* STILL BURNING.

this really isn’t the headcanon i should be making,   but i love cars more than i love myself, so here’s a quick summary of all the cars ace is going to have eventually.   note:   all of his vehicles are supercharged and upgraded,   so they’re generally all fast,   because he needs speed in case he has to escape the police.   it’s convenient.   and also cool.

‘18 dodge challenger srt demon.   the most beautiful car i have ever seen in my life.   i already wrote a pretty long headcanon about it, which you can find here.   this is ace’s preferred method of transportation,   but it does attract a lot of attention.

‘17 jeep grand cherokee srt.   it’s the fastest suv to date,  which is largely why he wanted it.   it’s all black,   with some orange trim in the exterior.   it has a lot more room than the challenger does,   so he’ll use it whenever he needs to carry a bunch of stuff.   he’s also not as protective of it as he is the challenger,   so if he needs to transport someone else,   he’s more likely to use the jeep.   it has over 700 horsepower after all it’s upgrades.

‘17 dodge ram 1500 srt hellcat.    unsurprisingly,   it’s fast.    around 800 horsepower.    he doesn’t use it much,   typically only using it when he has to tow cars,   so it’s mostly only used for working purposes.   and like everything else,   it’s black,   with orange trim.

‘17 chevrolet ss.   600 horsepower.   really,   ace only decided to own it because it doesn’t look like a fast car;   it’ll blend in well with others,    but it does have a lot of power considering everything.   again,    black with orange interior.

‘15 chevrolet corvet z06.   this is really just a status thing;   ace never cared much for corvettes,   regardless of how fast they are,   but he figured since he’s rich,   he should have a rich person’s car.    he didn’t want a lambo,   so he settled for a corvette.   like everything else,   it’s black with orange trim in the interior.

peas in her mac and cheese?

pineapple on her pizza???????

hung up on me like three times

makes fun of me for my deadpool stuff?

makes fun of me in general

repost,   do not reblog.

GENERAL

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ☆     —    strength ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★     —    offence ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ☆ ☆ ☆     —    defense ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ☆     —    speed ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ☆    —    durability ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ☆     —    accuracy ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★     —    agility ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ☆    —    stamina ★ ★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆    —    teamwork ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ☆    —    stealth

SPECIFICS

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★    —    close combat ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ☆     —    bladed weapons ( swords, daggers) ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ☆ ☆     —    blunt weapons ( clubs, staffs, axes ) ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★    —    ranged weapons ( archery, guns) ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆    —    superpowers / abilities ( magic ) ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ☆    —    traps / setups ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ☆ ☆    —    medic

LASTING  INJURIES

most of his scars are those left by price schuster, though some are from the fights ace tends to purposefully get himself into. it didn’t occur through combat or anything, but he does develop arthritis in his right arm from where he breaks his arm in a car crash.

COMBAT  SCARS

so fucking many, holy shit. one day i’ll have enough energy to make a proper headcanon about them, but not today. just know that roughly fifty percent of his skin is made of scarred tissue, though some are covered by tattoos.

FIGHT  STYLE

bold any that definitely  apply,   italicise any that vaguely apply.

commander / duelist / honourable / dishonourable / would have others do their fighting / stealthy / long-ranged / mid - ranged / melee / technological / sorcery / superhuman abilities / has fought in a tourney / a lover of fighting / a hater of fighting / cowardly / reckless / strategic / uses underhanded tricks  / renowned for their skill / trained / untrained / keeps skills a secret / won a battle / lost a battle / ruthless / merciful

there’s  something  there  that’s  amiss ,    and  he  wants  to  know  what  it  is .    he’d  settled  for  knowing  there  was  nothing  he  could  do  to  fix  the  mess  that  was  the  boy  beside  him ,     nor  help  him  or  offer  solace ,     but  he  could  sit  here  and  listen .     gods  would  know ,    that  might  be  the  only  thing  that  could  work .       ❛❛    because  it  makes  you  feel  in  control ,    got  that .    ❜❜    there’s  not  judgement  with  the  way  he  speaks ,      more  blunt  and  honest  than  anything  else .      it  wasn’t  as  if  he  was  any  further  away  from  the  truths  that  ace  spoke  of ,      knowing  who  his  hands  had  choked  to  death .    last  cigarette  in  the  box ,    he  lights  it  up  and  exhales  a  grey  to  match  the  sky .       ❛❛    tell  me  this ,   how  did  it  start  ?    ❜❜

dangerous  territory  to  thread ,     he  knows .     ace  could  rage  quit  out  of  this  conversation  and  leave  kenneth  empty  handed ,      but  if  he  chose  the  right  words ,      there  was  a  way  of  knowing  a  bit  more  than  before .      something  that  connected  the  dots  enough ,      or  a  story  that  weighed  his  friend’s  shoulders  down .      not  that  it’d  stop ,      even  if  he  spoke  of  it .      but  someone  alive  would  know  about  it    -   him .           ❛❛    you  hurt  people  now ,       but  someone  must  have  hurt  you  first .      will  you  tell  me  ?     ❜❜

it  started  with  fire.    too  much  of  it,    everywhere.     it’s  why  he  can’t  look  at  flames  without  feeling  uneasy,    even  when  he  purposefully  burns  others,    as  if  using  it  now  will  make  up  for  the  control  he  lacked  back  then.    absently,    he  watches  the  other  light  his  cigarette,   watches  the  flame  flicker  before  going  out,    remembering  how  he  never  watched  that  house  fire  go  out.     he  never  got  the  relief  of  watching  the  flames  cease;    instead,    he’s  haunted  by  the  way  they  didn’t.      “     i  burnt  my  family  to  a  crisp.    ”     he  doesn’t  begin  with  an  explanation,    doesn’t  start  with  the  reason;     because  at  the  end  of  the  day,    that’s  what  it  boils  down  to:    he  killed  them,   and  the  rest  doesn’t  matter.

 ❛❛     yeah,   i  doubt  they’ll  be  cool  with  me  just  skipping  out.   i’m  helping  them  …  move.   plus,  they  know  my  whole  family  is  dead,  so   —   can’t  use  that  excuse.    ❜❜    you  try  to  distract  him,   the  orphan  thing  always  is  a  good  bomb  to  drop.   makes  people  shocked  or  uncomfortable,   maybe  it’ll  give  you  enough  time  to  run.    

 ❛❛     i’m  not  scared  of  you,  asshole.     ❜❜     liar.   your  hands  are  trembling,   it’s  clear  you’re  either  freaking  out  or  terrified.    ❛❛     i  just   ——-   i  have  to  go.   you  really  don’t  want  to  try  &  stop  me.   ‘cause  i  bite   &   it  won’t  be  in  the  fun  way.     ❜❜

you’re  unphased  by  his  trauma,    because  it  matches  your  own;    you  have  no  pity  for  orphans  when  you  were  made  one  by  your  own  naivety.    “     they’ll  live.    ”     head  tilts,   blood  beneath  your  feet  squelching  as  you  only  move  closer,    DEVILISH  SMIRK  on  serpentine  lips,    though  it  doesn’t  reach  your  eyes.    instead,   they’re  hollow.     “      but  you  won’t  if  you  don’t  help  me  clean  up.   i  can’t  just  leave  his  mutilated  corpse  like  that.    and  murder  drains  a  lot  of  energy.    but  you’re  young;    you’re  full  of  it.     ”

 YOU  SMELL  HIS  BLOOD,   coating  his  palms  in  a  way  yours  always  do  when  you’re  struggling  to  find  control.   you  don’t  want  control  right  now,  you  want  to  bleed  &  bleed  &  bleed.   the  punches  keep  coming,  your  body  kicks  in  with  adrenaline,  you  have  to  run.   it’s  the  only  option  to  save  yourself  but  you  don’t,   you  take  the  beating  like  you’ve  always  done.    something  inside  you  starts  echoing  your  fathers  voice,   screaming  about  how  worthless  you  are,   telling  you  how  pathetic  you  are  for  letting  him  hit  you  but  you  don’t  care.   you  don’t  fucking  care.   

 you’re  tired,  you  just  want  to  feel  something,  something  other  than  the  emptiness  that  grief  has  left  behind.   you’re  so  tired.

 ace  demands  you  fight  back  &  you  almost  have  the  urge  to  laugh.    there’s  nothing  inside  your  brain  that’s  ever  taught  you  to  fight  back  against  fists,  your  father  taught  you  to  stay  down.   fighting  back   has  only  ever  made  it  worse,   fighting  back  means  you’ll  be  trapped  in  a  freezer  for  the  night.   you’ll    take  bruises  over  that  any  day.    

 then  you  hear  a  name  that’s  not  your  own,   brows  tugging  together  as  you  look  up   (  you  don’t  remember  dropping  to  your  knee’s  but  there  you  are.  ).    trembling  hands  wipe  at  the  blood  dripping  from  your  lips.    eyes  glowing  golden,   lips  painted  red.   

  ❛❛     i’m  not   ——     ❜❜    you  spit  blood  again,   the  taste  is  so  familiar  on  your  tongue  it’s  almost  relaxing.   it  tastes  like  home.   hand  moves  to  wipe  at  your  eyes  (  you’re  not  crying.   except  maybe  you  are.   it’s  a   knee  jerk  reaction  to  the  screaming  voice  of  your  father  inside  your  head.  ).   your  body’s  already  healing,   you’re  too  tired  to  try  &  stop  it.    

 your  visions  blurred,   &  maybe  …  maybe  it’s  not  ace  anymore.   maybe  it’s  your  dad.   maybe  he’s  alive  again.   instinct  kick  in,  to  beg,  to  apologise.  so  you  do.

 ❛❛     don’t.     ❜❜     your  voice  trembles.   ❛❛     i  don’t  want  to  go.   please.   i’m  sorry.  i’m  sorry.  please,  don’t—-   don’t  make  me.   i’m  sorry.   i’m  sorry.     ❜❜

you’re  somewhere  between  human  and  monster  now,     teetering  on  the  edge  of  what  little  control  you  have.    fangs  prick  at  your  lips,    eyes  shine  orange,    mirroring  the  flames  that  took  them  from  you.    skin  is  far  too  hot,    steam  rolling  off  your  muscles,    the  anger  within  threatening  to  spark  fire,    to  burn  down  everything.    to  destroy  everything  but  you.    because  amidst  the  flames,    it’s  always  you  left  standing.    

you’re  always  the  one  that  survives,    even  if  you  don’t  feel  alive.    

there’s  blood  everywhere,    both  isaac’s  and  your  own——     it’s  intermixed,    your  ichor  colliding  with  his,    the  blood  from  your  fists  smearing  across  that  on  his  face.     there’s  blood  everywhere,    but  that’s  not  the  only  reason  you  see  red,     vision  clouded  with  your  own  savagery,    chest  heaving  with  breaths  that  sound  far  more  like  growls,     the  beast  within  your  chest  clawing  it’s  way  out,    ripping  at  your  insides.    

only  faintly  do  you  hear  isaac’s  voice.    you  hear  his  apologies,    his  pleads,    but  it’s  soon  drowned  out  by  the  sound  of  your  own.     it’s  your  voice  saying  sorry,    but  it’s  all  in  your  head;     it’s  your  voice,    seventeen  years  old,    screaming  and  pleading  with  price  to  let  you  save  them.     and  soon,    that,    too,    gives  way  to  the  sound  of  their  voices.    their  screams  echo  in  your  head,   layered  on  top  of  one  another,    loud  enough  to  make  your  head  ache.    

and  god,    how  powerless  it  makes  you  feel,    listening  to  their  pain,    unable  to  do  anything  to  stop  it.     even  now,   even  as  you  stand  over  his  bleeding  body,    you  crave  more.    you  ache  for  POWER,   for  a  reminder  that  your  humanity  will  never  lead  to  your  downfall  again.

though  deep  down,    you  know  it  won’t.     you  have  none  left;    you  can’t  fall  any  further  than  you  already  have.

“     shut  up.    just  fucking  shut  up.     ”      the  despair  in  his  voice  only  makes  you  think  of  theirs.    you  don’t  care  about  his  pain,    but  you’ve  always  cared  about  theirs.    even  after  they’re  gone.    because  of  you. 

punches  turn  to  mauls,    fists  replaced  by  claws,     because  maybe  the  sound  of  ripping  flesh  would  be  enough  to  satiate  you.    it’s  exhausting  being  this  angry;     all  you  want  is  for  it  to  end,     to  stop  feeling  as  though  you’re  burning  from  the  inside  out,     eaten  away  by  your  own  rage.     but  it  doesn’t.    it  never  does.    at  this  point,   you  should  have  expected  it,    you  stupid,   stupid  boy.    it’s  been  five  years.    if  it  were  ever  going  to  end,    it  would  have  by  now.

instead,    it’s  getting  worse.

 ❛❛     i’m  not  a  bitch    ———    i  just  …  i  have  plans.   wouldn’t  want  to  keep  them  waiting,  you  know?   i  might  be  a  dick  but  i’m  not  that  much  of  a  dick.     ❜❜

❛❛     ———    i’m  gonna   …   i’m  gonna  go.     ❜❜

a  quick  glance  is  thrown  in  his  direction  ,  &  with  no  thought  ,  she’s  walking  over.      ‘    yeah  ,  okay.    ’      small  body  slips  next  to  his  ,  eyes  at  his  level.  a  soft  hand  moves  to  rest  against  his  cheek  ,  thumb  brushing  soft  movements  with  a  smile  on  her  lips.      ‘    i’ll  try  my  best.  promise.    ’