active / ask box / anonymous / submit box
new threads / replies to greeters / new follows / requests
currently answering old things from selected partners
Munday If you send me asks to be replied ooc, such as about meta or the rp proper, these shall be answered to on Mondays.
Sinday I don't observe it. Please send NSFW asks only if they are part of a meme or previously discussed with me. If these have to do with ooc choices, they may be answered as part of Munday.
quick links
The following links might interest you, as they direct to specific categories of text.
Munching, crunching and biting were commonplace in any eatery, part of the business, really. Only… these actions were normally performed on the food served, not on people!
When Ace felt someone’s teeth around his ear, he almost choked on the chicken leg he was having for lunch - as part of it, not its total. Or else it might as well be a snack rather than a meal.
“What’s the big idea? Are you a cannibal or somethin’?”
There was no response but not because the man had his mouth full with Ace’s ravishing organ - he was asleep. Fancy that! A narcoleptic friend for Fire Fist!, having an episode at luncheon and most likely having a vivid dream about something yummy.
Ace shoved the man away, making him fall off his stool and continue his sleep on the floor of the restaurant.
Did you know that you are a heartstealer? Because yo stole my heart and I didn't mind one bit. Keep it. It's yours, pirate.
Heartstealer? Wait a minute, wasn’t stealing hearts Traffaroo’s niche? Ace wasn’t even that big a thief nowadays, though he had been quite a remarkable one as a kid. Only if… the nonny was being not so literal. Duh.
It was a beautiful thing to be said and to be heard. To steal something as vital and both material and immaterial as a heart and be told to keep it… It had to be the biggest treasure a person could offer another, even if by means of allowing it to be stolen rather than willingly deposit it in a foreign pair of hands.
“I did, uh?” Ace pulled his hat over his eyes in a solemn manner. “You should mind, then. I reckon it’s not in very good hands…”
He didn’t say it so as not to offend the nonny’s feelings but it would be best for them if they gave their heart to someone else.
Fingers, by a puppy/kitten animal of your choice (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)
The feline, having the advantage, saw the man before he saw him. A lazy flick of the thick tail, a quick movement of the ears. He was a good man and the cat knew it.
“Uh?” Feeling he was being watched, Ace looked around with a half-frown on his face, expecting to find a pair of ill-meaning eyes belonging to an unhappy civilian or a greedy bounty hunter. Instead, and much lower than the level of his eyes, he found a pair of emeralds watching him from the dark. “Hey there, lil’ fella!”
Crouching and rubbing his thumb and index fingers together, he greeted the cat and invited him to come closer, which he did with no fear and no reservations. Already feeling the warmth emanating from the man, the cat, who was not a kitten anymore but still of young age, pressed its face against Ace’s hand and released a soft purr.
Ace pet his new friend behind the ears and on the jaw, closing his eyes for a moment… a moment which the cat used to bite his fingers. Maybe it meant to go for an affectionate nibble but its teeth were sharp and pierced Ace’s flesh.
“You son of a…!” He shook his hand as to shake the pain off and sucked the small red pool the cat’s bite he released. His anger did not even last a second, as Ace’s expression became soft once more. He couldn’t snap at a cat and it was not like he’d ever swear revenge on an animal. “I didn’t mean that”
"If yo and Marco let your fire melt together, is it then sex or mating ritual?" (I'm so sorry)
Ace would not have understood the exact content of the question were it not for the stranger to finish it so bluntly. Too bad for them, then, for instead of innocent confusion they got a negative response - not too firey, not too crazy, there was no need to go that far. If anything, Ace was more revolted than furious.
“What the fuck is wrong with you, man? I don’t have sex with my brother!”
What kind of hellish question was that? There were many peculiar things about a man of fire and the Mera Mera no Mi had indeed changed a good deal of Ace’s biology but fortunately the fruit hadn’t gone that far…! Thank heavens for Ace, yes, but also to any partner of his.
Just think about it for a bit. No, visualise it. It was a whole new definition of a flamethrower and it was not pretty.
“What?” He blinked in puzzlement and stupidity. “No! It’s the regular stuff, c’mon!”
"Would you mind if I kissed you? It's okay if you say no, I just think they look really soft and couldn't help asking for a taste..." (Does this count as inappropriate? Probably not, but I'm hoping for flustered and not too uncomfortable.)
Soft? His lips? Maybe they were, it’s not like Ace could ever kiss himself and know for sure but, if his fingertips were right, then his chapped lips were not as soft as the stranger thought them.
Well, they did make Ace blush a bit but he acted normally otherwise. There was no need to feel uncomfortable - or angry - about such a polite request. It was not like he was being harassed.
“Maybe next time, uh?” Maybe after, say, a dinner… Though there was always a high chance that Ace would run away before the check arrived and dinner was done.
My love, how I adore him so. He is the dark flame of my life. So wild and free. He indulges all of my once thought insatiable needs, whether they are carnal pleasures or necessities of life. Not everything is twisted and dark, though, as there is love here after all. He is my moon, my stars, my world and my life. He is mine and I am his.
Ace listened to the confession with a puzzled look about his face, as this or that word was hard to understand. Overall, though, and once the stranger was done talking, he was smart enough to understand it all, not ignoring the remarks of darkness.
Maybe there was hope for the damned, if the stranger’s tone of a person who is hopelessly in love sufficed as proof. That being true… then there might be a ray of hope, however dim and narrow, for him as well.
I feel like I have to correct the anon that said the Rouge and Roger anons are the same person. We are two different people. Making assumptions and telling someone false information based on those assumptions like that is more than just plain rude. I don't write Rouge, my muse is Roger only. As much as I love Rouge, I just can't get a grip on what might be her character. But perhaps they were talking about the first Roger anon? I'm the one behind the Roger in a wheelchair...
I am sorry if that other nonny made you upset, consciously or not: it’s simple enough to understand I can only tell different nonnies if their style is very different: I reckon I have received some three Rouge nonnies and as for Roger you’re right, there was one message once and then the string of asks I have with you. Maybe the person who sent that one ask is also playing Rouge? I can speak of differences in writing but can’t take them as factual when even I go from one tone to the next and thus anyone can do it as well. It’s not like ‘wheelchair!Roger would never do sick!Rouge’ or somerthing like that because the same person can have capacity for both!
I can only be sorry you were upset and rightly so. If that other person wants to clear the misunderstanding, they’re free to do so, I will publish their ask(s) if that helps make amends. There is not much I can do in terms of action considering we’re talking about anonymous asks and I do not trace them - reckon I never will - and even when I have suspicions about who’s behind I just respect them. Why shouldn’t I when people are being nice to me? Super nice if they bother to send me rp asks (and give me feels)!
If you want to set a nickname for yourself or something so i can identify you always regardless of what you send, please tell me! I have been tagging the asks as ‘anonymous / roger’ but I can make another tag based on some special word if you’d like so there are no more misunderstandings. That is if you want to keep sending me asks - if you don’t, if you feel too upset, I completely understand and respect that and once again can only thank you for everything!
So what? Did he really think Ace cared about his version of the story? It was all old man’s speech for ‘boy, you don’t know how things were back then’ as though poor Roger had done everything he could for Rouge, the world just happened to be a big, scary, mean place. Well boohoo and fuck you!
And yet, underneath the condescending tone of someone who had lived longer and ‘wider’ and acquired the right to speak from above to the reckless youth who would have to live for a hundred years if he wanted to be any near to understanding, there was another tone. One of accusation.
The way Roger spoke of Rouge and her benevolence seemed to be put in contrast with Ace’s spite, as if to say that if Rouge, the woman who had known and loved Roger for who and what he was, had found it in her heart to understand and forgive him wherever applicable, then Ace, who did not share her knowledge, had no right to condemn the man.
The combination of everything - the mere appearance of Roger, him thinking he had any right to address the son who refused to be so, the two tones implied in his words and his voice in itself - was gunpowder. Finally, Ace’s fuse lit up.
“Shut up! Shut up! SHUT UP!” Ace leapt forward, almost landing on Roger’s lap, his hands grabbing the sides of the wheelchair. I know I want to kill you… Such words were not said lightly. They could not. “Think I won’t do it? I don’t give a fuck about anything you say! She’s DEAD! She’s dead because of YOU!”
His shaky hands made the wheelchair and its user tremble under them as well. He didn’t care about anything Roger had to say about Rouge when it all paled down before the fact she was dead. She was dead… but he was not.
How had he survived when legend painted Roger’s sickness of the purest black? How was it fair that he should be alive but Rouge should be dead? What kind of justice of fate was that, what kind of god would allow it? Even if she was the most perfect angel he could ever foster… what kind of god?
“You killed her, you bastard!” One hand now grabbing the old man’s shoulder, stubby nails impossibly like claws on fabric and flesh alike, Ace brought his clenched fist backwards, giving it leverage for the violent act he was ready to perform. His fist became aflame without him even commanding it so. No ability other than his own was needed for punching Roger’s face. In the state the undead King was in, his skull might turn to dust with a single blow. “I should kill you too!”
Ace’s face contorted in a series of grimaces ranging from the pitiful to the lunatic kind and tears watered his eyes. His blood was rushing, boiling and, for the first time in forever, burning him from the inside. As though nothing in the world could harm him as much as his hatred could.
Ace did not care about other people’s looks or sense of fashion or style and was likewise not used to hearing comments about his own, regardless of them being compliments or not as much, as it was the case. He knitted his eyebrows at the unsolicited opinion.
“What’s wrong with cowboy hats?” According to the nonny, they were ‘tacky’. What was tacky about a hat with beads and smiley faces and an ox skull ornament with a tassel. Where was tacky?
The elderly woman smiled gently at Ace and nodded before handing him a box of tissues from her desk. "Dry your eyes real quick and I'll lead you to her room, Sweetie." As she waited by the door, she introduced herself, "I'm Merri Luanne, your mama's physician, gynecologist, midwife and the overall overseer of her health. It's absolutely wonderful to see you all grown up."
Only when the nurse told Ace to dry the tears did he feel embarrassed about them, hitherto too emotional over being so close to seeing his mother to care about being strong, and looking strong.
Crying… it was not something so unnatural to Ace’s life but it was a private thing, meant for no one save his reflected self to see should he catch a glimpse of himself in the mirror - and even Ace from the other side of the glass condemned it.
These tears now, they were for Rouge… and to have someone, particularly a stranger, cast a look upon them felt like an invasion of his privacy. It felt obscene.
Ace accepted the tissues in politeness but did not use them, choosing to wipe the tears with a callused thumb instead. To use one looked like admitting weakness and that he would not do. He had to remain strong, perhaps act stronger than he’d ever acted before for his own sake.
The lady said her name along with a bunch of stuff he did not fully comprehend in the state he was in, though the word “midwife” did not escape his ears of comprehension. It did not make much sense for Rouge to have a midwife in her current state, maybe not a gynaecologist either, and so Ace couldn’t help but wonder if this Merri Luanne lady had been the one to deliver him, as her remark on how grown up he was seemed to hint at.
“Were you… Were you there when I was born?”
Maybe it was a silly or useless thing to ask when his mother awaited him, perhaps so she could then wake from her sleep, but Ace wanted to know. That being true, it meant this Merri Luanne lady had spent the last two decades with Rouge, watching her, caring for her - it was his entire life in calendar years and at a higher level impossible to describe, too.
As though fate itself had stolen a life of constant tears and bitter responsibility from him and handed it to a complete stranger to live through. Ace’s life had been like this, sadness and bitterness, not ‘just’ but undoubtedly during a significant part of it, yet he couldn’t help but to feel angry at no one in particular for being robbed of all this sorrow as he should have lived it.
It was fate adding insult to injury. Not satisfied with having Ace grow up away from the mother he thought was dead, there it was spitting on his face and laughing about it, demanding him to swallow hard and man up. It was a lot to take in but Ace would endure whatever new cruelty was in store for him and take it as the survivor he was.
Clenched fists holding the tension that built up inside of him, Ace stepped towards the lady and the door, wondering what awaited him on the other side.
Ace, if you could do your life over and live it with your mother instead, would you? You would have never met Luffy, Sabo, the Spade Pirates, or Pops, but your mother would be alive, happy and well, with you.
Nonny was not playing fair and that was the biggest understatement possible.
Ace could have considered the matter and given it some thought. It sounded logical to say he would never have met his brothers had Rouge stayed alive for that meant he would be raised in Baterilla and most likely not leave the island until he was practically an adult in pretty much the same way he’d departed from Dawn Island, as one thing of this ‘what if…?’ scenario was sure: regardless of the people in or out of his life, the sea would always call to him.
As for Pops and the Spades, it was not so right to assume Ace would never get to meet them because of Rouge if he’d eventually set out to sea someday. It was not like Rouge would selfishly keep her son landed close to her and though the world was a big place, there was no sure obstacle to prevent him for meeting the people he considered his friends and family.
Ace might even meet Luffy and Sabo and befriend them should they stay the same in their heart, only the bond they shared would be absent.
But Ace didn’t think of any of this. The nonny’s question was too preposterous for him to waste a second discussing it, no matter how much he would have liked to meet his mother and stay with her.
