![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
WIP: Sweet Pea(nut) [Left 4 Dead 2]
desktop PC still not here >:[
in more positive news (for me) at least i am writing noticeably more than 100 words a day! (now watch as i spend like, a week not being able to write ANYTHING, because that's how inspiration works!)
anyway, today's offering is pure, unadulterated crack. it's also unfinished and unedited, so click the lj-cut at your own risk.
Title: Sweet Pea(nut)
Fandom: Left 4 Dead 2
Characters: The survivors, L'il Peanut
Rating: PG-13 for language
Words: 856
Summary: The epic love story between a jaded con-artist and a...carnival mascot peanut? what is this
Notes: so uh, this was inspired by a request at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
left4bed that just kept expanding in my head into a full-fledged fic, oh noes. I APOLOGIZE PROFUSELY. XD
---
“I do not like that little peanut man.”
“Aw, c'mon Nick, L'il Peanut is awesome!” Ellis walked up to the flimsy wooden stand and put his arm around...well, L'il Peanut didn't have shoulders, not really, but that sure has hell didn't stop Ellis from getting his arm around the peanut thing like it was his best friend in the world. Ellis beamed, as if hanging out with a giant, sentient peanut in a baseball cap and overalls was, in fact, awesome, and not just stupid beyond all reason. “See?”
Nick didn't see. Ok, he did understand why Ellis would like it, obviously the two shared the same fashion sense and it became clearer to Nick everyday that Ellis had suffered some horrific childhood trauma that made him incapable of accepting dumb shit as dumb shit – but for any rational human being, L'il Peanut was just a creepy carnival mascot whose wide, mysteriously toothy smile and bulbous, joyous eyes were begging to be punched. Nick, never one to refuse an invitation, happily obliged. His fist connected with L'il Peanut's face with a satisfying crunch, balsa wood flying everywhere. Ellis gaped at Nick in abject horror.
“Why would ya do something like that?”
“He was asking for it,” Nick said, nonchalantly crushing the peanut's severed head...like...region...under his dress shoes.
“Man, you are one cold-hearted sonofabitch,” Ellis said, and shook his head. “All he wanted to do was make sure you was tall enough for the ride! It's like, you ain't got no soul or somethin'.”
Nick rolled his eyes. He was getting fed up with hearing the other survivors complain about his “negative attitude.” They were smack in the middle of a freaking zombie apocalypse, and no amount of looking on the bright side or stopping to smell the roses would change that. In fact, doing either of those things would probably get them all killed. Given that everyone else insisted on expressing completely illogical desires – like making crappy, ass-fattening carnie food, or playing gallery games to win an utterly useless garden gnome, or riding child-sized cars in a circle for ten minutes straight – Nick considered it his duty to rain on their parade, (or carnival) if only to keep them from getting ripped to shreds by zombie clowns.
Nick turned away from Ellis, who at this point felt the need to piece together the broken L'il Peanut stand like it was freaking Humpty-Dumpty, and tried to find out what Rochelle and Coach were doing. Hopefully something useful, like killing some fucking zombies.
They were doing no such thing. Rochelle and Coach stood in front of one of the cotton candy stalls, gazing at the cotton-candy machine inside with a frightening intensity.
“You know, I sometimes made cotton candy for the school fair,” Coach said thoughtfully, licking his lips. “I seen these kinda machines before. Don't make too much noise, from what I remember.”
“It's been a long time since I had cotton candy.” Rochelle looked at the bright, slightly off-colored photos of happy carnival goers waving clouds of the sugary treat with unabashed longing. She shifted the gnome – the goddamn gnome they'd won from that goddamn shooting gallery game Ellis had insisted they play – from one arm to the other. Nick couldn't believe she was still lugging it around. “Does sugar go bad?”
Nick decided that now would be a good time to loudly reload his assault rifle, just to remind the two of just what the fuck was going on. “Doesn't matter – we need to get moving.” When Rochelle turned to look at him, a vaguely pleading look on her face, Nick felt the need to add: “Cotton candy blows, anyway. And that gnome? Fugly as hell.”
“Damn, those zombies kill your inner child or something?” Rochelle snapped. She pulled the gnome closer to her and brushed off a spot of blood and gristle from its shiny red hat – was she beating the zombies with that thing? Why was he the only sane one left?
“Don't let him bother you, little sister,” Coach said, looking at Nick through narrowed, judgmental eyes. “Some people, they just born full 'a piss and vinegar.”
“Jesus Christ, I can't believe you people,” Nick growled, turning sharply on his heel and heading for the Kiddieland exit. They were probably going to die horribly no matter what they did, but Nick was not going to bite it while waiting for a batch of cotton candy.
“And we can't believe you, Nick,” Coach said sagely. “We can't believe you.”
“Yeah!” Ellis said, who had apparently given up the ghost of L'il Peanut and rejoined them during the ensuing cotton candy conversation. “Did y'all know he just beat the stuffing out of L'il Peanut? For no reason 't'all!”
“You mean that cute little mascot?” Rochelle frowned. “Aw, that is pretty mean.”
Nick ground his teeth. “I hope the zombies eat you. All of you.”
He stormed off, the other survivors trailing behind him.
in more positive news (for me) at least i am writing noticeably more than 100 words a day! (now watch as i spend like, a week not being able to write ANYTHING, because that's how inspiration works!)
anyway, today's offering is pure, unadulterated crack. it's also unfinished and unedited, so click the lj-cut at your own risk.
Title: Sweet Pea(nut)
Fandom: Left 4 Dead 2
Characters: The survivors, L'il Peanut
Rating: PG-13 for language
Words: 856
Summary: The epic love story between a jaded con-artist and a...carnival mascot peanut? what is this
Notes: so uh, this was inspired by a request at
left4bed that just kept expanding in my head into a full-fledged fic, oh noes. I APOLOGIZE PROFUSELY. XD---
“I do not like that little peanut man.”
“Aw, c'mon Nick, L'il Peanut is awesome!” Ellis walked up to the flimsy wooden stand and put his arm around...well, L'il Peanut didn't have shoulders, not really, but that sure has hell didn't stop Ellis from getting his arm around the peanut thing like it was his best friend in the world. Ellis beamed, as if hanging out with a giant, sentient peanut in a baseball cap and overalls was, in fact, awesome, and not just stupid beyond all reason. “See?”
Nick didn't see. Ok, he did understand why Ellis would like it, obviously the two shared the same fashion sense and it became clearer to Nick everyday that Ellis had suffered some horrific childhood trauma that made him incapable of accepting dumb shit as dumb shit – but for any rational human being, L'il Peanut was just a creepy carnival mascot whose wide, mysteriously toothy smile and bulbous, joyous eyes were begging to be punched. Nick, never one to refuse an invitation, happily obliged. His fist connected with L'il Peanut's face with a satisfying crunch, balsa wood flying everywhere. Ellis gaped at Nick in abject horror.
“Why would ya do something like that?”
“He was asking for it,” Nick said, nonchalantly crushing the peanut's severed head...like...region...under his dress shoes.
“Man, you are one cold-hearted sonofabitch,” Ellis said, and shook his head. “All he wanted to do was make sure you was tall enough for the ride! It's like, you ain't got no soul or somethin'.”
Nick rolled his eyes. He was getting fed up with hearing the other survivors complain about his “negative attitude.” They were smack in the middle of a freaking zombie apocalypse, and no amount of looking on the bright side or stopping to smell the roses would change that. In fact, doing either of those things would probably get them all killed. Given that everyone else insisted on expressing completely illogical desires – like making crappy, ass-fattening carnie food, or playing gallery games to win an utterly useless garden gnome, or riding child-sized cars in a circle for ten minutes straight – Nick considered it his duty to rain on their parade, (or carnival) if only to keep them from getting ripped to shreds by zombie clowns.
Nick turned away from Ellis, who at this point felt the need to piece together the broken L'il Peanut stand like it was freaking Humpty-Dumpty, and tried to find out what Rochelle and Coach were doing. Hopefully something useful, like killing some fucking zombies.
They were doing no such thing. Rochelle and Coach stood in front of one of the cotton candy stalls, gazing at the cotton-candy machine inside with a frightening intensity.
“You know, I sometimes made cotton candy for the school fair,” Coach said thoughtfully, licking his lips. “I seen these kinda machines before. Don't make too much noise, from what I remember.”
“It's been a long time since I had cotton candy.” Rochelle looked at the bright, slightly off-colored photos of happy carnival goers waving clouds of the sugary treat with unabashed longing. She shifted the gnome – the goddamn gnome they'd won from that goddamn shooting gallery game Ellis had insisted they play – from one arm to the other. Nick couldn't believe she was still lugging it around. “Does sugar go bad?”
Nick decided that now would be a good time to loudly reload his assault rifle, just to remind the two of just what the fuck was going on. “Doesn't matter – we need to get moving.” When Rochelle turned to look at him, a vaguely pleading look on her face, Nick felt the need to add: “Cotton candy blows, anyway. And that gnome? Fugly as hell.”
“Damn, those zombies kill your inner child or something?” Rochelle snapped. She pulled the gnome closer to her and brushed off a spot of blood and gristle from its shiny red hat – was she beating the zombies with that thing? Why was he the only sane one left?
“Don't let him bother you, little sister,” Coach said, looking at Nick through narrowed, judgmental eyes. “Some people, they just born full 'a piss and vinegar.”
“Jesus Christ, I can't believe you people,” Nick growled, turning sharply on his heel and heading for the Kiddieland exit. They were probably going to die horribly no matter what they did, but Nick was not going to bite it while waiting for a batch of cotton candy.
“And we can't believe you, Nick,” Coach said sagely. “We can't believe you.”
“Yeah!” Ellis said, who had apparently given up the ghost of L'il Peanut and rejoined them during the ensuing cotton candy conversation. “Did y'all know he just beat the stuffing out of L'il Peanut? For no reason 't'all!”
“You mean that cute little mascot?” Rochelle frowned. “Aw, that is pretty mean.”
Nick ground his teeth. “I hope the zombies eat you. All of you.”
He stormed off, the other survivors trailing behind him.