#maplepear

[sansy-fresh]

hey, i've got a joke! slim walks into a bar. portugal walks under it.

There was always something disgustingly wonderful about cracking open his sockets, confused and in pain, a moment of agonizing bliss before he remembered just who he had pissed off the night before, who he’d gotten to beat the everloving shit out of him. It was a game, a fun one at that, poking and prodding, something exhilarating in the way that he would feel a spike of rage, of fury, just before the pain began and everything hazed out between blows and attacks.

When P opened his sockets that morning, feeling the dried mess of what he knew was blood causing him to stick to the sheets- honestly, if they weren’t already browned and stiff in so many places then he may have actually been the slightest bit annoyed at the fact- the pain was welcome, and he allowed himself to simply sit and relish what he fucking deserved, not bothering to look any farther than the fact that it hurt. The memories would come back in time; they’d be hazed and confused but he always, always would remember just what words he said, what buttons he pushed, blackout drunk or not.

Every time it happened, he could feel himself slip away just a little farther, and since no one cared enough to bother to pull him back he only had a few more beatings to take until they had to wipe dust off of sheets that were so stained with blood that they were stiff enough to be cardboard. He sighed, hard, ribs aching  at the motion (bruised, probably, maybe even broken, and wouldn’t that be a damn treat?) as he pushed himself up, cradling his skull in his hand.

“Mornin’, Sunshine!”

P jumped with a curse, falling out of bed and landing in such a way that his vision went black around the edges, pain shooting up his spine. His head snapped around as he checked the room, eyes narrowing with a snarl as his gaze landed on Slim, the other perched happily on a chair with a grin. Before he could say anything, the other was talking.

“Gotta say, I really thought you were done for last night. You got the shit beat out of you!” He seemed almost happy about it, maybe even impressed.

Portugal got up with a groan, struggling to stay standing, sending the other a glare. “Get th’ fuck out.”

Slim shifted in the chair, turning and hooking his knees over the top before letting his head hang back off the bottom. “I dunno what you said to the edgelord to get him to beat you like that, but holy shit it must’ve been bad.”

God, he had no idea what the fuck this guy’s problem was. “If yer smart, you’ll get th’ hell out, boyo.”

“Or what?” Slim grinned, snickering. “You’ll limp over here and insult me to death? Oh, I’m so scared.”

P watched as Slim turned back upright, balancing his elbows on his knees as he cradled his head in his hands, blinking innocently. “The hell do ya want?”

Slim shrugged, grinning, and P watched him for a few more moments before he turned with a growl, limping over to his closet and grabbing the first outfit he saw, making his way out of the room. There was a creak from the chair, and he glanced over his shoulder to see Slim following him, happily looking at his surroundings with his hands in his pockets. He slammed the bathroom door in the other’s face, locking it as he turned to the mirror, barely glancing at his reflection- the glimpse of green was enough to make him look away as quickly as he could- before starting to pull on fresh clothes.

No noise came from the other side of the door, but he wasn’t an idiot, and he knew for a fact that the drugged-up asshole was still standing on the other side. He kicked the stained clothes against the tub, vowing to pick them up later, before he yanked the door open. Sure enough, Slim was leaning against a wall, scrolling through his phone, entirely unconcerned. The other glanced up as he glared, and Slim raised a brow at his expression. “What?”

P sneered. “Sorry to tell ya, but I don’ got any drugs. If ya wanna be a fucking disappointment, then go do it somewhere else.”

Slim laughed. “And miss out on these thrilling conversations? I would never.”

He shoved past him, hand coming up to cradle his ribcage as he made his way into the kitchen. He turned just before Slim followed after him, glaring, and something must have finally gotten through that thick skull of his because he stopped just outside, one leg lifted and eyes wide in shock, before he shrugged, dropping his leg and standing just outside the door frame.

P filled the kettle with water, slamming it down on the stove and swirling around on his heel, hissing. “What.”

Slim shrugged, face expressionless, and for a moment P was almost impressed that he could do something other than smile like an idiot. “You’re a lot more trouble than you’re worth, shorty. Say that you were to take it too far with the wrong person.” Slim lifted up both hands, palms out, grinning. “Not that I give two shits, mind you, but if they did something that they regret then the consequences would be pretty shitty.”

“So what?” P sneered, aware of how tense the atmosphere was becoming. “Please tell me ya aren’t as stupid as ya look ta think that a slap on the wrist’ll make me stop.”

Slim grinned, leaning against the frame. “I came to kill you, actually.”

P took a step back, running into the counter, watching the other grin.

He laughed, face turning to the side before he looked at him from the corner of his sockets. “Calm down, bud. You see, I was watching you sleep- creepy, I know, but whatever- and I got to thinking: ‘Hey, he really likes to piss people off, doesn’t he? I wonder why that is?’”

Slim turned, facing him fully. “Because it’s not like you really fight back to win. So what is it, kid?” He stepped forward, expression quizzically calm, the side of his mouth lifted slightly in a smirk. “Are you kinky, or do you just hate yourself that much?”

P growled, reaching over and grabbing a knife before taking a step forward, anger making him imagine someone slightly shorter, attacking and knowing, knowing that with his injuries it would only take a few well placed hits, and it’s not like Slim didn’t know exactly how to bring someone down. But the other just caught his wrist, grabbing his other arm and lifting him in the air. P shot out his leg, kicking him in the side, but the pain that burned up his bones had to be worse than whatever injury it inflicted on Slim and so he just hung, waiting for the pain to start. Which is why the laugh was so shocking.

He kicked out again, more pain making his body throb. “So what now? Yer gonna try ta make up fer all the times ya just let yer friends suffer while you were off somewhere, so high that ya couldn’t even walk?” Another kick. Slim was frowning. “Ya think that somehow, ya can be the good guy, get rid of past mistakes, like this’ll somehow get them to see ya as anything other than a fucking failure who can’t stay sober fer longer than ten minutes?”

“Jesus.” Slim set him down, wrenching the knife from his hand before raising a brow. “So I guess kinky’s not the answer.”

P yanked himself away, going over to the table, picking up a chair before launching it at the other. Slim yelped when it hit him, the chair breaking into splintered pieces and making him fall back on his ass. “Why won’t ya jus’ leave!?”

“Cause I’m an asshole.” Slim stood up with a groan, brushing himself off. And then he gave P a pointed look. “Cause part of me almost feels sorry for you.”

P glared at him, stalking over to the stove and grabbing the kettle, pouring the water into the cup and dropping a tea bag into it carelessly. He sneered. “Why? ‘Cause I remind ya of yerself?”

“Nope!” Slim said. “Because you remind me of m-” he paused, sockets narrowing, before he clicked his tongue. “Huh. Holy shit.”

“Fuck off.”

Slim grinned at him before he looked down, nudging a piece of the chair with his sneakers. “Heh. Alrighty.” He winked. “I’ll see you around then, ey greenie?”

P growled, turning away. He heard footsteps as the other made his way out, though they stopped just after the creaky board that P knew was just in front of the door. “By the way,” Slim called, boisterous and obnoxious, “there ain’t nothin’ wrong with the color of your magic.”

And then the door clicked shut, washing him in peaceful and lonely silence.

A wonderful fic by the magnificent ollie for you all to enjoy ^^

[sansy-fresh]

Marrow trickled down his face, the taste of it mingling with the magic in his mouth. Iron, metallic and gross. Spitting to the side, he grinned through gritted fangs, bringing his fists up. “Quit yer pussy footin’, pansy ass.”

Slim laughed, his own fists raised and ready, a smear of P’s marrow covering his knuckles. Smiling viciously, he tilted his head. “What, you wanna get your ass handed to ya again? Cause I can do that.”

P snorted, then snapped his left hand forward, meeting empty air as Slim dodged neatly to the side, bringing his knee up and nailing P in the side. Grunting, P stepped back, arm coming down to block anymore kicks, eyes widening as he dodged a wild snap from the right. 

“Its almost like you want me to beat your ass, greeney.”

Portugal’s sockets narrowed as he darted back in, tackling Slim to the ground as he brought his fist down into Slim’s face. The two of the grappled for a moment, rolling about until Slim was on top, holding P’s wrists into the dirt. He grinned victoriously as P thrashed, before going limp with defeat.

“Fine, you win. Get offa me, fat ass.” P pushed up, shoving Slim up and off to the side with a whump. Slim laughed through a grunt, eyelights bright.

“I don’t have an ass, jackass.”

P stuck out his tongue.