#Birdbones

[bionicboxes]

side characters

[thebirdarts]

love making a guy then making him look like shit. broken nose & eyebags for days & shadows that look like bruises. It's the stinker himself, Conficcare!

[ohbitchuary]

Am I still a fry cook if I quit Popeyes 2 years ago. Dumb bitch

everyone can be a hunter except quinton

[le-chevalier-au-lion]

HELLOOOO your peccoluca changed me as a person, 4 or 15 for the ask game with them? maybe both?

pecco/lucca: 4 (multiple orgasms/overstim) + 15 (pain)

“Hurts,” Pecco whines.

Luca looks up at him through his lashes, eyes horribly blue and burning. He hums around the cock in his mouth, and it’s like he’s jamming a nail into all of Pecco’s nerve endings. He lurches, warbles a please that’s barely a word, syllables clumped together.

He pulls off, though. Pecco’s cock falls limp on his stomach, spit-cool, sore. Pecco himself falls boneless on the bed.

“Hm?”

“Hurts,” Pecco says again, eloquently, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. His entire body is still shaking, those fine tremors he can’t seem to control.

Luca lets out this considering hum through his rough, scratchy voice, shoves his fingers into the hinge of his jaw with a frown to loosen it. If Pecco could make sense of numbers, or any-fucking-thing, he’d try checking the alarm clock on Luca’s bedside table. Figure out how long they’ve been at this, how much is Luca’s jaw hurting.

He can’t even get his head off the pillow. There’s this molasses-thick, unresponsive buzz in his limbs.

But he knows—at least three orgasms, Luca swallowing down his cock like a metronome, like he was testing the set-up on a tough weekend. It feels like ages ago, knocking on Luca’s door, Sepang dust in his mouth days after flying out, sleepless, angry and fucking done with advice, racing, everyone.

“Is it bad?” He asks, smooths down his hand over Pecco’s sweat-slick thigh.

Even that makes him ache, skin prickling wherever Luca touches, a few sizes too small. Once, when Pecco was young, he touched a live wire by accident. Stood there wobbling and clinging to it until Carola pushed him off. That comedown was a little easier, less bits of himself to wrangle back in place. He thinks he has sand scraping and itching along his joints, cotton in his head.

“Too much,” Pecco says. Words slip like soap in his mouth—no, no, no, no, it’s good, I promise, except it stopped being good ten minutes ago and also, can you please, Christ.

Luca raises his eyebrows. “But is it bad? Should I stop?”

Pecco could cry on him, lashes wet and heavy each time he blinks towards Luca’s nondescript, tasteful, pearl gray ceiling. He pants instead, into his shaking, sweaty palm, through a sound that echoes an awful lot like a sob.

“I won’t get hard again.”

Honestly, just thinking about it makes him tired. He’s probably a few years off setting a record, or something ambitious like that. Pecco wishes it didn’t leave him cold and jittery, though, shutting down Luca’s plans. It settles in his stomach leaden and frizzing, a champagne high gone wrong.

Luca taps against the seam between his thigh and hip. Pecco’s leg jolts.

“I really won’t,” he babbles out, in a rush, sorry, sorry, sorry, I want sticking to his teeth.

“You weren’t hard the last time either,” Luca cuts in.

Pecco was a little too busy dying to notice, two of Luca’s elegant, birdboned fingers shoved inside his ass, Luca’s nose pressed against the thatch of hair on his groin, the bed liquid under him. He can’t even summon embarrassment, though he thinks that maybe he should.

“I’ll let up if you really think you can’t,” Luca offers, very gently.

Luca’s gentleness doesn’t mean anything, never does. He’s bent low again, cheek resting on his stomach, staring straight at him. Unmoving, sure, but Pecco can feel his cock, hard and needy and wet when it bumps against his leg. Can feel—oversensitive and boiling—those small twitches of his hips.

Pecco nods once, tries to work his way through speaking—

Luca’s mouth is on him immediately. He’s trying to choke on something mostly soft, sloppy, drooling. Pecco howls, tries to curl into himself, away.

Pecco keeps—sobbing, yes. He keeps sobbing, fingers buried in Luca’s hair, pulling so hard he feels some strands stick to his hand. The word shatters into a kaleidoscope of too much, too soon, nerves firing in the wrong directions, his limbs spasming.

He might as well have been set up wrong, wires crossed somewhere low in his belly. Time trickles by, laced with this white-hot, pitiless pain. Pecco doesn’t get hard—he said he wouldn’t, he did. But Luca only tugs at his wrist until he gets to lace their fingers together, stops with his limp dick held inside his mouth. A question in his fine, arched eyebrows.

“Yeah, yeah,” Pecco whimpers, hears it through this cottony staleness plugging his ears.

And so Luca keeps going, mostly sucking, his tongue laving attention over his tip. He rubs himself against the hair on Pecco’s leg, and Pecco settles on it—tries to, at least. Lets the ache on his dick, on all of his nerves, ebb and flow like it does halfway through a long race. His thought scatter, scamper.

He’s half asleep, dead tired, raw around the edges. Distracted.

Luca gets mean. Of course he does.

It’s just—just a flash of teeth, scraping down his cock, Luca’s nails raking over his balls lightly. Pecco can’t even scream. Chokes on something wet and quiet, tears on his cheeks, and comes, barely a trickle. Doesn’t quite fall out of his body as much as he stops feeling it entirely, systems fried, vision whited out for a blissful second.

Luca pulls off, sucks in air hungrily—it breaks into a gutted noise that brands itself into his mind. “Fuck, Pecco,” he hisses.

He works his hand over his cock in those ugly, desperate twists, staring at Pecco slack-jawed, awed, vaguely hysterical, drenched in sweat.

It barely takes anything. One, two, three, four grinds against his own calloused, dry palm, deep and desperate like he’s fucking a cunt, and he spills all over Pecco’s stomach, over his spent, aching dick. The heat of his gaze prickles like a needle, makes him feel everything again. It hurts, hurts, hurts, so sweetly that he closes his eyes and lets it lull him to sleep.

[sol-consort]

Aliens discovering our movies, art, books and video games and realizing why they’re all so precious to us

Like, a turian who comes from a high ranking family but just doesn’t have the abilities or skill the rest of their family has and it’s kinda outlasted for it puts on this old human vid called Encanto out of curiosity and by the end of it they’re a sobbing mess (whatever the turian equivalent of sobbing is) because “Mirabel just like me, fr fr.”

An Asari who just lost her first bondmate to old age and finding one of our sad songs about loss feels so touched by it and listens to it over and over again until she’s processed her own grief.

A Quarian who feel moved by a beautiful sculpture made of scrap metal and spare parts because it reminds them of the flotilla; a fleet of ships all held together with ductape, thread, and a prayer and yet still something beautiful.

The vibes I get from the other species is that they make their vids, games, books, and songs just to entertain, just background noise to fill the silence. Maybe they carry a deeper meaning sometimes but nothing compared to humans who pour their souls into their projects. Humans make fantastical stories out of the little parts of our lives that others can relate to and feel seen.

The handprint paintings on cavewalls come to mind. How instinctive drumming your fingers is how natural humming feels, how your brain spins stories before bedtime unprompted.

As much as war and disease have been parts of human history since the dawn of time, since the first spear was filled down, likewise music and art went with it hand in hand ever since the first flute was carved out, made from hollow birdbones and mammoth ivory, dating back to the time of ancients.

It's therapeutic. No one can deny the benefits of art on your mind and soul. It is what makes life worth living for many, the whimsy, the joy, the passion, the elation, the misery, the envy. The good and bad mirrors and reflections of our inner most desires, shameful feelings, and most creative ideas.

While the other species definitely don't lack in their culture and art—turians face tattoos borrowing from the batonical designs of nature—there is something to be said about the elcor deciding to adapt hamlet out of everything

There is a reason it's human music you hear playing at any self-respecting galactic club, ranging from the Citadel to Omega's own bars, the lights, the atmosphere, the valvety seats and soundtrack has a clear human touch. The human fashion which took over the asari modern wear like a swarm, inspiring many new designs combining the best of both worlds.

Humans aren't the only creative species, nor the one who care most about art. Rather, art comes naturally to us, all of us picked up colouring and drawing as kids, the urge to sing along to the radio, the desire to decorate your room, to spend hours moulding and sculpting characters in videogames even if they're end up wearing a helmet for the reminder of the story.

Art to us isn't necessarily a refined and polished thing like it is to the asari, neither is it an intricate impossibly complex dance with thousands of layers like the elcor. Our art is primal and integral. It's messy and often flawed. It's as mundane and common as the hair on our bodies, and it's everywhere. We breathe it into the world. Otherwise, it might sufficate it inside. It's so embedded within our whole existence that we are often blind to the more mundane forms of art, glossing over the way looking at sunsets gets our hearts slowing down.

Beauty was never the purpose of art for humans, but relief, communication, and self expression.

We look for art in everything, for a story under every unturned stone, for a poetic meaning behind the alignment of the stars, drawing shapes from their formation and assigning it meanings.

The other species could see that. it's what helped our reputation recover faster after the whole First Contact incident. What made the other species forgo their "bullies" perspective of humanity once they sampled our food, tasted our drinks, and were gifted bouquets of our flowers with cursive apologises worded so thoughtfully.

Art is the one thing you can't take from a human, we resort to it even during the most grim times of our life, especially during that, seek comfort in someone's creations, even quietly make our own versions inside the privacy of our heads. Just because art happens behind closed doors—or brains—doesn't mean it didn't happen. It's not a tree, it never required an audience to exist, its purpose is its mere just existence.

It's even infectious, wasn't the humans who got a krogan to agree and film a romantic comedy about falling in love with a human?

Do you think the hanar aren't absolutely fascinated by our tales of the sea, the ruthless spiteful ocean we seem to fear as much as we revere. The sirens, the krakens, the sailor shanties, the beautiful ships, and intricate wood carvings meant to bring luck.

Maybe the Turians can't get enough of human "coming of age" cheesy romcoms because our depictions of teenage rebellion and daring to be "selfish" and come into your own personhood is such a taboo amidst their military culture.

Or maybe they loathe it.

Instead, they prefer the stories about humans coming together to solve problems, realising the strength of cooperation, of beehive-like efficiency and utter trust in one another. Be it war films about soldiers coping with the cruel world while finding warmth in their comrades, or depictions of larger revolts where a whole population works together to put an end to their tyrannical leaders.

Maybe they're secretly Marvel fans, who knows.

Art doesn't have to be deep. It can be fun just for the sake of fun. Simple self-indulgence at its purest form. For every great classical piece of literature has been surpassed in sales by an erotica romance novelette with a shirtless cowboy on the cover.

I think the salarians would watch love paradise and other romantic reality shows about humans competing for one human's affection, hand in marriage, sometimes roses are involved—but salarians watch it with the same intensity of football fans watching a match, it is their own game of thrones, they don't care much for the sex but by the stars the "picking a mate" drama and gossip is equivalent to catnip for salarians

[ithinkofnealcassady]

my type is unfortunately straight girls who are into timothee chalamet because i know id be more perfect for them than he ever would be. i am that birdboned man you desire except i’ve got this vagina

[catominor]

frail simpering birdboned submissive roman senators .delivered to your door Today.subscription pack

[de1ties]

　 full　name　:　esmeray sabiha   zaim   . 　nickname(s)　:　esme , essie   . 　age　:　twenty5. 　gender　:　cis   woman   . 　pronouns　:　she   /   her   . 　sexuality　:　bisexual biromantic   . 　 title　/　occupation　:　lady of targa lune   . 　divine　pillar　:　salvator   . 　parents　:　liege name zaim   &   liege name zaim   . 　siblings　:　 lady   viridia   zaim   ,   liege   name   zaim   ,   liege   name   zaim   . 　children　:　 n / a   . 　 spouse　:　 n / a   . 　 loyalties　:　 the   zaim   family   ,   the region of targa lune   .

　 height　:　160cm   /   5′2   . 　build　:　slender   ,   birdboned   . 　eye   colour　:　sapphire   blue   ;   glowing   golden   when   using   her   abilities   . 　 hair   colour　/　style　:　 a cascade of waist length honey brown curls   ,   usually   styled   in   intricate   braids   and   painstakingly   careful   up  -  dos   .   in   less   formal   occasions   ,   she’ll   flitter   around   after   simply pinning   back   a   few   braided   strands   above   her   ears   . 　 attire　:　prefers   loose   ,   flowy   dresses   in   her house's colours in the comforts of her own region. turquoise and gold , with ranging shades   of   blue   and   yellow.  as a lady of targa lune , however , she takes pride in taking lead , and at times even creating some of the most up - to - date fashion trends. she’s   at   loathe   to   be   seen   as   anything   less   than   exemplary   ,   and   that   all   begins   with   her   outward   appearance   .

　 character　inspirations　:　primrose everdeen ( the hunger games ) + myrcella baratheon   (   game of thrones   )   +   edwina sharma   (   bridgerton   )   +   frodo baggins   (   lord of the rings   ) + beth march ( little women ) + wendy darling ( peter pan ) + ophelia ( hamlet ) + helen of troy ( greek mythology ).

you   once   dreamed   of   an   idyllic   life   ⸻   a   liege   to   love   you   and   more   children   than   you'd   know   what   to   do   with.   destined   for   something   soft   and   fanciful   ,       peaceful   and   true.   you   were   glad   for   the   future   set   before   you   ,       your   predefined   path   ;       the   security   it   offered   you   to   walk   only   upon   the   paved   road.   there   was   no   need   to   wonder   nor   wander   ,       one   so   perfectly   content   to do   with   what   you   had.   (   and   oh   ⸻   the   things   you'd   once   had.   )

your   kindness   becomes   a   curse   upon   you   ,       a   betrayal   from   the   core   of   you   ⸻   your   wretched   inability   to   approach   a   problem   and   not   do   all   in   your   power   to   offer   aid.   a   collector   of   strays   and   all   manner   of   broken   ,       beaten   things.   it   starts   with   the   healing   of   the   little   creatures   that   surround   you   (   the   mended   wings   of   a   songbird   ,       the   limp   leg   of   a   kitten   that   stumbles   on   by   )   until   eventually   ,       it   grows   too   blatant   to   ignore.   if   only   you   could   smother   your   gifts   ,       could   quiet   the   need   within   you   to   provide   solace   ,       if   not   peace   to   those   around   you.   alas   ,    such   deceptions   were   never   meant   to   become   you   ,       and   where   they   send   you   ⸻   you   know   you   must   go. 

the   next   decade   of   your   life   stretches   before   you   ,       filled   to   the   brim   with   expectations   that   were   never   meant   for   you.   you   are   no   fighter   ,       no   soldier   ⸻   not   with   your   heart   so   unable   to   harden   as   the   position   demanded   of   you.   you   were   a   healer   ,       a   soft   breeze   meant   to   soothe.   you   are   not   ⸻   blood   spilt   and   lives   taken.   an   ugly   awakening   to   how   lives   might   be   lived   outside   the   bubble   of   your   upbringing   ,       stretches   across   the   land   between   you   and   your   beloved   targa   lune.   but   for   all   that   you   begged   for   the   comforts   of   family   and   home   ,    you   feared   the   repercussions   of   abandoning   your   post   ;       the   shame   and   suffering   it   was   bound   to   bring.   to   your   family   ,       your   squadron   ,       perhaps   to   your   very   self. 

what   sees   you   through   to   the   other   side   of   your   service   is   not   the   same   woman   who   once   entered   the   army   ranks   ,       but   neither   is   she   so   entirely   different.   touched   by   death   and   face   to   face   with   unspeakable   horrors   ,       you   carry   with   you   the   weight   of   memories   and   lives   lost.   neither   a   shell   nor   ghost   ,       neither   fully   returned   to   the   full   bellyaching   peals   of   laughter you once let loose.   you   are   ⸻   half   of   something   ,       half   of   another   ,       and   still   trying   to   find   out   who. 

some   quick   connections   include   :     friends   /   acquantances   from   her   home   region   (   targa   lune   )   ,     friends   /   acqaintances   from   the   divine   army   ,       those   who   were   assigned   to   the   same   squadron   (   i   very   much   imagine   esme   to   have   treated   those   in   her   squadron   as   a   found   family   type   of   sorts   <3   )    ,       other   healers   from   the   divine   army   /   academy   ,       a   betrothal   (   perhaps   ?   )   ,       someone   who   could   clearly   tell   how   out   of   sorts   she   was   within   the   divine   army   (   now   what   they   chose   to   do   with   that   info   …   whether   to   help   or   disparage   …   ).

[nullbutler]

3 am brain said bullnutler....

Also I am crossing myself the sebcest urges are creeping

they're gonna get you...they're gonna get you...they're gonna get you

that's a new one! I've had nutler, nutbutter, nutbutler, nullbutter, and a lot of others. maybe i shoudlve stuck with birdbones lol!

[lovelaid]

˖ ࣪ . ࿐ ♡ ˚ .       𝗳𝗶𝗹𝗲   𝘂𝗻𝗹𝗼𝗰𝗸𝗲𝗱:               #𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚒𝚍.               ⥋               defined:   your   girlhood,   your   godhood,   the   blurred   lines      +      the   bloodied   crescents   in   everything   you’ve   ever   wanted   to   hold   tender      /      these   crosses   all   over   my   body   remind   me   of   who   i   used   to   be.      𝗐𝗁𝗈   𝗐𝖺𝗌   𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍   𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇,   that   technicolour   ghost   in   crimson   -   crust   kaleidoscope   of   a   𝙲𝚁𝙰𝙲𝙺𝙴𝙳   mirror      ??      pomegranate      +      its   sticky   rivulets   down   the   birdbone   knot   of   your   wrists,   stains   washed   away   by   saltwater   sting      /      𝘀𝗽𝘂𝗻   -   𝘀𝘂𝗴𝗮𝗿   𝘁𝗼𝘅𝗶𝗻𝘀,   a   study   in      most   nectarous      kind   of   poison   wrapped   in   satin   smile.      (      forgive   these   bones   i’m   hiding      +      the   bones   i’m   about   to   leave      …         )

𝗯𝗼𝗹𝘁𝗼𝗻,      𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘮.         intro,   prose. 𝗺𝗮𝗿𝗯𝗿𝗮𝗻𝗱,      𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘤.      intro,   prose. 𝘁𝗮𝗿𝗴𝗮𝗿𝘆𝗲𝗻,      𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘢.      intro,   prose. 𝘁𝘂𝗹𝗹𝘆,      𝘨𝘸𝘺𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘭𝘺𝘯.      intro,   prose.

[casliveblog]

I like how Law has faith in the news like 'Only Super Illuminati could make the newspapers lie' like they wouldn't make up a story as soon as Big News Morgans got a birdboner about the possibility

[cryptidclaw]

Its always so much fun coming up with fun warrior names that aren't conventional or sound interesting! Please look at some of the ones from my Warriors DnD server, we all love these guys very much

Npcs such as Gloryheart, Bisoncharge, Bluebelldust, Cavestalker, Birdbone, Wolfsnap, Scorchmoon, Pollenpuff, Squashnose, Crittercrawl, Kissingnose, and Volcanoburst

Plus some of the pcs have fun warrior names (some may change, some of these are still apprentices): Voidshift, Passerinefeather, Fawnfluff, Cosmos Storm, Phantomhowl, Riftsight

Like... its just fun coming up with names! They're all just little guys at the end of the day

these are so cool!!!!

gosh you guys are so good at names ...

[soulmissed]

@freekzout: ‘ use this on your blisters before you go to sleep. ’ (from ruth!)

memes, accepting

he has been whispering shit, shit, shit under breath for the better part of three minutes. (you know, in a semi-polite manner. because his daddy raised him to be respectable.) it’s his foot. blisters pepper the sole like micro islands.

birdbone fingers search pocket, fetching wallet. bugs bunny adorns the front. august retrieves a ten dollar bill. “ for your troubles. ” and exhaustively, “ c’mooon. i don’t want it for free. ”

[evangeline444]

glance, stature, stillness, night, texture, makeup, and change for the girl ever Dhaveria pls <33

THE CREATORS FAVORITE WEIRD GIRL!!

Glance: At first glance, what stands out most about your OC’s appearance? What’s their distinguishing features?

Dhaveira is albino so her pale skin, white hair and red eyes tend to grab people’s attention almost immediately. Her eyes especially tend to draw attention because of the contrast between red eyes and pale skin. Can i say that her distinguishing feature is that she kind of looks like a ghost?

Stature: What’s your OC’s body type? How tall are they? Do they wear clothing to accentuate their look or do they try to mask it?

Girly is 4’9”, birdboned and wispy as fuck. You could pick her up and put her in your pocket if you wanted to. I don’t think she really intentionally wears clothes to hide or accentuate her stature. She is pretty neutral about her stature most of time and doesn’t really mind if her wardrobe happens to accentuate it(unless someone is specifically poking fun at her about it)

Stillness: How does your OC act while still? Are they fidgety? Do they have any common gestures or tics? Does their clothing affect how they hold themselves?

She fidgets a lot, she spends alot of her time with the dead trying to claw their way back to the world through her and it leaves her restless and unable to relax. Because of this she wears a lot of little charms and bracelets that she can fidget with when her restlessness is particularly intense. Her clothes also have quite a lot of embroidery from her brother that she likes to trace over mindlessly. Her clothes and the additions she has made to them make it alot easier for her to stand still without feeling like she’s going to jump out of her own skin.

Night: What does your OC wear to sleep? Do they have a favorite pair of PJs, or are they more the birthday suit type?

She tends to wear nightgowns to bed, as i mentioned above most of her clothes have embroidery done by her brother and that includes her PJs. She also definitely steals articles of clothing from her loved ones to use as PJs sometimes because it makes her feel safe.

Texture: Does your OC favor any specific kinds of cloth or textures? Is there anything they can’t wear or don’t like? What sort of fabrics do they prefer?

Dhaveira has a very strong preference for fabrics with soft texture. She’s really sensitive to different textures and absolutely despises rough or scratchy textures, it makes her feel all itchy and makes her want to take off her skin (surprise surprise the weirdgirl is autistic and has sensory issues)

Makeup: Does your OC wear makeup? How often? What kind? Why do they wear makeup, do they like it?

I don’t think she wears makeup often, and when she does she really doesn’t wear much maybe a little bit of eyeshadow to draw more attention to her eyes and maybe some red or pink lip tint. Her cheeks are always really rosy so she has no need for blush. I think she likes accentuating her features, especially her eyes so she genuinely enjoys the rare occasions that she gets to do makeup.

Change: Has your OC drastically changed their appearance? Significant haircuts, big tattoos, complete wardrobe swap, etc? Why? How do they feel about the change?

Her appearance hasn’t changed much over the years, beyond her hair being significantly longer and the addition of more valaslin to her body. Besides the valaslin on her face she now has some on her hands, forearms, chest and back and she will likely continue to add more to it as time goes on. She is very proud of this change, because each valaslin marks a milestone in her life and her efforts to honor Falon’din. Her wardrobe has also changed slightly, mostly out of necessity because she was previously used to a much colder climate and now has had to adapt her wardrobe to a wider variety of climates.

[djhamaradio]

Duppy Echoes: 12:00 - 02:00 - Sunday 16th 2023

A Dance floor Suspended in time and space

Ozila - Wola Wola (South Africa)

Nese Alkan - Tut Kalbimi Tut (Turkey)

Milton - Mizik Nou (Haiti)

Logg - On The Line (New York City)

Pascal Latour - Lage Yo

Unlimited Touch - In the Middle

Bana - Rintchie Rintchie

Birdbone Unlimited - Heart Attack

Nicolaas Jaar - Mi Mujer

Senga Ferreira - Tomorrow never comes

Donny Hathaway - Memory of our love

01:00 - 02:00 Sunday

Femi Kut - Truth Dont Die

Mbongwana Star - Shegue

Bazare D Pablo - Nassima

Koffi Olomide - Micko

Orlando Divo - Beleza

Jura Soundsystem - Canafe Denim

Celia Cruz - Un Bemba Pal Yemaya

Shina Williams -

Osunlade - Cantos

Joy Orbison - Burn

African Folk Joint - Houwenema

Mala - Cuba Electronic

[catominor]

frail sickly birdboned senators. bedridden and coughing. etc.,