Realistic or Modern Fist-Fighting My Heart (Closed)

[Soupacider55]

Feet thundered into grass when a body flashed forward. A single hand rained down and teeth shivered out to expose canines. “Prepare to be ended under the masterful art of Buster Jinks!”

Red rippled past a body, so far off that the rubber ball shot into the basketball court behind the kids. Buster blinked at the sight. He raised a finger, opened his mouth, and looked at the infantry row of kids with balls that threatened to shoot him down.

Sharks could not grin as wide as he did at that moment as he looked upon them. Crows squawked above as they fled from a tree. The trees swayed with flutters of leaves that dropped down to grass. One of his feet stepped in front of him. The other was behind him.

His eyes narrowed under his sunglasses when the sun sunk down on him. As if it knew danger came close and near, so hungry that any sight of hope became dangerous.

A palm shot down in a straight line. Sweet sugary adrenaline burrowed deep in Tit’s spine when the balls zoomed at him. One grazed his hair and he stumbled back as he tried to duck down for the next ones. They came closer. With each second, they kept coming Like live grenades they seemed to explode around him from how hard they bounced into the ground.

His head darted to meet the gaze of one that split his vision. Sirens wailed along with dogs that kickstarted, probably clawing into a steel fence.

A tongue mocked the children as he reached to grip the ball in one hand. Then it hit him. It hit him hard. His voice raised pitches in a whine as he stood there, the ultimate victim of another nut shot.

Gods must have given him power, some holy blessing as his knees stayed locked, rooted on Earth. Cheers rose around him and with numbness, he felt tiny hands paw at him.

“That was so cool.”

“Can we do it again?”

“Maybe next time we can hit him from all sides.”

Somehow their voices became a swarm to Buster as he gazed down at them. Or some of them anyway, most of the older grades were level with him or even taller. One boy asked him, “How tall are you?”

He did not trust his voice so he made a five with one hand, and the other a four. The boy nodded as if the number made sense. He whispered to a group of kids next to him, and all Buster heard was fall, calculation, and force.

Great. Next time he picks up his sister all the brainiacs are going to have a posterboard of how much power it would take for a dodgeball to crack his skull.

His teeth ground against each other as he strutted with the grace of a penguin over to the playset. Once Miranda saw him, she dragged him over to the woodchip section. Her collar, well, what should have been her collar hung by on a couple of threads of string. Somehow it made the holes in her pants look better in comparison. She nodded at him. He tried to imagine that the look over she gave him was not out of amusement but pride.

“You look like you fought a wild pig,” Buster said. Miranda hummed and picked at the chunks of woodchips on her pants. She looked over at a group of kids, who all looked at Buster with laughter stuffed in their mouths.

Miranda gazed at the sky and pointed at a misshapen hot dog of a cloud. “Look, it’s you.”

With furrowed brows, he observed the cloud. A hot dog or a wiener dog with scoliosis with two smaller clouds at the snout. Wait-

Giggles escaped Miranda when she ran off with her brother chasing her. His hand swooped down and gripped half of her collar. She struggled against his hold; her little body tried to twist so hard that she could become a pretzel. After a while, she tired herself out and she looked up at Buster with innocent eyes. His narrowed at her.

“What scheme are you plotting?”

She blinked. “I have a deal.” She continued, “If I escape you, you have to hug the first grown-up you see.” She paused. Her head turned away, and she hummed in thought. “If I don’t then I’ll tell you what the other kids have planned for you.”

Buster smirked. “Blackmail.” He ruffled her hair. “The Jinks’ family specialty.” He nodded. “You have yourself a deal.”

Miranda stretched out one hand to him. With hesitance, he gripped it. They shook hands. He moved to let go but couldn’t. Her hand stayed glued to his. He tried to shake hers off as he moved his entire arm. While he focused on that hand, she pulled away right when he pushed her off.

A bright grin met his face. He closed his eyes and sighed. She cheered, “I won.” Her arms crossed then she pointed to the entrance of the school. “You will hug the first grown-up you see.”

He opened his eyes to look at the entrance but Miranda rushed to tell him, “No. you have to keep your eyes closed. I’ll tell you when to open them.”

Darkness swallowed him when he covered his eyes with his hands. He waited in dread. He really hoped if it was an alpha like him that he would not get gut punched. Miranda may protect him. Or cheer the other alpha on while he beat Buster into the ground.

“This is fantastic.” It was not.

 

[Mmrs]

Titus glared with his one good eye and snarled some at the phone as he talked into the speaker. He was still sitting in his truck and hadn’t gotten out yet, a left over from his old life in a small city back in the south. It was dingy green and had Annie’s bright pink booster seat in the back. He hadn’t picked her up yet either, still arguing on the phone with the damn doctor’s office. “What do you mean you can’t help me wean off them? I ain’t had a heat in twenty years, and if I suddenly have one without having at least some suppressant in my system- it will be full force and likely kill me. You told me that, Doc. Last month at my last appointment, what changed? Huh?” His hand hit the steering wheel and he grabbed it in a tight grip, the leather creaking underneath his hand.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Morrison- but your insurance provided by your veteran’s status simply can’t cover the medication costs. The medication had it’s prices raised astronomically now that it is in high demand by other omegas also trying to do the same as you. If there was a way you could pay out of pocket-“ The tinny voice of his doctor was on the other side of the old flip phone. She did sound rather apologetic,

He sighed and stared at the rear-view mirror as someone passed behind his vehicle, a habit to always check behind him whenever someone was at his six o'clock. One of many habits leftover from military service. When the person passed harmlessly, he had the instinctual urge to laugh bitterly at the fact he was still paranoid despite being back home. Then again, Arthur and his wife Meghan died on home soil- so maybe paranoid was good. It would keep he and Annie safe, better safe than sorry- anyways.

When he looked back to the reflection of himself, he frowned. One grey blind eye with a jagged pink scar running through it from the center of his forehead to the bottom of his jaw. Another scar running over the bridge of his nose and cutting through the corner of his lips. More leftovers from war. “How much is the medication?” He asked, and wonders if he sounds as exhausted as he feels.

The doctor is quiet for a moment, and he knows it’s not good. He knows he’s going to be pissed at whatever she says. He’s right. “It’s six thousand, right now.” She responds, and Titus lets out a stream of swears from his lips. “I’m sorry, Mr. Morrison. If it’s any consolation, you aren’t the first person I’ve had to tell this bad news today.”

More people also suffering like him because of the government’s fucked up ruling? “Surprisingly enough, Doc- it doesn’t help at all.” He spat sarcastically and hung up the phone before snapping it closed. He’s absolutely fuming, his ears roaring as his heart hammers in his chest. He takes a few deep breaths and checks the analogue watch that sits on the inside of his wrist. Leaving the watch on the inside of his wrist rather than the outside was yet another leftover habit from military service. “1930 hours…” He murmured to himself. Normally instilled in Titus by the army, he got everywhere at least fifteen minutes early- but today he was busy arguing on the phone with the doctor, and despite technically being on time, he still felt late.

He opened the door of his vehicle and got out, closing it, and locking it despite the fact he wasn’t leaving it out of eyesight was another overly safe habit he had, he figured it was okay in the big city. Not that he assumed anyone would want to steal his beat-up pea green truck.

Even though cutting through the grass would be faster, he instead took the path up to the park area where the afterschool program was held. He remembered when his instructor back in basic caught him walking across the grass and made him crawl back and forth on it until he was wheezing out of breath. Normally the thought would bring a very small self-indulgent amused smile to his face, though today not even that could break the storm cloud over him. His face was thunderous, and with his imposing height, surly looking expression, and the scars- most people gave him a wide berth- even though he didn’t have any scent wafting off him due to wearing scent patches. Most people back in the military tended to assume he was either an alpha wearing scent blockers, or a beta with alpha parentage. While he never wanted to necessarily change his omega status, Titus couldn’t deny shit would be easier if he wasn’t one.

Though finally came the only thing that could break even the worst of his bad moods. “Papa!” Annie waved goodbye to her friend she had been playing with on the playground equipment and quickly slid down the slide to meet him at the bottom. Her bright blue eyes looking eager as she jumped up to Titus and he picked her up. “You’re a bit later today, that’s okay though because I got to play with my new friend Clement! Oh- a group of kids beat up one of the adults with dodgeballs earlier! He wasn’t watching his three-o’clock.” She muttered the last part solemnly, as if trying to mimic Titus’ gruff and stern voice. He couldn’t help but crack a grin finally set her back down. It was obvious some of Titus’ mannerisms rubbed off on Annie.

“Really, pup?” He asked, and for the moment his worries were mollified. Hand-in-hand they began to walk towards the benches where she left her backpack.

She nodded sympathetically. “It looked like it hurt a lot, they hit him where you tell me not to hit people while playing dodge ball.” As they began walking past, she glanced up to see Miranda and Buster. “Oh, that’s him. Hey he’s with Miranda! Hi Miranda!” Annie the ray of sunshine- wanted to try and befriend everyone she met. While Titus didn’t know if this ‘Miranda’ was one of the people Annie managed to add to her ever growing list of friends, it seemed they at least knew of each other, and that was enough for Annie to try and be her every sunny self.

 

[Soupacider55]

Counting seemed to help with the pool of anxiety that filled Buster’s stomach. Numbers helped kids, right? All the digits that they mull over as they bit on the end of an eraser, with sweaty hands that dampen whatever worksheet that they know they’ll cheat on.

Ok. Maybe counting made things worse. Since Miranda told him to shut his eyes he stood like a blind saint, with the wee help of number one hundred something or other. Miranda, the little devil, kicked him with the word, “Go.”

Buster forced his mouth to not fall into a frown and instead focused on grinning as hard as he could. Hopefully, a big toothpaste company would kidnap him right now-

His throat bobbed when he opened his eyes. To his relief, he saw nothing. Just a wall, with a couple of kids on benches, one lady who tried to help one of them put his shoes on right, along with a little girl and a-

“Shit.”

Miranda’s gaze burned into him. She did not grin so to speak, but more of a very calm look with smiles for eyes even with a straight line for a mouth. She opened the palm of her hand. The universal sign of the swear jar business, probably illegal in some states that she laundered money from cartels as she told or threatened Buster over how many quarters she got.

He hissed at her, “You can’t be serious.” Tension ran through his body, all aware that the man was still there, with the big monster of a scar on his face. It could be fake. A movie company could have hired the big guy some star role as a better Rambo. He was not sure of his ability to not get hurt by him; with one punch he knew it would leave an angry bruise for days.

Deadpan seriousness never left her face and with all the humiliation in the word he had to claw into his pants to get out a quarter. He had enough sense to choose the worst one, it had some kind of stickiness to it that he hoped would nail to Miranda’s forehead. Without a word, he gave her the quarter.

Miranda had the audacity to say, “Thank you.” She balanced the quarter on her pointer finger and then pointed at the man. “I think his name is Titus.” She waved at the little girl by Titus’ side. “Hey, Annie.”

Buster nodded at them. Anxiety still boiled inside him and he used it to fuel his small supply of courage. He ran a hand over his hair and tried to tell himself that when his fingers got caught that it was not a sign that blood would soon stain brown.

Yet some edge of excitement rested in his bones as he observed Titus. The guy could have told him that a brick wall birthed him and Buster would have nodded, teeth on the edge of his lip as he tried to find a way to talk to something so solid. But there was no scent. Nothing. Betas, even had crisps of vanilla with their smell, something so recognized that a toddler could tell.

An inhale revealed nothing, still. Alarm bells rang in Buster’s ears when he concluded that somehow Titus had become a blank dot in a world that thrived on smell. He almost opened his mouth to ask, like a confused child over if he had some scar on his scent glands as if the skin had been burned off his body.

Miranda must have noticed his apprehension as she stuck close to his side. She looked up at him with a frown, and her scent changed to that of nervousness. Dimly, he realized that his own confusion must have scared her, as he stood there unmoving.

Something burst within his throat, and he heard his own laughter bounce back to him. Like before with the kids, his body shifted, toes on edge as a grin sizzled onto his face. There is no time for fear, he thought. He had to enjoy life and drown in whatever absurd happiness remained in the world.

His body tilted, and he felt the call of his alpha when he licked the inside of his cheek. His alpha, as crass as it was, wanted to do something bold with Titus. Mysterious as the man was, it made the adrenaline pump harder as it considered what Titus was. Alpha, omega, beta, it didn’t matter. At this point, he wanted to shake the guy and give him a high-five while his mouth rolled out words that showed how odd the world was when brown eyes saw those scars.

Buster blamed his decision, and his determination on giving the big scary man a hug on his alpha. Or maybe that was just him. Anyway, he did not quite think it through on how amped he was to do it when he sprinted at Titus. Full speed, with benches and a wall behind them, and once his body met solid muscle his arms flayed out then came back in as he remembered to give a hug.

Numbers came back to him when he decided to count until his alpha gave up on clawing at Titus’ back. He could not figure out why his alpha wanted to do it, why he did and now became stuck to a stranger with no scent.

Buster’s words came out of his mouth in a panted slur, “Titus. Nice to meet you.”

 

[Mmrs]

See, not only the military engrained habits into his life. For the military was not his only teacher of life lessons. For example, living in a small town for most of one’s life could teach you things. One of the lessons he learned, for example, was the knowledge of when someone was staring at him despite not seeing it with his own eye, he could just feel it on his skin.

He supposed he was used to it, the stares, and the questions. Before when he still lived in his old hometown which had a higher population of cows than people, the questions seemed to never stop. They were all nosy busybodies with nothing else to do except pry into other people’s business. ‘That’s Arthur and Meghan’s girl, isn’t it? Why did they name you in the will? How did they die? How’d you lose your eye? Oh, you were in the military. Thanks for serving, how many people did you kill? Weren’t you the omega whelp who always got into trouble way back when? I didn’t know they even let omegas serve in the military?’ Judgement in their eyes and noses in the air, that was partially why Titus left.

At least in the big city, if anyone has questions, they keep their questions to themselves. Any judgement from some snooty old broad doesn’t feed the rumor mill and start gossip that everyone whispers about behind your back. It’s easier to let things slide when someone isn’t constantly coming up to ask if a rumor, they heard was true or not. There was a sense of anonymity in the big city, a buffer between him and everyone else. People had more on their minds, more entertainment than cow tipping, or gossiping.

Though still, sometimes he can still feel some persistent staring every now and then. It is moments like this that Titus tries to make himself seem as unapproachable as possible.

He lets go of Annie’s hand as she goes and runs to pick up her backpack from the bench. The girl seemed happy that Miranda had responded in turn and hums to herself as she picks up her bag. Titus crosses his arms over his chest and narrows his eyes as he feels a stare on him. The veteran looks over his shoulder, and catches a glimpse of another man, and he glares in return. The man staring at Titus was standing next to the girl that Annie had greeted so happily earlier.

Betas don’t really have the instinct to scent others as they can’t smell pheromones like alphas or omegas, they didn’t have any posturing instinct either. Omegas weren’t supposed to posture themselves, but being in a field which was statistically predominately alpha dumbasses- Titus has done his fair share of posturing. Still, his nostrils flare slightly as he takes in the scent of the other man just…staring at him. What, was he trying to challenge him? He shifts his shoulders back and grits his teeth together.

The smell of Annie’s soft formless child scent is comforting, his pup. She walks up beside him and reaches as if to take his hand again. “What are you making tonight for dinner, papa?” She asks, though just as she is about to say something else- the man that had been staring suddenly starts sprinting in their direction.

Instinct screams at him, even though the alpha’s body language doesn’t seem to be hostile- for a moment he remembers what life was like when people rushing him had the threat of death attached. Annie is behind him in a gentle but swift swipe of his arm- and arms are suddenly wrapped around him. He keeps himself firm, the body hitting into him not moving him back but maybe an inch as he makes sure to stay upright lest he fall on Annie, and they go crashing into the bench. He’s expecting a knife in the ribs, but instead- the other man just….hangs onto him and murmurs a greeting.

He reminds himself that he’s not overseas, that he is in the middle of a playground with Annie laughing behind him as she stares at the situation at a strange man hugging her touch averse father. It takes four seconds for Titus to tamper and bite down the initial reaction to knee the guy in the same place that he apparently had been hit with a dodgeball in. He reminds himself that could be considered grounds for assault for being excessive, and instead shoves the man, none too gently. Hopefully to dislodge him. A push (in his mind at least) was well warranted. “Get. Off.” His low baritone coming out rough and rumbled from deep within his chest. He put in every ounce of thinly reined in violence into the words.

With no scent of his own from the scent blockers, the scent of the strange alpha’s scent just clings onto him annoyingly and it makes him want to change out of these clothes sooner rather than later. That is why he generally kept from touching people, without having a scent of your own- anything that touched just…lingered like a bad aftertaste. “What do you think yer doing, whelp?” He really wanted to say something else, but Annie was right there, and his words weren’t really suited for her ears. His softer southern accent came out a bit more strongly, hackles raised as they were. The accent only really got strong when he was stressed or tired. “You’re lucky I didn’t make you eat dirt. Ain’t anyone ever teach you not to sling yourself at people, whelp?” He straightened his back and squared his shoulders as if he was preparing for the other to start throwing a punch. Maybe the man was challenging him but going about it a stupid and convoluted manner.

Annie, oblivious to the fact that Titus was glaring daggers into the other man’s skull- skipped up beside him. “Hiya! Are you Miranda’s dad? Uncle? Brother?” Titus’ hand came to cover her shoulder and keep her from going up closer to the stranger. Still highly suspicious and guarded.