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writer-room · 2 years

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Tied

AO3

Summary: And when standing waist-deep in water, staring at the back of a man he was fully expecting to be dead within the hour, Grian’s first and only thought was; you’ve got to be kidding me. And then he screamed. Because the Universe just really hates his guts, doesn’t it?

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Grian is the sort of person where, at any point in time, there are a lot of thoughts going on in his head.

Sometimes, it works out. Because when your head is never quiet, it’s not too hard to remember things, and even easier to learn. It also means he’s got quite a lot of ideas, on quite a lot of things, and this is where it strays into the dangerously troublesome territory.

Because then he gets ideas like starting wars. Or stealing the Enderdragon’s egg. Or living in a sentient, probably malicious rock. Or starting a death game with his friends. Because boredom makes you do a lot of crazy things. Reckless stupidity makes you do it repeatedly.

But this wasn’t about that.

Because for every truth, there is an exception. So, please believe that it’s a tremendously horrific deal that, when standing waist-deep in water, staring at the back of a man he was fully expecting to be dead within the hour, Grian’s first and only thought was; you’ve got to be kidding me.

And then he screamed. Because the Universe just really hates his guts, doesn’t it?

He saw both Etho and Joel startle at the sound of it, which was understandable. It was loud, distorted, horribly grating on the ears, and he damn near popped his jaw loose from how wide he stretched it.

He heaved in a breath, and experimentally touched a hand to his jaw. Ah, yeah, that side popped out a bit. Let’s just push that back in–

“Oh no,” He suddenly hears Etho say. “Joel, I just threw an enderpearl. I think I’m gonna die.”

“What–?”

And then Etho is teleporting away with a yelp.

It was so sudden and so Etho that Grian couldn’t help but stare, blink, and burst out laughing. Hysterically. Which was probably because of the frayed nerves.

And then Joel is laughing, too. Though his is more gleeful cackling, clinging onto the side of the canyon wall and doubled over in fits. And Grian is laughing along with him, and he can hear Etho somewhere above him laughing along with them, tumbling back down into the water, and they’re all such a mess.

“God,” Grian manages to get out, “this is terrible. Oh, goodness.”

“You’re actually linked?” Joel wheezes out, though he knows the answer. “Oh, oh that is too good. That’s incredible. That’s amazing.”

“I’m so sorry.” Etho says, completely ingenuine, and Grian notices that he’s got a wooden raft under one arm he’s trying to use as a boat, setting it over the water.

“God,” Grian says again, just staring off where Scar is chasing an allay up the canyon wall. Because of course he is. “I hate my life.”

“I give you my full sympathy.” Etho says, woefully unhelpful.

“I don’t.” Joel says, grinning, and if Grian didn’t know he was human all the way though, he would’ve called his teeth as sharp as a piranhas. “This is hilarious. Please live long enough for me to see how this goes.”

“I have no say in the matter!” Grian exclaims, gesturing off to where Scar is running around overtop the canyon. “You know just as well as I that Scar can, and will, die from absolutely anything! At any time! Oh, gosh,” Grian buries his face in his hands. “I can’t do this. Not again. I’m not gonna make it.”

“I don’t think Scar’s gonna make it.” Joel says, and Grian loudly groans, slumping back against the dirt wall behind him.

“I know,” He whines, slowly sliding down, water reaching up to his neck. Because he’s pretty sure the only two people shorter than Joel in the whole Universe are Bdubs, who’s like that by choice, and himself, who’s stuck with it. “The Fates hate me.”

“Eh, I mean, I kinda see why.” Etho shrugs, just as unsympathetic. “You’ve pissed them off, like, a lot of times.”

“I can’t do this.” He repeats, fingers moving aside as one of his eyes stared down at the water, mere inches from his face.

“Well, you’re gonna have to.” Joel says simply, perched on a jutting out piece of rock by his head.

“I can fix this.” Grian insists, hands falling away and into the water, looking up. His ears, he knows, are frazzled, fluffed, and altogether torn up. They haven’t been fully feathered in weeks. “I–this is still my game. Despite all that's happened, it's still–it’s mine.” He says, hands curling, desperate to grab and tear something. Maybe his hair, that’s usually a good start.

“Gonna have to politely ask that you don’t do that.” Etho says, wincing as he pulls himself up onto the boat-raft. “First time you tried to mess with the game, everything broke apart. And I think Martyn and Scott are still pretty shaken up over having to meet your eye-buddies from the last one.”

“Scott barely met them.” Grian scoffs, rolling his eyes. “And they were tame with Martyn. Believe me, if they didn’t like him, I’d know by now. They just like being a pain.”

“I still think it’s a bad idea.” Etho says gently, sitting cross-legged. “It won’t be so awful, will it? You did it once before. And it was pretty successful, I think.”

That’s kind of the problem, he almost says, nearly shouts. It was successful. Because Grian is not a cheater, but he is a rule-bender, and the game was kind of rigged and broken from the start.

It was successful, because this was his game. And Grian had made the mistake of willingly binding himself to someone like Scar. Because it was one thing if it was a forced binding. If it was all a trick. If it was someone like Jimmy, or Martyn, or Bigb, or Cleo. Those were people he would ditch in a heartbeat just to see what would happen, or could still consider somewhat of an ally by the end, or knew could handle themself on their own.

Scar was none of these people. Scar could only live for as long as he had valuables on him, or was able to convince others he had them. Grian knew how cunning he was, and was far too exasperated to stay close enough to call him an ally. And he always told himself Scar would be easy to ditch, to see what he does, but…he’s not. He’s never been easy.

It was successful, because by the time his pact was over and done with, there was nowhere else for him to go. He’d backed himself into a corner. The side he’d picked was the side he was stuck with. He barely even thought about ditching. How could he?

It was successful, because despite Scar being, well, Scar, he still won. To Grian, it was always their win. Grian kept Scar alive, and Scar went on to destroy their enemies by sheer luck. For all the betrayals, and the screaming, and the bared throats accepting defeat, it was their win.

His hands still shook when he thought beyond the sandy mountain and the grave for a llama that meant so little and yet still so much, so he tried not to.

“He doesn’t know.” He says instead, because he knows Scar, and there’s no way he knows. He’d be scamming Grian for all his worth if he knew. Or using him as a flesh shield. “He hasn’t figured it out yet.”

“That’s just kinda sad, honestly.” Joel clicks his tongue.

“You can’t tell him.” He says, and it sounds more like a plea. “Let’s just–not tell him.”

“It would be funny.” Etho agrees, giving Joel a look as if he’s trying to convince him. As if Joel doesn’t make up his mind in three seconds flat and sticks to it like a dying man.

“Oh, it would be doubly hilarious.” Joel agrees easily. “It’d be a shame to ruin the fun so early, really.”

He honestly can’t tell if they’re being jerks on purpose, or if this is just how they are. It’s probably a bit of both. His friends are weird like that.

“Unbelievable,” Grian scoffs. “You’re both–”

“It’s unbelievable, Grian!”

Grian doesn’t startle, but he does stop and look up. Etho startles, though. Always a tad jumpier than him or Joel.

And Grian sees a splash in the river as Scar half-hops, half-trips off a ledge, apparently having come back down the canyon. His head pops up a moment later, and Grian is out in the water and reaching for him before he even realizes he’s moved, friends forgotten behind him.

His hands, crooked and sharp, snag Scar’s sleeves. A familiar voice in his head is rattling off thoughts like a list of materials he needs, saying; Scar’s leg braces won’t make him sink immediately, but they aren’t buoyant, either. He doesn’t always remember this. No matter how waterproof he makes them, he can never seem to find a good blend between ‘functional’ and ‘won’t fall apart when soaked.’

He remembers thinking this, even when they were in water that didn’t even reach the man’s waist. He remembers seeing him bowed there, and despite it all, some part of him thought; he’s going to ruin those braces.

And Scar gives him such a sad, pouty look as Grian tugs him back towards their little shelf with all his might. Despite the fact he’s not a water bird. And his tail is too long and too heavy, and his wings, clipped, though that would never stop him, are barely managing to keep him afloat.

Despite that, he pulls him along.

“I lost my allay.” Scar says sadly, positively defeated. “My soulmate just left me up the hill.”

And Grian blinks, and stares at his face, at his green, living eyes. A face that hasn’t acknowledged the claws digging into his arms at all, or any of the previous conversations they had, or even given a hint at knowing just what in the world is going on.

And Grian smiles, crazily, perhaps a bit unhinged, and ready to curse the world for making him exist at all. And then he holds Scar’s arms tighter, and he laughs.

If Scar notices how much it clicks, whistles, and rattles around in a brain like how it shouldn’t, he says nothing. Nor if he notices just how worn and weary such a sound can be.

He just smiles back, because he’s Scar. He’s gone along with far worse than a lunatic who’s earned the ire of the Universe itself, and would continue to do so.

And he hates knowing that for certain, because he’s still not sure if that's a good thing or not.

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archetypal-archivist · 3 years

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Xisuma and Evil X- A Hero By Any Other Name

So. This happened. You ever get the urge to write 9000 words of Evil X and Xisuma as brothers that in a Super Hero AU where the government is corrupt and runs all the heroes into the ground in the name of “protecting the most people possible”? With lots of Evil X making poor choices to help out his exhausted hero of a brother? And then have that story end up taking over your life for about a week until you can get it all out? Yeah. Yeah, glad I finally finished this but gosh darn am I double glad that I can move on to other projects.

Also on AO3.

__________

A story in which there are two little boys, a pair of twins by the names of Evil X and Xisuma. Xisuma is good and kind and responsible, everything that his mother ever wanted and more. Evil X was the mistake, the additional child their parents didn't want nor could afford to have. Their parents had run the math, knew the risks, knew that if they penny-pinched enough, they could afford to have the child they always dreamed of. Evil X threw their maths into chaos, and if they wanted one son, they had to take both.

Evil X and Xisuma knew that Evil X was a mistake, that his presence was why their family could never afford to go to the movies, why they couldn't buy school lunches like all the other kids, why their parents were so stressed and tired and cruel. Still, Xisuma was glad that his brother existed, even if it made his parents' lives harder. He wondered if that made him a bad son.

In time, Evil X and Xisuma were left alone by everyone in their lives and until all they had are each other and the void that their parents left them with when they had to look them in the eye and tell them that they couldn't take care of them anymore. Even now Xisuma thinks that the void raised them better than their parents ever did, teaching him and his brother to lie through their teeth, be sneaky, be cruel.

In the orphanage and the many foster homes that followed, Evil X did his best to take care of his twin as a sort of penance for screwing up the life Xisuma could have led. In return, Xisuma lied and lied and lied to the matrons and the well-meaning children about anything and everything he needed to. They don't need anyone but each other. (Truth.) They are happy. He is everything that Evil X needs, Evil X doesn't want a family. Xisuma is enough. (Lie.)

(Gods, don't take his brother away.)

Xisuma grew up with lies on his tongue and smiles in his eyes, warping himself into the golden child, larger than life. Evil X grew up in the shadows with bruised knuckles, a bruised heart, and eventually, scars across his face from a fight gone bloody and wrong. He was protecting Xisuma, the scars were worth it- his brother accepts them with an odd little smile on his face and a shattering in his eyes. It is a moment that stays with them long after.

---

Eventually, foster homes turn into streets and dumpsters, and long nights spent under the covers together are turned into nights spent up in the branches of trees in the park. Xisuma makes friends with the pigeons while Evil X pretends not to like their feathered neighbors. They curl up the same though, bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces high in their bower. Made for each other, quietly shaping themselves around their twin so as to better protect them and shield them from the cold.

Evil X comes home to their tree with stolen sweaters and wilted flowers and popcorn kernels from behind the movie theater so that the birds don't starve. Xisuma meets him with tears of wonder in his eyes and fire dancing on his fingertips.

Xisuma has magic. Evil X tries not to be jealous. As it turns out, he has very little to be jealous of when it's revealed that there are many other people who have magic throughout the city- or rather, "superpowers." It's like something straight out of a comic book, if that comic book resembled something like Neil Gaiman's "Sandman" or the Transformers IDW continuity.

People start dying. A lot of people. Those with powers that make them look monstrous are feared, hated, and eventually outcast. Those with powers that are useful are drafted to fight wars and heal people for hours and hours with no rest in the hospitals. Xisuma sells himself to the city officials behind Evil X's back and in return, he and his brother get a cold glass and steel apartment and food enough that they will never starve again.

Evil X begins to build up muscle, fleshing out and growing tall and strong. He hates it, hates his body, because Xisuma never becomes more than whipcord strength and whispered words- down-turned eyes, up-turned lips. Reassurances that he's happy, really, truly. So obedient, his brother, the ideal filial son to the system that Evil X could never bring himself to be. They train the civilian out of his twin and mold him into a leader, a real proper superhero.

They don't give his brother lunch breaks. They need his power too badly, they say. There are people dying and they need his strength.

Gods, it makes him sick.

Xisuma's slight figure hides in his brother's shadow when they are at home, and Evil X does his best to wrap around him until the "monsters" of the world can't get him. Evil X lets Xisuma's flames dance across his fingertips and tickle his face, their gentle warmth driving out some of the chill in their big empty apartment. On truly special days, they go to the park to feed the birds. The higher ups don't like that, of course, insisting that Xisuma under Evil X's care is like using his spark for a kerosene lamp, contained, stifled, unable to help anyone in any way that matters.

The city wants a bonfire. Evil X growls and tells them no, but Xisuma just smiles and his eyes shatter a little more as he goes with them willingly, offering himself up as kindling. His superhero name is Matchstick of all things, and Evil X knows his brother well enough to know that he picked it out himself.

A nod to the fact that he is destroying himself? An inside joke and an apology in one, maybe. It breaks his heart too much to think on it.

---

With time, the rules and roles become a little clearer and the war begins to solidify. Basic rights for those with powers is still in the works, but Xisuma is able to start eating a little more. Evil X makes him protein shakes to take with him to work anyway.

The heroes are this: Matchstick, Reaper, Ivy-Over, Xenon, Spatter, Shank, Krypton, and Trigometric. Xisuma, Cleo, Gemini, Tango, Vintage Beef, Iskall, Impulse, Cubfan.

The villains are this: Armistice, Zyon, Ooze, Clockwork, Poultryman, Valkerie, and Lumesce. (Welsknight, Etho, Jevin, Mumbo, Grian, Stress, Pearl- but our hero doesn't know this yet.)

Evil X sits on their shared bed and holds his twin in his arms, listening to him talk about work with troubled eyes.

Reaper. Cruel, with a tongue like a knife and teeth even sharper. She eats her enemies whole and seems to enjoy the taste of blood. Somewhere in the dark of the building is a man named Joe who whispers comebacks and threats to her for her to use in her next fight. She has not seen him free or unshackled in three years. Around his neck is a metal collar, an irony too bitter for her to speak of often. Xisuma hopes they treat him well.

Ivy-Over, blinded by the glitter and shine of heroism, still firmly thinking the best of her political overlords. Naive. Carefully herded off the battlefields as soon as her fights are over so that she never sees the casualties her massive vines leave in their wake. Xisuma worries that one day the illusion will be broken and with it her mind. She seems like the kind of person who could regress to using entrails as a skipping rope if pushed far enough. Evil X does his best to reassure him, but the lies turn to mulch in his mouth.

Xenon and Krypton, a duo that never let the higher ups split them up or force them to fight alone. Together they share a record for the fewest recorded injuries, as well as a certain fierceness in their eyes as they volley explosive balls of shadow and light between them, bouncing them back and forth to build up velocity before letting them loose on their enemies. Still, the people whisper about how much more help they could do if they were simply separated, able to cover more places at once. At night, Xisuma hears them crying, bundled tight in each other's arms and mourning their missing third.

Shank, their sniper. Supreme accuracy, a consequence of his self-built bionic eye and his special laser rifle. The higher ups are murmuring about what he could do if more of him was bionic. What improvements could be made to his body? How many more lives could be saved? (How many more "monsters" could be put behind bars?)

Splatter, their brawler. A sip of blood and he hulks out, his strength becoming all the greater the more he drinks, so the higher ups give him all the blood he could stomach and more. They never tell him where it comes from, and he's too afraid to ask. (He was a butcher before this whole hero thing, he had explained to Xisuma once. He knows what animal blood tastes like. What they give him is definitely not animal blood- and sometimes, it makes him feel sick. He always was allergic to steroids.)

Trigometric, who bent reality into fractals, who seemed just a bit more broken than the rest. He actually liked his job, and that perhaps made him less of a hero and more of a monster. (Mr. Goodtimes was a head of government of some renown, famous for his power plays and his campaign that favored brutal action against those that the city condemned. Trigometric called him "Scar" with affection on his lips and that was perhaps scariest of all.)

It's terrifying hearing about his twin's coworkers and their varying flavors of unfortunate and unstable, even worse when he has to stay at home and watch the news to see if his brother has survived to see another day against the violent protests and the drug rings and mobs and super villains.

Because there are super villains. He even meets one.

---

The pigeons need feeding. Life or death, whether Xisuma is around to remind him or no, the pigeons need feeding so every Tuesday and Saturday Evil X goes to the park with a bag of bird seed. It just so happens that one sunshine-filled summer day there is someone there before him. Crouched close to a few pigeons, at first he thinks the figure is just dressed in a purple cloak, but when the figure stands up and stretches, the cloak separates to reveal a pair of brilliant purple wings. Poultryman.

Evil X has seen his brother come back from fights and he knows that while Poultryman is a figure of some renown, his battles rarely cause collateral damage- that's more the hallmark of his partner Clockwork. So when Poultryman turns to face him, trademark white mask over his eyes and an odd expression on his face, Evil X just glares and walks up to him to dump the bag of bird seed on the super villain's feet.

"For the birds," he says tersely before spinning on his heel, preparing to walk away. The sound of bright, cheerful laughter has him pausing and the sound of wings meeting the dirt has him turning around. Poultryman is on the ground, rolling around in the bird seed and laughing his head off, clutching his stomach and flapping his wings wildly, which only makes even more of a mess.

"Pffftt- hahaHAhAHaH! Oh gods, your face! If I couldn't tell you were so pissed off to see me I wouldv'e thought this was the greatest prank ever!" Oookay? Evil X crosses his arms, unimpressed and left with a sneaking suspicion he is being made fun of.

"And?" Poultryman lets out a last few wheezing gasps before smoothly rolling to his feet, mask askew and utterly covered in dirt, grass, and bird seed. The local pigeons have, surprisingly enough, not scattered just yet.

"And that was brilliant! Tell me, are you the one who's been feeding the birds around here? The pigeons have been dying to introduce me to their 'friend' and I've been eager to meet them ever since. Well, the word translates more to family but there's some non-pigeon implications mixed in there, so friend works a little better. I don't think my feathered friends have quite yet figured out how to buy their own bird seed. You don't look like a pigeon anyway."

"No. I am not a pigeon," Evil X sighs, shifting his feet but keeping his posture defensive. If he remembers right, Poultryman never did any real damage but he apparently came off to Xisuma as a little unhinged and he'd rather not test the super villain's good mood. "And yes, I feed the birds around here. Can I go?"

Poultryman tilts his head to the side, going abruptly silent and still, all emotion wiped from his body language, expression, and voice. "That depends. Would you like to make Matchstick's life a little easier? I have a deal for you."

---

It goes a little something like this.

Clockwork and Poultryman schedule a raid on a local food processing plant, hoping to take their newest shipment of tin. Matchstick and Splatter are in the area and are called in to help. It's a poor match up to begin with, with Splatter's strength not doing much against Clockwork's robotika and Matchstick- while able to keep up with Poultryman in the air, barely- can't seem to land a solid hit on the villain. It doesn't help that he seems to be limited in how hard he hits, too conscious of what his flames might do to Poultryman's vulnerable feathers and of just how high they are in the air. Clockwork, meanwhile, is free to pilfer what he and his partner please from the plant.

However, despite the lack of damage the super heroes are able to do, the villains do even less. To Evil X, that is all that matters.

In another part of the city, a group of civilians meet in an abandoned railway car, dry docked in a train yard with its rusted frame resting on several heavy blocks of wood. The door is chained shut, but that means little when the underneath has a hole cut into it and if one is determined enough, crawling inside is easy. There, they exchange moth-eaten blankets, half-broken appliances, tattered clothes, and the tools to fix them. Money. Documents.

Evil X brings food. The government promised food unending to him and his brother, he may as well take advantage of it.

A deceptively normal-looking man with glasses and a deactivated metal collar around his neck brings a stack of books in, most of them picture books for the children. Another man, this one with green skin and robotik prosthetics, brings a stack of battered but newly repaired mobile phones, gaze shifting around nervously, as if scared to be caught there. Evil X makes a quiet note of the men but moves on. Theirs is not a story he feels like tampering with today.

When Xisuma comes home to find Evil X laying face-down in bed, fast asleep, he just smiles and tucks himself in beside his twin. Today is the first day in a long time he had come out from a fight unscathed, and tomorrow he will share the good news with his brother. For now, he sleeps.

---

In time, Evil X becomes a staple of the Homeless Enforcing Principles, which quickly gets abbreviated to the rather unimaginative "HEP." He wonders in the back of his mind if a certain man in glasses had something to do with the name, but decides not to bother with that quickly enough. He has enough on his plate as is with his newly adopted duties.

You see, when you get a diverse enough body of people together from all echelons in the city, and then put them into a rather small space, they begin to do what every group of friendly strangers like to do on the train- start complaining. Sometimes it's about the new "neighborhood watch" starting trouble on the corner of 6th and Fruit, sometimes it's about the new increase in taxes their boss wants to implement, sometimes it's about the stock that slips through the gaps when the trucks come to restock the supermarket.

Between him and his twin, Evil X never really was the one for idle chit-chat, but he knew lies just as well as his brother did and public speaking was just lying with a pretty bow on top. Stock begins to get left off of inventory sheets and put into the hands of the needy. The "neighborhood watch" get pointed towards the parts of the city that actually need their help (conveniently drawing the attention of the local law enforcement, who can actually do something about the problem).

He begins to donate more and more food to the cause, waistline thinning in the process. He thinks he likes his figure better that way.

As Evil X puts more time into his new project, crime rates don't exactly go down, but the number of people arrested for stupid reasons certainly does. The other members of HEP begin to bring in their friends and family and the pool of resources and talents grows, expanding outside the walls of their train car and out into people's basements, gas station parking lots, metal trash bin bonfires in the park. Little pools of community, and for Evil X, wellsprings of information.

Clockwork and Poultryman are some of the first actual super villains to come to the meetings, this time under the names of Mumbo Jumbo and Grian, but they are not the last.

---

Armistice arrives hanging off of Lumesce's shoulder one night, his metal body forcing her to drag him along on the ground, shredded legs unable to hold his own weight. She cries steady tears of light, seemingly near-physically pained at being unable to further help him. Evil X watches quietly from the background as Grian looks up and over the bonfire from where he is tending the jagged gash in the unconscious Mumbo's leg.

"Wels. Pearl. Got you too, huh?" The carefully kept-up cheer is gone from the man's face as the duo settle down by the fire, sprawling out in a rough heap.

The woman, Pearl, nods wearily, pulling off her hood and wiping at her face, glowing tears staining her black jacket. "Yeah. Trigometric decided he wanted to come and 'play' for a bit, seems he finally caught on to the illegal clinic I was running down in Mr. TFC's basement. I was lucky enough to get an anonymous tip that he was coming, but Wels got caught in the crossfire for defending me." Grian nods back, eyes distant.

"Give Mumbo a hand with his leg, I'll go grab the last of our tin for Wels to eat so he can patch himself up. E-X?" Evil X straightens up at the winged man's attention. "Call up Keralis and see if you can't get some hew housing sorted for Mr. TFC. I doubt his house survived in the crossfire and you might as well fix it for him with my permission and funds rather than just sort it out behind my back and try to sell it to me as an 'investment' later." With that parting remark Grian stands up stiffly and flies away, leaving Pearl to make her way over to his partner, healing tears already streaming down her face so that she can start to fix the wound.

On the other side of the fire, Wels reaches down and rubs at the sharp and twisted metal of the remnants of his left leg, expression lost and weary. "Things can't keep going like this, so many of us are running on fumes by this point. Something has to change." Expressionless, Evil X just turns away, pulls out his cellphone, and begins to make a few calls.

He carefully ignores the twisting of his heart in his chest.

The next day, Mr. TFC has a room in a decent hotel and Evil X sits on his perfectly white couch staring at his overly large TV, watching the news. Armistice and Poultryman are fighting against Matchstick and Ivy-Over, dashing in and landing a few hits before retreating to the shadows, then running up to repeat the process again. The fight ends with both sides retreating, the heroes to the hospital, the villains to skies with Poultryman straining to bear both Armistice's weight and the load of cash stolen cash in his arms.

Grian's going to pull a wing muscle again, Evil X just knows it.

Xisuma leaves the fight unscathed. Gemini isn't nearly so lucky.

---

The next super villain he meets is mostly on accident, a random encounter more than anything. Tired of lounging about all day, if you call making connections and surfing the internet doing fuck all, Evil X decides he hates himself a bit more than he usually does and decides to go job hunting. A quick internet search later and he finds himself standing outside an abandoned warehouse on the North docks. He and his brother never had much more than their birth certificates and social security numbers to their name, so shady suited him perfectly fine.

A man steps out from behind a corner dressed in a hospital mask, black pea-coat, and a sailor's breton cap as white as his hair. Evil X freezes, eyes going wide as the familiar-looking stranger goes bug-eyed to see him right back. Then the man shifts his weight to his back foot, crossing his arms and wincing playfully, very real trepidation lurking in his posture.

"Uh, you wouldn't happen to by Matchstick's brother, would you?" Evil X takes a careful step away from the man, who he now recognizes as Zyon from watching the news, one of Xisuma's more common foes. His own research proved that the fellow had ice powers to put an iceberg to shame, which was ironic considering that he was secretly the business mogul Etho, who ran a shipping company helpfully named "Titanic Inc." It was doubly ironic since "Zyon" was notorious for causing problems for "Etho," who then claimed the insurance payouts when the boats eventually sank.

That the boats that sank frequently carried weapons, junk food made with GMO ingredients, and weirdly enough, socks, was of little consequence to him, but he kept that amusing tidbit in his back pocket for later. (The sailors on board were... collateral. And a nonissue. Anyone who signed up on a ship run by "Titanic Inc." deserved what they got.)

(Their deaths were not his concern.)

"Yeah, that's me. And you're Zyon- or rather, Etho." Zyon chuckles nervously.

"Yep yep, that's me. And you're very firmly on the 'no touchie' list around here, so I'm just gonna gooo...." Zyon flinches as Evil X suddenly attaches himself to his wrist, expression steely.

"List?" It's more statement than question, but it has Zyon gulping back a frantic giggle anyway.

"Oh no, I'm not messing with that one. Let's just say you should take that up with your brother and leave it at that. Get too deep into that mess and someone's gonna end up regretting it- and I'm not that dumb, that's for sure!" With that parting remark, Evil X finds his feet frozen to the ground and Zyon running off, dropping the black pea-coat of Etho to reveal the icy blue Kevlar ninja suit of the super villain underneath.

Bemusedly Evil X watches Zyon vault up a stack of pipes onto a nearby roof, then off towards the city where he could better better disappear.

Hmm. Seems like he needs to step up his game.

---

He runs into Ooze at the supermarket. Apparently they both prefer the green grapes to the purple ones. The more you know.

---

It's his encounter with Valkerie that really sets things off.

Xisuma comes home one day, tears streaming down his face and his gloves covered in blood and dust. He crumples in a heap at Evil X's feet where he sits on the couch and drops his face into his twin's lap, trembling. His arms dangle at his sides, blood dripping from his fingers onto the sterile white carpeting.

"Four dead found in a park near here. All teenagers, just having fun. Just. Just fucking kids! She ruptured their ear drums and they bled out because they couldn't move to get to safety. Gods E-X, their eyes... They looked so scared..." Evil X stays quiet and runs his fingers through his brother's hair, heedless of the muck clinging to the ends. Xisuma shakes himself to bits in his hands. "They were just kids. We couldn't do even do anything but clean up the mess afterwards."

Xisuma pauses, hesitant, before choking out- "That could have been us. Had we still been on our own, that could have been us." Ah. So that's it.

"We're safe, you know. Whoever Valkerie is, she won't get us here."

"But we don't know that! What if you're out shopping and she's at the market, or if she gets on the news and her scream works through the TV? What then?! I can't-" The words die in his twin's throat and Evil X gulps back his own.

I can't lose you. It's a phrase that's crossed his own mind more than once.

"Okay. Okay. I'll stay home until she's caught, okay? Get delivery or something, I don't know. And I'll keep the TV off, the radio too. Shhh. Shhhhh. I'll be okay." Xisuma struggles closer, shoving his face into his brother's stomach and getting snot and tears all over the both of them. Evil X doesn't complain. It's a lie and they both know it, but they've lived lies before, are used to it. What's one more, in the face of that?

To be fair, Evil X gives it a few weeks before he makes his move, and he knows he'll be fine so really it's only half a lie anyway.

---

Feet crunch against gravel as Evil X approaches the woman kneeling in the center of the abandoned construction site, hands over her mouth, eyes scrunched, biting the flesh of her thumb to keep her sobs held in.

"Hello Ms. Valkerie. Grian's told me about you."

The woman whips around, eyes wide and bloodshot at his sudden appearance, before she shakily lowers her hands from her mouth to clutch at the fabric of her pink cardigan. "I'm- I'm not some monster, got it? I'm just Stress, j-just- I'm just me! I don't want to hurt anyone!" Her voice goes shrill and thin towards the end and Evil X hides his wince, although apparently not well enough because she immediately slaps a hand over her mouth again, eyes watering anew.

"Okay. It's okay, Stress. I'm here to help," he placates, lowering himself down to sit next to her in the dirt. Around them, rusted I-beams and concrete pillars rise, giving them some semblance of privacy. The full moon lurks overhead, casting them both in a silver glow. "You're life must be very hard, hm?"

Stress nods, expression wary.

"And retail is very- ha- stressful too, I imagine?" Here a little grin leaks out from behind her hand. "All those customers whining on and on about discounts. 'Oh, I have a gift receipt why can't I return this?' Like, lady, you opened this box. 'I'm gonna talk to your manager!' Lady, he's just gonna say the exact same thing."

A stifled giggle and a whispered "Worse! I work in the women's clothing department." Evil X gives a mock gasp, face going wide and shocked.

"So you don't just have to deal with fussy customers- you deal with fussy suburban soccer moms!" Stress tips forward with the force of her muffled laughter, tucking her damp face into the curve of his neck and putting her full weight on him. Hesitantly she clutches the tail of his shirt with her freehand, then a little tighter when he makes no move to shove her off. Evil X just wraps a gentle arm around her shoulders.

"Some of those customers must make you want to go home and just scream, huh." Her laughter tapers off, but she nods, quiet. "So you go somewhere empty and abandoned and scream your heart out so you don't kill someone." Another nod, a little hitch in Stress' breathing. "And you scream and scream, so glad to release some of your pent-up feelings, but oops. It turns out there are people there anyway. And your screaming just killed them. You've become a murderer and the police brands you accordingly."

The hand in his shirt tightens, tugging. "I- I didn't want to hurt them! I didn't want to hurt anyone! But- but it just happened and then I was running, and no one saw me so I had to just go to work the next day, a-and. And-"

"And now you're the wanted super villain Valkerie." His hand smoothes up and down her back as her breath hitches again, once, twice, and then wetness against his neck.

"Valkerie is such a stupid name, anyway. I'm not escorting anyone anywhere, let alone to Valhalla. I just scream and. And they're dead."

Evil X hums quietly. "You must be very tired."

"...Yes. Yes." The moon slips through the sky for a while and they drift with it, lost in thought. Evil X stares up at it, squinting against its light to try and figure out what time it is, if Xisuma is likely to be home yet. The gravel is harsh against his knees.

Then. "Things can't keep going like this. I'm so tired, all the time these days. It's just work, day in and day out, and all this stress." She pulls away then and Evil X watches as Stress scrubs at her face, expression going cold and determined. She stares him straight in the eyes, but something about her still seems lost, like she's gazing through him. "Something has to change or else someone is going to get themselves killed."

He tilts his eyes head, considering, thoughtful, with a well-hidden edge to his voice.

"I think I could help with that."

---

The morning news. Four calls placed, a frantic brother reassured, Stress is sitting a cafe on the corner of Elm and 5th. Her gut flutters with nerves but Evil X can see her expression is calm from her position in the background of the shot. The news anchor is a pretty blond-haired, blue-eyed young woman blathering on about how the cafe apparently is the oldest one in the city and some other historical nonsense. Out of shot of the camera, a desperate, dog-eared petty thief is running for his life down 6th street, the hulking figure of Spatter hot on his heels.

They round a corner, onto 5th. Past the cafe, the startled reporter, the public shrieking as their morning is disrupted. Stress nearly throws up as her heart launches itself into her throat but she's... There's a plan and she's going to stick to it.

So she stands up, small and in the background of the shot, but her bright pink jacket makes her stand out. She opens her mouth, expression going scared like a civilian's, and screams just as she had been told to. It's not for long, barely a second or two all told, but it's enough to have the people near her cringing away, blood trickling from their eyes and from where their fingernails dig into their skin in trying to cover their ears.

Spatter freezes in his tracks, pupils mere pinpricks as the sudden outpouring of blood triggers something deep and wild in him. The camera shakes, the frightened camera man ducking down to avoid notice but carefully recording what's about to happen, as if sensing that whatever happens next is about to be important.

The hero turns towards Stress, eyes wild, and although she's scared out of her mind, she stands her ground. Her voice barely even shakes as she speaks.

"S-stop. Stop running, can't you see you're scaring people? You nearly ran me over!" In the eyes of the camera Stress looks like a frightened civilian gone civil defender in pink, the morning light casting her in gold and the cafe's shadow creeping over Spatter's massive, muscled-out form to cast him in darkness and grey. The lack of harsh lighting makes it even more obvious when he starts sniffing the air, darting eyes pausing on all the bloodied hands and finally resting on the woman who caused the damage.

The world has insisted, long and loud, that he is a hero and with that comes certain ingrained responsibilities. Stress is Valkerie. Splatter fixes his gaze on her and with a snarl, he moves.

The camera catches it in perfect, awful clarity when his arm goes through her stomach and her blood starts pooling on the floor. Her expression is so betrayed.

From his place on his clean, white couch at home, Evil X turns the TV off.

---

Stress is buried with honors and all media depictions of Valkerie as a monster cease as the streets are made "safe" from the super villain. Instead, news programs and talk shows take up a new crusade, this one against the "heroes" that protected the city and the governing bodies that controlled their movements. Mr. Goodtimes has his name dragged through the mud, and each day his brother comes home with stories about how frazzled Trigometric is, Evil X has to hide his smile.

Seeming to pick up on the way things are turning, Clockwork disappears from the public eye while Poultryman steps up the showmanship, making more appearances in public spaces to egg government buildings and steal petty amounts of scrap metal from junk yards and factory scrap heaps. The heroes that give chase, usually Xenon and Krypton, end up causing more damage than they actually prevent.

Ivy-Over- shocked at the public outrage about the apartments left in shambles after her particularly brutal battle against Zyon- rather predictably ends up snapping, although not in any way Evil X expected.

She ends up going to the news and telling them everything. Public outrage rises anew.

There's a riot in town square and Matchstick and Reaper are sent in to stop it. Thirteen people die, kindly Mr. TFC one of them. Xisuma comes home, collapses into Evil X's arms, and cries.

Things have to change. And so they do.

---

Midnight and two figures meet on a roof top somewhere overlooking the domed silhouette of city hall. The first wears a set of armor shaded in green and grey, a purple visor over his eyes and an oxygen-filter over the lower half of his face. The second figure has wings, stretched wide to block out the light of the crescent moon above.

Matchstick. Poultryman.

Xisuma. Grian.

Matchstick tilts his head to the side, drawing himself up to his full height to loom over the far shorter villain. "The status quo is falling apart, Poultryman. Does the deal still hold?"

Poultryman rolls his head to make it clear he had just rolled his eyes, the purple insignia on his mask flashing to display his annoyance. "Yeah yeah, I've spread the word to the others and they're not as crazy as the news likes to make 'em out to be. No one has hurt your precious 'E-X,' nor do they have any plans to. Too much trouble to mess with beyond trying to keep him out of whatever crime scene we'll be making, and that's hard enough as is. Your brother has a habit of making himself hard to track and it's getting... troubling."

The hero's posture suddenly goes as stiff as his namesake, smoke starting to hiss from the vents carefully built into his suit. "Troubling?"

Violet wings flap once, twice, before pulling tight against Poultryman's back and not for the first time, Matchstick curses himself for never bothering to learn what his various wing positions mean. The villain in question just rolls his shoulders back and settles into a careful parade rest that gives nothing away, expression pensive.

"Xisuma..." Matchstick flinches back, the careful line between them wavering at the name. "What exactly do you about your brother?"

A hesitant head tilt and he taps his fingers along his leg, thinking back to when he had last spent more than a few fleeting hours with his twin at a time.

"He likes sweet foods, even if he pretends he doesn't. Has more money invested in Derp Coin than he probably should. Likes red and black but gets fussy if anyone calls him a goth. Never seems to sleep, or eat regular meals, but he never seems to forget anything either. Best brother I could ever ask for- he loves me, I know that for sure. All the important stuff. Why?"

A wisp of cloud drifts overhead, casting a brief shadow over the pair, and in the sudden darkness Matchstick could swear that Poultryman had pulled a frown. Then the moment passes and the villain is back to his usual inscrutable self, the only emotion in his body language being what he had put there intentionally. His wings remain tight to his back.

"Then I think you might be in for a bit of a surprise one day, Matchstick. Here's to hoping you can roll with the coming storm."

---

Evil X is beloved by the HEP network. Regardless of Grian's intention in putting him in contact with them- or even why the villain knew of the group to start with- his repeated contributions to their food stocks made him an opening among them and his ability to make and exploit connections made him their hero. If you were desperate, hungry, in need? Evil X could get you whatever you needed at the cost of a simple favor.

When it came to the price of a life, a favor is a small thing to ask indeed. Is it any wonder that they became so loyal to him? So when Evil X began asking questions about some of the city's more sensitive secrets and its shadier underbelly, it was only natural that they told him.

From the tall man with green skin, he learned the best places to dump things so that they disappeared. From a sleepy-looking fellow with a bandana, he learned the locations of the best drug dealers, and from those dealers he learned of their suppliers, their manufacturers, the places where heroes never walked. From the man with glasses, he learned about the back doors and hidden routes through the biggest, most important buildings, the places where they held people until they could make them disappear.

And with this information, Evil X's services expanded even further. Drugs for the addicts, as contaminant-free and trust-worthy as he could find them. Ways to make people appear and disappear in the eyes of the law (and the occasional abusive spouse). Alcohol, cigarettes- and most importantly, information.

Or rather, black mail. If you wanted to know something on someone, Evil X became the person to go to. Months of careful manipulation had spread his name and his reach through all levels of the city and people from all walks of life took advantage of her services, although usually all meetings were held over the phone and through a voice changer fashioned to look just like his twin's mask. The secrecy only increased his popularity, as people just love a good mystery and a grey-shaded crime boss made a lovely story indeed.

And soon, this caught the intention of another of the city's fabled figures- the mad scientist who lived deep in the underbelly of the city, a place where no light shone. The man, the myth, the legend... Void.

But then, myths never were all that accurate, especially with things like names.

---

Curly blond hair, brown cardigan, a ripped white lab coat. Calculating purple eyes and a wide, wide eerily white grin. Short and stocky with a complexion like a ripe peach, the blue light coming off the lights overhead casting hazy shadows over his form, everything about the good doctor is simultaneously creepy and a soft sort of handsome- he has to say, he's impressed. The mythical Zedaph lives up to the city's dark rumors of him and he says as much, which prompts that grin to grow all the wider.

"Ah, hello Weaver! Y'know, I kind of thought you'd be shorter. And down here a lot sooner, I almost could say I missed you~!" Evil X balks as the scientist steps forward and grips his chin to tilt his head down, purple eyes wandering over his scarred features.

"It's not like you make yourself easy to find- and that's not my name." Zedaph shakes his head, leaning his face up with just scant inches between them.

"Little spider, you might be pretty good at hearing things but you're awful at listening. If you have large enough ears, you'd find you're just about the most talked about thing in the underground these days-"

"Do spiders have ears...?"

"-so like it or not, your web is big enough that people have been spotting it in odd places, which means your twin will probably catch on soon. Which means..." Here Zedpah spins away to walk to the opposite wall, pressing a few buttons on his tablet which make the underground laboratory brighten considerably. Evil X tries not to feel bereft at the sudden loss of contact. "Your plans are gonna have to hit double time. And I love me a good speed potion!"

Speechless, Evil X just nods as the scientist opens a previously hidden door and pulls out a laptop case from inside, turning to present it to him with a fiercely proud expression on his face.

"Knock 'em dead darling. I can't wait to see you rock their world~!"

---

What does the end of an era look like? It's not a sudden collapse of civilization, people screaming and running through the streets. It's not the violent murder of the governmental leaders or riots against the past order. It's not as clear cut as all that. Nor is it so subtle that people look around one day and go huh, as the world around them had shifted beneath their feet without their notice. Indeed, there are many who saw the tide rising and were all too happy to watch the waters sweep in and away.

It goes like this.

The super villains go missing. First one week goes by with no wild scheme or dangerous incident, then two, then three. The higher ups are frantic with worry, running constant meetings and keeping the super heroes out on the streets for as long as they could without the heroes themselves rioting. It keeps Matchstick out of the way of Weaver, and at the moment, that's all the thought he can afford to spare his twin. It's for the best, really. The next step is important.

Across every government-issued computer in the city, an email is issued out. Personalized, first middle last name, parents' names, chidlrens' names. An alphabetical list of every law the person in question had broken in the last ten years, the number of witnesses who saw them do it, sometimes video footage or photo-copied documents if the crime was serious enough to warrant more concrete proof. What the punishments for those crimes would be. What could be done, if those punishments were waived for money or fame.

Nearly a thousand people get an email in the span of 24 hours. (Evil X never wants to write another email ever-fucking-again. None. Ever.) The heroes also receive an email detailing what laws were broken by denying them rights, food, decent living conditions and overtime pay, as well as the names of several lawyers who would work for them for free if the email was shown to them within three days time.

Every email is emblazoned with a web-like logo with a bright red "X" sitting in the middle like a bloody spider. Though some plucky tech people attempt to track the emails back to the sender, their every attempt is rebuffed by the impossible firewalls built into the computer the messages were sent from. As imagined, chaos in its most understated form ensues.

The city officials scramble to keep their sinking ship from falling apart and the little people kept cooped up in square offices and cell blocks come crawling out of the woodwork to jump ship. Some of the heroes, such as Xenon, Matchstick, and Shank try desperately to hold things together, but others like Reaper head for the nearest legal office and hole up with a team of vicious prosecutor attorneys. Meanwhile, the civilians go about their business, unaware of what is going on in the ivory towers far above their notice.

Xisuma comes home to fin their apartment empty, and although betrayal sits like a rock in his gut, his guts still squirm with desperate, aching fear. (No... please, no.)

The super villains make their reappearance with flair, setting the stage for the next act. Each one takes to a corner of the city, working in pairs to capture civilians and hold them hostage en mass, their efforts to wide spread for the remaining heroes to deal with in one go. From here, walking along a quiet street and watched by hundreds of frightened eyes- a captive audience- Weaver makes his debut as he makes his way to the city capital.

Tall, whip-thin enough to make his proportions lean more towards slenderman than super model, and dressed in red and black armor with a matching helmet and visor, Weaver cuts an imposing figure as he makes his way up the white marble steps of the capital building to where a nervous-looking reporter stands. She straightens up at his approach though and with a nod to her camera crew, she starts asking questions just in time for Poultryman to swoop in and land beside the newest super villain, expression stern but a clear presence of support.

In his hands a laptop is clutched.

---

The demands are simple in theory, but Xisuma feels his heart thunder in his throat at every point on the list.

The week would be split into three types of days. Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays would proceed as normal and the heroes and villains could go at each other as they pleased. Fridays would be reserved for the villains to do as necessary without hero interference under the caveat that no blood would be spilled, and Sundays heroes could have the same. Tuesdays and Saturdays, no one would fight, a proper break for everyone.

The villains would keep to their side of the bargain, Weaver says darkly as he stares directly into camera, just so long as the heroes kept to theirs. And measures would be taken for anyone who chose not to comply. Xisuma's brain goes fuzzy with static as the super villain makes a few other demands, something about fair wages and from when to when each group could operate, but his gaze remains locked to where he can just barely make out his twin's face through his visor. The words filter through him, dismissed into a soft numbing blur.

The air suddenly feels chilled on his skin, fingers twitching in his lap, a rough, twisting feeling in his gut like the bottom of his stomach just dropped away. He feels trapped, unable to move from the couch, from the wrong side of the screen. Oh, he thinks hazily to himself, he's about to be sick. Hmm, ought to do- something. About all of- of this.

Gods... What did his brother do?

---

An era ends like this- Poultryman sweeps Weaver away in his arms and in his place, Evil X comes home. Xisuma watches his brother come through the door, eyes glued to his brother's face even as Evil X places his keys on the table by the door and takes off his shoes. There's a gentle realization bubbling up that this is the first time he's seen his brother's bare face with his own eyes, without the tint of a visor between them, in far too long. His twin's got paler as of late, making the eye bags and scars stand out all the more.

"You're home." The words hang in the air and Evil X sags at their weight, leaning against the door as if to prop himself up for the conversation to come. His arms hang behind his back, a laptop case dangling in his grip.

"You know this isn't home any more than the tree was."

"We- we were supposed to be safe here. This was where we were going to stay!" Xisuma is going red now, rising up from the couch in his anger, and Evil X watches him with the dredged-up calm of a man resigned to drowning. Good, anger he could handle.

"You thought this was where we would stay, got us a nice, normal apartment that looks like it's out of a fashion plate without asking me. You think I like staying in this pretty white bird cage that you bought by selling yourself to the most corrupt people around? This place isn't any safer for us than the tree was, and at least in the park we had company!"

"Says the one who fell into bed with the literal bad guy! At least here you weren't getting into fights every other week."

"No, now you're the one doing that!" They're shouting at each other. They never do that. An acrid taste fills Evil X's mouth and he gulps it back, along with a few words he just knows he would regret if he said them. A deep breath, a slow in and out. "Look, just. Don't be a hypocrite, okay?"

Xisuma pauses in his wind up for a proper tirade, eyes wary and wet. "What?"

"You aren't the only self sacrificing moron here."

"...Oh." Yeah. Oh.

Here Evil X takes another breath, resisting the urge to hold it, then extends his arm to show his twin the laptop case. "Hey."

Xisuma folds his arms behind his back, looking at his feet and then up again, shuffling back a step. "Yeah?"

"Got you a present. You always were the best of us, so. Here. It was the last part of the deal I kinda set up, a kind of fail-safe slash card to add to your deck. This laptop has evidence of my entire operation, every backroom deal, every piece of black mail, every person I've had killed or vanished or what have you. Everything I've been up to for the last however long. And... it's for you to read. It's not gonna be fun, but like, I trust you so it's okay. If you read this and really, honestly think I've crossed a line you can't forgive me for, you can turn this into the police and... I'll deal with whatever you choose to do with me. No loop holes, no take-backs."

Here Evil X leans his full weight against the door and lets his arm swing back down to his side, gaze sliding off to the side and a melancholy smile curling at his lips and pulling at his scars. "I trust you. I trust you. It... It'll be okay, yeah? Just make whatever choice you need to. Don't hesitate." He doesn't promise anything, keeps the words 'I'll be okay' from spilling into the air between them, but instead allows a careful submission to enter his posture, head bowed and figure loose and hanging.

It... might not be alright, but it will be right and that will have to be good enough. (It has to be.)

Xisuma chokes, a sob rising in his throat as his brave, strong brother gives up before his eyes. The air in his lungs freezes solid at the thought of having to choose whether or not his twin lives or dies, because that's what this is, he can't pretend that the city wouldn't execute him at the slightest chance, agreements be damned. His gaze tracks wildly from the laptop case to the top of his brother's head to the window, as if trying to see if anyone could be watching, could make the choice for him.

It's not fair. It's not fair, why him, why? He was so good, tried so hard- his heart is loud in his ears, breath rattling in and out in wheezing gasps- sobbing now, utterly sobbing. Evil X doesn't look up, doesn't try to comfort him. Won't even move, gods.

Fuck it.

Evil X startles, back banging against the door as Xisuma rushes forward and rips the case from his hands, only to chuck it into the far corner before throwing himself into his arms. On instinct Evil X catches him and holds him close just in time for Xisuma to bury his face in the crook of his neck and burst into messy, tearful sobs. They shake together and Evil X lets his head thump back gently against the door, eyes hazily gazing up at the ceiling.

"It's not- *hic*- it's not fair! I didn't want this!"

"I know. I know." He runs his hand over his twin's back, his taller form bowing forward to shelter his brother's smaller one. Somehow, even now it feels like Xisuma is the larger one between them, solid and warm in his arms.

"Why do I have to choose? I never wanted this! Why?! Why would you do this for me?"

"You're my brother. I love you." A gasping, wet sob against his neck and his twin lets out a moan like a dying cow, low and agonized. Evil X focuses on a soot mark on the white ceiling, tears stinging his eyes and running down his face to plop softly into his brother's hair.

"But why?!" Screaming. Gods, he can't-

"I love you. I love you." Rocking now, back and forth, gentle, just as he had when he had come home from beating up the men who had tried to lay stomp out his brother's heart, scarred and beaten and bloody. I love you, he had said then, and he repeats it now.

Later, much later, Xisuma will have to boot up the laptop and read through its contents. He will try to burn it, first, but Zedaph's work is more durable than most and Evil X will watch as his twin will dump his emotions into his flames, desperately trying to stoke them hotter and brighter. Later, a choice will have to be made.

But for now, Evil X will hold his brother, warm and safe, and let him cry.

#minecraft #my writing #fanfiction #hermitcraft #xisuma #evil xisuma #evil x #pretty much all the hermits actually

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takeflight-hermitcraftau · 4 years

Text

Chapter 3- The Storm

Warnings: Panic attacks, vomit, near death experience via drowning.

A few days had passed, and Grian was plotting yet again. He was planning on going into Mumbo’s base, and building a little meeting room to propose his newest idea. He jumped down Mumbo’s water elevator, laughing to himself before getting stuck. He yelped, struggling out of the door before getting punched across the face by a slime block. Grian sputtered, looking at the machine that had knocked him to the ground.

“Really Mumbo? What is this? An anti-Grian Machine?” He laughed, before quickly going over to Mumbo. He poked the man, seeing him just sitting down on the ground, eyes closed and in a deep meditative state. He giggled mischievously, looking around the area for the certain spot he knew would lead to the other side of the mob farm. He mined through a few blocks, putting them back as he walked through the small hallway. He wasn’t sure how Mumbo could get through these tight hallways with his huge wings. Even with his smaller ones this was difficult and tight. The hallway opened up to a slightly larger room, and he quickly made he way over to the ravine. He had already planned out the area he was going to use for this idea, and his inventory was filled with everything he’d need.

About an hour later he was done, the gravel ‘accent wall’ done and a lever by his own chair. He grinned excitedly, opening his inventory and pulling out a nice red suit he had made himself with wool. He pulled off his red shirt, stretching out his wings to make the process easier. He looked down at himself. He wasn’t anything to sneeze at, but not some sort of model either. He was slim, having recently gained much more of a swimmers body than anything. He glanced behind his shoulder, where his wings attached to his upper back.

The red coloration of his wings molded down seamlessly into his back. He grabbed the white dress shirt he had gotten off of Scar (the two were rather similar body type wise), throwing it over his back and letting his wings slot into the opened section in the back. It was nice to be able to have others help him with clothing. Back home it was hard, given he’d always need help cutting out patterns in his shirts that allowed his wings to come through. But Scar helped him out big time, giving him a patterns to use to make shirts and whatnot. He buttoned up the white shirt, stretching out his shoulders. It was definitely a tight fit. But honestly?? It didn’t look half bad on him. He took the red suit jacket, and slipped that on as well. He had to reach behind him to zip up the area around his wings, so it fit better and looked a lot more professional.

He just lazily pulled the red dress pants over his gray slacks, and then groaned as he realized the green tie. He unbuttoned the jacket, and struggled to tie the tie around his neck. He privately messaged Scar.

Grian: hey dude. How do you tie a tie?

GoodTimesWithScar: Oh my goodness. Your hopeless.

Grian: I knooooww.

Grian laughed a bit, but Scar told him he was busy right now, and he took that answer and just tried to pull up a video on his communicator. He took about ten or so minutes trying before he finally got it, and just then it came up on his communicator that Mumbo had stopped being AFK. He grinned, rushing up to the little window he had made behind Mumbo’s spawner. He heard Mumbo laugh at seeing him, walking up to the mirror.

“What are you doing?” He asked, and Grian just beamed.

“I am here to propose the deal of the century!” He said, his smile wide.

“Get over here.” Mumbo said, smiling tiredly at the energetic body. Grian walked through the small hallway, beaming. “What are you wearing?” He laughed.

“I’m Here to give You! The deal of a life time.” Grian said. “Also! What is this?!” Grian held up the tag, and Mumbo laughed. Grian just sighed. “Follow me! We mustn’t waste time.” Grian grabbed Mumbo’s hand, dragging him through the tiny hallway once again.

“This isn’t really a professional entrance.”

“Well it’s what I had to work with.” Grian laughed, getting into the ravine and climbing up the stairs, just dodging mobs and arrows.

“Not very safe either.” Mumbo laughs, taking his sword and killing a skeleton attacking Grian. Said dirty blonde laughed, getting to the room before the meeting room.

“This is where my secretary works. If i had one.” He joked, and Mumbo laughed a little. He still had a grip on Grian’s hand, a part of him not wanting to let go of it. Grian was just. So excitable. His little giggles were adorable and it sent Mumbo into another plain when he managed to get the little gremlin to laugh. He didn’t romantically love the man, no. He wasn’t gay after all. But he loved the man platonically, despite only knowing him for a few days. Grian somehow had that effect of the other hermits. It felt like they all knew Grian all their lives already.

“So, Mumbo.” Grian said, letting go of Mumbo’s hand to sit down at the chair he had made. Mumbo sat in the chair beside him, looking over to him. “As you know, most of the hermits have these little groups of theirs. ConCorp, New Hermit Order, excetera. I want to propose a new group between us! You’re the only hermit i really know so far, so i wanted to make a partnership. So if i need redstone help you’d be able to help me, and vise versa!” Grian smiled, reaching towards the lever. “And the name of this partnership??” He pulled the lever. “BUILDSTONE!” The gravel fell to reveal the name, besides one stack of gravel.

“Wow Grian.”

“See?? This is exactly why I need your help!” He laughed. Mumbo couldn’t help the little laugh that left him as he watched Grian shovel the gravel away. He looked at the logo Grian had on the wall.

“I see. Well, Grian. I’d love to have a partnership with you! I really do need the building help.” He smiled. Grian gaped at him.

“With that deathstar of your’s i doubt you do!” He said. Mumbo laughed again.

“No seriously I suck when it comes to building.” Mumbo smiled shyly. Grian just laughed.

“Well! I’m glad to have you as a partner Mumbo! And the name is totally up for debate. I just kinda threw this together.” Grian added.

----

Grian was sitting on the platform of his base, looking up at the sky and thinking of what to do next. Mumbo said yes to his proposal, He now had the tag, AND he couldn’t even go tag someone else! He huffed, going through the days footage and just starting to edit as he laid on the floor. A brief thought crossed his mind. He should go and find this world’s borders. He nodded to himself, standing up and saving the video as it was for now. He’d finish editing it later.

He yawned, looking up at the sun as it was starting to set. “Better go quickly.” He muttered, taking off and flying up past the rim of his base so far. He just headed towards Scar’s base, just starting to fly without any real purpose of motive. He flew past the volcano that Scar was building, whistling to himself. “That man is a terraforming God.” He muttered to himself. He saw a outline of a person on top of the volcano, but paid it no mind. He just figured it was Scar.

He hummed, just feeling the wind in his hair and wings. He allowed his mind to wander for a moment, his eyes closing. He wondered what he should do next for his base, who he should try to get in contact with next. Grian dipped down closer to the water, letting the waves crash against his hand as he flew. He knew that there was mostly ocean for a few kilometers, but he didn’t really care. It would still be a nice and relaxing fly.

‘Why did the watchers let me go?’

The thought appeared in his head, sudden and quickly. He let that thought fester and stay. One thought grew into 2. Then 3. And before he could control it his mind was filled with negative thoughts and feelings. He felt fear gripping at his core, its ice cold hands restraining him. There was no where to land. His chest was heaving and he felt tears falling down his cheeks and the thoughts of him not being good enough roared through his head. The thoughts telling him he was a cruel monster. He wasn’t normal. Wasn’t okay.

Grian just flew into the ocean, letting the bitter cold water wash over him the soaked his wings and made it impossible for him to fly. But he didn’t care. He floated on the ocean surface, wings spread out as heaving sobs left his body. “Why would they miss me?” He heard himself say. He gasped for air, hands pulling at his hair. He knew this was a panic attack. He was prone to them. Taurtis usually helped him calm down. But he was out here, alone with only the ocean to comfort him.

He noticed water dripping onto him, and his eyes opened for a moment. Harsh stormclouds were forming above him, and he gasped. Oh fuck. The light dripping turned into a harsh and rapid rain, the ocean starting to twist and turn. He dived underwater to avoid being knocked unconscious, swimming back towards Scar’s island. Why couldn’t he see it anymore? How far had he actually gone??

Was he lost??

He poked his head above the water to look around, only to get knocked under by a huge wave. Panic once again settled into his bones, the need to breathe burning at his lungs. He swam back onto the water’s surface, his wings just dragging behind him and weighing him down. Oh god why couldn’t he just get out of the water?? Why couldn’t he fly?? Another wave crashed into him, and it drove him deep underwater. Grian just started ti swim desperately, using his wings to propel him under the water the best he could. He needed to get to dry land, to breathe. He swam towards the surface a final time, his head spinning and everything moving far too fast.

“GRIAN!” He heard a voice call out, and he felt a warm hand grab his. He was pulled out of the water and into someones arms. He could feel leather, but that was about it. His eyes closed and he gasped uselessly for air. “Its okay buddy. We’re gonna get you help. I promise.” Grian kept his eyes closed as the person re-adjusted their hold on him, and he was officially knocked out.

“What do you mean he was flying to the border?!”

“I don’t know! I just saw him fly past and i noticed the storm clouds! I don’t know what else he would be doing!”

Grian came too to hearing the two bickering voices. His lungs felt heavy, and before he knew it, he threw himself over the side of the bed, dry heaving and coughing up water and salt.

“GRIAN!” two voices yelled in unison. He just groaned in response, and he felt someone push him back into bed.

“Oh my god man, you scared us to death!” Grian’s eyes focused, and he noticed that mustache he was so fond of.

“Mum...bo?” He rasped, his voice sore from inhaling salt water.

“Yes its me, you absolute spoon.” Mumbo brushed some hair from Grian’s face. “Are you okay? Actually don’t answer that I know you’re not.” He said. Scar was standing behind him, a towel thrown over the water now on the floor.

“Yea man. You took quite a beating.” Scar fretted, having taken off his jacket at some point in time. Grian put his hands on his face, grounding himself. He felt leather move around his arms. Oh, so that’s where the jacket went. He just groaned, closing his eyes again. “Grian?”

“I. I had a panic attack out at sea. Came randomly.” He muttered, as Mumbo handed him some water to help soothe his throat. Mumbo frowned.

“Why didn’t you message one of us to help you?”

“Didn’t wanna bother you guys.” He said, sighing. Mumbo just nodded, helping Grian sit up. “And i was too far out. You wouldn’t have found me before the storm.”

“Grian, you’re lucky i saw you from my little island.” Scar said, sitting on the bed and touching Grian’s forehead. “And you’re burning up!” He fretted. Grian just pushed his hand away.

“I’ll be okay Scar.” He smiled, slowly going to stand up.

“Oh no you’re not.” Mumbo said, pushing him back down. “You’re sick.”

“And you have a mustache. Are we done stating the obvious?” Grian shot back before he could control himself. He covered his mouth with his hand quickly. “Oh my god i’m so sorry I didn’t mean for it to come out like that!” He said, watching Mumbo for any signs of anger. He only got a light hearted laugh back.

“Its quite alright mate. Guess i do sound a bit like Captain obvious don’t i?”

#Hermitcraft #Hermitcraft fanfic #Fanfiction #Grian #Mumbo #Goodtimewithscar #wing au #Avian au #Grian is the spoon this time #Tag #Sticking close to cannon thus far

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