The King & The Clown

by imdeadlikedabi

Summary:

it's an additional fanfic to Something in the orange, this one is from Shanks' point of view. Started this to get myself back on writing The orange.

Notes:

Hellooooo, i hope u guys will like it <33 I will try to update this fic regularly. I finally decided to stop my sulking over my writing and actually start to do something about it. I have so many ideas and i hope this will singlehandedly fix my entire mental health!!!

Chapter 1: The blue

Shanks knew Buggy for years; it was old news at this point. Shanks and Buggy, Buggy and Shanks— they were together, always.

(If he could, his older self would laugh at him; say that he was a ‘fool'—in a tone that Shanks never thought his voice could take.)

The first time Shanks saw him was when they were both scrawny brats, deep in the slums—where the unworthy ones are. Both trying to survive in a place that would laugh if they keel over and die.

They were so small at the time. Buggy more so, he always been on the skinny side—he ate whatever he managed to steal, but the starvation was deeply engraved in his bones.

Shanks’ first thought when he was him was ‘Amazing.’

Buggy was crafty; he knew what to do and how to do it. It was amazing; it was scary; it was blood boiling. He was even tinier than Shanks; it was clear even when Shanks only could see his back, but when their eyes met, all Shanks could think was, ‘Oh, isn’t he a bit dangerous?’ 

He had blue hair, a ridiculously red nose, and sharp, desperate eyes. Similar to his, but a lot more dangerous.

Shanks didn’t even know exactly what made him mark Buggy as 'dangerous'; he didn’t even know enough words to describe it.

At the time, he was running on pure instinct alone. Born and raised in the slums after all, he knew cuss words and how to kill a man or injure them enough to get away—he didn’t know how to describe a pair of eyes and the sudden anticipation he felt.

Now, he could describe what he saw in Buggy’s eyes: raw intelligence and a lot of spite.

And by that, he means a lot. A lot.

The kind of spite that says, ‘I will survive this hell hole, and I will do it on my own terms. I will survive; I will survive, no matter what—no matter who dies.’

That kind of desperation was always dangerous; Shanks sometimes saw it in some other strangers, all older people. The kind of people who either take up on the oceans call or kill a bunch of people and push the knife on their own neck just after.

Slums, Shanks knew even in that age, were brutal.

It was brutal, tragic, and bloody.

Shanks knew what was going to happen the first moment he first saw the blue-haired boy; he couldn’t help it.

He thought maybe Buggy knew it too, when the uneasiness bloomed in his eyes.

He knew that whatever Shanks was, it scared Buggy.

It was only fair; whatever Buggy was, it scared Shanks too.

Maybe that was the time he should have turned his back and pretended he never saw him. It would be the smart thing to do; it would be the safest thing to do.

But Shanks, above all else, was curious. (And he was just a kid, an abandoned boy, a little King.)

It was definitely not the first time he saw someone close to his age here; he saw a lot of kids die—he was kind of numb to it at that point.

People died, they always died, kids like them faster than the others.They all looked the same when they did; all glassy-eyed, hopeless, and breakable.

They looked the same before that too; nothing really changed compared to when they were alive; they just put on a mask, and death was only the thing that broke it

Buggy was not like that.

He had scars on his hands, a little dagger, and no hesitance or whatsoever when he stabbed someone in the gut.

It was the first time Shanks met someone he could let himself be close to, without fearing that they would die like all the other kids. Who came close to his heart but never survived long enough to become ‘family’.

Needless to say, he got a bit too attached, he could admit.

He followed Buggy everywhere, even when he knew he probably annoyed him.

It took him two weeks to learn his name; Shanks thought it was so damn worth it.

They did everything together, hunted, and stole together.

For the first time in his very short life, Shanks had something—someone.

‘Buggy’ suddenly turned to ‘My Buggy.’

Someone he can love and cherish, someone who will live—who will survive, no matter what, no matter who dies.

It was thrilling, the feeling of it.

Kind of like an addiction that you slowly gain, not like alcohol—not like any other thing, but an addiction no less.

Buggy was important to Shanks from the first moment they met. Half of his soul, the first thing he loved without fear, his family in all the way that matters.

Buggy looked uncomfortable when he dared to say it outright—but to be honest, Shanks didn’t understand, didn’t care.

He was too excited, too happy to care.

Buggy was frightened easily; he came to learn. He liked to know everything, about anything. Not having information terrified him, he always had that specific look on his eyes when it happened that Shanks found funny.

It was a bit disappointing—how unappreciative he was towards adventures—but not surprising.

Shanks was no fool, he knew the environment they lived in was not the best place to be oblivious in.

But still, adventures were cool, weren’t they?

There was freedom in the unknown; Buggy refused to see it, but maybe he would see it someday.

Shanks hoped so.

He didn’t love Buggy less for it, though.

It was okay to be different; Buggy was one and only. Buggy was allowed to be anything he wanted; he would belong to Shanks anyway.

Shanks saw him and loved him.

Shanks saw him and thought, ‘Mine.’ He hoped Buggy would think Shanks was his too, so they could belong to each other.

So Shanks could have a home—a home he couldn’t lose; a home that wouldn’t let him go even if he begged, even if it was in the shape of a tiny human.

Wasn’t that how families he always heard about worked?

Years later, Shanks would laugh with his crew about it—a bitter, humorless thing.

But when he was younger, his whole world still colored blue, he would pray to a god older people always talked about and hope.

Maybe he idealized him, he sometimes thought. Maybe he refused to see some parts of him.

Maybe he focused so much on the word 'belonging' that he forgot about the word ‘love’.

Maybe that was his first mistake.

Even as a child, Shanks was reckless. The one thing that he really shouldn’t be, but he was—he is.

Buggy was the one that made the plans—all the fancy shit that fascinated Shanks to no end. Watching him work through problems was a delight.

Shanks even made trouble knowingly, sometimes—so he could watch him solve it for them.

Buggy’s mind, he learned, was the most awesome thing ever.

It was so fucking cool. Buggy was so cool.

And it was funny to see him get flustered every time he said it out loud.

Truly, Shanks loved Buggy.

His friend was the best; he thought about everything—he was strong in a way Shanks truly wasn’t.

When he heard a person say the word 'soulmate’, he decided then and there that Buggy was exactly that for him.

He didn’t understand why the person laughed unpleasantly after saying it; all he could think of was to say this new word to Buggy and see his reaction.

All he could feel was the deep sense of ‘belonging’.

Buggy called him an idiot and said that they weren’t soulmates.

Shanks could swear that he saw him smile a bit.

Chapter 2: The unwilling dog, the unwilling bite

Summary:

Its a chapter that happens in the old timeline. (before Buggy gets back in time) As i said before, its just a snippet from one of Shanks inner dialogues back then. from maybe a few months before Rogers death. Its not relevant on the surface but its around the time where the crew realized Roger is suicidal, so do whatever u want with that information :)))

Sometimes, Shanks felt like a dog- one in need to be put down. Like they all say, he felt rabid - like he had a disease and an unfortunate habit of biting the hands that feeds him.

It was such a simple thing that started this circle of harm, one that felt all too one sided.

Shanks didn’t even remember, all he knows of it is the deep sense of fear- unlike anything he ever felt in his life, unlike any near death experiences. 

It was a simple thing really.

One smile, one hour of attention given away to someone else, one 'Shut up, Shanks.' and Shanks was a mess. Tense like he just got sentenced to death penalty; tremble on his limbs, an earthquake on his mind.

He could swear he felt the fear deep in his lungs and on top of his lips. Unlike anything he ever felt, unlike any near death experiences.

He never thought an emotion could be this sharp, never thought an emotion could feel like a blade against his throat.

He did what he always did, at least tried to. He tried joke around, flash a smile but all he showed was teeth and desperation. All he could think was the shadow of imaginative abandonment.

 ‘Cornered animal.’ Some would say. 

‘Never got near a mutt on the streets, you don’t know what disease you could catch.’ They must say.

All that and more maybe. He felt like more, more than bones, more than a kid, more than a human.

Of course Buggy asked what was wrong. Of course he did, it was Buggy. His Buggy, his blue.

One thing about Shanks was that he got wrapped in his thoughts or emotions a lot. Obsessed to the point of blindness. Dangerous, almost; always.

So he became vicious- not maliciously, not really- it was the fear; he could feel it on his tongue, on his words- tainting them. It was forgotten by both of them that his words at their core were supposed to be pure light- all loving and kind. Instead, they become sharp like the fear he could feel. Sharp like the blades all the street kids carry. Sharp like the look of betrayal on Buggy’s face.

Shanks could feel his heart break, but fear does what it does. And a rabid dog needs to be put down.

He saw how tense Buggy got, he saw the defensiveness building up, filling his mind until it started to drown them both. He wanted to say Buggy was perfect, wanted to whisper how amazing he was and how lacking himself was.

He wanted say right at that moment, Shanks was terrified beyond measure.

Strange thoughts, the type of thoughts he normally does his best to suppress.

He wanted be gentle and kind- smother all the insecurities in Buggy until there was nothing but proud confidence.

Because Buggy was home, he was home and the person Shanks belonged to. Other part of his soul, better part of his soul.

But alas, Shanks was no better than a dog- with sharp teeth and strong jaw. He bit down to the vulnerability of Buggy until all that left between them was a deep sense of betrayal.

He felt like he should have tasted blood on his teeth by now, or cut down his own tongue out for daring to cause harm.

He felt more vulnerable than ever; weak, lashing out, horrified and mourning something he couldn’t explain.

He just loved Buggy, utterly and undoubtedly. He would kill for him. He would carve his own heart out and give it to him if needed. Shanks could do that for him, could make his death poetic if it meant he could make Buggy like him a bit more.

Always more, never less- oh, please never less.

He loved Buggy like he loved sea, like he loved adventures and freedom. Like Buggy was a part of his soul, there was simply nothing Shanks wouldn’t do for something that precious. And precious Buggy indeed was. 

But Shanks was twisted, he learned love from suspicious glares of Buggy and from a man bigger than sky.

He learned how to be free, how to have fun, how to fight, how to love- but he didn’t learn how to handle actual fear, he didn’t learn how to protect himself without injuring something else. For all the good Roger's crew did for him, handling negative feelings in a healthy way wasn’t one of them.

He was aware, he really was aware of it. It was like watching a ship sink, but the ship was him and there wasn’t anything he could do about it.

He was foolish still, so young but strong- Sometimes, those two things weren’t meant to be mixed together. 

And that was all Shanks was, wasn’t it? He had eyes, he saw how Buggy sometimes looked at him. How he looked at them. He saw it, he tried to ignore it but he saw- he remembered.

He hated it.

He despised it more when right at that moment, he understood why.

It was not very common for him to feel this way, he usually found a way to ignore it all. He had many distractions after all, the sea was vast and dangers were never ending.

Nonetheless, nothing was there to distract him there. Nothing would work.

He hated himself then.

It never felt truer than it did at that moment, when he stood in front of the person he loved like nothing else- a person he associated everything good with- and could only see shock and hurt.

He could see the pleading, the betrayal, and he could hear the shattering of trust.

With all his childish mind, foolish mind, he hated himself.

It was like he was putting his teeth deep into Buggy’s bones, and he could almost hear it snap-

And snap Buggy did.

Buggy was vicious too, that was the only consolation. Buggy had a horrifying mind and a way with words, paranoia induced studies on Shanks' weak points showed through some of his knife like words and all Shanks could feel was gratefulness.

Shanks needed to be put down, a mutt that bit the hand that fed him was what he was.

Didn’t change anything, but at least he could pretend.

He was good at pretending, good at ignoring- not noticing.

He was a king, you see; a cowardly one, just like his clown. Unlike the clown, the king never admitted it.

He just opened another bottle and hoped it would be enough to burry all the unnecessary thoughts.

It was a circle.

Notice, hate himself, get drunk, pretend, and hurt.

He never changed, never tried. In the end he got his freedom, but lost the clown.

The king sacrificed the better part of his soul in the altar of his own making, and wondered how it all went down.

 

Notes:

Also, did u guys notice how Shanks thoughts doesn't match with his actions at all? he says he would do anything for Buggy, but he ignores all the issues, doesn't try to change, cant admit it needs to happen, cant admit Buggy isnt happy-
He doesn't even try, Buggy would kind of understand if he tried and noticed that he just couldn't but Shanks didn't even try. He chose willful ignorance.

Chapter 3: 'And an explosion comes in time, before i go and cross the line.'

Summary:

This a chapter related to the the chapter before it- its kind of an explanation? elaboration? the alternative title for this chapter would be 'The innerworkings.' Its about jealousy and unhealthy responses towards it. After the second chapter, i thought a chapter like this would be nice and appropriate. (and its a short chapter bc as said, its a fic im writing to get back into writing the orange- so i refuse to worry about word count when writing this.)
I hope u guys like it <33

The thing about jealousy, at least for Shanks, that it lingers. It stays on your mind even when you are busy with other things. It stays and it waits; for the perfect time to infiltrate your thoughts, twisting them into something unashamedly violent.

Shanks is the angry type of jealous. The type where you just want to get rid of the reason for your jealousy, just want it gone.

Buggy is a lot different, Shanks knows. He is the type to be sad about it, all self destructive to the core about it.

His jealousy is more like ‘Why didn’t they choose me?’

Clearer than ever when his eyes falls on Roger, clearer than ever when an accomplishment goes unnoticed. Clear on his face and behavior but never on his words. Buggy is the silent type, the one that desperately try to shut up and ignore it.

In contrast, Shanks’ is more like ‘They have to choose me. I will make them choose me.’

Maybe that’s just another reason why they keep clashing endlessly.

Buggy is the type to not mention it, never if possible. He is the type to lie to himself about it, saying ‘No, I'm not jealous’ over and over again until it sticks.

Buggy is the type to bottle it all up, not share it until the bottle breaks. Broken glass getting stuck on his skin and scarring his mind.

Shanks… he is aware enough to know he is messy with it. He knows his personality does a sharp turn when he is jealous, he knows and willingly makes it obvious. He is all sharp eyes and sharp tongue.

He craves attention, sometimes. He is clingy in his jealousy. He wants to keep them all, if he is jealous than it means something belongs to him.

And it also means he is scared. It means that he clings to the sense of belonging in people he loves, and when he feel it getting threatened he goes all possessive- like he has the right, he feels like he does; he doesn’t.

Something in him always says, ’ Belongs to me, I’m allowed to be angry.’ But they don’t, he isn’t.

The tendency to convince himself maybe is the worst part of his jealousy.

Both of their jealousy is the unhealthiest kind. The kind that makes other people want to become smaller or bigger, just to survive the powerful wave of their destructive jealousy.

But something about getting smaller will always smell in a certain way, the smell of rot and fresh smell of blood.

Because something in getting bigger will always look in a certain way, the tremble on the hands- uncertainty showing like a disgusting crime scene.

People are not meant to be changed, not entirely- not drastically. You can’t look at a person, you can’t look at yourself, and think about changing them without imagining to cut them all up.Changing means adding things that will not fit, changing means cutting things that fits. People can only improve, they cannot change- they shouldn’t, not really, not in the literal sense of the word.

Especially not because of someone else's jealousy.

The tragedy of it all is that people will try; will get smaller, bigger, lesser, and more more more more.

But you can’t love a person properly if you see the signs of them getting smaller and choose to ignore it. You cannot love a person if you cannot at least try to stop the jealousy from drowning them all- you cannot love a person you are not trying for.

Shanks never got that.

None of the kings did, even Roger.

Roger saw two kids he wanted as his, and he let them drown.

Love is personal, it change forms from person to person- but a love you are not trying for is a poison to the object of your affections.

Kings never got it, their laugh echoed through the circle of hurt they created.

The kings, the clown, and love- many different forms of it.

Chapter 4: "I'm sorry that you're jaded, I could've taken you places"

Summary:

Imaginary one sided conversation a drunk + adult shanks dreamed of having with Buggy. (Original timeline)

"Being this way will make your world darker, you will never see the light because you will never be brave enough for it. Why don't you understand? im trying to help you, make you understand, bring you all the good things- but you are so so scared that you cant even look at them without trembling. I would help you, only, if you let me- but you are scared of me too."

"Something in the way world is working is eating you alive, make you think its too much when in reality you are the one being too much. We can't change the world and you for sure can't do shit if you are not ready to take a step for it. To you, you probably never will be ready and will die screaming bloody hatred for all the things you were scared of- you will twist them into bad things, will act like they were the ones bringing your doom when in reality they were good. You were just so scared that you made them into horror stories, and only believed those stories 'till your last breath left your body."

"You say that, you talk and act- you say all those pretty things, brave things, and then turn around to run only to stumble into another thing you were scared of. If you keep searching for things to be afraid of, it will never come to an end"

"You were angry, just a minute ago. Now you are looking at me blankly, like i told you something so outrageous- is it how you are trying to deny it all? is that it? did i make you more scared of me now?"

"The only thing i ever did for you was to bring you good things, bright things- its not my fault that you were so used to bitterness that any type of sweetness made you recoil like you were burned, oh- sorry, you like being burned right? wrong compression."

"You never liked being told what to do, but you also hated not being told what to do- in the end, wasn't that just you being scared again? you cant even make one decision, without breaking a sweat over how wrong it could be- your whole life spent trying to find the less dangerous option, but if you being a person itself is scary to you- then what is safer?"

"I try to understand you, but you work in different ways than mine. I try to help you, but you are different than me- and that difference is so big even though its so little that it makes it impossible for me to comprehend how you work."

"So, tell me. For once in your life, take a risk and talk"

"How am i supposed to understand you like you want me to, if you don't talk to me- how am i suppose to do that if all you do is being scared of me, while also telling me im important. Being important can mean anything, am i the biggest threat to your life or am i something you treasure - for once in your life, talk and tell me."

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 2 of Red and Blue, sky and the sea.