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interstellargatorskinboots1812 · 2 years ago

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Chapter 13: The Rush of Blood

Alfie feels sweat trickling down his back, his eyes lacerate into the interloper in front of him, who dirties and taints the elegant hall as if by osmosis.

Michael McCleary. To Arabella, just a name scrawled in Tommy’s handwriting, but now here he stands, a short and stout man with filth escaping his every pore.

‘You’ve been ignoring my calls and letters, Solomons.’

His Scouse twang echoes strongly in the affluent surroundings.

‘Yeh well there’s a very good reason for that, ain’t there?’

Alfie’s stiff shoulders and heavy-set back, wrap an unwelcome presage around Arabella, as if confirming Tommy’s suspicions that the High Rip gang have prior dealings with her fiance.

Swiping a cocktail from a reluctant waiter, Michael smirks and downs the alcohol. He bites aggressively, with what few teeth he has left, into the cherry that decorates his glass.

‘I don’t like being ignored you see. It gets me all angsty.’

He putters the cherry stem.

‘Maybe I need to get me a good looking tart like yours? Bet she helps relieve the tension at night, doesn’t she?’

With a filthy leer, Michael flicks the tied stem down Arabella’s cleavage. Reacting almost before Alfie has the chance to form a fist, she pulls back his hand.

‘Stop, think where you are and who is around you. It’s just what this fucker wants. Don’t play into his hands.’

Alfie grunts a response, the blood bouncing in his veins in abundance.

‘She speaks a lot of sense, you should listen to her’.

‘She has a name, you know’.

Michael’s laugh fills the darkening space.

‘Oh I know your name, Ms Arabella Shelby. I know all about you and your family. Modern day Romeo and Juliet, you two are. Star-crossed lovers from opposite ends of the trotting tracks.. . and well . . . we all know how that tale ends’.

With a calming composure, Alfie’s bulky shadow casts shade over the Liverpudlian’s pockmarked face.

‘You might be better served expressing your profound views on literature to someone who gives a fuck, mate. You waltz in here thinking you’re a brave lad, when we all know that the only reason you are still stood vertically, thieving my oxygen is because I am choosing not to put a bullet in that thick skull of yours. Now tell me what you’re ‘ere for and then you can fuck off or I will stick my boot so far up your arse that you’ll fly back to Liverpool and hit the Mersey with a breathless sense of having tumbled like Icarus from the sky’.

Michael’s delusive grin cultivates his face, Alfie’s resolute words land beside him like a grenade with the pin still attached. The malodour of old garbage fires thrives from their unwelcome guest and as foul in her nostrils as it is, Arabella inhales deeply in an effort to slow her breathing.

Michael’s drawing quite the crowd.

‘Alfie is right, make your point and then fuck off’.

‘Bad words from such a beautiful broad- be careful none of these toff-nosed Jews hear it. You wouldn’t want to give the game away.’

Alfie’s eyes slice like the ambiguity in Michael’s rhetoric.

‘Oh don’t worry Solomons, your secrets and skeletons are safe with me. . . for now anyway’.

The twine possessing Alfie’s composure splinters and with a constricting grab of an upper arm, he whips Michael away from prying eyes, with Arabella’s plea of his name falling on death ears and Rubin hot on their tail.

At the main entrance a huddle of elderly Jewish women’s discussion on knitting patterns is firmly interrupted by a grapple they look shocked to be witnessing.

‘Now, don’t you worry about this ladies, I’m just taking out the rubbish’.

Alfie’s tone is jovial, but Arabella can see every vein in his body is amplifying to cardinal proportions.

Taking a sharp right, he hurls them into a deserted back alley, before ricochetting Michael’s back off the cold and damp bricks, making Arabella wince and Michael bellow breathlessly.

Years of fighting and taking back meant dealing with dregs like McCleary was almost autonomous. Despite his incensed demeanour, his brain remains utterly calm, firing off a lightening series of automated responses. A continuous of experience distilled into substance.

A multitude of action happens simultaneously and all before anyone has time to anticipate.

Arabella isn’t sure where he pulled it from, but Alfie is now pivoted firmly in front of Michael, a Webley Mark revolver held unwaveringly on his trigger finger.

‘My boy, no!’ Rubin clamours out as Arabella surges to the end of the alley surveying the surroundings.

‘Shit!’

Her panicked expletive reaches the ears of a well-to-do couple dressed in all their finery. Casting her a scandalised look, the lady tuts an ‘oh really’ under her expensive furs.

Arabella swallows her bottom lip. There is no way a gunshot is to go unnoticed and uninvestigated in these surroundings. She makes a dash back to Alfie, tugging at his arm once again.

‘Alfie, Alfie. . .Alfie, put the gun down’.

His eyes pirouette with torment, his fiance's pleas sequestering to the background. He gently bats away her arm.

‘Sweetie, you might want to stand well back for this one, because when I drop this bullet from it’s resting place the blood and matter that will ascend this little cunt to the heavens will deflect itself all over this pigsty. Now green and red just don’t go together and I’d hate for that dress to be ruined.’

‘Alfie, you need to stop. If anyone hears that thing go off and calls the police . . . he’s not worth that’.

‘My dear boy, Ms Shelby is right, put away that weapon. A man like this is not laudable for the ammunition’.

Ignoring Rubin entirely, Alfie addresses Arabella without ever leaving his attention from the snivelling creature caught firmly in his cross-hairs.

‘Treacle, since my resurrected partnership with your brother, I have no need to worry about the old cop shop. It’s all justifiable housekeeping.’

Arabella glances across to Rubin. Beads of sweat interspersing his forehead catch the oppressive luminosity of the gas light.

Alfie lurches forward pushing the weapon straight into Michael's windpipe with force.

‘Now McCleary, don’t ever think you can come into my world, and take an upper-hand. That ain’t ever gunna happen is it? Did you think I’d let you get away with it, what you thought you’d sensed a weakness in the Israelite?’

‘No need for senses when there’s certainty’. Michael splutters through the cold constriction of gun metal. Alfie’s eyebrows shoot up, the lines in his forehead increasing with magnitude.

Driven by instinct, he pushes the barrel of the gun under Michael’s chin as his eyes twitch at his adversary’s cool composure and audacious words His heart races but his mind is icy.

‘Talk to me about this certainty of yours’. The clicking of his gun cocking into place and his detached tone sounds almost deafening to Arabella in this confined space.

‘Alfie stop! He’s winding you up!’ Her voice going an octave higher.

‘Your uncle, Charles Solomons. He’s an interesting fellow isn’t he? Or at least he has some very interesting cargo that comes through Liverpool docks’.

Arabella hears the gasp Rubin drops at the name Charles Solomons. Alfie’s eyebrows lower and pull even further together as his lip curls.

‘You see Alfie, you might have a hand at what goes through Camden Lock and thanks to this new allegiance with Lady Muck there, you have a finger in the pie at Poplar, but Liverpool and the Albert Dock? They’re mine. I control them and with no foot hold there for either of your little gangs, I have a lot of leverage in way of your Uncle Charlie’s cargo from Boston.’

Alfie catatonic eyes continue staring at Michael, looking straight through him.

‘Charles Solomons’ business has nothing to do with me!’

Spittle flies from his mouth along with his indignant rumble of words.

‘Funny that because his business of bootlegging, narcotics and the like has certainly bank rolled a lot of your warehouses and labour. How do you think he’d feel knowing his own nephew had a hand in the fallout of his empire eh? Because between me and my lads, we could make it very difficult for his goods to make their destination points’.

The barrel of Alfie’s gun collides with Michel’s cheekbone, splitting the skin wide open. Michael grabs the wound with his hand shouting a series of expletives.

‘Lets say I shoot you right here, right now. In the fucking face. I’d be doing everyone a fucking favour then wouldn’t I? Including my Uncle Charlie.’

‘You can kill me now, but it wouldn’t make a difference. There’s not just me in on this’.

Alfie swallows, the saliva bounding down his throat like poison. How did this fucker, this scruffy backstreet gang member know so much of his business? Alfie didn’t want this fight but it has come looking for him and battle it, he will. His finger tightens on the trigger, snatching at it. But by now, galvanised by the chaos, Arabella steps into the fold.

Alfie turns his head sharply at her, but she doesn’t react. In that second panic sets in. He didn’t panic ever. Panicking got you killed. A straightforward equilibrium. But, just like panic, distraction gets you killed and when he sees her step into the combat zone, his focus goes to keeping her safe. Already, she is becoming detrimental.

Unfazed by the weapon and the weight of the situation, Arabella looks Michael up and down, her eyes set to a primitive gaze.

‘So, that’s your leverage is it?’

‘Arabella, go the fuck back inside!’

Rubin wrings his hands behind them.

‘Ms Shelby, perhaps Alfie is right and you should. .’ Rubin’s attempts to mediate are cut off by Alfie’s growl.

‘Fuck off Bella, Now!’

‘I’m going nowhere! I want to know what Mr McCleary is using Charles Solomons as a bargaining chip for?’

Nursing his bleeding cheek, Michael winks at Arabella salaciously.

‘I mean, you ask all the right questions don’t you babe? If she’s half as good at emptying your balls, Solomons then she’s too worthy for you.’

Alfie’s anger hits crescendo and just as the adrenaline spikes to manipulate his limbs, he feels the soft skin of Arabella’s hand entwine with his around the gun. With a firm grip she pulls the focus of the barrel between McCleary’s legs.

‘I’ve got more than one method for draining balls, now get the fuck out with what it is you want’.

‘Alright sweetheart, as it’s you. You see, us up North we haven’t got it as good as you bastards down here. You Southern ponces have it perfect, business must be booming with everyone’s love for trotting spectacles’.

Arabella rolls her eyes.

‘Fuck sake, you men and your fucking horses! All this is about the tracks!?’

‘The tracks that have got you were you are standing now, love. Well, me any my lads are feeling a bit left out and we reckon it’s about time you did some sharing’.

Alfie pouts at the fanciful fucker in front of him. That thick-lipped mouth of his on display, that Arabella notes makes him look amenable and cordial, hiding the steel that lays beneath the easy smiles.

‘Carry on down the road to Little Italy and you can discuss all this with Darby Sabini -we hear he is in need of allies at the moment’.

Michael grins wide, oozing more blood from the gash to his face. He likes her, shame really when he considers his end game.

‘Oh no Miss Shelby, I’m not in this to share or be a worker bee for any Italian mob cunt. We want space and pitches and with those we will agree to a truce at the Liverpool docks and no more trouble with the cargo of a Mr C Solomons as well as a new trade network at my end.’

‘Fuck your truce! I don’t do fucking truces mate! Don’t think for a single second of your measly, miserable existence that I would work with a cunt like you. You, yeh, are the lowest and most de sanctified piece of scum and I don’t do deals with men willing to kill the rats that live among them by biting them’.

Either McCleary was mentally deficient or he has more up his sleeve that he can pull out when he wants. Arabella was yet to decide which.

‘Look, how many good-natured businessmen have you lot bullied, hounded and baited for pitches? That’s how it works. Now don’t come the incensed with me when the same thing happens to you’.

Alfie works his way closer into Michael’s space, the gun pushing further into McCleary’s gut with each step.

‘Now, I’ve been very patient of you, considering the circumstances but now your just getting on my last fucking nerve. You come ‘ere to seek me out, you know the road, you know I offer a deal or death. Un-fuckin-fortunately for you mate it’s no deal’.

The sound of a cocking gun fills the expanse around them. Alfie’s eyes knit together as his gun was already rearing to go.

A cold chill fills his body.

As quick as a snake he whips his head in Arabella’s direction. A tall and lanky man with a soot covered face and eyes like piss holes in the snow looms behind her. The same revolver as his own sequestering into the parting of her hair.

‘Well, I did tell you I wasn’t in this alone. What’s say we call a truce that you famously don’t do?’

Alfie’s tongue darts out across his lips to add moisture to his acrid mouth.

‘Take that gun from behind her head now or so help me I’ll paint this alleyway with every ounce of your intestines’.

‘Alright, calm yourself will yeh! Take this gun out of my ribcage and I’ll ask me mate here to throw back your princess once we’ve discussed our bookmaking arrangements for Kempton and Earls Park. We can discuss Epsom when . . . ‘

Smug words drown out to the ear piercing shriek of agony, followed by a gunshot.

Alfie can hear the blood swilling around his ears as they ring. A cold sweat like the ones he experienced in France drapes around him.

Rubin, who has ducked down, cowering like a child to avoid the fired bullet, turns to look at the damage inflicted to the brickwork behind him.

Alfie’s eyes search with frantic need. Never has he felt relief like the kind her green scowl is bringing.

Arabella’s provoked patience melded into fury and flashing her hand from inside her cleavage she had retrieved a flick knife.

McCleary’s cadaverous assailant falls back, nursing his eye socket. His muck filled knuckles struggle to contain the cascade of crimson.

Alfie spots a blood stain growing on the young man’s upper arm. One flow of movement from her had caused the damage. Alfie didn’t know if he was turned on, worried or infuriated- the dilemma was nauseating. He quickly pulls her arm a little too roughly, placing her behind his frame, an action that makes Michael sneer.

‘There’s part of that weakness of yours, Solomons. A devil always protects his angel’.

‘You are pushing your fucking luck mate!’

Alfie bellows the last three words as they spark a fire in his eyes like every demon and monster laying dormant inside him is suddenly awakened.

‘She’s fucking blinded me, you stupid fucking bitch!’

‘That is just a scratch. Rest assured that I think before I act so had I wanted to blind you then that eyeball would be on the end of my knife edge.’

‘Yeh and make another sound and both your fuckin eyes will be in my next batch of rum, mate’.

Michael keeps his eyes on Alfie. Watching him warily and attempting to second-guess what his next move will be, irritating Arabella to no end. She points at him with the tip of her knife, dripping with red.

‘Let me explain a few things to you. For one, I am not in anyway some hapless princess that gets what she wants through the strong-arming of her brothers. Secondly, should you wish to know where my brothers get their violent tendencies from, it’s from having to try and fight back at a sister who has always been two steps ahead of them. As for the devil, well, even the devil doesn’t know where an angel sharpens their knives’.

Despite the situation Michael’s countenance lifts into a smile that reaches his eyes. He knows he’s playing a dangerous game with Solomons, but now he understood that this broad is more strife than he has given thought to. The only thing left to do is see everything through and watch who would be the victor.

Alfie transfixes a snarl to Michael’s assailant who is using his flea invested blazer to wipe away the blood. He reaches into his pocket sending all eyes to his actions with cautious worry. Pulling out a white handkerchief, he condescendingly tosses it across.

‘Why don’t you wipe yourself the fuck up and then the pair of you can trot on down to the end of this road and fuck off from where you’ve crawled from?’

‘Alright, we’ve said what we need to say, no need to labour the point’.

Alfie’s shoulders hunch. Going without a fight seems suspicious and he can almost feel the charge coming off Michael as he pushes the still drawn pistol in the bakers hand out of his way to saunter to his mate.

‘This isn’t a finished conversation though, Solomons. Earls Park races start in a fortnight and we want in on the pitches and not the shitty cheaper rings that you Jews have been used to before now. We can discuss another meeting in the coming days. Don’t ignore my telegrams this time- I’d hate to come back for your princess’.

‘And she would hate to come back for this fucker’s other eye’.

Arabella spits out through gritted teeth as Alfie once again finds himself squaring back up to Michael with all the menace of a mad man. A dense darkness spiking in his eyes forcing devilry to dance in his pupils. Arabella watches warily through the silence. Maybe all the schemes of the devil were nothing in comparison to what this man could muster up.

In one swift blow, Alfie’s knuckles collide with Michael’s conspirator. The sound of bones crunching fill the space as the gangling lad plummets to the concrete,. Rubin gasps in shock and turns his head to the side, scrunching his eyes as if it would remove him from the situation.

‘That there yeh, is just for starters. Consider it a warning to both of you that children do not belong in a man’s world. No fucking deal. No fucking meeting. Take your friend and fuck off.’

Alfie steps over the body below him, barging into Michael's shoulder in the process. He holds out his hand to Arabella, which she accepts as they walk off down the narrow space.

‘Before you go anywhere there’s something else you should know’.

Alfie spins around, his expression dripping with malice.

‘What’s that old saying- an eye for an eye? You might want to check on your little right hand man. He got in our way when we were looking for you at that warehouse you use belonging to her brother. Not sure how long it takes to bleed out from a leg wound but he’s already been there quite a while, so I wouldn’t leave it too long.’

Alfie’s brain feels like it’s in overload. They have got to Issiah. He drops Arabella’s hand. With hunching shoulders, he storms back onto the thoroughfare of the street. He needed to get to Issiah and get to him fast. Everything else could wait.

***************************************************************************************

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Sorry for the super long update delay! I hope there are people still willing to read this labour of love.

Let me know if you would like to be added to the tag-list and as always please comment and reblog!

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sanguine-salvation · 2 years ago

Note

Viktor Zsasz is chosen. Viktor Zsasz has a mission. Viktor Zsasz is a Terror and the reason you don't walk down dark alleys alone. Viktor Zsazs--is not a pushover, which is the sight of them being hefted by a tall, snarling woman bleeding from a dozen flesh wounds causes Gotham itself to freeze.

Yeah, the abstract concept of Gotham. That one.

"All I wanted! Is one night--fuckfuckfuckmyhand--!" The heavy plastic lid of the dumpster blonks against the alleyway bricks as its shoved high, releasing a belch of hot garbage. A hoodie-wrapped Zsasz flails in Tess McKay's arms as they're lifted high, a weedy high school nerd ready for a jock's wedgie. Except in this case, the "nerd" is a zealot of a serial killer, the "jock" is a mutant hopped up on multiple energy drinks who had to abandon her opera tickets to chase after them. Also, the nerd stabbed the jock like, five times--

"Get in there! I-- said-- get-- in!"

Somewhere, the Joker is looking up from his game of toilet Candy Crush. Poison Ivy stops fertilizing her garden with token redshirts. Bruce Wayne looks out the window of Wayne Manor and into the peaceful night and decides, 'nah. I'm going to take the night off.'

There is flailing and kicking and a palpable air of insult as Viktor attempts for the dozenth time to wriggle out of her hands. Because they so know where this is going.

At least now they know she is a very aggressive patron of the arts.

"One night! Ha, we don't— urgh! Don't you dare! You can't keep me from— augh!" They thrash in her arms, swinging their heel back blindly towards her head. Or where they assume her head was, anyway. They'd scored several hits, maybe a bite or two, but range was a problem now.

Their knife had been lost a few yards back, though the evidence of their partial success is painted all over both of them to the point where a man who had been taking a smoke in the end of the alley wisely turned tail and left nature to its course. They claw at their thigh, but it isn't quite close enough. Admittedly it is also very hard to grab another of their many extra weapons when they are wrangled at both ends and hoisted over her head like a not-particularly challenging barbell.

Which is... an interesting sensation to realize. Oh. Stong.

But reality is a swift hunter, and they are wrenched back into it when they find themself getting thunked very unceremoniously into the stinking, slimy, clingy garbage. Filth, dirty, sticking on their skin, crawling, itching! The look on their face at such a barrage of unpleasant stimuli makes them look more like a cat soaked in jello than one of Gotham's Most Wanted.

There is a beat of silence. Honestly more than they have ever afforded the Dark Knight.

Then they throw a fetid, oozy banana peel at her face.

And then they lurch out with a growl, new knife, and indignant fury. Wait, how many knives do they have and where...?

#i have a place for you || answered #dance with || themckaytriarchy #|| dance with me on the blade of a knife ||#// NYAHAHAHA

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t0wnspersonb · 5 years ago

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Love and Gains (Bokuto Koutarou x Reader)

Word Count: 2,657

Summary: After dealing with an intense breakup you find yourself in the gym in hopes of distracting you from your heartbreak. You end up running into an interesting character, and after the brief interaction you find yourself attending his volleyball game. But when you run into your ex once more, a certain owl headed player decides to help you out of the uncomfortable situation.

Warnings: FLUFF, making out, bad language, cheating, angst, Bokuto being a perfect angel

~~~

I hope you guys enjoy this one! I had fun writing it! I love Bokuto so much it’s absolutely ridiculous. Hopefully I did our boy some justice! I apologize if the writing is shit though lmao. I’m sorry I haven’t been updating more, I’ve just been busy with a broken foot and work now smh. I’ll probably start opening up requests again soon but I will let you know when I do! Anyway I hope you guys had a wonderful 4th! Please enjoy!🤗🤗🤗💕💕💕

~~~

You grumbled angrily to yourself as you walked out of the locker room. Today wasn’t your day, and all you could think about was blowing off some steam.

There weren’t that many people in the gym right now considering the time, so you easily found an empty treadmill, planning on doing a quick run as a warmup.

This is what you needed, the burning in your legs as you ran was gladly welcomed, it distracted you from the burning that rested in your heart.

You had gone to surprise your boyfriend at his dorm and had caught him cheating on you.

The image of him and that girl flashed in your mind, causing you to grit your teeth tightly, your fists clenched tightly together, and your legs started to carry you faster on the treadmill.

You had done your crying a couple of hours earlier. Heart break wasn’t easy, the devastation that you felt was soul-crushing, you couldn’t help but wonder if he had cheated because it was something that you had done.

Maybe you weren’t spending enough time with him, maybe you weren’t satisfying his needs, maybe you were too clingy, too annoying, too emotional; for him to handle.

You couldn’t help but think that it was all your fault that he cheated.

If you had just chosen the same college as him… then maybe he wouldn’t have cheated.

No.

You shook your head. You were done with these thoughts. You weren’t sad anymore, you weren’t blaming yourself anymore, you were angry now. You were fucking pissed now.

How dare he.

He was the scum beneath your shoes, the rotten garbage at the very bottom of the trashcan and… and… and, fuck why did he do this to you?

You felt tears sting at your eyes. You guys were together for three years, you never would have guessed that he would do that.

That he would rip your heart out and stomp all over it.

You wondered if he was trying to get a hold of you, you had turned off your phone, wanting to hide away from the world.

Boisterous laughter distracted you from your thoughts, you looked up to see two males stretching and doing light warmups.

“Hey hey hey! Tsum-Tsum I’m going to beat you at reps today!” one of the males declared loudly.

You looked on curiously, his hair reminded you of an owl. How strange.

The other male smirked at him, getting up from the floor. “We’ll see Bokkun. We also have to do legs today.”

You couldn’t help but notice that they were incredibly attractive, tall and muscular. But that was the last thing you fucking needed.

No more boys, no more relationships, you were done.

After you had finished your warmup on the treadmill you started fishing out the headphones in your pocket. You headed over to the stairs next, you were going to drown yourself in workouts tonight, you needed the distraction.

After finally finishing your exercises on the machines, you went over to the punching bags. Carefully wrapping your hands, you stared down at the red bag full of sand, and then started beating the shit out of it.

This was the steam that you needed to blow off. But after a few moments, something caught your eye out of your peripheral. The owl-haired guy that you had noticed earlier was on the stairs and… oh. You couldn’t help but notice how nice his butt was.

But then you started to notice how nice his entire body was. His back was strong and muscular, the muscles in his legs rippling with each step and…

What were you doing?

You shook your head at the thoughts and started focusing more on your punches. That’s right. You weren’t going to get involved with another boy, you were going to focus on yourself and on school.

Fuck boys.

Fuck your ex.

Your ex, your nostrils flared in anger and your punches became more intense; you couldn’t help picturing his stupid face as you punched the bag.

“Wow your punches are really intense!” a voice said behind you. You yelped and suddenly the punching bag was thrown back into you, causing you to stumble back and fly into the chest of the voice behind you.

It felt like you hit a brick wall. Warm, rough hands grabbed your bare shoulders steadying you as you regained your footing.

You looked up and saw the owl-haired male staring down at you with a wide grin. You felt your face heat up and you stumbled out of his arms, stuttering apologizes as you put space between the two of you.

He was so much bigger than you, you couldn’t help but to feel incredibly small as he stared down at you.

“Umm. Did you want to use the punching bag or…” you trailed off awkwardly.

“Oh! No not at all! I just saw you going crazy and I had to come over and compliment you.” he grinned widely, giving you a thumbs up.

You felt your face burning in embarrassment at his praise. “Oh umm -”

“My name is Bokuto! Bokuto Koutarou! But you knew that already, didn’t you?”

Your brows furrowed in confusion, what was he talking about? He was a complete stranger to you, a hot stranger, but a stranger no less.

Before you could say anything else his friend walked over to him.

“Oi Bokkun, we have to get going, Coach changed the practice tomorrow it’s earlier.” His eyes slid over to you, but he didn’t say anything else.

“See you around punches!” Bokuto waved goodbye as they took off.

You blinked after them.

What?

****

It had been several days since the incident at the gym, and your breakup with your boyfriend.

Right now your best friend was dragging you to a volleyball match, much to your distaste.

She was a big volleyball fan, it wasn’t that you didn’t like the sport, but it was because your ex was a volleyball player.

“You can’t let that asshole ruin the sport for you! There are so many other hot guys that play! Like the team we’re going to go see!” She chided you as you guys went to find your seats.

You rolled your eyes at her, “I don’t care, I’m not planning on dating anyone else right now.”

“You can’t - oh my god! There they are!” she said excitedly grabbing your arm and pointing towards the floor.

You looked over at the team, and then gawked. Familiar gray hair stuck out, his broad back sporting the number 12 with his name clear across.

Bokuto Koutarou.

What were the fucking odds?

“You’re kidding me,” you said under your breath, of course you would be attracted to yet another volleyball player.

“Shhh! It’s starting!” your friend shushed you. The game started, and honestly you were completely surprised.

They were incredible, all of them, and Bokuto… holy shit. Bokuto was on another level, the raw talent and strength left you in awe, and he looked like he was having fun, a lot of fun.

The entire game you couldn’t take your eyes off of him, and when they had won, your friend rushed you out of the gym in hopes of meeting up with them.

However, a detour to the bathroom left you standing out against the wall as you waited for her. You lazily flipped through your phone, completely unaware of the tall figure approaching you.

“Y/n-chan.”

Your blood ran cold, your eyes shot up to stare back at the man that broke your heart.

“What are you doing here?” you asked coldly, heart racing in your chest as you stared up at his face.

“Me and some teammates wanted to scope out the competition, we play MSBY in a couple of weeks. What are you doing here?” he took a step closer to you.

“Why does it matter?” you asked shortly, pressing yourself closer to the wall, your eyes flickered for a way to escape.

“Don’t be like that, I’ve missed you. I know you miss me too.” he said, resting his hand near your head, he leaned in closer to you. “Come on, what we had was good. We were good together, let’s get back together.” He grabbed your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes as he leaned in closer.

Anger and fear swelled into your being and you shoved him away, moving yourself away from the wall and putting distance between the two of you.

“You cheated on me. You did that, you broke our relationship. I don’t miss you. I don’t want to be with you. You treated me like shit.” you stated angrily, tears gathering at the corner of your eyes, but you bit them back.

He stared down at you with an unreadable expression and then it turned amused. “I’m the best thing you’ve ever had, will ever have. You’ve always been so ungrateful; you barely would put out for me. Of course, I would cheat on you, you weren’t satisfying my needs, you fucking prude. No one is ever going to date you.” he sneered and grabbed your arm, squeezing it painfully.

“I’m already dating someone.” You blurted out, yanking your arm out of his grasp.

“Oh yeah who?” he rolled his eyes.

Fuck. Why did you say that? Why did you lie like that? But then you noticed a familiar person out of the corner of your eye heading your way. You turned and all but threw yourself into his arms.

Bokuto easily caught you, his strong arms wrapping around your figure tightly as you clung to his broad shoulders.

“Please play along for a moment.” You whispered against his ear.

“Punches!?” he exclaimed, but never pushed you away.

“Kou-kun!” you cooed loudly, finally releasing your grip on him, you turned to look at your ex who was staring at you with a dumbfounded expression.

“I’m dating Bokuto. You know, the Wing Spiker from the MSBY Black Jackals.” You stated proudly, gently resting your hand against his left pectoral and - holy shit it was like touching thick steel.

It was then that you became entirely aware of his large hand resting on the small of your back. Heat burned you through your shirt, but it was comforting, safe, reassuring.

“You’re fucking lying.” your ex scoffed, but you could see the nervousness shifting through his eyes as he looked between the two of you.

“I’m not. We met a couple days ago at the gym and we hit it off.” You said simply, well it wasn’t a complete lie.

“Her punches were killer and I noticed her nice butt right away.” Bokuto threw in, carefully pulling you into his side tighter.

You ignored his statement and the rising blush that wanted to coat your cheeks, he was just playing along with you right? He didn’t mean that at all.

“I don’t believe you, Y/n-chan. I need more proof.” your ex said smugly.

You gritted your teeth in anger and peered up at the tall volleyball player that was staring down at you with curiosity and worry.

“I’m so sorry. Please hang on just a bit longer.” You mumbled softly and then you grabbed him by the front of his shirt, yanking him down to your height and kissed him.

A surprised noise escaped Bokuto’s lips, but he kissed you back immediately, carefully grabbing your jaw and fitting your mouth against his better.

His lips were warm and damp as they moved against yours urgently, his other arm wrapped around your waist and pulled your body flush against his. The hands that were gripping his shirt traveled up against his strong chest and across his broad shoulders until your fingers threaded through the back of his hair. The hair at the back of his neck was damp from sweat, but still incredibly soft.

You lost yourself in this kiss. No one has ever kissed you this way before. It was perfect, there were so many mixed emotions being felt in this moment.

“Whatever.” you heard your ex mumble and the shuffling of feet.

You should stop kissing right? You should pull away and apologize profusely right?

The kiss didn’t stop, if anything… it got more heated.

Bokuto dragged his tongue across your lower lip, begging for entrance, and you granted it immediately. A pleased noise escaping your mouth as your tongues swirled together.

The grip that Bokuto had on your body tightened at the noise, and his tongue battled against yours harder.

His smell, his taste, the way he felt pressed up against you… you couldn’t think about anything else other than this moment.

How could a complete stranger make you feel so good?

A stranger.

That’s right. You didn’t know this guy, not really anyway, and - oh - you reluctantly pulled away, you guys were in public, you guys were making out in public.

Bokuto wasn’t done though, when you pulled away, he immediately tried to follow; attempting to capture your lips once again in another kiss.

It wasn’t until you heard the loud throat clearing that you guys moved apart. His expression was dazed with lust as he stared down at you with gold eyes.

You were still pressed close to his body, his arms never leaving you, even after you made eye contact with your friend who was staring at you in amusement.

Your face burned red as you gently pressed your forehead against his thick chest. But when you had realized what you just did, you leaped out of his arms, eyes wide in embarrassment.

“Bokuto-san I’m so sorry!” you apologized bowing. “That was my ex and he -”

He held his hand up, stopping your explanation. His face was red slightly, his hair mused from your fingers. But his eyes were wide and bright. “What a way to greet someone, punches!”

His boisterous laughter eased the worry that was creeping into your being.

“It’s fate that we’re meeting again! Listen punches, I was going to ask for your number at the gym before Tsum-Tsum pulled me away. But after a kiss like that I definitely want to take you out on a date!” he grinned widely, fishing out his phone and handing it to you.

You blinked at him in surprise and then nodded slowly.

“Yeah… that… that sounds good. I’d like that.” you said, putting your number into his phone, a soft blush coating your cheeks.

“Hey, hey, hey!” he cheered loudly, his arms up in the air in triumph. “I got the pretty girl’s number! Oh… um,” he scratched his cheek sheepishly, “what’s your name?”

You blinked at him, you made out with the poor guy and he didn’t even know your name yet. “I’m so sorry I should’ve told you earlier… it’s Y/n.”

“Y/n.” Bokuto repeated and then grinned widely. “I like it! I have to get going punches! I’ll text you later tonight! I’ll be at the gym later too if you want to meet up!”

When the tall player was out of your sight a large smile began to stretch across your lips, your friend screeching at you about what had happened was a sight to see to the people walking past you.

Maybe you weren’t going to swear boys off after all, or at least, Bokuto would be the exception.

****

“Tsum-Tsum!” Bokuto called out angrily.

“What is it Bokkun?” the setter looked at him in confusion, where was this anger coming from?

“This guy sucks!” he said bluntly, pointing across the net to the other team, but his finger was pointing at the one guy he didn’t want to see ever.

Your ex.

It had been several weeks since that second meeting with Bokuto. You guys were dating now, and it was everything you could ever dream of.

“I’m going to crush him for hurting my Y/n!” he declared heatedly.

Your ex went home crying that day needless to say.

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #haikyuu fluff #reader insert #bokuto koutarou x reader #bokuto koutarou x you #bokuto x reader #bokuto x you #bokuto fluff #bokuto koutarou #bokuto kotaro x reader #fluff #bokuto haikyuu #boyfriend bokuto

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headcanontheshitoutofsoulsborne · 4 years ago

Text

Sekiro Chain 1

Original prompt: Kuro teaches Wolf how to play Shogi. Mun's note: I love how this chain turned out. Everyone did such an amazing job. Please show your apprecation for the characters by checking out their work and consider giving this chain a reblog.

@ghoulsteak

In Kuro’s tower, the summer air is warm and still. The sliding doors stand open to let what breeze there is pass through unimpeded. Sun streams in through the western door, painting a bright square across the tatami. Motes of dust spiral in the light.

Kuro can see Wolf from where he sits reading, a dim figure with only a foot caught in the sun, seated with his back to the opposite wall. It’s easy to forget he’s there, both because Wolf has been present in the corner of Kuro’s eye for a long time now and because being forgettable is a trait the shinobi has carefully cultivated.

He stands now and pads silently across the floor. Time for another inspection, Kuro supposes; another circuit around the tower’s perimeter (cliff side included), another quiet pass among the sun-streaked piles of books in the upper room. Wolf is always conscientious in his checking and rechecking, but today he seems to be wound even tighter than usual. On a day as beautiful as this one, that strikes Kuro as something of a shame.

As Wolf steps back inside from his patrol, Kuro sets down his book. “Wolf,” he calls. The shinobi’s head turns. “Would you like to play shogi with me?”

“I do not know how, my lord.”

“That’s no matter. I can teach you,” Kuro says.

Kuro himself learned from Owl. The old man taught him the game years ago while he lingered at the castle. He kept to himself whether was simply resting between outings or sniffing around amongst the servants and courtiers. Kuro has beaten him only once, and he suspects that the old man threw that game. He is as difficult for Kuro to read as his son is easy.

But still, he offers Wolf the same reason for learning as the Owl gave him. “They say shogi is good for the mind. It helps one practice strategy.” He knows Wolf struggles to justify doing things that don’t reap tangible results. The shinobi’s chief leisure activity, insofar as he can be said to have one, is sleeping. Wolf inclines his head in agreement.

Wolf seats himself across the table, and Kuro begins setting up the board. He explains the rules of the game to him; they’re a lot to take in, but he knows Wolf prides himself on only having to be told something once, and thus does not repeat himself. He listens in silence, nodding from time to time or interjecting with a murmured question, and they begin to play.

A minute and a half passes. Wolf loses.

“Hrm,” he says, brow furrowed. Kuro hides a smile with his sleeve.

“I didn’t think you’d want me to take it easy on you, Wolf,” he says.

A slight shake of the head. “Of course.”

“Again?”

“As you wish, my lord.”

Kuro offers him no advice. He doesn’t want to teach Wolf to play like him; even after three years’ worth of rainy days spent at the board, he suspects his own style is still too much like the Owl’s. He wants to see how Wolf plays shogi.

As they begin again, he watches the shinobi’s expression. Between turns, his gaze darts about the room, quicksilver eyes beneath a stone brow. His attention is divided a dozen different ways. This, rather than his inexperience, is why Kuro beats him again.

“Again?”

“Certainly.”

Perhaps, Kuro thinks, he should ask him to play next in a room with shuttered windows and a single, easily barred door. He can see the roots of Wolf’s technique, the shape of his quick, guarded mind beginning to describe itself upon the board, but he won’t let himself become immersed in the game. Wolf can’t let go of his awareness of the tower’s points of entry and escape, of the distance between the palm of his hand and the hilt of his sword.

Kuro begins to push Wolf’s slow offense back, intending to corner him on his own side of the board. Confident in his advance, he overreaches. Wolf capitalises on the chink revealed in his armour and cuts behind Kuro’s lines. As he finishes his move, he glances up at Kuro.

“Hah!” Kuro sits back in surprise, eyes alight. A hint of a smile runs along the furrows of Wolf’s face, and is gone just as quickly.

“I apologise, Wolf,” he says. “I underestimated you.”

Wolf inclines his head. “It is no matter.”

As the game continues to its close and the game after it begins, Kuro watches Wolf’s hold on his vigilance relax a little more. Perhaps there’s something comforting to him after all about a battle with no stakes, an enemy who wants nothing more than to pass a summer afternoon.

@dragonbasket

@fateoftheundead

“Are you ready, Wolf?”

Sekiro nodded and knelt before the low table across from the young lord, who busied himself shuffling a stack of papers. Kuro’s movements were not that of a studious priest, or a graceful shinobi, but guileless and clumsy like the youth he was.

“Why is this necessary for my mission?”

“Your sentiments are pure and honorable, but the pursuit of knowledge and understanding is just as pure, just as honorable.”

“As you insist. I do not know exactly what it is I do not know.”

***

The Wolf turned his head back and forth, flustered as he had ever been and rarely showed. “As I told the Heir, I do not know what it is I do not know. I… have heard that that is a good place to start. To start knowing.” A snort emerged from the background, amidst the wooden idols.

Emma, the mild doctor, approached, frowning in the direction of the snort. “That is true. Do not be so hard on yourself.” She took a seat. “Please continue.”

Sekiro handed the stack of Kuro’s scrolls to the man seated on the ground, who blinked with wide open eyes at the documents. Fujioka gave the smile of a man retreating from a tiger. “So whaddya need me for, anyway?”

“My letters are insufficient. You are the right choice, despite your grumbling.”

“Fine, fine, some compliment.” Spreading the papers out, he bent his head to the scroll he had selected. “So… I have heard it said, oh monks, that… hmm, I dunno that’s the best way to begin. You’ve got far more wisdom than you know, Wolf, but these doctrineses may be too big a breakfast. Tell me- what scriptures did you learn as a child?”

Sekiro sighed. “I remember very little from before I was orphaned, and once the Owl had adopted me I had very little time for scriptures or doctrines.”

Another scoffing laugh came, and this time it’s owner came closer. The Sculptor rose creakily and made his way over as well, though much less gracefully than the doctor.

“Ahh, these old bones need a stretch anyway. The Owl? Ukonzaemon Usui? One slip of the pen and he would have been a cloud-and-water man. Bah, you’re more a cloud-and-water man than the old fool ever could have been.” He bowed deeply to Fujioka, his wooden left arm almost scraping the floor. “Forgive me, scroll jumbler. Forgive me, Wolf. Please continue.”

“I suppose that I know as much as anyone. Gate gate pāragate pārasaṃgate bodhi svāhā?”

Seeing the lost look on his face, the others in the room repeated the simple sutra. “You all know it. I’m gald I knew it as well. Perhaps this is not the correct interpretation, but it has always struck me... gone, gone, everyone gone... What does it mean to be shinobi? If we become one with the shadows, then do we exist at all?”

Fujioka beamed. “Oh, that’s wisdom alright, Wolf! As direct as the 6th Patriarch’s famous verse, and maybe as good.” He looked around sheepishly. “What? I know stuff.”

“Do you know who else had something to say about the Heart of Wisdom?” The Sculptor’s grimace was unreadable. Emma turned to him, but cut him only with the gaze of her eyes. “Master Hakuin! Do you know what he said about our beautiful Heart? Scripture scrolls dug from piles of garbage!”

“Garbage?” Emma’s face at last betrayed a hint of anger.

“Easy, sweet doctor. I mean no offense. We may pare our nails at the foot of a burning lamp, we may polish a brick into a mirror, but these base things are not bad. Simply a glimpse of truth. These,” he said, flinging a gnarled finger past the Heir’s donated stack of scrolls. “are wonderful in their own way, but for a man of my inclinations, I prefer the schematics our Wolf brings back. To build wondrous things!”

“Not from piles of garbage.” Sekiro’s face grew dark as he thought back to where he had found many such scrolls and the like that he’d found, in pockets and pouches, in dark corners used as hiding places, and he thought of the secrets he’d found as well, the deep crimson secrets that lay at the heart of men. And monsters.

“Of course, Wolf. Now, of all the treasures you bring back to our little ryokan... I prefer the sake best.”

“Sake!” Fujioka theatrically covered his face, mimicking the voice of a mortified grandmother. “In the midst of our scripture study! Would that not violate the Fifth Precept?”

“Indeed, indeed, sir, but there is one sin that the Tathagatha held more grave than any violation of the precepts.”

“What is this sin, Sculptor?” Emma’s face had lost all anger and she seemed genuinely curious.

“The disruption of the Sangha! Chaos amongst friends and disciples! Vituperation!” He grinned. “I am an old man. I get cranky when I do not get my sake. And when I get cranky...”

“The next time I find any sake, I will bring it right back. For the Sangha, that is.”

“Make sure you do. My friends, is anyone else cold? Without a little something to warm my belly, I feel every draft.” Without waiting for a response he walked over to the hearth where a few embers struggled to produce rarefied strands of flame. “We’re out of firewood.”

The others ignored him and Fujioka produced another scroll from the pile. “The Hekiganroku... some of these things the Heir sent us are quite advanced. Don’t get me wrong, I find a quality koan to be pleasing on its own merits, but the solution of these... beyond me.” The information broker squinted down at another scroll. “Oooh, ooh. The Heir left a little note in the margin. ‘Master Dogen’s commentary is superb.’ Aha! Dogen.” Fujioka became suddenly excited and turned his squint towards Emma. “Waittaminute...”

“I was indeed apprenticed to Dogen.” A faint smile. “Not the original Dogen. He was centuries ago. How old do you think I am?”

Before the broker could reply, Sekiro piped up. “Doctor, you don’t look a day over 200.” She rewarded him with a widening smile at the quip. She rubbed her hands together.

“It is cold. My Master Dogen would sometimes pretend to be a Zen master and jump out of corners to frighten me. He made a crude kesa out of bandages and covered his hair with a sack to seem bald.” She paused in thought. “I am not sure why.”

“Students must sometimes go along with their master’s teaching, I am sure.” Sekiro nodded.

Fujioka continued. “No offense, Wolf, but I got something here from the Hekiganroku that reminded me of you, and our dear ol’ sculptor. Case 54...” He recited the koan and put the scroll down.

“Yunmen Extends His Hands. I see. But I have only one hand.”

“Between the two of us we have two, Wolf,” called the Sculptor from the background, still puttering noisily among the idols. “Yunmen would slap us well if that were the case.”

Sekiro stood momentarily from where he’d crouched across from Fujioka and stretched his back before sitting again. “I recall some dharma if you forgive my rough understanding.”

“Of course!” The broker smiled in anticipation despite himself.

“Yunmen’s koan reminded me of another great master fond of hitting his disciples. Rinzai! What a fearsome teacher. There are tales that I have heard of his striking pupils to teach a lesson, but his most impressive act was worthy of a shinobi. In the meditation hall, during the most serene meditation, he would appear out of nowhere beside any monks whose minds were wandering, and beat them with a stick!”

“That stick is called the kyosaku and the monks must raise their hands and ask to be struck. It is an efficacious remedy for a sluggish mind.” Emma nodded to Sekiro as she rose as well. “I think I prefer your version, though.” “Aha! A fine Buddha indeed.” The Sculptor appeared with one of his wooden idols, one of surpassing craftsmanship. Without any hesitation he flung the idol onto the fire. The others reacted with a combination of horror and disbelief that led into a general clamor. Sekiro himself adopted a blank expression, as there was certainly a finer point to this act that he did not understand. “Protest all you like, it’s only a statue.”

“Of the Tathagatha. Such shame you bring with your recklessness,” seethed Emma. The sculptor scoffed.

Having recovered from his initial shock, Fujioka looked into the Sculptor’s eyes. “This is something I heard about once. That old pervert Ikkyu once did the same. But...”

“A common error, sir. Not Ikkyu, but Tanka.” He turned to Emma. “Do you mean to say that I burned the Buddha himself? Some relic of the Shaka Nyorai?”

“No, it is simply a wooden statue, but-”

“Simply wood,” he interrupted. “Then you do not mind if I burn another as the night grows colder?”

No one spoke for a long moment.

Fujioka broke the silence. “Ya think maybe we studied enough for the young master? I’d like to know for next time... I mean, if there is a next time... who are the masters you’d wanna hear more from?”

“Let us decide which sage would win in a battle, then!” The Sculptor’s face creased with amusement. “Wolf, who do you think?”

“Rinzai, of course. His stealth and fearsome strikes would take the day.” He turned to Emma. “What would you say, doctor?”

“Eno, the patriarch. His touch could make even the most ephemeral things as immovable as mountains. They say in a distant temple he sits mummified, unmoving but still meditating. True strength.”

“I dunno if the Heir thinks this is appropriate. Says here the Buddha himself specified that this subject is not suitable for the path to enlightenment.” He leaned forward with a sly whisper. “I would be like Dorin. Simple, happy teachings, and could spring through the trees like a monkey. Or a shinobi.”

“My turn,” said the Sculptor. “I am sure of my preference for the toughest master. Eka, Damo’s disciple. A great general before that, a fearsome warrior. To prove his devotion to becoming a student of Damo, he cut off his own arm and presented it to the patriarch, and became a great teacher in his own right. Invincible.”

Sekiro’s intuition prickled at him. He tensed, sensing something akin to danger, but...

The sculptor removed his wooden arm and held it aloft. “Wolf, I’ve seen how well you adapted to my previous arm. Such clever uses of the humble mechanisms I installed. But this thing? What use is it? I carved one arm with the other arm. Eka did not even replace his. So perhaps...” He shivered. “Is it cold in here?”

The sculptor tossed his wooden arm onto the fire.

There was no outcry from the others. Only a shocked silence. The sculptor rubbed the bare spot where his shoulder terminated. “Now, Wolf, about that sake...”

A slight smile. “For the Sangha?”

“For the Sangha.” Another uncomfortable pause, then the Sculptor let loose with a cackle.

In the warmth and light of the fire, the others joined him in laughter as the arm lit the room with its flames. @thefatladysang

@poisonhemloc

The old route to Senpou Temple started in the silvergrass field. Genichiro had never been to the temple, but there was a first time for everything. He needed the Mortal Blade, now, that was held there. The crimson one. The black one was further but much easier to get to, and relatively unguarded- but he didn’t want to risk the black one, the one that would kill Grandfather if he used it too much. Grandfather staying alive was the only reason the Interior Ministry hadn’t fully attacked Ashina. And he didn’t dare hasten the illness’s work before he had the Dragon’s Heritage, true immortality, not the Sediment’s poor version. With the Dragon’s Heritage he could stand up to the Interior Ministry, and win.

Grandfather had obviously thought the Sediment was making him unstable, when he stopped to tell him where he was going. A little part of Genichiro still wondered why he had even taken the time to do that. And wondered why he had come out here, where he had lost against the shinobi for the first time by a hair’s breadth, when the more reliable route to Senpou now ran through the dungeons. He turned to leave-

-and a strange depression in the grass caught his eye.

There was an arm. There was the shinobi’s arm, laying here unrotting. It had been a month, something should have at least tried chewing on it, but it looked as though he had just cut it off.

Some part of him knew why. He waited for the knowledge to work its way to the front of his mind through hazes of red.

The Dragon’s Heritage. The same as Tomoe. And Genichiro remembered a spar between Grandfather and Tomoe, when he was younger, before Takeru had died and Kuro had been born.

Neither of them were trying to be careful, but Isshin was always better at swordplay than Tomoe; xe had shined with archery instead, and taught Genichiro. And Isshin had cut off Tomoe’s right arm, with the same lunge Genichiro had used for the shinobi. And had given Genichiro a look, as Tomoe collapsed, and held the arm next to the stump, and when Tomoe revived it had reattached. And it had been like Isshin had never cut it off.

It must have been due to the Dragon’s Heritage. And now…

The prosthetic Dogen had spent days, months, working on, had been given to the shinobi. Every shinobi trick conceivable could fit in it. It would be better, smarter, to leave this somewhere the man would find it, and have him reattach it and lose the prosthetic and the advantage it gave.

But the rational train of thought was being drowned out by the louder, much more insistent voice that had listened to Orangutan complain, sometimes loudly, every time he was at the castle, about the arm he had lost continuing to hurt. And several soldiers, and samurai, who had also lost limbs and complained about the same thing. He shouldn’t delay any longer though, he needed to be moving. Genichiro grabbed the arm and left for the dungeons.

There was a brazier not far from the entrance, next to the cave Doujun had been reduced to using. Genichiro knocked it over and dropped the arm on top of the coals, watched it smoulder, and then catch when he dumped fabric- Doujun probably brought it over to tend to the stab wounds but they were fine, the Sediment was healing everything- and watched as the arm caught and blazed. He had a lot of things he needed to do but… he could wait, for a few minutes, ignoring Doujun grumbling as he retreated to the little cave and watch the armor distort and melt and the arm reduce to blackened bones before he turned and left for Senpou.

Isshin watched the shinobi nod politely, and stand. He would be after the Crimson Mortal Blade, now, like Genichiro was. He half turned- and tensed up, and grimaced, just for a second, but Isshin saw it. The prosthetic definitely twitched, and his good arm looked like he was going to grab at it for a moment, before he went back to the blank face he always wore.

“Something wrong, Sekiro?” Another little hint of emotion, he did not like that Isshin had seen that and commented on it. Now, would he lie, or admit to it? And which would make that shadow in his eyes worse?

“...Just for a second, my… injury, hurt. More than it has. I… believe I need to talk to Lady Emma.”

“Go then! Emma knows what to do with severed limbs.” Isshin watched him leave, not using the prosthetic’s grappling hook like he had to get here. Not using the prosthetic at all, actually. He would have to ask Emma what had happened. He had not painstakingly arranged for this man to get to Kuro and helped him hone his talent for killing just for his arm to twinge a little and have him give everything up.

Wolf had opened the library window Kuro hadn’t been able to budge as soon as he was back, and talked to Kuro, and now was approaching Emma. He looked tenser than he had, had Isshin given him bad news? And he hesitated for a moment, before seemingly resigning himself.

“Something… happened, to the injury.” Emma fought to keep the shock off her face, Wolf was asking for medical help beyond the gourd? When she went to check in with Isshin would she find him cured, talking to a normal, sane Genichiro?

“Okay. We need to take the prosthetic off anyway, I need to check the bandages. What happened?” Wolf had been keeping his voice quiet; Kuro hopefully was too engrossed in reading to notice, and Emma stayed quiet as well.

“It felt like I touched metal held in a fire, with the cut part of my arm.” Emma frowned, helping him remove the prosthetic and the remainder of the kote, not touching the scarf he was overly protective of. Pain from the missing limb, that happened a lot, and he had said it felt like burning. And pain in the remaining limb, from being cut. Burning in the remaining limb was not normal.

Wolf tensed up when she started unwrapping bandages, too, but that was normal for him. There were clean bandages up here, at least, Emma didn’t want to reuse what she was unwrapping. She should have changed everything when he woke up, but there was no way he would have trusted her enough to let her. Nevermind that she had bandaged the arm in the first place and been changing it while he’d been unconscious, and worried that it never looked like it was healing, just not bleeding as much.

Now it did, it looked… like he had said, like someone had cauterized it. Which was normally what Emma would have done anyway, except the Dragon’s Heritage should have healed it completely.

“You were just talking with Isshin?”

“Yes.”

“...Well, it cauterized itself. I don’t know why. It’s still going to hurt- it might hurt more, for a while. I need you to stay here for a few hours, at least, in case something else happens.”

“I cannot. I have Lord Kuro’s orders to fulfil.” Like he hadn’t asked Emma to check his arm. “I will-”

“Not leave until tomorrow at earliest.” Loud enough Kuro heard, hopefully. “Give your arm some chance to heal, since it’s finally started to.” She ignored the dirty look that flashed across his face for a moment as she placed new bandages and helped replace the remains of the left kote that the prosthetic tied onto.

Kuro walked to the front of the library as Wolf pushed Emma’s hands away and finished tying on the prosthetic himself.

“Wolf, please, if you are in pain the ingredients can wait.” Kuro was frowning, one of his hands was fidgeting with the book he still held. “And you did just duel Genichiro. Everything can wait til tomorrow morning, Wolf.” Kuro was probably too far away to hear a bitten back sigh.

“Of course, my lord.”

Emma had her own quarters at night, and Kuro had blankets in this room and had insisted on giving Wolf one of them; he had insisted on giving Wolf several of them, actually, and it had taken a few minutes of careful discussion before Wolf convinced him not to, but he wouldn’t be budged on Wolf having at least one and continuing to refuse was inviting him to order Wolf to accept more. How much Kuro seemed to care for Wolf- Wolf, who had failed at Hirata, who had spent too long trying to find Kuro and get to Ashina, and then failed again immediately- was. Strange. It must have been because Wolf was the only person left from Hirata, this was not how masters treated their servants. At least Wolf would stay awake if he was here, stay on guard.

And he failed at that, too, jerking awake in the middle of the night, biting his tongue to stop a yell like he had with Isshin, feeling like his missing arm had been crushed. It was still gone. The pain persisted for a few minutes, before fading back to the burning pain he had been trying to tune out. Emma was not being told about this, if she came before he left in the morning; Wolf had a duty to his lord, and he did not want to be delayed again because she thought he couldn’t work through pain.

Genichiro, angrier already than he had been, stomped back down the passageway, snapping at the soldiers he had ordered to keep watch down here to pay attention. Senpou was a waste. The monks were easy enough to kill, not one of them could block a swing from him, but every bridge to the monastery was broken. What was he supposed to do, scale Mt Kongo itself just to get to the main hall?

So the black blade would have to do. Open Gate. The weaker of the blades, sure, but it was enough. It was closer too, easier to get to; why had he even bothered with Senpou Temple? He should have gone straight for it. Yes, Grandfather thought it was tied to his life, but no one really knew, just some shrine maiden twenty years ago wrote a lot of stuff on a scroll to justify keeping the sword. It was all speculation. And it was just in a shrine halfway to Hirata and north. And Dragon’s Heritage or not, it would kill the shinobi for good and Kuro wouldn’t have a choice, and with enough of the generals sharing immortality they would drive off the Interior Ministry.

...Here was the remains of the fire where he’d burned the arm. The bones looked blackened, but still recognizable. Genichiro stamped on them as he passed, splintering them into pieces, and continued out of the dungeons, back out of the castle, before it was light.

#sekiro shadows die twice #fanfiction #fanart #sekiro chain 1

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sophi-s · 4 years ago

Text

Cost of Kindness

Chapter I: Chance encounter

By: sophi-s

Fandom: Darksiders video games

Words: 6,471

Characters: Original female character (OC), Raphael

Warnings: Graphic description of corpses, blood and injuries, disturbing imagery, swearing

Summary:

Life of a human after the apocalypse is difficult. The world seems to always be against them. Still, they keep on living. But one day something unexpected happens to one of the inhabitants of Haven. A woman named Nicola discovered something... or rather someone... who seemed to be in equally as sorry state as her entire race put together. Nothing was the same ever since. It's curious how one seemingly random event can change everything...

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Nicola got lost again. All the promises she made to both Ulthane and Jones have gone into trash when with a pang of worry she's suddenly realised she does not know where Haven is. It was supposed to be a short supply run, a little trip to some ruined store in search of food and maybe some medicine if luck wished to be on her side and it turned into a whole day long journey. She hadn't been careful enough and ended up getting spotted. She was too fast for that Trauma to get to her before she disappeared into a narrow alley but she successfully lost her orientation.

Navigating through the city used to be so easy before all this apocalypse nonsense. Nicola knew her way around better than anyone honestly. Now everything looked different. What once was her home now seemed sinister and the animosity could be felt in every, even the tiniest speck of dust. All streets, previously so familiar to her, looked exactly the same, often cut in half by obsidian spikes and pits of boiling magma which made moving around even more troubling. In short words, the entire place was a wreckage. With each moment of aimless wandering, her panic was growing. Inwardly cursing, thinking about all the reprimanding she would get after she somehow finds her way back and the fact that she's most likely going to get grounded forever, she tried to move through the street as quietly as possible, without causing any unnecessary noises. Becoming an evening snack for a pack of Goreclaws or a Trauma wasn't a very attractive fate. The latter could still be around here somewhere and the blood spilling from a cut on her forehead she got when she accidentally ran into a wooden beam protruding from a wall wasn't going to make it harder for it to eventually find her again.. It was very unlikely that the Trauma could've gotten stuck in that alley after it tried to get to her. They are dumb. But not that dumb. Though the mental image alone was quite hilarious now that she thinks about it.. To some extent imagining a Trauma helplessly shuffling to try and unstuck itself from a narrow pathway made her feel a tad better, even crack a little smile. Still, she had to think of something. She'd already lived through too much to just die at this point.

Evening? Clutching a shotgun in her shaking hands, Nicola looks out at the amber sky and her heart hastens when she realises that it really is getting late. The last rays of sun were slowly sinking behind the horizon, slowly turning the sky from warm orange to indigo as the tall buildings bathed the city in deep shadows stretching over the ground like dark omens. Just perfect. There was no other choice for her than to hide somewhere and wait until dawn and resume her search tomorrow, hoping someone will start looking for her. Going anywhere after the dusk was an equivalent of a suicide. Demons and the Wicked tend to be especially active after the nightfall.. Nicola would rather not bump into one of the Suffering either, those things are especially nasty. Hulking, four-armed abominations melded with bodies of the dead, bringing back all those poor souls who weren't lucky enough to get away… she shudders at the thought and hastens her pace.

Most of the houses were already destroyed and usually infested with all kinds of detestable creatures she'd rather avoid - from Wicked, through all kinds of demons and Duskwings, to enormous spiders ready to cocoon any unfortunate passerby for a snack - unfit to be a shelter. But honestly, what wasn't crawling with Hellspawn these days? They were everywhere, as far as the sight can reach. Heaving out a long suffering sigh, Nicola decided to hide underneath the city, hoping she won't find any monsters there.

That was not one of her most brilliant ideas but in truth whatever she chose, it would be just as bad and she hardly cared at this point. Her legs felt as though they went a couple of inches up her arse from all day of walking and running and her empty stomach growled hungrily as she didn't get a chance to stop and eat a sandwich hidden in her backpack. It didn't take long to find a lid of a well leading to the sewers below. Just in case, Nicola dug some new shells out from her backpack and shoved them into her pocket to have easy access to them before pulling the lid out and uncovering a stinking hole in the pavement. The strong "aroma" that drifted out hit her like a brick to the face.

"Ugh.."

Nicola groaned, pinching her nose. Even after the literal armageddon, she still found sewers to be one of the grossest things ever. Like, come on, that's where all the piss and shit goes and a person who enters the sewers for even a minute comes out coated in this stench. Oh well.. It can't be worse than getting torn to shreds by a Goreclaw, can it? Up here was definitely worse than below. Everything she'd met so far - except for Ulthane, Yarin and Elanya - was trying to kill her lately. At least there was no sign of the Big Bad anywhere… Nicola had seen the so-called Destroyer only once and it was enough to last her a lifetime, considering how close she'd been back then. The fact that he didn't spot her, she probably owed the fact that she was somewhere to his right and from what she'd seen his right eye wasn't exactly in good condition. Though, she couldn't deny that the dragon did look sick as Hell - she cringed inwardly at the bad joke her mind produced - and if she wasn't scared shittless and in danger of getting eaten or burned alive, she probably would've taken out her notebook and tried to sketch him. Not often does one see a dragon up this close and Nicola had a habit of drawing anything even remotely interesting she sees. And the more challenging the thing is, the better. In her sketchbook, she already had Ulthane and his younger companions, Vulgrim, some other demons and a Fallen. The last thing she did see pretty damn close. Too close for her liking.

Pulling her stained, dark-blue neckerchief up to her nose as a mostly useless mask against the foul smell, she crouches down and with a loose piece of a brick scratches out a message on the ground, hoping either Jones or some other survivor will find it.

I'M IN THE SEWER

NIKA <3

Just to make it clear, she tears a piece of her already ragged sleeve off and places it under the aforementioned brick next to the message. It's not much but it has to be enough… Without further ado, Nicola slid inside the dark hole and closed the lid above her head. Utter blackness immediately closed around her like a thick coverlet. A quiet sound of dripping, echoing through the tunnel was all that she could hear.

Plip. Plop. Plip. Plop.

Should've thought about taking out a flashlight before cutting off the only source of light.

Grumbling under her breath, Nicola jumped down from a small ladder. But instead of landing on the hard and straight ground, her feet connected with something soft and uneven. With a small yelp, she lost her balance and fell flat onto the actual floor with a wet "Thwack!". Please just be regular water… She begged the puddle underneath her as she scrambled to her feet and pulled the backpack from her shoulders. For a few minutes, she blindly searched through her things, probing for the light source. When her fingers found the flashlight and she turned it on however, she nearly screamed.

That thing she landed on wasn't a mound of garbage like she previously assumed but a body. Body of a dead Phantom General. Its skin was in an unhealthy pallid shade, misty eyes were bulging out of their sockets. And the squishy bit she landed on was its face. Nicola nervously laughs to herself

"Maybe the stench killed him?"

The thought of a large demon dying in a sewer just because it smells bad was kind of amusing and a little comforting. But then she realised that if that was the case, then there's nothing to laugh at. What if there are some poisonous gases in here? Hydrogen sulfide, for example? If it killed a demon, undoubtedly much more hearty, then why shouldn't it do so with a human?

"Shit.. I hope not…"

Nicola curses and immediately presses the neckerchief closer to her face like it would do her any good. Well, no point in wondering about it now. If she were to get poisoned then she probably already was so… Father would be so disappointed if he found out she died in a sewer by inhaling toxic gas. I should've paid more attention to chemistry lessons… Anyway.. Standing here will not make it any better. She might as well find herself a place to rest for a while or forever. Unless healing shards work on that stuff, she had nothing on her to help should she get poisoned. Flinging her backpack over her shoulder, Nicola turns away from the corpse and peers into the dark pathway which opened before her like a gullet of a gargantuan monster waiting to swallow her whole. Having absolutely no idea that this choice would change her miserable life forever, she takes a breath and bravely moves onward.

The Phantom General wasn't the only one. As Nicola walked deeper into the dark, stinking corridor, she noticed more bodies. Goreclaws, Wicked, Phantom Guards, even a couple of Duskwings and - this was the most unsettling discovery - the serpentine Shadowcaster… all of them pale and wizened. An unnerving feeling grew in her stomach. Nicola had seen much death as of late but this… this was horrifying. It was like walking through a tomb or a mass grave. Up close she could see something she hadn't noticed before. Something that made her mouth turn sandpaper. All of the bodies seemed… dried for the lack of a better word. As though something had drained them of their blood, leaving only shriveled husks behind. But there were no wounds, no markings. Nicola gulps at the thought that whatever killed them might still be down here with her.

Backing away, she takes a turn into another section and curls up in a corner by a metal grate blocking the way ahead. Nicola turns the flashlight off and hugs her knees to her chest, trying to control her fearful breathing. Climbing down into the sewers wasn't such a good idea after all. What if… what if there are things far worse down here than the demons she'd already seen? Her parents often scared her with stories of monsters lurking in the dark pipes and winding tunnels when she was a child but those were only supposed to keep her away from the sewers. The true reason was always the toxic miasma drifting through them. Or so she thought as she grew older. Now it seems that the former turned out to be true… And if it murdered a Shadowcaster just like that, then it was a creature to be reckoned with, no doubt.

Whatever it is that hides in here, Nicola didn't want to meet it. Whether it was a classic sewer monster, grotesque, with teeth and tentacles, or something else it didn't matter. Looking down at her left wrist, where her blessedly still working electrical watch with sun batteries was, she squinted at the numbers it showed.

7:48 P.M.

This was going to be a long night… If she survives this, she would get out and return to the Tree, and tell Ulthane she will never leave again. Essentially, she'd ground herself for him. If she could find her way back, that is.. And this might prove rather tricky. Maybe if she could find a Serpent Hole and bribe Vulgrim to take her to Haven, it would be much easier. But then again, she will have to give him something. Aside from her soul, she had nothing he would be interested in and that she could still make use of. Damn it, why is it so cold in here? Pulling the zip of her vest up to her chin, she curls up even more and hides her hands in her pockets to seek any warmth she could find. The stench wasn't even phasing her anymore. Nicola got used to it after the first few minutes. Besides, her fear was what she was mostly focused on. At least she didn't feel anything that would hint at being poisoned.. Whatever deadly stuff was down here before must've dispersed some time after the apocalypse after the disuse of the sewers. And thank God for that..

Meow…

Her head snapped up at the echo coming from the tunnel she backed out from. It was very weak and quiet but she definitely heard something that sounded vaguely like a cat. A very small and very scared cat.

Meow…

There it was again. This time accompanied by a barely visible flash of light coming from the tunnel further down. Cursing her innate curiosity, she pulled herself up to her feet and snuck towards the entrance to her little hidey-hole. The light appeared again before slowly fading. It looked a little like… like someone was coming here with a broken flashlight. Could it… could it be someone from the Tree? Maybe another survivor lost their way in the sewers? Picking up her shotgun, she decides to check it out, the thoughts of a monster not forgotten per se, but definitely pushed to the back of her mind. Wary of every step she makes, she follows the light and the sounds of a distressed animal. Sleep was never an option anyway..

As she walked onwards, the lights were getting brighter, the meowing louder and the pounding of her heart faster. There were more corpses in various states of decay and skeletons strewn about the further she headed but she decided to stay brave. Should anything attack her, she has the shotgun at the ready. Something in her head laughed at her hysterically. How can she be so naive to think that if there's a monster down here her pathetic shotgun can do it much harm? It didn't have a problem with killing all those things. Why would it have a problem with Nicola and her weak human weapon? Besides, even if she did manage to defend herself, one shot from that thing would bring half of the city down on her head. And that was something she definitely wanted to avoid.

Meow!

Another flash. Her surroundings were slowly starting to change. The bodies were left behind and she started to notice wooden crates lying here and there as though someone meant to hide the passage further down. Was this a hide out if some sort? Flash again.

Meow!

And then…

"Hush, little one… I won't let them hurt you again…"

Nicola's heart hastened when a shaky voice reached her. There really was someone down here! However, she doesn't let her ecstasy control her. They don't necessarily have to be friendly. Everyone is permanently scared and paranoid since the apocalypse and if she jumped out from a dark sewer without a warning she's more likely to receive a bullet to the face than a warm welcome. A flash, very bright this time. Before, she didn't notice it but the light was actually… green? Soft, soothing shade of green. Who uses a green flashlight? Someone who didn't have any other. We're in an apocalypse, for God's sake. Shrugging, she sneaks up towards the turn and carefully peeks into the new corridor, unable to take the anticipation any longer. And she freezes.

There were many things Nicola expected to find. Even the sewer monster was higher on her list of possibilities. But not this. Before her, approximately fifteen feet or so, in a makeshift shelter made out of ratty curtains and wooden boxes sat a humanoid figure. They were wearing some sort of metal shoulder pads on their ragged, dark green clothing, worn and stained, once undoubtedly fine knee-high boots, and a tattered and dirty hood. The gilded edges of their pauldrons were smudged and tarnished, as were the clips of the belts on their hips and across their chest. A pair of disheveled, dusted grey, feathery wings was closed around them like two shields protecting their sides and keeping the warmth in the resulting heat cave. Through a gap between the feathers, she noticed strands of long, white hair in the similar state as the wings spilling from under the hood.

This was one of those… those angels who came as the apocalypse began. Only… This one didn't seem like the rest. They didn't look like one of the warriors. And were unarmed at that, she realises once she doesn't catch a sight of any sort of weapon nearby.

Meow!

Nicola heard it clearly now, and trying to track down the source of the sound, her eyes wandered to a hand of the angel, one which they held close to their chest. And there, on their large palm rested a tiny ball of fluff with its fur clogged with blood. The angel was hunched over a wounded kitten, and from time to time they brought up the other hand and gently ran their trembling fingers wrapped in stained bandages over the jagged claw mark along its spine. The green light flared up from angel's fingertips as gradually the wound was stitching itself. A sorcerer then. If meeting Shadowcasters was any indicator, then it would be better not to mess with this one.

Meow!

The kitten cried again and the angel, now she was pretty sure it was a male, spoke with a soft and calming, but shaking voice that reached to the depth of her soul.

"Fret not… it will be over. Soon enough."

In honesty, Nicola really had to stop herself from making a loud "awww" noise as she watched this angel treat a tiny injured kitten. How did he get here in the first place? Shouldn't he be with the rest of his buddies? She honestly never thought one of them would ever fall so low as to hide in a sewer of all places. Unless there was no other option. He must've gotten lost or something.. She thinks, almost snickering at how similar to hers this situation was.

To make no mistake, she didn't want to approach the angel, especially after what she'd seen during the apocalypse - most of them didn't give two shits about what happen to her race - and so Nicola decided, even if slightly disappointed that it wasn't another human survivor or someone looking for her like she previously assumed, to go away and leave him be with his kitten. The angels the apocalypse has shown to her were hardly the kind and thoroughly good creatures the image of she grew up with.. But then, nature decided to play a cruel prank on her and a horrifyingly loud sound of her stomach rumbling was carried over the immediate vicinity.

Nicola cursed inwardly at her stupid stomach - really, she would've eaten that sandwich but the smell of the server was very unappetizing - when the angel quickly looked up before gently placing the cat down on a piece of folded cloth and snapping his fingers to produce a small wisp of normal, white light. Now, his face wasn't obscured by the shadow of his hood. It was just like a face of a human, especially with all the grime smeared over it, just more… how to describe it? Features were more apparent, simultaneously sharp and smooth. Like those of a sculpture. Almost overly perfect. However, he looked ill, emaciated with his cheeks collapsed like this and sunken eyes, seemingly too large for his head. His eyes… brilliant white with faint silvery pupils, glowing like two wisps, opened wide in an absolutely blank, emotionless stare, not unlike that of a man in feverish delirium. How long had he been down here?

"Who.. who's there..?"

His lips barely moved as he spoke, his wide eyes darted around in panic as he searched for intruders. Not that she could blame him. Her stomach sounded like a starving demon and as far as she's concerned, his kind isn't really fond of those.. The angel looked a little like a terrified, wounded animal that had been cornered by predators with no apparent way out. It was… sad somehow. Since she'd already been heard, Nicola carefully stepped out of her hiding spot. The reaction she got however, was far different from what she's been expecting. The angel gasped, his wings shot up like two enormous flags as he lifted his hands. Green magic crackled along his slender fingers with most of the nails broken and bloodied as she froze where she stood.

"G- get away! Back off, foul creature!"

He stuttered but didn't attack just yet. Swallowing a lump of fear Nicola forced herself to very, very slowly and carefully take a few steps closer to enter the illuminated area around the scared angel to make him realise this is a misunderstanding and she means no harm. She even left her gun on the floor not to make him feel threatened and kept her hands up, palms forward where he could see them. He squinted but this hollow look in his eyes remained. Disturbing… Even more so when he started to mutter nervously to himself, rubbing his eyebrows with his thumb.

"No… not a demon, nor an angel, a human perhaps…? Yes, yes… has to be… But that's not possible.. They're… they're all gone. Dead, killed, stone dead… Who is this and what do you want? Your tricks won't work on me.."

"I- I'm not trying to trick you, I swear! I am a human. I'm Nicola.."

She assures the angel, hoping that giving him her name will make him feel a little less threatened. A quiet sigh of relief slipped past Nicola's lips when the magic in his hands faded as he curiously - a little like a small, inquisitive puppy - tilted his head to the left.

"Nic… ola…"

He breathed, mulling over her name, testing it on his tongue but his wings still remained aggressively flared above his head. The kitten meowed again, too weak to stand up from the bedding the angel made for it. He seemed to calm down a bit as he glanced down at it and with a flick of his finger made the animal lazily blink before it curled into a ball and immediately fell asleep. The wound on its back wasn't so large anymore and it wasn't bleeding so the black fluff with white feet and collar wasn't in any immediate danger. Angel's attention shifted back to her. But Nicola was the first one to speak.

"Who are you? How'd you get down here?

"Don't know… Human… a human. How did you get in my study? You really shouldn't be here. What is it you want from me? I'm working on improving my shards…"

"I-... Wait, your what ?"

Nicola's face scrunched up in confusion. Get in where? Working on improving his what??

"No, this isn't right… they need more energy…"

At this point she had absolutely no idea what the angel was rambling on about but she could clearly see he was completely out of his mind. Frankly speaking, she wasn't actually sure if he knows what he's babbling either.. There was only one thing that came to her mind when he spoke of shards and so she dug into her pocket, trying to find the one she'd been carrying with her just in case as he clutched at his head, tangling his fingers into his hair under his hood…

"It worked… I did it, I can… but it hurts… Creator, how it hurts… Cold.. so cold…"

His voice was starting to break as his unsteady breathing turned into something akin to sobbing but no tears were shed and he started to rock back and forth, still muttering something unintelligible. Something in Nicola's gut squirmed - or maybe it was the hunger again - as she looked at the scrawny angel mercifully. Whatever happened to him, it must've been horrible. It takes a very traumatic experience to bring a human to such a state but an angel is a different story. Seeing anyone like this saddened her. Finally, her fingers found what they were searching for and she extracted a small healing shard from her vest.

"You mean like…"

At the gentle, green glow the shard was emitting, the angel looked up astonished and let his mouth fall open. He stopped shaking and grasping his head.

"Yes… yes, my shard. I need… My blade. Where's my blade? Who…? My name? My name… I remember, I swear."

This talk of a blade was mildly unsettling to say the least but something in her chest twisted with pity and all fear left her. A little more bravely, Nicola approached the murmuring angel who attempted to scratch something out on the floor beside his knee but only successfully broke one of his nails again and hissed quietly. What happened to you, you poor thing? When she crouched next to him, he stared at her as though he'd seen a ghost when she realised he isn't looking into her eyes anymore. But at her forehead.

"You're… injured…"

He stated as matter of factly. Oh. Right. That was true. It barely hurt anymore though… and wasn't even bleeding. She's certainly had much worse. It will heal on its own in no time.

"Let me just-"

Suddenly he leaned forward to grab at her, making her heart leap up to her throat as she cried out in fear and jumped away from him. Instinctively, Nicola booked it for the tunnel she came from when she heard a heavy thud and a pained groan behind her.. It was her good hearted nature what ultimately made her stop in her tracks and look over her shoulder. To see the angel on the floor, weakly propping himself on his elbows and breathing heavily. He was very weakened. It's unclear how long he'd been down here but it certainly has taken its toll. Nicola looked out into the dark tunnel. Whatever awaited her in this darkness and out in the city surely isn't nicer than this poor sod behind her. She wasn't even sure if he actually meant to hurt her or not. It was a reflex. Then she turned to look back at the angel shivering on the wet floor.. Her throat tightened. God, she couldn't just leave it like this, could she?

"H- hey… are- are you okay?"

Nicola approaches the angel warily and squats before him as he lifts his head to look at her. And in his eyes she sees pain. Horrible, unimaginable pain, somewhere deep within, that made his crusted lips tremble. Such a sight would be enough to break even the coldest hearts. And definitely more than enough to break hers. He eyes her hands when she hesitantly takes him by the arm - careful when she notices a rag stained with fresh blood above his left elbow - and tries to pull him up to his feet or at least to a sitting position but he doesn't recoil. He simply kept staring at her hands in bewilderment. To her surprise, he was much lighter than he looked, probably because of how thin he was, and she managed to do what she intended but she could see that his legs won't uphold his weight as meager as it is. The angel glanced at the cut on her head and once again, albeit far more cautiously, reached out towards it.

"I can… I can heal it. Just hold still.. It will take a second.."

And in spite of herself, Nicola gives him a chance this time. He extended two fingers and as their tips started to glow with green, he gently tapped against her damaged skin. It felt… odd. It wasn't painful but still strange. The edges of the wound grew numb and prickly as the patch of comforting warmth fell over her forehead. And what was even odder, the angel smiled slightly, whispering

"There… It is done.. I.. remember. Was it…? It was, wasn't it… Raphael?"

"Wh- what? What are you talking about, who's Raphael?"

Nicola asks, probing the new, thin scar that was now formed in place of the cut. He really did heal her. Curious. And it did take a second.. For a moment, his face scrunched up in confusion but only for this second before he brightened and some of the strange mist fell from his white eyes as he brought both of his hands up and repeatedly poked his chest with all of his fingers.

"Me.. Raphael is… it's me! And you…"

He extended one finger and aimed it at her head.

"You are Nicola. "

"Y- yeah. Nice to meet you, I guess…"

She hesitantly replies as the circumstances of this meeting weren't exactly "nice". In a dark, damp sewer filled with stench and corpses with a possible monster lurking nearby? Far from nice if someone would ask her.

"What.. huh. What is this place?"

Raphael unexpectedly asked, looking around with his large, white eyes, blinking in confusion. Nicola pulls a face, unsure how to tackle the odd angel.

"You… don't know? You've been living here."

"Have I? Hmmm.. Strange…"

He murmured thoughtfully, scratching at his white goatee also painted with blood that surely spilled from the cut on his lower lip. Then his face shifted into concern as he tried to pull himself up with a strained grunt, clutching at an old, but not healed yet, gash over his ribs.

"I… I have to get back.. they need me in the White City…"

As she was expecting, he collapsed back onto the floor with a tired sigh not even a second later. Where and what was the "White City" he spoke of, she had no idea. What she did know however, was that in his condition Raphael isn't going anywhere. Even if he managed to get up, she could bet her right hand that he would make ten steps at most before collapsing again. Nicola winces and tilts her head to the side.

"Pal, I don't think you're in shape for walking or flying right now.."

"No, I suppose not… they cannot see me like this. I cannot return.."

At this point she wasn't surprised that Raphael kept muttering to himself about things her human brain couldn't hope to comprehend. Nicola got long used to this however. Ever since the armageddon there were very few things she could understand. It wasn't a normal day if something new and weird didn't happen to her or one of her remaining friends. Any hostility the angel showed before has faded now, his wings folded back around him as he leaned over the sleeping kitten to continue treating it. The gentleness he did it with, the uncertain smile on his face were making Nicola's heart melt. Raphael didn't seem like his friends indeed. He was different somehow. Kinder, softer. Less aggressive. More fitting the image of a stereotypical angel. But also definitely not quite… right. Up in the head.

Oh, well. Who is totally normal these days, honestly?

She wants to chuckle to herself when something gives her a pause. A horrifyingly familiar sound coming from the tunnel behind her. Panting, scraping and growling. Inevitably getting closer and closer. Her heart plummets to her heels. This sound… she would recognise it everywhere. The sound that haunted her dreams ever since the demon tore her twin brother, Nicholas, to shreds. This demon.. a Goreclaw, as Ulthane called it. Whipping around, she just managed to spot the quadrupedal monster - the size of your average Caucasian Shepherd (which was still awfully large for its kind), with long, lashing tail and sharp fangs constantly bared in a disturbing grin - appear in the entrance, cutting off the only escape route.

It must've heard Nicola's startled scream and followed it all the way here, hoping for an easy prey. Her breath caught in her throat as she stands paralyzed by the blood-hungry glare of multiple red eyes. This ugly mug, covered in blood of her sibling was still fresh in her mind, keeping her absolutely petrified. Unable to do anything, she kicks herself for leaving her shotgun behind. Now it was resting between the clawed paws of the demon who screeched in excitement as it prepared to pounce at her. Though honestly, with how rigid her body turned, she doubts she'd be able to aim, not to mention pulling the trigger.

This is it. She thinks, feeling blood leave her face. I'm gonna die. After all she's been through.. Killed by a single Goreclaw, ripped apart in a stinking sewer like an ungrateful little shite. Ulthane did so much to rescue her from the claws of that Fallen and now all his efforts are going to go to waste.. Crying out in dismay, she shields herself from the oncoming attack with her arms and shuts her eyes.

Something shifted behind her as the demon jumped at her and… nothing happened. Opening her eyes, horrified and shocked, Nicola almost gags when she sees the Goreclaw standing before her and just… gawking with its jaw slack as though it got hit on the head with something heavy. Faint golden light running around its body like tiny veins didn't escape her attention. That's when she noticed that the demon was trying to move, straining with its own stiff muscles and growling. But couldn't. It was completely paralyzed. A quiet, barely audible thrumming filled the air around Nicola and she began to feel something strange. Something she could only describe as magic. The arcane static began to nip and the bite at her skin like miniscule locusts when a green haze enveloped the Goreclaw before her. The same light fell onto her back, laying her quivering shadow out at her feet. A realisation hit her.

Raphael. He's still there.

After the apocalypse, Nicola had no delusions that angels, even the kindest ones, are ever defenseless. Before she could turn to face the angel, her would-be killer suddenly let out a soul-rending shriek that yet again almost made her drop dead or simply puke out of pure fear. Freed from the paralysis, it fell to the floor, writhing, clawing at its own chest and screeching the most ungodly noise Nicola had ever heard. What's happening?! Absolutely petrified, she watched as the demon's skin seemed to dry and wrinkle as its eyes were nearly popping out of its skull. Life - and color - was frighteningly quickly seeping out of the demon as it squirmed in agony, wailing, unable to fight the power that got a hold of it.

All this looked like taken straight out of a horror movie. And Nicola, on the contrary to Nicholas, was never a fan of those… It all took merely a few seconds of unimaginable torment before the unfortunate Goreclaw wheezed and eventually fell still with its jaws opened and tongue lolled out, wide eyes dull and unblinking, and didn't move ever again. Dead. The memory of all those corpses she has found passed through her head. The Goreclaw looked just like them… Afraid to move a muscle, she stared at the light that moved away from the dead demon, following its movement to the sight that made her back up aghast.

Raphael. The same seemingly gentle angel who healed a small, hurt animal - who healed her - was suspended in midair, tattered robes and disheveled hair billowing, with his wings flared and bristled. This soft smile was replaced by an absolute lack of any expression whatsoever as his wide eyes burned with the whitest white of unbridled anger she'd ever seen. Green streaks of magic - the same green she found so soothing before, now ominous and frightening - bathing the surroundings in brightness, were swirling around his arms, hands with fingers curled into vicious claws. For this moment he looked much stronger, a little younger… and far more dangerous than he seemed before.

"As long as I live.. I shall not stand suffering !"

Raphael bellowed at the corpse at her feet even though it was long dead and already turning cold, caring very little about how horrified she was. He didn't even seem to care how much suffering the demon had experienced before it blessedly lost its hold on life. Not that Nicola thought it didn't deserve that but still it was… pretty gruesome.. Raphael's wounded and weakened body absorbed the life-force drained from the demon and only then did he slowly descend onto the floor and landed on his feet, breathing out with relief. The magic gradually dissipated along with the sharp prickling sensation until only the tiny golden wisp hovering next to Raphael's head remained. His wings fell into their place against his back, this furious light faded out of his bright eyes before he turned to Nicola to shoot her a disarming, awkward smile as though nothing had happened at all. This tiny smile was hardly comforting.. Quite the opposite in fact. It chilled her to the bone like the coldest winter wind.

Oh fuck.

Swallowing thickly, Nicola looked up at Raphael, now standing on his own legs, clearly revitalized by the stolen energy, and felt a little fearful tear roll down her face. Then she shifted her gaze to the demon. Then back to Raphael, who seemed so small and weak before but stood at least two, maybe three feet taller than Nicola - her head reached the bottom of his sternum. I was wrong. She realises with a pang of panic, feeling a little sick in the stomach at the mere thought that this kind healer was as capable of killing her where she stood as any demon up above her head. All he had to do was flick his wrist and look at her and she wouldn't have been able to do a thing to defend herself. It suddenly made sense. There was no sewer monster down here. No beast that would threaten her. No foul creature that could suck the blood from her body and leave ber as a mummified corpse. All this death, all these bodies… The horrifying monster Nicola was expecting to find...

It was him.

--------------------------------------------------

So yeah. That was the chapter I. I'll try to make more but I don't promise anything XD

The moral of this story? Don't piss off/spook angel sorcerers. Especially the crazy ones.

Also, the art at the end was once again inspired by @coloredgravity 's rendition of Raphael (I drew this mostly out of memory 😂). In addition I gave him a symbol of virtue from Darkest Dungeon over his head. He's mad, true. But he still tries to hold it together :3

#darksiders #darksiders 2 #darksiders 3 #my fic #fan fiction #darksiders oc #nicola #darksiders raphael #raphael #my art #fan art #I suck at summarizing XD #Cost of Kindness #CoK

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honey-hippie-harper · 4 years ago

Text

Little Nightmare Took a Gun...

ADSFGHSDFGHAJ OKAY, FIRST OF ALL THIS IS A GIFT FOR @chiyuki-hiro BC I SAW @healing-winston-pratt AND OMG, HAPPY BIRTHDAY :’) <3

Just wanted to do something for you :’). I hope you have a GREAT day today! <3 :’) and I know you like Winston, so I figured that...yeah.

I hope you like this <3.

It was mildly based on “Maps” by the Fun Home musical. Happy birthday, again <3 (eat a lot of cake, or whatever thing like to eat during your birthday, and always remember to have fun afsghja <3)

Little Nightmare Took a Gun...

“Captain Chromium must die.”

“Say what?”

“He must die.” While Little Jean...Nova, yes. Little Nova (Jean was a no-no. She didn’t like Jean. She had never liked Jean. If she did, she would’ve told him), spoke, Ingrid was peeling a pineapple, which was yellow, yellow, very yellow. Almost too yellow. It probably tasted like garbage because all the bright fruits had something bad in them.

Winston had something personal going on against that particular pineapple. Threatening him by saying today they would share a pineapple for dinner was one thing, but keeping their word was another.

He was going to call that pineapple Phineas.

Phineas the Pineapple. Yes.

Why were they called pineapples, anyway?

They didn’t look like apples at all.

Weird.

Ingrid kept on peeling the pineapple, using a knife, not staring at Little Nova for a second. She didn’t seem interested. But, again, Ingrid never seemed interested in anything at all, besides her own thing, like...slashing, and cutting and making boom-boom sounds.

Ingrid could create explosions at will, which was a power as pretty as her personality.

Boom-boom.

Kaboom.

That’s why nobody liked her.

Kaboom.

It’s not that the others were interested, either. In fact, Phobia wasn’t even here, because they liked to be out there, scaring people to death, or talking to Ace, because Phobia was nothing but a dirty, dirty, noisy bootlicker, who was made of smoke. Like the smoke from a chimney. Though, they more likely weren’t smoke from a chimney, because if they were, they would be made of bricks.

Ingrid kept on peeling Phineas the Pineapple. Its skin was falling off.

Poor Phineas the Pineapple.

Maybe it had a family, back at home. Maybe it had a wife and two daughters, and one of the daughters was a baby. Maybe it had been the one who had made Ace Anarchy’s helmet, and Ingrid was peeling its skin off. Phineas the Pineapple was dying, and maybe it had an abusive brother back at home who used it as a punching bag, waiting for it to come back so he could abuse him again.

Poor, poor Phineas the Pineapple.

Maybe it had a life.

But Ingrid didn’t care about that, did she?

No, she didn’t. Of course she didn’t.

“I think pretty much everyone here agrees on that. I was asking you why are you bringing that up, if I wasn’t clear enough.” She said, and Little Nova flinched.

She was so little. So tiny and so very small. She didn’t look her age at all.

Maybe it was only the fact she was surrounded by old people, in a meeting she had called in for.

They were gathered in Leroy’s wagon, and Leroy was old, and had a lot of scars, and had no brows and his wagon smelled better than Winston’s but worse than Honey’s, who was also old and was laying on the pillow mountain Leroy used as his bed every night, only to complain about having backache in the morning, like the old man he was.

Honey never complained about having backache, but she was always in pain, and her face often looked like a racoon, with all that black liquid running down her cheeks.

Leroy was drinking something from a bottle, while Honey played a boring game in a cellphone they kept in the tunnels. Little Nova had stolen it from someone and it was full of cat pictures. Pictures of very ugly cats, to Winston’s taste. Yuck.

“I mean now. Captain Chromium must die now.”

Captain Chromium must die.

Like that creepy song.

That creepy old song Winston hated.

Lizzie Borden took an axe…

“Now? As in: At this very moment?” Ingrid stopped murdering Phineas the Pineapple for a second and, nonchalantly, cracked her neck by placing one hand at the side of her head, and the hand she had the knife on by her chin. “Do you expect us to break into his house and just..?”

“No.” Little Nova cut her off. She was sitting in the center of the wagon, cross-legged. If she moved her hand a little, she would’ve touched Honey, because the space was limited.

It was like living inside of a cocoon, but less fun, Winston supposed.

At least caterpillars knew they would be pretty when they managed to escape the cocoon.

No.

At least they had the chance to escape the cocoon at some point.

“What I mean, in case I wasn’t being clear…”

“You weren’t.”

“We should start putting the plan together…”

Lizzie Borden took an axe…

“Revenge shouldn’t be denied. It’s their fault my parents are gone. It’s their fault Evie is gone. It’s their fault we’re trapped down here. Like sewer rats...”

And gave her mother forty whacks…

“And you should just let me do that. I’m old enough. I’m ready to do it…It’s what I’ve been raised for, isn’t it?...”

When she realized what she had done…

“All my life, you’ve been preparing me for this. To avenge them. To avenge us. To avenge Ace. My uncle. I’ve been training the majority of my life. Why can’t you just let me get this over with already?”

“Do you have any idea of what are you supposed to do, Nightmare? Do you have the faintest idea of what it takes?”

“Yes.”

She gave her father forty-one.

Little Nova.

Oh, Little Nova. Dearest Little Nova.

Nightmare.

Dearest Little Nightmare, which she liked more than Jean but hated more than Nova.

But Little Nightmare was okay.

If it wasn’t, she would’ve told him. He had taught her that. He had taught her to let people know when she was uncomfortable. Because they were friends.

They were friends.

They were.

Right?

She held Ingrid’s gaze, fiercely, though Winston could see her knuckles shaking, as if she were very cold.

In retrospect, maybe she was cold, and it was pretty shitty of them to have her here without a blanket, because she was a child who happened to be cold. Hence, she needed a blanket.

Why wasn’t anybody bringing a blanket for her?

Like, Winston would’ve done it, but he didn’t know where Leroy kept the blankets, and if he tried to look for them, then they would scream at him and he didn’t want to be screamed at today, because that was rude and rude people put Winston in a bad mood, which was rude too.

Putting people in a bad mood was rude.

Little Nova...Nightmare kept on looking into Ingrid’s eyes.

“What’s your plan, then?” Ingrid smiled sideways.

It wasn’t a question, but a dare, because Ingrid was being as rude as she would’ve been if she had screamed at Winston.

Little Nightmare’s scarred brow quivered.

“We shoot him in the eye.”

“Your real plan, Nova. I refuse to believe you’re that big of a dumbass. What kind of answer is that?” Ingrid mocked her, going back at torturing Phineas the Pineapple, who would be eaten for dinner because, indeed, they were living down here like sewer rats.

Something was rotting, just like down in the sewers.

“We shoot him in the eye.” Little Nightmare repeated herself, this time in a voice that didn’t sound like hers’, but like the voice of a firm and scary persona instead.

Leroy did pay more attention to her, and so did Honey, whose fingers stopped moving through the screen. Ingrid kept on peeling, but she directed a glare towards Nova, to tell her she was listening...and, as for Winston…

He was already listening way before Little Nightmare became grey.

“Do you think I’m kidding?” Little Nightmare scoffed. “Or are you dumb enough to believe he also has chrome in his eyeballs?”

“Woah.” Ingrid laughed, arching an eyebrow in a sharp way. “You call me dumb one more time, and it’s over for you, kid.”

“I’m not a kid anymore.”

“You won’t be alive anymore if you call me dumb again, either.”

A dark shadow passed through Little Nightmare’s face, as she straightened her back, in an attempt to look bigger. Or braver. Or to compensate something that, at the moment, she didn’t have.

“I think his eyes would work.” She rephrased it, as if it hadn’t been clear enough before. “Eyes are a sensible area, and nobody has ever tried to go for the eyes. If we try to shoot him there, it could work. The impact of the bullet or the venom will enter his system, going through the chrome layer, and it will later reach his brain, which will be enough to kill him.”

And, with that being said, Winston realized how funny this whole situation was.

More than funny, it was hilarious. More than hilarious, it was hysterical.

It was every single fun thing at the same time, which caused Winston to scoff. And the scoff turned into a giggle. And the giggle turned into a chuckle. And the chuckle turned into a wheezing laugh.

Wheezing, wheezing, wheezing.

Like he was out of air.

“What are you even laughing at now?”

What wasn’t he laughing at now.

Everyone was just so funny.

But there was something right there, building at the back of Winston’s brain, kicking his way out, demanding to be expressed.

Do it, Winston.

Do it, do it, do it.

And he did, because his recurrent question always was: What would Hettie do in this situation?

Hettie would’ve spoken, obviously.

Hettie was loud. Hettie often told him to speak. Winston liked Hettie.

Sometimes.

“Little Nightmare took a gun…” He wheezed again. “Shot the Captain forty times...when she realized what she had done...she shot the Warden forty-one.”

Little Nightmare frowned in disgust, because disgust was Little Nightmare’s favorite emotion. A few years ago, it was joy and sadness. But not now.

Now, Little Nightmare was always disgusted.

It almost seemed like she liked to be disgusted.

To be disgusted at him.

To be disgusted at everyone.

Her expression always said ew.

Winston wished it wasn’t like that.

“I’m...not even going to try to decipher what the fuck you're talking about now.” Honey started getting up, getting on her knees on top of the pillows, while trying to comb her curls with her fingers. Though, at this point, they didn’t really look that much like curls, because her hair was greasy. Little Nightmare’s was too, and that’s why she had tried to tie it, though the greasy locks of hair were constantly in her face. Leroy’s looked greasy too, as well as Winston’s. Ingrid was doing just fine. According to her, washing it daily was more damaging than it was beneficial for her type of hair.

Winston still held faint memories of the day Honey forced Leroy and him to drag a stolen bathtub down here, into the tunnels. The bathtub was still there, and sometimes they used it, by turns, when they managed to convince Winston to drag buckets of water from the surface, one by one, until it was enough to fill the bathtub. Leroy had become lazy over time, and wouldn’t help. In fact, he would refuse to help.

He also had faint memories about the nightly trip to the lake, many, many years ago...or maybe it had been two years ago. Or two days ago. Or a few days ago, though that wasn’t possible, because everyone’s hair was greasy, and it wouldn’t be greasy if they had been at the lake. Maybe it had been a few weeks ago. Maybe it hadn’t happened at all, and Winston had made it up because he could.

He remembered having gone to the lake when the sun was setting, taking their self-care stuff with them, to use the lake as their personal bathtub. Little Nightmare’s towel remained on the floor until she got out of the water. The same water Winston didn’t get into, because he didn’t feel like it. Because he didn’t like it. Because there were too many people in there, including Little Nightmare herself, obviously.

She knew how to swim and, conveniently, she was also very short, so she had to swim in order not to drown. Ingrid was helping her wash her hair, violently scratching her scalp with her fingertips like she would’ve washed a piece of clothing by hand, until Little Nightmare...Little Nova, took a fistful of foam from her own head and slapped Ingrid with it, telling her to stop that shit (very, very nasty vocabulary. Very unkind. Not pretty. Not cool). Ingrid then defended herself, and Honey was next, while trying to separate them, because Ingrid went ahead and threw water at her, because water directly thrown into a witch’s face was enough to melt her (Winston, to this day, wondered if she was serious about it. Melting witches with water sounded fun).

Winston heard the splashing of water. The screeching. The groaning. The screaming. The screaming he later realized was laughing.

They were laughing, even when Honey fell backwards and Ingrid barely managed to catch her by the arm and pull her forward before she could dive deep into the water.

Leroy, who was next to Winston (or maybe he wasn’t. He didn’t know if the memory was true or not), asked what was happening in there when he heard the silence. Little Nightmare then laughed again. And they laughed, even Honey, as she washed the swollen scratch Ingrid’s nails had left on her skin so it wouldn’t get infected, expressing how unfunny the whole situation was while laughing her head off.

That had been funny.

Very funny.

Winston would’ve liked to be a part of it, while not wanting it to be so at the same time.

But if the memory was true, then he knew he had been part of the s’mores, with the tiniest bit of chocolate and old cookies that, fortunately, didn’t taste as bad as they looked.

When the weather became colder, they went back to the tunnels, wrapped up in blankets. And Winston remembered fun.

Though he didn’t know what the source of fun had been, nor why they had decided not to talk about how they had had fun while showering in the lake.

They didn’t go to the lake anymore these days. And since Winston refused to fill the bathtub on his own, they didn’t bathe there anymore, either. Everybody showered at night, travelling half an hour, once or twice a week, to an old gas station that had showers. In Winston’s case, not always.

No, not always. He didn’t like it.

And half an hour was too much.

Too much.

“But I must say, I’m impressed.” Honey continued, giggling gracefully. “Sometimes it’s a good thing you don’t sleep, Nightmare. Imagine if you did. I feel you would be the type of gal who would wake up in the morning and just say ‘Wow. I’m going to come up with a way to kill myself that is so dumb…’

“Kill myself?” Little Nova...Nightmare, Nova, Nightmare, spat. “Dumb?” She dragged the words out of her mouth again, this time twice as annoyed and mad.

“How...how is that dumb? Isn’t this what I’ve been training for? To take down the Council? To kill Captain Chromium in order to take down the Council? To help my uncle? The only person who’s been there for me? The only person who ever cared about my family?” Little Nova hissed.

Caring.

Everybody wanted to be cared for.

She, in particular, needed and craved to be cared for.

Winston cared.

He did.

Hadn’t he been clear enough?

How clear did you have to be to care? Maybe clear as glass, or maybe as clear as unpolluted water, or as an unpolluted sky. When he was younger, Winston read somewhere that there were places where the sky was so clean the Milky Way could be seen at night.

Maybe you had to be one of her parents for her to finally notice you cared, and Winston wasn’t. David and Tala were, and they both happened to be dead as fuck at this point.

Caring, caring, caring.

Dead.

Bang.

Winston didn’t know where Tala was, but he was pretty sure David was in the Milky Way.

Maybe they could go together and look for him in the Milky Way.

"The Renegades took everything from me. It's my turn to take everything from them. We have to take Gatlon back and give it right back to the person it belongs. My un--"

"Hey, Nova?"

As her train of thought crashed against a dead end, Little Nova flinched and stared at him. Her frown was deep as the ocean.

Deep, deep.

Very deep.

She was disgusted.

"What?"

"Don't you wanna run away to New Mexico?"

She was frowning so deep her forehead was turning yellow; yellow as Phineas the Pineapple, and Phineas the Pineapple's blood was bright yellow. But Little Nova and Phineas the Pineapple weren't the same people, which didn’t make sense for many reasons, though Winston couldn’t think of any

Was everything inside of Phineas the Pineapple that yellow? Probably.

Maybe Phineas the Pineapple had yellow insides. Its lungs were yellow, its ribs were yellow, its stomach was yellow, its intestines were yellow, its heart was yellow.

Heart.

Little Nova had a heart too.

Winston wondered where she had inherited her heart from. Did it look more like Tala's or David's?

He could never answer that.

But he knew it didn't look like Ace's.

Little Nova's heart wasn't that empty.

Sometimes it was, when she stared at Winston like that.

But it wasn’t important, because Winston always forgave her, even if she never said sorry.

She didn’t need to.

"Are you making fun of me, Winston?"

"He is, yeah. Of all of us, actually. Why New Mexico?"

Little Nova's gaze shifted to Honey, who was still knelt down on the pillows, but this time she was smiling, as Ingrid arched an eyebrow and Leroy rolled his eyes.

"There are plenty of prettier places we could run away to, not New Mexico. We're not that desperate."

"We aren't?" Leroy crossed his arms over his chest. "Are you sure about that?"

“What do you mean we are?”

“What do you mean we aren’t?”

Winston’s eyes danced from one side to the other. First to Leroy, then to Honey, then to Leroy again.

Little Nova, on the other hand, was only glaring at Honey, because people were too used to choose who could do wrong and who couldn’t. Everyone had their person whom they thought could do no wrong. In Nova’s case, it wasn’t Winston.

In Winston’s case, it was Nova.

Little, little, tiny Nova.

They were friends.

They had been, at least.

Not so long ago.

Well…

Winston hoped it hadn’t been that long ago.

Sometimes everything seemed to be happening at the same time, and it was either too fast or awfully slow, with any sort of in between.

“We could leave the country. I travelled to Mexico with Leroy once. It was lovely.”

“You’re globally known, in case you don’t remember.”

“Pssh. Nobody cares, little Nightmare. Literally nobody but the Renegades care, so don’t let that haunt you. Still, we can live in confinement, if you like.”

Little Nightmare was so mad she was starting to pinch her own arm. Pinch. Pinch. Pinch. As if she were made of dough.

“It’s better than crappy tunnels with no water, if you ask me.”

“And what about Ace?” Little Nova challenged her, but before she could answer, Leroy took the words out of her mouth.

“We put him in the trunk so we can force him to come with us. He likes trunks. I don’t think he has any problem with being in one himself.”

“And how are you planning to illegally cross? Because I suppose…”

“We take him out and we carry him. He’s pretty underweight. At this point, even Ingrid weights more than him.”

“He’s also kinda ill. Maybe he won’t even make it. And if he does, then we get him a feeding tube so he takes his meds. If he fights, we…”

“Stop. Now you’re talking bullshit.” Little Nova seemed to be trying to remain calm, but her entire everything was quivering, along with her willpower not to lose her chill.

“Just trying to educate you.” Leroy said, shrugging, nonchalantly. “That whole plan sounded like plain nonsense and gibberish, didn’t it?”

Little Nova clicked her tongue, chuckling a little, sarcastically.

“What could possibly make you believe that, Leroy?”

“Then, you answer my question now.” He declared in a hoarse, monotonous voice. “How are you planning to shoot Captain Chromium in the eye?”

Winston didn’t understand the question, mostly because the Mexico plan did make sense, and it could work.

They just were explaining it wrong. There were too many elements in the picture. Too many, and they couldn’t fit each one of them in there. Some had to go and that was just the plain truth.

They didn’t need Ace.

Winston wasn’t sure why, but he knew they didn’t. A thought that only became stronger when Ingrid decided this wasn’t interesting enough for her to pay attention to it, and so she returned to her task of mutilating poor, harmless Phineas the Pineapple. Swish. Swish. Swish.

Swish. Swish. Swish.

Everything was yellow.

A nasty shade of yellow.

It reminded him of Ace, to a certain extent.

Not Phineas the Pineapple.

The knife.

Caring, caring, caring.

Was he the one who cared about Little Nova?

Was he, for real?

Was he?

Because if he was, then Winston couldn’t find a reason why.

And if he couldn’t find a reason why, it must mean they didn’t need to take him with them at all.

Phineas the Pineapple was too kind to be Ace, but at the same time, it was so yellow that Winston could tell it was rotting inside, if not already rotten. Just like Ace.

Simultaneously, he was the knife. But the knife would’ve been nothing if Ace had been the pineapple.

Because if Ace had been Phineas the Pineapple, then he would’ve swallowed the knife.

He would’ve swallowed Ingrid too.

How nasty.

How awful.

“It’s not the same thing.”

“It is, Nova.”

“IT’S NOT! YOU JUST WANTED TO MAKE ME MAD!” Little Nova was red.

Skies, she was so red. And she was also blue. And she was purple.

“If we were to run away, I would’ve made sure EVERYONE could come, just like I’m going to manage to make this plan work!”

“What plan?” Honey spoke this time. Her glossy lips arching into a smile, and her nail on her chin, barely touching her skin at all.

“Uhm?” She hummed, when Little Nova was left with no response. “What plan, sweetness? We’re all ears.”

What plan, indeed?

Because, to put it lightly, Winston was lost. He didn’t know what plan they were referring to now. He didn’t know if they were talking about the running away plan, or the Captain Chromium plan. Either way, he liked running away better.

Again, everything would fall into place if they just left Ace here.

They didn’t need him.

Little Nova didn’t need him as much as she thought she did.

As for Captain Chromium…

As for the caring part…

As for the everything part…

Following Little Nova’s logic...Following Little Nightmare’s logic, also…

Somebody must die.

On that, they were on the same page.

But for all he cared, knowing Little Nova was among that “all”, Winston knew that someone wasn’t the Captain.

A little, maybe.

But not as much as Little Nova thought.

First they had to dive deep into the issue. Deep as they could.

Then, they had to scratch on the details, like panicked stray cats.

Then, they had to look into what they could see, and find a way to see what they couldn’t.

There were some things Little Nova didn’t know, not just about life, or about the surface, or about them, or about herself.

There were things Little Nova claimed she knew, when in reality she didn’t and that was dangerous and blinding like a burning, endless flame that was destroying all her insides, piece by piece, limb by limb, organ by organ.

First, she had to look into the right direction, which was also the one she refused to look into.

Then, Ace Anarchy had to die.

Ace Anarchy must die.

Because Phineas the Pineapple had a wife and two daughters.

Ace Anarchy must die.

He must die, die, die.

Harder than he had died before.

“Who’s gonna tell her?”

Because, if not them...who?

All the eyes directed towards him, again.

They weren’t happy.

Maybe they knew what Winston was talking about, which made him happy, but not that much.

He didn’t like it when people stared at him like that. Why was everyone so rude all the time?

Just...why?

“What did you say?” Nova asked.

Nor carefully, or slowly.

She just asked, in a very Little Nova way.

Fast and impatient.

“I said: Who’s gonna tell you?”

“Who’s gonna tell me what?”

“That’s exactly why you should know.” He sang, giggling and rocking himself back and forth, crossing his legs and grabbing his ankles. Little Nova seemed annoyed, Leroy was just staring, and Honey was massaging the bridge of her nose, with her eyes closed.

Ingrid, on the other hand, was squeezing the knife. Phineas the Pineapple was dead next to her, in a nasty old bowl.

Winston tilted his head to the side, staring directly at said bowl, containing Phineas the Pineapple’s dismembered corpse.

The unreclaimed grave said “Tala Artino & Evelyn Artino”, which should mean they had put Evelyn back into Tala’s stomach. David’s grave was next to it, alone. They hadn’t put any baby inside of him, because the other baby was standing right here, staring at Winston with hate.

The space around those graves was small.

Winston would’ve drawn a circle around the two, the same shape as that bowl, which was now Phineas the Pineapple’s resting place, and that would’ve been enough. They would’ve fit perfectly, the three of them.

But, no matter what they did, they would be still part of another, bigger circle, in which Little Nova was trapped too, alongside Little Nightmare.

“He’s the center of a circle.” Winston concluded, smiling widely. “...but I…” He raised a finger.

“...I can draw a circle. I can draw a smaller circle…” He formed a circle with his thumb and his index, and placed it around his right eye. “...around him...and I can trap him there, like a mouse....”

Little Nova’s expression became sharper.

“...And when I trap him in that circle...his whole life will fit inside.”

And they would all be free.

But he wasn’t going to tell her that.

“The spot where they...died…” Winston placed both his hand right in front of him, trying to calculate the distance by imagining the scale. “....is south….”

The bird nest was south.

Though, as far as Winston understood, the space in the building where the bird nest was located had been sealed, because nobody wanted to live with ghosts.

“....he absorbed their lives too. Yes. We could draw a circle around you too, Little Nova. If only you knew.”

And the sound of the bees right behind him made him straighten his back, to avoid the stingers, but the coldness and wetness overshadowed that sensation.

Upon lowering his gaze, he saw the sharp, shiny blade in which his chin was resting on.

Ingrid’s brown eyes were feeding from his soul, as the gunpowder odor emanated from her, and her knuckles became pale.

Yet, the only thing Winston could focus on, was the smell of rotting pineapple juice, impregnated on the blade.

Phineas the Pineapple.

“Don’t slash my throat with that knife, Ingrid.” He said, in an extremely high-pitched voice. “It’s already bleeding.”

He saw the fear, and saw the terror of the moment Ingrid understood. And as the knife fell to the ground, she came closer. Her cold, calloused hands around his throat, and his hands around her wrists.

“And you’re going down with them.” She whispered.

Then Leroy lifted her up.

That didn’t relief nor annoy him.

He knew he wouldn’t die today. And, certainly, not to Ingrid’s hands.

But a part of him did die, when his eyes laid on Nova, who was now faintly touching Honey’s hand, which at the same time was placed on her shoulder, running her thumb through her skin.

“Get out.” She said.

“Get out.” She commanded.

“Get out.” she pleaded.

And if she didn’t want to see, then there was nothing Winston could show her. Nothing at all he could do for her.

But Little Nova would know someday.

And when she knew, Ace Anarchy would fall.

Winston would wait for that day.

Winston would wait for her.

Because, fortunately, a circle was not enough to fit Little Nova’s life inside yet.

#renegades trilogy #marissa meyer #my fanfics #dawnie writes #winston pratt #the puppeteer #nova artino #nightmare #ingrid thompson #the detonator #honey harper #queen bee #leroy flinn #cyanide #alec artino #ace anarchy #this takes place between a six months and a year before the trilogy btw

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wickedlyqueer · 5 years ago

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Holy Poly

Ever since @gliyerabaa became obsessed with the Glinda/Fiyero/Elphaba ship it suddenly reminded me I wrote a poly fic years ago where essentially the Charmed Circle lived together and most of them were dating each other.

I never finished or published it, because I’m first and foremost a gelphie ho. to a point it felt wrong to be calling it a poly fic, bc I just wanted to focus on the gelphie dynamic.

Anyway, because I promised Rae (and I’m sure they’d love to see some gliyeraba content they didn’t write themself) this was the intro chapter of the modern AU, fresh out of college, poly chapter I wrote like 3 years ago.

Save the trees!

Perhaps every accidental cluster of people had a short period of grace. Although gracious was probably not the best word to describe the weirdly formed, yet close-knit circle. Exuberant. Loud. Queer. Those were better words. A loving found family that could not been torn apart even if fate wanted it to.

Neither was their time together short-lived. At least, not if it was up to Glinda. After most of them had graduated last summer, the crushing college debt and the terrifying world that was job hunting in a broken economic system made the decision on cohabitation all the easier.

On the outskirts of Shiz they had found their home: a small house with just enough room for the six of them to not suffocate. It was nothing fancy, but none of them would want it any other way.

“Elphie’s not here?”

Glinda had entered the living room where the boys were spread lazily across their two mismatched couches bought at a garage sale.

“Nope, left quite a while ago,” Boq replied.

“Aren’t they at their usual train station spot harassing people?”

“Language, Crope,” from the kitchen came Fiyero’s rich voice. “Spreading awareness about global warming isn’t the same as harassing.”

“Fine. It’s annoying people then.”

“Not everyone finds that awareness crap annoying,” Tibbett said, throwing a casual glance at Glinda. “I believe someone went weak at the knees for that.”

She felt a blush creeping up; not for the comment he made, but for the comment that was about to come. It had turned into an inside joke in their circle, and she had learned from experience that the less she objected the more humiliation she was spared.

“Is it?” Crope wiggled his eyebrows. “The way I heard, she complimented Elphie on their dedication to the cause for painting their entire visage green.”

The trio threw a fist in the air and shouted in unison, “Save the trees!” without their attention leaving the screen.

“I hate every single one of you.”

“You can’t deny that’s how it went, Glin,” Fiyero commented. “Have you tried texting by the way?”

“I think their phone died,” she checked one more time for any messages, but still no response from Elphaba. “Remind me to ambush them again for getting a decent phone.”

“At least they lost that brick phone.”

Crope snorted. “Yeah, right. Lost.”

Tibbett gave him a wicked smile. “No fun in being a tattletale, babe.”

Whatever they were grinning about it was Crope and Tibbett, and Glinda prefered to stay ignorant on the subject. She headed towards the kitchen where Fiyero was cooking dinner. A towel hanging over his shoulder and his beautiful long black hair stuffed in a loose bun so no strains could spoil the food.

“Smells good, Yero.” She wrapped her arms around his belly, and stretched out completely on her tiptoes and almost managed to put her chin on his shoulder. “If only I could see if it looks as equally good.”

Fiyero laughed heartily and sank through his knees so Glinda could see better. “How about now?”

She smiled. “So far this meal is Glinda-approved.”

“That’s all I need.”

A cheer came from Boq from the living room having beaten the other two at the game.

“I think I’m going to check the train station,” Glinda said as she let go off Fiyero; the pose was growing uncomfortable for the both of them. Their height difference was ridiculous. How she had ended up with two partners so much taller than her was beyond her.

“Oh, you know what you should do? Call Nessa. Maybe she can contact Elphie through their sibling telepathy.”

“I think that only works when they have something to bicker about,” Glinda said, but dialed the number anyway. “Goes straight to voicemail.”

“Why do those two even have phones?” Fiyero muttered.

“Okay, so train station and then I’ll drop by Nessa’s dorm to check on her too. Any other places Elphie might be?”

Four voices spoke as one. “The library.”

“Should’ve figured that one out myself.”

“Glin, you do know Elphie’s like a cat, right? They always find their way back home eventually.”

“I know, but I feel like going outside for a bit. I’ll see you tonight.”

“Sure thing. Oh, and Glinda?”

She turned around. “Hm?”

He took her hand and planted a chaste kiss on her fingertips. “Can I just say you look absolutely wonderful today?”

She beamed. “You’re too charming for your own good Fiyero.”

“It’s why he has so many partners,” Crope called from the couch, apparently eavesdropping on the conversation. There was zero privacy in this house. “Too handsome too. Who could say no to that gorgeous face?”

“Not us,” added Tibbett. “And don’t forget that he’s a flirt without realizing it. It just comes natural to him and it’s adorable.”

Fiyero had the advantage that his dark skin hid most of his blush, but knowing him since high school, Glinda knew what a flustered Fiyero looked like.

“I just got a lot of love to share, I guess,” he smiled shyly. “Let me know when you find Elphaba, okay? Dinner will be ready around seven.”

Elphaba wasn’t at the library and neither were they at the train station. All Glinda found there were old memories. She could see the young, nervous girl fresh from the Pertha Hills standing on the platform. Fiyero’s steady hand on her shoulder to ease her worries. Had four years really passed so quickly?

She traced her footsteps from the past. Her gaze wandering over the square in front of the train station like it did then. The only thing that was missing, was a green person storming towards her. From that moment on she was captivated by Elphaba, although the first few months she had let her socialite behavior overrule.

“You could’ve disclosed in our online correspondence that you’re green!”

She had whined once she had found out the Green-Tree-From-Shiz-Station was her roommate. Elphaba had pointed at the five enormous trunks brought into their room by an upperclassman.

“Only if you had disclosed you would bring your entire house with you.”

Glinda had thought the roommate matching system had completely failed her. No way had she the highest match with a snarky, social-reclusive green person! It had taken her some time to realize they were ridiculously similar, just coming from different angles.

Her path down memory lane continued when she entered Shiz campus. It only had been two months ago since she graduated, but it already felt foreign being here. As if she no longer fitted. A group of giggling first year students passed her. Glinda recognized her own innocence in them back at that age. Feeling as if you’re on top of the world only because you have yet to learn what that world entailed.

Unconsciously she had walked to Crage Hall. She admired the building when a busted up blue van pulled over. It was Elphaba’s. They all jokingly referred to it as the Abduction Truck, because that’s how sketchy it looked.

Elphaba got out and moved over to the back of the truck. The only reason Elphaba had bought that van was to drive Nessa around. Normally they were a very dedicated public transport advocate, and although Elphaba would deny it, Glinda knew they’d bend their own morals to please Nessa.

Glinda walked towards the car and Elphaba looked surprised. “Hey, what are you doing here?”

“Looking for you actually.”

“Oh?”

Elphaba opened the backdoors to reveal a Nessa waiting impatiently to be led out. “You do take your time don’t you, Elphaba? The air conditioner was already turned off and in this heated garbage tin can of yours I could’ve already suffocated. Hello Glinda.”

“Hey Nessa.”

Elphaba lifted the ramp from the truck. “And yet you still live. The Unnamed God must have favorites after all.”

Nessa rolled her eyes. “Just open a window next time, please?”

“Yes, your majesty.” Elphaba vastened the ramp and Nessa rode her wheelchair to the pavement.

Elphaba shoved the ramp back inside and closed the door. Glinda walked towards them and was met with a strong smell. She sniffed Elphaba’s shirt and got worried. “Why do you smell like chlorine? Were you near water?”

Elphaba gestured to Nessa. “Had to drive this kid to Red Sand.”

“Your half year check-up! I completely forgot.” One of the reasons why Elphaba had bought the van was so Nessa could study at Shiz. Every six months they had to drive all the way to Red Sand where Nessa had to do exercises in a swimming pool. That’s what Glinda understood of it at least. “How was it?”

“Still pretty paralyzed,” Nessa supplied dryly.

“Doctor Kazhki said your legs were looking healthy.”

“As healthy as they can be paralyzed, yes.”

Glinda tugged at Elphaba’s hand before the argument could escalate. “Hey, you vanished without a single message.”

Elphaba frowned. “No I didn’t, I sent you a text and—ah,” they had gotten their phone out. “Must’ve died before it was sent.”

“No way!” Glinda feigned surprise. “Tomorrow we’re gonna get you a new phone and I won’t hear any of your usual excuses.”

“Can you do your flirting somewhere that isn’t in front of me?” Nessarose disrupted them. “I’m going inside.”

She wheeled away.

“Thanks for the ride, Fabala. Oh no problem, Nessie.”

Nessa turned around and stuck out her tongue. “If you can converse with yourself, what do you need me for?”

“Ungrateful brat.”

It was their way of saying goodbye. Being an only child Glinda still had no idea how sibling relationships worked. Especially those of the Thropps.

“Go kiss your girlfriend.” Nessarose waved without looking behind and went into the building.

Elphaba turned around and smirked. They wrapped their arms around Glinda’s waist. “Well you heard her.”

Glinda raised her eyebrows teasingly. “Since when do you take orders from your sister, hm?”

“Wow. You ruined the moment.” But they smiled and kissed her forehead. “I’m sorry I didn’t notify you.”

“All is forgiven. You’re here now.”

It was a beautiful afternoon and without another word between them they had agreed to walk around campus. Glinda curled into Elphaba’s arm. She had done it so many times before it was like second nature. She had loved strolling around campus with Elphaba, back when they were still at Shiz. Near the Suicide Canal they settled down in the grass and soaked up the nice autumn sun while it was still warm.

Glinda leaned into Elphaba and smiled. “This brings back memories.”

“Curled up in my arms after one of our many picnics at the Suicide Canal? Whatever gave you that idea?” Elphaba teased.

Glinda nudged them playfully. “Sentimentality, I suppose. My entire walk I’ve been seeing myself through a looking glass.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, like at the train station I remembered–” Glinda stopped dead in her tracks. How could she have let that one slip!

Elphaba let out a roaring laugh. “Are you referring to our ‘meet-cute’?”

Her entire face had turned bright red. “It wasn’t cute, I’m still embarrassed by it.”

“Aw, don’t be. It was actually refreshing from all the usual green freak insults.”

“How? I thought you were going for a metaphor to reflect a greener planet! I didn’t even consider a green person existing. How is that less offensive?”

“True, but then you became so flustered when I looked at you funny. I’ll never forget how you threw a fist in the air and yelled ‘save the trees!’ to show your support.”

Glinda buried her face into her hands. “Oh god.”

Elphaba laughed. “It was cute” and put their face closer. “You’re cute.”

“You’re making it worse,” Glinda’s words sounded muffled through her hands.

They planted a comforting kiss in her hair. “We still ended up like this, so it couldn’t have been all that bad, right?”

“I suppose,” her embarrassment fading, Glinda let herself fall back on Elphaba’s shoulder. “I thought I’d never see you again after that. Big surprise waited ahead of me. God, I thought you were a senior or something. No other freshman I know functioned that entire first week, and there you were, already trying to make the world a better place.”

She felt Elphaba smile. “I was such a determined little fuck back then. I didn’t even sign up. I got off the train and saw the group of volunteers and basically pestered them until they gave me a jacket and some flyers to hand out.”

“And they haven’t gotten rid of you since.”

“Nope. I’m the best thing that happened to them.”

Glinda paused, weighing her words before saying, “And to me.”

“Damn, you are sentimental today,” Elphaba noted.

Glinda took Elphaba’s chin and slowly lowered it until their eyes were leveled. Just before their lips touched she whispered, “You’re ruining the moment.”

“Now we’re even,” Elphaba murmured, smiling into the kiss.

A/N: to be clear of all the dynamics (bc they are very entangled and a bit of a mess): - Glinda is asexual and through high school became very dependable on Fiyero (as he was the first person she ever came out too). Dependable to a point they couldn’t imagine their lives separately. So it falls more in a QPR relationship, where their platonic bond is unbreakable. - Elphaba is non-binary, bi and aromantic. Their relationship with Glinda is definitely the most couple-y, and can be classified as a “typical” romantic relationship. They also connected with Fiyero instantly and fell for his charms. - Fiyero is very poly because this boy’s got a lot of love to share! He’s also aro (which might seem contradictory, but it’s something I’ve seen a lot of overlap with, funnily enough!) and so his relationship are very platonic/sexual based. he has that sort of relationship with Elphaba, Crope&Tibbett and one or two other people outside the charmed circle. - Tibbet’s genderfluid and good with any pronouns and will raid Glinda’s closet on any occasion. In an open relationship with Crope and they obviously communicate incredibly well with this. - Crope’s just very gay. - Boq is a trans guy and aro/ace. He’s the only not in a typical “relationship” and definitely isn’t looking for that either, but he can’t live without his chosen family. Together with Fiyero, they’re basically the “dads” of the group and keeps everyone in check.

If anyone wants to run with these dynamics; you have my blessing! I won’t be continuing this story but if it inspired you feel free to build on it!

#wicked #wicked the musical #gliyeraba #gelphie #bc it's.. kinda mostly gelphie still bc it me and i love them ok #anyway rae #hope you like it dfjkdhf #this is basically just for you

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elvendara · 4 years ago

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March Madness 2021

AKA Yooran Month!

Ahh, back on my laptop! No more posting from my phone, woohoo! Anyway, here is the beginning of a different look at one of the Yoosung bad endings with Unknown:

Since that first day, he hadn’t laid a finger on him. He hadn’t been particularly nice, but he had not taken his anger out on him again. Mostly Yoosung had been ignored. The days blurred together, and it was impossible for him to remember how long he’d been held as a prisoner. If you could call what was happening to him incarceration.

Unknown confused him. It was almost like he was confused himself. Some days Unknown paid incredible attention to him, eating each meal with him and talking his ear off over nonsense or his daily routine. Most days however, he ignored Yoosung to the point that Yoosung would have to ask for food. He wasn’t allowed to leave the room, though it was a nice room, a full-sized comfortable bed, an entire wall of bookcases filled to the brim, many more books spilling onto a desk and the floor. There was even a computer, though it had not internet access. Unknown had even brought in a gaming console and hooked it up to the small TV on the floor.

He’d tried to just leave on one of the days Unknown treated him as invisible. He had been caught, but the man had only looked at him with what appeared to be disappointment and led him back to the room. It was the first time he had locked him inside. But only for that day. Yoosung could have walked out again, there were days where Unknown was gone from the house. He just couldn’t make himself do it. What if the front door was locked? What if this was a test? What if Unknown turned violent again? So, he did nothing, frozen and afraid.

Most nights Unknown worked away on his computer in the adjoining room, separated only by the bathroom. Yoosung could hear him clicking away, fingers flying across the keyboard as if by magic. There was a small twin sized bed in that room but Unknown seemed to not need much sleep. Some mornings Yoosung would wake up to find the man in bed with him. He had never tried to touch him, but it had still a bit unnerving.

If he received a phone call, which was not very often, he would go outside to take it. There was nearly always a highly emotional response after these phone calls. He might be agitated, talking to himself, even going so far as to hit himself over the head and call himself names. He might cry silently, pain written all over his face. He might be angry and punch the wall. Whatever the emotion, it was always followed by a couple of days of him not sleeping, barely eating, and plugging away on the keyboard.

This was one of those days. Yoosung leaned against the doorframe of the bathroom and watched the man, his glassy eyes never leaving the bank of monitors before him. He looked haggard, thick bags under his eyes, lips parched. Yoosung looked around the room, his eyes falling on the small fridge in the corner. He knew Unknown kept drinks in there but wasn’t sure if he’d restocked it recently. With a sigh he stepped in the room, something he normally would never dare, and opened the fridge. There were a few water bottles in it and a convenience store sandwich. He picked a bottle up and checked the date on the sandwich, good enough.

He set the water bottle down next to Unknown, his fingers paused over the keys, but his eyes never left the monitors. Yoosung busied himself with opening up the sandwich, ham and cheese, it smelled OK. He took one of the triangles and handed it to the other man. It seemed that he would just ignore him, but then he took it, glancing at Yoosung briefly. Yoosung took the other triangle and took a bite. While it was a bit dry, it wasn’t bad. His stomach growled and he realized this was the first thing he’d had to eat in a day and a half. They ate in silence, Unknown taking the water bottle and drinking most of it in one go. Yoosung leaned against the desk, trying not to make eye contact.

Once he finished his half of the sandwich, he took the cellophane and the empty bottle, tossing them in the garbage. Then he fished out two more bottles, leaving one in front of Unknown and taking the second one back into his room. There was some tension in his body, but mostly, he felt good. There was something about Unknown that felt fragile, wounded, sad. The violence he had exhibited after Yoosung had kept him from blowing up Rika’s apartment had vanished, leaving something of a husk behind.

Yoosung was still trying to figure him out to no avail, but he was worried that he was beginning to have feelings for the man. It had been difficult resisting putting his arms around the white-haired man and comforting him. He shook his head, Unknown had beat him senseless and kidnapped him, hoping to use him against the RFA, he could not afford to begin to have compassion for him. For all he knew, this was Unknown’s plan, to get him to let his guard down. And then there was MC. Were his feelings so shallow? He’d believed he was in love with her, but now he was rethinking his own feelings. Each day that love felt ephemeral, cheap, fragile. He knew nothing about her except the few interactions they’d had through the chat. He fell for her hard, but there was no substance there. He closed his eyes and berated himself for being so foolish.

The door to the other room opened and closed making him sit up. The front door opened as well then he heard a vehicle start. Yoosung sighed in relief. At least he hadn’t crossed a hard boundary, sometimes it was difficult to know. He walked to the door of his room, peering through the open door of the bathroom through to the other room. Unknown always closed that door when he went out. Yoosung had tried it a couple of times, but it was always barred. Whatever was in there, Unknown didn’t want to take the chance of Yoosung finding it or snooping.

With a sigh he tried the handle on the door. It was unlocked of course, it always was. He pulled it open and peered into the hallway. To the right was the door to Unknown’s room, another closed door at the end of the hall. To the left was the living room and kitchen. He’d only seen them once, when he had tried to escape. He couldn’t see the front door from where he stood but he remembered where it was. He wondered yet again if he could leave. Just walk out.

He could, it was right there, Unknown was gone. Rounding his shoulders, he lowered his head and walked back into his room, closing the door behind him. He would wait.

💥💥💥

He wiped the mirror of the condensation from the steam of the shower and towel dried his hair. It was getting long and Unknown had asked him if he wanted it cut. He had declined, preferring to just let it grow. The roots were showing, and he thought he would eventually just grow it out and cut off the blonde. There was nobody here to impress, unless he counted Unknown. He wondered if he would still be here when that finally happened.

Time just seemed to flow, slowly. There was no calendar, but the weather had changed from warm to chilly, becoming cold. Six months is about what he estimated. Six months since he’d been beaten and kidnapped. He had free roam of the house now, it was small with only three rooms a full bath and a half bath. Most days he spent cooking and gaming while Unknown worked on whatever it was he worked on. He’d filled out a bit, put more fat on his bones and he looked much healthier. They never had visitors, but he was still getting plenty of phone calls that put him on edge.

There had never been another violent incident but Yoosung had heard Unknown break down in the middle of the night several times before he garnered the courage to walk into his room and comfort him. The first time he’d found Unknown in the corner, weeping hysterically and banging his head against the wall. He’d put his arms around the man without a second thought once he’d seen what was happening. Unknown froze mid weep, his breathing halted before he gave into the embrace and let Yoosung rock him.

There had been more instances of this and eventually Unknown had taken to sleeping in bed with Yoosung. Yoosung found that he didn’t mind one bit. He would tell himself that this was just a ploy, that Unknown was just using him, getting him to let his guard down. But it was no use. Yoosung’s heart had already become attached. Unknown was wounded. He didn’t flatter himself in thinking that he would be able to ‘fix’ Unknown, but he could be a balm. And whatever the man was working on, against the RFA, perhaps he could find a way to make him see things differently. One thing was clear, Unknown was miserable.

They were getting closer. Each day was another brick laid on the foundation, a very shaky one. After all, what kind of healthy relationship could they possibly have as prisoner and jailer? With a sigh Yoosung turned away from the mirror and the reflection of his amethyst eyes looking back at him. He was a fool, he knew it, but he couldn’t help it.

#my posts #Yooran #Yoosung Kim #Saeran Choi #Unknown #alternate ending #alternate bad ending #for Yoosung route #mysme #mystic messenger #March Madness 2021 #Yooran Month #YOORAN FOREVER

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duckydrawsart · 4 years ago

Note

Hey Ducky

I was wondering what your thoughts are on The Last of Us Part 2? How much you enjoyed the overall experience as a player, if you preferred it to the first game, if you were as distraught over Joel as me...

There are aspects I thought were amazingly well done i.e. level design, character design and majority of the gameplay. Some story elements I didn't enjoy or agree with but hey what can you do, not my story to write.

I'm curious because Joel is one of my favourite fictional characters and I think maybe one of yours? And if that conflicts with your opinion of the game.

Cheers. Hope you have a great day 😊

Honestly I don’t have anything very interesting to say because I didn’t play TLOU2. I read the leaks and already knew I wouldn’t enjoy it. I don’t agree that the story is poorly written or “absolutely garbage”, but I do personally find it exhausting and boring as bricks lol It’s just not for me. So I guess that also answers your question of which game I preferred most 😅

As for Joel, I’m happy with the direction they took for him. I don’t care about seeing him being “a badass”, so the fact that TLOU2 features him mostly as this soft awkward dad was right up my ally. His death didn’t help my feelings about the sequel, but as I explained it’s definitely not the main reason I disliked it. I don't have much of a opinion on how/why he died either....it's fine? idk. I was always going to hate it regardless of how it was written.

My frustration and disappointment in part 2 is gone at this point. I really don’t care enough to hate the game or be angry. It kinda exists to me only in the flashbacks and character designs now.

Sorry, not sure if this really answers much of your questions. Anyways, take care! I pray you have a great day yourself! 💖

#anon #ducky speaks #ask #tlou2 negative #heavily edited my reply lol don't think anyone read the original anyways

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znaeb · 5 years ago

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The Alibi | N.M.

Part 1

The third ‘no’ in two days was the final straw.

She had applied to several places in the past month and most of them hadn’t even responded yet, so when another firm turned her down it was looking like a part time job was inevitable. She really needed to make her rent on time this month.

Pulling out her phone she scrolled to the ‘M’ section in her contacts and selected Mom. It rang for a few seconds before she picked up.

“Hey hon, how’s it going?” Her mother chirped through the phone.

“Hey momma, it’s... going. Schnider Fitz and Harper just turned me down.” She sighed, especially sad since they were her first choice.

“Oh honey, I’m sorry.” Her mother cooed through the phone.

Ever since the last law firm she worked for disbanded, she’d been struggling to find work. Their town wasn’t small, but there wasn’t an overwhelming number of options for lawyers as young and inexperienced as she.

“I just need something to help pay the bills. I’m gonna go look around tomorrow.” She said, trying very hard not to sound like she was asking for money.

“You’ll find something, you’re a smart kid.” Her mom’s perpetual optimism came through.

“I just want a full time gig, ma. I hated bouncing from part-time to part-time in college.” She groaned.

“Well honey that’s just part of life sometimes. Do you want me and Jerry to send you some cash for rent?” She internally gagged at the sound of her step father’s name, they’d never gotten along.

She swallowed her pride and accepted her mother’s help, knowing that she would send her the money even if she said no.

They hung up about an hour later, having chatted about everything under the sun and more.

~~~

She’d gotten applications from two restaurants and a few clothing stores. It was a warm evening and she had walked all over looking for help wanted signs, even going as far as going in places without them and asking if they were looking for help.

Her feet were starting to hurt from walking around the downtown area so she ducked into a bar on the corner of 7th and Cherry Street. The Alibi. It was pretty run-down, but then again so was everything on Cherry.

“What can I get for ya?” A guy with curly hair and lots of tattoos manned the bar, his demeanor was cheery and welcoming.

“A pint of the black stuff, please.” She smiled and sat down on one of the old metal bar stools.

She checked her watch and looked around the bar. Eight o’clock. There were about six other patrons, three of them playing a game of pool in the corner, and the rest at a booth on the back wall.

“Here you go.” He set her drink down on the bar and started wiping down glasses with a towel.

“Thank you.” She raised her cup to him slightly and took a drink.

She struck up a conversation and stayed at the bar for quite a while talking to the bartender, who she found out was named Edwin, and forgot about her problems.

“And the heat! What is with the heat in this city? I was outside for like no time and I felt like I was melting!” She spoke animatedly, waving her hands around.

“I know right?” He agreed enthusiastically, “I’ve gone through two air conditioning units since I moved into my apartment, they just can’t keep up with the heat and then they conk out!”

She laughed out loud, having already had one window unit die on her since she moved into her place, “Oh man, why do people live here?”

“The spectacular view. Concrete, cement, and brick.” He laughed and cleaned off the counter a few feet away from her, then easily switched the topic from one thing to another, “Well, anyway, you do look like you’ve had a long day. Been busy?”

She pulled the stack of job applications out of her bag and tossed them down on the bar, “Been walking around town collecting these damn things.”

He picked the top one up and squinted at it for a second, then picked up the next one and did the same thing. After he finished looking through the pile he scoffed and tossed them in a garbage can behind the bar.

“Hey! I need those!” She exclaimed, standing up from her seat and looking between him and the trashed papers.

“No you don’t.” He shook his head, pulling an application from a shelf under the bar and a pen from his apron, he then leaned on his elbows and watched her as she skeptically picked it up.

“I’ve never really worked at a bar before... just restaurants.” she said as she looked over at him, trying to read his face.

“Pfft, it takes literally no skill to walk drinks from the bar to a booth. You could do it in your sleep.” He waved off her concern and stood up straight again, “Besides, my boss is so desperate for some more night help that he’d probably hire anybody.”

“Who’s your boss?” She furrowed her eyebrows, thinking he was the only person here.

“One sec,” he held up his index finger and walked over to a dark green swinging door at the end of the bar, peeking in the little circle window before walking into the back.

She heard muffled talking before Edwin walked back out, followed by another man. He had short dark hair and was wearing a Yankees jersey with a gold chain around his neck and a pair of worn-in blue jeans.

“Name’s Nick.” He stuck his hand out.

“Y/n.” She smiled and shook his hand.

“I think she’d be great.” Edwin said excitedly, patting Nick on the back and looking between the two of them.

“Ed, you just met her.” He said, skepticism obvious in every word.

“I still think she’d be great.” His smile never faultered.

“I’m a fast learner, I’ve worked in restaurants before, and I have a food handlers card.” She spoke quickly and confidently, determined to win him over.

He stood back and crossed his arms, looking at her for a second before sliding the application towards her, “Fill this out so we have it on record. Come in tomorrow evening at seven and we’ll see how you do.”

He said and then walked back into the back room. She noticed he sounded very ‘Jersey’ when he spoke.

“You got the job!” Edwin practically shouted, raising both his hands in the air for a double high five.

She laughed and high fived him, then finished her drink.

~~~

Her nerves made the next day go by extremely fast. She started to get ready early, wanting to make sure she was prepared.

She put on a pair of jeans and a grey v-neck, remembering that Edwin had said to wear plain clothes, then throwing on a pair of dirty white high top Vans.

Walking to the bar was exciting, she couldn’t wait to get started. The sun had set and the sky was barely light as she reached the door, she could hear a crowd of people inside before she even went in.

Walking in she would’ve never known this was the same bar from the night before. Every table was full, the bar had people crowded around the counter, and there was a whole group in the back by the pool table cheering.

“Y/n!” Edwin called from the bar. She looked over just in time to catch the black apron he tossed her way. He pointed to a tray of drinks on the end of the bar, “table five!” He held up five fingers to make sure she heard correctly and then went back to helping the crowd in front of him.

She hurried forward while tying the apron around her waist. Carefully picking up the tray she spun around and looked around the room, never had she been so glad to see table markers.

Right as she started walking forward, Nick darted past her and bumped the tray. The drinks wobbled and the glasses clinked together. She moved the tray strategically with the sway of the glasses, trying to keep them from toppling over.

“Holy shit.” He said, hands outstretched and ready to take the tray.

“I’ve got it.” She held up her left hand to stop him, her right hand underneath the now steady tray.

“You sure?” He asked as he took a step back.

“Definitely.” She said over her shoulder as she hurried to table five.

~~~

Two hours in and she already loved the job.

Working with Edwin was a breeze, and the other bartender, Brandon, was just as awesome. Nick rushed around replacing empty bottles behind the bar, taking payments, and dealing with the especially frustrating customers.

At one am Nick told her that she could head out, but since they were still busy she told him that she’d stay until last call. He didn’t argue.

By the end of the night she had made enough in tips to cover her rent. When the last customers left a little after three am, Nick locked the front door and plopped down into one of the booths to start doing paperwork.

“Toss me that rag, I’m gonna wipe down some tables.” She called over to Brandon. He tossed it to her and went back to cleaning up behind the counter with Ed.

After she finished that she put the chairs up and swept up the dining area, then mopped the small spots where drinks had been spilled.

When the whole place had been cleaned and made ready for opening the next day, she sat down in the booth across from Nick and looked at him expectantly. He stayed focused on his paperwork, pretending not to notice her watching him.

“So?” She said.

He finally looked up and furrowed his eyebrows at her. Sticking his pen behind his ear and crossing his arms over his chest, “So?” He copied.

“You said you’d see how I did, so how’d I do?” She smiled goofily over at him and tilted her head to the side.

The corner of his mouth curved up into a small smile and he shook his head. “You did good, you did good.”

She beamed across the table at him, leaning back in the booth and resting her head against the leathery fabric.

“So I can stick around then?” She asked.

He rolled his eyes and tossed a dry rag at her, “Yeah... you can stick around.”

She smiled again and moved from her side of the booth to his, plopping down next to him and kissing his cheek, “Thanks Nick.” She said softly.

****

Another Nick mini series??? 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️ whooooo knoooooowwwwsssss

#prettymuch imagines #fanfic #fanfiction #prettymuch #imagines #imagine #nick mara #nick mara imagines #nick!imagines

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bagels-and-seagulls · 5 years ago

Note

Okay this is definitely not the first time I've come into your ask box asking for angst but...I read your new cheerleader!matteo and hj!david and I couldn't resist. I started thinking about like what if when they're not official yet, there's a misunderstanding that David's messing around with other people as well bc his teammates are saying things to mess with matteo as always. (Love love love your writing)

i was not planning on writing more of this au so soon but this ask literally hit me in the face with a brick and i feel as tho i must. also the peach bowl is emotionally over and next is the fiesta one, so i’m still in a circle of hell

part one - part two

-matteo doesn’t really know how to treat david after leonie’s party, doesn’t know if he should think of them as an item, or at least becoming one, or if it was a one time thing just to get some of their energy out, to see if whatever there was between them was easily ended after a simple kiss, or if it only made it worse.

-spoiler alert, it made it worse.

-matteo has never really had a crush before, not one that had any promise to go anywhere. sure, he had the hopelessly tragic crush on his straight bestfriend that looking back on it was nice in a way, knowing that it was never going to happen, falling out of the crush just as easily as he fell into it. but since then, since jonas, he hasn’t really thought about anyone else. there weren’t many people like that around here to even really think about, not unless he wanted to go for a straight guy again, which no, thanks. one was enough for him. so he this was all new territory for him, being in that awkward stage between nothing and something. he didn’t really know what to do, what to say, how to act. he didn’t know if he was allowed to ask david to hang out, how many times he was allowed to text in a day, if they were going to kiss hello in the hallway, anything like that. anything at all.

-matteo has never had a crush before, so he never even knew he was a such a jealous person until- well, it hit him over the head like a neon green semi-truck.

-yo man, david, you’re a total dog, one of the football players kids as they’re all walking into the locker room, and matteo was there, trying to find a charger that one of the girls was asking for. and he could have sworn it was in his bag even though he couldn’t find it. shut up, man, he hears david say back and laugh, and it makes matteo stop. you had like three of those cheerleaders all over you, someone else says. yeah, i’ve been trying to get with sam for months, and she’s all over you in one second, comes another voice. y’all are going to get me in trouble, david laughs and rounds the corner and sees matteo looking back. hi, david says, his smile changing into something a little smaller, a little more like it was just for matteo. hi, matteo repeats and ends up just staring at david for a second, who just laughs a little awkwardly and scratches the back of his neck. i gotta get back to practice, matteo mutters and walks off, hearing david’s, oh, okay, bye?

-matteo invites david to go to an open mic thing that jonas wants him to go to, and david tells him that he had already promised leonie he would go to a party with her. but he could see him afterwards? maybe they could meet up somewhere? matteo tells him that it’s okay, that they can meet up tomorrow morning or just wait until monday. and then monday morning rolls around, and he hears whispering in the hallway about how david hooked up with some girl, went home with her even, and matteo feels like it isn’t true. doesn’t think that david was that kind of guy, but it eats away at him anyways. eats away at him until he feels a little bit angry, and a little bit disappointed, and something else that was a combination of the two. and he ends up going to his class early, even though he said he would meet david by his locker before school started.

-david texts him, are you okay? and matteo doesn’t answer. david looks at him all concerned when he sees him in literature, and matteo ignores that look, too.

-they end up making out when david comes over one day to study for their literature exam. they end up actually studying for maybe twenty minutes, throwing glances at each other every couple of seconds and smiling to themselves once they were caught. you know, they say you should study for fifteen minutes and then take a five minute break to improve memory, david says at one point. oh really? matteo asks, and how long have we been studying? and david takes the book out of his lap with a smirk and leans into his space until matteo is looking up at him, at least twenty already, he mutters, looking between matteo’s eyes and his lips. and how do you think we should spend our break? matteo asks, feeling like he had something to be proud of all of a sudden.

-matteo leaves a hickey on the base of david’s neck, and he doesn’t think he’s ever left a hickey before, feeling a little like a strutting peacock when he sees david on monday morning with the bruise still dark against his skin. but then he hears all of the names of the people that some suspect might have left it there, and not once does his name come up. he doesn’t think he’ll be leaving one again.

-are you okay? david asks him one day when they’re standing at the edge of the field, and matteo’s been ignoring him all day because he didn’t think that he would be able to keep his mouth shut about how he heard from at least four of david’s teammates that david screwed around with one of matteo’s squadmates at a party in the middle of the week, which honestly was trashy enough. and matteo wasn’t too sure that david even went to a party on a wednesday night, but he’s been having a pretty shitty day all around and thought it was only a matter of time before he accidentally let it out on someone else. i’m fine, matteo says and tries to brush him off. matteo, just talk to me, david asks, and matteo was almost ready to spill his guts right there, right out his mouth and onto the field underneath their feet, but the said squadmate from the rumor happened to be walking by just then, because of course she did, and waved at david right as matteo went to open his mouth. forget it, matteo says instead of admitting anythign that was nasty, and mean, and uncalled for, and shakes his head. wait, david says. if you want to go talk to her, go and leave me alone, matteo mutters and turns away only for david to grip his elbow and pull him back, what is that supposed to mean? and matteo thinks this might be his guts coming up, that thing that was mean he was trying to push down, if you’re hooking up with other people or whatever, just leave me out of it.

-matteo walks away, and that night as he’s laying in bed, he thinks that maybe he really screwed something up.

-matteo never had a crush before, so he never really knew he was a jealous person. he didn’t know he was going to hate himself so much for it.

-i don’t know why you’re so convinced i’m meant to be a bad guy, david says, straddling the locker room bench and clearly waiting for matteo to come in, to try and get him to talk to him. what? matteo says with a shake of his head, even though he heard him perfectly fine, just didn’t want to have to come up with some sort of response to it. instead, facing towards his locker and effectively blocking himself from looking david in the face. you’re the only one i’m, like, interested in, or whatever, david says, i haven’t been talking to anyone else, or hooking up or anything. matteo nods his head because he doesn’t have anything to add, doesn’t have anything to say. but you don’t believe me, do you? david asks with a sigh and a scoff rolled into one and doesn’t wait for an answer. fuck, matteo. i know you don’t like football players, and i get it. really, i do, but i’ve never lied to you- not once. and i’m not screwing around behind your back. matteo nods again and reaches for something in his locker, his hand gripping nothing but air. yeah, alright, david says, and it sounds like he was giving up on something, i guess i’ll just fuck off or whatever.

-they don’t talk for days, and matteo feels like garbage the entire time, opening and closing david’s contact just trying to work up the nerve to talk to him.

-i think i really fucked it up, matteo mutters to jonas one night when he comes over to play some video games after school. with david? jonas asks and pauses the game. matteo hums and sets his controller down, i didn’t believe him and i should’ve. jonas sits there for a moment, tapping a beat only he could hear on his knee. have you told him that? jonas asks. matteo shakes his head. i don’t know how to apologize, matteo admits. i think i really fucked it up.

-matteo swallows down his pride and his nerves with nothing left in his bones except his guilt as he walks up to david at his locker with his hands stuck up under his backpack straps, kicking his heels into the ground. uh, hey, he says, and david turns around like he was shocked to see him. hey, david repeats and holds his books in front of his chest. i- uh, i wanted to apologize, matteo says, for being an asshole. david nods his head but doesn’t say anything, his face screwed up like he was holding himself back from saying anything at all. can we talk? after school maybe? matteo asks and hopes that he isn’t turned down. david says to wait up for him after practice.

-what did you want to talk about? david asks later, leaning back up against his locker with his arms crossed in front of him, the bench dividing them. i’m sorry, matteo says, i should’ve talked to you or something, instead of believing other people. i just- i don’t know. i haven’t had the best time at this school, especially with the football team. and i guess i just thought it was too good to be true, that-that you were too good to be true. david doesn’t say anything for a long time, and matteo sucks in a breath, running his thumb nail up the sides of his fingers, i should’ve talked to you, and i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to fuck this whole thing up. i really do like you. david clicks his tongue, and matteo has to look down at the ground in order to not stare too hard. i really like you, too, david says after a beat, and matteo looks up at him, wanting him to say more. it’s just- how can i be with someone who doesn’t trust me? and matteo goes to argue immediately, but closes his mouth when he sees the look that david was leveling him with. can i have another chance? matteo asks, to show you that i do?

-david agrees, and matteo sighs out in relief.

-it takes them a few weeks to get back where they were, when they felt young and almost in love, smiling just by the thought of seeing the other, so excited when they do, that they just sway from side to side on their feet once they’re in close proximity, too caught up in themselves to even kiss each other hello. but matteo thinks that he’s proved it. at least, he hopes that he did, that he trusts david totally and completely, with his whole heart even because he feels like that’s what he’s doing, handing it over wrapped in a little bow.

-do you want to go see a movie tonight? david asks him when they’re both standing outside the school, not exactly wanting to say goodbye but knowing the day was over. matteo hums, not completely catching the question, too caught up in his thoughts. a movie? david repeats, and matteo shrugs, not feeling any sort of way about the proposal. what is is? david asks, leaning in closer and nudging matteo with his elbow. did you want to be my boyfriend? matteo blurts out. the words just falling from his mouth before he’s able to catch them back up. oh, uh, david stretches out and scratches the back of his neck. nevermind, forget it, matteo stutters out and takes a step back. no, no, no, i do, i just- david sighs and looks around before tugging matteo over to the side of the building to be more out of the way.

-i do, david repeats. but? matteo asks. but, uh, david pinches the bridge of his nose and scrunches his eyes up, i’m trans, he says eventually, looking up and at matteo who was looking back with wide eyes. uh, matteo drawls out after a second, is that it? and david tilts his head to the side, what? and matteo looks around, not really for anything, just to look at something that wasn’t david for a second. you’re trans so you don’t want to be my boyfriend? matteo asks. what? david repeats, no, no- i’m trans, so i thought maybe you didn’t want me to be your boyfriend. and then it was matteo’s turn to scratch his head. so you’re trans, and you don’t want me to want you to be my boyfriend? he asks. and david looks at him for a second. i think we’re agreeing? he says with an uptick in his voice. you’re trans, matteo says. right, david confirms. and you wanna be my boyfriend? matteo asks. right, david repeats. and matteo nods, still feeling a little bit confused, so they both just stand there, rocking from side to side on the balls of their feet until david goes, so boyfriends? and matteo smiles. yeah, boyfriends, he agrees, and david smiles too and kisses him.

#here we are again #Clemson is in the lead #but there is time for that to change indeed #davenzi #davenzi fic #my writing #other aus #hot jock david

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thenonbinarydetective · 5 years ago

Text

Puppy Love

Forgive me, but I combined two request into one. It happened on accident, cause I realized the prompt could fit the situation I get Frank and Joe into, but don’t worry @ladylindaaa it’s a fun fluffy situation. Also based off of my sims game. This is also an apology for those I hurt after posting Catch of the Day

Warning: Cute dogs and cute boys

Word Count: 2,340

Prompt: “Don’t you think that’s a little extreme?”

Summary: After a stakeout, The Hardy Boys convince their family to adopt two dogs. The responsibility ends up a lot greater than Frank and Joe originally thought.

Enjoy!

Joe Hardy sat slumped in the seat of their car. Chin in hand, his bored stare remained fixed on a very interesting brick wall.

Frank on the other hand was taking the stakeout much more seriously, His gazed remained fixed on the jewelry store. “Would you pay attention?” He smacked his brother’s arm.

“To what? Nothing’s happening!” Joe defended himself, sitting up.

“We promised Dad.” Frank reminded his younger brother. Earlier that same evening Fenton Hardy had asked his sons to take his place in watching Alyssa’s Jewels for a few hours until he could take over. They had nothing better to do, so they agreed. Joe just didn’t expect for time to move so slow. Usually, the brothers wait for a few minutes, have a quick conversation, and then boom! They get attacked by the criminal. They either win or knocked out (or both). They probably shouldn’t be used to that.

“It’s not like you’re the perfect watchmen.” Joe snapped back. He reached out to grab Frank’s phone, “Who are you texting?” Frank contorted his body away from him. They glared at each other, both knew that his brother wouldn’t back down. Within seconds they started wrestling.

Joe, being the stronger Hardy Boy, soon overpowered his brother. He laughed triumphantly, waving the phone away from his brother, who had pressed against the other door with his foot. “Now let’s see who you’ve been texting.” His joy vanished after he looked at the notifications and saw practically all of their friends. “You’re in a group chat with Nancy, Bess, and George! Since when did you group chat anyway?”

“Since tonight, and they’re on a stake-out too.”

“Well, I wouldn’t know that because SOMEONE didn’t invite me!”

“I’m sorry. I’ll add you to it.” Frank apologized. The street lamp illuminating the hurt look on Joe’s face made him look pathetic.

“You made me sit in silence for 45 minutes, while you texted our friends. Some brother you are.”

“Stop yelling.” He rubbed his temples, “I invited you isn’t that- Wait what’s that?” He looked past his brother into an alleyway next to the store. There was movement behind the garbage can. Joe saw it too. The brothers leaped out of the car, but quietly as they could so they wouldn’t draw attention to themselves. They pressed themselves to side of the nearest building.

A man dressed in all black approached the store, entering the alley. The boys looked at one another, someone else was in the alley. Would they catch the criminal before they did? The brothers asked each other without saying a word. They bolted forward, not willing to risk it. As they came closer, they heard a deep growl.

The man came shooting out, chased by a black blur. It shocked Frank and Joe as the chase ignored them. The man ducked into the next alley. The blur nipped at his heels. When the boys entered the scene, the man pressed himself against the wall, a large black dog snarled at him. A bag overflowing with jewelry spilled on the ground.

“Get this crazy mutt away from me! I’ll turn myself in, I swear!” The man pleaded. He looked seconds away from wetting his pants. The Hardy Boys both tried to hide their laughter and failed. “Hey it’s not funny! This dog is crazy.”

While the brothers knew how serious dog attacks could be, the sight of the nervous thief was a little funny. Frank moved forward, keeping the vicious dog in sight as he walked so he’d be prepared if the dog changed targets. Strangely enough, it didn’t. He felt more at ease and walked closer. The thief let Frank tie up his hands with his belt.

At that, the black dog stopped and left the alley. Joe checked to see if his brother was as confused as he was about the dog’s behavior. Frank was. Joe left in time to see the dog return to the other alley. Cautiously, the younger Hardy followed.

He had lost the dog when he entered. “Hey.” He gently called, pairing that with a whistle. The dog poked his head out from behind a dumpster. So did another dog. The other is white with brown splotches of varying sizes. The black dog didn’t seem as scary now. His big brown eyes searched Joe adorably. He was trying to figure out why this human was looking down at him.

“I’m a friend, don’t worry.” He promised, kneeling a few feet away. He put out his hand for the dogs to sniff. The dogs stood still, as if they were deciding if they should trust him. “C’mon. Come here.” His voice raised a few octaves when he said this. The brown and white dog walked towards him. Sniffing then nuzzling his hand, it looks like Joe had made a new friend. The black dog came closer, but wasn’t as friendly.

A couple minutes later, Joe exited the alley with two furry friends. An officer loaded the thief into the back of a police car, while Frank watched. He must have seen his brother out of the corner of his eye, because when he left the alley he immediately broke off. “Who are they?”

“Well, this is the dog that chased that guy, and this is his friend.” Joe smiled.

“Joe we can’t keep them.”

“Why not? This guy can chase criminals better than we can. Dad will love him.” He patted the black dog’s head. He accepted this praise with a strong, determined look. It was oddly human for a dog, Frank didn’t know if he liked it or was freaked out by it. “And this little sweetheart is so adorable.” Joe bent down and hugged the second dog. “She’s perfect for mom.”

“I don’t know Joe.” Frank shrugged. He knew their aunt wasn’t very fond of dogs, even if their parents were. It would take a lot of convincing to let her keep them. His heart melted at the sight of them. They were making it very difficult to say no. In the back of his mind, he started listing the chore he would promise to do for his aunt for the dogs.

Joe laughed, he realized just how weak his brother was in the presence of these two spectacular mutts. His broad, lopsided grin hid how much he wanted to jump for joy. He was finally getting the dog he’s always wanted.

“What’s the worst that can happen?”

———————————————————————————————————

“This is the worst that can happen.” He answered a month later. He knew he shouldn’t have said that. He always regrets it when he says that.

“You’re being dramatic.”

“Dude, Aunt Trudy’s gonna kill us.” Joe raked his fingers through his blond curls.

“Don’t you think that’s a little extreme?” Frank raised an eyebrow at his younger brother.

“No, it’s not extreme at all. That the good tablecloth, Frank! The good tablecloth!” He was shaking his brother by the shoulders. Who then shrugged off his brother’s grasp.

They looked down at what Joe was being dramatic about. The brown and white dog, now named Laika, had made a nest in the hall closet with the dreaded good tablecloth. Along with that, Frank saw his dad’s old coat, two of his mother’s dresses, a few of his brother’s shirts, and some of his own. He didn’t understand why the dog used clothes and a tablecloth for her puppies, but Frank wasn’t a mother.

Laika continued to press the various items together until she decided it was comfortable enough. She laid down and glanced up at her owners. Completely wrapped up in the joy of impending motherhood, she didn’t realize the stress she was causing them.

“Aunty only takes it out for special occasions and this is pretty special.” Frank chuckled quietly, squeezing himself into the small closet so he could comfort Laika. He stoked her head, which she thanked him for by licking his hand. Eventually, he couldn’t ignore the feeling of the daggers that Joe was glaring at him with. “What?”

“I’m stressed and you’re making jokes.” Joe threw up his arms in frustration. “I never agreed to the Freaky Friday switch.” He slid down the wall, utterly defeated.

“Neither did the characters in Freaky Friday.” The brunet brother reminded, pointing at his brother. “Switch with me, I’m gonna go call the vet.” He eased himself out of the closet and walked into the kitchen.

Joe took his brother’s place as a doggy midwife. As he traced little shapes in her fur, he thought back to only three hours before when he promised his parents that they would have a boring night so they could have some alone time. Unfortunately, Mr. and Mrs. Hardy rarely got the time for a date night. Right about now they were probably rushing home from that really fancy restaurant after getting the text about Laika.

Ranger, the black dog and probably Laika’s baby daddy, howled from Laura’s office. The boys put him in there once they realized Laika was in labor. He continued to be vocal about how much he hated the situation he was in. Joe didn’t like it much either.

Laika whined, Joe felt bad for her. She knew that. She nuzzled Joe, trying to comfort him even though she felt so terrible. He tried to do the same for her. Trapping them in an endless cycle of love and sadness.

“I’m sorry girl, I don’t know what’s taking the vet so long.” He said as an effort to make her feel better.

Frank returned, “Dr. Cohen said he’s having car trouble and just to keep her comfortable.” He sat against the opposite wall. The brothers sat in silence. Laika let out an occasional whine while Ranger yelled things that were probably uncomplimentary in dog. This lasted for a few minutes.

“Tonight blows.” Joe sighed, “First you cooked dinner, then the washing machine explode, I forgot to write that essay, and now Laika.” He pulled his knees to his chest and by the end of his sadness list, his head was buried in his arms.

Frank ignored the jab at his cooking skills and the fact that it was Joe who broke the washing machine. He enjoyed teasing his brother like every other sibling in existence, but it was hard to see him so upset. “I’m sorry about dinner, we fixed the washing machine, you can write the essay later, and Laika will be fine.”

The doorbell rang, causing both brothers to jump to their feet. Frank reached the door first and opened it. Outside stood Dr. Cohen with his vet bag in hand. Behind him was his son and close friend of the Hardys, Phil.

“She’s in the closet, Dr. Cohen.” Frank gestured. The vet nodded and followed him over. Joe and Phil lagged a bit, neither wanted to crowd the patient.

“Is that your Aunt’s good tablecloth?” Phil asked, peering into the nest.

“Don’t remind me.” Joe grumbled.

“You remember that?” Frank raised his brow at his short friend.

“Of course, she takes it out for every party.” Phil said as a matter-of-factly.

“Well, this party already has another guest.” Dr. Cohen announced. The three boys noticed the little puppy that had been born while they were distracted. “Still waiting on a few others.”

They heard a car door slam from the driveway, followed by the rushing tap of high heels on stone. Laura Hardy threw open the door, “Is she alright? Did we miss anything?” She asked breathlessly.

“Only one mom. Another’s coming any minute.” Frank shuffled over and gave his mother a quick hug, his brother did the same.

“Oh, good.” She smiled, then pushed past her sons to see her dog. They weren’t surprised, Laura and Laika formed a close bond over the past month. Frank and Joe found it a little unnerving that so much of their mother’s attention wasn’t on them. They had no doubt that she was fretting the whole way home. When their father finally joined them, his tired face only confirmed their theory.

“Oh this one looks like Ranger.” She cooed.

It was a long night, but by the end of it Ranger and Laika were the proud parents of seven puppies. Dr. Cohen and Phil said their goodbyes and left the family. Ranger sat by Fenton, finally freed from Laura’s office. He watched his children curiously.

“I’m not telling Gertrude.” Fenton spoke up.

“Coward.” Laura teased.

“Why can’t we just let her find out for herself when she comes home from her vacation?” Joe asked. The rest of his family considered this.

“It’s gonna be pretty obvious when she opens her craft room and finds them.” Frank added. They laughed before falling into a happy lull. The family felt exhausted, but the puppies were too cute to ignore.

“We’re not gonna get rid of all of them, right?” Joe piped up. They had a big house, but it wasn’t big enough for nine dogs and five people. “Because I really like this one, and I think he likes me. Isn’t that right, Bear?” He held up a puppy with a similar coloring to Laika.

“I kinda like this one.” Frank quietly referred to the black puppy sleeping on his lap. “I’m gonna call him Scout.”

Laura smiled at her husband and wrapped her arms around his waist. She sweetly looked up at him and said, “I think we should keep two. Ranger and Laika would be so upset if we gave all their babies away.” The boys knew their father was too weak to resist. She knew how to get what she wanted from him.

“You’re right.” He conceded. His wife and sons cheered. Fenton raised his hand, signaling that he had more to say. He met his wife’s eyes and said, “But only if you, my dear, tell Gertrude about the puppies and the tablecloth.”

Laura begrudgingly agreed to these terms. Mentally, she prepared herself for the ranting and raving she would have to endure. Her sons were happy. That’s all that mattered.

#second one down #I hope this makes up for it #the sims got me in the mood for this one #the hardy boys #hardy boys #nancy drew #clue crew #frank hardy #joe hardy #fenton hardy #laura hardy #fanfiction

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