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ton-e · 4 years

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Lol ok so I didn't wanna do aesthetics so I wanna brainstorm possible scenes instead

Ok so the premise is, basically, Viktor, an aspiring kid looking to enter this straining affair of the boxing world. He's young and impressionable and he's got something to say. Something that old underground New York pubs and junior gyms don't provide enough eco for.

Barnes, a big shot star in the 80s, is pretty much known as the best of the best there, holding the impressive score of 34-1. (Tho I don't know if it can count as a victory since he wasn't even there for the fight, anyway) but after a near fatal shooting which happened right before his big championship match with Rollins, a bullet piercing his right shoulder which leads to the amputation of his limb, he dissapears into the shadows. The world moves on.

I like the idea of Barnes being trained by Mary who was in his exact same spot years ago but had to give up her career to have Anthony which she doesn't regret! Between her heart problems and the growing annoyance of public attention, a baby is practically a blessing and if it puts Jarvis and Howie to rest then it's a bonus. (I also kind of like the idea of her having only losing once and it was against Maria lol)

And maybe Viktor goes to her first but, while she does seem fond, like she's looking at an old memory twice, she refuses. "Kid, I'm gonna tell you exactly what I told my old pain in the ass when he stood in your spot: I can't."

"Why?"

"Because us Carbonells train to kill, not fight. Alright, what you think boxing is, - this cookie-cutter bullshit version you kids have today? The civilized conversation, the heavy editing, the contracts promising defenses, - that doesn't mean shit. Apollo Creed had a contract.

Muhammed Ali had a contract. So did Jimmy Doyle, Frankie Cambell, and Brad Connels. A sheet of paper can't protect you from the ring, and I'm not having another kid on my conscience. Besides, these guys? They have purpose. Whether it's money, or sport, or just to chase the high - they have it. You just want the glory."

"Yeah? So what?" So what if he wants to be seen? So what if he's doing all of this hoping to impress? So what if he has to prove he's worth someone's time. "If I die I die. Big deal."

For some reason, he wants to both cry and retaliate at the look of pity that crosses her face. "Go home, kid. You're gonna break your momma's heart." Are his last words to him before she closes the door.

In a Viktor fashion, he does the exact opposite.

He likes the street fighting, - the vibrations under his fists, the crack of his bones, the violent taste of crimson metal blossoming in his mouth, it's liberating. He doesn't think about anything. It's just him and his adversary, not an enemy, just someone seeing him as Viktor sees them. That rush could ruin a man.

It doesn't hurt he's making pocket money on the side, either. Certainly better than watching some snotty kids or mowing laws, in his book.

No, what kind of hurts is seeing the sharp scrutiny in Aleksei's sharp eye and the soft disappointment uncovering Ryurik's Dad Stare when they come pick him up from the station.

He and his mother are alike a lot in that aspect, - really he's pretty sure the five, Sasha and him have had an agreement to collectively throw themselves off a cliff if they disappointed Ryurik in some way. A broken arm, bruised ribs, and black eye? Pale in comparison to what Ryurik's power really holds.

I refuse to believe Aleksei doesn't freely parent other people's kids sksk Aleksei only stops scolding him when a police officer says ''He's going to spend the first part of his life in the streets, and the other in the grave. I put my life on it." Well a certain fashion teacher is gonna design the outfit for your funeral BITCH-

"You're so damn lucky Talusha was busy digging her medicure through someone's intestines right now. Do you even know how bad you look right now? Of the mountain of trouble you're into? Are you? Viktor Iosef Novak, you look at me when I'm talking to you, -"

"Relax, relax, take it down to a two, " Viktor pushes back a laugh watching Ryurik placate his husband bc it's just cute, and ignores the shush river of Russian pet names bc they're not for him to hear. It makes him feel vulnerable tho, that Ryurik feels the need to somehow hold Aleksei back. He can take the heat just fine.

He can take it and give it just as good, because every battle he's been into before has been on his own name. But this is harder because it was never a fight, to begin with.

Fighting is easy. Stopping is harder.

It doesn't stop feeling bad when Sasha bandages his wounds and his back doesn't cool town from the target five pair of eyes fixate on. Yasha's burn the hardest thought. "The fuck you looking at?" He playfully glares, the good part of his shoulder bumping against the other boy's, who tries to small but it lifts with a strain.

"An idiot."

"Are you looking for a mirror?"

"Fuck you, Vitya."

"Hard pass."

"Okay, Viktor you're not getting away that easy, " Ronin says, arms still bound tightly around Antoska's slender shoulders and Sasha's frail middle. Despite his easy going tone, Viktor uncovers the touch of concern underneath. "Why can't you just ask your mom to teach you? Or Papa? I mean, you want to be on a knuckle sandwich diet be my guest, but it's not really good for digestion from what I hear."

"It's not the same. Your father knows another kind of style."

'He doesn't want to learn from mom and uncle Ryurik because she's a girl,' Sasha signes irritably, eyes making an impressive tumble. 'My brother, the 14 year old, making sexist comment. What a never heard of fact.'

"I didn't say that!" He exclaims, flushed. Hissing when Natalia kicks him in the tender bruise he sports on his hip. "I just said, that I want to learn boxing! And that's not the same thing as what Ma does, or you guys do. Boxing is special. But if I can't learn from Barnes specifically, then there's no point!"

The red head huffs in indignation. "Okay, so, boo hoo, some washed-up Rocky Balboa doesn't want to train you. You have options, V. People give up over worse."

He doesn't feel like being home anymore, so he flees, the call outs to his name going ignored. in the street or just outside, he doesn't know. He just knows red follows him, that concrete shakes under the stomp of his heel and that the wetness on his cheeks freezes on his face. No one gets it, no one gets HIM. It hurts, that a part of him, the part that tells him he's worthless and insignificant and forgetful , really does think Barnes has better things to do than train him.

A sleek car, long, vintage, a touch too expensive for the streets he's haunting right now, stops beside him. He continues. It follows him, engines unusually quiet.

"Mr. Novak?" A deep voice, subdued, but persuasive nonethelesss coerces him into stopping. The windows roll down, revealing a man with a smile too friendly to be true and eyes too kind to be nondeceiving. "My name is Alexander Pierce. And I happen to have an irresistible offer."

"It's in the process of extension, " Pierce expresses later, as he leads Viktor through the underground fighting bar. Its practically a huge stadium in a molehill and his mind struggles to compute how Pierce pulled it off. "I'm looking for capable young talents to craft into tomorrow's brightest stars. I'm assuming you've heard of Rumlow before?"

"Crossbones? 23-2? Yeah, I heard. He's currently heavyweight champ, right?" Barnes should have been, he wants to say, but reading the room better he thinks against it. "I don't... Actually think I've seen him around much. Maybe since '98, but that's his most recent match. What's ... Up with that?"

"He's kept that belt around him for closer than two decades. Id say its time for some adjuments in the records, don't you agree?" He doesn't like it when Pierce smiles. Bad things happen when he smiles, of that Viktor is certain. "That being said. I think you could be our following breakthrough. What do you say? I'd love to see a performance. "

"I'd be surprised if you guys had a Juniors league." He snorts, expecting a smart retort, but all he gets is a sinister grin. All of a sudden he's in the ring, without even noticing he was moved, and before him stands a beast of a man, two heads taller and promise of pain in his eyes. "... What juice do you give this kid?"

"You're charismatic. You'll need that in this world. He's your adversary for tonight. I'd suggest an old fashioned glove bump for the sake of sport, but, seeing as you're barehanded id advise against it. "

"You can't do that, " nervousness bubbles in his throat. "That's against the rules. I can't fight like that."

"Oh! Don't worry. You don't have to fight. You just have to die."

The last time Rumlow sees Barnes is on a stretcher, arm bathed in blood and with the press around an ambulance.

He doesn't know what they were. Fuck buddies to almost friends to friends with benefits? He doesn't know what he had, but he knows he lost it. All he has is a sheet of paper with scratched blue ink, digits that no longer call, and some gold on leather.

"You should treat that belt with more respect. " Rollins scolds him. Rumlow uses it as feet rest next, and doesn't flinch at the sharp slap he receives. Instead, he smiles mockingly, lower lip sticking out in a tempting pout.

"Hit a bit harder next time and maybe it'll be half close to how Barnes used to do it. Just because it felt good with him doesn't mean you'll receive the same response." The pout slips into a smile that drinks into the frustration sizzling around the air. "Besides, I don't listen to cowards, Jackie. Thought we established that."

"Oh, please. Are you ever going to let that go? I ain't gonna repeat it a thousand times till you get It through that hard head of yours, but I didn't shoot your boy toy."

'' I didn't say you shot him. Pussy like yourself, I'm thinking you hired someone. Why did you do it? Hm? Were you that scared to fight him that you wanted to kill him? Hell, I don't blame you. Man sprints like Ali and serves like Creed. "

It's Jack's turn to return that grin, that fucking blood-curling grin. " Used to, for sure. Remember when he fucked up your pretty face in '84. Now? He's a street rat barely getting by, sniffing after junk and scraps just to stay alive. Must be hard to think about, I guess, that he used to give it so good and now he can't even hold you, can't he? Not with his cripple self. "

The beer can in Rumlow's hand spills over. Neither comment. "I ain't afraid of no half-man, Brocky, " Honey-sweet words make him sick. He wants to kick Jack out, but they both know he won't stay away, and that Rumlow won't keep him away. He's too dependent on him at this point. "And not stupid enough to think he's coming back."

"... You're right. You're not afraid to fight him. You've got a lot of words worth to point the finger at, but chicken shit? Ain't one of them. You know what I think?" Rumlow sits back, smirk wide and nasty, contradicting the sadness on his tongue, the venom, the tired. " I think you were afraid to be him. That he just? Didn't give a shit. Just like I did. That he could fuck me whenever and wherever he damn well pleased without giving a shit about who had something to say about it.

You were afraid I'd say something about you, even if we both damn well know that never happened, that he found out. I think you were terrified he was gonna tell the world Jack Rollins was a faggot just like his daddy."

He can't snapshot the moment his body makes contact to the floor. He doesn't count the punches either, letting them numb over his face, no longer present for the beating. At around one point, his neck snaps to the TV screen, in sync with Jack ceasing his onslaught, and his eyeballs follow his stunned gaze.

Rumlow can recall the time Barnes lost his right hand.

And he'll brain engrave the image of him kncoking some goon out with his left.

#yeah its rushed but jsjsjs #i was impatient T-T hope this is half decent :>#earth 518 #boxing au #viktor soklov #mary #aleksei vasilliev #aleksei orlov #ryurik orlov #yasha orlov #natalia orlov #ronin orlov #sasha nikolaeva #talia novak #barnes #rumlow #barneslow #tw homophobia #tw slurs

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