#weaker vessels

[whats-in-a-sentence]

Men recorded their mistrust and fear of female genitals very early. The reference to women as 'weaker vessels' in the Tyndale Bible of 1522-35, and the later development of imagery of women as leaking vessels, resonates with the theory of humours that saw women as cold and moist, and the fear of female menstruation and lubrication. As Shakespeare's King Lear says:

Down from the waist they are centaurs, though women all above.

But to the girdle do the gods inherit; beneath is all the fiends'.

There's hell, there's darkness, there's the sulphurous pit –

burning, scalding, stench, consumption!

"Normal Women: 900 Years of Making History" - Philippa Gregory

[ancientbygone]

unraveling for each other [to the benefit of no one]

[enigma020]

New character data/information regarding the aftermath of “MOVING FORWARD. (3/3)” comic:

Zachary Winterra’s character age has now been updated to 17. Original creation age remains as 8. (June 12, 2016)

Stela Evergreen’s character age has now been updated to 17. Original creation age: 8 years (June 28, 2016)

Sally Winterra’s character age has now been updated to 13. Original creation age: 3 years (March 6, 2021)

Ryan Ruckus’s character age has now been updated to 15. Original creation age: 5 years (May 23, 2019)

Stel Slimee has transitioned from “Slime” to “Human.” New OC data: “Stel Evergreen,” character and original creation age: 8 months (February 11, 2024)

· Hatsuu has officially SURRENDERED all CREATOR abilities.

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

My dad at any given opportunity: “I used to have an as good or even better memory than [my name] and you know how good her memory is.”

I feel like this guy is competing with me by remembering how he was at my age — always has.

And (unrelated) if I criticize him or say anything at all with anything other than happiness or neutrality in my voice, his response is always “Sorry, but you have to understand I’m not feeling good right now. I’m trying to be a father to you; I wish I had a father at your age. I’m suffering. I have [this this and this] wrong with me; and THE ELDERS—“ Dad, Dad… you NEVER feel good; you know this and you’ve lied to me COUNTLESS times by saying you’d try to get help. Go to therapy for fuck’s sake.

“But Jehovah’s organization!” Fuck Jehovah’s organization. If Jehovah’s organization really cared about its members, you wouldn’t be so frightened of defaming its good name at the expense of your mental and PHYSICAL health. If Jehovah’s organization really cared for you, you wouldn’t be hiding your trauma from people who can help “because it’ll hurt Jehovah” like a wife who developed Stockholm syndrome from being beaten by her love-bombing husband.

[scientia-rex]

A lot of younger people have no idea what aging actually looks and feels like, and the reasons behind it. That ignorance is so dangerous. If you don’t want to “be old,” you aren’t talking about a number of years. I have patients in their late 80s who could still handily beat me in a race—one couple still runs marathons together, in their late 80s—and I lost someone who was in her early 60s to COPD last year. What you want is not youth, it is health.

If you want to still be able to enjoy doing things in your 60s and 70s and 80s and even 90s, what you want to do, right now, is quit smoking, get some activity on a regular basis (a couple of walks a week is WAY better for you than nothing; increasing from 1 hour a day of cardio to 1.5 will buy you very little), and eat some plants. That’s it. No magic to it. No secret weird tricks. Don’t poison yourself, move around so your body doesn’t forget how, and eat plants.

If you have trouble moving around now because of mobility limitations, bad news: you still need to move around, not because it’s immoral not to, but because that’s still the best advice we have. I highly recommend looking up the Sit and Be Fit series; it is freely available and has exercises that can be done in a chair, which are suitable for people with limited mobility or poor balance. POTS sufferers, I’m looking at you.

If you have trouble eating plants because of dietary issues (they cause gas, etc.) or just because they’re bitter (super taster with texture issues here!), bad news. You still want to find a way to get some plants into your body on a regular basis. I know. It sucks. The only way I can do it is restaurants—they can make salads taste like food. I can also tolerate some bagged salads. On bad weeks, the OCD with contamination focus gets so bad I just can’t. However, canned beans always seem “safe,” and they taste a bit like candy, so they’re a good fallback.

If you smoke and you have tried quitting a million times and you’re just not ready to, bad news. You still need to quit. Your body needs you to try and keep trying. Your brain needs it, too. Damaging small blood vessels racks up cumulative damage over time that your body can start trying to reverse as soon as you quit. I know it’s insanely, absurdly addictive. You still need to.

You cannot rules lawyer your way past your body’s basic needs. It needs food, sleep, activity, and the absence of poison. Those are both small things and big asks. You cannot sustain a routine based on punishment, so don’t punish your body. Find ways to include these things that are enjoyable and rewarding instead. Experiment. There is no reason not to experiment—you don’t have to know instantly what’s going to work for you and what won’t, you just need to be willing to try things and make changes when things aren’t working for you.

You will still age. Your body will stop making collagen and elastin. Tissues you can see and tissues you can’t see will both sag. Cushioning tissues under your skin will get thinner. You’ll bruise more easily. Skin will tear more easily. Accumulated sun damage will start to show more and more. Joints will begin to show arthritis. Tendons and ligaments will get weaker and get injured more easily, as will muscles. Bones will lose mass and get easier to break. You’ll get tired more easily.

But you know what makes the difference between being dead, or as good as, in your 60s vs your 90s? Activity, plants, and quitting smoking. And don’t do meth. Saw a 58-year-old guy this week who is going to have a heart attack if he doesn’t quit whatever stimulant he’s on. I pretended to believe it was just the cigarettes, and maybe it is, but meth and cocaine will kill you quicker. Stop poisoning yourself.

Baby steps; take it one step at a time; you don’t need to have everything figured out right now. But you do need to be working on figuring things out.

[preacheroftruthblog]

1 Peter: Biblical Marriage Counseling For Husbands

Likewise, husbands, live with your wives in an understanding way… 1 Peter 3:7a There’s a meme going around the Internet that has a man and a woman discussing the stereotype that men can’t understand women.  The man says to the woman, “Women are so hard to read.”  The woman replies, “Well, actually we just want–” before being interrupted by the man who says, “Such complex creatures.”  The woman…

[rahuratna]

Synopsis: A lover's embrace is often all the comfort one needs. Your companions show you, through their touch, just how much your bond means to them.

[Lae'zel x Reader/Tav, Gale x Tav, Astarion x Tav cuddle headcanons]

Genres: Romance, fluff, humour, angst.

Dividers by: @saradika-graphics

(This turned out a lot more romantic and sentimental than the humour/fluff I'd planned. Either way, hope you enjoy it, lovely readers!)

Lae'zel: Dodge and Feint

In all fairness, you hadn't expected her to be party to softer forms of affection.

When all of this had started between you, it had been the result of a rather bold proposition after a difficult battle. Lae'zel had warmed to your fighting prowess, and your first time with her had reflected all of that desire, and more.

What you hadn't expected was the depth of respect, passion and acceptance you'd received from her, when you considered that in her eyes, you'd started off as a specimen of a weaker species with a nose that was too long for comfort.

If you'd been in her shoes, you're not sure you'd find yourself attractive.

Those thoughts aside, you'd found yourself wondering at times, whether you'd be able to persuade her to appreciate other things too. The softer side of affection, touch specifically, had always appealed to you.

You hadn't dared suggest as such to her yet, but you'd be lying if you hadn't fantasized about her strong arms holding you close, the tickle of her braids over your collarbone, the steady beat of her heart against your back.

But how to proceed?

Lae'zel was a tough nut to crack. You'd considered the direct approach; simply asking her outright for a cuddle. The images your mind threw up as a response made you choke on your tea. She might just coldly turn you down, and somehow, that seemed a lot worse than being punched in the face.

And yet ...

On a particular afternoon, after trekking through the mountains, your exhausted band had camped out on a rocky outcrop. The sky was an embroidered masterpiece above you, adorned with pearly stars stitched by some heavenly hand.

Blanket draped across your shoulders, you'd brought a steaming drink of mulled wine to Lae'zel, courtesy of Gale's stash of recipes. She'd glanced up at you silently, accepting the vessel.

You seated yourself beside her, before inching closer. She showed no sign of feeling the cold.

"The stars look beautiful tonight."

She turned her gaze upward, fingers curling tightly around the cup in her hand.

"I've seen the stars, up close. Most are chunks of cold, empty rock, without even the memory of a single soul's tread. They are beautiful, I suppose, in their loneliness."

Something in her description caught at your mind, causing you to glance sideways at her.

"And once you leave your tread on them? Do you think they retain some fondness of that moment?"

"Stars have no soul."

"And if they did?"

She snorted and took a sip of her drink.

"You ask the oddest questions."

"You seem to like them. Most of the time."

You offer a cheeky grin in response to her sharp look.

"You assume a great deal."

Emboldened, you shift up until your side is pressed to hers, before passing the blanket across her shoulders and tugging the end snugly back towards you, effectively wrapping you both within the soft, comfortable folds.

She didn't move, but raised her eyebrow at your actions.

"I don't recall saying that I was cold."

"Maybe you're not. Maybe you are. It's my job as your chosen partner to wrap you in a blanket either way."

"Hmm. More presumption. What do you gain from this? You'd feel warmer if the blanket was wrapped more firmly around just you."

Your voice grew softer, almost hoping she'd let the comment pass without acknowledgement.

"I like this better."

"This?"

"Being close to you."

She remained still and silent for the rest of the time, but you noted that she'd made no move to remove herself from your proximity.

In the course of your short relationship with her, you'd found that Lae'zel was highly observant, mentally recording a lot of the things you said and did, only to produce that knowledge later in the most unexpected ways.

A few days after that night camped on the mountain, she'd suggested a sparring session, with no weapons involved. You'd eagerly agreed, deciding that your hand-to-hand combat skills needed some practice.

Not that you'd appreciate being flung down into the dirt multiple times, but it was certainly better than being caught lacking in a decisive battle.

And Lae'zel had proven herself an efficient, if somewhat ruthless teacher.

You readied yourself for the session, stretching your muscles and hopping back and forth, limbering up. Lae'zel took a sip of water from her canteen before closing the top, joining you in the open glade near camp that you'd chosen for this session.

She didn't give you the grace of an easy start, as you knew she wouldn't. Her hands darted out, landing a series of sharp jabs against your ribs, so rapid that you didn't feel anything at first, but then the impact kicked in and you winced.

You took courage from the fact that just a month ago, you'd probably have been doubled over in pain. Lae'zel had certainly conditioned you well.

Regaining your balance, you swept your leg out, watching  as she nimbly leapt back. You hadn't managed to knock her over, but you'd put some space between you.

Circling, watching her follow your motions, you felt a shiver pass down your spine. Lae'zel's demeanour shifted, very subtly, during sparring. You gained a taste of the way she faced her opponents in battle, focused, predatory, a born hunter stalking its intended prey.

You feinted high and swung a blow that actually landed on her side. You felt the muscles of her abdomen clench, absorbing the impact before her hand closed around your wrist and she tugged sharply. The momentum behind your swing had you catapulting forward, off balance, right into her powerful hold.

Your feet left the ground, and you heard her grunt as you turned the tables, throwing your full weight back. She went down, but her hold on you never slackened.

Breathing hard, you squirmed in her grasp, but she stayed firm, one arm looped around your torso, keeping your arms trapped at your sides.

You huffed out a frustrated breath. You'd really thought you'd had her for a moment. More fool you.

Tilting your head back against her shoulder, you gave your concession.

"All right, this round goes to you."

"Are you surprised? You shouldn't be. It'll take much more training before you can best me."

"Thought I did get lucky for a moment there."

She remained silent, but you noticed that she hadn't released you from her hold.

"Lae'zel?"

"What is it?"

"Are we ... continuing?"

She didn't answer, but her grip around you loosened enough for you to free your arms. You turned slightly.

"Is everything all right?"

"Of course it is," she snapped.

"Then why have you stopped?"

Her put-upon sigh blew against the shell of your ear, warm, almost gentle.

"I thought you liked this."

"What? Being wrestled to the ground?"

"No, you imbecile! Being close to me."

The pieces suddenly slotted together in your head with stunning clarity.

She'd wanted to offer you physical proximity, and offering a sparring match in a secluded area, away from the prying eyes of others, had obviously been the logical conclusion in her mind.

You almost laughed, but then decided that this would be a very, very bad idea.

Instead, you sighed happily and leaned back in her embrace, head tucking beneath her chin.

"You thought right. I do like this."

"Hmph. So easily pleased. You should be glad I volunteered this training session. Otherwise, you'd just have to go without."

Her triumphant (rather smug) tone sparked a surge of something unbearable in your chest, a yearning you hadn't know you were capable of feeling.

How did she manage to do this to you?

Even with her clumsy, abrupt manner, her biting comments, her quick and sharp reprimands, her stand-offish nature, Lae'zel had somehow rendered herself so vulnerable to you.

You could feel it in the way she pressed her cheek to the top of your head, you could see it in the way she trusted you to lead her. You could sense it in the way her words reached you, always sincere and spoken from the purest of fires that burned within her, a warrior's constant in your cosmic equation.

And when her lips find yours, the latticework of the trees above you seem to open up further, exposing the arch of the sky, and your fingers find their way into her hair, sinking into the sweet hope of traversing that endless plane alongside her someday.

Gale: Materials and Method

"So, I've heard ... "

You downed the last of the healing potion and looked quizzically across at Gale.

He cleared his throat and stirred the pot with a little more vigour.

"I've heard ... no, read, a treatise on the healing power of touch. You know. To make you feel better after ... large and potentially traumatic events."

You grinned at him.

"And where did you find this treatise? Sharess's Caress?"

He shot you a reprimanding look, betrayed a little by the way his mouth twitched.

"Hmm. I don't think we're talking about the same written work on the subject of intimacy, although, dare I say, both have their merit."

You propped your chin on your hands, your breathing now a little easier as you felt the potion go to work on the bruising around your ribs.

The bandits you'd encountered in the hills had gone down fairly quickly to your party's combined attacks, but not before getting in a few blows of their own.

"So tell me, what does your treatise say?"

"Well, it speaks of the psychological benefits, all well researched, mind you, of maintaining skin to skin contact with someone you are already ... attached to. Someone you care for."

"And how are any of these things measurable?"

"Ah, through the release of certain hormones in the blood. Those can be measured."

"Is it really as simple as that?"

He was quiet for a time, gaze distracted.

"There was a time when I thought it was. That perhaps, love could be quantified. That its increments over time could be precisely measured by how much ... one gave. And how much was taken."

"And now?" you prompted him, gently.

"Now, I don't prescribe to the same school of thought."

He turned to you and smiled, that familiar warmth you'd come to associate with Gale's regard passing pleasantly over your features, as if touched by some invisible sun.

"Now ... well, I don't know what I believe. Let's just say that I'm ... open to conducting more research."

"Are you now?"

"Indeed, I am. A fortunate position to be in, don't you think?"

You laughed and watched him stir the stew for a while. You were fully aware of what he had done, setting out the offer for you, waiting patiently for you to turn it over in your hands, consider it from all angles, and decide if you'd give your consent or not.

In actuality, your mind had been made up some time ago.

"So, is there any way I could help you with your research?"

"There most certainly is."

His answer came a little too quickly, and your expression grew sly as you noticed the embarrassed flush steal up his neck.

"All right. Humour me, Master Gale. Where does all research begin?"

"With a question."

"How do I know if I'm asking the right one?"

"You have to refine it. Make it as concise as possible."

"Hmm. Here goes then. Gale, would you like to position your arms around me?"

"That's the wrong question. The real one should be- "

"About the benefits of embracing someone. I'm aware."

"Then - "

"Let's cut to the chase and begin experimenting?"

He uttered a soft laugh, one infinitely full of affection. Rising, he approached you with playful deliberation, pausing before you, one hand on his chin.

"I'm simply taking a moment to check whether you're ... receptive to my experiment."

You drew your knees together and raised your voice in a piteous falsetto.

"Oh, what foul Gods have sent this mountain breeze my way? I am so very cold. If only a warm and toasty man, of the scholarly persuasion, could come by and warm me."

Gale checked off a point on one of his fingers.

"It seems my services are required after all."

He resumed his steady pacing around your form.

"Next, I should observe the reactions before and after an embrace. Does it really have the intended effect, or can my subject survive quite well without it?"

You collapsed sideways across the log you were seated on.

"Oh, I am about to perish from this cold and loneliness. If only there was a man with a handsome beard, smelling slightly of stew, to come by and deliver sustenance to my soul."

"Ah. It seems they are both cold and lonely. A frightful combination, to be sure."

Gale was now right behind you, both hands coming to rest on your shoulders. His touch was light, but the weight of intention laid heavy across you both. He began to move his palms in soft soothing circles, beginning at the tops of your arms and slowly traversing the slope of your shoulders.

"Now, how does this feel?"

"Quite marvelous. I feel like I may be cured in no time."

"Never rush to conclusions like that. A true scholar would question the validity of what they feel in this moment. Does it really make you feel good?"

"Are you ... fishing for compliments under the guise of scientific inquiry?"

"I am merely following the method. Wiser men than me speak for its merits, you know."

"Well, wiser men seem to be beating about the bush an awful lot. It feels wonderful, Gale."

There was a pause before you felt him shift, the material of his trousers scraping across the log as he stepped over it and positioned himself in front of you. You took his outstretched hand, standing to face him.

"Looks like the spirit of experimentation is growing bolder."

He shook his head, shoulders heaving with silent laughter.

"You've played along wonderfully so far. Don't stop now."

"Oh, fine then."

You straightened and met his eye, shivering slightly in anticipation at what you'd seemingly kindled there.

"What next?"

"Put your hands on my shoulders."

When you complied, he stepped into your space, breath fanning along the flesh of your ear.

"And now for the final determination. The proving of my hypothesis, so to speak."

His arms slid around your waist, gentle, enclosing you in everything he was, his hold always considerate, but firm. You felt the light scratch of his beard against the side of your neck and inhaled sharply.

"And what is your hypothesis?"

"That this is most beneficial indeed."

"I have to agree."

You felt the curve of his lips against your skin, the tightening of his arms as he drew you close, enveloping you in his scent. Your hand found the nape of his neck, running up into the flow of his hair.

He inhaled deeply, taking you in, before he froze, gripping your waist and moving you a little further away. In the dim light, his eyes gleamed with amusement and chagrin.

"I do believe, in my desire to test this hypothesis, that I've managed to burn the stew."

Astarion: Practice makes perfect

He was staring again.

You could feel his gaze tracing along your skin, like molten threads of metal through a sword, fresh from the forge.

Making the journey from the Shadow-cursed lands (now no longer under the hold of Ketheric Thorm), had been slow at first. Your party was exhausted after the battle at Moonrise Towers.

Even though you had taken respite afterwards, the imperative nature of your mission to overthrow the Absolute was pressing. You compromised by setting a steady pace towards  Baldur's Gate, frequently stopping to rest and re-supply.

As occupied as your thoughts were with what awaited you in the city, there was another puzzle to be unraveled.

Astarion's recent behaviour.

Since your encounter with the drow blood merchant, Araj Oblodra, there had been some revelations in your relationship with him. Astarion had come clean about his original 'plan' to seduce you, and his own budding feelings that had put an end to it.

As much as you were still processing what it all meant, you couldn't help the spark of hope that

flared every time you looked at him and saw the genuine softness and affection, the well-concealed pleasure he took in your company.

And now, there was something new. This ... watchfulness, for want of a better term.

You couldn't make head or tail of it.

He seemed to be waiting to ambush you at every dark corner in camp, his flowery drawl snaring you every time you passed his tent. He sat with you while you ate, even considering his distaste for regular food. Sometimes, you'd check your clothing and find new embroidery or repairs, probably done in the dead of night.

All this was well and good. You could accept the attention, and lavish him with your own, but he seemed to be ... expecting something from you, and you couldn't possibly make out what it was.

It was obvious that he was growing rather impatient with your lack of discernment. Once, you'd given him a peck on the cheek to say good night and you'd spied the flash of hurt that had lingered in his eyes for a moment, covered up instantly with charm and wit.

It was bothering you to no end.

What did he want from you? Why wouldn't he come out and say it?

On one particular night, the thoughts he'd inspired left you tossing and turning, sleep evading you. Rolling onto your back, you stared at the roof of your tent.

Right. No answers there.

It was then that you heard it; a soft tread just outside. Raising your head slightly, you listened carefully, one hand inching beneath your bedroll for the knife you kept handy there.

The footsteps stopped, then started up again. You realised that the person was pacing. Up and down. To and fro. It went on for some time, with pauses in between.

You put the knife back.

No assassin would be this indecisive. And besides, you recognised that tread. Your senses had all but made it highly familiar.

You called softly into the night.

"Astarion?"

The footfalls stopped abruptly.

"I know you're there. Come inside. It's so cold out."

There was a pause before he pushed the flap aside and crawled in. The dim glow from the campfire filtered into your tent, outlining him in flickering shadow.

He sat cross-legged, silent.

You waited for a few seconds before inching across to him, wrapping your blanket around his shoulders and retreating.

He uttered a small sound of frustration.

"Why do you do that? I'm not made of glass you know."

You frowned. He sounded ... tired. A trifle bitter.

"Do what?"

"You know what."

"Astarion."

You took his hand, feeling his strong, cool fingers clench convulsively around yours.

"You need to speak to me. I really have no idea what's been troubling you."

"You ... it's ... why do you avoid me? What have I done wrong? Are you ... regretting being together with me? Is it not enough? I knew it couldn't be enough. Why else would you ... "

You held up a hand to stem the confused flow of words, bewildered.

"What are you talking about? I've never once avoided you. I love being with you. You know that."

He was watching you again, eyes flicking between yours, as if to catch some hint of insincerity.

He found none, of course. You felt some of the tension leave his body, but your question still remained unanswered.

"You need to tell me. Why do you think I avoid you? And when?"

He shifted, dropping your hand and taking a deep, bracing breath.

"Do you remember the night we ... spoke. After meeting with that drow merchant?"

"Of course."

"Well ... why haven't you come to my tent since then?"

He waved his hands wildly, as if to grasp answers from the air.

"I'm pretty certain that I don't smell bad, for an undead being. And I'm beautiful, that much goes without saying. My hair hasn't been at its best in recent times, I admit, but plant extracts are rather hard to come by in the Shadowlands, darling, and I - "

You snorted incredulously.

"Are you serious? You really think any of that would put me off you?"

"Well, obviously something has. You don't ... you haven't ... "

He cut off, head lowered, hands braced on his knees. This was evidently difficult for him.

Reaching out, you gently stroked his cheek, a flutter of something vital and warm surfacing as he leaned into your touch.

This foolish, foolish man.

But you had to choose your words carefully.

"Astarion, I haven't been avoiding you at all. I was just ... giving you space. You trusted me with the knowledge of everything you've had to endure. I wanted to let you ... come to me on your own terms and ... oh."

As soon as the words left your mouth, you realised what you'd done. Falling silent, you lowered your gaze.

He folded his arms.

"Oh indeed. You're truly dense at times, my sweet."

"But I - "

His finger laid itself across your lips as you opened your mouth to protest.

"Gods, you're the most lovely, silly, frustrating ... idiot I've ever had the misfortune to meet."

You scowled under his silencing finger, but the relief in his voice was so palpable that you couldn't help the smile that bloomed in quick succession. You reached up and caught his wrist, lowering his hand.

"So, you want me to ... not be quite as considerate of your space as I've been."

"One would think you'd get the idea, considering how I've been invading yours. Not your brightest moment, my love."

A laugh bubbled up in your throat.

"So that's what all of that was about."

"I'm so glad you noticed my bounteous desire for your company."

"All right then. Now that we've cleared the air ... what would you like me to do?"

He scoffed, some of his old panache returning. A welcome change.

"Honestly. Can you not remember a thing about that night?"

"Wait, what?"

"The thing you did."

"Eh?"

"Gods below, I've developed feelings for a deep rothé."

"Can you just tell me - "

"This," he hissed, before leaning forward and wrapping both arms around you. He released you almost instantly, observing your face with attentiveness. The firelight turned the ruby hue of his eyes to something darker, more desperate. In spite of his light-hearted banter, he was -

"Astarion."

Your voice was so full of tenderness, so soft, that you saw him flinch from it.

"Why didn't you just say so?"

"Well, it's not exactly - "

It was your turn to silence him, finger lightly grazing his lips. He took a shaky breath.

"What the fuck is this? Why is this so damnably difficult?"

"It's not. We just ... both of us just ... need to learn how to speak about things, I suppose. That's ... simple. Once you get the hang of it."

His voice had lowered to a whisper.

"It is?"

"Maybe. I'm not sure myself. But we'll start with this."

You held out your arms and he approached eagerly, slinging the blanket over both your shoulders. His unusually graceless movement pushed you off balance, and you tumbled back with a huff of amusement, tugging him down with you, his head knocking against the bridge of your nose.

"Ouch!"

"Lae'zel was right. Your nose is too big."

"What are your elbows made of? Gondian steel?"

"All the better to prod you with, my dear."

After a series of scuffling movements, you finally found yourself lying on your back, his head propped on your shoulder, just beneath your chin. Soft curls brushed your cheek as he shifted, his arm curling possessively around your body, leg sliding over yours.

His scent was familiar, breathtakingly so. It pervaded your senses, the sharp stringency of the soap at the Last Light Inn, the faint citrus essence of his hair cream, the smokiness of burning wood from where he'd sat too close to the fire.

You hadn't realised, until that moment, how you'd needed to hold him like this once again, the immediacy of his presence a comfort beyond words.

He raised his head slightly, mouth now on level with your ear. You felt the shift of muscle beneath his shirt, the slide of his hand against your ribs.

"Can we fall asleep like this? Every night?"

"We can."

"You ... really don't mind?"

You turned over, now facing him, your breath dancing across his lips.

In the dark, you couldn't see much detail, but you knew the lie of his features as well as the most well-traced map. Reaching up, you passed fingers lightly over his eyes, mouth, ears, nose, chin.

Your devstatingly handsome rogue. Your shadow dancer. Yours, in all his vulnerability, within these fragile canvas walls.

"I want to wake up to your face. On every morning until ... "

His lips silenced you, opening in unspoken passion against yours. When he parted from you, it was no loss. His entire body was pressed against the length of yours, and your arms had found their way around him again, holding him the way he had desired beyond anything.

"Don't. Don't say more. Just fall asleep with me."

"Just like that?"

You felt him smile into your hair.

"I suppose it''s simple, darling. Once you get the hang of it."

[heliosunny]

nahhh i've got an idea, dom male reader x mydei. hehehehehehe btw if you can't or do not want to write this, it is okay tho. i like your writing style and how you literally the only yandere accounts that post literally often. thank youuuu!

Yandere!Mydei x M!Reader

The grand halls of your palace were once filled with warmth. You were a king not of tyranny, but of wisdom and justice. And yet, justice meant nothing to the blade that had pierced your chest.

You lay on the cold floor of your throne room, the warmth of your own blood seeping into your garments.

Among the chaos, a single figure remained still.

"This wasn't supposed to happen."

Your body growing weaker by the second, but Mydei finally moved. He knelt beside you, his hands cradling your face.

"Who did this?"

Mydei was no mere knight in your service—he was something far more devoted.

"Don’t worry, my king." He pressed a hand to your wound as if he could hold you together by sheer will alone. "I'll fix this. I'll fix everything."

-----

The throne was cold beneath him. The weight of the crown—your crown—rested heavy on Mydei’s head, but it meant nothing to him. He had not taken it for power, nor for glory. No, this was merely a temporary position, a means to an end. Until you returned, the throne was nothing more than a placeholder.

And you would return.

The dark mage knelt before him, trembling under his golden gaze. Their face was slick with sweat, exhaustion evident from the unnatural rituals they had performed. Mydei had spent countless nights hunting them down, forcing them to bend reality itself to his command.

"I did what you asked." the mage rasped, "Your majesty..he lives. But—" They hesitated, daring to glance up at him. "Not here. His soul——was pulled into another vessel, elsewhere.."

For a moment, the room was silent. The gathered nobles, too frightened to speak, held their breath. They had already seen what happened to those who failed him.

"Is that so?"

With a flick of his wrist, he let them go.

"Send word to my scouts," he ordered, "Find him. I don’t care whose body he wears now."

His fingers traced the armrest of the throne.

"I will find you.��"

----

The scent of pine and damp earth filled your lungs as you took a deep breath. The forest stretched endlessly before you. Your fingers gripped the worn handle of your hunting knife.

You didn’t remember anything before waking up in this body.

"You're lucky to be alive... Son." the old man had told you when your eyes first opened. His wife had clutched his arm, her wrinkled hands trembling as she stared at you in disbelief.

"We thought we'd lost you"

They had told you about your last hunt, where you were gravely injured, where even the village healer had doubted you would survive.

You looked into the polished steel of your hunting dagger that night, searching for familiarity in the reflection staring back at you.

Still, you had a job to do.

If this was your life, then you would live it. The bow fit comfortably in your grip, the weight of a quiver on your back a second nature. Muscle memory, you told yourself.

Tracking prey was effortless. Another clean kill. Another hunt completed. You wiped the sweat from your brow, exhaling.

------

The weight of the deer slung over your shoulders was nothing compared to the exhaustion settling in your bones. The familiar scent of burning firewood and fresh bread greeted you home, a comforting routine after another successful hunt.

But as you neared your house, something felt off.

You saw a stranger stood at your doorstep, definitely not belong to this village.

Your parents stood before him. The old man’s fingers twitched toward the knife at his belt, his instincts sharp despite his age. The old woman clutched her apron.

Then you noticed it—the object in the stranger’s gloved hand. It glowed faintly as you approached.

The moment the stranger’s gaze locked onto you, his golden eyes widened.

He knelt after realizing that he was staring at you long enough.

"Your majesty."

The glowing object in his hand pulsed faster.

You stared at him, obviously, you didn't recognize him.

"Who… are you?"

"You may not remember me now.. But you will, soon"

Your parents had barely taken a step toward you before the guards moved. One of them grabbed your father’s arm, yanking him back. The old man grunted, stumbling, his weathered face twisting in pain. The other shoved your mother aside, causing her to fall to her knees.

A rush of heat flooded your veins.

With a single step, you closed the distance. Your hand shot out, gripping the nearest guard’s wrist. The crack of bones followed as you twisted, sending the man to the ground with a strangled cry. The second guard barely had time to react before you drove your palm into his chest, sending him staggering back.

The guards scrambled to recover, but before they could so much as lift their weapons, a chilling voice cut through the air.

"Stand down."

The guards froze in place, their faces drained of color.

"You dare lay hands on him in my presence?"

Neither of the guards dared to answer.

"We will have a discussion about discipline."

The guards paled further. You ignored them. Instead, you knelt beside your mother, gently helping her up while your father straightened with a grimace.

"Are you alright?" you asked.

Your mother nodded shakily, gripping your arm. Your father, though clearly furious, held his tongue.

"I will stay here" he announced. He turned to your parents, offering a polite smile. "Your son has lost something dear. I intend to help him retrieve it."

"Fine," you muttered, crossing your arms. "You stay, but don’t cause trouble."

"As you wish, my king."

The forest was quiet in the early morning. You pulled your cloak tighter, feeling the weight of another pair of footsteps trailing behind you.

You didn’t like it.

Every time you glanced over your shoulder, there he was, his eyes always on you. He said nothing, but the way he looked at you made your skin crawl.

You didn’t know who he was or why he called you “king” but he carried himself like a man who had bled for you—and was willing to bleed again.

Still, you tolerated his presence.

If he was telling the truth… if your memories were stolen or lost… maybe this was the only path to getting them back.

The two of you had tracked the deer for hours. Working together was almost disturbingly fluid.

Eventually, you found it grazing in a clearing, its coat dappled gold by morning light.

Mydei raised his weapon. The perfect killing stroke was only a breath away.

But something tugged at your attention.

From the thicket nearby, soft rustling—two small heads peeked out. Fawns.

"Wait!" you said, one hand reaching out to stop him.

Mydei’s movements halted instantly at your word.

He turned to look at you. "It’s wounded. One blow and it’s done."

"It has kids."

You stepped past him, lowering your bow. The mother deer limped slightly, trying to shield the fawns behind her with her body.

"We don’t take parents from children."

"You remember that."

You looked over your shoulder. "What?"

"You used to say that all the time. In war, in law, in hunting… Mercy. You always chose mercy when it mattered."

You frowned. "Sounds like a decent person. Doesn’t feel like me."

"It is you." His voice was hushed. "Even now, with no memories, you’re still.. you."

You looked away, a strange tightness curling in your chest. You didn’t know what you were expecting to find out here—but it wasn’t this.

The deer limped off, its fawns following close behind.

You turned to Mydei. "Let’s keep moving."

He nodded.

The fire crackled softly, its light casting flickering shadows across the trees. Smoke curled upward into the starless sky, carrying with it the scent of pine, ash, and the fish you'd caught earlier. Nothing fancy—just skewered over flame.

You sat on a fallen log, arms resting on your knees, your eyes half-lidded as you watched the flames dance.

Mydei sat across from you. He hadn’t touched the fish. Not yet. As if his appetite depended on yours.

You broke the silence first.

"So," you said, pulling a skewer free from the fire and taking a slow bite, "if I was really this ‘king’ you talk about… what was I like?"

Mydei’s eyes lifted, catching yours through the firelight.

"You were..." he began, "Kind. But strong. People feared disappointing you more than they feared punishment. You never raised your voice unless it was to protect someone."

You snorted softly. "Sounds made up."

He smiled faintly. "I thought so too, the first time I saw you. I thought no man could be so perfect. But… you weren’t perfect. You just chose to be good when it was hardest."

Your hand tightened slightly around the skewer. You stared into the fire, letting the warmth crawl into your skin.

"Tell me another story then." you said after a moment.

Mydei paused. Not to search for one—no, it was clear he had thousands. He just didn’t know which would hurt less to say.

Finally, he said, "There was a day when we were at war. The enemy had taken a village, used the children there as shields. Everyone advised you to wait. To let them starve the enemy out. But you refused. You entered alone."

"You negotiated with them. You carried a child on your back through the burning fields."

You could almost smell the smoke.

You shook it off. "That’s stupid," you muttered. "No one should walk into a trap like that."

"That’s exactly what you said afterward. Right before you scolded me for trying to follow you in."

Then, softly, you asked: "Who were you to me?"

"The one who followed you when no one else dared."

Your heart skipped. You looked back at him.

You said nothing, but for the first time, you didn’t look away.

It had been a few weeks since that first campfire.

You weren’t sure when it happened, but somewhere between tracking game and listening to those half-sorrowful stories of who you used to be, Mydei stopped feeling like a stranger.

He was still strange, no doubt. But beneath all that stillness, there was a fire—one that only ever flickered when he looked at you.

One morning, you gave him your answer.

"I’m not going back."

You expected resistance. But instead, Mydei bowed his head slightly.

"Understood."

And just like that, he was gone.

But the silence did not last.

Back at the palace, Mydei stood before the high court.

"The King’s return has been delayed." he announced calmly, seated on the throne you once ruled. "In the meantime… I will resume rule."

There was a murmur of confusion. But when the new decrees came, the kingdom shook.

Public executions.

"Let them hang until the birds take their eyes. Let the air know what happens to those who betray their king."

Every prisoner sentenced to death. Hung in the square, their heads severed and displayed for all to see. The message was clear:

Loyalty or death.

Mydei watched every execution himself. Not with pleasure—but with a cold, simmering wrath barely concealed beneath his gaze.

It was never about justice.

It was the beginning of cleansing.

A first step to burn away weakness, to purge every trace of betrayal that had led to your death.

You may have said no for now.

But Mydei would not stop.

He would never stop.

------

You had only come to the city to trade.

A bag of dried fish and preserved meat slung across your shoulder, a small bundle of furs under your arm. Just enough to get your parents the winter herbs they needed.

But from the moment you stepped past the outer gates, something felt… wrong.

The streets were quieter than they should’ve been at midday. Families kept their heads down, conversations died quickly, and more than once, you caught the sound of someone crying behind closed doors.

Worse still—guards. Everywhere. Standing in alleyways. Perched on rooftops.

You found an elderly shopkeeper who was kind enough to sell you the herbs at half price after seeing the pelts. When you asked about the strange atmosphere, she looked over her shoulder and whispered:

"Haven’t you heard? The Regent is purging the kingdom. Anyone suspected of betrayal, anyone who opposed him during the king’s assassination—dead. Executed like cattle."

You froze. The king?

"I thought he was—"

"Gone. But now the Regent rules in his name. And it’s worse. Much worse."

You couldn’t shake it. That tightness in your chest.

Somehow, you felt responsible.

You turned to leave the city before the sun dipped, but you didn’t make it far. Not even two streets out before they struck. A blast of magic knocked the breath from your lungs.

Mydei was sitting on the throne when the doors slammed open.

"Three mages, just beyond the east gate. They claim they caught a spy."

Mydei raised a brow, only vaguely interested.

"Let them in."

The guards dragged the mages in first. Behind them, a figure was pulled forward in enchanted chains, a dirty cloth draped over the head.

His eyes narrowed.

"Who is that?" Mydei asked coldly, rising from the throne.

One mage bowed. "A stranger to the capital. He was wandering near the restricted border. We suspect he may be—"

"Uncover him."

The mage complied, grabbing the cloth and yanking it away.

Time seemed to stop.

Your face.

Bruised. Cut. Blood on your temple. Still breathing, but barely.

Mydei slowly walked down from where he is. The blade was already in his hand before anyone noticed it had left its sheath, and then, the mage’s head rolled to the marble floor, eyes still wide in shock.

The court gasped in unison.

Mydei turned to the second. "You laid a hand on him?"

The last two mages fell to their knees instantly, screaming for mercy.

Then silence. All of them are dead.

Only your breathing remained.

"Bring a physician. Now! The best one. Touch him wrong and I’ll make your family watch as I peel you apart."

----

You awoke with a soft breath.

The scent of polished wood and roses lingered in the air.

You sat up slowly.

Someone helped you change your clothes.

And then the ache started.

Flashes behind your eyes.

A throne. Blood.

But then it was gone—faded like breath on glass.

The door creaked open. And he stepped in.

"Where are my parents?"

"They’re safe. I’ve arranged for a physician to stay with them full-time and have stationed guards discreetly."

A quiet sigh left your lips.

"...Thank you" you murmured, sinking back slightly into the soft bed.

Mydei walked closer, but kept his distance.

"I knew you’d ask about them first."

You looked down at your hands, flexing them slowly.

"...Did I live here?"

"Yes."

You had just started breathing normally again.

But then, the door opened once more.

A robed figure entered—A mage. You hated how you kept encountering them.

“What’s going on?”

The mage remained silent.

Instead, Mydei’s hand moved and pinned you by the shoulder. Not hurting you, but holding you still.

“What are you doing—?”

“They’re here to help you.”

“I don’t underst—”

“You will.”

The mage lifted both hands.

A searing light bloomed in the air between you. You struggled, but Mydei didn’t let you move—his grip grew firmer as the light bore down on you.

“Stop—Mydei, wait! I don’t—”

The spell pierced into your mind like a thousand glass needles.

And then— everything came crashing back.

You saw it all.

Your heart seized in your chest.

And you collapsed.

When you awoke, the pain was gone.

You remembered your own name. Everything that made you you.

And Mydei—he was already there, sitting beside your bed with his head lowered, still as a statue, fingers laced in front of his lips as if in silent prayer.

He looked up the second you stirred.

“You’re…”

You opened your mouth, “Mydei…”

And then he wrapped his arms around you tightly, “You’re back!”

He buried his face in your shoulder, shoulders shaking with silent relief.

-----

Mydei had always walked behind you.

For as long as he could remember, he had never needed anything more than the feeling of your voice giving him orders. That clarity, that purpose, was his reason to live.

Now that you stood once again at the top of the world—he had everything.

There was nothing to mourn. No more nights haunted by dreams of your blood-soaked body, no more empty corridors echoing with your absence.

You had returned. And he was whole.

Rumors had spread like wildfire of the lost king reborn. Nobles who once dared to plot found their heads lining the city gates.

Under your banner, armies surged. You took back what was once yours. And then you reached further. Lands that had turned arrogant in your absence were conquered.

Not all days were bloodshed.

Sometimes, when the mood struck, you would make your way to the royal training court.

Your strikes were heavier now—your absence had dulled the sharpness of your stance. But you were no novice. Mydei, however, never struck you like a teacher. He met you as an equal.

“You're still not holding back.”

“I never will” he’d say simply, offering his hand to pull you up.

In the moments between wars and sparring, Mydei would kneel beside your throne without being summoned. He didn’t need permission.

You never had to ask if he would die for you.

He already had.

Again and again.

As long as you wore that crown, as long as you ruled the world—you would never walk alone.

The palace slept beneath a blanket of stars. Guards stood silent along the halls. Outside, the wind stirred faintly through the courtyard trees, but within your chamber, all was still.

You lay in bed, chest rising and falling with deep, even breaths.

And Mydei never left his place beside you. His armor was gone, but his sword still rested within reach. Just in case.

But as the hours stretched on and your breathing softened, Mydei moved. He approached your bed and lingered by the edge for a long moment.

“You’re here…”

His hand brushed yours—fingers wrapping around your larger palm, holding it in both of his like something fragile and precious. His thumb traced along your knuckles, memorizing the lines, the warmth, the proof of your existence.

He knelt.

And with a slow, aching breath, he leaned forward and kissed your forehead.

When he finally pulled away, he stayed seated beside you on the floor, hand still cradling yours in silence.

The sun had just begun to creep over the horizon, casting a soft golden glow into your chambers. You blinked, rubbed your eyes, and pushed the silk covers aside as you sat up with a yawn.

And then you swung your legs over the side of the bed— and tripped.

“Wha—?”

Your foot caught on something solid, warm, and very much not the floor. With a surprised grunt, you crashed down, dragging the blanket with you as the world tilted— And landed right on top of someone.

“Mydei?”

“Good morning, Your Majesty.”

He had clearly fallen asleep beside your bed, collapsed from fatigue without meaning to. But now you were straddling him, tangled in covers, your hair a mess and arms trapped at his sides.

You scrambled up in embarrassment, muttering an apology, trying to disentangle yourself—

Only for your foot to snag on the blanket again.

Smack.

You crashed forward, and this time, your forehead slammed right into Mydei’s mouth.

“—!”

He let out a faint grunt, and you winced at the sharp sting of pain.

You quickly pulled back, horrified to see blood already gathering at the corner of his lower lip.

“Damn it—! Stay there.” You grabbed the nearest cloth, panicked but trying to stay composed. “I didn’t mean to—I wasn’t even—! Ugh, this is my fault.”

“It’s fine.”

You ignored that, grabbing the small case of ointments near the bedside and unscrewing the cap. With careful fingers, you reached toward his face.

“Don’t move.”

You dabbed the balm gently over the split lip, and he held still beneath your touch.

“Done. Now get up, Mydei.”

-----

The village was quiet this morning, nestled deep in the rural lands reclaimed under your banner. You were there to ensure their peace.

You and Mydei rode at the front, flanked by a handful of guards. The villagers bowed with hushed reverence as you passed, offering fresh bread and small gifts of thanks. But you felt strange.

“Something’s wrong...”

A firebolt struck the nearest house

“Protect the villagers!” you ordered instantly, drawing your blade.

The guards leapt into action, shielding children and herding families toward safety. You turned sharply toward the treeline.

Dozens emerged—cloaked figures, former rebels from the lands you’d conquered.

They weren’t after the people.

They were after you.

“Draw them away,” you muttered, stepping beside Mydei. “Toward the ruin tower. We’ll finish this ourselves.”

He nodded without question.

The old tower was long abandoned, overtaken by moss and rot. It stood like a crooked fang on the edge of the cliffs.

The rebels chased, just as planned.

Half of them fell to your swords, the rest driven to desperation.

From the shadows of the top chamber, hidden figures lunged—ambushers lying in wait. You pivoted too late, barely fending off a strike aimed at your neck.

In the chaos, someone tackled you from behind.

And you were falling.

The wind howled past your ears as the edge of the tower vanished beneath you—until his hand caught your wrist.

“Your majesty!”

The scene unfolds in slow motion, the world reduced to crumbling stone, blood, and the weight of a choice neither of you wanted to make.

Mydei’s grip on your wrist is iron, his other hand braced against broken masonry, muscles straining to hold you both aloft. And you see it. The moment he realizes: This won’t work. The structure shudders. The math is simple. One life or none.

So you act.

The knife is in your hand before either of you can protest. You drive it into his palm and his fingers jerk open in reflex. His scream is raw, your name half curse, half plea, but you’re already falling, the wind howling in your ears as the tower collapses behind you.

You land hard. Alive. That's what matters.

But Mydei doesn’t know that.

By the time you stagger upright, wiping blood from your lip, the sky is raining something worse than rubble.

He jumped.

Because he thought you were gone, and the universe without you wasn’t worth staying in.

Then your body moves. You lunge, arms outstretched, and catch him midair with a grunt of impact, boots skidding in the dirt. His weight nearly knocks you over, but you hold on.

"You— I mean..."

You grin, all teeth and no remorse. "Miss me?"

He chokes out something between a laugh and a sob. You pretend not to notice the wetness on your collar.

The grand hall of the palace is alive with light and laughter, the air thick with the scent of roasted meats and spiced wine.

You sit upon the throne, draped in royal finery, a goblet of wine dangling carelessly from your fingers. The feast is in full swing—musicians play lively tunes, nobles toast to your safe return, and the long tables groan under the weight of the banquet. But your gaze keeps drifting to him.

Mydei hasn’t touched his wine.

You smirk into your cup.

Then, with a lazy wave of your hand, you silence the musicians.

"Today," you announce, "we celebrate not just my safe return, but the loyalty of the man who would have followed me into death itself."

You raise your goblet toward him. "Sir Mydei—step forward."

For a moment, he hesitates. Then, he approaches the throne and kneels, head bowed.

You lean forward, resting your chin on your free hand. "Tell me," you murmur, just loud enough for him to hear, "was it duty that made you jump after me? Or something far more foolish?"

"You know what it was"

You hum, amused. Then, in one smooth motion, you rise from the throne and pull him up by his uninjured hand. The court gasps as you press your own goblet into his grip.

"Then drink with me," you command, grinning. "And stop glaring like I’m already dead."

His fingers tighten around the cup. For a heartbeat, you think he might throw it in your face.

Instead, he drains it in one defiant swallow.

The nobles erupt into cheers. You laugh, clapping him on the shoulder.

"Good job, Mydei."

[thewandererh]

what if why we didn’t see the doctor’s primary black-cloaked vessel ingame is because it’s his last resort? what if it’s where his heart is stored? or even where all the last copies of all his vital organs are kept safe?

an active consciousness can still stem from a backup of his brain, which his primary vessel holds. so, after his physical brain goes belly up (literally😭) the network of transmitting consciousness to each of his bots is still active. just transferred to a weaker method.

following the “murder” of dr harley sawyer in chapter 4, perhaps he scrambles back to this old vessel whereever it is. maybe it’s been neglected, a plan B dangerously collecting dust, or it’s sitting pristine in a sterile room on life support. nevertheless, harley finds himself in it after croaking his “last words” mid-transfer, and struggles to breathe. he forgot about this vessel. he’d cast it aside because it held the scars of his initial transfer into machine and the containment that followed. it was his first body. and it was so weak. but now it is his last chance.

however, he’s not properly adjusted to the whole having organs thing, and this vessel needs to be properly taken care of. so with bated breath and the struggle of calming his mind, he summons one of his metal corpses from his brain’s tomb. it takes a few agonizing minutes as it arrives to wherever he is, but eventually it’s close enough that he can actively switch bodies with it. consciousness transferral relies on proximity (this is why we only see the bots around his brain ingame).

revived and disoriented, the doctor must now look after himself. the fact of being reduced to this husk eats away at every atom of his being, but he’s simply too weak. he failed. he failed and he’ll be killed for it. but he’s not afraid.

when the splitting headaches cease and he gets used to being alive he can kill something again.

soon, but not yet.

…

…

info ramble & sillies under cut!

au idea, ayo?? early titles are ‘mechanized-mind’ or ‘inside-the-mind-of-harley’ or even ‘dry-bones’ but i’m still brainstorming X]. i love putting my characters through emotional agony <33 but this time it’s an au of an existing character i have to analyze to get right so that’ll be fun. now for the drawing, i really like both medical concepts and making stuff up so maybe only some of the function would actually work, but i do not care. the idea was that harley’s primary vessel had a more meshy, detachable plate in his chest to give room for his heart and probably-disproportionately-sized lungs. here that plate is removed in order to help his heart beat. tons of other tubes are wired into his ventilation vents to keep him running to. my running idea for why the sarley hawyer (clone bot, aka secondary vessel) here doesn’t have a cloak is because maybe he had to take it off due to contamination. or it got snagged on the way here. but honestly i didn’t want to cover up the cool anatomy of my neat design i’ve been playing with, so he is naked once again 😔

this was the big flipaclip harley piece i mentioned in this post while trying to animate something. this idea arose instead, and slowly came to fruition as i found an elaborate way to color while listening to some lethal company and ppt 3 & 4 vids. pen pressure is really new to me and i’m on my knees thanking it for this neat coloring texture and technique i will probably never use again 🛐😌🫶 thank you apple pencil ilysm

anyways, here’s some funny wip shots, and general doctor sillies i found today!! ^_^ it’s been another doctor day

once again, astralspiff is a very cool guy guys 🗣️🔥🔥

but alas. adios amigos 😵��💫🫡 goedenacht!

[opt1mistic]

FEVERED EMBRACE

caitlyn kiramman x reader. warnings/tags: sick!reader, sickness, fluff, idk what else. erm not proofread. wc: 0.5k

note: dying from the worst fever rn and need her to take care of me(someone save me i might actually die). this is lowkey shit, but i’m so very diseased that this is as good as it’ll get soooorryyyyyy :(

hammers pounding at the skull of your head, body arching as though it was made of lead. the world felt as if it was a hazy blur, the sheer light coming in from the window, searing your eyes. every shallow breath you took, felt tight in your throat, throbbing, getting stuck on the way to your lungs. leaving your vessel feeling restless and miserable.

caitlyn was there before you could even muster the strength to ask for her. her soft footsteps barely registered through the fog in your mind, but the touch of her cool hand against your feverish forehead sent a wave of relief crashing over you.

“you’re burning up,” her voice was soft, yet very concerned. sounding almost soothing, but the hint of worry was too overpowering to hear it. “why didn’t you tell me it was this bad?”

you try to answer, all you mutter out is a cough, a crunchy cough, that sounds awful. as if you have been chain smoking since the day you were birthed.

“shh,” caitlyn murmured, gently brushing strands of hair from your damp forehead. “don’t try to talk. let me take care of you.”

you sank back into the pillows as she busied herself, fetching a damp cloth to press against your skin, her touch achingly gentle. you’d never admit it, but the way she hovered over you, tending to every small discomfort, made the pounding in your chest rival the one in your head.

the coldness of the cloth soothes the pain, soothes the burning skin that stretched your body. the feeling of passing out getting closer and closer.

getting sick was the worst, but having caitlyn here, to take care of you wasn’t the worst thing. to have her hands massage you, her lips plant a kiss to your forehead, knowing that she might get infected as well. but all that meant was that you’ll get to take care of her too. so you didn’t protest.

her soft hands tucking the duvet covers around your body, fixing your pillows. helping you get as comfortable as she could, trying her hardest to rid of the unbearable, and unwanted pain you were experiencing.

she didn’t like to see you mop around in bed, sick to death. moaning and whimper. she was like a bear mother caring for her baby cubs, you were so fragile, like glass, that might break if you hold it too tight.

caitlyn didn’t care whether holding you would cause your contagious illness to pass on to her, all she wanted was to hold you tightly. and tell you that you’ll get better soon, that this hell will freeze over, and you’ll be good as new sooner or later.

her long arms wrapped around you, holding you, embracing you in her chest. your sickening body heat, and her own healthy heat, mixing together. oh how good it felt, the pounding hammer over your head suddenly became weaker, and the hold over your body weakened as well.

and without a second thought your body falls into the depths of your own mind as you doze off to your own made up wonderland.

©opt1mistic

[ixiot-ghostrebel]

Yo! Thank you for responding to my Wukong idea! Recently i've been playing black myth wukong at that gave is pure fire! Also i don't know if you seen the great sage broken vessal but he is outright disrespectful despite being just a vessel for Wukong. Also this is a little continuation:

Also after Wukong! Reader gets unsealed accidentally by the traveler, the readee agrees to help the traveler find their sibling. Also it would be funny to see an interaction with Wukong! Reader and the old Archons just as Morax, Barbatos and Ei or The adepti just as Xiao, Xianyun, Mook Carve, Ganyu and so on. Cause they will probably be nervous or outright terrified to know they can't do shit. But cnn you imagine they at first getting cocky thinking the reader has gotten weaker only to be proven wrong in a matter of seconds especially in Ei's case. Imagine this little sceneario

Raiden Ei/Shogun: Torn to-

Suddently she was pinned down by Jingu Bang (Ths magical staff that the monkey king wield that can increased in size and weight)

Wukong! Readeeme: Sorry what's that? All these years and you are still a can't beat me

Meanwhile the Traveler, Yae Miko and Sara are watching in the background shocked and awe

Traveler and Paimon: Damn...

Yae Miko:...

Sara Kujo:....

A Soldier: General should we help?

Wukong! Reader heard this while taunting The electro Archon as she couldn't move duo to the magical staff pinning her with unmatched weight and pressure.

Wukong! Reader: ANY OF YOU WHO INTERVINE IS GETTING THEIR ASS WHOOP!

Sara and the Soldiers flinched

Yae: I'm taking my leave...Ei got herself into this. She is getting herself out

Meanwhile the traveler and paimon just watching the whole things unfold

Bro they are getting their bums whooped.

None of them are gonna live this down either lol—Wukong!Reader on their way to remind them and rub it in their faces that they're still weak LOLL

Also speaking of Wukong, imagine Wukong!Reader overindulging in wine and trying to coax the Traveler into having some as well (Paimon panick noises in the bg frfr)

[whats-in-a-sentence]

Two centuries later, William Tyndale in 1522 introduced – for the first time – the phrase of 'weaker vessel' into the first passage:

Lyke wyse ye men dwell with them accordinge to knowledge gevinge honoure vnto the wyfe as vnto the weaker vessell and as vnto them that are heyres also of the grace of lyfe that youre prayers he not let.

Likewise ye husbands, dwell with them as men of knowledge, giving honour into the woman, as unto the weaker vessel, even as they which are heirs together of the grace of life, that your prayers be not interrupted.

"Normal Women: 900 Years of Making History" - Philippa Gregory

[bluegekk0]

Finished designs for the FPK Dragon AU! Very happy with how they turned out, I'm definitely going to draw more art for this side AU in the future

Some short info and close-ups below

General AU stuff:

I don't have many story or world details yet, but in general it would be quite simplified and changed in a lot of ways

The vessels are not a thing, though The Radiance does exist and the infection would still happen in some shape or form (I haven't thought of the details yet). Holly's purpose would still be to put a stop to it, but the whole aspect of emotionless void beings is not included

Humans don't exist in this world, so the one above is simply to get an idea of their scale. The dragons in that world are sapient and live in communities, a lot of them can use magic and similar powerful abilities

More info to be added as I brainstorm it, and I might design more characters for the AU in the future

Character specific stuff:

Vyrm - a lot of his backstory is very similar to the main AU, his kind is considered extinct (the reason would most likely be different), though he never changed his form to be smaller, which means his large wyrm form does not exist here. His relationship with WL was also basically the same, as was his journey of discovering his love for Grimm. And just like in the main AU, he ended up losing his status as a leader and hibernating. Unsure whether he would also lose all his powers, since I want to keep his workshop hobby and I like the idea of him having powers that he learned specifically for that purpose (not to mention, doing any kind of precise engineering would be difficult with his dragon anatomy). So we'll have to see.

Grimm - once again a very similar backstory to his main AU counterpart. He is one of the most powerful dragons to exist, and The Radiance is still his sister in this AU. He was banished from his homeland and stripped of many of his powers, losing his status as a higher dragon as a result. I'm still brainstorming how NKG comes into the AU, as of now my idea is that it would be closer to a god-like beast form than a being in another realm, but it may still change. And I'm still thinking how to reconceptualize the ritual to fit this version. Even though he's much weaker than in his prime, he's still more powerful than an average dragon, especially in the NKG form (if that is the direction I take with him).

Lewk, Asta and Milo - basically the same as in the main AU. Lewk and Asta can fly just fine, Milo however is incapable of it (and will likely remain that way even as he gets older, with his wings being too small and weak for flight).

Hornet - in most aspect she's the same, though her half-spider origin would be changed to something else; Herrah is not a spider in this AU, though she would still be quite beastly and unique in her appearance. She has two pairs of wings, which are a trait inherited from her mother's side. She knows silk magic, which she learned as a young dragon.

Zote - he's the most unique here body plan wise, I based his design on pterosaurs. I loved the mental image of him being this annoying, bird-like dragon. In basically all aspects he's the same as his main AU counterpart, though being a dragon I imagine he would have a more impressive lifespan than an average bug in the main AU. He's a herbivore dragon, his mouth resembles a beak, and he has no powers, only a nasty attitude.

Holly - as mentioned before, they are not a vessel in this AU, nor a void being. Instead, they're a hybrid of Vyrm and WL, who is a powerful higher dragon, and were trained to stop The Radiance and put an end to the infection from the day they hatched. Though they did end up learning void magic to aid them in the fight, I think that would be a nice way to preserve at least some of that aspect and it would explain the color of their body in this version. They have a mouth, though they are still mute, likely as a result to battle damage. Like in the main AU, they lost one of their eyes and a limb, and I'm considering designing a prosthetic wing for them at some point to mirror their counterpart.

[rollinouttahere-writes]

It took the better part of a year, but I've finally figured out where to go with Joyride. A lot of people have been asking for this, so I hope it lives up to your expectations.

Joyride (Part 2)

Part 1

Yandere Ace x GN Isekai Reader

4.8k words

Warning! This contains pretty much every Ace related spoiler btw!

When going into a world you already know everything about, you don’t exactly expect to be surprised by anything. Sure, there will be slight changes and alternate interactions now that you’ve been unceremoniously dropped in, but you had been anticipating for the story to follow all the same beats.

Which is why you were really thrown off when Ace didn’t go his separate way when he was supposed to.

Luffy had succeeded in defeating Crocodile and stopping his plan for dictatorship of Alabasta, but Ace was still here. Granted, having Ace around was hardly the worst thing that could happen, but you didn’t understand what was going on with him.

After your downright bizarre interaction during the little joyride he took you on, you’d honestly had every intention of avoiding him going forward. Then he threw a curveball at you by sincerely apologizing later that night. With everything going on right now he just got a little carried away, that’s all, he won’t harass you about it again. Or so he claimed.

You were skeptical initially, but true to his word, he hasn’t brought up you joining the Whitebeard Pirates since. Between that, and him having an unknown advantage over you by being a favorite character of yours, it was easy to find it within yourself to forgive him. You two have been borderline inseparable since, much to the chagrin of your crewmates. 

While Ace hadn’t openly made further attempts to convince you to join his pops’ crew, he’d found a thinly veiled loophole in the form of telling you all kinds of stories about them. You knew this was in and of itself, a method to win you over, but deemed it not worth calling out. Besides, who were you to refuse the opportunity to get some Whitebeard Pirates lore?

There were many late nights filled with quiet conversations about various shenanigans the crew got up to in their free time, of which there were many. An unsurprising fact because of course having that many sibling jam packed onto a ship would turn it into a vessel of chaos. 

If you had a weaker resolve, these stories might have won you over. But no, you need to go home.

Even though you weren’t convinced on switching crews, or even just staying here, there was a different problem arising from all your quality time together.

The longer you spoke and goofed around with him, the deeper and more intricate the conversations became, the more human he became to you. Or course, he’d technically always been a human being, but your mind had always registered him (as well as everyone else here) as a “character” first and foremost. A figure in a fictional story which you just so happened to be in temporarily. 

Now? After spending so much time with him, aftering seeing him make decisions based off his own experiences and preferences rather than being dictated by some omnipotent author, things have changed. He wasn’t Portgas D. Ace, the fan favorite character from One Piece. He was just Ace, your friend.

With this came something you never saw coming. Guilt. An all consuming, agonizing guilt that picked away at you every single second of the day.

You knew what was to come. You knew what was going to happen to him. What were you doing about it? Absolutely nothing. And for what? For the sake of preserving a story that’s already been altered from your mere presence?

What a disgusting excuse of a friend you were.

The internal conflict you were going through hadn’t gone unnoticed, not when it was taking such a high toll on you. Nami was the first to start grilling you on it. Naturally, she immediately started pointing fingers at Ace as being the cause, which while not wrong, she wasn’t correct in the way she believed herself to be either. It was hardly his fault that you had a heavy conscience. 

Sanji had also picked up on your struggles and was very concerned about the bags under your eyes, even offering to make some tea to assist with sleeping. An offer you turned down perhaps more harshly than truly necessary, but being trapped in a deeper sleep sounded awful with the nightmares you’ve been having.

It had been upsetting enough to watch Ace die through a screen, but in your dreams you were right there. It felt so real.

A suffocating heat burned at your skin and seared your lungs with every panicked breath, which only became more frantic as hot blood splattered over your face. Life was rapidly draining from Ace’s eyes as he collapsed into the waiting arms of his now deeply traumatized brother.

Your feet were rooted to the ground, all you could do was stare in horror as he looked up at you with tearful, pleading eyes. “Why?” The word was more so coughed out than spoken, spraying out more blood that he couldn’t afford to lose. An arm extended towards you, the hand locking onto your own. His nails dug into your skin, drawing out blood of your own to mix with his into a revolting cocktail. “You could have stopped this. How could you do this to me?”

The last word was wheezed out and his body went limp as his dead, lifeless eyes stared through you. A soul wrenching scream tore its way out of Luffy’s throat, only to morph into your own as you were mercifully ripped from your slumber.

The screaming damn near gave Ace a heart attack, you’re sure of it. This nightmare had occurred after you and him had become separated from the rest of the group while traversing the desert, and you had found a compact cave for the two of you to pass the night in.

What made it worse was how he reacted. He was so concerned, even fretting over you as you desperately tried to get your breathing under control. The compassion in his eyes had done nothing to comfort you, it only served to further sicken you. Here he was wanting to save you from something as trivial as a nightmare, yet you couldn’t be bothered to speak up on and prevent his upcoming demise.

The guilt was killing you, and the solution was not only clear, but easy. So why couldn’t you bring yourself to just tell him? To plead and beg for him to give up the chase and not throw his life away. Yet your lips remained sealed. 

All of these elements came to a boil and demanded your attention, so you did what seemed to be the easiest thing to do in your situation. Drink it away.

Now that Luffy had awoken from his brief coma after fighting Crocodile, Alubarna Palace was hosting a lavish party in celebration and thanks for what everyone had done. And what high end party would be complete without absurd amounts of alcohol?

It started with one, purely to help ease your nerves. However, when it didn’t, you poured yourself another. And then a few more. Zoro had initially been thrilled to have you as a drinking buddy, but apparently even he had his limits and had cut you off.

“The hell’s gotten into you? You’re drinking like you’re trying to run from demons,” the bottle of expensive liquor had been moved out of reach when you tried to go for it again.

“You have no idea,” you slurred out, head spinning from your evening of poor decision making.

Zoro shot you a questioning look, but didn’t press it, likely knowing full well that getting a coherent conversation out of you right now would be impossible. He heaved out a sigh and stood up, “I’m going to get you some water, stay right there.”

Thoroughly defeated, you slumped back into your chair. After all that, you still couldn’t get your dilemma out of your head. Your “demons” continued gnawing at your soul, and all that your drinking had done about it was ensure that you would have a miserable hangover in the morning.

Your head lulled to the side, and you caught sight of a familiar orange hat. Speak of the devil. While you were in the throws of self inflicted misery, Ace was happily taking advantage of all the food being offered. Good for him. He deserved a nice night. 

As if acting on its own, your body managed to get up onto its feet. You shambled towards him, doing your best not to fall flat on your face with each uncoordinated step. Whatever invisible force that had been helping you to make the walk to Ace failed you at the last second, and you crashed into him from behind.

“Shit! Wha- Oh, it’s just you,” Ace whirled around, visibly agitated, but his features relaxed when he realized who it was. He appeared to be ready to say more but you cut him off.

“I need to talk to you.” 

Ace quirked a brow, “Yeah? What’s up?” 

From the expectant look he was giving you, it’s clear that he’s waiting for you to spill your guts here and now. You shook your head, “No, it’s… It’s a secret. We have to go somewhere else.” Realization flashed across his face and he nodded. Fortunately for you, he led the way. You honestly did not think you’d be able to scout out a place for this discussion. You were finally going to come clean and tell him everything before you could sober up and come to your senses.  

It was going well. At least it was, until he passed out and took you down with him. You both collided onto the floor with a resounding thud, him on top of you. The hall you’d slipped into was empty, meaning there was no one here to help you. 

You groaned as you attempted to move, the fall had hit you harder than it should have thanks to the copious amounts of alcohol in your system. You were also mentally kicking yourself for not seeing this coming. He was eating when you stumbled into him, of course it was only a matter of time before this happened.

Whatever, there isn’t time to be bemoaning a minor inconvenience. You manage to shimmy out from under him and use the wall to get to your feet. Ace is snoring on the floor, not a care in the world. Hopefully he’ll wake up soon. 

Taking a look around, you see a door just a couple steps away. You inch your way over to it and try the knob. It clicks open, and you peer in. Looks like some sort of guest room, and it’s empty. Perfect.

Pushing the door open fully, you turn back to Ace. He’s still asleep, but you don’t want to wait around for him to wake up on his own and run the risk of being seen. You lean down to grab the closest part of him, his right foot, and pull. You’re not sure if he’s actually heavy, or if you’re just too drunk for this, but you tip over while trying to do this and fall flat on your ass.

“Huh?” Ace’s head snapped up and he looked around owlishly. The second his eyes connected with yours, he remembered what he was doing before his narcoleptic tendencies took the wheel. He laughed, a light blush on his face, as he got to his feet, “Sorry about that, you alright?”

“I’m fine, get in here,” you urged him to hurry, which he did. In the time it took you to stand again, Ace had already slipped into the room, closed the door, and flicked on a lamp so you two wouldn’t be talking in complete darkness. You eye the door for a moment, then grab a chair and drag it over to wedge it under the doorknob. Someone walking in on the conversation you were about to have would be something of a worst case scenario.

Ace watched this curiously, “Is everything okay?”

This probably looked weird, but oh well, it’s about to get a lot weirder. You decide to sit on the bed and motion for Ace to join you, which he does. You take one of his hands in both of yours and stare at him intensely, “I need to tell you something. It’s going to sound insane, but you need to promise me you won’t tell anyone about this.”

He repeated his previous question, asking again if everything was okay, but you cut him off, “Promise me, please!”

Your desperation got through to him, “Okay, I promise! What’s going on?”

Here goes nothing. You take a deep breath and take the leap, “You need to stop going after Blackbeard.”

Ace recoiled immediately, and if you hadn’t been holding onto his hand for dear life, he probably would have backed away from you. “What? I can’t do that, why would y-”

“Let me finish!” You snapped at him, only to immediately regret it. You sighed, “Please. There’s more, please let me finish talking first, and then you can talk.”

While he did not look happy about it, he did relax his shoulders and settled back into the bed. You took this as your cue to continue, “You need to stop going after Blackbeard because you will die if you do.” Ace exhaled sharply and rolled his eyes at this, assuming that this was coming from a place of fear and doubt.

“I know this because,” you took in a shuddering breath, steeling yourself for what was to come. “I know this because in the world that I came from… This world is a story.”

Ace stares at you wide eyed and slack jawed. He laughed, but was very clearly uncomfortable, “I, uh, I think you’ve had a little too much to drink tonight. How about I take you back to your room to sleep it off, okay?” 

He tried to stand, but you yanked him back down, “No! I’m not drunk! Well, I mean, I am, but I know what I’m talking about! I can prove it.”

His expression was nothing short of incredulous, but he indulged you, “Yeah, okay, sure. Go ahead, prove it.”

“You’re hunting down Blackbeard because he murdered Thatch so he could steal his devil fruit,” you started light. Ace had told you about Thatch being the one he was avenging, but he’d never mentioned the devil fruit before, likely not deeming it an important enough detail. His brows knit together and his eyes drifted upwards as he racked his brain to remember if maybe he actually had said something about it.

“Before you were with Whitebeard, you were captain of the Spade Pirates. Your first member was Masked Deuce, who you met while being stranded on an island together. It’s where you found your devil fruit and built Striker,” he hadn’t told you anything in regards to his old crew, and his face reflected that. You definitely had his attention now.

“You and Luffy were raised by mountain bandits because Garp couldn’t raise you two himself. It wasn’t just you guys, though, you had another brother named Sabo, but he was killed when he tried to set sail and got shot down,” at this point, you were saying whatever came to mind with no regard to whether or not it was a good idea to say this right now. You couldn’t bring yourself to keep looking him in the eye, so you settled for staring at his hand in yours. It was completely slack.

“Your parents are Portgas D. Rouge and Gol D. R-”

Before you could finish the sentence, Ace’s free hand clamped over your mouth with such ferocity that you almost fell off the bed. Forcing yourself to make eye contact again, you see that his are blown wide and wild. The color has been drained from his face and he looked physically ill from hearing everything you just threw at him.

An extremely tense moment passed with nothing to be heard beyond his labored breathing. Then, he hesitantly let go of your face and with a shaky voice said, “Okay. I’m sorry. I believe you. What… What’s going to happen if I keep pursuing Blackbeard?”

You attempted to swallow the lump in your throat, but it refused to go away, “When you catch up with him, you’ll fight, but lose. Your powers are no match for his, you don’t stand a chance against him. After your loss, he turns you in to the marines. 

“Because of who your father is, they decide to make an example out of you and sentence you to death.”

“That bastard turns me in and I get executed?” He sounds like the wind has just been knocked out of him. Disbelief and bitterness are the two most prevalent emotions in his tone, but many others brew beneath the surface.

“Not exactly,” it’s true that he gets turned in and killed, but it’s nowhere near that simple and straightforward. “Luffy comes to your rescue at Marineford, and so does Whitebeard and a lot of his crew.”

Before you could go more into detail, Ace speaks up, “They… W-Why would they do that?”

“Why would they- You have to ask?!” Your voice raises and you have to remind yourself of just how much character development he has to go through in that arc to finally realize and accept the fact that he’s genuinely loved. “Because you’re family, their family! They care about you and don’t want to see you die!”

Your outburst shocked him, but not as much as seeing you start to cry did. His hand is abandoned and you lurch forward to bring him into a suffocatingly tight hug, “Y-You are so loved, you know that? They l-love you so much! A lot of people do! I do! We all want to see you live and be happy!” You limply hang off of him as more tears bubble to the surface, greedily taking the chance to escape with every sob as you finally let out everything you’ve been keeping in. Ace makes no move to return your embrace, he just sits there stiff as a board. 

“A-And, at that battle, you’re killed by Admiral Akainu while protecting Luffy. He’s devastated by it, being forced to watch you die hurts him so bad,” you cling onto him tighter upon feeling him flinch from your words. “Whitebeard dies there too.”

“What?! How could anyone kill him? That can’t be right!” You’re wrenched off Ace violently and his stare is almost as unhinged as it was when you said his parents’ names.

“Blackbeard does it,” Ace freezes at this. “That should give you an idea of how strong he is. If he can kill Whitebeard, fighting you is nothing to him. Besides, you of all people would know how hard it is to kill him,” you chuckle but it’s humorless, empty even.

A heavy stretch of silence follows after that. Ace’s eyes don’t leave your face for even a second, desperately searching for anything that would tell him that this is all one big, sick joke. But there’s nothing of the sort. 

Slowly, he releases your shoulders and he shifts away from you to rest his head in his hands. Without his support, you allow yourself to fall back onto the bed. Between all the alcohol and your emotional outburst, you’re exhausted and want nothing more than to sleep. You try to force yourself to stay awake, but it feels like an insurmountable task. 

“Hey, Ace?” There’s no answer, but you continue anyway, “I’m sorry. I know that was a lot. If, um… If you don’t believe me about knowing what’s going to happen, stick around until after we set sail again. Bon Clay- Mr. 2- is going to bring the Going Merry over here so that we don’t have to backtrack. Marines will be all over the place, but he sacrifices himself so that Luffy and his crew can get away. Once they’ve lost the marines, Nico Robin will reveal herself to have been hiding on the ship and joins the crew.”

Ace continues to not react to what’s being said, you’re not even sure he’s listening to you at this point. As much as you want to comfort him, your limbs feel like lead and your head is swimming. The last thing you see is the jolly roger of the Whitebeard’s staring you down as you fade into darkness.

—

Consciousness comes back to you slowly. Painfully so. Before you can even make out your surroundings, you’re assaulted by the worst headache of your life. The stabbing pain behind your eyes is crippling, all you want is to retreat back to the comfort of sleep, but you know that’s not going to happen.

It doesn’t help that your mouth is so dry that you feel like you’re back in the desert. One hand comes up to gingerly massage your eyes. The action brought more discomfort than relief, but it did clear up your sight a little. 

As your senses ebb back into you, you hone in on the pressure all over your body. It takes considerable effort, but you manage to lift your head enough to take a look. Your nose is less than an inch from bumping into someone else’s. Chopper’s to be exact. He was curled up into your side and using your chest as a pillow. Looking past him, Luffy was sprawled across your lap, belly up. Both of them were still asleep.

You prop yourself up on one arm. Chopper shifts, but doesn’t wake. Off to your side is a bedside table with a glass of water on it. Oh, thank God. Using the arm you aren’t propped up with, you grab it and bring the cup to your lips. The water is divine, an absolute blessing for your dry throat.  

As you enjoy your drink, your eyes glance around to observe the rest of the room. It’s the one you all have been staying in since saving Alabasta. Most of your friends are in their respective beds, except for Chopper and Luffy, obviously. Zoro was also not in his bed, instead being slumped over in a chair next to your own.

Your eyes flicker over to the massive windows of the room, and you spot Ace sitting in the windowsill. From the way he’s positioned, he appears to be awake already. Your gaze narrows as you focus on him. Something tickled at the back of your mind, demanding to be remembered. But what?

“Y-You are so loved, you know that? They l-love you so much! A lot of people do! I do! We all want to see you live and be happy!” 

The water going down your throat is suddenly going out of it when you choke. Memories come back and hit you like a train as you realize what exactly it is you did last night.

Naturally, this wakes up Chopper and Luffy, who are both jolted from their once peaceful sleep by you choking on your drink. Chopper immediately starts to panic, “AH! Don’t die, (Y/N)!”

—

It was crucial that you speak to Ace again, but it seemed like the world itself was committed to making sure that didn’t happen. Ace slipped out of the room while everyone was fussing over you, and it honestly felt like he was avoiding you now. Everytime you thought you might be able to catch him alone, either he vanishes, or someone else comes out of nowhere to drag you away.

Today was the day you all set sail from Alabasta, and while that did put you in close proximity with Ace, it also put everyone else within earshot of you two. And considering the delicate nature of what you needed to talk about, that was extremely inconvenient. 

The only good thing was that the events following leaving Alabasta played out exactly how they were supposed to. Hopefully that meant that Ace would believe you and give up hunting down Blackbeard, but you won’t be able to confirm that unless you speak with him. 

You were so stressed that you’d barely been able to focus on Robin being here. She “introduced” herself to you as if she hadn’t had an extremely uncomfortable run in with you in an alleyway back in Rainbase, but all you could manage was a half-assed handshake before excusing yourself.

For probably the fifteenth time today, you checked to make sure that Striker was still tied to the Merry. It was, much to your relief. But where was Ace hiding? You haven’t seen him since Robin showed herself.

The stress of trying and failing to corner him was doing nothing to help with your hangover, your head felt like it was about to explode. Did you still have Advil in the bag you got isekai’d here with? Maybe. Pushing off the railing, you march to where your room is while praying that you’re right about the painkillers.

You open the door without much thought, only to stop dead in your tracks when you catch sight of Ace rummaging through your belongings and stuffing them into his backpack. The door opening did briefly make him stop and peer over his shoulder to see who it was, but the second he saw it was you, he went right back to pillaging. 

“Can I help you? Why are you robbing me?” You stomp over to where he’s crouched down and shove his shoulder. 

“I’m not robbing you, I’m packing for you,” Ace mumbled, sounding lost in thought.

“Why would you be packing for me? Actually, you know what? That’s the least of my concerns right now, we need to talk about last night.”

“We’ll talk about it later, not here.” He still hasn’t properly faced you, and you were getting sick of only making eye contact with his tattoo and not him. 

“Where else would we talk about it?!” You hissed.

Seeming content with his work, he stood up and kicked the dresser drawer shut, “On the Striker. Or maybe the Moby Dick, I guess. I’m going back and you’re coming with me.”

You can’t believe what you’re hearing, “Excuse me?”

“I’m going back to the Moby Dick, and you’re coming with me.” Ace had finally turned to face you. His eyes were sunken and vaguely bloodshot. 

The sight catches you off guard, “Did you sleep at all last night?”

He shook his head, “No, we’re going to have to stop somewhere else to sleep before going the rest of the way back home.”

“Ace, I’m not going with you. Look, I’m happy that you’re calling off your hunt, relieved honestly, but I’m staying here.” You will ideally be figuring out how to go home sometime soon, there’s no sense in hopping around from crew to crew now.

One of his eyes twitched, and he looked exasperated, “You can’t stay here. You aren’t safe here.”

“What are you-”

“Let me finish,” the words were spoken calmly, but very firm. “I don’t think you understand how serious this is. You apparently know everything about this world and what’s going to happen in it, do you have any idea what will happen to you if word gets out about this?”

“You’re the only person I’ve told, so as long as you keep your mouth shut, I’ll be fine.”

“Until you get drunk again and tell someone else, then what?” His words were just as scathing as his gaze.

Your face flushed in shame, “That won’t happen again.”

“You don’t know that!” Ace snapped at you, then sighed and dragged a hand down his face, “This is for your own good. Nothing good will come from anyone else learning about this. If it ever got back to someone like Big Mom, she would send every single one of her children after you so she could have you on her side. And that’s the nicer option. I’m sure the marines would be more than happy to kill you off so that no one else could have you if they can’t.”

Throughout this entire conversation, his face had remained uncomfortably neutral, but now it cracked. Fondness peaked through the exhaustion as his expression softened ever so slightly. He steps forwards and brings you against him in a crushing embrace. His skin is hot to the touch, effectively chasing away any chill that you may have had.

“You said you wanted to see me live, and I want to see you live, too.” The words are hushed, you wouldn’t have been able to hear him if he hadn’t been speaking right next to your ear.

Reluctantly, he pulls himself away. His face is serious again, “We’re leaving tonight, be ready to go.”

“But-”

“If you don’t come willingly, I will make you. The only thing that you resisting will accomplish is making this messier than it needs to be. Even if you don’t like this now, you will thank me for it later.”

Ace spins on his heel and heads for the door. All you can do is stand there gawking at him as he leaves. Just before the door closes behind him, he spares a glance over his shoulder to say, “I’ll see you tonight.”

[grismavessel]

Vessel AU: Pecharunt's Rot

The vessel au is about powerful legendary/mythical pokemon taking up human hosts/confidants e.i like Resirham and Zekrom would want hosts that embody their ideals for comfort and human connection or e.i like Arceus needing a helping hand in the form of turning someone into a puppet and guiding them along. Could be malicious, could be co-habitable and comfortable.

Kieran draws the short end of the stick.

Kieran finds Pecharunt before returning to the blueberry academy in Unova and strikes a deal. A devil's bargain.

Kieran is given strength and more willpower to become the best and strongest trainer, in turn, Pecharunt in brought to new lands and hitches a ride with Kieran.

Pecharunt isn't strong enough to just dip in and out of physical reality, it's no legendary, but it takes the form of Kieran's hair band and a 'scarf' instead to stay close.

While Kieran trains to become the champion, Pecharunt spread's the toxic chain to the pokemon in the terrarium. It corrupts the pokemon and infects the pokemon with malice and poison. The pokemon get stronger, but they also get weaker.

So does Kieran. He sleeps less, eats less, he's so unlike himself that Carmine can't even recognize her little brother anymore.

Unbeknownst to both Kieran and Pecharunt, their bond and traits are so similar, they blend into one another. Fusing into an amalgamation of toxic mentality of winning and never accepting losing, of take take take until they're nothing left.

Kieran starts to look stranger, act stranger.

(Also I threw in Volo because the main story of the vessel au has him getting no attention whatsoever from any cool possessive dieties so I had to give him more L's)

(feel free to use the design with credit!)

[vatiiagames]

DEMO || FORUM || CONTENT WARNING

Vessel of Harkahn is an upcoming 18+ fantasy interactive novel that takes inspiration from the Dragon Age series, TTRPGs, A Song of Ice and Fire, as well as several other pieces of media.

⚡️ The Short Demo is complete! (As of 08/08/24)

⚡️ The Forum and Content Warning pages are a WIP! (As of 06/29/24)

When the Grand Duke of Le Versare is assassinated, his surviving children are left to pick up the pieces of their shattered lives.

With hardly any time to mourn their father, the Aurelios twins are approached by a mage who has suspicion to believe the assassination is tied to several events across the continent.

The mage also believes demonic influence in involved.

Many months after the assassination, Carlise Aurelios and Varre Delatore have discovered the resurgence of the demon Harkahn. The demon feasts on hatred and chaos but is much weaker than his first appearance centuries ago.

Harkahn now requires a vessel to survive in the mortal plane. He has yet to become strong enough to shed his vessel and exist in his demonic form.

You are his chosen vessel. Or, at least, you were.

After exorcising the demon from you, Carlise and Varre recruit you into the Band of Althor to aid their cause of defeating Harkahn. Seeing as you were his vessel, you have priceless intel on the demon's mind. You may have insight to his plans or possible weaknesses.

The only issue? You can't remember anything from your time possessed and even memories from before are foggy and shrouded. Trying to remember these lost memories causes you immense physical pain.

For now, you must find another way to help Carlise and Varre's cause.

⚡️ Create and customize your MC "The Vessel".

⚡️ Play as male, female or nonbinary.

⚡️ Play as an Elf, Half-Elf or Human.

⚡️ Choose from three classes to play from; Warrior, Rogue or Mage. Each class has its own unique Mentor.

⚡️ Shape your skills as you play.

⚡️ Six romance options to choose from alongside secret routes to discover as the story progresses. (All romance options are romanceable regardless of gender.)

⚡️ Help recruit others throughout Caadvir to join the Band of Althor. There is strength in numbers.

⚡️ Discover more about your lost memories and the significance of your Mentor.

Asan Aurelios || The Heir || Human

As the older one of the twins, Asan is the hereditary Grand Duke. He has big shoes to fill after his father's long and peaceful reign. Despite the weight on his shoulders, Asan keeps a bright smile on his face and pushes forward. He is more than supportive of Carlise's efforts to dispose of Harkahn, he just has other political matters to attend to.

Asan hails from the province Le Versare.

Carlise Aurelios || The Leader || Human || RO

As the younger one of the twins, Carlise doesn't hold as much weight to her shoulders. The line of succession has passed to her brother, which allows her to focus entirely on disposing of the demon Harkahn. She is calculating and, at times, cold. Carlise is the founder and leader of the Band of Althor and is greatly respected.

Carlise hails from the province Le Versare.

Varre Delatore || The Mage || Elf || RO

Varre is an extremely talented and powerful mage. He has spent many years studying and mastering magic at the White Tower of Castavel. His knowledge and experience is what drove him to discover Harkahn's resurgence and its influence throughout Caadvir. Varre approached Carlise and Asan about their father's assassination and its relation to Harkahn and has been by their side ever since. He aided Carlise in founding the Band of Althor.

Varre hails from the province Castavel.

Ewan Geraunt || The Viper || Human || RO

Ewan is part of the mercenary group called the Vipers of Venoss. They are regarded as the best mercenary group throughout Caadvir and some of their numbers have been worked all across the world. Ewan is a higher ranking member of the Vipers, but left the group shortly after experiencing an odd dream. After learning his birthplace suffered an attack from Harkahn, he immediately turned to the Band of Althor to serve their cause.

Ewan hails from the province Venoss.

Dea || The Halfblood || Half-Elf || RO

Dea had no place in Ordaire. As a place still ruled by their distaste for humans, half-elfs are heavily frowned upon and outcast by society. She spent many years in and out of street and bar fights alike. Like Ewan she found herself in a mercenary band, but unlike him it didn't last too long. She jumped from band to band, job to job, until she landed on the Band of Althor. She works for Carlise now but who knows how long that will last?

Dea hails from the province Ordaire.

Kizan Fremont || The Knight || Human || RO

The Fremont family have long been allies of the Aurelios family. Kizan's father before him served the Grand Duke of Le Versare as his protector. The mantle was passed to Kizan a few years prior to the assassination. He is the Knight Commander of Le Versare's Order of Cor. While his duties keep him busy most of the time, Kizan will always find time for himself and make the most of it.

Kizan hails from the province Le Versare.

Amysa Briarfel || The Apprentice || Human || RO

Amysa has spent much time studying magic at the White Tower of Castavel. She plans to become a Mentor at the tower, which has earned her the title of Apprentice. Part of Amysa's apprenticeship is traveling throughout Caadvir and assisting different noble houses. When she finally landed upon House Aurelios, she willingly chose to put her apprenticeship on hold to stay and help the Band of Althor.

Amysa hails from the province Xinthe.

Préaux || Warrior Mentor || Human

Préaux is a well-known and respected knight from Itresse. They served the Grand Duke of Itresse for many years before retiring and disappearing entirely. Préaux earned many nicknames throughout their life like 'The Saint of Silver' and 'The Silver Serpent'.

Préaux hails from the province Itresse.

Jaq the Grin || Rogue Mentor || Half-Elf

Jaq the Grin is an infamous thief who terrorizes Caadvir. They have never been caught or really seen. Those who claim to have witnessed Jaq state that the only thing they could remember from the encounter was Jaq's impossibly huge grin, which earned them their nickname.

Jaq the Grin hails from the province Ordaire.

Erina || Mage Mentor || Elf

Erina is a Mentor at the White Tower of Castavel. Having served many years as a Mentor, Erina is highly respected and not a force to be trifled with. Many students of Erina have gone forth to achieve greatness in their lives, such as serving a Grand Duke or King or Queen.

Erina hails from the province Venoss.