It's a Work In Progress! ...Meme...Thing.
...hulkenberg tempted me.
Okay so FIRST A STORY. Back in December of last year, my hard drive went kaput. With it I lost two original stories and a fanfic I was working on. So yeah. Those don't really count as WIPs but I thought you might want to know I was at one point writing a Phoenix Wright fic that was an AU based on the movie "Secretary."
1. So on the Phoenix Wright Kink Meme there's a prompt that has yet to be picked up. Try and figure out what it is.
“…So you can see that my hands are a bit tied, Mr. Wright. Much as a try to keep the boys out of the, ah, more damaging legal trouble that they are wont to get into, I’ve been somewhat compromised as their lawyer in this particular situation. The state has regretfully insisted that I acquire an impartial attorney for this case. I’ve done some research on your prior cases and I think you’re the only one who can help us out.”
Once again my reputation of having the most asinine and insanely complicated cases dropped into my lap precedes me, Phoenix thought to himself, desperately wanting to roll his eyes but far too terrified to break the gaze of the man in front of him. Charles Foster Offdensen, legal counsel and Chief Financial Officer for the death metal band and global force to be reckoned with, Dethklok, was an intimidating man this close up. Maya had been quieter than usual in his presence, and Pearl was oddly fascinated with the way her sandals flapped when she dangled her feet off of the couch as she tried to melt into the cushions. Sure Phoenix had seen occasional interviews on television and photos in the newspaper, but sitting right across from the man himself…something about the way his eyes bore right into Phoenix’s, even behind those glasses, was unsettling. Then again, the two hooded guards that flanked him on either side of the couch didn’t help. When one of them had waved at Pearl, she looked for all the world like a terrified Chihuahua.
Phoenix sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”
Charles removed his glasses, took a small handkerchief out of the breast pocket of his immaculate suit, and wiped the lenses clean. God, the man even made cleaning glasses look businesslike and professional. “Well at this point in time you are free to refuse my offer. But no, I’m afraid once you are privy to the details of this case, you don’t. We at Dethklok are very sensitive towards these matters leaking to the press.”
“What the heck? You don’t trust us or something?” Maya asked, cheeks puffing out in distaste.
“Maya!” Phoenix hissed, elbowing her roughly.
“OW! What was that for? You saw that, right? He just hit me in front of ANOTHER lawyer! Maybe I should get Mr. O as my backup lawyer, huh Pearly?” Pearl didn’t respond, staring straight ahead with a blank look in her eyes. Charles paid no mind to it, as if he had seen that look many times before on another face.
“Don’t make him mad!” he murmured to her, trying (and failing) to be surreptitious.
“’Mr. Offdensen’ is perfectly fine, Miss Fey,” Charles replied plainly, though there was a hint of an amused smirk on his face. Phoenix could have sworn he heard a chuckle from beneath the hood of the guard to Offdensen’s left, as well. “And I’m afraid I don’t work pro bono. It’s not a case-by-case rule. We are simply protecting our assets regardless of the individual.” Charles held up one hand expectantly, and without hesitation the guard to his left produced a rather thick black folder and handed it off. The manager leaned forward and slid it across the coffee table. Stuck to the front was a red Post-It (shaped oddly like…was that a horned skull?) with “ DETHKLOK THUNDER COLISEUM INCIDENT” scribbled across it. “If you would accept our case, we would pay you quite handsomely, of course. But once you decide to open this folder there is no going back, I’m afraid.”
For a long time, nobody moved. Phoenix stared at Charles, Charles’ eyes bore back into Phoenix’s, Pearl still stared at her shoes and Maya was looking over the couch, trying to get another glimpse at the CFO’s torch-adorned limousine. Even the guards were stone still.
“…I think I could take your case,” Phoenix replied. “I just have a couple questions.” Charles merely nodded solemnly. “Well, first, of course, how ‘handsomely’ are we talking? I’ve taken too many clients who have ended up just giving me jack.”
“Well I can assure you, Dethklok is not your average client. We would be able to offer you a flat fee of $2,000, as well as this complimentary gift basket.” As if from hammer space, the guard to Offdensen’s right produced a large basket, filled with all kinds of black and bloodied paraphernalia that made Phoenix cringe. “This basket includes among other things a couple of shirts, a hoodie, the entire Dethklok library, a bag of Duncan Hills ground coffee, a Facebones Stress Skull, a set of kitchen cleavers and a $5 Hot Topic gift card.”
Maya had clearly tuned out somewhere along the way after hearing “$2000” as she grabbed Phoenix’s arm and shook. “Two thousand dollars, Nick?! Come on, you can’t turn that down! We’d have more than enough for you to treat me and Pearly to, to…I dunno, a HUNDRED burgers!” Phoenix desperately hoped Maya hadn’t seen the coupons for discount meals at some place called Dimmu Burger sticking out of the gift basket…discounted or not, his wallet didn’t need the strain.
“Mystic Maya, maybe you and Mister Nick could go and get a nice dinner together too!” Pearl finally piped up. Much like her cousin, the talk of profit being turned into unhealthy food seemed to snap her out of her catatonia. “You don’t need to worry about me, it can be just the two of you…”
“ALL RIGHT, second question!” Phoenix recognized that glint in the little girl’s eyes and interrupted before Pearl started contemplating if $2,000 could buy a decent wedding. “I’ve heard the general story about the, uh, ‘incident,’ and this seems…well it just seems plain weird to me. I mean, there were quite a lot of people maimed, melted, electrocuted, dematerialized...how can you expect to justify this before a court?”
The two guards exchanged glances with each other, as if asking themselves if this guy had ever heard ANYTHING about Dethklok before (which was a fair question; Phoenix knew they played music that gave him a severe migraine and that was about it). Charles stood, looming above the three across from him and just for a second, Phoenix swore that as the man pushed his glasses up, he saw a smile on Charles’ face sent a chill down his spine.
“Like I said before, Mr. Wright…Dethklok is not your average client. My business card is on the other side of that folder; please give me a call if you have any questions about its contents. Good day.”
2. Yes I used to write Hetalia fic. So shoot me.
Japan had lost touch with a few nations in the wake of the last decades. Arthur had kept to himself, and Ludwig was too immersed in his own conflict. Yao barely left his home; even Feliciano was struggling to keep up with his people. And Ivan…Kiku tried not to mention Ivan, at Alfred’s insistence. But, it was unavoidable.
“Things might be getting better. But it has been a long…what, forty years? Ha! I don’t even really remember!” Alfred said, reaching for the ceramic flask of sake that sat between them on the grass. He laughed, but the withered, tired look on his face didn’t hide his exhaustion at all. Beneath his glasses, his eyes were reddish and ringed with grey.
This was the day Kiku decided not to question the American’s visit. It was clear that a distraction was a necessity. This particular copse, near the base of one of the taller mountains, was quick to change color. The reds and oranges and yellows swayed over their heads in the chilly breeze, rustling clothes and leaving their hair disheveled.
“I’m glad you were able to come, Alfred-san,” Kiku said, handing Alfred the small intricately glazed cup that the American seemed to have foregone for sipping from the flask. Alfred took it gratefully, holding it up and turning it in his hand to follow the blue peony pattern snaking around the ceramic before tipping the flask to its lip, pouring the cloudy alcohol almost to the brim of the cup. Kiku resisted his urge to comment when Alfred handed back the flask.
“You know I wouldn’t miss something this awesome! I never forget,” he replied, taking a small swig from the cup (experience had reminded him to drink Japan’s alcohol more slowly than he usually chugged his liquor). “Though I do keep forgetting to drag Matt along. He’d get a kick outta this place, you know?”
Ah, yes. Kiku had heard of Canada’s affinity for maple trees. Although that was not the strangest thing he’d heard about America’s brother; the peculiar sports that involved brooms and a particular fondness for beavers made a stronger impression in Kiku’s mind. “I’m sure Matthew-san has a more impressive view than this in his own house.”
Alfred let out a bark of a laugh. “Don’t be all modest, Kiku. Y’know it looks better on your side,” he replied, smiling lazily at him.
Kiku lowered his head with a frown. My side. It was always “his side” with America. Not to the most extreme, to be fair. Everyone in the West seemed to treat him with a fragile caution, like he might shatter if handled too roughly. In fact, he was almost certain Arthur had told Alfred stories about the “Orient” that he had perceived when the younger nation was growing up.
It was too long ago for Kiku to truly be bitter about it. In the recent past, he and Alfred rarely had misunderstandings. However, occasionally the American would make an offhand comment, such as that one, and Kiku would feel the corner of his mouth twitch into a grimace. “What exactly is so appealing to you about my land, Alfred-san?” he asked.
His tone must have been more clipped and impatient than he thought, because Alfred was looking at him now, puzzled. “Hey, uh…” He laughed nervously, “Did I say something wrong?” As if to assuage the older nation, Alfred reached out, resting his hand on Kiku’s shoulder, rubbing the coarse cloth of his blue-grey kimono between his fingers (as if to assuage himself).
“No, it is not you. Not entirely,” Kiku admitted. His eyes went back to his hands, folded neatly in his lap. “It’s simply that…” How could he explain this in a way that the American would really, completely understand? “…May I ask you a question about England-san?”
Alfred’s eyebrows quirked upward. “You’re gonna bring Artie into this? What does he have to do--”
“England-san and I have been on some level of familiarity since before he raised you,” Kiku replied. “I want to ask you…what he told you about me.”
There was a brief silence between the two of them; Alfred took advantage of this to set his cup on the ground, pushing it down into the dirt so it would stay upright. Kiku wrinkled his nose at that. Such poor treatment his fine ceramics were getting!
“I brought this tray for a reason, Alfred-san,” Kiku said, taking the cup from the ground and putting it into the small pit whittled out of the wooden tray, holding it in place. America just ignored the reprimanding, reclining onto his back and staring up at the leaves above their heads.
“You know, he told me lots of stories, now that I think about it. He liked to talk about who he’d visited.” His eyes flicked over to Kiku’s, the inquisitive bright blues shining as strongly as ever. “The stuff he said seems kinda weird, now that I actually know you.”
“’Weird?’”
“Yup!” Alfred lifted one hand and sank his teeth into the toughened leather of the index finger of his glove, pulling it off slowly, then the other. “D’ya mind putting these over by my bags?” Kiku simply took the gloves and set them over by the shopping bags near the base of the tree they were sitting beneath. The American never could resist buying some maple-leaf keychain or a novelty rice paddle during this time. Typical tourist, Japan thought, with a small smile. He handled the leather delicately, knowing how much America’s ensemble meant to him. His clothes seemed to retain the smell of coffee and new cars and the vast outdoors.
“Anyway, the old man,” Alfred said. “He told me about big fields of all kinds of plants, and big houses with glossy, sloping roofs and huge porches. He talked about grand theatres with shows that involved men in both scary and pretty masks. I didn’t get why the men wore dresses until Artie explained that women weren’t allowed to perform anymore.” Alfred shrugged. “Didn’t think much of that; England told me that it was like that at his house for a long time, too.”
Kiku tried not to frown too deeply. That was his tradition, how it had always been. No matter how dated it seemed…
“He used to bring back books of stories and pictures. He brought a book of scary stories just to be mean to me! He told me about that lady with the split mouth…I couldn’t sleep for weeks! I was scared to leave the house!” Alfred continued, chuckling (nervously, the other noted) at the memory. “The picture books were my favorites. They were so colorful and different from what I had seen of England’s private collection. I remember…I remember the men with long, serious faces and the women with pinned up hair and black teeth, and long silk dresses with fishes and flowers and pinwheels on them. There were pictures of different monsters, but not all of them were scary. Well…yeah, the dragons were, but I still thought dragons were cool! And the cats with two tails, and all the weird haunted things!”
He paused to see Kiku leaning back on his hands, and leaned his head in, the blonde strands brushing over Kiku’s knuckles. His blue eyes still shone brightly, but it was less of the heroic optimism that he usually held, and more of a distant shine, as if he really were reaching back into the far corners of his mind. Kiku cursed to himself for making eye contact with the younger nation, for now he couldn’t pull his eyes away.
“He talked about you a lot,” Alfred said again, focusing on Kiku. “About the clothes you wore, how timidly you spoke.” Locked with the American’s gaze, he only saw Alfred’s hand peripherally, blurred, as it outstretched to touch his neck. America’s hands were warm and calloused. Time hadn’t always been kind to him, and he had matured into a hard worker with a child’s imagination. Kiku leaned instinctively towards the heat of his fingers, his face flushing.
3. LOL talk about totally fucking short. Was working on maybe doing some song-based Dethklok drabbles.
It had been a long time since the Reverend had left his son in the musty old shed, not since Toki was nine. But the boy had lost concentration far too many times during the evening mass. His son was beginning to ask the same questions he had asked when he was even younger, questions that the Reverend had dismissed with a cold glare and not a raised hand, holding Toki’s childlike curiosity at fault.
Toki kept at it, though. Questioning his father, a bearer of God’s word, like the heathen that he was.
“Father, you’re hurting me!” Toki protested, trying to pull against the vicelike grip of his father’s withered fingers as he was dragged across the clearing towards the tiny shed.
Okay so FIRST A STORY. Back in December of last year, my hard drive went kaput. With it I lost two original stories and a fanfic I was working on. So yeah. Those don't really count as WIPs but I thought you might want to know I was at one point writing a Phoenix Wright fic that was an AU based on the movie "Secretary."
1. So on the Phoenix Wright Kink Meme there's a prompt that has yet to be picked up. Try and figure out what it is.
“…So you can see that my hands are a bit tied, Mr. Wright. Much as a try to keep the boys out of the, ah, more damaging legal trouble that they are wont to get into, I’ve been somewhat compromised as their lawyer in this particular situation. The state has regretfully insisted that I acquire an impartial attorney for this case. I’ve done some research on your prior cases and I think you’re the only one who can help us out.”
Once again my reputation of having the most asinine and insanely complicated cases dropped into my lap precedes me, Phoenix thought to himself, desperately wanting to roll his eyes but far too terrified to break the gaze of the man in front of him. Charles Foster Offdensen, legal counsel and Chief Financial Officer for the death metal band and global force to be reckoned with, Dethklok, was an intimidating man this close up. Maya had been quieter than usual in his presence, and Pearl was oddly fascinated with the way her sandals flapped when she dangled her feet off of the couch as she tried to melt into the cushions. Sure Phoenix had seen occasional interviews on television and photos in the newspaper, but sitting right across from the man himself…something about the way his eyes bore right into Phoenix’s, even behind those glasses, was unsettling. Then again, the two hooded guards that flanked him on either side of the couch didn’t help. When one of them had waved at Pearl, she looked for all the world like a terrified Chihuahua.
Phoenix sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”
Charles removed his glasses, took a small handkerchief out of the breast pocket of his immaculate suit, and wiped the lenses clean. God, the man even made cleaning glasses look businesslike and professional. “Well at this point in time you are free to refuse my offer. But no, I’m afraid once you are privy to the details of this case, you don’t. We at Dethklok are very sensitive towards these matters leaking to the press.”
“What the heck? You don’t trust us or something?” Maya asked, cheeks puffing out in distaste.
“Maya!” Phoenix hissed, elbowing her roughly.
“OW! What was that for? You saw that, right? He just hit me in front of ANOTHER lawyer! Maybe I should get Mr. O as my backup lawyer, huh Pearly?” Pearl didn’t respond, staring straight ahead with a blank look in her eyes. Charles paid no mind to it, as if he had seen that look many times before on another face.
“Don’t make him mad!” he murmured to her, trying (and failing) to be surreptitious.
“’Mr. Offdensen’ is perfectly fine, Miss Fey,” Charles replied plainly, though there was a hint of an amused smirk on his face. Phoenix could have sworn he heard a chuckle from beneath the hood of the guard to Offdensen’s left, as well. “And I’m afraid I don’t work pro bono. It’s not a case-by-case rule. We are simply protecting our assets regardless of the individual.” Charles held up one hand expectantly, and without hesitation the guard to his left produced a rather thick black folder and handed it off. The manager leaned forward and slid it across the coffee table. Stuck to the front was a red Post-It (shaped oddly like…was that a horned skull?) with “ DETHKLOK THUNDER COLISEUM INCIDENT” scribbled across it. “If you would accept our case, we would pay you quite handsomely, of course. But once you decide to open this folder there is no going back, I’m afraid.”
For a long time, nobody moved. Phoenix stared at Charles, Charles’ eyes bore back into Phoenix’s, Pearl still stared at her shoes and Maya was looking over the couch, trying to get another glimpse at the CFO’s torch-adorned limousine. Even the guards were stone still.
“…I think I could take your case,” Phoenix replied. “I just have a couple questions.” Charles merely nodded solemnly. “Well, first, of course, how ‘handsomely’ are we talking? I’ve taken too many clients who have ended up just giving me jack.”
“Well I can assure you, Dethklok is not your average client. We would be able to offer you a flat fee of $2,000, as well as this complimentary gift basket.” As if from hammer space, the guard to Offdensen’s right produced a large basket, filled with all kinds of black and bloodied paraphernalia that made Phoenix cringe. “This basket includes among other things a couple of shirts, a hoodie, the entire Dethklok library, a bag of Duncan Hills ground coffee, a Facebones Stress Skull, a set of kitchen cleavers and a $5 Hot Topic gift card.”
Maya had clearly tuned out somewhere along the way after hearing “$2000” as she grabbed Phoenix’s arm and shook. “Two thousand dollars, Nick?! Come on, you can’t turn that down! We’d have more than enough for you to treat me and Pearly to, to…I dunno, a HUNDRED burgers!” Phoenix desperately hoped Maya hadn’t seen the coupons for discount meals at some place called Dimmu Burger sticking out of the gift basket…discounted or not, his wallet didn’t need the strain.
“Mystic Maya, maybe you and Mister Nick could go and get a nice dinner together too!” Pearl finally piped up. Much like her cousin, the talk of profit being turned into unhealthy food seemed to snap her out of her catatonia. “You don’t need to worry about me, it can be just the two of you…”
“ALL RIGHT, second question!” Phoenix recognized that glint in the little girl’s eyes and interrupted before Pearl started contemplating if $2,000 could buy a decent wedding. “I’ve heard the general story about the, uh, ‘incident,’ and this seems…well it just seems plain weird to me. I mean, there were quite a lot of people maimed, melted, electrocuted, dematerialized...how can you expect to justify this before a court?”
The two guards exchanged glances with each other, as if asking themselves if this guy had ever heard ANYTHING about Dethklok before (which was a fair question; Phoenix knew they played music that gave him a severe migraine and that was about it). Charles stood, looming above the three across from him and just for a second, Phoenix swore that as the man pushed his glasses up, he saw a smile on Charles’ face sent a chill down his spine.
“Like I said before, Mr. Wright…Dethklok is not your average client. My business card is on the other side of that folder; please give me a call if you have any questions about its contents. Good day.”
2. Yes I used to write Hetalia fic. So shoot me.
Japan had lost touch with a few nations in the wake of the last decades. Arthur had kept to himself, and Ludwig was too immersed in his own conflict. Yao barely left his home; even Feliciano was struggling to keep up with his people. And Ivan…Kiku tried not to mention Ivan, at Alfred’s insistence. But, it was unavoidable.
“Things might be getting better. But it has been a long…what, forty years? Ha! I don’t even really remember!” Alfred said, reaching for the ceramic flask of sake that sat between them on the grass. He laughed, but the withered, tired look on his face didn’t hide his exhaustion at all. Beneath his glasses, his eyes were reddish and ringed with grey.
This was the day Kiku decided not to question the American’s visit. It was clear that a distraction was a necessity. This particular copse, near the base of one of the taller mountains, was quick to change color. The reds and oranges and yellows swayed over their heads in the chilly breeze, rustling clothes and leaving their hair disheveled.
“I’m glad you were able to come, Alfred-san,” Kiku said, handing Alfred the small intricately glazed cup that the American seemed to have foregone for sipping from the flask. Alfred took it gratefully, holding it up and turning it in his hand to follow the blue peony pattern snaking around the ceramic before tipping the flask to its lip, pouring the cloudy alcohol almost to the brim of the cup. Kiku resisted his urge to comment when Alfred handed back the flask.
“You know I wouldn’t miss something this awesome! I never forget,” he replied, taking a small swig from the cup (experience had reminded him to drink Japan’s alcohol more slowly than he usually chugged his liquor). “Though I do keep forgetting to drag Matt along. He’d get a kick outta this place, you know?”
Ah, yes. Kiku had heard of Canada’s affinity for maple trees. Although that was not the strangest thing he’d heard about America’s brother; the peculiar sports that involved brooms and a particular fondness for beavers made a stronger impression in Kiku’s mind. “I’m sure Matthew-san has a more impressive view than this in his own house.”
Alfred let out a bark of a laugh. “Don’t be all modest, Kiku. Y’know it looks better on your side,” he replied, smiling lazily at him.
Kiku lowered his head with a frown. My side. It was always “his side” with America. Not to the most extreme, to be fair. Everyone in the West seemed to treat him with a fragile caution, like he might shatter if handled too roughly. In fact, he was almost certain Arthur had told Alfred stories about the “Orient” that he had perceived when the younger nation was growing up.
It was too long ago for Kiku to truly be bitter about it. In the recent past, he and Alfred rarely had misunderstandings. However, occasionally the American would make an offhand comment, such as that one, and Kiku would feel the corner of his mouth twitch into a grimace. “What exactly is so appealing to you about my land, Alfred-san?” he asked.
His tone must have been more clipped and impatient than he thought, because Alfred was looking at him now, puzzled. “Hey, uh…” He laughed nervously, “Did I say something wrong?” As if to assuage the older nation, Alfred reached out, resting his hand on Kiku’s shoulder, rubbing the coarse cloth of his blue-grey kimono between his fingers (as if to assuage himself).
“No, it is not you. Not entirely,” Kiku admitted. His eyes went back to his hands, folded neatly in his lap. “It’s simply that…” How could he explain this in a way that the American would really, completely understand? “…May I ask you a question about England-san?”
Alfred’s eyebrows quirked upward. “You’re gonna bring Artie into this? What does he have to do--”
“England-san and I have been on some level of familiarity since before he raised you,” Kiku replied. “I want to ask you…what he told you about me.”
There was a brief silence between the two of them; Alfred took advantage of this to set his cup on the ground, pushing it down into the dirt so it would stay upright. Kiku wrinkled his nose at that. Such poor treatment his fine ceramics were getting!
“I brought this tray for a reason, Alfred-san,” Kiku said, taking the cup from the ground and putting it into the small pit whittled out of the wooden tray, holding it in place. America just ignored the reprimanding, reclining onto his back and staring up at the leaves above their heads.
“You know, he told me lots of stories, now that I think about it. He liked to talk about who he’d visited.” His eyes flicked over to Kiku’s, the inquisitive bright blues shining as strongly as ever. “The stuff he said seems kinda weird, now that I actually know you.”
“’Weird?’”
“Yup!” Alfred lifted one hand and sank his teeth into the toughened leather of the index finger of his glove, pulling it off slowly, then the other. “D’ya mind putting these over by my bags?” Kiku simply took the gloves and set them over by the shopping bags near the base of the tree they were sitting beneath. The American never could resist buying some maple-leaf keychain or a novelty rice paddle during this time. Typical tourist, Japan thought, with a small smile. He handled the leather delicately, knowing how much America’s ensemble meant to him. His clothes seemed to retain the smell of coffee and new cars and the vast outdoors.
“Anyway, the old man,” Alfred said. “He told me about big fields of all kinds of plants, and big houses with glossy, sloping roofs and huge porches. He talked about grand theatres with shows that involved men in both scary and pretty masks. I didn’t get why the men wore dresses until Artie explained that women weren’t allowed to perform anymore.” Alfred shrugged. “Didn’t think much of that; England told me that it was like that at his house for a long time, too.”
Kiku tried not to frown too deeply. That was his tradition, how it had always been. No matter how dated it seemed…
“He used to bring back books of stories and pictures. He brought a book of scary stories just to be mean to me! He told me about that lady with the split mouth…I couldn’t sleep for weeks! I was scared to leave the house!” Alfred continued, chuckling (nervously, the other noted) at the memory. “The picture books were my favorites. They were so colorful and different from what I had seen of England’s private collection. I remember…I remember the men with long, serious faces and the women with pinned up hair and black teeth, and long silk dresses with fishes and flowers and pinwheels on them. There were pictures of different monsters, but not all of them were scary. Well…yeah, the dragons were, but I still thought dragons were cool! And the cats with two tails, and all the weird haunted things!”
He paused to see Kiku leaning back on his hands, and leaned his head in, the blonde strands brushing over Kiku’s knuckles. His blue eyes still shone brightly, but it was less of the heroic optimism that he usually held, and more of a distant shine, as if he really were reaching back into the far corners of his mind. Kiku cursed to himself for making eye contact with the younger nation, for now he couldn’t pull his eyes away.
“He talked about you a lot,” Alfred said again, focusing on Kiku. “About the clothes you wore, how timidly you spoke.” Locked with the American’s gaze, he only saw Alfred’s hand peripherally, blurred, as it outstretched to touch his neck. America’s hands were warm and calloused. Time hadn’t always been kind to him, and he had matured into a hard worker with a child’s imagination. Kiku leaned instinctively towards the heat of his fingers, his face flushing.
3. LOL talk about totally fucking short. Was working on maybe doing some song-based Dethklok drabbles.
It had been a long time since the Reverend had left his son in the musty old shed, not since Toki was nine. But the boy had lost concentration far too many times during the evening mass. His son was beginning to ask the same questions he had asked when he was even younger, questions that the Reverend had dismissed with a cold glare and not a raised hand, holding Toki’s childlike curiosity at fault.
Toki kept at it, though. Questioning his father, a bearer of God’s word, like the heathen that he was.
“Father, you’re hurting me!” Toki protested, trying to pull against the vicelike grip of his father’s withered fingers as he was dragged across the clearing towards the tiny shed.