#Writing Complexity

[ancientroyalblood]

Weaving Themes into Your Writing: Crafting Meaningful Narratives

Stories are more than a sequence of events; they are a reflection of the human experience. Themes form the backbone of storytelling, providing depth and significance to the narrative. In this exploration of weaving themes into your writing, we will delve into the art of incorporating themes into your stories and why they matter. Themes are the heart and soul of your narrative, and understanding…

[pawthorn]

Shout out to Tamora Pierce specifically for making her lead female protagonist have a crush on a friend, not act on it, and eventually out-grow that crush and feel grateful that she never said anything.

There are so few stories that affirm choices like that, that admit that feelings don’t always last forever and that choosing not to pursue romance is actually a very valid choice. I love the Protector of the Small series for a lot of reasons, but this is a big one.

[birdy-babe]

Blitzøs entire life spent being unwanted. So he adapted, and learned how to be something needed, something to be used.

Which is why I think he firmly believes he is being used by Stolas. He simply cannot fathom a different reality, one in which he is wanted for once in his life.

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

💀 Making Your Villain Make Sense (Without Making Them Right™)

("because if I see one more war criminal with a sad diary entry get a redemption arc, I’m gonna throw my laptop.")

Here’s the thing: your villain doesn’t need to be redeemable. But they do need to make sense.

And I mean sense beyond "they’re evil and they monologue about it." Or “they have a tragic past, so now they do murder <3.” Or “they were right all along, the hero just couldn’t see it 🥺.”

Let’s fix that.

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🧠 STEP ONE: BUILD A LOGIC SYSTEM THAT ISN’T OURS Your villain shouldn’t just be wrong, they should have their own internal system that works for them. Morally flawed? Absolutely. But coherent.

Ask yourself:

What do they value more than anything? (Power? Order? Loyalty? Vengeance?)

What do they believe about the world, and how did they get there?

What fear drives them? What future do they think they’re trying to prevent?

The villain doesn’t need to know they’re wrong. But you should.

Make their logic airtight. even if it’s awful. Give them cause and effect.

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👿 STEP TWO: STOP GIVING THEM THE BETTER IDEOLOGY Listen. I love a “morally gray” moment as much as anyone. But if your villain is making all the good points and the hero’s just like “no because that’s mean,” your arc is upside down.

If your villain is critiquing injustice, oppression, or inequality, make sure their methods are the problem, not their entire worldview.

✖︎ WRONG: Villain: “The ruling class is corrupt.” Hero: “That’s not nice.”

✔︎ RIGHT: Villain: “The ruling class is corrupt, so I’m burning the city and everyone in it.” Hero: “So you’re just… committing genocide now?”

Your villain can touch a real issue. Just don’t let them be the only one talking about it, or solving it with horror movie logic.

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🔪 STEP THREE: GIVE THEM POWER THAT COSTS THEM The best villains lose things too. They’re not just untouchable horror dolls in sexy coats. They make bad choices and pay for them. That’s where the drama lives.

Examples:

They isolate themselves.

They sacrifice people they love.

They get what they want, and it destroys them.

They know they’re the monster, and choose it anyway.

If your villain can kill a dozen people and feel nothing, that’s not scary. That’s boring. Let them bleed. Let them regret it. Let them double down anyway.

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🧱 STEP FOUR: MAKE THEM PART OF THE WORLD, NOT OUTSIDE IT Villains shouldn’t feel like they were patched in from another genre. They should be part of the world’s logic, culture, class system, history. They should reflect something about the setting.

Villains that slap:

The advisor who upheld the regime until they decided they deserved to rule.

The noble who’s using war to reclaim stolen legacy.

The ex-hero who thinks the system can’t be saved, only reset.

The priest who truly believes the gods demand blood.

They’re not just evil, they’re a product of the same world the hero is trying to save.

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👁 STEP FIVE: SHOW US THEIR SELF-JUSTIFICATION You don’t need a tragic backstory™. But you do need to show us why they think they’re right. Not just with exposition, through action.

Let us watch them:

Protect someone.

Choose their goal over safety.

Justify the unjustifiable to a character who loves them.

Refuse to change, even when given a chance.

A villain who looks into the mirror and goes “Yes. I’m correct.” is 1000x scarier than one who sobs into a journal and says “I’m so broken 🥺.”

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🧨 BONUS ROUND: DON’T MAKE THEM A HATRED MEGAPHONE Especially if you’re writing marginalized characters: don’t let your villain become a mouthpiece for slurs, abuse, or extremism just to make them “evil enough.” That’s lazy. And harmful.

You don’t need real-world hate speech to build a dark character. You need power, consequence, and intent.

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TL;DR: Good villains don’t need to be right. They need to be real. Not a vibe. Not a sad boy in a trench coat. Not a trauma monologue and then a sword fight. They need logic. They need cost. They need to scare you because you get them, and still want them to lose.

Make them dangerous. Not relatable. Make them whole. Not wholesome. Make them make sense.

—rin t. // thewriteadviceforwriters // villain critic. final boss consultant. licensed chaos goblin

P.S. I made a free mini eBook about the 5 biggest mistakes writers make in the first 10 pages 👀 you can grab it here for FREE:

[seasononedean]

watching severance is crazy. what if a show had multiple coherent plotlines and also asked questions about what it means to be a person through a truly unique lens that inspires new ethical and philosophical discussions in 2025 when so many of those conversations have been had a million times already. what if personhood and love are inseparable and it is impossible for humans to not form community. how much of you is your memories/how does nature vs nurture come into play in a vacuum? what if that vacuum popped? what if a part of you wanted to go to heaven so you created a new version of yourself? who would you be without the pressures of the outside world?

[bethanydelleman]

I was talking about a historical male author I dislike because I found his works misogynistic and the person said, "Oh, well I suppose you don't read Shakespeare either." and I was like, "Shakespeare? SHAKESPEARE?!?! Of course I read Shakespeare, that man loved women."

Shakespeare wrote a wide variety of fleshed out female characters. He wrote Damsels in Distress, Cross-dressing Girlbosses, and Complex Female Villains. He wrote a woman who refused to sell her virtue to save her family and then shamed her brother for suggesting it. He wrote Taming of the Shrew and it's opposite, All's Well that Ends Well, in which the wife hunts down and tames the husband. He wrote men who are good because they listen to, trust, and defend women. He wrote women of all kinds. He wrote women who drive the plot and women doomed by the narrative. He wrote women in love and women who pathetically follow a man who doesn't like them and women in hatred. He wrote sensible women and silly women and everything in between of all ages.

I wish modern authors could write women as well as he did.

[egophiliac]

I loved your drawing(and I love your style in general) with Leia in your recent post! If/when you have time can we see more of her in your style? I get so happy whenever I actually see people mention/talk about her and she’s not just forgotten because we didn’t get to see much of her. 😭

thank you! 💙💙💙 Leia/Leah/Lea/whatever is fascinating to me. she is the ultimate unknown. what was she like? how involved (or even aware of any details of the invasion) was she? Silver's basically a physical carbon copy of his biodad, so what did he get from her? like, I understand why the two of them kind of have to stay as these super vague and mysterious figures -- the whole point of them is that their story ended 400+ years ago and they're not really relevant anymore (and. well. the more that gets explained about them, the less that can just kinda be handwaved as "oh the politics were Very Messy") (we can sit here and theorize all day but let us acknowledge that, ultimately, canon gave us almost nothing about them post-Meleanor and we'd just be making things up). I do still wonder about her though! RIP Lea, we never knew you and we probably never will.

actually you know what, as long as we're here, I think I WILL go ahead and just make some stuff up about what Silver might've inherited from her instead.

[baeshijima]

thoughts on being engaged to duke!sunday, the head of the oak family, an incredibly influential figurehead within society, the close subordinate of emperor gopher wood who brought him and his sister in and raised him like his own, and the villain who faces a tragic ending in a novel you recently finished — the very same one you just so happen to find yourself transmigrated into. he is as cunning as he is blinded, a trait which brought ruin to many in the empire, and one which ultimately brought ruin to himself at the hands of the protagonists.

as luck would have it, you became a barely mentioned side character from a marquis family, whose role was to be the villain's wife stuck in a one-sided love who, too, would get caught up in the tragedy alongside him. however, now that it's you who is stuck in this position, you're determined to try any means necessary to deter him from going down that path, all in an effort to escape your predestined doomed fate!

of course, you didn't expect it to be easy. the day of your arrival in this world was already the night before your wedding, so you had little time to prepare yourself for the nonchalance of your supposed family, how they viewed you as but a means — a tool — to boost their influence and prosperity, the dismissive mannerisms of the household servants, and the absolute beauty of a man you will be married to.

(seriously. the novel descriptions did not do him justice. he was like... like... like he was handcrafted by god himself! and not to mention his sister, robin, was the very epitome of an angel! perhaps you're destined to perish by the god-tier visuals instead...)

to say the least, the wedding ceremony went by quickly. safe to say you didn't spend the night; he was cordial and gentlemanly upon letting you know that he won't do anything until you're ready, that you can take this relationship slow, but somehow you ended up feeling a tad insulted. like, who leaves their newly wedded alone in a big cold bed as they walk out on their own? a sick bastard that's who!

well, whatever. it's not like you need nor want to consummate with him! besides, you have bigger things to worry about — things such as your impending death. and, of course, the only way to stop sunday that you can imagine working is by chipping away at his resolve bit by bit, and opening his eyes to reality.

he is a tragic character, one who cares more about the well-being of penacony and its people than anyone else, but was manipulated into getting his hands dirty in the emperor's stead. you knew this. you sobbed over his story, cursed out the protagonists, and even fought internet randos on novel forums about sunday's motivation and how,

no, he is not just a stupid villain. he is a complex character with flaws and humanity and was cruelly taken advantage of by someone he considered family. he was deceived through the suffering the emperor wanted him to see to make him easily manipulated, creating a rift between him and robin to have that prominent separation. you know what? maybe you're just a !%#@ who can't even #@?"% read properly!

and yet you still find yourself at a loss when faced with the walls he has in place. your initial efforts went as well as it possibly could have; you trying to earnestly help him, while he "kindly" dismisses your offers! well, "kindly" being more condescending since you could read between the lines of his mannerisms and amiable demeanour, but that's fine! you expected this! that just means you have to double down on your sincerity, get through to his heart (somehow), and help him realise humanity isn't as weak as he's led to believe!

you have three years until the novel's plot officially starts, and another year after that until your demise. that's plenty of time to get him to warm up to you!

it was easier said than done, but after your valiant effort and abundance of time put into this relationship, which admittedly you could do with some of that lost time back, you could give yourself a pat on the back with the progress you made! while you definitely could have done without a lot of the headaches, it's safe to say sunday has significantly warmed up to you in comparison to your wedding day. he now willingly eats all his meals with you with some real conversation, takes garden strolls with you in the early evenings, invites you out for dinner at a restaurant at least four times a week, hell he's even joked and laughed with you more frequently! but most importantly, he has begun asking for your opinion before finalising any decisions he is required to make. and he actually listens and considers your side! now, that certainly is the best outcome you could hope for after all this time, and it most definitely will help in your endeavour to save you both from the protagonists!

however, you've noticed he's been more... affectionate? well, at the very least he now willingly holds your hand when in private (not just in moments when you're in the public eye and he has to make sure the family's reputation is spotless), sometimes he will hug you out of the blue ("i just need to... recharge. you have a way of calming me down. i hope you don't mind." ...how could you say no to his supreme god-tier face card? that's just a losing battle you won't even bother fighting against.), oftentimes he opts to just gaze wordlessly at you (robin had mentioned over one of your tea times how it almost appears as though there is no one but you in the world when sunday gazes at you with, in her words, "the eyes of a man so deeply in love!" ...whatever that's supposed to mean...), but a more recent development has been his sudden interest in kissing you; well, more specifically giving you a kiss to the back of your hand or on your forehead — certainly not anywhere near the lips! (besides, he's probably just gotten comfortable with you, enough where he can freely act without judgement. nothing more, nothing less.)

well, either way, development is development! soon enough, the time for the main plot to start has arrived. it of course follows what you remember, from the organised balls to the protagonists meeting to the political aspects of it all. the only difference is sunday's less active involvement in all the schemes and the emperor's ploy. rather, he seems more focused on you and the future of your marriage and even displayed a sudden interest in your practically non-existent relationship with one of the foreign diplomats, aventurine— wait...

"[name]," he calls your name out so sweetly you nearly disregarded it as someone else he was talking to. well, perhaps you would have done had he not suddenly appeared before you, a tight-lipped smile tugging the corners of his lips as he steadily approaches you.

oh. he doesn't seem very happy, if his tense figure is anything to go by. you wonder if one of the nobles grated his nerves a little too much this time?

sunday comes to a halt a step away from you. "i don't like that... gambler being so close to you. it... it brings me a rather unpleasant feeling." there's a slight, trembling pause. not a moment later does he close the gap between you, one knee on the ground as he matches your seated height on the fountain rim, your hands gently enclosed in both of his.

you idly wonder if this is what robin meant by the so-called "eyes of a man so deeply in love" she constantly gushed about, for the way in which he gazes up at you is enough to render you breathless.

"tell me, [name]," he begins once more. there is an underlying desperation woven within his tone, one which has your head spinning and heart thumping wildly as his trembling gaze holds you in place. "tell me, what am i to do with this fervent love and overwhelming adoration i hold for you?"

oh.

...oh.

perhaps your impending doom should be the least of your concerns when you now find yourself in the arms of a clingy husband...

(though, it's safe to say you did, in fact, manage to prevent him from succumbing to his tragic fate! you just gained a loving, yet slight slightly emotionally challenged husband along the way.

well, you can help him work through it; you have the rest of your lives now to figure it out, after all.)

[milkamel]

Finally part 3! Gonna take a break after this one unless I have more ideas lol Anyway Smilk isn't the best example of how you're supposed to keep people you find endearing close-

[inkskinned]

we were sitting on the floor and i was cutting out tiny pictures to make a collage for a friend's birthday. you were on your phone and you laughed about something, and i was still in love with you then, so i asked what had you giggling.

"sorry. i was just..." you took a moment and went back to texting. "i was telling someone about how you're afraid of the dark."

i'm afraid of the dark because something bad happened. "oh." i felt a little slinky of shame crawl down my throat.

you glanced up, and maybe it showed on my face, because you rolled your eyes and held the phone to the side casually so i could see the group chat. "what? was it a secret?"

i looked down to the scissors in my hand. "i just..." no, it's not a secret. it just felt like something private, something serious. saying why would you tell someone that just feels like an accusation. it's unfair. i honestly am not even ashamed of it, it's just a fact about my person that i don't usually share.

what a strange experience. is this a human thing or a generational thing? for our grandparents: did they need to worry about how quickly someone can just... share your personal information? again, i didn't even really have a true objection. what could i say? i want any person in my life to feel they can be honest with their friends. it's not like i said don't tell anyone this.

i cut out another letter to complete the rainbow happy birthday, started hunting for the exclamation mark. i heard you sigh dramatically.

"don't make a big deal about this," you said.

this entire conversation was a pattern for us, and this was when we got to my least favorite part of the pattern. i would get my feelings hurt in some oblique not-technically-terrible way, and then it would be making a big deal about something. you'd get frustrated for me for being soft, but i was born soft. you knew i was soft when you pierced me. it's one of the things that made controlling me so easy.

"i'm not," i felt my voice crack. the question came without my wanting. "why are you guys talking about me?" and why are you saying that thing? why not like - i'm telling them how you're generous and kind and pretty.

you let out this low, tragic groan. "oh my god." you tossed the phone away from your body. "there, see? i just won't talk to them if you don't like it."

the rest of the hour went the way it always went, between us: i said i don't actually mind if you talk to your friends but -, you found a way to call my minor expression of discomfort "being dramatic." you got upset that i had been offended. i ended up apologizing, even though i hadn't actually done anything.

afterwards, you picked up the phone again. after texting for a little bit, you snorted. "okay," you said, "but it is kind of funny you're afraid of the dark. i mean, when you think about it."

[k1d1c4rus]

thinking about how armand was turned bc he was dying from being stabbed by a scorned grown man who was in love with him. he nearly died from rejecting unwanted advances. its such a key explicit detail of his origin that teaches him yet again that what he wants is utterly unimportant and even deadly in the face of survival. everything about his character is informed by the fact that he adapts entirely to the situation he is forced into because that's the only way he can survive. he adopts the satanic doctrine for 200 years not because he believes in it but because he knows that is the only way he'll survive and as soon as lestat arrives he knows he can abandon it. for half a millenium he believes he can't get what he wants and also survive, he has to choose one or the other. God.

[mothzi]

act 3 verso is so quiet and every time he speaks his voice gets softer and weaker until at the very end in Alicia’s ending he’s whimpering and pleading and I’m

[yujateaandpi]

Oughh it’s 2:00 AM and I’m having Thoughts and Emotions about Marceline the Vampire Queen. Like— she’s a punk bisexual and cool as heck but she’s also a terribly sad immortal with mom issues and double dad issues BUT BUT ALL of her parental figures gave her unconditional love so strong that it fundamentally saved the human race. Marceline saved the humans who hated her because her demon dad passed on the legacy that helped her grow powerful and her mom sang her lullabies and her adopted father clung to every shred of his breaking mind to protect her childhood. She was so loved! She was so loved! And that love never went away it stayed inside her even when all three of her parents hurt her so badly that the pain stuck for a thousand years. And all of the ways they hurt her were BECAUSE they loved her, so Marceline never learned to differentiate what it meant to love someone and hurt someone. So she hurts the people she wants to protect, she’s rough with the people she wants gentleness from, she abandons the people she wants by her side. And so much of the show is her collapsing and falling apart because she can’t figure out why why her relationships are all so broken. And then little by little she gets closure with each chapter of trauma— with her demon father, with her mother’s memory, with dear Simon— which then allows her to finally be at peace with herself and accept love— pure as it is— and give it back.

[starssoblue]

“things were so hard with dad in recent years...how did he go from paparapluie to père? i wish i could face him and understand, but while he was still here i didn't dare try to tell him [any of my feelings] and now...it's too late.” * paparapluie is a pun on the words papa and parapluie (umbrella) since the plush is a frog. père is the french word for 'father.'

[sabos-husband]

Hi! was hoping for a request (this might get really specific) reader as a strawhat member who grew up with luffy (by extension also ace and sabo) back in foosha village, but actually used to be a slave for the celestial dragons before she arrived there, maybe never told luffy because in her mind, luffy was the epitome of freedom and she was ashamed of her past. The scenario I had in mind for the reveal was maybe in the middle of battle, her clothes gets torn and her mark is seen, maybe some strawhats have an idea of that mark is (maybe jinbei, robin and alike) while others don't (ussop? maybe?), while making the enemies ridicule her and how the strawhats react, but you can choose another scene that you think are more fitting! i just wanted to see how you'd write luffy because i love your writing style! the way you write flows perfectly and it's never out of character, you're my current fav writer on tumblr! so thank you!

★ Around the World

Monkey D. Luffy and Reader ★

Fishman Island Spoilers!! ~ Straw Hat!Reader ~ Feminine Reader (she/her) ~ Hurt/Comfort

a/n: Aww, that's so sweet of you! I appreciate that so much! Specific asks are wonderful, it makes it easier to write something as close as possible to what you want. Thank you for the request <3 I put the majority of this between Fishman Island and Punk Hazard, but there aren't major spoilers. Sorry this took a while!

As well, there's description of the reader's history with slavery and the trauma that came from that. I left it vague for the most part, though.

For so much of your life, Luffy's been a constant. Even when you ran around Gray Terminal with Sabo and Ace, terrorizing all the people you could find for all the money you could grab, Luffy wasn't far behind for most of it. It took the Bluejam Pirates torturing Luffy for hours before his loyalty dawned on the three of you.

It then took Bluejam setting fire to Gray Terminal for you to truly consider Luffy special.

When Sabo took to the sea, swallowed by flame, you held Luffy tight as he wailed. When Ace left for the sea, aided by nothing but a burlap sack on his shoulder and the wind in his sails, Luffy had promised he would follow. When Luffy left for the sea, you were there, standing by his side. His very own first mate, meant to weather the Grand Line by his side.

You hoped with all your heart it'd stay that way. You hoped that it was all he'd know about you—you, his first mate, with nothing else of her past beyond the Grey Terminal's walls and Foosha Village's people.

Of course, nothing you want ever comes so simply.

You can still remember the shrieks of laughter that burst from Luffy as you both clambered into barrels—it made sense that he would wind up into trouble on the sea, but the first day takes the cake!

Your life has been non-stop ever since. From the very moment you both step foot on Shells Town with Koby in tow, the crew grew and grew to numbers that made your pride in Luffy bloom.

Zoro was tough with a sword and reliable when you need him, but his difficulty with directions always made your head spin. Nami was quick with her hands and quicker with her mind, just like how she could never stand to let a Berri slip by. Usopp was sharp as a tack with his constant innovations and steady sharpshooting, even when he ran at ten knots an hour away from danger. Sanji was nothing short of a first-rate chef and one of the strongest men you knew, despite how often he lost himself in the wild pursuit of women.

Then there came the Grand Line. It brought Chopper, Robin, Franky, Brook, Jinbei; thinking about the people Luffy drew to himself never failed to bring a smile to your lips. It's not like you could ever speak against them for their affection towards the captain—it's what brought you away from the safety of Foosha Village as well, skirting past the World Government you hated and feared for all your life.

It's like second nature, how much you love Luffy. Every single one of you would give anything for your captain.

"Anything" changes for you sometimes, though. Late into the night, long after the moon took its place in the sky, you wrestled with the dark. Could you keep this secret from your captain? From Luffy, the person you've known all your life?

(No, you'd remind yourself, not all your life.)

You think of the little boy you grew up alongside with, with a smile so bright you had to shield your eyes. The wind whipping his hair and threatening to carry away his straw hat as he lights up with laughter. You think of how your captain looks at you with the stars in his eyes, declaring that he will be the next King of the Pirates, and you believe him with all your heart.

Even after Ace died, his flames swallowed up in magma, you were there two years later. Luffy had gone through hell and back with you—couldn't that be enough?

It was thoughts like those that kept your secrets to yourself.

It was some foolish, childish part of you that thought you could have kept it up forever.

~

The day was as usual. It was nice, even. You had just finished helping Sanji with the groceries—to his chagrin, of course.

As much as he adores your company, he detests making such a sweet lady do manual labor for him, and he lets you know. Often. It was charming for the first while, but by the time you help Sanji put away the groceries, you're just glad it's over with.

The snack he rewards you after with, though, makes you sure that you'll help him next time. After he waves you off to begin lunch prep, you're quick to escape back to the docks.

You have some time to kill, you think. It's the last stretch until the log pose is finished setting and you've sort of lost track of the group... Thinking back, Zoro and Usopp got tied together, so you don't have to worry about searching for the poor swordsman. Nami stole Chopper to carry the clothes she was planning to get with Robin, while Brook and Franky were the ones assigned to watch the ship. That just leaves you with... Oh, seas.

There's a burst of screams that tear through the town's square, punctuated by a shriek of excited, almost maniacal laughter.

You're missing Luffy.

You're off like a shot towards the commotion before you can even think, weaving and pushing your way past the people. The crowd thickens as civilians shove past you. It's like swimming up river, but with every step you take, that familiar laughter gets closer.

When you finally burst from the mob, your feet catch on an unconscious marine. You stumble forward.

It's like breaking through a shield into a bubble—a ring of civilians gather to enclose Luffy as he's circled by marines, too duty-bound to flee but too cautious to fight.

Your captain hasn't put nearly as much thought into his approach. He barrels fists-first into the nearest hoard; the soldiers go flying like playing cards against a cannon. Sure it's charming, but he was supposed to be on board the Sunny, like, a hour ago.

So, Luffy deciding to gather the marines?

It sure isn't ideal.

Gathering your courage and tossing aside your exhaustion, you steel your nerves to storm the castle and extract your captain. And speak of the devil; Luffy whips his head around to stare at you.

"Oh! Hey!!" Luffy yells, with just a bit of manic glee. Great. You step forward—

—And a marine steps in your way. Really great.

As you fall into your fighting stance, you watch your captain dart from view. Well, whatever. You'll find him after you kick this guy's ass.

The marine wielded an odd weapon, like brass knuckles with claws soldered onto the palm. He hadn't bothered to clean the last victim's blood from it, and if the rust near the joints were to tell you anything, it was clear that he neglected to clean the blood of anyone from the weapon.

It feels like a warning.

It feels like a trophy.

Your captain rockets past him without a second thought (it's unlikely there was ever a first thought) to explode into another group of soldiers. It's like dynamite dropped in a haystack, the way navy officers go flying here and there.

The marine's eyes fall on you.

You can barely remember the fight afterwards, shamefully. You remember how it starts though.

He lunges at you with the speed of an animal, his clawed hands outstretched to sink into your flesh.

You dodge, he pivots, you aim to strike before he finds his footing—every move you make is to drive you closer to Luffy so you can cut and run.

Your mindlessness makes you sloppy. You don't even notice the way you're babying your secret, cradling it away from the fight. Of course that fucking marine notices.

Seas, you don't even know this marine's name, and yet he could still read you like a fucking book.

It's your last mistake.

When he slips to the side, too close for comfort, you jump back. His hand raises to tear out your eyes.

You raise your arms to guard, falling for the feint—the marine weaves past you, bearing his claws, and digs into your flesh.

It's over before you can even feel the pain.

You barely hold back a yell as you leap back, clutching your body. Warm blood trickles down the strike until it stained your clothes, sending panic shooting up your spine.

Like a curse from whatever gods left, that damn marine had struck you where you were weakest. There wasn't any time—by the time you whip around to clutch the wound, to hide your shame, it was too late.

"That pirate! She's... branded!"

A chorus of gasps tear through the crowd like a terrible symphony. You cling to the ribbons of your ruined attire like it could still save you.

Shadows claw at your vision as you struggle to breathe. Warm blood trickles down your limbs and your mark aches with a fresh, searing pain—it's grown with you, stretching over your skin in a reminder you can only try to forget.

You hear Robin gasp like she was struck herself. Oh seas, when did she arrive? You want to tuck yourself into a ball and hide from the prying eyes boring into your skin. You're sure she understands, if only because she shares your terror of who gave you this cross to bear, but it scares you. Somewhere, Usopp murmurs to her, "what is that?"

They know. They know.

The marine barks out in a fit of laughter, teeth bared and fingers curled around his claws. "What the hell is Straw Hat doing with government property?"

You think of Foosha Village, dodging your family and bathing in the river at night. You think of the clothes you had to give Makino back, too ridden by fear to wear them.

You think of your crew, sleeping soundly while you were working up the nerve to change your clothes in the dark. You think of Nami, with her skin graft and her new tattoo and the jealousy so strong you choke on it every time you see it. You think of how no one knows what was before that pinwheel tattoo except for the people she wants to know.

You think of your captain. You think of Luffy.

Oh seas, Luffy.

Tears cloud your eyes as you struggle to breathe. When you turn to your captain, you can barely see him—your vision swims, revealing splotches of color you'd recognize anywhere.

His haki rolls off in waves, so suffocating you can taste his rage on the back of your tongue. You see soldiers buckle and civilians collapse.

Your words escape before you can even think.

"Luffy, help...!"

A fist rockets past you. The sound of crunching bone hits you as air whips your cheeks. A mangled yell of pain is the last thing you hear from the marine.

"She doesn't," your captain growls, "belong to anybody."

~

You're brought into the medbay as soon as the Sunny left the docks. The silence is suffocating. You could barely look at Chopper as you shed your clothes, letting it slip until your shame was bare.

If you could guess, you'd bet it was nothing but professional courtesy that's keeping Chopper from reacting. That fucking mark takes up almost the entirety of the flesh, like a wound that can never heal.

The young doctor is kind when he cleans the blood. His touch hovers above your laceration when you hiss and tense. He's patient too, only continuing his work when you allow him to.

You hate this. Seas, you fucking hate this. You slump forward when Chopper continues his work.

You both pretend to not notice the tears that fall.

When he backs away, wound cleaned and bandaged, you don't turn to look him in the eye. You just turn your head and nod at Chopper.

The doctor straightens up like he always does after he works, but there's a new nervousness to him. His hooves are pressed together, like he's trying to quell the shaking. It makes you grit your teeth.

"The wound isn't bad," he says quickly, "but you'll need to rest. As for t-the rest, I couldn't..."

You nod. "Thanks, Chopper. You don't have to worry about... that. You're the best."

You watch the tension evaporate as he grins at you, leaning side to side. "That doesn't make me happy, you bastard!" He giggles, spinning. He sways a bit longer before he tamps it down, clearing his throat.

"But," he says clearly, "you can talk about it—"

"—Chopper—" you try to say.

"—Listen! It's important!" Chopper stands straighter like it'll give him the confidence his next words demand. "I-If you don't want to talk about it to me, it's okay. But... you should talk to someone. Nami, or Robin, or maybe- maybe if we call Jinbei, he would understand—"

"Chopper," you cut through. It hurts your heart to see the young doctor wilt. "It's okay. Thank you, but I'm alright."

"Okay... But- consider it? Please?"

You look away. "I will," you murmur.

Even though you don't see his face, you know Chopper knows you're lying. You know he won't push you farther, though. He hops down off his stool, shucks off his doctor's coat, and offers you the spare clothes Nami had lent you. She was kind enough to waive the fee this time too. You can't find it in you to appreciate it.

Chopper turns away as you get dressed again, which makes you smile. It makes you feel like you have some control again.

(You can't help but study your bandages. They're wrapped snug around you, but the edges of the brand sticks out like a hand print seared into your skin. You can still see the three pointed claws under the stark white of gauze.

It's the first time in a while you've really observed it. Every other time you forced yourself to look, all you could see was the red-hot brand and the wicked smiles of the demons who held it.

It's just as ugly as you remember.

You wish you had killed that marine, even if it wouldn't have changed anything.)

When you finish getting dressed, you signal to Chopper. He turns around, offers you a smile too bittersweet for someone of his youth, and reaches for the door.

"Oh, Luffy," Chopper comments idly. You can't stop how you flinch at the sound of his name.

You were dreading seeing him. It makes you want to cry again; how long has it been since you've dreaded being near Luffy?

The ringing in your ears swallow up the gentle words Chopper offers. Your bandages crush your ribs as you try to breathe—there isn't enough air, like that fucking marine took it all when he- when he—

The hands on your face smell like sun-warmed rubber. It's hard to say they're cradling your face, when Luffy just smacked his palms against your cheeks and squished them together until you were looking at him. When you blink, he blinks back at you.

"Are you there?" Luffy asks simply.

"Um, y-yes Captain," you force out. He nods thoughtfully.

Though, Captain isn't the right moniker. You aren't talking to isn't Captain Monkey D. Luffy, world-renowned Worst Generation pirate, capable of toppling kingdoms and challenging the World Government, feared by the powerful and adored by the powerless.

No, the boy in front of you is simply Luffy. The Luffy you've cherished since you were small, with a smile so bright and a heart so full—for all your life, you've never known how you got so lucky to have him.

Luffy pushes you to sit before he flops down next to you, bobbing with the mattress springing under his weight. You avoid his eye.

"You have something," Luffy states simply. It isn't a question, nor an accusation. It makes you flinch regardless—through all your tears, you can barely see the way your hands ball into fists in your lap.

He waits until you can find your words once again. It's kinder than you deserve.

"D-Do you- want to see it?"

"I don't care." Luffy just sort of... tilts his head at you. "I want to see you."

It's such a simple sentiment. It makes you feel like you've swallowed a thousand blades.

"I'm-... I didn't- I'm sorry, Luffy," you force out. The nails you dig into the stark white gauze don't put any pressure into the skin below it. Luffy frowns anyways.

"You can't apologize," he states simply. "You don't have to."

"But I- I lied—"

"It's okay." Luffy kicks his feet out. "I know you. I don't care about the rest."

All your words slip from your mind. If Luffy minds the silence, he doesn't show it.

Shame floods your chest. All these years hiding your past, unraveled just like that. You stare at your lap.

"They," you admit softly, "had me for so long. I- I never thought I'd be free."

He doesn't respond. You don't need him to—the words rush out before you can think. You stare into your open hands.

"W-When I escaped, I promised myself something. I said, they'll never control me ever again. But- I just... I've always been so scared! It's like- It's like I never even left—"

"Sabo is dead," Luffy says suddenly. "Ace is dead."

When Luffy looks forward, it isn't at Chopper's desk. It isn't at the medicine scattered along its surface, nor is it the kit the doctor had used to patch up your wounds. No—Luffy's gaze pierces farther, looking past the desk and the ship and the sea.

When Luffy looks forward, it's into the fire he left behind.

"But you aren't. You escaped. You're here with me."

Even without words, you understand. You can see the fire, too. "I am."

"You're not theirs anymore. You're mine," Luffy says just as suddenly, "but you aren't mine."

You don't respond. You wouldn't know how even if you tried.

Luffy turns to you with the same inferno that swallowed up your shared home. "You're my crew. You're my first mate. But I don't own you. No one does. That brand doesn't mean anything."

Before you can gather your thoughts, you feel Luffy's hand press his straw hat into your lap. It feels as warm as the sun he had been standing in just moments before. Luffy grabs at your hands to wrap them around its brim.

"You don't belong to anybody."

You could cry.

Luffy shakes your shared hold. "Say it."

"I-I..." You sniffle, "I don't..."

Luffy's eyes don't look away from you. They aren't mean, nor are they worried—they're fierce, just as sure of your power as they were the day he met you.

"I don't," you say finally, "belong to anybody."

When you collapse into his arms, shaking with every sob that wracks through your body, there is no shame when his hands brush over your mark. All you feel is warmth as he pulls you tighter.

You're not property. You're free.

You're a pirate—and no one is freer than a pirate.

[flwrkid14]

Tim and Jason: Caught Between Healing and Fear

note: completely inspired by this amazing post! tysm to @timdrakewhump for letting me use it as inspo!! <33

Tim doesn’t flinch around Jason. Not exactly. It’s more of a stiffening, a tightening of his shoulders, a flicker in his eyes that he knows Jason catches. He hates it. Everyone else has moved on. Dick forgave. Bruce rebuilt. Even Damian, with all his sharp edges, has softened into something survivable. But Tim? He still expects a hit that doesn’t come, still hears the echo of fists in the dark.

And that? That’s on him, right? It has to be. Because if everyone else can move on, why can’t he?

They don’t talk about it. Not directly. The bats have always been good at side-stepping, at smoothing over the cracks with enough shared history to pretend the damage never happened. They act like everything’s fixed, like Jason is something fragile they have to keep close, hold together. They ignore the way Tim’s shoulders tense when Jason’s voice gets too loud, the way his hands shake when shadows fall just right. They brush off his excuses to leave the room or, worse, look at him like he’s the problem.

“Jason’s trying, Tim.” “He’s better now.” “Don’t hold onto the past.”

But Tim isn’t holding on. He’s bracing.

Every patrol with Jason is a test. Every sparring match, a gamble. Jason keeps it light—punches pulled, jabs softened with crooked smiles—but Tim knows what Jason’s hands are capable of. He remembers the brutality, the raw fury that doesn’t vanish just because it’s been filed down to something more manageable. He knows Jason’s trying. He knows Jason’s better. But there’s a thin line between better and safe, and Tim’s still learning how to balance on it.

When Jason starts spending more time at the manor, no one questions it. They welcome him with open arms, eager to fill the empty spaces his absence left. He’s part of the family, they say. He needs support, they insist. So Jason sits at the dinner table, helps out on patrol, lounges on the couch like he’s always belonged there. And Tim... Tim watches from the corner of the room, a shadow on the periphery, pretending he doesn’t notice the way everyone else orbits around Jason like he’s the sun.

They send Tim on solo missions now—so Jason can have space. They say it like it’s a good thing, like they’re doing Tim a favor. More responsibility, more autonomy. He should be grateful. And he is. Or he would be, if it didn’t feel like being exiled. The irony isn’t lost on him. They don’t want Jason to be alone, so Tim has to be.

The apartment is quieter than the manor, the kind of quiet that presses in too close. No hum of the Cave, no distant footsteps of someone always nearby. It’s fine. He’s used to it. He tells himself that every night, like a mantra. He likes the solitude. It’s familiar, comforting in a way that makes his chest ache. But sometimes, when the silence stretches too thin, he thinks about calling. Jason always picks up now. He’d probably offer to come over, bridge the gap that Tim never asked to be there.

But what would Tim say? Sorry I still see the blood on your knuckles? Sorry I can’t forget how it felt to be the replacement? Sorry you came back, and I thought it would fix things, but it didn’t?

He doesn’t call.

They’re terrified of losing Jason again. They hold him close, desperate, like he might slip through their fingers if they let go for even a second. Tim understands that. He really does. He remembers the hollow ache that filled the manor after Jason died, the way grief settled into the walls like a permanent stain. No one wants to go through that again. They’d do anything to keep Jason safe, to keep him here.

But no one asks what Tim gave up. What he’s still giving up.

Jason is here, but Tim feels like he’s the ghost.

Sometimes, when they’re all gathered together—Bruce at the head of the table, Dick and Steph cracking jokes, Duke helping himself to another slice of pie—Tim looks around and wonders if anyone would notice if he slipped away. Just stood up, walked out, and didn’t come back. Would they miss him? Or would they be too busy watching Jason, making sure he doesn’t disappear again?

He catches Jason watching him sometimes, eyes sharp and knowing. Jason’s not stupid. He sees the cracks. Tim wonders if he feels guilty, or if he’s just waiting for Tim to say something, to break the silence that’s grown too thick between them. But Tim won’t. He can’t. The words stick in his throat, heavy and bitter.

So he stays quiet. He goes on solo missions, patrols alone, comes back to an empty apartment that feels less like home every day. And he tells himself it’s enough.

Because it has to be.