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Emil had been running around poking people's boobs and nipples while saying 'boob' or 'boop' but in Ace's case... In his case she poked his nose. "Honk."
Emil was the kind that could always be trusted. Trusted with unpredictability, that is. She always managed to deliver in that field, coming up with the most random, asinine entertainments. It could be too much sometimes, even for Ace, who shared her fondness for foolishness.
He shut his eyelids hard at the poke and sniffed to contain a sneeze. Then, he knitted his brows, put his hands on his waist, and looked at the shorter fishwoman who was always ready for a challenge. “What game are you playing now?”
Honk. Was that supposed to imply Ace had a big nose? And did he? Ace did not pay much attention to his nose in order to have a nicely formed opinion about it, for better or for worse. Maybe it wasn’t so much a matter of size - maybe Ace just had one of those noses worthy of being honked.
Whatever game it was Emil was playing, two could play it.
“Wait! I guess it’s my turn now” As a counter-attack, Ace opened his index and middle fingers in a ‘v’ and pressed the rough fingertips against Emil’s yellow patch of skin. He would never stop finding the band-aid-shaped spot running across her nose cute. “Gotcha!”
😗 - YOU ARE THE SOFTEST BEING.😀 - I’m not afraid of reaching out to you.😃 - To me, you are easy to approach.😊 - I think you are a really friendly person.
Ace’s eyes went from one item to the next, scoping the assemblage in its different parts as well as in its whole. The booze and venison were easy to comprehend at least: lunch! Ace’s stomach, currently in need of a refill, practically sang the word to him and the smell of the meat beckoned him to indulge in its gamey flavour and forget all worries so particular a gift raised.
These other items, though… They were part of no meal ritual Ace knew of as his furrowed brows showed, no flicker of recognition in his eyes. All the worse when the funny-looking male spoke an unknown, mysterious word…
“Magawho now?”
Clearly he was in the wrong, mistaking this Fire Fist for the ‘Maga’ person. Was there a wanted pirate going by this name Ace didn’t know about? It was more than likely, what with the marines printing those bloody posters every day and distributing them all over like candy.
“You got it wrong, bucko. My name’s Portgas” And, as if the stranger had shown the slightest sign of being somewhat impaired of hearing, and in the spirit anyone who does not speak a foreign language but still wants to get a message across, he spoke it loud and slow. “PORT. GAS”
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.
“WHY WOULD I EVER WANT TO DO THAT?!” He didn’t mean to but there he was, yelling at the nonny before he could tell.
It was just the most outlandish thing anyone had ever asked him, unknown face or not. Just because he had trouble growing a decent-looking stubble, let alone a beard or moustache - something that had granted him the familial epithet of Baby Face - that didn’t mean Ace had to go with a smooth head to complement it!
He could see them now… The bald men. As a general rule, Ace cared little about how people looked or even smelt like, after years breathing in the toxic air of the Grey Terminal. Not to mention the more recent but almost equally foul ‘perfume’ of hundreds of men living together on a ship… But there was something about bald men that was not so nice to the eye.
A portion of his crewmates were bald. Some due to age, some as per choice. Some regretting it, some bearing their scalp with pride. Ace didn’t think much of it - why, his friend Fossa’s head, while not being entirely bald, sure was doing its best efforts to go that way and he gave no fucks about it, therefore Ace gave no fucks about it.
Yet, all bald heads have a silver lining... Which appeared whenever the sun was strong and the angle was right, nearly blinding unsuspecting passersby. What Devil Fruit would protect one’s eyes from that laser beam of pure sunshine? Not the Mera Mera no Mi!
No, no, no! Just no! Ace refused to be part of the select group known as The Baldies and blind people with no power but that of his scalp. What kind of lowly attack was that for a wanted pirate?!
There it was, the million beli question! Sure Ace preached more than he performed, always willing to share a personal mantra disguised as a catchphrase. Live a life without regrets. The recipient of the words would change and thus would the quote, but even if the structure suffered a little modification, the intention would always be the same - a reminder to himself. If anyone hearing Ace wanted to take the words for a lesson and do as he spoke, so be it. It was not for him to tell people what to do.
Oh, Ace had some regrets all right… For one, he regretted not having been smart enough or alert enough to see right through Teach and learn what he was up to. He’d always regret not having been the responsible commander his division deserved in that aspect, for which he had endangered them and which had resulted in the death of fellow commander and sea brother Thatch. Then there were lesser but still serious regret about this or that course of action as captain and as a man which would eventually lead to Ace questioning himself on matters of morals, worth and humanity….
Nonny’s question was quite sharp. Eatery-owners were not bandits, even if some demanded exorbitant amounts of money (in Ace’s evaluation as a professional eater). They were law-respectful people doing their business. Some had families to provide for.
Under this light, Ace’s dine and dashes were a bad thing to do and something he should feel bad about. It was not like he’d ask questions before deciding whether the restaurant could afford a freebie! Who knew how much damage this kind of behaviour had done to many a house? And it was not like he had the habit of picking really wealthy places to dine at, either… Those could certainly afford a few beli missing from their registers.
All in all, Ace knew fleeing from a restaurant check was not a good thing to do and the money in his pocket would grow heavy every time he mused on this as if, in all the morality it had and that Ace was apparently lacking, it wanted to burn a whole in his pocket, fall through it and run into the rightful hands. He just couldn’t help it! After years of doing it so as not to go to bed on an empty stomach when the day’s hunt had been fruitless, his self was just programmed to dine and dash and had no more control over it than it had over his narcolepsy, even if he had the money to cover the expenses.
To answer nonny’s question…
“Nah” he said like it was no big deal, even shrugging in reinforcement. “Look, I’m not proud of it but I don’t regret it either. It’s just what I do”
"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?”
"Acezinho, feliz aniversário!" Abraça o garoto e deposita um beijo na bochecha dele. Quando Robin se afasta, já deixa um cordão com uma medalha de prata amarrado no pescoço de Ace. "Espero que goste do presente."
Um beijo de uma linda mulher como Nico Robin já seria presente suficiente para qualquer fedelho sardento e Ace não era a excepção à regra. Sem esperar tal coisa da arqueóloga, sentiu um calor e um rubor aflorarem-se-lhe às bochechas e, tal como um menino manhoso, esfregou onde Robin o beijara.
“Uh… obrigado, Robin. Hm? E o que é isto?” O presente não era pesado mas era frio, como o metal o é, ainda para mais contra a pele de alguém sempre tão quente.
Ace virou a medalha entre os dedos, o cordão pouco visível por baixo do colar que já era sua imagem de marca, apesar de ter uma vez pertencido a Curly Dadan antes de ser roubado por mãos pequenas e desprovidas de fogo. É claro que ele estava confuso - de entre tanta coisa que Robin poderia ter escolhido - e até comida seria sempre uma boa opção - porquê uma peça tão delicada?
Mas questionar um presente não era uma coisa lá muito educada de se fazer e por isso Ace nada perguntou a Robin, assegurando-lhe, então, de que este era um bom presente.
“Não precisavas me oferecer nada, sabias? O beijo teria sido suficiente…”
There were times Ace could swear his little brother was part dog. What? They did not share mother and father, therefore, who’s to say Luffy’s mother was not a canine mink or something?
It was true humans were more prone to murdering, kidnapping and enslaving minks than to mating with them, but maybe Monkey D. Dragon - whose name and face Ace knew on the account of him being older, simple as that - had fallen in love with one, even if for one night.
Was it even possible for such breeding to produce anything? Ace couldn’t tell. Still he suspected that, if it was, then the inter-species baby would share Luffy’s acute sense of smell. Because, by God, that nose of his could not be human! How the hell had he smelled eggs from such a great distance?
Of course all could be easily explained in the form of bacon strips to go along with the eggs, Luffy being even more partial to meats than Ace was and thus it would be no surprise if by ‘eggs’ he meant ‘bacon’, which, by extension, meant ‘give it to me’.
Ace twisted the frying pan ever so lazily over the fire being cast by no other than his lit hand. The greatest advantage in being a man of fire, anyone would find, was the needlessness for fuelwood. With a pan or pot sufficing, anywhere could be a good place for a stove. With the right chamber-like structure presenting itself, oven dishes were not out of bounds either.
“Yeah, I’m cooking eggs, alright. But not for you!” Of course he would happily share with his little brother and it was indeed his responsibility to ensure Luffy did not go to bed hungry, if it could be avoided. Still, Ace did not think Luffy should be effortlessly given everything on the mere account of him being a child, otherwise he’d never man up, nor did he appreciate Luffy’s tone. “Or else what, little brother?” For he knew every ‘you’d better’ ended with ‘or else…’.
“I should let you starve… Told you to set those mouse traps and you did a half-assed job. You’ve been very lax lately…“
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.
