New fic
Title: Piracy: A Valid Lifestyle Choice
Word Count: 540
Rating: PG-13 (?)
Pairing: None
Disclaimer/Warnings: Crack, hastily-written.
Summary: Ace didn't hate his father because he was gone. He hated him because he wouldn't go away.
When he was very young, Ace hadn’t been aware of That Man, which he was thankful for. At least he’d had a few years of peace and non-mental scarring. As he hit the age of four, however, Ace started to become aware of... things.
The sensation of being watched, for a start. Or the way that sometimes - sometimes - things would move in little ways, as though to help him. There was the occasional sound like someone whispering, or a flash of a person who wasn’t there when he looked again.
By the time he’d turned five, That Man had become clearer, and was fully visible most of the time, if not a little transparent, and only seen by Ace. He was also loud, annoying, nosy and obnoxious, and that’s when Ace started hating his father.
Not because he was gone, but because he wouldn’t go away.
*
“What are you doing, m’boy?”
Sixteen year old Ace threw a pencil over his shoulder without bothering to look. Admittedly, it would just go through the ghost, but it was the thought that counted. “School stuff. Go away.”
“Oh? Anything I can help with?” Rogers perked up, hovering (literally) over Ace’s shoulder. “I know a lot about... educational... stuff.”
“No you don’t. Go away.”
Rogers ignored him (he tended to do that) and scowled as he read the questionnaire his son was filling out. “Career planning? You don’t need that, son! You’re going to be a pirate, just like your dad!”
“You’re not my father, I’m going to be a teacher, and you’re stupid. Go away.” The teenager idly chucked another pencil through the man.
Responding with a pout, which looked disturbing on a burly ghost with a stupid moustache, Rogers concentrated hard enough to poke Ace in the back of the head. A poke from Gol D. Rogers naturally meant that the boy’s head slammed down onto the desk, and he nearly stabbed his eye out with the pen. “OW! WHAT THE FUCK, asshole?!”
“Oh, sorry m’boy. Guess I don’t know my own strength, gwa-ha-ha!”
(Downstairs, Dadan tutted and shook his head, once more saddened by the sound of Ace screaming abuse at nothing. It was tragic how the kid was so in denial about his insanity.)
“Now, more importantly,” Rogers went on, ignoring the massive bruise forming on Ace’s forehead, and the way he was clutching his nose and wincing, “I want to know why you’re wearing your lucky underwear today. Are you meeting someone?”
Ace stared. “... Have you been watching me change?”
“Only to make sure you’re developing properly,” chided his beloved father cheerfully. “I want plenty of grand-kids as soon as- GWA-HA-HA, silly boy! You can’t rip my throat out, I’m already dead!”
“THEN FUCK OFF ALREADY!”
Rogers crossed his arms. “Only if you become a pirate or make babies. Pick one, and I’ll go.”
“... Promise?”
Four years later, Ace kind of wished he’d gone with the make-babies option. He didn’t regret making the bastard leave, though.
As he contemplated this, arms strained behind his back, a worryingly familiar voice whispered in his ear. “You really should have worn your lucky underwear before you fought Teach, m’boy.”
Suddenly, death looked like a promising option.
Word Count: 540
Rating: PG-13 (?)
Pairing: None
Disclaimer/Warnings: Crack, hastily-written.
Summary: Ace didn't hate his father because he was gone. He hated him because he wouldn't go away.
When he was very young, Ace hadn’t been aware of That Man, which he was thankful for. At least he’d had a few years of peace and non-mental scarring. As he hit the age of four, however, Ace started to become aware of... things.
The sensation of being watched, for a start. Or the way that sometimes - sometimes - things would move in little ways, as though to help him. There was the occasional sound like someone whispering, or a flash of a person who wasn’t there when he looked again.
By the time he’d turned five, That Man had become clearer, and was fully visible most of the time, if not a little transparent, and only seen by Ace. He was also loud, annoying, nosy and obnoxious, and that’s when Ace started hating his father.
Not because he was gone, but because he wouldn’t go away.
*
“What are you doing, m’boy?”
Sixteen year old Ace threw a pencil over his shoulder without bothering to look. Admittedly, it would just go through the ghost, but it was the thought that counted. “School stuff. Go away.”
“Oh? Anything I can help with?” Rogers perked up, hovering (literally) over Ace’s shoulder. “I know a lot about... educational... stuff.”
“No you don’t. Go away.”
Rogers ignored him (he tended to do that) and scowled as he read the questionnaire his son was filling out. “Career planning? You don’t need that, son! You’re going to be a pirate, just like your dad!”
“You’re not my father, I’m going to be a teacher, and you’re stupid. Go away.” The teenager idly chucked another pencil through the man.
Responding with a pout, which looked disturbing on a burly ghost with a stupid moustache, Rogers concentrated hard enough to poke Ace in the back of the head. A poke from Gol D. Rogers naturally meant that the boy’s head slammed down onto the desk, and he nearly stabbed his eye out with the pen. “OW! WHAT THE FUCK, asshole?!”
“Oh, sorry m’boy. Guess I don’t know my own strength, gwa-ha-ha!”
(Downstairs, Dadan tutted and shook his head, once more saddened by the sound of Ace screaming abuse at nothing. It was tragic how the kid was so in denial about his insanity.)
“Now, more importantly,” Rogers went on, ignoring the massive bruise forming on Ace’s forehead, and the way he was clutching his nose and wincing, “I want to know why you’re wearing your lucky underwear today. Are you meeting someone?”
Ace stared. “... Have you been watching me change?”
“Only to make sure you’re developing properly,” chided his beloved father cheerfully. “I want plenty of grand-kids as soon as- GWA-HA-HA, silly boy! You can’t rip my throat out, I’m already dead!”
“THEN FUCK OFF ALREADY!”
Rogers crossed his arms. “Only if you become a pirate or make babies. Pick one, and I’ll go.”
“... Promise?”
Four years later, Ace kind of wished he’d gone with the make-babies option. He didn’t regret making the bastard leave, though.
As he contemplated this, arms strained behind his back, a worryingly familiar voice whispered in his ear. “You really should have worn your lucky underwear before you fought Teach, m’boy.”
Suddenly, death looked like a promising option.