#when-birds-absorbed-into-madness

[akikohanasaki]

Yandere Pete DiNunzio with a reader who’s into Slasher films

Yandere Pete DiNunzio x Slasher-Fan Reader

🔪 You’re His Favorite Trope

Pete was already obsessed with slasher films before he met you, but when he realizes you’re just as into them? It's like a cinematic twist he didn’t see coming.

He immediately categorizes you like you’re one of his favorite characters—but you don’t fit neatly into any box. You’re too smart to be a kill-on-entry character, too complex to be just comic relief, and way too interesting to be background.

So in his mind, you become your own trope. A new one. His.

He watches you like he watches a movie he’s seen a hundred times and still finds new details in. Every line, every movement, every time you wear a horror tee or quote a villain? He falls a little deeper.

🔪 Horror Movie Intimate Rituals

You two bond over movies hard. It's your shared language.

Watching slashers together turns into a regular thing. He always brings snacks you like, dims the lights just right, and picks the perfect films—like he’s directing the night.

And when you scream or flinch during a kill scene? He gets this look in his eyes, half proud and half... possessive. It's all your fault.

He'll press close on the couch during the tense scenes, murmuring predictions and trivia in your ear, his voice low like he’s sharing a secret. Because in a way, he is.

You’re not watching the killer. The killer is watching you.

🔪 He Thinks You “Get It”

The more you talk about killers and final girls and horror logic, the more Pete convinces himself that you understand darkness.

And if you understand it, then you can understand him.

When he starts having violent thoughts���about people who look at you too long, talk over you, or just don’t get you—he doesn’t push them away. He thinks, you’d approve. Maybe even enjoy it.

After all, you love the thrill, the chase, the scream. You’re fascinated by the killer’s psychology, right? So wouldn’t it be... romantic?

🔪 Possessiveness Disguised as Protection

Pete’s violence is calculated, shaped by every horror movie he’s ever absorbed — and that’s exactly where his possessiveness starts to show.

He starts walking you home after late-night movies, saying it’s just in case some “creep” is lurking. He jokes about “not wanting you to end up a cold open.”

What you don’t see is how he stares people down from across the street. How he follows people who get too close to you just to make sure they aren’t a “problem.”

He doesn’t consider it stalking if it’s for your safety. He considers it love.

And if someone crosses the line? Pete doesn’t get mad on the outside. He gets quiet. Cold. Strategic. The next day? You might hear that guy skipped town. Or went missing. Pete doesn’t say anything... but you notice he’s smiling just a little more than usual.

🔪 He Fantasizes About Your Own “Final Scene”

Pete has very specific, detailed fantasies about you being in a slasher movie—not just watching it.

He imagines you running through the woods, barefoot and bloody, calling his name—not because you're scared of him, but because you're running to him.

In his mind, he saves you from the killer. Or maybe he is the killer, and he lets you live because you’re special. The only one worth sparing.

He imagines you two, sitting in the wreckage, blood-soaked but alive, breathing hard with adrenaline. And you look at him and say, “I knew it was you.”

And he says, “I’d never hurt you.” And he means it. In his own twisted way.

🔪 His Acts of Love Are... Violent

He leaves you “gifts”—a copy of a horror movie you mentioned wanting to see, a vintage slasher poster, a book on true crime with pages already bookmarked.

But sometimes the gifts are... darker. One day you find a news clipping taped inside your locker about local murders with dead bird or mouse. No name. No note. But Pete looks at you that day like he’s waiting for thanks.

And if you ever tell him you feel unsafe? He leans in close and says, dead serious, “You’re safe with me. I’d kill for you.”

You laugh—maybe. But Pete doesn’t. He’s just watching you, eyes wide, almost eager. Like he wants you to test him.

🔪 Slasher Obsession As Love Language

He carves you into every movie reference. If someone asks who his favorite final girl is, he says your name without hesitation.

He wants to make his own slasher someday—and you’re the lead. Not the one who dies. The one who lives. The one who makes it out, scarred and bloody, clutching the knife.

He writes little stories about it. Draws scenes in his sketchbook. You’d be shocked how many of them look like you.

And when you fall asleep during one of your movie nights, Pete whispers into your ear like it’s a post-credits scene:

“You and me? We’re the end of the movie. The last ones standing.”

---

Waaa what a silly guy :p

[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).

[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!

[whiteheartlight]

world-building ideas from my Toa Mata Hagah AU!

separated by enormous distance and no longer even able to remember each other completely due to their time in the canisters, Gali, Kopaka, and Lewa develop an ability to connect to each other through meditation and dreaming. it's not a strong connection, and some of them embrace it more than others, but in a moment of crisis, they are able to summon Wairuha's spirit without being physically nearby, and Kopaka calls a storm of their joined powers. whether Akamai could do the same, I'm still considering: Wairuha has always seemed like the sibling with the more psionic/spiritual bent to me

female Makuta were used as morality/ethics watchdogs due to females being seen as "softer" and more concerned with moral ideas. female Makuta such as Gorast, who embrace violence and conquest, are a reaction to that expectation, while other females such as my character Zarin decided to champion this idea by becoming punishers of those Makuta who violated ethical boundaries. over the years, many of the females grew sick of the expectation to manage their less inhibited brothers and either isolated themselves or fell eagerly in with Teridax, who promised that all Makuta would reject Mata Nui's authority

you'd really want to hear all of Krika's story for this one, but Spiriah became obsessed with the Skakdi as he began to destroy them through his experimentation. he would take the shape and disguise of a Skakdi and walk around the island, where he might abduct or drive mad any Skakdi he wandered onto with his psionic powers. this unknown, wandering Skakdi became a frightening figure of legend in the Skakdi culture called Irnakk.

Skakdi also believe that they were abandoned by the Great Spirits when they were distributing powers or "presents." the Makuta are far more powerful than them and the Toa are blessed with elemental powers. The Skakdi considered themselves cursed or neglected in comparison. this is part of the reason they were so eager, initially, to be the subjects of Spiriah's experimentation. afterwards, although some of them now have substantial power, they consider themselves even more cursed than before, and they hate beings who were given powers like Toa. living on Zakaz, Kopaka is called "natai," a word that means he is blessed or privileged, but is a negative, sarcastic word

Kopaka is able to pick up on some of the methods of Rahi creation from Krika. he wouldn't be able to create anything stable or worthwhile on his own, but he can function as a lab assistant and eventually offers valuable insight to Krika

Makuta care a lot about the order in which they emerged from their pool of creation. for instance, Miserix was the first one created, something that gave him authority among the others. the next day, a second Makuta came out of the pool. I headcanon that Teridax was the fiftieth Makuta, putting him in a prime position to gain some respect from those who consider themselves the oldest siblings, but also able to tell the younger siblings he relates to the ways the older ones oppress or taunt the youngest.

Makuta also change in my au based on their eating habits (this is before they "evolve" to have gaseous forms). some of them are a lot bigger or smaller than others, but even what kinds of Rahi they absorb their energy from affects their forms. for instance, as Krika becomes more spindly and thin, his siblings joke with him that he must be eating too many insects. a Makuta who specializes in fish might have scale-like patterns and colors on his armor, while one who absorbs energy from a lot of birds may develop birds or feather-like protrusions

I want the world around the Toa Mata Hagah to be fleshed out. they are spread out all over the GSR since different Makuta have taken them, so it's a good chance to explore different societies and the culture of Makuta.

I haven't been able to write much in the last few months with my grad program, but I hope to write more, maybe over Christmas break or in the new year? snippet for u

[ladysif8]

✨Glitter Warfare✨

•Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers •Rating: Mature •Tags: Recovering Bucky Barnes, Semi-Retired Bucky Barnes, Semi-Retired Steve Rogers, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, Not 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

Sif's Masterlist

Series Masterlist

[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!

[charlie-grusin]

Alien (1979) Revisited : Movietalk # 16

[ALIEN : MOVIERANK + Alien Journal INDEX]

The Nostromo is a predatory star-beast. Nearly every end and orifice of its industrial fortress body is lined with teeth – the razor-ized apertures closing off the air shafts, the pilot cubic consoles a set of ragged jaws with a protruding under-bite – and nearly every wall panel – the blue-and-yellow valves a splotch of some colorful mold fungus, an electric village rib-cage of entrails and veins – a festering pore of a persevered existence. Its lifespan is prehistoric, even legendary, its triumphs over human endurance marked not by names or faces but (we suppose) by the things left behind: a rover buggy tucked away in a makeshift garage… innumerable crate stacks towering towards a ceiling… and the home-threaded beads, the pit-stop dreamcatchers, the ageless centerfold idols and the thirsty bird in the top hat. All these things, these small granters of release on the ever-grueling voyage for the next paycheck back, are insignificant to the hungry thirsty beast. And if big rigs tire you, what will monsters do?

Once where I felt Dan O’Bannon and Ronald Shushett’s initial drafts I now feel Walter Hill and David Giler’s eloquent touch, a sensuality amongst the technicality, and likewise with Ridley Scott’s meticulous graphic eye, an approach I’ve grown to embrace with its attention to distance, how the face (human and nonhuman) is its own peculiar specimen of muscular acoustics even as it acts as a shield – two idle pilot visors absorbing the latest laser specs from MOTHER, showing that in the future even machines can make small-talk – how even with the sparsely used widescreen canvas of the med-bay and dining lounge (the landscape of primordial silica) no one is ever a step away from danger, never safe from the grasps of the monster or the luring nearing voyeur of the camera itself. Though we often associate The Texas Chain Saw Massacre with Texas and Ed Gein and pseudo-true crime documentation there also lies beneath it (even beneath all that dark comedy) a greater cosmic aspect. Pam, one of the unsuspecting victims of that grueling summer, is invested in what all the urban-adjusted college kids were up to (an astrologic encyclopediac trying to keep in tune to the universe); the deranged hitchhiker with the cattle barn snuff-pics and fireworks (the sudden butcher’s razor) smears something shy of a rune along the side of the van in blood, a rune only “invalid brother” Franklin seems to notice; and the sun, that far distant orbital giant, the angry god that eats and wrecks the Earth unseen yet remains omnipresent even in its sibling nocturnal accomplice the moon, the evil that is active and apparent yet ignored (especially if you’re not around here little lady, young man) as it disintegrates lakes and rivers into craters and dirt ditches, as it irradiates the innards of the latest roadkill into the mad god’s stew for the maggots and the flies, its finest of disciples (a feast upon an alien realm laid before them after a long day’s work, hammered away to the bone). So it’s less that Ridley Scott took mere inspiration from TCM but rather expounded upon it in much the same way he would later expound upon himself in Prometheus then later onto Alien: Covenant (inadvertently bringing us to as full a circle as any with its ominous castles and bio-hazard décor): because why would highly-advanced and socially-sound futures such as 2001: A Space Odyssey seem so perfect, so exquisitely utopian and utilitarian on the surface if not for those nine-to-niners, the blue collar Everyworker who is pushed – no, shoved into station and order so that the dream of advancement can proceed in easing slumber? When our Kind settles (or forces itself with stupid thermonuclear arrogance) onto Mars, who will be there to whisper and scream and suffer through grinding teeth to the engines that will send us there, to the hulls that may or may not hold against that incredible pressure anvil of space in one piece? It won’t be the astronauts, and certainly not the pay-to-ride varieties. It will be the likes of Parker and Brett, clinking and clanging down the dumps with the mumps over alumi-cans of state-approved Jägermeister; of Captain Dallas, confidently obedient to any and all high command at his crew’s own peril; and of Ripley, forced to become protector of ship and crew alike when all lines of authority turn malicious – who must become the expendable astro-monkeys of the galaxy, who must traverse across the endless highways of the desert stars to endure all new and strange matters of guttural poisoning and bodily injury never before inflicted upon the human body for such a less-than-measurable profit. They will be the first to know death out there, in those junkyard gardens of dead civilization; they will learn not to pick up hitchhikers… the hard way.

Most often times on the first watch a movie either clicks or it doesn’t, it’s hot or it’s not. A fine enough rule-of-thumb for beginners, but like most other rules-of-thumb it’s not the sort of thing that should be prolonged in use – in this case it only invites the viewer to approach any film with some kind of casual demeanor, a veil for the most barest expectation (the ever-banal “vibe check”) and while that might play fair in some cases (ex. any glossified action-com fluff that has graduated from the David Leitch school of soft blows these past few years) it becomes a disservice for both the film and viewer when assumed applicable for… well, for just about nearly every damn thing else. (and perhaps this is symptomatic of our all-digital consumption age, that any and every major work – whether that be Shoah or Moby Dick, the Godzilla Shōwa era or the Illuminatus! trilogy – can be made available just beneath our fingertips yet feel so detached, an airless file copy so further divorced from the source than even a vinyl record from the orchestra that it can be easily optimized for any manipulative algorithmic pyramid scheme that can sell you on genocidal authoritarian governments and Chick-fil-A’s incredible customer service) The classics, as you might’ve guessed, are no exception. I should know. Take a look back at my first review prior (it’s okay to bookmark yourself here, I won’t mind). A three-star rating over on Letterboxd doesn’t seem so bad, and yet when I read it back I still sense from it a bit of tar, that light touch of venom in my voice; although I tried to reasonably break down my mixed thoughts and shine upon the film’s greater moments, it reads as if the writer was disappointed about it in the way a cartoon villain puffs infernal steam from the cranial cavities after falling for the rake-plank trick. The writer was – I don’t remember how long it took between the viewing and publication to write that swift exact 1000-worder, but a lot of it certainly took from my experience in that lone dark room with a yard chair for comfort, how my eyes began to drowse near the closing thirty-minute mark and began to become frustrated at that in turn (this movie’s supposed to be scary right, why am I this goddamn exhausted!?). It was a weird night, and a weirder looming specter of a cloud as I continued on through the rest of the series from the library stacks (any fellow reader and buckaroo who has followed my writing on the Alien series thus far would’ve made notice of those little salutes at the end of nearly each review – the reason’s as simple as that and more). It became the median, the middle ground from which every other film was bounced off and accorded to and before long, somewhere between Alien 3 and Prometheus, it felt inevitable to revisit it as this marathon’s final lap – I certainly wasn’t gonna leave myself cold on Romulus.

This also happened to my buddy King Kong (1933). It was years ago when I first watched it and for a few years on I held the impression of it being some inferior work, at least in comparison to its successive cousin Godzilla and the rest of its suitmation ilk. It likely didn’t help that I picked it on the spur of the moment during a lazy Summer afternoon of the hot zone year of 2020 (and neither did much of the film’s potential veils of racial panic, especially given the circumstances) but it was my baked-in relationship with the Big G that tampered my viewing of that giant monster progenitor most of all. I felt then all at once how alot of those baby boomer Harryhausen buffs felt about tokusatsu films, how those kids with their fucking telephones (wait, who are we again?) felt about this crusty nearing-100-years piece of speculative cinema: how cheap! how outdated! look at this choppy rustic claymation shit, ain’t nothing like the fluid lay-foam-tex rubber monster method! For all I knew I felt King Kong was merely the pothole on the road towards much greater things (which, granted, might still hold theoretically true all themes considered) rather than it being, y’know – the godhood pioneer of SFX… the daikaiju godfather… the Big One to Out Wonder Them All. It was only early last year in fact, spurred on by the frenzy buzz of Godzilla Minus One (and the flailing sparks of a potential novel) that I made it opt for a proper rewatch; I made sure to watch 1925’s Lost World prior to it as well, but I believe what also made it click the way it did – and it clicked, dear Reader – was a grown appreciation and love for the pulps and horrific fantasias, an admiration for quick-n-chipper dialogue and ferocious man-to-monster maulings amongst many other things (here’s one of which I discovered about myself: I’m no prude and I’m not proud) that really found me embracing that great armatur’d oaf of an ape (that sweet sweet monkey) and going through the back matter of behind-the-scenes documents (RKO Production 601 and The Making of King Kong, namely) only made it more clear-as-crystal why Kong stands in high and equal measure to Godzilla – true Titans of the Terror Trade, each a fair representative of their country and in unison two grand and mighty summoners of all the realms of cinematic sci-fi & fantasy we witnessed since.

I first saw Alien on that cropped TV broadcast all those eons ago it seems… just that little narrow of time between Aliens vs. Predator: Requiem and Prometheus, that modicum moment before the Internet – once it saw (but not really seeing, you must understand) what Ridley Scott tried to unfurl from the world of his beloved classic – began to convince young dumb and vulnerable netizens like me that this knighted welder of the wicked flame had become a senile hack by way of George Lucas, whatever that means. It was this (and a somewhat recent less-than-stellar experience with Blade Runner) that had seen and wrote that first review of Alien… and it is the Charlie who read Alien: The Illustrated Story, who saw North Bergen High School’s phenomenal Alien: The Play and now has every other Alien flick under their belt who writes this, who attempts not just to give the film its due but to decipher the particular Why of those prior movie experiences, the reasons behind the faults, to discover who or what perhaps should be exorcised from this state of thought. I don’t know who or what exactly though I have my suspicions (many of them long-held and others as fresh as fugu) but I don’t think that’s also the crux of the matter either, it’s much too widespread than that. Somewhere somehow someone didn’t let the sleeping giants sleep and now the dumb roam free, making themselves sadomasochistic spit-temples and spinal-rungs for all the crooks and heretics to run the roadhouse, teaching their children and neighbors to do the same so they too can fall prey to predators. All these ironies, all this insincerity, all this idiotic malice does nothing but ail it – our shoes are getting too tight and we’re forgetting how to dance. No more. I’ll hang onto to my love by prying off these blue suede shoes and burn them to the coast, let Poseidon sort out the ashes – anything to know the poetry again. And I feel the poetry now, as much as I did with Sam Peckinpah’s prose mosaic Wild Bunch though Ridley Scott is very much the laureate. The dialogue of Alien is mere interlude to its major action stanzas – the landing and the traversal of the dead planet, the meal-spoiling birth, the heart-rhythmic pursuits (the acid drops, the air ducts) alternating with the throat-seizing standstills of imminent seizing death (something about lights, how it reveals and stuns the unsuspecting victims cold, how they are dragged or flooded against it, how the Alien is in contrast as pitch leather black as the shadows it envelops itself– and its own death a karmic opposite to Brett’s forced ascension, struck by a blast of bright, blazing and dripping white light towards the thankless depths of space). Keeping in the Lambert-Ripley slap would’ve sweetened the deal a bit more but only so slight – like the work of an elaborate crafts-maker there is little loss and no need to expand upon itself (the deleted human egg-lings are an explanation but a critical deterrence from the meter) and everything from the visuals to the Goldsmith & Hanson symphony is a relentlessly rich fusion of sparse suspense and verbose slasher carnage sprung across the endless canvas of the cosmic anomaly of fantasy and reality, an image-poem that is at once about the methodical grind-machinations of prolonged capitalism personified into a predatory cybernetic perversion of mechanical intent, and a fairy tale about a daughter who rebels against her mother and abusive lover by blowing their house of horrors into oblivion. If the sun goes down on me I best make my own (they can bill me). Yesterday’s gone, yesterday’s gone. Sleep well young heroine, the world can still be yours.

[CAUGHT UP]

[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

[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!

[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.

[elodieunderglass]

A visitor to The Mathom-House at Michel Delving being like. sorry. Hello. Are those the lost silmarils. That mithril corselet is worth more than your national GDP. I thought the remaining four dwarf rings were eaten by dragons? Is this not historically curséd dragon treasure that has over long ages absorbed all the malice and greed of the wyrm?

And the hobbit who opens the museum for visitors is like, um, sorry, we don’t actually catalogue most of this stuff apart from noting who left it here, it’s mostly just here to avoid the political difficulties inherent in regifting birthday presents on too short a cycle? Like people get mad if they instantly get back the same present they gave, or if one appears too many years in a row.

The visitor, nodding goes: Is that a fucking palantir

- oh the garden sphere. nobody likes getting that one. It looks like a nice garden sphere but it screams when birds land on it. Do you want it

Can I please ask for your top five theories on why the Ringwraiths become so much more powerful over the course of the LotR trilogy? By the end of the books a single Ringwraith holds an army of 6000 men in paralysing dread from a height of a mile, they're dismaying hosts of men, etc. And in the beginning, they're easily defeated by "jumping behind a tree," "pretending to be in a different room," "getting on a little boat," "man with a stick on fire," etc.

hmm ok

1) their power depends on how physically close they are to sauron/mordor

2) they consciously weren’t unleashing their full power early in Fellowship bcos it didn’t seem worth it when they were just dealing w hobbits

3) they just woke up from a REALLY long nap and it takes them a while to fully come ‘online’

4) their power just waxes & wanes sometimes

5) hobbits are their One Weakness 

[mybookof-you]

If you were fired without cause from a job you had done exceptionally well, a job you had earned because of your valuable knowledge and experience, would you go back to work for that employer? The US department of agriculture's $100 million marked for bird flu vaccine research is like a dangling carrot. You have to wonder that if you return to that employer, will you be restricted by their rules or be removed or even possibly prosecuted without due process if you do not?

Meanwhile, our US eccentric health secretary sounds a lot like his leader in Trump 1.0 claiming that there was no pandemic, no danger, and that drinking bleach would help. What is this madness? It is ludicrous. It results in massive loss of life among the poor and marginalized. I guess that's great if that is your goal.

Our finest professionals will either bow, become desolate, or consider the offers of foreign countries who were formerly US allies--countries who have now identified us as the enemy. Given a choice, would you work where you are appreciated or where you are regarded as a commodity?

Who are we as a nation? Do we accept this despicable behavior? We have long been seen as a superpower but are now headed toward complete upheaval and bankruptcy. Will we be weak and vulnerable to attack or to being absorbed by the authoritarian governments our president now invites to the dinner table by stroking their egos and bowing to their wishes? Trump is exceptionally good at bankrupting his business ventures. It is lucrative for him and his own. I doubt he thinks about the American middle and lower classes any better than he did the people of Puerto Rico when they needed help. They received no more than a pat, token recognition of being victims of complete disaster. They were not given the help they so desperately needed. After all, there are budget considerations.

I hope America will say no. The leadership by the president, vice president, Musk, and the cabinet who all purchased their way into power do not represent who we are. They have revealed themselves, and we should no longer be fooled or stuck in a shock of disbelief. Believe it. We have installed a Trojan horse filled with traitors, and it is time to fire them all.

[lifechanyuan]

All the Devils are Coming Out of Caves!

XueFeng

(Edited by Kaer)

There is no doubt that the genetic engineering now under way is of epoch significance and its future is immeasurable, but when we are complacent and blindly optimistic about it, believing that each mu of a field can produce ten thousand jin of grains and each fruit tree can produce ten thousand jin of fruits, that tomatoes can be bigger than watermelons and peaches can be sweeter than honey, that pigs can weigh a hundred kilograms after only half a month’s growth and skin and organs can be reproduced, that a new kind of medicine will satisfy people’s need for food for three months and needed species can be "cloned", and that diseases can be eradicated and cancer can be conquered to make people enjoy unlimited longevity, who would imagine that all the devils are coming out of the caves and that we might be facing doom at any time?

Genetic codes are the golden locks that maintain the relative ecological balance and stability of nature and that prevent the devils from coming out of the caves, but once they are unlocked, the following scenes are not just to scare you because they could happen at any time.

· You wake up to find that some people around you have grown tails and that their features and voices have changed because they have eaten animal meat from mutant genes.

· You call a friend who is thousands kilometers away, but only hear “chirp-chirp” noises coming out of your phone. You do not know that your friend has grown feathers and a beak from his mouth because he has eaten poultry or bird meat with mutant genes.

· You and your guests are happily drinking tea and chatting in the living room, when suddenly hundreds of cockroaches, bigger than eagles, crawl in from the kitchen because they have drunk water contaminated by specific genes.

· You are driving your family in your car, when suddenly the road ahead disappears as tens and thousands of hills rise before you. It turns out that potatoes have absorbed the soil nutrients contaminated by specific genes and are growing wildly like hills.

· You are sleeping soundly one night when you are suddenly awakened by the sounds of walls collapsing and sharp screams, so you open the windows and see hundreds of large rats, bigger than dogs, running through the yard and staring at you covetously.

· You come home from work and turn on a national television channel to watch the news, but no matter which channel you tune to, you find nothing, not even test patterns. In fact, the country has been infected with a gene that has rapidly mutated and spread, and everyone has gone mad and died within hours.

· You see plants growing wildly one day and learn that their reproduction and growth rates have grown faster than ants running. They spread over highways and bridges, climb mountains, float across rivers, occupy towns and cities, climb up tall trees and skyscrapers, and enter into caves and buildings, sweeping through to the the ends of the earth. In places where they reach, "From hill to hill no bird in flight. From path to path no man in sight.”

The devils are out of the caves and strange things will happen. The mortal world is no longer the one that we have known. People do not look like human, wolves are not wolf-like, and some plants grow wildly as some animals die instantly. At this point, any regrets are much too late.

Perhaps people believe that through the efforts of scientists from different places, we will be able to handle the issues of genetic engineering rationally and cautiously and will not act recklessly. We can only hope!

The point is that no one can be so sure that they have mastered all the secrets of gene interactions and can guarantee that there will not be gene hackers. Computer hackers can only crack passwords and disrupt programs, but gene hackers could push all of us into an abyss.

In order to protect nature’s ecological balance and in order to maintain our survival and development, we hope that governments and scientists who are involved with bioengineering will be extremely cautious. It would be better to suspend its development for a century than to act recklessly or to compete with each other for the most radical and extreme advancements.

We must avoid catastrophes that are waiting to happen.

[thepiinkpages]

I realize alot of book's have really sensitive topics so do not skip the trigger warnings.

Fractured Souls;

Asya was a normal girl that liked normals things until she was kidnapped and then put into a sex trafficing ring. It's extremely tragic and horrible what she went through. Pavel in a way saves her from this traumatic experience and she starts seeing him as her saving grace. He does not take advantage that she likes him nor that she see's him a her God, no. He helps her psych and tries to help her recover mentally before he even tries anything.

It's giving, look and her and die vibes. Which i'm here for!

One thing that came to mind while reading this book was how Asya and Pavel are like binary stars. They circle around each other becuase gravity pulls them together. I think that they were both meant to be. Like Asya had something horrible happen to her and Pavel was a walking zombie. Like there was nothing in his life that brought him true joy until Asya.

The fact this man almost went insane and almost died because he couldn't stand the thought of her leaving.... okay someone call me a ambulance. IM SHAKING IN MY DAMN BOOTS PEOPLE. This series is brining someone out of me that I thought I had lost. I knew my inner fangirl was always there but I lost her the spring of 2015 when One Direction broke up.

These are some one my favorite quotes (and trust me yall, there were alot):

"Lately, I’ve been pretending that I’ve forgotten my keys so I can ring the bell and hear Asya’s hurried steps as she runs toward the door to let me in. When she opens it, it’s as if she has missed me, even though I’ve only been gone for a short time. It feels good to come home and know that she is waiting for me."

"...It’s you...The bird?...Yes.... There’s only one bird...Where are you....I’m not there. Just you...Why?....Because there was nothing left of me after you flew away, mishka...."

"...The feeling of never being close enough....I have the need to somehow absorb you into my chest, so you’ll always be with me. Safe from harm. Only mine. Forever....I love you to the point of madness, Asya....and I really need you to be sure. Please...."

Y'all i damn near highlighted this entire book. It was just so cute and so tender my stone heart almost shed a tear. This couple is definitely my second favorite in the series...stratch that. After thinking about all the couples, I can't choose. They each have their own little quirks that I like. This book is definitely a high 4.5