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tokoyamisstuff · 2 years

Text

Dolorous (n.) Pt. 3 - grieving, mournful; full of sorrow

After the fall of Overwatch, your fiancé Gabriel Reyes was presumed dead as well - yet no corpse was ever retrieved out of the debris. Unwilling to accept this fate, your dangerous investigations lead you right to the enigma hunting down former comrades of yours...

...is he the one responsible for the disappearance of your lover?

[Part 2]

Warnings: Slight Angst, Brief Mentions of Violence and Blood, Self-Loathing

A/N: I am so pissed rn because Tumblr ate my already finished (!) draft and I had to recreate the chapter from scratch memories only, ughhh.

Words: ~2300

As soon as your eyes would finally open again, you were greeted with yet another foreign ceiling.

Seems like you had passed out due to severe emotional trauma, at least that was understandably your best guess after the recent events.

However, asides from that, you appeared to have remained completely unharmed.

You stirred a little, eyes darting around the room. It was worn down and furnished with only some bare necessities, and no obvious danger in sight.

Could it be...?

Yeah, this certainly looks like a former Overwatch safe-house, a dusty emblem still present on the door. A wonder it hasn't been torn down already - but after all, not many people knew about their location either way...

...except for former members, of course.

One thing was out of the ordinary, however - and that fact send a cold shiver down your spine, hugging yourself in an unconscious motion to ease the feeling.

Someone was watching you, that much was sure.

There was no use in searching for the origin of this oppressing feeling, for the source was most likely directly in front of you. In the shadows, some dark corner of the room.

"Don't you dare leaving just like that" you paused, wary as you heared a soft creak on the wooden floor. "You at least owe me an explanation."

When your unwanted companion ceased to react, you frowned. "Come out" you demanded once again, body shaking as exhaustion washed over you.

Seems like you had overdone it back then.

The omnious creature hesistantly began coalescing to take human form, stepping out into the dim light as it pulled it's hood even further over his head. After all, you had broken his mask - and he was frantic to veil most of his mangled face.

You were stunned to silence once more as Reaper now stood in the middle of the room, submissive and making himself appear as small as humanly possible.

"Can I...?" the man croaked, afraid to overstep a line. "You can, and you will."

Doing as he was told, Reaper followed the gesture of your hand and sat down on the edge of the bed, the mattress creaking under his massive weight.

In an instant, you pulled down his hood before he could even protest, pupils blown wide as yet another time you laid eyes upon the person beneath.

A violent tremor ran through your body as you incredulously scanned his features, examined scars both old and new. The man itself remained frozen in place, yet unable to even meet your eyes and with his chest having at the touch he had craved for so agonizingly long.

What a blatant lie, or so you thought.

Your fingers barely ghosted across his scruffy beard, alongsides his cheekbones to run through raven locks...

...before out of a whim, you rammed a balled fist right under his jawline.

He buckled over slightly, face contorting in pain before spitting out a mixture of blood and black smoke. "I deserved that one" he chuckled darkly.

"Are you toying with me?" You narrowed your eyes at the person still squirming in front of you, heart sinking into a puddle of bile because how dare he look so forlorn while exposing you to this ordeal.

The confusion and fatigue made you light-headed, but he couldn't really think you to be this gullible after your own eyes saw what he was capable of. "Stop wearing his face...you have no right..."

Yes, surely a wraith like him was able to alter his physique and appearance as well - solely to deceive you.

Gabe swallowed dryly around a lump in his throat, apprehension creeping up on him together with the soulcrushing feeling of helplessness.

"That's enough. If you want to end my life just pull through with it" you ultimatively declared, bracing yourself for what you thought was the inevitable conclusion. "I just beg of you, stop playing with me."

"But this..." One hand of yours reached up to cup his cheek once again, chest clenching painfully at the striking resemblance of the monster that mimicked your deceased lover. "This is just too cruel."

Reaper's heartheart was mercilessly hammering against his sternum as he softly grabbed your shoulders - not in order to keep you away, but to hold himself back.

He had trouble speaking, his mind set solely on the wish to take all of your pain away - even if it ought to be impossible.

"Y/N, I'm so, so sorry..."

"Cut it out!" you gritted at his ludicrous act - even though your subconsciousness was currently screaming at you. Throwing yourself against this enigma that could easily snap you in half like a twig, you fiercely grabbed the collar of his coat, weakly shaking him.

It was a pathetic attempt, wishful thinking that anything he would do or say could make this situation any more bearable...

...and then indeed, through the motion a piece of paper fell from inside of his pockets, presenting itself for you to pick up.

It was a picture of you and Gabe, kissing for the first time - the snapshot was crumpled and withered by time, but you recognized it right away.

"Please don't tell me you plucked this from his corpse" you reacted in an attempt to make sense of him possessing such a thing, still in denial.

Even if your lover would've never openly admit to being a softie like this, but he would always take it to missions back then, to look at it when in a desperate situation.

His own personal lucky charm, or so some would say.

But you knew the answer already, didn't you?

"Cassidy had snatched the pic back then." Reaper's mouth curled into an almost-smile, leaving you in complete and utter shock at this knowledge only he - the real deal - could know. "Oh boy, he had to do the most humiliating duties as punishment afterwards. But now I'm grateful he did."

While the truth may be as bright as daylight, it was also equally as simple as it was destructive...

...Reaper and Gabriel Reyes were undeniably the same person.

"G-Gabriel?!" Your voice was just slightly above a whisper, feeling like all of the air had been kicked out of your lungs.

And all of the malice you saw in him until now would disappear just like that, being replaced with a meek vulnerability.

"I'm here, my love" he replied with a smile that did not quite match his eyes. "And I missed you dearly."

Yet in all truth and retrospect: If what he claimed to be was true, then the person you loved most had turned into a villain, mass murderer...

...and a monster.

What must've happened in order to twist a righteous hero like that, you wondered?

His walk, the weapons - hell, even the way-over-the-top costume! And his voice, this haunting timbre laced with something so damn close to the man he once was.

And how could you not have noticed, all this time that you had been fighting the very person you wanted to avenge - throwing the worst of accusations at this broken husk of a man that had gone through the unspeakable.

Maybe you had known it all along after all, shoved it way into the back of your head - knowing very well that the truth would destroy you.

For you had failed him once again.

"You're alive" you finally sniveled, reveling even in the distorted features of his face and body only to break out in heartwrenching cries of sadness and relief. "Oh god, Gabe, you were alive all this time!"

"Shh...it's alright now" the man soothed you, lowering his voice as he gave in to the urge to cradle you into his chest - the racing beat of his heart against your ear being final proof of the impossible.

"You're back" you hiccup once again, just to blink up at him through wetted lashes. "I was never really gone, Y/N. I always watched over you."

So you were never really alone, huh. A minor comfort after years of grief.

At that very moment, Reaper's form began to change, dispersing into a horrendous being no one should ever lay their eyes upon, pining you in place with only so much as his intense aura.

"Then why didn't you tell me?!" His expression went flat as well as his embrace loosened. "And then what, come to you as this...thing?"

Stop with the secrecy then, it is.

Not even in your wildest dreams you could've imagined something like this as too many crimson dots glared at you from between pitch black embers, ever shifting into indescribable forms and directions.

"What have they done to you?"

"Talon found me before anyone else." His voice seemed to come from all sides at once, surrounding you fully. As if he was collapsing into himself over and over again - what a terrible state of being that must be. "And they...saved my life, more or less. I manage."

"Did they brainwash you, like they did with Amelie?"

"No." A plain answer, sufficient yet also unsatisfying.

You were sure Moira had something to do with this - she had a finger in every pie, after all, and had manipulated Reyes for the worst on many occasions before.

"I-I've searched for you with my bare hands for days..." Your voice cracked as you began to sob, flailing at him in utter disbelief. "I know my love, I know..."

By whatever horrid miracle he did survive, and yet had the audiacity to not immediately return to the woman mourning him?!

"And you would've actually let me kill you, just like that? How could I ever live on after I'd find out?" you now shoutet at the man, softly beating against his chest.

What appeared to be his lips brushed yours ever so slightly as you laid on top of the human-shaped shadow, almost as if he tried to hold himself back...

"You were never supposed to learn the truth. As I am now, you're not safe with me." Were you really this delusional, not fearing what you saw right now? Or had you just completely lost your sanity after this revelation? "I was supposed to protect you from the bad guys, Y/N, not become one."

Yet still, the only thing really affecting you was the disappointment of his disappearance and betrayal.

While he was hesistant to touch you in that abominable form, you remained completely unfazed by this eldritch appearance, tackling him over for a long due kiss.

...yet however your lover wanted to object, you simply kissed away any words that laid on the tip of his tongue.

"I have no clue who or what to believe anymore" you mumbled against his skin that slowly returned to it's human outerior again, "But I know for sure that the man I gave my heart away to is a good person."

"It was no lie, my love" he emphasized, your head now tucked under his chin. "I did revolt against Overwatch. And the fight triggered an explosion that destroyed everything we built, alongsides countless allies."

"Don't you think I'm aware of this?" Closing your eyes, you nuzzled against his pectoral muscles which in return relaxed under your silky touch. He really smelled just like back then - a little less intense, and mingled with something you couldn't quite decipher, but it was him after all.

"And I already forgave you a long time ago" you added, unable to help but feel grateful that you'd finally hear the truth drop from his mouth - even at those terrible confession, as crazy as it seems. "I only wish you would've told me way sooner. Maybe we had found another solution..."

"Back then, I was full of false pride and bitterness." Reyes would wipe at your moist eyes, a claw of his that could easily disembowel a person now all careful to not break the skin in the slightest. "It made me forget that the most important thing was always right besides me."

Ever since he had been degraded to be the Commander of Blackwatch, the temptation of just running away with you and starting a new, normal life like you had always suggested sure was high...

...a life you always wanted but he never truly believed in.

In the end, he practically evoked his own downfall - and involuntarily, yours as well.

He aimed to be powerful, respected - able to give you the world. Always fearing to lose you shall he not reach up to those impossible standarts he set for himself.

Too much endeavor paired with his ill temper sure were a dangerous combination, worsening with every mission gone south.

"I said so many terrible things to you..." you sniveled which he'd protest, his strong hands still lingering on your body. "I'm so sorry, Gabe..."

"No, no. You were right with every word." You felt him press a gentle kiss into the crown of your hair, absentmindedly shuffling even closer against your body. "There was nothing you could do. I was beyond help, and I abandoned you. I should be the one apologizing."

"Then we'll apologize to each other" you decided, a tentative smile decorating your face as you scoldingly poked his chest. "Every day. For the rest of our lives."

"Y/N" he breathed out with a wavering voice, and you could've sworn to see some black particles swirl in the air as he spoke. "Are you sure this is a good-"

"Cut it out with the self-loathing" you peeved in certainty, effectively silencing him with another breathtaking kiss. "It doesn't suit you. And you seem to forget this isn't up to you alone to decide. I want you, and I always will. So you better make it work out!"

Just like back then - no use in arguing with you.

"Still the feisty little thing, I see" the man grinned confidently from ear to ear now, through razor-sharp teeth that only mildly concerned you. "Alright. In that case..."

You rose one eyebrow as Gabe started rummaging through his somewhat magical pockets - until he pulled out a small, black box. "Took me a whole month's salary...well, and weeks of combing through the rubble to find it again."

Gasping as the box revealed what he had prepared all those years ago, your eyes darted between the beautiful ruby decorated ring and the hopeful face of your lover.

Dear god, please don't let this be a dream, both of you thought in unison. After all you've been through, this is simply to good to be true!

"Let me do it properly this time..." he mumbled nervously, making you chuckle in excitement as he fell down to one knee - looking at you with sheer adoration as he spoke:

"Y/N Y/L/N, will you still marry me?"

#overwatch #overwatch 2 #reaper x reader #gabriel reyes x reader #reaper #gabriel reyes #blackwatch #talon #reaper / reader #gabriel reyes / reader #writing #self insert #fanfiction

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liviavanrouge · 11 months

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The new Garden Guardian

Epel: *Yells in alarm, ducking his head as the Fire Lion blasted a fire bomb at him*

Apex: *Grins, holding his bow* Finish him, Sharpshooter

Epel: *Looks back, smoking ice flying at him*

???: EPEL!

Livia: *Shields Epel with her wings, thorns rising up and surrounding them*

Vil: EPEL!!

Riddle: LIVIA!!

Jamil: ARE THEY OKAY??!

Apex: *Grins then turns to the trembling Garden Creatures* Better run and hide, nothing and nobody can save you all now

Jamil: LOOK!

Livia: *Bursts from the ice, purple flames flying from her mouth, forcing the Fire Lions back*

Apex: *Turns back alarmed* YOU-!

Livia: *Holds her hands up, vines growing from her wrists*

Jamil and Riddle: *Hurries over to Epel, helping him to safety*

Epel: We gotta help her!

Vil: This is Livias fight, not ours

Livia: *Lashes her thorn whips, dodging the arrows coming at her*

Apex: GET HER YOU IRKSOME CREATURES

Livia: *Flares her wings and lifts into the air, dodging the fire balls, vines pinning the flaming lions down*

Apex: *Scowls and fires an arrow at Livia, watching it duplicate*

Livia: *Lands on a tree branch, swinging her left arm, her thorn whips slicing through them*

Malleus: *Appears beside Vil* What's going on?!

Lilia: Livia!

Silver: I'm going to help her!

Vil: We can't interfere with her fight or else the garden will continue to belong to Apex!

Sebek: BUT-!!

Kuro: THAT'S NOT FAIR!

Vil: Livia has to prove that she can beat Apex or any threats to the garden...

Livia: *Dodges another shower of arrows, beating her wings*

Livia: *Lands and snarls, roaring at Apex, lashing her tail behind her*

Fire Lion A: *Growls and gets up, sidling over to stand beside Livia*

Fire Lion B: *Roars at Apex, snarling*

Apex: Disobedient pests!

Livia: *Narrows her eyes and lashes her thorn whips at Apex, fire cloaking them from the flaming lions* GET OUT OF WHAT'S MINE!

Apex: *Moves back, his eyes widening when a flaming thorn whip set his bow aflame*

Shadow Moneky A: *Grabs Apex's last arrows*

Shadow Monkey B: *Snatched Apex's dagger*

Livia: *Swings her arms, sending her whips lashing at Apex forcing him to the entrance*

Apex: THIS IS MY HUNTING GROUND! YOU CAN'T JUST APPEAR AND TAKE IT

Livia: *Launches herself forward and rams her head into his chin*

Epel: GET HIM, LIV!

Livia: *Hovers backwards, beating her wings as the Gardens Animals advanced on Apex* This is MY garden! Something my ancestors has passed down through my family for generations! You gave NO RIGHT to it!

Apex: *Trembles, looking at the angry animals*

Livia: *Lifts her head and roars, more garden creatures coming from their respective lands*

Sebek: *Looks around stunned* Wow...

Silver: All these animals and creature's!

Lilia: They're reverting back to their original appearances!

Livia: *Lands, and kicks Apex through the barrier* Leave

Apex: Brat-!

Livia: NOW! *Snarls at him, her eyes glowing dark red*

Livia: *Narrows her eyes, watching Apex scramble to his feet and bolt*

Epel: *Throws his arms around Livia* YOU WERE AMAZING!

Jamil: My heart stopped for a moment, don't ever drag me along for something like this again please....

Riddle: Scare us like that again and it'll be off with your head....

Vil: You two are gonna be scolded about sneaking off, but good job saving the garden

Livia: The job isn't over yet, I have to repair everything...

Silver: Then allow us to lend you aid...

Jamil: I shall help as well...

Livia: Thanks guys...

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painprns · 2 years

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Horror & Edgy Neopronouns

CW: Illegal activity. TW: Violent actions, murder, stalking, body parts, weapons, and religious themes. A lot of the content in here triggered me so be careful if you want to look at this list. (And before you ask, yes, I am fine. You learn to cope.)

Of course, I don't approve of anything in this list, and this list isn't meant to glamorize those who have mental issues or violent tendencies. I have issues with violence and mental issues. Sometimes, it just helps. If there are any words you think should be added (or removed) feel free to send in an ask.

Note: Try putting a suffix on some words, like -ful or -less. Gives you plenty more options. Also, every new beginning letter will be bolded and with a new color for reading ease.

Pronouns (including emojis, not including extras like parentheses or alternatives): 443

🖤 🕷 🦇 🗡 ⚔ 💣 🔪 🕸 ⛓ 🥀 💀 ☠ ⚰ 🚬 🪦 🔥 😈 👿 💉 ⚠ 👻 🦴 🧠 🫀 🫁 🦷 👁 👀 🪝 🔨 🪓 ⛏ 🩸 💊

abandon

abyss

accelerate

again

alive

alley(way)

anarchy

anger

apart

apocalypse

arm

arson

ash(phalt)

attic

away

awful

awry

axe

back(alley/rooms)

bait

bat

beast

beat(down)

beg

belittle

behead

bet

bite

blade

blaze

blood

body

boil

bomb

bone

boo(m)

brain

break(down)

breath(e)

brick

brittle

bug

bullet

burn

bury

buzz

cannibal(ize)

cap(ture)

car(cass)

carnivore

cat(ch)

caught

cause

chain(saw)

chaos

chase

cig(arette)

claw

clown

coffin

corvid

concern

concrete

consume

control

copy(cat)

core

corpse

corridor

cover

coward

cower

crawl

creature

creep

cremate

crimson

critter

cross

crow

crime

criminal

crumble

crunch

crush

cry

crypt(id)

curse

cut

dagger

danger

dark(ness)

daunt

dawn

daze

deflate

disease

disgust

dissect

dizzy

dead

death

decay

demon

destroy

devil

dice

die

dirt

disappear

disease

disgust

doll

done

drac(ula)

drain

dread

drown

dull

eat

ecto(plasm)

edge

edgy

eerie

elbow

empty

evil

eye

facade

face

fail(ure)

fall

fang

far

fatal

fear

fight

final

finger

fire

flame

flesh

freak

fright(en)

fury

gain

gargoyle

gas(h)

gauze

gaze

ghost

ghoul

gimp

glee

gnash

god

gore

gouge

grab

grain

grasp

grate

grave(yard/stone)

grease

grim(ace)

grime

grind(er)

grip

grit

gross

grotesque

grunge

guard

grue(some)

gun

gut(teral)

hail

hammer

hand

harbor

hard

harm

hatch(et)

hate

hatred

haunt

havoc

head(stone)

heart

heat

hell

hidden

hide

high(way)

hilt

hit

hook

hollow

horror

hound

hunt

hurl

hurt

ice(pick)

ill(ness)

immolate

immortal

imp(ale)

incinerate

inflammatory

inhale

inhalation

instant

intense

irritate

jab

jail

jam

jank

jostle

joke

joy

junk

kill

kilter

knee

knife

lank

last

lather

laugh(ter)

leak

leg

lich

lim(inal)

linger

link

little

lung

lurk

macabre

maim

malicious

manslaughter

marrow

mask

mass(acre)

maze

meat

melt

mime

mince

misery

monster

morbid

moss

murder

mystery

nail

nausea/nauseous

night(mare)

noise

nowhere

necro

off

one

omen

open

over(power)

pail

pain

pale

panic

phantom

phobia

piece

pill

plead

poison

poltergeist

power

prey

puddle

purge

pyre

question

quiet

quiver

rabies

rage

rail

raid

rain

rake

rat

raw

restrain

retch

rip

road(kill)

rock

rot

run(away)

rust

saw(dust)

scare

scary

scent

scratch

scream

seize

sewer

shadow

shake

shiver

shock

shoot

shove(l)

shred

shriek

sick(ness)

silent

sink

sin(ister)

skin

skull

slash(er)

slay

sledge(hammer)

small

smash

smell

smoke

sob

somber

some(body)

someone

slip

spider

spirit

spike

spook

stab

stain

stalk

start(le)

steal

step

storm

strain

strange

stun

suffer

sunk

survive

sword

syringe

teeth

tense

terror

thorn

threat

tinge

tomb(stone)

torn

torture

tooth

trail(cam)

train

trigger

trip

turn

tyranny

undead

unknown

vamp(ire)

venom

vicious

villain

violent

void

wary

weak

weapon

weep

weird

wick(ed)

wicker

whir

whiz

whisper

will

wilt

wither

wound

worry

wraith

wrath

wreck

wring

wrong

wrought

yank

yell

yelp

zero

zombie

#neopronouns #tw #painprns

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mywifeleftme · 1 year

Text

50: My Blood Valentine // Loveless

Loveless My Bloody Valentine 1991, Creation

Since every Loveless review turns into a soup of adjectives, I collected all 593 adjectives I've used in the previous 49 reviews in this series and bolded the ones that apply to this record:

Fun, diesel-powered, affable, strutting, crooked, deranged, maudlin, endearing, bald-faced, serviceable-at-worst, dollar bin, rabid, vast, empty, folky, sublime, earwormy, intuitive, high, clear, clean, blue, tense, urgent, nervy, ecstatic, great, glum, boyish, chiming, insistent, operative, bare-assed, incongruous, sincere, passionate, deeply felt, stomping, joyous, slower, melancholic, funereal, heart-rending, echoey, overt, stunning, straight, simple, popular, shot, mild, in-the-pocket, gnomish, stern, strict, self-imposed, underrated, deconstructed, long, moody, intuitive, desperate, blueish, deeper, fond, cosmic, bigger, stoned, economical, driving, blistering, sedate, tentative, pretty damned good, hidden, opposite, elemental, amphetamized, duff, satisfying, mixed, dismal, fresh, stone, radiant, perfect, silken, delighted, spellbound, minor, charming, superb, funky, polyrhythmic, light-and-shadows, needless, dyspeptic, profound, most-spun, experienced, good, nostalgic, masculine, music-as-healing-ritual, granola, fervently-wanking-chaos-magic, drifting, moaning, shifting, droning, extraordinary, spare, hushed, silverene, bloody, hunted, icy, singular, pure, pensive, fine, increasingly-gnarled, sucks, Joy Divisiony, extremely sweet, gripless, gloomy, exhausting, rich, high camp, ambiguous, distant, regal, enormous, unearthly, cold, adventurous, inscrutable, cerebral, robotic, landmark, cavernous, cyborgian, nearly-lost, vintage, lyrical, unpredictable, tuned-in, vivid, stretchy-faced, EC Comics-y, state-of-the-art, DIY, talented, metallic, gangrenous, niche, stark, outsider, minimally-arranged, amelodic, piping, windburned, sinister, unsettling, loose, imagistic, oblique, surreal, fully-realized, excellent, expanded, skeletal, entrancing, solemn, buzzing, intense, key, quirky, revered, true, anointed, durable, going-nowhere-and-loving-it, woolly, unique, infectious, goofy, ferocious, valuable, searing, slick, sporadic, nocturnal, satiny, tragic, high-thread-count, theatrical, mournful, acrid, dramatic, fallen, expansive, confrontational, blunt, palpable, subtle, melodramatic, incestuous, trauma-dumping, erotic, heartfelt, beautiful, melodic, drifty, flighty, sad, oppressively sincere, life-changing, trenchant, wreathed in ritual smoke, crackling with spiritual lightning, unruly, madcap, mind-bending, raucous, thrilling, idiosyncratic, striking, bludgeoning, fucked up, choreographed, discomfiting, walloping, deafening, glitchy, chill, tweaky, archetypal, harder-edged, stately, audiophile's dream, mangy, hallucinatory, strafing, high-octane, winsome, hyperactive, irresistible, indelible, deathless, casual, disjunctive, winkingly earnest, faint, uncanny, perpetual, traditional, stranger, megawatt, queer, velveteen, definitive, cutesy, irksome, satisfying, sentimental, introverted, psych-y, rambling, wistful, confident, twinkly, loopy, smeared, ramshackle, reverb-washed, tie-dyed, emblematic, frenetic, rusty, steam-driven, recursive, mesmerizing, unobtrusive, special, bespoke, lesser-known, rare, popular, gentle, tropical, lilting, ebullient, svelte, percolating, obscure, fantastic,

youtube

sweat-soaked, drum-driven, cardiac, giddy, sugarcane, charismatic, pan-Black, white, beloved, considerable, pretty funny, moderately offensive, legendary, snarky, just fucking fine, dogshit, scathing, amusing, awkward, replacement-level, cromulent, left-field, psychedelic, burly, bad, dunked upon, seedy, modest, hedonistic, sock hop vibes, peaceable, immaculate, sodden, unquenchable, galvanizing, warlike, leftist, fuzz-drenched, fiery, swashbuckling, heartfelt, frosty, forlorn, far-right, intelligible, powerful, unforgiveable, militant, fulfilling, wonderful, sweaty, righteous, dashing, rustic, clumsy, soulful, gushing, stupid, generous, weird, dumb, highly defective, new-dime, candy-eyed, weary, miserable, idiot, loudest, imperious, gender euphoric, good-natured, hilarious, deviant, compulsive, dimwitted, blind, unappeasable, important, cigarette-smelling, elaborate, impossible, virtuosic, bitter, gifted, religious, absurd, naughty, leaden, adolescent, brilliant, skewed, greying, golden, horniest, explicit, blithe, comic, well-lubricated, sepia-toned, disreputable, frigid, hygienic, grimy, kinetic, cramped, pitiless, pulverizing, soothing, agitated, stabbing, intricate, strong, smoldering, cyberpunky, towering, lukewarm, unmissable, clever, hot-rodded, impersonal, garage-y, tender, bottle rocket, unflappable, noisy, apocalyptic, primal, song-like, formless, fascinating, blobby, resplendent, dreamy, rawer, full-bodied, pitchy, spacy, catchy, sorely missed, startled, maximalist, uninhibited, gargantuan, turbulent, insular, sedate, rapturous, exquisitely-arranged, sensitive, melismatic, intimate, smoky, slow-developing, distinctive, beguiling, abstract, conventional, languorous, foggy, hazy, fetching, ambient, breathy, salival, opaque, concrete, urban, herculean, ass-kicking, nimble, technically proficient, sledge-assed, steely, poppy, unfaltering, Hendrix-pilled, divebombing, frizzy, anthemic, crusading, acid-scarred, spiraling, hair-raising, outraged, minimal, sick ass, dazzling, abominable, smooth, pretty, serene, personable, organic, ambling, overwrought, anachronistic, back porch, Appalachian, death-shrouded, sun-dappled, haunted, existential, straight up and down, starry-eyed, flashy, timeless, odd, ur-technical, Queensrÿche-adjacent, darker-hued, bonkers, tortured, plodding, groaning, busy, old, iconic, aphoristic, gusty, small, sexy, feathered, cool, exécrable, stolid, matter-of-fact, squinting, rumpled, abject, homeliness, unmatched, stacked, entry-level, de rigueur, reliable, working-class, scratchy, aspiring, feral, plaintive, quavering, venomous, scuzzy, balls-to-the-wall, professional, weakest, passable, immortal, subdued, worthy, heavy, powerfully Afroed, languid, string-sweetened, deft, gliding, lapidary, pizzicato, stirring, pogo-powered, lyrics-forward, deadpan, passé, strange, head-spinning, immense, endless.

Or simply, as friend and critic MJ O’Neill once put it, the sound of lipstick smeared in a dream.

50/365

#my bloody valentine #loveless #adjectives #shoegaze #this is so stupid #logorrhea #a tendency to extreme loquacity #music review #vinyl #scottish music #'90s music

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hannigramficrecs · 3 years

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Hello! Do you know any fics with Hannibal and Will still having their canon occupations but meeting in a different way? Through Alana maybe or idk. Thank you!

Hi, this is one of my favorite tropes! Here are some recs:

Not In The Stars by DarkmoonSigel [words: 3,400]

Everyone keeps meeting Will Graham except Hannibal who makes unhappy cannibal noises about it.

I Speak In Smoke Signals And You Answer In Code by coloredink [words: 7,919]

My name is Hannibal Lecter. I am a colleague of Alana Bloom’s. I also do some consulting for the FBI’s Behavioral Science Unit.

Going My Way by fragile-teacup [words: 2,746]

Imagine, if you will, a sunny café terrace on a warm autumn morning, where Will Graham is grabbing breakfast ahead of a rather important meeting with his boss and some psychiatrist or other. He looks up and notices that someone is staring at him from a few tables away...

Love-blind by BloodunderMoonlight [words: 29,944]

Will met Hannibal two years ago during the investigation of the Wound Man case. They fell in love quickly and married to each other a year later. Now another year had passed, they still had not realized their partners were the serial killers they admired the most.

Falls the Shadow by littlesystems [words: 72,455]

AU where Bedelia is Will’s psychiatrist instead of Hannibal, Will makes a series of increasingly questionable life choices, and no one should ever take Bedelia’s advice. Ever.

Fruitful by Everett_Harte [words: 11,629]

An AU where they both meet several years before the show, start dating, and get married. And bang, a lot.

Railroad Romance by OneWhoSitsWithTurtles [words: 12,400]

Hannibal is still Hannibal, and Will is still Will. Except Will is not part of the FBI and they meet on a two day train trip from New Orleans to Baltimore.

Out of Order by HigherMagic [words: 7,346]

Hannibal’s car breaks down on a long road in the middle of West Virginia. In his quest to seek help, he ends up at an abandoned gas station, with a little house and a large barn. Living there is a man, Will Graham, who offers to take a look at his car and drive him to the next town so he has a place to stay. Hannibal cannot resist digging into Will’s mind and personal life during the drive, learning that Will teaches remotely for the FBI, and in particular, lectures on the Chesapeake Ripper.

To Impress by Everett_Harte, sku7314977 [words: 12,099]

Chilton invites Matthew to a soiree after a work incident as his plus one to pay the orderly back for saving his life, Matt invites his new boyfriend Will and Hannibal decides that he would very much like to get to know Matt’s boyfriend a little better.

Before You And After You by ache_for_him, Breakmybones (CarterReid), CarterReid [words: 33,734]

Hannibal and Will had a past: a dirty, bloody, violent past. Will was sure he’d never see his own personal monster again - then he walked into Jack Crawford’s office.

In Sickness and in Health by BonesAndScales [words: 67,450]

Everyone knows that Will and Hannibal are married. Not everyone knows that they are married to each other.

Of a Foreigner’s God by saintsavage [words: 2,947]

An AU first meeting leads to some very interesting changes in the lives of Will and Hannibal. Jack isn’t thrilled.

An Amendment to Dinner Plans by GoldenUsagi [words: 1,541]

Hannibal is planning to kill someone from his Rolodex, and has made arrangements for them to have car trouble. Except there’s a mix-up, and the man he meets on the roadside is Will Graham—not the man he was planning to kill, and also the most stunning man he’s ever seen.

Nocturnes by DarkmoonSigel [words: 4,247]

A serial killer AU and a re-imagining of the pilot episode based on the idea of 'what if Will was already a serial killer and had met Hannibal before while the good doctor was out and about?’

A Darkness Seen And Shared by voxofthevoid [words: 10,344]

What would have happened if Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter first met each other when they were both hunting the same man, for entirely different reasons?

#hannibal #hannigram #hannibal fanfiction #hannigram fanfiction #hannibal fanfic #hannigram fanfic #hannibal au #hannigram au #murder husbands #hannibal fic recs #hannigram fic recs #nbc hannibal #hannibal tv #hannibal lecter #will graham #mads mikkelsen #hugh dancy #will x hannibal #replies

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btsgreyvibes · 3 years

Text

Let me just take a moment to tell everyone how much I fucking love all the magic AUs in the BTS fandom.

Especially the ones where Jungkook is human and just confused as hell.

And I enjoy how the characters change story to story, some of them staying the same in terms of creature or magic but others completely different. It's so fun to see what people think of..

Yoongi who smiles with too many teeth and vertical slits in his eyes that seem to glow. Scales that spill over his body around pulse points here and there, they seem to settle on one color before the light catches them and they completely change again. Stretching out longer than he should be able to and a low body temp that makes him prone to napping in warm spots.

Hoseok with hair that smolders lowly at the tips like it will catch fire any moment but it never seems to work it's way up the strands, shimmering feathers woven in with gold beads. A light blush to his cheek all the time like he's been in the sun and a burning temper on the occasions he gets worked up.

Jimin with a smile that's a touch too wicked at times and sharp nails painted black. His shadow inked on the wall behind him in flickering tails and pointed ears that don't match his movements at all. He has a presence that lures everyone in before they know it and he watches with clever eyes.

Taehyung brimming with too much energy, the urge to run on four legs stronger the more he has to ignore it. He growls low in his chest when he's unhappy and lips curl up into a snarl when he's angry. Ears and eyes catching more than they should and his scent carefully brushed against those he considers pack.

Namjoon ageless and brilliant. Stunning white teeth and a way of watching people that makes them feel small. He doesn't have a mark on his skin and the scent of iron follows him some days. Too fast when he moves and a grace to him thats reminiscent of a large cat hunting prey.

Seokjin who knows more than he should and walks with the confidence of someone who knows they're the bigger threat. His ability to blend into the shadows like he's not there at all, and how he always seems to know what's going on. The smell of warm stone and smoke following him around and eyes that look endless in their darkness.

Jungkook painfully human and so young. Big eyes that make him look more like prey than the blood running through his veins ever could. Shy and sweet and easy to win over with affection and attention.

I just live for that shift from strangers to "yes hello this is our human please politely fuck off."

It's just an appreciation post y'all. Thanks for keeping my imagination active and my soul happy.

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wistfulrat · 4 years

Text

a 4-part rec list of my fave drarry fics - the thrillers, dramas, soft bois, and wankbanks getting me through 2020′s shitstorm

[the soft boi list is here and truly i’m not surprised this rec is going to be the longest bc if there’s one thing a bitch is going to do, it’s yearn.

as always! if you love a fic, follow the authors, leave kudos & comments, send them nice msgs bc free art is still labor xoxo]

part 3: soft bois

mood: for when I need respite, a balm to the all-consuming shittiness of life

includes: fluff, comfort, low-stakes, slow-burn fics. a wistful look, a rainy morning, an unexpected grace, a stupidly disarming joke. i could live inside these fics. the smallness of human lives removed from the site of that which hurts & irreparably changes. the story-equivalent of a deep breath after a long day. pregnant silences & pensive mundanity & shy smiles. banter with bite but without the cruelty. the color lavender. weirdly whimsical. soft fics are not necessarily conflict-averse (no drarry fic rly can be, considering the context) but, they offer the reader a generous distance from the initial harm. they’re the quiet cleaning up after a storm. sometimes healing is an exacting surgical knife and other times it’s a slow scabbing. you read these fics to be reassured that the way forward is not always ruthless. and honestly?? they deserve a semblance of peace godDAMmit.

The Way Down by @letteredlettered - 65k - T “and I thought that if someone talked to you as though you were a human being you might—maybe you could act like one” --the way i think about this line daily. the characterization of draco in this fic is one my favorites bc he’s earnest and neurotic and tired of harry’s shit. which is to say, he cares so so much. and harry doesn’t know what to do with that bc he’s got a monster in his chest and lives as a recluse. but they both humanize each other in ways no one else can. “you’re just a person” has to be some kind of drarry ethics of belonging and it makes me CRY. -

Little Deaths and How to Avoid Them by @greaseonmymouth and dustmouth - 96k - T “Maybe it’s not about deserving it? Maybe you just get to have it anyway. . .I’m allowing myself to want something and to let myself have it and to fight for it.” --harry runs a daycare and also works at a library. draco spends a lot of time in said library. they bond over sci-fi books and therapy anecdotes and quiet philosophical conversations held over cafeteria soup. and harry’s struggling to understand his asexuality. draco’s learning how to live with anxiety and depression. they both want to be deserving of love. incredible fic with beautiful art by dustmouth. -

Open for Repairs by @drarrytrash - 35k - T “A few leaves rustle in the gutter and the muggle world pays no mind to them, to two lost boys holding on for dear life.” --all of their fics feel exactly like this. like you’ve been allowed to look at something private, tender, unexpected. draco, known abba fan, is a repairman in the muggle world & harry can’t stop breaking thrifted things in order to see him? say less, i'm thERE. also “I think I have a crush on you” goddddd - other faves by them: Counting Down By Ten - 2k - T: draco’s stepped outside of the party for a smoke. harry follows him bc of course he does. i could read this 100 times and not get tired of it. - Clouds That Veil the Midnight Moon - 36k - E: FUCKING HILARIOUS I CACKLED THROUGH THE WHOLE THING. draco’s wolfy problem and harry helping him and harry being flustered by how much he likes draco and draco’s hot heroic moment. shutup it’s perfect. “He almost asks if Draco ever gets tired of being a miserable complaining shit all the time, but he knows that he, personally, never ever gets tired of being a miserable complaining shit.” and “It’s the traumas,” Harry says gravely” --lines that live rent free in my head -

Harry Potter and the Future He Doesn't Really Want, Thanks by seefin - 70k - E “That was the only logical thing to do here, wasn’t it? It was the next step, it was the end of hurting each other and the beginning of the exact opposite.” --harry lives with luna and neville and also he dreams about the future sometimes? and he keeps running into draco. draco thinks this is sus as hell, until he doesn’t. feat. taxi rides, museums, cinemas, rooftop conversations beneath a lunar eclipse, mid-sex innocuous banter, draco and harry discussing nicki minaj. this fic charmed my ass off. seefin writes the most effortlessly hilarious dialogues. i smiled at my phone like an idiot at least 7 times. - other faves by them: Wild - 93k - E: “he liked feeling needed, for the things that he was needed for back at the house in Ireland. For cooking and gardening and driving. Easy things.” --this shit makes me cry it’s so good. harry lives in Ireland with these three brilliant, hilarious, wandless witches and draco’s a potions student who's come to study under one of the housemates and the boys have so much shit to work through but their love becomes so tender and honest. draco yells at harry a lot and harry lets him and they both keep each other grounded in something real and fuCK. - Divination for Dickheads - 7k - G: “I’m terrible at having crushes. I’ve never played anything cool a day in my life.” -- oh harry, we knOW. a bus ride, a fortune teller, an aquarium birthday party. god i love this fic. -

Modern Love by @tackytigerfic - 61k - E “But we’ve worked so hard at this, haven’t we? Yeah, I know it’s a horror to have to talk about it, but fuck it. We’re friends now, but it took so long to get here. Have you ever had to work so hard at something before?" --the steady blossoming of their friendship in this fic is so goddamn beautiful i want to yell. it’s draco and harry learning to trust each other and the whole thing unfolds so slowly, in this whimsical mix of london streets, wizarding politics, church halls feat. a Hot vicar, and a magical antique shop owner who’s married to literal poseidon?? goD the environment of this fic. immaculate. [also there’s a tender shower scene that makes me cry every single fucking time so if you read this fic pls dm me so we can be embarrassing about it together tbh] -

Nice Things by aideomai - 22k - M “He kept waiting for the weird shock of touch to not knock him clean out of his head, leave him quiet and warm and happy.” --8th year. harry forms an unlikely friendship with draco that begins with smoking weed on a windowsill. harry is touch-starved and draco touches him like he touches all his close friends - like it’s easy. the quiet affection in this fic, the way harry burrows himself into touch bc he’s been without it for his entire life. reading this is like being held. -

Running On Air by @tinyhistory - 74k - T “do you remember when we were eleven?” --alexa play coldplay’s the scientist it’s sad girl hours and we’re about to fucking yearn. you’ve seen this fic rec on every drarry list under the sun and i'm here to be redundant. the hype is so goddamn real. this story is a lyrical masterpiece held together by lines that act as refrains that will rattle around your brain until you die, probably. draco’s been missing for 3yrs. harry goes to find him. it’s their odyssey of homecoming. -

Title of Their Sex Tape by @cibeewastaken - 12k - T “But Draco, Draco was everything but boring. Draco made sitting in the rain watching an empty house fun.” --auror partners pining and draco being eccentric and harry being very earnestly gay about draco’s eccentricities!! god this fic is so genuinely fun skskd feat. undercover missions, murderous faeries, a book heist, a stunning navy dress, harry’s eyelashes. -

How We Throw Our Shadows Down by @thistle-verse - 14k - T “Draco is about to say something else— to thank Potter for what he’d done, however poorly— but Harry is smiling at him again, and it’s so soft and perfect that Draco holds in any inadequate words, lest he spoil it.” --draco collects tea cozies and of course harry has the one he wants. the sad and tender gays are at it again feat. conversations in the rain at a train station, melancholy Blaise, muggle photos, wizarding e-bay, the Dursleys. -

Helix by Saras_Girl - 92k - E “Draco sighs in his sleep and Harry clings on to consciousness, needing to hold on, to give this tiny, insignificant moment the attention it deserves” --I think maybe you can describe every soft Saras_Girl story as giving tiny, insignificant moments the attention they deserve. like, this is an 8th year fic about snails and it’s full of whimsy, grief, compassion, and easy humor. an absolute must-read author in this genre if you want languorous, episodic fics full of distinct OCs and affectionate creatures. - other faves by them: Light up the Night Sky - 98k - M “Draco, sometimes you make my head feel like soup” --the one where harry is a fireworks artist and has a pet chameleon named ken. draco is on the wizarding arts council. they both pine like hell. - Headlights in the Snow - 71k - M “they stare at each other in silence, Harry’s heart beating so loud in his chest that he thinks the biddies must be able to hear it over the sound of their card game.” --the one where draco drives the knight bus and carts around the biddy club, a group of rambunctious old ladies who knit and drink tea and gossip. harry can’t help but fall in love with the everything about this. -

Follow the Water by @xanthippe74 - 38k - T “Harry’s heavy thoughts lift at the sight, like dark clouds blown away from the sun by the wind. The tent doesn’t feel so cramped and stifling now. It feels cozy. And safe. It’s the same feeling that Harry gets when he’s at the Burrow for Sunday roasts, when a group of people who care for each other deeply are crammed into too-small a space.” --harry wanders to the lovegood house on a sunday afternoon. he’s baffled to see that luna’s taken pansy, greg, and draco under her wing. what follows is a summer of forest walks, scavenger hunts, gardening, water fights, odd cakes, faerie rings, and picnics. so many picnics. i love the pace of this fic, the innocent return to childhood things, the way luna brings out the best in all her friends. reluctantly soft slytherins are just *chefs kiss*!! -

Going Postal (A 125pg comic) by dustmouth - T what. a. beautiful. ass. comic. the wizarding fashion, the textures, the character design!! harry travels a lot for his job as a resourcer. draco works in the regulations dept. they pine like a bunch of lovesick idiots via field report notes. god i love dustmouth’s art. -

All the Earnest Young Men by @tepre - 29k - E “Draco is twenty-seven layers of personality wrapped up in drama and humour, and a wit so sharp it still stings when he doesn’t see it coming. But there is something below that, too. Something that makes Harry ache just looking at him.” --the way i would lay down my little life for tepre’s characterization of draco, whom invented the word earnest. he’s a magical art theory expert and portraits are disappearing all over London and harry’s the auror assigned to this case. and well. they’re both so very avoidant about how gay they are for each other and it’s like!! shutup and kiss!! which they do in fact, shutup and kiss. -

Trenches by sara_holmes - 3k - M “Somewhere in the distant part of his mind that hasn't frozen solid, he thinks that maybe he and Draco are about to become more than auror partners, smoking buddies, wine-mates and co-inhabitants of a snow filled trench somewhere in western Scotland.” --the plot line here is literally “it’s cold and i need a fucking cigarette” but let me tell you how I never tire of the shared loaded-silences of two emotionally repressed gays. -

The Years Before Love by lomonaaeren - 13k - M “That’s one of the meanings of peace, he thinks, as Hermione hugs him...That he can do things slowly, softly, without worrying that they won’t be there tomorrow.” --andromeda taking harry under her wing and harry finding solace in teddy. narcissa and draco showing up and the tentative relationships that slowly develop in the quiet calm of andromeda’s house. found families and kisses in the snow and special xmas gifts ugh what’s not to love -

The Moon Looks Lovely Tonight by Omi_Ohmy - 35k - M “I want this to be a house where people are welcome, where they don’t have to be any one way or another” --in which harry collects lost things--owls, best friends, inept bakers, potions experimenters--and turns the mausoleum that is grimmauld place into a home. feat. your fave drarry tropes like shared-beds and reluctant waltzing partners. -

[part 1: thrillers | part 2: dramas | part 3: soft bois | part 4: wankbanks]

#drarry fic rec #drarry fic #soft drarry #OK FINE I RAMBLED BUT WHAT DID WE EXPECT #alexa play futile devices

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dimorphodon-x · 2 years

Text

I wrote this little thing late last night. I planned on making art to go along with it but I have to make Starstrike’s design firstly and I’m very impatient lol.

Pirateformers au is by @tigracespace Elbent does also make a brief appearance.

—

He had to do it tonight.

Starstrike triple checked his weapons. His knife was secured against his belt. His pistol loaded, at the ready. He sucked in a breath to calm his nerves. Nerves he had not experienced in many years during his time as an assassin.

He was used to hunting pirates and hanging around them, but this ship, this crew, this captain…

They were different from the others. They treated each other like friends, family. They… cared for each other.

And they cared about him…

Elbent cared about him.

And to his horror, he realized that he was being infected by their kindness. He was starting to care about them. These filthy low blooded pirates that he was supposed to exterminate by exterminating their beloved captain. Not Elbent. The real deal.

Starstrike stuck to the shadows. By this point, he knew how to avoid any wandering crew members that were out and about in the middle of the night. Like a mouse, he crept silently and unnoticed, senses on high alert.

It didn’t take too long for him to reach the captain’s door. He didn’t need to guess if the old giant was asleep, he could hear the snores through the solid wood.

Strike opened the door. It wasn’t locked, and in fact had no such mechanic. This was a captain who clearly trusted his crew, and that fact made something twist in his gut. He stepped in carefully.

Solclave was sleeping away on his bed, the thin white sheet half discarded from his body. It was a warm night, so it seemed he didn’t really need it. The red headed giant had his face turned away towards the wall his bed was against and one arm was hanging over the edge, his knuckles pressed onto the wooden floor. He was most certainly asleep.

Starstrike held up his pistol, its safety already off to avoid startling the captain, and aimed towards his chest.

The assassin stood there for a moment, his head racing. He had his few belongings, some stolen jerky and water, his gun was ready, he had an escape route, his gun was ready, he knew how to reach the mainland, his gun was ready-

BANG!

Strike let out a startled gasp and dropped his gun, a thin wisp of smoke flowed from the barrel. Solclave barked and sat up in a grimace, his hand over his chest.

There was blood.

The assassin’s eyes went wide. He shot him. He shot the captain. Why was this such a shock to him? He had done this countless of times-

“Breakaway?” The captain grunted, and Starstrike flinched, “what did-? Oh…”

He had spotted the gun.

“You… just tried to kill me, didn’t you?” Starstrike’s heart was pounding in his ears as he stared at the lumbering giant. He expected to see the white empty eyes he always saw, but now, red irises were staring back at him with an expression of sadness and disappointment he wasn't ready for.

He couldn’t answer. He didn’t need to. He glanced at the door as he noticed a commotion outside, getting louder until the door burst open.

Elbent rushed in.

“Solclave! We heard gunfire and-Breakaway? What are you…” her words fell silent as she noticed the blood on Solclave’s chest, and the gun on the floor. Her eyes went wide with shock and disbelief as she looked at Starstrike.

“You didn’t…”

He needed to go.

Starstrike lunged forward, Solclave made a grab at him as he harshly shoved Elbent out of the way. He pushed through stunned and confused pirates and raced for the railing. Hands were reaching for him but he leapt away, diving into the cold black saltwater.

He let himself sink, breathing in the foul sea, letting the water burn into his lungs and out his sides. He watched the silhouette of The Immortal Sun slowly vanish.

Strike opened his mouth in a quiet gasp, his claws gripped at his coat. He knew regret when he felt it.

You hurt them, you foul, rotten beast. Let the ocean swallow you.

#fanfic #fic #transformers #transformers oc #transformers au #pirateformers au #starstrike #solclave #tigracespace #elbent

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the-goddess-of-mischief-writing · 3 years

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New York High Rise {1}

Chapter summary; During all your years as the most successful mob boss of New York, no-one have ever dared to seriously battle for the crown with you. Up until now. Steven Grant Rogers, son of the infamous mob boss Joseph Rogers, has suddenly chosen you as his rival. Who will be winning in the end?

Pairing: Steve x reader

Rating: Mature

CHAPTER NO/ONESHOT: Chapter 1/5

Word; 5.9k

Warnings; swearing is standard in my works, mentions of canon-type violence

Author; @the-goddess-of-mischief-writing

A/N: I actually started this series on a whim and all of a sudden ended up having four chapters. I really love it for some reason, maybe because it such a powerplay and I’m a hoe for that trope, especially when it’s a enemies to lovers story. Anyhow, enough of my rambling, I hope you guys enjoy this little mid week update! PSA: If you want to be tagged in the series, jus send me an ask!

SERIES MASTERLIST

Golden chains and champagne. Fancy watches and whiskey on the rocks. Whatever related to the word expensive you were associated with. Although, unlike many others in your business, you hadn't grown up in this world of luxury, nor had you inherited the empire you now were the boss of, enabling you to live the extravagance life you did. No, you were one of the few who'd worked their ass off to earn every last thing you owned.

By most, your efforts looked like a great business mind and some luck. How else could you've become a multi-millionaire on investing in stocks? But to others, those knowing the flipside of the coin, they knew your success in capitals was nothing but a cover for your stealthy work in the shadows. It was a dance, one with feline grace, that you'd performed to reach your position. A status meaning you were one of the most famous mob bosses in New York City.

When hearing mafia, most would think of the old Italian image of people smoking cigars in fedoras, with some moustache that looked similar to pencil lines on their upper lip. Those who owned cities and the whole country knew of it but could do nothing about it.

Perhaps some of these stereotypes suited the older godfathers of New York, who sat proudly on their pedestals and watched the world pass by. But you were different from them. You didn't just watch the world continue and progress by itself. You moved along with it.

You were the new generation.

Compared to the godfathers, who every last person in New York and the bordering states knew off, you had two faces. One you showed the public and one you ruled the underworld with. To society, you were spotless, a name associated with nothing but a sharp mind and benevolence to the public. But you were at the top in the underworld syndicate, the biggest of the biggest. Yet, you didn't rule with fear, simply that of uttermost respect and earned trust. In other words, your reputation or connections weren't bought. They were deserved.

Thus, compared to the older generations, your face could be recognised by a civilian or someone from the underworld, none thinking about calling the police or betraying your trust. You owned the city without it even knowing it.

It was from the way you'd reached this top in stunning silence, together with the grace you played everyone with, that you and your empire earned the alias felines. Like a tiger cub who grew into an adult, your empire was once the smallest but now the biggest. Like a lion, you evoke respect and awe no matter where you went. Like a cat no one cared about, you could cross the streets without an issue in public.

Some of the elders, at least those who were your allies, had expressed their concern of your brassiness. 'Why play cat and mouse with fate?' they often said. But you always answered the same 'I am the cat'. And it was true. Despite some of those opposed to your methods, or just you in general, took the chances they could at picking you off the map. No one ever succeeded. Solely for one reason.

Now, you deemed agreeing to one of your first ever business deals the best choice you ever made. Although it meant you financed some of the worlds leading underground tech corporation with quite some substantial coin, the panthers were nowadays always watching over you. They lingered in the shadows, disarming every try at putting a bullet through your skull.

Albeit not as famous as yourself or the organisation you ran, the Black Panther Operation the sibling pair T'Challa and Shuri operated was, in no shape or form, not impressive. They'd established themselves as the leading organisation, even if not known by half of the people in New York, in the tech area. Not only were they invaluable to the numerous politicians wanting them to work under the radar to get the upper hand on sovereign states, but they also were to you.

They hadn't only supplied you with their physical protection of their elite bodyguards, the Dora Milaje or in common-tongue known as the shadow panthers, but their tech as well. Although, compared to anyone who would've been in your position and chosen the weapons or impenetrable bodysuit that Shuri, ever the genius she was, had invented, you'd chosen one of the other assets. The cloud, the internet.

Hackers were the way forwards compared to warriors. They were the weapon of keeping you one step ahead of anyone by supplying you with the information needed to be able to hold someone's life in your hands.

It was only to look back at the countless occasions anyone tried to persuade you into a business deal you would do nothing but lose at. Thanks to Shuri having dug out the facts that could bring any of your rivals down in the dumps, you'd walked victorious away anyways.

You were certain any of the other godfathers would've killed someone for even thinking, no less trying, to propose a disreputable arrangement with them in the first place. Yet, you knew how much one ever could make a death look like a self-caused accident, that in the end, people would start to wonder why it happened to people of the same background, connected to one and the same empire. However, the former generations didn't really care about bad publicity anyway, so why would they care about lining the street with dead bodies? But the difference was you weren't them.

By all means, some would say your ways was far more torturous than a bullet between the eyes. You wouldn't agree or disagree, only say it was just. Involving a legal and judicial battle was the new way of handling conflicts, after all. It was more efficient than having to wash the blood of your name all the time, according to you. Not only that, you gained a lot more than just a dead body.

You were in somewhat of partnership with most bosses around the city. Those you weren't, rather those you'd only settled a deal with that said "as long as you kept to each of your own territory nothing would happen", did try to bend the rules and use the terror tacit. Either they targeted you personally or something equally as important in your part of the city. It could be anything that would get to you, really. But, no matter what they did, they tried to not do it themselves. Instead, hire a hitman or someone equally as bad. The problem with this was that these people's records were far from innocent, something you used to your advantage.

If you tasked Shuri to find anything and everything these people had done, it was easy to find a person they'd wronged and who sought revenge or justification. The only thing you did was play your hand well, usually meaning you pulled some strings and supply the money. While T'Challa, as the expert he was on it, handed out the information his sister had gathered to reliable sources. Your collaboration made the person you hunted sit opposite someone from their past in a courtroom. Most of the times, they also lost the case.

Choosing to do this rather than go rampage and fire your gun aimlessly meant you settled as a second, or sometimes even third or four-hand source to what went down. So not only did your name remain clear despite answering a rivals offence, your involvement was nearly impossible to track as well. Thus, you could take down five of a rivals' men while they only took one of yours.

Despite one could call you out on hypocrisy, saying that the shadow panthers protecting you didn't own the same benevolence and were quick and silent in their killing, there was one reason you didn't care about the fact. Currently, they may be under a shared command, but their never-ending allegiance was always towards the founders of the Black Panther Operation. If either Shuri or T'Challa said stand back or decided to cut their deal with you, the shadow panther's protection would disappear. The same went if you chose to rip the contract.

However, it was a slim chance that either of the siblings or you would terminate your arrangement. Seeing how now, years later, you still were the sole person working a continuous agreement with them. That was why nowadays, your and theirs organisations were nearly associated as the same by most in the underworld.

Your style of ruling New York and living such different lives in the light and dark made others in your profession joke you were the sole one with an ordinary life. That you were no traditional mafia, simply a highly functioning business-orientated company that invested in stocks. However, both you and everyone around you knew that wasn't true. The reason? You weren't afraid to use every last of your assets to remain in control of your empire. Whatever it took.

And that was a promise someone the last months had put up to the test.

You don't know what set it off, perhaps the old saying of cats and dogs never working well together. Or that because you were at the top drew enough confidence out of someone to try and knock you down. For whatever reason, someone decided to start a ruckus with you.

It had begun small enough you had no idea that someone was behind it. Connections or deals with companies connected to your empire backing out of contracts in the last seconds, saying they got a better offer. The word secrecy, frequently used for ones own safety in the world you lived in, was a term you'd heard enough times by now to grow tired of. It was no significant agreements, seeing how you were well enough to not care about money, but it was plenty bothersome for your pride.

The next step in the escalation had been dealings slightly more important than a question of money, which was your territory and thereby also safety. You still had some meetings with a few godfathers, had fore some time actually. It was mostly those who once had opposed you in the days you weren't a threat or those who just tried to live secludedly enough that they died by natural causes rather than in a cell or from rivalry.

Each of those conferences had been about securing your grip on Manhattan. Primarily to obtain some neighbourhoods closest to Harlem Park and the northern part of the Inwood neighbourhood. Both of which currently was in some sort of grey zone. Meaning neither owned by them nor you. Although those areas were still not written as yours, concerning how those old bosses abruptly didn't seem to want to seal any deals that they weeks ago had agreed on.

Then you'd entered the third stage. The one that made you understand all these cancellations wasn't merely coincidence, but somebody working against you. People from both your closest crew and the Black Panther section had been disappearing. It wasn't uncommon. Your business was nothing but personal feelings and wants most of the times. However, concerning how few men and women you'd lost under your watch, this sudden increase was off-putting.

Closer to the truth was something like this had never happened to this extent before. You hadn't had people close to you or anyone associated with you abducted. However, the worst thing was that the bodies of those disappearing were never not found bloody or in a morgue.

Money or failing to persuade old godfathers wasn't something you took personal, but when people started dropping like flies around you, that you took personally. Hence, you, Shuri and T'Challa worked endlessly on finding who was behind it.

Almost every time, you found the culprit of the act, but not the big boss behind it all. Disabling you from taking more than one person out of play. That your jaw hadn't broken for how much you'd clenched it in frustration, or your teeth shattered from the amount you gritted them was a mystery. You hunted the person ordering these things, yet with no success.

Although one day, when one of the subordinates in your very own team had been missing for a week returned, barely clinging to their consciousness, you'd gotten to know who this new rival of yours was.

Steven Grant Rogers.

The canines, an alias for the Rogers family, were equally known as any of the old US President in the underworld in New York. If one hadn't heard of them in your profession, it was more likely that you already were dead or not in it all because they were notorious.

They'd ruled Brooklyn with an iron fist and was probably the crown specimen of the reputation that accompanied the word mafia. There was a grace in their affairs and killing. But compared to your work, which was performed in shadows and silence, they flaunted it, not scared of running from the police because they already knew they never would be caught.

From what you knew, they'd fallen off somewhat after Joseph Rogers, the head of the Canine Empire, died in one of the rivalries between mobs. His death had been years before you were even born, close to an age it was as high of a chance he could've passed from natural causes. Still, the commotion and continuous dispute following his disappearance and the unclear leadership had served as a fall for the Canine Empire. There was no doubt your rise to the same amount of power as the former union possessed would've been as easy if you'd had them as your opponents.

However, now, it seemed like the past would haunt you down in the form of Joseph Rogers son.

Albeit you never met the new boss of the Canines, there was no doubt you considered, for the first time, to personally put a bullet through someone's head. Steven Grant Rogers was as ruthless as stories told his father had been. He'd even been labelled the golden boy of Brooklyn, rumoured to restore the brutal power of the Canine Empire. Yet, the spot he was reaching for with old alliances regrouping to boost him to the top was a position you currently occupied.

This is where the difference between if you'd had a regular business organisation and the domain you now did, settled in. You went on total offense.

You contacted T'Challa and Shuri, calling them in for a meeting. Even though the pair knew of what had happened so far, they were your partners and thus, you would discuss the actions you would take with them, even if your deal said nothing of that sort. But you knew, compared to your rival, it seemed, how important it was to hold onto your closest allies with other methods than fear and the threat of death. And thus, you also received the help of a friend rather than a business partner.

It must've been the bloodiest month in the last decade from the rivalry that blossomed up between the Felines and Canines the second you started to answer the new top dog's advances. You got reports that the shadow panthers watching your back had cleared more people putting you up as a target than in a long time. As well, did more of the people under your name end up red in back allies.

Then it shifted. As soon as you started getting trails of more people than just the executioners, you were suddenly able to take out divisions of his minions. And while the killing went on, you started winning the big battles. In other words, while Steven continued to play it hard, you started to play smart.

You cut off deals he could do in Brooklyn, much harsher and unforgiving than his initials ones on your side of the East River. It was everything from supplies, to money, to the extra set of eyes. Everything to limit him to sources you knew he wouldn't be happy with having to resort to. While handling this, with the help from Shuri, you also broadened your search to find every little dirty-worker under the mob boss's command. Thanks to those now operating for you on the Brooklyn side, you helped people who'd had a past with Steven's men tip police of and capture them.

Pawn by pawn, you lessened the number of ways the Canine boss could run in taking down your empire. You had him cornered, already several moves ahead of him whatever he chose to do. Only, it was one step you thought he never would do that, in the end, made everything come to a skidding halt.

He'd requested a parley.

"Y'know I don't really like the idea of you meeting him", you didn't look up from the papers you currently were reading to look at Shuri where she lounged on your office's couch.

Though it felt like you should examine the folder that rested in your handbag -the one containing the event plans for the charity event you would host for the many high society individuals and governors, or anyone with money really, in two weeks- those documents weren't the ones you were looking through now.

It was five days ago since Steven had asked for the parlay. Ever since then, you'd worked on the deal you would offer him. You had no desire to sign whatever he would hand to you. And you knew he would propose something. The Canine boss was the challenger, after all. Even more so, the one requesting a meeting from the start. Thus, he, for one, would offer something to cease your continuous confrontations and two, he would try to drag you down while elevating himself. That you couldn't have.

"I know", you finally responded when having read the side you were on in the contract you had put together for your rival. "Still, I want to hear what the man has to say so I can stop losing resources, time and people", you turned to the next page as you said this.

There came no response immediately despite that you felt Shuri was looking at you. You'd gotten good at noticing this, someone observing you. Hence, even though the best of the panthers always were safeguarding you somewhere in the crowds, it never hurt to not solely depend on others for your own safety. Because that was what your constantly high attentiveness was for anyways. To always be keen on your surroundings and try to detect someone's move before they did it.

"It's almost interesting to see someone challenge you for the position of being the big boss, Lekati", it wasn't only at the reserved nickname Shuri used that caught your attention. The rest of what she'd said also made you pause mid-turn of the last page, eyes automatically shifting to her.

Now, instead of sprawling across the piece of furniture the women occupied, she sat upright with a smile ghosting her lips. Your eyes narrowed as you noted this.

"Oh, stop imagining using your sharp claws on me".

"I wasn't".

"You're a bad liar when you want to be", the tech mogul pointed out with a finger directed towards you. Your features stayed indifferent despite the fact that her remark had been correct.

"When will your brother be back?" The dark-haired women cocked a brow at your sudden change of topic.

"Any minute, I suppose, why?"

"He's more pleasant to have around while I try to work, less chatty", an incredulous snort left Shuri as she crossed her arms, leaning back against the couch's backside. Her reaction made your stoic facade drop somewhat, causing the side of your mouth to tug upwards. It was an act she caught and couldn't help but shake her head at.

"I never get tired of not knowing whether you're about to send half of the city after me or simply are in a playing mood", your repressed smile bloomed into a fully-fledged one, amused by Shuri's comment.

"Opt for the latter for as long as those couple of hundred thousand dollars are rolling into your account". Averting your eyes from the women you were speaking to, you once again inspected the bunch of papers before you.

Having worked on them for days and ever since this morning re-reading the contract, you knew it was worded to perfection. There were no loopholes nor any unnecessary losses for either part. So, for as long as Steven didn't belong to the old saying of 'it’s hard to learn an old dog to sit', you knew his signature would decorate the last page.

"However, you should worry about the day when the money is missing", you hummed while stacking the papers orderly, putting them back into the same folder they'd been stored since you'd gotten the paper copies of the transcript.

"Would that be my sign to start running?" You looked up again, instantly meeting Shuri's humoured look.

"It would probably be too late", you shrugged nonchalantly, placing the folder you would have to the meeting in your handbag in a swift motion while swivelling your chair to face her, rather than your desk as you'd done previously. As a chuckle was heard from the dark-haired woman, you crossed one leg over the other and leaned back in your seat.

"It's good that I'm your ally and not your foe".

"Good to hear you view yourself as a friend. Was fearing you would switch sides to my challenger's", you mused, arms coming to prop up against your armrest to support your head when you tilted it.

"I never would, even if I knew he had a chance to win", even though feeling somewhat relieved - because this world and one's alliances could change fast, no matter current contracts or friendships- when Shuri said this, you wouldn't show it. Therefore, instead of smiling at her belief that Steven had no chance of beating you at a game you had been the best player at for years, you simply kept observing the woman as she stood from the couch.

The young tech mogul started to make her way closer to you, a slight sheerness in her step that impersonated the glint in her eye. And you understood why for when she opened her mouth to speak.

"But you can't deny it's interesting someone is seriously trying to take you down", you rolled your eyes while you let your hand fall to tap against your thigh.

"Seems like you're more excited about it than me", you started, spinning your chair slowly to follow Shuri as she settled partly on the empty edge of your desk. She looked expectantly at you, waiting for an answer despite your deflection of it initially. For once, purely because of the topic, you complied. "But no, I definitely do not find it interesting", you sighed out.

"Oh, come on, Lekati...".

"Stop with the nickname", you cut her off with a roll of your eyes. However, instead of earning the quick nod of confirmation to follow your exasperated order, the dark-haired women grinned. Perhaps if it was anyone else than Shuri, you would've been irritated and sent them out of your office, but concerning you viewed her more as a friend than a simple job partner, you did neither when her teasing continued.

"Has the dog really gotten that much under your skin?" She chuckled. "Must be the first one... ever. Or correct me if I'm wrong?" You simply dropped your head and shook it. The young women were right and she knew she was. Steven was the sole one able to make you nearly lose your footing ever since claiming the crown of the underworld.

"Why couldn't he just stay put?" You mumbled under your breath, thumb smoothing out the wrinkles having settled between your brows. "We'd never heard of him before. Why decide to make himself known now all of a sudden? After years of silence?"

"Some men seek the satisfaction of bringing entities down, especially if they ruled it before and now it's overtaken by a woman", you looked up at Shuri. But instead of meeting her gaze, your eyes fell to the piece of paper she held up. Evidently, she'd plucked your Cartier pen and a sticky note from the stack always resting on your desk and written three letters on the piece of paper while you spoke. You, it stood on it.

"Thank you for the flattery", you replied, reaching forward to snatch the note from her. "But I would've prefered if Rogers hadn't, would spare me the task of crushing his ego", the brown-eyed women chuckled at that.

"Maybe he needs to take yours down a step or two too", you stood from your chair as she said this, dropping the slightly crumpled note you'd taken from her into the bin under your desk, then starting to head towards the mirror you had in your office.

"I don't have an ego. I simply know my self-worth".

"Sounds a lot like you're bordering on narcissism", she said in a sing-song voice. "Maybe you and his pride can go on a date. I bet they would rule New York happily ever after", you couldn't suppress a chuckle at Shuri's words, whether you wanted to show how absolutely hilariously unbelievable it was or not.

"Can't your brother come and save me from your antics?" You muttered, spotting the smile the genius behind you sported in the mirror. It was meant for her to hear, so you weren't shocked when she responded to the banter.

"I actually prefer his absence. The two of you together nearly drown me in the seriousness", Shuri complained dramatically. You amusedly rolled your eyes before settling to look at your chosen attire.

Compared to how far away you stood from tradition in the godfather's senses, it was one custom you fulfilled like the rest of them. You believed that the clothes made the man. And, for a meeting like the one you soon would go to, you didn't hesitate to strive for that effect.

You knew Steven was old fashioned. Everything he did cried it. So, of course, you would try to throw him off at every point you could. The skirt and dress were switched out for a suit, midnight black. It was a loose fit and probably matched the high-end fashion more than traditional meeting standards, but you didn't genuinely worry. You were here to show you are the new generation and wouldn't budge because you were the sole women in New York running a syndicate. Doing the best job at it as well.

However, if the man you would meet would frown upon women in a suit, the lace bodysuit, black as well, you wore instead of a dress shirt would probably give him a heart attack. It covered enough but were in no way domesticated and left the upper part of your chest bare. It was a great way to show off the two thin chains of gold decorating your neck.

For some reason, your eyes lingered on the golden metal shining from the light trickling into your office. You started to fiddle with the necklace then, concentrating on how they weren't cold but rather heated up from your body temperature.

You became lost in your own world, fingers splaying over the hollow in your throat to absentmindedly play with the chains there while you thought about the meeting that was rapidly coming closer.

The action, together with the far-away look you stared at your movement in the mirror, was something that caught Shuri's attention.

"Relax", instantly your eyes flickered up to watch her in the mirror's reflective surface as if snapped from a daze. She'd shifted, so she now sat on the front of your desk, head turned in your direction. "It'll go good".

"Wasn't it you who said that you didn't want me to meet him in the first place?" You began to challenge her words of reassurance, hand falling from your skin to instead hang by your side. Not until you'd turned and cocked your brow at her did you continue. "That must insinuate you don't think it will go good", she simply shrugged when you said this.

"I did say I don't like his sudden call for a conference and that you accepted it in the first place", she began, crossing her feet at the ankle and looking down at the movement momentarily before her gaze found yours once more. "But that doesn't mean I don't think it will go good. I know it will. You're good at your job", you smiled at that. You already knew that you worked great under pressure, or else you wouldn't be standing on top of the empire you ruled. Although, it was always comforting to hear it from someone else.

Fittingly, in the next second, a knock on your door echoed in the room, effectively putting an end to your previous conversation with the women perched on your desk.

"Enter", you called without hesitating, as soon as both your and Shuri's attention also turned to the entrance. The guard stationed outside of your room didn't need to inform you of who'd wanted to enter. You already knew it was T'Challa. And as the guard opened the heavy door to your office and held it open for whoever had requested it, indeed it was Shuri's brother stepping through the doorway.

You didn't more than slightly tip your head to acknowledge the guard's nod of respect your way before he closed the door. Primarily because you spotted the slate grey folder the older of the children of T'Chaka held. It was the call about the seemingly insignificant object being completed that had interrupted the earlier discussion you, Shuri and T'Challa had. Your assemblage hadn't been much more than some minor last discussions and to wait for the folder the man now walking through the room held. Thus the portfolio contained a report, the ultimate attempt of finding anything that could aid you in the meeting with Steven.

"Anything good?" You skipped the unnecessary greetings as you gestured to the portfolio in T'Challa's hand while walking closer to your desk, which also was where he was heading.

"Look for yourself", when he said this, the brown-eyed mad held out the folder for you to take. You did but didn't open it until you'd rounded the counter and sat down in your chair again.

You didn't know what you'd expected to meet you, but a photo and a single sheet of paper weren't it.

For a moment, you stared at the picture resting on top of the report underneath it. Presumably, it should've been a photo of Steven sitting in some club. Although it was blurry and had no great exposure, which made it impossible to tell much about his appearance. Still, you knew it was him or else the picture wouldn't be here. However, it did nothing to help you paint a picture of the man which name so far seemed to be faceless.

Putting the picture to the side, you quickly started to eye the document. You scanned it, finding it contained random facts citing what properties the Canine boss had invested in, even owned. Apparently, Steven managed several clubs, which would explain why his first suggestion of a meeting place had been just that. Other than that, he owned some other businesses that wasn't much to cheer for. All infected by alcohol and drugs by the looks and names. Classical.

"This all?" You finally questioned after turning the sheet over, finding the backside blank. When glancing up, you saw T'Challa nodding. You clenched your jaw and looked back down at the paper.

Ever since Steven had asked for an official meeting, between your eyes only, as his message had been clear to state, you'd requested for the siblings to find out whatever they could about him. You wanted the advantage you knew he couldn't get over you. Thus, what was publicly known of you wasn't anything to hide. And frankly, he was more than welcome to read the articles that had written things about you. Yet, every secret of yours, or anything you'd deemed unfitting for anyone to know, had been wiped. No one could ever find something about you that you didn't want on the internet. Though, it seemed you weren't the only one sitting on resources like that.

Albeit the "new mob boss" was discussed in several articles, Steven's name had no face in any of them. In general, there was no picture of him or much information to track him down by either. So, despite your best efforts, now it seemed you didn't have much more than your hunch to go on during the meeting.

"I do not think it's wise to meet him", T'Challa said, much like his sister had earlier. With a sigh, you leaned back in your chair, fingers releasing the paper you'd gripped to pinch the bridge of your nose instead.

"Neither of you wants me to meet him, do you?" At first, silence met you, which made you look up the sibling pair. They shared a glance before Shuri turned slightly to look at you and her brother crossed his arms.

"No", they said simultaneously, which made you huff.

"I may like it as little as you two, but it put a temporary pause to the conflict. And if he comes to accept my terms, maybe that will remain".

"And what if he doesn't?" T'Challa inquired, receiving a frown from his sister, while you simply tilted your head down to look at your watch. "What if he refuses to tuck tail?" He continued to push.

"He won't", you stated, rising up from your chair, handbag now in your grip. It was three minutes until your driver would be here, so you needed to start heading down to the spot he would pick you up in. Yet, you were stopped in your tracks by a hand gripping your upper arm lightly.

"But what if?"

"T'Challa!" Shuri hissed at the unrespectful way her brother insisted on having his questions answered. She'd shot up from where she up until now had remained seated but before she could drag the man staring down at you with insistent eyes away, your raised the hand of your free arm. It stopped the younger women's movement, merely making her watch you and T'Challa.

There was a reason the siblings were able to run their tech operation as smoothly as they did. They complemented each other. What one lacked, the other possessed. For example, Shuri may own the belief everything was possible, then naturally, her brother would be more cautious. As in this instance. Hence, you didn't take any great offence to the dark-haired man's action, despite that your aloof tone could imply such a thing.

"What if he doesn't accept my deal after having me listen to whatever godawful settlement he offers me? Then I've kept my promise on meeting him for the parley he requested and one, which in the end, unfortunately, didn't establish an accord. Henceforth, our war will continue", you said, instantly feeling how T'Challa's hand fell from holding you back. Yet, you didn't pursue your track to the pick up you already was late for. Not until you assured him of one last thing.

"Let me remind you that he was the one that asked me for a meeting, not the other way around. He asked me for a temporary truce and a chance to negotiate. In the end, that shows who's the most desperate to settle an agreement, no matter the terms".

Translation:

Lekati = Kitten

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frustrated-writer-skyeknight · 3 years

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HiJack AU - Rise of the Guardians Plotbunnies

(Context: Before Hiccup returns to HQ when the Guardian signal came up, he was spending time with Jack, as per usual. When the signal came up, he had to go. Jack looked disappointed, because Hiccup had just arrived a bare ten minutes ago. It was the quickest the Aide of Hope had to leave. Hiccup was in a rush to leave, since it was the first time in a long time that the urgent signal was put up to assemble all guardians at the same time, the last time was to report about what had happened to Kozmotis. In his rush, he wasn't thinking, and accidentally kissed Jack on the cheek in a parting kiss.

They were both shock.

Before Jack could collect himself to make a respond, Hiccup dashed off, all the while thinking "Shit shit shit shit shit what did I just DO?!)

More details added to the Answer (an ask from @hamish-fanfic-fangirl )already mentioned here

The Guardians love children, as they are the Guardians of Childhood. They can't, however, have children. With the exception of Kozmotis and Anastasia's relationship, as they were created together at the same time by Manny.

Manny formed Pitch to safeguard chaos energy that would strike fears in children and leave them traumatize, impeding a healthy and happy development of growing up. Anastasia was formed at the same time, because children, and to an extent people, need to live in a harmonize environment, right?

The Guardians do consider themselves, as what humans coined nowadays, as 'Found family.' Addition to that, they think if they could have kids, they would be like and be treated like their aides.

They joke about it sometimes; North fits the role of a dad, as leader of the Guardians, Thiana being like the mother, with Aster, Sandy, and Kozmotis like uncles. Sandy's the "cool" uncle with a lot of stories to tell (or show). Kozmotis is the "chill" uncle who leaves you be but offers sage wisdom whether or not you ask for them. Aster is the one who nags a lot, sometimes more than the parents but is exciting to spend time with because of all his cool tricks.

Jamie and Astrid found it awkward, but Thiana was being playful and pretending to be like a parent and giving Jamie 'the shovel talk', when Astrid and Jamie got together, as she heard a story told to her by North, from Jim.

She was sweet about it though, going on about how they should be caring of each other and how lovely it all was so Jim made a remark later that he didn't think the guardian of memories got the point of a 'Shovel talk'

Even to the aides that aren't their own, the Guardians do feel rather paternal/maternal towards them.

Dialogue

North: Sandy, thank you for coming.

Sandy descends from the plane and floats to the ground. He joins North, Bunny and Tooth as they walk through the Globe Room. Sand glyphs appear above Sandy's head communicating

Jamie: He says that he is busy and has a lot of work to do.

North: I understand, you work ‘round the clock, da, But I obviously wouldn't have called you all here unless it was serious.

North, Bunny, Tooth and Sandy reach the center of the room. Tooth does her best to shush her mini-fairies.

North: Kozmotis as the Boogeyman was here at the Pole. *points to the globe. The everyone turns to look.*

Astrid: *shocked* Sir Kozmotis? Here? After all this time...

Jamie: Jim, did you really see...

Jim: Well, I didn't but sir North had. I think, I... Wait. *frowning as he looked around in concern* Where's Dimitri?

Tooth: But... Pitch Black? Was it really him?

North: Yes! There was black sand covering the globe.

Aster: What, what...what do you mean black sand?

North: And then a shadow!

Aster: Hold on, hold on, I thought you said you saw Pitch.

North: Well, ah, not exactly...

Aster: Not exactly? Can you believe this guy?

Bunny turns to Sandy, who shrugs while forming a Dreamsand question mark above his head....

Aster: Yeah, you said it, Sandy.

Bunny goes back to painting one of his Easter eggs.

North: Look, he is up to something very bad. *gropes his gut* I feel it, in my belly.

Aster: *eyes narrow* Hang on, hang on, you mean to say, you summoned me here THREE DAYS BEFORE EASTER - because of your? Mate, if I did this to you three days before Christmas-

Tooth (to her fairies): Argentina. Priority alert! A batch of bicuspids in Buenos Aires. Weather advisory, Astrid?

Astrid: *Pauses* Fair, all of them. Snowstorm warning in Moscow.

Jamie: Maybe that's where Jack is now.

Jim: And maybe Hic too; would explain why he's running late... Now Dimitri...

North grabs Bunny's painted egg, casually juggling it in his hand as he walks off. Meanwhile Sandy, who is being served eggnog by a yeti, suddenly notices something high above.

North: Please. Bunny. Easter is not Christmas.

Aster: *sarcastic laugh* Here we go... North, I, I don't have time for this. I've still got two million eggs to finish up.

The moon rises into view, high up in the ceiling; its rays of light begin to shine brightly through as they cascade down the walls of the globe room.

North: No matter how much you paint, is still egg!

Sandy points to the moon unsuccessfully to get the others' attention. Even Jamie is distracted with Jim and Astrid, talking about whether one of them (Jim) should go and get Dimitri. Their guardians are distracted and they didn't want to interrupt them...

Aster: Look, mate, I'm dealing with perishables. Right. You've got all year to prepare.

Tooth (to her fairies): Pittsburg, boy eight, two molars. Saltwater taffy.

Sandy puts his fingers in his mouth to whistle, a silent musical note forming above his head.

North (to Aster): Why are rabbits always so nervous.

Aster: And why are you always such a blowhard!

Tooth (to her fairies): Ontario, sector nine: five canines, two molars, and fourteen incisors. Is that all in one house?

Sandy waves a sand flag above his head, pointing and jumping and down as the moonlight continues to fill the room.

North: Tooth! Can't you see we're trying to argue.

Tooth: *Good naturedly* Sorry, not all of us get to work one night a year. Am I right, Sandy?

Sandy tries to signal with a golden arrow, pointing toward the ceiling, but to no avail as the others continue their bickering. Sandy thinks Tooth has noticed for a split second, but then-

Tooth (to her fairies): San Diego, sector two! Five incisors, a bicuspid and a really loose molar on stand-by.

North: I know it was him. We have serious situation!

Aster: Well, I've got a serious situation with some eggs.

Tooth: Hey, I hate to interrupt the, "We work so hard once a year club" but could we concentrate on the matter-

A silhouette comes out from a black spot of a shadow in the middle of the room, and Dimitri comes up and stumbles out from it. The aide of the former Guardian of Chaos seemed recovering from injuries. Even with his quick healing, it's taking some time...

Jim: Dimitri!

Jim rushes to help support him...

Tooth: Oh dear!

Astrid: Is he okay?

Dimitri: Sorry... The darkness is more restless than ever for some reasons. I had to defeat about a dozen minions before securing and leaving the base.

Jim: Wha- so if Pitch is really back, why hadn't he showed up here yet?

North: He did lad!

Jim: All due respect sir, you said it was a shadow.

North: Shadows are his thing!

Dimitri: I don't think that was Pitch yet, but a harbinger, maybe? If he had awoken, I think I would be the first to know.

Aster: Hah!

Sandy can't take it anymore, grabs an elf by his hat, and vigorously shakes it's bell. The other Guardians are finally silenced and all turn to look at Sandy, who points up, a sand crescent moon forming above his head. The dizzy elf staggers away. Finally the others turn to see the shaft of moonlight as it concentrates on the circle between them as Manny starts beaming down into the room...

North: Aah! Man in Moon! Sandy, why didn't you say something?

Sandy gives him a deadpan stare, Dream sand smoke shoots out his ears.

North (to Man in Moon as he finally appears, with Anastasia by his side) : It's been a long time old friend! Madam Mother Nature *bows curtly*

Manny: Likewise.

Anastasia: A pleasure as always, North.

North: So... What is big news?

Manny: Before I get that, there is one thing I need to address first...

Everyone looks to the center of the room where Manny manipulates moonlight to shine down intensely, the light ebbs away, leaving a dark spot ---- which resolves into the shadowed silhouette of Pitch. The Guardians look on, stunned.

Aster: It is Pitch.

North pats his belly and gives Bunny a look...

North: Manny... what must we do?

Manny: The matter I mentioned needing to be addressed...

The shadow of Pitch disappears and the circle of moonlight intensifies and shrinks, concentrating further luminating an ornate symbol on the floor, at the center of their circle. The symbol rises out of the ground revealing a large gem at the head of a pillar.

Tooth: Ah, guys, you know what this means?

The moons light suddenly refracts through the gem casting light all over the chamber.

North: He's choosing an aide for himself.

Aster: What?! You never needed one before, why now?

North: Must be big deal! Manny thinks we all need help!

Aster: We have our help. *Gestures to all aides present* Now if my own would show up too...

Tooth: I wonder who it's gonna be?

Then a bright flash, a rush of wind- and a FIGURE resolves over the central pillar: slight, hooded, bearing a familiar hooked staff.

North:

North: Jack Frost.

The Mini-Teeth all sigh and swoon as the Guardians stand there, stunned.

Jim: Well then, at least Hiccup's going to be happy

Astrid: *Shrugs, and idly shifts her axe from one hand to another* Well, as long as he does his part in caring for the children…

Tooth: And Hiccup’s going to be motivated more than ever now too.

Aster: Jack Frost!? He doesn't care about children! All he does is freeze water pipes and mess with my egg hunts. Right? He's an irresponsible, selfish...

Manny: Aide.

Aster: I can tell you that Jack Frost is a lot of things, but he's--

Hiccup finally flies in with Toothless

Hiccup: I'm sorry I'm late! *He jumps down from Toothless* Snow storm in Moscow delayed me... Er, among other things...

Everyone looks at him

North: Perfect timing Hiccup! We need you to find Jack and bring him here.

Hiccup, remembering his final moments with Jack before leaving, looked mortified...

Hiccup: Do you guys hate me or something?

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vanderlindemorgans · 4 years

Text

Cross My Heart (Chapter 1)

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x Reader

Rating: Explicit/18+

Summary: A traitorous Agent Whiskey returns to the United States on the run. Being cast out by Statesman, he soon finds that you're the only person he can turn to - the embittered former flame from years long passed

Word count: 2.6k

Warnings: Eventual smut, some references to alcoholism and drug use. Reader is in her late twenties but there is an age gap between her and Whiskey. Chapter specific warnings include some graphic descriptions of blood and injuries and some alcohol consumption. Also I know nothing about Texas or horses.

Read on AO3 | Next Chapter | Masterlist

To say things hadn’t gone to plan would be a dramatic understatement. In his case, however, the results of his arrival in Cambodia had proved even more disastrous than he could have ever imagined. Though really, if he’d have stopped to think about it for even just a second, he would have seen that his plan was doomed to fail from the beginning.

Stalking through the busy streets of Dallas, Jack tried his best to keep as low of a profile as possible - you never knew who could be wandering the city searching for him, and after the stunt he pulled with Eggsy and Harry it could almost be guaranteed that he had some sort of warrant on his head. It was probably foolish of him to even come back to the United States in the first place, but really, where else did he have to go?

He didn’t entirely know where he was going now either. He couldn’t return home, as it would most likely be swarming with Statesman agents and the like hunting for him. He was almost certainly cast out of Statesman for his actions by now, so any former friends he could usually turn to in situations like this would be of no help at this point, considering everything that happened. For once in his life, Jack was well and truly alone. The acknowledgement of that fact itself did nothing to alleviate his anxieties, only doing more to further the ever growing void in his stomach. His eyes darted between the various passersby, none of them taking a single notice of him to his relief. He’d have expected to draw more attention to himself, in fact when he stopped to take a gander at his reflection in one of the shop windows he passed by he was almost stumped as to how he had managed to keep under the radar so well - you couldn’t much see it with the way he kept his head down, but upon closer inspection one could easily spot the large nasty gash of blood split across the side of his cheek, complimenting several different bruises that were forming underneath. His clothes were either torn from navigating through the thicket of the Cambodian jungle or scuffed from his confrontation with the two Kingsman agents. The only part of him that was still in almost perfect condition was his damned hat, surprisingly enough. In the most blatant use of the term, he looked like an absolute wreck. If he weren’t on edge from the constant vigilance of potentially running into one of his former colleagues, he might’ve laughed at himself over it.

Escaping from Eggsy and Harry had been the easy part - they’d left him tied up with his own lasso off to the side, but in all the confusion and spate of heroics in trying to distribute the antidote, they had neglected to keep any sort of watch on him. From there on, all it took was the simple slice of a knife he had hidden away in his back pocket and just like that, he’d slipped away into the shadows, running for his life through the thick and sweltering heat of the jungle. He’d wanted to retreat back to the plane he’d used to travel there in the first place but upon realising that Statesman could use radar to track him, he instead was forced to navigate himself to a nearby airfield used for moving cargo. After that it was just a matter of stowing away on one of the planes to ensure his arrival back in America, touching down in Dallas of all places. Jack was fully aware that he was lucky to have his life - if things had gone differently he’d have ended up with a bullet in his head or something much worse. For that much at least he was somewhat grateful for. Somewhat.

Almost as if by instinct, he drifted towards a bar in the downtown area of the city, stumbling in and being assaulted by the smoke-scented air that greeted him the moment he opened the door. It was by no means a classy place, yet he didn’t much care in that moment. Any place was better than aimlessly wandering the streets like a stray mutt. Striding through the crowds of patrons ranging from tipsy to drunk, he came up towards the bar and pulled a couple of notes from the inside of his jacket pocket. “A glass of whiskey, if ya will” he requested, sliding the notes over to the disinterested bartender on the other side of the counter. Some part of him felt stupid for ordering the drink of his agent namesake, but some side of him felt like reminiscing on old times a bit. In light of him going rogue, they’d most likely be passing on that codename to another agent. Probably to Ginger most likely. He caught himself sneering at the thought of her, a deep burning sense of hate starting to fester in him. He never did like her much.

Taking the glass of whiskey in his hand, he let the warm rush of liquid seep down his throat, feeling consumed by the blazing burn it left on his tongue. So this was how it all ended for him: hiding out in a dingy dive bar, drinking himself to death while he waited for the inevitable. His mind ran over all of his options from there on, running down the short list in less than a minute tops. He had no job, no friends, nowhere to run to, no-one to turn to.

Unless…

Jack’s mind began to nag on something, a faint memory from years long since passed starting to resurface, the face of someone he hadn’t thought of in what felt like forever creeping into his thoughts gradually. He was in Dallas, right? An idea began to form in his head, recalling days spent during the summer out on a ranch north of the city, of your warm smile and intoxicating eyes that one could get lost in. Waving over the bartender, he pondered on his idea further. Would you even want to see him after all this time? He remembered the way things ended between the both of you, the bitterness and bad blood that most likely still lingered.

It was possibly an idiotic idea to begin with. Hell, you might not even be in Dallas anymore: the last time the two of you spoke was at least a good seven years. But it was the only option he had left. Throwing his head back and downing the last remnants of whiskey in his glass, he threw down a couple of extra notes for the bartender on the counter and sauntered off, fully sure of his next course of action. Like it or not, you were his best chance he had of survival. He just hoped that you didn’t hate him too much to turn him away after everything that he put you through.

___

Wiping a line of sweat from your brow, you found yourself cursing the suffocating summer heat. After living there for so many years you thought you’d be used to it but every June through to August the intensity of the blistering sun always managed to take you by surprise. If only you could simply relax a little, lounge by the pool sipping on cognac and smelling of lilacs, without a single care in the world. Instead, you were out in the sun, tending to each of the horses that your ranch housed. You ran a horse riding ranch only a couple of hours outside Dallas, tucked away in the deep necks of the Texan countryside. It was originally your parents business, and you’d practically lived there your whole life. It wasn’t your original plan to take over the family business, some part of you angling for something more than life as a simple ranch hand but when both of them tragically passed only a few years before, you felt you owed it to them in a way to take up the mantle to keep things running as smoothly as possible. Some things didn’t take much adjustment in a way - you’d already known the procedure for cleaning the stables and tending to the horses like the back of your hand, and the inheritance money left behind had made it easier to pack everything up out of your small city apartment to move back home on such short notice. The thing that did take some getting used to was their absence. Stepping back into their well loved home, seeing the photos still hanging on the walls, the folded pages of the books your mother kept on her bedside that would never be opened again, the places where they should be but simply weren’t - that wrecked you more than anything you could ever imagine.

At first you didn’t even sleep inside the house - it was just too painful to see them everywhere around you, and you couldn’t bring yourself to remove the cheerful family photos from the walls, even if it was only for a little while. The first two months back home were spent in the backseat of your car, curled up with a blanket that you’d managed to drag out from the house. You tried to carry on with business as usual but everything felt bleak around you. Some part of you wanted to blame someone, anyone for what happened. Sometimes you’d felt tempted to blame yourself in some way. Eventually, things did become easier. The emotional weight started to lift, and you were able to get through the day without having to take five to pull yourself together. Nothing was the same as before, but the flow of your life started to settle and become something resembling normal again. And that, in your opinion, was probably the best way it could have turned out.

Doing a onceover the stables to check everything was in its correct place, you pulled the large doors closed and surveyed the landscape around you, taking in the stunning visual of the sun beginning to dip below the skyline, mellowing out into a lively and beautiful sunset. With the front gates locked and everything with the horses all taken care of, you trudged back up to the house at the centre of the property, your mind drifting to the glass of liquor you intended to pour yourself the minute you got inside. It had been a long day, full of tiresome frustrations and irritations. Being in the middle of July, your ranch saw frequent visitors, including kids who were out of school and being taken out of the city on a sort of day trip by their parents. That day in particular had involved a birthday party for some kid, and you’d been out there giving riding lessons to the whole group of them.

Usually lessons were conducted by one of your other employees but in cases of events you tended to take on more tasks yourself. To be perfectly blunt about it, the day had gone horribly. Surprisingly enough, the kids were fine, no, the real piece of work was the birthday boy's mother. She’d insisted on trying to take control of every single aspect of the event and was overly critical of every little thing you did, and was an all round exhausting person to deal with. When the party was finally over and everyone had packed up and left, you remembered breathing a huge sigh of relief and thinking “thank fuck, she’s gone”.

Twisting open the front door to your house, you tossed your keys off to the side and immediately set off in search of something to drink. Grazing your fingertips along the refined wooden edges of your liquor cabinet, you pulled on the handles and reached your hand in to select a bottle. What you really wanted was something strong to take off that stressful edge of the day behind you. You felt your eyes settle on a bottle of Jack Daniels whiskey stuffed towards the back and couldn’t help but smirk to yourself, a vague memory teetering on the precipice of your mind. Shaking the thought away, you instead choose a bottle of bourbon, placing it on top of the cabinet as you reach for one of the empty glasses stored inside. As you poured a glass for yourself, you felt your mind get lost in a haze, wandering between the events of the past few hours and what you’d planned to do with the rest of your night, and, admittedly something you were ashamed to say, a lingering thought to do with that bottle of whiskey you’d passed on over before. Fucking Jack Daniels, I swear to god…

Your body might as well have been on autopilot then, as you didn’t take any conscious note of anything other than the burn of liquor on your lips. If you hadn’t been so distracted you might have noticed it earlier - the distant sound of footsteps coming closer up the driveway to your house, the sounds turning into thuds the nearer they got. Too lost in your thoughts and too tired from the nightmarish day you endured, you were only pulled from the depths of memory by a loud bang on the front door. Furrowing your brow, you shot a confused and worried glance over to the front of the house, already beginning to feel alerted and wary. Who the hell could that be at this hour?

There was another bang on the door, this one more insistent than the last, and you felt yourself jump at the suddenness of it. Would it even be safe to go answer it? For a minute, you contemplated the idea of ignoring it and pretending you weren’t home, however once you realised whoever was outside could most likely see the lights on from the windows you dismissed that idea with disappointment. You’d have to go answer it, you knew that, but something didn’t feel right to you. Cautiously rising up out of your seat, you took a small step towards the entryway of the house, and through the fear managed to call out “Who’s there?”.

Taking another moment to contemplate whether or not it would be worth fetching a gun for this, you heard the voice of the person on the other side answer back, a voice that had you freeze in a mixture of shock and disbelief the instant you heard it. “Darlin'? It’s...it’s Jack, could you…”.

You didn’t even give him a chance to finish his sentence before you had bolted to the door, hastily unlocking the deadbolt and ripping it open to reveal him standing before you. Something in your heart stopped the second you saw him - he was the one person who you never, ever, in a million years ever expected to see again, much less on your front doorstep. You drank in his appearance, the first thing your eyes being drawn to was the large bloody slash across his cheek. His eyes were looking down at you pleadingly, a look you weren’t used to seeing on him. From when you’d known him he’d always looked so confident, so self-assured and pulled together, so to see him so browbeaten and, dare you say, defeated, unnerved you in a way. You could feel your mouth hanging open slightly, the words being there but your mouth being unable to form them, your eyes only fixated on his own dark and vanquished gaze as your mind raced a million miles a minute. There was so much you wanted to say, to ask, yet the only thing you were capable of verbalising in your shock was the one question that pushed itself to the forefront of your mind.

“Jesus fuck, Jack, what the hell happened to you?”.

#agent whiskey #agent whiskey x reader #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels #kingsman #kingsman: the golden circle #kingsman fanfiction #yes i write reader insert fic now what about it

118 notes · View notes

itsclydebitches · 3 years

Note

Until proven otherwise, my headcanon is that both Ironwood and Watts survived and are going to team up again out of necessity lmao.

HI, ANON. So let me tell you about how this simple, silly sentence sent me down a 4k writing rabbit hole. “Lol I’m going to write a little parody about that” I thought to myself and then somehow? It got serious?? I honestly don’t know what this fic is, but I’m chucking it at everyone anyway.

Also, I changed the whole “Atlas and Mantle are immediately submerged in water” plot point because it’s my coping mechanism and I get to choose the canon we ignore.

***

Once upon a time there were two villains having a Very Bad Day.

The first, Arthur Watts, had survived an explosion, being buried under rubble, and the threat of a ten-story drop only to find himself suffocating amidst a magically produced fire. A horrible way to go, all things considered. Painful, of course, but more importantly, no self-respecting man should die with soot on his clothes.

Or leave behind a charred corpse.

In fact, Watts had just begun to acknowledge the full indignity of his death when the momentum he'd felt — just there on the periphery of his awareness — suddenly ceased, Atlas crashing into Mantle and throwing him with a squawk in the process. His head took a nasty hit against one of the desks, the smoky gray of the room growing darker, and by the time Watts had come to, the fire had been replaced by water.

Ice-cold water, lapping up to his knees.

"Well," he said, lifting a sodden boot. "I suppose this is an improvement."

***

Elsewhere, James Ironwood — former General of the now sinking Kingdom of Atlas — was lying facedown on the stone of the outer vault, contemplating his choices. Upon reflection, no, he didn't regret what he'd done, but it would have been nice if things had turned out...any way other than this.

"Fuck," he said to the empty hall, enjoying the reverberation. He deserved that much at least.

In time, Ironwood was able to pick himself up off the floor, supported as much by the fact that he'd been knocked out by his own blast as his shaky, barely-there aura. Up the elevator running on emergency dust reserves, through the corridors that groaned ominously under damaged supports. Ironwood headed towards the military headquarters purely out of habit and as he did the sound of water grew stronger, almost like waves, until there was an inch of it across the floor, more trickling in from the staircase. Ironwood had been watching his boots splash with each step, almost mesmerized, and didn't look up until another pair unexpectedly entered his view.

Watts froze in the act of wringing out his pantleg, eyes wide. His expression, the water, how the hallway tilted downward at a slight angle... it all felt like something out of a dream. Ironwood just watched as Watts watched him, until his eyes traveled to the gun clipped on his belt. Ironwood hadn't even realized he'd picked it up.

"Here to kill me, James?" Watts said.

"No." He knew it was true as soon as he'd said it. The mere thought of starting another fight right now was... exhausting. "Do you intend to kill me?"

"Oh really. Does it look as if I'm in a position to fight you? Do use your head for once. I have no weapon, no aura — damn fire ate it all up — I feel as if I've swallowed a hot coal, I am wet — "

Ironwood turned partway through the ramble, meandering back up the way he'd come. He'd passed through two checkpoints before realizing that Watts was not only still talking, but following him.

"What do you want?" he asked, more to shut the man up than out of real curiosity. If Watts was capable of reading the difference between the two, he didn't show it.

"Cinder."

"Cinder?"

"I don't make a habit of allowing people to try and murder me without consequence, James!"

"She's gone."

"Yes, thank you for that stunning bit of info! There's no possible way I could have realized that for myself. What's gotten into you? They left us, fool. Salem, Cinder, Neo, Emerald, even your so-called allies... they all deserve the worst that we can grant them. Though right now, I'd settle for wringing that idiot Pietro's neck. Ten years I gave to that research and he rendered it obsolete with a single report, all because he wanted to play father to some stupid hunk of metal. I never would have gone to Salem if — " Watts cut off, hands balled into fists.

Ironwood just blinked dazedly, coming to a halt. He searched his uniform, the scroll he'd stashed there miraculously whole. Dimly, he registered that he should be feeling some sort of emotion right now.

"I can do that," he murmured.

"What?"

But Ironwood was already keying in the code, the desire to complete a task, any task, taking hold. Watts looked on, mouth twisted in a deprecating sneer.

"I already took out communications, in case you failed to notice."

"But not the trackers I had installed in my top scientists." Ironwood held up the screen where a small, red dot was blinking. "Pietro's still here. Looks like he's out near the mine with a second aura signature. If you want to...?" He wasn't going to finish that sentence.

"I see," Watts said in a tone that heavily implied he didn't. "And you'd just give me this information out of the evilness of your heart?"

Ironwood considered that. "I killed a man yesterday, tried to kill two others, and was ready to bomb all of Mantle to keep the rest of my Kingdom safe. I don't care what you do with the man who betrayed me."

"...fair enough."

Except after five steps Ironwood realized that Watts wasn't following him. He was looking down at his arms, still as a hunted hare.

"You put trackers in all your scientists?" he asked.

"A requirement I implemented after you went missing."

"Ah! Ingenious. Lead the way then."

***

The way led to the tundra, an environment that neither of them were prepared for. Watts was wet from the waist down and Ironwood had long ago learned that snow and metal didn't mix. Neither had the aura for the kind of storm that was raging either. Luckily, the panic of Salem's invasion had left plenty of vehicles to purloin and soon they were speeding East with the heat on, the faint beeping on Ironwood's scroll growing stronger.

He'd felt the impact of his city crashing down and the two of them had clamored out of Atlas' husk, dropping into rubble and cracking ice. Still, the true destruction wasn't evident until they were moving away from it. Through the rearview mirror, Ironwood could see pillars of smoke from fires that the water hadn't yet smothered, dark shadows that could only be grimm, and Atlas itself, plunged halfway into Mantle. It wasn't noticeable from this distance, but all of it was sinking.

"I was lucky," Ironwood said, his voice hollow. His eyes flicked back to the expanse of snow ahead of them. "If Atlas had tipped the other way, the vault would have flooded. I'd have drowned."

Watts snorted. "I'm lucky. That damned water put out Cinder's fire. I'd have burned."

Neither felt particularly lucky and for fifteen more minutes, neither was keen to discuss it.

***

Once upon a time, two heroes were having a Very Bad Day.

"You've got to be shitting me."

Maria paused in the act of bandaging Pietro's leg, mechanical eyes narrowing at the two figures that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. Watts sucked in a breath at the duo. Ironwood gave a small, awkward wave.

Then he nodded his head at the scene: one old, exhausted woman and a paraplegic currently bleeding into his chair. "So... going to kill him?"

Watts ground his teeth. "Well now that just feels like a fool's errand. Look at him. He's pathetic!"

Pietro was slumped at an uncomfortable angle, sporting a gash in his leg and an impressive display of bruises across his face. Maria, in contrast, seemed to have only lost her hair tie.

"Pathetic?" she spat. "Your lackey did this!"

"Who?"

"Angry girl with the creepy arm."

"Ah, it all comes back to Cinder." Watts pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yes, thank you for recognizing that I was her superior, but no, I didn't send her to kill the likes of you. Must have done it on her own, the little idiot. Don't believe me? I was in jail at the time, if I recall correctly. Isn't that right, James?"

"You were helping me hack Penny."

Maria let out a skin-crawling cackle. "Why do you think the girl was here? She blew a hole in the bottom of Amity! Penny tried to hold us up, but..." she swallowed, still pressing against Pietro's leg, but turned warily towards them. "You hacked her? You did that? What precisely do you think happens when a man who never learned to apply aura as a shield crash-lands in this hunk of junk!"

"I expect most men in that position perish," Watts said smoothly. "The fool is lucky to be alive, but he won't be for much longer if you keep trying to staunch the wound with your soiled gloves. Move aside."

"Get away from me!"

"Oh, put your stick down, you old bat. I'm trying to help."

"Why?" Ironwood hadn't realized he'd spoken until Watts was glaring daggers his way.

"So I can kill him later myself!"

Still surreal. Still dream-like in its absurdity. Ironwood listened to the bickering between Watts and... Mary? Maria? He wasn't even sure. He wandered away, content to gaze out through one of the windows at his Kingdom. Or what was left of it. He idly massaged his left arm, trying to rid himself of a pain that wasn't there, and when the howl of a grimm reached them across the snow, he shivered.

His unlikely companions screamed at each other loud enough to reverberate through the whole building. There were the sounds of two bodies trading blows, but only for a moment. Pietro, voice groggy and high-pitched with terror, demanded to know where his daughter was.

"She's dead," Ironwood said. He didn't turn to see their expressions, didn't need to. "Winter she... she defeated me as the Winter Maiden. That can only mean one thing."

"One thing to you, perhaps." Ironwood did turn then, watching stoically as Pietro tried to right himself in his chair, Watts cursing as the leg continued to bleed. "Where is she? I want to see my little girl. I can heal her, fix her — " he broke off, doubling over with a cough that splattered more blood into his hands.

"Maybe you could have," Watts said, a cruel satisfaction in his voice. "If her little friends hadn't made her human."

Some of the pieces fell into place then. His Lamp, long missing, had apparently wound up in Neo's hands, then Salem's, before it was finally used by Cinder. Watts described — with immense pleasure — the plan the group had concocted and the wish they'd asked of Ambrosius. He'd been a bit preoccupied with bomb duty to learn the details, but he knew that Cinder lived and Ironwood, it seemed, knew that Penny had perished. What a tragedy. Do you know how to bring back the non-mechanical, Doctor?

Ironwood honestly thought the old woman was about to kill him, murderous intent put on hold only because Pietro collapsed then, curling in on himself as sobs wracked his frame. The only words that escaped the mess of tears were "Penny" and then "Maria," one hand reaching out blindly for comfort. Pietro found it, the two holding onto each other as Watts sat at their feet, grinning up at the display.

Ironwood thought only, So that is her name.

The other, crucial bit of info was that everyone was gone. Dead or evacuated, it didn't matter. As far as any of them knew, they were the last four in Atlas, with Salem on her way to destroy whatever kingdom next took her fancy. It was over. They'd lost. And despite the horror of it, the realization was oddly freeing too.

When Maria asked in a tone edging on hysteria what precisely they were going to do — because it seemed this was a "we" situation now — Ironwood suspected she meant in the short term. What were they going to do about their wounds? The grimm? Finding and reaching the others? But those were foolish concerns, the thinking of someone who'd never had a kingdom's life in their hands. Ironwood knew there was only one answer here, the same one he'd had from the start.

"You can do whatever you like," he said. The metal of Amity sparkled against the rising sun, leaving splotches of color behind his eyes. "I will defend Atlas."

Maria's mouth dropped open and Watts stared. Even Pietro ceased his crying long enough to suck in a breath.

"Defend it from what?" he asked.

Ironwood shrugged. "The grimm. Salem. I don't know. I don't care. To quote a former friend, I have never wavered in defending the Kingdom of Atlas against its enemies and I don't intend to start now. This is my city and I won't leave it."

"It's sinking!" Watts cried, overlapping with Maria's, "We need to help" and though so much softer, quieter, more innocent than the spittle Watts was scattering across the floor... that single word sank its teeth into Ironwood. The woman may as well have stabbed him.

"Help?" he said. "Help? I tried to help! Everything that I have done in the last two days — the last two years — my life! — has been to help not just Atlas, but everyone I feasible could. Don't talk to me about help when you and Ms. Rose did everything you could to stop me. I had planned to help the world and you all lied. You betrayed. You set your weapons against me and kept me from saving what parts of my Kingdom I could. Tell me again: what precisely did you do to help?"

He'd crossed the distance, one hand on his holstered gun and the other leaning against Pietro's chair, using it to leverage himself down into Maria's space. Ironwood didn't need to see her eyes to know the emotion they held.

"I," she spit, "didn't try to bomb a city."

And just like that the fight in him was gone. It had barely existed in the first place. Ironwood straightened, swaying slightly on the balls of his feet. "No. You didn't. So it's as I said, go help if you want. If you can." His gaze slid to Watts. "You were one of her men. That says it all." Pietro. "You helped them reveal Salem to the world. Will she have time to destroy the other kingdoms before the grimm do it first?" Maria. "And I don't know you, but you don't earn a prize like that without seeing combat." Ironwood lifted his metal finger, tapping it against Maria's goggles. She flinched away. "Can you honestly say you haven't made mistakes?"

"You and I are nothing alike!"

"I didn't say we were."

Ironwood turned and walked away, as steady as he could manage as the world grew a little darker, despite the sunrise. Behind him Watts' voice rang out like a shot.

"So that's it then? The captain goes down with his ship? You idiot!"

He paused. "Not quite. It turns out I'm not the only idiot around these parts. Ms. Rose left the vault open." One last turn to savor their shocked expressions. "That's where I'm going. There are still plenty of airships if you'd like to leave, but just remember: they abandoned you too."

Perhaps he should have been surprised that by the time his boots hit the snow, three more footsteps were sounding behind him. Frankly, in fourteen hours time Ironwood would barely remember their conversation, let alone everything that came after it. One of them drove back to the sinking city. Someone tested the ice before they cautiously crossed it. Someone else dispatched the stray grimm foolish enough to get in their way. Ironwood saw and heard none of it. He walked with the determination of a wind-up toy, wobbling now that he'd reached the end of his string. Cool blues, a shining gold, and then beautiful, miraculous grass. Ironwood ignored the murmurs of amazement behind him, dropping directly to his knees.

When his palms hit the ground, only one was capable of feeling how soft it was.

I need to update my arm, he thought, even as he curled into a ball and passed out.

***

When he woke they were already running out of time.

For the first two days Ironwood barely spoke to the others and thus he never quite figured out why they'd stayed. Had it been hopelessness? Spite? The all consuming thought that there was nowhere else to go? That Atlas, for all its rubble and slowly rising water, wasn't any different from what the rest of Remnant would look like soon?

Why not here then?

Especially when the vault, filled with wildflowers and an endless sun, made for such an enticing retreat.

"Soil's farmable," Maria said, running some of it through her fingers. It was a statement of fact, nothing more, and the three of them stubbornly ignored the implications of it.

"There's — " Pietro coughed, self-consciously clearing his throat. "There's plenty to salvage. Machinery to pull water from the humidity in here. First aid supplies. We could section off an area for our wa — "

Watts seethed. "If you finish that thought I will — "

"What?" Maria arched a brow. "Kill him? Like you've been saying for the last day?"

Day? Ironwood blinked. How long had he been out?

"I will!"

"Like you'd be able to. Just try it, beanpole."

They argued, and they threatened, but none raised their hands to one another again, and when they finally dispersed across the kingdom to collect what they could, none of the acknowledged what it was for.

Ironwood waded through the remnants of his home and didn't think about building another. Because the idea alone was absurd.

"Don't let the door slam shut," he'd said when they’d first left, nodding to the stone slab that had appeared after Penny had first arrived. Ironwood watched the three exchange glances, unsure if he was joking.

Fuck if he knew.

***

Those four days — or five, if Ironwood counted the one he'd lost — were conducted in a strange state of frenzy. None of them were in a position to be working on such a project, but when had the world ever cared for their needs? Pietro stayed behind in the vault, cataloguing what they'd found and making lists for what was still needed. His chair, while dynamic, wasn't meant for the sort of terrain Atlas had become and his wound was still healing.

He also seemed to appreciate the privacy, frequently mourning his daughter with an honesty that made them all uncomfortable.

Maria went off to do the Gods only knew what, disappearing for hours at a time, then coming back wet, cold, and carrying little. Though she always had information. Which parts of the city were too grimm invested to traverse, which were now completely underwater, which were too unstable as Atlas tilted like a ship, disappearing beneath the waves. It gave them all focus and, surprisingly, something like hope. Whatever else she carried was usually small, such as the seeds filched from the bio laboratories.

"Couldn't take them all," she said, critically surveying the land, "what with so many of the labels getting lost in the crash. Don't want to eat something your lot has experimented on."

"You should. If we're lucky you'll mutate into someone bearable." Watts, taking stock of the clothing they'd gathered, didn't seem to realize that Maria was flipping him off.

He went on a deep dives (sometimes literally) for salvageable tech, most of it of a practical nature, but other pieces... not. Nothing had shifted Ironwood's world view quiet like day two, walking in on Watts looming over Pietro, assuming there was another fight brewing... only to overhear them exchanging theories, the conversation filled with as many insults as legitimate claims. Still, the seeds of camaraderie were there, and were perhaps easier to grow than originally thought. After all, Watts had once been one of them and Pietro, for all his heroics, had once entered Ironwood's office with a manic gleam in his eye, rambling about giving an aura to a machine. Defense technology at its finest!

What was it Glynda had said? Ah yes, agreeing with young Ms. Nikos about how "wrong" it all was. But desperate times, desperate measures and all that.

They'd had that discussion, of course. Soon after Ironwood awoke, talk of Amity began again, this time about whether it was possible to send another message. With enough time and effort, not to mention luck... a short one, perhaps, and only sent to an individual scroll. But what was the point? Who would they call? When no one could — or would — answer that question, the idea was dropped.

In the days since, Ironwood had fantasized about messaging Glynda. One of the few who'd ever been a true friend, perhaps the only one left alive who might care that he was still among the living... if Ms. Rose's message hadn't killed that too. Not that it mattered. Even if Amity wasn't a hunk of metal gathering ice, Ironwood hadn't a clue what he might say to her.

Dear Glynda,

Thank you. Sorry. Good luck.

Sincerely,

General James Ironwood

P.S. If things had ended differently, I would have asked for a second dance.

How ridiculous.

So he walked the broken streets of Mantle and climbed the streets of Atlas, more and more of it disappearing every day. Their hoard grew though, born of not just military property, but personal belongings as well. It wasn't as if anyone was coming to claim them. Unless more magic was at work, both cities would be miles beneath the ice before anyone crossed the border again. Still, Ironwood would always pause before packing away what he found in the hastily abandoned houses. Bedding. Utensils. The literal shirt off someone's back. He'd changed into jeans and a thick sweater the second day, taken from a collection of civilian clothes he'd placed into a locker years ago and promptly forgot about. The uniform felt... obsolete now, no matter that his goals remained the same.

He'd encountered Maria on one of those trips, admiring a basket of yarn in some nameless Atlesian's living room. Her shoulders had tensed at his approach, but she just snorted at the sight of him.

"You knit?" he asked, unsure of what else to say.

"No."

"Crochet?"

"No."

Ironwood didn't know any other crafts that involved yarn. "Then why are you taking it?"

Maria hummed. "Just a thought. That I might, someday, try to learn." She shook a book she’d pulled from the basket: Knitting For Beginners.

A stray thought indeed. The thing they still didn't talk about. The closest they got was on the fifth night when an explosion sounded outside, massive enough to unsteady them even deep within the vault. By the time all four of them had made it out and onto one of the roofs, the sky had turned a sickly yellow, followed by black tendrils that raced, turning, back and around on each other until everything went dark. The only light came from what little electricity they had running on generators and a red aura, pulsing from the West.

From Vacuo.

Realistically, it might have meant that they'd won. It wasn't as if Ironwood had any idea what the death of an immortal witch looked like. But the night wore on and they had no idea because that unnatural, starless black never receded. In time, Pietro wandered off and returned with two bottles he'd pilfered from somewhere, cracking the tops off on the side of his chair and passing them around.

They still didn't say it aloud, though the sky and the alcohol said enough already. Ironwood kept his eyes on the watch his mother gave him, hours ticking by until sunrise was long overdue. Atlas felt even colder now and that red, seeming to inch closer, sent a different kind of chill down his spine. The grimm that still prowled below had taken off hours ago, summoned by some unheard call.

Ironwood downed the dregs of his bottle and threw it into the city.

"Come on," he said. Ordered maybe, or asked. He wasn't sure he knew the difference anymore.

Blankets. Glasses. As many non-perishables as they could find. Generators. Tool kits. The building blocks of renewable energy. Clothing. Decorations. Wood to build small, individual dwellings.

Watts hoarded laptops and a small mountain of batteries, never showing them what he was working on, intensely protective.

Maria grew obsessed with entertainment, snagging every book, game, and video until there was a veritable library piled on the grass. She kept muttering about deserving a real retirement.

Pietro built a shrine to Penny, a simple stone monument to the left of the doorway. He tended to organize their supplies there, occasionally reaching out a hand to brush the code he'd inscribed with a laser. Whatever meaning it held, Ironwood couldn't read it within the ones and zeros.

And he... he found a cat. His last day, picking his way across dwindling islands until his eyes found the small, electrical fire just out of the water's reach. The cat had wedged herself into the rubble above it, trying desperately to keep warm.

She was as black as the sky above them and Ironwood was sure, when he reached out, that she'd run, terrified of his prosthetic hands. They certainly weren't any warmer, but she weakly crawled into them nonetheless. Ironwood held her securely against his left side, where his heart and flesh were, and thought with an absurd, internal laugh that he'd at least saved one.

There was so much left to do still, but their time was gone. That evening, eating what little they had the stomach for, water began to pour from the vault's elevator. First a trickle, then a deluge, until there was a sizable waterfall to admire. Ironwood sat on the steps with his unnamed cat on his shoulder, watching inevitability creep towards him.

He could still lie though.

"There's still time," he said, addressing the three behind him. "If you head up the elevator shaft and down the west hall, you can still break the surface. Find one of the remaining airships. Fly away."

Watts scowled, avoiding his gaze. He remained leaning against the doorway though.

Maria and Pietro exchanged glances.

"I'd carry you," Ironwood offered to Pietro. They both knew it would be a death sentence with their combined deadweight, but he'd do it anyway.

"No," he said softly. "I did all I could already."

Maria. She was harder to read with those goggles, but it wasn't peace on her face. Guilt, more likely, but that had never stopped any of them before.

"It's damn cold out here," she muttered and marched back to the grass. Pietro followed her, Watts trailing not far behind. He turned back though.

"You coming?"

Ironwood didn't answer and eventually Watts left, heading into the meadow that stretched until you lost sight of where you'd been — and then reappeared there. A tiny pocket dimension, born of a magic now lost to this world. Ironwood figured that a bit of water and ice couldn't break it.

Probably.

He watched the flood cover the floor of the vault, then lap upwards, one stair at a time. There was a part of him, a part unimaginably tired, that thought he might just sit there. Keep rooted until the water was so high it was too late to do anything. That would be easy. Fitting, even. Shouldn't he go with his kingdom?

But then the cat — his cat — dug nails into his shoulder and Watts said something that made Maria screech. Ironwood sighed.

There were still things to protect, simple as that had become.

He turned his back on Remnant, now encased in an eternal night, and walked to the three who remained, cowering in an eternal day.

Ironwood allowed them one last choice and when they all nodded, he kicked the vault door shut.

#tw suicidal thoughts #rwby #fic things #rwby fic #Ironwood #Watts #Maria #Pietro #idk what this IS #post-apocalyptic RWBY I guess #with a side of questionable people not talking to each other #Anonymous

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jackarychaoti · 3 years

Text

DWC2021-15 - Memory/Chase

TW: Blood | Body Horror | Disturbing Images

-[ MUSIC ] -

Insanity.

In Azeroth, it was known as The Madness, The Darkening, the Dragon’s Sickness... The Nightmare. In many worlds, in millions of languages, it had endless names but it always meant the same thing. A corruption, often brought on by nightmarish feelings or situations, that ate the being alive, twisting it into something else entirely. Dragons fell particularly hard to such a toxic curse, especially.

This was no exception.

“DO NOT LET HIM GET INTO THE FOREST, WE’LL FUCKING LOSE HIM FOREVER!!”

Lokitan screamed as a mere handful of the Heran army raced upon war-bred Granondo, a clove-hooved type horse with coiled horns, best used to ram incoming enemies. Terrifyingly fast creatures that feared nothing in the heat of battle and yet they could not quite keep up with the terror streaking through the rotting fields of a dying wasteland and seemed even less inclined to get anywhere near it.

The target they hunted was a slithering creature running on all fours, bones twisted and inhuman with long tendrils of muddied hair, making the thing look even more sickly in the way that it hung over the face. Now and then, piercing silver eyes would dart back to see just how much closer its pursuers had come in the wild hunt, noting the way the warriors had begun to flank it. If only it could reach the edge of the forest, the beast would have a far better tactical advantage and a speed increase, let alone an easier time to attack those that hunted it.

“Loki!” A voice called out and soon a female rider pushed her steed up to the Dread Prince himself, eyes narrowed, glancing over in his direction. Fire blazed all around her, the snowy locks of her hair wild and free as a hellish set of crimson eyes flitted to the dark-haired rogue. “What do we do if it gets to the forest before we can reach him?!”

“You pray to your mother that we take him down before that.”

Chaos.

It was absolute chaos and he had just told her to pray to the deity that created it.

Inch after inch, Lokitan pressed forward, signaling the General’s finest men to continue flanking the beast, heels dug in harder into his skeletal Granondo to push onward and finally close in the distance of the skittering cretin running on all fours. Once close enough, the agile Prince pushed himself to crouch atop the saddle; he lunged, flickering through the very shadows to reappear right on top of the nightmarish beast. He dared not draw a weapon.

Not against this one.

The clashing form was greeted by the muddied, anemic animal twisting itself to bite hard at its would-be attacker, using the momentum to kick Lokitan right off and send him flying. That mere few seconds to protect itself was costing its safety to get into the forest. A loud shrieking cry pierced through the veil of carnage, knowing the chase was quickly coming to an end. Claws grabbed at the deep red mud below, years of war and corpses all around, the thick blood of countless soldiers meshed together with protected soils and painful, bitter rain. The slick surface had the creature try another attempt to break free, slipping the first few steps.

It was so close… The forest was but a hundred yards away.

Lokitan rolled through the slimy fighting ground, catching himself to snag at the beast’s ankle, yanking it back to throw it in the other direction. He was doing all he could to buy the warriors more time to position themselves and close in on the fighting pair.

“It doesn’t have to be this way, Jack.”

Melted silver raised from under the long strands of hair while the beast hunched itself further, a deep snarl and razored fangs revealed themselves in a warning. The aggressive display had Loki push himself to stand and raise his clawed hands, exposing that he was as unarmed as he could possibly be. He stared down at the nightmare-fueled version of his cousin, his best friend who he knew was in so much pain that he had allowed the darkness to consume his heart.

“Look at me, Jackary… I don’t want to hurt you, hn..?”

There was a brief pause and for a moment, the world stood still. Even the droplets of sweat and foul mud froze in place for a fraction of a second while the thing Lokitan referred to as ‘Jackary’ mulled over its choices. Heavy breaths of air pushed out, bellowed in smoke pouring from its twisted jaw that was filled with acidic drool that flopped to the ground in large globs - a clear sign of the beast’s stress.

“Let’s get you home… Let’s get cleaned up…” A leather-clad hand dared to reach for the unholy creation but within a blink of an eye, time sped back up. Teeth snapped at the grasp, claws raised to full-on attack the one being that kept the beast from the forest it was trying to get to.

“FUCKING--!” Loki found himself head to head with the writhing mass of acid-spitting, half-transformed wyrm, a Beast of Insanity that wore a Prince’s crown and who was upsetting the balance of life and death. Without one, there couldn’t truly be another. Every snap of the jowls and swipe of talons was blocked or barely dodged, up until Lokitan lost his footing.

Slipping, he found himself under those wild jaws, hands clasped the wide-open maw above him that threatened to clamp down on his face and bite his skull clean in half. Muscles ached, his posture shook from trying to push what was once his peaceful, loving cousin off him. It wasn’t until another bubbling mixture of acid was seen dripping from under the beast’s tongue that the rogue knew he was in deep trouble… He was going to have to hurt the beast or die.

One hand released the mouth and in a split-second decision, the palm shoved up hard to strike at the creature’s jawline, his intensely sharp claws sliced the beast’s right jaw, stunning and pushing it away, jarred in surprise. It left Lokitan with just the smallest leeway to raise his hand up in the air, giving a hidden signal.

The Insanity-addled creature hissed loudly but before it could turn to lunge the last few steps to disappear into the forest and become a haunting ghost, a slough of chains and ropes fell atop it, blanketing the wild creature. The engineered nets implanted themselves into the dirt below, radiating pulsations of electrical charges to stun the captured beast into a horrifying submission. The haunting screams of agony, half-human, half-dragon rang out in a near ear-shattering volume.

Only when it stopped struggling to even stand did the shocking currents of energy cease their barbaric, but effective, handling.

“Are you hurt?” The woman from earlier charged forward, sliding down from her fiery warsteed to help Lokitan up from the wet earth.

“No,” Lokitan spat out, snagging the hand to be hoisted up, wincing when it indeed hurt to put any sort of weight on one of his legs. Glancing down at it, he was sure there was likely a fracture somewhere... But now wasn’t the time to dawdle.

“Well, you’re not dead, dear brother, so…” Musing, she helped at least support the Dark Prince, glancing down at the wheezing, now bleeding beast. “This isn’t curable, you know. When someone falls to the Insanity, they don’t come back.”

“Untrue,” Loki quipped, hobbling over with his sister’s help until he was able to ease down and sit next to the captured animal. A gloved hand reached forward, pushing the black hair from its face to indeed reveal a half transformed Jackary, the silver spiral of his eyes a dead giveaway at the corruption. “There was a Priest once who fought it and contained it. Rumour has it he wanders around with a single spiral eye, hn? Fucked up shit.”

The woman sighed, almost huffing while a hand motioned down to what remained of Jack. “Look at him, Lokitan. Half transformed, his brain isn’t fucking in there anymore. Put the thing out of its misery and let the avatar of Life be passed down elsewhere. It’ll rebirth by tomorrow, save your own ass.”

“No.” Lokitan took a moment to grip the skull before him, pinning the dragon further as a small crimson glow overtook his eyes. “He was never meant to hurt anyone, it was her that drove him to this.”

“Yeah, well, she’s pretty fucking dead, now isn’t she?”

A hand waved the antsy woman off, freeing Lokitan to simply focus on the inner workings of the beast before him. It was a rare trick the Rogue had up his sleeve and normally it was used to delve into someone’s memories, to unlock what terrifies them the most to use it against them… But what if, he thought, what if he could use it in reverse?

Time ticked by, allowing the dark, shadowy tendrils of his own essence to seep into Jackary’s form, filtering through and plucking every little bit of the corruption to neatly gather it within. A simple box was made at first, deep inside the dragon’s brain. Soon it was locked away and chained relentlessly to his psyche. A personality that he could never escape from, one that in time, would briefly show a fraction of itself and be referred to as…

Naga.

“M’sorry…” Loki whispered while he worked, remolding and melding Jackary’s very essence and memories to pull him from an otherwise impossible return. It was an attempt to do this or be forced to kill him and Lokitan wasn’t sure he inwardly had the power to do that. “You were designed to never forget.. But if you always remember, there is no saving you from the corruption that has been planted within you.”

Lokitan frowned, rubbing his thumb slowly, sweetly along Jackary’s forehead, the beast had long since stopped trying to fight back. It was lethargic.

“I am taking this from you, Jackary. This thing that turned you into something you aren’t.” Lokitan cooed, almost fondly at his twisted cousin as each memory leading up to a certain event was plucked and stolen away and yet what Lokitan hadn’t realized was that in making such a small hole in Jack’s memory, it served as an endless void. A slow-drip leak that would cause him to forever forget things after a while. A blessing and a curse in the future, but at that moment, when Lokitan gazed down and saw the beginnings of Peridot return to those eyes, he knew it was the best decision he could have made.

---

Darnath quietly clamped the journal closed with a small squeeze to the spine, the entry had been written in a far different font and form which made him think that perhaps Lokitan had written it instead. But... Where the memory that had been stolen was placed was beyond the Dragonsworn.

Stormy grey pools glanced at the snoozing blond curled against his side. Jack, in an elven form, had been cozying up for a small nap while his Knight read, blissfully unaware of what haunting stories Darnath had been refamiliarizing himself with once more. The Champion glanced to the spine of the journal, noting the number upon it, and raised his vision upward. The book he was really looking for must have been the one right before this… Maybe that one held the answer he was looking for.

| - @daily-writing-challenge - |

#DWC2021 #DWC 15 #Jack Facts #A memory long since pased #in the beginning #lokitan #Darnath #Dragonsworn #TW: BLOOD #TW: DISTURBING IMAGES #TW: BODY HORROR

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