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frenchy-and-the-sea · 5 years ago

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Gift Fic - You Carry the Sun

I’m something like two weeks late because of what amounts to just a lot of Real Life Garbage, but my buddy @rufinagertrude had a birthday just pass and is now ONE OF THE THE ANCIENT ONES so I figured I would commemorate the occasion with a gift! And that gift is Nike, the arrogant, self-important tinkerer, snarking and maybe being almost like friends with my own arrogant, self-important tinkerer, Davin. They both lost limbs and are touchy about them. Obviously that means they get along like a house on fire.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY RUFINA, ILU AND I’M SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG

1550 words.

"What in the Goddess' name are you two doing in here?"

Only Finn looked up as Nike stepped through the workshop’s heavy wooden door, and the look of focus on his face instantly curled into a wicked smirk.

“Working,” he said casually, and propped an elbow on the table in front of him. “That's what this bit is for, isn't it? Or do you just like coming in here and pretending that you know what the fuck you're doing -"

Nike rolled his eyes and turned to Davin before his brother could finish. "Slightly less idiotic one: same question. Why are you here?"

"My arm broke," said Davin, without looking up from the table he was hunched over. Nike privately let himself believe that he'd seen the faint pass of smirk on his face. “I need to fix it. Just piss off somewhere for ten minutes, and when you come back we’ll be gone, aye?”

Finn straightened, scowling. "I was talking -"

"I am not going to 'piss off,'" said Nike, as if Finn hadn’t spoken. "This is my shop. I thought you might have some grasp of that concept of social grace, but alas, it appears to be as vacant as the space between your ears.”

“Oh, aye," said Davin, "very commanding statement coming from someone who won’t take ten minutes to let a man fix his fucking arm.”

Finn stepped pointedly around the table. “Hey -”

“I could have been inclined to let you in if you’d asked,” said Nike.

“Not fucking likely,” said Davin. “I know the wee black worm you call a heart might swell up and kill you if you’re kind too often, but -”

“Hey!”

“- but I don’t intend to hobble around while I wait for a goddamned miracle. Finn.” Davin glanced up to where his brother had turned to him, practically seething with rage. "Remember what I said about those wires? That what serves for a prodigy around here would certainly have some?” He jerked a thumb back towards Nike. “Seems he’s empty of those as well as brains and talent. I’ll need them from the ship.”

Finn made an indignant sound somewhere in the back of his throat. “I’m not your fucking nursemaid,” he snarled. “Fetch them yourself!”

Davin lifted his head away from where it was bent over the table, up to meet Finn’s glare with a hard look of his own. For a moment, Nike was certain they were about to start shouting, and braced himself. Then Davin took a pointed glance down to the prosthetic laid out on the table in front of him, sighed, and moved to stand.

“Right, then.”

Across the room, Nike watched a curious flutter of emotion across Finn’s face - indignation, flashing briefly into hard-eyed concern, and then settling on annoyance and frustration vying for equal purchase. He reached out as Davin got to his feet and shoved him back into his chair.

“Fuck’s sake, sit still. I’ll get them,” he snapped, then turned on a heel and stormed towards the door. His shoulder collided with Nike’s on the way out, with too much force to be an accident. Nike opened his mouth to complain, but Finn had already disappeared out into the hall, and slammed the workshop door behind him.

“That door needed stress testing, anyway,” Nike said with a sarcastic roll of his eyes. Davin didn’t respond, just leaned forward and fixed his eyes on the door with an expectant arch of an eyebrow. When it didn’t move again, he flopped back into his seat, and Nike watched a smirk to match Finn’s creep across his face as he reached into the pocket of his trousers and pulled out a long spool of thin, silvery wire.

It only took a moment for realization to kick in.

“Aw,” said Nike, grinning despite himself, “sending your brother on a wild goose chase for me? You really shouldn’t have.”

Davin snorted. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he said, though his smirk didn’t waver. “He’s been in my way for the last hour. Only reason why it took long enough that you came in and caught us at all.”

“Huh. Maybe I should be thanking him, then.” Despite his feigned irritation, Nike stepped around the small maze of tables and up Davin’s side. His prosthetic was lain out on the table in front of him, currently under the duress of a thin razor that he was wielding in his good hand. Or at least, Nike was fairly certain that it was his prosthetic. The former lattice of haphazard beams and bars was gone, banished beneath a cobbled-together sheet of metal that what could almost pass for a forearm, and the various clamps and claws that usually took the place of a hand had been swapped out for a set of crude metal fingers that were currently curled into a tight fist against an equally crude palm. Squinting, Nike could see thin wires running from the fingertips down into the center of the forearm, where they were wrapped around something that looked suspiciously like guitar pegs.

“Something new,” Davin said, without looked up. His smirk had still not abated, and with a flush of annoyance, Nike realized it had grown wider. “You’re free to be impressed. No one else is here.”

“I’m impressed that you haven’t welded your fingers together,” Nike said smoothly, even as a strange flutter began in his stomach. The arm was crude, and cobbled together, and bound to break in enough salt air and sea, but still…. Still, it had taken considerably less time to turn from hardly functional to hardly noticeable at a glance. Nike felt the fluttering creep up into his chest, and it sent good sense scattering like leaves in the wind.

“Have you ever made anything that flies?”

The words were out before he could stop them. He felt his body go cold under a sudden sheen of sweat as Davin’s fingers paused and he looked up, brow furrowed

“Why would I have ever…” he started, and then paused so abruptly that Nike could feel it in his gut. Davin’s eyes, a flinty hazel brown in the shop’s low light, flicked unsubtly towards Nike’s back.

“No,” he said after a moment. “Have you?”

Nike had to bite down on the edge of his tongue to keep down the sudden flash of anger that tore through his gut. Competitive ribbing was one thing; insulting a line of Davin’s ancestors starting with his great great grandmother over a simple question would be quite another. He kept his eyes pointed firmly away, and the resulting silence answered the question with more clarity than he ever could.

Davin shifted in his seat, turning fully away from the prosthetic on the table.

“Why not?” he asked. The corner of his mouth twitched up, very faintly. “Are you scared?”

“No,” Nike snapped, tail flicking sharply to one side. The fluttering was harder now. “I’m busy, actually. I have things to do, and a guild membership to maintain, and -”

“Aye, of course, of course,” said Davin with a wave of his hand. He turned back to the hunk of metal in front of him that Nike was thinking very seriously about melting back into scrap. “And running a fucking ship doesn’t take any time at all. Any halfwit could do it!”

“A halfwit does,” Nike growled.

“Hey, now. No need to bring Alex into this. She’s a fine captain, when it suits her.” Nike growled again, but Davin’s smirk just grew. “In any case, you’ve actually stumbled your way into a point. It would take time to make. But by God’s green luck, I’m stuck on this rock for several weeks while my captain cozies up to your queen. And I’m not scared.”

Another spike of anger shot through Nike’s belly, but something in Davin’s tone stopped him from immediately kicking the chair from beneath him. There was challenge in his voice, of course, and his usual healthy dose of superiority, but squinting, Nike could just barely make out the tinge of something else beneath; something almost like a promise, with the same kind of sincere surety that came with someone who knew their craft well enough to make guarantees. Davin’s sidelong look said as much too, and Nike suddenly felt the fight go out of him like a smothered candle flame.

“I’ll have to come back here, of course,” Davin went on, turning back to his work with a one-shouldered shrug. “A ship’s a poor space to work, and Christ, but you’ve actually got something like real tools in here.”

Nike huffed on reflex, still feeling slightly to the left of himself. “Well, the door has apparently failed to keep you two out with the rest of the vermin anyway, so…”

“Vermin don’t charm locks. Finn does,” said Davin, with a smirk. “Otherwise, though, they’re one in the same. Speaking of, you’ll kindly fuck off now so I can finish before he gets back. I want to be a league away from here when he figures it out.”

“If his wit matches yours, I’d say you have a few hours at least,” Nike muttered, turning away from the table and trying his best to smother the little spot of hope burning in his chest.

#my writing #original characters #other people's ocs #oc crap #original fiction #davin #finn #i like to think this is after they've known each other for some time #because they're not immediately trying to actually fight each other #and the snark is taken as mostly good-humored #but ilu rufina i hope if it isn't perfect that it at least delights!

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self-shipping-hell · 2 years ago

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1-3 for whoever you’re feeling! - @isabelinlove

Aw! Thank you for submitting an ask!

Alas, I am so sorry. I'm gonna answer this with my most obscure, most random fictional other and is therefore probably gonna be boring as heck to read. I'm also outing myself as a furry, but that's not a secret so much as not discussed yet. But I'm fixated on him so bad, so without further ado...Plotzo cuddles. With a ton of rambling because holy shit do I need an outlet right now.

1. What’s the most common physical gesture of affection you give? (Holding hands, arm around the shoulders/waist, leaning on them, etc.) What’s your f/o’s?

Imma climb this dude like a tree. Like, I'll just have a craving to wrap my arms around his neck and hang like a monkey or grapple his shoulders to clamber on like a backpack. I'm also prone to giving headbumps and just resting on him, especially if I get overwhelmed. Which is alot.

Plotzo on the other hand used to be more of a "Let's see how much we can embarrass her" kind of guy. He uses my head and shoulders as arm rests, and he'll straight up act like I'm a counter to do business over, leaning against me full "Welcome to McDonald's, what can I get ya." I'll be toddling over, and he already has his arm out expecting me to get into place so he can trade the wall for me to lean against.

2. Which is more common: kisses or cuddles?

Cuddles, easily. Kissing is a little wonky, because giant rat, pointy teef. But we're also both a little embarrassed about smooches, but hugs and leaning and laying on top of each other is just...so comfy.

3. Were you and your f/o cuddly with each other from the start or did it take some time for one or both of you to warm up to cuddling, if you ever did at all?

It. Took. Forever. He has a reputation to uphold, and I have a case of the 'tism. It started with small things like brushing arms and locking elbows. Eventually I proved I can hold my own in a scrap, so he was less worried about being seen with me. And in turn, I grew to expect and actually appreciate physical contact with him.

(It helps that he never initiates without being in my line of sight or giving a heads up. We had an incident where he went to hug me from behind and I flipped, which he luckily took as "lmao wtf?" and not "wow, she must be disgusted by me!")

#ask game #long post #this is just...so gratifying #self ship: vermin vying

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