#kano: okay boomer shut the fuck up

[stairset]

Watching cutscenes from that one old Clone Wars game and laughing my ass off that there’s a clone named Boomer in it

#rare deleted scene #boomer: you should all value your education back in 1907 when i first graduated from princeton university i remember learning #kano: okay boomer shut the fuck up #actually having a clone named kano is funny too #makes me feel like he should have a laser eye and a thick australian accent #shut up tristan

[nightstalkerhunterguardian]

Tragedy

I keep coming up with in-between scenarios while writing other shit so I mean. 

Here’s another one. 

TW: descriptions of gore

Songs listened to: Panic Room by Au/Ra

Bottom of the River by Delta Rae

Go fuck yourself by Two Feet

-

The idea that they’d one day have to return to the surface of the moon only crossed Kano’s head in a hypothetical sense. She thought she had let go of what happened. Let go of the memory of Crota, of Oryx, of the Dreadnaught, of the bodies of Awoken floating out in the vacuum of space. 

PTSD was common among veteran Guardians, but few seldom talked out about it. It was almost like it all wordlessly bonded them in a sense and they had hoped that what they did on the moon would save the newer generation of Guardians the mind-numbing trauma of what had happened so long ago. 

They were wrong. 

-

She shut down once they entered the moon’s atmosphere. KillShot knew. He could tell by the way her eyes dulled. She had gotten good at shutting down in her years as a Guardian and as necessary as he knew it was, he hated it so damn badly because it took so much after the fact to tell her that she was still a person, that she still was more than a weapon or a soldier, that she was something and someone that mattered. 

She never believed it. 

She wasn’t brought back because she was special or she was unique or any other optimistic reason that Killshot tried to convincer her of. 

Her existence was a tool to ward off tragedy. 

Ironic is how she saw it. 

How was one tragedy supposed to fight off another?

The tag that Drifter had wound in her hair brushed gently against her jawline, along with the small jade charm that hung at the end of the tassel. Whether she was a joke to him or he was trying to make a point, she never bothered to ask but for some reason, she couldn't find it in her to take it out, no matter how many times she cut her hair. The tag remained. 

Landing on the moon and transmatting to the surface made her stomach lurch and she wanted to throw up in her helmet but she held it down and made her way through the base, Thorn in her hand. 

She had received an earful from numerous people over the gun she now kept at her side, but she refused to listen to any of it. It did it’s job and so did she. 

They were red. Covered in thorns and filled with something far deeper than rage or pure animalistic instinct. It seemed almost symbolic. Religious. 

It didn’t matter to her. 

Thorns jutted viciously up each hive body she dropped and she walked by each corpse as if something corrupted didn't follow her with each shot. Like she herself wasn’t becoming something vicious while wrapped in her own cocoon of pain and loneliness and fading sanity. 

Times like this, she really wished the man with the golden gun would've taken the shot at her when he had the chance. But maybe he knew she’d become this. He had to of.

The path she traveled the farther she went slowly became emptier as she passed through a haze and into a cleared path, overlooked by a cliff. 

A cliff with something looking at her atop it. 

A sharp pang of something hit her hard in her stomach before crawling into her chest, making her gasp for air and tears blur her vision. Killshot quickly makes his way to her side, scanning her over to check her. 

“What is it? What’s wrong?” he asks, panicked, despite how something feels wrong to him too. 

Her line of sight goes back up to the cliff above, looking at the figures floating ominously, hovering as if they were watching them. 

It felt like an overwhelming amount of panic and sadness and distress was spreading through her chest cavity, crushing her lungs and threatening to break her ribs just to escape and she clawed at the ground below to try to get a hold of herself. 

Her legs were shaky by the time she was able to pull herself up from her knees and continue along the steep path, the looming figures still watching them. 

The sudden wave of scarlet hive that appeared didn't surprise her, each bullet and grenade hitting its mark and clearing the area as they approached the hazy red aura at the edge of the cliff. 

Memories quickly flashed behind her eyes when she reached her hand out to touch it and suddenly, she realized it wasn’t a memory. 

It was real. 

A nightmare that was supposed to remain in the past. 

It was here. 

-

The rapid haze of black and white and green that obscured her vision soon spat her out in a giant scarlet room, large barbs and broken stone surrounding them.

“Eris Morn...” she murmured, slowly approaching.

If there was anyone in the ‘verse that she felt an unspoken relation to, it was Eris. The primary difference between them, however, was Eris’s will to live. Her continuous fight to survive in spite of her tragedy.

Kano was ready to let it kill and consume her.

Maybe that’s why Eris was willing to share the memories of her fallen friends. To show that it was possible to overcome. Accept. That there was something to live for in the smoldering ashes of tragedy and pain.

It was...revealing to say the least and Kano couldn’t imagine how it felt for Eris to admit to the ache in her being while nightmares of her comrades loomed over her shoulder but she also noticed how she would stand a little straighter each time she remembered them. Their quirks and personalities. She hunched less as if the box she had been closed into was slowly expanding and she could stretch more and more.

Kano was proud of her. There was no denying that. She remembered when she first met her in the old tower, how she stayed crowded in a corner beside the staircase and muttered often of the growing threat of the taken and hive. The eerie green glow that emanated from where her eyes should’ve been was captivating in a way Kano couldn’t describe but she also didn’t seem to be very fond of company, so she kept her distance.

The talk that ensued between her, Eris, and Ikora had another type of whisper creeping into her head but she ignored it, at least for now.

She knew it would come back.

-

The chiming of metal was slow. Periodic. It followed a slow but sickening rhythm that only ever made anyone within earshot uncomfortable.

Only KillShot could hear it, though.

Had he any other choice, he’d simply leave, fade away in shimmering blue and white vapor. But there was a problem.

His Guardian was hanging from those same chains.

The twisted lengths the Hive would go to to experiment and make examples of Guardians was, in short, disgusting and to see that same hostility and viciousness taken out on his Guardian made it worse.

Kano’s body had stopped swinging by now, the chains having settled finally in the silence of the dim green halls. He could rez her but it wouldn’t do any good. The hooks they had used to hang her form from the ceiling needed to be removed or else she’d simply come back in the same excruciating pain she suffered before succumbing to the torture.

A hook was driven through the palms of each of her hands, spreading her arms out wide to her sides. A much larger hook had been driven through her back and was jutting from her chest, supporting most of her weight and keeping her body suspended in what could only be described as a sadistic mockery of a crucifixion.

It made KillShot want to be sick in ways he didn’t have a body for.

He tried to cut through the chains as best he could, managing to free one arm with a strong enough beam of laser light before moving onto the next, listening out for approaching Hive through the halls.

The clanking of the metal was loud against her limp form but it was overtaken by the sound of Knight footsteps thumping against the floor and crushing old bone beneath its approaching feet. KillShot quickly hid in Kano’s hood, nestling into her black hair.

It approaches, dragging its sword with it. A metal screech. A warped growl. And slowly, the footsteps leave. He peeks from the curtain of black hair he’s hidden in and emerges once the threat is gone, doing his best to cut through the large chain until finally, the chain breaks and his Guardian falls down into the pile of bone below, the crunch following indecipherable between her bones or the ones her body falls atop.

He won’t deny being panicked. Scared. They’re alone in the dark below the moon’s surface. They have no team. But he settles himself and broadcasts out a message as far as the suffocating Hive around them will allow it to travel.

“If anybody can hear this message, my Guardian is down. We are in need of assistance. Please, if you can lock onto my signal, we are in need of help. There are potential threats lingering and my Guardian is down.”

He sends the signal out and waits, staying hidden alongside his Guardian’s body.

Time passes and fear begins to set in. He needs to rez her but the hooks remain. Her helmet stays on but he can see the splatter of blood on the inside from when she had been choking on it.

Gunfire sounds off down the hall. It’s not loud and thundering like Hive boomers. It’s quick, cracking, and from the shrieks sounding after each shot, it’s hitting its targets. Rapid taps follow. Running.

Is that...? Did somebody catch his signal?

Red.

He sees red. But it’s not threatening and he realizes who it is. He rises from his spot and greets the Guardian who meets him, head turning to the body.

“Attack! I-I...” KillShot gathers himself for a second. “I can’t get the hooks out. I can’t rez her like this or she’ll just die again and-“ but the Guardian holds his hand up and nods, holstering his gun.

“It’s okay. I’m here to help”. He simply nods and glides aside, letting him approach her body as he takes her hand and begins working the jagged metal from the flesh. The squelching and popping makes him shudder but he allows Attack to pull the metal away and toss it aside before working on the other hand.

“You’re okay, buddy”, Attack says and the small ghost turns to him. “It’s gonna be okay. Luckily, worm rot hasn’t made it to her”. The reassurance sounds grim but it still works. Another clatter and he pulls the body up by the shoulders, surveying the damage before propping her up and crouching behind her.

“I’m gonna have to pull the hook through”, he sighs. “I can cut off the back and just pull out that half though”. He pulls out his knife and it glows with solar light that manages to cut through the metal quickly. He sheathes the blade and grabs the end jutting from her chest. Her back is leaned against his chest and he pulls her towards him while pushing against the hook and after a moment of stomach turning slick and sticky sounding shuffling, the hook finally clatters against the bone and floor.

KillShot is already scanning over her body and a shutter rattles through her chest before she jolts up, gasping.

“Welcome back, kid”, he says, clapping a hand against her shoulder. “You got put through the fuckin’ wringer by the looks of it”.

Her breathing is heavy and her hands clench in the remains beneath.

“When did you get here?” She asks, ignoring the comment. He nods his head to KillShot.

“Your friend sent out an SOS and I managed to catch it”.

She swallows and the taste of blood is still thick in her mouth.

She’s frustrated and it’s clear to see. The torture she’d been subjected to was agonizing to say the least and she stood from her spot, kicking the hook down the hall, making it bounce off the floor.

Attack says nothing and simply watches her pull Thorn from her hip in a grip that makes her gloves squeak under her hold.

Between the whispers in her head, the looming shadows hovering above, and the nightmares resurfacing, she was breaking.

She screamed. At nothing, at nobody. Just screamed.

-

In front of her, she can see Eris flinch away from her nightmares. She’s seated on the top of the small building across from her, cigarette hanging from her lips. She doesn’t know that her cigarette is halfway burnt up, the ash never falling while the smoke swirls over her head.

She doesn’t flinch away or even look when a familiar form seats itself beside her. All she does is hold her lit lighter to him for a moment. A puff of smoke makes her pocket the lighter and she otherwise remains still, gaze fixed on nothing until a small veil of light washes over her eyes and she looks up at the now unblurry form of Eris, flinching away from the remaining shadows that loom beside her.

She can feel the tag in her hair move as Attack takes a look at the writing on it before grasping the charm that hangs from the tassel at the end. It’s a snake. Of course it is. There’s no surprise in the carving itself but the detail and time put into it is something to take a moment to gander at. Each scale is clear and smooth and the way it coils around itself is mesmerizing for such a small object.

“...Tragedy”, she mumbles. Attack glances at her as the ash of her cigarette finally falls to dust on her thigh. “...it says tragedy”.

“That so?” He asks. She simply nods and the tag swings below her jaw when he lets it go. “Not one to make assumptions but the snake on it kinda hints at who gave you that”. Another nod confirms his guess.

“...don’t really enjoy giving credit to a man that reads people like cheap books but I suppose he makes his points when needed”, she says, breathing out a cloud of smoke. “More so when he’s right”.

He’d like to make a quip. A snippy remark, a sarcastic jab. Anything to lighten the mood but there isn’t much to work with at the moment, so he settles for taking another drag of his cigarette.

“...We never should’ve come here”.

There’s truth in what she says. Human nature demands that curiosity be sated at the cost of what may become of it. She knows it, he knows it, but it’s too late for knowing. The damage was done too long ago for regrets to form. The slump in her shoulders says she’s already carrying the weight of too many, some she can’t even recall in a life she isn’t privy to.

The butt of her cigarette is flicked away and her hand comes up to rub against her chest with a frown etched into her face. The convenience of remembering each death she had endured yet not being able to remember her final death from before seemed more and more fucked up everytime she died. And as she said before.

Human curiosity demands to be sated.

The way her fist clenches against her chest plate doesn’t go unnoticed and Attack sighs and rests a comforting hand atop her head of unruly black hair that had been pulled into a messy top knot, her shaved sides visible.

“You’re allowed to be hurt, ya know?” He finally says. It catches her off guard but she doesn’t show it. “You’re allowed to feel hurt and angry and sad. Just...just try not to stay there too long or else getting outs gonna be harder”. She scoffs but allows his hand to remain.

“I wouldn’t have a purpose if I did...”

-

We in them sad boi hours my dudes ✌🏼😎

As usual, Attack is @guardian-headcanons and Kano is mine.

Shit has been ✨r o u g h✨

#destiny the game #destiny 2 #destiny #destiny hunter #the drifter #destiny 2 fanfiction #fanfiction #writing