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captainsophiestark · 25 days ago

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The Shiz University Book Fair

Fiyero Tigelaar x Reader

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Fandom: Wicked

Summary: Fiyero made an enemy in his destruction of the library, but it might be just the spark he needs to find something in life that matters.

Word Count: 2,952

Category: Angst, Fluff

A/N: The actor who played Fiyero the first time I saw the musical will forever and always hold the place of favorite in my heart, but damn, Jonathan Bailey is a VERY close second.

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

"That self-important, irreverent, stupid, idiot."

I grumbled to myself, using it to vent a little bit of my temper as I worked through my corner of the library. The books I'd been meticulously organizing, gathering, and cataloguing had been scattered to the winds, and even worse, some of them had sustained damage. I couldn't be completely sure yet, but it also seemed like a few were missing. I was going to kill that stupid fucking prince.

"Well, I see someone completely ignored my critical lesson yesterday."

Speak of the devil and he will appear. I huffed, then set down the stack of books in my hand before whirling around with a fierce scowl. None other than Fiyero Tigelaar stood before me, much closer than was wise if he knew how badly I wanted to hit him, staring at me with his arms crossed and an insufferable smile on his face.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I demanded, absolutely seething. Fiyero just shrugged, apparently completely unaffected.

"I noticed you didn't come to the Oz Dust last night. I figured that meant I had more work to do in corrupting my fellow classmates." He gave a significant look to the stacks of books behind me. "Apparently, I was right."

"If you so much as move a finger to touch my books again, I swear, I'll knock that stupid smile right off your face. For good."

Fiyero's eyebrows raised, but his grin only widened. He held up his hands as if to placate me, but he also took a step forward. I narrowed my eyes.

"Listen, I'm just trying to say... you seem a little stressed," he said. I scoffed, but it didn't deter him. "And in my professional opinion, you need to let go of some of this stress before it eats you alive. Living in the library, working day and night, not letting go and having fun? I've seen it claim more than one attractive classmate whom I could've saved. I'm not letting it happen this time."

I clenched and unclenched my fists, barely managing to restrain myself from punching him in the nose. Clearly, his flirty charm had worked almost universally for him before, to the point that he wasn't getting a single one of the glaringly obvious signs that I did not like him and did not want to talk to him. I huffed a long sigh through my nose.

"Fine. You want me to let off some stress? Here goes!" Fiyero grinned like he'd just won the lottery, but I steamrolled over him, relishing the moment that satisfaction dropped from his face. "I've been working on putting together pallets of books and organizing everything for months for the largest reading and book fair in Oz! All for kids, who travel from far and wide to come to the Shiz University Book Fair. For some of them, this is the only access they get to important stories, reading events, and information that they otherwise can't even dream about. I've been helping to put it on since I started here at Shiz, and for the first time, I've finally been put in charge of the whole thing. My dream job, my dream event, that will do so much good. And you fucking ruined it!

"It's going to take me SO LONG to put everything back, reorganize what you threw around the room for your stupid dance break, replace the damaged and missing books, all before the kids come in less than a week! And frankly, if you hadn't destroyed all of my hard work, I probably would've gone dancing with my friends last night, to celebrate the end of our preparations. But instead, I'm here, working all day and night to get things back in order for one of the events that I not only enjoy most, but that's most important to me and the people who attend. Some of us know how to balance important things that we care about with dicking around, and we don't need lessons from a sanctimonious asshat who thinks he has life figured out even though it's painfully obvious that he doesn't."

Fiyero frowned at me, actually looking like he was using his brain for the first time since I'd met him. Whether he was burning up his processing power trying to think of a comeback or just fuming about someone having the nerve to shout at him, I didn't wait to find out.

"You're lucky I didn't kill you the minute you set foot in my space here," I continued, the anger leveling to a dangerous simmer rather than the explosion I'd been feeling a few moments earlier. "Now get the hell out."

With that, I whipped around, putting my back to Fiyero and returning to my stacks of books. It was the clearest method I could think of for dismissing him, and hopefully, he at least got this message.

I finished running through an inventory of the next stack of books without interruption from Fiyero. After another moment, I couldn't stand the not knowing anymore, so I whirled back around with a scowl already loaded to tell him to get lost again, this time in stronger words. But, to my surprise, he was nowhere to be seen.

I hummed to myself, scouting the library one last time. He was really gone. Good. I'd expected more of a fight, but I definitely didn't have time for one. Hopefully, that would be the last I saw of that obnoxious party boy.

***************

"Babies and toddlers?"

"Check."

"Learning to read?"

"Check."

"Middle grade?"

"Check."

"Everything else? Nonfiction, second language, advanced readers-"

"Everything checked off and accounted for. Now triple checked."

I let out a long sigh as I stared around the circle of my closest, most trusted volunteers. They each had clipboards in hand, running through last inventory and organization checks with me before the Shiz University Book Fair officially began. Despite how intense I'd been all morning, they all still had smiles on their faces as they indulged my over-preparedness. This event meant just as much to them as to me, after all, and we were all recovering from last week's unplanned chaos.

"Alright. Then great job, everybody. Grab some coffee or whatever else you want, and then get in position. Doors open in ten."

Everyone nodded, sharing smiles before breaking from our circle and heading off to do whatever they wanted with their last few minutes of quiet. Some of them clapped me on the shoulder on their way past, and I gave them each a smile and a nod.

After the scene Fiyero had caused in the library, not only had everything required reorganization, but a good number of the books had also required replacing. I'd managed to track down most of them, but with only a week's notice, I hadn't quite gotten all of them. Still, on such a limited time frame, I was proud of what I'd managed to accomplish. Everything was as close to perfect as it could be, in position and ready for the arrival of the kids to go off without a hitch.

Of course, no sooner had the thought crossed my mind than a new challenge popped up out of the ether to punch me in the nose. With just under ten minutes until book fair start, Fiyero had the nerve to come riding in on a bicycle, a cart behind him and a smile on his face.

I rushed across the field space where we'd set up the book stands, trying to head him off as early as possible. I caught some of our volunteers sharing glances and looking at Fiyero with interest, but this was a problem I was perfectly happy to handle myself.

"You! Get the hell out of here, right now!" I shouted, pointing to Fiyero as he stopped his bike and hopped off of it. I raced right up to him, shoving at his shoulders and trying to shoo him back onboard the bike, but he just held up his hands in surrender while still standing his ground.

"Relax! I come bearing books!"

I froze. Fiyero's shoulders relaxed when I stopped trying to shove him out of my space, but his relief was a little early as far as I was concerned. I narrowed my eyes at him, incredibly suspicious and ready to resume my attack at a moment's notice.

"What do you mean you come bearing books? What are you talking about?"

Fiyero smiled, keeping his hands up in the air as he walked to the back of the wagon he'd pulled here on his bicycle. I watched him like a hawk, but when he flipped the tarp back to reveal a few different crates of books, I couldn't stop my mouth from dropping open in shock.

"What...?"

"I heard what you said in the library," Fiyero said with a shrug. "I'm... sorry... that I ruined some of the books you'd prepared for the children. I didn't mean to. Or, I suppose I did, but... I didn't realize how important they were at the time. I asked around, and a few of your volunteers said you hadn't been able to replace some of the books, so... I decided to do it myself."

My eyebrows shot up as Fiyero lifted the first crate out of the cart. He walked over to me, stopping just in front of me and holding it out so I could see inside. Lo and behold, it contained more than one volume of the books I hadn't quite been able to replace on such short notice.

I looked up at Fiyero with wide eyes, all the fire and impulse for violence drained away. He just smiled back at me, and this time, it didn't seem to have the same arrogant tinge as before.

"...How...?"

He just shrugged again.

"I'm a prince. I have my ways."

"You... you seriously went to all the trouble to track these down? Just for the book fair?"

The corner of his mouth tugged up into a smile. "I've been trying to find something useful to do with my title for a long time. It wasn't a problem."

I just breathed another surprised sigh. I didn't know how to react to the man in front of me. I'd written him off as a shallow asshole, quite validly in my opinion, but the Fiyero standing before me now seemed like a completely different man.

"So... is there somewhere in particular you'd like me to put these books?"

"Oh! Yes, uh... yeah. Follow me."

I led the way to the table I'd worked hard to cover up a slight empty spot on, and Fiyero dutifully followed me. I waved to a few of the other volunteers to unload the rest of his cart, and we worked quickly, Fiyero providing much more help than I'd been expecting. By the time the doors officially opened and the first few children arrived, everything was perfectly in place.

I'd been expecting Fiyero to take off not long after he dropped off the books, but he continued to surprise me. He talked to the kids and their families as they came in, and not long into the event, he borrowed a map of the table layouts from one of the more experienced volunteers. Within ten minutes, he was helping direct kids and families with questions, carrying their books, and sending them to people who could answer questions if he ran into one he didn't know the answer to.

I kept an eye on him all the same, expecting the other shoe to drop. Surely, the Fiyero that had destroyed my books and the rest of the library would make a reappearance at some point. And yet, he never did. The new Fiyero not only stayed, but he stayed later than some of my regular volunteers. The sun was setting by the time the last kids and families left, and Fiyero was still here, along with my most dedicated volunteer core. I shook my head as I crossed the space to talk to him, still not quite believing this had been real.

"Well!" he said, addressing me with a smile and his hands on his hips as soon as he noticed me coming. "That seems like it was a success!"

"Yeah. We're still looking at numbers, but... I think it might've been our most successful event ever."

Fiyero's smile took on a warm glow that made him much, much more handsome than I'd ever thought possible when he was destroying books.

"Congratulations."

Heat rose to my face as I glanced at the ground.

"Yeah, well... thanks." When I met his eyes again, that same warm smile almost knocked me flat as my heart raced in my chest. Still, I forced myself to take a breath and return to reality. "...Why are you here?"

Fiyero frowned. "Am... I not wanted?"

"No! No, that's not what I was trying to say. Seriously. I appreciate all your help, both with the books and with the kids today. Honestly, you were great. But... I don't know, I'm just surprised, is all. You didn't really strike me as the type of guy to hang around volunteering at a book fair for an entire day."

Fiyero hummed, glancing down with a self-deprecating smile on his face. I watched him with interest, especially when he met my eyes again with more sincerity than I'd honestly believed him capable of.

"I didn't strike myself as that type either. In fact, I pride myself on my ability to corrupt my fellow classmates despite the best efforts of people like you. But... it was nice to be a part of this. Speaking with you in the library... it's clear how much this matters. To you, of course, but to the kids and their families who come to this event... It obviously does a lot of good. It was nice to be a part of creating that."

I smiled at Fiyero, something I never could've imagined doing just a few hours ago.

"Not what I expected to hear from Mr. Nothing Matters."

Fiyero shrugged. "Well..."

He turned slightly away from me, rubbing the back of his neck and moving like he was going to retrieve his bike and leave. I reached out and grabbed his hand before he could get very far, to both our surprise. Fiyero looked at me with raised eyebrows, a light behind his eyes that I'd never seen before.

"It was wonderful to have your help," I said. "I kind of hate to admit it, but... you were a big part of the reason this event was such a success. You found replacements for books that families and kids had been waiting for and expecting, but more than that, you spent time with them. You're a prince. Whether or not you care about the title, taking the time to talk to, help, and encourage those kids, who all know exactly who you are? It was a big deal. So thank you. I'm really glad you decided to be a part of this."

The last of the guarded expression faded from Fiyero's face as he fixed me with a soft smile. He stepped closer to me, and after a moment, I let my hand fall from his before clearing my throat.

"Anyway..." I said, trying to break whatever intensity was currently building between the two of us. "If you wanted to keep doing stuff like this, you know, helping make a difference... I host a reading group every week with some of the kids who are more local. I'd love to have your help hosting that, if you'd be interested."

Fiyero was fully grinning at me now, the confidence bordering on arrogance back in full force. This time, though, I didn't quite mind it as much.

"I'd love to help with that," he said. "On one condition."

"...And what's that?"

"As long as agreeing to help with your reading group doesn't prevent me from asking you out to dinner. And maybe for some dancing, to celebrate Shiz's best ever book fair."

Despite myself, I smiled, my heart flipping in my chest. If he'd had the nerve to ask me out a week ago, I would've slapped him. Now, I quite literally couldn't think of anything I'd rather do to celebrate.

"I think we can make that work," I said, fighting and losing to a smile of my own.

"Perfect. How about... tomorrow night?"

"You're on."

We shared another smile, but before we could do anything else, the voices of my friends, the other volunteers who'd been the most involved in this event, broke in. We'd all made plans to go out and celebrate once this event was officially finished, and although they were probably pretty interested in seeing what happened with Fiyero and I, none of them wanted to wait any longer to celebrate.

"One second!" I called, waving to them before turning back to Fiyero. He was still watching me with a little smile, and it made my heart race when I noticed it. "...Do you want to come with us?"

His eyebrows shot up.

"Where are you going?"

"The Oz Dust. We're celebrating a successful event, and you were certainly a part of creating that success. It wouldn't feel right to celebrate without you."

Fiyero grinned, then took my hand in his. My heart skipped a beat, but I pushed through, letting Fiyero pull me along and towards the group of my friends.

"It would be my honor," he said, giving me one last look before turning with a smile to greet the rest of our group. I followed, watching him, still a little in awe. Whatever had caused this change in Fiyero, it was truly amazing to see. Everyone else in the school seemed to be smitten with the party boy, but suddenly, I found myself head over heels for the version of him that seemed to care as much as I did, now that he'd found a cause worth caring about.

****************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury @kmc1989 @space-helen @misshale21

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toshisdecadence · 10 days ago

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ERROR 404: Overload!

PAIRING: svarog x mechanic!fem reader

TAGS & WARNINGS: dark content, dubcon (reader says it’s too much but svarog has a mission to collect data), rough sex, multiple rounds, dom!svarog, sub!fem reader, svarog is Massive, cervix mentions, tummy bulge descriptions, multiple rounds, overstimulation, size difference, power dynamics, size kink, fingering, unrealistic sex, robot fuckers unite!, can you tell i have a size kink?

WORD COUNT: 5.1k

SUMMARY: You discover the reason why Svarog wears pants.

The repair bay smelled faintly of heated metal, coolant fluid, and faint traces of alcohol—a sharp tang that clung to the sterile air. You barely noticed it anymore, accustomed to the hum of machinery and the faint vibration of tools against metal. But today, that hum was louder, and the vibrations sharper, emanating not from your usual repair work but from the massive, battle-worn war machine sitting across from you.

Svarog loomed over the room, his 8’11 frame too large for the reinforced chair you’d hastily reinforced when he arrived. His joints hissed faintly, micro-servos struggling to compensate for the damage he’d sustained during the Wardance duel against Luka earlier that day. Faint dents marred his reinforced dark blue chest plating, and faint sparks sputtered from the exposed wiring along his arm.

You reached for your tools, hyper-aware of the pinkish-red glow of his cyclopean optical sensor tracking your every movement.

“Superficial damage sustained. Functionality remains above 90%. Repairs are non-essential.” His voice rumbled, a deep, mechanical timbre that sent a shiver up your spine.

You regarded him critically. “Non-essential? Your vents are overheating, and you’re rattling like a dying starship. Sit still and let me work.”

He didn’t argue. Svarog was nothing if not logical, and logic dictated that he allow himself to be repaired. Still, there was a tension to him, a stiffness beyond the rigid design of his armor. He didn’t like being examined, didn’t like lowering his guard to anyone else other than Clara, even in the hands of someone who statistically meant him no harm or stood a chance against him.

You stepped closer, tools in hand, and gently pressed against the plating on his shoulder. His frame vibrated under your touch, a subtle hum you might have missed if you hadn’t been so close.

“Core temperature stable,” he intoned. “Subsystems fully operational.”

“Your fans tell a different story,” you muttered, running diagnostics through a handheld scanner. “You’re burning hotter than you should be.”

Svarog didn’t respond right away, but you could feel his pinkish-red optic watching your hands as they worked, tracking each movement with the precision of an apex predator. The thought sent an odd warmth through your body, and you tried to shake it off.

You needed to focus.

The repairs took you lower, inspecting the dents along his torso plating. The main brunt of the damage he took from Luka’s mechanical arm focused around his torso. One of the seams had split, exposing a layer of reinforced polymer beneath the outer shell. Carefully, you reached for the damaged panel, fingers brushing against the edge of the pants covering his lower half—an unusual addition for a machine built for combat, and one that always raised questions in your mind.

You tugged lightly at the material, intending only to check the joints underneath, but your fingers brushed against something unexpected beneath the fabric.

Your breath hitched.

The surface wasn’t the cold hardness of metal or the pliable texture of synthetic padding. It was smooth, warm, and distinctly… organic in shape.

You froze, pulling your hand back as though burned.

His optic dimmed slightly in a flicker that you’d come to recognize as his equivalent of a blink.

You swallowed down the saliva that had gathered in your mouth, gesturing vaguely at his lower half, struggling to form the words.

Svarog tilted his head, the motion eerily human. “This component was included in my original design for biological infiltration protocols.”

You stared at him as if he grew a second head. “Biological… infiltration?”

“My model is the third series of the Monitoring Automaton Prototype, engineered to simulate human anatomy. The purpose was strategic manipulation through intimate interactions if required by mission parameters.”

Your throat felt dryer, and the question that left your mouth sounded ridiculous even to you. “You’re telling me someone thought it’d be a good idea to put a dick on a war machine?”

“Affirmative.”

His voice remained perfectly calm, but your face was burning. A sneaky glance at his lower half rendered you speechless once again. Whoever designed Svarog certainly made his… appendage proportional to his hulking body.

You tried to laugh it off, but the sound came out strained. “And… what? You’ve just been...” You made an awkward gesture with your hand, “carrying it around this whole time?”

“Correct. The feature has never been activated.”

He said it like it was the most normal thing in the world, and somehow that made it worse.

You stared at him in disbelief. “Do you even know how it works?”

Svarog paused, the glow of his optic focusing intently on you. It flickered momentarily.

“My systems include theoretical data on function and compatibility. However, no practical demonstrations have been performed.”

The room felt hotter suddenly, and you were certain that it wasn’t because of Svarog’s malfunctioning fans. Your mind raced with countless possibilities. Given Svarog’s size, you weren’t even sure how anyone was supposed to take that. Did it have a shrinking feature? Did it automatically adjust with Svarog’s… partner?

You swallowed, trying to steer the conversation back to something technical and banish the questions swirling in your head.

“Right,” you muttered, clearing your throat. “Well, let’s make sure you don’t explode first. Then we’ll worry about your…” Your traitorous gaze flickered down again, swallowing, “attachments.”

You regretted the words the second they left your mouth. Svarog’s optic dimmed again, and he shifted in his seat with a faint creak of metal.

“Acknowledged.”

You groaned internally and forced yourself to focus, pulling open the next panel and reaching in to check his sensor nodes. But you couldn’t help the way your mind kept wandering—to the warm, flexible material hidden underneath that fabric. Whoever invented Svarog’s model was an absolute pervert and lunatic, you thought to yourself. A war machine equipped with a dick? You still could not wrap your head around it. To the way Svarog had described it so matter-of-factly, like it was just another tool in his arsenal.

And yet… the tension in his frame, the way his systems overcompensated whenever you touched him, those weren’t reactions you’d expect from a simple machine.

Your hands hovered above the exposed sensor nodes, still adjusting the connections, but your thoughts were no longer entirely focused on the task at hand.

It was impossible to ignore the strange electric tension in the air between you and Svarog. Every time your fingers brushed against his cooling panels or adjusted a wiring interface, you felt it—the subtle hum of his systems, almost like a heartbeat. Or maybe it was just the increasing proximity to his form, which felt more real with every touch, even if you knew he wasn’t alive in the traditional sense.

The heat beneath his outer plating felt too organic, too alive. The warmth spread further with each subtle shift of his hulking frame as you adjusted his internals, a mechanical symphony of soft clicks and hums that made your breath catch in your throat.

This was nothing like the Intellitrons.

You had worked with hundreds to thousands of them over the years, and each time it had been the same routine: simple diagnostics, quick fixes, nothing too complicated. They were built for efficiency, cold efficiency. Their systems were bare-bones, nothing more than a body of metal and circuits with only the basic instincts to follow commands.

But Svarog…

He was different. Complex. His systems, his body—everything about him screamed intricacy and human-like design. A part of you resigned yourself to further look into Svarog’s specific model. Perhaps it was time to take a deeper look into Belobogian technology. Even the way Svarog’s body responded to your touch felt foreign. He was more than just a machine, wasn’t he? He wasn’t just a war machine, a combat tool; there was something underneath, something untapped, a feature of his yet to be understood.

And that thought… that burning curiosity clawed at you.

You’d always prided yourself on being a mechanic. You understood machines, systems, the cold logic of how things worked. But Svarog wasn’t cold. Wasn’t simple. The way his body responded to your movements, the imperceptible shifts in his temperature, the faint, almost unnoticeable changes in his posture whenever your fingers brushed too close to certain sensitive spots—all of it made you wonder.

What if I pushed him further?

A thought you could barely even process, but it lingered, stubborn. The daring curiosity that ran deep within you as a mechanic—was this not what you lived for? To understand the unknown, to push the limits of what could be fixed, adjusted, modified? Svarog’s design wasn’t just mechanical, it felt like a puzzle you couldn’t quite solve, like a language you only understood in fragments.

Your hands moved to reconnect a set of wires, but you barely felt the tools in your grip. The warmth from his frame was distracting, constantly pulling your focus away from the task at hand.

You set your tools down with a sharp click, exhaling as you leaned back from Svarog’s towering frame. The repairs were done. Functionally complete. His damaged plating had been reinforced, circuits reconnected, and his sensor nodes recalibrated. Everything checked out.

Or at least, it should have felt finished.

But you lingered.

Your gaze swept over him again, tracing the seams of his armor and the smooth lines of his construction. Svarog wasn’t like the Intellitrons. His design was deliberate. Every joint, every harsh angle of his frame, was crafted with an almost human elegance that made your brain stutter every time you tried to compare him to standard machinery. Even the sections hidden beneath his plating—the ones you briefly glimpsed while making repairs—were unnervingly realistic in their precision.

And then there were the features he’d kept covered.

You dragged your gaze back to his waist, to the reinforced plating that remained stubbornly intact throughout the repairs. That section.

You hadn’t needed to touch it, hadn’t even dared to ask about it again, but the shape and positioning had made it impossible not to notice. That, combined with the suspicious necessity of his pants, had left your mind spiraling with questions you couldn’t shake.

Why go to such lengths to simulate humanity in that area?

You knew you shouldn’t care. You were a mechanic. Curiosity was natural. It came with the job. But no matter how many times you tried to frame it as a purely technical interest, your pulse told you otherwise.

It wasn’t just simple curiosity. It was a fixation.

You reached out, under the pretense of double-checking one of his sensor-nodes, but your fingers hesitated. You could feel the faint hum of his systems through the plating, steady and constant, and for reasons you didn’t want to unpack, it made the room feel smaller, like the two of you were occupying too much space at once.

“You are hesitating,” Svarog declared suddenly, his mechanical voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

You froze, pulling your hand back like you’d been caught committing a crime. “No, I was just making sure everything’s—”

“False,” he interrupted. His optic seemed red as it regarded you. “Your behavior has deviated from standard patterns. Focus is inconsistent. Eye movement suggests distraction.”

You swallowed hard, heat rushing to your face. Svarog wasn’t wrong, and worse, he wasn’t letting it go.

“Your gaze has returned to my lower half multiple times,” he continued, his tone as flat as ever. “Body temperature elevated by 15.3 percent. Heart rate increased. These patterns suggest heightened interest.”

You felt your stomach flip as he laid out your reactions like cold, hard data. And yet, his voice was so mechanical, so calm and detached, that it made the weight of your embarrassment feel even heavier.

“I can conclude the source of your distraction,” Svarog added. “You are exhibiting curiosity regarding the anatomical structure concealed beneath my armor.”

You didn’t know whether to flat out deny it or run out of the room entirely. Neither option felt viable. At least, not with him towering over you like that, unflinching, his glowing optics locked onto your every move.

“I—no, it’s not like that,” you stammered, even though you knew it was exactly like that.

“Your biological responses contradict your statement,” he said simply. “You are aware of the human-like components integrated into my design. Your fixation suggests a desire to understand their functionality.”

Your breath hitched. The words functionality and components should have grounded you. It should have made this situation feel as clinical as he seemed to think it was. But instead, they only fueled the heat already curling in your stomach.

Because Svarog was right.

You wanted to know—aeons, you’ve been dying to know—how far his human design extended. And now that the repairs were done, now that he’d laid the truth bare, it felt impossible to stop.

“You are not the first to display interest in this feature,” Svarog continued, as though he were listing out schematics. “However, prior inquiries did not progress past verbal questioning. You are demonstrating physical tension indicative of deeper investigation.”

Your throat felt dryer than the desert.

“I propose a solution,” Svarog said, tilting his head slightly. “Controlled exploration. Further data on synthetic anatomy is limited. Your curiosity provides an opportunity for analysis and documentation.”

Your lips parted, but no sound came out. He wasn’t joking. He couldn’t joke.

“You are suggesting we… test this?”

“Correct.”

His lack of hesitation made your pulse stutter. He saw this as a logical step, nothing more than a means to gather data, and yet, the way his frame loomed over you, the hum of his systems almost vibrating through the air, felt anything but detached.

“Decision required,” Svarog said after a beat. “Proceed with testing, or terminate this interaction?”

Your body betrayed you before your mind could catch up.

“Proceed,” you said softly.

His optics flared slightly—almost imperceptibly—before he nodded.

“Acknowledged. Experiment initiated.”

Svarog wasn’t designed to rush.

He worked methodically, his plated fingers tracing along your thighs—testing, measuring, pressing into the soft flesh as though assessing the tensile strength of your muscles. Assessing how much you could take.

“Body temperature elevated by 1.8 degrees,” he noted, his optics narrowing slightly. “Pulse irregular. Predictive analysis suggests heightened arousal.”

You whimpered as his thick mechanical fingers dipped lower, sliding between your legs without hesitation. He brushed against your heat, deliberately testing the slickness already building there.

“Lubrication present,” he said. “Preliminary preparation observed. Additional stimulation required.”

You barely had any time to register his words before his thumb pressed against your clit. The motion was slow, deliberate, grinding down just enough to make your thighs tremble.

Too much.

The smoothness of his plating, the slight hum of his servos adjusting with every movement, left you aching almost instantly. He applied more pressure, adjusting the angle like he was calibrating the motion for maximum effect.

You gasped, hips jerking against him instinctively, and Svarog’s optics dimmed.

“Response strength at 63 percent,” he observed. “Testing deeper penetration.”

You bit back a cry as his fingers slipped inside. Thick, unyielding, and cool against your heat. He stretched you slowly, adding another finger almost immediately, pushing past the tight resistance with clinical focus.

“Muscle tension detected,” he said, his thumb circling the erect pearl of your clit again as his fingers curled inside of you. “Adjusting pressure.”

You whimpered as he spread his fingers, stretching you wider until the ache blurred into something hotter, sharper.

“Elasticity improving,” he noted, tilting his head as he pressed deeper. “Lubrication increased by 24 percent.”

You clenched around him, your gummy walls struggling to accommodate the deliberate stretch, and Svarog’s optics flickered.

“Resistance still measurable,” he said, slowing his movements. “Further preparation required.”

Your head was spinning by the time he added a third finger, the burn almost too much, but Svarog didn’t falter. His fingers moved with precise rhythm, pumping and curling until the tension broke, and your body melted around him.

Svarog’s mechanical fingers lingered inside you, coated in slickness as he worked them deeper—pressing, stretching, curling with deliberate precision. His thumb dragged slow, circular patterns over your clit, the rhythm steady enough to make your hips jolt against him in a helpless, uncontrollable reaction.

“Muscle tension improving,” he observed. “Current dilation at 73 percent. Additional preparation recommended.”

His tone was calm, detached, but the way his optics dimmed as he watched your thighs trembling betrayed something deeper. He pressed in further, adding another finger. Thicker. Unyielding. Enough to force a sharp gasp to tumble out of your throat.

The burn was too much and not enough all at once, your body clenching down against the stretch even as your legs fell further apart under his firm grip.

You could feel yourself dripping, already struggling to take his fingers, but Svarog didn’t falter. He spread them wider, deliberately testing your limits, and the ache left you clawing at his arm, nails scraping helplessly against smooth plating.

“Elasticity increased by 18 percent,” he said, pulling his fingers free with a lewd, wet squelch that made your breath hitch and your cheeks burn. He inspected the slick coating his fingers before tilting his head slightly. “Sufficient for insertion.”

You barely had time to catch your breath before you heard the sound of fabric rustling. Your eyes widened as he was lining up, the thick, mechanical weight of his massive cock pressing against your sopping entrance and making your stomach twist with a sharp mix of anticipation and fear. His cock contrasted the rest of his metallic body, covered by a synthetic material that seemed to emulate the sensation of skin.

“Size differential detected,” Svarog noted, palming your thigh to angle your hips upward. “Accommodating size will result in initial resistance.”

You bit back a cry as he pushed forward, the broad, blunted tip spreading you open with agonizing slowness. The pain is sharp, your walls pulsing and struggling to accommodate him even after the preparation.

Too big.

The words barely formed in your mind before the pressure stole the thought away entirely. You gasped sharply, arching as he forced himself deeper, the stretch too much—burning, tearing, making your legs shake uncontrollably.

Svarog’s grip on your hips tightened as he paused, allowing you a brief moment of reprieve to adjust, but as his optics flickered, scanning the trembling of your muscles and the fluttering of your gummy walls around him.

“Pain response detected. Estimating threshold at 62 percent.”

You cried out as his hands tilted your hips. You were barely able to breathe as he pressed further, the new angle forcing him deeper into your cunt, and your stomach twisted as you felt it. His cock bullied its way in, the meaty girth of his shaft forcing you wider and wider until you swore you could feel it pressing against everything, imprinting his shape inside of you.

Too much. Too deep.

Tears welled in your eyes as your body struggled to take him, your hands scrabbling against his frame, fingers digging uselessly into unmoving steel.

Svarog’s hand pressed against your stomach, his thumb grazing the prominent bulge already forming there.

“Internal displacement observed,” he said, pushing down slightly to feel the way his massive cock shifted inside of you. The sensation earned a quiver of your legs, the pressure in between your legs rendering you unable to utter a coherent sentence. “Pressure response increasing. Adapting angle.”

Your head fell back with a guttural cry as he adjusted, pressing even deeper, his thumb brushing over the bulge experimentally while he thrust deeper, the bulge in your stomach shifting with him. It felt like the wind was knocked out of your lungs. Your lips fell open in a silent cry, eyes rolling into the back of your head. Your body clenched down hard, pulsing and fluttering, struggling against the size, and Svarog stilled.

“Involuntary constriction detected,” he said, his optics dimming slightly.

His free hand reached up, spreading your thighs wider, and he began to move.

Slow, deliberate thrusts that forced you to feel every excruciating inch of him.

You couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe.

All you could do was feel—the stretch, the ache, the grinding pressure of him bottoming out inside you again and again and again. The bulge in your stomach shifted with every thrust, a visible reminder of just how deep he was, how much he was filling you.

Svarog’s optics glowed faintly as he observed you, his gaze calculating and unwavering as your body trembled beneath him. Each shallow breath you took, each gasp for air as his cock pressed deeper, he noted, analyzing the involuntary way your body gripped him, how your muscles fluttered around him with every thrust.

“Heart rate accelerating. Muscular tension increasing. Increased stimulation evident.”

He could see the way your body reacted. How your hands clenched, how your thighs shook, how the bulge in your stomach shifted with each deep push, marking the extent to which he had filled you. He watched the way your chest heaved, the way your pupils dilated with every inch of him that stretched you wider, deeper, further than you ever thought possible.

You were on the brink of breaking, the tension in your body growing unbearable as your mouth opened in a silent scream, unable to keep up with the onslaught of sensations. Your body, desperate for more and yet unable to fully handle what was happening, was his to command, and he couldn’t help but watch in quiet fascination as you succumbed to the overwhelming pleasure.

You were becoming dumber. So much of you just couldn’t function anymore. You were speechless, unable to utter a coherent sentence, broken down by the intensity of his cock fucking its way into you, and the way you melted against him was nothing short of fascinating. Your voice was lost to you, your thoughts clouded by raw sensation, but the pleasure you felt was clear. It was painted across every quiver of your body, the sheen of beaded sweat lining your face and neck, in the strained arch of your back, the desperate shuddering of your limbs.

He could hear the soft whimpering sounds, could see the way your face twisted with both pain and pleasure, and his own systems hummed with the data flooding his internal logs. Every reaction of yours was so genuine, so untouched by reason. It was an anomaly he had never experienced.

Svarog’s mechanical frame moved with precision, his movements controlled and deliberate. His systems hummed as he observed you, his optics tracking every microexpression, every shuddering breath as you struggled to adjust to the overwhelming size that filled you.

He didn’t feel pleasure. He didn’t need it, not the way you did. But the reactions you were giving him—the way your body trembled, the way your walls spasmed around him—were intriguing, data points he had yet to fully understand.

“Subject’s body reacting to size discrepancy. Estimated stretch threshold surpassed.”

Your hands were clutching at him, your fingers slipping over his cool metal plating, desperately trying to find purchase. Your tight walls clung to him as though your body was doing everything it could to resist the sensation, even though it was now obvious that you couldn’t fight it. Your body was becoming swallowed by him, opening wide to accommodate what it was never meant to handle.

Svarog’s movement’s never faltered, his thrusts measured and precise, studying you as your body began to react involuntarily. Your walls spasmed around him, tighter and tighter, almost as though your body was trying to pull him deeper despite the overwhelming stretch.

“Subject’s body is exhibiting signs of imminent climax. Response timing has been measured.”

You couldn’t hold it back anymore. Your entire body stiffed, an involuntary shudder running through you as every nerve seemed to light up at once. Your vision blurred, the sounds of your ragged breathing filling your ears, mixing with the overwhelming sensation of being stretched beyond belief. Your walls contracted and released rapidly, the pressure inside you finally exploding, and you cried out his name, the world barely a whisper between gasps.

The release sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body, and Svarog could see it. How your body trembled, how your legs locked around his waist, pulling him even deeper—if that was even possible. You were speechless, your mind blank as your body convulsed in ecstasy, your insides gripping him with a tightness that was almost painful.

“Subject has achieved climax. Response exceeds expectations.”

Your breaths came in desperate, uncoordinated gasps as the waves of pleasure crashed over you, and your body was left quivering, unable to do anything but absorb the aftershocks of your mind-numbing release. Your thighs quivered, feeling your cum trickling down your skin, staining his metal plating.

Svarog, ever the observer, did not stop. He noted the way your body reacted to each of his thrusts, the way your tummy bulged with each movement, the way your warm walls clamped down involuntarily as you tried to regain control of your senses.

Despite the fact that Svarog himself could not feel pleasure, there was something undeniably fascinating about the way you came undone beneath him, your body fighting for control even as it surrendered entirely to him.

He continued moving inside you, his mechanical precision relentless, watching as you flinched with each motion, your body too sensitive now to handle it. Your hands, still pawing weakly at his arms, combined with your whimpered protests of it being too much, were growing weaker, and the sensations were too much for you to bear, but still, he kept going—his own curiosity driving him. He wanted to see how much more you could take, how much more your body could endure before it reached its limit.

You were still trembling, still catching your breath, your mind scattered and lost in the aftereffects of your climax. He could see your skin shimmering with sweat, your breasts rising and falling, the way your hips thrusted up to meet his even though you were lost in the throes of overstimulation.

“Subject remains responsive despite signs of fatigue,” he observed. “Data indicates further analysis needed.”

You were so tight, so overstimulated, and yet your body responded again as though it couldn’t stop itself. Another surge of pleasure crashed through you, pulling another, more broken moan from your lips. It was overwhelming, too much, but your body needed it, responding in ways that only deepened his analysis of the situation.

Svarog’s focus didn’t waver. He watched as your body shook with every movement, your legs quivering with the strain of accommodating him, and still, he continued, his thrusts growing deeper, more relentless. His fingers dug into your hips, hard enough to leave litters of bruises that resembled the shade of his metal plating, holding you in place, using your body as a tool for his data collection.

He could see the way you reacted to the sensations, your face contorting in a combination of pain and pleasure, your eyes wide and unfocused, the way your mouth parted as though you couldn’t form any coherent words. Your body had become nothing but a series of responses, unable to control the way you moved or how you moaned, each sound increasing in volume and intensity as he continued to jackhammer into you.

Your stomach bulged from the pressure, each thrust deepening the curve, showing just how much of him you were struggling to take. Your body was so small, so delicate compared to his design—a machine of war—and yet it was somehow adjusting, somehow taking him all the way in, and with each inch he could see your entire body shift, your muscles trembling, walls contracting and clenching around him.

Svarog observed with detachment, but a small part of him couldn’t ignore how your body seemed to respond, how the very tightness of your searingly hot walls seemed to tug at him, pull him deeper as though it wanted to trap him there—needed him to stay there. The way you trembled beneath him, struggling to remain grounded as your body was filled with something so vast compared to your form. He noted how your skin glistened, how you arch your back, trying to take more of him, trying your damned best to accommodate his size.

Svarog noted how you were losing coherence, your once-clear expression now a mess of uncontrollable need, your eyes glazing over as you gave in to the rhythm he set. He couldn’t deny the way your body seemed to yearn for more, even as you struggled with the sheer size of him.

The final stretch was the worst for you, and the best for him—he felt your body grip him, squeezing him impossibly tight as he buried himself to the hilt. This earned a strained sob from your lips. Your stomach bulged more than ever before, a visual testament to just how much of him you had taken, how far he had pushed you. He could see your body tremble, your limbs shaking, your quivering lips gasping for breath.

Yet, even as your body was on the edge, unraveling beneath him, Svarog did not stop. The data was still incomplete. He needed more. He needed to see how much you could endure, how much pleasure your body could take from the sheer act of him pounding into you.

And so, he continued, calculating the rhythms, watching as you came again with a scream of his name, your body seizing, the loud moan that escaped your lips barely audible over the overwhelming noise in your head. It was the most raw, vulnerable he had ever seen you—or any human—and it only fascinated him more.

With another deep thrust, you shuddered, and this time, Svarog could see your body collapse against the surface beneath you, completely undone. You were breathless, barely coherent, your limbs shaking as the final waves of pleasure raked through your senses.

Svarog paused, his cool hands steadying your trembling body, allowing you to come down from the dizzying high. He could continue for as long as he wanted, but your body was too spent for further testing. He could still see the evidence of your come, dripping down in translucent milky strings to the surface beneath you, painting your inner thighs. Svarog decided that this must be what humans described as “beautiful.”

“Conclusion: Subject’s tolerance to size discrepancy has surpassed previous estimates. Data collection complete.”

#honkai star rail #star rail #honkai sr #honkai star rail smut #honkai star rail x reader #hsr smut #honkai star rail svarog #svarog x reader #svarog smut #hsr svarog #svarog #robot fuckers unite #tw: dark content #cw: dubcon #size difference #hsr x reader #hsr x you

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redflagshipwriter · 7 months ago

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Mama Bat 8: Hungry

Masterpost

Danny would prefer to strike that unfortunate incident from the record and his memory. As soon as he figured out how to cause selective brain damage, it was all over for the mortifying ordeal of being perceived in weakness. He swung his legs miserably over the bathroom counter’s edge and pretended very hard that he was alone in Amity Park where no one noticed or cared if he threw up.

He was still in the room where Cass had hustled him to clean off his face and see if there would be an encore. He’d had to make a tactical retreat away from the toilet to higher ground when big bats flapped in after him. Presumably they’d learnt that he threw up when Cass went to get whatever supplies one needed to clean partially digested yogurt off antique carpet. Ancestral carpet. Probably made of some nutty rich person material like, uh, hair from the manes of prize-winning horses.

Somehow, Danny cringed even harder. He needed brain damage immediately, please.

“And you’re certain that you don’t need to visit a medical facility?”

Batman brooded in the literal way that a chicken brooded. Danny tightened his grip on the counter just that little bit more so that no one could drag him into a nest and sit on him. “Wouldn’t do any good,” he said shortly. It came out a little too mean. He tried to correct his voice to be nicer. “Thanks. Tho.” Danny cleared his throat.

“Tt.” Damian expelled air against his front teeth and glowered at his father. “He looks terrible. You cannot believe this.”

Wait, what? Danny blinked down at Uncle Damian, betrayed. “I look terrible?” he echoed. What the hell? Criticism, from Dames? That was new and it sucked a lot.

Bruce got a pinched look. “Danny, honey, you have been looking a little…” He trailed off. “Unwell.”

‘That would be the lack of ectoplasm,’ Danny thought snidely. He kept his mouth firmly shut and turned away. Unfortunately, he caught his reflection in the bathroom mirror and winced at it. He did look pretty wan and thin. It was hard to put a finger on what was off about his appearance, but it was sort of… deathly.

He was putting on weight again thanks to Alfred and Damian’s monitoring of his diet, but it was just a fact that he wasn’t really suited to this environment. Too human to survive in the big Green yonder, too undead to get by on bread alone.

‘...How does Jason do it? His vibes are rank and ghastly as shit,’ Danny thought enviously. ‘He screams BITCH I'M ABOUT TO COMMIT AN INTERDIMENSIONAL WAR CRIME constantly. It’s pretty fucking impressive. An aura like that is not sustained by creme anglaise and goulash. He has to have access to ecto somewhere.’

Danny really should have wondered that before. Jason had to be like, the most liminal human being around who wasn’t a halfa. He definitely needed ecto. Where was he getting it? Danny hadn’t really consciously thought about it, but… He felt himself tinge a little green again.

‘Was I feeding off of his ambient ectoplasm when he was here yesterday?’

His mouth filled his saliva that still tasted both sour and like toothpaste. Danny swallowed it with effort. He did not think of how good ecto tasted after you’d been denied and drained. He did not think about the sense memory of how living ecto would indent and then give with a juicy pop around his teeth, splash the inside of his mouth-

Danny buried his face in his hands and tried not to look like he was going to throw up again. Because he was not going to do that. He was not going to eat Jason and he was not going to throw up.

“Danny.” Bruce somehow made his huge strong guy vibes less intense. Danny reluctantly made eye contact to see that the guy kinda had homeless Labrador eyes at the moment. Big. Begging. Full of love and grandfatherly support that he's just waiting for you to accept. “Can I ask you a question?”

Ugh. Yuck. Feelings.

Danny fidgeted, flexing and tensing his feet. “Yeah,” he said, after a too-long silence. “What's up?”

Damian crossed his arms over his chest, radiating intensely negative child energy into the room.

“Is there something that I'm not providing for you that would help you?” Bruce's voice was excruciatingly gentle.

Danny went stiff.

Okay, maybe Batman wasn't a big dummy. Danny broke eye contact to look at his knees. His new jeans didn't have the usual tears over his knees. He stared at the weave, picking out an individual line of thread. Everything was so weird now. He was weird now. He’d made sense before but now he was the thing that was wrong and out of place. If he was more normal he could admit that he needed help. He could say what it was, if it wasn’t so freakish and he wasn’t struck silent by the knot in his gut.

“Whatever you need,” Bruce quietly promised. He lowered himself more to Danny's level. “I know a family who all need sunlamps to survive the winter. I have a friend who travels with his own fish tank of fresh ocean water whenever he’s on land.”

That didn’t sound very human.

Danny sniffed. Ugh, his nose was leaking. He wiped at it with the back of a hand. “Like that tentacle horror guy from the pirate movie?’

Bruce's lips twitched. “Exactly like that,” he lied gravely.

He took a shaky breath in. He licked his lips. He glanced up and caught sight of Damian. Sweet, prickly Damian. The preteen was glowering as if that would hide how concerned he was.

‘He’s a kid. That's a whole ass child. I’m not telling him I'm an existential horror that is tempted to commit cannibalism. Especially not when I’d have to admit that his big brother smells like a whole graveyard buffet.’

Damian sure talked a lot of shit, but he loved his family. A lot. He would have feelings that were way too big for his body about his ‘nephew’ needing to eat something like his big brother Jason.

Not that Jason was a something. He was a person. Jason was definitely a someone. Danny winced away from that train of thought.

“Danny?” Bruce was barely audible. Danny blinked back to awareness to see that the man was tightly leashed in place by his self control. It was obvious that Bruce very badly wanted to take three steps closer and touch Danny. Danny drew his legs up onto the counter and hid his face between his knees. He didn’t want to look at anyone, he didn’t want to feel pressured to say anything.

The new posture was convenient because it hid that he was starting to cry. He trembled with the effort to stay silent and mop his tears directly onto the new jeans that smelled like someone else’s laundry detergent..

He was being stupid. That was classic Danny. He hid things that didn’t need to be and he accidentally told people what should be secrets. Was he ever going to get it right? He should just tell them. Tell them! He tried to berate himself into working up the nerve but his jaw might as well have been wired shut in a morgue.

The bathroom went silent. Danny waited and waited for someone to say something. He frowned after a while even as he began to relax. Then he deliberately listened.

It sounded like he was alone.

It didn’t seem right, though. It took him a few moments to ping onto what he knew that disproved that. There was a warm, quiet presence about a foot to his left waiting patiently. It wasn’t quite ghostly, even though it was totally silent.

Danny sniffled on his next inhalation.

Cass didn’t say anything.

He lifted his head to see for certain that Bruce and Damian had left the room. They probably hadn’t gone far.

‘She must have asked them to get out when she came back.’

The room spun around him, blurred through his eyelashes. It might as well have been a dream. There was no harm in a dream.

“I need ectoplasm,” Danny admitted. Cass didn’t say anything or touch him. There was no pressure. He could float away if he wanted to. It was safe to admit it now. “That’s what I’m missing. And I can’t get it here. That’s why I came to Gotham. It’s not really easy to get on the living side of things. But Gotham is kinda liminal, so there’s some hotspots.” He paused. He wasn’t sure why. The air felt fragile.

Suddenly, he knew he didn’t want her to say anything yet. Danny swallowed and rushed on. “It’s, uh. What ghosts are made of.” His voice was so raspy that it didn’t even sound like him. “Jason has a lot, actually. But I don’t anymore. So. I need some.”

Cass leaned over very deliberately to put her arm over his shoulder. It was warm and real. The weight of it would keep him from floating away. He could feel the slight flex of her bicep muscles.

He swallowed. He leaned into her.

“We’ll get you what you need,” Cass promised. Simple as that.

#dp x dc #dc x dp #red mama bat #cassandra cain

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dandelionsresilience · 4 months ago

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Dandelion News - September 15-21

Like these weekly compilations? Tip me at $kaybarr1735 or check out my new(ly repurposed) Patreon!

1. A beam of hope for North America’s most endangered sparrow

“Dozens of conservationists, gathered some distance away to avoid spooking the skittish sparrows, celebrated the [release of the 1000th captive-raised sparrow] in an unprecedented recovery program that in only a few years has doubled the bird’s wild population, from a mere 80 five years ago to some 200 today. […] “What we have achieved is the best case scenario.””

2. U.S. overdose deaths plummet, saving thousands of lives

“"In the states that have the most rapid data collection systems, we’re seeing declines of twenty percent, thirty percent," said Dr. Nabarun Dasgupta, an expert on street drugs at the University of North Carolina. […] According to Donaldson, many people using fentanyl now carry naloxone, a medication that reverses most opioid overdoses. He said his friends also use street drugs with others nearby, ready to offer aid and support when overdoses occur.”

3. Propagated corals reveal increased resistance to bleaching across the Caribbean during the fatal heat wave of 2023

“”[… Y]oung corals bred for restoration are a lot more resistant to bleaching under extreme levels of heat stress than the prevailing corals on the reef." [… Unlike with the previous propagation strategy, fragmentation, e]very time a population reproduces, new offspring receive newly mixed sets of genes through recombination, making them different from their parent colonies and thus enabling adaptation.”

4. Habitat Management Helps At-Risk Butterflies

“For a number of at-risk butterflies in the United States, habitat management can play an important role in keeping them from going extinct. [… “In] places where people are actively engaged with ways to manage the habitat, the butterflies are doing the best,” said Cheryl Schultz, a professor of conservation biology at Washington State University[….]”

5. Study: Protecting the ocean helps fight malnutrition

“[The study] found that fish catches in coral reefs could increase by up to 20 percent by expanding sustainable-use marine protected areas — that is, areas where some fishing is allowed with restrictions[, … and] that sustainable-use marine protected areas have on average 15 percent more fish biomass than non-protected areas. […] “Allowing regulated fishing in marine protected areas can support healthy fish populations, while also having a positive impact on the quality of life of surrounding communities.””

6. [FWS] Advances Effort to Create Urban Conservation Footprint in Tucson

““We want to continue to work together to create an urban footprint to improve access to nature, conserve habitats, and improve air and water quality.” […] The area provides habitat for several federally listed species, including southwestern willow flycatcher, western yellow-billed cuckoo, and Mexican garter snake. If protected, the area will also help connect critical habitat for jaguar and Chiracahua leopard frog.”

7. ‘Exciting’ solar breakthrough means energy can be kept in sustainable batteries that don’t overheat

“The technology is based on a specially designed molecule of carbon, hydrogen and nitrogen that changes shape when it comes into contact with sunlight. These are common elements - providing an alternative to other technologies relying on scarce materials like lithium. […] A unique feature of the system is that the molecules also provide cooling in the photovoltaic cell[, which can store solar energy “for up to 18 years.”]”

8. Sea turtles make big comeback on sandy beaches at 2 British military bases in Cyprus

“[… The] number of nests surpass[ed] last year’s record count by nearly 25%, environmentalists said Tuesday. […] “The steep increase in turtle nests has been the result of a consistent, systematic ‘hands-off’ approach, together with enforcement efforts to minimize illegal, damaging activities on nesting beaches[….” D]aily patrols by volunteers ensure that aluminum cages set atop the nests remain in place to protect the turtles from predators like foxes and dogs.”

9. First ever photograph of rare bird species New Britain Goshawk

“The last documented scientific record of the bird is from 1969[….] Working closely with [“the Indigenous Mengen and Mamusi peoples”], WWF hopes to support local stewardship to safeguard the future of these incredible biodiversity hotspots through community-led conservation.”

10. Hospitals begin offering breakthrough radiation therapy for metastatic cancer tumors

“[First,] a patient is injected with a radioactive glucose (or sugar) tracer. The machine picks up the tracer in real time and in bright colors, [… then] reads a signal from the cancer cells breaking down the tracer. [… “The] machine is automatically and autonomously reacting and responding to those signals by shooting radiation back to their source[….]””

September 8-14 news here | (all credit for images and written material can be found at the source linked; I don’t claim credit for anything but curating.)

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astroboots · 1 year ago

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Punch-Out Love

Artwork by @guruan

FIGHT NIGHT

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: You're lucky enough to score ring-side seats at a boxing match on Friday night. Getting the best view in the house of boxing champion: Miguel O'Hara.

Word count: 1,500

Next Chapter

Spiderverse Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist

You know fuck all about boxing.

About the only thing you know about the sport was from the glimpses you caught watching scratched up old recordings of Muhammed Ali fights on the boxy mini-tv of your old childhood friend's house.

It always seemed barbaric. The practice of watching two human beings beat the shit out of each other for spectator's entertainment. It seems like something that was better left in the Ancient Roman times. Have we all human beings as a society, really not come further some 2,000 years later?

Your bestie used to get mad at you for this. Constantly defending the sport from your criticism, because (according to him) it's not just about smashing each other's faces in. Supposedly, there's an art to the sport. Boxers are taught to respect their opponents and adhere to the principles of good sportsmanship. It takes great mental discipline, dedicated work and years of hard and punishing training to master boxing.

You never saw any of that in the matches he showed you. All you saw were two men needlessly being hurt, sustaining brain damage for rich people's enjoyment.

Then again, he was more than a little bit biased, considering it was his dream to go pro one day. Tall and gangly, with his scrawny antelope legs, thick-rimmed glasses and big-ass braces, he looked like he couldn't punch his way out of a paper bag, much less another person. You never understood how exactly he thought he was going to make it as a boxer.

But you never found it in you to burst his unrealistic bubble when he used to point at the screen excitedly, drawing your attention to Ali's footwork and the artistry in it.

"It's like he's dancing," he used to say.

Except dancing is done with swelling music in the background. In dancing you often have a partner. It's an embrace. It's gentle and kind.

Boxing... was not that.

So you don't know how you managed to find yourself in the ringside seats of a local boxing match on a Friday evening, staring up at the boxing ring with the glaring ring lights shining into your eyes.

"Aren't these seats amazing?" Jess shouts excitedly over the familiar lyrics of ‘We Will Rock You' being belted out by Freddy Mercury on the loudspeaker.

You smile, and nod, because boxing-fan or not, she's right, these are some amazing seats. And considering you didn't have to pay a dime for them, personal aversions aside, you're never going to turn down free stuff.

Jess' husband tested positive for covid at the last minute, and you're the only one in your social circle that is anti-social and single enough to not have any plans on a Friday evening.

On the monitors above you, the menacing headshots of the two fighters swish into view.

"The first guy is an old reigning champ," she explains to you, as she leans in, shouting into your eardrums (and yet you can still barely make out what she's saying over the music). "The challenger is some new kid on the block. Has an amazing track record. Zero losses in the season. He's something else."

You look up at the gigantic screen, at the sharp cut cheeks, strong thick brows and the intense pitched brown eyes staring down at you.

Angry looking dude.

...Handsome too.

With a face like that, surely he could've gone into other careers. Calvin Klein model, movie star, or a news anchor. You wonder what makes a guy voluntarily have his face bashed in for money as a career.

"Ladies and gentlemen," a loud booming voice announces from the stage.

You jump in your seat from the suddenness, as you see a bald and overly formal dressed announcer in the middle of the ring.

"Welcome to the electrifying boxing showdown of the century! Are you ready to witness some knockout action tonight?"

The crowd around you cheers with a pandemonium of shouting and whistling.

"Introducing our first fighter, a true hometown hero! With an impressive record of 20 wins, 15 by knockout, and only 2 losses, standing at 6'3 feet, and weighing in at 340 pounds of determination and strength, give it up for ‘the Knockout King’ Bobby Kane!"

You watch as the reigning champion walks down the tunnel to the midst of adoring cheers as he waves and gestures at the crowd like royalty.

Every inch the king that he is nicknamed, he jumps over the rope and stands tall and proud over the ring.

The man is huge, bulging with almost grotesque muscles. He's so large that you almost expect each of his steps to send a reverberation throughout the hall, as if this was Jurassic Park and he's a T-Rex.

"Now, entering the ring with the confidence of a warrior, fighting out of the red corner, with 15 wins, 10 by knockout, and no losses, standing at an astounding 6 feet 9 inches, and weighing in at 310 pounds of raw power, let's hear it for tonight's challenger, ‘Steel Jaw’ Miguel O'Hara!"

Wait what? You do a double take at the announcement. Six foot nine?!?! What kind of giant is that?

From the far corner of the hall, you see his silhouette emerge, and your eyes go wide at the sight of him. Tall doesn't even begin to describe him.

There's a 200 year oak tree at Central Park, and with the shadow this man casts, you think their height must be nearly comparable. If you thought the Knockout King was tall, the "King" is practically tiny compared to this challenger.

You watch, as the man with cheeks so sharp they mind as well be blades (and god never has a nickname made more sense to you) as he strides towards the stage. He reaches the rope and barely even has to climb over it with how tall he is.

He's leaner than his predecessor. Every inch of him is cut muscles and tanned gorgeous skin as he stands in front of you. His presence is electric. The air crackles where he stands, towering over the stage.

You swear that his towering height blocks out the ring lights with it, casting the stage in the darkness of his tall shadow.

Somehow, he's even prettier in person compared to the still image of him blown up and plastered on the big screen. Soft brown curls and pouty lips. You don't understand in what world a man like that is a professional fighter.

From this distance, with the way that the light refracts from his irises, his eyes almost glow with a scarlet red that takes your breath away as you look up at him and meet his eyes.

If you didn't know better, you'd think he was staring at you.

The bell rings out, but he's not looking away. The intensity you find there is enough to make you swallow your tongue. Your face prickles with heat and for several long moments you forget to breathe, until the air seems to thin around you and your vision starts to swim.

Then he turns to face his opponent.

You're not quite sure where to look. There's so much happening at once. For his size, Miguel O'Hara is surprisingly deft on his feet. His footwork is somehow both unpredictable yet intentional all at once.

The King throws a strong punch, as he lunges forward, after his tall opponent. But O'Hara dodges them seemingly without effort. It's followed by punches so quick, the movements blur together.

Strike after strike. The King is giving it his all. But none of it properly connects. With every failed hit, you can see him growing increasingly more frustrated.

Your heart is in your lungs, and despite how close you are to the stage, you almost want to get up from your seat for a closer look.

Safe as you are behind the ropes, adrenaline rushes through your veins with a fury. You can't recall the last time you felt this ecstatic about... well, anything.

With each punch O’Hara dodges, you feel yourself lurch back in your seat, trying to dodge the punch with him.

It's titillating.

Exciting.

O'Hara's movements are precise and honed with intention despite the ferocity in his movements. Each one is measured and intricate and if you didn't know any better you'd almost call it graceful.

You think back to those moments in your childhood friend's home, and his excited words buzz in your ears now. For the first time ever you finally understand what he had meant.

It is like a dance.

Before you, O’Hara's eyes cross over in your direction and for a split of a second, you swear your eyes connect again. His gaze holds you there, pinned to your seat, and excitement shoots through the entirety of your spine until you feel lightheaded from the attention.

Then he finally steps forward, no longer evading.

It's brutal and efficient.

An uppercut that connects cleanly to his opponent's jaw.

Spit and blood flies out from the man's mouth, the flabby flesh of his cheek vibrating from the impact as he lands on the floor with an ear-shattering thud.

Then the guy is out.

Barely even eight minutes in.

There's a stunned and shocked silence. The crowd seems both enthralled and disappointed at how fast it all went. On the ring floor, you can practically see the circle of cartoon birds flying above the defeated King's head.

You may not know anything about boxing, but you know that this man is not getting up anytime soon, no matter how far the referee counts.

Tearing your eyes away from the motionless body splayed out on the ground elevated above you, you can see the victor towering menacingly over the body.

But Miguel O'Hara isn't even looking at his defeated opponent

No, his eyes are staring straight into the sea of awestruck spectators. Except he’s not looking at them.

He's looking at you.

~ Next.

Author's note: What's that you say? CiCi wtf are you doing starting another series when you already got one going on? ... Idek man. But I hope you guys enjoy it, cause I had a blast writing it, smut will ensue in later chapters I promise!

Dedications and Credits: Buckle up it's gonna be a big one!

Firstly to @guruan when I say she's my muse THIS IS WHAT I MEAN! Look at that beautiful artwork. I am drooling into my panties. I am crying between my legs. I am so damn horny! I cannot thank this amazingly talented genius enough. Please please give this wonderful brilliant human your love by following her, and drop by her KO-FI SHOP cause the art this woman bless us with is UN-fucking-REAL

Then to @djarinsbeskar who put this idea into my head. In my mind she is the OG Boxer AU champion and mastermind. If you are in the mood for more boxing content, she has a wonderful, devastatingly sexy series Boxer!Din AU that is just woof woof bark bark.

#miguel o'hara fic #miguel o'hara fanfic #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #oscar isaac #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara #across the spiderverse fanfiction #spiderverse #spiderverse fanfiction #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara x you

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astronnonyy · 3 months ago

Text

I've noticed some misconceptions about how Dark's powers work in my time in the fandom, some of which I believed myself, so I thought I'd make a post going over their powers and how they seem to work within AvA canon. I'm mostly just making this for my own reference, but hopefully this will be useful for other people too 👍

(For the record, I'm not trying to call out or criticize anyone by making this, it's purely for reference purposes. You do whatever you want when writing/drawing stuff)

Without Wristbands

Without the wristbands introduced in The Showdown, Dark only has three* powers that we're ever shown, compared to the four+ that Chosen has, which I will describe below.

The power they use the most is pyrokinesis, much like Chosen has. They can create fire, and use fire to fly.

They're also shown to be able to breathe fire like Chosen does, despite not having a visible mouth (ie. A pac man mouth).

Dark can also create what I can only think to call fire bombs, and has done so in every episode they've appeared in. These are unique to them and Firefox, and Chosen is not shown to share this ability, (which leads me to believe that this is not directly linked to their shared pyrokinesis abilities).

*I'm not sure if this counts as one power or two, but I'm going to talk about them as two facets of one power.

Dark and Chosen both seem to possess some sort of heightened physical resilience, as well as super strength. Being thrown through walls, and throwing others through walls, with little to no actual damage being sustained.

(It's difficult to get proper screenshots of this, but you can see it in just about every scene the two are part of.)

There's also. whatever the hell this attack was. which I can only think to put under this section, because they never do anything like this again.

At no point is Dark shown to have laser eyes as part of their normal powers.

With Wristbands

With the wristbands, Dark's power set completely changes. They're never shown using their normal powers again after this point, which leads me to think they may not be able to, though that's 100% speculation on my part.

They gain a number of new abilities, as well as a boost to their physical strength and resilience, seeming to surpass Chosen's abilities. Specific powers and abilities are described below.

They gain multiple abilities previously used by the Virabots, including the ability to fly/levitate without the use of fire (which they could not do previously), and summon spikes that delete things they hit.

There's also some things that seem to be unique to them in this state, namely being some sort of black energy balls they can throw, laser eyes of their own, and, most iconically, the ability to summon the V blade.

The exact properties of these abilities (minus the blade) are unclear.

The V blade, however, is a sharp, sword-like weapon, which has the ability to cut through and instantly destroy normal stick figures, reducing them to code. It, alongside the Virabots themselves, also seems to severely weaken both Chosen and Alan's cursor, ultimately destroying the latter and kicking Alan out of the battle.

Dark seems to be able to easily outpace Chosen with the wristbands on, throwing them around and eventually pinning them down with the help of the Virabots.

It also appears that they may have gained an immunity/resistance to Chosen's laser eyes, or at least they're less concerned about them. Previously in both AvA 3 and The Showdown, they're shown to run away and avoid being hit by the lasers, but after putting on the wristbands, they tank laser beams with no hesitation.

I don't really have much of a conclusion to this post, so I'll leave it here for now. Hopefully this is useful, or at least interesting, to others! ✌

#mine #not a reblog #ava #animator vs animation #ava the dark lord #for later #reference #analysis #< does this count as an analysis??? idfk

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probablyasocialecologist · 1 year ago

Text

Since the Israeli genocide in the Gaza Strip started, I have been reviewing British media and its everyday items, such as the newspaper, phone, posters, and TV channels that seep into the public’s consciousness. Without the critical tools and education to puncture through their framing, we become complicit and easily intimidated. Some media outlets have gone as far as spreading misinformation, which surely would have been considered a hate crime in other contexts. Both the Daily Telegraph and The Times chose this misinformation as the headline for their October 11th issues. Although some (not all!) of those newspapers have already retracted their original false claims, the damage has already been done. The Guardian chose to adorn its main headline for October 12th with the words ‘Israelis suspended between fear, grief and foreboding.’ The Daily Mail selected ‘The King Calls Them Terrorists, Why Can’t the BBC?’ Marching to the same beat, the Daily Telegraph opted to plaster the Royals’ condemnation of Hamas on its front pages. Survey the pages of the newspapers, and the stories eliciting support and empathy for Israel abound, making it clear who the perpetrators are and that vengeance against them is justified. Meanwhile, the Palestinians are only evoked through the register of terrorism and violence. Even those headlines, which are shy in their coverage of the Israeli genocide in Gaza, intentionally omit the perpetrators: the Israeli army and state. They are designed to neglect the root and cause of the violence: Israeli settler colonialism. By settler colonialism, we mean the gradual transfer of European Jews to the land of Palestine, the coercive displacement and dispossession of the indigenous Palestinian population, and the imposition of a coordinated and sustainable system that turns this displacement into a continuous process. Western media relies on racial, gendered, and colonial tropes to describe the atrocities in Palestine. It instrumentalizes white female faces to elicit support for Israel. Such a tactic simultaneously serves racism, patriarchy, and colonialism. It relies on notions of white female ‘innocence’ and ‘victimhood’ to justify the continuous erasure of Palestine. In a headline by the Daily Telegraph about a British IDF female soldier, below, we are shown a smiling white female soldier wearing military attire and a keffiyeh on her head. Neither the photograph nor the article questions why a British citizen is justified in enlisting in a settler army elsewhere, let alone the same army that is committing genocide in the Gaza Strip. To the contrary, the article frames such enlisting as voluntary and dignified. These strategies bring to mind 9/11, Laura Bush, and the weaponization of white feminism in the service of imperialist and colonial expansion. Black and Brown feminist scholars and activists, including Lila Abu Lughod, bell hooks, Angela Davis, Audre Lorde amongst others, have long debunked and punctured through such strategies. It is this same white feminism that has been utilized by the media and governments to justify the intensification of Israeli brutality against the Palestinian residents of Gaza.

#israel #palestine #journalism #media #propaganda

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genshingorlsrevengeance · 3 months ago

Note

Angelia has been giving me a brainworm lately, so here's a little angsty... hurt/comfort-y kinda thing?

While deploying (or maybe extracting) from a mission, the airship Angelia and S/O (or maybe S/O's the pilot) are riding in is shot down and crashes, with S/O ending up losing an arm or a leg in the ensuing crash.

Upon discovering the loss of their limb, S/O tries (with... very mild success) to play it cool and lighten the mood with a joke, going: "Hey hon look... we match... hehe..."

But looking in their eyes Angelia can clearly see that they're kinda freaking out and barely keeping it together as now they have to figure out a means of getting out of their situation.

(GFL Short Fic) Angelia's S/O getting heavily injured

I imagine based on recent asks, most people have an Angelia brainworm now. I also may have gone a little overboard in the length of this and instead of an imagine you get an entire ass short fic, but whatever! It's the content GFL deserves! Word Count: 3.4k CW: Loss of a limb, blood, nothing explicit.

Angelia's vision slowly came back to her, accompanied by her ears ringing and body aching. The last thing she remembered was that her, S/O and DEFY were on their way back from a mission in the snowy mountains near the northern borders. And...

The explosion that rocked the helicopter before it came crashing down.

Immediately, Angelia tried to sit up, gritting her teeth through the stinging pain before an arm laid her back down.

Before she could throw a punch at her potential attacker, Angelia relaxed slightly at the sight of AN-94 administering first aid. Or at least what looked to be the remainders of a kit.

(AN-94) "Please remain still, ma'am. The injuries you sustained were not as severe, but we need to be safe."

It was only now Angelia realized that AN-94 had her combat mask on, missing her jacket and parts of her gear torn off, tiny embers illuminating the wreckage of the helicopter's hull surrounding them.

Which meant a skirmish was soon to follow their crash site.

(Angelia) "Where are the others?"

Angelia saw AN-94's eyes glance over to her for a brief moment. Though her expression didn't change, the T-Doll had been under her command long enough for Angelia to know that was hesitation.

And suddenly, what AN-94 said fully registered in her head.

(Angelia) "...What did you mean, not as severe? Compared to who...?!"

AN-94 stoically turned to her commanding officer, hesitating one last time before fully reporting.

(AN-94) "Thankfully, the squad is still functional, despite our damage. AK-12 has sustained the least damage, only superficial scratches, though her gear is now destroyed, leaving her with only a pistol."

The T-Doll sat Angelia up properly, with Angelia wincing in pain but keeping the grunts relatively quiet. AN-94 took the mask off her face for a moment with a click and hiss, one hand going over her knee as she knelt.

(AN-94) "Myself and RPK-16's vests are heavily damaged, but our weapons are intact. AK-15's right arm has been torn off, alongside her gear, but remains functional. Currently she is armed with a combat knife."

That just left one person. And Angelia's heartbeat slowly quickened when she asked about them.

(Angelia) "And S/O?"

(AN-94) "Condition critical, ma'am."

Critical?

Suddenly, all the pain that Angelia was feeling seemed to vanish in an instant, her voice raising in volume unintentionally at her subordinate.

(Angelia) "Take me to them, now."

AN-94 helped Angelia out of the wreckage they were inside, the hull of the helicopter somehow miraculously still intact, even if there were at least a dozen holes she could see through. Snow crunched under their boot and the winter breeze barely affected them as the flames around them roared out, leaving a smoke cloud trailing into the sky.

Laid up against a piece of metal now acting as improvised cover, Angelia found the rest of her squad standing and crouching near S/O.

And the sight of S/O made her freeze in her tracks, the white snow around them tinted red, and their face looking paler than she had ever seen.

A few more seconds of examining S/O told her why.

(AK-12) "S/O's arm was caught between shrapnel, one that would've lodged itself through my head had they not shoved me out the way."

AK-12 reported, a hint of shame in her voice as she did so, turning around to briefly salute Angelia, but not getting out of her kneel.

S/O's right arm was now missing, a red bandaged stub replacing it making Angelia teeth clench at the sight. Her heart felt like it had just gotten stabbed merely by looking at the state S/O was in.

(RPK-16) "AN-94 was treating you inside the helicopter, so we had to treat them out here. We've done what we can, but they need proper medical attention ASAP."

She could see that most of her squad's jacket laid directly underneath S/O, spread out so they could have a flat surface to keep them comfortable on, considering the circumstances.

RPK-16 kept a flame source nearby to keep S/O warm, but Angelia doubted that S/O was feeling the cold at this very moment.

(Angelia) "Why did you not treat them in an enclosed area?!-"

(AK-15) "Ma'am, our top priority is you. And..."

Uncharacteristically, AK-15's voice trailed off, hesitant as her other sisters to fully report what had happened. As she turned around from facing the trees, her hair briefly swayed and touched her own missing arm, though electric wires and metallic frames replaced where blood and bone should have been.

(AK-15) "Before S/O lost consciousness, they insisted that you were inside first before them."

Angelia clicked her tongue in irritation, knowing better than to shout at her squad for doing what was objectively correct.

However, DEFY's members meant more to her than anything else.

Even above her own life.

Angelia knelt into the snow, uncaring of the freezing cold seeping through her torn clothes. Her real hand brushed over their face, S/O unconsciously grimacing at the sensation, her emotions slowly bubbling up to the surface. Keeping them suppressed, Angelia cooly continued talking to her team.

(Angelia) "Were we able to radio for help?"

(AK-12) "We managed to contact Griffin's Commander. They apparently have an outpost not too far from here."

(Angelia) "Within walking distance?"

(AK-15) "No, ma'am. One of their Black Hawks are coming to retrieve us."

AN-94 gently picked S/O up into her arms, carrying them bridal style, but not before putting her combat mask back on, followed by the rest of DEFY.

Everyone prepped their gear, ready for a fight to break out any second as the AK-12 and RPK-16 put back on their coats, AK-15 still looking around and clenching her combat knife's hilt.

Angelia helped wrap AN-94's coat around her, eyes glancing over to S/O for a brief moment.

(Angelia) "Let's get out of here and to extraction. Sangvis are no doubt already approaching."

...

The extraction coordinates was now only a seven minutes away, putting Angelia's mind somewhat at ease. Her squad, despite the injuries, was as AN-94 said, still operating normally.

The same couldn't be said for S/O, looking worse with every second that passed. Before Angelia could have further time to lament about that, she saw their eyes slowly creep open.

(S/O) "N...Ninety-four?"

(AN-94) "Ma'am, S/O is awake!"

Angelia rushed over to S/O's side, concern briefly spilling out onto her expression as she saw S/O faintly smile at them, eyes half open.

(S/O) "Is...everyone-?"

Angelia's hand reached out for S/O's leg, brushing against it and motioning for everyone to keep walking and not waste anymore time.

(Angelia) "Alive, though we all look like shit. You worst of all."

S/O laughed at that, though immediately coughing afterwards causing them to try to look around, and quickly notice something off about themselves.

(S/O) "O-Oh...that's...not good."

Their eyes rapidly darting between their missing limb, and quickly noticing how injured the rest of DEFY was, including Angelia.

She had been walking with a limp, holding onto AN-94's rifle with her uniform all torn apart with blood and new scratches on her body.

Though, understandably, they kept looking at their arm.

(S/O) "Hah, I guess we match now at least..."

For once, Angelia's lets her expression go soft on a mission, her hand grabbing onto S/O's remaining one tightly, not crying, but damn well looking like she was about to.

(Angelia) "Hah...that's...not something I wanted you to be able to do..."

AK-12 and RPK-16 caught up to S/O increasing their pace, getting behind Angelia so they could at least see them smile, even if it was obvious it was forced. AN-94 joined in with a small chuckle of her own, that one sounding the fakest of all.

Despite that, it still put S/O somewhat at ease.

(AK-12) "Plus it's the wrong arm. Ange's got her left arm replaced, remember?"

(RPK-16) "Or did that crash mess with your eyes too?"

S/O laughed again, though this time their voice was getting even shakier as their body trembled, Angelia trying her best to remain calm for S/O's sake.

(Angelia) "H-Hey! Don't push yourself, you need to rest."

(S/O) "D-Do we even have the luxury?-"

(AK-15) "No. Picking up heat signatures behind us."

Angelia nodded at AN-94, moving to pick up S/O in her place as the rest of her squad got into position. Moving their arm over her shoulder, Angelia got to cover behind a thick tree, with AK-15 throwing her a radio before grabbing her knife again.

Angelia instinctively held S/O tight to her chest, her hand's grip threatening to crush the radio.

(Angelia) "Commander, where the hell is that evac?!"

[Commander's Voice] "Three minutes out! Should be near the field according to your current coordinates!"

Both Angelia and S/O turned their heads to the open snowy plains in front of them, littered with a tree every now and then. Meaning they'd get lit up the moment they tried walking out right now.

(AN-94) "Ma'am, S/O. Keep your heads down and prepare to run. We will cover your escape."

AN-94 switched guns with AK-12, grabbing her pistol while AK-12's eyes opened, her pink eyes scanning the environment around them as she readied her sister's rifle.

(AK-12) "Multiple Sangvis units inbound. Counting twenty-five, more than likely more."

RPK-16 flipped her bipod and steadied her machine gun on top of a fallen tree, her voice sounding more bored than concerned.

(RPK-16) "Looks like they're intent on stopping us from going home."

AK-15's eyes narrowed as she got into a fighting stance, ready to leap out as soon as she spotted her enemy.

(AN-94) "Contact."

Angelia held S/O close to her chest as she lowered her head, the sound of gunfire immediately drowning out every other noise in the area.

Flashes of light rapidly blinked across the forest, with branches and tree bark splintering from stray shots, splashes of snow and dirt shooting up into the air as DEFY engaged Sangvis T-Dolls.

AK-12 and AN-94 picked off their targets with precision shots, each bullet blowing apart armored helms into scrap metal and electronics as they hid behind cover, the trees giving them cover being thick enough to not get shot through as easily.

Though their enemy was using the cover to their advantage as well, being able to hide from RPK-16's suppressing fire. As one of the Sangvis T-Dolls appeared around in their flank, aiming its gun at Angelia, its head was quickly torn apart by a knife that cut through its electronic wires and promptly kicked into the floor by AK-15.

Angelia could see in the distance a small shape in the skies approaching their location, making her heart race faster. She helped S/O up, thankful to see them still awake but hating she had to put them so close to danger.

(S/O) "A-Ange-...!"

(Angelia) "Not a damn word, S/O! Keep your head down! Where's the enemy anti-air?!"

AK-12 ducked mere moments before a stray rocket flew over her head, soaring into the open fields and igniting the area and leaving a black scorch.

(AK-12) "Think we just found it! Ninety-Four!"

AN-94 nodded and peeked out of cover with her pistol, attempting to scan where the trail of smoke was before a hail of concentrated gunfire forced her back down.

(AN-94) "Not down yet!"

RPK-16 gunned down several of the T-Dolls with a hail of her own, but unable to find which T-Doll had fired the rocket.

(RPK-16) "Can't find them either. Fifteen?!"

Some of the Sangvis Dolls attempted to charge AK-15, quickly resulting in their death as she threw a knife through one of the cores in their chest, and then with one hand grabbing another Doll and using it as makeshift cover as bullets ripped through its armor.

(AK-15) "Negative!"

(Angelia) "Our ride is about to get shot down again if we let them go-"

(Cheery Girl's Voice) "FLASHBANG OUT! EVERYONE LOOK AWAY!"

Knowing immediately whose voice that was, Angelia dove with S/O to the ground, covering their ears and bracing for the explosion herself, eyes closed and teeth clenching.

Everyone in DEFY took cover seconds before the flashbang went off, disorienting the Sangvis T-Dolls.

As another rocket shot out towards the helicopter, a bullet quickly intercepted it, making it explode midair before more gunfire erupted from within the forest.

After a few more shots, the forest became deathly still, the only sound now being the embers catching onto the trees and snow shifting as the members of DEFY looked around for any more targets.

Angelia moved off S/O, checking to see if they were alright before helping them stand up again, her voice calling out into the trees.

(Angelia) "UMP9? Is that you?"

The twin-pig tailed brunette stuck her head around the trees, her yellow outfit sticking out sorely amongst the snowy background. And yet, no one had even seen her before they heard her.

That quickly changing as she waved her hands eagerly at Angelia.

(UMP9) "Ange! It's so good to see you all again!"

Looks like it's time for T-Doll Funfact number...9? I wanna say Nine, can someone double check that for me? : Angelia is the main backer of Squad 404, regularly deployed as Black Ops mercs for her, alongside Griffin.

(AK-12) "...Friendly contact signatures confirmed. Squad 404."

DEFY's members lowered their weapons as HK416 and UMP45 emerged from the trees the Sangvis Units were originally hiding behind. HK416 crossed her arms and stoically shrugged while UMP45's signature smirk was still across her lips as they approached.

(UMP45) "Looks like we came just in time.~"

Her voice soft and playful, though her gaze still sharp, looking around the environment herself to scan for anymore threats.

(RPK-16) "We thank you for the assist, it was looking a little dire there.

(HK416) "...Hey, is that...?"

Both 404 T-Dolls' eyes trailed over to S/O, noticing how badly injured they were before seeing the rest of the squad.

(UMP9) "W-We need to get you guys home, pronto! G11! GET YOUR BUTT UP HERE!"

In the distance, G11's head poked out of the snow, with her weapon next to pop out, only muttering something inaudible in response. Despite her usual sluggish pace, she did thankfully hasten herself upon seeing the state they were picking up Angelia and the others.

Triple checking they wouldn't get shot down again, Angelia and S/O made it onto the helicopter first, followed by DEFY, then lastly having 404 join them, their extraction taking off and flying back to a safer location.

UMP9 and HK416 were quick to apply real medical attention to S/O and Angelia, with UMP45 taking a seat next to AK-12 and G11.

(UMP45) "Heard you guys got dinged up pretty bad. Though, didn't expect it to be that bad."

She couldn't help but stare at S/O's missing arm, only having seen S/O with both a few months ago.

(S/O) "Agh! W-Would've been worse if not...for you guys...!"

(Angelia) "You really pulled our asses out of the fire. Thanks."

(HK416) "I-It's nothing, ma'am."

(UMP9) "Yeah! This one is on the house!"

(G11) "...So that means no dinner?"

S/O smiled at the comment, with Angelia pulling them near her, tightly at that once the 404 T-Dolls finished.

(Angelia) "That one is on me, G11. Same goes for you girls too-"

Angelia turned to her own squad, a dry smile forming.

(Angelia) "You made the best out of a bleak situation, and saved the two of us as well."

(AK-12) "Naturally.~"

(AN-94) "Of course, ma'am."

(RPK-16) "I think Fifteen here would have punched every one of them to death before we lost either of you-"

(AK-15) "Give it a rest, Sixteen..."

(S/O) "I think...we all could use that right now..."

...

A few hours later, S/O was taken into emergency care to get them fully stabilized while the rest of DEFY had repairs on them, Angelia wanting to be with her squad until then.

After seeing them off to a temporary dorm before getting a proper ride back home, she went to visit S/O.

The medical room they were in was far from advanced, resting on a rather traditional bed than anything that screamed "medical", but it was comfortable enough for them.

But her attention was immediately brought to the cast S/O was in, their arm bandage resting on their side. Or at least what was left.

Angelia grabbed a nearby chair and sat on the side where their arm remained, smiling sadly at them.

S/O returned one of their own, their hand silently lifting before Angelia took it out without hesitation, both their remaining hands holding each other tightly.

(Angelia) "Doing alright, S/O?"

(S/O) "Hah...warm bed, and a pretty woman next to me. Think I'm doing better than I imagined..."

Their eyes slowly traced over to their right arm, smile quickly fading.

(Angelia) "...Y'know, I lost my arm and leg doing something similar."

(S/O) "In a crash?"

(Angelia) "No just...being out in the field. Barely a time they deploy without me. Think by now losing a second piece of me would be enough to ward me off but...-"

Her eyes closed, sighing out loud. No use trying to sugarcoat it.

(Angelia) "...Basically, I'm saying that recovery is going to fucking suck."

(S/O) "Hah, I mean, I could've guessed..."

Angelia scooted closer to S/O, her grip growing tighter and voice going barely above a whisper.

(Angelia) "I should never have put you in harm's way like this..."

(S/O) "You can call me a dumbass if you want Ange, but...if it means saving you or the other girls, I'd lose my other arm in a heartbeat."

Angelia grimaced at that as her voice grew shaky, but she did not let S/O go.

(Angelia) "Okay, you're a dumbass."

(S/O) "Hm...Says the one wanting the rookie taken care of first instead of the commanding officer."

Angelia's eyes slightly widened in response before quickly regaining her cool.

(Angelia) "You heard that?"

(S/O) "Truthfully, I was drifting in and out when you asked what was going on, but I already knew what face you were making."

S/O grunted in pain as they tried to shift, going off balance as they instinctively tried to balance themselves using their right hand. Angelia caught them before they could fall, helping them sit upright.

(S/O) "I...I can't stand to see any of you all in pain."

Angelia scoffed before her eyes trailed down, blinking away tears that were threatening to form.

(Angelia) "And how do you think I feel?"

S/O tugged Angelia's hand to bring her closer, allowing them to rest their forehead against hers. The gesture made her blush slightly, but she closed her eyes and relaxed her shoulders, both of them leaning to each other.

Even though it was a small eternity before S/O pulled away and opened their eyes, it still felt too soon.

(S/O) "I promise, Ange. I'm not leaving you. Even if I have to end up looking as badass as you."

Finally, a genuine laugh came from Angelia as her metallic hand moved to cover her mouth, revealing a glimpse of the energetic young girl she used to be.

(Angelia) "Is that what you call me? I'm barely holding together as it is..."

(S/O) "Okay, how about beautiful? Charming?-"

(Angelia) "Psh, just shut up already..."

There was no venom to her words as S/O hugged her closer, the blush on her face getting brighter signaling to them how much their words affected Angelia.

Taking a deep breath, Angelia pressed a soft kiss against S/O's forehead before moving to stand.

(Angelia) "...Thank you. I should let you rest now."

(S/O) "T-Thanks...PT begins in a week for me, by the way."

(Angelia) "I'll be there. Don't worry. I'll also have the girls bring you some dinner-"

(S/O) "Aw, why can't you?"

Though they were teasing, Angelia could hear a bit of genuine disappointment in their voice.

(Angelia) "Don't be too greedy. I got a lot of paperwork to fill because of you but...I'll see if I got time."

Angelia teased back, shooting them a smile over her shoulder before opening the door, stopping before taking a step out.

(Angelia) "...I love you, S/O."

(S/O) "...I love you too, Ange."

#girls' frontline imagines #girls' frontline x reader #girls' frontline headcanons #angelia x reader #angelia gfl #an 94 gfl #ak 12 gfl #rpk 16 gfl #ak 15 gfl #ump9 gfl #ump45 gfl #hk416 gfl #g11 gfl

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