#white stag story line

[jacks-dark-oc-stuff]

The Husbands™️

(Celie's fine he can't be killed in a way that matters)

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

To Hunt a Silver Stag (I)

AU MASTERLIST || PART II

PAIRING: Knight!Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x F!Fae Princess!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 6.9k

WARNINGS: Arranged marriage, talks of childbirth, traditional views of women & men in medieval times, talks of war, death, heavy religious imagery/symbolism, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You wore a crown of deer antlers atop your head. Charms were woven into the gaps between the tines, attached to golden thread; jewels of starlight strung like teardrops from the moon. Your feet, staying still on the hard stone of the Great Hall, are bare though attract no dirt or dust—it is as if the very ethereal aura that coats your gown of pure white repels any such thought of uncleanliness or corruption of this mortal plane. 

You are so very far from home.

Standing in the center of your soon-to-be husband’s court, your eyes seem not to be on the man himself, who watches you greedily from the throne of black iron, but instead behind him. Blank of any emotion, your long lashes blink in the direction of the stained glass windows with a horrible longing. Whispers from the multitude of court attendants go in one ear and out the other—useless to you. Their time would be gone in a blink, and yet here you would remain, immemorial. Their words were nothing, and their utterances would turn to dust faster than their bodies would.

You can’t help but wonder if those colorful depictions in that glass window, of God and his valiant angels, are mocking you as you blink at them slowly. Not only for what you are and where you now find yourself in the kingdom of your enemies but for being so full of the very qualities that would normally resign a woman of this age to the stake. 

Independent, confident, and curious, among others. 

A voice raises above the rest, and your eyes blink elegantly, the silver hue to them unnatural in all senses. Yet, you do not look away from the mighty white stag, its soldered bits of thin glass a patchwork of an overwatching Lord. Saint Eustace is there, staring at it, just as was told from generation to generation.

A pagan man converted to Christianity, the symbol of a cross set between antlers very much like the ones adorning your head. Humming under your breath, your eyes dip down, chin moving. Below the window, there stands a tall knight, and your gaze locks with his softly. 

“Today,” the King’s voice echoes over the crowd as brown orbs stare at you, blinking. “We are here to celebrate the joining of two great bloodlines!” He stands with a grand cape over his shoulders, falling to the floor as his boots stand at the top of the stairs to the throne. Yet, this knight holds your attention more than your Promised does as the cheering starts, loud; making your ears twitch.

At your waist, a golden belt is engraved with expert attention, stories woven into metal that even seem to move with the magic embedded into it. It seems to hum with an energy that makes your eyes narrow in confusion upon this stranger.

He had brown eyes, the knight, and the hues reminded you of brown that you could see in the trees of your home—those old beasts that grew still with the magic of your line and your gentle touch. Surrounding him, there was silver armor and a strip of red fabric that went over one shoulder, hanging beside the items of his station; a sword and a dagger on a brown leather belt.

Brows furrowing, your head tilts slowly, unblinking, as the eye contact persists. 

A bold man, it seems.

The knight’s eyelids slightly widen, as if realizing he had been staring, and his face swiftly moves to the side, his short hair close to his oval skull. You hear the faint clearing of a throat come into the shell of your pointed ears.

Sighing, your focus returns to the matter at hand, the crown’s adornments clinking together as your head rotates. The speech. 

King Michael spreads his hands out, a man far into his older years but still had the gleam of malice in his eyes. Those beady things. They remind you of a rat—a small creature, while intelligent, that cannot win unless through tricks.

“We all know that magic has slowly been disappearing from the lands,” the King utters, voice echoing off the walls. Your hands are holding themselves near your abdomen, grace embedded into your bones. Watching how he speaks, you can’t deny he was influential. But influence didn’t matter when you had no wife—no children. He has a dying line, and that means weakness…which is why you’re here, after all. “And in that time, our war with the Fae has fallen into a stalemate.”

Your expression sharpens, fingers twitching. Stalemate? There were humans in your lands—spreading their fires and swinging their defiling iron swords. There was no war here except the one that this King was perpetuating. 

But you held your tongue, even if your silver eyes narrowed in an ancient, bitter, anger. Your head raises itself higher, hanging gemstones swinging. The knight near the stained glass is back to watching you—his feet shifting from under him, hands behind his armored back with loose shoulders.

“...Today, myself and the King of the Fae have come to an agreement in confidence, and in the fashion of old, I am to be wed to his daughter, a princess!” Gasps, cheers, clapping. They spring up from all corners of the Hall, bouncing. Your body longs for nature, to be away from rock and metal, these suffocating walls that close in with the gaggle of wretched corpses walking. “Peace shall be beholden to all of us! Magic shall come back into my bloodline through our many children, and all will share in its wealth!” 

You had compared yourself to a broodmare when your father had given the news of your journey here. A womb to be filled until you could give no more; restrained to a bed—away from any privilege and right.

And you’d been sent here anyway. A price needed to be paid, your father had told you. A daughter to stop the war. A child to bring back mortal magic and keep the peace through generations. Was your head to be put to the block for that? Who was to say that children would bring peace? That there weren’t more conflicts to come?

This was a momentary sacrifice, and here you were wearing white.

You hum under your breath and feel shackles tie themselves to your ankles; tying you to this place. But what other option did you have?

Your ears listen to the loud rapturous cheering, the exclamations of love that mean nothing to you—you do not love these people, do not love their need for violence and their pride. You want to go home, to find where you can rest among glades and grass. Converse with the birds and the beasts to learn of their news of far-off lands; run your hands through clear streams and watch plants grow where you walk.

As your stone body stays still, silver eyes unblinking, the knight near the window is the only man in the room not gazing at you like he wants something from you. While Lords have their eyes filled with lustful envy of your age-less skin—your finery and wealth; the promise of strong children, the knight is the only one with an open expression. 

He only watches, handsome face holding the whispers of stubble and eyes that would make many moral women wish to be his wife. 

Admittingly, your attention keeps going back to him, just as his own is stuck on you even as he tries to look professional. Back straight, armor glinting, sword pommel fiddled with by long fingers. 

The King is walking down the stairs, one withered leg at a time. You don’t offer any help.

“My bride,” Michael licks his lips when he’s in front of you; but he’s more fixated on your stomach than all else. What it will hold for him. “My beautiful Fae bride. My wedding will be known through history for ages to come.”

My. 

The world holds its breath. The knight’s jaw clenches, though no one sees it. 

You take a heavy breath into your lungs to hold back your snapping tongue. As the words meet the air, they come out as unemotional as a wave at sea. Wind holding mist.

“Certainly.”

—

As it turned out, the castle itself was even less homely than the material that was used to build it. You walk slowly through the halls, hands behind your back and your crown glimmering—the trail of a thin and flowing gown making you look like a specter. One crudely carved window after another passes by your right shoulder, and you look out of every slit; seeing the silver shades of moonlight. In contrast, everything on your left was washed with firelight from the blazing iron sconces, your ears twitching to the pop of wood and fabric saturated in animal fat. 

Everything here was horrible.

A prison, you think, slowing near one of the larger windows in the hall. A cage.  

Staring outside, trying for only a moment to understand the disgusting castle and adjoined town you look at, there’s a faint noise from far down the corridor. 

Wasting no time, your head moves slowly to the side, blinking. There isn’t anyone to be seen, but yet again, your slightly pointed ears twitch. 

A firm heartbeat. 

Bump-bump, bump-bump, bump-bump.

Staring at nothing, you listen for a moment, taking it in as your visage fights with blue and red light, shadows littering the small cracks and the marks of stone—your hands slightly tighten, but you hold no fear. 

You refused to be afraid here; you would go to your spiritual death with a high head, and nothing less. 

“It’s unbecoming to stalk as if a wolf,” you call, voice smooth and even. A beat of bird’s wings. “Four-legged beasts have perfected it, yet, the same cannot be said of you.” 

There’s a lapse of silence—a swirling of slight tension that comes not from you but another. The heartbeat in your ear lightly skips. Startled. A shadow cusps one of the connected hallways, a gleam of silver armor. You blink slowly.

“Apologies, Ma’am.” The Knight. The one from the Great Hall. “I…didn’t mean to make you nervous.”

His lithe form doesn’t try to hide from your accusation, instead, his body moves to the middle of the stone floor and straightens—one hand going to his heart and the other behind his back; bowing. The darkness of his complexion seems to glow in the light, smooth skin besides the marring of small scars along the left cheek. Tiny things, only two lines.

For no reason at all, your body lightly turns towards him, watching.

“I’m not nervous,” you respond. “Please, stand straight.” 

He does so without hesitation, though his eyes are avoiding yours. A guilty pull is to his lips that you can’t help but quirk a brow at. Yet, you remain emotionless, and outside the shadows of flying birds shift past.

“What is your name, Knight?” You see his expression slightly tense at the question, but you continue easily. A test, perhaps, if this man was worth your time. “I recall your face.” 

“I can’t give you that, My Lady.” Brown eyes go to meet yours, and the silver flecks in your orbs glimmer. “My orders were clear.”

“And were those orders also to follow me?” 

He clears his throat, feet shifting. “...Maybe.”

You hum, moving your body slowly and walking forward to him. The man blinks in surprise, straightening even more but a firm set to his eyes. His attention never wavers, unless it’s to glimpse your crown and belt, perfect pieces of artistry lost to this section of humanity. No mortal craftsman could imagine making something as such. He liked them, you notice at the light impression of awe in his gaze.

Anyone with sense would.

Stopping just a few feet away, you tilt your head. 

It was common knowledge that you never gave your name to one of the Fae, your betrothed would have told everyone close to him to avoid doing so. Just as you would never tell your real name to anyone—not even under dire circumstances. Names hold power, and no person in this castle would make you even more of a prisoner than you already were. 

You know the names of beasts and plants, flora and fauna—they bend to you, let you manipulate them to your will, though you often find no need to. The animals from any land prefer your company, anyway. The castle’s hunting hounds have already become well acquainted, just as the messenger birds had. 

But mortals? No. No, there were no names that you knew besides the King himself, and even then it was a fake one. Second names and such, are common. 

“Your title, then,” you say to the Knight. “If you’re to be a constant face to me.”

“Gaz is just fine, I’d say.” He nods his head, a slow smile moving his cheeks. Your brows furrow. Strange fellow. “A pleasure. I really do need to say that I wasn’t following you for long—I was only concerned you might have lost your way.”

You stare. 

“Lost?” Owlishly, your head shifts.

Gaz makes a noise in the back of his throat, one hand coming up to rub at the base of his neck. “Yeah—lost. It’s, uh, it’s a big castle, My Lady—”

“Stag.” Wide eyes blink, this meeting is only awkward on his part and not yours. In fact, for how humans go, he was acting far better than most. Usually, there was iron being brandished by now.

“What was that?”

“My title,” you explain, your crown’s gems bright in the light. The fire crackles, popping. “Stag. I do not need my status stated. I know what I am, Knight.”

“Then I’d say the same,” your fingers twitch, liking the word game he plays. Inside of your sockets, the unnatural makeup of your eyes shimmers. 

“Very well,” you pause, picking your words. “Gaz. A strange choice to be sure.”

He chuckles, nodding in a very stoic-like way despite the nearly boyish nature of him. “Well, Stag isn’t exactly common, either.”

You hum in your throat, unblinking; staring. Your intrigue grows the longer the man talks. Just like in the Great Hall, his form attracts all of your attention to it, against all laws that you seem to know in your soul. 

“Pray tell,” you shift, moving back to the window with your feet not making a single sound. Gaz watches on, eyes flickering between the hanging gems and how you tread over the stone as if you had wings. Your form slips back to the window, and your focus once more goes outward. “Has the King told you to spy on me, Gaz?”

The title, even if not the one of his birth—not the one written on his soul like a brand—still made the air quiver with might. You were older than most of this kingdom, the Knight knew. Older than the oak trees of the nearby forest; older than rock and wind and air.

Power dripped off your tongue like water to a leaf. 

But it wasn’t your influence that made the man answer you. It was his own nature. 

“Yes,” Gaz says, taking a few steps to where you stand, watching a flock of birds dance above the courtyard, silver moon-drips illuminating white feathers. “But I wouldn’t call it spying. Officially, I’ve been put in place to keep you safe, Princess.” His dark brows crease when you don’t pay him any mind. “I take my job very seriously, yeah?” 

“I can see that,” you utter, eyes still on the birds. “The only thing I need protecting from is the iron ring on your right hand.”

He startles, blinking for a moment. 

“...Parden?”

Silver eyes pierce him, watching; waiting. 

Gaz looks down, locking on the hand that has been resting on the pommel of his sword. Cape swishing, he makes a noise in the back of his throat. His sigil ring—the one that had been given over at his dubbing ceremony sat on the first digit, the engraving of his King’s coat of arms glimmering back. 

A wolf; a snake caught in its fangs. 

Brown eyes dart back, and he sheepishly smiles, huffing a chuckle of sorts. 

“Comes with the job, unfortunately,” yet still, his other hand easily grasps and slips the thing off, tucking it away into the leather pouch swinging from his belt. “I thought that was a myth—the Fae being harmed by iron. Conjured up to give people something to cling to.”

“I can name a million things that men and women like you consider myth,” you mutter, starting at that pouch, deep in thought. You hadn’t expected him to give in that easily. Your shoulders loosen their rigidness, but your chin never drops its high pride. “Every story comes from somewhere—be it reality or wives’ tales. Who’s to say that the words don’t give them life in one form or another?” 

“Bloody hell. Not a discussion to take up with me, I’m afraid,” Gaz huffs a chuckle, smirking. While still hesitant around you, the conversation wasn’t anything that made him want to not be around you. Everyone deserved to have their character shown, and what he was seeing so far wasn’t ringing any alarms. “Sound more of a scholar than a Princess, if you don’t mind me saying.”

Your lips quirk. “I prefer philosopher.”

“And what’s a Fae philosopher doing out in the middle of the night, then?” A breeze wafts through the window, blowing on your dress and making Gaz’s cape flutter in its bloodish tint. The torches whip and dance. You take a low breath, bird chips coming closer. 

“Speaking with an old friend.”

A white dove lands on the stone opening of the window, fluttering wings coming to fold along its sleek form until it shakes and settles all at once. 

“Lysander,” you say in greeting, nodding your head. Gaz watches, barely moving as his lips part in astonishment. 

Your hand extends itself, bearing no rings or bracelets. All you needed was your crown. Tiny eyes blink as an angular head turns to the side, tiny coos sparking from a rounded breast. Pale feet grasp your perfect flesh, such a tiny weight settles before you lift effortlessly; wings flapping to keep balance. 

“What news, then?” You ask in a whisper, bringing the beast to your crown. Lysander settles on one of the tines, head dipping down as feathers puff. Into your ear, words take shape. 

You hum in answer, blinking at every clicked sentence; tapping talons. 

Gaz stares blankly, eyebrows pulled up on his head and unable to articulate himself.

So many stories about your people—he hadn’t thought half of them to be true. While he’d been stationed in many places during the duration of this war, he’d never actually encountered one of the Fae before. Gaz had been told they were like a plague; they came in when you weren’t looking, spoke magic into your ears, and forced you to come back to their home and live as mindless beasts. Cupbearers and entertainment. 

Of the countless knights he’d been in line with, he knew the true names of none of them. A precaution. Forethought. 

Yet…you don’t look dangerous. 

But the man is far from stupid. 

“He says the fires from your forges burn his eyes,” your voice snaps him back to you, and he straightens, fingers twitching. Gaz finds your face already turned his way, owlish in its movements. “The smoke makes his throat ache.”

“I,” he pauses, mouth opening and closing. Brown eyes dart to the sharp-beaked dove; the thing very much like you in the way it watches him. “I’m…sorry?”

Your lips pull in a frown, sighing with a shake of your head. 

I can never survive here, you find yourself thinking. I believed this is what I had to do, but if this is how I’m going to live…

“Tell me about your King, Gaz,” your body swiftly turns, feet carrying you down the corridor once more with long, even, steps. “If I’m to marry him, I will know of his nature.”

The man clears his throat and follows after, where you hear the clinking of silver and the scabbard against his thigh. He glances over at you, walking if not a bit behind yourself in proper fashion. 

“What do you want to know, Ma’am?”

Your unnatural orbs shimmer, and the bird on your crown hunkers down; puffed contently and eager to rest his wings from a long flight. 

“Everything. I will not be unaware of my fate.” 

“Well,” Gaz sighs, rubbing at his chin with his opposite hand. He licks his lips, mind running to answer the best he can. “You’ll not want for anything—finery and wealth will—”

“I do not care about mortal revelry. I need neither fine things nor wealth.” Your voice curtly moves along the open air. The Knight’s boots connect with stone while your bare flesh emits nothing. “His character, Knight. Is he fair—just?”

Gaz’s face tightens, glancing from you to the hallway as he takes a moment to think.

“My King has…become troubled with the turning tides of the war. I’m sure when your marriage is official, he’ll go back to how he was before.” He doesn’t seem certain, but loyalty is a trait that a knight knows well. You had been set as his charge, of course, not under the best of circumstances, but he would do his job how he believed would benefit all parties. Even if his guts were stiff at the thought of a forced marriage. 

“My Lady Stag?” He asks, and your heart jerks unexpectedly at the muttering of your title. 

Blinking in confusion, your hand coming up to rub at your collarbone like a willow branch, you almost miss the question entirely. 

“Where you come from, if I can ask, of course, what’s it like?” Your mind strays from marriage ceremonies and consummation—momentary peace slipping in on waves of this man’s smooth accent. 

Mouth opening, only to close once and open again, you decide to indulge this man with your answer. If only because he speaks of your home. 

“Green,” is the soft utterance of your answer to him. “It’s green. More trees and rivers than you can count in your lifetime. Animals each more fantastical than the last; all of which your people now call nothing but hearsay.” 

You can sense his attention, sucking up knowledge as if he had the years to know and understand it all. 

Lysander coos, shaking his feathers out, and you glance upward without moving your head. You chuckle like a blade of moving grass. 

Blinking, Gaz slowly begins to smile, cocking his skull to the side boyishly. “What’s so funny, then?”

Your high nose twitches. 

“He says you’re as if a Wyvern hatching. A curious thing.” Brown eyes drift to your companion, whose peaked eye pierces like black fire-stone. Gaz’s mouth releases a puff of a chuckle, chest jerking. 

“Hell, never thought I’d get insulted by a bird.” 

“Humans have not the ability to speak with beasts,” you ease out, walking on. “On that, I have to say you are at a sure disadvantage.”

“What?” Gaz’s amused voice is in your ear. “Minus the whole immortality thing?”

You side-eye him, visage calm with decades of understanding. “Not everything is built to last forever.”

A momentary silence falls between the two of you. Eyes locked, you both stare, legs carrying bodies across the unfeeling stone until the area Lysander had told you about takes form. You shift a slow right and exit into the inner courtyard, large stone walls making a small square of patchy green grass and dying plants. A fountain sits still. 

“If this is to be a game of equal exchange, Knight, I desire to ask the next question.” Your eyes take it all in, hand moving out to capture the blackened leaves of a Medlar tree. Frowning at the dead fauna, you hear Lysander take to wing, flapping until his ghostly form lands on the far-off fountain’s edge. 

“Alright,” Gaz nods, looking around at the dying place with a frown as well. He’d never come here before, but the state of things was…sad, really. “Ask away.”

“When you leave the castle—the town,” you let power move to your fingertips, and you feel the tingles of it running the lengths of your arms like ice and fire; taking a low breath. “What do you see? I admit, I’m not used to having company with humans. I know not how their souls feel.”

Gaz walks into the small enclosed space, humming as he taps the pommel of his sword. His shoulders shrug as his head tilts up, blinking at the stars. 

“I wouldn’t see it as you would, I gather.”

You look over your shoulder, amusement in your face mixed with a slice of intrigue. “That wasn’t my question. But, no, you would not.” 

“Figured,” he chuckles, nodding at you. Gaz articulates himself dutifully. “I see a place far more peaceful than the one here. Outside the stone and smog—it’s beautiful, truly. Calm. You can actually think above the noise, you know? I usually find myself wanting to get out more often, but my duty ties me here.” 

Your eyes soften slightly, thumb running the face of the leaf as you take in his words. Lysander stoops to take a sip of water. 

“You’re…” You lack the words, only humming and stopping yourself. 

“Why are we here, Princess?” Gaz asks you, gazing around. “I had only expected you to walk to the kitchens—the library, even. Don’t get me wrong, you can go as you wish, but I’m not sure this is the most…” He grunts. “Sightly place to end up. Everything’s dead.”

“Nearly,” you whisper, a tiny smile taking over your flesh. “Not quite.” 

Gaz’s frown is lost to you, as is his comment that he mutters, “Looks it.”

Leaning forward, you press your lips to the leaf you hold as if a precious object. Into its blackened and shriveled form, you whisper its name—its true name, one you had learned through years of patience and trust that bordered on an entirely trance-like state. A Medlar is a tough and stubborn thing, like the fruit it bears, it will hang on until all else is gone to dust. Its roots are strong, and from them, you had listened to the earth sing its songs one buzzing note at a time.

All things speak, you just have to know how to listen. 

There’s a surge of wild order, a dichotomy of will and freedom; the sing of an axe and the memories of young saplings just gracing their leaves to the sun. A circle of death and rebirth as old as the stars that still shone in a sky of black. 

You know many names, but those of the trees were the first to come to you, and it was only proper. Before anything, there were trees. 

The Medlar shakes, its leaves dropping down one at a time until they come in groups, in clusters—bare branches shiver like dogs do until creaking ballads move over the air. 

Starling, Gaz had taken a large step back, hand snapping to the handle of his sword, the blade half drawn. Lysander flies past his face, blunt talons skating the close-cropping of his hair before the bird grapples to your crown. Flinching, the knight watched with a mixture of horror and pure wonder.

The tree was sprouting new greens. 

You step back, and from your feet, the dead grass quivers, before the smell of groaning earth makes his nose twitch; fresh blades show themselves anew. The dove atop your crown jumps from one sharp tine to the next, dodging lines of gold—eyes glinting and wings flapping excitedly. 

Life is in the very air. 

You smile to yourself, silver eyes moving as a nearly ancient-looking spark flares to life in them—a long breath entering your lungs. 

Gaz’s face begins to heat as he watches, his heart pounding with something he can’t understand. He stares at your bright face before his fast-blinking eyes move to the grass growing all around; the bushes dancing, flowers opening up and turning to you. Birds gather on the edges of this verdant and fertile land, darting one by one to the fountain and to the trees. Singing.  

The knight steps back, feet dancing over the ground with an airy laugh stuck in his throat. 

“Holy hell…” he breathes, nearly panting. 

Wide eyes move back to you, expression open, innocent. This was a moment when you truly believed you’d never seen a face more bare than this; more giving. 

“You…” He laughs. “You’re tellin’ me you could always do that?” You chuckle, and it is a sound that could make roots grow in his heart, flowers bursting from his lungs. “I…I’m speechless, really. This is,” he laughs once more, turning a full circle, with his hand going to the back of his neck in shock. It was entirely new—all of it. Ivy climbed the stone, and the animals spoke and flew in the air; excitement something that transcends species. “This is extraordinary.”

You were something incredible. 

Chuckling, you raise a slow brow, feeling a foreign heat move over your cheeks. It’s a moment before you speak, taken aback by the reverency.

“My thanks, Knight,” your head nods his way, a simple dip of your chin and nothing more. “But this is only a small courtyard. A fraction. If I so wished, forests could grow from ashen ground.”

“How?” He asks you, eyes glittering more than the moon. 

Smaller birds join Lysander on your head, finches, perhaps, and sparrows. They tweet and chip, speaking their thanks. You reach up and let one move onto your finger, bringing it back to eye level as you move to softly connect your forehead to its own. Moving back, you hum and watch the bird fly off.

“Ages of practice,” you elegantly tip your head his way, careful of your cargo. “Quite verbatim.” 

Gaz is speechless, unable to recall something in his life that had made him feel so special to be able to witness it. Magic to humans was a dying thing—you’d be surprised if he’d ever even seen it in this magnitude before. 

“...Amazing,” he utters under his breath, smiling like a fool.

For all of your Fae trickery, your games, you had to be honest. “I don’t believe I thought you’d be this moved by it.”

“Really?” He blinks at you, a boyish twist to his face. “How could I bloody not be, Love?”

Your air gets stuck in your throat, eyes minutely widening. 

Gaz quickly comes back to himself, straightening and clearing his throat as your face suddenly blazes in a way that startles you. Heart pattering like a horse’s hooves not only at the…different title but his awe at your magic as well. 

“Forgive me, My Lady,” you choose not to correct him. “I overstepped.”

His body bends forward in a deep bow, hand to his heart, resting over his armor as the cape drapes its crimson fabric to the now vibrant grass. 

It had briefly eluded you that you were to be married soon. A comment like that could get the Knight and his tree-bark brown eyes put to the sword. You hold back a long sigh, eyelids fluttering shut softly. 

“Is he kind?” Your question is small, but it moves like a knife.

Gaz stares hard at the ground, once dead and nothing but a reminder of nature. He clenches his jaw, a worry swirling in his gut. The man knows who you’re asking about, and he holds the same dread he did in the Great Hall as you were led like a sacrificial lamb to the altar. 

Maybe the Knight was broken, but even if he’d never met one of your kind before, he knew that no person deserved to be bartered for the illusion of peace—forced to give children like they were only objects. But maybe he was also just a man not meant for this lifetime.

It was the way of things.

Gaz swallows the tension in his shoulders. He will not lie. 

“...No.”

—

This tall knight had become a constant at your side. Officially, he’d been placed for your protection, but you knew it was because the King didn’t want you to cut and run. 

But unless there was a very good reason to, he should have known that you were not the running type. It was a battle of wits, and even into your marriage, you would always come out on top.

It started easy enough—Michael would invite you for tours of the castle ‘making it a home’ he’d said in front of his court. It was a power trip. 

He’d talk about his wealth like it would make you swoon; like you cared at all. You could only hide your sneer for so many hours, even with your infinite amount of patience. Time had mellowed you like the rocks of the ocean, but even they cracked when the storm was strong enough. 

Yet still, you considered yourself too intelligent for baseline insults.

“My palace was much the same, your Highness. Our towers rose high—nearly gracing the clouds themselves.”

“Oh, lovely, my King. Pray tell, do you also have pet dragons? Oh…unicorns, perhaps? My, I had the most lovely unicorn companion when I was just shy of my two-hundredth birth year. A little thing—all legs and neck. Beautiful creatures.” 

“Gorgeous little trinkets. Tell me, do you have a coffer for fallen stars? They create the most magnificent illumination for late-night reading.”

Gaz nearly lost his composure at times, even if no one else could tell except for you and your pointed ears; twitching at every breath that was fought to keep still. The over-the-lip huffs and chuckles. In fact, you found yourself perpetuating the back-handed insults just to hear those noises. Such small and meaningless things, in the grand scheme. 

You took…enjoyment from it.

Seeing the effect it had on the King was also a bonus—his raging eyes, snapping tongue held back for only his reputation and little more. He wanted to take you by the arm and shake you, you knew, yell in your face. 

Kind, King Michael was not. Gaz had been correct. 

In the nights, you would discuss with the Knight—sitting in the dense and growing courtyard with your body comfortable on the grass; Gaz’s on the fountain’s edge.

You have much of the same confidence in one another as you do tonight. 

“Do knights marry for love?” Your voice wafts out, petting Lysander with a single finger in your lap; itching at his neck as he coos. “Do they get to choose?” 

Gaz fiddles with his cape’s clasp, fingers dancing over the silver make. He has made a motion to always take off his ring when it’s just the two of you, easily slipping it away until he was forced to put it back on. He doesn’t know if you feel it, but he believes the two of you to be well-off acquaintances—perhaps even friends. 

The man enjoyed speaking to you. He reveled in the limitless knowledge that spilled from your tongue, your stories and tales. Gaz, unlike so many others, enjoyed your company not for the power that it offers in a physical sense, but for the words that you freely give. Often your sentences were like honey to him, seeping into his head.

A princess speaking with a knight? Unheard of. A Fae princess? Blasphemy. 

It was easy to forget that you were older than many generations of his family line. 

“No,” he says, glancing over. “All knights take a vow of chastity when they commit to service. None of those alive in this kingdom will wed unless they willingly break their oaths.” 

Your head tilts, crown resting comfortably a small distance away on a rock.

“That sounds lonely.”

Gaz smiles, “Worried about me?” 

You stare, eyes traveling the little deaths on his face—the lines, the scars. “If it’s what you wish to do with yourself, who am I to tell you any different?” 

The man’s face softens, lips pulling as his cheeks heat under the moonlight. “Figured you’d have some opinion of it.”

You hum, raising a brow. “It’s your life—it’s so fleeting. Tread it as if water between your fingers. Before you know it, it’ll be gone.” Lysander leans into your flesh, shivering. “Live it.”

“For someone who says they don’t know humans that well,” Gaz grumbles, though his chest is light. “You sure know a lot about them.”

“Intuition,” your mouth twitches in a smile. “And a bit of reality.”

Delicate looks are shared. 

You do admit, you liked these conversations with Gaz. The long nights and the feeling of grass under your flowing dresses; the horrid contraptions that your betrothed had tried to make you wear stuck far back into the wardrobe of your room. Heavy items—suffocating corsets, unlike the simple but elegantly sewn one you wear now. You could feel it trying to sneak in when the days drew on. 

Control. 

It was all becoming more and more apparent. You did not want to live like this. 

Your face goes troubled as the calm silence moves over the Medlar with its reaching branches. Fireflies hang like miniature stars as you take your crown and slip it back on; to feel the comforting weight of antlers. 

The knight pauses as he slips his cape off of his shoulder, blinking over at you in a slow confusion. You look troubled. He’d never seen that expression on your face before.

“Stag?” Your head swivels, as if in another world.

“Just thinking,” your voice moves into his ears, making them hum with energy. Gaz’s brows furrow, a frown taking over. After a second, he stands, moving closer on quiet feet. 

You watch him as he goes to kneel near you, one arm moving over the bent nature of his leg while the other holds fabric—letting it cascade over the earth. Brown eyes narrow, and a joking tease moves with the undertone of slight concern.

“I’m usually the talker, I know, but when you look a bit like that it makes me nervous.”

You frown. “Look like what?”

“Like someone’s got a sword to your neck, Princess.” The air is cool here, the deep throws of night taking you by the breath in your throat. A smooth smirk. “It’s my job to make sure that doesn’t happen, yeah?”

If you leave, if you find a way out of this…the war will never end. It will go on until stone cracks like glass and generations forget why it even started in the first place. 

But why were you put to the axe because of it? Why must you take the blade to the stomach—an object of greed? 

Gaz’s amused voice moves lower at your immobile lips, going serious. 

“Hey,” a hand outstretched to your arm, hovering. “Really, is everything alright?”

“Gaz,” you pause, voice still level despite your heated pulse. It’s like a snake curls itself in your guts, roots growing in your veins. The courtyard seems to shiver all by itself, leaves curling into themselves from bushes and trees. Lysander’s feet shimmy, head moving about. 

This knight had been kind to you as well as honest about his intentions. Chivalrous. Such qualities are hard to come by anymore.

“I don’t believe I want this.” It’s a breath more quiet than a lapping of waves. Gaz stills, fingers above your flesh twitching. “I can’t live in a cage. I refuse.”

Silver meets brown, holding it firmly. 

“I will not be a prize to be chained to a birthing bed.” 

The man’s face pulls at that, tightening. 

You don’t know what to expect. It isn’t fear in you—no, nothing like this could make you afraid. Apprehensive? Perhaps. Age made you cautious. At any moment he might flip his tune; run off to tattle to a King he, seemingly, likes just as much as you. Which is to say, very little. But there’s still the possibility, the knowledge stacked over ages and ages of strategy and mind games. 

A knight of a tension-ridden kingdom, swearing fealty to a King whom you’re betrothed to. You’d just expressed treason, in a way. It could put you to the sword; to the rope. To irons. Your mind runs through the millions of possibilities, not able to settle on a single one before—

A cape settles over your shoulders, startling you. 

Hand snapping to grab the front, your head snaps up, eyes wider than you can remember them ever going. 

Soft browns meet you, a thin smile. Fireflies buzz about, and a dove sits under your still finger, watching with beady orbs intently at the scene. A Medlar quivers. 

A stag and a knight breathe the same air. A godly creation and a saint ensnared in a song far larger than they intend, as the world shifts past all around them. Silver starlight leaves long reflections breaking from the hanging glory of your gems, but the patches of light on Gaz’s face capture yours in that instant far more than they should have. 

Impossibly so. Unnaturally so. 

Does this mortal have magic of his own, perhaps? You have to ask yourself. There was no other possibility. 

And when he speaks…it’s like whatever ice has been layered over your antediluvian heart breaks into fire. There wasn’t even a fight from him.

“Then tell me what you need.”

TAGS:

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[turtletaubwrites]

Numbers Game ~ Chapter 32

Make Your Bets Now!

Pairings: Cross Guild Polycule x Shanks x Fem!Reader x ???

Numbers Game Masterlist

Word Count: 12,614 😳😳

Ao3 Link

Ongoing Series Playlist: Youtube Music Link | Youtube Link

Chapter Tunes: A Forest ~ The Cure | Burn Your Village ~ Kiki Rockwell

Summary: The White Stag is chased through the woods. The hunters begin to show their true colors, while the prey just tries to survive. You might not be the only one running away.

Recap: The banquet is underway, and you were dressed as the White Stag. You met your nine suitors, some of whom came as a shock. You gave each hunter an arrow, a symbol of their right to claim you. Uncle Cedrick just gave you a ten minute head start.

Author's Note: Hi!!! Thank you so much for your patience while I've been dealing with all the things! I've still been writing, as you can tell by the word count! 😬 Lol, I did a poll way back when Shanks first arrived asking if y'all would prefer two regular size chapters with no smut in one, or one giant chapter with the smut. So here ya go, lol, you asked for it! 😅🤭

Content Warning: There's not much dark content to warn for this chapter (besides the usual Numbers Game shenanigans & Buggy's POV on the Dr. Vorsan visit), but I wanted to give a heads up that there is a flashback of the 14 year old reader having a crush on an adult. Nothing occurs, but there is some very mild creepiness that could be interpreted as inappropriate. I WILL NEVER write about minors in that way, so please know that this is just a teenage crush! In case you would like to skip that, I'll bracket it with these ~~~⚫~~~

Fic Updates & Questions:

I will be retroactively adding titles to all chapters. I prefer to have titles for every chapter of a fic, but decided not to add them when I thought this was going to be a one shot 🤦🏼‍♀️ (We're getting closer to the end, and outlining will be way easier if I can remember which chapter things happened in, lol.) I'm going with quotes/lines from the chapters for the title theme. Also, I only used "part" instead of "chapter" on tumblr for formatting space, but I always call them chapters so 🤷‍♀️

Since this is a reader insert fic (that I thought would be a one shot 😅), I've tried to keep as many personal details as vague as possible so that we can all hop onto that lovely, green couch. I'm not planning to state the reader's age within the fic, but as we get further into the story, some of you numbers girl's may be able to figure out the math based on the flashbacks and such. I have a whole ass timeline graphed out, so if anyone is interested in knowing the specific ages and dates of related OP canon and Numbers Game canon, I'd be down to make a separate post just for that.

Alternate POV Symbols:

🌲 ~ Reader | 🐊 ~ Crocodile | 🗡 ~ Mihawk | 🤡 ~ Buggy | 🔴 ~ Shanks | ⏰ ~ Flashbacks for listed POV | ⚫ ~ Scenes depicting Dark Content as listed in Author's Notes

!!! SPOILER WARNING !!! Fic currently contains spoilers for the end of the Wano arc. As we get further into Egghead Arc, there will be some spoilers (mainly from manga cover stories or SBS questions for minor characters' motivations, such as what the Vinsmoke's and Charlotte's have been up to since Wano, and why they'd want to marry our lovely heiress.)

Rating/Warnings: Author May Choose to Exclude some Warnings to Avoid Spoilers for Certain Chapters, Explicit Sexual Content, 18+ ONLY, MDNI, AFAB!Reader, She/Her Pronouns for Reader, Reader-Insert, Use of Y/N, Dark Content, Blood & Violence, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Dissociation, Mental Illness, Grief, Toxic Family, Swearing, Alcohol, Cigars, Smut, Fluff, Angst, Guilt, Drama, Jealousy, Manipulation, Pet Names, Power Imbalance, Cross Guild boys are VILLAINS, Pain Kink, Possessive Behavior, Teasing, Blowjobs, Threats, Relationship Drama, Anal, Doctors, Inappropriate Use of Akuma no Mi | Devil Fruit Powers, Shameless Shameless Smut, Uncle Cedrick Has Become His Own Warning, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

| masterlist | about me | rules | ao3 |

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

“I told you to run.”

Uncle Cedrick wet his lips after he hissed at you again, smirking while you transformed for him, and for his silent hunters and cheering guests. 

The white stag. The hunted. The prey. 

You’d never felt less human than you did right now, and the sense of danger in the air sent you racing toward the trees. 

It was disorienting to move in this fumbling body. Some foul magic must have stolen your hooves, your graceful limbs, your fur to fend off the cool breeze of the night. 

All you had left were your antlers, but they couldn’t help you flee. You escaped your heels, kicking free from the tight shoes as though they were traps meant to hold you still for the hunters to find. The dress made you panic, the weight of it wearing you down like trash left to suffocate creatures too helpless to free themselves from human garbage. You tried to lift the heavy skirts while you ran, but the train dragged behind you, catching on roots and branches as you fled. 

Logic started to break through the adrenaline in bits and pieces, but the forest had pulled you into a dream.

“This isn’t a dream,” you panted to yourself, slowing down to lean against a tree. 

That wild panic had left you with no idea how long you’d been running, but your heart was trying to escape from your body, and your lungs struggled to catch up as you let yourself stop. 

That should be enough drama for Uncle’s show. Why should I care who catches me first? I have to date all of them anyway. 

And the fear was back. 

Nine men were about to stalk you through the woods at night, and you’d just run deeper into the darkness, like a fucking idiot.

Though you doubted that staying closer to the courtyard would have made you any safer. All of those leeches were here to watch the show. They’d probably already placed bets on which hunter would get his greedy hands on you first.

Don’t cry. 

You almost did. Every time you thought you could accept your fate, Uncle Cedrick found ways to make it more torturous, more humiliating. 

Apathy tried to protect you, a welcome friend that lulled your emotions to sleep until you stared into nothing, your logical mind reciting your thoughts on a loop to distract from what you were putting away.

I already gave the leeches a good show. It doesn’t matter who catches me first. 

Useless rage replaced your apathy in a flash at the memory of the traitor touching your skin. Shanks was the last man you wanted to catch you, but Uncle’s threats felt like hidden traps, like suffocating trash, like this stupid dress that snagged on every branch. 

I won’t give them anything else to hurt me with. 

Crashes and yells entered the forest like a storm, and you were the white stag again.

You ran. 

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🤡🤡🤡~~~

Shanks had only been gone for a day, but the clown found himself aching for him in a way he hadn’t in years. 

Letting Shanks back in had opened the door to all this shit he’d tried to stuff away, but he didn’t have room for all of these feelings right now. Not when his star was slurring her words, her voice high and distant while she tried to convince this fucking doctor that all their time together had meant nothing.

“It was all pretend. I was bored. I know it was risky behavior, I s-see that nn…”

“I’m glad you’re expressing that awareness, Y/N,” Dr. Vorsan’s voice bore down even through her frantic heartbeat, “but you still haven’t talked about the clown. It’s important that we understand our triggers so that we can prevent future episodes.”

She’s not breathing!

“You don’t want to have any more episodes, do you, Y/N?”

“No,” she agreed, though Buggy barely heard her over her now ragged breath. 

“Good. Part of staying well means cooperating with your treatment,” the slimeball purred. “Why did you go with the clown?”

“He was sweet. And funny... I liked him.”

Buggy looked to the ceiling, unknowable emotions pulling his face into a grimace. 

“You just told me that it was all pretend. That you were bored.”

“I, yes…”

“Clarity, Y/N,” the pompous creep scolded. “We can’t make changes if we don’t acknowledge our patterns. Why did you go with the clown?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Buggy growled.

The next words he heard had to be from her lips, but it sounded wrong, as though she’d been possessed by the concept of emptiness itself. His star was hollow. 

Gone. 

“I used him. I wanted to run. I’m selfish.”

No, baby, don’t say that.

The fucker didn’t say anything for too long. He couldn’t hear any rustling, only his empty star, breathing just enough to keep her alive. 

“Your family was very worried for you. That extreme, self destructive behavior—“

“I know,” Y/N snapped, then Buggy heard the sound of skin against skin, as though she’d slapped her hand over her mouth. “I’m s-s-sorry, doctor, I…”

“It’s quite, alright, Y/N,” the man fucking chuckled. “You’ve just experienced an episode that must have caused some additional trauma, but you’re safe now.”

Buggy hadn’t taken notes, and he looked down to find a shredded notepad on his lap, his shaky hands clenching into the paper. 

“Do you want to be safe?”

“Yes, doctor,” Y/N stated, the gravity of a black hole in her voice. 

“Was it safe to run away with pirates?”

What the fuck is he doing to her? 

“No.”

“Good. Now, tell me about the clown.”

Circles and circles of this talk spun through Buggy’s mind, and it seemed like nothing was said, yet he could hear his star break a little more with every word. 

“I’ll rip his tongue out, baby. Make him eat it for you. Don’t listen to him.”

“Excellent work today. Self reflection is difficult, but it’s the only way to heal.”

“Thank… Thank you, doctor.”

“There’s no need to thank me. You have the power to stay well all on your own, as long as you put in the work to take care of yourself. Just try to remember the kind of life you wish to have. You don’t want to lose yourself in another episode, do you, Y/N?”

“No, doctor.”

The clown laid in silence for hours while his broken lover did the same. Somehow Y/N built herself up again, preparing to head to dinner with her sister, and her voice was almost as clear as it had been before the session. 

She keeps all of this inside… I didn’t even—

“Come on, little clown. Don’t eat dinner on the floor again.”

~~~🤡🤡🤡~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🔴🔴🔴~~~

The Emperor of the Sea followed an usher to his seat, feeling high as he twirled the decorative arrow in his fingers. He was lucky to have made it in time, and luckier still that Y/N had looked at him like that. Shanks was sure that it wasn’t really lust in those magnetic eyes of hers. Buggy’s fallen star was difficult to read, but it had to be a message. An opening. 

I’ll get you out of here, Y/N. 

Even Benn’s smirking face couldn’t diminish the flames she’d warmed in him, his first mate pulling his seat out while he approached. The last few tables at the edge of the courtyard seemed filled with guests that were either late or large, the nearest competitor being the two story tall Prince Fukaboshi. 

Before Shanks could greet his rival, Sylvad’s voice carried through the night air, testing the Emperor’s ability to fake a smile. 

“Thank you all for joining our family as we celebrate the hunt for a new member! I am honored to help strengthen the Sylvad legacy by making sure that my enchanting niece finds the most loving, and of course, the most profitable match,” he admitted with a smug laugh. “Just as this marks the beginning of a new era for our family, I’m sure that most of you have sensed the shift in the waters.”

Cedrick paused for effect with Y/N posed like some pretty doll at his side while his guests murmured in agreement.

“For generations, the Sylvad’s have stood in enthusiastic support of the Marines. Although I still pay them an exorbitant amount to show up when I call, their many recent failures, and acts of overreaching, have shown them to be nothing more than expensive, and exceedingly annoying guard dogs.”

The laughter he drew was mixed, both nervous and pleased, and Shanks was sure he wasn’t the only one to catch the threat in those playful words. 

“The world is changing, and I intend to keep my family strong, even if we have to shoo the seagulls away,” he vowed with enough humor to keep the mood light. “But enough about all that, we’re here to enjoy ourselves. Let’s welcome in the New Era together with a good old fashioned hunt!”

Confusion was clouded by the applause Cedrick had demanded with his gestures and tone after he offered Y/N a hand. Watching that man touch her had Shanks’ jaw clenching, holding himself back while she truly looked like prey under his smirking grin.

“I think our white stag is feeling a bit skittish, but that's nothing a little chase can't fix. The first hunter to catch her claims the first date!”

Shanks watched in horror as Cedrick led his niece to the edge of the courtyard, speaking to her too softly to hear before she ran toward the trees, stumbling in that fucking costume he’d stuffed her into. 

Benn nudged his ankle, stopping Shanks from finishing his movement. Gryphon was on the ship anyway, and he wasn’t sure what use his sword would do other than to comfort his helpless soul.

I’m a villain now. Maybe I should just kill everyone here. 

He chugged the glass of wine in front of him, as though swallowing the liquor could help him swallow the layers of guilt that made no sense to him.

The bright light of that wounded star disappeared into the trees, but there was no reprieve. A large, white canvas was rolled out over the side of the manor walls while servants pushed a massive transponder snail on a wheeled cart up the path. The courtyard was silent until the snail’s eyes flickered, its mouth open as sounds of heavy breathing and snapping twigs came through before the live feed was projected. 

Two images appeared on that blank wall, bringing gasps and applause from the guests while Sylvad preened.

“In ten minutes,” he announced, doing a flourish as a timer popped up on the frantic screen, “the hunt for the white stag begins. The man that touches her first wins the hunt, and will earn the first private date tomorrow evening, as well as the pleasure of dining with the lovely doe tonight.��

The lovely doe in question was panting as she kicked off her heels, running barefoot through the woods. On the left was a jostled scene of darkness and trees, but as she looked down to lift her skirts, it was clear that a cam snail must be on her head, maybe hidden in those antlers. The second image continued to flip, showing her running and struggling through the brush from endless angles. 

Does he have a surveillance snail on every fucking tree on this island?

“What a strange courtship custom,” Prince Fukaboshi noted quietly, although his size let the words carry enough for Shanks to let out a sharp laugh, smiling up at the merman to cover his anger before Sylvad continued.

“You may woo my niece however you like, so long as it doesn’t cause her unsalvageable harm, or remove her from this island. I won’t have my vacation home turned into a war zone, so do watch your violence. I know that some of you have had disagreements in the past, but let’s keep the fighting to a minimum unless it’s part of a game, alright lads? We wouldn’t want to spoil the fun for everyone.”

Leeches…

Servants came around to all the tables to take bets from the guests while the courtyard followed the white stag’s every, panicked step. 

Hawk was right, this security is something else.

“This isn’t a dream.”

“Aww, isn’t she a darling,” a diamond-studded, older woman crooned, inspiring more guests to make noises about how precious she looked while she caught her breath, eyes blank as she leaned against a tree. 

“You’re gonna catch that little bunny, aren’t ya, Captain?”

Shanks let out a breath, finally breathing, when he met his first mate’s gaze. Benn was steady, the curve of his lips and shine of his eyes hiding the intensity from those that didn’t know him, but his captain recognized the look. 

It’s time to get serious.

~~~🔴🔴🔴~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🐊🤡🗡️~~~

Easy silence wrapped around the three men during dinner, interspersed with deep, hushed voices, and the scratching of Buggy’s pen while he doodled. He couldn’t help but feel thankful for the less noteworthy hours that had passed since his star had met with the doctor. 

“Zala checked in,” Crocodile reported between bites. “Guess she wasn’t suited to the restaurant business after all.”

“That’s Miss Doublefinger, yes?”

“Not anymore,” he sighed at Mihawk’s question. “Zala used to work well with Daz Bonez, and she’s investigating Dr. Vorsan. Refused to help without bringing Marianne along though… Ms. Goldenweek.”

“The child,” Mihawk questioned, giving a gentle tilt to his head. His lover seemed to get touchy when his old organization was brought up. 

“She’s eighteen now,” came the curt answer, although the larger man almost smiled at those damn, golden eyes. 

“Uncle ChodeTick’s talking to her, taking a walk,” Buggy reported, guilt cutting them off before they could get too flirty. The clown scribbled his notes, the easy silence less easy now. 

Mihawk’s lifetime of dedication to becoming the strongest did nothing for him now. All he could do was watch every subtle, pained expression on Buggy’s face while he suffered, the bravest of them all. 

“The agents are infiltrating the asylum the doctor runs when he’s not fucking with our girl,” Crocodile shared, his voice hushed. 

“Sending a teenager to infiltrate an insane asylum? You are ruthless, aren’t you,” Mihawk flirted lightly. He was learning this man, and for the first time he wasn’t making excuses about why. His tone paid off, and he smirked at the playful look on that scarred face.

“Marianne‘ll be fine, I’m sure she’s looking forward to art therapy. Plus, Zala will— what’s wrong, Buggy?”

The clown gestured for silence while his face went red with rage, listening to the rules, and the threats that her monster of an uncle was caging his star with. 

“FUCK!!”

The nearly empty plates and glasses went flying as Buggy flipped the table, his body shaking in every direction, unable to sit with himself for another second.

“I’m pathetic! I can’t help her. I can’t fucking do ANYTHING!”

Crocodile and Mihawk caught as many pieces of him as they could, and wrapped themselves around Buggy until he breathed again, holding most of his body between them. 

“Don’t say that, Buggy.”

“Shh, little clown. You’ve done enough.”

“He’s gonna make her…” Buggy barely managed to choke out the sound, glad that the asshole had left her alone already. One more word from his lips would have made the him explode. 

Her words were worse though. 

“She said she’s gonna fuck the ones she…” He cried out between their now stiff bodies. “He threatened her with… She has to…”

“She has to do what, Buggy,” Crocodile asked, amazed at how steady his voice was while he knelt down to meet the clown’s tired eyes. He kept his hand stroking along his side, that body slumping instead of flying apart now. 

He couldn’t say it, exhaustion making the clown sway against Crocodile’s touch before he floated his hand toward the mess he’d made of the table. Mihawk caught the notepad, his eyes going apocalyptic as he read over Cedrick’s “rules” for the games.  

The swordsman wanted to fly into violence and rage, to turn to ice, and make everything in his path disappear. 

But Buggy’s eyes made him pause, the words on the page having too many consequences, too much weight. 

“Buggy, she said this in anger, did she not? I doubt she’ll really—“

“You didn’t hear him,” Buggy snapped, starting to float and pace while Crocodile read the notes. The clown snatched the notepad off the floor after the scarred man dropped it, his hand shaking with rage. 

“He’s twisted,” Buggy continued.

“He’s dead,” came a rough voice, the fury of a sandstorm barely contained in that vow. 

“Yes, he is,” Mihawk promised as he reached for Buggy. He pushed that lovely, blue hair behind the remaining ear, almost smiling at the ear plug he found. “We will get her out of there, but we need you sane. If our little rabbit needs to take care of herself, we’ll find a way to keep you—“

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

Buggy floated just out of reach, glaring down at the swordsman as though he’d started speaking some alien language. 

“You shouldn’t have to listen to that, little clown,” Crocodile soothed, resting his own rage when he realized what Mihawk was saying. “If it happens, we’ll make it loud over here so you can’t hear, or you could—“

“You want me to shove my fingers in my ears while her screams echo through the halls,” Buggy hissed. His anger was building up around him, heating the air, strangling any sense of peace from the room as those old words hit their mark. 

The two monsters under his glare froze, shame stunning them into silence. 

“You think I said I’d rather watch you fuck my star into oblivion just for FUN,” he seethed, his eyes going manic while he floated above them. “I’m a sick fuck, and ended up having flashy, old time, but that’s not why I had to watch.”

He was that frightening showman again, and they were drawn into his act. 

“I’m sorry, Bug—“

“I made myself watch while you took her from me,” he recalled in an almost sing-song voice that chilled the other men’s blood. “I watched and watched, because… I have to listen because…”

The crack in his own voice made him waver, dipping in the air a bit while he stared at the pained faces of these terrifying men. 

“What if they hurt her?”

Silence clashed with the cacophony inside their minds until Crocodile reached toward the clown again, gripping into his shoulder, and sending fear flashing through him while their faces grew closer. 

“We’ll kill them.”

“B-but–”

“Come on, brave, little clown,” Crocodile breathed over his trembling lips. “Why don’t you show me all your toys, huh? How many Buggy Balls would it take to blow up that whole fucking island if we need to?”

As they sighed, falling into the relief of distraction together, Mihawk sank against the wall, becoming nothing more than a threatening statue. He could have tried to grab onto the lifeline his lovers had just created, that comforting moment of camaraderie in violence while the clown indulged in and shared one of his favorite topics.

Yet, the swordsman couldn’t let it go. 

His little rabbit, forced to bed her captors again. 

She’s strong. She’s wicked. She’ll enjoy herself. Then we’ll get her back.

The fear that Y/N might enjoy herself enough to not want to return left Mihawk sick. He had to step outside, wandering down to the garden he’d barely thought of since she was no longer there to smell it on him. 

He found himself fisting into the dirt in that walled garden, huffing a laugh when he smelled the faint, sour scent on his fingers before wiping them on his pants. Red flashed in his mind, and the ex-Warlord sat in the dirt, wishing that love and trust were as simple to cultivate as the garden he’d been too preoccupied to plant. 

“I trust you,” Mihawk whispered to his red haired lover across the sea. The thought of how insufferable Shanks would be if he ever uttered those words in front of him brought a soft smile to his lips. “Please, bring her back. I need her by my side.”

~~~🐊🤡🗡️~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

Time was a human construct, and as your ungraceful body ran like the prey he had transformed you into, you couldn’t tell how long it took for the yells and crashes to race toward you. 

Eternity. 

One fucking second.

A clearing appeared before you, but as you stepped into the open space, an impossible man filled up your world. He knelt down, still towering over you, and all the sounds of chaos in the forest faded while his crimson eyes asked for permission.

Katakuri reached for you, his massive hand outstretched, but he didn’t grab you. 

There was no way you could describe the subtle shift in those stunning eyes when you lifted your hand to take his, but they went wide before you made contact, his hand shooting out impossibly fast behind you. The giant of a man wasn’t fast enough, and cold fear poured through you before you had a warm body wrapped around yours from behind.

“I’ve got you, bunny,” Shanks purred, breathing a little hard as he pressed his lips against your ear. His arm was wrapped around you, holding you tight, as though you were a prize the others would try to tear from his grip. 

You wished they would.

“If we were allowed to wear our raid suits we would have–”

“Don’t complain, brother,” a taunting voice floated through the trees while Shanks looked you over, never taking his hand off of you while he guided you through the trees. “We’ll have plenty more chances. Our little bride likes being hunted, remember? You heard what the old man said about the Cross–”

A strange noise left your throat when Shanks bent down to wrap his arm under your thighs, lifting you up over his shoulder before running too fucking fast. Running until you saw the lovely lanterns again, until the courtyard came into view.

Your own bedraggled image was spread across the outer wall of the manor, the huge snail showing two screens that flashed through replays of your pathetic race and capture. It showed a few highlights of the hunters, including Shanks smashing through what looked like a wall of giant crackers, and Iceburg crawling on the ground in the wrong direction. Now they displayed various angles of the winner carrying his prize.

Shanks was surreal. No one cheered for the slab of meat he’d claimed, not when the Emperor of the Sea looked like some dark god of the forest, a hero bringing home a feast to his starving people.

The image had you closing your eyes, playing into the exhaustion so you wouldn’t have to look at him anymore. 

“Red Haired Shanks, everyone,” Uncle announced as he slowed the audience’s applause, and you opened your eyes to find him beside you, leading your captor to the head table. “The emperor has earned the first private date tomorrow evening, as well as the seat of honor tonight. I hope everyone worked up an appetite.”

I’m not here.

Both men had their hands on you while they propped you up between them, and you faced the courtyard to find the ravenous guests practically drooling over the sight of your torn and dirty dress. Thankfully your back was to the screen, so you didn’t have to keep watching yourself stumbling through the dark. 

The stragglers made their way back, and your mind kept spacing, floating while your torturers chatted, until dinner arrived. 

Servants carried a long stretch of table over the stone path, “ooh’s” and “aah’s” making you more nauseated the closer it got, until they laid out the mythical beast before you. 

Your uncle had caught a white stag. 

He had caught it, killed it, and was laughing while its dead eyes stared at you, its useless antlers like some tragic centerpiece. Uncle Cedrick ordered its flesh to be passed to every plate, so that each of his friends might share in his auspicious meal. 

“Here’s to those with the heart of a hunter,” he toasted. “May your arrows always hit their mark.”

Every bite they took tore through your own skin, the slow prey gone still while the pack of wolves enjoyed their meal. An animal again, your mind was incapable of reason or words, but even the soul of the deer could feel this truth pulsing deep within the bones that the monsters hadn’t yet picked clean.

You would not survive this. They were going to devour you whole.

~~~

“Y/N? Sis? Are you okay?”

Some part of you that only existed for your sister reacted to the worry in her voice, blinking up at her while she carefully pulled the antlers off of your head. Another image of the deer’s mutilated body flashed through your mind as you watched her hold them to her chest before turning away, hurrying toward the door. You stared, thoughts thankfully leaving your mind while she threw the cursed antlers down the corridor.

“Are you okay,” she checked in again when she returned her gentle fingers to your hair.

“Yeah,” you cleared your throat, voice coming out raw. “Where is everyone?”

“I’ll get you cleaned up,” Kat assured. Her sharp eyes were wider than normal, but your urge to comfort her couldn’t break through your exhaustion, your delirium. “I didn’t think you’d want all the servants around.”

Gratitude swelled with the lump in your throat while Kat’s soft fingers transformed you, bringing you back to humanity. 

“I’m sorry he’s still such an asshole to you,” your sister breathed, starting to clean the scrapes that littered your legs and feet. “Running through the forest like… You’re getting married, not hunted. He didn’t need to make it so… I’m sorry.”

“Married,” you gave a tired laugh, closing your eyes before you went down the spiral. A hiss left your lips, your body jolting when she dabbed at a particularly unpleasant scrape.

“I’m going to call Dr. Gilli,” Kat announced, stopping you from digging your nails into your thighs. “No one else, and I’ll stay with you, okay?”

“No pills. No shots,” you ordered, too frantic to care about holding it in. 

“Of course not,” she sighed when your breathing started to calm. “I just don’t want to be responsible for your legs falling off from infection. Is that alright with you, sis?”

“Fine.” The slight teasing Kat had managed to put in her tone made your lips twitch, but that hint of relief took all of your energy. Your sister stayed with you, holding your hand while the family doctor looked you over.

Dr. Gilli had always been sweet to you, but the sight of your blood on her gloves while she gushed about how beautiful you looked, and how lucky you were to have such a romantic engagement, made you want to kick that sweet face in. 

“Thank you, doctor,” Kat frowned, shooing the woman out just in time before you punched her in the throat for asking you about babies. 

Kat helped you into bed, crawling in beside you like you were kids again. 

You used to be the big sister. Four years had always felt like such a big gap, especially with everything you had tried to protect her from. 

Until you couldn’t even protect yourself, and Kat had to become the big sister. 

Gratitude and guilt over that fact could never balance out, and as much as you loved her and needed her right now, you ached for her to leave so you could break down. 

Instead, slow tears stained your pillowcase while her comforting presence held you in a quiet cage. 

“It’s only a month,” she whispered while she stroked your hair. “We’re going to find the best husband for you, and then you’ll take over the company. I know it’s scary, but I believe in you, Y/N, just like dad did… I know you’re ready, and I’ll be right here with you.”

Kat’s misplaced trust froze you for what felt like hours, but somehow you fell asleep. Your name echoed through a storm while you watched the wolves tear into her flesh, helpless to keep your sister from the starving beasts.

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🤡🤡🤡~~~

For a split second upon waking on the morning of the banquet, Buggy’s first thought hadn’t been panic for her absence, but a hum of pleasure at the warmth surrounding him. 

Guilt sent him flying into pieces to escape Crocodile and Mihawk’s arms, and they blinked up at him as though they’d forgotten her too. Buggy only relaxed when he saw the reality of the day harden their faces. 

Another day full of hushed voices, and waiting. Scribbled notes, and stifled comfort. Fear, and an unsteady hope that Shanks would be the hero again. 

~~~

“What’s this,” Buggy growled at the wide eyed, young pirate that had set down a bright blue cocktail on Y/N’s desk. He’d found himself sitting there tonight, updating the other men while the suitors were introduced, and he closed his eyes to stay focused on the muffled voices. 

The clown had started to panic earlier when his star was told to leave her locket behind, almost losing her because his gift didn’t fit the “theme.” She must have stuffed it into her dress from the way her heart thumped even louder within him, and he coughed to fight the heat in his throat.

I’m here, baby. I’ve got you.

“You like sweet drinks, don’t you?”

Buggy jolted, pretending that surprised squeak hadn’t just left his throat before he met Crocodile’s eyes across the room. 

“Y-yeah,” Buggy frowned, but he avoided the collection of garnishes and tiny umbrellas to take a sip from the curly straw. He found the taste of pineapple, coconuts, and sooo much sugar, covering up the rum that he most definitely needed. “Thanks.”

The scarred man raised a brow, and Mihawk’s soft chuckle from his own desk added to the shiver going up Buggy's spine.

They’re trying to distract me… 

“Thanks, daddy,” Buggy corrected, almost smiling at that frightening, but pleased face until her voice filled with hope.

‘Mr. Iceburg?’

“Mr. Iceburg,” he repeated while her heart went wild. 

“Iceburg,” Crocodile asked quietly, looking at his own notes. “From Galley La? He wasn’t on the list…”

“She knows him already,” Buggy reported. He tried to let it mean nothing. “She likes him.”

“Of course, Sylvad’s has had ties with Water 7 for generations,” Crocodile nodded, rubbing his hand over his face. 

“She may like him, but she loves you,” Mihawk startled him as he appeared beside her desk. “Don’t forget.”

“I’d never forget that,” Buggy snapped, sighing when wicked fingers teased over his tense shoulders, helping him focus.

He focused on her breath, her heart, while she met all the men vying to touch her, to take her. He focused on trying not to freak out the longer the night went on without hearing that familiar, heroic voice. Their best chance.

“Something’s wrong,” Buggy rasped, hardly hearing Crocodile's chair thump onto the new carpet over the deafening silence of his star forgetting to breathe. It seemed like her heart had stopped beating, until her uncle’s grating voice came through, and then it pounded like a bird smashing itself against a window to try to escape.

“The clothes suit you well, Emperor.”

“I had no idea that fashionable friends could be so generous,” Shanks charmed, his voice a miracle. “Or that I’d have the pleasure of meeting such a gorgeous, little bunny again so soon. Sorry, you're a gorgeous, little doe, aren’t you?”

“It’s Shanks,” Buggy shared, almost jealous of the relief that washed over their faces before he closed his eyes to the world again.

Shanks played the roguish pirate to perfection, and Buggy had no notes for his performance. Even muffled, Sylvad’s voice was clearly satisfied, eating up the Emperor’s words. 

“Red Hair made it? He’s a suitor?”

The soft questions ripped Buggy’s eyes open, and the relief he still saw there made him sick. 

“She hates him.”

“What do you–”

“Who does she–”

“She HATES SHANKS!” 

Buggy didn’t notice when he’d flown into pieces, but he floated erratically before them, trying to understand, trying to explain. 

“How… She didn’t say that out loud, did she,” Mihawk asked after a pause, studying his movements. 

“Why would she hate him,” Crocodile mused. His silver eyes stripped him down as he stepped too close.

“How the fuck would I know,” Buggy yelled, horror filling his veins at the way her heart seemed to fight itself in its cage. “This is how she sounds when she’s with Uncle ShitFuck, or that fucking doctor! She hates Shanks. She HATES HIM! What are we gonna do?”

“Shh, shh, darling,” Mihawk breathed, catching Buggy’s face in both hands while his body still flew through the air. “Y/N thought he was going to steal you from her. If she hasn’t forgiven him, then we’ll just have to find another way.”

“But she–”

Every floating piece of him stuttered in the air when cruel lips kissed his so sweetly. 

“I am long overdue for a hunting trip,” the swordsman teased over his skin, twisting those wicked fingers into his hair. “Having all three of us here is a waste. I’ll go thin out the competition.”

“No.”

The refusal was deep, yet gentle, and that scarred face towered over them both while Crocodile tugged at Mihawk’s chin. 

“We’re not doing that. We can’t go against her wishes, not until we know why she’s doing this.”

Buggy felt pain searing behind his eyes while he tried to listen to two things at once: Cedrick Sylvad’s speech, and the moral dilemma of these ex-Warlords.

“I agree,” Mihawk said evenly, barely sparing a glance while Buggy brought his body back together beside him. “But these men want our little rabbit, and her illustrious name for their own reasons. If it’s possible to convince the worst of them to drop out, then we should try.”

“Are you running away again,” Crocodile sighed, the pressure in the air making Buggy want to sink to the floor.  

“Don’t worry, daddy,” Mihawk purred, expertly slicing through all the tension in the room. “I have a spare earpiece snail, so you can scold me all you like while I’m away.” 

‘Did you hear me,’ Cedrick seemed to hiss at Buggy, swimming in guilt for falling into the distraction of the men before him. 

“Chase?”

“What is it,” Mihawk checked in, scanning his face. 

“No,” the clown paused, more endless horror pouring into him. He had to step away, the sounds of her panic while she raced through the woods sending him into helpless rage. The other men let him feel into it, until he rounded on them again. 

“They’re hunting her like an animal,” Buggy seethed, flinching at the sound of his star falling, panting, pushing herself on. “She’s terrified, she’s– Fuck this!”

A wave of sand hit the door before Crocodile blocked his path, only fueling that need to protect her. 

“Marines on call. Germa Kingdom. Big Mom Pirates. Fishman royalty. And we still don’t know what kind of security forces Sylvad keeps on the island, not to mention whatever the Concealer keeps around him, or the President of Galley La,” the larger man listed, his voice firm, but going soft when he touched Buggy’s cheek. “The second you hear our sweet girl ask for help, or say that she doesn’t wanna be there, I will drain them all to dust… but we still don’t know what he has on her. She told us she wanted to go.”

‘This isn’t a dream…’

In a trance, the clown let the other men lead him to that flashy, green couch, his notepad and fruity drink set up on the new coffee table while he slumped into her spot between them. 

“Shanks got her,” he reported, unable to share in their relief with the sound of her strangled breaths so loud in his head. He could barely hear a thing in her world now, the muffled voices beyond theirs were too difficult to make out, especially when another heartbeat filled his mind. His old friend must have been carrying her, and the sound of both of their hearts pounding so close made his gloves damp when he rubbed at his tired eyes. 

“Don’t worry,” Mihawk tugged at him gently until Buggy curled in against his exposed chest. The swordsman didn’t recoil from the faded paint, or the hot tears that streaked down his skin the longer the clown let himself stay there. “If our little rabbit doesn’t trust our hero, then we’ll just convince the rest of the suitors to give up the hunt.”

“Try not to start any wars, little prince,” Crocodile hummed, setting his massive hand over Mihawk’s where it was resting on Buggy’s thigh. 

“War is tedious. I am looking forward to a peaceful life,” Mihawk vowed, stroking Buggy’s hair while the man let exhaustion relax him deeper into his lap. “We just need to retrieve our lovers first.”

~~~🤡🤡🤡~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

“Oh sweetie, you look so–”

“Take a bite.”

Mom’s too shiny smile hardened slightly before she tasted your oatmeal, avoiding the servants that hovered around you in clouds of makeup and hair spray. 

“You’re about to have brunch with your suitors,” she reminded you when you snatched the food from her, practically inhaling it before more pencils or brushes could touch your lips. “Don’t you think it will look strange if you don’t eat with them?”

“You don’t seem to care how strange it looks to sell off your own daughter,” you laughed, noticing a servant’s eyes widen just a fraction when they took your empty bowl. “I’m cooperating, but I will not be leaving my food or drinks unattended until I feel safer. You want your child to feel safe, don’t you, mother?”

“I found some,” Kat beamed when she barged through the door, waving a deck of playing cards above her head. She tossed it to you, and you gasped, surprised that you caught it from the air before it could hit one of the staff. Thankfully, the full skirted dress you’d been stuffed into this morning had pockets, so you tucked your little game away, forcing your mom to taste the rest of your breakfast before the brunch dates began.

But Kat was making that face. Little sister face. 

“What’s that,” you gestured toward the item she had tried to conceal when she sat across from you, tucking it behind her body.

“Just some trash I found in the hall. Do you want some more coffee?”

“Give it,” you ordered, giving her big sister face.

“It’s nothing we didn’t already know, okay? So just…”

“At least I’m not the only one being used,” a sharp laugh left your throat. “How much berry do you think he’s making off of this game?”

Mom ordered the staff to leave before leaning toward Kat, and didn’t whisper quietly enough on her way out.

“Brunch is about to start. Make sure she looks presentable.”

“Can’t sell me off if I'm not pretty, can you?”

“Y/N,” she started, looking convincingly hurt, but Kat got her out of the room before either of you could make it worse. 

You stared at the “trash” in your lap, the crisp scent of expensive ink and paper filling your lungs while you examined the brochure. 

‘Which Hunter Will Claim Her?’

That tantalizing question was scrawled across every page, while the nine suitors each had their own section, their profile, their face, and a stupid little quote about winning you. This barbaric game was disguised behind a snooty font spread over images of dappled sunlight through Sylvad trees, and decorated with arrows and leaves.

Cedar leaves.

You wanted to tear it to shreds, but you were pulled in, studying every detail.

~~~~~~

~~~~~~

Giberson

Age: Couldn’t Recall

Height: Misplaced Measurements

Birthday: August 14th

Title: “Warehouseman”

Favorite Food: Rye Whiskey

How he plans to win: “I’m sure the lovely lady and I will have a delightful time. You don’t get to be my age without learning a few tricks.”

~

Ichiji

Age: 21

Height: 186 cm (6'1")

Birthday: March 2

Title: Prince of the Germa Kingdom

Favorite Food: Strawberries and Whiskey

How he plans to win: "I’m a Vinsmoke."

~

Niji

Age: 21

Height: 185 cm (6'1")

Birthday: March 2nd

Title: Prince of the Germa Kingdom

Favorite Food: Blueberries and Scotch

How he plans to win: “She’s coming with us. If I don’t win, there’s two more Vinsmoke’s.”

~

Yonji

Age: 21

Height: 194 cm (6'4")

Birthday: March 2

Title: Prince of the Germa Kingdom

Favorite Food: Green Peas

How he plans to win: “I wouldn’t mind ending up with a woman like her, so I’m gonna turn her into a princess.”

~

Iceburg

Age: 40

Height: 199 cm (6'6")

Birthday: January 3

Title: President of the Galley-La Company, and Mayor of Water 7

Favorite Food: Curry Made by an Old Friend. A Drunk, Old Friend.

How he plans to win: “Mm, well... I suppose I’ll win because I know her best.”

~

Fukaboshi

Age: 24

Height: 604 cm (19’10”)

Birthday: February 4th

Title: Prince of the Ryugu Kingdom

Favorite Food: Abalone Steak

How he plans to win: “I hope that she carries peace in her heart. If she does, I will stop at nothing to earn her love.”

~

Cracker

Age: 45

Height: 307 cm (10'1")

Birthday: February 28th

Title: Sweet Commander of the Big Mom Pirates, and the Minister of Biscuit

Favorite Food: Biscuits. Dislikes Kimchi and Carbonated Drinks.

How he plans to win: “Easy. I’ll outdo them all.”

~

Katakuri

Age: 48

Height: 509 cm (16'8½")

Birthday: November 25th

Title: Sweet Commander of the Big Mom Pirates, and the Minister of Flour

Favorite Food: Doughnuts. Dislikes hot ramen.

How he plans to win: “I will win because I must.”

~

Shanks

Age: 39

Height: 199 cm (6'6")

Birthday: March 9

Title: Emperor of the Sea

Favorite Food: Kimchi Fried Rice and Lobster. Dislikes Blueberries.

How he plans to win: “Just gonna show the cutie a good time.”

~~~~~~

‘Make Your Bets Now!’

Kat was right. You knew that the audience was enjoying the game, gambling while you just tried to survive, trying to secure the least abhorrent future that you could. 

“Venison…”

“Heeyyy,” Kat fumbled through positivity as she pulled the brochure from your white-knuckled grip. “At least we know how tall they are now!”

“I love you,” you thanked her, amazed that you could still laugh.

~~~

“Such pretty, little fingers… I hope I pass your test.”

“It’s not a test,” you lied, shuffling cards instead of tearing the old man’s eyes out. “Just a game.”

“It has to be the Queen of Hearts,” Giberson winked over his Bloody Mary.

“It’s the Four of Diamonds.”

“So you are choosing the next winner,” he scolded lightly when your prediction was revealed.

“How could I possibly choose when I have so many charming options,” you reminded him as you pushed the deck across the table so he could shuffle for himself. You weren’t ready to pick and choose between these hunters. There’d been no time to feel them out. 

So they had to guess.

The lighthearted brunch felt anything but with so many eyes on your skin, especially with Uncle’s giant projector snail that blew up your image across the building again. All the smaller snails circled around you, their slow, unreal eyes reminding you how trapped you were.

Always trapped.

“That’s alright, dear. Making decisions is tough, isn’t it? I’ve been hearing about what a smart girl you are though! So, what’s the card?”

The old man’s condescension was so typical, you were contemplating rooting for him, just so you could end up with a predictable partner.

“Jack of Hearts,” you smiled after counting down twenty two cards out loud, yet again.

“Whew, that sure is something,” Giberson waved the Jack of Hearts he’d revealed, making sure the rest of the guests could see while he bragged about you, as though your skills were somehow reflective of his own talents. 

As though he already owned you.

“You shuffled,” you teased, guiding him to set up the trick one more time. “Can you guess the card?”

“Queen of Hearts,” he winked again.

Gross. At least he might die soon, that’s a plus.

~~~

“You look beautiful this morning, Y/N,” the firstborn Vinsmoke brother purred when he took Giberson’s seat. 

Every moment was on full display for the other suitors, and for the guests that had stayed on the island for the entertainment. It seemed that the courtyard was to be your new realm, with plenty of space for your much taller dates to join you at your little breakfast table that was set up on a slightly elevated platform. 

A stage. 

“Thank you, Prince Ichigi. You’re looking quite well yourself.”  

Fuck.

It wasn’t a lie, and your pulse sped at the smug smile he gave when he tilted his head down to examine you over his dark, red glasses. 

There was something dangerous in that smile, and the fact that he didn’t even try to hide it made you pause, not sure how best to deal with this entitled prince.

“What does our lovely bride enjoy when she’s not being chased,” Ichiji purred, already claiming you with his words. His sunglasses did little to hide his eyes as they raked over your skin. 

“I enjoy numbers. Mathematics,” you almost squeaked. Heat rose up to your cheeks while you started to shuffle the cards, noticing the number “1” embroidered on his maroon cloak while you explained the goal of the card trick. 

“Seven of Clubs.”

“I’m sorry, Prince Ichiji, you’re wrong again.”

You had to risk a small sip from your untested water glass to fight the dryness on your tongue.

“That’s alright,” Ichiji teased, nodding at the sound of bells marking his time. “That’s why my family always brings numbers.”

“My turn, brother,” the blue haired prince announced as he clapped him on the shoulder. 

“Be nice to our little princess, Niji,” he ordered, pressing your knuckles to his lips before heading back toward the rest of his family. 

“Of course,” your new date smirked, leaning back in his chair with his hands clasped behind that blue head of hair. 

The large spikes and swoops of his hairstyle covered one of his eyes under his gold sunglasses, hiding one of the eyebrows that you kept trying not to glance at. The three brothers shared an odd curl to the ends of their brows, You couldn’t tell if it was a cosmetic choice, but didn’t want to risk insulting such powerful men in case they were sensitive about it.

“Don’t tell me my brother already wore you out,” he clicked his tongue, snapping you out of your memories. 

“I’m so sorry, Prince Niji, I must still be tired from the banquet. What were you saying?”

“Fetch our little bride some coffee,” he snapped at the nearest servant, banging lightly on the table until the dishes rattled.

His harsh tone was almost enough to make you forget your precautions, but you had enough to worry about without the uncertainty of who prepared your drink.

That curly brow raised with satisfied surprise when you rested your hand over his, his lips parting while he ate up your act.

“Would you mind sharing your coffee, Prince Niji? I’d hate to waste any more of our time waiting to wake up.”

“What’s mine is yours, princess,” Niji purred. He caught your hand as you pulled away, and you let him hold it while you drank from his mug. His coffee was unbelievably sweet.

Stop. Don’t think about…

“Thank you,” you hummed, swallowing the heat in your throat while you tried to not to look at his blue hair with that practically syrupy coffee still on your tongue. “Will you help me with a little trick?”

~~~

“It’s up to you, little brother,” Niji reported when his time ran out. 

“Don’t worry, I’ve been watching these pretty hands,” Yonji assured him, kissing your fingers before he sat down. His dark eyes seemed fierce without colored glasses to hide them, and his green hair was slicked back instead of swooping up and out like his older brothers. He wasn’t hiding his interesting features.

“So you think you know the trick,” you challenged, giving him a chance. 

“I think I’ll win your heart,” he swooned, and the sappy look on his face made your hands fumble while you shuffled the deck. 

He focused intently now as you laid them out, and revealed certain cards, counting down to the guess. 

“What card is—“

“Three of Spades,” he blurted out. “What’s your guess?”

“Three of Clubs.”

“Again.”

The youngest prince refused your small talk, avoiding your gaze until his final guess.

“King of Hearts,” Yonji beamed, puppy dog eyes finally on your face again. “What’s your guess, princess?”

Would it be weird to marry Kat’s favorite?

You didn’t glance at your sister, but knew she’d be watching while the green haired prince scored the first point, hearts practically floating around his head when you revealed the card. 

“I told you, princess,” Yonji vowed as he stole a quick peck to your cheek. “I’ll be the one to win your heart.”

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

~~~~~~

~~~⏰🌲🌲🌲⏰~~~

~~~⚫~~~

The man that had won your heart beamed when he saw you gazing up at him. His blue hair seemed to glow in the sun, but nothing could gleam like those strong arms, slick with sweat while he climbed down the ropes to meet you on the deck of the ship.

“Oh my, look at you,” Iceburg hummed, tying a bandana over his hair to catch that salty water before it dripped down his face. You stared at those gorgeous, purple tattoos that crawled down his shoulders and arms before he patted the top of your head. “Where’s your dad hiding?”

“He had to take a call, but I helped him write this proposal, so he said I could bring it to you,” you squirmed, handing him the file.

“He’s got you working at thirteen,” he whistled, taking the document while he shook his head. 

“I’m fourteen now,” you declared. 

You couldn’t keep yourself from rolling onto your toes a bit, lifting your chin in hopeful challenge. 

“You’re gonna be running things soon, huh,” he smirked.

Mind going absolutely blank under his attention, you just gaped at him like a fucking creep.

“This ship’s almost finished.” Iceburg leaned close, knocking on the railing behind you. “Would you like a tour? It is your family’s wood that makes it so strong, after all.”

“I– Are you sure? I’ll be fine waiting if you need to get back to work. You don’t need to watch me.”

The desire to follow him around like a puppy was overpowered by the distaste at him feeling the need to babysit you, but the look on his face made you laugh, forgetting it all.

“I don’t wanna go back to work,” the handsome shipwright complained, scrunching up his face in a pout that rivaled your sister’s. “I’d rather show you around, and grab some lunch when your dad gets here. Can we?”

“Okay!”

~~~

This gorgeous, lovely man knew more about Sylvad wood than most of dad’s executives. Listening to him talk about it always made you happy, knowing that your family was part of something so important, so loved. 

Iceburg led you through the ship, telling you how he had worked each piece of lumber, how it all moved with the wind and the waves, even guiding you to slide your hand along the trees your family had grown, smooth and silky to the touch after he’d treated them. 

“Beautiful, isn’t it,” he praised softly, watching your hand against the wood before pulling a pen from his toolbelt. “Well, let’s go get some food, girlie. You can tell your dad what a great job you did presenting your proposal.”

“But you didn’t even read it,” you blurted out, shocked when he pressed the document against a wall to sign his name.

“You and Arbo are good people, plus you’ve got the best lumber in the world,” he laughed while he led you up the stairs toward the sound of footsteps. “I trust you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Iceburg… but you just agreed to build a small fleet to expand our shipping operations in the East Blue. Are you sure you’ll have time for that while you help Tom finish the sea train? Hi, daddy!”

“There’s my girl,” your dad grinned, kissing your temple when you joined him on the deck. “Make any deals without me?”

Iceburg handed the document over, waving his own copy in your direction. Your skin flushed with heat again when he snuck you a wink while your dad glanced at his signature. 

“She’s very convincing. You’ll be able to retire in no time if she keeps this up.”

He was the perfect man. Strong, kind, silly, sweet, and so painfully hot, it drove you mad. You’d had a few crushes on your classmates over the last couple of years, but nothing compared to the way you felt when Iceburg looked at you like that. 

“I don’t doubt it,” your dad praised. He wrapped his arm around the shipwright’s shoulders, nodding his head toward the docks. “Is Kokoro still making that delightful curry?”

“I’ll never let her stop,” Iceburg laughed while he led the way. “Tom should be over there too, let’s go grab some lunch and catch up.”

“Sounds perfect. Do you want to come, sweetheart?”

~~~⚫~~~

~~~⏰🌲🌲🌲⏰~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

He’s not who I thought he was. He’s a creep. Another leech trying to latch on and drain as much berry from me as he can. Don’t forget. 

You were pathetic, getting flustered while he watched your hands, his calm voice taking away all your caution. 

“I have to apologize,” Iceburg hummed while you shuffled.

“Why is that?”

“Mm, well,” he looked down at his striped jacket while he patted his pocket. “I left Tyrannosaurus with my secretary. I didn’t think bringing a pet would be… I should be more focused on you.”

“What do you— oh!”

The cards scattered across the table when you jumped, laughter sneaking out of you. 

“This is Velociraptor,” Iceburg announced as a field mouse crawled out of his breast pocket. “I found him during the chase, I hope it’s alright to have pets during our stay. Are you okay, Y/N?”

“I’m fine, sorry,” you recovered from losing yourself in that laughter before gathering the cards again. Your eyes were still watering when you watched the cute creature dive back into his pocket after a few soft pets from his strong fingers. “Can you guess the card?”

“Oh my,” his brows furrowed, watching your waiting hands. “I really need to pay attention, don’t I? I’d love to spend some more time with you.”

He leaned forward, his height making him tower over you at the little table, and you found yourself blinking up at him.

Forgetting.

“I…”

“Is it the Seven of Clubs?”

“No, Mr… No, Iceburg.”

~~~

Prince Fukaboshi was led through the courtyard by a few attendants, both fishmen and mermen featured amongst the group. He looked down at you, mouth opening to speak before Uncle’s voice carried over.

“Why don’t we give our hunter a closer look?”

Grabbing onto the edge of the table took all of your focus, and you knew that your fake smile fell when you started moving through the air. The ground flew away, the wooden platform beneath you rising up toward the prince, gentle surprise on his face.

The snails on the table didn’t seem phased by the change in elevation, and it was hard to pretend they didn’t exist while they slowly shifted positions to better capture you and your date for the audience below. 

You decided not to look down to determine what kind of contraption had lifted you so high, instead looking at the prince before you. Fukaboshi took up your entire field of vision, and it was easy to see the concern on his expansive face.

“Are you alright, Miss Sylvad?”

His teeth look so sharp…

“Please, Prince Fukaboshi,” you trembled, focusing on the cards as much as you could, “call me Y/N. Can you guess the— oh, I’m sorry, are you familiar with these sorts of playing cards?”

You were barely hanging on. He spoke, he guessed, and you could feel the rumble of his voice even though your mind wasn’t quite letting it in. Your body performed without you, your lips reciting words that carried no meaning. 

“This courtship custom is unlike any I have seen before,” the prince frowned while you set up the cards for the last guess. “Since it is all strange to me, I couldn’t be certain, but…”

The pause was long enough for you to meet his eyes, so large, and filled with what looked like compassion. 

No. 

“Miss Y/N, I am seeking your hand so that my people can gain protection and resources so that they never suffer the cruelty and humiliation of slavery again,” Fukaboshi declared. The snails on the table lowered their eyes, but his voice boomed too loud to hide. 

Bells. 

“That is—“

“I never want to see anyone treated the way my sister was by those monsters at the Reverie.”

“Monsters?”

The dangerous question barely made it past your lips before the platform jolted, slowly bringing you down, away from his determined face while the bells kept ringing. 

“Are you being held against your will? I cannot abide another moment of this if you are being used like a pet for their amusement.”

“N-no,” you panicked, craning your neck to see him while you shook your head, hands pleading, voice dripping with lies. “You are so kind, thank you, Prince Fukaboshi! I’m sorry, I must seem scared, but I’m just nervous. This is all a bit overwhelming, but I promise I am glad to be here!”

“Your turn’s over, Prince. You heard the girl.”

Cracker’s manic smile appeared as the table sank to the ground. It felt like your frantic heart had been left in the sky, floating up there with those huge, concerned eyes. 

“Thank you, Prince Fukaboshi,” you beamed, feeling forever selfish at the temptation. 

I can’t risk a stranger, a whole kingdom. I’m not worth it. 

Neither of us would make it out alive anyway. 

“It has been my honor,” he said evenly, though his eyes were scanning the crowd now, a new tension held within his enormous, warrior’s body. 

The snails woke up, those slow moving eyes reminding you that the show must go on.

“You’re a good girl, aren’t you?”

“I’m sorry?” 

Cracker sat down, and the platform probably should have lifted a bit as the shirtless man was closer to your reality, but he was still even taller than… 

You had to stop comparing these men to your daydreams. 

“Eight of Diamonds… Damn,” he brushed off his loss before looming over you. His dark, brown glove was softer than you expected it to be when he cupped your cheek, almost the whole side of your face. 

“You understand family duties, don’t you?”

All you could do was nod under the wild look he gave you.

He’s fucking unstable.

“That’s good. Family is everything.”

Is he flirting? 

A dangerous giggle almost escaped, but you kept it in, smiling sweetly while he failed every guess.

The bells finally rang out, but they couldn’t save you from his last words, his promise.

“Our family needs you, Y/N. I don’t care if you’re my wife or my sister, I’ll protect you with my life.”

~~~

This time you were grateful for the moving platform, a reason to look away from Cracker’s confident face. The true reason for the movement came into view, his brother waiting patiently for you to settle just below his eye level. 

Those eyes… 

Charlotte Katakuri was too fucking tall. Too fucking scary. Crimson eyes assessed you, his arched brows and sharp nose not nearly harsh enough to distract from those thick, dark lashes of his.

He’s too fucking pretty.

Now that you were this close, you could see scars on both of his cheeks. They led down toward his mouth, still concealed by that massive scarf. Prince Fukaboshi’s sharp teeth came to mind when you wondered what he could be hiding, so you shuffled and shuffled, trying to think about anything else.

“It’s good to see you, Y/N,” his polite voice made you shiver, seeming to vibrate the elevated stage you were perched on. 

“Same to you, Katakuri,” your voice shook. You couldn’t afford to show this much fear. Predators always looked for weak prey. “Would you mind helping me with a little trick?”

“If that’s what you wish,” he agreed. There was no way to tell if the hint of a smile you heard in his voice was truly hidden beneath his scarf, but it set you on edge, nonetheless. 

“Can you guess the card?”

“It’s the Ten of Hearts.”

He stated it as if it were true, as if he were simply remarking on the weather around him.

And it was true. You’d known it before you revealed it, this simple math trick like the comforting rhythm of a familiar heartbeat. 

“You’re right,” you breathed when you turned it over. “Care to go again?”

Katakuri nodded slowly, but his eyes never left your face, ignoring the cards on the table until you asked for his next guess.

“The Queen of Hearts.”

“Yes. Have you seen this trick before?”

“In a way,” came his cryptic response. “Shall we go again?”

He definitely wasn’t paying attention to the cards. Those stunning eyes were so fucking intense as they bore into your skin that you almost forgot to do the math before you asked for his next guess.

Then you wished you had forgotten.

“What’s the–”

“Shuffle again.”

“But you haven’t–”

You stopped breathing when one of his giant hands shot toward you, his fingers sooo fucking big when he laid them over yours. 

Delicate. This giant was gentle when he covered your hands, covered the cards, practically covered half the little table.

“This card makes you sad,” he whispered, though there was no point with all the surveillance, and with his booming voice at the center of attention. But still, he whispered. “Why don’t you shuffle again?”

Fuck. fuckfuckfuck. Stop. 

There you go. Just smile. 

A small miracle let you slip out of your body, out of your mind, while you shuffled the unrevealed Six of Spades back into the deck. 

Katakuri was still quiet, still watching. So polite while he guessed the right card, letting you pull yourself back together.

Hiding all the struggle behind your Sylvad smile.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he touched your hand again when the platform started to lower. “I’m looking forward to our next meeting.”

You hadn’t noticed the bells.

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🐊🤡🗡️~~~

“When are you leaving?”

“There’s no point in waiting,” Mihawk avoided the larger man’s eyes. “The sooner I convince the competition to back out, the sooner Y/N will be free of them.”

“Yeah, but how,” Buggy sighed from his lap, the swordsman’s skilled fingers nearly dragging him down to sleep already. “How the fuck are you gonna convince these assholes that they don’t wanna marry her? She’s perfect! Plus, they get in on that stupid company, and get whatever other bullshit DickHole is selling. What can you do besides poke ‘em with your fancy stick?”

“That’s what I plan to find out,” Mihawk smiled, though the finality in his tone was enough.

“Come on, Buggy,” Crocodile nudged his legs aside, offering the clown his hand while he stared at their determined lover. “Let’s remind our little bird why he should fly back home when he’s done pecking people’s eyes out.”

Buggy let out an exhausted giggle while Mihawk shivered, his eyes rolling back just a bit. Just enough.

“You thought you could run away that easily, huh,” Crocodile threatened with his words, and with the tip of his hook below that sculpted chin.

More guilt almost tore the clown away while he watched them, but Buggy chugged his sugary drink, grateful for the quiet of faraway sleep. He started to pull the swordsman up by the collar of his frighteningly fancy jacket, and that arched brow was an instinctual warning.

The clown heeded the warning, loosening his grip on the jacket, only to yank the man off the couch by his hair. Crocodile joined in on his smug laughter, roughly pulling Mihawk against him before he’d stopped moaning from the unexpected pain.

“You’re not leaving tonight.”

Heavy. 

Whatever they held between them felt heavier than either had expected.

“I’ll go get the bed ready,” Buggy sighed as he half floated toward the door, “but I’ll need another drink if you guys take too long.”

~~~🗡️🤡🐊~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🗡️🐊🗡️🐊~~~

“Are you alright?”

Mihawk laughed at the question, and Crocodile wanted to shake him. He was sick of seeing his lovers fall apart right in front of him, with nothing he could do, or even understand.

He ached to understand this man. They had faced each other in battle just a few years ago, but that Summit War felt like a fever dream now.

Not that this new life didn't feel like a dream.

This man…

Crocodile kept getting him. Meeting him in ways that both surprised, and soothed him. 

Mihawk laughed again at the thought of new vocabulary, but Crocodile pulled him close.

“I’m not ready to lose my business partner,” Crocodile confessed, the words too heavy for the smirk he tried to give. 

The words were enough.

Mihawk laid his deadly fingers along that silk vest, silently asking for a kiss while he stared up at the taller man. 

The swordsman felt like a fraud. 

How could someone like him that had carried nothing for so long be filled with so much? He didn’t want to lie anymore than he already had. 

Crocodile gave him what he wanted. A heavy kiss.

“Let’s not keep our clown waiting,” Crocodile rasped, tracing his thumb along Mihawk’s sharp features. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

~~~🗡️🐊🗡️🐊~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🗡️🤡🐊~~~

They’re holding hands… 

Crocodile and Mihawk had called through the door, all of their hands occupied until Mihawk handed the slack-jawed clown another cocktail. 

“Nice room service,” Buggy tried to recover. 

“Come here, little clown.”

The scarred man let go of one lover to reach for another. Cupping his hand along Buggy’s jaw, with those large fingers combing into the hair at the back of his neck, Crocodile breathed down on him until he was nodding, red lips still parted.

“I haven’t been giving you enough attention,” Crocodile purred, squeezing his face lightly when Buggy tried to argue. “But it looks like we’re gonna have plenty of alone time soon. Plenty of time for me to spoil you.”

“Y-yup! Lots of…”

“Is that what you want?”

“Sure, whatever you say, bos— Yes, daddy.”

“Good boy.”

Buggy disconnected at the ankles to float up into Crocodile’s deep kiss. He nearly spilled his drink before the larger man lowered him down again, eyes dark and satisfied while he watched his clown. 

“You deserve more attention, but you handled him so well. Help me remind—“

“Let’s fuck him up, daddy!”

Buggy downed his drink with one hand while the other snuck past Crocodile’s body to wrap around Mihawk’s throat. 

“You do know that I’m still Dracule Mihawk, don’t you?”

Wicked fingers dug into the floating hand, dragging it down his own chest while he resisted. 

“Whatcha gonna do, Hawkeyes? Stab me? Slice me,” Buggy laughed, setting down his glass before sending his other hand. 

Crocodile started to undress, chuckling softly at his boys. 

The air shifted as danger, delicious danger, poured from the swordsman while he leaned into Buggy’s touch, forcing his floating hands closer to his own body with every taunting step.

“I’m going to play.”

Mihawk’s golden eyes seemed to flicker with his threat, and Buggy felt a flash of fear, a glimpse of a beast. In that moment, he almost gave in, almost let the beast win.

Wherever his burst of confidence came from, Buggy went with it.

“Why don’t you play with daddy’s balls then, huh, crybaby?”

One of the clown’s hands broke free from that hold, and Mihawk couldn’t fight the moan that tore through him when gloved fingers ripped into his hair again, forcing him to look at Crocodile. The larger man was so very large, stroking himself while he sat on the edge of the bed. 

Gods, that fucking cock.

Buggy took advantage of Mihawk’s wonderment by kicking the backs of his knees until he hit the floor, and wrapped himself around the swordsman’s back to leave lipstick-stained bites along his neck. 

“Don’t lie. You wanna get fucking wrecked, don’t you?”

“I don’t like liars,” Crocodile teased, circling his thumb over his tip, taking in a quick breath of satisfaction at the desperate look on Mihawk’s face at the sight. “Do you want us to wreck you, little prince?”

Mihawk melted as that lovely hook pressed into his throat. Buggy rubbed himself against his back, and the swordsman laughed, feeling entirely fucking spoiled. 

“Please, daddy.”

What a fucking sight… 

The scarred man still couldn’t understand how these lovely men were somehow his, not after everything he’d done, everything he’d felt before. Watching Mihawk beg so sweetly while Buggy stripped him made Crocodile’s cock so hard it almost hurt, his rough fingers easing up against that sensitive flesh, until wicked fingers, wicked lips, replaced his own grip. 

“Fuck. Such an evil little mouth you’ve got– Shit…”

Buggy realized his own mouth was hanging open as he undressed, but he couldn’t care to close it while he watched Mihawk swallow more than looked humanly possible.

“Help me out, Buggy,” Crocodile groaned while he gripped Mihawk’s hair, his hand bobbing up and down with that pretty face. “Stretch out our filthy prince for me. No way he’s leaving here before I ruin that perfect, little ass.”

Sloppy, muffled whines escaped him, and Mihawk’s eyes rolled at the daunting threat. Buggy was there, lubed, and ungloved fingers fucking into him until he shook with need, with pleasure. 

“Get over here,” Crocodile growled, stepping back to yank Mihawk toward the bed by the hook around his neck. Buggy helped him along, floating hands lifting that moaning form into place. 

Mihawk’s place was on his hands and knees in the center of the bed, and he lost himself there in the tender and vicious touches his lovers showered him with. In their praise and teasing, pleasure and pain. In the taste of Buggy’s skin as he shoved his cock down his throat. 

He absolutely fucking lost himself when Crocodile lined himself up. He was the world’s greatest swordsman, and he enjoyed pain a great deal. Yet his former enemy was about to pierce him so thoroughly that Mihawk whimpered around Buggy's length, almost afraid. 

Then he felt nothing but that heavy cock, stretching, and claiming, and filling him until tears streamed from his golden eyes.

“So good, so fucking good for me,” Crocodile grunted. He dragged his hook down Mihawk’s side, still not believing what he was seeing. 

Dracule fucking Mihawk, moaning around a clown’s cock while his pretty, little hole sucked him in again and again. 

“Let’s give our twisted prince what he wants, eh, Buggy? Make sure he remembers where he belongs.”

Buggy stuttered in agreement, nearly gone before he obeyed. He tore at Mihawk’s hair while his other hand scraped brutally down his back. The twitching that his rough hands caused forced his cock even deeper until he spilled his pleasure down that desperate throat.

Crocodile sliced his hook around the swordsman’s body, pouring red from that perfect chest while he stuffed his little prince full. The overwhelming sensations had Mihawk coming harder than he’d thought possible, and the sounds he made were unreal. Pathetic. 

Music to the ears of his sated lovers. 

The clown didn’t need to be ordered or asked, Buggy just helped Mihawk stay steady while they pulled out of him. So many praises showered them both while the swordsman just breathed, assessing his every, vicious ache. 

Crocodile hated to leave for even a moment, but he didn’t need to worry. Buggy’s hands had already flown to the bathroom to wash themselves, spilling a bit of soap on the counter before grabbing what he needed. When Crocodile returned from the shower, Buggy was still wiping the other man clean, humming while he trailed gently over that perfect skin. 

Mihawk’s skin was littered with scars of battle and lust, of trust, and he had just enough energy for a weak smile as Buggy’s fingers danced over them all. He moaned, twitching in those gentle arms while his lovers washed him in the shower, no way to recover this soon. 

“Don’t whine, crybaby,” Buggy mumbled, too focused on cleaning and bandaging his wounds while Mihawk melted into the burn. “We’ll slice you up some more when you get back.”

“He’s right,” Crocodile hummed. Seeing these lovely boys taking care of each other gripped something deep within his chest. Whatever it was sparked fear in him, so much so that he had to pause while they laid Mihawk on the fresh sheets between them. 

I can’t lose them. Can’t lose any of them. 

“We’ll be waiting, little bird,” he pressed a kiss to Mihawk’s temple. Contented, sleepy sounds filled the air, and he tried to trust that this lovely new world wasn’t about to end. “Fly back home, alright?”

He couldn’t shape words, but Mihawk hummed his promise before he drifted away.

Home…

~~~🗡️🤡🐊~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

“Morning, Y/N— well, afternoon by now, isn’t it?”

You shuffled just to have something to focus on while you simpered for him. 

The traitor. 

“Good afternoon, Shanks. I’m looking forward to our date this evening. Since you already won, I’m afraid you’re out of the running for the next date. We have to give everyone a chance, of course.”

“Of course.” 

You couldn’t fucking believe the charm that oozed off of him when he beamed at you. 

“I’d still like to try your little game though, if that’s alright, gorgeous?”

Shanks stayed quiet while you laid out the cards, some face up, some face down, before you counted down twenty two from the remaining deck. 

A comforting rhythm, the answer already dancing in your mind. 

“It’s the Eight of Clubs,” Shanks purred, touching the back of your hand. Lingering against your skin.

He looked so fucking smug. 

A sick stillness went through you before you revealed his answer. 

Of course, he knows this trick. He probably learned it before the first time he betrayed—

“Let’s go again,” Shanks ordered, the heat in his voice sending shivers across your shoulders, crawling up your neck. 

The eyes of his competition were on you, but the Emperor looked at you like you were already his. Like you were spread out before him, venison for the skilled hunter to devour. 

“Shuffle,” Shanks threatened, catching your chin in his dangerous fingers. 

Just smile. Just pretend.

“I’m not done playing with you yet, little bunny.”

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

Likes, comments, and reblogs bring me much ✨dopamine✨ thank you!!

Author's Note:

Oh my goodness. Thank you so much for waiting, and for reading that giant chapter!! 🥰🙏🏼 I hope you enjoyed it, I've been going bonkers waiting to hear all your thoughts on this big ol' mess!

Let me know in the poll if you'd be interested in a separate post of my OP canon + Numbers Game canon timeline. It would give away reader's specific age, so I don't want to share it if people don't want to know!

Note on the Brochure: All of the character details included in the brochure are from Oda, except for the quotes and the missing details for Giberson. I found them on the One Piece Fandom Wiki if you’d like to go check out more about the characters' history. I live on that site, and have to give those fans the credit for compiling all those details! I already spend hours searching for specific parts in the anime for things like lines for speech patterns and such, I’d be lost without the wiki!

Note on the Card Trick: I must confess, I am not as skilled with numbers as our Numbers Girl. This is the same trick I had Buggy use during the flashback of their first night together, and I have no idea if this 15 year old youtube video is full of shit or not, but if you'd like to try it out, here's the tutorial!

Note on this line from the beginning of the chapter: "The White Stag. The hunted. The prey." Kiki Rockwell's voice has been living in my brain, and I realized this line is similar to hers in Burn Your Village "You do not dance everyday with the fear Of living in headlights, the hunted, the deer"

That song is so good, and fits so well! 🦌😭

Anyhoo, I'm off to try to catch up on all of your wonderful comments! Y'all mean the world to me, thank you so much!!! 🙏🏼💜

Tag List: @shewrites02 | @caniseethefourthsword | @hey-august | @chaoticqueen33 | @destinationmars | @novakitten0901 | @h0n3y-l3m0n05 | @dorky-birdie | @szired | @pinejayy | @laws-wife-things | @jadeddangel | @gingernut1314 | @urlocaltwink | @blue-rae18 | @bontensbabygirl | @bbnbhm | @0-sparkling-lace-0 | @ihearthazuki | @mikisspeak | @djloveyou3000 | @mercymccann | @horse-and-writer97

Part 33

Operation Olive Branch has compiled a working spreadsheet of ways to help families fleeing from the genocide in Palestine. If you enjoyed this fic, and are able, please click the link to find a list of GoFundMe's, as well as other ways to help.

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[sassenach77yle]

||COUNTDOWN ||SEASON 1 EPISODE 10 || BY THE PRICKING OF MY THUMBS ||

#83daysofoutlander☆

The realization of Jamie’s imminent departure was deeply depressing; I suddenly realized just how much I looked forward to seeing him at dinner after the day’s work, how my heart would leap when I saw him unexpectedly at odd moments during the day, and how much I depended on his company and his solid, reassuring presence amid the complexities of life in the castle. And, to be perfectly honest, how much I liked the smooth, warm strength of him in my bed each night, and waking to his tousled, smiling kisses in the mornings. The prospect of his absence was bleak. He held me closely, my head snuggled under his chin. “I’ll miss you, Jamie,” I said softly. He hugged me tighter, and gave a rueful chuckle. “So will I, Sassenach. I hadna expected it, to tell the truth—but it will hurt me to leave ye.” He stroked my back gently, fingers tracing the bumps of the vertebrae.

“Jamie … you’ll be careful?”

I could feel the deep rumble of amusement in his chest as he answered. “Of the Duke or the horse?” He was, much to my apprehension, intending to ride Donas on the stag hunt. I had visions of the huge sorrel beast plunging over a cliff out of sheer wrong-headedness, or trampling Jamie under those lethal hooves. “Both,” I said dryly. “If the horse throws you and you break a leg, you’ll be at the Duke’s mercy.” “True. Dougal will be there, though.” I snorted. “He’ll break the other leg.” He laughed and bent his head to kiss me.

“I’ll be careful, mo duinne. Will ye give me the same promise?” “Yes,” I said, meaning it. “Do you mean whoever left the ill-wish?” The momentary amusement was gone now.

Perhaps. I dinna think you’re in any danger, or I wouldna leave ye. But still … oh, and stay away from Geillis Duncan.” “What? Why?” I drew back a little to look up at him. It was a dark night and his face was invisible, but his tone was altogether serious. “The woman’s known as a witch, and the stories about her—well, they’ve got a deal worse since her husband died. I dinna want ye anywhere near her, Sassenach.” “Do you honestly think she’s a witch?” I demanded. His strong hands cupped my bottom and scooped me in close to him. I put my arms around him, enjoying the feel of his smooth, solid torso. “No,” he said finally. “But it isna what I think that could be a danger to ye. Will ye promise?”

“All right.” In truth, I had little reluctance to give the promise; since the incidents of the changeling and the summoning, I had not felt much desire to visit Geilie. I put my mouth on Jamie’s nipple, flicking it lightly with my tongue. He made a small sound deep in his throat and pulled me nearer. “Open your legs,” he whispered. “I mean to be sure you’ll remember me while I’m gone.” Sometime later, I woke feeling cold. Groping sleepily for the quilt, I couldn’t find it. Suddenly it came up over me of its own accord. Surprised, I raised up on one elbow to look. “I’m sorry,” Jamie said. “I didna mean to wake ye, lass.” “What are you doing? Why are you awake?” I squinted over my shoulder at him. It was still dark, but my eyes were so accustomed that I could see the faintly sheepish expression on his face. He was wide awake, sitting on a stool by the side of the bed, his plaid flung around him for warmth.

“It’s only … well, I dreamed you were lost, and I couldna find ye. It woke me, and … I wanted to look at ye, is all. To fix ye in my mind, to remember while I’m gone. I turned back the quilt; I’m sorry you were chilled.”

“It’s all right.” The night was cold, and very quiet, as though we were the only two souls in the world. “Come into bed. You must be chilled too.” He slid in next to me and curled himself against my back. His hands stroked me from neck to shoulder,waist to hip, tracing the lines of my back, the curves of my body.

“Mo duinne,” he said softly. “But now I should say mo airgeadach. My silver one. Your hair is silver-gilt and your skin is white velvet. Calman geal. White dove.”

Cap 24 ~OUTLANDER

[atopvisenyashill]

imo rhaenyra’s “madness” being that of a cult leader capable of convincing her followers to do ostensibly insane things cuz she’s just that charismatic & self-assured in the correctness of her beliefs is way cooler and less sexist than the typical ‘she went crazy’ targ nonsense, "ohhh ‘mad queen’ daenerys she’s so crazy it’s that classic targ madness just like her ‘mad’ ancestor ‘mad’ king aerys you never know with those ‘mad’ targaryens" that’s so boring lol, give me something believable

YES i honestly don’t understand and have been increasingly annoyed by these really disingenuous “oh so when rhaenyra slaughters innocents it’s totally fine bc she has the divine right 😒” criticism when it couldn’t be more clear that’s not what’s happening. i mentioned this with the white stag before, how people are taking the most bad faith reading of it imaginable and saying that’s objectively what the writers intended when….it’s very clear the writers are intending for a more nuanced exploration of the entire concept of the white stag, YOU (general you, not you anon) are purposefully taking it in a negative way because you like being pissed off. what an obnoxious way of engaging with the story!

and i feel the same here! the main criticism i see of rhaenyra is that a) she’s not allowed to get her hands bloody/she’s always in the right and b) they’re making it seem as if she has the divine right to commit violence due to the prophecy. there is absolutely no narrative basis for these readings though, it’s COMPLETELY people projecting.

the reason she doesn’t do anything earlier in the season is because she also isn’t doing anything in the BOOK during this section because of her grief. i think criticism of HOW they wrote that is valid - the fact that she doesn’t speak at all in the first episode was a heinous choice, i get what they were going for, but it fell so flat that as Professional Writers they should have realized they were missing the mark there - but this constant “rhaenyra doesn’t get her hands dirty” “rhaenyra is too perfect” is so fucjing obnoxious. they’re ✨building up to it✨ guys, it’s why they did the stuff with Aemond not meaning to kill Luke and then actively attempting to kill/harm Aegon, it’s why the Green Council goes from squabbling to actively suppressing Alicent’s voice, it’s why Rhaenyra's convos with Jacaerys have gotten increasingly more angry, on and on. Sorry you all wanted Rhaenyra to be a Born Evil Queen, but if they’re not doing that with Alicent, why would they do that with Rhaenyra? "Oh they only had Jacaerys call the dragonseeds mongrels because-" my comrade in christ they took Alicent making the decision to lock the smallfolk into the city and gave it to Aemond to make her look better and make Aemond look worse it's the exact same thing and they're doing it because they're trying to have a conversation about the cyclical rot of feudalism and the way these people are completely trapped by their own design in this cycle of violence!!!!

and YES very much, this gets into point b which is like....THIS is Mad Queen Rhaenyra, THIS is Rhaenyra the Cruel! It's Rhaenyra holding onto this prophecy that gives her the divine right to be violent, that represents her father choosing her over everyone else, that represents her own worthiness as a ruler, that every single fucked up thing she's suffered is worth it because the fabled hero will come from her line, because Jacaerys will follow her onto the throne and there will be unending peace, because Viserys chose HER he loved HER he only ever loved HER, and she HAS THE RIGHT but what does "have the right" even mean. "oh they always portray her as morally in the right" NO THEY DO NOT YOU ARE MAKING THAT UP. Rhaenyra thinks she's morally in the right and the show is constantly making her face the consequences of her own actions, and showing that (again, and I cannot overemphasize this enough, just like Alicent, just like Viserys, just like Aegon, and while they do it sloppily with them, just like Aemond and Daemon!) Rhaenyra will close her eyes to the glaring faults of the people around her and the violence she is helping to perpetuate because to her in the end, all of this suffering has to be worth it and she has this fancy little prophecy that is showing her it is worth it. That's so interesting! It's fascinating! "Well I think she-" Well that's just your opinion man! I'm having a fucking ball watching her step closer and closer to the edge and insisting that she's staying still, she's playing safe, it's everyone else that is taking the leap. That's fun, that's engaging, that's a good way of depicting that dichotomy of how greatness can so easily turn to madness.

[nostalgiclittlespace]

Request: Care giver! Lilith and little! Lucifer (Hazbin hotel)

Plot: Lucifer being in little space and Lilith taking care of her baby (he’d be 0-2 years old), just lots of fluff please 💕

Thanks so much for the ask, anon! Sorry for the short delay in getting this out, but I hope you enjoy! (Also it seems like all of my agere fics end with sleepy cuddles 😭 aka Self indulgence. Luci was also very neurodivergent coded. Again, self indulgence)

SFW AGE REGRESSION FIC, DNI IF KINK, NSFW, PROSHIP, OR SIMILAR. DO NOT REPOST.

Title: The Cutest King of Hell

Word Count: 1249

Pairing: CG! Lilith x Little! Lucifer

Description: Playtime and a picnic for Little Luci! (Fluff!)

The Cutest King of Hell

Lucifer.  A daring, intelligent, cunning creature.  The first to introduce evil and disobedience to the so perfect human kind.  He had once been an angel, hand-crafted by God, and cast away from his first home.  But now, he was a king, the most powerful being in Hell…

But he also happened to be the cutest.

Lilith huffed affectionately as Lucifer pushed his rubber ducks along the floor.  Laying on his stomach, pacifier between his lips, white and yellow onesie equipped–no one could argue that he wasn’t just the sweetest, most innocent being Hell had ever seen.

Especially not Lilith.

She too sat on the floor, pushing the rubber ducks back towards Lucifer, as if they were swimming back down the lake of his pale blue playmat.  There were many other creatures along for the adventure too of course.  Some frogs, fish, and even a couple plastic dinosaurs had made it into Lucifer’s imaginary world.

Lilith knew all about the fallen angel’s imagination and creativity of course.  Perhaps it was the thing she adored most about him.  He could create infinite stories, creatures, and worlds in that perfect mind of his.  Even when regressed as young as this, he managed to maintain a clear enough objective in his play.  If his babbling was anything to go by, the ducks were meeting the dinos and toads for a picnic on a faraway island.  Called Ducky Island of course.

“What’s the duck say, Luci?” Lilith quizzed with a smile as she pushed one towards him to join the other rubber figures at their meet-up.

“Qwak!” the baby exclaimed, pushing it along.  “Qwak, qwak, qwak!”

Though the mimicry was muffled by the silicone in his mouth, his confidence and pride in the answer was evident by his eyes crinkling into a smile.

“That’s right,” Lilith smiled as well.

The Queen of Hell reached for the toy bin, where they kept all of Lucifer’s play toys.  FIshing around, it only took a moment for her fingers to land on yet another duckling.

“Here’s James Pond.  Is he going to the party too?”

“Yeah!” Luci giggled.  “Swim, swim, swim.”

“Off he goes, swimming and swimming,” Lilith agreed, pushing the tuxedo-wearing rubber duck in a circle then towards Lucifer.

Lucifer took over, gliding the duck in smooth patterns across the playmat.  Lilith watched, enjoying the play’s serenity.  Hell, a place of violence and punishment, didn’t see moments as simple as this.  If she were to simply step onto her doorstep, blood, swears, and devastation would greet her.  Inside however, in the nursery she had designed to protect from the horrors, the R-rated nonsense wouldn’t exist.  Here, the most complicated thing was figuring out how to keep Lucifer entertained for more than ten minutes.

“Looks like that picnic needs some food, Luci,” Lilith remarked, pointing to the congregation at ‘Ducky Island.’  “What would they like to eat?”

“Apple,” Lucifer replied, lining up several frogs with the other guests.

“How about apples with peanut butter?” Lilith suggested.

“Yummy!  And cookies?”  

“Of course.  Would you like to help me get it?”

“Mhm!”

Lucifer smiled behind his pacifier, placing the very last duck at the picnic gathering.  Then, using his hands for balance, he pushed himself to his feet with the grace of a baby deer.    

Lilith stood along with him, borrowing the elegance of a great stag.  Lucifer immediately grabbed her hand.  Holding himself close to her, he lightly leaned into her side for balance.  Lilith took it in stride, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze as they ambled towards the kitchen.

  The plush carpet beneath their feet, the perfect crimson walls, and the occasional abandoned toy paved the way through the castle.  Lucifer’s babbling filled the royals’ desolate hallways.  An innocent, adorable sound, a stark contrast to the endless curses that would envelop anywhere else in Hell. 

Soon, Lucifer and Lilith arrived at the kitchen.  Like the nursery, it held all Lucifer’s essentials.  Baby bottles lined the countertops.  Several sippy cups and plastic plates had been abandoned in the sink to be washed.

“Let’s get your picnic and bring it back to Ducky Island,” Lilith said.

Even if he would inevitably make a mess of crumbs and peanut butter on his playmat, seeing the joy Hell’s little king derived from his picnics and play made the mess worth it.  

So, Lilith grabbed a couple apples from the pantry, along with a jar of peanut butter and a package of his favorite cookies.  Lucifer watched with big eyes and a smile beneath his pacifier.  He already extended his hands, silently requesting a sweet treat.

“Not until you finish your healthy food,” Lilith chastised lightly, tapping his nose playfully.  “Come on, let’s get your picnic ready.

Luckily, Lucifer wouldn’t have to wait long.  Within a minute, Lilith had sliced the apples and arranged them in the shape of a swan.  Luci’s eyes grew wide and lustered as he watched the snack take shape.  With a scoop of peanut butter plopped beside it, it was ready to be enjoyed. 

(The cookies, despite some pouting, remained in their box for now.)

Revitalized by the prospect of a delicious snack, Lucifer tugged on her hand, pulling her towards the nursery.  He was already babbling about how all his duckies would be thrilled to see the apple duck she had created.  Actually, it was a swan, but she didn’t bother correcting him; not only would it be pointless, his cuteness was too much to even remotely diminish.

As soon as they arrived at the playroom, Lucifer broke free from her hand holding; he rushed back to his toys on loose, uncoordinated steps.  He plopped down right in front of the ducks and dinosaurs, then popped his pacifier out of his mouth.  Mumbling incoherently, he patted his hand on the spot behind him–clearly demanding that snack time begins.

“Yes, I’m coming,” Lilith smiled, placing the dish on the mat beside him.  

Happily, Lucifer snatched an apple slice.  He took a bite before showing it to his toys.  He continued his baby-talk, and made dramatized munching sounds as his toys also digged into their lunch.  Lilith also may have stolen a couple sweet slices.

As predicted, peanut butter stickiness covered the mat.  Apple juice dripped off Luci’s chin.  Once the cookies were brought out, an ungodly amount of crumbs covered his onesie.  Nonetheless, the endearing giggles made the mess seem small enough.  As the snack slowly disappeared, Luci’s energy did the same. He yawned, scratching his eyes as his sluggish a hands and slurring babbles poked at his toys. Lilith, knowing naptime would soon follow, strode from her place on the floor over to the nightstand, where she wound his music box. By the time Lucifer had noticed she had temporarily left his side, the gentle notes already drifted through the nursery.

Lucifer stared up her, taking long and slow blinks as she scooped him off the floor. It seemed that playtime had sapped all his energy. Duckling picnics were very tiring work after all. As soon as his pacifier was replaced in his mouth, his head rested on her shoulder. The sound music box would last long enough to get the little king to sleep. But not without his lullaby added onto it. Soft lyrics danced with the ringing song.

“More than anything, more th anything, I’ll shelter and adore you more than anything. More than anything, more than anything, need you to know I love you more than anything.”

And every word was true.

[just-eyris-things]

Eyris's outfits masterpost

So at the beginning of May I started drawing Eyris in various outfits that she wore throughout her life. Adding a Read More because this will be a long post.

NOT SPOILER FREE

We start with casual clothes she wears for the first year before she grows her first plant set.

STARTER OUTFIT / CASUAL OUTFIT 1

I added the Hero word card, which I later on regretted - I should have added it on the second outfit (plant armor), but I will elaborate on that later. She can be seen wearing a similar outfit in her early teens in my comic.

In the first year of her life, she studies under Caithe, learns how to wield daggers and a bow and also acquires a fern hound, which she later on names Airost. The two are inseparable. They are almost like one being in two bodies.

FIRST PLANT ARMOR 1: HERO/NOBLE

Eyris wears this plant armor when she's still the Valiant. As mentioned earlier, she studies under Caithe and is preparing for her task of slaying Zhaitan next to the two Firstborn. Eyris completes the White Stag story line alongside Tiachren storyline. Her eye scar comes from Gavin. Thanks Gavin :) I still love you, even if you are the reason Eyris is scared to trust people and that's why she chooses to go with Tiachren instead of saving the village - she doesn't want to lose a friend to Nightmare again (babygirl Gavin was NOT your fault...)

She then attempts to help the Order of Whispers to retrieve Caladbolg, but she fails. Eyris slowly loses faith in herself after that failure. She uses it as an excuse to escape and become a Soundless - if she cannot retrieve a sword, then how can she possibly battle a dragon? Furthermore, that failure only quantifies her fear of death (reminder: she's seen in her Dream that a dragon consumes her and as a result she wakes up prematurely from shock and fear). So, she thinks that as a Soundless she will be safe.

She stays with the Soundless for a while until their village is raided by the Nightmare Court. Eyris is one of the very few that manages not to get caught. She does not wait for her fellow villagers to escape - she packs her bag and leaves to travel the road.

SHIVERPEAKS!

During her travels Eyris eventually reaches Shiverpeaks. She is not as "green" (pun not intended) as she used to be when she first began her journey, but she's still quite young, naive and inexperienced. She meets Ragnar Bjornskin, who adopts her and teaches her not only important survival skills, but also a bit about the world, especially about norn culture. Eyris sees Ragnar more as a parent figure than she sees the Pale Tree.

Unfortunately, Eyris and Ragnar get ambushed by the Sons of Svanir. Eyris gets her nose broken and Ragnar... Ragnar dies, which devastates her and eventually... leads her down the path of crime.

CASUAL OUTFIT 2

Eyris still travels, but her most common "hunting" ground for goods and money is Lion's Arch. She becomes quite infamous there at some point, but more as "the unknown person that we KNOW is responsible for all of THOSE crimes". Eyris, girlie, you're using the skills that Ragnar's taught you the wrong way... he would NOT be proud.

But it would make someone else proud, and by someone else I mean...

THE ORDER OF WHISPERS

Eyris is recruited by the Order of Whispers. She uses them as a kind of "reputation reset" card. She is good at her job, and after she gains trust of her coworkers, she begins plotting. She betrays the Order many times by selling classified information or using the Order's resources for side hustles, or other stuff. When she's caught, she knows she has to disappear - The Order chases after her in every possible way.

Around that time Eyris meets Freya - a vigil soldier with whom she has Beef TM. The Beef TM doesn't last long though.

Eyris then switches between Casual Outift 1 and 2 most of the time, when she's forced to join the Zhaitan war she wears a slightly more fortified Casual Outfit 2 (to protect herself from the undead bites and scratches, as well as to protect herself from weird Orrian weather). And then... we're back to plant fits.

PLANT ARMOR 2: IN THE JUNGLE

Eyris doesn't really show up during LWs1 and we see her come back in LWs2 right before the Summit. She is accused of bringing the Mordrem in, despite her actually coming to warn the attendees.

After that Commander Airell has to do a lot of work to get her in their ranks - they believe they could use her skills but they also want to minimise the risk of in-fighting within the Pact ranks.

Eyris also wears this outfit during HoT - Eyris plays a minor role in the expansion, in LWs2 she mostly chases after Caithe and the egg, and after she gets the egg in the expac she just stays in Tarir until LWs3. She doesn't participate in it much, she heads to Divinity's Reach for Head of the Snake, where she is supposed to attend a wedding as Freya's plus one in this lovely dress:

After the wedding, Eyris travels to Elona with Canach and we get...

THE DESERT OUTFIT 1

Eyris heads to Elona to find Vlast, she considers that task an extension of her Wyld Hunt that she clearly can't escape. She reunites with Kasmeer, Rytlock, Canach and the new commander, Nia Furaha at the time of Vlast's death. Eyris does not tag along with the group, but they meet again in Kesho. After that, Eyris and Nia face Balthazar. Nia escapes, Eyris...gets burnt to a crisp, which brings us to...

NECROMANCING EYRIS BACK TO THE LAND OF THE LIVING, COURTESY OF AIRELL!!!

When Airell rejoins the group in the desert and learns of Eyris's death, they go to the place of her demise to pay respects. Since Airell is now, unknowingly, the new Jungle Dragon, and they also absorbed Zhaitan magic....yeah, they accidentally bring her back by accidentally sprouting a blighting tree. Well, the tree doesn't get enough nutriens from the rock so when Eyris falls out of the pod...she's a bit unstable, and her body is covered in necrotic energy that keeps the body safe from harm and lets it finish regrowing. Since, yknow....there was nothing left.

Death still leaves a mark on Eyris - she now has a big scar around her waist, at the place where Balthazar has cut her in half. In the Necrotic Form, the wound glows ominously. The extra eyes were added as a simply stylistic choice to point at her connection to Airell (the connection replaced the Dream), just like this flame that's in the middle of her stomach. Hands are in a different colour just because I wanted to draw them like that, so probably not canon.

Anyway, eventually Eyris is done regrowing her body, especially her face, which leads us to

THE FALLEN HERO ARMOR

Eyris wears this post resurrection and during Joko arc. This is a simplified version of the haunted armor outfit, I was at Tyrian Pride so I'll admit that I got lazy with drawing the outfit perfectly and just simplified it.

The hole in the armor glows with Airell's magic (I might get rid of this part). For majority of time, Eyris wears a skull mask to hide her face which is..well, gone for majority of the story. She has a Grand Face Reveal during the final Joko Face-off. Yes, the differences between the eyes on the face close-up were drawn on purpose. Also new hairstyle, more accommodating the desert heat.

I'll update the post with the last 7 outfits when I'm done drawing them :) For now - enjoy some Eyris content.

[marvelmusing]

An Era of Power

Part Nine

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova x Fem!Reader

Summary: Armed with knowledge from the library, you’re ready to face Aleksander now that he’s returned. But when a young Grisha faces a frightening ordeal, you end up confronting Baghra instead.

Word Count: 1.8K

A/N: this has taken me ages to get right so I hope you guys enjoy this next part, I’ve missed writing this story.

My Masterlist • Series Masterlist

The sun is setting as you walk through the hallways of the Little Palace, sharp golden rays of light illuminating your path.

Even now, hours after Baghra's revelation, your mind is muffled by nervous thoughts and frayed emotions. There's a dull ache behind your eyes, no doubt caused by reading for far too long. But you couldn't stop.

Answers still allude you, but two things are certain. Baghra doesn’t deserve your trust, and as much as it hurts, neither does Aleksander. The books in the library hadn’t outright confirmed the word of either of them.

The Kirigan line had been documented perfectly, something that was a surprise given the Little Palace’s lack of an archivist. That alone made you suspicious. Perhaps there was some truth to Baghra’s accusations.

But just because Aleksander was older than he had told you, didn’t mean that anything else she had said was true. After all, you hadn’t told him how old you really were. It doesn’t mean he’s planning to use you, or the Fold.

Your thoughts continue to tear you apart as you open the door to your bedchamber, but you still notice the envelope that had been slid under the door by someone.

There’s quite some weight to the parchment, and Aleksander’s handwriting is recognisable immediately. You read over the words carefully. He briefly explains that he’s been called away to deal with an issue in Chernast.

Before you can help it, you’re thinking about the stag. Baghra’s words echo in your mind: it’s likely he will search for it himself and simply return with your new collar. Something painful twists in your chest at the thought, and anxiety fills you. What if there is no emergency in Chernast? What if he’s on his way to kill the stag?

Tilting the envelope in your hands, you tip it to one side and a silver necklace slips out onto your waiting palm. A thin chain, with a circlet of silver - the sun in eclipse. His symbol.

The ache in your heart softens, and you clasp the piece around your neck. The metal is cool against your skin, and you ignore the shiver that runs down your spine and the twisted thoughts that goad you. A placeholder collar.

You fall into an unsettled sleep that night.

»»---------------------►

A week later, Aleksander returns.

You cross paths with him in the entrance hallway to the Little Palace. He has snowflakes in his hair, bright white against the darkness of his raven locks. The snow on his kefta melts quickly, dampening the fabric as he looks over you.

“General Kirigan,” you say in quiet greeting, and he inclines his head, saying your name with a softness that has the entire week worth of anxiety and overthinking fading away.

Everything will be okay.

Your lips are parted, the question already on your tongue, asking him for a moment alone to talk through everything you have learnt since the last time you saw one another. To demand the truth from his own lips.

Then an Inferni - Polina - comes rushing into the hallway, gasping for breath with a frantic expression on her face. She nearly slips on the floor as the wetness on her boots meets polished marble.

Aleksander halts her, encouraging her to share what’s wrong. Both yours and Aleksander’s expression drops as she explains that a young tidemaker had fallen into the ice of the lake during a lesson with Baghra.

She’s barely finished explaining before Aleksander orders her to fetch a healer. His voice fades into the distance as you rush out through the hallway, gravel crunching under your feet as you run towards the lake.

The snowfall is light, allowing you to make your way to the lake without too much difficulty. There’s a few Grisha at the edge of the lake. They share panicked looks and anxious words as they try to figure out how to reach the boy.

The child in question is almost in the middle of the lake, his arms clinging to the ice as half of his body is already submerged in the freezing water.

Panic clouds your mind for a moment, but the sound of Aleksander’s voice pulls you out of it as he asks whether a tidemaker had been alerted of the situation. Had he run after you? Turning, you see him beginning to remove his kefta. Grasping at his sleeve, you stop him.

“I can keep the ice from cracking. I’m the only one who can reach him safely.”

Aleksander holds your gaze for several seconds, studying every emotion swimming in your eyes. The fear and the panic. You’re certain that he remembers the nightmare you had shared with him. He knows you’re thinking about your childhood friend, the boy you couldn’t save from drowning under the ice. But you’re stronger now.

You won’t let any more Grisha children die.

Aleksander nods, settling his palm over your fingers. His touch provides a surge of confidence as his power brushes against yours.

Then you’re turning away, focusing your power on the ice in front of you as Aleksander issues orders to the Grisha standing on the bank. There’s a powerful heartrender attempting to keep the boy’s body temperature up, but he’s too far away and she won’t be able to reach him for much longer.

Drawing your power into your hands, you keep your palm steady as it faces the ground you stand on.

Then you take a step onto the ice. There’s a sickening crack as the ice begins to break, but you don’t allow it to shatter. It remains frozen in time by your power and a shaky breath of relief falls from your lips.

Despite the pounding in your heart and the anxiety urging you to hurry, you step evenly over the ice. With every snap and groan of the ice you push down your fear.

Once you’re close enough you begin to speed up the freezing process of the ice beneath your feet, creating a solid floor for once you pull him out. Now you’re close enough to see the boy properly.

“What’s your name?”

There’s tears glistening in his eyes, but he swallows quickly and answers you,

“Georgi.”

As you settle down onto your knees carefully, you tell him your name.

“The ice around you is quite thin, it won’t stay frozen for long without me holding it. To pull you out, I have to use both of my hands.” Georgi nods in understanding. Very few Grisha can use their power without their hands. “When I grab onto you, I need you to wrap your arms around my neck really tight, okay?”

“You’re going to get me out?”

The fright in his voice tugs at your heart, and for a moment you imagine the ice breaking, plunging you both into the water. You nod.

“It’s going to be alright, Georgi.”

You solidify the ice surrounding him as much as you can, but with Georgi moving constantly to stay above the water, the ice doesn’t remain frozen for long.

“Ready?”

He nods.

“On three.”

You’re mostly speaking to yourself, preparing your power to hold onto the ice for as long as it can.

“One, two, three.”

As you finish your countdown, you grasp hold of Georgi and pull with all your might. His clothes are heavy with water, but he clings onto you tightly. You hear the ice snapping under your knees as the cold water soaks through the arms of your kefta as you fight to pull him free.

Once he’s clear from the water, you pull his body against yours and throw the two of you onto the ice you had thickened. Georgi is shaking as he grips onto you.

With one hand, you summon your power, keeping the ice completely still, frozen at a thickness akin to mid-winter. Relief fills you, but you can hardly process it as your heat beat echoes in your ears. The snowfall is heavier now as it lands in large clumps that cling to your frozen kefta.  

Slowly, you manage to carry Georgi back to towards solid ground.

Once you finally reach the edge of the lake, your legs give way. As you stumble forwards, a handful of Grisha take Georgi. Someone wraps a kefta around him and a healer steps in to examine him before they begin walking him back towards the Little Palace.

When you sink to your knees, exhausted, Aleksander is by your side. He wraps his kefta around your shivering body, and despite the chill of the frozen air some of his warmth spreads over your skin.

His fingers curl around your wrist, his thumb smoothing over your pulse point as it continues to pound violently. The soothing feeling of his amplification has your eyes growing heavy as your forehead presses against the warmth of his neck.

Struggling to keep yourself from falling into him, you force your eyes open. Then your gaze falls on Baghra. Displeasure twists at her features as she observes you and Aleksander, and anger thrums through your body.

“You’re still here I see.”

A startled scoff leaves your lips.

“Did you think telling me running was useless would make me try it just to spite you?”

Aleksander looks between you and his mother, confusion barely visible in his eyes as you stand to face her. A demeaning smile twitches at the corner of her mouth before she nods towards Aleksander.

“He will find out what you are soon enough.”

At that, you go still. Aleksander has always told you how incredible you power is. That it is a gift. Baghra has done nothing but shame you for being different – deep down you’ve always feared that she’s right.

There is a darkness in your soul. An anger you have never forgotten, made dangerous by the magic ripped from the making at the heart of the world and forced into you. The merzost is still there inside you, all it would take is one tug.

Now, with your adrenaline running high, it begs you to answer its call, to release it all. The pain, the fear, the anger. Centuries worth of it.

He will see what you are. An abomination.

Darkling’s have been a source of fear and suspicion among the otkazat’sya for centuries. Perhaps it’s time you give them something new to fear. But you cannot do that if you spend your time cowering from an old woman, even if she has the same power as the man beside you.

She must see the shift in your expression as you step closer.

“He has his Grandfather’s eyes,” you say in a low voice. When her brows draw together you tilt your head towards him in clarification. “Aleksander.”

The corner of your mouth twitches with a smirk as you catch a glimmer of uncertainty in her eyes, you can practically see the questions flying through her mind as she processes your words. Understanding dawns on her, that you had met her father – Ilya Morozova.

Taking another step closer, you raise your chin as you hold her gaze.

“You have no idea what I am.”

The smirk lingers on your lips as she stands in stunned silence, and you step back slowly.

“Think about that, the next time you underestimate me.”

With that, you turn and walk back to the Little Palace.

»»---------------------►

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[m4r5h4ll]

religious hannigram where Hannibal is a deity and will is a devout worshipper. kinda follows along the lines of that little story where the true love of a statue touched it and it comes to life, yeah. that, but hannigram and religious ties as will as a devout worshipper on his knees kissing the knuckles of the statue of his god before him, the god of the hunt and feasting(like the white stag hircine from skyrim), for the first time. only for the stone hand to turn soft and caress his face, running His thumb over the dark but soft facial hair and features of his most loyal follower.

the one who called His name during pleasure and panic. the man who called His name with his spine arched and pleasure rocking his body. as well as the very same man who cried and begged His name after he spilled the first blood he ever had poured onto the marble, killing a fellow worshipper, leaving the man’s daughter, abigail, to try and find Hannibal’s light herself.

Hannibal’s hand caressed his will’s face. Hannibal had chosen this man, as to why he calls out his name during his most vulnerable. Placing the seed to sprout in will’s mind that Hannibal is all he needs. That single hand is soon joined by another on the opposite side of his face.

could will’s eyes deceive him? was this his god before him? living and touching him? did he deserve this treatment from Him? Was he worthy? Apparently enough for his god to run His thumbs over his cheeks and jawline, His hands slipping behind his ears and grasping a fistful of will’s unkempt and shaggy hair, yanking it back to force him to look up at Him.

the way will would grunt softly as Hannibal pulled his hair to force him to look up. He leans in and licks a stripe across will’s face. no words were needed. will was all He wanted and more. he was the most exquisite flavour to ever touch Hannibal’s palette in centuries. He wanted him all to Himself. His hands let go and rub the base of his skull before trailing His hands back to their previous placement. Hannibal’s hands would leave will’s face only to return to the same position as they were before, set in stone.

to others, will was deep in prayer.

to will, his god had chosen him, marked him as His. will felt the blanket of comfort he sought for years finally rest over his shoulders and protect him from any other outside forced that wanted to oppose His mortal.

[gojuo]

https://www.tumblr.com/gojuo/718200545869021184?source=share

I know that it's too early to tell but it's way obvious they will portray Rhaenyra as this misunderstood figure by misogynistic historians

It's not too early to tell because they've already done it.

The manipulative show!canon-only storyline of Aegon's prophecy about the White Walkers, marking Rhaenyra as basically "The Chosen One" or "The Rightful Heir" or "The One Whose Actions — No Matter How Evil Or Awful — Will Always Be In Service To The Greater Good". This was added into the show to whitewash Rhaenyra's original book characterization where her quest for the Iron Throne was nothing more than a way for her to satisfy her fancies and caprices. She cared not a single whit for duty nor responsibility, and she always put her personal pleasure and desire ahead of the realm and its laws.

The White Stag scene also serves this change to her character and push the "Chosen One" trope. That stag was nowhere in the book.

The manipulative way the show refused to stand still on the question of her heirs' bastardy and explain why what she did was so severely damning. They introduced the Strong boys with the last bastard, not the first one. I call this manipulative because this plotline is integral to her character and the story overall but the first introduction to it is when in-universe the shock and dismay over it is no longer fresh. The court's reaction to the first female heir's heir being a child that looks like neither parent but suspiciously like Rhaenyra's favorite knight has been blown over by the show. They did this to soften Rhaenyra's original book characterization in which this passing off bastards as trueborn (which is, according to Archmaester Gyldayn, high treason) was the extent of Rhaenyra's belief of her own supreme power that (she thought) allowed her to claim unprecedented privilege by getting her boys acknowledged as trueborn heirs based on her own say so. It was also to show her willingness to flout the law and jeopardize the integrity of the line of succession for the sake of her own pleasure. The show refused to characterize her in this way by completely glossing over this scandal at court by introducing this plotline at its tail end. They glossed over the fact that this decision of hers to have obvious bastards not once, not twice, but three times was a future succession war waiting to happen, Dance or no Dance.

The Vaemond one as well. It was so egregious...

The Driftmark succession question is being privately discussed on Driftmark itself. Vaemond urges Corlys to name him heir since the three nominal Velaryon princes are not Velaryons at all. Rhaenyra catches wind of this and flies to Driftmark specifically along with Daemon to behead him and then feed his desecrated body to Syrax as a show of what will happen to people who repeat the "Strong" rumors > Changed to Vaemond making a public petition in King's Landing where he calls Rhaenyra a whore (never happened in F&B) and Daemon beheads him with no order from Rhaenyra (no, a random shot where she vaguely looks at him does not count) and no body feeding to Syrax either.

The new rumors of her sending food to King's Landing is also one. Rhaenyra blocked the Gullet and Blackwater Bay with the Velaryon fleet to block any ships from going to and leaving from King's Landing. This led to a food shortage in the city. She starved the people. Nowhere in the book has there ever been a mention of her helping the smallfolk out with this issue because, well, frankly, she can't. The Greens rule the city. No provisions she's sending are gonna be able to get through the walls. This random ass scene is being added to the show to whitewash her of that starvation issue in the future, where in F&B, she redirects resources away from the populace she had already starved through the blockade and to a "lavish" party for her last bastard son, during a time of winter, war and hunger, for sure.

There's more obviously but let me keep it this answer short. I've talked about the hard rewrite of her character many times before.

[jacks-dark-oc-stuff]

MINORS DNI

I'm Jack (he/they) +18,

Just some whump, smut, and overall dead dove content.

P.S. If you ever get the itch to write or draw these guys in a situation, feel free to do it. Just tag me so I can consume it.

P.S.S. If you think of a scenario you want to see my guys in, feel free to send it to my askbox, and I'll write or draw it!

Rules

Feel free to chat with me

Dubcon and noncon is fine

I'm fine with most hard kinks

No scat, but piss is fine for the most part

No under age or bestiality stuff

Main OCs

Nori (berserk)

Rowan (berserk/argenti)

Adonis (berserk/argenti)

Arlo (beserk/argenti)

Celie (white stag)

Beltran (white stag)

Nori Stuff

Timelines

Leashed Au

Main Info

White Stag Stuff

Main Info

Argenti Stuff

Canon Lore

Broken God Au

Lost King Au

Dementia of the Soul Au

Original Story Character Info

White Rose Au

Ages

Shattered Mind Au

Caged Stuff

Aurelius Info

[forgottencillian]

The Ancient Arms of Ormond

in which i headcanon spam at you once again -- lmk what you think!!

Fox: defensive wisdom, ingenuity, wit; intelligence, refusal to be captured

White hart: the continual pursuit of life/good, purity of desire, worthy rule, peace and harmony, one who will not fight unless provoked, the wonder of magic, the mystery of forests, (with antlers:) strength and fortitude

Stag who bears the sun: life, rebirth, resurrection, hope in life after death; leader; tree of life; visionary; hunt for the sun; power; the irresistable tempt to chase, compellingly attractive; sunset and dawn; lightbringer/lightbearer; sacrifice and transcendence

Crescent/moon: one who has been honored by the sovereign; hope of greater glory; service in holy war; mark of the second son; serene power over mundane actions; serenity

Sun in splendour: glory and splendour, fountain of life

Azure (blue): truth and loyalty

Vert (green): hope, joy, loyalty in love

Tawny or Tenné (orange/brown): worthy ambition

Argent (silver/white): peace and sincerity

Or (gold/yellow): generoristy, elevation of mind

A brief history of the House of Ormond

the last two members of the house of ormond, an ancient and honored house of astaira, perished upon the fields of malconaire

these two were uncle and nephew who, themselves, had a rather tumultuous relationship. the nephew -- who also happened to have been named cillian -- was the son of the late lord eoghan ormond who had died -- apparently choking to death at a feast -- when he was a child of all but five, making eoghan's younger brother, ruairi, the de facto lord until such time as cillian came of age

rumor spread that eoghan's death had not been honest but had, in fact, been a poisoning perpetrated by the ambitious and fearsome eoghan, but how true any of this is cannot with any certainty be said, yet the rumors have persisted and some -- perhaps influenced by a popular astairan legend, or else by the horrid truth -- continued to claim that, even as ruairi brought up his nephew, he continued to plot his downfall

whatever the case, both men are said to have lost their lives at the battle of malconaire -- though a rumor persists that cillian ormond did, in fact, survive the battle, and there are those who even claim to have seen him at such high-profile events as the recent ball in celebration of princess guinevere's feast day, while others claim he was not there at all

indeed, in the last two years, many rather wild tales have surfaced all of which seem to center around the mysterious cillian ormond and his rather tumultuous life, but as many of these actually contradict, it is difficult to parse fact from fiction -- or if he is, indeed, even alive at all

whatever the case of this may be, the ormonds claim a long and storied history

like many ancient clans, house ormond can trace its roots back to multiple noble families which have since evanesced in all but the form of the ormonds whose last vestige are, themselves, in fact a cadet house of the original ormond family, tracing their line back to a second son of the original ormond branch, all of which accounts for the present house's many charges

it is said that, in ancient times, the original ormond was a young hunter living in a part of astaira the gods had, in their wrath, blighted with endless snow. crops would not grow, and the animals they might have hunted, perished. caught in the depths of winter without anything to eat, the people of his village were dying. around midnight one evening, it is told, ormond -- for this was his name -- was awakened by a blazing light. when he looked up, he found that the sun, itself, hung within the antlers of a white hart, beckoned him forward. all night, ormond followed the white hart, but as dawn came on, the creature darted forward away from him, taking the sun with it. as ormond raced forward, he watched the white hart die and the sun rise back into the sky. hungry as he was, ormond could not bear to desecrate the magnificent beast and, instead, buried it with dignity and respect. yet, when he dried his eyes, ormond looked around himself and realized that he had come to a place all of lush green. returning to his village, he led the starving people to the green place and, thus, they survived, and ormond was hailed as their leader, taking the creature who had led him for his badge.

many centuries later, kieran ormond, his father's second son, wed tiarna firceall (herself also a second child, her family having all tragically died of the pox the summer previous), the last firceall, whose badge was the too-clever fox, and whose house was a knighted vassal house to the lords of malconaire. together, the lovers merged their lands, powers, and crests, ruling jointly over land partially belonging to the lords ormond and the lords malconaire

about two hundred years later, the last daughter of the main ormond branch died, unwed, leaving all her titles and powers and possessions to her distant cousins, themselves descended from kieran and tiarna

as a result, the ormonds were in the strange position of being at once equal to the lords of malconaire as well as their vassal lords

because of this, they were undeniably lord malconaire's most powerful bannermen, but there was a great deal of uncertainty as to whether or not they would answer the late lord malconaire's call to banners when he went to fight the varmonts at the battle of malconaire (particularly given the tension between ruairi and cillian), but both lordly claimants to the title of lord of ormond joined forces and rode to their deaths to help save their country (ride of the rohirrim style) and, though the day was lost, whatever the character of the late ruairi ormond may have been, he is and his nephew alike are both viewed with honor by most loyal astairans as, whatever their differences, in the end they put them aise to do what they believed was right

----

hex codes: blue (000033), green (004B57), orange (A35123)

[mumms-the-word]

Could I see 2 and 3 of your wedding prompt? Of either or both of the general or specific moments.💕❤️🎉💐

I don't have the time to write out full scenes this week alas but I can give you some headcanons/glimpses!

2 & 3 from the details list:

Proposal

Gale proposed to Dani, obviously! I've dabbled with the idea that maybe they had a different proposal than the one shown in the game, but I find that it works really well for them. I like the idea of them waking up the next morning after saving the city, and he says those lines, "I understand your purpose lies here, but I fear if I return to Waterdeep alone, my heart would remain here with you. And so, if you're at all amenable to the idea, I thought I could, perhaps, stay. There might even be room for two Dekarioses in Baldur's Gate?"

I love that it's a little informal, that he doesn't have a ring to give her, that all he's asking is that maybe there could be the two of them, two Dekarioses, a new clan of Dekarioses there in Baldur's Gate. Dani doesn't need all the bells and whistles, she just wants family all around her. So a sweet, informal proposal in the middle of an Elfsong Tavern room, well, it suits her just fine.

Bachelor/Bachelorette parties?

Dani absolutely has a hen do/bachelorette because her foster sister, Liara, positively insists. But it's less of a hen do and more like a party for Dani, her mom, and her Merry Rovers to celebrate together before she officially gets married, so it's not girls-only or anything. Shadowheart, Lae'zel, Astarion, and even Jahiera join for parts of it, and Dani desperately wishes Karlach and Wyll could be there, but otherwise it's a fun night of drinking, games, stories, and music for Dani and her bard family.

Gale gets a somewhat less chaotic stag do, which he probably prefers. If Wyll were around, Gale would have had a much wilder time (you know Wyll would be dragging Gale out for a traditional pub crawl like any former bachelor's best friend would do), but since he's not he simply goes out for some drinks, planning on a relatively quiet night...until Shadowheart and Astarion find him and drag him over to join the Merry Rovers and Dani, officially turning their separate stag/hen dos into a mutual "celebrating our last days that we're not married" kind of event. Fun for all!

~*~*~*~*~*~

2 & 3 from the specific moments list:

Getting Ready

Gale gets ready with the help of Morena, Tara, and running commentary from Astarion (who does deign to fix an errant thread on his coat but is otherwise just there sit, chat, and judge). It's relatively uneventful, aside from some teary-eyed moments from Morena and some gentle nagging from Tara about how he should have shaved his beard for his special day. Dani sends over a white embroidered sash for him to wear around his waist, an important addition to his outfit that comes back into play later in the ceremony/reception.

Dani gets ready with her mother, her best friend/adopted sister Liara, and Shadowheart. She really wishes Karlach could have been there, but Karlach is in Avernus. Lae'zel is traveling in from somewhere on the Sword Coast, so she arrives later. There's a special moment as Dani is getting ready where Liara brings in the other Merry Rovers, who each give Dani a sash for her to wear with her dress (a bardic custom I came up with for them). Gale also sends over a little gift, one gold hoop earring for her to wear (he's wearing the other one, replacing the Mystra earring). The little box with the earring also contains a sweet poem and a little note saying he can't wait to see her.

The First Look

I really ought to write this scene because it's exactly the kind of romantic fluff that I'm a sucker for. Maybe I'll do it later!

But for now, Gale and Dani have their first look at each other before their ceremony. They get married in a park so it's a little hard to avoid each other entirely while going from some park-side building to the actual place where everything is set up. So Morena and Maeva (Dani's mother) arrange for them to see each other privately in a little corner of the gardens, just before everyone sets off to go start the ceremony.

Gale tears up immediately, of course, and Dani teases him about it, even though she's also getting a little emotional. She helps keep him smiling by talking about how hot he looks in his wedding outfit and how she can't wait until she gets to take all of it off tonight, you know, the usual flirting. And then after a second, after they're both dry-eyed and calm, she looks up at him and asks, "There's still time to change your mind, you know."

His response is a loving smile and a gentle touch on her cheek. "I'm not going to change my mind. Even if I could go back in time and make entirely new decisions, I'd do everything exactly the same so that I can be here, getting to marry you."

(He'd say it more elegantly than that but you get it)

And Dani would smile, at first touched and emotional by his words, and then her smile would turn teasing again. "Sure, but there's still time to cut our losses and elope, too. We could grab Withers and run."

He just laughs and says, "Not a chance. My mother would kill me."

[kimberly-earthfriend]

Here’s a quick look at my wizard throughout her entire story in the spiral. More in depth under the cut <3

Edit: oopsie, added an arc 4 outfit. My pen just ran away with me ✨

So this is Kimberly before she got sent off to Ravenwood, when she was still running about Dun Dara and the Weirwood without a care in the world. The outfit isn’t based on any specific gear, but takes inspiration from the designs of the foxes all over Avalon. The boots are the Spellwright’s Druidic Boots and will be consistent throughout every design except the paradox, since I headcanon them to be shaped around her hooves, and therefore the most comfortable option with every outfit.

Upon arrival in Ravenwood, Kim was fitted with traditional wizard city robes. Here you can see her wearing the Fairy Cloak in dark green and gold, and the Daredevil’s hat in the same colours. Her wand is Gravewynd’s Earth Staff, one of my favourite early game wand models.

In Kimberly’s fifth year at Ravenwood, she was selected to compete in the spiral cup. Here, you can see her wearing the Vestment of Earth, to represent her school while she duels in Wysteria, and carrying the Wand of the Oasis (the life school’s wand for a spiral cup competitor). She did, however, refuse to wear the hood from the Wysteria uniform, and instead opted for the Widow’s bewitching hat in dark green and gold. She finds it easier to fit a beanie around her antlers than a hood.

After her success in the spiral cup, Kimberly was chosen in her seventh and final year at Ravenwood to represent wizard city in the immortal games. Here you can see her wearing the Vestment of Zeus’ Aegis, adopting the traditional dress of Aquila out of respect for the tournament. Her helmet is the Pixie’s Mask of Encanta, which might seem a bit strange. In my personal wizard101 canon, competitors in the immortal games are challenged to acquire or (ideally) make a helmet which best represents them to wear while they compete. Kimberly was raised by the Fae and has a strong connection to life and trees, so this helmet was perfect for her. The wand is the Aquilan Velite Lance, which was gifted to her as a congratulatory gesture for winning the tournament.

One thing Kimberly enjoyed about the magical tournaments far more than just competing in them was teaching and coaching other students. With that in mind, she moved to Wysteria after she graduated from Ravenwood and began to teach the young wizards from every world how to duel. Here, she’s not wearing any sort of helmet or hood, since she finds it more helpful for the students if they can see her face. The hairstyle is “The Mists Dun Dara” as a tribute to her homelands. The robe is the Greenwarden’s energetic shroud. The wand is the rosewood persuader. All Avalon-sourced gear to make her feel more comfortable and at home.

This outfit is from around the time Kimberly was first recruited to aid the young wizard on their quest, so around the beginning of dragonspyre in arc 1. Like the previous outfit, the gear is all from Avalon. She wears the Spellwright’s Druidic Cowl and the Stag Lord’s Cape in green and gold. The wand is the sword of kings, although prior to acquiring it during the Avalon quest line, she was still using the Aquilan Velite Lance.

This outfit hails from the beginning of arc 3, when the schism first start to become a problem. She stole a schismist robe of the first and wears it around the arcanum to freak out the scholars. The helmet is the Burrower Helm of Ardor. The wand is Zander’s focussed staff. As the child of light and shadow, black and white streaks have begun to grow into her hair.

Ah yes, the scion of Bartleby. Here, Kimberly is wearing the Lively Liaison’s cloak, as per her promotion from Arcanum Initiate to Liaison. Much like when she competed in the spiral cup all those years ago, she refuses to wear the ridiculous hat issued by the arcanum and instead opts for the lofty alphoi mantle. Her wand is the Branch of the World Tree. I know it’s a bit odd to give her a level 45 wand at this point, but I thought it made sense since she is the Scion of the World Tree in question. With the advancement of her powers, the streaks in her hair have grown more noticeable. All this time channeling both light and shadow magic is bringing her closer to becoming the Paradox.

I think this one is pretty self explanatory. It’s the Paradox gear from the end of Empyrea, except I coloured it green instead of blue to represent Kimberly’s life magic. Her hair has completely grown out into the colours of the void. At the moment I don’t have a solid design for her in arc 4, but maybe I’ll work on that next.

[shebeafancyflapjack]

Defiled

(Just me torturing my oc Silver some more to vent some feelings. Tw: this story has some clear SA allegories. Nothing explicit but yes it's intentional. Warning for homophobic and sexist slurs).

Boys will be boys.

Kids will be kids.

It doesn't matter if they're in their twenties. It doesn't matter if they are old enough to drive, to drink, own property or even have kids of their own. Some men will always be boys, the world little more than a playground for their amusement, rules there to be broken.

The five of them are on a stag weekend. Johnny boy is getting hitched to the barmaid in town, who he also happened to knock up a year ago. Tied down already but might as well make it official for tax benefits. His last few days of freedom, him and his pals are doing an epic crawl across Surrey, grabbing any taxi they can and crashing the nearest pub to drink themselves stupid, annoy the country bumpkin locals, and then move on.

No taxi rank at the last place, so they're taking the journey on foot, hiking across woods and fields in the dead of night. Simon and Chris are using their phones as torches to light the way, though everyone is stumbling and falling arse over head every seven steps.

"SWEET CAROLINE! WOAH WOAH WOAH!" They croon, ducking their heads to not bump into the branches of the trees. "GOOD TIMES NEVER SEEMED SO GOOD! SO GOOD! SO GOOD!"

"Oi, ain't we near that fancy golf hotel? I 'ear they got a members bar, bet they do shots!" Kyle pipes.

"It's half ten, ya numpty, they ain't gonna be open are they!" Chris slapped him on the back of the head.

"Posh arse place like that won't let the likes of you chavs in anyhow."

"Ey, who you calling a chav? I earn more than you, ya prick!"

"All about style, not money, bruv, and that's where some of us got class and some ain't!" Simon swaggered, while the others made mocking hoots as he tilted the stripper's police cap on his head.

They decided to cut across the golf course to reach the main road, very little in the way of fencing. A few decided to relieve themselves on some of the holes and bunkers, writing messages in the sand for the greenkeepers.

"Clean me." "Thanks mate!" "Hole in 1!"

Along with some dick images of course.

"Sure you don't wanna try breaking into that members bar? Ain't a good stag do unless the groom to be ends up in jail."

"Sod that. Let's just get on the coke already. Ey, look, some benches near them trees." Pointed Kyle.

"You wanna do lines off a bench, you scummer?"

"Think we're gonna come across another surface soon? You got us kicked out the last place by grabbing that waitress. She weren't even fit! Who ate all the pies, ey?"

Laughter from their group sent the squirrels running into the trees and the deer to their dens. But the boys had enough sense to keep the volume down enough not to be picked up by the hotel, all the way across the course.

Only a few lights were on in the building, mostly upstairs for the residents watching TV.

An hour later, the bench is covered with white powder as if it had been snowing in July. The boys are daring each other to climb trees and pose for stupid pictures, Simon trying to chase a poor deer to make Johnny try to snog it.

"Ey lads! Check this out!" Kyle called them over, rubbing his nostrils.

"What the fuck is that?"

They gathered around the weird ass shrine. Lots of flowers and little statues set up as if around an invisible coffin.

"This a grave? In the middle of the woods? Who does that?"

"Maybe it's for someone's dog."

"Nah, look here." Simon pointed to a sketch on the tree, above a plaque; "Some bird who croaked here. Silver Ravenstar. What kind of fucking name is that?!"

"Check out all the symbols. Must have been some hippy, tree hugging witch bitch."

They'd all attended good, Christian schools, not that it would be easy to see, or that any of them seemed to give a shit until tonight.

"Says in brackets 'Louise Smith'. Died about twenty years ago."

Kyle whipped out his phone; "Give us a sec." Quick Google search, though he misspelled a little in his coked state; "....Fuck. Only one newspaper from years back about a girl who was found here dead. No suspicious reason. Suspected....Ha! Suspected drug usage but most likely natural causes. Bitch was some crazy little junkie."

"Fuck that! My old man gets his leg blown off in Afghanistan - he kills himself two weeks later and gets fuck all 'cause we can't afford a decent funeral for him. But this devil worshipping cunt who no-one heard of gets this set up?!" Johnny spat against the picture.

The boys shared similar looks. Anything that made Johnny boy think of his dad was a touchy issue.

"She was probably the daughter of the hotel owner. Or some rich golfing twat who comes here." Despite not being anything close to poor, the lads were middle-working class enough to hate on both those above and below in wealth.

Simon laughed and lay atop the flowers, on his belly.

"You reckon she's buried here? She probably died a virgin! Reckon I can pop her cherry in the afterlife?!" He unzipped his flies, as if ready to begin humping the ground.

Johnny kicked his sides; "Nah, look at that sket. Bet she had already been with all sorts before she snuffed it. I met some freaky Pagans in college, d'you know they do all their spells naked? Sometimes even have orgies? It's manic!"

Chris grabbed at the little bisexual pride flag hung up; "Of course she was a fucking dyke as well!"

He laughed as he crumpled it up and threw it to the dirt.

"Let's make this little memorial more fitting, shall we lads?"

Simon tossed Johnny a can of spray paint. He shook it up, the contents light as they'd used most of it on the bus stops in the village.

Kyle picked up a rock and scratched the name from the engraving. Simon then sprayed over the tree with the more appropriate name.

No hammers or knives. But they found what they needed in the Earth around them, ironically.

False idols were to be broken, Johnny remembered from Sunday school, though Chris made a show of snogging and pretending to thrust into the statue of some goddess welding a bow, the crescent moon as her crown.

A few more lines snorted on the log chair set up close by. More words carved into the trees.

And then Johnny boy struck the match.

"BURN THE WITCH! BURN THE WITCH!"

"Fuck yeah, burn in hell, you little slut, you fucking nobody!" Johnny dropped it upon the mound of flowers.

The alcohol from the cans of beer they'd been swigging as they danced and trampled over the site made the flames spread rapidly. Within three seconds, every bit of colour, every petal and stem, had been devoured. The boys stepped back as the smoke rose into a thick pillar escaping through the tree tops.

"Shit! Put that out! Before someone sees, then we're really gonna be in it!" Simon hissed.

The boys stomped their boots on the ground until every flame was snuffed.

"Get them fucking embers, man!"

All any of them had in the way of non-alcoholic liquid was a half-full can of Monster Monarch, which Kyle tossed on the last few glowing specks.

"That all of them?"

"Think so. Quick, let's get the fuck out of here."

"Where to next? Wanna piss on Stonehenge?" Chris asked, to which all the lads laughed, their arms around each others shoulders as they stumbled into the night.

Many people had barbecues this time of year. Burning was such a common smell that Robin paid little attention to it. His nostrils flare as he enters the woods, noticing it's getting closer. But there's no sign of any flames that would be easy to spot on a night like this.

And yet, there is smoke....

"Sorry me late!" He called out, sure she had to be awake by now. The sun had set nearly an hour ago. "Got too into Stompy's horror movie 'bout creepy clown....Moonah girl?"

Had she already gone off to the hotel? Wait. He sniffed, smelling her close. No trail. He was in the right direction.

And then, a tiny sound. A snuffle. A cry.

"Moonah girl?!"

He rushed forward. Then he saw.

"Oh...No...."

The mound of blue flowers surrounded by Alison's added lilies and roses was now a large patch of grey ash and black, shriveled stems. Fragments of smashed white resin and porcelain and glass littered the site. Sketches and flags had been shredded and now became caught by the night breeze. Across the tree barks surrounding the bed, sprayed in red, were the words...

Whore. Slut. Dyke.

Burn The Witch. Burn in Hell. Burn. Burn. Burn.

And there, laying upon the ash, was the witch herself. Sobbing, curled into a fetal position around the smashed framed sketch of...

Robin's fists curled at his sides, knuckles turning white. His jaw clenched.

How. Dare. They.

Silver continued to weep, her body racked with aching sobs, one hand next to Alison's drawing of Mary.

"....Who?" Was all Robin asked.

Static fizzled between his fingertips.

"Who?! Who did it?!"

She didn't answer. She didn't care. Not really. They were most likely gone now. They were nobody. Just as she'd been nobody to them. And yet the mere idea of her enough had encouraged such cruelty. Such perverse abuse upon a girl already long dead.

Her gods. Her bed. Her...Her Mary. Destroyed.

The caveman gingerly reached his paw to touch her arm. Only then did she finally scream.

[thewingedgoat]

Alcea Rosea

P0laroid fanfic chapter 2

Leshy sleeps in long. After a night spent hunting who could blame him? Especially since he lost track of time too easily, he goes out, he finds his prey, and he drags it out. Yes, Leshy loves the hunt, he makes sure it lasts as long as possible until he inevitably kills his prey. He doesn’t enjoy his kill’s suffering of course-okay maybe he’s a bit of a sadist he has to admit that, but he doesn’t make death unnecessarily painful. It’s the hunting he enjoys, not the killing.

He got lost in his thoughts again, he has to get up, it was about 11 am already, as comfortable as his nest of pelts, feathers and dry shrubbery may be to him, he has to go get things done. He lazily sat up, stretching, and shaking his head to rid his hair, beard and fur of any unwanted dirt. It’s been a while since he was brushed last, he put that on his mental checklist before getting up fully. He supported his weight on a nearby wall, his legs were still a slight bit wobbly, no wonder at his size.

Standing at about 8’9 when standing up straight, it was no surprise it took him a bit to balance himself out in the morning.

The feeling of sore joints although, that is now an all too familiar feeling. He is not a young stag anymore, aging affects him differently of course, being a forest-spirit and all, but it’s still been getting to him. His bad posture probably doesn’t help considering he is currently walking through his cabin hunched over, his spine building a spiky line that ripples through the fur on his back.

His hooves clicked on the wooden floor of the cabin as he slowly walked into what he considered his living room, some mice scurried around on the floor as he walked in, he did not mind them, not ever, he does not mind any beast.

First thing he does, as any morning is look out the window, he can sometimes see beasts moving along in front of the cabin. As today, he is surprised by what he sees, a white buck moved along the tree-line. He would have taken a photo but his camera was out of reach, and until he gets it the animal would most likely be gone. So Leshy just watches, the buck stops and its head turns to look in his direction, piercing blue eyes seem to stare right into his soul before it runs off.

Now, Leshy does not fear beast, he has learned to coexist with them, he was high up on the food chain, he didn’t need to fear a mere deer. But those eyes-something about that gaze brought back a lot of memories. That blue reminded him of no one other than the robot he once turned into a stoat. His ears pinned back at the memory, Poe, the unthankful thing, to live as a beast would be the biggest honor in the world. Yet, the machine only complained about it, it did not truly appreciate the gift Leshy gave him.

Then Leshy remembered the calmer moments as well, when Poe was calm, when he used to let Leshy pet him, tell stories of the forest. As much as it pains him to admit, he did quite enjoy Poe’s company, It was nice, and he was sure that Poe enjoyed it as well, he always caught it purring and basking in the warmth of the fireplace when no one was looking. Yes, sometimes Leshy does wish that Poe remembers him in a-less horrible way…

chapter 1

chapter 3 (in works)