Robin Hood's La Cosa Nostra

This is intended for anyone who likes mafia stories. Its purpose is to show that even though someone is a member of the mafia, they are still human and can fall/be in love. They can also go through the same things that normal couples have to go through (like asking for the blessing of the bride's parents).

It smelled of medicine.

Robin’s nose wrinkled as he took a whiff of the air, realizing that the sharp smell medicine and he was probably being treated in a private hospital. Mafia’s never frequented public hospitals; that was like putting a giant sign around your neck that said, “Come arrest me! I’m over here, completely defenceless!”

A little twitch of his mouth turned into a smirk, and Robin slowly blinked his eyes open. The first thing that hit his line of sight was the calm, ocean blue ceiling. The next was a warm hand enveloping his in comfort and a sweet voice calling out his name.

“Robin?”

He smiled. That voice he could recognize anywhere.

“Hey babe.” Robin wheezed out, squeezing Marian’s hand to reassure her he was really awake. The don of Nottingham wasn’t too surprised when he heard his fiancé break out in muffled sobs, her head coming down to rest on their entwined hands. He couldn’t help the grin sweeping across his face as he reached over with his free hand to stroke her brown locks.

“Boss! Boss, you’re awake!” Skippy cried running into the room, Robin’s consigliere Lil John right at his heels. Robin did a brief air salute to them as they entered.

“Hey men.” He greeted, Marian quickly looking away to dry her tears. Robin was a little disappointed when her hand slipped out of his, but she came right back so he had nothing to complain about. Lil John and Skippy looked nervous when they caught sight of Marian, so Robin immediately suspected something was up. “Any news?” The two looked at each other.

“Um… well boss, Don Richard of England is here to speak to you.” Lil John said, unaware of the actual don stepping into the room with his own consigliere, Tuck, at his heels.

“Privately.” Richard said, alarming Lil John and Skippy. His face was blank, no emotion portrayed just as his advisor’s was. Lil John and Skippy looked to their own boss, who waved them off without taking his eyes away from the don of England. Reluctantly, the two high-ranking mafia officials swiftly left the room. “You too, Marian.” Richard said, also not taking his eyes off of Robin’s prone form on the hospital bed.

Marian glanced quickly over at Robin, who broke his gaze with her father to give her a quick smile. She gave him a tense smile in return before quietly leaving the room and closing the door.

“Robin.”

“Richard.”

The formalities were thrown aside from the start, and Richard went to occupy a comfortable chair on the other side of the room. His consigliere, Tuck, stayed standing at the door. It was silent for a long time, and Robin was getting anxious. Not because the Don of England was actually in his home, in the room he was currently recovering in. Robin wasn’t scared of power, and he was pretty used to having the entire England mafia after him (courtesy of one Underboss John). No, Robin was just nervous because the father of his fiancé was in the same room as him, and he still had yet to get Richards blessings.

If he ever got them at all.

“I don’t like you, Robin Hood.” Richard said out of the blue after all the silence shared between them. Robin’s eyes shot up, and he immediately turned to the don. Richard continued on like he didn’t notice (but he noticed everything). “You’re aggressive, bold, daring, and the boss of a mafia group. You’ve killed people, you deal in illegal activities and there’s a price on your head.”

Robin opened his mouth to say how Richard was exactly like him, but a glance from the don of England shut him up. And Richard continued.

“I never wanted my daughter to marry into the mafia family. I wanted her to go to a normal public school and find a normal boyfriend who would have a normal job at a normal company. I wanted her to have a normal marriage and give birth to as many normal babies as she wanted and I wanted my grandchildren to grow up normally.” He said, closing his eyes as he envisioned the utterly normal life he wished of his little princess. A sad smile crossed Richard’s face. “I wanted her to live normally.”

“With all due respect sir—“ Richard glared at him, and Robin silenced himself.

“I know that they are foolish dreams, Robin Hood. To enter the mafia is to be tied to it forever. To be born into the mafia is to have it in your blood, and Marian’s blood will not allow her to live a normal life.” He sighed, the weight of raising a daughter all by himself finally coming to settle fully on his shoulders. Another slight smile crossed his lips, but this one was a little happier.

“And so because of this, I’m glad that Marian picked you.”

Without another word, Tuck opened the door to let his don pass by him, winking at Robin as he followed his don out. The boss of Nottingham was left sitting there with a shell-shocked expression planted all over his body. He never noticed Lil John, and Skippy, and Marian all rush into the room, frantic as to what the two dons’ were talking about. He could only smile, and say to himself:

"I'm glad she picked me too."

Robin Hood's La Cosa Nostra

This is intended for anyone who likes mafia stories. Its purpose is to show that even though someone is a member of the mafia, they are still human and can fall/be in love.

Her breath was heaving in her ears, legs burning as Marian ran through the darkness of Nottingham with Robin’s hand grasped tightly in her own. She could no longer hear her uncle’s furious shouts behind her; could no longer hear the heavy thud of footsteps chasing them. Apparently, so could Robin because he slowed to a walk, looking back at her with a roguish grin.

“So,” he began with a little breathlessness to his voice, “do I get my prize now?” Marian couldn’t help the wide smile crossing over her face, stepping closer to him. Their hands, still entwined, merely tightened their grip around the other.

“You do.” She said, reaching up on the tips of her toes. Robin’s eyes began to droop closed.

“Yes, I do.”

And so Robin kissed his new bride.

Robin Hood's La Cosa Nostra

This is intended for anyone who likes mafia stories. Its purpose is to show that even though someone is a member of the mafia, they are still human and can fall/be in love.

Marian hummed, running a brush through her long brown hair as she saw the pink fluttering across her cheeks in her reflection. Her friend, Korin, sat on the bed watching her curiously. She noticed the strange look on her friend’s face, and instantly knew something was up.

“Marian,” Korin said, calling attention to her friend. Marian seemed a little out of it to really be paying full attention to her. Korin looked down to study her hands. “Where were you yesterday? I called your cell like, dozens of times but you never picked up.” Marian froze, her brush stilling midway through her hair. The daughter of England’s don turned slowly, setting her brush back on the vanity.

“Oh. I, um, kind of went out yesterday and forgot to bring it with me.” Marian admitted. It really was the truth, just not the whole truth. But Korin was smarter than that, and definitely a lot nosier.

“Where’d you go? I was so bored at home yesterday.” The girl complained, flipping her hair back and messing with her make-up in an effort to seem nonchalant. Marian copied her tactic, turning back to her vanity to start brushing her hair again. Needless to say, Korin was definitely the stealthier of the two.

“Just… out.” Marian said, biting her bottom lip. Korin glanced at her from the corner of her eye.

“Seems boring.” Korin sighed, taking out her lip-gloss and applying a thick layer. Marian’s eyes shifted nervously. She abruptly stood up, unable to keep a secret from her best friend.

“I met Robin!”

Korin gasped, her lip-gloss stilling. Her eyes began to sparkle, and she stood up waving the stick of gloss around. “You mean your first love?” Marian nodded, a smile spreading dreamily over her lips. Korin squealed, dropping everything in her hand and rushing forward to hug Marian. “Oh my gosh, Marian!” She exclaimed, pulling back to stare seriously at her best friend. “Did you get his number? Where does he live? Did he ask you to marry him!?”

Marian laughed, fully expecting Korin to react like she did. The princess of the mafia blushed, twirling a lock of hair in her fingers. “Don’t jump ahead, Kor’. I doubt he even remembers me from so long ago…” Marian admitted, her eyes flickering down. Korin stepped back, knowing she hit a delicate subject.

“Oh.” Korin’s eyes tightened in determination, and she grabbed Marian’s arms. “Well even if he doesn’t remember, we’ll just make him fall for you all over again!” Marian was about to mention that she didn’t even know if Robin liked her so many years ago, but Korin thrust her in front of her vanity table and grabbed every cosmetic Marian owned.

“Korin!” Marian shrieked, laughing between syllables. Her friend’s hands were trying to still her head from moving in order to apply a coat of lip-gloss. It wasn’t long before the two girls were having a giggle-fest, make-up strewn all over Marian’s nice floor.

But outside of Marian’s room was her uncle John, his fists clenched tightly.

“Robin of Nottingham, huh?” John snarled, reaching into his pocket to pull out his phone. “I won’t allow it; never.” Pressing the speed dial, he pressed the phone to his ear and stalked off. “Sheriff. Arrange a shooting competition.” John barked into the phone. A wicked smile spread over his face. “Winner marries Marian.”

Robin Hood's La Cosa Nostra

This is intended for anyone who likes mafia stories. Its purpose is to show that even though someone is a member of the mafia, they are still human and can fall/be in love.

It was still, tranquil, and quiet. There was no wind, no sound, no movement of any kind.

There was nothing except the bang of a pistol.

“Now you’re getting’ it.” Robin exclaimed, slapping his younger companion on the back with a huge smile. A cutout cardboard of a human’s body stood on the other side of the open field, a single hole directly through where the heart would be. The barrel of little Skipper’s handgun was smoking a little, slightly unsteady because his hands were quivering from the throwback.

“Sweet!” Skipper whooped, punching a fist into the air. Robin laughed, and the underboss of Nottingham turned to his don. “Better watch out, Rob. I’m gonna smoke you in target practice one day.” Robin let out one big guffaw, throwing his head back and placing a hand over his face. Skipper, instead of being offended, simply laughed along with him because he knew it would take a million years before he could be as good as his boss.

“We’ll see, Skip.” Robin finally was able to choke out, grabbing Skipper’s practice pistol from him. “Now go get cleaned up. I wanna do another raid tonight.” The young man’s eyes lit up, and he quickly jogged off to head back to the house but turned back when he noticed his boss wasn’t following him. Robin waved him off. “I’m gonna practice for a few more minutes.” Skipper shrugged, but was off without another word.

Finally alone, Robin twirled the pistol in his hand a couple times before gracefully pointing his gun at Skipper’s target and shooting. The bullet grazed the side of Skipper’s hole, but otherwise flew perfectly past that one tiny shot. Robin grinned in triumph, until he heard a shriek from behind the bushes where his bullet landed. Someone shot out into the clearing, hopping on one foot because of the small cut on the side of her leg.

“Damn, that hurts! Hey buddy, watch where you’re—“

Robin’s mouth fell open as he caught sight of the beautiful young woman also staring dazedly at him.

“R-Robin?”

His throat felt dry, and for a second he couldn’t find any words.

“Robin Hood, of Nottingham, right?” The young woman asked again, edging forward with a limp in her step. The don of Nottingham jolted back into reality when he saw her limping forward, and immediately cleared his throat.

“Oh, uh, yeah. That’s me.” He replied, opening his jacket to hide his gun. “Marian, right? Of England.” She blushed, maybe with embarrassment, maybe with pride, he didn’t know. But it was obvious to Robin that Marian was awfully cute when her face tinted red.

“That’s right.” Marian confirmed, before looking down at her injured leg. She was leaning all her weight onto her other foot to avoid causing more damage to herself. “Um, do you mind if I—“ Robin flushed this time with embarrassment and shame.

“Oh! I’m really sorry, Ms. Marian.” Robin began, rushing forward and quickly apologizing. “I swear I was in the middle of target practice. I didn’t mean to—“ Marian smiled, accepting his offered hand before leaning into him, her head cushioned into his chest. Robin stopped mid-sentence, flustered but unwilling to let go of the beautiful woman in his arms. The woman who he seemed to remember from many years ago, and who haunted his every thought and every dream since departing from her in his past years.

“I don’t blame you, Robin.” Marian consoled him. “If I was in your position, I’d try to keep my body intact too if an enemy ever wandered into my territory instead of helping them when they’re down.” Robin’s face fell a little, and he paused in his walk back to his mansion. Marian was nestled close to him, but he pulled back to stare at her.

“I don’t think of you as my enemy.” Robin admitted, dead serious as he stared unflinching into her big green eyes. Marian flushed, this time because her heart was starting to hammer in her chest. She wasn’t sure whether it was a good thing or a bad thing, but as of this moment it felt oddly right.

And so Marian smiled.

“I don’t either.”

Addicted To The Hunt

This is intended for anyone who has an addiction. Its purpose is to show the dangerous effect that addiction has, and that addiction is not limited to simply drugs, or alcohol or other things like that.

Addiction. Graverobber had no particular opinion of it. If anything, he welcomed addiction with open arms. After all, his business depended entirely on addiction. The glowing blue liquid that came in a little vial. The glowing blue liquid that had hordes of desperate women clinging to his legs, begging for a hit and paying in any way they could (by money or by flesh, Graverobber had no particular preference). Ah, zytrate. Such a glorious thing, don’t you think?

Graverobber would say otherwise.

Despite already burying his entire body into the business of drugs, Graverobber actually never liked his little blue product that worked as a light bulb. He dared not to try it himself, not because a good dealer never does his own stuff, but simply because he’s seen what it does to his customers. Panting like little whores as they clung to him for a hit, willing to do anything for a spark of his gun… it sickened him. But the money was good, so why would Graverobber care?

Only it’s not the money he’s after. Graverobber cares little for the wad of cash deposited in his hand every time he fired his gun. Graverobber had small interest for the brief escape of reality in the form of supple flesh. No, money and sex was only icing on the cake of his career as an underground drug lord. It was only the tip of the iceberg.

His real thrill was the hunt.

Prowling through the darkness, a light hum always at his lips as he casually made his way around the graves. Graverobber delighted in the heavy scent of death lingering in the air; delighted in dancing on the corpses buried under him. And most of all, loved the rush of adrenaline that circled through his veins when the alarm for grave robbers goes off. He loved ducking behind tombstones when the security lights flashed a little too close, loved committing illegal acts knowing he could easily get away with it. (Gencops were a little dense in the head, compared to Graverobber).

The drug dealer whistled a light tune, prancing into the graveyard as he went searching for a coffin with a nice corpse. His boots made no sound as he stepped over the malnourished dirt. The soles of his boots were stamped all over the graveyard, somewhat to confuse the guards but mostly because Graverobber liked taking the scenic route. His ever-crooked smirk was there, hands tucked into the pockets of his trench coat playing with an empty vial. Soon it would be filled with that glowing blue liquid, and soon Graverobber would have hordes of addicts at his feet, begging him for the tiniest dose.

His smirk fell a little, but Graverobber ignored the tiresome thought of selling the tiresome drug and instead focused on the hunt.

As Graverobber knelt beside a rotting corpse, watching the empty vial fill with swishing blue zytrate, he wondered a little about addictions. They were all-consuming, swallowing everything a person ever possessed that was slightly sane (though Graverobber wondered if there was such a thing as sane in this world). A curse, he would call it. A disease that once grabbed onto, you could never let go of.

“Graverobber?”

He looked up to the young girl standing above him, clutching the strap of her satchel as hints of fear flickered across her eyes. The alarms began to blare, and she gasped and crouched down next to him, head jerking this way and that. Graverobber stared at her for a couple seconds, the vial already full of his merchandise. He smirked, yanking the needle out of the corpse’s skull before grabbing his companion’s wrist and standing up, pulling her along with him. Her arm was almost deathly cold, but felt oddly right in his grasp. She shrieked a little at the unexpected movement, alerting the guards to their position.

Graverobber smiled wickedly.

Addictions are evil, unstoppable. They consume your thoughts and your actions; they give you no say in what you do or what you feel. And worst of all, you begin to need your addiction; you realize that no matter what you try, there isn’t any way you can live without it.

But as Shilo panted heavily, her long legs stumbling awkwardly as she ran behind him, Graverobber was starting to wonder if that was such a bad thing.

A Bug's Life

This is intended for everyone who has ever thought someone has a weird hobby. Its purpose is to show that no matter how weird that hobby is, the person always has a reason for why they have that weird hobby.

Shilo envied bugs.

She never remembered when it started, but now it was impossible to look at all the bugs in her collection without feeling a twinge of jealousy. Once upon a glowing white moon, those bugs were cleverly darting around with their buzzing wings and tiny legs. Once upon a moon they explored new places and revisited old ones. Once upon a moon they were free.

Free. That word seemed so foreign to the little girl curled up on her bed. What was freedom? Did it even exist? In the miniscule and sheltered world of Shilo Wallace’s life, freedom was being able to wander the house alone. It was to be independent. But no one was truly ever independent.

You depended on a home for shelter.

You depended on pills to survive.

You depended on your father for freedom.

Shilo smiled bitterly, her toes flexing under the soft comforters of the bed. Her door had a lock on the outside that barred her from leaving her safe sanctuary. She had already stolen a spare key to get it open, but still. Even if she did get past the lock on her door, she would have to be very careful to avoid her stern father, Nathan Wallace. It was a good thing he was a busy man, Shilo always thought. It was a good thing he gave way for her freedom (though limited it was).

Shilo got up from her bed, stretching her pale legs over the flickering yellow light. Casually, with stifled thumps of her feet, the girl made her way over to her collection of bugs and sat down. They all stared back at her with their dead eyes, and Shilo tapped a few glass jars.

They didn’t move.

Of course, how could they? The darn things were trapped in cages, never to leave for the outside world again. Shilo wondered how they felt; knowing freedom was only a twist of a lid away. They had tasted that freedom once, felt it and breathed it and lived it. But what about her?

What about Shilo?

She scoffed, pushing off the desk and padding over to the door keeping her locked away from the rest of the world. It looked innocent enough, with its dark brown colour and brass knob. Sometimes Shilo thought she could simply twist the handle and pull, and the door would give way. She tried several times, but it never did what she wanted it to. It never gave way for the freedom that Shilo so desperately longed for.

Angry now, Shilo spun around and stomped back to her bed, collapsing on the feather mattress and reaching out for her favourite teddy bear. It was as soft as always, the fabric rubbing against her bare arms as she squeezed it to her chest. From her perch on the bed, Shilo saw the blue glow of her mother’s portrait shining through the room.

Sitting up a little, with the bear still close to her heart, she stared up at the portrait of Marni Wallace. Her mother’s blank face continued to gaze apathetically at her as it always had for all the years she suffered with this hereditary disease. Shilo never understood how her father could love this expressionless woman so much. All she had seen of Marni Wallace were pictures and possessions. All she had ever known of her mother was her disease. The woman mounted up on her wall was nothing more than a stranger; nothing more but a corpse in a crypt.

How laughable, considering the daughter looked exactly like the mother.

“Medicate immediately, medicate immediately.” Her communicator began to beep, flashing lights onto Shilo’s pale face. The young girl looked to the wrist accessory and sighed. The blue pills were still sitting innocently on one of her tables even after all this time. A glass of water lounged beside it, unmoving. Just looking at it made her sick.

“Medicate immediately.” Her watch droned again, the lights flashing faster. Shilo scowled down at it, and in a burst of anger ripped the watch off her wrist and threw it at her pills. The communicator collided with the little bottle of medication and the glass of water, making both tumble to the ground with it. Water dripped from the table onto the floor, soaking the carpet. The soft ground had cushioned the fall, and neither the cup nor the bottle broke; they merely rolled around for a short while. Her watch was also unharmed, but the beeping stopped.

Shilo’s eyes tightened.

She pounced off her bed, stalking over to the cup and the pill container, sweeping them up before chucking them one at a time at her pretty wallpaper. This time they connected with a satisfying smash, sprinkling fragments of glass all over her bug collection.

But it wasn’t enough.

With an angry scream tearing from her lips, Shilo overturned the table in front of her. It hit the ground with another satisfying thump.

Still not enough.

She turned to the transparent sheets on her bed that acted like a mosquito net, and began to pull at them until they were scattered all over the floor.

But it still wasn’t good enough.

Finally letting the fire run rampant through her veins, Shilo lunged at everything in her room, smashing and ripping and tearing and shredding. Her covers were in a state of disrepair, and her stuffed animals littered the floor with missing limbs. All the clothes she owned with thrown haphazardly on the floor, some of the drawers broken. Her mirror was cracked, her windows were shattered, and the door of her room had mysteriously acquired several new scratches. And as Shilo stood in the centre of her broken childhood, the portrait of her mother still did nothing but stare down at her blankly.

“What about the bugs?” She seemed to say with her unmoving mouth, and Shilo looked to the desk housing her collection of bugs. They sat unharmed, their dead eyes still staring at her. The bugs that had once tasted freedom; who had felt and breathed and lived. Who she caught and added to her collection. Who had been denied of what they’ve always wanted since landing in those glass jars.

“What’s freedom?” Shilo asked them, speaking for the first time since entering her room earlier today. “Can you tell me?” They did nothing but stare. Shilo smiled bitterly, stepping over broken glass and fallen furniture to grab one of the glass jars. With gentle and slow movements, Shilo unscrewed each of the lids and turned it upside down, letting the dead bugs fall to the floor. It wasn’t long until Shilo let the last bug drop and she stood in front of a small pile of insects that died a long time ago.

The door opened and an older man with long, multi-coloured hair and a ghostly white face popped his head in. He didn’t seem fazed by the chaotic mess the bedroom turned into, and merely smiled his wicked smile at Shilo.

“Hey kid, you comin’?” His baritone voice questioned, smooth and silky yet eerie and haunting. Shilo looked down at the dead bugs lying in front of her, and a small smile crossed her lips. The man, Graverobber, tilted his head curiously at her.

“Yeah, I’m coming.” She said softly, making her way slowly out of the room and to Graverobber’s side. The light flicked off, and the dark brown door with the brass knob shut quietly behind the two of them.

Shilo envied bugs.

But not anymore.