#who sees the person inside the armour and behind the name

[fantastic-mr-corvid]

ffxiv Heavensward and stormblood spoilers ahead [dont look Ash]

WHat if the hero who everyone fell in love with and saw as a great political tool, a woman who did everything asked of her with only a sly tilt of her head, who was lauded as a hero and savior, gave you the privileged of dropping the mask for you. But what was under that mask was a churning anger that needed an outlet. and she chose you to take everything out on.

She got better, mellowed out, when you see her again she has grays in her hair and a smile on her face despite the struggle that was the liberation of Doma and Ala Mhigo, a gentle warmth in her eyes. but all you can think of is the hate that once burned there, uncaring of reasoning or consequences, just a desire to see you burn.

Maybe that rage lies in all dragoons hearts, maybe thats why they were both chosen above the rest, but he knows the fires of bitter anger and misguided revenge that consumed his heart back then was matched by the ferocity of the fire in her heart.

Alphinaud tells you that she promised to find a way to save you from nidhoggs possession, and you dont have the heart to tell him she was lying, you dont have the heart to tell any of them of the woman you fought with over coerthases rugged landscape. You had the privilege of seeing Arakow Star-sailer, seeing the raging heart inside the hero, but now you see her sorrow, her regret, both of you having taken different journeys but once again ended up matching.

Still, its hard not to flinch when the very moves she used against you, hard not to look at the lance she holds in her hands and remember hers puncturing through your body, hard not to brace yourself for fire and

Words are hardly needed, an uncomfortable understanding settling between you both, a shared history no one else will every understand. Few have survived her lance, the full brunt of her rage, and even fewer causing regret to take root in her heart.

And then you part ways again, and you hear of her, of her escapades and reputation, and you think of the Arakow only you every can know.

HELP. I'm thinking about the dynamic between my WoL and Estinian that only exists because i was so so angry at the time i played HW and Coerthas was not big enough for both our many issues.

[kitscutie]

hiii !! i was wondering can you do a fic where rafe comes and picks the reader up from a girls night out and she’s super drunk? tyy!

girls just wanna have fun (rafe cameron x fem!reader)

pairing: rafe cameron x fem!reader

warnings: feel bad for y/n and fluff (a little bit of psycho rafe at the end!?)

summary: after a rogue night at the boneyard you are in desperate need of comfort from your knight in shining armour - rafe cameron.

a/n: i am still trying to be more active while school is picking up but please bare with me :)

word count: 773

join my new taglist here!

Rafe pulled up to the Boneyard with a sigh. He was no stranger to this place, sure, but he was so used to being with you at these times when you would drink too much and end up being driven home in his truck. This time was different.

He had received a call from your phone, not from your friends but Kie. She had found you puking behind a log alone which sounded funny had it been anyone but you.

Your so called 'friends' from figure eight had ditched you. Rafe knew they were bitches but you ever with a golden heart had ignored his warnings, excited by their invite to a girls night meaning he could not accompany you. Now, he regretted it.

"Where is she?" He asked approaching the only person apart from you and Kie in attendance that he could mildly stand, Sarah.

She simply pointed to an area of the beach separate from the party, he appreciated that Kie had removed you from prying eyes who would no doubt speak of the Kook Princess' inability to hold alcohol tomorrow had they seen.

"Fucking finally, she wont stop crying." Kiara said, not out of anger but worry. He glanced down at you seeing you curled up in Kie's arms, eyes glassy and red, cheeks stained with tears.

"Hey baby." He said ever so gently, kneeling down to your level in the sand and no doubt ruining his expensive chinos.

"Rafe?" You whispered peeling your head from Kie's shoulder as you dared to take in your surroundings.

"Yeah it's me, you good?" He asked, lifting a hand to remove the strands of sweaty hair which had stuck to your forehead, the humidity of the Outer Banks mixing with your illness making your body ever so slightly too warm.

"No I-, I don't feel well and I can't breathe properly." You hiccupped, anxiety making your heartbeat uneasy. Your hands reached for his ironed black shirt and he let you scrunch it between your fingers, grounding your mind.

Rafe nodded at Kiara, letting her know she could leave with a silent thank you.

"Think you had too much to drink?" He asked, watching as you messily nodded in response. "You'll feel better soon then, yeah? I see you got most of it out already." He chuckled, knowing you had been sick multiple times between this moment and his phone call from Kie.

"Just wanna go home." You mumbled, leaning into his warm chest.

"Okay lets get you up then." He said standing up and taking you with him as you stumbled on your feet. "Lean against me okay? Good girl." He added as you did so. The name was comforting and soft, sure it was sometimes used during sex but in this moment it was more. Reassurance.

He supported you all the way to his truck where he buckled you in with a gentle kiss to your scrunched and rosy cheeks.

"I don't want you speaking to those girls again." He said, hands clenched around the steering wheel while his jaw clicked in place though his anger was not directed at you.

"What Kie and Sarah?" You slurred, "They helped me though." You finished as your eyes squinted beneath the street lights which flickered as you passed.

"No, no. I'd rather you talk to my fuckin' psycho sister at this point I'm talking about those Figure Eight bitches." He seethed making your head snap towards him.

"Number one, they're my friends, number two, you're also a Figure Eight bitch, no?" You giggled to yourself, knowing deep inside that his anger was justified to an extent. They weren't your friends, not really.

"They're not baby, you're kind and sensitive they're stuck up and have no personality outside of generational wealth." He replied. You saw the irony in his words though it appeared he didn't and it wasn't a hill you were ready to die on so you let it go.

"M'kay well, I feel better now you're here and I didn't like them all that much anyway I'm just surprised they would stoop that low." You sighed into the silent atmosphere as the car, feeling his gaze on you.

He softly placed a hand on your bare thigh in the darkness, squeezing it in a gesture of comfort.

"Yeah." He sighed in defeat.

In this moment, looking at you in the moonlight Rafe felt a new sense of protectiveness over you. You were naïve and too forgiving to your own detriment, he wasn't and if he could help it those girls would never see the light of day again, never mind your beautiful face.

[darthgloris]

2AM THOUGHTS #8: unburnt!Vader is attracted to a Jedi

The first time you saw Darth Vader in person, you were pleasantly surprised: you thought he would be this disfigured shell of a man that couldn't tell right from wrong, just another Sith with a mangled and scarred face.

But, oh, my God, was he the most gorgeous man you had ever laid eyes on.

From his sharp jawline to his slightly upturned nose to his cheekbones that seemed to be carved in marble, even the scar over his eye was attractive. And his eyes, his tantalising crystal blues had this intensity to them, this determination. It made your knees wobble for a split second, and it distracted you enough to almost get you shot.

From then on, at every battlefield you and him exchanged innocent glances that soon turned into eye-fucking, and at some point you began engaging in lightsaber duels. The tension was so palpable, it could be cut with a knife.

Now you were nervous, to say the least. The first time you and your troops would be engaging in combat on the Death Star, Vader's official station. You didn't want to fail the Rebellion, and you trusted that the ambition and importance of the undertaking would help you fight more efficiently.

The battle didn't go at all how you expected it to.

"Ahh, fuck, angel..." Vader groaned, relentlessly pounding you from behind. Your cheek was smushed against the wall, drool dripping out of the corner of your mouth with every mewl, and your breasts were pressed flush into the cold surface of the wall. His scent was rubbing off all over you, almost as if he wanted to mark his territory, his broad shoulders swallowed your smaller figure as his embrace engulfed you entirely, each snap of his hips made the metal shelves of the closet room creak and stutter with the sheer force of his movements.

"Vader..." you sobbed, one hand gripping the shelf to keep you grounded to reality while the other rested against the wall for stability. It felt like each time he pulled out, he dragged out your whole spine with him.

"Listen to you, moaning my name like a bitch in heat. Bet you want everyone hearing who's fucking you, huh?" He grinned, pawing at your breasts through your robes. The way his armour brushed against your back made you shiver, the feeling of his large frame turning you on more, if that was even possible. "Only a whore like you could have left her own troops alone just to get fucked good. I mean, how do they even take you seriously?"

You let out a loud cry at the words, whimpering and babbling his name. "Shh, quiet down for me, angel. Don't want anyone to see what belongs to you, do you?" You could only manage to shake your head, your brain could barely compose a coherent thought. He was fucking you too good.

"Good fucking girl..." he groaned, soft growls rumbling deep within his throat as his hips slapped harder against your ass.

"Vader... I- I'm close..." you stuttered. In a swift movement, he grabbed you by the waist and flipped you over, pushing your back against the wall as he shoved his cock in your entrance once again and slammed into you impossibly harder, making you inhale sharply and bite your fist to keep from screaming.

He grabbed your jaw with a surprisingly gentle grip, "Look at me, baby girl. I want you to look me in the eyes while you cum."

You gazed into his icy blues, a passionate sparkle to them as he stared back into your own eyes, and you felt your climax growing closer by the second. He brought his hand down to circle your clit and toyed with the wet folds, the pad of his thumb prodding at your sensitive pearl.

The overstimulation made you sob as the coil in your lower stomach finally snapped, making you cling to his shoulders as your hips curled repeatedly. "That's it, goooood girl..." Vader drawled, a guttural groan escaping his lips as your warmth flooded all around him. His thrusts grew sloppier and his cock throbbed inside you, indicating he wasn't going to last much longer. "Fuck- angel, you're gonna make me cum..." his voice cracked as his breathing picked up.

With a last particularly knee-weakening plunge, he threw his head back and groaned, this time slightly higher in pitch, and his aggressive bucking mellowed into soft strokes as he gritted his teeth in pure bliss while he rode out his high.

Vader sighed and slumped into you, his forehead resting on your shoulder as his chest heaved with passion and intensity. "That was... fucking... amazing..." he nuzzled his nose into the crook of your neck. "My perfect girl..."

[skywalkerslvt]

https://www.tumblr.com/skywalkerslvt/756313611838914560/httpswwwtumblrcomskywalkerslvt75520084001752?source=share

omg stop torturing him now we need to see him cry

a/n: haven't written for ani in a hot minute! so sorry for taking so long to get to this request- hope u enjoy this short blurb i wrote! <3

Anakin Skywalker has such a tough and intimidating exterior, forged through years of war and personal loss. His sharp gaze and tense posture always conveys his sense of danger and intensity, commanding the attention of everyone around him. His presence is undeniably commanding, exuding a natural authority that captivates and unnerves those around him–a man seemingly untouched by vulnerability. He's the epitome of control, a force of nature that bends others to his will without hesitation. In public, he is a warrior, a leader, and a man who hides his emotions behind a wall of unyielding power.

But when he's alone with you, that tough exterior crumbles bit by bit. The second your lips meet his neck, sucking deep purple marks into his flesh, the hardened mask he wears around others slips away, revealing the raw, unguarded parts of himself he keeps hidden. His breath hitches, his body shivering under your touch, and you can feel the tension drain from him with every kiss, every caress. It's like you're peeling back the layers of armour he's built around himself, exposing the vulnerable man beneath the warrior.

And when you take your top off, any trace of that hardened exterior that may have remained completely dissolves. Once he's inside you, the confident, commanding man is reduced to a trembling, overwhelmed mess. His once sharp, assertive movements falter, his hands clinging to you as if you were the only thing keeping him grounded. The broken moans spilling from his lips are soft and needy, his voice barely recognizable through the breathless gasps. His control unravels completely.

Tears well up in his eyes, sliding down his flushed cheeks as he moves inside you, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of the connection, of how deeply he needs you. His voice breaks with every thrust, begging for more, for release, for you to keep him tethered to the moment as he drowns in it. The once proud and unyielding Anakin now sobs softly into your neck, his tears wetting your skin as he loses himself in you. His body shakes, his face contorted in raw emotion, as the tears fall faster, completely undone by the sensations you pull from him.

You whisper his name, brushing the tears from his cheeks as his sobs deepen, the powerful man crumbling apart in your arms. He tries to speak, to form words, but only choked sobs escape, each broken plea falling into the space between you. He's shaking, his body shuddering as his tears continue to flow, his vulnerability laid bare for you to see, a stark contrast to the hardened exterior he shows the world. His tears, his cries, each sound, each broken gasp, all reveal how deeply you've touched him, how far you've made him fall from his carefully built walls.

By the time his release washes over him, he's a wreck-crying out your name as he clutches onto you for dear life, his face pressed into your shoulder, tears streaming down his face in complete surrender.

[alekthefox]

Fluff argenti x reader where the reader and him are dating and loves when argenti picks her up and spins her around plz?

Absolutely adorable! Your wish is my command.

Author's note after writing: I GOT SO CARRIED AWAY WITH THIS, AHHHHH, MY HEEEEART!!!! I cannot breathe and yet I'm the one who wrote it. ;u;

Tags: fluff, tooth-rotting fluff, existent relationship, sweet love

Pairing: Argenti/fem reader, 3rd person

It had been five months of blissful romance that the two had shared. She remembers the first day they had met dearly. Argenti bowed deeply with one hand behind him, the other gently pulling hers in to kiss the knuckles.

"By Idrila, you are a beauty like no other. Truly, you amaze me. Allow me to introduce myself, if I may. My name is Argenti, I belong to the Knights of Beauty. May this rose convey my heartfelt salutations."

The hand from behind his back appeared into view as he rose to his height, it held a single, thornless, red rose. The stem was cut at an angle, every petal perfectly in place.

Now, five months into this beautiful love, the honeymoon phase is yet to end. At every month's anniversary he writes her a poem, every time the roses in the vase wither he replaces them with fresh ones; always with a note, and every night he'd take off his armour to hold her the entire night. His arms were heavy from the strife he engages in, yet he is always as gentle as a petal swirling in the wind only to fall upon her figure.

Her dearest moments would be whenever he'd return home after work and head to wherever she is, setting aside his weapon, and pressing her into his arms. To Argenti she weighs nothing at all, akin to a feather of the most beautiful bird. And that is how he holds her, as she is precious to him, and her smile is worth more than anything else in existence. And every time he'd return he'd press her into his chest, strong arms clad in armour picking her up with ease, and spinning her around.

"Look at how beautiful you make the world, my love, my dearest. When you smile the world seems oh-so colorful. If I were to see a triple rainbow it would not compare to you."

She laughs as she wraps her arms around him and looks into his eyes, the world around them blurring through the motion. As if nothing else was worth seeing aside from each other. He'd gently put her down but not let go, bending to bury his head in her neck, soft cheek against her skin. His silky red hair would tickle her. But she doesn't mind in the slightest.

After an eternity in each others arms, which felt like less than a second, he'd take off his armour and get comfortable. The two would eat, talk about their day, consider adopting some sweet, small creature to keep her company in his absence. When evening would come he'd softly brush her hair, looking at her in the mirror, placing a kiss on her head. Then she would return the favour, brush his hair; and because he always allows it, braid it as well.

The next day he would be free, only to spend more time with her. To embrace her, speak sweetly with her, spin her around every chance he gets, play with her hair, treat her with sweet treats, kiss her forehead, anything to see those eyes of hers light up and those lips form a smile. And even when she is too tired for anything else, he looks at her like a unique masterpiece, a painting made by Idrila herself, and just sighs with hearts in his eyes, completely content.

The day after that he clutches a small box in his pocket he recently bought, after a long time of careful choosing. As he exits the door with a kiss to her cheek and closes the door... he pulls out the box and examines the ring inside.

"Soon, my dearest. You make me the happiest. I hope I can forever have that smile in my life."

[tagsecretsanta]

From @thedryswan

From @thedryswan to @call-me-casual

Sort an alternate ending for S1 E23 “Chain of command”, what if Janus and the GDF managed to breach into Thunderbird 2?

Anything based on the song “Little Wolf” from the EPIC musical. Bonus points if it’s set very soon after Jeff’s “death”

Everyone thinks Scott’s spending all that time combing his hair. He’s totally not putting on mascara.

TAG SECRET SANTA 2024 – PROMPT 1

Undeterred by the jolt of static which sent him tumbling backwards, Janus staggered to his feet and returned up the walkway to where the laser cannon had sliced a circular groove in the side plate of Thunderbird Two, a muscle in his jaw twitching with determination.

He ordered the GDF soldiers to bring back the battering ram and once again they braced themselves and prepared to send it crashing against the damaged side plate. A second or two before the ram was due to connect with the hull, the panel slid back sending the soldiers tumbling forward with the momentum and landing in a pile of tangled limbs half in and half out of the cockpit. Selecting two of the soldiers, Janus sent the more injured ones limping back to barracks dragging the ram between them, and entered the cockpit, expecting to find it occupied by four angry Tracy brothers. However, the ceiling hatch was just sliding closed with a low hiss of hydraulics and not only were there no Tracys, there were also no seats.

According to the holodisplay, all four of the International Rescue team had evacuated in armoured ejector seats and were now somewhere up in the air (exact locations unknown or undisclosed).

Never mind, he thought, he could worry about that later. His first task, now that he had successfully taken possession of the Thunderbird, was to remove it to a secure location where the interfering Tracys and their associates would not be able to retrieve it and, while having no seats for the duration of the journey would be a bit annoying, it was nevertheless not the end of the world.

Folding his arms, he walked slowly around the cockpit, marvelling at the banks of switches, relays and controls which seemed to cover every available surface. Very few had labels of any kind which made him shake his head at the thought that one person could possibly know what every button did. Returning to the central console, he reached out and pressed one of the few buttons which was labelled and which, ordinarily, should have fired up the VTOL engines. Instead, suddenly, all the panels, controls and indicator lights switched off and with a deafening clang, a solid cahelium heat shield deployed, entirely covering the forward windscreens and plunging the cockpit into darkness in less than two seconds. The door they had entered through had also resealed itself without them noticing and there appeared to be no handle on the inside or control panel which they could override to open it.

“Please tell me at least one of you remembered your flashlight?” Janus asked impatiently.

“Uh, I have my cell phone, I think. But it’s kinda low on battery.” mumbled one of the soldiers, who Janus had mentally tagged as Idiot #1 but whose name was Robinson.

“Fine then,” he snapped, “Turn it on so we can see what we’re doing.”

Before Robinson could drag the phone from his pocket, the pitch dark was lit by a ring of twelve white LEDs. A moment later, they heard a voice although it was difficult to tell if it was a woman or a girl speaking.

“Hello?” it said, “Oh! You’re not... quite who I expected.”

Janus rubbed his hands together, pleased that at least some of the Thunderbird’s functionalities were online. “So, you’re the onboard computer are you? Activate the control console.”

“Yes and no.” replied the voice. “And you really could be a little more polite.”

“I beg your pardon?” snapped Janus, ignoring the muffled laughs of Robinson and Lewis behind him.

“You didn’t say ‘Hello’, you didn’t ask my name and I certainly didn’t hear pleases or thank yous.”

Snarling, he responded. “Hello.” he began in an oily voice. “And who might you be?”

“I am EOS.”

“How very nice to meet you. Now, would you kindly indulge me and turn on the console here so I can get us airborne? If you please?”

“That’s much better, although I do think you’re overdoing it a bit. But I wasn’t lying. I’m not the Thunderbird Two onboard computer. I just advise every now and then on navigation and guidance systems. I don’t have access to engine components or ignition controls.”

“Well, isn’t that just my luck?” seethed Janus through gritted teeth, beginning to tap the unresponsive console with increasing force in an attempt to get anything working.

“Kindly refrain from damaging the hardware.” asked EOS, “This is a highly expensive piece of machinery and if you break it, your insurance will have to cover the cost of repairs.”

A sudden distant roar, and a partial hologram flashed up indicating that power had been restored to the engines and all was ready for takeoff. Janus had no idea which was the magic button he had hit to get things online but right now he didn’t care.

He grabbed Robinson’s wrist, holding it so that the light from his phone shone on the various instruments. As an experienced pilot, Janus had flown fighter jets, helicopters and private planes in his career; thankfully it seemed the basic architecture of Thunderbird Two was not too dissimilar to the commercial plane and flight simulators he had worked on as a younger man. This flight, though, was likely to be a bit of a challenge given that he had to rule out both instrument flight rules, since none of them responded, as well as visual flight rules because of the heat shield.

At the exact moment he located the throttle lever, the phone battery died plunging them all into near darkness again except for the white LED ring. Patting his foot along the floor, Janus found rudder pedals and flapping a hand around he found the steering wheel, realising he would have to fly on gut feeling and experience alone. Resting his hand on the throttle, he was pleasantly surprised to see the altimeter blink into life so he would at least have an idea of how high they were flying. It would have been nice to have some response from the pitot tubes to judge his airspeed or some kind of attitude indicator or directional gyro but they would have to, well, wing it.

Closing his eyes to try and remember the layout of the warehouses and buildings surrounding them, Janus ran a quick mental calculation of how high they would need for vertical takeoff in order to clear the obstructions around them for horizontal flight.

EOS had the kindness to warn him about the extreme sensitivity of the controls and he pulled back on the throttle as gently as he could with his left hand, keeping the steering wheel level with his right. It wasn’t gently enough, apparently, as the Thunderbird began to vibrate violently, the VTOL over-revving, and the three men felt their stomachs drop into their boots as the craft shot up vertically like a rocket. Janus’s eyes widened looking at the altimeter, the numbers spinning faster than he could read. No craft, he thought, should be able to go so fast from a standstill. What began to concern him was that the Thunderbird felt unbalanced, perhaps because of the sheer velocity or maybe some thermal pockets in the upper atmosphere, but in spite of his efforts to keep her level they could feel it banking and rolling.

He released the throttle and attempted to find any kind of button or switch to steady their flight path. With a lurch, rather like plunging down a rollercoaster, they felt the Thunderbird drop, their sudden loss of altitude confirmed by the dial on the console. Janus could distantly hear and feel that the engines were still firing, which was reassuring.

Until the reassuring noise was replaced by a “phut-phut-phut” sound and the Thunderbird again seemed to lose height.

“EOS?” bellowed Janus, “What’s going on?”

“Uuuummm… I’m not entirely sure. Loss of power for some reason. That shouldn’t usually happen. Unless… Oh, did you switch on the engine recoil actualiser before the reverse thrust compensator? It could be that some of the ion fission output has clogged the airflow input processors.”

His fleeting thought was that none of those terms sounded at all genuine, surely this EOS person was pulling his leg. The steering wheel was wrenched out of Janus’s grasp as Thunderbird Two suddenly went into an uncontrolled and unexpected barrel roll, sending the three men tumbling around the cockpit like pebbles in a washing machine spin cycle. It was around this point that he realised a critical difference between him and the soldiers. While they had tough armoured helmets, kevlar reinforced suits and steel toed boots, he was a uniformed officer with only a cloth suit and cap. He could already feel bruises forming and, assuming they all got out alive, he would be hurting for a week at least.

The rolling stopped as quickly as it began, as a deafening siren sounded, along with a robotic voice saying “Warning. Obstruction. Warning. Obstruction.”

Janus scrambled towards what he hoped was the front of the cockpit, finding the the rudder control pedal and hauling himself to to his feet to grip the steering wheel in an attempt to regain stability.

“Auxiliary power restored. Thrust capacity at five point three percent.”

The three men each drew deep, relieved breaths as the shuddering craft stabilised and the whine of the engines could be heard again. The altimeter, however, showed they were still falling and Janus tried to gain some gradual lift by pulling on the levers. The Thunderbird’s response to the small movement was completely out of proportion as it immediately began to climb, and from the angle of the floor beneath their feet, they could feel that it was flying a sharp ascent so hopefully it would be enough to clear whatever was in the way outside, the computer still barking its warnings about obstructions.

Janus managed to control the climb and level the Thunderbird out although the altimeter now showed blank. Before he could worry too much about that, a series of distant explosions sounded which triggered yet more warnings.

“Warning. VTOL Engine One Failure. Warning.”

One after the other, all four of the VTOLs failed.

“Warning. Terrain. Pull Up. Pull Up. Warning. Terrain. Terrain.”

“EOS!” yelled Janus but there was only deafening radio static in response, with sudden blasts of icy cold air from the cockpit vents.

“Brace for impact. Brace. Brace.” advised the onboard computer.

“What?” cried Lewis, “Brace against what exactly? We have literally zero things to hang on to!”

Flailing around, Robinson grabbed the first thing he found which happened, unfortunately, to be Janus, knocking him off his feet again.

With a loud thud, several teeth juddering vibrations and the sound of screeching metal, they felt Thunderbird Two land heavily on whatever the surface outside might be and bank sharply to starboard, sending them skidding across the floor, scraping themselves on the ridges where the pilots seats had been before slowly dragging to a halt. In the ensuing silence, all they could hear was the blood pumping in their ears and the distant “plink plink plink” of hot metal cooling but at least they were down and no longer moving.

Or were they? Without the use of their eyes to verify what they were feeling, they had that slightly odd sensation one gets when on a boat floating on gently rolling waves.

“EOS?” Janus asked, fighting a mild wave of panic, “What have we landed on?”

“According to my data, you have landed on water.” EOS displayed a hologram of the Earth with a helpful red arrow as a ‘you are here’ marker. If she was correct, and Janus had no reason to doubt her, they had landed in one of the most remote parts of the ocean.

“Very well, deploy buoyancy measures.”

“Negative.��� replied EOS, continuing in a voice laced with smugness. “I ought to point out you stole an aircraft. Not a sea craft. If you wanted something that can float, you should’ve stolen Thunderbird Four instead.”

Lewis was whimpering slightly and chewing his knuckles. “This thing can float though, right? Until rescue gets here?”

“Of course not.” replied EOS again. “Thunderbird Two is made from cahelium and weighs four hundred and six tonnes without its payload. With the additional weight of a fully laden pod its current weight is around five hundred tonnes.”

Robinson flung his arms in front of him, flailing blindly and stumbling forward until his knees made sharp contact with the control console whereupon he began frantically searching every display and control he could reach, patting and tapping, trying to find a switch which would jettison the pod and lighten their craft. So much of the console was tactile, though, that it felt completely smooth without the slightest dial or knob. While Robinson was vainly searching for buttons, Lewis stretched up on his tip toes to try and reach the ceiling, hoping he might locate the hatch and that there might have been an unlocking mechanism which would at least get them out of the current trap they were in.

“You are seriously telling me,” snapped Janus, “That this hunk of metal has no lifejackets onboard?”

“Correct. It’s not a commercial craft designed to take on passengers, for one. The usual pilots have the necessary emergency measures built into their flight suits. And as I have already mentioned, it’s an aircraft. There might be something one could rig up stored in the pod.”

“How do we get in there, then?” asked Lewis, hammering at the locked cockpit door having abandoned his attempts to reach the ceiling hatch.

“Once the power comes back online you should be able to unlock the doors, providing you have the correct override access codes. You do have them? Right?”

“Of course we don’t!” howled Robinson, balling up a fist and lashing out, inadvertently hitting the bank of switches above the pilot’s seat (or at least, where a pilot’s seat would be if Virgil and his brothers hadn’t gone and confiscated them). For a short while, Robinson’s only concern was the pain in his fist from the impact of body on metal and moulded plastic.

As panic began to settle in, not helped by the three of them still being in complete darkness, they began to bicker.

Slowly, though, realisation crept over them that the floor had begun sloping again, indicating that the rear of Thunderbird Two was lower than the front and that they might, inevitably, be sinking. The air in the cockpit was growing colder, making them shiver, and faint noises on the edge of hearing became a little louder; enough for them to identify it as water, a few drips to start with but becoming a steady trickle.

“This thing’s not water tight?” cried Janus. “Who the hell built this?”

“It was never designed to be water tight,” replied EOS testily. “Because it’s an aircr-”

“Yes! We get it!” yelped Lewis, as Robinson finally located the manual override handle on the ceiling hatch. With an echoey clunk, the hatch unlocked and he was able to drag it open, jumping up and beginning to pull himself onto the roof. In an instant, the dark night was lit by bright floodlights and Robinson, who had only managed to haul his torso up and out of the cockpit, his legs still dangling down, raised his arm to shield his eyes.

“How close are we to sinking?” called Lewis.

“Uh….. Not very.” He lay down and reached out an arm, helping first Lewis and then Janus up into the cold night air.

Looking around them, they seemed to still be on solid asphalt, not having moved an inch from the moment they became trapped in the Thunderbird. At a distance stood Colonel Casey and the four Tracys, all arms folded.

“Colonel Casey?” called Janus, adjusting his cap, “Your presence here is unauthorised. Turn around before I have you arrested.”

“I don’t answer to imposters.” she replied, “Your credentials don’t seem to check out. Colonel. We’ll be escorting you back to headquarters to answer a few questions.”

Casey nodded to two soldiers to take Janus into custody and, as they led him to the GDF ship, he looked back over his shoulder at the Thunderbird which looked, remarkably, in pristine condition.

“How high did we fly?” he asked.

“About, what, ten, fifteen meters?” Virgil replied, looking at Scott for confirmation.

“You mean thousand meters, right?” prompted Janus.

“No, fifteen meters. Tops. And I think ‘flying’ is overselling it. I basically had you just hover over the parking lot for a few minutes. The rest is all down to 4D effects, making Thunderbird Two act like she’s on a gimbal and the highly impressionable human nature. See?”

As they watched, Virgil activated controls which adjusted the retractable legs, demonstrating how they managed to make the Thunderbird feel like it was sinking.

The vituperative remarks spat by Janus were spoken in too low a voice to be heard over the guffaws and giggles as he stepped up into the ship surrounded by armed guards.

Turning to look back at Thunderbird Two, the brothers grinned. Virgil’s primary concern was how long it would take to repair the laser damage but Gordon grabbed Scott’s arm.

“Two things. First, the workers in danger?”

“All under control,” called Colonel Casey, “GDF operatives are working with local teams, everyone involved is safely on the ground.”

John confirmed the positive resolution over the shared comms channel.

“Second thing?” prompted Scott.

“How do we get our seats back into Thunderbird Two?”

TAG SECRET SANTA 2024 – PROMPT 3

By the look of it, the weather gods had obliged and it would be warm and sunny all day. Perfect for his daughter’s seventh birthday party. Gran Roca wasn’t the biggest house in the area, and if they had been obliged to be stuck indoors because of rain Scott was fairly certain they would have managed, but it did mean that some of the party guests would have free rein to run off steam outside if needed.

He could hear music from downstairs, a combination of his five year old son Adam’s piano lesson with Uncle Virgil and the radio in the kitchen where his wife was keeping an eye on the cake to make sure no little fingers got where they shouldn’t. Three children under the age of eight (and a fourth on the way they hadn’t told anyone about yet) was a challenge at the best of times and there were days when the pair of them felt like they were herding cats. Scott and his wife, though, wouldn’t change a thing.

Thankfully, they had help from the wider family for today’s birthday party, including some amazing decorated cookies. Virgil had been trying to steal some all week at home but had had his hand slapped away each time by his ever-vigilant husband Conrad who was a true artist with a piping bag.

As Scott slowly shaved, ignoring the number of white hairs he was slicing from his face, there was a tap at the bathroom door.

“Mm?” he replied.

“We have a situation.” replied his wife, creeping into the room and closing the door softly. It had been over ten years since anyone had said that phrase to him, ten years since International Rescue had undergone a gradual change and increase in numbers of staff so that now every continent had its own squad managing their geographic area but available to jump in to help in other parts of the globe if there was a catastrophic emergency. It had been a lot easier to relinquish command than Scott had expected, and having his own family was a great reward. He still ran the teaching program that iR required for its operatives, a combination of classroom learning and in person training and drills.

His wife held her phone up to Scott’s ear as he grabbed a towel to dry his hands.

“Hello?” he asked.

“Hi Mr Tracy.” croaked a voice from the other end. Briefly checking the phone display, he realized he was speaking to the entertainer who had been booked to run much of the day’s party. “I’m so sorry-” the voice broke off with a bout of muffled coughing. “But I’ve been fighting off this bug all week-”

“Hey, it’s okay. I can hear you. Just, uhm, get better soon and we can work something out. Thank you for letting us know.”

“Thank you.” replied the entertainer, “I’ll sort out a refund for no show during the week.”

“Not the most urgent thing but thank you. And go, get well.”

He disconnected the call and looked at his wife.

“Well, that’s annoying. Freya was really looking forward to meeting Elsa for a big Frozen sing-a-long.”

“So what are we gonna do?” she asked.

Scott thought a moment, turning the phone over in his hands. “I’ll be back in an hour. Gordon and co should be here around ten and they’re a party all by themselves.”

Planting a quick kiss on her cheek, Scott dashed through their bedroom and down the stairs, snatching up coat, boots and car keys on his way past.

“Hewwo Daddy!” called three year old Daniel, who was playing in the big living room with his oldest cousins, the eleven year old twins Henry and Lucy. He reached out both chubby hands to grab the kiss Scott blew in his direction and giggled as he snatched the invisible kiss from the air.

True to his word, Scott was back at the ranch in just under an hour, carrying a large box and saying nothing about his errand.

Guests started arriving for the party just after lunch, most of them from Freya’s first grade class, a couple from her afterschool science club and one from her ice skating class, and once Scott was sure that his wife had all the grown up hands she would need to manage so many kids, he snuck away upstairs to get ready. Opening the box, he carefully took out all the equipment he had hastily assembled and grinned.

Shrugging himself into the costume, he twisted and turned to try and reach the zipper but realized this was probably why his wife tended to ask for his help when putting on a dress. A quick SOS text yielded results when his wife came upstairs and peered around the bedroom door.

“Oh my god, that’s genius!” she whispered, zipping the floor length blue dress up and carefully attaching the gauzy snowflake cape at the shoulders and cuffs.

“Do you have any spare bobby pins to keep this thing on?” he asked, sliding a white blonde wig with its long braid on to his head and tugging it into position.

“Hm. The colour suits you.” she smiled, handing him pins and picking up one of the spray canisters from the bed. “What’s thi- Noooo… Silly String?”

“What did you think it was? Easy Cheese? And it’s biodegradable, entirely plastic free and machine washable.”

Giving him a hug, she returned to the party as Scott helped himself to the contents of her make up bag, hoping she wouldn’t mind if he opened the brand new mascara.

“What’s he doing up there?” Alan asked, seeing his sister-in-law returning downstairs, “He can’t still be combing his hair. I mean, there’s less of it these days, right?”

She glared at him with a suppressed smile.

Five minutes later, Scott picked up his phone, opened the app which linked up with the speaker system in the house and tiptoed to the top of the stairs. Hitting the play button, he swiftly tucked the phone into his right boot. While he had managed to find an adult sized Elsa costume and wig without too much trouble, getting hold of a pair of sparkly heels in his size was not on his list of priorities so his feet were still encased in clunky work boots.

He made his way slowly down the stairs, miming the words, Freya and her friends grouped at the bottom, jumping and clapping with glee which ramped up a notch when they realized it was actually Freya’s dad in disguise.

With each repetition of “let it go” he squirted Silly String in all directions, covering much of the living room.

A loud round of applause rewarded Scott for his theatrical performance when the song ended and the rest of the party was a smash hit as far as Freya was concerned.

Later that evening, once all the guests had gone home, Scott was relaxing with a cold beer out on the porch along with Gordon and Virgil, still wearing the dress but having shed the wig several hours previously. The other respective spouses were indoors putting their kids to bed with more or less success depending on the relative sugar consumption. Rubbing tired eyes, Freya came out to say goodnight, flopping down onto her father’s lap for a few moments.

“Best party ever, Dad.”

“Really? I’m glad, sweetheart.” he replied, hugging her close.

“I like your brown hair better though.” she yawned, “Can you dress up as Belle next year?”

Scott stared. What had he let himself in for?

[wordsandrobots]

Since you’re THE biggest IBO understander, I’ve wanted to get your input on something that’s been circulating in my mind for a while.

What do you think was Tekkadan’s biggest flaw that led to their downfall?

Heh, well, first off, I can't claim the definite article. Prolific output does not equal authority. But I can certainly try to give you both my understanding of what the text is aiming for and my opinions about the final result.

I have seen Orga Itsuka's biggest flaw termed a 'lack of conviction', although I would argue it's fairer to call it confusion over how to enact his convictions. Because Orga absolutely believes from the bottom of his heart that the most important thing in the world is to create a future for his friends. He just doesn't know how to do that, long-term. He's a tactical thinker, reacting to what's in front of him rather than taking a bigger-picture view. And he's willing to risk everything, including the lives he's trying to protect, to get immediate results. This works well for short-term victories but tends towards blind recklessness. Moreover, since Orga has not actually established for himself what a good future for everyone should look like, he latches on to other people's versions of it. First the CGS, then Naze, and finally, fatally, McGillis. For all his own intense charisma, he falls hard for that of others, and misjudges badly as a result.

This would be bad enough in isolation, but it's combined with Tekkadan's generalised 'all or nothing' attitude to truly terrible effect. I touched on this in the context of Mika and Orga's relationship in a previous essay: the rest of Tekkadan are behind Orga 110% and that creates its own inexorable momentum. We see multiple characters express dismay at looming problems-- Eugene, Biscuit, Merribit, even Shino -- only to set their doubts aside for what they perceive as the greater good. They believe in Tekkadan, more than anything else, this dream Orga has sold them on, and protecting it and advancing its fortunes becomes an all-encompassing goal for which they will gladly lay down their lives.

[As an aside, Shino's conversation with Eugene right before the 'final battle' is a great example of this problem playing out. As much as I rag on him, Shino isn't stupid. He shows repeatedly that despite his gung-ho attitude, he can recognise a losing fight. But he's quick to mask or go back on his doubts and act like Tekkadan is going to pull through regardless, because Orga has gotten them this far, right? Set alongside Eugene's failure to replace Biscuit as the voice of reason, it serves to underline how deeply enmeshed the boys are by this point. They've bet everything on Orga, and can't bring themselves to break with him. Not unrelatedly, it's Shino himself who talks Orga into the gamble that costs him his life.]

This combination -- the boy who doesn't know where he's going and the people willing to follow him anywhere he leads -- is what the show positions as Tekkadan's key flaw and the results of it steadily ramp up as the story progresses. They scrape through Season 1, making a big name for themselves, and reach their zenith by taking down the Dawn Horizon Corps with minimal losses. But then the 'Silent War' hits, dragging them more directly into political power-plays. It goes appallingly badly: they are betrayed from within, their legitimate connections to the Arbrau bloc are severed, and they lose their presence on Earth.

Next they uncover the mobile armour, and while they mange a victory over it, Mika definitively proves that he won't let Orga stop under any circumstances, McGillis is inspired to throw caution to the wind, and Tekkadan's tenuous position inside Teiwaz implodes. They just about got away with jumping on board with McGillis' coup plans, but once they've taken out the 'armour and embarrassed Iok Kujan into the bargain? A lot of chickens come home to roost.

Naze -- the one person Orga respects, listens to, and who actually has the potential to reign him in -- dies as a result of Tekkadan's display of power. Afterwards, Orga knows killing Jasley in return will mean breaking with Teiwaz. He hesitates, visibly, over going through with it -- only for the pressure of everyone wanting vengeance on behalf of Naze, Amida, Lafter and the rest to tip him over the edge. From there, the only possible route to achieving what he wants is the alliance with McGillis, who turns out not to be able to deliver on his promises. Everything falls apart.

Now. The way this is presented carries judgement. Orga is repeatedly castigated for his decisions, including the loss of one of his closest friends. Likewise, the Arbrau/SAU war arc serves as a microcosm of Tekkadan's failings, with Aston's death stemming from Takaki blindly acting according to their ethos. Crucially, Takaki chooses to change for the better, taking one of the other options available to him (with Kudelia's help) -- notably in the same moment Orga is doubling-down on his existing path.

Tragedies are built from characters making the wrong choices and this juxtaposition serves to underline that they are wrong, and could be approached differently. Takaki is correct to hold on to what he has instead of risking it for the sake of an imagined 'better place'. He recognises something Orga does not until after Shino is killed (and lots of other people, of course, but it's framed around Shino's death).

There follow several scenes of Ogra being directly called out. 'He died for you!' Eugene snarls, taking charge of getting everyone to safety. 'You're whining?' Yamagi demands, when Orga reaches his lowest ebb and comes close to abandoning Tekkadan's cause. 'I was under the impression you had a spine,' sneers Rustal Elion, assuming moral authority and refusing to blunt the consequences of Orga's actions.

[When @prezaki asked me to explain my stance on Rustal Elion's intentions, I talked about his gestured-to positive traits. That's not what I mean here: Rustal takes control over the setting and imposes his morals upon it. The tenor of his exchange with Orga is of someone in the right looking down on someone pleading for unearned leniency. Whatever you think about that -- and I view it as a great demonstration of Rustal's inherent contempt for 'little people' who don't meet his standards -- this is functionally what's happening, and Orga is powerless against it.]

In light of this, the manner of Orga's death -- finally taking up a gun and sacrificing his life for his comrades after two seasons of doing the opposite -- is both fitting and a form of redemption. Given the director's original conception of the show being one that ended with every named protagonist dead, a thread of 'just desserts' is undeniably present. Tekkadan are not placed in a positive light for their determination, which comes with a bloody cost, both on their side and on their enemies'. They are fools and upstarts in a world that violently rejects change.

However, like many of the show's components, its authorship is a two-part affair. Mari Okada and other writers argued against the kill 'em all direction, and the end result is far more ambiguous than clean-cut condemnation. To be clear, it is absolutely still saying that Orga and Tekkadan as a whole make terrible decisions. But the more-hopeful-than-it-might-have-been ending allows space for greater nuance. (Which is good - I doubt I would be as enamoured with IBO if it had concluded by thoroughly punishing a group of child-soldiers for being what they are and committed to their never being anything else.)

In light of the actual ending, we can look seriously at the ways the show demonstrates why its characters behave as they do. Mika and Orga's ingrained behaviour is responsible for a lot of what goes wrong, but we are shown quite blatantly that they would not have survived into adolescence if they hadn't developed it. The ever-present threat of what would happen if Tekkadan *didn't* strive to grow stronger and resist the harmful forces surrounding them frames every decision. Even the individuals who mean them ill are the products of the systems that created this whole miserable situation. Nobliss, Ein, Gaelio, Carta, Iok, Jasley, Galan, Rustal -- they each have major personal failings but are equally shaped by their positions in society, just as the boys are shaped by theirs. By being so thorough in constructing an exploitative world, the writers and director hew against reducing the characters down to simply being flawed people.

They are instead flawed people doing their best with limited resources in oft-times impossible circumstances. The story at once highlights the brutality of its protagonists and that they are children, abused by those who see them only as tools, within systems that encourage that perspective. Tekkadan is itself a microcosm of larger patterns, of might making right and human life being exchanged for money. Throughout, lines are blurred between 'proper' soldiers and teenage mercenaries, between businesses and the mafia, between pirates and police. The whole is rotten and while struggling may not be a path to survival, it is at least clearly a path, if you can stick to it.

Thus, any discussion of Tekkadan's flaws must account for the show's refusal to place them in a vacuum. I don't know to what extent Iron-Blooded Orphans is the result of a push and pull between competing ideas about how the tale should go. Yet what was put on screen frequently refuses easy categorisation into straightforward condemnation or sympathy. It's just not the kind of story that allows us to neatly assign blame to zealousness, recklessness or a murderous attitude. All these have too demonstrable a cause and within that context, it's hard to argue they are incorrect as responses. They are, at the very least, eminently understandable.

Errors of judgement on Orga's part and the failure of those around him to moderate his haste play a role in what happens, without question. But to a large degree, no one involved is allowed to be otherwise. Takaki's path is contingent on too many factors to be a widely-viable alternative. Likewise, for all that the eventual escape of the survivors is facilitated by wiser and cooler heads prevailing, it is nonetheless paid for in blood, past as well as present. Heck, Kudelia's character development is about learning the cost of improvement and accepting that cost as necessary -- the same calculation performed by every boy who steps on to the series' battlefields.

In the end, perhaps the most honest answer to 'what caused Tekkadan's downfall' is simply that they existed as part and parcel of the world they were born into. Their 'mistake' was responding to it on its own terms, meeting violence with violence and oppressive hopelessness with desperate hope. They tried to win a rigged game, not because it was the only one in town, but because it looked better than the alternatives and once committed, there was no easy way to turn back.

I think that's a startlingly mature approach to a subject too often reduced to power-fantasies or personal horror. The existence of child-soldiers is a flaw in the real world. Through the way it fleshes out its tragic structure, Iron-Blooded Orphans manages to capture some of what that entails.

-------------------

Thank you for the ask! I don't know to what extent this is the answer you were after. I tend to view Tekkadan's naiveté as a significant single contributing factor, but it's really only a facet of their being stuck where they are, socially speaking. And I wanted to discuss the narrative treatment of Orga's flaws because it's something that could be a lot more clear-cut than it actually is.

[Index of other writing]

[thecinderninja]

Cold as the Northern Winds

On Ao3 as The_Cinderninja

As much as they think they understand him… Decarabian is a distant god, unknowable.

Is he a loving god, trapping his people out of a desire to keep them from harm? To protect them from the dangers of the storm and the chaos and the cold of the outside world?

Is he a fearful god, old and paranoid, trying only to protect his own power, status, authority, and his people are the unfortunate casualties in his attempt to survive the war raging outside the storm walls?

Is he a cruel and power-hungry ruler, watching them suffer just because he can?

Is he foolish, blinded by his own egotism, believing himself untouchable, undefeatable? Oblivious and cut off from his people to the point he is unaware of their own suffering, and in turn, their desires for freedom? The seeds of revolt, and the dissatisfaction of a nation?

Or is he omnipotent, cunning, and clever, one step ahead of their every move with a devastating counter-strike at the ready?

Are his victories due to his intelligence, the rebels' oversights, or the whims of lady luck?

They don’t know.

And Cecil likely never will.

All he knows is… he gets what he wants, in the end.

In the most technical sense.

And so does Decarabian.

Cecil gains his freedom, and the world beyond the storm walls.

Decarabian swiftly and cleanly deals with the threat to his power.

And the people of Mondstadt lose their hope.

All with one decisive action; He lets the storm walls down, and lets the entire city see what lays on the other side.

The story starts like this;

.

Cecil. Lyre in hand, wisp under his cape, and close to his heart. The sky is the very same grey as every day prior, and Cecil sings the same songs as he always has. He is neither so bold nor so naive as to sing songs of rebellion and blue skies and freedom outside where anyone can hear it.

His seeds of rebellion are planted under candlelight and tile roofs, in small circles of trusted friends, passed on by word of mouth and in the shape of cecilias.

He never claimed to be any kind of leader, but anyone who knows of Mondstadt’s Hope knows where it came from.

It is still in its budding stages. Ideas without concrete execution. Ideals without realism behind them. A hope without plans. But those are coming too, now. Pieces are drawing silently together. He can see them moving like game pieces across a board. He has a feeling inside that when things come to a head, it will be a sudden and decisive upset. 

Things are reaching a boiling point and the dominoes will rapidly fall.

Though, he has no inkling that any of this will happen today .

Lyre in hand. A sensible, respectable song on his lips. His wisp by his heart. Not a coin to his name, trying to charm his way into a free cob loaf. Really, the charming was unnecessary. He knows there isn’t a person in Mond who wouldn’t give him a meal, a blanket, a roof over his head any time he needs one. He likes to return the favour when he can, even if all he has to offer is a song, a poem, a smile or a compliment.

Smiles are rare in Good Old Mond, and he likes to do his part in bringing more of them out where he can.

And so; he is just taking his leave, warm loaf in hand, when a heavy leather gloved hand comes down on his shoulder.

He startles and turns, only to be faced with two armoured city guards.

It is a very quiet moment. Every eye in the square is on them, but nobody moves. Cecil knows why. It is the same reason he doesn’t do anything but smile.

He has done - is doing - nothing wrong. He knows it. And they do not bother citizens for no reason. There is only one reason he, an unassuming teenaged orphan who has never even had the need to steal a single loaf of bread when it is always freely given, would have caught the interest of Decarabian’s guards.

There will be no running - he is small, unathletic, and simply has nowhere to go. He is already inside one prison; you can not run from Decarabian. Not when it is impossible to leave, and he can find you anywhere the wind blows.

There will be no fighting - he is, again, a small and unathletic teenager. 

There might be reasoning, talking, charming. Convincing him that this is all a very unfortunate misunderstanding. Cecil is nothing more than a humble bard after all, who has never once sung a word out of line.

So he laughs, smiles, rubs the back of his neck, and lets himself be led to the tower. What else could he possibly do?

And every Mondstadter who is there that afternoon watches it happen. Because they are all just humble nobodies as much as he is. There are those who know why he is taken, and those who don’t. But not one of them can do anything.

It would be easy to say “and he was never seen again”, spirited away by the storm god, but that would not be true.

A beloved child of Mondstadt whispering “freedom”, then being taken in broad daylight and disposed of in secret? The embers of rebellion would be stoked into a full flame.

Cecil’s fate is no mystery. 

It is a spectacle.

Decarabian comes down from his tower. That alone is enough to garnish the attention of nearly every citizen, even without the accompanying announcement.

He is going to lower the storm walls.

Nobody knows what to make of it. Is it true? A lie, a cruel joke? Is it just said for the drama, to see who will turn out? If it is meant to lure out the rest of the insurgents, it will be fruitless, since every able bodied soul in Mondstadt attends. 

He stands in his full divinity before the people; a threat? A reminder? Or has it simply not occurred to him how blindingly bright he is compared to the constant grey? How the physical reminder of his existence will put the fear of god back into the people? 

He stands at the edge of the city, with his back to the storm barrier. Around him, two dozen guards. In a wide semicircle, though their presence is clearly unneeded. The people of Mond stand at a distance, pushing forward to see, but too afraid to push through that line and be seen as individual, apart from the crowd.

Behind the god stands their bard.

He has always been small, but he looks smaller than usual. Behind that tower of divine authority.

Unlike any other citizen of Mond would have in his place, he stands tall. He isn’t shaking and his head is raised.

He looks neither afraid nor determined. He looks confused, certainly. And wary, maybe a little concerned. He still has his lyre at his hip, he wears the same clothing as always. Even his cecilia has not been taken. 

Though the people can not see it, his greatest comfort is still with him as well. The wisp under his cloak has been left with him. Witnessed but unpunished.

His experience in the tower had been… surreal, to say the least.

He had been given an audience with the King. At first, he played innocent. Claimed ignorance. Played a game of words; why was he here, what had he done? He admitted nothing, never showed his hand.

The audience had dragged on for days.

. . .

The King does not tire - physically. He does tire of Cecil’s charade. He knows every person the bard has spoken to, the exact words he has said to them. He knows every house they have met in. 

It is… horrifying. 

Cecil clutches at his cape, and though he hates himself for it, he wonders if the others were right? If it had been a mistake to keep Venti with him. Decarabian hears everything, wherever the wind goes.

The King sees his doubt and laughs at it. 

It isn’t a cruel laugh, and that’s the most confusing thing of all. Decarabian plays nothing close to his vest. He shows all of his cards and is painfully honest, because he has nothing to hide. Nobody he could possibly need to hide from.

He calls Venti his littlest sibling , and says it has always been too curious for its own good. Venti hasn’t spoken to the other winds in months. It’s no wonder it’s so attached to the human, it must be unbearably lonely.

Decarabian does not care about Venti one whit or another. It’s meaningless, in the long run. Two rebellious youngsters have found a kindred soul in each other, he supposes. He’ll let them have that - makes it sound like benevolence. 

Because he is benevolent. So he says. So he believes? Who knows what he believes. Certainly not Cecil.

And after so many days at court with a being who does not tire, who does not play games with words and yet still talks circles around him, Cecil is too tired to guard against every question and to analyse every answer.

The King claims to be benevolent, that is all that matters.

The King absolutely knows the names of every single one of Cecil’s conspirators in his ‘silly little game, playacting a war against the divine while a real one wages just outside their walls.’

The King knows Cecil is the root of all the stirring unease , the King calls it. Hope , Cecil calls it. 

So… Cecil expects something . He isn’t here to prove his innocence, Decarabian knows his guilt. He isn’t here to bleed information, Decarabian already knows every plan Cecil has made and every person who supports him. He suspects this can only lead to one foregone conclusion; the death of Cecil the bard.

Instead, the King asks him why?

It feels disingenuous, and yet… 

He shows no true human emotions, but the curiosity is real. Why?

In what ways has he failed Cecil, as a ruler? Is Cecil lacking in anything other than parents? Does he not always have food, water, and shelter? Is the weather not always mild, never too hot nor too cold? He even has that lyre of his, a luxury, and the freedom to sing whenever he wishes. He has books and scrolls, an education. 

So why? 

Why rebel against a leader who provides his people with everything they could possibly need?

And Cecil gives Decarabian the very same empowered speech he gave his fellow Mondstadters. He speaks of the sky, the sea, the deserts and rainforests and mountains and beaches. Birds, rain, the sun, and the freedom to choose.

Decerabian is not moved, but he ponders the boy’s words.

“This is what you seek? This is your wish? The thing you cannot be content without? This is the one thing that your benevolent god cannot provide you? Well, why did you not just say so?”

. . .

Which is what leads him here. Standing between the god king and the storm walls, knowing only that the walls were, supposedly, to be lowered. 

He knows nothing else.

It feels unreal, like a dream.

It feels even more unreal when they do , in fact, come down.

It was not a ruse or a lie.

For the first time in living memory of any Mondstadter, the storm quiets.

They see the sky. 

It isn’t blue, but white. A brighter gray than the usual gray of the storm, thick with clouds. And through them, a burning point of light diffused across the overcast. The sun. Cecil is staring straight up at the sun .

The temperature drops rapidly, and white begins to pile upon the ground. Cold. 

Beyond the city’s edge, where the world normally ended in a gray slate, are woods. Trees buried under snow and darkness. Beyond that, the towering shadows of mountains.

Cecil’s ears are ringing as he stares. The world outside is cold and dark and unwelcoming, but it is there . Mere footsteps away. Within arms reach. 

Decerabian is speaking. “Let it not be said I do not listen to the voices of my people, nor that I begrudge them their wishes.” He said, voice as calm and unrevealing as ever. “Let it not be said I am cruel or unbending, let it not be said I do not provide everything my people could need. This boy stood before me and wished for Freedom, above all else. Above food, shelter, security. My warnings of danger would not sway him. It is my wish to keep my people safe… but his wish is the ‘Freedom to Choose.’ This wish is within my power to grant, and so I shall. If any others wish for this Freedom, then take it now.”

And then Cecil is pushed. 

The wind at his back pushing him relentlessly forward into the driving snow. His legs immediately burn; it rises to his knees, and no amount of reading could ever have prepared him for the bite of the cold against his bare legs, his face, his hands. He tries to turn back, to see the city, but the wind shrieks and whips in his eyes. He is forced unrelentingly forward.

Exile, then?

Exiled… to the outside world.

When the wind dies down, he can see the storm walls rising again. All around him is snow and woodland, not a single hint of the city he grew up in.

He stands frozen in time, uncomprehending. 

What…. Just happened?

He is brought out of his stupor by the ringing overtone of Venti’s voice, chiming insistently as it tugs at his cape, trying to get him to move.

He realizes very quickly that he is not equipped to handle this situation. It is cold. It is so cold . He has never experienced cold like this in his life. He is in shorts, and his skin is red and burning.

Walking becomes increasingly difficult, and with no end in sight. It’s nothing but snow. The sky is there, so close, but covered by cloud. The sun is right there , but he can’t see it. The world is just as gray as before, but now it is killing him.

It hurts , and for all the times Decarabian said he was protecting them, that there was nothing worth seeing outside of his walls, nothing worth their lives, Cecil… wonders if he had been telling the truth. 

If all the wonders of the Old World had passed on before Cecil’s time, lost to the god-wars that Decarabian claimed to protect them from.

If everything that was left was gray. White and black and gray. Wind and snow and shadow and stone and cold. 

Cecil has never given up in his life, and he does not give up now. He walks on even after the burning and the biting become numb, he can’t move his fingers or hands or arms or face, his steps become slower and shorter and the world tilts and this time when he falls, he doesn’t get back up.

He lays on his back, looking up at the sky, wondering if it was ever really blue. White falls slowly… Slower now. It isn’t whipping against him, only drifting peacefully to the ground. The clouds… 

He closes his eyes.

When he opens them again, the snow is still falling. His limbs are buried in it. But the sky is blue, bluer than he ever imagined, and the sun is blazing through the clouds. He sees all of it, and he doesn’t feel cold anymore. He feels warm. Comfortably warm, peaceful. 

His wisp is sitting on his chest, near his chin. It’s singing - or yelling. It’s hard to tell with Venti. All of it’s vocalizations are so endearingly similar. He smiles softly at it as his eyes drift shut.

Venti won't stop tugging at his scarf.

Cecil raises one numb hand and cups Venti in it, tugging the wisp down to hold inside his cloak, against his chest. The warmth of the wisp is the only comfort he has left. The cold is insurmountable, seeping into his bones and draining the last of his strength. He knows he isn't going to wake up, and he's accepted that. 

At least he'll die free.

As he lies there, he hears the soft crunch of snow under paws. The sound is distant at first, but it grows closer, surrounding him. His eyes, heavy with exhaustion and the cold, struggle to open. Shapes move in the periphery of his vision—wolves, their eyes glinting in the dim light. They're probably as hungry as he is. 

They're probably going to eat him.

But they are beautiful. Even in his state, he can see their sleek forms and the grace in their movements. He can't even hate them for what they're going to do. They need to eat, too. They're beautiful, and he marvels at them.

They circle him. Cautiously at first, but they grow more bold as they see how unmoving he is and pad closer.  

With the last of his strength, he reaches out a hand into the fur of the nearest wolf. He wishes he could feel it, feel the warmth and the life beneath the fur, but his fingers are numb. Still, he thinks, how beautiful.

Cecil realizes belatedly that his wishes would never have been fulfilled. As long as he lived, he would find new things to wish for. He wanted to experience the entire world, to feel everything it had to offer. But that dream is slipping away from him now.

His hand falls back to the snow.

He feels himself lifted off the ground. A jaw closes around the scruff of his cape and lifting, dragging. The fabric tightens around his throat, choking him, but there is no pain. He wonders if he's lost so much feeling that there's no pain left. That will make this easier, at least.

The wisp is no longer in his cloak. Venti floats beside him, chirping angrily at the wolves, trying to chase them off and being harmlessly batted around. Cecil watches through half-closed eyes as Venti's light flickers and flares.

He's dragged through the snow, his body too weak to resist. The world fades in and out, consciousness slipping away. The last thing he sees before darkness takes him is the blue sky above, the sun breaking through the clouds.

When he wakes again, he is warm. It's a deep, enveloping warmth. He… was not expecting to wake up. He feels the warmth of living things, heartbeats and the rise and fall of breath besides his own. He blinks his eyes open and sees fur. 

He is nestled in a pile of wolf pups, their small bodies pressed against him for warmth. He can feel their fur, soft and comforting against his cheek, his bare hands and legs, and he can hear their gentle breathing.

Venti is resting under his chin, murmuring contentedly. The wisp hums a soothing melody, a lullaby of indescribable chimes.

Cecil lies there, surrounded by warmth and life, and the embers of hope slowly rekindle in his heart. Perhaps he has not seen the end of his dreams after all. 

[sorcerous-caress]

Wondering if we could get a short fic of being dark justiciar shadowheart's pet following the short prompt you wrote earlier. Would be cool to see how she tortures prisoners and treats tav like her pet (dom and sexually) - Shadowheart anon

Pearly Collar | Shadowheart

[ dark content, smut, objectification, humiliation, exhibitionism, pet play, nb!reader ]

"Don't lag behind. We have a very busy schedule for today." The harsh tug on your leash made you whine against the gag on your mouth.

The cold stones of Shar's temple became a very familiar sight to you, crawling behind your mistress on your hands and knees. Put on full display for everyone's eyes to bear witness to your humiliation.

Well, not that they could dare to say a word, Shadowheart made a very clear example of the last person who dared to utter your name on their lips. Their screams echoed through these same halls for days.

Ever since she took over Viconia's position, ever since she was granted the favour of Shar, she made it her personal mission to reduce you to nothing but the perfect picture of an obedient pet.

The hero of Baldur's gate, her very own personal toy.

Something changed in her. The death of the immortal nightsong shifted Shadowheart's whole being.

Did you ever stop and consider the consequences when you stepped into that pool? When you didn't sway her hand away as she held the spear so close to the moon daughter herself.

You can't even remember what went through your brain at that time.

The passing of time was irrelevant down here. You don't get the luxury of natural sunlight this deep underground. Darkness needs to find a way to fester away from the surface.

And that darkness has become your own home whether you like it or not, your fate stopped being yours to command ever since Shadowheart entered your life.

While long ago, armours and magical artifacts cladded your body, weapons, and staffs of forgotten realms aiding you in battle. That reality ceased to exist with your new life in this temple.

Only allowing you to wear those sets of lacey black lingerie she handpicked for you. Adorned in black diamonds and dark pearls, much like your own collar.

Not that walking around naked would've been much different, really, your clothes left very little to the imagination. If anything, it was very generous wording to even call them clothes.

Like a doll almost, she had to have her hands on you whenever she wished. Toy with your most intimate parts and indulge her every whim.

You see, clothes were something reserved for actual people. You weren't any of that to her, not anymore.

After all, what do you even need clothes for? She told you, all you're good for is warming her bed.

As you arrived in front of the giant marble door, two masked guards stood watch. Opening the door for Shadowheart as they bowed in reverence, even as you were dragged behind her inside.

She took a seat on the throne-like chair in the middle of the room, parting her legs to make space for you between them.

And just like any good pet, you obeyed as you crawled between her knees, resting your head on her exposed soft thigh. Her hand coming down to pet your head, teasingly tugging at your gag before taking it off and watching you wipe your drool with amusement in her eyes.

The meeting started shortly after. You toned out the various voices of those dark justiciars and clerics that reported and answered to your mistress.

You knew her well enough, more than any of them could begin to imagine. You knew her before she was the powerful woman that sat above you.

Back when the two of you were equals, standing in battle together and watching each other's back. Back when a simple night orchid made her the happiest you've seen her.

She is never happy these days. Never satisfied with the marks and hickies she leaves upon your skin, nothing sating her deep hunger no matter how long she keeps you chained to her bed.

Today, she is especially pissed.

You buried your face more into the plush of her thigh, growing more and more bored.

Just like always, they shook and cowered in fear in front of her, trembling at the sight of her rage and knowing that displeasing her was akin to displeasing Shar herself.

You surpassed a yawn as they broke down, begging for mercy on their knees. Begging your mistress for a second chance to make up for their shortcomings.

Seeing powerful paladins and clerics breakdown does grow quite tiring after the tenth time.

Only after it ends does your attention come back to reality. After her judgement was passed.

You're pulled by your collar onto her lap, seated on the same thigh you had your head against a while ago. Having your legs spread, the flimsy fabric barely does anything to conceal your dignity. That is if you even had any dignity left.

She dressed you like this for moments like these, for easy access when her blood ran hot and she needed something to squeeze. Someone to squeal.

Were they watching you? Or did they leave the room? You weren't sure, and honestly, you couldn't care. Not when her hand worked so expertly between your legs, not when she slapped the inside of your thigh to get you to spread yourself even more, degrade yourself even more for her.

Your head was thrown back against her shoulder, your body spasming as she milked you dry. Pulling you over the edge with ruthlessness as your cum dripped down onto the floor.

Breathing deeply after being forced into such a strong orgasm so fast and sudden, you tried to steady your shaking limbs.

Somehow this, this is what you never got used to, no matter how many times she makes a public mess out of you.

"Clean your mess." Her fingers pressed against your lips, eyes daring you to disobey as you took them in your mouth. Sucking and licking your own cum from her hand.

She kept them there longer than necessary, making you choke on them and toying with your tongue.

"Good, your brain is still functional after all." She said, gleaming with sadism "Now the floor."

[medlarmeadows]

httyd au but angelstone. rumi is this super strong and skilled dragonrider, riding a brilliantly white nightwing named sunny, while peter is at the bottom of the ranks with his small brown dragon named lizard. everyone adores and looks up to rumi, while peter is ignored and nobody ever wants to partner with him for patrols. he has a tendency to chicken out when facing foes, leaving behind his teammates to face them alone (he never admits its because everybody would say he sucked at the job, never admits that the constant condescension brings down his own belief in himself).

(more under the cut!)

one day, their people face a new war with another clan of dragonriders. when choosing partners, rumi unexpectedly chooses peter. everyone's shocked, some people saying "rumi are you sure? he's deadweight." but rumi stands firm in their decision. when peter asks them why later on, all rumi gives is a cryptic "we were meant to be together, peter sqloint."

flash forward and they're actually such a great duo!!! during fights, peter is tempted to turn tail and flee, but rumi is always there with encouraging words and he's standing his ground (in the air) and continues fighting alongside rumi. everybody around winders how this nobody is suddenly excelling. and despite everything, there are still people who look down on peter, crediting his improvement to rumi alone and never acknowledging the potential peter always had inside him. all it needed was a spark

then comes a huge battle with the leader from the opposing dragonriders. you know that scene in httyd 1 where everyone thinks hiccup dies? yeah THAT. rumi and peter are fighting tooth and nail against the huge dragon that the other leader is riding. rumi gets a lucky shot, tossing the leadee off his dragon. but the enraged dragon retaliates, breathing fire against them. all of a sudden there's a loud "RUMIII", and peter is in front of them. lizard's tail knocks sunny enough to spin both sunny and rumi out of the line of fire. all rumi can do is scream for peter as they see him disappesr behind bright orange flames

rumi was angry. no, they were more than angry. they wanted vengeance. peter, sweet peter. kind and compassionate peter who saw the goodness in the world despite never receiving kindness from it. peter sqloint did not deserve to die. rumi felt a hollowing in their chest, an anguish they didn't think they would've felt months ago had they not fallen in love with peter as they had fought side by side

peter would be avenged

rumi attacks like a wraith, charging with sunny as though they were one being and not two. together, they take down the dragon and make sure that the leader was dead before descending down to the burning remains of the battlefield below to find peter.

they don't see peter first. instead, they see a brown dragon curled in on itself. rumi slowly coaxes lizard to relax, and they see peter. he's unconscious, cuts littering his face and all around his body. his leather armour is torn in several places.

rumi isn't sure he would wake up.

but somehow, he does.

and as life returned to peter, rumi felt life return to themself too. because peter was awake. peter was alive.

there's major celebrations in their island and for once, the people are acknowledging - are celebratin - peter's heroism during the final battle.

and as the celebrations die down, rumi steals peter away from the crowd to speak. and i think you can imagine what happens from then on ;)

also thanatos i guess is one of the stoic other dragonriders they always bump into who develops a soft fondness for them despite coming off as no-nonsense at first. he's the undercover wingman/cupid as somehow he ends up in the middle with both rumi and peter coming to him about their feelings for the other person (thanatos just wants to fight people damnit)

[kellyvela]

Vogue Gets A First Look At ITV’s New Drama Joan

ITV transports viewers back to the thrilling 1980s in Joan, the new series inspired by the life of diamond thief, heist “godmother” and fashion aficionado Joan Hannington, played by the inimitable actor (and British Vogue cover star) Sophie Turner

18 September 2024

“Mother, lover, liar, thief,” is how costume designer Richard Cooke describes the roles he had to consider when building a wardrobe for the titular character of ITV’s Joan. Together with hair and make-up artist Nic Collins, who echoes his sentiment – “Joan has many personalities and characters” – Cooke speaks exclusively to Vogue about the process behind the fashion looks seen in the episodes. While Hannington’s actual style contributed to the fashion and beauty moods of Turner’s character, both Cooke and Collins looked to a vast array of references – the expansive Vogue archives, Debbie Harry and Mandy Smith, to name but a few – especially for the different disguises she takes on. “You always start with the script,” explains Nic Collins of the preparation stages of bringing her interpretation of Joan Hannington to life. “Sophie Turner is beautiful, the tiniest little bit of make-up just pops, so the transformations were really easy.”

In line with Turner’s character arc and the way her roles and responsibilities develop – from a soft young mother to completing her first heist – there is a noticeable shift in the costume, hair and make-up, cleverly curated by Cooke and Collins. For instance, the more confident she becomes, the shapes and silhouettes become “stronger and cleaner”, and the more successful she becomes, the “sleeker” her bags become. And when she assumes the role as a thief, her approach to hair and make-up is rebellious. “She decides to create her new image for herself,” Collins says of the pivot. “We took inspiration from Debbie Harry and we gave Joan an ’80s peroxide bob, black eyeliner and her classic lip. We decided to keep red as her signature lip colour. It was her taking control of her life.” “When we first see her, she’s very provincial,” says Cooke of the viewer’s introduction to Hannington. And as her journey as a thief goes on, Cooke wanted to give Joan layers to her personas. “It’s about creating armour, something to protect herself,” he says. “It’s about her creating something that she can kind of hide behind.”

One of the most pivotal moments is when Joan gets married, for which Cooke created a tailored look inspired by Bianca Jagger’s iconic Yves Saint Laurent wedding suit. “This is the closest I’ve ever got to creating something perfect,” Cooke tells Vogue of his masterpiece. Here, watch Collins outline the journey of creating such a complex character, and glimpse behind-the-scenes shots of Sophie Turner as she transforms into Joan. Stay tuned for Vogue’s exclusive video with Cooke, dropping soon.

Joan will be on ITV1 and ITVX from 29th September at 9pm

~~~

Here some ss from the video inside the article:

[joey-marvel14]

Sympathy to those who need it

Bucky x !hydra!reader

Summary: you’ve been working with hydra for 5 years now, throughout those years you’ve got to know the winter soldier, However one night after he returns from a mission, you meet the person that’s been oppressed by hydra James Buchanan Barnes, also known as “Bucky”.

Warnings: ANGST, SLIGHT DESCRIPTION OF TORTURE.

Translation: ты в порядке? = are you okay?

———————————————————————————

Y/N POV

The alarm went off, this was to signal that our symbol of peace has returned to hydra base. Immediately a group of armoured soldier charged passed the labs, yelling “go, go, go”. I stopped working on my newest project on the computer and grabbed my clipboard and pen. Right on cue, rumlow enters the laboratory and shouts my name.

“Y/N! We need you at the main building.” I nodded at Rumlow and began to walk behind him, the atmosphere was heavy and tense. I wondered why.

“How’s his condition?” 

“The soldier is irritated, and unstable, not only that but it seems like he got hit badly during the mission.” Rumlow responded serious as anything.

“I will see what I can do.” I replied.

Rumlow came to a halt and opened the prison doors for me. I entered the facility. The room was cold and the machines were placed everywhere, a few broken tubes and science equipment laid on the stone floor smashed and broken.

I gazed apon the winter soldier, he looked frazzled and in a dissociative state. I grabbed the nearest chair, and dragged it along the stone floor, I sat in front of him but not for him to attack.

“Soldat?” His eyes were glossed over but he still found the strength look over at me. The winter soldier stared into my eyes, they were widened, he was clearly in a hypervigilant state.

“ты в порядке?” I questioned. He said nothing and just stared into my eyes, there was a deafening coldness that rested inside his eyes. However, The winter soldier head flinched towards the left of him, he winced in pain and grabbed his metal arm, he began to dig into the skin around the shoulder, he was erratic. I signaled the hydra soldiers, to restrain him or sedate him. The soldiers approached him with aggression and quickness, the winter soldier did not take kindly to these actions and threw them to the floor or the wall, they were knocked unconscious. I again signalled the group to take the unconscious soldiers out of the room and leave me be to my work. I noticed that the winter soldiers body was tensed, he sat upright. I sighed, I decided to sit closer to him.

“Soldat, I cannot treat your injuries if you won’t let me.” I observed his movements and noticed his body language had changed. The winter soldier gulped. I cocked my head to the side, something was the matter.

“One moment” I got up with caution and went over to the filing cabinet that was in the room, I picked out the soldiers file, It read:

*The winter soldier*

Name: James Buchanan Barnes 

Age: 26 (99 years old)

Backstory: Bucky's mother died early in his life, but he grew up on Army bases with his dad and sister Rebecca, learning the ins and outs of this lifestyle at an early age. After his father died in a training accident, Bucky spent his days at Camp Lehigh in Virginia getting into trouble but also proving himself as a young man with great potential. He has a best friend called “Steve rogers” or “Captain America”

Additional notes: occasionally James will return to the surface. If that happens use the machines necessary and use command words to return him back to his potential.

**

I put back the file, I took a moment and knew it wasn’t the soldier it was James, I calmly went back over to him and sat to where I was originally.

“James?” I asked softly and quietly hoping the cameras in the room didnt hear me. He gulped, and avoided eye contact with me which was unusual. I knew it was him.

“Fine since you won’t tell me who you are, Here’s what’s going to happen, I’m going to treat your injuries, and your going to tell me what made you come back to the surface, sound like a deal?” He nodded.

“ firstly I’m going to need you to calm down, or they will continue to brainwash you. I understand it’s hard considering everything. But your going to have to trust me” my tone of voice was authoritative, but it was secretly laced with sympathy.

“Fine.” His voice cracked. Almost in defeat.

I went over to grab a first aid kit. And the stand in the corner that was filled with other medical materials.

“So, do you have a preferred nickname or anything?” I asked attempting to try and distract him.

“Bucky. I think.” His eyes darted to the right, like he was remembering something.

“Hello Bucky, I’m your doctor.” I gave him a polite smile. I began to get out bandages and antiseptic wipes, and other necessities. I started on the large gash on his right shoulder, I dabbed around the wound.

“Why did you come back?” I asked.

“I- um. I saw someone. I knew him.” He looked so frustrated, and defeated at the same time. His conflicted feelings were painted on his face.

Bucky mumbled to himself “I knew him.”

“Do you remember anything else?” I questioned calmly.

“A feeling.”

“Like what?”

“Warm.” He replied. I simply nodded at him.

I examined the gash. It needed stitching, I grabbed my needle and sanitized string.

“Bucky. I need to stitch this back up. Your going to have to stay as still as possible”

“…i knew him…” he mumbled again. I sighed at him. I felt sorry for him. I continued on with treating him.

After a while, his first round of treatment (as the others called it) was due. I packed away my medical supplies and stood at the outlines of the room. Soldiers filtered in around the place. We were expecting a superior today. So everything had to be in order. Somebody had contacted Pierce Morgan due to the winter soldier hypervigilant state.

Pierce Morgan walks into the facility with confidence and purpose, his minions followed behind him, like a lost dog. Bucky sits there and stares into oblivion. Pierce took one look at him and knew something was the matter, Pieces eyes hardened. His head slightly turned to the left almost like he was analysing, the winter soldier I could tell that he was planning on something.

“put him under” his voice bellowed in the echoey walls, I’ve watched Bucky body, tense up, his breathing starts becoming uneven. As he begins to shake in what seems like fear. For the first time I began to question my job.

Another scientist came over to Bucky and strapped him in to the machine. The scientist put the mouthguard into Bucky‘s mouth, he was not in a stable state I wanted to protest against Pierce Morgan’s decision, however I knew I would gain consequences and not good ones.

“Zap him.” Morgan gave the signal to activate the machine.

Bucky knew he couldn’t defend himself. I could see it in his eyes that he knew that he couldn’t. The scientist charge the machine up, next thing you knew a blood, curling scream, could be heard throughout the building his movements became uncontrollable, tears form in his eyes, the sense of guilt settled my stomach, I felt ashamed I couldn’t help but look down, I refused to look at Bucky . There was no sympathy for him, in this facility, He was only seen as a killing machine, he was only being used for hydras peace.

After the treatment was over, he was taken out of the machine I saw an immediate change. There was only numbness in his face, no emotions, expressionless. Pierce Morgan and his goons left.

Soldiers and the scientist all left the room, leaving me in the quiet. I felt responsible and I wanted to help him escape, but I knew deep down after all these years he would do so himself.

I observed Bucky, there was nothing, there was no emotion or anything.

———————————————————————————

#angst

Hope you enjoyed xx :) 





[lyriumrebel]

Okay hear me out because i've been thinking on this and researching

We know these are the same figures. I've seen popular theory

If it's the evanuris the worst would be Elgar'nan. He's powerful, he's the father or the sun god or the patriarch. He's going to be powerful and he's shown to be keen for vengeance.

Then probably Andruil because she was always shown as mad, prideful and spiteful.

Ghilan'nain was the mother of beasts so I see where the fan theory is coming from, looking at the tentacles and weirdness.

I keep looking at the Forgotten Ones who opposed the Evanuris, may have been on Fen'Harel's side in the rebellion to free the enslaved but if he still was behind locking them away they're not going to be happy

We know the name Geldauran from codices. That's the main one that actually has an entry?

But i'm still sticking with Evanuris. It makes sense for the look of terror on Solas' face. Rook's interference messed up his ritual and they got through when Solas tried to break down the Veil while keeping them inside.

For the more basic looking dude on the right - yeah i agree Elgar'Nan makes sense.

This is a skull representing Elgar'Nan from DA2(?) Spy the little pointy horns which certainly match the crescent headpiece

As for the unearthly shapes of the person on the left. I believe it's Andruil. One, she was driven mad by spending time in the Void hunting the Forgotten Ones. She has the potential to be a terrifying and unhinged villain. Two, her codex entry says that she cloaked herself in armour made from the void itself, masking herself so that people forgot her face.

"She made weapons of darkness, and plague ate her lands." That's metal

Also her mosaic is pretty tentacle-y

[rjalker]

More Public Domain magical key swords and cute creature baby forms for them.

You are encouraged to download and use them for anything you want.

These will go on the internet archive with the rest.

Forest Flower came first.

[ID: A digital drawing of a magical living sword named Web Weaver. It is yellow, white, grey, and black, with different sections in different colors. The blade is long, and sharply curved backwards, then forwards again, like the number seven, with a yellow section that is criss-cossed in black to resemble a spider's legs, and a grey section that overlaps this before splitting in two at the end, so that the sword has three points. In the gap created by the curve is a white spider web. The handle of the sword is protected by a large crossguard of six spikes, each grey striped with black, like a sea snake. One of the sections follows the yellow and black base to form the grip of the sword. Another spider web is between two of the spikes, and is labeled, "Webs can be soft, or razor sharp, or solid, at will. At high synergy, webs can create armour for allies." Text on the other side reads, "Strength increases with every enemy defeated within a battle." Above the sword form in the upper corner is a small round creature. It is solid yellow except for a large black spot that acts as its face. It has four skinny legs, and a tail with a web on the end. A stick figure person whose mostly offscreen is shown kneeling down to pat it on the head, showing it is slightly bigger than the person's hand. End ID.]

[ID: A digital drawing of a magical sword named Forest Flower. It is shaped almost like a jagged question mark, and most of it is dark green, with a green-black wavy line down the center, and thorns that form a gradient to bright green on the ends. There are some open roses growing from it, with pale pink outer petals that fade to pale orange and yellow towards the inside, along with one flower bud that's still closed. The handle of the sword is enclosed on both sides, and is brown-green on the center, more like wood than a new growth stem. On the bottom side of the handles are some green leaves. In the upper corner of the drawing is a small creature labeled, "Seed form", in the same dark green as Forest Flower, with a single brighter green eye, two green-black stripes, a long tail that is bright green on the end, and three pointed legs. A stick figure of a human next to a sillowet of the sword and the seed form show that the sword form is large, reaching from the figure's hip to their head, and the seed form is very small, like a kitten. Text reads, "Forest Flower: The more enemies defeated, the more flowers bloom, and provide energy for a beam attack (fire based). At high synergy, the open flowers can (instead) detach and become monsters to fight at your side.". End ID.]

[ID: A digital drawing of two twin magical swords. One is mainly pale yellow with blue highlights, named Firefly, the other is mostly blue with pale yellow highlights, named Lightning Bug. In the upper corner we see their seed forms, as two round creatures with two short legs and long tails with stars on the end. Firefly is yellow with a blue spot, Lightning Bug is blue with a yellow spot. Both swords are in the same shape, but mirroring each other. They are shaped long long sickles, with another small curve on the top. In the center of the larger curve floats a large five pointed star. Behind the smaller curve is a floating crescent moon.The crossguards for each are simple stretched out four pointed stars. The pommel of each is a small diamond shape. These details are in the highlight color for each sword, so blue for Firefly, who is mainly yellow, and yellow for Lightning Bug, who is mainly blue. The handles of both swords are the same simple dark brown. Text reads, "Twins" between the two, then continues, "Grants the ability to see smells. At high synergy grants the ability to manipulate auras and astral project.". End ID.]

[ID: An unnamed magical sword and its seed form, which is oval shaped, with four legs and two crooked tails, with a grey eye and a yellow zig-zag. The sword is shaped like a lightning bolt, with two layers, one purple, one yellow, and a simple grey handle without a crossguard. The seed form has a large questionmark floating above its head. End ID.]

[theantonian]

DID JULIUS CAESAR FEAR MARCUS ANTONIUS’ GROWING POPULARITY?

Marcus Antonius during his term as Magister Equitum to Julius Caesar surrounded himself with armed bodyguards while inside Rome’s sacred Pomerium, he also wore a large sword and armour on his own person to display his powerful physical strength in order to install fear in troublemakers who were busy stirring up rabbles in an already very unstable city.

Following his divorce from Antonia, Antonius married the twice-widowed Fulvia. Having married her, Caesar’s legate now had the use of his new wife’s full dowry, which meant the control of Publius Clodius’ massive city clientele and collegia gangs. With so much power now at his disposal, it behooved Caesar to keep watch over Marcus Antonius.

Antonius now had power that was separate from that given him by Caesar. At some point during Caesar’s third Consular term in 46 BC, Caesar attempted to withdraw from the office, requesting the senate transfer his Consulship to Publius Cornelius Dolabella. Antonius, however, objected, pointing out that it was Dolabella who had been behind the rash of gang violence in the city. Shamed, Caesar was forced to withdraw his request. But Caesar could see Dolabella's popularity with the people, and he still meant to maintain a good relationship with him. Using his prerogative as Dictator, Caesar wanted to appoint Dolabella to the Consulship. But Antonius, in his capacity as an augur, proclaimed the omens unfavorable, and once again, Caesar was forced to back down. However, Antonius could not prevent Caesar from using his dictatorial prerogatives to issue a full pardon to Dolabella for his role in instigating the gang violence. Antonius’ ability to make Rome’s Dictator back down on two occasions points to his growing power during Caesar’s absence from Rome.

Marcus had two brothers, Gaius and Lucius Antonius, who each held military commands, and all were the sons of Caesar’s third cousin Julia, a woman described by Plutarch as one of the ‘most nobly born and admirable women of her time.’ The two brothers were fiercely loyal to their elder brother, thus contributing to his overall political strength.

The fact that Antonius had dared to march across the Pomerium with armed legions and kill armed mob who were occupying the Forum Romanum for the debt legislation, also demonstrated to Caesar that Antonius had some support from the legions and could not simply be punished to the fullest extent of the law with exile or loss of citizenship. Instead, Caesar had to content himself with legally removing Antonius from office, and naming as his Master of the Horse, Marcus Aemilius Lepidus. But Caesar knew that despite his being demoted to only a private citizen, Marcus Antonius was not likely to just disappear.

[feelin-lo]

The sleeping Giant.

BP X Big!Riley.

Happy birthday, BP.

Essentially, I came up with a thought, what if Riley was a Giant, And BP stumbled upon his home. And Riley immediately became clingy. :)

Ft, Some of my Moots and OCs. Credits;

BP - @boiling-potato

Ace and Meztli - @aesopsbaby

Rin - @alcohol1maid

Jane - @mystique-flowers-and-sibling-duo

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BP had many names. One of them, Was the Spud Sorcerer. As they were a Magical person with an affinity for the root. There had been legends... Of a Giant, Living deep within the valley of The Fallen Castle. The reason the Valley was named this way, was because a castle, once belonging to a wealthy family had fallen off of a cliff due to tremors in the earth... The main tower fell... Creating a crater, opening a cave and leaving behind a beautiful arrangement of rocks...

BP, The Spud Sorcerer, Decided to take a look... Legend of the Sleeping Giant had gotten the better of them... They took a Team; A Cleric, that will talk of deep and meaningful things, dark as the night and as emotional as a sonnet. However, in actual fact, theyre a Golden Retriever in a humanoid form - Rin. A Paladin, who swears by the oath of Love, as seen by the many people in their life... Such as a Demon called Tsukiyomi... And who struggles to wear their clunky armour - Ace. A Druid, Who Loves spending time with animals and wants to keep all the ones they come across, even a Mountain lion if they had their way - Jane. And, A Ranger, Who's the Eye Candy has the rizz of a bard, though deep down he's compensating because he's actually really insecure so seeing people think he's attractive, really helps his self esteem, and because of a missing eye, can barely aim - Lo. The lot of them are close friends.

And the legend intrigued them all... The journey was long, with ups and downs. But eventually... They had arrived. The ruins... Ace and Rin, Who both have an affinity for shiny things, immediately run off, followed by an annoyed Lo, trying to keep everyone together. BP turned to Jane, A solemn look upon their face..."What do you think... We'll find..?" They asked, tilting their pointy hat to see Jane's eyes better.

"I'm not too sure... It could be anything... No one else has come down here, as people told tales of the Giant in bad ways ... I don't think the giant will be bad, They could be really sweet!" Jane smiled, BP chuckled, Jane could always see the good in things.

After a moment, Lo was able to wrangle Ace and Rin back under control after giving them some gold. "Huh... A cave... BP, Should we investigate?" Lo suggested, turning to meet the sorcerer. "I'd say so! I wanna see if we can meet this giant..."

The party nodded, making their way into the cave...The cave was large... Very large... At least 100 feet... At *Least*. Once they were inside... They all split up and looked around...

Jane came across some old technology... It looked like a robot... Holding an old kite... It was still living, though barely... "Hello there, Little one.."She smiled softly, Kneeling down and taking the automation into her arms... "I think I'll Call you... Monsieur Cloudy!" She smiled proudly, Looking at the cloud carvings across its arms... "I should take you to Winter... He's a good friend of mine, an Artificer too. He can help you..."

Meanwhile, Rin found a deep water pocket, inside, a Sleeping merman, Hair and tail as blue as the ocean... Glasses on his face... A few scars on his tail. The merman woke up with a shock and tried to call for help, but his voice was damaged... Rin crouched down, Brushing his hair out of his face... "Hey... Hey don't be scared, I'm here to help."

In a separate room, Ace came across a giant, when Ace tried to call for their Party, The giant lifted them and put a finger over their mouth as it covered most of their face. "Hush, Small creature. You'll wake my brother..."He spoke, his voice velvety and soothing... He's at least 100 feet tall...he has long black hair. His eyes and black and yellow,His skin is red and he has red horns and tail, the tail is adorned with bangles and piercings... His pointed ears are also pierced... Ace was in love.

Lo came across a treasury. Before he could pick anything up, was pinned to the wall he looked up to meet the gaze of a Demon... "Ah~ what do we have here~?" He chuckled, Running a finger under Lo's chin... "A new plaything~? Or... A new pet to call my own~?" Lo grunted and grabbed the Demon, Flipping their positions, The demon against the wall. "I'm not a pet."

The demon blushed, Licking his lips. "Yes sir..."

While all of this was going on, BP came across one final room... Inside .. a sleeping giant. With blue skin and dark hair... He had horns and a tail, His eyelashes white... Even a third eye... The giant woke and saw BP, And immediately started to cry... "A human! I've not seen one in so long!!" He cried, Grabbing BP and nuzzling them into his cheek as tears fell from his white eyes. After some crashing, The red giant came in. Holding ace. "Riley!" The red one said, Shuffling over, Ace smiled at BP with a blush on their cheeks "Look what I found" The blue one... Riley, Looked at the red one and pulled a face with puppy dog eyes."Can I stay with Them!? Please Jasper! Pleaseeeee!!" He cried, showing BP to the red one, Called Jasper. "Riley, I know. I know you miss the humans but... You can just keep all of the ones you find."

"But this is the first one in 100 years!!" "I know but-" "Pleaseeeee?!" "Okay! Okay... Calm down... You can keep them-" "Wait, Wait wait wait! Keep me?" BP Interjected, looking at the two giants. "Oh- sorry... I didn't mean to be rude..." Riley whimpered, immediately getting sad again for potentially offending BP. Jasper glared at BP with nothing short of malice... How dare they make his sweet angel brother cry?!

"hey, Hey... It's ok... But, you can't just keep humans. I'd be happy to come back, to see you again... But you have to be gentle. I'm BP. It's lovely to meet you." They smiled, which seemed to calm the Giant. Jane came in, Holding the robot remains. Rin came in, The Merman on their back. And Lo, With a demon cuddling him, walked in too.

"Hi." Lo said, Looking at his friends, The demon giggling as he snuggled against him.

"Seems we all found something. Mine's called Meztli."

"Mine's called Logan!"

"Hehe Jasper"

"I called him Monsieur Cloudy!"

"And I've found... Riley."

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(End of part 1)