D (pt 4)
Yey, I finished the next two parts. I'm only posting two this time, but they're longer than the previous ones. Hmm... I think that by the time I complete the next part, I will be halfway done. :D
I now understand how to make LJ cuts with HTML! So I can keep posting without annoying big blobs and without bothering Hosio.
And as an unrelated note, I'm now the same age as Luffy haha. So this is my act of birthday benevolence. <3
Title: D
Info: WIP (will be posted in parts as I finish them)
Genre: Strangeness
Rating: T
Pairing: Smoker/Ace eventually
Summary: I'm screwing with your mind. 8D
--
“… Despair…”
--
It was dark and stormy. Rain fell in a suffocating deluge.
Being a man of his word, Smoker went to the D.s’ home that dismal, summer Sunday… with an umbrella. And a coat. Nevertheless, he infested the large house with impertinent puddles - Luffy was amused, and Smoker was not. In order to divert suspicion, Smoker made sure he was completely dry before he went to the attic.
To Smoker’s slight disconcertion, Ace could not be found. “Ace?” he called. Nobody answered. Then he saw the lump on the bed. “Ace?” Smoker called again. “Say something.”
The Lump shifted, but said nothing.
Smoker walked forward until he was next to The Lump. “Ace…”
“Windows…” A distorted plea from The Lump.
“There’s no point,” Smoker declared, frowning. “It’s dark outside. It’s impossible to see anything. Drawing open the curtains won’t do any good.”
“Windows,” The Lump insisted; The Lump was stubborn.
“Ace, there’s barely any light outside,” Smoker explained patiently.
The Lump shed its wrinkled exoskeleton and Ace sat up, clothing and dark hair in rumpled disarray. “Windows!” he demanded.
“Stop acting like a child!” snapped Smoker. “You can deal with not having the drapes open once, can’t you?”
A brief silence. “Smoker… I can’t…” Ace admitted shakily, answering a question properly for the first time. ”Windows…”
His voice is trembling, Smoker noted, before wondering: Are his hands shaking too? But he couldn’t find out, for there was no light to see with. Silently, Smoker fulfilled Ace’s request.
Ace jumped up and clumsily dashed to the window pane. He pressed his face and palms against the glass, and his warm breath fogged the cool surface. “Thanks,” Ace whispered, eyes following the jeweled trails the raindrops left on his window. The downpour continued outside.
Smoker stood next to him. “You could’ve opened them on your own,” he pointed out.
A small shake of the head. “Only you can open the windows,” Ace stated matter-of-factly, as if what he said was an undeniable, universal law. When faced with a questioning stare, Ace explained (in his fashion), “You were the first one to do so, therefore you have to keep opening the windows…”
The dim light that was barely there cast a bluish glow on Ace. Smoker was… uneasy about how it emphasized the sun-deprived paleness of Ace’s body, making him seem nearly wraithlike with the taut, white skin and dark, dark eyes… Ace was like an apparition, like a ghostly figure… like something that would fade away… like someone that was already…
And Smoker refused to complete his thoughts.
“I’m glad you opened the windows,” Ace said quietly, startling Smoker out of his morbid meditation. “Now I can have my weekly photosynthesis.”
Not really knowing what to say to a proclamation like that, Smoker blandly stated, “Ace, you’re not a plant.”
“Silly Smoker, I know that,” Ace chided. He became quiet. “You know… I’m really happy when you visit,” the freckled man mumbled. “Because you talk with me! And it’s fun. And there’s usually sun…” A pause. “Normally, there’s only a teeny amount of sun that gets in through the teeny gap between the drapes.” He used his two index fingers and drew a vertical line in the air. “It’s not much…”
Smoker stayed silent.
“I… I don’t like the dark,” whispered Ace.
“Why?” Smoker asked.
“I don’t like the dark,” Ace repeated. He bit his bottom lip. “I’m glad you opened the windows… There… isn’t much light outside, but right now it’s brighter than usual! One hundred sixty seven hours of darkness… S-so I’m glad you opened the windows,” Ace said shakily. “It’s been raining for days and days… a-and the curtains were closed… and… and…”
“Ace?” Smoker said, concerned.
Ace did not respond. He was crying.
“It’ll stop raining soon,” Smoker said firmly, masking his inner turmoil with a steady voice. “Don’t worry… the sun will come back…”
“I hate it in here,” Ace said for the first time, sobbing. “I hate it in here…”
After a moment of deliberation, Smoker pulled Ace into an awkward embrace, unsure of how to comfort the upset man. “I promise to always open the windows,” he vowed quietly.
“I hate it in here…” Ace whispered. He rubbed at his eyes. “Now I’m raining too,” he noted. “Why won’t it stop raining…?” He dissolved into more tears shortly after.
“Idiot, your eyes don’t rain,” Smoker sighed, frowning. He dragged the unsteady, younger man to the bed and made him sit down. “The rain will stop eventually…”
“When?” Ace asked, sniffling.
“Soon,” Smoker promised.
Ace buried his dripping face into Smoker’s shoulder. “Okay, I trust you,” he said quietly. “… The dark will go away,” he said… then he said it again and again, like a mantra. “The dark will go away, the dark will go away, the dark will go away… because you’ll always open the windows…” He closed his tired, raining eyes.
And they held each other silently as the sky continued to cry…
--
“… Dystopia…”
--
“When was the last time you went outside?” Smoker asked.
Ace looked at him blankly. “Umm…” he hummed, his mind calculating rapidly. “I have been up here, as of now, for one hundred six thousand four hundred eighty eight hours, twenty one min --“
“In normal terms,” Smoker interrupted. Then he regretted his word choice.
If Ace felt slighted, he showed no outward sign. Instead, he said, “I haven’t left this house for approximately twelve years.”
Smoker was stunned. “Twelve,” he echoed.
“Approximately twelve,” Ace corrected.
“… How old are you?”
Being uncharacteristically cooperative, Ace almost answered straightforwardly. “This has been my home since I was around ten years old.” Smoker swore after a few seconds, and Ace continued. “Actually, we used to live somewhere else, but we moved into this big house… because of me…”
“And you’ve never, ever gone outside in all this time?” Smoker said, incredulous and enraged at the same time.
Ace looked down at Smoker’s feet. “N-no,” he replied quickly.
At first, Smoker was astonished that Ace had answered him (twice in a year - it’s a new record!) immediately and coherently. Then he realized Ace had lied. “Tell me the truth,” Smoker commanded indignantly.
“… Eighteen times,” Ace said timidly.
“Garp let you?” Smoker said skeptically. He saw Ace’s averted gaze and hunched shoulders. “Ah. He doesn’t know.”
“Well, yeah… otherwise you wouldn’t be here right now…” mumbled Ace.
Smoker frowned, thinking deeply. “You never even look outside when I’m here,” Smoker noted aloud. “The windows are wide open, but you don’t look.”
“Somebody might see me,” Ace said defensively. “Then Garp would become angry. ‘Nervous’ people should stay indoors!” he boomed, mimicking his grandfather.
“But you do look outside,” accused Smoker. “You’ve counted things, haven’t you?”
This made Ace silent. “I hate it in here,” Ace said slowly, “and I think - maybe - that I always have… But I hate it out there too…” He paused before explaining. “There’s nothing for me out there, just like in here. So there’s no difference, really. But out there is also everything… it’s better… to just not see it…”
“That’s ridiculous,” Smoker declared, scowling. “You’ll waste away in here. Even I can see that.”
“Probably,” Ace agreed absently. His face clouded. “It’s dark out there, too… a different kind of dark. It’s dark outside,” he whispered, quoting Smoker from a week long past. “It’s impossible to see anything… There’s nothing out there. Nothing at all…”
Why? Smoker wondered darkly. When had Ace become afraid of the world? A world that would have
likely filled his younger self with unbridled admiration and awe?
Yet now Ace, confined for far too many years, was afraid to even look outside; afraid to look at a brother that had grown beyond recognition; afraid to watch old things disappear; afraid to watch new things appear; afraid to see things around him age while he couldn’t even see himself. He was afraid to see a world that wouldn’t stop; a world that added and added and added seconds, minutes, hours, days, years, endlessly and endlessly and endlessly…
… Afraid to look outside and see a world that had left him behind… alone…
“The world is so bright for an hour,” Ace suddenly said, “after one hundred sixty seven hours…” He smiled wryly. “My weekly photosynthesis.”
“Moron,” Smoker said bitterly. “Even plants grow better outdoors…”
--
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I now understand how to make LJ cuts with HTML! So I can keep posting without annoying big blobs and without bothering Hosio.
And as an unrelated note, I'm now the same age as Luffy haha. So this is my act of birthday benevolence. <3
Title: D
Info: WIP (will be posted in parts as I finish them)
Genre: Strangeness
Rating: T
Pairing: Smoker/Ace eventually
Summary: I'm screwing with your mind. 8D
--
“… Despair…”
--
It was dark and stormy. Rain fell in a suffocating deluge.
Being a man of his word, Smoker went to the D.s’ home that dismal, summer Sunday… with an umbrella. And a coat. Nevertheless, he infested the large house with impertinent puddles - Luffy was amused, and Smoker was not. In order to divert suspicion, Smoker made sure he was completely dry before he went to the attic.
To Smoker’s slight disconcertion, Ace could not be found. “Ace?” he called. Nobody answered. Then he saw the lump on the bed. “Ace?” Smoker called again. “Say something.”
The Lump shifted, but said nothing.
Smoker walked forward until he was next to The Lump. “Ace…”
“Windows…” A distorted plea from The Lump.
“There’s no point,” Smoker declared, frowning. “It’s dark outside. It’s impossible to see anything. Drawing open the curtains won’t do any good.”
“Windows,” The Lump insisted; The Lump was stubborn.
“Ace, there’s barely any light outside,” Smoker explained patiently.
The Lump shed its wrinkled exoskeleton and Ace sat up, clothing and dark hair in rumpled disarray. “Windows!” he demanded.
“Stop acting like a child!” snapped Smoker. “You can deal with not having the drapes open once, can’t you?”
A brief silence. “Smoker… I can’t…” Ace admitted shakily, answering a question properly for the first time. ”Windows…”
His voice is trembling, Smoker noted, before wondering: Are his hands shaking too? But he couldn’t find out, for there was no light to see with. Silently, Smoker fulfilled Ace’s request.
Ace jumped up and clumsily dashed to the window pane. He pressed his face and palms against the glass, and his warm breath fogged the cool surface. “Thanks,” Ace whispered, eyes following the jeweled trails the raindrops left on his window. The downpour continued outside.
Smoker stood next to him. “You could’ve opened them on your own,” he pointed out.
A small shake of the head. “Only you can open the windows,” Ace stated matter-of-factly, as if what he said was an undeniable, universal law. When faced with a questioning stare, Ace explained (in his fashion), “You were the first one to do so, therefore you have to keep opening the windows…”
The dim light that was barely there cast a bluish glow on Ace. Smoker was… uneasy about how it emphasized the sun-deprived paleness of Ace’s body, making him seem nearly wraithlike with the taut, white skin and dark, dark eyes… Ace was like an apparition, like a ghostly figure… like something that would fade away… like someone that was already…
And Smoker refused to complete his thoughts.
“I’m glad you opened the windows,” Ace said quietly, startling Smoker out of his morbid meditation. “Now I can have my weekly photosynthesis.”
Not really knowing what to say to a proclamation like that, Smoker blandly stated, “Ace, you’re not a plant.”
“Silly Smoker, I know that,” Ace chided. He became quiet. “You know… I’m really happy when you visit,” the freckled man mumbled. “Because you talk with me! And it’s fun. And there’s usually sun…” A pause. “Normally, there’s only a teeny amount of sun that gets in through the teeny gap between the drapes.” He used his two index fingers and drew a vertical line in the air. “It’s not much…”
Smoker stayed silent.
“I… I don’t like the dark,” whispered Ace.
“Why?” Smoker asked.
“I don’t like the dark,” Ace repeated. He bit his bottom lip. “I’m glad you opened the windows… There… isn’t much light outside, but right now it’s brighter than usual! One hundred sixty seven hours of darkness… S-so I’m glad you opened the windows,” Ace said shakily. “It’s been raining for days and days… a-and the curtains were closed… and… and…”
“Ace?” Smoker said, concerned.
Ace did not respond. He was crying.
“It’ll stop raining soon,” Smoker said firmly, masking his inner turmoil with a steady voice. “Don’t worry… the sun will come back…”
“I hate it in here,” Ace said for the first time, sobbing. “I hate it in here…”
After a moment of deliberation, Smoker pulled Ace into an awkward embrace, unsure of how to comfort the upset man. “I promise to always open the windows,” he vowed quietly.
“I hate it in here…” Ace whispered. He rubbed at his eyes. “Now I’m raining too,” he noted. “Why won’t it stop raining…?” He dissolved into more tears shortly after.
“Idiot, your eyes don’t rain,” Smoker sighed, frowning. He dragged the unsteady, younger man to the bed and made him sit down. “The rain will stop eventually…”
“When?” Ace asked, sniffling.
“Soon,” Smoker promised.
Ace buried his dripping face into Smoker’s shoulder. “Okay, I trust you,” he said quietly. “… The dark will go away,” he said… then he said it again and again, like a mantra. “The dark will go away, the dark will go away, the dark will go away… because you’ll always open the windows…” He closed his tired, raining eyes.
And they held each other silently as the sky continued to cry…
--
“… Dystopia…”
--
“When was the last time you went outside?” Smoker asked.
Ace looked at him blankly. “Umm…” he hummed, his mind calculating rapidly. “I have been up here, as of now, for one hundred six thousand four hundred eighty eight hours, twenty one min --“
“In normal terms,” Smoker interrupted. Then he regretted his word choice.
If Ace felt slighted, he showed no outward sign. Instead, he said, “I haven’t left this house for approximately twelve years.”
Smoker was stunned. “Twelve,” he echoed.
“Approximately twelve,” Ace corrected.
“… How old are you?”
Being uncharacteristically cooperative, Ace almost answered straightforwardly. “This has been my home since I was around ten years old.” Smoker swore after a few seconds, and Ace continued. “Actually, we used to live somewhere else, but we moved into this big house… because of me…”
“And you’ve never, ever gone outside in all this time?” Smoker said, incredulous and enraged at the same time.
Ace looked down at Smoker’s feet. “N-no,” he replied quickly.
At first, Smoker was astonished that Ace had answered him (twice in a year - it’s a new record!) immediately and coherently. Then he realized Ace had lied. “Tell me the truth,” Smoker commanded indignantly.
“… Eighteen times,” Ace said timidly.
“Garp let you?” Smoker said skeptically. He saw Ace’s averted gaze and hunched shoulders. “Ah. He doesn’t know.”
“Well, yeah… otherwise you wouldn’t be here right now…” mumbled Ace.
Smoker frowned, thinking deeply. “You never even look outside when I’m here,” Smoker noted aloud. “The windows are wide open, but you don’t look.”
“Somebody might see me,” Ace said defensively. “Then Garp would become angry. ‘Nervous’ people should stay indoors!” he boomed, mimicking his grandfather.
“But you do look outside,” accused Smoker. “You’ve counted things, haven’t you?”
This made Ace silent. “I hate it in here,” Ace said slowly, “and I think - maybe - that I always have… But I hate it out there too…” He paused before explaining. “There’s nothing for me out there, just like in here. So there’s no difference, really. But out there is also everything… it’s better… to just not see it…”
“That’s ridiculous,” Smoker declared, scowling. “You’ll waste away in here. Even I can see that.”
“Probably,” Ace agreed absently. His face clouded. “It’s dark out there, too… a different kind of dark. It’s dark outside,” he whispered, quoting Smoker from a week long past. “It’s impossible to see anything… There’s nothing out there. Nothing at all…”
Why? Smoker wondered darkly. When had Ace become afraid of the world? A world that would have
likely filled his younger self with unbridled admiration and awe?
Yet now Ace, confined for far too many years, was afraid to even look outside; afraid to look at a brother that had grown beyond recognition; afraid to watch old things disappear; afraid to watch new things appear; afraid to see things around him age while he couldn’t even see himself. He was afraid to see a world that wouldn’t stop; a world that added and added and added seconds, minutes, hours, days, years, endlessly and endlessly and endlessly…
… Afraid to look outside and see a world that had left him behind… alone…
“The world is so bright for an hour,” Ace suddenly said, “after one hundred sixty seven hours…” He smiled wryly. “My weekly photosynthesis.”
“Moron,” Smoker said bitterly. “Even plants grow better outdoors…”
--
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