if you looked at him too long.

He stood tall at over six foot, with a hunched, misshapen back over which he had draped a long leather cloak that came down almost to the mud of the road. He appeared to have the legs of an animal with long, black claws that flexed as he stood there, though his skin was hairless and an odd, almost slate coloured blue-grey. His hands, you saw as he reached to pass one of his companions their travel pack, were mottled with paler grey and he had two thumbs and long, strong-looking fingers. Covering his elongated - perhaps canine? - face was a carved wooden mask, and his hair was black as an oil slick; long, plaited, and falling to his waist.

The minotaur was nowhere to be seen now.

Approaching with your palms open and empty, showing no threat, you called out to them, “Hey, you guys are a mercenary group, right?”

The elves looked up as one and nodded, but it was the human woman who answered. By the gods she was muscular, and you didn't mind admitting that she was more than a little intimidating. “Why, you got a job for us?” she asked, looking you up and down in the same way the orc had. You where more lithe than muscular yourself, but years on the road had made you lean and solid in a way that other warriors and fighters usually weren’t. Not that you didn’t have your softer areas too though.

“Actually,” you smiled, “I’m hoping you’ve got a job for me. Any chance you’re looking to take on an extra blade?”

She glared at the sword on your hip and pouted, unimpressed, one eyebrow sailing high and placing one hand on her hip before looking at the other two, who shrugged. Somehow it seemed like an encouraging kind of shrug, and you nibbled your chapped lip while you waited for her to answer.

“Alright,” she said with a beautifully feral grin. “If you can best me with a blade, we’ll see about taking you on for a contract or two.”

That hadn’t been quite what you’d expected, but you supposed she had a point. “What are the terms of the fight?” you asked, rolling your shoulders out. You suddenly felt very grateful for the good work that the heat of the bath had done to ease out the stiffness from hauling your travel pack around.

“First to draw blood wins,” she said. “No intent to kill, maim, or seriously injure. We’re doing it properly, but this is sparring only.”

You nodded and drew steel. “Agreed.”

She grinned and her honey coloured eyes lit up as the two of you began to spar. She was strong but slower than you, and the two of you danced, circling each other in the mud of the street while the twins and the strange, silent one looked on from the shelter of the dripping eaves of the nearest hut.

In the end, you beat her with a well timed dart to the upper arm, but only just, and she sheathed her huge two-hander and held out her gauntleted hand to you, ignoring the small ooze of blood through her shirt sleeve. “Welcome. Name’s Bridget,” she said as she nearly crushed your hand in her fingers, making you rather wheeze your own name as you introduced yourself. “These two idiots are Elduin and Luirlan -” the two elves grinned and held out their hands.

Their palms were as rough and callused as your own, indicating that they preferred blade to bow - unusual for their kind, but not unheard of - and they had both cropped their brown hair short along one side, revealing their tapering ears. Luirlan had a scar through one eyebrow and a notch missing from the tip of his left ear, and Elduin had a leaf and vine tattoo that ran up his neck and onto his scalp, but other than that, they were utterly identical.

Bridget went on to say that the minotaur was named Ned, but he’d gone to have a nap ‘like a fucking old man’ and had therefore missed all the excitement - “His loss,” she grinned - and the final member of their group she introduced as Mhorrin. The figure, swathed in his heavy leather cloak, simply nodded without approaching, bowing his mysteriously masked head before turning away and returning his attention to repacking his bag.

Swallowing, you hoped that the others would balance out the relative creepiness of Mhorrin, and that you hadn’t made a mistake in joining them. Still, it had to be better than going it alone anyway.

Just after sunrise the next day, you joined them at the city gates, and the small mercenary company moved on in search of new work. Ned quickly found a contract about seven miles further west along the road. The job involved eradicating a small nest of demon-spawn that had been terrorising travellers along the King’s Road, eating them and disembowelling everyone they came across.

The nest was apparently located a short distance back from the road towards some mineral springs, and the elves and Ned soon tracked it down to a dank hollow between two huge sycamore trees. You and Bridget stalked closer, while Mhorrin drew his huge, cruel bow from his stooped back and hung a little way behind on the lip of the dell with an arrow nocked, flights to cheek, ready to loose. The strength in his wiry arms must have been prodigious because he never shook or trembled. Only a few days ago you’d seen him hunting rabbits with unfaltering accuracy, so you weren’t surprised when he aimed a deadly pine arrow straight past Ned’s ear, sinking it deep into the chitinous plating of the first creature to emerge from its festering burrow in the ground. The creature was dead before it had gone a single pace from the entrance.

The demon-spawn were vile, spewing acid and darting forwards to lash out with their serrated claws, but you and Ned cornered the second, while the twins finished of a third, and Bridget hacked another to pieces under a rain of arrows from Mhorrin. You’d just lowered your sword, the steel dripping with the viscera and slime from your own kill, your arm stinging from a light spattering of acid, when you saw one last demon-spawn scuttling down the rough surface of a tree behind Mhorrin.

“Mhorrin! Above you on that sycamore!” you yelled, and he ducked and rolled out of the way just in time for you to hurl your long belt knife at it, striking it in the chest and pinning it to the bark like a three foot long, toxic beetle in a gruesome collection. The creature’s stinger had missed him by inches and still hung in the space where his head had been, dripping onto the forest floor.

“Thank you,” he murmured, checking that the curved, wooden mask was still in place with his odd, grey-skinned, twin-thumbed hand. It was a graceful hand, with long fingers that spoke of strength and cleverness as well as the calm control of a bowman, and you stared at it for a moment longer while he listened carefully to the forest around you.

“Phew,” Bridget grunted from not far away, wiping her own zweihänder on a clump of thick grass at the base of an oak tree. “Think that’s the last of them. Those were some freaky motherfuckers… Everyone alright?”

“Yeah,” came the reply from Ned and the twins. You were a little breathless and a bit scuffed, but otherwise ok, and Mhorrin only nodded.

“You want to check out the thermal springs that these fuckers have stopped everyone visiting?” Bridget asked with a playful glint in her hazel eyes. “We’ll have it to ourselves before the hoards start moving back in!”

Everyone agreed, though with varying degrees of enthusiasm, and once you’d torched and sealed the nests and burrows, the troop moved off through the trees to the nearby springs.

While Ned practically bombed his way in, sending hot water splashing everywhere, closely followed by Bridget in just her underwear and chest wrappings, the twins were a little more demure, and you followed last. The water was deliciously warm, though it smelled quite pungently of minerals, and you groaned as you lay back and ducked your head under the water, washing out the sweat and grime from the fight. Mhorrin, it turned out, had no intention of bathing with everyone, and only washed his hands and feet carefully in the edge of the shallowest pond before retreating to a quiet rock a little way off.

As Ned resurfaced, huffing and blowing spray like a buffalo, you shot Mhorrin a curious look as his figure retreated, and asked Ned in a hushed whisper, “So… uh, what’s the deal with Mhorrin? I’ve been with you a week and he’s hardly said a word…”

“Keeps himself to himself mostly,” the gregarious minotaur shrugged. His thick, black hair was already curling wildly, and he had drops like diamonds on his thick eyelashes. “You got any more questions though, I suggest you ask him.”

“Fair enough,” you said. Of course, his answer had done nothing to quell the curiosity that was quickly blossoming inside you. Swathed constantly in that thick, leather coat, careful with all his movements, masked and distinctly ‘different’, Mhorrin was a mystery to you. While you weren’t generally one to pry, you couldn’t help the desire to get to know him at least, but it seemed that the strange being - you didn’t even know what he was - kept his cards tight to his chest.

As you swam across the deep pond, however, you rolled over and noticed that Mhorrin’s gaze appeared to be locked on your body as you slid through the water. Resting your feet on the bottom of the rocky pool, you stood, chest half out of the chalky blue water, and called out to him, “Hey, Mhorrin! You not coming in?”

You actually had yet to hear him speak more than a few words to anyone, but he surprised you with a full sentence as he drew his thick cloak more tightly about himself and said, “I don’t think it would be as pleasurable as you imagine, human. But thank you all the same.” Behind the mask, his voice was rough and rasping, deep, and his words were quietly and almost gently articulated, as though he had large teeth to work his tongue carefully around.

“Fair enough,” you said again, backing off, but you still felt the slight sting of disappointment anyway.

As the weeks slid by into months and you travelled further with this group of blades for hire, you began to feel at home in the rather odd family. Bridget was loud and brusque, but she had a tender heart, and you realised she was easily hurt by comments tossed her way in taverns along the road. Ned did his best to tell them all to fuck off, but you soon discovered that, despite her closeness to the minotaur, it was you with whom she found a scrap of comfort with on evenings by the campfire when the others were bedding down. Perhaps it was easier to bare her heart to a relative stranger. Either way, you liked her and you let her.

“I’ve always been too big and too strong,” she snorted on one such night when you’d passed through a town and she’d had comments tossed her way - this time about being part ogre. Ned’s earth-shattering snores already drowned out the crickets in the grasses, and the elves were quietly occupied a bit further from the fire, talking quietly in their own language.

Taking a sip from your wineskin, you crooked your elbow over your knee and leaned forwards. “No such thing as too big or too strong,” you grinned, hoping to lift her spirits.

Mhorrin was sitting not far away, whittling a forest creature out of a stick of firewood, and the steady scratching of his blade against the wood slowed as you spoke, though you pretended not to notice.

“If you weren’t how you are, you wouldn’t  be able to protect the people you care about. Plus, I now know first hand that you give great hugs.”

She smiled and leaned back on her hands, her body going taut for a moment as she stretched out along the warmth of the fire. She crossed her feet at the ankle and shot you a sidelong glance. “You know,” she said, “If I didn’t already know that you like men more than women, I’d think you’re making a move on me.” She grinned playfully and you laughed, pleased that her mood was lightening a little.

Her words made your eyes and thoughts drift once again to Mhorrin. His back was hunched high over his right shoulder as he sat on the edge of the ring of firelight, and his almost animal-like legs were folded beneath him. Swathed in that cloak of his and masked as he was, you knew almost nothing more about him after those first few months than you had in your first week with the company.

You recalled your gaze and turned it back to Bridget. “Yeah, true,” you chuckled, scrubbing at the scruff on your chin with a scar-knuckled hand. “Well, I’m just showing my new friend the love she deserves. You’re gorgeous. Anyway,” you added with a snort, “You like pretty little elven women yourself, so I think any attempts at flirting from me would fall on deaf ears…”

She leaned over and gently smacked your upper arm with the backs of her fingers. It was a friendly, affectionate kind of tap, and you shivered slightly at the warmth of the unexpected touch. “Appreciate it,” she said, not appearing to notice your reaction. “I love this bunch of idiots so much, and I’m glad you stuck around too.”

With a wonky grin, you laughed and lay back, staring up at the sky above with your arms behind your head for a pillow. You drew a deep sigh that filled your lungs completely, and then let it go. As great as it had been to be with them, to have a modicum of stability and continuity in your life, you did ache for privacy at times, and as close as you all were, that pang of loneliness which had haunted you for a long time still stabbed at you now and again, usually when you least expected it.

“That was a big sigh,” Luirlan commented as he too came to settle down silently for the night beside the dwindling flames.

“Just relaxing,” you said. You didn’t think anyone quite believed you, but no one took it any further. They gave you that privacy at least.

Mhorrin’s blade had stopped feathering details into the sculpture completely now, and, risking a quick sidelong look at him before you closed your eyes, you saw that he was staring at you. You flashed him a quick smile but got no response. Disheartened and more than a bit miserable, you drew your cloak up around your ears and tried to get some sleep.

Three days later the company arrived at a town that was much livelier and more prosperous than the one where you’d first met Bridget and her friends. Made of red brick and sandstone, some faced in mosaics of knapped flint, the merchants’ houses which bordered the wide market plaza were mostly three storeys tall, and they all glittered with large-paned windows. Elduin whistled through his teeth as he looked up at them, and Ned snorted. “This is where we should have been all this time - I can practically smell their gold. Folks like this always want someone to do some dirty work for them, or at least some heavy lifting!” He and Bridget flexed simultaneously and then fell about laughing at the silliness of it.

Mhorrin was the only one who seemed truly uncomfortable here.

Even the elves, who moved like shadows amongst the trees and could imitate almost every bird call you’d ever imagined, laughed and shoved each other playfully as you made your way through the market, but Mhorrin hung back, apparently staring at the ground, with his shoulders high and tense.

Doubling back, you fell into step beside him and murmured, “Everything alright?”

He nodded tersely and then added, “Not overly fond of places like this.”

“Fancy towns?”

“Any towns. Too busy. Too open…”

You bumped your shoulder gently against his side and said, “We’ve got your back, Mhorrin.”

You sensed the smile beneath the mask in the slight softening of his body, but he made no further reply. Side by side, the pair of you walked across the marketplace, following where the others led.

An old, ovine satyr stood behind a stall selling everything from herbal ingredients to sweets and snacks, and the elves slid over to her just as a human threw down in disgust whatever she’d been holding in her hand. “At that price? Go chew on a patch of nettles, you ugly old sheep!” the customer yelled at her and the satyr bleated something unspeakable at her retreating back.

“Sorry about that,” she grunted as she turned to face the elves. “People just don’t know the value of things that are hard to find. What can I do for you?”

They haggled cheerily over the price of various herbs, and the twins also came away with a large bag of licorice which they immediately dug into with the enthusiasm of small, lanky boys.

You watched them until Mhorrin’s soft voice at your ear made you jump. “Nothing for you?” he asked.

You shrugged, astonished that he was speaking to you. “Not really. You?”

He immediately shook his head. “I’d like a bath and a room at an inn,” he said, which surprised you.

So far he’d not shown himself as someone who liked his creature comforts. Clean he certainly was, but he was always efficient about bathing, heading into the river or stream after the others had returned shivering to camp, or using the baths in whichever establishment they called home for the night alone after everyone had finished. You wondered what it was that he felt the need to hide, but never went so far as to pry and ask.

Something of your curiosity must have shown, as he chuckled softly and said, “Am I so strange that my desire for a hot bath and a comfortable bed shocks you?”

The playfulness in his tone was more shocking to you, though only because it was so unusual for him to be so chatty and informal.

When you said as much, he shook his head, the long, tarred ship’s rope of his plait swaying. “Ah, what a bore I must be to you,” he all but whispered behind his wooden mask.

Before you could refute him, a young child with the hooves of a deer and the horns of a demon pointed at Mhorrin and tugged at their mother’s arm. “Look! Is he a tiefling too? Why is he wearing a mask?”

“I have no idea,” she said, shooting Mhorrin an apologetic look to which he apparently didn’t deign to respond. “It’s rude to point. Come on.”

Mhorrin’s heavy sigh made your head snap round but he was stalking away after the retreating backs of the others before you could get a good read on him. Not that such a thing was ever truly possible with his intense need for privacy and the mask and cloak covering almost all of him.

The inn that Bridget found was a few streets back from the marketplace, backing onto the temple and its grounds. “What about it, lads?” she asked. “If we double up on rooms, we should be able to afford this place quite comfortably after that last job we took.”

Everyone agreed that it was a huge step up from your last arrangements, and while she and Ned predictably partnered up, and the elves nodded at each other, Mhorrin turned to you with an odd tension in his body. “Do you mind?” he asked breathily.

“Sharing with you?” you asked, your voice catching in your throat at the chance to speak with him later in a more private setting. “Of course not!”

He nodded once, and it was all decided. Bridget paid up, and even managed to acquire a contract from one of the patrons who happened to be meeting a friend there for a drink.

“Oh thank the gods,” the merchant sighed, pressing a bejewelled finger to his temple. You had a job not to stare at the gem-encrusted rings that studded his hand and the gold chains that dangled around his fat neck. “I’ve been looking for someone capable enough of ridding the cellars of this pest for a week now, but no one will do it!”

“Just tell us what it is that needs killing,” Bridget said evenly.

“It’s some kind of spider, but it’s enormous. I’m not exaggerating when I tell you it’s the size of a small horse! It’s lurking between my finest barrels of Black Cedar red, and I’ve got the mayor and most of the council coming for dinner on Thursday, and if I can’t serve them that with the roast, then I don’t know what I’ll do. Even I can’t simply procure a wine of that vintage at such short notice!”

Bridget smirked and Ned hid a snort behind an artfully timed cough. You shot Mhorrin a look, but he had taken a step back into the quiet shadows and remained silent as always. Part of you ached a little when you saw him simply standing there, waiting for the next thing to be decided. Did he have no agency? No whims of his own? No desires? Did he just drift wherever Ned and Bridget and the others led him? As if he sensed your rising anger, Mhorrin’s face turned a little towards you but you shook your head and looked away. The private places of his heart were not for you to barge your way into.

Somehow Bridget wangled the most outrageous price from the desperate merchant, and the six of you headed over to his huge city mansion almost immediately after dumping your travel gear in your bedrooms. The room that you and Mhorrin were to share was beautiful, with a wide stone sill and twin beds on either side, a large silk rug in the centre, and two huge and elaborately carved wardrobes that neither of you would need.

The spider did in fact turn out to be the size of a small horse, and Elduin hissed, as you shut the door on it and backed out into the hallway to discuss your plan one final time, that it was more common to find these things up in the mountains where the goblins tunnel after emeralds and sapphires and the endless veins of silver.

“What the hell is it doing in the city then?” you growled. “It’s fucking huge!”

To your surprise it was Mhorrin who answered. “Many creatures such as that are traded as exotic and monstrous pets. One that size, and producing that much venom, would fetch a handsome price on such a market.”

Luirlan turned to him and said with a wry grin, “You think you can stick it full of arrows before it rolls us up like a party snack and sucks us dry?”

“Perhaps,” he hedged. “For all their size though, they’re damned quick. I’ll need a distraction.”

The twins looked at Ned and Bridget, and they nodded just as Elduin yipped, “Why are we always the distraction?”

Bridget grinned, “Because you’re also damned quick.”

Ned chimed in with, “Plus you look like a tasty little party snack,” which earned him a punch to the sternum which probably hurt Elduin’s knuckles more than Ned’s chest, judging by the gruff chuckle the minotaur gave.

“Ok, fine,” Luirlan said more seriously. “We’ll go in and chuck some throwing stars and powder snappers at it while Mhorrin turns it into a stationary porcupine. What about you two?” he asked Ned and Bridget.

“We’ll make sure you don’t get turned into that party snack for real,” she said darkly. “One of us on either side.” She turned to you and added, “And you’ll watch Mhorrin’s back.” There was no room for debate in her comment, but neither did she leave room for doubt; she knew by now that you would truly have Mhorrin’s back, and she trusted you with her friend’s life. Something about that made your chest ache and glow, and you nodded.

With the plan finalised, and your assorted weapons eased in their holsters and belts, you re-entered the dark cellars. None of you had any magic, so the elves tossed a couple of powder snappers they’d bought in the market which flared and popped when they struck the ground, and the spider, which had been crouching low between two enormous barrels at the far end of the stone-lined chamber, rose up and chittered softly in alarm.

The sound of it sent shivers down your spine like nails on a chalkboard, but you focused on the creature with your beautiful steel blade held firmly in your hand. Beside you, the gentle and now familiar creak of Mhorrin’s bow as it flexed was a steadying reassurance in the dark of the room.

The first arrow struck the creature in one of its eyes, but somehow - despite the power of the bow and the deadliness of the aim - it survived.

“You pissed it off real good!” Luirlan yelled as he dived out of the way of its lashing, frothing mandibles. “Oh fuck!” he yelled as it slashed at his skinny body with one of its eight, hairy legs. “It’s got fucking claws too!”

The fight went more or less to plan, with Mhorrin loosing arrows at vulnerable points on its body, but its hide was so thick that they seemed more like thistles in the coat of a wild boar than the deadly pine shafts of hunting arrows. Bridget yanked Elduin back out of the way just in time, and Ned hacked off one of its legs, making the spider spit and scream, retreating back towards the barrels. At that point it seemed to notice that Mhorrin was the source of the stinging barbs in its side, and it scuttled with the speed of a hunting hound fresh of its leash straight at you.

Ned was too far away to take another swing at it, but he hurled his great axe at it, though it missed and embedded itself in a smaller barrel to your right, the scent of wine filling the chamber to replace the fusty dank smell of the spider’s lair.

It was almost upon the pair of you, so you stepped in front of Mhorrin, barely noticing the arrow that hissed past your ear as the spider reared up again, its horrifyingly enormous mandibles clacking and glistening in the low light of the room. You swung at the taloned leg that darted forwards for you, but it was Mhorrin you gave a sharp cry from right behind you. The creature hadn’t been going for you at all, and its six inch long claw had gone through Mhorrin’s thick leather cloak like a needle through silk.

With a howl of rage, you drove the point of your sword upwards into the rearing spider’s throat until the hilt hit its soft fur, and you reeled back as it writhed and screamed. Forgetting about the creature and your blade, you turned and found Mhorrin on the floor, though he’d only been knocked back by the speed of the attack, and was quickly staggering upright.

“Mhorrin,” you gasped but he shook his head.

“I’m alright. It’s…”

“You’re bleeding,” you stated. “Let me look at it.”

“No,” he said, his spare hand flying up to press it into the stab wound. “Thank you. I’ll… I’ll tend to it myself.”

You scowled, but there wasn’t much you could do. The others finished off the spider and brought down the oiled tarpaulin they’d prepared earlier to deal with its corpse, as per their contract.

The merchant was hardly as grateful as he might have been when he discovered the damage that Ned’s axe had done to one of the casks, but even without the cost he’d removed from the final payment to cover the replacement of the wine, you’d earned yourself a small fortune.

Mhorrin’s progress back to the inn was slow, but he showed no signs of passing out and he refused to take your arm or lean on you. When you were back in your room, you tried again to offer your help.

“Please,” you said. “I’ve got salves and bandages, and thread to stitch you up if it needs it, though I don’t think it will. I know what I’m doing. I’m not some hedge doctor; I’ve patched people up before, and done it well.”

He was breathing steadily but rapidly, the shallow rasp of his breath the only betrayal of the pain he must have been in. His masked face revealed nothing.

“Please Mhorrin,” you said even more gently. “Let me help you.”

“I can manage,” he said, though the conviction had gone from his tone.

“I know.”

After another few breaths, he nodded. “Fine.”

The tension that suddenly filled the room seemed nearly choking, but you took a breath and stepped back while he turned away from you and reached up to unlace the knot that held his wooden mask in place. He took the tiniest intake of breath before he removed it, and then set it down on a table nearby, still with his back to you.

A moment later, he undid the buckle that held his heavy cloak in place, and folded it carefully over the back of a chair so that the strange, black blood which still oozed from the wound in his shoulder wouldn’t mar anything.

You’d never seen him without the shapeless leather cloak, and without it, he seemed suddenly so much more slender; almost vulnerable. His waist was invitingly narrow and he wore loose trousers of the kind that many satyrs and fauns preferred, leaving his paw-like feet bare from the ankle. Over his top half, he wore a rough-looking linen shirt that was stained black with his blood, a fact as unusual as the rest of him.

He plucked at the hem of his shirt and murmured without looking at you, “You need this off as well, I suppose.”

You didn’t respond immediately. The right side of his shoulders was markedly higher than the other, making his spine curve and his shoulders hunch, and beneath the thin fabric of his shirt you could see ridges and bumps on the points of his shoulders. There was something alluringly beautiful about the unusual quality of his body. You’d never seen anyone like him in your whole life, but now was not the moment for that. You had not been given this moment for the luxury of admiring him.

“Or do you just want to gawp at the monster like everyone else?” Mhorrin snarled with real venom, still staring at the wall in front of him. The hiss of breath through his nostrils reminded you of a lurking naga in a dark cave, dangerous, threatened, and poised to strike.

“Yes please,” you murmured sheepishly. “I need it off.”

In a single motion, he ripped it over his head with no care for the open wound in his left shoulder, and dumped it on the floor before reaching for his mask and shoving it roughly back onto his face before you’d even seen it.

His back was the same mottled light and dark grey as his unusual hands, like water spattered on granite, but his spine was prominently ridged and he did indeed have almost horn-like protrusions at the shoulder joints, reminiscent of those that some lizardfolk have. He was clearly not reptilian though, you discovered as you cleaned the wound, earning nothing but a sharp intake of breath from him, and the same again as you smeared the heady-scented salve across it; his skin was warm to the touch, and surprisingly smooth, though you tried not to let your fingertips linger.

Mhorrin did gasp, however, when you pressed the clean dressing down over the antiseptic salve, keeping your other palm flat to his shoulder. The wound was on his left side, and the gnarled hump on his right shoulder rose and fell as his breathing quickened.

“Did I hurt you badly?” you asked and to your surprise he shook his head.

“No.” A moment later he laughed huskily, nervously, and said, “Your hands are cold.”

“Really?” you snorted. “That’s what’s bothering you right now?”

“You’re right,” he returned with sudden sourness returning to his words. “I have much bigger things with which to concern myself at the moment.” He didn’t seem to be talking about the wound.

Not understanding his words, you nearly let go of the wad of dressing, but you steadied yourself and returned to the task at hand. In no time he was bandaged up, and it didn’t bleed through the wrapping, so you figured you’d made the right decision.

“All done,” you said, and he rose immediately from the chair and fished out a clean shirt from his pack while you washed your hands in the stand at the corner of the room. This time he didn’t wait to remove his mask, and forced it over his head, ripping the dusky blue shirt slightly at the throat.

Once it was on, he snatched up his leather cloak and stalked from the room, securing it with the buckle as he left. His clawed feet faltered at the doorway, almost as if he had been on the point of turning and speaking to you, but to your disappointment he simply disappeared into the dark corridor beyond and let the door close behind him.

You stood there a moment, recalling the rapid breathing, the warmth of his body, the closeness of him, the musky smell of leather and something else that was undoubtedly his own scent. The way his black hair had gleamed in its thick plait, and the way his strange hands had twitched in his lap as you’d leaned over him; the tension ratcheting up his spine the closer you’d got… Dismissing his sharpness with a shake of your head, you grabbed your coin purse and headed down to the bar in search of a drink.

Bridget scowled at you when you arrived and plonked down in a seat beside her. The elves were nowhere to be seen, but Ned was drinking quietly beside her. “What happened?” she demanded in a low growl. “Mhorrin just headed out like a horse to pasture, and now you come down wearing a face like that…”

You shrugged and after a passing waitress took your order, you leaned back and rubbed your eyes. “Is Mhorrin always like this?”

“Like what?” Ned asked, resting his massive forearms on the sturdy table.

A shoulder twitch was all you had the energy for until you added, “So… skittish.”

“Skittish?” Bridget blurted. “The guy’s about as steady as a rock. What do you mean?”

“I don’t mean that he’s nervous in a fight,” you amended, running your fingers through your hair. It was greasy and you needed a bath, but somehow you hadn’t got the impetus now. “When I was dressing his wound just now, he -” Bridget cut you off with an astonished bark of laughter.

“He let you get near enough to touch him?”

You met her hazel eyes directly, confused. “Yeah? I mean, I had to convince him that I knew what I was doing first, but…”

“Oh, I don’t think that would have worried him,” she went on. “I mean, he’s pretty handy with a needle himself. He knows his way around an injury or two.” She set her glass down and tugged up the sleeve of her shirt to reveal a scar you’d seen many times on her stunning bicep. She had a habit of wearing sleeveless tunics after all. “He patched this up when I thought I was gonna lose my whole fucking arm. Left barely a whisper when it was healed.” She thumbed the thin silver line and shook her head disbelievingly.

That piece of information left you reeling. “If he could see to his own wounds, why did he go through all that with me…?” you mused aloud.

“All what?”

You gestured vaguely with your hand and nearly knocked your drink from the server’s hands as it arrived at your table. With a swift apology and a grin that seemed to appease him, you thanked the pretty tiefling and he left your glass on the table with a wink and an overly-friendly squeeze to your shoulder.

Ned growled, “There’s an open invitation if ever I saw one.”

You didn’t feel like taking him up on it, no matter how handsome he was. Your mind was occupied solely with thoughts of Mhorrin and his dappled skin. He’d had freckles on his back. You drew a deep breath and shrugged. Downing half your drink before looking up again, you simply said, “He let me clean and dress it, but he nearly bit my head off for the privilege of it.”

Bridget was quiet for a while, staring into her ale before she said, “You know, I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen him without that damned stupid cloak on?”

“Really?”

“Mmm. He never takes it off. To let you see more of him than even that… must have been a big deal for him. He trusts you,” she said, shooting you a look. “He partnered with you in that scrap with the spider and the two of you moved like our fucking elves; like you’ve been fighting together all your lives. I’ve never seen him like that…” She traced a fingertip through a glistening ring of beer on the tabletop and added, “Normally he’s our ranged fighter, hanging back on his own. To have someone with him is… new.”

Ned nodded quietly in agreement. “Give him time.”

“I think that’s all he’ll let me give him,” you grumbled, draining your glass and setting it down on the table with a hefty clunk. “I’m going out,” you announced, standing suddenly. “Need to clear my head.”

The two best friends let you go without comment, swiftly falling into their own conversation once you had strode away and left a few coppers at the bar for your drink.

Outside the soft patter of rain greeted you, and you groaned. With your hair damp in minutes, you sighed. You didn’t feel like doubling back for a cloak though, so you set off through the streets towards the temple grounds to stretch your legs and try and wear yourself out completely before going back to your shared room.

To your surprise, you’d gone no further than the bridge over the river which guarded the temple garden when you spotted a very familiar figure, swathed in a ridiculous cloak.

“Mhorrin?” you asked quietly as you stood in the drizzle at the foot of the gently arching bridge.

In the fae-lamps which illuminated the city at night, he looked decidedly peculiar, which was saying something - perhaps somewhere between a gargoyle and a damp dragon with wings folded downwards. He turned slowly and regarded you from behind his eerie mask. You thought he whispered your name, but you couldn’t be sure.

“You want me to leave?” you asked.

After taking a moment to mull over your question, he shook his head. “No,” he said. “No, I don’t…” he faltered as you walked towards him, boots scuffing on the cobbles.

Ignoring the water pooling on the rough masonry of the sides of the bridge, you joined him and leaned your forearms on the stonework. A huge sigh heaved itself from your lungs and you stared at the silent water slipping by in an inky black stream beneath you. Rain dribbled miserably down the collar of your jacket and you shivered, sniffing as it dripped off your nose as well.

A rather more significant shudder shimmied down your spine a second later, and Mhorrin snorted a soft laugh behind his wooden mask. The next thing you knew, the heavy leather of his cloak was being draped around your shoulders and he was standing very close to you. “I cleaned the blood off it,” he said, and you smiled a little snort of your own.

The two of you stood like that for a little while, watching the river slide by, but eventually Mhorrin spoke up. “I’m sorry I spoke to you like that. I had no right.”

You shrugged, not knowing quite what to say and hoping it would be enough.

“Bridget showed me her scar,” you said pointedly after a minute or so.

“Oh?”

“Mmm. The one on her arm. The one you patched up. If you didn’t need me to treat you, why did you let me?”

Mhorrin remained silent for a heartbeat or three before he sighed and said heavily, “Perhaps I wanted someone else to do the looking after for once.”

Something about his tone struck you deeply and you found yourself unable to speak or find a proper reply, so you said nothing. He seemed to understand, even to appreciate the distance your silence gave him, despite your proximity beneath the cloak.

After a while he said, “We should head back.”

When you nodded, he withdrew the shelter of the cloak from you and you straightened. Neither of you said anything as you returned to the inn, but the silence was comfortable. Comforting even.

The bustle of the inn’s bar jangled against your memory of the soft rain outside, but you still shot Bridget a reassuring smile as you passed, and she nodded once before looking away.

Back in your room, you said you were going to get some of your clothes cleaned by the inn staff, and you offered to add Mhorrin’s bloody shirt to the pile. When you returned with empty arms, you pushed open the door and found Mhorrin standing against the windowsill, his arms braced against it, his body bare except for his trousers.

His back was towards you, but it didn’t feel like he was shutting you out. Quite the opposite, in fact; it felt as though he were giving you the opportunity to stare at him openly.

And you took it.

Mhorrin’s back was crooked and gnarled as an oak tree, listing slightly to the right like an old sloop in a force eight. For the first time you realised with a slight pang of… what, excitement?… that he had a long tail like a tiefling’s which, until then, had been carefully concealed beneath the fabric of his trousers. Now it writhed gently behind him like a hypnotised cobra, occasionally twitching. You let your eyes roam over the blue-grey skin of his shoulders, taking in the horn-like studs and the freckles and the various shades of stormy grey as you approached him. His hair hung down his back in its usual thick plait, but you saw with jolt that he didn’t have his mask on.

It sat on the sill beside his hand, empty and hollow as an old temple offering.

“Mhorrin?” you asked, voice cracking ever so slightly. “Everything alright?”

“You wanted to see me,” he said without turning around. “Well… here I am.” He turned just a little as you crossed the last few steps towards him and put your palm on the small of Mhorrin’s back, making him suck in a breath as his spine tensed up.

Then, almost imperceptibly, he started to relax again as you began to explore his body bit by bit, inch by inch, savouring the touches he was allowing you. Slowly, hesitantly, Mhorrin turned towards you, still in the circle of your arms, and he revealed his face for the first time.

Elongated and almost canine, his muzzle was drawn back in a nervous snarl to reveal huge canines and a black tongue. His almond shaped eyes were massive and completely black with no visible white sclera, but they were covered in a milky film like starlight.

“Mhorrin?” you gasped, taking half a step back from him, eyes fixed on his. “Mhorrin, are you…?” and your fingertips fluttered anxiously beside his muzzle, wanting to touch his cheeks just below his eyes. His gaze sailed straight over your head.

“Blind? Yes,” he said.

“I had no idea you couldn’t see. The way you shoot…?”

Mhorrin shrugged, not shying away from your touch this time as your fingertips connected with his soft skin. “I can see heat, like a snake - always could - which is how I found you on that bridge just now.” With a dry smirk he added, “All I had to do was look for a little block of ice.”

You snorted indelicately through your nose and dropped your hand back to your side. “Can I ask… what you are?”

At long last, his face softened just a little, the muscles of his muzzle relaxing, and he sighed, leaning his wiry body back against the sill behind him with a heavy exhale. “I’m a changeling fae, born on the blood moon and thus cursed to look like… this. My mother didn’t want a monstrous child like me, so she swapped me for a pretty human boy, stole him away, and suckled him on her own blood to turn him fae. He’s… He’s their prince now…”

The brutality of his answer shocked you to your core. “Mhorrin…”

He shrugged again, turning his strange hands palm up and seeming to regard them.

On impulse, you slid your own hands into his and he sucked in another sharp breath.

“I don’t care what you are,” you said, more earnestly than you’d perhaps intended. “You’re a good soul. I’m glad I met you.”

A quiet, rumbling purr began to sound from Mhorrin, which was slightly interrupted by the embarrassed laugh he gave.

“Mhorrin?”

He shook his head, still smiling, and said, “You… You’re not like other humans I’ve met…”

“Oh?” you asked, tilting your head up to look at him properly, your hands still in his powerful grip, very aware of how close to him you were standing.

“Mmm.”

“How so?”

He laughed and said, “I… I feel…” but then he shook his head.

Deciding to act rather than to speak, you let go of his hands and took him by the hips, tugging him those final few inches closer, and you nuzzled your cheek against his before kissing him there.

Mhorrin growled softly like a gnoll and surged forwards, his hands searching up your sides, kissing you hard and you felt your cock stirring already, blood rushing south in a dizzying spiral. This was what you’d wanted for all those weeks; for someone to want you with a basic, almost feral instinct.

The changeling’s purring growl echoed in your ribcage as he backed you towards the nearest bed. “Tell me you want this,” he managed to rasp, drool glistening at his lips already. “Please, tell me you want this.”

“Fuck, Mhorrin,” you hissed, already leaning back towards the bed. “Yes. I want you. I don’t care how, but I want you.”

He chuckled at that and nuzzled a few more kisses at your neck one final time before tipping you onto the bed and stripping you rather hurriedly of your clothes. When he sprang your cock free, he moaned. “If you could see you the way I do,” he said.

In answer, you bucked your hips upwards a little and he got the message. Taking your cock in his hand and steadying your hips with the other, he smeared your leaking tip with one of his two thumbs and then slid your hard cock into his mouth and took you all the way to the back of his throat.

You couldn’t have contained the groan that rolled out of you even if you’d wanted to. The heat of his tongue and the ridges on the roof of his mouth were almost too much for your sensitive cock. You did manage to fight the immediate urge to fuck upwards into the heat of his mouth, however, and as his black tongue swirled around the head and then the shaft of your cock, you grunted inarticulately and he gripped your hips even tighter.

“Fuck, Mhorrin…” you wheezed, head lolling to one side, chest heaving. “That’s so good…”

The changeling sucked and dipped, his breath fanning over your lower torso as he worked you astonishingly quickly towards your climax, and as white heat coiled in your belly, you gasped, “Mhorrin, stop… I’m… I’m gonna…” and you lurched forwards and grabbed his thick hair, pulling him by the plait off your cock with a lewd pop that made your head spin.

“Mm?” he asked.

As you glanced down you saw the tent in his trousers and you gestured at his waistband. “You’re overdressed…”

With a shy grin, Mhorrin obliged, sliding out of his remaining clothes to reveal the evidence of his own arousal. Where the skin of his lean torso was a dark, stormy grey, his cock was almost blue, the tip a vibrant red and already weeping pearlescent pre-come down the length of his shaft, twitching in the relative cool of the bedroom.

Before he had the chance to return his attention to your cock, you reached for him and tugged him down to the bed. “My turn,” you said as you wrestled him onto his back with a playful grunt. He was stronger than you by far, and could have overpowered you easily, but he let you.

As you sat astride him, Mhorrin’s long tail snaked around your thigh and made you gasp as he caressed your balls with the soft, blunt tip of it. Your knees buckled and you pitched forwards, landing with one hand on his chest and the other on the bed beside him. His jaw parted and he raked his teeth across the pounding pulse in your neck before drawing back and saying, “Two can play that game, you tricksy little human…”

Your cock throbbed at the sound of his voice, suddenly so confident and self-assured, and it made you want to unravel him in the best way possible.

Sensing this, perhaps, he smiled hesitantly and said, “I… I have no oil that would be suitable, I’m afraid…”

“I do,” you said quietly. “Would you like me to fuck you then?”

He nodded mutely, and you smiled, raking your nails down his chest and making him gasp, his dark nipples hardening almost instantly.

It didn’t take you long to find the small vial you were looking for in the depths of your bag, and when you turned back to face him, you took just a moment to admire him. His long, lean body was stretched out, the pads of his toes spread wide with expectant pleasure, his tail writhing slowly beside him, his thighs tensed, his quads standing out and straining, and his hand was on his weeping cock already.

It didn’t take you long to open him up, but you did delight in watching the way his jaws went slack and drool slid freely from his lips as he tilted his head back and keened with pleasure as you hit that spot inside him that made him jolt and jerk with searing pleasure.

His body began to quake and quiver in minutes, and soon he was writhing and snapping his maw shut, his blind eyes rolling closed as his hands searched for you amid his pleasure. “Please,” he rasped. “Please…”

With a grin you slicked your own achingly hard cock with oil and then lined yourself up with him. Again, his tail snaked between your legs as he lay on his back, and he started to caress your balls as you eased yourself into him. He was still so tight that it took you a while to enter him completely, but when he raised his hips and finished the job for you, the pair of you let out matching moans.

Mhorrin went rigid with the pleasure of it and you felt the heat of his insides clench around you, almost daring you to come then and there.

“Fuck…” you breathed, bending low over him, adjusting to the grip he held on you.

“That’s… the idea…” he grunted. “Isn't it?”

With a hoarse laugh, you started to move, enjoying the slide of your cock inside him, watching him coming undone with each thrust, until he was shaking and whimpering. “Oh by Fate…” he cursed suddenly, “I’m… I’m going… I’m…” he cried and suddenly he was overcome, his body convulsing, his hands gripping your forearms as he curled his spine towards you, his abs clenching, his body rocking and jolting with the force of his release. His cock - untouched - spurted over his abs and chest, and he almost howled as he came.

Three more thrusts and you too were coming, emptying yourself inside him with a breathless gasp as your vision went white. Falling forwards over him, you lay there with him, gasping and still twitching, until he brought his strange hands to your back and traced idle lines up and down your spine.

Eventually you shifted, sticky and spent, and staggered towards the washstand in the corner of the room to fetch a cloth for him and for yourself.

Even cleaning him elicited similar groans of pleasure from him, and before you knew it, he was getting hard again, and despite your exhaustion from the day and from your first round, you felt the same awakening in your own body.

Silently, you moved your hand back to his cock and he jerked and whimpered.

“Yes?” you asked, and he nodded.

“Yes… Please, yes…”

—

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[onepiecehcs]

Twin Blade Thatch, 4th division commander of the Whitebeard Pirates, gets weak at the knees when someone taller than him is witty enough to tease him back, and in this essay i will,

[theislesunfamily]

Three & Four (Tell Me That You’ll Kill Me More)

The following story takes place during a week-long period in which Ithanar travels on official state business during the Phoenix Wars.

A warning has been placed at the beginning of this story regarding mentions of death and blood. 

It is a small valley, untouched by apocalyptic ashes.

Trees of orange and purple leaves stand strong in the breeze, and the grass barely moves beneath shuffling boots. There’s something whimsical about this very region; how it has evaded the ravages of war, how buildings - large and small, hovels and halls - still stand, the orchards untouched and still full of ripe life.

But the people?

They are nowhere to be found.

Perhaps they believed the Alliance was coming.

Or perhaps that work has already been done. By someone else. By another.

Ithanar has his ideas. His beliefs. His suspicions.

And it makes him weary, fills his stomach with dread.

He continues his long march, playing back conversations in his head, knowing that this task will continue beyond today. Beyond this week. Beyond this month. The end is nowhere near, and it is that which fills him with fear. His hands shake at his side, and his gaze flickers left and right, alert.

A small town comes into view. It as quiet as the others, not a person in sight.

Ithanar immediately knows.

He sees it. The old elf reaches down into the folds of a satchel tied to his armor and produces a cigar, which he lights with a flick of his fingers. It’s a gesture of worry, of the war that is and the war to come.

A few more steps, and there it is. A body in the street, face down and unmoving. Ithanar leans down over the corpse, just staring, eyes transfixed on the back of the head.

Not a single person survived.

He knew. Now it is confirmed completely.

This is their handiwork.

There are bodies.

Everywhere.

Up Ithanar goes, pacing forward down that dusty dirt road and onto something more cobbled, with stones trailing to and fro. He moves deliberately past rows of houses and into a town square centered around a great fountain, the tall image of some royal family member standing tall with a sword pressed high into the air.

That doesn’t matter.

None of it does. No statue with such a grandiose gesture would catch his attention on this day.

It is the bodies that do. Some cut by the throat, and others pulverized into the dirt roads and grassy knolls.

Blood marks the cobbled streets, shifting over and around each stone, each step. Even here the buildings are left bare, any trappings or material possessions not taken or touched.

Definitely their handiwork.

They would be close too. They always are. They like to admire what they’ve done, their hard work.

“Come out, you two.”

His voice is low. Dangerous. A dagger in the dark to try and flush them out.

He knows they can hear them.

From around the corner, there is a sound: plate boots striking the stones, and an imposing figure cuts a long shadow as the sun sets over the thatched rooftops. His hair is red, strung up in a long ponytail, and his broad features almost are picture-perfect with regard to what he is.

He walks like a soldier.

“Evening, teacher.”

He talks like a soldier.

There is one of them.

Another sound, but up high. The pitter-patter of leather on the rooftops and hands helping to vault over obstacles before there’s a sudden and complete stop. Ithanar’s gaze flickers up to see the other, a woman with closely cropped brownish-red hair and the same sort of broad features much like the first.

“Have you come to join us? In this necessary slaughter?”

Her tone matches her brother’s.

She talks like a soldier, but does not walk like one. She stands as one though.

It makes sense, for they are twins, these Shattersuns.

Ithanar turns his gaze back to the brother, the younger of the two by only a few minutes, and then lets it a settle in a glare. His head barely tilts, hair shifting only slightly over his shoulders. A ring of smoke leaves his lips, and the cigar rolls along the edges of his mouth.

“No, I came by to check in on you two,” he replies curtly, his tone flat and barely rising with the fury that swells in his belly. “Having fun?”

“Do you think we are?” The sister answers as she flips down from her perch, barely making a sound in a three-point stances. There’s an unnatural sway to the way she rises, hands hanging loosely at her sides.

Her brother edges a little more closely, and it is now that Ithanar notices the large mace in hand. It is larger than the length of his body, a massive thing that one with only an incredible amount of strength could wield. Blood has already formed as a thick and disgusting crust around the edges of the thing.

But the old elf’s gaze stays trained on the woman.

“I’m in no mood for questions used as answers,” he answers sharply.

“Then what are you in the mood for, teacher?” The brother inquires, and very quickly. He’s getting closer with each deliberate step.

Ithanar doesn’t answer. He just watches them both, one from the corner of his periphery.

There’s the quick schwing of a blade being drawn from a sheath, and then another as a pair of ornate and decorated swords appear in the grasp of the sister. She swings them through the air with a practiced ease, and it draws back an old memory:

Her joyous smile as she matched blades with Ithanar.

Laughter like a song of victory.

“I have you, Ithanar! You’re mine!”

She nearly had that day.

(The blOOD of her people spilling.)

(Th E t H O U H GHT OF BEING A B AN D O N E D)

(By whom she had T RUSTED THE M O S T)

(A m I N D M ARR ed B Y A B REAK INTO T H E be y o n d)

“Are you planning on butchering the Alliance too now that they are here? Just like you did with Teldrassil?”

Her brother’s questions bring Ithanar back to there here and now.

The old elf shakes his head, a snarl beginning to unfurl across his lips, and looks in his direction. “That wasn’t me,” he answers. “I-”

“But you are part of it. The problem. The Horde,” Shanara interrupts him.

“We’re not all the-” Ithanar tries to protest, his flat tone failing and falling into fury.

“No, you are. You are all the same. Murderous monsters on both sides…” The brother cuts in as only he could do.

Shan’ran Shattersun was always like this, always the one who would think first and act later. Even with such a gargantuan weapon in hand, he never would be the first to swing it.

(AND P e r h a p s t hiS WAS his DOWNFALL)

(A nd y et ANOTHERONEOFYOURFAILURES)

(Never taught the B A L A N C E, how to F I N D)

(Keeping p e a c e with in THE MIND)

As the anger and annoyance rises, Ithanar finds himself…

Looking for calm. He is caught between a rock and a hard place, already unraveled to some degree by the sight of the massacre around him even though he has seen worse, and these twins, these-

His former students.

They know how to rattle someone, they know how to best make them hurt, make them bleed.

It was what made them such good spellbreakers.

It was what made him so good.

Another breath.

“Interesting,” he says after a few beats of silence, or at least that’s how long the old elf believes it to be. “You mentioned… both sides, and here I thought you were going to the Alliance. Here I thought what you did here was your… bargaining chip, the ability to showcase your power.

Ithanar doesn’t walk to either twin, but instead turns his back on them. He paces up to the fountain, gaze swiveling up to the statue, and notices from the corner of his eye that such an action does exactly what he wants:

Snarls on each of their lips, twins acting in such a unique unison.

“Neither of you are going to the Alliance, are you? That never was your plan.”

They always follow a pattern.

The Shattersuns look at one another.

<“He knows”.>

That voice isn’t hers.

<“Of course he does. He killed Valranis.”>

That voice isn’t his.

<“And Sinros. Slaughtered them in-”>

Ithanar turns to look at both them, one hand slowly rising to the pommel of the blade sheathed on his back. “Blood was not cold on that day. It never is,” he drawls, shaking his head.

“Then why did you not listen?” Shan’ran asks, his voice becoming his again.

“Because whatever you have to say falls upon ears that know better,” the old elf answers

The Shattersuns slowly advance, predatory and ready.

“But does the blade?” Shanra asks, twirling her twin blades again; each a simple flick of the wrist.

“You look tired, t-” Shan’ran begins to say.

“It’s Ithanar. Cut the bullshit. You never used to call me ‘teacher’...” Ithanar interrupts in a low growl, unsheathing his blade from his back. Ravensteel sings as it flashes into his hand, the black metal of the blade beginning to shine and shimmer as familiar rune etchings spring to life.

“She did not, but I did…” The brother corrects himself, and almost too casually as he brings his mace around and into both hands.

“Ithanar…” Shanra begins, her tone slowly taking on a quality not its own.

<“You look T I R E D.”>

Perhaps it was never her own.

No, it was. Once upon a time.

Blades and bludgeon drawn before one final back-and-forth of unfriendly banter.

“I’m always like this now.”

“War has turned you into something wasted, Ithanar.”

“No. Something that will lay waste to you.”

The tightening of one’s grip upon a heavy handgrip.

“You will try.”

The whistle of twin blades once again.

“You will fail.”

The high-pitched whine of Ravensteel.

The night of the blade turns to the light of a dreadful day.

“I’m sorry. For my fuck-ups.”

There is no flowing water in the fountain.

There will only be blood.

“<We know.>”

To be continued.

[mamamittens]

Oh, Sweet Child of Mine (Pt. 8)

Platonic Yandere Whitebeard Crew & Reader-Insert

Main|First|Previous

Warnings: None (besides yandere behavior, but this is part 8 and you get the picture by now).

If yandere content makes you uncomfortable, please do not read this series and block the tag 'oh sweet child of mine' as well as relevant tags such as 'one piece yandere'.

Remember, you guys (at least some of you) voted! And your actions have consequences 😘

Word Count: 1,268

To say Twin-Blade leaving for a ‘mission’ was dramatic would be an understatement. He cried woefully into your shoulder, picking you up several times as though he was going to take you with him.

“—and don’t forget to eat while I’m gone! My division is the best but I know it won’t be the same with me not cooking!” Twin-Blade cried out, receiving a smattering of offended blustering for his ridiculousness. Marco shoved his head away from you with an irritated sigh.

“The sooner you leave the faster you can come back, Thatch. Quit freaking them out.”

Twin-Blade pouted, arms still firmly locked around your shoulders.

“But they haven’t said goodbye yet! Or told me how much they’ll miss me when I’m gone! How can I leave my newest sibling in such conditions?!” Twin-Blade begged. You reflexively cringed.

“Yeah… I’m not doing that. Please let go, Twin-Blade.”

He froze, eyes wide as he blinked. Slowly, he looked at you with teary eyes.

“At least call me by my name!” Twin-Blade cried out desperately.

“No.” You huffed, pressing both hands against his chest to no avail until Marco shoved his finger into Twin-Blade’s forehead and pushed.

He stumbled back with a pitiful sputter before grabbing his pack. Taking a low stance and pointing at you accusingly.

“Fine! But I want a hug when I come back! With a happy smile and everything!”

“Why? Do I get to leave when you return?” You asked dryly, receiving an irritated sigh from Marco beside you as Ace cackled.

“No! Because you’re happy to see me, damnit!” Twin-Blade huffed.

“Oh…” His face brightened for just a moment. “Then no.”

He grumbled, waving to the rest of the crew that was seeing him off with a small party to retrieve medication for Whitebeard.

“…It’s kinda weird you guys don’t have a regular supplier.” You commented as the small crew sailed off with no additional fanfare or waterworks.

“We haven’t managed to get an island under our protection that manufactures the medicine we need. And it would bring undue attention to go to a specific pharmacy not well within our territory. This is easier, though a little convoluted. It’s not like it’s rare medication.” Marco commented.

You made a noise of understanding.

“The marines have several labs hidden away for all their research and medical needs. Never been to any of them myself, though they considered sending me there when my devil fruit was discovered.” You pondered what that would have been like. You’d… never heard anything too telling about it. But considering how intense the discussion was you gathered that there was some… issues with the labs.

“…Do you even know what they planned to do with you?” Ace asked curiously. You looked at him and made a ‘so-so’ gesture.

“I got the impression that I was going to be assigned to someone specific as a partner before they started wondering if there were side effects to my devil fruit. At that point, even I wasn’t sure what it could be. Whoever it was, they didn’t want to risk anything unexpected.” You sighed. “I went through a lot of partners, but they were all kinda dicks. Before and after being exposed to my fruit. I thought that maybe a side effect was like… an over-inflated ego trip but you both have been in contact with me for some time and you’re not—well, I mean—you’re weird but still weird? Maybe it depends on the person’s psychological profile…” You shrugged.

“Dicks? Hm… did your ‘partners’ have anything else in common?” you blinked at Ace.

“Actually, yeah. They did. None of them were high ranking or especially strong, likely in case something went wrong with their power, but there was one specific thing they all had in common with their devil fruits.” You admitted.

--*--

“Commander Thatch! We’re being followed by a pirate ship!”

“Heh! Well, let’s say ‘hello’, boys!”

--*--

“They had to do with heat.”

--*--

“Is that?!”

“No way!”

“C-Commander! That’s a devil fruit!”

--*--

“A-Admiral Akainu, sir! Here’s the file you asked for!” A nervous ensign stuttered out. Akainu looked over his shoulder, cigar butt grinding between his teeth as he hissed.

“Leave.” He growled, snatching up the remarkably thin folder. Despite his temper, he kept his hand cool—or as cool as it ever was underneath his leather glove. His opposite hand however, dripped small bits of magma onto the carpet. The fire snuffed out under his heel as he threw it onto the desk.

The file fell open, papers scattering across the surface with a picture clipped to the main page.

This glasses reflected light underneath the standard marine cap, a bright beaming smile captured for the record keeping boys.

Akainu had thumbed through a copy of the file several times, keeping a close eye on any updates as they occurred. Minor injury reports, transfers, the works. But none pissed him off more than the status box stamped in red.

CAPTURED.

WHITEBEARD PIRATES, XX/XX/XXXX – [-/-/-].

STATUS: UNKNOWN, PRESUMED COMPROMISED.

At his own insistence, there was an addendum added to the file permanently.

IF FOUND, REPORT DIRECTLY TO ADMIRAL AKAINU FOR RETRIEVAL.

His cigar burned into nothing but ash on his lips as he sneered.

“Don’t worry. You’ll be back soon, my dear. And I’ll make sure it never happens again.” Akainu hissed, plucking up your picture with his melting fist clenched tight behind his back to prevent any damage. “We’ll bring real Justice to those filthy pirates. And I plan to make them scream for thinking they could corrupt you.”

He flicked his wrist, flinging molten lava against the far wall where a collage of Whitebeard Pirate bounty posters were pinned. The whole collection bursting into fire and falling to the floor in a rain of ash.

Soon.

--*--

Thatch watched as the Moby Dick came into view, their mission successful. Several months worth of medication in the hull as well as a smattering of general supplies to bulk up with just in case.

Marco promised him a party and Thatch was arriving with a whole new reason to celebrate.

The massive fruit nestled under his arm, purple spikes and green leaves poking into his clothes. He wondered if you’d know what it could do or if he’d have to look it up himself. He was hopeful you could both bond over it at the very least, though he was still on the fence about eating it. It was a big decision to make. And he’d made it this far without a devil fruit.

Who knows, maybe it did something really cool?

--*--

You looked out at the sea with a frown. You couldn’t see where it was coming from exactly, but you felt a devil fruit at the edge of your senses.

“What is it, my child?” Whitebeard asked. You had stopped rubbing Stefan and Kotatstu’s bellies, standing up straight as you shivered.

“…I-I don’t know.” Your heart stuttered in your chest as the devil fruit grew closer. Swallowing hard, you looked up at Whitebeard. “I think it’s a devil fruit? But…”

You looked back out at the sea again as Stefan whined.

“What do you sense?” he asked again, tone serious and almost worried.

“… It feels hungry. Hungry and dark. Like the shadows under your bed or at the end of a very long hall.” You replied faintly, cold sweat breaking out.

It felt like the edge of the void.

And the void was looking back at you. Reaching out with tendrils long and twisted and starving for more.

[thctched]

thctched, a roleplaying blog for canon-divergent portrayal of THATCH ( also known as ) "TWIN-BLADE THATCH" from ONE PIECE. selective and HEAVILY headcanon based blog. 30+ MUN. please read the STORY and BIOGRAPHY before interacting.

Here be da LINKS: STORY. / BIO. / LAWS.

If you're interested, give this post a like or reblog, but if not, keep it SCHMOVIN'. It's all gravy here! Thanks for reading!

[the-cookie-of-doom]

“Open your eyes, my dear Alistair. I’ve no desire to lie with a dead man.” Alistair does, revealing twin sapphires glinting against the pallor of his skin and the blood-rust of his hair. Alistair’s eyes land on another glint in the dark; a blade held aloft in Elliot’s hand, a scalpel expertly wielded. 

“What do ye intend to do with that?” he asks, gruff as ever. His tone doesn’t have half the warning he wishes it did, nor does instinctive fear grip his heart the way he believes it should. 

“You wish to understand the inner workings of the human body, do you not? I intend to show you.” 

Before Alistair can ask what the young man means, before he can offer so much as a protest, the blade comes for him. Hooks under the first button of his shirt, the one right at his throat, and flicks deftly through the thread holding it attached. The button flies and lands delicately on the stone floor. 

“I hope ye intend to pay for that.”

“I’ll mend it for you,” Elliot promises, repeating the motion with the next button. 

Alistair begins undoing his shirt from the bottom before Elliot can ruin the entire thing, meeting him halfway. His fingertips tingle where they brush against the cold grip of the scalpel, not warmed in the least by Elliot’s touch. 

“Let’s see you, then.” Elliot sets his scalpel aside at a safe distance—still well within reach—and pushes open Alistair’s shirt, revealing a broad chest dusted with a thatch of auburn curls. “Beautiful. An ideal specimen.” 

“Am I?” 

“Yes.” Demonstrating his point—demonstration is always the key to effective instruction—Elliot runs his hand down the center of Alistair’s chest. He covers his heart with his palm, then traces the arch of his lungs with both hands, his fingers dragging over Alistair’s nipples. Maps out the route to his stomach, his liver, his kidneys, pointing out each as he passes them. “So far as I can tell, you’re in peak physical condition. You’ve the strength and build of a working man, without the unfortunate black lung. I imagine your corpse would fetch a pretty penny with Dr. Clarke.”

“Are you intending to collect, then?” Alistair asks, acutely aware of the murderous tool beside them, whose only purpose is to cut apart bodies, to allow crude surgeons to play with their insides. He pulls his lips back over his teeth when Elliot furrows his brows, confused, or perhaps disappointed that Alistair would ever think such of him. The expression might be called a smile on anyone else. 

“I might, if you keep up that attitude.” Elliot picks up the surgeon’s blade and holds it to Alistair’s throat. The freshly honed edge kisses his skin, sharp enough he doesn’t feel it cut into his flesh. Only the warmth dripping down, down, down to pool in the hollow of his throat. 

Surely now the fear will come, Alistair thinks. Elliot holds his life on the edge of a blade, and there is a cold, calculating look in his eye that says he wouldn’t be afraid to take Alistair’s life for his own. Not for the money Dr. Clarke would offer, no, never that. For the simple fact that he could. Take the hot, liquid proof of the power he holds over life and death itself. Isn’t that the purpose behind any physician’s study; to conquer that untamable force?

And yet, even as his heart beats wildly, in his chest, the rabbiting pulse no doubt visible at his throat, where Elliot’s eyes are so acutely focused that he must be aware, Alistair is calm. 

“Would you let me?” Elliot asks on a whisper, finally tearing his eyes away from that ruby necklace to meet Alistair’s unflinching gaze. There’s something wild in his eyes. Wild and familiar like the God’s Alistair’s family once worshiped, long before saints and angels with their pure white wings and soft-voiced hymns. 

“Yes,” Alistair breathes. There is no other answer he can give. Since the day Elliot forced his way into his life, unafraid, whatever’s left of Alistair’s soul has belonged to him. 

There is nothing I could deny you. 

Elliot shudders, overcome with the weight of Alistair’s trust. Nay, his devotion, because what else is devotion if not complete surrender, body and soul? He braces himself with a hand across Alistair’s body and leans down, captures that pearl of blood on his tongue and traces it to the source. It tastes of copper and salt, of life. 

The warmth of Elliot’s mouth soothes the budding ache of the thin wound. However a new ache arises within him, coalescing between his thighs, and Alistair clutches desperately at Elliot’s arms, growling out, “I want you.” 

“Have me then.” Elliot climbs atop him, the marble table easily withstanding their combined weight. It isn’t nearly so forgiving as Elliot’s alabaster flesh, kept hidden by the stuffy layers of his clothes. 

Alistair accepts his place as a sacrifice upon the stone altar, anointed in his own blood and the holy water from Elliot’s own mouth, the salt of his joyous tears, and makes an offering of himself. Worships his lover with reverent hands, unworthy of such a creature. Somehow they do not stain him with their black, rotting corruption; Elliot is left untainted. A shining pearl amongst sand and bottom-dwelling creatures and filth. 

“Let me see you,” Alistair prays. He knows only the muted warmth of Elliot’s body, and longs for the searing heat of his bare skin