#Pico x darnell | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dentiststoothfairy · 7 months

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Do a pico x darnell one shot. Do it. You won’t. Make them kiss and be stupid

[ 🦷🎀 𝙷𝙴𝙻𝙻 𝚈𝙴𝙰𝙷! 𝙸 𝙻𝙾𝚅𝙴 𝙿𝙸𝙲𝙽𝙴𝙻𝙻! 𝙸 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚍 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝙳𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚡 𝚙𝚒𝚌𝚘 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜. 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚋𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚢. 𝙿𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝙿𝚒𝚌𝚘 𝚡 𝙽𝚎𝚗𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚖𝚢 𝚏𝚕𝚊𝚟𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝙳𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚡 𝚙𝚒𝚌𝚘 𝚒𝚜 𝚂𝙾 𝙵𝚁𝙸𝙶𝙶𝙴𝙽 𝙲𝚄𝚃𝙴 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚖𝚢 𝚑𝚘𝚗𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 𝚔𝚒𝚜𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚙𝚒𝚍]

‼️ FAN ART IS NOT MINE ‼️

🔫 𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐎 𝐱 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐋𝐋 💣🔥

Ah. Saturdays. The best days ever... The day where Nene goes on a crazed shopping spree with all her girlfriends and the two more sensible guys are left to their own record. Which usually resulted into something... Not sensible.

Listen. They were allowed to have their fun too!

"Eat shit, Pico!" Darrell's voice shot out as a rubber balloon came flying at the other. A splash of water flickered on the Ginger's skin as the balloon burst upon impact. The cackle of the boys rung out as the summer sun beat down on them like there was absolutely no end.

Pico had wanted to do a little bit of training so he could keep his skills in check... But Darnell wanted to keep cool in the sun and not sweat like an absolute pig until sunset. So, after about twelve minutes of arguments and bickering, they settled on a compromise.

"Not before you!" Pico sneered as he pumped the water gun with efficiency. The water fired out of the nozzle with ease as his feet beat against the grass. Dirt kicked up from under his shoes as he ducked behind a tree, allowing for cover before Darnell could splash him with another water balloon.

Summer in Philly was always like trying to survive in an oven. It got ridiculously hot and the pair were pretty sure that is why Nene ducked out to a nice, air conditioned mall with yoghurt and desserts. But whatever. They both knew that if they tagged along with her, they would be carrying her stuff. Fuck that.

"I see we're at a Mexican standstill." Darnell had kneeled behind a bush, the playful tone in his voice made Pico's inside flutter with adrenaline and excitement. The shades of the trees above them provided good shelter from the relentless blaze of the sun. Pico's smile only grew a mile as he thought of something witty to shoot back.

"We're in Philly." Great one Pico.

Darnell's loud laugh rung throughout the small clearing. It was rare to be having fun like this nowadays. Ever since... That. Pico and his two best friends had been... Different. Darnell was lucky that he wasn't there on the day it happened. But... Seeing Pico go from this enthusiastic, still kind of raunchy guy to this a thousand yard stare survivor practically broke his heart.

The flat top poked his head above the bush, trying to spy where his lighter friend had gone. But for some reason... His eyes couldn't spot the other.

Oh hell no.

He raised from the bush, immediately rolling out into the open. He knew what that fucker was doing. You'd think having bright red hair would make it difficult to hide in a dark green Forest and sneak attacks would be significantly harder. But both Pico and Darnell knew that the green that Pico wore was enough to seal his movements. And Pico's training wasn't for nothing. He was as silent as a mouse when he wanted to be.

The only thing that could be heard was the wind attempting to warn the pyromaniac against his trigger happy friend. But, Darnell unfortunately wasn't fluent in 'psscchuuuwwwww psshhnncchhh' so the wind's cries fell upon death ears.

"Hiding? Wow Pico, that's a cowardly thing to do. In character, but cowardly." He taunted, backing up slightly. He knew that Pico would want to jump from behind so he had to press his back against something so Pico couldn't get the jump on him.

Every rustle raised the tension in the air and Darnell knew it. He tossed the water balloon up and down, his senses heightened and reflexes on standby. He waited.

And he waited.

He felt his back press up against something that.. Wasn't the size of a tree.

No no.

It was a fucking gun muzzle.

"Sup handsome."

Was all Darnell heard before the squirting of water struck his back with immediate effect. He cried out in 'agony' and Pico took this motion to pin his best friend under neath him, tackling him to the ground.

Laughter bounced off the two like a rubber ball being hit in a game. Pico sat on Darnell's back, with his water gun pressed against the other's head. Water slid down them as the pair caught their breath.

"I like the feeling of you on me." Darnell teased the red headed knowingly. Pico's pale skin turned pink for a moment, as he let out a slight gig-. No. Pico doesn't giggle. He... Uh... He chuckles?

"I like the look of you under me." He retorted, a smirk on his face as he held his finger on the aquatic trigger. Darnell let that settle in his mind before bursting out again.

"You're a fucking idiot." Pico raised off the other, allowing Darnell to stand up, but not before he pulled Darnell into a sweet summer kiss. A short kiss, but enjoyed by the two nonetheless.

"Round two?" Darnell questioned, trying not to snicker at Pico's deflated face.

"Before another kiss?" He asked, pawing at Nell's shirt playfully. Darnell shoved him off, with a crooked, smug smile.

"If you win this one."

"Oh you are so on!"

#pico #darnell #pico x darnell #darnell x pico #picos school #darnell picos schools #nene is mentioned #pico school trio #fnf pico ig

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stardewnoodles · 1 month

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And I shall lie here, betwixed by love and resolve, unsure which I am loyal to, or if either are even real. Teach me again how to be real.

I had so much fun with this one. Up now on AO3! Or read it below:

“You think Pico did it? He- no, you don’t talk! Shut the fuck up! You don’t scare me. Yous don’t know anything. By the time your “calvary” swooped in, he was finished cappin’ off Cass’s ass. Look at the tapes. Shit, look at the look on Pico’s face. He. Did. Not. Do. It. Cassandra did. She and her goons. She came in, spouted anarchist bullshit, and… why would anyone do that? And he’s the reason you even have a witness, period. Rest of us are dead, missin’, or hidin’ in the lockers you’re checkin’ in the school. Of course it sounds like I’m makin’ it up: an alien disguised as a goth shoots up a school, but as I been tellin’ you, I dunno what else to tell you, other than that. The truth. Go look in the gym. Body’s still warm. Pico saved my life and he saved Nene’s and whoever he could. That bastard did more than your entire pig force could in the same fuckin’ situation. You will give him the time alone he deserves. You will not walk to your ‘media buds’ and tell this city that my best friend is a murderer. He ain’t the hero you want, but he is one.”

“Nice little speech, brat. Look, I want to believe you as much as the last guy, but there’s one issue with your story. I don’t blame you for distrusting us-“

“Cut the shit. Don’t give me your fake ass pity.”

“Okay. Okay. The bullets we’re finding in most of the… school children… the fingerprints match the people you say caused this.”

“Oh, so for once you’re doing your job?”

“BUT there’s a small issue with your story. The alien bit makes no sense.”

“Check again, dumbass! It’s there! It’s-“ 

“There is no body, Darnell. Just a pool of blood dragged out to the playground and a leg. Oh please, don’t look like you’ve seen a ghost, no one could’ve survived that much blood loss.”

“…What?”

It’s a windy summer evening, making it impossible for the lighter to hold a flame for longer than a second. Pico keeps trying to make it last anyway, even as the wind seeps through the fissures in his cupped hand and blows out the light. He nibbles on the cigarette in his mouth, frustration building. The wind practically spits at the bags under his eyes; the sting of rejection by nature hurts as much as people’s do. Too tired, yet not tired enough, to give up. Pico lifts his eyes off the floor. The city doesn’t look like such a dump at night from a high rise balcony. God willing, it’s the perfect place to get shot at while witnessing the light show. The wind would be too harsh to the trajectory of the bullet, they’d need to account for that as he stands there, waiting with open arms. Nothing happens. Pico spits out the cigarette and watches it fall into the dark abyss below. A bad fog is rolling in, so death can’t see him now. His sweater threatens to rip off his body the way the wind is eager to please him, caressing his waist. With Darnell on his way—he texts this, and it could mean anywhere from five minutes to an hour, because that fucker loves to walk home—Pico falls into the restless delusion that this is a message from Darnell. Fate is bullshit. It serves as someone else’s means to an end that a servant of fate blindly follows. On his worst days, he can’t help but see its appeal. Pico blows a kiss to the wind and begs for it to fly off to Darnell. Only fate can be the reason they share this luxurious room. Darnell is a pyro fanatic who happens to be his best friend since childhood. It’s the classic tale of young love. These are one of the days where Pico looks to the city, outstretches his hand, and ponders.

“Darnie,” Pico whispers. “You wouldn’t love me if we weren’t in this together, would you? A freak accident made you step away from college, that’s all, before we met up again. How could you.” The wind howls and laughs at the man deserving of such. “I wonder a lot, uh, you know, if I stole your future from you. You could’ve been the next Oppy, heh. No. No, what am I saying.” Pico rubs his temples, then his eyes, groaning. If his brain is an office, then all the employees have left and the lights are turning off, one by one. “We both know why you’re not with those freaks. Still…” Life could be kinder to his one and only than this. At the cost of stealing the life of another man, Pico lives in a luxury he dreamt of as a kid. The kitchen has a marble-slated counter with a built-in microwave on the side. The refrigerator is behind an ivory wood door and a bronze handle. The bed is a king sized for two, draped with a blue velvet blanket and a thick comforter to make it easier to fall into the clutches of sleep. Each room is a different color. In the main room, the walls are a dark green. In the bedroom, it’s wallpaper of a boat sailing across the ocean, unsure of its destination, but traveling forth all the same. The brown couch is a perfect excuse for a second bed with how soft its fabric and pillows are. That’s not even the best part. The 4K TV hangs on a brick wall that has a gas fireplace built underneath it. The wooden floor is a standard light brown oak series of planks, but the rug in front of the couch is majestic: a handmade rug based off of Pico’s favorite show of all time, Invader Zim. A priceless investment.

Out of the corner of his eye, he glances at the many weapons strung along the ground. Two out of the four are in dire need of repair This apartment room is one of many safe houses scattered across Newgrounds, paid for in full by the blood and tears of his kills. Vigilante is too nice of a word. A vigilante is supposed to be a hero in some way, shape, or form. Pico is no symbol of hope; he’s the reason windows have locks and figures in power, lurking in the shadows, have twenty men instead of five by their side. There is no side, usually. It’s the money that counts. He’s a bounty hunter, plain and simple, who rarely refuses an offer. A person who blends in with the crowd seamlessly, able to hook Newgrounds like a fish to bait. Despite this, he is simultaneously the very person they never want to meet in their entire life. It turns his gut into a Fruit Roll-up, but he must admit (oh yes, Pico licks his lips to it), the initial shock, the realization, it never gets old. He has to keep it fresh, or else it’s too boring. Raw human emotion is on the same level of eating strawberries the first day he buys them. They are succulent, ripe, and oh so juicy in a way that sticks with him until the next batch. It’s so fresh it gives his mouth an orgasm as it runs down the corner of his lips. Pico taps a finger against the railing. The taste is slightly different, batch after batch. Similarly, no one person evokes the same response to a topic. How delicious. Sophomore high school literature said that, at least. Pico steps back inside and closes the sliding door. The roar of the wind is forgotten by the soothing crackle of false embers.

A whisper comes from the gas. Pico gets close to the fire, cocking his head at the heat brushing against his face. The allure is still there in the form of the frustrated dance of the flames, anger begging to be unleashed. A faint outcry can be heard the longer Pico stares at the fireplace. Something calling to him with such bitterness, the flames may as well be spitting in his face. There are enough people to count on one hand who he’s heard with such hatred. He cautiously reaches out to it. The fire suddenly bursts with new life and swipes Pico’s right hand away. A hundred microscopic bullets tear through the inside of his flesh. His eyes widen in shock when he looks at his hand. The heat, which was meant to be cool at all times, was hot enough to add another battle scar to the collection in a mere second. Pico licks his dry lips. Hot as hellfire.

“Shit!” An issue with the gas? A warning? What else could it be? Pico shuts it off quickly and kisses the new burn mark on his hand. It’s right next to the other hand he sustained over two years ago when Cassandra… “Everything fucking breaks that I touch!” Pico shouts at himself, pissed off, embarrassed. Static sets in. It’s so loud in his head, blaring like the theater, but he can’t leave, he’s glued to the floor.

A rap at the door echoes inside the room. Pico draws the uzi strapped to his waist, ignoring the sharp pain running up his right hand, then up his arm. The safety flicks off easily. The fire dies down, its noise in his head replaced by the roaring static and the drumming beat of his heart. The average draw time of a lousy shooter is one and a half seconds. A better one, maybe a second. The best, six tenths of a second. Taking into account the fact that this is a safe house and he knows nobody else here, he has to assume they’re good at their craft. He either shoots the moment their gun crosses the safety of the hallway or dies. No, he has no idea who it is, he can’t shoot immediately. A shadow blocks light from crawling under the door. Keys jangle as the intruder figures out which one to use. Pico squints. Any second now, and then the noise will stop. Any second now, and he’ll have to worry about buying 5 gallons of bleach. Any second now—

“God damn it, which one of these damn things is it?!” An irritated voice hisses from the other side of the door, just as the lock turns and the door swings open. The static dissipates. Pico lowers his uzi, clutching at his head. Stupid fucking faggot , he grits his teeth, cursing at himself. Look at you . “Peeks? You look like you’ve seen a ghost, or a demon, or some crazy type shit. You good?” Darnell’s wearing his white sweater and jeans today instead of a flaunting hoodie to blend in more with the crowd. He’s been trying new styles lately, this time with a touch of black lipstick he smacks his lips on. His hair has been cut down from a tall flattop to box braids reaching his neck. He got the haircut last week, and it still leaves Pico in awe. He’s gorgeous, divine, raw. “You’re wearing my hoodie again.” Pico clicks the safety on and straps the uzi back to his waist. He takes off his gun belt and tosses it onto the couch.

“Is there a problem with it?” Pico sighs deeply. He tugs at Darnell’s purple and yellow hoodie. It smells like him. It’s soft like him. “Thought you were someone else. You didn’t knock five times, just twice.”

“Oh, I was supposed to- oh shit, I was. I’m sorry man, I totally forgot. '' In his hands, Darnell has two black plastic bags that he grips tightly. They’re lightly covered in rain drops, a sign of the coming storm looming over Newgrounds. Pico looks out the window. Bleak clouds steal the sunlight and use it for their own machinations, absorbing each other like an amoeba. As if on queue, thunder rumbles in the distance. Darnell drops the bags and kneels down to inspect Pico’s hand. Darnell’s face distorts, as if he cannot believe what he’s seeing. He blinks a few times, making sure it isn’t a hallucination engraved on Pico’s hand. Darnell inhales and exhales sharply. “Fail at cookin’ again?” He says with a weak smile.

“No, no the uh… the fireplace.” Pico raises a brow at Darnell, but Darnell doesn’t leave him time to counter with his own question.

“That shouldn’t cause a burn. It ain’t real one in the first place. The gas is only hot enough to keep the cold out of this place. Yeah, that’s hot, but not hot enough to do that.”

“I know, but it did. It lunged at me like it had a bone to pick with me. Really fucking weird. It felt like being bitten. Reminded me of…” A lump gets stuck in Pico’s throat. The word cannot properly form and be uttered, even after all this time. What a coward he was. “You know…”

“She’s, uh,” Darnell pauses, biting his lower lip. He clears his throat. “She’s dead, dude, and last I checked the only person who could maybe revive the dead is busy rearrangin’ your ex’s guts and on our side. I’m sure it’s just a fault with the gas line. I’ll call about it tomorrow.” Darnell squeezes Pico’s hand affectionately before letting go. “Weird burn tat, though.” Part of the training Pico’s father made him endure was the reading of emotions through tonal shifts and a person’s eyes. Slight twitches and awkward shuffles reveal truths that were meant to stay buried. Pico can dig them up, and Darnell, here in the room with him, looks at his hand with fear.

“Huh?” Pico hasn’t been paying attention. Earlier it was too red to make out, but now that it’s settled, he can’t rub out of his eyes what he sees. It’s real. A fiery, distorted, inverted cross. Pico shudders. “Darnie! You don’t find that crazy?! Not at all?! Are you nuts?!” Pico whispers, venom in his tone, afraid of speaking out loud in case the tiny ignition flame that burns day in and day out is listening. Darnell jumps. He rubs his lips with a finger; he does it whenever he’s lost in deep thought, pondering the unknown.

“I’m out there, small time inventor with some fireworks on the side, not a D&D Necromancer. Ain’t nobody but the Dearest fam is, and they’re literal demons. Peeks.” Darnell urges his lover to think about anything else in the known universe. Pico chuckles at Darnell. Small time inventor is one way to describe a pyromaniac. He knows no harm can come to him when said pyromaniac is in the room with him, but he can’t rip his gaze away from the imprint on his hand. Maybe… maybe… maybe? Pico shakes his head. “Well,” Darnell claps his hands together. It brings Pico back to reality. “I did buy some new gloves for your motorcycle ‘cause you whined about it every day to me for the last two weeks. You wanna try them on?” Darnell eases out of the topic while rubbing Pico’s back and sits down with him. He presses the tip of his fingers against the aching muscles in his back. Pico forces down the rising whines of affection.

“Yeah. Yeah.” Pico nods to make his decision clear. Darnell takes the fingerless gloves out of the first bag. They’re purple and the same striking shade as Darnell’s hoodie. It’s a thick material with velcro straps. He puts them on with the help of Darnell, who slowly slides them onto his boyfriend’s hands. As Pico tightens the strap, Darnell rubs a thumb against Pico’s palm. The ginger’s cheeks paint themselves pink.

“Shit’s fire with the hoodie.” Darnell kisses Pico’s glove, looking into Pico’s eyes as if he is royalty. A chill spreads through his veins the moment after Darnell made contact with the glove, taming the wildfire in his hand. The heat travels elsewhere. Pico’s face turns red as a pepper. “I been doin’ the wrong thing, not lettin’ you wear my favorite hoodie more often. You sho seem to love it.”

“Shut up.” Pico says with a wide smile. He balls his hands into a fist. The pain is gone. “Thanks. Really, thanks.” He debates making out with Darnell, exploring the feel of the gloves against Darnell’s hairy chest. He decides against it; now isn’t the time, as much as his body screams at the slightest signs of affection. “What else you get?” Pico turns his attention back to the windows. Thunder booms outside the apartment building. Lightning flickers in the distance—nature’s alarm has been set off. Pico counts the seconds between each strike. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Another clap of thunder. One, two, three, four, five. Thunder rumbles the building and lightning touches down like an SOS, a call to get inside and stay inside. He turns back to Darnell, who’s holding two matching motorcycle helmets. Streaks of black lightning decorate the top, with an explosion of different shades of purple, like fireworks molding into each other, covering the rest. The visor, with its sleek black shade, blocks out UV rays from the sun to make driving easier. Pico notices how easy it is to see the inside of the helmet despite this. Another thing he notices: they are the perfect size for Pico and Darnell, respectively. Finally, the cushioned interior makes it wear for long periods of time without causing the annoying throbbing Pico is used to. It’s meant for Pico, no one else. It’s perfect. The craftsmanship could’ve only been done by one person in the whole world. “Darnie, you made these?” Pico asks, despite knowing the answer. Darnell gives a devilish grin. Pico wipes the grin off his face with a kiss to the lips, leaning over to roughly press against his. Darnell gingerly sets down his helmet before wrapping Pico in a bear hug. Darnell smells of ash and weed; it’s pungent, leaving the ginger dazed. He allows his body to sag into his lover’s arms, who tugs at his hoodie to brush a finger against Pico’s back. Kisses meet the freckles on Pico’s cheeks to form a constellation out of black lipstick. The longer Darnell goes at it, the more it smears, the less Pico can hang onto reality. It’s messy, how they like it, with tongues clashing and lips dragging. Darnell presses back harder. Pico’s eyes roll back. He is afraid to lose his grip, fall endlessly into the abyss, but Darnell’s hand interlocks with his gloved one and keeps him afloat. Their passion drowns out the rolling thunder. Pico opens one eye to look at Darnell. His eyes are fluttering, with sparks exploding inside of them. He’s still grinning. He’s in love, somehow, and Pico wishes he knew why. Darnell runs a finger up Pico’s back, but Pico wants to shy away from Darnell. Stop, stop! His brain shuts off, hurls itself into the void. He wipes saliva off of his mouth.

“Peeks? You drawlin’ again? Did I do something wrong?” Pico stares at the floor to try and escape. He opens his mouth, then closes it. He opens it again, this time forcing out the question looming over him like his shadow.

“Why do you love me? What… What the hell is there to love? We’re five months into this and I still can’t… I don’t get it. Fuck, man.” Darnell furrows his brows. He thrusts Pico’s helmet into his chest. “The fu-“

“Get it on. We’re goin’ out.” Darnell ruffles Pico’s hair and stands up, grabbing his coat by the door. He’s quick to move, agitated, hastily foraging the drawer by the door for the motorcycle keys.

“Going out? That storm’s going to wreck through here in, like, ten minutes! It’s gonna be shit!”

“Better bring a raincoat then so ya don’t ruin my hoodie. Trust me.” Darnell is calm, assuring. Pico’s soul flutters, warming his body. Pico does. Pico does with his heart and every drop of blood pumping through it. The worries fade. His heart blossoms.

“Bet.” Where Darnell goes, Pico follows, and so he follows.

III

Nene was quick to flee the graduation party scene and find a wall to lean on and a cigarette to smoke down to a stub. No one had been to class since the massacre, but rules were rules, and a ceremony had to be held for the remaining graduating class. “To safeguard their future endeavors and commemorate their resilience,” the Dean of Students stated in an interview the next day. Pico never showed up. His diploma was mailed to the current house his father lived at, since his mother had passed a year prior. Darnell clutches his heart. He’s ashamed to admit he hoped for this outcome. Nene hears Darnell’s footsteps before he sees her. When he rounds the corner to greet her, her cigarette is ready to melt his eyeball.

“Fuckin’ A, woman!” Nene giggles and goes back to dragging on the cigarette. They stand in silence, watching crows circle the school’s leftover property, as if there’s still blood to be found.

“We’re not going to college.” Nene states it as a fact, not a question, and even though Darnell shrugs, he knows she’s right. “Not like we planned on it in the first place. We’re maniacs, the three of us, destined for greater things.”

“Does that destiny include this shit?” Nene looks away, twirling the cigarette, making the smoke dance for her amusement. The risk of burning herself is alluring.

“I’m just saying. I’ve managed to get to Pico over the phone. He’s thinking about continuing what his father thought about starting after his wartime. Sounds like a hell of a time. I may join in.” Darnell stares at her, dumbfounded. Nene flicks the cigarette into the sewage vent by her feet, blowing ash off her hand. “Bounty Hunting. Does he tell you nothing? You’re supposed to be his BFF: Bro’s Faggot Forever.” Darnell rolls his eyes. “You should laugh or I’ll burn off your hair.”

“Haha.” Darnell retorts in a deadpan voice. He rubs his arm nervously. Being a mercenary sounds exactly as Nene put it, a hell of a time. They’d be able to make a load of money off of it. Even if the massacre didn’t happen, all three are adept in methods of killing. Cutting loose after all of this sounds like the best thing to do. Darnell weighs his options. The real world is a boring repetition of waking up for a job you hate and a life you wish you never had. Most people, on average, only achieve happiness in their 40s, unless they have rich parents. Darnell shakes his head. He takes this, he can skip more than twenty wasted years of his life.

Pico will be kept in his sights.

“I ain’t feelin’ good about this.” Darnell lies. Nene punches him in the arm.

“Mhm, don’t be such a pussy. Hey, didn’t you want to talk to me about something?” She asks while playing with spit in her mouth. A shiver runs up Darnell’s spine. He slowly nods.

“They never found Cassandra’s body, only a body part .” Nene chokes on her spit, doubles over, lungs clawing at her trachea. “I can’t tell Pico this, but you-”

“That bitch! She could still be out there! We gotta get her! We got to grind that bitch to dust! Then burn the dust!”

“Sssshhhh!” Darnell covers Nene’s mouth. She glares at him and licks his hand. He recoils back, wiping the saliva off on his graduation gown. “Fuckin’ gross. There’s no way she’s alive. They say the blood left behind is enough to be fatal.”

“Cops will say anything, Darnell, you should know this.” Nene drops her head. “I get why you want to believe it. What a fucking joke. All the shit Pico did for nothing, then.” Darnell wraps an arm around Nene’s shoulder, pulling her close. She pleads to whatever higher power may exist that they aren’t plotting the worst joke of the 21st century. “If anything happens, he’ll shoot you in the face for not telling him before storming off after her.” Darnell frowns. He’s motionless, but not like a statue. Rather, he acts like pudding.

“If he finds out, I don’t think he’ll recover. Nene, we have to see how this plays out. We have to act clueless. I can’t lose him, too. I miss our third musketeer. I want him to live. I want him to smile again.”

Pico’s beaming smile reveals his missing tooth. It brings life to Darnell, and Darnell has to wipe a tear from his eye after he takes his helmet off. No, it can’t be. Darnell never cries, everyone knows that. Pico parks the motorcycle under the giant tree overlooking Newgrounds. Pico doesn’t pester. Surely, he thinks, it’s one of the many raindrops coming down. They run for cover under a garden dome that is closer to the cliff’s edge. They hop over the CAUTION railing and dash into the old rusty dome. They’re careful not to trample over daisies surrounding the stairs. It was made out of metal and silver, a gift to the first mayor of Newgrounds when the town was founded over a century ago. It’s seen three reconstructions in one hundred years, stripping it of rust and remodeling it to the image the founders intended. Regardless, rust and age return without fail. Another remodeling will soon be planned to hide its age, but it will be unmasked again in the future, and the cycle will repeat itself. Their helmets are placed on the soaked metal bench. The design is so bright, he wonders if it can be seen from Newgrounds. Darnell sits down, catching his breath, shivering at the water sticking to his butt. Pico cups his hands and shouts. Raindrops drip from their clothing like a leaking faucet. The dome gives the impression of a circular waterfall coming down from heaven, minus a small clearing that gives the perfect view of Newgrounds thanks to a protruding metal arrow that points north.

“WOOOO!” It comes back from the city, the trees, the sky, the stars, here on the cliffside. Pico’s pale eyes glow yellow as he stares at Newgrounds from afar. From here, the city is a petite Christmas decoration. Its lights illuminate the darkness in his mind and form twisted shadows in places he’d never think to look. Pine trees swaying in the wind give barely any protection from the downpour, but the taste of their sap reaches the lover’s tongues. The damp ground exposes the earth’s scent to civilization once again. Mud, grass, flowers, pinecones, all work in tandem to bring Pico to a calm state of mind. The rain is too loud to tear his thoughts from Darnell. Darnell, the fire that ignites passion, the only flame he’d reach out and risk holding close. “I can’t believe I’ve never been here!” Pico shouts over the torrential rain.

“Now you have, bozo! Ain’t it cool?!”

“Fuck yes!” Pico twirls around, taking in the sights and smells. He trips on his own foot and falls into Darnell’s arms, who reacts quickly enough to stand up and catch him. The raindrops cannot hide his blush. He brushes the water off of Darnell’s face with his gloves. His cheeks, Pico notes, warm his hands underneath the fabric. The fire in his eyes keeps his body warm.

“You asked why I love ya.” Darnell snakes his arms around Pico’s chest. Pico can barely keep his breathing steady once Darnell locks his hands together, trapping Pico. Each word pouring out of Darnell’s mouth, down to the syllable, rubs on his lips like a kiss. The ruthless bounty hunter crumbles and burns when Darnell plants a kiss on his forehead, which he can feel even after his lips depart. Pico whines, submits himself. He dares not touch it, fearing the black lipstick would then run down his face and ruin such a gift. The rain patters above, muffled by Darnell’s words. “I be seein’ an answer written on your face. Should look in the mirror more and see the man I’m seein’.” Another kiss. The two lingering kisses massage his mind. Pico’s breathing becomes erratic. “You’ve never been, and never will be, Cass’ mutt. She’s not who you are. You’re the one who ran on hellfire and came back swingin’. You’ve grown so much. And her?” Darnell lets out a heavy sigh. He looks away from Pico momentarily, then focuses his gaze back on him to keep him entranced. Receiving any sort of acknowledgement hits Pico where it hurts–the heart. He fights back tears, lips quivering. “Got all the qualities I love, too. Total bitch who never stops for nobody. Tough. Strong. Cute.”

“My father would be disappointed.” Pico mumbles with bright red cheeks. Darnell shakes his head.

“Tsk, tsk. We don’t care what he thinks in this house. I had no idea where to go, or who to trust, and you took my hand anyway like we never stopped seein’ each other. Saved me about as many times as I saved you. Ain’t nobody able to keep up with me but you. That’s besides the point. Look, Pico, you could be none of these things, you could still be that damned nerdy runt with glasses and braces who decided to book it to college, and I’d still sneak into your dorm and count stars on your face.”

“Why?”

“When I say I love you, I mean I love you . Not the bullshit you think you need to be. You .” The knot keeping Pico calm, collected, unwavering, snaps. You–the sharpened word was strong enough to cut deep into his soul. His duel against his pent up emotions has at last ended. Pico lets go of Darnell, slumps down to the ground, fists clenched. He trembles, and it isn’t from the cold. It begins to rain inside the garden dome.

“Me.” Pico chokes on the word as tears fall. Darnell sits back down, this time on the metallic floor, with his legs outstretched. He pats his thigh and softly smiles at Pico, who understands immediately what is being offered, and crawls over like a sick dog and lays his head on Darnell’s lap. “Darnie…”

“It’s all good. No one’s gonna hear you here.” The haunting flames Darnell sought to push back are quenched. Pico twitches in his grasp. His assurance washes over Pico, who curls up and bawls like a child. Not a soul is able to hear his cries over the fury of the rain except his boyfriend.

#fnf pico #picos school #friday night funkin #pico newgrounds #pico x darnell #fnf darnell #darnell newgrounds #your honor they are really gay

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