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2021-09-10
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2025-05-17
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24/?
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Bright Stars

Summary:

There had been rumors of a Human who wasn’t performing well in fighting rings, constantly ignoring their lesser opponents and trying to go after the very loud, very violent crowd instead.

Or

Not only did Hizashi allow himself to be caught by the alien trafficking ring he and Shouta were trying to bring down, he's also stuck in a cell with a Deathworlder.

It goes better than expected.

 

[PODFIC]

Notes:

This is my first fic, 100% self-indulgent, hope someone out there likes it! If you think I forgot to tag for something specific, just let me know and I'll gladly add it.

(See the end of the work for more notes and other works inspired by this one.)

Chapter 1: Deathworlder

Notes:

TW CLICK HERE TO OPEN
  1. Eye injury and Lost of Limb (not to the main cast)
  2. Electric Shock starting at "The Feczoits are holding him down [...]" and finishing at "He wakes up cold and trembling [...]"
    Summary for what happens in that momentSummary: Hizashi dreams of when he was first brought on the ship. He injures one of the alien traffickers in the eye and bites off another one's fingers. He tries to escape but the electric collar stops him and the Feczoits take his feathers.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Hizashi tucks himself in the corner furthest from the door, his head resting against the cool ground.

The See’krtsh couldn’t really discern the Human’s proportions, the dim lighting blurring the borders between the honestly absurd amount of textile and their skin.

 

Goosebumps appear all over his head when his jaw feels the small hitch in the alien’s breath, the vibration travelling through the metal floor and reverberating in his bones like a funeral gong.

 

In normal circumstances, Present Mic, half of the infamous UA pirate duo, would have no problem taking down opponents twice—even trice!—his size with a tympan-bursting screech, his razor sharp talons ripping into them while they’re disoriented.  A Deathworlder would have been nothing.

Here, with plucked feathers, broken talons and an electric collar that shocked him every time it sensed the beginning of the distinctive rumbling preceding his deafening screams, he stood no chance against even a mere Igve.

 

He loosens his body in a deceivingly relaxed pose, eyeing the Human as they grunt and uses their forelimbs to push themselves up.  They have no fur, except for the purple crown flared in warning, and their flesh is bone white with splashes of purple, green and yellow, a sharp contrast to their predatory beady eyes.  They still unnaturally when he accidentally meets their gaze, their lips curling to discover two lines of teeth in what is clearly a threat display.  

Hizashi flattens his body further, projecting harmless, harmless, I won’t hurt you, I’m not worth attacking, going as far as to hum a low friendly greeting when the Human alarmingly lowers to a predatory crouch, hoping they can understand the appeasement gesture despite the interspecies difference.

 

There was no delusion about why the Feczoits had placed him with the Deathworlder instead of killing him immediately; he was enrichment and food in a neat package for the Human.

 

(Shouta and he had busted many of their lower level ships and anonymously reported their whereabouts to the Interplanetary Safety Commission.  Their trafficking ring was held together by threads because of them, and putting him at the mercy of a Deathworlder was probably a convenient way to get rid of him.

After Shouta was done with them, nothing would be left.)

 

He hums slower and slower as the Human stalks closer.

 

There had been rumors of a human who wasn’t performing well in fighting rings, constantly ignoring their lesser opponents and trying to go after the very loud, very violent crowd instead.  

Combined with the overheard hushed discussions about how this Human’s preference for vicious and bloodthirsty fighters was starting to become costly, especially when they didn’t even eat the remains despite their substantial need for caloric nutrients, Hizashi was hoping they didn’t enjoy killing ‘weak’ aliens.  However, the organizers were convinced the Human was simply distracted by the more interesting beings in the arena and were hoping they could train the Deathworlder to attack smaller, easier—and more importantly cheaper—prey.

 

His wish for a lenient Deathwordler (ha! that sounded like the beginning of a joke) are crushed into tiny pieces when they tighten their limbs, shuffling backward to get a running start.  

 

Hizashi’s glad the last thing he shared with Shouta was a warm embrace, his tail wrapped around the flesh scarf to bring them closer, face tucked in the crook of his neck and the words ‘Let me live centuries with you’ echoing in his head and leaving tingles in his lower jaw, the words getting caught in the feathers trailing down his shoulders as he rhythmically flares his crest, his response mumbled into his bondmate’s fur.  At least, according to the dissatisfied spectators unknowingly giving out the emplacements of fight arena ships, the Human was boring, killing his prey fast.  He’ll put up a fight, sure, but there’s almost no chance he gets out of this alive.  

 

Go for the eyes first.  Just wait for them to come to him, explode into a burst of motion and violence and pounce—

 

 

 

The Human is mimicking him.

 

They are laying on their stomach, fleshy claws splayed near their face, head slightly tilted to the side as their skin distorts where it’s pressed on the floor.  They inhale and repeat the greeting back to him again, a distorted echo bouncing up at the point of contact between his chin and the metal under him.  

 

(His mind whirls, somehow unearthing old stories of Humans imitating the call of a youngling, luring an unsuspecting guardian toward them, only to rip them apart with their hands, crushing their skull like overripe fruit.)

 

“No fight?  No fight, yes?”  Hizashi startles at the low raspy voice, barely understanding the heavily accented Standard.  The only way he realized they were speaking was because they were both pressed on the floor; otherwise, he might not have even noticed it.  He missed his feathers, every reminder of his loss sending aching pangs to his chest.

When all the See’krtsh can do is stare incredulously, they repeat themself.

“Yes!”—he flaps away the bewilderment—“No fight!  I won’t fight you, and you don’t fight me, alright?”  They shake their head up and down, hair swaying.  It must be a human agreement gesture, since they aren’t ripping him to shreds.

“No fight,” concludes the Human, and they back away to the farthest part of the cell, both staying in their respective corners, eyeing each other in case someone breaks the deal, until exhaustion makes Hizashi’s eyelids too heavy and terror is not enough to keep sleep at bay.

 

 

The Feczoits are holding him down, sharp pain erupting from his toes and pulsing up his limbs.  His talons manage to catch someone’s eye, sinking with a wet pop and tearing it open when they instinctively stagger back, blood mixed with clear humour seeping between clenched fingers.  

He can’t bring himself to feel bad, especially when it allows him more leeway to turn around and bite the hands keeping his wings restrained.  They lose their grip—and two of their fingers—and the last can’t quite contain his thrashing while avoiding the same fate as their colleagues.  

The door is right there, but Minus-two-fingers’ thundering steps thunder behind him.  His crest flares instinctively to intimidate the asshole, and his ribcage expands to screech—

 

The small beep is his only warning before his muscles convulse uncontrollably, his throat locking up before any sound can exit.  The fucking collar, but before he can do anything about it, his vision whites out, freezing fire shooting out from his neck.  Over the feeling of being stabbed by a thousand needles, he’s vaguely aware they’re lifting him, the impact of being thrown on the table barely registering to his flaming nerves.  

Even when he’s spasming as the remains of electricity sparks through numb extremities, they don’t stop the harvest, unveiling more of his skin as they grasp his sensitive feathers by the handful and pull—

 

 

 

 

He wakes up cold and trembling, each shuddering breath burning through his oxygen-deprived lungs.

It’s over, he tells himself.  It happened and it’s over.

The phantom hands scraping at his skin don't disappear though, and he’s so sore, each movement straining rigid overextended muscles.  

 

Instead of the soft shift of wind against his golden plumage in the periphery of his eye, he’s greeted with shivers as the ambient air steals the heat from the wrinkly pink skin draping his entire head, encircling his neck and trailing down his shoulders, petering out as it finally gets covered with black and grey scales.  He looks like a hatchling, unprotected to the tempers of nature and, most alarmingly, practically deaf, unable to catch the vibration of sound without his feathers.

It’s oddly humiliating, being vulnerable and exposed like this.

 

(He used to bemoan the color of his lower body, so boring and dull compared to his clutchmates' iridescent blue or fiery orange.  His first ecdysis were spent hoping for the sudden appearance of shimmer to cover his new scales.

Now, there’s only gratitude; they didn’t catch the Feczoits’ attention, hadn’t been worth the effort of having to painstakingly wedge a pincer under every scale and pulling carefully so as to not damage them.)

 

His wings rub his sternum—the texture of sticky flesh is strange but it still makes him feel better—and sense the soothing vibration as he starts an overtone chant.  He can already feel his heart calming down as he concentrates on the comforting lullaby.

He nears the end of a song his mothers used to rock his siblings and him to sleep when he finally notices the Human's staring.  His voice stutters and gives out.  They look away quickly, but Hizashi’s still unsettled.

He doesn’t pick the tune back up even though he itches to finish it.

 

It had been two human cycles—his internal clock was muddled by the absence of windows and his small bouts of unconsciousness when he was knocked out, sold and brought on this ship—since they’d made him the Human’s cellmate, and nothing has disturbed their careful peace, barring the occasional guard checking to see if he was still alive, a bowl of murky water slipped through a food slot and the lights emulating what seemed to be a human circadian rhythm.

 

No food has been delivered, and the Human often stares forlornly at the door as if expecting it to appear.

 

 

 

It’s becoming increasingly clear that they want the Human to eat him.  

 

 

 

Nevertheless, even though they’re obviously hungry, they surprise him by drinking half the water, barely a sip, and pushing the bowl toward him, avoiding his gaze.

Cooperation had not been one of the traits Humans were commonly known for—actually quite the contrary—but it might simply be an unusual case of a milder personality.  Captivity does strange things to people and animals too.

 

He’s praying that the Human’s hesitation at killing non-threatening beings lasts until Shouta can find him, but the way they keep glancing at him and wrapping their forelimbs around their rumbling stomach is not looking well for his continued survival.

 

A sneaked look reveals the Human is still wedged in the corner in a feat of contortion that makes his bones ache just looking at them.

 

They jump when they hear the hello-friendship-attention thrill, and the way their beady eyes pierce him almost makes him regret this.

 

 

Almost.

 

 

“Human,” he begins,  “I am Hizashi of the Yamada flock.”

It’s a gamble.  On one wing, most sentient beings were less likely to harm someone they had a conversation with.  On the other, there are more chances for cultural missteps and misunderstandings to occur.

 

(Being stuck in a cell was also incredibly boring, and he’s going to vibrate out of his body if he doesn't speak with another person.

There was nothing to do except look at the ceiling, sleep and drink.  He couldn’t even examine the room for any weaknesses because the Human’s head snapped toward him every time he so much as shifted, and training was out of the question if he wanted to keep his non-threat status.  Since their shared agreement to not fight, there hadn’t been any exchanged words.)

 

“Hizashi,” he repeats.  When he only receives a blank stare, he draws an arc with his tail over his head.  “Hi- za- shi.” 

The Human’s eyes widen in understanding, their mouth forming around his name (from what he can hear, they’re honestly doing well enough for someone whose vocal cords aren’t made to produce those sounds) until Hizasi copies the agreement-head-shaking from earlier.

They say his name one last time before poking themself on the chest and declare, “Shinsou Hitoshi.  Shin- sou.”

He can barely catch what they’re saying, but he still tries to recreate what he thinks the warbling is supposed to sound like.

 

Luckily, his bondmate is an Eer’ahseer, or he would have lost fifty years of his life when Shinsou bares their teeth for a second when he tries to pronounce their name.

He can’t help taking a step back though, and the Human must see something in his expression because they bring their hands up and start waving them frantically. 

“No, no, no, Hizashi, no fight, Shinsou no fight Hizashi,” they babble, touching their teeth.  “No fight.”  

When Hizashi doesn’t move, they hum his friendly greeting and lower themself on their stomach.

“It’s not… a threat display?”  He’s still shaking slightly, but his heart slows down now that he realizes that the squinty-eyes-asymmetric-teeth-baring isn’t meant to be a show of aggression.  It could also be a sign of mischievousness or smug delight at having successfully tricked someone like Shouta’s species (although his was more of a wide-eyes-symmetrical-teeth-baring), which wouldn’t really bode well for him, but it didn’t seem likely given the context.

Despite suspecting Shinsou didn’t understand a word he just said, he seems relieved Hizashi isn’t cowering anymore.

 

There’s an awkward silence between them, but Hizashi cuts through it with the skills of someone living with an—albeit atypically social—Eer’ahseer.

“I could teach you See’krtsh’ish,”—he taps the ground with his wing without waiting for a response, making the appropriate sign, grateful the word didn’t require any tail gesture—“Floor.  Floor.”

 

(The Human’s had only tried to speak in Standard, and even then, he knew very few words.  Communication was very important, even for solitary aliens.  Hizashi could be useful, and useful things aren’t discarded or eaten, at least not before things get desperate.

He would prefer teaching them Standard, but his lack of feathers makes it harder than it was worth, and Standard Sign Language was in its infancy, mostly intended for treaties and politics currently.)

 

Hizashi repeats the word another time before moving on to the next thing and the next and the next after that, until Shinsou starts repeating after him while directing a lowered-eyebrows-squinty-eyes expression at the object they’re naming.

He has to use a combination of modified versions meant for the injured, disabled or older members of his species, alongside home signs he shares with Shouta.  There’s still some tweaking here and there, as there wasn’t a variation of his language accounting for the lack of tail and the inability to produce and perceive certain sound waves and the absence of feathers—the Human doesn’t seem to be able to control their purple tuff.  

It isn’t too difficult though, and Shinsou goes through thirty words, ranging from basic emotions to simple verbs with enthusiasm before the lights dim too much for Hizashi to be able to see them.

 

Somehow, things are looking up for the See’krtsh.

Notes:

Honestly, it would have made more sense for Midoriya to be the human, but sometimes, it do be like that

If you find typos or weird grammar, just leave a comment and I'll fix it :) Tell me what you think!! I wasn't sure if the formatting was okay, so if you have better ideas to make it easier to read, they are welcomed <3
Constructive criticism is okay but please be nice about it!