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A sharp edge blunted by love (wip)

Summary:

dagger and his internalized homophobia, dunno i’ll figure it out as i write

Notes:

super unfinished, prolly not gonna be finished for a while

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

A car horn rumbles distantly in the dense fog, a sound contrasting the everlasting silence that now plagued the new world.

A few weeks had passed the very moment the apocalypse had taken storm, scarring the once semi-clean streets of the rings.

The first day of the apocalypse was nothing short of a massacre. Objects whose largest concern was once making it to work on time, now forced to combat against the gripes of life and death.

Individuals turned into organisms nicknamed as ‘assimilated’s’, beings unrecognizable by even their closest relatives.

Appearances contorted to nothing but an abominable chunk of flesh, throats gargling in an guttural mixture of agony, frustration, and sorrow.

Some didn’t have the misfortune of becoming one of them.

Many casualties weren’t just from the parasites. A majority stemmed from blunt force trauma, blood loss, shock, hell, even self infliction.

Those defenseless and unaware were the first to die. The once riled up crowds of desperate people soon grew still, with only a handful surviving past the first day.

Each and every single person, all knocked down like dominoes in a row.

They were the lucky ones.

Finally, the demographic not apart of the deceased or morphed, are the living.

Those who lived past the first day survived only managed to do so by sheer luck. Either was it by grouping up, hoarding, fleeing, survivors were rare.

And so when you’ve a group of survivors, willing to do anything amidst an apocalypse.. things happen.

One instance of this is a manufactured gathering of bandits, a cling of people who thrive on the reprieve of others.

Dragonscale’s crew.

||| (transition whatever, trying smth new)

Dragonscale: “Stylus, Dagger, both of you head back and some bandages for his arm. Heal up quickly, these small moments of rest don’t come easy!”

Dragonscale hoists her spear with a small jab, pointing with a firm grip towards the two boys. She shifts her body slightly, getting settled in the ‘comfortable’ trashy throne.

((not finished, probably wont be for a while ngl))

Notes:

ill finish later when i. feel lime it