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aradias-crypt · 5 years

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Black Hat with a Subordinate S/O

You meet during an attack, the perfect interview

It was supposed to be a simple outing. You were out on a little excursion before getting ready to go to work the next day. Now, in a place like Avidité Central where mostly corrupt merchants run the system, you are always watching out for crime. Villains are expected in this county, drug lords work with the top merchants and shady arms dealers are often having meetings in your local cafes. An attack like this was bound to happen with arguments over trade routes at an all time high. But the mastermind behind the sudden turf war was not who you expected, seeing as you live miles from the coast of Hat Island.

You cover your head as you hide behind a stone bench, the sounds of screams filling the air as debris rains down. Yet another attack in only two weeks of semi peace. The Indigos and Silks had been bumping heads for months now, this fight was expected- but in the PARK?! SERIOUSLY?!

An iron arm flies over your head after a blast shakes the ground beneath you, turning back into flesh as it rolls away.

You begin to regret your investment in your apartment.

“Le Mavroir! Le Mavroir!” A soldier yells, his tone full of panic.

The fighting stops.

To your right, you hear the soft tapping of a cane on the cobblestones.

Memories of history lessons flood your thoughts, a timeline of past heroes and villains. Legends and the forgotten.

Le Mavroir.

The Black.

“Well, well, well. I expected a bloodbath, but this, this is absolutely sublime.” His guttural voice echoes from every direction, loud and clear, and demanding attention.

“Andreas Indigo,” the tapping of his cane stops on the other side of the bench. You see the bottom of his trench coat as he sits down. “This fight doesn’t seem to be leaning in your favor.”

A man seethes, “Your so-called advice began this you-“ He stops abruptly when he begins to choke.

Black Hat clicks his tongue, “Don’t test me boy.”

You slowly move away from the bench, silently sliding away towards the stairs to the subway.

The poke of a blade in the middle of your back stops you from moving any further.

Black Hat turns his head, his eye glowing from under the shadow of the brim of his hat. He purrs, “Where do you think you’re going?”

Bravery gets you everywhere and out of there

You clench your fists to try stopping them from shaking.

“I just- I just w-wa...” You suck in a breath, feeling the blade dig into your skin. You push down your fear and bow your head, “Aplires, mos Mavroir.. I wish to leave..if you would allow it.”

The villains in front of him snicker, knowing his bloodlust ran deeper than theirs. There is no escaping him alive.

Slowly but surely the blade stops and sinks back into the ground. He chuckles.

“Trevikla. Very well, little mouse.”

They fall silent. Your eyes widen in awe.

“Run swiftly, before I decide to use you to whet my appetite~.” He grins fiendishly and shoos you away.

He turns around, continuing where he left off.

“Now. Where were we?”

Leaving no time for him to reconsider his decision, you rush underground and cover your ears once more as the screams begin again.

You meet again under slightly better circumstances

You work at a bakery where the owner is less than chivalrous. You pretty much handle the whole thing: prepping, cleaning, baking, paperwork and paying bills. Often waking up at 4 in the morning to prepare for the day. Really the man is there to make sure you don’t touch the money and to occasionally help with the ovens. It sucked, but you liked the patrons.

However, upon arriving to the store that morning, you can tell something is off.

Unlocking the backdoor to the bakery, you flick on the lights and grab your apron from its hook.

“You don’t look like an Avarician.”

You shriek, turning around and whipping out your gun from your jacket pocket. A hand wraps around the barrel.

Black Hat towers over you, his coat covered in blood splatter.

“You don’t act like one either.”

“How do you know if I am or not?”

“A true Avarician would have shot already.”

You look at his hand, “If I were to shoot the Mavroir, the Blackwells would kill me.” You say, referring to the new rulers of the east and west side, after the Indigos and Silks were all slaughtered by the being before you.

“Aufils voudra de tolfier prokaló moi.” He says confidently. His voice is thickly accented, but you still understood the message. No one would go against his wishes.

You frown, “They may not defy you but I am an adeiázo. An empty shell. I have no use to them.” Or to you, you think to yourself.

“Luckily for you, a new position has opened up in my organization~.” He yanks the gun out of your grasp and turns on his heel, heading further into the room. He beckons you over his shoulder.

You reluctantly follow.

On the bright side, he wasn’t here to kill you.

The body of your now ex-boss catches your attention.

His chest was cracked open, its contents oddly missing..

You step around him,”Did you do that..?”

“Unlike you little mouse, he had the guts to to steal from me. But rest assured, I took my time ripping those guts right out.” Fluorescent green drool drips down the side of his mouth.

“O-oh..”

“I suggest you get used to sights such as these.”

Soooo... heard of hat flavored bread?

Black Hat never really visited Avidité Central often, though many of his top clients used it as a clandestine transaction area. Originally he had planned to buy an island to set aside for auctions and whatnot, but now that he has taken control of Avidité’s capital he can arrange it to his liking. It was already structured decently, with a port not far off from the city. And now he had you to manage the coverup.

To civilians, you would be a regular baker: catering to events and keeping up a cafe for everyday life.

To villains, you would be their drop off spot and cover.

And a place to buy Black Hat approved goods.

“The cargo will be shipped at night and will arrive at dawn but I can hold it for you for up to five days.” You take notes as you lean on the counter, talking casually to the villain in front of you. It has only been a few weeks since you’ve been doing this “job”, but after meeting your first few villains, you weren’t as scared anymore.

They nod and hand you a roll of cash. “I will be back to pick it up on Thursday.”

You put the money into your pocket. Normally this would be a big no no, but to reveal where a safe was to a villain was even a bigger no. ”Alright. Would you like to buy anything else before you leave?”

The villain looks at the menu on the counter, lifting a brow at the new item.

“Black bread?”

“Hat flavored.” You shiver, “Its.. okay.”

They chuckle, “I think I will pass for now.”

- -

“The bread is having some mixed reviews.” You roll your neck.

Black Hat counts the stack of bills next to him, quietly muttering to himself.

This has been your nights for a few days now.

A car with flaming exhaust pipes and rides up the the bakery with Black Hat inside. He enters the building and counts his profits, leaving you a portion behind to handle the needs of the shop. Once he gets what he needs he leaves.

“It will catch on,” he stuffs the bills into a suitcase, “If not, start over.”

“Yes, Mavroir.” You respond dutifully before flinching at the abrupt sound of his chair scraping against the floor as he stands up.

He smirks.

“Very funny.” You frown.

“Hilarious.” He says. Handing you a slightly thicker stack of money, Black Hat retrieves his keys before heading to the door. “Don’t disappoint me little mouse.”

You wave as he leaves.

Oddly, you didn't mind his presence like you did before.

Hope you don’t mind constant non-business visits cause you’re getting them anyway

Don’t feel special or anything, he’s only checking in on you to make sure you don’t try stashing away some of his well earned money- and that you haven’t been killed by a villain raging over fees.

“Sir?”

“What is it human.”

“Would you like something to drink while you’re here?”

“I have no need for drink.”

“Oh.. Well I just thought you might want to sample a few packets of blood Ms. Mawrasite brought.”

“...”

“Bring them over.”

Be prepared to deal with his vanity

Black Hat hates beauty, but takes pleasure in showing off his human forms. Usually they’re pretty normal so he can blend in with crowds, but there’s one he especially enjoys showing off~.

The mornings are always the busiest time for you when it comes to regular people. You figure it’s because of the need for caffeine and whatnot, but in the evenings Black Hat arrives it’s almost completely packed.

Well.. you know exactly why in this case.

“Sir, I think that disguise of yours draws more attention than a disguise is supposed to.” You whisper to him.

Black Hat twirls his cane in his hand as he scans the room. His blue eyes shine with wicked amusement.

When he drove up to the front of the cafe today, you weren’t sure if it was really him. He was in a suit like usual, but his skin was a normal tone unlike its normal dark grey. His voice was smoother but fortunately still had his normal British accent.

“Indeed it does. But, my pet, in cases like these, you catch more flies with honey than vinegar.” He says as he tips his hat to a woman passing by.

You tilt your head, “Its just ..weird.. seeing you look so human.”

He smirks. His teeth are white and blunt though his incisors remain rather sharp. It’s charming.

And unnerving.

“Do you not enjoy my disguise?”

“You’re intentionality handsome, which makes me a bit uncomfortable.”

Slicking back his jet black hair, Black Hat croons, “Would you rather I change into a more beastly form~?”

You wave him off, “Fáse ó que tu thevu.” Do what you please.

“I will.”

For the rest of the day, he keeps himself busy sending his shadow around to break glasses and trip the patrons ogling at his new form. Though he is occasionally swarmed by groups of women, he does not fail to notice your amused smile at his misfortune.

He’ll remember that, he thinks grumpily.

Work perk

You don’t mind his constant visits at all (besides when he breaks plates and cups). For one, he doesn’t really threaten you. Two, because villains know you work for him you can live without fear. Walking at night has become so much easier!

Mostly anyway.. but rest assured, he takes care of it when you’re not around.

Black Hat slinks down the wall of an alleyway and follows behind a drunken man. His putrid stench pollutes the air around them as he stumbles into walls and laughs under his breath.

The human had been loitering around the shop for quite some time, often leaving empty bottles of alcohol at the entrance. Night “clients” would normally enter from the back, so the man would be of no concern to them. Black Hat did not worry about this thing interfering with his business. Any villain worth their salt would be able to get rid of this human trash.

But his worker was awfully human.

They did not complain about the man, though he was known to scare away patrons of the day cafe. In fact, he only learned of this man when he saw a developing bruise on the arm of his little human.

It was a hand print that encircled their upper arm, and no matter how much they brushed it aside, he knew the human could not have done it to themselves.

Therefore..

Black Hat rolls his neck, his skin shifting into scales as his body contorts. Eyes litter his body and tusks grow between crowded rows of sharp teeth as he walks to the man on four clawed legs.

He would have fun with this one.

He’s surprisingly pretty goofy and a bit childish

It’s not long before you realize how silly he is. He reacts over the smallest of things and if he wasn’t so powerful you’re sure he would’ve died a hundred times over from the shit he pulls.

“Sir!”

“What?!” Black Hat hisses and lifts his hat covering his face. He was relaxing damn it!

You hold up an empty canister for him to see, your eyes full of fear.

“Someone stole the fluoroantimonic acid from the storage area.”

“Oh.” He chuckles and covers his face again, “No need to worry little mouse.”

“Why shouldn’t I be worrying about a superacid?!”

“I drank it.” He says simply.

You slowly lower the canister, “But.. why?”

“Why not?”

You begin to hide your cleaning products from him after that.

- - -

“Bloody hell, human!” Black Hat screeches and stomps his foot on the plush carpet in the foyer of his house.

You come running over with your hands and apron covered in flour. Eyes wild, you scan the room, holding a whisk over your head, “What is it sir!”

He points to the cake on the cart you had just wheeled in from the kitchens.

“What is that?!”

You look to it.

The aggressor is the candied dahlia petals you used for decoration.

“..sir..?”

“How dare you use such bright colors! And they look fresh!” He snarls in disgust.

You deadpan, “I’m going back to the kitchen sir.”

“Get rid of those wretched things first!”

With a sigh, you wheel the cart back into the hall.

He could be such a baby sometimes.

He supposes he’ll let you stick around

After the first year of working for him, Black Hat realizes you’ve managed to become one of his permanent workers. You did what you were told and did satisfactory work, you didn’t complain and you were rather decent company when he required it. You somehow weaseled your way to a spot of importance. And if he was being honest with himself, he enjoyed your existence a bit more than he should. Still, he wouldn’t tell you straight out about any affections he may have developed for you, but he wouldn’t be that subtle about his intentions.

Finally after a long day of work, you close the back door of the shop and lock up for the night.

Despite the rapid changes to your routine in the past year, you can’t help but feel content.Your job was never boring, and you enjoyed hearing the stories of adventures and battles from the villains that come by.

It felt good to be spoken to like you mattered.

The honking of a car rips you from your thoughts.

Black Hat barks from his seat, “I haven’t got all night!”

You roll your eyes and join him in the car, sliding into the passenger seat and buckling yourself in.

“You don’t even sleep.”

He starts up the engine, “Why would I sleep when there’s billions of humans waiting to be tormented?”

- -

Arriving at your home in better shape than the dozens of poles and stop signs on the way there, you look back at Black Hat. He looks at you expectantly.

“You know.” You start. “I’ve been working with you for quite some time and you haven’t tormented me yet.”

Black Hat straightens from leaning on the car. “That is because I have something else planned for you.”

“And what would that be?”

Caressing your face, Black Hat whispers in your ear, “I’m going to make you feel one of the seven deadly sins.” He moves away and releases you, leaving you dumbstruck as he enters his car and laughs.

“I’ll let you figure out which one it is~.”

#black hat x reader #blackhat x reader #black hat #Villainous #villainos #villainous x reader #black hat headcanons #Partially based off of things Alan has said from the streams #hat flavored bread makes me doubt my own existence #i just have one question #who would buy that??????#Black Hat human form is Tom Hiddleston #not me #Alan said it first #im just the dumbass who fully supports that motion

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alchemisland · 5 years

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LAX

A little something I wrote this morning. I wanted to fuck around with stream of consciousness from a first-person POV in a future dialect, a bastard hybrid-tongue, with elements of the building blocks present in German. Just some messing really. Enjoy.

There’s a formula to getting on. At my best I’m seen to like things, heard to know things and available should anything arise. Like things ironically, they can’t be used against you then. Such is our way. I have to go fast. I’m like the bankside chicken, crocs in the river, quicker than they look, out and about on the tides and on the silk, always run, always sideeyes on the look, I have to be, everyone who was ever anyone in the corpo kept sideeyes and notrust always. Some secrets are for sharing in bed maybe, just for the two of you, a little private project to protect, prescient pearls, but some of them are just for one, for me, I want to be in the corpo. I have some big ideas. See, that’s the thing. You can’t care, what are you some weird with mosttime - too much time - are you going very slow, fast is the way buddy, gotta go fast zip along that highway like a lit cracker like a bit knacker, go go go. But sametime you have to care, want to change, why else do the corpo exists if nobody is trying to change any things? I inwardly longchange, but outwardly contentmodel. When you get to the corpo you have your own office and its all private and you can work on what you secretly care about I guess a bit and nobody knows and they won’t hate you and fight out what an uglyinside you are beneath the skin.

Was it always like this? Yes.

Let’s meet for a walk. Stuff myself on the tram. Sardines against the licked glass, fogging, I can’t see what stop we’re at. Nobody stands clear of the door. Too afraid they’ll get stuck at the back and miss their stop, even though that’s never happened in the history of trams.

All bets are off. Even the nice are made brutes. Commute is the gauntlet through which we pass. A grinder for the weak, sieving out the chaff from the mid-morning warrior, wielding his laminated pass, standing in his designated spot where he knows the host is lightest, where the same portly gentleman alights each day, leaving in his wake a pocket wide enough for three normal sized people - what’s normal - skinny, skinny jeans palefaced phonejunkie - fat, fat and delighted, newfoundly powerful, exerting agency where before went powerless, bless your little porcine eyes

Me included, can’t be nice. Lose your place. Am I a loser? Fuck no. Remember, it’s about perception. I can be seen to lose, sure. Everyone loses. Napoleon. Achilles. Wild Bill. I can’t be seen to be OK with losing generally, or to not always be striving to win. Elbow on, even if you know rightly there’s no room, and that another empty tram is up its arse; why wait, I’ve waited three minutes already; elbow on and make room, fog the glass, feel its cold kiss agin your cheek.

At my stop, all manners, ask nicely while pushing, ask for money with the notes already in your pocket, sorry can I move you there love, asked more with an elbow and a shrug of the shoulder rugbylike than a real silver’d tongue.

Step off, breathe deep, alighted at last. These laminated scanner cards, for important guys who need to travel to the office every single day, where else, you don’t even need to tag off. Just on. The company, see, they want to know where you’re going. Without statistics and percentages, averages and ratios, how can they improve their service?

Capacity. That’s the political buzzword. Feeling hot under the collar when the camera flashes form a corona, ask your opponent about their plans to relieve capacity.

Well, minister, a taskforce has been implemented, whose sole duty is commuter flow and congestive relief, LAX squad, black flak gunjack jacks belt bombs bullets and me and my laminated ticket they wouldn't dare.

Ticketless scoundrels would be first. Dragged down laneways and kneecapped by the LAXers in their black flak jackets. Fat cunts next. I once watched a woman eat chips from her handbag out my bedroom window. Lifting greasy sausagefingers to and from the clashing rocks of her teeth, those golden potato lumps a less fortunate crew of argonauts than those Jason took from Thessaly. She was shiny with vinegar.

There’d be a helpline too, for helpful people who like to help out, help the authorities help society help these people help themselves. Hello is this the helpline, I’d say. Yes it is, Mr Helpful they would say. Thank you for remembering, machine, I would say. I’m a woman, said the machine - tricky like. I’d like to report a fat disgusting on the lower road, by the Smiles Institution for the Mentally Wretched.

Most of the mentals were gone. The government couldn’t afford to keep every wing open. The least wretched were transferred to the regular system, scumbag system, but even mangy bangers that bash grannies for their handbags don’t deserve to be with the Mentally Wretched, those too reptilian to be among us. You remind us too much of something we’d rather not remember, thanks. We shoo them away. Prison is not enough. Special institutions, powerful bespoke disarming elixirs, stronger elastics and fastenings. Rarely ingenuous cures. Lock them up.

Houses. They’re going to build houses for the people to live in. Rich people, buy out the scum. Stove the roof of my crannog so the rain comes through, then brick by brick build your castle around and above it, until one day the light stops streaming in that hole you made, and the last wet concrete sets on my soul.

C’mon you pricks. We need houses like a rat needs fleas. Here’s a solution. Form the lax squad for real. Not just for the trams; clean the streets. Fats, uggs, unpops, olds, differents, cunts.

Who is gonna sign up for that job? Who can be trusted to always make the right decisions? This is the genius part. If I wasn’t a writer slash commuter slash junkie slash tryhard slash huge faker slash dreamer slash cynic what else, I would be a really smart guy in the smart business realm. I have some big ideas. Pour cement over the lower classes, cultural layer.

How?

Blimps.

How does that solve the LAX dilemma?

People a. Don’t probably want to hurt strangers and b. Don’t want to be associated with stool-softening-rapiding agents.

Why not.

Have you never really needed a huge shit? I did once, up the way with Steve and like billy-o I went for the briar and scuttered and likely muttered in the winter, steam coming off the pile, stench worse than dog, cans of cider, Druids cider, did a jig and killed inside me(r).

Anyway, I know who’s going to join the LAX squad. This is the genius bit now. The mentals. Get the mentals out of the big house - I’ll detail my plans for that shortly - and get them back into society. Doing good is good for you. So, here we go.

Mentals are out, black flak jackets and chainsaws. People won’t stand for it. Why would anyone take a train where the staff occasionally kill you? Giveaways. There’s really good giveaways and extremely reasonable rates. Timing too. We keep a random element, but within strict confines. If you really, really, really aren’t up for stuffing it, we’ll say ‘Don’t get the tram this Saturday between 5-8, when emergency depopulation maintenance will be underway’.

If you can kill one of our LAX agents without a weapon, using only your bare hands, you will win 10K cash, free travel for life and immunity for your family, denoted by a yellow laminate card worn on a golden lanyard, sprayed sprayed sprayed c’mon people let’s be reasonable, I’m trying to make savings here.

Bread and circus meets Mad Max meets Eddie Hobbes, who surname is a fictional tiger and whose occupation was declawing a metaphorical tiger. What will you do with the land freed up from the Mentally Wretched?

Gorgeous houses. Modest, extremely affordable, allotments for vegetables, flowers and berries, green areas, nice paving and gravel drives, adequate parking. How will you afford this? LAX saves the day. If you’re killed by the LAX officers, they get everything - the corp. Corp work for me. I build the houses. Move all the lowers in. The bad ones.

They hear hissing. I say just heating, pipes, old Victorian brass jobs with whistles, dials, bells and sheen shine Die Glocke. Are you sure, they say. Petition.

Please check this hiss, we do most definitely certainly hear something a-hiss.

Goose I said. I have a farm of geese for you lowers this Christ day.

No they say, we have seen and heard no goose.

Did you look, I know they haven’t and it’s a trick for time. They know it’s a trick and won’t let me escape, even after I discharge the smoke bombs I had in my pocket, which were actually stinkers and we talked in the smelly, green cloud about the hissing sound and I secretly dialed for the boys. Come get me, boys. Some of these lowers is closing in. They smell bad and can’t read, which makes them basically skunks with Nike shoes, and they like things where people do things.

Watch the show about the hissing maybe, that would be a good idea for to make more money, make them pay a fee to watch their neighbors in the house trying to find the source of the hissing.

What is this hissing, daughter, ist thou vibrator on? This is how lowers speak, underpeople. Not me, smart, right smart, commuter man and going to be part of the corp with some of my ideas. Perhaps fidder, says the underdaughter, is idst thou vibrator? All laugh, others laugh other house, nobody finds the hiss and I escape.

I keep them busy arguing about all the things until the boys come. Hi boys, get them please. The unders would be forced back into their house, lower house but nice ones that I built and now the hissing is so bad you can hear it inside and out and that’s a really crazy feeling and sound, even I can hear it but I let them know?? You crazy, Joe. this is a corp game and I’m the man in the know who runs the slow got the special glow and today’s another day at the corpo.

One of the boys, I think his name was Dermot. He’s a middler and can’t ride the trains and I see his laminate is brown which is the same colour as shit and it makes me not like him and then I realized maybe why nobody was rushing to join the LAX squad, I wouldn’t want to be associated with any of the ass processes. Maybe I’ll have the name changed; I have those powers, I’m in the corpo.

He asks me what the hiss is. I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about I said and we get in the car and then I don’t have to lie because the unders can’t hear, with the hissing.

He has music on, quite uncorpo stuff but good. Pale Rapist is their name. They played Frunk, the latest hellvariant from genresmith and axemaster Obscene Pete. Turn this up I said to Dermot who is in the front now driving, so the lowers can’t hear.

I says this hissing you hear he says yes I do sir. Snakes. No way, yes way snakes, where, in the walls in the foundations in the long grasses and beneath the pools, in the pipes and rafters and hollows and sinks, coiled in shoes and cupboards and shelves, I have a snake button at the office. Once I push it, all the Lowers are gone and it’s time to make some money.

Put all the snakes back, move more unders in, release the snakes. It goes on forever and it makes loads of money and sense. He’s wowed, under me, I’m from the corpo and Pale Rapist is blaring, blaring. Back to the office please and inputs the coordinates. Runes grow blue on the panel. A rift appears and the unders can hear the fabric of space tearing like wet paper even with the hissing that they think is pipes because I tricked them and they believed me, I have nice eyes and I ride the train and my lanyard glints while theirs has a little bit of string like a desiccated length of ancient sausage.

Through the rift right to HQ, big H, the corpo HQ and my office is enormous, large enough for a rift and the whole car and the lot. I step out, clear of the rift or you’ll lose more than an inch trust me, if my dick wasn’t so big I’d be worried, I could stand to lose an inch or two and still feel swole. He drives back, closes it, leaves.

Sit at the desk and the snake button is there where I asked for it, it’s pushed like an aging king from his battlements before you can say snakes coming out of every pore and eating all the lowers.

Guess what, genius idea I had already and didn’t say. The lowers and unders and middlers living elsewhere paid their fee and guess what they’re watching on PPV? New hit show. Billion viewers. Undersnake.

Which family will survive? I planted one shotgun in the under area. One underfamily will find it. If they survive it’s gonna be good news. Cash money enough to be a middler. They can watch the next season live, cousins maybe. Holy shit idea again, they can be judges, or helpers. One lifeline. You can call this vet fam and ask they sage advice in direst perils. Yeah, season two is gonna have a lot of new stuff.

Show is over, good ratings. No rift home, take the train. What time is it? Oh the one thing I love about Saturday work.

My own LAX are on the take today.

Another forty minutes. I love a challenge, dare me and dare I and how dare they, let’s have a go they would never kill the boss for I was the one who invented the LAX and now the trams run basically on time.

#writeblr #experimental #stream #flash fiction #sci fi shorts #corpo #nuspeak #future shocks #LAX squad #depopulation #corporation #short stories #spilled ink #wattpad #fiction #shorts #unders #ireland #languagefun

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