Aphtober Day 10: Tarot
Dante as The Tower Upright (specifically for unexpected change bc I’m evil)
Idk a thing about Tarot cards so I hope I did this right LOL
Anyways im very very pleased with how this came out and I hope y’all like it as much as I do!! Especially all you Dante Enjoyers out there 👁️👁️
See all my Aphtober submissions HERE!!
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poly philtatos (the most loved by far)
He keeps moving forward at a steady pace, resisting the urge to run because how fucking embarrassing would that be, running because he missed them, and as he breaks through the treeline he shouts, “Oi, oi—what took you guys so long? It's been—”
And then he freezes, because yes, actually—something is very, very wrong.
The Sunny is anchored just off shore, close enough to see the deck but far enough away that the crew has had to take the Mini Merry to make land. Scattered across the beach in various stages of chaos—rolling around, yelling, fighting—are his crew but not his crew, so similar and yet so, so different. They look younger, fresher, and whatthefuck there, on the deck of the Sunny just peering over the railing, he catches a flash of green—his own green hair—
“Ah, fuck,” he grunts, and then immediately turns back around because no, actually, he does not want to deal with this.
pairing: roronoa zoro/monkey d. luffy
word count: 24,853
ao3 tags: time travel; not a fix-it; major character death; spoilers through the end of wano; zoro protects the crew; and his captain; and does not realize they will go to the ends of the earth to protect him too; it’s all fine in the end i promise; mcd is a framing device only do not worry
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APHTOBER DAY 1: Old and New
Garroth thinks about the 16 years he missed- specifically, Zenix, and the new, young Ro'meave heir.
Garroth gets nauseous thinking about the sixteen years he missed. What comes to mind most of all is Zenix, just a boy– though nearly a man– the last time he had seen him, and now– what?
He would be older than him, now.
Before, he had been too hesitant to call him his son. Too scared– of what, he wasn’t sure– but now, gods above, he would do anything to be able to call him his son. He would do anything to be the father he needed, but now would be too late. Far too late. He wonders if he would even be able to recognize him. He dreams, he prays, that he would– that a father, however distant and reluctant, would always recognize his son.
Garroth had perhaps done a great service to the world by disappearing, by holding his brother back, but he would undo it in a heartbeat, if only to have a second chance– if only to see his son, to be there for him, to not have left him alone.
The second topic to haunt his mind comes too in the form of family.
He was relieved to know his parents had not passed in the time he had been trapped beyond realms, but the other news had let slip accidentally, carelessly.
Garra.
The prefix had associations with the divine– with royalty, with prestige, with gold. It was one he had been gifted with. Many over the years had copied it to pay homage to the throne, but hearing of the young child, endowed with his and his fathers namesake, tore his spirit from his flesh. It embodied the lost time like nothing else.
Garroth and his brothers had been discarded, replaced, forgotten. All their children presumed dead, the rulers of O'khasis had no choice but to produce a new heir.
It was visceral. His parents had started anew. The name bestowed to their firstborn reused, repurposed. He had never imagined the sanctity of his very own name disrupted. Garroth was no longer the name of the Ro’meave son, heir to the throne, firstborn– it was believed he had passed, but still, the name had not been given away. But in his absence, his father had taken his name back, and gifted it to another.
He couldn’t even begin to understand the feeling caused by knowing that he would never be needed again. His mother, in the grief of losing all of her children, year by year, had let him go. She had moved on. She had let him be replaced.
The new child had pale hair with dark, dark roots. The ritual was one he still practiced to this day– staining his hair golden blonde. His father had once shown him how, though he had been unsure then if he was brave enough to take the step forward to look so much like him.
He heard the new heir was a golden, perfect child.
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