cassandrarebornanew

[cassandrarebornanew]

The Misfits pt 3

https://www.tumblr.com/cassandrarebornanew/769128980275216384/the-misfits this is Part 1

https://www.tumblr.com/cassandrarebornanew/769128980275216384/the-misfits this is Part 2

idk how to do hyperlinks I’m sorry someone teach me pls

Warning: violence, language, a horrible Scottish accent

This is (sort of) a finale, so if you want more of this series/characters etc, let me know.

2.1K words

Enjoy :D

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You vault over the ledge, smooth and refined. Storming towards the laboratory, you clock the soldiers filling their way towards you, the alarms blaring, and orders being thrown from one to another. You clock them, yes, but pay them no mind. Your magic prickles its way through your veins, lighting them up in a glowing blue. Your tattoo glows too, twisting and spreading and covering more of your body, intertwining with the brightness of your veins until they’re indistinguishable. The darkness of your pupils spreads, covering your eyes entirely, before spilling over into your skin like ink. Any area not lit up by your power turns black as obsidian, skin solidifying and warping. Arms appear, long fingered and slim. Your body dissolves itself into a fog of blackness, blue magic lighting up every wisp. 

You are no longer human.

You are no longer mortal.

You are now magic incarnate.

You are now rage given form.

You are now death.

The 141 watch, partly frozen in horror and awe, as you rip your way through enemy lines. Hands strangle and snap necks, reaching into chest cavities and ripping out someone’s beating heart. Your magic - no, you are fluid, burning someone with such heat they turn to ash, only to freeze another so fast that their flesh shrinks off of their bones. You pull the wind from someone’s lungs, drain their blood, control them so that they fire at each other. There is no limit to what you can and will do, no stopping you now. And in the midst of this storm of power, typhoon of death, is what’s left of you. No longer with your crooked smile and confident swagger, but still you. Floating in the middle of everything, observing with a cold gaze that betrays your anger. You sail through, closer and closer to the place you know the rest of your team are. Then you stop. 

A breath of stillness as you analyse what is in front of you. 

Wards. Carefully made wards. Designed to keep you out. You would laugh at the attempt if you weren’t so furious. But you are livid. So, in response, half a dozen or so arms pull up in front of you and a ball of pure energy begins to form in your hands. It shakes the ground, and the energy casts beams of light to all surfaces. A few more seconds, and you push it forwards, overwhelming the spells that keep the wards in place, fraying them until they yield. Pushing past the door, the task force hot on your heels, one of your many not-quite-eyes scanning the surrounding areas. Heat signals, vibrations, sound waves, all easily spotted until a picture is painted for you. Turning sharply, you allow what’s left of your body to touch the floor, before sprinting off at an inhuman speed. You register cursing and footsteps behind you as you run, following your proverbial nose. 

You can feel the magic in you clamouring for more, more, more, even as it eats away at you like a starved beast. This power cannot be contained, not by your current form. That doesn’t matter though, not as long as you can reach the rest of the team and get them out. Nothing else matters. Nothing… else…

The doctor sits in a high back swivel chair, smug and satisfied and completely unaware of what he’s done. Your team on the other hand, well, they’ve seen you angry (not this angry though) so they know what’s coming. They stopped trying to fight back a while ago, opting to wait and see what will happen next. There’s about twenty enemy soldiers in here with them, all aiming their weapons directly at them, and they’ve been slapped with cuffs that prevent shifting. Scope speaks for the first time since they grabbed her. 

“You’re all dead. I hope you know that.”

The doctor turns to her, the very picture of an egomaniac. “Oh? Don’t tell me your little Captain is going to stop me? I have a hundred men out there, all of them trained to perfection. These rooms are lined with special alloys that prevent magic use, and that alloy is in every one of our bullets.” He leans forwards, smirking. “Your leader is going to drag themselves in here, bleeding and broken, and I will pull them apart and figure out exactly what makes them so special.”

There’s a beat of silence, before Scope copies his expression, features twisting into a frighteningly accurate imitation. 

“You’re all dead.” She doesn’t have to say any more, doesn’t even have the time. They know you’re coming, can feel it in the spell you placed on them so that they could always find each other. Each of them turn towards the door the very second it flies off of its hinges. Your inky blackness seeps through the doorway, recoiling for a second, before diving into the walls. The doctor watches in horror as hundreds of tiny hands meticulously peel the alloy out of the walls, pieces floating in the air where you left them. 

You step into the room as they open fire. 

Most of the bullets pass through your incorporeal form, and those that don’t are simply slung back at them as you manipulate gravity further. Crux can’t help but  mutter “Holy shit” in surprise at the magnitude of your anger. This is new, even for them, but they aren’t worried. They trust you. 

Your voice crackles into reality from all sides.

“Your men are dead. Your bullets have no effect. Your alloy does not protect you. Give me what is mine.”

“Will you let me live?” 

What a stupid question. His fate was decided the day he took your team, your family. 

“I will kill you quickly. That is all you deserve. That is the only mercy I will give.”

That apparently isn’t good enough for him. He grabs a handgun from one of the soldiers and points it at Crux. Your head cocks to the side slightly. 

At that moment, the 141 rush into the room and line up either side of you. 

“Sweet steamin’ Jesus.” Soap exclaims. “There ain’t a single this ya can’t do, aye? We should keep ya ‘round.”

Dead silence.

“Ok, tough crowd much.” 

More silence. It’s only then that he realises exactly what’s happening. Guns cock, reload, and find targets again, but you don’t care. The magic is beginning to overpower you, and you need to get them out now, before they get caught in whatever will likely ensue. You’ve taken down somewhere in the region of a hundred and fifty soldiers in the span of a few minutes, and it’s wearing away at your self control. Without moving or giving any indication of your actions, you slowly and carefully alter the gun in the doctor’s hands. Once you’re sure it will yield the desired result, you straighten slightly, catching everyone’s attention.

“Fire then.”

The shock is palpable. You ignore Crux’s look of pain to the best of your ability. This is what is necessary.

“What?”

“Fire. Go on. Or are you too weak to kill at point blank? Do you need the guise of progress to soothe the tatters of your conscience?”

You watch as each of your words hit him, taking effect exactly how you’d hoped. He screams something incoherent and irrelevant about his inner strength, before he pulls the trigger. 

Bang

You grin icily as the doctor drops the ground, bullet piercing the upper corner of his lung. The death will be long and painful as he slowly drowns in his own blood. That’s good. He had it coming. The bullet fuses with his body, keeping the wound open. No one can save him now. A flicker of a thought and twenty necks snap, soldiers dropping like flies. Cuffs fall to the ground, effects nullified. You pull your team to their feet, silently checking them all for any sign of injury or pain. Finally, you reach Crux. Your hand rests on their shoulder, a silent apology. For both what you did and what you will do. They look you in the eyes, understanding that you would never allow them to be hurt. A gentle smile.

“I’ll see you soon.”

The flash of understanding through your team parallels the confusion running through the others, but you pay them both no mind. Pulling together whatever control you have left, your magic wraps around them, as soft and airy as you can make it. Then you pull. Pulling away from here, pulling them into a ripple that you’ve created, pulling them out. Before it’s too late.

They land on the ground hard. Looking up, they see the trucks, and the woods, and the lab in the distance.

“Motherfucker! They did it again!”

Gaz looks at Arctic in confusion. “What do you mean? Do what again?”

None of the Misfits reply, instead scrambling back up the ledge to try see what will happen next. The 141 join them, and as Price opens his mouth to ask just what exactly they’re waiting for, the entire laboratory explodes. Waves of magic roll outwards, directly from a core of pure energy. The bast throws them down the ridge, rolling all the way back to the trucks. As they get pull themselves back up, they come to the chilling realisation that everything is gone. The buildings easily covered a square mile, sprawling and vast: yet not a single one stands. Ash floats to the ground like dirty snowflakes, not a hint of what was there, of who was there, previously. Your magic had become too much for your body to handle, and ripped its way out. The 141 are confused, shocked and just a little horrified. Your team, on the other hand, is frustrated, annoyed and just a little pissed.

“Every time something happens to the people they care about, they use so much magic that they have to redo. It’s like the third time now!” Jester pouts, much to the confusion of some.

“Run that past me again. Redo? Third time?” 

Jester turns to Ghost, before impatiently explaining. “They can’t die. Like ever. So every time their magic consumes them, they ‘redo’ into another form. It’ll be them, just slightly different. And each time they improve it - their body, I mean. Lasts longer and longer under the strain of their magic. That’s what they told us anyway.”

“Well how long will it take for them to come back?” 

A shrug. “Depends on how much magic they used now. A lot this time, so maybe a few months? I don’t know man, they show up when they show up. Literally nothing we can do except wait.”

“Well that sucks.” Soap interjects.

“No shit. I’m honestly not sure how much longer I can take this.”

Slowly but surely, everyone climbs into the trucks, and what’s left of the team up makes its way back to base. They have time to figure everything out later. 

A few hours later:

“And that’s the mission report done. Thank god.”

Groans of agreement as eight spines straighten, nine chairs left empty behind them. Eight forms are completely filled out, one unwritten.

A few days later:

“We’re heading out. We always sort of float around until they collect us again, but I think this time it’s over. I know I can’t do this again. I’m enrolling, like most of us.” 

Price claps Scope of the shoulder. “Fair enough. Well, you have our contacts. Let us know if we can do anything for ya, yeah?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

A few weeks later: 

“Take a vacation.”

“Laswell, come on-“

“I insist. They aren’t back yet, and that means we can’t tie everything up. Stop wasting my money and take some time off.”

“Fine. I’ll see what we can do.”

“A holiday Price, you need it.”

“Yes, yes, holiday shmoliday.”

A few months later:

It’s hot here. High temperatures, high humidity. There are a lot of bars too. Which is good, because the four of them have been drinking like alcoholics. Scope and Jester are starting to make more sense now. This is really hard. It would be one thing if you were actually dead, but you aren’t, and they don’t know what to do. All they can do is wait, and hope you’ll find them. Stranger after stranger approaching them, but when they don’t see you, they lose interest. Tonight is no different. They’re each at least four drinks in, as someone walks up to their table.

Taller, slimmer, same confident smirk. Blue lock of hair hanging over a pale left eye. Paler iris, darker hair. Tanned and healthy, cocky and unexpected.

“Ya miss me?”

Tag list: @harley101399

[cassandrarebornanew]

Wolf among sheep pt3

I used solinshko in last fic but I just realized that Viktor has a canonically Czech accent, not Russian, so correct me if anything’s wrong

2.3K words

Enjoy :D

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Viktor stirs gently, rolling over and burying his face into the soft fabric on top of him. Smells nice, he thinks, still half asleep. Like oak, and gunpowder, and a very nice cologne… smells like… you. Sakra [damn]! He sits up fast, apology on his tongue, before he realises that you aren’t here. He’s almost disappointed, before he sees your coat. He’s in his room, covered in your coat. When? How? Shaking his head slightly to get rid of the confusion, he swings his feet off the bed and onto the floor. You left your favourite coat with him. He remembers you telling him that this coat was the first thing you ever bought for yourself, remembers sitting so, so close to you in order to see the neat stitching where you had mended any tears by hand. As his fingers glide over one such spot, he feels himself relax, enveloped in your scent and familiar fabric. Viktor’s eyes snap open again when he realises he’s slept well into the morning. Grabbing a clock, he quickly realised that he’s been asleep for… eight hours?! It’s nine thirty, how was he still asleep? Usually Viktor has issues getting to sleep, not getting out of it. Quickly changing out of his now crumpled suit and into lab-suitable clothes, he debates for a moment, before throwing on your coat. It’s cold, he tells himself, as he walks through the streets of Piltover, and this coat is big and warm. Nothing to do with the fact that it’s yours. 

Viktor hurries into the lab. “Sorry, I overslept. What have I missed?” Jayce looks at him, first clocking the fact that Viktor overslept, something rumoured to be impossible, but second, that he’s wearing the coat. He hesitates for a second. “Oh, nothing much. New, er, new coat?” Viktor looks at him, one eyebrow raised. “I think you know more than I do in this particular situation, Jayce. What happened after I fell asleep last night?” Jayce succinctly and reluctantly summarises the previous night. Viktor finds that can’t help but be pleased at the thought that Nick was willing to do all that just for him to be comfortable. 

“I see. Well, I suppose it is time we get to work, no?” Viktor turns away, seating himself at his desk and getting to work, ending the conversation. He knows that given half a chance by any of Jayce’s questions, he would probably go off on a tangent, rambling on how the rumours about you are practically unfounded, how you have never been anything other than a gentleman to him. He also knows that this is not what Jayce would like to hear, and it would be a waste of time. Fingers curling around the long sleeves, he settles into his work, doing his best to push all thought of you out of his mind. 

You’ve been distracted all day. Doing any paperwork on autopilot, barely even registering the words written on the papers in front of you. That’s going to be a problem; you need to focus on what you’re signing, and yet, it just goes in and then straight out again. It’s early afternoon, and you wander over to Clarissa. 

“Anything else you need me to do?” Placing the pad of papers on her desk. She flicks through quickly. “No, you’re good. Got through these awfully fast.” The knowing look is back again. “I think you can take the rest of the day off. Go, oh I don’t know, visit a friend.” The knowing look has become rather suggestive. You chuckle. “Clarissa, he’s really just a friend. Nothing more has happened, or even been alluded to. But thank you for the suggestion.” 

You walk away, out of the doors and along the streets. It’s about half an hour of wandering about before you find yourself in front of the lab. You hadn’t consciously made that decision, but nonetheless, your feet seemed to have carried you here. Again, autopilot. Well, you think, I do need to get my coat back.

Striding into the lab, you dodge past all the projects and desks, ignoring all the wide eyes and stares following you. You stop and turn to one of the scientists. She’s got glasses and brown hair, pulled back out of her face. 

“Hello. What’s your name?” 

She squeaks slightly, before replying “um, Sky?”

Ignoring the fact that it sounded like a question, you continue. “Well, Sky, I appreciate you being so busy, but I’m looking for Viktor. Any chance you know where he is?” 

She swallows, a strange look on her face as she gives you directions. You brush it off, before thanking her and moving away. You pass through a few more rooms, before you reach an unnecessarily large set of double doors. Apparently Viktor and Jayce plus a few others work on the other side of these doors, as they are the main researchers. Reaching for the handles, you push the doors open dramatically, causing every head to turn towards you. You see Viktor hunched over his desk at the other side of the room, clearly in working mode, and far too engrossed to notice your entrance. Walking over you lean on the desk next to him. 

“Te ves tan adorable cuando estás enfocado como esto [you look so adorable when you’re focused like this].” 

His head snaps up to look at you, eyes wide for half a second, before a grin tugs at his mouth. “I am going to pretend that I understood what you just said. Show off.” You laugh, shaking your head slightly. “Can’t blame me for trying to impress a beautiful boy such as yourself, hm?” He smacks the side of your leg, turning away to hide the light blush that made an unexpected appearance.

“I assume you are going to want your coat back.” It isn’t a question, but you answer nonetheless. “Seems so. Although…” you trail off, thinking. “Have you eaten today?”

…

…

…

“Yes…?”

Sighing, you gesture for Viktor to get up. “Alright, let’s go. Late lunch for us.” He does try protesting, but once you threaten to throw him over your shoulder and manually remove him from his desk, he quietens down a bit. A hand on the small of his back, the two of you slowly amble out, heading to a place you know Viktor will like.

The two of you stop in a lovely little cafe, just five minutes from the lab. 

“I don’t know how I never noticed this place before.” Viktor murmurs, looking around. “It is really quite lovely.”

You steer him towards the counter so you can order. “Probably because the only place you ever regularly pay attention to is the lab.” 

Try as he might to argue against that statement, you both know it’s the truth. Viktor has an incredible work ethic, but sometimes it’s a little too much. You’re happy to share this place with him though. When you sit down with your food, you tell him how this was one of the few places that would serve you when you had recently come from the Undercity. Most establishments took one look at you, heard your heavy accent, and turned you away. Not here. That’s why you’ve been visiting for years, and recommending it to anyone else who seemed even remotely interested. Viktor tells you about his work, about how he and Jayce are slowly starting to understand which HexTech runes work to stabilise, or to amplify, or any of the hundred and one functions they’re gearing towards. Chatting away, the food gets slowly eaten, the drinks steadily depleted. It’s been about on hour of the two of you laughing and talking like nothing else matters, and you convince Viktor to take a small walk with you - still in the general direction of the lab, but just that little bit longer. 

As you walk, you notice a group of drunkards staggering towards you. Chuckling at Viktor’s comment on the time of day, and how it’s rather early to get drunk, you do your best to walk around them. One of them however, decides he wants to pick a fight. He lashes a foot out at Viktor’s cane, pushing it out from under him. Viktor tips slightly before you steady him long enough that he can put his cane back down on the floor. Moving in front of him, you glare at the offender, who seems to be too drunk to think about what he’s doing. The other two are slowly creeping up behind him, clearly waiting to see it they need to jump in. The first idiot throws a punch directly at your face, which you catch. For being so inebriated, he seems to be aiming pretty well. He blinks before trying to throw himself at you, wanting to shove you into the wall, or something. You turn slightly to the left, grab the back of his collar, and throw him back. Walking closer to them, you tell Viktor to stay where he is. This way you have more room to manoeuvre should you need it. They seem angry at the fact that you wouldn’t just let him hit you, so now it’s three against one. What horrible odds. They need at least another three.

It’s over before it began, really. You throw one against the wall, roundhouse kick another in the face, and jab one in the throat. That’s all it took for them all to be left lying on the floor, groaning. Turning to Viktor, he seems to have been frozen in place watching you fight.

“Are you all right chiquito [little one]?” You walk a little closer, but don’t touch him quite yet. He seems shaken, and you don’t want to startle him too much. 

“I… I am alright. You made sure of that, I suppose. Thank you.” Smiling gently, you tell him he has nothing to thank you for, surreptitiously checking that nothing’s wrong. You walk for another minute in silence, and you can’t help wonder what is going through his head right now.

Wow. Ok. So. That was hot. No! Do not think that. But it was. Yeah ok, it was very hot. Viktor, arguing with himself, doesn’t realise how quiet it has been. He’s never seen this side of you before; you’ve always met in fancy galas and stifling parties, so he’s never seen you fight. He realised, while watching you, how you earned the name Wolf. You moved with ease, targeting weak points like it was second nature. But, instead of being scared by that, he’s intrigued. Flattered almost, that you would risk harm (not much of a risk, but hey) in order to protect him. So engrossed in his thoughts, he doesn’t notice you asking him a question until you wave your hand in front of his face.

“Hm? Sorry, can you repeat that for me?”

“I was asking if you have a way of defending yourself. I unfortunately am not capable of being with you every second of the day, so if something were to happen and I’m not there, can you defend yourself?”

Viktor stops and gestures to himself. “Do I look like I can fight?”

“You don’t necessarily need to fight. Do you have a weapon on you? A knife perhaps?”

He shakes his head. “Should I?”

You sigh, thinking for a moment. “I don’t know really. If you aren’t comfortable with the idea of hurting someone, then no, don’t get a knife. In fact, if this is the first time anything like this has happened to you, maybe you can just call me paranoid and move on. Up to you, really.”

“If I got a knife, would you show me how to use it properly?” 

“If that’s what you want, then yes, of course.” 

“Then I’ll get a knife. And, no. This isn’t the first time something like this has happened. People see the cane and think I’m an easy target. Which I am, but it is annoying anyway.”

You hum, hiding the anger at the confession. “Don’t worry about getting one, I’ll take care of that. People don’t realise how intricate the process is, and how many factors you need to take into account. Give me your hand?”

Viktor reaches his hand out, and you measure it against yours, explaining that hand size will obviously affect the handle. Viktor tries to listen to you, instead of focusing on how your hands are that much bigger than his. Once you’ve figured out some of the details with him, like colour, length of blade etc, you set off again. You walk him back to the lab, and kiss his hand in your customary goodbye, before embracing him. Viktor stiffens at the surprise hug, but relaxes into it quickly, and returns the embrace. 

“Stay safe, ok?” 

“I will. Thank you again, lásko [love].” 

You smile at the pet name, before turning sharply on your heel and striding off, knowing that if you don’t, you may never let him go. It’s only until Viktor gets back inside that he realises he’s forgotten to return your coat. Ah well, he thinks, there’s always next time.

Two days later, Viktor finds a small parcel on his desk. Opening it, he finds a small knife, with two metal bands that surround the handle to keep it in his grip. The blade isn’t too long, about a few inches, and both the handle and the sheath are a plain brown leather. Three blue gems are studded into the knife, a similar colour to HexTech. A small note below the knife, that simple reads:

I’ll see you tomorrow

Love, 

   N.C. 

      xx

Viktor smiles ruefully at the crypticness, typical for you, you lover of the dramatics. Nonetheless, he tucks the knife into one of his deeper pockets, before folding the note and carefully pushing it into the inside breast pocket of his vest. For once, he looks forward to tomorrow. Looking forwards to you.

[cassandrarebornanew]

The Misfits pt2

cod x reader

2K words

Mild swearing, mentions of violence @harley101399

I played a bit with the formatting, so let me know what you think!

Enjoy :D

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Bang

“Reload!”

Click

Click

“Fire!”

Bang

“Fire!”

Bang

Ghost huffs a breath, impressed at the way you all move so cohesively. Price chuckles. 

“This is what I want from you buggers. For ya to actually listen to what I say.” 

“Good luck, Cap” is Soap’s only reply.

They watch the five of you shoot the targets again and again, all of you with impressive accuracy. Scope is leading in that regard, with you hot on her heels. The rest aren’t that far behind, but it’s clearly not their area of expertise. It has been a long few weeks of training, using a variety of weapons and attack styles, everyone trying to show their skills to the others. You step up to each and every challenge, just like the rest of your team, but you (as always) do it with ease, as if you’d been training for a hundred years specifically for this. You push yourself and those around you to heights that no one thought possible. Ghost’s pretty sure that some records have been broken so far, the majority by you - not that he’d say anything about that to your face. As the five of you finish up, your score tallies, and your team have a slightly higher total than the 141. Despite grumblings that there’s a fifth person on your team, and therefore it doesn’t count, you decide to take the win anyway. 

“Anything else you want to look at Price?” He considers your question, before shaking his head. “Alright then team, you know what time it is.”

Most of them groan, knowing exactly what you mean. You turn to the rather confused task force, before explaining that every time you do any training, there’s a mandatory stretching session after. It helps loosen and strengthen muscles, keep up flexibility, and reduce stress, all of which you need in this line of work.

“Want to join us?” You offer. Despite Jester vehemently shaking his head behind you, they hesitantly agree, and you all march off back to the gym. 

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Soap is sure that he can feel muscles where muscles shouldn’t be, and from the looks of it, his team are equally struggling. Jester shakes his head. “I tried to warn you, ya know? Every time this happens, the newbies feel like they’ve been run over, and look it too. They’re a real menace sometimes.” You chuckle at the strange but true analogy, before wiping your face with a towel. The 141 can’t help but notice how the rest of your team clearly felt the stretching, but it didn’t affect them nearly as much. You, on the other hand, had contorted yourself into some terrifying positions, and yet you are now walking around as if it was nothing. The way your body twisted, how your muscles flexed to keep you stable, the look of concentration on your face - they noticed all this and more. And, yes, it was hot, but it was also very impressive. Their curiosity is hitting an all time high, and they quiz you at every opportunity during dinner. Yet somehow, like the past two weeks, you methodically and expertly evade every attempt at discovering something personal. While they know a fair bit about your interactions with others, anything before the formation of your team is an absolute mystery, and it annoys the hell out of them. The frustration is vented and well expressed that night in the barracks: how the hell can someone be so secretive? 

“Not even Lt’s that bad! Come on, we at least knew your name when you joined us. Crazy.” Gaz mutters, rearranging his pillows for the umpteenth time. 

“I hate to say it, but he’s right. I did keep it vague, but you got some answers, whereas this one’s telling us fat nothin. Look. I hate to be the one to say it, and they seem real capable, and haven’t given us any bad signs, but can we really trust ‘em? I can’t help but feel like they’re holding out on us.” Everyone pauses to think about what Ghost said. Price sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose tiredly. 

“I dunno Si, but I don’t think we have a choice on this one. The mission’s tomorrow, ok, so let’s just get it done and get them out the way. They’re too much of a distraction.” That last bit was mumbled rather quieter than everything else, but despite that, the rest of the team heard it, and agreed.

“Yeah. Let’s just get it over with.”

Tightening the straps of your uniform, you slowly and methodically attach all your weapons, before triple checking that your shirt is the specific one that doesn’t burn when you use your magic. You check up on your team again, and make sure the 141 haven’t got any new news or changes in the plan. As you all make your way over to the cars, the tension becomes palpable. Before every mission the mood will darken: that’s a fact. It suddenly occurs to the others that they could easily die out there, that this may be their final moments. Silence as you climb into the trucks, silence as you drive. Keeping an eye out for landmarks as you approach your destination, you stop just before a ridge, pulling over and getting out. As Jester cloaks himself and sneaks over the ridge, Ghost hides in the shadows and goes the other way. A few minutes pass and they come back. After a brief discussion of what they saw, you all decide to stick with the plan. There seems to be a gap in the security; it’s small, but it’s there, and hopefully you can use it to sneak in. Minutes crawl by as you move slowly over towards the window of opportunity, inching closer and closer. The fence is within reaching distance now, and Price uses his fire to heat the wire. One of his claws extends, and he slowly drags it down, cutting the links of the fence. Peeling it back, they start to crawl through. Any active magic from your part will trigger an alarm, notifying everyone that you’re here, so you’re keeping it to a minimum until necessary. Gaz is the last one through, but just as he’s halfway clear, his wings get stuck in the fence and he has to stop. You dash out from where you’re all hiding, hurriedly pulling the feathers free. The security guards are going to round the corner in a few seconds, and you can’t be seen. Hearts racing, you finally get the last one free and yank him through, practically throwing him at the others. You hurriedly bend the metal back into what you hope will hide the hole in it, before sprinting over and chucking yourself around the corner at the last minute. You all tense as the security guards pass, chatting away blissfully. Taking deep breaths to steady your heart rates, you make eye contact with Gaz and signal to ask him if he’s ok. One shaky nod and a dismissed thank you later, you can finally move on. Sneaking as best you can, Scope peels off in one direction to get into position, and Jester a few minutes later. Despite stopping every few minutes to hide from the oncoming guards, you all make relative headway, nearing the labs step by step. Jester finally calibrates the necessary machinery, allowing your comms to listen in on the chatter in the room you’re aiming for. Through the mix of scientific lingo and bubbling chemicals, you can discern the noises of four guards, shifting around the room and keeping an eye on the scientists. It’s hard to tell how many scientists are in there, but it seems to be somewhere between twelve and fifteen. Arctic and Crux, Ghost and Jonny, Price and Gaz, all heading in their separate directions. The plan is to flank the guards, allowing them no time to react or hurt anyone. A countdown, before you burst through the doors, and take down the guard whose back is to you. Hitting the back of his head hard, and yanking his knees out from under him, and letting him hit the floor hard. Looking up, you grin at the scientists.

“Heya folks. We’re here to get you out. Please follow us.”

You’ve nearly made it to the cars. The rest of your team have split from you, stopping any guards from getting too close, and tying up loose ends. You move as fast as you can, slinking through the hallways with urgency. The scientists follow as quietly as they can, but you can’t help but wince at every creak and mumbled word. You’re all meant to rendezvous at the trucks, and get the civilians out asap. Helping them scramble up the hill and over the ridge, you hop over just as the alarms go off. Tuning your earpiece, you call for your team. The 141 are all here, as well as the scientists, but your four are nowhere to be seen. You know that they were meant to meet you here, as they had split off a while ago, but the sooner they arrive, the sooner you get out. You tell yourself that you’re imagining the pit in your stomach, the nagging instinct that something is wrong, even as you are met with nothing more than static and radio silence. With the scientists in the truck that’s being driven away by another agent, the 141 gather around you, listening to your one sided conversation.

“Misfits, come in. Misfits, this is Thanatos, do you copy? I repeat, do you copy?” 

You call their code names, switch onto the private channel, calling them over and over. Eventually, Price puts a hand on your shoulder, stopping you. 

“M sorry, but they can’t hear you.”

“What do you wanna do?” Soap asks, cocking his head in a concerned manner. You don’t reply straight away, thinking out your possible options. Static bursts through your earpiece, and you open up comms again. 

“Misfits, are you there?”

“Hello Thanatos.”

The 141 watch as a shadow passes over your face. This is the first time they have seen you and you aren’t smiling, and it’s terrifying.

“You have something of mine.”

“Do I?”

Everyone listens in horror as Arctic’s voice can be heard faintly.

“Don’t!

Don’t           we’re fine RUN!”

A loud blow, and he falls silent. 

“You’re right, I think I do.

Want them back?”

You don’t say anything, hoping that whoever has your team will let something slip.

“No? 

even if you did,

do you think

you would get them back 

sane?

However long it takes you to plan will be 

too long.”

Suddenly you’re smiling again. Not for joy, but because you’ve found a weak point. A predatory grin, sharpening your features. Deciding to play into it, you speak, not needing to fake the slight tremor in your voice.

“How much time do I have?”

  “Don’t be a

fool.    Not enough time.

I  will     break     them.

I have heard  about you.

I hear you’re  strong.  Not strong  enough.

But please.  Try to save   them.

I would like to watch you  fail.  Fall.    Die trying.”

“You’re kind of stupid aren’t you?” You can practically hear them fume, clearly not the expected reaction. “I’ll get them back. And people will die. But not me. Not them. You. I’m coming for my team. And I’m coming for your head. Start praying.” You yank out your earpiece, chucking it to Ghost before turning back towards the facility. 

“Wait! What are you doing?” 

You stop before turning back towards them slightly. 

“You heard what I did, right? They have my team, and I’m getting them back.” You turn fully, and they tense when they see your eyes start to glow an electric blue. 

“No

    matter

            what.”

[cassandrarebornanew]

The Misfits

TF141 x gn!reader

Monster!AU - using the popular ones for 141 

(Price = dragon, Ghost = ghoul, Soap = werewolf, Gaz = harpy)

No use of Y/N, minimal character description 

TW: mild swearing

2.8K words

Enjoy :D

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“I’m here, I’m here!” Soap calls as he bursts through the door and oh-so-gracefully throws himself onto his chair. Ghost has to reach out and grab the back of the chair just to stop it from tipping over, before glaring at the Scotsman. A cheeky grin is his only response before attentions swivel back to Price. 

“We’re going to team up.” Was his only sentence. Gaz stopped playing with one of his loose feathers to stare at the Captain. 

“Ya what now?” 

This was new territory for every man in the room, and it showed. Soap, however, lived up to the werewolf pack mentality, and started asking about a thousand questions. A clearly exhausted Price puts a hand up to stop the onslaught, before continuing. 

“You may have heard of The Misfits?” Phrased as a question, but not one that needed answering. The Misfits were sort of like mercenaries. The name had been given to them because a) no one knew where they came from and b) no one ever had called them normal. They were called in all across the world when officials didn’t know who to turn to, didn’t have anyone strong enough, didn’t know who else to trust. They never sold information, just their services, so a long time ago the entire world came to some kind of unspoken agreement that there was no point in trying to hide anything from them. They just gave up, and now, The Misfits are both famous and infamous, depending on who you ask. Ghost decides to answer for the team. 

“Are you saying we’re gonna team up with The Misfits? The Misfits?”

A nod of confirmation. “There’s some illegal experimentation in a laboratory we know next to nothing about - except that everyone who goes in, doesn’t come out.” 

“Kinda cliche…” Soap mutters. “So, what? We teaming up with them to make it easier for us? How much can they actually bring to the table?” 

Price straightens slightly from the table he was leaning on. “Well, I suppose I should brief ya on their skills.” A couple clicks and five figures show up on the screen. “First: Arctic. He’s a bear shifter, polar bear, to be exact.” A tall, burly man shows up on screen with a crooked nose and white, closely shaven hair. “Jesus. Almost as tall as Ghost.” The man in question clearly isn’t pleased at the comparison. “Excellent stamina, strength, barely feels the cold. Can track like no one’s business, and is utterly relentless. Not a fan of heat, or being particularly quiet apparently. Next: Crux. They’re a dragon, like me, so you know the drill. Fire resistant, flight, durable. Bad temper, hates the cold. Sorta works the opposite to Arctic.” Red hair, tanned skin, and a sharp grin to contrast the aggressive body language. “Third: Jester. He’s a pixie, so tricks, illusion, minor puppetry magic. He’s also one hell of a thief. Not the strongest though, and he can have a bit of an attitude.” The smallest of the lot, with big grey doe eyes and a crooked smirk. “Fourth: Scope. She’s a hawk hybrid, so incredible aim, flight, and speed. Precise with her attacks, but doesn’t always remember to put enough force in. Also got a history of issues with leadership.” Laser focused eyes, tall, and lean. Brown hair with a little white birth mark just above her nose. “And, finally, the one you’ve all being waiting for. Thanatos.” You come up on the screen. Sharp, confident, and intense. You have an electric blue lock of hair hanging over your left eye, which is seems almost bleached - certainly paler than your right eye. “While the rest of the team aren’t really unusual, they are. They are the leader of the group, and have literally no public data. Just their name, magical alignment, and this one grainy image. They’re harder to detail than Ghost over here. Finally, they’re a wild mage.” The air flows out of everyone’s lungs. Mages are rare, one in about 50,000. Then, only one in 1,000 of them are able to do anything really dramatic, making a grand total of around 160 mages in the entire world being in any way interesting. There are so many different kinds of magic, that most mages have an incredibly specific magical ability. Wild mages, however, could do any kind of magic they wanted to. The last wild mage was recorded to have been born in 1868, and died in 1989. But you didn’t look that old. In fact, you seemed to be around your late twenties. Ghost is the first to come to the obvious question. “If the last wild mage recorded died over 30 years ago, how the fuck are they one?” Soap, finally connecting the dots, agreed. Price plants himself into his chair heavily.

“We dunno. Either they are real old, or their birth weren’t recorded. Maybe you’ll get to ask. Alright, moving on the mission…”

Arctic leaps out the helicopter the second it touches the ground. He’s the only one in the group with a real aversion to flight, and has made it excessively clear.

“Calm ya tits, mate!” Chirps Jester. “You that eager to meet the new blood?”

“They aren’t that new” Crux points out. “Most of them are older than you, ya know?” By this point you’re all out of the chopper, and have started to survey the area around you. Murmuring observations to each other, you stride towards the door. It leads to a stairway leading a couple floors down, Jester promptly hoping from railing to railing, and Scope shifting before gliding down gently. The rest of you take the stairs the regular way, because, to quote Arctic, you aren’t that pretentious. A couple more hallways and closed doors, before you stride out to the middle of the room, and are met with the four, curious faces, of your temporary teammates.

Soap whistles lowly. His eyes are glued to you, along with almost every other pairs of eyes in his task force. “That grainy image we got doesn’t do ya justice.” He clearly didn’t mean to be so loud, given the following reddening of his face. Jester lets out his signature laughter: “I agree with the wolf boy! It really doesn’t show off your beauty properly…” the whole time he’s inching closer, before standing on his tiptoes to sling an arm around your shoulder. You, without even looking in his direction, gently push him off. A few steps forward, and you’re standing in front of your team, arms crossed and feet apart. Casual, but ready for anything. It’s almost second nature by now - you’ve been taking care of your team since you all came together, and it’s clearly ingrained into you. The 141 notice this… readiness you have, the relaxed confidence. The others behind you also shift slightly. Ready for the command to run, fight, stand down; whatever you deem best. As you survey them, they survey you. You’re the first to break the silence.

“You know our names, we know yours. What I want to see are your fighting styles, and I’m sure you want to see ours. Where’s your training room?” It clearly wasn’t a question, and Price starts to lead the way. A nod to your team, and they loosen, following and chatting like nothing changed. Price can’t help but be impressed at the control and respect you have, and his curiosity spikes slightly. He’s eager to see what you’re made of. 

You all walk out of the changing rooms, geared up and ready to go. None of the 141 would admit it, but you look lethal. And it excites them. You all line up on the opposite end of the mat. 

“How are we going to do this, hm?”

There’s a beat of silence as you all try and figure out the logistics. 

“How about” you offer, “the four of you, one on one against my four, and then I go against you four after.”

There’s a couple of seconds of silence. “I mean, that could work.” Soap proffers, “but isn’t that kinda unfair?” 

Arctic scoffs, before gruffly replying in his thick accent. “Yes, it is unfair. They will kick your collective asses, especially with that attitude.”

You try your best to contain your smirk as the 141 take this in. Price thinks for a few more minutes before agreeing, and as you take a step back, everyone else pairs up. This is the perfect opportunity for you to properly analyse the other team. Price and Crux, Ghost and Arctic, Soap and Scope, Gaz and Jester. The fights begin.

They were all pretty even matches, but you were rather pleased to say that your team largely had the upper hand. Now, you stepped onto the mat, facing your four opponents. “Oh, does one of you mind?” You turn back to your team. Crux holds out a hand, already knowing what you mean. You reach over your back and pull off your long sleeve over layer. You’re wearing a shirt underneath, but it has no real back, just a stripe of fabric around your neck and waist. You can feel the shock radiating off the others as they take in your tattoo. Along the lower half of your spinal cord are bone-like arrows, twisted at the ends and decreasing in size. Across your shoulder blades the same spindles lengthen and twist, stretching like wings, with two orbs in the centre of the wingspan. The tattoo flexes as you do, and as your magic rises to the surface, you can feel the power humming and lighting up the tattoo. It’s a symbol of your power, and a sort of outlet, one that annoyingly burns through the back of all your shirts. You’ve taken to wearing backless ones, like the one you have on know, just to save yourself the hassle. Turning back to the task force, you pop a couple joints and lower your centre of gravity. While your left eye usually is technically blind, when your magic surfaces, so does a particular kind of sight. You can see intentions, the flow of magic, and the trajectory of movement. You see more with that eye than you ever will with your good one. Shifting further into the centre of the mat, your opponents circle you, an attempt to put you on the back foot before the fight has even begun. You let them. They do need some advantages after all.

Soap lunges, shifting into his wolf form midair. You twist, springing up and over his form, fingers skimming the fur of his back and using a little magic to push him down onto the mat. You block Gaz’s punch coming from your left, dodge Ghost’s kick and flip Price over your back so that he’s now in front of you. All this is in the space of four, five seconds. Half a thought and the ghoul goes flying, straight into Price, who was just getting back on his feet. Jester’s cheering now, and the others clearly enjoying the show. You kick high, towards Gaz’s head, and as he blocks, you let your other foot rise up, kicking him hard in the stomach as you fall back on the mat. Rolling out of the reach of Soap’s elongated claws, bouncing back of your feet, and the next thing anyone knows, you’re behind Ghost. He twists, hitting your arm hard with a shadowy appendage, before you grab the back of his head and bring it down to your knee sharply. He’s wearing a balaclava, not his mask, so the hit makes him stumble for half a second: all you need to sweep his feet out from under him. Price swings, flame bursting from his mouth. Water twists up in front of you, steaming and causing a smoke screen. You hit the back of his knees, forcing them to snap out from under him, and almost get floored by Gaz. He’s swept out from above, rather cleverly, but didn’t account for your reflexes. Grabbing his fist, you spin, slinging him into his Captain’s chest. Soap grabs you from behind, before stiffening as your magic locks his muscles. A bit of force breaks you from his hold, and you dodge out the way just in time for Ghost’s swing to hit his teammate instead of you. This continues for a while. Blow after blow. They get some good hits in, but nothing in comparison to you, and your unpredictable magic gives you a greater advantage than they ever realised. Their stamina and strength slowly decrease, and eventually, they have to concede. Crux chuckles. “Saw that one coming. Every time, the same damn thing happens. When will people learn to stop underestimating you?” You take your jumper back and slide it on. “They haven’t yet, and you know how long I’ve been around.” Scope congratulates you, clapping you on the back. 

“Actually, I’ve been meaning to ask.” Soap calls out to you. “How old are you? The last recorded wild mage died over 20-“ “30” “-30 years ago, and you look like you’re, like, 30 years old max. What’s that ‘bout?” A bold approach: you can admire that. 

“I’m older than anyone here, I can tell you that. Not much else I’m gonna share with a veritable stranger, but I’ll let you in on a secret. My magic is a phenomenon in more ways than one, and I know how to use it very well.” 

He doesn’t seem particularly satisfied by that, but your tone brooks no argument. Price clears his throat and steers the conversation away from the topic, telling you all that it’s time to eat. Arctic quietly mumbles something is Swedish about how he already knows the food’ll be shitty, and while you chuckle at that, you decide not to translate. The two teams head towards the mess hall, which is completely empty except you nine. After a while, everyone relaxes, talking more openly and easily (some more than others, of course). You learn how the 141 came together, and hear some of the more intense stories about the ‘Shadow Corps’. Of course, they learn a lot about The Misfits too, stories and accounts flying this way and that. You may not admit it, but you’re pretty sure this will be an interesting team up to say the least. Eventually, the conversation shifts to the upcoming mission. 

“The lab, yeah? We get in, take the scientists and victims out, before destroying everything we can. Simple.” Gaz summaries for everyone. Despite a few mumbles about the ‘simple’ part, there’s a general consensus with his words. 

“We’ve got a couple more days to train together, and plan, before we head out. So, I recommend an early night, cause we’re starting early tomorrow.” Price reminds everyone, as you walk out the mess. You agree, much to the chagrin of some people. You slowly start wandering over to the barracks, before the teams spilt and you each make yourselves comfortable in your own area. 

“What do you think, Cap?” Scope leans against the wall, cocking her head to see your face properly. 

“They seem competent. More than, if my suspicions are correct. They have a relatively good discipline, but are mostly muscle over anything else: their strength is their best attribute, which would probably work for them most the time, but when faced with opponents who have a variable skill set they might struggle. Clearly experienced, and good at what they do. I think, all things considered, this will work quite well.” 

There’s a moment of silence as your team mulls all that over. Jester pipes up. 

“While you were making all your observations and kicking their asses, I saw something too!” His tone turns teasing. “They think you’re cuuuttee- ow!” Crux slammed a pillow into his head. 

“Hey! No fair. Stop laughing!” None of you listen to his protests, and next thing you know, there’s a glorified pillow fight happening.

“So, what do we think of The Misfits? I think this’ll be fun.” Gaz chirps from his bunk. 

“I think that Thanatos is the real deal. The rest of ‘em are good, our level probably, but without their leader, they wouldn’t be anything special per se.” Ghost states matter-of-factly. “And I’m interested to see what the magic of theirs can do.”

“I agree. They used telekinesis, teleportation, hydrokinesis, and anthropokinesis at least. Whether they were enhancing their own abilities, strength, reflexes etc, is unclear. That’s a broad variety.” The team hum at Price’s observation.

“And their tattoos fuckin awesome! I’ve never seen anything like it. Did you see the way it glowed? Goddam!” 

“Jeez Soap, gush about ‘em a little more why dontcha?” 

“Oh shut it bird brain.”

“Quiet down you two. It’s lights out. Sleep, cause tomorrow, we’re going hunting.”

[cassandrarebornanew]

Wolf among sheep p2

Panoramic View, AWOLNATION

Just trust me, this song is theirs now. 

1.4K words

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You didn’t think it would be that serious. You thought that after a couple meetings the two of you would have a fun night, maybe a few of them. But you realistically expected nothing other than that. God were you wrong - and you’d be a dammed liar if you pretended that you weren’t more than a little glad. One meeting turned into two, and three, and five, and ten. Each in some stuffy, elaborate ball that you would both invariably steal away from before the end of the night. Boring conversations abandoned for enrapturing ones, weak liquor swapped for strawberries. The two of you shared so many bowls together, that you couldn’t look at another one without thinking of Viktor, his sweet laugh and silky soft accent. He couldn’t either. Thinking of you the second another event was written on the calendar, your eyes on strangers faces and your effortless charm filling up the silence. Heimerdinger scolded him repeatedly for being so enticed by The Wolf, and no matter how many times Viktor explained that Nickolas was the one he cared about, he wouldn’t listen. He told no one of this friendship that stretched the limits, of the lingering touches and dream-filled nights. And now, with Jayce in the picture, and HexTech pulling them up the ladder, they had to go to more events than ever before. The first of these was planned for tonight, and Viktor couldn’t wait. Fixing his clothes in the mirror, he performed one last swoop, checking every detail. His hand traced the grip on his cane, given to him by Nickolas after he had offhandedly mentioned the bruises he got from leaning on the solid handle. It was soft, black, and the same leaf pattern tattooed on Nickolas’ hand was etched into it. It was almost like a personal claim on him - one Viktor revelled in. Jayce poked his head around the door.

“Viktor, we’re leaving soon. You ready?” He’s dressed similarly to Viktor, and he feels a pang of… something. Jayce fills out the suit more, broader shoulders and a much better posture. Shaking his head to dispel the thoughts, he hums. 

“Yes. I am ready.”

You circulate the ball room. High ceilings and arched windows, this is a carbon copy of every nobles’ house in Piltover. It’s lifeless and boring, much like the people you’re talking to now. While you hate every second of these businesses-centric conversations, you have to keep up appearances. Definitely nothing to do with the fact that a certain scientist may be coming soon. Absolutely not. An unfathomable thought. You would never - oh look, there’s Viktor! You quickly and politely excuse yourself from the conversation at an appropriate time, before prowling through the crowd to meet the new arrivals.

Viktor cranes his neck, trying to look for you amongst the crowds; something Jayce picks up on fairly quickly. “Are you… looking for someone? Who?”

Heimerdinger scoffs. “The one person in this room he should not be talking to.”

“My, my, Heimerdinger, I’m starting to think you don’t like me.” You snark from behind them. None of them saw or heard you coming, and now you were right there. Heimerdinger grumbles under his breath, Jayce freezes, and Viktor… your eyes lock, and you smile at him. You take his hand and kiss it gently. “And who might you be?” You tease, just to see the gentle flush that appears on the tip of Viktor’s ears. 

“Oh, stop it.” Is his only response before throwing his arms around your neck. “I missed you, Nick.” A soft smile lifts your lips as you gently nuzzle in closer. “Missed you too, hermoso [beautiful].”You may not be looking at them, but you can practically hear their jaws drop at the display of affection. You and Viktor have certainly hugged before, but this is the first time you’ve done it in front of Heimerdinger, and certainly Jayce. You part after a moment more, and your hand rests casually on the small of Viktor’s back. 

“You must be Jayce. I’ve heard a lot about you. Pleasure to meet you in person.” Colder than the way you spoke to Viktor just a second ago, more business-like, and much more intimidating. Jayce, visibly shaken at the quick switch, shakes your offered hand tentatively. You turn back to Viktor. “Come on love, I have a lot to tell you. And, yes, there’s a bowl at our table.” He smiles in return and you swear your heart skips a beat. “Alright, but only for the strawberries.” You lead him away, chuckling. “Only for the strawberries?” 

Jayce and Heimerdinger are left behind, stunned.

“Did Viktor just hug The Wolf?”

“Mhm”

“The Wolf?” 

“Mhm”

“And called him Nick.”

“Seems so”

“……what the fuck?”

“That, dear boy, is a question not even I can answer.”

“Do you think we can do it? Harness the arcane and build a new era, one free of suffering?” 

You’re both reclining on a cushioned sofa, facing a truly ginormous window and gazing at the stars. Viktor has been rambling on about the HexTech project for so long, the question nearly flies over your head. 

“Do you think you can do it?” 

“I… I don’t know. This is Jayce’s idea, and I have not been looking into it for nearly as long as him, and it did work a few days ago, but perhaps that was a fluke, maybe it won’t work again and it will all come crashing down on us, and-“

“Viktor, love, I’m going to stop you right there. Breathe. You may not have had the original idea, but without you all his work would’ve been destroyed, no? It will work. You will make it work.” You take Viktor’s hand, kissing the knuckles gently. “These hands, amor [love], they are a kind of magic that you should start believing in.” You lean closer and kiss his forehead reverently. “I believe in you, in your magic. Even if it doesn’t work, I will still be here for you, as I have been for the past months.” His breath shakes, and he lets his head fall onto your shoulder. 

“Thank you solinshko.”

You look at the stars together, hands intertwined. His legs rest atop yours and for once, you are finally at peace. 

This is how Jayce and Heimerdinger find you. Viktor has long since fallen asleep, and you didn’t have the heart to wake him. No one will know the gentleness with which you brushed the hair from his face, or the expression of adoration no living being has seen on your features. No one but you will ever know. It’s the early hours of the morning, everyone else long since gone. When you see Viktor’s companions, you sigh, before scooping him up gently, gesturing for Jayce to grab his cane. The three of you walk in silence, Heimerdinger’s only attempt at conversation shot down by a sharp glare, and Viktor’s face still pressed into your neck. When you arrive at his home, you softly ask Heimerdinger if he could unlock the door for you, which he does so begrudgingly. You sail in, carefully side stepping the countless projects and papers that litter the floor. You gently rest Viktor on the bed, before looking for a blanket. 

“You won’t find one.” Heimerdinger whispers. “He doesn’t sleep in here often.” You blink in response, before shrugging off your coat and placing it on his sleeping form. It reaches the middle of your calf, so it covers him entirely. The other two seemed rather confused at the gentleness with which you ensure that he is completely protected, the soft way you take his shoes off and close his blinds. You shepherd them out and close the door slowly. Without another word, you set off down the hallway, heading home.

“Hey!” A whispered shout follows you. “Where are you going?” 

“Home.” No elaboration, no turning around. Then, you stop. “Tell Viktor he can keep the coat until I see him next. Buh-bye now.”

You stalk out the building and start walking the streets, letting your feet guide you home. As you pass through the doors and past the front desk of the office, Clarissa, your night secretary calls out to you.

“Hey boss. Nice night?”

You stop. “Yeah. Yeah, it was nice.”

Ignoring her knowing smile, you bid her goodnight and head up to the top floor, where you live. That was your favourite coat, and you just handed it to him like it was nothing. You were so screwed.

[cassandrarebornanew]

Wolf among sheep

Arcane: Viktor x OC reader

This is a character + backstory I made just for this, but you can ignore the physical descriptions and make it a Viktor x reader. OC is called Nickolas Calean, described as 188 cm tall (6’2”), with green eyes and dark hair. His pronouns are he/him and is bisexual. I’ve also made him Hispanic because I love representing that half of me <3

ps: if I use Spanish or Hispanic culture, it will be Colombian 🇨🇴 based because… I’m Colombian so…

The OC is 26 at this point, and it’s set about a year before the Arcane plot, so Viktor is 23/4.

About 2K words cause I got carried away

Enjoy :D

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — As the carriage grumbled along Piltover’s streets, Heimerdinger bounced over to Viktor before settling across from him. 

“Now, my boy, do you remember what I’ve told you? This is your first gathering since becoming my assistant, so I hope it wasn’t too much! The cities finest will be here, and we must show our faces; after all-“

Viktor interrupted “Yes, sir, I remember what you’ve told me” several times, he wanted to add. “I remember the names you told me of the Dukes, the Duchesses, Counts and Countesses.”

Viktor watches as Heimerdinger darkens. He can practically feel a drop in the temperature. “You forgot one my boy.” A pause. “The Wolf.” The name sours the air in the compartment, and they both take a moment before Heimerdinger continues. “He is from the Undercity, like you, but he is so much more ruthless and unforgiving than you could ever fathom.” This speech was one Viktor had heard before, yes, but unlike the previous ones, this was something that grabbed him every time he heard it. While Heimerdinger continued, his attentions turned inwards, turning over all the information he had gathered in order to try and piece it all together. 

The Wolf, whose real name was Nickolas Calean, was born in the Undercity - close to the Pits, in fact. Nothing was known about his childhood, it was a hard jump from his birth, to the rise of his (slightly criminal) business that brought him and his employees into Piltover when he was 21. Said business employs people in from Undercity to work in a variety of sectors, the main sector being security. The employees are vetted and trained very carefully, and as of yet, they have had a grand total of zero complaints after their first 5 years. This, alongside the rest of Calean’s work, have helped to ease tensions between Piltover and the Undercity, even if only fractionally, by showing that they can be trusted. Everyone in the Undercity wants to work for him, because it is one of the few ways out. His reputation for being unforgiving came from his time in the Undercity, where he supposedly slaughtered anyone who stood in his way. No one knew if there was any base to this, but what was known, was how everyone who challenged him now, either disappeared for while before backing down, or doing an overnight 180 before endorsing him completely. The question is whether or not Calean himself had anything to do with it. Almost invariably, Viktor thought, but nothing could be proved. He was, of course, scared of the man, just like everyone else; but he respected him too. It took a lot to get yourself out of the Undercity and build a life up here, let alone such a thriving, open one. Despite his mentors warnings to minimise interactions with the man, he was eager to see how things would play out.

This is boring, you think, before taking another sip of your… whatever is in your glass. This kind of alcohol has virtually no effect on you, so you couldn’t be bothered to identify it. You take a look around the room again. You have flattered and wheedled enough contracts for the night, so minimal ass-kissing was required from now on. Despite yourself, you can’t help but notice the cute scientist Heimerdinger brought with him. Pale skin, light brown hair, absolutely gorgeous eyes, and a nervous air that just made you want to wrap him up and keep him safe. It sounded silly, but you were always the protective type, so the reaction didn’t alarm you overly. Heimerdinger, damn him, was observant and shrewd, and knew that something or someone new would catch your interest, so kept him away from you as much as he could. You’d given up trying, eventually. But no matter how hard he tried, Heimerdinger would never be able to stop the cute thing from having human needs. As luck would have it, he was making his way over to the food table - not five paces from you. Your weight shifted as you pushed yourself from the wall you had been leaning on, and straightened your jacket briefly. Showtime.

Viktor was truly and thoroughly exhausted. His leg was sore, his stomach growled incessantly, and he hadn’t caught sight of the Wolf all evening - the one person he was semi-interested in meeting. Heimerdinger had been right to warn him beforehand; the faces did blur together after a while, and he had no idea how long they’d been there. He reached out and grabbed himself a strawberry, before filling a bowl with them. In his hurry, his hand wobbled and the bowl started to slip. Then, before it could fall to the ground, a hand reached out and grabbed it for him. Well kept nails, paired with calluses and scars on the knuckle, along with a tattoo of vines curling up from the wrist along the thumb and forefinger. A silk, forest green shirt, with a black waist coat and a flowing, floor length jacket. Hard, fitted trousers, and shoes that looked more suited for combat. Dark hair, green eyes, and a predators grin.

Viktor looks up to meet the eyes of the Wolf.

You watch as his eyes widen in recognition. You gently place the bowl on the table next to you, never breaking eye contact. “Strawberries, huh?” You smile a little more. “Good choice.” His Adam’s apple bobs gently in response. “My name in Nickolas Calean, as you seem to know. May I have the pleasure of your name?” He shifts gently on his feet, and deliberates before answering. “Viktor, sir.” You practically purr in response to the honorific. “I am no knight - just Nickolas is fine. I made myself a surname so that I wouldn’t have to constantly explain to this lot why I don’t have one, but I’m sure you understand.” The bowl of strawberries was handed back to him, and a single one plucked from the top. He watches as you bite into it, clearly taking notice of the fact that your canines are a little longer than the usual. “Yes.” He clears his throat and looks away from your teeth. “I understand.” His mouth forms the title again, before he catches himself, and attempts to steer the conversation away to something new. “What are you here for? I’m with Heimerdinger, as his new assistant scientist, but I don’t think I’ve seen you yet. Why?” A chuckle rises at the rather bold question. “Because, Viktor, your mentor has been keeping you far too occupied for little old me to even come close. I’m just here to ensure a steady stream of contracts for my business, but he knew I wouldn’t be able to resist such a pretty face.” The blood rushes to his cheeks in the most adorable way at the compliment, and you swear to yourself that you will see that blush again before the night is over. “Shall we sit?” You gesture towards the booths that line one of the walls. “Your leg seems to be bothering you.” His eyebrows raise in surprise at that, before you explain that you noticed the way he was shifting his weight constantly to bring it off of his right leg. His lips curl upwards slightly in response to the unexpected kindness, and the lack of judgement in your observation. Despite his mentor’s words ringing in the back of his head, he accepts, and you both make your way across the floor.

Hours pass in a blur. Viktor barely notices the sun setting through the huge, ornate windows opposite, or the way that the guests are slowly filtering out of the hall. The bowl of strawberries sits, long empty and forgotten. All he can really focus on is Nickolas’ smile, his eyes, the gentle charm of his laughter. Conversation flows easily, from work, to hobbies, to personal anecdotes that he never thought he’d share with another. He learns that Nickolas was the oldest of four, yet the only one left of his family. That this very fact spurred him to make The Janus Company - Janus being the Greek god of many faces, to symbolise the amount of sectors in the business. In return, Viktor tells him more about his childhood, the way people assumed the second they saw the way he limps, his frailty. He’s been warned about the danger that is the Wolf, the atrocities he’s willing to commit and has already committed. Yet, despite the rumours and stories, Viktor is actively struggling to make the two versions connect. He just seems so… kind. Not once has he made a snide comment about his cane, and he actively participates in the conversations about Viktor’s work, rather than just letting him mind wander and allowing Viktor’s words to go in one ear and out the other. Viktor couldn’t help but relax and truly enjoy himself. But, of course, that too has to come to an end.

“Viktor! There you are my boy! I was looking everywhere for…” Heimerdinger trails off as he notices exactly who Viktor is sitting with. Viktor notices the way his mentor’s shoulders tense, his eyes widen, and the small twitch that betrays his nerves. Nickolas turns and smiles, like the first smile Viktor saw: predatory. 

“Why hello, Professor Heimerdinger. I was just talking to your wonderful assistant here. Quite a shame that I only caught him but a few hours ago - I would have loved to have a much longer conversation.” There is a beat of silence, tense and heavy as they stare each other down. Heimerdinger clears his throat, before backing down and turning back to Viktor. “It’s time to go my boy! Early morning tomorrow and all that.” Viktor shifts his cane off the sofa and onto the floor, before putting his weight on it fully, and standing. “Well” he says, turning to face Nickolas, who was also getting on his feet. “It has been a pleasure, Nickolas, and I hope we can do this again?” He can practically feel Heimerdinger’s confusion at the familiar address, but can only really focus on Nickolas’ kind smile at his question. “Of course.” He replies. “I would love nothing more, divino [wonderful, can be beautiful].” He reaches for Viktor’s free hand and raises it, before pressing his lips to the back of it, in a (somewhat) chaste kiss. He can feel the blush creeping up his neck and onto his cheeks, and - upon seeing a small, satisfied smirk curl onto Nickolas’ lips - realised it was rather noticeable. “A real pleasure” the man across announces. “One I do look forward to experiencing again, should all go well. Do let me know when you will be attending another of these gatherings, would you?” That one is addressed to Heimerdinger, who reluctantly agrees, before practically hauling Viktor away. Just before they leave, Viktor twists, looks back, and catches his eyes just in time to see a little wave and a surreptitious wink. “What were you thinking?” Hisses the professor. “I told you to stay away from that man!” Viktor finally gets his to slow down, before answering. “He found me, technically.” He chooses to ignore his mentor’s mutter of how that’s actually worse, instead focusing on the memory of his laugh, his emerald eyes. There’s something there, he thinks. Hopes, really. As they walk through a maze of corridors with high ceilings and obnoxiously large family portraits, Viktor realised that something has changed - and he doesn’t want that to stop. 

You tilt your head back and inhale the crisp night air. Soft hands, soft smile, soft accent. You’re already thinking of the next time you can meet him, hear his voice again; so much so that you almost miss your ride. You are well and truly screwed, you realise, but the epiphany comes with no dread. Yes, something has changed, but you don’t want it to stop.

[cassandrarebornanew]

Hello adventurer! Why yes, I am new. Let me fill you in…

hi! I’m @cassandrarebornanew, lover of writing, mythology, and fantasy (and knives 🔪<3). I am a student, so please be patient if my posting is all over the place. My pronouns are she/her, and I will be writing (mostly) fan fiction.

Rules:

I will write male reader, female reader, or non binary reader. It will fluctuate depending on my mood and thought process, but feel free to request stuff!

I will sometimes write OC readers, depending on the nature of what I’m writing, but also if I just have a burst of inspo. Again, requests are welcome!

I will likely lean towards (long) multi-part fanfics, but one shots are great too.

I love character/world building so the majority of what I write will be SFW, but if I do write NSFW, this is what you can expect:

1. Dom reader (or a balanced dynamic) but not sub

2. No incest, r@pe, and I’m going to be a bit wary of yandere stuff

3. None of the characters can be minors, aged up or otherwise

4. Other than that, I will decide based on what you request whether I do it or not, but I promise to let you know if I’m going to change it!