#celestial dragons

꒰ ft. Figarland Shamrock x Villainess! Reader

꒰ synopsis: Nine hundred and ninety-nine times, you regressed to the night of the heroine's social debut. Nine hundred and ninety-nine times, you failed to escape the gruesome ending of the doomed villainess.

To hell with earning the reverse harem's favor. If they wanted a crazy villainess so badly — you'd give them one. After so many deaths, the mind is bound to break eventually.

│cw: 18+, NSFW, violent themes, dubious morality, attempted suicide, vague suicidal references, manhwa/light novel AU, regression

│wc: 2.7k

│chapters: I II III

│notes: My take on a manhwa/light novel villainess regression for One Piece! Divider credits to @dollywons and @uzmacchiato

│AO3 Link!

"I have a feeling you got everything you wanted, And you’re not wasting time stuck here like me, You’re just thinking it’s a small thing that happened, The world ended when it happened to me."

・❥・

│Chapter I: We Hug Now

It was suffocating.

The leering eyes of prideful men who used status like currency and women like trophies. Their syrupy perfume clashed nauseatingly. It was more than enough to drown the opulent chamber in staged fragrances, snuffing out the metallic scent of abundant bills stuffed in silk pockets.

Every firm handshake or bashfully unfurled fan was calculated with poised intent. Miss a silent social cue, and the entire throng smelled blood. 

New power was desperate to topple the preexisting order. Painted lips whispered. Narrow eyes stalked. Alliances weren’t forged in friendship; it was merely a front to provide those in the lowest levels of high society a measly gifted stepping stone.

The entire facade disgusted you.

Breaking away from the colossal column that kept you concealed, you brazenly entered the depths of the mingling inner court. 

Head high.

Lips curled.

The chill of the polished marbled floor beneath your bare feet sent a shiver down your spine. 

Immediately, the waltzing socialites failed to conceal their contempt. They scattered like mice. Their slim heels clacked sharply against the palace’s decadent flooring, ushered by their courtiers to the edge of the ballroom. Their venomous glares, dripping with malice, drilled into your sudden promenade.

You paid the trivial stares little attention, swaying your hips gently to the soft melodies of the live orchestra. Your figure contorted gracefully as you danced across the grand hall. Rolling from the tips of your toes to the back of your heels, you sauntered leisurely. And for a brief moment — it was as if the entire ballroom wasn’t watching your every move.

“I can’t believe Saint Buccaneer allows that girl to dress in those obscene garbs.”

You hummed absentmindedly to yourself. The thin, almost see-through, draping of your cream dress clung lewdly to your skin. Your arms and shoulders remained scandalously bare save for the fluttering sheer scarf resting loosely on the pits of your elbows. 

The glimmering gold of your thin necklace seemed to cover more of your bosom than the deep square cut of your neckline. It exposed the smooth canvas of your supple skin, daring those bold enough to gawk.

“Poor Saint July, to have a sister so vulgar must be unbearable.”

Then, amid the gossiping throng — you spotted her.

Hair pinker than bubblegum, cheeks rosied with practiced innocence, Camilla Eckhart played the part of benevolent heroine as if it were child’s play.

She walked elegantly, arms joyously linked with your father, down the palace’s wide entrance stairs. Behind her, your older brother, July, held the train of her extravagant yet modest gown. He grinned widely. Even those in the back of the crowd could see the pride that radiated from his proper form.

When she finally breached the end of the Persian-clad stairs, it was your younger brother, Briar, who took her hand tenderly. Outfits coordinated. Expressions gentle. They reeked of uncontested familial affection. 

It made you want to gut her.

Nine hundred and ninety-nine times, you regressed to the night of her social debut. Nine hundred and ninety-nine times, her crystal blue eyes dripped with satisfaction as the Five Elders condemned you to death.

Now, on your thousandth regression, something in you finally seemed to…snap.

You used to fight tooth and nail for your pitiful life. Your fingers clawed desperately at straws, cracking and popping off your nailbeds as you clung to dwindling hope. Just maybe this once, someone would stay by your side. One single person would choose you over your bastard half-sister. 

Then finally, this unbearable loneliness would come to an end.

But time and time again, those you trusted turned their backs on you. Each and every one of them, Saint or slave, left you for dead. 

Oh, poor Saint Camilla.

Sweet Camilla.

This time around, she wouldn’t have to rely on honey-laced lies. Her voice no longer had to force a dainty crack. Nor did her eyes have to spill rehearsed tears. If she was so adamant on spinning tales of your cruelty, you’d ensure she’d be graced with real ones. 

After all, big sisters are meant to spoil their juniors.

Snatching a glass of red wine from one of the many roaming waitresses, you swirled the liquid curiously. The glass’s contents swished against its rim dangerously close. Yet, you weren’t focusing on keeping the refreshment contained. 

Your eyes remained fixated on your warped reflection in the ruby intoxicant. It was strange. Your face remained the same shape. Your hair was still its normal length. And your eyes are a familiar color. Yet, try as you might, you couldn’t recognize the woman who stared back. How revolting.

You threw the filled glass to the floor.

The distinct sound of glass shattering echoed across twinkling chandeliers and floral-engulfed walls. It hung in the air like a warning. Haughty guests flinched. Gloved hands paused before moving to cover makeup-caked faces. As if you committed treason, the entire court gaped at the ruby-stained ground garnished with sparkling shards.

Immediately, your eyes flung to the House of Eckhart for a reaction. What met your frenzied gaze brought a mocking smirk to your glossy lips. Your father — your egregiously idiotic father — had finally let his indifferent mask slip.

The blood and bone you shared, each one stood in complete and utter disbelief. The first Eckhart daughter no longer existed.

What remained was vile. Twisted. Obscene.

You were no longer you.

All that was left was The Villainess.

Gently taking the fabric of your dress into your painted fingers, you curtseyed as if finishing a play.

“Happy birthday.”

 Your wild eyes bore into Camilla’s stunned expression.

“My sweet sister.”

The eerie silence of the ballroom didn’t last for long. Abruptly, tongues twisted in wrath. A wave of gossip surged across the crowd’s frontlines. Pointed nails jabbed. Social climbers gasped dramatically. The handful of older money in their midst tilted up their chins in distaste, their birthright superiority leaked from condescending glances. 

Though your tantrum had garnered their attention, their revulsion seemed to linger on your counterparts. Gods who can’t even control their own kin are weak. Their blood must be diluted with the common trash from below Mariejois. How dare the impure enter the sacred Pangaea Castle? 

You couldn’t help the twisted smile that etched itself onto your face. Of course, they were trash. They made you.

“Y/n Eckhart!” Your father’s snarl broke through the wicked chatter, “What is the meaning of this?!”

“Whatever do you mean, father?” You ghosted across the empty space separating you, “I only mean to congratulate my precious younger sister on her debut. But first—”

Ripping a bottle of wine free from a nameless slave, you popped the cork free, “A toast to Saint Camilla, the jewel of the House of Eckhart. Regardless of her,” You snorted, “Whore mother.”

The lip of the jade bottle found your mouth despite the angered protests of your patriarch. The alcohol burned down your throat, warming up the pit of your stomach. There was nothing wrong with a bit of liquid courage. Especially for what you're about to do.

“That’s enough!” July pushed forward from behind your father, haphazardly pulling the bottle from your lips.

You laughed at your elder brother’s livid reaction. Wiping your mouth clean with your free wrist, you grinned up at him, “Oh? And here I thought you, of all people, would love to celebrate Cammy?”

You shoved his chest away, “Too bad it’s illegal to fuck your sister? Am I right?”

Gasps rang out through the crowd at your vulgar words. Though the majority must have assumed you were only attempting to attack the God Knight’s pride, it couldn't be further from the truth. 

In fact, later tonight, your father would announce Camilla wasn’t even blood-related to your prestigious family. She had been abandoned by another celestial dragon who had impregnated a slave. Your father had only taken her in due to her striking resemblance to his first love. 

It was sickening. 

Your father parented a young girl who looked vaguely like the first woman he loved, and your older brother wasted no time attempting to court her after finding out.

“Sister, please,” Camilla’s tender tone seemingly relaxed the tension building between your shared flesh.

A laugh bubbled from your throat, “Oh no, sweet Camilla, am I ruining this night for you? Oh, you poor thing.” You tsked, “How could I be so reckless?”

Moving to stand in front of the pink-haired beauty, you stared down at her with malice, “I haven’t even gotten to make it worse.”

The bottle in your hand tilted before anyone could stop it. Time had all but slowed. You could only watch in delight as your wrist bent unnaturally. The men surrounding you were glued to their spots, unable to process the sight before them. Ruby wine spilt maliciously atop Camilla’s head, soaking her carefully pinned hair and seeping into the silver of her baby blue dress. 

For a moment, no one moved, not even Camilla. It was as if the entire court could not believe the scene unfolding. Then, with a well-timed shriek, Camilla hid her head in her hands, releasing deliberate tears.

July was on you in an instant. 

Violently dragging you away from the ballroom, he snapped orders to Briar, “Take Cammy to a spare room to freshen up. I’ll handle this.”

This.

Not ‘you’. 

Not ‘Y/n’.

Just ‘This’.

You couldn’t help the maniacal laughter that spilled from your lips. He couldn’t even bear to say your name!

A God’s Knight, for Christ’s sake, was afraid to say the name of his own sister.

My god, how did you manage to bite your tongue for so long before?

Eventually, July threw your form against one of the corridor’s walls. His face reddened in anger. You could almost feel the hatred that leaked from his soul. Dark and depraved.

Maybe this is how this regression ends. It wouldn’t be the first time July took matters into his own hands.

“What’s the matter, brother?” You pushed up from the wall, regaining your balance, “Are you scared?”

July turned up his nose, “Scared? I am a knight of God.” He sneered down at you, “You are nothing.”

You rolled your eyes, “You treat nothing like a big deal. Look at you, practically dragging me out of the room like I'm some sort of vile beast. If you’re not scared,” You huffed as you shook your head, “Maybe you really are just stupid.”

“Wicked woman!” July pointed a finger into your chest, “You will not return to Cammy’s celebration.”

Taking a deep breath, July slowly backed away from you. His brawny hands quickly straightened the rumpled jacket of his soft blue suit. The pressed linen easily regained its structured shape, returning July to his proper outward appearance.

“I shall call a carriage for your departure.”

You waved him off, “Don’t bother. I’ll make myself scarce.”

July’s violet eyes searched your own for lies. Instead of hidden motives, he was simply met with steel resolve. The brunette shook his head in distaste.

“Do as you please.”

Turning his back to you, July called over his shoulder, “But if you interfere with the night any further—consider your life null.”

You watched as July’s back disappeared from the hall, his broad form stalking back to one of the ball’s sealed entrances. You couldn't help the gasp of air that immediately left your throat. Knees turned to jelly, you sunk to the floor in a panicked frenzy.

It was an all familiar terror—whether you liked it or not.

July had etched himself into your brain, forcibly sparking fear into your body at the mere sound of his voice. Though your mind transcended to simple ignorance, your body still remembers. Your neck still aches.

When you weren’t executed by the Commander of the Knights of God, it was July who took over. He was far more sadistic. His blade didn’t sever your neck in one clean slice like Figarland Shamrock. No—he enjoyed watching your throat bubble from the jagged cut. Savored the way your hands clawed at the gore, attempting to mitigate the bleeding.

Though it was a rare occurrence, you’d rather bite off your tongue than let July murder you once again.

Maybe that’s why your trembling form stumbled its way onto one of the palace’s many terraces. 

The wind whipped harshly against your face, tussling your hair. Your half-updo had swiftly been undone by the careless treatment. Loose strands now swayed mindlessly on their own, engulfing the air around your head.

Pulling yourself up onto the stone railing, your feet pressed firmly into the unsteady balustrade. Yet, you didn’t dare to focus on the way your bare skin slipped against slick moss. Instead, you opened your arms wide. The loose silk of your dress billowed against the cool wind, tangling with your spread limbs.

Nearby, a distant hoot caught your attention. Though far, the distinct silhouette of an owl soared across the star-speckled sky. Its wings sliced past the pale moon, taking the bird higher in the sky.

You slowly closed your eyes. Then, as if conjured from nothing, a serene, unnaturally tranquil feeling erupted from the warped depths of your mind. 

Would it really be so bad to cut this life short?

“Though the night suits you, my lady, I don’t believe I desire to see you jump into it.”

Your eyes snapped open at the baritone voice. Turning your head cautiously, you looked at the stranger behind you with little interest. 

As if there was someone who actually cared if you fell to your death.

Abruptly, the apathy on your face flickered. Rather than a wandering socialite searching for another taste of drama, you were met with an all too familiar form.

Eyes darker than wine. Hair richer than rubies. The massive man leaned against one of the open French door frames, absentmindedly soaking in your almost ethereal presence.

Figarland Shamrock.

You swallowed hard, forcing back the bile that attempted to escape from your throat. Why was Figarland Shamrock, Commander of the God Knights, standing before you without an unsheathed sword?

“Come,” Shamrock took a step forward, offering his gloved hand, “Let us return to the ball.”

You scoffed at his invitation, “May I ask why, Your Grace? Is it more enjoyable to cut off my head with an audience?”

For a brief moment, Shamrock’s brows furrowed in confusion. Then, as if his countenance never moved an inch, his irritatingly handsome face returned to his neutral stoic expression.

“Truth be told, you put on quite a show earlier, my lady. However—”

You flinched when Shamrock’s hulking form disappeared for a brief second. In an instant, his thick hands wrapped securely around your waist. The sudden action felt foreign. Almost wrong. Never in your thousand regressions had someone held you so…tenderly.

Twirling you down from the ledge, Shamrock gently placed your feet on the checkered stone flooring. Yet, the towering man made no effort to remove his heated grip from your waist.

“If a little spilled wine is grounds for execution, my head would have long left my body.”

You frowned, “I can do a lot more than waste a bit of wine.”

Shrugging off his grip, you quickly stepped back from the redhead. Instinctively, your arms moved to cover your body. The sultry dress you adorned for the evening suddenly felt far more revealing when in front of a seasoned knight. If not for the dim candle lighting, you were certain the heat in your cheeks had turned your face a soft rosy pink.

Shamrock’s eyes watched your actions in amusement, “Looking for trouble?”

You forced a feeble smirk, “Begging for it.”

The older man leaned against the railing you previously stood upon. Bulky arms crossed, his crimson eyes did not attempt to hide the way they raked over your smaller form.

“Oh? And why’s that?”

In full honesty, you weren’t exactly sure why you were still interacting with the man. He was dangerous. Sinfully so. Regression after regression, he put you down like a sick dog. There was no reason to entertain your soon-to-be executioner. No matter how seductive they may be.

But something in you liked the thought of taunting him. If you weren’t allowed to live, at least you’d get the last laugh.

“In a few days’ time,” You held his intense gaze, “I’ll give you something worth killing me over.”

Shamrock lifted a brow, “And who said I wanted to?”

Flashes of your previous lives whirred across your field of vision. 

Blistering chains.

A leerful sneer.

And a blade named Cerberus.

“It’s not a matter of desire,” You turned your back on him, exiting the secluded balcony.

“It's duty.”

I KNEW IT I KNEW IT I FUCKING KNEW IT I SWEAR TO ALL THE GODS ABOVE I AM GOING INSANE TODAY WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK IIM GOING ATUALLY ISNANE.

In this post, I will analyze the outfits worn by the Celestial Dragons. I'll give a list of Oda's possible inspirations and the narrative implications of it all.

I'll begin by the most obvious one, who was pointed out in multiple reddit posts :

Part 1 : The Adventures of Baron Munchausen

Yes ! It's Robin Williams !

It's a 1988 fantasy film directed by Terry Gilliams narrating the life of German nobleman Baron of Munchausen. At one point, the baron flies away to the Moon and meets the King and Queen of the Moon (see the picture above).

Their costumes are eerily reminiscent of the Celestial Dragons, especially their strange hairdo and the barroque spacesuit. Their hairstyle looks like a violin's Peg-Box (the handle part).

Both of their clothing are odd and over-the-top. It shows their arrogance and their separation from regular people.

Instead of making them look noble or respectable, these fashion choices look ridiculous and impractical, despite their power over everyone else.