#non-migrating bird

[calochortus]

Cactus Wren Palos Verdes Alta Vicente Reserve 3262 Southern California_ by Pekabo Via Flickr: "True to their name, these wrens prefer desert habitats dominated by spiny cacti, as well as thorny trees and shrubs. Coastal populations can also be found in chaparral habitat. Cactus Wrens sing, forage, and even place their nests in full view. Although they hold the title of "largest" wren north of the Mexican border, several tropical species are either equal or larger in size. Unlike other wrens in the United States, the Cactus Wren keeps its tail level, not cocked. With a rough, grating song, this wren rivals the Common Grackle in terms of unmusicality. It's often compared to the sound of a car engine turning over before it can start!" abcbirds.org

[kiwisoap]

Congrats Odyssey on his first squirrel! I have a question about falconry! Have you ever trapped and released a hawk, only to trap the same hawk again for a second season?

Hi and thank you!! To answer your question - no, I haven't personally experienced that, because Odyssey is the only bird I've trapped so far! So I don't really have a wide pool of experiences to draw from haha

HOWEVER it's definitely happened to other falconers! It's not super common but I was actually just listening to an episode of the Falconry Told podcast where they interview Al Ross (a prominent merlin falconer) who talked about how he'd trapped the same merlins multiple years in a row. IIRC he had one female that he released in the spring and trapped again in the winter for 5 years straight!

[great-and-small]

I recently watched a video of a pair of Sandhill Cranes raising a Canada Gosling, and it seems that it isn't the first example of it in the last few years. Are cranes like penguins where they will steal eggs/hatchlings if they had an unsuccessful breeding season, or is there some other reason that they 'adopt' baby geese?

If you follow enough birding groups in Sandhill crane territory, you’ll eventually see someone post a baby duckling or goose that is following around a pair of cranes. It’s not common, but it happens enough to be a thing!

Sandhill cranes don’t seem to steal babies, but they have an extremely strong parenting instinct. If they find a baby that needs taking care of, you can bet they’re going to take damn good care of it. There are documented cases of Sandhill cranes adopting unrelated crane chicks as well as geese and domestic ducks. They just love babies. There has even been some research into using Sandhill cranes as foster parents for endangered whooping cranes in order to re-establish a non migrating population of the latter. Sandhill cranes are super parents!

[shortnspidey]

THE VOID

Bucky Barnes X Fem!Stark!reader || WC: 5.4K

SUMMARY: What was supposed to be a quiet family weekend getaway at the Stark cabin is quickly interrupted by New York City being terrorized once more!

WARNINGS: Thunderbolts* spoilers! Angst, slight fluff, hurt-comfort, non-sexual nudity, talks of past trauma & HYDRA PTSD

A/N: Based on my Collateral Hearts series but can be read as a standalone! This was meant to be a short drabble but I couldn't help myself! It's safe to say Thunderbolts* is my new Marvel comfort movie! I hope I did this one-shot justice since we didn't get to see much of Bucky during the movie! 🫶🏻

➩ main masterlist

➩ series masterlist

As the soft glow of morning sunlight filtered gently through the sheer curtains, casting warm streaks across the hardwood floor. Your eyelids fluttered open, adjusting slowly to the familiar surroundings, the soft lavender hue of the walls, the faint scent of vanilla lingering in the air, and the peaceful silence broken only by the occasional chirp of a bird outside.

A small sleepy smile tugged at your lips as your gaze settled on the delightful chaos around you, a mountain of stuffed animals piled high near the window, polaroid pictures taped to the dresser mirror, each one a tiny fragment of a life well-lived and well-loved. Shifting to your side with a sleepy sigh, you expected to find the comforting bulk of your super-soldier fiancé beside you. His warmth, his steady breathing, maybe even the soft snore he always denied having.

But instead, a mop of tousled brown hair and a small frame tucked under a fortress of blankets greeted you. Morgan. Your not-so-little sister, who had clearly claimed the entire bed as her own sometime during the night. You let out a quiet chuckle, realizing you were perched on the very edge of the mattress, less than an inch from tumbling onto the floor. The covers had all migrated to her side, cocooned around her. She was somehow an even worse bed hog than Bucky, and that was saying something.

Even Alpine, with all her feline entitlement, hadn't managed to steal this much space. Your thoughts were interrupted as Morgan stirred, her little nose wrinkling adorably in protest against the invading daylight. She nestled even closer into your side, seeking warmth and refuge. "Morning, sunshine!" You chirped with faux cheeriness, knowing exactly what kind of reaction you'd get. Predictably, the nine-year-old groaned, burying her face deeper into your ribs with a dramatic sigh that made you smile even wider.

Definitely not a morning person, another undeniable Stark trait. "Morgan," You sing-songed, dragging her name out teasingly. “Time to wake up!” She grumbled in protest, clearly trying to lull herself back to sleep or at least tune you out. A soft giggle escaped you as you gently poked her side. “The only way I’m waking up is if you make me breakfast.” Morgan grumbled, her voice muffled against your side. You gave a mock gasp, clutching your chest dramatically.

“Demanding.” You teased, though your tone was soft as you reached out, brushing a few strands of her tangled hair away from her face. You leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, lingering there for just a second longer than necessary. Her skin was still warm from sleep, and for a moment, you just took in how small she still was, despite her growing stubborn streak and increasingly bold opinions. “How about I make you breakfast,” You offered, lifting your brows with a knowing smile, “and I’ll even let you sneak a juice pop before Mom makes us lunch?”

Her face twitched, trying to stay serious, trying not to give in to your irresistible offer, but you saw the small smile forming at the corner of her lips. “Promise?” She asked, lifting her head slightly and giving you those big, brown, soul-piercing eyes that always reminded you a little too much of your dad. You nodded, solemnly holding out your pinky. “Pinky promise,” You declared, your voice dropping to a whisper like it was sacred and in a way, it was.

Morgan didn’t hand out trust easily, but a pinky promise? That was ironclad. She hooked her little finger around yours, her smile breaking fully now. “Deal!” You grinned and pressed another kiss to her forehead, this one quick and full of affection, before leaning over to grab your phone from the nightstand. The screen lit up with a flurry of notifications, texts, emails, a missed call from Harley, but your thumb moved instinctively to the one name that always made your chest tighten in the best way. The most recent message read:

Bucky 🖤: Made it to the Capitol in one piece. Miss you already, doll. Tell Morgan I’m bringing her that thing we talked about.

You smiled at the screen, thumbs flying across the keyboard as you typed back a quick “I love you, stay safe.” Before you could even lock your phone, Morgan was peering over your shoulder. “Why couldn’t Bucky come?” She asked, her voice softer now, her fingers still tangled in the edge of your sleep shirt. You arched a brow, turning to face her with a mock pout. “Am I not enough for you anymore?” Morgan rolled her eyes with a giggle, but her cheeks flushed pink.

“You know what I mean.” She grinned. It always amazed you how quickly Bucky had wormed his way into her heart, how naturally he’d settled into the role of her protector, bedtime storyteller, and co-conspirator in every bit mischief she could dream up. And truthfully, you loved watching the two of them together, even when you pretended to be jealous. “Believe me, sweetheart, he wanted to,” You reassured brushing her hair back again as she snuggled close once more. “But he’s just a little busy now that he has Congressman duties.” Morgan huffed.

“You should’ve brought Alpine at least.” You laughed, ruffling her hair. “If we let that spoiled cat in this bed, there wouldn’t be room for either of us. Plus, she’d steal your juice pop.” That earned a giggle from her. “C’mon,” You coaxed, stretching your arms and sitting up fully. “Let’s go make some waffles. With chocolate chips. Maybe even whipped cream, if you swear not to tell Mom.” She perked up instantly, eyes gleaming. “You got yourself a deal!” This kid was definitely going to be the death of you.

After scarfing down at least a dozen waffles between you and Morgan, each one stacked precariously with whipped cream, chocolate chips, and just a hint of syrup for good measure you both made sure to clean the flour battlefield you’d left behind. The kitchen still smelled like vanilla and melted chocolate, but the counters were wiped, dishes stacked, and evidence buried, for the most part. Just in time too, as Pepper raised an eyebrow when she entered but said nothing.

Only offering a suspicious glance toward the empty whipped cream can in the trash. With the scent of breakfast still clinging to your pajamas and Morgan cradling a warm cup of cocoa, the three of you curled up on the couch for your weekend ritual. Blankets, mismatched socks, and the faint crackle of old movie magic filled the living room. The familiar sounds of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone played in the background, Morgan mouthing lines under her breath, completely absorbed in the scene.

And then, it happened.

The screen glitched, colors flickering unnaturally before the film feed abruptly cut to a flashing Breaking News banner. Static crackled. Then came the footage. A live aerial shot of Manhattan, swallowed by what looked like a creeping black fog, only it wasn’t fog. It slithered like it was alive, climbing buildings, flooding streets, consuming everything in its path. Helicopters struggled to keep up with the growing shadow that rolled through downtown like a tidal wave of nightmares.

Your blood ran cold. A surge of déjà vu punched through your gut, memories of Thanos, of the Snap, of losing everything for a single moment in time. But this wasn’t dust. This was something else, something darker. Morgan leaned forward, her cocoa forgotten, and even Pepper tensed, lips pressed into a thin, worried line. The footage zoomed in closer. Through the billowing obsidian mass, faint shapes flickered, terrified civilians, abandoned cars and buildings.

The once-iconic Avengers Tower, half-swallowed and collapsing in on itself, like some monument to forgotten glory. And at the center of it, looming like a shadow torn from nightmares, stood a shadowy figure. He wasn’t entirely solid, more like a dark silhouette. With every movement, people vanished. Your hand trembled as you reached for your phone, a cold sweat already forming at the back of your neck. You didn’t even remember dialing, your thumb working on autopilot.

“Pick up. Pick up.” You whispered, heart hammering against your ribs, anxiety rising like bile. One ring. Two. Three, then static. Faint, fragmented screams filtered through. Car alarms. Crumbling stone. You heard staggering breath, sharp and uneven. “Bucky? Are you there?” You asked, voice cracking, eyes fixed on the chaos on the screen. A ragged exhale echoed on the line. Then voices, quick, panicked. Civilians? You couldn’t tell. “Bucky, please tell me you’re not in that mess.” You begged, voice fraying at the edges.

You weren’t even sure if he could hear you. A pause. Then finally, his voice, raw and distant. “I wish I could, doll.” Your breath hitched. “I’m sorry.” He added. Those two words carried more weight than you could bear. Every instinct in you screamed to fight, to argue, but your voice didn’t come. Not even a whisper. “Doll, I—” And then, the call dropped. Your phone slid from your hand and landed on the couch cushion beside you with a thud. Your chest was tight, lungs refusing to work properly. Noticing the shift in your demeanor, Morgan instantly wrapped her arms around your waist.

“Is Bucky okay?” She whispered, burying her face into your side. You pulled her close, holding her like she was the only anchor in the storm. “I’m sure he is, sweetheart,” You reassured softly, kissing the top of her head. “He’s strong and brave.” But even you couldn’t tell if you were trying to reassure her or convince yourself. You looked up. Pepper had already stood, face pale but composed. She met your eyes, her strength unwavering even now. “Mom—”

“I know,” She mumbled quickly, cutting you off. Her voice was gentle, but there was an iron edge beneath it, a quiet strength born from too many nights spent watching the man she loved walk into war zones with nothing but conviction and an arc reactor. Pepper Potts wasn’t a stranger to sacrifice, and now, neither were you. “Go.” You hesitated, guilt gnawing at your gut. “Just promise me you’ll be careful.” She added, her hand closing tightly around yours.

You nodded, trying to keep your face neutral even as your stomach churned. You turned toward Morgan, who stood silently by the couch, clutching a pillow to her chest like it was a lifeline. “Morgie,” You called softly, crouching down to her level as her tear-filled eyes locked on yours. “He’ll be okay. We both will. Stay here with Mom, alright? I’ll call you as soon as I find Bucky. I promise.” You extended your pinky once more. This promise felt heavier than all the others.

“Okay.” She whispered, her voice cracking as she surrendered to your embrace, small arms wrapping tightly around your neck. You held her close, kissed her temple, then leaned into her ear. “I love you, kiddo.” You breathed, barely able to speak past the knot forming in your throat. You felt her nod against your shoulder, and it shattered something inside you. With that, you quickly got dressed, grabbed your car keys and drove as fast as the speed limit allowed you into the void that was now New York City.

As you made your way into the city, weaving recklessly through the traffic, your hands clenched the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip. Horns blared, lights flashed, but none of it registered fully, you were running on instinct and adrenaline. You fumbled for your phone at a red light, trying once again to ping Bucky’s location. Nothing. The screen flashed back the same message, unable to locate device.

You swore under your breath, the sickening realization hitting you like a punch to the gut, his phone must’ve been destroyed during all the chaos. There was no other choice. Without any clue where he might be, you had to go back to the apartment. Your chest ached with the weight of uncertainty, but through it all, a stubborn flicker of belief remained, he’d make it home to you. He had to. The moment your key turned in the lock and the door creaked open, the silence inside greeted you.

You didn’t need to call out to know, he wasn’t there. The emptiness clung to the walls, thick and oppressive, and did absolutely nothing to soothe the storm of fear brewing inside you. You closed the door quietly behind you, letting your forehead rest against it for a beat too long, before turning to scan the room with hopeful eyes. Then, a soft meow echoed from around the corner. “Alpine,” You breathed out, your voice cracking slightly with relief. The snowy white cat padded into view, her tail high as she trotted toward you, clearly happy to see you home.

You knelt down immediately, scooping her into your arms and pressing her warm body close to your chest. She purred against you, a soft, steady vibration that grounded you just enough to keep from unraveling completely. “Hi, sweet girl.” You murmured, your voice gentle as you carried her to the couch. You sank into the cushions, Alpine nestled securely in your lap, and stared out the window at the glowing city beyond. Every instinct in you screamed to go back out there.

To search every alley, every rooftop, every shadow, but instead, you sat still. Holding on to hope like it was the only thing keeping you from falling apart. After what felt like an eternity of pacing in the kitchen, organizing things that didn’t need organizing, and switching between news broadcasts that offered very little comfort and a phone that refused to light up with his name, you were unraveling thread by thread. Each second stretched, heavy and tense, your breath shallow. And then, you heard it. The familiar jangle of the doorknob.

Your heart skipped a beat, then thundered, and as the door creaked open, you let out a breath that felt like it came from somewhere deep in your soul. Your muscles, locked in anxious tension, began to loosen as you rose quickly from the couch. But the moment you turned the corner and saw him, really saw him all of that fragile relief shattered and the fear came crashing back in. There he was. Dressed in his signature all-black, the fabric of his clothes torn in various places.

Revealing angry red gashes and violet bruises beneath. His broad shoulders were pulled back in a rigid posture. His long hair was disheveled, sticking to his forehead and brushing his jawline, and his face, God, his handsome face was a map of pain. Scratches lined his cheekbones, one temple split and still weeping. His knuckles were bruised, skin split. And still, he didn’t bother to close the door behind him. His cerulean blue eyes locked onto yours, and for a brief moment, time stood still. He closed them slowly, like the sight of you was too much to bear all at once.

Relief, exhaustion, maybe even guilt, it passed across his face like clouds across a stormy sky. “James.” The name left your lips sharp and clipped, your arms instinctively crossing over your chest. There was frustration in your voice, more than that, there was hurt. At the sound of his given name, his eyes opened again, more alert, more present. He knew exactly what it meant when you used it like that. But he also knew this wasn’t about being in trouble. Not really. Cautiously, he took a step forward, hand raised, vibranium fingers trembling just enough to betray the storm inside him.

He reached for your arm, bracing for the rejection he was sure he deserved. But you didn’t flinch. You didn’t pull away. When his palm met your sleeve and you stayed rooted to the spot, something in him broke loose. He took another step, his other hand rising to gently uncross your arms, and you let him. You didn’t meet his eyes, not yet, but you didn’t resist his touch either. He pulled your body into his slowly, grounding you with the firm steadiness of both flesh and metal, his touch familiar, grounding. You looked away, jaw tight, holding back tears or words, you weren’t even sure which.

He exhaled slowly, then lifted a hand to your face, calloused fingers brushing lightly against your cheek as he tilted your head up. You didn’t want to look at him because if you did, you’d lose what little composure you had left. Still, you let him tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb lingering on your temple as he searched your face like it held the only truth left in the world. Your eyes met again, and for a heartbeat, the silence between you was louder than anything either of you could say. Then finally, you broke it, your voice low and rough around the edges.

“You’re still in trouble.” You grumbled, trying for stern but falling short, the corners of your mouth betraying you with the tiniest quiver. “I know, doll,” He murmured, his voice gravelly and soft in that way only reserved for you. “I know.” He rested his forehead against yours, his breath shaky as it ghosted over your skin. He wasn’t asking for forgiveness yet. He just needed this. You. “Just let me hold you.” He whispered, more of a plea than command.

And without another word, you let him.

Bucky’s chest rose and fell beneath your cheek, each breath shaky, uneven. His arms were tight around you now, no longer tentative. Flesh and vibranium wrapped fully around your waist, holding on like if he let go, everything would collapse. And maybe it would. You didn’t want to test that theory. He smelled like smoke and the faintest trace of blood, but underneath all that, you still found him. That scent you’d come to associate with home.

“Hey,” He murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, lips brushing your hair as he spoke. “I’m here. I’m okay.” You pulled back slightly at that, brows furrowing. “You’re not okay, Buck,” you scoffed softly, your hands coming up to cradle his scruffy cheeks. “You’re clearly hurt and you’re bleeding.” You swallowed hard as your thumbs traced the edges of a fresh cut along his jaw. “You scared the hell out of me.” His eyes closed again, jaw clenching as he leaned into your touch. You blinked quickly, fighting the sting in your eyes, but he saw it anyway.

Without hesitation, Bucky leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours again, this time more firmly, grounding himself in the contact. Then, slowly, deliberately his lips brushed yours. It wasn’t a kiss full of hunger or urgency. It was soft yet purposeful. You melted into it instantly, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as his hands cupped your jaw, thumbs brushing along your cheekbones. His lips trembled against yours, not from fear but from sheer, overwhelming feeling. He kissed you like he’d been afraid he wouldn’t get the chance.

Like this kiss was a thank you, an apology, and a promise all in one. When you finally parted, he lingered, his nose brushing against yours, eyes searching yours with that soft, open ache that always made you want to protect him, even when strongly believed that he was the one built to protect you. You exhaled shakily, resting your hands over his heart. In that moment, no words needed to be shared. You simply pulled him close, this time wrapping your arms around his neck, burying your face against his shoulder.

After a beat, your voice now more steadier broke the silence. "I hope you know you owe Morgan a call, she was pretty shaken after what she saw on the news." Bucky let out a long breath, one hand ghosting up your back in an absent, soothing motion. "Hopefully the bear plush I brought all the way back from DC will be enough for her to forgive me." Your brow lifted, eyes narrowing slightly as amusement flickered in your voice. "Seriously, Bucky. Morgan has enough stuffed animals to fill an entire daycare."

"Doesn't mean I'm gonna stop spoiling her," He offered a small shrug, the corner of his mouth quirking just enough to chase away some of the tension. "We should call." You nodded slowly, lifting your head from his shoulder without pulling away completely, your arms still draped around him in a gentle tether. "We should," You murmured in agreement. Your gaze swept over him, taking in the grime, the torn edges of his clothes, and the blood smeared along his jaw. "Might want to clean yourself up first."

Your fingers reached up, brushing lightly over the blood smeared on his cheekbone. The touch wasn’t firm, just the barest sweep of skin against skin, but it carried so much more than it seemed to. In that single gesture, you offered reassurance, a silent apology for whatever pain he endured, and the comfort of knowing he wasn’t alone. He leaned into the touch with a subtle, almost imperceptible sigh, his eyes fluttering closed for just a beat too long. Like the warmth of your hand was more healing than anything could ever be.

His lashes lifted slowly, gaze locking with yours. The blue of his eyes, normally sharp and vigilant, had softened into something almost vulnerable. “Join me?” Just two words. So simple, but they cracked something open inside you. The sheer vulnerability behind them wrapped in a quiet plea and a need for closeness he rarely voiced ever made your throat tighten. You didn’t trust your voice to hold steady, so you simply nodded, the motion small but immediate.

His expression didn’t shift much, but you saw the way his shoulders eased, just slightly. He leaned in, pressing one last lingering kiss to your forehead. He stayed there for a moment, his lips resting against your skin like he was afraid letting go too soon might shatter whatever peace had settled between you. Then, he stepped back, not far, just enough to reach for your hand. His fingers found yours with an easy familiarity, holding on like you were his lifeline. And without a word, he turned, guiding you slowly toward the bathroom down the hall the space you shared.

As you stepped into the space, a wave of protectiveness surged through you, catching you off guard with its intensity. It was more than just concern, it was an aching need to reassure him, to make it unmistakably clear that he was safe and loved. He stood quietly, as if waiting for something he didn’t quite know how to ask for. Your fingers trembled slightly as you reached for the hem of his t-shirt, eyes flicking up to meet his, searching for any flicker of hesitation. The fabric was worn, soft beneath your touch, and you tugged gently, more a question than a motion.

His response was wordless but immediate, lifting his arms and granting you silent permission. You peeled the shirt upward, revealing inch by inch of scarred, bruised skin that made your heart twist. A sharp, quiet gasp escaped your lips as the damage came into view faint scrapes, livid bruises blossoming in purples and yellows, and the ever-present, jarring contrast where metal fused into flesh. You knew the serum would eventually do its work, knitting tissue and dulling pain, but logic didn’t stop the worry that clawed its way up your throat.

You leaned in, unable to keep the distance between you. Your hand wrapped around his warm, solid bicep, drawing him gently closer. He didn’t resist. Your lips brushed against the harsh line where his metal shoulder met skin, a place that too often bore the weight of his guilt and silence. You pressed a soft kiss there, then another, scattering them along his shoulder blade, the curve of his jaw, and finally to the corner of his mouth. Each kiss was a silent whisper: I love you. You’re not alone.

His breath caught, chest rising sharply, and in the next heartbeat, his lips found yours. The kiss was deep, unhurried, the kind that said everything neither of you could quite put into words. When he finally pulled away, it was only to mirror your earlier gesture, his hands slipping under your oversized knit sweater and lifting it with reverent care. It joined his shirt in a quiet heap on the floor. “I love you so much, Y/N.” He murmured against your mouth, the words rough and tender all at once.

What followed felt timeless, a slow shedding of barriers, both cloth and emotional, until you were stripped bare, wrapped in warmth and each other. Garments fell away between stolen kisses and whispered reassurances. Hands traced the map of each other’s bodies like a prayer, gentle and certain, until there was nothing between you but skin and steam. At one point, his fingers intertwined with yours, he brought your left hand up to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

Then pausing, kissing the delicate glint of the engagement ring that rested there. His eyes met yours, soft and unguarded, and it said more than any vow ever could. Under the cascade of the shower, he held you close. You could feel the tension leaving his frame as your fingers threaded through his damp hair, massaging the soap in gentle circles. You washed away the remnants of blood and sweat, each pass of your hands careful not to press too hard against his bruises. Then it was his turn. He touched you as though you were made of glass.

His hands were hesitant and unsure, but so achingly tender it brought tears to your eyes. Every swipe of the washcloth, every stroke of his palm was deliberate, a silent apology for all the times he’d believed he didn’t deserve softness. You weren’t sure how long you stood there, surrounded by heat and steam and the quiet hum of water. Time didn’t matter. All that did was this, the slow melting of tension, the steady beat of his heart against yours, and the comfort of knowing that here, in this moment, you both had found something worth holding onto.

After drying off and pulling on soft, comfortable clothes, you settled into the rhythm of familiarity. Bucky perched at the edge of the bed, phone in hand, as he FaceTimed Morgan. You watched as the tired lines around his eyes softened at the sight of her excited face, his voice lifting just enough to sound like himself. “I promise I’m in one piece, kiddo,” He reassured her, holding the camera up so she could see the both of you. “Got a surprise for you next time I visit. I just know you’re gonna love it!” Morgan giggled, already speculating what said “surprise” was.

As the call continued, he had her and you laughing in no time, making goofy faces, promising to teach her how to do a proper left hook (with Pepper's reluctant permission), and patiently answering every curious question she had about what she had seen on the news. You noticed how his shoulders dropped, tension easing the longer he talked to her. Even Pepper smiled, though her eyes flicked across the screen with a mother's worry, lingering on the faint bruises still visible on his face.

When the call ended and the familiar dial tone hummed into silence, the weight of the night returned. The room felt heavier, quieter. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees, phone dangling forgotten in one hand. The other scrubbed across his face as though trying to rub away everything he’d just relived. You straddled his lap slowly, grounding him with your presence, settling so your chest was against his, your arms around his shoulders.

Your fingers threaded into his hair, gently scratching at his scalp, something you knew calmed him. “You want to tell me what happened?” You asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper. His throat bobbed with the effort of swallowing. “Yeah,” He rasped. “Yeah, I do.” And so he did. He spoke in starts and stops, piecing what had happened in fragments. He told you about flying to D.C. to expose Valentina de Fontaine. How he’d manage to convince force Yelena and her father, John Walker, Ava Starr, reluctantly, to gather enough evidence to bring Valentina down. But as usual, she was always ten steps ahead.

“She was manipulating this innocent man, Robert Reynolds, Bob, to somehow become the world’s New Avenger under her control, yet her plan had a horrible flaw,” He explained, eyes distant. “Bob, he had another side of him. This drug trail, it wasn’t anything like what happened to Steve or Banner. There was a darkness, a void.” Your hand moved from his hair to his chest, palm flat over his heartbeat. “Go on.” You coaxed softly, watching as his breathing grew more labored.

“The worst part,” He muttered after a long pause shutting his eyes, bracing himself. “Was that this alter ego, he could get inside our heads. All of us. It wasn’t just telepathy. It was like he peeled something back. Like he could reach into the rot of the trauma we’d buried and drag it into the light.” His voice cracked on the last word. Your arms tightened instinctively around his back, rubbing in slow reassuring circles. “He saw inside my worst nightmare,” Bucky continued, each word weighted and raw.

“And then he made me live it again. It felt so real, Y/N. The cold steel of the restraints. The stench of antiseptic. I was strapped down at that H.Y.D.R.A. base again. My body was fighting, but my mind—” His jaw clenched hard. “They were erasing me. Again and again. Every time I’d start to remember who I was, they’d wipe it clean. My name. My face. You.” A pained breath escaped him. “You were fading. I couldn’t hold on to you.” You leaned forward, resting your forehead against his. “But I’m right here,” You whispered.

“You held on enough to help your friends. To come home to me.” He swallowed back a whimper, blinking back tears. “I didn’t think I’d make it out,” He admitted, his voice hoarse. “I didn’t think I deserved to.” You tilted his chin gently until his eyes met yours. “You always deserve to come home.” For a long time, he didn’t say anything, just let himself breathe against you, his arms wrapping around your waist like you were the only thing tethering him to the earth.

Then, with a shaky exhale, he lifted your left hand and brought it to his lips again. He kissed the engagement ring slowly, reverently, holding your hand against his chest. “This,” He murmured, voice barely audible, “is the only thing that kept me from breaking.” You felt your own tears gather against your lash line as you processed his words. “Bucky, sweetheart, while I'm not thrilled you jumped into danger," You began, your tone soft but laced with honest concern. His arms wrapped around you tighter, keeping you anchored against him.

“I know, doll,” He murmured, his voice low against your lips. “I’m so sorry I scared you.” You pressed your index finger to his mouth before he could say anything else. “But I am so proud of you,” You declared firmly, your words laced with admiration, leaving no room for protest. That brought a real smile to his face, that rare kind of smile that lit up his features and made the years of pain and burden momentarily vanish. The kind of smile that always made you swoon just a little, no matter how many times you saw it.

“Besides,” You added with a dry scoff, “Let H.Y.D.R.A try to get close to you again and see what happens.” He raised an eyebrow, half amused and half confused. “What, you gonna fight 'em with your sarcasm?” You rolled your eyes, but your voice was calm and certain as you lifted your left hand between you. The ring glinted in the low lamplight. “No. You have me. And I’m not going anywhere.” Understanding dawned in his expression, and something unspoken passed between you.

You had seen each other at your best and worst, through blood and bruises and sleepless nights. And still, here you were. That was all he needed. And that was more than enough.

Thanks for reading! likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated! <3

Remember you are NEVER alone! Do not hesitate to ask for help if you are struggling with your mental health, reach out to your loved ones, check in on people who have been too quiet, and always remember to be kind because you never know what other people may be dealing with! 🤍

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[the-apotheosis]

still thinking about the person who called our nature centre and asked if they could bring their pet bird in a backpack for a walk on our trails

[professional-jaywalker]

Avian Expectations

A small essay about the difference between the pop culture Bird and being a bird.

Being a bird is probably one of the most romanced identity. Being a bird means nothing, behavior wise, scientifically. Yet, being a bird portrays something very specific into people's mind.

Being a bird is freedom. It's effortless flight, belonging to the realm of air and never wanting to touch ground again. Being a bird is adventure, migration. A good half of movies about birds are about overcoming the thrilling dangers of going over entire continents in one year, the reward of seeing an exotic haven far from the cold. Sometimes, being a bird is being a strange endearing critter, voice mimicry, stealing shiny things, cuddling up and preening one's flock. Other times, being a bird is a sharp beak and sharper claws and being the Predator from Above, undefeated in the heights.

I've seen a lot of people question birds with that idea of a bird in mind. And, clearly, it can be true. One bird I know is migratory to her very core, the pull of Africa leading her to travel, irresistible. Another deeply intertwined with the drop of gravity as it's ultimate strength, entire biology built to master it.

But I cannot relate to people who go into questioning bird from the perspective of the Pop Culture Bird Homonculus, of this chimera of all the Cool Bird Traits. It seems like a fictional character to me, without all the little details that make being a bird real. Perhaps it is because I break all of these core traits.

I do not fly well, I glide when I must, and more often I run. I much prefer the ground. I am not migratory, and one part of being a roadrunner to me is Territory, and Surviving winter. I've never had the luxury of fleeing the cold, as much as i dislike it. I do not mimic all that much, I am solitary, I hunt by running along the grass. Barely bird, in the eye of the Being a Bird rules.

Rules say, then, i should not relate to being a bird. perhaps being a roadrunner for me would be akin to coyotes. Perhaps it would be akin to cats. But no, i do in fact relate to birds.

As it turns out, there is still a strong difference, for me, between the Being A Bird non-birds imagine and the actual one. I don't fly, i glide, i struggle to get to heights. A heavy sea eagle responded, saying how they felt flight as tool, from perch to perch, to scan for prey, too costly to waste in play.

I say that i hunt on foot, that i do not relate to the dive of the kestrel or the flight of the swift. A burrowing owl answer; saying they too prefer hunting grasshoppers from their height, sometimes perching but often just lurking around the grass.

I say i am alone, i do not have a flock, and a heron responds, why should you ? You are fine on your own.

I have met flightless cormorants, I have met penguins. On the contrary, I have met falcons, I have met corvids. The shapes of birdhood shift and change, but in the end, I tend to find someone for each things, be it bird like or not. Bird is a wide ground. Bird is a simplification, so that others can understand a flawed but easy view.

I am not A Bird, by pop culture definition. Yet i am very much a bird who relates to beings extremely far from me, behaviorally. honestly there's a point of no explanation. I share phantom feathers with them and beaks, but i couldn't be further from a hummingbird. It's a strange conundrum. So close yet so far, every species that talks about it. always slivers of Me-Truth, always things i just gloss over. a bird is not an animal, its a concept. i wish people would take that in account more before diving in it.

[serpentface]

Dragon folklore in the Imperial Wardin region

A dragon as depicted in Wardi, Wogan, and Cholemdinae folklore

Dragon folklore is broadly similar between the three collections of human peoples who have inhabited the region since prehistory. The details of their description vary somewhat, but the core traits are the same. These dragons are described as very large birdlike creatures (standing as tall or taller than a human) with bodies like eagles, a reptilian head (usually that of a crocodile or lizard), black feathers, and trailing tail plumage. They are sometimes horned, and Wardi variants are specified as having wattles like roosters.

All variants of this folklore associates them with storms, lightning, and wildfires. They are said to only emerge during lightning storms and intentionally set grass fires in order to hunt. Some sources ascribe them power over lightning itself, which they capture in the clouds and send to the ground with the beating of their wings. Others state that they are simply immune to it. In either case, they set their tail feathers ablaze in lightning strikes, and then fly low over the ground to strategically spread the fire. They completely surround their prey with wildfire, and then circle overhead in wait until it has succumbed to the smoke and flames.

They are usually characterized as killing indiscriminately as fire itself, eating anything they can capture whether it be wild animals, livestock, or people. They have no appetite for raw meat, and will only eat burnt flesh.

These dragons rarely come down to the ground, spending most of their lives in storm clouds. They migrate along with the rains and breed in grasslands during the peak of the wet season, with female dragons laying their eggs hidden in tall grass. Dragon chicks are born with completely white feathers, which are gradually singed black with every hunt. The darker a dragon, the older and more dangerous it is.

They are generally non-personified and regarded as wild beasts, though are sometimes given a particularly vengeful nature. Stories of mother dragons burning down entire villages or towns in retribution for the death of their chicks can be found region-wide.

Wogan folklore is an exception (though this is more an aspect of a broader animistic worldview rather than a unique quality of dragons themselves), in which the dragon is personified and credited with first teaching the people how to practice controlled burns for agricultural purposes. The Wogan dragon is a very powerful and dangerous spirit and communion with it requires wisdom and caution. Many stories describe people enslaving dragons or capturing their chicks order to utilize their power to destroy enemies, only to be annihilated with fire themselves.

A dragon as depicted in the folklore of the Hill Tribes, ft. an unfortunate horse

The dragon folklore of the Highlands has some connection to the aforementioned (particularly in their association with storms) as a product of centuries of cultural interchange, but stems from a wholly separate tradition brought from overseas, bearing much in common with analogous legendary creatures in Finn and Royal Dain culture.

These dragons are heavily personified, being wholly sapient and capable of speech, and are said to be either extremely long-lived or completely immune to aging (though not immune to being killed). They are described as very large birds with the wings and bodies of eagles, the spurred legs of pheasants, the wrinkled necks of vultures, and the head and tail of a snake. Dragons are almost always red, brown, and yellow in color, resembling golden eagles (like their father). They kill prey with their venomous bite, said to be the deadliest of all animals. They are uniquely menacing to people, having little to no interest in wild prey in favor of the tender, domesticated meat of horses and cattle (or humans themselves)

Dragons are all males, and all brothers. They are the progeny of the goddess Ariakh and her spirit husband, the King of Eagles. Ariakh reproduced with her husband twice- first in the form of a human, in which she gave birth to the Winds, her four eldest sons, and second in the form of an eagle, in which she laid a clutch of eggs that hatched all dragons. These dragons are smaller and less powerful beings than their older brothers, and they're ascribed a sense of profound bitterness about this.

They are jealous and vain in nature, constantly squabbling amongst themselves for rank and admiration and menacing humans to gain recognition. Folktales often center on heroes taking advantage of their competitiveness and insecurity in order to defeat them. They occasionally play neutral or positive roles in tales, where they assist human protagonists in exchange for sabotaging one of their brothers, gifts of horsemeat, or excessive flattery.

[bestanimal]

Round 3 - Reptilia - Procellariiformes

(Sources - 1, 2, 3, 4)

Our next order of birds are the Procellariiformes, collectively called “tubenoses.” They are comprised of the living families Procellariidae (“petrels” and “shearwaters”), Diomedeidae (“albatrosses”), Hydrobatidae (“northern storm petrels”), and Oceanitidae (“austral storm petrels”).

Procellariiformes live almost exclusively on the open ocean. Their nostrils are enclosed in one or two tubes on their straight, deeply-grooved bills with hooked tips. Procellariiformes that nest in burrows have a strong sense of smell, being able to detect dimethyl sulfide released from plankton in the ocean. This strong sense of smell helps to locate patchily distributed prey at sea and may also help locate their nests within nesting colonies. Their wings are long and narrow. Their feet are webbed, and the hind toe is undeveloped or non-existent. Procellariiforms drink seawater, so they have an enlarged nasal gland at the base of the bill, above the eyes, which removes salt from their system and forms a 5 percent saline solution that drips out of the nostrils, or is forcibly ejected in some petrels. Many are long-distance migrants. They live in every ocean and sea, from Greenland to Antarctica, but are most diverse around New Zealand. Procellariiformes are for the most part exclusively marine foragers; the only exception to this rule are the two species of giant petrel, which regularly feed on carrion or other seabirds while on land. The diet of most species is dominated by fish, squid, krill, and other marine zooplankton. They obtain food by snatching prey while swimming on the surface, snatching prey from the wing, or diving down under the water to pursue prey.

Procellariiforms are colonial, mostly nesting on remote, predator-free islands. Larger species nest on the surface, while most smaller species nest in natural cavities and burrows. They exhibit strong philopatry, returning to their natal colony to breed and returning to the same nesting site over many years. Procellariiforms are monogamous and form long-term pair bonds that are formed over several years and may last for the life of the pair. A single egg is laid per nesting attempt, and usually a single nesting attempt is made per year, although the larger albatrosses may only nest once every two years. Both parents participate in incubation and chick rearing. Incubation times are long compared to other birds, as are fledging periods. Once a chick has fledged there is no further parental care.

Procellariiforms emerged in the Eocene, with some possible Late Cretaceous records. They are most closely related to penguins, having diverged from them about 60 million years ago.

Propaganda under the cut:

The Sooty Shearwater (Ardenna grisea) has the second longest measured annual migration of any bird, flying from its breeding grounds in New Zealand and Chile to the North Pacific off Japan, Alaska, and California, an annual round trip of 64,000 km (40,000 mi).

Some individual Snowy Albatrosses (Diomedea exulans), also called Wandering Albatrosses, are known to circumnavigate the Southern Ocean three times in one year, covering more than 120,000 km (75,000 mi).

Fulmarine Petrels can fight off even large predatory birds with their noxious stomach oil, which they can project some distance. This stomach oil, stored in the proventriculus, is a digestive residue created in the foregut of all tubenoses except the diving petrels, and is used mainly for storage of energy-rich food during their long flights. The oil is also fed to their young.

The Light-mantled Albatross (Phoebetria palpebrata) has been recorded diving to 12 m (39 ft) underwater, and the Short-tailed Shearwater (Ardenna tenuirostris) diving to 70 m (230 ft)!

Albatrosses have featured in poetry in the form of Samuel Taylor Coleridge's famous 1798 poem The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, which in turn gave rise to the usage of albatross as a metaphor for a psychological burden, as the Mariner felt extreme guilt for the albatross he had killed. More generally, albatrosses were believed to be good omens, and to kill one would bring bad luck. There are also instances of petrels in culture; there are sailors' legends regarding the storm petrels, which are considered to warn of oncoming storms. In general, petrels were considered to be "soul birds", representing the souls of drowned sailors, and it was considered unlucky to touch them.

The oldest living wild bird is Wisdom, a female Laysan Albatross (Phoebastria immutabilis). She is estimated to have hatched in 1951, making her 73 or 74 years old. First tagged in 1956 at Midway Atoll by the United States Geological Survey (USGS), she was still incubating eggs as late as 2024. Biologists estimate that Wisdom has laid some 30–40 eggs in her lifetime and that she has at least 30–36 chicks. She and her chick survived the 2011 Tōhoku earthquake and tsunami that killed an estimated 2,000 adult Laysan and Black-footed Albatrosses and an estimated 110,000 chicks at the Refuge. The 2011 chick went on to have a chick of her own, making Wisdom a grandmother. Her newest chick hatched on January 30, 2025.

Procellariiformes are amongst the most severely threatened taxa worldwide, with threats varying from species to species. There are less than 200 Magenta Petrels (Pterodroma magentae) breeding on the Chatham Islands, only 130 to 160 Zino's Petrels (Pterodroma madeira) and only 170 Amsterdam Albatrosses (Diomedea amsterdamensis). The Guadalupe Storm Petrel (Hydrobates macrodactylus), which bred only on Guadalupe Island off Baja California, Mexico, is presumed extinct after the introduction of Domestic Cats to the island decimated the population during the late 19th century. The Fiji Petrel (Pseudobulweria macgillivrayi) has been rarely seen since its discovery, and is inferred to have a small population of less than 50, if it is not extinct. The Bermuda Petrel (Pterodroma cahow) was thought to be extinct for 300 years, until the dramatic rediscovery in 1951 of eighteen nesting pairs made it a "Lazarus species".

The principal threat to the albatrosses and larger species of procellariids is long-line fishing. Bait set on hooks is attractive to foraging birds and many are hooked by the lines as they are set. As many as 100,000 albatrosses are hooked and drown each year on tuna lines set out by long-line fisheries. Invasive species introduced to the remote breeding colonies threaten all types of procellariiform. Most albatross and petrel species are clumsy on land and unable to defend themselves from mammals such as rats, Domestic Cats, and Domestic Pigs. Other threats include the ingestion of plastic flotsam. Once swallowed, plastic can cause a general decline in the fitness of the bird, or in some cases lodge in the gut and cause a blockage, leading to death by starvation. Procellariids are also vulnerable to marine pollution, as well as oil spills. Some species which nest high up on large developed islands, are victims of light pollution. Fledging chicks, which would use the night sky to navigate, are attracted to streetlights and may then be unable to reach the sea. As procellariiforms are extremely slow breeders, laying 1 egg (or less) a year, they cannot replace their numbers fast enough once the population begins to decline.

[just-a-mer]

"Ah." Telemachus notes the wrapping around the other's eyes and mentally scolds himself for not realizing sooner. He would have made himself more notable to the ear.

Shrugging off the minor guilt, he thinks of who was currently residing in the palace, let alone what of those slim names would know an oracle. In the end, he settles for a simple answer.

"If it's my father, Odysseus, you speak of; he's currently resting. Though if you have a different name, I could help you look for him." He offers.

ooc: wanted to send in a lil something; I did NOT know sirens hibernated :0

also feel free to use this as a way to introduce Tir to Ody’s family :3

also also respond whenever you’re ready =p

— •

[ when the prophet faced the kingdom of Ithaca again, it was impossible to see all that changed. They knew well that much had, but not enough to know exactly what. What they do know, however, is that walking into a kingdom as they appear would startle even the most stoic of guards. The sight of a dead man is a truly terrifying thing ]

[ thankfully, nymphs were raised on tricks, and they were taught at a young age how to get the best outcome possible for them. So, with a slight shift in their cloak’s stitching and color, as well as a flower bondage switched out for their usual blindfold, they wandered into ancient grounds ]

[ eventually, under the guise of a traveling oracle—technically not a lie—they got permission to enter the castle. As eager as they were, though, they were hesitant. A kingdom much unlike their own. Unfamiliar, and though they knew someone to trust, how could they ever feel so sure. With one hand reaching for their staff to travel back to their forsaken isle, and the other reaching towards the soft ground to sit, it would be safe to say that they were greatly torn between decisions ]

<< @thrpr0phetuseek >>

ooc: aaa - it is not a myth thing or ever mentioned (as far as I'm aware-) just a silly headcannon I made since Siren!Odysseus is based on an amphibian and a majority of species hibernate! (brumate, to be more specific) :D

Fun fact: it's actually the reason behind why his design lacks scales commonly associated with the fish half of merfolk

also also - just a heads up that Penelope and Telemachus have not been written by me nearly enough to have a grasp on their personalities as of yet ^^' that does not mean, however, I'm not gonna try!

Even to the most imperceptive of people, the palace itself was rather quiet; a mix of peace and unease brought about by a paranoid king after his return and the reassurances of his wife. The few guards that were around remained stationed at archways and doors, one of whom couldn't help yawning as the supposed traveling oracle passed by their position.

A light snow continued to fall from outside the windows, bathing the halls in a familiar cold glow from the winter sky. The sun, in all its best efforts, managed to provide brief moments of warmth when its gaze managed to peer past the clouds.

It was only when Tiresias reached for their staff that the prince of Ithaca had spotted them. For a moment, he wondered about leaving them to their thoughts before deciding against the action and instead approaching with near-silent steps; a result that came with the teachings of his mentor.

"Hello there," he called, stopping once he'd reached what he deemed a reasonable distance to the stranger, "are you here in search of someone?"

[scottpartridge]

New bird species so far in 2024 (some already added to the AVE):

Researchers propose a split of The Silvery-Cheeked Antshrike into Northern and Southern Species based on vocal and morphological distinctions. 

The Timor Nightjar is a new species from the islands of Timor and Wetar in the Lesser Sunda Islands, 

The Giant Hummingbird has been split into a non-migrating Northern species and a migratory Southern species 

Researchers propose splitting populations of the Black-Goggled Tanager into an Atlantic forest species and an Andean species 

An undescribed new Antpitta from Colombia goes by names like Antioquia Antpitta, Paisita (referencing the local people) and Santa Rosa Antpitta. I think Antioquia Antpitta has already been suggested as a name for the Urroa Antpitta. Anyone know about that? 

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Shutter 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, stalking, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Peter Parker

This AU is called Watcher Anonymous and will include different series for different characters. This is our introduction to Peter and Pipsqueak.

Summary: a community class brings together all sorts.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

The community centre is a good place to waste time. After a particularly brutal break-up, it was Peter's only distraction. His only solace. He couldn't stay in that apartment he shared with MJ and working as a freelancer couldn't keep him busy if there's nothing going on.

It got even better when she showed up. Most of his students are seniors, looking for the same thing as him, a way to keep busy. She's younger but enthusiastic. While the others come once or twice a month, she's there every week.

That day, she walks in with Betsy. She always finds one of her classmates before she even gets there. She has her camera bag over her shoulder as she adjusts her thick-lensed glasses. They magnetize her irises and make the rest of her look even smaller. That's no great feat as she's tiny all over.

He welcomes each student as he always does, a smile, or a wave, a hello, or how are you. It's a bit awkward to teach people older than even his aunt, but it's more of a club than a class. There's a few new tag alongs; Jeffrey and Edith.

He goes over the focus for the week. There's lot of birds around and he asked them all to get some good snaps before migration season. There's a bit of technical difficulties as he helps them get their prints on the overhead or upload to the cloud from their SD cards. He always has to account for their varied skillset.

His attention strays from the blue jays and the cardinals to her. She sits with her legs twisted together, her eyes set on the large screen. Her glasses reflect the tint. When it comes her turn, she presents a hummingbird she proudly explains was lured to her balcony by her honey feeder. She adds that it's also against the rules but she doesn't care. She giggles and takes her seat again.

When the meeting comes to an end, the elders bluster about the traffic or bingo. It's only two in the afternoon but some are even on the way to dinner. As he waits for them to filter out, he shuts down his laptop.

"Um, excuse me, Mr. Parker," the warbly voice startles him. She stands across from him sheepishly. He almost laughs. No one calls him mister. "Um, I was hoping you could help me but if you're busy."

He's almost breathless. He's talked to her before. He talks to everyone but she's shier around the men in the class, even him.

"No, I don't have anywhere to be. What's going on?" He forces out, wondering if he sounds as nervous as he feels.

"Erm, okay," she moves her camera bag to the front of her. "I found this old camera at the thrift shop but um, I don't want to break it. I wanted to start using it..."

She pulls out the camera with the strap attached. He tilts his head as he examines it. He reaches for the compact device.

"May I?" He asks.

"Please," she hands it over. "I don't know if it's any good. It was ten bucks but... if it doesn't work I thought it would be a good ornament."

"Holy," he turns it over, "it's a Leica. That's... you know these go for a good penny on eBay. I restored a few myself..."

"Really?" She leans in and he almost loses feeling in his fingers. She's so close but doesn't seem to realise. Being so small, she probably doesn't think about it.

"Oh, sure," he plays with the shutter button. "I could have a look over and see if it's still in good condition. Do you mind if... I take it home?"

"Yeah, that would be--" she reaches for her bag again and finds her small blue wallet inside. "I could pay you--"

"What? No," he waves her off. "It's fun to me."

"Right, um..."

"I could have it done in like a day or two," he can barely hear himself over the thumping of his heart. Is he really going to ask? "Maybe we could meet up?"

"Oh, sure. I could... I could do that," she widens her eyes and they look even bigger.

"Okay... uh, maybe we could exchange numbers?"

"That sounds good," she bounces on her soles. "Let me just..." she takes out her phone in its butterfly case, "what's yours? I'll send you a message."

He recites the numbers, his tongue sticking as he focus on getting every digit right. She smiles and taps the screen triumphantly.

"There, uh, okay, you hold onto that," she sticks up a spindly finger, "and I will wait patiently for your phone call!"

"Sure, cool, yeah," he stammers, fighting his own excitement. He takes out his phone. "I'll save your number now."

"Have a good one, Mr. Parker," she gives a little hop. "I gotta go get my train."

'Guess who just got her number!'

She flits out right as he says "you two" missing the "sweetheart" at the end. He stares at the door then slowly peeks down at his phone. He adds her to his contacts then flips over to the discord chat. He smirks as he keys in his message.

A rolling eye emoji comes from Bucky and Thor sends a celebrating one. Curtis gives a thumb up and several others see the message.

'Did you get it or steal it?' Jake snarks.

Peter sneers and blacks the screen. He's not arguing with those idiots again. They're just jealous.

[bogleech]

With most insects and things I can understand that they have a place in the ecosystem, but I have trouble understanding the same thing with bed bugs. Are they just like. Kind of domesticated ticks? How did they end up almost solely indoors (to my understanding)? I had them in my apartment a while back and it was a pretty traumatizing experience. I know they don’t carry diseases like mosquitos and are really more mentally/emotionally harmful than physically harmful.

I saw your post about how we should be thankful the world isn’t so sterile that there’s no living thing left to harm or inconvenience us. And I do agree! But I think bedbugs are the one thing that I have trouble fully grasping that concept with. It’s harder to see the bigger picture with something that occurs in such a small and personal space, I suppose.

I can't find the post where I launched into this before but tiny bloodsucking animals ("micropredator" is growing as the preferred term over lumping them in with "parasites" per se!) exert a lot of important pressures on their host animals; everyone knows predators change how animals eat, sleep, mate, nest together and migrate, but so do the things that just "annoy" them, like having fleas! Additionally "micropredators" work together with predators and diseases in regulating population balance, and by taking nutrients non-lethally from their hosts, they help redistribute energy back into circulation! A little flea or tick or bed bug collects a little blood protein from a bear, it gets eaten by a spider or it dies and rots, and now that bear's protein energy is back in the food web well before the bear has passed on! All throughout that bear's life, its blood is "becoming" all these little pesky bugs that then become food for other things! When it comes to bed bugs, which are closely related to stinkbugs, assassin bugs, aphids and other "true bugs," they adapted to live in bird's nests, bat caves, rodent dents, anywhere juice-filled vertebrates come home to and rest, and the ones that feed on us are so closely related to a bat-specialized species you can only barely tell them apart:

The "bat bug," however, can't utilize human blood well enough to maintain an infestation on human hosts alone! They fully require bats!

We aren't sure when some bat bugs branched off and started traveling with humans, but we do know that they used to be MUCH MUCH EASIER to deal with. Perfectly ordinary pesticides used to clear up a bed bug problem just fine. That changed when we invented DDT and tried to use it to wipe them out altogether. It's one of the harshest synthetic poisons ever developed, and it kills through just an ion channel in the animal's nervous system. By drenching North America in DDT for years on end, we "seemingly" wiped out bed bugs and a few other things, but really all we did was give a few generations of human beings a bunch of new chronic illnesses and give a few generations of insects a mutation that makes them resistant to not just DDT but lots and lots of other poisons.

Bed bugs basically destroy people's lives but never naturally evolved to be that good at it; it's just another result of capitalism ignoring the warnings of the scientific community. People died rich off DDT before they ever had to care about its after effects.

[rebeccathenaturalist]

This is a big deal, ecologically speaking. California's Central Valley, largely now turned to dry agriculture and other development, used to be full of wetlands. It has offered key locations for birds migrating along the Pacific Flyway each spring and fall, and historically had great biodiversity of year-round species. From the 1780s to the 1980s it's likely that the continental U.S. lost 60 acres of wetland every hour, non-stop.

Now, most of the wetlands in central California are drained, and invasive species like eucalyptus trees also impact ecosystems across the region. But restoration projects offer chances to bring back some of what was lost. Because the land and its natural hydrology has been so broken up, and so much water is sucked down by agriculture, some restored wetlands--like those at Sacramento National Wildlife Refuge--must have water piped in seasonally.

3400 acres, while the largest restoration to date in the delta, is a drop in the bucket compared to the massive amounts of wetlands that once covered large areas of the state. But it reminds us that we can restore thousands of acres at once, and hopefully someone will see fit to try to break that record.

[buriedpentacles]

hi, I saw your post about nature spirits and I was wondering about how to use runes to communicate with nature spirits. for example, how might one be able to discern what kind of offering a tree would like using the runes? thanks in advance :)))

Ooo love this question!!

I'm going to assume you know how to use runes generally, BUT in case you (or other people reading this) don't, here's the breakdown:

When people refer to runes, they typically mean Norse runes - i.e. stones/crystals/wood blocks/whatever with the Elder Futhark (though some people use other futharks) engraved/written on them. They're used as a form of divination, where each rune has a specific meaning that is interpreted within the context of the casting (i.e. is it upright or reverse? What other runes is it near? Did it fall close or far to you? etc)

Runes do not have to be a Norse Alphabet, their are multiple other runic systems but this is the most popular (I think). I myself have a rune set I made a while back, and really enjoy using them!

So, how to use them with nature spirits?

You'd use them the same way you'd use any divinatory system!! Divination is pretty personal, while certain runes may have historical definitions, you will develop your own associations and understandings of them!

With nature spirits, I find that it's important to bear in mind THEIR associations as well as your own. For example, for you the rune Isa (ice) may mean stillness, introspection, reflection etc but if you're working with a bird that migrates for winter, it may refer to movement or change!

How would you discern specific requests, such as offerings via runes?

This, again, requires a bit of personalisation and effort on your side! Over time and as you build your relationship with nature spirits, you'll get a feel for what certain runes may indicate and you'll also build up your intuition!

However, some things that might help you break you down:

What element might the rune be associated with? Kennaz may be fire, Ansuz might be air. This is up to you to understand, and it may not always be a simple categorisation, that's okay!

Does the rune indicate something physical (like Uruz), or does it seem to represent a more non-physical offering (like Ansuz)

When you see the rune, does your intuition pull anything to mind? When you see Fehu, do you think of coins? When you see Berkana do you get an image of a birch branch crown?

Don't worry about getting it wrong! Over time you'll figure it out! :)

Hope this helped - please feel free to ask any more questions or clarifications!!

[letaot-ze-magniv]

General guide to birds in Israel pt 2- cooler birds

This will be a long post. Link to part 1

White spectated bulbul/bul-bul me-mush-kaf

Usually referred to as just bulbul, this bisexual king is the roundest and my most favourite bird. IMPORTANT! BULBUL MEANS DICK! DO NOT TALK ABOUT YOUR LOVE FOR BULBULIM IN PUBLIC!

These birds are slightly larger then the house sparrow and are easily distinguished by their yellow butt. Their calls are reminiscent of frogs. They mate for life and are all bisexual and they cuddle each other. They are a menace to farmers because they are fond of fruit and tend to nibble just a little at a time. You can find them in all parts of Israel as long as there are nice trees nearby.

Eurasian blackbird/shakh-rur

These timid birds like to hide in bushes and trees. Their calls are beautiful and I love them. They are smaller then a pigeon. The males are black and the females are brown. They feed on seeds, fruits and bugs, and use their beaks to search the ground for worms. You can find them in Jerusalem and the north, they like cool weather and don’t fuck with sand.

Great tit/yar-ge-zi ma-tzui

Life isn’t easy for these tiny psychopaths, which might be the reason they developed such a temper. Their Hebrew name translates to “angry one”, and for a reason. They are very aggressive towards other birds. They also feed on the brains of bats. You can distinguish between males and females by the thickness of the black stripe on their belly- males have a thicker one than females. They are most common to the north of Jerusalem, but you can find them in some parts of the desert.

Palestine sunbird/tzu-fit bo-he-ket

No, that’s not a hummingbird, it’s the sunbird! Despite their remarkable likeness they aren’t even a little related. Sunbirds feed on nectar and are pollinators! The males have black feathers that shine in the sunlight (which is how they got their name) and the females are a muddy grey, but they’re just as lovely. You can find them in all parts of Israel, especially near lush flowery areas!

White wagtail/nakh-li-e-li la-van

First migrant bird everyone!!! (Some blackbirds migrate here but some nest during summer so shhhh) This lovely round bird starts it’s visits around October and leaves when it gets hellishly warm again. Due to global warming the wagtails visits are shortening, so appreciate them while you can. Like their name suggests, the wagtails wag their tails. A lot. You can find them near water sources during the cold-ish months of the year!

Eurasian jay- or-va-ni shkhor ki-pa

Eurasian jays can be found in other parts of the world, but I’m pretty sure the one we have in Israel is a different sub-species because the ones in Europe lack the beautiful black top that they’re named after.

The jay is a type of corvid, and in addition to being extremely social and intelligent, these birds can mimic other animals. Due to urbanisation, the jays learned to mimic car alarms, the ringing of phones and the cries of human babies. Jays are extremely fond of acorns, and burry them in the ground in preparation for harsher months. A single jay can remember between 4000 to 5000 hiding spots!

Syrian woodpecker/ na-kar su-ri

This picture is of a male woodpecker. The females have a completely black head. Woodpeckers can locate bugs that have burrowed inside trees and use their beak and long tongues to eat them, thereby helping the trees get rid of pests! Woodpeckers also love acorns, and compete with jays over them. To prevent concussions, the woodpecker’s tongue wraps around their brain, keeping it in place while they peck. You can find them in non-desert areas of Israel!

Lesser whitethroat/siv-khi to-kha-nim

Another migrant birds! These floofballs come here twice a year, once in spring and once in autum, although some whitethroats nest in the north all year long. During their migration you can find them everywhere in Israel, even in very urban areas! They get their Hebrew name, which roughly translates to miller’s shrubbery-liker, because their white chests look how a miller’s apron would look after a long hard day!

Super winged lapwing/sik-sak

The siksaks are water birds with ridiculously long legs that they use to stab their prey. They kind of look like they are wearing a tux! Their original Hebrew name was “sharoni mezuyan”, which translates to “one that lives in the Sharon and is armed with a weapon” but also “fucking sharoni”. You can find them anywhere in Israel as long as there is a near enough water source.

White breasted kingfisher/shal-dag la-van kha-ze

One of my favorite birds. The kingfisher is a magnificent bird of prey with brilliant blue feathers that always make my day. They are most common in the north and west of Israel, but they nest in smaller numbers in the south. They kingfisher’s diet consists of not only fish, but of crabs, frogs, slugs, bugs, and even the occasional rodent. Their varied diet helps them thrive even in drier areas.

[worldbuilding-tomfoolery]

eevee ecos

I wanted to think about "realistic" eevees and their respective ecosystems as a little thought experiment. Adaptation logic led me to some unexpected places!

I think most striking is that Flareon would probably like to live in cooler climates, so their primary habitat would probly be mountains & taigas. They would probably play a big role in fire ecology, which is so cool. (It's Firefox!)

Jolteon also surprised me. Electricity is most useful in water, so they'd probably be semiaquatic -- a freshwater dweller, like the noble electric eel! Who woulda thunk someone so opposite-looking to Vaporeon would have the closest habitat type? (obv vapon is oceans)

Some others are fairly intuitive. Leafeon gets temperate forests, can expand into subtropical & boreal if they want. Umbreon prefers caves, and can fill nocturnal niches for other habitats. Glaceon likes -- shocker -- glaciers. Tundra & polar deserts.

Espeon was the trickiest to place. There isn't really a real-world analog for Psychic type, so I focused on their physical traits instead. Espeon seems to have short fur, if any, and big ol' eyes and ears. These are good high-heat low-water adaptations, so I went with Desert & Shrubland for esp. Pokemuad-dib

Sylveon is so bright & striking I have to put them in tropical rainforests. They're like a bird of paradise. I like to think there could be lots of microvariations in color & ornaments for wild sylfs! And just imagine the potential of domesticated colors....

Interesting implication of this is that this morph would probably have the highest population among eeveelutions by far. Between the trait diversity and the sheer cover area of tropics, Sylveon may make up fully half of adult eevees!

Since tropical rainforests are considered a cradle for biodiversity, I thought it would be fitting for them to be eevees' primary birthplace. A baby can probably handle most non-extreme environments, but tropical rainforests are their main. I like to think there's an ancient supercave which hosts its own unique mini-ecosystem, where lots of eevees congregate from all over during the migration season. Here, they breed & raise their young. Once juvenile eevees are hardy enough, the adults disperse back to their home habs.

Older, un-metamorphosed eevees prefer temperate grasslands. Like rabbits :>