#rubberdevo

The front door opened and the soft sound of dripping could be heard. Hot, heavy breathing came from the entrance of the worn-down room. Something or rather someone large dragged themselves across the room, closing the door behind them. He was stained with red, little droplets hit the floor with each movement as the deep gashes made in his body remained untreated. A small doll with orange-colored hair was being carried in one of his arms and nothing more.

He released a long sigh, not of pain, but some sort of joyous relief as the stinging of the wounds intensified. Devo the Cursed, occasionally nicknamed as Soul Sacrifice to those who didn’t know his true name, was an assassin. He didn’t deal with things quickly, but he did often avoid being caught thanks to the power of his Stand, Ebony Devil. If he was struck or someone inflicted any sort of pain upon him, Devo would start to hold a grudge, and that grudge would activate his Stand.

Ebony Devil would then take control of a doll, and massacre whatever stood in its way until Devo’s grudge was satisfied. Once his target was killed, Ebony Devil would wear off, Devo would collect his pay, then wait to be called upon for his services once again. It was an endless cycle, one which had left him with various scars, and this was no different. In fact, Devo was so used to the pain, that he found himself enjoying it.

Enjoying it to a rather unhealthy degree, to the point where being stabbed or cut would bring him some sort of joy. It was almost as if it kept his brain stimulated, occasionally he would go out to start something all on his own, then return to the underworld of criminal Stand users, all bloodied like this. It wasn’t any inconvenience for him, however—

The light switch was flicked on, Devo was literally caught red-handed. “I thought I heard something.” Tall, shirtless, only covering his body with some sort of yellow goo, this fellow Stand user grimaced at the messy sight of his partner. “You didn’t bother patching up or cleaning yourself before coming in here? What if someone followed you and found us hiding here?” He noted the slight trail made from the bloody droplets, yanking a whole roll of paper towels from nearby.

This other Stand user, his name was Rubber Soul and his Stand was known as Yellow Temperance, a slime which could consume any form of organic matter to become stronger. He prided himself on being a handsome, beautiful man, compared to his heavily scarred partner. This made Rubber Soul arrogant, completely egotistical and boisterous compared to how quiet Devo was.

After wiping the blood from the floor, Rubber Soul was quick to blot the source next. He wasn’t really a medical expert, and he didn’t really want to risk Devo using the sting of the wounds so Ebony Devil would attack him next. “You really got a deep one this time, didn’t you? Was it even worth anything, or were you just doing it because you felt like it?” Rubber Soul’s smile was so overly smug as if he knew the fellow assassin all too well.

“What does it matter?” Devo asked him. “You go around using that slime of yours to eat whatever you wish. Besides, even if we were traced back here, we could probably fight whoever confronts us and kill them off.” Not that Devo was exactly keen on the idea of moving away from some an untouched part of the city, he liked enclosed, dark places.

Rubber Soul went from moderately amused to somewhat stern. “Can you do me a favor?”

“Depends,” Devo hissed, “what is it?”

“Stop doing this to yourself.” The native American flinched at his partner’s words. “Not because I’m afraid you’ll attract attention, and also not because you literally soak the floor with blood each time you overdo it in that thrill.” He then threw a towel over to Devo, which looked as if it had been soaked with his blood at another point in time. “No, I’m asking you to stop because it’s unhealthy.” With another grunt, Devo sat down on the futon, trying to ignore him while blotting the gashes.

Rubber Soul hated being ignored by his peers, almost as much as he hated having his handsome features insulted or harmed. Even though Devo was nearly almost a foot taller than him, the idea of being confrontational towards his companion didn’t mean anything. “Unhealthy?” Devo suppressed a chuckle. “Devouring what you can to grow in strength isn’t really healthy either if you ask me. Besides, what are a few more scars going to do? It’s not really affecting you and the features you boast so badly, now is it?” Pulling the doll onto his lap, Devo pulled a sewing kit from underneath the futon, intent on fixing up the vessel which his Stand controlled.

He lashed so suddenly, but not in a way that would lead to Devo’s Stand activating. Rubber Soul swatted the sewing kit off of Devo’s lap, looming over the fellow Stand user, pinning him against the furniture. “You’re just going to brush off someone who’s worried about you? Possibly the only person to worry about you so much?” With a pout, Rubber Soul drew in just a bit closer, making Devo feel tense inside. “You know I never care about what others think or do, and I’m so absorbed in myself, I admit. But you though? I would be devastated if you kept hurting yourself, or if something worse happened to you.”

Being so used to holding grudges and having people attack him, Devo only had the one person who gave him the opposite treatment. Sure, Rubber Soul often gave him snarky remarks and mocked Devo playfully, but he was also the only person to understand Devo. It wasn’t that Rubber Soul merely tolerated him, oh no, it was more than that. These two had been companions for quite a few years by now, even though Devo used to work alone for most of his life, no one would have figured out that he had a shapeshifting partner in crime.

Of course, what started originally as a mutual partnership became a genuine interest and care for one another. It felt nice to not be belittled, and while the pain was always such a thrill Devo enjoyed, he also took a secret relief in being treated with affection. Not that he would ever admit such a thing which brought him shame.

Gently kissing the base of his shoulder, Rubber Soul wrapped his arms around the fellow assassin. “Quit intentionally hurting yourself when you’re not on the job, seriously.” The smell of iron was actually a bit intoxicating for Rubber Soul, Devo always had the scent of blood stuck on him, but it was far from a bad thing. They had been used to each other for so long that Rubber Soul was actually familiarized to it.