A/N: Hi! Here's my yearly update. I hope you're all doing okay considering the world's current situation. I'm glad to be able to share a new something with you!
This marks the switch of this fic to an M rating, just to be sure and because kinda steamy and explicit sexual endeavours down below. I don't know if I should add other trigger warnings so I'll just say that this one deals with Ace's past and is pretty heavy on angst.
There's blood, sweat and tears in this one (Ace's and mine). But you know me by now, no hurt without comfort, and every character brought to their knees will be standing back up before you've reached the end. Cross my fangirl heart.
Many thanks to the readers that keep popping by and especially to Shadow Wolf Warrior 2, Fois D. Ciel, icecatfire, 123, mysterious grin, Asl lover, SakuraKoi, Lucaila, Hestia Frost, OrangeCowboyHat, DWY, FreakazoidR17CR-5 and Leo Hamato for their fav and/or follow.
Shout out to Harmonica Smile and Corail Chérie for their amazing support and many tips. I'm truly grateful to have you both in my humble writer's life. And you'll probably never see that but thank you Lau & Lau for the tattoo feedback.
Soundtrack: "How to be human" (Chelsea Cutler) ; "Down" (Marian Hill) ; "Got it in you" (Banners) ;
Enjoy!
Sparks – Feeling human
"To Roger's death!"
"Good riddance!"
"May he rest in bloody pieces!"
Tankards clinking, laughter resounding, grin stretching ugly faces. He couldn't believe it. Second bar, third time he was privy to those drunken words and some more. He didn't even need to ask anyone anymore. Was today some kind of fucked up anniversary? He wondered, downing the rest of his beer, sullen. The bartender brought him another.
Marco, Thatch, Vista and some crewmembers were with him, pub-crawling to celebrate the new stopover on some spring island. Outside of their territory but crowded with people. The three commanders didn't say anything but didn't seem quite happy with the atmosphere either. As for his crewmates, he saw some of them slightly nod in approval. That beer tasted like piss.
"Ne, ne, what about a kid?"
"Roger's? Come on! What a demon that would be!"
"Like father, like son, ah! Scum, the lot of them!"
"Hm! Would have killed myself were I in his shoes!"
"Oh if rumours were true, he'd be dead already."
"Yeah? Well if I put my hands on him one day, I'll make him wish he'd be!"
Raucous laughter again. Spit on the ground, fake whining. He took it in. That was more than he could stand but he couldn't run for the exit right away or jump at their throat to punch the hell out of them. Too suspicious.
He forced himself to relax his grip on his drink. Counting to thirty-five in his mind, he muffled the assholes' rambling, pretended to listen to his brothers' banter before declaring voice even "I need some air, I'll meet you later." Gulping down the content of his mug, Ace slammed a berry on the wooden counter and stood up, not waiting for an answer. He just hoped they had taken the hint to leave him be.
"To Gold's bastard!" one of the locals bellowed as he exited and the whole bar booed, tankards hitting on every surface available. Damn, that ale was beyond cheap…
The night was warm outside. He put one foot after the other, leaving that bar behind, not really knowing where to go. He felt like he could break a sweat. His stomach churned, his throat burned. Strange… He couldn't get sick anymore. He stuck two fingers down there, bent over and welcomed the gag response, relieving himself from that rancid poison.
He walked by the buzzing streets, looking for the darkest corners, the narrowest alleys. He followed those, curious, uneasy. One led him to a quiet square with a small gurgling fountain in its centre. Shops and bars were closed all around, terraces empty, curtains shut. Red and blue flickered somewhere uphill.
He cleaned his mouth and hands, splashed his face with the fresh water, trying to clear his mind. The uneasiness remained. Of course it wasn't the alcohol... He sat on the fountain's edge.
He could feel his skin crawling, his heartbeat erratic, pumping that fucking cursed blood through him. Keeping him alive.
Sinner since his first breath. Child of the worsest Devil of all. The kind you drown once born, no questions asked...
He stood up, suddenly restless. He knew he shouldn't go down that path really but it felt like all safeguards were down. No growling Cerberus in sight. He sighed, crossed his arms against his chest as he walked back to the Moby Dick. Back home, where he now belonged.
The night was at its darkest, not even a breath of air. He felt like scratching his skin off. It all boiled down to that eventually. Feeling fucking trapped. Each word a reminder, each thought a stab, and no way out. It's almost as if he could feel it slip along his body, his humanity. A worn out coat pooling at his feet. How could one ever get used to being called names? To have their identity reduced at their lineage? To be despised for it?
Burn them all. The fuckers. How could they? He felt so weak, so exposed. His own vulnerability made him sick. So much for a pirate. He stopped himself in his tracks, ship and sea in sight, as he felt a well-known sting in his eyes. Just perfect.
He raised his face to the starless sky. Eyes screwed shut he uncrossed his arms before crossing them once again, hands over his biceps. He pressed them, felt the skin on his left, blindly outlined the letters with the tip of his fingers. He'd learned their exact spot long ago, as they scabbed, and he swore sometimes he could still feel them. But not tonight and his heart ached. If only…
He let out a shaky breath. Pull yourself together Ace. He hoped he could. But he needed people for that. Lively chatter to drown his distress, warm laughs to hold the darkness back. The sun would not rise soon enough.
Pushing his orange hat further down his head, he resumed walking towards the Moby. And soon he was by her side. The placid whale towering over him, gently rocking with the waves despite the heavy anchors. She smiled at him like to all the welcomed guests, watchful.
He'd considered taking Striker and letting off some literal steam but his anger had subsided already. And some would certainly worry, seeing him run away like that. Even he didn't trust himself to be alone on the vast open sea right now. So he ascended the gangplank and was met with a casual little party on deck.
Whitebeard, Izo and Haruta were there, all sitting in a circle in their small arena of an amphitheatre. Groups of crewmates were around too. Everyone chatting with everyone. Gathered by the warmth of a makeshift campfire in a metal barrel, no doubt another of Namur's crafty creations.
Ace found an empty spot and sat, listening. Looked like Haruta had raided the marshmallow stash. Someone handed him a tankard. He met Newgate's eyes and hoped his forced smile wasn't a grimace.
Putting his hat at his side, he tried his best to take it in. The small talk, the brotherhood, his Captain's soothing tremors as he laughed at one of his children silly joke. There was no music for once. Haruta's division had asked for their evening and split up to several bars of the port town. Even the commander didn't feel like playing something tonight, too focused on the marshmallows and the latest gossips.
He realised Izo was still in the clothes he wore this morning, as he exited the galley after breakfast, quietly arguing with Marco.
Ace had been with them for a bit more than six months now but he had never seen him wear such a formal and straightforwardly masculine clothing. A black tux jacket with a purple lapel, Whitebeard's violet crest embroidered on the chest pocket, over a white shirt almost buttoned all the way up. A dark fluid trouser was completing the suit while his hair were tamed in a high ponytail. He wasn't wearing any makeup either.
It looked like they were done talking as Marco walked away with a huff, called by another crewmate, and Ace came closer. Of course Izo had seen the questions in his eyes.
"Meeting with influent informers and allies," he answered. "They're quite traditional. I normally wouldn't"–he pointed out his clothes dismissively–"but well, we need the intel."
Ace gave him a new once-over and raised his eyebrows upon seeing the commander's high heel boots.
"Yeah… Couldn't help it." He winked at his younger brother before adding more loudly and clearly looking in Marco's direction: "I do like these shoes."
"Whatever, yoi," the Phoenix replied, before they definitely went their separate ways, Izo leaving for his meeting.
The black jacket was now gone. Izo's collar and hair were loose and his lips and eyelids had been painted red. The shadows created by the fire were deepening his frown, wrinkling his forehead. Nevertheless, he was casually chatting with his brothers, sitting legs crossed, the patent leather of his boots slightly shining.
Ace drank from his mug, tried to enjoy the taste of rum as a member of the Fourth division was sharing a funny story about his home island. He was there. Surrounded by family, silently welcomed, supported even and yet… He was struggling to ground himself. Here and now. Just that. How hard could that be? But uneasiness was latching onto him like a leech on tempting flesh.
Everyone around laughed and he forced a smile. His left leg wouldn't stop shaking. No matter what he had thought, it didn't do much, being with them. Not like that anyway. He lowered his head, closing his eyes.
It wasn't good. It kept swirling in his mind, the drunken faces, the raucous laughter, the glazed eyes and the words. The same litany over and over again. Alone. Cursed. Cursed. Alone. Undeserving. Beast. Beast. Beast. Devil. Shouldn't have been born. Kill him. Kill him. Demon. Kill yourself.
His heart pounded in his ears and he could swear the wood beneath him had liquefied. Quicksand ready to swallow him. And that's how he knew what was missing, what he longed for, what would really help.
But how to ask for closeness or affection without sounding weak or needy? Without having to explain what put him there in the first place? Fists of Love never did anything for the kind of warmth his young self craved, though two big-hearted and foolish souls had done their best to provide for that, a long time ago. But brotherhood wouldn't do tonight, no more than loneliness.
"I need out," he finally blurted, making his need known, real. Shame colored his cheeks as he rose and he stretched loudly to give himself a countenance. The tankard at his feet was almost full. He left it but was stopped by Whitebeard's hand on his bare head. He raised his eyes, insecure, concealed shadows seeping into his dark orbs, clouding his vision. His Captain's gaze was only fondness and warmth and acceptance. The bonfire's flames smothered for the briefest time.
"Be careful, son." He struggled not to recoil from his touch. Not now. Not like that. Unfair bastard.
"I will," he muttered instead, turning his back to them all, walking away, refraining from running down the gangplank, their mark on his back both a weight and a reassurance.
He walked around the port, trying to take the night in, sounds and scents of the sea mingling casually with those of the earth. His steps brought him back to the darker and quieter streets and soon he was by the small fountain again. A bar had opened, garlands of lights in a palm tree and sweet groovy music to greet the night birds. The terrace was empty, the bartender mindlessly drying a glass.
Ace didn't stop in the square, climbing a steep slope leading to another part of the town. Breath short and twinges in his calves, he followed the intermittent rays of light he spotted earlier. Shutters were closed all around, people sleeping, unaware. The night was suffocating him, lead weight on his bare shoulders. The thought of quitting the childish act and going back, to the Moby, to the bar, grinning and bearing it until the sun finally rose crossed his mind. But the unexpected lighthouse was getting closer with each step, flickering beacon promising him the settlement he needed.
Red and blue lights on his face. He knew the place. Izo told them about it before disembarking. Not stalling any longer, he pushed the door open and hoped everything would be alright.
There was a two-way mirror in the lobby. A small privilege. More of an igniter for gossips, really. But it gave them a head start, time to gauge whether the few next hours would be at least slightly enjoyable or an unfathomable hassle.
The new comer looked young but not underage. Didn't have the tensed shoulders of the first-timers. Took a wad of berries from a blue pouch on his pants. Didn't even bother to count them. From their side of the glass, they all hoped he wouldn't choose the boys' hall.
Jon finally showed him in and he blinked a few times, eyes getting used to the muted atmosphere.
The girls had giggled upon seeing his tattooed back. A pirate. It automatically raised their interest. He didn't spare them a look. With the way he stood in the subdued lights of their hall, she knew he wasn't here for the noisy ones.
She always wondered, with each new client. What was it like? To come in and see all those bodies offered, for you to choose from? What could you possibly feel? Lust? Shame? Amusement? Resignation? Did you feel like some defiler, entering this kind of place? Although she was getting paid for it, so there went the defiling…
He took them all in, boyish face neutral, apparently not overly enthusiastic at the prospect of getting laid. Unusual. Weird. Now she was definitely interested.
Two girls had started to kiss, all moans and tongues, trying to rile him up. Some others had unfastened their lacy gowns, trying to show more appealing skin than what was already exposed. Like that was even possible…
She'd seen those tricks work on the best. But he merely glanced, a hand hidden in the pocket of his pants, trying to look more at ease than he really felt. And his eyes, they weren't burning from repressed desire. They were quietly scanning them, looking for something. What exactly? She couldn't tell. But she knew without a doubt she could be it. Adaptable was her middle name. You didn't make it in this business playing it otherwise, even if it meant getting a scratch here and there, depending on your client's wishes. Anyway, he seemed decent enough, for a pirate.
Would curiosity kill the cat? Years and occasions had taught her better. But tonight she was willing to risk one of her nine lives. She seized the opportunity and made a step forward. Nothing fancy, just a relaxed stance promising something casual. Simple and languid, unashamed. Their eyes met as she tilted her head with a quiet smile and he nodded. Sighs were heard, lacy bells fastened back. She went past him and knew he would follow.
She led him to her room, upstairs. They had decent-sized bedrooms here, all furniture included. Hers overlooked the main street, their neon sign next to her balcony, red and blue piercing through the net curtains.
She sat at the edge of the bed, confident, waiting for him to come in. The door slid shut and his eyes examined her, from head to toe. The softened yellowish light of her bedside lamp was more than enough, for she knew what he saw. An average height girl with short and curly blond hair, lean body hidden by a light blue silky kimono, in a completely normal looking bedroom. More hotel than brothel. And yet…
"What's your name?"
"Ace. You?"
"Candy." He looked disappointed. What? Did he really thought she'd give him her real name? Silence reigned for a handful of seconds and she finally stood. Understanding he would not take the lead she held his gaze and slowly took off her kimono, letting it slide along her naked body until it finally pooled at her feet in a discrete flutter. Some of them needed pointers, incentive.
"Well, Ace. What do you want to do?"
"I, huh… I'm not that good with words." And he left it at that as he finally closed the distance between them, gently grazing her jaw, meeting her lips with his own. Something tender.
She broke the kiss first, startled. His arms fell back, dangling at his sides as he lowered his head. Strange choice to initiate foreplay. It tasted like innocence. Dare she say some kind of virginity even? But she'd bet all she had he wasn't a beginner. And yet he took her by surprise, disarming her on the spot. For mere seconds she had felt like the strangest kind of girlfriend. Did he just quietly ask for something sweet?
His head hung low, eyes anywhere but on her. Would he be apologizing or pleading if his mouth weren't shut? Even still clothed he exuded vulnerability. Was he expecting rejection? As if she would suddenly turn him down. Would he allow her that?
She was there, naked, available, tame even. They talked about pirates and their manners, even in a decent place like this. She had had her fair share of smelly buccaneers herself, but he was yet to be all over her. Was he one of those wolves, waiting in the shade until she exposed her throat? They didn't need the sheep's clothing anymore. They just had to pay the right price.
She cupped his face, waiting for the moment he'd recoil but he didn't. Trust then, eh?
She looked him in the eye, searching for the proof he wouldn't be an ass once his business finished. His hands were radiating heat just above her hips, like he waited for permission. She squeezed his cheeks slightly, making him look younger, chubbier, and he let her. I'm in your hands. Who needed words?
She kissed him back, more firmly than he did. He responded, hands finally on her hips but no intrusive tongue. That guy knew consent wasn't the name of some cheap perfume. She opened her mouth, inviting him in and he complied. Was it her or did the room temperature suddenly went up?
Passing hands down. Oh so rightfully down. She let go of his face to gently brush his hair, smiling. "Hi Ace," she whispered against his lips, before stepping aside, meeting his dark eyes again. "I'm Liz." Another nickname, truer to herself, a gamble really.
And she saw something ease in him. He smiled at her for the first time that night and she only hoped it wouldn't be the last. She mirrored his smile as she reached for his lips once more, hands mapping his torso up to his red necklace as his were exploring her back.
Her hands brushed the fabric of his dark pants and he stilled when she reached for the buckle of his orange belt. He was the one to break their heated kiss this time and his eyes wandered briefly towards her nightstand. "Could we…?"
She hid her surprise with a curt nod. So going around shirtless didn't prevent you from being shy when things grew a little more serious? She left his side to switch the light off and shuddered at the sudden change of temperature. She lost no time going back to his heat.
Their lips sealed once more, she lost a hand in his hair, resting the other on his chest, feeling the erratic heartbeat pulsing under her spread fingers. The clock was ticking but no matter how good she felt, she didn't want him to wait any longer. She went for his belt again but his hands caught hers, letting go of her shoulder blades.
"Wait," he whispered, kissing her ear. He made a step forward, forcing her to go backwards. He kissed her neck and she hummed as she had to move back again. He kissed her collarbone and she understood he was leading her to the bed. She let him lay her down as he followed, still kissing her.
That's when he started going down on her, hands warm, lips scorching. Forget that boyish face, the kid sure knew what he was doing. Maybe she wouldn't have to fake it this time…
Most of her clients took very little time to get her comfy and ready: it was her job after all. They always kept an eye on the timer. Their pleasure first. But Ace, reluctant to being undressed or touched in a more intimate way, was taking his time with her, not minding anything else. Still, she wondered if it was just part of a prepping scenario playing in his mind or if there was something else.
She was dragged back to the present as he softly blew on her damp skin and it didn't matter anymore. Goosebumps all the way up. No past, no future, the outside world forbidden access to the unlit bedroom, red and blue flashing lights through the window the only exception. O Time, suspend thy flight!
She waited for him to tire himself –they always did– but he didn't stop exploring her body, worshipping it even, making eye contact to be sure she was okay, at ease. And the way he smiled when she couldn't swallow delighted moans… Had she been sent to an alternative dimension where considerate lovers were the norm? She sure didn't remember paying anything to anyone to get this pleasant treatment.
She caressed his back and he shuddered, moving under her touch so she could reach yearning spots. Her free hand caressed his cheek and he kissed her palm before going back to the matter at hand. She dared ask him and he left her nipples alone. He simply smiled before whispering his tattooed arm was off limits too. She stopped her curious fingers from trailing down, muttering she could do with that. And it resumed. Passionate yet gentle.
Ace was a giver. Mindful. Quiet. It felt like the ebb and flow of a warm sea, rhythmically swallowing her, constantly lapping away the fine white sand, slowly thinning down the walls of her sand castle to allow the pleasure in.
How blessed and guilty she felt. Surrendering under his touch, giving in when she should be the one trying her best to elicit pleased moans from him. Making his time and money worthwhile. But he didn't let her. And he didn't ask for anything else either. Just for their skin to touch. Just for their lips to meet. Just for his hands to set her ablaze. And every time she tried, fingers trailing down his abs to reach for that blasted belt, she felt him tensing, his hands quick to put hers elsewhere on his body.
She sighed, she arched, she purred. She laughed. Finally admitting that he wouldn't stop. That had to be her longest foreplay session ever. Not that she was complaining. No matter what she knew and what she liked, people still believed sex could only be defined by someone being inside someone else. But under his skilled hands and lips, she could only disagree.
The air grew hotter around them and she gasped for air once more, putting a hand on Ace's head. He paused. She was starting to lose her head, her ground, she could feel it, the edge of the abyss she was standing on, a warm darkness below promising her a bliss she hadn't felt in a long time.
She tried to catch her breath, looking at the ceiling, hands on her forehead. She wasn't used to that level of intimacy with her clients. Hell, she wasn't faking anything. She was offering herself, completely open and he–
"I just want you to feel good," Ace whispered and she wondered if she had thought aloud. She looked down and he raised his head, eyes shining behind the dark messy bangs. Another kind of hunger.
Untangling her hands from her hair, she sat back up, legs still parted. "I'm the one who's being paid to make you feel good," she said, voice loud in the silent room.
"And you're doing just fine," he praised with a smile, resting his head on her inner thigh. "Abandoning yourself like that." He kissed the tender flesh, lips smooth on her stretch marks. "Trusting me." Something warm flashed in his eyes as he looked up at her. He seemed about to add something but closed his lips silently instead. His warm hands resumed massaging her skin, easing her wavering away, and he straightened, slowly kissing his way up to her lips.
"Ace." She couldn't but mutter his name, giving in, laying back, shivering under his touch. "Ace," she said once more and she heard his breath hitch in the crook of her neck. She opened her eyes only to dive in his, widened in awe, warmth overflowing. Oh so that was it? She suppressed a smile and called his name again. She repeated it, on and on and on, until she saw a blush creeping up his freckled cheeks and she finally smiled, all-knowing.
He wasn't here for sex. Well… Of course he was. Everybody was, here. But she knew her clients all sought out different things crossing the threshold of her private space. None of them really needed pampering. More the kind to bend you over the nightstand and get what they paid for. She didn't mind though. She'd learned not to. And she knew better than to judge. People paid to be taken care of, one way or another. Ace, his hands gently all over her and his dick still in his pants, was quietly asking for something entirely else, almost foreign. She wondered if he even knew.
His lean fingers brushed over a sensitive little spot. His name died in her throat.
Adaptable and willing, that's what she was.
Reaching for his parted lips, she let him lure her back in the depths of pleasure.
Gasps and moans and tongues disentangling themselves to allow air in. Oh, she's definitely all hot and bothered now. He'd made her come several times already and yet it still felt like it'd never be enough.
But she'd finally managed to be on the giving end, on top of his lying body. Because givers needed their kindness repaid. She had tried and teased her way there. To no avail. So she'd wrestled instead and won. Ace didn't have it in him to fight her. But his hands never left her skin.
She broke their heated kiss to get some air and he looked at her, hands caressing her bent knees, joy and pleasure dancing in his eyes, his lips stretched in a satisfied smile. Oh that wicked smile! His nails scraped at the sensitive skin of her thighs, lightly carving their way up to her ass. She returned the favor, mischievously digging her fingernails in the firm flesh of his chest.
She had worked on him the best she could, trying to find what he liked most. She could feel the quick thrumming of his heart under her palm, same with his fast breathing, matching her own. One of his hands deserted her to brush away strands of dark hair sweat had stuck to his forehead and temples. She was pleased to see her dedication bore its fruit. She had chosen to leave his pants alone but she could feel his excitement under her butt as she straddled him. She had wiggled a few times, purposely brushing against it and my, that strangled sound Ace made… The aching pressure of her own well-needed release made her want to scream. A part of her itched at the prospect of being even closer to him than she already was. How would it feel? But no matter what he made her believe, she wasn't here for her.
She stretched before laying down on him, letting him fully support her weight. She marvelled once more at his incredible warmth, brushing against every available inch of his skin. She reached for the spot on his neck she had bitten earlier, kissing it. The red beads of his necklace were cold against her cheek. His fingers threaded through her short hair as his other hand was trailing down her bare back. She caressed their joined side, from chest to hips, and shivered.
His grip grew firmer as he raised her head, pulling her in for a kiss. Her hand got lost on the stiff fabric of his pants and lifting her hips she let it wander between her thighs. She sighed against his lips when she could finally feel him. Ace's breath hitched and she whispered his name, making eye contact.
Furrowed brows, clenched jaw and for once unreadable grey orbs… Something was going on inside his head. Something she couldn't understand. And yet, she could feel the erratic heaving of his ribcage, the tension in his legs, the pressure of his hands... Was he doubting?
They weren't talkative, save theirs sighs and moans and occasional whispered enquiries, but their eyes were talking plenty. Lust and want and need and yes, love. She could feel they were both in but knew Ace was holding back. She simply smiled, holding his gaze, withstanding his scrutiny, waiting for him to choose. She was the one being paid after all. What she wanted shouldn't count, no matter what he made her yearn for.
His eyes were searching hers and his expression morphed in seconds. She felt him relax under her and with that he surrendered. Right there and then, he handed her the lead, gave her the choice and the final say. And for once, she was the one asking for more.
She gave him a quick peck on the lips before reaching for his knife, carefully removing it. "Unless you want to use it, but I'm not really into that kind of play," she said with a sheepish smile. That damned orange belt was next. Unbuckling his pants at last, she chuckled fondly. She wouldn't have thought he was the type to go commando. She freed him nonetheless and soon they were just two naked human beings.
Quick to return to his warmth she sat on his thighs, a small smile on her lips. She eyed him unabashedly before meeting his gaze and was surprised to see he was just patiently waiting for her next move. I'm all yours, his stormy grey eyes said.
He let her touch, tensing slightly. Seemed like he wasn't used to abandon himself in stranger hands. She couldn't wait to reward his trust. She gave a few strokes, pleased to feel another kind of tension filling his body. Smirking, she leaned in, moistening her lips with the tip of her tongue. A firm hand caught her forehead, blocking her descent. Liz raised her head, surprised, his hand brushing slightly over her mouth.
"No blowjob," he said in the most serious tone he could muster, cheeks red. Was he embarrassed by her actions or by his own blunt words? Surprise must have shown on her face. "I mean it," he added –hissed– and she laughed, kissing his offered palm. She met his eyes and quelled his rising uneasiness. "I won't do it if you don't want me to, Ace. Promise."
Back to pampering she thought, but stretching for his lips and rubbing against him, all of him, she knew they were well past that now. And she knew he felt it too. "Alright," she whispered, "no more playing around then." She kissed him heavily and he cupped her face in his hands, keeping her close.
When they parted he asked for a condom, a tensed seriousness briefly back in his eyes that quickly melted when he let her retrieve one and slip it on. Passive as he had tacitly offered, seemingly unbothered by whatever she would chose to do next. He acted as if he didn't care if she were to choose and pull the plug right there and then. And she believed he really didn't.
She was amazed by his laidback, almost indifferent, attitude she wouldn't dare call a charade because they had been adjusting to each other's boundaries since Ace first stepped in her room. He had agreed to surrender and yet had remained hyper-aware of her every action, freely choosing to renew or withdraw his consent at any time. Just like she knew she could do too. A dizzying equality.
Her hands caressed along his sides before reaching for the support of his chest as she finally lowered herself onto him. Their breath hitched in unison and silence filled the room, deafening.
Tingles were travelling her skin like a low voltage, leaving goose bumps in their wake. She didn't move and neither did he. They just stood there for a while, quietly marvelling at their imbrication, finally obtaining the closeness they had craved.
She gave a tentative roll of her hips and moaned out in bliss. A hand was on her knee, squeezing. She moved again and looked down at Ace, revelling in his warmth. He seemed pretty far gone already, panting, his free hand resting on his forehead, jaw clenching and unclenching repeatedly. She wondered if it were tears or sweat she saw glistening on his temples. She moved once more, senses overwhelmed, eyes zeroing on the ceiling as she arched. The grip grew tighter on her knee, bruising, and her eyes fell back on Ace. She couldn't tell if his face was scrunching in pain or ecstasy, until a strangled cry came out of his throat.
"W-wai-t," he stammered then and she froze, startled. A hand touched his cheek as she called his name before hearing a sob. She was about let go of him when he reached abruptly out. She was still straddling him when he hugged her like his life depended on it, trembling.
She stopped everything to hug him back, kissing his hair. He buried his head in her chest, simply resting it there. Was he hiding in shame or looking for deeper solace? She couldn't tell. What had happened? She didn't understand but she stayed still.
Skin against skin. Two warmth responding to one another. Comfort and patience seeping through her pores as lips silently articulated sweet words in his hair, as hands drew abstract patterns on his tense shoulders, brushing against his necklace, waiting for him to say or do anything. But he didn't. And after several minutes, she felt the urge to ask.
"Ace," she whispered, massaging his scalp, "you okay? Did I hurt you?" He didn't move to look up at her but she felt him shake his head, muttering a "no". Liz cursed herself. To which question had he been answering to? The first? The second? Both? Stupid. She resumed her massage, kissing softly where she could reach.
The way he stood there, not trying anything to move away helped her relax. If he was in pain he would have put distance between them, he wouldn't have reached for her the way he did. He just needed a moment, or so she hoped, as she felt him shake, distinctly forcing his breathing to even, warm trail on top of her heart.
Her knees were starting to ache despite the softness of the mattress. She didn't really understand what was happening, what had triggered such a reaction but she was willing to help him anyway. It wasn't her role... She knew that many felt it was way above their paygrade, arguing it wasn't part of their job description to help their clients with whatever existential crisis they were going through. There were shrinks for that. She could tell him off and send him away, like she heard Jelly so often did. But… The way he clung to her… She couldn't be the one to let go.
So she remained still, offering him time and support, allowing him to be weak, to reach out in the strangest yet most human way possible. His arms firmly wrapped around her, blindly looking for an anchor. She felt rock solid but forced herself to stay relaxed in his grip. The position wasn't the most comfortable but she was willing to hold onto him as long as he needed to.
Time went by muted with soft caresses and little reassurances. She didn't count, she just waited, focusing on him, on where their skin met and touched with each new breath, on the tenseness of his shoulders she set out to knead away, anything to divert her mind from the growing strain she was putting her legs through.
She wanted to wait until Ace got out of his daze, pulled himself together, but her body caved in first. A sharp pain ploughed her calf, making her leg twitch. She tensed as the discomfort grew in intensity and felt him tense in response. Cursing herself for ruining the moment, Liz held onto his shoulders.
"Ace," she whispered, apologetic, "I'm having a cramp."
She felt him jump slightly before he quickly loosened his grip over her and started to apologize in turn, finally meeting her eyes. "Oh! Oh sorry!"
"No, no, it's okay. I just have to move a bit… Wait… Don't move. There. Ah. All good." She let out a relieved sigh, her legs finally outstretched behind him as he fully supported her weight now. She swore she could feel blood rush all the way back to her feet. Hands slid up and down her sides in a comforting gesture.
"You okay?" Ace asked.
She nodded with a smile. "I should be the one asking you that."
The young man lowered his gaze as his face got redder. "It got a bit too much and I… I'm sorry."
"Don't be. It's okay Ace." She caressed his cheek. There was just so much you could give until you found yourself achingly empty, on the verge of breaking. She knew the feeling. "We all have our moments. It happens. The only thing that matters is that you feel better now. Do you?"
He took a deep breath before offering her a small smile. "Yeah. I feel better."
"Good." She squeezed his cheek, relieved once more. "Now," she went on, looking him in the eye, "Do you want to go on? We could resume where we left off, or we could stop here and go back to cuddles. Whatever you want. Your choice." She put a finger on his lips when he looked about to protest. "I don't mind either way, Ace. I'm paid not to mind. And I really don't. So it's up to you." She could feel he was still ready to go but it didn't mean he still wanted to.
A hand was in her hair, lowering her head toward his as he reached for her lips. "If you still want to, we could get back to it." She leaned in, grinning.
"Why wouldn't I want to?" she asked, folding her legs once more, reclaiming her weight but keeping him close. His smile grew fonder and she gently called his name. Warmth sparked in his eyes once more.
Oh what she would do for that look.
The brisk night wind ruffled Ace's hair as he went down the steep slope he had climbed hours before, playfully tickling his bare skin. He was walking back to the Moby Dick, moving forward with surer steps. He couldn't say lighter because he wasn't feeling that way. He felt more… appeased. Reined in.
A smile stretched his lips. He was in control again. His desperate plan had worked beyond his expectations. Hands were to his pockets as he raised his head to the starry sky. Its pressuring weight was gone and stars shone as bright as ever.
Oh what a night! Cursed and blessed all at once. How lucky he had been, finding her. Liz. Her patience and willingness and… It had all felt like a healing balm on his raw wounds.
They had chosen each other, over a look and a nod in the dimmed atmosphere of the brothel's hall. She humoured him, allowed his actions to speak louder than the few words he muttered. He refused to process it, the hate, the sheer horror of just being. He couldn't because it would be the death of him. He knew it. He had been there already. Too many times. That's why he needed a distraction. Light, warmth, life. Anything to help him hold onto the shreds of his humanity. Paying for it wasn't an issue – no matter how demeaning or hypocrite it felt afterwards.
Taking care of Liz had helped him push it all aside. He had been fine with cuddling and pleasing her only. Being able to touch someone without being rejected was enough already. He made sure she enjoyed it. And it felt good when she touched him too. Her hands reaching for him on instinct, caring in their own peculiar way.
He wanted it to be all about her but she didn't see it that way. They had playfully wrestled for control. It surprised him when she quietly expressed her wish to go even further than that.
He didn't need sex. Not in the way most people did. But in the end, he gave her the choice. He had seen her want and he hadn't mind giving her satisfaction. So he had handed over the control to her.
And then… He thought he had it all in check but it came crashing all back onto him. It was just… Too much. He hadn't been able to handle all those feelings. All at once. Overwhelming.
Shock had been at the forefront, along with realisation. And he couldn't help the tears and sobs that mixed pain and joy. Because her actions too had spoken louder than words: she wanted him. She needed him here and now. He processed it despite himself.
"Ace, you okay? Did I hurt you?"
He lied to her. Of course it hurt, feeling wanted. But it couldn't have been helped. And it wasn't her fault either. He was just too messed up. But it didn't stop people from acknowledging him. For who – they thought – he was. For what he had to offer.
The way she looked at him and called his name. The way she moved, ever mindful of his reactions: I see you, you're my equal and I want you if you want me too. That somehow unconditional acceptance hurt and healed him at the same time. They were still strangers to each other, hell she could have been part of Roger's haters for all he knew! She was a complete stranger and yet she cared. She was paid to, sure, but still… Her actions and words and looks had been more than just acting the way you're expected to in order to get paid.
No. She had been willing to be with him. They had had and had given choices, respecting limits and checking in to be sure all was right. That was how things should always work between every human beings. And how devastatingly good it felt! Finding someone who understood that.
No wonder he had been unsettled. Like often, kindness caught him off guard. And in his already frazzled state, he simply came undone.
Blue and red flickered in the distance but he didn't look back. He passed by the square once more. The bar was crowded now, waiters coming and going, laughter and an uplifting music filling the air. Someone called his name from the terrace. Deuce and some of his former crewmates. He could have reached out to him, after all he knew, but… He waved with a smile, not stopping.
He had considered telling her. Right there and then. Breaking apart and offering himself at his barest, rotten and unworthy. Giving her the choice, once more.
But he didn't want to ruin the moment, couldn't risk her rejection, couldn't risk endangering her, couldn't stand the uncertainty of her answer, the eventuality of being broken further apart. He didn't have that much faith, that much strength. He knew too well the heavy price you had to pay for knowing the truth. Even when you never asked for it in the first place.
That burden was his to carry.
So he fought and kept it all inside. Drinking it (the poison of his existence) to the dregs, bottling it up, corking it down. Until there was nothing but the two of them together, impossibly close, filled with want, full of desire, every movement eliciting pleasure and agony, achingly grounding them in the present.
Liz had been incredibly supportive. Anchoring him, guiding him through the haze, the mist that had so suddenly surrounded him. Her words, her touch, her patience… It was a biased, partial trust, he knew it, but he didn't know any other way, would never admit there were solid chances truth wouldn't backlash on him when finally out in the open. Six months and he had yet to tell any of the Whitebeards... He wasn't ready.
The gurgling of the fountain fading in his back, he kept on walking down the silent streets. The shore was in sight now, the Moby too.
When they had finally came down that fog that came with well-earned pleasure and casually settled against each other, breath heavy and limbs entangled, Liz had begun to talk. She wanted to know why he'd acted like he did, reticent to her touch, stubbornly taking care of her. Not that she had minded she said, but she couldn't help but wonder if he was truly okay about everything that had happened afterwards. And it'd warmed his heart realising how deeply she cared.
He had reassured her and explained himself the best he could without giving too much away. He had felt his cheeks and ears heating as he muttered "How stupid would I look, entering a brothel and asking for hugs only?" His tactics of focusing on the girl and refusing everything else worked most of the time. He paid for the comfort he couldn't seek from his crew or life itself, when he couldn't bring himself to explain nor ask. It was more convenient that way. It was hard admitting he was broken in more ways than one, but he didn't care what whoever he paid might think of him or his weird needs. Or at least he tried not to.
Liz had simply chuckled before raising herself on a shoulder to meet his eyes. Hers were glinting from the flickering lights outside as she smiled. "You'll always be welcome here, Ace."
He had smiled in turn, gently threading fingers in her hair. Yeah… He had guessed he was.
They had showered then, together. Making out gently, a farewell tenderness leading them. And they talked, voice still low, whispering, as if not to raise anyone's attention or break the strange spell of that strange timeless night. But time ticked by again and sand stopped its course down the hourglass. Their goodbyes weren't harrowing, only peaceful.
The Moby Dick was massive as ever.
The worn out coat was back on his shoulders, torn edges invisibly moving in the cool night breeze. He felt strong enough to face it all.
The gangplank creaked lightly under his steps and he inhaled, taking in the now salty air. Waves crashed against the hull as a light wind ruffled the furled sails. The deck was empty, the bonfire snuffed out, save for Izo waiting by the bulwark near the gangplank, a bottle at his side. He had changed again and was wearing a cotton dark yukata with a silky embroidered belt, hair still loose, feet bare.
"Oyaji's back in. The rest went to town," he greeted him with a light smile. Ace nodded before joining him. He heaved a deep sigh as they both looked at the calm docks and the flickering lights above. Laughs and shouts could be heard from time to time, brought by the wind.
"You didn't go with them?" Ace asked, intrigued.
"No." Plain, simple, a tell-tale. "And you? Not going to join them?"
"No."
Minutes went by before Izo drew a second cup out of nowhere and poured him a drink. He offered Ace his cup between his two pale hands. Ace instinctively reached for it with his own two hands and nodded in thanks. When the man willingly shared his sake, you couldn't decline.
They sipped in silence, Izo studying Ace's left profile as the kid's eyes were aimlessly roaming the docks.
"Tough night?"
"You can talk."
The cross-dresser let out a sigh, averting his gaze. "Yeah well, shit happens."
"Tell me about it... The meeting went wrong?"
Izo shook his head, looking back at the dancing lights of the port-town, fiddling with the front of his obi mindlessly. One of the undersashes was too loose. "There was no meeting at all. They refused to see me." He paused, looking down at his cup. "The boots did it. Marco was right." Bringing it to his lips he drank, brows furrowed with bitterness.
"There's nothing we can do?"
"They agreed to receive Marco tomorrow morning. Like I said we really need the intel but... No matter how strong we are, there are still people in this world we can't force to tell us anything. Not that brute force would help in that case... We should feel lucky they agreed to a second meeting…"
"They're just assholes."
"Hm. But I can't say I didn't know it was a possibility. Marco warned me." He had expected smugness or irritation. His brother's look when he came back to the Moby was only full of regrets and resignation. It hurt anyway.
"It shouldn't matter what you wear, as long as you're competent. And you are, Izo."
A small grateful smile blossomed on his face and he leaned against the bulwark, brushing their shoulders together.
"What about you?"
Ace sighed, not really knowing where to start, what to tell.
"You looked beyond restless earlier." Izo didn't dare say haunted. "But you look better now. Are you?" Genuine concern creased his pale face. He wouldn't pry if Ace didn't want to talk about it. The teenager had been with them for a solid six months but they all knew how secretive and withdrawn he could be. He was officially part of the family now, but he was still adjusting to it all.
"I am. I feel better."
Something in his tone gave it away. "A woman huh?" Izo asked, slightly wiggling his eyebrows. But Ace's answer caught him off guard, putting every thought of joke aside. A smile stretched the kid's lips as he answered, "Hm. The kindest soul."
The commander smiled in turn, nudging Ace's side slightly. "I'm glad."
The night went on, undisturbed, wood creaking, flag waving, waves lulling. Izo refilled their cups and kept casually standing guard. Someone was already watching over them up there in one of the crow's nests, and he knew for a fact – proven right way too many times – that even if they couldn't behave, at least his brothers could handle themselves. But it didn't matter, sometimes the worry was stronger anyway.
He would never admit he had been waiting for Ace to come back from wherever he went to get his mind right. Even battling his own misery, he had seen the struggle. And it stung when he realised Ace wasn't ready to confide in them, to ask them for whatever he needed to get better. Understanding they weren't there yet hurt.
Much to his relief, Ace had come back looking better. He now sat on the bulwark, legs dangling above the sea, features appeased with the slightest of smile gracing his lips, lighting up his eyes.
Izo could feel the fatigue in his bones, that taxing day finally settling in, demanding for him to get some rest. But the night was quiet, the weather calm and if not that comfortable, the Moby's wood was giving him a safe support. He knew he could last a little longer. And he wanted to be absolutely sure that everything was okay with Ace.
It's grunts and whispered curses coming from the docks that drew their attention, breaking the companionable silence they had fallen in. Soon enough, heavy steps clanked on the gangplank and three silhouettes jumped down on the deck.
"I swear…" A hand dusted off a dark top hat before placing it back on a head. A pained grimace revealed the whitest teeth.
"Good thing we have no alliance with this town." The thick click of a lighter resounded, lighting briefly a dishevelled pompadour and the characteristic swelling of a split lip. The man let the smoke out with a sigh and the smell of tobacco had Izo finally snapping out of it.
"Thatch? Vista? Marco? What happened to you guys?" Ace was still sitting on the bulwark, contorting to look at them, a shocked look on his face.
Blue flames were flowing out from cuts on Marco's cheekbones and arms, giving a strange dangerous glow to his eyes.
"What did you do?" Izo's voice sliced through the night, accusing, suspicious. Definitely not worried.
"Tch," was the Phoenix's only answer as he walked a few steps away, trying to rein his fury in. Wings flickered briefly before disappearing, darkening the night, and Izo finally took in the three commanders. Looking a bit worse for wear with angered gaze and tattered clothes, that could only mean one thing…
"A bar brawl, really? How old are you, twelve?"
"Well, it seems it was Roger's death anniversary today," Vista said.
"Everyone's out there drunk and talking shit…" Thatch added, waving his cigarette.
Marco came back to them, rubbing tiredly at his face. "We changed bar twice but…"
"We got tired of hearing those drunk bastards' nonsense."
"We lost our cool." Marco shrugged, dismissive. A bit too laid back for Izo to take the bait. They were still pissed. They craved for more.
The crossdresser leaned back against the solid wood with a wicked grin, only to frown moments later when he realised Ace's tense shoulders. Their youngest was once again looking down at the sea below him, strands of hair casting shadows on his face.
"But we couldn't let them badmouth one of our finest rivals!" Vista touched his eyebrow, grimacing once more.
"Wait, I'll get us something," Thatch muttered before reaching for the bulwark. Izo slapped his hand away from his bottle of sake. "There's rum over the fire." The cook tsked but complied, walking away.
"So you fought," the sixteenth's division Commander went on.
"And we're the one they kicked out of the bar!" Thatch scoffed in the distance. "Wait, is that marshmallows?"
Izo hid a snicker as he refilled his and Ace's cups. Marco sat next to their still quiet brother with a sigh, back facing the town.
"Look what I found!" Thatch grinned, Ace's hat on his head, as he came back with an armful of bottles and mugs he set down at their feet.
Marco took the orange cap from Thatch and placed it back on their fire user's head. The motion startled Ace from wherever his mind had wandered. He instinctively put a hand on it, muttering "Oh thanks, I forgot…" Marco frowned at Izo who could only shrug with a raise of his eyebrows, just as clueless. It was unusual for Ace to go anywhere without his hat.
"Found a dishtowel too. Looks clean," Thatch went on, oblivious to their silent exchange, sniffing it. He tore it in two and poured rum on it before throwing one end to Vista. "There."
A string of curses flowed out his mouth as he dabbed his end on the cut on his cheek.
Ace finally reacted, looking taken back at the two injured commanders. "Are they…"
"Disinfecting their wounds with the alcohol they just found? Yes. Let's hope Jillian will never find that out, huh?" Izo looked at Marco expectantly over Ace's shoulders but the Phoenix shrugged again.
"I'm in no mood to play doctor, yoi." He drank from his mug. "And they started it, so…"
"Again with that…"
"I only jumped in because you were getting your ass kicked, Thatch."
"Ah! As if! You were only looking for a reason to land a few punches!"
"I wouldn't put that past you, yeah…" Izo quipped in with a smile as his brother grunted in frustration.
Vista hissed, applying the wet rag on his bruised forehead with a dubious look. "Really, what a night! To think people celebrate Roger's death… And I know losing our temper probably wasn't the appropriate answer but… You heard them too, Marco. Those things they said about a hypothetical offspring. Talking that way… It wasn't right to let it slide either."
"Who cares if Roger had a kid anyway?" Thatch shook his head. "Maybe they exist, maybe they don't!"
"But if there is a kid, that would mean Roger had finally found his feminine match."
Izo whistled at the perspective. "My, Vista… And what an amazing woman that would be, hm? What do you think, Marco?"
"I just hope he found happiness even after he parted with his crew, yoi."
Ace scoffed, shaking his head, dispelling the warm smile of a strawberry-blond woman. "He surrendered and was executed. How's that for happy?"
Silence met his harsh words, as they all pondered over the man's tragic fate.
"Still, Roger's child… Please admit even the mere idea is exciting. A true heir to the Pirate Throne. How could one deny such a legacy?"
"Guys, I think Vista's back to fanboy mode," Thatch whispered to them, goofy grin hidden behind his tankard.
"Oh you think?" Izo smirked.
Their words and action had warmed something inside him, but the sake tasted bitter on his tongue as Ace spoke again. "Not all princes wish to be king."
"Oh yeah and you know that because?" Shit, there went playing it low.
"Shut up Thatch or I'll flambé you with that rum," he said, lighting his fingertips.
"Oh! You savage! Come on Marco, say something!"
The Phoenix didn't move an inch, more interested in hearing what Ace had to say. The young man was scowling, annoyed. "I just know it. Don't you hear what people say about him on a daily basis? Do you really think Gold Roger's kid would want to live up to his father's fame, to be crowned the new Pirate King?" He raised a hand as Vista opened his mouth. "And it doesn't matter that you're a happy few that knew him for real. Do you truly think he would want to prove anything to anyone when everyone think Roger is a monster that's better off dead?"
Of course he would want to. He'd die trying to prove he was worth more than his coward of a father ever was. He'd do anything to erase that name from the collective memory, to wipe it off all those ugly lips. Only to replace it by his own. If Ace ever had a say in it, Gold Roger would only be a hazy reminiscence of a long-forgotten past.
Or so he had thought when he first set sail, yearning for fame, or when he challenged Whitebeard again and again, yearning for recognition. Consumed by the hatred the world had ingrained in him since his first heartbeat, he saw no other way to free himself from Roger's stifling shadow. But how to kill your father when he was already dead? How to compete with a ghost?
Fighting against Whitebeard, he realised he couldn't. He wasn't strong enough. And as long as people remembered Roger, he wouldn't succeed. But the Pirate King was a legend now, one that defied time and life. Even with the death of the last man that ever met him, good or bad, the world would still know about Gold Roger. Nothing could rival that.
Ace had learned the hard way that he would never surpass Roger. Beaten by Newgate, defeated by his own thoughts, he'd realised he had been wrong all along. And as much as he proclaimed time and time again that he didn't owe anything to his genitor, he'd had to admit that his resentment towards the man had driven him all those years. Maybe he gave him too much importance, maybe he should've just given up. Roger was dead and he wasn't. He had sworn years ago to live his life to its fullest, without regrets and maybe, more than saying Gold Roger wasn't his father, wasn't worth his thoughts, he should really accept it and let it go.
He didn't have to cling to his hatred anymore and he might have been afraid of giving it up, afraid he would have nothing left, would be empty but he wasn't. He had met caring and welcoming people waiting for him to be part of their family.
So he had joined Whitebeard, pledged allegiance and became his son.
"It's just a word, but it makes us happy!"
And now, he was trying his damnedest to let go, to stand in the light, to see the future for himself. Was it a good thing that I was born? Freed from his hatred for Roger, he could finally seek answers and seize his right to live, to find out on his own. Sure, some days were harder than others and he wasn't protected from people's words or his own thoughts but he tried. He tried.
Wind ruffled his hair and his hat and he heaved a deep sigh, easing the tension that had built itself in his body at the night's events mention. He had thought in silence, unwittingly muting the beginning of Vista's answer to his words.
"–and no child should ever have to grow up hearing all this nonsense about their parents. I can't imagine what it must feel like…"
"No you can't," he retorted with a wry smile, half turned towards him, meeting his eyes. He was about to add something when he glanced at Thatch's and Marco's expression. They looked worried. Now was probably not the time. He turned back to face the port.
"But I wouldn't know either. Whitebeard is my only father after all."
Izo smiled, putting his empty cup back on the bulwark. Gaining Ace's trust required a constant effort and gauging when to pry and when not to wasn't always easy.
"Damn right, brother!" Thatch exclaimed at the sudden mood change.
They all exchanged proud looks behind Ace's back as a casual smile stretched Marco's lips. They weren't there yet but they were making progress, Izo could tell. Time was on their side anyway.
Vista stretched with a yawn. "Tired already?" Thatch teased as the man grunted, reaching for a bottle.
"I certainly could have used a little warm-up before the actual fight. They did throw some nasty punches."
Marco chuckled. "Yeah, we all should go and sleep this fucking day off." He casted a knowing glance towards Izo who grimaced.
"We'll buy breakfast tomorrow. No way I'm waking up in a couple hours to cook for you all," Thatch warned as he eyed the sky that didn't look so dark anymore. Stars twinkled feebly.
They all moved as one, quietly heading for the door but Marco noticed someone was walking towards the other side of the deck, the part facing the vast open sea.
"Ace?"
The young man turned to look at them. "Dawn is near. I want to see the sunrise and then I'll head back in. Good night." He smiled with a small wave before resuming his walk. He perched himself on the bulwark and Marco looked at Izo, surprised. Was he really expecting them to leave him alone here?
Vista and Thatch were already gone but Izo closed smoothly the door behind them and joined Marco as he walked towards the railing. They sat on each side of Ace and he jumped, startled by the gesture.
"I'd like to see it too," Izo supplied with a genuine grin.
"Yes, it's always nice, yoi," Marco added.
Their brother's expression faltered, quickly hidden by his hat as he ducked his head away from prying eyes. Izo looked at the Phoenix, nodding and, they inched closer to Ace.
Their shoulders brushing together and their gaze bound to the horizon, they waited in silence.
Ray after ray, golden disc slowly emerging from the dark water, the sun finally came out, dazzling, soothing. And if there were tears in his eyes, Ace blamed the brightness of it all.
With the rise of the light, the certainty of a new day beginning and the warmth provided by friendly shoulders, he smiled, grateful.
There. I started this one-shot last year in August and struggled so hard because it was about Ace and I needed to do right by him. He's downright my favourite character, I feel for him more than I like to admit and the story he chose to tell was heavy both in hurt and comfort.
The lyrics of the song "How to be human" were a huge inspiration, along with several things that happened in Repossession by Harmonica Smile (amazing piece of work but heed the warnings).
I wasn't sure I could pull it off the way we (me and the characters) intended to. I got stuck several times, several weeks, several months. NaNoWriMo helped but the struggles and the hurt were too real sometimes. I finally finished it in April, during the lockdown, after reading the novel about Ace. I couldn't have written this one-shot without knowing everything canon about him. To say what I learned from the books disturbed me would be a euphemism. It threw me off kilter. Acknowledged things we've been working in on the fandom for years. Showed me things I never considered before on Ace. A new perspective almost. A better understanding at least. And then it was over.
The ending changed thrice but I did it. We finally reached the end. I did it. And I'm proud.
In case you wondered, I headcanon Ace as a sex-neutral asexual. Possibly demisexual, not sure. But for me he's definitely on the spectrum.
Also, two statements:
1) Sex work is work. And all sex workers should be able to practice willingly and in the safest conditions. Also, we should stop putting the blame on sex workers for every crap in this world by being more creative in our slurs.
2) Asexuals are not broken (Ace just doesn't know better). You're not broken, your feelings are valid and you deserve to be loved no matter what.
I spent the past months rereading and editing all the one-shots I've ever shared for Sparks. The work of four incredible and trying years. I've now uploaded them all with mostly minor corrections. The first one, on Izo, received more edits because of the things we've learned about him during the Wano Arc. And as I am partly canon-compliant, I wanted it to fit.
Now that everything's in order, I think I'll cross-post it to AO3. I really like the tagging system there. And to be completely honest, I might get more feedback than what I am currently receiving here.
I'm grateful for the support, voiced or silent, you've given me these past four years regardless.
I hope you're safe wherever you are and I wish you the best for the end of this year.
Take care,
Lily.