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ishimeDisclaimer : Pokemon belongs to Tajiri Satoshi and Nintendo.
Rating : R.
Warning:
Bloody, gorish torture.
Gio and all the execs being seriously deranged.
Notes :
Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
azalee_calypso's prompt, "disappointed!Archer, fallen-idol!Giovanni - bloodplay".
My Archer is a complete psychopath who flat out refuses to look at Giovanni in a sexual way, so "bloodplay" became "gruesome lethal torture".Okay fine I just like writing horror.
In the same verse as There Was a Crooked Boy and Of New Brothers and Ambushes.
NOT THE CANON ENDING FOR THIS VERSE.
SERIOUSLY AZA, WHEN I SAID "MY ARCHER SEES GIOVANNI AS HIS GOD, NOT IN ANY SORT OF SEXUAL WAY", I DIDN'T MEAN TO END THINGS LIKE THAT BETWEEN THEM.
SO. THIS IS A SPECIAL HALLOWEEN HORROR ALTERNATE ENDING, OR SOMETHING.
Once upon a time, there was a crooked boy.
The crooked boy walked a crooked path, played crooked pranks, made friends with crooked pokemons (or made himself crooked pokemon friends, it's all the same thing, really), fought in crooked matches and found himself a crooked blade to cut people with.
In a perfect world, the crooked boy would have been caught and straightened up - but then, in a perfect world, the boy wouldn't have been crooked in the first place.
So, the crooked boy wasn't straightened up. Instead, he met a crooked man to admire and follow.
Giovanni grits his teeth so hard he can hear them grind.
Archer raises his head at the noise, and smiles. It looks slightly manic - all of Archer's smiles do - but it's a pale ghost of the gleeful frenzy from four years ago. It doesn't even register as scary.
It looks sad.
Once upon a time, the crooked boy followed a crooked man.
The crooked man was that much stronger, that much smarter, and so much more crooked that the boy's crooked heart filled with crooked love and deep, crooked awe. The crooked man had crooked plans and a crooked army, and the crooked boy became a part of that wonderful crooked machine.
The crooked man would guide them, and together, they would crook the whole world.
Archer twists the knife - when did he give up on his beloved little blades and picked hunting knives instead, Giovanni wonders - and he sticks his finger in the wound, grating his nail against sore flesh.
Giovanni moans, bites back a sob, and does not beg.
Archer smiles with approval.
Once upon a time, there was another boy.
A tiny, tiny boy, but so bright and straight that the world itself couldn't crook him in the slightest.
The straight little boy met the crooked man, and swept away his big crooked machine like a house of cards. The whole crooked army was broken apart, and the crooked man forsook them all to run away from a tiny little too-straight boy.
And so the crooked boy was left all on his own.
A boy with blue-green hair barges in, with a smile more like those Archer wore four years ago - full of chaotic energy, a promise of havoc - he puts a wallet on the table, even opens it for Archer.
Giovanni catches a glimpse of a saw, and feels a surge of pride among the fear twisting his guts.
He looks away, sticks to the two boy's faces. Archer's smile is widening, slowly, infused with some of the gleeful mania emanating from the green-haired boy. Giovanni observes the alchemy between those two, savors it like the expensive wine his mother was so fond of. He feels a bit left out, almost... almost envious.
Then Archer turns to Giovanni, and his eyes lit with this understanding that Giovanni always found strangely soothing. Archer grabs his hand and holds it for a while, softly, like a good, dutiful son.
Giovanni smiles, blood trickling down his chin.
Archer breaks his ring finger.
Once upon a time, the crooked boy believed in the crooked man.
So the crooked boy looked for the scattered pieces of the crooked machine. He picked them up or replaced them, one by one, until he was able to put the crooked machine together again. Still, the machine belonged to the crooked man, and without him it could never work.
So the crooked boy prepared a crooked planof his own, so that he could reach the crooked man, and tell him that the boy and his machine were waiting for him. And the crooked boy struggled, for three years he struggled, and finally after these three years he called. And called, and called...
...but the crooked man never came.
Archer's voice is calm, even, slightly lulling. He's a great story teller, Giovanni thinks, between two flashes of pain.
Archer was always full of surprising talents.
He holds his hand to the other boy, who pulls out pliers and muffles a giggle. That one lacks any of Archer's refined self-control, Giovanni thinks. He's so agitated, so crudely aggressive... Giovanni wonders how neat-picky Archer deals with it.
Archer clicks his tongue, waves the pliers before the other boy's face before waking him on the head with it. The boy yelps and takes a step back, growling in Archer's direction.
Archer smiles.
Oh. Well, Giovanni can understand that.
The boy comes back to loom behind Archer the second the pliers gets shoved in Giovanni's mouth.
Once upon a time, once upon a time...
Idols are all destined to fall down, aren't they?
The crooked man never came. Instead came another tiny little too-straight boy, and the machine was swept away for the second time.
And the crooked boy understood.
He understood that the machine's only weakness was the head it relied upon. The crooked man had failed its own grand crooked designs.
The crooked boy gave the machine up, and went to look for the crooked man.
For another year, the crooked boy looked for the crooked man, and when he finally found him...
We've all heard that story. There was a woman, and the crooked man fell in love, and then there was a child. The woman was an unfortunate casualty, and the child couldn't accept it, blaming his father and his crooked mind. And the crooked man struggled between his crooked designs and his love for the child, and his crookedness wore off under all the sticky nice feelings washing over him.
A few more years and the crooked man would have been forgiven. He would have built a nice little family, and groomed another tiny little too-straight boy.
Such a terrible, pathetic ending.
"Don't you agree?" Archer asks.
Behind him, the green-haired boy - Proton, Archer called him - giggles.
Giovanni doesn't answer. He doesn't have enough teeth left, and besides - what is there to answer? Archer always understood him well.
Ariana pokes her head in the room, wrinkles her nose and frowns at the boys.
"Stop dragging things on," she snaps - ever the reasonable, practical daughter. "Finish this properly, before it gets to the point where Petrel won't have anything left to disguise."
Archer nods, nudges Proton away and takes a gun out of the wallet.
Oh, Giovanni knows that gun.
Once upon a time, there was a marowak...
But Giovanni no longer is the one writing this story, is he?
He has a last thought for Silver, before brushing him off.
Archer always was the son he wanted.
Rating : R.
Warning:
Bloody, gorish torture.
Gio and all the execs being seriously deranged.
Notes :
Written for
azalee_calypso's prompt, "disappointed!Archer, fallen-idol!Giovanni - bloodplay". My Archer is a complete psychopath who flat out refuses to look at Giovanni in a sexual way, so "bloodplay" became "gruesome lethal torture".
In the same verse as There Was a Crooked Boy and Of New Brothers and Ambushes.
NOT THE CANON ENDING FOR THIS VERSE.
SERIOUSLY AZA, WHEN I SAID "MY ARCHER SEES GIOVANNI AS HIS GOD, NOT IN ANY SORT OF SEXUAL WAY", I DIDN'T MEAN TO END THINGS LIKE THAT BETWEEN THEM.
SO. THIS IS A SPECIAL HALLOWEEN HORROR ALTERNATE ENDING, OR SOMETHING.
Once upon a time, there was a crooked boy.
The crooked boy walked a crooked path, played crooked pranks, made friends with crooked pokemons (or made himself crooked pokemon friends, it's all the same thing, really), fought in crooked matches and found himself a crooked blade to cut people with.
In a perfect world, the crooked boy would have been caught and straightened up - but then, in a perfect world, the boy wouldn't have been crooked in the first place.
So, the crooked boy wasn't straightened up. Instead, he met a crooked man to admire and follow.
Giovanni grits his teeth so hard he can hear them grind.
Archer raises his head at the noise, and smiles. It looks slightly manic - all of Archer's smiles do - but it's a pale ghost of the gleeful frenzy from four years ago. It doesn't even register as scary.
It looks sad.
Once upon a time, the crooked boy followed a crooked man.
The crooked man was that much stronger, that much smarter, and so much more crooked that the boy's crooked heart filled with crooked love and deep, crooked awe. The crooked man had crooked plans and a crooked army, and the crooked boy became a part of that wonderful crooked machine.
The crooked man would guide them, and together, they would crook the whole world.
Archer twists the knife - when did he give up on his beloved little blades and picked hunting knives instead, Giovanni wonders - and he sticks his finger in the wound, grating his nail against sore flesh.
Giovanni moans, bites back a sob, and does not beg.
Archer smiles with approval.
Once upon a time, there was another boy.
A tiny, tiny boy, but so bright and straight that the world itself couldn't crook him in the slightest.
The straight little boy met the crooked man, and swept away his big crooked machine like a house of cards. The whole crooked army was broken apart, and the crooked man forsook them all to run away from a tiny little too-straight boy.
And so the crooked boy was left all on his own.
A boy with blue-green hair barges in, with a smile more like those Archer wore four years ago - full of chaotic energy, a promise of havoc - he puts a wallet on the table, even opens it for Archer.
Giovanni catches a glimpse of a saw, and feels a surge of pride among the fear twisting his guts.
He looks away, sticks to the two boy's faces. Archer's smile is widening, slowly, infused with some of the gleeful mania emanating from the green-haired boy. Giovanni observes the alchemy between those two, savors it like the expensive wine his mother was so fond of. He feels a bit left out, almost... almost envious.
Then Archer turns to Giovanni, and his eyes lit with this understanding that Giovanni always found strangely soothing. Archer grabs his hand and holds it for a while, softly, like a good, dutiful son.
Giovanni smiles, blood trickling down his chin.
Archer breaks his ring finger.
Once upon a time, the crooked boy believed in the crooked man.
So the crooked boy looked for the scattered pieces of the crooked machine. He picked them up or replaced them, one by one, until he was able to put the crooked machine together again. Still, the machine belonged to the crooked man, and without him it could never work.
So the crooked boy prepared a crooked planof his own, so that he could reach the crooked man, and tell him that the boy and his machine were waiting for him. And the crooked boy struggled, for three years he struggled, and finally after these three years he called. And called, and called...
...but the crooked man never came.
Archer's voice is calm, even, slightly lulling. He's a great story teller, Giovanni thinks, between two flashes of pain.
Archer was always full of surprising talents.
He holds his hand to the other boy, who pulls out pliers and muffles a giggle. That one lacks any of Archer's refined self-control, Giovanni thinks. He's so agitated, so crudely aggressive... Giovanni wonders how neat-picky Archer deals with it.
Archer clicks his tongue, waves the pliers before the other boy's face before waking him on the head with it. The boy yelps and takes a step back, growling in Archer's direction.
Archer smiles.
Oh. Well, Giovanni can understand that.
The boy comes back to loom behind Archer the second the pliers gets shoved in Giovanni's mouth.
Once upon a time, once upon a time...
Idols are all destined to fall down, aren't they?
The crooked man never came. Instead came another tiny little too-straight boy, and the machine was swept away for the second time.
And the crooked boy understood.
He understood that the machine's only weakness was the head it relied upon. The crooked man had failed its own grand crooked designs.
The crooked boy gave the machine up, and went to look for the crooked man.
For another year, the crooked boy looked for the crooked man, and when he finally found him...
We've all heard that story. There was a woman, and the crooked man fell in love, and then there was a child. The woman was an unfortunate casualty, and the child couldn't accept it, blaming his father and his crooked mind. And the crooked man struggled between his crooked designs and his love for the child, and his crookedness wore off under all the sticky nice feelings washing over him.
A few more years and the crooked man would have been forgiven. He would have built a nice little family, and groomed another tiny little too-straight boy.
Such a terrible, pathetic ending.
"Don't you agree?" Archer asks.
Behind him, the green-haired boy - Proton, Archer called him - giggles.
Giovanni doesn't answer. He doesn't have enough teeth left, and besides - what is there to answer? Archer always understood him well.
Ariana pokes her head in the room, wrinkles her nose and frowns at the boys.
"Stop dragging things on," she snaps - ever the reasonable, practical daughter. "Finish this properly, before it gets to the point where Petrel won't have anything left to disguise."
Archer nods, nudges Proton away and takes a gun out of the wallet.
Oh, Giovanni knows that gun.
Once upon a time, there was a marowak...
But Giovanni no longer is the one writing this story, is he?
He has a last thought for Silver, before brushing him off.
Archer always was the son he wanted.