(30+. Independent/semi-selective multimuse RP blog.)
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(We're kickstarting this RP blog back from the dead, baby! Boyd from @babyboydbaby and Gyro from @miraculousenigma will also be moved to this blog as well, although their blogs are still open for interactions. Just makes things a little easier to keep track of!)
I definitely don't want to just assume any of Ace's early (and by early I mean the one) interactions with Nico were crush-based, but also like. He waited until someone else was at the table with Nico to come talk to them—they had been sitting by themself up until that point—then proceeded to put his foot in his mouth and TOTALLY pretend he wasn't doing that. Also while insisting he TOTALLY didn't want to join the conversation.
All while completely missing that a guy who had previously put his hand through a table was there. How the HELL did a guy with so much anxiety that his hair was turning pre-maturely grey just MISS Xander sitting there???
Also again, I circle back to this little reminder. It might be a stretch but also???
Is this enough evidence to support my claim that maybe Ace early on had SOME kind of crush on Nico, or at least wanted to be friends with them? Ehhh, I wouldn't say it's DEFINITIVE proof. And even if either were true, he went about handling it in the worst way possible, because he's a loudmouthed jackass.
At most, he could've just been attempting to establish himself as someone tough and in charge by picking on someone perceived as weaker than him, while also waiting for someone to show up so they could SEE him doing that.
...But also, he's not exactly DISPROVING that theory either.
Adding onto this because ACE. NO ONE WAS TALKING TO YOU. NICO WAS NOT TALKING TO YOU. WHY DID YOU JUST FEEL THE NEED TO ADD TO THE CONVERSATION??? Seriously, it's like he has a disease where he'll die if he doesn't butt into Nico's business for more than five minutes.
Well, fuck me sideways. Connections have been made.
My girlfriend has this specific gesture she does sometimes, a very particular way of turning her wrist around and locking her fingers in one specific grip. Fast or slow, the angle of her wrist and the rhythm of the movement are always exactly the same, and at this point I've learned to recognize the motion well enough that she could do it with her back towards me and I know she's doing it.
The first time I saw her do it I thought she was putting something into her pocket, but once I noticed her making it more often I started making connections. I saw her doing it unconsciously when some situation in the house is getting tense - not during the casual sparring arguments with my other housemates, but the serious fights where shit is about to actually get fucking real - and I figured that it's a nervous thing, she doesn't like where this is going and it's scaring her. So that became my cue that it's time to back down.
I don't know when she noticed that I noticed her doing it. We've never talked about it, but at some point she started doing it on purpose, as her way of telling me that I should stop causing problems. Rotating her hand slowly means she's seeing a problem brewing and it's better that I watch myself before I start escalating it, and a quick flick and snap means whatever I was just about to say or do, I should cut that shit out right this fucking second. It works for some reason, so I've respected that.
My girlfriend does some volunteering favors for the neighbors here sometimes. Today she asked if I wanted to come along to walk this one old couple's dog, and I was feeling up for it so I went along. My father was terrified of dogs so I'm not familiar with them, but her family has always had them.
So we were walking, talking about something else, enjoying the nice weather for once, when my girlfriend saw another dog walker approaching. I didn't notice anything out of the ordinary, but the other dog walker started pulling the dog back with this roller leash thing whatever the fuck they're called. And then the old couples' dog started growling.
With the familiarity of someone who's been handling dogs all her life my girlfriend grabbed the little fucker's leash, wrapping it around the width of her palm and gripping it to pull the dog closer a second before it could bolt to attack. A move she's probably done countless times in her life, that she could do in her sleep, by instinct, without ever even thinking about it. A gesture I've learned to fucking spot from across the room from the corner of my eye. That exact same fucking twirl and grip. I have no idea if she noticed me noticing it or making the connection.
She's fucking learned to pull my fucking leash back when I'm about to start shit.
He hadn't expected them to actually keep it. He'd been completely prepared to walk by the trash can the next morning and see the little stuffed cat discarded there. Wouldn't have blamed them; it'd been a spur-of-the-moment decision, completely out of nowhere and stupid. Just a random idea brought on by Whit's offhanded moping about the holiday.
Nah, he wouldn't have blamed them at all for getting rid of it.
...But goddamn if a quick glimpse of them hugging it and giggling and looking genuinely happy before he darted back out of sight again hadn't made it all so worth it.
I think I just really enjoy redheaded boys in media with an attitude who are also kind of/very pathetic. I mean, I say I think, but clearly it's been going on since I was like fifteen. Every goddamn time, I'm drawn to them like catnip.
You Can't Go Home Again by Thomas Wolfe / Giovanni’s Room by James Baldwin (1) / Landscape by Louise Glück / Summer's End by Eli McMullen ( Acrylic and gouache on panel) / There is still love here (Ceramic house) by griefmother / How's It Gonna End - Tom Waits / Dear God. Dear Bones. Dear Yellow by Noor Hindi / Origin of the Marble Forest by Gregory Orr / A Shropshire Lad by A.E.Housman / Little Summer by Raymond Bonilla (Oil on panel) / Untitled, digital by Tito Merello Vilar / Ivy - Frank Ocean / Disco Elysium (1) / The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman / That’s Okay - The Hush Sound / Checkers by John Marsden / 1986 by Hollis Brown Thornton (pigment transfer on paper) / tumblr post by @ryebreadgf / Outhouse by Rachel McKibbens / 6 ways to draw a circle by tumblr user @filmnoirsbian / From the Scars series by India Lawton / House Fire by Becca Stadtlander / Back to the Old House - The Smiths / How’d Your Parents Die Again by Fatimah Asghar / Giovanni’s Room by James Baldwin (2) / Disco Elysium (2) / The Four Generations of Chang E by Zen Cho
In the chaos following the elevator doors finally opening, everyone rushing in and out while seconds passed by with the intensity of a knife slowly pressing against ones neck... there hadn't been opportunity to ask what he wanted. Question brewing in his chest, impatience pricked at the back of his neck as Whit willed events to go quicker. Battling between guilt at where his focus kept shifting and the worry for Levi that managed to break through the noise. Tainted as it may have been.
Every frantic step was not fast enough for his liking, every brief glance Charles's way offering no respite to the worry... As soon as Whit is gifted the chance to grab onto Charles's arm— hand trailing down in a careful touch, to hold the others and give it a small squeeze —he wordlessly guides Charles to a less cramped area, seeking some semblance of privacy when in a space full of worried bystanders.
Satisfied for the moment, he stands in front of Charles and releases a soft breath he hadn't realized he was keeping. Both hands now holding Charles's, he looks up at the taller male, worry shining in his gaze. Hardly a surprise considering the situation; someone is balancing on the edge of death, after all. With only a unqualified medical professional to help him. Yet Whit's words betray what actually weighs on his mind, ❝ How are you doing? ❞
❛ Are you okay ❜ is hardly a question worth asking, since the answer is painfully obvious. There's no way Charles is okay... So Whit needs to see how not-okay he is, and do what he can about it. ❝ I know everything was... a lot, in there. ❞ - (( *boops a li'l thing* because Whit be worried rip ))
He desperately wished he had heeded Whit's warning sooner.
The sight of Levi diving into the line of fire, followed immediately by the sight of so much blood—so much more than he'd seen in the computer lab—had left Charles in a dissociated state for the entire elevator ride. It was a miracle he hadn't passed out by that point, likely due to the warmth that trails up his arm and through his body at the feeling of someone else's hand on his arm.
He doesn't need to tear his gaze from the wall ahead of him to know exactly who it is, relief blossoming through his chest. Just keep looking ahead, don't look at the blood—so much blood, so much blood—that painted Levi's body like the world's most unfortunate canvas beside him. Whit was there, he was okay. He just needed to—
He barely processes the elevator opening and the other's running out, attention sorely focused on that hand as he slips into his own and guides him in the opposite direction. He can feel his senses slowly returning, and he finally dares to focus his attention on Whit as he cups both hands around his own.
❝How are you doing?❞ He asks, like the completely selfless angel he is. After everything else that had happened, Whit's first concern was for him.
It takes a moment for Charles to find enough of his voice to answer, mostly due to him sinking to his knees with his hands around Whit's for dear life. "I've been better..."
It's more sarcastic than he means, but there's a bitter truth to it as well. But at least he has those hands—those warm, comforting hands to support him.
「 ☆ 」 Ace sinking to his knees gives Nico the courage to sit back down... He's not liable to break someone when he's too busy breaking. Warily, they keep their cushion of distance between themself and the panicking man. Not that it does much for their comfort. Shocked gaze is focused on Ace until he spirals into a mess of emotions so potently raw it settles sickeningly in Nico's stomach as a tangible KNOT.
Unfortunately, this is still more favorable than leaving the sanctuary room and taking their chances in the rest of the building. Riddled with potential people to run into and the memories of past murders... Nico knows they HAVE to leave eventually. But surely that can wait a while longer. Even if Ace is making that decision harder to stick to with every minute he intrudes within it. Never mind that the jockey was technically here first, with Nico invading HIS space.
Poorly equipped to comfort members of their own species— especially when that one is ACE —they hug their knees to their chest and rest their chin upon it. Staring at the ground with a grimace, Nico is more focused on not looking at Ace rather than looking at anything in particular. Hold around themself tightens, nails digging into their legs like the claws of a stressed cat. Each noise from Ace, every pained weep twisted with the bubbles of a distraught laugh, settles between their shoulder blades. Creeping up their neck to tense their spine. Weighing down on them as if to chastise for being incapable of doing anything about it.
All they can do is... let Ace cry it out, they suppose.
Whining in their throat at how suffocating the tension is, so thick in their lungs that it hurts their chest, Nico doesn't fully realize they made the sound. Muffled into their loose hood as their face sinks into it. Eyes shut as if that helps anything, they remain shut even as Ace's lamenting comes to a somber close... A beat of quiet passes. Then another. Enough to where it's hard to know if Nico can is going to respond to any of it. Or if the awkward silence is destined to devour the both of them.
❝ ... Th-That makes sense. You're always fighting... so you're bound to be tired. ❞ Perhaps an obvious statement, whether it's commentary on the struggle against death or just Ace's demeanor in general. When one is constantly shouting and on the verge of dragging himself kicking and screaming into a fight, he's going to exhaust himself. But it's the first bit of recognition to survive past Nico's lips, and the trickle that allows more to follow. However meaningless it all feels.
It takes a moment... but it happens.
❝ I'm tired too. But... I still don't want to die. ❞ Eyes tentatively blink open, dulled gaze trained to the ground. Truthfully, they don't want to think about it. How scared they are all the time. How angry. The only solace found being when the emotions become too much to bear that they just... stop ❛ feeling ❜ them for a while. If they're alone. Or a place feels alone enough. Quiet. Where they can pretend time is standing still even as it flows around them with no remorse. Where the danger is real as ever, yet their body finally refuses to fully acknowledge it. Where if they're still enough, silent enough, maybe it'll pass them by... Maybe it'll finally work.
❝ And not because of family... or friends... or even my cats. I- I love them... and I miss them. I miss them so much but... ❞ Words stick in their throat, Nico choking on their admission with a thick swallow. Hands lift to grab their hood, pulling it up more to cover the lower half of their face. ❝ They'd be fine without me. Animals are resilient like that. ❞ It's one of the things Nico admires most about them. Even if it means that— ❝ ... No one would miss me if I died. ❞
Such a statement shouldn't be said with an empty acceptance.
Voice as devoid of energy as their demeanor, they admit through a grimace, ❝ I know it's selfish but... I want to live anyway. ❞ 「 ☆ 」
He listens to them in silence, face stinging from the drying tears and chest heavy as the exhaustion finally envelops him in full. "You think I like fighting all the time?" There's no bite to the question, he doesn't have the energy. "It's like I said downstairs: I'm terrified of dying. If I don't fight, then I'm the one who's gonna get pushed around. The one who gets his ass kicked all the time. The one that much closer to death..."
A shudder, hand moving to the wall beside him. "And in a game like this: if I hadn't fought, then I probably would've been the first one who got axed."
But he knows that's not true. It was his temper that had forced Nico's hand. And it was his own hand that had taken Arei's life, thus leading him to his failed execution.
If he didn't fight, he could die. If he fought, he was even closer to death.
He's silent again as he listens to their own admission of a desire to live, if for no one other than themself, and his chest tightens further at the words that often plagued his own mind.
❝ ... No one would miss me if I died.❞
"Don't be stupid," he says aloud. "That's not selfish. At least you've got something that's keeping you going. It's more than I've got, at least..."
He felt one last laugh of defeat building inside his throat, nearly choking his next statement: "Listen to me. I'm terrified of dying to the point of killing someone else to avoid it, and yet I don't even have a reason of my own to live. How's that for selfish?"