#because sometimes they’re elusive little fuckers
Note
i just want to start this by saying you are by far one of my favorite fic authors and reading your series has been, at some points, the only thing i’ve had to look forward to and it always makes my day to see updates. i don’t want this to come off as rushing AT ALL, but i was wondering if you have any guess as to when the next update will be?
again no rush at all and i will be waiting no matter how long it takes 🫶
This was such a sweet ask & I’m so sorry for being so MIA lately. I really wanted to give you like a small insert from next chapter but I couldn’t figure out what to put here lol. The next chapter is done I’ll probably post it later today!! That’s my goal…
#goals are funny though#because sometimes they’re elusive little fuckers#thank you anon this was very very sweet#you’re one of my FAVORITE READERS!!#I’m going to do my very very best to upload it tonight#it’s 25k!!!#I was told it’s a happy chapter#& there are some cool interactions ;)#if you send me an ask with a character or something I can try to give you an insert#I’m sorry I’m so bad at this haha#I need like specific instructions and direction#BUT YOURE AMAZING ANON!!!#I love you & im so sorry for being so out of the loop lately!#liab#itf#ask
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🕷Awakening Your Femme Fatale — Timeless Pick A Card
Why would you allow undeserving asses to look down on you when you are a literal Goddess? Every woman has that Lilith sleeping deep inside; just waiting for the right temperature to unleash her HOT GIRL POISON🕷
SONG for all piles: Forgive Me by BoA
MOVIE for all piles: Death Becomes Her (1992)
[PAC Masterlist] [Part 2] [Part 3]
[Patreon] [Paid Readings]
Reading guide 1: My readings are always unisex, but Lilith in astrology is a definitively fatalistic Female archetype. If you identify as operating more on the Feminine energy, this PAC could be about what's hidden or awakening inside of YOU~💄Or, if you resonate with being attracted to the Feminine energy, this reading might shed a light on the type of ‘dangerous woman’ you tend to recklessly fall for… or secretly fantasise about🙃
Reading guide 2: Some of you may be wondering why Death Becomes Her is a movie vibe for this PAC, due to the fact that our main characters do not end well at all😜It is a cautionary tale of when Lilith goes berserk beyond control. When Lilith has no self-control, her sense of rivalry towards women and disappointment in men cause her to become a reckless danger to herself as much as she is a menace to everyone else. With great power comes great responsibility. The characters in that movie were not responsible the slightest bit except that man (Bruce Willis kyah!) who eventually came to his senses🤷🏻♀️Remember, not all men are as idiotic as they appear to be🤭
☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.
Pile 1 – Amorous Manipulator
VIBE: Kimi ni Muchuu (crazy about you) by Utada Hikaru
your hidden poison – 8 of Cups
Are you aware of the fact that people tend to run to you for comfort? Something about you draws people in; you seem trustworthy, protective, reliable and strong, and they feel cared for in your embrace. They feel understood. You provide a sense of camaraderie. Little do they know, you really don’t care that much. You’re just nice, kinda. You like to chit chat every now and then. But you’re usually crunching numbers in your head—thinking how best to use these people for later purposes.
You’re cool, detached, and calculating about your every single move. You never really show people what’s going on in your private life. People can’t figure you out as you seem flighty… more like, elusive. You’re like a bird or fish ready to escape anytime the temperatures around you get burdensome. Deep down, you feel like you’re the one who wants to run away from these clingy admirers. ‘I don’t understand why they keep following me!’
Thing is… you’re kinda hard not to notice, you know. No matter what type of beauty you are—and you might as well be cute as a rabbit—there’s an animal magnetism about you. People want to please you and gain your validation. In essence, you have the natural ability to attract a lot of simps! How you deal with that, entirely relies on your wit.
your potion of seduction – Ace of Pentacles Rx
Sometimes you feel suffocated about the way people view you. But everyone behaves irrationally nervously because you’re too blindingly hot for the average person. You break down people’s sensibility, rationality, and wit. You leave those you’ve kissed witless for days, weeks even. Because of your nonchalant hotness, some people fantasise about keeping you to themselves in the dark. People… fantasise about you a lot. Like, a lot. All kinds of things they would be embarrassed to let anybody know—unless they’re sinfully shameless—which tends to only increase their nervousness when they see you again.
Due to the degree of people’s endless fascination with you, you may not be inclined to entertain just about anybody. But sometimes, you see a few intriguing fools amongst your admirers and think to yourself, ‘Ugh, I need entertainment. Let me amuse myself with these fuckers and see what happens.’ The results are often devastatingly hilarious. Those who chase you end up looking pathetic in your eye.
Those of you who are more empathetic sometimes feel a bit sorry that people crave your attention—your company—that much when they should know better not to expect anything remotely sincere from you. But those of you who don’t remotely care, gosh dang, it’s all just a silly game of winners and losers. And you, will never end up the loser in this game of manipulation.
Realise to RELEASE! – Queen of Wands Rx
There’s something almost evil in the way you perceive a sense of rivalry with those whom you perceive as being on the same level of hotness as you. It pisses you off when your puppets are looking at someone else and praising them for whatever low-quality beauty/charm/behaviour you find distasteful to yourself. But hold on, I’m not saying you’re entirely the bad bitch for feeling this way every now and then, because… The truth is, some fucks really be doing you dirty by praising others in the presence of you!
There are those who feel dreadfully intimidated by your unmatched beauty and charisma that they—ever so stupidly sneakily—try to bring you down by elevating others in such a manner. Hoping they’d be able to witness your feeling uncomfortable because that would bring them the greatest sense of reclaiming their power from the grip of your hypnotising sensuality. Honey, you don’t even have to be the prettiest gal in your country, people still perceive your beauty as unmatchable because of your inimitable attitude!
Eh, if you’re totally in control of yourself, you don’t compete. You know there is no competition. How can there be? There can be only one you and nobody can emulate what you do. Like for real for realzz nobody can. Have you noticed that not even those close to you have any idea how to imitate your behaviours? You’re some kind of unreal hotness that’s on a whole of another level.
Lilith’s Revenge🔻💙
Scorpio’s secret transformation – Silver Magus (Merlin)
Pluto’s command for control – Priestess of Protection
Access full reading + cards on Patreon🌸
☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.
Pile 2 – Dangerous Temptress
VIBE: Run Devil Run by Girls’ Generation
your hidden poison – 4 of Pentacles Rx
At some point in life, an ass you would’ve trusted with your safety left you for dead when you needed shelter/protection/assistance the most. This kind of scenario might’ve been a recurrent pattern in your life. Constant abandonment and betrayals that have caused you to believe you’re very unlovable. People’s sharp knives of rejection made you realise you’ve never been anybody’s most important person. You’re never anybody’s top priority. That realisation hurt you so much but also gave birth to your almost dangerous courage now to face any kinds of hardships.
In this world, there is no challenge scary enough to stop you from getting what you want. You’ve survived the scariest chapters of your Life—you’ve dealt with periods of lack, cold and nothingness that would’ve killed most people; what could faze you now? You’re a motherfucker daredevil and people know that. People can see your nonchalant courage and they’re frightened as fuck. You notice nervousness in their eyes all the time. You know they think you’re reckless, but they don’t know your story. And you don’t care, obvi.
You’re fiercely independent. Through abandonment and neglect you’ve learnt to refine your manifestation skills. Now, there’s nothing you can’t have through your own efforts. You don’t need anybody and never will you need to rely on another only for them to let you down. You’ve got all your own bases covered and there’s still more to be hedonistic about. You’re royal, almost scary to the people who are way below you. They may worry that you’re being irresponsible with your resources. But you don’t care; you’re nonchalant AF. Easy come easy go, baby~ There’s always more to make.
your potion of seduction – Page of Cups Rx
Clearly, you’re a hard worker on top of being extremely intelligent. That’s how you managed to bring yourself to such safety after everything that’s happened in the past. There was simply so much lack and restriction it was literally embarrassing what the world had delivered to your doorstep. But now, the fact that so many pretty and expensive things come easily to you intimidates people and they might secretly feel envious of you. They will never say it out loud though, since they want to be on your good side—because they know they could benefit from your royal attitude when it comes to your spending.
Something about you spells CrAzY to a lot of people. Even the dullest dumbest ass can intuitively sense that you’re a daredevil for whom there’s quite literally nothing you’re too afraid to do/attempt. And you exude this dodgy aura that announces to everybody you’re not the bitch to mess with. Unless they wanna risk getting burnt by you. Your feelings run deep but you don’t let your emotions get in the way of your achieving your goals. To others, it almost looks like you’re a heartless temptress no man could hurt.
Your secret though, is that you treat practically everything in life as a Game. Whether you’re having fun, working hard, or dealing with tough situations; it’s all a Game you do not intend to lose. But all games require a loser, and you don’t even care if sometimes you lose a game or two; it doesn’t bother you. It’s all play and the world never runs out of Games anyway. There’s always the next thing to entertain yourself with. This do or die attitude of yours captivates everyone as much as they’re terrified of your fiery but cold intellect.
Realise to RELEASE! – 6 of Wands
A lot of people watch you and they form opinions around your public conducts. You know you command attention—both the bad and the good. Does it bother you though? Well… sometimes. When you’re not on your best day and you have a lot of sad thoughts, you get irritated, a little, that people only see the bad in your conducts. You want to burn every single one of them to ashes and never deal with people anymore. But you are so singular in your beingness, what can you do about it?
People talk about you because they know if they were to talk about themselves nobody would be interested. You’re the most interesting creature most people have ever known! Whatever you do, you’re on top of your game. And you always allow yourself to come first. To you, you’re your most favouritest person ever. Yeah, that’s a mouthful but say that again🤪You are your toppest top priority, and this is a hard skill to get because most people have never learnt how to survive on their own the way you have.
You’ve been to low places others wouldn’t survive in; they can’t understand why you are the way that you are. Who cares though. Live and let live. You’ve got your own abundance to take care of now.
Lilith’s Revenge🔻❤️
Scorpio’s secret transformation – Red Geographer (Marco Polo)
Pluto’s command for control – Priestess of Innocence
Access full reading + cards on Patreon🌸
☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.
Pile 3 – Glamorous Destroyer
VIBE: Monster by Red Velvet - IRENE & SEULGI
your hidden poison – 5 of Cups Rx
Are you some kind of god? Well yeah, you ARE a Goddess! I sense you’re so otherworldly in that you’re not typically one who dwells on the past or even regrets that much, if at all. The world is so vast and it keeps spinning, there’s always a new day for a positive mind for braving new territories. You’re already a master at spiritual/emotional healing, but maybe… it’s also because you’re not so feeling.
You’re a realist, to say the least. You look at the world glass half full and everything that’s run its course, you let go without a care. You move right on to the next entertaining endeavour. In fact, you devour all of life’s little and big pleasures. You’re jet set; you don’t even plan that carefully. Details in plans bore you, you would rather do the deed first, then see what the experience gets you. If it falls short, you leave on the spot to find the next interesting thing… or person. You leave people high and dry. You don’t even give a fuck how that makes them feel. You have other people lining up for you to fuck over.
You are the epitome of a cruel femme fatale. You’re this uniquely powerful individual who has like the strongest mentality ever. I’m sensing, either you’re a very young person who has the most advanced Soul wisdom/perspective ever, or you’re very advanced in Life (age wise) and have learnt a lot of lessons that have made you the indestructible Goddess that you are today.
your potion of seduction – Knight of Pentacles Rx
You are unpredictable to a lot of people. Like, they can’t really figure out what your next step would be. One minute they’re certain you’re this typa person who’d choose this typa action, only for you to choose that typa shit no one would’ve guessed you’re that type to do that. There’s always an element of surprise to you. Some love it, some hate it. You attract an equal balance of curious followers and cowards who want to quickly run away from your hot mess.
Those who can’t see through your web of exaggerated narratives are deep in your clutches, they can’t escape your poison—they want your poison—until you decide you’re bored with them and toss them aside without having given them the high they thought they’d get. A few who do get the high…you’ve kinda ruined them in that now you live in their minds forever. And you’re a bad dream for those poor souls.
Now they can’t stop thinking about you but no longer can they ever have access to you. You’ve taken them to that guilt trip and it lives with them for the rest of their lives. Not only in your story, but in their story, too, they’re the villains who have disappointed or hurt you and caused you to toss them away👏🏻
Realise to RELEASE! – Queen of Pentacles
You’re actually super capable of taking care of yourself. But something about the way you look or speak or tell a story is very unassuming. Maybe you’re tiny and cute; maybe you wear dainty accessories or adorn yourself with bunny or turtle plushies. Giving others the impression of a harmless fawn who’s in constant need of cuddles and support. Your admirers flock to help and serve you. They want to be strong and useful for you. They want to appear big in front of you. Help you get out of trouble’s way when YOU are the trouble.
People are usually slow to realise—if ever—that you’re a glamorous destroyer of people’s sanity. People easily melt at your soft, or high pitched, voice. Something about the way you express yourself is hypnotising and magnetic. People can’t get enough of you nor can they feel like they’ve proven themselves enough to you. People want your approval because you’re so beautiful and talented in a way they think they can never become.
People see that you are deep and knowledgeable. Flailing here and there, they find you mesmerising with the skillsets that you possess but lacking in places they think they can fill in. It’s like, they’re thinking to themselves, ‘She’s a 10, but…’ Those ‘buts’ are but lovely to them. And they’d be blind not to see how little fuck you give about any of their opinions.
Lilith’s Revenge🔻💛
Scorpio’s secret transformation – Gold Geographer (John Dee)
Pluto’s command for control – Priestess of Healing
Access full reading + cards on Patreon🌸
☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.
[PAC Masterlist] [Part 2] [Part 3]
[Patreon] [Paid Readings]
#Punk Panda Pick A Pic#female manipulator#coquette#femme fatale#divine feminine#lilith#girlblogger#girlblogging#pick a card#tarot pick a card#pick a card reading#pac#tarot pac#pac reading#tarot community#astroblr#tarotblr#writblr#witchblr#witchcore#witchythings#witchyvibes#red#red aesthetic
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C.B.H.!
new chowder oc dropped. Youre gonna hate this guy so much
first of all, corned beef hash is a character that my siblings @collectiveazaelas & @castingcomets and i have collaborated on making. from the bottom of our hearts, we hope you hate him as much as we do
at first glance, corned beef hash serves as a narrative foil to ms rhubarb. his initial conception centered loosely around antagonizing her, but his personality quickly grew beyond that. he is a beast unto himself and others. his only goal is to be self serving and (intentionally) get in the way of others in his life, primarily the other OCs kumquat and pimento, but also canon characters as well. he does this not out of spite or dislike for others, but rather it’s just because he can, and it is often times the fastest route to his goal. he is the freudian id, if the id had a sense of self control and awareness (though he does occasionally blip out on the latter).
cbh's age isnt exactly clear. he exists in the comically broad adult world that most of marzipan city seems to: anywhere from 25-2500; whos to say? he graduated valedictorian from law school. around this time, he terrorized his dormmate (and future "friend"), pimento (a ram-like man with a few loose screws), to the point of dropping out and going into the culinary field, as "a kitchen during rush hour is still less stressful than sharing a living space with cbh." cbh is at times a petty thief, and at times a criminal mastermind - it depends on his current "schemes" and what is funny at the time. he knows the law to the letter and sometimes uses it to his advantage. though others sometimes think he is a temperamental idiot, most actions are done through thought-out choice and by utilizing his own strengths.
He has a stand in the farmer’s market at which he sells an assortment of mysterious wares and occasionally baked goods that are Evil & Wrong. The quality of his stock ranges anywhere between genuine artifacts to actual garbage from the dumpster, which he will then try to “spruce up” and sell as something more. He’s a hustler no doubt, and he earns his supply through meticulous dumpster-diving, talking down prices at thrift stores, and general vaguely-illegal tomfoolery. At times, he’ll get his hands on elusive items, and how he accomplishes this is seldom explained (he once was arrested and jailed for 12 days because he “accidentally” was selling illegal dognip). He frequently enlists in Kumquat’s help in his various endeavors and typically has her do the dirty work. For example, one of their foraging techniques involves his hooking her onto a fishing line and casting her out to sea; it’s usually just junk, but sometimes she’s clutching a few shiny souvenirs when reeled back in.
He does move the physical location of his stand around a lot, both to “drain fresh pockets” and to avoid growing too known and hated in one area. That being said, he’s been at this for a while, so every vendor at the farmer’s market knows him and is all too familiar with his cycling. The clientele are just unfamiliar enough to fall for his beguilement, though, save for a few skeevy regulars who seek him out for his stuff.
yes he was valedictorian. yes he was a frat boy all throughout college. yes he does beer kegs by pouring the beer directly into his head. yes hes a criminal mastermind. No its not a big deal
being a “bottlehead” (as he calls himself), he doesnt know what sex is (why would he need to?) but he doesnt know that he doesnt know. he loves the culture of it and he’ll hit on anyone. he doesn’t get vocab, but he’s raunchy without hesitation (see quotes section)
he has his eyes on the front of his skull because hes a pursuit predator
his tragic flaw is that he has no flaws. likewise, his lack of complexity is what makes him complex. He has no insecurities. This guy is a black hole. He is everything, but most importantly, he is Nothing.
It’s typical for him to throw around callous, vulgar, and at times offensive references. Case in point: his favorite nicknames for kumquat are Cumsquat and Cumsquirt. Likewise, his nicknames for pimento are Pissmentos, Bimento, Bitchmento, etc.
whenever he does something to boast about, he pounds his chest, turns around, flashes the back of his jacket, and chants C.B.H.! the way a frat boy chants his college's name
he's largely inspired by the way chris fleming characterizes the massachusettsian frat boy. in our minds, he also shares a voice with him.
he feels no shame and he does not hide himself. He may be a bullheaded, grandiose individual, but that doesnt mean he'll withhold his words of affirmation. he'll say something and really mean it - he gives and withholds performances for no one, as he only serves himself.
He devotes no time to introspection. it’s debatable that he might not even know how, but it would be time squandered as there’s not much to introspect On.
it’s a mistake to misinterpret kumquat as his little buddy whom he feels affection for; in his mind, they’re on the same team is all. hes gotta protect his own. It’s as if they’re in the same frathouse. that being said, hes not a good team player. he gets along with kumquat and at times pimento because they’re both socially passive, and the same goes for any relationship he’s ever had. Working with someone of his caliber would guarantee the butting of heads and stalemates on stalemates. A disaster
he’s heavily inspired by 3OH!3
his other inspirations include grunkle stan, brucie kibbutz, and caesar from big top burger, in equal parts
his species is potion
his mother is a lava lamp, his father is a science flask, and he has several siblings, with one of which being a bong named Oregano.
Cannot stand being called Corn
QUOTES
“C.B.H.!”
“You wanna go? You wanna start some BEEF with the HASH?!”
“By the power vested in me by the state of marzipan city i now pronounce you FUCKED PWNED”
“I’LL SUCK YOUR MOM’S DICK, BRO, DO NOT FUCK WITH ME!”
You want to know if his potion liquid is adhesive so you ask him if he has a meniscus and he thinks that youre asking him smth dirty so he says “hey hey i’m on my day job right now. Come by after 8 and ask me then, see what happens”
“If it’s not broke, we don’t sell it!” (motto)
“You wanna throw rocks at this glass house?”
“Oh i’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was politically incorrect to have my TITS OUT”
“Broskis can you keep it down, im trying to get my wicked sleep gnar gnar on”
“I’M GONNA COME UNCORKED. IM GONNA COME UNCORKED. IM SERIOUSLY GONNA COME UNCORKED”
“Bro, i can’t deal with you trying to kiss me & shit. I’m not gay. Like, yeah, i’ll fuck a dude, marry a dude, but i seriously can’t be seen smooching someone with horns that big, you dig?”
“MY MOM DOESN’T LIKE YOU, STOP PRETENDING SHE DOES!”
“Yeah, no, yeah, yeah, i’m looking at the fucker right now.”
“Whose bottle do i gotta brush to [XYZ] around here?”
his uncieknuckies-type shitpost blog: @corndbeefhash
and finally, his difficult person ranking:
#cbh#chowder oc#chowder#draws#weve actually had this guy since september but it took us a long time to organize everything... it's bonkers#anyway most of the written section was written by my siblings! theyre brilliant and super funny and so good at making characters#I FORGOT TO SAY THE WORDS ON THE SECOND DRAWING ARE A 3OH3 LYRIC
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Happy 4/13!
It’s been a long time since I’ve done anything Homestuck-related. What better day to change that than today? What I’m trying to say is: here, have some random snippets from a maybe-sequel to Straw Soldiers.
> Vriska: Distress call
arachnidsGrip [AG] began trolling gallowsCalibrator [GC]
AG: Terezi!!!!!!!!
AG: Thank fuck you are online 8ecause I am having a serious crisis.
AG: I’m talking all hands on deck, all points 8ulletin sort of 8ullshit.
AG: Terezi?
AG: Come on, will you SAY SOMETHING already?
AG: This is an emergency and you are my only chance at keeping everything from going to complete shit.
AG: I swear to god I am not exagger8ing when I say that I am fucking dying here!!!!!!!!
GC: HUH
GC: TH4TS STR4NG3
GC: MY NOS3 DO3S NOT D3T3CT 3V3N TH3 F41NT3ST WH1FF OF D3C4Y1NG FL3SH
GC: 1T 1S P1CK1NG UP ON3 H3FTY P1L3 OF M3LODR4M4 THOUGH >:/
AG: OK, OK. So may8e I’m not dying right this second—8ut I will 8e if you don’t do something for me, and I mean pronto.
GC: UH-HUH
GC: 4ND WH4T 3X4CTLY 1S TH1S 4LL3G3DLY L1F3 S4V1NG M4N3UV3R YOU 3XP3CT M3 TO DO?
AG: First, I need you to answer something for me.
GC: OK, SHOOT
AG: How long have we known each other, exactly?
GC: 1 DUNNO
GC: F1V3, S1X SW33PS?
GC: WHY?
AG: Five or six sweeps. Practically our whole lives!
AG: I mean, 8y now we’re pretty much o8lig8ed to help each other out in times of dire need and you’ve got to know that I wouldn’t ask for help with anything unless I was really, truly desper8.
GC: UGH, TH3 M3LODR4M4
GC: 1T BURNS!
AG: Hey, I am 8eing totally serious!
AG: Geeeeeeeez, Pyrope. I come here hoping to get a little help from my lifelong 8osom 8uddy and all you can do is give me a 8unch of salty attitude.
AG: If that’s the way you’re going to 8e then may8e I won’t 8other to ask you for anything after all.
GC: JUST T3LL M3 WH4T YOU W4NT
AG: Now that’s the spirit!
AG: All right. So the thing I’m going to ask you to do may not sound like much, 8ut 8elieve me it is a very 8ig deal.
AG: I need you to talk some sense into Peixes for me.
GC: >:?
GC: 4BOUT WH4T?
AG: Somehow she got it into her pan that it would 8e a good idea to make me go all the fuck 8ack to Alternia and pick up Tav8utt and wonder clown.
AG: I’ve tried reasoning with her 8ut she is 8eing a stu88orn 8rat and pulling rank on me.
GC: SORRY TO S4Y 1T BUT 1 F41L TO S33 HOW 4NY OF TH4T QU4L1F13S 4S L1F3 4ND D34TH
AG: Trust me, it is.
GC: HOW SO?
AG: 8ecause I will die of 8oredom!
AG: Can you even imagine me, stuck on a ship for god knows how long with no8ody 8ut Toreasnore and Gamzee for company?
AG: 8oriiiiiiiing!
AG: I mean, the two of them don’t have a pair of 8rain cells 8etween them!
GC: 1 4M SUR3 YOU W1LL SURV1V3
AG: What? So you’re not going to do anything at all to help me????????
AG: I’ve seen you do some pretty ruthless shit, 8ut releg8ing your good friend to dork squad shuttle service?
AG: That’s cold ::::(
GC: 1 4M SUR3 1T WONT B3 TH4T B4D
GC: B3S1D3S 1 TH1NK 1T W1LL B3 GOOD FOR YOU
GC: GR34T FOR BU1LD1NG CH4R4CT3R 4ND 4LL TH4T J4ZZ
AG: “8uilding character” my ass. You just want to see me suffer.
GC: ME? N3V3R >;]
GC: H4V3 4 S4F3 TR1P
GC: OH, 4ND DON’T TORM3NT T4VROS TOO MUCH
AG: You know I will ::::p
arachnidsGrip [AG] ceased trolling gallowsCalibrator [GC]
> Future Vriska: Distress call
arachnidsGrip [AG] opened memo EMERGENCY READ NOW!!!!!!!!
arachnidsGrip [AG] invited apocalypseArisen [AA] to memo
arachnidsGrip [AG] invited twinArmageddons [TA] to memo
arachnidsGrip [AG] invited carcinoGeneticist [CG] to memo
arachnidsGrip [AG] invited arsenicCatnip [AC] to memo
arachnidsGrip [AG] invited grimAuxiliatrix [GA] to memo
arachnidsGrip [AG] invited gallowsCalibrator [GC] to memo
arachnidsGrip [AG] invited centaursTesticle [CT] to memo
arachnidsGrip [AG] invited caligulasAquarium [CA] to memo
arachnidsGrip [AG] invited cuttlefishCuller [CC] to memo
AG: Come on, you useless 8unch of laya8outs! Get your asses in here!
AG: Aaauuuuuuuugh! Where is every8ody????????
AG: Is this not getting through to any of you?
AG: Fuck it, I can’t tell so I’m doing this regardless.
AG: My ship has 8een attacked.
AG: There have 8een losses and no, I am not detailing what those losses are right here 8ecause this is humili8ing enough as it is.
AG: The long and short of it is: I’m stranded and I have no idea where the hell I am exactly 8ut I do know that I am drifting somewhere 8etween Earth and Alternia.
AG: I am pretty sure I can safely classify the situ8ion as “in dire need of a relief shuttle right fucking now.”
AG: Hello?
AG: Is any8ody getting this????????
AG: Come on, some8ody ANSW8R ME, ALR8DY!
AG: G8DDAMN 8T!!!!!!!!
arachnidsGrip [AG] left memo
> John: Pester Dave
ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG]
EB: dave!
EB: you there, buddy?
TG: yo
EB: geez, you’ve been mia for like four days now. Where the heck have you been?
TG: shit dude
TG: ive been laying lower than a teenage mutant ninja turtle chilling in the new york sewer
TG: slinking around like the stealth phantom lovechild of batman and solid snake
EB: oh. so the paparazzi are after you too, huh?
TG: yeah
EB: that sucks.
TG: eh
TG: for a while i was thinking about mooning them just to see how hard they pissed themselves trying to go all national geographic on my ass
TG: then i realized that there was like an eighty billion percent certainty that my ass would just end up getting trotted out on fucking tmz or some shit
TG: now national enquirer
TG: i would be down with seeing my ass on the front page of such a fine publication
TG: but tmz
TG: no way
TG: daytime tv is not ready for the strider ass
TG: so me and aradia gave them the slip and they fell for it harder than bambi on ice
TG: havent seen one of those fuckers in almost a week now
EB: lucky! they’re all over me and karkat.
EB: seriously, it’s like a freaking lightning storm every time i open the front door!
EB: it was kind of funny at first but now it’s just…ugh.
EB: hey, wait a sec!
EB: you said you were with aradia? what are you guys doing?
TG: we are going full-on magical mystery tour to find all the weird ass dead things the good old usa has to offer
TG: we already hit up the mutter museum
TG: it was the shit
TG: never saw so many dead things in jars all in one place
TG: made my collection look like some messy amateur shit
TG: like their stuff is triple black diamond pucker up and kiss your ass goodbye caliber and my stuff barely even qualifies as a bunny slope for toddlers
TG: oh and aradia and i pooled our cash and adopted a skull because who doesnt want to say that they are the proud daddy of a newborn 200 hundred year-old skull
EB: jesus, sometimes i forget how weird you guys are.
TG: hey the strider cool cocktail might not go with everything but at least its never boring
TG: anyways im pretty sure we are going to be creeping around your neck of the woods in a couple of weeks
TG: we should hang if you and karkat are going to be around
EB: cool!
EB: we’ll be here.
EB: unless karkat’s got one of his pt sessions.
EB: but then we’ll be back in like two hours, so yes! we’ll be here.
TG: speaking of vantas
TG: how is shouty mcqueen doing these days
TG: that guys been more elusive than a shiny pokemon since you guys got home
EB: he’s fine.
EB: he just has a hard time with typing. and tying his shoes. and…lots of things, actually.
TG: shit
TG: i thought they said his hands were fixed
EB: depends on the they you’re talking to, i guess.
EB: terezi brought him a new phone, though.
EB: it has voice-to-text for english and alternian.
EB: jade and sollux made it for him, or at least i think that’s what terezi said when she gave it to him.
EB: my alternian still sucks so i’m not sure.
EB: anyways we’re about to have breakfast now so i should probably go.
TG: ok
TG: later
ectoBiologist [EB] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG]
> Future John: Pester Dave
ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG]
EB: dave!
EB: are you there, buddy?
EB: dave, come on.
EB: this isn’t funny.
EB: you’re really freaking me out here.
EB: dave, please.
EB: you need to answer me now!
EB: jesus christ.
ectoBiologist [EB] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG]
> Future Karkat: Contact loving matesprit
carcinoGenticist [CG] began trolling gallowsCalibrator [CG]
CG: OK, YOU’VE HAD YOUR FUN.
CG: NOW WIPE THAT SHIT-EATING GRIN OFF YOUR FACE AND STOP THIS BULLFUCKERY RIGHT NOW.
CG: I KNOW THIS DISTANCE MATESPRITSHIP THING SUCKS HARDER THAN THE MOTHER GRUB’S SLURRY ACCEPTING ORIFICE.
CG: BUT IF THIS ISN’T WORKING FOR YOU THEN YOU NEED TO TELL ME INSTEAD OF, YOU KNOW, IGNORING ME FOR TWO WEEKS.
CG: JESUS FUCK, TEREZI.
CG: I’D EXPECT THAT SORT OF SHIT-RINSING PISSBABY WAY OF HANDLING THINGS FROM PAST ME BECAUSE PAST ME IS A PAIL-SWILLING FUCKWIT WITH THE FANTASTIC ABILITY TO MAGICALLY LOSE HIS GLOBES WHEN SHIT GETS REAL.
CG: BUT NOT FROM YOU.
CG: I DON’T EVEN KNOW IF YOU OR SOLLUX ARE ALIVE BECAUSE GUESS WHAT?
CG: NEITHER ONE OF YOU HAVE DEIGNED TO SEND ME SO MUCH AS A “HI, KARKAT JUST POPPING A SQUAT TO SHIT OUT THIS TURD OF A MESSAGE SO YOU CAN STOP WORRYING THAT WE BOTH DID SOMETHING PAN-NUMBINGLY STUPID LIKE DROWN IN THE LOAD GAPER; TALK TO YOU LATER YOU FART-BRAINED IGNORAMUS.”
CG: THERE.
CG: SEE?
CG: WAS THAT SO HARD?
CG: HELPFUL HINT: EVEN THE FART-BRAINED IGNORAMUS WITHOUT FUNCTIONING OPPOSABLE THUMBS MANAGED IT IN A SPHINCTER-RANKLING 60 SECONDS.
CG: I GET THAT YOU AND SOLLUX ARE BUSY ON FEFERI’S FREE THE HELMSMEN CRUSADE AND YEAH, IT’S KIND OF A BIG FUCKING DEAL.
CG: AND I GET THAT COMPLAINING ABOUT IT MAKES ME LOOK LIKE A SELFISH, BULGE-FLAPPING ASSHOLE.
CG: BUT BEING THE PARANOID FUCKTARD WHO SEES SUPER EXCITING TORTURE FUNTIMES WITH CONDESCE AND FRIENDS ON INFINITE REPEAT EVERY FUCKING TIME I CLOSE MY EYES, I’M STARTING TO GET THIS NUB-TICKLING IDEA THAT SOMETHING MIGHT BE WRONG.
CG: I KNOW IT’S STUPID AND I’M PROBABLY STOMPING INTO PALE TERRITORY WITH A PAIR OF STEEL TOE COMBAT BOOTS WITH “FUCK YOU CAPTOR” EMBLAZONED ON THE TREADS BY SAYING IT, BUT THERE IT IS.
CG: THE STINKING SHIT PELLET OF TRUTH HAS DROPPED AND IT CANNOT RETURN TO THE WASTE CHUTE FROM WHENCE IT WAS PINCHED.
CG: TEREZI, PLEASE.
CG: JUST TELL ME WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON.
CarcinoGeneticist [CG] ceased trolling gallowsCalibrator [GC]
> to be continued...(?)
#Homestuck#4/13#Straw Soldiers#Homestuck fanfiction#Vriska#Terezi#John Egbert#Dave Strider#Karkat#Wow pesterlog formatting looks terrible on tumblr#it may not be 4/13 anymore for most of you out there#but there's still one hour left in my neck of the woods#so this still counts!#my stuff#my fic
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Red River Hustle
KHR Digital Zine 2017 Submission
Characters: Gokudera Hayato & Yamamoto Takeshi
Word Count: 4,318
Summary: When a mission goes awry, Takeshi meets Gokudera at a rest stop somewhere just outside Catania, Sicily, to take him back to their base in Palermo — only Gokudera isn’t his only passenger and Takeshi is reminded of how deep the mafia way of living still roots in him.
Warnings: Contains swearing, gun violence, blood & minor character death.Inspiration: Red River Hustle by The Mumlers
Read on Ao3 & download the KHR Zine 2017 here!
Italy is a really beautiful place — specifically Palermo, Takeshi thinks as he drives along the E90 towards the main city. Mountains, serene beaches with clear waters that sparkle under the sun and eclectic ancient architecture rich in history thousands of years old soaked into the stone surround him. It really is one of his most favourite places he’s travelled since becoming one of Vongola’s guardians.
Another beautiful thing to come out of Palermo — if he could be so bold as to say so — is sitting in the passenger seat, shouting at someone over the phone in his native tongue. Takeshi has yet to catch on to the dialect, it’s much different than the Italian he was taught, and Gokudera speaks so fast that it would be difficult to understand him even if he were speaking Japanese. He does, however, understand when Gokudera turns to him, covers the mouthpiece of his cellphone and in Japanese says,
“Can’t you drive any faster?”
Takeshi laughs, the scar on his chin pulling with the motion. “I’m driving the speed limit.”
“There’s no one else on the fucking road, Yamamoto,” Gokudera gestures. “Drive faster .” He returns to his phone call, raising his voice to an even louder octave to the point that Takeshi feels bad for the person on the other end.
He presses his foot to the gas pedal tentatively at first, then, pushing it beyond one-hundred mph. Adrenaline surges as the engine revs and the speedometer climbs. There’s something dangerously exciting about speeding down a lonely stretch of road with the wind in his hair, as cliche as it sounds. Perhaps it’s old age getting to him or perhaps it’s just because Takeshi’s always enjoyed the simpler things life has to offer.
“Cazzo!” Gokudera suddenly shouts, tossing the phone into the cup holder next to him. “This mission has turned out to be such a fucking mess,” he says, making the smooth transition into the language Takeshi understands best. “The Tenth expects more of me, more of my team, you know?”
“I’m sure Tsuna isn’t going to mind.” Takeshi isn’t sure of the situation Gokudera’s in, or what mess he’s referring to but it can’t be as bad as he thinks. Gokudera has always been exceptional at keeping his unit in line, much better than the rest of them — with the exception of Hibari, but there again, Hibari’s unit is well, just Hibari.
“Thanks for coming,” Gokudera grumbles, prodding at the swollen split in his lip. He elicits a hiss before grunting, “I needed someone else to fucking drive. I haven’t slept in two days, I can’t feel my eyeballs.”
Takeshi laughs, despite his concern. “No problem. The car is nice.” It’s an Italian car, of course, he can’t remember the name of but it’s a two-door convertible in vibrant red. “It’s not one of ours though.”
Gokudera snorts. “Definitely not one of ours.”
“What happened?” Takeshi catches Gokudera’s subtle cringe at the question and doesn’t miss the tremble in his hands when he pulls a cigarette out of its case and proceeds to light it, or the fact that he's wearing shades to cover up a bruised eye.
He shrugs. “Little fender bender. I uh, commandeered this vehicle from the parking lot of that sushi place in Catania you love so much.”
Takeshi raises an eyebrow. “You stole a car?”
“I borrowed it,” Gokudera corrects. “Relax, I changed the plates.”
“Well… I’m glad you’re okay,” Takeshi says with a slow nod as if he’s trying to convince himself that he’s fine without further prying. He certainly doesn’t look okay. “It’s not very inconspicuous.”
“Yeah.” Gokudera takes a drag of his cigarette. “But it sure is beautiful.” He doesn’t say anything more about what happened, and Takeshi catches him looking over his shoulder several times.
“Are you worried about the police following us? Because I gotta tell you —”
“No.”
“— this car isn’t easy — oh. Okay.” Takeshi shuts his mouth abruptly and focuses on driving as fast as he can without drawing too much attention to them, though it’s not an easy feat in this car. It just gives Takeshi something else to worry about on top of Gokudera’s elusiveness.
After several long minutes of silence, “Turn here,” Gokudera demands and Takeshi complies without a second thought. It’s only after driving down the abandoned dirt road for a few minutes that Takeshi realises they’re not on course.
“This isn’t the way back to base,” he observes, easing his foot off the gas pedal. “We’re supposed to be going —”
“What are you doing, idiot?” Gokudera reaches over and shoves down on his knee so that his foot is forced to press on the gas again. “Keep driving!”
“But Gokudera —” Takeshi doesn’t get a chance to finish because the tires hit a dip in the road and the car bounces violently, tossing them around in their seats. As this happens, a loud thump! sounds from the trunk. The car lands on smoother ground and Takeshi brings the car to a full stop.
“What was that?”
“What was what?” asks Gokudera, pushing hair out of his face with one hand and bringing the cigarette to his mouth with the other. He brings his hand back down, gingerly poking at his ribs, wincing with the action.
“That sound. It came from the trunk.”
“I didn’t hear anything.”
“Yes… I’m sure you did. It was loud.”
Gokudera shrugs and raises a brow over his aviator shades. “Spare tire probably.”
“Gokudera,” Takeshi begins with a sigh, “what are we doing out here and what was that noise in the trunk?”
As if on cue, another hollowed bang sounds followed by some muffled, incoherent shouting.
“Are you telling me you don’t hear that?” And then something horrifying dawns on Takeshi. “Oh shit — Is that a person?! In the trunk?!”
“Maybe,” Gokudera supplies but Takeshi now knows he’s clearly hiding something. Someone, rather.
“That isn’t… one of our guys, is it?” he asks with a swallow, his mouth suddenly going dry. “Because now that I think about it, your team —”
“Look,” Gokudera says with a sigh and a pinch to the bridge of his nose. “I wasn’t thinking straight. I didn’t have time to question him myself, but I couldn’t take the chance of him being the rat. He was acting suspiciously before the mission and with it being the fucking shitstorm it became, now I know why. I should have killed him on the spot, but I know the Tenth would never forgive me.”
Sometimes Takeshi forgets Gokudera's lifelong ties to the mafia and a family far more unforgiving than their own. “So what are we supposed to do with him?”
“You're the natural born hitman. You figure it out.” Gokudera flicks his cigarette butt over Takeshi's shoulder. He hears it hiss as it passes his ear. Takeshi frowns.
“We should take him back to the estate and let Tsuna handle him.” He says this calmly in hopes of diffusing the inevitable explosion.
“There's no way in hell I'm bringing this guy back to the estate. What if he's got a GPS tracker hidden somewhere on him — or in him? We'd be putting everyone at risk,” Gokudera gasps. “No. We have to cut the fucker open right here, right now. After you get him to tell you what he knows.”
“You don't even know if he's guilty! You can't just cut a guy open on the side of the road in broad daylight, Gokudera! I think the lack of sleep is beginning to affect your brain.”
“Yeah well — I think the fact that you were dropped on your head as a baby has already had an effect on your brain and you're in no position to be telling me what you think is wrong with my brain.” Gokudera adjusts the glasses on his face and shifts with a haughty roll of his neck and shoulders.
Takeshi stares at him really hard for a really long time. “I think you're being paranoid bu—”
“I'm being paranoid?” Gokudera starts, his jaw dropping in offence. “I'm —”
“But,” Takeshi continues, raising his voice over Gokudera’s increasingly high pitched screeching. Sometimes it's comical when he gets like this, but now is not the time for laughter. “But let's get him out of the trunk, get him some water and talk to him.”
Gokudera shuts his mouth abruptly and Takeshi feels much better. Before exiting the car, he looks at the road ahead and behind them for any witnesses. There are none, so he reaches down to flip the latch and Gokudera grabs onto his arm.
“Wait, you idiot! You can't just open the trunk with no one back there. What if he jumps out and runs off? We can't leave that up to chance. You go. I'll stay here.”
Takeshi raises a brow and slowly eases back into an upright position. “Uh, okay… Not that I mind but, why me?”
Gokudera reaches across his lap to open the driver side door. “Look at me,” he says leaning back. He holds out a hand.
Takeshi can see the erratic tremors passing through his fingers. It makes his stomach sink to think that Gokudera’s been through so much in the last couple of days, and even more so, his life. He shakes his head. Of all the times to reflect on that, now is not the time. “You're right,” he says, getting out of the car. “But I have no idea what I'm supposed to be asking him, so maybe you could enlighten me?”
Gokudera sighs again, this time more dramatically exaggerated. “As I said, we were compromised. The only people that knew our location and target were the Tenth, myself and Stronzo.”
Takeshi knows that word, and it's not the name of the man in the trunk.
“We were shot at, the target escaped and we managed to get away without any major injuries, but they chased our car down. We were railroaded, our driver died —”
Takeshi’s stomach lurches into his throat, threatening a purge of its contents. He chokes it back down with a hard swallow and manages a shaky, “Gokudera!”
“Relax, I'm fine,” he says nonchalantly, waving his hand in dismissal.
“You don't look fine. Since I picked you up, you've been shaky and in obvious pain — did you even go to a hospital? How do you know you're not suffering internal inj—”
“Takeshi,” Gokudera cuts, harsh enough to stop him from continuing his sentence yet soft enough that Takeshi knows whatever Gokudera's about to say next is weighted with sincerity. “I'm fine. Just a couple of bruised ribs and a somewhat busted face. I'll live.” His lips slide into a partial grin before shadow falls over his face and the smile disappears. “Maybe. Depends on the Tenth’s punishment when we get back.”
Takeshi allows himself to grin at this, just a little. “I'm glad you're okay. I also don't think Tsuna is going to punish you, let alone kill you if this guy is responsible for messing up the mission. That isn't your fault.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
“But hey — you just left the driver at the scene of the accident? What if the police start to ask questions?”
Gokudera draws in a sharp breath. “I know we've been over each other's level of intelligence a few times since you picked me up, but do I need to remind you that I actually use my brain? Of course I didn't just leave him there. I called for the Cleaners. That's who I was just speaking to. I know I'm supposed to check with the Tenth first but I couldn't get a hold of him on such short notice. As Right-Hand man, I had to override him.” Gokudera frowns. “I'm finished. The Tenth isn't going to want me by his side, let alone in the family, after this.”
“It's been eleven years, Gokudera. I really think Tsuna will understand your decision under the circumstances.” Takeshi pauses, running through the scenario in his head. Then, “How do you that the informant wasn’t the driver?”
Gokudera peers over the frame of his sunglasses for a minute before clicking his tongue off the roof of his mouth. “Because I just do, Yamamoto. It’s instinct. I know these things.”
“Well… okay,” Takeshi agrees despite his instincts that Gokudera might actually be wrong. He steps towards the trunk and calls out for Gokudera to open the latch.
The door springs open and Yamamoto finds the man hog-tied, his wrists and ankles bound by rope. There's a strip of duct tape covering the man's mouth as well, muffling his pleas. Yamamoto opens his suit jacket and pulls a shorter blade, a tantō, from his custom-made shoulder holster. Seeing Yamamoto do this, the man’s eyes blow wide and he begins struggling hysterically.
“Calm down,” he instructs in clipped Italian, reaching across the man to cut his restraints. “I'm going to keep your wrists and ankles tied until we're finished questioning you.”
The man stills, allows Takeshi to cut the rope and remains still while he re-binds the man's wrists and ankles in a more comfortable position. Well. As comfortable as Takeshi could make him, given the circumstances. “I'm going to take the tape off but if you scream, we're going to have some problems.”
A snort comes from the car. “You watch too much American television,” Gokudera chides in Japanese.
“And you don't? I'll remember that the next time one of your bigfoot documentaries conflicts with my baseball games on the recorder.”
“Shut up.”
Takeshi grins as he rips the tape off the man's mouth. He whimpers and Takeshi offers an apologetic shrug. “It's better to take it off quickly. Like a band-aid.”
The man nods slowly.
“You work for the Vongola?”
He nods again.
“What's your name?”
He coughs, but Takeshi doesn't offer him any water just yet. Finally, after a minute or two, the man in the trunk responds. “Frankie. Frankie Gallo."
“How did the target find out about you guys?”
Frankie starts speaking, and it's so quick that Takeshi can't catch enough of it to understand. He frowns and Gokudera shouts, “English, Frankie!” To Takeshi, he says, “Your English sucks too but it's better than your Italian.”
Takeshi stifles a laugh. Gokudera's not wrong. So, in English, he asks again, “How did the target find out about you?”
“How the fuck should I know?” Frankie retorts with a shrug. “All I remember is we're gettin’ shot at, then the boss drags me to our car and bam! We're gettin’ t-boned by one of the other guys. Next thing I know, I'm wakin’ up in a trunk tied up like some sorta prized pig.”
“Gokudera seems to think you're the one that compromised the mission. Why do you suppose that is?”
Again, Frankie shrugs. “I don't know nothin’ about that so how 'bout you cut this rope and let me outta this fuckin’ trunk.”
Takeshi looks to Gokudera, who shakes his head. “I can't do that just yet,” he says, glancing back at Gokudera for some sort of guidance. When Gokudera says nothing, Takeshi slams the door shut. Frankie starts yelling, but he doesn't pay any mind. “Gokudera… what are we doing here? The guy says he has no idea what happened, let's just get back to base and figure it out.”
“I'm telling you, that guy is a rat.”
“We can't just sit here on the side of the road waiting for the police to find the car.”
Gokudera lets out a loud sigh. He pushes his car door open and steps out, pulling a gun from his waistband. “I lost my holster,” he offers with a shrug even though Takeshi doesn't mention anything. He switches off the safety and suddenly slams his fist down on the trunk lid. It springs open, revealing a red-faced and sputtering Frankie. Without a word, Gokudera points the muzzle at his head. “Who are you working for? Georgio? Alphonse?”
Frankie’s eyes widen and he worms further away from the gun. “I work for you, Hayato Gokudera, right-hand man to the tenth Vongola boss, Tsunayoshi Sawada. Sir.”
Gokudera cocks his gun, Takeshi’s heart begins to race. Part of him starts to itch, the possibility of bloodshed prickling his skin; rippling cold yet somehow electric chills up his spine. The other part of him begins to feel fear, his stomach twists in knots and his fourteen-year-old self is telling him to take the gun away from Gokudera and find another way. The internal war keeps him from moving at all, his eyes locked on Gokudera's face. He can see the mottled blues and purples shine under the gold rim of Gokudera's sunglasses. The angry red swell around the corner of his mouth when he sticks his tongue into his cheek before clicking it off the roof of his mouth and saying,
“Who do you work for?”
Frankie says nothing and Takeshi doesn't miss the shift in his eyes; the way they transition from round and fearful to narrowed and cold.
“I work for you and the Vongola, sir.” Frankie's voice changes too; low and flat with a hint of defiance. Working in the mafia especially under the tutelage of Squalo and Reborn, Takeshi has become more aware of these tells.
Gokudera wraps his finger around the trigger. He must notice this change as well, only his awareness comes from a lifetime of personal experience; hard lessons he had to learn all on his own from a very young age. This makes Takeshi frown.
He clears his throat. “Who do you work for?”
Takeshi waits, his eyes still fixated on Gokudera's every miniscule move, catching the slow rise and fall of his chest as he breathes; the thinness of his lips as he presses them together. The way his hands have completely stopped shaking. He doesn't have to be a genius to know this is Gokudera's last time for asking this question.
Frankie doesn't respond.
“You know,” Takeshi pipes up before Gokudera has a chance to squeeze off a round, “I think before we shoot him, we should cut him.”
Gokudera doesn't lower his gun but he does look over at Takeshi, puzzlement scribbled across his face.
“What?”
Takeshi shrugs. “If you're just going to shoot him dead without him giving us any answers, we still aren't going to have any answers. Right?”
“And? If he's not going to answer me, I'll put a bullet in every fucking joint until he tells me what I want to hear.”
“It could get messy,” counters Takeshi.
Gokudera scoffs. “Oh, and you think cutting him up like a Sunday Sushi Special won't be?”
“The gunshots are louder.”
“I have a suppressor.”
“We don't have the time or the luxury,” says Takeshi, switching languages. “You fled the scene of an accident and stole a car. The police are definitely looking for you.”
“Well then I'll cut my losses and put a bullet in his brain,” Gokudera says, placing his finger back on the trigger. “It'll be quick. We can take his body back there and bury it before —”
“Hey, assholes, either shoot me or take me back to see Sawada. I can't take any more of this bickering.”
“Shut up,” Gokudera says, turning his attention back to Frankie. “As if I'd be stupid enough to take you back there.”
“If I really was workin’ for someone and they wanted at the boss, I coulda already told ‘em the location of the base,” Frankie says, his tongue slicing sharper with every word.
“Let me put a bullet in him,” pleads Gokudera.
“He's going to put a bullet in you if you don't talk,” Takeshi says to Frankie.
Frankie's mouth twitches and slides into a lopsided grin. “If you guys were gonna shoot me, you'd already done it.”
Without warning, a gunshot cracks through the silent day, its echoes carried by the warm Mediterranean air for miles, as do Frankie's screams.
“That wasn't very silent,” remarks Takeshi.
“Giannini's working on better ones,” Gokudera quips.
“Tu cazzo di cazzo!” Frankie snarls. “Che cazzo è il tuo problema?!”
Another shot fires, reverberating through the air. Frankie howls in pain and Takeshi finally shifts his gaze from Gokudera to the man in the trunk. “English, Frankie! I said English!” Gokudera groans.
“You're fucking crazy,” spits Frankie, the words dripping like acid off his tongue.
“My partner’s not a patient guy,” Takeshi says apologetically. “You should probably just tell him what he wants to hear.”
“I think you should cut him,” Gokudera suggests. “Go for his ankles.” He grins. There's something eerily mad about it and it makes Takeshi’s skin tingle. “Achilles tendons.”
“Okay,” he agrees, and he feels that darkness begin to take over; it's tendrils embracing him like a mother would a child. There's still that vice in the back of his head that tells him they should just bring Frankie in, that there's still the possibility he's innocent.
“Wait,” Frankie cries, squirming until his back hits the divider. There's nowhere else for him to go. Not that it would matter, he's still restrained after all. “Let me go, I don’t know anything!”
“No,” Gokudera says, firing off another shot. This one hits Frankie in the abdomen. Blood begins to pool as it over-saturates the upholstery lining the trunk. “Now you have to tell us, otherwise you're going to die very shortly.”
“I thought you wanted me to cut him.”
Gokudera pushes the sunglasses up the bridge of his nose with his free hand. “I got tired of waiting.”
Takeshi turns to Frankie, disappointed but he's worried now that Gokudera's going to kill the man before they get any information from him. “I told you he was impatient,” he says, sliding his tantō back into its holster.
“And… insane,” Frankie breathes, his face twisted in agony. “I work f-for Don Alphonse. I w-was supposed to kill you — or get y-ou killed.”
This makes Takeshi's blood turn cold, yet fury ignites a fire so hot under his skin that he feels like it'd start to blister any second. He reaches under his coat again when Gokudera holds his hand up, motioning him to stop.
“Well, now. Wasn't that easy? How many more of you are there?”
“And why Gokudera?”
“One question at a time, Yamamoto. The guy is dying and not very bright.”
“There’s… there's no one else. Taking o-out the Sawada’s b-bitch —” This makes Frankie laugh but then he starts choking on blood. Good.
“So your mission was to take out Gokudera and then what? Go after Tsuna? Did you ever stop to think he's got six other guardians that would be protecting him?” Takeshi's laugh tastes as sour as it sounds.
“I find it hard to believe that Alphonse would just send one little shit to kill me. Is he really that stupid?” Gokudera asks.
Takeshi watches as the colour drains from Frankie's face. “He's gonna die in a minute,” he says, frustration and rage wrapping around his ribs like a boa closing in on its prey. “You shouldn't have shot him there.”
“Got the job done,” Gokudera shrugs. “Next question determines if I kill you now or leave you here to bleed out on the side of the road. How many more of you are there?”
Frankie's grin begins to fade. His breathing is laboured, Takeshi can see that it's a struggle. “N-none… Boss said t-hat if this m-mission went bad —” He falls silent, his mouth still moving on words he's unable to put sound to.
“Shit,” Gokudera hisses, sliding the safety on and slipping the gun behind him. “I shouldn't have shot him there.”
Frankie's gaze goes vacant, his eyes reminding Takeshi of the dead fish he used to clean at his father's restaurant. He almost pities him in the end but one side glance in Gokudera's direction, Takeshi's reminded of the worst that could have happened, and that a member of the family almost didn't make it home. He slams down the lid of the trunk and heads towards driver's side. "We need to call Tsuna. If any of Alphonse's men see you're still alive it'll give them a chance to flee before we can find out who you are."
Gokudera gets in the car and picks up his phone from the cup holder. "The CEDEF can help out. We should call Lal too." He sighs. "The Tenth isn't gonna be happy I killed a guy."
"It'll be fine. I'll call them," Takeshi says, taking the phone from him. He puts the key into the ignition and starts the car. "We're not too far from the base now."
"I need coffee." Gokudera digs into his pocket and pulls out a crushed cigarette pack. Takeshi watches from the corner of his eye as Gokudera struggles to light the cigarette. It isn't just the wind, no. His hand tremors are back.
"What you need is sleep," Takeshi teases.
"What you need is to shut up," Gokudera retorts, finally managing to get the cigarette lit. The wind blows back his hair and Takeshi sees speckles of red fanned out across his cheek. Without saying a word, he reaches over and wipes off as much as he can with the swipe of his thumb. Gokudera turns and scowls.
"You had blood on your face."
"Thanks," he mutters.
"What are we going to do with the body?"
"Burn it," Gokudera replies. "And the car."
"Ah... that's too bad. I really like this car."
“I’ll get you one for your birthday,” Gokudera says. “Minus the dead guy.”
“Preferably not stolen.”
“Obviously not.”
“Does it come with the grumpy, sleep-deprived, chain-smoking guy?”
Gokudera clicks his tongue off the roof of his mouth. “While supplies last.”
“Nice,” Yamamoto says with a grin as he pushes down on the gas pedal, racing off into the sunset. “Real nice.”
#gokudera hayato#yamamoto takeshi#8059#yamagoku#khr#katekyo hitman reborn#khr digital zine 2017#ru.writes#my writing
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Beriphitar’s Pillage 2: Slow and Steady and the Journal
I've been traveling north for three days now, stopping in mid-tier motels when my ass can't take riding on the scooter with four bags anymore. They're places nice enough that I can expect clean rooms and a pleasant stay, but not so fancy that my paying in cash draws too much suspicion.
I pull into the parking lot of a Motto Locco (decent franchise with a stupid name) and get off Trusty Rusty. It's drizzling rain. I go under the porch cover of the motel, drop the bags on the ground, the straps of which have been digging the fuck into my shoulders by the way, and light up a cigarette.
I'm planning to buy a car, but I've been trying to put as much distance between me and my old town before starting up a money trail, just in case I left behind evidence, and I need to be elusive. Another reason is that I don't think I have enough money in my bank account to buy a car worth a shit at the moment.
I have a feeling eyes have been staring into the distance after me ever since I skipped town. So, I don't want to make a large deposit of money into my bank account, considering that the lawmen know the Greyhorns were robbed. Buying a car with thousands of bucks of cold hard cash may be even more suspicious. So, I made a relatively modest deposit of money into my account yesterday, about $300.
As much as I'd like to get my money in safe storage, and this heavy bag off my shoulder soon, I will continue to trickle money into my account about once a week. Selling the gold bars under the table has also been on my mind. Some people say you should invest in gold, as a type of security in case the value of un-backed federal currency plummits or something.
I don't really give a shit about that, because even if I could shave some gold leaf off the blocks, the convenience store probably wouldn't take that as payment for my Pringles. The gold is heavy, but I don't want to deposit it in the bank, because that would be unusual activity for me- a red flag for any gumshoe poking around. I've also yet to sell the various other valuables, like jewelry, that I stole from the Greyhorns' house. It's in part because of the whole trail thing, but it's become procrastination now. Tomorrow for sure I'll visit a pawn shop to sell a watch and necklace.
Once I've sucked all the death from the cigarette into my body, I throw the stub out into the rain and head inside. The employee at the counter helps me check in. She's slightly chubby, forty-ish, with curly, short brown hair. She's not ugly, but something about her face just pisses me off. She seems like she'd be a bitch, but I can't decide exactly what kind.
Maybe the kind that talks snidely behind your back? Ah, but there's more to her than that. Nags her husband if she has one? We're getting there. Smiles politely, but has a slight disapproving crinkle in her nose because you stink of smoke? Ooosh, close to home. Will frown as soon as I turn my back to go upstairs? Another nail in the coffin. Watches me fumble a bit with my bags, and wonders nosily and disgustedly at why I have so many? Wow, I'm on a roll.
I realize as I retreat into my room that I'm the bitch, assuming all that, and judging that woman that way. The room has a TV, of course, but TV is like 1/3 ads, 1/3 boring bullshit, and 1/3 things of moderate interest. I consider sleeping to kill my boredom, but I remember that I have Reyfon's diary in one of my bags.
I sit and open it.
"Uncle Freido told me to pull down my shorts... He called it, 'touching trunks like the elephants do," but I'd only ever seen water spray from an elephant's trunk. It hurt a lot when he touched his trunk at the back. Uncle F didn't have a name for that, the fucker."
Pretty juicy stuff. It's sounding like I may have done him a favor, putting the damaged bastard out of his misery. I flip a few more pages.
"I can't explain exactly why I do this. I know I can't excuse it. I'm just propelled. I seek them out. I lure them with sweets, toys, and gifts. I make them feel safe with smiles and a caring, gentle tone. I know how special it can be for a child when a grown up listens, tries to understand, expresses pride in them and treats them like a competent human being. I give them attention. I give them respect. I take their side. And I know to pick the ones whose parents leave voids that I can fill.
In my head, I know it's vile. I know it's a betrayal. I don't understand why my heart doesn't react, doesn't care.
I have predator's eyes. They see all too well how weak, how pathetic the children are. Sometimes, I consider doing the right thing, actually using my position to give them the help and support they need, but I have the stomach of a predator as well. And when I see prey, it rumbles so badly that I must devour."
It doesn't take a genius to see where this is going. There's a "No Smoking" sign in the motel room, but I light up a cigarette anyway. I blow smoke onto the pages. I skim though the records of Reyfon's deeds.
"I don't want to go back to a grown woman now. Little boys and girls are so much tighter... child screamed... leaking blood... asked if I would watch her son for a while... smirked... I took her down to the basement, and... trusted me... touched them so much... bruises... forced him to...
There are coloured pencil drawings of children, unclothed with splayed legs, objects or toys inserted. Some are crying. Some appear to be in strained pleasure. I wonder if Reyfon made them pose while he sketched up these shitty portraits?
"It's an addiction, but I just won't stop. I know some people must suspect something after all this, but no one says anything. Little Brith's mom looked at me strangely the other day. He's come around for a generous handout of candy for the past four Halloweens, but not this one."
I skip along to his latest entry, which was made just five days before I killed him. His aunt, uncle, and their three children came to visit. They wanted to go see his dying father in the hospital, and support their family. He explains how this was a monkey wrench in his plans. He had planned to ask me to kill his brother the day before he found out that they were going to be coming. During their stay, he got the middle child, a girl of six, alone. In his rage over the interruption, he raped and molested the child even more violently than he would normally, a sort of revenge against her parents I guess. He wrote,
"I heard her crying when she was in the bathroom, thankfully before anyone else. I questioned her about it, and she said it really hurt. I told her to be quiet and not to tell anyone that she was having trouble going to the bathroom. Her parents might take her to the hospital, and then it'd be obvious that the girl had gone through sexual trauma.
I said if she made noise again, or told anyone about the pain when peeing and pooping and the things we did together, I'd kill her. I showed her the gun I'd shoot her with, pointed it at her little blonde head, and said, 'Bang.' I was angry at the time, so I used a heavier hand than usual.
I told her I'd have to punish her for making noise, and she cried and begged me not to. I told her to be quiet, pulled down her skirt and panties, and spanked her for disobedience. I started off doing this for a practical reason, but it roused my trunk. I had another session with her right then. I spanked her again afterwards because she cried the whole time. Thankfully, the house is big with good insulation.
I hadn't done enough harm to my aunt and uncle yet though, so I molested their 3 year old son as well. I knew I couldn't ruin his rump like I wanted to though, because he wouldn't have enough self control to hide the pain even if I did threaten him. I bet Kinsey would have liked the details of that, but he already knew that young boys can achieve climax. Their oldest was 10, which is still within my preferred age range, but that girl seemed too smart and strong willed. I didn't want her badly enough to deal with killing her and hiding the body afterwards."
I think I've read enough, at least for now. I'm not going to lie; I'm disgusted. I've done too much myself to be the good guy, and I'm no vigilante, but I'm glad I bashed Reyfon's head in. I walk out into the balcony where I should have been, and throw the cig down onto the dark pavement below. A man in a beige coat down in the lot sees me do this, and that looks suspiciously like judgement on his face. I give him the finger, and turn to walk back in before I have to see his stupid reaction. I crash on the bed without a shower or anything, and just plan to sleep until I wake naturally.
I open my eyes refreshed. I get ready in the bathroom- shower, shave, brush the hair, teeth cleaning, piss, jeans and t-shirt under a grey, white-stringed hoodie. I get my stuff and go down to check out. It's a young woman across the counter this time. Brown hair in a ponytail, ignorant face, maybe she's a student.
I look around. The place is vacant, and this is a small, backwater type town. She's looking down doing one thing or another for me, and I'm looking at her, wondering if I've got five minutes to strangle her.
I vault over the counter and clothesline her in the neck before she can say, "What?!" I slip behind her with my arm hooked around her throat and back up into the wall. She's kicking and grunting in a panic. I can tell she's trying to hit my balls, but she's having a hard time in this position. Mostly what she's managing to do is grind her ass into my crotch, which is giving me a hard-on.
It's soft curves fighting hopelessly against labor hardened muscle. I feel her getting weaker in my unyielding, boa-like grip. A good 60 years of life leave her body with her final exhale. I sigh and drop her down onto the rough carpet.
"Sir?" an unsure, youthful voice asks me.
"Oh yeah, sorry," I respond. The only thing that was real of all that is my straining erection. Of course I couldn't do something so reckless and stupid, but at least I can imagine.
I walk out to greet the morning. The day is sunny and crisp. I take a four minute ride over to the pawn shop that I found in the motel phonebook. The owner's sunken eyes give me what I think is a knowing, slightly wary look from under his heavy white eyebrows. He has a mustache to match, and the thin lips hidden underneath are set in a frown.
He takes the jewelry anyway, though. If he's going to give service, maybe he should give it with a smile so people feel more comfortable coming back. I only get $90 for what I believe was very fine jewelry. Whatever, asshole. It's on to another day of riding away for me.
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