#but still i wonder if that is why he grew the beard or if it grew while at the ossuary because he only has stubble in the book

[emmavakarian-theirin]

spoilers for tevinter nights but wait wait WAIT

did lucanis really pull a blackwall lmao

[kingkatsuki]

Old man Bakugou (who isn’t even that old, but god I want him)

Warnings: 18+, retired!Pro-Hero Dynamight, Bakugou is 50, reader is like half his age or more or less idc but Bakugou is older.

Bakugou retires at fifty. It’s much younger than a lot of other heroes that have paved the way for him, and yet he’s accomplished so much that it’s time for him to step aside for the future Pros. The ones that still have so much drive and energy, and are ready to conquer their dreams just like he was.

It gives up a place in the top five rankings for another younger, keen Pro-Hero to take his place. But of course Dynamight is still popular, and he’s still got a loyal fan base that continue to adore him even into his retirement.

Bakugou is still recognised when he goes out to restaurants and coffee shops, full of people trying to grab his autograph or share stories of how they grew up with him and watched him reach number one.

And then there’s you— he meets you one night at a bar when he’s nursing a beer, trying to adjust to having a free schedule instead of protecting the city. And he can’t help but notice the way your eyes glisten when you notice him, leaning against the bar beside his stool as you tilt your head inquisitively.

“No way, you’re Dynamight? My mom used to love you.”

And once again Bakugou is reminded of just how old he is, his blond hair now mixed with wisps of silver, the thick stubble that frames his jaw well on its way to being a beard, his muscular chest now curved with soft pudge and blond hairs and his back aches as he sits on the barstool.

“She had the biggest crush on you when she was younger,” You take a seat beside him as you sip at your own drink, “Had posters and figures up of you and everything.”

Bakugou doesn’t know how it happened— or why a pretty young thing like you wants anything to do with him. He’s gotta be twice your age, maybe more— but the casual conversation continues and you’re practically leaning into him now, pretty eyes glazed over as you stare down at his lips.

“I’ve always wondered what it would be like to fuck an old man,” You tease, but you should be careful what you wish for, “Can you even still get it up?”

Bakugou reckons he should have you over his knee for that comment alone, but that’s all it takes for him to have his beer bottle slamming down onto the bar as he grabs you by the wrist.

Barely ten minutes later Bakugou has your knees pushed up to your chest inside the dingy dive bar bathroom. Your knickers bunched around them to keep your thighs together as he rams his thick, hard cock inside your tight cunt. The ferocity of his thrusts unlike anything you’ve felt before and you’re certain you can feel him in your lungs. Your naive hole squelches around him, your essence leaking out of you and soaking his heavy balls as the only words that leave your lips now are incoherent babbles. Your hands cling to him for some semblance of reality, painted nails leaving crescent-shaped moons in his forearms. Your grip rough enough to break his skin and join the multiude of scars that already marr his body.

Your head knocks against the mirror with each cant of his hips but you could care less. The pleasure surging through your veins has your mind hazy, his hulking body practically folds you in two as he looms over you, burying his cock inside you to the hilt as you feel so full.

You’re positive you look debauched. Your pretty lipstick ruined as it’s smeared across your lips and cheeks, certain you’re drooling down your chin as he fucks you within an inch of your life. It’s nothing like the inept men around your own age you’d been with before. With age comes experience, and you’re certain you see heaven when a calloused thumb slips between your bodies to press against your puffy clit.

“Be careful what you wish for, sweetheart,” He groans, “This old man’s gonna have you gushin’ all over his cock.”

[buckyalpine]

Hello and hope you are doing well!! I was wondering if you could do smut story where the reader get more than she bargained for when telling Bucky that his dark side could do a better job at certain things. Also your stories are amazing ❤️🖤

Bucky gives you what you ask

YESSS. Thank you bb, Im so sorry this took forever and I hope you see this, I loved this so much. And as always I got so lost in it. Good God. He is dirty, dirty here.

You loved the way Bucky loved you. He was so soft, gentle, took care of all your needs without leaving behind a single mark on your delicate skin. Bucky was nothing more than a soft sweet thing, slowly getting back into his boyish 40's charm, a gentleman at all times. If you didn't know about his past, you would've never guessed he'd have another side to him.

But you'd seen the shift in his demeanor whenever he'd train in the gym and even more so when he was out on the field. The way his eyes would narrow with laser like focus when hitting his targets, the way he wouldn't flinch when putting a bullet between their eyes. His face would be expressionless when his metal arm would wrap around their throat, slowly draining life out of them, parts of the Winter Soldier still running deep in his veins.

And how badly you craved to have that side of him take you apart.

"What is it sweets" Bucky watched you fidget with the buckles of his tac suit, helping him undress after he'd just returned after a mission. There was something about him in his all black straps, leather and weapons that made your knees weak. It didn't help that his beard had started to fill out, the ends of his hair starting to curl at the nape of his neck. "You okay?"

You adore how attentive he is even when he's exhausted after weeks away from home but you wished just for once, he'd choke you with his metal arm instead of just hugging you with it.

"I want-" You paused for a second before continuing, "I want more"

"More of what doll" Bucky's wide puppy eyes were filled with worry; he made sure to always pay attention to your needs and he'd do anything to make you happy. "Tell me, you know I'd do anything"

"Just- take more control, be more rough with me" You weren't sure how you wanted to explain yourself but your body knew exactly what it needed, growing hotter by the second the longer he stood there in his tac suit before you. He let out a soft chuckle when he realized what you meant, laying down his knifes off to the side on the dressed.

"I had you moaning my name before I left doll" Bucky playfully rolled his eyes while you huffed, your sexual frustration only growing more when he tossed off his Kevlar leaving him in his tight black tshirt.

"Well the Winter Solider would have me screaming" You shrug, not noticing the way Bucky froze, now staring at you without blinking. "I think that side of you would do a better job at certain things, Buck"

"You don't want to see that side of me sweets" Bucky tried to keep his voice neutral, ignoring the way his cock was already throbbing in his pants, straining painfully against the thick fabric.

"But what if I do?" you challenged back, taking a step back when he moved forward, slowly backing you against the wall of your shared bedroom.

"Doll..." He warned, squeezing his eyes shut trying to collect himself, his fingers twitching at his sides. "That's not a good idea"

"Why not, think the Winter Soldier wouldn't be able to make me feel as good?" You added a taunt to your voice, hoping to rile him up, his chest now nearly pressing against yours, caging you against the wall.

"Is that so" Bucky tested the water slowly, still wanting to give you an out if you needed one because he wasn't going to be able to hold back once he started. You nodded, heart hammering against your chest as he took in a deep breath, his jaw clenched.

"As you wish sweets" He whispered by your ear, the tip of his cool metal knife suddenly pressing against your throat. Your eyes grew wide at the fact that he'd slipped it into his hand so swiftly, you hadn't noticed. "If you want me to stop, say Brooklyn, understand?"

"Yes" You squeaked, while he dragged it till it rested under your chin, tilting your head up to look meet his darkened eyes. Without a word, he sliced down your blouse, ripping away at the material that caught in the middle. He didn't give you a chance to speak, his hands grabbing the edges of your bra, splitting it into two before tearing your leggings into pieces next.

You were complete naked within seconds, suddenly feeling exposed under his gaze, still fully dressed himself. Bucky had seen you naked countless times, in fact you'd change in front of him without a care in the world, always giggling at the cute blush he'd have on his cheeks.

But this wasn't the same.

Not even the slightest.

He tossed you over his shoulder and threw you on the bed letting you bounce off the mattress while he stood at the edge.

"Spread your legs"

It wasn't a request. It was a demand.

Bucky looked like he wanted to devour you. This was the same man that had his head between your legs more times than you could count but he was staring at you like he'd never seen you before. You shrunk back, squeezing your thighs together at the low growl he made, grasping your ankles and splitting them apart till you were completely exposed to him, your wet folds giving away how turned on you were. He fumbled with the button of his pants, unzipping them and pulling them down just enough to free his cock, his palm and fingers swiping up your pussy to gather you slick, slathering it over his erection.

"Such a pretty baby with such a pretty pussy"

You bit back a whine as he started to jerk his cock, circling the tip with his thumb, spreading his own arousal around. He took a step back to admire you, his eyes shamelessly raking up and down till he was satisfied with his fill. He moved to lay on top of you, his nose trailing along the column of your neck, inhaling your soft scent. There was something so feral about him, you stayed frozen in place while his hands found their way to your waist, squeezing the soft flesh.

"I'll show you exactly what you've been missing out on" He nipping your earlobe before crawling off you again to throw off the rest of his clothes. "God, I've wanted this for so long"

There was no prep, no foreplay, no soft kisses and sweet words. Bucky grabbed your hips, manhandling you till your face was pressed against the mattress, his swollen cockhead prodding at your fluttering pussy. He let out a dark chuckle, swiping his cock up and down through your folds, pressing his tip against your clit.

"Bucky, fuck me" You were desperate to feel him inside you, wiggling your hips as best as you could to get him to push it in you but you were instead met with a harsh slap to your ass, the cool metal making your skin sting.

"Impatient little slut" He shook his head, taking both your wrists and twisting them behind your back, He held them in one hand while the other snaked up tp grab your hair, tugging it tight from the roots. "Beg. Beg me to fuck you"

"P-Please Bucky, want it!"

"You want who to fuck you princess, say it, tell me exactly whose cock you want to ruin you"

"Yours soldat, please, want you, please fuck me solda-FUCKK" Bucky slammed his cock into you without warning, setting in a brutal pace that had you gasping for air. His balls smacked you with each thrust, the grip he had on your wrists and hair tightening for better leverage.

"I fuck needed this" His head was thrown back, his thighs meeting the back of yours as he fucked you harder than ever before, the squelching of your pussy making a sticky, dirty mess all over him. "You have no. Fucking. Idea. how fucking hard is it every time I fuck you"

His words were punctuated with harsh thrusts, growling at the way you'd already started to flutter around him as he hit your cervix. Your jaw was slack from surprise and pleasure, pathetic moans and whimpers replacing your words.

"Do you? Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to hold back kotenok? How hard is it for me to not fuck your brains out when I'm deep in such a tight pussy? How badly I want to rail you, YA tak dolgo khotel tebya trakhnut" [I wanted to fuck you so hard for so long]

You'd never hard Bucky speak Russian, not once but his filthy mouth didn't stop as he continued to rail you, foreign curses dripping from his mouth.

"You think I'm such a gentleman don't you, huh? You remember the first time we had sex princess? how I made love to you? How slow it was, how you moaned when I put my cock in you for the first time?"

"Y-yes" Your body was slack against the bed, only held up because Bucky was gripping onto you with a bruising hold.

"I made love to you that night, didn't I. But I like to fuck baby, especially you, I've wanted to fuck this pussy for so long, ruin it all just for me"

You were suddenly flipped over again, whining when you felt empty, only to be filled right back up again seconds later when Bucky laid on his back, pulling you to straddle on top of him. He planted his feet against the mattress, not giving you a chance to move, fucking up into you, the angle of his hips rubbing against that sensitive spot inside you.

"Oh-oh f-fuckk" tears streamed down your face as he tweaked your nipples between his fingers before wrapping his hand around your throat. He muffled your sobs, slipping his thumb between your lips, shoving it down your mouth till you drooled.

"You look so pretty when you cry kotenok, is it too much?" He taunted, squeezing your throat tighter, "Don't think I haven't noticed the way you stare at my arm princess, I always knew you were a needy little slut deep down You wanted this though, hm? Wanted my fat cock to ruin you till you wouldn't be able to walk?"

"I-oh god-fe-els good I-gonna cummm" You could barely formulate sentence, practically squealing when Bucky rolled over once again, this time tossing your legs over his shoulders, his hand snaking down to rub your swollen clit.

"Gonna cum, are you princess? Who do you belong to, say it, who fucks you this good?!"

"Y-You Bu-"

A harsh slap to your cheek made your pussy clench, Bucky's blue eyes dilated to rings, a feral expression his face as he smacked your face once more making you sob out of pleasure again.

"That's not whose fucking right now you is it?! Tell me, say it"

"YOU SOLDAT" You wailed as he continued to thrust into your puffy, overstimulated pussy, getting his teeth, grabbing onto the headboard as it slammed against the wall.

"That's right kotenok, you belong to him now" Bucky let his body weight fall onto you, bringing his knees up and pounding you deep against the bed, his own pace growing sloppy, balls pulling tighter towards his body. "Gonna give you all of his cum sweets, gonna fill this slutty desperate cunt with all of my cum, that's what you want isn't it? To be a little cum dump for the Winter Soldier?"

Bucky's mind went somewhere else, back to the first time he'd seen you, still as the Soldier, back when the team first discovered him. Back when his brain was fried but you had remined seared in his mind. Back when his mission was to finish you but some part deep down inside him wanted something else he didn't understand.

"God, where were you all those nights I had to touch myself alone, when I needed something warm and tight to cum in? huh? Bet you didn't know that huh princess? didn't know that the Soldier lusted after the pretty bunny that tried to take him down?"

Your eyes grew wide at his confession, pleasure desperate to snap within seconds.

"Did you know the winter soldier wanted to fuck you bunny? Did you know he'd jerk off when no one was watching? Had no idea what was going on Bunny, just remember my cock aching so bad, leaking so damn much. Nothing made it better until I touched myself. Didn't even know what I was doing, just fucked my fist while I thought about how pretty you looked in that tac suit, came all over my sheets like a little boy"

"I-fuck-Can-can I cum soldat?" You clung onto him, whimpering at the way you had to desperately hold back from gushing all over the sheets, his words too much, you couldn't take it any more.

"Go a head and cum princess, takoy khoroshiy kotonok" [such a good little kitten] He nipped up your neck, rubbing your clit faster, moaning with you as you started to cum around his cock. His movements didn't stop, fucking you through your high till your body jolted under him, the smell of sex heavy in the room.

"S-S'too much" You hiccupped while Bucky continued to fuck you like a man with no morals.

"Too much? It's too much for you kitten? Don't worry, gonna fill you up so good baby, where, where do you want to soldat to cum?!"

"Inside!" You cried out, locking your ankles around his waist, your slurred sob turned into a guttural moan when he pinched your clit between his fingers.

"Here it comes kotenok, got so much cum for you, it's gonna drip baby, get ready, here it comes, here it fuckin' comes- OH FUUCCKKK" Bucky roared against your neck before stilling, his cock throbbing and twitching, hot seeding feeling you up till it leaked. You were practically floating, too fucked out to realize He'd gently gotten off you and cradled you close.

"Are you okay pretty girl?" Bucky cooed, snapping back into the sweetheart that he was, the switch over leaving you reeling with your eyes still crossed. "My poor baby"

Bucky chuckled at your dazed expression, cuddling you up to his chest, caressing your sweat slicked skin.

"Come back to me princess" He pulled the covers up to warm you up in his arms, resting you carefully against the pillows. "My good girl, you did so good for me angel, m'so proud of you, so good"

You whimpered in response, curling up against him, your body still jolting and pulsing.

"Was it too much angel?" His brows furrowed with concern, cupping your cheek to look at him. He kissed away the now dry tear tracks that stained your face, his thumb swiping over your hot skin.

"Never" You rasped out, your voice raw from screaming, "Was perfect Soldat"

"You're perfect angel" Bucky grinned, stroking your spine while you continued to snuggle into him, his cock already twitching at the thought of another round. "My perfect little kotenok"

[tokkiwrites]

summary: you are staying with your aunt this summer. she loves talking you to places only she enjoys, so when your night together was becoming increasingly irritating, a handsome stranger shows you that jazz clubs aren't so bad.

tags: pwp, old man logan, human logan, age gap, mention of divorce, afab reader, sex with a stranger, sex in a public space, p in v unprotected (that's spooky!! don't do it), creampie, dirty talk, a few pet names, sir kink, a little breeding kink (for like a line).

/ᐠ - ˕ -マ⁩ authors note 𑁯 ✿ happy spookytokki kinktober!! I'm kicking this off with a logan fic because i can't be stopped. this is around 3.1k words, so i hope you enjoy it. omg, my 2nd kinktober guys, yeppeee. IF YOU SEE ANY TYPOS NO U DIDN'T

The people here don’t rush—they settle. its something you had to learn the hard way, now that your parents left you with your aunt for the summer. She enjoyed the finer things in life, like pearls that had to sit perfectly, right above her clavicle, aged whiskey with no ice in it, and jazz clubs.

"Oh, I wish I grew up during those times... the roaring twenties. Everything was much more sophisticated andㅡ what's that word..? oh, polished." she went on. "Yeah, and more racist." you perk up. "Young lady! Your dad left you with me so you can straighten your act up. Now you speak when I tell you to." her voice was stern.

"Oh, now I truly feel like I'm in the 1920s, next up, my lobotomy!" you say with a strained smile whilst doing the infamous 'jazz hands'. By the time you finish, your aunt is red in the face, and it wasn't from the absurd ammount of rouge she had on. You clear out your throat and get up from the table. "I'll go use the washroom. Sorryㅡ" the woman scoffs as you turn around and leave "We'll talk about this home."

holding in your giggles, you swiftly make your way to the bathroom, finally letting go of the laughs you were keeping down as you close the door behind you. you didn’t hate your aunt, you hated that she tried to be something she wasn't; those pearls were not 'swanky originals' as she would say when people asked, but a $7 gift from her cheating, ex-husband. then again, maybe that why she felt the need to create this persona when others are around. and maybe that's why your parents sent you away from home, as to not hear about their inevitable divorce. it's not like you were a child. you were their child, but an adult nonetheless. alas, you were 22, stuck in a jazz club with your divorcee aunt, laughing all on your own.

well, almost.

"What's so funny, young lady?" what. the. fuck. why is there a man in the woman’s bathroom? and why is he talking to you? "Excuse me, old man, this is theㅡ" you raise your voice, and you turn around to face him but the words get stuck in your throat as you lay eyes on him. he was stunning, incredibly handsomeㅡ to say the least. His dark hair, streaked with the slightest touch of silver at the temples, was slicked back with utmost precision. A neatly trimmed beard framed his strong jawline, the salt-and-pepper strands giving him a distinguished air, as if life had brushed him with just the right amount of experience without taking away any of his vitality. His eyes, a deep, knowing hue, carried the weight of someone who had seen the world, yet still found wonder in it.

"Lady? Hey, 'r you okay?" he pulls you out of your trance. "What, oh- I, yeah! What are you doing in the ladies room?" you finally speak up again and he raises one of his brows before questioning you again. "You sure? 'm pretty positive the door distinctly said 'mens room' then againㅡ" he point to the sign printed on the door "I'm just an old man, so you might be right." oh, how you regret calling him that. even though he was oldㅡ not the old you meant when you said it. with your face scrunched up you turn around and read the sign.

fuck.

"What's it say, sweetheart?" he prys as you let out a defeated sigh. "mens room.." you reply. "what's that? sorry, I'm so old I can barely hear ya." you ball up your fists in embarrassment and say it louder. "mens room."

"Yeah...mens room." you can hear the sound of his footsteps coming closer from behind you. His voice was low, teasing, the kind that sent shivers down your spine despite your frustration. You could feel him standing behind you now, the warmth of his presence far too close for comfort. His breath brushed against the back of your neck, and you bit down on your lip to suppress the strange rush of nerves rising in your chest.

"Looks like you wandered in here by mistake," he said, voice smooth and almost amused. "But I won't hold it against you. Happens to the best of us, sweetheart."

Sweetheart. There it was again, the casual endearment that somehow made your skin prickle. You turned around to face him once more, trying to muster some semblance of composure, though it was nearly impossible with him standing near you. Up close, he was even more disarming, his gaze sharp yet somehow warm, like he was in on some private joke you hadn’t quite caught on to yet.

"I'm sorry," you muttered, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks. "I didn't mean to—"

"Don't worry," he cut you off, one corner of his mouth lifting into a crooked smile that sent your pulse racing. "No harm done. Besides, it’s not every day I get to have a conversation this... interesting in a bathroom." he motions his hands around.

"I didn’t mean to call you old. That was... uncalled for."

He let out a low chuckle, the sound rumbling through the air between you. "Don't sweat it. I've been called worse, trust me. Besides, a little gray never hurt anyone, right?" He ran a hand through his hair, almost like he was flaunting it, as if daring you to disagree.

You found yourself at a loss for words again, caught between wanting to melt into the floor and the strange, undeniable attraction pulling you toward him. a little gray never hurt, indeed. "So," he continued, breaking the silence as his gaze roamed over your flustered expression. "What’s a lady like you doing in a men's room anyway? Trying to stir up trouble?"

You rolled your eyes, finally finding your footing again, and crossed your arms over your chest. "I could ask you the same thing, considering you're not exactly rushing me out of here."

"Maybe I’m just enjoying the company," he said, his voice dropping just a bit lower, sending a flutter through your stomach. "Or maybe I’m just waiting to see if you figure out how to get out of this mess." the man takes a step closer. Before you could stop yourself, you let out a small laugh. "You really are full of yourself, aren't you?"

"Maybe," he replied, stepping even closer, his voice now barely more than a murmur. "But you're still standing here, aren't you?" his palm now sitting on the small of your back, and it feels like you've been waiting for this your whole life. it was disarming, intoxicating—how effortlessly he touched you, as if he’d always known you, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

You drew in a shaky breath, trying to steady the pounding in your chest, but the way he looked at you made it impossible. His eyes, deep and piercing, held you in place, like they were pulling you into some unspoken dance, something wild and unnamed.

"Not saying much now, are you, sweetheart?" he whispered, his lips so close to your ear you could feel the heat of his breath. His fingers splayed ever so slightly against your back, and you swore you could feel your pulse thrum beneath his touch, like a melody. You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry. Every nerve in your body was screaming at you to moveㅡ to break away from him this instant, but your feet were rooted to the spot.

"I'mㅡ" you tried to speak but your voice betrayed you. The curve of his mouth shifted into a slow, devilish smile as his hand slid a fraction lower, just above your hip, a silent invitation pulling you nearer.

"See?" His voice was like velvet, wrapping around you. "Maybe you didn’t wander in here by accident after all." he tuts. "Your daddy was right, you do need straightening up, sweet thing."

"Y-You know my dad?" and he can only chuckle. "I don’t, baby," he drawled, "But that little fight you had with your aunt a few minutes ago? Well, it was heard by more ears than you think." You’d thought your quarrel was contained, tucked away in a corner where no one could witness the messy unraveling of your family drama. But apparently, you were wrong—so very wrong.

"I-It wasn't really a fight.." you huff, trying to fight the growing warmth in your core. "Right, you were just being a brat. I got that, too." your eyes find his again, heart plummeting into your chest. "I'm good with brats." god, how wrong it all felt, yet you couldn't find a way. you didn't want a way out. your aunt was waiting, but you were dripping with arousal in the arms of an older man who was a complete strangerㅡ not to forget you were in the bathroom of a bar, where anyone could walk in on you at any moment. but was it so wrong to want what's wrong?

"So...You gonna let me teach you some manners, young lady?" The words hang between you, igniting something you couldn’t name , but you felt it, burning, spreading. But you couldn’t bring yourself to care. No, you didn’t want to care. you felt drawn, tethered to him by something far more primal, more consuming. The risk, the recklessness—it was intoxicating. You couldn’t deny the hunger that twisted in your belly, the way your body leaned into his touch despite the alarm bells ringing faintly in the back of your mind. Maybe you’d always been waiting for something, or someone, to break you out of the mold you were supposed to fit into.

"You're thinking too much, sweetheart," he teases, his voice low and rough, sending warmth coursing through you. "Just let go. You know you want to."

The last piece of resistance crumbles. You don't want to fight anymore. You want to see where this will go, consequences be damned. You want the wildness, the chaos, the thrill of stepping outside the boundaries you've always kept yourself within.

Without thinking, you tilt your head up, meeting his gaze with a mixture of defiance and submission. His eyes darken, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, as if he's won some battle. "Good girl," he breathes, his thumb brushing the edge of your jaw. The contact sends sparks through you, and your skin burns where he touches.

"Can you at least...tell me your name? please?" You’re caught in this moment, teetering on the edge of something dangerous, and part of you needs to know who has you under their spell.

"My name’s Logan, sweet thing," he says, the name rolling off his tongue with a rough edge, like it holds more than he’s letting on. His fingers trail lightly along your shoulder and down to your cleavage, the contact making your breath hitch. "But you won’t be needing it for now," he adds. "You'll be calling be sir. Understand?" whatever happens next, you're no longer in control so you nod your head eagerly, but he isn't satisfied. "Speak, girl."

"Yes, sir." you force the words out. The moment you say it, you feel the world tilt, like something has shifted between you, pulling you further into the depths of whatever this is. The man's lips curl into a smile yet again, he reaches behind you and you close your eyes. you hear a faint click and then a soft chuckle. "Let's hope no one gets a hold of the key, wouldn't want anyone to interrupt our time here, unlessㅡ" your cheeks heat up, your thighs now pressed further together. "You'd like us to get caught, huh? Dirty girl." those last words send your head spinning and you swear you could come just from his voice alone. you never thought you'd be in a situation like this, but deep down, you wished someone just walked through that door only to see you splayed out under Logan.

without any hesitation, he spins both of you so that you are facing the large golden mirror above the counter. Logan groans, rolling his shoulders back as he bends you over the sink, your hips snug in his grip. "God, you're so fucking gorgeous, baby."

"Thank you, sir." this earns you a tug at the hair, his face right in the crook of your neck. "Say that again, baby." and you do. even if to you he's just a stranger, the need to obey him burns at your insides. you can feel his hard-on rubbing against your ass, so you press up against him making logan hiss. "You getting cocky, miss? Or are you just that excited for an old man to fuck you?"

you look down. "Please.." The man shakes his head and lands a hard smack on one of your asscheeks, making you yelp in the process. He takes his time pulling up your almost see-through dress, finally taking a look at your soaking panties that were barely covering anything. His calloused thumb makes contact with your clothed folds, dragging it up and down, in painfully slow circles. Without a warning, you hear the material rip and feel the flimsy undergarments fall on the cold tiled floor. "Pretty pussy." he mutters under his breath, undoing his trousers. he pulls them a bit down, enough for his manhood to spring free and slap against his covered bellybutton. you can see it all in the mirrorㅡ it's huge. you gasp softly as you feel him drag the tip of it against your swollen bud, and you hide your gaze, head hanging low. this doesn't last long, as you feel his rough palm grab at your face and pulling it up again. you're making eye contact with him through the mirror and you see him shake his head. "No, no. You watch while I fuck you, understand?" you shake your head, agreeing, but that isn't good enough so he slaps your cheek with the back of his hand, lightly. "Words, baby, words."

"Yes, sir." he drags the pulsing tip up and down, up and down as if he didn't make you wait long enough, turning you into a whining messㅡ truthfully you never wanted it to end, so maybe him teasing was his way of making sure this lasts. after he thinks its sufficient, logan starts to push inside, and godㅡ your breath gets stuck into your throat, from the feeling laden with thorns; every prick of discomfort is countered by an unexpected surge of delight. Your tears fall down onto the surface under you, little moans gripping your throat as he slips inside further. "You're okay, baby, you're okay. C'monㅡ" he assures you, asking you to surrender. "Take it all- there we go.." he praises, lifting your hips a bit to get a better angle. Logan moves gently at first, each stroke hitting deeper within your core, the pain soon converging with ecstasy right as he alerts his movements.

his hips dive down with force, one of his palms snaking up and wrapping itself tightly around your throat, assuring you see how good he's destroying you. your head was spinning, heart pounding, as his whole weight dominated over you. "That's it, baby, knew you could take it." his thrusts are rough, each hit making your body bounce, the urgency as he hit that very spot each timeㅡ your whole insides burning, too cock drunk to talk or respond, other than some pathetic whines that perfectly accompanied the wet sounds your pussy made wrapped around Logan. "Fuckㅡ sir, please.." you manage. pulling at your hair he starts "What if your sweet aunt walked in just now, huh? What ifㅡ fuck! What if she saw how good you take this cock? Yeah, nice and deep, there ya go, baby, there ya go." while thrusting relentlessly into you, your legs barely holding up anymore.

Feeling you tightening, the hand that was around your throat slips down to your clit, while the other makes you spread your legs wide again for easier access, giving you a chance to take in a big gasp of air. "want me to breed this pussy, huh? feel you up with my babies? let people inside this room, let them see your pussy filled with my come- you want that?" the room spins around you, body floating as if ready to plummet back down, you try your best to reply. "yes, yes- please, please, sir, I'mㅡ"

"Go ahead." the man succeeded to say, between his breathy groans. "Thank you, thank you, oh god, thank you so much, sir!" you say as if praying to him whilst he keeps fucking into you. The man buries himself into you as you come down from your high, body almost too limp to register your surroundings. he slaps your ass, and watches you writhe under him. With a few more snaps of his hips you know he's close, nails digging roughly into your skin as he finally paints your walls with white ropes. "God fucking dammit!" you know that you'll be bruised tomorrow.

the bathroom feels sticky, and the mirror in front of you is all fogged up, but you can just barely make out your face, all tearstained and messy. You moan as he pulls out, the sudden feeling of emptiness leaving you shivering. Logan watches intently as his seed drips out of you, your body beautifully splayed out right under him. You squeeze around nothing, licking your lips, as you feel the warm beads of come trickling from inside of you, down your thighs. you're both quiet for a bit, catching your breaths. you feel like you are floating.

The sounds of the world fade away, leaving just the echo of your heartbeats. The weight of what just happened presses down on you both, thick and suffocating as you exchange glances through the mirror. Finally, you break the silence. “What do we do now?” The realization sinks in. What's done is done. "We clean you up and pray no one heard anything, baby." Logan laughs reassuringly, sensing the uncertainty in your voice.

maybe jazz clubs nights with your aunt aren't so bad after all.

[starsinmylatte]

I am fellow of Rick flags Sr lover I I don’t know if you are still taking requests for Rick flags if you are not then please disregard this but if you are

I was wondering if I could ask NSFW alphabet X and K thank you so very much. I really do hope you enjoy your day and I love your work 

Hi, hi! I absolutely am still drooling about this man taking requests for him 🙂‍↕️. Thank you for the super sweet compliments! 💕

Cw: fem!reader, Breeding kink/pregnancy kink, age gap, brat taming, overstim

X: I really thought about just leaving the screenshot of his crotch close-up here with nothing else added…. but allow me to elaborate. This man is HUNG. Rick Flag Sr has a massive Flag pole (ha) with big, heavy breeding balls to match.

He’s circumcised and only slightly above average length, but his girth is no laughing matter, even when he's flaccid. 100% a shower; you know exactly what he's working with. Rick has to prepare his partners extensively to take him, or they just have to be ready for the stretch of a lifetime.

No part of this man is small, and his military service has left him deliciously toned. His biceps are the best pillows in the world, and if you kiss along the contours of his muscles or scars, his hefty cock gives a delicious little twitch. Rick’s body is toned because of his occupation, not for vanity reasons, but he can't lie and say that he's not flattered (and more than a little aroused) when you show appreciation for his rugged body.

K: Oh, I've been waiting for this one. With a dedicated partner he loves, Rick develops the breeding kink of all time.

Before falling for you, Rick would've said that he's too old and jaded to do any of that shit ever again. He’s a tough army man who had a son at a very young age with a wife he grew to dislike, and that's gonna leave some deep scars. He likely missed out on a lot of her pregnancy and Rick Jr’s childhood because of deployments, and he also has a lot of guilt around that. It only gets worse when his son dies in Corto Maltese….. but

You come into his life and show him the love and understanding that he didn't think he would ever receive from another human. His pain and guilt are eased immensely by your gentle, soothing compassion and sparkling intelligence as you work through any relationship hurdles. Rick begins to understand more and more about himself and why his marriage failed (caused by both faults from him and his ex-wife), and you encourage him to be an even better man.

Rick finds himself considering marriage once again, but he still winces every time he thinks about how you're a younger woman and would probably want children. You're too aware of his pain to bring the subject up, but he worries that staying with him would rob you of the joys of motherhood. However, that all disappears one night.

Rick had been invited to countless family gatherings since his string of tragedies but couldn’t bear the thought of being stuck in a room full of happy people who pitied him. Through your gentle support, he finally agreed to give a very small get-together a try, which is how Rick found himself knocking on the door of his cousin's house one night for dinner around Christmas.

It took a moment, but a man who vaguely resembled a very tired, younger Rick with no beard opened the door, chuckling softly. "Sorry, the little one is not happy at the moment. We're running behind and haven't even started cooking yet."

It had been so long since Rick had seen his family that he didn't know they had just welcomed their first child. He froze and was prepared to reschedule for another night, but your eyes lit up, "Oh, it's not a problem at all."

Before Rick could blink, you had already introduced yourself and offered a hand in the kitchen. In no time, you were giggling and chatting with his cousin's wife, rocking their baby in your arms as the other woman stirred a pot simmering away on the stovetop. Rick was sitting on the sofa, drinking a beer and conversing with his cousin, but his warm, brown gaze was fixed on you. You looked nothing short of angelic underneath the glow of the Christmas lights as you cooed at the baby in her little holiday outfit. Something just clicked in his brain, and he understood. He wanted to see you just like this, except in your own home, with your baby.

From there, it only took a few days for Rick's brain to devolve into visions of you swollen with his child, waddling around your home as you nested and decorated the nursery. He wanted to massage your aching back and breasts, to pamper you like a goddamn princess- no, a queen who wanted for nothing. Rick had gone from casually looking at rings to feverishly checking the shipment status of one, all so he could do things correctly and set a diamond on your pretty finger before giving you his baby.

Age Gap: You cannot look me in the digital eyes and tell me Rick didn't immediately pop a boner when Ilana said that she liked older men. He is absolutely not one of those old creeps who wants some innocent girl with no life experience, but there's something so goddamn hot about a strong, capable younger woman who freely and clearly chooses him above men her age.

A little bit of teasing/brat-taming also turns him way the hell on. Use your wit to be snarky, and don't be surprised if you find yourself thrown on the bed with Rick coaxing orgasm after orgasm from your tired body with his hands and tongue.... just wait until you get to the point where he gives you his heavy, aching cock.

NSFW alphabet link here!

[sirianasims]

Chapter 44.4

Darkness envelops us, but I’d know the shape of her body anywhere, her every curve, the softness of her thighs wrapped around my waist, the arch of her back as I move inside her.

[🔞 Spice warning, keep reading at your own risk! 🔞]

I feel her voice more than I hear it, the vibration of her moans against my neck, sounds that are so distinctly hers, and that I like to pretend I’m the only man who can draw from her.

Her breath quickens against my ear, begging me to come. With each thrust bringing us closer to the edge, my body tenses, muscles straining in anticipation. Her nails dig into my shoulders, fingers gripping tightly as we near our breaking point.

Just as I reach my climax, I see her face.

She’s crying.

The sight of her tears jolts me awake. Immediately, the dream starts fading, slipping through my fingers like sand through an hourglass, the wet spot on my boxers quickly becoming cold against my skin, and my mind filled with visions of red hair cascading over my pillows.

The room around me feels familiar, yet wrong, and I realise I’m on the floor.

I prop myself up on a slightly sore elbow, still disoriented. The old carpet is rough against my sweaty skin, tiny bits of dust and debris sticking to my side. It’s barely light outside, but there’s no way I’m going back to sleep like this.

I grab a towel and walk downstairs in a daze, not quite convinced I actually woke up yet.

The first shock of cold water helps, rinsing off the clammy sweat as well as the fading remnants of the nightmare as the water slowly gets warmer.

By the time I get out of the shower, I can barely recall what happened in the dream, just a faint, unpleasant feeling that is remarkably close to grief.

I haven’t had nightmares for years. They used to happen a lot, especially in the first few years after I lost my father, but those went away over time.

They only came back once, early in my career, when I had to grow out my beard for a role and found his face staring back at me from every mirror. When we finished filming, I shaved before I even left the set and never grew it out again.

But even without the beard, I still look more and more like him with each passing day. And soon, just a couple of years from now, I will be older than he ever was.

The very idea feels unnatural, obscene.

I leave the bathroom and find myself face to face with my mother, startling both of us. She takes a step back, wobbling slightly on her bad leg but manages to steady herself.

“Sorry, mum, did I wake you?”

She shakes her head, her eyes searching mine. “No, but I heard the shower and wondered why you were up so early. Is everything alright?”

“Yeah,” I reply, my throat feeling tight. “I just… had a strange dream and woke up drenched in sweat. Didn’t feel like trying to fall back asleep.”

“So… would you like some coffee, perhaps? I don’t think I can sleep either, and we might as well enjoy the last bit of summer while we can.”

“That sounds great. Let me get dressed and throw my sheets in the laundry and I’ll join you.”

My hair dries quickly in the breeze, the salty tang of the ocean mingling with the fragrance of lavender and lemon. The early morning light casts a soft pink glow over the garden. I used to hide with my cousins in these bushes, climb the trees and pretend to be pirates or explorers. Or superheroes. I feel a twitch in the corner of my mouth at the memory, even though the lingering sadness of the nightmare still clings to me like a damp sheet.

I think about the dream, about Julia. Sometimes I miss her so much it hurts, a physical ache in my chest, and it’s rare that a day goes by where I don’t think about what would happen if I saw her again. I still have no idea. I don’t know what I want, only that I want. It’s as if I yearn for something I can’t quite decide what is.

My mother adds copious amounts of cream and sugar to her coffee and stirs it slowly, her gaze on the coast beyond the garden. Her silver hair catches the golden light.

“Mum,” I begin, clearing my throat. “Why didn’t you find someone else? After babbo, I mean.” The words feel heavy, almost accusatory, especially here in his favourite part of the garden.

My mother pauses, thoughtfully, mug raised to her lips. For a second I worry that I’ve crossed a line, poked at an old wound, but then she sighs, her eyes distant.

“I don’t want you to think differently of him because of this.”

“Differently? How?”

“You’ve heard what my parents were like, they had a lot of plans for me. A respectable match, wealthy husband, securing their lineage. So, to stall for time, I decided to travel for a while.”

I nod. I’ve never met the earl and duchess of Northhaven, but from what my mother has told me, it’s no great loss. They wouldn’t acknowledge either of us anyway. “And then you came to Tartosa, found love, and never went back.” It isn’t a question, I’ve heard the story many times before.

She traces the rim of her mug with a finger.

“Not quite. I didn’t want the kind of life that was planned for me, the endless performance, the strategic marriage to some lord. But it was more than that. I never wanted to get married at all, Paul. And I wasn’t interested in any kind of romantic relationship, either.”

Her voice is soft, almost apologetic, and I lean back, brow furrowed. It always sounded like my parents had the perfect whirlwind romance, with my father famously proposing after only knowing her for two weeks.

“So… did meeting my father change your mind, then?”

She shakes her head, a soft smile on her lips. “I had never met anyone like Marcello. His easy laugh, his presence, the way he seemed to fill any room when he walked in.” She looks up, her eyes meeting mine. “Much like you. We became friends, and when he heard about my parents’ plans for me, he proposed.”

“Oh.” My mind is filled with questions and I struggle to even decide which one to ask first, but my mother quickly continues.

“Your father was everything to me, Paul. He understood. When I met him, I wasn’t looking for an escape. But he offered me freedom.”

“But you said you didn’t want… romance. Doesn’t everyone want love? Didn’t he? And how did… why did you even have me, if…”

I trail off awkwardly.

“We had love,” she says quietly. “But love doesn’t look the same for everyone. I didn’t marry him because I wanted him, I married him because he loved me and I knew he would never make me feel like I was broken for not loving him in quite the same way. And he never asked for more than I could give, which was why I wanted to give him you.”

I swallow, understanding slowly dawning on me. “So, it wasn’t about not moving on, was it?”

“No. When your father died, I lost my dearest friend. He was my life partner in every way that mattered. But another husband?” She shakes her head, putting her mug down. “That was never something I wanted. Marcello can never be replaced, but I don’t need to. I have you, I have our family. There was never any reason to find someone else, because I already have everything.”

We sit quietly for a while. The sun is higher now, slowly filling the garden with warmth. I still feel slightly shaken, unmoored by the realisation that the love story I grew up with, that I’ve always compared my own relationships to, isn’t what it seemed. But I also feel lighter somehow, closer to my mother than before. And then, for a brief moment, I can almost feel my father here too, woven into the morning air, carried by the scent of lemon and lavender.

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[olderthannetfic]

I don't get my fandom. They want more queer rep. The main cast is a bisexual femme woman with a preference for women, an aroace gender-indifferent AMAB man, a genderfluid all-pronouns using AMAB person with a beard who wears a dress, and a biromantic asexual bigender AMAB man who is agender + male. The supporting cast has a lesbian girl, a middle-aged ace het woman living semi-romantically with another woman who is the main cast's (emotional) adoptive mom, and a ambiguously queer character whose gender is never really confirmed or discussed.

A big criticism I also see is "the writing team is all cishet". One, we don't know that, someone could be closeted. Two, why is that a problem? I think it's great that they went, "this makes sense for who this character is. We don't have to force them to be cishetallo just because that's what you normally see in animation. Web animation can be different. This is who this person is and that's fine."

I'm 19. I talked to my half brother, who is 38, about this and he actually choked on his coffee. He said when he was my age, nothing like this was easily accessible for him. It would have been jaw-dropping representation for him. I asked about the writers being cishetallo and he said, "who fucking cares? I would've moved Heaven and Earth to see these characters hanging out and just fucking existing back then!"

I know you get a metric fuckton of asks, but I'd love to hear your take on this. You've been in the queer community way longer than I have (I've barely started interacting with queer people IRL; I grew up in rural Wyoming) and I do wonder what this debacle looks like to people in other age groups. I'd also be curious to know what older people would've thought if they'd seen this friend group in media when they were younger. I know it means a lot to me. But I feel like I don't get what it would have meant back then.

--

Well, written up like this, it might get an eye-roll for sounding like Captain Planet casting. (You know "One of A and one of B and one of C" in a way that feels kind of forced.)

But yes, I think most older queer people when looking at the actual canon would be like "Sweet! A cast full of queer characters!"

I grew up somewhere shockingly liberal for the 90s next door to some old, married lesbians (who still live there, as it happens). It still sucked for teenagers. I had an okay time, but I was always hearing about other teens having an awful time even as the adults in the same communities did okay. And that's a very, very good version of what it was like in the 90s.

I did have access to queer media, vastly more access than most teens had. It was still mostly art films, boring coming out memoir, and The Pain of Being a Minority serious literature. What I wanted was genre fiction with a romance b-plot between queer characters I found hot. There was a bit of that, but not much.

I don't know that I personally would have killed for the exact set of queer rep in a modern show, but that makes sense. There are plenty of identities that present about the same but where people have internal reasons for choosing one or another. There are different forces making one queer identity or another more embattled at a given point in time. So while broadly similar queer people have always existed, there actually are fads in identity to an extent. (This is different from "wharrgarbl, the blue hairs with their pronouns!!!", which is just people being ahistorical assholes.) Modern media does and should reflect these differences. It might be for me, but it's going to be for 40-something me, not teenage me if it's coming out right now. If it's for current teens, it's not for teen me.

But yeah, in a general sense, I agree with your brother: "Damn, we have so much today! That's cool!"

The kvetching is usually people being angry that it's not representing their exact slice of queerness instead of someone else's. Or, let's be honest, a lot of it is "You didn't make my ship happen! How dare?!" dressed up as activism.

...

One thing I will say is that teenagers were extremely dramatic in my day too, and black-and-white thinking was just as common. Looking a gift horse in the mouth is not new. Yes, your fandom is full of idiots, but I wouldn't read too much into it.

[redwinterroses]

[part one] [part two] [part three]

Jimmy woke to the muzzle of a rifle nudging under his chin.

Blinking furiously, he followed the line of the gun up to its wielder: a stocky man with a bushy black beard and eyes like two ice chips. 

A sardonic smile played around the man’s mouth. “Well,” he said. “Want to explain why I got a couple’a burglars sleepin’ on my floor?”

“I—��� Jimmy’s mouth was dry with sleep. The bright morning sun streaming in the windows made his eyes water and—the morning sun. He cursed himself for falling asleep. “I’m Jimmy. Ah—Tango said you wouldn’t mind—I mean, if you’re Cub?” It came out as a question, and he swallowed against the cold iron nuzzling his throat.

“Tango?” the man’s eyes flicked over to where Tango—damn him—was still softly snoring, his derby settled over his face. The muzzle of the rifle retreated a little bit, and the man kicked Tango’s foot.

With an indignant exclamation, Tango came awake, his hat falling to the side.

“Hey!” he spluttered. “What’s the big—oh. Mornin’, Cubby.”

“Tango.” Cub withdrew the rifle and held it loose at his side. “Seriously? You could have knocked, man. I’ve got spare rooms.”

Tango sat up, gesturing at the rifle. “Sure, but I know better than to bang on a door in the middle of the night when Ol’ Faithful might see me before my good buddy Cub.”

“Fair enough, fair enough.” Cub stood back, and let the rifle hang loose at his side. His eyes narrowed. “Back to my first question. Why do I have a couple’a burglars sleeping on my floor—besides the fact that they didn’t want to wake me up in the middle of the night?”

Tango groaned and got to his feet, stretching mightily. Jimmy, eyeing that rifle dubiously, sat up as well and tried to work the cricks out of his neck. 

“Train robbery,” Tango said. “Just south of here. Greysides gang cottoned onto me and had someone waiting for me when I tried to catch a ride back to Tumbleton.”

Cub whistled appreciatively. “Greysides, huh? Bad bunch.”

“We need to send a telegraph, actually,” Tango said. “Assuming Chef’s awake this early?”

“Man’s up before dawn most days,” Cub said. He nodded toward the door. “Who’re you planning to wire, though? Those pillagers’ll be gone long before any law gets there.”

“They stopped the train,” Tango said. “I’ll wire ahead to Tumbleton and if they haven’t arrived someone will have to go and find the engine—or whatever’s left of it. I doubt they killed anyone but they might have scuppered the works.”

Cub nodded, then pulled a tin out from under the counter. “Coffee? I can have it brewed by the time you’re back.”

“Cubby, I could kiss you.”

“I’ll pass, thanks.”

Tango turned to Jimmy. “Wait here—I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

And with that, he jogged out the door and vanished into the morning sun.

To his dismay, Jimmy felt a twinge—a pang of something in his chest that tugged after Tango. He resisted easily, for now, but that confirmed his suspicions: his curse had officially latched on to the bounty hunter.

He barely kept himself from swearing.

“You’re from Spawnheart?” 

The question was so abrupt that it made Jimmy start. He turned to find Cub regarding him with an unreadable expression. The saloon owner stared at him, and Jimmy shifted uncomfortably, feeling as if he were being measured and weighed, and that Cub wasn’t impressed with what he saw.

“I… yeah, I am,” he said. He clambered to his feet and started packing his bedroll. Glancing back at Cub, he raised a self-deprecating eyebrow. “Is it that obvious?”

Cub shrugged. “I grew up there myself, actually. And it’s a pretty obvious guess—you’re not from around here, you were on a train heading toward new-gen…” he tilted his head thoughtfully. “You look familiar.”

Jimmy tensed. “...Yeah?”

Cub’s eyes were fixed on him, his expression entirely neutral. “Maybe. What did you say your last name was?”

“I didn’t.” Jimmy wondered how fast he could make it to the door—though where he thought he’d go after that he hadn’t the foggiest—before Cub lifted the rifle at his side. He shifted his weight, and Cub’s hand twitched a hair on the gun—

And then the man smiled, relaxing. “Fair enough, fair enough,” Cub said, his voice amiable. “A guy’s entitled to his secrets on the frontier. Sometimes they’re the most valuable thing you’ve got.”

Still wary, Jimmy buckled the leather strap around his bedroll, his attention never leaving Cub. He felt like he was facing down another creeper, and he couldn’t figure out why this one hadn’t exploded yet.

He held the bedroll aloft. “You, ah… you mind if I toss this back in the ender chest?”

Cub plonked the rifle down on the bartop and gestured for Jimmy to go around behind. “Be my guest,” he said. “Again, I guess.”

Jimmy stepped behind the counter, dropped the roll into the void-space of the ender chest and let the lid fall shut. “I can pay. For using your floor last night.”

Cub shook his head. “Nah, no worries, friend.” He jerked a thumb toward the door. “Just do me a favor and keep an eye on that knucklehead, and we’ll call it even.”

Like I’ve got any choice at this point. “Yeah,” Jimmy said. “Sure.”

Pulling out one of the barstools with his foot, Cub sat, and leaned forward, resting both arms on the bartop. All the suspicious tension seemed to have gone out of him, though Jimmy was still wary of those sharp eyes. “So,” Cub drawled. “What are you hoping to find out in new-gen? Gold? Adventure? Wide open spaces?”

“All the above, I guess.” Jimmy moved to one of the tables nearer the door and sank into one of the wooden chairs. It creaked slightly under his weight. “Mostly just… something far away. Find a little valley, build a farm. Maybe breed some horses—I’ve always liked horses.” Even as he said it, the dream took shape in his mind’s eye: a long, low cabin, cozy on the inside, with a barn full of bright-eyed horses and their hay-scented warmth. 

He brushed away the vision, stowing it away to consider later. After he’d gotten rid of his unwitting partner. “How do you know Tango? If you don’t mind my asking.”

Cub grinned—and unlike every other time, this smile was missing that predatory edge. This smile was genuine, and it took Jimmy a little by surprise.

“Oh, Tango and I go way back,” Cub said. “He’s been out here even longer than me, but when my first crew came out to new-gen he and a few others gave us a hand. We’ve all spread out over the years, but we keep in touch.” Steepling his fingers in front of his face, he raised his eyebrows. “How do you know Tango of the Tek variety?”

“Tek variety?” Jimmy shook his head. “I just met him last night. He… I think he saved my life? But he also made me jump off a train so I’m not exactly sure where that stands.”

The tugging sensation in his chest told him exactly where “that” stood, but he wasn’t about to explain that to the man who had woken him up with a weapon and apparently had a long history with Tango. Didn’t seem wise.

“That’s Tango all over.” Cub sat back and slapped the counter. “Well, if it’s new-gen you’re heading for, you could do worse than hanging around Tango for a bit. See if he’ll take you as far as Tumbleton—that’s about as far out as civilization goes at this point.”

Jimmy nodded noncommittally, and watched as Cub got up and retrieved his rifle. He slung its leather strap over one shoulder and stowed the weapon comfortably across his back, then gave Jimmy an evaluating glance. 

“Feel free to hang out in here until Tango gets back,” Cub said. He jerked his thumb toward the door. “I’ve got a few errands to run before the bar opens this afternoon. Alternatively… there’s a couple bottles of water under the counter and a spare ender chest you’re welcome to. Tango’s down on the east side of town so if you head west you can probably get a few miles out before he figures it out.”

Blinking, Jimmy fought the urge to reach for his pistol—or to bolt for the door.

“Ah…” he managed, “Why—what makes you think I would—”

“Boots.” Cub pointed at his feet. “You were asleep with your boots on. Maybe you’re just weird about it, but in my experience a man who sleeps with his boots on is a man on the move. Or on the run. And I’ll be honest with you, Jimmy—” he put an odd emphasis on the name, as if he knew there was something Jimmy was hiding. “I’m not sure I’m too keen on my buddy Tango takin’ up with someone on the run.”

There was no cold muzzle at Jimmy’s chin as there had been when he woke, but Cub’s expression was as emotionless as a bullet. 

Jimmy found himself shaking his head. “I’m not on the run,” he said, aware that he didn’t sound convincing, even to his own ears. The door, with its long rectangle of golden sunshine, seemed to pull at him—get out, get away, don’t make this mistake again. The allure of the open frontier, with no connections and no risks, was heady in its promise of freedom. 

But the far-more-tangible tug in his chest that told him Tango was already on his way back, and he wouldn’t get far enough to avoid the man chasing after him. And he would chase, Jimmy was sure of it.

Casting a glance toward the window, Jimmy cursed his bad luck—and apparent inability to wake up early. 

“I’m not on the run,” he said again, and the words were more sure this time. “And I’ll do whatever I can to keep harm from coming to your friend.” He looked at Cub, hoping the man could see the sincerity in his face. “Honestly, I can promise you that.”

Cub pursed his lips, then gave a sharp nod. “Good enough.”

As he said it, footsteps tapped on the floorboards outside, and the door swung open to let in a burst of fresh morning air and the smell of dust and sage. 

“Jimmy!” Tango said, striding into the room. “I feel like I owe you a ride to Tumbleton after getting your train burglefied. You ride?”

Jimmy stood. “You got us horses?”

“Well… no.” Tango said. “Chef had a package he needed mailed to Tumbleton anyway, so he’s loaning us a couple of his mules.”

Cub laughed, and gave Jimmy a friendly slap on the shoulder that was maybe just a little too hard. “Good luck, fellas,” he said. “You’ll need it.”

And with that, he sauntered out of the saloon. Jimmy watched him go and then looked at Tango, frowning.

“Tango, why would he say that?”

Tango laughed, and rubbed sheepishly at the back of his neck. “Oh, no reason, no reason,” he said unconvincingly. He gestured at the door.

“Let’s hit the road.”

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Rook Hunt - Platinum Jacket Vignette

"Happy 100th Anniversary"

[Land of Dawning – National Museum of Art]

Rook: The Land of Dawning's National Museum of Art… Ahh, what an exhilarating place.

Rook: They have so many spectacular works of art exhibited here… I don't think there's enough time in a single day to view everything.

???: ―Oh hey, I know this painting. This is the scene where the Fairest Queen is sending her Huntsman on a mission.

???: I can even see just how tense his facial muscles are. This painting is so detailed even to the finest points.

Rook: Beauté! You have a good eye for detail. The thin rays of light that cut through the dark room just highlights how stiff he is.

Rook: When I gaze upon this painting, I feel as though even I am being struck with a chill as cold as a winter breeze.

Ortho: But Rook Hunt-san, this isn't a painting set in winter, right?

Rook: Fufu, I know that. I only meant… Well, that I can almost feel the tension that is freezing him in his tracks.

Ortho: Guess that makes sense, since he's making an appearance before the queen. But don't you think that for someone meeting a queen his outfit is pretty casual?

Rook: I'm sure he is to head out on his mission immediately. Besides, he is very well groomed.

Ortho: Very well groomed…? Ah, yeah, it does feel like he's taken very good care of his beard.

Rook: Oui. In addition, he is someone who works outdoors, and yet there is not a single stain, let along any frayed ends on his attire.

Rook: Take a close look at his bangs. You see how they are cut short just above his eyebrows?

Rook: Essentially, that means his bangs won't obstruct his vision. He is sure to be able to keep his prey in sight.

Ortho: I see, so then, that must the best type of hairstyle for a hunter. Rook-san, you're amazing to notice that.

Rook: I, too, take caution of how lengthy my bangs can become. In the past, I believed that as long as it was short, that was good enough…

Rook: So whenever my bangs grew out, I would just chop it off with a knife, while the rest of my hair just looked like an overgrown garden.

Ortho: It's hard for me to picture that, knowing the you standing here now…

Rook: After I became a Pomefiore student and cut off all the damaged and frayed ends…

Rook: Not only did my vision become unhindered, but I ceased to find leaves or branches tangled in my hair any more.

Rook: I'm sure even the Queen's Huntsman also knew that a proper grooming regimen would help him be even more efficient as his job.

Rook: By fixing up my own hair, I came to understand just how capable of the huntsman he truly was.

Rook: In my search of perfection and functionality, I was able to settle on this hairstyle… is basically what it all amounts to.

Ortho: Huh… I totally thought that you had chosen that hairstyle because it suits the shape of your face.

Rook: Thank you. I am beyond honored that you think it suits me.

Rook: However, there is still much to improve. I must continue to refine my appearance.

Rook: It is all to improve my efficiency and my hunting skills.

[Land of Dawning – National Museum of Art]

Rook: Ooh là là! These beings depicted here are the Thorn Fairy's subordinates.

Rook: Despite the dark overtone and the terrifyingly green flames illuminating them, this piece gives off a pleasant sensation.

Ortho: They're all dancing in celebration of the Thorn Fairy's successful accomplishment, right? Hehe, they all look so happy.

Rook: This painting shows just how beloved the Thorn Fairy was to her subordinates. It's wonderful that they would express their joy via dance.

Rook: Now that I'm learning how to dance… It may behoove me to express my own happiness through moving my whole body, instead of just penning words.

Rook: WITH BALLET!!

Ortho: Eh, you're good at dancing ballet, Rook Hunt-san!?

Rook: Non. I wouldn't go so far as to say I am any good at it. I've only started picking up the fundamentals recently.

Ortho: Oh, you just started… So, why did you just suddenly decide to learn ballet?

Rook: To improve my posture, of course.

Rook: We of Pomefiore must carry ourselves beautifully, not only in how we walk, but with every single gesture we make.

Rook: That is why I began my training in order to keep to the standards of my dormitory.

Rook: As to why I chose ballet, that would be because Roi du Poison… Vil recommended it to me.

Ortho: I think Vil's advice is sound. It's said that ballet can help with your core and flexibility.

Rook: You do know your stuff, Ortho.

Ortho: You said that you just recently started learning, but… You're pretty physically fit, so I'm sure it's going pretty smoothly, right?

Rook: Well… Truthfully, the road to perfect posture has been nowhere near as smooth.

Rook: I've twisted my ankle while training to stand on my toes, and I've fallen down so ungracefully without being able to keep my balance…

Rook: When I first began practicing, my muscles were so sore that even going up and down stairs was a trial in and of itself.

Rook: I realized just how many muscles I've yet to use… It has been quite a learning experience.

Ortho: Even though you're saying how hard it was… It looks to me like you're still enjoying yourself.

Rook: Yes, it was indeed a fantastic time. One time, I became so engrossed that I danced the night away.

Ortho: Your posture now is really good, Rook-san… Looks to me like the fruits of your ballet training is showing.

Rook: Oui! Also, as I had my ballet lessons, I was able to get a taste of yet another wonderful joy.

Ortho: What do you mean, a wonderful joy?

Rook: ESSENTIALLY, MY RESPECT FOR BALLET GREW!

Rook: Up until now, I would only have an adoration of the perfect performances I would watch on stage.

Rook: However, now that I've experienced it firsthand, I know just how difficult each individual technique can be.

Rook: These ballet dancers perform as gracefully as swans, putting forth such extraordinary efforts that we never get to witness.

Rook: They have honed their bodies through all the time they've spent dancing, and then these dancers take their honed bodies to bring forth perfected movements...

Rook: And then there is the spectacular stage productions that can draw out the beauty of those movements in full…!

Rook: I now have the pleasure of seeing those performances in an even more beautiful light… From the bottom of my heart, I am pleased to be learning ballet.

[Land of Dawning – National Museum of Art]

Ortho: This painting shows the scene where the Rabbit Retainers has announced Queen of Hearts' arrival to her card soldiers.

Rook: We know that the Queen of Hearts had a rather strict personality, but… The expression she carries here is so lovely!

Ortho: I kinda find it funny with how the white rabbit is looking so tired beside her.

Ortho: This rabbit came running just before the Queen was set to arrive.

Rook: Indeed. There are many times that him frantically running while trying to do his tasks have shown up in other stories.

Rook: It's said that everyone could hear his running footsteps from all over the country… He must have been quite the busy one.

Ortho: Ah, talking about footsteps reminds me… Rook-san, you really don't make a sound when you walk.

Rook: Is that so?

Ortho: Yeah. I have a motion sensor, so I'll always know, but… A normal person wouldn't notice if you came up behind them.

Ortho: How are you able to walk without making a sound like that?

Rook: It's probably because I've grown up surrounded by nature.

Rook: Whenever I am with the trees, I become a leaf on one of its branches. Whenever I am in the meadow, I become a reed swaying in the wind…

Rook: As I dedicated myself to become one with nature like so, my footsteps naturally became softer.

Ortho: It sounds difficult to live in nature…

Rook: Fufu, it's nothing much. This is simply how I was raised alongside my family.

Ortho: I see… But I don't think there's any reason for you to watch your footsteps here at Night Raven College, do you?

Rook: Since it's more or less an ingrained habit at this point, it's not something I'm doing consciously. However…

Rook: Large and obtrusive footsteps can ruin a beautiful moment.

Rook: It could startle a bird that had settled down to sip nectar from a flower, or interrupt an enjoyable moment between friends.

Rook: That is why I wouldn't dream of making louder footsteps. I wish to capture as many beautiful moments and I possibly can with my own eyes.

Ortho: That's amazing… But how is it that you still don't make any noise on gravel roads or wooden floors?

Rook: If I had to attribute it to something, it's probably due to my shoes.

Rook: Whenever I purchase a pair, I make sure to request to have a size snug against my toes to the nearest millimeter.

Rook: Perhaps when one wears shoes that are a perfect fit, even footsteps naturally become quieter.

Ortho: You really think of everything! Now I'm curious what kind of thought you put into choosing a design for them.

Rook: Let me think… When it comes to designs, I often just select whatever was recommended to me by the shopkeeper.

Rook: I may be a Pomefiore student, but… I still haven't familiarized myself with selecting clothes and shoes that necessarily suit me.

Ortho: Woah… I'm a little surprised. I totally thought you'd be particular about the materials in your shoes, or the shape of your heels.

Ortho: You know how whenever everyone wears the high heels with the ceremonial robes, their footsteps are louder than usual?

Rook: Oui! I find the ringing sound of the heels clacking is music to my ears.

Rook: Unfortunately, I find I'm unable to make as clear a sound. Perhaps I'm subconsciously keeping my heels from hitting the ground?

Ortho: Heheh, really? I love your story, Rook-san, since they defy my known data.

Ortho: Thanks for sharing all of that with me! Okay, then I'm heading out to view the other exhibits.

Rook: Right, let us talk together again sometime. ―Now then, it's time to go see that one piece of artwork that I have been longing for.

Rook: Ah… The famed work of art that depicts the princess singing to the fauna around her… Why does my heart dance for joy each time I gaze upon it?

Rook: With her lips red as the rose, hair black as ebony, and skin white as snow… Mayhap the animals are entranced by her charm, as well.

Requested by @butterflyremix.

[happylittleshrub]

I finally started playing the 2021 Guardians of the Galaxy game! It's so much fun! Rambling about Rocket below

Ok so he seems to use macabre humor to cover his pain. In the Quarantine Zone he remarks that if he hadn’t escaped we would probably be walking over bits of him right then. Like dude, that’s so morbid don’t say that 💀His past very clearly still bothers him, why wouldn’t it it was horrible, but he tries to brush it off or seem casual about it to hide his vulnerability. I did love when we first arrived and Rocket was geeking out about all the ships and weapons that were there, he’s such a little nerd ❤️❤️❤️

I liked when he told Quill to stop the fake techno babble “Don’t make up tech stuff, it’s annoying.” 🤣 He also chastised me when I went down the wrong path, but going off the beaten path is how you find collectibles, Rocket! It’s like he’s never played a videogame before smh my head. Btw as someone who grew up watching Pokemon I was simply delighted that our group was called Team Rocket lol My immediate response was TO PROTECT THE WORLD FROM DEVASTATION! And I kept making jokes to myself about how the monster we were gonna capture was Pikachu, I had way too much fun with that 😂

I love that Rocket’s the one who upgrades your weapons! It makes me so happy to go to him and get a tech upgrade, I’m always so giddy and afterwards I’m like ‘Thank you, Rocket’ ❤️🥰🥹✨💖 And when he does it he wears his goggles 🥺❤️

I’m most familiar with MCU Rocket who only gave bits of backstory when very drunk so I was surprised when Rocket in the game was more open to talking about it. I found the spinal control unit so I was able to get some further details from him, and all of them were sad :( RIP Lylla again she can never catch a break. His story about being controlled and doing things against his own will and all he could was watch like his own body was a prison was gutting. I wish there was a ‘hug Rocket’ button because man 😭

When they were debating about who would get sold to Lady Hellbender I wanted to step in to defend Rocket when he accepted being a monster the way he defended Groot but I wasn’t given that option >:( 

(I got an interaction later on between Quill and Groot where he tells Groot he thinks he’s awesome and reassures him that doesn’t see him as a monster and I did really like that! It makes me wonder if there’s a similar interaction with Rocket if you choose to sell him.) 

Also Rocket’s friendship with Groot is so cute! It’s so obvious how much he cares for him 🥺I love that he has a little Groot bead in his beard too.

Of course I stopped Drax from tossing Rocket across the ravine. I saw clips of it online and while admittedly it is kinda funny I could never do that to him 😞 It wasn’t even that hard to find an alternate way across. The worst part of the level was watching Rocket drown in jello over and over again because I kept failing the quicktime event 😭 That’s apparently a common issue though because I looked up a tutorial for it and everyone in the comments was complaining about how they ran into the same problem. I’m so sorry Rocket 😢 Once we got out of the stupid jello Groot cradled Rocket like a baby 🥺 Their friendship is the frickin’ cutest I love it so much. Speaking of Groot though his arms were free so he totally could’ve pulled us out of the jello but whatever 

Okay one more thing when Rocket is assuring Groot he’ll break him out of Lady Hellbender’s fortress and he says, “I’ll do it Rocket-style if I have to.” And he gives him a little wink! Ugh I love him so much!!! ❤️ So yeah looking forward to continuing my adventure with him (and the other Guardians too lol) I’ll make another post once I progress further in the game 🙂

[onlycosmere]

Isles of the Emberdark (or Emberdark) Preview Chapters

Prologue

Fifty-Seven Years Ago

Starling held open the drapes to her quarters and hopped from one foot to the other, staring at the dark horizon.

She didn’t dare blink. She didn’t dare miss it.

First light. When would first light appear?

She’d barely slept, despite trying. At least, she’d tried for a good . . . fifteen minutes or so. The rest of the night she’d been too excited. She’d declared slumber a lost cause, and had spent the time reading, waiting, distracted.

In the distance, across the rolling forests of Yolen, the darkness weakened. Was that first light? Did it count? It wasn’t light. It was just . . . less dark.

She went running anyway, unable to contain herself. Wearing her nightgown still, she pushed into the hallway of her rooms in her uncle’s mansion, then scrambled past attendants who smiled as she passed. Starling genuinely liked most of them. She pretended to like the rest. That was what her uncle taught her: always look for the best in both people and situations.

Today, that wasn’t difficult. Today was the day.

First light.

The day she transformed.

She burst onto the balcony above the grand entryway in a tizzy of white hair and fluttering nightgown, startling her uncle’s priests in their formal robes and wide hats. They were up early, of course, because her uncle got up early to take the prayers of those who worshipped him.

Starling flitted around the corner, heading for the next hallway over, which led to his reflectory. Priests belatedly bowed to her from the sides. She might look like she was an eight-year-old girl, but dragons grew slowly, and she was older than some of the priests.

She didn’t feel it. She still felt like a child, which her uncle explained was the way of things. Her mental age was like that of a human child her size. She just got to experience that age far longer than they did, which she figured would have been wonderful, except for one thing. It had forced her to wait long decades for her transformation.

She burst into the reflectory, where her uncle sat upon his fain-wood throne. He wore his human form, which had pale skin and a sharp silver beard just on his chin. He took the appearance of an older man, maybe in his sixties, though that could be deceptive with her kind.

Starling scurried up but didn’t touch him. With his eyes closed, wearing his brilliant white and silver robes, he was taking a prayer from some distant follower. She couldn’t interrupt that. Not even for first light. So she waited, balancing on one foot, then the other, back and forth, trying to keep from erupting from excitement.

Finally, he opened his eyes. “Oh?” he said. “Starling. It’s early for a young dragonet like you. Why are you up?”

“It’s today, Uncle!” she exclaimed. “It’s today!”

“Is today special?”

“Uncle!”

“Oh, your birthday,” he said. “Thirty years old, you are. Unless . . . Could I have mistaken the day? A lot was happening during your birth, child. Maybe we will need to wait until tomorrow.”

“UNCLE!” she shouted.

Frost smiled, then held out his hands for her to embrace him. “I was just speaking with Vambrakastram—and she will take my prayers for the day. I am free, all day, for you.”

“Just for me?” she whispered.

“Just for you. Are you ready?”

“I’ve been so, so ready,” she said. “For so, so long.” She pulled back. “Will my scales really be white when I am a dragon?”

“You are always a dragon,” he said, raising his finger. “Whether or not you have the shape of one. As for the coloring of your scales, there’s no way to know until the transformation.” He smiled, then tapped her arm—which was a powder white. Accompanied by her pink eyes and pure white hair. “Dragons come in all colors, and each is beautiful and unique. But I will say, every dragon I’ve known who was albino as a human—granted, there’s only ever been two others—had white scales to match. A metallic, shimmering white, with a sheen of mother-of-pearl. It’s breathtaking, and they are the only times I’ve seen that shade in one of our kind.”

“Only ever two,” she whispered.

“Only ever two,” he said, then placed his hand on her shoulder. “Plus one, Starling.”

“Letsgoletsgoletsgo!” she shouted, running back out into the hallway. He followed, and—with her urging him on—they continued down the corridor passed more smiling priests. All human, of mixed genders. Starling had been to other dragon palaces, and the priests there were stiff and stuffy. Not so here. Frost saw the best in people, and people became their best because of it. That’s what he’d always said.

“Now,” he said from behind, walking too slowly for her taste, “I’m supposed to speak to you of the ritual importance of the first transformation.”

“I know the importance!” She spun to walk backward. “I will be able to fly.”

“We live dual lives,” he said. “There is a reason we live thirty years as a human before reaching the age of transformation. This is Adonalsium’s wisdom.”

“Yes, yes.” She faced forward again as they reached the end of the hallway—and the grand balcony doors. “We live half our lives as humans so we know what it is like to be small. We live the lives of mortals before we gain the life of a dragon. That way, we’ll understand.”

“Do you?” he asked. He rested his hand on her shoulder as she stood before the closed grand balcony doors, which were made of yellow stained glass. She thought . . . she could see light on the other side, from the horizon.

She was so eager, but he’d taught her to be honest, always.

“No,” she admitted. “I try, but I don’t understand the mortals completely. They live such hurried lives, and they are so fragile, but they don’t seem to care. I try, but I don’t understand.”

“Ah, you are wise to see this,” he said. “With our powers, even as dragonets, empathy is difficult.”

“Will that ruin me?” she asked softly. “Because I don’t understand? Will it stop me from flying?”

“No, you can never be ruined, child.” There was a smile in his voice. “Never, ever. You can learn better, and you will, as you grow. Knowing that is how it happens! And this will not hold back the transformation.” He leaned back. “Sometimes, contrast is important to help us to learn.”

He shoved the doors open, and they swung outward, revealing a horizon that had begun to blaze with predawn. The grand balcony was large enough to hold them in their larger, draconic forms. It was one of the launchpads to the upper palace, which was built on a different scale—not for people the size of humans, but for ones the size of buildings.

She stepped out onto it, suddenly worried. What if it didn’t happen? What if she were broken? She knew some, unlike her uncle, saw her albinism as a flaw. A sign of misfortune, proven by what happened to her parents . . .

“You are,” Frost said, “so wonderful, Starling. I am honored to be here, with you, on this most important of days.”

He left unsaid that he wished her parents had been the ones. That was not to be. She took a deep breath, and held out her hands to the sides.

First dawn struck her, and she absorbed the light. It became part of her. And as it did, the self that had been hidden within Starling these thirty years emerged, glorious and radiant. With wings, and Dragonsteel of pure silver, and scales a glittering white—faintly iridescent.

With that, Starling at last—finally—felt that she belonged.

Chapter Three

Dusk arrived late to the meeting with the Ones Above. He climbed out of the car in front of the government offices, and was met by Second of the Soil, one of Vathi’s more trusted advisors, and a fairly high member in the government himself. He was an important man, even if he did let his Aviar ride on his head.

“You again,” he said. “We’re having important talks with the Ones Above . . . and she sends me out to fetch you?”

Dusk approached him, glanced at his bird, then continued on.

Soil caught up on lanky legs. “Tell me really. Why does she invite you to meetings like this? I thought after that last incident, it was through. Yet here you are again?”

“She hopes,” he said, “I will offer a different perspective.”

“What kind of perspective would you possibly have?”

“The kind,” Dusk said, “of one who looks in from yesterday. Where are they?”

“The talks are mostly finished,” Soil said, pointing Dusk the right direction. “The observation room, which looks out on their ship, is over here. We should be able to catch them leaving.” He paused. “They’ve said they’ll remove their helmets and greet Vathi face-to-face for the first time before they go.”

Well. That should be interesting. Dusk imagined them as strange and terrible creatures with faces full of fangs. Artist renditions from the broadsheets tended to err on the side of mystery, showing beings with dark pits where faces should be—as if representing the darkness of space itself confined to their helmets.

Dusk hastened his step, and Soil reluctantly gave him something Vathi had sent. Some transcriptions of the talks that day, as typed by the stenographer. He really was forgiven.

Her handwritten note at the bottom said, I’m sorry.

He read quickly as they reached the observation room. Inside, a waiting group of generals, kingmakers, and senators uniformly cast him nasty glares.

He didn’t care. He read the notes and realized what was happening. Vathi and the others were close to giving in. The Ones Above were finally winning.

He read that with a sinking sense of loss. However, he didn’t have time to consider further as the doors to another portion of the government offices opened and people walked out, including Vathi and two alien figures in strange clothing and helmets that covered their entire faces. They crossed the courtyard toward a small silvery ship, which was in the shape of a triangle with its point toward the clouds.

Not the main ship, which was high in the sky, but one that ferried people between that and the ground. Like . . . a very fancy canoe.

Dusk pressed against the glass, and heard grumbles as he obscured the view. This chamber was supposed to be secret, with reflective glass on the outside, but he didn’t trust that. The Ones Above had machines that could sense life. He suspected they could see him—or at least his Aviar—regardless the barrier.

He considered demanding that he be allowed to stand on the landing platform with Vathi and the diplomats, but he supposed he should avoid making trouble so soon after being invited back. So he waited, watching as the aliens pushed buttons and their helmets retracted, revealing their faces.

The gathered officials in the room with him gasped. The Ones Above were human.

One male, one female, with pale skin that looked like it had never seen the sun. Perhaps it hadn’t, considering that they lived in the emptiness between planets. From the look of the delicate metal—ribbed, like rippling waves—the remaining portions of the helmets were less like armor, more like ornament.

Sak squawked softly. Dusk glanced at the jet-black bird, then around the room, seeking signs of his corpse. She squawked again, and it took him a moment to spot the death—out on the launchpad. One of the Ones Above now stood with her foot on Dusk’s skull, the face smoldering as if burned by some terrible alien weapon.

What did it mean?

Sak chirped, and he felt something. This . . . was a different kind of vision, was it? Not an immediate danger—but something more abstract. The Ones Above were unlikely to kill him today, no matter what he did. That did not mean they were safe or trustworthy.

He nodded, in thanks, to her warning.

“Toward a new era of prosperity,” one of the Ones Above said on the launchpad, extending a hand to Vathi, who stood at the head of the diplomats. “We show you ourselves now, because it is time for the masks to be down. We look forward to many fruitful exchanges between our peoples and yours, President.”

She took the hand, though personally Dusk would rather have handled a deadly asp. It seemed worse to him, somehow, to know that the Ones Above were human. An alien monster, with features like something that had emerged from the deepest part of the ocean, was more understandable than these smiling humans.

Familiar features should not cover such alien motives and ideas. It was as wrong as an Aviar that could not fly.

“To Prosperity,” Vathi said. Her voice was as audible to him as if she were standing beside them. It emerged from the speakers on the walls--devices developed using alien technology.

“It is good,” the second alien said, speaking the language of the Eelakin as easily as if she had been born to it, “you are finally listening to reason. Our masters do not have infinite patience.”

“We are accustomed to impatient masters.” Vathi’s voice was smooth and confident. “We have survived their tests for millennia.”

The male laughed. “Your masters, the gods who are islands?”

“Just be ready to accept our installation when we return, yes?” the female said. “No masks. No deception.” She tapped the side of her head, and her helmet extended again, obscuring her features. The male did the same, and together they left, climbing aboard their sleek flying machine.

It soon took off, streaking through the air without a sound. Its ability to fly baffled explanation; the only thing Dusk’s people knew about the process was that the Ones Above had requested the launchpad be made entirely out of steel.

That smaller ship would ferry them to the larger one—bigger than even the greatest of the steam-powered behemoths that Dusk’s people used. Dusk had only just been getting used to those creations, but now he had to accustom himself to something new. The even, calm light of electric lights. The hum of a fan powered by alien energy. The Ones Above had technology so advanced, so incredible, that the Eelakin might as well have been traveling by canoe like their ancestors. They were far closer to those days than they were to sailing the stars like these aliens.

As soon as the alien ship disappeared into the sky, the generals, senators, and First Company officials began chatting in animated ways. It was their favorite thing, talking. Like Aviar come home to roost by light of the evening sun, eager to tell others about the worms they had eaten.

Sak pulled in close to his head and pecked at the band that kept his now-graying hair in a tail. She wanted to hide—though she was no chick, capable of snuggling in his hair as she once had. Sak was as big as his head, though he was accustomed to her weight, and he wore a shoulder pad her claws could grip without hurting him.

He lifted his hand and crooked his index finger, inviting her to stretch out her neck for a scratching. She did so, but he made a wrong move and she squawked at him, then nipped his finger in annoyance.

She got like this when she saw Vathi. Not because Sak disliked the woman, but because Kokerlii had liked her so much, and seeing her reminded them of him.

“I can’t bring him back,” Dusk whispered. “I’m sorry.”

It had been two years the disease that had claimed so many Aviar. He worried that without that colorful buffoon around to chatter and stick his beak into trouble, the two of them had grown old and surly.

Sak had nearly died to the same disease. And then alien medicine from the Ones Above had arrived. The terrible Aviar plague—same as those that had occasionally ravaged the population in the past—had been smothered in weeks. Gone, wiped out. Easy as tying a double hitch.

Dusk ignored the human prattle, eventually coaxing Sak into a head scratch as they waited. He very carefully did not punch anyone, though he did watch them. Father . . . Everything about his new life—in the modern city, full of machines and people with clothing as vibrant as any plumage—was so . . . sanitized.

Not clean. Steam machines weren’t clean. Even the new gas machines felt dirty. So no, not clean, but fabricated, deliberate, confined. This room, with its smooth woods and steel beams, was an example. Here, nature was restricted to an armrest, where even the grain of the wood was oriented to be aesthetically pleasing.

She agreed. It’s over. No more negotiating.

That was it, then. With the full arrival of Ones Above and their ways, he doubted there would be any wilderness left on the planet. Parks, perhaps. Preserves like the one he’d suggested. But in helping with it, he’d learned a sorry truth. You couldn’t put wilderness in a box, no more than you could capture the wind. You could enclose the air, but it just wasn’t the same thing.

The door opened, and Vathi herself entered, her Aviar on her shoulder. President of the First Company—the most powerful politician in the city. She wore a striped skirt of an old Eelakin pattern, and a businesslike blouse and jacket. As always, she tried to embrace a meeting of old ways and new. He wasn’t sure you could capture tradition by putting its trappings on a skirt, no more than you could box the wind, but he . . . appreciated the effort. She was one of the few in the First Company who did try.

“Well?” Vathi said to the group of officials. “We’ve got three months.”

Three months? Dusk quickly reread what she’d given him, and there found a nugget. She’d agreed provisionally to trade them Aviar. Nothing was signed yet. The Ones Above would return in three months to collect the chicks.

There was time yet to do something. Maybe that was why she’d invited him.

“They’re not going to stand any further delays,” she said. “Thoughts?”

“We should prepare,” said one general, “for the inevitable. We’ve insisted they give us weapons as part of the deal. It is the best we can do.”

Others nodded, though they shied from Dusk as they did so. He had punched the senator who’d insisted it was time to give in to the Ones Above. In his absence, others had begun to agree.

“Let’s say we wanted to stall further,” Vathi said. “Any ideas?”

There were a few. One suggested they feign ignorance of the deadline, or plausibly pretend that something had gone wrong with the Aviar delivery. Silly little plans. The Ones Above would not be delayed this time, and they would not simply trade for birds. The aliens intended to put a production plant on one of the outer isles, and begin raising and shipping their own Aviar. It was right here in the negotiations—and agreeing to the first step began the others.

“Maybe we could resist somehow,” said Tuli, Company Strategist who had an Aviar of Kokerlii’s same breed. “We could fake a coup and overthrow the government. Force the Ones Above to deal with a new organization. Reset the talks?”

A bold idea. Far more radical than others.

“And if they decide simply to take us over?” General Second of Saplings rapped his knuckles on a stack of papers he held in his other hand. “You should see these projections. We can’t fight them. If the mathematicians are right, the orbital ships could reduce our grandest cities to rubble with a casual shot or two. Or shoot into the ocean so the waves would wash away our infrastructure. If the Ones Above are feeling bored, they could wipe us out in a dozen interesting ways.”

“They won’t attack,” Vathi said. “Eight years, and they’ve suffered our delays with nothing more than threats. There are rules out there, in space, that prevent them from conquering us.”

“They’ve already conquered us,” Dusk said softly.

Strange, how quickly the others quieted when he spoke. They complained about his presence in these meetings. They thought him a wildman, lacking social graces. They claimed to hate how he’d watch them, refusing to engage in conversation.

But when he spoke, they listened. Words had their own economics, as sure as gold did. The ones in short supply were the ones that everyone secretly wanted.

“Dusk?” Vathi said. “What did you say?”

“We are conquered,” he said, turning from the window to regard her. He cared not for the others, but she didn’t just grow quiet when he spoke. She listened. “The plague that took Kokerlii. How long did they sit in their ship up there, watching as our Aviar died?”

“They didn’t have the medicine on hand,” said Third of Waves, the Company Medical Vice President—a squat man with a bright red Aviar that let him see colors invisible to everyone else. “They had to wait to fetch it.”

Dusk remained quiet.

“You imply,” Vathi said, “that they deliberately delayed giving us the medicine until Aviar had died. What proof do you have?”

“The dark-out last month,” Dusk said.

The Ones Above were quick to share their more common technologies. Lights that burned cold and true, fans to circulate air in the muggy homeisle summers, ships that could move at several times the speed of steam-powered ones. But all of these ran on power sources supplied from above—and those power sources deactivated if opened.

“Their fish farms are a boon to our oceans,” said the Company Vice President of Supply. “But without the nutrients sold by those above, we can’t keep the farms running.”

“The medicine is invaluable,” said Third of Waves. “Infant mortality has plummeted. Literally thousands of our people live because of what the Ones Above have traded us.”

“When they were late with the power shipment last month,” Dusk said, “the city slowed to a crawl. And we know that was intentional from the accidentally leaked comments. They wanted to reinforce to us their control. They will do it again.”

Everyone fell silent, thinking, as he wished they’d do more often. Sak squawked again, and Dusk glanced at the launchpad. His corpse was still out there, lying where the Ones Above had left. Burned and withered.

“Show in the other alien,” Vathi said to the guards.

Other alien.

What?

The two men at the door, with security Aviar on their shoulders and wearing feathers on their military caps, stepped out of the room. They returned shortly with an incredibly strange figure. The Ones Above had worn uniforms and helmets—unfamiliar clothing, but still recognizable.

This creature stood seven feet tall, and was encased entirely in steel. Armor of a futuristic cast, smooth and bright, with soft violet-blue light at the joints. The helmet glowed at the front from a slit-like visor and from an arcane symbol—reminding Dusk vaguely of a bird in flight—etched the front of the breastplate.

The ground shook beneath this being’s steps as it entered the room. That armor . . . was surreal, like interlocking plates that somehow produced no visible seam. Just layered pieces of metal, covering everything from fingers to neck. Obviously airtight, with a rounded cast, the outfit had stiff iron hoses connecting helmet and armor.

The other aliens might have looked human, but Dusk was certain this alien was something frightful. It was too tall, too imposing, to be human. Perhaps he was not facing a man at all—but instead a machine that spoke as one.

“You did not tell those you call Ones Above that you have met me?” the alien said, projecting a male voice from speakers at the front of the helmet. The deep voice had an unnatural timbre to it. Not an accent, like someone from a backwater isle, but still an . . . uncanny air.

“No,” Vathi said. “But you were right. They ignored each of my proposals, and acted as if the deal were already done. They intend to set up their own facility here.”

“They intend far more than you know,” the stranger said. “Tell me. Is there a place on your planet where people vanish unexpectedly? A place, perhaps, where an odd pool collects something that is not quite water?”

Dusk felt a chill. He did his best not to show how much those words disturbed him.

“You have only one gem with which to bargain, people of the isles,” the alien said, “and that is your loyalty. You cannot withhold it; you can merely determine to whom you offer it. If you do not accept my protection, you will become a vassal of these Ones Above. Your planet will become a farming station, like many others, intended to feed their expansion efforts. Your birds will be stripped from you the moment it becomes possible to do so.”

“And you offer something better?” Vathi asked.

“My people will give you back one out of a hundred birds born,” the armored alien said, “and will allow you to fight alongside us, if you wish, to gain status and elevation.”

“One in a hundred?” Second of Saplings said, the outburst unsettling his grey and brown Aviar. “Robbery!”

“Choose,” the alien said. “Cooperation, slavery, or death.”

“And if I choose not to be bullied?” Saplings snapped, reaching to his side for the repeating pistol he carried in a holster.

The alien thrust out his armored hand, and smoke—or mist—coalesced there out of nowhere. It formed into a gun, longer than a pistol, shorter than a rifle. Wicked in shape, with flowing metal along the sides like wings, it was to Saplings’s pistol what a shadowy beast of the deep might be to a minnow. The alien raised his other hand, snapping a small box—perhaps a power supply—to the side of the rifle, causing it to glow ominously.

“Tell me, President,” the alien said to Vathi. “What are your local laws regarding challenges to my life? Do I have legal justification to shoot this man?”

“No,” Vathi said, firm—though her voice was audibly shaken. “You do not.”

“I do not play games,” the alien said. “I will not dance with words, like those Scadrians. You will accept my offer or you will not. If you do not, you join them, and I will have legal right to consider you enemies.”

The room remained still, Saplings carefully edging his hand away from his sidearm.

“I do not envy your decision,” the armored alien said. “You have been thrust into a conflict you do not understand. But like a child who has found himself in the middle of a war zone, you will have to decide which direction to run. I will return in one month, local time.”

The colored portions of the creature’s armor glowed more brightly, a blue far too inviting to come from this strange being. He lifted into the air a few inches, then pulled the power pack from his gun. The weapon vanished in a puff of mist.

He left without further word, gliding past the guards—who stepped away and didn’t impede him.

“What was that?” Dusk demanded.

“He arrived early this morning,” Vathi said, “with a simple offer. No negotiating.” She hesitated. “He arrived without ship, and doesn’t appear to need one to travel the stars. He . . . flew down out of the sky under his own power.”

“Or that of his armor,” one of the kingmakers said—he didn’t know her name. “Perhaps that armor . . .”

The guards took up their positions at the door again, sheepishly holding their rifles. They knew, as everyone in the room knew, that no guard would stop a creature like that one if he decided to kill.

Vathi pulled a chair over to the room’s small table, then sat down in a slumping posture, her Aviar, Mirris, crawling anxiously across her back from one shoulder to the other. “This is it,” she whispered. “This is our fate. Caught between the ocean wave and the breaking stone.”

This job had weathered her. Dusk missed the woman who had been so full of life and optimism for the advances of the future. Unfortunately she was right, so there was no sense in offering meaningless aphorisms.

Besides, she had not asked a question. So he did not respond.

Sak chirped, and a body appeared on the table in front of Vathi. Dusk frowned. Then that frown deepened.

Because the corpse was not his.

Never in all his time bonded to Sak had she shown him anything other than his own corpse. Even during that dangerous time, years ago, when her abilities had grown erratic—even then, she’d shown Dusk only his own body.

He stepped across the room, and Vathi looked up at him, relieved—as if she expected him to comfort her. She furrowed her brows when he ignored her to study the body on the table. It was female, very old, with long hair having gone white. The corpse wore an unfamiliar uniform after the cut of the Ones Above. Commendations on the breast pocket, but in another language.

It’s her, he thought, recognizing the aged face. Vathi, some forty years in the future. Dead, dressed for a funeral.

“Dusk?” the living Vathi said. “What do you see?”

“Corpse,” Dusk said, causing some others in the room to murmur. They were uncomfortable with Sak’s power, which was unique among Aviar. He knew some disbelieved it existed.

“That’s wonderfully descriptive, Dusk,” Vathi said. “One might think that after five years you might learn to answer with more than one word when someone talks to you.”

He grunted, walking around the vision of the corpse. The dead woman held something in her hands. What was it?

“Corpse,” he said, then met the living Vathi’s eyes. “Yours.”

Chapter Eleven

Starling crawled down the ladder in a metal tube, far from her homeworld—and even farther, at least emotionally, from that glorious day when she’d first transformed.

Over fifty years had passed. She was basically an adult. But she had replaced grand palaces with dimly lit corridors on a half-functional starship. She reached the bottom and turned toward engineering, wearing her human shape.

A shape she’d not been allowed to leave for twelve years now.

She forced a spring to her step and told herself to keep positive. There was at least one blessing about being exiled: it turned out there were a whole lot of places that weren’t home—and many of them were vibrant, magnificent, amazing. She’d never have visited them if she hadn’t been forced out into the cosmere against her will.

For that, she had decided to be grateful for what had been done to her. Her master said she worked too hard to find sunlight in dark places, but what else was she to do? Darkness was too easy to find, and she preferred a challenge. Besides, the cosmere really was a wondrous place.

Not that her current location was anything spectacular. A metallic corridor with flickering florescent lights. Pipes for decor and barely enough space to walk upright. It took a lot of energy to keep a ship like the Dynamic flying, and designers learned to be economical.

She paused by one of the portholes, gazing out at the bleak darkness of Shadesmar—an endless black plane with no curvature or true horizon. Darkness. Really, wasn’t it the darkness that reminded one how wonderful the light was? Traveling through Shadesmar was dreary at times, but at least she could to it in a ship, rather than walking in a caravan like people had done in the olden days.

She tried to imagine them out there on the obsidian ground below, walking across the lonely expanse. Or, worse, straying out into regions where the ground went incorporeal and turned into the misty nothing they called the unsea. Or . . . the emberdark, they sometimes called that vast emptiness: the unexplored parts of Shadesmar.

Here, on the more frequented pathways, the ground solidified—and had been that way for millennia. You often encountered other travelers on these patrolled lanes between planets. For Shadesmar, such places were conventional, understood, and safe.

But her ship had strayed close to the edges of one such corridor. And out there . . . Well, anything could be out there in the emberdark. Starling found that both exciting and terrifying, all at once.

A figure stepped out of the wall behind her. Transparent, with a faint glow to him, Nazh had pale skin and wore a black formal suit—the kind with a fancy cravat that normal people wore to only the most exclusive of gatherings. He didn’t have much choice as to do so all the time, though, seeing as that was what he’d died in.

“Star?” he asked her. “Is everything all right?”

“It’s strikingly beautiful,” she said, studying along the hallway, running her fingers along the metal. “This corridor.”

Moving let the sleeve of her jacket slip back, exposing one of her manacles. Silver against her powder-white skin, the thick pieces of metal—more like bracers, really—were the symbols of her exile, binding her into human form, locking away her abilities. Until she “learned.”

She still didn’t know, years later, how much the exile was to punish her and how much to teach her. Her people’s leaders could be . . . obscure about such matters.

“Strikingly beautiful?” Nazh asked. “The . . . corridor? Star, are you having one of your moments?”

“No,” she said. “Maybe. Look, I was thinking that this ship is almost starting to feel like home to me.”

“The dragon,” he said with a smile, “who flies a starship.”

“I don’t do much of the flying. That’s Leonore’s job. I just get flown around.”

Twelve years now, trapped in her human form by these manacles. Twelve years since she’d stretched her wings and taken to the sky under her own power.

Shards. She would not let that break her.

She would not let them win.

She continued on her way, Nazh joining her. He didn’t walk, and he didn’t really float. He glided, feet on the ground, as if standing still—but moving when she walked. Hands clasped behind his back.

“I shouldn’t complain,” she said. “I mean, there are advantages to letting someone else do the flying. Easier on the muscles this way. Plus, I can sleep while we travel! Try doing that when flying with your own wings.”

“Star, dear, if I still had a stomach, I believe I’d find your optimism nauseating.”

“Oh, come on,” she said. “You have to admit. Things could be worse. I could be dead—”

“One gets over such trivialities.”

“—wearing a formal suit for eternity—”

“I’ll never be underdressed.”

“—and have a face that is . . . well, you know.”

Nazh stopped in place. “I know what?”

“Never mind,” she said, reaching the ladder to the bottom deck. She climbed down it, while he floated alongside her.

“Never mind what?” he said.

“It wouldn’t be polite to say.”

“You were trained by one of the most obtuse, crass men in all of the cosmere, Star. You don’t know the meaning of the word ‘polite.’”

“Sure I do,” she said, hopping off the ladder. “It’s just that I’m a kindly young woman—”

“You’re eighty-seven. And you’re not a woman.”

“I’m a kindly young—for the relative age of her species—person with a humanoid female appearance. And being kindly means that you don’t tell your friend about the unfortunate nature of his sideburns. You merely imply they are ugly so you can maintain plausible deniability.”

He followed, eyes forward as she reached the door to engineering. “They were quite fashionable when I died.”

“Among whom? Warthogs?”

He almost broke composure—that stern look of near-disapproval cracked, and a smile itched the corners of his mouth. It always felt like a gift when she managed to make Nazh smile. Also, the sideburns weren’t actually that bad—they had a stately, classic air. It was just that he was overly fond of them.

“Hey,” a commanding female voice said in Star’s earpiece. “Are you wasting time again?”

“No, Captain.”

“Then why isn’t my engine working yet?”

“Had to stop at my rooms to fetch something, Captain,” Starling said. “I’m almost to engineering.”

“Did Nazrilof find you?”

“Yes, Captain.”

“I explicitly told him not to.”

“Tell her,” Nazh said, “she can order me a hundred lashings. I’m fond of them. They tickle.”

“Sorry, Captain,” Starling said instead. “I’m entering engineering now.”

“Warn that engineer,” the captain said, “that if there is another problem, I will come down and deal with her personally. I am not known for my patience with crew who slack off.” She cut the line.

“Do you suppose,” Nazh said, “we could pitch her overboard and claim she jumped? I’d swear under oath she was driven mad.”

“By what?”

“My ravishingly attractive sideburns.” He hesitated. “I mean, there has to be some warthog in the captain’s heritage. Have you seen the woman?”

Starling grinned, then pushed in through the door. The engine room of the Dynamic was even more cramped than the hallway—though it had a higher ceiling, the round chamber was clogged with machinery. Starling had to squeeze between engine protrusions and the wall at several points, making her way to the back where a hammock hung from a rivet on the wall and a stack of large barrels, marked with symbols of various aethers.

A young woman sat up from within the hammock and hurriedly hid some items in the pocket of her blue jumpsuit. Aditil had brown skin and wore her dark hair in a braid. As she moved, Starling caught the distinctive pale blue, glass-like portion of her left hand. The center of the palm replaced—bones and all—with a transparent aether the color of the sky.

The glass was cracked, an indication that the symbiote she’d bonded was dead. Starling had never asked for the story behind that.

“LT!” the girl exclaimed. “Oh hells. Captain sent you? Did I let the pressure lapse again?” She scrambled, grabbing her earpiece from the pouch in her hammock, fumbling to put it in. “Sorry. Sorry, sorry, sorry!”

Aditil fumbled further as she slid out of the hammock, almost falling over. She hopped over a large pipe and began to monitor the engines—as she was supposed to have been doing. The old machinery needed constant attention; the Dynamic—as fond as Starling was of it—wasn’t exactly the most cutting edge of ships. Indeed, it was something of a mongrel. Rosharan antigrav technology, Dhatrian aethers for providing thrust and engine power, a Scadrian composite metal hull. Never mind that all three technological strains had produced their own viable starships without the others.

The Dynamic, like her crew, had picked up a little here and a little there. Really, all it was missing was an Awakened metalmind, but those were expensive—and Starling had never trusted them anyway.

Aditil fiddled with machinery, checking gauges and aether levels until she got the engine up to full power. Starling leaned against the wall, noting that Nazh had chosen to remain outside. Aditil was new, and he had learned—from painful experience—to ration his time with new crewmembers. Not everyone was comfortable with shades. Indeed, there were some who’d say that bringing one on board your ship was tantamount to suicide.

“So,” Starling said, “this is the . . . third time this week that Captain hasn’t been able to get ahold of you?”

“Sorry, sorry, sorry!” Aditil kept her head low as she worked.

“Want to talk about it?”

“I’ll do better! I need this job, LT. Please. I . . . need to be able to save up enough . . .”

Starling folded her arms, leaning against the metal wall, the cuffs of her manacles peeking out from beneath her jacket.

Aditil worked for a moment longer, but then slumped as she knelt on the floor beside her equipment. She leaned forward, forehead against the engine. A low humming sound came from within the machinery as it used zephyr aether to generate gas, which created pressure and was the basis for powering the ship. The fact that they could also use the zephyr as propellant and for breathable air meant that the Dynamic was spaceworthy. They rarely needed that, as Xisis—the ship’s owner—usually had them do merchant runs through Shadesmar.

“They’re pictures of your family, aren’t they?” Starling said. “The things you hide whenever I walk past?”

Aditil glanced at her, surprised.

“Can I see them?” Starling asked.

Sheepishly, the young woman fished them out of her pocket and handed them over. Only four photos, depicting a crowded family with . . . seven children? Aditil appeared to be the oldest. Her parents were smiling in every one, wearing the colorful clothing common to people of her planet.

“They didn’t want me to go,” Aditil said. “Said I was too young, even if I’d done the apprenticing. But after . . .” She looked at her hand, pressed flat on the ground, and the cracked aether bud in the left palm. “I couldn’t stay. I took the deal to work for passage offworld, but do you have any idea how much it costs to get back to Dhatri? I didn’t. Stupidly, I left my family. And with them, the one place where anyone has ever wanted me . . .”

“Hey,” Starling said, kneeling. “You’re wanted here.”

“I shouldn’t be,” Aditil said. “I’ve screwed up every duty I’ve ever been given. You deserve a real engineer, with real experience, and a functional aether.”

“Aditil, you think we can afford a full aetherbound? On this old piece of junk?”

“She’s not a piece of junk.” Aditil put a hand on the engine. “She’s a good ship, LT.”

Now, that was good to see. You always wanted an engineer who cared about the ship.

“Either way,” Starling said, “you’re a blessing to us here. A fully trained aetherbound?”

“Without a functioning aether.”

“Either way. We get your knowledge, your skill. You always get the aether working again, when you try.”

“I talk to it,” she said softly. “You can only afford older spores, the kind that tend to be drowsy. I wake it up, that’s all.” She turned away. “I’m broken, LT. Ruined.”

“You can never be ruined,” Starling said, taking her by the hand. “Hey, look at me. Never, ever, Aditil. It’s impossible.” Then she shrugged. “But here, we’re all a little off, eh? We’re family regardless.” Starling had let her jacket sleeves retreat, and Aditil saw the manacles, thought a moment, then nodded.

“Thanks for the pep talk, LT,” Aditil said, pulling away to work at her post. “I’ll stay on it. Won’t let you own.”

“Well, good,” Starling said. “That’s what Captain wants.” She handed back the pictures, then slipped something out of her own inner jacket pocket: an envelope fetched from her room earlier.

Aditil took it with a frown, looked to Starling, then opened it. It took a moment for her to register what was inside. When she did, her eyes widened, and her hand went to her lips, covering a quiet gasp.

One ticket to Dhatri, Aditil’s homeworld.

“But how?” Aditil asked. “Why would you . . .”

“Nobody,” Starling said softly, “on my ship is trapped here. Everybody on my ship has the right to go home. You’re a great engineer, Aditil, and I love having you on this crew. But if there’s another place you feel you need to be, well . . .” She nodded toward the ticket.

“But what does Captain think?”

“Captain doesn’t need to know,” Starling said. “You’re not our slave, Aditil. You’re our friend and colleague.”

She stared at the ticket, tearing up. “How . . . How long have you known how homesick I was?”

“I made a good guess. I did buy a refundable ticket, in case I was wrong.” She gave Aditil a squeeze on the shoulder. “When we get to Silverlight, I’ll sign your release papers. You can return home, until you’re ready to leave again—if ever.”

“I . . .” Aditil closed her eyes, tears leaking down her cheeks.

Starling smiled. “For now, though, please just keep the ship moving. Captain keeps threatening to come down here herself, and I think she might actually do it next time.”

“Thank you, LT,” she whispered. “Starling . . . thank you.”

Starling left Aditil working with renewed vigor, then stepped out of engineering, to where Nazh was waiting, one eyebrow cocked.

“What?” she asked him.

“How did you afford that?”

It was expensive to travel to Dhatri. The law of commerce was this: if you could get to a location through Shadesmar, it was cheap. If not, then you had to pay. A lot.

Most cities were in the Physical Realm, not in Shadesmar, but you could transfer between the two dimensions with ease—if you had a special kind of portal. They were called perpendicularities, and most major planets had them. So traveling was simple. Pop into Shadesmar at one planet, travel easily through to your destination, pop back out.

Unfortunately Dhatri didn’t have a perpendicularity anymore. Which meant you couldn’t travel there using conventional ships like the Dynamic—or, well, you could travel through Shadesmar to the location of the planet, but you couldn’t hop out to visit it. To get to Dhatri you needed an expensive, faster-than-light-capable ship that could travel through space in the physical dimension.

Those were expensive. And mostly controlled by one military or another. Hence why Aditil could catch a ride on one leaving: a ship had needed a post filled, and had recruited her. But to get back, your only reliable way was to buy an overpriced ticket, as every ship traveling there knew how valuable their seats were.

“Well?” Nazh asked as they started walking. And floating. “How did you afford it?”

“I had a little bit of savings,” she said.

“You realize,” he said, “this is only going to convince them further you have a hoard of gold somewhere.”

Shards. She hadn’t thought of that. Their crew was small—only eight people—but the myth about Starling’s kind and their caverns of gold had persisted among them no matter how she tried to stamp it out. At least they’d believed her when she’d insisted that dragons didn’t eat people.

She climbed the ladder to the middle deck. Truth was, she felt good, having guessed accurately what Aditil needed. She was finally starting to feel like she understood this crew, and how to be a leader, like Master Hoid had been trying to teach her. Before he’d vanished, of course. It was his way.

He’d be back. Until then, she had to do her best to guide the crew and protect them from the interim captain. She reached middle deck, and walked through the hallway toward the stern, where she could climb up to the bridge. As she did, though, she spotted someone standing outside of the medical bay, peering in.

ZeetZi was a Lawnark, a kind of being that was basically a human—except instead of hair, he had feathers. A mostly bald head, with dark brown skin, and a crest of yellow and white feathers on the very top. Tiny feathers along his arms, almost invisible against his dark skin. Arcanists said the Lawnark hadn’t evolved from birds or anything like that—more, they were humans who had been isolated, and whose hair had evolved to something akin to feathers.

ZeetZi was supposed to be checking on the life support systems. While Aditil handled the aethers and the engine itself, ZeetZi was their technician for the rest of the ship. He was a genius at this sort of thing . . . when he wasn’t getting distracted by the ship’s doctor.

He spotted Starling and Nazh as they approached, and his crest perked up in alarm. Then he stepped forward to meet her.

“Yes,” he said before she could ask. “Yes, I was checking on the doctor again. Yes. I know you said I shouldn’t be so worried. I can’t help it, LT. We shouldn’t have one of those on our ship.”

“Zee,” she said, taking his arm. “Have you listened to yourself when you talk like that?”

“I know, I know,” he said, crest smoothing back down. “I’m sorry. It’s just . . . LT, you know what they did. To my people. To my world.”

She nodded, and she did. She’d never been to his homeworld—amazing though it sounded—but she knew what the hordes had done to other planets. It was a familiar story.

“Master Hoid,” Starling said, “trusts Chrysalis. He invited her on board.”

ZeetZi shivered at the name, and even Nazh looked away. It said something that there was a dragon and a shade on board this ship, but the one the crew were frightened of was the ship’s doctor.

“I found one of her spies,” ZeetZi whispered, “in my room again.”

Well, that was a problem. Chrysalis did have difficulties with privacy. “I’ll speak to her,” Starling said. She’d made a breakthrough, finally, with Aditil earlier. Could she manage another?

“Star,” Nazh said softly, “you need to stop worrying about that one. The horde will be gone from this ship as soon as Xisis finds us a proper ship’s doctor.”

“Master Hoid told me to watch over the crew.”

“That’s not a member of the crew,” ZeetZi said. “It’s . . . LT, just trust me. It isn’t here to help us. It doesn’t care about us. Except how it can use us to further some mysterious goal.”

“We’ll see,” Starling said. “You two head up to the bridge. I’ll meet you in a bit.”

Both reluctantly withdrew. Starling stepped up to the medical bay, peering in at a figure who wore a tight, formal uniform from a military Starling hadn’t ever been able to identify. The individual worked at a cabinet, cataloging their medicines, as Captain had asked.

As the figure heard Starling enter, it turned. Revealing a face with the skin pulled back, and a network of insects beneath.

[cheynovak]

The Beach City Reunion

Summary: Follows up fanfiction 'Spikes' Y/N returns to the beach city grill after 5 years. Meeting Priestly who has been going through a break up with Tish.

Warning: none

English isn't my first language

Please do not copy my work. Likes/Share/Comments are appreciated.

Y/N hadn’t set foot in Beach City Grill in five years. The place looked mostly the same—faded posters of bands on the walls, the familiar hum of music in the background, and the faint smell of fries and grilled burgers wafting through the air. But as she walked in, scanning for any trace of the old Priestly, her eyes caught on someone who almost looked like him… but not quite.

He was wearing a plain blue button-down shirt, his once vibrant, spiked hair now a subdued shade of brown with a matching beard, smoothed down to an almost painfully ordinary style. She blinked, wondering if she was imagining things.

“Priestly?!” she called out, half-questioning, half in disbelief.

He turned, and when he saw her, his face lit up like a firework. Before she could react, he was around the counter, pulling her into a warm hug.

“Y/N!” he said, grinning. “Wow, look at you! You’ve… changed!” She laughed, pulling back to look at him. “Me? Look at you! W-what happened?”

They slipped into one of the booths, and for a moment, Y/N couldn’t stop staring. She missed the wild, bold Priestly she’d once adored, and this version of him looked like he’d been smothered in beige.

He gave her a sheepish look, glancing down at his shirt. “Tish happened. She, uh, liked me better like this. Thought I should look ‘respectable’—whatever that means. I guess she thought I was only worth dating if I, well, dressed ‘normal.’ So I tried it for her, figured it was worth it if it made her happy.”

Y/N listened quietly, seeing a flicker of embarrassment and something else—something lost—in his eyes.

“Anyway,” he continued, rubbing the back of his neck, “we broke things off a couple of months ago. She said I’d come back ‘begging for another chance,’ but… I don’t think that’s gonna happen. I realized I just don’t know who I am anymore. Lost myself somewhere along the way.”

She nodded, giving him a small, understanding smile. “Sometimes, you think someone’s worth changing for. But if it means you stop being you…” She trailed off, knowing he’d get it.

Priestly chuckled, a hint of his old spark showing through. “Yeah, funny to hear that coming from you."

She grinned, and he noticed a faint edge of her old punk style still shining through—rings on her fingers, a subtle black eyeliner that gave her an edge, But the spiked choker was gone and changed for a leather jacket.

“So,” he said, leaning in with a warm smile, “what about you? How’s life been since you flew the coop?”

She shrugged, feeling a mix of nostalgia and excitement bubble up. “A lot’s changed. I went to college, didn't finish, moved around a bit. I’ve grown up, well a little. Showed up at your doorstep.”

Priestly gave her a look—one of admiration, maybe even a touch of envy. “I’m glad you came back. You look good, Y/N. Like… like you didn’t lose yourself along the way, you grew, literally and figuratively, I like it.”

She felt her cheeks heat, but she kept her gaze steady. “Priestly, the guy who always makes a girl feel special." She smiles softly before adding, "I aways thought you were amazing just the way you were.”

His eyes softened, and for the first time in a long time, he looked like he believed her.

“Maybe it’s time to bring a little of that guy back,” he said, giving her a lopsided grin. “The boring brown hair and button-downs were never really me anyway.”

They both laughed, the sound filling the grill as if nothing had changed at all. And as they sat there, catching up and reconnecting, Priestly felt like he was finally waking up from a long, colorless dream.

Y/N could feel Tish’s glare burning into them as she leaned across the counter to pay, with a mischievous smile. “Why don’t I take you shopping after your shift?” she suggested, tapping her fingers playfully on the countertop. “It’d be nice to catch up… and maybe ditch the corporate look. Show a little more of those tattoos again?”

Priestly glanced at Tish, who was shooting them daggers from across the room, and then shrugged with a little smile. “Yeah, yeah, why not?” he replied, his eyes lighting up. “I’ll see you at five.”

By the time they hit the first store, Y/N was buzzing with excitement. She dragged Priestly to every section, picking out things that she knew he would’ve rocked a few years back. A leather jacket here, a pair of torn jeans there. She even managed to dig up a kilt, holding it out with a grin that made him snort.

“Y/N,” he said, chuckling as he held the kilt up in disbelief, “I can’t wear this. Not anymore. I feel like a kid playing dress-up.”

Y/N’s grin softened. “You’re in your thirties, Priestly. Maybe a kilt isn’t the answer anymore,” she admitted, leaning against the wall of the dressing room. She looked at him thoughtfully, eyes gleaming with an idea. “But… do you trust me?”

He raised an eyebrow but nodded. “Alright. Go ahead, show me what you’ve got.”

Y/N set the kilt aside and walked over to a different rack, pulling out a pair of dark, well-fitted jeans and handing him a plain grey t-shirt. She added a pair of heavy black combat boots and a leather jacket to the ensemble. “Just try these,” she said, “I think you’ll be surprised.”

Priestly emerged from the dressing room a few minutes later, his expression shifting from skepticism to something closer to acceptance. He turned to her, hands stuffed in his pockets, giving her a shy, crooked grin. “Not bad, right?”

“Oh wow, not bad at all,” Y/N said, giving him a once-over feeling her cheeks burn. The jeans hugged his frame well, and the boots added a sturdy, rugged vibe. The t-shirt was simple, but it all brought back a hint of the old Priestly’s edge without trying too hard.

But she wasn’t done yet. “Alright,” she said with a wink, “one last stop.”

She drove him to a nearby barber she’d found online, and before he could protest, she leaned close, whispering her instructions into the barber’s ear.

"Oh and keep the beard." she said walking back outside. Priestly gave her a mock look of fear, but he settled into the chair, trusting her, despite his nerves.

A half hour later, Priestly emerged from the barber’s chair with his hair freshly styled. The sides were clipped short, but the top was left a little longer and tousled. No more mohawk, but it was still a look with personality—classic yet cool, modern but still a bit rebellious.

He caught his reflection in the mirror, running a hand through his hair, and let out a slow breath.

--

Y/N's heart hammered as she watched Priestly walk toward her, his new look transforming him into a vision of the guy she’d fallen for as a teenager—familiar but grown up, rugged and effortlessly cool. She felt her old crush flare to life, burning through her like it had all those years ago. But now, she was older, and so was he, and the spark between them didn’t feel so impossible anymore.

While he’d been getting his hair cut, she’d slipped out to pick up a few finishing touches—things that would bring back a hint of the punk style they’d once shared. As he approached, she held out a heavy, silver chain and a studded leather belt. With a grin, she hooked the chain to his jeans, her fingers brushing against him as she added the belt.

But then, she pulled out something else—a small, worn leather bracelet with faded band logos, the same one he’d given her years ago in the Beach City Grill. She held it up, a little shy but determined, and carefully slipped it back onto his wrist, fingers lingering on the familiar worn leather.

Priestly looked down, his eyes widening. “You… you kept it?” His voice was soft, filled with something she couldn’t quite name.

Y/N nodded, feeling her cheeks heat as she looked up, meeting his gaze. “Of course I did. You were... well, it was special to me.” she said almost looking nervous.

Priestly looked at her, "How old are you now?" She still looked at him, his green eyes piercing her waiting for an answer. "I- Eh... 21." Priestly looked over her in the distance, clearly counting in his head.

They stood there in silence, the air thick while she waited for his reaction, still holding his wrist in her hands, feeling something electric. Her heart pounded so loudly she thought he must be able to hear it.

But before her nerves could make her say something stupid, Priestly reached out, cupping the back of her head, his fingers threading through her hair pulling her closer.

He leaned down, his gaze searching hers for a split second, and then his lips brushed against hers, soft and warm, then deeper, like he’d been waiting for this moment as long as she had. The world seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of them—two people who’d found their way back to each other after years apart.

Y/N knew that what she had been waiting for ever since she was 16 was finally here. Priestly saw her, not as a teenage girl with a crush. But as a woman.

When they finally broke apart, he rested his forehead against hers, still holding her close. "I did say 'maybe in a few years' didn't I?"

She laughed softly, feeling her heart swell.

“Welcome back, Priestly.”

--

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[fictitiouswanderings]

Untitled Jayvik throwaway

“It doesn’t mean a thing to me if you’re different” Jayce spoke softly to Viktor, his hand cupping his face. 

Viktor had no idea how he ended up in this predicament. His lab partner was so close he could smell his cologne, hell he could smell the liquor on his breath. “You’re just saying that” he replied, turning his head away from his calloused hand. “You wouldn’t even begin to understand the differences we own” 

What was once a normal day in the lab had turned so quickly into a sloppy mess, how had this happened? A celebration of their newest accomplishments, a little liquor, and maybe being in each other's closeness a little too often had led to this, but Viktor couldn’t help but squirm away from him. Tipsy or not, he didn’t think of his lab partner as anything other than such, or at least that’s what he wanted to think. It was impossible to not get so close after working day and night together like they had, but he’d never imagine they’d be THIS close, or that Piltover’s golden boy would find him attractive. He could have anyone he wanted, so why him? 

“Then indulge me”, Jayce said, as he pulled his hand back and gave the other some space so that he wasn’t almost pinning him to the counter. He could see Viktor visibly relax, his hand on his cane adjusting for a better hold. “I know that you’re ill, I can see that, but ill or not I still have these feelings for you, and I can’t very well hold them back any longer”

“Why me?”, was all Viktor could muster, lowering his eyes from the other’s intense gaze. 

“Why not you?”

Viktor has a secret, something he felt he couldn’t share with anyone. In order to fit into Piltover’s greater society he had to keep it to himself. He worked harder than anyone else to deserve where he was at now. A great scientist, an amazing discoverer of magics yet to be harnessed. He wouldn’t let his illnesses defeat his sheer will to create. 

Working hard in the laboratory side by side with his partner Jayce they did amazing things, even if the council was unconvinced in its usefulness. Most nights he would stay at the lab, sleeping sprawled across the desk and his notes, but every so often he would need to return home, and home was the safest of places for him. A place where he could rest as he really needed to. 

Wearing a binder wasn’t safe for long periods of time, he knew that, but work required his attention. It wasn’t like he needed a binder, he was already fairly flat and could hide well enough under layers of clothing, but he enjoyed the extra security it offered. At home he could strip down from all the extra things his body required, braces and such, but it always felt best to take off that damned binder at the end of a long day. His body ached but he made his way to the shower to clean off. 

Under the warm water he found himself thinking of his lab partner, the way his eyes sparkled when they were on the brink of discovery, the way his voice quickened. He would be stupid to deny that he was handsome as well as smart. He sighed softly under the warmth and tried to let his thoughts drift off to anything else, but they’d always come back to him. There wasn’t anything he could do about it, Jayce was just so enticing. His broad shoulders and chest, his physique spoke of being more than a scientist and Viktor wondered how he found the time to make it to the gym as well as work in the lab. He hummed softly as he washed his hair then the rest of his body before getting out to dry off. 

He hobbled over to the mirror and wiped away the condensation before leaning in and taking a closer look at his face. It was gaunt, like always. No matter how much he ate, or what he did, he always looked like he was at the brink of starvation, a ghost of a man. He hated how smooth his skin was, and thought of how effortless it seemed for Jayce to grow a beard in the days they’d be working on something. Hardly anything grew on his own, not even peach fuzz. He sighed and instead grabbed a nearby brush and ran it through his hair, the one thing he was proud of. He took great care to detangle it. Once he was done brushing his hair he made sure to dry off completely, throwing the towel over a rack before leaving his bathroom completely nude to return to his bed. 

It wasn’t until he heard a key drop that he realized he wasn’t alone. He was maybe halfway to his bed when he heard the noise, followed by a sharp gasp. No other feeling could describe how he felt other than a deer in headlights. He looked across the room towards the door past the small kitchenette, and in the doorway was Jayce standing there looking dumbfounded. 

Jayce quickly turned around and faced the door, “S-Sorry!”, he yelled out, “I thought I would come check on you since you weren’t at the lab–”

“GET OUT, GET OUT OF HERE RIGHT NOW”, Viktor shouted. He quickly grabbed the sheet off his bed and covered himself from chest to toe, his whole body flushed with embarrassment.

Without saying another word, and without picking up the dropped key Jayce fumbled the doorknob of his apartment and left. 

How could he have not heard the door open? What all did he see? Pretty obviously his whole naked ass body. Viktor sat on his bed and groaned, his face falling into his hands. His biggest secret was out, and so stupidly. What could he do about this now? He tried to regain his composure but instead let himself fall onto his side in his bed, curling up and holding himself tightly.

—-

It had been days since the incident and Viktor was nowhere to be seen. Jayce worked hard in the lab despite this. He wondered when the other would return to work, he’d almost never missed a day despite his illnesses, so this was unnerving to him. He felt awful for walking in on him, and still couldn’t wrap his brain around what he saw. He chalked it up to late nights working hard, blurring his vision and making him see things, because he thought he saw Viktor, but with the body of a frail woman’s. 

He shook his head and put down his work, maybe going to the gym would help him clear his thoughts. He left the lab as it was since only he and Viktor really visited any longer. He made his way down to the gym to pump iron and forget about it, but nothing helped. He still wondered and worried about Viktor, was he okay? Was he eating enough? Was he sick? Covered in a slick sweat he ended his workouts for the day and went to clean up, Viktor still on his mind. He decided it would be best if he went to visit him again. If he was sick maybe he could make something for him, or acquire some medicine to help.He hoped he’d even be welcomed. 

All the way there his thoughts were in the clouds, wondering if things would be okay. He finally stopped in front of the familiar apartment door, this time keyless. He stood there for a moment wondering if this was the right thing to do. The last time he’d entered he’d found himself invading Viktor’s privacy, though this time he would be announced at least. He took one final sigh before knocking on the door.

Viktor, who had been deep in thought, jumped when he heard the sound. He’d been sitting at a table in the livingroom working on some schematics trying to make sense of them, his coffee long gone cold next to him. 

“Hello? Who is it?” He called out without getting up from the table.

“It’s Jayce” came the reply. 

Viktor’s body stiffened. It had been a couple of days now and he was hiding away in shame. He wasn’t sure he could see him again. 

“I just wanted to see if you’re okay, you are okay right?”, came his voice through the door again.

Viktor grabbed his cane and got up from the table, slowly hobbling over to the door before opening it despite his stomach churning. He looked up at the other man, and saw genuine concern in his face, which stopped him from snapping at him.

“I’m fine. Is that all you came to see?”

“Yeah well, you haven’t been coming to the lab, so I was worried– what do you mean is that all I came to see?”, an eyebrow raised

Viktor cleared his throat, his face a little flushed, he didn’t mean to ask like that. “Nevermind that. I’m fine, I’ve just been working from home on something private” 

“Oh I see. Uhm…well is there anything I can do to help?”

“Private, Jayce”

“Right, sorry”

They stood in the doorway in silence for a little longer, Viktor not knowing what to say to Jayce and Jayce trying to read the man’s mind. What was going on, he wasn’t sick, and he worked on private things in the lab before, it wasn’t such a strange thing to have your own work from time to time. 

“Look, I’m sorry I barged in last time, I swear I didn’t see anything”

Viktor stiffened a little more, and looked away from Jayce once more. “Don’t worry about it…..would you like a cup of tea?” He opened the door a little wider for Jayce to come in. 

“No thank you, Mother should be waiting for me to come home tonight and I don’t want to keep her waiting, I just thought I would check in on you first” 

“....thank you” was all Viktor could muster. 

“I’ll see you at the lab later?” 

“Yeah…”

Jayce then turned away from the door and Viktor watched as he left. He couldn’t help but admire him from the back. He was relieved that their awkward conversation was over, though it could have been worse, and slowly closed the door, locking it behind him before returning to the table. As he sat back down he realized his heart was pounding in his chest. He recalled Jayce saying he didn’t see anything, and he hoped maybe he didn’t, but he was sure he had to have. At least he didn’t seem to want to talk about it in detail.

—-

When Viktor returned to the lab Jayce was already hard at work and undistracted at it as well. He wasn’t even sure that he saw him coming in but instead of saying something he simply pulled on his goggles and began working on his own thing. It was quiet, almost awkwardly so. It wasn’t until Jayce said something that Viktor finally snapped back to reality. “Huh? Can you repeat what you said?”

“Could you hand me that?” Jayce motioned for a tool on a desk nearby.

“Sure” Viktor replied, getting up and grabbing the tool for him. He handed it over and looked over his shoulder at what he was working on. “Looks complicated, do you require any assistance?” 

“That would be fantastic actually, if you look over the schematics we might be able to get this finished today, I think the council will be happy for it” 

Viktor moved to his side and looked over the schematics and with a soft “Hmmm” started to set things up for Jayce so that he could continue working, the next thing lined up for him to grab. It went on like this for quite a while until the project was finished, this was how they liked to work. Neither of them even realized how late it was, or how covered in grease they’d become. Once finished they both stepped back from their newest creation to admire it. 

“This will be great, I hope they accept it” Jayce spoke, wiping away sweat from his forehead and leaving behind a little bit of grease as he did. Viktor couldn’t help but stifle a laugh.

“What? What is it?”

“It’s nothing”

“No it’s not, you’re laughing, what are you laughing at?”

“You just..here let me” Viktor grabbed a clean rag and wiped away at his forehead getting most of the grease. “You had some grease on the back of your hand and wiped it across your forehead” 

“Oh Geez, thanks” he replied, feeling stupid that he’d missed something like that.

“No problem. When do you think you’ll present this?”

“Tomorrow hopefully” 

They both looked at the time, it was already tomorrow. They looked back up at each other and laughed, it wasn’t the first or the last time they’d worked all night into the morning. The laughter echoed a little in the lab and Viktor felt like there was a warmth along with it.

“Let's get out of here and get some proper rest then shall we?” Viktor spoke and Jayce nodded in agreement. 

Viktor was happy for another day in the lab, the awkwardness faded as they worked and he seemed to forget what he was feeling awkward about in the first place. He and Jayce both left the lab and went their separate ways. 

In the morning they returned bright and early, Jayce yawning loudly as Viktor put on a pot of coffee to hopefully kickstart their day. He felt like he’d gotten a good nights rest for once, and so did Jayce, but the warm beverage would still be more than welcomed.

Jayce went straight away to the finished project, admiring it from a slight distance. He was sure the council would approve of it and maybe continue funding their projects, or at least that was the hope. Viktor watched from the little kitchenette in their lab as Jayce stood there, hands on his hips. He had some really nice hips, he caught himself thinking, but quickly shook his head and busied himself with finding some clean mugs.Once the coffee was brewed he poured two cups, one for himself and one for Jayce of course, and brought it over to him.

“Here, careful it’s hot”, he said as he handed Jayce his mug.

“Thank you!” Jayce replied, almost immediately taking a sip of the piping hot beverage. Viktor just watched in amazement at how the other didn’t seem to notice the temperature. He looked down at his own coffee and decided it wasn’t worth trying to do the same and began to softly blow on it. They stood in silence together for a moment before Jayce set his mug down on a nearby surface. 

“Well…I should probably ready up for this meeting, they’ll want a demonstration I’m sure”, he spoke suddenly cutting the silence.

“Mmm”, Viktor replied, mid-sip of his coffee and took it as his cue to let the other do his own thing and get on to his own projects. He could hear the other busying himself as he limped away to away to the other side of the lab. He loved that about Jayce, the way he was committed to everything in the laboratory was really commendable. It was an added benefit that he had more social status than he did as well and was willing to attend all sorts of meetings or parties. It wasn’t much Viktor’s style, and he felt Pilover residents all seemed to have their noses up in the air over anyone who wasn’t from there, even if they seemed to be the sweetest of people. So he didn’t often strike up conversation and he’d gotten a reputation as being the quiet of the two scientists. 

Jayce finished getting ready and took his project with him as he left, leaving Viktor once more to the silence of their lab.

—-

Hours after, Jayce returned to the lab looking flushed and happy. “guess what?!” He spoke exictedly and a little loudly. 

Viktor stopped working and raised his goggles feom his eyes as well as an eyebrow, “what? Im guessing good news?”

“Great news! They loved it!! And they are willing to keep paying us for another 6 months!” 

“That is great news indeed! Congratulations Jayce”

“I couldnt have done it without your help” Jayce replied quickly as he started making his way closer to Viktor. “So thank YOU” 

Viktor smiled up at him before realizing he was getting a little closer than usual. “Is everything alright?” 

“Yeah, ive just been thinking lately…”

“That IS a big part of our job” Viktor laughed a little but then Jayce put a hand over his. 

“S-sorry was that not funny?” Viktor asked, removing his hand from under the others but Jayce didnt move away. “Jay?” 

Viktor started to stand when Jayce moved in closer pinning him to the edge of his desk. “Jayce what are you doing?” 

“Being honest with myself for once” Jayce finally spoke as he put a hand on Viktors hip, partly steadying the other but mostly just to touch him. Viktor couldnt help but tense up a little bit at the touch. 

“What do you mean?” Viktor continued, his cheeks beginning to flush. 

“I cant keep playing pretend about how i feel about you Viktor”, Jayce’s grip became a little firmer. “I want you” 

“Theres no way we’d work together” Viktor exclaimed, trying to wiggle out of his grasp. “Were too different you and i, especially me” 

“It doesn’t mean a thing to me if you’re different” Jayce spoke softly to Viktor, his hand cupping his face. 

“Youre just saying that” Viktor replied, “ you wouldnt even begin to understand the differences we own”

“Then indulge me” 

“Why me?” 

“Why not you?” Jayce paused after giving the other some space, “ you’re incredibly handsome and talented not to mention a genius”

Viktors face flushed a little bit, still unable to make eye contact with the other 

“Why wont you look at me?” Jayce spoke softly and Viktor glanced back at him. Both of them reddish in the face. 

“…Jayce youre drunk-“

“I am not entirely drunk but i have had a few drinks tonight, to celebrate if course” he started backing away from the other but stopped, “can i just..can i kiss you?” 

It threw Viktor off. He didnt expect a question like this from Jayce and they sat in silence before Viktor gave a small nod. Jayce split into a wide smile before slowly closing the gap between them, grabbing Viktors chin gently and lifting it as hed still been looking away from him. 

The kiss was gentle, and Viktor felt his entire body get hot before melting against the other. After a moment Jayce pulled away, “was that okay?” 

All Viktor could do was nod back. He was breathless, and he wanted more. If a kiss was all it took to make up his mind on how he felt about the other then that was it. He leaned up, balancing on his crutch and toes to give Jayce another kiss to which the taller man wrapped his arms around Viktors waist pulling him in. There was a loud thwack as Viktors cane hit the ground but they both ignored it, instead opting to making out instead. 

Jayce pushed Viktor up onto the table behind him and Viktor gasped a little before they dove back to each others mouths. A moment later they were both gasping for air and then Jayce did another unexpected action, moving Viktors collar to the side before sucking at his neck.

“Aahhh” Viktor whimpered, he never knew this could feel so nice or how much he wanted it. He could feel his gut tighten with arousal the more the other kissed at him. Jayce took the others whimpers as permission to continue and started to feel the other up a little as well starting at his hips and moving up. It wasnt until hed gotten to Viktors chest that he hesitated, noticing Viktor go a little stiff at the others touch. “Is everything okay?” 

“Y-yeah, ah uhm how do i say this” 

Jayce paused and looked down at the other waiting for him to speak. 

“Jayce im different from you” 

“You said that already, but what do you mean?” 

Viktor began unbuttoning the top of his shirt just enough for his binder to be shown. Jayce thought this was just another brace however. “Yeah i know you wear things for accessibility”

“No its not- “ he sighed, “its a binder Jayce” 

“A binder?”

“For my breasts” Viktor finally spelled it out for him. 

Jayce stepped back just a little, taking in the information. 

“Wait…does this mean-“

“It means im trans Jayce. Im not a real man..”

“Who said you werent?” 

“I- well, most of society”

“Youre just as much a man as i am, regardless of your body. Is this what you meant by differences?” 

“That and my disabilities in general” Viktor sighed, but was happy Jayce didnt seem to be grossed out by the new information. 

“Disabled or not youre not a broken person, youre perfect” Jayce spoke with confidence. 

“Thank you..” 

“So does this mean youll go out with me?” Jayce asked, surprising the older man again. 

“Can i think about it?” Viktor spoke softly not wanting to upset the other.

Jayce just smiled, nodded and gave a kiss on his forehead

—

[More to come]

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

5k is so deserved! I constantly go back and reread your works and am always looking forward to what’s next ❤️❤️❤️

I’ve been having thoughts about a Hesh x femreader reunion request thats similar to your latest Keegan piece. Except reader was childhood friends with the Walker boys, but despite there being feelings between Hesh and reader they’re scared of confessing because of their friendship. they get separated when Odin happens, and both join the military and reunite during a joint Op with the Ghosts and readers team, and even after 10 years their feelings resurface and finally get together.

Can’t wait to see what you’ll write for all the requests!!

—To The Boy of My Childhood

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [Ten years came and went fast, but the memory of the Walker boys stayed. One more than the other. You never got to tell him you loved him.] ❞

You remembered his kindness, above all. His big, pure, heart. Hesh wasn’t just someone you grew to know and then threw out like a pair of old socks, no, he was too good for that—a mix of playful boyishness and the makes of a fine man. You wished you could have told him how much he meant to you before it all just fell apart. 

Growing up near the Walker boys was a treat and a curse, not for yourselves, but for the adults—no one got in the way of you three. Late nights in the backyard, laughter keeping everyone up into the small hours. The fights and the near-instantaneous make-ups. 

The older years of deep-rooted attraction to the green-eyed boy of your youth.

David Hesh Walker had been everything you had ever wanted, and even when the ground shook and the word split, you still couldn’t tell him how you felt. But fate had plans for the two of you—it was only a matter of time. 

Ten years, to be exact.

You jump down from the helo, your knees taking the brunt of the weight from your gear as your team follows. Fort Santa Monica was a bustling stronghold right on the door of Federation occupation—enemies stalking like animals beyond the wall for a glimpse of weakness. The men and women here were anything but.

“On me!” You call out behind you, and the resounding rush of booted feet follows as you all move out along the helicopter pad swiftly. The unit you were assigned was given a simple task—assist the commanding Captain here and his men with wall defense to reduce the amount of casualties. 

Over the ten years of war, you’d honed yourself into something akin to a walking weapon. Found deliriously surviving in the remnants of the USA, your rage and anger gave you the skills you needed to still be alive when the soldiers found you; brought you back to civilization. It hadn’t taken much for you to sign up after that, thinking Hesh and his brother were dead. 

Hesh. God, you had loved him so much that the feeling hadn’t dimmed in the slightest even now. Being so close to home once more made you feel…strange. 

“Lieutenant!” One of the soldiers comes up to greet you all, shouting above the whir of blades—he was an older man with a shaved head and a large beard. “Welcome to Santa Monica!”

“Good to be here!” You call, a rifle hanging heavy on your chest. “Where do you need us, Sir?”

“Fall in, I’m bringin’ you to Scarecrow!” So you follow, leaving the sandy beach of the port and heading into the dense streets. There were civilians in this Fort, you knew, just beyond the checkpoint of fences. You have to wonder how they felt about this—trapped in a rat cage with the water and the war clamping to them tightly. 

“Heard your unit was well-known.” You’d learned the man’s name was Thomas Merrick—a Captain here. You blink at him, head tilting. “Scarecrow was eager to get you here, can’t say why.” 

“I was told you needed support at the wall, Captain,” you explain, brows furrowing. “Were my superiors mistaken?”

Merrick's brown eyes stare at you as you walk beside him, your men all speaking to one another from behind. 

“No,” is all you’re told. 

This ‘Scarecrow’ was known as only that, and your lips thin at the comment leveled at you. Strange. 

Your other men are shown their barracks, and you send them off to get rid of their packs and belongings while you continue on with Merrick to the control room—eager to meet this Captain and get real answers. 

When you get there, the second you push open the door and Merrick takes his leave, you’re greeted by one of the old faces that you could recognize anywhere. 

You freeze just three feet into the room, locking eyes with this mythical ‘Scarecrow’ but it wasn’t some great war strategist, at least, not as you know him.

“Mr. Walker?” You pause, blinking in confusion. Elias Walker—Hesh and Logan’s dad. Your heart constricts in your chest. 

He looks at you, a small smile on his stern face as his arms crossed, nodding his head. 

“Thought I recognized that name in my request for transfers.” 

“Holy shit,” you breathe, a grin breaking out over your face for the first time in ages. Part of you wanted to race and hug him—bathe in the comfort that his rare soft looks would bring you when you were younger…but you weren’t that kid anymore. Being alive was enough, and with the things you’d seen, it meant far more than anything else. Elias seemed to share that sentiment, as he walked over and put a hand on your shoulder, squeezing it. 

“How did…how are…” Your head shakes quickly, memories flooding back along with the pain. But there, in your chest, a flicker of hope—something more blooming back to life. “Logan?” Your voice is tiny, pleading as you pause, gazing into Elias’s eyes. “...Hesh?”

“I already called ‘em back in. They’ll be here soon.” He gives you a proud nod. “I’m glad you’re still here, Sweetheart.” 

You laugh, smile wobbling. 

Alive. Hesh was alive. 

Every wall you’d built falls the second boyish laughter echoes out from the halls. You turn, hearing feet move down the floor, closer and closer as your body stills like a statue. 

Alive. 

When a shoulder pushes open the door, you stop breathing as a far older David enters the room, Logan, as always, not far behind. 

He’s mature now, with a beanie over his short brown hair and the presence of a grown man holding down responsibilities—he was smirking back and his brother, saying in a voice that haunts your dreams, “Think we should tell him what Riley found today, Logan?” 

The younger brother stops short, locks eyes with you, and his body goes as tight as a fishing line. 

Hesh’s brows furrow. “Logan?” He turns to you and those green eyes go confused for a moment, lips going thin. It’s a flash of recognition that re-ignites them—a flicker of something long past before they snap wide with fierce realization.

Blinking quickly, the man watches you, hands at his sides jerking forward by a millimeter as if to grab for you at even a single glance. No one speaks for a long, long time, and maybe you don’t want them to. Hesh and you are locked in a look of pure pain and elation—a dance of life and death. 

There aren’t any words for it beyond the sudden mad scramble for the other’s hold. 

You collide in a sharp breath and a hand to the back of your head—keeping you to him as you both grasp for purchase; for a glimpse of your childhood back.

“Jesus Christ,” Hesh breathes, anchoring you to him as his chest sputters. “Oh my fucking God.”

“Hesh,” you whimper through a sobbing laugh. “You son of a bitch, I should throttle you.”

He scoffs wetly into your ear, hands quivering and voice cracking. 

“Me? If I remember, Doll, you were the one to take that tumble down the hill—I…I tried to find you, y’know that? I swear, I didn’t want to leave but I—”

You pull back and slam your lips to his. 

It was far better than an ‘I love you’ when he melted and grappled you closer.

[buckydeservesthebest]

OK quirky Bucky theory time. You ready? We never see Bucky clean-shaven after TFA. He always has a stubble, a bit of scruff around the chin or sports a proper beard as in Wakanda.

At first I wondered if our boy was just lazy or didn't have much of a self-grooming routine (obviously nothing in HYDRA days) but now I don't think its that at all.

I think that instead, on the rare occasions he does shave, his facial hair grows back absurdly quickly because of the healing factor of his serum. Like probably within a day or two.

So, whenever he tries to shave his body is like **damage is being done! I must heal this!!!** and goes into overdrive to grow hair back.

This must have been frustrating when he first escaped HYDRA, before he realized it was better to just let the stubble do its own thing.

Hi dear Anon! Thank you very much for sharing your interesting theory!

This is a curiosity I often think about... Apparently Bucky's hair and beard length has been a bit unconscious over time...

I mean, Bucky was under HYDRA's control for 70 years, but his hair length only reached his neck, this is indicative that Bucky spent most of that time in cryostasis, which slowed down his metabolism and probably made his hair grow slower.

But I wonder what happened to his beard then? Why didn't it grow as long as his hair? Did HYDRA shave him? I really doubt that was the case, why would they do that? They have no reason to...

Now, we know that after CA:TWS Bucky was free for 2 years, but his hair and beard don't seem to have grown any longer. Is it just a plot hole? It's funny, but if you notice Bucky's hair is a bit longer at the beginning of CW, in the Bucharest fight, than in the Berlin prison escape. And this is for no other reason than because the Berlin prison scene was filmed before the Bucharest scene, and as the filming of the movie went on, Sebastian's hair grew. So, at the end of the day, the variation in Bucky's hair length in CW is a Marvel inconsistency...

Well, after this, Bucky was in rehab in Wakanda for 2 more years, and now his hair and beard seemed to grow consistently in this time.

It's also true that the rate of hair growth varies from person to person, for example Steve never had any trace of a beard apart from Infinity War, did he shave all the time? It's possible, or just that his hair grows slower than Bucky's...

But speaking especially of why there isn't a moment in TFATWS where Bucky is totally shaved, I think that just as in IW and Endgame Bucky hadn't cut his hair, this is a reflection of how he feels deep down...

His hair is intimately connected to the time of the Winter Soldier, and by that time (in IW and Endgame) Bucky still felt unsettled, he didn't feel recovered...

And as we saw in TFATWS, Bucky still feared that a part of the WS was still there, which breaks my heart because this isn't it... But the point is that maybe our boy never ended up readopting the look he had in the 40's because he no longer feels like the man he was back then.

It's not just like Steve said "the man he was froze 70 years ago and someone else came out in his place", the dissociation Bucky feels towards his past self is based on trauma and self-loathing, which makes this subject heartbreaking..

That's why I prefer your theory, it's not emotionally painful at least...

[theinternetisaweboflies]

Jägermeister

Chapter One: Celebration

“Your leg is killing us,” grumbled Newt. 

“Well, pardon me for attempting to make haste.” Hermann rolled his eyes, which was particularly effective with the subconjunctival hemorrhaging. “It was merely the fate of the world at stake.”

Newt was pretty sure Hermann hadn’t been this sarcastic before the drift.

They were still in LOCCENT, because moving sounded like a lot of work, and they were officially off the clock.

The clock had stopped.

Newt knew one of them didn’t quite believe it yet, but he couldn’t tell if it was him or Hermann. 

Hermann had collapsed in a nearby office chair after its owner vacated it in favor of joining the celebration that was spreading through the Shatterdome like a particularly noisy strain of flu. 

Newt had been saving two bottles of alcohol for the end of the end of the world. They’d been stashed in the lab for five years, ever since he first got to Hong Kong and could take advantage of its open port. One was a bottle of blue Curaçao. The other was Jägermeister.

Newt had always wondered what public affairs person decided Jaeger would be the perfect name for their military-grade Rock 'em Sock 'em Robots, when it was already sort of taken by a fairly infamous brand of German liquor, but it was kind of like when Coronavirus hit and nobody stopped drinking Corona. There were much bigger things to worry about. 

Jägermeister was German for 'Master Hunter,' a title originally reserved for officials in positions related to game keeping and hunting. Newt seemed to have a stronger grasp on German history than he had before the drift, so he now knew that Hermann Göring had been a Reichsjägermeister, which was just patently fucking unfair. 

If any Hermann ever deserved the title ‘Jaeger Master of the Realm', it was Hermann Gottleib. 

Now they wouldn’t even get to drink their celebratory toast. Even Newt knew better than to mix alcohol with neural overload.

Some rockstar he turned out to be. Here he was, at the biggest party the human race would probably ever throw, and he was going to bed both early and sober. 

At least, Newt hoped he was going to bed early. Even his hair hurt. Though not as much as Hermann’s leg. 

“I still can't believe it’s the year 2025 and we had to deliver that message in person,” he said. “I mean, how could you have forgotten your phone?”

Hermann huffed and puffed for a moment before saying, “You didn’t have your phone either!”

“As usual, Hermann, you are wrong. I did have my phone. It was just in several pieces. Why? Did you try calling me or something?" Before Hermann could respond, Newt added, “How weird was it that the chopper’s radio didn’t work either? I mean, it was fine when you flew out to the bone slums, right?”

Hermann gave a tired hum of affirmation. “Murphy's Law?”

Maybe Leatherback had a baby too. Maybe it let off a tiny localized blast of organic EMP that took out the radio in a single PPDC helicopter. 

Maybe Newt needed to go to bed.

“I thought you said Murphy’s Law was unscientific compared to… What was it called? The English Flatulence Formula?”

Hermann bristled. “You know perfectly well it is called the British Gas Formula, because the work was commissioned by British-”

Newt interrupted Hermann before he could blow a blood vessel in his other eye. “Yeah, yeah, but you've got to admit it was kind of cool getting to storm into LOCCENT and save the day.”

Hermann smiled suddenly. It was a little bit blinding, even through a cracked lens. “Did you actually call Hercules Hansen a fascist, or was I hallucinating?”

“Oh, shit,” Newt groaned. “I should probably apologize for that. I was sort of worked up, and he looks a lot like your dad did back in the 90s when he thought he could pull off a beard.”

Hermann's smile grew, impossibly, wider. “You were calling my father a fascist?”

“Look, the drift was a lot, alright? I mean, the first one was too, but in a completely different way. I- You know their minds don't work like ours. It did nothing to prepare me for a drift with another human being. Your mind-”

Newt cut himself off. He wasn't breathing but he was babbling, which should have been biologically impossible. 

He sat down on the floor, leaning against the console where Hermann was seated. Someone rushing past them with a bottle of actual champagne accidentally stepped on his leg a little bit, but Newt was too tired to mind much. It wasn’t even the first time he had been stepped on that day. 

The console was cold and hard, so Newt rested his head on Hermann’s knee instead. He didn’t realize this was an abnormal thing for him to do until it was too late. By then, Hermann was patting the top of Newt’s head, like he was a Japanese schoolgirl or a golden retriever. 

If anyone in LOCCENT found this weird, they elected to ignore it in favor of whatever weird shit they were getting up to. Except for Tendo, who kept giving them double thumbs up. He also seemed to be collecting money from a lot of people. Newt and Hermann elected to ignore it. 

“When did you get stepped on?” asked Hermann, who was now probing gently at Newt’s hairline like he was expecting to find a footprint. “Was that at the Anti-Kaiju Shelter?” 

Newt's hair stood upright when Hermann's hand left it, even though the only product that could still be in it was kaiju placenta. 

“On the way there,” said Newt. “Right before I hit the car.” 

“You were hit by a car?” asked Hermann, frowning like he already knew that wasn't quite right. 

“No, I hit a car,” said Newt. “It was parked.”

Hermann sighed. “You should really get checked out by Medical.”

“Hermann,” Newt absolutely did not whine. “This is the first party I’ve been to in years that I’m pretty sure I’m actually invited to. Can’t we stay for a little while?” 

“If you can feel my leg, then you must know I can feel your ribs,” said Hermann. “Not to mention all the debilitating neurological damage.”

“Nah, man, that’s how my brain always looks.”

“Newton, you drifted with two kaijus.”

“The plural is still kaiju,” he said. “You know that drives me crazy.”

“Newton.”

“Fine!” Newt leaned into Hermann just enough to push his desk chair a few centimeters. “Only if you let me wheel you there.” 

Hermann crossed his arms. “Absolutely not.”

“Why not? I know your hand is starting to spasm from white-knuckling that cane for the last hour or two.”

“Try day or two,” Hermann muttered. 

“Come on, man,” Newt might have whined this time. “Our leg is killing us.”

“You sound like the Queen of England,” snapped Hermann, and then he giggled. It was a short, hiccupy thing, but it was an honest to Godzilla giggle. Newt had never gotten one of those out of him before, not even with the joke why you can’t hear a pterodactyl in the bathroom.

“You sound like the Queen of England.” Newt leaned into him again, but this time Hermann planted his feet on the floor so the chair wouldn’t move. 

“Well, we are not amused,” said Hermann. 

“Fine,” said Newt. 

He had a theory that the Queen of England had died a couple of years ago and the one they put on TV just last month for Christmas was actually a deepfake. Whenever he brought it up, Hermann got all offended on behalf of queen and country, and his stupid posh accent got even worse for the rest of the day. So of course Newt brought it up constantly.

Newt stood up with little to no cursing and helped Hermann to his feet. Then he sidled up alongside him, much like Hermann had done to him moments ago when the clock stopped. 

The clock had stopped.

This time, Newt slotted himself under Hermann’s armpit, and wrapped one arm around his waist. 

“Alright, Your Majesty. Let’s go put on our gowns.”

...

@lastdaysofwar