#I was legit shaking at the doctor while drawing this to not focus on my anxiety xD

[taradactylus]

Drew Sunny to cope with visits to the psychiatry-

[leahclearwaterdefensesquad]

Other fictional werewolves (let's not get into Meyer's 'they're shapeshifters' turnaround, yet) are treated as subhuman, too. Is it more of an issue in the twilight saga because SM reserved that exclusively for non-white, native americans who would have/do face that disregard by many people in real life? Whereas, with others (HP, for instance) it's...well, I don't know if it's across the race spec but it's not exclusive to marginalised people (then again, JKR was exclusionary in her attitude)

Okay so this app tells me that I have a certain amount of asks in my inbox; however, there's one less ask than what it's telling me I have, which leads me to believe that Tumblr may have trashed your other ask or just isn't showing it (if you sent another one, that is). So if you did, I'm really sorry about that and it wasn't my doing, so I'm just gonna work with this ask, okay? Just wanted to clarify that just in case!

So first things first. I haven't really watched enough shows about supernatural creatures, specifically shows with a vampire vs. werewolf element, to give a statement on whether the 'vampires are portrayed as more superior to werewolves/werewolves are treated as subhuman' bit is more /across the board/ in the supernatural genre like you say it is (although I think you make an interesting and legit point that I do want to hear more about). I've watched Twilight and True Blood(a while ago) and that's pretty much it.

In answer to your first question, yes. Meyer goes every which way to beastialize the Native Americans in her books, whom are the werewolves of the series (and like you said, we're ignoring her little "they're actually shapeshifters, here's a last minute mention about the Children of the Moon" from BD). She writes it so that specifically the Native American tribe turns into animals -> makes their actions violent and their control short enough to the point that a domestic violence situation goes down (we're coming back to this bit) -> draws up the racist parallel that Native ppl, and specifically the men, are more animalistic and predatorial. Not to mention that domestic and sexual violence against Indigenous women (as well as murder) is an ongoing genocidal epidemic, so Meyer including that bit that draws a parallel to what is happening irl is so... 'Inappropriate' doesn't do it and a lot of other shit she wrote justice. (Here's a link about MMIW.)

She shouldn't have written the Emily/Sam/Leah love triangle (and especially the incident between Sam and Emily where he scars her) PERIOD because 1. Meyer writes that Emily forgives Sam and that they have their romantic happily ever after, which trivializes what Indigenous women face and 2. portrays stereotypes of Native men being violent and 3. you can tell from how much unresolved drama she creates for her Native characters (Embry's father, the love triangle, killing Harry Clearwater and placing the blame on his daughter, killing Sarah Black off page and all the grief it causes Billy and their kids, Quil's dad dying in a boating accident when he was a kid, and Quil imprinting on a toddler which we are so getting to) that she's a sadist for Indigenous pain (which is a bit more in general with the series than just the love triangle but I'm in rant mode rn and it needed to be said!!!). Like, making Quil imprint on Claire, a 3 year-old - what was the point of that??? Meyer wrote a lot of fucked up shit in those books, but making Native men be violent toward women (Sam and Jake with Emily and Bella) and child groom (Jake and Quil with Renascence and Claire) is some of the absolute worst, despicable, racist ass shit!!

The anti-Native racism becomes even more apparent when you pay attention to the double standards that the Native characters face as opposed to the Cullens. Let's take several incidents into account. We are to view the werewolves as having a lack of control over their tempers and their phrasing, as well as being violent and dangerous. The e.g. was Sam and Emily (see above), as well as Jake's mood changes and shaking post-first phase. However, the Cullens are characterized by their self-control and focus over their thirst and their general feral nature as vampires (Carlisle's god-like control to the point that he can be a doctor, Edward not killing Bella in Twilight) DESPITE a clear example refuting this - the incident at Bella's birthday party in New Moon! Bella was all cut up by the end of the evening because Señor Slavery Is My State Right lost his shit at a paper cut and then Edweirdo didn't pay enough fucking attention to not throw Bella into a glass table when he was trying to push her out of the way, which he didn't even have to do!! Then in Eclipse, his hypocritical ass proceeded to tell Bella that he wasn't allowing her to go to La Push (god imagine if your man said he wasn't ALLOWING you to do something like I'd fucking kill the motherfucker with a flamethrower up the ass) because the wolf pack was dangerous despite why he left in the first place in New Moon! There are more occurrences of this hypocritical, racist bullshit, but this is the clearest example to point out.

I've seen greater in-depth discussions going around, as well as papers you can just google and read, that have analyzed how much anti-Native racism is steeped into the series, which I would highly recommend looking out for. Actually I may possibly go back and find a few that I read myself.

As for the JKR thing, she wrote lycanthropy as a metaphor for HIV/AIDS. Also, take notice to how the majority of the werewolves in HP were bad guys and sided with Lord Voldemort. These werewolves embraced their nature, eating (I'm pretty sure, it's been years since I've read it) and infecting ppl gleefully, which was basically a parallel to the idea that gay men were infecting ppl with AIDS, because Joanne is not only a transphobic bitch, she's homophobic as well. You wouldn't immediately think so because she made Dumbledore gay, but that was more for the ~drama~ rather than legitimate representation. (See: she released that detail after the books were published so that it wouldn't hurt sales/PR, she had him crush on the man he would have to defeat in battle for the ~drama~ b/c if there's one thing bigots love, it's inflicting pain on minority characters.)

Compare these violent werewolves in the Wizarding World vs. Remus Lupin, the werewolf who was forcefully turned by Fenrir Greyback, one of the pack leaders who sided with Voldermort, and is ~ashamed~ of his sickness.

Anyways, I think you may be onto something here, and I encourage everyone to add any other examples that are relevant and continue this conversation. I'm sure there are plenty that either have to do with Anon's point or with Stephenie Meyer being a racist.

[overlyimmersedarcana]

An angst ridden daydream

This is in the questionable canon category, because my mind placed it as some future point in time I haven't explored yet. Foalan is around 3 or 4 when this happens and they have a second child who's an infant, maybe 1. Honestly didn't expect it would take them that long to go for two, Maranell has the craziest baby fever out of the lot.

I was listening to sad music, and my brain decided to explore unhappy scenarios as accompaniment. I legit cried a little while I was imagining this.

There's no build up cuz the point my brained wanted was just the painful part. Long story short Muriel almost died. When the day dream began I fully intended to have him die, but I didn't have the heart. I just could not.

A very large tree fell on him, I think a lightning strike knocked it over. Very very big heavy tree. It took a stupid amount of healing magic from basically everyone in my cast who's capable if it, all working together, to save him. And even without dying he was unconscious for two days and has trouble walking or standing like before. Because spine injury. He can still do those on his own, technically, but he's prone to stumble and be unsteady more often then he'd like. So he spends more time sitting then he did before.

I don't doubt my brain have him heal completely eventually, if I even keep that scenario. It's actually producing a lot of high quality fluff as an aftermath so who knows...

Excerpts

"please! please! please don't go!" Maranell begged, voice tight with fear and grief. She clings with both hands to one of his, clutching it desperately to her chest. "You can't! You can't! Please stay! I'll do anything!" Her pleading is sporadically interrupted by fits of terrified sobbing.

Muriel can't answer her, he can barely breath. The weight of the fallen tree had been removed from him, by some miracle of adrenaline she had moved it, but that doesn't undo the damage. He can't tell the difference between pain and numbness at this point, but even if he could he's not really lucid enough to notice. He does notice them though. The desperate pleading from his wife and the confused fear in his son's crying. But everything is too scrambled to know exactly how to react. So he just looks at her, as best he can, and watches the tears chase each other down her cheeks.

"Please, please stay with me! Please..." She leans down to let her head rest against his, her spastic begging turning to whispered pleas, "please. I'll never ask another thing of you. Please just stay. Please. You're everything. I love you. Please... "

He feels her shake against him as another fit sobs tear out of her.

"Stop...crying..." He forces out, horse and labored like it takes all of his strength. And so quiet she's probably the only one who heard it.

She shushes him gently and nuzzles against the side of his head. "I will if you stay..." She bargains though her stricken voice.

"Mommy!" Comes the tiny voice next to her, between sobs of his own. Faolan tugs at his mother's shirt, begging for comfort. He isn't sure exactly what this is but it's scary, especially if she's so upset it must be very bad. "Mommy!"

She draws a sharp breath and lifts her head, trying to compose herself enough to help the toddler. "It's ok, little bear." She lies, pulling him close with on arm while the other remains clinging to Muriel's hand. "Daddy's hurt, but the wolves have gone and gotten help. There be a doctor soon it'll be ok."

"Daddy... " He whimpers, only slightly soothed by his mother's words. He wiggles from Maranell's embrace and snuggle into his father's shoulder as best he can. He doesn't really understand doctor, but he understands hurt. And huggs and cuddles help hurt, at least as far as he knows.

                                                        ~*~

Maranwe focuses her magic into Muriel's back, looking at the extent of the damage in her unique way. "This isn't good..." Maranwe speaks low, looking at Maranell, at her eyes, the gaze saying far more then the words.

"Don't tell me what I know!" She snaps, then agony washes over her features, and she repeats in a plea "don't tell me what I know..."

Maranwe knows what she means. Don't say it out loud. Don't speak it into reality. If it isn't said, maybe it can be averted. But she can hear the resignation in her sister's plea. She's only hoping against hope, the logical part of her mind already knows better.

                                                       ~*~

"Come here, baby." Maranell urges to her young son, calling him near. "Now place you hands like this, and pour everything inside of you into your hands." There's an edge of desperation to her voice, but she tries to keep calm as she directs the boy. "Think of what you want and imagine it as golden light around your hands. And say what I say."

Once she's finished with the directions, she returns her hands to their own position. Laid lightly on her husband's back as part of a circle made by everyone present; Maranwe and Nazali, Maralyn and Asra, and even Julian though magic still makes him nervous, plus herself and Faolan. All of them pour as much healing magic as they can together, casting their spells, or lending their aid, in whatever way they can. Maralyn and Asra know well what they're doing, and Julian knows enough to know how to lend them his strength. Nazali does the same for Maranwe, while she uses her own unique means. While they all focus in their quiet, well practiced ways, Maranell's hushed voice is the only silence breaker, followed by Faolan as he copies her. They chant in a language none of the other's actually understand, though Maranwe recognizes. Muriel would know the words too, if he had the mind to.

The pooling magic glows brilliantly, and when it fades there's less tension beneath their hands. Maranell's heart misses a beat in panic and she presses her ear to Muriel's back. She gives a quiet sigh of relief when she feels he's still breathing and hears his heart. Maranwe focuses the last scraps of her magic to check their work.

"... Well, I think he's out of the worst of it..." Despite the words, she doesn't seem wholly confident.

"Is Daddy ok now...?" Faolan's little voice asks, rubbing his hands back and forth quickly over his father back like he wants to help more.

Maranell takes a breath, trying to keep the tremble out of her voice for her son's sake. "He's just sleeping now. He was hurt very badly, he needs to rest for a while.

"When is he gonna wake up?"

Maranell looks to her sister for that answer, prompting Faolan to do the same.

Maranwe makes... A noise. Not a sigh exactly, but not a confident sound either. "That's hard to say" How is she supposed to explain this to the tot? How would she explain it to her own daughter? "It's a complicated hurt... There's no way we can know the exact effect-"

"But he...is going to wake up?" Maranell interrupts, trying not to make it sound *too* much like a question. She doesn't want to frighten her son, but she needs the direct confirmation.

"I think so. He should..." Maranwe answers in her usual noncommittal way. "But-" Maranell cuts her off again, shaking her head.

"That's all I need from him."

[synntaxe]

*BREAKS DOWN THE F*CKING DOOR* PROTECTOR/PROTECTEE PROMPTS ACE IN A NEAR DEATH SITUATION. SABO (AND LUFFY) DONT LET HIM OUT OF THEIR SIGHT. “I’m not gonna let anything happen to you" "!! *fixes the door* thank you

YOOOOOO I AM ALL ABOUT THIS!! INJURED ACE IS THE JAM AND IT’S EVEN BETTER WHEN SABO AND LUFFY ARE RIGHT THERE WITH HIM! i’m gonna hijack this and throw it into a modern hacker/criminal au my boyfriend and i have going because eyyy fun stuff. fun dangerous stuff

also the way you set up this ask legit made me laugh and i kept coming back to reread it and snicker to myself, so props to you nonnie~

putting it under a read more because this got REALLY long all of a sudden

IMPACT

Pairings: SaboAceGenre: Angst | Hurt/Comfort ( but mostly hurt )Word Count: 3263

There was still a ringing in his ears and fire behind his eyes when Ace woke up, instincts those of blaring warning bells and jerky limbs outstretched towards the sky. A second of scorching heat and white light, there one moment and gone the next. Bleary eyes faced an unfocused world of shadowed beige, an off white skyline that swam before his vision, turned into a kaleidoscope of mixed signals and dull color.

Dizzy, his head stuffed with cotton and his tongue an unfamiliar weight in his own mouth, the first thing Ace did was roll to his side and upend his stomach over the edge of the bed. Thankfully, the contents appeared to be mostly water and dry air. It didn’t stop the sensation of nausea from creeping along his spine, however, hair plastered to his face in a cold sweat and shoulders shaking slightly.

The pain came next.

Nerves fried as if he had shoved a finger into a power socket, his right side only prickled at first, a dull sensation like that of a limb that had fallen asleep. Only it grew worse. Way worse.

Doubled over on his side still from his initial movement, his chest heaved in ragged, uneven breaths, scraping along his insides, and with each one the pain grew sharper, slowly forcing through portions of the fog that had descended on his mind. His right side itched and stung and burned all at the same time, not sure which sensation to focus on and drowning in the pain as a whole instead. Chest tight, every breath brought another spark of pain, his sides pressing against him suddenly and drawing spots to dance along the edge of his vision. There were bandages all along his right side. He could feel them, distantly, where they wrapped around his leg, his waist, chest and even neck, loose enough to not restrict movement, but tight enough where he was aware. And his head—fuck his head hurt. It was what bothered him the most, hammering against his skull in time with his heartbeat, there to overshadow everything else around him until all he could focus on was pain, pain, pain, pain…

“Shit—fuck. You’re not supposed to—”

A voice spoke up from somewhere behind him or besides him, the sound reverberating oddly in the room. Ace couldn’t pinpoint exactly where, not even aware that his eyes were squeezed shut until there was suddenly a hand on his face and another on his shoulder. The one that didn’t burn. His head tilted upwards, Ace had to force himself to open his eyes again and when he did a whine crawled up his throat against his own volition, the light, faint as it may be only making the pain in his head worse. They closed a second later, hiss of pain on his lips.

There was a soft curse and one of the hands left, the room darkening some behind his closed eyelids. Ace sighed with relief at the change.

Hands combed through his hair, brushing the damp strands back away from his face, wiping briefly at his mouth before they retreated only to return again a moment later and gently push him back.

The pain the movement caused caught in his lungs and flared up behind his eyes, but he didn’t have the strength to fight back. He must have made a noise or something because the hands were on his face again, stroking at his cheeks, tracing along his jaw. They felt cool against his skin and he wanted to lean into them more.

“Ace, Ace—you’re doing fine. Hey. Ace, I need you to open your eyes again for me. Can you do that?”

He whined at the voice, the request jumbled in his mind more than normal, slow to process. It was maybe a minute, maybe only a few seconds before he complied, silver eyes parted just enough to dazedly stare ahead of him, again relieved to find that the light was no longer there to harass him. Though, that also meant that it took a moment to zero in on the blurred figure before him, still little more than a shadow against a equally dark backdrop, for the moment.

“There you go,” the disjointed voice spoke, the sound soothing, familiar. “You’re doing great.”

Ace almost closed his eyes again until the grip on his face shifted, tilting his chin up, just a little bit. He groaned again, brows furrowed with displeasure.

“C’mon, Ace. I need to get a look at your eyes, alright? You’ve been out for a while now and that damn doctor of yours insisted on checking up on you periodically.” The voice was sharper now, a little louder, but still familiar. The hands on his face shifted, one sliding down to his neck, the other again brushing through his hair. “Don’t fall asleep on me again. Stay up just a little longer for me—please.”

He tried to nod in response, but that proved a difficult thing to do with the hands there to practically hold up his head in the first place. Instead he wet his lips. “‘M try’n,” Ace assured the other, voice slurred and slow, his tongue still alien to him.

The fingers in his hair felt so nice, distracting from the agony at the back of his head where he could feel matted hair and something dry against his scalp. Trying to keep his eyes open, he leaned somewhat into the touch regardless, eyes on the person in front of him, half hunched over his form.

“S’bo?”

Sabo’s breath hitched ever so slightly, something Ace might not have noticed were they not so close. It was enough to prove that he was right though, secretly a little pleased that he had recognized the male even in his current state. He wasn’t sure what had given him away really—he just knew.

“Yeah, Ace. I’m right here.” Shuffling a little closer, Ace felt the bed dip besides him, whining somewhat when the hand slid away from his hair. “I’m gonna ask a few questions, alright? Think you can answer some of them for me?”

Ace wanted to scoff, some aborted noise similar to a snort what left him instead. Of course he could answer a few questions. He wasn’t helpless. Though, he didn’t properly answer him either.

Seeming to understand anyway, Sabo hummed softly before leaning forward a little. “How you feeling?”

All he did was groan. Just the reminder of the pain was enough to have him wince, swallowing harshly when he tilted his head back against the pillow and turned his face towards the pale ceiling. “—urts,” he forced out, the word half aborted. His face scrunched up, frustrated when he tried again. “Can’t really… Mh. M’head hurts. Hard to… breathe.”

Another shaky breath and the bed shifted again when Sabo leaned in closer. The hands returned again and Ace sighed into the touch, noting after another moment how those fingers carded through his hair, but never strayed too close to where his head hurt the most. That was nice.

“Concussion, yeah. You’ve got at least one fractured rib too,” Sabo spoke, listing off the facts as if it was a grocery list. “You remember anything?”

Ace’s first instinct was to say yes, of course he remembered, but lips parted on the words, they snapped shut before any sound actually escaped him. Because—did he?

He was at Sabo’s place now, his room actually, but he couldn’t remember how he had gotten here or where exactly he had been before. Searching back, he could remember very little at all, only jumbled images and garbled words. “No, I don’t—I…” He was with his crew—that much he remembered. And they were… they were… on a mission?

Swallowing again, expression drawn with concentration, he frowned. “We were… lookin’ for something? We—no, I… split up, and…”

Gunfire, the crack of bones under the force of a foot, blood painted against a wall, dragging footfalls, the sound of a click—and then white fire, heat, smoke and pain. He could remember the sensation of flying for a brief second, of the crackle of multiple voices over the com. After that, nothing.

Ace sat up in a rush, heart beat a crescendo in his chest and air catching in lungs ready to burst. It didn’t matter to him how the pain beat at his insides, turning nerves into fireworks of agony. His right side felt alive with it, a screaming torment of scorched skin and barely closed wounds now torn open with the movement.

It was poor competition against fear.

Still, ears ringing with white noise, vision overtaken by dark spots, and his breathing once more deteriorated to nothing more than small panicked gasps, he didn’t process the hands on him at first, or at all. Not until there was breath against his face and a voice loud enough to tear through his own senses.

“—ron. You absolute idiot. You can’t move like that yet—or at all. Let’s stick with at all… Fuck, you’re bleeding again. You—god.” Sabo’s hands were everywhere, firm and pressing where one gripped at his shoulder and the other his hip. “Why did you do that? Fucking hell—why, Ace?!”

“S’plosion,” was all Ace managed to force out in answer, his throat tight and lungs wailing from lack of proper oxygen intake. Gasping, he tried again. “Explosion. I got—”

“I know. You’re fine. It’s fine now, but you need to rest.”

The panic was back again, terror clawing at his chest when he pushed forward a little more, both against the screaming complaints from his own body and Sabo’s hands. One of his own arms moved, slow to respond and swinging wider than he intended, his fingers loose and awkward when he tried to grasp at Sabo’s shirt.

“Can’t.” How could he? Ace had walked straight into a trap and his crew— “They’re still there. S’bo. I can’t. I need to…” He sucked in another sharp breath, pushing now ( uselessly ) at the male’s chest. “I need t’ help ‘em.”

He couldn’t just sit here and REST when his friends were in danger, when he wasn’t there to watch their backs and support them. All he could think about was the noise and the heat when the explosion had gone off. Had any of the others been caught in the same blast? What if there were more?

The instant he shifted a leg in an attempt to stand, Sabo was there. One moment he was sitting up, one leg sprawled over the edge of the bed, preparing to shift his weight to the side, and in the next his back was against the blankets, his wrists were pinned to the bed, and Sabo was straddling his hips.

And where before his grip had been firm, now it was harsh.

The entire shift had taken no more than a second and left Ace with a rush of pain so intense that he nearly blacked out from the assault to his nerves, a short cry on his lips and the beginning of tears collected at the corner of his eyes. Everywhere Sabo pressed against him howled with agony, bruises, burns and lacerations magnified tenfold. Breath lodged in his chest, it was another long moment before he felt capable of releasing it, and even then it left his lips in the form of a strangled wheeze.

He wanted to scream at him, to buck his hips and shove the male away from him, yell at him for denying him, for keeping him here. One look at Sabo’s expression, however, and those urges died, falling away like ashes from a spent fire.

In all the years Ace had known him, he had seen Sabo angry plenty of times. As a child that meant loud complaints and huffs of breath, red-tinted cheeks and balled fists. Once he got older, it changed, prone to the occasional outburst, but more so calm words and narrowed eyes. This… this wasn’t either of those.

Sabo’s eyes were hard—cold in the way an unforgiving tundra devoured the sea, unyielding and fierce when they flickered over his expression before settling onto Ace’s own argent gaze. “Are you done?” Sabo spoke. His voice was no longer soft and consoling as it had been before, just as sharp and cool as his gaze.

He nodded minutely in response but the bruising force around his wrists didn’t lessen. If anything, it grew even tighter.

“You nearly died today. Do you get that? Has that even crossed your mind?” Sabo paused, eyes searching. “A few steps closer to the initial blast and you might not have survived. And even if you did, there’s a chance you would have been crippled for life. As it is already, you nearly lost your right leg. If the force hadn’t sent you flying you would be using a cane for the rest of your life. Do you get that?”

There was a heavy silence between them, filled only by the rasping of his own breathing and the off kilter beat of his heart within his chest. Sabo’s eyes boring into his own, Ace wasn’t sure he found the answer he was looking for.  

The knees around his waist tightened and Ace had to bite down on his bottom lip to keep from crying out, spots again darting across his vision.

“You can’t even sit up without losing your strength,” Sabo continued, voice icy. “What makes you think that you’d be able to stand? And even if you did, you can’t do anything in this state, Ace. Your precious crew—,” he spat out the word “—would only be dragged down trying to protect you. Like they should have been doing from the start.”

“Not their fault. I was the one who—”

“I DON’T CARE!!”

Ace jerked at the sudden shout, eyes wide when they stared back at Sabo. The male’s arms were shaking, grip tight around his wrists and eyes alive with livid fury.

“I don’t care, Ace,” he repeated, voice still loud. “I don’t care about your crew. I don’t care about what missions you go on or what you steal—what they want you to do. They’re the ones that keep putting you in a position where you can get hurt, where you’re at risk. They’re the ones that should be watching your back—not the other way around!”

The trembling was down to his hands now, watching in horror as Sabo’s expression faltered, crumbling into sorrow.

“As far as I’m concerned, they failed their job. Again. And I can’t… I can’t just keep watching as you tear yourself apart, Ace. I can’t. I don’t care about them, but I do care about you.” Sabo wet his lips, leaning back some so that he was looking down at Ace from where he sat on his hips. “So… So if stopping you here is what it takes to keep you from hurting yourself even more, then fine. I’ll do it. I’ll even tie you down if I have to. It’ll set back the time it’ll take you to heal, but at least you won’t get yourself killed. I don’t care what I have to do. I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Not again.”

Where Sabo’s fingers had pressed against his wrists, brands were left, even if they weren’t visible on the surface. It didn’t matter that they were freed now—Ace still remained where he was, frozen in spot.

All he could do was stare, stunned into silence, still sorting through all that had been said through the jumble of his own thoughts. Sabo’s voice rang like an echo in his ears, certain phrases stuck on repeat, haunting him. Because it was true… Ace really hadn’t even considered how close he had come to dying until now. His own life didn’t matter to him; it never had. But Sabo—Sabo cared and he had nearly lost him.

He was reckless sometimes. Ace knew that, aware of how dangerous a flaw like that could be in their line of work. A single minded drive might get him killed at some point, but what they were doing was important—necessary. If he stopped now… If he abandoned his crew… He’d never forgive himself. And not only that, but—

“They’re my family, Sabo.”

“I know,” Sabo cut in, dropping his gaze, tightening fingers into the fabric of his pants. “I know, but… We are too—Luffy and… and me. We just—I just…” An aggravated sigh left the blond, Ace watching as his expression twisted, frustration painted in the angles of his features.

“I need you to be safe, Ace. You can’t run off and get yourself killed. I don’t care how important they are to you—not right now. So can you just… promise me. Promise you’ll be more careful, at the very least?”

There was a broken tone to his words, the plea behind it all painfully obvious to Ace now. He had scared him. A lot. It was clear to see in the tension of his shoulder, the rigidity of his fingers curled into his pants, the way his eyes hid behind a shield of blond curls, hiding the vulnerability behind them both. A facade of strength that was paper thin, a mask made from tissue. It crumbled further even as he watched.

Ace felt like a monster.

Limbs slow and partially unresponsive, gaping wounds of hesitation and regret, Ace was careful with his movements, slowed with indecision when one hand moved to cup at Sabo’s cheek. Ignoring the ache of pain, his other hand followed after, helpless to ignore the need to comfort, even if the actual means to do so escaped him.

Sabo didn’t move to pull away, so Ace pulled him in closer and the other followed after, willingly. He stroked his thumbs across his cheeks, hands slipping to his jaw, tracing softly over the familiar panes of his face. One arm wrapped around the back of his neck, resting against his shoulders, dragging Sabo down until he was practically laying against his chest, his head buried into the crook of his neck.

Ace pointedly ignored the way his chest tightened, not sure whether his airways were being blocked by pain, or proximity. It didn’t matter either way. Sabo was more important right now.

For a long moment they just stayed there like that, one of Sabo’s hands resting on his bandaged chest, the other curled into the sheets beside him, his breath warm against his neck. Even with the pain, the pressure of additional weight against him pulling at his wounds and aggravating injured ribs, it was worth it to actually feel Sabo’s breathing even out, the heart like a fluttered bird under his touch slowly calming.

“I’m sorry,” Ace spoke, voice a whisper. “I’m sorry, Sabo. I just—” He swallowed his words, wincing. “I promise I’ll be more careful. I will.”

The hand against his chest pressed a little harder, Ace sucking in a breath in response to keep an exhale of pain contained. Sabo shifted, ever so slightly, and the sensation eased, apologetic fingers skimming over the white of the bandages, his head pressing a little further into Ace’s neck.

“Just don’t die.”

And that… that wasn’t something that Ace could promise, as much as he wanted to. The promise hesitated bittersweet at the tip of his tongue, ready to take the plunge into what he couldn’t keep. Battling a war with himself, in the end Ace settled with— “I’ll try.”

It was the best he could give, and at least now he wouldn’t be telling a lie.