#my life is null and void

[stormieneko]

Let’s have no one together :D

[waywardsalt]

fun to think abt loz villains interacting. i think bellum would hate null

[drakothedragon55]

You can say that the official Urbanshade UGCs inspired me a teeeny tiny little bit…

[cathrt]

so hard to figure out my kintype when i’ve spent my entire adolescence repressing my whole personhood, and i don’t even have a favorite color anymore lol

[wellijustfinnihedoneofthebooks]

Okay i understand that dogs are just animals and dont have malicious intent

But

Why do their owners, who are full blown humans with fully operating brains and theoretically empathy, find it so funny when people are scared of their dog? Why does it give them so much glee to watch someone jump away and flinch from their dog???

[poke-cove]

So I didn't quite realize how big my kids were getting

And then we. Took this picture

[muntitled]

Broken Telephones

Ex!Jake x Fem!Reader | Jay x Fem!Reader

Summary: Despite Jay priding himself on being a good friend, he's done denying himself what belongs to him.

Warnings: Language, Obsession, Jealousy, toxicity, Ex Boyfriend's Best Friend to Lovers, Smut +18 (mdni), Squirting, Manhandling Ownership kink, Semi-Public Sex, Exhibitionist Kink, Dubious Consent, Angry Sex, Threats, Dom/Sub Themes, Hard Dom!Jay

Based on this request by @penny44224 . This gets really toxic, sorry, also I couldn't leave my baby Jake out of this, hope you like it <3

“What kind of party is this anyway?” You grumble from the passenger seat, your heart sinking behind the glittery confines of your tight collared shirt. Something so tight and so painfully provocative would never have come out of your own closet. You had Jake and his obscene budget to thank for that.

“The normal kind,” he says, “with drinking and sex and smoke-” before he's allowed to continue his blissful rambling, you interrupt Jake with a raise of your hand.

“Need I remind you that I have asthma?” With a firm hand on the steering wheel, Jake's eyes roll into the back of his head.

“I can't go.” You continue, “That's a health risk.”

“You haven't had an asthma attack since you were 6,” he deadpans, “Do not piss me off,”

It was difficult to do much of anything with a pounding heart and a stomach flooded with molten anxiety. What do people do at parties anyway? You've watched enough low budget teen Netflix dramas to know… nothing good.

"I don't think you understand the words leaving my mouth," The dwindling daylight leaves your bones rattling with anxiety. You were supposed to be watching the sun setting over the river skyline from your dorm room. Your notes on autocracy in a Constitutional Monarchy, pending across the page in front of you, ready for submission Monday morning.

Instead, you find yourself arrested in a leather seat, in a shameless chequered miniskirt. Your exposed thighs are sticky with evening humidity. This is not how your evening was supposed to go.

"I need to be studying-"

You're battling fiercely with a Mr Morale tune oozing through the Jeep's speakers while your best friend remains blissfully unaware, rapping along as if your concerns were null and void.

Kendrick's voice was strong but yours was stronger. "Since I am an unwilling participant, this is technically kidnapping. You are illegally kidnapping me this very second. You are aware of that, yes?"

"Nonsense,” Jake chuckles, “I can't kidnap my ex girlfriend-” before you're able to rebut he quickly adds, “And I am aware that you're going to wake up one day realising your stupid ass wasted your college years studying." Jake shoots back while the chorus sails on without him. This was serious business if he took the time to ignore Kendrick's second verse. "I'm aware that in all our time in school you've done nothing but school. I'm also aware that I'm saving you from a life of complete and utter regret.” His big brown eyes narrow in the dark, and you are corralled into a shameful silence.

“Just don't try to sleep with me tonight-” you grumble under your breath.

“I'm a changed man,” he says, “I've only thought about fucking you only once this whole evening!”

“Oh god…” you shake your head slowly as the jeep assumes a safer speed in a residential enclosure. “These are rich people's palm trees, why am I seeing rich people's palm trees?"

"Because I got invited to an event that classifies the attendance of rich-people-palm-trees." His stoney visage cracks into a lazy, triumphant smirk.

“Rugby team.” Is all he says.

Your hand flies to the door handle, for what purpose specifically, remains an utter mystery. The car is still in motion so you did not have the intention of flinging the door open and hurling your body onto the biting tar underneath.

"Stop being so goddamn anxious all the time-”

“Jake, I don't even like Rugby-”

“No but you like me… and I like rugby… ergo…,” the car slows to a nauseating stop in the middle of a packed driveway.

"Let me rephrase that- Jake your friends hate me-"

"If this is about Jay again..."

"He's never liked me!" You huff, "Even when we were dating it's like he had it out for me or something!" Your shoulders are tense and Jake can't help but send a worried glance over. He ventures to lay his one hand on your thigh but stops himself, placing it instead on shoulder to rub out the knots there.

"You're making excuses. Jay hates everyone," he says, “I need you to forget about school for one night.” Jake's pep talk only succeeds in filling the void of your stomach with even more dread. “You think about dead politicians way too much for a 20 year old girl."

And that's how you end up in the backyard of a frat house as the third accessory of Jake and some unnamed girl. He has his arms wrapped around both your necks as he enters the party, like some glorified university replica of Hefner.

You know in this light, you appeared to be one of his girls, but the thought of weathering this party without Jake on standby filled you with unmistakable dread.

It was as if the soles of your feet were melting into the grass with each step you took towards the bonfire, even more so when you saw him already seated at the edge of a log, watching you approach with a smile that eases into an unimpressed frown. Jay's cup is held in mid-air as he watches you plop down beside him.

A single gold chain is tucked away behind a loose button up and suddenly, you wish to burrow into the ground underneath this log, away from the vulnerability of his gaze. You felt naked.

“You're not drinking.” Jongseong observes, glancing away from you and Jake's hand sliding over your hip bone.

“What’s in it?” You ask, eyes drifting over Jay's solo cup.

“Sugar, spice and everything nice,” he whispers back.

Beside you, Jake entertains the rest of his friends, his fingers rubbing unconsciously into your sides.

You don't seem at all impressed.

“What do you want me to say?” He asks with a slight deadpan, “That I put my love and affection into it? You're at frat house. This is probably 90% alcohol-”

“-And 10% mysterious drugs to roofie unsuspecting girls.” You conclude before making an elaborate show of pushing further into Jake's side. Jay doesn't like that one bit.

“If I wanted you to sleep with me,” his lips tickle your ear and you shiver, “I wouldn't need to get you high out of your mind to do it.”

Something in his words sounded vaguely like a promise.

“You'll just fall in line,” Jay said, “Like all the others.”

Before Jay could get another mind numbing word out, you're quickly standing from your post from beside Jake. “Coming here was a mistake. I'm Heading Home,”

Jake's hand tugs at yours as if prompting you to sit back down.

"Not after the game… C'mon, it'll be fun," you let Jake's words anchor you to the floor.

"Actually, Jake," Even under the moonlight you can spot a deep frown setting across his face, "I think I should go home. I've already had way too much to drink,"

"You've had 1 cup, my dear-”

"And a half," you clarify before shaking your head. ‘and your frjend is making me really fucking uncomfortable,’ you choose to leave those unspoken words unspoken.

You play with the string along the seam of your skirt, humming along to the Drake tune oozing out of the unseen speakers.

“Aww, you really don't wanna join our game?” Jay coos, looking up at you with an incriminating smirk as he clutches his heart as if you hurt him deeply.

“I'll pass.”

“Course you will,” he snickers. “Princess can't bear to stay away from her book too long, can she?’ It's that tone, that fucking that has you lowering

“What…” you swallow thickly, “What game?” you find yourself asking with a dignified huff as you plant your butt on the log in Between Jake and Jay once more. Your bones are rattling with unprocessed rage as Jake whispers, “broken telephone,”

He snickers, “just try to be as quiet as possible,- never thought I'd be saying those words to you of all people-” you sit at Jake's arm as the game begins with the first message travelling from Jungwon to Jungwon’s date. Unbeknownst to you, Jay has been zeroed in on your conversation with Jake all evening-his blood simmering at the sound of you and Jake whispering sweet nothings to each other like people who were still very much lovers.

His jaw clenched as he plants his steepled elbow on his knees, his hands hanging lazily in front of him as he tries to focus on playing the game and not the giggles exchanged between you and your supposed ex boyfriend.

Sunoo finally passes the message into Jay's right ear, a very clear and resounding- ‘there is nothing satanic about pineapple on pizza’- Jungwon’s attempt at absolution from an argument they had weeks ago. But instead of carrying this specific message over into your ear, subsequently bringing the game to a victorious end, he stops midway, watching your laugh aimed at the blackened night sky while Jake looks up at you with that expression that was very much not supposed to be reserved for ex's.

Jay decides to throw the game.

“Your turn,” Jay's voice is dripping in monotony, as if he couldn't be bothered to even talk to you, let alone play this game with you.

Your mouth falls open when he slithers his hand to the back of your neck, leading your head to his slightly parted lips until said lips are tickling your ear lobe. Your heart is sinking into the confines of your stomach and for the briefest moment, you fear the world might have stopped spinning as Jongseong carries his next words in your ear. Game be damned.

“First floor. Third door on the left.” His hand is still planted on the back of your neck as he whispers those words at you and you're immediately struck with the severity in his tone.

You weren't an idiot.

In fact you'd like to consider yourself quite smart.

You knew that whatever Jay confessed - or rather implied - was definitely not the contents of Jungwon’s intended message. A broken telephone indeed.

Still, coiling in your stomach is a confusing web of wired tension that needs to be snapped. All night, your banter with Jongseong had been laced with something far more frustrating, something you needed to get out of your system.

“U-Um I need to go to the bathroom-” you don't know why you're following his orders. You don't know why you're walking steadily towards what you know very well was probably Jongseong's room in the frat house- a lamb to the proverbial slaughter. All you know is that your heart speeds up just a little quicker when you hear him excusing himself from the group right behind you with; “I'm going for a smoke.”

Your mind is hazy with not only fear, but insane unmistakable lust as you make your way up the stairs, surfing between bodies as you make it onto the first floor landing. You can feel Jongseong's oppressive presence behind you. You can feel how anxious he is to get you alone.

And when you enter his room, there is almost no time to regret following orders because he has you pinned against the closed door. The sound of the party is muffled outside but all you're concerned with is Jongseong's palm cradling your throat, his hooded eyes holding something so incredibly angry within.

“What the fuck do I have to do to make you forget him?” His voice cracks as he mumbles drunkenly. You'd never seen someone as put together as Jay, appear so wayward, so driven by inhibitions.

His palm slithers tighter around your neck, too late for your brain to process that you need his hands off.

“You've been taunting me the whole night.”

“Jongseong, I don't know what-”

Your words bleed into a yelp as he pulls you in by the neck to connect your lips in a steering and sloppy kiss.

Once he gets even a tiny taste, all inhibitions are thrown out the window. Jongseong's cock hardens in his pants and he's utterly delicious with lust.

“You're such a slut, you know that?” He mumbles drunkenly, words meshing together, “Might as well have walked in with his fucking collar around your throat like he owned you-”

“Jongseong-” a gasp cracks your throat when Jay forces his hand underneath your skirt, immediately cupping your sex until you are arching your back against the door.

“Oh- fuck- Jongseong-”

A snicker slips from his alcohol stained lips as Jongseong drags you from the door to his window, overlooking the backyard.

“You want him to see what a slut you are for me?” Your tits press against the glass as Jongseong looms behind you, sliding your panties to the side before dipping his fingers into your soaked folds.

“I didn't-”

What you wanted to say before the weight of chasing your own lust overpowered your senses, is that you didn't know just how deep Jongseong's infatuation ran. You didn't even know he likes you.

“All he needs to do is turn around and look up, and he'll see you fucking yourself on my hand-” Jay's other hand reaches over to pull down your top, putting your breasts on absolute display. You're moaning wantonly into the air as you push yourself back into Jay's hand fucking into you and you feel like crying real tears.

“You're fucking soaked. Is that for me or for him?”

“Jongseong I'm gonna-” you're squirting all over his hand, your ass pressed against his front before the rest of the words could even leave your lips. Jongseong is utterly mystified by the sight of you arching backwards against him, body writhing as you come undone right there by his window.

“Fuck,” his voice cracks again, he's utterly pained. “You're gonna do that again, but on my cock this time-”

“Jongseong-” you barely made it a whisper before he's flinging you onto his bed. The springs creek underneath your back as he pulls you by the hips to the edge, manhandling you as if you were nothing but property.

“I saw you first, you know that, right?” Jay mumbles to himself as he drags his pants down to pull his aching cock out. “I saw you first and Jake-” he spits on his hand, jerking his cock above you, “That fucker knew I wanted you first but he hit on you anyway-” Before he can continue in anger, a low groan leaves his throat. “Fuck baby, open your legs just like that-” they snap open on command, you're not sure you're able to deny him anything in this state. And what a state it is: braids hanging around you like a halo, your shirt, a mess with your tits hanging out, all while Jay swipes your panties away to make way for his cock already leaking precum. It's like he didn't have time at all to undress you. He needed to be inside you so fucking badly.

“I'm gonna cum inside, I hope you know-” Jay's eyes roll back into his head as he eases his cock in, one hand pressed on the bed at the side of your head as he hovers over you, “You're squeezing my cock, for fuck's sake-” he ruts into you, creating a burst of friction that has your stomach coiling again-”

“Jongseong- baby-”

“Fucking Christ, don't call me that or I'm gonna cum-” he's soon fucking into you with the urgency and frustration that has been building since you and Jake announced your relationship.

It inked his veins and seeped into his habits, whereby he'd crane his neck back in every econ class, just to get a look at you in 10 minute intervals. He loved you and you just refused to see it.

Having you underneath him now, tits bouncing while he fucked you on his bed- it was all proving too much for Jongseong and you moan at the feeling of his cock twitching inside you.

“I'm gonna cum- fuck you're such a slut-”

He squishes your cheeks together, in a vaguely condescending display of power and kisses your forehead before muttering, “Tell me you're a slut for me and not him.” You clench around his cock at the vaguely animalistic quality in Jay’s voice as he squeezes the base of your throat, bringing you dangerously close to the edge.

“Jongseong-”

“Say ‘I'm Park Jongseong's slut-” say it babe and I'm gonna fucking cum,” you’re already slipping into your orgasm, the pressure in your cunt building into the unmistakable feeling of immense fullness.

You're gushing around his cock as you scream. “Your slut- Fuck! I'm Park Jongseong's slut-”

His nails dig into the skin around your neck and his eyes roll into the back of your neck.

“Oh my fucking god-” your squirt threatens to push his cock out but he fucks you through it, muttering, “My fucking girl,” over and over again to guide you both through the storm.

Once it's all over, you're panting with the weight of your actions hanging heavy between you. He's about to speak but you stop him first. “I didn't know.” You whispered. “If I'd known I would've never been with him. You have to believe that.”

Jongseong collapses beside you, pulling against his chest as his hands pat down your hair, “I believe you.” He says with finality.

[hoovesandfloorpaws]

"That said, both Styles and his therapist have questioned why he cares quite so much about being likeable. This is one of the things he thought about a lot in his big pandemic reflection. In part, it's a choice, he explained. He recalled moving to London after The X Factor and hearing tales of petulant celebrities screaming because someone got their coffee order wrong and deciding to never be that guy, to never give someone a petty reason to bad-mouth him. But more recently he's come to worry that the drive for approval came from a more complex place, a place of caution, fear, control." "Styles said he often spent interviews terrified about saying the wrong thing until he stopped to question what abhorrent belief or bizarre opinion he was scared he'd accidentally reveal and realized he couldn't think of anything."

"And he thought about the cleanliness clauses in the contracts he used to sign, which would dictate that they would be null and void if he did anything supposedly unsavoury, and about how terrified that used to make him. And about when he signed his solo contract and learned that the ability to make music would not be affected by personal transgressions, he burst into tears, a reaction he still seemed shocked by, retelling it to me now, years later. "I felt free," he explained."

"When Styles began therapy about five years ago [so in 2017], he was reluctant initially, feeling it was a music industry cliché. "I thought it meant that you were broken," he said. "I wanted to be the one who could say I didn't need it." He returned to the home theme that has underpinned our conversation, explaining that therapy has allowed him to "open up rooms in himself" that he didn't know existed, allowed him to feel things more honestly, where before he had tended to"emotionally coast.""

"Recently Styles began to work through issues related to intimacy, dating, love. "For a long time, it felt like the only thing that was mine was my sex life. I felt so ashamed about it, ashamed at the idea of people even knowing that I was having sex, let alone who with," he said."

"You look back, especially now there's all the documentaries, like the Britney documentary, and you watch how people were abused in that way, by that system, especially women. You recall articles from not even five years ago, and you're like, I can't even believe that was written."

He has been thinking a lot recently about autonomy, ownership, privacy. About what he should be able to keep to himself, what he should be able to simply communicate through his music without follow-up questions or prying. Around the time of Fine Line, he faced scrutiny around his sexuality. People became incredulous that he wore dresses, waved Pride flags, and yet hadn't clarified with precision, publicly to a journalist or on social media, the specifics of who he'd slept with, how he defined. This expectation is, to him, bizarre, "outdated." "I've been really open with it with my friends, but that's my personal experience; it's mine," he said.

Despite the acceptance that some things could, should, have been different, he still feels lucky every day, he said, lucky to make music, lucky to do what he loves.

"You can't win music. It's not like Formula One," he said. "I was like, in my lifetime, there will be 10 more people who burst onto the scene in that way, and I'm only going to get further away from being the young thing. So, get comfortable with finding something else that makes you happy. I just found that so liberating."

"I just want to make stuff that is right, that is fun, in terms of the process, that I can be proud of for a long time, that my friends can be proud of, that my family can be proud of, that my kids will be proud of one day," he said.

-- original interview link, Better Homes And Gardens Magazine 26 April 2022 (remake of this post)

[maeventide]

“What do you mean you’re afraid of heights?”

Your new husband stares at you in utter shock. His inhumanly large eyes round into saucers as he searches your face for answers.

“I didn’t think it would be a problem.” You admit with a shrug.

Your husband groans and hides his face in his clawed hands. The feathers that coat his body, long, black and elegant like a raven’s, rustle with each anxious shift of his body. He’s mumbling something under his breath, but you can’t make out what he’s saying.

“It’s…not a problem is it?”

Your own anxiety begins to swell. Surely something so insignificant as you being afraid of heights wouldn’t lead an annulment of this marriage. Not after everything you’ve sacrificed to make it to this village in the first place.

Your new husband sighs, returning his gaze to yours. His expression softens, he’s heard the fear in your voice and despite being little more than a stranger to you, he wants to help. Slowly, he reaches over to gently brush a talon along your cheek. His touch is kind and warm.

“Not to me. I think you’re lovely the way you are. But…it could prove to be a problem to the consummation of our marriage.”

“How?”

“In my culture, partners mate for life and consummating a marriage is taken very seriously.”

He raises his arms, gesturing as he explains.

“We do this by taking flight into the sky together, saying our vows to no one but each other, and then dropping back down to the earth. Sort of like a trust fall but with much more dire consequences should either party fail.”

You swallow down the nervous ball forming in your throat.

“But, I’m a human. I can’t fly.”

Your humanoid, feathery husband smiles tenderly.

“I would carry you, and I promise that I’d never let you fall. But you will have to stay calm during the ceremony. Any sign of doubt or fear is equated to doubt in your partner. Then the marriage will be null and void.”

You’re silent as you digest his words. To overcome your lifetime fear of heights just like that is a tall order, but you’ve come much too far to give up.

Now the real question is…can you trust him?

[girlbeyondthegrave]

I Watched Beetlejuice Beetlejuice a Third Time: More Things I Noticed

Here’s my previous list for those that haven’t read it. Enjoy!

A lot of people on this post I made thought that the dog in the MacArthur Park sequence was Taco from the Ghosthouse segment where Beetlejuice appears in the audience. I am sad to report this is not the case. Taco is a chihuahua, and the dog that appears is more of a terrier. However, some people on Reddit wonder if the dog is the one that ran out in front of the Maitlands’ car and killed them. I haven’t rewatched the first movie yet to check.

When Beetlejuice stitches Lydia’s mouth shut, she’s more exasperated than afraid. She literally tries to yell, “COME ON!”

Beetlejuice looks so offended on Lydia’s behalf when Rory calls her codependent. Like, “Is he serious right now? Get him, babe!”

Beetlejuice appearing before Delia can finish summoning him furthers the eavesdropping theory I made in my earlier post, and if we go off that theory, we can explain by Beetlejuice wasn’t that bothered by being summoned away at the wedding. He’s overheard Lydia’s desire to take her relationships slow and her reluctance to marriage. (Which is most definitely because of him and the fact that the last living person she loved tragically died—even if their relationship was over before that point.)

In the film, Beetlejuice is the ONLY person that agrees to help Delia find Charles, which we see her do at the end of the movie. This means that Beetlejuice kept his word and helped Delia, and he didn’t keep her away from Charles after the wedding fell through.

“MacArthur Park” plays when the studio intros roll, during the wedding sequence, and the end credits—three times when we have three different iterations of Beetlejuice and Lydia’s dynamic, fun fact. This is meant to be their song, and although the song is about a doomed relationship, this part sticks out to me: “After all the loves of my life / You’ll still be the one.” It doesn’t matter if Beetlejuice gets the timing right. It doesn’t matter if Lydia marries him. He considers her “the one.” He’s always going to wait for her, as conveyed by “Right Here Waiting.”

Astrid opens pages about violation 699 and summoning sandworms via trapdoors. I understand that was meant to “foreshadow” later events and explain why she knew how to do those things, but the terms for 699 are barely on-screen, so it’s hard to catch the part where it lays out how bringing Lydia illegally into the afterlife makes her contract null and void.

When Delores appears at the church, there’s a huge gust of wind, and the Handbook moves, but NOTHING ELSE MOVES with that precision until Delores moves Lydia away from the altar. This is kind of a stretch, but I personally think it’s possible that Beetlejuice saw Delores, and he purposefully sent the book in Astrid’s direction. If we go off my eavesdropping theory, he clearly knows Astrid is a smart girl. Plus, he stopped her from getting to the book earlier, so he knows it’s a threat.

When Beetlejuice has a dramatic entrance or exit, it’s very intentional. He does a whole dramatic couple’s therapy bit for Lydia and Rory. He does the earthquake through the model with a slow rise from the smoke. But we’ve also seen him appear in straightforward ways, too, like how he appears randomly to spook Delia. Beetlejuice controls his entrances and exits, and so his dramatic exit at the end is intentional. He allows Lydia to send him away. He makes a big show of it. Lydia has been manipulated by Rory for years. He’s tried to control her and stifle her. When Beetlejuice lets Lydia send him away and makes a big show of it, he’s demonstrating the amount of control he’s giving to Lydia. He goes because SHE wants him to, not because he can’t stop her from saying his name.

(Editing to say that this post confirms the dog is Tim’s dog.)

[sheeezu]

Stages of existence - by yours truly but we don't know each other

Consciousness--> void state, true form, null state, immortality, unfeeling, omnipotence, point of creation, soul, everything, nothing.

(Note: being consciousness is our true form, everything afterwards is some form of creation. You can also call it you existing as a soul, which is true neutral and without a bother, calm; its goal and first nature is to create).

Creations--> planes of existences, reality, coexistence, embodying forms, verses (etc multiverse) energy, scripts, laws, sciences, systems, cycle of rebirth and death, organised way of living, umiverses, religions, entities, knowledge, fate.

(Note: like picking up a paper and writing down whatever comes to the mind, just like that creations thrive into existence whenever they're called upon, think, the void state. +scripting refers to the fact that whichever life we choose to experience is infact scripted by us beforehand (systems are established, like basic grounding principles, it doesn't necessarily have to mean that we script the entire course of our life beforehand; and yes this is exactly how we script our drs)

Reality--> 4d, 3d, beliefs, material, relationships, species, a logical brain; subconscious, consciousness (awakened part of the brain) unconscious, thoughts, doubts.

(Note: Like the sky and ground, 4d and 3d lay the foundation for the formation of your beloved reality or simply where you found yourself and GODDAMMIT where have I found myself; I'D RIP MY LUNGS OUT THEN TO LIVE. That sort of things! Btw doubts are the mechanism which prevents absurd glitches or simply breaking of reality. And no, doubts don't have to exist.)

(Note!!!: okay so I isolated one of the creation which is reality, other follows similarly and are according to whatever nonsense it is)

Also yes honey, you've seen something from me that's similar and that is because this is a polished version of my chart of existence, basically! I realised if only I wasn't fuming at Cassandra it would've been a good post, yknow.

Sheezu's chart of existence

:))))))

[signanothername]

What's your opinion about Nm turning back into passive, like they're both separate people?

Not my thing tbh

Here’s a list why:

1- them being separate people immediately falls into “what corrupt did was never Nightmare’s fault!!!” Which immediately makes for a very unsatisfying conclusion to those “Corrupt” abused, to those he hurt and to those he tormented, his abuse would immediately be written off as something that didn’t even happen on Nightmare’s end, or something that others shouldn’t blame Nightmare for, it puts Nightmare into “the perfect victim” which is so boring at best and very frustrating at worst

2- even if you write Nightmare as trying “to make it up to people Corrupt hurt with his face” it’ll be with a bitter aftertaste of “but it wasn’t really his fault, and he’s still trying anyway!” Which paints Nightmare not only as a perfect victim, but also a complete saint that has never and will/can never do anything wrong

3- Dream’s and Nightmare’s relationship would just be null and void, especially with the fact everything can be written off as “Dream doesn’t blame Nightmare for anything cause it wasn’t even him doing all the hurting”, and where Dream would be justified for protecting Nightmare from those rightfully seeking revenge, in fact, those he abused would easily be written as “irrational” for seeking vengeance, like their abuse didn’t even matter, how it wasn’t Nightmare that abused them, but someone wearing his face, and therefore he shouldn’t be blamed at all

When you can instead, write Nightmare pre and post corruption as the same person and get an interesting story about Dream’s very biased views and his tendency to surrender to his feelings, how he can be a bit of a hypocrite for protecting his abusive brother, where his morals clash with his own personal interests, which you can’t really write if Nightmare is wholly innocent no?

4-Dream’s endeavors to “save” his brother would just be completely justified, and in turn, make everyone else out to be irrational for thinking Nightmare is a bitch and that Dream needs to stop trying to save him and instead actually kill him, when in reality Dream is the one that should be written as “irrational”

Instead, if Nightmare is the same person pre and post corruption, you can write a wonderful story of something along the lines of Dream understanding deep down that his brother can’t be saved and that his attempts at “saving” Nightmare is from a deep pain in his chest where he can’t get over the grief of losing what he and Nightmare had before, and even worse, how he’s extremely terrified of a future where he no longer has his other half, and how he isn’t ready to live half empty for the rest of his life

5- writing Nightmare’s story to simply conclude with “and he was saved and they live happily ever after” is such an unsatisfying conclusion to the Twins’ story, to just negate all the hurt, all the trauma, and all the pain, by making them live happily ever after, like they didn’t endure 500 years of misery, to assume that they can actually just heal together (and immediately) just because Nightmare “wasn’t really the one to hurt people” is absolutely not something I’d be fond of

Of course, not saying you can’t make a story interesting with the idea of Nightmare and Corrupt as separate people (for example, I think you can write an interesting story about how Dream’s perception of Nightmare could be really distorted after so many years of Corrupt manipulating him that he’s indeed his brother, and that even after saving Nightmare from Corrupt, Dream now feels like everything is wrong and that Nightmare doesn’t feel like his brother anymore)

I honestly don’t mind the idea in itself, just that, I can’t really see how you can make a satisfying narrative and conclusion to Nightmare’s and Dream’s story with it

[illwilledomen]

Also i am obsessed with your fucked up son. Kay i ask why hero is Like That. Was it a programming error? He was meant to be the "friend", right, but even before the fall he was weirdly violent.

I just want to know more about him. Whats going on in his fucked up little head

I’m obsessed with him too. I love him and i cry so much about him here’s why:

Since Hero was the first, he has quite a few errors in his design, both in his hardware (body) and software (brain and tablet of information).

He does not have any internal concept of empathy and doesn’t fully understand the concept that other creatures think and live. This caused him to accidentally kill some of the animals introduced into the Garden because he didn’t understand that he was hurting them. HOWEVER — he only became purposefully violent AFTER he faced considerable abuse from the authority figures around him (guards, scientists, Rana herself, and white eyes).

Very important distinction because his lack of empathy was not what drove him to act aggressively, and it’s important to note that a lack of empathy does not mean someone is dangerous, conniving or violent, it just simply means that they don’t feel the sensation of empathy. You are free to interpret any of the abio characters as you like, but it is my personal belief Hero is not fully at fault for the violence he displays… I’ll explain why;

The violence Hero displayed was merely him, a person very new to the world, parroting the abusive behaviour shown towards him, and his way of trying to process emotions that he was not familiar with such as jealousy (towards the other players), fear of obsolescence and misery at the lack of autonomy and respect he is showed. Hero was in a position where he had no power over himself and was physically, emotionally and mentally dependent on authority figures that did not see him as an equal or a as a fully realized being. For example Hero is unable to will himself to eat without being commanded to by an authority figure (he is anorexic — does not feel hunger) so you can probably see how this puts him in a vulnerable position.

Basically he began to lash out at anyone he could lash out at, whether that be animals or the other players. He could not bear the thought of placing the blame on the authorities of his life because then his whole world would fall apart, so he instead shifts the blame on those in the same position as him (Alex, steve and two others, Jane and Ed, who would then become “null” and “entity 303”) convincing himself that they are malicious and want to replace him (when in reality they are basically robot infants).

Then, there was the influence from White Eyes. I’ve previously stated that White Eyes was a void entity but I’ve changed that after a friend suggested it to me and i got hooked on the idea. She’s another test subject, an unstable experiment born from trying to fuse living corporeal matter and void matter (basically she’s an enderman human and various animals hybrid). White Eyes is constantly in pain and this has made her a very vindictive and aggressive being. All voidborn beings have psionic influence and White Eyes has this as well, however it’s not as fine tuned as a natural voidborn like an enderman. Hers is more like an influence. White Eyes rubbed off on Hero, and while she was increasingly immobilized by her dying body, Hero would follow her commands and absorb her emotions like a sponge. They had a very close bond but it was very unhealthy. This was another factor that caused him to commit violent acts.

Anyway, that’s some abiogenesis hero lore for you.

[pomefioredove]

who they fall for, heartslabyul

I did a longer one of these for rook and now I can't get the idea out of my head, so... series! (part 1/8)

summary: soulmates type of post: blurbs characters: deuce, ace, cater, trey, riddle additional info: romantic, not proofread so maybe ooc, gender neutral partner, really just thoughts

𝐃𝐞𝐮𝐜𝐞 𝐒𝐩𝐚𝐝𝐞

trope: dorks in love

Deuce ends up with someone who, most of all, challenges him. they put him at ease, and there's a definite shared gentleness between the two, but it's his partner's subtle rebellious streak that wins him over (though they definitely know when to tone it down). puppy love that turns into something deeper. they accept him as he is, flaws and all, and they support him in his growth towards becoming a better person. fiercely loyal. they and Deuce would constantly be fighting to be the "chivalrous" one. taking turns telling the waiter the other asked for no pickles, running to hold doors open, etc. it's cute, but a little competitive, just enough to motivate him.

𝐀𝐜𝐞 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐚

trope: tsundere

his soulmate? someone who can take a joke. no, no, I'm kidding, but they would have a wicked sense of humor, one that compliments his perfectly. and an adorable laugh, of course, snorts and all. someone who can feed his ego without overdoing it, keeping him wrapped around their little finger (trust me, he loves it). a little mutual teasing never hurt anyone, right? at the same time, though, they'd be completely devoted, loyal, and loving, just like he is. he brags about being a ladies man, though, really, he's almost completely closed off when it comes to matters of the heart. it takes a lot of patience (and a lot of putting up with his shenanigans) before those walls start coming down to reveal the romantic hidden behind them.

𝐂𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐃𝐢𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐝

trope: slowburn

similar to friends to lovers, but of a different flavor. Cater is subtly flirty with almost everyone, it's the people-pleasing, but a soulmate? yeah, he'll believe it when he sees it! of course, he's completely blind to what he's needed all along being right in front of him. someone who listens to him, who cares deeply about his feelings, who can read his body language and know just what he's thinking. someone he feels comfortable around without feeling the need to hide himself. a bestie, if you will. he's absolutely the first to catch feelings and drives himself mad about it, not daring to make a move out of a fear of vulnerability (or being a weirdo, take your pick) and it devolves into months, years worth of cringe pining. "looking at the pictures they'd taken together and giggling" pining.

𝐓𝐫𝐞𝐲 𝐂𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫

trope: weirdos in love

thought it was gonna be domestic bliss? nope. I'm saving that one. Trey isn't quite ready to settle down yet, having spent his whole life taking care of others (to the point where he hasn't had a moment to figure out who he is...) and so he's put a hold on the whole "romance" thing. of course, the last thing he was expecting after graduation was to bump into someone that would throw that plan out the window. truly, his soulmate is someone he feels he can be himself with, who gives him the ability to relax and be the one who gets pampered, for once... it's a very equal and loving relationship with a like-minded and responsible person. one who goes along with all his bits, too.

𝐑𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬

trope: opposites attract

oof the ouch. no, Riddle is not ready for the ups and downs of a relationship, and he knows that. he's always chalked up his disinterest in romance to his studies, and his utter disinterest in taking anyone home to meet his mother's highly specific future-in-law criteria. though, secretly, Riddle has held onto his own little list of "perfect" traits, almost going as far to fantasize about an imaginary partner to keep him company. the person he does end up falling for makes that list null and void. they're daring, adventurous, creative, curious, open to all sorts of nonsensical ideas that challenge all of Riddle's. they represent a sort of freedom that he's never had, and before he can even hate them, he finds himself falling. but someone like that could never tie themselves down to someone like him... right?

[littlejuicebox]

GINAAA MY GIRL!

Sending you a dadstarion prompt because you already know I LOVEEE your dadstarion content.

How did Tav find out she was pregnant with baby Gale? And how did Astarion react to the news?! Inquiring minds want to know.

To have and to hold.

Such a lovely prompt, my friend! Hope you like it!

Summary: Astarion turned mortal a few months ago, and this is his first-time experiencing illness of any kind. Unfortunately, as soon as he recovers, you start to show signs of sickness as well. Your condition is a bit different from his, though. (For more of this series check out the ‘Dadstarion’ section of my master list.)

Tags/Warnings: Dadstarion, domestic af, fluff, talk of illness, talk of vomiting, the mildest of angst with the mostest of comfort, pregnancy, etc.

A/N: I work in healthcare, not law, so I can’t guarantee the legalese is accurate lol.

Word count: 2.3K

-----

“Don’t come closer, darling, I’m disgusting.” Astarion groans from where you find him one morning, curled up on the bathroom floor.

It had been a few months since Gale of Waterdeep cast Wish, and from that moment until now the retired rogue had been a happy, healthy mortal. There were so many benefits to curing his vampirism that the elf never fully considered one of the major downsides… illness.

He’d never experienced a malady like this in his life. At least not in the one he could remember.

It’s horrible.

How had his little love or any of his friends endured this, more than once, in the past ten years?

Astarion is quite certain he contracted food poisoning from that questionable slab of salmon he ate at the Blushing Mermaid yesterday evening. He never did understand why you liked eating at that lowbrow tavern in the first place.

You crouch to examine your husband, pressing a soothing hand onto his forehead before running it down to cup his cheek.

“Astarion, my love, you have a fever.” You murmur, frowning with concern as you push sweaty curls from his face.

“Please make more obvious observations, dear,” Astarion gripes as he forces himself to sit up, still clutching his stomach. Gods, the vile churning in his gut is incessant.

He’s about to continue on with his quip, but the sudden urge to be sick forces the elf to shut up and scramble to the toilet. You hear the sounds of violent retching moments later.

“We are never going back to the Blushing Mermaid,” Astarion grumbles once the wave of illness subsides. His face is pressed against the toilet; all sense of decorum is gone. The rotten fish poisoning his insides won over any bits of pride he might have been clinging to.

You move to grab a wash rag, dampening it under the tap before kneeling back down by your husband.

“Poor thing,” You coo, folding the cloth in half before dabbing it against the back of Astarion’s neck, hoping to ease the fever.

The elf’s eyes flutter closed as he allows you to fawn over him for a moment. And then he groans and flicks his hand, palm faced downward, as if trying to shoo you away. His voice is hoarse when he says, “Just leave me here and go get ready for your meeting, darling. I’ll be fine.”

“In sickness and in health, remember?” You ask, running the cool cloth over Astarion’s face, causing him to sigh thankfully at the slight relief, “I’ll send word to the other Counsellors to inform them that I won’t be attending. You’ve never been ill before; I don’t want to leave you like this. Wyll can fill me in later.”

“Yes, ‘in sickness and in health’ and all that, darling, but those vows also included ‘until death do us part’ and I was an immortal vampire when we made them. So you were technically entering that verbal contract under false pretenses, which one could argue means it’s null and void. Go to the meeting, it’s—“

Astarion almost manages to finish his rambling legalese before more putrid liquid spews out of his mouth. When he’s finished vomiting, he whines again, any bit of stubborn resilience and feeble attempts at selflessness abandoned.

“On second thought, maybe you should stay here,” He says, his chest heaving with exertion as he clenches his eyes shut, “Please tell me you have a spell for this.”

“Unfortunately not, my love. I only have a spell for curses. Best I can do is half a bottle of Elixir of Health, some ginger-peppermint tea, and a bath.” You sigh, already crossing the bathroom on your way to the tub. You fiddle with the taps for a moment to start the bath and then begin to pour oils into the flowing water.

“Deal,” Your husband mutters, peeling off his sweat-soaked night shirt, “But none of that vile honey you got at the market here in town for my tea; I want the one Shadowheart and Lae’zel sent from Neverwinter.”

“Anything you say, Lord Ancunin.” You joke, rolling your eyes at your husband’s fussiness. He’d barely regained his sense of taste a few months ago and already favored upscale ingredients and meals, as if mortal food hadn’t been but ash in his mouth for two hundred years.

The elf glares at your insolence but doesn’t retort; he’s too busy trying to keep himself from vomiting again.

*

The following morning, Astarion wakes feeling much better. Practically brand new, in fact. It seems the potion and your strange flower child medicine must have done the trick. He sighs a breath of relief and then rolls to snuggle against you for a few more precious moments. He reaches his arms out and grasps at nothing but air.

The silver-haired elf immediately frowns and sits up. That’s exceptionally odd. You were not a morning person; you never had been in the ten years he’d known you. You always slept in longer than him, even in the wilds. On more than one occasion he’d had to lure you out of your nearly comatose slumber with the tempting smells of coffee and breakfast.

Astarion hears you gagging in the bathroom and goes to investigate. He soon finds you clinging to the toilet, practically mirroring how he looked the day prior.

“Oh no, little love, do you think you have food poisoning, too?” He questions, frowning slightly before kneeling down to press his hand against your forehead just like you’d done to him, “No fever, though.”

You whine, leaning into your husband’s hand before grumbling, “Damn the Blushing Mermaid straight to Stygia! Why do I even like that place, again?”

Astarion laughs, “I’ve been wondering the same thing for years, dear. I hope now you’ll finally reconsider. Do you want some tea and a bath?”

“Please,” You say, just before another wave of nausea hits you, forcing you to throw your head into the toilet and gag. Frustratingly, not much actually comes out despite the waves of sickness coursing through your body.

Gods, you wish you could simply vomit and feel relief.

Astarion begins to prepare the appropriate remedies, much like you’d done for him the day before. Thankfully, you seem to recover much faster than he did, and by midday you look and feel completely normal.

Good thing, too. You two were out of any elixirs that may have helped you had your ailment been as severe as Astarion's.

“Perhaps I’m just a better healer than you, darling.” The silver-haired elf teases as the two of you take afternoon tea in the sunroom.

“Perhaps I’m just stronger and more resilient than you, my love.” You retort, wrinkling your nose in jest at your husband.

He chuckles softly and then presses a kiss to your nose, “Agree to disagree.”

*

Astarion thinks the two of you are past this bit of bad luck, but when he wakes the following morning, he hears you retching once again.

When the elf finds you in the bathroom, appearing as almost an exact repeat of yesterday, though perhaps a bit worse, his brow furrows.

“Darling, I'm worried now. You look more ill than before. Perhaps we should take a trip to Jaheira? I can head to the apothecary for another Elixir of Health while she looks you over.” He murmurs gently, extending his hands to pull you to your feet.

You simply nod in agreement, too nauseated to do more than follow your husband’s lead as he slips you into a set of robes and ushers you into the carriage.

*

When Astarion returns to Jaheira’s after dashing out to the apothecary, he finds you sitting at the druid’s dining table. The two of you stop whatever hushed conversation you’d been having and turn to look at him in unison.

“Feeling any better, Tav?” He asks, coming to stand by your side before placing a worried hand upon your shoulder. You simply cover your hand with his and nod in response.

“Much better,” You say, flashing your husband a small smile. Something about your expression looks hazed, as if you’re stuck in a daydream. Poor thing, you're probably exhausted and experiencing brain fog.

“I’m sure you’ll be just fine with the teas and medicinals I’ve given you,” Jaheira assures, her eyes flickering between the two of you. She grins for the briefest moment before falling back into her typical, more serious demeanor.

Astarion swears he feels like something is off, but when he turns to give you a questioning look, you’re the picture of happiness as you sip from your tea cup, finishing it off.

Well, at least you’re doing what Jaheira has prescribed.

“What about the Elixir of Health I’ve just purchased?” Your husband asks, lifting the bag in his hand, “Will that help?”

“Oh, I recommend you keep it for something else. I don’t think Tav needs it for this,” The druid responds before standing, signaling it’s the end of the visit. She was always quite straight forward and lacking in certain genteel social graces, in Astarion’s opinion.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting with the Harpers.”

You quickly bid your goodbyes and Astarion helps you back into the carriage, eager to get you back to bed so that you can sleep off the rest of this sickness.

*

Astarion notices you’re uncharacteristically quiet on the carriage ride home. He typically doesn’t mind when you’re in one of your pensive, stoic moods. But this illness of yours had him more anxious than usual and he had to know more about Jaheira’s examination results, if only to ease his own worries.

“Darling,” He starts, taking your hand in his. But you don’t seem to hear him; you’re still lost in your own little world.

“My love,” He says, this time a bit more urgently, squeezing your hand just enough to pull your attention to him, “What did Jaheira say, exactly? Did she mention how long this illness will last?”

“Oh, the nausea will probably go on for a few weeks,” You reply, a goofy, lopsided smile breaking across your face. You cannot stifle your grin at the little secret you know you’ll be unable to keep for more than a few moments longer.

“Weeks?” Astarion questions, his voice pitching up with worry and brows stitching together in concern.

Why in the hells are you smiling? What druid bullshit was in the tea Jaheira gave you?

He folds his arms across his chest, not at all pleased by the lack of seriousness you seem to display. The idea of you being sick for weeks makes his heart hurt and his stomach churn as if he’s still sick. He could never stand to see you uncomfortable.

“Tav, are you drugged? This is serious. I fail to see what there is to be smiling about right now. You’re going to be nauseous for weeks and you can’t use an Elixir of Health? Are you absolutely sure Jaheira even knows what she’s—“

“I’m pregnant, Astarion,” You interrupt, and you cannot help but to laugh at your husband as his mouth hangs open mid-sentence, frozen in shock.

He blinks for a moment or two, otherwise completely still as his brain rushes to process the new information.

When the elf finally regains his composure and finds his ability to speak, he shoots out a flustered, rambled, “Darling, I— I’m sorry, can you repeat that? I’m not certain I heard you correctly. The road is quite bumpy and the wheels of the carriage are loud— I think they need oil— and the horses—“

You laugh and firmly grasp your husband’s hand, wholly capturing his attention before murmuring, “You ridiculous elf. You heard me the first time. I’m pregnant, Astarion.”

You don’t think you’ve ever seen a bigger grin cross your husband’s face.

“Tav, darling, I— gods, just come here to me.”

Astarion’s lips crash into yours, and he’s smiling into the kiss as he threads a hand through your hair, intent on pressing you closer into him. A tiny, delighted hum escapes your husband as he uses the kiss to express all the feelings he cannot yet put into words.

When he finally pulls away, he cups your face with his hands and peppers a few more kisses upon your lips.

“Is this your way of telling me you’re happy about this, Astarion?” You ask, grinning at your husband as he gazes upon you with the most besotted eyes you’ve ever seen.

“Thrilled, my love,” He whispers, before pressing forward to kiss you again, trying to convey the depth of his excitement with his affections. He doesn’t let go of you the rest of the way home, almost desperate to cover you in worshipful kisses, each one a little vow of love to you.

You notice he's unusually quiet, but then, he’s far too busy smiling and smooching to do much talking.

*

Later that evening, you move to get out of bed and head toward the bedchamber door.

“Ah, ah, ah. Where do you think you’re going, little love?” Astarion calls, already tossing his book aside to follow after you, “What do you need? Let me bring it to you.”

“I just wanted a cup of water, Astarion. I can go get—“ You start, but he quickly presses a kiss to your lips, effectively quieting you.

“Hush, my love. You’re still nauseated and you’re carrying very precious cargo.” He gently chastises as he turns you by your shoulders and steers you back toward the bed.

“You’re being dramatic,” You grumble, sitting back down in the bed and wrinkling your nose at your husband.

“Perhaps,” He agrees, grinning down at you as he gently folds the blankets back around your legs, “But you knew exactly the type of theatrics you signed up for when you married me, darling. 'To have and to hold, to love and to cherish' and all that, hm?”

And in that moment, Astarion was certain he’d never love and cherish anything more than you.

Nine months later, the little silver-haired newborn he held in his arms would prove him wrong.

[one-sunny]

Hii!! I see that your reqs are open, if you're ok with this, maybe a fic with Ace where f!reader also has the same issues (self loathing, family issues) but he doesn't know until reader faces an old enemy from before she became a wb pirate/or just straight up tells Ace while she's comforting him. I rly love "we can be monsters tgt/us against the world" tropes, idk if it's the same bc it's just their insecurities talking but it works ig 😭

Tysm! You're one of my new fav writers rn <3 i love your fics esp since Ace & Sanji (+ Law, Zoro) are my favs too hahaha

We Can Be Monsters Together

Portgas D. Ace x Reader

warnings: reader gets beat up (lol sorry anon), self loathing, anxiety, fighting, hurt/comfort, family issues

Masterlist

You were almost certain that your navigator would have your head with the way you hung over them, watching their every move. Trying to ensure the triad log post would lead you to where you need to go. That you would simply breeze past the island you were well aware was closest.

On edge.

It was the only way you could be described and you were starting to get on your own nerves. Yet, there was no stopping it. Not when your childhood home was so close. When your so called family was so close to your new family. The true family that cared for you. That you finally experienced home with for the first time ever.

But your luck was null and void as an uptick in activity bursts through the crew. Shouting. Working hands. Word of docking.

Panic sparks inside of you as you watch the flurry of motion. Then your eyes land on the Second Division Commander shouting out to the crew. “Ace!” You’re reaching out to him before you can stop yourself. His boots skid to a stop and meet your wild eyes. “What’s going on? What are we doing?”

“We intercepted a distress signal.” Ace informs you, placing a warm hand on your shoulder in attempt to comfort. “Pop wants to check it out.” He then leans in closer to you, warmth overwhelming, to speak low in your ear. “He heard mention of this crew he used to have it out with. So we may need to get ready for a fight.”

Your heart is in your throat as you slowly nod.

Maybe you could get away with staying on the ship? Away from the action. Away from the island.

But one thing you have learned is that the Second Division Commander likes for you to be close by his side when docking at a new island. It’s an adventure, he would always reason. You’re too fun to stay cooped up on the ship.

Normally this would send a fluttering through your body and short circuit your system. Not today, when you know what dangers this island in particular held.

You’re almost certain your heart stopped beating the moment your feet hit solid ground. You go through the motions with your crew. Reluctantly. Pushed forwards by the eager commander who always enjoyed a fight. Until suddenly you see him.

The ruler of this island. A feared pirate of the new world. Your father.

He doesn’t seem aware of your presence, not when fire distracts from the crew. Not when a line of Whitebeard pirates stand on his land. Not with Whitebeard himself approaches.

But your brother does.

A wicked grin on his face.

One that would haunt your nightmares. The face of a monster. A face that you shared, because you too are a monster. It was your bloodline. Something to be squashed. It almost stole the breath from your lungs in that moment.

Shouting rings from both sides, both leaders, but you can’t make anything out with the blood rushing in your ears.

Then suddenly tremors shake the land.

And your crew is charging.

You’re off. So incredibly off that it could cost you your life. Even more so, as a man leaps effortlessly over your fighting crew to land directly in your space. A wicked grin and wild eyes that haunted your childhood. Your very own brother.

“Nice of you to finally come home.”

“I’ll never come back to this.”

“You will, even if it’s to be buried here.” He speaks the words so assuredly. Then a sword is swinging towards your head, leaving you only a split second to react. The impact of his blade against yours leaves you stumbling back. Maybe you could take it on a good day… this was anything but.

Another swing slices into your bicep, pain shooting through your arm as your sleeve adopts an easy crimson red. The eyes on you are wicked. Years of trauma being thrust into the forefront of your mind. A reminder of every way in which your family is wicked. In which your bloodline was tainted.

That distraction keeps you from blocking a blow that would have been fatal, had you not been met with the blunt side of the sword. However, it does not diminish the pain that forces you onto your knees. Another blow to your face- a ring clad fist- has you flying to your back. You would be lucky if the family crest wasn’t indented into your skin from his obnoxious ring.

Three more harsh hits follow. Blood trickles from your nose to stain your senses metallic. It was more than likely broken. Your eye may end up swollen shut as well. That is, if you stay alive long enough for any of that.

A cool blade presses to your throat.

A fist curls into your shirt to pull you close to your brother’s face. Willing you to look him in the eyes. To have the face of hate be the last thing you see before you die. Pressure stings at your neck as a threatening force is pressed closer.

Then your mind is engulfed in flames. The pressure disappears. Your body slumps back to the hard ground as the hand is pulled from your collar. Heat surrounds you and while many would find it threatening, it was all too familiar.

Your body sinks into that heat. Allows it to carry you wherever it pleases. If the flames are what take you instead of your family, then so be it.

“You’re okay. You’re okay.” The words crackle. You debate for a moment if it is your mind playing tricks. “I’ve got you now, doll.” The words play on repeat. A certain level of concern that clouds the reassurances, but where they should be muddied, you finally are able to see clear. Gone was the wicked smile that haunted you, now replaced by a warm light. “Hey, hey, you with me?”

Your head is tilted by a delicate grip that squeezes your cheeks. Ace peers down at you, impossibly close, tipping your head side to side in effort to test something. What? You’re not sure, but it’s giving you a headache. Instead of words, a groan leaves your lips, and you shakily swat at his hand.

“You are awake.” A relieved breath fans over your face.

“Unfortunately.” You mutter to yourself as you sit up with the delicate guidance of Ace. Your head swims as you take in the sight of the deck, back safely on your ship.

“Don’t say that, I was worried about you.” There’s a furrow in his brow and his dark eyes are filled to the brim with concern. “That… What happened back there wasn’t normal.” Ace’s voice is low, gentle hands pulling up your sleeve to take a look at the deep gash. “That guy was fighting like he was trying to make a point, and I don’t mean towards Whitebeard or the crew.” Your head drops, shifting uncomfortably as a bandage was wrapped around your arm. Something temporary until Marco or the others show up.

Emotions threaten to spill over, but something told you that if anyone could understand the situation, it was Ace. “That, uh, that was my brother.”

Silence hangs in the air for a long moment as Ace stares back at you. “I didn’t know you had a brother.”

A laugh leaves you in spite of the situation. “Not all of us have brothers to brag about.” You nudge his arm from his place sat beside of you on the deck. “Some of us want to forget where we come from.”

“Well, that I do understand.” Ace lets out a breathy laugh, full of unspoken emotions. “Marco told me about them- your, uh, family. About the stuff they did to this island and the people who lived here.”

“Yeah.” A heaviness hangs in the air and something about Ace’s presence made you want to spill it all out. “That’s why I left, to find a fresh start. I didn’t think Pops knew who I was, but…”

“But he knew.” Ace laughs to himself. “He always knows.”

You laugh as well. “He didn’t care about whatever beef he had with those people, or how everyone said my bloodline was tainted-“

“He brought you in and loved you anyways.” Ace finishes for you. His eyes fall to you, a deep understanding in them. Ace had never told you his lineage himself, but you were well aware of the blood in his veins. You never cared. “Told you that you deserved to live, even when everyone else was telling you that the world would be better without you in it.”

“The world has always said i’m a monster.”

“It does that.” He laughs, reaching a hand out to take yours, fingers lacing together. Gentle. Warm. “We can be monsters together, then.” Ace decisively declares, offering you a smile that could warm the cool night air. “And together, we can make sure that a man deserving, one that saved us both, can become King of the Pirates.”

Your eyes meet his and the gentle understanding sparks something in the air. Something that draws you even closer to Ace’s side, allowing your heavy head to fall on his shoulder. His warmth envelopes you. “Together.” You agree as your eyes flutter shut. Exhaustion weighs on you.

“Hey, you gotta stay awake for me, okay?”

“I’m tired.” You murmur, sinking further into the heat of his body.

“I know you are.” Ace gently coaxes you to sit up on your own, met with your groaned protests, yet his hand remains gripped in your own. “But, you have to wait for Marco, doll. You could have a concussion or something so no sleeping.”

You scoff, “That’s boring.” As you exaggeratedly roll your eyes at him, you feel a prickle of pain shoot through your head. “Ow.” Your eyes squeeze shut, palm pressed to your forehead.

“See what I mean.”

“I need to lay down.” You feel like you’re swaying.

Ace watches you closely, a strike of anxiety in his chest at the idea of you falling asleep right now. “I dunno.” You can hear the reluctance in his voice. Something akin to fear.

“Ace please.” You huff, scooting closer to him to assume your previous position, head leaning against his shoulder. His entire body is tense and he makes a strangled sound in his throat as you invade his personal space. “I’ll keep talking, to let you know i’m awake. Just let me lean on you. Please.”

Ace clears his throat, tense muscles easing and allowing you to move closer into his side. “Fine,” He murmurs, his arm coming to circle around you and help support your weight. “But if you wanted to get this close, you could have just told me. Didn’t have to go through all these lengths for me.” The joke comes out a bit strained, Ace’s way of coping.

“Shut up, Fire Fist.” A nervous laugh bubbles out of you. Then, you begin talking, or rambling really. About anything and everything to offer him peace of mind that you’re staying awake. Eventually, you breach the topic of your family, of the deep seated hatred that the world holds for them. That you hold for them.

Yet, none of that seemed to matter anymore.

Not when you had someone at your side, who you could be a monster with.