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the-bar-sinister · 13 days ago

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Fire in the Belly, Spirits on the Tongue (50119 words) by VickytheSnake, thesavagesabretooth Chapters: 11/?

Summary: Sabo promised that he wouldn't leave the Revolutionary army, but what will become of the three of them now that Ace is awake and alive in his heart, and more importantly, his body?

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There was a sloshing sound as a bottle of wine dropped into the dirt beside where Deuce was kneeling. He'd been there a while now, his mind heavy. His flintlock was heavier at his hip as the minutes ticked by into oblivion before him. The world felt like it'd narrowed inwards until Ace's grave was all there was.

He didn't care how much time passed, or the rumble of hunger in his stomach as he let himself sit and marinate in his memories of his captain in the shadow of all that remained of him and in the shadow of Whitebeard.

It was only the slosh of wine and the thump of the bottle that roused him enough to look up with tired eyes.

"Hey." Emperor Shanks loomed over him, Red Haired Shanks himself—the man who'd so graciously given him a ride to this spot of dirt.

"Am I in your way?" Deuce murmured quietly.

"Nah. Thought you and Ace could use some company. Brought a drink." Red Haired Shanks squatted down next to him. They hadn't talked much on the journey over. Unlike Crocodile, he'd made no great effort to draw him out of his shell.

It'd made him a little nervous. Crocodile was disarming; Shanks was admittedly distant, and the stories about him made him out to be a capricious and often unpredictable emperor of the sea. And by all measure, Deuce used to be his rival's doctor.

Still, he carefully grabbed the bottle with a small smile. "Thanks, I'd have just sat here and gotten lost in my own head without a drink, sir."

"I know that feeling," Shanks said with a nod. "Sometimes it feels like a good bottle of wine is the only thing keeping my head attached."

"You too, huh?" Deuce couldn't hide his muted surprise as he opened the bottle and raised it to his lips. "I'm not suicidal enough—yet—to ask what's got an Emperor's mind wandering into itself."

"Hah!" Shanks smiled, but there was little joy in it. He slapped Deuce companionably across the shoulders. "Cheers to that. I wouldn't tell you anyway. Besides the obvious you know. Good men dying. The world moving on. Hard stuff to swallow. The wine goes down easier."

"A good man did die, yeah." Ace died. You couldn't get enough wine in him to say Whitebeard was a good man now that he was free of his back-patting yes men. He took a long swig of wine, after he was done rocking forward from Shanks' slap. He gave the man a tired smile. "The world doesn't move on for everyone, though."

"Guess not," he agreed quietly. "There are some days you never quite move on from. Your body just keeps going by itself, and you're still back there."

"Talking from experience," Deuce offered him the bottle as he looked at Ace's hat again. "In a way it ain't that different from being dead, is it?"

Shanks took the bottle, his rough fingers brushing Deuce's for a moment and he took a long, sloppy drink from it.

"Donno, never been dead." He shook his head and took another drink before he passed it back. "My crew's shoving off from this island in three days. What's your plan, kid? Might be pretty hard for you to get out of here unless you hitch another ride with me."

The emperor's piercing eyes swept over him, assessing him.

Deuce held tight to the bottle. Going with Shanks likely meant the fast track into another emperor's crew. Sure, maybe it'd just start as another hitched ride—but he knew that look. It spoke volumes—he was being judged right then and there. Like a visitor at the gates of heaven and hell.

He raised it to his lips and tried to think about how to answer, finally murmuring. "Three days, huh. I—I think I'm going to need to stay here a little longer than that. I've been thinking about finishing my novel. Maybe being near Ace'll inspire me. He's the reason I started in the first place, anyway."

"Yeah?" Shanks raised his chin, giving him that assessing look again. He pointed a finger at him. "Alright, but I want you to promise me one thing, kid. You don't leave before I do."

A thrill of power seemed to tremble through the air. The emperor's famous will. His haki. Deuce realized that Shanks had caught him— knew what he was thinking about. Maybe didn't want it on his conscience if Deuce decided dead men had it better than the living after all.

Deuce shuddered and his teeth set on edge as he gave him his best attempt at a smile through the tingle of haki. He had resistance to it—thanks perhaps to his bloodline, his family's borrowed power before he disavowed them and fled. But Emperor Shanks was on a whole other level.

"P-promise. I promise you, sir."

"Good." Shanks looked out towards the mountain, where little windmills dotted the hills. The place was pastoral. Verdant. "It's a pretty little place, I'll give it that. I can imagine wanting to stay for a while. Maybe it'll help with your book."

Deuce swallowed his pessimism with a sip of wine and looked up at the sky.

"Maybe it will. Fitting place as any for it to end, if nothin' else. It was mostly about my captain, anyway. He was the kind of man they wrote adventure stories about."

Shanks rested his hand on Deuce's shoulder. "I used to have a buddy who loved stories like that. I hope I'll get to read this one."

"A buddy huh? If they're still around, maybe share it with him when I'm done." Deuce sipped his drink. "...I'll at least finish that before anything else. After that, I dunno."

"Sensible position, kid." Shanks nodded. "You never know what the future holds. Might look over your shoulder and see a whole new world."

There was something about his tone that made it impossible for Deuce to judge how Shanks felt about what he was saying; whether he was hopeful for some new world, or deeply afraid.

And if an Emperor was that hopeful—if an Emperor was that afraid, what chance did a washed up former doctor like him have when the whole new world arrived?

Deuce raised his bottle with a weak smile. "What's that thing they say about interesting times? Can't wait."

The voyage was one of the more nerve-racking Koala had been on, further into the Grand Line than most people ever sailed. Over the days at sea, thankfully the smuggling ship was never attacked, but twice they hit patches of rough weather that tossed the ship craft like a toy in the waves.

It wasn't the roughest boat ride she'd ever had, that'd been the slaver ship on its way to Sabaody from her home village. But this—this certainly brought up memories with its cramped quarters and atmosphere of tense and anxious anticipation.

She'd had to distract herself from it, it was all too much. So she took solace instead in the growing and firmly romantic relationship that had formed between her, Ace and Sabo. She spent some days curled up against them, distracting herself with conversations about whatever random thing crossed her mind—as well as questions about this first mate they were going to grab.

What sort of man was he? What should she expect? Was he the kind of guy who was gonna get weird about sharing a boyfriend who was sharing a body? It was practical intel, really, but mostly it was all so she could distract herself from the sharp rocking of the ship. She'd heard plenty about him now. Lots of stories. Ace was pretty sure he wouldn't mind sharing, but he couldn't say for sure, given the oddity of the situation.

On the last day, though, as they approached the little island, the weather was calm and clear. She'd taken to hanging on Sabo and Ace's arm, not sure which of them was at the 'front' just yet, but content to lean her head against their shoulder as she watched the unassuming island approach.

They had their arm softly around her, cheek rested on her head, looking out at the island as it grew closer.

"It's pretty," they murmured.

"It is, isn't it?" She mused as she watched the windmills in the distance slowly turn. It was idyllic—it looked like the picture of a peaceful little town on the sea. Whether that beauty was skin deep or not was up for debate. This far into Emperor's territory, the Revolutionary Army's intel was spottier.

"Guess it's not a terrible place to be buried." Ace's voice. Hollow, and distant, and sad, despite the fact that they were smiling.

Koala looked up at him, before she leaned back more firmly against him.

"Ace…" She was sure he probably would have chosen somewhere else—somewhere closer to some of his better memories instead of a strange island in the middle of Whitebeard's territory. Or maybe it was just the wistful and surreal sadness of being on the way to visit your own grave.

Either way, she nuzzled her head against him with a weak smile before she tried to lighten things up with a joke. "It's not a grave place for a burial, it's true. It could be worse, yeah?"

He chuckled and stroked his fingers down her arm til he grabbed her wrist, and pulled her closer to him, to look at her, rather than at the island. "Not a grave place. That's terrible, Ko. I love it."

'Ko'-- he'd started calling her that a few days before. When Sabo called her pet names it was always dear, darling, beloved, flower of my heart. Ace called her 'Ko' with the same kind of affectionate sparkle in his eyes.

Koala's face flushed over her wide grin, looking into his eyes with a buzz of affection. She'd like it—it was another difference between them that charmed her as much as the flowery and pet names Sabo had used. 'Ko'.

She leaned in to nuzzle the tip of her nose against his with a laugh.

"I thought you might, Ace! And–if we're lucky, we can find a place for some gravy after we're done with the grave. Preferably with something to put it on. I'm sure you're already tired of galley food as I am."

He laughed and leaned in, before kissing her nose.

"Appealing to my stomach. You already know me too well, Ko. Yeah I hope so, too. " He looked out at the island again, and voiced the concern that had been sitting in Koala's chest too. "I don't see the Red Force. We may have missed him."

Koala smiled weakly. "Maybe he stayed behind? If we missed him—then we'll figure out where they're headed next and make it work. But maybe we'll be lucky, right?"

The Emperor had left. He couldn't have been there very long with the speed they'd managed in following. But had Deuce gone with him?

"We'll see, right?" He gave her a toothy grin, bravado she wasn't sure he felt or not. "Worst that happens is we have to keep chasing him."

She tried to pump up the bravado—real or fake, either way it was good to hold onto.

"A grand adventure through the depths of the Grand Line, huh? With the great Koala by your side, it'll be a cinch!" She winked. "if we missed him—I'll see if I can call in a favor with some old pirates I know."

The Sun Pirates. She knew several of them had deep ties to Whitebeard due to the protections he put over Fish Man Island. So–if push came to shove, there were a few with some good will towards her that she could potentially call on for aid. Hatchin…maybe Jinbei if he even still remembered her.

"Oooh, favors from pirates! Now that sounds like the beginning of an adventure. I'll probably need one of those sooner or later, or I'll get mopey."

Koala's arms looped around him, holding him in her favorite sort of clingy and koala-ish hug, a fond smile spreading over her lips. "A fiend for adventure, well, well well. Even if we find Deuce here, we're deep in Emperor territory. I'm certain we can cook up an adventure to keep the blues away."

He laughed. "Explaining all this to Deuce will be an adventure all on its own, but you're not wrong."

His laughter was infectious, she giggled and leaned up to peck a kiss on his lips "I guess we'll just have to see what his tolerance for the strange is!"

And that was the question wasn't it? Because this was one hell of a strange situation. Ghosts, possessions, a secret brother he thought was dead with ties to the Revolutionary Army, and herself—a complete stranger showing up to tell him 'hey, your dead captain—your dead boyfriend— is here with us in his brother's body, and also we're dating now. By the way, how'd you like to join back up?'

Any sane person would boggle at them and call them nuts before shoving off as far from them as possible. She could only hope that Deuce was anything but 'a sane person'.

It'd be nice if this was an easy adventure.

You've never been to this island? Sabo asked with surprise, as they walked hand in hand with Koala toward the monument that had been set up, the stares of the villagers following them as they made their way through town.

Never. Ace shook his head internally. I wasn't on the crew that long, all things considered. We never got all the way back here.

Koala was looking all over, her head almost on a swivel as she squeezed their hand and glanced about at the shops and the townspeople.

"We're sticking out." She murmured softly to them. As an intelligence operator it may have been making her nervous from the way her fingers twined tighter to theirs.

"They don't get a lot of unfamiliar visitors," Ace told her. "I don't think they feel threatened, though. But they're probably skittish because of Pops'..."

Dying. Because he was dead, and they were afraid now that the World Government would come and take and take and take, and destroy their innocent, idyllic little island.

Maybe that would happen, too, Ace couldn't deny it wouldn't. Couldn't deny it any more than he could deny the twisting sensation in his guts any time he thought of Whitebeard. Any time he spoke of him. Ace had pinned his entire self on the man– hell Pops had encouraged him to do exactly that—

And what had it done in the end but destroy Ace and give Whitebeard the hero's death that he'd been looking for?

You're brooding, Ace. Sabo murmured in the back of his mind.

Can't a man brood when he's going to visit his own grave? He meant it with humor, but Sabo could surely tell that it was weighing on his mind.

They crested the hill and came upon the monument that had been erected there. They were alone.

Koala leaned against his side, looking up at the monument—the looming grave of Whitebeard, and the smaller grave beside, both decorated with the discarded weapons of war.

She made a quiet noise, tensing against him somewhat. "This has to be strange for you," she whispered.

"I'll say," Ace croaked out. Hanging on the grave– on his grave– was his hat, and his beads, and his knife. His things. His! his head suddenly felt unbearably itchy under Sabo's topper, and his hands felt too big in his gloves.

Sabo fought down the rising sting of panic in them with long, slow breaths.

It's okay, Ace. You're here. You're real. You're with me. You're not gone.

But the sight of it hit him just as hard.

Ace was with him– but his body was down there, in the freshly dug earth. The arms that could have held him were still and cold, and would never warm again.

They choked back a sob.

Koala's arms tightened around their arm, before she leaned her weight against him with a quiet murmur that was lost to the moment. It was a soft 'it's going to be okay' as she tried to urge him to kneel by the dirt. Maybe out of concern—it was probably obvious how hard the sight hit.

They let their legs buckle with their emotions and Koala carried them to the ground. They rested their head against her, taking long, shuddering breaths. The reality of it all came crashing against them. Like a punch to the chest.

Like a big, fiery hole.

They grabbed Koala tightly, holding her like a life-line against the pummeling waves of grief. Ace had died. Ace had died in their brother Luffy's arms as battle raged all around them. Was there any world in which it wasn't true?

It wasn't this one. In this world, Ace's soul lived in Sabo's chest, and Ace's body slept under the soil forever. No one had been in time. The world had not allowed it.

"It's my fault," Ace gasped raggedly.

Koala's fingers touched the back of his neck before her hand drew him against her shoulder. She rested her chin atop his head with a quiet shudder of breath. "Ace…"

"It is!" He rasped. "I was too stupid. I wasn't ever good enough. I knew I wasn't…"

Ace! Sabo tried to get a grip on him from within. Ace that isn't true.

It is! I never should have been born!

Ace's feelings hit Sabo like a raging hurricane. It was a horrible mixture of things that Sabo already knew– Ace's feelings of horror and humiliation and monstrousness at being the son of Roger, combined with things that his beloved brother had so far managed to keep from him.

The way his will had broken and snapped under Whitebeard's pressure. When all his dreams of being a captain, of being the king of pirates or better, had crumbled to dust. Ace had not been good enough. He would never be good enough.

All he was good for was serving Whitebeard.

When Ace had set out on his quest of revenge for Blackbeard's offense— Ace had wanted to die.

Koala's arms tightened around him.

"Stop that!" there was a firmness to it despite the way her voice shook. She wasn't in their head—she couldn't hear Ace's despair, but she looked at him with wide and teary eyes. "You aren't stupid, you aren't! You can't go telling yourself you're 'not good enough', Ace. Even if you've got regrets—even if you really, really feel that you weren't. If you say it enough you're going to keep believing it forever." she swallowed thickly ."---don't let what the world did to you win, ok?"

Koala could feel Ace's nails digging into her. His breath was ragged and his eyes were pinpricked. His chest heaved. Something horrible seemed to have overcome him, there staring at his own grave.

And how could she blame him? It was a symbol of how everything had gone wrong. It was the monument to everything he'd wanted to do and couldn't get— even if he persisted, even if he was still HERE with Sabo and with her, it was a reminder of all his regrets and his mortality.

He must be crushed. Crushed with memories of how he died, and crushed with the weight of everything that led him there. The 'failures' that he perceived. From everything Koala had heard, it was the world that failed Ace, not Ace failing the world. It ground him up and spit him out, especially when he tried to follow his own ambitions. Whitebeard—the world government, the marines. All of them failed Ace.

But she could understand it, she really could. When she was younger, when Fisher Tiger died because of her village's treachery and hate, she'd blamed herself for her 'failures' as well.

It had to feel worse when it was your own death staring you in the face.

"Breathe with me, Ace," she whispered. "Please."

He nodded limply against her and sucked in long, ragged breaths.

"Sorry." He swallowed thickly and she could feel Sabo's heart pounding in their chest. "Sorry I didn't— I didn't expect to break down like this. I didn't think…"

"That you'd have a reaction to seeing your own grave?" Koala asked with a soft huff before she started breathing more evenly—deep in and deep out to try and show him the way of it. Her eyes closed as she rubbed his back.

He was having a breakdown—a panic attack. Part of her wondered if they should have led up to this better, taken some time to get him more grounded on this island before facing his grave. But Koala expected this was going to happen either way—so she'd be there for him.

"Ace, it's okay to get emotional here—just breathe with me and let it out."

He nodded against her again, holding her tightly, trembling. But his sharp, ragged breaths did start to slow somewhat, even if they were cut through by little hiccuping sobs.

She held him tight, stroking his back as she let him sob against her. Tears soaked through her shirt—but she didn't mind. He needed to cry, he needed to get it out and face all of this as honestly as he could.

It was all she could do to be there for him, to remind him that he wasn't the failure that the bad memories tried to convince him he was. "I know it's not the way you wanted it—but you're still here. That means there's still hope, right?"

"I– I guess that's true," he said, wiping his face silently. "It's not over, right? It's not, it's just… different. Even if I could lay down here and be six feet away from my own dead body."

Ace's voice broke, and he dropped his head against her chest again.

Koala had never had to assuage someone quite like this before. She was good with people, good with soothing and consoling them—but this was like nothing she'd ever faced before. 'Six feet away from his own dead body'. She bit her lip, and stroked her fingers through his hair.

"It's got to be overwhelming,"

"Kinda, yeah." It was definitely the understatement of the century. He took another breath and wiped his face on Sabo's sleeve. "Deuce isn't here. W-we should go look somewhere else."

"That's…that's probably a good idea, Ace." Koala murmured. "---is there anything you want to do first? Anything you want to take with you?"

She watched him lift his gaze to where his old things– the hat, the beads, the knife– were resting on his own grave.

"Do you think it would be okay?"

"They are yours, Ace," Koala murmured. "It's not like it's grave robbing if it's your own stuff. Your own body."

That—probably wasn't true—but she thought that maybe some of his old things would lift his spirit somewhat, so to speak.

Well. It was finished. His life's work, his magnum opus. The final chapters were written out, the whole thing compiled into a bound book with the help of a bookshop downtown—and the manuscript sent off with one of the merchant ships with instructions to send it down a trusted channel to be published properly.

The first edition hung from one hand as he walked along the path towards Ace's grave, and his pistol hung from the other. Just like he'd promised a long time ago— Ace would be the first one to get a copy of his book. Crocodile… Shanks… and whoever else cared about reading the exploits of the Spade Pirates, they'd get to enjoy it when the legend spread across the seas volume by volume.

But Ace was promised the first edition. As he rounded the path and started up the rise towards the grave, he saw something he didn't expect—two figures kneeling near the graves of Ace and Whitebeard.

It wasn't uncommon, a few people had occasionally shown up to pay their respects by now. Even in the short amount of time that Deuce had been staying here. What WAS unusual was the fact that the blond man in the top hat stood and was reaching out and touching Ace's fucking hat!

The man– unfamiliar, in a dark coat and a top hat of his own– took Ace's hat off of the grave, and held it in his hands.

Deuce only had one bullet in his gun—that was irritating. He'd had a use in mind for it, after all. Hopefully he wouldn't need it.

He stomped forward, breaking into a half-run as the flush of anger overtook his melancholy for just a moment.

"Hey! Put that the hell down, that ain't yours!"

The woman beside the young man looked up suddenly with wide eyes, and she tugged at the man's coat with a whisper of something Deuce couldn't hear—he didn't care. If someone was going to rob Ace's grave they could at least have the good fucking grace to wait until he was too dead to care too.

The man turned around, hat still in hand, and stared at him, standing stock still despite Deuce barreling toward him.

"Deuce!" The man's unfamiliar face took on a bright, huge grin.

Deuce's fingers tightened on his gun, but it was his book he brandished instead. "I don't know who the hell you are, but you'd better put Ace's hat back right now! My captain'---"

His mind ground to a halt for a moment as it sunk in. How the hell did this random man know his name? He didn't even have a wanted poster, he didn't remember the man— and he'd remember that burn scar. It was distinctive.

"My captain's buried there, and I'm not letting anyone defile all he's got left."

The man dropped the hat and held up his hands, still beaming widely as he threw up his hands. Closer now, he could see the man's face was streaked with wet, fresh tears.

"Deuce– I—" He cut himself off and shook his head, still holding up his hands.

"...." Deuce's eyes squinted below his mask as he looked the man over. He'd been crying–was he someone who knew Ace, then? But then why was he looking at him like that? Why did he say his name like he knew him? Like he missed him?"I'm at a disadvantage here, you know," Deuce said carefully.

The woman bent down to pick up the hat with a concerned look. "Hello Mr. Deuce. It's nice to meet you. I promise we're not defiling anything!"

Now Deuce could see that the man's hands were shaking as he held them up– no the whole man was shaking like a leaf, and swallowing repeatedly. As if perhaps at war with himself. He took a couple of long, deep breaths.

"Deuce, I'm going to say something insane to you, and I'm going to beg you not to shoot me, alright? And not to brain me with a big stick when I'm not looking, either."

Deuce nearly dropped the book in his hand, his other hand deadlocked around his pistol as his eyes widened. His heart nearly stopped at 'and not to brain me with a big stick when I'm not looking'.

It took him back to one of the worst 'vacations' of his life. Starving to death on a barren island…stick in hand as he contemplated beating his future captain to death for a morsel of assumed food.

But—how…?

"I'm…listening?"

"It's me, Deuce," he said, slowly, his hands visibly shaking still. He took another, long, deep breath. "I know I look different. I know there's a body buried here six feet deep with a face that you'd actually recognize. But it's me. You called me your captain, still. I'm not worth that, but I'm– I'm glad—"

The man broke off, and his shaking hands fell to clutch himself around the chest instead.

The woman reached out and rubbed his back with a look of concern—who the hell was she, and who the hell was—

There was a cold chill that ran through him, and his fingers squeezed against the handle of the gun before he shoved it into the holster around his hip. His eyes were wet, watery and stung with both the hangover that pulsed through him and the absolute absurdity that his mind still refused to connect the dots between.

"....you're Ace," He said dully "you're the dead man currently standing atop his old grave. Is that right?"

"I told you it was insane." He laughed, a nervous, bubbly laugh that was almost familiar. "I told you. This is my brother Sabo's body. We're kind of… stuck together. I told you about Sabo, right? My brother? We thought he was dead. Pretty ironic, when you think about it…"

"And who's the girl?" Deuce's heart pounded in his chest. Unbelievable, fucking unbelievable— that's what this was, it was completely unbelievable. His head was spinning at the very idea of it. Ace, Ace's fucking ghost having what? Flown across the sea to re-connect with a man that Ace had always told him died under the hailfire of the Celestial Dragons? Who miraculously survived— and now they were standing together in front of him.

It was the stuff of fairytales. His anxious confusion turned to a sharpness he couldn't quite help as he smirked and gestured towards her. "Your long lost sister? Isuka's ghost riding around in her long lost sister?"

He wasn't even sure if she was dead—he hoped she wasn't—but the barb still came to mind.

The man claiming to be Ace, smiled a little more awkwardly and gestured to the woman. "This is Koala. Sabo's partner in the revolutionary army. She's been a lot more patient and understanding than I deserve with this whole thing."

The woman, Koala, waved her hand sheepishly with a smile that seemed absolutely forced "Hahah, well—" she ducked her head. "it's been really odd, but I wanted to be there for them."

"The Revolu—" Deuce clasped the book to his chest. "You're nuts—this girl's a Revolutionary Army soldier?"

He glanced between them with a furrow of his brow. The revolutionary army wouldn't come all the way out here just to rob a grave of a few valuables—minor ones save for the intense sentiment. So at least it eased that worry. Now he was just worried that the pair of them had absolutely lost their minds.

"Well. It's a pleasure to meet you, Koala. But I'm afraid I'm having a bit of trouble believing all this, and I did come up here for a reason today."

The man claiming to be Ace looked at him. And he looked at the gun, and at the book. He stepped over his own hat, toward him.

"What kind of reason, Deuce?"

How did he know his name? How did he know about the stick? Was it a lucky guess? No one should be able to know that. About the time they'd been stuck together, and Deuce had nearly killed Ace.

It'd been a private secret—unknown to even Ace until Deuce told him over drinks one night. They'd laughed. It'd been long enough that the sting of the attempted murder was long since healed.

He'd written it into his book, of course—a book that only he and he alone had read so far.

It was enough to make a man think of those theater shows and tawdry novels about vengeful ghosts and hands reaching out from the abyss in the hope of finding purchase with the ones they loved.

His throat went dry as he held the book to his chest. "I came to fulfill a promise. I said I'd give Ace the first copy of my book."

The man's eyes lit up, and his smile widened. He took another step forward, away from Koala and toward Deuce. "You actually wrote it?"

Deuce's face felt hot, and he realized he'd actually started to cry when tears pattered down from under his mask and onto the shaking hand holding the book. He hesitated, almost taking a step back.

Why was he crying? Because this stranger knew things only Ace should know. His secret dream to be an author, shared only among the Spade Pirates, the events on the island, his name—he didn't have a wanted poster, he was a nobody to the greater world.

He swallowed thickly, "I..uhm.." at least Koala was giving them space, he was having enough trouble dealing with this 'Sabo' guy. "Yeah. I wrote it. I figured I should at least do that before I checked out."

"Check ou–" His voice went strangled and he looked at the gun again, and now, before he could react, he was the one who barreled forward, grabbing Deuce's shoulders tightly.

"Deuce, you melodramatic bastard, I'm flattered, alright? We should have just shot ourselves together when everything went south with the Spade Pirates but don't you dare! Don't you dare, alright? I'm here!"

The man had started shaking him, nails digging into his shoulders. "I'm here! Do you remember the ferris wheel with Isuka? I jumped out when she tried to ask me to be a marine! How about the island where we made a vivre card for a crab and named it Fred? Do you need me to talk about your birthmark?"

Deuce had gone nearly limp, the book falling from his hand and to the ground as he was rocked back and forth by the man's hands, the sting of his nails biting into his shoulders drowned out by the absolute cacophony of his own thoughts.

Behind him, he saw that Koala woman put her hands to her mouth when she realized what he'd been intending on doing— giving Ace his book and putting a bullet in his brain— but it too was drowned out by the desperate panic in the other man's voice as he forced Deuce to lock eyes with him.

How did he know any of this? The Ferris Wheel, that awkward and tense ride in Sabaody where Isuka—honorary crew member by sheer frequency of her visits—had tried to convince Ace to be a marine, and the fool jumped out from the zenith to leave Deuce stuck having the world's most awkward talk with the poor woman…

The island they'd stashed some of their treasure and supplies on, marking its location not with an eternal pose or anything like that but with a clever trick thought up between the two of them using a crab and a vivre card. Fred, they'd laughed for hours about Fred.

But the real damning detail was his birthmark. Deuce never took off his mask for anyone. Nobody but Ace. He was too recognizable the world over, the mark lying under his mask too distinctive in combination with his other features. Anyone with a passing knowledge of the world's great powers would recognize him in an instant— the curling, paler birthmark against the warm, dark skin around his eyes as much a dead giveaway as his azure hair about which runaway noble he really was.

If this man knew about his birthmark, it meant he'd had to have been there. But Ace hadn't had the chance to tell anyone, had he? And he wouldn't have betrayed Deuce's trust so lightly.

Deuce swallowed thickly as the tears fell down his cheeks.

"Ace?" It was impossible. It was insane. But how the hell else would he know? "Ho—how?"

The man– Ace, if it was Ace– had tears running down his cheeks to his chin too as he held him, still shaking him gently.

"I don't know! I don't know, Deuce! One minute I was dying in my brother's arms and then the next minute I was waking up in my other brother's head! I gave us both a panic attack— he thought he'd gone crazy and I was a split personality! I don't blame him! But know things, Deuce! I know you! I know I love you and I know I'm the world's biggest fucking idiot! Please don't leave."

His voice was breathless and hoarse. It was unfamiliar— and yet— and yet there was something familiar about the way that he spoke. The tones that he used, and the subtle emphasis on words. The accent, the timbre of the voice. The word choice.

Somehow, even though it wasn't Ace's voice, it still sounded like Ace.

Deuce's brow furrowed—he was an author, a man of words. Words always stuck out to him more than anything.

This man talking with a stranger's voice—was Ace. It was unmistakable, as it was impossible. Could that really happen? Could you die, and wake up in another man's body— a lost brother's body with the fear that you're a trick of a mad mind? But with knowledge the other could possibly know— that left only the occult as an answer, didn't it? Spirits and ghosts and persistence beyond the grave.

God. Did that mean when he put a bullet in his head he'd wind up in his younger cousin's body? Please dear god no, I love her and all but I do NOT want to go back to Alabasta. "I–" His voice cracked as he stifled a hiccuping sob. "I'm not going anywhere, Ace. I—hoo boy, I may pass out however."

Ace– Ace's sad, toothy smile shined through this stranger's face– Ace put his arms around him tightly. "That's okay. Pass out if you want. I've got you."

"Are you sure I haven't already put the bullet in my head? Because this feels like a fucked up fever dream." he laughed weakly, before falling against Ace's shoulder.

Ace. Ace the ghost hugging him with someone else's arms.

"Captain , I…I…" he hesitated before he murmured. "This is a lot to take in. I l-love you too. I'm just a little overwhelmed here."

Koala stepped quietly forward with Ace's hat in her hands "...maybe we should get some food, and put a little distance between us and the graves and talk some more about this? It's not going to get less overwhelming otherwise."

"Yeah," Ace rasped, nodding. He hadn't let go of Deuce even a tiny bit. "Let's get a drink at least. Deuce, is it okay if Koala picks up my hat or should we leave it for now?"

'Is it okay if Koala picks up my hat', that for some reason made him laugh. And then he kept laughing, a desperate and tear-soaked kind of laugh that threatened to overwhelm him as he grabbed Ace tighter and buried his masked face against his shoulder with a patter of tears down his back.

"Man, it's your fucking hat—just take it. Better than letting it get moldy under Whitebeard's damned shadow."

#one piece koala #fire fist ace #portgas d ace #flame emperor sabo #revolutionary sabo #saboace #acesabo #masked deuce #saboala #deuceace #acedeuce #one piece #fanfiction #fan fiction #fanfic #archive of our own #ao3 #fic: one piece deicide

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petnews2day · 2 years ago

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Andrew Bird Lets The Inside Out On 'Inside Problems'

New Post has been published on https://petnews2day.com/?p=50119

Andrew Bird Lets The Inside Out On 'Inside Problems'

Prolific might be an understatement when it comes to Andrew Bird‘s work across a myriad of mediums. In addition to his own work, the GRAMMY-nominated singer/songwriter is a renowned whistler, and was a member of Squirrel Nut Zippers for several years. Bird’s 1996 debut album, Music of Hair, was followed by about 16 solo records (some with/as Bowl of Fire), not to mention a variety of collabs. And let’s not forget the live albums (six), EP’s (10) and film and TV projects, including acting on the FX drama “Fargo.”

So it’s perhaps unsurprising that Bird has managed to follow up an album — the somewhat winkingly titled My Finest Work Yet — with a record that might be even finer. Inside Problems, released June 3, offers 11 often poignant, quietly passionate songs produced by Mike Viola (who has also worked with Mandy Moore, Panic! at The Disco and Jenny Lewis). Bird will support his LP on a tour that kicks off June 15 at Los Angeles’ Greek Theatre.

Via phone from his L.A. home, Bird, a low-key and thoughtful native of Lake Forest, Illinois, talks about pandemic-inspired “inside” stuff (his brain, his home) and the resultant songs that populate his latest, and maybe, greatest work.

When did you start writing the songs that would become Inside Problems — before, or during the pandemic?

Some of them started before that. There are always things that have been kind of simmering for five or six years that I just find the moment to organize. It was strange; I was wondering if just being in one place was going to affect my writing, because I always thought that traveling and performing informed my writing. Going from one place to another, just the act of leaving your home can give you perspective that kind of triggers things. And then being on stage, that sort of sense of a dialogue with an audience; I thought [that] was part of my process, too. But it turns out it wasn’t that essential, and I needed the songwriting process to sort of keep my sanity and sense of purpose.

Was there a song that ended up on Inside Problems that set the tone when you realized, OK, this is where this record is going?

I think of “Underlands” as a sort of template for the album. But the one that I spent the most time on was “Faithless Ghost.” And that’s kind of an outlier. It started, I think, when my son — during the pandemic, we just all hung together — started being the DJ around the house. And he was playing a lot of John Cale. And Velvet Underground, but the John Cale, “Paris 1919,” particularly, that song was just on every day.

I was listening to lyrics about this ghost that is sort of a coy ghost, it doesn’t ever show up when you expect it to, doesn’t stick to appointments. And I thought I’d take that idea and kind of expand on it. I guess it’s the way you feel when you’re sort of chasing down things creatively too. But that one was a very specific melody that I’m trying to just point in the general direction of this idea about this coy ghost.

May I ask how old your son is?

He’s 11. He was 9 I guess at the start of the pandemic.

That’s still a pretty interesting song choice for a kid to play, right?

I mean, it’s kind of funny. He lives in our universe. So from an early age, I never understand when people would say ‘Oh my kid listens to this horrible pop music and I can’t do anything about it.’ Like, why can you do anything about it? They’re living in your house.

Not like we’re militant about anything. He complains about going to birthday parties and having to listen to Post Malone or whatever. He’s like, ‘Why do they think kids like that music?’ Anyway, that’s a rant. But if I play one Nick Drake song, he starts playing it all the time. And I don’t really listen to music that much. So he’s actually influencing me. And he’s actually becoming a pretty good guitarist.

There are so many beautiful references and lines in your lyrics. I was curious about “Lone Didion,” — and I’m wondering if you read Joan Didion’s The Year of Magical Thinking about losing her husband and then daughter?

Actually before I read it, I was talking to a friend who used to host at a restaurant where Joan Didion and her husband [John Gregory Dunne] used to come in as regulars, and they would get the same table and order the same thing. This is around 2003. Then she didn’t come in for like several weeks. And she came in one more time, alone. That story struck me and then I read the book.

You explore what you call the “threshold” of who we are in the moments “in between”? A liminal space might be one term.

I just want to acknowledge that internal world that we all have, that is usually not known to anyone else. It can either drive you insane, or it could be the best companion. If you can cultivate that internal world in the right way, you never have any good reason to be bored or lonely sometimes.

I just became more acutely aware of that during the pandemic, during insomnia…and it was like, Okay, I’m here, I’m stuck here. I can’t sleep for two hours. I can either spiral — as we tend to in the middle of the night — or I can try to put everyone to work, and pull out a melody and play it back in my head. While I was working on these songs, it really, really helped me get through that. Once I was done, those demons came roaring back.

I watched the Nexflix film The Bubble and enjoyed it. You were a composer on the movie; how did you get on board? Did that work affect this record?

I did that after the record was finished. I know Judd [Apatow] and he asked me to play a bunch of his Largo shows. They were doing once-a-month charity shows, and I would do those and hang out and I got the sense that he might have been kind of circling me and waiting for a project to offer up. [He did] I came in, in the final two months of the score work to work with Mike Andrews. Mike is his longtime composer and I was sort of artist-in-residence, I guess. It is a very complicated score because you have to score the movie within the movie. And I luckily didn’t have to deal with…

Dinosaurs?

Yeah [laughs]. He’s very exacting and has very very strong ideas about music, Judd does. So, it was a long, long process. But it was good. I came at a good time: I was finished with the record; I needed a project. But you have to generate a tremendous amount of music to satiate Judd. So it was five or six weeks, just churning out many, many cues.

I know you had a song in Orange is the New Black and other visual projects. How often do you write a song that you feel is super cinematic? Or are there times when you’re watching something and you feel inspired to write?

Writing a song for a movie is the ultimate challenge for me. Doing [an] instrumental score is cool, but writing a song with lyrics specifically for movies…. I’m thinking like Harold and Maude as the ultimate project that I hope would someday come along.

It’s just so challenging to try to do; to address what’s happening in the movie without leading the viewer and hitting it too close. I feel like I would be well suited to that because my lyrics, they can be a bit ambiguous sometimes. When I was writing “Underlands,” at first it was simply a melody. I was like, wow, this sounds like a film score scene. I was working with T-Bone Burnett at the time on [HBO crime drama] True Detective and I played it for him. He said, ‘that’s like the theme to a great ’70s movie.’

When I first came out of music school, that’s what I thought for sure wanted to do; film score work. But then I got a conversion van and a band, and hit the road and started playing rock clubs around the country. And that became the buddy road movie of my 20s.

I understand there’s an unusual guitar on Inside Problems, the one that starts out “Underlands”?

My good friend Reuben Cox has the guitar shop Old Style in Silverlake. When I was working with Blake Mills on [Bird’s 2006 LP] Are You Serious, he was working with Blake. First we had these electric banjos that we were all collecting. And then they’re very weird, rare harmony, electric banjos. And then Reuben started putting rubber bridges on these strange old guitars. It’s not that radical to mute the instrument, but it’s like you commit to it.

Like permanent mute.

Yeah, it’s hard to explain but what Blake was looking for… Well, guitars can chew up so much space because they resonate so much, sonically. So you take all that and then it creates these weird overtones too, if you distort it in the right way. It sounds otherworldly. I found when I started playing these guitars that it was kind of like pizzicato, but not quite.

It’s funny what started with Blake and me and during that time , you hear it a lot now. You hear it kind of affecting the music that’s being recorded. It was this particular Harmony guitar called the Caribbean, kind of art deco and very cool looking. It’s the thing I just reached for when we were recording; it just worked. From “Underlands” to “The Night Before Your Birthday,” it can go from this beautiful pizzicato to a Keith Richards rock ‘n’ roll thing.

The album closer, “Never Fall Apart,” seems to end things on a somewhat upbeat note.

For “Never Fall Apart,” my old guitarist, Jeremy Ylvisaker, sent me an EP he had done and [it] goes into the sort of Kevin Shields, My Bloody Valentine territory. He had this melody in there, and I thought it was so beautiful. And the song was called “Never Fall Apart,” but it had no lyrics. I sat down, took the melody and over time it kind of evolved. I wrote that one fairly quickly, really inspired by that melody.

The last two songs on the album [“Stop n’ Shop,” “Never Fall Apart”] — from the title of my record, people are describing it as maybe not addressing all the upheaval that My Finest Work Yet was, but it really does have as many songs addressing what’s happening in the world. “Stop n’ Shop” is trying to understand what’s missing in our lives that so many people need guns or walls or trucks to kind of fill a void in their identity. And then “Never Fall Apart” tries to answer that question.

Would you always keep those two songs connected in a live set?

I do like to keep things [together.] The sequencing of the live set is a huge part of my job. Not just what key, what tempo and the segues in between, but then the scenes and everything. It feels like half my job is sequencing. Whether people pick up on that or not, I don’t know, but it’s important to me.

Bobby Z. On ‘Prince And The Revolution: Live’ & Why The Purple One Was Deeply Human

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