the-writing-blog69

[the-writing-blog69]

Charlie and the Chocolate Factory 3

Charlie sneaked downstairs avoiding the steps that creaked as she went down each one. Her father was asleep, as evident of his very loud snoring that could be heard all throughout the house. She peered downstairs, at the big bed in their living room that all of her grandparents slept in. She finally hit the floor, carefully approaching the bed, where she carefully shook Abuelo José awake.

He abruptly awoke, his one remaining eye snapping open, and he shot up into a sitting position. “WHA-” He yelled out, and Charlie covered his mouth.

The snoring of her father shuttered, and he snorted. She waited, holding her breath. And then she exhaled a sigh as the snoring resumed. “Shh! It's just me, Abuelo!”

“Charlie?” He calmed, and then looked at her with a curious, if a little suspicious, look. “¿Por qué estás despierto, niña?” He whispered, looking at her with a raised brow.

“I couldn't sleep. Can you tell me a story?” She asked, tilting her head to the side with a smile. Abuelo seemed to know quite a bit about the man, considering how many stories he had of him.

“Absolutely not, Charlie! Your father will be very cross with the both of us if he finds you awake at… at… what time is it, anyways?” He looked around. “Do we have a clock?”

“Just one story! And then I'll go back to bed!” She whispered, clasping her hands together as she peeked at him from behind the curtain of black hair that covered her eyes. “Pretty please?”

José looked at her granddaughter. “Try to stay strong!” He would tell himself, but even he knew it was futile. He could survive a charging Rhino, but he was weak when it came to his granddaughter. “Fine! Just one story, and you must promise to go straight back to bed!”

“Promise!” She cheered, maybe a bit too loudly as she heard her father grumble in his sleep. She covered her mouth, and then nodded her head.

“Hm… let's see here.” He thought for a while, clutching at his breaded chin, stroking the fine gray hairs. “Did I tell you the one about the Indian prince?” Charlie nodded her head once again. “Oh! How about how I lost my leg?” Another nod. “Oh, I did? Huh. Swore you were too young for that story…” He pondered for quite a while, musing over the different tales and stories. Then, he smiled wide. “Did I tell you about why the Wonka Factory closed down?”

“I don’t think so... Why'd it close?” She asked, sitting in the one chair in the living room. “He's pretty successful.”

“It wasn't an issue of money, Charlie.” He spoke. “Mr. Wonka was a very kind man, very intelligent, and most importantly, very creative. However, his success caused him to gain a lot of enemies. Prodnose, Fickelgruber, and Slugworth. Three titans in the candy industry, but only mere peanuts in comparison to Mr Wonka himself! And so, of course, they grew jealous of him. Then they grew sneaky. They sent spies to work for Wonka! They stole his secrets, his recipes, and called them their own! So, what was Mr Wonka to do? He didn't know who was stealing from him and who wasn't. He couldn't trust anyone. He was absolutely shattered from the whole ordeal, and he did the only thing he thought he could do. He closed down the whole factory, sealing himself inside!” He spoke, waving his arms about this way and that for a bit of added theatrics.

“But- he's still making chocolate! And they're still being delivered to stores and stuff. How can he be doing all of that if he's the only one in there?”

“No one is sure, Charlie.” He looked around, as if checking to make sure no one was watching, then he motioned for her to get closer, to which he whispered to her, as quiet as possible. “But- some say it's haunted. When it's dark, and the lights are on inside, you might be able to see the silhouettes of people inside.”

“Spooky…” She muttered, softly. There was still only one question left in her head, however. “...How do you know all this stuff, Abuelo? You never worked at the factory.” She asked, tilting her head to the side.

Abuelo José sputtered for a moment, eyes going wide as he jerked to lay back down, away from Charlie. “Oh, um- that's something for a different time. Besides, you got your story. Now go back to bed!” Charlie sighed, but relented. She did say that she would go back to bed, and she had to keep her promises. So, Charlie went back upstairs, into the attic. She climbed into bed, and dreamed of sweet secrets.

The day that followed would be very special.

It was the same as every other day, at least it began that way. Charlie woke up extra early to deliver the newspaper as she always did during the week. A little part time job, just before school, just to make a little extra money for her family. She rode her bike down the road, chucking each newspaper as she passed the houses. The morning air was chilly, but the sun was beginning to peek out from the horizon, bathing the town in warm light. It still didn't quite cut the freeze, but it was welcome all the same.

It was a quiet morning, with only the sounds of the birds, the occasional breeze, and a few cars rushing by. An average morning, with the same people, and the same cars, and the same houses, same gray sky and same cold air. It was always the same. After delivering newspapers, Charlie biked the rest of the way to school. From there, it was the same classes, with the same kids, and the same teachers.

Charlie daydreamed, her mind wandering off to distant places in her boredom. She stared out the window, using her arms as a cushion when she laid her chin against the desk. This is where the day began to deviate from the normal path that she was used to. A sudden commotion was heard outside her classroom, snapping her out of her thoughts. The sounds were both in the halls and outside the window. A sudden noise enveloped all surroundings, as a kid suddenly barged in from the door, holding a newspaper. A newspaper that Charlie had delivered a mere hour ago.

“Willy Wonka is letting people back into his factory!” She shouted. She recognized him as being Barbara, a kid in the grade above her. Charlie lifted her head up, eyes wide.

It was no secret that Charlie adored Willy Wonka. Beyond just the sweets, there is something alluring about the mysterious figure. He was a genius, an inventor with a mystical mind. And, well, he had to be lonely, right? Being all alone in that factory. And Charlie was pretty lonely herself. So, maybe… just maybe, if she ever got to meet him, they would become friends.

That was something that Charlie wanted most of all. Besides sweets, besides money, she just wanted a friend.

“Class is dismissed!” Her science teacher, Mr Turkentine, cheered out, already making his way to the door. Everyone followed suit, standing to charge out of the door, Charlie included.

However, Barbara stayed standing. “Wait! He's only letting in seven people!” She waved the newspaper, the front page clearly seen. An image of a Wonka Bar was printed on it, in black and white. “There's these golden tickets hidden in the bars, and whoever finds them can go inside the factory for a chance to win a prize!”

“What prize!?” One kid asked, waving a hand to try and get the girl's attention. “Is it treasure!?” A boy shouted. “A lifetime supply of candy!?” Another guessed.

“It doesn't say what it is! Just that it's a prize!”

Mr. Turkentine looked outside, at the students and teachers alike rushing outside, all with one purpose in mind. If he didn't get out there, soon all the Wonka chocolates in town would be sold out! “Well, my point still stands! Come on, out you go!” He shooed them all out of the door, and the children didn't need to be told twice.

Soon, everyone was gone. Except for Charlie, who stood alone in the classroom. She would be lying if she said she wasn't disheartened by the limit. As soon as her spirits got up, they came crashing back down. Snapping out of her thoughts, she dug through all her pockets, pulling out all the stuff from them. She piled it all onto the desk, looking through the contents. Only little trinkets and junk that she had picked up from the side of the road. Pull tabs, lint, a stray string, and twigs.

Alas, no money.

She inhaled softly, then exhaled. It was disappointing, but not surprising. Charlie tucked it all back away into the pockets of her coat, and left the classroom, making the lonely way back home on her own. When she finally arrived home, her father looked at her. She could see the page of the newspaper poorly hidden in his flannel overshirt. “Hey kid! You're home early. How was school?” He asked, trying to sound oblivious, and trying to act as cheerful as possible to make Charlie happy. Clearly, it was not working. Her grandparents, minus Grandpa George, seemed a little cautious, aware of the news and the implications.

“It was fine.” She mumbled softly. She took off her backpack, hanging the old brown bag on the singular coat hook in the living room, the others having fallen off the wall a long time ago.

Damien ran a hand through his dark hair. Her not rambling about how exciting the whole thing was gave him an idea of how she viewed her chances. What was he to do? It wasn’t like he really had the tools or money to take away this specific type of pain from his daughter. Then, it hit him. “Hey, your birthday is almost here! Maybe I could take the day off, and we could patch up that hole in the roof?” He suggested, though he got no reaction from Charlie as she began to ascend the stairs up to her room. Damien furrowed his brow slightly, walking over to her and grasping her hand. The young girl turned her head to look at her father. “You have just as much of a chance as anyone else does, Charlie.”

“Bah!” Grandpa George grumbled, waving a dismissive hand. “It’s not going to happen! The only people that are going to win one of those tickets are going to be able to buy more than one bar a year! And they’re going to buy them up by the thousand! There won’t be any left by the girl’s birthday-!” His rant was cut short by Grandma Georgina loudly shushing him.

“Oh hush!” She huffed, crossing her arms. Then, she looked at Charlie, a smile quickly replacing the irritated scowl. “Do not pay him any mind, dear. He’s just a tad bit grouchy.”

“A “tad bit” is an understatement.” Abuelo José muttered.

“The point is,” her father began, “that you deserve to win one of those tickets more than anyone else. And these things sometimes have a way of… working themselves out. Just stay positive for me, alright?” His grip drifted from her wrist to her hand, and he smiled warmly at her. And Charlie smiled back.

The night went on as any other night had, but as Damien began to get ready for his second job, his mind couldn't help but wander into worrying places. He looked towards the window in his bedroom, and approached the single pane of glass that poorly acted as the barrier against the winter cold.

“Oh Holly, what am I going to do?” Damien asked, as he looked up to the sky that stretched out above their little house. The moon and some stars just barely peeking out from the heavy clouds that were held against the night. Holly had always loved space. “She’s going to be crushed if she doesn’t win that ticket.” He mumbled, and yet he had no solution to this. Like any good father, Damien only wished that he could give his daughter the world. He wanted to take all of her problems and make them better, but that simply was not something he could do, no matter how hard he tried. He didn't have the money, and he didn't have the resources. “I’ll figure something out, right? I mean, there's gotta be something that can be done so she isn't… completely destroyed, right?” He knew very well that there was nothing else that Charlie wanted.

Damien sighed, looking away from the window. “Talking to the sky… I must be losing it at this point.” He rubbed at his tired eyes, blinking open his weary eyes. He had another shift to work before he could truly rest.

The next morning, Charlie descended the stairs as she usually did. The radio was tuned in to the news, her father humming sleepily as he prepared breakfast. Which was toast and margarine. Her grandpa and Abuelo were arguing over… something, she wasn't quite tuned herself. Charlie was never really one for mornings.

Then, an announcement was heard over the static of the radio. An announcement that snapped Charlie from her mind that had been dazed from sleep.

“And this just in, the first Golden Ticket has been found!”

[the-writing-blog69]

Charlie and The Chocolate Factory 2

“Charlie! Stop that tapping, you’re disrupting my class!”  

Charlie snapped into reality, looking around. Not many students were looking at her, but some bore looks of distaste and annoyance directed towards her. Those few looks were enough to get her to get Charlie to sink down into her chair a little. She placed the pencil flat onto the desk, trying to appear smaller, wishing she could vanish entirely at that moment. “Sorry, Mr Trunchbull.” She responded. Her teacher scoffed, before turning back to the chalkboard, writing down the homework assignments on the black canvas, the sound of the chalk scraping against the surface grating against her ears.

As the bell rang, Charlie picked up her backpack, and quickly fled off to the halls, amongst the other members of the student body. Her goal was a simple one, get out of this school.The red light of the exit sign that hung over the door felt like the finish line of a marathon, one that left her exhausted and yearning for home. 

Charlie absolutely hated school. She wasn't alone in this statement, she knew plenty of people in the halls that shared the sentiment, complaints loud for all those to hear, or whispered like a secret. Charlie’s irritation was not sourced from boredom or homework, though that definitely counted towards it, it was more that she just didn’t seem to get it. She was doing something wrong. She either fidgeted too much in her seat, or she doodled on the corners of her paper too much, or she asked too many questions or there was something else that she was doing wrong. It wasn’t just the teachers, either. Her peers also seemed to be rather put off by Charlie. How she dressed was part of it, she knew that much. They insulted the patches on her coat, or they made fun of how her hair was styled, or the goggles that she wore. So, it was definitely how she was dressed. 

There were so many things that Charlie seemed to mess up. She didn’t mean to mess up as often and as much as she did, but she couldn’t help it. Maybe there was something wrong with her. She didn’t really mind that she was odd, but she would be lying if she said that it didn’t get lonely. She minded that everyone else minded. 

Charlie squeezed her way out of the exit, heading out with all the other students. She approached her bike, a thing she cobbled together with her limited knowledge of how to build things and a little help from her Abuelo… and borrowing her dad’s toolbox when he had said not to touch it. Only for a little bit, of course! She found the tires by a dumpster, and patched up any holes or gaps, the frame was something she found in the scrapyard. All the pieces to this weird little puzzle of a bike were forged from a combination of Charlie finding stuff and then putting them together until they formed a cohesive vehicle. She unchained the bike, and got onto the patchwork seat, and took off from there.

So, Charlie didn’t like school all that much, but the thing that was the most agonizing about it was the trip to and from the large brick building, yet also somehow the most enthralling. The shortest path from her home to her school had her pass by the gates to the Wonka Chocolate Factory. It was an impressive monolith, it stood out against the dreary and plain buildings that surrounded it. It was like a castle from a fairytale, towering above the sea of gray, decorated in bright colors and murals. The iron gates look like candy canes, and the glass windows are made of colorful stained glass. 

There was always an air of mystery around those gates, around that factory. Abuelo always told her stories about the time that he worked at the factory, but it had been twenty years since then. 

“Wonka shut those doors for good.” Abuelo would say. “No one goes in, and no one comes out.” Yet, chocolate and other candies were regularly delivered to stores and candy shops all over the world. It was strange, but no one really questioned it, because they knew they would get no answer. 

Charlie was so curious, though, she couldn't help but try to peer inside of the factory. 

Charlie always stopped at the gates, even if only for a minute or two. She inhaled the sweet scent that wafted from the factory. Though her family could rarely afford any sort of candy, Charlie found herself wanting. She had a bit of a sweet tooth, like most children her age, but Charlie could never satisfy that craving except once a year. Her birthday. Every year, on her birthday, she got to have one candy bar, as they could only afford one. Charlie always found herself wanting, but she couldn’t really help it either. It was hard to watch the other kids with all the things that she could never have, that her family never could afford. She stayed there for a moment longer, before continuing on her path back home. 

The winter air was sharp against her face as she continued to race on. Alas, home would not offer any reprieve from the freeze. The ice cold wind would seep in through their windows and the walls and the doors. No amount of blankets could shield them from the freeze that settled into their bones. 

It took another ten minutes for Charlie to finally reach the Bucket Household, leaning the bike against the front of the house, Entering the house, it was the usual routine. Her grandparents greeted her, and Charlie said hello back. She headed upstairs, unloading her backpack onto the small table that Charlie used as her desk. Her homework was wrinkled up, and Charlie made an attempt to straighten it up, before ultimately groaning in irritation. She got to work on her homework. 

She found herself doodling, as she always did. Swirling patterns around the corners, little dogs and cats. This is how she spends the next hour or two, when she's supposed to be doing her work. She would eat dinner, get ready for bed, and then go to sleep. Life is pretty monotonous, a struggle with each day, but ultimately nothing new happens, neither in town or at home. Life is stagnant, but time marches on. 

That is, until the very next day.

[the-writing-blog69]

Charlie and the Chocolate Factory 1

This!!! Hi my name's Elon and I love rewriting fairytales and other stuff. So, here's my first long term project maybe!!! Yay!

Her name is Charlotte Esperanza Bucket, or Charlie for short. She is turning twelve soon, and her favorite color is yellow. Charlie didn’t know it yet, but she was the luckiest kid in the world. If you told her this, she may not believe you, of course. The Buckets had always had it hard, since her abuelo and her abuelo’s abuelo, so on and so forth, since the dawn of the Buckets. It just seemed as though the bad luck was hereditary, something passed down from generation to generation. Though her Grandpa scoffed at the idea, her Abuela insisted that this was what it had to be.

It was hard not to believe that it was bad luck. After all, their house was not much more than a shed. It only had four rooms, the living room, which also functioned as their kitchen and dining room, her dad’s room, a single bathroom, and the attic. Charlie slept in the attic, she considered it to be as if she had a whole floor of the house, just for her. Needless to say, Charlie’s family was very poor. They used to have a bigger house once, when she was too little to remember what it was like, but she’s seen it in a picture once or twice. Their new house, which was much older than their old house, sat on the edge of town, off to the side, near the junkyard.

Speaking of which… This is where our story begins. See, while Charlie wasn’t the smartest, or the fastest, nor the strongest child, she did have one thing. Her imagination. So, even if she didn’t have the latest and greatest in toys, she did have plenty to entertain herself with. Charlie was a very creative child, always daydreaming, her head in the clouds. Curious and kind, that was the best way to describe Charlie.

Well, that and some other things.

“Charlotte Esperanza Bucket!” She heard her father call, and she already knew the look he was giving her, even when her back was turned to him. That stern, tired look on his face, arms crossed over his chest. When he used her full name, it usually meant that she was in big trouble. She turned, reluctantly, smiled sheepishly. She waved a hand.

“Hi, dad.” She muttered, looking at the tall, lanky man that was standing quite a few feet away from her. His eyebrows were knit together, furrowed in his anger. He was wearing his reddish purple flannel coat over a black shirt. His jeans were stained, as they usually were when he came home from one job. The black shirt was also probably stained, but she couldn’t tell as the fabric was too dark.

“What did I tell you about playing in the junkyard? Do you want to get tetanus? Because that is how you get tetanus!” She walked over to him, dragging along her newest prize.

“I wasn’t playing this time though! I was looking for something to fix the hole in the roof, promise! See?” She held up the piece of sheet metal, with a minimum amount of rust on the scratched and dirty metal. The snow crunched underneath her boots as she walked towards him, looking up at him, though her black hair covered her eyes.

That didn’t seem to really help her case, however. But her father’s eyes did soften a little, and he shook his head. “Charlie… You really shouldn’t be here. This is technically trespassing.”

“Nobody is ever here though-”

“Charlie. I have told you time and time again not to come here, and every week I find you here again.” Charlie looked down at the ground, kicking at the slurry of dirt and snow underneath her boots, as if suddenly it was the most interesting thing in the world. Damien sighed and he knelt down, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I really appreciate you trying to help, but it is just really not safe for you to be here.” He tilted her head up to look at her. “Come on, then. Let’s go back home. I’m certain that you have homework to do, and I need to get started on dinner.” He stood back up, taking her hand into his. He guided her towards the house, his hand holding hers tight, a habit that he had gained from the many times that Charlie had managed to escape his hold and wander off somewhere. Of course, she didn’t do this out of malice. Charlie loved to explore, though it did cause her father to worry greatly whenever he realized that he had lost her once more. The walk was short, with Charlie dragging her feet the whole way, with no way for Charlie to escape away from doing her homework.

The bucket family was rather large, despite their meager funds. There was Grandpa George and Grandma Georgina. Then, there was Abuelo José and Abuela Josefina. Then, there was Charlie’s dad, Damien, and Charlie herself. There were six people living in that small house at the edge of town, and only one was able to work a full time job. Charlie delivered papers when she could, and Abuelo José did odd jobs around the town, shoveling driveways and other small things. Mr. Bucket worked two full time jobs, one in the night and the other in the day, leaving a few hours for the man to eat and sleep. It wasn’t a rare occurrence for the girl to come home from school and see her father asleep at the table, using a half eaten piece of bread as a pillow.

They entered into the Bucket Household, with her father quick to shut the door to keep the cold from seeping in. The cold would seep in anyways however, through the thin walls and the cracks in the windows. “Charlie! Damien!” Called José, waving to the two as they came in. He was standing at the kitchen part of the half of the living room, another pot of cabbage soup boiling on the stove. The soup boiled over in that short moment, causing the elderly man to curse and cut off the heat. Her abuelo was quite the odd man, but that only added to his charm in the eyes of his granddaughter. He was tall when he stood up straight, but due to his hunched over back, he was constantly a foot shorter than he was supposed to be. One of his legs was not of flesh and bone, but a prosthetic, a peg leg that he had gotten in the war when his original one was blown off. One of his eyes was missing, so he covered the hole left behind with a black eyepatch. He often joked that all he needed was a parrot and a ship, and then he could be a pirate. “You’re just in time, dinner is done!”

“You were supposed to be watching Charlie.” Damien chastised gently, grabbing the bowls from the cabinet. They only had one.

“I was! Through the window, see?” He gestured to the window that faced the junkyard with his hand, before dishing out some of the soup into a bowl. Damien just sighs, shaking his head. He took the bowl, sitting down at the table. They couldn’t afford much for meals, bread and margarine for breakfast, potatoes for lunch, and cabbage for dinner. Things from their garden, and the cheapest things they could find in the store. It was better in the summer, when they could grow other things, but winter was the time they struggled the most. Charlie took her own bowl, sitting at the small kitchen table.

José took three of the bowls, filling them all with the same watery cabbage soup, before heading to the big bed in the middle of the living room. All three of Charlie’s other grandparents were bedridden, too old and too weak to get up from the mattress. “Hah, I guess you could say “soup’s on”!” He laughed at the same joke he made every day.

“Cabbage, again?” George grumbled, stirring around the contents of his bowl. Grandpa George was always a bit grouchy. He got grouchy when he was hungry, and he was always hungry. They all were. “All we eat is cabbage!”

“It’s either this or nothing, George.” Georgina responded, furrowing her brow slightly. Georgina always managed to reel in her husband’s anger, managing to get him to grumble a bit more quietly. José turned his gaze to his wife, setting a bowl in her lap. She had fallen asleep sitting up, as she usually did, snoring loudly. José gently shook her shoulder. She abruptly awoke, looking around frantically. Then, she caught sight of the bowl.

“Oh… food. That’s nice.” She muttered, nodding her head once or twice. Josefina was quite soft spoken, in fact she rarely talked at all! Instead, she spent most of her time sleeping most of the day away, dreaming. She used to knit and sew new clothes for the family, but soon her hands shook too much to be able to do that either. The last thing her Abuela made was Charlie’s blue scarf. Charlie wore it every single day.

Charlie ate quietly, glimpsing at her family occasionally, nibbling on a leaf of cabbage. She hated cabbage, too, just like her Grandpa George. Alas, it was all they had, and Charlie didn’t want to cause anymore stress for her family. Well, they had each other, too, and they managed to scrape by with that.

[the-writing-blog69]

Since Tumblr deletes genuine Palestinian blogs, here is a list of verified fundraisers!

Please donate if you can.

Do not hesitate to reblog and share! 🙏🏽

(Click here for Part 2).

IMPORTANT: Bear in mind that I do NOT verify fundraisers. I am not Palestinian, and I do not speak Arabic! They have been vetted by Palestinian users!

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It will help every one of them to reach their goal and to evacuate safely.

Thank you!

(06/19/2024)

Divider by: @cafekitsune

[the-writing-blog69]

Transformers Scrapyard: Night-In

A meet the cast sort of thing

Kip was sitting on Optimus’ leg, looking up as the first star blinked into sight as the sun lowered, dipping down over the horizon. Dusk settled slowly, night encroaching, creeping forth with its blanket of darkness and starlight. She’d have to go home soon, or her mom would worry. But for right now, she’d stay, petting the Raccoon that laid in her lap.

Optimus was careful to hold the books that Kip had brought from the library, his digits so much bigger than the literature he was reading. The words were almost too small for him to properly make out, but his one optic that wasn’t flickering was able to make them out. Reading, it was one of the few things that he could do without being in unbearable pain anymore. The crater that had been shot into his chest made sure of that. The faint glow of the Matrix was visible, just barely covered by the melted metal that had cooled and congealed and fused together, blue light emitting from the hole.

Ted was doing what he did best. Car stuff. Taking apart the engine of one of the scrap cars in the yard with almost surgical-like precision. Ironhide was tasked with flashing the light under the hood so Ted could see what he was doing. Ironhide made a couple of less than pleased noises as he looked upon Ted’s work. As he watched Ted pull the pistons out of the truck’s engine, he looked away, casting his flashlight elsewhere. “Light.” Ted spoke the one word command. Ted was never a man of many words.

“You can't blame me for being squeamish. Ain’t a pretty sight for a bot.” Ironhide tried to plead his case to the human. Ted looked at him for a moment, but relented.

“Robin!” Ted called out, earning an exasperated groan from the teenager from the rooftop of the trailer. Robin and Brainstorm were doing… something with pieces of the crashed ship, energon, and fireworks. Ted furrowed his brow. He’d lecture Brainstorm on the importance of not blowing up his trailer later.

“Why can’t someone else do it? Me and Brainstorm are doing something important.” Robin rebutted, but Ted just looked back at her with that same expression he always had.

“Admittedly, I do not require your assistance with this particular project.” Brainstorm loosened another bolt on the piece of the control panel that they had found, getting access to the insides. He could refashion the internal positioning system into a tracker, and that would get them one step closer to finding the Allspark.

“Fine.” Robin drawed out the word, before carefully descending from the rooftop, and joining Ted. She pulled out a flashlight from her hoodie pocket, and pointed it towards the engine. The light bulb shined its radiance onto the metal, and Ted continued his work. Ironhide would’ve heaved a sigh of relief if he had lungs.

Near the back porch, Finley flipped another piece of fish, turning the raw side down onto the heated bars of the grill, listening to the sharp hiss that emitted from it. Pretty much anything and everything about fish was something that he loved. Fishing, studying them, eating them. Right now, he is cooking them. He and Seaspray spent a long while out in the sea that morning, one of the benefits of being in a coastal town. He didn’t need to spend anything to get fresh fish. Bumblebee was seated nearby, watching intently.

“So, why do you have to make it hot first? Why not just eat it as is?”

“To make it taste better. Though, there are a few types of fish that don’t need to be cooked.”

“What types of fish?”

“Well- ow!” In Finley’s distraction, his hand had drifted over and his wrist grazed against a piece of hot metal on the grill. He held his wrist, looking at the small burn that had already begun to form on his dark skin. “Yikes.” He muttered, shaking his head. “Can you make sure that the food doesn’t burn? I’m gonna head inside and look for a band-aid.” Finley looked up at the giant robot.

“Yeah, no Problem!” Bumblebee assured, giving a thumbs up to the marine biologist. Finley thanked him, and headed inside, the door shutting behind him. Bumblebee looked at the grill.

Wait, how would he know if it was done or not. Well, Finley had said that cooked fish tasted good, so… He picked up one of the filets of the fish from the grill, and promptly ate it. He processed the flavor for a moment. Another problem arises from this, another question. Was it supposed to taste like that? Bumblebee had only ever consumed energon, oil, and the occasional human snack before. And cheesecake, he did eat cheesecake that one time. Sure, it tasted good to him, but what if he was simply inexperienced in fish tasting? So, he waits, unsure of what else to do.

“Hey Bumblebee!” Kip spoke, getting up and off of Optimus Prime, walking over to the yellow Autobot.

“What’s up, little buddy?” Bumblebee smiled, his attention completely off of the fish that was currently burning behind him, strolling towards her, meeting her half way.

“I have to go home. Can you drive me?” Kip tilted her head to the side, her one remaining eye blinking. “Oh, uh, can you please drive me?” She corrected her manners.

“Yeah, I can deliver you back to your abode!” Bumblebee ruffled her short black hair with a single digit, before swiftly transforming into his alt mode. A yellow Volkswagen Beetle, with black on the hood of the car.

Robin punched Ted in the shoulder. “Punch buggy yellow!” She called out, though maybe she had put a bit too much force in her punch, as Ted staggered and hit the pole that was holding up the hood of the truck, and it collapsed onto him, covering his upper body up to his elbows. This earned a short yell from the mechanic. He flailed, trying to lift the piece of metal off of his head and back. “Sorry! Sorry sorry sorry!” Robin lifted the hood, allowing Ted to stand once more, who shot a short, annoyed glare at Robin.

“Finley!” Ted yelled out, looking back towards the grill. He saw no Finley, but he did see something else. He gasped, eyes widening as he saw the fire that had grown and used the charcoal-black burnt fish as fuel for the flames. It was steadily and rapidly consuming the grill. “FINLEY! THE GRILL!”

“Dang, I really wanted to eat that fish.” Robin muttered nonchalantly as she looked at the flames.

Kip gradually inched towards Bumblebee as Ted rushed towards the grill, yelling profanities as he tried to put out the flames by any means possible. “Should we uh… Bail?” Kip muttered, looking back at Bumblebee, who was still in his alt mode.

“Oh, yeah, definitely.” Bumblebee responded, opening his passenger door, allowing the girl to crawl in. She buckled up as Bumblebee drove off from the scene of his crime.

[the-writing-blog69]

Freedom

Laika wanders. It’s the first time she’s ever really been to a city before, and so she wanders, taking in the sights and sounds. Tokyo is big, that is the first thing she notices about it. It had to be bigger than Black Swan Bay. There were so many people, constantly moving, entering and exiting places, doing things, and Laika couldn’t help but to stop and stare at the unknown that surrounds her. She drifts, moving out of the way of people, and allows that to carry her. Like a bottle being drifted out to sea.

She wants to explore. It’s been one traumatic event after another, and Laika wants to explore, to experience something other than terror, fury, or soul crushing grief. But, she has to go get milk. For that girl that Laika didn’t remember the name of. She wants to ignore it, to wander off further into this abyss of people and lights, but she doesn’t. Against her wishes, she doesn’t do that. She forces herself to focus, smoothing out her outfit, and continues on her path.

Which leads her to here. She enters the convenience store. She had to get milk. Laika pulls out the credit card that Caesar had lended her. She had a job to do. She heads over to the beverage section, and picks up the most expensive looking option, knowing full well that the rich guy could afford it. And as she is about to move along, to purchase her singular item and head back to the hotel, Laika stops. She halts her movement, her motions, in her autonomous march towards her next objective.

Laika stops, and remembers what Caesar had said before she left. “Go ahead and buy something for yourself, if you want to.” And, Laika decides that, yes, she would get something for herself. Simple enough. Except it is not simple, as she has never seen this many options for food before. Sure, she was always well fed at the orphanage and at the College, but she never had many options, if any at all. It was either what was offered or nothing at all. But here, she has choices. Many choices, and it’s almost enough to make her head spin. What type of snack, what flavor, what brand. It's a lot to consider and a lot to pick from.

Laika comes to a realization here. Amongst the fluorescent lighting and the packaged food and other easy, convenient options for those on the go, she is facing her freedom. She has a choice, for the first time in her life, she has a choice, a decision that needs to be made.

She is alone, for the first time. Truly alone, and truly free. It’s strange, to realize this in a convenience store, standing there with wide eyes as the teen behind the counter looks at her with an odd expression. Yet, Laika doesn’t know this, doesn’t recognize this stare, and begins looking through her options. Melon bread, sandwiches with strawberries in them, onigiri, and so much that Laika cannot possibly pick just one.

So she picks them all. Grabs as many as she can feasibly put in her tiny basket that she got at the entrance. And even then, she grabs more, hauling it in her free arm. Then she piles them all high at the cashier’s counter. And grabs some candy at the cash register, just to be sure, all while the teenager behind the counter looks on with a vague interest in their otherwise bored expression. They begin to ring up her items. Laika doesn’t note or care about the amount that it costs, just that all that was here was truly her’s and what she wanted.

She leaves with six grocery bags, heavy and packed full. She knows that Caesar is going to give her an earful and never let her use his card again, but she simply doesn’t care at this moment. This truly beautiful moment, in which Laika is free from her chain, her collar and her leash, free to do what she wants. That is how Laika will stay. Unbounded.

[the-writing-blog69]

Salvation

TW: CHILD DEATH (she gets revived though)

The car wreck laid there, smoldering as smoke sputted from the busted engine, glass from the shattered windshield speckled across the black road, twinkling like a mockery of the stars above. Claws had dug deep into steel, and one of the car doors was torn clean off. Fangs punctured the car roof. The seats were stained with a little bit of blood. Overall, the little blue fiat was damaged beyond repair. The radio only played white noise now, the old 80’s rock that had been playing had died out, fizzled in the loud crackling. The horn honked without ceasing, blaring a loud noise that would soon alert those that lived nearby, but for now the road was empty besides that one car. He would have to work quickly.

Huxley looked at the wreckage, having fallen out of the vehicle when the large dark figure rammed into it from the side. He was not concerned with the state of the car. What caused his tears to fall was with who sat in the passenger side, the side that was hit when they collided with the metallic creature. “Kip… sweetie? Can you hear me?” He spoke out, shaken to his very core. Crawling forward, trying to get a better view into the heavily damaged car. His legs were scraped from falling onto the pavement, and cut into by the fragments of metal and shards of glass. A large gash was torn into his arm, but he tried to crawl forward. He tried so hard. “Kip? Kip, please answer me! Say something, anything! Please for the love of God… Please talk to me.” He sobbed, fearing the worst. And the worst had happened. Again. He has lost both his children. He lost Ari from sickness not even two years ago, and now…

He looked upon his daughter’s motionless form. A jagged piece of metal had burst from the side of the door, and stabbed into her during the initial contact, and her eye had been damaged by the glass shards that came after. Kip had died. His daughter was dead. Huxley stayed silent for a moment, before sobbing further, covering his eyes, unable to withstand the sight any longer. His tears washed the blood from his hands, the same blood that stained his clothes, his skin, his hair. Everything was tainted. Everything was wrong. And nothing in his world would ever be right again.

The remaining headlight that still worked shined out into the night shined against something else. Huxley looked up as he noticed approaching footsteps, but not like the ones that he had expected. The sound of metal scraping roughly against the road. Then, he saw it. What had hit them, what had burst from the shadows to wreck his car, kill his daughter, and destroy his life.

A cat-like being stood in front of him, claws and metallic fangs bared, a glint of malice in its ruby red eyes that glowed in the darkness that surrounded them. The entirety of the cruel monster was metallic, actually, but somehow seemed very much alive despite its robotic appearence. “Please…” Huxley began to plead, but then he found that he had nothing to plead for. He would’ve begged for his daughter’s safety, but that was long gone. But, fortunately, he found something else to request of the robotic panther.

“Please… Kill me quick.” He muttered, finally. What he thought to be his last words.

Another sound of fizzling, of radio static. Heavier footsteps this time, louder, approaching him from behind. He turned his head, and though he could not make out all of the being, he saw enough to know to be horrified. A large behemoth of steel, a humanoid figure midnight blue and gray plating covering it. Golden fingers, and a faceguard of the same color where his mouth should’ve been. Even what should be his eyes was a singular red line.

They spoke to the archeologist. “You will not be getting that release.” Their voice was formed from a mesh of many different voices from different people saying the different words, none of them recognizable. Except for one. The first word was from his own daughter’s voice, and it struck him with fear. How long had they been following him and his child? How long were they being stalked like prey? How long had it been since they had decided to make him and Kip their target?

And just like that, Huxley was snatched into the robot’s sharp claws, pressing into his already damaged flesh, an unspoken threat of violence to crush him with even the smallest amount of effort. Huxley thrashed and screamed anyways, but no matter what he did he could not break free. Ravage followed Soundwave as they walked deep into the woods, farther and farther away from civilization. Soundwave had completed their mission.

.

.

.

The wind carried in clouds, angry golden lightning flashing in the puffs of deep gray. The thunder sounded enraged, bellows of harsh and intense fury. A shape moved in the clouds, seen barely when the light flashed in it, long and mostly serpentine, though the faint sight of limbs could be seen sticking out from the figure. Long horns, thousands of wings. With her rage she made the skies hide behind clouds for shelter, the sea recoiled in worry, and the land shuddered in fear.

And with her sorrow, Geia made it rain, her tears pelting the scene of the crime. The droplets that carried her grief, and her wishes, seeped through the wreckage, washing away the bloodshed. A singular drop landed on the body of the child, and it glowed a shimmering gold, before absorbing into her skin.

When the police arrived at the scene that night, they found one survivor in the car. A girl who was now missing an eye, but other than that she was untouched by any of the jagged metal or glass. They say that it was luck that saved her, that she was extremely lucky to have survived the brutal decimation of the vehicle that she was in.

Only the heavens know it was not luck at all that rescued Kip from the cold touch of death. And only Kip knows of what she saw before the car was bashed into.

No one would believe either of them.

[the-writing-blog69]

Laika

Laika did what she always did when she had the opportunity to be alone. Work on her inventions, her robots and her guns. She ignored the loud noises of the TV in the dorm to the right of her, and the sound of arguing in the dorm to the left of her. Soldering gun in hand, she carefully wields two pieces of steel together, making alterations to her gun. Her blue eyes are steady, pupils tracing down the line as metal fused together to form one piece. Her hand reached out to grapple the can of some energy drink she picked up from a convenience store, sipping at it’s contents. 

It tasted far too acidic, sour and all the carbonation had left it by now, but the caffeine was all Laika cared for. She would get a real meal after this, beyond that of instant noodles and other stuff she could put in the microwave without a second thought. Because all her thoughts remained on her work, the one thing that she felt she still had control over. She could destroy these, and she’d be in the right, because it is hers and no one else’s. Of course, she wouldn’t do that. Because she cared about them. Even if they couldn’t care about her.

Her mind wandered too far, and the soldering gun sparked in her hands. “Дерьмо!” She cursed, turning off the soldering gun and slamming it down on her desk. Maybe she should sleep. She was getting sloppy, clumsy. She buried her face in her hands, rubbing at her weary eyes. No. She couldn’t. It wasn’t fair to waste this opportunity. 

Everyone in Black Swan Bay wanted to go to the Capital, go to college and experience normality. Even if it turned out to only be a lie, Laika had also fantasized about going to the city with Renata and Z. Adventuring in the city, shopping for clothes and picking out what food they got to eat, experiencing anything but the extreme cold of Siberia. Eating chocolate pastries at a cafe, before the flavor had been ruined for her. 

But studying was merely another lie. Like the blood transfusions and the medicine and the treatments. Even if the dragon blood had made her sickness melt away, it still was a lie. Everything was a lie. She lifted her hands from her face, burying her fingers into her red hair, staring down at the table. 

When the bombs dropped, Laika was desperate. Truly desperate. To save any of them. To protect them. Yet, no matter how many soldiers she shot, she couldn’t stop them from picking off her friends- no, her family one by one. Seeing their bloody bodies laying in the snow, feeling only how it was both too hot and too cold. All she could see was red, and all she could hear was screams, the taste of blood in her mouth, when it wasn’t scouching as she breathed flame. Incinerating anything that got close to those she treasured. When she came too, she was covered in blood, her back aching that had torn through her back and her head in stabbing pain from the horns that burst through her skin. Confused, horrified at the demon she had become. 

She was shot, and then Renata was shot, and she was pushed into the freezing water below. 

And now she was living their dream. She couldn’t enjoy it though, and she beat herself up for that because how dare she be ungrateful, she was the only one to survive and now she was being pathetic, and everyone in Black Swan Bay would hate her for this. 

She would live the rest of her life in freezing cold if it meant that she could be back at Black Swan Bay, living in that little cabin with Renata and Z and Vera and all of them. Well, all of them, except for one. 

She would execute Herzog personally, and leave his body for the wolves to devour. And this would be merciful. 

[the-writing-blog69]

FIRST ENCOUNTERS

Azami looked out upon the gray skies. The sun laid above the deep, dark clouds that shielded the earth from its rays. She stands at the edge of town, overlooking a highway. Her violet eyes stay stagnant on what is above her. She doesn't know where else to look. She doesn't know what else to do. Life seemed monotonous. Wake up, get dressed, go to school, go home, leave home, mess around for eight hours before returning back home, and trying to drown out the noise of her parents fighting so she could sleep. It was better when they were fighting with each other, rather than trying to fight with her. Still loud, though.

She moves her beanie slightly, scratching at her head. She leaves it lopsided. All is quiet in her mind, the constant drone of cars blending into the background. She feels empty. Empty and angry. It felt like there was nothing else in there. No innards, no brain, nothing. All that is in her is her emotions. A turbulent storm of feelings. None of them are good, but she doesn't know what they are. So, she calls it anger. She acts in anger. Something's wrong with her, this is something everyone is aware of. Her classmates, her parents, her teacher. They all knew.

Even Subaru eventually wised up to this inherent fact that there is something wrong with Azami. She knows that this isn't actually true, but she doesn't know what else to think. She knew he was going through his own issues, but it still hurt. That he wouldn't let her at least try to help him.

So here she is. Holding her bat, and wandering in the clouded dusk. She'll attack some random object with a bat in a blind rage, she'll collapse into tears, and then she'll wander back home, as she always did. As she always was stuck in this haze, this daze of anger and confusion. And she has no one to drag her out, to guide her back to clarity.

“You have suffered greatly, haven't you?”

A voice spoke from behind her. She whipped around, and saw… nothing. “You have endured great pain, and all alone as well.” Again, the voice hissed, the sound reminding her of a cat ready to strike.

“What- Who are you!?” She spat, turning sharply around. This time she saw… it. She wasn't entirely sure what else to call it. A being. Its body was composed of purple energy, sharp and erratic. Thorny, almost. Glowing brightly, radiantly. On some parts of its body there was armor, purple with accents of changing colors. Orange, yellow, green, so on and so forth. Two large pincers and the tip of a stinger. A scorpion.

“Something you desperately need. A friend.” She circled around her. Azami stepped back, breaking from the non-existent cyclone. Away from the buggish being. She seemed disappointed. “You do not trust easily. Why?”

“I don't need to explain shit to you.”

“Rather angry as well. I can tell your bond with the rest of your kind has been tarnished.” Azami's eyes narrowed, a glare forming in her purple gaze. How dare this… weird ghost creature make assumptions about her? “Your pain is so great, and this world has done you a great injustice-”

“You didn’t answer my question, What are you?” Azami pressed further, cutting off the oddity that hovered in front of her. The scorpion seemed… confused, and perhaps a little irritated. Well, from what Azami could guess, her face did not move, but her eyes narrowed a little. A glare that did not cause Azami to waver.

Eventually, she relented. “I am Scorpio. A being from the planet FM. An alien, as you humans call those from other planets. Your sadness is so profound that I came to help you.” Azami knows that there is something missing from that. That this Scorpio alien was withholding information. Like when her dad spoke to her mom about where the money for the rent went. “Of course, only if you want to be helped. Only if you allow me in.”

“What exactly would you even help me with?” Azami asked, crossing her arms. She is suspicious.

“Well, pain does not come from nowhere, at least not often. Someone or something must have caused your pain.” Scorpio hissed, not in anger but rather that just seemed to be the tone that her voice naturally took. Her voice was raspy and harsh, but she spoke in such a matter-of-fact way. She knew what she was talking about, at the very least. She knew what she was doing. “Wouldn't you like to make people suffer for once, instead of you being the one in pain from their actions?”

Azami sucks in a breath, processing this question. To be short, yes, Azami would like to hurt people. But she can't. Because, ultimately, she knows it's wrong. And because she knows it's ultimately useless. There's nothing in her life that could be fixed with senseless, mindless violence. But she wants it. She wants to make people afraid of her, to leave her alone.

Scorpio notices this. “I can provide the power you want. You can do whatever you wish with it, whenever you wish for it.” Scorpio's promise is tempting. Does she even really want this power? This added strength? There was no one in her life that could possibly warrant such a beat down. At least she thinks there isn't. She knows the pain that her parents inflict on her, and that is only with their words and actions. But doing such extreme harm seemed… Well, even if it was deserved she did not wish to stoop to their level. But it is oh so tempting.

Eventually, she finally catches a thought, a response. “What's the catch?” She knows better. That nothing in this world is for free. There has to be something that the other party wants. Money, a favor, something.

“There is but one thing I would like in return.” She speaks like she's bartering. Like she's trying to haggle. “I was sent here for a specific reason. I need you to help me find something that my planet has lost. That is all I require.” Scorpio explains. It sounded… even, she supposed. Fair. She can deal with that but- does she need it?

Azami is still thinking. She doesn't need it. She knows this. There is nothing in her life that could be solved with violence, hell it'd probably make some things worse. But she wants it. Selfishly and hatefully, she wants it. She has so much anger and spite, and no idea what to do with any of it. She is stuck as a violent person, she might as well do something with that intense desire to hurt. Azami pulls at her beanie, feeling the familiar fabric underneath her fingers, trying to ground herself.

“We could be unstoppable. And I know a few possible suspects of the thievery that could give you a challenge.” Scorpio continues. “I know how much you want that. To hurt others. Consider it like justice. Those fools deserve your wrath for all that they've done.”

Azami acts in anger and want. Azami acts viciously and without remorse. Azami acts in pain and she wants others to writhe in the same agony that she finds herself in. Azami is in pain. And that is why Scorpio is here. To prey upon that, to use that to her own gain. Azami knows that.

But she wants that power more than she knows that it's wrong. More than she knows she's being used.

“...Sure.” Is her final, definitive answer. Unsure, but still… sure. And that is how Azami has existed since the day she was born, and she is certain that it will be the same when she dies.

Scorpio grins. The wait was worth the catch, and she strikes, zapping herself into the Transer on Azami's arm. She feels the energy radiate off of the device on her wrist, pulsing like a heart. Her heart. Down deep in her chest, pumping blood through her being, through her heart and through her lungs and brain. All her innards. She is made of blood and organs and emotions, but she could be so much more. She could be strong. The words seem to snap into Azami's mind.

“EM Wave Change! Azami Kikuchi, on Air!”

The command, the demand is what causes the energy to consume her, flashing and purple. She can feel the poison that surges through her body, enough to kill any being on earth, but she is stronger than any being on earth. She is poison incarnate.

She is Scorpio Sting.

[the-writing-blog69]

[the-writing-blog69]

Sweet Dreams

Clara blinked her eyes open slowly, allowing them some time to adjust to her surroundings. She reached a hand up to rub the sleep out of her eyes, opening her mouth to give a short, quiet yawn. She felt the breeze of the cool forest air brush against her face, combing its fingers through her hair. She couldn't see very well, but she could see the vague figure of Pine sleeping, the small rat's body curled up on the forest floor, her cape flipped over to cover her front like a blanket, snoring as her ear and tail twitched occasionally. She felt Patches curled against her side, purring softly as he slept. The one figure that was missing was... Velvet red, a little ways from where she laid, sitting up, a blurry red rectangle making the figure seem taller than he actually was. Wishing to see the nutcracker more clearly, she begun to look for her glasses. She had set it to rest on her stomach before she had went to sleep, but supposed that it must've fallen off whilst she was sleeping. Her hand roamed across the grass, across the moist earth, feeling for the specs that she needed, for she could just barely see without them. Gripping onto the wire frame of the round glasses, and lifting them up to clean the glasses with the end of her now slightly-tattered night gown, before sliding it onto her face, to rest on the bridge of her nose and hook onto the back of her ears. 

There he was... The wooden soldier was sitting with his back turned against her, his wild snow-white hair sticking out in every direction, seemingly even more so due to the night air's humidity. His sword rested against the stump that he was sitting on. She was unsure if Hans has noticed that she was awake yet, as she begun shifting and moving into a sitting position. She stared for a fleeting moment, at his back, wondering what he was thinking, what he was looking at…

Then she decided to break the silence. 

"Aren't you tired?" She spoke, her gentle voice barely breaking above a whisper that was more silent than the wind. Hans turned his head, just slightly, to glance at her with a somewhat startled expression, to connect his red eyes with her mismatched ones. He slowly shook his head and turned back to stare into the far distance.

"Sleep is pointless to me. I don't need it. Not like this." He responded, not even looking back at her while he spoke. But his voice... Clara found a yearning in it, even only by the slightest amount. Even if he didn't need it, perhaps he wanted it?

"Don't you want to take a break, though?" Clara asked yet another question, tilting her head to the side, her pale brown hair rustling and shifting on her shoulders. "I can't imagine not even taking a break to rest would be good for you, even if you don't sleep." Clara continued, standing up finally, and taking a step forward to approach her nutcracker, the grass bending and yielding to her slippers. The red jacket that was his still rested on her shoulders, the gentle scent of oak and walnuts enveloping her. 

"I'll be fine." Hans persisted, waving a hand dismissively towards Clara, almost like he was trying to shoo the girl away before she got too close. Clara acknowledged it, then ignored it, stepping once more closer to him. 

"I can watch over for a while, just... please get some rest, Hans." Clara insisted, continuing to walk closer to the nutcracker, standing beside him. She reached a hand over, almost to touch his shoulder, but decided against it, holding her own hands tightly together. Genuine concern and worry laced her words with the most precious silk, that wavered and twisted. 

Hans simply let out a sigh in response, standing up to tower over Clara, wooden hat only assisting in making him appear even taller than before. "Fine, fine... but if you fall asleep while taking watch, I'm going to continue doing it." He warned, walking off to where Clara had once laid, and shifting, awkwardly moving to lay on the ground, stiff and straight, arms stretched out against his sides and head staring up at the sky. How long had it been since Hans had really laid down for a moment? How long had it been since he had relaxed? He always looked so rigid.

Clara couldn't help but giggle anyways, to try and mask her distress for the poor man. "You look like a plank." She managed out, stepping closer to him, starring down at his form. 

"I am made of wood, aren't I?" He retorted, sounding almost offended. 

"Now, now, Calm down... I didn't mean to hurt your feelings." She knelt down beside him, her legs folded atop eachother. "Can I try to make you more comfortable?" She requested, raising a hand already to assist him. 

"Will you leave me alone after that?" Clara frowned a little, but nodded her head anyways. Perhaps she was more of a bother than she intended to be, but... something about the way he was laying. It bothered her. Made him look like a corpse than a person... even if he wasn't really a human person, he was still a person. A person who deserved help, and to be comfortable and to relax when he needed to. "Well? Get on with it." His voice rising broke through her thoughts, and Clara went to work. She placed her hands underneath where his shoulder blades should be and lifted him, shifting and pulling him closer to her. Hans' eyes widened in partial shock, and in curiosity as to what the girl was doing, but that curiosity was soon solved upon Clara finishing what she had intended to do. 

Hans' head laid atop Clara's lap, his heavy wooden head pressed against the soft fabric of her night gown, and down onto her thighs, the side of his face nestled against her stomach. She did a few last touches, removing his hat and letting it sit beside her, and resisting the urge to comb her fingers through his hair. "There. How's that?"

Hans didn't have blood to blush with anymore, but he's sure that if he did, his entire face would be bright red by now. He hadn't been this close to another human being since the Princess... He quickly pushed those complex and hurtful thoughts away to answer. "This... is much more comfortable, yes. Thank you." He quickly muttered, sure that if he talked for longer he would blurt out something stupid. Clara smiled down at him, lifting a hand to caress his check softly, her thumb rubbing underneath his eye. "Careful. Don't want to get a splinter, now." Hans teased gently, his voice barely above a whisper now. 

"Ah- ah, quite right." She murmured in response, quickly removing her hand, placing it beside herself, and turning her head to watch the distance, watching the stars and the moon. Though he surely couldn't see it in the dark, he could only assume that she was blushing. He leaned a bit closer into her, inhaling the faintest scent of vanilla and clean linen. 

"Goodnight, Clara." Hans spoke up, allowing himself to close his eyes for the first time in quite a while. 

"Sweet dreams, Hans." Clara glanced down at her nutcracker, and debated to press a small kiss onto his head...

No, that would be simply overstepping boundaries at that point, wouldn't it?

-

Just a little drabble I wrote for my version of the nutcracker

[the-writing-blog69]

[the-writing-blog69]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24666832

Chapter three of digimon D-X has been put up!

[the-writing-blog69]

First chapter is out!!!!

http://archiveofourown.org/works/22719130

[the-writing-blog69]

tropes i will never get tired of

fake dating

omniscient narrator who immediately contradicts the characters (“This is fine,” she said. It was, in no way, shape, or form, fine.)

deadpan jokes while swordfighting

the “I FUCKING LOVE MY WIFE” guy

oblivious pining that slowly escalates until A is going on page rants about how pretty B’s eyes are but still doesn’t seem to recognize they’re in love

Strong Leader Type having to physically fall down in order for the other characters to see how exhausted they are

funny villains who talk and make jokes with their heroes while they’re fighting them

the villains presented as the protagonists

*increasingly pulls out bigger and bigger weapons from more unlikely places*

“I said all of your weapons” *pulls out more*

“ALL OF THEM” *pulls out one last tiny dagger*

traumatized character using humor to cover up ptsd

characters going out for a break at a restaurant/movie/whatever and something bad happening

using the “*gasp* what’s that over there???” trick to avert the enemy’s attention and it working

a villain’s weakness being something totally random and nonsensical

a hero duo arguing over who’s the sidekick while fighting a villain

“don’t be silly, we don’t need [important thing]”  “you lost it, didn’t you?”  “yeah”

“what’s the one thing I told you not to do tonight?”  “raise the dead”   “and what did you do?”  “raised the dead”

“I think that went pretty well” *explosion in the distance*

[the-writing-blog69]

Quite curious on what Digimon roleplayers are still around. Like or reblog this if you’re a digimon roleplayer!

[the-writing-blog69]

Reblog if you're an active digimon rper

I’ve just started, and it would be neat if I could rp with all of you folks.