#riiese

[— Ingvar, for any of your hunters? Saw this in a prompt list you reblogged and thought what the hell; why not. If this does not strike joy no worries, delete this, no sweat.]

The Good Witch Sentence Starters 𓂃｡⋆ ✧🪞 (closed ) . @giaunt

Nicole trembled as she stared up at him, not fear but rage. Not rage, but something deeper and darker and more overwhelming, a tangled mass of string sitting in her gut and squeezing tight her heart. She clenched her fists at her sides, staying her attack on the tree. Her knuckles were raw and torn. Her eyes were dry.

What, truly, was there to be said in this situation? His queen in tears, and himself unable to truly console her? His heart ached; it were as though it had dropped like a stone into the pit of his stomach, and, fragile as glass, shattered. "My Queen..." A beat. The laurel-eque crown which adorned his head, signifying him as king, appeared awfully heavy upon his head; why else would his head be held so low? It lifted slightly, and there was some spark in his great green gaze. "Nay; Polly..." Ingvar looked her directly in the eyes as best he could, despite their differences of stature. He recalled the hours which they must have spent together here. He recalled their relationship blossoming, much like the flowers he so loved. Perhaps someday, he would be strong enough to shoulder her burden, alleviate her suffering. "What may I do to assist you? You need only ask and it shall be done. This... is as much your home as it is mine."

Her heart sank further as he said her name, so gently that it brought new tears to her eyes, no matter how she fought them. Was there anyone so kind, so good? How could she tell him that a part of her wanted to leave?

He was right -- this was her home. He, her beloved husband and trusted friend. "No, no, there's nothing. I only..." She sniffled, and wrapped her arms around his best she could. "I am happy here, really. I don't want you to think I'm not..." Oh, no, that was off to a bad start. "That is..."

𝗧𝗛𝗔𝗡𝗞𝗦 𝗙𝗢𝗥 𝗟𝗘𝗧𝗧𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗠𝗘 𝗬𝗔𝗣 ㅤ| ㅤ@riiese

"Really? 'Cause you seem pretty hard to forget."

Who even forgets the experience of meeting an actual living giant? That's about as unforgettable as encountering a kaiju in Antares' books - a rare but impactful occurrence.

"But yeah, what's up?" Under the helmet, cautious eyes remained on Ingvar even as the man with the cybernetic tail leaned against the tree behind him in a show of casualness.

"Such is where men are keeping money, yes. Exactly. Bingo. You're getting it." Three cheers for Ingvar taking this in relative stride. "McMahon's the boss man, okay? And he's telling Hitman, 'yeah, we're gonna end this fight in a tie, just make it look good' and Hitman's on board. Only, McMahon's planning something else, 'cause Hitman is about to leave his company, the WWF, and he doesn't want Hitman taking the title to the new spot, the WCW. Still with me?"

"So back to the fight. They're in the ring, they're in the crowd, it's a pretty wild beat down. Fans are swinging. Hitman's looking good. I'm sitting there like, yeah, he's got this one. Awesome. And at the time, I'm not even that big a Hitman fan. I was rooting for the Heartbreak Kid, 'cause you know. He's on the home team." He pauses to purse his lips, blows out hard and shakes his head in a show of retroactive disapproval.

"And this is where it gets crazy. Michaels gets Hitman down in this move, it's called the Sharpshooter. Looks like .. hold on." Because it does require a visual, Dean goes belly down and points. "Hitman." He rises to a squat in an approximate position above. "Michaels. You see? Hell on your hips. But Hitman's expecting this. They planned it. It's even Hitman's signature move. All good, right? No."

@riiese

" ... so he gets out in the ring, right? And mind you, it's the championship, okay? In Canada. Hitman's home turf, who's the reigning champ at this point. And Michaels has the Canadian flag, and he's dragging it around and just kinda .. " He closes his fists, mimes a sanitized version of the classic and crass towel rub. "It's nasty, but, yeah. That's the Heartbreak Kid for you. General jackassery. But let me back up, 'cause there's a whole lot of other crap you gotta know leading up to all this ... "

Dean's swept so far past the original question he's in fanboy territory, but this is important human stuff. High brow American history, relevant only because it's big dudes beating on each other and some of the most heartbreaking (pun advised?) pay-per-view he'd ever seen. He's up on a rock at Ingvar's eye level, recounting the events like they happened to him personally.

" ... and Hitman was leaving, anyway, so he's like 'yeah, I'd drop and let you have the title sometime', and Michaels was all 'Cool, but I would never do the same for you'. Total dick move, huh? So now they really hate each other, I'm talking beyond the kayfabe ..." The can of Fosters he brought along as a gift is mostly symbolic, sat unopened by his feet while he reenacts some moves for Ingvar's benefit. Biggest he could find in the gas station beer fridge, and still way too small to share properly. Is it the thought that counts? Next time he comes to shoot the shit, he'll bring a keg.