#creating Forest Fires

[secattention]

Man-Made Clouds to Cool the Oceans

[lululeighsworld]

Summoner Leigh has waited nearly a decade to meet the Vallite King in all his treacherous and tempting glory. When they summon him to Askr unexpectedly, they must finally answer the question which makes their heart ache more than any other: Does their love for Gunter extend to the Vallite King as well?

The long awaited GunterLeighPossessed!Gunter threesome fic is here!! Happy Birthday Gunter, I hope messy-and-heartfelt smut drenched in character development counts as a good present~

Read the fic here on AO3 (registered users only)

(comments definitely appreciated if you read. I'm wearing my heart a lot little bit on my sleeve with this one and I will cherish all words of encouragement!!)

[earthworms-worm]

Oh look I made another thing! These are Krolls! A lesser type of troll, although despite the name there is nothing 'lesser' about them. They're just smaller and like fire more than a troll does.

Another cryptid to add to the growing world of creatures!

These little arsonists live in treehouses and love to cause chaos wherever they go!

[intergalacticfloralexplorers]

Intermission 2! The crew is at the Awakening Woods now! 

-Alph and Olimar go into a cave to try to find purple and white candy pop buds, Charlie and Brittany are surveying the area with the Hocotate ship giving them a tour, and Louie is trying to figure out a nice thing he can do for Olimar as a way of saying thanks. 

-These three events happen at the same time, progressing with asks to each character. Story wise, a bit more development to Charlie's conflict. Rigol grieves over Vio much to other pikmins confusion and with the help of Astur, they end up discovering a ancient mural. Louie finds a secret garden where the Snagret Hole is (thanks to Blue!), and O and A are unsuccessful finding any candy pop buds (odd…)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Event 3: Part 1

-the next day, the crew wake up to find the Drake landed back on the Awakening Woods. The ship alerts the crew that Louie has gone off early, but left some wildflowers on the table for some odd reason.

(The small batch of flowers include: periwinkle, clover, lavender, dandelion flowers, etc.)

-Olimar is led by a blue pikmin (Blue, the reincarnation of Ne, holder of the strange flower) to the secret garden where Louie is. 

-The koppaites, not worried at all, decide to just take the day to explore the area some more. 

-The Hoco Ship stays behind, claiming he’s not feeling like himself, which the crew is semi confused about, but just brushes it off simply thinking it's just Rusty being…rusty.

- before this however, the asks were bound to have people telling Alph to smell one of the flowers, insisting he must even if he is allergic (lol). Alph reluctantly agrees and smells a lavender. A very dramatic pause later, he comedically sneezes and begins to question the askers before being hit with a memory. 

-A memory of Alph with D(ead) by his side as they watch over his body in a white room. Then another memory (from A’s perspective) where Character D(?) is reaching towards him, telling him to smell the flower. (The Landing Event from the beginning!)

-Alph snaps back to reality by Charlie, who right behind him is D. Watching. Looming. 

-He blinks and D is gone.

-Charlie asks again if Alph is alright. Alph responds that he is fine, and the two head out along with Brit outside.

—————————————————————————————————

((Again, two events occur at the same time before coming together so I’ll go over them one at a time!))

-Alph tells Brit he would like to speak with Charlie alone, so she reluctantly agrees and feins recalling a fruit she forgot to retrieve. 

- C and A walk around the woods, stopping to battle a few fiery blowhogs. Charlie would have been happily answering a few asks before Alph gains the courage to ask about D.

-Alph begins to question Charlie about who D is (along with asks pushing questions too), C finally breaks and yells that he has no idea if D was even real or not. We learn that he believes he just…imagined them during his lonely solo missions.

-Alph is left dejected, C puts a hand on his shoulder and tells him to not bring up D again.

-But then C spots someone behind Alph

-the tall, bleeding transparent figure of D. 

-C stumbles back in shock, Alph asks if Charlie is alright. C bumps into a red pikmin(Astur) carrying a bomb rock, causing the pik to stumble, nearly dropping the bomb but manages to not drop it.

- But Astur ends up right inline of a blow hogs fire

-C and A look in horror as the bomb detonates.

-Olimar is worried as he is led by several pikmin (including Blue and a rock Pikmin, Magnolia) to the Snagret Hole. The little group begin to travel past the cave deeper into the log. Olimar is astonished to find a full garden inside. 

-The garden would’ve looked similar to a rest area, but with a variety of flowers, big and small. A tiny pond with a small river would be in the center, lined with rocks also varying in size. Spectralids and flutterbies are seen fluttering around.

-Olimar is amazed, marveling at how such a cave exists while the outdoors is getting cold. (Awakening woods here would have been fall themed to match the games changing its season every game. Pik 1 was summer, Pik 2 was spring.)

-He is startled by Louie suddenly appearing by his side. O learns that L sent the Blue to lead him to the garden. So they chill here for a while, Oli doodling and taking notes while talking with Lou and answering asks.

- Lou asks if Oli is ok after…well…everything. O has certainly been through…a lot. Bad luck seems to follow this poor guy wherever he goes.

-Olimar tells Lou not to worry about him, O claims he’s gotten quite used to the troubles the Pikmin planet throws at him, which makes moments like these all the more special.

-The two sit in silence, being present in the moment. 

-Lou slightly shifts closer to Oli, his hand inching closer to his hand

-Oli notices Lou shifting around, and asks if he has anything to tell him. Lou is noticeably very very nervous, slightly stammering as he reaches behind himself about to pull something out before…

-BOOM!

-The two hear an explosion in the distance. Oli gets up to investigate the outside, Louie is visibly (slightly comedicly) frustrated at the interruption. The Hoco Ship comms the two alerting that 1, Charlie is down and 2…THE FOREST IS ON FIRE!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Event 3: Part 2

-Alph wakes up with a very heavy weight ontop of him. (It’s Charlie, milliseconds before the bomb blew, he shielded Alph and promptly got knocked out from the explosion.) 

-A manages to push C off and is left momentarily dazed, wondering what just happened. Brit runs to his side, having heard the loud explosion. 

-The explosion caused the surrounding area to set on fire. Brit comms the Ship to teleport Charlie back to the Drake, but her koppad isn’t working (neither is Alph’s…weird)

-So A+B use the few pikmin they have left to carry C back to the ship as the fire continues spreading…

-meanwhile, Olimar commands Louie to collect wayward pikmin(not in the fire) and bring them back to their onion. O goes to the Drake to bring out some reds but notices a gathering of pikmin around the onion. Confused, he attempts to whistle them over.

-Ontop of the Onion is a yellow pikmin(Rigol) seemingly speaking to the crowd. They and a majority of pikmin(notably blues, yellows, and winged) look to Olimar with blank eyes. These pikmin return inside the onion. A majority of Rock and Red pikmin listen to Olimar’s whistle, with only a few handful of blue, yellow, and winged following. 

-The onion then proceeds to fly up into the air, and split in half! 

-The first onion lands back on the ground(Red and Gray, we’ll refer to this one as…the onion), while the other onion flies to the direction of the fire(blue,yellow,pink, we’ll call this one the Tri onion)

-Olimar is left stunned

-The HOCOSHIP exits from the Drake, telling Oli she’s lost track of ABC’s signals in the fire. Olimar regains focus, and takes a small squad of red pikmin into the inferno. The Ship refuses to let him go into the flames(too dangerous, it's not worth the risk, etc) but Olimar goes in anyway.

-JUST as Oli goes into the fire, the Koppaites return to the base. Rusty’s about to express their relief but Brit interrupts, annoyed that he didn’t receive their distress signals. The ship immediately defends herself, saying he didn’t even receive ANY notifications.

-Louie arrives at the base, having retrieved several wayward Pikmin. He asks where Olimar is. 

-A and B are left shocked as The Ship remembers.

-“Wait. If you three are here, and Louie is here as well…Olimar-Olimar went into the fire to look for…”

-A comedic pause between the crew, before Louie bolts directly into the flames

-The ship commands A and B to prepare for liftoff while he retrieves O and L

-Alph protests, wanting to help but Brit says something like uh, “dude we just got OUT of the fire. Let’s not go back there.” (I’m great at dialogue I know /sarc)

-A then asks, “but… what about the fire?” B hesitates before saying “well, there’s not much we can do about it…nature will naturally ease the flames.” Then adds, “who knows, maybe it’ll be good for the forest.” 

-Alph agrees, and A and B both return inside the Drake

-We cut to Olimar calling for the Koppaites but to no avail. He hears a Pikmin cry nearby. He discovers a lone red pikmin cowering in a hole, a wound on their forehead. (Later, they are known as Clover)

-He gently helps them out of the hole and calms the little pikmin in his arms. The red pikmin in his squad appear to be pleased with their captain.

-The HOCOSHIP is flying above the forest fire, trying to detect his crew mates through the flames. They spot the Tri Onion from far away, dunking itself in a lake. Rusty is puzzled by that, but focuses back on her mission.

- Rusty finally manages to contact Oli, pinpointing his location and briefly comms Oli to yell at him. (“You idiot! Why would you do such a selfless, reckless act?! Now Louie is looking for you too!”)

-Olimar immediately began to focus on finding Louie, the ship following him from above the forest.

-We cut to Louie, who’s also looking for Oli. L is coughing and holding his chest. The smoke from the forest fire seems to be affecting him to a much greater extent than the others. (Must be a bug in his oxygen filter…)

-he then spots something glowing red in the distance. L begins to walk towards it, thinking it’s Olimar

- But as he gets closer, Louie freezes. 

-It’s the Smoky Progg. 

-Louie runs the opposite way, trying to get away but ends up collapsing. His coughing is getting worse, and his nose appears to be bleeding. The Progg slowly approaches L.

- Louie is terrified, thinking that this was the end…

-*CRACK*

-They both look up. A large tree branch is falling.

- The branch lands between the two, creating a wall between them. 

-The Progg turns away, disappearing in the flames

-L is left frozen, wide eyed.

- He hears Oli calling for him, and spots his red antenna light. They both reunite, Olimar expressing his relief while lightly scolding Louie. 

-Then Oli whistles behind Lou, red pikmin begin to climb down the tree the branch fell out of. It’s revealed O was the one to save L!

-The ship comes down to teleport the two(and the squad of reds!) into his cargo, and flies back to Drake. 

-We see the Tri onion hovering above the forest, spreading a light water mist that slowly dispels the flames.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ prev/next part tba

[quatregats]

Further sentences from the Wikipedia page on dragon kings that could be Dragon King worldbuilding

[buckets-and-trees]

What's a Little Sex Pollen Between Neighbors?

Characters/Pairings: soft dark Bucky Barnes x curvy Millennial female!Reader Word Count: 7.8k Summary: Your super soldier next door neighbor puts some of his old skills to good use. (Unspecified post-Endgame Bucky)

Content/Warnings: SEX POLLEN-DRIVEN DUBIOUS CONSENT; explicit smut: oral (female receiving), unprotected vaginal intercourse, insemination; alternating POV sections

Notes: This is my week WEEK SIX submission for @buckybarnesevents' Hot Bucky Summer - "please, I need help" and sex pollen.

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

As the Winter Soldier, they made him master many skills, including branches of chemistry specifically so he could create compounds necessary and advantageous to fulfilling and expediting his missions. He was so good he even helped develop some of the compounds used by Hydra and in The Red Room.

It had been years since he’d applied the long dormant skill.

But it had also been a year since you moved in next door, and he was tired of waiting.

You were so sweet, so good, and he would treat you so well if you were his.

And you were so deserving.

You ought to have someone dote on you, take care of you. You were fiercely independent, fully capable, but you shouldn’t need to be.

He was more than willing to take care of you. He always insisted it was no trouble to hold a door open for you, to help carry your groceries, to pick up your mail when you were out of town, to help you put together the table you ordered online when it was delivered. Not only was it no trouble, he liked doing those things for you.

He wanted to do more.

He heard you late at night with your vibrator.

He could give you so much better.

How many times had the super’s wife said to him what a sweet couple the two of you would make?

What was the harm with hurrying you along into something he was so sure you wanted with a little sex pollen?

Before he’d been The Winter Soldier, the efficient and essentially untraceable assassin for decades, he’d been a damn good soldier as Bucky Barnes. He was still an asset now whether he was consulting or going into the field. Constantly valued for his keen mind.

Why shouldn’t he use his expertise and strategy now?

It was just traces at first. You hardly noticed.

There’d be the odd moment when you hesitated in a sentence, blinking, eyes glossy as you lost your train of thought. That little fluster was delicious, but not enough. He watched you closely, reading the microexpressions that drifted across your features: confusion, a tiny flicker of heat, embarrassment you squashed down. You’d shake your head briskly, recenter yourself, and apologize with a laugh he could tell was forced.

And he always smiled warmly at you, but inside, it was with the energy of a satisfied smirk.

It was working.

He made minute adjustments. Ratcheted the levels up and down, spiked your mail with just enough to make you breathe deeper when you opened it. He traded in your regular coffee beans for a new bag from the “cool indie shop on the corner,” slipped the powder into the grounds. It was a delicate balance: he never wanted you to feel sick, just hungry. Desirous. Needy.

Once, he heard you through the wall, weeping with frustration. He’d never heard that in your voice before, and it made him burn with satisfaction and anticipation.

But he was always successful in his missions because of his expertise, his ability to gage proper timing.

He struck early, before the city could shake off its Saturday morning haze. Heat already radiated from the bricks, the kind of July swelter that made people yearn for lemonade and picnics and pools. He moved in darkness as much out of habit as necessity, crossing the handful of feet between your fire escape and his with the ease of a man who’d spent too many years navigating roofs and ledges and the soft places between shadows.

The mixture was clear, almost invisible, but he applied it in a glistening line along the edges of your window frames, working methodically. His hands did not shake.

He returned to his own apartment and pulled up the port he’d developed to control your HVAC system, and shut it down just before he knew you were typically up and stirring around on a Saturday morning.

And then he waited.

By 8:37 a.m. your apartment was growing warmer than usual, and you woke with a slick hairline, a sheen of sweat over your skin. He watched you from the camera he installed as you slipped out of bed and down the hall. You pawed at the digital thermostat first, muttering under your breath, but only the error message blinked back at you: HVAC ERROR. CALL MAINTENANCE. You let out a laugh, brittle and bitter, and trudged to the windows, pushing up the panes to at least get the fresh air. You left every window open, desperate for a through breeze.

You braced your palms against the sill and he could see the relief already blooming in your posture as the pane slid open. The breeze was gentle but constant, carrying with it the faintest hint of the compound’s sharp, metallic sweetness. It was immediate, the way it worked instantaneously: you inhaled, unaware, then blinked rapidly. Your jaw slackened for a fraction of a second, mouth parted in an unintentional invitation. Your hands lingered on the window frame, before you pulled them back and wiped one over your brow, while the other went to your chest, and no wonder since he assumed that you’d be feeling an uptick in your heart rate.

And now, he would wait.

He watched you pad into your little kitchen, tugging at the hem of your sleep shirt. You filled the kettle, set it on, and stood at the counter, hands fluttering as if you’d forgotten what to do with them. You took a breath—he could see the shudder of your shoulders—then craned your neck, face tilted to the open window, and inhaled again, a long, greedy drag.

Inside a minute, you began to fidget. Your thighs pressed together, then parted, then pressed again, the rhythm building. Your head tipped forward, eyes closing as you gripped the countertop, knuckles going white. A slick little shiver wound through you. The kettle whistled, shrill and out of place, and you startled so hard the mug tumbled from your hands, landing on the floor with a muted thunk.

Bucky chuckled.

This was going to be fun.

You were not, generally, this unbalanced. You could ride out a wave of sexual frustration for weeks, even months, and never let it show in your polite smile or the hand you’d lend to old Mrs. Lopez on 5B with her packages. You had learned to live with your little obsession with your neighbor Bucky Barnes in the same way you’d learned to ignore the drip in your bathroom sink: a low-level, constant irritant, a fixture of your life that you could, with sufficient self-control, simply tune out.

It was only a quarter past nine in the morning and you were already panting like you’d just climbed six flights in July, not merely rolled out of bed. Something was wrong with your body. Not sick—more like your skin had outgrown you overnight, every inch of you thrumming with an ache that had nothing to do with exercise and everything to do with need.

Because as bad as the heat was, you’d woken up at 3:21am, rolled onto your stomach and pressed your thighs together and rocked your hips, humping your mattress to no avail. It was as unfulfilling as the dream you’d woken up from, a dream featuring your neighbor Bucky Barnes pinning you in place, fucking you so well, so close you could taste the climax, only to have jolted awake, desperate and empty.

Now with no AC, it just figures that the universe would align for the worst day of your sexual frustration to peak when your AC went out.

You had lived through enough New York City summers to know the heat would try to kill you, but you’d never expected it to go for the slow, erotic smother instead.

Great. Now your brain was writing romance copy.

You took a cold shower, or as cold as the pipes allowed, and stepped out feeling more feverish and frustrated than ever. After that you stood in front of the open fridge for several minutes, eating string cheese in small, desperate bites, willing the chill to transfer from your tongue to your bloodstream. It didn't work. Cold air kissed your shins momentarily, but it was already evaporating.

Your phone, sticky with sweat, offered no solutions. The building super had already responded to oyour texts, but with the city-wide sweltering temperatures, he said it was going to be difficult to get someone to come look before Monday. You scrolled through social media, found only posts about the heat, people frying eggs on their windowsills, and, for some reason, an uptick in thirst traps. You slammed it facedown on the kitchen table, stood there, and considered your options.

Maybe you would have to resort to leaning on your own personal thirst trap and endure the torture.

Look but not touch.

As always.

You jogged your memory for Bucky’s likely status. His AC always worked, a source of neighborly gloating he pretended to feel sorry about. You’d seen him on the fire escape last night, watering an improbable pot of basil, so he hadn’t left for one of his mysterious, week-long trips.

You counted on him to be up, and you counted on him to be kind and neighborly. How many times had he said to let him know if you needed anything?

You slipped your feet into flip-flops and padded across the hall, the chill of the corridor almost pornographically relieving. Ignoring the urge to just lie down in the communal patch of coolness, you knocked. Not politely, but as un-desperately as you could manage.

His door opened before the second knock. He wore an old t-shirt and gym shorts in the way of a man who didn’t expect guests but was always ready for them. He grinned, broad and easy, and you wanted to slap it off his face or maybe—maybe—sink your teeth into the soft underside of his jaw, alternate violence and adoration. If it weren’t for the white socks on his feet, he would have been wholly unapproachable. He blinked at you, a little surprised, before his expression softened in recognition.

His blue eyes slid from your face down the length of you—bare-legged, sweat-sheened, half-dressed. If he noticed how untethered you looked, he didn’t say a word.

He just leaned against the doorframe, forearm braced above his head, a little smirk twitching at the edge of his mouth. “Hey, neighbor,” he said, voice just hoarse enough to sound like he, too, had just woken up. “You okay?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it. No, you were not okay. “Yeah, no, my AC’s dead. Reuben says maybe Monday.”

“Damn. That’s rough.” He stepped back, opening the door wider. “Come on in, you can cool off in here. It’s like an igloo compared to the hallway.”

You tried to say “thanks” but it came out thin and breathy. You hesitated in the threshold, pulse hammering in your ears, palms sticky. You were acutely aware of every inch of your skin and the patches where your tank top clung and stuck to your warm skin. You kept your arms tight at your sides and followed him in, trying not to look too hard at the wide set of his shoulders and the deliciously lived-in swoop of his hair.

His apartment was frigid. A gasp left you, startled, as the coolness curled around your ankles and up your shins, relief so sharp it tasted almost like salt. You braced a hand on the wall, felt your knees threatening to buckle for a whole, embarrassing second.

Bucky closed the door behind you and put a hand in his pocket, rocking his weight once up and back on the balls of his feet. As you adjusted to the temperature, your brain came back online, time stretching out but your thoughts not clearing so much as multiplying, all scrambling around the same basic theme: need.

Every little physical sensation felt magnified and weirdly erotic—Bucky’s clean-laundry scent, the chill bristling your nipples, your own rapid breathing, every sound echoing in his silent apartment.

Bucky peered at you with gentle concern, vaguely amused, like he could hold both those things in his expression at once. “You want some coffee?” he offered, casual, normal.

“Only if it’s iced,” you answered, following him into the kitchen.

You perched at his breakfast bar, gripping the edge, trying to appear unbothered. Up close, the scent of his skin and aftershave filled the air, a dizzying magnetism that was entirely unfair. You shifted, restless, gnawing the inside of your cheek.

Bucky moved with measured, assured movements behind the counter, opening a cupboard for glasses, filling them from a pitcher of cold brew. You couldn’t help but follow the flex of his forearm, the way his veins pressed up beneath the thin skin, the way his hands dwarfed the glass when he reached to set it in front of you.

His close proximity, the press of cold air from the vent above, the frisson of want that kept pooling in your belly and lower—god, was there anything left of you but need, at this point? It was getting hard to think, and you had to grip the glass hard to keep your hand from trembling. The iced coffee gave you the jitters. Or maybe it was just him, and the way he looked at you—just for a second, a slip out from behind his affable neighbor mask. It made your skin flare with fresh heat, the want sharper now for the momentary suggestion that maybe he knew exactly how ruined you felt by him.

He didn’t sit, just stood at the other counter a few feet away, tilting back his own glass.

He watched you over the rim, unhurried, eyes steady and watchful, and you thought, briefly, incoherently, that if you didn’t put something else in your mouth besides ice, you were going to say something reckless and humiliating. The coffee wasn’t helping at all. The caffeine sharpened your need, made it into a nervous, electrified ache, made you more aware of the incessant want.

“How’s your week going?” he asked, mild as ever. His voice was a low vibration, something pleasant you wanted to crawl inside.

You tried to recall anything that had happened since Monday, but it all seemed distant, unrelated to the desperate present. “Um. Work’s a lot,” you said, then, quickly, “How about you?”

He waited a beat, as if debating whether to give the default “fine” or to try for something more interesting. “You know. The usual. Little consulting, some paperwork, surveillance for an old friend. Watered the plants.”

There was a small silence. When you spoke, your voice was tight. “Your place is always freezing.”

He shrugged, a smile tugging the edge of his mouth. “Just lucky for once, I guess.” He was looking at you—really looking, with that steady, disarming focus of his, like he was cataloguing everything from the way you shivered to the fact that you couldn’t seem to unclench your legs. “You can hang out as long as you want. I’ve got snacks, TV, whatever you need.”

You needed something, and it was not TV.

But you had worked so hard to manage this—all your strange, out-of-joint attraction to Bucky, your embarrassing daydreams about what it would be like, the impossible softness that sometimes came over his face when he listened to you talk. You knew it was only the pheromones, the chemical trick of proximity that had you feeling so desperately out of control.

God.

He was just being the nice neighbor and friend he always was, and here you were actively fighting some itchyearndesperateneed to fuck him.

Maybe it wasn’t the heat or the coffee. Maybe it was just you, and the unsolvable, hungry problem of wanting him.

You finished your glass with a gulp that left your throat sore. The chill bloomed through your veins, hitting the heat in your core and swirling the want into a sharper, thinner line that tethered you, drove you. You wiped condensation from your lip and found Bucky staring at your mouth. You caught him, or he let himself get caught, because he didn’t look away—he watched, and then, slow and unapologetic, he smiled.

You could feel the edges of yourself getting fuzzy, your boundaries dissolving in the cold and the ache. His name was a bell in your head, a reflex: Bucky Bucky Bucky. You wondered what it’d be like to say it while he was inside you. Or after. Or never.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, but he came closer, leaned over the counter, invading your space as if he knew you weren’t, as if he needed to be sure.

Instead you cleared your throat. “Yeah. Sorry. I think I’m just a little, uh, loopy from the heat.”

His gaze flicked purposefully down your throat, over the pulse jumping there, then back up to your face. “Don’t apologize,” he said, softer than before, which made it worse. “It’s not your fault. Heat’s a killer.”

You tried to laugh it off, but the sound that came out was so thin it hurt. “Is it weird if I jus sit here for a little?”

“You sure you’re okay? No fever?” he asked, his eyes on the exposed column of your throat as you swallowed.

You shook your head and then realized that wasn’t entirely true. “I don’t know. Kind of feels like it.”

“Want me to check?” His question was so innocent you almost missed the note beneath it, the glimmer of amusement in his gaze. “Had to pick up some medical skills in the field. Got really good at feeling foreheads.”

Some combination of mortification and anticipation made you pulse all over. But you wanted the excuse—needed the contact.

“Sure,” you managed, low and hoarse as you scooted your stool a few inches closer to the counter.

He reached across the bar, his cool metal fingers a sharp relief, thumb feathering just under your jaw, palm broad and hot against your cheek. You wanted to press into it like a cat, you wanted to be ruined by it.

He drew in a breath, slow, deliberate, as if he were inhaling more than just your scent. His thumb brushed the hair back from your forehead, and his skin was so much colder than yours—you tingled where he touched you, the contrast as intoxicating as his closeness. “You’re burning up,” he said, with a gravity that made it sound like it was your fault and also exactly what he wanted.

You must have made some noise, some keening thing, because he chuckled, low in his chest. “You okay?” he said again, but this time, not moving back, not letting go.

It wasn’t the move of a guy checking for fever in a platonic way, not really—the way he cradled your chin, thumb brushing over your face, was too familiar, too practiced. His callouses rasped against your skin, a roughness you liked maybe too much.

He started to draw his hand back, and your own moved lightning fast to catch his wrist and bring his touch back to your face. “I…”

“Yes?” he asked, infuriatingly patient.

“Please, I need help,” you whimpered.

The words hung between you, unbearable. He held there, giving you every opportunity to pull away. You stayed, rooted, nails warm on the metal of his wrist, breath short and staccato.

He ducked his head just a fraction, eyes still on you, as if waiting for more. “What kind of help?” he asked.

You couldn’t say it. Not outright. Your grip on him was enough, maybe. You hoped. You hoped not. It trembled out of you: “I don’t know. I just—” You let go, finally, as if releasing his wrist would break the spell. Instead the ache in your palms was replaced instantly by the ache everywhere else.

“You can ask me anything,” he said, as if the answer was simple. You felt the tenderness in the way his hand returned to cup your cheek with unexpected gentleness, thumb stroking along the apple of your cheek, cooling it, coaxing you to keep going.

You shuddered, half in mortification and half in surrender. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you managed, voice high and thin. “It’s not just the heat, I swear, I just—” You pressed your thighs together, pulse jackhammering. “I can’t even think.”

His smile softened, the smugness replaced by something darker, intent. “Hey,” he said, voice lower now, “it’s okay. You trust me, right?”

You nodded, feeling the flush climb to your ears. “Of course I do.” Because you did, more than you’d ever admit. If you didn’t, you’d never be here, letting him touch you, letting your body confess the truth your voice couldn’t find.

“Tell me what you want,” he said, so steady, so direct it made you dizzy.

You tried to answer, but it caught in your throat, a wordless plea. Maybe the problem wasn’t just the heat. Maybe the problem was that your body had been braced for so long against this tidal pull; now it was finally time to give in.

You pressed your thighs together, yet again, and his eyes dropped to the movement immediately.

Then he leaned in, crowding your space, his presence as immediate as the frozen air and the thump of blood behind your ribs. You held your breath, and when he spoke, the words ghosted over your cheek.

“Let me help,” he said. It wasn’t a request.

You nodded, and it was like the cord inside you snapped. He moved so fast, so fluid, that you barely registered being turned—his hands a gentle but unbreakable grip as he rotated you on the barstool, so your knees faced him directly. His palms, one human and one metal, slid up your thighs, thumbs stroking the inside seam, and he sunk to his knees in front of you, the nearness of his face a gravitational force.

The world funneled down to the place where his hands pressed, and you realized he was holding you apart. Not obscenely, not yet, but enough that you were completely open to him, the thin cotton of your shorts doing nothing to hide the flush, the damp.

You made a soft, startled sound—the kind of sound that would have mortified you any other day, but now just seemed like a necessary release valve. The edge of the counter pressed into your back, bracing you, and there was nowhere to look but at him.

He glanced up at you, eyelashes impossibly dark, the blue of his eyes cool and unhurried as the rest of him. “Is this what you need?” he asked softly, one thumb circling closer, not quite touching you where he must have known you needed it most.

“I—” You gripped the counter as your own breath left you high and bright. “Yeah,” you whispered, then stronger. “Yeah. Please.”

Something old and hungry flickered in his eyes; for a second, it was like witnessing a mask falling away, exposing the pure, adoring greed underneath. He nodded, almost formal, and then both his hands bracketed your hips, holding you steady on the stool.

He started at your knee, a glancing scrape of blunt nails and calloused knuckles that sent shivers up your thigh. He traced the seam of your shorts slowly, as if there was all the time in the world, as if he wasn’t about to devour you.

His eyes didn’t leave yours, even as his mouth hovered over the thin cotton barrier. He ghosted a breath across the damp spot he found, and you lost all chance of composure. There was no longer any you, only some open, yearning thing perched on a stool, barely holding itself together. He thumbed the edge of your shorts aside just enough to press against you directly, the heat of his mouth and the shock of his cool fingers alternating in a way that broke your sanity into a thousand flickering, animal senses.

You grabbed at his hair without even meaning to, the urge so primitive it felt like a survival reflex. He hummed appreciatively at the contact, as if you’d pleased him, as if you were doing him a favor by yanking his mouth closer to your cunt. The sound vibrated through you, under your skin, rattling your bones. You tipped your hips, your nerves on fire, and his tongue licked a slow, deep stripe from your inner thigh up, not touching your clit, not yet, just lavishing the tender skin in a way that felt almost teasingly reverent.

You made a strangled noise, one part protest and one part plea, and Bucky’s hands tightened ever so slightly, anchoring you. He mouthed softly at you through the cotton, kissing and tasting like he had planned this moment, fantasized about it, orchestrated it down to seconds.

“God, Bucky, please—” you heard yourself say, shame gone, language stripped down to pure imperative.

He obliged, finally, dragging the fabric aside with both thumbs and kissing you directly, a cool blast of breath ghosting over your slick heat before his tongue pressed flat and broad against your clit. The relief was so acute you almost sobbed, hands convulsing where they tangled in his hair. You heard the low, satisfied growl in his throat as he set in, slow at first, until your hips bucking.

He didn’t tease, not in the sense of withholding; he controlled the pace only so you wouldn’t go off too soon, so you wouldn’t lose yourself before he had you in exactly the state he wanted. He gripped your thighs, thumbs stroking up and down, pinning you gently but completely, and sucked softly at your clit, laved it, flicked it until you heard yourself choking on a sob. Your hands curled into his hair, desperate for more, for anything, and he let you grind against his mouth, so attentive that he’d match every desperate movement with the exact pressure you needed.

It was embarrassing how quickly you came, shameful and glorious at once. You still had enough self-awareness to gasp his name in something like apology. “Bucky, Bucky, ah—fuck, so close.”

He growled, mouth pressed to you, and angled his tongue just-so, and the orgasm hit with staggering force, a white-out that blitzed your vision and stole any words from you. He didn’t stop. He held you through it and past it, swallowing down the shudders and the desperate sounds you made, like he’d known exactly how this would unfold. When you came down it was only because he let you, retreating from your cunt with a last, obscene kiss to your inner thigh.

He stayed on his knees as you caught your breath, looking up at you through the mess of his hair with a carefulness that could almost have passed for concern, were it not for the dark, starved edge to his gaze.

“It’s not enough, is it?” he asked, voice warm and hoarse, a dangerous temptation.

You shook your head before you realized what you were doing. The need was still there, louder if anything, a metabolic demand your body had never known before. The aftershocks of your orgasm didn’t blunt it; they just made you more sensitive, skin electric, greedy for any touch. The taste of his name was still burning on your tongue.

“I don’t—” You tried to get your breath, but every inhale was a plea, an invitation. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.” It sounded like a lie as soon as you said it. You did know, and so did he; the only thing you didn’t know was how far either of you would let it go.

Bucky’s hands slid up your thighs, palms broad and possessive suddenly, not the gentle friend but a man answering a hunger of his own.

He rose in a single uncoiling, smooth and predatory, and you found yourself wanting to press back, to get some space, but you didn’t want space—what you wanted was to be pressed under him, to feel the full weight of him locking you down, holding you together.

He didn’t say another word, just bent and swept you up. His hands were careful, but the grip was decisive, one arm braced under your ass, the other curling around your upper back so your body instinctively folded against his chest. You clung to his shoulders, dizzy from the abrupt motion, but he was already hauling you past his kitchen, navigating the hall with a single-minded purpose. In the living room he set you on your feet behind the couch, spun you so you faced the window, city sun slicing in through the blinds and painting stripes over the room.

He nudged you forward until your hips bumped the cushion, then planted his hands on your waist, pressing you down in a gentle but unmistakable command. You braced your palms on the back of the couch, arms locking to hold yourself upright, the cool leather shivery against your bare thighs. His breath ghosted over your shoulder as he leaned in, mouth at your ear.

“You’re desperate for me to ruin you, aren’t you, pretty girl?”

His tone was so wicked, so knowing, that you felt your knees threaten to buckle. Before you could respond, Bucky’s hands slid down, splayed wide over your hips, and then he used a foot to nudge your legs apart.

The movement was so natural, so certain, that you obeyed without thinking, planting your feet wider, arms braced. Your shorts were still tangled around one thigh and even that didn’t matter, there was nothing in the world but the way his hand slid between your legs and the sound you made when he did. He pressed the heel of his palm right to your cunt, pushing up against the fabric, feeling exactly how soaking, how frantic, you were for him.

Bucky made a low, appreciative noise, and you could feel the shape of his cock, hard and urgent, as he moved in closer behind you. He raked his thumb up your spine and you arched for him, made yourself an offering.

There was a trembling pause as his hands found the elastic, hooked under it, peeled the shorts and your underwear down in a single, devastating motion. He left them tangled around your knees, a shackle you could feel, and then he was there—close enough that you could feel the heat of him, the shape of him, hard and insistent, through his gym shorts.

You heard the rustle of his clothes behind you, the elastic snap of his waistband, the uneven jolt of his breath. You tried not to turn back, to break the spell, but his hand fisted gently in your hair, holding you forward, not cruelly but as if he worried you might float away from him. You felt the graze of his knuckles against the small of your back and then the soft, heavy head of his cock against your inner thigh, thick and achingly hot. You made another helpless sound, impossible to disguise as anything but want.

You half heard him whisper, “Good fucking girl,” and it was more grounding than anything—the way he said it, not for praise but as a pure statement of fact, as if you’d always belonged to this moment.

A heartbeat later you felt him line up, one broad hand bracing your hip, the other guiding himself between your legs. He slid in slow, first just crowning the tip, then a steady, unhurried advance until you pulsed around him, all the breath knocked out of you. He was big, God, he was fucking huge, and you felt every inch of him, slow and relentless, until your body gave up its resistance and let him in all the way.

You choked on a sob and he stilled, letting you adjust, the metal of his hand biting into your hip in an anchoring grip that kept you from collapsing. He pressed a kiss to the back of your neck, feather-light, before rolling his hips forward, testing. The drag was so exquisite, so sharp, that your eyes filled up and spilled over before you understood you were crying. It didn’t feel sad or even humiliating; it felt like relief, like every nerve in your body finally tuned to the right frequency.

“There you go,” Bucky murmured, and the silk in his voice slid down your spine. “Let me take care of you.”

You arched back into him, jaw gone slack, and he took the cue, holding onto your hip with steel precision as he drew out, then thrust in to the hilt. The both of you made sounds then—animal, necessary, a tangled braid of shameless arousal. You were seared open, body and brain in ruins for him, and Bucky’s every move felt designed to keep you right at the rawest possible edge without letting you tumble off. With each slow, grinding thrust, he’d flex his fingers into your skin, and you were glad for the force. Otherwise, you might have rocketed apart.

He fucked you like he had nowhere else to be for the rest of his life. Each pass in and out was deep, so deep you saw stars, and he bit down on every gasp and whimper you made like treasure, hoarding them, making sure there was nothing you could give that he wouldn’t take. When you shuddered, he braced you. When you tried to hide your face in your arms, he made you look out the window.

“Imagine how wrecked you look if someone could see you like this, how good you are, how pliant, how utterly fucked out and feral for me.”

You could only groan beneath him.

But that wasn’t good enough.

“Because you are, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you managed to gasp.

“Fuck yeah, you are. Should film you next time so you can see.”

And that promised sentiment or threat or blessed assurance of a next time only barely registered in your head.

You felt the shape and girth of him everywhere, not just inside you but in your fingertips and jaw and even your toes, curled white-knuckled against the plush carpet. It felt like a breaking-open, a shudder that rattled the cage of rib and skull and emptied you in the best way. After the first spasm hit, it didn’t really stop; it just crested and broke, and then again, and again, as he drove you relentlessly through every aftershock.

Your throat was raw from the sounds you made, but you didn't care. Let the whole damn building know, let the heatwave carry it down to the street—anyone who heard would only know what you’d always suspected: that you were made, and remade, by the hands and cock of James Bucky Barnes.

He came with a groan that sounded like it had been torn up from the pit of him. You felt it, impossibly deep, an anchoring warmth at your core. He didn’t pull out right away, just pressed you down and into the couch, his breath ragged against your shoulder, sweat mixing with your own. The sun striped you both, pale and blurred, in the window’s glare. He cupped your waist, held you like he was scared you might disappear. The sound of your pulse was everywhere, in your mouth, your cunt, the tips of your fingers.

Eventually he eased out, then tossed you gently over the back of the couch and onto its cushions, hoisting himself immediatle after you, and settling between your thighs.

You wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders, he cupped your jaw in both his hands, and you met halfway in a kiss. Slow, charting, but eager to map, to pour into each other.

You should be spent, you knew that, and yet there was still a flickering need for even more, and ultimately you couldn’t keep from squirming your hips up beneath him like a bitch in heat.

Bucky growled but grinned against the crook of your neck. "Already? Thought I wore you out." He was half-teasing, half hopeful, and all of it made you ache more.

You panted, little strains of whimper leaking out as you shifted beneath his weight. "It's not—" You couldn't catch your breath. "It's not gone."

He drew back enough to see your face, the marvel and hunger written in every line of him. He was giddy on it now, drunk on you, the endlessness of your need. His thumb traced a path under your eye, along your jaw, a tenderness just as striking as the force when he'd bent you over the couch.

His hand was already sliding down, finding the tremor in your thigh where you'd hooked your heel into the small of his back. “C’mon, pretty girl, take what we know you need.”

He was still hard, not as superhumanly so as thirty seconds ago, but the evidence of his stamina pressed hot and thick against your thigh. The animal edge to his smile dared you to test him. So you did.

Your hand slid down between the bodies, still trembling, and guided his cock back home. Then you canted your head up, eyes wide, mouth open to him even before he took it. The kiss was deep and viscous as he slid his thick length back into you.

“You gonna let me fill up this tight cunt all day?”

Your head fell back, the surrender automatic. “Yes,” you managed, “please, Bucky—just—”

He didn’t give you time to finish the thought before he buried himself again, the shock of it so perfect you clenched hard around him, a plea and a welcome and a thank you all at once. You couldn’t believe there was anything left in you to give, but every stroke proved you wrong, dragged up a new, desperate need that was only satisfied by the relentless rhythm of his cock and his hands and the way his mouth fixed on you, starved.

He took you harder this time, body layered over yours on the couch, arms caging you in, fists in the cushions, the infected animal in your belly delighted to be conquered. The slap and drag, the obscene wet noise of your bodies meeting, should have been mortifying, but you couldn’t care less. All you could think about was the way he felt inside you, the fullness.

You fucked up into him like it could ever be enough, like you could reach the end of it, but all it did was ratchet higher the more you got. Illogical. Perverse. You wanted it so bad you felt like you might splinter from it.

He kept his eyes open, watching your every twitch and lost syllable, and when he spoke, it was a benediction and a dare all at once. “That’s it,” he cooed, “—take it, sweetheart, take every fucking drop.”

This man who you’d pegged as your polite, kind, helpful, funny neighbor, a gentle giant, a friend but not possibly interested in anything more… how could you have been any more wrong about him? It seemed his need was as insatiable as yours, as rough as yours.

He braced a hand on your ass and fucked into you so deep your vision actually blurred, and you had a moment of floating, refracted through heat and sensation, no thought in your head but the total occupation of Bucky’s cock and Bucky’s hands and Bucky’s words, which were now a white-noise loop of fuck, that’s so good and look at you and you greedy little thing.

You lost count of how many times you came, whether it was three or four or one long endless melt that crested and crashed and kept cresting again. Each time you clenched harder, he grunted, all approval and gratitude, like you were thriving on the mutual destruction. The only thing that finally stopped him was the way your body seized under him, shaking with exertion, whole frame slick with sweat and blown wide open—and even then, he only slowed to kiss the tears off your cheek before pumping in shallow, locking thrusts, filling you a second time.

He rolled and shifted so he was below and you were arranged on top of him, cock still inside you, and petted your head and back, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

But somehow your body still wasn’t done. The pitch of wasn’t as feverish, but you still ached for more, and you shifted, pressing your hands firmly onto his chest and pushing your hips back.

He growled and grinned up at you in approval, letting you take the pace, lazy hip rolls and shallow thrusts, like he was content to be used if only you’d keep him inside your cunt.

"That’s it, baby," Bucky murmured, hands cupping your hips in living brackets of steel and warmth, "workin’ it all out of your system, huh?" He let you ride him at your pace, let you grind and flex and arch your spine in a slow, deliberate torture, as if the last hour hadn’t emptied you. He watched the place where you were joined with worshipful fixation. Sometimes his hands drifted up your plump sides, moving over the sweat slicking over your ribs, sometimes they hovered beside your tits, thumbs circling the soft underside without quite squeezing. He wanted you to take, to use.

It was so much. The room, the man, the way your senses flattened and then sharpened around only the pressure and friction, the molten bracket of his thighs under yours. You could feel the outline and density of him in your gut, could feel the part of him inside you as an ache in your own bones.

Your hair stuck to your face, skin flushed and slick. You looked down at him, saw the blue of his eyes gone wild with something that wasn’t just lust but an infatuation so raw it jolted you harder than any thrust. You felt gorgeous and filthy and alive.

You braced your palms on his chest, the sweat-slick warmth of him grounding you to the world, to the precise coordinates of this couch, this apartment, these four walls where everything inside you had been rewritten. You rolled your hips, slow at first, test-driving this new sense you’d grown this morning. Each drag, each grind made the both of you moan, made his jaw go slack with admiration and something wild behind it.

“You look so good like this,” he whispered, almost reverent. His hands continued to wander, kneading your waist, your ass, committing every detail like a man who’d been in a famine so long he didn’t trust that the feast would last.

You uncurled from his chest and sat up, knees braced against the outside of his thighs. The angle changed everything—it let you drop down with gravity on your side, and the sudden invasion made you gasp, then laugh a little at the reckless power of it.

“Didn’t know you had this in you, pretty girl,” he said, eyes bright with admiration and a little awe, as your bodies met again and again. You shuddered, every nerve ending tuned to the raggedly sweet friction. You braced one hand on the couch back for support, the other pressing his chest flat to the cushions so he couldn’t move, so you could wring every last drop out of him.

He let you, his hands only guiding, though you could feel they itched for more, alternately cupping your ass and tracing the slick line along your spine. He never looked away, and you couldn’t either, not really. Part of you was afraid if you stopped, you’d never start again, that all of being alive was compressed into this blinding, needy cycle, the slow slide up, the brief gasp at the crest, the smashed-together bodies and the static-burst of coming apart.

You both dissolved into it, rode out the rhythm together, a storm system of skin and sweat and salt air. You wanted to memorize every flicker in his face, the way his jaw tensed when you clenched around him, the soft snarl of delight when you scraped your nails up his stomach, the groan from somewhere ancient when you rocked down, hard, and took him to the hilt. Like this, you were animal and angel at once, an ache shaped just for him, every ounce of pain and pleasure remade as a message to Bucky that he could have you, all of you, if only he asked.

This time when you came, it was a slower surrender, a low-voltage tremble that climbed your spine and made you shake all over. You fell forward onto him, collapse and comfort in the same gesture, and Bucky wrapped his arms around you, rocked you gently even as you whimpered from the aftershocks. He kissed the top of your head, and it was tender but also bespoke a possessiveness that you felt curl happily inside you.

“That’s it,” he crooned, lips against your hairline, “breathe. You did so fuckin’ good.” His hands swept over your back, grounding you, stoking the heat that was already beginning to spark again in the depths of your belly. You wanted to fight it, or at least express some normal human embarrassment at the way you’d let yourself melt into a horny puddle in your neighbor’s arms, but the pleasure sparked with every breath and touch, making defiance impossible.

It was fortunate that this man was a super soldier and could give you what you needed.

You wondered how many times you would come before you burnt out completely, or if you’d just fuse into something new, a singularity of slick and want and Bucky’s name.

Bucky knew he could see you through all of it.

He looked forward to being the conduit you found your relief in since he was the architect of this sweet, filthy, exquisite destruction.

And he couldn’t imagine that this brain-altering type of experience wouldn’t yield him exactly what he’d been waiting so long for: you, surrendering to him completely, admitting there was more than neighborly friendship between you, content and eager to finally be his.

The chemicals would burn out of your system in a few more hours, and then he’d take such good care of you in your recovery. He’d keep the AC off in your apartment so he could coax you to accept his invitation to stay all weekend.

He was sure two days was all he needed to secure you forever.

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

[reasonsforhope]

"For the first time in 500 years, the European beaver has been seen in Portugal, a moment that one nonprofit has called “one of the most significant steps in the aquatic rewilding of Portuguese rivers.”

As GNN has reported in the case of the UK, there is no animal other than humans capable of engineering its natural environment at the same scale as the beaver, and it’s clearly this trait which has Portuguese ecologists jumping for joy.

Extinct in the small Iberian country since the 15th century, this large rodent has recently been reintroduced and restored in various parts of Portugal’s large neighbor. Gradually, signs began to appear that the beaver (Castor fibre) was progressively inching closer to Portugal, until recent camera trap footage confirmed the animal’s presence in the country.

“We’ve been on the lookout for this breakthrough for a few years now, and now we’re thrilled to confirm its return. The beaver is a natural ally in restoring the health of our rivers and wetlands and has a fundamental role to play in our river ecosystems,” says Pedro Prata, Team Leader at Rewilding Portugal.

Through its constant activity building dams, beavers transform landscapes into watery paradises for small fish, amphibians, invertebrates, insects, and birds. Their damning of rivers diverts water flow in various different directions, cuts channels for floodwater, and creates ponds and wetlands.

“We’re talking about a species that provides ecological services that no modern equipment can replicate with the same efficiency and scale, without costs and bureaucracy that can never be overcome. The beaver improves water quality, creates refuges for other species and helps us fight phenomena such as drought and fires,” emphasizes Prata.

Portugal suffers from both drought and wildfires, which the beaver’s impact can help prevent through the increased water retention in dryland soil, while the wetter lands beaver dams create act as natural fire breaks.

Beavers don’t only live in the forest, they will happily transform a desert river as well.

Rewilding Portugal, in an article celebrating the animal’s return, detailed how they have long since anticipated this arrival, and informed the relevant ecological authorities to prepare for the disruptive effects which beavers bring hand in hand with the positive ones.

France, Germany, Sweden, and Switzerland have all had to cope with the occasional dam-bursting flood, or an agriculturalist complaining about their riverside plantations being damaged, or someone getting their trees gnawed down. They cope with it in different ways, which Rewilding Portugal say is a worthwhile accommodation for the benefits the beavers bring.

Previously, GNN reported that Rewilding Portugal have reintroduced European wood bison into the Greater Côa Valley ecosystem. As the beaver does in water, the bison does on land: engineering the landscape into a biodiverse and resilient patchwork of micro-ecologies."

-via Good News Network, June 18, 2025

[deinoselachus]

smaugust day one—monstrous nightmare

edit: im not gonna change the painting but i forgot that nightmares have two sets of spines got damn it. i got all those refs for what lmao

"This behemoth of the stoker class is a native to the Isle of Berk, and an apex predator at that. Only trained by the most dedicated of vikings, these beasts are as much of a boon on the battlefield as they are a hazard; be wary of where it's kerosene fire lands, as it may just ignite an ally—or itself."

smaugust prompt list | class info | rambles below

okay so first of all this looks REALLY yellow and satured on my phone but fine on my laptop and tablet so if anyone wants to let me know how this looks for them so i can adjust going forwards thatd be swell! i dont know which device to believe haha

now for my dragon specie headcanon/rambles

monstrous nightmares, as said above, are a specie native to berk and the land around it, though they are hardy enough to survive most environments

despite their large size and ability to ignite themselves at the drop of a hat, they usually dwell in forested, mountainous areas, where they attract mates by scorching their territory and letting the smoke rise. the more smoke, the better their odds at a female coming to check out the show.

their striped hide means they blend in shockingly well to the trees, especially on warmer days. they are, however, not quiet dragons and cannot easily sneak up on prey, not that they would try to.

they are covered in a thin gel-like substance that can create a "flame jacket" very quickly and easily—a nightmare must spit some of its own fire onto it's body to ignite this jacket, or catch a flame from another dragon. they cannot ignite themselves without some sort of external fire.

all dragons are flame-resistant to some degree but nightmares more so than others, for obvious reasons. the flame jacket also serves to deter more flammable dragons for trying to enter close quarters. however this strategy is not effective for all as plenty of species, often other stoker class dragons, are willing to brave the heat. for these situations, nightmare's are equipped with one of the strongest bite forces in the dragon kingdom, and claws that could gut even a thick-hided dweller class. of course, that's assuming their fire breath didn't do the trick.

their eyes are slitted as they primarily hunt close to the ground, foregoing flight to run on their wings like bats. each wing has 7 digits, two of which are thumbs that they use to get a better grip as they walk. monstrous nightmares are pamprodactyls, able to move their hind toes to hook onto nearby trees or rocks.

despite possessing large, uniquely shaped wings, monstrous nightmares are poor fliers. their forward-facing eyes make them exceptional ground hunters to focus on prey, but limits their scope when in the air, where attackers can come from any direction. the best way to defeat a nightmare is by getting it airborne and disorientating it, then disengaging while it reorients and lands. be aware of the claws on it's wings as it flies—they are just as sharp as it's talons.

the spines on it's back are not actual spines; they're sails. though much softer than the spikes they look like at a distance, they are still not comfortable to sit on. why nightmare's developed false spines when all other aspects of them are real and deadly isn't yet known.

version without smoke

[mammalianmammals]

A new study reveals an unexpected hero in forest recovery after wildfires: The Chinese pangolin!

Researchers found that Chinese pangolin burrows help restore biodiversity in forests devastated by fires. Over two years, areas with burrows had a higher diversity of plants and animals compared to sites without them. These critically endangered mammals are expert diggers, burrowing as deep as 8 feet—creating shelter for cold-blooded animals, ideal conditions for shade-loving plants, and even dust baths for birds. Small mammals also use burrows for foraging and hunting. As forest fires worsen due to climate change, this study underscores the power of nature-based solutions. Protecting pangolins doesn’t just save a species—it helps entire ecosystems recover.

Read more: https://news.mongabay.com/.../pangolin-burrows-are.../

[thatdisasterauthor]

New disaster education graphic! Had to split it in half so tumblr wouldn't TOTALLY eat the quality. I'm going to put the full, unsplit version beneath a cut so if you want to share this graphic you can grab the whole one or the two halves, whichever works for you. As always, my disaster graphics can be shared anywhere on the internet that isn't making a profit, as long as my credit remains intact at the bottom! If you would like to license a physical or paid use of them, reach out to me on my website.

I've seen a lot of graphics about defensible space over the years, but I've never really seen one that does a good job of also explaining WHY the recommendations are what they are, so I've been wanting to make a graphic that dug into the why.

Alt text is also below the cut!

Alt text: Two halves of a single infographic. The background is dark gray. The top text reads "Why Does Defensible Space Matter?" in large yellow text. Below that is the text "When it comes to protecting your home from a wildfire, having defensible space around your home is one of the best things you can do. But why?" in black. Below that is the text "Wildfires move in three main ways:" in white.

Next there are three rectangles in a lighter gray, stacked one on top of the other. Each has a diagram of a small house on the edge of a forest. There are decorations on the porch, firewood on the porch, leaf litter on the roof, overgrown grass, trees growing right up next to the house, bushes, and the forest is crowded and overgrown.

In the top box, there is a fire moving along the ground, and the box is labeled as "Along the ground." In the second box the fire is moving through the tops of the trees, and the box is labeled, "through the crowns of trees." The third box shows a distance fire with lots of little embers being blown through the air, labeled as "Through the air via embers."

After that is the text, "The goal of defensible space is to make changes that impede each of these types of movement" in white.

Below that are the same three boxes as above, but each one shows changes you can make to impede one of these types of movement. The changes are listed under the box in a numbered list, with the numbers also in the diagram where those changes are reflected in the art.

The first box is labeled as "Impede ground movement" and has the following items listed:

Create a five foot zone around your home with no burnables using gravel, pavers, or other hardscaping.

Keep grass trimmed and well maintained in a thirty foot radius around your home.

Keep ground plants other than grass to a minimum and well spaced out.

Trim low hanging branches to prevent a ground fire from accessing higher portions of the tree.

The second box is labeled as "Impede Crown Movement" and has the following items listed:

Remove trees hanging over the roof and close to the home.

Thin trees within One-Hundred Feet of the home to reduce movement of flames between them.

The third box is labeled as "Remove Anything that can trap embers" and has the following items listed:

Clean debris such as leaves from off the roof of and around your home.

Do not store firewood or lumber near your home.

Keep combustible decorations That can trap embers close to your home to a minimum.

After that is a larger version of the house, but redecorated in a more fire safe manner. The door has been painted purple, there are plants visible inside through the window, and the outdoor decorations are made of non-combustible materials. After the house is the text "There are still plenty of ways to make your home your own while being fire safe!" in white.

Below that in a rectangle is the text "For more information on defensible space and how to create it around your home, visit: https://www.fire.ca.gov/dspace for a more in depth breakdown of how to protect each zone around your home."

The last text on the poster reads "If you are in the U.S.A. and experiencing disaster related anxiety, call the Disaster Distress Hotline at 1-800-985-5990 for support and resources. Poster created by Katy L. Wood ● www.Katy-L-Wood.com"

[cutehoons02]

Desire:Unleash

Every vampire harbors a dark Desire. Some crave your blood with an insatiable hunger, others seek to possess you, slowly poisoning you with a cursed love. Some vow revenge, convinced that a vampire can never truly love, yet deep down dream of a family—a bond forbidden by the night. And finally, there are those who swear never to love anyone, but surrender to the forbidden call, determined to protect the one soul they should never have loved...With every heartbeat, with every whisper, Desire becomes damnation.

*tags: This series is entirely fictional, created for a mature audience: expect references to blood, vampire bites, rebellious vampires, explicit sex scenes, and hints of death. Yet, you will also uncover the Dark Desire of the Hyung Line. Each member carries a unique Desire that you’ll understand through the one-shots. Every story will have a happy ending, but it will be up to you to decide whether that love is healthy... or not.

Jake: Blood Sacrifices

*Synopsis: Jake has only one wish in life: to drink forever the blood he’s obsessed with—the only blood he can actually feed on. But something happens that drives him crazy: you, the only girl who doesn’t seem to notice him, are the one donating his favorite blood. You donate it because you have a rare condition—your body produces too much blood, and if you don’t donate regularly, you suffer from severe dizziness, vomiting, and could even die. But this is a secret, because you're one of the most popular girls in Korea and a social media influencer with millions of followers. When Jake finds out you're the girl behind the uncomfortable blood bags he's been drinking from, he blackmails you and forces you to let him be the only one who can “help” you, biting you once a week. But what would happen if one of you fell in love? You’re a human with dreams, and he’s a 130-year-old vampire who, on paper, is your age—but behind that, he hides a dark identity.

Sunghoon: Bad Desire

*Synopsis: Park Sunghoon’s wish was to never fall in love again after losing his soulmate. But what would happen if an intern—barely 22 years old and, on top of that, human joined his Marketing department? You and he are light and darkness: you're fun and carefree, while he’s cynical and cold with everyone. But opposites attract, especially when he tastes your blood, which for him becomes both his cure and his sweetest poison. What will happen between a young woman fresh out of university and him, one of the most famous vampire CEOs in the world, 270 years old but with a human identity that says he’s 27?

Jay: Bad Romance

*Synopsis: Jay has only one wish: to be a good father and always be there for his daughter. Jenù was born from a meaningless one-night stand, and six months after her birth, a staff member at the Park Society found a baby girl with forest-green eyes and tiny red flecks, Jay’s same smile, and the same birthmark on his neck. She came with a note from the girl who couldn’t handle becoming a mother, especially not to a child who was half-human, half-vampire. Since that day, a year and a half passed. Jay had fired over twenty babysitters: human, vampire, witch, and more until one day, Sunghoon’s girlfriend told her best friend, who was struggling financially, that Jay was looking for a new babysitter. From that moment on, your life, as well as Jay’s and Jenù’s, changed forever. You are bold, dangerous, always sarcastic and you adore Jenù. But to Jay, a vampire over 300 years old, you're a dangerous distraction, especially when you're around his daughter. He's gruff and strict, only softening when he's with her, and in his eyes, you're just a reckless young woman… with blood that tempts him too much and a mouth that's far too bold.

Heeseung: Blood Lies

*Synopsis: Heeseung (Evan) has never loved anyone in his life except himself and his 3 brothers, works as students to fight the "rebel vampires" and has a long list of broken hearts among the girls of the university but what would you fall for when you see for the first time in class with a sweater slightly wide where you can see your skin white and with those eyes and with the tongue too long? Evan should not be obsessed with anyone but with you he becomes obsessed and becomes almost everything that he tries to fight with his work: a stalker…but what would happen when you after the events of terror of your new stalker enave your life ask for help just Evan and fall into his trap?

The taglist is open, the first story (Jake) will be released on Thursday 5 or Friday 6 June, the other stories I do not know when they will come out because I am in exam session and I also have other requests to finish…I hope you like it!

[i-suggest-scumplane]

Au where Shang Qinghua is a god that does his best to protect Shen Jiu through out his life (to save Binghe of course) but he can only communicate with and through those who worship him so to nonbelievers he seems like a ghost who can move objects and change the weather. So because Shen Jiu is an atheist he just thinks he someone is haunting Qiu Jianluo

He so often gets really close to getting injured or beaten and then last second something will happen to prevent it. Like, one time Shen Jiu almost got caught stealing in the Qiu manner but then a candle fell and lit something on fire, allowing him to escape unscathed. Then of course, there was the time there was an earthquake and the sword on the wall fell out of its sheath somehow and right on Qiu Jianluo’ss head, leaving a nasty gash.

Still he doesn’t connect these occurrences to a god because he thinks if a god wanted to save him, they would have done so already. It made a lot more sense that whatever force doing all this just hates Qiu Jianluo

Then after he leaves the Qiu Manor and joins wu Yanzi, his new master instantly gets attacked by a powerful beast. Shen Jiu is once again able to make it out unscathed and heads to Cang Qiong, where he meets Yue Qi halfway, what a coincidence! Yu Qi says it must be “Airplane himself” that made them converge paths. Shen Jiu asks who that is

Turns out Cang Qiong generally worships a god known as “Airplane” who created the world and watches over those who believe. Shen Jiu doesn’t think much of it.

Shang Qinghua’s attempts to communicate grow increasingly desperate as he wants Shen Jiu to know he has more people by his side than just Yu Qi. It gets to the point where he straight up gets a priest to as Shen Jiu directly to visit the temple. However the more people try and push this faith onto him the more Shen Jiu refuses to give in. He becomes convinced that the ghost previously haunting Qiu Jianluo has latched onto him somehow and will not be falling for their traps!

This belief only gets stronger the more Shang Qinghua tries and when Luo Binghe comes along and the tea Shen Jiu was drinking goes cold and then the cup shatters when he puts it down. He doesn’t pay to much mind to Binghe, treating him as he would treat any other disciple. One day the boys fake jade Airplane pendent falls on his head in the forest but, he blames the ghost on that one.

In fact, that is the last straw for him. He’s already tried all the normal methods of getting rid of spirits so he calls a local priest to do an exorcism on his house. This priest is a worshipper of Airplane named Shen Yuan, and he finds the whole situation hilarious

This post is way longer than I intended so I’m ending it here

[theplotmage]

50 Fantasy Prompts: Cultures and Societies. Writers Save this!

1. Luminae

- A society that worships light and revolves around bioluminescent creatures.

- Gesture: Raising both hands to the sky and opening palms to signify receiving light.

- View: Light is considered the purest form of energy and the ultimate source of life.

2. Mistral Nomads

- Wind travelers who harness the power of the breeze for navigation and communication.

- Gesture: Whispering into a small vial and releasing it into the wind, symbolizing sending a message.

- View: The wind carries the voices of ancestors and guides the living.

3. Veilwalkers

- Inhabitants of the mist who can see and manipulate spirits.

- Gesture: Drawing a veil across the face to communicate with spirits.

- View: The world of the living and the dead are separated by a thin veil that can be crossed.

4. Starforged

- People born under specific constellations with unique abilities tied to their birth star.

- Gesture: Touching a constellation tattoo to activate its power.

- View: Stars are the eyes of the gods, watching over and guiding them.

5. Shadecloaks

- Masters of shadow magic, living in perpetual twilight.

- Gesture: Merging fingers into the shadows, symbolizing blending into the darkness.

- View: Shadows are protective, hiding them from danger and giving them strength.

6. Seraphians

- Winged beings who consider themselves guardians of the skies.

- Gesture: Unfurling wings in a greeting, showing trust and openness.

- View: The skies are sacred, and flight is a divine gift.

7. Pyrosages

- Fire-wielders who live in harmony with volcanic landscapes.

- Gesture: Holding a flame in one hand while placing the other hand over the heart, symbolizing passion and life.

- View: Fire is a cleansing force, both destructive and renewing.

8. Aquafolk

- Ocean dwellers with the ability to breathe underwater and communicate with marine life.

- Gesture: Creating ripples in water with a fingertip to convey emotions.

- View: Water is a mirror of the soul, reflecting true feelings and intentions.

9. Silvan Elves

- Forest guardians who blend seamlessly with their environment.

- Gesture: Touching foreheads with a leaf, symbolizing unity with nature.

- View: All life is interconnected through the roots of the great tree.

10. Necrochanters

- A culture deeply connected to the afterlife, able to communicate with and summon spirits.

- Gesture: Drawing a circle with ashes to summon spirits.

- View: Death is not the end but a transformation to another state of being.

11. Stonekin

- Rock-like beings who can manipulate earth and stone.

- Gesture: Pressing a hand to the ground to communicate with the earth.

- View: The earth holds ancient wisdom and the memories of their ancestors.

12. Aetherians

- Masters of air magic, capable of floating and flying at will.

- Gesture: Raising arms and fingers to mimic the flow of air currents.

- View: The air is filled with invisible threads that connect all living beings.

13. Chronomancers

- Time-benders who can manipulate past, present, and future.

- Gesture: Tapping a timepiece rhythmically to alter time flow.

- View: Time is fluid and can be molded to fit the needs of the moment.

14. Dreamforgers

- People who can enter and manipulate dreams.

- Gesture: Weaving fingers in intricate patterns while in a trance.

- View: Dreams are a bridge between realities, holding power and prophecy.

15. Sunseekers

- Pilgrims who follow the path of the sun, gaining strength from its light.

- Gesture: Holding a hand above the heart to swear oaths under the sun’s gaze.

- View: The sun’s light is a witness to all promises, giving them sacred weight.

16. Frostborn

- Ice-dwellers with control over cold and frost.

- Gesture: Exhaling a cold breath to signify agreement or truth.

- View: Ice preserves and protects, holding the essence of life.

17. Songhearts

- A musical culture that uses songs and sound for magic.

- Gesture: Placing a hand over the throat and singing a single note to show sincerity.

- View: Music is the language of the heart and the most honest form of communication.

18. Runecarvers

- Inscribers of powerful runes that grant various abilities.

- Gesture: Tracing runes in the air or on surfaces to cast spells.

- View: Runes are the written words of the gods, containing immense power.

19. Stormcallers

- Masters of weather, able to summon and control storms.

- Gesture: Raising a staff to the sky to summon storms.

- View: Storms are the breath of the gods, bringing both fury and renewal.

20. Plainsriders

- Nomadic horsemen known for their speed and agility.

- Gesture: Drawing a circle in the dirt with a foot to mark territory or signal peace.

- View: The open plains are a vast, sacred expanse that must be respected.

21. Mycologians

- Mushroom-like beings who can communicate through spores.

- Gesture: Spreading spores by tapping a mushroom cap to communicate.

- View: Fungi are the bridge between life and decay, recycling energy.

22. Glimmerfolk

- Glittering, gem-encrusted people who can harness the power of precious stones.

- Gesture: Touching gemstones to channel their energy.

- View: Crystals are vessels of ancient power and knowledge.

23. Thornclad

- A warrior culture clad in thorny armor, known for their fierce combat skills.

- Gesture: Clasping hands with thorned gloves to signify a bond or agreement.

- View: Pain and resilience are intertwined, symbolizing strength.

24. Celestials

- Star-born beings with a deep connection to the cosmos.

- Gesture: Drawing constellations in the air with glowing fingers.

- View: The night sky is a map of destiny, guiding their every action.

25. Inkshapers

- People who can bring drawings and tattoos to life.

- Gesture: Drawing a symbol on their skin to activate a spell.

- View: Ink and art are extensions of the soul, capable of bringing thoughts to life.

26. Mirageweavers

- Desert dwellers who can create illusions and mirages.

- Gesture: Waving hands to create illusions and mirages.

- View: Reality is fluid and can be shaped by perception and will.

27. Echoers

- A culture that communicates and fights using echoes and soundwaves.

- Gesture: Clapping or snapping fingers to create soundwaves for communication.

- View: Sound is a powerful force that can shape the world around them.

28. Ironveins

- Metal manipulators who can shape and control metal at will.

- Gesture: Clenching fists to channel metal manipulation.

- View: Metal is a living force, constantly evolving and reacting.

29. Wyrmkin

- Dragon-like people with scales and the ability to breathe fire.

- Gesture: Exhaling a plume of smoke or fire to show respect or power.

- View: Dragons are the ultimate beings, embodying wisdom and might.

30. Duskborn

- Night-dwellers who gain strength from the moon.

- Gesture: Holding a candle to their chest, symbolizing the light within the darkness.

- View: Darkness is not to be feared, but embraced as a part of the natural cycle.

31. Crystalhearts

- A society with crystalline bodies that can refract light and energy.

- Gesture: Touching their heart crystal to show honesty and purity.

- View: Crystals are the heart of their being, reflecting their true selves.

32. Skyforgers

- Builders of floating cities and airships.

- Gesture: Hammering an invisible anvil to craft objects from thin air.

- View: The sky is a forge, and they are its smiths, creating wonders from the air.

33. Leafkin

- Plant-based beings who can photosynthesize and communicate with flora.

- Gesture: Placing a leaf in the palm to connect with nature.

- View: Leaves and trees are the lifeblood of the earth, nourishing all.

34. Sandshapers

- Desert people who can control and shape sand.

- Gesture: Drawing patterns in the sand to communicate or cast spells.

- View: Sand is a canvas for their magic, constantly shifting and changing.

35. Moonshadow Elves

- Elves who live in the shadows of the moon, skilled in stealth and night magic.

- Gesture: Casting moonlight on their face to invoke lunar power.

- View: The moon is a guide and protector, influencing their magic and lives.

36. Bloodrunes

- Warriors who use their own blood to inscribe powerful runes.

- Gesture: Pricking a finger to draw blood and create runes.

- View: Blood is the essence of life, and through it, they gain power.

37. Dreambinders

- People who can link their dreams to reality.

- Gesture: Twining fingers together to weave dreams into reality.

- View: Dreams are powerful forces that can shape and change the world.

38. Thunderclans

- Tribes who worship and control thunder and lightning.

- Gesture: Stamping feet or clapping hands to summon thunder.

- View: Thunder is the voice of the gods, a call to action and power.

39. Feywilders

- Inhabitants of the fey realm with unpredictable and chaotic magic.

- Gesture: Dancing in a circle to invoke fey magic.

- View: The fey are mischievous yet powerful, their magic a blend of chaos and beauty.

40. Mirrorborn

- People who can step through and manipulate mirrors.

- Gesture: Touching mirrors to travel or communicate.

- View: Mirrors are portals to other realities, reflecting infinite possibilities.

41. Wispwalkers

- Ethereal beings who guide lost souls.

- Gesture: Holding a wisp of light to guide lost souls.

- View: Wisps are guides and protectors, leading them through darkness.

42. Frostweavers

- Ice artisans who create intricate and magical ice sculptures.

- Gesture: Weaving ice crystals into intricate patterns.

- View: Ice is a delicate and beautiful force, capable of great power.

43. Starwardens

- Celestial knights who protect the realms from cosmic threats.

- Gesture: Drawing star maps in the air to invoke celestial power.

- View: The stars are guardians, watching over and protecting them.

44. Emberkin

- Fire-dwellers with control over embers and ash.

- Gesture: Snapping fingers to produce sparks and embers.

- View: Embers hold the remnants of fire’s spirit, representing both the end and beginning of the flame.

45. Oceanborne

- Sea nomads who can control the tides and waves.

- Gesture: Drawing water symbols in the air to summon sea spirits.

- View: The sea is a vast, living entity, a source of mystery and power.

46. Windwhisperer

- Communicators with the wind, able to send messages across great distances.

- View: The sky is a living entity, responsive to the voices of those who respect it.

- Gesture: Moving gracefully to mimic the flow of the wind.

47. Etherseekers

- Gesture: Holding out their hands to draw ether into themselves.

- View: The ether is a vast reservoir of magic, accessible to those who seek it.

48. Twilight Guardians:

- Gesture: Holding a lantern to light the way through twilight.

- View: Twilight is a sacred time, a bridge between day and night.

49. Windwalkers

- Gesture: Moving gracefully to mimic the flow of the wind.

- View: The wind is a messenger of the gods, carrying whispers of destiny and change.

50. Eclipsewatchers

-Gesture: Covering one eye while the other remains open to signify balance

- View: Eclipses represent the merging of light and dark, a time of balance and reflection.

Get your series world bible here!

[lesmana-enterprise-ltd]

Casa Amani : a Midcentury Home in Copperdale (NO CC)

SPECIAL EDITION: Casa Amani is reviewed and architect approved by Jakarta based architect and urban planner, Alyssa Wibowo.

Casa Amani – A Midcentury Jewel in Copperdale

Perched atop a serene hill overlooking the misty waters of Lake Copperdale, Casa Amani is a masterfully restored midcentury modern retreat that effortlessly blends natural tranquility with sophisticated design. Originally constructed in 1964 by Lesmana and Sons Co. , this home was thoughtfully renovated in 2024 by Lesmana Enterprise, preserving its original soul while introducing warm, modern comforts for a new era.

With its flat rooflines, expansive glass walls, and natural stone detailing, Casa Amani exemplifies midcentury architecture’s love for harmony between structure and landscape. Inside, the earthy palette and rich wood tones create an atmosphere of warmth and calm. From the handcrafted stone fireplace to the built-in shelves lined with books and records, every corner tells a story.

The red-toned blinds filter Copperdale’s golden hour light, casting soft shadows on heirloom rugs and polished teakwood furniture. Large floor-to-ceiling windows bring the outdoors in, allowing the surrounding pine forest to become an ever-changing backdrop.

A Home Designed in 1964, with the Comforts of the 21st Century.

Lesmana Enterprise approached the renovation of Casa Amani with deep respect for its 1964 midcentury roots—preserving its architectural charm while reimagining it for modern living. The exterior was subtly refined to harmonize with the forested landscape, while the interior was thoughtfully updated with warm wood tones, renewed midcentury furnishings, and contemporary comforts. Every detail, from the lighting to the layout, was carefully planned to meet today’s aesthetic while honoring the timeless soul of the original design.

Carefully Planned Living Quarters that Blends with Nature

The living quarters were reconfigured with intention, offering a layout that suits the needs of a small family. Communal spaces like the open living and dining area encourage togetherness, while private corners and a spacious bedroom ensure comfort and quiet. It’s a home that balances nostalgia with functionality—perfect for those seeking a peaceful retreat with room to grow.

Outdoor Living, Elevated

Casa Amani’s outdoor spaces are designed for both relaxation and year-round enjoyment. A heated swimming pool invites quiet morning swims or moonlit dips, while multiple balconies offer sweeping views of Lake Copperdale and the surrounding pines. An intimate outdoor fire pit area creates the perfect setting for cozy gatherings, storytelling, or simply unwinding beneath the stars. Thoughtfully integrated with the natural terrain, the exterior is as much a retreat as the home itself.

Currently listed at §160,000, Casa Amani is more than a home—it’s a lifestyle of slow living, mountain air, and curated peace. Whether you're a writer, a creative soul, or simply a Sim who craves a break from the noise of San Myshuno, this hilltop haven offers a timeless escape.

Technical Information

Packs used

Download

Via SFS : Download

Note from OP

Hi there! OP here. Apologies for the late upload! Casa Amani takes a long time to carefully plan and build, taking into accounts realistic layouts and interior. Enjoy the build!

[jinx-xxed]

I have a remmick x gender neutral!reader request (I hope you do those, if not it’s okay!). Reader is a lone, fledgling vampire - perhaps they became a vampire through being cursed, or whatever strikes your fancy. I’m dying for more Sinners vampire lore.

Anyways, reader is on their own, not knowing how to vampire, barely surviving, throat on fire with thirst because they don’t understand their new afterlife until they meet Remmick. The two can be companions, which they so obviously need.

Rotten Blood

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

A/N; Thank you for the request!! I absolutely love this idea and can 100% do a gender-neutral reader :) Of course Remmick still calls them the usual pet names (darlin’, baby, etc.) since I believe those can be for anybody so interpret as you will!

Summary; As a new vampire, you have no idea what to do but don’t worry, Remmick will help you.

Content; GN reader, fledgling vampire reader, getting turned, vampirism, suicidal ideation, hive minds, starvation, death, Remmick is weird and a smartass (what else is new), blood and injury, fighting Remmick, Remmick gives you your first meal, vampire bonding, very dependent relationship

Wc; 4.2k

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

You’ve never before known a hunger like this.

You feel it within every cell of your immortalized body as you stumble through the moonlit forest in a daze. Roots catch the toes of your boots, intent on dragging you down and keeping you there with them as they consume your flesh that’s so inherently wrong. You know it wouldn’t be difficult, you know that if you fell you wouldn’t be able to get back up. Starvation is like a beast stuck in the confines of your form, growling within your stomach and creating a tightness like a clenched fist in your chest. Your lips are dry and cracked, your face sunken, skin sallow, throat burning like you swallowed acid.

The teeth in your mouth feel unfamiliar, sharpened at the ends and crafted with the purpose of tearing into flesh. They create an ache in your gums, full of a desire to rip and devour and drink the warm life of God’s creations, the same ones you’d been taught to cherish. They’ve refused to retract since that night, your own body ignoring your commands in favor of the hunger steadily consuming you.

It was two weeks ago now, the time that passed feeling like an unbearable blur tracked through the moon’s cycle. She was full when your family was killed in front of you, and now she’s merely a crescent sitting amongst the stars.

You hadn’t known the man, neither did your parents. All they’d seen was a person in need of help and god bless their hearts, they’d welcomed him in so he could have a place to rest. You’d merely been visiting, something you did every month now that your parents were getting older, having no idea it’d be the last time you ever did such a thing. You were in your room finishing your work, oblivious to the monster that had just stepped foot inside your childhood home. It was three minutes after when the screaming started and you ran out to find your momma and papa laying in pools of their own blood with that man standing over them.

His beady eyes locked on to you and you’d tried to run but oh, do those things love a chase. You’d been shoved to the ground so hard your chin busted and you’d punched and kicked with all your might, but it wasn’t enough against a creature with snapping teeth and claws digging into your shoulders. In an act of desperate frenzy, you felt those fangs sink in and rip your life right from your neck.

You don’t understand why you were the only one who woke up again.

When you came to on the kitchen floor, you found you were alone and covered in your blood. It couldn’t have been more than a few minutes based on the warmth of it, but the man was nowhere to be seen and your back door was left swinging open. It made you sick how alien your body felt, like you’d been picked up out of your original one and plopped right into a new one. There was something unusual that crawled under your skin, your limbs felt foreign, and every sense was heightened to an inhuman level. You could hear the critters far off in the woods, could smell the iron of your parent’s blood, could see perfectly in the darkness of the house.

You didn’t know what to do. You wanted to scream, to cry, to puke, to chase down that vile man and kill him—with the claws that protruded from your fingers now, you probably could. But you didn’t do any of that. You merely stood on unsteady feet and walked out the door, something within you telling you that you couldn’t stick around any longer.

From there you continued to wander in a state of shock, unable to muster a single thought, your gleaming eyes wide and lips parted in disbelief. You kept going until the moon began to fall, until some secondary, old voice inside of you hissed that you needed to seek shelter. You’d gone deeper into the woods, managing to find an old hut that was falling apart inside and out. It was completely abandoned, meaning you got to just walk inside and curl up in the furthest corner from the door, making yourself as small as possible on the wooden floor that gave you splinters.

You laid there for hours as the world seemed to pass you by, only noticing when the room lightened with the sun, rays breaking in through a hole in the roof or gaps between the boards. You were far enough from them that you didn’t burn but you still felt the kiss of their heat on your sweat soaked skin. You were more than content to just remain there, to listen to the sounds of the outside as your body rotted away in some unknown hut. Then the voices started.

Screams and terrified voices of those long dead, of people who suffered your same fate, creating a cacophony within your mind. You’d groaned like you were in pain, clutching your head as they continued to wail. It was your connection to the man that did this, the souls of those he’d damned come to torment his newest victim. You could feel him so faintly within you, his frayed emotions and frantic thoughts, and if you branched yourself out, you knew you’d be able to rifle through a couple of his loose memories. It was clear he had no care for anyone but himself, he was barely a century old, and he lived in a state of constant panic. It spread to you, anxiety kicking in your chest, making you feel as though you were being hunted by something unseen.

“Please… just stop…” You’d muttered, your first words since your parents were killed. Your voice was cracked and weak, a mere whisper to whatever cursed god reigned over damned things like yourself. The screams quieted, but they were still there in the back of your mind, a constant echo while you drifted through fitful bouts of sleep.

Those voices became your companion while you walked through the forest like a ghost. Your hunger reared its ugly head after two days, your vampiric mind running in circles around the idea of fresh blood. The human part of you that still remained refused, the thought of taking a human life all for your own needs making you ill. You’d tried to eat the normal food you were able to scrounge up, had tried to drink water from a stream, but it just ended with you throwing it back up in violent heaves until there was nothing left but bile. You’d cried then, sobs wracking your body in frustration and horror, your tears tinted red.

Your days and nights continued to drag on much the same. You pulled yourself back into your hut as the moon set, you withered away on the floor, and then you’d spend the night roaming in search of some kind of purpose while desperate pleas and screams bounced around your skull. There were some days where you’d simply stare at the sunlight coming in through your hut, the specks of dust dancing in the rays acting like a taunt. You wanted nothing more than to walk into them, the human part of you begging for freedom, rattling the bars of the cage you’d been forced into. However, just as you’d reach forward, just as the sun would make your skin bubble and blister, you’d yank yourself back. That twisted sense of self-preservation continued to keep you from ending it all, kept you trapped in your prison of flesh and bone.

Sometimes the voices even urged you to do it. Some of them went out the same way, they just walked straight out into the sun and burned with nobody to stop them. They murmured that you should join them in their torture of the man who turned you, their spirits locked to him in an act of defiance, restlessness, and anger. You could never escape them until the one night they just… went silent.

It was like a radio being abruptly shut off, pure silence following. It felt like you could breathe again, could think again, at last left with just your own thoughts and emotions. You knew what it meant—the man that did this had finally been killed. You weren’t surprised of course, based on his old memories it seemed he was a fucking idiot anyway. With quiet finally in your mind, that was the first day you were able to sleep properly.

The cycle continued, hunger eating away at you with each sunrise and sunset. It’s why you’re still walking the woods now, like you’re hoping some solution will present itself to you and relieve you of this problem. You haven’t even been able to catch an animal, your heavy limbs too clumsy and your mind too distracted to get your claws on a mere rabbit. It’s led you to wander farther than you ever have before, starvation leading you on an invisible leash to what’s undoubtedly your own demise. Your mouth hangs open, your fangs peeking out from behind your lips, desperate for something, anything, to ease the pain twisting your stomach.

Your shoulder bumps into a tree and you find yourself sticking there like a bug would get stuck to sap, leaning your weight against the trunk with panting breaths. Your knees threaten to buckle beneath you, unable to keep holding up your shrinking weight. You would’ve sunk to the ground right there and made that your resting place if something strange didn’t break you out of your stupor. The forest had gone quiet. It’s not the kind of quiet of night time when all the birds have laid to rest, it’s the kind that’s followed by something dangerous, every creature and insect too scared to utter a single peep.

Your ears perk, your abnormal eyes widening in an attempt to get a better view of your surroundings. You can feel it. The hairs along your arms raise with goosebumps, a shiver runs down your spine, your teeth ache in response, something new is hissing in your mind to be ready, like it knows something you don’t. You think you hear whispers in the branches above, passing things that you can’t make out but proceed something that has you shoving yourself off that tree with newfound strength, your claws extending even further.

“Thought I smelled somethin’ good.”

You whip around at that southern drawl of a voice, finding the source of it in a man leaning against a tree not even ten feet away. You can see the way his eyes gleam red in the darkness like rubies, lazily looking you over. His scent comes to you on the breeze—ancient earth, rusted metal, and old leather, with an undertone of something that doesn’t belong in this world. In other words, something like you. His posture is relaxed, hands in the pockets of his trousers, sleeves rolled up, but it does nothing to shut off the alarms blaring in your mind. It’s a constant loop of things like danger, threat, new vampire, too strong, run-

He shifts, taking slow steps towards you. “Ain’t never seen you ‘round here before.” He says curiously, hands falling from his pockets to reveal long claws stained with blood. His fangs show when he speaks, glinting under the moon and undoubtedly sharper than yours. His head tilts. “What’s yer name, sweet thing?”

You can’t find it in yourself to answer as you stumble away from him. You want nothing to do with another vampire, not after witnessing the one who turned you. Though this one seems vastly different, more experienced and sure of himself, like he’s been around long enough to figure it out. He hums. “No need to be scared, darlin’. Here, I’ll go first. Name’s Remmick.” The name itself sounds old and foreign, a piece from a time long ago, from lands far away. His eyes narrow when he looks at you, assessing. “Ya look like skin and bones. When’s the last time you ate?”

“Stay away from me.” You finally manage to bite out, the first thing you’ve spoken in days. The words burn your throat, thick and clunky on your tongue. Your fingers twitch, your muscles tense, and Remmick notices. He smiles knowingly.

“It’s okay, darlin’, I can help ya. Ya feel that hunger eatin’ you from the inside out, don’t ‘cha?” He says, seeing it plain as day on your face. He’s seen it plenty of times in other fledglings, even in himself. That original denial to feed, the unbearable wrongness of your desire, the desperation to cling to your humanity, even if it kills you. He forced himself to overcome it with defiance, to give in to the new monster raging within his body. He can tell there’s nothing like that in you though, instead filled with misery and depression and skittish instinct. Hell, if he had to guess you’re probably a day away from dropping dead.

Before you can even blink, he’s on you; your hunger-induced sluggishness is no match for his speed. Your breath whooshes out of you in a gasp when he grabs your face, those claws of his just lightly pressing into your skin like a reminder. His hold on you is tight as he tilts your head from side to side, his brows scrunching. “Yeah, ya ain’t one of mine. You get left all alone then, darlin’? Abandoned by yer maker?” His tuts in disdain. “Y’know, I killed one of them a few days back. Real young, spazzy fella, got too in my space.“

Your eyes widen with recognition. So he’s the one that did the other guy in. You’d honestly thank him for it if you weren’t terrified. With mere inches separating you, you’re able to more clearly see his strong features, the curls of black sitting on his forehead, the lines of a human life gone by just barely etching his face. There’s something eerily charming about him, something that makes you want to give in to his promises.

Still, there’s a part of you that refuses, that won’t fall prey to another one of these beasts, that has you raising your claws and slashing them across his arm. He yanks back with a hiss, red irises flashing dangerously like sparking embers. He holds his wound, four gashes along his forearm, the blood beginning to seep through his fingers. You nearly choke on the scent of it, staggering back a step as it wraps around you, thick and cloying. For the first time, you feel the drool pooling in your mouth, made from moisture you didn’t even know you had left in you. It seeps from the corners of your lips, it coats your fangs as if in preparation.

Remmick grins. “Ohhh yeah, that smells good, don’t it?” He lifts his hand, covered in his own blood, taunting. “Poor thing like you ain’t have anyone to show ya the way. All alone out here, no idea what to do… let me help ya, darlin’.”

“Leave me alone.” You practically beg, trying to distance yourself from that god damn smell, clenching your teeth so hard they could shatter. Hunger claws at your insides, begging to come out, to get a taste of the meal in front of you, tainted as it may be. His blood smells rich with history, full of stories and different lives lived, laced with earth older than you could imagine. There’s something in your mind howling for just a drop of it, begging to know what something that ancient would feel like on your tongue.

For every step you take back, Remmick takes another forward, never letting you get far enough from that scent. “Aw c’mon now, I can’t let a sweet thing like you go to waste. It’ll be okay, baby, I promise.” He coos at you like a frightened animal, getting closer still. “You don’t have to be all by yourself no more. Don’t have to keep bein’ in pain.” There’s something about you that draws him in, that makes him want to know more, to tame that frenzied panic within you. He’s already decided he won’t let you waste away for a second longer, no matter how much you fight him on it.

Oh, you sure do fight him on it. As soon as he gets too close for your liking, you’re growling again, lunging at him. Your claws want nothing more than to dig into him, especially as he laughs lightheartedly. He stumbles back as your weight slams into him, as your hands reach for his face and neck. He moves with an inhuman speed and strength that you lack, easily gripping your wrists and keeping you at a safe distance. “Easy now,” he says, almost teasing, “don’t wanna hurt ya.”

His tone serves to piss you off more, and you use that anger and your final pump of adrenaline to struggle, to try and kick and hit, to burn off the rage that’s been simmering within you for two weeks. Remmick sidesteps you with a lazy confidence, watching you wear yourself out. There’s a point when his own claws just barely nick your arm like an accident, a thin strip of blood beading at the surface. It makes him pull back, his nose scrunching. “Whew baby, yer blood is potent.” He whistles, nearly wincing at the scent that makes his mouth water. It smells so human, not yet flushed out by feeding on other’s blood, by the wrongness of being a vampire. His eyes gleam. “Still got all that mortality in ya.”

With the grace of a cat, Remmick sweeps your legs out from under you when you try going at it again, leaving you to fall to the forest floor with an oof. You groan, your head pounding, your limbs feeling unbearably heavy, chest heaving. You go limp against the cool grass, your remaining energy at last spent, more than content to lay there until the sun comes up and burns you away. You hear a click of the tongue above you, Remmick looking down at you. “You done, sweet thing?” You don’t respond, making him huff. “Alright, c’mon,” he says, scooping you up by under your arms and forcing you back on your feet, “don’t die on me just yet.”

He nods towards the trees beyond. “Let’s go. Got somethin’ for ya.”

He starts walking without even looking back, like he fully expects you to follow him, like he knows you will. He’s right of course, and you find yourself stumbling after him without a second thought; it’s not like you have much else better to do than follow this weird, ancient vampire.

His steps are steady and light, traversing the forest with the experience of someone who’s done it hundreds of times. He barely rustles the bushes he passes, as if he doesn’t exist to the world around him, or he doesn’t want to disturb it lest it turn the wrong eye on him. You, on the other hand, make enough noise for the both of you. You can barely stay upright, your legs shaking, every tree root feeling like a death sentence.

The further you go, the stronger a certain smell gets. At first you think perhaps it’s Remmick’s wounds from you bleeding again, but they closed up a while ago. No, this scent is fresh and full of life and human. Hunger slams into you tenfold, sent into a frenzy at the idea of a true meal. You begin to hear noises too, garbled cries and pleas and sobs.

The undergrowth parts around you, leading you into a small clearing where blood has smeared across the grass, eerily illuminated by the moon above. Lying amidst it all is a young man, his clothes dirty and bloodied, his face bruised, and tears running freely. He’s on his stomach like he’d attempted to crawl away, drawing attention to the fact that both his Achilles tendons have been brutally sliced. When he spots you both, he goes into a full blown panic, begging and pleading for mercy. “No, no, no- please- I don’t know what I did just spare me please-“

“Oh hush up.” Remmick says roughly to him, grabbing him by the collar and dropping him against a tree, then keeping him there with a boot pressed into his leg. Remmick looks to you, nodding towards the guy. “Now I left this poor feller waitin’ all cuz of ya so ya best be nice and put him outta his misery”

You stand there confused for a moment, in disbelief at the fact that you’re being offered someone else’s meal just like that. Drool coats your chin, your fangs fully extended and sharp as razors, the hunger inside you howls. You know better than to reject a gift when it’s given to you so Remmick watches you with both intensity and fascination as you stumble forward, your lips already dropped open. The scent of blood coats the roof of your mouth, your eyes gleaming while the man struggles and sobs.

You fall to your knees in front of him, clawed hands coming up to shove his head aside to bare his untouched neck to you. You can feel the way his blood pumps beneath the skin, his heartbeat so loud in your ears you could mistake it for your own if you had one. There’s still something human in you that struggles against this, that screams at the horror of it all, but it’s ultimately drowned out by the desire and temptation. You can’t find it in yourself to apologize before you’re leaning in, before your teeth are sinking deep, deep into his flesh.

The man’s scream gets cut off, his body going still beneath you. When those first drops of blood hit your tongue you moan, the sound coming from you without control. It feels like a puzzle piece has finally been snapped into place, everything suddenly feeling so unbelievably right, despite your actions being so wrong in every way under the eye of God. That burn in your throat at last goes away, strength already returning to your limbs, your mind clearing with each gulp. Remmick grins, satisfaction and pleasure blooming within him just from watching you. He crouches down, his hand coming to pet through your hair, brushing it back from your face. “That’s it, good, good. Drink it all, baby.” He says in whispered awe.

You do just that. You take and take and take, sucking every drop of blood from the man’s veins until there’s nothing left to be given, until the flavor starts to lose its vibrancy. When you finally feel satisfied, you pull back with a loud pop and a tear, your fangs leaving one last mark by ripping some of his skin. Your breath comes in heavy, iron-tainted pants, your eyes bright and you feeling like you can think for once. The blood has made a mess of your front, smeared across the lower half of your face and down your neck to your chest, ruining your shirt. Your hands haven’t been spared either, the red running from the tips of your claws to your knuckles.

You look up at Remmick, at the creature who finally fed you, who gave you just what you needed without hesitation, who saved you. Where there was once alarms ringing, there’s now just whispers of devotion. Whispers of Remmick being safety, a provider, a savior. He sees that shift in you clear as day, something he’s seen countless times before—it’s just that this time he didn’t have to turn you himself for it to happen. It makes his smile widen, his red gaze lidded.

He takes your face in one hand, and this time you don’t flinch away from his touch. “Gorgeous.” He murmurs before his tongue is on you, dragging across your chin, collecting the combination of blood and spit in rough licks. You whimper under his ministrations and he swallows down that sound with his lips on yours, his kiss starved and desperate. He groans at the taste of blood, taking every bit he can from you, the weight of his body pressing hot and heavy against your own. He licks across your neck, teeth grazing purposefully along your skin as a tease for you and him both. There’s small nips when he can’t control himself, when there’s a spot properly drenched with blood.

The combination of the man’s human blood mixed with the scent of your own is intoxicating, and if Remmick didn’t force himself to pull back, to exercise some form of self restraint, he believes he would’ve found himself with his fangs in your neck.

He sighs, running his thumb along the corner of his lip to clean off the drool that began to form. “Now let’s find another one ‘fore I eat your sweet self whole.” He says, voice low and scratchy at the edges.

You’re eager to follow him, to have him show you the way of this new life. You both leave behind the mangled body of the man, his blood now flowing through your veins and giving you the energy you’d been so sorely lacking. You feel reborn, fresh and rejuvenated, excited to see what else may lay on the moonlit path with Remmick as your eternal guide, neither of you ever being alone again.

[dcxdpdabbles]

DC x DP fanfic Idea: Pin-Man and the Merry Metal-makers.

The Fenton children all have the misfortune of going home for the holidays and getting tangled up in their father's latest invention, where he, once again, forgot to carry the two. The invention was meant to teleport ghosts into the Ghost Portal as soon as they were captured.

It was supposed to be a long-overdue upgrade to the Fenton Thermos, which Jack had been eager to reveal. His children had all moved out, including the two clones of his son, who had morphed into their own person, and he had taken in as his kids, so it was a real treat to have them home.

Jazz and Dan were both in college four hours away. Jazz was studying psychology, and Dan was studying Law. The two had rented out a house together while working full-time jobs. Dan was one of the older students, but seeing as he hadn't been able to continue his education in his timeline, the Fentons felt like it was not "too late" when it meant learning.

Danny had chosen not to go to college but entered the trades. He had gotten into metal design and jewelry making and was currently learning to wield. Dani shared her brother's love of trade, but she focused more on metal and graphic design. They also lived alone in different apartments despite living in neighboring cities.

With everyone's conflicting schedules, they rarely, if ever, saw each other in person. Texts and phone calls were commonplace but it was nothing like waking up to the chatter of the children (Jack didn't care. They were all well into their twenties and early thirties. They would always be his children)

The holidays were the one time Jack and Maddie fought a year, so she didn't double-check his calculations before Jack fired off the thermos on Christmas morning. It, of course, malfunctioned, sucking in the Halfas twins first, then Dan, and finally, Jazz, who ran over to help, unaware it could pick up humans.

Jack had meant to create a ghost trapper with a self-emptying trash bag. Instead, he made a pocket teleporter. Only he had not designed a way to get what he teleported straight into the Ghost Zone back. Instead, he focused on making sure the ghost was flung as far away from the portal as it could teleport it to, in order to deter the ghost from coming back.

Even though Danny was no longer Phantom Two's protector, Jack and Maddie took up the job of keeping the town safe against ghosts that were actually harmful. It was a hassle having them come back after every fight.

It's safe to say that both Jack and Maddie put aside their yearly argument about Santa Claus to try to track down the children.

_____________________________________________________________

Meanwhile, the Fentons found themselves in the ghost zone, in an area none recognized, before realizing that Jazz could not fly. She plummeted towards the bottomless void, screaming at the top of her lungs, falling straight into a swirling portal of darkness.

Thanks to their ghost powers, the other three were able to get balanced in the air before shooting after her. They didn't care that the portal was colored differently; all that mattered was that one of them caught Jazz as she continued to fall, this time over the landscape of a rather grass field.

In the end, Dani was able to catch up to her, wrapping her arms around her sister and slowing them down into a gentle hover above the ground. The women sighed in relief until their thirty-two-year-old brother and the twenty-two-year-old brother landed on them because their powers fizzed out, shifting them back into humans.

Groans and swears were heard as they quickly unpiled. Dani was also now a human, sporting a large bruise on her back for her troubles.

"Where are we?" She asked, looking around. The large grass field was smacked in the middle of a large desert forest and an even larger city far away.

"Don't know," Dan mutters, clenching and unclenching his fist. "But wherever we are, it's not letting me go ghost."

"Me either," Danny reveals, jumping on the balls of his feet. "Can't even produce ice."

"If your powers aren't working, something happened to your ectoplasm filter." Jazz concludes grimly, rubbing at her ankle with one hand. It had twisted when Danny landed on her. She was staring at her wristwatch, to which their mom had attached an ectoplasm reader. "The ectoplasm levels in the air are so low they're practically non-existent. This isn't our Earth."

"Communication is down too," Dani sighs, staring at the glowing blue screen of her phone, which her parents modified to work in the Ghost Zone, singing on her face. "Can't even get a signal"

"Typically of Dad getting us stranded in a different dimension." Jazz grumbles, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "At least mid-terms ended."

"Amen to that," Dan says before straightening his back and clapping his hands. "Alright. We need to make a plan. Let's go into the city, find out if the currency they use is similar to ours, and get food and shelter if it is. How much money do you all have?"

"I'm literally in pajamas covered in Christmas trees," Dani deadpans. "I have no cash on me at all."

"You're worthless. Next?"

"I also have no money," Jazz winces, gesturing to her plain blue silk pajama set (a long-sleeved shirt and a pair of pants). "I left it in my purse."

Dan rubs his face. He's also clad in pajamas, but he has a checker red and black bottom that didn't match the green shirt with the printed words Comrade of the Grinch. "I have ten dollars because I was going to run down the street and buy eggnog with cookies from that little neighbor girl. Mom handed me the money and told me to go after breakfast."

"I have nine hundred and fifty," Danny announces, ruffling in his jeans pocket until he finds the wad of cash. Everyone stares at him in utter bafflement until he shrugs. "I was going to meet up with Sam and Tucker after breakfast. We were going to gamble a little."

"You call nine-hundred and fifty a little!?"

"Oh no, I owe Tucker seven hundred dollars for that laptop he fixed up for me a few weeks ago. I tried to send it through the virtual payment apps, but his account got locked, so it had to be in cash." Danny waves away their concerns. "I'm sure he won't mind if I ask him to wait until the banks open again."

"Alright. We have a plan and funds- hopefully- let's go." Dan says, moving towards the city. He walks by a sign that reads Welcome to Gotham.

"How bad can this place be?"

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------\

Bruce eyed the screen with wary eyes. The still image of the four siblings didn't change, nor did their bright smiles and strange offits.

It's been six months since the strangers blew into town. Bruce hadn't been able to find evidence of them beforehand, nor did he have a clear picture of their timeline.

What he did know was that sometime in December, the four siblings, going by the last name Fenton, had wandered into a second-hand store, bought a change of outfits, and vanished into the city.

They popped up again three weeks later at a local artist festival. Danny, one of the twins, had rented a booth to sell enamel pins of strangely designed ghosts. He claimed to have created them, and his sister had helped design them.

The following week, his siblings were reported for selling metal wear on the side of the road. It's illegal in Old Gotham to sell things without a license, and it had been run out by the police. They returned soon after with a permit that, despite looking as accurate as can be, was not filed in the city's databases until five days later.

Of course, he would not know any of these until he started building an investigation. What caused this investigation? The Fentons had been inside Scarecrow's latest lair as his most recent test subjects.

The only thing was that, despite the various experiments done on them, none of the Fentons showed any sign of being affected by the needle injections. If anything, they seemed more inconvenienced than frightened by their capture.

Scarecrow had concluded the same thing as Bruce. None of the four Fentons were humans, but for some reason, they were hiding among the human race as metal artists selling enamel pins and metal artwork.

Bruce wasn't sure where they were staying, what they were planning, or what they were after. He would have been okay with leaving them alone, except Damian had reported that the Pin-Man, aka Danny Fenton, had not only spotted him when Robin was doing a stake out of a possible high-ranking member of a mob but had gotten close enough to try and sell him some pins of Damian's favorite anime.

How did he know what show his son liked to watch, and how did he get close enough to a highly trained assassin who didn't notice him until it was too late?

Also, why did Damian buy nine? All questions Bruce needed to have answered.

Bruce Wayne should try to find out what other kinds of pins his son would like if Damian hasn't already bought the whole series. He'll have to stop at the rumored areas where the metal workers were said to be operating.