#not including ​that stupid red shell patch…

[f1-stuff]

Spanish GP ‘23 // FP2

#unreal unreal unreal #not including ​that stupid red shell patch… #his hair right at this moment 🤌🏻 don’t cut it carlos 😭 #should’ve gone full black underwear I s2g #we’d be on the floor rn #carlos sainz #Spanish GP ‘23 #2023

[mitch-the-silly]

“A Terrible Man” Pt.1

A William Afton introspective narrative inspired by (the narrative accuracy of) the song “TERRIBLE THINGS” (also slightly by “Stuck Inside” they’re the best 2 FNAF songs lore-wise imo).

This does include an OC and is based on my ao3 fic “The Tragedy of The Afton Family”.

The rubble on the floor of the abandoned Freddy’s was of no consolation to her. The search for Mr. Afton had her exhausted and honestly, Catherine had no idea why she was even looking for him here. Or rather, she had a vague idea as to why. A stupid personality trait as a lead.

She’d known Mr. Afton for almost two decades. If there was anything she’d picked up about him was that he was a man of loyalties to himself. The few times she’d seen him severely affected by something, whatever it may be, he always returned to his firstborn.

Not his ACTUAL first born. If there was anyone he’d rather not return to, it was Michael. He disposed the boy. He simply put up with him because he was kin of his own. He tolerated him at best.

So if not Michael, then what was she referring to? The creation that he loved the most. His ever-so-empowering Spring Bonnie suit. If it was here, it meant he would be back soon. But if it wasn’t it meant she was in for a world of troubles. Best case scenario: they were both here and Catherine could beg him to return to the Afton Robotics facility. She was convinced she wouldn’t be able to take care of it on her own anymore. They were starting to turn against her.

She stepped through the pieces of metal. They all felt a bit too familiar to her. She leaned down to touch it. Its texture felt far from foreign. Not far from the scraps of metal, she found a piece of red fabric. This she recognized immediately, and how couldn’t she? She’d tended to them with her bare hands.

“Foxy…?” She mumbled, traces of pain in her voice. They were similar to that of an anguished mother. She looked a bit above it to find the mangled shell of Foxy’s head. She gasped in slight shock, picking it up as if it were made of porcelain. She ran her petite fingers down the wanton dents on the material.

“Who would do such a thing to you… oh my poor baby…” She felt foolish when she spoke to these animatronics as if they were her own children, but truth is that she built them, rebuilt them, and repaired them for years. She knew them better than some of her family members. Foxy was her favorite, not just because the little guy (ironic since they all towered over her by almost two feet) was always broken, but also because it was Michael’s favorite. To her, spending time in the workshop fixing Foxy, was like spending time patching Michael’s bruises and patches from when they were kids.

She took Foxy’s head in her arms and continued forward. She decided to not look down. The pain of seeing another one of her friends destroyed on the floor would send her into tears. She was in no stable mood and she couldn’t afford to cry break down and cry at the moment.

She flashed her flashlight at arbitrary corridors. She knew exactly where everything was because how couldn’t she? She practically raised herself at Freddy’s. But she almost didn’t recognize it. It was as if she was peering into the casket of a once cheerful, now dead family member. Its organs hallowed out and blood drained and replaced by preserving chemicals. It was a horrific sight to see from the inside. Freddy’s, that is…

She rounded the corner, flashing her light at the one door she’d yet to check: the employee safe-room. She placed Foxy’s head down on the floor leaning it against the wall, facing it away from the door’s direction. Her hand trembled as she reached for the handle. A feeling of overwhelming doom filled her body as she even considered entering that room.

She ignored it and opened the door. After which she begun coughing. She covered her mouth and nose with the collar of her shirt; the stench of death emanated from that room. She flashed her light directly at the back of the safe-room, her eyes widened in surprise at the sight before her.

Why was Spring Bonnie in this condition? She thought she’d left him in a better position than this. One that would preserve him better. To her, Spring Bonnie was Mr. Afton. Plain and clear. At times she didn’t mean it metaphorically. So seeing him in this condition was like seeing Mr. Afton in the same place.

She got closer, inspecting and poking at it with an arbitrary piece of metal she’d found in the room. Only then did she notice the stain on the floor. A black, putrid stain that revolted her from the very depths of her stomach.

“Goodness!” She jumped slightly. “Ugh! What happened here?” She sighed, upset as she flashed the light right into the suit’s face.

The suit suddenly twitched in response, groaning as its mechanical parts ticked causing her to fall back in fear. A realization dawned upon her, one that made her chest heavy.

There was someone in that suit. Someone long gone, body tattered by a spring lock failure. But the twitch means that there was a spark of life left in there, but it was way too late for them. The floor was already stained with their blood and their (seemingly living) body was rotting.

She reached to touch it out of morbid curiosity. She was absolutely afraid of it, but something didn’t allow her to stop. She tried to touch the face of it. Her plan was to lift the head and identify the victim, but before she could, it grabbed her arm.

She screamed at the top of her lungs, trying to get away, but its grip was too strong.

She looked at it dead in its eyes. Eyes she expected to be blue, as they’ve always been. But these eyes were silver, and they reminded her of the man she was searching for. A friend, a teacher, a coworker.

“Save….me….Star….” The old voice box of the animatronic groaned. Its glitched out, deep voice was not its original. It was someone else’s entirely, and that’s when it clicked.

She knew exactly who was in that suit. Tears streamed down her eyes, her body flailing in an attempt to escape his grip. She tried her best to process everything that she’s just realized, scared down to her marrow. However, he wasn’t going to let go of her arm until he got his blessing.

Out of the suit emerged a spirit of darkness. A shadow-like being that resembled a man. Upon its head were rabbit ears, and its eyes were that damned silver color that made her tremble in fear. It was dressed with a bow tie and its finger resembled claws.

Catherine stood still, freezing like a deer staring at the headlights of a car. The shadowy figure reached for her like one would expect a damned soul to reach for its savior. Perhaps because that’s what it believed was the situation.

“I’ve committed unbearable sins… Sins against you and humanity… Please… I’ve prayed you return to me, my Star, my pupil.” It pleaded desperately. Anguish pouring out from its words.

“M-Mr. Afton… what… what are the extra tracking systems in the Funtimes for…?” She mumbled. She refused to have this question unanswered. It was her priority. Mr. Afton was dead, there was nothing she could to about his situation. She had to know, she had to know if it was really true. If she’d been wrong all her life.

The figure immediately changed its stance and demeanor. Standing straight with a shocked glare. “How much have you seen?”

Now there was the Mr. Afton she knew. Stern and sure of himself, calculating and cold.

“Enough to want to know more.” She responded as she always did. With patience and giving him the benefit of the doubt. He was a misunderstood man. She had to appeal to him in order to get the truth out of him.

“I’d have to, explain, dear.”

“Then explain it, please. It IS what I’m asking of you.”

#five nights at freddy's #fnaf #william afton #fnaf 3 #fnaf oc #fnaf au #fnaf fan character #fnaf sb #fnaf fic #William Afton is a mid father #NOT OCxWilliam

[keyheartsia-dorm]

The Dorm Leaders with a S/O who Burned themselves making Microwave Food

(This is definitely not something that just happened to me like 10 minutes ago but you should definitely like and subscribe and don’t forget to hit the Bell icon Cause seriously some parts of my hand Hurt like a B...Not that I burned myself or anything)

Riddle Rosehearts

• So Your feeling a Gosh dang HUNGER

• You’re too hungry to wait For Trey to bake anything So

• So Kennel Corn it is!

• In your HUNGER daze you threw the popcorn in carelessly and forget to Press the Popcorn Button and just pressed the 4 Button instead of the 3 Button like you meant to even though 3 PROBABLY would’ve Ruined Your Popcorn anyway

• You text Riddle to see if he’d wanna Share some Popcorn He said he would bring some Tarts he had just put in the oven So you waited...Thinking about Food...not noticing the disaster you were Setting into place

• Anyway you Open the Microwave Full of Hope like a Doe being born on a beautiful spring day then as soon as the black Popcorn started shooting out of your Microwave in Ramshackle you then had the same disappointment as a spring Doe who was just forced to watch Fox and the Hound Like Holy Heck that Movie gives me the Hecko Deppreso

• One Burning Kernel Hit your Cheek Just as you Wince Riddle Comes into your Kitchen With Wide eyes

• He Drags you out Picnic Basket with Tarts in Hand and Takes you to the Nurse’s Office and Asks for...whatever Burned people Need As He Patches you up you 2 Share a ~Moment~

“Riddle Honestly it’s not THAT big of a deal” You Chuckle Anxiously “Don’t be Ridiculous Y/N!” he keeps Patching you up “It Must Seriously Hurt..” He looks a little Sad and while looking sadly into your eyes he kisses your cheek where the Burn was you wince as He Quickly Spits an Apology you Chuckle “You can Kiss it better if you want~” he Looks away bright Red as you 2 Sit in the Nurse’s Office Sharing Tarts

Leona King Scholar

• “I can’t Hecking Cook!!!” you found yourself Exclaiming in the Savannaclaw Kitchen Ruffling your hair

• You see Poor F-Ing Ruggie Needs a Break that’s not a secret to anyone (# Please Stop Hyena Abuse # Please Edit A Garfield Comic Where Leona is Garfield and Ruggie is John) so you said you’d make Leona his Lunch

• why the Heck you said you’d do this you Adorable stupid Hecking Idiot you but hey you did dumb dumb

• So here you are looking in the Freezer and BINGO Big ole Meat Chunk!

• So you being A fanfic protagonist Put a giant mystery meat chunk in the microwave pressed some Buttons and said..”Eh Good enough” Guess your sex god heart throb Boyfriend Is rubbing off on you ok I see how it is Y/N OK I SEE HOW IT IS

• Anyway besides my needless aggression with my words You started to look for some utensils you found A Bento Box and a Spoon thank goodness but you figured you might Need some mittens Lunch was soon and The meat was long done but no mittens

• You take it out..and HOLY MOTHER GOD WHY DID YOU THINK THIS WAS A GOOD IDEA YOUR PALMS MIGHT AS WELL BE ON FIRE

• Leona Nonchalantly Enters The scene cause Ruggie Told him you’d be making his Lunch and Lunch started like 15 Minutes ago

• He looks at the Scene before him and sighs and takes your hands like the sex god heartthrob he is and looks at your red palms almost Deadpanning

Your face a light red “Yeah...I know I massively Screwed up with your Lunch But I really wanted t-“ “I know And I appreciate it even though you are a massive screw up..But you keep trying I appreciate that about you” He starts to lick your Palms and your face Erupts into a Blush “What the Heck!?!” he looks up at you “It’s to cool your hands down but you ARE gonna go get me Food from the vending machine afterwards”

Azul Ashengrotto

• you slam your Hands Dramaticly on your Kitchen Table “I CANNOT ACCEPT ANYMORE FREEBIES FROM THE MONSTRO LOUNGE” You were sure Azul Would start making you pay if not Azul Jade for sure

• So time to start making Food for yourself!! You Quickly Head to a Convience store where a Certain Chaotic Neutral Eel Notices you Buying like 10 Frozen...PIECES OF FOOD

• You Dump like all off them on your Counter and Choose to make some Weird fish

• You Slap that Sorry Sucker in the Microwave and like the other Sorry Suckers in this Scenario you will Burn yourself and beautiful Bishounen Shenanigans will ensue but we’re not there yet

• You literally just bought a piece of not even normal looking fish Of course it didn’t come with a Time Recommendation So you while staring at it for like 10 minutes (Letting it thaw quite a bit but you didn’t notice) You threw it in for 7 And figured “eh 7’s a lucky number this’ll work” Didn’t you read Leona’s Scenario? What happened when THEY said Eh

• You Dumby You Dating a Merman Boughta Eat a fish Dumbo what do you have? Ears?

• Anyway Floyd and And Azul are Chatting well it’s more like Floyd is talking At Azul while he does paper work Yeah I totally Saw them Buying a bunch a Random Frozen Weird Massively Weird Right? Anyway So Apparently They Let you Mix ALL THE slushie is Flavors”

• Azul hearing this After finishing up some more Paperwork Decides to go Visit You and to his Shock he finds you Trying to hold a Basically at this point Charcoal Fish and when you drop It on your leg Leaving a SEXY weird fish shaped burn he’s Immediately on that

He puts a Hand to his Temple and sighs For a Moment before sweeping you off your feet before you could say a word..the you did say a word a few in fact “I’m Sorry Azul I know you can’t give me freebies forever but I’m a terrible cook” He Kisses your forehead and gives you a reassuring look “You’re my Beloved you can rely on me as much as you want I’ll get you some bandages when we’re back at the monstro lounge and Jade will make you something not made of Charcoal” and you bet he carried you all the way

Kalim Al Asim

• you both wanted to cook Something for Jamil...Okay this’ll go south fast.

• the road to Heck Is often Paved with Good intentions

• You Were tasked with picking out food and Kalim for Kitchen Prep

• Anyway Let’s get this poor Wreck Jamil’s gonna have to fix over with

• “I Picked out some Tofu! Smart people like tofu right?

• Kalim Tossed that And all sortsa Stuff Into the Microwave and Waved off all your concerns figuring it’ll be fine! come on Y/N you coward Your a fanfic Protag you don’t have to think Silly goose no thoughts head empty

• like 15 minutes later you 2 Hear Smoke while trying to make Pulpless Handsqueezed Orange Juice cause HECK PULP

• He Opened The Microwave and the only thing that Looked even Remotely salvageable was the tofu and because you 2 are the cutest most head empty Couple Apparently you didn’t Put a plate underneath so you braving all the danger reached into the Microwave...

“Ouch!” You teared up a little And were about to Put your finger in your mouth as you do Before Kalim put your finger in his Mouth You looked at him shell shocked after a couple seconds he started pressing light kisses on them “I’m so sorry! I should’ve thought this through more! I’ll nurse you back to health!” And For the rest of the day he essentially treated you like you were crippled he carried you he fed you everything don’t worry you slipped away for a little to clean up the mess in the kitchen before Jamil got back Kalim Babysitting is always an Experience to be Had for sure

Vil Schoenheit

• “Vil! I wanna Eat Carbs Heck you!!”

• if that’s not how Every story I do With Vil Starts I’ll be Gosh Danged

• “FINE EAT YOUR MAC AND CHEESE YOU’LL RUE THE DAY-“

• anyway after you stopped listening to him you looked him DEAD in the eyes and Shoved that frozen Mac and Cheese in the Microwave and slammed...Some Numbers In wow what a power move

• He Gasped and Power walked away

• You Laughing Manically Triumphantly

• But after awhile you felt kinda bad and decided to make some Carb free food for Vil as an Apology for Deliberatly and spitefully trying to make him Mad

• But that was the final nail in your microwaved coffin When you took out your Luckily not entirely burned Mac and Cheesies it was real hot like

• You were trying To get it to a plate Quickly And Spilled some on your Wrist Luckily Your Sexy mean Boyfriend was Here To save the day and wow he’s holding something”

“Sweet Potato?” He peeked through the Door and saw you Holding your Wrists in Pain he immediately walked in And Held them tenderly “I’m Sorry Sweet Potato things got heated I did get you a..Low Carb Meal at Olive Garden I Hope this Makes things up to you I know I can’t Control your life it’s just kinda my nature” You Smiled at him through the pain “It’s Fine Vil I got WAY too Mad I’m sorry I made you a salad” you both Enjoyed your food him feeding you yours then later he put some lotion on your Wrists

YES ITS BEST BOY-

Idia Shroud

• Omg it’s the best boy 🥺

• I mean I am not Partial to any character Do not worry I do not want to be in a Poly relationship with both Malleus and Idia

• So you wanted To Hang Out with your Boyfriend today he said sure but that he would be Busy doing raids with his Online friends you agreed and even said you’d bring snacks which you did

• Including Instant Ramen! My-I mean YOUR favorite

• you decided to show how reliable in the Kitchen you are to your boyfriend by making such a Delicacy for him while he doesn’t have the time to himself at the moment

• This is will work out Well

• You decide to do it in your kitchen and bring to him

• this will work out well

• You..ACTUALLY MAKE IT PERFECTLY

• You also Make it mostly towards his room before divine intervention Intervines and says That’s not the point of this fanfic idiot

• It probably mostly worked out for you cause you have the best taste tho so-

• Ortho Hears a Mighty Loud Catwerwhail (here’s hoping I spelled that right) and Comes to check whose outside the door

• “Big Sister/Brother?” He Quickly Runs some Water on your Shoulder and Bandages you Up And Leads you in Idia’s Room With the snacks in tow meanwhile he’s wondering if your Ok or not

“Idia Senpai!” You Sit next to him And he notices your Bandages “What Happened?” You look away a little Blushing a bit “I Spilled hot Instant Ramen on my shoulder Ortho parched me up though but! I brought the rest of the snacks though sor-“ Before you can apologize he Puts his Jacket on your shoulders “No I’m sorry for not noticing I would’ve...Tried to help” His sad expression turns into one of his Competitve smirks “I’ll Finish this Raid Boss so Quicker then you even Burned Yourself!” And He did cause he’s the best Gamer boy then you played Monoply With Him and Ortho cause he’s the best boy you have the best taste RAMEN TASTES SO GOOD-

Malleus Draconia

• My Second Love I mean nothing Let’s finish this I’ve been here since like 4 it’s 7 rn

• You invited Malleus to dinner And you wanted a Good Blanced Dinner!

• Chicken From Panda Express

• McDonald’s Chocolate Milk

• Some Patties from Burger King

• Oh Yeah Veggies!

• Wait! Everything’s Closed now!!! Y/N I KEPT TELLING YOU TO STOP BEING DUM-

• Oh you have some frozen Vegetables? Okay Touché

• You Toss them in the Microwave for 6 Minutes and get ready

• You dress as Nicely as Possible in 10 Minutes cause you plan Things Horribly apparently...not that I relete having been here for like at least 2 hours

• He’s Here~ him being Also the best boy is already setting the table with Magic cause he’s just nice like that and even Enchanted the food to be set on the table and the milk in the Glasses

• But you INSISTED to present The Vegetables

• “Child of Man I really don’t min-“ “No! I got this really!!”

• Let’s see how well that turned out for you

You got the Vegetables Outta the Microwave in such a Haste you didn’t even notice how hot it was and dumped it on the plate it wasn’t horribly burnt but was Horribly Hot Malleus was Amazed though “So Man’s Growing Vegetables in Bags now?..” he Reached to touch but you smacked his hand away so fast your hand touched the food and burned you “Ouch! I’m sorry Mal But it’s really hot” He immediately Understood and Summoned some Magical Water as he do and your burn was gone “I love you Child of man even though us Fae Can’t burn you tried to shield me anyway my sweet gentle Child of man”...Did you know that I ain’t know that?

I have a Masterlist it has all my X reader fics And my Oc Stuff I will be Adding this in like a day or 2 probably now if you’ll excuse me I never Wanna Look at another word again except also I’m literally probably gonna go read fanfic

#twisted wonderland #disney twst #twisted wonderland dorm #twst imagines #twst x reader #twst headcanons #twst dorm leaders #dorm leaders x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland headcanon #twisted wonderland dorm leaders

[doorsclosingslowly]

This Is the Time of Our Great Undoing

“Do you think Kaz could fuck someone in a full-body bondage suit?” Jesper whispers, more to distract Inej from what’s on the screen than anything else, but still—the idea won’t leave Kaz alone.

5.8k | modern AU | Kaz[/&]Jesper, part of a polycule

content note: despite the premise this is about cuddling, gambling addiction and existing during climate change

It starts the way most things used to start: with all of them piled onto ancient couches on the fifth floor of an otherwise empty building on the edge of Amsterdam, also called the Slat. These days, it’s harder and harder to get everyone together. Nina and Matthias are both in Rotterdam now, doing associate degrees that Kaz doesn’t care about. Wylan’s got room and board and a plan for the future and a social worker, and she already disapproves of Jesper as a bad influence so it’s not worth it, generally, for Wylan to come back to his old squat and hang out with the whole gang of ex- and current reprobates.

And Inej—fuck, Kaz wishes she was just a little less righteous, less concerned with how the world’s going to shit. She’s faced off against more cops now than he has, probably. Water cannons and charging horses and riot shields. She knows criminals all over the country, Europe, probably the world—but they’re the kind of criminals with morals and worthless targets, with bandanas and badly sewn patches, who will talk about Federici and sea levels and the Invisible Committee and use value if you don’t leave quickly enough. The kind that live on trees, as Inej’s going to do in a few days. The kind that don’t make any money. The kind that have even less of a chance of making it out of a job alive and free than Kaz does—and with the enemies she’s talking about, politicians, banks, Shell, he doesn’t even know if he’ll be able to extort her out of jail next time.

For now, though, they’re all together in the big room, watching some ancient movie on the massive 8k screen with mood lighting, etc, the works, that’s in the Slat courtesy of some MediaMarkt manager desperate enough to save her marriage to bribe Kaz into silence, but not so desperate she wouldn’t fuck two other women in the breakroom.

It’s impossible to know whose fault it is that they’re currently watching Pulp Fiction.

Kaz is inclined to blame Jesper, because most things are his fault in some way or another, and he’s supplying the login data for an old uni flatmate’s streaming accounts, which is where they found that film, front and centre, paid to rent until tomorrow. Who even pays for films? If that’s the calibre of people they send to university these days, it’s no wonder the planet’s going to the dogs. Jesper, though, swears he wanted to watch some goofy horror flick, so he’s splitting the blame with Nina and Matthias: Matthias, for growing up in a cult and having never heard of what’s apparently a film classic and mentioning that to Nina, who of course cooed over her boyfriend and insisted on it, even though actually none of them have watched it before either so it’s not like it’s an important cinematic milestone. Or just not b horror, crime, some weird arthouse thing with complicated morality… It’s weird and has crime but there is nothing to figure out, so Kaz is bored. It’s Inej’s fault, because instead of vetoing it she said yes, just because she has a heart-shaped soft spot for Nina. Wylan could have done his oh I’m still an innocent barely-two-years not a minor this looks bloody thing, and Kaz might not even have mocked him this time if he'd insisted on Jesper’s pick instead just so he could hide in Jesper’s arms for the most minor decapitations.

Jesper’s been talking through the whole film. Kaz got used to that a long time ago: the landing and failing of small non-sequitur jokes like rain against the window, whispered to Wylan who’s cuddled into his side on the left, or to Inej who’s burrowing under Jesper’s outstretched right arm. Sometimes Jesper thinks a quip will land better with Nina, so he shouts it over to the futon where she and Matthias are always just shy of engaging in heavy petting, and the really mean and bleak jokes he saves for when he’s made eye contact with Kaz.

Now, though: in this scene Mr Motorcycle and the gang boss are captured in a pawnshop and dragged into the basement, and Gang Boss gets raped. Inej’s hand is white-knuckled on Jesper’s arm, and Jesper’s talking non-stop. He’s talking about the flooding, and asking whether Inej thinks Doggerland will happen again but here, soon, you can never know when the scientists are so wrong about the speed of climate change, and apparently it all flooded in a day because something broke off Norway, and then he abruptly pivots to some demo where he bashed in a shop window and got new shoes, and then if she’s got dates for more street fights because then he’s in but please, don’t trick me into another book club, I don’t care about why the cops are bad I already know I just want to hit them—not topics Kaz would have chosen, exactly, but he’s rooted in his red leather armchair off to the side, not even able to hold her for comfort, not like Jes does now, and why didn’t they think to look up the content beforehand, why did they assume it was tame just because it’s an old film—and then, long after it’s over, Jesper idly asks, “Do you think Kaz could fuck someone in a full-body bondage suit?”

Wylan groans. Kaz wishes a sound existed that could express his own current emotion.

“You saw the guy, right?” Jesper turns over to Wylan, while still stroking Inej’s hair. “There was no skin on him. All leather. And that’s the trigger, so—might solve all our problems. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before!”

“I don’t see a huge difference,” Nina snipes. “Kaz is already in all-black, with gloves. Though I guess, that hood would hide his atrocious haircut…”

“Stop being so mean to Kaz, Jesper,” Matthias mumbles. “Although he does deserve it.”

Kaz downs his entire glass of vodka. When he tops his drink up for the second time—he exed the first refill right in the kitchen—he brings the bottle and some maracuja juice over and refills Jesper’s, too, because Jesper’s been anxiously glancing over at him, every moment he thinks Kaz has turned his head away, since he shot his stupid mouth off and actually, it’s—Kaz isn’t thinking about it now but it just might—maybe it could work—well, he fills up the glass to stop Jesper from worrying himself into yet another mental crisis and also so he can bend over Jesper’s ear and whisper lovingly, “I’m going to make the leather for the suit out of your skin.”

“We should look for an Ed Gein film next!” Jesper laughs, much more brightly than the joke warrants, and Kaz refuses to interpret the look on his face.

+

By the time Kaz gets back to the Slat, on a day roughly three months later, it’s long past two in the morning. He’s in a foul mood: of course Haskell won’t even reimburse him for the taxi he had to take because he missed the last metro. Of course he just told Kaz to take a night bus. Haskell won’t even apologize for the last minute details he wants included in his casino’s tax returns. The old man’s not even mentally capable of understanding the extra work he caused. Yes, Kaz is good at filing taxes creatively, exactly tailored for the business to pay nothing whatsoever and meticulous enough to never arouse any suspicion, but that takes work. Things have to balance. Haskell thinks Kaz just has to press a button, and that he’s paying Kaz so he doesn’t have to press the button himself, and that it’s only worth it because he doesn’t want to sully his mind with ‘the Spreadsheet Program’. Which is also why he’s loaning Kaz out to a friend of his, which he just remembered to mention today, for that guy’s mattress store slash money laundering business, so that’s even more work for nowhere near enough money.

Sometimes, Kaz amuses himself with the idea of sneaking in small ‘mistakes’. Enough for even the stupidest tax official to unravel the whole sordid scheme and land Haskell in prison for tax fraud, whereupon he’ll also be discovered to be involved with drug smuggling, blackmail, murder, … none of which will ever trace back to Kaz. But the one time he was livid enough to try, nothing happened. He’ll never manage to plunge the true depths of stupidity of an average bureaucrat, apparently, and is thus doomed to failure.

And anyway, it’s good regular money for little work. Usually. He can’t really complain. Especially not to his friends, because three are going legit, Inej will just rant about the uselessness of defrauding the Belastingdienst for a few measly million euros a year when the world’s being set on fire every day, and Jesper’ll tell him to quit, again, because they live in a squat after all. It’s not like they’re paying rent. Jesper’s never heard of forethought, or gratitude. He doesn’t know how many of his bills Kaz has paid off.

Kaz’s leg aches after the climb to the third story. Two more to go. As usual, right at this point he remembers the joke Jesper made eight months ago about fooling someone into installing a stair lift, and as usual, he dismisses it in disgust after two more steps. Stomps harder on the next flight of stairs, with grim satisfaction at the shooting pains in his knee. He doesn’t need help. He doesn’t need to move to a house with a working lift, and he doesn’t need a stair lift, either. Fuck you, Jesper. I’m the actual functional adult with a job in this household. I don’t need a stair lift.

That’s what he would throw at Jesper’s head, but it’s nearly three o’clock, and Jesper’s probably out. Over at Wylan’s, if he knows what’s good for him, but given how evasive he’s been all week, how manic… Inej’s still camping high up in some forest to save the frogs or something, but no news there is supposed to be good news. If the cops had chucked her off a tree house, it would have been on tv. About everything else, he can worry after he’s slept.

He doesn’t bother with the lights in his room. The streetlight coming in through his open curtains is more than enough, and anyway, he found the empty tenement he turned into the Slat five years ago, fully moved down here three years ago when he met Jesper, and he knows every single thing in his room by heart. The antique dresser he made Jesper and Matthias carry up with the threat of cutting off a finger for every scratch it received is next to the door, the place where he leaves his gloves and wallet and phone and cane. The coat rack beside it, where the hangers for his suit are, then the hamper, and at the foot of his bed the long black linen nightgown that Jesper’s never, ever allowed to see, and—

There’s a black shape on top of his bedcovers, Kaz realizes when he’s pulled on his nightgown.

Kaz takes his cane back. He hasn’t made any new enemies recently as far as he’s aware—none who know his name—but he was careless, brutal, desperate when he was a lone kid getting by on the streets, and those victims had gangs, families, business partners. Just because no-one’s ever traced little Kazzie the bastard rabid dog back to the Slat-that-wasn’t-then doesn’t mean a thing. The fact that the friends he started collecting press-ganged him into doing more behind-the-scenes embezzlement and fewer turf wars because ‘they’re watching us, they have all our faces and fingers and DNA on file and cameras everywhere and did you hear about that informer having kids with the activist he spied on?’ or the more pragmatic, ‘If you don’t stop fucking up your leg on purpose I’m going to send you to a kink party you fucking masochist’…

None of it means safety, not really, and Kaz is glad he’s alone now. They’ve all moved on, and even Jes… well, if he’d been here tonight then the whole squat would be trashed because Jesper doesn’t come quietly. And now, if he comes back to find Kaz gone or his throat slit… Jesper’s going to fucking collapse. He’s been one phone call away from going hysteric all week. Who knows, though—he has Wylan now, and maybe it’ll be the push he needed, the path none of them could ever find, to get his life back on a solid track.

All of that is presupposing that Kaz loses, of course.

And he does not intend to.

The weird black ninja on Kaz’ bed hasn’t reacted yet. They’re curled into a foetal position and they’re snuffling, quietly, because they’re asleep.

Not even assassins dressed up as b movie henchmen expect the toll taken by Per Haskell’s technical naïveté and utter disrespect for Kaz’ work-life balance, apparently. He got back home so late he missed his own murder. Well, then. Kaz hasn’t tortured anyone in two years and he may be out of practice, but the films he’s been forced to watch in the meantime have, if anything, made him more creative. He’ll teach them not to underestimate the brutality of Kaz Brekker, even when he’s moved up a few rungs in the ladder of Amsterdam’s underworld and landed a desk job.

He’ll—but Kaz hasn’t had to stalk silently towards his prey in two years, either. He’s underestimated the extent to which his lame leg’s gotten worse.

Also, someone’s pulled a box out from under his bed.

Kaz stumbles, and in the split-second before he catches himself on the edge of the mattress he wonders—will they have a gun? I can still bash them in the head before they fire, I haven’t gone that soft—and then the would-be assassin stretches out their lanky body as they wake up.

With their arms raised over their head, Kaz can see the bright white light of the street lanterns outside reflect off the gleaming black PVC fabric they’re wearing. Sleek and skin-tight, no ornamentation except a few steel buttons glinting at the crotch, and a full-cover leather hood over their face adorned with one-euro-sized rivets at the jaw, the forehead, the bridge of the nose, the large buckle around the neck. More buckles, at the back of the head and hanging off the right side at eye-height. The open silver zipper at the mouth reflects the streetlight, too, as does the padlock that hangs off it.

Oh no. Kaz knows that mask. Not even shoving it all the way back to the furthest corner under his bed allowed him to forget the way it looks.

Oh no.

Jesper yawns loudly. “Morning, boss. Evening. One of those. I thought you were finishing work early?”

“Haskell had some last-minute revisions to his tax returns.” Kaz sighs. “Don’t cook tomorrow. I’ll be out late for the whole next week—don’t expect me before three am. New client. I need to create a whole year’s documentations from scratch.”

“Just fuck him over, boss. He doesn’t appreciate you, and you don’t need the money. We live in a fucking squat.”

Sweet, financially illiterate nuisance Jesper, who probably doesn’t even know what that awful mistake he’s dressed in right now cost. The thing he’s dressed in. Which was hidden under Kaz’ bed. In Kaz’ room. Which they are inside right now. “You broke into my room,” Kaz rasps. “Again.”

“You know, Kaz,” Jesper replies with poorly feigned innocence, ”this thing is a little big for you. Fits me pretty well, though.”

“I told you I don’t keep cash under my bed. I told you that, the last time you tried to steal from me to pay off your gambling debts. I like my room organized as it is, and so I don’t keep any money here. Not under the bed, not in the wardrobe. And you won’t find any of my actual caches, because I’m smarter than you.”

“You’ve lied to me before.”

“You’ve stolen from me before. Remember last year? Remember you made Inej cry? I though you were clean. I thought you promised Wylan, when you asked him out, that you were done gambling. Maybe we all had too much trust in you.”

Jesper pulls his PVC-clad shoulders up to his en-leathered ears: a ridiculous sight, and Kaz doesn’t know what’s worse. That a bondage sex slave could actually look this dejected and humiliated and alone, or that Jesper does. He’s almost ready to call off the assault. It took a while to figure out, but as usual Inej was probably right, because she’s been researching and discussing the mental health industrial complex in general, and the traumatizing nature of modern life, with her comrades. Even though Kaz is neither the kind of person to touch people with kid gloves, and nor does he like thinking of Jesper as someone who needs that kind of handling—when Jesper’s in a shame spiral this deep then any criticism will drive him even deeper into the arms of the next casino. So the adrenaline and dopamine can wipe out everything else, or to feed his self-loathing even more by being exactly the person he’s terrified people think he is—Jes couldn’t quite explain it himself during the Intervention, except that everything is too much sometimes, even more too much and faster than usual.

He’s a pitiful creature. Kaz almost has pity. Then, though—

“It’s not working, boss. I know why you’re reminding me I fucking relapsed, again, and tried to steal from my best friend, again, and that I’m going to beg you to lie to Wy, again, but I still haven’t forgotten I’m wearing a bondage suit that you’ve been keeping under your bed for—two months now, is it?”

It’s just one month, actually. The manufacture and shipping took six whole weeks.

Two can play that game. Kaz might be very slightly embarrassed, but Jesper’s relapsed into the combination of addiction, theft and deceit that destroyed his life three years ago, and nearly did so again, two-and-a-half years ago and one year ago. “Careful. I haven’t even yet agreed to lie to Wylan, Jesper. About your problem. That you promised you’d tell him about.”

“Also, I notice it fits me, not Inej. Not Nina. Not Matthias. Not even Haskell, I bet. Me. Almost like it was made for me.”

Kaz ignores his insinuations. The answer’s obvious, anyway: yes, he did take clothes from the main washing pile in Jesper’s room and measured them. Yes, he used the measurements when he ordered a bondage suit. Yes, that’s creepy. Yes, a decent person would have asked. No, he’s not sorry. Jesper knew who Kaz was when he moved in with him. And it’s not like Kaz is the one who’s really at fault here. If Jesper just stopped gambling, he’d never have found out.

“Even attempted theft is illegal, Jesper. Completed robbery is worse. I cover my tracks, but you… you should be careful what you say now. They’re still looking for whoever robbed that jeweller last year.”

“Inej’s gonna cut off your head if you try. It’s like you never read her hoodies. All cats are beautiful, et cetera, Kaz. Thirteen-twelve. Keep up.”

Sometimes, the only thing that keeps Kaz from tossing Jesper out of the Slat is that Inej hates landlords and landlord-adjacents just as much as the pigs. If only he’d known back when he let the drunk penniless fancy uni boy who jumped into a fight to defend Kaz from some thugs—a fight Kaz would have won regardless—if only he’d known, before he let Jesper crash on his floor for a night or two, where all of this would end. “I’ll never mention anything about tonight again if you don’t either. Forget it. It was a bad idea. A failed plan. That’s all.”

“Without even trying it?”

“I will zip your mouth shut,” Kaz rasps. “I’ll lock it. I’ll throw the key into the harbour. Fuck you.”

Jesper, though, somehow got even mouthier when he put the bondage suit on. Less respectful. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. “Come on, Kaz,” he wheedles. “I put it on, right? So I’m fine with it, if you’re worried. Aren’t you curious? If our places had been reversed—well, if you’d found it in my room you’d have murdered me, so we’re not exactly identical, but still. Come on, sit down next to me. This is—PVC right? Good job choosing me. Inej would hate it. So much plastic.”

“It’s less like skin than leather.”

“Not complaining, Kaz. I have some juice with a straw over there to keep me hydrated in case I sweat like a pig, but I haven’t, yet. I can probably camp out in this for a few more hours.” He tries a patented Jesper I’m flirting in an over the top way to make you laugh which is my flirting style for when I’m genuinely worried about the reaction because this way I can pass off exasperation and mockery as the response I intended look, probably with fluttering eyes, but since Kaz can barely make them out through those open zippers and the rest of his face is a complete mystery, it falls flat. It looks ridiculous, though, so it also works, and Jesper has the nerve of complaining about Kaz’ eight-dimensional chess plans. He’s worse. He’s worse, and animated by Jesper’s ridiculous, familiar movements the bondage suit doesn’t look like a pathetic attempt anymore. Not like the desperation of an emotional cripple. It just looks like Jesper, with an extra layer on his skin. Jesper, probably making a duckface, purring, “Don’t you think I’m sexy?”

Kaz looks away. “Are you serious right now?”

“Of course,” Jesper replies instantly, as if there was never any reason to doubt him. As if he doesn’t blame Kaz for doubting, simultaneously. As if Kaz is allowed to try. To fail. To fuck up, risk hurting him. There is a reason why Kaz never even considered someone else for the suit. “Come on, get on the bed.”

“We have to talk with Inej first. And with Wylan.”

“One-track mind,” Jesper replies, and just like that Kaz is ready to murder him again. “We’re not fucking. We’re not doing more than normal, except maybe touch. We don’t even know yet whether this helps you. I’m not risking it. We’ll just try touching, and if you think it’s triggering, we stop. We’ve got all the time in the world to work up to more. Until this city sinks into the ocean and the grid collapses from heat, which might be tomorrow, so. Or the fascists win.”

“You’ve been listening to Inej.”

“I do try to keep up.”

“Well, stop. Or listen more carefully, until the end, when she gets to the doomerism is the opiate of the masses part.”

“Just get on the bed, Kaz.”

Kaz puts his bent good knee onto the mattress and pulls himself over to Jesper. The fabric of his linen smock rubs against his heated skin: not like corpses, not like that, not like Jordie and he won’t even think about him or this will be over but—it just feels like his own familiar coarse age-softened nightgown that Jesper hasn’t even made fun of yet, his thin nightgown that in a second will be one of only two layers between him and Jesper.

He rolls over so he can sit down next to Jesper, at first. Daringly, he leans an arm against his best—well, they’ll figure that out later.

“Okay?” Jesper asks. He has to crane his head a lot to look through the thin eye slits of his bondage mask at Kaz’ face, and even then he’s probably mostly seeing the gleaming teeth of the eyehole zippers. And still he leans forward forty-five degrees and twists his torso and neck so he can look up into Kaz’ face, carefully keeping the arm that’s touching Kaz as motionless as possible, because he’s being careful with Kaz. Kaz has told him a thousand times he hates being coddled. He’s not a poor little abused dog, he’s a vicious murderer who destroyed his leg and his ability to be close to people while he was murdering, that’s all he ever told Jesper. That lie. And yet—even if he’s only fooling himself because this scene is so patently ridiculous, and the psych ward he got sent to once for the crime of rough sleeping while underage would stamp every single thing about what they’re doing as deeply unhealthy, and he can’t see Jesper’s soft concerned expression under the hood… Whatever it is, Kaz feels warm all over. He feels good. Safe.

Jesper can tell, apparently. “Want to touch my chest? Or climb into my lap?”

Kaz moves over, carefully smoothing down his nightgown before he sits down on Jesper, angled so he can lean with his left arm pressed against Jesper’s chest. It’s safer, somehow, than giving him the back, but perhaps someday…

Jesper loosely wraps his arms around Kaz. They’re just there, barely touching, the hands lax on top of Kaz’ right knee. You can leave at any time, they say, I’ll let go as soon as you’re uncomfortable, and Kaz would have known that regardless. Jesper’s never usually this still, unless he’s lost in concentration: and Kaz, who’s seen how gambling can destroy someone’s life, how it is currently destroying someone’s life, would still bet everything he has ever owned that Jesper’s concentrating on every single aspect of Kaz’ body language right now.

It’s not necessary, though. Those hands are gleaming black PVC. They don’t look or feel anything like Kaz’ memories.

He drops his own naked right hand onto Jesper’s gloved one. Joins them. Anchors Jesper. “How much do you owe this time, Jes?”

A beat. Jesper’s face drops down towards Kaz’ lap. Trying to hide his shame, and he’s forgotten that he’s wearing a full bondage mask, that Kaz can barely make out his eyes through the slits of the zippers. If he’s trying to deny everything, Kaz will just beat it out of him. He’s done it before. A year ago, when it was bad, but Jesper promised he got it under control. But Jesper’s promises were never worth much, not for this. If they were, they’d never have met.

“Four grand.”

“To?”

“Tom Geels. One of Big Bol’s old friends—”

“So he put you up to—”

“I was already playing when he walked up to me, Kaz,” Jesper grinds out. Aware that he could save himself from at least a little of Kaz’ disappointment by casting Bollinger as the tempter. Simultaneously aware that Kaz promised to feed Bollinger to a marine propeller last year if he ever took Jesper gambling again. Noble, to try and save Bollinger’s life—or to save Kaz from committing another murder—not that either of them deserves his loyalty. “I’ll pay you back, Kaz. I’ll have the money. Give me—give me half a year, Da’s still sending me—sending me rent money, Christ, he’s—I’ll save it. No, you’ll get it straight as soon as I get it, and in six months, you’re paid back in full. I promise.”

“We’ll figure it out. I have some jobs I could use you on. Nothing big. Intimidation, mostly. Some breaking, some entering. Boring stuff, not even worth mentioning to Wylan I should think.”

“Thank you.” Jesper’s forgotten all his restraint. He’s kissing Kaz’ forehead, or rather kissing the inside of his mask that’s pressed against Kaz’ forehead. He’s wrapped Kaz tightly in his long bondage arms too, painfully twisting Kaz’ shoulder and elbow and wrist because Kaz is still holding onto his hand. It’s that welcome pain, and the texture of the bondage suit that Kaz still isn’t completely used to, that keeps him from breaking Jesper’s nose. Keeps him—he isn’t back in the North Sea. He isn’t with Jordie. He should be, but he isn’t, and even if it comes…

Inej taught him about grounding. None of them trust the system as far as they can throw it, so she didn’t send him to a shrink when they started dating, unlike he feared, but—she said they helped her, those grounding exercises she found on the internet, and so Kaz has been diligently practicing breathing techniques and focusing his awareness on details of the present moment. Five things he can see: well, it’s dark, but the way what little streetlight gets through reflects off the folds of the suit on Jesper’s bowed stomach is quite interesting. His own knees. His hand, still clutching Jesper’s. The cane, on the floor. The floor. Five things he can hear: early morning traffic, Jesper’s breath, Jesper trying not to sob out loud in relief or shame or a mixture of both, the rustling of fabric, the squeaking of fabric. Five things he can feel: The old ache of his leg, always. Jesper’s hand. Jesper’s thighs. The hard buttons at the flap over Jesper’s crotch, digging into his side.

Somehow, Jesper’s noticed his shift in focus. At least he’s stopped crying now. “You know, you could have just asked how big I am if you wanted a suit with a dick pouch,” he teases in a voice that almost manages to sound happy. “I wouldn’t even have been suspicious.”

“Just because you have no boundaries, Jes, doesn’t mean I have to sink down to meet you at your level.”

Jesper takes a big breath. To forestall the whole Who bought this bondage suit argument Kaz elbows him in the stomach, hard. Once Jesper’s done coughing—a wriggling movement against Kaz’ side that he’s never even felt before—he mumbles something else, though. “I texted Da my new number. He called last week. Wanted to know how I was doing,” and oh. That makes sense. That’s what did it. “Apparently I’m graduating in seven months, according to that fake schedule you made me so I could keep my lies straight. He wants to come to the graduation. He asked me whether I have a job lined up.”

“I could hire somebody to fake you a degree,” Kaz offers. This should be Inej’s job. She shouldn’t be off somewhere, saving grasshoppers. She should be here. She’s the one who tried to talk Jesper into coming clean to his father, last year. All Kaz knows, all he has ever done, is to keep digging, and it’s worked for him. So far. “It’s all the rage now I hear. Cheap, too. No-one will find out. Just don’t become a politician in Germany.”

Jesper sighs. The air kisses the back of Kaz’ neck. “I don’t even care anymore. I could have a degree, or not, it all doesn’t matter. Universities are a scam to regulate economic class relations anyway. I don’t know that I can keep lying forever, or get a job, just so I don’t have to tell Da I betrayed him. Because nothing matters anyway. We’re collectively throwing the future down the drain. It’s not like anyone needs another mechanical engineer when we hit four degrees. I don’t know what we need. I just know everything I know is pointless.”

“I’m sure Inej can hook you up, if you want to blow up a coal power plant.”

“But what about you, then? What would you do?”

“I could have you kidnapped,” Kaz says. That’s not what Jesper meant. Kaz refuses to think about what Jesper meant. “Fake your death. Colm will be so relieved when they find you that he won’t even care you failed all your studies so you could become a live-in human blow-up doll.”

“That’ll only keep Da happy for a year at most and you know it.”

“Well, then Colm’s just going to have to get used to it. Get used to you, like we did. Real, annoying, good-for-nothing directionless screw-up Jesper.”

Jesper rubs his leathered cheek against the crown of Kaz’ head. “Fuck you. Thanks.”

Kaz runs his fingers over the squeaky PVC on Jesper’s forearms, steeling himself before he whispers idly against Jesper’s neck, “If Inej’s right about the warming and the sea level over the next decades, it won’t just be refugees from the south we’re letting drown, people it’s easy to lock out. Maybe you’re right about the Doggerland thing, and we all get flooded.” He swallows. The words are high up in his throat, trying to spew out. “Then it won’t just be one stupid child with a stupid family going out boating in the North Sea when there’s a storm coming. Not just that one kid thrown out of a sinking boat nearly drowning and clinging to his brother’s corpse. Your blow-up doll skills will be in high demand if everyone else gets triggered by skin contact too.”

Jesper, miraculously, reveals a talent Kaz didn’t even know he possessed: he shuts up. He ghosts his gloved hands over Kaz’ shoulders, and then he starts carding his fingers through Kaz’ hair. Kaz can feel the static electricity building up, the crackles and the safety, and then he realizes his eyes have drifted shut. He realizes he doesn’t know how long Jesper’s been petting him.

“Take off your hood,” he mumbles.

“Kaz?”

“Take it off. Scuttle over so your head’s on the pillow.”

Jesper obeys, like Kaz always knew he would. He looks up at Kaz with something that might be confusion but might also be—trust and deep joy and more, something Kaz can’t quite admit anymore now he’s in his bed, and Kaz puts his head down on his chest. His legs will still fit, and this way, he has the squeaky PVC right where he needs it. Squeaky, rhythmically rising warm dry plastic under him. The exact opposite of a waterlogged corpse.

“I don’t have time to call you an ambulance when you get into a bondage suit erotic asphyxiation incident, just so you know. I have a full schedule for today, remember. I’ll be at Haskell’s until after midnight. I have to break Bollinger’s thumbs. My alarm is at seven. Turn it off and I’ll send you to Colm in bite-sized pieces,” Kaz rasps, and then, with a movement that no-one would call timid if they wanted to keep their tongue attached, wraps his arms around Jesper. “You’ve kept me awake for two hours, so be a good pillow. If I kick you off the bed while I’m dozing, remember. This is your fault.”

#jesper fahey #kaz brekker #kaz x jesper #dimtraces makes things #shadow and bone #shadow & bone

[halcyonstorm]

@levihan-drabbles my submission for Trope Tuesday! 

Word Count: 1474 Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Royalty, Light Angst, Forbidden Love, Childhood Friends, Childhood Sweethearts, Levihan Drabble, LeviHan Drabble Week

“Levi, look at this!” Hange exclaimed, pointing to a squirming, slimy bug on the floor inching its way across the cement tiles. Levi crouched down next to her, scowling.

“That’s gross,” he muttered, looking at her curious face.

“I read about these! I think they’re called slugs,” she said, meeting his eyes.

“It’s a snail, I think,” Levi challenged, grimacing as Hange picked it up and placed it in her hand. She taunted him by waving her hand around his face.

“See how it has no shell?” Hange began, gently petting the back of the creature with her finger. “These are slugs.”

“...It’s homeless,” Levi mentioned, almost feeling bad for it; mainly because it was being held by some grubby kid. Hange’s laughter boomed throughout the Zoes’ garden. Levi hid a smile. 

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps got louder and louder towards the two children. They both looked up to see Hange’s father towering over them. 

“Hange, didn’t I tell you you can’t play with sketchy kids?” Her father sneered. Hange dumped the slug into a patch of flowers, never to be seen again.

“He isn’t sketchy. He’s Levi,” she replied, smiling at her father.

“Good to meet you,” Levi said, putting his hand out. Hange’s father crossed his hands across his chest with a “hmmf” escaping his mouth. 

“I don’t want to see you around my daughter again.” He placed his big hand on Hange’s shoulder, pulling her away from Levi. As she walked away, she signed to him “See you tomorrow?” with her hands. Levi nodded vigorously. She winked playfully at him. 

They continued to meet with each other in secret. They’d meet in the well-tended garden, behind the castle, in a haunted passageway where no one dared to enter, pretty much anywhere they possibly could without getting caught. 

The sky was dark blue with the full moon shining light into the haunted passageway. There were floorboards that obnoxiously creaked with each step. Levi sat on the floor with Hange in his lap, playing with her hair.

“Father says in a couple years I have to get married by someone he chooses,” Hange began. “That means I have to wear a stupid white dress with a stupid veil in my hair, marrying some stupid man I won’t love…” Hange placed her hands on his shoulders. “I am going to ask him if I can marry you.”

Levi’s eyes widened, his cheeks reddening. “We are too young to know anything about marriage, four-eyes.”

“We are 16, Levi,” she chuckled. “We’ve been friends, like, forever. Besides, in two years I am to be married anyways. Who says I’ll be prepared for that?” She kissed his cheek softly. They suddenly heard the floorboard creaking from down the dark, eerie hall. Hange and Levi shot upright. Hange grabbed Levi’s hand. “Let’s get out of here.”

Ever since that day, Levi had been showing up to the Zoe estate, offering to help in any way he could. He was dedicated to prove himself worthy of the King’s daughter. Deep down, Levi knew no one would ever be worthy of Hange: the bright and brilliant daughter of King Zoe. Hange had many other brothers and sisters, but she was the youngest and most important to her father. Important only because he had fucked up his relationship with the Yeager’s, his sister-in-law’s family. Hange was birthed solely for the purpose to repair the broken relationship. She was set to marry Zeke Yeager, the Yeagers’ eldest son.

King Zoe humored Levi and allowed him to help out around the castle. He let him work with the servants cleaning the windows, shoveling out the horses’ stables, and tending the garden. After two years of his dedication to working, Hange approached her father the night before the public decision of her marriage, and it was two days before her 18th birthday.

“Father,” she began, closing the door gently behind her. “I was hoping to talk to you about tomorrow—”

“What is it?”

“Well,” She looked at the floor as she spoke. “I was hoping you could consider another marriage candidate. His name is Levi Ackerman. Him and I have been friends for a very long time…”

“That’s the, uh… servant boy, correct?”

“Yes, Father.”

“No.”

Hange’s eyes widened, her face grimacing. “What do you mean ‘no’? Can’t you at least think about it?”

“I did think about it. The marriage has been decided for a very long time now…”

“Very long time? What are you talking about?”

“Don’t worry about it,” He boomed, sounding more stern than usual. “The decision has been made.” Hange felt tears well up in her eyes. She turned around, leaving the study. She began to run. As she picked up speed, her heart began to race faster and faster, her breathing became labored, and tears overflowed from her eyes. She ran and ran until her legs gave out from underneath her. Eventually, her body started to weaken and she collapsed, swallowed by the peace of darkness.

She woke up in her bed feeling exhausted. Today was the day she’d meet the family of her groom-to-be. Tomorrow was the wedding. She called in Nifa, her servant and close friend, to help her with her dress. A light peach dress was picked out for Hange. Hange despised the color and the whole idea of dresses. Nevertheless, Nifa helped tighten her corset and helped her get dressed. Nifa helped tie her hair in a tight bun atop her head with a peach flower sticking out. Hange hated it.

Her heels dully clicked on the carpet as she rushed down to the lobby. In the lobby were her parents, another family of which she was unaware, and some servants, including Levi.

“Miss. Hange Zoe,” Her father began, standing atop the grand staircase. “Please meet Zeke Yeager, your husband as of tomorrow.” He gestured towards a tall, blonde man with circular glasses. He wore a white suit. Hange stood up from where she was sitting to meet Zeke. She put her hand out and he gently kissed the top.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said, flashing her a smile. Hange nodded in visible annoyance. Maybe if I piss him off enough, he will decide to break up with me. She glanced at Levi for a brief moment. His face was unreadable, which made Hange nervous. 

Later that evening after dinner, Hange sat on a bench in the garden. She adored the garden; it was her escape from reality, even just for a little while. Tears began to flow from her eyes and into her lap. She didn’t want to marry Zeke Yeager as a peace treaty. She wanted Levi. She didn’t care if he was poor. He was her best friend and shit, she loved him. She loved Levi.

“That color doesn’t suit you,” said a voice, their footsteps nearing the girl. She looked up through glassy eyes and saw Levi. She chuckled softly. “You’re the first person today who hasn’t lied to me.” Levi sat down next to her.

“I’m going to be married tomorrow,” She quivers, unable to look Levi in the eyes. Instead, she looks down at the ground. Levi grabbed her hand, squeezing it softly. “You know when I told you I wanted to marry you, Levi? Well, I still do…” She found the courage to look at him. Thank goodness she did. Looking into his piercing grey eyes proved it all the more. 

“Me too,” he confessed. “But, we can’t. And we probably never will…” He placed his hand on her cheek. Her face flushed red. 

“Levi, let’s run away together. Right now.”

The idea made his heart flutter, but he knew she could never disobey her Father. He smiled sadly at her. “If we run and hide, what will that get us? We’d constantly be on the run, constantly looking over our shoulders. He’ll kill us.” She laughed.

“I’d like to see him try.” He knew she was all talk and no action. She would never be able to follow through, and that is what made his heart ache the most. 

“How is Zeke? He seems stiff,” He asked, changing the topic.

“He’s nice... but so bland. He isn’t you, Levi,” She explained, looking at their interlaced hands. She got a sudden burst of courage. “No matter if I marry him or move away, no matter what happens, I will always love you.” Her voice was starting to shake again. She looked back at him. Tears started to well up in his eyes. He brought her face to his, kissing her lips. Surges of emotions coursed through their bodies as their lips meshed together. They pulled away after a moment, foreheads touching. She knew it was hard for him to say what he meant; but after that kiss, she knew he would always love her too.

#levihan #levihan fic #levi ackerman #hange zoe #hanji zoe #levi x hange #levihan drabble week #aot #snk #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin

[aquaticalay]

I Know You Forever (Din Djarin x Reader)

Summary : Din thinks you deserve better. You ask him why.

Warning : mentions of blood, is fluff a warning?

Word count : 1.4k

Note : I found out that the Mando'a equivalent to 'I love you' is 'I Know You Forever' when directly translated. And I think it's beautiful. I literally spent a lot of time looking at Mando'a phrases for prompts 

Also, it's good to be posting here again! I decided to write a bunch of one shots before committing to a series again:)

I've reuploaded this bcs it didn't show in the tags

"You don't deserve this," Din whispered under his breath. The words were so weak from exhaustion, it was almost impossible to make out. Not to mention the distorted layer the modulator added to them.

"What do you mean?" You hummed, and it made Din somewhat furious. He did not need a mirror to tell that his face was fuming red. He wasn't angry, though. He was frustrated. How could you not see yourself the way he did? How dare you think you deserve a life of violence, when you could settle down and spend your days safe and sound? 

You were sat on the floor of the Razor Crest after a rather violent encounter with a band of pirates, stitching a cut on your bicep. There were no bacta left, so good ol' needle and thread would have to do. The wound had been gushing with blood just moments earlier, but a piece of bundled cloth and pressure did wonders to stop the bleeding. 

"You deserve better," he said, leaning on the stairs that lead to the cockpit, arms crossed across his chest. You could tell by the way his voice was briefly cut short by his own shallow breath that he was struggling to keep his own voice monotonous— that there was far deeper meaning behind the seemingly emotionless sentence.

"Do I?"

Fuck. You. 

Din hated this. He hated the way you toyed with your words. He hated that you were able to force him out of his shell, to coax his intentions and strip layers down, piece by piece, until it was bare to the very core. He hated that you always knew how to get around his secrecy.

He hated that he had a strong desire churning in his gut to open himself up to you.

Whether it was your fault or his, he did not know.

"You do," he managed to say through gritted teeth. The child was asleep in his bunk, so he did not have an excuse to get out of this conversation, like he sometimes did when things got too... intense.

"What—" you winced, cutting the final thread,— "What makes you think I deserve better, but you don't?" 

Gently, you cleaned up the excess blood and tidied the medpac. Your bruised fingers danced on the box so graciously. On their own, no one would've thought the destruction they could bring. But if they saw who those hands belonged to— if they saw you— suddenly the cuts and the discolored patches of skin from the wounds along your revealed skin made sense. Suddenly they were able to link the precision of your hands to the ferocity behind your eyes.

Unlike him, you don't hide under beskar. Your battle scars were on display as if you were proudly showing the universe how much you can take— how much you've been through.

They were like spoils of war. They told your story. Unlike Din, who would rather keep every single story he had buried deep within his heart a secret.

Din stayed quiet. He didn't really know how to answer your question. You've been in the game for as long as he has. You chose this life, like him. 

"I don't... know," he managed to say. 

But he knew. He always knew why.

He loved you. That was something that took a long time for him to come to terms with, but he finally did.

The truth is, you didn't necessarily deserve a better life than him. He just wants you to have a better life.

One of these days, you'll get hurt. It happens to everyone he has ever worked with; it was a pattern he simply could not ignore anymore. And if you go where he can't follow... he can't possibly live with himself.

"Then quit saying that, tin man," You chuckled wholeheartedly, "I'm a big girl. I can make my own decisions."

You grabbed a metal railing and pulled yourself up, only to get light headed and stumble across the floor.

You cursed under your breath. You should have expected that. You had lost a lot of blood, after all.

"Whoa," Din managed to catch you before you fell, holding your waist steady, "Easy." 

"Stupid blood loss," you managed to crack a smile. Looking into his dark T-visor, you could only imagine he was smiling with you.

Even if he was, you doubt he'd ever tell.

"You need to rest," he said softly, his thumb circling ever so slightly against your waist. You held on to his shoulder and pushed yourself away, balancing yourself to stand up on your own.

"I will."

"Now," he said sternly.

You looked straight into where his eyes would be behind the helmet. He looked so... cold. All the damn time. If it weren't for the little things— like how his body would relax when you'd place your hand on his shoulder, or how he had held you up just now, you wouldn't assume he was organic underneath.

"What?" Din asked, confused. He caught you staring.

"Nothing," you slumped back down to the floor, taking his advice on resting. "You're just— you seem cold," you blurted your thoughts out.

"I'm not," Din said, a little too defensively. His voice cracked at the thought that the only person he ever loved perceived him as heartless. 

You gave him a lopsided grin. "You're not," you agreed, "You just seem like it. If you were, you wouldn't have taken the child under your care—" you paused, trying to find the words to say next, "—If you were, you wouldn't have thought I deserved better."

But you do, Din wanted to say, you deserve the stars and moons, you deserve the universe, but you settled for this... life.

Why would any one in the right mind do that?

But he decided to keep his words to himself this time.

You watch as the quiet man slowly sat down across from you. He might not admit that he was exhausted, but you saw that he didn't hold himself as rigidly as he normally would.

He was just as tired as you were, minus the blood loss.

"I care about you," you admitted shyly, "I really do. And if I deserve anything, I deserve a lifetime of fighting by your side. I want a lifetime of fighting by your side."

Din froze. This wasn't the first you had left him speechless. 

"Din?" You called, trying to get a response out of him. His name rolled off your tongue like syrup, and it was only more meaningful because you only ever addressed him by his birth name in private.

"It would be my honor," Din finally said, "To fight by your side for the rest of my life."

Din had no fear of death. Part of being a Mandalorian is having a resolute acceptance of death. He knew that death was a matter of how and not if, so it made sense to him to be more concerned about dying a warrior's death than death itself. He was fully aware that all things age, all things die. Everything that was formed by the universe becomes one with it again, someway, somehow.

But you make him want to cling to life a little longer. 

"Din?" You called out again.

"Yes?"

"I know you forever," you hummed sincerely, leaning forward and mindlessly tracing your fingers on the cheek of his helmet.

And Din swore his heart skipped a beat.

He knew you had bought a Mando'a to Galactic Basic dictionary that included common phrases at a junkyard as a joke, and he knew you started reading it in your spare time. He assumed you were just bored. He didn't expect...

Unable to read Din's silence, you smiled sadly. "You don't have to say it back. I just wanted you to know—"

"I— I know you forever, too." He cut you off. Despite the crack in his voice, there was no hesitation.

Gently, he cupped your face, bringing you closer to him as he pressed his helmet, where his forehead would be, against yours, your warm skin nearly sizzling against the cool beskar. Din closed his eyes at first, but when he opened them a few moments later, he saw that your eyes were shut, your facial features more relaxed than he had ever seen. You melted into his arms, and suddenly he understood why people feared death.

Because now, he had you and the child. He had something to live for.

-end

#din djarin imagines #din djarin imagine #din djarin x reader #din djarin #mando imagines #mando imagine #mando x reader #mando #the mandalorian imagines #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian imagine #the mandalorian #pedro pascal imagines #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #star wars imagine #star wars imagines #mandalorian

[space-blue]

Blink

I loved this story so much, I made a decent effort of turning it into a multi chapter novella. Maybe one day...

Corpses are everywhere. They're much more common than the average death fearing citizen thinks. It's people like me who are rare. The dead clutter, live together like we do. They converge in morgues, hospitals, research buildings, cemeteries, houses, the odd back alley. I try and live far from human life to keep away from human death, but the lush forests and deep rivers are appealing, and sometimes one of my silent friends come a-visiting, dragged along unwilling, to be left behind, like a bone buried in the big cities' backyard. Then I'll blink and my traitorous eyes open somewhere else, to some vista a corpse is unknowingly enjoying. I've trained hard to keep my Death-Eyes from wandering, but isolation makes me slack, and my dusty morals couldn't keep me from tipping the police.

I assume this is how FBI special agent Lem McCaulkay tracked me down. He came to me with his head bowed and his feet dragging.

"You know I wouldn't be here if it weren't huge, if you couldn't make all the difference in the world."

"I'm retired."

"Have you looked at the news?"

"No. Did you notice the absence of TV? The long, winding dirt roads? I don't want news to find me. I'd rather you hadn't found me either. You're bad news incarnate."

"Lone..."

"That's Sørensen to you, Agent McCaulkay."

He drops the file then, all printed out, old school. It's thick and thumps hard on the table. He flips the cover without saying a word, revealing eight young women, looking up at me with their white, dead eyes from dog-eared photographs. The press coupon taped behind them dubbed their maker the "Last Shadow", after his taste for afternoon abductions. I thumb through the autopsy reports, find a map with details of dates and locations. All the victims were snatched and dumped in a pretty short and even perimeter. Accidental, bold, or stupid? Asking for my help was the obvious thing to do.

"He's just plucked a new one off the street yesterday. We were lucky to learn about it this soon. We believe he keeps them alive three to four days. If you join us, we might catch him in the act."

Agent 'Caulk', fixer of all things gone wrong, had asked me for help before. Some cases just won't patch themselves, some killers are just too clever, or too lucky, too educated, or too odd. I had worked for him, answering my own youthful needs, strongest among them my need to please, to earn approval and notice where there were none. Such drives are long gone, and my own case is another thing 'Caulk' cannot mend. I didn't retire for nothing.

"I suppose you've noticed the numbers in the autopsies, here, such high levels... He does that to them while alive, Lem. Dying. Damn it, you come here to ask me to go with you and look out for this, look down a peeled chest being sawed off and then up the monster's face. Who's gonna pay for my therapy after that, the FBI?"

I fix my inhuman eyes on him then, childishly hoping to make his skin crawl, but all I see is the despair coiled deep within his sunken, red-rimmed eyes. I idly wonder if it's this case that turned all his hair to silver, or if it was gradual, colour leached by a decade of sleepless nights spent hounding the worst dregs of humanity.

"Hell, Sørensen, you know I'd pay to swap those Death-Eyes of yours if I could, anything to avoid involving you. Chasing serial-killers is my calling, not yours. But this," he taps a new picture, not yet stapled down on the Last Shadow's folder, a photograph of a woman alive and smiling, "this is enough for me to come and ask you. Do you think I'm pleased to have you look for a corpse in the making, when we know she's still alive? We have Jenkins and Everyn pulling their hair out over this case, they still haven't cracked it. Please, Lone, we need you. So that this one becomes the last. Join us."

I feel the edges of the silence where he ought to have said "one last time", but refrained from lying. They'll ask me as long as they'll know where to find me. I look around at my house, so cosy and warm, full of hard woods and the flicker of flames, wishing I had the guts to say no.

"Just this once, Lem. Just this once..."

I'll just have to hide better next time.

My job from then on is to blink, and blink is what I do, while some FBI goon drives us around. Decay clouds my sight, so I can browse through bodies, identifying fresh ones, newly hatched from their living shells. I blink, my vision shifts–there is no describing it–and I see a lot of darkness. Blink, a ceiling, blink, a couple of students busy over my chest. Blink, and bright lights, exhausted, masked faces. Emergency rooms and operating blocks are sad places to look into. There comes blurry trees and I tell that to Lem. Oak and chestnut. You've got to know your plants in my line of work.

"White male. Gloving and bloated, weeks old. Looks down a hill on a grey concrete building. Not sure, it's hazy."

"We'll check," Lem says, dispatching the description for someone else to deal with. Decaying male bodies aren't what we're after.

It is late in the night when we stop in an isolated motel. Our driver gets his own room while Lem settles in a bed across from mine, a habit from our days doing cross-country manhunts. I drift asleep, my mind stumbling into dreams of the past, nightmares of corpses I made, where I blink back up at my own blood-speckled face, my eyes like twin black holes amidst a red galaxy. I wake in a cold sweat and listen to Lem's breath in the paling night, its even rhythm calming my nerves, pushing the terrors back down the dark corridors of my mind.

We drive on, making circles in the circle of the Last Shadow's deaths. I can hear Lem sitting by me, juggling paper maps, GPS and ringing phones. I can feel my face pressed against the window, the roughness of my jeans as I rub my thighs in a little ritual to remind me I'm alive, to help me centre myself when I blink back into my living flesh. Blinking away from yourself thinking this was just another stop in another corpse is an experience one learns to avoid.

I blink and look up into the affable face of a mortician busy fixing my eyes closed for some upcoming ceremony of adieu. I blink through the dimness of many morgue drawers, freezers, closed and open casks.

When he kills her, she is so close it draws my eyes like magnets, the vision crystal clear. I cry out, startling everyone including myself.

"Lem, oh shit Lem, he's cutting me up!"

The recorder is pressed to my cheek and Lem's hands cup my skull, brushing my face, my real face, not the one looking down on the surgical saw's movements.

"You're here with me, safe. Talk to me Lone."

There is precious little to say about the butchering happening to her – to me, as I see it – that was not already said in autopsy reports or guessed by the experts and technicians working the case. The Last Shadow, a blond, portly man, has boring features, light baby-blue eyes and a clean, cunning set-up in a mortared cellar, offering very few chances of clues for his pursuers.

It goes on forever, it seems, before Lady Luck gives me what we need. The Last Shadow never quite foresaw that one of his dead women would damn him by looking over his shoulder as he carried her out to his white van.

"Blue roof, two story house, messy garden with a big oak tree. Heck! Lem, there's a church sign down the right side," I roll my eyes, straining, "It's for a Lutheran church, Black Hill County!"

I feel my body sink into my seat as our driver slams his foot on the accelerator. Lem is barking orders in his phone, while I look up into the face of our murderer, framed in his van's open door, unsuspectingly smirking down on his handiwork. I guess he's looking forward to tomorrow's newspapers. What a bad surprise he's about to get. Yet what a cheerless victory, seen from down there.

I close my eyes at last, covering my tear streaked face and willing darkness to bring me whatever relief it can through the blaring sirens, with Lem's palm hot over my bunched fists. Forlorn, I once again find myself wondering whether my eyes will finally cease to see the world when fate in turn makes a corpse out of me.

~~ October 2016 – Theme : Corpses

#original work #original story #competition #dark fantasy #favourite

[puttingfingerstokeys]

Battle for Haven

Nanowrimo day 15 Featuring Jak and Torn Dystopian sci-fi idk Jak and Daxter saga, post Jak 3, violence, war, death, etc. Unfinished and unedited

Jak hissed as yet another volley of ordnance fell close to their position, too damn close. He had assumed the Metalhead threat was long gone and had grown complacent. He knew that now, of course, but now was too damn late. The next round was close enough to spray them with hot sand. Torn grunted and hauled himself closer, elbowing Jak in the ribs. 

“Next ridge,” he barked, “there’s a platoon of the bastards. How’d it get this bad, Jak?”

Jak shook his head, reflecting momentarily and wondering how they had allowed the numbers of their greatest enemy to rise once more. The parasitic beings known as the Metalheads were all but gone when Ashelin had taken her proper place as baroness of Haven. Torn was once more head of security, but for the League, a peace-keeping force, rather than one dedicated entirely to a special brand of tyranny. 

They had made close, good ties with the people of Spargus and trade had opened up between them. Both communities were thriving and why not? Had they not earned this? Had they not suffered and bled for this? Were they not still bleeding? Torn kept one arm tucked closely around his midsection indicating that yes, they were indeed still bleeding. 

“We’re gunna fall back to Spargus,” Jak shouted over the cacophony. Nattering away in the distance, the gunfire drew ever closer. Their position was not quite compromised, but if they did not leave now, they never would. “Abandon Haven,” he added, “for now.” 

Torn’s tattooed visage was a mask of frustration, fury, and understanding. He was not a fool and knew when to cut his losses. They had both lost much, this day and on the few weeks preceding this final stand. Ashelin’s blood still likely soaked the commons out front of Haven’s newly-constructed senate building, as if the Metalheads had been waiting, watching for the ideal opportunity to strike.

“Move!” The ugly whistle of a falling shell all but deafened the pair as Jak threw himself on top of Torn and, at the very last moment, transformed into his light form, wings flashing, and a shroud of energy encircling and protecting them. If not for that instinct, they would have both been chunks, at best.  

Torn recovered quickly, regaining the air in his lungs with a gasp. Sand immediately filled his mouth and he spat it to the side, grimacing. He was bruised, but alive. That was more than he could say for a good portion of their troops. No one knew whence the Metalhead’s new strength had come, but they were not holding back.

“We gotta move,” Jak observed in his strange, ethereal voice. White eyes gave off a gentle, eldritch light and sent a shudder of awe down Torn’s spine. Jak’s light eco mutation—Torn was not sure how else to think of it—took almost all the growl out of the young man’s voice and left it serene and gentle. But for its current tone of urgency and the shells falling around them, Torn could have stayed where he was, might even have fallen asleep.

Jak stood and hoisted Torn by the front of his armor, not bothering to ask permission. There simply wasn’t time. He was pleased, at least, to see that the man had finally taken his advice and had begun to clothe himself in more than his light accoutrements, which in general included more leather and rough spun cloth than actual plates. But under this kind of heavy fire, not even his blue-white shield would hold forever. What chance had physical armor? A particularly well-placed round answered his question and the barrier cracked, spidering like glass, from the impact.

The sound of the barrier giving way galvanized Torn into action and he took off, headed toward Spargus and the sizeable barriers the wastelanders had managed to erect at the first signs of trouble. There was one thing to be said for Jak’s scrappy people: they were always prepared. He thought the people of Haven were prepared as well, however, having borrowed a page from Spargus’s book. Evidently, he should have grabbed more than one.

On several occasions, he and the council had sat in long, dolorous meetings regarding Haven security. Torn had brought up the initiative to reinforce the walls and double the guards in the sewers and really any potential, lower entrance to the city. Metalheads were not known for their ability to fly high enough to evade basic perimeter defenses, thankfully, so what was already atop the walls was decided to be good enough. The council gave him that. They did not give him the draft.

“Our forces should remain voluntary!” Once council member had insisted, blustering over a full mustache and an even fuller belly. Torn tried not to judge based on appearances, but this man appeared to be just another fat cat looking to line his wallet and pad his behind. He understood the sentiment, but they simply did not have the luxury of laying about and waiting for an attack.

“Then mandatory two years in,” Torn countered. “Everyone sixteen and up.”

“Sixteen?!” A council member shrieked this in such a melodramatic fashion, Torn nearly laughed. “Surely you’re joking, Commander!”

He bristled. “I was fifteen when I joined the Krimzon Guard.”

This had silenced the council for but a moment before all hell seemed to break loose. Some argued for Torn’s suggestion, one or both of them; most argued against it. He wished they had the luxury of doing that, but after the initial attack and now that everyone knew of the Precursor ruins beneath the city, they had to watch their backs more than ever. Or, rather, they should have been doing that. What they did instead was argue. Now most of them were dead. Arguing had gotten them an early grave and he had lost good people trying to defend the rest of Haven. Yes, a few more pages out of the wastelanders’ book would have done them some good.

More than once, on diplomatic missions to Spargus—or just a social call to its leader—a few of the rough-and-tumble citizens had invited Torn to stay with them, saying he and his tattoos would fit in nicely, that he’d do well in the desert. Had it not been for Ashelin and his responsibilities to Haven, he might very well have taken them up on this offer. Time was not kind, however, and what had happened was in the past, repairable by no one and nothing. He cursed under his breath as he hauled himself into a heavily armored Hellcat, modified here and there and painted blue. Jak vaulted the vehicle gracefully and returned to his normal, non-glowing state as his rear-end landed in the passenger’s seat.

“You good to drive?” Jak’s eyes were bleary, the blue of his irises accentuated by the red of his exhaustion and the bags underneath them. Neither man had slept in what felt like years, though it was probably only a day or two.

“We haven’t got time to switch,” snapped Torn as the vehicle’s engine turned over. He tested the accelerator and, satisfied with its performance, put the pedal to the floor. The vehicle tossed up a significant rooster tail of sand and then, as the rockets gained traction in the dry air, they were off. Jak pushed himself up in his seat and craned his body around to ensure they were, in fact, out of range. When no more volleys landed around them, he settled and turned his attention to his taciturn companion.

“You signaled the retreat an hour ago, Torn; why didn’t you leave then?”

“You know the answer,” said Torn, wishing his pulse would cease its relentless pounding. He was not bleeding heavily and they were well out of danger with a vehicle that, though it was not made to traverse the desert, was moving along at a decent pace, leaving patches of glass in its wake where the terrain forced it upward and the jet downward, into waiting sand. 

Rather than responding verbally, Jak nodded, understanding completely. He did not feel foolish for asking, of course; it was his duty as a friend to be concerned for Torn. They were of a mind in this, intent on fighting to their last breath, but that did not mean they had to be stupid about it. Torn had been covering the retreat. Jak had no doubt several people had stayed behind, refusing to leave, intent on helping their commander. 

He knew they had not made it. 

Jak knew, too, that Torn would inevitably blame himself, if he did not already. This was not a pain borne as a poet might, gnashing his teeth and lamenting his losses. It was something Torn carried in silence, a massive burden slung across proverbially broad shoulders. This was the weight of leadership and if anyone had the right qualities to bear it, in Jak’s estimation, it was Torn. 

They crested a hill and finally, the barriers were in sight. Mounted guns were placed at intervals along the retrofitted Precursor tech shield that ran the entire perimeter. These were automated, people were absolutely on standby, ready and willing to man the towers, should something happen to the auto-turrets. 

Jak felt himself sigh, releasing a breath he had not realized he was holding, at the sight of his home. He kept the sensation of relief to himself, however, as he realized that the closer they drew to Spargus, the farther they were from Haven, smouldering ruins though it was. That place had been Torn’s home. He was born there and Jak guessed he had fully expected to die there, as well. Not on my watch, he thought to himself, sparing a glance at the man in the driver’s seat of the Hellcat. 

The vehicle was sputtering, sand having lodged itself firmly in the intake valves. Here and there, it had crystallized under the extreme heat of the vehicle’s inner workings and the display showed several areas of vulnerability. Torn paid these no mind and instead continued to guide the thing in toward the secondary barrier, the walls of the savage city. 

He knew that if they stalled out, a contingent of Spargus soldiers would come from behind the safety of the walls to assist; Jak was their king, after all. This brought Torn some comfort as the Hellcat sputtered more fervently beneath them. He shifted upward once more and pushed it as hard as he thought it could manage, knowing that a stall would bring them slamming into the ground and skidding through the sand, but also willing to do just about anything to get them as close as possible.

The auto-turrets tracked their position, but Jak had alerted his people to their arrival, likely before coming out to save Torn, and the guns did not open up. He had come a long way from the enraged seventeen-year-old kid who had barreled his way into the underground all those years ago, demanding to see The Shadow. Torn was, in his way, proud of Jak, though he knew he had no right to be. 

It was not until he felt a rough warmth on the back of his right hand that Torn realized he had been lost in thought, completely unaware of his surroundings, save that they had still been going forward and they had not crashed. Jak’s hand closed over Torn’s fist, which was gripping the Hellcat’s gearshift with white knuckles. 

“We’re still here,” Jak said simply. “And as long as we’re here, the fight is, too.”

This time, it was Torn’s turn to nod. He had no words to either affirm or to combat this statement. It was the simple truth of everything and precisely what this conflict boiled down to: whether or not they were willing to take a stand.

#CC #CW #Torn #Jak #violence #jak and daxter #I'd love to write Torn again honestly

[artsyld]

The Snake, The Bombs, and the Mongoose

A Hazbin Hotel story, about Sir Pentious, his Egg Bois, and the night they met @modtime‘s OC, Roxane. 

   It was the same monotonous cycle, year in and year out.    Faceless exterminators, tall, lean, and mechanically deadly, would take out a few denizens or so once a year, regardless of what they were doing. It seemed like with each passing purge, more are attacked and lose whatever little they had left, after crossing over from Earth to the hellish world they'd been sent to. Sir Pentious knew it all too well.     He recalled a time when extermination wasn't even a thought. Sure, an unlucky soul would be destroyed every now and then, but that, he recalled, was often fueled by carelessness, not by social motives. With the coming of the twenty-first century however came an apparent lack of morality, faith, and forgiveness on Earth (at least, that's what some of the newer denizens would propose), and now the bleak, red world that the black and gold cobra was stuck in just felt overcrowded. Overflowing with humanoids and talking creatures alike, who never atoned and made amends for their past mistakes, the world around Sir Pentious grew increasingly uncivilized, chaotic, and, in his opinion, unintelligent.  Sir Pentious wouldn't allow it; not in this bloody dimension where destruction seemed to be the top priority in everyone's minds. If only it could learn from him. After all, the snake was a brilliant inventor, acclaimed and respected during his career on Earth. In the world he longed for again, gentlemen held doors open for ladies, and many were not inclined to be so destructive and reckless in good company. No one seemed to think much of these qualities the way Sir Pentious did. Even some of those who'd passed on from within his time period had given up a long time ago to try and maintain that sense of discipline that had been instilled in him since childhood. But the snake simply wouldn't. As long as his long slithering body was shaking, as long as the eyes on his tail and the blinking one on his hat still moved and pondered like he did, no matter what their prideful "Leader", his current Queen Lucine, or anyone else thought, he would no longer sit idly by, while his former world, basking in its title as being what he'd describe as "a beacon of civilization and culture," would completely disappear.  This very thinking led Sir Pentious down his road of villainy, a path as long and as winding as his serpentine tail. He knew it would be tricky; the very idea of trying to take over a city-a kingdom, in fact- was no easy task, but to take over one of this scale? It would be an experience for sure; perhaps an enjoyable one? On the night he had resolved to make these choices, the clever creature couldn't help but grin. He could only imagine what the heavenly hosts would think. Nevertheless, he would follow through with his claims. If he was going to be stuck here in a place he found quite awful, he was going to make it fit his standards.  He knew better than to try it alone. Even some of the most ambitious fellows he'd ever read up on, Alexander the Great, Genghis Khan, Brutus of Rome; even fictional men, like King Claudius and Fagin the old pickpocket, had others, With that in his mind, it wasn't long before he found his own others in the form of the Egg Bois, a collection of talking eggs, who came to appreciate Sir Pentious. The broken cracks of their shells served as their eyes and mouths, and they too pulled off dark gray suits lined with long gold stripes like the cobra they now followed. They even matched their small golden eyes, full of enthusiasm and contentment, at being considered useful by someone at last.  Over the decades, Sir Pentious and the Egg Bois would conjure up very complex schemes to try and dismantle their monarch. Some schemes involved infiltrating a recently approved organization; for others, their approach included the growing influence of Pentious's side businesses. Though the growing population was helping his businesses grow in profit, the overwhelming crowds and cacophony did nothing to soothe the cobra. And apparently not even the one who first thought of those inconvenient killers. Though his small gang never did get far anyway, Sir Pentious was ambitious and incredibly determined. Even when the destructive exterminators came along to take the lives of their fellow citizens, Sir Pentious kept his focus; even when territorial genocide became a factor in this fallen kingdom he wanted. Especially when he was truthfully inconvenienced by the conception and birth of Lucine's daughter, Charlie, he wouldn't give in.        Over this period of time however, the more Sir Pentious and the Egg Bois failed, the more he began to feel that sense of lacking; as if somehow, having henchmen, his engineer's mind, and his never ending desire for power, were no longer enough. One day, as he silently watched his fellow citizens from his red, dark gray, and golden home, quietly noticing a recently deceased goth with big silver hair, ranting at what appeared to be a pink and cream colored spider creature with a smirk on his face, he suddenly considered something he hadn't before.  Perhaps the reason why he frequently failed to mold this cacophonous dimension to his liking was due to a lack of a co-conspirator. Someone he can exchange ideas with and show off his skills to. He looked over at the Egg Bois, seeing them pop open bottles of champagne after a long day of working. Sir Pentious frowned and quietly scoffed at them. They were suitable henchmen, he supposed, but certainly not partner material. He needed a quick-witted someone.    Or it could be that he was just overthinking things; most likely. For now though, he walked off from the scene, putting his thoughts away for awhile. "Bois, gather around!" he exclaimed, beckoning the Bois from all over their meeting room. It was a tall, glistening place with shining gold and pink windows, mismatched by deep grey walls. Each of the bois crowded near a red monitor perched on a pedestal, paired with two levers.   "Out of the way-out of the way," he said, as he pulled on the levers. "Tonight, the Captain of the Guard of our fearless 'leader' is visiting the Purge Messengers," he explained, pointing as a map of the Inferno appeared. He pointed to a small rectangle on the map, on completely opposite ends where the Royal Family's castle sat. "We've managed to find out that the Captain will be carrying the procedures for the purge commencing next week. Now, if we can drug or distract the Captain-or blow him up if possible- and get ahold of those plans, we can present ourselves to the population, and present this year's escape routes and how-to's! For a price of course; I could be the one to settle the chaos this year and keep people in one piece. People like to be looked after, you know. Everyone will look to me for guidance! More guidance, means more respect, which means more being 'hip', as some people say! And being 'hip', means more influence. And where does influence lead? Power! And with that power can quickly lead to-"     "Domination?" an Egg Bois asked. There was a sudden silence, as Sir Pentious practically stared him down with an annoyed scowl. The boi that spoke sank back down into his stance, and pointed his head down.   

 "DOMINATION!!" Sir Pentious replied, instantly rising his voice.  "YEAH!!!" the Egg Bois all cheered and clapped. The mouthy fumbled with his hands.  "Brilliant, Sir Pentious!"  "No one will stand a chance!"  The blinking hat on his head grinned as the serpent did. This, in particular, was a moment he looked forward to each day; his collection of minions appreciating him as the knowing eyes on his tail, clothes, and cobra hood looking at his face. It was a comforting thing; temporary, but comforting all the same.   ...

 The blood red sky loomed over Roxane, as she maneuvered from street lamp to street lamp, carrying a leather purse over her shoulders. She wanted to rub her back from the ache of a newly stitched patch of skin on her lower back, where her tail used to be. Regardless of the pain, the mongoose used her keen sense of smell to sense any followers; any who might've seen her swipe some loot just after her operation. Thankfully, there were none. Now that she was far away from the scenes of her crimes, she decided to simply walk down the sidewalk and try to relax. Walking near various creatures of different types, her head pointed towards a collection of televisions behind a window, all featuring a blonde haired demon with a smile too wide to be comforting.   "And finally, the Annual Purge is just five days away. I'd say 'hope and pray you don't die', but let's face it. We're already dead!" she announced with an oddly cheerful tone. "And as usual, we'll be presenting live coverage of the event, from our studio of course! I'm Katie Killjoy, for the 6 o'clock news," Roxane wrinkled her little black nose, more out of distaste. Leave it to crazy Killjoy and her coworkers to sit tight in their studio while the rest of their dimension had to run and hide.  "Ah, who am I kidding?" she thought to herself. "They've done it since the start of these stupid purges. Why change now?" After a quick growl of her stomach, she hurried past the televisions and down the street, holding her bag close, without trying look too suspicious. Warning posters, and demons indulging in various vices, from lust to wrath to gluttony, lined the sidewalks, and clumped themselves under streetlights, either ignoring her entirely or looking at her either with mean spirited ridicule or judgement. No matter, she always thought. She lightly stepped across the street and mumbled an 'excuse me', as she slipped by people. Most didn't bother with a response or even the turn of the head. She didn't care much these days. She hadn't known an entirely pleasant face since before the end of her life on Earth. Granted, she couldn't have expected anything better; not in this place. She pulled her hat a little further down onto her head, and glanced over her shoulder one last time, just to be safe.   Roxane only sped up her walk once she left the busy epicenter of downtown. As she pulled her large cap over her head, suburbs gradually took their places as she grew closer to her apartment complex. She happened upon a three story apartment building, dirty and sad looking, on the other end of suburbs, where the houses and strip centers sat near open fields and one solitary skyscraper, a secondary meeting place for employees of the Royal Family, Roxane had once been told.   The building was also littered with demons, partaking in smoking, drinking, screaming at each other, and throwing a punch or two. The latter of which took place just by her usual flight of stairs to get to her own little apartment. She rolled her eyes, but before she could use the flight of stairs on the other end of the building, she noticed something she found particularly odd.  A collection of talking ovals scurried from street corner to corner, whispering among each other as they crossed the streets. Roxane, tired as she was, could've sworn they were...no they couldn't be. She slipped behind the building and watched them giggle at each other about a joke she didn't quite catch.   They certainly did look like eggs, but surely they couldn't be...scrambled eggs sounded really nice right about now, she thought. She sank to her arms and knees and hid behind large, fallen debris, in hopes of getting a better look at them. Just as she suspected, they were four Egg Bois, with broken cracks for their mouths and eye sockets. The bois stopped at a corner a little close by the skyscraper, giving Roxane the chance she needed to get close enough to verify what these creatures were.    "There's just one thing I don't understand?" the first one asked, albeit grouchily.  "What's that, Curtis?" another, Martin, asked, sounding tired. Roxane watched them from behind and smirked a little. The more she looked at these eggs, however animate, the more she felt her hunger spike. Nasty little thoughts entered her head.   "Why exactly would the Big Man Downstairs get a random skyscraper built all the way out here in the trashy suburbs? Isn't he just begging for trouble?"  "Have you seen the demons around here?" another asked, trying to stay focused on looking out. "They're too busy smoking and drinking with their pals. No sensible crook from Downtown would bother doing business with a lazy gaggle of bums. Though I doubt they're worse than that Angel Dust-"  "Oh yeah, I can't stand that guy!" Curtis cried. "If that arachno-jerk ever shows up again, I oughta cave his head in! I'd go 'wham!'-" he cried, throwing a punch. "And a 'kerpow!'-, and a-ugh!"  There was a sudden quiet.   "...finally he shuts up," Martin whispered.       "Bois-" Sir Pentious whispered, as he appeared from the shadows and beckoned them. "Hello, Boss!" the third of them, Samuel, replied.   "How many times do I have to tell you bois, that you have to be quiet? Especially on these jobs?" he asked strictly. The eye on his hat practically glared at the trio. "Wait a minute..." Sir Pentious did a head count. "One, two, th-...are we missing someone?" The Eggs Bois looked around them. "Where's Curtis?" the fourth of them, Frederick, asked.  "Excellent question," Sir Pentious grumbled. "...well, it could still work with two...Frederick!"     "Boss?"   "Go find Curtis! I don't want anyone seeing him and getting suspicious," he ordered.     "Yes, sir!" Frederick replied before speeding away.  Sir Pentious hid the remaining bois, including himself, at the sound of footsteps, clacking on the pavement. Slipping towards the side of the skyscraper, Sir Pentious and Samuel peeked over the corner and found a well dressed demons wearing many medals approaching the sliding doors of the skyscraper, looking very smug. He was a very handsome gentleman, very humanoid in appearance, with long flowing dark hair. His eyes were a flaming red, and around his chest was a satchel; one that Sir Pentious stared at intently. "There he is, bois. Captain Mermeoth, one of the original Fallen Angels from before the Creation of Man. They say he was there the moment the Princess's father first proposed his rebellion."  "He looks awfully impressive, Boss," Samuel replied.  "Yes, but not for long," Sir Pentious told him with a grin.  "Get ready to distract him."    "Yes, sir!" Martin agreed.  "And Samuel, take your place on the other side of the building. Wait for the moment I nod my head. Trigger the bombs, and it'll send them to his knees. Then, when he's preoccupied, grab the plans. He always keeps them in that satchel of his. You boys ready?"  "Right!" Samuel replied.     Martin was silent.       "Martin?" Sir Pentious looked behind him and Samuel. The hat's eye widened in shock. Samuel looked left and right. "Where did he go??" the boi asked. Sir Pentious's face was thrown left and right, and his face expressed a look of confusion, frustration, and maybe even a little worry.     "What is going on here?!" he demanded.     "HELP!! HELP!!!!"     "That sounds like Martin!" Samuel cried. Sir Pentious hummed in suspicion. His hat glared a cold dagger. ...     "HELP-HELP-HELP!!"   "Shut up, dude, huh?" Roxane snapped. Wrapped up in her arms were three squirming egg bois, kicking their feet and struggling. Using her paws as well as she could, she gathered a collection of trash and a pan, and attempted to start a fire on the opposite side of the street parallel to the skyscraper. Hiding in an alleyway, she kept her eyes open and alert, should any particular cobras show up. "Shh-shh, sorry, fellas, nothing personal. I'm a mongoose, you're some eggs, and I'm starving. Don't be so sore about it."  "NO, YOU CRAZY BROAD! LET. US. GO!" Curtis cried.  "WAAAHHH I WANT SIR PENTIOUS!" Martin wailed. Roxane rolled her eyes as she tried to light up a match and make a fire. When the matchstick was lit, she flung it into the trash and watched the flame flare up. "There we go! Now, bois, try to relax. This will only take a-OW!"   Roxane felt a clawed hand grasp her bare shoulder and turn her around. Sir Pentious clutched her skin with a terrible glare on his face and hat. 

 "WHAT THE BLOODY HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING??!!" Roxane jumped, causing the bois to fall from her arms.   "HOORAY! The Boss has come to save us!" Curtis cheered.  "YAHOOOO!" the other bois cried. They crowded around Sir Pentious and beamed at him. "We love you, Sir Pentious!"     "Yes, yes, yes-" he said, putting them all behind him. Roxane couldn't help but smirk as she pushed herself away from him.   "Aw, the big bad Egg Dad protecting his sons." The cobra's muscles tensed up at such a response.   "Sons?! Who do you think you are, snatching my henchmen, young woman?" Roxane frowned at him. "Well, that can happen, when you're wandering around Hell, stuffed full of mischievous demons." Her smile was bold, and filled with sharp pearly whites. Sir Pentious curled his fingers in, taken aback a little by her courage. The mongoose seemed pleased at her apparently unexpected sass.  "That may be, my dear, but you don't just simply steal a man's minions, Hell or no Hell," he snarled. Roxane squared her shoulders a little, in preparation for a fight.   "Well, I-" She pushed away her bag, causing it to tip over. Sir Pentious briefly noticed some of the items inside; two brown and black wallets, a bag of chips, a crowbar, and a debit card with a masculine name etched in it. "Perhaps, this isn't your first theft, is it, my mongoose?" he asked, with an arched eyebrow. Roxane tied her hair up just in case.   "You clever cobra, you," she replied, not frowning for a second. "Thanks," he replied arrogantly. His tail nudged Curtis to snatch her bag. "Hey!!" she exclaimed as Sir Pentious took the bag and looked through it with an evil smirk on his face. "I can't stay long, but I'm interested in your repertoire. Let me see," he opened up the wallets and found ID cards that clearly didn't match her face. "Two hundred Hell Credits, a crowbar-useful for thefts, I will admit-a bag of salt and oil, and...Garrett Kane," he grinned at her, upon reading the payment card. "You don't look like a Garrett Kane."  

  Roxane lunged for the bag, before Sir Pentious slipped out of the way, tripping her with his tail. His hat beamed with malicious pleasure before Roxane grabbed on his arm and tugged him to the ground. The Egg Bois huddled together, gasping and worried. The mongoose pinned him to the ground, giggling with mild ridicule. "You know that the mongoose is your natural enemy, right?" She clenched her fist up and sent it sailing down towards his face. However, the serpent grabbed it, as his hat fell off and rolled away from him. His mouth and eyes widened with a deafening hiss, as he sat up, jerking her back. He pinned her to the wall, holding her by her wrists.  "The Laws of the Earth don't apply in Hell, my dear."  Roxane's chest heaved up and down as she briefly analyzed her situation. His clawed fingers pressed down on her skin, but strangely enough, not too deep that it drew blood. Looking at him and all of his eyes falling on her, she felt wouldn't break, not in front of this slithering creature. "I'll give you that," she breathed, still smirking. "Sir Pentious...right?"  The snake was silent, not expecting her to utter his name.     "You're in one of those gangs that are always fighting for terf. I saw you throw a grenade at a girl once. Tall woman, long blonde ponytail, one red eye?"   "You know Cherri?" he hissed distastefully.   "I know of Cherri, and her buddy, Angel Dust," she explained. She noticed the scowl on his face, his grip staying as tight as possible. "I'm impressed. Yes, she and Angel were plotting to take my side of town for the millionth time. Can't say, I approve."    "I don't blame you. If someone were trying to steal my apartment, I wouldn't receive them well either. If you've gotta steal, you gotta be sneaky about it."  Sir Pentious hummed. "And smart about it."    "Exactly," Roxane replied. "I saw you throw it at her, the night I pickpocketed some Hell Credits from an aristocrat, one of those old school Fallen Angels from waaayyy back when."     "You stole from a Fallen Angel? How?" he asked in a low, doubtful tone. Roxane chuckled. "I'm too quick. I've been at this since 1980. I used it to buy that purse of mine; a nice deep one to hold aallll my treasures," she replied, almost flirting. She winked at him, causing another flicker of doubt in him. "I see. I wish I'd caught that Cherri even more so now. You'd have seen how great a shot I am."  "I believe you," she assured him. They stared at each other for quite awhile. The Egg Bois weren't sure what to make them both. This random mongoose girl keeping her cool and teasing the Boss, like he was a common demon. Yet, the Boss just stands there, keeping her pinned by her bare shoulders, no thanks to her loose gold colored sweater. Yet, he does nothing. No hitting, no venomous bites, not even an apparent scratch to the skin under her thin layer of fur; all there seemed to be as they teased each other were snarky smiles and subtle pink tints to their cheeks. Even his hat seemed a little confused.   “Nice hat, cobra,” she replied with a grin. Neither Sir Pentious nor the Hat seemed to expect this, but the latter was plenty flattered.    “Yours isn’t so bad itself.”   Sir Pentious began to question himself. His reluctance to retaliate or say anything more, baffled even him. For a moment, all he did was stare, before he shook his head and held out her bag with his tail.  "I think...I'm beginning to like you, Miss..."  "Roxane; now what are you doing out here anyway?" she asked in a gentle tone that surprised even her.      "And that's how I lost my dog, Scruffy!"     Roxane, Sir Pentious, and remaining Egg Bois, looked around the corner and saw Samuel trying to talk to a very impatient looking Mermeoth. Sir Pentious grinned. "Perfect! Martin, get over there and hurry to the bombs," he whispered to Martin. "Yes, sir!" Martin replied. 

 "Bombs?!" Roxane asked. Sir Pentious shushed her.    "Can I go get the satchel, Boss?" Curtis asked in a redemptive tone.  "No! You've been too careless lately. Frederick, you go get it," Sir Pentious snapped. Curtis shrugged lowly. Frederick saluted and took a ready stance.  Samuel could see Martin creep behind Mermeoth. His heart skipped a beat when the captain turned his head for just a brief moment, only for Samuel to remind him of a rabies shot this 'Scruffy' had. Martin sprinted towards the other side of the street, parallel to the right side of the skyscaper. Sir Pentious watched Martin, who made eye contact with him once he made it to a long winding wire extending from the building. Roxane saw the grin on his face as he picked up his hat and brushed it off. Roxane noticed it blink at her for a moment, before Sir Pentious gave him the signal.       One head nod was all he needed.     Huge spheres of fire and smoke exploded from the ground, causing Mermeoth to stumble and Samuel to try and reach for the demon's satchel. His lack of grace caused him to fall over. "WOAH-OOF!! I-I'VE FALLEN! HELP! I CAN'T GET UP!!! HELP!!!!" he cried. Sir Pentious groaned and was about to enter the scene before Roxane sped towards the rubble from behind him.  Sir Pentious reached his tail inside in hopes of reaching for the satchel without detection. Instead, he caught Martin. When he retracted the tip of his tail, he hovered it, allowing the egg boi to dangle.     "Phew! Gee, thanks, Boss!"     "You idiot!!! Where's the satchel? And where's that-"  Roxane staggered from the collection of fire and ash, with the Captain's satchel over her shoulder. Looking exhausted, but nonetheless determined, Sir Pentious really stared at her, shocked and perhaps even a little in awe. The flames from behind her gave her a bold, yet regal appearance as she wearily stepped towards him. Her hair flew around her thin face and the fire matched her bright, brilliant red and orange eyes. He couldn’t look away from them. 

  She was beautiful. 

  The mongoose stopped at the feeling of something behind her. Sir Pentious extended his tail at the sight of a clawed hand reaching out from behind her. Roxane lifted her fists to fight. After a hard punch to Captain Mermeoth's face (at which even the cobra himself had to smirk a little), Roxane's ankle was tugged away by his tail, causing her to be fall away, back to the alley where Sir Pentious stood. He grabbed both her purse and the Captain's satchel and took her away from the scene. The Egg Bois followed him.  The collection of demons hurried from alleyway to alleyway, until they were far enough from the wreckage for Roxane to struggle in his grip and rip her hand away. "Let go of me!" she whispered. She shook her hand to help ease away his tight, though strangely warm grip.  "There," she breathed in and out, tired from running. He briefly glanced at her, a little dumbfounded, before reaching inside. His smile spread from side to side as he pulled out what looked like a one hundred page document covered in tiny words, blue prints, and maps detailing the entirety of the Inferno and the best places to hide from the purging creatures. The Egg Bois climbed on top of each other, forming a ladder of sorts, with Curtis on the bottom and Samuel on top. He and Roxane looked over Sir Pentious's shoulder and 'oohed' and 'ahhed' over the overflow of information. The cobra looked over at Roxane and quietly pondered her. She was quick on her feet, evidently smart, and extremely capable, and the strangest part about it was, he didn't necessarily disapprove of her taking a look. 

   Sirens suddenly rang at them, causing Sir Pentious to grab the bois and Roxane and bolt away as fast as he could, leaving a ranting Captain of the Guard.

  ...

   In the days following the annual purge, Roxane walked cautiously towards Sir Pentious's home, making sure she wasn't being followed. The bruises and scratches from wearing shorts during her initial conflict with the serpent were all nearly healed, now that the dust had settled. In time, people came out of their homes and gave into the same vices they'd fallen for in the past. Some let their hands wander upon the bodies of others, other stuffed their faces with food and drink, and a few spewed blatant falsehoods.   "Oh yeah, you should've seen it. I smashed 'em and I ripped those purgers to pieces. No demon killer can sneak up on me and get off scott free!"   Roxane softly scoffed.     "I will admit; it was really neat of Sir Pentious to tell people where to go and how to prep for the invasion," a pink and yellow demon woman with one eye piped up. Roxane smiled as she turned towards his house. "Sounds like his plan is working," she thought.     She dashed to the front door of his two story home. Though she knew she could walk right in, she knocked on the door anyway, quickly parting her feet and extending her arms. When the doors opened, an Egg Bois holding a shotgun answered. "Y-Yes?" he asked.   "YIPES!"     "Ooh lunch!" Roxane replied, almost teasing. She lunged for the boi, who kicked his legs around at her firm hands on his egg shell. "Oh no not again!" he cried. "Save me, Boss! Save me!!"     "Roxane," Sir Pentious replied, standing in the foyer with his arms folded. Roxane dangled him over her open mouth before looking at an annoyed cobra.  "Drop him."       The mongoose groaned and dropped the egg, who dashed behind the snake, holding his tail from behind him.   "That's right, egg. Scramble to your Boss!" Roxane replied with a facetious wink. The boi trembled, and Sir Pentious rolled his eyes. "Matthew, go find the others. See if they need anything."    "Yes, yes, of course!" the boi replied, hurrying towards the meeting hall. Sir Pentious curved an eyebrow at her, as she put her hands behind her back, appearing innocent.   "Now, don't you start with that little smirk, silly mongoose," he warned, as she winked at him. She walked up to him, looking pleased at the smile trying to grow on his lips. He took her up the stairs to a door in the hallway, which he opened to reveal a gold and dark gray colored office.   "Close the door behind you, if you please," Sir Pentious replied.   "Oh, sure," she replied as he slithered past his blinking hat on his rack. It watched Roxane as she briefly glanced at it. Once she sat down in front of his desk, it grinned at him. Sir Pentious noticed and squinted at it, causing it to give him a knowing look.    "So, Roxane-" he began, as she put her hands in her lap.  "Mmh-hmm?"    "I can safely say that my purge plan is working just about as well as I hoped it would. I heard on the radio that even our good friend, the Captain, had a less than pleasant experience during the actual conflict," Sir Pentious replied with a diabolical grin. Roxane chuckled at a beam she found rather amusing.    "I think so too. I heard someone compliment you on the way here,” she pointed out.      "Good, good, I had deduced that someone would. While I've got you-" Sir Pentious replied, beckoning her to lean forward, with his finger. She did so, and emphasized her ear with her own to listen in. "-though I've got a jump start of popularity going around, I need you to do me a favor."    "Might as well; I've done a few for you already," Roxane replied in a teasing tone. Normally, Sir Pentious wouldn't have approved, but at this point, he expected it.   "And I've done a couple for you, don't forget! I had hoped that you appreciated hiding here during the purge as an expression of my...thanks, I suppose," he replied. The hat grinned at him, at which he stared it down. Roxane nodded. "I did, thank you, and I appreciate you letting me get out and get some nice warm air after those creeps left," she returned. A mild blush almost flared up before he turned his head around. "Of course; I mean, it wouldn't have been very gentlemanly of me to keep a relatively new acquaintance of mine cooped up here in the aftermath of the worst inconvenience I get all year. In fact, now that the worst is over for the year, I have a job for you."     "Aah, good, the commission you promised," Roxane reminded him.       "If you succeed of course. Task first, payment second; that was our deal."        "Fine, fine," she admitted.  The cobra smirked as he handed her a map of Katie Killjoy's television studio and dressing room, plus a picture of a light pink, ovular pill. "Last night, one of my bois," he said this with a hint of aggravation. "-lost a very powerful sedative I asked him to pick up and present to me. I had intended on planting it in Angel Dust's regular drug intake. My boi's partner saw Killjoy's co-anchor, Tom, pick it up and take it to the studio before he could grab it. It's not a lethal drug, but it can put its consumer in a powerful sleep. It would give me more than enough time to surround his gang, overtake them, and claim his terf. But before I can do that, I need to take back that sedative and any footage their cameras may have of it. Knowing Killjoy, her crew are probably working on a big story about it right now. This is where you come in: I want you to sneak into the station, find the sedative, and bring it and any footage her cameras may have picked up of it. Better yet, if you find any, bring the cameras to me. A good dismantling should do the trick."  Roxane nodded and hummed, as he explained his story, and placed her hand on the desk.   "Consider it done, and don't forget: 20 credits/hour, starting as soon as you send me out."     "If you succeed."     "I think I will. I'm a quick, tough lady, sir," she explained, flexing an arm muscle. She tapped her fist to his cheek, causing him to lose control of that light pink blush to his cheeks. Her gentle fist on his skin helped him feel strangely warm before he cleared his throat. "Yes, well, if I were you, I'd get going. Your commission starts now. Don't die on the way back and hands off my bois."   "Alright, alright," she said. She walked towards the door, and spared him one last glance, before she smiled. “Oh and Sir Pentious?” He looked up at her.     "Thanks."

 With that, she was gone. The snake's muscles stiffened, before he noticed his hat grinning at him. He loosened them and flexed his jacket. 

 "Yes well...pleasant girl," he assured himself.      

#Hazbin Hotel #modtime #Sir Pentious #vivienne medrano #Roxane #fanfiction #vivziepop #OCs #the Egg Bois