#when I KNOW yall would be going feral if it were about two young men

[lunarelly]

i am begging everyone to please watch lycoris recoil because the gay undertones are unreal, there’s a male poc who is represented so well and it’s basically canon that he’s gay and married, the characters are extremely endearing and well written, the two female leads have a cute little budding romance, PLEASE give this anime the same attention we give anime with mediocre male leads because it’s seriously so good

[softluci]

don’t ever put me in a situation

cw/tw: several mentions of su/cide; it’s kinda the basis of this post

it’s been a while since i talked about the comedic value of a gen z mc on here, but that’s mainly because it’s been a while since i’ve had a single thought in general. anyway, recently i’ve been tossing around the idea of the brothers being seriously caught off guard by the nature of an average person aged 18 to, like, 26 for different reasons than last time. 

the first reason is that i don’t think they interact with regular humans often, period, let alone for intervals of time long enough to form relationships with them, and i especially don’t think they interact with people that young. like, if they were dealing with humans frequently, it would be people in their thirties, forties, etc, right? like, i know they do business in the human world, but there’s a really off chance of them interacting informally with people so young.

what i’m getting at here, is that at the time the game takes place [i assume 2019 onward], the kind of human they’re familiar with [outside of the ones they torture] is the kind who wants to live. the kind who are at points in their lives where they are secure and comfortable and know what the next few decades will look like, and who look forward to the time ahead of them. that’s a very fair statement to make about the generations above us, right? right. 

this brings me to the second reason. they probably have a lot of misconceptions about humans because of the media they consume. specifically, like, survival type media—like, zombie apocalypse, jigsaw, stuff like that. like, they are seriously only familiar with humans who really, really wanna live. that’s what makes an mc who welcomes death so fun, they’ll give those men whiplash. 

i’m gonna talk about jigsaw to save anyone the trouble of having to look it up. when i say jigsaw, i’m referring to a dumb little man who likes to ride around on a tricycle in a dumb little mask and kidnap people for things he thinks are bad. there are, like, what, three? movies about him. he’s like a really shitty vigilante. anyway, he kidnaps people and brings them to, like, torture chambers where they have to do awful things to themselves/each other if they wanna live/escape. like , this man will be like, “i have locked you in a box that is set to explode once the timer ends, the key to escape is behind your eye.” like, i’m sorry, maybe some 57 year old with a spouse and kids & who bought their house for $3 will find themselves trying to get that key, but i am nineteen, the generations before me have left me with a dying planet and a high cost of living—i am letting that box explode. 

there was a chat where levi, mammon, and lucifer were talking about what they’d do in a zombie apocalypse, or smth like that. lucifer said he’d just kill all of them, which, like, totally reasonable thing to say when you are lucifer morningstar himself, but, like, you aren’t. me personally, in a zombie apocalypse, i’m going to unalive myself at some point, it’s really just a matter of when, and it depends on the zombies i’m dealing with, you know? like, do they move really slow, and are they unintelligent, or are can they sprint and also smell me. if it’s the second one, i’m done on day one. if it’s the first one, maybe week two. what kind of person wants to fight to live in a world overrun by feral cannibals. like, genuinely, who wants to live That Bad. idk, but not me, yall b safe! 

then, there’s like, the game itself. like ik technically all of us are the mc, but if it were me , like , really me , yall . i might just see myself out of this plane of existence on night one because what do i look like—i’m not going to school in an environment where i’m literally never safe, and then living in an equally unsafe (and probably haunted) house. i would simply have to take my leave, it’s true! 

now imagine if i said any of that to them. like, imagine the horror that would be plastered on their silly little faces. isn’t it great? i think it’s great. not only is their leverage gone (you really can’t threaten a person who wants to die), but also, that means, like, ninety percent of what makes the devildom scary is no longer scary. like, if i do that thing lucifer specifically told me to do, what’s the worst thing that could happen? i die? 

[narrators-journal]

A small alteration

So! This part is the...second or third to last part, so we’re getting to the end bois. After this, I’ll likely die, or at least not post daily like I have been, so if you guys want more content after this, remember to send in an ask for me to answer! Request stuff, ask me questions, joke around with me, whatever yall want. It’ll hold this blog over until I finish this second fic and can start posting/editting it here!

cw: lightly goes into detail on torture, hisoka, that’s about it I think!

Previous part: here

First part: here

Thankfully, Hisoka didn't stop by after his phone call, but Illumi still took no chances when he went onto jobs. Along with Milluki using the spy cameras Illumi had placed earlier, the long haired assassin made sure at least three butlers were keeping an eye on you whenever he couldn't.

That precaution kept you far away from the blood hungry magician for a week, much to Illumi's relief. Hisoka was a pest, a thorn in Illumi's side through and through, so the last thing the assassin wanted was for him to meet his future wife. Especially now, when you were just too desperate for human contact, and he couldn't risk you getting attacked or manipulated by Hisoka and forcing the assassin to kill such a useful nen user. Or worse, risk you meeting him and growing to love the magician instead of him, so he was dead set on never letting you two meet.

So, instead of risking it, he made sure to keep you as secret as possible, at most giving vague answers to keep the violent hunter at bay when he found him on jobs or something and asked, but confirming or denying little to nothing. Aside from that, Illumi also let the man help him on missions a bit more, both because the assassin could hide things better than his butlers when questioned, and because, though annoying, the vibrantly colored man offered some sort of entertainment on otherwise painfully boring jobs like assassinating businessmen, ex-lovers, or runaway spouses. Though, Hisoka simply popped up sometimes too, either being in the right place at the right time to join on kills, or somehow seeking Illumi out, like a risky, aggravating jack-in-the-box. That habit had gotten him a trip to the Zoldyck basement and torture rooms recently, though it was also a reason Illumi humored the magician when he got bored and asked for help more.

        "Please make this simple and tell me where you put the money taken from Mr. Mori." Illumi told his target, a rather pretty young woman he'd been tasked to interrogate, torture, and kill by her ex-sugar daddy.         "Is she under-aged, is that why you won't tell me about her?" Hisoka asked, sitting on the table of menacing torture tools in a dungeon of the Zoldyck estate, having talked the assassin into letting him out to help in this little chat. Illumi was beginning to regret his decision to humor the magician though. The tall assassin glared at the other man for his interruption, only getting an innocent smile in return,         "No, she is not under-aged." He said curtly, and his companion snickered,         "Well, when can I meet her? I'm dying to know what type of woman a Zoldyck lusts after~"         "Never." Hisoka pouted at his flat refusal, but the assassin simply returned to questioning his captive, only turning back to the pink-haired man to grab some pliers from the table,  "Now, I will ask this once more, if I don't get an answer I'll tear out your finger nails until I do. Where is your ex's money?" he warned the woman, who was sobbing and pleading to be freed from the cold, dark room. When she didn't answer his question though, he kept true to his word, gripping one of her nails with the pliers and pulling until it came away from the nail bed. The monotone assassin continued pulling out his target's crimson-painted fingernails while she tried to lie and say she had no idea where his client's money was. No matter, when he ran out of fingernails, he could always move to toenails or teeth.

Hisoka held a metal bowl that Illumi put the dislocated fingernails in, adding a soft clattering noise to the soundtrack of the woman's sobs, screams, and the lazy buzz of the one lantern that hung from the stone wall until he stood up in the partially lit cell to get another tool from the table.          "mmm, she seems quite fun to torture~" Hisoka observed, getting a twisted grin across his face as he looked down at the restrained woman,          "She's unbearably loud," Illumi sighed, looking around on the table of tools until he found a rather simple salt shaker, ignoring when Hisoka leaned a bit too close,          "Y'know, I bet I could get your girlfriend to be just as loud~" he hummed, and something inside of Illumi seemed to snap for a moment. His aloof air instantly changed to palpable malice and he whirled around on the magician, punching him in the face hard enough to send him sprawling across the cold stone floor. The assassin didn't even give him a chance to react once he landed though, in a flash he was on top of him, holding him down by his throat while his knee pressed down on his ribs,           "if you so much as look at my wife, Hisoka, I will fucking kill you before your heart gives another beat." he snarled, tightening his grip on the man's neck until he was gasping and wheezing for air. The pink-haired man gave a nod, a  smirk tugging at his lips still, but the feral murderer didn't let him breath until that coy look finally left and he saw panic replace Hisoka's usual mischievous glint in his gold eyes. When Illumi did finally let him up, the magician was gulping down air and glaring at him instead of his usual knowing, coy glance,           "Jesus Christ Illumi, learn to take a joke. You know my humor can be perverted, there was no need to nearly kill me!" he snapped, the magician's flirty act falling away, but Illumi didn't respond, he simply checked on the woman he'd been tasked to torture. Sadly though, she was now dead from the amount of malevolence  in his nen,          "Great, because of your 'joke' my job just got harder." Illumi said, his voice back to being cold,          "That wasn't my fault, you were the one who didn't just use one of your needles on her to begin with." he pointed out testily, getting glared at by the man,         "The client wanted me to specifically torture her, my needles would have been redundant and not what the client asked for. Of course, I didn't know you were going to be this annoying, or else I would've gotten the information from her at the start." he hummed, and while his voice stayed flat and his face stayed rather aloof, Illumi was boiling with wrath on the inside. Being a pest was one thing, but now Hisoka had actually crossed an important line. So, Illumi simply found the woman's phone in her purse and than called in some butlers. He gave one the cellphone, sending it to Milluki to make use of himself and scour through, than he turned to Hisoka, who was standing in a dark corner across the small cell glaring at them, mostly Illumi.  "Now, I will say this nicely only once," the man said, though his words held no kindness, "please return to your cell with the butlers without a fight, or else I will be forced to call my family and drag you back." The two men stood there for a moment in a heavy silence that seemed to bring down the temperature of the already cold cell further. Illumi wasn't very expressive, he purposely added inflections and overt body language to himself when speaking to you, but Hisoka didn't get that sort of kindness, he simply got stared down by bottomless eyes and a deadpan assassin he knew very well was competent enough to stand up to him. So, he simply grinned a predatory grin at the long haired murderer,        "Fine, I'll go back to my cell peacefully," he relented, putting his hands up with a mischievous smirk. One of these days Morrow, I'm going to finally kill you. Illumi thought as at least three butlers escorted the magician back to where he'd been held, but he didn't say or show the annoyance as they passed.       "Oh, and Illumi, dear? Do tell (y/n) hello for me~" Illumi's aura became malevolent again at that, but the butlers and flamboyant pain in the ass were able to avoid dying from it thanks to their training. Instead, all it did was let slip just how fart Hisoka was under Illumi's skin, making the hunter laugh as he was herded away down the dark hallway, leaving the assassin to simmer in his temper before stalking out of the basement. His first stop once upstairs was Milluki's bedroom.        "How did Hisoka find out anything about (y/n)?" he asked, his voice's flat, monotonous tone coming off as more menacing when paired with how he slammed his brother's face into his trash-littered desk,        "I don't know! Why are you asking me?" the pudgy man hissed out, barring his teeth at his older sibling when he tightened his grip on his hair,       "You are the only person on this mountain aside from Mother who knows about (y/n), and unlike mother, you are the type to tell that bastard about her for a cookie." he pointed out, and Milluki couldn't argue, he did have pretty flippant loyalties when it came to secrets like this.        "Alright, fine, but I promise I didn't. I haven't been in the basement since Hisoka got here." he explained, and after a moment of harsh scrutiny, Illumi let him go and left his nasty, anime-littered room. The tall man then went to his wing of the home, thinking of what to do now. Hisoka knowing (y/n)'s name is bad. If he can figure it out, more people could. He mused, a wave of possessive anxiety washing away his rage for the time being. I can't leave her alone anymore. He finally decided as he reached his rooms and turned around to instead find his mother.

[ikesenhell]

ALL SHADES OF BLUE

ALL SHADES OF BLUE, Chapter 1. You can find all other IkeSen works of mine here. NOTES: This whole piece was inspired in part by this song by Gregory Alan Isakov. This was a LiveWrite! Thanks to everyone who came out to watch me do this. The tagline really SHOULD be, as @a-shout-to-the-void suggested, something like ‘THE MONK CAN HANDLE THE HEAT, CAN YOU?’, because honestly this turned into a roast within a few paragraphs. Here’s to hoping yall like it!

Summer passed into fall passed into winter passed into spring, and nothing ever changed.

He wondered if he ought to be used to that by now.

It didn’t matter the season he lay his head in. Blistering heat and freezing cold all felt the same: numb. It was as if his skin fused with his exhausted, injured heart and lay dormant in the ground.

Perhaps that was more the thing. There was no season save winter for him now.

He’d grown used to the rough terrain and hard work of being out in the wilderness. Hongan-Ji wasn’t cushy, exactly, but it was certainly more luxurious than what he had for accommodation of late. That was the business of revenge. It robbed him of his friends, his fellow monks, his faith and compassion. A bed felt like the last of his concerns.

Perhaps those needed adjustment anyway.

He barely gave any thought to the woman staggering into the woods that night. As the flames of Honnon-Ji licked the infinite stars and he wondered if that was the end of it, if it lifted to heaven the Devil King’s ashes same as the timbers, his musing was interrupted by the thick crunch of woods. No soldier would be so careless. Even so he dipped back into the dark, his eyes searching for the stranger.

And she was strange indeed.

He’d never seen clothes like that before. Her legs were exposed to the elements. No kimono layered over her shoulders. She clutched a small bag the type of which he’d never seen. Maybe she was Western?

“You should be more careful, young lady,” he recalled warning her. “Demons lurk in the woods at night.”

Little did he know how much those words would come to haunt him.

---

Regardless of who she was, she took up residence with the Devil King himself.

He’d survived. He’d survived, and as much as Kennyo never wanted to drag another civilian into this demonic mess he and his most hated opponent were making, he regretted not killing her in the moment. If he’d found her before--if he’d given his followers orders to eliminate all who might help--if he’d just slaughtered his way through them--

No amount of meditation could still his aching soul. He lay awake at night and stared at the stars, wondering how many lifetimes it would take for him to wash away the karmic sins he pulled on himself. His whole life he’d practiced the power of faith. Now all he had was doubt.

And just as he resigned himself to that infinite winter of his heart, she showed up again.

He sat awake by the fire one night when his followers came to him, dragging a woman behind them. Her arms were bound behind her back, but the gag they’d forced into her mouth did absolutely nothing except prevent her from articulating the worst of her slurs at them. Her eyes flashed like a lightning strike setting the earth ablaze, her rich kimono almost insultingly cute on such a fierce woman.

“Kennyo,” one of the men spoke. She kicked him in the shin and he hissed, dropping to a knee. The other two wrestled her back into compliance.

“Stop.” He rose, frowning at them. “Who is this?”

She threw back her head and glared at him. Her stature was uneven (she’d snapped the geta sandal strap in the assault) and her hair a torrent, but it was a kind of wilderness he admired about her already. But didn’t he know her?

“We found her fleeing Azuchi,” one of the men forced her to her knees. “It seems to be the Devil King’s concubine.”

A barrage of slurs escaped her mouth, filtered only by the thin strip of rope strung between her teeth. Kennyo frowned. Running from Nobunaga? There was the possibility she hated him as much as he did. It hardly made sense that a woman in such a comfortable position might flee from a gracious benefactor. In this time of turbulence, it made sense to remain where you were safe.

And yet…

“Ungag her,” he commanded. The men exchanged glances and obeyed, cutting out the strip of rope. She spat out the stray fibers on her tongue.

“You motherfuckers!”

Kennyo frowned. “Can anyone translate that dialect?”

“Assholes! I swear to GOD, if I get my hands back, you will be catching BOTH OF THEM. Repeatedly!” She wrenched her elbows toward them, fury wild on her tongue. “You won’t know the difference between the sky and the goddamn ground when I’m done!”

“Is that Portuguese?” Kennyo guessed. “It might be Portuguese.”

“She is very pale, I suppose that makes sense. Never met any of the traders. Maybe she came with them?”

“Stop talking about me where I can hear you!” At last, some Japanese. She lunged at him; despite himself, he took two steps back, waiting for the men to hold her back once more. “I can understand you just fine, you ass!”

“So…” He paused, uncertain how to proceed. “Are you Portuguese?”

Her stare was withering.

“No then.” Well this was uncomfortable. “Can I get an assurance that you won’t simply attack my men if we let you loose?”

“No.”

He hesitated. “I would prefer not to keep you bound all night. I’m positive we could find something to talk about.”

“Oh, we could find something to fucking talk about alright--”

Back to the foreign language. He mentally cataloged it as simply ‘Not Portuguese’ and continued. “Set her in the hut until she calms down.”

“Don’t you dare treat me like I’m just some hysterical woman right now--!”

The men hefted her off the ground and half-carried, half-dragged her to the hut. He settled down by the fire once more, prepping some rice porridge. Whenever she was more amenable to talking she would doubtless be hungry.

---

As it happened, more than time was required to make her calm down. The first man to try and deliver her the porridge returned wearing it.

“She said ‘no’.” He huffed, then stomped to the river to wash off. Kennyo sighed and ladled out more for the rest of the encampment. They didn’t have enough to waste. Counting the servings out in his mind, he realized all at once that someone was going hungry.

Well.

This time he went in the hut himself. She was settled angrily in the corner, her mouth one long, thin line, eyes burning a hole through the plank siding. He shut the door behind them, the bowl poised in his hand.

“I need you to promise me you won’t throw this one.”

She just glared at him.

“If it helps, I’ll share it with you so you know it isn’t poison. You must be hungry. You aren’t my enemy.”

“Oh my god,” she muttered. “I’d hate to see how you treat your enemies, then.”

“I apologize on behalf of my men who dragged you here.”

“I don’t want you to apologize for them. I want them to apologize for them.”

That was a whole other conversation. Rather than be sucked down into it, he settled a comfortable distance away. Somehow it reminded him of working with feral cats. If you tried to approach them, they would only claw you until you bled and regretted the whole thing. It took patience, understanding, and not pushing your luck.

“We don’t have much,” he prefaced. “So if you throw this one, there’s nothing else I can give you.”

She stared at the meager bowl and back at him, the calculus running through her mind.

“I ask you not to throw this one.”

“You eat it.” This time she was so much softer. “I’m assuming that is your portion.”

That was unexpected. Kennyo tried to adjust to this unexpected shift. “I’m not all that hungry.”

His growling stomach cut between the two of them.

“No?” And now she was smiling. “Was that just the demons you keep in your stomach for safekeeping?”

It was almost too sharp to be a joke. In spite of himself, Kennyo managed a rueful smile. “They’re the spares I keep when I’m tired.”

“Ooh, backup demons. That’s a good strategy.”

Kennyo offered her a pair of chopsticks. She hesitated a long, long time before taking them. Her fingernails were long and slightly square and jet black, and he wondered how she’d managed that. Had she just dipped them in ink? No. They were too shiny for that.

“Cheers,” he murmured, taking a bite and offering the rest to her.

She frowned and slashed a line through the center of the rice, turning half the bowl to him. He nearly refused, but the narrow slant of her eyes stopped him.

The men weren’t entirely convinced when he exited unscathed that he hadn’t performed

some kind of ritual to secure the demon woman. For his part, he didn’t dispel the idea.

---

On the third day they could finally trust her to walk around unaccompanied, though the others gave her a wide berth. She bound back her sleeves and rolled up her expensive kimono and fixed up her pale hair, exposing a shaved underside and a bevy of metal pieces adorning her ears.

“What?” She snapped at one of the men who stared too long.

“I don’t think they’ve seen a woman with that kind of shaved parting,” Kennyo answered, amused. “It’s been a long time since any of us shaved our heads.”

She shot him a glance that sparkled like the rest of the pieces she wore. “I can’t imagine you without hair anyway.”

He wasn’t certain if that stung or not. Taken aback, he fumbled a simple answer of, “I’m barely used to having hair at all.”

For the first time she was on uneven footing. Her mouth worked--open, close, open--and finally she wrinkled her nose. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“It’s fine,” he answered, and almost meant it.

---

On the fourth day (and how appropriate was that?), she draped her legs over her knees and said, completely unprompted, “They’re not so bad in Azuchi, you know.”

Kennyo wasn’t sure if this was her idea of a sick joke or a provocation. “And yet you ran.”

She wrinkled her nose at him, and he tried to figure out why she made that face. The only common denominator was discomfort, and that was the only reason his hackles didn’t shoot to the sky. If she wasn’t so comfortable having the conversation, then perhaps she didn’t mean it quite as tastelessly as it sounded.

“Look,” she started. “I didn’t run cause I disliked them. I mean, sure, some of them are assholes, but they weren’t so bad.”

“I don’t know what ‘asshole’ means.”

She paused, her eyes glittering with unspilled laughter, and finally said, “Okay, dicks. They’re dicks.”

“I don’t know what that means either.”

That finally garnered a laugh. “I don’t know how much I should be telling a former monk what that means.”

His curiosity got the best of him and it showed. He’d barely knit his brows together before she was chuckling again, then giggling, and then it turned into laughter.

“Uh, a ‘dick’ is a euphemism for… you know.” She motioned vaguely between his legs.

Kennyo wondered if it was an appropriate response to just go and dunk his head in a bucket of ice water. “Ah.”

“But yeah,” she shot forward as if she hadn’t just waved at his genitals, charging recklessly into the rest of her thought. “I mean, yeah, they could be real pieces of work, but they aren’t bad.”

Sometimes he thought he was almost over the incident. Sometimes he thought the blur of Hongan-Ji was far enough away that he could get distance from it, soften the sharp edges until he could roll it between his fingers like a pebble and just… skip it over the glassy surface of his memory. Tangible, but not harmful. Heavy, but not overwhelming. But even now he could smell the searing flesh, hear the screams and the cracking beams snapping overhead, feel the smoke pressing in his lungs and the dizzy blackness of eternity flickering through him.

“Stop that.” She reached out and grabbed his hand, uncurling his fist. “You’re hurting yourself.”

Was he? He looked down, almost bemused as she poured water over his bleeding hands. “Apologies.”

“No, I--” She stopped, then started again. “Sorry.”

Had she apologized to him? Did his ears deceive him? She pressed on without explanation. “I didn’t run cause they were terrible to me or something. That’s my point.”

“Then why did you?”

“Because…” She paused long enough to shred off a strip of her underkimono, wrapping it tight around his hand. “Because if I started to fit in enough, I might never want to leave.”

Kennyo couldn’t help himself. The laugh bubbled up through his core and sternum, escaping out his mouth before he could check it. She stared, wide-eyed, as he laughed and laughed at her.

“You ran because you were getting along?” Buddha bless this woman. It sounded like something he would do. “Am I understanding that right?”

“It’s not that simple!” She pouted at him. “I don’t exactly have all the time in the world to spend here, you know.”

The not-so-distant possibility that she was someone’s betrothed lanced through him. True. He had no idea who she was, nor where she came from. What village did she call home? She’d never really answered the question about if she was Portuguese (though he had to assume that was a no, but there were surely countries in the West outside Portugal that she might have called home). Maybe some ship waited in a harbor for her. Maybe a pair of arms waited for her. Maybe she even had children.

“How old are you?” He asked.

“Bit forward, isn’t that?”

“Apologies. I don’t know why I asked.”

She fixed him a wry smile. “You first.”

Him? He tried to calculate how many years it had been since Hongan-Ji, finally settling for the answer of, “I think thirty-one.”

“Thirty-one!?”

“Is that so shocking? I’m aware--”

“You need some sleep!” She snapped. “And less stress! Good God! You look like you’re forty!”

“I realize,” he started uncomfortably. “But I’m not so occupied with how I look of late.”

She tilted back her head, still frowning, and reached out and pushed back his hair. He let her, too amused and unclear what she was doing to really fight it. Her hand played over his scalp, arranging the part of his black hair until at last she was satisfied with whatever she was looking for.

“Yeah,” she said at last. “You’d look your age if you just got some sleep. You’re good looking, but Jesus if you don’t need rest.”

Kennyo fumbled through that sentence at half-speed, finally settling on the jumbled question of, “What is Jesus?”

“Oh. Hell. We’re not having that conversation right now.” She wrinkled her nose. “To answer your question, I’m twenty-six.”

It was his turn to laugh. “You tell me to sleep and mock my age, but you’re unwed at twenty-six?”

“Who are you? My mom?” But she was grinning, and she smacked away his hands with a laugh, tossing the length of her long hair as if it might brush away his criticism. “I’ll have you know that I am very eligible.”

“As am I,” he remarked, amused. “Equally so. I’d say an ex-monk is on equal standing with a woman of your temperament.”

“Oh, you’re an asshole right now.”

“I’m afraid I can’t agree with something I don’t understand.” But at least he knew something about her; she wasn’t wed, nor betrothed, not with an answer like that.

“And here I thought you were a gentleman.” She shot him a smile that lanced straight through him. “You were so nice at first.”

“I did tell you demons lurk in the woods at night.”

“You don’t disintegrate come sunrise, so I’d amend that to ‘all the time’, thanks.”

He clutched at his chest as if wounded. “A very fair point.”

She retired to the hut not long after. Much to his infinite discomfort, he missed her when she left.

Of course it couldn’t last.

[din-skywalker]

The Meeting

This is the first one shot of the possible original series called “The King and the War Administrator” ;)

Hey look I’m posting an original idea and story I share with @floofybubblez wowie it’s not a fanfic.... actually yeah technically it is but whatever none of yall gonna understand but yall dont gotta because its a cool idea anyone can read and I’m happy with how this came out so I hope ya’ll enjoy:

The metal clad fist of the soldier’s hand meets her cheek in a dazzle of bright and static light, sending her reeling and falling to the ground. She hardly catches herself, back bent as she peels herself back from the ground, placing a hand on her now throbbing cheek. She glares back up at the ugly faces of the soldiers now surrounding her, all grinning down at the courageous peasant girl. She blinks heavily, gritting her teeth together as she straightens back up.

“You think you’re allowed to speak back to the royal guards?” one of the men demand, moving forward and slapping a hand around the collar of her shirt. She digs her heels into the dusty cobble street as she’s yanked forward and as her face is drawn closer to the man’s she growls and spits in his face, grinning with a holey grin. She has lost many of her teeth throughout the years of low hygiene and being beaten on by many of the guards.

Her grin is quickly knocked from her face, however, as another of the guards kick her square in the gut, knocking the breath from her lungs. She hunches over, gripped at her stomach as she coughs up a loud of mucus- a terrible lung disease has been spreading throughout the lower rings of the kingdom, filling any it infects with large amounts of mucus. A handful of her hair is grabbed as fingernails dig into her scalp, forcing her head upwards. The girl she had rescued from the anger of the guards gasps as she sees this. But at least the girl was safe. She has always thought that the fellow peasant girl was pretty. She didn’t deserve to be beaten to a pulp like Terra was being currently.

“First we have to deal with a thieving rat, and now a stray mutt?” the man yells in her face, spit landing on her skin. She growls softly, already able to taste the blood in her mouth as it rises from the earlier punch. “Maybe we need to put this feral dog down, ey boys?”

Terra’s eyes widen and she yanks at her hair, ignoring how the roots of her hair tears at her scalp. But the man holds tight, throwing her to the ground and unsheathing his sword. He presses the blade to her throat and her breathing quickens. “Unless,” the fat, ugly man presses down on her back as he leans forward, wet and heavy breathing hitting the side of her face, “you can show me a good time.”

The peasant girl’s face twists into a sneer and she gathers enough blood and spit to once more projectile the horrid mixture into the guard’s face. He growls and the blade is just pressing into her neck further when: “What the hell are you doing?!”

All of the guards go stiff and the one on top of Terra quickly pushes up, turning to face a preteen, handsomely dressed boy standing nearby. Terra pushes herself up slightly with a hand, using the other to wipe at the blood and spit and mucus smearing around her lips. Her burning eyes land on the girl she had been protecting in the first place, smiling in relief to see she is unscatched aside for the slap she had received before hand on her cheek. It still twists Terra’s gut to see her hurt, however. She swallows heavily, eyes drifting to the newcomer.

The preteen isn’t much taller than Terra but she could clearly see he is of a higher position just because of his clothing; a long, red cape drapes over his shoulders, hanging around his feet. A light blue suit and dress pants is what he wears underneath, a golden necklace hanging around his neck. A few bracelets jangle around his wrists and he wears two pairs of jeweled earrings on both ears. His eyes are a lighting blue with light brown hair- poofed expertly- falling around them, framing his face. His eyes are currently narrowed into a glare and even though he has a soft face it is currently shaded with a terrifying anger. How could a child probably around her age look so intimidating, even to her? Especially to the guards, oddly enough.

“Y- your highness-” Terra’s eyes widen impossibly and her breath catches. Holy shit no way. There couldn’t possibly be royal blood in the Lower Slums. They never came down here because of the dirtiness of the section. “What are you doing here-?”

“That does not concern you!” the obvious prince interrupts, eyes narrowing further, lighting blue fading to a midnight sky. They darken even further as they land on Terra, taking in her appearance and they snap back to the guards. “Tell me, Brenner, why the hell are you beating a civilian to death?”

The guard, Brenner, swallows heavily, his eyebrows scrunching his fat face together. Terra pushes further against the ground, breathing heavily before spitting a large amount of blood from her mouth. “Well, your highness, you see,” he began, eyes flashing from Terra to the other peasant girl nearby, “this young woman tried stealing from us and then the other attacked us. We had no choice but to defend. She was aggressive.”

The prince’s eyes fill with disgust- Terra just doesn’t know for who. Her and the other peasants gathering around, or the guards trying to defend themselves. “Defend yourselves?” the prince demands and Terra is starting to like him more and more. “Against a child of my age? And what had the first been stealing, exactly?” he raises a hand when Brenner tries to answer, eyes landing on the peasant girl in question who appears to become squeamish under his gaze. “What were you stealing, exactly, milady?”

Terra is surprised that the prince would address such a lowly peasant in this fashion. She had figured all royal family to despise the lower subjects of their kingdoms.

The pretty peasant girl- even with a red hand marking her hand- swallows heavily and wets her lips nervously. She seems to have started shaking, terrified of answering incorrectly. So, once again, Terra decides to defend her. “She was ‘stealing’ the bread that she had just bought for her family,” Terra explained, once more gaining the attention of the prince as she makes air quotes around stealing. Because she hadn’t been stealing. She had rightfully bought the bread that was now ruined on the ground not too far off. “She had just bought the bread when the guards came over and tried to take it. I’m sorry for attacking them, but I couldn’t simply watch as they robbed her.”

Brenner seems outraged by Terra’s true story because he steps forward angrily. “The bitch lies!” he exclaimed, even though he has been treading on thin ice up until this point. The prince’s eyes don’t leave Terra’s face, however. He must be taken aback by how beaten she is, by the fact that she is still standing despite her face probably being broken in a few places. “Are you really going to believe a peasant over one of your own officers?”

The prince is silent for a few seconds as he meets Terra’s eyes. She doesn’t say anything more, knowing it would be useless to say anything more if the prince had already made his mind up. So, she stays silent, breathing heavily as she grips at her aching shoulder. He must see the truth in her eyes because he looks back at the guards, arms crossing over his chest.

“Yes, actually,” the prince finally answered, voice somehow so stern even Terra would obey- she is very rebellious. Her eyes widen and the pretty peasant girl gasps. Terra looks at the guards just as their mouths are falling open in shock. Everyone must be so shocked because Terra can feel the surprise filling the air around her. “Now, Brenner, I want you to get this peasant girl ten packages of bread. Then, you and your men are to report to the general. He and I will be having a word about your… punishment.” He looks back at Terra and reaches a gloved hand out to her in offering. She stares at it a moment, licking her split and bleeding lip. “Come with me. My maids will heal you.”

This confuses her; why would a prince want to take a lowly peasant? But, she wasn’t going to complain. She snatches the prince’s hand, letting him help her to her feet. She brushes herself off and glances at him through the corner of her eye. “I am Prince Bubbles,” he informed. “Though, you probably already knew that. You can call me Carter.” She is shocked that he is allowing her to use his first name. “What is your name, madame?”

“Terra,” she answered after swallowing down a ton of mucus, shivering as it slides back down her throat.

“Well, Terra,” Carter began, smirking widely. “I have a feeling that we’re going to make good friends.”

And what a pair they make.

____

Tell me what ya’ll think ;)

tagging people to feel validated tbh:

@damien-iplier

@i-am-a-fan 

@the-host-will-answer

@alliedoesstuff