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p0rchc0ll4ps3 · 6 days

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comparing case notes on the ride home at the end of a long day

did all the perspective myself! it kinda' turned out jank but it's what it's. i'll get better at it eventually

really tried to capture the essence of revachol architecture style with this. the metro lines were built by the communards in '79 of the last century, about 11 years into the dictatorship. various cities in revachol have metro, but none are as extensive as jamrock's metro. however, due to mismanagement and embezzlement and war, a lot of the metro stations remain unfinished, especially in the poorest parts of the city (for example, it was never finished in the coal city district of jamrock, which is big enough to count as it's own city. the metro line was dug out, but the tracks were never layed due to the project never reaching completion and due to the commies not really caring to build out there. in the valley of the dogs, which is in west jamrock and about as poor as coal city, the metro wasn't even built at all due to there being a huge immigrant population out there and a lot of bullshit from the government). anyways a lot of homeless people live out in those abandoned stations. this among a billion other things really adds to how much east revachol and its slightly richer cities really think lowly of west revachol and jamrock despite not being much better off themselves

the metro cars and the metro stations are built in the neo-perikinassian style that the communards favored for all their structures (neo-perikinassian is an elysium equivalent to our neo-classical style). this style intends to give a vibe of old world richness and power and strong authoritative government, while also attempting to create a strong, national revacholian architectural style, celebrating insulinde's original pagan origins by reflecting traditional folk patterning. communism in revachol wanted to be purely revacholian, taking zero influence from the colonies that revachol used to rule over. the dictatorship did away completely with insulinde's original colonial past, trying to embrace a new totally revacholian identity and erasing anything deemed not revacholian. unfortunately, revachol is an immigrant country, with a history of colonialism and slavery, and a LOT of that has become a huge part of revacholian and insulindian culture. revachol is a melting pot, a mixture of influences from all over. the communists tried to erase this and make a new identity, but of course this attempted to erase everything else that makes revachol revachol. so in trying to make a new, purely revacholian identity, they erased true revachol from the books.

anways, they favored the neo-perikinassian art style with folk embellishments, but because revachol is revachol, there are also a whole lot of style moderne (revachol's art deco, a lot of airships, sunrises, and anti-pale shit) and noul stil (revachol's art nouveau which involves a lot of ocean and air organic motifs instead of flowers and the like) influences of course. as you can see here, there's noul stil motifs in the way that the lights are pearls and that they have waves on them. in fact, to go on yet another tangent, revachol's 'new disco' architecture, which started in jamrock during the new with the building of skyscrapers and new buildings in the style and spread to the rest of revachol, is a modern day revival of style moderne and noul stil that combines elements of both (i get a very og wizard of oz emerald city vibe).

anyways that's my lore essay. i really wanted to capture the feeling of being in revachol, specifically jamrock. the metro cars are also slightly based off bucharest's communist metro cars as well as the newer ones, but of course with a lot of wood instead because revachol and elysium are in a sort of era with their technology that mixes something of a industrial revolution 1890s victorian london, 1910s america and big cities right before the advent of skyscrapers and cars but also 1920s tech, and 1970s radio tech and all that shit. idk. some fucked up conglomeration

also guy on the left is someone from my de server's oc. i don't know their tumblr otherwise i'd tag!

oh and i tried to capture some kind of how the people of revachol are in general all types of people from many different ethnicities etc. and and the guy in the back looking at harry is one of jean's friends, enzo, who, after getting rejected from the rcm for being too violent (which is a big deal bc the rcm celebrates violence), joined la puta madre and now works to double-cross both lpm and rcm, doing what benefits him best. when jean and harry got captured by the lpm about 3 years back and almost died, it was enzo who saved them. enzo's one of jean's many connections he has in the city. harry doesn't remember him (but he will eventually. he has to figure out at some point where that big nasty scar on his stomach's from).

btw i spent like a wholeass hour or two one day trying to figure out what type of wood revachol would have because the commies use ONLY LOCAL RESOURCES. so i needed to figure out what type of wood they'd have. and i figured it was some kinda' birch with a very specific ashy grey wood. of course you can't see it here bc of the color-grading but yeah. know that i did research on that. ok?

anyways if you read this whole thing thank you very much for reading and congrats on getting thru it hahahaha. i really need to figure out a name for this au bc this is NOT kurwitz's elysium LOL

#my art #disco elysium #disco elysium fanart #harry du bois #kim kitsuragi #finished this in june for the de after life zine application but i never posted it here bc im seriously not happy with it haha #i wanted to try and get some sort of y2k color grading going on but i just did not succeed hahaha #anyways hope ya'll like #super thick lore essay under the cut ofc

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caw-oticdork · 1 year

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Hiya! I started listening to the Lost Terminal because you mentioned it on here. I'm a few seasons in and really loving it. My friend is looking for some new narrative pods and I know you listen to a bunch. Got any suggestions? They can be finished or ongoing.

Oh do I! Have a couple, in alphabetical order:

Absolutely No Adventures - An outright pratchettesque fantasy parody about a (very) Chosen One who has studied the art of baking instead heeding the call to adventure and refuses to go on any quests.

Care and Feeding of Werewolves - A (in-universe) podcast addressing current events and issues in the (American) paranormal community, hosted by a witch and medical practitioner. Has very good plot and worldbuilding.

Folxlore - Queer horror podcast set in Glasgow. Excellent show. "This apartment complex is very haunted, extremely cursed, and it sometimes randomly shifts to an eldritch nightmare realm. Everyone here's queer though, including the building itself. 4 stars out of 5."

Gabriela & The Inn Between - A recent botany undergrad takes a job as Innkeeper at an inn with very strange and unusual guests. Cozy and low-stakes.

Gastronaut - Set a couple hundred years from now, a food journalist travels from Earth, then Mars, then a distant space colony. He's pathetic but in a good way. Excellent food descriptions, nice anti-capitalistic and anti-colonialist themes. Higher stakes and fewer steaks than expected.

Ghost Wax - I've always disagreed with the idea that necromancers are always evil. This show agrees - it's a horror podcast about an ancient necromancer solving supernatural murders by interviewing the victims. Very thrilling. Many feels.

Icarus Rising - Queer airship pirates! Stow-aways! Rebellion! Chases and Thrills! High-stakes drama and action among the clouds! An adorable ship cat!

Kalila Stormfire's Economical Magick Services - Very cool story about witches, fairies, werewolves, and more, a story about what makes a community, about modern-day working class neighborhoods, psychology, love, and of course magic.

Parkdale Haunt - This one I haven't listened to yet, but I've heard very good things about it. It's a horror show about a haunted house, set in Toronto, made with love for that city. Disregard this suggestion if you don't like Toronto, I've never been.

SCP: Find Us Alive - A podcast set in the SCP universe, about a site getting sucked into some sort of pocket dimension that keeps resetting in a sort of time loop. Very interesting cast of characters. Requires minimal knowledge about how the SCP Foundation works.

Starfall - Fantasy audio drama about the adventures of a theatre troupe that uses magical items and illusions in their work, and about a young warrior with mysterious powers who joins them.

Tell No Tales - Horror story about a company that specialises in removing ghosts from haunted places. The protagonist quickly becomes concerned about the ethics of that and tries to prove that they need to start treating spirits with the humanity they deserve.

The Antique Shop - Urban Fantasy drama about a student getting a job at the kind of antiques shop that you only find when you need to. Lots of cursed items. An excellent cat. Queerplatonic relationships.

The Mistholme Museum of Mystery, Morbidity, and Mortality - An AI audio tour guide shows you various interesting exhibits and learns how to be a person. There's lots of feelings here.

The Strange Case of Starship Iris - Sci-Fi story set in the aftermath of a war between Earth and extraterrestrials. It's about outer space, survival, espionage, resistance, identity, friendship, found family, romance, and secrets. The intro song is excellent.

The Tower - A young woman climbs an ancient, unfathomably tall tower from a forgotten age. It stretches up into the sky, through the smog and the clouds. Very vibes.

The White Vault - Travel Is Not Advised. Very scary story about what's been hiding below the ice and the stone. What's been slumbering for ages. What's now beginning to wake anew.

I hope this selection helps! I have more, but I felt it would be better to keep the list short-ish.

#podcast recommendation

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myreia · 7 days

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Sketches of Times Lost

Day 16: Third-rate

lyse has quiet, but difficult, evening. lyse & fordola. lyse POV & character study. early endwalker spoilers. written for ffxivwrite2024. rated: general 1864 words. ao3 link

Since the liberation it has become her custom to walk the walls—and tonight she needs it more than ever.

Lyse tugs at the sleeves of her fleece sweater, thankful for the extra warmth. It was a gift from Cirina sent among the most recent shipment from their allies in Othard, knitted from thick wool and embroidered and dyed with traditional Mol decorations and colours. She appreciates the thoughtfulness. Gyr Abania may have a different climate from the Steppe, but mountains are chilly at night regardless of where they are.

She slows to a halt and leans against the battlements, resting her folded arms against the roughhewn red stone. The city stretches out before her, calm and peaceful, its spires and towers a subdued reddish purple against a sea of stars. The windows glow warm with the light of candles and lanterns, the streets rumble with the sound of night duty officers preparing for the next day, and vendors have long since closed shop, leaving the market an empty shadow of itself. Some Alliance soldiers have, like her, taken to wandering the city, taking it in for once last time. The bulk of the Ilsabard Contingent takes flight tomorrow—of course many of them, regardless of which city-state they hail from—are sensing more than a little trepidation.

She wonders how many will get a good night’s sleep tonight.

Oh, Papalymo. If only you could see us now.

“Didn’t expect to see you up here,” a voice drawls behind her.

Lyse pauses, her jaw clenched, her heart clenching painfully in that all too familiar way. A sickened ache that cannot be relieved. “What are you doing up here, Fordola?” she says, glancing over her shoulder. “I thought you would be…”

“Out of the way?” Fordola spits on the ground and comes to join her, leaning against the battlements with a catlike grace. She towers over her, tall like a true Highlander. “Wouldn’t you wish?” She snorts and stretches, raising her hands high above her, her neckline tugged with her movements, revealing the collar glinting at her throat. “I have to do something with my time outside of keeping Arenvald company.”

“Maybe you can go back to that,” Lyse says flatly. “I’m not in the mood for this.”

“This? What’s this? Simple conversation?”

“Simple conversation with you.”

Fordola shrugs. “Get your own piece of wall, then, if my presence is so unbearable,” she retorts. “I was here first and there’s plenty of wall to go around.”

Anger twists deep in the pit of her stomach. Lyse opens her mouth, a retort on the tip of her tongue—and then movement catches her eye. Below, the Scions of the Seventh Dawn are gathering, preparing for the next stages. Perhaps it’s a briefing, or perhaps they are about to head to their airship. Either way, it’s important.

They are already dressed in the winter gear she knows was sourced and lovingly crafted for them by Tataru.

She presses a hand to her cheek. Her eyes are stinging and it’s not the wind’s fault.

It has been a year and a half since she resigned from the organization. Much has happened since then—war, politics, more war, a restoration effort she has yet to fully understand and constantly fears is about to slip out from under her. For her, time has gone slowly, every month, every week, every day passing by to the beat of a slow, constant drum. It has not been so for them. Timed raced forwards—literally so, and accounting for years in some cases, like Thancred’s. She knew what she was letting go of when she left, and she knew it was for the best.

And yet her decision still hurts. Still aches. She has what she wants now, so why can’t she be happy?

Her life has been spent waiting in the wings, looking into something that could never be hers. In Sharlayan, she looked up to her sister—smart, clever, beautiful, capable of going toe-to-toe with the nation’s best and brightest and earning her Archon’s marks fair and square. After, she still idolized Yda, to the point that she became her in order to make something of her life. She wasn’t an Archon, she wasn’t even clever enough to apply to the Studium. She was just a girl who was good at punching things, and Sharlayan doesn’t have much use for that.

She was given a place with the Scions of the Seventh Dawn, but she never felt she earned it on her own merits. She could become her sister, or be compared to her sister. Lyse, on her own, was never good enough. Except with Papalymo.

And so she left. She chased her dream, as herself—an Ala Mhigo liberated, a Gyr Abania freed. And yet even now she feels uncertain of herself and the position she has claimed. Many doubt her, for her youth and her inexperience. Others compare to her to the likes of Aymeric and Hien, saying she lacks the political acumen to lead a restoration the way Ishgard and Doma have. Others still pass over her and look to Raubahn, the general, the warrior, the man who commands a presence she can only dream of. They listen to him. He may have escaped to Ul’dah, but he is Ala Mhigan in his heart and soul. He looks Ala Mhigan. His was a true homecoming.

Whereas she has her father’s name and not much else. Some say she has more Sharlayan in her than Ala Mhigo.

She is in too far now to return to the Scions, though she knows they would welcome her. She made her choice, she must commit to it. And yet she still feels the longing for company, that feeling of being among close friend that she so sorely misses. Who does she have? Raubahn? Arenvald? Fordola? Gods, no. At least Cirina writes her often, from half a world away. Alisaie, too, though her letters have become more and more infrequent of late.

Lyse exhales a long breath, staring dully down at the road below. Y’shtola, Urianger and G’raha conversing in a corner. Estinien shadowing Alphinaud and Alisaie as they walk the length of the street, arguing loudly, pausing only to speak with an Alliance officer here and there. Even Krile and Tataru are here, fussing over their friends. Thancred and Aureia are huddled down together a little ways away, his hand in hers, her head on his shoulder. They’re married now, it’s hard to believe, their lives taking a wild and unexpected turn while they were on the First.

Alisaie said the ceremony was beautiful. A small affair, organized quickly as they were concerned for Thancred’s failing health and soul. Perhaps they will have another one now they’ve returned to Eorzea, but there simply hasn’t been time.

So strange. Lyse can’t quite wrap her head around it. Only a few months ago she was still under the impression that Aureia and Thancred hated each other. Which, she supposes, highlights the point: it’s not that the Scions haven’t given her any

It’s not that the Scions haven’t given her any thought. Nor is it that they don’t care.

It’s simply that they have moved on to a place that no longer includes her.

She grips her sweater, twisting it into a fist over her heart. She knows it’s foolish, but it hurts seeing them gathered all together like this. Perhaps if it was just Aureia and Thancred, Urianger and Y’shtola, the twins… It’s ridiculous, but knowing how quickly G’raha was brought into their fold stings. It stings to know that his failed attempts to summon Aureia to the First were behind their vanishing souls some time ago. That his mistake pulled away those closest to Aureia by accident.

Lyse thought she was close to Aureia. Perhaps that was not so. She was furious with her at the time for reasons she cannot explain, but that does not mean she did not still think of her as a friend. It does not replace the years of friendship they had in the Waking Sands and the Rising Stones all those years ago, nor throughout their time in Othard.

Does it?

She wets her low lip. Even Estinien’s presence stings, though she has nothing against the dragoon. He has been swept into events whether he likes it or not; and she suspects that if he were to say no and leave, Krile and Tataru would simply track him down once more. Even so, he fits in a way she never did, his bond with Alphinaud plain to see.

She’s missed so much. Some of it because of her own decisions, yes, but it hurts to witness firsthand how easily she has been replaced. No matter how hard she works, no matter how much she cares, her fate is always to be second or third-rate.

“…should I leave you be?” Fordola says quietly.

Lyse blinks, tears blurring her vision. She wipes them away with the back of her hand, shivering as a wave of cold wind rushes over her. “I… don’t know,” she replies, trailing off awkwardly. She can’t allow herself to be emotional in front of Fordola of all people. To distract herself, she disentangles her hand from her sweater and smooths down the front. She shouldn’t pull the thread when she doesn’t know how to fix it. Cirina made it for her.

“Then please say something,” Fordola continues, blunter this time. “Shout at me. Curse at me. Punch a wall. You are far too quiet and it’s making my insides crawl.”

Lyse snorts quietly. Damn it. Fordola has no right to make her smile. “Good to know I have such a dreadful effect on you.”

“Lyse—”

She meets her gaze.

“You going with them?” Fordola’s eyes are dark and quiet.

“I will. At the head of the Contignent’s Ala Mhigan forces.”

“I meant with the Scions, not with bloody Ala Mhigo.”

She swallows the lump in her throat. “Then, no. I will be serving my country, not my friends.”

Silence. Wind howls in her ears, turning the tips raw and red. Perhaps she should write to Cirina and ask for a hat.

“A bit of advice—” Fordola begins.

“No, thank you.”

She sighs, irritation flickering across her face. “Look, you don’t have to like to me in order to listen to me,” she says firmly. “But I know something about looking for something in all the wrong places. Maybe you belonged to that group down there once, but you don’t anymore. Stop looking for what you want with people who barely acknowledge you, and look for it with those who do.”

Her stomach drops. She’s not sure what’s worse—that she knows it is true, or that Fordola was the one to say it. “I’m going to tell you this once,” Lyse hisses. “That’s the last time you’re going to give me advice, all right?”

Fordola shrugs in that irritating ambivalent way of hers. “If you say so.”

Lyse lets out an aggravated sigh. Pushing away from the wall, she grips Cirina’s sweater around herself and stalks down the stairs and out of sight.

#ffxiv #ff14 #final fantasy xiv #ffxiv fanfic #ffxiv fanfiction #ffxivwrite #ffxivwrite2024 #writing tag #myreiawrites2024 #lyse hext #fordola rem lupis #extreme unedited warning i'm so tired 😭#may have pulled headcanons out of nowhere #fordola x lyse shippers i see you i appreciate you #this is not a shippy piece at all but i SEE it #endwalker #endwalker spoilers

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theairshipexperiment · 1 year

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The Airship Experiment: Chapter 2, Page 28

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Next: August 29th

Hate to do this when there’s only 4 pages of the chapter left, but the comic will go on hiatus until late August! I have a wedding to attend, lots of Artfight prep, and Artfight itself (pssssst the TAE characters will be on there). August will be a rest time for me, as well as writing chapter 3. ;) See you then!

#among us #The Airship Experiment #comic #Rosie #Caleb #Sweet #Pea #HarmonyTRE

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absolutely-normal-about-x · 5 months

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CARBON LORE: Society and Diggers

Carbon society is distinguished by the large number of islands on which they reside. As a result, a variety of cultures emerge, with the ruins of the previous society serving as a foundation for further development. The majority of these cultures differ from one another, but they all share a common concept: community. Most islands have tight-knit communities that frequently assist one another in difficult situations. They rely on others' assistance to ensure the process and, potentially, a more relaxed attitude. Because of cultural differences between the islands, there is no unified government, and the primary goal of these civilizations is to foster inter-island relations. This has resulted in a one-of-a-kind era of peace within carbon societies, akin to their halcyon days, but there are still problems that must be addressed.

Carbons use a mix of basic and ancient technology. Most of their civilization employs these ancient technologies. It also means that their power sources cannot be replicated easily, as they are not capable of creating a power source. Instead, they must locate and uncover its primary power source. Refractors are mostly found in ruins scattered throughout the planet. This type of responsibility is assigned to the Digouter, which translates as "digger."

Diggers include explorers, treasure hunters, and others. Their primary duty is to search the ancient ruins of Terra for valuable relics, technology, and refractors. They are responsible for ensuring that their civilization has enough power and resources, so they rely on their own efforts. Unfortunately, being a digger is not as easy as it appears, as there are more risks and dangers. The terra's ruins can be dangerous for a variety of reasons, including traps, hostile reaver bots, and the possibility of trickster spirits (Cyber Elves) leading diggers to their demise. As a result, many diggers require training to prepare them to deal with the dangers of the ruins. Most diggers begin their training at the age of ten, but due to their durability, they can withstand it. Diggers typically work in groups of two or more to ensure the success and survival of an expedition; those who go out alone are considered suicidal. Whoever survives as a lone digger with resources in tow is considered exceptionally skilled. Unfortunately, they are diggers who are motivated by greed and fortune and do not respect the law. They are commonly known as "air pirates."

Despite the many dangers of the job itself, many diggers choose either a sense of responsibility, adventure, or something more. In order to support diggers, an organization was formed to not only support them but also their civilization, called “The Digger’s Guild”. An interconnected organization whose main responsibility is to help islands and diggers alike. The guild is where Diggers can find different jobs to help people or support them. This leads to a unique distinction between Guild Diggers and Independent Diggers. While guild diggers are the ones that mostly stay on their main island to help the people there, dealing with difficulties, etc. The majority of the refractors they give to the guild are distributed among other diggers and islands. Meanwhile, an independent digger works alone or with their loved ones, typically traveling across Terra by airship, collecting relics and refractors to keep or trade to a nearby settlement. They frequently sign contracts to get jobs or, on occasion, accept a job from the guild to assist in a large expedition or something else.

#megaman x #megaman legends #legends reborn #headcanon #lore #yes I posted these at the same time qwefkjhweqckjhecqwhkj #But yeah the concept of digger’s guild is based on Pokémon guilds #these lore tags are meant to help folks understand my interpretation of megaman legends bjasddjbsakds #ygkhkiououihmg

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drunkintergalacticemotions · 3 months

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A list of hints in my rancher Among Us fic

last year I wrote a team rancher among us fic, in which the fact that it was an among us au was a twist near the end, but there were plenty of hints along the way!

I figure its been long enough now I can make a comprehensive list of all the hints I snuck in. If you'd like to read the fic first, and see how many you can find on your own, its right here

probably the most obvious one, the ship they are on is called The Skeld (aka, one of the maps in Among Us) I was hoping anyone who recognized it off the bat would assume it was just a silly reference, and I was right!

Right off the bat in chapter 1 Tango mentions going out in a space suit not being the "real space experience". I headcanon imposters can survive for at least a short time out in space, as its probably how they got onto ships and such if they didn't board at ports.

“Well you already know I’m Tango, Tango Tek, engineering officer.” he introduced with the last name he’d picked at 12 and been stuck with since. <- more of a hint that he's hiding something / not being truthful but I say it counts

"In return, Tango told him the safe parts of his past to share." <- another hint Tango is hiding things.

"Tango was usually put on those duties, because on paper he liked small spaces, and always seemed to get the job done faster than anyone else." <- considering imposters can go through vents crew members cant i say its safe to say they can shapeshift themselves smaller, which means tango can take more direct routes.

"The area was less lit than the rest of the ship, not that that mattered to Tango." <- Imposter have night vision, this is the first hint to that.

"They’d arrived at a small opening in the wall, a hole several feet across and several more tall labelled E-2M. It was a short one, with a vent that ran along up top going directly from the electrical hub room to the med bay." <- the skeld map in among us has a vent that goes between electrical and the med bay. heehee

“Making an example out of you,” a shudder went down Tango’s spine, memories of other examples he’d seen floating by his kind. <- no way Tango hasn't seen/heard what's happening to other imposters out there who get caught

Jimmy mentions, in the evacuation scene, that he went towards the cafeteria but had to detour, and is by administration. The admin room is right next to the cafeteria on the among us skeld map.

Jimmy mentions, several times, how dark it is and how hard it is to see, yet from Tango's POV we get a near perfect description of the large cafeteria. Imposter night vision<3

Tango spots Jimmy long before Jimmy is able to see Tango, another hint to the imposter night vision

Tango spots Xisuma long before Jimmy, another hint to the imposter night vision.

"He stretched his arm out, he stretched it as far it could humanly go, and then stretched it further, right between the blast doors." <- this is one of the most obvious hints, referencing Imposter shape shifting abilities, and is meant to start cluing in the audience that something is up.

Their rescue vessel is called The Airship, another Among Us map

and then, of course, Tango's panic at the diagnostic scan.

After this, the reveal happens, and there's no more subtle hints. Hope y'all enjoyed this deep dive into my fic. If you liked, consider leaving a comment on the fic, I'd really appreciate it!

#Team rancher #Jimmy solidarity #Tangotek #Hermitcraft #Life series #Double life #Double life AU #Team rancher AU #Among us #Among us AU #Mcyt #Minecraft #Solidarity gaming

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suckitdeku · 1 month

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Hisoillu Week(end)

Prompt (08/23): past (first encounter)

Hisoka (24yo) was bored. He needed a new playmate. Illumi Zoldyck (21yo) just fell into his trap.

TW: blood, homie-cide, probably a violent family, stalkering, sexual references, so on and so forth... but just slightly :) also some typos.

This came out by the headcanon that my dear @lumizold and I had about their meeting. We also roleplayed it and it was the time of my life istg. Guess who roled who. Actually pretty easy. Too easy maybe. But here I tried to wrote them both on my own, and he liked the result, so i guess this is... good! At the very least. So shoutout to him for helping me understand better this difficult and majestic character, illumi zoldyck. He's now the boy of my life. And if it wasn't for him, i couldn't have written this as canonic as it- should be? is? well it's just conjugetion, we don't really care.

Enjoy!

Illumi was in the airship, heading towards a spot in the Padokea region where he got an assignment. A very important assignment... which would have made lots of money, according his grandfather Zeno, who just congratuled him for the assignment received. Well, if the Zoldycks' bank account was happy, the Zoldycks would have been happy too. Right?

He didn't question about it, but he had to admit that the request was pretty weird. Asking to a family of assassins for protection wasn't impossible, nor improbable, but... unusual? definiterly the most unusual thing ever happened to him. His square mind couldn't can a so shapeless thought... it was worst than having an uncovered glass of water in your car while speeding... and drifting. Up a montain road. Through sharp bends. In short, the water spills everywhere and you can't keep it in the glass, where it should have been since the beginning... if there were salted pistachios in that glass, they wouldn't have flown all over. Like the water did. He hated water as a kitten does.

Sitting straight and perfectly still in his second class seat, he kept overthinking his job assignment.

He knew little to nothing about it. Nothing too useful, and that was the reason he was ruminating the best way to make things work in case something went wrong upon his arrival.

A wealthy mafia boss has been repeatedly harassed by a real weirdo, whose incredible strength frightened all of his guards (all the hundred persons designated on working on his safety were terrified by him). He followed him everywhere he went, he stopped him to talk and ask him very molest questions. There, he had obtained this description of him: he was a molest man, tall and muscular with "shoulders like this" (you would say it's an accurate description), with magenta hair pulled back that stayed like this as if under an enchantment, a strange clown make-up with a little star and a teardrop under each eye, odd clothes with card suits motif and ridiculous shoes (again, what an accurate description...), but his voice was mellifluous and hardly you could discern his gentleness and his way of fooling you. It was so stressful, dealing with him. And therefore he was easily recognizable.

Illumk kept looking outiside the window.

The mysterious, molest clown was, among other things, a violent. He threatened to kill him in exactly five days, and already got in a fight with his guards, snuck in his super-secured estate's garden... well, he was a public manace walking on well-functioning legs. Illumi already thought that making those legs useless could be a good idea... but the client commissioned the homicide before he could pull out a joke of his, and so be it. In faxt, his job made more sense this way. Protect the client... by killing an enemy. Yes. This way, now, even the water in the glass had become governable in that devious journey.

And he went back to staring out the window.

He just wanted to go back home and see how his little brother Killua was handling their father's care.

?!?

Illumi felt dumbfounded. He wasn't effectively shocked, but... he still was speechless, his big black eyes whose pupils couldn't stand out over their irides were drawn towards the silent estate in front of him.

Corpses.

Corpses, corpses, corpses.

Corpses everywhere in the garden. Were they planted there as decorations, in order to scare the most cowards or were they there to give troubles to the one who had hired them?

One of the floor lamp along the walkaway had been blown. Something was stuck in it, and had short out part of the electric system, and now it was slowly catching fire.

It was... a playing card.

So, he really was dealing with a clown.

As if he was terrified, in that catatonic state of his, Illumi started running through the corpses, jumping over the blood puddles on his way, without sparing a glance at the deads' abhorrent expressions.

He really felt a bit of dread.

If... he failed...

He would not receive his payment! Those two- really serious parents perfectly capable of taking absolutely rational and logic decisions didn't get paid up front. Once, he tried to advice them about that little, hazardous detail... but after receiving that slap from his father, he couldn't even remember what was so hazardous about getting paid when the job was finished. And now they risked receiving nothing.

And yet, Illumi was right on time... he got embarked like a robot on the first available transportation, with the confidence that the clown would have made his appearence in eighteen hours circa... instead, the clown arrived and made them all dead. Deads. Deads everywhere.

Deads everywhere in every hallway he passed through. Was that a finger, that one he was seeing hanging on the wall with a card? Oh, yeah, it really was a finger. A little finger. Certainly a little finger, because the severed hand five meters further ahead was missing a little finger.

Macabre and thorny details passed under his unperturbed glare to embed in his mind, as if pinning them with pins on an enormous board. It was the summary of all the things he should be reporting his dad, along with his ass in order to let him whip it to a pulp, probably.

He began to spy a room, the only one with an open door, the warm light escaping by slithering through the threshold.

Corpses. Corpses everywhere. A man hanging on the wall, and one crawling to the door to escape, were the ones who immediately caught his big eyes.

A mature man, around his 50s and bald, was being held by the throat by... a... a guy really tall, and big... with a giggle sweet as honey, kind of mellifluous, his pale, muscular arms with protruding veins stretched towards the adult. Something about his appearence seemed off, but he didn't pay that much attention.

He was toying with the man. Like a white kitten pawing maliciously at a tailless lizard, already mortally wounded by his claws and canines. The man almost didn't try to free himself, but he looked like he was waiting for a miracle, a small glimmer of salvation to get his paws off of him.

They were the only ones alive.

— Oh, I guess I have visitors~

His murmur wasn't directed to anyone buy the adult between his hands, who he hold tightly. His face was vermilion. He could already see, already imagine them, some ecchymosis in his eyes, the attempts to free himself getting irregular and limp, his strangled sounds disappearing...

He finally showed himself up, throwing one of his pins already infused with Nen against the clown.

He, just as an expert performer in the circus, looked like he was expecting the pin as if it was a circus act he and his most trustworthy partner tried a thousand times. He moved even before the pin was ready to be flung, and... that was a matter of instants.

He bend his knees, threw back his head and all of his body. His back was a perfect arch in that pose so uncomfortable and artistic altogether. His hair, apparently with nothing left to hold it up, were now slipping across his face with oh so perfect features.

He abruptly released his victim in order to stay in that position, and the man stumbled in place for a single moment.

And threw himself back onto the clown, taking a breath in the process.

He jolted. Illumi, inside his soul, did the same.

The pin ended up on his jugular, and the man kept a hand on his neck, dazed. From the way he staggered you could tell he was dizzy.

With a wince which made him lose his playful smirk, the clown crouched down, ready to spring into action. His hair was in plac- his hair was in place, when had he recombed them?

He was glaring at the pin, without worrying about Illumi two meters away from them. He glared it. And glared at the man, while he was taking the unusual weapon and removing it from his neck. It was disgust. Disgust for his stupidity.

The man tumbled with a thud. His vertigo more dizzy than before with every squirt of blood gushing out the wound, now more deadly than before.

— Everyone knows that wounds with the weapon still inside should not be touched.

Both him and the Zoldyck watched him pant with wide eyes. The realization about his screw-up had hit him hard, just like the thought he was dying. The unknown man, pulling out a playing card, wondered if the victim of that cruel fate was thinking of something in particular: a warm greeting to his liver or the burning desire to spit on his father's and his assassin's tomb. They observed his life slip away from his eyes.

— If the weapon is still inside, you still have the chance to save your life yourself.

A strangled sound.

His eyes glassy.

An embarassing silence. The Zoldyck was stuck and static. He wasn't swinging lightly on his own feet. He wasn't shifting his weight from a side to the other, and he wasn't looking away from the new cadaver, still warm. He looked nervous in his own way. He was extremely illegible.

— Don't tell me that the one whose life I just casually took away was the mafia boss who instructed me to kill you.

— No no~ — the stranger laughed, turning to face him. That Zoldyck was so ugly and ungroomed... black hair cutted in a bob, his athletic figure concealed by a banal track suit in unattractive colors or... generally not very colorful. And it was such a shame, because his doll-like eyes, his perfect and also symmetric features, summed up with those thin, pinky lips with an adorable shape were really attractive. — He was head of the guards.

— So where did you left the person I'm looking for?

— Right at your feet, asking for mercy~

Illumi lowered his gaze. There was the man he previously saw, ho looked like he was crawling for his dear life.

Illumi took a deep breath, staring at him without batting an eye. Literally. Not a movement. He didn't even looked mad. No throbbing vein on his neck. Nor sweat droplets.

The maniac tried to incite him.

— I got bored waiting for you~ I decided to kill time playing cat and mouse. Or mice~ obviously you can see they're city mice~ they didn't run away from me well enough... I had to kill 'em all to satisfy my bloodlus-

The Zoldyck turned around, and calmly started walking away.

The maniac stayed there, looking at the threshold, batting his lashes with surprise.

Was he dumb?

He jogged after him, as if nothing had happened.

!?!

— Weren't you going to kill me~?

— Stop moaning and lower your voice.

— Coomee ooon~ answer me~

— I haven't been paid.

— Yeah, no shit, you didn't finish your job yet if I'm still alive~

— He who hired me is dead. The contract is no longer valid. I'm going back home.

— To mommy and daddy, huh~?

— Yes. If I'm going back home I'm going back to them. Not to other people.

— And don't you want to entertain yourself with me, killing time together~?

— No. I don't have time.

— Yes you have, that guy's dead and no one can disturb us while we're getting to... know each other~

That maniac was sticling his hands out too much. Yep. Pretty molest. He slapped them away, and the man groaned in pleasure.

— No. I have to go back home and explain this trouble.

— So~? I took away your assignment, you should be mad, or scared of their reactions~

— I'm just pensive.

— What else~?

He developed him in his sticky embrace, whispering in his ear. He believed he was pushing him into talking about more interesting matters, with his own hands brushing and caressing his hips, because he felt shivers running on his skin.

— I feel like. Having a lollipop.

— Here, take it, babyboy.

The Zoldyck, amazed, turned to face him, still in his embrace, as if it was nothing. His eyes weren't surprised, but his arched brows definitely were. Now they were both still, one before the other, and were looking at each other. Then, his black eyes slowly drifted away from the stranger's pure gold irises to halt on his lightly stretched-out hand.

Between tapering fingers, tightly hold between long and sharp nails, there was a small lollipop.

He batted his lashes and took it. It was as thin as a card, under his fingertip, and... seemed a card, for real.

— Are you kidding me?

The lollipop, point of contention of the two hands, suddenly became a card. A jolly.

Too fun. He was being sarcastic.

The man smiled like a fox, his lips stretched and closed, eyes narrowed. — It's a trick~

Illumi squeezed his eyelids, unamused, and took some distance from him to look at his face. His make-up was odd, it was true. He just noticed it. It seemed like a make-up for clown, maybe because of the teardrop and the tiny star, but... clowns didn't paint their face that way. They were... so colourful and showy.

His gaze wenr back to normal, while the man kept staring at him. — You... are not the clown I was looking for, right?

The man lost his smile, and gazed at him. His eyes had lost their light. He didn't seem to be enjoying himself either. — I am a magician, little Zoldyck.

And he parted his lips in a "o", his brows lightly arched as if comprehensive. — So you're not who I'm looking for. — and he added under his breath that, in fact, the magician make-up wasn't included in the identikit, and that he was licky he recognized it. The man's frown deepened.

— I indeed am the one~ you silly~

— No, you're wrong. I'm looking for a clown. He looks exactly like you... but he paints his face like a clown.

— You dummy, I'm the one who persecuted your client~ I did it on purpose, in order to lure you here~

The Zoldyck parted again his thin lips in a "o" shape, and his eyebrows raised, too. Maybe he realized he was in a trap.

— But I was told to look for a clown... you're a magician, I noticed it.

— I am a magician, my name's Hisoka, — he spelled his introduction for the idiot. — As a matter of fact, however, I get mistaken for... a cheap clown.

— Clowns are not cheap. — said the young man. On second thought, he looked really young — They make you laugh, scared and kill people.

— Only in horror movies.

— My life is a horror movie.

Hisoka smiled a little hearing those words. — You're an enjoyable person, little Zoldyck~

— I'm not little. I'm the firstborn.

— But how~ how old are-

He got interrupted by an unpleasant noise. In the quiet of the night, to sweep away the blissful and relaxing sensation of the humid air brushing the naked skin, several sirens got closer to the location of the slaughter.

The Zoldyck started running to the woods. Hisoka, without missing a bit, followed right after.

— And here I thought you enjoyed attention, all eyes on you. — the Zolduck murmured, between a long stride and the other. — Back there, there are lots of eyes ready to watch you and lots of hands ready to catch you.

— But no one could do it like you~

That answer didn't break him down, instead he quickened his pase. Hisoka was stalking him.

— You still haven't ask me a single thing. — he said after one minute of jogging in the wood.

The Zoldyck didn't spare him a single look. — I don't care.

— But we're walking together~

— You're following me.

— Talk to me, coomee oonnn~

— I gotta go.

Hisoka grabbed him in his embrace, forcing the other to stop.

— What's your name~?

— I have no time. — was his crude response

He found himself pointing a pin against his throat, and his Adam's apple grazed it as it bobbed to swallow and moan.

But Hisoka craved for more. He crawled over his body as if he were dying. He didn't care about the pin, may the pain be welcomed, on the contrary. But he needed to be with him.

— I'm bored~ so bored~ I need... someone on my level to fight with~ I've set a trap for you to meet you, little Zoldyck.

So he had revealed his cards. I hoped to intrigue him. It had to intrigue him. He had to get it out of that head somehow. Maybe it would all end in a bloodbath.

But the Zoldyck just kept glaring at him. — I'm sorry. I can't stay here risking to het caught. If you know my surname, you also know my family and the rumors going around us.

Hisoka nodded, purring on him. He wasn't trying to leave his arms anymore. — No one know your names and your faces, so infamous in everywhere in Padokea~

— My father would not appreciate me ending up in jail. — he pointed out. — I don't know about you, but I don't want to get arrested.

Hisoka's face leaned over towards his. — When will I see you again, then~?

And the young man allowed himself to be deceived. He paid no attention to that touch, to those hungry looks, and only said a few words.

— Are you able to remember phone numbers?

A shiver run down his spine. A Zoldyck's phone number was the best he could hope for, obviously after a fuck/fight with one of them. — Ohh~ well, yes, yeah...

— I'm going to tell you. — he cutted short.

But Hisoka moaned, attaching himself on his body. Illumi felt with a growing embarrassment... something poking against his hips. — Oh no, just not right away~ if you write it on my arm... I'll show you a trick and no one will see your number~

The young man stayed still, looking at him. In silence. His eyes shone a bit. — A magic trick?

— I'm a magician for a reason~

He batted his lashes. — Arm. — he streched out his hand.

Hisoka vibrated with excitement, extending it to to him, nonchalantly. He still had his lips streched in that fox-like smirk of his. — How merciful of you~ you allow me to still stay close to you and give me such a cuddle~? I must seem to you to be on the verge of death and in need of one last wish~

The young Zoldyck took something out of his pocket. A small pin, so sharp, the top of it green. Slowly, looking at him in the eye, he started likinv it, his pink tongue leaving saliva at every lick.

Hisoka didn't know exactly what that little show he was witnessing was, but he knew that he didn't mind it at all. His throbbing member between his legs told him so. The warm pang in his stomach told him so. The eyes that became pools of liquid gold at the heavenly sight.

When it was all nice and moist, he dully took it away from his mouth.

— Are you going to write with that~?

— Yes. How are you going to hide the number?

— With my favorites Nen technique, of course~

He carried it lightly against his skin. He pressed the tip gently, and when he broke the skin a trickle of blood flowed calmly.

The night was torn from its quiet by the moans and cries of pleasure of a man, sweetly tortured by a very nice, unique and skilled assassin, who loved to dilate time under his expert touch to prick it with pins.

Hisoka couldn't remember ever feeling so excited.

When their paths separated, the young assassin had discovered that Bungee-gum has the properties of both rubber and gum, and Texture Surprise could be very useful in cases where the wounds needed to be hidden in some way, and Hisoka had discovered that the person with whom he had pleasantly spent minutes of total ecstasy was called Illumi Zoldyck, and that his telephone number was... divine when written in blood.

#hisoillu weekend #hunter x hunter #hxh #hisoillu #first encounter #omg i did it #omg im so late #omg im so lame #omg i need sleep #fanfic

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