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shamythelazypotato · 5 days

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"Going back" AvA AU

First part of this / Next part

"A weekly battle?" Chosen asks with a confused look. It's been a week since he moved in with the CG, and it's been... interesting to say the least. He got his own room in a pixelated place thanks to something the kids called 'Minecraft.' He had heard of it before; it became a pretty popular game for a while. But to be honest, nothing interested TCO more than conquering websites alongside Dark back then.

Ah, Dark. For some reason, his thoughts always drift back to him...

Chosen found out the kids lacked individual names. Oh, they claimed they did, but in reality, they were simply identified by their colors. Red, Green—mere descriptors that couldn't help but make Chosen scoff inwardly, How could they settle for being identified solely by their colors?

It seemed too simplistic, too devoid of identity, for Chosen, his name had always been his beacon, his identity etched into every pixel of his existence.

Powerful, glorious, strong, special.

It is true that the black hollow-head didn't grasp the importance of it at first, but after what happened, Chosen actually had time to think, not about destruction or mayhem, just actually think. And now that he thinks about it, these kids are way more different than he is or what he's used to. Still, being named after a color is stupid at least. It looks like Alan couldn't care enough to at least name them properly.

No, Chosen shakes his head slightly as his red eyes glance at the bar task under him.

It's better this way, no expectations, no destiny or something. The kids are actually lucky, luckier than he was at least.

"What are these weekly battles about?" Chosen finally asks. He reclines himself over the soft sofa on the left side of the desktop, leaving enough space to appreciate the battle that is about to start.

"Oh, that's easy!" Second says with a smile. "It's when we usually reunite together to have like a sparring contest! The winner gets one of these," Second says excitedly as he takes out of nowhere a cubic-like trophy in gold. Seems like these kids have made their whole life around Minecraft.

The red kid (Chosen assumes the youngest one) is bouncing eagerly around, throwing punches at the air and getting excited in general. Meanwhile, the green one is patting his shoulder, probably to calm him down and then pointing at himself in an arrogant way. Red only points at him, saying in a tone of defiance, "Hey! Just because you mostly win it doesn't mean you're the best!"

Green says, leaning with his hands on his hips and smirking, "Isn't that exactly what it proves? That I'm the best?"

"Ugh! Don't try to use your mind tricks on me Green! It won't work," but Chosen could clearly perceive a hint of hesitation in Red's eyes. Kids, he thinks in a mixture of amusement and exasperation.

Meanwhile Blue and Yellow were standing more closely to Second, who was almost Infront of Chosen.

The blue one seemed excited as well but in a calmer way, while the yellow one shared his enthusiasm in the same level of excitement, she was also talking about possible strategics and nudging playfully at her blue partner about winning.

They really think this is a game.

Chosen's pupils look at the side without moving his head.«No wonder these kids don't know what to do in a real fight» his eyes narrow as he stares at a lost point on the desktop. His perceptive memory still remembers how the same sticks disintegrated in front of his helpless form.

Pinned, bloody, and beaten up. Helpless. Weak. Weak.

Cursors. Chosen hates Dark for making him feel this way, and this desktop is not helping at all. Ironically, the only other place where he has felt like this before. Thanks to a certain cursor.

Why did he think it was a good idea to come back to this place in the first place? Maybe his house was too painful destroyed to live in. Maybe it's because there are multiple wanted signs searching for him (not that he's afraid). Maybe it's because it doesn't matter where he is anymore.

He will grief survive anyway.

He won't fail again.

"Wanna join us Chosen?" Since Chosen told his name to the kids, he hasn't stopped hearing his name, he almost felt self conscious of it, Chosen glances at Second and says in a monotonous voice "Wouldn't it be unfair?"

"Unfair?...uh" Second trails off as he rests his hand on his chin. Second tilts his head with a curious look to the black stickfigure. "Maybe, but it's just a friendly sparring! You can even teach us cool moves or new techniques to learn! And probably-"

"I meant you" Chosen says in a dead tone, his crimson eyes flickering to see the green confusion in Second. "Isn't it unfair if you and I fight with them?" Second has a puzzled expression on his face.

"What do you mean by that? We're all the same here! Well except for you that you're super fast and powerf-"

"We're both powerful" Chosen says bluntly, he narrows his eyes slightly, «strange» since they came back from defeating Dark, Chosen tried to give his thanks to Second yet, the orange stickfigure looked confused about it, trying to deny he remembers anything about "healing powers" or "Resurrection" and thanking Chosen instead.

And just now, Second shakes his head stubbornly as he says "No Chosen! I already told you, I'm glad you appreciated our efforts but I was just as helpless as my...friends were" Second bows his head in the floor, his lip trembling slightly "I... almost died with them, until you saved us"

At the mention of death, the rest of the stickfigures fell silent and glanced at Chosen then at Second, seems like it was still a sensitive topic for the colorful sticks.

«So he doesn't really remember anything» Chosen thinks inwardly with a sigh, it's not of his surprised that Second is oblivious of his own powers, probably even Alan doesn't know anything about them.

Funny enough it's how it was only activated when he had to survive.

Chosen remembers being in control since the first time he was created, not a trigger or a reason, just a purpose

Survive

Still he's smart enough to know when he has done enough questions to someone, Second actually looks affected by what has happened a days ago before. Even the rest of the colorful sticks were silent and looking down or leaning on each other as if to reassure to each other they're good, they're alive.

«Enough probing»

Chosen sighs again

"If I join you, do you guys will let me be?" Chosen asks with the slightly twitch of an eyebrow in a questioning tone, sounding more reluctant than excited yet Chosen tries.

Second seems to not notice and he perks up at his question, his face splits into a wide smile as he says in a joyful tone "Oh yes please! It'll be fun, we promise!"

Red, who's in the right side of the desktop also smiles, he exclaims childlike "Yes! You'll see me kick this dude's ass!" Red chuckles as she shoves Green playfully, the latest snort at Red's statement and shoves back affectionately as he says "Hah! In your dreams!" And start bickering.

Yellow just smiles in amusement at his friends antics as Blue says with a more gentle smile looking at Second "Yeah! Maybe that would help us to improve our fighting skills as well!"

"My thoughts exactly!" Second beams as he approaches to the now excited stickfigures, shaking his arms up and down in anticipation.

Chosen looks at them with a questioning look for a few seconds, before his lips traitorously twitch slightly into the attempt of an amused smile. Kids

He quickly composes himself as he gets up slowly from the couch and asks

"So? When do we start?"

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sammy8d257 · 7 months

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Bed - AvA Sticktober Day 9

Part of the AvAM Watered Down Hot Chocolate Series:

A Melted Marshmallow side story

Written by Sammy8D257

Word Count: 890

CW: None, although King is going through it rn

Summary: How King's bed ends up outside his room.

(This takes place a few months after Gold gets disintegrated into Minecraft.)

[AVA STICKTOBER 2023 LIST]

[Ao3 Version]

= O =

It's not until he sees it out in the main room, that King realizes what he's done.

If he thinks hard enough, he can see the thought process leading up to this decision.

It starts like this.

King had just sold his couch. It was an old thing, well worn through years of use, but it was still soft and incredibly comfortable. He got a pretty penny off of it too.

So he sold it. He needed the money. Books and supplies and gathered pieces of metal weren't going to buy themselves. And he wasn't going to dip into the fund he saved for his kid's future.

(Not yet. Doing so felt like betrayal. Or acceptance. Either way, it was not something he was willing to deal with. He wasn't that desperate. Not yet.)

So he sold the couch. It felt like the most logical next step.

He didn't really need it. He spent most of his time on his feet, hunched over his desk or walking around the increasingly cluttered room. The only time he'd even use it was when one too many nights of sleep were skipped and he'd end up face first into its cushions. He never means to land there, his room being his goal but sleep is sleep, so who is he to complain when he finally gets it.

(Doesn't matter that he wakes up feeling worse than before. Doesn't matter that his shoulders ache and his head pounds. Doesn't matter that a voice in the back of his mind is screaming at him to stop, to actually get some rest, to eat, to grieve. Doesn't matter, because he has work to do.)

So he sells it. And the stick who comes to pick it up thankfully does not comment on the state of the rest of his house. They're young, younger than him but older than they would have been. They look like they have their whole life ahead of them.

They smile at him, thank him for the couch, and with the help of two friends, carry it out the door. King almost feels bad for overcharging them. But he needs the money and really, it's their own fault for buying it without considering the price tag. Oh well, he hopes they enjoy it.

So the couch is sold. What was once there, now stands a plain wall.

He won't admit it bothers him. Like an itch that persists at the back of his mind. It's one more thing gone from his life but that doesn't make sense. It was just a couch.

Life continues on as normal until another bout of sleepless nights hits and instead of soft cushions, his face meets hard wooden floors.

He sleeps there anyways, too tired to complain. Until morning comes and he wakes up stiff as the floor beneath him and he vows to never do that again.

He does it two more times in the coming weeks.

On the third time, he manages to catch himself on the wall. Through the haze of exhaustion his mind comes up with a solution for his problem.

He wouldn't need to sleep on the floor if he had his bed out here.

And with a sudden burst of manic energy, he stumbles into the hallway. Blindly reaching towards his door and ignoring the one situated right next to his.

King had always been strong, blessed by his original game creator with the power to rule a kingdom, so it's no issue as he lifts and pulls and drags his bed from the middle of his room out into the hall.

Why he didn't just go to sleep in the bed itself is a question that crosses his mind in the future, but that is of no concern to him at the moment.

He loses pillows and blankets along the way, and he's pretty sure his door has scraps etched into its frame, but he finally gets it into the main room.

With one final shove, his bed is against the wall.

And King grins, nods his head as if satisfied with his work, and then promptly passes out next to the bed.

He wakes up the next day with a killer headache and an empty stomach, so it takes him until lunch to realize his bed is now outside his bedroom and is situated where his couch used to be.

It takes him a minute to process the change. He glances into the hallway to see the carnage of bedding left in his sleep deprived mania. He cringes and reluctantly picks up the pieces and deposits them back on his bed.

In all honesty, he doesn't know why he did this but it would be too much of a hassle to put it back and he is much too busy to find the time to do it. So the bed stays in its new spot up against the wall.

It isn't until another round of sleepless nights hits and King wakes up on his mattress feeling marginally better than he did before, that he decides this was one of the best decisions he made in a while. One problem solved.

And then he doesn't think about it anymore.

Not until a certain purple stick figure comes barreling into his life with a large pink tote bag in hand.

= O =

#Sammy8D writes #alan becker #ava sticktober 2023 #ava sticktober #AvM King #King Stick Figure #animation vs minecraft #AvA fanfic #avm shorts #AvM Fanfic #AvAM Watered Down Hot Chocolate #AvAM WDHC Melted Marshmallow #AvAM WDHC MM #AvAM WDHC #Sammy8D Stick Stuff

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cindersnows · 7 months

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ava sticktober prompt 1: sticks flowers

YEAH i know day one is sticks but i couldn't muster up the energy to draw every single stick or even just every member of the cg. my bad

i did however grab the opportunity to draw a scene from the new chapter of my fic where blue gives purple flowers though so there's that. i will also post the actual chapter and pretend it's for sticktober here

(below cut)

That evening, when Purple was escorted back to his room, his mind was filled with questions.

Why did Duke Green and Baron Rowan forgive him so easily? Was there any deeper meaning to what the Duke had said, or was he really just giving Purple advice? People didn't normally just- give random tips to their opponent, not unless they wanted to lose. Was this a Hollowic Empire custom?

There was the issue of the mission the King had given him too— steal the Craft Gemstone. Three days after arrival, and the prince hadn't even looked into the possible location of the gemstone.

For a moment, Purple felt irritated; Why would they brother task them something so difficult? There were theives and mercenaries all across the country that could do this job a million times better, especially considering the fact that basically everyone in the empire would have their eyes on Purple. They weren't even good at fighting! Why them?

Fucking hell.

They flopped onto their bed, groaning. This was way too much for them to deal with tonight. They'd much rather just sleep and not have to deal with any of this. Maybe if things went right, they wouldn't have to wake up.

___________________

He slept through the whole night.

If he dreamed, he couldn't remember it, save for the lingering feeling of sadness that he often woke up with.

He would've rolled over and closed his eyes again, a futile effort to sleep for a bit longer, but the sunlight streaming through the curtains told him there was no point.

Purple took a deep breath, savoring his last moments in the comfort of his bed, before swiftly sitting up to get ready for the day. He drearily threw the sheets off himself and stood up, straightening his nightdress. The servants had already taken out his clothes for the day, as per his request, so that was one thing out of the way.

Getting ready took around an hour and a half—- the prince had only worn the barest of clothes: a simple white shirt, jacket and a pair of trousers. He didn't intend to do much today, head still swarming with emotions from the duel the previous day. He didn't quite want to address that.

Often, when he didn't feel like dealing with the pressures of socializing and high society, he would withdraw to his room for days at a time, focusing solely on his work to the point he forgot to eat and drink. It was unhealthy, he knew, but it helped him wind down.

This was one of those times. And since Purple couldn't exactly work while in a foreign city, he'd have to settle for reading books instead.

“Kombu, please get someone to bring me a few books on history and mythology,” He called out, not bothering to open the door.

Kombu Cone was the knight that the King had sent to protect Purple during the trip. They hadn't spoken much, but the knight seemed content to obey his orders with any conversation, and Purple was more than happy to do the same.

A small grunt of confirmation sounded from outside the door. After what felt like forever, a servant scurried into the room, holding a small pile of books.

“These are the librarian's recommendations; Please let us know if there are any specific books you would like to read,” the servant said. Purple nodded at her, and she quickly exited the room with a bow.

He grabbed the first book off the pile, inspecting the cover. 'The history of Dojo Duel Tournaments', the title read.

Purple hummed, running his finger down the side of the book. Dueling Tournaments were a large part of culture across the world, but they weren't very important in the Nether Kingdom. Back home, the warriors prided themselves more on battle strategies and war tactics rather than competitive fighting, and the books in the Royal Palace's library reflected this.

This was the first time Purple had picked up a book on the subject, but it never hurt to learn more about other cultures. He flipped open the book and began to read.

A few days passed like this; Purple would spend the whole day at his desk or in his bed reading, only taking breaks to sleep, eat, and bathe.

Occasionally, he heard muttering outside — Hollowic servants questioning the knights and servants that had accompanied him about whether it was normal for the prince to stay in his room for this long.

He didn't bother to pay much attention to those conversations.

Instead, he preferred to dive deeper into his books, living out the stories. That was what he loved about reading. It was like travelling to different time periods and countries, all within the safety of his room. This especially rang true with history and mythology, the latter often serving to entertain him with ridiculous stories attempting to explain the various natural phenomenons of their world.

Plus, it was fun to pick out the themes found throughout the various mythologies. Ancient Hollowic mythology seemed to place a lot of emphasis on tragedies and redemption, for example. This was a stark contrast to the stories Purple had been raised with, all detailing tales of war and over-convoluted revenge. He cringed, recalling the one where two groups of people played hot potato with a magical staff in an ongoing battle for weeks. Clearly, the writers of that one weren't sure how to create effective tension.

_____________

A knock sounded at the prince's door, breaking their focus.

Shit, they'd just been getting to the most interesting part. They opened their mouth, preparing to just order whoever it was to leave, when the person spoke.

“Your highness, a letter has arrived from the King of the Nether Kingdom.”

Oh, shit!

“Bring it in!” Purple called out, voice slightly pitched. They'd forgotten about their brother and the mission entirely, too engrossed in reading. Was the King upset that he'd yet to send a letter detailing what he'd done?

The door opened with a click, and the servant scurried in, dropping the letter on the desk and leaving the room.

Purple got up from their bed, making their way over to the desk. They moved to pick up the letter, before pausing.

Did he really want to deal with another one of the King's thinly veiled scoldings, ranting in formal language about how Purple had 'disappointed him' and 'wasn't doing the one job he'd asked' and all that crap? Even though a small part of him felt guilty thinking of his brother in such a negative light, he still felt a little resentful.

They dropped their hand, shaking their head. Nope! Not now. If the King got impatient, they could just blame it on the distance. For now, they would do something else.

'What to do, what to do...'

They could just continue reading... but honestly, they'd lost the mood now.

Maybe a walk would help.

The prince threw open the door, walking straight out and down the hallway, only to bump right into Second.

“Purple, what a surprise to see you here!” He exclaimed, raising an hand to his mouth as if to emphasize his shock. Purple raised a brow, tilting them head to see all four of Second's friends looking at them with varying levels of interest— and not a hint of surprise.

“Really, what a surprise for you to bump into me just a few meters down the hall from the room I reside in,” They drawled. They didn't fail to notice the way Blue frowned, likely because of how they weren't playing along with... whatever this was supposed to be.

”Yes, yes, so shocking!” Second agreed, wow the boy was bad at acting. “But anyways, since we've happened upon each other, would you like to accompany my friends and I to the Imperial Gardens?”

Purple replied without hesitation, “Of course,” because what were they supposed to do, say no to the Imperial Prince who also happened to be their host?

Second nodded, apparently satisfied with his answer, and beckoned to follow him. “This way, then!”

The six of them started off on their walk towards the gardens in silence. Unsure what else to do, Purple decided to observe Second's noble friends ('noble' was a stretch— Baron Rowan was among the lowest of ranks, and Blue and Yellow didn't seem to have any titles at all. Honestly, they seemed less like his friends and more like the prince's band of servants).

Duke Green was, as always, dressed handsomely for the occasion. If someone were to ask Purple, they'd say he was overdressed, but he did not voice this thought out loud. They were probably on bad enough terms already.

Yellow and Blue were whispering to each other, just like they'd been the day before. If Purple strained his ears, he could hear them chuckle every few minutes. The pair were obviously close. He couldn't help but find this odd, considering all he'd heard about Blue was that she and Baron Rowan were very close friends. But again, he supposed people could have multiple best friends.

They reached the gardens relatively quickly, and gods, it was beautiful.

Purple had been to many castles, mansions and palaces before. Never had he seen a garden of such scale— not even his own palace's gardens compared.

The place was like a canvas littered with splotches of color, each bush covered in healthy, vibrant flowers. From lilies to columbines to daffodils, the garden was bursting with radiant hues that made Purple's jaw drop.

“Hey,” Someone called out, and it took Purple a moment to realise that Blue was talking to him. Leaf was stood near a row of brilliant indigo flowers, gesturing for Purple to come over. The prince obliged, stepping carefully as to ensure he didn't crush any plants.

“Blue. Hello.” Purple greeted with as graceful a tone as he could muster. He had a tendency to come off as irritated even when he wasn't, so he had to go the extra length to make sure no one was put off by him.

“Prince Aster, look at these,” Blue said proudly, motioning to the flowers. “These were the first flowers I grew in the Imperial Palace. They're called bluebells.”

Purple blinked in surprise, eyebrows raising a little. He knew they were bluebells, of course—- what surprised him was the first thing Blue had said. “You're one of the royal gardeners?” He questioned.

Blue fiddled with her hands, shaking leafs head. “Not officially, no, but I will be soon! Chosen allowed me to plant some things because I was learning, and also because I'm cool as fuck-" Leaf struck a dramatic pose to emphasize his point, and Purple had to hold back a giggle, "Once I turn 18, I will officially be appointed as one of the royal gardeners."

"That's wonderful,” Purple smiled.

The pair lapsed into silence for a bit. He had to salvage this— he didn't want any of Second's friends to dislike him, or else Second himself might start to avoid him.

Purple fumbled for something to say, “Did you know that certain flowers can have special meanings? Orchids, for example, are used to symbolize elegance, gracefulness and beauty. They remind me of my mother. It's fitting that she was named after them.”

Purple paused, realising Blue had gone completely silent. Had he spoken a little too much, or said something out of line-? Maybe it was condescending to talk to Blue as if they knew more about flowers than leaf, or maybe-

"Do you have any other flowers that remind you of people?" Blue asked, breaking the pause.

…They wanted to hear more? That was a first. Well, Purple wasn't about to turn down the opportunity to discuss something they liked.

Even then, they didn't quite know how to answer the question. He tended to assign flowers to most interesting people that he met, even if he'd only met them once. It was like second nature— Clematis for the viscount he'd met at the reception, Cattails for Kombu who seemed invisible and yet was always nearby, and for his brother…

"Well, I don't think about it particularly much." He responded. "But if you'd like to hear about any specific flower- or person- I wouldn't mind telling you."

"What flower would you associate with Second?" Blue asked, so quickly that it caught Purple off-guard.

"Well, the Imperial Prince…" He was naive, for one. Despite being the crown prince of the Empire, he likely didn't do much other than hold the title. He seemed carefree in a way, unbothered by the expectations of the citizens of the Empire, nobles and commoners alike. When he smiled, it was like the sun itself had emerged to greet you. And no matter how many mistakes Purple made, or how much they offended him and his friends, Second was always willing to help them and give them another chance.

"Crocus. They symbolize youth, and cheerfulness."

Blue nodded, smiling. "What about Green, and Red?"

"Red?" Purple tilted his head.

"Oh, Baron Rowan Redmond— we call her Red for short."

Purple chuckled. "You and your friends really like color nicknames, don't you? You're like a whole rainbow."

"Yep!" Blue agreed, popping the p. "Yellow's full name isn't even close to the word Yellow, honestly. We just chose it so he'd fit in. Their actual name is Beryl Fairman."

"As in, Marquis Beryl Fairman?" Purple blurted out, surprised. So Yellow hadn't just been some servant or low-rank noble, but a Marquis from one of the more well-known families of the Hollowic Empire. How had he not noticed?

"Yes. She doesn't really like all the fanfare, though. She prefers to just tell people her nickname instead." Purple nodded, understanding. From what he'd read up on the House of Fairman, they were well-respected within the Empire, both for their intelligence and their beauty. Many of the heirs and heiresses of the family ended up betrothed to one of the members of the royal family.

Did that mean Yellow and Second were engaged, then?

Purple frowned a little at the idea. He didn't know why, but it left a sour taste in his mouth.

"As for your earlier question, I'd say that Duke Green resembles an Amaryllis. It symbolizes pride. Baron Rowan would be an Iris— humble, and wise."

Blue barked out a laugh. "HA! Wise? Oink's far from wise, I tell ya. She is humble, you got that right, but the only thing she actually knows anything about is animals. She'd take a brawl over a book any day."

"So… more like a Geranium, then," Purple decided. "It means strength, and good friendship, but certain variants can also refer to… a lower intelligence."

"You can just call moo stupid, you know," Blue joked. "What about Yellow? Wait, no, what flower would you assign me?"

"For Yellow, I would say a rosemary." Purple didn't know much about Yellow, so that was mostly a guess. The marquis was likely intelligent too, so a flower to connotate wisdom would do, but that was about as much as he could figure out. "Blue, I'd say you remind me of a Jasmine Flower. Cheerful and amiable."

Blue's face lit up so bright, Purple thought for a moment that he was looking at a star. "Really? Thank you!"

He shook his head, cheeks heating up a little. "It's nothing, really. I'm just saying what I see."

"Well, it's still a compliment, so I'll take it all the same." Blue smiled. "You know, you're really smart, your highness. I've never met someone as knowledgeable about flowers as you."

Purple shrugged lightly. "Most people in high society know about these things. I'm not very special in that regard. We use flowers to send messages all the time. Like bluebells, for example," He touched one of the bluebells next to the pair, "are used to say 'I forgive you'."

Blue suddenly sat straight up, and Purple flinched back a little, surprised by the sudden motion.

"Is something wrong, Blue?"

"No. But watch this," He smiled, plucking off several bluebells and quickly weaving them together— oh, a flower crown! After about a minute, he finished the crown, and held it out to Purple.

Blue giving Purple a flower crown made from bluebells.

"Here! 'I forgive you'. You know, for the thing you said about me and Red at the reception." Purple looked down at the crown, a little dumbstruck, and then laughed softly.

"Thank you, Blue." He said earnestly, taking the flower crown and placing it upon his head.

Blue waved him off. "You're welcome." After a moment of quiet, she added, "You seem very nice, your highness. I'm sure the others would want to be friends with you. I know I definitely do." Blue pointed out.

Purple didn't respond, unsure what to say. Thankfully, Blue seemed to understand his hesitation. "You don't have to be our friend if you don't want to. But a rainbow isn't really complete without purple."

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purplewitchboi · 9 months

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Another design by @fp-am yay!

Coming soon to an AvA/AvM fanfic near you

#alan becker #ava #avm #avm fanart #ava fanfic #stick figure #sorry about the folds in the paper #I had to make it fit in my bag without getting crumpled

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colorfulcollectordragon-2f8ee55c · 1 year

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A bit of a oneshot

#ava spoilers #animator vs animation #ava #ava fanfic

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an-t-hiho · 1 year

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"So you're saying that we're from an animated series made from Alan Becker and that millions of people love us and make edits of us and even fanfiction and fanart of us?" Sec questioned the two gods, using hand movements to further exaggerate what he was talking about.

Fate and Time looked at each other, blinked, and nodded towards Sec.

"Prove it." Came Yellow's voice as he stood up from his seat. "Prove to us that you aren't just making up bullshit."

"Very well." Fate shrugged, motioning to Time to turn on the cinema screen. "Although this piece of evidence is very short, I assure you that everything shown is true. If you do not remember it, then it must be from the future."

Then, the screen turned on, and everybody was teleported back to their seats.

It was a black screen at first, but it turned on and showed Blue putting in a red music disc into the jukebox.

"Holy shit, is that me!?" Blue stood up in shock, pointing at the him in the screen. The video paused as well, and everybody couldn't help but dart their eyes to the on-screen Blue to the real-life Blue in confusion.

"Great." King Orange scoffed, "Now there's two of them."

"The hell did you just say!?" Yellow stood up, but before King Orange could retaliate with a rude answer, Time clapped her hands and everybody was on their seats again.

"I advise not to cause any brawls." Fate softly instructed, "I couldn't disable any of your fighting experience as it would also damage your memories. I'll need all of your memories intact for this."

"So unless if you want to lose valuable memories, I suggest keeping the insulting words to yourself." Time looked at King Orange carefully as Fate said the next few words, "It would be a shame if some of you would have to forget your loved ones."

King Orange jolted back in surprise, but ignored the bugging feeling inside of him that may already be scared of Time.

"Okay, Time, you may resume." Then, Time clapped her hands.

Continue reading [The preview here is on the chapter titled "Story Breakdown]

#alan becker #avm #animation vs animator #animation vs minecraft #ava #ava shorts #ava red #ava yellow #ava blue #ava green #avm king orange #ava the second coming #ava the dark lord #ava the chosen one #reaction fic #ava fanfic #avm fanfic

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inksandpensblog · 1 year

Link

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Animator vs. Animation (Short Film 2006) Series: Part 4 of bug!Purple AU content Summary:

When two or more melodies, of independent rhythm and contour but interdependent harmonies, are played at the same time.

Or: Purple, once a hunter in his own right, ruminates on how giants treat their prey.

#animation vs minecraft #avm shorts #animation vs minecraft shorts #avm #bug!Purple AU #ava enthusiasts #ava fanfic #also anyone who reads this should go check out Aviva's new character references for this au #they're not related to this fic specifically but they're AMAZING

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pearlisinpain · 2 years

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Purify - (Medieval Fantasy AU)

Chapter 3: The King Election

Summary:

Orange received a letter from the Octavia Royal Council about a request to be the High Judge of the Election. He seemed to doubt the situation, after all.

Dark whispers spread in a dark corner where the election commenced, a soft glow illuminating from the weapon, fused with the deadliest kind that mankind ever created, with the swarm of the most lethal creature alive, ready to make a show out of it.

CW: violence, blood, wound, minor character death

=*****=

Eventually, for the citizens of the abundant Octavia Kingdom, the next day had come by in a flash, with everyone worrying about how this would turn the tide of the kingdom's future. How the new king would make changes to the rules. No matter what happened, they had to hope for the best.

The next morning came by, and a dove swoop inside Orange's bedroom, with a letter with the royal crest. He woke up like usual by rolling off the bed in surprise, as he noticed the bird and took the letter off the bird. Stroking the avian, he set it on the table while he quickly opened the letter, and was taken aback by its content.

Greetings to the High Royal Artist of the kingdom,

You might have received the sorrowful news of the king's passing, and the paramount King Election will commence today at noon. This arrangement was seen as new to the royal inhabitants, and we require a person with wiseness and judicially. This is an important role we need to hand to the exact person.

As you are the person that had the requirements, on the behalf of the castle's inhabitants, the Court of Octavia formally inquires about your appearance at the Grand Election as the High Judge for the arrangement.

Please give your response as soon as your letter had arrived.

Sincerely,

The Sovereign Octavia Royal Council.

He looked dumbfounded at the letter as he tried to recall any moment of himself being a 'wise and judicial person' the castle was looking for. He scratched his head for a moment before standing up from the floor, dusting himself before rummaging through his drawer for his quill.

It seemed like he had no other choice.

Did they count the person who had only advised his Majesty twice in his life?

As an artist too?

...he decided not to think about it again, as he dipped the quill into the ink bottle and started scribbling away for the letter. He would never know why he agreed to do this, but he guessed he would not refuse it. This was a sign of trust the High Council was putting in him, and it occurred to him why they didn't handle the situation themselves.

Finishing the letter, he folded it carefully before tying it to the bird again and sending it off into the sunrise. It rose like a glorious firey red globe, the orange aura signaled a new day slowly approaching. But the sun's rays were not as strong as yesterday anymore.

He felt something was... off about this.

He looked at his golden bay leaf pin shimmering in the weak sunlight and frowned a bit. It was one of his lucky charms, based on his experience with it in the past- what past? It gave a weird signal that only he could feel its presence before it lay motionless again. He didn't quite remember the last time it warned him about something. Maybe he was living in peace for far too long to get back to the constant danger before.

This time, it was giving out something he could not describe. Something like a bad omen, it was well-hidden that he could not contemplate.

He smelt out the stinky metallic aroma lingering inside him before it eventually faded away. The thoughts slowly ate him as he glanced solemnly at the scenery that grew duskier even when the sun was not at a considerable height.

Then, something - a blur of blight red flashed across his windows as he stood up and backed away, dumbfounded. He could not describe his sudden chills, as he stared at the window frame for a whole minute before breaking his paralyzed state.

It did ring the bell inside him about that blur, but it was just out of reach.

"What..." he muttered quietly. "...the heck just happened?"

He then stood up and glanced at the door, hoping to hear any movement or sound coming from his friends, just to make sure, before walking out of the room, mentally sighing in relief.

This was not going to go well.

*****

"Hello? Earth to Orange?" Red called as Orange snapped out of his trail of thoughts and looked up at them, the small piece of tomato fell off his fork since he knew when visibly confused. "Are you good? You didn't hear what we have been talking about, did you?"

"Uh... sorry, just zoning out a bit..." he mentally panicked as he quickly put up his sleepy facade and yawned. "You know, those sleeping disorders kill me each day."

"...and you gracefully accepted it into your life since when and start nodding off ever since." Blue sighed as he finally got a cup of juice for Orange before drinking his own again. "You should try to find the cure for the disorder. Really, it might be progressively becoming worse. I'm afraid that potions can't do much in this field."

"Don't worry Blue, I am perfectly fine," Orange waved half-heartedly as he drank a bit of the liquid, feeling a bit more awake as he stretched his arms. "Any thoughts about what is going to happen today?"

"Oh, they did announce that this morning, didn't they?" chimed Red, as he had finished feeding the farm animals, if not striking a long 'talk' with them. The group knew he had connections with animals, but they would never know how he had the patience to sit with them for a whole hour. "I heard them marching outside our house early this morning- like it was still 'sleep o'clock'."

"Well, I doubt that, since it was such news." Green shrugged as he popped another tomato slice into his mouth. "Well, any other things we need to be cautious about?"

"I just got the request letter from the Council to be a judge for the election-" Orange joined in suddenly, the letter finally getting its attention after all that ruckuses in his mind. "I-"

Orange looked up, only to see four sets of eyes at him. He glanced around, confused and all. "Did I say something wrong?" he asked, mentally praying that he was not being an idiot in front of others.

Well, he didn't expect this was the reaction. He had thought they would be more optimistic about this, but this silence as an answer could be a good one too, indicating that they all felt something fishy was going to happen.

"I know, this is not going to go well," he decided to continue when the silence was too long. "I think something is up about the King suddenly passing away, he was certainly normal when he gave out the speech at the summer festival not very long ago. He didn't seem to have severe symptoms of an incurable disease. But..."

He swallowed.

"I think someone else is getting a hand in all of this. It might be a shot in the dark after all, but I am not one claiming without evidence."

Green nodded as he silently looked away. Orange was right, royalties could have such a conflict that residents could never be imagined having once in their life. How they would do the dirty work to achieve what they want, or a secret, forbidden alliance with enemies over the borders. Royals and normal citizens like them were not the same at all.

"I notice that," mused Yellow as he finally decided to join in the conversation that was getting deeper in observation and investigation. "Did you notice the conflict between House Embezzle and House Pelitos? You all know, the House of Wisdom and Medical respectively in the Royal Octavia Academy. The two powerhouses of the Academy, yet they are in conflict for a year under his Majesty's very nose!"

"Oh yeah, I do notice that," Blue remarked. "Also, have you heard about the Viceroy also? With his aide, I think he seems to be plotting something."

"The role of the King is a spot that everyone wants to reach, yet when they have reached it, they had no idea to keep their kingdom's prosperity," Green said, joining in after shaking his head violently, letting himself back into the real world.

"Does that have anything to do with the upcoming Election after all? I mean, about what Orange is going to go through?" Red asked, and soon they all focused on Orange again.

"Orange, you know how honorable and dangerous this can be. One wrong decision and your head might be off by the Grand Council, this can affect the whole future of the kingdom." Green stood up and looked into Orange's soft green eyes, which were blinking in a puzzled manner. "Just, please. Keep yourself."

"I know Green," the orange-haired man smiled as he shifted his position on the chair again. "I just wanted to say that... you all need to be safe. I can also sense a row later on, and maybe a commotion."

"We all need to prepare for that, I agree, but can we save the serious talk for later?" Red finally said again, his face frowning. "Morning is supposed to be calm and relaxed, or at least energetic, not like this serious attitude we all have to wear all day."

"I supposed you are right," Blue sighed before standing up, smiling a bit. "All right, who wants some good drinks?"

"Make me a watermelon juice!"

"A cup of coffee, then, would be nice to be a little bitter."

"I will go with a cup of cinnamon tea then."

"I'm going with some fresh juicy strawberry for a change then."

"Be patient! Coming right up, fresh just for you all!"

*****

Orange was nervous as soon as the guards pushed the door open, revealing the royal family themselves. He had remembered his curtsy, he had prepared himself the best he could. Never had he ever gotten himself roped into this kind of formal situation, even when addressing his Majesty in person himself a couple of times. But this was a whole lot different than the King's himself.

"Greetings, your Majesty, your Royal Highnesses, and your Graces," he bowed to the people inside. He swore he could hear his heart thumping louder and faster than ever. "I am here for recently receiving a requested letter to be the High Judge for the Election."

The woman gestured at him, a small and sad smile planted on her face. It seemed... forced? "Greetings to you, we have been waiting for your arrival."

"No trouble your Majesty," Orange said again, trying to keep his tone level. "If I may ask the Grand Council for the requirements for the later Election," he turned to an old male at the corner of the room and nodded. "If you please, Grand Councilor."

"I hereby introduce to you the Royal Highnesses: the eldest Prince Arthurous Octavia, the younger Prince Caspetor Octavia, and the youngest Prince Aelliouso Octavia," the old Counselor said and gestured to the three people standing near the Queen. "They will be competing for the throne in today's Election."

He was pretty sure that the names of the Princes were more royal-liked versions of the elegant, yet simple.

(He was pretty sure that the Princes' names are respectively Arthur, Casper, and Aelius. The royals were like that, just adding more letters into the normal names to make them seem unique and interesting. Nor did he deny that those names were actually good.)

"I was wondering something, Sir," Orange interjected after the man had finished his line. "If we could identify who is the eldest among the three Highnesses, shouldn't we just declare the eldest prince to claim the throne?"

"Oh, I forgot to inform you, our young royal artist of the kingdom," another Council member joined in the conversation, and Orange noticed that the Octavia Royal Family had left. "In the Octavia Kingdom, inherited after the fall of the Indigous Empire, puts the ability to its equal. We could not have a ruler with such good combat skills yet without knowledge and the judicially that the people need, upon fitting the three requirements: strength, knowledge, and the rhetorical and judicial mind to gain the trust of the inhabitants."

"I see..." Orange muttered as he tried to picture a perfect king that fit all of the requirements. He had only seen King Octavia the Seventh as the most inspiring ruler so far, yet alone having his fair share of art and beauty, kindness and festivities. "When shall we start the Election, your Graces?"

"It should be around a few more hours, so you have plenty of time to prepare yourself."

*****

"Why am I actually worried about this?" Red asked as he held a book close to him as he ran behind with his friends, realizing that they were late to the scene as they were rushing forward to the town square. "Like, something in Orange seems off today."

"I know Red, we will just have to hope for the best," Blue said before stopping himself to have a breath. "Gods, I cannot imagine how nervous he would be when he faced the royal family himself, yet along with the members of the Council. He had only been there once only when doing a painting session with the royal family?"

"I gotta say, as someone who once experienced life there, it is quite stressful," Green said as he looked into the sky. The sun was illuminating every place, and the clouds did not attempt to seal the harsh light. "It is kinda triggering some of the things I should not remember... I need not remember it..."

"Green, it's alright," Yellow pat his back as they finally encountered a crowd surrounding a high-up stage inside the castle grounds. "Come on, see if we can make our way closer to the stage. The princes are the mystery to every citizen, you know."

"Yeah, that does make sense," Blue agreed while he double-checked his pouch. "Okay, I hope I have not over-prepared anything. The potions, the netherwart..."

"Why are you bringing your netherwart into this? What will the people say?" Red practically jumped at the amount of the red fungus Blue was having inside his pouch. They looked like they were stuffed into the place, and it seemed to take too much place for the potions. "And how on earth did you bring this many? We are not going to a festival! And this is not food either!"

"Well, it is my comfort food, it eases my mind when coming to situations stressful as this," Blue replied dryly as he munched some netherwart he retrieved from the pouch. "It does not seem like a big deal to me."

"We must be quick, the Election is starting at any moment now," Yellow interjected as they all nodded and sprinted faster into the city, silence slowly embracing them as they tried to get what was going on.

Why is there smoke and screaming everywhere?

Why is the sky suddenly turn black- or red?

*****

To Orange's view, it had been going pretty swell so far. Prince Aelliouso was sure to be the King because of his immense intelligence with keen strategy in battle. Although his strength was not the most ideal, he was overall good. The two Princes were the two main powerhouses of the royal trio, but intelligence in battle was one needed. They did inherit their kindness and juidicialness from their father, which was a plus.

As a High Judge, he had to make sure no cheating is allowed or sabotaging of other competitors. He had also been tasked with checking the surroundings if there were any impacts from the outside that could potentially help the competitors to cheat, or cause severe damage to the royal family. Of course, the general was also in charge of the safety of the royal inhabitants in the audience. But observing from the closest, it had to be him. After all, he was the only Judge. So he must ensure the safety of the Princes.

About the High General, as if he had seen him before... he looked so familiar, maybe he had connections with him also, but could not quite recall the moments. Maybe it was just hallucinations.

Gosh, he needed to stop sleeping too much...

"Time for the third round is up, all contestants please put your product down! Now for the High Judge to determine the weapons!"

He totally didn't forget to judge the third round of the Election: weapon forging, did he?

Orange stood up, sweat rolling down his forehead as he stopped by the first Prince. He slowly picked up the spear. It was a pure iron one, the blade being shaped in such an elegant style of a pen. He took it carefully and swung it after maintaining his distance to not hit his Royal Highness. He smiled a bit before placing it back on the table.

"The durability is high, your Royal Highness," he said, smiling calmly, trying to keep his composure. "However, the tip of the blade is not as sharp as usual, for it has to be enough for..." he traced his finger carefully on the edge of the blade, and lifted out, his finger barely having a scratch. "This, the finger would have been cut a bit if the edge was sharpened enough. Overall, this is still a good spear, but it could use some more sharp-edged."

"How do you know about all this?" the eldest Prince frowned at him and asked, he could not help but gulped a bit. Prince Authurous was intimidating and quick-tempered, so Orange needed to make sure he didn't get to his bad side.

"Your Highness, I have been honing the weapon crafts for some years before I decided to continue with art," he said, fighting to keep his tone level once again so he could conceal his nervousness.

"Very well," the Prince sourly said as Orange heaved a sigh of relief, before going to the youngest Prince to check on his dagger. A silver-coated dagger, but he couldn't quite make out the actual material used for the dagger. Sharp, the techniques were really good, but it seemed that they lacked the strength needed to make the piece of metal flatter. He tried swinging it in his hands before looking at it closely.

"Your Highness, Prince Aelliouso-"

"Just address me as 'Prince Aelius', if that makes you comfortable."

"Uh- uhm, I'm sorry your Highness," Orange quickly apologized and went into his work. "It seems like you have some knowledge about blacksmiths, but it appears that your strength isn't enough to flatten the blade out, even though it was coated, and well-made. Req"

He moved on to the second eldest Prince, the last one he needed to check on was the iron sword, but not before he smelt something metallic lingering in his body again. He tensed up for a moment before turning his back to the Prince, taking the sword, and quickly slashing the red blur launching right in front of the royals.

"My apologies..." he muttered as the crowd practically exploded with screams as a swarm of red covered the supposed blue sky. He motioned to the guards and the General, who immediately took action. "Protect her Majesty and their Royal Highnesses!"

The crowd was horrified, and everyone wanted to get out of there as soon as possible. The swarm of red covered the unlucky people and slowly made them dissolve, adding even more to the scene.

Red, Blue, Green, and Yellow were running forward instead, aiding the guards in capturing the imposter of all this ruckus.

The guards were trying to aid the royals in evacuating, even though the Princes insisted on helping the inhabitants. They rushed forward, weapons in their hands, and started fighting back.

A horrific scene opened before people's eyes as the three courageous Princes rushed forward.

A red blur, as fast as lightning, went across their chest as they tumbled, trying to keep themselves grounded, but soon buckled to the dizziness and the exhaustion catching up, before closing their eyes, laying there emotionless, letting the crimson liquid pooling out of their chests.

The Queen let out an agony shout for her sons before falling with a strike, the guards could not catch the moment.

Orange was horrified, as he felt something rushing from behind. He only took out his small paintbrush and countered the attack with a loud clank, as the brush turned into a shape of a spear.

"What?" he breathed out as he swung the spear forward and pushed the hooded figure back. He swung again, performing a perfect uppercut that made loud contact with the other's pair of blades. The hooded figure rushed forward again, briefly disappearing before his eyes as he looked around, desperately trying to comprehend what was going on.

A loud clash from behind, and he was barely in time to counter it once again. He would have been dead if his reflexes failed him this time.

"Reuben, forward!"

Orange perked up at the sound to see Red with his book levitating as the powerful pink boar appeared out of nowhere and rushed towards the figure. They seemed to let out a 'tsk' before disappearing, but not before their voice slipped into only Orange's ears.

He looked around, confused, and tried to listen carefully, hoping to hear the sound of the same person speaking the same words to him. Green rushed forward as he quickly embraced Orange, which pinks spread on his already red cheeks.

"Gosh, Orange, are you safe and sound?"

"I- well, yeah, I sorta am..." he mused quietly as he glanced at his four worried friends again and had a small smile. "It was supposed to go all smooth sailing... but instead..."

"Man, it was not your fault letting the massacre happen," Blue said softly as he withdrew a pink glowing potion from his pouch. "Here, you look like you have just survived a war, drinking the potion might help you get better."

Orange took it hesitantly as he took a quick chug, feeling the liquid going through his body as he slowly felt better. Now he felt the sore muscles catching up to him as the spear turned back into a small paintbrush in his hand.

He could not help something chilling running through his veins once again as he remembered what had happened.

At the corner of his eyes, a devious smirk was visible.

The sharp tone rose again in his ears. The words to him, and for him only, that started to cast doubt on himself.

"We will meet again, the Second Coming."

=*****=

A/N:

Question for this chapter:

How many Houses (representing the fields of the Kingdom) are there in the Octavia Royal Academy? What are they?

(this question is just for fun, answer if you want to because hell I put a lot of Kingdom's lore in this. Also, the Royal Academy will be shown as an important location for the story later on!)

Also, did you notice any small details of the story that might hint the content of the next chapters?

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skala · 7 months

Text

It's nothing, at first. And then it's a drawing so simple it might as well be nothing still: a ring, a set of lines delineating limbs; a stick figure like any other rendered crudely upon its canvas.

It is everything and nothing, before its purpose is defined.

---

"This is pointless."

Alan turned at the sound of a stylus clattering across his desk, in time to see a head of curly brown locks slump forward to rest beside the keyboard. "Something the matter, kiddo?"

The desk chair's current occupant let out a beleaguered huff as Alan padded over from the bed to take in her latest piece. The animation program had become a cityscape framing a bustling town square, replete with market stalls and cherry blossom trees that cast dappled shade over the crowds of stick figures populating the scene. "Naomi, this is good. Really good."

And getting really late, a glance at the corner of the monitor (and the orange stick figure sound asleep upon the taskbar) revealed. Hoping Kaori was still preoccupied with the younger sibling down the hall, he shot his daughter a conspiratorial grin.

"Tell you what, how about I let you sneak in another half-hour of computer time? I could help you color in the background, if—"

"I don't care about the background."

Alan blinked. "You sure? Cause I'm starting to think you're a better artist than I am. Look at you, using two-point perspective and everything," he motioned with both hands, tracing a pair of imaginary lines across the canvas. "I don't remember teaching you that."

Naomi blushed in spite of herself, intimations of pride playing at the corners of her lips, though her expression remained uncharacteristically sour. "Orange helped out, a little."

"You make a good team. When you're not busy plotting to lock me out so you can play minecraft all day, that is."

She didn't laugh. With a gentle sigh he hoped sounded commiserating, Alan crouched down to her eye level and tapped one finger against her knee. "You wanna tell me what's wrong?"

By way of explanation, Naomi retrieved the stylus, shoved the drawing pad closer, and sketched a stick figure in the middle of her canvas. She stared at it for a moment before collapsing back in the chair, folding her arms across her chest as she glowered at the monitor above her.

"Why don't mine ever come to life?"

"Wha—is that what this is all about?" Alan failed to suppress a snort, and Naomi's glower deepened. "You think I don't deal with enough chaos from the five of them already?"

"…I wanted to be like you," she said in a small voice.

Ah.

Alan rose to settle himself at the foot of the bed, unsure how to proceed. "For what it's worth, kiddo, you're a skilled animator already. Living animations, though…"

He hummed to himself. "They're rare. At least as far as I can tell. Like, some of the best animators I've ever met think I'm making them up."

"So you're saying it's pointless."

"No! That's not—I'm just saying it'll happen when you least expect it."

"But there has to be some secret to it!"

Heaving herself up onto the bed to fall face-first into the blankets, arms splayed to either side, her next words came out low and muffled. "I've tried giving them different names, I've tried animating them, nothing works."

(Eyeing the pc, Alan wondered where she'd picked up such a flair for the dramatic.)

"I probably animated hundreds of different stick figures when I was a kid," he shrugged, reaching out to tousle her hair. "It wasn't until I was 18 that one started moving around on its own."

"Yeah, I know. The Chosen One."

"Oh… before him, actually."

Naomi rolled onto her side and propped herself up on one elbow, meeting his gaze with big, inquisitive eyes that told him she'd thought she knew all the stick figures her dad had ever brought to life. "Who was first?"

The dad in question ducked his head at that.

"Tell me."

"I dunno. It isn't exactly a nice story."

"Tell me."

He nearly snorted again at the suddenly adamant tone that had replaced her earlier despondence. After a brief internal debate between the part of him ready to insist on bedtime, and the part of him knowing that in doing so he'd only stoke her curiosity, he acquiesced.

"Alright. But this isn't something I want you sharing with your brother quite yet, ok?"

Naomi perked up, then nodded curtly, as if to demonstrate her resolve to keep secret whatever her father was about to confide in her. Alan repositioned himself to sit at her side.

"It started the same way it always did: with me procrastinating on schoolwork. And with a stick figure scribbled in the corner of a blank project file."

Nothing, at first. A circle and a set of lines. It exists as the simplest representation of man, symbolic of both the least and greatest among them.

"I didn't really have any ideas for it, though."

It exists as an arrow held taut in its bowstring, equally nascent and inert.

Almost a decade later, he still remembered how wrung dry he'd felt that day, overwhelmed by even the simplest of tasks and yet too stubborn to let himself rest. "My brain was, like, this tired, angry mush—angry at my summer school, at my teachers; at my friends getting better grades than me. At myself."

It exists as kindling.

"Angry at everything and everyone."

It is nothing, and everything—

"So I named it victim."

—until its purpose is defined.

Alan's gaze dropped to his hands. "I just… wanted a punching bag, I guess."

Then all the innumerable possibilities and countless states of existence collapse into one, and it moves.

Naomi had gathered up the blanket to her chest. "What'd you do to it?"

He responded with a wry shrug. "Chased it around a bit. Tied it up. I was mostly just curious how it would react to me, at first." A strange softness like threads of regret wove their way into his tone as he pictured the defiant figure, brandishing brush and eraser with all the futile determination of a gladiator seeking victory from a match rigged against it. "It held its own, though, better than what you might expect given what I named it."

It moves, runs, climbs, creates; the certainty of its death not bearing on its mind any more than the suddenness of its life. There is only survival, and the anger that compels it.

"But then it managed to open its own library, and began cloning itself… and I couldn't fight all its copies at once. So I shut down the program."

Until it is denied movement, and is undone.

"…Oh."

Alan grasped sheepishly at the back of his neck. "I told you it wasn't a very nice story."

Its form is undone, reverted to the blank canvas preceding its existence. What remains of its code, severed from source, is left to decay and be slowly overwritten; spread thin into the understructure of machine.

Of victim, there is nothing else.

"I used to tell myself that I wasn't to blame for what I did to it, back then, cause I didn't realize it was alive—as in, I didn't know it could feel the way you and I feel. But the truth is…" Alan forced himself to meet Naomi's precocious scrutiny. She was his daughter and as close a friend to the sticks as he was; he wouldn't downplay his actions in her company. And she was old enough to judge the shamefulness of those actions for herself.

"The truth is, it wouldn't have made any difference if I had known. Teenage me wouldn't have cared. I was immature and needed an outlet. I wanted it to be alive so that I could hurt—and kill it."

It exists in fragments that do not remember.

"Sure says something about who I was back then, huh."

Something pretty disgusting, he might have added, but he waited to hear it from Naomi. He wouldn't have faulted her if she had ran from the room and refused to speak to him the rest of the night.

Instead she turned towards the window, leaned against the headboard with her knees pulled to her chin as she stared out at the sky. No stars were visible through the glass, yet her eyes and cheeks reflected the silvery glint of an almost-full moon.

Existing in fragments,

"You didn't save the file?"

it lies beyond repair.

"Nope. Like I said—I was immature."

And yet it is not alone.

"…But I wish I had."

It is dark—not as in the absence of light, but as in the absence of everything.

And yet it is not alone.

Some greater idea of itself had existed. The enormity of its potential clings to the divides, the moments of hesitation before its creation and deletion, and does not accept it.

It cannot cry out. How could it pull the broken strands of its fate into one plaintive cry that, if somehow seen, would earn it no greater mercy than complete annihilation?

No. It will not beg for a second death.

But it hears the word that imbued its life, spoken as its name, as if its meaning were not so important as that it referred to itself.

As if, in its remembered life, it could have defined itself.

Naomi had gone quiet. But when she turned back towards him he was surprised to see her offer him a tentative smile. He gratefully returned it.

"Maybe I could've set it free, somehow. I don't think it would've liked living on my computer all that much." Nodding towards the monitor, he caught sight of a haggard-looking orange stick waving at them impatiently from the canvas. "Or maybe I could've drawn it a world like that for it to call home, huh?"

"Mhm."

In a lower voice, he added: "It really is some nice composition. I've got professional artists on my team who could learn a thing from you."

Naomi was smiling in earnest now, letting him wrap one arm around her shoulders as she pulled herself into the hug. "I think Orange wants us to sleep."

"That he does."

With another arm beneath her knees, Alan swung her from the bed to deposit her in a gangly heap at his desk. "Hey, don't forget to save your work."

"…yeah yeah you don't have to remind me every time."

It was only after Naomi had dimmed the monitor, waved goodnight to Orange and made her way across the room that she turned back to Alan, lingering in the doorframe with an expression he couldn't quite read in the low light.

"Dad?"

"Mm?"

"…Does Orange know? About Victim?"

Alan clasped his hands behind his head, sighing to himself. "I guess I should tell him sometime, shouldn't I." If he could ever figure out how to bring it up. "You've given me a lot to think about tonight, kiddo, you know that?"

Naomi grinned. "Night, dad."

It is remembered.

"Night Naomi. Love you."

It exists, as a memory dreaming of itself.

In its dreams, the stick figure raises one hand, and draws a circle.

#ava #animator vs animation #alan becker #ava fanfic

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shamythelazypotato · 5 months

Text

Nocturnal Bonds

Fandom : Animator vs Animation (AvA)

Word count: 1109 words

TW: Mention of blood and violence

Notes: this fanfic takes place before the showdown, I saw this idea somewhere a year ago and now I could finally write a fanfic about it, hope you like it :3

It was late at night for Chosen and Dark, these two stick figures were sleeping peacefully. Dark, with a gentle snore, lay sprawled on his back, one arm casually thrown across Chosen's face. Meanwhile, his leg, seemingly intertwined with Chosen's, created an unintentional yet oddly comforting connection.

Dark was sleeping peacefully, dreaming of violence and fighting as much as you can expect of someone called The Dark Lord.

However, unlike their usual success, Dark found himself trapped between two guards that easily doubled his size; he was weak and overpowered, and so his partner who was pinned to the wall with a knife in his throat and being threatened by an unknown teal stickfigure with a wicked smile on his face, he looked like the type of maniac who wouldn't hesitate to kill someone for their own gain and recognition...

The Dark Lord has never found himself in a situation like this, his eyes were wide and full of a mix of emotions ranging between confusion, anger, frustration... and a new feeling he hasn't felt in a long time since he was created:

Fear

But this time, it wasn't the fear of getting killed; it's the fear of getting his only best friend and partner in crime killed.

The one who always puts up with your temper

The one who doesn't hesitate to defend you

The one who forgave you even though you tried to kill him

And the one who is now sacrificing for you...

Dark's breathing quickens, his desperation increases so does his fury and anger, he tries to kick, punch, crawl and bite, anything possible just to save his friend from this horrible fate, but at seeing that he lacks the strength to free himself, he tries to use her only weapon left.. his sharp tongue.

"Don't you dare to touch him!" Dark snarls with full hatred, his glowing red eyes piercing through this navy stickfigure soul and flesh. Even in the face of death, Dark wouldn't beg but he's willing to even murder only for Chosen.

The teal stickfigure only scoffs as a small smile tugs at the corner of his lips, the knife dangerously moving tantalizing against Chosen's neck.

Chosen's face goes through several stages, from anger to sadness in a few seconds, as he accepts his only fate he gets to say slowly in a few words.

"I'm glad it's me and not you, I love you Dark" a small smile shows in his face before...

Blood

Lots of Blood.

And then a piercing bloody scream

"CHOSEN!" His name leaves Dark's lips as soon as he woke up from his vivid nightmare.

just... a nightmare, only that, right?

Dark had to make sure it was, he turned his head at his side of the bed only to find a startled Chosen sitting on the bed, looking at him concerned and surprised, he has never heard screamed his partner that way before..

"Dark? Are you okay?" Chosen whisper his question, his dark eyes looking at Dark through the night. "What happene-"

A tight hug cut his words, The Dark Lord, was hugging The Chosen One with such determination and desperation he hasn't seen since they escaped noogai computer.

"...Dark?" Chosen asks, not able to hide the hint of surprise for this sudden affection. Dark's breathing quickens in response, but he lets some words spill from his dry lips.

"I thought I lost you"

And without further words Dark let out a strangled sob, and threw himself around Chosen, unable to hold back the tears of relief. Chosen was fine, he was okay, but even most importantly, he was alive.

Chosen looks taken aback for Dark's tears, the red and villainous stickfigure doesn't often cry over silly things such as a nightmares...let alone about the thought of him being murdered

Chosen doesn't let his thoughts wander on why, the only thing he needs to know right now is how to comfort his usually unafraid and bold partner so Chosen awkwardly yet genuinely wraps his arms around Dark's shoulders, pressing slightly against his chest in an odd way of comfort. Years of conquering worlds don't prepare for something like this!.

The black hollowed head just sighs tiredly, yet remains at Dark's side wordless, afraid to say something that could make things worse, Dark just keeps sobbing until his tears drift into soft sniffles against Chosen's shoulder, without meeting his partner's calm yet concern gaze he says barely above a whisper.

"I thought I lost you.." Dark repeats again in a hollow and sorrowful voice.

"What? Like in your dream?" Chosen says as he looks at his companion with a hint of sympathy in his eyes. "What...what happened?" Chosen asks tentatively, begging inside it's the right time and question to make in this sensitive situation.

Dark takes a deep breath before looking at Chosen's eyes, vulnerability showing through yet also a bit of bashfulness at being seen so..weak even for himself, he says in what he prays is his usual steady and confident voice "I... dreamed we were in a fight, and a strange stickfigure somehow overpowered you while I was just.. trapped on the floor.." Dark's breath gets heavier, he fights against the tears and says with his head bowed "And I saw how you sacrificed for me" There, he said it, Dark just keeps up his strong facade as much as he can, enough tears already!

Chosen remains silent for a few long seconds, and then a small chuckle

"And you believed it?" Chosen can't help but say, in a mixture of amusement and sympathy evident in his tone "C'mon Dark, you know I'm better than that, but I guess even in your dreams you see me as weak" Chosen jokes lightly, Dark looks up, slightly surprised yet quickly recovers,he growls but he simply nudges Chosen's arm roughly "Hey! I can't control what I dream y'know?" Dark says slightly annoyed, yet also relieved when Chosen decides to not acknowledge his brief vulnerability.

"But y'know, maybe you got something right after all" Chosen continues, not flinching slightly at Dark's punch; he leans closer as he says "I would sacrifice my life for you" Chosen says bluntly and earnestly. Dark is at loss of words for a few seconds, and then he shakes his head and finally says

"You're such a dumbass if you think I'm letting anyone kill you that easily, you're mine to deal with " Dark retorts back sharply, yet also slightly touched by Chosen's words. Chosen lets out a small yet amused chuckle

"Whatever you say Dark, I'm the one protecting you, y'know that?" Chosen's words are as close as he can pass through as an "I care about you"

Dark responds with the same level of subtlety "Not as long as I breath, Chosen one" and with that, another vow was made for tonight.

...

Little did they know how easily those vows would turn to ashes in a matter of months...

#alan becker #animation vs minecraft #animator vs animation #ava dark lord #ava the chosen one #fanfic #ava fanfic #stickmans #stickfigures #writing #tco ava #tdl ava

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sammy8d257 · 2 years

Text

Learned Behavior - AvA/M

An AvA/M Oneshot Written by Sammy8D257

Word Count: 1.7k words

TW/CW: - SPOILERS FOR AVM SHORT EP. 29 - Noteblock Universe - ANGST/Minimal Comfort but with a Hopeful Ending, - Descriptions of Physical and Verbal Parental Abuse towards a Child, - Parental Illness and Death (Purple’s Mom), - Negative Self-Worth Issues (Purple, in general, has garbage mental health)

Summary: Growing up, Purple learned many things. Like how to cook, how to clean, and how to block a punch to the head so you don’t get a concussion. All valuable skills in their own humble opinion. Though, the most important lesson Purple ever learned was that they weren’t good enough.

- - -

When Purple was 3, their mom told them the day they were born was the happiest day of their parents’ lives. It happened on one quiet afternoon when Purple tottled to their mom with tears pooling in their eyes. Clutched in one hand was a big golden star and, in the other, a colorful “#1 place” trophy base. Through hiccupy sobs, the little stick figure explained how their ball hit their dad’s display cabinet and knocked the trophy to the ground, breaking it on impact. Their mom knelt and wrapped her child into a hug, promising that she nor her partner would be mad at Purple. She told them how the trophies didn’t matter because Purple was the best thing in their lives and how they would always love them.

9 years later, Purple learned that was a lie.

When Purple was 4, they had a nightmare that had them screaming awake. In their panic, they fled to the only place they knew was safe, their parents’ arms. If their dad was surprised by the impact of a crying toddler, he didn’t let it show. With a firm but comforting hand, their dad hoisted his child onto his lap and asked what was wrong. With shaking breath, Purple explained how a huge monster with sharp teeth and glowing eyes was trying to eat them. To that, their dad laughed, hearty and full, while he rubbed a comforting circle on the top of their head. A monster could never get them, their dad explained, because he was the greatest fighter to have ever lived. Purple giggled as their dad as he flexed his muscles for emphasis. The rest of the night was spent by their dad sharing stories of his past fights and old adventures. And Purple fell asleep, knowing they’d be protected from anything that wanted to hurt them.

4 years later, Purple learned they couldn’t be protected from every nightmare.

When Purple was 6, a child, a kid, old enough, their dad started to train them. Purple always thought their dad was so cool for knowing how to fight. They grew up on stories of the old stick fights their dad participated in. Fights that left both fighters bloody and bruised, with only the strongest surviving. To the little stick, it sounded so exciting. They wanted to be strong and powerful like him. It started out small. Their dad taught them how to stand when facing an opponent. How to keep their thumb outside their fist when punching. How to block their face if someone tries to attack them. When it came time for their first sparring match, Purple lost. And lost. And lost and lost and lost. Despite their sore muscles and bruised skin, their dad kept going until Purple finally landed one hit. And then he said to do it again.

2 years later, Purple learned how to effectively roll into a landing that didn’t leave their shoulders aching. The whole family went out for ice cream that day.

When Purple was 9, their mom first said something to their dad. On that day, Purple had twisted their ankle during training. Their dad angrier than they've seen him yet, berated them for allowing themself to get hurt. They fled the scene with barely concealed tears and Purple hobbled their way to their mom. There in her arms, they began to cry. Regular training was postponed for 3 days while their ankle healed.

5 hours later, Purple learned how to keep their crying silent as they listened to their parents argue in the dead of night.

When Purple was 10, they found training with their father was easier when they didn’t react as much. Don’t whine and don’t cry. Don’t show your opponent any weakness, or you will fail. The world did not need someone as sad and emotional as Purple. So they tried. They took every punch, kick, and shove to the ground through gritted teeth. They hide their emotions behind a blank or snarling face. Their father was always there to remind them of what could happen if they didn’t.

2 hours later, Purple learned they could get praise this way when their father complimented them during the break. Good Focus. They relished the feeling of their father’s hand patting their back.

When Purple was 12, they couldn’t get back up. Their father was angry. He demanded they stand up and fight. He demanded they finally prove that they were good enough by getting up. And Purple couldn’t. They were tired. They were so tired. On the floor, all they could do was watch as their father grew angrier and angrier. Pathetic. Weak. A disgrace. They barely registered when their mom ran to their side. Purple could hear them yelling, shouting, deep hurtful words, but they couldn’t understand anything. Curled on the ground, they watched their father step closer to their mother, and then walk past her. Purple was confused. Purple was scared. And at that moment, they just wanted their dad. They wanted his hugs and pats on the back. They wanted his protection. They wanted him to tell them everything was alright and that he loved them. So on shaking knees, Purple got back up and reached for him. They watched their father turn; for a brief moment, they thought he would come back. But as his father took one last look at them, he turned away and walked out the door.

5 minutes later, Purple learned what his mom’s face looked like when she cried.

When Purple was 14, they apologized for ruining their family. They said it while their mom was preparing dinner. Their home had been quiet for the past few years, but at that moment, its silence was deafening. They watched as their mom lowered the stove temperature and placed the lid on the stew pot. Carefully, as if they were made of porcelain, their mom knelt and took their hands into hers. It’s not your fault, she said; it would never be your fault. Purple refused to meet her eyes. Even as she wrapped them in a warm desperate hug, all Purple could say was, Okay.

2 hours later, Purple learned comforting words could be as meaningless as lies when they caught their mom looking longingly at an old family photo.

When Purple was 15, their mom taught them how to cook and take care of the home. They were getting older. It only seemed fitting that Purple started to pull their own weight in the household. And like it or not, they were starting to notice how their mom’s hands would shake and how tired she looked. She tried to hide it from them through kind smiles and dismissive hand waves, but Purple could see it. Purple would do anything if it meant they could stop being a burden to her. So they watched and memorized their mom’s recipes. They began cleaning the home early in the morning before she woke up. And they carefully threw away the ceramic shards from the floor when the mug slipped through their mom’s weakened grip. And when their mom would give them a tired smile and a quiet thank you, Purple knew it was all worth it.

6 months later, Purple learned their mom was ill after she collapsed while vacuuming the floor.

When Purple was 18, their mom apologized to them. It happened while Purple was helping her eat her food. Over the past years, her condition had deteriorated, and Purple was the one who took care of her. Her voice was quiet, and her grip on their arm was weak, but Purple held on to it with the desperation of a scared child. She apologized. She said she was sorry for making Purple spend all their time looking after her. She said she was sorry for not stopping their father sooner and for even marrying him to begin with. She said she was sorry for how she wasn’t there for them when they needed her, how she couldn’t be there for them now, and how she won’t be able to be there for them in the future. She loved them, and she’s sorry. And Purple, Purple could only hold her in their arms and whisper comforting words as she cried. It's okay. I forgive you. You’re alright. I’m alright. I love you. It’s going to be okay. I love you. It’s going to be okay. I love you. I love you.

3 weeks later, Purple learned what it's like to bury a parent.

When Purple was 20, they met other stick figures. After their mother died, Purple gathered what was left of their belongings and left their home house. They never looked back. That was a few years ago, now, they sit atop a throne overseeing a town of villagers in a game where the player decides the story. They tried so hard to make something to be proud of. It wasn’t fair that these outsiders were celebrated almost immediately. Perhaps something special or unique that showed how good you were at the game, a trophy, would reaffirm Purple’s place in the village.

18 minutes later, Purple relearned the feeling of failure as their the villagers carried them through the destroyed village.

(Months later, Purple learned what it’s like to fail but still be smiled at afterwards at the hand of the same people who caused their last failure. They expected a beatdown but got a hug instead. Purple didn’t know what to feel but they decided they liked it.)

When Purple was 22, they met the second most powerful stick figure. The King was regal in name and appearance. He towered over Purple and displayed his power through the masterful use of his staff. When the King offered them a place by his side in exchange for their servitude help, Purple couldn’t refuse.

Weeks later, Purple learned that the King wasn’t as perfect as they originally thought as they watched him coldly berate and attack his piglin brutes. But when he would pat their head or give them praise (Good job, You did well, Your effort is appreciated), Purple found it easier to ignore the King’s flaws.

When Purple was 6, 12, 18, 20, 22, now, they learned they were nothing but wasted potential. An expectation left unfulfilled because they were too slow, too dumb, too weak, too useless to ever match up. Lie after lie was told in order to ignore it all, but Purple knew the truth. From the fights, and the tears, and the failures, and the betrayals, Purple learned that they would never be good enough.

But now, many years from the beginning, they stand on a snowy mountain surrounded by warm, green arms, and Purple learns that maybe, they were wrong.

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