((A/N: Another comedy piece, this time for Fire Emblem. Any fans of Maximum Ride fanfiction might recognize this story's basic format and premise. I'd like to congratulate EdwardAddict on his brilliant idea and I hope my stealing it isn't inconvenient for him.

Disclaimers (Yes, multiple!): 1: I don't own Fire Emblem or I'm a Gangsta

2: This is not my original idea

3: People easily offended by language and Jews who can't take a joke, you should close this window while you still can.))

Hector

I crept into the treasury, making sure there was nobody inside. I had already ordered the guards away, so I could do this. Something I'd wanted to do for a while.

I rooted through the treasury. A gold chain. Nice. I draped it around my neck. Bracelets followed. I even found a pair of dentures I could use as grillz. I began bobbing my head and beginning the prelude to the song.

"Yo, yo, yo. I'm a gangster. Where my dogs at? Bark with me if you're my dog. Yo, yo, yo. I'm gonna, I'm gonna give a shout out to all the player haters. I don't like player haters. Yo, if you're a player hater, don't player hate on me".

I was feeling it. I felt so badass there, and the song hadn't even started. I took a silver axe from the treasure pile and swung it around.

"I'm a gangster. I'm straight up. Grr, I'm steaming mad."

Now the song had begun. I let myself fall into my natural slouch. I hated standing up stiff and straight for formal meetings. Now I could just let myself go.

"Grr. I'm a gangster, I'm a straight up G. The gangster life is the life for me. Stabbing people by day, selling drugs by night, being a gangster is hella tight. I walk around town with a stark erection. I gave your mom a yeast infection. I saw a soldier, and punched him in the eye. To serve and protect, WHAT A LIE!"

Damn, I felt awesome.

Matthew

"Oswin says the gold armor would look splendid on Hector at the coronation," I muttered, slipping into the treasure room. I immediately ducked behind a pile of treasure. Hector was in the treasure room and he was singing. If you could call it that.

"I also don't like white people. You shouldn't too, and don't get me started about the Jews.

I'm a gangster. Grr, I'm mad. I'm a gangster, my rhymes are bad. I'm a gangster, I'm iced out like fimbulvetr. I'm a gangster, I'm not a bed-wetter."

I tried to hold back a laugh. Hector was decked out in "gangsta" clothing. Oh god, he was trying to be "hip".

He continued on with his "song".

"I dropped outta school at the age of 3."

"Why?" Oh lord, he was actually being two people at once.

"Cuz all the teachers tried to playa hate on me."

"Oh."

"My rhymes are cool, just like doing cocaine. My rhymes are hot, like a burning flame. Sisco is my homie, he's a gangster too. Me and Sisco are the leaders of the gangster crew. I like to be in prison, and he likes to sing and dance. Some say we're the perfect match."

"Match" and "Dance"? Was he serious? And his voice was awful too. Ostia was lucky that being a ruler was a full time job. It would keep Hector from moonlighting as a singer.

"STEP OFF! STEP BACK, STEP AWAY! STEP BACK! DON'T, DON'T STEP FORWARD! STEP BACK! DON'T STEP FORWARD! STEP BACKWARDS! DON'T STEP TO ME! DO NOT STEP TO ME!"

Hector started stepping oddly with a bit of a swagger, trying to look intimidating.

"I'm giving a shout out to all my homies in cell block eight. Being in jail sucks because you always have to masturbate. Except when a Jewish person goes to jail, all my homies cheer. They will make mincemeat out of his rear. Ben Petty helped me make the gangster beat to this song. I stabbed him in the face cuz he looked at me wrong."

Oh, so he was calling it a song? At least he hadn't called his foot movements a dance yet. And the pelvic thrusting. Ugh.

"I'm a gangster, I drop bombs like Hiroshima. I'm a gangster, bitch, suck on my wiener. I'm a gangster, I ride a cool wyvarn. I'm a gangster, I smoke weed in a cigar. Yo, my gangster flow.

Yo, yo, yo, yo, yo."

Hector made an explosion motion with his hands, then did an extra large pelvic thrust. And had he just mispronounced "wyvern" to make it rhyme with cigar? I resisted the temptation to call him out then and there.

"Im rolling on dubs, iced out like hockey. My friend got kicked outta Ilia for drinking all the sake. Fuck a bitch, give me head hoe. What's up to my dogs, yo, yo, yo. They play this song on the radio all day long, so everyone can hear my gangster song. Nobody thought I'd blow up like a mage's elfire."

Was he drunk? I was immobilized by some sort of sick satisfaction. It was awful but I couldn't look away.

"Uh, there's no beat left." He twirled his axe. "Die, Zephiel, die!"

He paused, then began making slapping motions.

"I like to slap bitches, I like to slap hoes."

It was finally over!

"Milord... are you quite sane?"

Hector jumped. "Matthew! How long have you been here?!"

"The whole song," I replied, winking. "I'm really not sure why Lyn loves you so much. Does she know you do this?"

"Matthew, you will keep quiet about this incident," snapped Hector, face red. He stepped by me as regally as he could. Poor fellow. He was still wearing the chains.