#open with caution its extremely fucking long because i got a little carried away

[pyjamaart]

A looming presence... (A piece of fan art for Episode 11 of the Christmas Comeback Crisis)

Read more for an essay on all the memes and references ;)

So here it is. Finally. Only one month too late: This piece of CCC fan art I've worked on since the episode came out.

Sorry for the delay, but I just started at my new job this week and it's been a little stressful, so I didn't have much time to work on this. But now it's finally here!!! I gotta say, the hardest part by far was the background, lol. I didn't mean for it to escalate that much. At the end I was honestly running out of memes to draw.

I bet we can all agree that episode 11 of the Christmas Comeback Crisis was so worth the wait, right???? My god. Peak entertainment. I still can't believe I'm getting all this awesome lore and music for free, feels kinda criminal.

I'm so invested in this story, it's unreal. I can't wait to see how it will end. I can already tell it's gonna be pretty emotional. (And not to alarm anyone, but I have a slight feeling that the Voice is not gonna make it out of this story arc alive. I mean, after everything he's done, it's safe to say that he kinda deserves it. Of course I really don't want him to die, cause that would mean…….. Woodman would also have to die??? Otherwise the Voice will just keep coming back again and again because Woodman is keeping his memory alive…….. Oh man wait a moment….. I don't even want to think about that. Forget I said anything about this.)

Anyway, let's talk about this piece of art for a moment.

In the foreground, we have our brave protagonists. I really really like how Nozomi turned out, so I decided to make her my new icon from now on. Don't get me wrong, I love my old icon, but it's kinda zoomed out and you can't really make out any details when it's really small. So Nozomi it is. Meta Knights sword was shockingly difficult to draw, especially because I had to figure out how to draw it when he's holding it at an angle like that. Otherwise, drawing him was actually one of the easiest things about this whole thing. His design is really just two circles with some arms and armor. Figuring out how the circle tool in Gimp works has never felt this good. (Kinda crazy I can just draw him like this now, considering how obsessed with him I was when I was about 12-13 years old. Back then you had to download official renders of your favorite characters onto your computer, then print them out and hang them on your walls all around your room. Yeah I've always been like this.) Drawing Santa was really fun too, just his right hand was a little difficult. But that's just because I still can't draw hands in general. Maybe I should practice drawing hands more. (Naaaaaah I'm just kidding, I'll never do that.) Now that I'm looking at him again, he's also longingly staring at President Haltmann in the background. Doomed yaoi fr.

Speaking of the background, let's talk about that next. There's obviously the title-giving "looming presence" the Voice. I had his hands completely in the background at first, but I thought it looked cooler when they were hanging threateningly around Santa's shoulders. (You may ask yourself, 'man these hands look kinda alright for my usual hand drawing standards', and that is because I traced over pictures of my own hands. I love "cheating" at art.) I also gave him his stupid little bow tie and the colored buttons on his suit sleeves. Not only is that kinda my trademark for drawing him at this point, it's also supposed to show, that under all the threats and the evil villain persona, he's just kind of a loser. A real (male equivalent of a) girlfailure. That's why I made sure that half of the things shown in the background are there to make fun of him a little. I love the Voice dearly, but that's just what felt right.

And now let's get to the actual main course of this essay. I probably spent half the time working on this on the freaking background. I'm just gonna start in the top left corner and then go down each column and explain what each of these mean or what they reference. (Since there are some quite obscure ones in there.)

Let's start with the two ponies in the very top left. They're actually ponysonas of Nozomi Tojo (left) and Takane Shijou (right). Nozomi is an earth pony and has a tarot card as her cutie mark, specifically the ace of cups. Takane on the other hand is a unicorn and has some musical notes as her cutie mark, which you can't really see. I don't know enough about the Idolmaster to think of something more meaningful for her, sorry. ;)

Under that are Susie Haltmann and her father, President Haltmann. They were (after Woodman) the first characters I wanted to draw into the background. Susie has this black bar covering her face, since she was never really there to begin with. The whole story line with her father wanting to bring her back was actually so freaking sad. And when the Voice killed him in episode 11 and that image of Susie flashed on screen as the last thing he saw before he died….. Oof……… That's also why I drew that cursor looming next to her "window" about to click on the closing button. Haltmann himself is also the only character in the background to actually leave his little window, wanting to reach his daughter. He's also glaring at the Voice for causing him all of this grief and anger in the first place with his false promises.

Then there's…. ahem, "Hot robots in your area". With drawings of a random unnamed robot and Mettaton from Undertale. Which the Voice has apparently bookmarked. This is just a head canon, but I like to think he has a thing for robots, lol. ;)

Oh and on the left next to that on the very first column is Simpleflips' logo. Shoutouts to Simpleflips indeed.

Onto the next column. At the very top is Haruka Amami (also from the Idolmaster), who played a pretty huge role in the CCC, especially in the latest episode. That moment at the very end where she saved Grand Dad from certain death was just fantastic. Absolutely goated scene. She's kinda pressing her face against the window she's trapped in. I hope you can even see that from far away, haha.

Under that is one of the more obscure references. It's from a King for Another Day video, specifically one titled "The Hobart Hootenanny - SiIvaGunner: King for Another Day". It's a slideshow made of beautiful Hobart pictures. One that struck me personally the most was a little family picture of Hobart and the rapper Eminem, who was also a contestant in the KfAD tournament, looking lovingly over their son sitting in a cradle. Eminem is seen saying "Our son is beutiful". A truly touching photograph indeed. In that same slideshow is also another scene of Hobart together with the Voice, but we'll talk about that one later.

The next one is a reference to the CCC side story "I wanna thank me" and shows a pie chart with the election results that were discussed in that episode. Under the pie chart itself is a little box containing all the different parties and showing their respective percentages. On the left is a poster for the "Poké Poké Literature Party", showing Monika's head with the words "Just vote Monika" at the top of the poster. The words (and Misha.) are scribbled on the bottom, lest we forget that she's not running this party alone. This side story was first featured in the Christmas Comeback Crisis Watchalong in 2020, which was actually the first time I watched the CCC in its entirety. It all went downhill from there. ;)

Then there's the Voice's… thing? Object? Weird apparatus where no one really knows what it does or what its purpose is? Every time we see the Voice sitting in his office, this thing is sitting on his desk right next to him. There's been loads of jokes about its purpose. They've all been made before. I'm not going to repeat them. Only the Voice himself truly knows what this thing does. Probably. Could just be a decorative piece of art.

Then we have something veeeery self indulgent on the next column. It's Aquaman from Megaman 8 (With a not so subtle skull right next to him). You should all know by now that I'm the founding father of the Aquawood ship. And I also have the head canon that Woodman and the Voice are very divorced. Interpret into this whatever you want.

Next to Aquaman is the internets' favorite panel from the web comic Tails Gets Trolled. I fucking love that comic. If you haven't read it in its entirety, I highly recommend doing it. (Though be warned that it contains some pretty heavy topics, many many slurs and a plethora of gore.) Okay, maybe I don't recommend reading it. (Just read it with all of that in mind.)

Under that is a personal favorite joke of mine. It's supposed to be Spotify, with a playlist open that I created some time ago. I called it "Die Pizza Playlist" (Remember that die in German is just "the") which I always listen to when I'm baking my own pizza. Highlights include "Pizza" by Antilopen Gang, "Pizza Heroes" by Lemon Demon (You can actually see the album art for Spirit Phone on the left of the playlist.), "Pizza Pizza Pizza" from the Ratatouille musical and so on and so on. The first song in the playlist is obviously "We like pizza" by the Pizza kids, which is even playing in the image. On the side are two more music artists, at the bottom is the image for the Veggie Tales soundtrack, which also featured a song called "Pizza Angel". And over that is Mitski. I just feel like the Voice would listen to her music. Do not question me on this.

The audience laughs at the funny 7.

On the Voice's left shoulder sits a single green bean. It's flashing you a cheeky grin and a peace sign. While I didn't intend for this to happen, I accidentally referenced my own Woodman birthday gallery art from two years ago, where the bean also sits atop the Voice's shoulder. I know that next to "Yankin'", the bean is one of the most hated memes on SiIva, but I think he's just a silly little guy! :D

Let's head on over to the next column. Seems like the Voice has an incoming call from one of his guards, but he's ignoring it as he has more important things to do, like hovering intimidatingly over Santa Claus.

Next to that window on the right are the Voice's messages. I almost wrote "messanges". That would have been embarrassing, thank god I caught that in time. This is also (yet again) a little self indulgent, since the Voice apparently has the last message he sent Woodman pinned to the very top of his messenger app. His big triangular head is blocking most of it, but since I'm the artist, I can tell you exactly what it says: "Please call me back", which was sent on February 1st 2023, the day "The Disappearance of Woodman" was released. Yeah, I'm still very upset, how could you tell? :( Under that is a message to his trusty pizza guy asking for a pizza with extra cheese.

Next we have two of my favorite memes on the SiIvagunner channel (My absolute favorite being "Funny budots", since I never wrote that down anywhere.), one being Frisk Undertale becoming uncanny and the other one being the goat. I don't really know how to describe the goat, but apparently it was crafted by the same artist who made the stoned fox that's also very popular online?? I may just be stupid, but I didn't know about that until I looked up a reference for the goat. Since it often appears alongside Undertale and Deltarune, many have made the assumption that this is what Asriel would look like in real life. That's why Flowey is there next to it with an equal sign. Whoever drew up that calculation wasn't really sure of their work, which is why they drew a question mark right next to it. Between Frisk and the goat is a little Soul, also from Undertale/Deltarune.

Onto the next column, where I'm dropping very subtle hints that a specific character in this image might like pizza. Or might even be a little obsessed with it. On the left is a list with the contact details of three well known pizza chains, on the very top is Sonic the Hedgehog who just recently became a brand ambassador for Totino's and on the bottom right of this section is a flyer for some kind of pizza sale.

The next window contains my favorite joke of any rip on the entire SiIvaGunner Youtube Channel. "Peepoona 5. Let us shart the pants." Just typing this out is making me die of laughter yet again. (The rip in question is "Our Beginning - Persona 5".) But as you all know, I am very into toilet humor. That's why Aquaman is one of my favorite robot masters. And why I'm such a big fan of Youtube Poop. And why I watch Minion fart gun religiously. But enough of that, you get what I'm trying to say. I love funny poop jokes. That's why this is here.

Oh man. This next one is why I wanted to write this very detailed essay in the first place. A reference so obscure, even I can't find its origin anymore. And believe me, I tried. Thankfully, I took a screenshot of the original comment thread this was based on. A user called "The New Guy" commented on a SiIvaGunner rip, something along the lines about how much they enjoyed this specific rip. At the time, the comment had 920 likes, so I'm guessing it must have been a pretty popular video. (The comment should also be about 4 years old now?) Anyway, under that comment, someone asks them what their profile picture was from. They simply answered "wagon", since that was exactly what their profile picture showed. Someone on the SiIvaGunner team must have found this exchange so funny that they commented "wagon" as well. And that's the origin of this joke. If anyone knows which rip this is from pleeeeaaaase tell me. I need to know.

I don't think I need to explain who the next guy is. Just the love of my life. I specifically drew Woodman in his getup from the Nuclear Winter Festival, since that was the last time he appeared on the channel. He's looking kinda concerned in the general direction of the viewer, for obvious reasons. And right under him is his trademarked >:] emoji.

And last but certainly not least, the final column! Now I finally get to talk about this other scene from the Hobart Hootenanny. It shows Hobart and the Voice having a romantic stroll at a beautiful beach, while the sun is slowly setting in the background, making the water shimmer with its breathtaking colors. Okay, the last thing didn't really happen, since it's a shitty MS Paint drawing, but I like to imagine it did. Maybe I should draw a remake of this image one day. Now I'd like to quote the video in question: "A man and Hobart were walking together on the beach. He looked back and saw that in his times of sadness and need, there was only one set of footprints. He asked Hobart why he would leave him in his time of most need. Hobart simply turned to the man and said, VVVVVRRRRR SRRRRR RRRRGGGHHHH--" (Thank you SiIva Wiki for the transcription.) Now I don't think I need to explain why I drew Hobart in a bikini top and fishnets. The question answers itself.

The next image is actually quite easy to explain. It's mm5charge and smol Maki. In another universe, Chargeman and Maki might have been integral to the SiIvaGunner lore. This specific image is just stolen from my piece of fan art called "Megaman 5 Brainrot (featuring Acidman)", which I posted in 2022. I still head canon that Megaman and Love Live take place in the same universe. Just because I think it's funny. And because I want to see funny robot masters interact with the girlies from Love Live. How do I explain this? It's like…. balancing out the world? The robot masters are almost all male (with a few exceptions) and the characters shown in Love Live are all female. How would Thanos say? "Perfectly balanced, as all things should be." Don't question my cool head canons, okay?

After that we have a poster featuring the Jazz Cats! I really really love the little animations that showed their backstory when KfAD2 first came out. I don't know if it's okay for me to say this, but I also really really enjoy the song "But Not You" written (in universe) by Doge and Naxx. The text is veeeeeeery questionable, but man, does it sound good regardless… And shoutouts to wolfman1405 for the heavenly vocals.

On the right of that is a missing poster for Wade L.D.. Nothing much to explain here I guess.

Left of that is the Voices shopping list, which lists flour, oil, yeast… Wait a minute…. All of these are ingredients for pizza dough! Guys, I'm beginning to think that this guy might like pizza.

On the very bottom of this column is Mario 7 Grand Dad himself, who has his hostile gaze directed at the Voice. I would be pissed off too if someone kept me locked in a glass tube for 7 years.

The last little window just shows the Vineshroom with the words "fecal funny" written under it.

And with that, it is done. The entire background thoroughly explained. (I may have gone a little overboard this time.)

It's been a while since I posted new art, huh? In the meantime, a lot has happened. As I said before, I started a new job, got a tattoo of Woodman on my leg (best idea I've ever had btw) and I also started watching MLP, which explains the Love Live / Idolmaster ponysonas, lol.

And that's all I wanted to say. I hope that the next piece of art isn't that far off. Jenny out. (I think this might have been the longest essay I've ever written here. I'm so sorry. By which I mean, I'm not sorry at all. I'm not forcing anyone to read this.)

#welp im one month too late #but better late than never #i put my giant ass essay under the read more this time #open with caution its extremely fucking long because i got a little carried away #siivagunner #the voice inside your head #santa claus #nozomi tojo #smol nozomi #meta knight #president haltmann #susie haltmann #thats it im not tagging all of these guys #christmas comeback crisis #if you saw this posted to the wrong blog no you didnt #jumpscaring kirby fans with siivagunner art is my favorite hobby

[glassessence]

PGR - OC

I got so inspired by everyone’s creativity that I created my own OC ^^” Even though she’s a member of the Purifying Force, I hope she’ll still be received warmly. Special thanks to @punishing-gray-raven-ocs​ for their detailed posts about character creation that really made me think about Lydias! 

Warning: I may have gone a bit overboard with the detail. It’s a long read! Also, I threw in a not-so-subtle reference to the most traumatic Memory Rescue mission lmao. So proceed with caution, I guess HAHA

Name                          Lydias: Umbral

Type                            Offensive Support-type Construct

Service time              1 year

Psychological age    24

Activation date         15 March

Height                         167 cm

Weight                        59 kg

Vital fluid type          O

Faction                        Purifying Force

Rank                            A

Weapon                      Chakrams (preferred) /  Gun

Damage type             70% Dark, 30% Physical

Lydias is a support-type Construct modelled after Watanabe’s Astral frame. She has extreme stealth capabilities and excels at tracking, making her ideal for the execution of rogue and infected Constructs.

Her missions mostly involve infiltration and spying, although she’s also been deployed on assassination missions. Those orders come straight from Nikola and their records are kept top-secret, inaccessible even to Bianca.

Her frame is designed for long-range sniping and comes equipped with visual accuracy enhancements and superb calculative powers. However, Lydias prefers to engage her targets in close combat. Killing Constructs from afar feels cruel and cold, like they really are meaningless machines instead of former comrades.

She truly believes in the good of the Purifying Force, but hates the things she has to do. She doesn’t feel like she belongs, but also can’t see a future for herself anywhere else.

Her fighting style is very graceful, featuring a lot of spins and flips that are reminiscent of a dance. Her signature move is called “Blade Dance.”

B A C K G R O U N D 

Lydias was born to a wealthy family in Babylonia. Her mother joined the war effort as a Commandant shortly after she was born and is known as the leader of the elite task force, Cybele. Since then, Lydias has always wanted to follow in her mother’s famous footsteps.

Originally a Commandant of the Black Wolves, a certain incident caused her to give up the position and apply for reconstruction. Despite having low compatibility for Tantalum-193, her application was approved after negotiations with Nikola. Following her surgery, she was transferred to the Purifying Force.

P E R S O N A L I T Y

Shows affection through actions rather than words. Bakes cakes for the humans of Babylonia in her free time

Philosophical, often ponders on the nature of humans and of the war

Likes to make dirty jokes and tease others

Obedient to a fault because she doesn’t trust her own judgement

Comes across as cold, but is just awkward with introductions

Doesn't think very highly of herself. Ignores it when other Constructs call her "traitorous hunting dog" but secretly thinks they're right

Loves the sea and the fathomless depths yet to be explored. Likes to go swimming at every opportunity

Prefers to work alone, but overprotective of her comrades when in a team. Frequently throws herself in harm’s way to shield her teammates. Knows it’s not good, but is too haunted by her past

Trusts easily, but is very guarded with her heart

Knows how to dance a lot of old-school styles like ballroom and ballet, but is too shy to ask anyone to practice with her

S E C R E T S

Has memorised a lot of poetry from before the Punishing Virus outbreak

Gets intensely lonely and jealous when seeing close squad camaraderie like Gray Raven’s

Avoids Kamui because he reminds her of someone she’s lost

Has spied on Watanabe extensively under Babylonian orders and is deeply fascinated by him

Doesn’t trust Nikola, but is unable to disobey his commands

Secretly harbours doubts about Babylonia’s mission to reclaim Earth

Has obtained special permission to download the data of the Black Wolves and often reads the records to keep them alive in her heart

V O I C E   L I N E S

“Team leader? No, I refuse. You’re making a grave mistake.”

“I’m not suited for protecting people.”

“My opinion on the Forsaken? They’re hardworking, loyal, and--Nevermind. We seem to share a similar goal.”

“The Black Wolves? Where did you hear of that name?! Don’t mention it again!”

“I baked a cake today. Would you like some?”

“Yes, I can dance. But I’d prefer it if you didn’t tell the others…”

“I can teach you to dance. Privately, if you’d like. Haha, just kidding.”

“Becoming a Construct was a decision I made rashly. I don’t necessarily regret it, but…”

“Are we really doing the right thing? This endless war… All these years… What have we really achieved?”

INTERLUDE

D U S K F A L L

A voice cracked over the intercom. “...dant…Com...ant...Commandant, do you hear me?!”

Lydias blinked. The urgency in his voice caught her off guard. Ferdinand kept his cool even in the most dire of situations. Something was very wrong. “Tell me, Ferdie.” Static. “Ferds? Come through!” Nothing. Communications had been poor ever since they’d entered this area, but they’d managed until now. For it to suddenly fail like that… it couldn’t be a coincidence.

“Shit,” she said, turning to the other two Constructs with her. “On guard, guys. Something’s coming and comms are down.”

Ilya grimaced. “Sure it’s not one of Ferdinand’s pranks again?”

“I wouldn’t put it past him,” Flora offered, even as she tightened her grip on her lance. “Pesky little bastard would find it hilarious.” Lydias said nothing. She was too tense. There was a taste in the air, a metallic tang that churned in her belly. Sweat dripped into her eye. Suddenly, a hand slapped her on the back. “Relax, Commandant,” Ilya chuckled. “We’ll protect you like always. No need to be so scared all the time.”

Something in her loosened, just a bit. “Shouldn’t I be the one protecting you?” she retorted, trying to project confidence. “You guys with your fragile little M.I.N.Ds?” Flora laughed, a deep-belly rumble that Lydias loved. The knot in her stomach unravelled some more. “You do that, Commandant,” Flora said. “We’ll just twirl our pointy sticks at the bad guys.”

Lydias was just about to say something snarky when she caught movement in the corner of her eye. She swirled, gun at the ready. There was still no word from Ferdinand. “I’m sensing a large Corrupted force in our perimeter,” Ilya reported. His voice had lost its casual lilt. “They’ve got us surrounded.”

Lydias cursed. “How’s that Memory retrieval coming along?”

“Slowly,” Ilya replied unhappily. Flora clicked her tongue. The Corrupted were visible now. They weren’t like anything Lydias had seen before. They carried advanced weapons - chainsaws and spears and bows - and seemed to be organised into phalanxes. Dread coiled in her belly. “We’ve been ambushed,” she breathed in horror. “Ferdinand tried to warn us. They must have blocked off comms.”

“Well, shit,” Flora grunted. The Corrupted army was within gunshot range now. “When the fuck did they get so smart?”

“Someone must be leading them,” Ilya said. “How did the information leak?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Lydias said. “We need to retreat. Now.” A bullet flew by her head, burning the shell of her ear as it passed. Her heart hammered. “Back off,” Flora growled. She twirled her spear, eyes flashing as she impaled the Corrupted soldier. Beside her, Ilya stepped forward, fast as a flash, and stabbed one through the neck. Lydias fired off three shots, watching in grim satisfaction as two buried themselves in the heads of two infected Constructs.

The scene descended into chaos just as Ferdinand’s broken voice sounded in her ear. “...n...way! Comm...ant!”

-----------

Flora stumbled back. She was breathing heavily. Vital fluid leaked steadily from several places, staining her coat a rich purple. Ilya was behind her, grimacing. His left arm was gone, torn away at the shoulder. Sparks flew from the exposed wires within. Beside them, Lydias swayed unsteadily. She clutched at her stomach. Red blood seeped through her fingers. All their attempts to break through had failed. Things were looking more hopeless by the minute. 

“Commandant,” Ilya said, voice strained. “Turn off my pain receptors.” Flora nodded. “Same here.” Lydias coughed wetly. Her vision was growing dim. “It’s dangerous,” she admitted, wishing she could shut off her own terrible pain. “But there’s no other choice.” She authorised the command. Her team’s face relaxed immediately. She met their determined gazes and nodded. “We’re all gonna go home. Together.”

Ilya smiled. Flora grinned. But there was a sadness in their faces Lydias didn’t want to acknowledge. Her connection with Ferdinand was still blocked. He could be dead for all she knew. She turned away from the thought. Just survive, Lydias. And take the Wolves home.

Together, the Black Wolves rose. Ilya with his dagger and Flora with her spear. Unseen by Lydias, they nodded to each other. An agreement, a pact. A promise. Renewed, they threw themselves at the Corrupted like cornered animals. Slowly, inch by painful inch, an exit was being forced open. Corrupted weapons dug into their bodies, but they pushed on. 

Lydias fought beside them, swinging her chakrams haphazardly. Her gun had run out of ammo long ago. She stumbled, half-blind, and almost skewered herself on the end of a Corrupted sword. She could hardly think straight; blood loss was making her weak. Suddenly, a voice crackled in her mind. “Commandant!” Ferdinand’s voice tumbled through her hazy thoughts. “The signal jammer is gone. What’s your status?!”

Her heart soared, bringing with it a brief burst of clarity. “Ferdie! It’s an ambush. We need support!”

“I’ve already informed Babylonia,” he said urgently. “Reinforcement is on the way. I’m coming to you, Commandant. Just hold on!” His signal blinked to life, moving rapidly towards their location. Lydias smiled grimly. Ferdinand was on his way. Support was coming. Surely, they would be okay. They would make it out of this. She just had to hold on for a little longer. 

Flora’s signal pulsed unsteadily and Ilya’s grew fainter with every breath. Lydias clung with desperation to the unstable M.I.N.Ds of her Wolves. I will protect you.

-----------

“Coming through!” A ray of energy tore through the Corrupted wave. Lydias spied Ferdinand’s face through the sea of blades. She almost wept with relief. “Retreat,” she said hoarsely, struggling to stay conscious. “Black Wolves, retreat!”

On cue, Ilya and Flora rushed through the tunnel, half-carrying Lydias with them. Between one ferocious breath and the next, they’d broken through the Corrupted circle. She tumbled bonelessly into Ferdinand’s open arms. He took a brief moment to survey her and paled. “The meeting point isn’t far,” he said. “Support will be there.” He picked up Lydias and turned to run, but Ilya and Flora didn’t follow. 

“Sorry, but this is the end of the road for me,” Flora said wryly. “Didn’t think it’d end like this.” She spat out a wad of purple fluid. “At least these fuckers will go down with me.”

“And you get the privilege of dying by my side,” Ilya said primly, readjusting his grip on his dagger. Flora laughed, an edge of sadness in her voice. “Yeah, old man, I guess I do.”

Lydias stirred in Ferdinand’s arms. “No,” she said, forcing herself to meet their gazes. “I won’t allow it.” 

“Unfortunately, Commandant,” Ilya said. “This time it’s not up to you.” He raised his remaining hand in a salute. “It’s been a pleasure working with you.”

“Go on,” Flora growled. “We’ll make sure nobody pursues you.”

Ferdinand pursed his lips, but nodded tightly. Lydias fought in his grip. She hardly even felt the pain. “No!” she screamed, or tried to. It was hard to tell where her voice was. “Don’t! I forbid it! That’s an order!” He started running. She watched helplessly as the distance grew. “Stop! Go back, we have to help them! Stop!”

In the fading light, Ilya fell and was immediately consumed by a horde of Corrupted hands. His signal weakened then blinked out. A scream tore itself from her throat. She thrashed in Ferdinand’s grip and felt his hold on her loosen. White-hot pain shot through her body as she tumbled to the ground. Mad with grief, she crawled forward desperately, mind blank except for the desire to be with her Wolves. 

Strong arms lifted her up. Ferdinand’s lively voice was dull. “Please don’t do this, Lydias.” 

“Let go, Ferdie,” she said angrily. “We have to--” Flora’s signal flickered out. Lydias felt her spirit break. “No,” she cried. “Please, no.” Tears streamed down her cheeks. Words abandoned her. The world seemed to shrink, compacting to a single thought: she had failed. 

-----------

She woke to white light. Something beeped steadily beside her. Tubes ran from her body to several machines like the tentacles of some deep sea creature. Her entire body hurt. Immediately, she reached for the Black Wolves, but their signals were absent, leaving her mind uncomfortably empty. Panic settled like ice in her veins. It couldn’t be. It was impossible. 

Surely, they had recalled their consciousnesses. Surely, she’d simply woken up early. And where was Ferdie? Gasping, Lydias stood, dragging her broken body to the wall of windows. She brought a fist to the cool glass. Nikola watched her from the other side. “Where are they,” she croaked. “What happened?”

He shook his head sympathetically. “They didn’t recall their consciousness. According to our records, Ilya and Flora died protecting you from pursuit. Ferdinand was infected.” His eyes were grave. “He guarded you until reinforcements arrived.”

She didn’t know if she could bear the answer, but she asked anyway. “And then?”

Nikola studied her for a long moment before giving in. “And then the Punishing Virus took over his M.I.N.D. He escaped because we prioritised your survival.” A desperate hope sparked to life within her. “So he’s still alive? Then there’s still a chance! Please, let me find him!”

“You know it doesn’t work like that.” 

“Please,” she begged. “Please.”

He turned away from her. “The Purifying Force has already been sent after him. I’m sorry, Lydias.”

-----------

Three weeks later

“Are you sure?” Nikola asked, studying her with intensity. “Your chances of success are only 47%.”

Lydias stared at him blankly. “I’m sure.”

“I’m afraid I can’t allow it. Commandants are valuable to Babylonia. Perhaps even more than Constructs. Few possess the will and compatibility to stabilize M.I.N.Ds. Someone as experienced as you is not expendable.”

“Then I quit being a Commandant. I refuse to lead another squad.” She looked away. “I couldn’t protect any of them. Not a single one.” Her voice broke. “I’m not… I don’t think I can--I just can’t.”

Nikola considered her with some pity. “What do you want then, Lydias?”

“You know what I want. I’m not afraid of dying.”

“I know you’re not afraid, but it seems to me like you seek it.”

She said nothing. Nikola sighed. “I’d rather not lose you completely. You have experience and ability. The Black Wolves were specifically chosen for that mission for your competence. Aife will increase our combat power significantly against the Corrupted.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s unfortunate, but these things happen at war.”

“Say whatever you want,” Lydias said stubbornly. “But this is my final decision.”

“Fine,” Nikola said. “Your attempt at redemption is admirable. I’ll grant your request, but if you survive, you’ll work directly under me. Is that acceptable?”

“Perfectly.”

INTERLUDE HIDDEN CHAPTER

F A D I N G   L I G H T

Flora: Fairfrost - Voice Log 

*sounds of fighting* I hope this reaches you, Commandant. I don’t think I’m gonna last much longer and… *grunting* I just wanna say goodbye. The old man’s already gone. I felt his signal die out a while ago. He went down taking a blade for me, can you believe it? Even though I’m the Attacker Construct. *panting* You know what his last words to me were? “It hurts.” As if our pain receptors weren’t turned off. I know what he means though. *blades clashing* After all, we all wanna go back home with you. But life’s a bit unfair, eh? For once, I don’t mind. Protecting your back… it almost makes me feel like a hero. That ain’t something you experience every day, y’know? *metal tearing* I guess what I’m trying to say is thank you. For being someone worthy of love. *crash, wet coughing* It’s been my honour and privilege to have been one of your Wolves, Commandant. You’ll remember me, won’t you?

-----------

Ferdinand: Aegis - Voice Log 

Lydias… This will probably be my last communication with you. I never would have thought this would be how it ends, but… Well, I’m just glad that I get to spend my final moments with you. I can feel my M.I.N.D. slipping, but Babylonia will be here any second now. They’ll take care of you, the way I wish I could. *sigh* Ah, there are so many things I want to say. I have nothing to lose anymore, so I hope you’re ready to listen. *deep breath* I love you. The way you laugh at my jokes and tease me. The way you can talk about anything. Your smile, your lips. I love the way you kiss me. And of course, I love our late night activities… Such as you trying to teach me to dance. *short laughter* Were you expecting me to say something else, Commandant? You--*grunt, glitching* Looks like my time is running out. I should go, but promise me one thing, Lydias. Promise me you’ll keep your heart open, so that someone else can love you as you deserve. I--You--*glitches*

DATA CORRUPTED.

#pgr #punishing gray raven #pgr oc

[binch-i-might-be]

The More You Know

This is the aforementioned short story. It’s unfinished, a blatant Welcome To Nightvale rip-off, and I got extreme whiplash reading it again because one of the characters is named Alex.

Anyway. Can you tell we found out about my grandma’s dementia diagnosis when I wrote this? lmao

also, to reiterate: I wrote this around 2016, I think? It’s been years pls don’t judge me ok :’)

POV first person, wordcount 3.1k

The small town lay in silence, and honestly, that wasn't very unusual. I couldn't really remember a time when it didn't. The shops were closed, the windows all nailed shut with old planks of wood, and in the little corner-store the sign that said 'no help wanted, keep walking' was still firmly in place.

I smiled. It was all exactly like I remembered; exactly like I left it. Like the sign told me, I kept walking, but I didn't hear any steps following. Which was not good, considering I had brought my friend Alex along. He really should keep walking.

I turned, adjusting the backpack slung over my shoulder. »Alex? You need to move,« I said. He stood there, trying to peer into the shop in between the gaps left by the planks. Which was also not very good.

»Why is everything barred? You get a lot of storms here or something?« he asked as he straightened.

»Yes. Or something.«

He frowned, but thankfully caught up to me with a little jog. We continued down the road, in the direction of the woods that never drew any closer, and passed the veranda of Old Lady Miller. Old Lady Miller had a lot of free-running chickens, and it was better not to look at them directly if you wanted to keep your secrets.

She was sitting in her rocking-chair, watching us pass. My grandma once told me Old Lady Miller had already been Old Lady Miller when she was a child, but her chickens hadn't been as many back then.

Alex did another nervous little jog to walk beside me. »Are you sure we should be out here? I mean, no one else is. Maybe there was a storm-warning.«

»Don't worry. It's actually a lot livelier than it normally is.« A chicken crossed the road right in front of us. »Don't look at the chicken,« I told Alex, staring straight ahead.

He looked at me, frowning in confusion. »Why not?«

I looked back at him. »Why did the chicken cross the road?«

»What?«

»To steal your secrets and your memory of every chicken-sandwich you ever ate. Don't look at the chicken.«

He didn't look at the chicken and we got to the crossroad without incident. My family lived straight ahead, at the end of the road, in a nice little house with a nice little garden, bordering the woods that seemed so far away.

»So... what's going on here? Where are all the people? Why are there chicken roaming the streets?« Alex asked, trying to not sound too nervous.

»It's typical, really. Most of the townsfolk doesn't come out if it isn't absolutely necessary. I told you, there's no reason to worry. Everything is fine.« It was understandable Alex was nervous. In my time away from home, I had noticed a slight difference in the happenings of things–not that I thought it made much sense.

»...alright,« he sighed. Still sounded a bit suspicious, though. »So... your brother. You have a brother, right? Does he still live with your parents?«

»It's nice of you to change the subject. But no, he doesn't. Arden likes to live his own life.« And suddenly, we stood in the driveway of the house. Alex looked around, obviously confused, then turned around and looked back. The dirt-road lay winding behind us, despite us having just passed the crossroad a minute ago.

»Don't think about it,« I advised. He looked so suspicious it was almost endearing.

We went up the driveway and up the steps of the veranda. There were four deer-skulls lying in the corner, which was one more than before I'd left, but otherwise, nothing seemed to have changed.

»That's... very charming decoration you've got there,« Alex said, audibly hesitating.

»It's my grandma's. She likes to collect things. You'll see,« I answered. It was the only warning I was allowed to give him. He didn't respond.

I pushed the door open–it was never really locked–and stepped inside. The smell of old wood and burning herbs hung heavily in the air, but it always did, and I would be disappointed if it didn't.

»I'm home!« I called out. My mother came promptly out of the kitchen, carrying a tray of fresh Christmas-tree shaped cookies. It was July.

»Hello, dear! I'm so glad you're back! Your father was getting worried. You know how he gets when you stay out after nightfall.« 

I could almost smell Alex' confusion. Apparently, my mother could, too.

»And who is this young man? Where did you find him?« she asked, excited at the prospect of some fresh blood in the house.

»That's my friend Alex. We met a few months ago.«

»Welcome to our humble home, Alex,« she chirped and went off into the kitchen again, presumably to put the tray down. We stood in silence for a few moments, simply listening to the clattering in the kitchen, but then Alex spoke up.

»What did she mean, 'when you stay out after nightfall'? You have been gone for literal months.« He wasn't suspicious anymore; just a little bit scared. Creeped out. That was alright with me. I turned around to face him, and smiled.

»I would tell you time works differently here, because that sounds mysterious, but honestly–my Mom's just always very confused. Sometimes she still sets the table for five people, even though Arden has been gone for quite a time now. She just baked Christmas-cookies.« It was the truth. My mother really didn't have all her wits together anymore, but that's what happened to outsiders staying here too long.

Alex frowned, but then seemed to remember the existence of illnesses like dementia and kept his mouth shut. She didn't really have dementia, but I decided to let him believe whatever made him more comfortable.

I started down the hall, with Alex following close behind, the floorboards creaking loudly with every step we took. It wasn't easy to sneak in here past curfew; but then, it also wasn't easy to survive past curfew.

In the middle of the hall were three possible directions to choose; as a child I always thought of it as a little crossroad in our house. There were the stairs to our right, laden with potted house-plants and herbs, and also loose dirt lying on the stairs nobody ever bothered to clean up.

To the left was the door to the living-room. It was a big, illuminated room with many windows; that was why we only ever stayed in there during the day. Well, except for my grandma, of course. She stayed there however long she pleased. I thought whatever roamed the woods at night was too afraid to fuck with her.

Up front was the kitchen, where my mother was still clattering around, probably cleaning up after herself. From the kitchen, one could go to our veranda; our second, more relevant veranda behind the house. The veranda overlooking the garden, bordering the woods.

When we were kids, my brother and I were only allowed to play in the garden in the summer, because the days were long then, but that was also the time when the stench of rotting flesh was the strongest.

Well, you couldn't have everything. I stole a quick glance behind me and saw that Alex was looking around curiously. His eyes caught on the wall to our left. It was clustered with stuff–mostly crucifixes my grandma had gathered over the years, even though no one really believed in the conventional gods around here.

Besides those, there were also many family-pictures; my brother and I when we were kids, our family outside in the garden, my parent's wedding-picture, my grandma when she was still young–that one photo of us all gathered in the living-room, playing monopoly. No one knew who took that picture. It was just on the camera-roll one day.

Alex made a confused little humming sound that drew my attention. He was looking at a framed newspaper-article and squinting at the headline.

»Man drowned after breaking into closed swimming-pool?« he read. »It isn't even from around here–it says Hamburg there.«

»Yeah... we only got our hands on that because it's the only document left of my grandfather. My Pa's a little sentimental, you see.«

At that, his eyes widened in terror. »You mean-« He whipped around to the article, then looked back at me in silent horror. »That's your grandpa?! And you framed the article and hung it with your family-pictures?!«

»Well, yes. It's not a big deal. Gran likes to be reminded of him sometimes.«

He pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes tightly. »That's so fucked up, man.«

I raised an eyebrow at him, a little grin fighting its way onto my lips. »You think that's fucked up? Dude, you've come the wrong place.«

Nightfall approached quickly. Well, actually, it didn't; but it sure felt like it, with Alex pacing and mumbling to himself in the living-room while Mom and I watched from the sofa, fairly uninterested. I told her about the things I'd seen and done in the past months and she listened gladly. It was nice to talk to someone from home; everyone else was exhausting to have a conversation with.

I looked out the window in caution, noticing that the sun was setting behind the woods. We needed to leave the room soon. I told Alex as much and was met with a new-found suspicion of anything concerning me and my family. It was ridiculous.

»C'mon, Alex, only yesterday you trusted me enough to come home with me. What happened?«

He stopped his pacing and stared at me for a while, his eyes looking like he was having violent flashbacks of something unpleasant. »This place happened!«

I sighed, uncrossed my legs and got up. »Chill out, dude. Nothing is going to happen to you. At least as long as we leave in a few days time, but we planned to do that anyway, so I don't see what the big deal is.«

He sputtered, seeming to choke on his own words. »Well, first of all, I would have appreciated if you had told me that you basically lived in Night Vale! Secondly–what do you mean 'as long as we leave in a few days time'? I'm feeling slightly threatened here!«

I heaved another sigh. »No one is threatening you. Well, no one is threatening you in particular. It's just that this place does weird things to outsiders if they only stay here long enough–I mean, you've met Mom, so you should know what I'm talking about.«

He looked at the open door my mother had left through a few moments ago, then back to me and repeated that a couple of times frantically. Stepping closer to me, he lowered his voice to a whisper. »You mean- when 'outsiders',« he gestured quotation marks into the air. »Stay here long enough, they become... like her? This place gives you dementia?«

Why did he always have the need to find words for everything? »You could certainly say so, even though that's not really it. But for the sake of simpleness–yes. It basically gives you dementia. The people who were born here are pretty much immune to it, though.«

Alex breathed in and out a few times, presumably to gather his wits. »What do you mean, 'pretty'?«

For fucks sake, could he just stop picking all the relevant words out of my sentences?

»Some people are a little easier to influence than other people. No big deal there, though. It only happens like once every generation. I think.«

He stared at me thoughtfully, as if considering my words; and probably figuring out which snippet he would pick out next to make me explain some more.

I glanced out the window again, noticing it was about time we got out of the living-room.

»C'mon, we need to get out,« I said, obviously interrupting his inner monologue. He narrowed his eyes at me, but stepped out into the hall nonetheless. I followed and closed the door firmly behind me.

»Why exactly do we need to leave the room now?« he asked nonchalantly. Ah, Alex. You think you are starting to figure things out, don't you? Keep trying, buddy.

»It's the things living in the woods. You don't want to mess with them–even though things have been considerably calmer since Arden left, we still don't want to take a chance with those fuckers.«

And there he went again, looking extremely uncomfortable. »And what are 'those fuckers'?« He really liked his quotation marks, didn't he.

»Who knows,« I answered with a shrug of my shoulders. The only thing we knew about them was that they came out at night and ate pretty much everything consisting of flesh. Except grandma and Arden, of course.

He frowned in obvious frustration. »Why do none of you people know what's going on around here? You fucking live here!«

His little outburst didn't really impress me, so I simply shrugged again. »Ah, you know. No one really cares.«

»What do you mean-« he began, but I stopped him right there.

»If you fucking say 'what do you mean' one more time, I'm gonna haul your ass out into the garden and leave you there with the Woodkeepers. Fucking watch me, mate.«

He looked slightly taken aback at that, but recovered quickly enough, his gaze sweeping me from head to toe. 

»Is this why you are never impressed by any horror-movie we watch? Because you live in a horror-movie?«

Now, that was hilarious. I couldn't help myself, I started laughing. Alex was first surprised, then pleased with himself.

»Probably,« I answered, grinning.

Mom made dinner and Alex and I set the table. We didn't have anything to do anyways. Grandma was still out on the veranda, pinning shed snake-skins she had found somewhere to the side of the house.

Alex watched her with interest from the window and grandma ignored him. Mom was humming in the background, checking on her meatloaf in the oven. It was the kind of strange domesticity I had missed during my time away.

»You said since your brother had left, the... Woodkeepers, I think you called them, hadn't been as persistent. Why is that?« he asked quietly as I stepped up to him and leaned on the windowsill.

The old oil-lamp illuminating the veranda flickered, and grandma stopped what she was doing for a second to throw a stern look into the darkness beyond, making a shooing hand-motion. The flickering stopped and she continued undisturbed.

I let my head fall against the glass of the window. »Because Arden is... well, he's special. Not special like Gran, but still. Special.«

»If I were to ask how exactly he is special, you would say you don't know, right?«

»Yep.«

He heaved a tired sigh. »How can you live with this not-knowing? It would drive me crazy.«

I smiled and vaguely gestured in my mothers direction. He followed my hand, and his eyes widened comically in understanding.

»No,« he said with an unbelieving shake of his head.

»Yes,« I retorted. »And that's the only thing I know.«

Half an hour later, grandma had come back in and was staring at Alex. She had been at it for a few minutes now, and it had crossed the 'uncomfortable', the 'creepy' and now the 'really unsettling' mark.

Alex looked over at me, seeking help, but I couldn't do anything. Grandma would take her time, no matter what.

Finally, she swept her intense gaze over to me and leaned back in her chair.

»I hope you didn't bring him here to tell us you are marrying him,« she said, with an obvious edge to her voice. Alex managed to look both offended and relieved at once.

I snorted. »Of course not. We are friends, Gran. You know my standards.«

At that, he only looked offended.

»No offence, Alex,« I said.

»Full offence!« Grandma butted in. She stabbed a crooked finger in Alex' direction. »That one wouldn't even last two months here!«

»That may be,« I answered as I seated myself next to Alex and patted his shoulder encouragingly. »But we aren't here to stay and we're also not here to get married. Don't you worry, Gran.«

»Still,« she continued. »Imagine what your father would say if you were to marry that one. I would never hear the end of it!«

I chuckled lowly and Alex threw me a dark glare. 

»I know. Where is the old man, anyway?«

»He went to visit your brother, dear,« My mother said from the kitchen-counter. »He should be back soon.«

Grandma shook her head. »That brother of yours, Arden, he is only making trouble these days. He keeps disturbing the Woodkeepers; they even went and took a chicken from Old Lady Miller! Can you believe it!«

I frowned and looked over at Mom for confirmation, but she kept her back to us. Alex looked as confused as I felt.

»How is he disturbing them? I thought he was off doing his own thing.«

»That is what keeps disturbing them! Arden doing whatever Arden is doing!«

I didn't answer. It seemed very improbable that Arden of all people could be railing up the Woodkeepers, but when grandma said he did, it must be true. And Pa probably wanted to stop him from whatever it was he was doing out there.

Before I could continue my hypothesizing, three gunshots in quick succession sounded outside, breaking the peace and making Alex jump in his seat.

»That's gotta be Pa,« I mumbled to myself and got up. The door swung open as I jogged down the corridor, revealing my father in all his glory. The shotgun with the three barrels was slung over his shoulder and he looked grumpy as usual.

He kicked the door shut behind him and threw the shotgun from him, toppling a big potted plant.

»It's always the same with those three,« he muttered under his breath and unclasped the breastplate he wore for obvious reasons, then ruffled my hair as he walked by.

»It's good you're here, Ryn. I need you to talk to your brother.

#you can tell a lot about my mental state back then by reading this #ray was really going through it #short story #unfinished #i really stopped writing this mid dialogue #very iconic of me #rayrambles

[dancingkirby]

Shipping

I’m sorry, but it had to be done.  Do y’all think this would work better as a Short Story, or just a oneshot on its own?  

DAY 1

To celebrate the tenth anniversary of his ascension to the throne, Zuzu and Mai were off on a world tour.  Azula had been left in charge of ruling the country.  While Azula was glad that he was finally realizing that she wasn’t always thinking about world domination all the time, so far her regency had been extremely boring.  Now, she was more than halfway through it, and absolutely nothing of note had happened.  

Today had started out like all the others.  She hadn’t slept great the night before because of the high winds that had battered Capital Island, and they hadn’t ebbed down very much by morning.  She’d had trouble getting her hair to stay in its topknot while training.  But the morning council meeting had proven as tedious as ever.  Azula was paying the exact minimum amount of attention required as the ministers droned on about tax brackets; most of her brain was occupied on what she would have for lunch that day.  Noodles were always nice, but she’d had them for two days in a row now. Anytime she ate any food on multiple consecutive days, there was always the risk of speculation among the courtiers that she might be pregnant.  Never mind that she hadn’t even done any sex acts that could result in pregnancy for years…

The door to the meeting hall abruptly swung open.  An out-of-breath messenger stood in the doorway, blushing deeply as nearly twenty pairs of annoyed eyes scrutinized him.  

“You do realize that you are intruding on a confidential council meeting, correct?” Azula inquired of him.  

“I’m t-terribly sorry, P-princess,” the messenger managed to get out.  “But I was told that this needed your immediate attention.” Could it be…that something interesting was about to occur for a change?

“All right. What is it?” she asked.  At her hand motion, the messenger climbed up to the dais and whispered in Azula’s ear.

“Okay.  I’ll be right there.  We will continue this meeting at a time to be determined later,” Azula stated.

So here she was on a tugboat, looking at the enormous cargo ship that had somehow gotten wedged into the Strait of Azulon.   Azula turned to the old salt who was leading efforts to remove it and said, “Explain.”

“That ship is called the Agni-Given, Princess,” the man said somewhat stiltedly; it appeared that he was trying to rein in a sailor’s natural tendency to use copious foul language.  “It’s one of the largest cargo ships in the world.  Today, it was passing through the strait when the high winds pushed it off-course and into a sandbar.  It also got tangled in some old nets from the Gates. We’ve been trying out dam…darndest to free it, but no luck.”

Azula took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly out of her nose.  “And what have these initial attempts included?”

 “We attached every tugboat in the harbor to it to try to pull it out, but it didn’t work, Princess. That fu…freaking thing is stuck deep into a sandbar.  Next step would be to try to dig it out.”

“Explain how that would be accomplished.”

“Yes…well…”–the old man paused–“We ain’t sure yet, to be honest.  The problem is that the place where the bow is stuck is seventy feet underwater.  All of the excavating machines available were built for use on land.  We was thinking of trying to get some of those new forklifts, try to extend their reach, and bring them out on boats, but…that would take time.”

“Forklifts?  Is that the best you could come up with?” Azula demanded.  She found herself imitating her brother’s famed nose-bridge pinch.  This would not do at all.  She needed an ingenue, someone who could design a whole new kind of machine if need be. And she thought she knew exactly where to find one.  

 DAY 2

It had been the end of a long day, without much progress being made.  Azula was just about to demand that the larger, more comfortable boat they’d made ready for her today take her back to the harbor when, at long last, the other ship that she had been awaiting arrived.  After this watercraft was tethered to hers, a figure came running down the gangplank, arms outstretched.  

“Azula!” Sokka exclaimed.  “How’s it going?  We haven’t seen each other in forever…hey!” His attempts at embracing her had been thwarted by the princess grabbing his shirt at arm’s length.  

“Not in public, remember?!” she hissed.  Then, just as formally as if he were any old dignitary, she added in normal tones, “Councilman Sokka.  It is good to see you here.  I trust that your journey here was uneventful?”

“Yeah, except we had to go around the long way because of…well…that,” Sokka replied, gesturing at the still firmly-entrenched Agni-Given.  “So how do you want me to assist, O Princess?” He did a little bow, and could not quite manage to keep a straight face.  

“Watch it,” Azula reprimanded again.  Whenever they encountered each other, she always needed to remind him that their relationship was a melding of intellects and occasionally flesh; romance had absolutely no place in it.  

“I recall that you designed a vehicle that could travel underwater,” she explained.  “Would it be possible to modify this concept and attach equipment for shoveling?  Or perhaps even the capacity for finer manipulation to untangle the net remnants?”

Sokka took a few moments to consider as he beheld the enormous ship.  Finally, he replied, “Yeah, I think that’d be possible.  It’ll take a while to draw up plans and get everything built, though.”

“Very well,” Azula told him.  “I suppose we shall have to simply endure each other’s company for a little longer.”

“’Endure?’  Is that what they’re calling it these days?” Sokka gave a wink that was obviously meant to be seductive, but in fact only made him look ridiculous.  Azula elbowed him in the ribs.

They did, in fact, end up fucking that night, after Sokka had eaten what seemed to be about half of the palace’s food supply for dinner.  They hadn’t seen each other in more than three years, and Azula was scrupulous about taking her contraceptive tea, so why not?

Sokka tried to kiss Azula after, but she didn’t let him.

DAY 3

Zuko had sent a message asking if he should cut his celebratory tour short and come home to help with this problem, but Azula quickly scribbled out a reply that they had everything under control.  

Today was the day that Sokka would first meet with the team of engineers assigned to resolve this problem.  

“And I’m sure that all of you will give him the respect that he deserves,” Azula told them in the most pleasant voice she could manage.  Some of them were obviously pissy about being forced to consult with a man who was half most of their ages.  Well, too bad.  Anyone who tried to ignore him would be upbraided with the utmost harshness personally by her.

DAY 10          

The manufacturing process had begun.  Sokka informed her that he had dubbed this new invention the “shovelmarine.”  He did not attempt to conceal his sheer glee at this horrible pun.  Azula threw a pillow at him.  

While the two of them worked by day and screwed by night, things were starting to get out of hand in the Harbor District.  The plight of the Agni-Given had captured the imagination of the public, and kiosks had sprouted all over the piers selling miniature models of the grounded ship. It seemed that every single street musician in the city had composed his or her own ballad about the situation.  Fan magazines had been established simply for the purpose of publishing the flood of stories and art that the more creatively-minded citizens had concocted.  Azula had gotten a hand on one of these volumes, and her favorite story was a somewhat graphic recounting of a speculated liaison between the Agni-Given and the statue of her grandfather.  Apparently, the statue was the dominant partner in this relationship…just as it should be.

This magazine had also included a drawing depicting her own activities with Sokka.  She knew that she should be furious about this; that the culprit should be tracked down and executed, but she found it just too amusing.  The picture was even surprisingly accurate, except that Azula had not actually handcuffed Sokka to her bedpost.  They had improvised with the sash from her nightrobe instead.  

DAY 16

“Okay, lets see what these shovelmarines can do!” Sokka said as the contraptions touched the open ocean for the first time.  The two of them watched from the boat that was by now almost as familiar to Azula as her own suite of rooms at the palace were.  

As it turned out, the shovelmarines (Azula had grudgingly accepted this terrible name) could do quite a bit.  Over the next several days, they worked steadily at the problem.  Finally, three weeks to the day after the Agni-Given had first gotten stuck, it once again floated freely, although it would be have to be drydocked to repair all the damage.  

In his excitement, Sokka had tried to kiss Azula.  She had initially resisted, but he had used his ultimate weapon: polar bear dog eyes.

“All right, but only once.  And on the cheek,” she cautioned him.  

DAY 25

Sokka had departed two days ago, and Azula hoped that he wouldn’t try to send love letters or anything stupid like that.  He should know how it worked by now.  Whenever they happened to meet, they would rekindle their affair for the duration of the visit, and then they went their separate ways until their next encounter. Of course, they wouldn’t be able to keep this up forever, but it would be fun while it lasted.  

And today…Zuzu and Mai made their triumphant return from their tour.

“Wow,” said Zuko as the two of them stood at the harbor, observing as the last of the debris was carried away.  “You and Sokka took care of that whole mess all on your own!  Thank you, Azula.”  At this point, he obviously knew from experience not to make any comments about her relationship with the nonbender.

“Why do you sound so surprised, brother?” Azula asked, turning toward him and raising an eyebrow. “It’s almost like I am, in fact, a competent ruler and don’t spend all of my days dreaming of bloodshed and destruction!  Who would have ever guessed?”

“That’s not what…” Zuko began, but he could say no more as Azula caught him by surprise, got him in a headlock, and began inflicting a merciless noogie on him.  

“Admit it, Zuko,” she crowed.  “I’m awesome!”

“Okay, I surrender!” he squeaked out.  “You’re awesome.”

She released him. “There.  That wasn’t so hard, now, was it?  Now let’s go get some ice cream.”

And so they did.

#azula #sokka #fanfic #sokkla #sort of #keep in mind that this is a rough draft

[imagine-organization-xiii]

Hey Dearie, i absolutely love your Blog ❤❤ (Id the AskBox is open) I'd like to know how the Guys ~ Minus the Babies ~ would react, when their S/O suprises them in their favorite Lingerie... and maybe whispers some dirty stuff in their ears 😉

SAM IS A QUEEN AND SHE JUST GOT BACK FROM VACATION SO GET READY FOR THE HEADCANONS

Majority is under the cut because of pictures!

BEWARE THE NAUGHTY BITS

Xemnas

Like Xemnas is not about the exposure of skin. What's sexy to him is how extravagant you look. So, The superior may be reading a book or sitting alone in his office when you enter, wearing a sheer black nightdress, the one he likes with the slit up your leg. As you enter his study, you know he's sensed your presence, but doesn't react, not even looking up from his book or paperwork. You creep closer to him, until your standing behind his chair, and place a hand on his shoulder.

"You are playing a dangerous game, pet. One doesn't usually crawl into the lions den holding raw flesh."

His hand rises to you leg and starts to snake its way up, past the slit in your nightdress and gripping your thigh. The superior lets out a deep exhale through his nose.  "And you.. look rather delicious..."

Let’s say work was not getting done this evening.

Xigbar

So, Xigbar is good with just about anything. But his favorite look is one that he can just take in and enjoy while still fucking you. And as soon as he sees one of those little straps, its over.  Half the time, you like to wear the harness under your clothes as a surprise for later, but the sneaky rogue figures it out before you can even get the drop on him.

But when you do, his face turns to a carnivorous grin, like a beast ready to devour you. And I promise you, he most certainly devour you. He wants to see such a pretty looking think like you a hot sweating moaning  breathy mess before he is ready to have you. Expect several orgasms or LOTS of edging before he finally takes you.

Xaldin

Xaldin loves his SO but loves his SO enough that he sees lingerie as something they don't need/ he doesn't deserve, but sometimes special occasions arrive. And when they do, for whatever reasons, delicate and thin fabrics with light colors soften large mans heart.

When he comes through the door and sees you standing there in the moonlight, his heart nearly doubles in size and his eyes go wide. He doesn't know what he’s done to deserve such a treat but know that he is going to treasure you for every second of it. the sex is very very tender and sweet and soft and slow, but he still has you seeing stars.

"I... Wow... My... Little One, You look stunning."

Vexen

Vexen isn't one for Lingerie. It's expensive and not worth the expense. But even a man such as he can enjoy beauty. so sometimes, on the nights that Vexen comes home and sleeps in his bed, you like to wear your favorite nightgown and robe. The scientist will notice immediately and always turn a soft pink. It might not evolve into full out sex like some men, but he certainly will want to be closer to you, enjoying your company, kissing your head, holding you close, and maybe just turning into a night of loving from your favorite beanpole.

"Y-You look nice... You will be rather cold if you sleep in just that alone. You might need to be closer to me tonight. for warmth, of course... You know, it is nights like these that I wish I could be at home with you more often."

Lexaeus

Lexaeus is a little hard to pinpoint in a format like this, but the man's tastes are subject to change based on what kind of person his SO is. He always finds himself drawn to soft pastel and chiffon lingerie but there is always that one piece that he sees and is just kind of moved. It suits your personality and your style and it just seems so so perfect that he loves it all the more.

Zexion

So the kid is young. he’s still new to the sex thing and lingerie on top of that, he’s kind of a casual person. so his favorite lingerie is something comfy that you like to wear around the house anyway. But whenever you two are spending a lazy day together and you’re dressed that, expect his eyes to wander to your thighs constantly, too nervous to really say anything, but still compelled to stare. It’s not until you pick up on his apprehension and decide to get things going and sit in his lap that the fun gets started.

Saix

So... You've given up on Saix and Lingerie years ago. The man doesn't have a favorite because every time you wear something nice, the man fucking destroys it.

But sometimes you like to waste the money and try to do something nice. You’ve come to find that Saix likes lace the most because it takes the least effort to tear and something about the delicate fabric makes him absolutely feral. But when you come in, he might be busy with paperwork of some sort, but as you come through the door, his eyes immediately go to you and you could swear you could see the him flash from man to wolf in the blink of an eye.

His expression totally changes and his eyes go dark. The paperwork is put down gently and he rushes to you, pinning you against the door. "Do you ever learn your lesson, moonflower?"

Axel

Where Saix likes to hunt, Axel likes to play. He's more about enjoying the moment when he's with his S/O. And he’s a romantic, so as much as we reserve florals for Marluxia, I feel like the rose motif is something Axel just finds himself falling for over and over again.

But when you come into the room, Axel is probably just laying on his bed staring at the ceiling with his hands behind his head, but when he sees you, he just shoots up. He is kinda breathless at first because even if he had seen the look before, it's his absolute favorite and he is one to get flustered.

He doesn’t move other than sitting up completely straight and asking why you're surprising him like this. But as you move closer and closer you can see his eyes just looking you over in amazement until you climb up onto the bed, straddle his lap, and take his face in your hands before whispering some sweet nothings to him softly and kissing him on the lips. All at once his long arms wrap around you and its all over.

"Hey I--- whoa... Babe you look.. What's all this about? I-- mph... What did I do to deserve you...?"

Demyx

Demyx is a soft boy. Honestly Anything gets the boy excited so you don’t need to try too hard. But sometimes you like to give the boy a little surprise, and he is always receptive. One day he’s just getting ready and you come in, in the softest sweetest looking nightgown and his jaw just drops and his eyes go wide. He looks dumbstruck for a moment, and you shy away a little from the staring but the dope can't help himself. Its like time just kinda stops for a moment.

"I... You.. Wow you look really pretty. Can I, Can I kiss you?"

And he steps closer, still cautious and a still little awestruck.  The boy would wrap his arms around your waist and just gently kiss your lips, almost afraid to break you, or ruin anything. His usual rambunctious attitude is just completely replaced with caution. But then he gets an idea and tries with all his might to lift you up bridal and carry you to his bed, but you can feel his little noodle arms shaking as he tries to carry you. You try to tell him to put you down, that its not worth it, but he insists its entirely worth it. And after a minute of strained lifting, the musician plops himself down on the bed and hops down on it next to you, pulling you into a big hug.

"I just.. Im not as strong as some of the big guys but sometimes I just wanna be a cool guy too."You give him a kiss on the lips, pulling him close to you, and as the kiss deepens, the boys hands start to wander and things fall apart from there.

Luxord

Luxord is very particular about what his SO wears when it comes to lingerie.  He just has a very particular taste, and his favorite thing is intricate pieces that just catch your body just right and shows what he likes to see. And one night while Luxord is out playing games with acquaintances, you decide to let him come home and feel like a winner.

He comes through the door and sees you and an arrogant grin just blooms on his face. He knows what you’re up to and he fucking loves it, chuckling to himself . He would just take in the view as you laid there, loving every second of it like a tall drink of water in a hot desert. Eventually, once he’s had enough for the moment, he will place a finger under your chin and move it upwards towards him as you rise and follow his finger.  The man loves the control.

"Oh my... What have you been getting up to while I was out? You must have missed me quite a lot to have you like this.. Well don't worry, pet. I shan't be leaving again tonight. And you wont be sleeping tonight."

Marluxia

Marluxia is a man of presentation, and while he loves his S/O, he prefers her wearing the finer things on most basis. So when you want to make the night special, you gotta go a little more extreme. So when the assassin sees you enter his chambers like this, he cant help but look up. He rises and will slip closer to you almost like a serpent and wrap his arms around you pinning you to the wall in the process.

Before saying a word, the assassins hands are on your waist, following the curve of your waist and his lips are placing gentle but maddening kisses along the place where your neck meets your ear. You gasp under his embrace and he smiles. "This is quite a pleasant surprise, my dear. I'd say.. you look good enough to eat..."

Larxene

You might thinks she only likes the kinky alternative girl looks but She loves all sorts of lingerie. Sometimes seeing her SO in a soft nighty makes her feel like the luckiest girl in the world. And you almost dont expect her to get flustered as you enter your bedroom. At first she looks up and turns a flushed pink, and then she starts to stutter, spewing half thought insults to deflect from her face growing redder and redder. As you approach the bed, she only watches until you sit down next to her and give the girl a soft kiss on the lips.

"Wh-Where'd you get That? You are so stupid. Thinking something some L-Lace could get the better of ME"

#lemons #organization xiii #organization xiii headcanons #kingdom hearts #kingdom hearts headcanon

[prewars]

heres that list of unsolicited fic recs that ive amassed over the past few years when i get certain itches to deep-dive ao3 and be disappointed, this isnt everything but these are ones over 5k, mostly over 10k, thanks for the unnecessary encouragement @sonnywortzik @becominganoven @donotloseme @dicktective

Crossed in the places that you never knew to get through by noelia_g (generation kill)

It's not the real beginning. Things have happened before that led to this, things thousands years in the making and things quite recent, like the wound still bleeding, dark blood seeping into the dirt. But it's a beginning nonetheless. Right here, right now, this happens.

Après moi le deluge by beyond_belief (gen kill)

He can pop Motrin for the pain but there's nothing to be done for his jagged nerves. Rudy suggests more yoga, his mom suggests meditation, Patrick suggests he get laid. The Corps suggests a promotion, and Nate finds himself a Captain. There's a small voice in the back of his head that says, This isn't what you want, and it's getting louder day by day.

Aftermath, USA by traveller (gen kill)

The morning of the assassination, Patti Jankowski got up, took a long shower and towel dried her hair before braiding it into two long ropes that hung over her shoulders. She put on jeans, a t-shirt that showed Mickey Mouse saluting the American Flag, a light tan windbreaker and her comfortable blue SAS sneakers. In her shoulder bag she put a Smith and Wesson .22 caliber revolver, and an umbrella. The forecast was for a 62% chance of rain.

Adrift by visiblemarket (constantine)

Time was, Chas would’ve offered John the bed to make sure he rested, then crammed himself atop the sagging, scratchy, ancient cushions instead. That time has clearly passed. John tries not to let it bother him, but he’s had a hard enough time sleeping lately, and as soft and warm as the blanket Chas tossed him the night before was, it hadn’t much helped. And so he awakens to birds chirping, sun streaming through big airy windows, and a colossal headache.

to know me as hardly golden is to know me all wrong by norgbelulah (justified)

The God’s honest truth of it was that he didn’t want to be whatever Boyd was, he didn’t want to be Boyd Crowder’s friend, and he didn’t want to follow him down into the darkness that was always waiting for them both. And he knew if he stayed, he would be all of those things and learn not to mind them.

I Have Always Lived in the Moment by scioscribe (justified)

Tim says that technically he was only mostly dead, and mostly dead is still slightly alive. The witty repartee would be more convincing if Tim could get some color back into his face. Raylan remembers an overwhelming whiteness. Art wants to know: Like the tunnel with the light at the end of it? No, Raylan says, blander than that, and icier, too. Like an afterlife manufactured by IKEA.

To Call the Darkness Home by scioscribe (justified)

After a time, even the nightmares stopped, and he started bitching like an ordinary person about the low pay and the roaches, exactly as if Lexington hadn’t been his longed-for salvation. But there must have been some uneasiness in him that he just hadn’t paid any mind, because every time he had left, he had gone farther and farther away, until he had threatened to run right off the coast into the Atlantic.

Where's Waldo? by swamplamp (better call saul)

Jesse Pinkman manifests on his doorstep like a wet dream that nobody asked for. It's 4 AM. "You're a sight for sore eyes," Saul remarks flatly, squinting out towards that semi-familiar face. Seeing Pinkman lets old feelings roll back in and isn't that a shame? Saul makes to shut the door and go back to a kinder slumber. But he stops. Saul feels a twinge of sympathy worming its way into his chest before he can start pulling the door closed. They stand there for a moment, steeped in caution and confusion.

By daybreak we'll be gone by storm_petrel (the losers)

Clay has a handful of life philosophies that he’s gained though years of extremely hard-won experience. Sleep when you can.  Keep track of where you stash your boots and dog tags, because they don’t come with you.  Trust the people who earn your trust.  When in doubt, and in the absence of a proper machine gun, go for a sidearm with more than ten rounds in the magazine and minimum .38 calibre for decent stopping power. If still in doubt, shift out and go for the jugular.

In All the Tongues of Men and Angels by coinin (the losers)

Carlos Alvarez, first son after three daughters, was not supposed to join the Army. Carlos Alvarez was supposed to go to college, major in something useful like business or civil engineering, graduate with honors, marry a nice Catholic girl, and provide his parents with grandchildren while establishing himself in a respectable field of employment. Unfortunately for his parents, Carlos Alvarez was of the opinion that the suburban American ideal could go fuck itself.

the prisoner's dilemma by arbitrarily (free fire)

“Jesus Christ. What the fuck happened to you two?”

“First date,” Justine says.

“Went dutch,” Chris says.

Places We Don't Belong by easternepiphany (community)

Yesterday they went hiking in the Sandia Mountains, made it to the top of the trail, and celebrated by making out against a tree, slick with sweat. They were caught by a family of four, two parents and a son and a daughter, all who looked on in horror. The mother asked, in a stern and angry voice, weren’t they a little old for such antics. “Probably,” he said with a shrug and she bit her lip to keep from laughing.

A Fool For Your Face by Ghostcat (you’re the worst)

The days after Becca and Vernon’s shitstorm of a party were golden, as if he and Gretchen were finally alone. As if her depression had moved house, left the country, waved goodbye. They laughed and fucked, got drunk or didn't. Did drugs or went dry. Or kissed. For hours. Leaning against the brick wall of some local dive turned glorious oasis because of her lips.

But the walls are giving way by FanchonMoreau (mozart in the jungle)

“You don’t have to feel obligated to stay with us,” Cynthia tells him. “But you’re my orchestra,” Rodrigo insists. She smiles. “We’re big kids. We can take care of ourselves. Take a gig somewhere else if you need to. Trust me, we’ve got this.” He does trust her, and he trusts his orchestra. And he’s not stupid enough to miss the implication that perhaps he’s not wanted here, at this particular moment.

the grave robbers by arbitrarily (american gods)

“Okay, fine. I liked vodka and I liked whiskey. I didn’t even like the top shelf shit — I liked the cheap stuff, the stuff that burned on its way down. I liked it when I felt like it could make me choke. I liked when my bedsheets were tucked in so tight I could barely crawl in under the covers and I slept like I was trapped. I liked the smell of bug spray. I liked the burn of that, too. I liked when I stayed in the tub too long and my skin went all wrinkly and gross, and okay, I get the fucking irony of that now — no need to remind me. I liked when glue dried on my fingers and I’d peel it off. I liked angel food cake. I liked when I’d lay in bed at night sometimes and be just about to fall asleep, but then, I’d jolt awake, like I was falling down a flight of stairs or something in my almost dreams. Or whatever. You know — everyone knows that feeling.”

Reconstruction Site by disco_vendetta (pacific rim)

One day he looks up from the scaffolding and realizes that he’s almost exactly at Jaeger height and has to wrap his hand tight against the metal to keep from stepping out into the air. Not because he wants to kill himself or anything, just because for a split second his mind felt that old equilibrium and he just knew he should be able to, should be able to walk straight across the valley in front of him and out into the sea and on forever until he finds whatever’s next.

Benediction by sistermercury (the exorcist)

“I had to see.” Tomas starts weakly, and something inside Marcus begs for both of them to stop; Begging Tomas because he doesn’t want to know, can’t hear about another goddamn vision, not tonight. Begging himself, because something’s gone wrong and his self-righteousness can wait. It won’t be the first time Marcus fails to follow his own good advice.

he's alive! i'm alive! we're all alive! (oh, this case just got busted wide open) by rustykitchenscissors (mcu)

The next day, he rides his new motorcycle downtown and walks around until he sees a store full of the kinds of phones the other Avengers use. They’re all so thin he thinks they’ll break the moment he picks them up. Like how Bucky said for a while after, “I bet you met your old self like this, you’d break all his bones just going for a handshake, huh?” Only when drunk, of course. That mix of bitter and wonderstruck, hair scrambled across his forehead. “I bet you’ll snap me in half without thinking one of these days.” And Steve would throw an arm across his shoulders and pull him in tight to make sure he knew, Look, fuck that. I swear to God you’re steel to your core.

a tree grows in brooklyn by newsbypostcard (mcu)

"It's done, Buck," he says painfully, lying himself back on the ground. "All that's left is to leave." They don't leave. He can't. His chest rises and falls, too hard and too obvious.

Responsible Science by lettered (mcu)

Three weeks after Bruce left New York, Black Widow found him in Honduras.

the blackberries in the thickets by newsbypostcard (mcu)

"You are James Buchanan -- like the President -- from Illinois, Nevada, California, and New Jersey. I am Grant Stevens -- wanted to be Ulysses Grant, but Nat said two dead presidents living at the same address might sound a little fishy -- from Florida, Connecticut, Washington, and New York."

Bucky frowns at him. "How come you get New York?"

"Just worked out that way."

Life of Crime by neveralarch (mcu)

It's really hard to run through Boston when you're carrying a quiver on your back, a bow in one hand, and a huge bag of money in the other. Still, Clint's doing fine—he's had a ton of practice, after all. He's never going to win any Olympic medals (for, okay, lots of reasons), but he's fast enough for a guy on foot. Doesn't matter, because this chick's gaining on him anyway. Fucking flying. It's gotta be cheating.

#there's like probably half a million words here so have fun

[tonystarktogo]

Tiny Tony Overlord Part 5

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Read on AO3

Betaed by the amazing @folklejend. All remaining mistakes are my own.

Summary: In which Bix isn't as indifferent as she'd like to be, a lot of people die put nobody really cares, a miraculous recovery doesn't actually solve all of Tony's problems and, as always, life isn't fair.

Yay, an update on time! :) Please enjoy! 

.Still The Parking Lot of Zach’s B&B.

Bix doesn’t hate a lot of things. Disliking, sure. A ton of things even, Tony Stark currently being on top of that list. But hate? Hate requires effort, hate requires emotional investment, and Bix happens to be short on both.

What Bix definitely and without question hates, though, are the kid’s eyes.

Sure, rationally Bix knows the kid is Tony Stark. The ‘how’ and ‘why’ are two big, blank spots, but watching a forty-four-year-old man being turned into a kid that doesn’t look a day over nine is a pretty eye-opening experience. It also isn’t relevant to the mission. A dead Stark is a dead Stark after all, no matter at what age.

The problem is, he doesn’t look like a Stark. He looks like a child. A child with big brown eyes staring up at Bix and-

Fuck.

Why is it always brown eyes? Why can’t they be green or blue? And why does this stupid detail make Bix hesitate at all?

[continues under the cut]

Stark is still standing there, looking tiny in front of Bix and the other men. He is clutching a half-empty water bottle like it’s a teddy bear and that shouldn’t have any effect on Bix at all. Just because Stark makes for a damn cute kid and his stubborn pout may or may not raise all sorts of protective instincts Bix didn’t even know existed until now doesn’t have to mean anything.

Bix has been serving Hydra for years , has lied and betrayed and murdered for an organisation that doesn’t give a fuck about them. And Bix isn’t doing it because of some twisted conviction to save the world. All that drivel about humanity being unable to handle freedom and how the world has to be ruled to achieve its true potential is absolute bullshit. An excuse for a couple of power-hungry maniacs to justify their genocide, nothing more.

And right now Bix is supposed to murder another kid for their little chess game. A brown-eyed kid.

It is an over-eager underling who decides to take things into his own hands. Far too impatient, he won’t last long in the field.

Unfortunately, Bix doesn’t even get to punish the wayward minion, which is honest to god the best part of being team leader, because in that moment, mini-Stark activates the Asset. The one thing everyone had been so sure he wouldn’t be capable of, wouldn’t figure out how to do in time.

They should have accounted for Stark’s completely unrealistic luck in their plans, damn it.

Not that it matters anymore. The Soldier has been activated. Stark’s command doesn’t leave much wiggle room either. Twelve of SHIELD’s standard combatants against the Winter Soldier? Bix doesn’t need a fortune teller to know how this fight is going to end.

Bix doesn’t bother to share that revelation with the other agents. It would be a waste of time. Besides, it’s not like Hydra choses its recruits based on their well-developed sense of loyalty. Instead, Bix does the only sensible thing when faced with a brutal killing machine that has been turned loose: Bix jumps over Stark’s crumbled body and runs.

* * * * *

Waking up in a place you don’t remember falling asleep in is an incredibly disconcerting experience. Waking up in a pool of blood, on the other hand, is almost comforting in its familiarity.

Slowly, Tony lifts his head. The motion is less painful than anticipated, considering the amount of blood his body is covered in. Curling his toes and clenching his hands confirms that his extremities are in working order as well, and besides the persistent ache in his left upper arm and the cuts on his hands, he seems to be uninjured.

Tony should probably freak out about the blood on him—he looks like he’s come fresh off the set of a really bad horror flick—but frankly, he’s woken up in worse. Actually, he feels pretty good about himself right now. His pulsing headache has completely disappeared and though no more than thirty minutes could have passed, Tony feels well-rested and energised.

It’s true, he supposes; the mental state does influence one’s physical condition. Because for the first time since he’s woken up in that café, his mind is clear.

Hell, he’s been so gone, he hasn’t even realised how off he has been these past few hours. How foggy and sluggish his mind worked, how many holes there were in his memory that he had lacked the capacity to even notice. He had been running on barely-there instincts and nothing else. It was sheer dumb luck Dead-Eyes hadn’t killed him on the spot.

And then the confrontation in the parking lot. Tony hasn’t walked into an ambush like that in years. It is a good thing Vic had been unable to accompany him; she would have murdered him for his lack of caution.

In his defence, Tony had underestimated how fractured, for lack of a better word, the transfer would be. He had been warned, multiple times, about the dangers of messing with the time storage, but those warnings had always focused on the risks of knowing too much. The unpredictable ways the future would be changed by that knowledge alone. The very real possibility of being driven into insanity by a reality that would no longer be real.

In a way, Tony understands those concerns better now. After the constant pain of the last few hours, the sensation of being mentally ripped apart, of being overwhelmed by a life that is not quite his own, the terror of drowning in a future that can never be allowed to come to pass yet has, he gets how tempting an escape from the horror of it all can be.

At the same time though, there is this nagging voice in the back of his mind, the disbelieving “Is that really all you’ve got?“ he can’t fully silence. Because the truth is, compared to the last couple of years, this pain, this terror, is nothing.

Tony winces, instinctively shying away from the darkest of his new memories. The deaths, the hopelessness, the torture, the fight they continued because there was nothing else left to do anymore. The hollow victory when they had finally, finally discovered a cure—too late to make a difference, too late to save anyone. An endless line of faces, young and old. People they lost, people who sacrificed themselves, people who betrayed them in the end.

And now here he is. In 2014, where none of it has happened yet, back in a time where he can still make a difference, and yet Tony doesn’t feel relieved or accomplished—he feels cheated.

Can it really be this simple? Is one highly unstable formula and a reckless veteran of the Last War all it takes to save the world? Granted, he is in the body of his ten-year-old self, which is odd. Definitely not one of the side-effects Tony can remember. But his age is only a minor setback. If what the world needed was a warrior it wouldn’t have been him whom they would have sent. He should still be able to create the cure once he has procured the necessary equipment; he can worry about the distribution after that.

Except. Tony furrows his brows in concentration, does his best to draw up every single memory he has pertaining the invasion, the war councils, the endless hours spent in labs and workshops. He recalls his arguments with Rogers early on, Pepper sobbing into his shoulder at Happy’s funeral, the March of the Dead Children, the mistakes they made in the beginning and then never again. It’s all there, burned into his mind, with a clarity that he knows will give him nightmares for years to come.

The only thing Tony can’t seem to recall is the enemy. Who they were fighting. What they were fighting. He knows there was something; he knows it destroyed them and he knows they found a cure. Tony balls his bloodied hands into fists, and for the first time, there is something like panic uncurling in his chest.

No. This has to be some sort of sick cosmic joke. It’s just not possible. He can’t have forgotten the cure. He can’t have forgotten the threat. The memories have to be there somewhere, buried perhaps, but they have to exist. They have to.

Tony swallows, almost chokes on the bile rising in his throat. He can’t watch his world be torn apart again, knowing something is coming yet unable to do anything until the threat reveals itself. It will be too late by then, he already knows that. Already lived through it once. And if there is one thing he knows for certain, it’s that he can’t live through it again.

Please don’t make me live through it again.

Tony doesn’t even realise how fast he’s spiralling until the heavy sound of approaching footsteps awakens his deeply-ingrained survival instincts. He is on his feet before he recognises Dead-Eyes, who appears to be carrying two bodies. Two very, very dead bodies. The horrifying sight actually helps grounding Tony once more. It reminds him that he is currently standing on a battlefield, and that, at least, is something he knows so well it’s become routine at this point.

There are seven bodies that he can see—which is not saying much if one takes his current size into account—all of them dressed and armed for battle. Dropping to his knees next to the closest one, Tony turns the male onto his back and looks him over. Early thirties, no memorable features, one bullet wound to the head, two more in his chest. He’s not carrying anything worthwhile except for a small knife that Tony pockets and a badge identifying him as Agent Trent Michaels.

“He’s SHIELD,” Tony muses out loud and crawls towards the next body, where he finds a similar badge.

For a long moment he stares at the IDs in silent contemplation. Then he lifts his head and meets Dead-Eyes’ expectant glance. “Get me the others as well.”

In total, there are eleven bodies, all of them official SHIELD agents. Tony would need access to a database to make sure they’re valid but there is no reason to assume they aren’t. Which leaves two very important questions. One: Why on earth does SHIELD want him dead? Nothing in Tony’s memories hints at a similar occurrence in his past—future—other life. Sure, he isn’t particular chummy with the spy agency, but a death sentence seems a bit much, even by Fury’s standards. Two: How likely is it that they are gonna ask questions first and shoot later once they find their decimated agents? And that’s a rhetorical question.

Seems like Tony’s original plan—get to his old team mates, prove his identity, get into the best lab there is and fix this mess—isn’t so feasible anymore.

Staring down at the motionless bodies of the SHIELD agents, Tony knows with absolute certainty that he can’t contact the organisation, no matter how useful their resources might prove to be. Not without taking unpredictable risks and definitely not without letting Dead-Eyes take the fall for this bloodbath. It would be possible, Tony is sure he could work it out somehow, but he finds himself surprisingly averse to the idea.

By all means, it should be an easy choice. Knowing that his old friends, his self-made family are waiting for him in a home he’d built for them all, alive and well. The idea of getting that back, no matter the dangers, no matter what body he is in, is incredibly tempting. It’s a dream he has held onto for years, finally within his reach, and yet. His eyes find Dead-Eyes’ motionless shadow at his back for a moment and Tony feels his throat closing up and traitorous tears burning behind closed lids because it has never been a choice at all.

For the first time since waking up in a world two heads smaller than every enemy trying to kill him, Tony actually feels ten years old. Because right now he doesn’t want to save the world, doesn’t want to cry himself to sleep over a stupid cure he can’t seem to remember. He wants Jarvis. He wants his parents. He wants to hide under his bed forever.

He can’t go back to being that scared, ten year old ever again and it’s not fair.

Then Tony’s spine stiffens and narrow shoulders straighten with steely determination. “Soldier,” he calls out, the designation falling naturally from his lips. Watches as Dead-Eyes snaps to attention, dark, ever so intelligent eyes focusing on him. It helps, being the centre of someone’s focus. Grounds him in a way Tony had forgotten he could be anchored. “Destroy any evidence of our presence and let’s get out of here. We’re going dark.”

Because above all else, Tony Stark, at any age and in any form, is a futurist.

Tony doesn’t go back. He moves forward.

A little shorter than usual but I promise the next chapter will make up for that. Also, we've officially reached the end of the "introduction" period. All the pieces have been placed on the board. Now it's time to get this game started...

Please let me know what you think, and if you have any theories about where this story goes now I'd love to hear them! Have a relaxing Sunday everybody!

#ReRe writes #Tiny Tony Overlord #Tony Stark #Bucky Barnes #Bix The HYDRA Goon #tiny Tony #deaged Tony #fic #Winter Soldier Bucky #SHIELD is a mess #so is Tony #and so it begins...

[ellanainthetardis]

And now ladies and gentlemen, the part all tributes love. XD

[FF] or [AO3]

Chapter 17 :  Coal Dust

“You come anywhere near me with that thing I swear I’m gonna stick it where the sun doesn’t shine.” Haymitch growled, pointing a warning finger at the Capitol.

He had been stupid and now he was cornered, wearing nothing but thin paper briefs that hardly covered anything, his back to the corner of the room and the two men and the woman forming his prep team fencing him in. They weren’t the same people who had taken care of Peeta the previous year and all along Victory Tour. He didn’t know them, they were painful to deal with and he had forgotten just how awful prepping was.

Everything was white in the Remodeling Center, giving the place the vibes of a futuristic shady hospital. He wouldn’t have been surprised if a mad scientist had appeared with shiny saws and electric paddles to turn him into a Mutt.

“Haymitch.” one of the men – he had introduced himself as Coralus or something – said slowly, as if he was speaking to a small kid or a cute dog. It made him cringe. “We are only trying to help you be as handsome as you can be.”

And the small wince he made after that let Haymitch know just how impossible a task it was.

The three of them had recoiled at the sight of the various scars covering his body, repeatedly asking why he hadn’t had them removed. It hadn’t endeared them to him to say the least.

He had suffered them covering his hair with lotions. He had dug his fingers in the white table they had him sitting on while they had trimmed his stubble into something a bit more stylish – but natural, he had insisted on that. He hadn’t protested the skin peeling treatment.

He had sat there and played deaf while they commented and criticized every part of his body.

But enough was enough.

“Thanks, no thanks.” he spat. He kept his eyes on the bowl full of wax the woman was carrying. He had bolted from the table at the first hint of a full body wax job. “Nobody’s gonna know anyway.”

“Oh, but it will help tremendously with the parade outfit.” Coralus argued, talking very slowly as if he was brain deficient. “You see, the dust will stick much more easily if you are waxed.”

“The dust.” he repeated. The vein on his temple was throbbing. “What dust?”

“Coal dust. For your outfit.” the woman said. “It will look lovely.”

He clenched his jaw. “Get me my escort.”

“Haymitch.” Coralus sighed like one would faced with a disobedient child.

“Get me my escort!” he shouted, losing the small amount of patience he had left.

“What is happening?” a young woman asked, poking her head in the room. Her eyes widened when she took the situation in. “Oh, dear! No, no, no, it won’t do! Is the prep team distressing you, Haymitch? My apologies. They are not supposed to do that!” She glared at them but Coralus simply rolled his eyes without any respect at all, probably because she looked to be half his age. She pursed her lips but soon flashed Haymitch a small smile. “My name is Paula. I am Madam Felindra’s first assistant.”

“Madam Felindra.” he snapped. “Who’s that?”

“Twelve’s stylist.” Paula answered. “Now, what seems to be the problem? Perhaps I can help.”

“Sure.” he sneered. “I’m not waxing for anyone and I’m not liking the sound of coal dust. What happened to working with flame patterns?”

“Oh, Madam Felindra gave up on that.” the young woman winced. “She did not want to be seen only as Cinna’s replacement. She is an artist in her own right, you know.”

“So what’s the outfit exactly?” he gritted through his teeth.

“I told you. Coal dust.” Coralus sighed.

He burst out laughing.

They all stared at him like he was unhinged and should be treated with caution. It sobered his hilarity up.

“This isn’t happening.” he snapped, raising his voice again. “Get my escort here, right now!”

Effie would fix this.

She would rise hell and high waters and she would fix this.

He was a tribute, not a mentor. He didn’t have any power anymore.

“I am afraid that is quite impossible.” Paula protested, clearly distressed. “She must be at the red carpet of the Opening Ceremony as we speak and…”

He knocked over a tray full of shiny silver beauty instruments that clattered to the ground and took an aggressive step toward them. They all scrambled back immediately, exchanging concerned glances.

“I don’t fucking care if she’s on the other side of Panem.” he shouted. “You’ll get her or…”

“Thought that was your soft voice, buddy.” someone snorted from the room’s threshold and Haymitch’s shoulders sagged in relief when he spotted Chaff. “Care to tell me why you’re disturbing my beauty time? Can hear you screaming from the other end of the corridor.”

“Oh, this won’t do at all…” Paula lamented. “Tributes are not allowed contact and…”

Haymitch shot her a glare that silenced her as he crossed the room in three long strides to join his friend. They probably would have hugged if they hadn’t both been wearing only paper briefs that didn’t completely cover their privates. As it was, Chaff settled for clasping his shoulder with his good hand and his expression immediately darkened when he felt the scars’ swollen flesh. Eleven’s victor briefly met his eyes but didn’t ask any question. He knew what whipping scars looked like.

“What’s this all about, then?” Chaff asked him.

“They want to remove every hair on my body so they can dump a bag of coal over me.” he growled.

His best friend wrinkled his nose but shrugged. “My hat’s gonna be made of corn.”

“Don’t think there’s any pants involved.” he retorted.

Chaff lifted his stump and his hand in the air helplessly, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Okay, you win.”

He relaxed a little. His friend had a point. They would all look ridiculous. If parade outfits were bad on kids, he wasn’t impatient to see what it would look like on adults.

“I’m not waxing.” he grumbled.

“As long as you stop shouting…” Chaff countered casually. They never liked it when tributes made a fuss. “Could be worse. You’re gonna give those people something to fan themselves over.”

“Oh, there are boxer briefs!” Paula squeaked in protest. “They are made of gunnysack for authenticity and…”

Haymitch let out a groan and Chaff made a face, waving his hand in front of his throat to tell her to stop talking.

“Trinket knows about this?” Eleven’s victor asked.

“I do not think Madam Felindra had time to show her the designs.” the stylist’s assistant offered in an apologetic tone.

Chaff’s bark of a laugh echoed in the room. “What I would give to see her face…” He shook his head and clapped Haymitch’s shoulder. “Wanna make a bet on how bad she hurts that stylist?”

“The woman’s never gonna work again, that’s for sure.” he snorted, but it was a small comfort. “What’s Katniss wearing?”

The thought came suddenly. The young woman’s wince made his blood boil. They would put his girl out there in nothing but her gunnysack underwear and coal dust, exposed to the Capitol’s hungry depraved gaze.

“Deep breaths, buddy.” Chaff advised, not that amused anymore. “It’s too late now. Your escort’s gonna have that woman’s head, that’s already something.”

Eleven’s stylist, a man who had been working with that District for years and who was on friendly terms with its victors, came to collect Chaff and his best friend had no choice but to leave him to his fate. They promised to catch each other after the parade but he knew there wouldn’t be any real opportunity to talk that day.

He stood firm on his refusal to let them wax him – not just his chest and the mere idea of anyone putting their hands down there with wax was enough to make him grow crimson with anger – and they eventually gave up, grumbling under their breaths about how he was more difficult than whatever model was popular at the moment.

The gunnysack boxers were torture. They itched. And for something made out of a rigid fabric, they clung to him, leaving very little to the imagination. He didn’t know what was worse, those boxers that didn’t hide anything or the paper briefs that had, at least, covered the shape - even if one of his balls had sometimes poked out.

When they pushed him in the waiting room full of chariots, victors, Games staff and a few stylists, he was so embarrassed he almost cupped his crotch in his hands. He strutted ahead instead, faking a confidence and a detachment he really didn’t feel. Eyes followed his progress and he forced himself not to shuffle his weight from one foot to the other or to scratch his balls despite the unbearable itching feeling. The coal dust wasn’t comfortable either. It covered every inch of his body, he could taste it on his lips – and it tasted of home in a weird distorted way – making him feel extremely dirty.

Katniss wasn’t there yet but he spotted her arrival from afar. People turned in her wake too but she was glaring so hard and looked so murderous that everyone got out of her way. They had braided her hair in a crown waved with small pieces of gunnysack. Not that anyone would be looking at her hair when wreaths of rigid fabric were wrapped tight around her chest, barely keeping her decent.

So much for keeping up the innocent little girl act. She looked anything but innocent.

When she won… Effie would have a tough time keeping the perverts away from her.

He glared at everyone whose eyes lingered on her when she joined him next to their chariot and it was enough for most of them to make a hasty retreat. Finnick looked particularly interested but, Haymitch figured, he wasn’t more fortunate than they were. The golden fish pelt around the boy’s waist wasn’t exactly hiding everything either.  

“Gave her hell, yeah?” he asked the girl.

She narrowed her eyes. “She’s a real bitch.”

“Wait until Effie gets her hands on her.” he sneered.

“We’re the only ones naked.” she hissed, after having looked around. “That’s punishment too?”

“Could be.” he shrugged. Her eyes came to rest on what his boxers weren’t hiding and she visibly flushed under the coal dust. “Not a word.”

“Wasn’t going to say anything.” she muttered.

They were told to take their place. A staff member helped them get on the chariot and then guided the horses at the very end of the line.

He took a deep breath and tried not to let his memories blur with reality again. He had been standing with Maysilee last time, watching the back of their fellow tributes from Twelve, too nervous to talk or exchange any pleasantries.

He watched Chaff’s yellow jumpsuit this time, watched Seeder’s purple one. They were joking together like only old friends could, making as much light of the situation as possible. Haymitch wished he could do that too.

“We don’t wave.” he told Katniss. “We don’t smile.”

“But sponsors…” she frowned.

“You’re one half of the star-crossed lovers. This is unfair. You’re heartbroken.” he told her. “We’re playing that card.”

“That’s for me.” she hesitated. “What’s your angle?”

They had discussed it briefly with Effie and Peeta that morning at breakfast, before the girl had showed up. “Sarcastic asshole.”

“At least it won’t be difficult for you to act that part.” she teased, nudging his arm. Coal dust rose in puffs around them, making them cough.

“How much do you wanna bet it’s gonna fly off with the first draft?” he snorted.

Somehow, it wasn’t that funny when the wind picked up.

#hayffie #effie trinket #haymitch abernathy #into that good night

[thealfanator]

Dandelion’s Tales ~ Chapter 1

So I sat there like a fool, staring into the slight bursts and fizzles at the bottom of my mug.  Tiny explosions spat back at me like a wild cat.  For what seemed like sheer boredom, I shook the drizzle contents around and around, watching and listening more to the liquid whistling to me.  Sighing, I slowly put down the cup and looked around the tavern; gazing at the dancing women and playing bands.  I tried to hide my dorky, stupid smile at the same time as my slapped my eyes away from the various pairs of tits.  I cleared my throat.

“Dandelion!” she called me from the end of the table.  She startled me like I’d startle myself from the middle of a silent night – in a cold sweat from too many nightmares.  Nightmares such as: “what’ll happen when I run out of ideas for my stories” or “what if I run out of women” or maybe even “what if mead and ale go extinct”.  I chuckled at my stupidity before I realised she was still standing there with her hand out and prodding me for a refill.

“Yes.” I began.  Even I noticed the slur in my voice, however it was subtle.  “Mead. Again.”  I handed over my tankard; for a moment I thought I threw it at her, but I heard no clash on the floor and, frankly, I couldn’t care less.  My dreary, tired eyes and continuous slur of a drunk man carried me on through the night like an irresponsible father.

             So there I was, alone and fiddling with my crimson tuft of clothing, wondering what I’m doing with my pointless, insignificant life. Once again my reactions were skewed and before I knew it, three commoners were sitting opposite me with wide eyes like they were huddling round a campfire.  “What do you want?” I said in an accidently rude way.  I immediately apologised and greeted them with a smile as if I’d just splashed cold water on my face.

“Are you… Master Dandelion? The one who made the Chameleon?” the woman stuttered in an anxious tone.  I permitted her fits of laughter with a nod and smiled again.  The other two men stared excitedly too and I slapped them a nod with my hat.  “Can you tell us one of your stories?”  She asked. Suddenly and almost without my consent, my back stood straight – proud and ready for storytelling.  The slur in my voice vanished and my eyes became brighter.

“Well!  As you asked, of course!  Gladly!  I’ll tell you the story about this time when I met a loyal friend…”

I was wandering on horseback through a fairly green place.  Plants everywhere, overgrown foliage.  There were canvases of embedded greenery which felt almost carefully or strategically placed for view.  The whole area seemed like a painting – and it was pleasant! Splodges of trickling streams echoed around corners and atop rocks.  Trees stood so high you couldn’t even see the Sun!  Fungus and moss hung down and complemented the ivy curtains of the forest. I actually developed a habit for stopping and sucking in the peaceful, fruity air into my nostrils whilst also trying not to choke on the annoying little fly things I came across (to which I waved them away with my hat).  I’m sure that you’re not surprised that I also had a bunch of papers and journals stuffed under my armpit.  Chasms of knowledge cramped in my safe haven!  Anyway, I’m getting off task.  I trotted along with my horse until I came to an equally overgrown, tiny and abandoned village.  I didn’t mean to go there; I simply needed to pass through there to get to another place (to deliver those papers I talked about).  But, as you obviously thought, Curiosity got the better of me.  I dismounted and took tiny steps through the silence whilst clutching my papers.  I suppose they were my defence because I was certainly no swordsman!  I came to a door which was half ajar and, since I thought it was empty, I pushed it slightly to conjure various screams from the hinges. Before I entered, I subconsciously threw a few, short nervous breaths into the building like entering letters through a small slit of a door.

Now, I know what you’re thinking: “Master Dandelion is nervous and cowardly.” I am not a nervous person!  In fact, I’m probably the bravest person you know; I was just taking precautions because I’m a sensible human being!  Next thing I knew however, my caution was chucked down the drain as I sensed a random force at the back of my head as darkness greeted me to the floor.

**

Ow.  That was the first thing I said when I awoke.  My first thoughts consisted of multiple “Where the fuck am I?”s.  The next thoughts were that I realised my ankles were bound to the ceiling and other bloody sacks full of body parts were also on the ceiling with me.  It didn’t take long before blood was throbbing through my head and I immediately started feeling queasy.  I looked around.  Blood painted the walls followed by flies jumping around in enjoyment at the stench. As I’ve said, the blood-bursting sacks reeked.  I tried to plaster my nose with the palms of my bound hands to cover the awful smell but my urge to gag did not deflate.  I struggled, making grunting noises as I flailed to uncuff myself from the tiny, wooden shack in the middle of nowhere.

             Then I realised it wasn’t me that was grunting. I heard something through the slit of the ajar door on the other side of the room.  I figured out by now that that must’ve lead to the outside.  Anywhere was better than this fucking place. Ceasing my efforts, I listened hard. I heard exactly what I thought I heard: grunts of a large, inhuman beast coming from outside this room.  It sounded gigantic as every time the noises stopped, the earth would vibrate like it was taking a large, gulping step.  Outbursts of fiery anticipations made by this fascinating unknown sent shivers up my spine!  I almost wished I had my journals to write about this…

“Hello?” I wailed nervously, “Is anyone there?”  I knew it was wrong – calling for help at something which was obviously a threat – but I’m the stupid bard Dandelion who knew nothing better than the calligraphy at the beginning of words.  As you know now (and unfortunately for me), the snorts of curiosity pulled me into this thing even though I knew it was dangerous.

“Shut it!” came an anonymous whisper from behind me.

“Hello?” I called, surprised.  “Please, help me!  My crimson suit will get horribly ruined…”

“Shut the fuck up.” I heard footsteps crawl around the outside of the building on the patchy, wet mud that I presumed was there.  Suddenly, the creature I had been familiar with once before made groans of agony after clashes of sword smacked rocky substance.  I tried wiggling out of my prison again, but the ropes denied me once more.  I heard wailing, like a stray animal, but I couldn’t tell which one it was; the human or the beast.  Moments of silence pass.

             Suddenly the door smashed open, flooding light and making me sneeze uncontrollably.

“Sorry.  I have terrible allergies to sudden changes in atmosphere!” I apologised.  The whispering “shut it” man didn’t reply but did rip off my ties that bound me upside down – to which I thanked him profusely.  I tried to shake his hands but he barged past me, sheathing his sword heading outside.

“Get on the horse.” He said in a gravelly voice.  We both travelled on the same, brown horse into the green forest once again.  I’m just happy I got out of that blood-painted cell!

**

On the way to my unknown destination, I took a deeper look at my saviour.  Muscly.  He was muscly, and very strong.  He wore no shirt, so his bulky arms and large chest blazed in the Sun.  I traced my eyes down his back (as I rode behind him), and followed his scars like a trail.  He only had one sword; evidently not a Witcher, unfortunately.  However this was an interesting tale, and he was a soon-to-be ally I didn’t know I had at the time…  He wore trousers (thankfully!) but they were incredibly worn down.  He had a thick brown beard, little head-hair, and, from my experience, a deep and quaking voice.  My conclusions led me to believe that he was a warrior.  Simple minded – and uses the sword to make decisions.

             We reached a clearing.  A small patch of dry grass surrounded by boulders.  It looked enclosed; that’s what he thought too. The horse came to a stop.

“So?  Mind telling me your name?” I asked.  He replied with a punch to my stomach and rapid binding to my wrists with tough leather.  He then used the bottom of his boot to kick me to the ground.  “Brilliant!” I coughed, “That’s a great start.”

“You don’t talk unless I tell you to.” He roared.  I opened my mouth again to bribe him but I decided against it.  He, ignoring me of course, started doing his own thing! Tucking into his satchel and withdrawing weapons and sharp tools.  He tried his very best to just simply ignore me – when he wasn’t swatting away the flies which jabbed his sweaty forehead – but ended up giving me a monologue.

             “The creature will be here very soon.” He growled whilst fiddling with the tip of his shiny sword.  I kept my extremely misbehaved vocal chords shut.  “We need to prepare.”  But then he stopped and seemed to think about what he said.  “I need to prepare.” He corrected.  Satisfied that he was all ready for the fight, he wrapped me around a dense tree with reassured ropes.

“Look, I know you don’t trust me…” I began.  “but I’m just a mere bard!  I’m not gonna attack you or… anything.” He wasn’t listening.  I sighed before prodding a leaf with my shoe, but also trying to not get my suit dirty.  I looked at myself and decided it was already too late.  You couldn’t even see the crimson if you tried.

             I then heard it roar.  The massive rocky giant came out from within the trees and shook me terrified with a gaze alone.  I’m sure Geralt had told me that this was a rock troll, but I fear I might have been mistaken (mainly because I wasn’t really listening).  It had a thick, rock-like exterior with a face of what seemed like a hundred mangled tongues glued together into a skull shape.  Oozes of blood protruded between the cracks between its skin when it walked but it looked comfortable with that; as if it was used to pain.  It walked slowly and rhythmically.  My captor and my saviour drew his sword as I wiggled my way around the ropes across my chest – looking for a loose end to squirm out of and help him.  He, throbbing with adrenaline, started to jab the creature but I wasn’t really paying attention to that.  I heard them battle whilst I fiddled with the ropes once again, and again and again.  After what seemed like centuries, I broke through and stood up; looking at the fighting man.  To my fright, he was already bleeding on the forest floor.  But so was the creature.  It moaned up against a tree however it had started developing a plan to get back up again and finish us both.  To my saviour’s protest, I swiftly grabbed his bloody sword from the mud and threw it like a spear to the eye of the troll.  It immediately flopped, the life weeping from it.  It made a final, depressive shout before leaving the world and gifting us silence.

“Dandelion.” I said, “my name is Dandelion.” I swiftly offered him a hand up from the ground. Hoping he’d hurry up because the cuts I’d developed before were hurting, I smiled and chuckled a bit. Reluctantly, he agreed and I helped him up whilst he clutched his wound.

“Dune.  Guess the feeling’s mutual.”

**

So, my new ally, Dune, and I huddled ourselves around the campfire we made that evening; dressing our wounds and eating from the supply of food which he kindly offered me.  I sighed.

“What brings you here?” he asked.  I thought about it for a while and realised my initial goal – to deliver some papers – had officially gone out the window.

“Nothing much I guess.” I replied, “It’s kind of been a long day, mostly forgotten…”

“Tell me about it.” He chuckled before launching himself at a chicken wing and then sucking his fingers to detach the grease.  “Look… Dandelion, you’re welcome to tag along with me for a little while,” he smiled warmly, “I’ll keep you safe.  I mean, I don’t see you as the adventuring type – so I can’t imagine you making it back to wherever you need to go in one piece.”  I smiled again.  I didn’t even need to say ‘thank you’ because he could sense it as my eyes lit up.  I nodded.  Then he continued after getting up and packing his bag.  “We better get moving.  Here, we can travel on horseback to the nearest village and get ourselves organised.”

**

They looked like they’d gone to sleep, tankards in hand.  I finished the first part of my tale (to which I needed a good few top ups of ale), so I was pretty knackered too, but I pushed their floppy arms away and left them at the table – dozing until the morning.  I thought it would be best to sober up for now, then I will happily return to the inn to tell another story.

Hello!  I’m so glad to be back.  I love writing stories based on the Witcher and I hope you enjoy this one just as much as you did the others.  I upload chapters every Monday so stay tuned!  Please leave me feedback if you have something you would like to discuss with me, and I hope you have a good week :)

#dandelion's #tales #dandelion #dune #chapter #one #fanfiction #witcher #rise #of #the #white #wolf #assassin #kings #wild #hunt #written #fiction

[zimniysoldat-fiction]

Angel Eyes

Summary: An angel/demon AU featuring demon!Bucky and angel!Reader based on this request:

Pairings: Bucky x reader

Warnings: Religious imagery, probably some blasphemy, language, unprotected (graphic) sex

Word Count: 2,915

A/N: Ask and ye shall receive. I kinda got carried away with this one. I do hope it’s okay? (.gif has nothing to do with the story. I just like staring at it)

What happens when an angel knocks up a demon? You get a devilishly handsome half-breed with angelic charm and passion like hellfire running through his veins—you get me. Maybe I’m not as impressive as Lucifer, I didn’t fall from grace, I didn’t cut off my wings to spite my father—I never had wings—but I am more impressive than other demons. I’m stronger, smarter…just overall, I’m better. My unique position comes with perks from Luci, but jeers from full-blood demons. They say I’m not pure, that I have a disgusting heavenly glow about me. They say I don’t belong in Hell.

They’re right. I belong on Earth.

I belong in the realm of fallibility, temptation, desire, and rebellion. And over the centuries, I’ve come to realize that I really fucking enjoy destroying the bliss of ignorance so many humans cling to. Usually, this is welcomed by the people I share some of my knowledge with, but sometimes it is met with fear, anger, and violence. I’ve been ‘killed’ a few times by those desperate to remain ignorant. Hell. One time a few of them pushed me off a train in the Swiss Alps. I survived that, somehow, but my arm most definitely did not. I’m not a lizard, my limbs don’t simply grow back after being cut off, and I really didn’t want to be another one-armed Joey returning home after the War. So I went out and got this badass metal arm. It isn’t a set of wings or a spine of spikes, but it does set me apart from humans. It feels nice having a visual cue that I’m not like those I walk amongst.

The twenty-first century has been interesting. It took a while to find my footing among the technology and growing apathy. That is, until I walked into this place. This gorgeous, turn-of-the-century building with an open concept interior and a speakeasy in the basement immediately grabbed my attention and refused to let go. So I bought it. And I renovated it. And now it’s an independent bookstore and coffee shop. With a speakeasy in the basement. The speakeasy is my pride and joy.

So imagine my ire when two officials from the state strutted into my shop this morning asking questions about a possible illegal drinking den on the premises. As soon as I saw her, she made my blood run cold, sending a shiver through every nerve pathway in my body. She seemed to glow in the morning sun that filtered through the shop’s windows. And her hair…

Sure, silver/grey hair is trendy at the moment, but hers… The grey locks highlighted by metallic silver wisps… It reminded me of Luci’s hair. Minus the charred ends. It was captivating, but it also made me bristle. She was captivating, but also made me bristle.

I could tell that she took an immediate disliking to me, her features contorting as if she just drank battery acid the second she laid eyes on me. Normally, my chiseled jawline, sharp cheekbones, and icy blue eyes were enough to turn women into putty in my hands. Failing that, the henley shirts that feigned modesty while clinging perfectly to my muscles and haggard jeans that could barely hold in my dominating thighs definitely caught their attention.

And yet this woman could only look at me with contempt.

Being a Servant of the Lord is like walking on eggshells. If the eggshells were already smashed to dust before you entered the room and have to glue each bit back together, all the while trying to prove you weren’t the one to break the stupid things in the first place. So when you accidentally allow a megalomaniac to sit in the most influential, most powerful seat in the world while you were trying to prevent a race riot that would lead to genocide, nothing you could say or do will save your ass. That’s why I’m here. That’s why I’m living in New York like some mere mortal. A millennial. Do you have any idea how confusing and tedious this generation of humans  is? Extremely. The answer is ‘extremely’. If it weren’t for the internet, I would never have survived this long. Even though the more I read it, the lesser the likelihood of ever going home again. My fondness for Neil deGrasse Tyson alone is enough to have me permanently exiled.

One part of living like a human that really, truly sucks is having to work. It’s just so boring. I managed to get a job as the Mayor’s secretary, which isn’t too bad, but it feels like I’m always working. How do these things manage to have a life outside of the ‘daily grind’? I mean, just finding a job was hard enough. I lost count of how many employers assumed I dyed my hair and were disapproving of, what they thought was, my tattoo. None would believe that silver is my natural hair colour and that the celestial locks refused to be dyed any other colour. And I couldn’t very well tell them that the ‘tattoo’ of an albino snake slithering about my shoulder, traveling across my collarbone and whispering in my ear is, in fact, a very painful brand I received for my failings. Luckily the Mayor didn’t care about any of that. Honestly, I think he hired me just because he finds me attractive.

That would certainly explain this morning—his temper tantrum over being told someone from his office had to accompany an inspector, and that I was the only person available. Honestly? I wasn’t much happier than he was. This dress isn’t made for ‘official visits’. The pencil skirt alone makes it hard to walk at a respectable pace. But here I am, still desperately in need of a cup of coffee, walking into some bookstore. What business the Mayor’s Office had with a bookstore, I couldn—holy shit! Is that coffee I smell? I wonder if I can slip away to grab a cup?

Fantasies of coffee evaporated as soon as I saw the proprietor. He is most definitely not human. But…he’s also not an angel? Despite having the ice blue eyes of our race? What is he? And why is he so goddamned cocky? What I wouldn’t give to just tell this poor human that whatever it is he’s looking for is in the basement, behind the supply closet, so I can just go get a cup of coffee. But this…Bucky. He just said his name was Bucky, didn’t he? He’s a seriously adept liar. He has the poor rube convinced that he was mistaken and wasting his time.

Whatever. At least I can get some coffee now.

No matter how hard she tried, the exiled angel couldn’t get her mind off of Bucky. What is he? Her brain, her curiosity, wouldn’t drop the question. Even after getting home, getting out of that uncomfortable dress, and indulging in a bottle of wine, the question danced on her brain. What is he?

She couldn’t take it anymore. It was keeping her up in the middle of the night (not that she really slept—she mostly just drank coffee and wine). So she decided to throw caution to the wind, pulling on her favourite pair of boots—black stilettos in the style of combat boots—over her aubergine yoga pants. The black, off-the-shoulder sweatshirt that used to be an oversized hoodie was warm enough for the walk from her apartment to the bookstore. Or rather, the speakeasy underneath the bookstore.

Luckily for her, Bucky was still there, laying on the bar and puzzling over her. He had kept the speakeasy closed tonight, wanting the space and alcohol to dwell on her hair, her eyes…her. Could she be…? Maybe she’s just a hipster, riding the trend of silver hair and white tattoos on white skin. Was it even a snake? Maybe it was just some tribal scribble. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was familiar. Like he had seen it somewhere before. Turning his head to the side, he carefully sealed his lips around the neck of the whiskey bottle before chugging its entire contents in a desperate bid for relief.

Having heard the click of the door opening, Bucky sat up, sitting crosslegged in the middle of the bar. He should have been on red alert, or at least curious about what was on the other side of the door. Instead, he felt calm, like he was expecting a guest that was running a little late. And when he saw her silver hair and piercing eyes, he smiled widely, like he was just laying eyes on a long-lost friend. Captivated as he was, his eyes couldn’t help but to drop, looking at the tattoo that her sweater put on full display.

She walked into the speakeasy with a stubborn determination. She needed one answer to one question, then she could go home. Though she’d be lying to herself if she said she didn’t find the establishment’s décor alluring, intoxicating in its own right. And the way he stared at her filled her with self-doubt. Why is he looking at me like that? Her stride slowed halfway across the room, slowly coming to the end of the bar, keen on keeping at least that distance between them.

He was indeed bewildering. The eyes of an angel, the body of a demigod, and…a metal arm? He definitely wasn’t an angel if he couldn’t regrow or reattach parts of his corporeal form. Which brought her right back to why she was here in the first place. What is he?

“What did you do?” His voice led her gently out of her thoughts, bringing her attention solely on him.

“Sorry?”

“That brand.” He nodded to her exposed shoulder and subconsciously she pulled her sweater up and over the snake, shame washing over her. “You’re a fallen angel. So what did you do?”

“I…” she sighed and her eyes fell to the floor. “I stopped a race riot and in doing so, let a megalomaniacal idiot gain the power to bring about the end of humankind.” She bit her bottom lip to keep it from trembling. “And am a fan of Neil deGrasse Tyson.” She added as an afterthought.

She hadn’t noticed that Bucky had slid off the bar and was now standing directly in front of her. So she flinched with surprise when his thumb and index finger took hold of her chin, forcing her gaze up to meet his. His eyes beheld her with warmth, drinking in her beauty for a minute before bringing his lips down to meet hers in a soft, reassuring kiss that lingered longer than even he had anticipated.

“Don’t worry about that idiot,” he murmured, smiling as he finally brought himself to pull away from the kiss. “He won’t destroy humanity. Too stupid.” Both chuckled at this for a moment before falling silent, Bucky still indulging in the angel’s beauty.

Before either of them could process the chemistry between them, Bucky had her pinned against the wall with such a force that a few liquor bottles fell from the nearby shelf, shattering against the wood floor. His lips crashed against hers, taking what he wanted, though she offered no resistance, delighting in this entirely new heat coursing through her veins. His body was enough to keep her pinned to the wall, allowing his metal hand to wrap around her neck, gently cradling it, offering a tender form of support as he neck craned so her lips could meet his. His flesh hand felt its way down her body, hungrily exploring her curves with an impatient passion, until he reached her thigh, fingers digging in as he lifted her leg, wrapping it around his waist. He was grinding his hips against her, his hand pawing at her ass, squeezing and rubbing the soft flesh, when he started to break off the kiss, wanting to ask her if angels even knew what sex was.

“What are you?” She panted before he could even form his own words.

The question stayed his lust momentarily, though the way her fingers ran through his hair, the was she played with the chestnut tresses, and the way she chewed lustfully at her swollen bottom lip reignited it just as quickly, and he kissed her softly, pushing his hips forcefully against hers as he smiled.

“I’m a half-breed,” he barely got the label out before his lips were at the nape of her neck, chewing and sucking at the skin, enjoying the way he could feel her blood pulse with lust. “Mother’s a demon,” he managed as he took a second to catch his breath before bringing his lips to her earlobe, sucking and tugging, knowing the pleasure it would bring her. “Dad was some angel she never talked about.” He finished explaining before biting her lip, pulling her into another passionate kiss.

Having her answer, the angel surrendered herself entirely to this half-breed, chasing the whirling heat that was growing between her legs. Bucky was so turned on by her eagerness that he didn’t bother making a show of undressing, getting naked as quickly as he could, impatient for his next taste of her skin. It was only when he noticed her gaping at his fully erect cock that he remembered the question he had wanted to ask. He cupped her cheek with his flesh hand, pressing his forehead against hers as his chest heaved with lust, forcing him to catch his breath.

“Have you ever had sex before? I mean, do angels even know what sex is?”

“I’ve never had sex before, no.” She confessed, “and angels only have a basic understanding of the concept. But…” She smirked as she pushed him away, throwing her sweater behind the bar, sliding out of her pants. “I know perfectly well what sex is, sir.”

It was his turn to gape now—at her confidence, at her body, at her. The way she said ‘sir’ made his cock twitch and he found himself putty in her hands, those soft, warm hands that were rubbing his chest. As she pushed him back, his smile grew with every step they took, anticipating her next move. And she didn’t disappoint, pushing him down against the plush upholstery of the bench before climbing on top of him, knees on either side of him as she straddled his hips, her dripping wet pussy ghosting over the head of his cock.

He was lost in her eyes, and she in his while she slowly lowered herself onto him, moaning loudly at the pressure, and the pleasure that came with it. She clung to his shoulders as her body trembled, overwhelmed by his size, and the confusion of pain and pleasure that it brought. Wrapping his metal arm around her waist, Bucky leaned forward, bring his flesh arm up her back, his fingers tangling in her hair as he braced her and began to move inside her, doing all of the work while she adjusted to this new experience.

He couldn’t believe how tight she was, his cock tearing at her walls, twitching with the pleasure of her lust pulsating all around his girth.

“Fuck.” He groaned with the obscene pleasure she brought, his lips tenderly molding with hers, his tongue luring hers into a passionate, sloppy kiss.

He continued to slowly grind into her, his hips rocking up against her pelvis, his head dropping, burying his face against her breasts. The way she whimpered and moaned was intoxicating, and his grip around her tightened, not wanting to risk letting her go. Slowly, it became easier to move inside her and he began thrusting gently into her, smiling into her cleavage as he felt her nails dig into his shoulders and rake against his skin as she struggled to keep a grip.

She began to moan louder, completely lost in the pulsating heat while pure, blind pleasure pulled her muscles into her core. She didn’t know something so painful could feel so obscenely good. She wanted more, needed more, and began rolling her hips in time with his thrusting, chasing that obscenity. She was panting when she looked down at Bucky. His eyes were shut, his hair falling in his face as he groaned and growled with raw pleasure. The sight made her smile, inspired her to ride him as intensely as she could manage as she brushed the sweaty hair from his face, her fingers raking through and gripping at his hair.

Soon, she was gripped by the riptide of her climax rushing through every muscle, every vein in her body. As she reached the peak of her orgasm, she threw her head back, screaming with ecstasy while her body stiffened and her wings stretched to their full span, showering Bucky in their effervescent glow.

The hot sensation of her cumming over him was so intense that it pushed him over the edge, his hips bucking as he emptied himself inside of her. They rode out their orgasms together, Bucky still bracing the angel’s trembling body, holding her close. Even as they came down from their high, he stayed inside her, letting her body melt perfectly against his as though they were one.

Now that he found her, he was never going to let his fallen angel go.

TAGS:  @oneshot-shit; @marvel-ash; @bovaria; @hymnofthevalkyries; @archangel-trauma; @bionic-buckyb; @lostinspace33; @morbidmary; @bucky-plums-barnes

#bucky x reader #angel/demon au #bucky barnes #smut #smut request #fic req