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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.
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The young boy, after polishing off five 1 litre tubs of ice cream, collapses on the floor, mouth open, eyelids half closed. "D-D-Da... I think I made a mistake... Help, I'm d-d-dyi..."
♠ anonymous (a series of children asks for the meme i never reblogged)
Will you look at that? Just look at it. Look! It’s the most pathetic sight Ace has ever witnessed happening on his kitchen floor, but of course he’d never watched himself lying there, snoring after succumbing to a narcoleptic moment or after filling his stomach with twice as much food any common man could take in without barfing - a happy tummy is a sleepy tummy!
Hovering the child, Ace crossed his arms and watched that display. _____’s belly was bloated, the untucked shirttail revealing a glorious curve of frosty happiness underneath as well as the belly button it should cover. A brown stream of chocolate ice cream flowed out of his mouth. If all of this did not constitute enough evidence for his crime, the scoop lying flat on the tiles certainly did, a portion of ice cream still inside as if to mock the kid.
Boy, was he milking it!
Ace was not mad at his son for emptying five tubs of ice cream… He was mad at his son for not making it to half-a-dozen! Was this the kind of wimp he was raising?
“Get up” he said with a roll of the eyes and a tired sigh in-between words. While it was plain to see that the boy was in pain, Ace also knew his son and therefore suspected a part of his double-meaning bellyaching was just his amateur dramatics at work.
The boy’s next declaration proved it so but, instead of it blessing his father’s features with a smile any boy his own age would bear, painted it with fire and anger.
“I said get up!” A hand seized _____’s arm and pulled him up with no mercy for his poor stomach’s condition or overall state of misery. Ace was acting brutish, no doubt, but he had good reason for it - the last thing he wanted, needed, was for his beloved son to joke about death.
What did the boy know of it? Nothing. And just as well, too. Fate had saved him the pain of having his mother irrevocably taken away from him. But it had not been so kind to Ace, who, after losing his companion his own ways, now feared fate, with a wolfish appetite for his particular destruction, would send his son on a one-way trip to the other side as well. He had every right to be touchy and find no humour in death.
In a grim voice only a few knew he was capable of, his son one not among them, Ace spoke rather ominous words “Don’t you say that ever again”
Then, his expression would soften but he’d remain quiet, allowing the command to sink in, and he would lift the boy in his arms to take him to the bathroom and provide him with soothing hot water.
"Ace!" Chopper's call was rather quiet at first, but it got steadily louder as Chopper rushed closer. "Ace, Ace, Ace, Ace, Aaaaaaaaaace!! It's your birthday, isn't it? Happy birthday! I've got a present for you back at the Sunny."
It was indeed Ace’s birthday. It always was, every January 1st… Something to do with natural phenomena and human-made calendars, he reckoned. As always, too, Ace’s birthday risked being overshadowed by a bigger celebration called New Year’s.
Equilibrium was impossible to achieve. If, on one hand, any child of Whitebeard’s could count on plenty of siblings to grant them birthday wishes and favours and to party with; on the other, any birthday-boy with such luck knows it’s not difficult to share the spotlight with a popular festivity. As the hype for the start of a new year built up, the unspoken promises of pampering Ace on his day lost their place atop the list of priorities. More often than not, he’d receive those birthday wishes all right but was still forced to share his day with a ‘something’ that was not even ‘someone’.
It was not such a bad thing, though. As someone who loved parties and who’d been crowned their king by his peers, Ace could not complain as long as there was music to dance to, flowing beer to keep the throat quenched and food aplenty. Still…
With his own birthday
signifying the anniversary of his mother’s death, no wonder Ace would feel unhappy after the party, alone in his bedroom… He needed being spoiled on his birthday more than he cared to admit, as to remind himself he was alive and loved and Rouge’s death had not been in vain… Why must the fucking universe try and take it away?
(…)
Chopper knew how to deliver and deliver he did. Finding Ace in a way the Lord might know but which the mortal didn’t, the reindeer approached him all too excited in voice and pacing, making his three-letter name sound longer as he repeated it in chant. Busy eyeing some carpets for no particular reason other than liking to strike a conversation with merchants - and maybe, jokingly, ask this one if he had a flying carpet in stock - Ace only took notice of Chopper when he was so close his voice resounded so ignoring it was impossible.
“Hey, Chopper! What are y–” A question interrupted and a blink at the new one replacing it. “Yeah, yes, it is” Ace smiled but it was not his usual smile, that bright and cocky thing his little brother’s crew knew. It was sweet and it last for a discernible moment before transforming into the kind just described. “Really? You got a present for me?”
All around and across the market, no one knew it was Ace’s birthday. All they knew was that it was the first day of a brand-new year, a day for personal decisions and for special discounts in the giving spirit of the holidays.
Without Ace’s presence in the Moby Dick, would his sea brothers and the former Spades remember it? Would the biggest booze lovers among them remember anything at all? Were it not for Chopper, no one would have wished Ace a happy birthday to muffle sadder words in his head.
Then again, the reindeer was more humane than many a man Ace knew.
For which he was thankful… Ever so thankful to Chopper for so naïvely and adorably cast a light upon him.
“How did you know I was here?” Chopper (or Luffy or any other element of the Straw Hats) was the last person Ace expected to find browsing furniture and home decor in a small marketplace of a small island. How they had discovered Ace to be around and how Chopper had anticipated a gift, he did not know and did not care to ask. Fate could be a bitch sometimes - most of the time - but it also knew how to be benevolent with those of troubled dreams.
Ace crouched before Chopper and pointed twin finger guns at him, which glowed with the faintest orange around the fingertips. “What d’you say? Should I give you a piggy-back to the Sunny?”
Ace chewed on his pencil as he struggled to find the words… But what words was he rummaging through his brain for? The right ones or the pretty ones? Maybe the right words had to sound pretty and maybe pretty words were the right ones after all… Yet, coming to this conclusion did nothing to enlighten Ace. And it was the poor pencil who paid for it with a particularly nasty bite.
‘Dear Aya’ he scribbled, for that’s how any informal letter should go. But what then?
Should he talk of how special she was? An odd, funny thing, was it not? That, of all people in the world, all kinds of interesting people from all walks of life, who had seen and done many incredible things, it should be a librarian who’d catch Ace’s eye. Aya might as well say the same - a pirate. Of all people!
What was so special about Aya, though, he could not tell, unless her particular biology of… How did it go again? One part human, three parts mermaid? Three parts mermaid and one human? Well, it was not exactly a 50/50 thing, if Ace recalled it correctly and he was sure such a perfect ratio would show on Aya’s skin in a way it did not. Other than that, she was a rather common girl with a love for books and a longing for remote adventures and romance.
While Ace could not say most women were like this, he reckoned most non-pirate women should follow similar lines, dreaming of the great landscapes out there while keeping it cosy in their small worlds. By no means did he think any less of them.
Maybe being ordinary was what made Aya so exceptional.
He could not say it, though, immediately understanding how sad anything classified as ‘ordinary’ sounded, as though the word meant the lack of worth rather than distinction. A member of the merfolk could not be talked about as ‘ordinary’ when part of a minority and by no means did Ace want Aya to misinterpret his words as though he did not find her special. He did.
The pencil considerably shorter now, and after striking a dozen of lines, each representing an unsuccessful attempt of what to say after ‘Dear Aya’, Ace put it down and stared at the words… The words…
Why should ‘dear Aya’ be read as casual, as part of the rules of correspondence? Did they not convey how one felt about the letter’s recipient? They were just like the librarian, Ace understood, ordinary but special, simple but sweet.
Tearing that disaster of a letter, he saved the piece of paper where ‘Dear Aya’ could be read and pocketed it. A man looked up from his book to stare at him with an expression of horror behind rectangular spectacles, thinking Ace had just defiled a book.
That’s right - Ace had all but forgotten he was in the Lily’s library! Aya had to be around, pushing carts loaded with books which could be too heavy for a feeble woman to carry, if most resembled those thick tomes that had brought him such dismay first time looking upon them.
She could use a hand… and maybe Ace would succeed in putting the piece of paper inside the pocket of her dress.
His favourite thing about Sheila? What, wasn’t it obvious? Perhaps not and she had good reason to ask (or at least every right to) when Ace’s favourite thing about his sister under Pops was nothing visible or palpable, and though he had no issue affirming it whenever the need or will struck, Ace knew, in his tired heart, he did not express how proud he was of her enough times.
“What I love the most about you is your resilience” he answered after hitting his tankard of ale against the table surface.
Who would guess the two of them, Fire Fist and the woman with the flaming hair, were making casual talk of an important topic at the dinner table, while Whitebeard’s multiple children filled the air with their munching and crunching, chugging, laughing and roaring? But, things being looked at from a different way, what better place to have a private conversation than amongst a chaotic public?
“You know, Pops has seen it all, done it all… You’re not short on things you’ve seen yourself and have always survived…”
He smiled. Were Sheila a man, Ace would have slapped her shoulder in a brotherly fashion but it did not feel right to put his hand against a woman in a brutish way, even if to display camaraderie. In lieu of it, he lifted his tankard and hit it against hers for a toast - cheers to resilience! - before setting it down again and let his mind wander…
The room was still mostly dark when Law crept in and climbed onto the bed to lie over Ace. He kissed Ace’s mouth until Ace would wake. What time was it? What’s up? “Wake up,” Law whispered. The bedside clock would display 4:48AM, the numbers glowing faintly. Law handed Ace a parcel. Inside, Ace would later find (if he decided to open it) a pair of pizza print boxers and a set of pizza print pajamas. Law eased himself out of bed and tugged at Ace’s hand. “Let’s go somewhere,” Law said. [1/2]
[2/2] “I don’t know where, but we can decide later. I’ve got your sandwiches prepared-with bacon, and some energy bars.” Law ruffled Ace’s hair (for the fun of it). A brief moment of hesitation later, Law added, “…All right, fine, we can also stay in if you want, but you’re keeping me company. So kiss your beauty sleep goodbye. We’re taking a bath.” He paused halfway to the door and said, with a slight smile, “Merry Christmas, Ace.”
Ace wished to kill Law. And not for the first time. Notwithstanding the sweetness of his poison lips, the hour was unbecoming for kisses, and as soon as Ace saw the LED numbers flashing in a faint red, there was nothing he wanted more than to push Law away and, with some luck, send him flying off the bed and right onto the floor, to fall face flat against the wooden boards.
Others could argue this nighttime surprise was a romantic gesture, but not one who had just managed to sleep after fifteen minutes of annoying wakefulness, a decent sleep of mere two hours sandwiched between this and another moment of conscience. It was a fucking living hell not being able to sleep the night away. Even the prospect of being a noctivagus creature and going against the standard of human sleep cycles looked tempting to Ace, whose days were a succession of moments of conscience painted in different hues. It was cruel to wake him up when he happened to be in that time frame where his rest was a tad more decent than the rest of the day would have it.
But Ace did not bestow wings upon the anthropomorphic raccoon to send him flying, partly because he was too tired, partly because the parcel now sitting over his bare chest intrigued him. At the prospect of a gift, his eyelids lost that heavy quality weighing on the orbs and Ace’s feet pushed the mattress while his back looked for support in headboard as to make himself comfortable.
The gift was… kinda awful. By the standards of any person with the very minimum amount of taste, that is. Of course a man who found it appealing to complement a naked torso with a beaded necklace - as important as said item was, and important it was! - found the pizza-patterned apparel the most amusing thing since he’d gotten his cowboy hat. He wanted to try the pyjamas right away but Law had other plans.
“Go?! Where to? Maybe they didn’t teach you this at Vampire School, Roo, but us humans don’t ‘go somewhere’ at 4:57AM” For that was the time the red numbers said it was now.
Still, Ace got up and got in his new sleepwear bottoms - which he would later dub the ‘pizza pants’ - while he chewed on Law’s words. The destination may be lacking but it was clear Law had planned a nocturnal outing, if he’d already prepared a lunch (or breakfast?) box for them to take. Why, he’d even made sandwiches! He’d touched bread…! Well, if that did not spell the four-letter word…
Maybe because his first suggestion was turned down, Law decided to change his plan with too light a mood, unless the ruffling of Ace’s hair was a distraction, something meant for Ace to believe he was not upset all his suffering in a sandwich purgatory had been for naught.
“I’m not taking a bath. Took one this morning, remember?“ he asked while buttoning up the complementary top, only noticing Law was leaving when his ‘Merry Christmas’ wish sounded like a farewell. “WAIT, ROO! I got you a present too”
Almost tripping on his own feet, Ace grabbed a soft package wrapped in a children’s pattern of funny-looking fish from under the bed and offered it to Law. The smile he flashed demanded the present to receive his immediate and utter attention.
Unwrapping it, Law would find a big bear onesie inside. For men, of course, meaning it came with a very thoughtful zipper to accommodate to those ‘bear bare necessities’. The white colour indicated the animal in question was of the Arctic kind… Think of a slim Bepo the mink!
“What are you waiting for? Try it on! Let’s get those lunches and go somewhere. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
Ace chuckled. Yes, that was his plan - to take the packed lunches and their motorbikes and go for a ride before the sun rose up and, with it, those humans who did not suffer from the sleeping disruptions the pair of them did. It was cold but Law’s brand-new fleece onesie should keep him warm and Ace’s body temperature was higher than most people’s anyway.
The shutters were closed. As far as they could tell, it was not raining nor snowing outside. So why the fuck not go on a crazy Christmas ride while the neighbourhood kids pretended to sleep some more before skipping downstairs to raid the presents under the holiday tree?
There was a second gift for Law but that one could wait until their return. Knowing of the man’s unnatural love for fluffy hats, Ace had searched high and low for the most ridiculous-looking hat he could find. Thinking all choices far too simple for his taste, Ace remembered of Law’s second unnatural love, this one for hoodies.
Law would also receive a black hoodie complete with bunny ears for Christmas this year. Though he was bound to be on Santa’s ‘naughty list’, there was no way for him not to be on Ace’s ‘nice’ one.
☼ : What kind of outfit they think your muse should wear
It was unclear whether Law was asking for fashion advice or coming up with a random conversational topic with the purpose of killing his boredom. If the question was legitimate, then he must be very desperate to seek advice from a man who lived most of his days baring freckly skin under the sunlight.
Ace did not care much for questions of fashion. In fact, he could not care any less what people wore, his reactions not going beyond the knitting of his eyebrows or the opening of his lips in circular shape whenever the ensemble in question was of a peculiar or extravagant nature. - Law’s taste in apparel quite fitted this expression, for Ace did not know of anyone who loved furry, fuzzy, fluffy clothes as much as grumpy old ‘Roo’ did.
First he blinked at the question. Then, he blinked again and after doing so twice, Ace answered Law with his own query.
“Why? I thought you liked the clothes you own. I mean, why would you wear them if you didn’t?” The latter part of this intervention was peppered with giggles because, apart from all the teasing component of this reply, Ace knew he was of no help when clothing was the matter du jour and, were it a question of life and death, depending on him, any asker’s scales would tilt to death’s side.
Real talk, though. “You should wear what you already wear. I can’t think of anything else that would suit you”
Those pelts and voluminous tops Law liked to much, normally branded with his Jolly Roger to boot, were such a big part of him Ace had trouble imagining Law wearing, say… blue shorts, an orange cowboy hat and a bare torso! Fuzzy hats and frilly collars were just part of the visuals that made Law ‘Roo’.
♚ : What my muse thinks your muse is good at
As for what Law was good at… The question was a tricky one, wasn’t it? Law was good at a handful of things and any of them would have provided Ace with a good answer were the things not so good themselves: he was good with profanity, great with sarcasm, phenomenal at disfiguring bread and send it flying to its death (a non-good deed on the account of it being wasteful), Law was also good at getting Ace frustrated, angry, afire and even embarrassed.
But none of that did Ace voice because he was not so bad at this thing of being humanly decent and did not wish to upset Law for no good reason. Law was a humanly decent fellow as well - it should not be hard to come up with something pleasant to his ears.
“You’re good at all that medical stuff” Sure, he had to be, but might as well say it. “You’re not so bad at fishing either”
It was one of Ace and Law’s big pastimes, as well as other outdoor activities. Having spent his childhood in environments of the kind, Ace could still release boyish chuckles at what could be regarded as playtime and make light of the more dangerous aspects of forests, woods and jungles. As for Law… Ace suspected it was the peaceful, lonely existence one could lead when in a bucolic landscape he liked - only he did not have to be truly lonely for it.
“Hey, that ain’t a bad idea! When’s your next free weekend? We should go camping”
Was it only his impression or was Noah acting more sheepish than usual as she walked up to him, hands behind her back? Maybe that was exactly why the maiden looked bashful, as the pose was a favourite among shy children or those with feelings of guilt or regret for doing something naughty behind their mother’s back.
“Merry Christmas to you too!” he replied with a slight delay due to this consideration, albeit with the same politeness and joy as always. At least the tiger girl had never seen his lunar side. “Must be a busy time for you, uh?” Or so he expected, if Noah’s eatery had the habit of receiving special orders during the holiday season.
Ace finished his still hot coffee with a big gulp and would have wiped his mouth on the back of his hand were he not in female presence. Men did not mind it much or at all, but Makino had taught a very young Ace it was not nice or pretty to use one’s body as a napkin. As such, he used a napkin as he should and even went so far as to fold it before leaving it on the table.
“What’s that you got behind your back?” If Noah was not keen on showing her hands bare, then odds were there was something embarrassing about them, like dirt stains or wounds, or that she was holding something.
(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ This is the Amazing Person Award! (and trust me... you are AMAZING) Once you are given this award you are supposed to paste it in the ask of eight different people, who, in your opinion, deserve it. If you break the chain nothing will happen, but it's sweet to know someone thinks you're amazing inside and outside 💖💜✨
♠ anonymous
Thank you very, very, very much for this message! I do treasure positive chains!
Ace watched the nonny poke his bare belly with an almost neutral expression save for a brow lifted ever so slightly and boiling curiosity behind it. Why was this person interested in touching him in this childish way? He’d sooner understand if the other performed a more aggressive gesture, such as roughhousing or punch his abdomen as part of a pretend fight or play. Ace was, indeed, very used to the second example coming from his sea brothers.
Deciding no explanation was needed, he, too, messed with the nonny, only in a verbal way.
Thatch’s question caught him by surprise. The cook was always so full of himself it was hard to believe - how impossibly hard it was! - he had asked something which implied the idea that he was not perfect. Well! Was Thatchy finally experiencing a moment of self-doubt like most mortals were used to on a recurrent basis or was he simply bored and deciding a bit of brotherly vox pop might be just the thing to get him entertained?
Ace batted his eyelashes in surprise but quickly let a cheeky smile take over his countenance, accompanied by a solitary index to the brim of his hat, lifting it up. There were so many choices for him to pick and tease Thatch about… and so much that could go wrong. Friendly and sunlit as he was, Thatch could be as proud as any other son of Whitebeard’s could, even in matters where Pops was left out.
Should Ace talk of his cooking skills? Answer that, if he could, he’d make Thatch actually learn how to fucking cook? Maybe Sanji could pull some strings and get Ace’s sea brother an internship at the Baratie… Oh that was a good one, to tease Thatch about not possessing the kitchen expertise he indeed did have would get Ace more than a reaction out of him… But was it worth it?
No. Nothing justified going to bed without supper, like a bad little boy.
Should Ace talk of Thatch’s hair? Now there was another thing the cook was very touchy about. He probably cared for his pompadour as though it were his own child, fruit of his loins… Here’s to hoping Thatch would never spritz hairspray or finger comb grease on a sweet, bald baby.
“Only one thing, eh?” he asked as if he actually had a whole array of options when in reality there was nothing he’d change about Thatch. “Why must you make my life so difficult? Alright… I’d change your hair. Sometimes when you appear out of nowhere I think it’s the Moby Dick’s baby coming at me.”
So he did choose the hair after all… Though so sensitive a topic, it was less likely that Thatch would ground Ace and let him starve for a hair joke than for a cooking joke. Marco might be able to reason with him, if it came to that, or at least pity the younger male and sneak in some dinner leftovers…
“Then I remember she’s a ship…” He went on, the taunt stopping short at the sudden manic gleam in Thatch’s eyes that meant he was toast. “Oh, look, I think you left something in the oven…”
Sabo was flawed and so was he. Everyone was, man or woman, only some were more than others. There were small flaws, little defects so trivial they could be easily excused even if they annoyed or upset one the moment they were performed; then there were the big ones which defined one’s character, arguably more than their traits did, the massive inadequacies that separated a decent fellow from a beast among men.
If Sabo was guilty of anything as per Ace’s book, it surely was of one of the former and never the latter. It was not because he was his brother that he was an impeccable guy - if anything, it was Sabo’s exemplary character that made him Ace’s brother, and saying that was not even entirely right.
There was not much about Sabo that Ace found unpleasant. Again, he’d sooner complain of his little brother than of his equal, for Luffy’s childhood penchant for being a cry-baby had always rubbed Ace the wrong way, and now that they were all grown up the three of them, it as Luffy’s everlasting taste for trouble that was cause of worry. Ace would not think twice before dubbing Luffy ‘reckless’, though it was a classic case of the blackbird saying to the crow…
Sabo, however, could not be accused of anything, if the matter of accusation was his character - and let it be said that is the only thing on Ace’s mind, far from taking his question as a matter of looks. His biggest crime - again, according to Ace’s records - was currently uncalled for.
His index finger stretched out moustache-like over his upper lip, Ace rubbed it back and forth on the skin as to scratch it and, that being done, pulled Sabo’s head closer by the neck and rubbed a fist against the blond curls so hard it might as well have lit a fire as though fist and curls were two stone tools properly fashioned for that end. Figuring he could not speak a word of his brother’s demeanour, and with his pantomime of death being not, indeed, a taboo, but something along the lines of it, there was only one thing for Ace to bicker over.
“One thing I’d change about you, you say? Your height. Who told you it was ok to be taller than me, eh?“
Now there was a perfectly excusable flaw to which some more messing of the hair was punishment enough.
To kiss Sanji… Now there was an idea so tempting it made it impossible to conceal the itch behind big white teeth and a good amount of freckles. As far as he could tell, Ace had never indeed hid how much Sanji pleased his dark eyes, at least not knowingly. If others could not see what lay underneath the starry countenance, it was not by Ace’s doing in trying to block the truth. He was perfectly at ease with everyone knowing the chef was himself a treat, as the relaxed cowboy he was.
…which did not mean he’d go for a public display of this partiality, especially not one out of the blue. Say, if they were playing a game - Luffy’s crew and older brother together - and he was dared to kiss Sanji, Ace would sooner ask for a replacement dare than subject the cook to a kiss he might have no desire or need to receive - just like he would not appreciate it to be part of a dare and have a pair of unwanted lips against his own. Now, if playing with Ace’s pride was part of the game’s strategy and he was accused of being a coward by refusing the kissing dare… That was an entirely different matter…. Even more if chicken noises followed the accusation, in mockery.
To word the challenge a bit differently… If Ace had to kiss Sanji in that very moment, while very aware that his friend was not averse to the idea, he would and, not only that, he knew exactly where. It would not hurt if Sanji’s long ear got to catch Ace’s answer to his cyborg shipmate.
“I’d kiss him in the mouth, of course. Where else would I kiss him?”
However… For the sake of the public, it would be best if Ace was not forced into kissing the cook right now, seeing as his lips were coated in duck fat, which gave him a fairer shine than any lip balm in the world was capable of giving. Not that Ace wore lip balm or any other cosmetic.
Plus… Higher values presented themselves while at the dinner table.
Pray tell, what to change about a man of style? That’s right: nothing.
Ace did not care much for whatever people wore. He did not care when old ladies dressed like their younger selves would or when rounder men left their shirts unbuttoned to reveal the rotundness underneath. He did not care if fashion accessories did not match one’s shoes and he couldn’t care less if kids bore socks of different colours. Hell, he’d grown up wearing a small collection of hand-me-downs. Who was he to speak of another’s sense of fashion? What’s more, it was not like a person’s attire revealed, in truth, that much about a person’s character.
Where Sanji was concerned, there was not much for Ace to complain about in visual terms even if he wanted to. The chef was impeccably dressed for most of the time, at least while in the presence of Luffy’s big brother, always clean and handsome in nicely tailored suits that paid good compliment to his long legs.
If anything, the roles should be inverted for the purpose of this question and it should be Sanji giving Ace some fashion advice - if only the latter cared! - which would
undoubtedly start with the mention of a shirt, from there going, maybe, to replacing Ace’s shorts with trousers.
Now, if only his little brother or one of his crewmates showed Ace photographs of Sanji donning a certain pink cowboy outfit, he might have a thing or two to say about it. But seeing as Ace was ignorant of that ensemble existing…
“Why the hell are you asking me that, Sanji? You dress just fine!” He replied with a giggle and a lifted index, rather gun-like, a wink being Ace’s one shot.
As a kid, Sabo had been a boy of many talents. He was good with homework and work of letters, numbers and figures and, though young, he was already well-resolved and knew his calling, which is more than most kids can brag about, one day wishing to become doctors only to abandon the idea and replace the career with another such as teacher the very next day.
Those were traits any adult could appreciate about young Sabo, provided they were reasonable enough not to dismiss this calling - the sea’s calling - as mere infantile dreaming, inadequate to what they called the ‘real world’, which coincided with their bland, small, self-centered adult world.
As a kid the same age, there were other qualities Ace could appreciate about his brother, such as the way he mounted traps for game both big and small and how quickly he could come up to a solution when one of said traps didn’t work, whereas and while Ace lost his temper and cursed the stupid animal, forest or rusty spring.
An adult now, Ace knew Sabo’s main quality, the one thing he was truly good at like no one else in the world was, not even Pops, was his ability to pick up a fellow nonconformist from the ashes and give them a dream of their own. Sabo was a dream giver.
But Ace couldn’t simply tell his brother that, now could he? Sabo would make these words meet with a tongue sticking out in mockery or a gloved palm to Ace’s forehead and ask him if he was feeling unwell… He had to, if he was in the mood for ‘sappy stuff’.
Thinking a bit more, Ace didn’t have to think too hard to find Sabo his perfect answer.
“You’ve always been good with maps and navigating”
Really, what little Sabo was missing in teeth he compensated in knowledge. It had been him who had taught Ace how to read a map - an explanation which had allowed Ace to take one peek or a few at Dadan’s maps when she and the bandits were asleep and understand their whereabouts in the East Blue. The resources he had at his disposal also meant Sabo could benefit from learning navigation, cartography, astronomy and oceanography, all worthy subjects that firmly implanted the notion of Sabo becoming his navigator in Ace’s head, when they became grown-ups and formed their pirate crew.
A pout formed in Ace’s lips at remembering how neither Sabo or Luffy had accepted the idea of being his crewmen, coveting the title of ‘captain’ for themselves. He had to tease Sabo about it, just like Sabo had to know the accusation his brother’s next words implied did not correspond to reality.
