X - III (part a)
IT'S REALLY LONG THIS TIME :'D
Also, beware of strange formatting and flashback confusion. It was really fun to edit the latter part of III!
Info: One-shot (will be posted in parts)
Status: WIP, 8401 words (third part)
Genre: Suspense, and also Angst, apparently
Rating: M (for strong language and themes)
Pairing: Smoker/Ace eventually
Summary: [AU] Do the evolution.
--
III
--
unspecified,
--
Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me.
--
“That’s an interesting tattoo, Ace,” Tashigi commented.
Ace blinked and followed her interested gaze to his left arm. Ah. That tattoo. “I’m not sure you can call it ‘interesting’, per se,” he said dryly.
“It’s idiotic,” Smoker grunted derisively, just like Ace expected him to. “Probably accidental, too.”
“No, it’s… um, creative,” Tashigi supplied, obviously trying to save Ace face.
“Actually, Smoker’s right in this case,” Ace admitted. “The S was sort of added there against my will. Never wanted it there in the first place.”
“Oh! Then why did you cross it out instead of doing something else with it?” Tashigi asked hesitantly.
“Well, I didn’t really want to tattoo ‘ass’ on my arm,” Ace answered cheekily. He chuckled at the embarrassed flush that crept onto Tashigi’s face. Really, it was far too easy.
“Just tell her what happened so we can move on,” Smoker grumbled, rolling his eyes.
“You want to know?” Ace asked Tashigi. After she nodded, he said, “I’ve had this for a while. I was out drinking with some friends a couple of years ago, and we all decided to get tattoos. Was a bad idea. Apparently, none of us can spell correctly when inebriated,” Ace concluded, grinning impishly.
Smoker snorted. “You really are stupid,” he stated.
“S-sir!” Tashigi admonished.
“No, it’s alright,” Ace said nonchalantly. “My friends used to call me a moron all the time.”
“Pormoron - sounds catchy,” Smoker muttered, inhaling an acrid cloud of smoke from his cigars.
“Don’t get too cocky,” Ace said, raising a thin eyebrow. “You’re not the first one to think of that nickname, y’know.”
“Really?” Tashigi exclaimed, shock apparent on her face; she was evidently surprised that people actually had the nerve to insult her newest friend when he was younger.
“Really,” Ace confirmed, lying through his teeth.
--
“Choose your tats carefully,” someone long forgotten had once advised Ace. “You’ll be stuck with them for as long as you live.”
Ace had to acknowledge the faint wisdom in those words. A crappy tattoo was a permanent reminder of a stupid decision, or just bad taste. If Ace could’ve chosen, he definitely wouldn’t have inked a misspelled version of his name on his arm.
Too bad he couldn’t pick. For either tattoos.
A great deal of resentment was held towards the large symbol covering his back. All of Whitebeard’s men carried his likeness on their bodies in order to distinguish whether or not one was a member of the ‘family’. But it was fucking stupid emblazoning what was essentially a target on oneself, so the ink used wasn’t visible in normal light.
It was a teasing mercy. Ace was thankful that it was invisible and on his back, because then he didn’t have to see Whitebeard’s fucking face every time he stripped. Yet ‘out of sight, out of mind’ was a rule that did not apply. It was always there, unseen but ever present, branding him like some damn livestock. The message was clear: your ass is Whitebeard’s, and never forget it. Ace despised the invisible mark and all the festering memories and emotions associated with it.
However, Ace held an equal amount of hatred for the letters inked onto his arm. From that tattoo, he had no reprieve; its scornful colour was constantly visible for all to see. It would stay there, forever. Ace would never be able to forget its existence. Consequently, he would always remember the person responsible for making him tattoo the three letters of his name onto his arm as an act of sheer desperation.
The X was only a feeble attempt of erasing a foul memory, and the rest of the S would continue to mock him.
--
“Had fun?” Smoker said bitingly, frowning deeply while driving.
“Eh, I’d rank it ‘medium fun’ this time,” Ace corrected, raking a hand through dishevelled hair.
“When you said ‘fuck this’ and stormed out of the car two hours ago, I didn’t think you meant ‘fuck another one of our informants’, Portgas,” Smoker muttered darkly, clearly displeased. He scowled when Ace’s cellphone was tossed carelessly into his lap. “Do you fucking record everything?” he asked roughly.
“Only useful things,” Ace said, shrugging indifferently. He attempted to straighten out his clothes, but soon gave up when it was evidently a lost cause.
“Do I even want to listen to this?” Smoker snarled, disgusted and eyeing the phone as if it would explode without warning.
“Since you don’t seem to be getting laid lately, it might make nice jerking off material,” Ace suggested wryly.
“Along with the other four recordings you’ve already given me?” Smoker said acidly, every mocking syllable dripping with undisguised contempt. “Just because I don’t fuck with everyone and everything I see doesn’t mean I don’t have a sex life. I’m not a slut.” ‘Unlike you’ - it wasn’t said, but it was strongly implied.
“’Whatever gets the job done’, remember?” Ace reminded.
“Fucking whore,” Smoker spat in distaste. “Get information some other way. Don’t have sex with people in order to get it.”
“This coming from the man who has no qualms about beating the crap out of someone for said information?” Ace retorted. When the other man didn’t respond, Ace added, “You know the saying… ‘All’s fair in love and war’.”
“There’s no…!” Smoker began harshly, before cutting himself off abruptly as if he didn’t want Ace to hear him continue. But the rest of the sentence was entirely unnecessary, and the two of them said nothing more to each other in the car.
After all, Ace was perfectly aware that there was no love in what he did.
--
Apparently, he was good-looking.
Ace couldn’t see how - he never did, and probably never would. Yet he seemed to attract ‘followers’ wherever he went. It was irritating, amusing, and baffling all at once.
Being ‘sexy’ was useful. Ace learned that fact through personal experience, Whitebeard, and someone he never wanted to see again. Being blessed with little else, Ace used this precious resource whenever the need arose. Besides, he preferred being fucked over having the shit beaten out of him.
But he just didn’t understand. Ace couldn’t see how his body was considered attractive in any sense, and he especially could not fathom why it was appreciated by people of both genders. Ace didn't know how, because he just didn’t view things the same way.
Every time Ace saw his reflection, he saw the most hideous human being in the whole world.
--
“Hey… Ace…?”
“Yeah…?”
“Wouldn’t it be nice… if… someday… we could leave?”
“… Leave, as in escape?”
“Mm.”
“… Yeah, that’d be great. It’s probably never going to happen…”
“I know, but what if it did?”
“We’d be free, Lu.”
“Freedom sounds awesome…”
A moment of silence.
“Ace…? Will… will people like us?”
“Sure. Why not?”
“But… I’m not normal anymore.”
“So? I still like you.”
“I guess, heehee.”
“And so does Shanks!”
“Who?”
“You know, Shanks… the nice man with the red hair…”
“Oh, him! Yeah, he’s awesome!”
“See? You’ll definitely find people that will love you as much as we do.”
“You will find friends too, right?”
“I hope so.”
“I bet you’ll have lots of them, Ace!”
“Eh, maybe…”
“Then let’s make a promise! We’ll get out of here someday and meet people!”
“And we’ll live freer than everyone.”
“Yeah, that too! We’ll live freely with the friends we make once we leave! No matter what! Okay?”
“Okay.”
And the deal was sealed.
--
Sometimes, Ace wondered what it’d be like to see Luffy again. Would they smile? Cry? Do both? Or would they no longer recognize each other?
Ace passed time by speculating about his younger brother’s circumstances. He’d be shorter than me by just a little, Ace thought. He’d still have that scar, and his hair is probably as messy as it used to be. And he’d have wonderful friends, and he’d smile freely, and he’d be happy…
A twinge of envy would occasionally surface in Ace, but it was always buried quickly underneath prickling shame. After all, he didn’t deserve the same freedom. He was a murderer, a twisted person, a ‘fucking two-faced bastard’ (and since when did Smoker infiltrate his mind?), and a liar.
Yet Ace knew that if - and just the tantalizing possibility of an ‘if’ made his heart wrench with hope - he and Luffy ever saw each other again, Ace would not be able to lie to his brother. Because Luffy was honesty and joy in corporeal form, and faced with that, Ace would have to speak the truth.
But… he didn’t want Luffy to know the truth.
Because deep inside, Ace was afraid that once Luffy found out he had lied, cheated, hurt, betrayed, and killed for the desperate hope of fulfilling a childhood dream made over ten years ago, Luffy would be disappointed and abandon him.
Then Ace would lose the only person he loved in the whole world.
Ace! an imaginary Luffy within his mind exclaimed, laughing in a carefree way Ace would probably never replicate. What have you done in the past ten years?
And Ace knew that he would have no choice but to reveal the ugly answer.
--
“A dinner party?” Ace said dryly. “Really?”
“Yes, a damn dinner party,” Smoker affirmed scornfully. “Apparently there will be someone attending who once knew Fire Fist.”
“You sure?” Ace asked. “Might just be a baseless rumour.”
Smoker stared flatly at Ace. “No, I just follow every fucking lead without substantiating it first,” he said sarcastically. “Oddly enough, there’s been a lot of evidence showing that this ‘baseless rumour’ -” a glare was aimed at Ace who ignored it “-- might be valid.”
“So we have to go to a fucking dinner party,” Ace concluded, resisting the strange urge to laugh at Smoker’s grimace. “Together,” he added, and this time Ace was unable to suppress a snicker.
“I really hate this job sometimes,” Smoker muttered darkly.
“Oh no, the horror - dinner parties,” Ace exclaimed mockingly. He gasped dramatically before saying, “There will be people there!”
“Shut the fuck up, Portgas,” Smoker growled.
“Aw, who’s a Mr. Grumpy,” Ace said sweetly. “With a face like that, it’s no wonder you don’t like social gatherings. Everyone would run away from you.”
Smoker threw a floridly decorated invitation at Ace’s forehead, and then stormed angrily out of their shared office.
Slightly sniggering at his partner’s severe ‘allergy’ to human interaction, Ace stared contemplatively at the object that had bounced off his head. His smile slowly faded. “Someone who once knew Fire Fist, eh…?” he murmured, rubbing the embossed envelope with a thumb.
Everyone who ‘knew Fire Fist’ was dead. He killed them all.
Except...
Ace forcefully halted his train of thought and violently shoved the invitation deep into his briefcase.
And the S on his arm taunted him from beneath his sleeve…
--
“You knew about it?” Ace asked, carefully smothering any apprehension he felt so that his voice wouldn’t betray him.
“I always know everything,” Marco said through Ace’s cellphone.
“Yeah. I hate that,” Ace grumbled. Ignoring the dry chuckle next to his ear, Ace said, “So should I expect a lovely surprise at that dinner party?”
“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it?” Marco ‘answered’.
Ace crushed the usual desire to destroy his phone. “What did you call me for?”
“Just passing on orders, like always,” Marco said, sounding bored. There was a rustling noise (was Marco reading something?) and a cough. “Only three words this time.”
“Am I supposed to figure out what I’m supposed to do?” Ace snorted.
“Maybe,” Marco said plainly.
“Well, what the hell are the words?” Ace snapped impatiently.
“Do the evolution.”
Then the call ended.
--
Previous || Next (continuation)
Also, beware of strange formatting and flashback confusion. It was really fun to edit the latter part of III!
Info: One-shot (will be posted in parts)
Status: WIP, 8401 words (third part)
Genre: Suspense, and also Angst, apparently
Rating: M (for strong language and themes)
Pairing: Smoker/Ace eventually
Summary: [AU] Do the evolution.
--
III
--
unspecified,
--
Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me.
--
“That’s an interesting tattoo, Ace,” Tashigi commented.
Ace blinked and followed her interested gaze to his left arm. Ah. That tattoo. “I’m not sure you can call it ‘interesting’, per se,” he said dryly.
“It’s idiotic,” Smoker grunted derisively, just like Ace expected him to. “Probably accidental, too.”
“No, it’s… um, creative,” Tashigi supplied, obviously trying to save Ace face.
“Actually, Smoker’s right in this case,” Ace admitted. “The S was sort of added there against my will. Never wanted it there in the first place.”
“Oh! Then why did you cross it out instead of doing something else with it?” Tashigi asked hesitantly.
“Well, I didn’t really want to tattoo ‘ass’ on my arm,” Ace answered cheekily. He chuckled at the embarrassed flush that crept onto Tashigi’s face. Really, it was far too easy.
“Just tell her what happened so we can move on,” Smoker grumbled, rolling his eyes.
“You want to know?” Ace asked Tashigi. After she nodded, he said, “I’ve had this for a while. I was out drinking with some friends a couple of years ago, and we all decided to get tattoos. Was a bad idea. Apparently, none of us can spell correctly when inebriated,” Ace concluded, grinning impishly.
Smoker snorted. “You really are stupid,” he stated.
“S-sir!” Tashigi admonished.
“No, it’s alright,” Ace said nonchalantly. “My friends used to call me a moron all the time.”
“Pormoron - sounds catchy,” Smoker muttered, inhaling an acrid cloud of smoke from his cigars.
“Don’t get too cocky,” Ace said, raising a thin eyebrow. “You’re not the first one to think of that nickname, y’know.”
“Really?” Tashigi exclaimed, shock apparent on her face; she was evidently surprised that people actually had the nerve to insult her newest friend when he was younger.
“Really,” Ace confirmed, lying through his teeth.
--
“Choose your tats carefully,” someone long forgotten had once advised Ace. “You’ll be stuck with them for as long as you live.”
Ace had to acknowledge the faint wisdom in those words. A crappy tattoo was a permanent reminder of a stupid decision, or just bad taste. If Ace could’ve chosen, he definitely wouldn’t have inked a misspelled version of his name on his arm.
Too bad he couldn’t pick. For either tattoos.
A great deal of resentment was held towards the large symbol covering his back. All of Whitebeard’s men carried his likeness on their bodies in order to distinguish whether or not one was a member of the ‘family’. But it was fucking stupid emblazoning what was essentially a target on oneself, so the ink used wasn’t visible in normal light.
It was a teasing mercy. Ace was thankful that it was invisible and on his back, because then he didn’t have to see Whitebeard’s fucking face every time he stripped. Yet ‘out of sight, out of mind’ was a rule that did not apply. It was always there, unseen but ever present, branding him like some damn livestock. The message was clear: your ass is Whitebeard’s, and never forget it. Ace despised the invisible mark and all the festering memories and emotions associated with it.
However, Ace held an equal amount of hatred for the letters inked onto his arm. From that tattoo, he had no reprieve; its scornful colour was constantly visible for all to see. It would stay there, forever. Ace would never be able to forget its existence. Consequently, he would always remember the person responsible for making him tattoo the three letters of his name onto his arm as an act of sheer desperation.
The X was only a feeble attempt of erasing a foul memory, and the rest of the S would continue to mock him.
--
“Had fun?” Smoker said bitingly, frowning deeply while driving.
“Eh, I’d rank it ‘medium fun’ this time,” Ace corrected, raking a hand through dishevelled hair.
“When you said ‘fuck this’ and stormed out of the car two hours ago, I didn’t think you meant ‘fuck another one of our informants’, Portgas,” Smoker muttered darkly, clearly displeased. He scowled when Ace’s cellphone was tossed carelessly into his lap. “Do you fucking record everything?” he asked roughly.
“Only useful things,” Ace said, shrugging indifferently. He attempted to straighten out his clothes, but soon gave up when it was evidently a lost cause.
“Do I even want to listen to this?” Smoker snarled, disgusted and eyeing the phone as if it would explode without warning.
“Since you don’t seem to be getting laid lately, it might make nice jerking off material,” Ace suggested wryly.
“Along with the other four recordings you’ve already given me?” Smoker said acidly, every mocking syllable dripping with undisguised contempt. “Just because I don’t fuck with everyone and everything I see doesn’t mean I don’t have a sex life. I’m not a slut.” ‘Unlike you’ - it wasn’t said, but it was strongly implied.
“’Whatever gets the job done’, remember?” Ace reminded.
“Fucking whore,” Smoker spat in distaste. “Get information some other way. Don’t have sex with people in order to get it.”
“This coming from the man who has no qualms about beating the crap out of someone for said information?” Ace retorted. When the other man didn’t respond, Ace added, “You know the saying… ‘All’s fair in love and war’.”
“There’s no…!” Smoker began harshly, before cutting himself off abruptly as if he didn’t want Ace to hear him continue. But the rest of the sentence was entirely unnecessary, and the two of them said nothing more to each other in the car.
After all, Ace was perfectly aware that there was no love in what he did.
--
Apparently, he was good-looking.
Ace couldn’t see how - he never did, and probably never would. Yet he seemed to attract ‘followers’ wherever he went. It was irritating, amusing, and baffling all at once.
Being ‘sexy’ was useful. Ace learned that fact through personal experience, Whitebeard, and someone he never wanted to see again. Being blessed with little else, Ace used this precious resource whenever the need arose. Besides, he preferred being fucked over having the shit beaten out of him.
But he just didn’t understand. Ace couldn’t see how his body was considered attractive in any sense, and he especially could not fathom why it was appreciated by people of both genders. Ace didn't know how, because he just didn’t view things the same way.
Every time Ace saw his reflection, he saw the most hideous human being in the whole world.
--
“Hey… Ace…?”
“Yeah…?”
“Wouldn’t it be nice… if… someday… we could leave?”
“… Leave, as in escape?”
“Mm.”
“… Yeah, that’d be great. It’s probably never going to happen…”
“I know, but what if it did?”
“We’d be free, Lu.”
“Freedom sounds awesome…”
A moment of silence.
“Ace…? Will… will people like us?”
“Sure. Why not?”
“But… I’m not normal anymore.”
“So? I still like you.”
“I guess, heehee.”
“And so does Shanks!”
“Who?”
“You know, Shanks… the nice man with the red hair…”
“Oh, him! Yeah, he’s awesome!”
“See? You’ll definitely find people that will love you as much as we do.”
“You will find friends too, right?”
“I hope so.”
“I bet you’ll have lots of them, Ace!”
“Eh, maybe…”
“Then let’s make a promise! We’ll get out of here someday and meet people!”
“And we’ll live freer than everyone.”
“Yeah, that too! We’ll live freely with the friends we make once we leave! No matter what! Okay?”
“Okay.”
And the deal was sealed.
--
Sometimes, Ace wondered what it’d be like to see Luffy again. Would they smile? Cry? Do both? Or would they no longer recognize each other?
Ace passed time by speculating about his younger brother’s circumstances. He’d be shorter than me by just a little, Ace thought. He’d still have that scar, and his hair is probably as messy as it used to be. And he’d have wonderful friends, and he’d smile freely, and he’d be happy…
A twinge of envy would occasionally surface in Ace, but it was always buried quickly underneath prickling shame. After all, he didn’t deserve the same freedom. He was a murderer, a twisted person, a ‘fucking two-faced bastard’ (and since when did Smoker infiltrate his mind?), and a liar.
Yet Ace knew that if - and just the tantalizing possibility of an ‘if’ made his heart wrench with hope - he and Luffy ever saw each other again, Ace would not be able to lie to his brother. Because Luffy was honesty and joy in corporeal form, and faced with that, Ace would have to speak the truth.
But… he didn’t want Luffy to know the truth.
Because deep inside, Ace was afraid that once Luffy found out he had lied, cheated, hurt, betrayed, and killed for the desperate hope of fulfilling a childhood dream made over ten years ago, Luffy would be disappointed and abandon him.
Then Ace would lose the only person he loved in the whole world.
Ace! an imaginary Luffy within his mind exclaimed, laughing in a carefree way Ace would probably never replicate. What have you done in the past ten years?
And Ace knew that he would have no choice but to reveal the ugly answer.
--
“A dinner party?” Ace said dryly. “Really?”
“Yes, a damn dinner party,” Smoker affirmed scornfully. “Apparently there will be someone attending who once knew Fire Fist.”
“You sure?” Ace asked. “Might just be a baseless rumour.”
Smoker stared flatly at Ace. “No, I just follow every fucking lead without substantiating it first,” he said sarcastically. “Oddly enough, there’s been a lot of evidence showing that this ‘baseless rumour’ -” a glare was aimed at Ace who ignored it “-- might be valid.”
“So we have to go to a fucking dinner party,” Ace concluded, resisting the strange urge to laugh at Smoker’s grimace. “Together,” he added, and this time Ace was unable to suppress a snicker.
“I really hate this job sometimes,” Smoker muttered darkly.
“Oh no, the horror - dinner parties,” Ace exclaimed mockingly. He gasped dramatically before saying, “There will be people there!”
“Shut the fuck up, Portgas,” Smoker growled.
“Aw, who’s a Mr. Grumpy,” Ace said sweetly. “With a face like that, it’s no wonder you don’t like social gatherings. Everyone would run away from you.”
Smoker threw a floridly decorated invitation at Ace’s forehead, and then stormed angrily out of their shared office.
Slightly sniggering at his partner’s severe ‘allergy’ to human interaction, Ace stared contemplatively at the object that had bounced off his head. His smile slowly faded. “Someone who once knew Fire Fist, eh…?” he murmured, rubbing the embossed envelope with a thumb.
Everyone who ‘knew Fire Fist’ was dead. He killed them all.
Except...
Ace forcefully halted his train of thought and violently shoved the invitation deep into his briefcase.
And the S on his arm taunted him from beneath his sleeve…
--
“You knew about it?” Ace asked, carefully smothering any apprehension he felt so that his voice wouldn’t betray him.
“I always know everything,” Marco said through Ace’s cellphone.
“Yeah. I hate that,” Ace grumbled. Ignoring the dry chuckle next to his ear, Ace said, “So should I expect a lovely surprise at that dinner party?”
“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it?” Marco ‘answered’.
Ace crushed the usual desire to destroy his phone. “What did you call me for?”
“Just passing on orders, like always,” Marco said, sounding bored. There was a rustling noise (was Marco reading something?) and a cough. “Only three words this time.”
“Am I supposed to figure out what I’m supposed to do?” Ace snorted.
“Maybe,” Marco said plainly.
“Well, what the hell are the words?” Ace snapped impatiently.
“Do the evolution.”
Then the call ended.
--
Previous || Next (continuation)