#47 fanfic

[domxmarvel]

Black tie

Masterlist

Pairing:Agent 47 x Female!Reader

Prompt:J Jealousy

“You got it?”

“Yes,we've gone over the plan like five times. Let's go” you made sure your weapons were in place and that you had your tools with you. You could tell he didn't want you on this mission for whatever reason,but you were assigned the mission anyway.  The mission involved getting into some secret party that was a cover for a group to sell information about undercover agents. The mission consisted of two parts:take out the leaders of the auction and erase the data. You walked in your arms around his,the party was full of people. He pulled you closer to him. 

“We should finish this up,quickly” his grip on you suddenly got tighter around your arm 

"What?" you whispered. 

“Be quick”

“I'll meet you at the bar when I'm done” your portion of the mission went by quickly,you erased the information and made your way to the bar. The second you sat down a drink was placed in front of you. “I didn't order this” the bartender gestured to a man on your right. He stood up and walked over to you,but suddenly stopped and turned to walk away. Reaching out for the glass you noticed a ring on your finger that you were sure you weren't wearing earlier,but you knew exactly who could put it there without you noticing. A few minutes later 47 had sat down next to you. “Now I understand why you didn't want me on this mission,you're so jealous”

“I am not jealous,I just couldn't have you be distracted”

“So I guess you wouldn't mind if I took it off now that we're done” he immediately stopped you,his hand covering yours. “You are so jealous. Fine I'll keep wearing it” he put his arm around you. “Should we leave?” you asked.

“Not just yet,we still have time” He gestured to the bartender,who poured another two drinks. 47 pushed the previous drink away from you. 

“So much for not being distracted” You rolled your eyes. 

“Technically we're not distracted since you're done” You rolled your eyes once again.

“Well since we're done” You picked up your drink “We still have plenty of time to enjoy ourselves before reporting back” 

“What are you suggesting?” 

“I think you know exactly what,come on let's dance” 

[cutielando]

love in a bakery | m.s.

social media au

synopsis: in which Mick falls in love with a baker

my masterlist

liked by mickschumacher, francisca.cgomes and 103,594 others

yourusername ahhhh!!!! a dream come true!!! my very own bakery, my dream ever since i was a little girl!! 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰

view all 29,184 comments

francisca.cgomes sooooo proud of you babe❤️❤️❤️

yourusername ugh i love you !!😭😭

mickschumacher seeing you in your element has been my favorite thing to see. forever proud of you, liebling❤️

yourusername i love you mickie 🩵

mickschumacher i love you more

user1 YES FINALLY!!!!

user2 half of her sales are gonna be generated by me🫠🫠🫠🫠

user3 i just went there this morning!!!!🤭🤭

user4 OMG HOW WAS IT?????

user3 ugh she's so sweet. her pastries are the best thing i've ever tasted. it was packed even this morning, but she took time to make small talk with every single customer and was overall really nice and thoughtful🫣❤️

user5 was Mick at the opening?

yourusername he was!! albeit very hidden away because he "didn't want to steal the spotlight away from me", but he was there!!🥰

user5 we love a supporting Mick🥹🥹

user6 is it normal to feel jealous of Mick for bagging her?

mickschumacher yes.

user6 BAHAHAHAHA MICK

landonorris where is my package? 😔

yourusername almost finished, slow your horses

landonorris i thought you'd forgotten about me

yourusername you spam mine and Mick's phones every day. i couldn't forget if i wanted to

landonorris 😁😁😁😁

corinna.schumacher so proud of you, dear ❤️

yourusername you’ve been the biggest help, thank you for everything that you’ve done for me ❤️❤️❤️

corinna.schumacher you have a gift, people will be lucky to have a taste of your pastries ❤️

yourusername 😭❤️❤️

mickschumacher added to their story

caption: woken up with a lot of love this morning <3

liked by yourusername, estebanocon and 2,194,582 others

mickschumacher special guest in the paddock with me today ❤️ tagged: yourusername

view all 302,594 comments

yourusername i love you🫶🏻🫶🏻

mickschumacher i love you and your pastries🫶🏻

yourusername is that why you keep me around?

mickschumacher basically

user1 OMG DID SHE BRING PASTRIES TO THE PADDOCK?🫣🫣

user2 I'M DEAD she's so precious😩😩😩😩

landonorris thank you for the package😁😁😁

yourusername i'm glad you liked it

landonorris my trainer might want to have a word with you later😆

yourusername thanks for feeding me to the wolves

mickschumacher don’t worry babe, i’ll protect you

charles_leclerc Y/N should receive an award for baker of the year👏👏

yourusername thank you, charles. did you like the eclairs?

charles_leclerc i did...

yourusername wonderful😋

user3 not y/n making fun of charles' name😭😭

user4 i need to taste her pastires. IT'S A MUST🫠🫠

lilymhe she's an absolute goddess🩵🩵🩵

yourusername you're too kind lils🩵🩵

kellypiquet P is in love with Y/N now🫶🏻

yourusername precious little P🥹🩵

maxverstappen1 you're gonna get all of us fat🫣

yourusername don't blame this on me. i just brought them, i didn't make you eat them

maxverstappen1 but they looked so good...

mickschumacher stop attacking my girlfriend😠

user5 mick's instagram is slowly becoming a fan page for Y/N and i'm here for it😩😩

mickschumacher can you blame me?

user5 absolutely not. completely valid

yourusername i'm just too perfect😋🥰

mclaren we'd like to submit a request to have your pastries at our motorhomes from now on

mecerdesamgf1 so would we

redbullracing same here

astonmartinf1 put us on the list

mickschumacher OKAY WE GET IT

yourusername that's a whole load of pastries to bake

user6 every team on the grid has fallen in love with y/n and her baking

user7 watch y/n dominate the entire paddock from now on

liked by mickschumacher, lilymhe and 392,185 others

yourusername my forever favorite company❤️ (look at my precious pookie angie😭😭❤️❤️❤️) also taking a little break from baking because Mick thinks i'm too involved or something tagged: mickschumacher

view all 85,193 comments

mickschumacher i sometimes think you love Angie more than you love me

yourusername that's because it's true

mickschumacher ......

yourusername love youuuuu

mickschumacher you do bake too much lately

yourusername my demand is high. i'm just that good

mickschumacher ugh

lilymhe you’re so pretty 😭😭😭

yourusername staaaawp you’re gonna make me cry😭❤️❤️

landonorris how are my croissants doing?

yourusername you realize i do have a life, right?

landonorris i do. now, the croissants?

yourusername ….

yourusername almost ready

landonorris 😁😁😁

charles_leclerc we cannot wait to see you at the paddock again, y/n😃

mickschumacher are you using my girlfriend to get sweets?

yourusername be nice, mickie

yourusername charles_leclerc don’t worry, i’ll bring you the eclairs as soon as i get there

charles_leclerc you’re the best☺️☺️☺️

user1 the drivers being obsessed with mick’s girlfriend was not on my bucket list for this year 😅😅

user2 she’s being so sweet to the entire grid 🥺🥺

maxverstappen1 P can’t wait to see you either

yourusername my precious sweetheart 🥺🥺❤️

user3 at this point, everyone loves Y/N more than they love Mick🤣

alex_albon that dog is really cute

mickschumacher she is a beauty, isn’t she?

yourusername do you think your pets would be up for a play date?

alex_albon we can arrange something. as long as you bring some cupcakes 😁😁😁

yourusername deal

user4 they look so cute together 😭😭😭

user5 that dog is their child, nobody can change my mind

lilymhe i miss little angie so much😭😭

yourusername she misses auntie lils as well 😭

alex_albon we have so many pets and you're missing someone else's dog?

lilymhe YOU DON'T GET IT ALEX

yourusername MEN.

mickschumacher you messed with the wrong people Alex

alex_albon 😟😟

liked by yourusername, mickschumacher and 493,185 others

mercedesamgf1 Very big thanks to yourusername for providing us with the best pastries in town!!!❤️ tagged: yourusername

view all 59,184 comments

yourusername always happy to provide for the team❤️❤️

mercedesamgf1 ❤️

mickschumacher this is getting out of hand

yourusername relax mickie, it's my job, you know

mercedesamgf1 yeah mickie, don't interfere with the job

landonorris you made mine with papaya cream

yourusername extra special dose of love and kindness for the team

georgerussell63 MINE WAS SO GOOD

yourusername i’m glad you liked it georgie 😁😁

lewishamilton Roscoe was so happy when he saw the cupcake of himself

yourusername his was made with an extra dose of love 😭😭

mclaren thank you yourusername for the delivery!!! you can mark us down as regular clientele from now on 🥰

yourusername of course you guys 🥰🥰

mickschumacher you people do realize she needs to breathe, right?

mclaren no

redbullracing no

astonmartinf1 no

mercedesamgf1 you have a problem with us?

mickschumacher …no

maxverstappen1 P cried from excitement when we showed her the cupcake with her 😩

yourusername 🥺🥺🥺baby P is my favorite client

mickschumacher didn’t realize i would have to share my girlfriend with the rest of the grid…

mercedesamgf1 make peace with is, Mick. your girlfriend is now our girlfriend

yourusername ☺️☺️i love it when you fight over me

user1 this is actually so sweet of her 😭😭

user2 the fact that she spent so much time making these for them just proves how perfect she is ❤️❤️❤️

user3 how did her and Mick get together?

user4 hahahaha funny story. they actually met in a little bakery in Mick’s hometown, ordered the exact same order and then started talking and here they are almost 3 years later

user3 that is so sweet and so fitting for Mick 😭😭

user5 if Mick doesn’t marry her, i will

user6 mickschumacher can you fight?

mickschumacher for her, yes. bring it

user7 mick willing to fight over Y/N’s pastries 😭😭

comments and re-blogs help us grow!

much appreciated!!

REQUEST HERE

[silvers-not-home]

rewatching double life right now but through jimmys pov and just realized how violently ill rancher duo makes me /aff

like there's no way there's a duo THIS healthy in this series. the whole fucking point of the life series is betrayal and deception and blah blah blah all that jazz but rancher duo never did any of that. they always told eachother their plans, ideas, schemes, where they were going. and even if they didn't cough cough jimmy going into the deep dark cough cough he still came clean and told tango anyways. we have someone who's death is such a staple in the fandom/series that it's become a whole thing and someone who's death you go "oh yeahhh i forgot about that one, how'd he die again?"

they're both so ignored and the fact that they pay so much attention to eachother literally makes me sick to my stomach /hj /aff

like i don't know much about flower husbands but like. i know it probably wasn't.. the healthiest of any of the ships so take my words with a grain of sand here. jimmy was practically invisible to scott no hate love him to death but c!scott IS on my hit list and tango is just so blatantly ignored by the watchers and other members sometimes i literally forget he's there and when i do my autism shoots up like a firework.

jimmy is mocked in a /lh way but we're talking abt their c!versions so that might not be as lighthearted as you think c!jimmy sorry bud so much to the point no one takes him seriously and tango is so forgotten that no one takes him seriously. though they might not be taken seriously when they're together they're still known throughout the server. jimmy has what tango doesn't: patience and less impulsive thinking. and tango has what jimmy doesn't: rage and more tactical thinking.

while tango is going absolutely apeshit over the ranch burning down and everyone is basically taunting him, making him even more upset as if either of them need that jimmy is the one to hold tango back. he doesn't want him rushing in not because they share health and trying to keep himself safe desert duo im looking at you, you toxic bastards /aff but because he genuinely CARES about him. because when they go after scar and grian they want to be prepared and logical about their attacks. he'll still listen and follow through with tangos plan but not when they don't have one, he was so excited to bring the warden to grian and scar because he genuinely believed that they would get revenge the safe way (as safe as you can get anyways)

and when the plan backfired he didn't get mad or upset at tango. he helped him through it with the knowledge they could both die just by one small slip up but damnit if he's gonna take them out he's standing tall next to him.

they never got mad at eachother. not when the plans backfired or when jimmy died and lost all his stuff and had to travel across the whole server just to not get his stuff back or when jimmy went into the deep dark, putting them both in danger or when tango got them both killed in the FIRST EPISODE, activating his curse again (i know it wasn't technically jimmy that died but he still lost a life so i'm counting it anyways shut up)

because grian would've been pissed (talking about character versions still stick with me here) at scar if the roles were swapped, probably would've kept him at their base for the whole damn season actually. but jimmy listened to tango, obviously he was upset but never at tango. he just wanted to know what lead up to that and from that they made a plan.

the difference between team rancher and desert duo is when scars falling grian yells out for him, not because he cares about scars safety but because he cares about his safety.

meanwhile when tangos falling jimmy jumps after him while screaming his name, making sure that if he's going to die it's tangos name staining his tongue and without the selfish intent of keeping himself safe.

because when grain looks into scars eyes he only sees himself. meanwhile when jimmy looks into tangos eyes he sees tango looking back.

[mixtapebookclub]

Episode 47 is here, time to adapt! 

Come join @malmuses and @ellen-of-oz as they chat with guest author @nickelkeep about fics inspired by other media.

Check out the discussed fics below!

Direct website link to the episode.

The main fics we discuss in this episode are:

Dean and Cas Make a Porno by @nickelkeep

Fallout: Supernatural by @maggiemaybe160 and insominia The Best Judge of Happiness by @tsujiharu Revelation 13 by @casgore

For a full list of fics discussed, check out the blog post!

You can listen to the Mixtape Book Club podcast on our website, http://mixtapebookclub.com, or on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, Stitcher, Podbean, and most other popular podcasting apps.

Enjoy!

Do you love Supernatural? Are you a fan of Dean and Castiel, and their relationship? Do you enjoy reading Destiel fanfiction? This is the podcast for you!

You can find our Mixtape Book Club Ao3 collection here, containing the stories we’ve discussed on the podcast so far.

A warning: adult themes and swear words are mentioned in this podcast.

MBC is a positive fandom space. You will not find negative reviews, fandom trashing, or negativity beyond some good-natured mocking of the show itself here; we only feature fic that we like. Please keep that in mind when reaching out to us or interacting in our social media spaces.

[fuzzylichu]

can you do a mick schumacher x female reader smut where it involves the cowboy hat rule and a daddy kink 🙈

Rodeo.

Mick Schumacher x reader

You looked through your Instagram feed seeing the new Haas posts of the boys dressed like cowboys. glaring to the bedside table, you saw the exact same cowboy hat that Mick was wearing in the photos. Out of boredom you took the hat and wore it. It suit you surprisingly well. You sent a selfie to Mick as a joke, not expecting much.

"I'm omw." He sent you a message back immediately. It sounded like he was mad or at least serious.

__

You heard a beep on the door as it opened. "Hey babe? Are you ok?" You asked him as he closed the door.

"yeah everything's fine"

"oh thank god."

"babe, do you know about the cowboy hat rule?" He hugged you and smothered you in kisses . "You Wear the hat, you need to ride the cowboy" he whispered.

"wait are you serious?" You giggled.

"mhm"

You saw him start to unbuckle his belt and you started to take your thong off. "Mick-"

"ah- no, you know what you need to call me." He said sternly.

"sorry daddy" you mumbled in embarrassment; You could just feel Mick's mood change. He pulled down his boxers before sitting down on the sofa, revealing his boner which had been waiting for ages to fuck you.

"come on, what you waiting for sugar?" He slapped his thigh to signal you. He got your ass and lined you up. In a sudden swift, he pulled you down, making you take all of him.

"daddy!" You gasped loudly.

"oh sorry did I catch you by surprise?" He teased.

Was his dick not only pretty, it was perfect. Like it was made for you. It fit you perfectly, it hit the right spot each time as if it was molded just for you and you only. It felt unreal.

"hey, not yet" he pulled you back down as you started to ride him. He hugged you tight. "Oh my god, you feel so tight" he whispered in his breath as you squirmed around.

"you wanna move now?" He squeezed your ass. You slowly started to move up and down. As he guided you as you rode him, he grabbed the cowboy hat and put it on you. He moved you up and down without stop and started leaving love bites around your body.

You moaned every single time he slammed into you, making you more and more closer to your orgasm.

You heard the bell ring and then a familiar voice. "Mick! Me and Daniel and Lance are going out, wanna come?" He shouted.

"it's estaban... shit." Mick whispered in his breath. A few moments later, mick started to pump you full of his seeds which made you start your orgasm. He covered his mouth to stop himself from moaning but completely forgot about you.

"oh my g..~! Daddy~!" You moaned as you finished.

"woah! Little Mick's grown up! Good on you" Daniel shouted.

"Daniel!" You could hear estaban shout in the distance

"they're gonna tease us all day tomorrow" he laughed as he pulled out of you.

__

[its-all-papaya]

for the ask game: 54 for landoscar <3 seeing one (or two) of them jealous would be interesting :)

hi anon i know it took me three weeks to answer your ask but in return i have for you... a whole-ass fic ! this wasn't actually my intent setting out but this fill kept growing and growing so. everybody eat up.

send me a ship and a number and i will write a kiss

54. out of envy or jealousy | landoscar | 2.2k

When Oscar was three, he’d had a toy car tugged straight out of his hands on the second day of nursery school. He hadn’t cried, too caught off-guard to. Instead, he’d swiveled his head back and forth until he’d caught a teacher’s eye and she’d come over to mediate. “But I wanted it!” the other child had yelled, face gone rosy, and Oscar had had half a mind to give in just to stop the wailing. It was the best car, though, bright red like a Ferrari, and Oscar had been just about to take the chequered flag. Instead, he’d waited patiently to the side while his teacher dealt with the crying, then he’d finished the final lap while the other boy sat time-out. Later, their teachers set everybody down before naptime and read a book about the Green-Eyed Monster, and how he twisted thoughts and made things messy. Oscar figured he’d probably know by now if there was a monster inside of him, and he’d fallen straight to sleep when the lights had gone out.

read the rest on ao3 <3

[myth-blossom]

All That Matters

I wrote a lil fic for 47’s birthday! You can check it out at the link below 😊 Be sure to check out more 47 birthday fics here!

Happy birthday to the best clone boi!!! ❤️

Fandom: Hitman (Video Games)

Relationship: Agent 47/Diana Burnwood

Rating: Mature

Summary:

When 47 gets injured, Diana cancels their vacation to take care of him. He feels guilty for ruining their plans.

[nobigsecrets]

Happy Birthday

"13 years," Danny states while looking at the ocean churning below.

"What?" Steve asks, instinctively moving closer.

"It's more than a quarter of my life now that I've been here in Hawaii," Danny clarifies and then looks up to meet Steve's eyes with a smile. "With you."

[rosyjn]

husband

[evita-shelby]

Planning a little soulmates!Jack x Eva oneshot and need to pick which locket mentioned in at least 3 stories should it be

A)

B)

Tagging the thg gals since Seeds is part of the story @justrainandcoffee @call-sign-shark @emotionalcadaver @peakyswritings

And those who read National Anthem and What Happens in Vegas @zablife @thegreatdragonfruta

[f1prompts]

Charles/Max

Established relationship between Max and girl!Charles as racers. They're out. Max is still misunderstood by public as an angry individual and people are like 'why is she dating him? '. So Charles took it upon herself to protect him. Whenever a stupid question comes about Max, Charles goes all sweet pr smiles and angel face but fire in her eyes with the most venomous answers. She holds his hand around paddock so if he snaps at someone for being rude she can drag him away.

So yeah, guard Charles please!!

If you’d like to fill this prompt, click here for our Fills FAQ 💖

[lensman-arms-race]

Aftermath (TV Titan post-episode 47, ~2.5k words)

This was a request from an anonymous user. The original prompt was:

As a request for a fic - I'd love to see something from TTV's POV after the episode 47 incident. The feeling of agony (faces have the most pain receptors out of anywhere on the body, and since TV screens are so fragile, I imagine they'd be very susceptible to pain too) both physically and mentally. If we look at Sabre's POV for something to go by as to how TV's teleport, they seem to go through some sort of different dimension, and re-emerge where they intend to go to. Some angst involving TTV making his way to the TV base and feeling hurt and worthless at not being able to disinfect TSpeaker and dumb at falling for the trap and enraged at being so close to killing GT would hit SO hard! If you're up to writing it, maybe there's some fluff evolving the other TV's when he lands in the repair bay. Maybe Polycephalies appears and drops the jokey demeanour for once and comforts TTV (similar to how he comforts Phaeton in Catastrophic Mission Failure).

Request queue

Hosted versions of this fic: skibzone (my site), AO3

Much angst alert!!

---

In the space of just thirty seconds, everything that could have gone wrong had gone horribly wrong -- and the TV Titan felt that it had only itself to blame.

The Titan, blinded, had to navigate the void-pathways by thought alone-

It had been so close.

…Get… towards the Base…

The Titan had lost its flightpack, lost its magnificent raking claws, lost the banks of amps that the Soundkind had gifted it -- and now the Skibidis had used the Sound Titan to smash the TV Titan's screen. It hurt-- both the agony and the humiliation…

The Titan stood in the void, alone, shuddering, as little shards of glass dropped from its screen.

The TV faction were perfectionists enough that they had not believed there was a possibility of their Titan failing - but they were also perfectionists enough to have prepared for that eventuality anyway. The SOP in case of mission failure was for the Titan to port to a specified location just outside TV Base - close enough for aid to be delivered, but avoiding porting any potential skibidi detritus inside the base itself.

…Get towards the Base… Find the path.

The Titan stood unsteadily, almost delirious with pain and regret and anger and guilt and self-loathing and confusion, clutching its head in its hands against the agony radiating from the blade embedded in its screen. The black fog coiled inside its teleport circuit thrummed as the Titan tried to concentrate through the pain and find the way home. Luckily for the Titan, its sheer size allowed it to rip its way through the void-pathways, the subtle network forced aside and made to conform to the Titan's will, like vegetation trampled by elephants.

Through the pain, the Titan felt a familiar weight on its shoulder and a touch on the side of its head.

"Titan, follow your Imperator. I will guide us to the hangar. Can you port again? I will steer us," said the Imperator from where they had just teleported upon the Titan's shoulder.

The Titan managed to stop its wordless static scream enough to choke out an affirmative response. The Imperator initiated the short teleport into the hangar, and both units stepped sideways from reality into the void-plane. The Titan gratefully ceded control to the Imperator, concentrating only on staying on the Imperator's pathway and on sitting itself down so it could manifest inside the hangar. The Imperator steered the pair perfectly, the Titan porting to exactly the point in its hangar where its crew of engineers had the greatest range of access.

The Imperator stroked the side of the Titan's head comfortingly. "We're here, you're safe. My dear Titan, you did well, following the void-pathway just now. Rest now, you're in good hands."

"My Imperator… I've failed you. I had one job…"

"You can have 5 more seconds, then pack that shit in," said the Imperator, to which the Titan responded with a confused chirp of static. "This is a disappointing outcome and a terrible setback, that much is true," continued the Imperator. "But this self-flagellation serves no-one. Serve your Imperator by concentrating utmost effort on your recovery."

"…I will obey, my Imperator," replied the Titan.

"I know you will," the Imperator said, stroking the side of the Titan's head. The Imperator was disappointed. The Titan should have been able to finish the job. But the Imperator would squash it down and hide it from their dear Titan - there was nothing the Imperator could say that the Titan would not already have said to itself. Punishing the poor Titan would only have been heaping extra evil onto its suffering.

The Imperator teleported to the Engineer Prime. "Sixty-Eight. Am I needed here still?"

"No, Imperator," said Sixteen-Sixty-Eight, the Engineer Prime. There was no rudeness in their response, only the matter-of-fact pragmatism that characterised the TV faction. The Imperator needed to make battle plans, and the Engineer needed to repair the Titan, and they would best assist each other by getting out of each other's way.

"Imperator, don't leave me," said the Titan. "Please… stay with me."

The Imperator teleported back to the Titan's shoulder, resting their hand on the side of the Titan's head and rubbing it soothingly. "I don't want to leave you, dear Titan," said the Imperator, "But I have to leave you. I urgently need to speak with the other Imperators. I am sorry." The Imperator pressed themself to the side of the Titan's head, hugging the huge flat surface as best they could. The Titan trembled under the Imperator's touch. "The Alliance is not finished yet. One Titan remains. Still in recovery, but nearer than you to being able to re-enter the field. …I must depart now, dear one. I will return." The Imperator ended the hug and gave the Titan's head some final strokes. "Sixty-Eight will look after you, I know they will. Be good for your Imperator, my dear Titan."

"I obey my Imperator," said the Titan, and the Imperator teleported away. "Sixty-Eight… I need you," said the Titan. "I need you and I can't see you."

Sixty-Eight teleported to where the Imperator had just been, and laid a hand on the side of the Titan's head. Techfolk didn't need to be able to see to locate each other - they all could perceive each other's yes-I-live signals. Sixty-Eight guessed that the Titan was in too much pain to be able to mentally untangle the signals, and in distress about losing its vision. "I'm right here, Titan," said Sixty-Eight.

"Thank you," said the Titan. "Don't leave me."

Sixty-Eight felt crushed. "I'm so sorry," said Sixty-Eight. "I need to get to work right away. You'll have to wait for me just a little while longer-"

Sixty-Eight was interrupted by the sudden arrival of their deputy Forty-Two-Twelve, the Vice-Engineer Prime. "I've got this," said Twelve, teleporting next to the Engineer Prime. Even now, the engineers were prepping the ceiling cranes on Twelve's transmitted orders. Twelve transmitted privately to Sixty-Eight: "I'll get the Titan fixed. Stay up here and keep the Titan as calm as you can."

"Thank you," transmitted Sixty-Eight in reply. Twelve nodded to confirm their understanding, and teleported away. Sixty-Eight felt immense gratitude for Twelve's actions, and was glad to have such a reliable deputy and team that they could hand over command without worry. They would thank Twelve properly later. "I'm here," said Sixty-Eight again, rubbing the side of the Titan's head comfortingly.

"It hurts, Sixty-Eight," said the Titan. "It hurts so much."

Sixty-Eight felt crumpled with sorrow. The manipulated Sound Titan had plunged a blade right into the TV Titan's screen, compromising the vacuum of the glass CRT envelope. It was only the Titan's implosion band that prevented the screen from shattering altogether.

The Titan and Sixty-Eight perceived Twelve's transmitted commands to all engineers present - both the Titan's permanent crew, and as many floating engineers as the faction could spare. Twelve ordered them to prioritise removing the blade - at its depth, the tip was buried in the Titan's deflection plates and causing constant pain.

"This is going to hurt so much," said the Titan pitifully, placing its hands on a couple of nearby gantries (making a couple of engineers teleport swiftly away) and gripping them to steel itself. Pulling the blade out would relieve the pressure on the deflection plates, but it was also probably the main thing keeping the giant pane of screen glass together. Switching the Titan off altogether was always an option, but no-one, Titan included, wanted to do that. The Titans weren't meant to be cold-booted - their continued operation was dependent on interconnected systems that relied on each other to stay online.

"I'm right here," Sixty-Eight said again, trying to soothe the Titan.

"You'll look after me, won't you, Sixty-Eight?" asked the Titan.

"Of course," said Sixty-Eight. They felt so helpless - they wished they could do more to take their dear Titan's pain away.

"You always did," said the Titan. "You were there… you brought me into existence, and you looked after me… You've always made me feel so well looked-after." (Sixty-Eight stroked the Titan's head as it spoke.) "I've let you down, my dear engineer," continued the Titan. "I've let the faction down."

"You haven't!" said Engineer Sixty-Eight. "You haven't. You came back to us. You're still with us… you didn't fail. …And you did damage the Skibidi leader." Like the Imperator, Sixty-Eight couldn't bring themself to be angry with the Titan for its carelessness in what it knew to be a trap. At least the faction still had a Titan, which was more than could be said for the Soundkind.

"I did, didn't I," said the Titan quietly. "That I did."

A trio of ceiling cranes moved into place on trackways, as the TV engineers prepared to extricate the knife. Engineers teleported into place on footholds on the crane hooks and shackles, and began chaining them to the giant knife handle.

"Don't get rid of the knife…" said the Titan as the engineers worked. "Keep it somewhere for me… I'll use it… I'll do to them what they made Titan Soundkind do to me." The Titan trembled, clenching its fists, and said quietly, as if to itself, "I'll avenge you, Comrade Soundkind." The cranes strained as they pulled out the knife tip from the deflector plates, then the knife suddenly was free and surged forth out of the Titan's screen. The Titan emitted a shuddering buzzing sound of protest.

"How does it feel?" asked Sixty-Eight, continuing to stroke and rub the side of the Titan's head. "You're being so brave about this, dear Titan."

"Oh, it feels bad…" replied the Titan. "My deflectors feel slightly better for it." The Titan gripped a gantry hard enough to warp the railing, as the cracks in its screen spiderwebbed outwards with a horrid crunching sound.

The Titan heard the familiar sound of a teleport right below its head, then was aware of a weight bearing down on its arm - and the sudden arrival of a nearby yes-I-live signal.

"Polycephaly's here for you," said the owner of the signal.

The Titan clung to Polycephaly for comfort, letting go of the gantries so it could clutch Polycephaly to its chest above its core.

Polycephaly re-arranged themself slightly to accommodate the Titan's grip, and hugged themself to the Titan's arm. "I'm here," Polycephaly repeated. "…I wish I could do more for you."

The Titan firmly stroked Polycephaly's back. Polycephaly was surprised by this treatment - "You're the one who most needs comforting right now, not me," they thought. The Titan repeated the gesture, catching its fingertips on Polycephaly's sub-screens. As the Titan continued, Polycephaly realised the Titan was trying to stroke the screens away and pull out Polycephaly's stems to their full length. "Anything for you, Titan," thought Polycephaly, and obligingly protracted their stems.

The Titan wrapped its fingers around Polycephaly's stems and pulled at them gently, dragging its fingers along the stems' length. Polycephaly uttered a surprised chirp of static, not sure what the Titan was trying to achieve, and consciously relaxed their stems as much as possible to let the Titan do whatever it was trying to do. The Titan continued stroking Polycephaly's stems, wrapping them around its fingers, and pulling them gently, apparently using them as a stress-reliever. "…I'll let you do that if you need to," thought Polycephaly. "Anything for you."

"I don't know where I'd be without you, Polycephaly," said the Titan quietly. "You're the only one in this faction who knows what I've been through."

Polycephaly wasn't sure what to make of that statement. They hadn't suffered any injury nearly this bad. Then it dawned on Polycephaly: "Being upgraded, you mean?"

"Yes," said the Titan. "You took the biggest risk of us all. You did what no TV did before." The Titan gathered Polycephaly in its arms as much as it could.

"Thank you, Polycephaly," transmitted Sixty-Eight privately to the large unit. "Please would you continue letting the Titan hold you? Your presence is calming it a little."

"Of course," transmitted Polycephaly.

The Titan basked in the presence of Sixty-Eight and Polycephaly, the two units it felt closest to. If it paid a little attention, it could distinguish snippets of transmission going back and forth in the hangar between Engineer Twelve and all their colleagues. The Titan was still in pain and still felt like a failure, but it took courage from how quickly yet calmly its engineers were working. "The most powerful and perfect of all Titans must have the best engineering team," thought the Titan.

"Titan," transmitted Engineer Twelve, the Vice-Engineer Prime. They kept their transmission public, so that Engineer Sixty-Eight would receive it too. "We have to remove all the remnants of your broken screen. We will probably have to resort to a controlled implosion - I am sorry. We will eventually need to remove the entire CRT and build you a replacement. Until then, we will need to bolt a covering over your screen aperture to protect the insides of your head." Twelve directed some more engineers and cranes into place to begin the task.

The Titan felt a great sadness at the realisation it would be sightless until its new CRT could be built and fitted. It tried to comfort itself with the knowledge that it was in the safest and cosiest place it could possibly be - its hangar - surrounded by the units it trusted the most.

"I'm sorry, my dear Titan," continued Engineer Twelve. "I wish there was an easier way."

"I'm sorry," transmitted the Titan in reply. "I know it's an arduous task to align that many magnets." The huge magnets of the Titan's CRT would hurt the engineers' much smaller ones - the installation process would require the engineers to spend at least as much time de-gaussing as working.

"But you're worth it, Titan," transmitted Twelve. (Engineer Sixty-Eight chirped in agreement with their deputy's words and rubbed the side of the Titan's head some more.)

"Don't tell the Titan yet," transmitted Sixty-Eight privately to Twelve, "But we should go ahead and start building the upgrades instead of building copies of the previous parts. I think the Titan will appreciate that but I don't want to get its hopes up just yet."

"Agreed on all counts," transmitted Twelve. "When I can, I'll begin delegating upgrade tasks. …When our Titan returns to the field, our enemies won't even recognise it."

┄

Elsewhere in TV Base, the TV Imperator conferenced with the Imperators of the Camera and Soundkind factions.

"Operation Vengeance has failed," said the TV Imperator.

The Soundkind Imperator slumped in devastation. They surely already knew, from the fact that their Titan had not sent any message to their base, but must have been holding onto hope until the TV Imperator confirmed the worst.

The TV Imperator continued: "Target Alpha took damage, but still lives. Our Titan is now incapacitated, and the Sound Titan is still under enemy control. Imperator Camera… your Titan must not fail."

[thecheesiestcheese23]

the hand that feeds (and the heart that bleeds)

47 was an unknown and innominate man whose mind was a gaping maw of death and destruction; who was a blight upon some and a freak of nature to others. He thought he was nothing more, could be nothing more.

Until he remembered.

Until Six.

Until Lucas.

--

hello!! this is my first time writing anything in like,,, ever so please don't judge lmao. i recently got into this game and the lore and storyline is soso good compared to other fandoms i've been in recently.

for some notes: this is mainly based off of the trilogy, however i have added some aspects of the old games and from what i've seen of the comics. also, i have not read the comics, so i have taken some liberties on them. the title is loosely based off of ozymandias by percy bysshe shelly (which is a really good read) and i def recommend. ALSO if anyone has any song recommendations for my hitman playlist pls drop a comment ty.

please do enjoy!

words: 4.6k

--

A timeless chasm tears open within his mind, the hungered mouth swallowing everything that he knew.

“This is your gift.” An empty voice speaks to him and a blank-faced boy. He blinks, and the boy dissipates into ash. “Your gift, and your curse.” A heavy hand rests upon his shoulder (upon his mind and his memories, burying them) and squeezes, a nameless man looming above him. A voice booms from the man, and yet he only shows a vacant visage. “To touch lives only by ending them.”

--

Agent 47 was no stranger to being called a machine.

He's heard it from other ICA agents spread through gossip, an off-handed comment from Diana, an insult spat from the lips of Soders as he died. He let it fester, doing nothing to stop it. It had never bothered him before: let people think what they will.

After all, it was partially true in some form, not that he remembered- he was genetically modified for killing, his bare atoms torn apart and made into an unempathetic and inhumane killer. He was a twisted and unsettling imitation of a man, a vicious mockery of what he should have been. An improbable being made of stone and dust where blood that is not his own drips down his body and pools beneath his feet.

Before he remembered, 47 thought he could be nothing more. The call of death hummed in his veins with the handle of a knife fitting perfectly within the palm of his calloused hand. It was all he knew since waking up in the asylum, knowing nothing more than the most effective way to kill and how the recoil of a gun felt.

The ICA had given him a sense of purpose. A home, of sorts. Diana, in turn, appeared in his life, a constant presence in his ear, her quick-witted humor and steady voice filling in the void where he knew someone else should be.

The thought would give him pause at moments, which was unlike him. 47 knew he didn’t remember much of anything beyond the art of death, but there was always this pressing feeling that there was more that he should know. It settled like ash on his tongue, sour and grainy.

The only proof that he held of this feeling was the polaroid clutched between his thumb and forefinger. Angry eyes stared back at him, a cold blue that mirrored his own detached ones. It was him- he was sure of it. The picture sat heavy in his scarred palm, an unnamed weight tied to it.

47 sees the face every time he blinks his eyes, an unknown slate of himself pushing against his eyelids, a haunting image following him wherever he goes. It presses down on his shoulders, bears down on his violent mind. He leans back in the leather chair that sat in the hotel room, the material squeaking in protest for a moment. There had been points over his time employed at the ICA where he had wondered if his past was really worth remembering.

His eyes slid over to the open briefcase on the made bed, the light from the windows catching on the sliver of the guns and the glass of the bottles. He remembers what Diana had told him over the phone call, her smooth voice crackling over the phone, over the many continents that separated them.

“I, too, know what it’s like to have everything taken from you.” Diana admitted, her voice tinny over the phone. 47 says nothing, letting her speak. “He claims to know about your past; your childhood, your memories, everything Ort-Meyer stole from you.”

Would it be worth it? To join Providence just to remember his past? More importantly, how did Providence know who he used to be? There had to be something more than what they were telling Diana.

He didn’t know if it was worth it. It was as if the world had just spat him out; opened up to a gaping maw where he was made not from a mother or father but from death itself. If that was all he remembered, then maybe there was a reason for that.

47 slides the photo into his pocket, smoothing it over as he stands up fluidly from the chair. With a snap, he closes the briefcase and takes it in hand. There was little else for him to take- he never left a trace of himself anywhere. (Distantly, somewhere far away, a rosary hangs from a wooden gate, swaying softly in the wind.)

He strides out the door, a ghost in everything but name.

--

The first memory 47 could recall was of a snow white rabbit.

It was a runaway lab rabbit with beady red eyes and silky fur. The first time 47 had met it, it had been hidden underneath his bed. Curious, he reached his hand out to grab it, yet it had scurried away.

He was unsure of what to do, how to continue. It was unnerving.

47 did not know how to be kind.

Over the expanse of a few weeks, 47 taught himself how to care. He cared for it as well as he knew how- he fed it scraps from dinner and water smuggled from lunch. Slowly, it no longer flinched away from 47’s heavy hand- it leant towards it instead, like a flower to the sun.

He was surprised by the softness of it all. The kindness it exhibited. It was a feeling 47 had never experienced before and it acted as reprieve from the constant tests and pain that the Institute provided.

He knew Ort-Meyer didn’t approve- he made it known with condescending glances and patronizing words, saying that boys like him didn’t need unimportant attachments to such things. Still, he did nothing to remove it, so 47 kept it.

Unlike everything else at the institute, it was gentle- forgiving, even. It was not jagged at the edges or venomous in its words.

And then there was Six.

47 eyes the boy in his room, ever untrusting. The boy (who he distantly recognizes as Subject 6) sputters for a moment, standing up straight from where he was crouched over the rabbit. “You’re supposed to be on a mission.”

47 nods slowly, analyzing the room. Six continues. “I had just heard you had this rabbit. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

He tilts his head, thinking. “It is… alright. You are Subject Six, no?”

Six nods, seemingly more relaxed than the other. “Yes. And everyone knows who you are, 47.” He looks to the rabbit and then back again. “I did not mean to intrude. I can leave if you wish.”

He nods again. “You can… visit more often, if you like. The company would be enjoyable. You do not seem like the others.”

The boy smiles, almost giddily, and 47 is taken aback for a moment.

The next two years pass in a similar motion- the two becoming closer and closer by the day.

That was, until 47 came back to a dead rabbit.

Six was away on a mission, so there was no one for him to turn to. He knelt down before the dead rabbit where it was beaten senseless and bloody, the red blood seeping into the cold concrete below. The other boys had always been particularly cruel. Something burns in his eyes, and before he can blink whatever it was away, it drips down his cheeks.

He stays there, broken and crying before his bloodied rabbit.

--

Streaks of blood stream down Wazier Kale’s forehead. A smoking gun is hidden away, slipped behind the black void that is 47’s suit.

“The infamous Maelstrom is dead.” Diana hums in his ear. “Excellent work, 47.”

47 sometimes wondered about the people he killed. About the families and dreams they left behind; about the opportunities not yet taken. About their life- their past. He wondered what it was like to have the opportunity to be something.

It wasn’t something he enjoyed thinking about often.

“Mission accomplished.” Diana says, breaking him out of his thoughts. “Time to find an exit. It’s almost too bad we can’t stay for a vacation. Lovely weather this time of year.” She jokingly muses, humming and not expecting a reply.

47, as expected, says nothing as he leaves the building. He leaves no trace behind: the gunshot unheard in the loudness of the streets, the gun unregistered, and he easily blends into the crowd.

Diana had asked years upon years ago about his past. About who he was. All he had to answer her with was a number made name and the suit he wore. If asked now by her, he would say that he was a hitman. A contract killer. Others would say that he was a freak of nature, an animal in the skin of a human. As he slid into the cab, to the people wandering the street, he was nothing more than a man.

His back is set in a straight line, the guns resting at his hips barely noticeable. The cab rolls over the brick of the road, and it takes a few minutes before Diana speaks. Usually, the two wouldn’t speak until 47 was back in a safehouse, so he listens intently to her words, wondering if something had gone wrong.

“Agent 47,” Diana breathes, and to anyone else, she would sound impassive, but 47 knows better. She sounds almost giddy, yet she tries to reel it in with a front of professionalism.

He says nothing, not wanting to freak out the cab driver, so he just hums.

“I have been tracking any suspicious purchases of large or abandoned buildings lately after the dismantlement of the base in Colorado, and just now, I have received a notice that an abandoned building out in Romania has been purchased by an antonyms investor with the use of cryptocurrency. It has to be Lucas Grey.”

Lucas Grey. The Shadow client. The man they’ve been hunting for the past year. To have this much of a lead on him would allow 47 to put an end to this once and for all.

But this is almost too easy. Grey has been covering up his tracks well enough over the past year that even Providence hasn’t been able to track him.

“But,” Diana continues, taking the words right out of his mouth. “Even if this does end up to be Grey, it still very much could be a trap.”

The cab sputters to a stop with the driver shouting something in Marathi, and 47 takes that as his cue to get out. He gives the cab driver more than what the fee would have been, but he’s gone by the time the cab driver can process this.

“It is the most we’ve had on him in the past year.” Agent 47 says smoothly, not agreeing or disagreeing on Diana’s hesitance as he strolls on the long-since abandoned sidewalks towards the airport.

“It is.” She agreed, and he can faintly hear typing in the background. “The plan is to wait for a few weeks to monitor the place; see if there will be anyone else entering or leaving the compound.”

He’s silent for a moment before Diana continues.

“47, this is the only way to return your memories. To learn what Ort-Meyer has stolen from you. Don’t you think it’s time to get some closure?”

47 thinks of a polaroid burned long ago. Of angry blue eyes. Of a past long lost. Of a boy he killed.

He finds that he agrees with Diana.

--

47 and Six run through the forest with nothing but the clothes on their backs and each other. Gunfire rings out, bullets lodging themselves in the wood of trees and the soft dirt of the ground.

They duck beneath branches and hop over streams of water, silent as they could be. Their breaths stay quiet and even, trusting in the other to follow them wordlessly as they continue through the endless forest. Their feet sink into the soft earth as down-pouring rain splattered down around them, drenching their jumpsuits as they blinked the water out of their eyes.

“The rain’s good.” Six had whispered to 47 after they had taken out the guards at the main entrance, hovering close behind him. “It’ll cover our tracks.”

47 swiped the access card he had stolen from Ort-Meyer earlier. He was the only one who could get close enough to do so. “It can cover theirs too.” He said, sparing a glance at Six as the door soundlessly unlocked.

The two had been planning this for months on end through hushed voices after dark and on assignments, not wanting to be caught by Ort-Meyer or any of the guards. Finally, they had put their plan into motion: a piece of concrete broken off from the underside of the cafeteria tables had been all they needed to distract a guard and strangle him with a homemade fiber wire. They choke out the others, snap the necks of some, and kill the rest with silenced pistols.

The smell of earth and the taste of liberation on their tongues was a heady feeling.

Now the two sprint towards the promise of freedom with bullets flying at their backs, never taking a moment to rest when they knew it could be their last. 47 dutifully followed Six, never faltering or doubting for a moment.

That was, until he tumbled forward onto the wet and slick ground below. He slides for a moment, unsure of what had happened until a dull pain spreads throughout his shoulder. One of the guards had gotten him. Grunting silently, he pushes himself up with his good arm to his feet, staggering for a moment.

In an instant, Six is by his side, a question on the tip of his tongue before 47 shakes his head. “I’m fine. We need to go.”

Six stares at him for a moment, assessing, before nodding his head in a sharp jerk and taking 47 by the good bicep to encourage him along. “C’mon, 47, aren’t you supposed to be the best of us?” He attempts to joke as they continue running, but it falls flat. Still, 47 finds it within himself to huff a laugh.

They continue to run, only this time side by side with Six clenching his bicep in a death grip as if he was afraid he was going to disappear if he let up for even one second. At least with the movement, he could feel that the bullet had gone clean through, so there was no need to dig it out once they were safe.

Yet safety never came.

With another two resounding gunshots, 47 felt a bullet lodge in his lower stomach, and if knowing by some innate feeling, he shoves Six out of the way to get another bullet lodged in his leg instead of his brother’s.

He tumbles down once more, a wet gasp leaving his mouth as his injured leg connects to the ground below.

“Why would you take that bullet, you-!” Six knelt down beside him, fluttering hands skating over the wounds, not knowing how to help in a moment of panic for his brother. “Shit! 47- fuck, come on, you need to get up!”

“Six.” 47 gasped, more so in fear for his brother than for himself. The barking of dogs and the pounding of footsteps only grew closer. “You need to run.”

“No, come on, I am not leaving you. Not here. Not in their clutches.” Six shakes his head, resolute. 47's heart throbs in anguish. And then his wounds sear in pain as Six attempts to pick him up. He was always the more hopeful of the two.

47, in one last attempt, gets up with the help of his brother before he lurches forward in pain. He knew that even with three bullet holes in him, he would still be able to run, but he would only end up hindering Six. Closing his eyes, he shakes his head. “You need to run.” He repeats.

Six protests immediately. “No-”

“I’ll only slow you down. You and I both know this.” He insists steadily as he stumbles away slowly, acceptance slowly blooming within his gut.

“I’ll carry you. You’ll heal. I can’t go on without you. I won’t know how.” Six continues on, distress clearly showing in the lines of his body.

“The bullet is still in my leg. I won’t make it long without proper medical care.”

“I’ll dig it out myself-”

“Six.” 47 interrupts him, speaking through a mouth full of blood. It dribbles down his chin and stains him. “Please.”

He was never one for words, and he never begged, not for anything, but for his brother, he would do anything. He would get down on his knees before the altar of a long-forgotten god and beg for his safety, he would cut out his heart if Six needed it, he would kill for him, die for him, return to that god-forsaken institute for him. ”Live your life for me. For the both of us. Be free.”

He hesitates for a moment, but 47 can see the dawning realization on his face. His older brother swallows harshly, encapsulating one of his hands in both of his. “I’ll come back for you, okay? I’m- I’m not just going to leave you here.”

He should tell him no. He should tell him to run and forget about everything that has happened here. About the Institute. About Ort-Meyer. About the torture, the experiments, the pain and suffering.

About him.

But he allows himself to be selfish, to hope one last time. He nods shakily, drawing in a deep breath. “Okay.”

Six squeezed his hand, yet the ever-increasing closeness of the guards spurred him away. He disappears into the foliage, looking back one last time before the forest swallows him whole. 47 pitched forward, catching himself on the rough bark of a tree as black spots danced in his vision.

With a shuddering sigh, he forces himself back up and makes his legs move in a different direction, intent on leading the soldiers away. He makes as much noise as possible before he heaves forward, a tangle of limbs on the ground.

The last thing he sees before he passes out is the looming building of the Institute that hovers over the tree line and the muzzle of a Weatherby Vanguard pointed at his face.

The black void engulfs his vision, grief and blood heavy on his tongue.

--

The place, just as Diana had described it, was deserted.

And familiar.

It was familiar in a way you had something at the tip of your tongue, yet couldn't name it. The way a dream slips away. The way you walk into a room and forget why you’re there.

“He’s here.” 47 says as he approaches it.

The dilapidated building stood crumbling yet tall with vines crawling along the stone sides and in through the broken windows. Getting there had 47 traversing through acres upon acres of foliage with only Diana there to guide him at points. There was something odd about this forest, however. At points, there would be bullets deeply ingrained into the trees or embedded into the dirt below.

“The breadcrumbs were almost too easy to follow, 47. This could be a trap-” Diana’s voice wavers for a moment before being forcibly cut off.

“Not a trap.” He muses to himself as a window flickers to life with light.

The gate swung open easily, creaking. If this was any other mission, he would have found another way in.

Deep down however, with a churning gut and unknown past, he knows he knew this building. He loads his gun.

“An invitation.”

Now it was time to find out how.

--

47 sits straight in an uncomfortable chair, the cold of it seeping into his bones. His head is held high as he stares at Ort-Meyer’s back as the man hunches over, fiddling with something.

Resentment pools within his gut and hatred burns the back of his throat.

It would be so easy to slam Ort-Meyer’s head down into the metal table until his face was nothing more than flesh stuck to his palms, but he had to bide his time before his next escape attempt. Six had already gotten out, and that was more than enough for now. To know that his brother was free from the Institution's clutches gave him more than enough hope that he could get out next.

His thigh, shoulder, and stomach all throb in a distant reminder of what had happened: not in pain, but as a dull memory; the wounds have all long since healed. 47 grits his teeth and bides his time.

The rest of his brothers had already been killed or had been placed in another part of the building, but he knew that he wasn’t going to be next. If he was going to be, they would have put him down in that forest. He was too useful to them. He was the perfect clone.

‘Too useful to waste.’ Ort-Meyer apparently agreed with this sentiment.

Something akin to fear settles deep beneath his skin when Ort-Meyer turns back around, filled syringe in hand. The man begins to pace, circling around 47. He tenses and his nails dig into the metal of the chair, leaving crevices behind.

“47,” Ort-Meyer begins, voice even. “I understand your actions. You felt trapped, scared. 6 had been tormenting you for so long."

Confusion paints his face white, but he refuses to show any fear. He swallows harshly as the doctor continues.

“It would only make sense for you to lash out like how you did. However, I would prefer it if you only kill the people we ask you to, 47.”

“What do you mean, father?” 47 asks, fingers twitching as he stares at Ort-Meyer’s neck. Dread pools in his gut and a feeling of wrongness weighs him down.

Ort-Meyer hums in compilation, and 47 hates like never before. “How you killed your tormentor, 6, after he pushed you too far, of course. How he had bullied you for years upon years until you snapped. How you had fled the facility in fear, thinking that we would punish you for such a deed. However, that is not the case. 47."

His heart hammers within his chest, and fear thrums in his nerves. Why is Ort-Meyer telling him this? Did they kill Six? Did they find him? Bile rises up to his throat.

He flicks the tip of the syringe, examining how the light reflects off of the liquid. “We are impressed by your so-called escape, even at the loss of Six. The thoughtfulness you exhibited when you hid his body, made a fiber wire out of a window sill and broom, oiled the door hinges to prevent them from making noise, and shot the guard dog with a bow and arrow is impressive. We cannot let such talent go to waste.”

‘No,’ 47 thinks, an indescribable feeling of dread washing over him. ‘They found him. They killed him. Six is dead because of me.’ “That’s not what happened, father.” 47 says steadily, but his voice sounds shaky even to him. He felt like he was going to be sick.

Ort-Meyer stops behind him, and alarm bells set off deep within him, making him nauseous. “When we’re done here, 47,” Ort-Meyer caresses his head in a mockery of a loving touch, thumbing over the bar code at the back of his head as if he was trying to comfort him. 47 wants to kill him. The prick of a needle at his throat stings for only a moment, and a feeling of numbness settles over him like a scratchy blanket. “It will be.”

--

A shattered mirror lies at the top of a staircase.

The broken pieces jut out like a venus flytrap, and 47 can see the faint traces of blood coating them. 47 stares at himself for a moment, his body broken up and spread through the many pieces.

An angry blue-eyed boy watches him. He blinks, and 47 stares back.

The inside of the building was just as broken down as the outside suggested. Mildew and mold coated the walls, wallpaper torn and spiderwebs crawling along every surface available. 47 stalked forward, following the twisting and turning halls easily as if he knew them like the back of his hand.

The place seemed to be void of any personality: the wallpare a musty green and the flickering lights a sickly yellow, aged with time- yet it gave him this peculiar and inexplicable feeling of home. It sickened him like never before.

His free hand trailed along the decaying walls, something akin to unease settling in the pit of his stomach. There was something about this place that made him want to flee and never look back. It was strange and left him uneasy like never before.

A flickering light beckoned him forward, and shoving everything aside, he followed.

In front of a gaping hole stood Lucas Grey, his silhouette cutting against the harsh light of the afternoon sun. 47 steadied his gun, arm straight and true, yet something made him hesitate.

“You can home.” A haunting voice came from the man, gun in hand. He shifts it so that he held it by the muzzle, turning ever so slightly so he can look 47 in the eye. ”I knew you would.” Grey tosses the gun aside into a puddle, the water rippling for a moment as 47 looks on in muted surprise. “You’ve come a long way, 47. And even now, you don’t remember.”

47 should shoot him down where he stands. He shouldn’t prolong this any longer, but he doesn’t pull the trigger. “This place…” he begins.

“This was our prison.” Grey interrupts, hatred coating his words. He spits the words out like a curse, as if they burned on his tongue. He turns around, and 47’s head pounds. “Where father trained us, shaped us into killers for Providence.”

He stalks forward, gun hand never wavering, but what Grey says next gives him pause. “Now you don’t remember, they ripped it out of you, wiped it away, but I do. I remember everything.”

A hand on his shoulder. A comforting presence. A house yet not a home.

47 shakes his head, finger ghosting the trigger. ”You’re a terrorist with nothing to lose. You’d say anything.” Grey moves to the left, towards the wall, and 47 nearly makes him a smear upon the wall.

The man squats down and digs his fingers into the wall, tearing it away. Two bloodied handprints sit there, and 47’s hand stings in a reminder. The muzzle of the gun is pressed to the back of Lucas’ head as a reminder.

He swallows harshly. “I know it’s difficult. You never miss your mark or question your function. But we made a pact, you and I.”

47 stares at his scarred palm. He had forgone gloves for this mission, and now the matching X on his palm stands out more than ever. Lucas turns, and emotions that 47 can’t catch paint his face. “Do this… we both lose.”

47 remembers little but he knew he was a killer in more ways than one. “There was an incident. That boy… he died by my hands.”

“He lived.” Lucas says, the words dripping out of his mouth like nectar. “Because of you.” He fluidly stands, gray eyes boring into his own, searching frantically. “Don’t you remember his name?” He asks desperately, pressing forward, only stopped by the barrel of a gun kissing his forehead. ”You know this. Deep down, you know. What was his name?”

A forest. A promise. Pain and hope. A brother.

Six.

He raises his gun, hand twitching. “Subject Six. Your name is Subject Six.”

“And what is our purpose?”

Suffering. Experiments. Killing. Flesh tearing anew.

“To destroy them all.”

--

please excuse if the characters are ooc, i haven't written these characters before so i'm still trying to get the hang of writing them. i hope you all enjoyed it! i may write some more on this fandom later on! :)

[crank2006]

soo all the way back in 2021 i had a hitman au concept where lucas barely survives being shot but it messes up his brain so he starts going on violent killing sprees to get 47s attention. it was kinda edgy but i still fuck w it heavy so he’s a redraw of his design from that era lol

[do-it-for-the-fandom]

Was this a prompt? I honestly do not remember... but seeing as I am in yet another writing flunk (this time of year is not great for me, apparently) I figured it was about time I posted this! Set during 47 seconds, just a little ramble + a little non-canon memory thrown in for funsies. Enjoy! : )

Regret.

Richard Castle was filled with regret.

Like ice water in his veins: he could feel every painful drop of it as it coursed through his body, freezing him from the inside out.

Two years ago, when he invited her to his home in the Hamptons, he had been warned - by his mother, by the boys, by Beckett herself - to tread carefully, that this wasn't a smart decision, that someone was bound to get hurt. Like a fool, he didn't heed their warning. He doubled down: insisted his intentions were pure and, somehow, he had managed to convince Kate of that, too.

They'd been out of the city for mere hours before the façade fell, before they both stopped trying to convince themselves that this was a purely platonic weekend getaway, before they acknowledged that - like everyone else had already suspected - this was anything but innocent.

On night one they were already pushing boundaries, dangerously close to breaking the unspoken rules they had lived by for the past year.

By night two, they had created an impenetrable bubble where the rules and the complications of real life couldn't get to them. Within the walls of his Hampton home they had created a new life. A life where maybe they could be together, enjoy each other's company without guilt. A life where their touches didn't have to be restrained and the magnetic draw to one another didn't need to be ignored.

Night three and they felt like it had been this way forever: holding hands as they walked along the beach; occupying one another's space, talking and laughing as they cooked dinner together; snuggling up while watching TV or reading books... it felt like they had spent a lifetime doing these things.

What happened next had only felt right. It was tainted by the bittersweet knowledge that in the morning they would be returning to reality, that it would never be repeated, that it would never be spoken of again -- but still so right.

He didn't regret their one perfect weekend together. He never would. But that summer he found himself wondering if he should have pushed harder, if he should have asked her to give them a real chance.

He supposed he always knew, deep down, that they weren't ready back then. That is, after all, why he had turned to Gina and why (he assumed) Kate had turned to Josh.

Distractions. From what they both wanted, but weren't ready for.

Over the proceeding two years, that idea had only solidified in his mind. After that summer - when he returned to the precinct - it took them a beat to find their feet again, to find their balance with everything that had changed, everything that hadn't. They got there easily enough, considering.

He had let himself believe that it had been a sign that the universe was on his side... on their side. They slotted right into each other's lives so seamlessly, so effortlessly. Surely that had to been a sign that they were destined to figure this out, right?

And that, right there, was the cause of this all-consuming regret. His foolish belief in destiny.

In fate.

In them.

Maybe without that naivety watching the love of his life inadvertently confess to remembering her shooting, to remembering his tear-filled confession of love and to lying to him with such ease wouldn't be quite so painful.

Maybe without that naivety he never would have allowed himself to so recklessly fall for her - someone who never had and never would love him back - in the first place.

He wouldn't be standing in the observation room frozen, angry and regretting the day he had convinced himself that she was worth risking his heart.

[myth-blossom]

For the ask game: "Drink Me" for 47/Diana :D

The ICA valued discretion above all else. There were strict protocols in place that prohibited “inappropriate” communications between staff, most especially with agents and their handlers. They were to exchange only the necessary information needed for their work and nothing more, a safeguard to keep relationships professional and never too personal. It was a rule all employees were expected to follow, and no team did better to elude discovery and punishment of its dismissal like Diana and 47. 

They would meet occasionally and in secret, their topics as sensitive as target intel or as innocuous as Diana’s plans for a summer holiday. It was a habit they formed to defend against Soders and his challenges to their careers, but it also served them well in the Agency’s moments of crisis. They continued to survive on the use of codes they developed over the years, valuing their privacy and safety enough to remain covert even on Agency grounds whenever necessary. 

Most common of their codes were through the use of drink orders. They would arrange a time at a location of Diana’s choice for the next exchange of information. She preferred to keep a clear head for delicate matters such as Agency parties or contract discussions, so when she ordered something, she made sure to make it count. If 47 arrived and she ordered an Aperol Spritz, for instance, that meant it was safe enough for him to be seen with her publicly. If she had ordered champagne, that meant he would receive an item drop at the usual place to help with his next mission. Or if he arrived to find her drinking a gin and tonic, then he knew the location was compromised and he would wait for her call the next day. 

47 didn’t mind the various tricks of their trade. He came to enjoy the fleeting moments and secrets they shared two or three times a month, drifting through various cities around the world in establishments that were grand or even grungy. He didn’t care where the distance took him so long as it brought him closer to her, and it even gave him enough strength to endure the annual company celebration for the ICA.

The Agency spared no expense for the grand event’s catering and entertainment, with many of their colleagues indulging in fine alcohol and fairly loose conversation despite the clandestine nature of the business. Diana was ever the stunning vision in her blue evening dress, catching the attention of many agents and analysts around her. She received numerous requests to dance from her potential suitors, but it was only 47��s hand that she accepted to guide her to the dance floor. He expected her to speak in code as they glided to the music, knowing they were being watched by all eyes in the room. Instead, she simply talked as if they danced together often, smiling and chuckling at his dry humor, him complimenting her outfit, she appreciating his, and so on. The song ended far too quickly before a brave analyst approached to request her next dance, forcing 47 to walk away reluctantly to avoid making a scene.

He watched Diana visit the open bar sometime later, expecting that to be the moment she would address her invitation to him with one of her classic drink orders. But she surprised him once more when she ordered a Tequila Sunrise, its name and lively color missing from their repertoire of coded messages. He waited until she was nearly finished with her cocktail to approach the bar and order the same, indicating his acceptance of her invitation despite having no idea what the new order meant. She dabbed her mouth gently with a napkin before setting it down and walking away, leaving behind a perfect imprint of her painted lips on its material. He retrieved the napkin when no one was looking and discovered the small matchbook she hid underneath, recognizing the logo advertising a luxury hotel downtown.

47 waited long enough after her exit to make his own, making sure no suspicions would be raised at the possibility of them leaving together. He visited the hotel and found a keycard and message waiting for his alias at the front desk, letting him know that his wife had already checked in and was expecting him in their suite on the top floor. When he entered the room, he found the lights set low and Diana looking out over the sparkling city from the balcony. She seemed unbothered by the cool night air as he appeared in the doorway behind her.

“You came,” she said, smiling over her shoulder.

“You asked,” he replied. He breathed in the alluring scent of her perfume when she approached, reminding him of the pleasant dance they shared earlier that evening. “Is everything alright?”

“You tell me,” she whispered, pressing her lips ever so slowly to his. 

He flinched slightly from surprise, but it quickly melted away as he relaxed and returned the kiss he had long dreamed of giving, his arms embracing her tightly as she melted happily against him. He reveled in the taste of Diana, of her drink, of the message he now realized she was trying to send him that evening.

“Stay with me tonight,” she begged, her wish a breathless plea against his lips. He answered with a tender message of his own as he guided her through the threshold and into their bed, sharing secrets and sighs well into the night until they welcomed a beautiful sunrise.

Prompt Meme