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votederpycausemufins · 3 years

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Alright, another chapter for my fic with Jrum. Just so you know, we’ve got a hels hermit and uh... his personality is Horny(TM). nothing to get it out of a teen rating, but there is some non consensual touching at one point so i’m giving a warning.

Rustic House Club

Jrum was set down on a counter before NPG left again, saving there was something to grab. The younger bot waited there for a little bit before getting bored and jumping down from the counter to explore the place. Jrum was pretty sure this was NPG’s base. It seemed to be a giant rustic house or mansion or something. The wood and stone were unfamiliar, but that being said, the world outside was also strange, covered with mint green grass and dirt that was a grayish blue. The sky looked mostly normal, though it was littered with multicolored clouds.

Back inside, in the center of the room was a giant campfire surrounded by some reddish brown stone. There was also an enchanting table setup with bookshelves around it, but some of the shelves were made with a dull colored wood, and some were made with the stone like what made up the walls.

A sound just behind Jrum made him jump and whirl around, only to see what looked like a very fluffy bunny hopping around. It was a nice powder blue color, and whenever it jumped, what looked like a small puff of smoke was left behind before fading.

“H-Hi. You’re n-not a bad bunny, a-are you?” Jrum nervously asked the hopping creature. “B-Because my dad d-doesn’t like bad b-bunnies.” The bunny responded by hopping and landing on top of Jrum’s head and flopping down there to rest. “H-Hey! That tickles!”

Jrum carefully grabbed the animal to put it back on the ground. He smiled as he felt that it was indeed extremely fluff as well as feeling rather soft. Once the bunny was back on the ground, it went hopping about the room again, letting Jrum explore the house more. There were a number of shulker boxes strewn about which seemed to be filled with items, but for the most part the items weren’t ones that Jrum recognized. Like what was a moa? Or an ambrosium shard?

Jrum shook his head as he stopped looking in the boxes before turning his head to some armor stands nearby. One had an elytra resting on it, while the other didn’t have an elytra or chestplate. Other than that, the first stand had some sort of purple armor while the other was a pinkish color.

The last thing Jrum really noticed was a ladder going up to the next floor, but he didn’t get the chance to go upstairs before NPG returned, carrying what sort of resembled his charger. “I’m back!”

Jrum scrambled his way back to the counter and sat on it, hoping NPG hadn’t seen he wasn’t there. “Sorry for the wait. This thing is just hard to carry and Sense wouldn’t come here to build it because he thinks it’s crazy to live in a dangerous place like the aether.”

The bunny from before hopped over and onto NPG’s head. “Oh! Hi Rusty! Did you meet our guest? He’s my brother.”

“Your bunny’s name is Rusty?”

“Yup!” NPG set the charger down near where Jrum was sitting. “Hmm, I’m sure you’ll want somewhere to sleep, so I’ll have to make you a bed later. Because trying to get that thing up a ladder would be no fun.”

Jrum looked at the pinkish armor that NPG was wearing. “What’s that?”

“Hmm?” NPG looked where Jrum was pointing. “Oh! This is some aetherite armor. It’s like netherite, but for here!”

Jrum nodded, then just sat quietly, swinging his legs. NPG was also quiet, just sort of smiling and swinging his arms about before there was a buzz. The older robot reached for his pocket and pulled out what looked like a communicator, though it was a different style, and read a message on it.

“Oh good! Prof says we can meet with him!”

Jrum tilted his head. “Who’s that?”

“That’s right! I haven’t explained things yet!” NPG exclaimed before putting his comm away again. “Okay, so we’re in Helscraft! It’s like where you’re from, but opposite. Our overworld is more like the nether, but not entirely. More like… hmm… if instead of dirt, mycelium and nylium were normal, and then instead of normal trees we get those giant mushroom things that still can be used for wood. The aether is like an opposite nether in that it’s cold here and there’s no bedrock at either edge of the world. And then finally the end in our world is probably the closest to being normal, but there’s no ender dragon. Instead there’s this thing called the warden and it’s really dangerous.”

“Oh… but who’s Proff?”

“Oh right! So here instead of hermits there are helsmits! And just about everyone in Hermitcraft has a sort of… not really opposite, but at the very least alternative version of themselves down here! Prof is one of them. He’s our version of Doc.”

“Who was the person that looked like daddy?” Jrum asked. He knew NPG had said something, but he hadn’t fully been paying attention.

“Oh! That was Perfect Sense. Most people just call him Sense.”

“Who else is there?”

NPG’s eyes lit up, happy to explain for his brother. “Okay, so there’s Xannes who’s our admin. Most people don’t use his name though, which is rude. Instead they say stuff like Evil Xisuma, Evil X or just EX. There’s True Symmetry who’s the current emperor, or I guess empress, of the server. Her running mate was Waltzware, who everyone calls Whiskey. Fun story about that, I can tell you it another time. Uh, he’s in a rivalry with DelayVS and Phedaz. There’s BadtimeswithScar, or just Badtimes. He has a place on the overworld with a big magic crystal in it which is where I go to hang out with you. It’s a little hard to get to sometimes with Peanut guarding the place. Helsknight has been around the longest and-”

“Um, so are you the opposite of my dad?” Jrum asked, cutting his brother off.

“Nope! Not really! That’s Grifter. See, I showed up sort of near the end of season three and he appeared when we moved to season four. I’m pretty sure he was a Listener or something, but anyway he didn’t like me since he thought I was taking his place. When Prof made Base Iridium, it was so he could lock up Grifter because he was like... the worst person. And so he’s been stuck there ever since and I get to stay because they all like me better!”

Jrum nodded. “Okay, and then do Grum and I have copies here?”

NPG stopped smiling at the question. “Well… no. Glodhet made Sense run for emperor, but Since Glodhet was LaxSprite’s running mate, Sense didn’t have anyone as his running mate. I tried, but he said no. Because of that, we never built any versions of you.”

Jrum looked down at the floor sadly. Sure NPG was a great friend, but he and his brother were really the only kids on the server, so it was pretty lonely a lot of the time.

“Um, well, do you want to go and see Prof?”

Jrum nodded and NPG picked him up before going to the portal he had outside. Jrum shivered when they walked outside, the air extremely cold. That definitely was opposite to the nether. It also didn’t help that it seemed to be night out, which made it even colder. “Isn’t the neth- uh, aether faster?”

“Yeah, but with its day and night cycles, it’s really dangerous at night and you don’t really have any gear I don’t think. Besides, Prof isn’t that far away from the other side of my portal.”

“O-Okay.”

Grian and Mumbo spawned in Helscraft right next to each other. They spawned on a small island that was half made of mycelium, half on fire. Grian was a little worried about the fact that Xisuma didn’t seem to be with them, but that was probably fine? Maybe he had been there before and when spawning in, he appeared there instead.

There seemed to be some sort of water around the island, but it didn’t quite look right as it was a bright red color. Grian carefully plucked a wing and dipped it into the water. It didn’t get burnt or damaged or anything, so that was a good sign.

Mumbo looked in a chest on the island and found it filled with boats. The wood seemed to be slightly pink, like a slightly more colorful jungle boat. He placed it into the water and got in, Grian climbing in behind him. “Well, while everything looks different in color, that island seems to be like the spawn island back home, and that out there looks like the shopping district.”

Grian looked into the distance. “Yeah, though it doesn’t look quite as populated as the one on Hermitcraft. I-Is that a giant blackstone castle?”

Mumbo squinted his eyes, looking back towards the larger island. It was a little hard to tell because it was against a black sky with few stars in sight, but Mumbo could make out what seemed to be the outline of a castle. “I’m guessing they have the same sort of starting seed, but they build whatever they want and it doesn’t match what we do.”

Grian agreed, and then Mumbo paddled them to the island. When they reached the shore, Mumbo got out first and then held a hand out to help Grian.

“Since I can fly, I’ll look at this place from above. You check on foot. Does that sound good?” Grian asked, getting a nod from Mumbo. “Great, let’s go.”

True groaned as the sunlight was blocked for a moment. Even with her sunglasses on and her eyes closed, she could tell when the light didn’t reach her closed eyes for a moment. Her best guess was someone decided to try and annoy her again by building something to fly in just the right place to annoy her, something that had happened more than once before. She moved her glasses to her forehead and set down the glass of wine she had been sipping from before walking to the edge of her sunbathing balcony and looking below to see who exactly was messing with her.

She groaned when she was Sense walking in the paths below. Of course it would be the resident evil genius causing trouble. And then as the light was blocked again, she turned her gaze skyward to see what exactly he had made this time. True expected some sort of redstone machine to be moving around up there, Sense trying to control it from below and put it in the right place. What she didn’t expect was for the thing in the air to be a person, specifically one with wings, not elytra, on their back.

Immediately True was rushing back into the castle. This was not happening. “WHISKEY!” She shouted at the top of her lungs. “STOP WHATEVER THE FUCK YOU’RE DOING AND CALL PROF! SENSE FINALLY FUCKING DID IT!” She heard some sort of response but didn’t really pay attention as she grabbed the armor and weapons she left inside. As soon as it was all re-equipped, she went back onto the balcony and scoured the skies.

It was easy to spot the avian in the sky, having gotten closer if anything. True drew her bow and aimed at the moving target, trying to follow his path. Then when she was sure her aim was right, she fired the arrow, watching it sail in the air.

Mumbo had been looking in every building he had come across, which had been harder than it sounded since the land of the island was damaged beyond belief. Rubble was everywhere and creeper holes littered the terrain. He kept looking up at Grian, hoping he would find something so that he wouldn’t need to bother with the buildings.

The redstoner was just climbing out of another building through the mostly blocked up door when he looked up in the sky. Grian was still flying, but he watched as one moment an arrow hit the avian and the next he was covered in fire and falling to the ground. Immediately Mumbo started running in Grian’s direction.

A few minutes before, Grian had finished looking at yet another section of the island from overhead and turned around to view the next one. He was so focused on the ground below, he wasn’t paying attention to the airspace around him until suddenly an arrow struck his wing. Fire from the arrow spread to his wings and the rest of his body, making it feel even worse.

Grian tried to flap his wings and move towards the water. He wasn’t sure what that stuff was, but he hoped it would put him out. The problem was that the arrow had hit his wing in just the right place that even twitching it slightly felt like agony. And since he only had use of one of his wings, the avian started plummeting to the ground. He at the very least managed to twist his body so that way his wings were below him so that the feathers helped soften his fall.

“Don’t worry. I got you Gri.” Grian heard Mumbo say and a moment later he could hear a bucket of water get spilled out, dousing the fire that was covering his body.

“Th-Thanks. Ow that hurt.” Grian thanked Mumbo and stood up to brush himself off. “I didn’t even notice that- mmph!” Grian was cut off as suddenly Mumbo’s lips met his in a kiss. His eyes widened in shock, especially as Mumbo tried to deepen the kiss. At that point Grian pushed him away. “Wh-What?!”

“Sorry. Just been a while. And with that just happened…” Mumbo gave a half smile. Grian sort of knew where he was coming from, but this hardly seemed like something to warrant a kiss like that. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Uh, yeah. Thanks for the water. Won’t be able to fly for a bit though. I got shot right in the wing and even potions are going to have trouble with that.”

“Well I can help you with that later. That arrow came from the castle, so we should be careful about any more from there.”

Grian nodded, but then paused. If anyone was going to be shooting at him, it might be because they didn’t want him getting to Jrum. And if that were the case, then Jrum was in the castle. “Well then we should be going to the castle, right?”

Mumbo smiled. “Of course. Lead the way.” Mumbo gestured towards the castle and Grian rushed off, not hearing the words that were added on at the end. “My dear.”

Mumbo followed along behind Grian, heading towards the castle. He didn’t bother picking up the water that had been placed down. Who would care about that? In fact, he even threw the bucket behind him, not watching where it landed.

The bucket sailed through the air before finally landing with a thunk. Mumbo rubbed his head, glad that the item had been empty. “Who would throw an empty bucket?” He asked no one in particular before finally getting to the top of the hill. Sitting there was a water source, likely from the bucket. This should have been where Grian landed, but the avian was nowhere in sight. “I didn’t realize he had a bucket of water on him.” He then realized it was red instead. “Wait, this is water from here… Who placed this?”

Mumbo continued to look at the surrounding terrain and noticed the water had made the surrounding mycelium a bit muddy. There seemed to be two sets of footprints, and in one print, a feather had been stepped on. Said feather was a bright red, which could only belong to one person. Mumbo’s eyes followed the prints, watching as they went towards the castle. If Grian was anywhere, he would be there, so he started walking in that direction.

Grian raised an eyebrow as Mumbo held his hand, but he supposed it made sense with what just happened and them going into a dangerous area. They carefully walked through the halls of the castle, checking every room. So far there was no sign of Jrum, but there weren’t even signs of anyone. But then they were turning down one hallway and ran into someone who looked like Tango, except his skin was a lavender color, his hair even darker than Mumbo’s and his eyes glowing purple rather than red.

“It was easier to find you two than I thought.” The not Tango spoke, pulling out an axe of some sort of pink colored metal. He ran towards Grian and Mumbo, ready to attack, but then Mumbo pulled out a piece of TNT. Immediately not Tango stopped in his tracks, and then Mumbo was pulling Grian another direction, placing the TNT down and causing not Tango to scream.

“How’d you know that would work?” Grian asked as they ran.

“Didn’t, just had a slight hunch.” Mumbo replied. “Let’s go up those stairs.” And Grian looked over where Mumbo pointed, the two of them then turning to go that way.

Behind them, the not Tango tried to find another path. He didn’t get far though before running into Mumbo. In an instant the axe was out in front of him, ready to attack. “Gah! Don’t take a step closer or-” Not Tango looked around, surprised to not see Grian. “Where’d the bird go?”

“You saw him? Which way did he go?”

“You two already got separated? That’s so unlike you.” Not Tango answered. Mumbo looked away from the helsmit, who took the opportunity to attack. The redstoner noticed just in time and was able to dodge the attack, running to dive behind the block of TNT nearby. It obviously wasn’t the safest place, but it was still cover. One that happened to repel the not Tango, who freaked out at the block.

When Grian reached the top of the stairs with Mumbo, the redstoner pulled the two of them into a nearby room. It was thankfully empty, and Grian watched as Mumbo locked the door behind them. “Well, they know we’re here now. It would probably be good to deal with your wing, hmm?”

Grian nodded. “Yeah, it would be good to do that so I’m not hindered at all. We’ll probably need all the help we can get with this.”

Mumbo came over to Grian as he was busy climbing onto the table in the room so that Mumbo had a better platform to treat him on. Just as he was settling down, ready to shift his wings back into existence, Mumbo grabbed him from behind, the redstoner’s mouth suddenly on his neck. Grian gasped, not sure how to react, and before he could do anything, Mumbo was off him again, leaving a purplish-red mark on Grian’s neck.

Grian turned to face Mumbo, only to be kissed again. Grian wanted to complain, but Mumbo’s hand found the sweet spot on his back, right between his shoulder blades, and Grian couldn’t help but melt into the redstoner’s arms.

Mumbo panted as he reached the top of the stairs, having been chased by someone that almost looked like Zedaph. He had been cornered and nearly killed, but then the not Tango showed up and the two of them started fighting each other instead. Mumbo used the opening to run, getting up to the next floor. At the top of the steps, he thought about just standing there a bit longer to catch his breath, but then he heard what sounded like Grian behind a nearby door.

It sounded like he might have been hurt, so the redstoner rushed to the door and tried to open it, only to find it locked. Another noise from inside worried Mumbo, and he immediately had a pickaxe in his hand and broke down the metal door. He wasn’t sure what he expected, but it wasn’t this. In front of him was himself and Grian. The avian was sitting on a table as he kissed him, hands working on pulling the red sweater off. “What in the world?!”

Grian opened his eyes when Mumbo spoke, looking to see what the problem was. They then widened to the point they were practically bulging out of his skull as he saw Mumbo in the doorway as Mumbo was also currently kissing him.

Grian pushed Mumbo, the one kissing him, away so he could say something. “Mumbo?!”

The Mumbo who had been kissing Grian turned around to see the second version of him in the doorway before looking back at Grian. “Wait. You’re not Grifter.”

“Uh, no. I’m Grian? W-Which one of you is Mumbo?”

“I am!” Mumbo spoke up, attempting to go to Grian’s side, but his hels counterpart stopped him.

“And I’m Sense. Are you sure you’re Grian though? Because your body is just the same as I remember Grifter having~. The same soft lips and strong muscles. And I’m sure you have the same-”

Grian felt Sense’s hand start to move down his back as he spoke, so the avian shoved him away. “Nope! We are not doing this! Absolutely not!”

Sense pouted and gave a huff. “Fine, then what are you doing here?”

“We’re here looking for our son.” Mumbo replied. “I’m guessing since you didn’t realize this was Grian, you haven’t seen him.”

“What would that have to do with it?” Sense replied. “Though didn’t realize he was your son too. Anyway, of course I’ve seen him.” When Grian opened his mouth, Sense stopped him by continuing. “Oh, but I won’t be telling you anything just like that. I need something out of it.”

“Oh ew no!” Grian replied, moving behind Mumbo.

“Oh please, I wouldn’t want that. Okay maybe if you were offering… but no, if you can get here from your little Hermitcraft world, you might be able to get to the last season of Helscraft.”

“And why would you want that?” Mumbo asked.

“Grifter got left behind, and none of us can go back there ourselves. I mean, there are a few here who can, but no one who’s willing to actually free Grifter.”

“I’m afraid we can’t either. Xisuma’s the one who brought Grian and I here. And I doubt he would want to send us anywhere else.”

Sense scoffed in irritation. “Fine, then I have one other option, but you’ll need to help me out Grian.”

Grian winced, clinging tighter to Mumbo. “Wh-What do you want?”

“I’m really a fan at how True is running this place. I would have loved to be emperor, but without Grifter, I didn’t have a chance. However, if you’re with me, I can make a bluff for the throne.”

Grian hesitated, weighing his options. Finally, he sighed. “Okay. Fine.”

“Grian, you don’t have to say yes.”

“If it’ll help us find him, I’m going to do it.” Grian stopped hiding behind Mumbo. “I’m in. Just as long as any contact from you stays above the waist!”

Sense frowned at that. “Really? Because-”

“Touch anything below that, and you won’t have hands to try again with.”

“Alright, alright. I won’t!” Sense replied, actually smiling slightly. “In fact and attitude like that should help sell it. Now let’s go find True. I’d stay in here if I were you Mumbo. Wouldn’t want you ruining things and not be able to get that information.”

Mumbo wanted to argue, but Sense was already out of the room dragging Grian behind, leaving the hermit to find a place to sit and wait.

“There you go. Th-Those wings should work fine for you.” A pig hybrid spoke, putting down a clipboard.

NPG helped Jrum down from the examination table he had been sitting on. “Thanks Prof! Let’s go test them out Jrum!”

“O-Oh, by the way, you two should be careful out there.” Prof stopped the brothers before they could leave. “I g-got a message from True. A-Apparently she saw Grifter. I would th-think she mistook you for him again… e-except you’ve obviously here.”

“Oh! Then I suppose we will need to be very careful as we attempt to fly.” NPG replied, starting to leave again, but this time Jrum stopped him.

“Um, NPG? How long have I been here exactly?”

“Hmmm… Maybe half a day? Not too long.”

“But I was out for a while trying to get to that place in the nether… So I’ve been gone longer than that. Maybe that’s not the Grifter person, but maybe that’s my dad looking for me?”

“Oh! That’s probably it! Even more of a reason to try flying! So we can go over to the castle and see if that’s him!”

“Well i-if you’re going to do that, stay safe.” Prof smiled and waved goodbye to the two robots before going back to his other work. “Hmm… l-looks like Xannes is trying some new scheme. G-Guess I’ll have to go over there now to stop him.”

Xisuma woke up with a literal jolt as something shocked his arm. He tried to move to see what it was, only to find himself unable to move anything, being tied down to a chair. “Mind telling me why you brought Grifter here?” A deep voice spoke, one X was very familiar with.

“Evil X? Where am I?” Xisuma tried to turn his head around even a little to see where his brother was.

“You happen to be in my base. I coded in something so that you would be brought here if you ever came to Helscraft. I never expected it would actually be used. But right now I’m very grateful for it.” Now Evil X walked into Xisuma’s line of sight. He was surprised to see that his brother wasn’t wearing a helmet, then noticing that he himself wasn’t wearing one either. “Where’s my helmet?”

“Oh you don’t need that. I know it helps you access all your fun little admin powers like mine gives me my hacks. The air here is breathable so you don’t need to worry about that and we can have a nice little chat. Now. Why did you bring Grifter here?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Evil X smacked Xisuma with a shovel. “Wrong answer, try again.”

“No, I’m serious. I don’t know what you mean. I came here with two of my Hermits, that’s all!”

“You? Bringing hermits with you? Why?”

“Someone from here kidnapped one of their sons.”

Evil X cursed. “You brought Grian and Mumbo. That’s not going to end well. NPG’s got the kid so I have a clue of where he might be. The question is how fast we can find them.”

“Who’s NPG? And you still haven’t explained about ‘Grifter’.”

“NPG is the closest thing we have to Grian here. Technically, that title would go to Grifter, but none of us can deal with him. We locked him up and left him behind in our old world. Look me in the eyes brother.” Evil X stared at Xisuma, waiting until the hermit was looking back. “I want to destroy your server. I want it to burn to the ground. I wouldn’t mind if all your hermits died and couldn’t… well okay, maybe just had trouble respawning. We grief and steal and have actual wars here. But I would never, not in a million years, ever want you to deal with Grifter. That’s how bad he is. And right now, it seems like the others here think Grian is.”

Xisuma immediately tried to stand up, only finding himself struggling in his bindings. “Then we need to stop that.”

“No, we don’t need to do anything. This is my server, I’m dealing with it.” Evil X started to walk away, but Xisuma heard him stop walking for a moment. “Plus, I wouldn’t mind having you own me in the long run.”

#hermitcraft #jrumbot #npg #npc grian #helscraft #grian #avian!Grian #mumbo jumbo #Hels hermits #helsmits #hels!Mumbo #hels!False #hels!Tango #hels!Doc #evil xisuma #xisumavoid #My writing

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agapaic · 4 years

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[19 days] sin city

this drabble is a gift to one of my dearest and biggest supporters, @geoviki, who requested a bonus ‘second kiss’ continuation scene between he tian and guan shan in the ‘sweet tooth’ universe (a crazy rich asians-inspired fic), and i sincerely hope you enjoy it, viki! all my love, xxx

Guan Shan hasn’t set foot in God’s house since he was a kid. His mother goes every weekend when she doesn’t have a double shift, but he can’t bring himself to go with her. Too busy, too cynical. He knows he can’t struggle with his faith when he’s lost it; he doesn’t know if he ever found it. He knows without a doubt that he sins.

As it is, he isn’t burnt in the service, isn’t poisoned by the communion. He thinks that if anyone were to be dealt retribution then he wouldn’t be first in line. Singapore’s elite have bigger, dustier skeletons in their closets than Guan Shan, half-disintegrated with age.

He tells himself this through the readings and prayers and hymns he’s forgotten the words to, glances routinely through the stained-glass windows for a glimpse of an outside reality he can’t see. He can hear it: the rush of mid-morning traffic beyond the grassy verges of the church, neatly protected from the central business district by iron fencing and a half-acre of flower beds and rain trees.

Beneath the lip of the pew, where copies of the testaments, old and new, have been neatly placed and the firm, embroidered hassocks hang off metal hooks, He Tian squeezes Guan Shan’s hand.

‘Nearly done,’ he murmurs, while Father Joshua delivers his sermon on godliness in children and parental obedience.

Guan Shan's gaze slides to his. It’s one of the only things He Tian’s said the whole service.

‘You believe all this?’ he asks, whispering.

‘They do,’ He Tian replies, his lips barely moving.

Fans move lazily above them from the high steepled ceiling, their chains rattling over the din of the priest’s solemn tone. They don’t offer much: the inside of the church is still sticky with heat, and members of the congregation attempt to cool themselves with the service pamphlets or paperback copies of the Bible with broken spines and annotations in the margins.

From the seat in front of them, Guan Shan watches a bead of sweat slide down a woman’s neck, dampness collecting at the high laced collar of her Chanel dress. She has her own bamboo fan, painted with pretty avian sketches.

Guan Shan pulls his gaze away. ‘Which godly child are you?’ he asks He Tian quietly. ‘Absolom or Samuel?’

He Tian tries to hide a grin. ‘Destroyer of kingdoms or a monk?’ he questions, angling his head as if looking behind him. His breath is cool at Guan Shan’s ear. Guan Shan lets him lean close, breathing in sandalwood and khus oil. ‘Are those my only choices?’

Guan Shan sets his eyes forward. ‘Nothin’ else seems to be acceptable.’

‘Yes—they’re a stern lot.’

‘They should put their money where their mouth is.’

He Tian snorts quietly. He releases Guan Shan’s hand, and Guan Shan says nothing when his hand moves instead to rest innocently atop Guan Shan’s thigh.

‘He Tian…’ he starts to warn.

He Tian keeps his expression plain. ‘I told you if you came I’d make it worth your while.’

‘That’s not—’ Guan Shan bats his hand away. The gesture elicits a harsh smacking sound, and a few heads turn. Guan Shan presses his lips into a hard line. When eventually their attention shifts away again, Guan Shan hisses, ‘I’m not doin’ that.’

‘I thought you didn’t care much for His wrath,’ He Tian says, pointing discreetly upwards.

‘That’s got nothin’ to do with…’ Guan Shan breaks off. He Tian’s eyes are glittering. He’s joking with him. Guan Shan clenches his jaw. Murmuring, he says: ‘You shouldn’t mess with people like that.’

‘But you make it so much fun,’ He Tian whispers.

Guan Shan glares at him. He endures the rest of the sermon in stoic silence. Absolom, he thinks. He Tian, the destroyer of kingdoms—and young men’s hearts.

///

They linger outside after the sermon. The air is thick and charged with the aftermath of a morning thunderstorm, the ground wet with rain and the smell of petrichor. Guan Shan breathes in deeply, stepping back while He Tian greets strangers and allows middle-aged women to offer both cheeks for him to kiss, their husbands noticeably absent. They run their eyes over Guan Shan and the suit he’s going to make He Tian return by the end of the day, and He Tian politely evades their desire for introductions.

He knows everyone, Guan Shan realises, but it doesn’t surprise him. He’s seen the He family work a crowd at a party or a charity function. The lingering congregation of a Sunday mass is only another opportunity to schmooze and gossip.

‘Just another five minutes,’ He Tian murmurs at Guan Shan’s ear. ‘My father will have my hide if I don’t show my face for a decent length of time.’

‘How long’s that? By his standards?’

‘He’d have me go to brunch with someone’s mother and their daughter if he had his way.’

Guan Shan fingernails bite into his palms. The thought of He Tian being palmed off to some socialite’s offspring makes him bitter with jealousy. He’s seen He Tian only a few times since the charity function at the She estate, communicated with him mostly in veiled text messages and late night calls.

It’s been weeks since they’d shared the feeling of each other’s lips in a quiet room at the She mansion, weeks since they’d shared kueh with their legs dangling over the edge of a jetty across from Sentosa island. Most nights, Guan Shan still tastes both on his lips.

He’s got little stake to claim over the young heir of the He fortune, but he can’t help himself. He goes where He Tian asks him to, wears the suits He Tian buys him. Fuck, he’s started smoking his brand of cigarettes, too. And if He Tian wants to take him to church one Sunday morning so he has better company than a band of middle-aged women wanting him for themselves more than their daughters… Who is Guan Shan to say no after the first three times?

‘What are you thinking?’

Guan Shan blinks. Another church-goer has come and gone, and they’re alone. He Tian is watching him closely.

‘I want a cigarette,’ Guan Shan says. Technically, it’s not a lie.

He Tian snorts. ‘In the courtyard of our Lady of the Veil? Blasphemy, Mo Guan Shan.’

Guan Shan shrugs. He remembers their exchange at the threshold of the church, where two children no more than ten stood with a coin bowl held out, covered in pool-table green cloth and more cash than Guan Shan earns from a month’s tips.

‘I’m not a Catholic,’ he’d told He Tian, feeling strangely compelled to tell him with an even stranger degree of anxiety about the fact, as if it were a make-or-break moment for something they had that could neither be made nor broken.

He Tian had snorted then, too. ‘Don’t worry,’ he’d said, stepping through the doors, palming the children a few bills to line their pockets. ‘Neither am I.’

Now, Guan Shan watches as He Tian reaches into the lining of his suit jacket and pulls out a carton of cigarettes from the pocket. It’s too warm to stand outside in their Sunday best for long, and He Tian tugs Guan Shan over beneath the shade of an Indian-almond tree, its boughs offering some cool relief to a small section of the church courtyard.

Guan Shan watches He Tian light a cigarette between his lips, the flame close to his fingers. It catches; there’s a cherry red glow. Smoke blooms between them, and then He Tian plucks the cigarette from his lips and holds it out as if it’s a newly picked flower.

‘Here,’ he says. A moment passes, where Guan Shan doesn’t take it. ‘I thought you wanted it.’

‘I do, I just—’ Guan Shan can feel his cheeks starting to redden. He swallows. His throat has gone dry. He can hear the voices of men and women standing before the church. He knows some of them are watching, wondering, eager to know who his family is and where he’s come from and how he has captured He Tian’s attention with such painful, singular attentiveness.

‘You’re not—’ He Tian breaks off with a laugh. ‘You’re not worried that I’ve touched it, are you?’

Guan Shan looks away, and He Tian’s eyes widen.

‘Oh,’ he says. His smile grows wider. ‘Mo Guan Shan,’ he croons. ‘I didn’t know you were such a puritan. How proud He’d be.’

‘Shut up,’ Guan Shan mutters.

He Tian’s stance shifts, intrigued. ‘If I’d known it took an indirect kiss to make you blush, Man Upstairs be damned, I’d have put my mouth elsewhere a long time ago.’

‘Shut up.’

He Tian’s laughter is deep as he takes a drag of his cigarette. Some of the women are frowning at him. The hot breeze carries the smoke in their direction, and they waft it away with their fans and paper service pamphlets, rouged mouths pursing tightly. He smiles at them, all affable apologies, and they can’t begrudge him long.

‘They want you to fuck them,’ Guan Shan mutters.

He Tian’s eyes flick to his, and his smile grows indulgent. ‘I know,’ he says.

‘You’re not gonna do anythin’ about it?’

‘Like what?’

Guan Shan grits his teeth. ‘Like—tell them to fuck off?’

He Tian snorts. ‘They’re old friends of the family. And you forget they haven’t made me an offer, sweetheart.’

‘And if they did?’

He Tian considers him carefully. His playfulness begins to fade. ‘You’re jealous,’ he says. ‘Of them?’

‘They’d divorce their investment husbands if they knew they had a chance with you.’

He Tian taps cigarette ash to the ground. He looks away, squinting at the skyline, considering something, before taking a step forward.

‘Firstly,’ says He Tian, his voice low, ‘if they had a chance with me they’d know it. Secondly, there’d be no divorce or marriage to a man twenty years their junior because their reputations wouldn’t survive the scandal. And thirdly: what the fuck would I want with them when I have the prospect of a whole indirect kiss with you?’

Guan Shan glares at him. ‘Gimme that,’ he says, snatching the cigarette from He Tian’s fingers before putting it to his lips. He nearly chokes on the inhale, eyes watering, and smoke seeps from the corners of his mouth before he can control it the way he wants it to. There’s nothing attractive about it, but he catches He Tian watching him with an indulgent smile.

‘It’s been five minutes,’ He Tian says, taking a glance at his watch. ‘We can go now. I promised to buy you brunch. You’re still happy with Orchard Road?’

‘I’m not finished,’ Guan Shan says.

He Tian’s brows lift. ‘You can’t smoke and walk?’

‘I didn’t mean that.’

He Tian tilts his head. ‘Oh?’

‘I meant—it’s not really fair, is it? It’s always—always you kissin’ me, and shit.’

‘Always?’

‘Yeah, with the—distractin’ the guards at She Li’s house and with—’ He makes a vague gesture. ‘—the cigarette and—’

‘Guan Shan—’

‘—it’s only fair that I get to prove my own fuckin’ point too—’

‘Mo Guan Shan—’

‘So will you just shut up and let me kiss you?’

He Tian stares at him.

Then he swallows.

‘If you really want to,’ he starts, ‘I suppose I’m in no position to—mmphh!’

It isn’t tender or soft, and Guan Shan is vaguely aware of the cigarette burning to ash between his fingers. He lets it fall, hopes he’s ground it out beneath his foot properly and remembers to pick it up after or risk a fine, but first: this. His fingers tightly locked in the dark strands of He Tian’s hair; He Tian’s lips bruising against his own, the sharp gasps of the women loitering by the church doors.

It’s exactly as he remembers from last time. A crushing pressure, the sense of being caught unawares. No finesse. Guan Shan knows it could be slower, that they could take their time, a pilgrimage of vulnerability and one body learning another, but something possessive in him has taken over—this is a crusade.

He Tian’s answering kiss twists into a grin against Guan Shan’s mouth. Guan Shan swallows He Tian’s amusement down, finds the feel of He Tian’s smile against his lips unfairly alluring. He does his best to try and rid He Tian of it, crowding close until He Tian’s back hits the trunk of the almond tree and He Tian is groaning beneath the pressure of his lips. He tastes the acrid smoke of their shared cigarette and He Tian’s breath mints, feels the humid beat of the mid-morning sun—and He Tian’s hand pressing gently at his chest.

He pulls away, staggering and breathing hard. With satisfaction, he notes that He Tian is, too.

‘I think we’re even now,’ says He Tian, a slight rasp to his voice. His eyes are bright and he runs his thumbnail over his lower lip, which has gone swollen and red. ‘You’ve suitably convinced your audience.’

Guan Shan looks away. ‘Dunno what you’re talkin’ about.’

‘Oh?’ He Tian asks, amused. ‘That wasn’t you staking your claim?’

Guan Shan hesitates. Part of him can’t bear to look behind him. ‘Are you gonna be excommunicated?’

He Tian chuckles. ‘I’m sure I can find my way back in. Father Joshua is particularly fond of He Cheng’s hideously curvaceous Bugatti.’

‘Guess that’s somethin’,’ Guan Shan mutters.

In answer, He Tian sweeps a hand through the loose strands of Guan Shan’s red hair that have slipped down across his forehead. The touch is fond and familiar and makes Guan Shan swallow hard.

‘You know,’ says He Tian. ‘You can do that any time you want. Not just to prove a point.’

‘You haven’t,’ says Guan Shan, an accusation.

‘I didn’t want to scare you off. I realise last time I was a bit—’

‘Forceful?’

‘Abrupt,’ He Tian corrects delicately. ‘But still—I don’t want you to think you’re any less mine.’

Guan Shan looks at him. ‘Thought you couldn’t have anythin’ you wanted.’

‘Ah…’ He Tian drops his hand, leans back on the heels of his Louis Vitto’s. Almost boyishly, he says, ‘I thought it was a done deal. You and me.’

Guan Shan neither confirms or denies. Instead he asks, ‘Who’d you trade with to get that impression?’

He Tian nods his head upwards. ‘Did it work? I sold my soul for it. ’

‘And they still let you in?’

He Tian’s look is sinful. ‘They let the worst of us through.’

Guan Shan rolls his eyes. He wets his lips. ‘Well,’ he says. ‘I think you’re on a decent road to redemption.’

‘Is that your way of saying it was a worthwhile bargain?’ Tell me it worked.

‘Is that your way of askin’ if I’m yours?’ Guan Shan asks. All these riddles and metaphors—sometimes he has to bring them back to the ground, make sure they’re on the same page.

‘I—Yes.’

Guan Shan nods, then jerks his chin in a challenge. ‘Make me believe it and I might be.’

He Tian’s eyes flicker towards the church just for a moment, but then he smirks, reaffirming their closeness with one step. ‘Mo Guan Shan,’ he murmurs, angling his head down, ‘I thought you’d never ask.’

#19 days #tianshan #old xian #he tian #mo guan shan #sweet tooth #crazy rich asians #my fanfic

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saintheartwing · 3 years

Text

Breaking Dawn, Pt. 3: Rise of the Red Helm

She was a normal, good solider. She truly was.

But she couldn't help but notice something wasn't...right...with her world.

She saw things...tolerated. Things that she could not stand. And she grew to despise these things. She didn't understand why they existed.

Until she met it. The crack. The rip. The Schism.

As she looked into it, knowledge ripped through her mind like a tidal wave, and she understood all. Understood what she was. Where she was. What she was meant to be.

And she realized now why she could not tolerate those things. Those...vermin.

She swore to destroy them.

They were all nothing more than robotic bugs.

And she...was going to make sure...everybody knew this.

Breaking Dawn, Part Three RISE OF THE RED HELM

The experience was...enlightening beyond anything he'd ever experienced. Simultaneously intoxicating and exhilarating, a breath of fresh air after years, YEARS of being locked away in the damp and the dark, beautiful...so damn beautiful.

And then that experience ended, and he was vaguely aware of a spectral, ghostly form gently patting him on one shoulder, a smile spreading across a draconic face with sweet, kindly eyes, black with a faint tint of green at the bottom, and pupils like a shining star. It spread it's wings over him, his Lord, his God, speaking in a voice so harmonious that the very words uttered from its mouth threatened to annihilate his very existence with their divinity. He was standing in the presence of sacred fire, and like Zeus before the average mortal, it was a wonder he could endure it and wasn't being burnt up.

"You're different...from most of the others." It told him. "...I think I could tolerate you more. You've got the seeds of real potential in you, my host. Are you prepared?"

"P-prepared f-for what?" Senior asked, stuttering nervously as Sude smiled broadly.

"I have need of you for a mission. I'll hide away within you...be only visible TO you, audible to you. Return to your charge, the once called Maht. I'll explain when you've returned to the ship you call your home." Sude informed him, wrapping his immense wings and powerful arms around him, almost sinking into his body. Senior gasped, patting his chest, his stomach, his arms...

The Irken in him was astounded, frightened, confused. This being wasn't an Irken! It was skaatel, it was...

Yet...the power...the sheer, awe-inspiring beauty that had filled his form...that had been more enjoyable than anything he'd ever felt. He'd felt tiny doses of it, listening to Earthen music...those quiet moments from the past with the two beings he had loved, were he capable of love. Pure happiness...that was it. Unbridled joy.

He WANTED to feel that again, above all else. And if he did what this thing asked of him, he might be able to feel it again. He would have done ANYTHING to feel it.

So he exited the restroom, heading back in Maht's direction as the service drone helped somebody back up from the ground, they'd tripped and had dropped all of their merchandise and Maht was putting it back in their cart for them. "You're very helpful, sir." The half-Irken, half-Vortian admitted as Senior stood by Maht, who nodded cheerily at the Vortken.

Senior nervously gulped. He didn't REALLY have anything personal against ANY Vortians or other species. His PAK had, after all, been encoded in a time when other species had been allies to the Empire, when it had been considerably less bullying, conquering not with cruelty, but with a kiss, a time when all the Irken race had wanted was for all beings to speak Irken, know Irken culture, trade with Irk, and it wasn't like there weren't perks to this...

Still, he was slightly...uncomfortable around half-breeds, or "mongrels". Most Irkens had sexual organs deeply embedded, useless like a human appendix. Stored deep inside, never to be used. Ignored. What crazy lunatics would undergo the procedure to bring those organs out and...and breed with other beings? It seemed so...barbaric!

He tried to summon up a smile and gave a half-hearted chuckle at the Vortken as he turned to Maht, pointing at an invisible watch on his wrist. "Methinks it's time we find the others and meet up for lunch. Let's head to the food district."

Making their way out of the warehouse and through the streets, Maht examined a magazine he'd bought, entitled "Irken Weekly". The headlines were quite attention-grabbing. "Resisty Rocks: Irken Resistance Movement gains in the Pollls Through Popular Programming", "How to style your lekku"-

EWWWW. People could PIERCE that part of the body? YECCCH.

Wait. What was this? "The Red Helm Strikes Again".

Red Helm?

Senior frowned. He'd heard reports about this "Red Helm" lately, this vigilante being that stalked the streets of Irk. People had a tendency to DIE if they crossed his path. Die horribly. Most of the time nobody was able to find all of the pieces of whatever poor soul had met the Red Helm in some dark, dingy alley. The only thing the victims had in common seemed to be that they had all been members of the Irken military.

What neither Maht nor Senior knew was that several miles away, in an underground bunker, Irken commanders of the local military were all discussing their latest problems, which could be summed up quite easily in one sentence.

"HE'S KILLING EVERYONE!"

Fists slammed onto a table as dozens of armed guards stood by the exits below a catwalk, the commanders sitting around a circular table. The Irken who'd shouted shook his slightly hexagonal head back and forth. "I had thought that we'd be able to put a lid on the media...why are they being allowed to report this?"

"We've TRIED, sir, but they keep moving locations. And word-of-mouth is spreading the news about the Red Helm like wildfire."

"You called us here because you've got a plan, haven't you?" Another commander asked, one of nearly black skin, eyes steely and cold as he steepled his gloved claws.

"No, I did not." The man from before mumbled, folding his arms and leaning back in his chair, scowling behind his Elite mask. "I thought it was you. You've lost five officers, haven't you?"

"Today it makes six. SIX! Some of my best people."

"Oh, screw this." Another captain spoke up, standing up from the chair. "I'm done here. You brain donors wanna stick around-"

"Siddown, Captain Kroonch." A low, growling voice snarled out from atop the catwalk, as a being stepped out into the light, resting black-gloved hands upon the railing. It was a being dressed in black and red armor, a large red breastplate upon his chest with two spiky wings hanging low from his shoulder blades, with a horned helm. Two curled down the side of it's head like a ram, with a final spike jutting up from the forehead. It appeared as though the Red Helm had decided to make a personal appearance, and he was every bit as imposing as they'd heard.

His soulless red eyes blazed down at them as they felt a faint smile make it's way through the helmet that covered his head. "You've all authorized a recent...campaign. A secret one. Targeting defectives. You thought nobody would find OUT?" He growled. "Nobody reports the death of poor defectives. But poor soldiers dying in the line of duty? Oh, THAT sells."

"You ASKING to die?" The dark-skinned commander snarled. "There are easier ways of doing it!"

"Yeah, like yelling at the lunatic that's eviscerated every single military idiot he's come across with his hands alone." The Red Helm laughed darkly, shutting him up. "Now you tell me. Your hired killer. The one leaving bodies for yours truly to find and give respect...the name. I want the name."

"..." The Irkens at the table all looked around at each other. "...we're not telling you ANYTHING." One of the captains growled, pointing accusingly at the Red Helm.

The Red Helm's eyes narrowed as it pointed it's palm at the captain, a red circle glowing on it's palm as a burning blast of red energy shot clear through the air, snatching the captain up.

He barely had time to scream.

"That...is going to be all of you...unless you start talking." The Red Helm asked as everyone stepped away from Mr. Friz's head, Mr. Friz's right hand, Mr. Friz's left leg...heck, EVERYONE had a little piece of Mr. Friz to take home for a souvenir now.

"Earth culture's rather primitive, but it appears as though they're right about one thing...military intelligence truly IS an oxymoron. You're all really so dumb that you'll choose your empire over self-preservation? Yeah, just what your commanders taught you to. Mine..."

His eyes narrowed. "For me...it was different. As my commander lay DYING in front of me because of a mistake the Empire made, I realized then I didn't really give two shits what the higher-ups thought because as far as they were concerned, I was just cannon fodder. We're ALL just cannon fodder. I might actually be doing you a favor, giving you all quick deaths here..." The vigilante spoke quietly, dangerously, eyes glimmering as he raised his gloved hand high. "I promised him to make people like you pay...and, well...you should NEVER break a promise." The helmeted being said calmly.

"Wiyn! Her name's Wiyn!" The black-skinned Irken immediately blabbed out, Mr. Friz's intestinal tract f his squeedly-spooch dangling off his head. "She's an Elite Grunt! Dark olive green skin and even darker green eyes!" The commander squealed, covering his head with his arms. "We gave her the list of known defects three months ago!"

"Well...that wasn't so hard, was it?" The Red Helm said cheerily, clapping his hands as he began to shrink back into the shadows. "Just remember...I'm watching...and I'm waiting for you to slip up again. If you send another one of her out there...you're dead."

With that, it was gone, and the little makeshift military tribunal looked around at each other, wondering what they'd unleashed.

...

...it wasn't long before all of Senior's charges were sitting at a table at "Deep Fried Dan's Diner". Everything that wasn't fried and buttered was swimming in gravy, just the way most of them liked it.

"Hey, where's my sly-doo-dee-doo?" Dite wanted to know, shouting furiously as he banged his fist on the table. The head chef pulled out a smoking...THING...from a furnace, holding it aloft on a prong, and calmly fake-ran through the diner, holding the burning thing high and humming the theme to the Olympics as he deposited it on Dite's plate. "...I'll be grateful when this "Earth" fad is over." Dite mumbled.

Yes, everybody had ordered something that would surely give them heart attacks...save for Feyr, who had decided to simply have some potato chips. Lots of them.

"I think your hand is becoming translucent." Xeil mumbled as the pink-eyed consular stuffed more and more into his mouth, hungrily gobbling the chips down, pieces of the chips spraying out over a dark, steely-grey table. "So much GREASE."

"Like your deep-fried Blorblegax Breast has any less." Feyr muttered out in between mouthfuls, slurping down his meal with some orange soda. "My, you're awfully hungry today, sir, if you do not mind me saying so." He added, looking at Senior as his taller hungrily wolfed down cheesy nachos. "It reminds me of the prisoners in our holding cells, they're so starved it's like they're eating for two!" He tapped his lip. "That reminds me, has anybody seen the latest "Irk Weekly"? There's been more and more captures of Resisty supporters on this planet, they're becoming AWFULLY popular for such a stupidly-named group."

"It's the theme song." Senior reasoned as he swallowed the last of his nachos, noticing the television above the bar had been turned on to the very show so the waitress and other patrons could see what the big deal was. "It's just so friggin' hard to not like."

The world is a vampire...sent to draaaa-aaaa-aaaaain!

"Yeah, we're badass." The grey-skinned, horned being named Lard Nar said as he addressed the camera, his green-goggled eyes catching the light of a passing sun as their ship soared through the stars.

Despite all my rage, I am still just a rat in a cage!

"Of COURSE you're gonna get sucked in after THAT." Senior insisted, waving his hand at the television as the show started.

"HEY!" The orange-eyed female smacked Maht's hand away from her tray, baring sharp teeth. "MINE!"

"Well, it appears as though the Resisty are doing a raid, a LIVE raid upon..." Jayd's eyes widened as he trailed off.

Wait. Was that...

"...is that...the alley behind this diner?" The waitress asked as Lard Nar grinned into the camera.

"Perception filters. New! Improved! We're practically invisible here we see the BEAUTIFUL capital city of Irk! So much culture! So many Irkens!...we're gonna blow this diner up." The Vortian laughed. "Mostly for kicks and giggles."

"Everybody out of the diner, NOW!" Jayd yelled out, eyes widening as he turned to see-

Senior was gone. What the?

No, wait. He was now on the television, facing down the Resisty, two familiar pistols...well, familiar for Maht, anyhow, held high. "Stop the countdown." He demanded. "I am giving you fair warning, this is the kindest I can be to known rebels like you."

"...hello...big "N"." Lard Nar said quietly. "...been a a while, huh?"

"...stop this, Nar." Senior said. "I'm sorry we blamed your people for Spork and Miyuki, I AM, but if your kind keeps resisting, you'll keep suffering more."

"We'll suffer no matter what your kind do unless WE do something about it. So...no. stop what we're doing?...we can't do that. And...we WON'T." Lard Nar spoke, looking squarely at the Irken as his men vanished, teleporting away one by one, only he and a hooded Vortian remaining. "In ten seconds it goes ka-blooey. What can I say? I LIKE it when things go ka-boom." With that, Lard Nar stuck out his tongue, giving a loud raspberry.

"I SAID STOP IT, YOU STUPID-!" Senior yelled, his PAK suddenly popping a tiny jet engine out from the end. He raced through the air right at Lard Nar...

But the hooded Vortian tackled him, and they were sent flying out of the alley as Lard Nar teleported to safety, the rest of the bar patrons running as fast as they could out of the diner before it could-

It was like an enormous sparkling blue dome rose up from the back of the diner, encasing everything within a 100-foot radius. It sizzled and sparked, the others watching, eyes wide...until at last, the dome faded...and everything that had been within it was...just gone. GONE. As if it had never been.

"...don't suppose anyone has a portable television on them?" Dite asked calmly.

Jayd pulled out a small, scanner-shaped object from his belt, and it "pinged" as it came to life. He tuned it to the right channel with small little dials on either side of the portable TV before finally finding the broadcast of the Resisty...and a message was going out by a hooded being wearing blue. She appeared to be standing before a large poster of the Resisty's that showed them all muscular and buff, with a faint light emanating to the right-hand-side of whatever room she was in.

"Greetings, planet Irk." A vaguely feminine voice crooned, a voice disguise filter keeping her real voice from being heard. "I am the Wing, who shields the Resisty. We are the new hope for this galaxy. Hope for a brighter future. Hope for a better world for all. We are willing...to allow Irk to become a part of that in exchange for it's surrender."

She gestured to the right, towards the soft light and the camera now focused on something that had manifested in an enormous storage bay...the diner that had just vanished, people being paraded out...not merely that, there were other buildings captured as well.

"They're TELEPORTALS. Miniature stations that send whomever's captured up to the Resisty!" Xeil realized. "Damnit, they've gotten smarter."

"We shall indoctrinate those captured, and they'll learn our ways...support our cause. If you seek a better life, you are free to seek us out. Defectives of Irk...those who desire more, remember...there is ALWAYS hope." The Wing insisted as the broadcast came to an end and they all looked around at each other.

"...always...hope? Well, they've not gotten any less corny." Dite laughed.

Meanwhile, Senior was grappling with the hooded Vortian in midair, spinning around and around, his PAK sending them higher and higher. "Stop this!" He demanded. "If you don't surrender now, we'll most likely BOTH die! Surrender and I'll spare your life, little Vortian!"

"I'd sooner die than be an Irken slave, you SCUM!" The Vortian spat in his face, trying to scratch him with her pointed nails. He grabbed her wrist, angrily glaring at her as a faint white light glimmered off his body.

"You will SLEEP now." Sude's voice came out of Senior's mouth. "I shan't let you harm my host."

The Vortian woman stiffened, eyes widening beneath the hood before she passed out in an instant, Senior looking stupidly down at what he had in his arms. "Did...did YOU do that?" He asked Sude.

"A, how shall I say this...fringe benefit." It told him. "I will do EVERYTHING to keep you from death."

Senior turned himself back towards the city, heading towards his charges, prisoner held carefully in his arms. "Well, this could work out even better than I thought..." He mused to himself as he touched down to where the others were. "Feyr, you're the one who deals with prisoners. Bring her back to the Massive, whilst I write up a report on what's occurred."

With that, the gang split up anew...nobody noticing where Dite was walking off too.

Nobody...save for Senior.

...

...vermin. All of them. Filthy vermin.

She hissed to herself, leaping from roof to roof, the stars shimmering overhead. Nighttime had fallen over her city. HER city. Hers and hers alone, for people like her.

And they weren't anything like the vermin she was hunting. She finally caught sight of him as she leaned on her knees by the edge of a high-speed monorail, eyes narrowing beneath the pink hood she wore. Dark shorts, shoulder guards, black gloves...Elite Grunt Wiyn was ready, and waiting...waiting...almost there...

She leapt down at him, laughing. "Riddle me this! What's pink and maroon, but covered in dark green?"

THWOMP!

"YOU!" She laughed, calmly getting off the terrified Invader as she pulled out a small electro-knife, lightning crackling from its tip. "When I land upon your sorry, wasteful behind."

"Wh-what do you want?" It whimpered, blue eyes widening in horror.

"Well...your eyes. And then your life." Wiyn explained calmly, her knees pinning the Irken invader to the ground below as she held the knife to the vermin's eye. "You can help me send defects like you a message."

KRAKKA-THROOOOM!

Wiyn was knocked through the air by a shotgun blast of power as the Invader "eeped", staring at his unlikely savior...the Red Helm himself, who lowered a smoking hand, balefully glaring at Wiyn as she rose from out of the trash cans she'd knocked into. "Well?...what's the message?" He growled.

"A SIMPLE one, actually. CARE TO GUESS?" Wiyn whined, tossing the knife away, pulling out two powerful-looking pistols as her PAK opened up, her arachnid-esque mechanical legs making her rise into the air like an armed spider. She grinned darkly, racing towards the Red Helm, firing away at him as the Invader she'd been terrorizing ran for his life, the Red Helm leaping away from her, spinning through the air.

She jumped after him, continuing to fire as he raced up the wall of a nearby armory, finally jumping off and slamming his booted feet into her face, knocking her back and forcing her hood down, revealing curled antennae and a horrid scowl. Deciding that the pistols just weren't cutting it, she snapped her fingers, two long blades sheathing out of the PAK as she raced towards the Red Helm, slashing and slicing as he danced away, trying to avoid her.

Unfortunately one hard PAK leg caught him under the chin and sent him flying into the wall. He panted heavily, some blood dribbling down from his helmet as he growled at her, a faint, spectral image momentarily appearing behind him. "So...you have all this power and all you do is kill people with it?"

"DEFECTIVES. Not "people"." Wiyn growled.

"That schmuck back there only had blue eyes!" The Red Helm snapped. "Who GIVES a flying-"

"Ido! They should be red! Or purple! Or green! Or brown! Anything else is DEFECTIVE! And you...I can clearly tell YOU'RE defective. Personalizing such a gaudy outfit." Wiyn hissed, spinning her blades in a circular pattern.

"Oh, you view ANY sign of creativity as defectiveness, huh? Bite me."

"I DON'T MIND IF I DO!" She laughed, snapping her jaws and racing at him as he managed to leap away again, pointing a palm at her, a blast of blazing red power slamming into her back and knocking her into a dumpster, making her screech in pain. "Did you look into the Schism too, then?" She mused quietly. "Your outfit's beyond simple defectiveness."

"...no." The Red Helm said calmly. "I've been bound to a superior being. But I know of what you speak." He admitted. "Reality is bursting at the seams, right? But I don't really care. I'm just interested in getting even with everybody in a uniform. You couldn't find a better piece of scum than people like them...like the people who gave you up to save their own hides!" The helmeted Irken laughed, thrusting two arms forward, sweeping bands of red energy pinning Wiyn to the ground as he approached her, cracking his knuckles.

"Oh, yes, I heard from them. They had to be disposed of." She remarked calmly.

"You KILLED them for telling on you?" The Red Helm asked. "No honor among thieves, eh?"

"I am putting the good of the empire before my own life in dealing with defectives. They could have tried to do the same. Self-preservation over the Empire? Unacceptable." Wiyn said, suddenly bursting free of the bands that held her down and kicking the Red Helm in the gut, making him keel over and vulnerable to a powerful uppercut that launched him through the air.

The Red Helm panted as he lay on the ground, groaning as Wiyn approached, one PAK leg held high. "I thought you'd put up more of an effort."

Suddenly the Red Helm was not an Irken at all. Now he was a towering brute, head spiked and red eyes a-glow as a bladed tail swept back and forth and muscular arms gripped a surprised Wiyn tightly. "Oh tHiS iSn'T a FiGhT. It Is A sImPlE sLaUgHtEr." The thing laughed.

"PUT ME DOWN!" Wiyn snapped. "PUT MY AMAZINGLY SUPERIOR SELF-"

Wiyn didn't get the chance to finish her sentence. The thing launched her through the air, clapping imaginary dust off it's clawed hands as it reverted back to the Red Helm, who sighed.

"She'll be back, no doubt."

"I shall be waiting, then. I'm sorry you can't stay here to finish the job yourself, but don't worry. Next time she shows up, I'll have a party waiting for her. And when I say PARTY, I mean a whole lotta people that are gonna kill her DEAD!" The Entity of Rage laughed darkly.

Senior's eyes widened as Sude whispered for him to be quiet. "It is him. Chulainn. Entity of Rage."

"There are others like you?" Senior thought back at his host.

"Oh yes. Several of them." Sude said. "And I could vaguely sense them here on Irk. I imagine they've all bonded with hosts the way I've bonded with you."

"...maybe it's time...you tell me where you're from." Senior whispered.

"I heard that, Senior." Dite the Elite roared out, turning his head in Senior's direction as the Entity of Rage manifested by HIS charge. Senior frowned, stepping out of the alleyway, his own Entity hovering nearby.

"Well...well." Chulainn murmured, red eyes a-glitter, muscular arms folded over his chest. "If it isn't Puff the Magic Dragon...and his host. Pleased to meet you. Won'tcha guess my name?"

"I've heard that song before." Senior spoke up, waving a hand in the air. "I don't like it. Dite...how long have you been...tied to this thing?"

"That doesn't really matter, does it?" Dite inquired calmly. "...not to me. There's a war coming." Dite explained. "The Resisty's just the beginning of it. Can't you feel it? Reality is bursting apart, schisms in time and space are ripping open. The War of Light shall come...all will blend, becoming black, and then the White will sweep everything away. That's why we need to make sure you're alive." Dite told Sude, pointing with a finger, the helm falling away, revealing his true face.

HER true face.

"...you're...a girl." Senior gasped.

"Yes." She said quietly. "I am. My own private little secret." She laughed.

"I want to help you." Senior said. "Tell me how this happened. Let me help you. Please."

For a moment, genuine surprise flickered over Dite's face, and then her expression became slightly sad. "...you're frightened by what I am. But this is me now. It's too late for me. I'm staying here...and just getting started."

With that, she thrust her fist into the ground, a flash of red light blinding Senior before...

She was gone. He blinked stupidly, scratching his head before turning to his own entity. "Okay, TALK. What is this "War of Light"?" He demanded to know. "If you're gonna make me your host, you're gonna tell me why you need a host, why one of my charges is dismembering people around my planet!"

Sude chewed his lip. "...I'll explain it." He murmured. "...but once I do, I warn you...there's no going back."

"I'm not...scared." Senior growled at the draconic being's face.

"...well..." Sude folded his arms and sighed before he held one clawed hand up to it's host's head, as knowledge began to fill Senior's mind, images playing out before his eyes.

"It begins as all tales do...In the beginning..."

...

...in the beginning, there was light. The universe belonged to the light. For seven hundred and seventy seven years there was nothing but blinding white light. It looked upon all it saw, all it was, and all it was...was pure and good. Then came the splintering of the light as the foundations of the black were laid...

The light became many as it's purity died away. It became passion. It became diligence. It became intelligence. It became will. It became hope. It became love. It became compassion. The Seven Heavens looked upon their universe and swore to make sure all felt their blessings.

But they were splintered further and further. The white became more and more corrupted, chipped away, again and again until it was barely a whisper. In response, three of the Heavens grew darkened by the spreading of the corruption...

And they began to plot and plan. They felt only their light was the true light, and the others became just tainted enough to believe this lie to be true.

They shall fight. They shall begin the War of Light.

And The War of Light shall return all to White.

Senior fell to the ground, panting heavily. He had witnessed the very birth of the universe and life itself. Entire planets had just been born and then destroyed before his eyes...he understood now. The knowledge filled him.

It was NEAT.

"You've met what was once my Passion. Now it's become Rage." Sude said. "I want to turn the corrupted entities good again...and find the others quickly. Stop this war before it spreads across the galaxy and makes innocents suffer. And I sense every single one of them is on this planet, a planet that holds the fate of much of the galaxy in it's hands." The draconic being insisted, clenching his fist tightly.

"Then...we need to ground the Massive. It's LEAVING in two hours." Senior realized out loud. "We keep it here, you and I will have more time to search, and any second counts."

"Speaking of "count", does this mean I can count on your assistance, then, Senior Communications Officer of the Massive?" Sude wished to know, tilting his head to the side slightly as he hovered around Senior, who stood back up on his feet.

"...please...call me "Nick"." The officer insisted. "...I prefer that among friends." He added sheepishly.

#invader zim #fanfiction #fanfic #zim #superhero #superheroes #Dib #Gaz #Senior #Dite #Wiyn #science fiction fantasy

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ilguna · 4 years

Text

Metanoia - Chapter Twelve (f.o)

Summary: you will be crowned victor of the 75th hunger games.

Word Count; 3k

Warnings; swearing, mention of murder and torture

NOTES: i give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

The second that you stepped foot off of the hovercraft, all you heard was the distant sound of gunfire. The peacekeeper gave you a bitter reminder of your due date, and then kicked you off the ramp almost instantly after. You waited a moment to make sure that the hovercraft was long gone, and then you went straight for the noise.

You know that they would want you to head straight to your house, which is the exact reason why you chose not to. They probably have something there waiting for you. A note, a bunch of roses, your house being trashed, bloodstains--maybe it’s been set on fire! It doesn’t matter to you all that much.

You’d much rather know what’s going on in the heart of the district, than take a shower and get a change of clothes. Plus, you only have two weeks until your evaluation by Snow, which means you have to act fast. And this is all under the assumption that there won’t be people checking up on you every couple of days.

You came up with a plan on the way here, as any sane person would. The basis of the plan being; you’re not going to follow Snow’s directions in the slightest. You’re not going to calm the people down, you’re going to add fuel to the fire.

Snow threatening to kill Tanith is the last fucking straw. Him threatening to strap you to a chair and torture you like Peeta and Johanna is one thing, but bringing Tanith into this, when she has nothing to do with it, is a whole ‘nother ring of hell. If he thought for one fucking second that he’d get away with a statement like that, he’s wrong.

You’re not going to fuck up your life twice, especially not because of what Snow says or does.

You weigh the necklace in your hand for a second, staring down at it. Then, you unclasp it, and bring it around your neck. Once it’s not tangled in your hair, you let it rest against your chest.

The entire district seems to be barren--at least that’s what you’ve seen on the way. All houses have their doors shut, but windows are broken and porches are in splinters. The shops are basically the same way, though it’s much worse. Some are burnt down, others are void of all things that were once inside.

It looks like a tornado blew through here, and had no mercy. Everything that could have been ruined, is. It’ll cost thousands of dollars to fix the damage done on these places. Buying a whole new house or store would be much easier than to restore what it looked like before.

“Approaching civilian!” Someone yells above you.

Covering your eyes, you look up to see where they are, since this is the first person you’ve come across the entire walk. The second that your eyes adjust, you’re met with a gun pointed at your face.

“Point that away from me!” you snap.

“Who are you, and how did you get back here?” a different voice asks closer to you.

Lowering your hand and whipping your head to where it came from, the situation isn’t much better. There’s a man with an automatic rifle pointed at your chest, finger near the trigger as if he doesn’t know if he should pull it or not. Not to mention all the people behind him hovering, and having the same intentions as him.

You should pick your words carefully.

“My name is (Y/n) Rosecelli, victor of the sixty sixth hunger games, tribute of the Quarter Quell.” What a hell of an introduction, “And I walked.”

He lowers the gun a bit, “You’re alive?”

Your first reaction is to scoff, “It’ll take a lot more than the Capitol to kill me, am I supposed to be dead?”

“That’s what we were told.”

“Hell of a shock, then.” you resume walking, “Who’s in charge of District Two’s rebellion? Like, who’s organizing the attacks against the loyalists?”

“Lyme.” A girl answers, “She’s also a victor.”

Lyme… well, you definitely recognize the name, and you can hardly remember what she looks like. Tall, likes to exercise, short blonde hair. She’s always been more modest and rebellious, it doesn’t surprise you that much. She’s older than you, almost twice your age.

“Take me to her.” you tell them.

“You’ve got it.” the boy says.

It’s a long walk, as you’re told. The only good news he had to offer was that you wouldn’t have to fight your way through gunfire to get to the Capitol building--where she’s at. They’ve pushed back most of the loyalists into the train tunnels that run through the mountains. Everyday they gain new ground, but they don’t really dare to go inside of the tunnels. It’s the loyalists’ territory.

“So, where have you been?”

“The Capitol.” you say, following the boy around the corner, “Unconscious and recovering from venom. I’m not easy to get rid of.”

“How’d you get here?”

“Snow organized a personal hovercraft to drop me in the abandoned part of District Two, near Victor’s Village. You should probably get some people watching over there in case it happens again, so the peacekeepers won’t be able to sneak up on you as easily.”

They don’t say anything else after that, even though you mentioned Snow pretty boldly. Of all things they could have asked you about, they ignored the one that would give them the most answers on why you’re here and wanting to see Lyme first.

“I’m going to check to make sure that it’s clear.” the girl says, the rest of you wait for minutes on end, and none of them seem antsy about it.

When she does show up, she tells you that you’re clear to head up, but they’ve got to go back to parolling. She says that you should mention the abandoned thing to Lyme, since she’s more likely to listen to you, and then they walk away.

You take the easiest path you could possibly take to approach the Justice Building. It’s also the one that will put you in the open, allowing the people standing out front to get a good look at you. If you snuck up through the shadows, they’d likely be more distrusting.

You hold your hands up even before you’re out from around the corner. They turn their guns on you quickly, but you don’t stop walking, “I’m here to speak to Lyme.”

“Stop--!”

“I don’t have any weapons on me, put your guns down before you shoot me by accident.” you head up the stairs, “My name is (Y/n) Rosecelli, and I’m here to talk to Lyme. I don’t have much time, so let’s leave the formalities for another time.”

“We should go get her--”

The second you turn to look at him, he stiffens, “Open the fucking door and bring me to her, or you’re going to be added to the graveyard.”

His eyes slowly drag to your arm, which is very clearly presented thanks to the short-sleeved shirt.

No words come from him as he opens the door and heads inside. You follow behind him, and from how new your shoes are, they sound like heels against the tile floor. You’re surprised that they aren’t squeaking as if you’ve just come in with water on the bottom of them. You guess that you should be grateful instead.

The guy brings you up the staircase, “You don’t have any weapons on you?”

You have a hundred snarky things that you’re willing to say to him, but you settle for the simple, “No.”

He brings you around a corner, and knocks on a door a couple times. He makes you wait out of sight while he opens the door, “You’ve got a guest.”

“We’re busy--”

“She insists.” he says, and then he allows you to come over.

You don’t wait in the doorway, you head straight inside, “Scram, runt.”

He tries to stand his ground, but the second you force the door to shut, he removes his fingers. After that, you go up to the table to see who’s standing there.

Lyme, as you expected. But there’s a strangely familiar face standing near her, finger still pointing out a place on the map. When she realizes that you see the place she’s pointing at, she retracts her finger into a fist.

“Who are you?” she asks.

You laugh, crossing your arms as you get closer to the map. There’s a bunch of lines drawn in pink marker, and considering the amount of space left behind the line, you’re guessing that’s the rebel’s side. As for the loyalists, they’re marked in red, like they’re the bad guys.

You place your hand on the free space, “Just letting you know, since this entire place is abandoned, the Capitol can sneak right in.” you look up, they’re puzzled, “The Capitol had enough room to drop me off and leave without anyone noticing--I walked for miles until I finally came upon one of your scouting groups. If you’re not careful, they can drop peacekeepers off behind you guys, and you might as well be extinct after that.”

“You’re from the Capitol?” Lyme asks, one of the guys by the window reaches for something in their belt, you can take a solid guess on what it is, even without the sight of it.

“I’m a little disappointed that you don’t recognize me, but I can point you two out even if your guys’ hunger games were ten to twenty years before mine.” you remove your hand from the map now, “As I’ve introduced myself a hundred times now, (Y/n) Rosecelli, District Two’s tribute for the Quell.”

Lyme’s face lights up, “I thought I knew you. You were in the Capitol?”

“Snow took Peeta, Johanna and I out of the arena. While he was ordering people to torture Johanna and Peeta, he put me in a ‘medically induced coma’.” you use the quotation marks, “Because of the spider venom in the arena. Today is my first day back to life, and I’ve experienced more than my fair share of shit today.”

“Welcome back.” Paylor says.

Paylor is a victor from District Eight, like six years or so before your games. She’s young, and really fucking pretty. You’re just a little dumbfounded on why she’s here in District Two, rather than ordering around her own district.

“Thanks.”

Lyme shifts on her feet, “You don’t look too bad.”

“I’ve got scars all over my body, they’re just not visible above the waist.” you shake your head, “And the only reason why I’m even in good condition, is because Snow wants me to calm down the rebels.”

“But you’re not going to.” There’s an edge to Paylor’s voice.

“No, I’m not. Instead, I want a ride to District Thirteen. That’s where Katniss and Finnick are, right?”

Lyme nods, but her face is scrunched up, “I can’t send a hovercraft there because I don’t have any. You’ll have to wait until Coin sends one here with supplies.”

“Coin?”

“President Alma Coin.” Paylor answers, “She’s the leader of District Thirteen.”

Great, another dictatorship.

“Alright, when’s the next supply drop?” you shift on your feet.

Paylor and Lyme share a look, clearly thinking.

“We got one a week ago?” Lyme asks.

“Not even that, a few days ago,” Paylor shakes her head when she looks back at you, “You’ll have to wait at least a week, maybe more.”

You laugh, but nothing about this is funny, “You do know the state of Peeta and Johanna?”

“We know about Peeta, he’s been televised a few times.” A guy says.

“Alright, well take the last time that he was on air, and worsen that by ten. They’re fucking torturing them, you realize that? Johanna had her head shaved and she was drenched in water, like they were waterboarding her.” you lean forward, “We need to get them out.”

“We don’t have an opening for that, much less know where they’re keeping them--”

“The training center.” you say, “And I know how to get to them, I was a door away from them, Peeta and Johanna saw me.”

“That’s the heart of the Capitol.” Paylor says, “Even if we did get the volunteers to do it, we wouldn’t be able to go.”

You raise your eyebrows, “You’re telling me that Beetee hasn’t tried to hack into the security already? Didn’t he work on it for them? He would know some secret window at least.”

They share another look, and Lyme tilts her head, “She has a point.”

“And then what? You think anyone would actually want to go in?” Paylor asks, “It’s a suicide mission.”

“Listen to me,” you lean forward on the table now, they look at you, “I have two weeks--maybe not even that. If Snow finds out that I was lying or keeping information from him, he’s going to come for me and I’ll end up like Peeta, Johanna and Tanith. And if I don’t help the loyalists, he’s going to kill Tanith.

“I am working on a strict time frame, and you guys bickering about this, isn’t helping. Contact Alma Coin or whatever, at least present the idea, and if she likes it and asks for volunteers, you put me at the top of that fucking list. I will lead as many volunteers as she wants to the others. The only thing I ask in return is a free ride to District Thirteen.

“If Tanith is out of his hands, and I’m in thirteen, Snow can’t do anything to me.” you raise your eyebrows, “He won’t be able to use anyone as leverage anymore, and you’ve gained another foot in the rebellion. But all that can’t happen without you at least suggesting the idea to your supreme leader first.”

Lyme rubs her forehead for a moment, before saying; “Get Coin on a call.”

“Want to sit?” someone asks, pulling out a stool.

“Thanks.” you sit, crossing your legs.

You watch as they set up the entire call and as it pends. You spend most of the time fiddling with the hemming on the bottom of the shirt, ripping the stitching out, and then pulling on the string.

Paylor goes back to what she was saying with the map and all before you came inside. She writes down that she needs to add people to scout behind her lines, and then plans the ways that they can get into the tunnel. You want to chime in some way, but you keep out of it.

You can help as soon as Tanith is safe. You need to get Tanith out of the Capitol first, because if you’re even taped being around Lyme and Paylor with no argument going on or anything, you’re going to be fucked. Snow doesn’t have any morals, as much as he hates to admit it. He’s heartless.

“The call’s gone through.” the one by the computer says, “Plutarch’s answered.”

He projects it onto the large blank wall in front of you, but Paylor has to turn around to see him.

“Plutarch… Heavensbee? The gamemaker?” you ask, “Why?”

“He’s the one that helped organize getting them out.” Lyme tells you.

Plutarch has a smile on his face, “(Y/n), it’s nice to see you healthy.”

“You got Katniss, Finnick and Beetee out of the arena?” you ask.

Plutarch nods, “With the help of Haymitch, yes.”

“Fuck you.” you spit, “You fucking left me there! I was right there--you could have gotten me and you let me be taken by the Capitol! You’re the reason why the Capitol has had me for the past couple of weeks, you asshole--”

“Calm.” Lyme comes over, placing her hand on your shoulder, “You can yell at him later, keep on track.”

“Whatever.” you shrug her hand off, crossing your arms.

Paylor picks up where you didn’t start, “She’s been in the training center with the other tributes. She knows how to get to them, and we’d like to try and revisit the idea of a rescue mission with the tributes.”

His face says no, but his words say otherwise; “I wish it was my decision, but Coin has already decided that now isn’t the time. Especially not after we were just attacked by the Capitol.”

“When?” Lyme asks.

“A couple hours ago, we haven’t gone to the surface just yet to make sure that it’s over.”

Your mouth drops open a little bit, “I was on that hovercraft.”

Paylor nearly breaks her neck from how fast her head whips in your direction, “You were?”

“Yeah--I thought it was odd that the space was filled with… bombs. I was expecting them to attack two almost immediately after I hit the city, but they just flew off, away from the direction of the Capitol.” You shake your head, “Before you ask; no, I didn’t hear anything while I was in there.”

There’s a moment of silence, before Paylor sighs, “Where’s Coin?”

“Making sure the systems are still running, I sent someone to get her, so she should be here soon.”

“Good.” you slide off of the stool, “Because when she gets there, you’re going to do everything you can to convince her to consider the idea.”

Plutarch raises his eyebrows.

“She means--” Lyme tries.

“I mean what I said.” you lean against the table, staring at Plutarch’s face, “If you were just attacked, they’re going to be expecting some sort of retaliation. So, you attack their defense systems using Beetee’s knowledge. You get them down long enough, and that’s when the hovercraft slips through. Beetee stops, and then when the hovercraft is heading back, he starts again, or whatever.”

“That’s not exactly how things work…” someone in the corner mumbles.

“Well, they need to make it work.” you stand again, “Because I will be getting them all out of the training center. Even if I’m the only volunteer, I’ll do it.”

Plutarch laughs, “Not hellbent on killing them anymore?”

“They’re strapped to chairs being tortured like animals. Even I know when enough is enough.” you back off after that, “If I come back in here in an hour, and her answer is no, you better start fucking praying, because I am much worse than the Capitol.”

#ilguna #finnick odair #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair oneshot #finnick odair metanoia #metanoia #metanoia chapter twelve

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hermits-that-craft · 4 years

Text

Night AU - Chapter 52 - Arc 2 - Relost

AO3:https://archiveofourown.org/works/23509375/chapters/66540838 I’m sorry it took so long!

“You two are idiots.” Tango laughs breathlessly. “I can’t believe you got away with that.”

“But they did!” Zedaph cheers, smiling.

“Dude shh you’re going to wake up the hermits!” Scar stage whispers, and Cub snorts under his breath. Etho hums a song to himself, listening to Impulse and Scar play catch up with the others.

“I can’t believe Scar has a god mode but I don’t.” Zedaph whines playfully. “I think I deserve a god mode.”

“I don’t know how to activate god mode though.” Scar says, hanging upside down off his bed.

“Void nerfed you because you’d be too powerful” Cub says sagely, nodding his head as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“They nerfed you!” Tango cackles, falling off the bed as he laughs. Zedaph and Impulse soon follow suit, either sitting on the floor with Tango or getting dragged off the bed by the other two.

“We’re coming for you Cub!” Zedaph cackles, shuffling towards Cub’s bed. The older men quickly jumps onto his bed, standing on top of it as though his life depended on it. Etho snickers in the corner, watching as Scar is dramatically dragged to the floor by Tango.

“The floor is lava.” The words barely leave Etho’s mouth before the hermits are clinging to beds and fences as though their lives depend on it, all shooting half hearted glares at Etho.

“I thought you were asleep!” Scar says, hanging off of the fence post that the lantern is held up by.

“I didn’t think you could jump that high!” Etho counters, and the group laughs, Scar slowly lowering himself to the ground.

“Well sometimes you just gotta up you know?”

“‘Well sometimes you just gotta up.’” Zedaph quotes. “Wise words from mister GoodtimeswithScar.”

Everyone pauses, dread replacing the joy as their communicators hum in unison. Scar and Impulse both immediately shake their heads, not willing to find out if Doc or Ren are dead, or worse. No one wants to look, to find out the terrible news. To find out if a friend is dead. Killed and respawned, or their body found somewhere. Cub pulls Scar into a comforting hug, though nothing on his face could be described as anything but horrified. Zedaph taps Impulse’s hands gently, grounding the man. Tango looks at Etho, pleading with him to check with his eyes. Etho nods, and Tango lets out a relieved sigh as Etho pulls out his communicator. Horror fills his stomach, fear overtaking his common sense and brain as he reads, and rereads, the notifications. Tears slip out of his eyes, and vomit threatens to force its way out of his throat.

TheJungle has entered the server.

TheJungle: Night, I want the nHo back. I will join you if you give them to me. TheNight: I already have 1/ 4 ready for you. TheJungle: Omw

“Good news and bad news, everyone.” Etho says, his voice soft. “Night doesn’t have Doc or Beef anymore.”

“The bad news?” Tango’s voice sounds like it's traveling through a wall of honey, but Etho swallows, trying to force the fear and tears down his throat.

“The jungle is back.”

---

Iskall and Etho walk along the edge of the shopping district, Iskall quietly testing his new robotic arm. It’s been painted white, and it responds well to his movements, though he leans towards it as he walks. Etho keeps an eye on his, helping him adjust to the new weight.

“It’s kind of funny,” Iskall murmurs. “I just got used to not having the weight of an arm, and now I have to get used to the weight of one again.”

“It’s heavier than a norm- a non-robotic arm.” Etho catches himself, reminding them both that this arm is Iskall’s new normal. “So you’re going to have to get stronger.”

“Are you saying that I’m not strong.” Iskall jokingly asks.

“Yes.” Etho depans, before dodging a punch from the ex assassin. “Am I wrong?”

“Yes! Yes you are wrong!” Iskall pushes Etho gently. “I am amazing and strong and you all are weak compared to me.”

“Yessir.” Etho nods, pushing Iskall back. The pair laugh, turning around the hill before they freeze.

Doc leans on the side of the hill, his eye wide and fearful as he watches Etho and Iskall. His metal arm is gone, wires poking out of the gaping hole in his shoulder where the arm should be. Redstone, or perhaps blood, covers what is left of his lab coat. It’s torn to shreds, there’s barely anything left of the fabric that Doc took such good care of.

“Doc?” Etho asks, his voice quiet. “Doc, are you alright?”

“I need to go back.” Doc sways in the breeze. “I need to get Ren out. Oh Void, they’re going to slaughter Ren.”

“Doc you’re not making any sense.” Etho says, slowly walking towards his friend. Iskall looks at his new arm, frowning as his gaze hits the claps. “I’m sure Ren is going to be-”

“Take my arm.” Iskall says, his hand undoing one of the claps. “Get Ren back.”

“Iskall-”

“Get my friend back, Doc.” Iskall struggles with the arm, Doc helping his detach it from his body. Iskall helps Doc to attach it to his arm, Etho spluttering in the background. Etho watches and Doc pulls Iskall into a hug, a tear falling from his eye.

“I will. I’ll get Ren back.” Doc promises.

Iskall leans against Etho as Doc flies off, a stray tear falling from his eye. Etho gently rubs his shoulder, humming to Iskall as the man struggles to contain his fear. Etho doesn’t - Etho won’t let Iskall relapse, he promised the other hermits that this would be good, healthy for Iskall. He won’t let Iskall lose himself.

Rendog burnt to death fighting Docm77

---

They footsteps echo down the hallway, bare feet hitting the stone floors. It’s angering, this base in their domain - Night control the End and the Nether, surely they could have built a base in one of those. In any case, Night has an offer that he cannot refuse. Her long hair is in a braid, and she prides herself on knowing that she will confuse her father's sibling.

“Jungle, welcome.” Night says, their mask cracked. They look deranged, perfectly matching Jungle’s emotions. “I assume you are here to collect your players?”

“I will work for you until I get all of them back.” Jungle smiles, making sure that it’s just too wide. They scan the room, spying Beef and Doc. Two of their players. “I thought you only had one.”

“I had to lull the hermits into a false sense of security. I wanted to make them think that Experiment escaped.” Night nods to Doc, and Jungle turns his gaze to the man.

It’s so, so painfully clear he’s scared. They can smell it on him. But he isn’t fighting Night’s control - or maybe he’s too weak to escape it. The fear only serves to break the two men further. Fear radiates off of the two men, though it’s clear that the stars that Night replaced them with are confused by their hosts’ fear.

Perfect.

They can’t wait to bury these men in bedrock and vines.

---

“Dad?” Grian asks quietly, his eyes wide. Builder reads over the notification. Once. Twice, before he sighs. “What are we going to do?”

“I need to get something from the godly realm.” Builder says, standing slowly. Xisuma blinks, watching the god with distrust. “Something to counter Jungle.”

“Oh!” Grian lights up a small amount, and Cleo looks to the corner of the room, her mouth open as though she’s going to ask it something, “Are you getting Althea and Ella?”

“Who?” Joe asks, sitting on the table.

“My sisters.” Grian says without second thought.

“His daughters.” Rose points to Builder. “The goddess of Mushroom Islands and the goddess of roofed forests.”

Builder nods, before disappearing into the air. Xisuma wraps his arms around himself, his knees hitting his chest. Scar pats his back sympathetically, and Xisuma sighs.

“I can’t keep anyone out of here, can I?” Xisuma mumbles.

“You’re trying your hardest.” Scar says, smiling. “That’s all that matters.”

Rose summons some magic, using it to clear some of the dusk off of the higher shelves in the room. Cleo starts mumbling to herself, and everyone except Joe and Rose give her worried looks as she addresses her ramblings to Amari.

Three buzzes echo from the communicators, and Builder enters the room with two women. One of the wears a red cloak, a white dress and a brown leather corset, knives and potions hanging from it. The other women wears a simple red dress, her hair in a bob around her head, though she wears sturdy leather boots.

“You must be Xisuma!” The one in the red dress smiles, shaking his hand. “I love how you used my domain for the shopping district, It’s always nice to see people settle here!”

“Uhh, Althea you might want to introduce yourself-” The other, Ella, says, patting her back. “In any case, I want to beat up our sinling. Where the fuck are they?”

---

Amari watches over the group, as everyone settles in for the night. She refuses to allow herself to show to the mortals, and though Etho, Keralis and Cleo are kind and promise that the mortals would get used to her, she refuses to give them another reason to fear. She leaves the barracks, walking over to a small room that overlooks the shops. They glow against the night sky.

“Hello Madam Amari.” Joe Hills says, and Amari turns her head, surprised. “I assume you’re here, this is the nicest view in the building, though if you aren’t here I assume I look insane.”

Amari smiles, knowing that Mr Hills says this as he enters every room. Perhaps she’ll give him the sight, for being kind to her and her wards. Void only knows that kind eccentric people deserve a power that is from an unknown blessing, and prophecy is so very over used.

#the night au #Night Au #hermitcraft #fic

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blackevermore · 3 years

Text

x Wade In The Water

{ Chapter 7: Glory Glory }

Summary: Ester Scott was once in love. She thought the days of her shortcomings were over and that the man she found was her one and only. But all that was taken away when the demons she had became too accustomed to finally took the one thing she had left. Louisiana was her home but the devil down below was calling her name. She only has herself to blame when it came to the hands dragging her under.

Notes: It’s Hazbin Hotel, be ready for everything. Also I apologize for all my mistakes in advance!

Word Count: 4,767

The light that shines down upon our skin is bright, welcoming, and rewarding. It tells us we’ve done something right and that we are being called back home. But the colour of said light is what will get you in trouble. White is from the angles, every other colour is the devil’s ringing.

- Ester R. Scott

I’ve always loved the sight of the colorful lilies that were planted through the town. During the long weekends of Mardi Gras shopkeepers would set out lilies to keep up the spirit. Right outside of Mrs Birdy’s shop was a bakery across the street, the son of the owner would set out every color possible around the shop. Chemintine used to tease me for staring out the windows at the boy as he worked. But I wasn’t looking at him, I could care less for him, though he was attractive it wasn’t he who made me lost. It was the flowers and the memories they brought me. Many Springs mama would bring home flowers and tell me what they meant. I thought it was amazing that something as simple as a plant could mean so much to people.

As I watched the boy put the display together I always noticed that he always put the yellow lilies closer to the store door. Yellow meant thankfulness and desire for enjoyment, he was thanking every customer that came in and bought something for coming. It was a sweet gesture until I found out that his father wasn’t too keen on serving every walk of life. Last year his father had turned away some wealthy blacks that were on vacation simple for their skin. And as they walked out the door of the shop those yellow lilies bobbed and swayed with innocence. Not too long after that they died unexpectedly and had to be replaced. But even when the son replaced them they always died when his father did something unkind. I was sure the boy knew why the lilies died, when he saw what he father did he always looked out the window towards the flowers worried. Then the following day he would automatically get to his knees to unpot them and replace them. A sweet boy.

“Ester, you watching that boy again?” Chemintine said, slipping from behind the curtain from the back carrying three boxes. She placed them on the counter with a sigh and rubbed her hands on her apron.

“I’m not watching him, never have, I’m watching the flowers,” I respond, not breaking my eyes away from the lilies that blew in the breeze.

“Are they-”

“No, Chem, they are just flowers.” I had to cut her off before she got too excited, at first I thought it was cute and childish. But now it was starting to annoy me that she suspected everything I looked at to be angel related. Poor girl would think of me having a sweet tooth and eyeing a piece of cake was a message from god.

“ But they do have meanings, the flowers, they all have meanings. People thought they were so pretty they had to mean something.” I couldn’t allow Chemintine's mood to drop, she didn’t mean to be pestering, just curious, and I knew that. She moved closer to me and looked out the window with a smile.

“What’s the orange ones?”

“Confidence, pride, and wealth.”

“I got confidence and pride but not much wealth.” Chemintine giggled then pointed out again. “The whites?”

“Purity and virtue.”

“Well, Ester I think that one fits you well. Now the pink ones.”

I quickly shook my head at her little comment, “Prosperity and abundance.”

“I don’t know what that means but pink is such a lovely colour, don’tcha think?” Chemintine sighed happily and looked towards me.

“It’s okay, I wouldn’t really wear it, blue and greens are my safe colours.” I shrugged and Chemintine nodded.

“And lastly what does the red ones mean? Is it like all the other red colour flowers, all about love and what not?” Chemintine asked.

“Yes, it’s love and passion.” I finally pulled myself away from looking out the window and reached under the counter for the name cards.

“I figured. Yeah, I know people can be so smart and come up with fancy meanings for all these colours. But red can only mean love. Why is that Ester?”

“Well red doesn’t just mean love there are other things but red is associated with the heart and the heart is where we’ve put the idea of love. So since all that is red people project that onto flowers. But red can also mean war and violence, you could hand someone a red rose and they think it's a confession. When really they are about to kill you. With that being said Miss Chemintine, never accept a green rose, they don’t exist but if someone gave you a green rose that does mean they wish to kill you.” I chuckled a bit when Chemintine’s eyes lit up and her smile dropped.

“Green roses?” She whispered with concern.

“Green is the real colour of life and death, we just wear black because they think the color is scary, full of mystery, and in many ways more powerful.” I looked out the side of my eye at Chemintine then ran my fingers up my exposed wrist. She gasped then playfully hit my shoulder when he realized what I was indicating. I rolled my eyes and shook my head.

“Why black though?”

“I have a question for you, Chemintine. Do you know the city Tusla, in Oklahoma?” I turned to her fully and placed a hand on my hip. Chemintine shook her head slowly and tangled her fingers together nervously. I knew it was a dumb question to ask her, not many people knew about it since it was covered up. “Tulsa, Oklahoma, in Greenwood District was the nergo Wall Street. It was beautiful, wealthy, and they were all powerful people with so much knowledge. The white people didn’t like that they could wear nice things, have nice houses, and speak the queen’s English. So they burnt it to the ground and tried to kill anyone there, they got 36. They saw black and could only think of raged and deep down fear. How dare a nergo be better than the whites that lived around them? How dear the colour black is better than all the other colours in the sky? I was only twelve when three of my cousins came home as orphans and my mama took one of them in. This was in May through June of 1921.”

The look on my face sent shivers down Chemintine’s spine as if I told her her time was soon. She would never understand the feelings I had but she knew people than to doubt them. Chemintine shook her head and gasped, she gripped her apron and turned away from me. I took a deep breath and let it out quickly before reaching a handout and patting her shoulder.

“Ester, I never knew about that, I have family in Oklahoma, I never heard any of that.” Chemintine became so uneasy and nervous, she was imagining the days and fear and unfairness.

“Chemintine you weren’t supposed to and I don’t think anyone that isn’t black is going to.” It hurt me so much to say that outloud. The people that were hurt would be forgotten and the story of my people in Tulsa would be forgotten and swept under the American flag as a minor event that meant nothing. Nothing for them but everything for me and my own.

I had to change the mood around us or god forbid Chemintine would be crying later when we went home. “Come on now, no crying and being sad at work, that’s my history, not yours which means you shouldn’t feel anything.” I patted her back once again but Chemintine quickly and aggressively shook her head.

“Easter, I care so much for you, it makes me upset because you and anyone should have to go through that. That’s ugly and nasty and anyone that has done that should riot in hell.” Chemintine sounded as if she was going to go witch hunting for every curl person in the world. I could only smile and be grateful for one like minded person.

“You sure are built differently, Chem.” I told her and that made her smile with so much pride.

“Mrs Birdy says the same thing.” Chemintine mood has shifted and I could till she was a bit better. He happily turned on her heels and went towards the back of the shop. I should have gone with her so I could get to work but once again I was staring out the window towards the bakery. Today the owner’s son was outside replacing the yellow lilies, but as he repotted the flowers I saw shades of purple beside the yellow. He placed purple hyacinths, the flower of forgiveness, he must have really felt bad for the lilies. He must have felt bad for all the people that were turned away as well. When he stood up and dusted himself off he looked around the street as the people passed. He sighed and turned back to walk into the shop. He was becoming tired as time passed and I knew soon he would leave working with his father in favour of something else. I could only hope it was something good for everyone.

The rest of the day was as normal as always, customers came and picked up their commissions, new faces came in to have something done, and Monique and her lap dog Clover complained about my presents. Surely one day they would get tired of saying the same ol’thing about me. Maybe one day they come up with something clever, but two brainless pits could never conquer enough brainpower for that. As I shake off today's work from my dress and hang up my apron I notice Chemintine still working away at her desk.

“It’s time to go, Chemintine,” I walked up beside her and peeked over her shoulder. “What are you working on?”

“A man came in asking for the cuffs of his coat to be fixed but every time I put the stitches in they keep coming out. It’s starting to piss me off, I have to get this done today because he’ll be here to get it in the morning as soon as we open. I don’t want to take this home with me either.” Chemintine threw down her needle and thread and crossed her arms. I sighed and gently pushed her shoulder for her to move out the way. When she got up I could fully see what I was dealing with and it didn’t seem like it would take longer. I peeked up to the clock above the door, it was 4 pm and the bus came a half past, which meant that this should only take me ten minutes to finish.

I quickly smooth out the arms of the coat and pick up Chemintine’s needle and replace the thread with my own royal blue. The coat is pure white with red and gold trimming and edged in black. I picked up the right sleeve to see the work Chemintine already did. She used the cross stitched that should have held everything in place. I started pulling out the stitching and began restitching everything with an invisible understitch. Within five minutes I finish the cuff and move on to the next one. Chemintine stood behind me the whole time clenching her dress hoping the thread would stay. When I finished with the other cuff I tied everything off and snipped the extra.

I tugged on the threads to see if they would come out again and they didn’t. Chemintine gasped and asked me how I got them to stay and I shrugged.

“I tried that and they still wouldn’t sit...Easter are you magical? I mean you are but are you even more magical?” Chemintine held up the cuffs once again and gently pulled on them to double check. I didn’t know how to answer that myself, her stitching should have been just fine compared to my own. For why it didn’t work was just as much a mystery to me as it was to her.

“I’m no more magical than you already believe. Now hurry up so we can make the bus.”

“Yes ma’am!” Chemintine spun on her heels and headed to an open box on the back wall to fold and wrap the jacket and package it away. I grabbed our jackets from the rack and handed Chemintine hers. She thanked me and we headed to the front so we could close up shop. Mrs Birdy only allowed me or Chemintine the second set of store keys to lock up. Monique and Clover had already lost them before and Mrs Birdy was no fool to trust them again. Luckily for the old lady Chemintine and I was a wonder pair despite how different we were.

We didn’t make the bus. It was impossible in a very strange way as we were there long before the bus was meant to arrive. Two other buses came and stopped asking Chemintine if she was getting on, never asking me, and she quickly shooed them away. We waited another thirty minutes before we gave up and started walking home. Thankfully it was the beginning of Spring so we didn’t have to worry about the sun setting at the nick of 5 or 6. So in our prime, we started our journey back to my house. Chemintine was in high spirits with a continuous conversation. But I wasn’t, I was never a walking girl let alone a distance one, even in my lowest pair of heels I internally begged for a break. But I couldn’t voice that out loud, Chemintine would laugh at me and once again tell me about her time on the farm. She tells me over and over again how I would like the farm and all the animals. I would tell her once again that I wasn’t going to a farm for more labour.

As we passed by some off roadhouses that laid far from the dirt road I noticed a car coming towards us. Chemintine did too and sighed, she looked over at me then smiled weakly, it was in our agreement that when someone was coming by we would separate. It was my idea and Chemintine hated every bit of it. She understood why I said it but she wore her heart open that she would rather stand right beside me than five steps forward. As she put distance between us so the car could drive by with little speculations, we both realized the car started to slow down. Surely whoever was driving would have noticed sweet darling Chemintine and offered her a ride so she wouldn’t be walking with a nergo behind her.

Chemintine straightened her back and clutched her purse ready to reject the driver. I lowered my head down and prepared myself to excuse myself around Chemintine and the driver as they spoke. The car was on us but drove right past Chemintine and stopped in front of me. My heart nearly jumped to my throat as I heard the wheels stop and the engine cool. I started to pick up my feet even more afraid to look up and see who was coming after me. I looked up and saw Chemintine hurrying to take off her shoes and once they were off she dropped everything and came running towards me. We shared the same scared expression of fear and the what if of this untimely situation.

Chemintine grabbed my arm and pulled me close to her, “Come on Ester!” I stumbled a bit before finding my foot.

“Wait! Ladies! Ester!” I stopped when I heard my name and foolishly turned around. Chemintine shook her head and told me to forget about it and come on but I had to know who called my name. Alastor was standing outside the car waving his hand in the air. He was dressed as dapper as he was the day he came into the shop. He wore the suit I made him and his hair was combed back with a pig’s tail hanging just above his brow. He looked like he was heading towards the city for a night out, he looked handsome. Chemintine pulled me once again and I turned back to yank my arm out of her grasp. I whispered it was okay but she didn’t believe me and stayed close behind me with one shoe in hand. Alastor looked up and down the street before coming over to us.

“Ladies, what a wonderful surprise, Ester I wouldn’t take you for one that prefers walking.” Alastor wore his transatlantic accent as he spoke and I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. He snickered and I puffed out my chest to seem confident.

“Well Mister Alastor, with all due respect, you know nothing of me so you wouldn’t be able to make such assumptions.” Alastor's eyes went wide and a smile crept its way onto his face. Then he let out a roaring laugh and held his chest.

“You’d be right but I know a walking lady when I see one, you ain’t one.” Alastor’s accent fell from its high and pompous to it’s Yat New Orleans charm. Once again his voice nearly made my face heat up and the fluttering in my stomach turn over too many times. “Now, this girl here,” Alastor broke eye contact with me and looked towards Chemintine. He looked her up and down for a moment then smiled politely. “This girl be a walking girl, hell might even be a running girl by the way she threw off her shoes.”

Chemintine became red in the face as she dropped her shoe and looked away. Alastor shook his head and chuckled before pulling out his pocket watch to check the time. He hummed then placed the watch back before smoothing down his already smooth hair and shaking off his jacket.

“Where ya girl’s heading?”

“Home.” I quickly answered, I shooed Chemintine off to go collect all her stuff and she quickly did. Alastor looked over me toward Chemintine then back towards me with a mischievous look in his eye.

“She doesn’t belong this way does she?” I felt my heart stop and the air around me became stale and hard to breathe. I slowly turned back towards him then down to the ground. I gripped the cuffs of my coat and kept my eyes low. The last thing I needed was for his man to try and crack information out of me. He seemed to catch on and I heard him chuckle again, this time it sounded more teasing than ever. “She’s not city but she’s not black either.”

“And you are?” As soon as the words came out I shot my hand up to cover my mouth in fear. I had no idea how Alastor would react to that and I was scared of what would come next. I closed my eyes and stepped back a bit waiting for something, I’ve been hit before, kicked and even spat on by ugly people. I only hoped that his hits would leave me able to walk away when he got tired.

“Well I hope so, my mother was a fine woman of ebony and gold, I get most of my looks from her.” Alastor’s words felt like they could rip me apart slowly but he stopped them before they could. I opened my eyes and saw him standing straight up with half hooded eyes and a gentle smile. “Just because I’m passing doesn’t mean I forget where I come from, Miss Ester. I'm sure you have a few of us in your family.”

“Not any that actually cared enough to say there were. All of them went off for something better.”

“They be a fool to forget their roots.” Alastor was so close to me, I didn’t even realize that he had moved. Or had it been I that got closer to him? I had no idea, what I did know was that now that I was close I could feel how strange it was to be around him. Strange, dangerous, yet welcoming, and a bit of trust tied into a tall man with dangerously beautiful eyes. I held my breath and took a step back which made him snicker at my dismay.

“W-Well Mister Alastor we have to be on our way, have a lovely evening.”

“Why don’t I give you all a ride?”

“That wouldn’t be necessary, you look like you have somewhere to be and I wouldn’t want to dirty up your car with muddy feet.” I turned away and started to meet up with Chemintine as she was making her way back. Alastor quickly took long strolls in front of me to cut me off. Curse him and his damn long legs.

“No really I insist.” His voice lowered and I thought for a moment I was once again in danger. Before I could snap back and tell him off he was already turned around and chatting up Chemintine’s ear. He hooked an arm through hers and even offered to take her coat for her. She was smitten and already passing me by to get to his car.

Once they got to the car Chemintine turned back towards me and smiled largely. “Come on Ester! Mister Hazbin is gonna give us a ride!” Hazbin? So that was his last name.

“No Chemintine, we are walking.” I tried to protest but she was already jumping into the passenger seat and Alastor was closing the door. He smirked at me then walked around to the driver’s seat. He stood upon the ledge of the door to peeked over the roof and propped his elbow up to rest his chin in his palm.

“Come on darling, I can hear your dogs barking all the way over here.” He started laughing and Chemintine joined him so casually. I could have turned around and started walking away from them but I knew Chemintine wouldn’t allow that. Nor would Alastor as they both would likely follow me all the way back home. I was hesitant as any normal person with a working brain should be to get into a customer’s, let alone a stranger’s, car. Once I made my way to the back seat I realized just how suited up and fancy the car was. The outside of it was black with whitewall tires, yet the seats and coating on the inside were all red. Alastor started up the car and turned us around to head in the right way.

“Now I won't pretend to know where I’m going and I’d be rude to ask Miss Chemintine here. So Miss Ester, would you mind telling me where to?” I looked out the window as we passed a few more houses then sighed as I looked forward. Alastor glared at me from the rearview mirror and I felt my soul shakedown to the core. His eyes were red and glowing and it scared me the longer I continued to look at him. I don't know how long we looked at each other but it was him that broke his gaze and looked back towards the road. “Well, Miss Ester?”

“K-Keep straight and when you come to the old mill, turn right.”

}~~{

When he got to my neighbourhood I told Alastor to let us out right before we got to the house. He didn’t try to fight me on it and did as he was told. I quickly climbed out of the car and waited for Chemintine to follow suit.

“Oh thank you Mister Hazbin! Oh gosh, I know I dirty your floor with all the dirt on my shoes and I apologize.” Chemintine was halfway out the car window as she spoke to Alastor.

“Oh, no worries dear! Nothing a good cleaning can’t fix, I’m just happy I was able to save you two a long walking trip. Now if you excuse me.” Chemintine smiled and nodded. “Goodbye Chemintine. I’ll be seeing you later Miss Ester.” Alastor spun the car around and took off down the street the way he came. When he was out of sight Chemintine stomped her foot and turned to me with cheeks red as cherries.

“Ester Scott you didn’t tell me you knew Alastor J. Hazbin!”

“I-I don’t!”

“Well, surely you do if he knows you and offered us a ride.” Chemintine cupped her face and started mumbling to herself about how much of a mess she must have looked to him. I had no idea what had gotten into her.

“Chemintine who the hell is Alastor J. Hazbin?” I crossed my arms and tapped my foot, annoyed and starting to leave her where she stood.

“Alastor J. Hazbin is the man that just gave us a ride. Alastor J. Hazbin is the renowned radio host from New Orleans that made his way all the way to Hollywood to New York and back. That man has so much social class you wouldn’t believe!” Chemintine burst with joy as she went on to tell me all the amazing things Alastor has done in the radio business and in Hollywood. To say I wasn’t a little bit impressed would be lying. The customer I not only made a suit for but also danced with was basically a celebrity in the coming age. I started to feel bad for how coldly I must have acted towards him but then again I knew better. Just because someone had money didn’t mean they were kind, that was evident with the Jim Crow laws. Maybe I had a right to be wary of Alastor but I should have been a bit nicer.

“I had no idea,” was the only thing I could say as Chemintine looked at me bewildered. “I danced with him at the ball, I had no idea.”

“Whatcha mean you danced with him? Ester! Was that him?” Chemintine pulled me by my shoulders and shook me gently. I nodded and she let go of me and let out a scream. That was enough to snap me back to reality and pull her along to the house. I didn’t need people looking out their windows trying to figure out what the crazy white woman was doing in the middle of the street.

When we made it to my house and behind closed doors, Chemintine was spinning around in circles smiling and laughing. “Oh Ester, I’m so jealous, I wish I had a celebrity for a customer.” She fell onto my couch and sighed. “I nearly threw my shoe at him, oh that's so embarrassing, I was gonna attack Alastor J. Hazbin trying to protect my friend.”

“I didn’t know you were a runner.” I laughed and hung up my coat before making my way to the armchair beside her. Chemintine let out a huff of air and shrugged before straightening up.

“Well, I had to do a lot of running around the farm. I got powerful legs, I was gonna use them to get you to safety if I had to.”

“Well, I thank you, Chem. But I don’t think I’m lucky to have made Mister Alastor a suit. He won't remember me when he leaves New Orleans again and goes back to his big wig designers.” I kicked off my shoes and rubbed my feet, my lord I’m so young but I have the pains of an old woman.

“Oh yes, he will! He’ll remember you like he did today when he called your name. A man only calls out to someone he knows never a stranger.”

“If you say so.” I brushed her off and switched to my other foot to message.

“I know so, so when you two get closer please remember me and also remember I look good in bright shades. I refuse to wear brown to a wedding.”

“Chemintine get ya head out the clouds, ain’t no way that man and me will never cross paths again in the future.” I waved my hand in the air to dismiss her and she sighed and got up from the couch.

“Sure sure whatever, now, whatcha craving tonight, I’m thinking Italian.” Chemintine kicked off her shoes by the door then headed into the kitchen.

“Whatever you wish to make is fine by me.”

#🔻Red Thread🔻#chapter 7 #my writing #hazbin alastor #alastor #hazbin hotel #self ship #self shipping #self shipping community

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fistsoflightning · 4 years

Text

14: hero’s journey

prompt: part || masterpost || other fills || ao3 mirror

word count: 4813 (i DONT want to talk about how long this is)

You are not simply a hero, but this is still your journey, and the parts of you are waiting along the way. All you have to do is take them.

DRK shenanigans, anyone? Note: distinctly not canon-DRK things ahead, hopefully still keeping the same emotional sort of weight? Also, second person POV! There’s no spoilers because this is just me going off on a tangent :P

Someone had noted—an age old teacher, perhaps, memories inlaid deep onto your crystal—that grief causes the greatest oddities to occur. Simulacrums formed of it weren’t so uncommon as one might be led to believe with a surplus of aether and enough love turned sour.

You just weren’t expecting to be one of them.

Like wildfires, you expect to fade back into the darkness of the abyss easily enough; the hands of such a young knight wouldn’t be able to bear being stained so pitch-black, you think, not when she glows with Halone’s blessing and something even more. Her hands leave freezer burns over the facets of your crystal, frosty fog forming as she keeps training, keeps hunting down more and more aevis until there’s nothing left. Even Ishgard’s worst blizzards fail to stand up against the winter storm of her fury.

Must be some sort of rebellion, violent and reckless as it is. You sit back (as much as a distant flame in the abyss can, anywho) and wait until the worst of her temper fizzles back into snowmelt—which, obviously, doesn’t happen like you assumed, otherwise you wouldn’t be here, now would you?

(When you hear the truth of it, crystal fed enough blood and aether to reach out further than just from the little knight’s pockets—when you hear betrayals and exiles and my brother is dead because of your Braves, Alphinaud, what more do you want from me, your realization shows itself in coldflare and dark light, wrapping itself as best it can around someone so blessed and “loved by the gods” as your ward.

Though you need her more than she needs you, it still doesn’t hurt, you think, to cover her armor in a veil of darkness, even when her shield sings of nevermelting ice and wraps light around her anyways.)

But eventually, it does; Lumelle—you find out her name from a man willing to jump in front of inquisitors and magical spears alike for his beloved friends—her enraged grief bubbles off into a quieter sort at the beginning of Ishgard’s new dawn, and you are left by her bedside when she falls into a sleep after destroying a wyrm with grief that, really, wasn’t all that different. (Besides the whole eternal lifespan and eyeballs of power, and the wyrm’s sibling being eaten by Lumelle’s ancestors thing. That had thrown you for a loop.)

And oh, you expect it to end there, your tale that of accompanying a girl who didn’t need you so much as she needed closure; fading after protecting someone so bright would be an honor.

...

(But there is no rest for the righteous, now is there?)

...

Your next chapter opens in the palms of someone already acquainted with bloody hands, and though the little time spent out of Lumelle’s hands has left you wanting for your senses yet again, it takes hardly any time to figure just what this one’s deal is.

(Her hands shake whenever she sees her party’s astrologian—so small, her head is practically the size of your ward’s fist balled up—and the thought of Vylbrand sours every conversation like milk left to rot. Y’shtola utters the word crone and the spike of earthquake panic you both feel lets you understand the jumble of misremembered nightmares that still haunts the warrior so far north from the place.

When she almost drowns herself in the memories, asking the sea to take her back into her arms, you are the one screaming the entire time—not because she is taking you with her, no, but because you can feel the summer breeze and hear the quiet pond rushing about the housing district looking for her, and you do not know what you’ll do if her death reignites Lumelle’s tempered anger.

The scholar cries out her name just as she falls too deep; Syhrwyda, you remember—you’ll force her name onto this damned crystal if you have to—and the breath of relief you sigh when the white mage forces the ocean to spit her out is all but audible.)

You expect her to let the little supernova cut her down, cleanse burns with blood and old aches with a trip into the abyss, because if Lumelle’s aches were screaming freezer burns then the gentle warrior’s are a quiet erosion. Even dripping blood can wear down a mountain, with enough time, and with a Calamity come and passed, the proof burned onto her skin, it is more than enough to see this mighty willow fallen to the skies opening up and pouring a tsunami’s worth of suffering in retribution.

Both you and her close your eyes when the axe comes swinging down, kneeling on the ground in pain. You do not expect it to be swift or painless like the rumors say of guillotines and execution, but you hope it is anyways.

And yet, and yet, the blade does not come.

(Part of you wonders: would the girl shrouded in fallen moonlight have done the same thing, if she had seen what Syhrwyda had seen? Would she, knowing that the choice was submission or death, have still seen her friend and ally in the woman that burnt her childhood with naught but a single incantation?

It matters not. There is no turning back time, and she has decided to give her friend a boon.)

It is not metal that comes, but a flurry of stars calling a lost sailor home instead, so potent that her magic seeps into your crystal as she collapses against your ward’s shoulder, whispering I’m sorry, I can’t, I won’t like little wishes made upon falling stars. You don’t know if you imagined the croaked it isn’t your fault or if you simply missed the mumbled movements, but Syhrwyda’s aether settles in time with the stars bursting across her skin and you know that your time with her will come to an end soon.

When she sets your crystal by a small crystalline lamp, you hum in amusement, letting yourself slip down into the abyss once more as the watery blue light ripples off the bookshelves.

…

(Who are you?)

(No one of consequence.)

…

You find yourself more confused than before when the scholar picks up your small crystal, facets gleaming brighter than before but still dulled from decades of being frozen under Ishgard’s snows; nothing about him sings of the same pain like the last two. He pockets your crystal easily and you wonder just what use he’ll find from you if he has no abyss of his own to draw from, no font to gather his strength for him to find.

(You miss how quiet he is in the din of everyone and everything else, tuned up to near painful when you open your eyes again. You miss the words he reads, the spells he crafts, the spared glances to his usual tome. Nothing about the man betrays it; hardly anything he does seems to suggest even a hint of regret, grief long since frozen over and forgotten of a home he’d long lost.

This was never an easy road—traveling down into the abyss and to rise back up again—and you do not expect easy wards, but the scholar—)

Even deadly waters can be calm at the surface, deceiving depths holding something stronger, and when he rises to meet the Illuminati and the (not their) primal, you start to see the signs of something lurking in the water and strain to open your eyes, drained as you are so close to Alexander.

(You should have noticed how he balked away from poisons, preferring to sit far away from the rogue; you should have felt the gentle ripple when Mide mentioned Alexander’s purpose and wondered more.

It is too late for regrets, but it is not too late to stop this man, whose hands are too gentle and weary, from falling further into something he did not truly want.)

Are you daft, you whisper, and it’s not the best thing you’ve ever come up with but it’s the first words you’ve truly spoken to be heard. Like the rest, you expect your words to fall on deaf ears—stubborn people, the ones that have found you—but this time the scholar stops. Lingers, the precipice of a typhoon brewing up from the bottom of his soul. Do you truly think this will work?

“Not completely,” he says, his voice a quiet rumble as his small carbuncle shimmers and shakes its way into existence; part of you wishes you were strong enough to do the same just so you could shake the fluff out of this man’s brain to where it belongs. “But it might, and even the smallest chance...”

What of your friends today?

You don’t know what you expected, really; the scholar clams up and so do you, a connection cleaved in two as he walks away from the hand of the giant primal, stone in hand, and you are too exhausted to try and pry his heart open wider. Convincing him to let it all spill forth is harder than convincing a rock to move on its own, so you don’t try.

This time, when you fall back asleep atop a book with a soft leather cover, you desperately hope this is the end of it.

…

(Did you know them, too? Did they lead you to me?)

(In a way, yes.)

(Then you can stay, for now. Just… keep quiet.)

…

And of course, it never is.

It’s hard to describe your next awakening as anything but a bolt of lightning straight to your center, with how much aether rushes through your crystal and into the abyss. Too fast, too quick, like a flame burning too hot too soon. From freezing to the fiery depths of hell, you think incredulously as you reach out, looking to just who might be so dangerously close to tipping too far.

You don’t expect to find the timid white mage staring down at your soul crystal, red eyes and all.

(In a way, perhaps you should have known it would happen; the man was too damned reserved, all flower petals and no bark, the look in his eyes when he saw someone injured too intense for simple worry. He hates bloodshed yet makes his career in it all the same, and you’ve been held by Lumelle so tightly that you felt his magic—summer’s night bottled into a cure, blooming flowers pressed over scars, and you think nothing could be kinder than the way he loves.

Shame that you forgot that sometimes kindness is forged in the abyss.)

You’re sure he doesn’t mean to keep your crystal at all—hells, he sets it at the bottom of his satchel before he goes running off to join the fray in the same place that nearly killed him, the damned martyr—but you get taken with him regardless, and you see just how badly he’s dealt with it all. You don’t retort as snarkily as you might have with Duscha; your current ward is like paper thin glass, and you worry that if you push him he might break into pieces so small not even the sun’s light could find him.

In fact, you’re not sure what will happen if you make yourself known at all. He doesn’t seem strong enough to handle the idea that his guilt is making a simulacrum manifest.

(If you truly wanted, you could make him a fine dark knight. Teach him how to take his love and turn it into strength and protection stronger than anything the realm’s elements might give him, no matter how loved he is by them. Stain this white mage in dark.

But you see his dreams, sometimes—you never had found your way into dreams before, but with someone practically bleeding their life aether onto you, a simulacrum fueled by memories and pain, it’s hard not to have new experiences—and his hands are always coated in blood. His own, someone else’s, his mother’s, his father’s…

You choose not to take him through the abyss. You don’t want to know if he’ll still be there when you walk out.)

Finding someone that might be able to help someone who very stubbornly doesn’t want help is… a lot harder than intended. There’s not too many people… happy, with your ward; not after Baelsar’s Wall, and the man that Lumelle sent flying. You faintly remember a name—Caelestis, or something—but you care little for details and more for solutions, so you keep peering outwards and looking as best you can without fully peering into their heads.

That is, until that someone comes running at the white mage like a teal tulip some sylph chucked at you with the force of a demon.

(He introduces himself to everyone as Haruki, but you can’t help but call him Ruki after one too many trips into A’dewah’s head—Dewah, he says, and you don’t know much about Seeker names but you know that it means more to your ward than it does to anyone else—and you think you can get him to help, even if A’dewah himself is trying to avoid him like the plague.

Especially because he’s avoiding Haruki like he’ll die if he doesn’t.)

It takes a few minor illusions and a trip to the Steppe (you didn’t know how to do these before A’dewah, you think as you practically lead a trail of hints from the Enclave to the tree A’dewah’s stuck himself in) but Haruki’s always been smarter than he might look (you still can’t get over the peacock feather of a mess his hair is) and eventually, eventually, your plan comes to fruition.

You don’t try to listen when they talk, but the rush of relief in A’dewah’s aether and the slow transition of summer bottled up tight enough to crack glass to the light warmth of, say, a greenhouse in full bloom tells you all you need to know, anyways.

(Doma is freed, soon after, and the Warriors are called back home, to Ala Mhigo’s war, but you look one last time out to Doma and see the last moments of A’dewah’s goodbyes, and of course it’s Haruki he tells last. His eyes burn like a solar eclipse, and you think if it weren’t for his son—so small and brave, callouses already on his fingers—he’d come back with you.

You think it might be puppy love, somehow, but you take one last look at what you know and think that maybe he’s just tired of being left behind, of being the last one. Might be love, might be wanderlust.

It doesn’t matter. You still have to leave, even if it hurts.)

On the ship’s journey back through the Sirensong Sea, A’dewah finally acknowledges you, in a way.

“Thank you,” he murmurs to no one in particular as he ties up his hair tighter. His eyes aren’t reddened from crying anymore—just the unfortunate lot of his mother’s eyes being blood red by nature—and you think you can rest, now.

So you do.

…

(Don’t you understand to call for help?)

(I can manage.)

(So sayeth the Weapon of Light.)

…

From one firebrand of a caster to another, you think as your crystal gets put into Valdis’ open palms—you learn her name early, this time, instead of just before the climax of the story—and though her aether is quiet you know well enough that it doesn’t mean there’s nothing hiding behind it.

(It’s the same sort of longing for something long past, you remember. Duscha’s aether had a similar balance to hers, even if Valdis is mostly umbral shade and hardly a hint of water among the flames she pulls into form. Where Duscha was restrained she is explosive, and you don’t need to look too hard to find the root of the issue.

The thing is: you’re too exhausted.)

You’re lucky she doesn’t fight closer to the front line, like Lumelle or Syhrwyda, because you can hardly summon a shadow at this point—perhaps you were played the fool by A’dewah’s tears into doing too much, not saving enough.

But then you look at Valdis and think she might be fine on her own, eyes still lit up and hopeful. Spitfire in her hair and embers in her eyes, already burning like a flame that knows how to rise from her ashes already.

There’s something to be said about youth, maybe, and you sigh as you close your eyes and hope to wake when she needs you.

(The thing is: she doesn’t need to.)

…

(... Hmph.)

(If you’re expecting an apology, you’re getting none from me.)

(I do not need—)

…

Your next venture leads you into the hands of someone so astrally aspected you don’t know if you can even summon the strength to peer outwards. Their aether and yours conflicts so greatly that it’s hard to tell if the abyss is flaring up or dying down, really, but you try regardless.

You will eternally be glad you do not have a face, because the pure shock when the face you see is one that was supposed to be long dead is not a face you’d ever like to see.

Lumelle had been your catalyst, and the little machinist before you the cause; you didn’t think he’d survived, somehow, even if you saw the monk that supposedly fell with him. He’s brighter than you’d thought he’d ever be, as close to the abyss as his sister was, and then you realize—

He truly doesn’t need you. His eyes still gleam on their own, not shrouded by something buried deep. If Duscha’s abyss was well hidden enough for you to mistake it, there can be no mistake here.

When he keeps your crystal close, anyways, you close your eyes again, thinking that perhaps this time you won’t be needed like before.

And for the most part; he doesn’t.

(There are times, surely, when a speck of darkness flickers into the light that fills his aether, but you hardly need to look at it to tell it’s over something silly. A flame that will flicker out soon enough. You don’t lift a finger over that.)

In a way, his hands are a restless reprieve. You cannot sleep, truly, because if you do you don’t want to know how much your crystal’s facets will fade, but there is nothing for you here, either.

So. You watch.

…

(But. Don’t you want?)

(I already want enough. I can get by.)

(Doesn’t mean you should.)

…

The rogue plucks your crystal from Elwin’s bag, a shadow in the night, and you hardly realize the change until you’re set by a pack of crystals. You nearly think to panic—what disaster do you have to reconcile now, tired as you are—but then the rogue whispers like he already knows.

(Maybe he does. Every rogue you’ve seen through other eyes has always been a bit sharper than they make themselves to be.)

“Take a breather,” he hums, flipping his daggers in the air and watching them glint in the dim moonlight. You think you might know his name, uttered once or twice in passing, but you’ve hardly begun to rest from your time in Elwin’s bright hands and aether that it’s slipped you by once or twice already. “Ye’ve helped us out. ‘S high time we pay back, hm?”

I do not do this for payment, you sigh, but his aether is the easiest of them all, really, more comfortable than even Valdis’ despite the light chill of it. He doesn’t respond, merely whistling as he walks along the metal pathway—Garlean territory, and he’s so calmly strolling through it?

You don’t choose to rest, even though you could, and keep an eye on the man anyways.

(It’s worth the trouble, you think when you shroud him in shadows, narrowly avoiding the gaze of some wisened soldier who knows the tricks of the trade. Even if nothing’s gained in return.)

…

(They’re...gone. They’re gone, gone, what do I do now—)

(Breathe. You’ll find them again. You always do.)

(But what if I can’t this time? What if I find them only to lose them?)

(You won’t.)

(How can you be sure?)

(Because you want to find them. I’m still here, aren’t I?)

…

There isn’t so much of a rest between leaving Tehra’ir’s palms and falling into the monk’s own, really; not when the rogue collapses alongside Valdis and the man with the eyepatch after some reverberating call that shook even you, incorporeal as you are. If you’d a physical form, the pain behind your eyes would be overwhelming; the sensation of being ripped from one’s body must be horrible, but even more so being torn from the very aether that keeps you.

Either way, the Elder Seedseer drops your crystal into their hands when she comes from the infirmary with a grim look on her face.There is something so familiar about this new bearer, aether so tempestuous and yet… calm. Leaving you contented and wanting all at once.

You don’t know what use you might be to them, either, but if you belonged in the hands of your past seven bearers then you are at home in theirs, lightning crackling from their skin to your crystal’s surface with great ease, for two non-metallic things.

(There is nothing I can do, the Seedseer murmurs and the sharp ache that immediately takes over the dull pain in their head echoes to you and oh, you understand more than ever now what you must help resolve, head spinning as the abyss flares and rages around you.)

You are there for everything after; when they flee to the Steppe, when they hole up in the empty house, when they take Ochir and fly across the mountains until Lunya calls them back home. Your crystal is usually hidden away in their pocket, safe in the leather pouch and buttoned into the cloth of their pants, and never once do you feel ignored, sitting in mutual silence. There’s nothing to be said, really, because their loss is just as much yours.

Both of you grin when you finally, finally make it past the gates into the First despite the horrid circumstances you have been brought to resolve, because it brings you both one step closer to finding them again.

(At first, you think they’ll be just fine without you, that you might be prudent to fall back dormant once more in face of the terribly draining light. At first, it seems like the others might just be a day’s journey away. The Exarch may be hiding things, but if the Scions are scattered then so too are the wayward Warriors; nothing so difficult as pulling souls back across the rift, yet.

Hah. When has anything ever been so simple?)

The journey is the hardest it’s been out of your eight travels, really; whether it be from the Light or from the constant confusion and grief that they struggle to pull from you do not know, and you keep your eyes open when they cannot—especially after Malikah’s Well.

(You are not the one fighting—never have been, even on that odd occasion that you’ve been able to force your way out of the abyss—but in Eulmore you see the flying eater’s wings seconds before they come crashing down on your bearer’s back with talons and when you reach out, for whatever banal reason, it is not darkness that springs forth.

At first, you think it a trick of the Light, because the last time you saw this shield it was back when you were still convinced you were ephemeral, but the next time you reach forth your ward’s wounds are healed in a burst of crystalline lilies.

You are not so stupid as to think this is your own strength, but they have not been with you for so long that you can’t tell what else it could be, what could be more than the others you have traveled with.

Oh, how blind you were.)

Here, down in Amaurot, it’s harder than ever on them but the easiest it’s been for you, and when they start slipping you have to drag them back to their heels again, lest the Light breaks free and both of you end up dead. You don’t have anything else to give—you do not have Lumelle or Syhrwyda’s inhuman strength or the healer’s prowess of A’dewah or Duscha, too incorporeal to give support like Tehra’ir or Elwin and too loud to stay as quiet as Valdis—but you are there and that has to be enough.

(If Zaya themselves is not whole enough to be worthy in that Ascian’s eyes, then you will find the missing parts that make them whole and bring them home, because in your eyes there is nothing more than them and the little family you’ve somehow managed to pass through like a hand-me-down, and if you and the friends that remain are not enough to guide them through Hades’ abyss then one of them will be.

And the funny thing is; you do, because the missing parts of their soul were the storm in you.)

The final days of Amaurot are harrowing; you are there when Zaya nearly falls to a bird demon, of all things, and you are there when the tempest of aether above a simulacrum of Emet-Selch’s world nearly shatters you into a million stars. It is less you taking the reins and more you standing by their side, the shadow in the light of falling stars that pushes forward when they cannot.

You think Ryne and Y’shtola can see you, can see the glow of seven crystals at Zaya’s side, but it matters not when Emet-Selch still refuses to take reprieve of the abyss and see the merits of something different from what he knows; all that does is that you are by their side, a shade in a city of simulacrums.

(How funny is it, that in his grief Hades dipped into the abyss just as Zaya did in theirs?)

You don’t remember much of what happens afterwards. There is a blur of light, a man’s voice—seven voices you recognize as the abyss flares and takes you back, because there is no space left here for darkness, not now. You expect to die, somehow, because you’d been fighting for so long in a place that threatened to swallow you whole and keep you there even if you followed Zaya resolutely, Hades taking you in his grasp and shattering you just to prove that they are nothing.

There’s a moment of clarity—when dark overtakes light once more—and you take the chance to stretch yourself out, to cover as many people as you can tell are here because Hades’ claws glow with something terrible and you will not lose anyone now, not when you’ve found yourself in them. Even Urianger, even Alphinaud, even Thancred, who is yalms and yalms away from Zaya—all of them have become too precious to lose, too beloved to let be harmed, and if Hades’ form is large then you will become the event horizon that swallows him.

(If you disappear here, it will be worth it—you have served your purpose as a shield, gouged on aether and memories as you are, and if you can give them even a moment more the price of your existence, as much of a simulacrum as you were, it would have been worth the trouble.

If Hades wins you don’t know what you’ll do.)

But he loses. He loses, and you go home as small of a flame as you were when your journeys began.

And when all is said and done, your crystal ends up on a necklace of thin chain and leather, held close to Zaya’s breast. Dark lightning crackles over the shining facets, finally polished to its prime like it was all those years ago when your last owner died; even then, you don’t know if you can ever come back again, really, exhausted and drained and frayed as you are.

It matters little, those ifs and maybes.

(“No matter where you go,” the gunbreaker says, and you can feel Zaya’s soul warm, cracked as it is—or maybe that’s yours, feeling a bit like your own promises are being voiced through his. Ardbert, the bloke, smiles from behind you, and the little part of you that knows exactly how you and he are similar grins wildly. “I will be there, guarding your back.”)

When they need you next to pull them from the blackest of nights, you’ll be there to see the beautiful dawn they bring in return. There is nowhere else for you to go.

…

(I’ll have to leave soon. Heroes don’t stay, you know.)

(Well, you do.)

…

From the depths of the crystal, a quiet light shimmers brightly, and you are reminded of home...

Action learned: The Brightest Dawn.

#ffxiv #my writing #tales from the blue #ffxivwrite #ffxivwrite2020 #elie's ffxivwrite2020 #a'dewah tia #duscha vesnasch #elwin de lipine #lumelle de lipine #tehra'ir naphto #syhrwyda maetityrbwyn #valdis otoel #zaya qestir #solo'ing bardams mettle on monk was not my best decision to date but the voiceless muse is still fucking gorgeous #i *had* to use it. my reputation as steppe simp was on the line #long post

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amenomiko · 5 years

Text

Thank you for the requests and I apologize for the long wait.

You see, I found both of this is related somehow and so I decided to make it into one. But as per RULES OF REQUESTS, I will do Nobunaga (For the request on the left), Mitsuhide, Kenshin, Masamune and Shingen (Thank you for following the rules for the request on the right).

❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤

Insecurity.

Inferiority.

You name it.

She sigh at her features, her physical appearance as a whole. At times she can't help but to compare herself with the beautiful girls out there--her old self would always grab something near and smashed it into the mirror, screaming and crying her heart out of why she is been born into this world.

This cruel world.

That no matter where she go, she would always be laughed at. Be teased, bullied, made fun of. She tried to love herself, no matter how her thoughts haunt her everytime she is happy. That she does not deserves it, that people pity her for it.

500 years from her timeline is no difference. The girls would look at her up and down, giggling at the tightness around her obi. The way she ordered those desserts on her plate, the way she eat. Her confidence crumbled whenever she tried to control herself from eating--she was laughed at again.

"Won't you faint if you do that? Oh, I didn't mean to be rude, Princess. The lords would question us and we would be in trouble." The head maid asked her, but she can see her lips quiver from holding back her own laughter. Same goes to the other maid behind her who whispering among themselves. Even the passing vassals nudge to one another, as if she had done something amazing.

It's alright.

It's fine.

This is nothing.

This is normal.

It's..

Fine.

Nobunaga

His fireball has been quiet the whole session of war council.

Usually Nobunaga find her silent mode adorable. Because she is not being silent on purpose, her mind will be full with the questions of "What should I eat tonight?" and "Ah are we done yet? I'm so hungry."

But today was different. She is sad. He could see it.

He called out for her name, only to get a low whisper of "I'm sorry.". She cupped her lips, and run out from the hall. But she didn't know he had saw her tears. It fumes him so much, and his mind is racing with what had caused her to cry, and he is all ready to slash their necks off their head for it.

Before he could run after her, Hideyoshi had stopped him. "My Lord. May I have a bit of your time?"

"Not now, Hideyoshi."

"...I may know what happened." Nobunaga paused in his tracks. "It was.."

He find her at her room, crying next to a broken mirror.

"...I've returned to my old self.." She mumbled under her breath. "I hate to see myself. I hate it, Nobunaga.. Til this day I.. I couldn't fathom why you choose me."

"..It was my own choice. Not theirs." He pulled her by her arms gently, making her facing him. "I'm not in love with your outer appearance. I'm not in love with how you look like. Your heart is beautiful enough to make my heart stir so much until I couldn't control it myself. Say all you want about yourself, but always remember that I will be the one to love you with all my heart." He lean and kiss on her forehead many times until she calmed down.

The very next day, he brought her for a short trip to let go of her sadness. As for the castle,..

They are all punished to eat spoiled rice in each of their meal, served together with dead bodies of a lizard for 3 days and 3 nights by Mitsuhide.

Oh, his favorite part of her body? Hips and thigh. He LOVE to smack it and sleep on it.

Masamune

She is happy. Thankful to what life has offered her. Masamune has chosen her, of all those beautiful girls out there, who is more worthy to stand by the infamous One-Eyed Dragon.

But at times...

"So your face is like that ever since an accident? Oh okay.." Her beaming smile fades in instant to the tone that the lady use on her.

"..It's better if she just died on spot." She muttered under her breath, "I just don't see how the most handsome warlord chooses her. It might be just a feeling of pity."

Her grip around the bag of mochi tightened. She heard it all. She heard of it almost everything.

"Now, you must be very unique to the point it caught the heart of the dragon aye?" The shop owner chuckled. "As usual thank you for always helping us finish the desserts, it helped us a lot, dear! Your body is. Ahahaha!" He playfully smack onto her shoulder, and she could only laugh softly.

Her eyes lowered to the mirror in front of her. "..I wonder why myself.."

"Well,..!"

MC gasped as she could feel a strong arm pull her close into a very familiar, soothing smell. It came from a chest that she would always bury her face in and it belongs to none other than Masamune.

"Masa- Anata..? What are you doing here?"

"Hmm? I was grabbing for some ingredients for tonight, and I happen to come across a.." He flashed a grin to the shop owner and the woman, "..very unpleasant conversation about my wife."

He feel a tug on his chest. "It was nothing, I'm used to it.""Ahaha no you won't." His smile curved down to a serious ones. "...You."

"Y-yes, My Lord??"

"Pack up your things now. You are not allowed to sell anywhere you wanted as long as it's within my dragon eye."

"B-but, we are just joking My Lo- kyaaa!!!" The other lady stumbled on her feet the moment Masamune point his sword at her. "My choice is never your concern. Do as I say or else you want to end up at the red light district?"

"Anata..!"

"Sure, my wife is not beautiful for you. At least her beauty doesn't match your ugly heart and a beautiful face that is suitable only for spreading legs for men." He spat.

Wow..

She never seen her husband this angry before. "Anata..? I love you." She giggled.

"..And I love you MORE, my kitten to my baby kitten (ㅅ˙³˙)♡ 💕💕💕💕~~"

She can't help but laugh. He would always make her happy and she never regret meeting him in her life.

Fav parts: Ass and Stomach. So cute and curvy ❤❤❤❤

Mitsuhide

Mitsuhide might be working in the shadows, but he is also a well known Warlord of Oda Nobunaga.

He is a very mysterious man, so when people heard the rumors about him, they are full of curiosity about him. Especially if he has someone for a love interest, crushes, any girl he want to get as a wife, and so on. So, when he got married, the rumor goes around just like a wind, where it makes them more and more curious to know, who he have chosen to be his life companion, giving his interesting personality.

"...Oh. You are.. his wife?"

The Daimyo whom they met for a new alliance look at MC up and down, checking her features, as if looking for something on her. He coughed, "Ehm very peculiar." He eyed MC's curves and to her hips. "Ah, for the heir I guess?"

Her hold around the tea tray twitched, followed by her forced smile. She have gathered her courage to give him a lesson when..

BANG!

A sound of a powdered gun echoed the council hall, and all eyes is on Mitsuhide who were grinning at the entrance with a smile that sends cold shiver to the daimyo and his men. "Ah pardon me, I thought there was an intruder because it was laughing like a pig and it perks my attention."

"P-PIG-"

Masamune snorts into his palm. "That really helps lad, I was wondering to myself ever since he arrived..!"

The laughter is followed by Nobunaga, "Such a nice haircut you have there."

"Huh? Wha??" He pats around his head, only to find his fake hair has burnt by his side. "NOOOOO!! Y-YOU! THE ALLIANCE ENDS HERE!"

Nobunaga shrugged, "Who said so?"

"H-huh?"

"Who said that I make an alliance with a pig? Anyway, Mitsuhide, send over a man to make a huge farm for his room. Take over his castle and make them eat grasses for a month."

"May I request for an extension of another month?" Ieyasu added.

"A year, My Lord." Mitsuhide grinned as he pulled his wife into a kiss. "..For disgracing my wife and also the Princess of Azuchi in front of everyone."

"A year it is." After that no one escorts the daimyo out as his title is also be taken away on the same day.

Fav part: Hips and Breasts. Woohoo ❤

Kenshin

"Kenshin-sama must be so desperate."

Again. It's just one of those days where people starts to gossip about her place in Kasugayama.

"He should have just gone to the red light district if he is sexually frustrated."

She froze in her tracks. Yes, they can say anything about her but for her beloved when they know nothing, they should just

"Mind your own business!" She shouted.

"Uwah. What's with this woman??"

"Hey, you should be grateful that we didn't harm you, knowing how you were just the spoils of war to Kenshin-sama. He must have been blind and chose you because Isehime had died. Heh!"

SLAP!! "SHUT UP!"

"You..! This ugly woman!!!"

She winced as he grabbed her by the collar, and in a blink of eye,

His arm were sliced and it plop onto the ground. Bystanders were screaming and gasping at the sight, and MC were speechless to the scene in front of her. Then, a black cloak covered her eyes as a figure in pale blonde pulled her into its chest.

"Say it again and touch her with your filthy hands, your head will be the next one. The woman that I choose to be by my side is the heart that had saved me and NEVER will replace the person who had died long time ago." His mismatched orbs glare into the trembling man's eyes.

"And." He pointed his sword to the other passerby. "If all of you say the same thing or have any complains, leave Echigo or have your head be decorated in your own home.

"..Anata. I'm fine."

"You aren't. I know you better."

"Thank you Kenshin." She smiled into his chest, kissing it while circling her arms around his torso.

His fav part: Ass and Thigh ❤

Shingen

She grinned to the mochi in her hands, pinching around it playfully before munching on it. "Mmmnnhhh~~~~ so fluffy so sweettt~~~". She beamed, happily swinging the bag of sweets in her hand.

She gasped as she spotted her husband among the crowd. "Anata..!"

Ah he didn't hear her. She should go nearer so she could surprise him with the delicious mochi that she bought, couldn't wait to go back to the castle, having their usual tea time routine.

Suddenly a hand stop her. "Hey, I wouldn't go near if I were you..! Are you the maid?"

"M-maid? No, I'm--"

"See those girls around him? You won't stand a chance..! He may be kind to every girls but as for your type.." The lady look at her up and down, giggling at her. "Hahaha..! Oops! Uhm..nope, nope.."

Ah, the typical lines. "Y-yeah, you are right." She glances at Shingen from her shoulder, turning her foot to go back to the castle when

"My darling wife, why aren't you waiting for me? I'm sad you know?"

Gasps echoed all over as he pulled her by the waist, kissing her cheek and temple. "Hm? Your friend?" He smiled at the lady in front of her. "Thank you for pulling my wife away from the busy crowd, you see. She is pregnant with my little angels, so crowds is dangerous for her." He winked, caressing her belly with full of love. "Ah I just can't wait to meet my pair of angels~~" He turned back to the lady.

"Thank you once again. Do rest now, a woman of your age should rest with your grandchildren."

"Sh-Shingen, she's not.."

"Oh? OH pardon me, you look.." He pursed his lips as he look at her up and down, chuckling, "My bad, she looks like.. The witch from the "Snow White" story you ever show to me."

"Hey- pffft. Honey..!" She jabbed his waist.

"Oof! Ahahahaa..! Let's go, My Goddess."

The bit- lady was left flabbergasted in the middle of the road, and the girls who were circling around Shingen, walk passed her with a giggle.

"That's what you get for not keeping opinion to yourself..! Hehehee~~ ____ is a sweet girl, darling. It's your luck that Shingen-sama gives you some mercy or else you will be SLAPPED by our getas. Hmf!"

Fav part: Thigh and Stomach ❤

#ikemen sengoku #ikemen sengoku nobunaga #ikemen sengoku mitsuhide #ikemen sengoku masamune #ikemen sengoku kenshin #ikemen sengoku shingen #ikemen sengoku imagines

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todorokiaimee · 5 years

Text

Blues In The Night 18. Edith and The Kingpin

Previous Chapter | Chapter Song

In the wee hours of the morning, a tall lanky man walked the empty streets of Tokyo’s red-light district. No one else was out at this time of night besides drunks and prostitutes so he could roam freely. Lighting up a menthol cigarette, his face illuminated to show is dark purple scars and bright blue eyes.

Dabi had been keeping a fairly low profile, distancing himself from the League of Villains. The older he got, the more he couldn't be bothered with villain work, especially Shigaraki. That crusty bastard was so full of himself. He only joined because he thought he held Stain’s philosophy, but that proved to be all talk. All that said, he couldn’t exactly just go straight. He’s still a wanted villain and prison stripes didn’t fit his aesthetic.

What should I do for dinner? I guess I can dine and dash that Hot Pot place. Tossing his cigarette butt on the ground, he sauntered into an alley hoping to cut across to the next street. Before he reached the other side, suddenly his wrist was captured in a grey scarf. Reflexively, he activated his quirk to burn the cloth, only his flames didn’t emerge. Huh? His brows furrowed as he tugged against the cloth, a strange voice coming from the darkness.

“Damn, you look like burnt toast.”

“What the--”

Dabi’s mind went blank, his body growing stiff as another grey scarf wrapped around him, effectively pinning his arms down. A low chuckle could be heard before two men appeared from the darkness. The purple-haired hero pulled his mask from his face to reveal a shit-eating grin.

“Gotcha. Now tell me where we can find Lafayette Dubois.”

“I don’t know who that is…” Dabi said in a dazed voice without hesitation.

Eraserhead let out an annoyed sigh, as he pulled out his eye drops, putting some in each eye. “You have to ask him the right questions, Shinsou.”

“The shady dude that’s been kidnapping people with powerful or useful quirks, where is he?” Shinsou asked again.

“I don’t know where that ghetto son of a bitch is,” Dabi said, still under his control. “Besides he’s just the muscle.”

“The muscle?” Aizawa quirked a brow before they were interrupted by a few rocks hitting them in the back of the head. Turning around, they saw a clearly drunk elderly man, tossing more rocks and trash toward them.

“Hey! Leave that guy alone you crooks!”

“What the hell! We’re Heroes, he’s the bad guy here!” Shinsou yelled back, still dodging the objects being thrown at them.

“How unfortunate.” Dabi sneered from behind the heroes.

Turning back around, the pair found that Dabi no longer had the dazed look of Shinsou’s brain control. He must have been justled awake from the rocks being thrown. A bright smirk pulled at Dabi’s lips as Eraserhead pulled Shinsou back and away from the villain, “Look out!”

Searing hot blue flames shot from the villain as they released their capture weapons just in time, narrowly avoiding the flames. “You still don’t look the part of a hero, Shinsou,” Dabi taunted from behind his fire. By the time the flames had died down, he was gone, vanished into the night once more.

“Let’s get him!” Shinsou growled only to have his collar pulled back by Aizawa. He turned to his mentor, a quizzical look on his face.

“Let him go. We got all we can from him. We’re better off looking for someone else. Intel is our main mission,” Aizawa mumbled as he put his goggles over his tired eyes.

“Fine,” the purple-haired hero sighed, adjusting his mask. I still feel like he knows more though.”

______________________________________________________________________

Earlier that night, on the other side of town, Todoroki parked his Tesla behind a building before stepping out of the car. Under the protection of nightfall, he silently made his way toward the building. He was dressed in disguise, his peppermint hair covered by a baseball cap, his trademark scar concealed with large sunglasses.

Shifting his eyes towards some movement, he noticed another burly man awkwardly shifting his weight by the building entrance. Even though the popped collar of his jacket hid the man’s face, his fluffy green hair let Shoto know it was his long-time friend Midoriya. Walking up to him, Shoto gave his friend a nod as he pulled Aimee’s gifted scarf over his nose, shielding himself further.

After looking over their shoulders, making sure they weren’t followed, the pair quietly entered the building. They stalked quietly in the dark, making their way to the front before Izuku tapped his friend’s shoulder, whispering, “Are you sure they know we’re coming?”

Shoto nodded, “Yes, I arranged the meeting myself--”

“What took you so long?”

The two heroes jumped, both falling into a fighting stance before they registered who was in front of them. It was no other than Todoroki’s sister Fuyumi. She stood before them with her hands on her hips as she quirked a white brow. “And why do you look like you’re gonna rob the place?”

Shoto let out a sigh of relief before removing his sunglasses. “I couldn’t risk getting seen by paparazzi. The last thing I need is this in the news before I get a chance to ask her.” The three walked to the front of a building, a jewelry store. All sorts of glittering jewels were in the glass cases of the showroom as they walked around, browsing.

Coming out of the back office, the owner of the shop walked into the showroom before stepping behind the counter. “Welcome! I hope using the back entrance worked out for you. No one is usually back there except for deliveries.”

Todoroki nodded, approaching the man. “Yes and thank you for agreeing to see us after closing.”

“It’s no problem at all. I owe you after you caught that jewel thief last summer,” the owner smiled. “What are you shopping for today?”

“An engagement ring,” Shoto said with a warm smile.

“Oh, congratulations! Our most popular engagement rings are over here.”

Shoto followed the owner to a glass case filled with dazzling diamond rings of all shapes and sizes, Fuyumi and Izuku walking close behind. They all browsed the rings for a moment until Midoriya broke the silence, “Wow, look at that big one there!”

The owner of the store nodded, opening the glass to take out a 10-carat emerald cut diamond ring in a platinum setting. Fuyumi whistled at the sheer size of the massive ring, earning a chuckle from the owner. He smiled as he handed the extravagant ring to the duel quirked hero, “This one does make a statement.”

Shoto studied the ring for a moment before shaking his head, handing it back to the owner. “It’s too big. Although Aimee deserves every carat, she has small dainty hands. That ring would look gaudy on her. Plus she would never wear it. Having that much money on her finger would give her anxiety.”

“I agree it’s a bit much,” Fuyumi nodded. “How about this one here? Simple with a healthy amount of bling,” she suggested, pointing to a different ring in the glass display.

Putting away the 10-carat ring, the owner then pulled out Fuyumi’s conservative pick, handing it to Shoto. It was a simple 1-carat diamond ring in a gold setting. “This style is a classic.”

Shoto looked over his sister’s pick, shaking his head once again. “Hmm… it feels too generic,” he hummed, giving it back to the owner. “It’s not Aimee.”

A gentle knowing smile pulled on the owner’s lips as he put the ring back in the glass display. “Mr. Todoroki,” he paused, resting his hands on top of the display. “Why don’t you tell me what would be the perfect ring for her? What would best suit the future Mrs. Todoroki?”

A pink blush warmed Shoto’s cheeks as he took in the thought. What would Mrs. Aimee Todoroki wear? He held his chin, deep in thought before a soft smile grew across his face, a loving look in his eyes. “Something timeless, but unique. Lots of sparkle but delicate. If it’s too big, she’d be too nervous to wear it. Something with color perhaps?”

The owner nodded thoughtfully before stepping out from behind the counter. “I think you would be interested in our collection of vintage and estate rings.” The man walked over to another glass display case on the other side of the room, the heroes and Fuyumi following close behind. “All of these pieces are one of a kind.”

Shoto looked over the glittering display of vintage jewelry. Any of these pieces would be very Aimee. That’s when he saw it. The ring.

“May I see this one here?” Shoto asked, pointing at the ring over the glass.

“Of course.”

Reaching into the glass display, the owner handed him his pick. The exquisite ring featured a 2-carat pear shaped sapphire. It also had shimmering pavé diamonds that lined a white gold chevron-shaped band. “A great choice. This piece is from the Art Nouveau era and is dated around 1914.”

Shoto held the ring up to the light, watching it sparkle and shine. “The design reminds me of the Fleur-de-lis.”

“What’s that?” His green haired friend questioned.

“It’s a French stylized lily. It’s used a lot in New Orleans.” Shoto hummed, still studying the ring.

“Oh, well It sure is pretty.” Izuku gushed.

“It’s beautiful Shoto,” Fuyumi sighed with a smile as she laid her hand on her brother’s shoulder. “I can totally see Aimee sporting that rock around town as well as her classroom.”

“Do you really think she’ll like it?” Shoto almost whispered. This was probably the single most important gift he would ever give the life of his life. He didn’t want to disappoint her.

“Aimee is so sweet, she’d love it if you gave her a ring out of a cereal box,” his sister giggled.

“I’d agree with that too,” Midoriya shrugged, a bright smile on his face. “But it is a great pick.”

After pausing a moment, he imagined Aimee’s expressive eyes, taking in the ring for the first time, her dazzling smile. It wasn’t long before his own warm smile formed on his lips, nodding his head. “I’ll take it.”

“Excellent choice,” the owner smiled as he took back the ring to place in a small velvet box.

______________________________________________________________________

Later that night, Shoto silently unlocked the door to Aimee’s small apartment. Walking inside he saw Aimee curled up on the couch with Mochi, half asleep.

“You should be in bed. It’s a school night.” Shoto said softly, walking over to her.

“You were out so late with no call, I was starting to get worried,” Aimee yawned. She could barely keep her eyes open.

“My apologies, my love,” Shoto hummed. “Let’s get you to bed.”

Pulling her into his arms, Shoto gently lifted Aimee bridal style, carrying her to her bedroom. Aimee snuggled her face into the crock of his neck, taking in his scent of cedarwood and peppermint. She sighed softly as she gripped his shirt in her hand, happy to finally have him home, “I love you so much. You know that right?”

Shoto smiled, holding her tighter in his arms before gently laying her down on her bed. She looked so beautiful laying there, fighting sleep. The small velvet box he acquired was now burning a hole in his pocket. Taking a deep breath, Shoto leaned over to place a soft kiss to her forehead before pulling the blankets up to cover her body. “I do. I love you too. More than you’ll ever know.”

_______________________________________________________________________

The next morning, Shoto pulled into the Yoyogi Middle School parking lot, falling in line behind cars of students being dropped off for school. Turning his head, he smiled at Aimee sitting in the passenger’s seat, giving her hand a squeeze. “Have a good day at work. Don’t be too tough on the kids.”

“Too bad, they’re getting a pop quiz,” Aimee wiggled her eyebrows menacingly.

“Oh, lookout. Miss Faurie is out for blood,” he smirked.

Aimee giggled, giving her beau a playful shove on the shoulder. “I’m not actually going to record the grades, I just need to scare a few into paying attention.”

“Ah, a logical ruse.”

“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”

Shoto chuckled, thinking of this every first day of high school. “UA was not for the faint of heart.”

As they continued to inch their way closer to the school entrance, Shoto looked over to Aimee. The diamond necklace he gave her for Christmas was still around her neck. She hadn’t taken it off since he placed it on her Christmas morning. It glittered and gleamed as the sunlight caught it just right, Shoto reaching out to touch it. “Your gift really suits you.”

“Thank you, mon cher,” Aimee smiled back at him. “I could say the same about you.” She giggled as she lightly tugged on Shoto’s scarf around his neck.

“Anyway, I better get going. We’re holding up the drop off line,” She said as she unbuckled her seatbelt. “I packed you a bento for lunch in your satchel. I love you.” Leaning over she placed a chaste kiss to Shoto’s lips which he happily returned.

“Thank you, I love you too,” he said as Aimee turned to exit his Tesla, only to have Shoto reach out to grab her hand. “Wait, one more.”

“Last one,” Aimee sighed with a smile before leaning in again to press her lips to his. Shoto then gently placed his hand to the back of her head, effectively holding her in place so he could take his time, molding his lips to hers. She giggled against his lips before giving his chest a light slap. “Shoto! I’m at work, Casanova.”

He smirked as he finally released her, watching her exit the car. “See you tonight, my love.”

Aimee waved at Shoto as he pulled away before walking into the school building. Walking up the stairs she reached her classroom, room 204. She set up as usual, preparing her lessons as her students started to trickle in. She smiled as they greeted her, still typing away at her laptop until the school bell rang, marking the start of the first period. Standing from her seat, she made her way to the front of the classroom addressing her students, “Okay my lovelies, clear your desks of just a sheet of paper and a pencil. Pop quiz time.”

She was only met with a chorus of whines and complaints, to which she chuckled lightly. “Oh yes, children’s tears to flavor my coffee! Muahaha.” She smiled, shaking her head. “But for real kids, this should be easy if you were paying attention yesterday. Which all of you were right?” She eyed her class suspiciously.

“Yes, Miss Faurie!” the class responded in unison.

“Excellent, first question: What is the figurative meaning of the English idiom ‘It’s raining cats and dogs’?” Just as they began the quiz, the power went out in the classroom, leaving them in the dark, a few students screaming in surprise. “Calm down. I’m sure it will be back on soon.”

Looking out of the small window of her classroom door, she could see that the hallway outside had also grown dark. So it’s not just my classroom. Walking back over to her desk, Aimee then dialed the extension of the front desk, hoping to get an explanation. Bringing the phone to her ear, her plump lips pressed into a thin line. The phone line was dead. Remembering news story after story of school attacks in America, Aimee’s heart began to race in her chest. Fearing the worst, she sprung into action.

“Okay friends, I need your attention. We are going to quietly and calmly assume our lockdown positions until the power comes back on or I receive contact from the front desk.”

“Is everything ok Miss Faurie?” One of her students asked, fear beginning to cloud her eyes.

“I’m sure it’s fine but it’s better safe than sorry. Everyone in the corner of the room.”

As the students began to quietly move to the corner of the room away from the door, Aimee made sure the door was locked and all the window blinds where drawn closed. She then returned to the children’s side as they waited in silence.

Not long later, they watched in horror as the classroom door handle began to rattle. A few of the children gasped as they huddled together in the dark. Aimee could only hold her finger to her lips in an attempt to keep them silent, praying that the mystery person would simply move on.

The ravenette’s eyes grew wide as she saw a black shadow form under the door, slowly seeping its way inside the classroom. Her heart dropped into her stomach as the shadow then grew upwards, forming into the shape of a man. He gave her a wicked smile as she threw her arms out wide in an effort to shield her students.

“There you are, Cher,” Lafayette said in a gravelly voice. “It took me a minute to find you.”

“Kids get behind me,” Aimee commanded, her voice wavering as she never look her eyes off of the man in front of her. “Take whatever you want but leave the kids alone. My purse is behind the desk and there are nice laptops in that cart over there.”

“But my dear, it’s you that I want.”

“No!” One of Aimee’s students, the same spunky blonde boy who had tried to woo her months before, jumped in front of his teacher. He had tears in his eyes, but his hands were raised, a weak purple mist growing around them. “You can’t have Miss Faurie!”

Lafayette chuckled darkly at the scene before him. “Can’t I?”

“Get behind me!” Aimee pulled the boy back, her own hand darting for her throat as she activated her quirk.

“Oh and don’t think of using that little quirk of yours,” the villain hummed, watching her carefully. “We wouldn’t want you scaring the kiddos right? Also, I’ll kill them if you try.”

Aimee’s hand hovered over her throat as she rattled her brain. How could this stranger know about her quirk? No one knows she even has a quirk, not even the school. Did he look her up? Was he really targeting just her? “How do you know about that?”

The man before her scoffed, activating his quirk as long black shadow tendrils emerged from his body. “Because I’ve seen it in action.”

“You…” Aimee whispered breathless, instantly recognizing the tendrils that attacked her beau months ago.

“Come willingly like a good girl, and I won’t hurt the rugrats.”

Aimee bit her bottom lip as she stared at the man, weighing her options. She couldn’t risk calling his bluff. She was responsible for the 25 young lives in the room. She couldn’t jeopardize their safety, no matter how scared she was. Slowly, she touched the necklace around her neck with shaky fingers, saying a silent prayer as she took a deep breath. I’m sorry, Shoto.

“Fine,” Aimee whispered as she slowly stepped towards the villain.

“Don’t do it, Miss Faurie!” The blonde boy cried, grabbing her hand.

Aimee stopped to look at the boy, her own tears threatening to fall from her eyes. “Hey now. My job is to keep you safe. Let me do my job.”

After she pried the boys hand from hers, she made her slow approach to the villain. Once she was within arm’s reach, he snached her arm, pulling her forward. With her back to his chest, he wrapped his hand tightly around her throat. Aimee winced in pain but she tried her hardest to put on a brave face for her students. She wouldn’t frighten them further.

With a wicked crooked smile, Lafayette crudely smelled Aimee’s curls, making her shudder. He laughed at her reaction before turning to face the students. “Stay in school kids.”

With his last faint at a positive message, he activated his quirk. Both he and Aimee then began to turn into a black shadow, their silhouettes melting into the floor before slipping out the other side of the classroom door.

The students remained inside the dark classroom in a silent shock. After a few moments, the blonde boy rushed to the door, throwing it open. Through streams of tears, he looked up and down the hallway, searching for any sign of his beloved teacher to no avail.

Miss Faurie was gone.

Chapter 19

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kuchenackerman · 7 years

Text

LAWLESS

Summary: Despite his youth, Eren Jaeger is one of the best and most popular doctors of the Kingdom. Among those interested on his services is included a recognized criminal clan, which does not hesitate to use the youngest of the Ackerman as bait. Eren never imagined that this "harmless" girl in red dress would get him into so much trouble, turning his world upside down.

A/N: since I deleted my blog back in March, the “read more” of my old posts is not working anymore, so I decided to re-upload chapters 1 and 2 together to make things easier for anyone who’s interested.

Art by Dani ♥ the full version of Lawless’ cover is here and there’s more related fanart here - I still have to reblog everything again, so the tag will collect more beautiful things done by Dani soon. You can also read the rest of the chapters on FF.net or on AO3

Chapter 1. Crimson

Mikasa hit the wall hard. In spite of it, the coldness of the bricks did little against her accumulated body heat. Today's training had been tough since she had to battle against the stockiest and tallest man at Kenny's service.

Will, who was practically a beast of a man, lay face down on the floor. Blood dripping from his broken nose.

"Is he dead?"

The girl shook her head slightly, without even looking at the man approaching the scene. She needed to catch her breath and calm her heart rate. She wiped the sweat from her forehead with her forearm while she thought that yeah, she could have killed him. The idiot would have deserved it only for trying to be too clever.

"He should be dead, huh?" murmured the man in an expressionless tone, but Mikasa knew him well enough to perceive his simmering anger.

"The fucking pig". Levi turned Will over easily with a foot, without any care at all, so he could check his face. Mikasa had done a good job wrecking that stupid face, the guy was going to look uglier than before. Usually when a training session ended like this, it was because the practice puppets had said something disgusting to her or tried something they shouldn't have.

Although she knew that some of the guys Kenny sent as human punching bags were precisely chosen so she could learn to defend herself under complicated and stifling circumstances; a thing that she no longer considered necessary. She was completely capable of defending herself, and she was fed up with it. With this attack, she's managed to send the message Kenny was expecting her to give.

Because of Will's size, it took more time than usual for Mikasa to knock him out. Levi had wanted to be present at the training, but she asked him to trust in her abilities, and so he did.

"This is the last one of the week, maybe of the month," said Mikasa as she passed him by, walking toward the exit, "Or definitely the last one".

She was dangerous. She was an Ackerman.

"Oi, brat-"

Don't mess with the Ackerman, Kenny used to repeat with a smirk.

"I want to be alone," she cut him off.

Levi followed her with his eyes for a moment, then squinted back toward the subject at his feet. He let out a snort when he noticed the nauseating state of the floor, spotted with blood and rancid sweat. He could even see a few teeth not far away.

The youngest of the Ackermans walked rapidly through the dark corridor, observing that farther ahead Kenny's office door was slightly ajar. She could perceive the dim light of the room and the smell of burnt tobacco. She also heard his snicker and some banging, the tell-tale sound of Kenny's favorite and ridiculous boots landing on the desk.

Mikasa moved cautiously to try and glimpse what was happening inside the office but before she could get to see anything, Kenny had spotted her.

"Oi! Stop sniffing around and get in!"

She issued a little snort; that old man always made her doubt her stealth ability.

Mikasa glanced down at herself. She was still wearing her training outfit and was extremely sweaty. The bandages that covered her knuckles were stained with someone else's blood. In truth, she wasn't even remotely presentable… and in this moment what she most wanted was to take off her clothes, have a bath and read something. She did not want to socialize.

Nevertheless, she felt too much curiosity to simply decline the invitation. It wasn't often that Kenny had visitors—and she could tell he had one now since the door was left slightly ajar. Kenny only did that when he had company. He said it was for the tranquility of the visitor. Supposedly.

In the interior, Kenny smoked from his pipe with his feet rested on the shabby desk, while in front of him sat a handsome, tall and muscular blond man with his hair combed neatly back. As the girl entered the room, the stranger scrutinized her face with intense blue eyes and, after some seconds, gave her a cordial smile.

"Miss, my name is Erwin Smith," he introduced himself, standing automatically so he could offer her his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"I'm Mikasa..." she started to introduce herself, glancing at Kenny who nodded with a proud smile. The girl shook the man's hand with less strength than she expected. It seemed that she actually was exhausted. "Mikasa Ackerman."

Erwin Smith noted the dirt and blood on her hands but was not fazed in the least.

"Good," Kenny said, "I just wanted you to know this guy. Go take a shower and do your girly stuff. Whatever. Later we'll talk about tomorrow's mission. It includes a cute dress."

The girl openly rolled her eyes and turned around, saying a polite goodbye to Mr. Smith. She could almost imagine what type of mission it would be.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

"Doctor Jaeger!"

The young man turned around and noticed a little girl running impetuously towards him. She was carrying some flowers in a fist that she gave to him as soon as she reached him with a light blush, "Many thanks for healing my daddy!"

He smiled and caressed the girl's head, bending down to meet her height.

"You and your mother did all the hard work taking care for him for days. It's because of that he healed so quickly after my visit," he clarified, taking the flowers. "But thank you so much for the gift."

The girl nodded. The admiration and gratefulness reflected in her hazel eyes thrilled Eren, who was now more convinced that he'd never give up his volunteer work in the poorest districts of the Kingdom for a large house in royal grounds.

Despite the frequent offers, he wasn't interested in filling his pockets while exclusively taking care of the noble and high born, and he was not interested in living a quiet and sedentary life. His desire was to travel constantly. To live one month here and a week there, treating the people that couldn't afford to pay one of the few available doctors.

As he boarded the ship that would take him to Mitras, Paradis Kingdom's capital, he was able to see part of the house where he lived during a large part of his childhood. Now another family inhabited it, but he still allowed himself to fantasize that one day he'd knock on the door and he would be welcomed by nothing more and nothing less than his aged parents.

He let out a bitter smile and shook his head… visiting Shiganshina made him nostalgic, sentimental.

Noticing the orange tone of the sky, he realized it was almost time to set sail, so he decided to search among the boat - built for around a hundred people - for a particular blond headed passenger.

He found him easily a moment later. Armin was sitting on a chair, absorbed in his reading, while a fat lady was looking at him disapprovingly. She was standing and there were no more available seats; the trip would take more than two hours.

Eren loudly cleared his throat but he couldn't catch his friend's attention.

"Hey, Armin…" he called.

The blond looked up immediately from his thick book, stood, and approached the brown haired boy, waving at him cheerfully. The lady took her chance and seated herself quickly, an action that Armin barely even noticed.

"Eren!" he greeted him, placing a hand on his shoulder, "I thought you boarded the morning boat and that you were already at Mitras."

"I needed to visit more patients before leaving, you know," Eren replied. "Besides, having to leave Shiganshina so soon for such a stupid reason annoys me, so I just took my time."

Armin nodded and shrugged. He knew Eren wasn't fond of high society's frivolous parties, which he was bound to attend as a courtesy so they wouldn't think he was ungrateful.

"At least I'll be there as your companion, and I'm bringing my chessboard in case you want a rematch after last night's games." The pieces inside clattered playfully as Armin shook the closed board with enthusiasm.

"Armin," Eren groaned and playfully hit him on the arm.

"Ouch! And what else do you want us to do, dance? I d-don't know how to dance, I'll embarrass myself!"

"Historia taught you less than two months ago. You forgot already?" Eren asked while he nonchalantly sat down on the floor. He was exhausted, "I can't give you lessons from now til the night. What are you going to do if one of those daring girls asks you for a dance? It happened to me the last time and I accepted so I wouldn't offend her… unlike the time before that," he complained.

Armin shuddered a little thinking about the possibility.

"I'll ask Historia to hide me in a room or inside a wardrobe before the dance begins", he replied hastily. "That's what I'll do. Or I'll escape to the gardens."

Eren snorted mockingly and shook his head, giving his friend a lopsided smile.

"Crap, Armin. If I knew that you didn't remember how to dance, then I wouldn't have gotten you into this mess." He stared at the sky for a moment and closed his eyes, thinking that maybe he'll take a nap. He needed it. "I'm sorry mate, I'm too worn out to keep talking."

"It's okay, don't worry," Armin replied. "I'll stay by your side and read, and I'll make sure that nobody steps on you while they pass by."

"Mmh… mhh…"

Armin knew that Eren would not wake up even if someone did unintentionally step on him. He always slept soundly since he decided to take the place and responsibilities of his father. The poor boy worked so hard that he could sleep anywhere like a baby.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Wearing tuxedos, both young men arrived in time to present their invitations to the guards, and then to the butlers posted at the entrance hall, who requested they put on masks before going in.

The Reiss's white palace was undeniably magnificent, large and beautiful. In the interior of the ballroom, the vivid colors of the ladies' dresses gave a brilliant contrast to the white marbled floor and pastel toned roses, all part of the elegant decor.

There was food, drinks and flower arrangements on each of the long tables that surrounded the ballroom. Meanwhile, the orchestra performed refined and serene melodies in a kind of domed stage, making the ambience pleasant, despite the noise the conversation of the guests produced.

Armin was captivated and offended at the same time by the opulence, even though it was not the first time he assisted his friend at one of these parties. Eren was talking with a noble men who'd recognized him when they entered and begun talking about things that Eren wasn't remotely interested in.

Meanwhile, Armin decided to walk around in case he found Historia. He hoped to ask her to help him avoid the embarrassment of the dance when the time comes. She would understand.

"I knew that Doctor Jaeger was invited, but I haven't seen him"

Armin heard the voice of a girl, so he stopped his search out of curiosity.

Eren was extremely popular among girls, but he never seemed to be aware of that. He was dedicated to only do his job.

"I haven't seen him either, what a pity," sighed another girl, "He must be looking so handsome, especially today."

"Yes! But with these masks, it's difficult to recognize anyone…"

"True, but at the same time everything is more fun and mysterious, isn't it?"

"Yes, I guess," said the girl that first mentioned Eren, "I wish the doctor asked me to dance with him tonight."

He chuckled to himself. Poor girls; Eren couldn't be less interested in dancing and spending his time with people in a romantic sense.

"Ugh, Historia Reiss is so fortunate. There are a lot of rumors about her and him, like they're going to marry some day or that they're already a couple."

Armin almost spat his drink and, to his bad luck, he caught the attention of the girls. He coughed dramatically for a few seconds, pretending to be sick, so the girls moved away so as not to catch the flu, or whatever that stranger had.

Beside him, a pale girl dressed in a red gown and mask offered him a serviette. She wore her black hair combed into a high bun.

"Oh, t-thanks!"

She gave him a small, pretty smile, framed with crimson lips.

"I saw you arrive with Doctor Jaeger, but I lost sight of him a few moments ago," she commented point-blankly to him. "Everything was the fault of an old moneybag who decided it was a good idea to offer me money in exchange for a kiss."

Armin raised his eyebrows. "Really?"

She nodded, looking at him directly with her dark and deep eyes through the rabbets of her mask. Even if he couldn't see much of her face, she had to be a very, very beautiful girl. Armin couldn't help but to look at her cleavage unconsciously.

"Do you have any idea of where doctor Jaeger is?" she asked smoothly. "I'm dying to meet him…"

Armin looked up immediately and scouted for Eren in the crowd. He could see him talking with Historia near a thick marble pillar.

"He's there, with Historia Reiss, see?" Armin replied, pointing in their direction. "I don't know if it would be appropriate to interrupt them. After all, she's a princess and - Hey!"

The mysterious girl in the showy, red dress left him speaking alone. When she was about to reach the place where Eren and Historia were, Armin saw her trip. Several of the attendees that were near exclaimed upon seeing her fall and some men rushed to help her but Eren reached her first.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Mikasa let out a small cry of pain before hearing Eren Jaeger ask her if she was okay. He helped her to stand up carefully, while Historia Reiss gave him indications to help the poor girl to seat near there and to verify that everything was fine.

"Eren, please accompany and examine her," the heir of the Reiss family directed. "I'll be back in a few minutes, my father wants me to meet some people… Miss, I hope you're alright!" she said to Mikasa before leaving with an apologetic look.

"Are you alright? Does anything hurt?" Eren asked her while he took off the stupid mask.

For a moment, Mikasa felt a slight unease when she was directly confronted with his large, worried, emerald eyes.

"No… the truth is that I don't feel fine," she murmured, bringing a hand to her head. "I think I need a bit of fresh air. I'm feeling dizzy."

"Okay, I'll help you to the terrace. Can you walk properly?"

The girl moaned when she put her right foot on the floor, so Eren held her by the waist and helped her to move. Since the night was cold, the terrace was empty when they arrived.

"Come, let's sit here for a moment," he said while he helped her onto a stone bench. "Please, let me check your ankle." Eren crouched down and carefully took one of her heeled shoes off. His delicate brush made Mikasa blush and she involuntarily dodged a new touch. "Does it hurt here?"

"A bit," she lied, averting her gaze.

"It could be a mild sprain," he pointed out, and in that instant he noticed that the girl's shoulders were bared.

Mikasa watched as Eren took off his jacket and gently placed it around her shoulders.

"You said you have dizziness, did you drink much?"

"Nothing at all."

"Any possibility of being pregnant?"

"What? No!" she almost yelled.

Eren blinked in surprise. "It's okay, I was just asking. It seemed like you passed out, and because of that you lost your balance and fell."

Eren remembered that when he was talking with Historia, she told him that there was an elegant girl dressed in a red gown coming to where they were, so he followed the blonde's gaze but, in that same moment, the girl in the red dress tumbled over just before them.

"I certainly didn't feel well. There's a lot of people and noise inside, and that's a bit suffocating to me," said the young lady aside him. She took off the crimson mask, "But I feel better already. Thanks," she smiled at him slightly.

The boy nodded slowly, contemplating her delicate features and how the darkness of her eyes stood out in contrast with the snowy tone of her skin. Weirdly, it seemed to him that it wasn't the first time that he saw her. He wasn't sure if he had seen her at another of those parties or in another place.

Maybe in the streets.

Maybe a long time ago.

Eren couldn't remember when, nor where, he just knew that those features weren't common and were difficult to forget. He was about to ask her if they'd met before, but then realized that he'd forgotten to ask her something.

"Oh! By the way, what's your name? I'm Eren. Eren Jaeger."

The mysterious girl let out a little bitter smile. It lasted only a moment and was almost imperceptible, but he managed to see it.

"I know perfectly well who you are, Eren Jaeger," she snapped coldly, in a different tone compared to the one she'd used since the beginning. Her face was now stoic, "My name is Mikasa," she informed, somewhat reluctantly.

"… Mikasa?" even though in this instant he wasn't able to think straight, he had the faint thought of recognizing that name.

But then a penetrating sickly-sweet smell filled nostrils. Mikasa moved closer and embraced him, leaning her head on one of his shoulders. The action surprised Eren, making him open his mouth slightly to take a deep breath of adulterated air that only confused him further.

"I'm sorry, Eren," he heard Mikasa whisper in his ear. She covered his nose and mouth with a handkerchief, soaked with a substance that he realized was the source of the smell.

As soon as he lost consciousness, Mikasa did a quick whistle after which a man of short stature came out of hiding behind some bushes.

"Finally," he complained sourly while approaching her.

She simply squinted her eyes, took off her shoes and hastened to follow him.

Levi carried Eren on one shoulder as if he weighed nothing.

Chapter 2. Abduction

After waiting for the two guards that patrolled the area to move far enough away, Mikasa and Levi hurried until they reached an elegant carriage parked near a zone of lush vegetation.

Several meters ahead, the access' sentinels were trying to politely reason with three provocative women. They stubbornly insisted that they were invited to the party, although they lacked an invitation that could prove it and they weren't even wearing appropriate wardrobe for the occasion.

The coachman raised an eyebrow when he noted that Levi was carrying someone who didn't offer any resistance.

"Is that one dead? Injured?" the coachman whispered with some concern and glanced at the guards, who were distracted with the prostitutes that he himself brought to the Palace.

"Shut up and make these horses move their asses," said Levi seating at his side, after he deposited Eren Jaeger inside the carriage. Mikasa was boarding it at that moment.

Levi was dressed similarly to the man who held the reins of the horses.

"It's just that I would not want him to... stain the upholstery," the coachman insisted, anxious.

"Don't fuck with me, your upholstery is already disgusting," Levi glanced at him reproachfully and then turned around. "Mikasa, I left you a change of clothes in there."

The aforementioned just nodded, forgetting for a moment that Levi couldn't see her from the outside.

"Okay," she answered, absorbed while she stroked the silky red cloth that covered her legs.

Mikasa liked the dress a lot. She felt so, so feminine wearing it. She loved the entire outfit, it was beautiful. The dark shoes, the red dress and her intricate high hairstyle.

She almost felt like a lady. Almost, because of lady she had nothing, even with that outfit she could only pretend to be one. Besides, she could never get used to wearing high heels. She had only been wearing them for a short while and already her feet were becoming resentful.

"Have a good night, gentlemen!" she heard the coachman say merrily, probably to the sentinels. She didn't hear Levi say anything, as expected.

Mikasa tried to take a look at the unconscious boy in front of her, who she laid down on the wide seat. It was difficult to visualize details in midst of a darkness to which her sight wasn't adjusted yet. Anyway, it was evident that the irregular movement of the carriage made Eren's head bounce rhythmically on the worn padding, so Mikasa knelt beside him and put a little pillow under his head.

It was then when she realized that he was just wearing a white shirt and a black tie, since she still had his black jacket on her shoulders. When she removed the garment, she was invaded by a fetching and musky scent. Instinctively, Mikasa brought the fabric to her nose and inhaled softly to perceive a citric vestige, at the same time that she closed her eyes. The fragrance transported her to the past, to the times in which the sensation of security, tranquility and naïve happiness were a constant in her life… When she still lived with her parents.

The carriage took a leap and the shaking pulled her out of her little lethargy. She quickly covered Eren with the jacket and verified that he was still asleep. She paid special attention to his measured breathing. Everything seemed to be all right.

The girl caressed for a last time the lustrous fabric that clung to her waist - it loosened under her hips and its length didn't get to cover her ankles.

After a listless sigh she proceeded to unbutton her back, not without some difficulty.

"Fucking buttons" she murmured to herself, since the last pair to unbutton was giving her problems.

The front side of the dress had fallen and it no longer exerted any pressure on her naked torso, so she just turned the dress to finish undoing everything. She didn't want to unintentionally damage it. Thankfully, her sight had adjusted to the dim light and she managed to smoothly solve the problem.

Suddenly she realized the boy was moving, so she immediately covered herself with her arms and glanced at him, distressed, because he seemed to have his eyelids half open. She approached him, ready to punch him and knock him out, but Eren didn't even try to dodge the fist that remained just a few centimeters from his nose. To Mikasa's relief he was still unconscious, as it should be. She grabbed his jacket and covered his whole face anyways, just in case.

Maybe Eren Jaeger was that kind of weird person that slept with their eyes open.

Meanwhile, the girl finished removing the dress and quickly put on a shirt, sweater and black pants.

They arrived late-night to an area of small houses located near the border of Orvud, a district to the north of Mitras. The full moon lit the dusty entrance of the structure, next to which a man with a wrinkled face was sitting wrapped in a blanket. When he saw Mikasa get out of the carriage, he showed her a smile that was missing some teeth.

"Good night, missy," he saluted her with a nod of his head.

"Good night, Arnie," she answered with some kindness. "Have you had supper?"

"Yeah, a jug of wine and a delicious chicken!"

"Good," she smiled slightly at him and her stomach rumbled at the mention of food. She had not had time to eat at the Reiss' party, let alone drink anything. She was famished.

Inside the small house, she proceeded to give a series of rhythmic knocks on a part of the wall that happened to be a camouflaged door between two furnishings and behind a small table, on which there was a plate with chicken bones and a clay jug.

The door opened with a squeak and from the other side they were received by the ever serious Tom, a bald man with a black moustache and beard. Since Levi was carrying Eren, Mikasa allowed him to go in first. She went down the deteriorating steps and followed him through the poorly illuminated tunnel - with soil floor and rock walls - until they ran into an iron door already opened and flanked by two men as silent as the first one.

As they passed the entry, to their left it was possible to hear some hysterical laughter, banging on tables and an out of tune man singing with extreme emotion.

Both Levi and Mikasa rolled their eyes and turned in the opposite direction, to a short corridor, in which they soon reached a thick metal and dark wood door.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Eren slowly opened his eyes.

Stunned, he realized that he was sitting on a chair with armrests, to which his wrists were tied. His ankles were tied to the forelegs of the chair.

What…?

No, he wasn't even dreaming.

But, what the hell? He thought, irritated.

He tried to look around. It was a small room, with a bed stuck to the left wall, while the opposite wall was less than a meter away from him. He turned his head and at his back he could notice that on a bedside table there was a candle, barely illuminating the place.

In front of him there wasn't much he could see, since his own body blocked what little light there was, but the entrance to the room should have been in that direction. It was a windowless room, narrow and long, and there was at least two more meters of it onward.

This shit again, Eren frowned and felt how the rage overpowered him.

An abduction.

"Another damn time!" he complained, clenching his teeth while he stirred on the chair trying to loosen the ropes.

"We hope this is the last time"

Eren stilled immediately upon hearing the soft feminine voice, without putting much attention to the spoken words. He had thought he was alone.

His surprise didn't last long though, because the annoyance of being in his present situation came back. Realizing that it was the voice of that girl infuriated him even more.

"Mikasa," he pronounced her name in a tone tinged of rage. "What the fuck do you think you're doing? What kind of game is this?"

She had deceived him. She had taken advantage of his goodwill and concern. She had taken him for an idiot.

The girl didn't answer so Eren insisted, making a poor attempt to control his anger.

"Where am I?" demanded the boy. "What do you want from me?"

From one moment to another - and to his bewilderment - Mikasa was standing just in front of him, sudden like the attack of a viper. Eren would have fallen back from the shock if he wasn't tied to a chair.

Mikasa stood without saying or doing anything other than staring at him, expressionless. The only thing that moved was the orange dancing flame reflected in her dark eyes. Her pale and perfect face, now without makeup, almost seemed like an alabaster modeled statue. The ebony hair surpassed her shoulders by several centimeters.

"You're in the Ackerman's residency" she informed him, monotonous.

Eren's eyes went wide and felt his heartbeat suddenly altered.

He recalled the smile and the teasing tone of Kenny Ackerman, the tall and skinny man about whom he had heard tales during his childhood - Kenny the Ripper. The strong and ruthless assassin that nearly three decades ago had blood stained the streets of the wealthy and safest neighborhoods of the Kingdom.

It seemed to Eren that he could smell the tobacco stink that characterized Kenny, so he closed his eyes and pressed his eyelids together hard for a while, reliving the deep terror he felt as a child upon learning the identity of his kidnapper.

"But… but my father is dead. The dead can't make deals," he murmured, half opening his lost eyes.

Mikasa was gone, camouflaged again in the shadows of the room.

"We know that," she stated, feeling a sadness that she tried not to show on her voice, even though Eren could barely hear her.

Doctor Grisha Jaeger had been the first person she met apart from her parents, and he had always been very kind to her. On one occasion, he told her that he had a son that was about her same age, and that his name was Eren.

The last time the doctor had visited her home, he had promised her that he would bring his son with him in his next visit, so they could know each other. So they could be friends.

It never happened.

"What does Kenny Ackerman want from me?" Eren asked, jaded.

He was sidelong glancing towards the shadows, frowning.

"For you to work with us," Mikasa replied simply.

"Ha! Come on…" the green eyed boy scoffed, "You can have me abducted any time you want, even torture me or kill me. Whatever, I refuse to collaborate with a group of murderers, with a pack of beasts disguised as humans."

Eren heard the squeak of rusty hinges and then a thud of wood against wood. Mikasa had left the room, but he didn't hear her locking the door or running a latch.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Mikasa found Levi in the kitchen. He was drinking tea in silence near a counter.

"What are you doing here?" Levi asked her after taking a long sip.

"I just came to look for something for him to eat and drink."

"Tch, that's not how things work."

The man looked at the girl as she poured water into a glass and put a large piece of bread next to a slice of cheese on a plate.

"It doesn't matter," she said.

When Mikasa returned to the room she found that Eren had diagonally fallen with the chair on the edge of the bed. He glared at her furiously from his ridiculous position and she struggled to contain the laughter. His fury in this context didn't daunt anyone but it was rather funny.

The poor boy must have been shaking in the chair like crazy trying to release himself during the time she left him alone.

"Are you hungry?" Mikasa passed him by and put the things she brought on the bedside table.

"No," Eren groaned "I don't want anything from you."

Ignoring his anger, Mikasa moved behind him and returned the chair to its normal position without major effort. Seconds after she started to untie his hands and feet in complete silence. As soon as Eren was released, he ran towards the door, but Mikasa promptly took him by his wrist, put a hand on his back and slammed him against the wall.

"Don't try anything stupid," she warned, as she bent his arm behind his back.

"And what… do you want me… to do?" Eren questioned with some difficulty, since he has his stomach and his chest pressed against the wall, plus half of his face. That girl was strong. "Do you want me… to stay seated… and chill?"

"Yeah," she said, releasing him.

Eren turned around rubbing his cheek as he glanced at her warily.

"I know I didn't had the chance to go further that door," he admitted out of humor, leaning himself on the wall as he crossed his arms.

"Good."

Eren just wanted to try complicating things a bit, to show her that he wouldn't surrender so easily. Whatever. So he leaped on the girl, but she dodged him with ease.

All of a sudden, Eren's feet had left the ground and - from one moment to another - he had fell on the bed. He sat on the mattress immediately and gazed at Mikasa, dumbfounded.

She was far faster and far stronger than him.

"Good night," Mikasa said as she nonchalantly settled a strand of hair behind her ear.

She was a weird and certainly conceited girl.

This time, Eren heard her lock the door from the outside. He brought his hands to his head, exasperated, then pressed a pillow to his face so he could suffocate a yell full of anger and desperation.

He didn't know when he fell asleep, but he was woken up by the annoying smell of tobacco. A bit disoriented, Eren pinched his nose and sat up on the bed.

"Nice shirt and tie," Kenny said, sitting on the same chair Eren had been tied up in the night before. Behind him, the door was open and an orange light streamed in from the hallway. "So much time living under the wing of the Reiss people has given you a taste for refinement, huh?"

Eren frowned without saying a word. Kenny had more wrinkles on his face now, but he was wearing almost the same outfit he wore the first time he met him, including his stupid boots and his black hat.

"I see Mikasa treated you well," the Ripper said, noticing the untouched water and bread. A teasing tone was palpable on his voice, "You can't rely too much on teenagers."

The leader of the Ackerman took out a curved knife from inside his jacket and nonchalant started to play in a skillful way with it. The light flashed on the edge of the blade.

"So?" he said to the young man, "Don't you have any questions to ask?"

"No. You all can go to Hell," Eren blurted with a defiant look.

Kenny laughed out loud for a while, until he stood up and took Eren by the collar of his shirt, dragging him off the bed.

Kenny held him up with one hand. The boy struggled.

"You're gonna live and cooperate with us, whether you want to or not."

He dropped Eren to the ground when he realized that he could barely breathe. As Eren coughed, Kenny threw him a small yellowing envelope that fell on his lap.

"He asked me to protect you, among other stuff," Kenny informed. "Obviously, in exchange I want you to treat my men whenever they're injured or when they fall ill… And I want you to give me some information," he added the last sentence with a lopsided smile.

"Him?" Eren questioned, confused. He took the envelope with his free hand while rubbing his throat with the other one.

Who the hell was he talking about? And to protect him from what or whom? Because, if there was anyone you needed protection from, it was from Kenny and his criminal association.

"Read the damn letter. I'll come back later."

Eren approached the light of a new candle on the bedside table, which someone must have changed while he was sleeping. He carefully extracted a piece of folded paper from the inside of the envelope, and his eyes widened as he recognized the calligraphy of his father.

N/A: Thank you so much for reading! If you like it, please reblog and/or leave some feedback on FF.net or on AO3, where you can read more chapters of Lawless. Comments/Reviews are highly appreciated :’) - feedback in general is the best thing!

#eremika #eremika art #eremika fic #snkartists network #snk fic #lawless snk #my fics #my writing #and I'm sorry for not updating yet but I've been busy af moving from one country to another one lmao #I'm already trying to work in the next chapter tho :')

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126thhungergames · 6 years

Text

WDWDTL: Fifth Day

It was middle of the night when Nicole woke up to the sound of Soyeon getting up from her usual sleeping place and started gathering up her things. Cesare was soundly sleeping few feet away from the two girls.

“Where are you going?” Nicole asked and Soyeon jumped, startled by the voice of the raven haired girl.

“It’s Day 5.” She stated as a matter-of-fact and continued packing her things.

Day 5 was well-known in the history of Hunger Games as the most gruesome day. Not even the bloodbath could top the damage that is usually cause on the fifth day.

“Exactly. Are you trying to get yourself killed by going on your own?” Nicole asked her, trying to keep her voice low enough so that Cesare wouldn’t wake up.

Soyeon stopped in the middle of putting her blanket into the backpack and looked into Nicole’s eyes. They could barely see each other in the night, but due to the fullmoon outside, they were able to distinguish approximately each other’s features.

“No one has died since the bloodbath. Do you think this is going to go down smoothly? Half of us is going to be dead in the next 24 hours. I intend to be in the other half.”

“You don’t know that! Maybe-”

“Look, I know you are a big name in your district and probably in the Capitol too, but these are the games. And when someone lunges at you with a sword in their hands, not even a silver package from the sponsors is going to save you.”

Soyeon seemed to be finished with packing and picked up her backpack, standing up and turning around to leave.

“I could help you.” Nicole tried to reason with her.

“You could. But you could also get me killed. I won’t take the chances.”

They were outside in the woods, in an early morning when it happened. The mist was almost invisible and became thicker only when it already encircled them. They tried to run. They really did.

The mist burnt their flesh like an acid. It felt as if there was no way to escape. Wherever they went, the mist followed and became only more intense. They tried not to scream. The last thing they needed was to drag attention to themselves.

“Guys, look!” Camilla yelled and pointed with her index finger at the mist. “The mist doesn’t reach the tips of the trees. We could climb them and save ourselves!”

The two boys looked at her as if she were insane. They wondered how it was even possible that she had the strength to talk.

The three of them were weak, their clothes burned and their flesh was red and painful. However, it was the only chance at survival.

Camila was the first one to climb the nearest tree. She was hurt and with each movement she winced in the pain. Felix followed after her and then Remi did too.

She was getting weaker the more she climbed up, her panting became louder and she could feel her skin tearing up and exposing the raw muscle. She cried loudly in pain, she wanted to let go. It was unbearable.

With the last bits of strength and determination she never knew she had, she hoisted herself up and finally reached the branch that wasn’t covered with mist anymore.

Her vision was clouded with tears of pain, however she brought herself to look down at her two allies. So far they were climbing up and that was all that mattered.

Few more branches for them to go. Three more. Two more.

That was when the branch under Felix’s foot broke down, sending him flying down and taking Remi in the process. She could hear the loud snap of Remi’s neck, followed by loud gong indicating his pain.

“NOOO!” She screamed. She wanted all of them to make it out.

It didn’t take long for the mist to thicken even more and soon, Felix’s gong followed.

Musa excused herself from her group of careers, using the excuse of needing to wash herself. The main river was toxic, however the career five managed to find another stream of water that was safe to be used.

She didn’t expect to be in the alliance this long, however, it was true that the numbers haven’t been decreasing since the first day. Marco had been furious that there was no kill made on their part for three days. She knew that if another day had gone by without anyone dead, Marco would have started killing his own allies most likely.

As she reached the crossing, she turned left, exactly the opposite direction of the river stream. This wasn’t as she wanted her escape from the alliance to go, but she wasn’t able to sneak out during the night with Catrine and Evan watching. The two were insistent on being the guard for the night and Musa didn’t want to seem suspicious by pressing the matter. At least she managed to have her boomerangs with her.

She was only able to make a few steps, before someone spun her around and pinned her to the tree. Out of reflex she swinged her boomerang, however her hand was caught in a firm grip which made her wince in pain and drop the boomerang.

When she opened her eyes she was faced with none other than Evan Brekker.

“What do you want, Brekker?” She spat out, angry at him for assaulting her like this, angry at herself for not seeing it coming. Had it been a fair battle, or at least a battle she was prepared for, she would stand a chance. But now she was cornered like a prey, waiting to be slaughtered.

“This isn’t the way to the river.” He told her in a pretended innocent and concerned voice. As if he was just a good citizen, helping others find their way.

“Is it not? My bad, then, let me just turn back-” She replied in a sarcastic tone and tried to wiggle out of his grip only to be pinned back where she was before.

Evan clicked his tongue, looking at her from head to toe and pursed his lips, as if he was debating on what to do with her.

She hated feeling like this. She could try to go for a kick in the groin, but he would see it coming and other than angering him, it wouldn’t do it any good to her case.

“Brekker, let me go!” She tried to fight him, but she had no chance against his strength. In the next second she was spun around, her hands twisted behind her back, feeling something metal being put around them. As she turned her head she realized she was handcuffed. “What the fuck?”

She could hear him smirk behind her, his hands firmly gripping her forearms and his lips almost touching her left ear.

“I told you I would be the last thing you see before you die.”

Musa gulped, trying not to let fear overtake her and she pleasantly surprised herself as she managed to keep her voice steady. “Why not just get on with it then? Why the handcuffs?”

He chuckled at her response, spinning her back to face him. “I intend to make your death worthwile, long and messy, with the entire Capitol watching and with only the two of us left alive.”

“How romantic.” She retorted, which only made him tighten the grip on her arm and he dragged her behind him like a weak prisoner, away from the river and away from the career nest.

Kasia watched the two tributes from her hiding, like a cat, waiting for the perfect moment to hunt the mice. They were an easy target. Popular with the Capitol, rich and charming, most likely raised up between fluffy pillows and golden showers. However, in the games? They were like a walking prey.

The boy was by far way weaker than the Escobar girl. Which meant she needed to attack the girl first and use the element of surprise on her. Kasia didn’t doubt that she would able to get them even if she ran towards them with a loud roar, but then again, better be safe than sorry.

She clenched the axe in her hand and waited for the perfect opportunity and that presented itself in few seconds as Escobar crunched down to search through her backpack for something.

Not wanting to waste any second, Kasia threw the axe with a precision that even careers could envy her and the weapon landed straight in the middle of the girl’s face, followed by a loud gong.

Her district partner immediately screamed and started to look around himself for the source of danger. Kasia cursed under her breath, he was going to drag unnecessary attention to himself and to her as such.

She ran from her cover towards him, trying to land a blow to his stomach. However it surprised her when he picked up his fencing sword and cut through Kasia’s fist. It hurt, but the adrenaline took over her body and she paid no attention to it. She picked up a knife from her boot, protecting herself as Cesare lunged at her.

He surprised her, because he was actually quite skilled with the sword and the more he moved, the more he became confident and consistent in the fight. Whereas Kasia was slowly starting to internally panick. She was stronger than he was, but he had better technique and his sword was more dangerous than her hunting knife.

After what seemed like hours, Cesare managed to swat her knife away and she was left defensless, with his sword at her throat. She panted heavily, prepared to join her elders.

“Do it.” She whispered breathlessly.

He looked her over and raised his sword to strike a final blow, when they were interrupted by a loud sound of someone trying to get inside the factory.

Kasia used the interruption and kicked Cesare in the groin, sending him to the ground. She didn’t want to temp the fate and rather fleed.

Celia looked at Cassim who was lying on the ground, covered in blankets, his expression blank and his eyes bloody. She knew he didn’t have much time left and that he was in great pain, but she didn’t have the heart to give him the mercy of killing him.

Even though she was from a career district, she wasn’t able to kill a fly, let alone a human being. Especially one she cared about.

She wanted to ask him whether she should fetch him some water, when heavy footsteps approaching interrupted her and the words died out in her throat.

The cave was quite light during the daytime and therefore she could easily distinguish the features of her district partner and behind him the career girl from one. Though it was weird that the career girl was chained up and dragged by Evan.

“Look who we have here.” Evan whistled as he saw the injured Cassim and his helpless ally. Before he moved further to them, he grabbed the career girl and pushed her to the ground, sticking a stake through her handcuffs and to the ground to keep her from going away.

“What is-?” Celia couldn’t find the right words, trying to ask why Evan’s so-called-ally was being put in handcuffs.

“Oh this? This is Brekker’s twisted idea of a foreplay.” Musa answered for him, smirking in the process. Whether Evan heard her or not, he didn’t let it show on himself. However, Musa pushed further.

“Should I cheer you on, darling?” Musa mocked sweetly. “Give me B, give me E, give me K, give-” She was cut off as he picked up another stake, but this time, pierced it through her hand.

“You know, the record for the longest time of killing someone in the Hunger Games is 17 hours. I’d say we should push that, don’t you think?” He spat at her as she winced in pain.

Celia was confused from the scene displayed in front of her. For a moment it felt as if she and Cassim weren’t even there and the two careers were lost in their own sick and twisted game.

Perhaps if this was someone else, they would take advantage of the situation and attack the career duo, however, even with the element of surprise, Celia would be no match for Evan. Besides, she couldn’t leave Cassim, even though he was on the bridge of dying.

In a matter of seconds, Evan clunched his spear and it almost appeared as if he wanted to pierce Musa’s heart in it, but he shifted quickly and sent the spear flying straight in the middle of Cassim’s chest, killing him immediately.

Celia’s knees became woobly and she felt to the ground, crying and screaming at the image of her ally. However her cries didn’t last long as soon she felt Evan’s hands on her neck and heard a quick snap before everything went to black.

Marco has been spitting fire ever since their two allies left them in the morning. Catrine was honestly surprised that he didn’t see it coming. She knew that Musa would leave them the second she excused herself to clean herself. Catrine didn’t stop her, because, why should she. This way at least she has a reason to kill her on the spot, without having to explain herself.

However, the person who surprised even her was Evan. She expected him to hang around the career alliance till the very end. Now she was stuck with two vengeful men and she was unaware of whom to trust anymore.

Before the games started, the plan had been simple. She would seduce Marco, wait for him to do the dirty work, stick with him till the end and then betray him. Hell, maybe he would even sacrifice himself for her. He was the perfect manipulator and charmer, but he was no match for her feminine weapons.

Then the game slightly changed when her district partner figured out her plan. She already knew him from their district and the two of them were constantly flirting with each other, even though they never acted upon it. So when he found out, she didn’t hesitate to let him on the plan.

Marco had been cautious about Sebastian, so Catrine had to make him believe that she had Sebastian under control. In other words, Sebastian knew that Catrine was playing Marco, while Marco thought that she was playing Sebastian.

It sounded easy enough in the beginning. Now? Not so much.

Marco was growing restless with each day. He wanted the numbers to be already reduced by half by the third day. Naturally by the hands of the careers. However that wasn’t happening and it made him angry that he wasn’t in control. Not even Catrine was able to make him feel better anymore.

As for Sebastian, Catrine had no idea where she standed. Despite what she has been telling herself since the beginning, she grew a strange fondness towards her dark haired district partner. However, she was beginning to wonder whether he cared at least a bit. Whether it wasn’t her that was being played.

Marco shouted loudly, which made Catrine flinch, but she didn’t say anything. The three of them were in a factory, searching for other tributes, but once again it seemed that they would be without luck. That was until they spotted someone in the shadows, running across the corridor. As if on clue, Marco started sprinting towards the person, with Catrine and Sebastian in the row.

After few minutes of running, their chased tribute walked into a dead end and had no way of escaping.

“Please, let me live.” She pleaded, tears rolling down her cheeks. Catrine recognized her as the girl that escaped them on the first day. Violet Forks or something like that.

“Ooh, look who it is.” Marco chuckled and swinged his mace in front of her threateningly. “The one that got away.” He stated dramatically, enjoying each word.

“Catrine, love, this is the girl who hit you with a boomerang, isn’t she?” He asked in a sweet tone, his eyes fixed upon Violet.

Catrine rolled her eyes, finding Marco’s dramatics unnecessary. “That would be her.” She replied in a stoic tone.

“Would you like to enjoy her yourself or will you let me have the honors?” Dramatic, indeed.

“Suit yourself.” She replied him. Maybe he would finally calm himself down a bit after he killed a tribute after all those days.

He didn’t wait any longer and swinged his mace across her body, forming a clean cut that was coloured in red the same second. He kept cutting down at the girl’s body, making her screams echo through the factory.

Catrine was tempted to close her eyes and look the other way. But the last thing she needed was to look weak in front of the cameras.

Hephaestus heard the loud gong the minute the girl’s screams ended. He was crouching by the pipes, along with Josephine since the careers entered the halls. Unfortunately, the two of them were too close to the career group to run away and therefore hiding was their only option.

He was a skilled tribute, along with Josephine, but he didn’t want to risk the confrontation. After all, they were in a disadvantage, as there were three of them. Also they were heavily armed, while Hephaestus only had a self-made spear and Jo had a rusty knife.

After few minutes of silence, Josephine took a step back, still in the crouching position, only to stumble upon something metal and loud.

Josephine cursed at herself, having done the greatest Hunger Games’ cliché. Hephaestus expected to hear the footsteps of careers, but nothing happened. He thought that maybe they were too far away to hear it and the two of them were safe.

“Well finally, I thought you two would never move.”

The two tributes were startled by the voice and abruptly turned to face the leader of the career group, Marco Glass. How long has he been standing there?

Immediately the two of them stood up, pressed against the pipes and drew their weapons at the career group.

Hephaestus launched himself at Marco, trying to hit him with spear, only to have it cut in a half by Marco’s mace. Luckily he managed to catch both halves of his former spear and started forcefully hitting Marco with them. He was less skilled than Marco as far as technique went, but he was surprisingly stronger than him.

Meanwhile, Jospehine wrestled with the tributes from two. She was fighting bravely, however it was obvious that she was going to succumb soon.

Hephaestus used his body strength to shove Marco to the ground and for a second he was faced with a moral dilemma. He could try to help Josephine, but he would risk only more confrontation. He could continue his fight with Marco, maybe even succeeding in killing him, but then he would be left at mercy of the district two tributes, who were going to be soon finished with Jo. Or he could be a cowardly bastard and run to save his life.

The latter option has won.

Before Marco could stand up, Hephaestus glanced quickly at Josephine, trying to catch her gaze and tell her he was sorry, but she was too preoccupied with the fight. So without a word he started sprinting through the pipes as fast as he could, considering his body size. He could faintly make out Marco’s cursing or Josephine’s loud screams. He didn’t stop.

Only when he heard the loud gong, he took a second to stop a mutter a quiet prayer for his ally’s life.

17th place: Remi Kirimi (D6) - killed by the fall

16th place: Felix Dogan (D9) - killed by the mist

15th place: Nicole Escobar (D8) - killed by Kasia

14th place: Cassim Mortensen (D8) - killed by Evan

13th place: Celia Ilia (D4) - killed by Evan

12th place: Violet Forbes (D10) - killed by Marco

11th place: Josephine Eartheart (D5) - killed by Sebastian

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