#when-birds-absorbed-into-madness

[kit-kat-katie]

There Are No Victors, Only Survivors

A/N: First fic ever on here... I'm a little nervous, but excited to start a new chapter in my life! Let me know what you think of this! [ I also read the books 7 years ago and I'm almost done binge-watching the movies so don't burn me alive if I get the lore wrong :) ]

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Reader (platonic or romantic)

Summary: After winning the games, you go on camera to discuss your win with Caesar. Footage of the games causes you to recall a painful memory, one you'd rather leave in that arena.

TW: Trauma from the games, large crowds, murder

The crowd screams your name as you enter the stage. Your ears still ring from the sound of canons, your mind is numb from the numerous deaths you witnessed and caused, and your lips are dry even though you had plenty to eat and drink before this.

Caesar kindly waves you over, and you stick a warm smile on your face as you head towards him.

"Our victor, everyone!"

The crowd goes wild, and you bow to absorb as much attention and positivity as you need. You're a possession of the Capital now, and any out-of-line move could end with 24 dead tributes instead of 23.

It's just an interview, just like before the games. Stay calm... you can do this.

"Now, there are many pressing questions that the people of Panam want to know... including myself," Caesar nudges your side, and you laugh as if it's the funniest joke you've ever heard, "but there is one question that is on all of our minds: who did you hear after the jabberjays were released?"

You pause, and the smile slips from your face for a moment before you notice a camera. You quickly recover with a small head shake.

"My mom and my dad, of course." You gracefully answer.

"Really? No special someone? You seemed too torn up after that bird followed you around for three whole days." He exaggerates, and the crowd has a mixed reaction to his question.

"I-" You pause as you hear footage play from the screen behind you.

The crushing of leaves and the pounding of your heart are the only rhythms that your ears hear. Your feet carry you along, but your mind is in a much different place.

The game makers, after deciding that their handmade hell wasn't enough torture, decided to send each contestant a jabberjay just to see what would happen.

The screams of your mother and father were the first, and you immediately jumped up from your hiding spot to find them. When you realized that the sound was coming from a bird, you tried to bury your head in the sand and continue along as if nothing was happening.

The cries of loved ones turned into the cries of your friends. The ones that you had trained with in District 4 before you had been reaped. Those kids, especially the younger ones, gave you the motivation to keep fighting.

You didn't sleep the first night, and the second night was interrupted by nightmares and cannons booming every other hour. You figured that the other tributes had gone mad and had taken their anger out of each other.

...Good thing you kept away from the pack and tried to survive on your own.

The third day, however, was your breaking point. The screams of your friends had died out, and you thought that damn bird had finally left you alone. You were a defenseless fool in that moment, especially when the scream perfectly matched Finnick's voice.

He was your mentor, your friend, and had been your rock when you were scared of being another victim of the games. Hearing his screams, his cries for help... it broke you behind anything that had happened to you so far.

You didn't hesitate to pick up a rock and strike the bird right between its eyes, killing it on the spot.

After that, you came crashing to the ground with tears in your eyes. You didn't eat or drink anything that day as your thoughts were consumed with worries of his safety.

When you looked up to the sky to see the tributes that were honored at night, you realized that there was only one left: a career from District 2.

You didn't have to do much, as she stumbled upon your camp later that night. You managed to gather yourself enough to grab a knife, but she didn't attack you.

The desperation, the fear, the anger inside of her eyes... but everything else about her was deflated and depressed. You were sure that you looked the same, if not worse.

She closes her eyes for a moment, and you say a small prayer before throwing the knife into her chest.

The last cannon went off, and your ears were buzzing as you were announced as the newest victor. Nothing seemed real anymore, for all you knew, everyone you had already cared about was dead and the jabberjays were just used to mock you.

After being airedlifted out of the arena, you were taken to the Capital, where Mags and Finnick were waiting for you. You nearly fell over when you took a step towards them.

"Easy there, honey. Don't want you hurting yourself before your big interview." Finnick catches your arm, and you softly thank him before taking Mags' hand.

"The jabberjays, they sounded like my parents and my friends and..." You pause as a few tears slip past your eyes, "and you two."

He pulls you into a warm hug as you bawl your eyes out, not only for the three lives you had to take inside of that arena but for the part of you that died in there as well.

"So, who is that someone that had you all choked up, huh?"

You blink for a beat as you pull yourself back into reality.

"My best friend - they're my everything, they've been my rock for so many years, and I'm so happy that I get to see them again."

The crowd eats up your answer like it's a five-course buffet as Caesar smiles at you.

"Well, I'm glad that they are part of the reason that we have such an amazing victor!" He takes your hand and raises it high, and the crowd in the Capitol grows louder.

Your body was there, and your innocence was destroyed in the arena, but your thoughts and feelings were settled on one special person.

Finnick.

[detective-inspector-her]

How does Stephanie feel about her wings in the Winged AU? I imagine she would resent them because of their connection to the magic life she hates.

Would she also be able to shrink the wings? Does it hurt sorcerers to hide their wings without shrinking them? If so, then Stephanie might do it anyway. I think it's mentioned in Kingdom of the Wicked that reflections are able to shut off their pain, but Stephanie lost that ability because she became too much of a person.

I wonder, would Stephanie try to cut off her wings?

On a somewhat related note, how does Darquesse feel about her wings? Do Valkyrie's wings change when she gets her white lightning powers?

I was talking to my dad about Stephanie in this AU yesterday and came to a conclusion.

So Reflections are more or less used to distract Mortals, not Sorcerers. So in the Winged AU, the Reflection Sigil was tweaked to make a Reflection of yourself that doesn't have wings. Making it even more obvious to Sorcerers when a Reflection is in use.

Stephanie still became sentient the same way (They made a cover story of Valkyrie deciding to die without her wings so she could be returned to her parents after death. Skulduggery was suitably dramatic about it), but she doesn't grow wings until she uses the Sceptre.

The Sceptre is still magic and Stephanie used that magic, causing her to sprout wings. Ferruginous hawk wings to be specific (*COUGH* Hawks may not kill a crow because they are interested in eating the bird. Instead, they may kill crows during territorial disputes and other confrontations. *COUGH*)

She hates them, obviously. But at the same time she finds them reassuring because it's proof she's her own person.

Does it hurt sorcerers to hide their wings without shrinking them? Yes and No. If the person has small wings (new Sorcerers, weak Sorcerers, people like Fletcher with wings of Flightless birds that are quite small) they aren't uncomfortable to shrink, sometimes they might accidentally bend a feather or two that can be a little irritating.

With people like Valkyrie, Nefarian etc, it's a lot more annoying. If they shrink their wings a lot it becomes itchy and sours their mood until they're able to enlarge them again.

Stephanie's wings are small because she barely uses the Sceptre. She could barely feel them. After she goes off with Skulduggery, they get a lot bigger and she honestly sympathises with Valkyrie for a moment. One of the things she disliked about Valkyrie was how grouchy she could get around her family but after her own wings start to grow she realises why a bit more clearly.

She vows to cut her wings off after Darquesse is dead so she can go back to a normal life but recognises that she needs them until then. When Darquesse is killing her though, and she realises that she has no chance of escape, she cripples herself as much as possible to delay Darquesse. Valkyrie later requests that her wings are cut off her body because that's how she'd have wanted it.

Darquesse likes her wings, she's the opposite of Stephanie. She always wants them super big and stretched out and in her more playful moments before she decides to be Evil, she's basically embodying crow behaviour. A side effect of her absorbing remnants is that she ends up with the mindsets of numerous birds and it slowly drives her mad due to all the different instincts. She almost gives Valkyrie control back because of it.

Valkyrie's wings don't change when she gets her new magic, she doesn't even lose her wings after Darquesse takes her magic. She can't fly with them because she's not hollow-boned like birds are, but she still has them. The tips of her feathers do glow when she uses her lightning though.

Thanks for the ask!

[ladysif8]

✨Glitter Warfare✨

•Pairing: Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes

•Rating: Mature

•Tags: Recovering Bucky Barnes, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, Captain America Steve Rogers, Crabby Bucky, Avengers, Comic Book Villian, Ridiculousness, Bucky Just Wants To Bake His Bread, Anal Sex, Boys In Love.

•Summary: All Bucky wanted was a quiet Sunday in the kitchen, baking bread and enjoying his quiet day. But when Steve answers his phone without checking the caller ID, Bucky finds himself dodging blasts and battling robots instead. It's just another day in the life of Bucky Barnes, where glitter explosions and super-soldier boyfriends are par for the course

Steve ducked as another blast shot over his head, scorching a nearby lamppost. "Bucky, baby. I'm sorry! I thought it was the pizza guy!"

Bucky, half sprinting, half dodging between wrecked cars, let out a growl as he ripped the driver's door off a trashed Honda. "I don't care if it was the pizza guy, Steve! Look where we are!"

The Honda door clanged as Bucky used it to shield himself from a rapid barrage of energy blasts, each one coming from one of the dozens of murder-bots swarming the street. In the center of it all, perched atop the roof of a demolished bodega, was the mastermind behind the chaos. Dr. Magnifico Malarkey, a half-mad scientist wearing a purple cape, lime green goggles, and what looked like an LED-infused top hat, bellowed his plan for world domination.

"Behold! My Exotic Electro-Eliminators! Soon, New York will be mine! None shall resist my weaponized disco technology! And then, the world will dance to MY tune!"

Steve groaned. "I swear, the villains just keep getting weirder."

Bucky made a break for Steve, now ducked behind an overturned bus, the Honda door absorbing yet another blast. He was practically snarling when he reached his boyfriend. "You just had to answer your damn phone." With a grunt, Bucky flung the Honda door like a shield, sending it spinning through the air toward one of the robots. It sliced straight through, taking off the robot's head with a satisfying clang.

He sank down beside Steve, pressing his back against the bus as he yanked out his gun and cocked it with a sharp click. "So... what now?"

Steve winced, still breathless from dodging lasers. "Well, we could always try unplugging his speakers. I'm pretty sure they're the source of his power."

Bucky shook his head, a small smirk forming on his lips. "You owe me a pizza after this."

Just as Bucky finished cocking his gun, a familiar voice crackled over the comms. "I gotta tell you guys, listening to your marital disputes while I'm dodging death rays over here? Not my idea of a good time," Sam's voice rang out, frustration clear.

Bucky's eyes narrowed as he snapped back without hesitation. "I don't need your input, Samuel. If you can't handle one murderous disco villain on your own, then why are you even wearing that star-spangled bird suit anyway?"

There was a pause, followed by Natasha's unmistakable snickering on the other end. Clint whistled low and slow. "Oof, Buck. You didn't have to go for the jugular."

Bucky wasn't having any of it. "Focus on your targets, Legolas."

Just then, Tony's voice chimed in, dripping with amusement. "Steve, buddy, you might wanna control your boy before he takes Sam's wings and flies them himself."

Steve shot Bucky an exasperated look, but before he could respond, Bucky's sharp blue eyes were already fixed on him. "Control me? Control me?" Bucky growled, his voice dangerously low.

Steve sighed, knowing better than to poke the bear any further. "I didn't say anything."

Bucky leaned in, his lips ghosting close to Steve's ear. "You better not, Steven."

Another blast from one of the robots zipped past their heads, cutting through the tension for the moment. Steve shook his head, muttering under his breath. "I swear, if we survive this, I'm throwing my phone in the Hudson."

"Good. Because next time you answer it, I'm not coming." Bucky fired off a couple of shots, dropping another robot as he moved to cover Steve.

It wasn't that Bucky minded pitching in and helping out — retirement got boring sometimes, and if blasting robots with his boyfriend meant blowing off some steam, so be it. But it was Sunday. Sundays were for baking bread, bagels, muffins, cookies — whatever else the hell he felt like making in that kitchen of theirs.

And more importantly, Bucky had been this close to finally getting Steve to answer the question. The one Steve had casually bombed him with last weekend, the one Steve had been avoiding all week like it carried the plague.

The marriage proposal.

Steve had dropped it out of nowhere, as if it was just another topic for Sunday evening dinner. "I think we should get married." he'd said, while taking a bite of his grilled cheese like they weren't talking about changing their entire lives.

Bucky had nearly dropped his grilled cheese in his soup . He hadn't answered. Instead, he'd spent the next week trying to pretend he hadn't heard it at all. Maybe Steve was just thinking out loud, right? Maybe it didn't need an answer right away. But today, Bucky had worked up the nerve to bring it up again. He was going to ask Steve if he really meant it, if he was serious.

And then Sam called.

So excuse Bucky if he was a little cranky, thinking his boyfriend might've answered that damn phone on purpose. He could've said no. He could've told Sam to handle it himself. But no. Steve had practically jumped at the chance to avoid the conversation — at least that's how it felt to Bucky. And now, instead of fresh-baked bagels and some clarity on where they stood, he was tearing apart the streets of New York, dodging disco-bots.

"I know what you're thinking," Steve muttered, sensing Bucky's frustration through their bond or whatever it was.

"Yeah?" Bucky snapped, firing another round toward one of the robots. "You think you know?"

"You think I did this on purpose."

Bucky ducked behind a wrecked taxi, firing off a glare in Steve's direction. "You saying you didn't?"

"I'm saying we'll talk. Just... not while we're in the middle of a robot uprising, okay?"

Bucky gritted his teeth, taking out another bot with a well-placed shot. "Fine. But we are talking about it after this."

Steve nodded, a look of determination on his face. "After this."

Bucky wasn't sure he believed him. But for now, he'd focus on the fight.

Bucky ducked as another disco-bot exploded, spewing glitter and sparks. "I swear to god, this guy has the worst taste. Who even makes killer robots this shiny?"

"I'm starting to think this is just an elaborate audition for America's Got Talent,” Clint chimed in over the comms. "Because if this guy breaks into a dance routine, I'm out."

Natasha's laugh came through next. "You think he's gonna pull out jazz hands, Barton?"

"If I see jazz hands, I'm gonna shoot them," Bucky muttered darkly, firing off another round.

"Relax, Grandma," Clint shot back. "I'm sure they're too shiny for you to hit."

"Clint," Steve warned, tone stern, "don't antagonize him."

Bucky's jaw clenched, but before he could snap, Tony cut in with a sigh. "Can we focus here, team? We've got to shut down Dr. Disco Inferno before he drops the bass and the entire city starts doing the Electric Slide involuntarily."

"His name is Dr. Magnifico Malarkey," Sam corrected.

"Who the hell even chooses that name?" Natasha deadpanned.

"I don't know," Tony said. "I thought about legally changing my name to 'Tony Stark the Magnificent,' but Pepper said it was 'too much.'"

"Gee, wonder why," Bucky muttered as he dodged another blast. "Can we just get this over with? I've got bread dough rising."

There was a short pause on the line, before Sam's voice came back. "Wait, is that what you're upset about? Bread dough?"

Bucky growled. "It's Sunday, Sam. Sundays are for baking. I don't get my carbs in, you deal with a cranky Bucky all week."

"Wouldn't want that," Clint chuckled. "Though I gotta admit, cranky Bucky is pretty fun to watch."

Bucky's voice turned icy. "You wanna find out how fun, Barton?"

"Uh, no thanks, Buck. You're doing great out there!" Clint replied quickly.

"Tony, please tell me you have a plan," Steve sighed, his voice the calmest of the group despite the chaos around them.

"Of course I have a plan," Tony replied, sounding mildly offended. "We're gonna blow up the speakers."

Sam groaned. "We're seriously going after the guy's sound system?"

Natasha's voice crackled in next. "Are we sure that's his power source? I mean, what if it's just, I don't know, really good speakers?"

"Yeah, Tasha's right," Clint said, "this guy could just be compensating for something."

There was a brief silence, then Bucky's deadpan voice cut through. "That's the understatement of the year."

Steve shifted beside Bucky, glancing at him. "Alright, let's just stay on mission. Tony, how do we get close without getting fried by the robots?"

"Well, that's the tricky part," Tony said, clearly grinning behind his helmet. "You don't."

"Really helpful, Stark," Bucky muttered.

"I'm kidding, geez. You guys are no fun today. Just let me fire an EMP blast. You'll have a few seconds to move in and smash his DJ setup before it resets."

Bucky rubbed his temple. "This is the dumbest plan I've ever heard."

"And yet, here you are, still following it," Tony quipped back.

Steve leaned in to Bucky, lowering his voice even though everyone could still hear him through the comms. "After this, we're taking a break. I'll help you bake."

Bucky shot him a look. "Yeah, well, don't think that gets you off the hook for dodging the other thing."

Tony's voice rang out again, clearly eavesdropping. "Ooh, what other thing? This sounds juicy."

Steve sighed, clearly done with the entire conversation. "Tony, fire the EMP already."

"You got it, Freedom Fry," Tony replied, and then a bright pulse of light shot out, temporarily shutting down the disco-bots.

"Alright, lovebirds," Natasha said, laughter in her voice, "time to take down Dr. Malarkey and get back to your regularly scheduled baking."

Steve gave Bucky a quick nod. "Ready?"

Bucky grinned, eyes sharp. "Let's end this glitter-filled nightmare."

As Steve and Bucky advanced, weaving between the debris and wreckage, everything seemed to be going according to plan. They were closing in on Dr. Magnifico Malarkey, and Tony's EMP had knocked out the bulk of the disco-bots. They were almost there when Bucky heard a distinct whistle in the air.

"Bucky—" Steve started, eyes widening, but it was too late.

Something lobbed through the air toward Bucky, landing just a few feet in front of him. It looked like a... grenade? But it was brightly colored, almost cartoonish, with swirling neon stripes and what appeared to be glitter glue spiraling around it.

Before Bucky could even process what he was looking at, the grenade exploded in a puff of neon pink smoke.

"BUCKY!" Steve's voice was panicked, already lunging toward him, expecting the worst. The whole battlefield seemed to freeze for a second, the cloud of pink dust billowing in the air like some sort of twisted cotton candy nightmare.

Steve coughed as the cloud dissipated, his heart pounding as he strained to see Bucky through the haze. "Buck? Baby, you okay?!"

Then, through the lingering pink mist, Bucky slowly appeared. Standing there, arms at his sides, looking utterly... ridiculous. He was completely covered head to toe in neon pink powder and glitter. His hair, his face, even his tactical gear — all of it coated in a sparkling mess that shimmered in the sunlight.

There was a long beat of silence over the comms before Clint's voice broke through, full of barely-contained laughter. "That's never coming out."

Bucky stood frozen for a moment, blinking slowly as a bit of glitter drifted down from his eyelashes. His expression was one of pure, unfiltered murder. He spat out a mouthful of glitter, wiping his face in vain. "Fuck. This. Shit."

Steve, trying desperately not to burst out laughing, took a cautious step forward. "Bucky... I—”

Bucky wasn't listening. He dropped to one knee, fury in his eyes as he swung the sniper rifle off his back, his movements calm and deliberate despite the pink mess covering him. He braced the rifle, aimed toward the rooftop where Dr. Magnifico Malarkey was still standing, cackling like a maniac, and lined up his shot.

Without a word, Bucky fired.

The shot rang out, and for a split second, the mad doctor's cackling stopped abruptly as his ridiculous LED-lit top hat went flying off his head. He stood there in stunned silence, hatless, blinking in confusion.

"Tony, Sam," Bucky growled into the comms, his voice laced with venom, "he's all yours."

Tony's voice, filled with a grin, came through. "Copy that, Pink Panther."

"Don't." Bucky warned.

But Sam couldn't resist. "Damn, Buck, I'd say that look suits you."

Bucky fired another round into the air, this time clearly just to let off steam. "You both owe me after this."

As Sam and Tony swooped in from the air to take down Dr. Malarkey, Clint's laugh rang out again over the comms. "Honestly, I'm just impressed. Bucky's tactical pink attack — no one saw it coming."

"Clint, I swear—" Bucky started, but another puff of glitter fell from his hair, cutting off his threat as he groaned in frustration.

Steve stifled a laugh, patting Bucky on the shoulder. "You're doing great, sweetheart."

Bucky shot him a deadly glare. "Not. A. Word."

The battlefield was finally quiet. Dr. Magnifico Malarkey was in custody, his disco-bots destroyed, and the ridiculous neon-colored nightmare was over. Everyone was mostly fine, except for Clint, who was limping dramatically with a sprained ankle, and Bucky... who looked like he'd gone through a glitter factory explosion.

Bucky stood there, arms crossed, still covered head to toe in neon pink powder and glitter. His face was set in a deadly scowl, the kind of look that made grown men rethink their life choices. Steve approached him cautiously, suppressing a smile. "You okay? You wanna head home?"

Bucky turned slowly to Steve, his expression one of pure incredulity, like Steve had just said the dumbest thing in the world. "And track this," he gestured at his glitter-covered body, "into the house? And clean it out of the shower? Did you hit your head out there, Steve?"

Steve put his hands up in surrender. "Alright, fair point."

Nearby, Tony was snickering, unable to contain his amusement at the sight of Bucky looking like a grumpy, sparkly disco ball. As Bucky stormed off toward the compound's showers, clearly done with the entire situation, Tony sidled up to Steve. "What did you do to irritate your little Buck Kitten?"

Steve dragged a hand over his face, groaning. "I, uh, might've proposed last weekend. And then didn't say anything else about it."

Tony blinked at him, like Steve had just sprouted two heads. "You what?"

Steve quickly added, "But Bucky's been ignoring me for a week, so... there's that."

Tony looked from Steve to Bucky, who was now halfway across the compound, glitter shimmering in the sunlight as he stalked toward the showers. "Well, yeah. No wonder he's pissed. You drop a bomb like that and then just... what, leave him hanging?"

Steve sighed. "It wasn't exactly my best move."

Sam, who had been standing nearby listening to the whole exchange, shook his head. "Let me get this straight. He was finally ready to talk about it today, and then you answered the phone, and here you are. Covered in robot shrapnel and glitter instead of baking bread and getting married?"

Steve rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish. "Yeah... that's about right."

Sam snorted, crossing his arms. "Man, you're lucky you didn't propose with a text message."

Tony was still grinning like a Cheshire cat, clearly enjoying the drama. "You gotta fix this, Rogers. That much glitter's a cry for help."

Steve watched Bucky disappear into the compound, still sparkling under the sun. "I know, I know," he muttered. "I'll fix it. After he's had a shower."

"Yeah, you better," Sam chuckled. "But maybe next time? Let the call go to voicemail."

Steve pushed open the door to the compound's locker room , careful not to make too much noise. The shower was still running, steam filling the air, and Bucky stood in front of the mirror, a towel slung low around his waist. His hair was damp, drops of water still clinging to his chest, and he had his head tilted to the side, one finger digging into his ear.

"Damn glitter," Bucky muttered under his breath, clearly annoyed. He squinted at the mirror, trying to see if he'd managed to get the last stubborn specks out of his ear.

Steve leaned against the doorframe, unable to help the small smile tugging at his lips. Bucky, so serious, fighting a losing battle against a sea of sparkles. Even after everything they'd been through today, the sight was endearing in a way that made Steve's heart swell.

"Lose the amused look," Bucky grumbled, catching Steve's expression in the reflection. "This is anything but funny."

Steve quickly straightened up, clearing his throat to hide his smile. "Sorry. I wasn't—" He took a few steps closer, trying to sound apologetic but failing to mask the warmth in his voice. "It's just... you're still glittery."

Bucky shot him a flat look, dropping his hand from his ear. "Yeah, no shit, Steve. It's like the stuff's multiplying."

Steve chuckled softly, stepping closer until he was standing right behind Bucky. He could see the faint shimmer still clinging to Bucky's skin, the flecks of pink glitter catching the light even under the steam. Gently, Steve placed his hands on Bucky's shoulders, feeling the tension there, the frustration simmering just below the surface.

"Sorry," Steve said again, softer this time. His fingers traced down Bucky's arms, his voice low and sincere. "For everything. The glitter. The call. The proposal."

Bucky sighed, letting his head fall back slightly, leaning into Steve's touch. "You've got a lot to be sorry for, huh?"

Steve smiled, softer now, less amused and more filled with affection. "Yeah, I guess I do."

Bucky glanced back at him, his expression still a little annoyed but softening around the edges. "Just help me get this damn glitter off, and maybe I'll consider forgiving you."

Steve's grin widened, his hands sliding down to Bucky's waist, brushing the towel playfully. "I think I can manage that."

Steve's hands slid around Bucky's waist, the towel hanging by a thread as he leaned in close, his breath warm against Bucky's neck. Bucky's lips twitched into a small, reluctant smile, feeling Steve's familiar touch. He was still annoyed, sure—but when Steve looked at him like that, like Bucky was the only thing that mattered in the world, it was hard to stay mad for long.

"You know," Steve murmured, voice low and teasing, "we could save some water..."

Bucky rolled his eyes, though the hint of a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Steve, I just took a shower.."

Steve grinned, pressing a soft kiss to Bucky's shoulder. "Think of it as teamwork."

Bucky chuckled under his breath, the sound vibrating in his chest. "Fine," he relented, "but if I find more glitter on me after this, I'm gonna throw you in the next pile of robot shrapnel we come across."

"Deal," Steve said, already moving to undo the towel as he guided Bucky back toward the shower. The hot water hit them both, steam swirling around, and for a moment, everything else fell away—the mission, the glitter, the chaos.

It was just them.

Bucky's annoyed grumbles faded into contented silence, and whatever lingering frustrations he'd been holding onto washed away with the water. They moved in sync, hands roaming, not in a rush, just savoring the closeness that was theirs and theirs alone.

But that? That was nobody's business but theirs.

Steve jogged up the familiar road to their house, the early morning air crisp and refreshing. Music pumped through his headphones, fueling his steady pace as he smiled and waved at the neighbors along the way. Layla, the chatty one from next door, was out watering her garden. When she spotted him, she waved enthusiastically, calling out something Steve couldn't hear over the music.

He slowed as he reached their sidewalk, pulling out an earbud and wiping his face with the bottom of his shirt. Layla hollered something again, but Steve just gave her a tight-lipped smile and a wave before jogging up the steps and slipping into the house.

"Bucky?" he called out, pulling off his shoes by the door. Silence greeted him.

Steve sighed, raking a hand through his hair. He'd thought after their steamy shower last night, all would be forgiven. But boy, was he wrong. Bucky could freeze someone out with the best of them, and it seemed like Steve was still in the doghouse.

Following the smell of something delicious, Steve wandered into the kitchen. The sight that met him made his stomach rumble. Bucky was standing at the counter, elbow-deep in dough, working it like a pro. His hair was tied back, a focused expression on his face as he kneaded the dough with practiced hands. Two loaves of sourdough were cooling on the rack, their golden crusts perfect. On the counter beside them sat bagels—blueberry, everything bagels, and jalapeño-cheddar, their fragrant scents mixing with the fresh, warm smell of muffins. Chocolate chip, wild berry, and apple cinnamon muffins were cooling nearby, making the kitchen smell like a bakery.

Steve's mouth watered, but he didn't dare interrupt Bucky just yet. He knew better than to poke the bear when Bucky was in one of his moods, especially when it came to baking.

Instead, Steve leaned against the doorframe, watching his boyfriend work. The concentration on Bucky's face was intense, like this bread was some kind of personal mission. Steve's heart swelled. Even when Bucky was upset, he made magic in the kitchen.

"Smells amazing in here," Steve said softly, breaking the silence.

Bucky didn't even look up from his dough, but Steve caught the subtle twitch of his eyebrow.

Steve took a tentative step forward, eyeing the pile of fresh bagels. "Am I still in trouble, or can I steal one of those?" he asked, half teasing, half serious.

Bucky's hands paused for a moment before he resumed kneading. "Depends," he said, voice cool. "You gonna answer your phone the next time Sam calls, or finally talk to me first?"

Steve winced, rubbing the back of his neck. He walked over to the counter, picking up a jalapeño-cheddar bagel and breaking it in half. "Point taken," he muttered, taking a bite.

Bucky's lips twitched, but he didn't give in to a smile just yet. "I'm still deciding if you're forgiven."

Steve grinned, chewing slowly. "At least I get bagels while you decide."

Bucky huffed, a half-suppressed smile finally breaking through. "Don't push your luck, punk."

Steve grabbed the coffee pot and poured two mugs, setting one down on the counter next to Bucky before sliding into a seat at the kitchen table. He took another bite of his bagel, chewing thoughtfully as the quiet of the kitchen settled around them. He knew Bucky was still upset, but for the life of him, he couldn't figure out why. The proposal—it wasn't like Steve had just blurted it out without thinking. He'd put effort into it, choosing the pumpkin patch for its warm, autumnal charm. Wasn't that a grand enough gesture?

As he chewed, he stared at his coffee, mulling it over. Maybe he'd misread the situation. Bucky wasn't one for big, flashy moments, but he wasn't exactly subtle either. Maybe he had been hoping for something different—something that Steve, in all his trying, had missed.

Across the room, Bucky finished kneading his dough and carefully placed the last four loaves in the double oven. After wiping his hands on a kitchen towel, he turned to face Steve, crossing his arms as he leaned against the counter. There was an expectant look in his eyes, like he was waiting for Steve to figure something out.

Steve raised an eyebrow, glancing up at Bucky. "What?" he asked, setting his bagel down and gesturing toward the oven. "The bagels are great. The sourdough smells amazing. Are we good?"

Bucky just stared at him, arms still crossed, his silence louder than words.

Steve sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Okay, I can tell you're still upset. And I get that. But I don't understand why. Wasn't the pumpkin patch what you wanted? It felt... special, didn't it?"

Bucky's lips pressed into a thin line as he let out a breath. "Steve, it's not about where you asked. I don't care if it was over dinner or on the couch while we're watching TV. But you didn't say anything after. You just dropped the question on me like a grenade and walked away."

Steve blinked, his brow furrowing. "Wait, that's what you're upset about? Because I thought... I mean, I assumed you needed time to think, so I gave you space."

Bucky shook his head, pushing away from the counter and walking toward the table. He sat down across from Steve, his eyes softer but still serious. "I didn't need space, Steve. I needed you to talk to me. You can't just ask me to marry you and then act like it never happened. I wasn't looking for some big spectacle, but I didn't expect you to drop the question and leave me hanging for a week."

Steve rubbed his temples, groaning softly. "I'm an idiot, aren't I?"

Bucky chuckled, the sound low and rough, but there was no malice in it. "I wouldn't say idiot. But you definitely could've handled it better."

Steve sighed, leaning back in his chair. "I thought I was giving you time to process. I guess I misread that." He reached across the table, taking Bucky's hand in his. "I didn't mean to make you feel like I was avoiding the conversation."

Bucky looked down at their joined hands, squeezing gently. "It's not just that, Steve. It's that you didn't talk to me. I've been waiting for you to say something about it all week, and you just... didn't. That's why I'm upset."

Steve nodded slowly, the realization sinking in. "I get it now. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel like I wasn't serious about it."

Bucky's expression softened further, and he exhaled deeply. "It's okay. Just... don't do that again, alright?"

Steve smiled sheepishly, lifting Bucky's hand to his lips and kissing his knuckles. "Deal. I'll make it up to you."

Bucky smirked, finally letting go of the tension that had been hanging between them. "You better. Now, finish your bagel before it gets cold."

Steve's lips ghosted down Bucky's neck, leaving a warm trail in their wake as Bucky's breath hitched. Steve had Bucky's hands pinned above his head, fingers interlaced, holding them firm against the soft pillow. Bucky tugged slightly, testing the hold, but Steve only tightened his grip in response, a low chuckle vibrating against Bucky's skin.

"Don't even think about it," Steve murmured against his ear, his breath hot and teasing. His lips found that sensitive spot just beneath Bucky's jaw, and Bucky couldn't suppress the shiver that ran through him.

"Not thinking about anything," Bucky lied, his voice breathy, eyes hooded as he looked up at Steve. The way Steve was towering over him, his strength barely restrained, sent a pulse of heat through him. He could feel the steady pressure of Steve's body keeping him in place, the weight of it comforting and intoxicating all at once.

"Liar," Steve whispered, his lips curving into a smile before he kissed a slow, deliberate path down the column of Bucky's throat. He nipped lightly at the skin, earning a soft groan from Bucky. The sound went straight to Steve's core, and he hummed in satisfaction, his lips never leaving Bucky's neck.

Bucky arched his back slightly, pressing up into Steve's body, his breath coming faster. He was helpless in Steve's grip, and they both knew it. But that feeling—being held down by Steve, trusting him completely—was what made moments like this electrifying.

Steve paused for a moment, lifting his head to look down at Bucky. "Still want to pretend you're not thinking about anything?"

Bucky's lips twitched into a smirk, but his voice came out rough. "Maybe...maybe I'm thinking about how much I like this."

Steve's eyes darkened, his grip tightening just enough to make Bucky's pulse race. "Good," Steve growled softly, dipping his head to continue his slow, torturous kisses down Bucky's neck, savoring every sound that escaped Bucky's lips.

The soft sunlight of the morning began to fill the room, casting a gentle glow over the two of them as it crept across the bed. The light played on Steve's back, highlighting the contours of his muscles as he shifted his weight, never breaking contact with Bucky. It was moments like these that Bucky cherished deeply—the quiet, unguarded moments when the world seemed to pause just for them.

Steve moved slowly, deliberate in every touch, every breath against Bucky's skin. He shifted his position slightly, aligning their bodies even closer. With one hand still pinning Bucky's wrists, he used the other to trace a line down Bucky's side, over the curve of his rib, stopping at his hip. Steve's fingers danced lightly across the skin there, eliciting a shiver from Bucky.

Bucky caught his breath, eyes flickering with anticipation and a touch of mischief as he watched Steve's every move. "You know," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion and desire, "sometimes I forget just how much power you hold over me."

Steve smiled, a deep, affectionate expression that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "Only sometimes?" he teased back, leaning in to capture Bucky's lips in a soft, lingering kiss that spoke volumes more than words could.

Their kiss deepened, and Bucky's free hand came up to thread through Steve's hair, pulling him even closer if that were possible. The world outside their little cocoon seemed to fade away entirely as they lost themselves in each other.

After a moment, Steve pulled back slightly, resting his forehead against Bucky's. He gazed deeply into Bucky's eyes, seeing not just his reflection but their entire history together reflected back at him. "I love you," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper but thick with sincerity.

Bucky's heart swelled at the words, a smile touching his lips as he returned the gaze equally intensely. "I love you too, more than anything," he replied, his hand still entwined in Steve's hair, holding him close enough to feel every breath.

With a seductive sway of his hips, he bites down on his bottom lip and gazes up at Steve through thick, luscious lashes. Desire drips from every inch of his bare, taut body as his leaking member rubs against Steve's own, pulsing with need. Despite the small height difference between them, there is no denying the immense size of their throbbing cocks. Bucky's is long and thick, its fat, flushed head leaking with anticipation. But Steve's is even longer and thicker, boasting an impressive uncut length that Bucky can't help but crave. It's like unwrapping a decadent gift, slowly savoring each moment until they both explode with pleasure.

"Well," Bucky purrs, his voice low and sultry, "aren't you going to do something about that?"

Steve's eyes darkened further, a wicked grin playing at the corners of his mouth as he absorbed Bucky's challenge. "Oh, I intend to," he responded, his voice husky with promise. Leaning forward, he captured Bucky's lips once more in a kiss that was both punishing and passionate, leaving them both breathless.

Releasing Bucky's wrists, Steve traced his hands down Bucky's arms, over his chest, pausing to explore every inch of skin with the tips of his fingers. Bucky, now free, wrapped his arms around Steve, pulling him closer until there was no space left between their bodies. Their movements were fluid—two beings so in sync with each other that every shift and sigh was answered in kind.

Steve slid his hand down to grasp Bucky's hip, guiding him into a slow, grinding rhythm that matched the pulse of their hearts. Every roll of their hips deepened their connection, drawing small moans from their lips.

Bucky's whimpers turned into angry, sounding like a petulant child as Steve abruptly stopped their passionate activities. A small grin played on Steve's lips as he swatted at Bucky's hip in playful annoyance. But Bucky was already too distracted, taking full advantage of the moment to run his hands over Steve's firm and hairy chest. He couldn't resist tweaking a pert nipple, causing a sharp intake of breath from Steve. In one smooth motion, Steve reached for the half-empty bottle of lube on the nightstand.

He popped the cap open, smiling down at Bucky with a look of intent that sent shivers racing through Bucky's body. Steve poured a generous amount onto his hand, warming it between his palms before trailing his slick fingers down Bucky's thigh, drawing a line of goosebumps in their wake.

Bucky gasped slightly, his eyes locked on Steve's every move. The anticipation was almost as tantalizing as the touch itself. Steve's fingers lingered at Bucky's entrance, circling slowly, teasingly, before one finger slipped inside. Bucky breathed out a sigh of pleasure mixed with a hint of impatience.

"Steve," he murmured, a gentle nudge in his voice urging Steve to not hold back.

Steve responded by adding another finger, scissoring them gently to prepare Bucky thoroughly. He leaned down to kiss him again, swallowing the moans that Bucky let out as he deepened the kiss, mirroring the motion of his fingers. With each thrust and twist, Steve watched Bucky's reactions, savoring the flush that spread across his cheeks and the way his eyes fluttered shut in bliss.

"More," Bucky breathed out, his voice a mix of need and desire. Steve obliged, slipping a third finger in alongside the others, stretching him slowly but persistently. The slick sounds filled the room, accompanied by their shared breaths and quiet moans.

Steve's movements became more deliberate as he prepared Bucky, his own desire building as he felt Bucky relax and open up under his touch. When he felt Bucky was ready, Steve removed his fingers and reached for the lubricant again, coating himself thoroughly. He positioned himself at Bucky's entrance, locking eyes with him.

"Ready?" Steve asked, his voice low and rough with arousal.

Bucky nodded, pulling Steve down by the neck for another deep kiss. "Please," he whispered against Steve's lips.

With that confirmation , Steve pushed forward gently, entering Bucky with a slow, steady ease. Bucky's breath hitched, his arms tightening around Steve's neck as he adjusted to the feeling. The initial discomfort melted away quickly, replaced by a deep, pulsating pleasure that made him moan into Steve's mouth.

Steve paused for a moment, allowing Bucky to get comfortable, his face buried in the crook of Bucky's neck, breathing in the scent that was uniquely him. With each controlled breath, Steve began to move, pulling back slightly only to push forward again. Each thrust was met with a soft groan from Bucky, encouraging him to slowly increase his pace.

The bed creaked under their weight and movement, a rhythmic sound that matched Steve's steady thrusts. The room was filled with the sound of their labored breathing and the wet noises of their union. Steve shifted slightly to change the angle and depth of his thrusts, eliciting a sharp gasp from Bucky, who clenched around him in response.

"That's it, right there," Bucky managed to say between heavy breaths, his eyes now tightly shut as waves of pleasure washed over him. Steve focused on that spot, intensifying his thrusts but maintaining the slow, deliberate pace that drove Bucky wild.

Steve's hand found Bucky's hand, their fingers intertwining tightly, grounding each other as they navigated through the increasing heat and desire that threatened to overwhelm them. Bucky lifted his hips to meet Steve's thrusts, desperate for more contact, more pressure.

Bucky opened his eyes, locking onto Steve's with a gaze filled with unspoken emotions and raw need. The connection was palpable, almost tangible in its intensity, and it pushed them further into the abyss of pleasure.

"Steve... I'm close," Bucky whispered, his voice cracking under the strain of overwhelming sensations.

"Me too," Steve replied gruffly, his strokes becoming more erratic as he neared his climax. He leaned in to kiss Bucky hard, their lips crashing together in a desperate meld of passion and need. The sound of their bodies, slick with sweat and other fluids, filled the air along with their moans. "Fuck, I love you Buck, love you so much baby," he rambled.

Bucky lets out a guttural whimper and bites down hard on his bottom lip, feeling like he is about to unravel at the seams. His entire body trembles with pent-up emotion, ready to explode into a million pieces at any moment.

Steve's movements grew more urgent, the bed rocking beneath them as he drove into Bucky with a fervor that matched the storm of emotions inside him. Bucky met each of Steve's thrusts with an eagerness and intensity that only heightened the pleasure coursing through them both.

"Ah—fuck!" Steve's movements became frantic, his hips rolling like a machine as he pounded into Bucky. Each slap of skin echoed through the room as he growled out his desires between grunts. "Can't get enough of you...wanna make you mine forever," he managed to gasp out before losing himself in pleasure once again.

Bucky arched beneath him, nails digging into Steve's back as the intensity increased. "Yeah?" he moaned, barely able to form words amidst the overwhelming sensations coursing through his body.

"Fuck yeah," Steve confirmed with a primal roar, his eyes locking onto Bucky's with fierce determination. "Wanna marry you, make you my husband."

Bucky's breathing became ragged, his body tensing as he neared the edge.

"Yes....Yes...Yes!" His grip on Steve tightened, fingernails digging into Steve's back as waves of ecstasy began to break over him. "Steve!" he gasped out, his voice a strained whisper laden with emotion as he came, spilling between their bodies.

Feeling Bucky clench around him was enough to send Steve over the edge. With a few more deep, powerful thrusts, he followed, releasing with a loud, guttural moan that echoed through the room. His movements slowed as he rode out the waves of his climax, each pulse and twitch drawing another soft moan from Bucky.

As their breathing steadied, Steve collapsed gently onto Bucky, careful not to crush him with his weight. They lay there intertwined in the stillness that followed their storm, hearts beating in sync as they caught their breaths. The air around them was heavy with warmth and love, the kind that could only be forged in the fires of shared passion and intimate connection.

The room was quiet except for the sound of their steady breathing. The sheets were tangled around their legs, and Steve's arm was draped over Bucky's chest, holding him close. Their skin still warm, slick with the aftermath of their lovemaking. Steve, ever the talker afterward, was rambling softly, his voice a soothing hum as Bucky lay back, basking in the peaceful moment.

"I was thinking, you know," Steve murmured, his words a little disjointed as his mind wandered. "About everything we've been through, and how...well, how lucky I am to have you."

Bucky's eyes were closed, a small, content smile on his lips as he hummed in response, not really listening but enjoying the warmth of Steve's voice. But then Steve paused, and Bucky's attention piqued.

Bucky's eyes blinked open at that. "Huh?"

Steve lifted his head slightly, his expression soft and filled with affection. He brushed a sweaty lock of hair from Bucky's forehead and leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to his lips. When he pulled back, his voice was barely a whisper against Bucky's mouth. "Marry me."

Bucky let out a breath, somewhere between a laugh and a groan, his hand sliding up to cup the back of Steve's neck. "Steve, I already said yes, you big lummox."

Steve's eyes searched Bucky's face, his own filled with that familiar, earnest vulnerability. "I know, but...I just...it feels like I've been waiting forever to hear you say it. I guess I need to hear it again....this time less moaning."

Bucky shook his head, amusement and affection coloring his features. "You're such a sap." But there was no denying the warmth in his chest as he tightened his grip on Steve and pulled him in for another kiss, slow and deep.

When they finally broke apart, Bucky smirked, his voice softer, more serious. "Yes, Steve. I'll marry you. I already told you, but if you need to hear it a thousand times, I'll say it a thousand times."

Steve's smile was wide, his heart full. "I think I'll hold you to that," he whispered, settling back down into Bucky's embrace.

As they lay there, the world beyond the walls of their room felt far away. It was just them, tangled together in the aftermath of love and promises. And for Steve, hearing Bucky's simple "yes" was all the reassurance he ever needed.

Mood Board

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[loneberry]

The ghostly reflections of tree branches mirrored in puddles.

(Or: when thawing snow turns the world into a looking glass.)

It took me extra long to walk to the Black Power Studies seminar today. Perambulating down Oxford Street, I was distracted by every image I saw reflected in the puddles—the sun behind the clouds, the buildings, the power lines, the birds, the gloomy sky. While I was staring at a puddle I was shaken by the sudden THUD of a pedestrian getting hit by a gold minivan. The pedestrian seemed okay, but that unsettling feeling that life can end at any moment stayed with me throughout the day.

Strangely, Virginia Woolf had a lot to say about puddles and mortality. Some quotes:

Some cleavage of the dark there must have been, some channel in the depths of obscurity through which light enough issued […].  The mystic, the visionary, walking the beach on a fine night, stirring a puddle, looking at a stone, asking themselves “What am I,” “What is this?” […]. 

—To the Lighthouse (1927)

“There is the puddle,” said Rhoda, “and I cannot cross it.  I hear the rush of the great grindstone within an inch of my head.  Its wind roars in my face.  All palpable forms of life have failed me.  Unless I can stretch and touch something hard, I shall be blown down the eternal corridors for ever.”

— The Waves (1931)

There was the moment of the puddle in the path; when for no reason I could discover, everything suddenly became unreal; I was suspended; I could not step across the puddle; I tried to touch something . . . the whole world became unreal.

— “A Sketch of the Past” (1939)

.

.

The sudden dissolution of the world, of the self. That’s the horror of the puddle that cannot be crossed, the puddle that augurs madness.

I swear I remember reading about the puddle-grindstone passage in Woolf’s diary, which was absorbed into her novel The Waves. In my vague memory it was connected to news from (Ethel Smyth?) about someone’s suicide. Someone named Carrie, or Caroline, I swear there was an incident that sent Woolf spiraling. An adult incident, a repetition of the dissociative puddle incident from her childhood. But now I cannot find it. Or maybe it was connected to news from Vita, I don’t know. Or maybe the news of the mutual friend’s suicide and the fear of crossing the puddle were falsely fused in my mind by the intensity of my fixations. I had filed the detail away in a dusty drawer of my brain because of the suicided Carrie I knew, the one mirrored everywhere in Woolf’s work. Water suicides. I keep thinking they reveal: there is no ontology. Only God has being, as the Sufi metaphysicians say (and strikingly, the Ocean is the proverbial metaphor for union with God in Sufi poetry, for the only way to stop a drop from drying up is to throw it in the ocean).

[toournextadventure]

Alright alright I have a new ask for you!

How many Birdy Behaviours does bird!reader actually delight in?

There's so many cute and weird things that I could consider.

Cute things:

- Do their feathers puff up if they're angry or startled? If they're cold? If so, do they have little downy feathers that would be visible when they do? How soft and floofy would they look?

- Will their wings cover people they're in bed with? Like a little tent?

(I think it'd be adorable if everytime they wake up, their wings shake uncontrollably before folding back into themselves. Like how birds will do if they get snow or rain on their feathers. That instinctually, reader is protecting wednesday from the weather, even when in their dorm. Adorable)

- Do they molt? Groom themselves? When they shower, do the wings need extra care? Do they need help molting? Someone else to groom the hard-to-reach parts of their wings?

- Speaking of water, do the wings absorb water or deflect them like water fowl? Do they do a cute little shimmy when they're trying to get water off their wings?

Weird bird behaviours:

- Do they ever.. Go birdy? If they're very hungry and see a litte creacher, like a bug or mouse, would they crunch down? Eat raw meat? Are there certain things they need in their diet that normies don't?

- Okay, Google the sound that a peacock makes when it fans it's feathers. Can they.. can they make that sound? I'm terrified and intrigued.

- do they have feathers in other parts of their body? On their back between their wings, in their hair?

- Do they whistle at 5am?

- animals like crows will gift their human friends little trinkets, I know birb reader does this, but to what extent? Will they change what they gift people based on their excitement? Like If Enid loves little gems and Wednesday appreciates bones more? Will they steal things from one person and gift it to another?

STEALING LORE

-

Anyway not all of these are necessary to answer but idk theyve just been living in my head rent free so i had to get it all out.

Istg i should just make fanfics of your fanfics at this point

Oh no, you opened Pandora's Box, I AM answering all of these. And also, if you did, I would swear fealty to you 🧎

Cute things:

They absolutely do puff up, especially when angry, it's part of what makes her so frustrated. It's hard to look intimidating when you've got a bunch of fluff on your back. Wednesday always teases her for the fluffy downy feathers, which makes her even more mad, which makes Wednesday even more amused

YES they cover people they're cuddling with. Like, once she starts sleeping with Wednesday, they practically turn into fluffy blankets. And they shake during dreams, nightmares, and when waking up. Wednesday nearly threatens to cut them off once after the feathers tickled her nose and she couldn't stop sneezing for 15mins

They absolutely molt, it's awful. Usually Reader just complains the whole time until someone finally offers to help (it used to be Enid until she bugs Wednesday enough). She can get 95% of it on her own but every now and then there's a spot she just can't reach

They absorb water and it's hell. They feel soggy and heavy and take forever to dry, and Wednesday is lucky she's so cute because all that walking in the rain is absolutely miserable. The shimmy itself is not cute though, it's more like when a dog tries to shake water off. Erratic, violent, ceaseless shaking until it's dry and then she's stuck, once again, with fluffy, unruly feathers

Weird behaviours:

Yes, but more in terms of "oh shit are those seeds?? Is that fruit??? oh fuck yes" Like, she manages to control herself around meat, but she will chase and terrorise little creachers if they pass by her at the right time. More than once, Wednesday watched her grab a rabbit, fly with it, and let it plummet back to the ground. Or she just flatout curb stomp a snake if she feels threatened. Reader is an absolute menace to the local ecosystem

Thankfully no peacock feather sounds, the most anyone can hear is just a gentle ruffle and maybe a little hum in th eprocess

No other feathers, but that doesn't stop the chaos because she drops those feathers everywhere

She will basically whistle/call out at the most random hours of the day, much like a rooster. Though not quite as loud, it's almost like she can't help it. In the middle of class? A small whistle. Half-asleep? Another one. In the middle of a test? It's a good thing the school is full of Outcasts because what do you know, Reader is whistling

Damn right, she 100% caters her trinket gifts. She starts off with just whatever she can find, but she narrows it down until she knows The Gift. Enid usually gets anything shiny, whether it's a gem or earring or anything else. Wednesday gets rocks and pieces of bones. More than once theyve gotten something that Reader stole literally from the other side of the room, so it's not even really a gift, but it's the thought that counts (Reader also tries to woo Wednesday with rock piles, much like a penguin)

EXTRA BEHAVIOURS 👀

She picks at her feathers when she's extremely stressed or overwhelmed. It's a small part of why she keeps them in the harness when she's anxious, it keeps her from the bad habit

She BITES FINGERS. More than once Enid has pointed at her and she just... chomped and it's not even a hard bite but it leaves everyone like "what the genuine fuck???"

An absolute weirdo with the weather. It snows? She plays in it like it's the best thing ever, much like crows. It's sunny? Catch this bitch outside with wings outstretched fully catchin those rays

Always 100% down to fight her own reflection. She's got a human brain, she knows it's her own reflection, but that small birdy part still sees the reflection and is like "gasp, an enemy, square up." It's the sole reason there's no mirrors in Reader's room. Probably the only time Wednesday actually, audibly laughed was when Reader unexpectedly passed a mirror and instantly started a fight. Thankfully it wasn't an expensive one

[quillpokebiology]

sizzlipede facts please!

Sizzlipede Facts

(Art by Oreskis)

-The scientific name for Sizzlepede is "Centitta ignis." Centitta being a combination of "Centum" meaning hundred, and "Titta" meaning "ribbon." Ignis means flame. The rough translation for Sizzlipede is "Hundred-ribbon flame"

-Sizzlipede are arthropods, which are members of the invertebrate family. This makes them related to pokemon like Galvantula, Ariados, and Krabby

-The Sizzlepede line's closest relative is the Venipede line. However, they don't seem to get along

-Sizzlipede are generalist predators and will eat anything they can get their hands on

-Sizzlipede absorb flammable gasses produced by decaying plant matter to make them hotter

-They produce more heat when angry. You can tell when they're mad when there is smoke coming from them

-Unlike many other bug types, Sizzlepede don't have any visible sex differences between males and females

-Sizzlepede live in mountains and Volcanoes. However, they do quite well in cold temperatures for their body heat, and many of them can be found living in the Nixalba region of Galar

(Art by uboachannel on Chicken Smoothie)

-Since they get their energy from flammable plants, it's important to always have compost ready when caring for one

-Sizzlipede have long lifespans compared to other bug types, being able to live for over 50 years. They live even longer in captivity

-Sizzlipede have slightly toxic bites that's amplified by their hot teeth. This can leave a slight numbing sensation along with burn

-Sizzlipede and Centiskorch have very small ocelli along their body. These help them see better when in dark places

-Sizzlipede are hunted by bird Pokemon like Corvisquire, Corviknight, Rufflet, Tranquill, and Unfezant. They'll often get into heated battles with these Pokemon, and they won't go down without a fight

-Sizzlipede blood is a medium orange instead of red or white, like most bug types

-In the Nixalba regions of Galar, some people will eat roasted Sizzlipede (normally I don't put my opinions when it comes to cultural stuff, but I find the irony of that interesting)

-Sizzlipede have been known to be quite fond of Larvesta, and sometimes even avoid hunting them all together. Because of this, Sizzlipede crossbreeding with a Larvesta is the most common for the species (my theory is that they like the softness of them or they see them as equals for also being fire/bug types)

-Talking about Crossbreeds, Sizzlipede are Pokemon that don't like mating outside of their species much, so it can be a bit difficult to breed them

If you're curious, here are some Centiskorch facts!

[redfish-blu]

Small funkobra ficlet (:

warnings for: mentions of addiction, gun violence, and blood.

Kobra and Ghoul’s relationship was always really weird. Even from the start it was just a strange bond. They never declared themselves friends, they never declared themselves anything. Kobra was a borderline reclusive personality and Ghoul was basically a feral child with little meaningful human socialization.

They were thirteen and just wanted to have fun. They handcuffed themselves to one another’s crooked smiles and ran with the thrill of two stars in a system. Absorbed in a spiraling orbit with no foreseeable conclusion. Except that falling in love would be like throwing a pipe into the wheels of a bike, but how can you not fall in love at thirteen?

The truth was, and Party and Jet had to learn to bite their tongues, Kobra and Ghoul were never happier than when they were together. They were birds of a feather with twin flame wicks. Through sickness and health, they held one another like water in their hands.

It was a universal truth that they loved each other. They had to love each other, or the world didn’t spin quite right. Between them though, Kobra fell harder. He’d never loved someone before. He wouldn’t know that he did until it started to hurt. Until Ghoul spent a disco bit to chew on his cheeks for the last time and Kobra cried himself to sleep knowing he had to tell Ghoul not to come back in the morning. And the worst part was that Ghoul went and said nothing to defend himself.

You know it’s for the better.

Poison repeated a million times whenever they knew Kobra still wasn’t over it. He was fine at pretending he wasn’t thinking about Ghoul for a hundred-fifty weeks. Or scanning the stands at a race he was about to win to see if Ghoul was there. Not knowing if he’d be happy about it, or if he would be so fucking mad he would pull out his gun and shoot him in the face for not choosing him.

And it wasn’t that Kobra didn’t make any friends after that. He had some. He managed to smile at them sometimes when they reminded him of what smiling meant when it was with Ghoul. He felt bad when he had to pretend he was with him to have fun. Or kiss everyone at the function to reassure himself that he didn’t care anymore. That he wasn’t still so in love that he wanted to die for how unbelievably stupid he was. Wondering why he couldn’t grow out of it, if it was impossible.

The most depressing thing was all the ways Kobra thought he’d say I don’t want you back when he saw Ghoul again. You should’ve said no. You should have chosen me. He didn’t end up saying any of it.

It only took him a fraction of a second to recognize Ghoul. Three years gone and Kobra would have known even if it had been ten in the way his heartbeat clicked back into place. And his fist hit Ghoul’s nose like a heat seeking missile. There was blood on the sand and running down Ghoul’s chin when he swore up and down he was clean. Stop hitting me.

Kobra expected to be mad. But he only hit him because he was surprised, really. Ten minutes, twenty minutes to collect the Dracs and ferry them to the mailbox. He wanted to tell Ghoul off and leave him on the side of the road where he came from. Ghoul’s hands were on his shoulders on the bike ride. His hair was down to his elbows. Three years gone, and it lifted away from his neck in the wind.

Ghoul asked if sunsets were still his favorite. They were. Kobra didn’t say it.

[hannahssimblr]

Chapter Twenty-One

The days in Cyprus feel nothing like the days at home. They’re missing the structure, the pattern, the routine, and a few days in I lose grasp of where I am in the week. Is it Wednesday? Thursday? The boys study and write for far too much of their time, usually taking up the evenings hunched over their laptops, which I find horrifyingly wasteful, considering the breeze is such a perfect temperature, and the flagstone of the house is warm underfoot in April like some divine miracle of nature. 

I’m doubly horrified to walk in on them both at the kitchen table one morning, laptops and papers covering every inch of the surface. “What the hell?” I say, still half dazed from sleep. “It’s ten, are you setting up to be doing this all day?”

“You’ll understand when you’re in fourth year, Evie,” Shane mumbles. “The exams are looming large.”

“Here’s a concept, enjoy your holidays,” I say, and I shuffle over to Jude to gently squeeze his shoulders. “Bibliography?”

“Bibliography,” He grunts, and that’s all he will say until he can tear his eyes away from it. He’s a terrible multitasker, and gets so absorbed in things that he might as well be on another planet. In fact, I’m surprised he even realises there are other people in the room. 

Claire appears from the laundry room with a clean set of towels and swoops over to the kitchen counter to put them into a large canvas bag, then throws open the fridge to retrieve a jug of fresh orange juice. “Looks like a girl’s day out,” She says with sparkling eyes. “As in, no boys allowed.”

“Oh thank God,” I roll my eyes theatrically, “They’ve been such a drag this entire time, I can’t wait to get away from them,” In fact they’ve been completely lovely, and my joke is wasted on them now because neither of them is even listening. 

Claire and I have a quiet breakfast around the kitchen island while the boys work and the birds chirp happily outside the open door to the patio, and when we’ve cleaned up and gotten ready for the day she goes to kiss her boyfriend goodbye. 

“We’ll probably be all day,” She says to him with a hand that smoothes down his hair, longer and more relaxed looking than it’s ever been. “I have some pretty fun things in mind for us, so I’ll see you much later on,” She smirks at me, “Or maybe not, who knows what we’ll get up to, we might end up out all night.”

“As long as ye behave yourselves,” He mutters.

“Are you jealous?”

“Of your girls day?” He glances up at her with a smirk, “Yeah I’m mad jealous, I can’t get over it. Go on,” he smacks her lightly on the arse, “Get up outta here, give us some peace, the both of ye.”

She studs his whole head with kisses, and I smile to myself watching them. They’re behaving in such a way that would have ordinarily disgusted me, but seeing them like this lately has only made me happy, like a little girl whose parents are getting back together. I lean my hip into Jude so that he can wind his arm around my waist and kiss the side of my ribs. He looks up at me through thick dark lashes, one hand still resting on his keyboard. “Will you miss me?” He says.

“No,” I tease, “I’ve had way too much of you already.”

“Fair enough, I’m mostly good in small doses.”

“Yeah, get me away,” I roll my eyes and act like I’m so tired of him, but the moment that Claire and I are out the front door I feel the weirdest longing in my body, an absence like a phantom limb. We climb into the taxi that we called for, and as we’re reversing out of the driveway I crane my neck in the seat just to catch one last glimpse of him through the kitchen shutters, craning over his work with the morning light in his hair. 

The flea market in Paphos is crowded. As Claire and I walk towards the centre of the heaving mass of bodies we lose ourselves entirely in a cornucopia of wares. There are stalls piled high with linens, pillowcases with delicate embroidery, rugs rolled and stacked against walls, brown clay pottery, little boxes adorned with tiny beads, stalls stuffed with leather goods, hats, scarves, bandanas. Lost in a maze of colour and texture I feel like I’m inside a painting. 

Claire stops and drapes a patterned scarf over her hair, bending down to admire herself in a small mirror. “Grace Kelly,” Says the vendor, and he speaks English, knowing we are tourists just by looking at us, “This is a very beautiful scarf for you.”

“I don’t think I’m like Grace Kelly,” She says, and neatly folds it back onto the table. “I’m just blonde, that’s all.”

“No, you have the same eyes,” he insists, coming around the table to admire her, “Just like Grace Kelly, this scarf is the perfect colour for you.”

“No,” She says again, sounding bored, “I’m a bright summer, this scarf has autumn tones, I don’t want it” and she links her arm with mine and guides me away from him before he can start trying to convince me instead.

“That would have worked on me,” I confess as we move on to the next stall, “I feel like someone could charm their way into my purse by telling me things like that.”

“Don’t say that too loudly,” she snickers as we pass another vendor who starts calling to us, saying we’re English roses. “Irish,” Claire hawks back in her best Tullamore accent, then to me, “I hate that, do you not? When they always think you’re British.”

“They always do, what do you think it is about us?”

“Your sunburn, probably,” she teases, and I stop at a mirror at a clothing stand to examine the rosy blush across the shoulders and chest. “One time when Jude was in Thailand this guy tried to fight him on the street when he thought he was English,” I tell her,  “When He said he was Irish, actually, the guy bought him a beer, what do you think that’s about?”

“Well he’s not really,” She says with a roll of her eyes, “Sounds like he’s just playing the Irish card when it means he won’t get dragged into a fight.”

I laugh, “I don’t know, a lot of the time he seems deeply Irish to me, sometimes I forget he isn’t. Like, all the way, at least, because his accent is so changeable, and the way he phrases things sometimes just really doesn’t feel that American,” The owner of the stall starts approaching with an armful of white linen. “I don’t know what he is. Something in between, it’s really so interesting.”

“You’re so obsessed,” Claire says with a laugh, “I challenge you to go an hour without bringing him up.”

“Everything reminds me of him though,” I huff, and the vendor, without saying a word, holds a dress out in front of my body so I can see how it might look on me, “I swear, I see a seagull eating scraps off the ground and remember a story he told me related to that too, he just bounces around in my head endlessly. Oh this dress is nice, what do you think?”

“Yeah, for sure,” Claire agrees. 

“Genuine linen for a good price,” the vendor starts saying, as though she believes somehow that I might be a tough-sell. What she doesn’t know is that I, for the first time in my adult life, have a bank account with money in it that I’m more than eager to spend. Then she says more things about the weave, and the hand sewn detail, about how I would look good in anything, but I’m really just focussing on the way that the colour, this slightly off white, creamy fabric makes my skin look like soft porcelain rather than it’s usual almost sickly, translucent white, and now these delicate embroidered details across the bodice pick up the green in my eyes. 

“What does it cost?”

“Usually fifty euros, but thirty five for you.”

“Twenty,” Claire pipes up. 

“Okay, thirty,” they both look at me. “Alright,” I say, “Thirty seems fair.”

“You just bought a dress that you didn’t even try on,” Claire points out as we walk away, and I peer down into the striped plastic bag. 

“You’re right,” I say, “But isn’t it beautiful?”

“It is, it’s just not like you, you know, to like, just buy something without thinking about it.”

“I think I like having money in my account that I can do that with, it just feels like, why not?”

“And if it doesn’t fit you?” 

“Well I think there’s freedom in impulsive purchases.”

I like the market. I move from stall to stall and look at everything, the pottery, the rugs, the postcards, the stalls full of vintage items, old records and lamps and pieces of ceramic. I let my hand brush over things, like I’m really thinking about buying it, and sometimes I even entertain the idea, but I don’t, until we arrive at the one with the sweets, heaps and heaps of them, prismatic, primary shades, glittering with sugar, and I buy a bag of peach rings, because I was never allowed to have them as a child. For some reason these were considered expensive, luxury sweets by my mam, and she’d usually direct me towards the ones that the local shop had tied up in little plastic bags with 50p stickers on the side and filled with an assortment of whatever was leftover at the bottom of the tubs once most of them had run out. I eat several of the peach rings but get sick of them because they’re too sweet, and it’s okay, because Jude will eat them for me later. It feels nice to be frivolous. 

There is a woman moving through the crowd in a long skirt and a colourful shawl who is stopping to talk to people as she goes, trying to sell them something, I don’t know. I look at her for ages because her clothes are mesmerising, all rich jewel tones that move around her body like liquid, and layers of glass beads hang around her neck, reflecting cones of coloured light onto her bronzed skin. I want to try and paint that light to see if I could ever capture it. 

Claire pokes a sharp elbow into my ribs. “Stop looking,” she hisses, “She’ll only come over.”

“Who is she?”

“I dunno, some fortune teller or something, it’s a scam.”

“Oh,” I don’t look away fast enough, and she meets my eyes through an opening in the crowd. 

“Oh feck, she’s coming over now,” Claire turns away and pretends to be busy looking at some lace, “C’mere, just turn this way.”

It’s too late. The woman is at my elbow. “Kalimera,” She says in a smoky voice, and I realise with a tiny thrill that she hasn’t realised I don’t speak greek, she doesn’t think I’m a British tourist. I look right at her as she goes on, saying something else that I can’t understand, and when she reaches for my hand and flips my palm skyward I don’t stop her, I don’t really know why.

“I’m sorry,” I say to her, “Um, in English?”

“Ah,” she says, her accent thick, words fractured, “The lines, they talk much. Destiny, life, heart.”

“You want to tell me about my future?”

“For God’s sake, Evie,” Claire grumbles somewhere behind us, “Let’s go, come on.”

But I don’t want to be rude. “You know, I’ve actually had my palm read before, I don’t really think that I need it today.” She doesn’t have to know that I’m talking about Jen, who just looked at my hand and made stuff up, but anyway, she doesn’t seem to understand me. 

“Eh?”

“No thank you,” I say more clearly, “I don’t want it.”

She doesn’t care. “I see destiny line, great success, you work hard, eh?”

“No,” I say awkwardly, and wriggle free of her grip. “We have to go now.”

“Tarot,” She says abruptly. “You know?”

I blink, “Like, as in, tarot cards? Like, death, the lovers, all that?”

“Yes, yes,”

“What about it?” 

Claire groans dramatically and tugs on the strap of my shoulder bag and I ignore her, my interest suddenly piqued. 

“I can show you,” The woman says, “There is another reader, not me, over there,” She gestures vaguely down the street behind her. 

“How much?”

She waves her hand around indecisively, “Maybe ten euros,”

I shrug, “Okay,” and glance over my shoulder at Claire who looks incensed. “Evie! What the hell?”

“I’m curious, “ I shrug, “I think it might be fun.”

“Yes, a fun way to waste your money.”

I sniff, “Well, it is my money, and I can do what I like with it.”

“You’re throwing it away on things like this, it’s all just fake, they just make it all up.”

“Well, maybe it’ll be insightful, I don’t know.”

She throws her hands up in surrender, “Okay, fine.”

I turn back to the fortune teller, “Where do I go?”

“Here,” She says, and begins to weave through the crowd. I follow, and Claire is at my heels, muttering into my ear, “Wherever it is, I’m standing right nearby, and if they try to scam you out of more money I’ll actually go mad on them, I just can’t believe you’re actually going to throw your money away on this, it’s just…”

We end up at a wooden door tucked in between a cafe and a bookshop. There are plants from the balcony overhead hanging low above it, and pots of ferns and climbing mandevilla creeping up the wall intriguing me, beckoning me inside like it’s a secret entrance that has emerged from the wall at this particular hour on this particular day when the sun is at its perfect height to thrust a chink of light through the gap in two buildings upon it, but there’s a sign on the door saying TAROT READINGS €10 which kind of ruins the mysterious allure. 

“Here?” I say to the palm reader, but she’s already gone. Claire sees my stunned face and points towards a produce stall. “She’s there,” She says, “She’s off propositioning someone else, in case you were thinking she’s after vanishing into a puff of smoke or something.”

“No,” I lie. 

“If you want to go in I’ll be right out here.”

“Alright,” I say, and push through the door. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

[traxanaxanos]

Seven/Sam Wildman for the ship bingo!

Yayyy thank you!

I think about them so much, and yet it took me like three days to express anything coherently.

Really, I flip-flop on what sort of relationship between Seven and Sam is most fulfilling for me. It mainly depends on what part of Seven's actual arc in Voyager I'm most mad about that day - that the crew and the show pushes her towards romantic relationships as the end-all be-all of human relationships and necessary to being a human at all, when she's still figuring out the very basics of any sort of relationship, or that. OR. That the crew and the show pushes her towards specifically heterosexual romantic relationships as the end-all be-all of human relationships and necessary to being a human at all.

If it's the first then that justifies the "in a relationship. Not sure what the relationship is but they're in one" square, where Seven just gets absorbed into the Wildman family structure as a nebulous family member. Is she Naomi's aunt? Naomi's adopted sibling? Samantha's adopted sibling? Something unnamed and unnameable but still familial? It doesn't matter, she's just there. Samantha rolls up to Ktaris after 7 years presumed dead, and introduces her husband to their daughter and their deactivated borg drone. Don't worry about it. (Greskrendtregk is stoked on both fronts). I like this as a thematic bookend to Seven's narrative, given she pushed so hard against Icheb needing to be with his biological family who sucked and her own issues with Annika's biological family (who sucked), and the entire nature of Voyager's crew and Voyager as a show. Seven gets to find and make her own family that values her and her priorities, whether or not they are correctly "human" (read: white American nuclear family).

However, I do think I tend more towards shipping Seven and Samantha romantically, on the whole. This does still follow the trend in the above paragraph of Seven making her own way and Samantha valuing her specific choices rather than telling her they're wrong and she should really be doing x instead, only there's more kissing involved.

I like the idea that the Borg, for all their assimilation of whole cultures, are of course only interested in tech and the specific biological uniqueness of the assimilated species - information like poetic styles, linguistic uniqueness, etc, all either gets coded as junk data and retained but not prioritized, or is fully ignored/deleted. The same thing would stand for the flora and fauna of an assimilated specie's homeworld - the Borg don't care that the Brunali's homeplanet had 46 million grasshopper species or that Species 8177 had a domesticated companion animal that was some sort of native burrowing marsupial. So Seven, when she gets yanked from the hive mind, maybe retains this "junk" data, or maybe never had it, and for all she's a genius with tech and in astrometrics, life sciences don't even figure for Seven and her worldview, except as it pertains to tactical advantages.

Samantha, however, would care so much about the grasshopper species, and domesticated marsupials, and every stupid worm or ant on every Delta quadrant the Voyager has a stupid away mission to. And I like that the pairing consists of them as thematic opposites. Seven is intense and tech oriented, Samantha (from what we see of her) seems very mild-mannered and easy-going, and she's probably miserable when she has to cover a non-life sciences shift due to Voyager being understaffed. And Seven probably thinks this is odd, and an inefficient use of limited crew research for Captain Janeway to keep letting Ensign Wildman spend time documenting some weird birds they saw. But she maybe stops complaining about it, because Samantha lets her hang out with Naomi and doesn't even seem worried about her as a Borg being near her daughter, and keeps inviting her over to the Wildman quarters for dinner, and she does talk about the weird birds she's writing a report on for way too long, but Seven tracks their conversations and realizes Samantha also let her talk about a nebula they passed for about the same amount of time, and she's been tracking all her crew conversations to improve at interpersonal interactions, and the majority of the crew (96%) would have changed the subject or left at minute 13 on average, but Samantha kept prompting her about the nebula, and oh, she's looking forward to seeing her again and talking about their different interests, she even hopes Samantha will talk about the differences in feather pigmentation across bird species some more, might as well shut down that life-simulation holoprogram she's got that's not as interesting as having dinner with Samantha.

A thing I love about Seven is she hits a certain point in her development, after the Voyager keep insisting to her that non-violence should be the first step, that strangers should be met with friendliness not hostility, and the general ethical underpinnings of Starfleet, where its almost like a switch flips and Seven becomes this fairly consistent staunch defender of life (even when she's being an ass or patronizing or condescending about it). It happens with her reviving the Vaadwaur, in her hesitancy in Tsunkatse, and with Iko (albeit with some prompting). These are all obviously in relation to other people. But I like the idea of like some of this coming from her interactions with Sam who sees the value in all living things, and sees things from this big networked, ecosystem viewpoint, and extends compassion and understanding to the life of the smallest creatures, and that off-screen Seven's compassion also starts to develop more broadly due in part to her interactions with Samantha.

I think I've maybe talked around why I ship them this whole time, but to boil it down, I like that they're opposites in demeanor and interests, I like that romantic or not, it allows Seven to explore ways of being outside the priorities foisted on her by the show and its various Seven romance lines, and I like that it would mean their meet-cute is Seven barreling into Samantha having a conversation with the Doctor about Naomi's growth spurts with horrifying Borg maturation chamber facts.

[tohruhonda]

if i finish this paper tonight i will get to play infinite craft and watch the frankenstein ballet or watch mad god (2021) or practice my embroidery or read in bed sooner (chanting this)- ok i literally have such a pure and beautiful soul dude.... it looks like sparkling clear water and when you zoom in there are over a billion happy microorganisms living in it (guy who listened to the lifespan of a fly by the bird and the bee for the 500th time But Really Felt It This Time)

i was just reading over this post and i was like oh i'm so darling. look at all the interests i have! and so much love for them! oh i'm a delightful treasure and i cherish me! it's really really crazy how into myself i've gotten in the past like 2 or 3 years. it's still hard but yeah. i'm glad i get to have all these little epiphanies lately about how cool and wonderful i am. and it really starts from treasuring the goodness in the things and people around you. i swear i'm not high i'm just like ohhh my god. i treasure these traits in others how come i can't just get over myself and treasure these things in me too. oh wait i can. well okay :) but only after the 4987659467935th time of saying this to myself. that post i rbed the other day really got my ass bc man it's true... it's so cheesy but you really don't absorb stuff until you're ready for it and it won't click until then. UGH GOD I KNOW. whatever i'm storyboarding another music video just like. for fun and i am being good to myself and writing my paper and completing it 2 days before it's due. which is a win for me

[ccscreepycreations]

Name: Penny Gearloose

Age: 15 in robot years

Monster Parent: The Gearlooses, a renowned family of robotic engineers

Killer Style: Penny rocks a tech-themed outfit adorned with gears and circuits that light up when she’s excited or inspired. Her headphones, decorated with hearts and gears, play the symphony of code and creativity in her ears.

Freaky Flaw: Sometimes, Penny gets too absorbed in her inventions. She can spend days perfecting a gadget and forget about the world around her.

Pet: "Bolt", a mechanical bird with wings engineered to perfection. Bolt is not just a pet but also Penny’s flying assistant, always ready to lend a beak when needed.

Favorite Activity: Inventing gadgets that make unlife at Monster High spooktacularly fun for everyone!

Biggest Pet Peeve: When her inventions don’t work as planned – but every failure is a step closer to success!

Fav School Subject: Mad Science. It’s where all her eerie-sistible ideas come to unlife!

Least Fav Subject: Physical Deaducation – she’d rather flex her brain muscles!

[thegatesofinfinitespace]

Starter for @eclipsedfates​ !

Something’s missing. 

It started as a twinge, pulling like a thread unraveling, plucking like hairs being yanked from the scalp. A line drawn, tearing away. What is it? Hours pass, and it only grows like a sinkhole, drowning all thought away, an absence he hadn’t felt in a long time. It’s like hunger.

Prowling through the wastes tells so little, and yet... Eventually the immortal finds something. 

Scarred land, an explosion of magical force. It’s a crater, an absence of so much. A whole Province, just simply gone. The people, the Tower, everything thrown outward to the Wastes in chunks of rubble. If there was any flesh and bone for the beasts to consume, it had already been done. It reeks of ancient magic, and that is what has his attention more.

Days are spent circling the perimeter, thousands of miles wide-- that’s no surprise; it carried an entire country, once. When he finds nothing of interest outside, Kane steps inward, towards the center. His thorns spread out around him like claws raking the dirt, seeking anything of interest. They gouge deep trenches in the earth around him as he closed in on where the Tower used to be, red eyes blazing through his helmet. The ache feels vast here, unending.

Something blue glints as he nears, its blade cracked but not shattered. The God of the Wasteland knows its shape well, remembers its bite in his abdomen ten times over. There were none like it, unique in its bloodshed, unique like its owner.

Fingers curl around the hilt, pulling the Fang of the GodHunter out of the rubble it had become embedded in. Closer inspection finds a relic, pierced through, its magic gone. Kane plucks the broken orb from the earth, turns it over before his thorns encircle it and absorb it for a later time. Instead he focuses on the sword in his right hand, eyes narrowing. 

...Despite no sign of him, the deity does not sense the human as dead. He turns on his heel, tracking backwards towards the direction of his own Province, his feet swift. I will find out what happened. 

And find out he does. Months of digging into the very essence of the orb he recovered, of tearing it apart until there was nothing left of it to dissect. Normally he would have tried to save it, keep it like any other relic he collected, but something else eats at him from the inside. The GodHunter is missing. Such a thing shouldn’t have mattered, a singular mortal’s presence in the world disappearing, but the... emptiness. It screams at him, gouges in his veins. It’s a new feeling. 

It’s relentless. An obsession to search bordering madness.

But finally, in a shard embedded in the GodHunter’s sword, held in the fractured hard-light of the blade, was the smallest taste of Old Magic, preserved. His fist clenches around it, feels the energy thrum in his palm. It feels like... shifting sands, relocation of objects, fluttering like the heart of a bird. Rho was alive, but not here.

The God focuses on it, feels the sliver shudder in his grasp. His mind is howling, the hole tearing at his vision. I’ll find you. Thorns tear around his ankles like a river, slow at first, then a whirlpool of pitch needles. Kane can feel his armor cracking, like a force was pushing back. I will find you. White hair whips behind him, razor sharp energy carving gashes into his fingers, the wounds closing as quickly as they’re made.

His aura burns, blends with the blinding light in his hand, endless void. 

Nothingness.

And then he feels the pull. 

His thorns are the same colors as snow for only a moment, clawing towards the air. As they puncture the sky, piercing through it like breaching water, they return to their rightful ichor. The Wasteland Deity follows suit like a shooting star, his red cloak the tail of his comet. 

With a fury he collides with the ground, twin fangs slowing his descent. He tears through the earth, scars of his path. It is with a snarl that the immortal finally reaches a stop, observing the damage he’d left behind, thorns receding into his shadow.

He looks up, scarlet eyes tracing the clouds, the blue atmosphere. It is nothing like the plains he’d come from. The gnawing in his blood had not ceased with his arrival. Where am I? Kane scowls, clutching the blue fang close to his side, before raising his attention to the crunching of grass approaching.

I am not alone, it seems.

[dreamingsushi]

Till the End of the Moon - Episode 7

I think I became a little addicted to this drama because I can’t bother do anything else but watch it and work on those recaps. So here we are. It feels kind of weird to watch celebrations of the new year at this time, but it’s always nice.

Last episode, Susu and Tantai Jin completed the shopping for the new years and now they are celebrating at home. Well, Tantai Jin is kind of alone in his corner, with Susu eyeing him from time to time. Everybody gets a red envelop except for him. The king is mad that he hasn’t died yet. Tantai Jin goes out in the courtyard and asks someone to come out, I guess the birds told him. Turns out it’s Lan An (the other nanny that escaped the palace) and she came to take him back to his mom’s tribe. He decides to leave with them the next morning ib the ship they prepared for him, but before that, he needs to absorb the power from the demon girl he saw earlier that day. His plan is to claim back the throne in Jing so he won’t face being killed, since that many people want him dead. I guess he has some regrets that he’ll have to leave Ye Wuxi behind though. She promises him that they will be happy every year together and they have a snow fight. It shows that they never saw what a really snow fight is. I guess it’s different in countries that aren’t as covered in snow as here in Canada.

Ye Qingyi hasn’t come back home last night after visiting Pian Ran, the monster/demon lady from the gambling house. Susu figures out that she’s a monster and decides to get Pang Yizhi (the cultivator guy) to help save her brother. He doesn’t really want to help, because he predicted it’s a bad day to chase after monsters. He ends up giving her and Tantai Jin some talismans because he’s scared of the aftermath if something were to happen to the precious second daughter of the Ye family. When they arrive, they see the woman sucking up Ye Qingyi’s vitality out of his mouth. Susu is afraid that Tantai Jin would learn from her. Master Pang isn’t so concerned about it. I don’t know if he’s good or not. At his job I mean. Anyways, Susu decides to rush in, ends up hurting her brother and angering the monster. Monster that is a seven tailed fox. I knew she was going to be fox. They’re always foxes. Tantai Jin uses a talisman to save Ye Wuxi and the fox lady runs away.

They end up following her to a brothel (I think, not sure, but it wouldn’t be surprising). Master Pang stays outside, wielding a shield so the fox won’t escape, while Susu chases her inside. She’s rather unlucky in finding her and Tantai Jin finds her first. Pian Ran tries to kill Tantai Jin, seeing he is immune to her seductive charms, but she gets pushed away by the remnants of his powers. The voice tells him to absorb her. Right when he’s about to grab her monster core, Susu comes in and calls his name. She uses a talisman to protect the monster, which angers Tantai Jin. He uses his powers against her. Then Pian Ran uses a spell on Ye Xiwu to make her try to seduce Tantai Jin, so he can’t follow her as she flees. He knocks her unconscious and decides to keep her alive for now.

So Lan An didn’t come back to actually really save Tantai Jin. It seems that his brother, Tantai Linlang isn’t in favour of the Yueyi people and they are in danger if he ascends the throne. So it’s quite a good thing that Tantai Jin wants himself to take the power in Jing. Her underling feels uneasy about it, but she’s the boss lady, so he doesn’t argue for long. Since Tantai Jin still hasn’t come, she tells him to go have a look around as to why he’s not there yet. Finally he comes, with Ye Xiwu. Yueyi people want to kill her, since she was not nice to him, but he says that since she’s the daughter of the Sheng general, they might use her and when they don’t need her anymore, they can kill her.

Back home, Grandmom is very distress at the thought that her previous granddaughter has been taken away by a demon. I thought they might use that route, it would have interesting, however, Master Pang confirms that it is Tantai Jin that took her away. The 6th prince orders to search all of Sheng to find them and to block all rivers so they can’t leave.

Tantai Jin reveals that he’s the one that orchestrated to swap the cakes so he would get to marry Ye Wuxi. He also reveals that he’s the one responsible for making Yingxin go crazy. But they won’t let us know how right away, obviously.

That was quite the eventful episode. And there I thought, just like Susu, that maybe there was a possibility for Tantai Jin to escape his fight and become nice. I guess we were both wrong. I mean, I should have known, it would have been too easy, plus his thirst for power seems to be the only thing driving him alive, so it makes sense. I’m still all in, except maybe not for the ennemies to lovers trope now. I don’t really see how that would happen, plus it would be wrong. I’m kind of not shipping so much toxic relationships, having escaped from one years ago, I think it would be better for everyone not to show any on TV. But we’ll see, I might be surprised.

[spirestar]

from @heartinhands: ❛ i couldn’t utter my love when it counted, but i’m singing like a bird about it now.❜ -- vergil / cam

"D'you think--" Cam's voice slides like she might be leaning forward, the old her propping her chin under palms, cheek resting on top. Only now the blade just glows darkly with each word that leaves her forever-still mouth, the bluish-purple of before held under shadow. Like the monster nearby has thrown a blanket over her light. "Y'think they're doing this, uh...Killing 'n absorbing thing, um. A lot? Like, for important people?" She breathes a small laugh that hardly makes even Yamato's handle brighten at all. "Must be why they're so...Mad. Right? Wanted your stupid...Blinky thing and all the. Blue and blood and I'm just...In the way. Literally, hah."

She'd grin if she could, she really would. Looking at the sky that's nothing like it should be, though, Cam finds she can't focus on being bitter long enough to manage it. Still blue, yes, but silver and pale and the world flickering around it like stars, too. "You know, I, I wouldn't--Ugh, fuck," her body is a wince in the nothingness, a living gash as the shuddering creature flies past the platform Vergil is crossing. The real world is so far away and yet. And yet. There's a grimace of pain and vulnerability plucking at her nonexistent vocal chords now. "I wouldn't do that for, agh. Anyone...for anyone else, I wouldn't have. Never. Not that you care, or, or that it even matters. I just--Do you? Care? Because...'cause s'really...I do. Did? S-semantics now, huh? Jus' forget it--" Cam shuts whatever eyes she has and she can't escape his blue even then. It's better than seeing. "Forget it."

[cresvalkyrie]

Feel like sharing a Fakemon I’ve designed for the Chroniclerverse. Long post ahead!

General Information Species Name: Argentrine

Category: Ouroboros Pokémon

Types: Electric/Fire    (Virtuous Mode & Neutral Mode) Ghost/Fire      (Fell Mode)

Abilities: Levitate               (Limited Mode) Sword of Faith    (Virtuous Mode) Wings of Ruin     (Fell Mode)       

Egg Group: Unknown

Gender Ratio: 50% Male, 50% Female

Height: 5.9 m (from tail to snout; Neutral Mode) 10 m (from tail to snout; Virtuous & Fell Mode)

Weight: 119.3 kg (Neutral Mode) 216.3 kg (Virtuous & Fell Mode)

Pokédex Color: White (Virtuous & Neutral Mode), Purple (Fell Mode)

Basic Description: Argentrine is a dual-type Electric/Fire Legendary Pokémon. While it is not known to evolve into or from any Pokémon, it has the ability to alter its form via the usage of the move Reverse Soul in battle.

It is part of a duo with Astarealis, the Original Dragon of Unova.

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Pokédex Entry Argentrine, the Ouroboros Pokémon. It derives its power from the emotions of the people and Pokémon it protects. The form it assumes is influenced by the type of emotions it is exposed to.

Neutral Mode - Argentrine’s base form and the appearance it takes when weakened or not in battle. The mysterious aura it radiates amplifies the emotions of those around it, which it absorbs and stores within itself to accumulate the energy it needs to transform into its stronger forms.

Virtuous Mode - The celestial form Argentrine takes when it is predominantly exposed to positive emotions. It rejuvenates its allies with the holy aura it radiates, inspiring hope and courage within the hearts of even those who had succumbed to despair. It attacks by summoning divine lightning using its horn.

Fell Mode - The demonic form Argentrine takes from absorbing negative emotions. Driven mad by the negativity it had taken into itself in a desperate attempt to alleviate the distress of its charges, it mindlessly and viciously razes everything in its path with scorching hellfire. The dark aura it radiates induces terror and despair so intense that it kills its victims where they stand, their faces pallid and frozen in fear.

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Base Stats Virtuous Mode HP: 100 Attack: 100 Defence: 100 Sp. Atk: 150 Sp. Def: 100 Speed: 150 Total: 700

Fell Mode HP: 130 Attack: 160 Defence: 110 Sp. Atk: 90 Sp. Def: 100 Speed: 130 Total: 720

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Biology (Very long) Argentrine: Neutral Mode is a quadrapedal, draconic Pokémon with traits of both Oriental and Western Dragons. Its body is primarily covered with brilliant white scales and downy translucent feathers. Each of its feet have five talons in total which greatly resemble a bird of prey’s, with four pointing upwards and one downwards. The feathers on its impressively large wings are off-white, tipped in a pale silvery hue. Small, golden antler-like horns grow from the top of its head, though its roots are obscured by a thick mane of turquoise fur.

Compared to its other forms, Neutral Mode is noted to have a distinctly meeker and gentler appearance. Thus, it seemed more approached to humans, allowing it to gather the emotional energy it needs for its future transformations. 

Argentrine: Virtuous Mode is a quadrupedal Pokémon with draconic and avian traits. The front talons are plantigrade and greatly resemble human hands, enabling it to handle objects with a dexterity more commonly observed in humans. However, the talons on its back legs are digitigrade and are more akin to traditional depictions of draconic feet. 

Predominantly covered in white fur-like feathers, with cream-yellow leathery scales insulating its underbelly and lower jaw. It has a long tapering tail tipped with a thick tuft of aquamarine fur. Turquoise fur-like feathers line along its spine, reminiscent of Japanese dragons. Its eyes have brilliant azure irises and black reptilian pupils. A blade-like horn shaped like a lightning bolt sits on the middle of its forehead; not only does this horn function as a focus for its electric-attacks, it is also an empathic sensory organ which confers upon it the ability to unerringly judge the character of anyone it comes across. Platinum horns protrude from the sides of its head in majestic, intricate patterns.

Regal gilded plates resembling knightly armour cover the upper half of its long slender snout (giving the impression of donning a mask), neck, back, tail and legs, providing solid protection over its vulnerable areas. The plates are decorated with intricate royal-blue markings, which emit a blinding cyan light when Argentrine is agitated or when it is charging up an attack. Teal feathers peek out from beneath its “mask”, which is often mistaken for a luscious mane due to its resemblance to hair or fur.

Voluminous tufts of bluish-white wisps stream out of its heels, giving the appearance of a flickering ghostly flame. In reality, these “wisps” are long translucent fur-like feathers. On its back are a large pair of feathery wings, splitting into three smaller sub-wings at the joints. The feathers on its wings are generally white, which gradually transitions to a soft shade of aquamarine near the edges.

Argentrine: Fell Mode is a demonic Pokémon resembling a winged feathered serpent. It is primarily blackish-violet with a stone gray underside and a long hook-tip tail resembling a war scythe’s blade. It wears a skull of unknown draconic origins over its long slender snout like a mask, with three sets of crystalline crimson eyes inlaid on each side. A pair of ornate ivory horns arch outwards from the sides of its head, which is then bent towards Argentrine’s snout and ends in a razor-sharp tip. The horns are sharp enough to effortlessly skewer through reinforced steel.

The feathers on its six wings have taken on a dark wine hue which brightens to a vibrant shade of reddish-magenta near the tips. Furthermore, its wings now have claws resembling hands, with a red translucent plate on the back of each of its six “hands”. Whenever it flaps its wings, it conjures up gales of dark winds capable of inducing terror so intense that even the most stout-hearted will be felled instantly from fright should they make contact with it.

Despite its impressive wingspan, Argentrine’s wings are not strong enough for it to fly like most avian Pokémon. Instead, it rides the powerful thermals it naturally generates to keep itself airborne.  

[shortstories1905]

Sadness (sad short story, possible TW)

Sadness wasn't always Sadness. She was a beautiful girl, who once had the prettiest smile. Everyone has a breaking point, She reached hers. She saw her father die in front of her in cold blood. After that day, she was no longer herself. What used to be a pretty smile, was now a deep frown, sewn into her face. Since then she's isolated herself. She takes others sadness and absorbs it. She doesn't want anyone else to be sad besides her. Sadness thinks that as long as she helps others', one day everything will be okay but the more she absorbs, the more she breaks and one day she completely shattered. She cried so much, that it was her who made our seas. She just wants someone, anyone to hear her pleas. Sadness lives all alone, where it rains so much, there's nothing else but the sounds of rain hitting her windows. You can hear the wind flow through the trees. And you can smell the sweet scent of rain that Sadness loves so much. No one can explain her obsession with rain. Sadness just loves the way it makes her feel, she loves seeing how gloomy the sky is and how the coldness feels on her skin. Sadness is happy knowing that Mother Nature feels the same way as her. She just wants a break. She feels more than anyone else does. She's so sensitive, on the verge of breaking. Sadness feels like she's standing on the highest mountaintop, just waiting for the smallest rock to break, in hopes of falling. No one understands her. No one could ever understand her. She just wants to feel as free as a bird, free with no burdens. Sadness has lived her life protecting others from pain, while no one protects her. Sadness lives her life taking others pain and keeping it for herself. She doesn't ask for help even though she needs it. She needs help even if it's hard for her to admit. Sadness doesn't want to be sadness, maybe something happy but will it ever happen? Every waking moment she spends living in the darkness, hoping that when she sleeps, she never wakes up again. Every breath that she takes she hopes is her last. She can't give up no matter how bad she wants to. After all, she has Sorrow and Despair to look after, no matter how bad she wants to fall. Sorrow and Despair are the sisters of Sadness and Sadness keeps going for them. Although they haven't heard from their sister in years and don't know how bad she's hurting. She still finds a way to keep on going for them. Sorrow and Despair are who giver Sadness life. She loves them so much she'd lay down her life. At the end of the day, no matter how hard life gets, Sadness will find a way to get through all this madness.