#bird verse

[thetownsendsw]

My staff picks shelf has ended up being VERY Gender at the moment…

[mintaikk]

Non sexualized chaotic and deranged fem characters are the best I live off of non sexualized deranged fem chatacters

[catwyk]

katabasian mason telling carpenter about him and his sister culling birds in the woods to hear their god boohoo mourn so beautifully, then leaving her and faulkner to die after the trawlerman delivered the withermark. dash some warbler eggs to hear the song, abandon a crow and a falcon to hear the song. get the practice in early, because some things never change

[toxintouch]

Mhin Fluff Headcanons:

✧ Vaguely Bird Behavior Themed ✧

✦ Will collect little trinkets for their partner. Specifically: weird little shiny things they found. Their partner is unlikely to ever receive said trinkets, but Mhin has accumulated quite the collection. They keep meaning to throw it all away but they feel. Unusually possessive over these objects. Just...their partner is never allowed to look in that corner. Ever. Nesting behavior. ✦ Mhin does occasionally give gifts, though! Often practical things they think would make their partner's life better on a daily basis. Frequently this means warm clothing and soft blankets. Again, nesting behavior Courting behavior, even.

✦ They walk past a tiny cat plush being sold at the market one day and...they have to gift it. It's...they just think it's cute enough to be worthy of purchase. Irresistibly cute...aka: reminded them of their s/o. (Please spare them and take it without any fanfare.) ✦ Okay but hear me out: imagine this scenario with a Hound, Alchemist or Unnamed who has never owned a stuffed animal before... 🥺

✦ Accidentally starts preening them.

✦ Constantly preening them.

✦ Always adjusting their partner's clothing (often while complaining, of course). Will fuss with their hair too, if applicable. Smoothing it and even braiding it if they can, just a little, just very absentmindedly. If the two of them are both resting, and hair just so happens to be in reach... ✦ Mhin, similarly, likes it when their partner fixes their hair or plays with it a little - as long as they are not messing it up. (Their hair is prone to static electricity.) Will let their partner brush their hair and even braid/style it as long as it's nothing ostentatious.

✦ Mhin will happily also brush their partner's hair, once the two of them have reached that level. If their partner's hair texture requires their hair to be wet before they can brush through it? ...how convenient because... ✦ Bathing together as a form of intimacy. They like the skinship, being pressed up against them and feeling their body heat and heartbeat. (It's easier to be vulnerable when they can walk into it thinking that it's all about practicality.) Less water to heat, cleaning each other off, taking care of each other's wounds, if either of them have any. The transformation is hard on Mhin, so they always have a few sore spots, at least. ✦ Feeding their partner; not just by providing food but also. Little accidental bird affection tells. "Uhhh. Mhin, are you trying to hand feed me right now??"

✦ The general need to protect & provide is strong. Assuming Mhin is a corvid of some kind...corvids tend to have very strong social bonds and attachments. Which makes it especially sad that Mhin is alone. 😢

✦ Does the "neck resting on you" thing a la birds cuddling. Often occurs when they are feeling tired. Just rests on their partner with their neck hooked against their shoulder, etc. Mhin will sometimes "read" over their shoulder like that and slowly fall asleep.

✦ Weighted blanket mode. Mhin doesn't cuddle so much as they lay on top of their partner. Smooshing them under their body weight. If cursed hands are a concern, Mhin is wrapping their partner up in sheets/blankets then smooshing them. (Mhin will settle for being the big spoon instead, but they will have their partner's clothes clenched in their fists all night. Grasping bird claws style. It's a wonder that their hands don't cramp up.)

✦ Mhin's back is an erogenous zone very sensitive.

[radioiaci]

▹@infernal-blaze

Bursts of creative energy tickle along the points of his clawed digits, invested solely in the piece that echoes throughout his room and well beyond into the illusory bayou that he looks out to. Somewhere within, the shadowy visages of his two gators bellow as if joining the loud, sonorous song that emanates from the piano he's sat himself at. Atop it, the liquid that remains in a well-tended-to bottle of whiskey sloshes with the vibration of each key that is pressed, Alastor's ears giving similar little tremors as he indulges in the concentration needed to ensure that even in his very inebriated state, he does not miss a single note.

It is strange how he can fixate on one thing and not another. His mind is blissfully empty, for the time being. Filled entirely with the steady warmth of the alcohol he's imbibed and the memorized melody that he hammers out with relative abandon. It is a good thing he does not have any neighbors in the immediate hall which he's found his room.

Otherwise, they might not appreciate Symphony No. 3 in F Major by Brahms as much as he presently is, his eyes slid shut to further slip away into the music with lack of awareness to the fact that his radio - devoid of any present music being played - is crackling with his own energy; feeding off of how his own soul swells with each lift and fall of the tune.

He is not in a poor mood, though he is not intending to stop drinking any time soon. Not if he can get away with playing away at his piano for several more hours yet. With shirt unbuttoned, tie undone entirely, and sleeves rolled up to the elbows, he is in no state for present company.

Though that typically does not stop the thing from happening anyway.

[adventuresofalgy]

The temperature in the wild west Highlands of Scotland was evidently determined to remain below freezing for the time being. The morning frost sparkled in the chilly sunlight, and when Algy tried striding across the ground, the grasses crackled crisply beneath his feet.

Although the shadows remained exceedingly long and cold, the low winter sun was bright and inviting, so Algy decided to indulge in a wee bit of reading out of doors, with his new Christmas scarf wrapped snugly around his neck to avoid the worst effects of the chilled air.

Leaning back on the tree seat, he opened his copy of The Oxford Book of English Verse at a random page, and found a poem concerning the human race with which – as a daft fluffy bird revelling in the glories of Nature despite the biting frost – he heartily agreed:

The world is too much with us; late and soon, Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;— Little we see in Nature that is ours; We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon! This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon; The winds that will be howling at all hours, And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers; For this, for everything, we are out of tune; It moves us not. Great God! I’d rather be A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn; So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn; Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea; Or hear old Triton blow his wreathèd horn.

[Algy is reading the poem The world is too much with us by the 19th century English poet William Wordsworth.]

[renardsruses]

The path that no bird of prey knows, and the falcon’s eye has not seen it

[rodolfoparras]

Thinking about how Price finds pleasure in pain | 18+, MINORS DNI

Content tags: face slapping

Being in the military meant that Price was no stranger to pain. Wounds, big as small littered his body on daily bases and at some point he became accustomed to the aches and stings that came with having them. Not only has he grown accustomed to the pain, he’s come to enjoy it as well, meaning that he enjoys getting slapped during sex.

He’d told you about this early on in your relationship, never one to hide things from his partner. You’d been surprised to say the least but it was something you were willing to try with him and once you felt prepared enough, you decided to indulge in his kink.

You’re straddling his waist with both your hands cupping his face. You’ve been reading about the subject, discussing boundaries and setting up safe words with him but you still can’t help but feel nervous at this very moment. So many things can go wrong and the last thing you want is to hurt him.

But Price looks relaxed as ever, sporting a small smile on his face as soft cerulean eyes peer up at you beneath long black lashes. He looks something akin to an angel. However if one were to look closer they’d see his flushed cheeks and the desire swirling in his iris and they’d know he is a mere mortal, more than eager to sin.

“Ready when you are, love” he says, voice as relaxed as he appears to be with a bit of anticipation peaking through it.

Price laughs when you first slap his face, since the slap is rather soft and playful, hand still a bit unsure and careful. However he quickly ensures you that he is quite alright, kisses the palm of your hand and nuzzles into your touch.

“Do it again, harder this time, yeah?” His voice now as firm as his request and this time you see the desire trickle past the relaxed facade.

The second time you slap his cheek, he gasps in surprise and blinks rapidly.

Just as you’re about to ask if he’s alright, Price looks at you, eyes now glassy and lips wet, and voice sounding a bit hoarse when he says “Good, that was good”

As you get more comfortable with slapping him, you’ll start to see just how much he really enjoys this. He’ll softly gasp every time you slap his face, his cheeks will flush red and for a second his eyes will widen, flashing with something you’d quickly learn was desire. Because every time you slap him he’ll lean closer to your face, only to pull you in for a passionate kiss and mutter a “Please fuck me” against your lips.

You had also learned that slapping him was a rather useful tool to get him to communicate what he wants and needs since he has a tendency to get lost in pleasure and forgets how to communicate properly.

So when you notice that his words are fizzling out into mere nods and hums, and he stops responding altogether to your questions, you’ll give a soft slap to his cheek. “speak” you say to him and that’s enough for him to tell you what he needs.

You quickly soothe the sting with a gentle rub to his cheek and with praise falling from your lips “Good there, pretty” you coo, fingertips gently gliding over flushed skin. The soothing touch to his cheek is a stark contrast to the stinging he feels and that in itself has him feeling lightheaded, cock hard and weeping inside his pants and pleas for more falling from his lips.

It’s also a rather useful tool in bed when you need to steer him in the right direction. Price will be down on his knees, head buried between your legs and tasked with focusing on your release. But he’d quickly forget all about it as he ruts his hips against whatever flat surface there is, desperately searching for any sort of relief. As much as it’s a sight to see his tousled hair, the flush on his cheeks, the way his teeth sinks into his bottom lip as he chases his release, this isn’t what he’s supposed to be doing.

Your hand glides down to his cheek, palm cupping supple skin before you slap his cheek. He gasps at that, eyes blinking at you in surprise before a whimper escapes his mouth. “None of that, love. Be good and I’ll reward you for it, yeah?” He furiously nods his head at that, apologies tumbling from his lips along with incoherent babbling as he nuzzles up into your touch.

Slap him as he gets closer to his release, he loves it. It’s a sight to see since up until that point he's quite vocal about what he wants and needs. But when he’s so far gone, tethering on the edge of his release, he can barely get a word out, using gestures and noises to ask you to slap him.

He’d be pinned down to the mattress, looking up at you with his eyelids hanging low and mouth agape, drool dripping down his chin as he tugs at your hand, clearly asking for something.

“What do you want?” You cup his cheek, thumb stroking sensitive skin as you smile up at him, knowing that you’re dangling what he really wants right in front of him.

When no response comes, you tighten your grip on him, fingernails sinking into supple skin causing him to wince “Use your words”

“ so - so close please just please here, please here, slap here” Price says, eyes watery, lips wobbly and hands gently pushing yours against his cheek.

“Good boy” You smile at that before you firmly slap his cheek.

“I’m- I’m ” he cries out, unable to even finish his sentence, back arching off the bed, eyes shut tight and cumming all over himself.

Definitely comfortable with having you slap him in other places as well. You can slap his thighs, his chest or you can even slap his dick. It’ll have him quivering and gasping for breath, hips desperately rutting in the air as he begs of you to fuck him. Definitely one you have to keep an eye on since he can easily get lost in it. He’ll be all marked up from your hands, skin still tingling from your touch yet he’d be still begging for more.

Hell, at times you’ll get to the point where he’s rendered speechless, incoherent words falling from his lips, drool dripping down his chin and eyes glassy and pleading for you to do it again, again and again, please.

Will obsess over the marks you left on him, constantly rubs at his thighs, chest or face without being aware of it, too busy being consumed with the pleasant sting that comes from caressing sensitive skin.

He’ll especially obsess over the ones on his face, tinted pink and clearly visibly on his pale skin. He’ll be sitting at his desk rubbing his cheek while filling out some paperwork he’d been tasked with doing. But he’ll quickly turn rock hard in his chair thinking about how the marks had gotten there in the first place.

Definitely gets disappointed once the marks start to fade and will quickly be on your tail asking you to mark him up again.

[emichevy]

Peak fanart abilities

[deermouth]

Silt verses enjoyers I think it is imperative you all know how miserably annoying it is to walk through mudflats/floodplain areas. I mean it's fun but it's also miserable as hell. Whenever anyone is doing their thang down close to the White Gull I need you to imagine them perpetually damp and trying not to be pissed off about it, having almost lost a shoe 6 times, or else in the most annoyingly bulky pair of hip waders known to man or god. Thankyou.

[dramatisperscnae]

@thecreativeforge from here bc tumblr is dumb

Breathe. He had to breathe. Nothing had happened, they were fine, just breathe, Grayson. And try not to think about how Roy's hand had felt, there in the small of his back. How it might have felt if it had landed a few inches lower.

The hand on his shoulder made him jump, though he didn't pull away; instead his own hand came up to hold it there as he looked over at Roy, hoping the flush on his cheeks had faded a little even as he found some comfort in the fact that Roy's hadn't. At least Dick wasn't the only one suddenly feeling awkward right now.

He managed a wry grin at the teasing, giving Roy's hand a squeeze but still not letting go. "I'd…call it a tie. Would've been my win if that old brownstone had still been here." He was trying to tease back, but as Roy glanced over and blue eyes met green any further comments died on Dick's lips. His heart was still pounding, albeit a little softer than it had been a few seconds ago, though he wasn't afraid; behind the uncertainty in his eyes absolute trust was shining through.

[the-smallest-star]

//I made it worse

[0luna123]

can everyone just stop and get my vision for a sec?

[bird-sovereign]

Been relistening to season one

[bitterrobin]

something that's super underrated in fic is Damian having a life in the League of Assassins. It's not just training 24/7 and mind games between a boy and his grandfather. It's not just Damian getting put through the child abuse simulator so that Bruce or Tim or Jason or Dick or whoever can rescue him. Damian is a character that experiences slow growth. He goes through the "no killing" rule, but there's storylines where you can tell he's only sticking to it for Bruce and Dick. He follows their lead because he needs their validation and affection, to prove himself - not because he genuinely believes in what they're trying to do (at least not yet).

For a child to be stuck in such a mindset, tells me two things; obviously the indoctrination runs deep because he was raised in the League. He doesn't understand his family because their lives are alien to him. But also that the League shouldn't just be a place of misery and despair. It needs to be full of people who praise his actions, people who try and value him.

They are teaching Damian that the Earth is something to be cherished, that he kills to honor his family and one day lead the revolution. It's something very overlooked; the League doesn't believe that they are evil. They are a fringe organization with the fervor to save the Earth. They worship Ras al Ghul, of course, but that's because they believes he embodies what the planet needs - rejuvenation, redemption, the care for endangered and extinct animals, the dismantling of rich billionaires and corrupt governments and exploitative companies. If they have to kill and turn the oceans red with blood to ensure that the Earth exists for a thousand more years - then so be it - Ras will take us there.

Damian internalizes this. He lives in this League day in, day out. He may not always appreciate the teachers his grandfather gives him, but he learns. He absorbs. He watches the initiates being sworn in shadows. He observes the cultists and their rabid worship, gets pulled in and placed high above the clouds as a piece of god. He lives his life every day surrounded by the Shadow assassins, spies, information specialists. He is waited on by League staff who are happy to serve them. He has handmaidens he's known since he was an infant, who pamper and spoil him. Bodyguards who have died to save him. Cooks and doctors and researchers and farmers and innocents living their own lives. They come from all over the world. They have families and friends. They have lineages as far back when Ras first founded the League. They treat him like a son, like a little brother, like an older brother, like a friend, like a student, like a messiah, like a child and like an equal.

And when he leaves the League...he loses those connections. The handmaiden who took care of his hair, leaving him to slather on hair gel in an effort to maintain an image. The boy who was being trained a Shadow and befriended him, one whose deathly image he can never shake when talking to anyone his age. The teacher that taught him meditation, an inner peace he yearns to return to. The woman who taught him how to hack computers and he never look at Barbara without remembering her. The man who taught him boxing, his first experience with the life of a performer. The thief who gave him lockpicks and pilfered sweets, whose detached demeanor always remind him of Selina. The actress who taught him to manipulate his voice, a talent he will never get to show her again. The bodyguard who treated him like a little brother, whose sacrifice screams in his mind when interacting with any of the Waynes. Damian can never return to those days. He can create new memories in America, but his heart forever lies in the city amidst the mountains.

[radioiaci]

@infernal-blaze ⧐ ❛ i’ve never cared for anyone the way i care for you.❜ - vox ASSORTMENT OF DIALOGUE ASKS.

Committed or not, it is with far too much sentiment that he finds Vox's words striking him somewhere at his core. It is the expression that he's feared before - and perhaps still fears now. As such, Alastor has no immediate response, his gaze shifting elsewhere after the briefest moment of what may read as some sort of shock.

Is he even worthy of such an emotion? Such dedication? Knowing that he has never been capable of returning it in a way that seems to make sense. To him, the art of caring is tantamount to carving a deep well into Vox's torso in which to bury his hands and tenderly cradle the thrumming heart within.

But that is not the thought of someone, something normal.

Alastor still believes that the other overlord is making a mistake. Has held that belief since the early days when the other's interest made the radio demon turn tail and run from it.

The sordid thing now is that he cannot keep himself from feeding into it instead. Not now that he has a taste for Vox's willingness to do for him all manners of things that he knows he does not deserve. And so he does not stop himself from extending a hand to take the other's, bringing those bright claws to his mouth where he can treat them with sincere appreciation.

The act of kissing that hand and those fingers is starkly in contrast with his words.

"You are a fool."

But, he supposes, that has never stopped Vox before.