#that was such a long time ago starling

[swamp-chicken]

the Etho picture made me sick. My crops are wilting.

I cant look at it every time I do i see something different and start losing my mind. rn its the dead monitor that's been there for at least 4 (??) years according to peter bellshazes and it makes me want to die. how do you live like that. so imperturbable. your elbow sitting on a dusty 20 year old mousepad.

[appallinnballin]

Bolia my gorgeous gasoline guy

[aristobun]

helene had a back and forth situation with shane ( her season 5 look ) in 2014 and i want to include shane somehow in her backstory based off of those stories i wrote in which they were a " kind of " couple , because i'm noticing that shane holds an awful lot of fascination in terms of helene thinking back fondly on past relationships that were not joel . i've also been wanting to drop shane into helene's verse with mackey purely to have her be someone who has a " talk " with frank about not breaking her heart ( the same way shane did ) , but it would be without helene's knowledge and i really love the idea . i think helene was very confused back then and her confusion meant that shane became unconvinced the relationship was going anywhere so she cheated ( in true shane style ) , which ended their relationship entirely .

[thecharmingserenastarling]

/Bebe serena (when she was mortal in ancient greek times man her parents sucked at watching their toddler)

[obsessivevoidkitten]

Animal Farm: Mondays

Male Yandere Harpies x Gender Neutral Reader (CW: Noncon, harpies, general yandere behavior, captive reader, spit roasting, cum in hair, aftercare, male harem, brief mention of being used as a cock sleeve by bull men.) Word Count: 500 (Here it is! I have had a solid wave of productivity lately answering old asks and now there is this, something I said I would do a long time ago. I said I would make a mini-fic/drabble with every group of monster men from my animal farm fic which can be found HERE.)

You sighed. It was early on Monday morning, the sun starting to stream into the window enough to disturb your sleep. You glared at your alarm clock and preemptively turned off the alarm that would go off at 10:00. It was 9:53. You wanted to cry. You had not fully recovered from Rory, Sev, and Bruc swapping you between them as a communal cock sleeve all day on Friday. You lamented your decision to be a monster man farmer with so many different species. You should have stuck to one or two. Oh well… no use crying over it now. At least you started the week off easy after your weekend break. The harpy men had pretty forgiving cocks. Ugh. Was that what it had come to? Judging how not awful your day was by the brutality of the cocks you were about to encounter? You scarfed down a quick breakfast then enjoyed your last few minutes before you were swarmed by the three harpies that called your farm home, Zan, Xilra, and Elry. They all looked similar, green and blue feathers in their hair, emerald green eyes to match, dark skin, with large angel-like wings sprouting from their backs and their legs ended in the way any bird of prey’s did. Sharp. Talons. When you stepped into the aviary your watch read exactly 10:30, you weren’t giving them a second more than you were forced to. It was like your one shred of resistance, even though it didn’t really matter very much. You also were too scared to be late after what happened the one time you were. You were sniffed out and fucked. Swiftly. As soon as you stepped into the large greenhouse-like domed building, it was like a miniature forest complete with all sorts of trees and plants, you were instantly pounced upon by the three monster men. They wasted not a single second in taking off your clothes and tossing them aside on the dirt while pinning you to the wall. “Hey come on! Those were just cleeeEEEEAAAAAANNNED. H-hey!” Two of them were biting, licking and nuzzling all over your neck while the third was using his mouth between your legs. “W-w-why do we always have to start the d-daaaay like thiiiiis??” “We love you little starling~” “Yes! And we must show you!” “We haven’t been inside you for a whole week love! It was torture~” “We must make up for the lost time sweet bird.” And that they certainly did. A week's worth of the pent up libidos of three tall harpy men unloaded on you and in you within hours. They spit roast you while you were on the ground before taking you in mid air. By the end of their breeding session with you you were exhausted. And this was supposed to be the easy day. At least they let you rest afterwards, washing the cum out of your hair and off your sore body before cuddling you and petting you while they sang sweet little bird songs and praised their darling little starling~

[headspace-hotel]

I saw a pileated woodpecker on my walk today and heard its call several times when I was in the back yard. so exciting i've never seen one of those at home

There are SO many birds. Yesterday watched two Tree Swallows in the back yard having their aerial courtship and a Song Sparrow sitting on the back porch singing. It seems like I hear so many more bird songs than ever before, many unfamiliar. There are loads of bluejays, cardinals, grackles, starlings, and mourning doves, and lots of birds I don't recognize.

There was a bird with a bright white belly/chest doing some kind of little dance outside this morning, and right now I'm watching yet another variety of sparrow (so many sparrows!) sitting on the edge of the porch. I heard several downy woodpecker calls too.

Could it be everything I've been planting that is causing the birdsplosion? Or the fact that we haven't mowed yet this year? The total amount of leafy and woody cover has increased only modestly (because the new trees and shrubs are still baby) but the plant biodiversity has increased dramatically.

I protected the current garden patch from clearing and instead of letting the dirt lie bare, piled leaves on top of it. The garden patch has been a favorite spot for the birds all winter long, but especially now; there's always a sparrow or cardinal there.

I've also protected the meadow from disturbance, letting the "weeds" grow up while introducing wildflowers and trying to kill or reduce the turf grass bit by bit, and the strangest thing has happened: the soil has improved very noticeably in those areas. The soil underneath the thickets of asters has become much softer and lighter, whereas in areas that are covered with overgrown turf grass, it's the same dense heavy clay as before.

And the number of earthworms is incredible. I remember a time when there was not a single earthworm anywhere in the area that is now the meadow. It was a garden patch used by the guy that lived here before, and we tilled it every year without seeing a single earthworm. Ever. Now I can hardly sink a shovel into earth there without finding 3-4 earthworms immediately???

Just a year or two ago, I would have scrambled to get my phone to take a picture if a bird landed on our porch; now not a single day goes by without 3 or 4 birds visiting, whether my adorable finch couple, or a Downy Woodpecker, or robin, or a FAT wren.

The change is so dramatic. Like that thing that happened when wolves returned to Yellowstone—a trophic cascade?

I think that somehow, all my caretaking activities have increased the insects and invertebrates, which in turn have increased the birds. There's been a great increase in butterflies, at least, and it's only early April.

CREATURES!!!

[sarcastic-cookie]

|Hannibal Chrollo x Starling Reader| A Strange Occurrence

Special thanks to @skyyletai for the amazing idea and for helping me with the structuring of this piece!!! Make sure to go follow them! Their writing is immaculate <3

Alright, so this is my first piece of writing on tumblr, and first time writing for Chrollo. Meaning he may be ooc. I tried the best I could to not make him too ooc though. The reader‘s gender is up for interpretation in this one, but I did write it with a fem reader in mind due to them being based on Clarice.

Click-clack, click-clack. Your footsteps echoed through the narrow, dimly lit corridor, reverberating off the damp concrete walls. Each step seemed to reverberate louder than the last, barely drowning out the thumping of your terrified heartbeat. As you descended deeper into the maximum security zone basement, the air grew heavier, and the oppressive darkness only seemed to intensify the nerves eating you alive. The dull hum of the flickering fluorescent lights provided the only illumination source, casting eerie shadows that danced along the walls. Amid your spiraling thoughts, you suddenly realized that the security guard had been silently accompanying you, his presence a jarring interruption in the otherwise suffocating silence

  "This is as far as I go. Are you sure you want to do this?" the security guard questioned, looking at you with uncertainty. Nodding your head, you watched as the guard unlocked the steel bars separating you from your goal. "This is the limit of my jurisdiction. Are you certain you wish to proceed?" questioned the security guard, eying you with uncertainty. You gave a firm nod as you observed the guard unlocking the steel bars standing between you and your objective.

A few days ago, your superior, Mr. Kurapika Kurta requested your assistance on a missing children’s case. The child’s name was Yuriko Tanizaki. She was a six-year-old little girl who had gone missing three days before when your superior notified you asking for your help. Her mother had called the police in tears stating that her daughter had been missing for several days. However, this wasn’t the only case of missing children. There have been many of these occurrences in the past month. The children would go missing for about a week before they were found mutilated, always missing a multitude of bones. Mainly consisting of teeth and phalanges. It appeared that the perpetrator didn’t see his or her victims as people, but rather as objects that could be tossed aside like trash after they fulfilled their purpose. The very thought of it makes you sick. Especially, seeing how these victims were all young children that could have had bright futures ahead of them.

You gathered your courage and steeled your nerves, pressing forward through the grim confines of the prison. The rhythmic click-clacking of your heels resonated off the cold, unforgiving walls, drawing the attention of the surrounding inmates. Each step sends shivers down your spine as their eyes fixate on you, their stares laden with a mix of curiosity and hostility. Among the cacophony of shouted remarks, a few words pierce through the din, the word "whore" echoing in your ears.

As you continued walking down what felt like a very long hallway, you noticed a woman muttering to herself as she gnawed on her fingernails which looked like they had been gnawed down past the tips of her fingers. You could see dried blood caking underneath. Just as her oceanic blue eyes met yours, you quickly averted your gaze, which just so happened to land on your destination target, Chrollo Lucilfer.

The was an ex-psychologist, who was also a notoriously well-known thief who only showed cruelty and apathy towards his victims. Shivers once more danced up and down your spine, as you locked eyes with the young man. His piercing gaze seemed to dissect your very soul, while the cross-shaped tattoo on his forehead beneath his bangs caught your attention.

Looking away, you force yourself to focus on your objective. "Dr. Lucilfer, may I please speak with you?" You asked, despite feeling terrified. His smile seemed forced as he inquired, "You’re one of Mr. Kurta’s, right? May I see some identification?"

"Of course," you said, reaching into your coat pocket and pulling out your ID while making sure to maintain a safe distance between the two of you. "Don't be shy now, come closer," he said intensely, staring into your eyes. You did as he said and took a step closer, still holding your ID up for him to see. "Closer," his voice rang through the room again as you advanced closer until you were only a few feet away from the glass enclosure, ensuring your protection from the unsettling individual that stood before you. Chrollo nodded his head in satisfaction as if he had confirmed something you still didn't know.

"Please, take a seat," he said, motioning towards the lone metal chair behind him. As he closed his eyes and sniffed the air, it became clear that he was trying to understand you better, to get into your head. After a moment, he stopped sniffing and gazed back at you. "You use coconut shampoo, don't you?" he said with a smirk. Nervously, you nodded and shifted your gaze to the collection of antique books and drawings inside Chrollo’s cell. 

"Dr. Lucilfer, do you enjoy classical literature?" you asked, trying to shift the conversation away from yourself. Your superior had warned you about the consequences of letting Chrollo learn too much about you. "Yes, I do. It helps me gain a better insight into the human psyche. I'm sure you're familiar with the saying, 'knowledge is key,' aren't you?" You nodded in response.

"Yes, Doctor. In fact, I was wondering if you would provide some insight on—" You finally tried to state your reason for coming, but you were instantly cut off by Chrollo, who shook his head at you in disappointment. "You were doing fine up until now. Such a shame you had to ruin it. Well, fine for a trainee anyway," he said, gazing back up at you. You nervously swallowed once again.

"Your identification expires in less than a week, so I figured you were either up to something or a student. From our interactions, I deduced you were in fact a student. You only proved my point further when you tried to push your agenda," he said patronizingly. 

"Mr. Kurta must be incredibly desperate if he’s willing to send down a trainee," he paused. "But, tell you what, I’ll entertain you by filling out your silly questionnaire if you tell me about yourself. We’ll call it a quid pro quo," he said, never once breaking eye contact. 

Trying not to let your fear show, you conceded. "Very well, what would you like to know?" you asked. 

"Let’s see… What was your worst childhood memory?" You froze, not expecting Chrollo to immediately start strong. You expected him to start light before going into darker subjects, but you guess you should’ve known better.

You mentally prepare yourself to recount the reason why you were so dedicated to this case in the first place. "Well, Agent L/n, tick-tock..."

"Well, for starters, growing up, I took on the parenting role of taking care of my little brother. Our parents had died in a plane crash a few years prior to this event. Our extended family didn't want anything to do with us, so we were tossed aside and treated like trash.

 One night, I was out scavenging for food since we didn't have any money. We would often go around offering prayers in exchange for food, but that particular night was especially rough, just like many other nights when nobody was willing to help us. So, I went to search for whatever I could get my hands on. I never stole, though. I found it wrong, no matter how desperate we were," you said, getting lost in the flashback.

You rummaged through the dirty dumpster, desperately searching for anything that might be edible. To your relief, you found an unopened can of baked beans. "Yes!" you cheered, glad that you and B/n wouldn't have to go to bed hungry. "I hope B/n likes it," you thought to yourself. You quickly returned to the hidden alleyway where you and B/n were staying, only to be shocked by what you saw. "B/n, what the hell are you doing?!" you asked, petrified by the scene before you. B/n looked up at you in surprise, his grip on the rusty scissors weakening.

I found B/n on the brink of killing an innocent animal for food,” you recounted, with tears welling up in your eyes. You blinked them back and focused on the young man in front of you. “Now, please tell me what you know about the Tanizaki case,” you requested. Sending the case file through deciding the questionnaire wouldn’t be a smart move. If anything, it would only offend Dr. Lucilfer, as he seemed to pride himself on his vast expanse of knowledge.

He picked up the case file from the metal slot and started reading through it. "My, my, it seems like you have quite a lively one on your hands," he said, flipping through the pages. As you watched Chrollo scan the documents, you could have sworn you saw a flicker of anger cross his face, but it disappeared as quickly as it appeared.

"Your killer targets children. Why do you think that is?" he asked, his gaze hardened. "He or she has a vendetta against--" You started to respond, but were cut off. "Irrelevant," he said, his gaze still hardened. "What trophy is obtained from each of the victims?"

“Bones,” you said, confused.

 “Your killer seems to have a hankering for children. Don’t you think the stolen bones are a recompense for something?” 

"Now, tell me what happened after you discovered your brother," he said. Knowing you wouldn't get anywhere by arguing with the man, you began to speak. "After I found my brother about to murder the innocent animal, I quickly snatched the old rusty scissors out of his hand."

"What on Earth were you thinking?" you asked B/n in shock. His surprise quickly turned to shame as he turned away. "If I had known you were that hungry, I would have gone out searching earlier," you said, blaming yourself for what was almost the death of a poor innocent animal. 

Remembering what you had acquired, you quickly showed him the baked beans you had found. "I know it's not much, but I did manage to find some food for the night. Although it appears you need it more than I do, so I'll give you a bigger portion. How does that sound?" you asked, trying to forget about your discovery. B/n nodded his head, still ashamed of what he had done.

The next day, we were woken by the sound of footsteps, so we quickly ran and hid behind the nearest dumpster. It seemed to be a dispute over money between two individuals that had gone wrong. I didn't listen to the rest, I just wanted to get my little brother to safety, knowing how dangerous the situation could have become. I dragged him to the nearest public space, which happened to be a park. The park was bustling with many people, as there was some kind of parade going on, with lots of people dressed up in costumes. At the time, I didn't care about the parade, I just wanted to get my brother somewhere safe, but in all the commotion, my grasp on my little brother's hand became slippery, causing me to accidentally lose my grip.

“Come on, b/n we can make it just a little further,” your fourteen-year-old self said. Pushing and shoving through the crowd. “B/n?” You looked over your shoulder only to see your brother nowhere in sight. “B/N!!!” You began to shout in panic. 

When I realized I was no longer holding his hand, I froze. I desperately searched around for my brother but could not find him. I searched for hours, only for it to be futile in the end. He had been swept up in the crowd.

You could feel the salty trails making their way down your cheeks as you sobbed endlessly. “I’m so useless,” you mumbled to yourself. “I failed at doing the one thing I swore to never screw up.” You noticed the gazes of multiple passersby: some were filled with pity, others with mirth. They all just blended into one big blur as the reality of your situation dawned upon you.

I remember feeling all alone and realizing that my efforts were fruitless. I curled up on a park bench as everything around me became a blur. I didn't even realize it was nighttime until everyone started dispersing. It wasn't until a few hours later, after the park was empty, that I heard screaming coming from the forest behind the park where the campgrounds were located. Terrified but also curious, I ventured into the woods.

As you took shaky steps toward the woods, you mumbled to yourself, "Maybe this is a bad idea." You quickly shook your head and thought, "No, it's fine. After all, I don't have anything else to live for." Feeling dismayed, you continued, "If my curiosity is the end of me, then so be it." And so, ytadvanced into the forest. After a few minutes of walking, the screaming seemed to have stopped. You froze before continuing forward. Eventually, you came into a clearing, but what awaited you was not a sight for the faint of heart.

Before me laid four mangled children’s corpses. Some looked to have been there for a while as they had already started to decompose. The whole area reeked of death as I gazed around with tears in my eyes. One body that seemed to be fresh had caught my eye. Around its wrist was the beaded bracelet I had made for my brother before our lives went downhill.

You felt the bile rising in your throat as you gazed down upon the mangled corpse of your little brother. Waterfalls fell down your cheeks once more. “B/n I’m so sorry…” You said through gritted teeth, falling to your knees. As you gazed around at all the unfortunate victims, your despair only grew before the logical side of your brain kicked in, telling you to get the hell out of there before the perpetrator came back. And so, with a heavy heart and stinging eyes, you exited the clearing. Reporting the incident to the police. The incident, however, made you realize you did have a reason to live, to protect the innocent.

You could feel the familiar trails down your cheeks as you were no longer able to hold back your sorrow. When you looked up in surprise, you saw that Dr. Lucilfer’s face reflected your own. While not as noticeable, Chrollo appeared to have a single tear trailing down his cheek.

He quickly wiped his face, shaking his head. "I apologize, your story reminded me of something," he said. You wiped your tears similarly. "It seems you're not as cold and apathetic as you like to appear, Dr. Lucilfer. Now I have given you what you wanted, it's your turn to answer me," you said, trying to regain your composure. "What did you mean by 'hankering for children'?" you asked.

“Simple, our killer yearns for a replacement,” he said. 

With that, it had finally clicked. “By replacement, you mean a child of their own! We’re most likely dealing with a grieving parent then. Who tosses the kidnapped children aside when they fail to fill the void caused by their deceased child! The mutilations must be done out of anger and the bones must be recompense for their failure,” you said, figuring out the killer’s motivation. ‘Now to find out their identity,’ you thought.

"Thank you, Dr. Lucilfer, for your time," you said, bowing. "And to compensate for your cooperation, I promise to put in a good word to get you transferred to a nicer location," you said, overjoyed with your new discovery. Chrollo looked surprised before nodding, picking up one of his books, and opening up to a bookmarked page.

"I'll hold you to that promise then. Now, fly away back to your superior little agent," he said. "And don’t forget your case file" he informed, sending the file back through. You nodded grabbing the file before beginning your trek back to Mr. Kurta, excited to inform him of your discovery. Your excitement caused you to miss the greed in Chrollo's eyes as he gazed at you, not realizing you had also put yourself in grave peril.

You caught Chrollo Lucilfer’s attention, and that is never a good thing to do…

[hauntedandmurdered]

You know what feels like a fucking slap in the face? Hearing over and over again that Silence of the Lambs is a bad horror story that only people with a sick brain can get excited about and making the claim that Hannibal and Clarice's relationship is toxic.

This goes out to anyone who can't and won't understand the message and depth that Thomas Harris was trying to convey. May your eyes be blessed. <3

With this work, the author of this tetralogy has created a concept, which is of central importance as a wake-up call for both literature and films, even nowadays. How? By developing a strong female protagonist who tries to assert herself in a world dominated by men. No matter what means she uses, no matter how successful she may be, she is not appreciated but sexualized because she is a woman. Her gender determines her position in society and her career at the FBI. Clarice Starling is the damn heroine of this story and is not recognized for it. She is repeatedly confronted with contempt on various social levels.

There is only one person in the story, her antagonist, the cannibalistic serial killer and psychiatrist, Hannibal Lecter, who respects her for her intellect, kindness and purity. This is part of the special charm that develops throughout their peer relationship. She is the first person during his imprisonment to whom he answers questions. In contrast to all the others who have tried before her and whom he despises for their greed and selfishness, Clarice treats him with respect, despite all his deeds. It is the small but significant details during the interrogations down in the Baltimore state hospitality for the criminally insane that give clues as to how something develops between the two.

Hannibal may be a murderer, but he is also a professional psychiatrist at heart. By letting her work through the trauma of her childhood and gaining insight into her soul, he gives her the relevant clue to see her mission through: the gift of self-absolution. He understands that despite what has happened to her, Clarice is genuinely a good person and that what drives her is ultimately courage and purity, not greed for prestige and self-promotion unlike the FBI. He values her for being on the same level of intelligency. They are equal.

They are also linked by a significant event in their childhoods: both grew up as orphans and lost loved ones. This drastic break changed the lives of both of them, albeit in completely different directions. While Clarice has never given up hope and the pursuit of good, Hannibal has turned his back on precisely that. This is most likely why he admires her, for the small glimmer of light in her that was destroyed in him a long time ago.

Hannibal, from whom one least expects it, shows compassion.

The touching of their fingers during their last encounter for the time being is therefore an indescribably captivating moment; it is the first and only physical intimacy they share.

[kararisa]

darling, starling

— 9. iridescence — ✦ (wc: 0.6k)

“Is this going to take any longer?” you ask.

It’s an interesting feeling, having Scaramouche in your lap while he does your makeup. The side of his palm gently rests against your cheek as he does your eyeliner, his brow furrowed in concentration while you rest against the cushions of your sofa. His indigo hair and indigo eyes are barely illuminated by the dimmed lights of your living room, an insistence of his even at your protest of the horrid lighting for makeup.

“It’ll only take a moment longer,” he responds.

“You said that ten minutes ago,” an over-exaggeration on your part, but you couldn’t see how a makeover could take so damn long.

Scaramoche grins, his voice dripping in mock innocence, “Perfection takes time. Or however that saying goes. I’m not used to putting makeup on another person so just cooperate with me, will you?”

You do your best to glare at Scaramouche as he finishes up your eyeliner. The two of you have been at this for a while now, bantering while he does your makeup. When he finishes, whenever that may be, the two of you will swap places so you can give him a makeover in return. Admittedly an interesting arrangement to re-enact for a scene in his book, but you have to admit it’s been alright so far. He isn’t terrible, he just takes too long for your liking.

“Part your lips a bit. I’m putting lipstick on you,” you oblige, and Scaramouche continues while he dabs color on your lips. “Our ruse has been quite effective so far. But people seem to think we’ve been in love for longer than we’ve been dating.”

Amusement colors your voice, “I mean, I like to think it makes our whole act more effective.”

He finally leans back to inspect his work after what seems like forever and declares that he’s done — time for you to switch places. He gets off you to take a seat by your side. You take the opportunity to reposition yourself and straddle him.

Only to get a proper look at him while you give him a makeover, of course.

A few minutes of silence pass when Scaramouche speaks up, “The whole point of me asking you to do this was for us to talk. So talk.”

“Like what, the groceries?”

“Doesn’t matter. Just talk.”

“Well,” you pause, twisting the makeup sponge in your hand before getting back to work. “I think we’re running out of eggs? And we only have a little bit of flour left.”

“Did you add it to the list on the fridge?”

“I already did, smartass. You were the one who told me to talk.” you laugh slightly when you see him glaring at you, and you move your other hand to rest on his shoulder. “Stop looking all grumpy like that. You’re gonna make me mess up.”

“I am not ‘looking all grumpy’.”

“Oh, you definitely are.” you chide, dabbing his cheek with your makeup sponge. “Ooooh is my grumpy face mad at me?”

“Shut up and just get this over with, will you?” Scaramouche averts his gaze. “Absolute terror.”

You move on to doing his eyeliner before you continue talking, “I could help you cook dinner tonight if you want.”

“Absolutely not,” he answers curtly. “You’re still banned from the kitchen.”

“The thing that happened with the air fryer wasn’t even that bad.” you protest.

“Do I need to remind you what happened? You quite literally –”

“Okay fine, maybe I should leave the cooking to you today. But one day you’ll lift my ban from my own fucking kitchen.”

“Not happening until you learn how to actually cook.”

“Gonna need a good teacher for that, so why don’t you teach me?” you jest

He gives you an incredulous look before responding, “Sure. Whatever. Are you done with my eyeliner yet?”

“Stop moving and I’ll get done quicker.”

✧— previous — masterlist — next —✧

summary: being the world-famous singer-songwriter "zenith", the limelight has been on you ever since the start of your career. however, the media becomes relentless when leaks of music you never meant to release begin to circulate. your friend scaramouche, meanwhile, seems to have gotten stuck while writing his second book. with a deadline fast approaching, he comes to you with a deal: act as if you're dating him so he can gather reference material and, in turn, he'll help keep the press' eyes off of your leaks until you release your next album. a win-win in your book, so why not help a friend out?

author's notes:

they're definitely not in love guys trust me

taglist — currently OPEN:

@aestherin @unsterblich-prinz @yourstrulykore @krnzysh @syriiina @yumiaur @featuredtofu @kodzusmiles @meigalaxy @fangygf @motherscrustytoenailclippings @samyayaya @hiimera @beriiov @e0nssadrift @dazaisboner @nillajhayne @chluuvr @nillajhayne @deffenferofjustice @romyoia @xiaomainlmao @hotgirlshit5 @potabletable @letthewindlead @esuz @toriiee @kclremin @angelkazusstuff @phoenix-eclipses @sakiimeo @mayuumine @ako-ang-mahal-ko @only-cherry-blossom @keiiqq @what-just-happened-huh @n3r0-1417 @haunts-gh0st @layla240 @mamafly @duckyyyx @certified-shrimp @kgogoma @xtobefreex @aeongiies @mechanicalbeat1 @meidnightrain @nordicbananas @feiherp @erzarq

[tortillamastersblog]

⊱Drawing Stars Around Your Scars | Oliver Queen⊰

Pairing: Oliver Queen x reader

Warnings: injuries and mentions of blood

Summary: Oliver would do anything to regain your trust. . .

________________________________________________

“Good Night, Doctor Y/L/N.” Ella, one of the nurses at the nurses’ station waves me goodbye and I return the gesture with a tired smile.

I just got out of an eight hour surgery and I can’t wait to get home. I make my way through the busy halls of the hospital and down to the parking garage without changing out of my scrubs.

It’s freezing outside and when my fingers curl around the cold leather of my steering wheel I shiver.

I pull out of the underground parking garage and make my way home.

The streets of Starling City are busy, even at this time of day, which is why it doesn’t take long for me to be stuck in traffic.

I sigh and turn on the radio, humming along to the Christmas songs that are playing before my phone rings.

I glance at it and smile, answering the call on my car’s hands-free. “Speedy, what are you doing up this late? It’s a school night.” I tease, but my smile quickly vanishes and turns into a concerned frown when I hear the girl crying softly on the other end of the line.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. Are you still at work?” she say quietly.

“No, I’m not. Are you okay? What’s going on?” I ask, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel, worried.

When Oliver vanished at sea five years ago, Thea and I grew extremely close. While she grieved over her brother, I grieved over my best friend and partner in crime.

We grew so close in fact that she’s like a baby sister to me now and whenever she’s in trouble, or feeling down, I’m usually the one she calls since Moira and Walter are both emotionally unavailable.

Thea doesn’t answer right away, so I promt her softly. “Speedy? You still there?”

“I—Yeah, I’m still here. It’s just. . . Ollie. He not home, again! And he’s acting like a complete stranger. I don’t even recognize him anymore it’s just—“ she breaks down in tears and I make a u-turn the next chance I get, heading toward the Queen’s manor outside the city.

This isn’t the first time she’s broken down over Oliver’s return and how different he is compared to five years ago.

“C-Can you come over?” she hiccups and I tell her that I’m already on my way.

The traffic thins out once I’m out of the city, staying on the phone with Thea the entire time until I pull up outside of her family’s manor.

The security guard at the gate greets me with a polite smile and let’s me in without hesitation.

I get out of the car, the gravel beneath my feet crunching as I walk up to the front door, which swings open before I get the change to ring the doorbell.

Thea basically jumps on me, pulling me into a hug, and cries into my shoulder.

I hold her tight and waddle us inside, away from the cold and let the door close behind us with a gentle click.

“Thank you for coming,” Thea whispers, her grip around my shoulders not letting up.

“Of course. Anything for you, Speedy,” I reply just as quietly, rubbing my hands over her back.

We stay like that for a few minutes, enjoying each other’s company before she pulls back, her eyes roaming over my outfit.

“You just got off work, didn’t you?” she asks, guilt scrunching up her face. “You must be so tired. I’m sorry for making you come here.”

I wave her off and squeeze her shoulders. “Hey, no. Don’t be sorry. I am tired, yes, but you’re more important than sleep,” I joke softly which earns me a small smile.

Thea sighs and uses the sleeve of her sweatshirt to wipe away the remainder of her tears. Then, she eyes me hopefully before asking, “Have you had dinner yet?”

I shake my head and she pulls out her phone, waving it around for emphasis.

“Do you want to order some takeout then and watch a movie with me?”

Tomorrow is my day off, so I don’t mind staying with her, especially because she’s home alone and it seems like she could use some company right now.

“Sure,” I agree easily, “but I need a shower and some comfy clothes.”

Thea nods adamantly and pulls me upstairs and into her room.

“Use whatever you like in there. You know the drill,” she says gesturing at her en-suite bathroom. “I’ll go and find some clothes for you.”

I thank her and smile, going into the bathroom and stripping out of my scrubs before stepping into the enormous shower.

A knock on the door lets me know that Thea’s found me some clothes and she cracks it open just enough to reach inside, placing some clothes on the floor before closing the door again.

I finish quickly, shutting off the water before drying off and putting on the fresh clothes.

I frown when I pull on the pair of gray sweatpants, figuring that they can’t be Thea’s because she’s a head shorter than me and the sweatpants are oversized, even on me.

The same goes for the sweatshirt and when I pull it on and a familiar cologne surrounds wafts around me, I know why.

These are Oliver’s clothes.

I shiver involuntarily and can’t help but bury my nose in the fabric of the sweater, taking a deep breath.

I’ve missed this smell, I’ve missed Oliver, but I haven’t really admitted that to anyone since he came back.

We’ve always been best friends, but since we were teenagers I knew that my feelings for him weren’t solely platonic.

I never acted on them though because I knew we could never work. While he was a millionaire playboy, I was a nerd, passing all my classes in school with flying colors and getting into med school before even turning twenty.

I also hated how he hooked up with anyone he had a chance with, and I swore to myself a long time ago that I’d never let myself be just another one of his conquests.

Now though, things have changed. Oliver has changed and I have, too. We’re both grown up and it seems like he’s left behind his playboy lifestyle.

Every time I see him nowadays, he’s calm, well spoken, and a true gentleman. He no longer drinks or takes drugs, and I’ve caught him shamelessly staring at me quite a few times now.

It’s something he didn’t used to do, and it gets my hopes up that, maybe, he secretly feels the same way about me as I do about him, but then he goes and blows me off time and time again, without answering any of my texts or calls.

It’s gotten to the point where I don’t even agree to hanging out with him any more because I know he’ll leave me hanging anyway, but still, every time he asks me to dinner, or offers to buy some coffee my heart flutters and I feel my cheeks grow warm.

“So, what do you want to watch?” Thea asks when I exit the bedroom, throwing myself on the bed next to her.

“I don’t care,” I say honestly, checking my phone before leaning back against the headboard.

“Okayyy.” Thea hums in though. She scrolls through some movies on her TV before settling on Elf.

The opening credits start rolling and I get even more comfortable, patting Thea’s head playfully when she rests it on my shoulder.

Fifteen minutes into the movie, our food gets delivered and we eat on the bed in silence, continuing to watch the movie.

Thea eventually falls asleep and I sigh, turning off the TV.

I get off the bed and drape the comforter over her, chuckling softly when she frowns in her sleep.

“Nighty night, Speedy,” I whisper before leaving her room.

I make my way down the dark hallway toward the grand staircase, ready to go home, but the sound of breaking ceramic makes me stop in my tracks.

I squint in the darkness, straining to hear where it came from before deciding to investigate.

The sound most likely came from Oliver’s room and because he’s not supposed to be home, I’m curious to see what caused the slight commotion.

Maybe the Queens got a cat I don’t know about?

I highly doubt that, but then again, Thea’s done some crazy things over the last couple of years, lashing out every chance she got to mask her grief.

I slowly open the door to Oliver’s room and peek inside, freezing when I see a hunched over figure by one of the bedside tables.

They’re picking up what looks like shards of a vase, stacking them neatly before getting back to their feet.

A quiet grunt escapes them and once they’re upright with their back turned toward me, I recognize them, or should I say him?

It’s Oliver in his vigilante suit and when I take a closer look I notice he’s clutching at his side with one of his hands.

He’s hurt.

I turn on the light with an annoyed sigh and put my hand on my hip, watching him spin around with a dagger in his hand.

“What are you doing here?” he asks in his fake deep and gravelly voice and I just raise a challenging eyebrow in return.

“Drop the act, Ollie,” I say calmly, watching with mild amusement as his eyes widened.

“I— What are you—?” he stammers before his shoulders curl forward and he whispers, “How did you know?”

He takes off his hood and even though I know it’s him underneath, I still feel a chill run down my spine when his exhausted eyes meet mine.

I’ve known he’s the Green Arrow ever since he returned to Starling City. I mean, how could I not know?

All the sneaking around? His sudden interest in his family’s business? The constant bruises and cuts on his face?

And let’s not forget how he physically changed over the last five years. Where he used to be a thin, athletic kid he’s now a broad-shouldered hunk of a man and I’d be lying if I said it makes him less attractive.

“C’mon, Ollie,” I scoff, crossing the room to look at the injury on his side. “You do know who you’re talking to right now, don’t you?”

Oliver hangs his head and stays silent, allowing me to pull up his bloody clothes to get a better look at his side.

The wound isn’t too deep, but it will need stitches and judging by its frayed edges I’m guessing it’s a graze from a bullet.

“Do you have any medical supplies?” I ask. I have a small emergency kit in my car, but I’m too lazy to get it right now.

Luckily, Oliver nods and points at the bedside table where he was just crouching, picking up the shards of the shattered vase.

“Take off your shirt and lay on the bed,” I command without looking at him. In times like this, my doctor-ly instincts kick in and I don’t care who my patient is. All I’m focusing on is getting the wound cleaned and stitched up.

Oliver does as I say and once I’ve gotten everything I need from the bedside table, I turn to him, sucking in a breath when my eyes land on his exposed upper body.

It’s covered in scars and a tattoo I didn’t know he had and I can only imagine what he went through to look like this.

Thea did say that over twenty percent of his body was covered in scar tissue, but actually seeing it up close makes my stomach twist.

Watching me with a knowing look, Oliver gently wraps his fingers around one of my wrists which brings me back to reality.

He smiles reassuringly, silently telling me not to worry about what’s happened and I return the smile albeit a little weakly.

I take a deep breath and square my shoulders, getting to work on cleaning the wound and the area around it.

It continues to leak blood, no matter how many times I wipe at it and after a while I just give up, getting right to stitching it up.

“This might hurt,” I whisper as I press the needle against Oliver’s skin, but he not so much as twitches when the thin metal pierces his skin.

I work in silence, focusing on the work at hand before Oliver’s head rolls to the side to look at me directly as he says, “I’m sorry, Y/N.”

I hum, not taking my eyes off my hands and brush off his words, thinking he’s referring to right now, making me stitch him up and care for him, but then he continues.

“I’m sorry for blowing you off so many times over the last couple of weeks,” he says quietly. “And I’m sorry for cutting you out of my life right before getting on the Gambit with my dad.”

I clench my jaw and finish the last stitch. I stare at my hands and take a deep breath.

I tried to forget about that.

The days before getting onto that cursed yacht with his father, I called Oliver out on his hypocritical behavior and his playboy attitude which lead to him basically ending our friendship.

I cried for days, missing several important college classes, but then the news of the Queen’s Gambit sinking sobered me up and I forgot all about our falling out.

I cried some more then, this time for a different reason, but as time went on I grew numb to it and put all my energy into med school.

“It’s fine. . .” I whisper, moving to get back to work, but Oliver grabs my hand, making me look at him.

“No,” he says with furrowed eyebrows. “I was such an asshole and you were right. You’re always right and I’m really sorry it took me this long to apologize .”

I chuckle weakly, not liking the sudden tension between us and avert my eyes. “I’m not always right,” I argue,

Oliver squeezes my hand, getting me to look at him again. “Well, maybe not. . .” he says with a small smile. “But you were right about what you said and— again— I’m sorry it’s taken me this long to admit it. I felt backed into a corner when you called me out on my shit and I didn’t know what else to do other than lashing out at you.”

“Ollie—“ I try to stop him, but he cuts me off by squeezing my hand again and continuing.

“Y/N. I’ve been through. . . a lot. . . over the last five years, but I’ve also had a lot of time to think and—“he bites the inside of his cheek and scratches at his eyebrow nervously— “and you’re honestly the only constant in my life. The thought of you and sometime’s even Thea kept me going when I felt like giving up and I swore to myself that if I ever got the chance to, I’d make things right between us. . . I’d do what I should have done a long time ago.”

I gulp and try not to pull my hand from his. “What are you talking about, Ollie?”

He can’t be saying what I think he’s saying, can he?

Oliver sits up, grimacing slightly when the stitches on his waist strain against the movement, and swings his legs over the edge of the bed so he’s sitting next to me.

The heat radiating off his body makes me shiver involuntarily and when he places my hand against the scar on his chest I gasp softly.

“I don’t want to spend another day worrying about what ifs and maybes, so I’m asking you now, Y/N, would you do me the honor of going to dinner with me? As in like, a date, you know?” He stumbles a bit over the end of his sentence but his question takes my breath away nonetheless.

My brows furrow and I feel my heart clench at the conflicting feelings running through me at the moment.

“I don’t— I don’t know,” I admit.

Even though this is all I’ve been hoping for since we were kids, I can’t help but have doubts about his intentions.

What if he hasn’t changed as much as I think he has? What if he’s still a narcissistic playboy?

I don’t know if I could stand being used by him, so I shake my head and move to back away.

Seeing the doubt on my face, Oliver’s eyes soften and his hold on my hand tightens ever so slightly.

“Please, Y/N this is not— I’m not. . .” He trails off, biting his lip in thought.

Then instead of trying to explain himself, he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes briefly.

“This scar,” he says quietly, pressing my hand against the uneven patch of skin on his chest for emphasis, “is from a guy named Kovar. He. . . tried to stop me from leaving Lian Yu and pressed the hot tip of his gun against my skin, right here.”

My eyes widen, not only because no one knew he wasn’t alone on that island, but also because he’s actually telling me what happened.

Since he came back, he’s barely spoken of his time on Lian Yu and the fact that he’s willing to open up about what happened makes me trust his intentions.

He moves my hand down his chest, against a long, gnarly looking scar that follows the downward slope of his ribcage right over his stomach.

“This one is from when I first stranded on the island. There was this guy, William, or Billy, Winter—“

“No, Ollie, stop.” I cut him off, shaking my head. “You don’t have to tell me any of this just to prove yourself to me.”

It’s clear he’s struggling to put into words what happened if his overly tense muscles are anything to go by and I don’t want him to feel like he’s forced to share his trauma in order to get me to trust him again.

“But I want you to know,” he argues weakly, letting go of my hand.

I shake my head and move closer, tracing my fingers along the edge of the scar.

It makes Olive twitch slightly and I smile at the effect I have on him.

“And you can,” I assure him, skimming my fingers over his warm skin before brushing over the scar on his hip that looks suspiciously like a shark bite.

What the hell happened to him on that island. . .

“Just not now. Not all at once and not when you’re so obviously not ready to talk about it yet,” I continue, mesmerized by the way his muscles twitch beneath my touch.

I continue exploring his skin, raising an eyebrow at the tattoo on his chest before skipping over it and touching the scar on his shoulder.

They all look like they never healed properly and I get a chill, thinking about the possible infections that could have killed him, but then my train of thought is suddenly silenced when Oliver brushes his lips against my own.

Not realizing how close I’ve gotten while inspecting every little detail about him, I pull back with a surprised squeak and place a hand on his chest to stop him from closing the distance between us again.

“Shit,” he whispers, bringing a hand to his lips. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—“

“It’s okay,” I say with a soft chuckle. I take his hand away from his mouth and lace our fingers together. “Just. . . Take me to dinner first.”

Oliver’s cheeks turn red, a rare sight, and I squeeze his hand before straining to press a kiss to his forehead.

“Right. Sorry.” He meets my eyes shyly and I smile at him when he tries to suppress a yawn.

It makes me yawn as well and Oliver gets to his feet. He kisses my knuckles and lets go of my hand.

“I need a shower,” he explains before nervously scratching at his eyebrow again. “Will you still be here when I get out?”

I melt at how vulnerable he sounds and nod, slipping under the covers of his bed. “Only if you don’t take too long.”

Oliver’s eyes widen comically and he springs into action, gathering some clothes before rushing into the bathroom.

________________________________________________

God, the chokehold this man’s got me in. . .

[elisperlova]

Every new answer for russian Duckverse ask is getting harder and harder to draw. Idk why but I have hobby complicating my life. Anyway, this idea came to me as the first Jim`s headcanon about 3-4 years ago. I even made sketch when!

Yes, it is sketch of the art above. Seriously. Heading Jim after becoming Negaduck made friends with crocodiles in the sewerage. It`s the great mystery how he hadn`t been eated yet. Crocs seem to have a lot of patience For a long time croc Frank was the only friend. He named after Frank Angones. But on the 6th of Nov ago my bf offered to make brother in unhappiness for Frank. That`s how William was born. Named after stikers in VK. And there is the third croc Monty but he hadn`t been drawn. I see no need to tell who Monty was named after Frank is angry but patient (or maybe Jim is lucky). Mr Starling bugging him A LOT. William is dummy and just staing near looking for a company. Monty is antisocial, that`s why he swimming far away

[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.

[anothercrisis]

TF-141 HEADCANON (#2) - NIGHTMARES

Thinking about how the whole team suffers from nightmares. About how they sometimes all sleep in the same barracks and are bound to wake each other. How these men are trained to notice shifts in their environment, even dead asleep, and how a teammate shifting agitatedly in their bed, breathing too heavily for rest, grumbles and groans and sometimes incoherent words or even shouts would draw others out of sleep too.

Thinking about Soap, the next bed over, waking up when Gaz starts jerking around in his sleep, muttering half-formed com responses under his breath between grunts. About how Soap rolls out of his own bed without opening both his eyes and shuffles over to Gaz. About how he puts a gentle hand on Gaz’s back, announcing himself and starling Gaz most of the way out of his nightmare, before Soap shoves at Gaz’s hip, forcing him to make room. Thinking about how Soap climbs into Gaz’s bed behind him and curls up against his back. About how he can feel the way Gaz relaxes in his arms, comforted by the grounding touch Soap’s arms are providing. How Gaz falls back into sleep easily without a nightmare in sight.

Thinking about how the next time Soap is having a loud nightmare, Gaz moves into his bed without a word, offering the same grounding comfort that Soap had offered him. About how the two of them settle into this routine of comforting each other silently in the middle of the night. How no one says anything about them being in each other’s beds in the morning, because when they sit up, there’s a soft conversation had and the word nightmare is caught and passed through the team’s hands.

Thinking about other team members having nightmares that wake Soap and how he shuffles over to their beds, waking them gently and asking if they’d like company. About how it isn’t weird at all for him to slip into the beds of his teammates and hold them or just be nearby, because there are so few comforts in their line of work and Soap wants to do the best he can to make life more bearable for them all. Thinking about how it spirals away from just him to Gaz, then the others, until it’s almost all of them moving into each other’s beds when nightmares come for them. About how there’s no ulterior motives, no misinterpretations, just comfort in the dark nights.

Thinking about Ghost, who doesn’t participate in this sudden bed-hopping going on in the barracks, who understands what’s going on and is glad his teammates are finding comfort. About how he long ago trained himself to be quiet in every sense of the word, to take up as little space as possible in every aspect, and how his nightmares are silent because he made them so. About how when he has a nightmare, he wakes abruptly and doesn’t move, alerts no one of what’s going on, and eventually finds his way back to sleep or lies awake until it’s acceptable to get up.

Thinking about Ghost having a really rough nightmare in December and how Soap, the next bed over and already awake from his own, notices that Ghost is tense and his breathing is sharper than it should be. About how Soap carefully weighs his options before he rises from his bed and crosses to Ghost’s, how he reaches out and gently presses his palm to Ghost’s shoulder. How Ghost jerks awake, grabs Soap’s wrist, stares him down with wide eyes, and how Soap just stands there, lets him crush the bones in his wrist. Thinking about how Ghost loosens his grip when he realizes it’s Johnny, how he weighs his options before he scoots over to make room in his bed. About how Soap, cautious like he’s in the field, settles down beside Ghost mostly sitting up, back against the pillow, and how Ghost stays on his side, watching Soap fall back asleep until he’s able to too.

Thinking about how, when they wake up in the morning, Ghost is fully pressed against Soap’s side, an arm over his torso and one of Soap’s arms around his back. About how Ghost lies there, listening to Johnny’s heartbeat and breath, and realizes why the bed-hopping had become so popular, because he was fully rested with his violent nightmare little more than ash on the wind.

Thinking about how Ghost would acclimate to the idea of comfort, but only Johnny’s, and how he’d take to sliding out of his own bed and over to Soap’s when his nightmares wake him. About how, awake or asleep, Soap makes room for him and lets him decide how he wants to lay, if he wants to be held or just near.

Thinking about Soap being in someone else’s bed when Ghost goes looking for him one night. About how Ghost doesn’t bother him and instead just lies down in Soap’s bed as a substitute for his comfort that only partly works. Thinking about how Soap gets up to take a piss and finds Ghost there, and how when he gets back, he nudges Gaz awake and tells him to take over comforting whoever it was he was lying with before so that he can handle Ghost. Thinking about how Gaz does without question because he knows Ghost doesn’t like being touched by anyone other than Johnny. About how Soap climbs back into his own bed and gets sucked up into Ghost’s arms like a tornado the moment he touches the mattress.

Thinking about, on the rare occasion it happens, Ghost’s nightmare not waking him up but is loud enough to wake someone else up. About how if it isn’t Soap, they’ll wake him up and silently gesture towards Ghost. How Soap understands even asleep and trudges his way over to Ghost, making a point to grumble about his pickiness as Ghost settles comfortably around Soap’s body. Thinking about how the threats are empty and they both know it, and how they both know Soap prefers Ghost too.

[asexualbookbird]

August feels. Blurry. The Thursday of the year. Of the summer? IT feels like the year. I managed to fill out my entire Summer Bingo Board for the library. I haven't heard back about winning any prizes, but I had fun and that's what counts. Bingo made me branch out of my comfort zone which was really neat. Can't say I'll do it more often, a comfort zone is comfortable, but I do enjoy reading something Different every now and then. Did some crafty things this month, which has been a lot of fun, and I've been Smart and Wise and started on holiday gifts so I'm not scrambling in December. It's called personal growth~

The Bone Season: Tenth Anniversary Edition by Samantha Shannon ⭐⭐ - I'm salty about this. Yes, it's an improvement, but it still sucks. The world and magic is so neat, but we're stuck with a plot Like That. Made me do an actual full review on goodreads and on tumblr if you want all the details.

The Bone Season by Samantha Shannon ⭐⭐- I kept my original rating because honestly I felt the same as I did years ago. It's worse than the updated version, but it's the core of the novel that needs changing. Props to this one at least for making Paige asexual. I do not want to see this book on ace book lists ever again.

The Adventure Zone: The Suffering Game by The McElroys and Carey Pietsch ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐- One of the best installments so far. The art is AMAZING, I love the meta they're doing with Griffin and The Hunger, it was a little rushed and I'm bummed we aren't getting a full adaptation of The Stolen Century, but this is still right up there with Petals to the Metal for me!

The Hollow Places by T Kingfisher ⭐⭐⭐⭐ - T Kingfisher has never written a bad novel to me, but this one did take me longer than her others to really click. The audio narrator had some inflections that didn't work for my brain, but once they went through the door, things got Weird and picked up. These two made so many stupid decisions, but it still felt in character! Big Stan Pines energy coming from that uncle.

Frostbite: How Refrigeration Changed Our Food, Our Planet, and Ourselves by Nicola Twilley ⭐⭐⭐⭐ - For book bingo! Got me a square for Read Nonfiction, Read Something About The Environment, and Read Something You Found from Book Page (a magazine advertising new and upcoming books). AND it had a local connection. I learned a lot, it was really neat and didn't feel like I was reading a textbook. It was very engaging, and has me looking at grocery stores differently. It was hard to find, though, because Frostbite is a very common name in the urban fantasy romance genre.

The Only Good Indians by Stephen Graham Jones ⭐⭐⭐⭐ - Oof. Very heavy, very creepy, very GOOD. Did not expect the many graphic dog deaths, but that was on me. Technically I WAS warned, my brain just didn't register "SGJ dogs are not safe" as "The dog dies in this one". The audio narrator was very good, but I had to listen to the opening a couple times to really get everything to click. It might've been easier had I" read it myself, but the cadence of the narrator really added to the story.

The Last Heir to Blackwood Library by Hester Fox ⭐ - Wow when was the last time I had a true one star read. (Actually not too long ago. It was The Novice.) This wanted so badly to be The Haunting of Hill House, but if you want another book like Hill House, just read Starling House. We missed what actually happened in the book because the main character was losing her memory. If you want that, go read Harrow the Ninth. This was a mess and I hated it.

On that note, I need to read something to recharge my faith in books, so MURDERBOT TIME! That's my only reading plan for September, but now I'm feeling Rushed because the year is almost over and I still have about half of my reading goals list left. Whoops. I'd also like to at least attempt some of the Swordtember prompts, if not do all of them. That looks like a lot of fun! So! Onward we go!

[snowywolf1005]

@red-dead-02 : I'd like the heart pirates, i just think law would be very interested because he's a doctor and all.

Kinda from a doctors perspective, i guess. I mean, in One Piece, there are a lot of different species, but i think the chimera reader will still be something special, something you don't see every day.

HEART PIRATE X CHIMERA READER

Law was very interested in your chimera body. Your cousin told Law everything about your body. Law listen very carefully.

And what is so special about chimera? Well, it started a very long time ago. Chimera used to have a dragon body, eagle wings, lion head with horns on top.

They're much bigger than humans. They can breathe fire. Sometimes, they attack human, but they go extinct. By the slaves, hunters, and the government want them because they're so powerful.

And they can use them as weapons, but there's no more, all because they kill them. Then you arrived, and the marine was shocked to see the last chimera but half. Chimera are the rarest animal species.

The news spread all across the town. Law wrote down everything you can do.

- you have atomic breath that can transform. Starting as a black smoke that transformed into an orange fire and then a precise, narrow beam capable of heavy destruction

- the strength of a dragon, the ability to chant spells, and the intelligence to speak briefly.

- very sharp teeth.

- can see at dark.

- you can use a variety of sounds, including whistles, warbles, trills, rattles, and more. To fool other animals. Like the 'common starling birds'.

- when you fly, your wings fly very quietly.

Law was fantasized by your body, but not that creepy. He was wondering how you ended up like this? The chimera went extinct.

Your cousin drew pictures of you with your whole body inside:

Whenever you're sick, (C/N) give you medicine. She studies every time. Even Law has to catch up.

When you have to have surgery, (C/N) has to it, but need Law to help her.

[vacantfields]

If you can! Please listen to Reverie by Invent Animate, as those are the vibes for this (: Thanks

[CONTENT WARNING: blood, death, violence]

------

It had been a regular day. However, it was long ago, of course.

He remembers begging Sun if he could join the children for their arts and crafts hours. Sun had sighed and crossed his arms over his broad chest as he looked up at the taller.

"Eclipse... You're not supposed to interact with the Starlings... Moon and I could get in trouble for letting you even be in here in the Daycare." Sun had said with a soft sigh escaping his lips.

"Sun, please. I will be good. I will not act out of line. I just want one hour with the kids, then I will return to my post, I promise." He had pleaded with his smaller counterpart.

He was taller than Sun and Moon, but they were all alike. He was a mix of Sun and Moon's codes; he wanted to entertain children so badly, but he was just a security bot.

Sun had given him an exasperated look, and with a wave-like spin of his rays, he gave the taller a nod.

"But just an hour, and that's it! Alright?"

He hadn't been able to believe it, the shock, the excitement, the warmth in his code.

"Yes, yes! Thank you, Sunny!" He quickly went to the children who knew of him as Super Eclipse, as Moon had spun a story of him rescuing kids from dangerous people, so the Starlings adored him when he would pass the Daycare.

He sat down at the small table as he watched and interacted with the kids happily. They were drawing and laughing together, and it felt so good. He felt so happy, so content, his three rays giving a weak wiggle.

He was watching a small boy drawing himself as Robin and him as Batman.

Cody. Cody was maybe his biggest fan. Cody was around five years old and so excited whenever he would walk past the windows when he patrolled.

"Mr. Eclipse! What do you think? Do you like it? Do you?" The kid asked excitedly as he held his drawing up to the tall android, who gently and carefully took the small drawing into his huge hands and smiled softly, awfully fond.

"I love it, Cody. Thank you." The drawing was... A child's drawing. It was stick figures, but you could tell it was him and Cody.

He felt his eye twitch at the red color Cody had used, and his hands itched, which confused him as he gently put down the paper.

"Mr. Eclipse?" Cody asked softly, the other kids stopping with their art as they watched the tall android; they looked startled and confused.

His hand jerked hard, a horrible twitch.

"I am okay, Starlings! Do not worry!" He said with a nervous grin, but Cody moved closer to him, worry in his eyes.

He took note of where Sun and Moon were for some reason...? His systems deemed them far enough away. He looked confused. "Starling-" He began only for a haze to cover his view; it all got dark.

He could feel his body move.

A warm and wet feeling on his hands.

Dripping. A growl from his lips.

He tried to regain control of his vision and body, but something was hindering him.

He heard screaming and crying. Frantic voices from Security guards traveled around him suddenly, and then more screaming.

He felt scared, terrified, horrified.

He couldn't connect to Sun or Moon via their shared headspace but heard them beg him to stop.

Stop what? What was happening?

He timed how long this fog lasted.

Four hours.

Four hours. Before he got out of the daze, he found himself pinned on the floor on his stomach by Freddy. Roxy. Monty and Chica. He frantically looked at them. "Please! What is happening!?" He shouted. Scared. His wires and fans were twitching.

The animatronics held him down, his hands pinned on his back. Their grip was firm. They didn't answer his cries, only looked over to Sun, who was shaking and covered in blood. His eyes looked empty, haunted.

Moon was also covered in blood. Holding something. Someone. In his arms.

His eyes widened. "No. No, no, no, no, no! NO, NO, NO, NO!" He yelled as it turned into agonizing sobs. "NO, NO!"

Moon was holding what was left of Cody.

"THAT WASN'T ME, IT WASN'T ME! I CAN'T HURT ANYONE! IT WASN'T ME!" he kept yelling, wriggling underneath the animatronics hold. He sobbed.

Moon was silent, eerily so. He held the body, just gazing at it like he could will the child to wake up again.

Sun was the first one to move. His hands were shaking, and Eclipse watched him nervously.

"Sun-" He choked out as he tried to free his hand. So he could touch Sun to calm him. But he couldn't move.

Sun dropped to his knees gently, and Eclipse slowly got his head pressed down by Freddy. Onto the colored floor, his cheek pressed hard against it as he felt Sun's light touch on the back of his neck. He was moving Eclipse's hair out of the way.

"No! Sun! Please don't! Please, I can't! Do not shut me down; please do not! It's so dark, and I can't- please don't leave me in the dark!" He cried out.

Sun didn't answer Eclipse's pleas as he felt his neck panel being opened. He shuddered as Sun wrapped his fingers around a bunch of wires, and he sobbed again. "Please don't, please," he begged. "Please, Sunny, please don't; it wasn't me! I would never hurt anyone!"

He heard Sun taking a sharp breath, and then he felt it.

His wires got pulled, and he fell slack. His system warned him that his wires weren't okay.

His eyes faded to nothing but blanks, though he was still aware.

"... I will call them," Moon said. Eclipse supposes it has to do with Cody.

"Okay." Was all Sun responded, his tone flat, as he stood and walked to do something. Eclipse guessed.

The rest of the animatronics were quiet, though he heard some mumble to Moon about helping.

Eclipse zoned in and out of awareness; his body had locked and not shut down, though, to everyone around him, it would look like he was powered off.

He couldn't feel himself, but he heard movement; he was being moved somewhere. He thinks it's Monty who's carrying him. He liked Monty; they played mini golf together on his patrol rounds and talked a lot. Eclipse could hear Monty mutter something but couldn't tell what the animatronic told him.

He zoned out again.

Then, he heard a heavy thunk, which probably meant he was sat down and propped up against a wall. He could see a tiny bit, but the room was dark. Monty's heavy footsteps meant he left for the door, then the door shut and locked. He was alone. He tried to move but couldn't.

It was so dark in this room.

Abandoned.

Stained.

He was left here until he would be found again.

That's at least what he remembers.

The virus is so strong it's tiring. At least he thinks it has to be a virus. He hopes he isn't like this. He's not someone who hurts anyone. He hopes.

Oh, he hopes.