#sparkverse

[sparkbirdmusic]

Happy birthday to meeee! Chat, what are we naming this bird? It’s a warbling white-eye

[sparkbirdmusic]

final(?) update from darkbird:

you may think it would bring me great pleasure to share this grisly photograph.

in fact, it brings me only tears and heartache.

so much has transpired over the past month, i scarcely know where to begin.

you may recall keavy-jane the bounty-hunter snail, and her oath to recapture jeremy ricky within 30 days.

you may also recall that keavy-jane suffered the loss of one eye when a “peaceful” cow-dragon grazed it right off her head.

while we waited for kj’s eye to regenerate, she and i began attending jeremy ricky’s tech rehearsals for romeo & juliet. not openly, of course. kj disposed of a couple of the show’s crew members and we began doing their jobs in disguise.

kj became the production’s intimacy coordinator, while i assumed the role of jeremy ricky’s wig supervisor. our disguises were wigs, which helped me practice for my fake job.

for the first few days, kj and i left the theater buzzing with excitement over our murderous schemes.

but by opening night, something had shifted.

maybe it was the passion jeremy ricky poured into his portrayal of juliet. maybe it was the way he complimented keavy-jane on her new eye when it finally emerged. maybe it was the fumes from the wig adhesive.

or maybe it was the spirit of pride month, and the power of live theatre.

keavy-jane felt it too. as the first performance ended, i noticed that her old eye and her new one were both glistening with tears.

“maybe it’s time we put this vendetta behind us,” i whispered. keavy-jane nodded, too verklempt to speak.

still in disguise, we approached jeremy ricky in his dressing room and invited him to a celebratory drag brunch the next morning. we figured the best time to reveal our true identities would be after a daytime jamboree of waffles, laughter, and lip sync battles.

“it’s funny,” jeremy ricky said, “you two remind me a little of some folks i’d rather forget, but you’re not like them at all. you really care.” he smiled, though his eyes were as haunted as always. “i was thinking of going to the cast party, but you know what, screw it! i’ll go to bed early so i can hang out with the wig supervisor and intimacy coordinator whose names i don’t even know.”

all the way home, keavy-jane and i couldn’t stop giggling and talking about how wrong we were about jeremy ricky. i also confessed my aspiration to find more work as a wig supervisor, but doing it the old-fashioned way, by applying and interviewing. no more mercenary snail assassins for me.

kj didn’t respond. she’d fallen asleep to the rocking of the subway car, her angelic little head stuck to my shoulder. i carried her to our lair and tucked her into her habitat.

brunch was a roaring success, as far as meals go. the waffles were crisp on the outside, fluffy on the inside. the maple syrup was real, not the cheap stuff.

a bossy drag queen named totalitarian régine commanded me, keavy-jane, and jeremy ricky to participate in a dance-off to the britney spears hit “toxic”. we danced and laughed so hard i thought we might lose our waffles.

but keavy-jane lost something else: her wig. you’d think the mucus would have kept it in place, but no.

i turned to jeremy ricky in horror, expecting to see his eyes even wider than usual. but he showed no surprise over the revelation that keavy-jane wasn’t a bombshell blonde.

shame-faced, i removed my own flowing pink curls.

at this, totalitarian régine kicked us out for stealing her thunder. i can’t say i blame her.

we crossed the street from the bruncherie and entered prospect park. “i figured it out days ago,” jeremy ricky said as we walked. “and honestly… it means so much that you’d go to such great lengths to support my acting career.”

keavy-jane and i exchanged a glance. “yes,” i said. “that was exactly our motivation.”

“i’m just glad we can all be friends now,” keavy-jane said.

“friends for life,” jeremy ricky said warmly.

suddenly a bilateral gynandromorph northern cardinal swooped down.

“i’m fish,” the bird said.

and then the bird named fish eviscerated my friends while i stood screaming and sobbing, powerless to help.

so i guess i’ll be processing that for a while.

fish is still out there. protect your loved ones.

[wiingdings]

discord server (haha discord) convinced me to actually 'reform' this guy. at this point he's essentially an OC but i really like sparkverse discord actually. stupid ass. some of my comments below vvv

"sparkverse discord is more..... whats the word. manic? he finds everything funny, always has a shit-eating grin on his face, and talks nonsense a lot. he finds twilight sparkle specifically very entertaining since she's pretty immune/unphased by his chaos and will actually retort with intelligence (or anger) instead of getting scared. screaming and running gets sooo repetitive from the puny pansy ponies

also he's less of an old man. got more of an annoying twink vibe"

[wiingdings]

notes for two of the alternate pony tribes in the mane 6! the sneaky and just a little creepy batponies and the beautiful snowy crystal ponies

[wiingdings]

let's give some "they're just evil" characters some actual depth and backstory and reasoning

important to note: "monster" is a Type of Creature similar to "pony" (which encompasses all pony types/variations). monsters are creatures that aren't part of a 'species' like ponies or dragons and generally cause instinctive fear in ponies. most monsters were created by Grogar (either directly during the age of monsters or just coming into existence from his lingering magic)

(bonus doodles below cut)

i won't be linking all my mlp au posts at the bottom anymore - if you want to see more, just search the #sparkverse tag on my blog :]

[stevita]

Excerpt: from "The Blood Club"

Connie’s headlights flooded the empty road ahead in two narrow cones of gold. For a long stretch, neither of them said anything. The painkillers had left Matt half-floating, but his mind still tried to reach for something buried: memories he knew he’d agreed to trade away, but that didn’t stop him from wondering what he’d lost. Connie drummed her fingers against the steering wheel. “So, you don’t know why you did it?” she asked, after a while. “Not that it’s not incredible. Probably even more to me than it is to anyone else. Everyone believes every word that comes out of your mouth, not even knowing what’s been done to them, even if you don’t know jack about what you’re saying.” On the car radio, that song came on, Delicious, or whatever. They played it all the time in the leather bars, back when he used to go. 

“Nah, I, I don’t know why, I, I don’t, I…” He trailed off, mid-slur, head drooping off the headrest. 

“But I can see you looking for it.” Apparently, even the codeine high couldn’t take that yearning out of his eyes.

He gave a weak shrug. “Maybe.”

Suddenly, she perked up in her seat. Turned down the radio. Turned up the air. “Ooh! You know what always helps me on these late-night drives? Playing a game. So let’s play a guessing game: why do you think you were so desperate for everybody to believe you? You’re not a dirty liar, and I’d know, because I happen to be a dirty liar.” 

“Y-y-you…you never lied to me.” His breath came out shuddering, but he knew it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. “W-well whadda, whaddabout you?” he asked, his cheek now pressed to the cold passenger-side window, his blond hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. “Haven’t you ever wanted to say something outrageous?” 

“More than wanted to. I did. Loads of times,” said Connie. 

“And did people think you were crazy for it?” 

“Hell yeah! That was the most fun part,” said Connie. “Even my sisters think I’m crazy. But if you met them, you’d know I’m the most normal of the bunch. And for the record, they’re right: I AM crazy–what’s that make them, then, huh?” She rolled down the window on her side and ignited a cigarette with her powers. “So, what DO you remember? Do you remember the thing you think people would call you crazy for if you said it?” 

If he could convince himself to ignore her words and just focus on her warm tone and steady-yet-upbeat cadence, he could convince himself, too, that it wasn’t that deep. That maybe, he could tell her, and it would be okay. 

Outside, a neon sign flickered OPEN 24 HOURS over an empty diner. The kind of place they might have stopped at under other circumstances. But tonight, he wasn’t in the mood to ask her to pull over. 

“Yes,” he answered at last. 

“And what was it? You can say it if you want,” she said, nudging him playfully in the side with her elbow at the next stoplight. “I won’t tell anybody. What happens in the stolen Honda stays in the stolen Honda.” 

“I…don’t want to.” If she was so brazen about her own transgressions, whatever they were–besides the arson and bank robbing, that is–it must have meant, he figured, that they couldn’t be that bad. Her crazy couldn’t be nearly as crazy as his crazy.

“Eeh…” She shrugged and blew a stray curl away from in front of her eyes. “Suit yourself.”  

[stevita]

Excerpt: from The Blood Club

“What are you looking for?” Connie’s voice came from behind JP as he rummaged through the fridge, squinting at the label of every bottle he pulled out and set on the countertop. 

“Champagne. I know there’s gotta be some in here.” He’d have gone to the liquor store himself; he was sure there’d be an attractive cashier on staff, or a hot single mom perusing the aisles, whose vision he could borrow. But he wasn’t in the mood to be seen. 

So he’d come to HQ instead. 

“I’ll pay you back for it.” 

“No need; our liquor is your liquor,” Connie insisted. “Wouldn’t you rather wait ‘til the party, though?” He turned around to see her holding up a sheet of paper folded into thirds; he didn’t have to be able to make out the text to know what it was. 

“Where did you get that?” 

“I found it on the floor, you must have dropped it,” she explained. 

He must have missed the trash when he’d gone to throw the invitation away. “Oh, I’m not going.” 

“But it’s at the Hawthorne mansion!” said Connie. “Do you have any idea what kind of money you can score at a place like that just picking a pocket or two?” 

“I do, okay! I do.” 

It was just…

Katie Hawthorne was a super big deal. Born to millionaires, she’d lived her life in the lap of luxury. Everywhere she went, she kept winning, especially when it came to hearts–in fact, once, she’d won everybody’s in the state. (Yes, it was THAT Katie Hawthorne: Miss Oregon ‘94.) 

And JP used to count himself among her circle of boy-toys. 

Before the telepathy deal. 

Before his life had started spinning and spinning, out of his own control. 

He’d never minded sharing her. In fact, he’d felt smug, knowing a woman like her would’ve overlooked a middle-class nobody like himself, if not for his dedication to maintaining the physique of a muscle-bound Adonis. It was his looks that had earned him a seat at her table, and now? 

Even if the Bloodhound had just gotten done draining all his body fat, neglecting the gym for a calendar season had ground him down to agonizing averageness. He hated to think of how he’d measure up against the rogues’ gallery of men she no doubt bounced between nowadays. 

“So it’s settled, then?” asked Connie. “We’re going?” 

He blinked. “We?” 

“Well, sure. She has to let you take a plus-one, right? I mean, it’s Blackwater City. It’s just polite.” 

“Fine,” he agreed. He still didn’t want to go, and he was sure Katie wouldn’t have the time of day for him, the way he was now, but maybe the celebrities and aristocrats would think he was still as much of a catch as ever if he appeared on the arm of a pretty woman like Connie Cole. “Can we at least pre-game first?” He turned to the still-open fridge again and handed her a bottle of something reddish and festive-looking. 

“Sure! But not with sweet chili garlic sauce,” she said. His cheeks heated with embarrassment. “Wait here. I’ll get us some whiskey.” 

***

“What’d you say this rental company was called, again?” asked JP as they arrived at the mansion. The road was lined with expensive cars, which Connie had predicted, so she’d decided to pull a grand feat of one-upsmanship by calling in a favor with her friends in the mob, which is how they’d managed to pull up in a limo, with Hacksaw Pete in the driver’s seat, aggressively jerking the wheel to compete for a parking space close to the path to the door. 

“It’s called Star Forkers; though it’s technically a subsidiary of Go Fork Yourself, Forklift, Machine, and Truck,” explained Pete. “We figured we’d need the fancier brand for all our fancier money-laundering needs. Personally, I like driving the truck better, even if this is the higher-paying hustle. Always happy to do a favor for Connie, though.”

“You mean ‘Daisy-Mae Maryanne Lancaster’?” said JP, stifling a snicker. 

The whole way to the party, she’d run lines with him regarding the alter-ego she’d fabricated–perhaps a long time ago, perhaps for this party specifically; she hadn’t said. Either way, it seemed like a bit much effort to go through for a routine picking of ‘a pocket or two’, but he was quickly learning that ‘a bit much’ was, here with the VA and Connie, par for the course. 

“So, who is this Miss Hawthorne to you?” asked Connie as they got out of the limo and walked up the path. “A friend? A business contact?” 

“More like…we were, uhm…” 

“Oooooh, I get it.” 

He was glad she didn’t ask him to explain any further, because he was anything but in the mood to reminisce on his glory days…or, for that matter, his fall from the height of them. 

Katie still had the same doorman, but it had been so long since JP had come to visit that he had to give his name so he could be looked up on the guest list. Katie, though? She didn’t have the mercy to have forgotten him. 

As soon as he and Connie made it into the grand acreage of the backyard, she was upon them, wine glass in hand. “JP! How lovely that you could make it to my Spring Fling!” Her voice was honey-sweet, just as he remembered, but beneath all that warmth lay something brittle and hollow, undetectable to anyone who wouldn’t know how to recognize it. It was the same jagged edge that used to come on the end of every word from his own throat. “And who’s this?” 

“Katie, I want you to meet Daisy-Mae,” he said. “Would you believe I found her at the Riff Raff Club?” 

For all its over-the-topness, Connie’s masquerade as an exotic dancer made for a clever ploy. With it, she aimed to daze and dazzle the ravenous hounds of Blackwater’s upper echelon into failing to notice her lifting their valuables. Katie, however, was less than impressed. “Is that so? I hear that establishment staffs the most beautiful women in town. How convenient, for the men who have to resort to buying them rather than winning them over fair and square.” 

Ouch. JP had never known Katie to be an angel, but had she always been that mean? Furthermore, had she invited him intending to sink her teeth into his ego, or had it been a snap decision made when she’d seen him? 

“Excuse me,” Connie interjected. “Are you implying that I’m only into JP for his money? Because he may be the CEO of Bellefontaine Enterprises, Holdings, Incorporated, LLC, but I happen to value a man for the size of his heart, not his bank account.” 

JP winced–they hadn’t discussed what his own disguise would be, and surely with her on-the-spot improvisation, she’d blown their cover with her utter cluelessness about all financial matters that didn’t involve some sort of crime–but then, he remembered Katie would have no way of knowing to call bullshit. After all, she’d never done anything besides stand on a stage and look pretty. 

“Wow, that’s a lot,” said Katie. “Just be sure you’re not…spreading yourself too thin.”

“Meaning what, exactly?” he asked. 

“Meaning…you just look a bit…drawn, is all. I’d hate to imagine you neglecting your health.” 

For a moment, he resolved to settling for what he could get. At least she and everyone else at the mansion got to see him after the Equinox instead of before, when he was plump enough to literally be rolled up the proverbial sacrificial hill. 

Then, he realized something: there was no point in trying to scrape any sort of victory from the jaws of a crowd like this, with which there was no winning, anyway. 

He realized something else, too: he couldn’t read Katie, nor could he discern the familiar, beautiful features of her face, even as they stood less than three feet apart. 

“It’s me that’s to blame, Miss Hawthorne,” said Connie, “although…CAN you blame me? With a guy like him, I can’t even stop myself from keeping him up all night! But I’m sure he’d rather have a girl who wears him out in bed than one who wears on his last nerve. Now, come on, JP! Introduce me to the rest of your friends!” 

Katie had no words, and JP could only imagine the furious look on her face as they passed her, Connie slipping a hand into the purse slung over her shoulder and making off, undetected, with her wallet as they went.

[smoked-salmon-official]

Fall and Spark

YESSSSSSSS