#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

[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.

[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.

[wanderingblindly]

WanderingBlindly Fanfic Masterlist:

Lando Norris/Oscar Piastri

Oscar Piastri's Accidental Guide to Saying "I Love You" (6.1k words, oneshot)

Oscar's been acting strangely. It's not a bad strange, per se, and that's not to say that Lando doesn't always find Oscar a bit weird – lovingly, of course, but look at the guy. Though, as he finishes pulling a fresh shirt over his head, as he hears the sound of Oscar pacing back and forth across his living room, he wonders if something might be... amiss. Or: Oscar has something he wants to tell Lando, and he's not hiding it very well.

October Birds (10.3k, 1/7 chapters, ongoing)

“Y’alright, World Champion Lando Norris?” Max asks, leaning back in his desk chair with his hands tucked behind his head. “Piss off,” Lando mumbles back, not liking the smile in Max’s tone. Besides, what can he say? ‘Bit lost, actually. Any idea how to handle the best day of your life feeling like the end?’. Or: Lando runs away to the wrong Perth. Oscar takes in a lost man.

The Guidebook but it's Different Because Now There's Stockings (8k words, oneshot)

The snap of the nylon, sharp against his thigh, resonates through the bedroom. But he can't rouse himself from his mind, can hardly feel his lashes against his cheek as he blinks lazily. Oscar's fingers are hot, nails lightly grazing the sensitive skin at the crease of his hip. And his lips, seemingly glued to his leg, trace along the top of the fabric. His teeth nip at the soft, thin skin of his inner thigh, tongue soothing the sting before Lando can process it. And, like a parting gift, Oscar whispers: "So beautiful..."

Oscar Piastri's (Full Homo) Guide to Fucking Your Boyfriend (19.4k words, 2/2 Chapters)

"Has my girlfriend ever kissed a guy before?" Oscar's eyes move to Lando's lips, lashes fluttering gold in the setting sun. Girlfriend. His mind goes silent, lips parted and eyelids heavy. It feels... nice. Hearing that. It feels good, even. Like Oscar's claiming him, possessing him. Girlfriend. He whispers back, feather-light. "No." Oscar looks back up, catches his eyes. "Do you want to?"

By Touch (1.6k words, oneshot)

Oscar's fingers shift, reaching for Lando's wrist and moving them both. "The hardest thing to learn, I think," Oscar starts, voice barely audible over Lando's heart, his shallow breaths. "Is letting yourself feel." Delicately, like one would touch the wings of a butterfly, Oscar ghosts Lando's fingers across his cheekbone. He's soft, as if the pink under his skin is a gently unfurling rose petal after spring rain.

Bite Down, Reverse It (1.4k words, oneshot)

“I’ve never —” He’s never heard Lando’s voice like this: tight and frantic, like he’s been caught. Shaped by my hands. “That’s fine,” Oscar breathes, leaning in closer — all he can see are Lando’s eyes in their seemingly infinite shades, all he can feel is his cock, already so hard against his thigh. “You’re gonna have to teach me.” Made exactly how I want you.

Lando Norris's (No Homo) Guide to Getting a Girlfriend (10k words, oneshot)

"Bet I could teach you." Oscar's eyes snap back to his, wider than the time Lando suggested they go skydiving in the off-season. "Teach me –" "The Lando Norris guide to getting laid." Oscar pulls a face. "That's not –" "Getting a girlfriend, then." Lando amends, holding up his largely-empty glass in cheers. "Cheers to not being a virgin, mate."

We're Not Really Strangers (4.1k words, oneshot)

"Fine," Desperate to move away from his increasingly not PR-friendly train of thought, Lando snags another card. "What's the first thing you noticed about me?" "Your eyes." Oscar freezes as soon as he's said it, mouth clamped shut and brows raised – shocked. At himself. Or: Lando and Oscar play ice breakers for a PR video, what could happen?

Impasse of Biting (12.5k words, 2/2 chapters)

"Maybe it would be good for you, something like this." Lando looks away from the espresso machine, over at Charles. "Like what?" "A vampire." "Charles," Lando breathes out, leaning against the back of his workstation and crossing his arms. "I've told you, it's not..." it's a me problem. He's the one that can't seem to connect to people, he's the one that's not noteworthy enough to want.

Too Close to Touch (2.3k words, oneshot)

"Sit up," Oscar groans, aiming for a more demanding tone than he can gather with Lando's mouth sucking lightly at his neck – not enough to bruise. Lando makes a noise in response, petulant and determined, that makes Oscar's head spin. Like he's addicted to him, unwilling to let go. Like this isn't some fucking insane bet that they made during the driver's parade. Or, Lando and Oscar make a bet: how important are hands when it comes to kissing, anyways?

It'll Pass (5.7k words, oneshot)

"Don't wanna win if you're not there." Lando says, pinkies still intertwined, looking Oscar dead in the eyes. He says it like it's common sense, like it's a normal thing to say to a teammate. Like it's not the closest Oscar will ever get to hearing I love you. "Promise." They let go.

Watch Me (5.5k words, oneshot)

It's half seven, and just like nearly every other day since he's moved in, his neighbor is in his bathroom – poorly concealed by the frosted glass window that's not nearly as frosted as it should be. He's standing on his toes, bending over his sink to get closer to the mirror, clad in next to nothing but short, black briefs. His eyes roam higher, heartrate spiking when he sees it, just like every other time he's seen it: Oscar's neighbor, a seemingly unmated omega, wears his collar. At home. Alone. When he's wearing next to nothing else.

Time After Time (3.k words, oneshot)

It's him, it's definitely... him. But it's him from years ago, narrower in the shoulders and more uncertain in his smile. He recognizes what he's wearing, remembers agonizing over it for the better part of an hour with George and Alex, both laying on his tiny dormitory bed with eager eyes. It's their first date.

Late Nights (1.3k words, oneshot)

Oscar leans forward and rummages through the bag, nabbing a pair of chopsticks and an unopened container. "Want me to stay?" Lando's heart sinks; has he been home late so often that Oscar would offer? "Babe, it's really gonna be a late one, I can't --" He talks around his mouthful of noodles. "I don'mind."

Someone in Seattle (11.6k words, oneshot)

“Could I, like… would you be my model for it? Maybe?” “That’s what the coffee was for then?” “No, that was, uh.” He can feel his face heating up, skin undeniably turning a deeper shade of red under Lando’s gaze – mirthful and a little something else. “That was different.” “Gonna say what?” “No.”

Keep Talking (2.7k words, oneshot)

Closing his eyes, pulling a deep breath in through his nose, Lando lowers himself to the floor – sitting directly next to Oscar’s spread knees. “Yeah?” Oscar asks, voice already softer – leading. He’s still sat casually against the sofa, looking down at Lando with warm, understanding eyes. Lando nods in response, eyes fluttering closed as he lets himself lean against Oscar’s leg, rubbing his cheek against his sweatpants.

Nouveau Hot (3.5k words, oneshot)

Lando’s hand moves faster, the knot in his stomach growing tighter with each stroke, each flick of his wrist. Easy muscle memory, it should be enough but — “Need you, need you, need you now, I- Osc, please I -oh fuck,” He’s rambling, the words spilling out faster as he desperately chases release — hips fucking up uselessly into his hand. “That’s too bad, isn’t it?”

Lando v Media (1.2k words, oneshot)

He’s very aware that fucking his teammate isn’t exactly the best PR move he’s ever come up with. And he didn’t need to be told that, to be clear. Though, to be even clearer, he was told that – Jon made quick work of pointing it out, as did the HR representative, as did the PR representative, as did Andrea. But again, he was already aware, so that all felt really excessive.

Bite Down (Show Me How) (1.2k words, oneshot)

“I’m a virgin, by the way.” Smooth start. Oscar, to his irritating credit, doesn’t even look at him from his spot, leaning casually against the elevator wall. “Yeah?” He turns his head, giving Lando a look that makes him realize he’s not the one in charge here. “Wanna do something ‘bout that?”

You Bring Me Closer to God (9.7k words, oneshot)

They’re still close enough to whisper, Lando’s hand holding him in place as he grins wildly. “You like it rough, Osc?” He doesn’t even care if it’s just a bit, just Lando’s stage persona washing over him like it does all his fans. Looking up at Lando, looking at the lipstick he smeared across his cupid’s bow and chin – it’s like he’s seen god. Felt it on his lips, tasted it on his tongue. Oscar grabs him by the nape of the neck without a second thought, pulling them together just as viciously as the first time. Or: In which Lando is a very slutty front-man for a small band seeking their big break, Oscar is an enamored bartender, and Jenson's bar brings them together.

Hot Pink Ring Pops (Would You Marry Me If I Was a Worm?) (4.2k words, oneshot)

“Oscar isn’t ever gonna marry me if I’m a worm, Jon!” He laments, the words uneven and jagged as he sobs (which, Jon realizes, can’t be good for whatever injuries he’s possibly sustained from the crash). Somehow more importantly, what the fuck did Lando just say?

Is It Gay to Watch Your Teammate on Tiktok? (Asking for a Friend) (12.3k words, 2/2 Chapters)

He’s sitting on the bed, dinner long since picked at, with his knees pulled up to his chest. He feels close to hyperventilating. It’s playing on loop, some sappy little edit captioned “i need to find someone to look at me the same way oscar looks at lando”. And really, who the fuck was going to tell him that Oscar smiles at him like that? 

Mortifying! Anyways, (2.3k words, oneshot)

Mortifying interaction, but he’d survive. Besides, it’s not like the cashier was that cut– “Cute enough to make you stupid, huh Norris?” He could hear his smile before he saw his face, a proper Cheshire grin. “Fuck off mate,” Lando groaned, already trying to scrub the cashier from his brain. Except for the Australian accent, he decided; that bit could stay. Maybe his eyes, too, as tired as they had seemed. And his hair, which looked so soft in that kind of ridiculous side part.

If I'm Barbie, and You're Barbie, then Who's Driving the Bus? (814 words, oneshot)

Anyways, the driver room is largely quiet at the moment. But not entirely, much to Lando’s enjoyment. Buzzing from Oscar’s headphones, loud enough for Lando to hear the words, is a song from Barbie. Charli XCX, no less. 

[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.

[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.

[finalgirlart]

but the rain kept coming down

I watched that woman drown

[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.

[geekeryisafoot]

I am endlessly fascinated by how different metrics of popularity do not always correlate with each other and tell different pieces of the big picture. Take, for example, Birds of Empire

Look at those subscriber and listen numbers on Castbox, then look at the number of reviews on Spotify. On tumblr, this podcast has a grand total of 13 posts in its tag. 13. You can scroll to the end of its tag in 30 seconds.

Now let's calibrate our scale by looking at those same numbers on the same platforms for other podcasts

The Magnus Archives, one of the juggernauts of audio drama, has a fraction of the subscriptions, a differences in play counts that makes sense given the number of episodes in it's feed backlog, and a RIDICULOUSly dwarfing number of reviews. I don't need to describe the scale of fandom to any soul on tumblr.

Compared with Old Gods of Appalachia, a giant name for those into podcasts but that didn't break containment to the extent that TMA did. If you ask for podcasts recs on this webbed site, this will be one of the first ones literally anyone mentions. Once upon a time (like 4 years ago) when patroen numbers were public, I also remembered them having MASSIVE numbers, even more than I'd expected at the time

Compared to The Silt Verses, which imo rounded out a triumvirate of wildly popular horror podcasts for quite a while...

Until Malevolent showed up on the scene and made it a quartet

And just to round out this scale, let's include Not Quite Dead. To me, this podcast feels mildly popular with a dedicated if relatively small fandom. Like, the tag moves consistently if not quickly

I'm just so endlessly fascinated by these different numbers compared to how active each fandom is. Like, what the hell could possibly explain Birds of Empire DWARFING these other super popular podcasts when literally no one talks about it? Has it simply not caught on on tumblr but has on other social media or social circles? Is it normies who are listening and not talking about it where I can hear/see? And why do the numbers indicate high listener counts specifically on Castbox but not the most common podcatcher that is Spotify? Who other than me is actually using Castbox?????

[toffeechad]

i made this because uh- yea this pipeline will exist no matter what internet media is it