#aerial snippet

[maxipad33]

With an impressive wingspan measuring nearly 5 meters, Dutch avian Max Verstappen is widely regarded as one of the top in endurance aerial racing. The downside of such large wings? After a race, it takes two people up to an hour to preen all his feathers. “Of course, sometimes walking around it is easy to accidentally knock things over,��� he adds.

snippet from “Flying High with Champion Max Verstappen” in this week’s Hybrid Sport Journal

[lullabyes22-blog]

Snippet - Astro - Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Jinx tries her hand at superstardom...

Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Snippet:

In the summer, the Baron's Bugle published a puff-piece: 10 Things We Love About Jinx!

It was no cheeky little write-up, but a full five-page photo spread devoted to Jinx's accomplishments as a Fissure prodigy: her gadgetry, her artistry, her style. There was a listicle ranking her top outfits (#1 was a gold-spangled cocktail dress, #2 a frilled acid green coattails-and-miniskirt combo, and #3 a pink-sequined bustier, black leather hot pants, and fishnet stockings because why the fuck not?). There were streetside interviews where every stratum of Zaunite gushed about Jinx's evolution from gun-toting terror to a glamourpuss heartthrob. There was a featurette on Jinx's collaborations with up-and-coming inventors from across Runeterra, the highlight being an article on Viktor, whom the reporter dubbed the "Hangman of Zaun", which Vitya loathed.

And then there was the pièce de résistance: a double-spread photo-essay complete with a candid interview by none other than B. Goode, who, after quarreling with The Sun & Tower's editor over certain journalistic ethics (a.k.a the refusal to peddle lies), had jumped ship for the Bugle, and was in the process of winning a Golden Quill with their meticulous coverage of Zaun's rise.

"Goodie-Gumshoe!" Jinx crowed when they'd reunited in the Laguna Lounge under Silco's watchful eye. "Back for round two, huh?"

Goode, for reasons unknown, glanced Silco's way, then blushed.

The spread chronicled the arc of Jinx's soaring comet from penury to privilege, and the series of brutalities that had each served to fuel the fire that forged her. Goode was a pro: armed with hard-hitting questions, each one geared to evoke Jinx's resilience and charm. The narrative didn't shy away from Jinx's history, either, and wasn't afraid to address the controversial issues—the Day of Ash, the Siege, Shimmer.

But, true to form, Goode did not sensationalize the story, or reduce it to a salacious slideshow.

Jinx kept the interview blithe, bantering, breezy. Goode quizzed her on everything from her first successful invention (Buttons), her latest project (an aerial filtration system for toxic miasma), the secret to her skincare regimen (sump-vole grease, duh!), to any special man in her life.

Jinx deftly sidestepped that sticky subject: "I'm too busy to get busy. But I'm open to applicants! Just submit your CV to Daddy's goon squad, and duck the barrage of gunshots."

When Goode asked how Jinx felt about Zaun's future, she'd replied, "Zaun's gonna eat it for breakfast. And I'm not talking metaphorical. We've got a new recipe cooking. It'll change your life, or blow it clean up."

And she'd tipped a wink, leaving Goode in stitches.

"The Girl from the Bottom is no longer Zaun's rising star," Goode summed up, "but its symbol. In a world that has so often sought to diminish her, Jinx has grown larger than life, a shining example of the resolute spirit that has made Zaun, once a mere annex to Piltover, a nation to be reckoned with."

The edition was a smash hit. Nearly three-million copies flew off the press. The circulation numbers were stratospheric. The Bugle's editor was in raptures. So were the readers. Jinx had been Zaun's unofficial postergirl for ages. But the endorsement of a premium publisher elevated her to the status of a powerhouse. A flesh-and-blood icon.

Bonus: she looked super cute.

For Zaunite entrepreneurs eager to expand overseas, the next step was a no-brainer. Who better to carry the torch as a brand ambassador than the city's very own firebrand?

Jinx's likeness, once charmingly ubiquitous, was suddenly inescapable. It started with the storefronts in the Trade District of the Sumps. Then it spread across the billboards at Entresol and along the boulevards on the Promenade. Jinx's face, whether in caricature or cameo: emblazoned on the signboards of cafes or blown up big as life across skyscrapers. Zaun-themed cookbooks with her visage printed on their covers appeared on bookstores' front displays, as restaurants serving the latest "Fissure cuisine" boasted lines out the door. Luxury brands like the Vyx were keen to get a piece of the action: their new collections featured "J-Chic" couture inspired by Jinx's punky, gritty, carnivalesque aesthetic: ripped mesh leggings, studded belts, leather jackets, and—most importantly—lots of poppy neons. Even the music scene was jumping aboard. 'Get Jinxed' was enjoying a renaissance across the airwaves. On weekends, the nightlife was dominated by discotheques where 'Jinx-a-thons' kept Trencher teens grooving till dawn. And a brand-new club banger—a bawdy, upbeat remix called "Boom Boom"—began burning up the airwaves all the way to Topside.

Soon, even old blowhards like Councilor Hoskel, who couldn't tell a bass from his ass, knew all the lyrics.

The phenomenon transcended borders; Zaun shrank into the mere nucleus. Jinx, and her blues: a force of nature that could not be denied. A silhouette to embody the wild, ungovernable spirit of change that crossed Zaun's skyline, like a shooting star, and left fragments scattered all the way from Piltover's gilded skyline to Shurima's dusty plains.

A symbol whose reach was so broad, and whose potential for disruption so powerful, that not even the most cynical could deny its call.

A spark, igniting.

Naturally, her popularity had detractors. In Piltover, the conservatives had long deemed her a nuisance. The prospect of her becoming a global icon was alarming. As was the growing trend among the Piltovan youth to dye their hair blue, or wear t-shirts with her monkey-symbol on the front, or blast her song while riding the public transport. To counter the rebellious streak, The Sun & Tower begun publishing a series of starch-collared articles, all purportedly authored by an "insider", to paint Jinx as a threat to good-old-fashioned stability.

Anarchist, madwoman, agent of chaos—the epithets ran the gamut.

And yet, for the youth, it only lent Jinx a brighter luster. For so long, she'd been the villain of their bedtime stories. But as time passed, and Topside rubbed shoulders more and more with Zaunites, they began to see her through a different lens.

A story could have many sides, after all.

And isn't there always a ring of darkness, whenever a star burns brightest?

The feather in Jinx's cap, ironically, was her induction into Piltover's premiere publication: Astro.

The journal had a longstanding reputation as a trendsetter: a single mention could catapult a nobody into notoriety, or turn a fledgling business into a booming success. Jinx was the youngest—only—Zaunite to be considered for the front cover.

The publication had to seek Silco's permission; her Big Nineteenth was just around the corner, but she was technically a minor under Zaunite law. The proposed photospread would feature Jinx in a baby blue halter and matching blue aviators, with her hair coiffed in the victory-roll bob popularized by Zaun's restoration propaganda; flirtily windswept to evoke that free-wheeling whimsy.

The shoot would be themed around Zaun's rising generation of wunderkinds: a burst of fresh energy, with Jinx as its spearhead.

Their only caveat: her tattoos, and the tattoos only, would be airbrushed.

"We understand, in Zaun, body art is a rite of passage," the editor explained, after having done the impossible: secured a meeting with the Eye of Zaun. Dream-come-true or deathwish, that remained to be seen. "But we don't want our audience to associate Zaun with a gangland. It's not in line with the message of this shoot."

"Which is?"

"Youth. Vitality. Hope."

Silco, two-toned eyes piercing behind a steeple of fingers, took in each buzzword. Silence stretched between him and his guest: chokingly tight.

Finally, he cut to the chase.

"Surely," he drawled, "progress implies more than that? An appreciation, for instance, of what came before."

The editor, sweating bullets, mustered an appeasing smile.

"I don't mean it wouldn't be appreciated. But it could be, ah, misinterpreted."

"As?"

"Well—a history of conflict. Violence. Deviance."

Silco's smile widened to show razored teeth. It was charm without an iota of mercy: the shark that devoured whatever foolish fish wandered past its fangs.

"We are Zaun," he said. "Conflict, violence and deviance are the sum of our ethos."

"But..." The editor floundered, but forged on. "With respect, Your Excellency. The audience, if Jinx were to grace the cover, would not be confined to Zaun. Astro celebrates readership from far-flung shores, including Demacia and Noxus. Nations that may not share your...your..."

"Deviation?"

"...Quite." A delicate cough. "It's one thing, to say, feature Zaun's black-market trade, and the pride it takes in bringing people together in defiance of prejudice and societal expectation. That's a feel-good story. We'd happily run that, if only to thumb our own noses at the Council's conservative bloc."

Silco's lips ticked upward. Amused, not by the joke, but the fellow's chutzpah.

"But a culture that equates survival with the barrel of a gun?" Another cough. "That can easily become divisive. Even destructive. If readers who dislike Zaun, use Jinx to vilify the nation she represents—or worse, her father..." The editor bowed slightly, as if paying homage, "I fear it might have far-reaching consequences beyond Astro. And a polarizing outcome for international relations."

"Namely—" the drawl disarmed; the subtext disemboweled, "—you'll market Zaun's free spirit, but elide its context."

The editor flinched; a gutted man, clinging to his innards as they slopped across the carpet. But he was, whatever else, a professional.

"Astro is progressive," he emphasized, "but progress takes patience, Your Excellency. Jinx is an opportunity that deserves to be nurtured."

"How do you propose to 'nurture' a message nipped in the bud?"

"By understanding that this edition is not about yesterday, or today. It is about Tomorrow." The editor leaned in. "What birthed Zaun was a violent struggle. But that message will resonate with few except Zaunites. Instead of focusing on Zaun's bitter beginnings, it is wiser to concentrate on what we all share in common."

Silco's arched brow was the non-verbal equivalent of Go on, pull the other one.

"Respectfully, Excellency, you have said the same in your speeches! We bleed for the right to live. Don't we all? We breathe in spite of our shackles. Don't we all? We yearn to be free. Don't we all?" The editor clapped his hands together: an exhortation. "Zaun has suffered. I acknowledge that. So do many Piltovans. But we cannot fully appreciate how you have suffered. Not unless we meet each other halfway. When we do, compromise becomes nuance."

"Compromise." Silco's head canted to one side. "Through the death of my daughter's character?"

"Not—not necessarily!" The editor backtracked. "Our readers admire authenticity. But authenticity is raw; it cuts bone-deep. I'm asking if we can translate the past into something that... connects... rather than alienates. Rest assured! Our work would celebrate the Zaunite renaissance. Highlight luminaries like Jinx, born in Zaun's slums, who have now seen their dreams come true. Inventions given wings; homes given hearts. Startups rising sky-high. And best of all: children with no doors to walk through, promised new thresholds toward success." Another cough. "It'd be an inspiring narrative. One could even—" A flash of inspiration at metaphoric knifepoint, "—call it a renewal of Zaun's innocence!"

Silco's mismatched eyes held the editor in their crosshairs.

One: unnervingly cold. The other: unnaturally ablaze.

"A strange defense," the trademark tenor dipped lethally low, "given Zaun lost its innocence in the cradle."

The editor opened his mouth; reconsidered. His shoulders slumped.

"Be honest," Silco said. "This is censorship dressed up as conciliation."

"No." The editor shook his head. "Simply the opportunity to unite, rather than divide. And, let's be frank, seize control over Jinx's rising-star narrative before other papers do."

"Of course."

"With respect, Your Excellency. You've had a marvelous hand in sculpting her story thus far. But though you are the, ah, Eye of Zaun, you are also her father. Inevitably, there is bias. For you, she remains a girl-child. A cherished daughter. But to Runeterra, she is becoming a phenomenon. Not to mention: a woman. The combination holds appeal. Power. And others will want that power, badly enough to take it."

Silco, face darkening like the sky before an incursion, spoke slowly: "You're suggesting we preempt her exploitation."

"Yes! And—I realize the irony here!—preempt it by capitalizing on her allure." He broke off, cleared his throat. "Because better us—with Zaun's consent—showcasing her potential, than competitors motivated by more... base... incentives."

Silence hung. Broken only by the metronomic tick-tock.

Not of the clock, but Silco's slow-climbing temper.

"You're proposing," he said, and the steeple of fingers unfurled to separate into two deathly-white fists, "to exploit the very element that endangers her."

"No, your Excellency! To establish her, not as a victim, but a fully fledged sensation!"

"She is already a sensation."

"But with our platform, she'd be celebrated across Runeterra! No Zaunite has ever garnered such spotlight. An icon of unprecedented proportions, shaping discourse from politics to fashion."

"At the expense of her father's will."

"If the choice of clothing offends, we can work through alternatives—"

As abruptly as he'd agreed to the confab, Silco cut it short. "Good day. My blackguards will escort you out."

"But—"

"Your proposal, quite frankly, is above your pay-grade. Leave the diplomacy to the diplomats. And the flesh-peddling to the pimps. I trust Astro with neither. Especially involving my child. But—" He unfolded to his feet, silhouette framed in blood-red by the sunrays cutting through the window, "—if I'm in need of poisonous piffle to prop up my country's black market, you'll be first to know."

There was nothing left to argue.

The editor, with the silence of the condemned, withdrew.

It was only after Silco had returned to his desk, pouring a fifth of whiskey into his cut-crystal glass, that the eavesdropper in the rafters unfolded itself to pour in a shadowy slither across the carpet: soundless, as if weightless, or winged.

"Sheesh," Jinx drawled, hands laced behind her back as she prowled between the armchairs. "And I thought I had rage-issues."

Silco said nothing. The smolder didn't abate.

"Although," she went on, perching on the armrest on his empty chair, "calling him a pimp? Harsh, Daddy-o. Like flesh-peddling isn't a proud Zaunite tradition."

Silco, downing the shot of whiskey, made no comment. His anger—and Jinx had seen him plenty angry, plenty of times, usually with a blade brandished in one fist and a corpse congealing in the corner—was always explosive. A riot, too, given how quiet he was in other respects: suave, smooth, searingly understated. But so were flash-floods before they raged beyond control: insidious, imperceptible, then overwhelming.

This was different.

This was a wrath that manifested as ice: remote, silent, terrible. It set Jinx's teeth on edge the way nothing else could.

"What gives?" She spilled sideways into the empty chair, legs dangling over one armrest, arm slung over the other. "Sure, the guy's a bozo. And his rag makes a clown-show look classy. Plus: the no-ink policy? Total drag. But the bottom-line's what matters, right? A chance to pitch Zaun's brand-new beginning to the masses. Our star power gone interstellar!"

Silco poured himself a second measure. He wasn't really listening, and Jinx bristled. Where did he keep drifting off to? And why, when everything he—they—had worked for was on the cusp of glory?

Or was glory the problem?

(Too short of legacy? Too wide of perfection?)

"Anyway," she went on, determined to sell what couldn't be bought, " Astro's cookie-cutter as hell. But it's got major global juice. Just picture it: pageant spreads highlighting Zaun's greatest achievements. Kitchens stocked with pickled paradise; arc-lit street lamps that turn midnight into high noon; Shimmer-infused lip glosses for killer smooches on steamy summer nights. Everything Zaun prides itself on: making do, making bank, and making a little mischief on the side!"

The dark-spirited silence persisted. Tipping his glass, Silco downed the drink. Jinx mimed along, saluting with a non-existent glass of her own.

No dice. Not even a smile.

Gods, his moods were becoming a zigzag: up, down, left, right. It was disorienting. She'd once thought she knew Silco like the back of her hand—his pettiness, his ruthlessness, the razor-sharp intellect and the bone-dry humor, plus the deadly-soft underbelly that he bared just for her.

But these last few weeks were like wandering through a minefield. One wrong move, and: blam.

Sometimes, Jinx wondered if this was the natural course of things. If, as her ambitions soared, his own would stay tethered, down in the depths that'd birthed him.

In the darkness where he'd dwell alone: stubbornly solitary, killingly self-contained.

And grumpier by the day.

"So," he said at length, "you find their project worthwhile."

Jinx snagged her bottom-lip between her teeth. So he had been listening. More than that: he'd sussed out that Astro's editor would never have successfully navigated past Zaun's bureaucratic labyrinth without inside help.

"Well—yeah," she hedged, tipping a shoulder. "I might've pointed him in the right direction. Helped with the elevator ride up."

Silence, and another pour. Third shot, which meant dangerous territory lay ahead.

But Jinx was nothing if not a daredevil.

"I figured, y'know, it was time to broaden our horizons," she went on. "Reach beyond our comfort zones. Shake a few peaches before they rotted on the tree."

"Peaches?" Ice-cold, and bloody-bare: the glare cutting her way. "Is that what we're calling it?"

"Oh, c'mon!" Jinx, playing footsie with the pile of trade edicts on his desktop, held firm. "You always say Zaun deserves international legitimacy. Well, here's our chance. Piltover's premiere press on our doorstep! Practically begging me to flaunt my ass—er, assets. Not to mention, boost your profile by proxy! Think of all Zaun'll gain—the trade, the tourists, the fat wallets jingling their coinage..."

"With our history stripped wholesale, and the rest sanitized beyond recognition." Silco swirled the dregs of whiskey. In the sunset, a scarlet wash filmed the glass like blood from a fresh-cut throat. "There are less tedious ways of selling Zaun's soul than by whoring yourself out, Jinx."

It was the first time he'd used anything remotely resembling vulgarity in her presence. A measure, perhaps, of just how deeply Topside's overture had bruised his ego.

Or was it something deeper, prickling the undercurrents of their bond?

Punishment, even if unmeant.

"Whore, s'more." Jinx sat up, hoping a little sass would break his funk. "My likeness is already stamped all across Zaun's backyard! So why blow your fuse 'cause some lame-o rag wants a few bits edited out? The guy's just doing his job: keeping his brand vanilla."

"You," Silco cut in, "are not a brand. You are the high Zaunite ideal. Topside has no say in your self-determinism."

But you do, Jinx thought, and felt oddly hollow.

She didn't say it. She didn't need to. Zaun owned her, top to toe, as a symbol. And Silco, her father, held exclusive rights to the rest. Since independence, she'd been serving both masters with boundless vigor, as if she'd been born to the role.

And maybe she was: the girl who'd kickstarted a revolution, and been crowned its queen.

But every shard of her life that Zaun swallowed was a chunk Jinx never had a chance to reclaim. Until, little by little, the resentment became a fierce bright itch under her skin. Until the wanderlust, the soul-deep disconnection, became a fuse fizzing its way to ignition.

Once, it would've ended in self-immolation. Not to mention, city-wide catastrophe. This time, it would be different. No cataclysm, but a comet's trajectory from rock-bottom straight into the stratosphere.

And comets always ate whatever got in their way.

"Maybe," she said, quieter, "it's not about self-determinism, but autonomy."

"Scant difference, if both require compromise."

"That depends."

"On?"

"Mine," she said, "versus ours."

Silco, glass halfway to his lips, stilled.

"Think about it. Five years ago, no Trench-wench would've dreamed of strutting her stuff in Astro's hoity-toity frontispiece. Now, they're here, hat in hand, at our door. And sure, they're fussposts. But change takes time, right? One baby step, then a sprint, and pretty soon it's running marathons!"

"You'd let Topside profit from your erasure to prove a point?"

"I'd prove to the Fissurefolk that nothing's outta bounds. They don't need to flaunt their suffering on their skins. Our ink ain't proof of principle: just our pride. And that pride runs deeper than any tattooist's needle. No matter how far we reach or how high we soar, nothing can take that away." Her chin tipped. "And if Topside's calling the shots on what's acceptable today? Tomorrow it'll be us. Because once a movement like this gains momentum, there's no going backward."

"Can't put the genie back in her bottle, hm?"

"Exactly!" She dropped the playful pretense. Her eyes locked on his. "The tipping point doesn't come easy, Silco. But when it does? It's a critical hit. The kinda stuff they'll write about in the schoolbooks. The kinda stuff every starry-eyed, scabby-kneed, snot-nosed little sumpsnipe will read about, and realize, hell. I could make that leap too. And if ol Jinx can get the ball rollin,' well. Ain't that worth a little sacrifice?"

"A little sacrifice," Silco repeated, witheringly neutral. "Until the next. And the next. Until we're back to square one, with no boundaries left to claim."

Jinx refused to be cowed. "Until one article becomes ten. Then fifty. Then a hundred! Until talk of Zaun's as commonplace as a handshake. Until the dialogue's shifted from, Wow, that terrorist sure looks hot, to Wow, what drove this girl to go war? And if they don't want the same war spreading to their streets, what can they do to help us help ourselves?"

"We didn't fight for help. We fought to be free."

"And maybe it's the talking," she countered, "that'll make it happen."

"Utopian drivel."

"Nope!" Jinx popped the syllable. "Pure chess. You say it yourself: the Council's terrified of losing face. And once Zaun's gained clout on the global stage, we'll be a threat to their pride instead of a dirty open secret. They'll have to widen the embrace—not as partners-in-crime, but as in-laws. Even siblings. Once they do? The average Piltie starts asking questions. Important questions! Questions like, hey, maybe reparations aren't enough? Maybe restitution's the way to go? Maybe re-establishing bonds is the path to salvation—not to mention the influx of sweet-ass Zaunite tech! All this in exchange for—"

"—for selling yourself like a sweetmeat to the highest bidder?"

"They're asking me to pose for a magazine," Jinx snapped, temper flaring at the condescension. "Not suck their dicks!"

A vulgarism for a vulgarism: fair trade in a city founded upon theft.

Silco's jaw tightened. The infamous temper held. Only his face spoke: a subtle shift from simple anger to a more complex emotion. And Jinx, with a sudden arrowing to the heart of the target—a smoothness that, like in firefights, verged on Zen-like—understood precisely why he hated the idea of her starring in Astro.

A refusal to play by their rules, yes. But also the refusal to relinquish what lay deepest at stake.

Her choice versus his own.

"What're you so afraid of?" she challenged, more slowly. "That I'll kickstart a new epoch for Zaun, but forget to pay my dues?"

"Forget how many they butchered us for daring to stand tall?" Silco retorted, silken as a silver garrote. "Forget that your wages of acceptance equate to surrendering their lifeblood: brutalized, subjugated, buried wholesale? Forget the murder that marks our very foundation?"

His vehemence brooked zero room for disagreement; no latitude for compromise. Because it wasn't just Jinx's choice that was the crux of the issue. It was the principle he'd built the city upon. Forward but never forget. An article of faith that underlined everything they'd suffered together. The root cause that'd led them, hand-in-hand, down the road to revolution.

And left thousands of bodies in their wake.

But Jinx refused to be browbeaten. She'd had her fill of ghosts: theirs, hers. All those decades, with nothing but bitterness to nurse their dreams. Surely, now that they'd made it, it was time for brighter beginnings? Time to write a chapter for those yet to come; something to wash the aftertaste of blood away?

Time to build bridges, if it meant stopping someone else from burning them down.

Or drowning in their shadow.

"No one's denying where we come from," she said flatly. "No one's forgetting why we fight. But I want Zaun to endure beyond the past, Silco. We're gonna change the world. And all of us—every single one, no matter what our past or future—will stand stronger if we go out there as whole. Not shattered to shit."

"Progress," Silco intoned, "at any price."

"Weighed up and worth it. Isn't that what you taught me?"

Silco set his glass back on the desk: cut-crystal met mahogany with a brittle clink.

Something changed, imperceptibly, in his stance. Still frigid as death; still simmering below the surface. But now an undercurrent ran through. Sorrow, perhaps. Scorn.

Or a subspecies of both: tender to the last, like a wound that never healed.

"Such grand justifications," he said, softly, "for a little girl's plea."

Jinx didn't flinch; the insinuation hurt too much.

"What do you think?" he went on, fingertip idly tracing the rim of the glass. "That selling out will win your sister over? That her side—their side—will forget your sins if you're willing to forgive their own?"

The sting of that rebuke—succinct, searing—sent tears pricking at the corners of Jinx's eyes. Because of course he knew. He knew, same way he knew her. Because they were both so fucking alike: born of a common flame that would not be doused.

Both clinging to a conviction that somehow, someday, the razing of their past would give way to a bloodless future.

And leaving, always, ashes behind.

"Maybe we could forgive," Jinx said, refusing to bleed. "Even if we never forget. Or maybe it's pointless, and instead of burying the hatchet, it's better to bury the bodies and burn all bridges forever. But if the dead can't let the past go, how can the living rebuild, Silco? If we stop trying, we'll stagnate. And then, everything we fought for—everything we deserve—it's all gone. A monument to our own hubris."

Something shifted again: the coldness yielding. But his eyes stayed hard.

"So," he murmured, "you would offer yourself up? A lamb at the slaughter."

"Call it whatever you want," Jinx retorted. "But every moment we spend in Zaun's past, is another moment our future's forfeit."

"And this forfeiture? Will it earn you the vindication you seek?"

Jinx shook her head. In a single fluid motion, she'd slid off the chair, skirting the desk with a dancer's grace. They came face-to-face: two shadows poised in a pool of bloody light.

"This," she said, "is nothing more—nothing less—than what Zaun deserves."

"That being?"

"The chance to move forward."

And, she tipped forward to drop a kiss to Silco's scarred cheekbone.

The sun sank scarlet: arterial-rich, slow and deep. In the glow, Silco's eyes were two black mirrors. Reflecting the incandescence of his daughter's dreams, even as his pale hands tangled in the tassels of her blue hair.

Twisting, ever-so-slightly, tighter.

[willamaybeck]

pjo/hoo @/amusement park headcanons

idk i thought of this forever ago and it's been sitting in my notes forever, so here

piper throws up on a rollercoaster

percy cannot, for the LIFE of him, win annabeth a prize.

"let me show you how it's done, seaweed brain." she calculates how to throw and wins him a tiny stuffed trident.

rachel has to quickly pull grover away from his feast in the trash cans before someone sees

leo & calypso fix a broken-down ride

jason tries to convince thalia to do the bungee jump dive w him--she offers up piper instead but ends up doing it anyway

(she may or may not nearly strike percy w a lighting bolt)

hazel helps a little girl find her lost earrings and frank is basically in love

everyone realizes they "lost" percy & annabeth at the water park ;)

jason was sent to find them and boy--HE DEFINITELY FOUND THEM

frank accidently gives archery lessons

jokes about grover becoming the amusement park janitor

hazel kinda wishes nico were there but she knows he wouldn't have had fun

rachel & calypso befriend each other

piper gets a piggyback ride from leo & vice versa, as well

frank & grover are "guests" in a hypnosis performance

thalia finds this too amusing and takes pictures for the hunters to enjoy

percy & annabeth stroll around themselves for a while just being cute <33

jason mentions smth about nico being gay to piper (an aside, just a short snippet):

annabeth was trying to sneak up on piper w her yankees cap but now she stumbles back to percy by the restrooms and almost cries laughing.

"all this time we thought he had a crush on me, but it was you!"

percy is so mortified

calypso slaps percy when she first sees him (they were all kinda nervous about them meeting again, esp annabeth even tho she knew not to worry; if your bf can turn down a roman praetor for you w/o even fully remembering you, then you should be fine) but then she thanks him for leaving. he's not her happy ending, and she isn't his.

honestly, he was most shocked to see her wearing jeans

leo somehow catches a water ride on fire??

jason & percy volunteer to be in a sword fighting demonstration--somehow none of the mortal audience notices they discarded the prop swords they were given

piper & annabeth are slightly worried they're going to kill each other

calypso guarantees them this a "rather healthy" confrontation

"of course, verbal communication is the best way, but guys think differently."

grover has a picture of juniper in his wallet. rachel finds this incredibly sweet

leo jokingly volunteers to give grover's goatee a trim

no one appreciates the pun.

grover declines.

hazel almost uses golden drachmas as payment for her lunch and frank just can't help but laugh at her

jason & piper fly around the park

the aerial tramway is for chumps

piper fangirls very much upon seeing percy & annabeth's seat--midair snuggling and forehead kisses

jason calls down to thalia to be calm

she's gripping the ride so tightly

she wasn't even supposed to be IN the cart bc it's only fit for two people but rachel & grover pulled her into it

leo's super fuckn fascinated when learning to braid calypso's hair

he tries to copy piper's braids, but she has to inform him it's complicated due to her uneven hairstyle

thalia, rachel, grover, percy, & annabeth all eat lunch together and it's so comfortable.

thalia had never fully met rachel but now she's just crying from how rachel blatantly broke up w percy w/o even dating him

[inonibird]

Sahuldeem Spin-off Snippet #4

Hey, remember how I posted three previous snippets because writing has been hard this year and I felt like sharing excerpts from the various unfinished Sahuldeem spin-off stories I've poked at over the past few years? (I am STILL working on the newest chapter of Sahuldeem; it has just been ludicrously hard to get into it) This next spin-off fic can best be described as: "A story centered around Qymaen’s Force-sensitive granddaughter, set after the Original Trilogy." Treated as a sequel to Sahuldeem, but Force-related shenanigans mean it is less grounded in canon/reality. A bit of a self-indulgent, adventurous romp with some family drama mixed in. (Ludari herself is a re-imagined version of an old ttrpg character)

This short snippet is set near the beginning, as Ludari learns more about the elder-father no one seems to want to talk about. Enjoy~

A few days later, Ludari’s father came into her room, and, instead of wishing her good night and departing as usual, he settled on the edge of her bed, heaving a weighty sigh.

“There’s little I can tell you about your elder-father that I know outside of stories, myself. I never met him. He left Kalee before I was birthed.”

“But elder-mother told you stories,” Ludari said, sitting up straight in bed, every fiber of her body hungry for whatever scraps her father might spare. “She knew him.”

Ludari’s father was quiet for a moment. “Why do you want to hear about him, Ludari?”

“The other children told me he wasn’t always like that.”

“Wasn’t always like…”

“A monster.”

Her father’s face stilled, his slitted eyes falling out of focus, as if picturing something he barely remembered. “You don’t know what he looked like, do you?”

Ludari shook her head. “They just told me he was barely even Kaleesh anymore. More like a droid.”

“Hold on.” Her father rose from her bed and slipped out of the room for a minute. When he returned, he held a portable holoscreen in hand, a cracked, outdated piece of technology that was the norm for backwater Kalee. Settling back into position, he passed the screen to his daughter. “These are old recordings from the HoloNet. They would have aired during the time of the Clone Wars. I was far too young to know anything about it, then. Mother showed these to me years later.”

Ludari squinted at the flickering screen, watching the decades-old HoloNet News broadcasts. Reporters spoke in urgent staccato of the “Knight Slayer” that had come to the attention of the Galactic Republic in recent weeks, and who had, at the time of the newsreel, finally been recorded in action. The footage was grainy and blurred, but amid the white armored figures of clone troopers, a skeletal shape rampaged, a storm of blue-and-green lights that snapped and sliced and severed. The footage paused, highlighting a frame of frozen fury: more metal than flesh, poised mid-assault, what passed for a face pointing up to glare at some unseen aerial intrusion.

The quality of the recording was too low to see much detail, but Ludari merely had to close her eyes to know what every fuzzy pixel had failed to display. She could see her elder-father like he stood right before her, hunched yet looming, taller than any Kaleesh she’d ever met; she could hear the strain of metallic joints and wheezing, labored breaths; she could smell the residue of blaster fire on scorched armorplast, the stink of old blood of felled enemies, and something sour and rancid buried beneath it all. Livid eyes glared back, glinting gold from deep, orbital sockets

“Ludari?” Her father placed a concerned hand on her arm. “Are you all right?”

Ludari peeled her eyes open. “He has a kakmusme,” she observed, and even as she blurted this, she wasn’t sure why that had caught her notice and demanded mention, of all things.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have shown this to you before bed.”

“I’m not scared.” But she was shaking. She couldn’t seem to stop, even when her father moved both hands to her shoulders for a comforting squeeze.

“I’m sorry. I should have known better. Everyone calls him a monster for a reason. The galaxy feared him for a reason.” Her father peered into her eyes, worried. “Do you know what he looked like when he was still Kaleesh? When he was still whole?”

Ludari shook her head again, but her brow creased as something occurred to her. “Like you?”

Her father blinked, then offered a small smile. “Yes, in fact. Your elder-mother has always said so. The village used to have a statue of him in the square, but it was torn down after the stories of the Clone Wars reached Kalee. I barely remember seeing it. He probably even looked a little like you, too, at your age. Wouldn’t have gotten his chin tusks, yet.”

“What was he like at my age?” Ludari asked, desperate for something to distract her from the possibility that, when she closed her eyes for the night, she would dream of a hulking, metallic skeleton cutting off limbs and crushing skulls with powerful claws—or, worse, that the almost palpable vision that had creaked and wheezed and glared at her from behind her eyelids would stand by her bed and watch her sleep.

“Hm. Well, my mother didn’t know him when he was your age, so what she told me was based on stories. But she said he knew how to use an Outland rifle when he was eight years old. Just two years younger than you.”

Ludari gaped. “Eight? You won’t even let me look at your rifle!”

He received a wry, arched eyebrow at that. “And you will learn when you are twelve. No weapons until then. That is tradition. Your elder-father lived in a time of planetary war; the children then needed to learn early, to grow up too quickly. But it’s said that because of him our family teaches all of our children how to shoot and hunt, no matter how many tusks they have.”

Ludari tried to picture herself, at her size, holding a slugthrower rifle. It was difficult. “He fought in a war when he was only eight years old?”

“The Huk War,” his father clarified. “Around 70 years ago. The Huk invaded and tore families apart—slaughtering our warriors, taking our women and children away to sell as slaves. When your elder-father was your age, it was said he protected Irikuum with his rifle. He would destroy entire raiding parties of more than a dozen Huk by himself, he was such a skilled shot.”

Ludari hung onto his every word. The tangle in her chest, which had wound painfully tight at the sight of the old newsreel and the frightening vision of what her elder-father had become, started to unravel and relax. “He sounds brave.”

“I’m sure he was, back then.” Ludari’s father put a hand in his daughter’s hair, giving her curls a gentle tousle. “Feeling better?”

“Will you tell me another story about him tomorrow night? About when he was still honorable?”

His father’s breath caught in his throat a moment, sucked in and held during a brief, silently painful contemplation. “Yes, little Ludari. I’ll tell you more.”

When her father left the room, taking the holoscreen and turning out the light, Ludari sat up in bed, closed herself off from the outer world, and meditated. The Feeling returned to her and seemed to revel in her success, feeding into her a warm, lulling peace that pervaded her body from her core to her fingertips and toes. All she had to do was think about a boy with his slugthrower, lying in the grass under a hot sun, holding his breath as he aimed at a wooden target a hundred meters away.

[qwordavoider]

🦅🦅🦅 that last snippet was so good I need more. Please

Yay! I'm glad you're enjoying it. Here’s some more from the museum that continues from here

-

Tommy took a few long strides to catch up to where he was already examining the first model of a rudimentary helicopter. He paused and scanned the images and displays while Evan likely was reading every single word on the plaques spread out among them.

“Woah. Tommy, listen to this!” Evan said.

Tommy turned towards the other man and found him almost vibrating with excitement.

“Did you know that Leonardo Da Vinci sketched plans for the Aerial Screw which is seen as the first recorded design for a vertical take-off and landing machine?” Evan asked rapidly.

Tommy nodded, “I did know that. But the first successful flight of a helicopter wasn’t until 1939. That one was designed and flown by Igor Sikorsky.”

Tommy had turned away from Evan to look for the model he had seen of the VS-300 that Sikorsky had flown to point it out to Evan. He found it and was about to gesture to it when he noticed Evan hadn’t said anything. Tommy spun back around to see what was wrong and Evan was just standing there with his mouth open. Tommy didn’t know exactly how to describe the look on Evan’s face. Wonder? Awe? He didn’t think such a small fact was worthy of that response.

“What?” Tommy asked, still a little confused about what was happening.

“How did you know that?” Evan breathed. 

“I was a pilot in the army, so I did a little research while I was in flight school.”

Tommy shrugged. He didn’t see what the big deal was. But Evan just got more excited by his response.

“What got you into flying? Aside from the fact that I imagine it feels like having a superpower?”

Tommy tried and failed to keep a smile from his face at that. He hadn’t ever really thought about it like a superpower. He joined the army to flee the horrors at home and as a way to escape from the world for a while. But that was a little too much to share with the person he was in charge of protecting.

“It’s a great way to clear my head, and it feels, I don’t know, freeing when I am up there,” Tommy said instead.

Evan’s smile remained as he said, “That is so cool. So, what type of helicopter did you fly?”

And that was how Tommy found himself explaining the various types he would fly depending on the situation. Which led to Tommy explaining some of the more specific mechanics that helped you determine the utility each aircraft would have. And throughout it all, Evan was engaged and asking more and more questions. Tommy couldn’t explain why, but he was excited to talk about his service for the first time since he had returned about 3 and a half years ago. Granted, they were talking about the easy stuff. The stuff that he enjoyed. Not the things that still caused him to wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat.

-

Make me write

[eyra]

I hope you’ll forgive my selfishness, but I am dying to ask: What did Remus think the first time he saw Sirius in Beneath a Big Blue Sky??

today is your lucky day. I've mentioned a few times that I've dabbled in the possibility of one day writing more bits and pieces in the Beneath a Big Blue Sky world. whether or not this will ever all see the light of day I'm not sure, but since you asked, I'll share a little snippet of Remus and Sirius meeting for the first time - from Remus's point of view.

enjoy 🐑🐑 x

“Mr Lupin, is it?”

Christ.

Remus nods slowly, shaking the other boy's hand. "If you like," he mutters. If I must be, he thinks. What a mess. What an absolute pain in the arse. "Two strong lads," Lyall had asked the agency for, and Remus knows because he was in the next room listening, and still smarting over the fact that his old dad wanted to hire help anyway. "We'll be reet," Remus had insisted, shaking out his left arm in proof that his shoulder was mostly healed, which it was. They would've managed: he still had his other arm, and all the ewes looked in good health so far, and bringing in two strangers to help run the season seemed like a fine waste of money to Remus and something they'd not done since he'd turned fifteen and proven that he was good and capable of handling just as much work as Lyall during the lambs, and he'd felt all kinds of embarrassed when Lyall had implied that this year he might need some help. As if he were now a problem to be solved, or somehow less of a man this year than he was last year, and certainly less than he ought to be.

But if they must get help - if Lyall must hire someone for a few months - then at the very least Remus had hoped that the workers who arrived would be up to the job. A couple of veterinary students, or something; someone who knew their way around a sheep, and it hadn't seemed too big an ask. As it is, the two boys standing dumbly in front of him on the station platform look less suited to farm work and more like they should be standing in a shop window somewhere, with their brand new boots and spotless, neatly-pressed cream trousers. Cream trousers, and all.

Remus remembers, one night in the late winter not long after the accident, being laid up in his bed in front of the fuzzy little television Hope had insisted on setting up in his room to keep him occupied during his recovery. It had a remote held together with Sellotape and a funny round aerial which didn't quite pick up the Freeview signal, and he'd been mindlessly flicking through the scant channels when he'd happened upon some reality programme or other; something about a load of toffs titting about London with daft haircuts and those cream trousers, and he wonders now if the two boys standing in front of him have seen the show, or realise how ridiculous they look.

Or at least, one of them looks ridiculous. The lanky one with the glasses and the palm that's far too smooth to have seen any real work in its life. He's still beaming down at Remus with a sort of manic smile, which sets Remus's teeth on edge - man looks insane - and then Remus lets his eyes slip away to the shorter boy standing next to him. And he's something else altogether. He's all cheekbones and soft, shoulder-length hair, the colour of Whitby jet, and it's tucked on the one side back behind his ear and then there's one pretty strand hanging loosely over his brow, and he's watching Remus uncertainly and when they make eye contact - when the noise of the four-by-four across the car park fades away to static, and the train on the platform huffs out a great cloud of smoke that Remus doesn't see - Remus feels his cheeks grow hot under his tan and something funny happens in his throat, and he thinks to himself: "Wow," and then, straightaway: "That’s bloody inconvenient."

They drive back to the farm in silence, mostly, and Remus swallows three times before asking the boy in the back seat for his name. Sirius, as it turns out; the dog star, and Remus suddenly recalls a night a decade ago when they'd been up on the fell and the air had been balmy and close and Lily had been reading out of that funny old book about the constellations. "What's that one?" Remus had muttered, pointing at a cluster of stars somewhere over the top paddock. Lily had yawned, and flicked over a few more pages. "Canis Major," she'd said around another yawn, and then: "That bright one's called Sirius, it says here," and Remus had squinted up at it, and frowned, and thought it was pretty good, as stars go. 

⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩

[aviatrix-ash]

Little snippet for a future comic, one I've been planning out for a loooong time! >:3

Starscream and Powerglide will have to put aside 4 million years of aerial combative rivalry in a factional war in order to save the life of the Skyfire they both love.

[bzar-bzar]

Post-Canon BakuDeku Snippet

Here’s a snippet of a post-canon third year BakuDeku fic I started writing a while back. Tentatively called “to the marrow” and really heavy on Katsuki pining. I really want to write/publish it but I got stuck at about 25k. Anyway I like this scene so here. (SFW)

—————

Third-year combat training is much more intense than the previous years, often involving some kind of limiting factor or severe handicap. They’ve all learned through first-hand experience why this is important, and they don’t question even the most ridiculous of scenarios that their teachers throw at them. In battle—in war, anything can happen. Nothing is certain. You have to be ready to win by the skin of your teeth, and you have to be creative.

Today’s exercise is pretty simple in the scheme of things—namely one on ones that center around capture and escape. Because of the rules, Katsuki’s only option during the entire scenario is evasion. And boy fucking howdy, kiting someone with as many quirks as Izuku is fucking difficult, but he’s Bakugou fucking Katsuki, so he makes it happen. He flies around Ground Beta like a bat out of hell, and has been doing such a good job of it that Izuku is pissed.

Katsuki’s win conditions are running out the clock and hoping Izuku somehow domes his head in the course of their rat race around the training ground. But Izuku is just too fucking competent. Black Whip is always snapping at his heels, and it’s only Katsuki’s agility and maneuverability in the obstacle-laden training ground that allows him to keep ahead, even when Izuku manages to predict his path and tries to cut him off using Fa Jin. Katsuki would love more than anything to quip back that Izuku is really fucking good at blasting forward in straight lines, but that his aerial maneuverability is shit, but he doesn’t even have enough of a lead to make a single stupid jab, the green monster hot on his fucking heels. It’s not a big deal though—he’ll have time to gloat when he wins.

Eventually, a loud timer blares, signaling the end of their thirty minutes, and Katsuki lands heavily on a series of wide ducts. He wipes sweat from his brow and out of his eyes, whole body absolutely drenched, arms limp with soreness, heart beating like a fucking engine, and Izuku lands a half second later, Black Whip pulling him precisely to land not two steps away from Katsuki.

“Kacchan,” he yells, fists clenched as he gets in Katsuki’s face, and Katsuki doesn’t back down, just spits to the side, grinning. It’s especially fun because he didn’t even have to do anything dirty to win. He won fair and square, but Izuku is still pissed.

“Forgot what losing feels like?” Katsuki taunts, chest blooming haughtily as he throws his height in Izuku’s face. God the look in his eyes—teeth grinding. “Gotten so used to being the best that—”

“Hypocrite—Fuck you,” Izuku bites, fist knocking against his stomach, a warning, and Katsuki’s eyebrows raise sharply, an electric thrill up his spine. He loves it when Izuku is thoroughly pissed. He spits and snarls just like Katsuki, and Katsuki feels it like his brand on Izuku’s brain, a part of himself in Izuku that will never go away.

Despite winning this time, Katsuki understands that agony in Izuku’s eyes, that feeling that builds up in the back of your throat when you’re trying so hard to fucking win, the stakes of your life and millions of lives all inside of you as you fight with literally everything you fucking have. Because of what they’ve been through, they go through even these stupid skirmishes all out, as if everything is on the line.

Black Whip surges, locking around Katsuki’s chest, and Aizawa’s projected voice snaps them out of it: “Back to base, boys. These matches are long, we don’t have time for this.”

After a final squeeze, Katsuki shrugs off the slackened Black Whip, still huffing, and extends his hand to Izuku.

Izuku’s eyes clear somewhat. There’s a lag, but he clasps it.

“God, you’re slippery,” Izuku laughs, moment gone, and Katsuki smirks back. He could be referring to Katsuki’s flying or the fact that he is covered in explosive sweat—maybe both.

“And you fucking lost. Now get out of here before I use you as a fucking towel.”

[bekolxeram]

“10! 9! 8!”

The helicopter hovers in the clear, starry sky.

“7! 6! 5!”

The crowd on the ground joyously counts down, welcoming the arrival of a new year, a new beginning.

“4!”

Tommy turns to face the passenger sitting beside him, “are you ready, Evan?”

“3!”

Buck mirrors the pilots movement, “never been more ready.”

“2!”

They smile at each other, with a bright, hopeful glint in their eyes.

“1! Happy New Year!”

Their lips crash together as the crowd roars in celebration, their connection only broken by the deafening bang of a firework. Buck jolts around, but his expression soon softens up in awe.

The calm, dark night sky has been illuminated by bursts of shimmering gold, right in front of his eyes.

Here.

There.

Here again.

Pops of color are gradually thrown into the mix, turning the simple, elegant light show into a chromatic symphony.

Red.

Blue.

Purple.

“Wow… I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in my life,” Buck sighs, still awestruck by the aerial, front-row view to the fireworks.

“I love you, Evan. I can’t wait to start our future together,” Tommy cups Buck’s cheeks with both hands, pulling him in for another gentle kiss.

Something feels wrong to Buck.

“Um… Tommy, who’s flying the chopper?” he stares at the bare cyclic, free from the control of the pilot.

“No one,” Tommy says, a hint of sorrow appearing on his face.

Buck’s blood runs cold.

“What does that mean?”

“It means it’s not real, Evan,” the pilot smooths a thumb over Buck’s cheekbone, “you can’t fly too close to the fireworks in real life, or else you’ll crash and burn.”

“Am I… dreaming?”

“Yeah… it’s a nice one, isn’t it? Too bad you’ll have to wake up soon.”

“Wait, no! I’m staying here, I’m staying here with you,” Buck cries out. “Aw — My head,” a strong dull ache starts pounding his head.

“You can’t.”

“Just… 5 more minutes,” Buck pleads with all his might, fighting against the burn in his throat.

“I’ll see you on the other side.”

================================================

Buck wakes up in a dimly lit room. There’s a hint of familiarity to this place, but he can’t pinpoint it exactly. He can’t even focus for more than 2 seconds due to the throbbing pain in his head.

Feeling his jeans still on, he pats around to find his phone in a pocket. The bright light from the screen stings his dry eyes, after a few seconds to adjust, he sees a column of unread texts from Eddie.

Eddie: What do you mean “where are you”? In El Paso? With Christopher? Eddie: I’m coming back on the 4th. I’ve told you that already, why are you still asking? Eddie: Are you drunk? Eddie: Wait, don’t tell me you’re in my house. Eddie: Why do you have to pick NYE of all days to drunkenly invade my home? Eddie: I’m doing you a favor, you owe me a big one.

Snippets of memories start flooding back all at once. He remembers leaving Maddie’s house shortly after midnight because it was Jee’s bed time, but he didn’t want to go home to an empty apartment, he decided to head to a bar for drinks instead. The more he drank, the lonelier he felt, so he took an Uber to his best friend’s house out of habit.

His memories begin blurring from that point on, but he vaguely recalls breaking down yelling and crying at someone…

“Easy, there’s a bucket next to the bed. You don’t need to get up if you’re feeling sick.”

“Tommy…”

“I brought you an isotonic drink and some painkillers, just in case, but your head should feel better once you get your hydration level back up,” Tommy hands him the bottle and kneels down on the floor, next to the bed.

“How…?” Buck asks after taking a big gulp of the liquid.

“Eddie texted me last night, telling me Christopher wanted to wish me a happy new year over the phone.”

“So… he tricked you?”

“No, he absolutely blasted me for leaving you heartbroken and alone. He said every person in Los Angeles, men and women, would line up just for a chance to kiss you on New Year’s, but you were on your own moping around because of me instead.”

“Eddie?”

“Chris. He told me if I ever believed you weren’t serious about… us, then I would be, and I quote, ‘a fucking idiot’.”

“Oh, he’s all grown up now,” Buck lets out a soft chuckle.

“Um… I was thinking, maybe we could talk? If you want to of course, I understand I have no right to ask you for anything after what I did to you.”

“Later, maybe?”

Tommy nods.

“Can you just stay with me for a while?” Buck lifts up bedspread as an invitation.

Tommy agrees silently by climbing into the bed, lying down on the empty side and wrapping his arms tightly around Buck from behind.

Buck melts into his touch, and slowly drifts off the sleep once again.

[shes-an-oddbird]

WIP Wednesday - The Suncatcher

Thank you @annoyingcloudearthquake for tagging me! I've been working on this fic for actual years now, since the end of season 3, and I'd really love to finish it as a sort of thank you now that the show is ending. Unfortunately it's one of those fics that has grown out of control and has multiple main characters, alternating povs and is nowhere near done but I made fun little moodboards for each character to help motivate me to finish and thought I would share them and a little snippet with each. Fair warning the story was inspired by my niche obsession with Cirque du Soleil and an odd fascination with Las Vegas.

Summary: When a wealthy group of investors decides to save a struggling Las Vegas hotel, The Suncatcher, former performers Owen and Tommy are asked to revive their first Cirque show and turn it into the must-see attraction on the iconic strip. Together they recruit a misfit group of artists who deserve a second chance at the high-flying circus life and are determined to put on the best show they can even when they run into obstacles around every corner.

Neon - A Night in Las Vegas TK Strand - The Visitor - Aerial Straps/Duo Straps Artist

'The sun sets and a first time visitor falls in love with the heart of the city itself '

He passes Jonah’s door and moves towards the kitchen, stopping again when he hears voices.

“So what do you think?” To TK’s surprise it’s his dad’s voice. He didn’t even know his dad was in town.

“I think-I think you ask very good questions Owen Strand.” His mom answers. “I mean I have complete faith that he could do it, physically he’s there, mentally he’s there – “

“But – “ His dad asks and the long pause that follows makes his gut twist uncomfortably. But what?

“Emotionally I think he’s getting there,” Gwyn finally says, “Alex may have set him back a little bit.”

Alex? Why would they be talking about Alex? Why were they talking about him at all?

“Doing a show would get him out of New York, might be good for him, a way to move on?”

“Yes, but to do a show in Las Vegas of all the places, and a love story at that, especially this love story.” His mom reasons, pouring out all her concerns at once.

He hears a small amused scoff from his dad. “He’s a grown man Gwyn, surely he’s come to terms with the divorce by now.”

“I’m sure he has but it’s a bit more complicated than that, he’s always loved love but it’s never been very kind to him in return.”

“Maybe this time it will be.” Owen urges. “It’s an opportunity to start over, to try again.”

There is a long pause. TK debates whether he should round the corner to the kitchen, back track to his room or stay put in hopes of more information. His dad was talking about a show. It had been a long time since he performed although he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to get back at it. Nothing really compared when your old day job title could be simplified to circus performer.

“He always did love Neon, it would be nice for him to have that back.” Her voice is wistful now but his gut clenches once more at the name.

Neon. As is Neon, Neon. The old Cirque show he’s spent hours of his young life absorbed in? The show where his parents fell in love both in real life and in front of the audience every night? They wanted him to be a part of that Neon.

“So you think I should ask him?” Owen asks.

“I think you already did, good morning TK.” TK flinches. She knew he was there the whole time. He’s not surprised, his mom always could see through walls, but damn does he wish he could have had a minute longer to process everything.

[starry-comet]

Y’all- I made my first tramsformers snippet on a whim and tired inspiration- it’s a Kotrine fic (knockout x elite trine) I tried lol, if you’d like to see similar content feel free to send in a request!

(First fic have mercy on me-)

(It’s nsfw so MDNI!!! 18+!!!) pls)

Story under the cut

The only thing could be heard was banging and cursing, the medic sighed as he looked up from his work scowling. Who could blame him though? Trying to work on the formula to crack synth-en took silence and unfortunately it was being interrupted, soon the cause of the noise became known as the door to the med bay opened and there stood the problem- Starscream- well he was actually being carried by his trinemates, Thundercracker and Skywarp as he kept on cursing and hissing at them. “Stop being so fragging stubborn” Thundercracker grumbled before pushing the red seeker onto a med berth with the help of Sky. Knockout couldn’t help but roll his optics, “what happened this time? Did Shockwaves pet get ahold of him and use him as a chew toy?” He said as he approached the squirming seeker who eventually got the other two seekers to let him go, “no- who do you think I am?” Starscream barks out. “An idiot duh” Skywarp says with a toothy grin. “Alright back up- shoo shoo now-“ knockout mumbles while getting his tools ready, Starscream damaged his wings of all things, making the medic once again roll his eyes, first off seeker wings are basically their legs, can’t survive without them due to their frames being built for aerial combat, damaged wings mean death if they’re grounded unless you’re Thundercracker in which case the larger seeker just shakes the ground to get a better advantage, second- their wings are sensitive and the last time this happened the red seeker did nothing but try and wiggle away while snapping and swiping at him which in turn damaged his finish, annoying. “Hold still now” he said before running his servos across Starscreams wings making him growl faintly and whimper. “Hey- watch it!-“ starscream hisses softly as knockout tapped the ends of his wings before starting to clean up the dried energon clumped around the wound. “You’re lucky the damage isn’t to extensive, you could’ve lost your wing you dumb-aft” the medic mumbles lightly, starscreams wings are so pretty so he’s going to try and repair it as best he can.

While the two red cybertronians are mumbling to eachother Skywarp couldn’t help but watch the doc’s hips as they sway side to side absently, he nudged Thundercracker in the side and motioned toward the medic and the blue seeker instantly caught on, also watching the speedsters hips sway. “I never noticed how our doc has such a small waist..” Skywarps vents out, fans now humming slightly louder than usual, he wonders how it would feel rot hold onto those hips- keep them still as he plows into their dear little medic making his face flush warm as devious and perverse thoughts flooded into his processor.

After he managed to get the red seeker to sit still long enough to clean and wrap his wounds he turns around to let Starscreams trine know. “Okay make sure he-“ they’re gone, where did they go? Before he could question it more he was shoved forward and pushed up against a berth adjacent to the red seeker, a purple servo holding him down before the other starts to gently explore making the medic squirm, faceplate a deep blue. “What are you doing?!- l-let go of me you aft-“ just as knockout finished Thundercracker pulled the purple seeker back a little giving the doc enough room to turn around face blazing blue and his vents stirring. “Skywarp- that wasn’t the plan-“ TC hissed “I know- but he’s just so- so fuckable-“ Sky whined making the blue seeker smack him in the back of the head. Knockouts head turns to face Thundercracker now. “Plan?- what plan?-“ he says trying to sit up before the blue seeker gently pushes him back down, being careful as to not scratch his paint and K.O noticed this. Skywarp only grumbled and rubbed the back of his head as Thundercracker pulled knockout up off the berth gently and carefully checked them over, apparently Thundercracker was very observant and realized K.O. Prioritized his clean finish and wanted to check for damage, how sweet. This led to the medic thinking over the pass few minutes of what just happened and what it was possibly going to lead to making him weigh the pros and cons (teehee cons-) he turned his face towards the blue seeker who still seemed to be checking him over before grabbing their servos and pulling them forward and giving the bulky seeker a soft kiss. Thundercrackers fans made a hitching sound before his wings shifted down as he carefully grabbed their medics waist bringing him closer to himself. Skywarps wings flared up as his faceplate became hot, is he seeing what he thinks he’s seeing?? No, this is not fair- the purple seeker growls before getting behind knockout and pushing himself against their back and grabbing onto their hips while applying some heavy pressure making the smaller gasp into their kiss with TC, seeing this as opportunity Thundercracker pushed his glossia into their mouth while practically pinning them against skywarp. Starscream was able to hear everything, faceplate red before he turned around on the berth only to see his trine pinning their medic against eachother and rubbing their servos all over them only to realize that knockouts modesty panel was already gone and Skywarps digits were already deep inside the moaning mess of a doctor, his wings twitched as Thundercracker noticed his stare before chuckling and pulling knockout towards star making sky’s digits leave the medic which in turn made them whine. Thundercracker stared at Star before Star realized and removed his own modesty panel letting his spike free. The blue seeker carefully lifted K.O before making the medic straddle Starscreams waist, knockout looked down as his faceplate became more hot before adjusting his position and pushing Starscream inside making his legs shake, Skywarp being the menace he is grabbed knockouts shoulders and pushed the medic down fast making Star choke up a moan and the medic cry out a pleasured yelp. Moments later it’s nothing but moan after moan coming from everyone of them, Skywarp has his spike deep in knockouts valve as the medic tries his best to clean Starscreams spike all while he uses his own spike to please the big blue seekers valve. What a day to be a seeker.

[wordy-little-witch]

Buggy brainrot-

I spent a few hours today in the EER with mama and had to distract myself Somehow so you get my silly lil snippets of music video stories in my head-

Buggy accidentally seduces a bunch of people and doesn't even NOTICE because of his special brand of oblivious survival rizz

Basically during the 2 year skip where he gets named a Warlord, he does in fact attend a meeting or a few. The first one, he's a mix of audacious loudmouth show boating and critical assessing eyes.

By the second one he's decently comfortable with knowing the names and faces of his vicinity - he's plotting and he's got more than a few cards, knifes, and other items up his sleeves.

At some point, the meeting goes from relatively calm to absolutely hog fucking wild and somehow, someway, someone's belonging winds up damn near launched into the upper rafters of the room. There's a strict No Devil Fruit policy, enforced by a seastone earring, so while the arguments and in-fighting ensue, Buggy just kind of scoffs, walks put, comes back with a pole, jams it into the broken tiled flooring and proceeds to ignore them while he climbs. Pole art isn't too terribly different from his aerials and trapeze, and he's done just about EVERYTHING under the sun at last once, so it's nothing unfamiliar. His gloves are uniquely textured so he can safely handle his Muggy and Buggy Balls, too, so carefully using his momentum and muscles to climb and shift up the pole smoothly is a pretty simple matter.

He gets to the top, hooks his legs and feet properly, and twists his spine to reach out, unaware of the sets of eyes boring into him.

Mihawk is stone faced, but there is a heat to his gaze. Doffy's sunglasses have slipped down his nose a little. Kuma is pointedly Not Looking. Hancock is... frankly pretending to be uninterested but lowkey is staring. Buggy is oblivious, retrieves the hat or sash or earring, whatever it was, and shifts his weight, releases a hold and smoothly drops, stopping just before the floor to daintily rise, sashay over, and plopped the item on the table, fixing his gloves.

It's the silence that has him looking up, arching a brow. "What?"

Then he sees the time.

"Oh. Meeting's over. Bye~"

And baby boy DIPS.

(Nickelback - Midnight Queen)

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Shanks POV post-Rogers-disbanding, pre-Execution, the cabin brats solo on the seas

He's watching Buggy charm the absolute hell out of a guy at a bar in some no name little town. They've been landlocked for nearing a week now, their previous ship shot to hell by a pirate crew hounding their tail after they'd been sighted some three islands back. The ship held together long enough to pull a full miracle put of nowhere, helped along by a storm. Since then, they'd been gathering cash to pay off her repairs to keep moving, unwilling to part with Speed after all she'd done for them so far.

One source of income came from Buggy's silver tongue and sticky fingers.

The blue haired pirate was leaning over the counter now, twirling a loose lock of hair as he giggled, fluttering his lashes. The man he was buttering up was a few years their senior, bejeweled and slicked hair, a flush of intoxication on his cheeks as he warmly regarded the pretty thing at his side. Shanks could relate, at least a little, on the way the man's attention was focused so thoroughly on Buggy.

Pink tinted lips quirked into a smile, head tilting invitingly, to which the man responded as expected. He was under the blue haired pirate's spell already - Shanks checked the time - three minutes in. Not a new record, but close.

He wasn't sure how to feel about it all, honestly. It was not jealousy, not truly, that curdled his stomach. Instead, something bloomed viciously in his abdomen, something akin to possessiveness. Sure, he figured absently, people can find Buggy pretty in his disguise.

But Shanks was the one who saw his entirety.

Shanks saw the tan lines on pale skin; Shanks knew the taste of his freckles and skin; Shanks knew the scars on his left hip and between his shoulder blades; Shanks could map Buggy's face from memory with lips alone, and he damn well knew it.

The world can be played by Buggy, but Shanks would know the game.

And an hour later, outside of that little bar, he would welcome the smaller body leaning unflinchingly into his side, arm around the other's shoulders, heart full and his lover's pockets heavy, and Shanks would look back, would meet wide, dark eyes with a pink smudge on his chin. And Shanks would grin, sharp and unrepentant, turning to guide those same pink lips up to his own.

He's wear his boyfriend's lipstick with pride.

((NEFFEX - Rumors))

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Buggy wears skirts whenever the fancy strikes, and sometimes it works perfectly for parties. He'll be the first to say that people who don't love dancing in skirts have never tried it before. While his fashion tastes aren't always expected, he revealed in the freedom there - and his crew thrived in such environments.

That was why he hadn't thought to make a big deal out of the first skirt day since Cross Guild was established. It simply WAS, in the same way as the weather, the same way as the meal plans, simply just footnotes in it all. He'd gone most of the day without seeing the two newest additions to the island, and frankly had forgotten to be vigilant of them.

It was a good day, a new shipment, a celebration, nothing too extravagant, just a fun night with his people. Really, Buggy hadn't even thought to glance up for yellow or violet eyes.

The crew was boisterous, but that was normal, music playing and laughter ringing. Buggy was sandwiched between Alvida and Marianne, a newer islander from a small island out East. The dialect there was unfamiliar by and large, but Buggy had grown up learning it from a man he considered a father, and Mari had so few who spoke her mother tongue.

Buggy simply had the idea to make tonight Extra fun.

After all, nobody partied like a Roger, and Roger always had the best songs. Bugs wasn't too bad with a fiddle. When asked, Mari beamed, no slouch herself, and offered to take the lead.

So they took to the stage, each swiping an instrument with playful glares, and heels tapped the rhythm as they began, hop-skipping as they bobbed and weaved, clapping joining as people whooped and hollered, making merry and enjoying themselves.

It was midway through that Buggy was caught playfully, fiddle lifted as one of the older mercenaries bowed him out, picking up the tune. He laughed happily, hands fisting his skirts as he twirled and danced, thoroughly enjoying himself-

And then he caught sight of Mihawk. He was watching, an odd note in his eyes, and Buggy could just barely see the way the other seemed to lean into the music. Fueled by a wild idea, high on the adrenaline and joy, Buggy walked over and offered his hand.

And Mihawk accepted.

He was a great dancer, and Buggy was delighted to be lead in a familiar dance, beaming boldly at the goth man before him. Traditional dances like this were few and far between - it only made them more fun.

That night began a change - first of which culminating into Mihawk fluffing Buggy's skirt with an almost-smile, a quiet statement following. "I should quite like to do this again some time."

Buggy only realizes later what that implied.

((Celtic Woman - Níl Sé'n Lá))

[shroombell]

sunny and sides binary stars au pt.3 Praxus

bluestreak incoming :3 pt 3 of my aerial sparks apocalyptic cybertron with sunny and sides au called the Binary Stars au <3 (not in plot order) sunny is watchful of their surroundings even as sideswipe dances down the ruined streets of Praxus. A certain Praxian sniper is out of sunny's range tho >:)

pt 1 Vos pt 2 Tarn

bluestreak is an autobot, rescued just after the bombing of Praxus as a bitlet just about to get his adult upgrades (hes slightly older than sunny and sides in this au). currently, he is on a mission to scout out his former home to find any leftover resources or survivors/scavengers, as unlikely as that is, until he comes across a strange set of a yellow and red mech. autobot command advises for him to accompany them when they invite him on their travels... but it seems like sunstreaker and sideswipe have a dislike for both decepticons and autobots so Bluestreak will have to pretend he is a fellow neutral. No secret can be kept forever though.

tiny snippet i wrote before drawing this scene under the cut!

Sideswipe's giggles echoed from building to building, even as most of them were now husks once apart of the bustling street this used to be. Sunstreaker felt a pang of regret they weren't able to see it in its full glory, before the bombing of Praxus, like Sideswipe had so desperately wanted but better late than never.

His red twin was twirling through the abandoned and desolate street like he was performing to an imaginary audience, or maybe the ghosts of the many greyed out frames that still lay beneath all the wreckage. Sunstreaker wanted to protest at the loud noises Sideswipe made without concern of attracting the beasts that could be prowling nearby, but as always, he couldn't bring himself to interrupt his brother's happy mood.

A few scratches on his finish from the inevitable fight was an acceptable sacrifice for Sideswipe's happiness.

[ore-ion]

i have finished a snippet from Helion and Pacificus' lore :D!

Close-up:

Lore is under the cut;

- This is probably a few [a lot of] centuries after these two got separated from the crash landing and Helion being recently repaired by a small group of scientists, he hasn't been online for long compared to the other bots on earth. Pacificus, being ever so worried about the small crew he had, has definitely checked up on the other bots that are still left on earth (in their defence, they also didn't want to go back to cybertron, mind you, they left before that one time Zeta tried to use the bots in Nyon as fuel to a fire.) Not the best memories, even in peacetime.

- His alt mode at the time he saw Helion again was a Typhoon class submarine.

- For being a former Starship you'd think Pax would atleast have a little bit of grace when landing and appearing to his crew, but no. he broke the Antarctic ice sheet and left a giant hole. Not like anyone minds about that, except for Helion. He is still miffed about that hole.

- Heli definitely doesn't hate him, not really, he can't. these two just bicker a lot that it's just hilariously silly. if something pissed either one of them off, they'll tell it to the other, and now you have 2 pissed off bots.

Design and lore notes:

Pax/ Pacificus' alt is usually either a big submarine nearing and/or similar in size as the Belgorod submarine, and occasionally an Aircraft carrier ship. He's changed alt modes often to keep away from being a target in case his small crew needs him for transport. There's also that one time he had a purple Cruise ship alt mode.

Pacificus ALWAYS chooses an earth aquatic transportation vessel as an alt mode, he does keep his former Starship alt but never the dire need to use it. However, he does have giant flight engines and can take an aerial alt mode anytime.

As a bot considered as a Titan, he's definitely on the smaller size. Earth comparison to his full Cybertronian Starship size would be the ISS, a little bit bigger than the ISS. He's his own ship, but he had smaller spaceships bonded to him as extra engine support and smaller carrier ships. Most of them left to their own directions while Pacificus' crew was en route to earth.

As most cybertronians do, Pax runs on mainly energon (most efficient, long lasting), however, for being a multipurpose transport starship designed to carry bots to far places with the possibility of no available energy sources, he can adjust his engines to run on any carbon, nitrogen and hydrogen based chemicals. Jet fuel and Hydrogen lasts him a while, and as an aquatic vessel, he has a system to turn sea water into Hydrogen!

[side note: as is Helion having built with a cryocooler and 2 Nitrogen engines (thus why he's cold and has Nitrogen reserves) Pacificus has multiple Nitrogen engines much larger than Helion's and mainly used for emergency power. yes, he can run on nitrogen too, hell, he filters it himself from the sea.]

[kachikirby]

NEW SD GUNDAM GAIDEN WORK HAS BEEN ANNOUNCED

So, first is the little intro about this work. It's a new entry banner called SD Gundam Gaiden NEO. (The Knight Gundam series is separated into different banners that each series falls under. The previous one was New Testament SD Gundam Gaiden.)

The motif for this series is the 2022 Gundam series Mobile Suit Gundam: The Witch from Mercury.

The title of this first entry is "The Forbidden Magic" and this first arc is "Shrine Maiden of the Dragon God".

I'll be translating stuff from the snippet on the P-Bandai page. (VPN needed to access it from outside Japan)

STORY

Many years ago, the Benerit Clan wiped out the Dragon Village. However, some villagers, mainly children, were able to flee into the deep forest. It has been said that mysterious magic since ancient times has been hidden there…

In the Benerit Clan, which destroyed the Dragon Village and built a city in the remaining wasteland, a struggle for supremacy was underway among the young chiefs of the three families. The control of that power spread to the surrounding area, and the people of the Dragon Village are once again discovered by the Benerit Clan.

Under orders from the head chief, Delling, the elites of the three families approached the silent forest…

CARD LIST

In numbered order: (1-01, 1-02, 1-03, and so on.)

Knight Gundam Lfrith VS Knight Beguir-Beu

Knight Gundam Lfrith

Knight Gundam Lfrith Jr.

Elder Cardo

Warrior Nadim

Summoner Elnora

Soldier Heingra

Knight Beguir-Beu

Magic Knight Aerial

Mage Suletta

Summoner Prospera

Spirit Spirit Geist

Spirit IceBurn

Sprit Ericht

Shrine Maiden Miorine

Warrior Demi Trainer

Hunter Demi Trainer

Hunter Keinanji

Hunter Chuchu

Blacksmith Nika

Shopkeeper Martin

Waitress Lilique, Aliya

Monster Goblin Kapell-Kuu

Monster Orc Clibarri

Monster Bear Azrawan

Monster Killer Hosler II

Soldier Demi Garrison

Warrior Dilanza

Fencer Heindree

Mage Zowort

Noble Knight Dilanza

Noble Knight Michaelis

Noble Knight Gundam Pharact

Monster Pharact Dragon

Noble Knight Guel

Noble Knight Shaddiq

Noble Knight Elan

Chief Delling

Shaman Nugen, Kal, Nevola, Golneri

Item - Shrine Maiden's Tomato

Revealed Individual Card Translations

Magic Knight Gundam Aerial

"Water, Fire, lend me your strength! Magic Sword Gunbit Rondo!"

Welder of the Magic Sword Escutcheon

Mage Suletta

"If you move forward you gain two, if you run you gain one...I-I'll protect you!"

Dragon Village Mage

Shrine Maiden Miorine

"I made this tomato. Eat this, and you'll definitely win!"

Shrine maiden who worships the dragon

Noble Knight Dilanza

"I'll correct the ignorance of these hicks!"

Unites the Warriors of the Benerit Clan's Jeturk Family

Noble Knight Guel

"I'll get the priestess, I'll get the chief's position, I'll get it all, I'll show you!"

Benerit Clan, Next Head of the Jeturk Family

Noble Knight Gundam Pharact

"I can expose your true form."

Unites the Mages of the Benerit Clan's Peil Family

Noble Knight Elan

"I'd like to hear more about you."

Benerit Clan, Next Head of the Peil Family

Noble Knight Michaelis

"The dragon's shrine maiden is still alive? This is getting interesting."

Unites the Fencers of the Benerit Clan's Grasley Family

Noble Knight Shaddiq

"If you're a survivor of that village, I won't leave you alone."

Benerit Clan, Next Head of the Grasley Family

Additional art

Current Thoughts

I hope these aren't the final card artwork because it looks a bit bland with the default silver background. The ones with gradient look a bit better, but they are nowhere near as the fully rendered backgrounds in New Testament or previous works.

They do not give a gender, but I feel like Aerial is male here and idk how to feel about it. The card list does mention Ericht separately as a spirit, so that kind of alleviates my concerns. I just don't know how to feel about it.

The first chapter is Shrine Maiden of the Dragon God, which likely refers to Mio.

One of the spirits is Spirit Geist, which is one of Roux's main summoned Spirits in Kikoushin Densetsu, which makes me think this is in the Dabat Kingdom, but at the same time, I'm not sure since we've yet to learn where and when in the SD Gundam Gaiden timeline this takes place in.

It would make sense to have a story that takes place in that kingdom's area, since Seikihei Monogatari is the only one whose yet to have a post-Saddrac Knight Saga era work connected to it.

[ginneke]

for the writer asks: 💥

💥 Is there a chapter, scene, or WIP you're most excited to write? Share a snippet or tell us about it!

...How about a two-for-one type deal to try to trick myself into writing them?

—

First is from Feelings That I've Known In Paradox - an AU blending botw and oot together with influences from other sources (e.g. steins;gate). In (brief) summary: Befriending the childhood version of the always-angry guy who's nonetheless one of Zelda's closest allies isn't vital to Link's job of trying to avert a bad future, but it seems like a good idea at the time....

To borrow a turn of phrase, though, it's all fun and games until someone loses [redacted].

-

He chattered on about the things he cared most about — like flying, which he thought even forest fairies must be able to appreciate. Those pink meadow fairies he'd occasionally glimpsed had wings, so why wouldn't these guys? And if they didn't, well, Revali could at least share a bit of the sky with them through stories, which was very generous of him. They should be grateful.

Naturally, talk of flying soon led to his favourite topic of all—archery—and how Revali was almost ready to officially take lessons in the Rito tribe's aerial techniques, if his skills were judged up to par. He felt quite certain they would be. After all, Revali had an advantage the other kids didn't have.

And that inevitably brought the topic round to...

"He was so annoying! Always showing up when I was trying to concentrate, always getting in my way — and whenever I tried asking what he wanted he just got this look like... Like I'd shouted at him or something."

...Okay, on reflection he might have shouted a little bit, the third time.

—

Second extract is from nebulas and novas (and night sky), the sensible and thematically appropriate name for what can otherwise be called Moonlight!Revalink Road Trip Part Two: Electric Boogaloo

-

"We named it the Kestrel Bow," Revali says as Link nocks an arrow to the string and tests the draw. The grip fits his hand perfectly, the way that Revali's Great Eagle Bow never did. "It seemed fitting, as you're—"

"—'Always hovering around'," Link finishes, before Revali can get the words out.

—

Want to send me an ask? Questions here: [link]