#black wing hummingbird flight rising

[fr-familiar-bracket]

[empyrisan]

JCStitches the Black-wing Hummingbird Flight Rising | Black-wing Hummingbird | Illustration 2016

A header image for @jcstitches-fr’s thread, Let’s Find the New Items!

[sword-dad-fukuzawa]

absolution, a oneshot

Yeah, not my usual content, but I wrote this a while ago and I figured it was short enough that I crosspost it from Ao3 to tumblr. ‘Twas inspired by a Dead Apple prompt on the Chaos Cult Discord server: What if when Dazai died (for a little bit ofc) he got to see Oda again one last time and Oda got to see who Dazai became?  -- -- -- -- 

In the top floor of a tall, abandoned building, there are three figures all wearing white in some strange facsimile of purity and innocence. Innocence, for these three, is as far away a dream (a nightmare?) as flight is for a dog. They exist somewhere out of time, displaced entirely. 

The demon, the sinner, and a corpse. The demon is smiling as he fingers the knife in his pocket, hidden from view. He knows that his plans are unlikely to bear any fruit, but he bites from the apple of knowledge anyway and revels in the taste. He is God, after all. What was forbidden for Adam and Eve is his to create and his to take. 

The sinner looks on with a cold, dead gaze, because he is not surprised. He is never surprised. The world ticks on, every second that passes takes him closer to his story’s inevitable conclusion. Perhaps he has forgotten where he came from, but he could never forget where he is going. After all, he lives on borrowed time.

How funny that the man who considered himself least human, of the three, is the one with the most humanity.  

“How could you?” Dazai asks, his eyes starting to close, but the question is entirely rhetorical. He has expected this ever since he made his last move, sitting in a bar surrounded by ghosts. His plans are out of his hands now, and it’s not up to him anymore. All he can do is trust, but if he dies here, it will have been worth it. 

Odasaku, was I a good man?

The roaring in his ears is getting louder but he can barely feel the knife in his back. The floor presses into his cheek, and it’s as cold and unforgiving as the darkness that sweeps over him. He murmurs what he knows might be his last words. 

“This feels great.” 

He is smiling.

—

Dazai is sitting in a dimly lit bar. The amber paneling of the walls are dusty and scarred, but in the end, it contributes to the overall aesthetic. The bartender is in the corner as he usually is, wiping absently at a glass in his hand. The air is dry and still. 

He looks at the clock on the wall. The time is 10:32, and the hands of the clock are not moving. He realizes that he’s wearing his tan coat, and the bandages wrapped around his wrists are a familiar comfort. Something about this feels wrong. Shouldn’t he be in white? 

What an odd thought. He never wears white. He’s at the Bar Lupin, so he should be in black. Why isn’t he in black, and why has the clock stopped ticking? 

“Dazai.” 

He whips his head around to the right, and his eyes widen. “Odasaku,” he says, smiling. His colleague is sitting a couple stools away from him, wearing his usual beige blazer and dark button down. He has a glass of whiskey in his hand and he swirls it gently. He takes a sip. 

There is a matching glass of whiskey in front of him, Dazai realizes. Has it always been there? He feels slow and stupid, as if his brain is moving through molasses. It’s an uncomfortable thought. “Ango’s late,” he finds himself saying, and Odasaku sets his drink down. He stares at something far away. 

“Ango’s not coming.”

The words echo strangely in Dazai’s ears, and he lifts his glass of whiskey. The light refracting through the amber and the cut glass casts liquid shadows on the bar top. “I see,” he says, though he really doesn’t. He wants to ask why Ango isn’t coming, and why the clock has stopped ticking, and where his black coat has gone. But something stops him, and there is an odd feeling rising in his chest. His mouth suddenly tastes like fear. He puts his glass down, the bottom of the glass making a hollow noise against the bar.

Instead of asking any of the questions on his tongue, he makes a humming noise and drums his fingers against the bar. His fingertips make small pattering noises against the wood.

His hand is covered in blood. 

No, it isn’t. Dazai blinks down at his hand, and it looks normal again. He turns to Odasaku, who is sipping at his whiskey. “Where’s Ango?” he asks finally, and while Odasaku’s face doesn’t change, he imagines that something in it becomes sadder. “I figured you’d ask that,” he says, and Dazai turns toward him. 

“The clock,” he says. “The clock and my coat and Ango.” 

Odasaku nods. For a moment, he isn’t wearing his usual work uniform. Instead, he has his pistol holsters hanging empty at his sides. There is blood on his clothes, and somehow, Dazai knows it’s his own. 

“You remember, don’t you?” he asks, and Dazai does. His hand fists uselessly on the bar top, and he looks away. There is a well of directionless fury inside of him and he does not know what to do with it. “I remember,” he replies. Something makes him open his mouth again. “I’m sorry,” he says, and he can’t remember the last time he said that to anyone. But hasn’t Odasaku seen the worst of him already?

He remembers stained glass, a sunset, and a deep river of loss to drown in. 

“Don’t be,” says Odasaku, and Dazai lifts his head to look at his coworker—no, his friend—in surprise. He is smiling, quiet and fond. “There’s nothing to forgive.”

“You died,” Dazai says, and it takes all of his considerable willpower to keep his voice from shaking. He feels eighteen again, irresponsibly young and so, so stupid. Stupid enough to believe that Odasaku would be spared. That the optimal solution Mori found didn’t involve getting rid of an annoying mafia member, one with something as foolish as principles. His hands are covered in Oda’s blood because Dazai should have protected him. 

“So did you,” Odasaku points out mildly, and suddenly Dazai remembers why he should be wearing white. 

His hand twitches. He wants to grab at his back, pull out the knife whose ghost he can still feel, but it’s a phantom pain. Here, in the bar with its dim lighting and still air, there is no fruit knife. There is no demon with flashing eyes. There is no Tatsuhiko Shibusawa, whose pain and misery can be felt just by occupying the same room as him. 

There is only the bartender, Odasaku, and himself. 

He takes a sip of his whiskey to give his hands and mouth something to do. He hates the taste and the burn of the alcohol as it goes down, hates the feeling of glass between his teeth. It’s why he’s always refused to drink anything he ordered when he went out drinking with Ango and Odasaku. That, and alcohol makes him slow.

Back then, he couldn’t afford to be slow. He can’t even afford to be slow now, but something about this place forces stillness upon him. The bar calms his ever-whirring mind and beating heart, as quick as the flutter of a hummingbird’s wings, to something more normal. More human. 

Dazai hates the irony. 

“Did I fail, then?” he asks, turning to Odasaku. “Has Yokohama burned to the ground?” 

Odasaku takes another sip and makes a negative sound. “Not yet, at least,” he adds, and the revelation causes panic to rise inside him. 

“Then what am I doing here?” he demands, and he’d forgotten how grating it is to be the petitioner. Dazai doesn’t make a habit of being the one asking, instead of the one answering. The loss of control is almost enough to make him shatter his whiskey glass. He can’t remember the last time he had let himself just be carried along by the currents of someone else’s agenda. 

No, he could. A reminder of the consequences was sitting two seats down from him, drinking his whiskey as if he didn’t have a care in the world. 

“You’re dead,” Odasaku reminds him, and something in his face softens. “For now, anyway.”

Dazai nods. While he had suspected as much, there had been enough uncertainty to throw his entire thought process into disarray. With that out of the way, the storm inside him quieted momentarily. 

“Nakahara-san, was it?” Odasaku murmurs. “He’ll come through.”

Dazai smiles a little. “He always does,” he says, and Odasaku smiles back at him. 

The two of them sip at their whiskey in companionable silence. It’s almost comforting until, after what could have been minutes or hours, Dazai feels a tug. As if a small child has latched onto the hem of his coat and is pulling at it to get his attention. He looks down, but there is nobody there. 

“Your time’s up, Dazai,” says Odasaku, and the simple phrase hits him with the force of a sledgehammer. He lifts his head to look at his friend, and Odasaku is still smiling. It’s not even a sad smile, like Dazai expected. Is that...pride?

“I do check on you, every now and again,” Odasaku admits. “Because I’m curious, and it can get boring here.”

Dazai can’t speak around the lump in his throat, and he doesn’t even try. Odasaku gets up from his stool and walks over, hands in his pockets, before reaching out. He ruffles Dazai’s hair. “The answer to your question,” Odasaku says, “is yes.”

That single word is absolution and penitence and everything he has been running towards since he threw off his black coat. Dazai opens his mouth to say something, anything, but he is ripped away from the bar and back to the living world with a punch to the jaw that sends him reeling. He is wearing white, and he is floating. Above him, Chuuya floats with his fist outstretched and a savage snarl twisting his face. Part of him is disappointed, and the other part of him is relieved. 

He can still feel the wound in his back, which throbs with every passing second, but he also sees the droplets of blood hanging suspended in the air like tears. He lifts up a hand then, even though it hurts, and touches Chuuya’s cheek. The activation of his ability feels like a cool wind rushing through him. 

“You used Corruption, believing in me?” he asks, though it’s a herculean effort to speak. His tongue feels like lead and his head is still spinning from being yanked unceremoniously back to consciousness. But he has enough energy to smile wryly and say, “How beautiful.”

“Yeah, I did,” says Chuuya, as blunt as he always is. “I believed in your disgusting vitality and craftiness.”

The words sting a little, but it’s nothing more than he deserves. It is, after all, his disgusting vitality and craftiness that keeps him from drinking whiskey with Odasaku, in a bar removed from time. The thought doesn’t depress him like it should. 

Because it will annoy Chuuya, he widens his smile. “That was a somewhat violent way of waking Snow White.”

There is violence in the tension of Chuuya’s shoulders and his narrowed eyes, but he just used Corruption. Dazai figures he can barely speak in his current state, let alone move. His jaw throbs anyway, because Chuuya hadn’t pulled his last punch at all. 

When he gets to the ground, with Chuuya collapsed on his thigh, Dazai allows himself to close his eyes for slightly longer than a blink. He leans against the rubble and tilts his head up to the sky. His hand is on Chuuya’s head, fingers resting lightly on his hair. He’s exhausted, but he cards his fingers gently through Chuuya’s hair anyway. 

“Ne, Odasaku,” he murmurs, and fancies that wherever he is, his friend can hear him. “You were right. You always were.”

With his face still tipped up to the sky and fingers still combing through Chuuya’s hair, he smiles. “I even forgot to say thank you.”

—

“Be on the side that saves people. If both sides are the same, become a good man. Save the weak, and protect the orphans. Neither good nor evil means much to you, I know…but that'd make you at least a little bit better…”

“How do you know?”

“Of course I know. I know better than anyone. Because…I am your friend.”

-- -- -- --  A link if you want to join the server: https://discord.gg/wGfPdaV

[jadienjaystoriesandart]

So here is more on Valkyries as it ties more into my own SBI for the Dream SMP. 

Minecraft Lore: Valkyries

You guys know a bit on how they function as a people. Recap would be they are heavily Family beings. Young Valkyries are raised by everyone, but live in families. And these families can consisted of many wing types, colors, and powers. And it’s a taboo to marry other species.

Most of these co-inside a type of Valkyrie known as ‘Divine’. Then the other two types, Fallen and Neutral. 

Types

Divine Valkyrie: These Valkyrie mostly live in the Aether and are the ones who believe in the idea you mustn’t make hybrid babies. They are identified by their bright wing colors, ranging from reds, blues, goldens, greens, whites, yellows, among other bright colors. This can include lavenders and silvers.  In this catagory they have the power over light and sun rises, the power to call upon the Aether Light for aid in battle against all things evil and undead. They are often the ones clothed in armor with winged helmets and boots. 

Their armor color often signifies who they follow, Notch’s tend to have golds and blues, while the War Gods tend to be of greens and golds.  They are the best archers of the skies, and take forms mostly of birds, Hawks, Falcons, Eagles, Parrots, and Hummingbirds tend to be the most common of them.

They also have roles when reaching of age and getting a high enough ranks. Some include watching over certain races, others include concepts like Harvest or Theater. Really they are just guardians to things that help humanity fuction. And these morals are what give them power.

Divine ones have strong sense of right and wrong, and they cling to this based upon what they are the guardian of. To become a Fallen, breaking the rules and/or losing doubt in your morals is one way to do so.

Fallen Valkyrie: These Valkyries mostly roam around the Overworld, they are nomadic, and dislike people tending to stay close only to family and those they bond with. They can be identified by their ashy wing colors, dulled colors, blacks, grays, and muted dark colors. Like dark blues, purples, and blood reds. However they can be silver, just darker than the Divine Silver Wings. In this category they have lost their morals and fell from their light statues. Some can control shadows now, and have a craving for destruction and chaos. Having a bitter resentment to what they believed in.

Unlike Divine’s they don’t wear armor, and tend to dress as they please, prefering to carry weapons over anything else.  Not as good at archery as before, they make up for it in sheer force power in close combat. They command respect through their mere presence, able to let out an aura that will make anything run and coward before them. 

They still have powers, but these tend to rang in the more darker categories. Like Death, Despair, Destruction, and Sorrow.  Their birds tend to be of Crows, Ravens, Owls, and Vultures. Sometimes though they can be other animals, though it’s rare. 

Once a Fallen, the only way to gain back our Divine statues is to regain faith and/or seek our a Light God for aid.

Neutral Valkyrie: These Valkyries are nomadic as well, but in all realms. They aren’t as powerful as their other two catagories. They can have just about any wing color, bright or dark, but their wings tend to be bigger in size and easier for them to hide. They near look human, as they don’t give off any aura or produce any effects around them.

What they lack in powers they make up for the fact they can keep their flight and battle skills, but they also don’t have to choose a side. Might not be as powerful as a Fallen or Divine, but they are able to live as they want.  Still having heavily Family mentality, but having a choice in who they want to marry. 

Most are born as a Neutral, and to become one you really often just don’t have a God or Goddess of either catagory you follow. Ant you can become either type if you so wish, it’s easier than from one extrem to the other. 

Neutrals are rather rare though, most dislike giving up power for choice. For personal or other reasons that is. Neutrals can either be your best friend or your worst enemy keep this ins mind, they are bound to harm you, but they also aren’t bound to help you. 

I’ll get into later how this ties in with Phil and the SBI dynamic. For now, take this ADHD/Insominia ramble about my Minecraft Lore.

[cicada-bones]

The Warrior and the Embers

Chapter 6: The Queen of the Fae

Masterlist / Ao3 / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

The princess froze, her body seizing up even more violently than when Rowan had surprised her in the alley. Maeve just stared her down, a snake at a mouse.

The girl stepped back, instinct taking over as she attempted to flee. But instead of stepping back through the threshold, she hit Rowan’s hard, unyielding body. He sent a gust of wind behind them, shutting the door with a soft, violent click.

Neither female broke their stare, and Rowan knew that his queen was measuring the girl, weighing and calculating. Tasting her scent and feeling the power writhing in her limbs. Just as he had.

The girl’s fear leaked out of her like smoke, spilling from her form and filling the room with its noxious scent. Her hands were shaking violently, her body trembling against his.

Rowan could feel her shoulder blades digging in the muscles of his chest, the sharp points of her elbows in his sides. Before the girl even thought of moving towards his queen, or of stretching her fingers towards the lethal daggers strapped to her hips, Rowan would know. And would act, cutting the girl down before she could blink.

Her heart fluttered like hummingbird’s wings, and her breaths were shallow and ragged. She was too incapacitated to react in any way – either with violence or with deference.

With barely a sentence, his queen had utterly decimated the girl, rendering her incoherent. The bravado she had so easily carried in her stance and spat out with her every word now withered and died as she was reduced to a husk of herself. Rowan had seen it time and time again; people shrank, were condensed to their very essence when forced into the place between fight and flight, when they were given no options.

No matter how familiar the princess was with fear, no matter how she had trained or worked these past years, she had not been prepared to face his queen. Not been prepared for the sheer force of her presence and her power.

Rowan almost laughed at himself. The girl couldn’t pose a threat to his queen, never could. She had no ace up her sleeve, was hiding nothing that they couldn’t detect. Powerless, and a complete waste of his time.

By contrast, Maeve was fearsome and eternal, radiating an ancient grace. Her pale skin glowed in the faint moonlight, and her dark eyes glittered like pools of the night sky. Even in this dingy room, his queen radiated, magnificent.

Rowan waited for her to speak, for the orders to come that he had longed to hear ever since first laying eyes on the girl in Varese.

But Maeve remained silent, her pale fingers folded in the lap of her gown, the ever-present barn owl once again perched on the back of her chair.

The princess breathed in and out slowly, steadying herself. The potency of her fear diminished slightly, the copper tang fading from the air of the small office, and uncovering her true scent.

As it had in the alley, her scent tugged at him. A fading brightness masked by sweat and muck and horses. It bit at him, brushing the ice in his limbs with weak sparks and waning embers. He ignored it, discomforted.

Then the princess spoke, in a small, but hard voice. “Aelin Galathynius is dead.” A new emotion emanated from her, disgust and hatred and…grief.

Rowan tilted his head ever so slightly. Hmm.

Maeve just smiled. A promise of violence. A promise of victory. She knew the Heir of Fire was powerless, and hers to do with what she would.

“Let us not bother with lies.”

The girl’s nostrils flared at his queen’s words. A stubborn rebuttal. She didn’t believe it was a lie – to her, Aelin Galathynius was dead. As Rowan had known, the princess had truly turned her back on herself and her birthright when she became the assassin. Aelin was not hiding, she was gone. Celaena Sardothien stood before them.

Maeve watched the girl, reading her every emotion like words off the page. The Fae queen was rapt, focused and intense. She had not once glanced Rowan’s way, her eyes utterly fixed on the assassin. Rowan couldn’t remember the last time his queen was so engrossed.

She wanted this child desperately. Craved her. Coveted her. And for what, Rowan did not know.

The girl was still pressed hard against Rowan’s form, as if his body was a wall. Rowan saw Maeve’s eyes flick between them, noting the connection. Though her gaze was empty of anything he could decipher, Rowan pulled away from the girl and leaned against the doorway, under the guise of preventing any escape.

Maeve’s eyes gleamed, some hidden knowledge flashing there.

Rowan’s brow narrowed in response. But of course, nothing more appeared on his queen’s face. Maeve was more than skilled at playing these games – a master of manipulation. She would explain when and if she wanted to, and short of that, Rowan would have to wait. There was no use in speculating.

Silence spread between them like ice. Sharp and cold and inescapable. But his queen just sat and waited for the girl to make the next move, her black, depthless eyes burrowing a hole in the princess.

Rowan could feel Maeve’s dark power flowing around her like an invisible black cape, churning and spiraling like smoke, or liquid obsidian. Nightmare made flesh.

Though the princess’ fire was tightly contained, locked behind iron bars, her embers had stirred to the surface. Her fear had drawn the sparks like bees to honey, or flies to a corpse.

Together, the three of them filled the space with light and dark and cold, the scent of power overwhelming the small room. Three of the most formidable Fae in the world, convened in a half-rotted office in a secluded, run-down fortress in a forgotten corner of the world.

The girl’s breathing was still ragged as she bent at the waist, bowing low. But Rowan doubted she was finding her humility at last. It seemed that she had decided to actually play his queen’s game, apparently not realizing that there was no way to win it.

Maeve was still smiling as the girl rose. “I suppose that with a proper bath, you’ll look a good deal like your mother.”

Another strike at a possible vulnerability – first Aelin’s name, now her family. But now the girl seemed to be more in control of herself, and didn’t react to the verbal blow. Instead, she smiled faintly and said, “Had I known who I would be meeting, I might have begged my escort for time to freshen up.”

A tentative initial volley, deflecting the real taunt and instead drawing Rowan into the battle. He remained silent, anger bubbling in his stomach, while Maeve glanced at him. She seemed to gauge the resentment, the hostility between the two of them. Something lit up behind his queen’s eyes, as understanding fell into place.

Rowan’s lips tightened imperceptibly. Maeve knew something, was planning something, there was something he was missing…

“I’m afraid I must bear the blame for the pressing pace,” Maeve said. “Though I suppose he could have bothered to at least find you a pool to bathe in along the way.” The words were light, teasing. Maeve was enjoying herself.

“Prince Rowan—” He felt the jolt of the girl’s shock as Maeve continued, “—is from my sister Mora’s bloodline. He is my nephew of sorts, and a member of my household. An extremely distant relation of yours; there is some ancient ancestry linking you.”

Another move to put the princess on uneven footing, for the pleasure of making her squirm. Not that they actually shared any blood – Mora and Mab’s lines had become so diluted over the millennia that the princess was probably more closely related to the royal families of Melisande or Eyllwe than the Whitethorn family.

The girl remained calm however, rallying herself. She spooled her arrogance back into her body until it once again draped over her frame and coated her every word, the way one pulls on a comfortable and familiar garment. Then said, contempt dripping from each word, “You don’t say.”

Brat. Rowan tensed at the girl’s derision, but Maeve just casually responded. “You must be wondering why it is I asked Prince Rowan to bring you here.”

The girl bit her tongue. Maeve’s eyes shone.

“I have been waiting a long, long while to meet you. And as I do not leave these lands, I could not see you. Not with my eyes, at least.”

Maeve had the power of foresight – the power to see beyond the use of her eyes, across nations and into the future. His queen had undoubtedly been waiting for this girl since long before her birth, and Rowan couldn’t help wondering just how long in the making this incongruous meeting had been.

To the Fae, years could feel like weeks. To one as eternal as Maeve, time warped into shapes completely separate from mortal understanding. Maeve could have seen the princess of flame coming centuries ago, before her line had been sired, before her family’s name had been established. She had perhaps been waiting for the heir of Brannon to rise since his fall all those millennia past.

The princess’ eyes were cold, calculating and impassive, as Maeve continued.  “They broke my laws, you know. Your parents disobeyed my commands when they eloped. The bloodlines were too volatile to be mixed, but your mother promised to let me see you after you were born.”

Rowan could remember that time for himself – his queen’s cold fury at their disobedience, and then her long, slow anger at their mounting disrespect, the insult of being ignored.

Maeve cocked her head, eyes tightening. “It would seem that in the eight years after your birth, she was always too busy to uphold her vow.”

The girl’s breathing sped slightly, her eyes intent and her body rigid, seemingly saying, Yes, and it was for a damn good reason.

A broken vow – an unfulfilled debt. These were things significant to the Fae, notions that still held weight after decades of time had passed. Within Fae customs, such debts were passed on through bloodlines, until payment was reaped or the debt fulfilled. And one to Maeve, to the Queen of the Fae herself, would incur the very highest cost.

“But now you are here,” Maeve’s face darkened, her lips curling. “And a grown woman. My eyes across the sea have brought me such strange, horrible stories of you. From your scars and steel, I wonder whether they are indeed true.”

For the first time that evening, true interest sparked inside Rowan. What had the spymaster shared with his queen that she had kept from him?

“Like the tale I heard over a year ago, that an assassin with Ashryver eyes was spotted by the horned Lord of the North in a wagon bound for – ”

“Enough.”

The princess interrupted, her teeth clenched and her eyes hard. She glanced back at Rowan, gauging his intent expression, which he quickly rearranged into dull indifference. She shot him a sharp look, obviously saying, Mind your own gods-damned business. Rowan’s eyes narrowed.

“I know my own history.” She turned back to Maeve, who was wickedly amused, her spear having found its mark. “I’m an assassin, yes.”

This time, Rowan couldn’t stop the snort that passed his lips. Assassin she may be, but she hardly lived up to the tales of Celaena Sardothien. Nor was her profession a point of pride as she implied. Killing for money wasn’t even equal to common soldiering – no matter her level of supposed proficiency or renown.

“And your other talents?” Maeve pushed, her nostrils flaring as she pulled in the girl’s scent, confirming what she already knew. “What has become of them?”

“Like everyone else on my continent, I haven’t been able to access them.” A flat, emotionless answer.

“You are not on your continent anymore,” Maeve purred.

Fear once again began to radiate from the princess, her muscles tensing as her body went taut. Her every molecule seemed to be screaming at her to run.

Maeve’s eyes lit up with malicious pleasure. “Show me,” she whispered, her voice filled with longing. She shot a spear of power towards the girl, enveloping her in darkness. Coaxing out the fire.

The girl’s fear mounted to heights previously unknown. The air was coated in copper and ashes, filled with her terror and anxiety. Wildfire simmered below the surface, straining, reaching, stretching –

The darkness in Maeve’s eyes spread, filling the space with gloom and smoke as she poked and prodded and sliced at the girl, peering inside her skull and testing the bars hidden within.

Rowan waited for the girl to start shaking again, for her to submit and grovel at his queen’s feet, for her to break.

But instead, the girl just breathed, deep and even, her eyes hardening into bricks of solid gold and clenching her hands into fists, reaching for the daggers at her hips.

Rowan’s body went taut as the tension mounted, waiting, anticipating –

Maeve interrupted, her low laugh cleanly slicing through the tension in the small room as the darkness swiftly retreated. The pressure of the princess’ wildfire receded as her fear fell back under her control.

“Your mother hid you from me for years,” Maeve said, continuing her other line of attack. “She and your father always had a remarkable talent for knowing when my eyes were searching for you. Such a rare gift—the ability to summon and manipulate flame. So few exist who possess more than an ember of it; fewer still who can master its wildness. And yet your mother wanted you to stifle your power—though she knew that I only wanted you to submit to it.”

The words were delicate, her voice imbued with that perfect combination of playfulness and dominance. The girl’s embers roiled beneath her skin, aching to meet the challenge in his queen’s eyes.

Maeve sliced yet again, eyes burning with malicious pleasure. “Look how well that turned out for them.”

The game was getting very, very dangerous now, very close to an explosive climax. The girl spoke low and intense, from deep within herself. “And where were you ten years ago?”

Maeve pushed the blade in deeper, softly responding. “I do not take kindly to being lied to.”

Shock. Pure, unadulterated shock pulsed from the princess.

Rowan let out a small, wry smile. No, his queen did not, and she knew exactly how to take revenge, to eke out her price. The princess had already paid her debt to Maeve, though she had not known it at the time.

Rowan had wondered why Doranelle had done so little while their brethren in the west had fallen. He needed wonder no more.

“I do not have more time to spare you,” Maeve said brusquely, now that the winning hand had been played. “So let me be brief: my eyes have told me that you have questions. Questions that no mortal has the right to ask—about the keys.”

The girl was slowly recovering from the shock and pain, but still she opened her mouth to speak, desperate.

Maeve held up her hand, silencing her. “I will give you those answers. You may come to me in Doranelle to receive them.”

“Why not - ”

The world came to stop around him as a growl slipped past Rowan’s lips, icy, vicious anger rippling through him. Finally he understood. Finally, he grasped what he had been missing.

Maeve wanted the princess to come to Doranelle, to the center of her realm, under the guise of providing her with whatever this was that she sought. But Maeve did not allow mortals or demi-Fae into her city unless they had proven themselves. Unless they had shown power and control sufficient enough to be permitted.

That was why Rowan had been pulled from the eastern post, why Fenrys had not been called to collect the girl.

Rowan was going to have to train her, to teach her how to control her power until his queen was satisfied with her abilities. Maeve wanted him to hone a weapon for her, to discover how sharp it would be. And who better to teach an heir of fire than a prince of ice?

Maeve plowed on, ignoring Rowan’s sharp retort. “Because they are answers that require time, and answers you have not yet earned.”

“Tell me what I can do to earn them and I will do it.”

Foolish girl. Isn’t it known in the human lands that one does not make such bargains with the Fae? Even now her arrogance astounded him. How could she be so spoiled and selfish to believe that she would be an exception to such a rule? That her aunt would not force her to pay an iron price for such a reward?

Maeve was just amused. “A dangerous thing to offer without hearing the price.”

“You want me to show you my magic? I’ll show it to you. But not here – not – ”

“I have no interest in seeing you drop your magic at my feet like a sack of grain. I want to see what you can do with it, Aelin Galathynius – which currently seems like not very much at all.”

Maeve wielded the girl’s true name as a chef brandishes a knife, skillfully piercing the hide of her prey. “I want to see what you will become under the right circumstances.”

“I don’t – ”

“I do not permit mortals or half-breeds into Doranelle. For a half-breed to enter my realm, she must prove herself both gifted and worthy. Mistward, this fortress, is one of several proving grounds. And a place where those who do not pass the test can spend their days.”

Half-breed. Another barb, another weapon. Not that he had any sympathy for the girl at the moment, still seething from the realization of how he would be forced to spend the next few months. Or, gods, years –

“And what manner of test might I expect before I am deemed worthy?”

Maeve turned to Rowan, meeting his hard eyes with her amused ones. “You shall come to me once Prince Rowan decides that you have mastered your gifts. He shall train you here. And you shall not set foot in Doranelle until he deems your training complete.”

Maeve’s gaze intensified as she beheld Rowan, infusing her tone with command. He held his anger on a very, very short leash, nodding slightly to his queen and master, to confirm his understanding.

He was to remain at this outpost, for years if necessary, assigned as watchdog for Maeve’s new pet princess. Teaching her table manners and her ABC’s while her other blood-sworn did the actual work of protecting his queen and country.

Rowan remained motionless while pure fury roiled beneath his skin.

It was strange. The emotion was not unusual, but its intensity would have unnerved him had he had any room within himself for another sensation. It had been so long since he had felt anything with such strength. But this foreign princess was so insanely maddening, so infuriating, that she burst through all his icy walls like they were glass, or water.

Still, he kept tight control of himself, concealing the storm raging within. But he thought Maeve had sensed it anyway, as she smiled and turned back to the princess, who was saying, “What I need to know isn’t something that can wait – ”

“You want answers regarding the keys, heir of Terrasen? Then they shall be waiting for you in Doranelle. The rest is up to you.”

“Truthfully,” the brat blurted, desperate. “You will truthfully answer my questions about the keys.”

Maeve’s grin widened. “You haven’t forgotten all of our ways, then. I will truthfully answer all your questions about the keys.”

The princess hesitated, then asked, “What manner of training – ”

“Prince Rowan shall explain the specifics. For now, he will escort you to your chamber to rest.” Rowan’s teeth locked together, barely containing a vicious snarl. But he would do as his queen commanded. He had no other choice.

The girl hardened once again, intense and commanding. Forcing her way through the cloud of fear that had begun to surround her. “You swear you’ll tell me what I need to know?”

“I do not break my promises.” Rowan’s lips tightened. No, Maeve never broke her word. She expertly whittled away at it, until it bent and swung in a light breeze. Maeve would tell the girl the truth, but which truth? Who was to say.

“And I have the feeling that you are unlike your mother in that regard, too.”

The girl’s teeth clenched as she bit back a violent retort, the dig at her family doing its work, another blade in her hide. She breathed, little more than a stuck pig, and then made one last attempt, one final play in their game.

“To what end? You want me to train only so I can make a spectacle of my talents?”

But then Maeve smiled wickedly, triumphantly, and played her final card.

“I wish you to become who you were born to be. To become queen.”

And Aelin Galathynius turned on her heel and stepped out of the room, without another word.

···

Masterlist / Ao3 / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

[shreddedparchment]

A World of Our Own Pt.04

Falling Hard

08/20/2019

Pairing: Bucky x Reader          Word Count: 3,790

Masterpost          Warnings: Language, pining, incapacitated Bucky

A/N: This one is a little on the shorter side for me. I can’t remember the last time I wrote a chapter this short. Not much happens event wise but a lot happens. It really does. I hope you all like this chapter, I wasn’t feeling myself as a writer while writing this. Just being hard on myself I think. Anywho, let me know what you like about it if you feel so inclined. As always, if you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work. xoxo

“Hey!” You point at him, glaring at him as he places his hands against the blanket you’d laid out for him. You’d made sure to put it in the shade, half on the small tufts of grass that edge out from the denser tree line and half on sand. “Sit down.”

“I’m fine!” Bucky argues.

“No, you aren’t, Bucky. I just wrapped up your calves and if you get up, I swear I’m not feeding you today.” You threaten, your chest heating up in anger as he drops back onto the blanket.

He laughs, then throws himself back onto the blanket and continues to chuckle.

“That’s my bacon. I killed it.” He argues, but he’s laughing so it’s a pretty flimsy argument.

“I don’t care. If you get up, I strike.”

“Fine.” He chuckles one last time, then turns those impossibly blue eyes on you, lazily rolling his head until he can do so.

They sparkle with jade at the very center. An ocean green that dazzles and reminds you of last night before your surprise visitor had shown up.

Had he kissed you? You want to ask him but…

“Okay. I got the logs placed down by the trough.” This new voice is less deep than Bucky’s but pleasant and accented.

You turn away from the section of boar you’ve been stripping fat away from, hands dripping with new and dried blood.

“Thank you. I’m sorry to ask.” You bite your bottom lip, staring with remorse at the other surprise visitor from last night.

The second pilot. Technically the Co-Pilot. He’s tall—like Bucky—with golden hair. Straw blonde, big lovely curls and waves, slightly outgrown because of the time spent on the island. His scruff is shorter than Bucky’s slightly darker than the hair on his head but only by a slight shade.

He’s still wearing his pilot’s pants, but they’re cut off. Torn into shorts by hand and the cut makes them fray.

He stands facing you, his previously white and now permanently gray button-up pilot’s shirt is drying on a low palm. His plain white t-shirt is also drying leaving him shirtless as he sweats with the workload you’d asked him to do.

Too much for him, you realize as he stands gasping before you. His chest rising and falling with his labored breathing.

He’s chiseled, like Bucky. Deep cuts that shape his pecs, abs, and arms. You’d have to be blind not to notice the utter Adonis that he is. He must have been very into working out before the crash.

He seems plucked from the deepest recesses of your dreams. The fantasy man that could never possibly exist in the world. That’s Ryan.

Unlike Bucky—who is so beautiful there is no way you could have even fathomed his image to wish for him— there’s also a slight sallowness to his muscles. They’re sturdy but Ryan looks more like you. He’s a regular human. Your bodies are not reacting so well to being on the island for so long.

There’s nothing particularly wrong with either of you, but your bodies have changed. You’ve gotten leaner, thinner. Only the muscles you use constantly are hard and supple.

Ryan looks at Bucky and then at you, hands finding his hips. He shakes his head, a small curve of his lips changes his face entirely. The deep speckled brown of his eyes twinkle with something you don’t recognize.

Amusement? He looks down at his feet then back up at you.

Is he blushing?

“Don’t apologize. I’m happy ta help.” His accent falls pleasantly in your ears and your lips smile back in reaction. “Was there anything else ya needed me for?” He shifts on his feet, fidgeting as his cheeks burn.

“Um…” Yes. Tons.

With Bucky out of commission you suddenly realize how much he does. However, Ryan isn’t Bucky and he probably won’t he able to do half the things he does.

“No.” You lie.

“Are ya lying? Because there’s a small twitch just there in the left corner of yer lip that tells me ya are.” Ryan teases, his smile wider and playful.

You reach up to touch that corner of your mouth then remember there’s blood on your hands so you freeze. With heated cheeks that have nothing to do with the scorching sun beating down on the beach, you look down at your sliced meat.

“You’ve done enough.” You assure him, stealing a glance at him.

He’s still smiling. Flirting shamelessly and you can’t fathom why.

Okay…so you’re the last woman in his world. Sure. But…

There’s a tug at your elbow and you turn to look at Bucky.

“Where'd you learn to make jerky?” He asks, and though he tries to focus on you, he steals a glance at Ryan. Eyes shifting nervously between the two of you.

“Back before the Snap my friends and I would go camping. It was fun. My boyfriend back then taught me how to do it. He loved camping. But…after the blip…well, they’re all older now. They’re doing their thing.” You try not to think about what you came back to.

Bucky sees the shift of sorrow on your face but before he can say anything, your co-pilot speaks.

“Oh, are ya making jerky with my pursuer?” Ryan asks, moving towards the two of you with slow but determined steps.

You look back at Ryan as he begins to kneel down beside you.

He’s on one knee when Bucky speaks again.

“Hey, there is something you could do. I usually gather some fruits around this time to have with dinner. Why don't you go do that so Y/N won’t have to?” Bucky suggests.

Ryan stops, looks from Bucky who's on your right but a little behind you to you.

Bucky should be out of reach, but he’s slid down on the blanket to sit at its bottom edge, legs mostly in sand so that he can reach out and touch you.

Hence, the tug on your sleeve.

“Oh. Is that true, Y/N?” Ryan asks you, curious.

“Y-yes. Of course. I-" You stutter.

“What? You think I’m lying?” Bucky challenges, his voice dropping in octave and his face as stoic as when you first met him.

There’s no reading his expression when he looks like that.

“No.” Ryan says, searching his face. “Of course not.”

He gives you a small tight smile then gets to his feet with a sigh and a slap to his knee as his obviously tired body braces on it to rise.

“Alright, I'll be back after I’ve grabbed some fruit. Which direction?” He stops, wiping his hands on the front of his knee length cut offs.

“That way. About five minutes of a walk and then three minutes in. You can’t miss the trail. We go there every day.” You smile at him, a heavy weight in your chest as he nods and walks the way you’ve pointed.

You wait until he’s far away enough that he won’t hear you speak.

“You don’t get fruit for me. Liar.” You chastise and turn to look at Bucky but he’s scooting even closer, butt on the sand as he wraps his arms around your waist.

Your breath catches in your throat, heart hammering and fluttering like an excited hummingbird’s wings.

He doesn’t see the way your face is wiped of all sensible thought. Bucky’s got his face buried against the soft flesh between your stomach and back, just above your hip.

“Thanks for trying to corroborate my lie.” He says into your side, saturating your skin with hot breath through your shirt.

Your skin erupts into chills despite the heat of the day.

“Wh-why did you lie?” You let your elbow rest behind his head, hands held up because of the blood.

Bucky looks up at you, blinking slowly before he looks at the strips of meat you’re preparing.

“I’m not ready to share you yet. You’re my stranded partner.” Bucky declares, once more knocking the wind from your lungs.

Forcing yourself to recover, you clear your throat and look at him brazenly sitting on the sand when you’d taken such care to have him sit on the blanket.

“Why are you getting your bandages dirty?” You growl, pushing past the pleasant flips his arms are giving your tummy.

“You put me too far.” He states, matter-of-factly. “Move my blanket closer, please?”

“So, what happened?” You wonder, shifting in your seat beside Bucky.

He’s on his stomach, laying with his calves on your lap, elbows supporting his torso as he lounges and watches Ryan across the fire.

Beside his hands is a little pile of stacked banana leaf pouches. Really, they’re just folded three times with the sides tucked in to hold the jerky you’d made yesterday.

Finally, you and Bucky get to take the time to really know Ryan, a whole day after he first burst through the trees of your camp.

“With the plane?” He raises his eyebrows, accented voice also rising in pitch.

You nod, tearing your eyes away from him to finish unwrapping Bucky’s bandages.

“I couldn’t tell ya.” Ryan confesses. “I know that the black box malfunctioned about an hour in flight. Then the storm tore up the plane, but we would have made it if it wasn’t for that explosion.”

You glance at Bucky, his face half hidden by his curtain of freshly washed hair.

The flicker of guilt in his expression doesn’t surprise you but you wish he wouldn’t blame himself.

Even if he is the reason that someone blew up your plane, he didn’t do it himself.

He relaxes as you slide your hand down tenderly along the hard curve of his right calf. The pads of your fingers doing so subtly so that Ryan won’t see.

He doesn’t need to know about Bucky and the plane.

When his eyes meet yours, he softens, losing the harsh glare that his conscience had summoned.

“How long were we flying off course?” Bucky turns to Ryan, his expression kinder but still a little guarded.

“How did ya know that-?” Ryan begins, brow furrowed.

“I’ve flown before.” He admits and in surprise you look at him.

“You have?” Your own curiosity is piqued as you begin to adjust the collection of Bucky Barnes facts that you’ve filed away to paint a clearer picture of who he is.

This man so soft suddenly under your touch. He looks at you and nods.

“When?”

“You’re a pilot?” Ryan cuts in, curious too.

“Not exactly.” Bucky admits, shifting so that he’s on his side but you reach up and push him back towards the left, hand curling around the shockingly rock muscles of his thigh.

“I’m not done with you yet.” You scowl, and slowly he settles back onto his stomach.

“So, you did it the wrong way?” Ryan asks, clearly disapproving that Bucky probably learned to fly without getting a license in the process.

“I didn’t have a choice.” Bucky replies, his voice even and calm, unoffended by the accusation in Ryan’s.

“Oh.” You whisper, realizing when he must have learned to fly.

You turn your gaze back to his calves and slide both bandages away. Gasping, you finger the puckered pink line, nearly completely healed. You hadn’t realized just how fast his body healed. No wonder he never gets sick and still looks as healthy as he did when you crashed here.

You continue to trace the wound, pretty sure it won’t even scar, and realize you’re smiling when you look towards his face and find him smiling softly too.

“So, how long?” Bucky reiterates, tearing his blue eyes away from you and back to Ryan.

“How long did we travel off course?” Ryan clarifies, leaning back against a piece of palm driftwood that you and Bucky had found some time ago.

Scratching his chin, beard probably making him itch, Ryan screws up his face as he ponders.

“Abou’ four hours? Perhaps longer? It was honestly just one thing malfunctioning after the other. It’s like someone had planned for the plane to go down.”

Of course, someone wanted to bring the plane down. You’re not sure how into the fold you want to bring Ryan. He’s been very nice and grateful for Bucky saving his life the past two days, but you don’t know him.

You try not to let the time flying off course worry you. “What happened? To you, I mean. We crashed and you…?”

Ryan continues to scratch underneath his chin. Bucky watches the movement. You continue to trace the puckered line of skin on Bucky’s calves and he doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to move.

“Well, I landed in the water. I don’t know how I ended up so far but when I came to, I was soaking wet, layin’ face down on the beach of a small cove. There was a cave there and at first, I was too terrified to go in but when the weather changed, I had no choice.

“The hurricane hit, and I retreated into just the entrance but as the water in the cove rose, I was driven further and further inside. I thought I would find some animal, y’know? Get attacked and die there but instead I found myself coming out in the jungle at the other end of that cave.

“It’s like a long tunnel. I stayed there for several weeks. Sleepin’ in the cave but usin’ the jungle to forage for food.”

He must not have found much. You look his body over again. He’s wearing his t-shirt at least but even through it you can see the bulging curves of his arms. He’s fit.

Desperately you try to remember what he looked like before. He must have been bigger. He could have only lost muscle mass on the island.

“Then a few nights ago that monster raided my camp.” He says, pointing at the piles of jerky Bucky wrapped up for you.

“So, you didn’t know we were here?” You wonder, ceasing your tracing to simply hold Bucky’s calf.

You’re so aware of each inch of skin you’re touching.

“No. I thought I was the only survivor. You two are kind of a miracle for me. I thought I was going to die on this island alone.” His confession is genuine. The sheepish look he gives you and Bucky in turn is full of hope.

The idea of being on this island without Bucky had been so terrifying, you can understand what it was he’d been struggling with and for three months! You’d have gone crazy.

“We should divvy up the jerky.” You give Bucky’s calf a squeeze and he grabs them in stacks of two before offering them to Ryan, you, and keeping a small stack for himself.

There’s an extra one and you’re about to tell Bucky to keep it for himself because he’ll need it. He does a lot of the work around here, but he holds it out to Ryan before you can.

You watch as Ryan’s eyes widen a little. “Oh, no. You should take it. If the things that Y/N has told me about the work you do around here, you’ll need it more than I do.”

“Take it.” Bucky insists, no room for arguing. “Trust me, I’ll be fine.”

Bucky’s accelerated healing, the peak condition he seems to stay in, his near relentless stamina—he can handle less food, but you really want to give him everything. Cook him a steak. Buy him some pizza. French fries. Toast. Pancakes. Omelets. Tacos. Roast. A big beer. Does he like beer?

“Do you like beer?” You suddenly gasp.

Bucky blinks, confused, eyes on you. Ryan, leaning over taking the offered jerky packet also stares at you in confusion.

“What?” Bucky asks, a quiet chuckle making his voice rumble.

“I-” You stutter, slightly surprised at yourself for just coming out with it. “Nothing. I’m going to bed.”

“Wait,” Bucky protests, moving to get up but you lift his calves and fold them up towards his butt which pushes him back down and he gives a small oof. “Y/N.”

You scramble up, eager to get out of sight so that you can fret and be flustered alone.

“Good night.” You call back towards the two men.

“G’night.” Ryan replies, still sounding confused.

“Y/N!” Bucky calls again but you duck into the fuselage where you can’t be seen.

*****

Bucky’s heart is still pounding.

Sitting across from Ryan, Bucky’s distracted state doesn’t worry him. He doesn’t care what Ryan thinks.

That look in your eyes when you’d asked him if he liked beer…it was just a question. A simple yes or no question that he could have answered quickly but there was more in that question. More behind it.

That nervous look on your face after. The way you’d run away. Bucky wants so desperately to follow after you, but he can’t. Last night had been torture. Tonight, will also suck.

With Ryan here, and you the only woman, things suddenly feel different. Sleeping with you in the fuselage means something different now that he’s here so he’s been sleeping out here with him.

“Have you two been together since the crash?” Ryan’s query pulls Bucky from his thoughts, his heart slowly settling.

“Yeah. We were sitting together when the plane went down.” Bucky nods, watching the new addition settle against the driftwood.

“You two seem close.” Ryan observes. “Really close.”

“Almost dying with someone can do that.” Bucky shrugs. “We are.”

“You think she likes ya?”

Bucky’s limbs freeze, his heart in sudden arrest. What is this guy asking? “Of course, she does. After three months together, it would be weird if she didn’t like me. I like her to.”

“No.” Ryan shakes his head, settling in on the floor, small blanket pulled up along his chest.

He yawns, shutting his eyes as he gives in and Bucky can see his body relaxing, muscles melting despite the hard surface of the ground. Ryan isn’t used to the work that you and Bucky have been doing, the routine you’ve got going.

“I mean, does she have a boyfriend off the island? A husband? Someone waitin’ for her back home?” Ryan clarifies and Bucky really didn’t need it but he’s glad to have it.

He’s very tempted to say yes. That you’re taken in some way officially. That Ryan can’t have you…but…

“No.” He shakes his head, “She’s alone. I think there’s an ex in the city where we were going but no one she’s currently with.”

“I see.” Ryan says sleepily, a slow stretch of his lips curling his golden beard. “Good.”

Bucky frowns.

“Good…” Ryan repeats, dozing off.

Bucky sits there, staring at their intruder because that’s what he is.

Running his flesh hand through his hair, Bucky stresses over knowing he shouldn’t resent Ryan. He’s like them. A survivor. Human. He knows that they need each other. He knows that he should welcome him and make room for him but…not with you.

You’re special. You’re his survivor buddy. That doesn’t mean anything does it? That doesn’t claim you as his own. Bucky doesn’t want to think it. He can’t let himself think it. It’s only been days since you found out about who he really is but with your reaction to that news, more than ever he feels pulled towards you.

But he has no claim to you! He can’t even call you his survivor buddy anymore because there’s more survivors now. There’s fucking Ryan!

“Damn it.” Bucky whispers, irritated and not completely sure why.

Ryan rolls away from Bucky, tucking himself in against the driftwood beside him.

This is his chance.

He props his leg up, resting his arm on his knee as he considers Ryan for a few more seconds.

Fuck this.

He gets up, moving silently towards the fuselage. He places each step carefully. Each movement calculated and readjusted until he reaches the fuselage.

Inside, he can see you laying on his side of the makeshift bed. You’re asleep, your face twisted into a small frown as you curl up into yourself.

You look so small, alone in your bed, and Bucky had only thought to come in and make sure you’re alright but instead he’s kneeling on the edge before he even makes the conscious decision to do so.

With a sleepy groan you turn towards him, sleepily opening your eyes to stare up at him.

“Whassa matter?” You ask him groggily.

“Nothing, kitty cat. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.” Bucky sighs, relieved that you’ve been sleeping since you left them around the fire.

He watches you blink slowly, sleep attempting to pull you under once again but you’re fighting it.

“M’fine.” You whisper, “’R you gonna leave me again?”

The way those words make Bucky’s chest cave in astounds him. It hurts but it also makes him wanna smile.

“No.” He quickly lays himself down, facing you.

You’re scooting towards him before he’s even completely down and he pulls you into his arms as you bring your hands to rest against his chest. You wrap your bare legs through his, pulling him closer so that he might wrap you up tighter.

“We’re gonna need two rooms in the hut.” Bucky realizes, whispering against your hair.

“You’ll be in mine, right?” You ask him, tilting your head up to look at him. “I don’t wanna sleep alone, Bucky.”

Frowning, Bucky watches your sleep dazed and sweet expression. His mind flashes with the nearly forgotten memories of a dozen different female lips pressed against his own and none of them had looked as tempting as yours in this very moment.

“Aren’t you afraid of me?” He’s nearly ready to be heartbroken when you say yes, but then you wouldn’t be letting him hold you like this, would you?

“Why would I be afraid of you?” You ask, genuinely confused.

Bucky almost loses it when you reach up with your right hand to press it against his cheek, then bury your face against his neck. He can nearly feel your lips ghosting against the skin of his Adam’s apple and if you weren’t so sleepy, he might be tempted to admit what he’s been so reluctant to admit.

“You’re my Bucky.” You whisper, voice drifting off into slumber.

Damn it.

There’s no way he can keep denying this. He wants you. He needs you. You and your fragility and your weaknesses and your temper and your inability to listen when you’ve got your mind set on something.

Bucky knows that there’s no denying it anymore.

He likes you. He likes you a lot.

Holding you tighter, he finally relents, “You’re mine too, kitty cat. All mine.”

Buy Me a Coffee!

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[myfirstlove143-blog]

Wingless Flight

♫ I should have been chasing you, I should have been trying to prove, That you were all that mattered to me, I should have said all the things, That I kept inside of me and maybe, I could have made you believe, That what we had was all we ever need. ♫

I wanted to forget what day it was today. But turns out, my mind wouldn’t allow it. If you’ve only been brave enough to ask questions, I would…

[a-lemon-tree]

My daemon...

...is a male Velvet Purple Coronet hummingbird named Oriel.

“This breathtaking species of hummingbird is the Velvet Purple Coronet (Boissonneaua jardini) which can be found flitting through the humid forests of Colombia and north-western Ecuador. Both males and females have highly iridescent feathers. In dim or poor lighting, however, the bird appears almost completely black as there is no light to bounce off of its feathers, which are capable of shimmering purple, blue, green, and pink across the bird’s small body. The white feathers on the underside of its tail feathers would be the only hint that something would be flying through the darkness. Though, once the sun starts shining, it’s almost impossible to miss this jewel-toned beauty!”

The name Oriel is a variant on Uriel, meaning “God is my light”. I wanted a dawn name, like Aurora, and Or-iel is a good compromise, since “Or” is “gold” in Latinate languages, as well. (In Sindarin, it means “above the maiden”, which brings to mind an image of the hummingbird hovering over my head! It is also a feminine name in Sindarin.)

A hummingbird actually came up for me in an “what’s your daemon” online quiz, and though I would never have thought of it on my own, it’s a PERFECT symbol for me. As a result of my parents’ abuse, I’m kind of stuck in a perpetual “flight” response (lol “flight”), which means that (until I got chronic fatigue syndrome) I was just FULL of energy and up to EVERYTHING, which does indeed sound like the frenetic energy of a hummingbird! Hummingbirds, especially the species I selected, are bright, beautiful, and colorful. I have an extremely vivid imagination, love bright color, am artistic--and am pretty, if I do say so myself! :P

The Velvet Purple Coronet only shows its wide variety of colors in daylight (I am a daytime, and especially morning, person, and the symbols I use in my heraldry are the sun and the rising sun). But in the dark, it looks black. Partly because of my history of abuse, I have a widely contrasting nature: when I’m up, I’m UP! When I’m down, I’m on the FLOOR. The stark difference between bright colors in cheerful daylight and blackness (with one flash of the white of hope) in dark times is a perfect symbol.

The hummingbird is an especially interesting bird, as it is the only species of bird that can reliably fly both forward and backward with precision without relying on the assistance of wind. It can also fly side to side and hover: it is the most nimble and tactical species of all birds. This symbolizes my many talents, my ability to stay calm under pressure, my incredible ability to achieve despite my mental health setbacks, and of course, my artistry and creativity. I was also a ballet dancer, so it’s all very appropriate! lol

My great speed in doing many tasks (sometimes too much speed!) is matched by the hummingbird, whose heart rate can reach over 1,000 beats a minute. I also joke that I eat like a bird, in that I eat my body-weight daily: I used to have high metabolism and a lot of muscle mass (from trauma-response “muscle armoring” and ballet). One third of a hummingbird’s total weight comes from the muscles it uses to fly. Hummingbirds are constantly eating in order to fuel their flight agility; they have the highest metabolisms of all birds .In one day, a hummingbird will eat twice its body weight to survive. Luckily for the hummingbird, they expend the same amount of energy moving forward as they do moving backwards. When they are sleeping or food is scarce, they go into a state called “torpor”, which is similar to hibernation, with the body’s processes, including heart rate, slowing way down. This is also similar to my wide divergences in behavior: since getting chronic fatigue syndrome, I have frequently been in torpor! lol Hummingbirds, of course, also drink nectar, and I have to say, I DO have a sweet tooth! 

Hummingbirds can see wavelengths in the near-ultraviolet. They are highly sensitive to stimuli in their visual fields, responding to even minimal motion in any direction by reorienting themselves in midflight.  They are capable of vocal learning (ability to acquire vocalizations through imitation), a rare trait known to occur in only two other groups of birds (parrots and songbirds) and a few groups of mammals (including humans, whales and dolphins and bats). Again, this goes with my creativity in both visual and musical media, and the fact that I am a quick learner. I’m also very observant and have often felt like I could see things in the world that others couldn’t.

Among the Aztecs, hummingbirds represented vigor, energy, and propensity to do work (my drive for achievement), as well as war (and masculine sexual potency, which does NOT apply to me, the asexual woman! lol). The Aztec god of war Huitzilopochtli is often depicted as a hummingbird. It was also believed that fallen warriors would return to earth as hummingbirds and butterflies. The Nahuatl word huitzil (hummingbird) is an onomatopoeic word derived from the sounds of the hummingbird's wing-beats and zooming flight. Although I’m not a warlike person, I CAN be fierce when angered. I’m especially good at obliterating opponents in battles of words, written or spoken, which works well with the delicate nature of the hummingbird, whose long beak might have represented weapons and bloodletting tools to the Aztecs, but to me looks like a pen!

I’m energetic, colorful, artistic, smart, and quick--but also delicate, sensitive, and prone to torpor in times of darkness. The hummingbird is a perfect form for my daemon, and something of a surprise to me! Guess I need to start wearing my hummingbird pin more often... lol

[maartenscherpenisse]

Acadian Flycatcher peet-seet or peet-suh or peet

Alder Flycatcher fitz-bee-

American Avocet wheek or kleet (repeated in flight)

American Bittern gulp-a-pump woonk-a-chunk

American Black Duck quack quack quack (lower than a Mallard)

American Black Oystercatcher wheep-wheep-wheep (rapid; clipped)

American Coot ka-ha; ka-ha kuh-uk!; kuh-uk! (loud; clear)

American Crow caw-caw-caw-caw-koodle-yah; koodle-yah (trilly voice)

American Golden Plover looo-eee! poo-too-eee!; poo-too-eee!

American Goldfinch pa-chip-chip-chip per-chick-a-ree po-ta-to-chip (and dip {in flight})

American Kestrel klee; klee; klee

American Pipit chwee; chwee; chwee (thin) pipit-pipit

American Redstart tzee-tzee-tzee-tzeeeo

American Robin cheer-up; cheer-a-lee; cheer-ee-o, whinny

American Wigeon squeaky; nasal whistle

American Woodcock peeent; peeent; peeent (nasal)

Anna's Hummingbird chee-ik-ee-ik-ee-ik (grating; squeaky)

Ash-throated Flycatcher ka-brick ka-wheer prrrrrt (buzzy)

Bachman's Sparrow highly variable - clear; liquid; whistled phrases

Bachman's Sparrow seeeee; slip-slip-slip-slip-slip

Baltimore Oriole flute-like; disjointed series of notes here; here; come right here; dear

Barn Owl screeeeeee (hissing - long)

Barn Swallow twittering (rapid) tit-tit-tit-tit (rapid staccato)

Barred Owl who-cooks-for-you; who-cooks-for-you-all

Bay-breasted Warbler tee-zee-tee-zee-tee-zee-tee (very rapid; hp)

Belted Kingfisher stuttering; non-musical; dry rattle in-flight

Bewick's Wren like Song Sparrow; but thinner; more rapid

Black & White Warbler wee-zee; wee-zee; wee-zee (like a squeaky toy)

Black Rail kicky-chew; kiki-krrr; pee-pee-toe

Black Skimmer kaup; kaup; kaup (clear-noted)

Black-bellied Plover pee-a-wee!; whee-er-wee!

Black-billed Cuckoo ku-ku-ku

Black-billed Magpie maaagh?! wenk-wenk or wenk-wenk-wenk

Blackburnian Warbler see-say; teetsa-teetsa-teetsa-  zee-zee-zee

Black-capped Chickadee chk-a-dee-dee-dee (rapid; higher-pitched than Carolina)

Black-capped Chickadee fee-bee

Black-chinned Hummingbird tchew (soft; flat)

Black-crowned Night Heron quawlk

Black-headed Grosbeak ik (sharply) robin-like; but more musical spik

Black-legged Kittiwake kitty-waaak

Black-necked Stilt kyip; kyip; kyip

Blackpoll Warbler chipping trill

Black-throated Blue Warbler beer-beer-beer-beeee! (raspy) zur-zur-zur-zree! please; please; please squeeeeze I am so laz-eeeeee

Black-throated Gray Warbler zeedle-zeedle-zee-zeet-cha

Black-throated Green Warbler trees-trees-murmuring-trees zee-zee-zee-zee-zoo-zee

Black-whiskered Vireo Tim Kelly or Whip Tim Kelly

Blue Grosbeak chink; house finch-like; but lower

Blue Jay fee-der-de-lurp jay-jay-jay queedle-queedle-queedle-

Blue-gray Gnatcatcher zpeee (a bit raspy)

Blue-winged Warbler beee-bzzz; blue winged! (second syllable buzzy)

Bobolink plink; plink

Bobwhite toot-sweet! bob-white!

Bonaparte's Gull chrrr-chrrr-chrrr (rapid; buzzy)

Boreal Chickadee chick-che-day-day

Boreal Owl hooo-too-too-too-too...

Brewer's Blackbird ksh-eee (creaky)

Brewer's Sparrow seeeep (thin)

Bristle-thighed Curlew cheew-iew-iew-it

Broad-tailed Hummingbird chittering; thin, mixed with wing-hum

Broad-winged Hawk peet-seeeeep

Brown Creeper trill (hp; rapid) always as individuals

Brown Thrasher varied mocker-like phrases (repeated 2x) drop-it; drop-it; cover-it-up; cover-it-up; pull-it-up; pull-it-up

Brown-headed Cowbird bubble-bubble-zeeee!

Brown-headed Nuthatch kit-kit-kit-..or ki-dit; ki-dit  (rapid)

Bufflehead (Fe) quack quack quack

Bullock's Oriole varied; rich whistles and mixed gutturals chuck chuck chuck-it-too-ee zhew zhew

Bushtit lisp (multiple; very hp) tsit (multiple; very hp)

California Quail kurr chi-ca-go; chi-ca-go qua-quer-go; qua-quer-go

Canada Goose honk; honk; honk

Canada Warbler chip-chupitty-swee-ditchety

Canyon Wren tewee; tewee; tewee (slowing) tsheee (raspy; metallic)

Cape May Warbler seet-seet-seet-seet (thin; hp)

Carolina Chickadee car-o-li-na (four notes) chk-a-dee-dee-dee fee-bee-fee-bay see-dee-dee-dee

Carolina Wren brrrrrrr (a brief; downslurred; rapid trill like thumbing comb tines) chooble-dee (varied triplet phrases) tea-kettle; tea-kettle; tea-kettle

Caspian Tern raaaah (raspy; hoarse)

Cassin's Finch chitty-up or chill-ee-up

Cedar Waxwing trill (hp; rapid) always in flocks zeee-zeee-zeee (hp trilled)

Cerulean Warbler chyoo-chyoo-chyoo-tseee (last syllable burry) trill (ending with buzzy-) beeee

Chestnut-sided Warbler pleased-pleased-pleased-pleased-ta-meetcha see-see-see-Miss-Beech'er

Chimney Swift chit-chit-chit-chit (rapid staccato) twittering (rapid)

Chipping Sparrow chipping trill (mechanical)

Chuck Will's Widow chuck-will's-widow

Clapper Rail tic-tic-tic-tic-tic-tic-.

Clark's Grebe kreeet (burry) kriiik (burry)

Clark's Nutcracker kraa-a-a-a (long; drawn-out); or kra-kra-kra-kra

Common Eider ow-oo-urr whoo-ooh; whoo-ooh

Common Goldeneye pee-ik (raspy)

Common Loon cooo-leee; cooo-leee (slow; plaintive) whinny

Common Merganser ah; ah; ah; ah (low; even croaking in flight)

Common Moorhen kip-kip-kip-

Common Nighthawk beeer pee-eet (nasal)

Common Poorwill poor-will; poor-will; poor-will

Common Raven cruck (harsh; raspy) tawk (metallic)

Common Ringed Plover poo-eep (in-flight)

Common Screech Owl woooooooo warbled

Common Snipe skaip wicka-wicka-wicka-

Common Tern kee-arr (trilly)

Common Yellowthroat witchety-witchety-witchety (slow) (Western race) tchep (flat and raspy)

Connecticut Warbler chee-pa-chuh; chee-pa-chuh; chee-pa-chuh; chee chik-a-too-ee; chik-a-too-ee

Cordilleran Flycatcher pseet; tri-i-i-ip; seet (thin; squeaky)

Dark-eyed Junco dit (repeated occasionally) smack (repeated occasionally) chipping trill (musical; tinkling)

Downy Woodpecker peeek (sharply) whinny

Eastern Bluebird pew or mew (sharply) chatter (harsh; brief)

Eastern Kingbird t-t-tseeep (electrical sputtering)

Eastern Meadowlark but-I-DO-love-you spring-of-the-year

Eastern Phoebe fee-beee (last syllable raspy)

Eastern Towhee too-wheee! drink-your-teeeee! hot dog; pickle-ickle-ickle

Eastern Wood Pewee pee-a-weee and pee-yer

Evening Grosbeak chirp or chiirrrp (burry)

Field Sparrow a ping-pong ball dropped onto a table increasing in rate and pitch

Fish Crow eh-eh; eh-eh (two-noted phrases)

Forster's Tern keeeeeeeeer zaaaah (raspy; nasal)

Gadwall (Ma) bek (buzzy) (Fe quacks like mallard)

Golden-crowned Kinglet see-see-see- (hp)

Golden-crowned Sparrow Oh; dear me!; three blind mice

Golden-winged Warbler beeee(buzzy trill)-bz-bz-bz

Grasshopper Sparrow pee-trip-treee (last syllable a raspy trill)

Gray Catbird meeeee-ew or maaaaaanh (nasal) varied mocker-like phrases (seldom repeated)

Gray-cheeked Thrush whee-wheeo-titi-whee (thin; nasal)

Great Blue Heron squawking or croaking (very raucous)

Great Gray Owl whoo-whoo-whoooo

Great Horned Owl hoot-a-hoot; hoo-hoo who's awake? me too

Great Kiskadee Qu'est-ce qu'il dit? Qu'est-ce qu'il dit? ("What's he saying?")

Great-crested Flycatcher prrreeeet (burry); wheeep

Greater Yellowlegs dear; dear; dear (sharply) klee-klee-klee tu-tu-tu (whistled, 3 or more notes)

Green Heron skelp skelp skelp

Green-tailed Towhee weet-churrr-chee-churrr (mixed sweet and burry notes)

Gull-billed Tern kay-week and za-za-za

Hairy Woodpecker pik (flat) whinny

Hammond's Flycatcher chip-chewy or chip-chewy-chew (hp and a bit burry)

Heerman's Gull kowok

Henslow's Sparrow tsip-a-tik (non-musical; repeated occasionally)

Hermit Thrush veer-veer-veer-veer- Why don'tcha come to me? Here I am right near you

Hooded Warbler a-weeta-weeta-weet-tee-o

Horned Lark pit-sit (hp) tee-seep (hp)

House Finch zreee! (included in varied; warbling song)

House Sparrow chiddik; chiddik (dry; non-musical)

House Wren stuttering; gurgling; musical;

Inca Dove no hope

Indigo Bunting varied phrases (in couplets) fire; fire; where? where? here; here; see it? see it?

Kentucky Warbler p'chee; p'chee; p'chee

Kildeer kill-deeeeer or kee-dee; kee-dee; kee-dee

King Rail hip-hip-hurrah (dry; rattly)

Lark Sparrow tsip (sharp)

Laughing Gull haa-haa-haa-haa (loud; laugh-like) laughter (raucous; clear-noted)

Lazuli Bunting zzzzzzd (buzzy)

Least Bittern wuff; wuff; wuff; wuff; wuff ku-ku-ku (lower and throatier than B-B Cuckoo)

Least Flycatcher che-bek

Least Sandpiper kreeet (thin; somewhat burry)

Least Tern zreeeeek

Lesser Goldfinch tee-yee! or tee-yer

Lesser Yellowlegs quu-quu (whistled - in pairs) tyooo-tyoo yoo-yoo; yoo-yoo-yoo

Limpkin kraaaaaah (loud; piercing; usually repeated)

Long-billed Curlew ker-lee

Long-billed Dowitcher keeeeek (in flight - may be repeated)

Louisiana Waterthrush chink tree; tree; tree terwitter-witter wit

MacGillivray's Warbler chiddle-chiddle-chiddle-turtle chip-chewy or chip-chewy-chew (hp; clearer than Hammond's Flyc.) tsik (low; sharp)

Magnolia Warbler weeta-weeta-weetsee weeta-weeta-wit-chew I'm-I'm-I'm-so-sweet one; two; three; four; six

Mallard quack quack quack

Marbled Godwit god-wit or ker-whit raddika; raddika; raddika

Marsh Wren varied; complicated; fast; bubbly and busy

Mountain Chickadee tsik-a-zee-zee-zee (raspier than Carolina)

Mourning Dove hooo-ah hoo-hoo-hoo chirry-chirry-chirry-choreeo

Mourning Warbler turdle; turdle; turdle; two-to-you

Nashville Warbler trill in two parts - 2nd faster and lower in pitch see-bit-see-bit-see-bit; see-see-see-see (2-pt.)

Northern Cardinal cheer-cheer-cheer-purty-purty-purty-

Northern Flicker kleeeyer wik-wik-wik Northern Flicker (courting) squeechu-squeechu-squeechu

Northern Mockingbird varied phrases (thrice or more repeated)

Northern Parula Warbler trill! (fast rising; ending with)-tsyoo zeeeeeeeeeeeeeee(buzzy)-chyoo

Northern Pintail (Ma) prrrip; prrrip (low; stuttery)

Northern Pygmy Owl too-too-too (clear notes)

Northern Saw-whet Owl too-too-too (clear notes)

Northern Shoveler (Ma) chik-chik; chik-chik (Fe quacks like mallard)

Northern Waterthrush twit-twit-twit; sweet-sweet-sweet; chew-chew-chew

Oldsquaw ow-ow-ow-a-la

Olive-sided Flycatcher pip-pip or pip-pip-pip quick; three-beers

Orange-crowned Warbler trill (ascending/accelerating; then tumbles at end)

Orchard Oriole warbling - varied phrases; incl. guttural notes

Osprey kyew; kyew; kyew; kyew; kyew

Ovenbird p'cheer - p'cheer - p'cheer t-cheer; t-cheer; t-cheer

Pacific Loon kwa-wee!

Pacific-slope Flycatcher see-a-weeeet! seeet (sharp; h.p)

Palm Warbler trill (weak and buzzy)

Pectoral Sandpiper krick (low-voiced)

Pied-Billed Grebe gulp; gulp; gulp kuk-kuk-kow-kow-kow-kowp-kowp

Pileated Woodpecker kik-kik-kik-kik-kik (rate & pitch rise then fall)

Pine Siskin zreeeeeee! (buzzy)

Pine Warbler chipping trill

Piping Plover pip-pip-pip

Plain Titmouse tsik-a-dee

Prairie Warbler zee-zee-zee-zee (steady rise in pitch)

Prothonotary Warbler zweet; zweet; zweet (single pitch)

Purple Finch warbling - varied phrases; fast; lively; brief

Pygmy Nuthatch pippit; pippit; pippit

Raven squawking (raucous)

Red-bellied Woodpecker churrr; churrr (throaty; deeply trilled)

Red-breasted Nuthatch ank-ank-ank (nasal monotone)

Red-eyed Vireo where are you? and here I am

Red-headed Woodpecker squeer; squeer (raspy)

Red-shouldered Hawk kee-yer; kee-yer; kee-yer.

Red-tailed Hawk keeeeeeeeer

Red-throated Loon kwuk

Red-winged Blackbird chortle-deeeeee (hp and drawn-out last syllable) conk-a-reeeeeeeee tseer; tseer

Ring-necked Pheasant kok-kok (squawky; raucous; followed by wing-whir)

Rock Wren ch-reee; ch-reee; ch-reee (a bit trilly-buzzy) chee-urr; chee-urr; chee-urr (a bit raspy) tik-eer

Rose-breasted Grosbeak cheer-up; cheer-a-lee; cheer-ee-o chink

Royal Tern keeer (trilled)

Ruby-crowned Kinglet ji-dit; ji-dit; ji-dit (rattly) too-fritchyoo-fritchyoo-fritchyoo-

Ruby-throated Hummingbird t-t-t-t-t-t-t  (soft; rapid; excited)

Ruffed Grouse drumming-thumping; accelerates into a whir

Rufous Hummingbird zee-chuppity-chuppity (buzzy)

Rusty Blackbird check ksh-a-leeee (rusty-squeaky)

Sanderling plik-plik-plik

Sandhill Crane garoo-a-a-a (stuttery)

Savannah Sparrow zit-zit-zit-zeeee-zaaay (burry-raspy)

Say's Phoebe pi-weer or pee-eee!

Scaled Quail Paark! Pe-cos; Pe-cos; Pe-cos

Scarlet Tanager cheer-up; cheer-a-lee; cheer-ee-o (burry; raspy) chick-burrr  (last syllable rapidly trilled)

Scarlet Tanager hurry; worry; blurry; flurry (burry)

Scrub Jay shaaaaack (drawn-out; grating) zreeeeek

Seaside Sparrow chup-chup-tzeeee

Sedge Wren chip; chip or chip; chip; chrrrrr-rrr

Semipalmated Plover chureee! churrrk (burry)

Sharp-tailed Sparrow tee-shaay (raspy)

Short-billed Dowitcher tu-tu-tu (in flight - may be repeated)

Solitary Sandpiper peet-weet-weet or peet

Solitary Vireo chu-whee; cheer-ee-oh Come here Jimmy quickly

Song Sparrow Maids-maids-maids-put-on-your-tea-kettle-ettle-ettle Hip; hip; hip hurrah boys; spring is here! Madge; Madge; Madge pick beetles off; the water's hot

Sora ker-wee   ker-wee(descending whinny)

Spotted Sandpiper peet-peet-peet-peet weet-weet-weet-weet

Sprague's Pipit ching-a-ring-a-ring-a-ring-a-ring-a-ring-a  (descending)

Starling wolf-whistle (breathy)

Steller's Jay shaaaaack (drawn-out; grating) shook-shook-shook-shook-shook

Summer Tanager cheer-up; cheer-a-lee (bouncy - musical)

Summer Tanager piky-tucky-tuck or pik-a-tuck

Swainson's Hawk kreeeeeeeeeerr (drawn-out; shrill; plaintive)

Swainson's Thrush rurrip; rurrip   whit; whit

Swainson's Warbler whee; whee; whee whip-poor-will

Swamp Sparrow chipping trill (slower; staccato)

Tennessee Warbler tika-tika-tika; swee-swee-swee; chay-chay-chay

Tufted Titmouse cheeva; cheeva; cheeva fer-da; fer-da; fer-da here; here; here peter-peter-peter-

Tundra Swan woo-ho and woo-woo

Upland Sandpiper ch-wut wolf-whistle (long; drawn-out)

Varied Thrush chyup

Veery veer-veer-veer-veer- (ethereal)

Vesper Sparrow like Song Sparrow; but lower; more guttural Listen to my evening sing-ing-ing-ing here-here; where-where; all-together-down-the-hill

Virginia Rail ki-dik; ki-dik; ki-dik tic-tic-mcgreer

Warbling Vireo warbled phrases (complicated) If I sees you; I will seize you; and I'll squeeze you till you squirt (to a caterpillar) brigadier; brigadier; briga-tee

Western Bluebird few (sofly)

Western Grebe krik-krik

Western Kingbird kit

Western Kingbird whit; whit; whit

Western Meadowlark flute-like; 7-10 gurgling notes

Western Screech-Owl accelerating hollow whistles; constant pitch

Western Tanager pri-di-dik

Western Towhee chup-chup-zeeee!

Western Wood Pewee peeer (burry)

Whimbrel ti-ti-ti-ti-ti-ti (clear; 5-7; rapid pace) whistled notes - clear; 5-7; rapid pace

Whippoorwill whip-poor-will

White-breasted Nuthatch anh-anh-anh-anh- (nasally) tooy-tooy-tooy-tooy wee-wee-wee-wee-who-who-who-who-

White-crowned Sparrow more; more; more cheezies; please pink (loudly) tseeeep (thin)

White-eyed Vireo chick; per-wee-tee-o; chick or chick-per-wee-o Quick give me a rain check Spit and see if I care; spit!

White-throated Sparrow O Sweet Canada; Canada; Canada O-san-pibbity-pibbity-pibbity

White-throated Swift je-je-je-je-je-je-je- (shrill; excited)

Whooping Crane ker-laa; ker-laa (second note higher-pitched)

Wild Turkey gobble-gobble-gobble-

Willet pill-will-willet

Willow Flycatcher fitz-bew (burry)

Wilson's Warbler chee-chee-chee; chet-chet-chet-chet

Winter Wren varied; complicated; bubbly and busy

Wood Duck jeeeeeeee! !-sliding (hp) whistle whoo-eek (breathy; whistley)

Wood Thrush chk-chk-chk (dry-subtle) ra-vi-o-li (flute-like) ee-oh-lay (flute-like - last note trilly) ra-vi-o-li (flute-like) oo-duh-lay-oh or oodle-drrrr (last note trilly) fweet-fweet-fweet (rapid-fire)

Worm-eating Warbler trill (very rapid; even; mechanical)

Yellow Rail click click (typewriter-like) tik-tik; tik-tik-tik; (2-3 rhythm; repeated)

Yellow Warbler sweet; sweet; sweet; little-more-sweet

Yellow-bellied Flycatcher chu-wee; chu-wee killik

Yellow-bellied Sapsucker meeew (whiny; nasal)

Yellow-billed Cuckoo hoo-luh; hoo-luh; hoo-luh (1/sec; broken) ka-ka-ka-  kowp-kowp-kowp

Yellow-breasted Chat whoit (whistled) wit; wit; wit or chak; chak; chak

Yellow-headed Blackbird hoarse; raspy notes and phrases

Yellow-rumped Warbler trill in two parts, 2nd higher or lower in pitch trill (weak; unvaried)

Yellow-throated Vireo three-Ay; three-Ay

Yellow-throated Warbler tsyoo-tsyoo-tsyoo-tsyoo  -tswee

[perchancetodreamoutloud]

Hummingbird

I had a thousand things to say like birds eager for flight

but I made my mouth a cage of black iron and twisted spheres to keep the thrashing in

so the buzzing of the words that flapped like anxious wings against my teeth my tongue ragging against the columns I made out of the most impenetrable material

living voice that sounded like the words of all my doubts

why did I give such power to make me small and bind the truth inside

My words would bang against the bars yet not get free

I had shrank my self down from the majestic Phoenix I was born

from the ashes I used to rise stronger and more alive untill The ashes turned into stones and tiny pebbles

weighing on my wings after every death they shrank until I was a Phoenix who could not fly with a cage for a jaw and ragged scars of the majesty I once held

I forced the goddess out of me so I could commune with common man

I allowed the divinity in who I am to be plucked single feather by single feather

so that my greatness would not scare the mere mortal for whom I loved and in my heart it felt like I was soaring in infinite skies

when their lips were on mine and how their caresses made the autumn air of spices even tastes stale

I did not mind that my wings were loosing strength what need of wings do I have if I can soar all the skies in this single person ..

..do you know what happenes to bird who can not fly

with heavy and unusable wings never to take flight to the vast never ending that is their birth right .....

.they die withering slowly if not eaten in single bites my predators that were quick to strike

and here I was a giant bird written from the days of old a living goddess among men who could not fly..

.now don't mistaken every feather plucked every broken wing was self decided

By this heart of mine that is to big to fit inside my chest

-JNCarmelitano

[lex-again]

don’t you ever tame your demons || Lexus selfpara || 6.14.20

There’s an experience that comes along with crossing the border into one’s hometown. Despite the firm understanding that you belong to these surroundings, there’s a weightlessness that washes over you. You’re home, and it’s freeing.

Freedom takes on a new meaning in Boston, the cornerstone of a nation’s independence. Soaked in the history of the new world’s uprising, freedom transcends the abstraction of thought: it runs deep in the Massachusetts soil. Patriotism isn’t just a flashy display of lights on the fourth of July, it’s a grounding principle that hauls each Bostonian onto the streets and a feeling they follow home.

Residing on America’s most picturesque cobblestone street, Lexus Hale should have felt this pull most of all. 

In the absence of wings taking flight, her feet felt heavier stepping onto the tarmac. By the time they’d reached the Hales’ red door, standing ostentatiously against the sea of its colonial black counterparts, her limbs had grown numb. Iron bar clanging against the door knocker, she felt nothing but the cool iciness of harsh Boston winters despite the heat of summer sticking to her skin. Throwing open the door without receiving response, black pumps echoed throughout the cavernous halls of her childhood home. The Hales’ style could be summed up simply: New England charm meets luxury, but despite its homey aspirations, the residence felt passionless as she ventured into its depths.

Together, Lexus and Cameron found her parents lounging on the patio. Cold drinks in hand, they didn’t rise to greet her. Shifting awkwardly, the 22 year old finally slumped over, dispassionately throwing her arms around her mother and then repeating the same with her father -- neither let go of their drinks to embrace the daughter they’d nearly lost.

“Long flight,” Her father remarked in a way of greeting that Lexus could only shrug in reply to. Simple hellos were always the hardest for the family, years of toxicity preventing the possibility of niceties, and although she knew she shouldn’t, her heart fell with each and every lackluster greeting. This time was no different, standing beside Cameron as she wished her parents would make an effort, if only for his sake. Oddly enough, the Hales’ gaze shifted between each other, Lexus and their drinks, but never Cameron. Squeezing his bicep, she offered him a small smile, not entirely sure if she was trying to apologize or reassure him.

Each passing hour of their trip had gotten worse. Dinners were by far the most awkward, silent apart from the odd scraping of cutlery. They sent her nerves into overdrive, spine tingling with anxiety as she sat rigid against the chair. Her foot was rooted to the floor, spinning in monotonous circles beneath the table. Often she lost herself in the daydream of her foot sinking through the rug, past the hardwood and into the Earth, dragging her down into its unknown depths. With no such luck, Lexus resigned herself to eating quickly in an effort to be excused almost immediately.

On their second night, two glasses too deep, Lexus’ mother broke the silence. Mother like daughter, Lexus had found the cure for her frenzied feet in the bottle of cherry wine. Just tart enough to cut the sweetness, it went down easily, pacifying her until red fingertips clung to the weighty crystal glass like a lifeline.

“I see rehab is clearly working well for you.”

“Well, mother, at least I tried.” Momentary bliss was immediately erased by the distinct scoff of Amy Hale, face reddened by the sheer amount of alcohol polluting her features as she huffed the insult. Lexus took no solace in her vengeful remark, the offending comment continuing to echo through her ears, culminating with the blood that now thudded at the same rapid pace of her hummingbird heart.

“Did you?” She queried in a slur of words, “Because you’ve been there for, what, a year? Year and a half? And you’ve made no notable progress. Picked yourself up a hooligan in the process to feed your diluted dayd—”

“Enough!” Cameron’s thunderous boom silenced her mother’s downpour of venomous words, the acidity of her statements hanging in the air. The 55 year old’s face blanched, though only Lexus could see the quaking of her fiance’s trembling fist. Flushed and emboldened by anger, Cameron’s rage rolled off of him in waves, but her father ignored it solely out of red-blooded American duty.

“Oh, I’ll tell you what’s enough! You dare to raise your voice to my wife—”

“Oh, please, go on.”  

In a cacophony of three voices bubbling in fury, the situation bore a disconcerting resemblance to previous trauma. Something — something raw and ugly — clawed its way up her throat, prying open her mouth until all air left her lungs. Three pairs of bewildered hues snapped to her attention, the fury of a siren’s startling scream drowning out the voices of quarrelling sailors.

“What are you doing? What are you doing? What are you doing?” Quaking with incurable anger, burning mahogany hues demanded an answer as she unraveled before them. “Can’t you see he’s the only one that had any fucking hope here? You fucking monsters! Who does this? Who actually does this?” Like a trainwreck — horrible yet impossibly striking — they couldn’t bring themselves to look away. In the midst of her swirling seas of unbridled fury, the levy broke, salt water leaking down the sandy shores of her cheeks. With no other option to save her dignity than run, she carried herself up the stairs, slamming her door with an unceremonious thwack. A blood-curdling curse left quivering lips that reverberated off the wall of her childhood bedroom.

Adrenaline savagely shook her body, shooting electricity down her spine as all extremities trembled at its mercy. Blood red nails tore at familiar chests of drawers, expensive clothes flying everywhere until they exploded in a tornado of materialism. Panting heavily, mascara-stained tears painted her tragedy in chaotic strokes of unforgiving black ink until the irrefutable riiiiip of torn threads came undone. Sweater inhibited by a drawer sloppily half-opened, Lexus kicked the wood with fury, a wet sob escaping cherry stained lips. Knotting a hand into her hair, five fingers squeezed with unrelenting force, her pesky foot stomping an attempt to release some of the tension that brimmed mercilessly over the edge.

Then the door opened. Black tresses fell down her shoulder as tumultuous eyes leveled their gaze with the intruder. “Don’t,” She warned through clenched teeth, uttering the word with force as every letter became a struggle to enunciate. Holding a hand up in vain, she tried to put distance between them. “Don’t, Cameron, don’t. I can’t, okay, I can’t. I can’t!” Persistent as ever, Cameron’s shoulder bypassed her hand, strong tattooed arms pulling her towards his chest. Gentle fingertips, resolute in their resolve to hold her, knotted into long black tresses as wet sobs racked the girl’s fragile frame. Significantly smaller than him, it was easy to get lost in his warm embrace, engulfed in an endless sea of Cameron. Even still, she clutched him closer.

“Shhh,” Came his steady plea, which she wordlessly obeyed, sobs softening to listen to his gravelly voice. “Shhh. It’s okay.”

Suddenly her hands found his forearms, struggling against him. “It’s not!” Lexus refuted, “It’s not! Fuck! I’m sick of this fucking — fucking — preformative bullshit! You know? I’m sick of being treated like a fucking pariah the minute — the absolute minute — they perceive me to be out of line. And what the fuck are their fucking lines? I mean, for the love of God, what the fuck did I do in there that warranted that? I mean — fuck — I just want something real, like, is that so much to fucking ask for?”

Now it was his turn to shake his head, two hands grabbing her face as he implored, “Hey, hey, look at me.” Stormy hues met oceanic orbs, one hand guiding hers, like gravity, towards his heart. “This,” Cam emphasized, pulling her hand taught against his beating chest, “This is real.” Gingerly, he brushed wayward strands of unruly black hair away from her features before placing delicate kisses to her temple. “Okay?”

In that moment, she could feel how much he loved her. Nodding softly as he wiped the final remnants of tears slipping down her cheeks, Lexus wasn’t quite convinced they stemmed solely from sadness. Ear against his heart like a low budget stethoscope, the 22 year old allowed the steady rhythm of his heartbeat to soothe her. Eventually, as the silence was broken, his words vibrated against the shell of her ear. “What do you need from me?” Sheepishly, he admitted, “I don’t know what to do, baby,” before pressing apologetic kisses into her hair.  

Lip quivering, tears sprang to her eyes at the weighty realization before it could be voiced. “I don’t know,” She confessed, voice trembling, “I just — I just don’t wanna be here anymore.” Immediately, Lexus buried her head in the crook of his neck, seeking refuge from another heavy moment steeped in desperation and sadness. Chest tight, she clamped her lips shut, suppressing a whimpered plea.

Shockingly, in a moment that validated the honesty of their true love, Cameron gave voice to her unnamed request.

“Okay, let’s get out of here.”

Flabbergasted silence followed his suggestion, the hammering of her heart the only noise in a room that had grown deathly quiet.

“What?”

“Get your things,” The 28 year old enunciated with increasing formality. “We’re leaving.”

The suggestion sobered her, like a slap in a cheesy Sunday morning cartoon. Blinking rapidly in surprise, Lexus struggled to wrap her head around Cameron’s proposal. “But how?” Brown eyes questioned, wide with inquiry.

With a light chuckle (that didn’t exactly thrill her), rose red lips pressed another kiss into her shiny locks. “We’ll figure something out, always do,” He mused, but that didn’t quite dispel her skepticism. Before she could press him further, Cameron asked, “You still have that credit card, don’t you?”

“But,” She sputtered, “But they pay for that.”

Now Cameron really laughed, smoothing down the hair on her head in what she could only assume was appreciation. “Babe, so? Fuck these people.”

That was a sentiment she could get behind, she realized, as a smirk with humble beginnings flirted with her features. Yeah, chirped her inner thoughts, fuck these people. Lost in the remnants of her once searing hot anger, Lexus swallowed hard, nerves tumbling frantically in her stomach. “Okay,” She relented, though wanting to believe him, “But they’re my parents — what if they get mad?”

One index finger pointed her chin upwards, meeting Cameron’s solid gaze. He spoke emphatically, “Fuck. These. People.” Adding, “You don’t need ‘em. I mean, you were right, what kind of fucking people are they, y’know? They’re fucked up, Lex. So, what do we say?”

“I don’t give a shit.”

“That’s my girl,” He folded her into his arms once more, kissing the crown of her hair. All too soon, he stopped rocking her, ripping her from his comforting embrace. “C’mon, let’s go.”

The luminous glow of a city at night reflected onto the leather backseat of a forgettable taxi as two pairs of eyes gazed seemingly past it, lost in introspection. Every so often, she stole a glance at her partner, his expression unreadable. “Cameron,” His name was softly spoken from her lips, like a prayer. Angling his head towards the sound, she watched him as he pulled himself from his thoughts and she squeezed the hand she’d been holding in reassurance.

“Mm?” Came his gentle hum of a reply, hand still propped on his chin.

“Talk to me,” She whispered, unwilling to disturb the fragile foundation of temporary peace in the land of unrest.

“About what?” His aloofness surprised her, though she chastised herself for it. Cameron was her favorite subject to study, and evasion was one of his signature moves. Extending her index finger towards his face, a circular motion gestured towards his entire expression.

“About that,” She clarified, “That look.” Brow furrowed, lips not quite frowning, gaze pensive, Lexus knew there was some emotion lingering beneath the surface, but she couldn’t be sure which. It terrified her. “What’s wrong?”

He exhaled a large sigh, running his free hand through his hair. Amber light flashing onto his features, even in his misery, he was beautiful.

“I’m supposed to protect you,” Voice feathery-soft, he admitted his betrayal to the wind. She shifted closer. “Last time we were here, I promised you, like it or not, I’d protect you. Because I loved you. And — Lexus — I’ve only fallen more in love with you. Everything I felt for you back then...it doesn’t even scrape the bottom of the barrel. It’s not even shallow, it’s almost — I don’t know, it feels fuckin’ dumb,” A humorless laugh interrupted him before continuing, “Like the way I imagine stupid fuckin’ 17 year old little kids to feel. And with that feeling, the way I feel about you now, I only wanna protect you more, y’know? And I know I’ve told you that, but...to know that this is my fault…” The torture was evident in oceanic hues, grief-stricken and red amongst the colorful array of Boston’s nightlife. Sitting away from him was torture, Lexus unbuckling her seatbelt to crawl onto his lap. Forehead resting against his, he sighed, eyes slipping closed as a hand knotted into her hair. Gently, two hands caressed the sides of his face as if he were just as fragile as she, the pad of her thumb skimming over his flawless skin.

“Cameron,” She breathed, heart heavy with the weight of her conviction, “You’re always saving me. You’re always protecting me.”

“Yeah?” His voice cut through the air in a low snarl, self-hatred dripping from every word. Her heart fractured, splintering into tiny pieces of sharp glass. “Is that what I was doing in the library? Huh? Let’s not forget I pushed you. Not Casey, you.”

“Because I jumped in the way—”

“Sweetheart, tonight. What do you call tonight?” His demand left her sputtering, grasping at straws as she searched for the words that would restore his faith, but the wound was too big. This self-hatred had always been deep-seated, rooted in the very soul of Cameron’s being. He continued, “If I never got involved, if I never stuck my fuckin’ nose where it didn’t fuckin’ belong, let’s be honest, you wouldn’t’ve been here. Y’know, I got so wrapped up in thinking that you were missing out on this great opportunity for a happy family — something I never had — I didn’t even realize I was walking you right back in to all your shit—”

Hands resting on either side of his neck, Lexus snapped cerulean hues to hers. “What you did was admirable.” With a tut, Cameron tried to turn his head, but she held him still. “No, honestly, Cameron. Listen to me, I’d rather you advocate for me and be wrong a million times than stand by and let me fall for everything like I used to. I mean, that’s what I’d do for you, y’know? And, let’s flip the tables — would you just want me to keep my fuckin’ nose where it belongs or whatever?”

“Yeah,” He sighed, fingers slipping beneath the fabric of her shirt as they skimmed over the sensitive skin of her hips. Part of her wondered if he knew it tickled as he flashed her a devilish grin, “But I’m right all the time.”

Despite the gravity of their conversation, Lexus found herself laughing as she shoved his shoulder. “You are not!” She refuted, Cameron humming his disapproval.

“Oh, come on,” He teased, full smirk settling onto his lips as he nuzzled his nose into her hair and tickled her sides. Giggling, Lexus held two hands straight against his chest, trying and failing to put distance between the two — especially due to the cramped setting. Mid-laugh, with his hand cradling her head, Cameron guided Lexus towards him as he connected their lips in a passionate and everlasting kiss. As full lips met hers hungrily, she found herself tangled up in him once more, lost to his embrace. Moments later, breathless and panting, Lexus rested her cheek on his shoulder with both their arms wrapped tenderly in an embrace.

“Lex,” Cameron mused, resting his cheek against the top of her head. Content for the first time all weekend, the 22 year old only hummed in reply. “If I were to tell you I’m sorry...would you know what I mean?”

Brows knitted together in confusion, she wished she could sit up to meet his gaze but his arms held her steady. “What do you mean, ‘would you know what I would mean?’”

He thought for a moment, each passing stretch of silence frightening her. Cameron was a quiet man. Typically, when he spoke up, he already knew what he wanted to say: armed with a well-thought out quip or carefully planned argument. 

“They’re just words,” He finally mumurred, voice far away as if he’d lost himself in his thoughts. “I don’t know how to make up for this yet...but I want to. Lex, you have to believe me, I never wanted this to happen. I just wanted to give you something I never had…and I blew it. I’m sorry isn’t enough. It doesn’t even cover it. I—I don’t know how to fix this.” Desire dripped from every syllable, the weight of his words settling into her chest. Pressing her lips to his neck, silence enveloped them once more, unable to speak through the thick layer of remorse coating her throat. I don’t know how to fix this, either, the girl silently avowed, heart pouring with an open wound she knew would never heal. As the pair ventured further into the darkness of the night, Lexus mumbling forgiveness into the crook of his neck, she found herself wishing for Thornewood’s familiar facade, a thought that simultaneously terrified and humbled her.

[sciencebulletin]

Microscopic feather features reveal fossil birds' colors and explain why cassowaries shine

Cassowaries are big flightless birds with blue heads and dinosaur-looking feet; they look like emus that time forgot, and they're objectively terrifying. They're also, along with their ostrich and kiwi cousins, part of the bird family that split off from chickens, ducks, and songbirds 100 million years ago. In songbirds and their relatives, scientists have found that the physical make-up of feathers produce iridescent colors, but they'd never seen that mechanism in the group that cassowaries are part of—until now. In a double-whammy of a paper in Science Advances, researchers have discovered both what gives cassowary feathers their glossy black shine and what the feathers of birds that lived 52 million years ago looked like. "A lot of times we overlook these weird flightless birds. When we're thinking about what early birds looked like, it's important to study both of these two sister lineages that would have branched from a common ancestor 80 million or so years ago," says Chad Eliason, a staff scientist at the Field Museum and the paper's first author. "Understanding basic attributes—like how colors are generated—is something we often take for granted in living animals. Surely, we think, we must know everything there is to know? But here, we started with simple curiosity. What makes cassowaries so shiny? Chad found an underlying mechanism behind this shine that was undescribed in birds. These kinds of observations are key to understanding how color evolves and also inform how we think about extinct species," says Julia Clarke, a paleontologist at the Jackson School of Geosciences at the University of Texas at Austin and the paper's senior author. Eliason began conducting research for this paper while working with Clarke at the University of Texas as part of a larger project funded by the National Science Foundation (NSF EAR 1355292) to study how flightless birds like cassowaries have evolved their characteristic features. In humans and other mammals, color mostly comes from pigments like melanin that are in our skin and hair. Birds' colors don't just come from pigment—some of their coloration, like the rainbow flecks on hummingbirds and the shiny, glossy black on crows, is due to the physical makeup of their feathers. The parts of their cells that produce pigment, called melanosomes, affect the feathers' color based on how light bounces off those melanosomes. Different shapes or arrays of melanosomes can create different structural colors, and so can the layers of keratin making up the birds' feathers. They can reflect a rainbow of light, and they can make the difference between dull, matte feathers and feathers with a glossy shine. Scientists had never found structural colors in the feathers of paleognaths like cassowaries and ostriches—only in the neognath group of birds like songbirds. But paleognaths can make structural colors: the blue skin on cassowaries' heads is due to structural color, and so is the shiny sheen on eggs laid by their cousins, the tinamous. Eliason and Clarke, who study structural colors in birds and dinosaurs, wanted to see if structural color was also present in paleognath feathers. A bird's feather is structured a little like a tree. The long trunk running through the middle is called the rachis, and it has branches called barbs. The barbs are covered with tiny structures called barbules, akin to the leaves on tree branches. In other shiny birds, glossiness is produced by the shape of the barbs and layers of melanosomes in barbules. Eliason and Clarke didn't find that in cassowary feathers, though. Instead, they discovered that the shiny black color came from the rachis running down the middle of the feathers. Since the fluffy barbules on cassowary feathers are pretty sparse, the rachis gets more exposure to light than in "thick-feathered" birds, giving it a chance to literally shine.

In addition to finding structural color in cassowary feathers, Eliason and Clarke also explored the feathers of a cousin of the cassowary that lived 52 million years ago. The extinct bird Calxavis grandei lived in what's now Wyoming, and its incredibly well-preserved fossils include imprints of its feathers. "You can look at a fossil slab and see an outline of where their feathers were, because you kind of see the black stain of melanin that's left over, even after you 50 million years or so," explains Eliason. "We peeled off little flakes of the fossil from the dark spots of melanin, and then we used scanning electron microscopes to look for remnants of preserved melanosomes." By examining these feather imprints on a microscopic level, the researchers were able to see the shape of the pigment-producing melanosomes in the leaf-like barbules of the feathers. The melanosomes were long, skinny, and green bean-shaped, which in modern birds is associated with iridescence. Before this study, scientists had never found evidence of structural color in paleognath feathers—now, they've got two different examples. The researchers aren't sure why cassowaries and the fossil birds evolved two different ways to build shiny feathers—why reinvent the wheel? Eliason suspects that flightlessness might have given cassowaries more room to experiment with their feathers. In flighted birds, including the fossil birds in this study, the number one priority for feather structure is being aerodynamic. Since cassowaries don't need to worry about flying, they had more evolutionary leeway to develop their oddly-shaped, thick-spined feathers. "Needing to be able to fly is a very strong stabilizing force on wing shape," says Eliason. "Losing that constraint, that need to fly, might result in new feather morphologies that produce gloss in a way that a flying bird might not." In addition to the questions this study poses about why these birds' feathers evolved so differently, Eliason and Clarke note that it gives us a better overall understanding of life on Earth. "It gives us a glimpse into the time when dinosaurs were going extinct and the birds were rising," says Eliason. "Studying these paleognaths gives us a better understanding of what was happening there, because you can't just study neognaths; you need to study both sister clades to understand their ancestors." Provided by: Field Museum More information: C.M. Eliason et al. Cassowary gloss and a novel form of structural color in birds ournal information:Science Advances Image: An illustration of Calcaivis, an early relative of ostriches and cassowaries that lived 52 million years ago, showing its iridescent feathers. Credit: Velizar Simeonovski Read the full article

[scriveyner]

shining like the stars 92

It was the distant cry of circling gulls that made Lance finally open his eyes.

He squinted, expecting the bright expanse of a blue summer sky as felt the board rock with the waves. Instead of a summer sky though, the expanse above him was midnight blue and black, with a paintbrush spray of stars that seemed neverending. It was vast and unfathomable and all at once made Lance feel very, very small.

He sat up and discovered to his surprise that he wasn't laid out on a surfboard like he had imagine, rocked gently by unseen waves. The canvas of the universe had expanded around him, past a horizon line until it felt like he was floating motionless in the emptiness of deep space. It was profoundly disorienting, and Lance flailed his hand back until it hit something strong and solid. He flattened his hand, feeling warmth and sturdiness beneath it. Lance put both of his hands back and leaned his weight on them, legs sticking out straight and relaxed, letting go of the fear that had seized him as  he looked up at the endless stretch of sky.

“Am I dead?” Lance asked aloud, mostly rhetorically since he didn't expect an answer. If he was, he was  going to be really pissed. He felt the Blue Lion rumble a bit and when he shifted to look at the Blue Lion's eyes they were lit gold. “It's not a stupid question,” he said defensively. “If I'm not dead, where the heck am I?”

There was no response to that, just the same gentle rumble of the Blue Lion's systems being active. Lance sighed, and then drew one leg up, draping his arm over it. His shirt stuck to him with the motion, tacky with blood, and he pulled at it. There was no wound underneath, and he traced his fingers over the spot where the blade – Keith's blade – had cut into him. Lance shuddered and leaned forward, squeezing his eyes shut and folding his arms, trying to curl in on himself and forget about what he had seen.

That wasn't Keith.

But it was, and the knowledge curdled in Lance's belly like old milk. He wanted to yell and scream and cry but instead sat there, still tilted forward, and shook. He took a deep, gasping breath, and then another, and when he opened his eyes he realized that he was no longer alone.

Seated, perched on the very edge of the Blue Lion's nose, was an Altean. Lance scrambled to his knees but hesitated, realizing that he didn't feel threatened by this presence. “...Blue…?” he asked, and the Blue Lion rumbled something that he didn't quite understand.

“Hey,” Lance said again, and the Altean cocked their head but didn't turn around. “This is a private Lion, buddy.” He stood up finally, and the Altean stood too. “I don't know what you're doing here – or where here even is, to be honest –“ Lance didn't take a step back when the Altean turned, and with one hand lowered the hood that covered their hair.

Lance didn't know what he was expecting. He had seen a hundred Alteans in the memory core, he knew Allura and Coran and Illianya and Rian. He didn't know this Altean. Their hair was the color of icewater frozen to glaciers, their eyes and markings a deep blue. Lance furrowed his brow as the Altean smiled at him, almost sadly. “Blue…?” he said again, suspicious, but the Blue Lion rumbled at him indignantly. “Okay, okay, jeez.”

The Altean didn't speak. “So, um,” Lance said. “I'm Lance,” he pointed to himself. “And you are…?” When the Altean still did not speak, he folded his arms and sighed. “This is supposed to be some sort of great revelatory dream, right? I'm dead or I'm dying or--” another rumble from the Blue Lion “or I'm apparently in a healing pod, thank you, Blue, so that just leaves the question: who the holy swiss cheese are you?”

Still no response. Lance took a step closer and the Altean did not shrink away. Instead, they put their hands out, cupped together, like they were holding something. “What, is this the key to the universe or something?” Lance asked. “The secret to defeating Zarkon? The Colonel's eleven herbs and spices?” He wasn't getting any response so Lance instead put out his hands, because the Altean was clearly waiting on him to do so. “You  know, I'm not the one in charge of this operation,” he said. “You should be leaving the hinky mystical shit in Shiro's dreams.”

Lance looked down when he realized there was something in his open hands. It was a tiny, perfect facsimile of a hawk, cast in shades of violet. Lance stared at it, and  then the hawk moved and he almost dropped it. “What the heck is this supposed to mean?” he asked, looking up, but the sadly smiling Altean was, predictably, gone. Lance looked back at the hawk in his cupped hands; and after a moment of preening its feathers it spread two tiny wings and took flight. Lance watched the tiny hawk flitter past, no larger than a hummingbird; it circled him before rising higher, disappearing quickly against the backdrop of endless night. “What the heck,” Lance breathed again, and then glacned back at the Blue Lion to see that her eyes had gone dim.

He inhaled slowly and lifted his gaze to the sky once more, feeling the tug of darkness at the edges of his consciousness. He closed his eyes, and slipped under.

#

“Do we know which ship is jamming us?” Keith asked, the Red Lion keeping pace alongside the Black Lion. There was a load of static in the transmission, because even flying in tight formation there was plenty of interference.

“No clue.” Shiro's voice was shot through with something other than static, and Keith stared out the forward viewscreen, his hands curled tight on the controls. The question burned in his throat but Allura was with Shiro, even if he wasn't all right he would maintain in front of her, at least.

“One of the battleships,” Allura said, and Keith  managed not to snort because battleship was now plural. The space between Eaphus and its moon – and the waystation  – was a veritable swarm of Galra fleet now; their large purple battleships enough to overwhelm the Lions separately. Nevermind the smaller craft launching to sortie, in the hope that the pilots would be fatigued by the waves of drone fighters they had battled through previously.

Their flight was taking them around the far edge of the skirmish, and most of the smaller craft were orienting toward them to intercept. The Red Lion rumbled threateningly around him, resenting being reined in to keep pace with the Black Lion, but Keith didn't feel up to placating the craft, looking instead to the HUD for the other Lions.

With their comms scrambled it was a bit of a surprise that the IF/F system was still online, but he could track both the Green and the Yellow Lions on the small display, as well as through the forward viewscreen, their Lions impossible to see with the naked eye but with tiny arrows indicating their trajectory. Keith glanced back to the Black Lion and wished that the visual comm was online, just so he could check in on Shiro. “Head back to the Castleship without me,” he said. “I'll make sure Hunk and Pidge get back safe.”

“Keith,” Shiro said, aggravated, but Keith had already let down one of his mates today, he wasn't about to let the other one suffer. He kicked the Red Lion's thrusters to full and it outpaced the Black Lion in seconds, purring happily at the open throttle as Keith looped back and headed straight into the midst of the sortie. He was  out of low-baud comm range in seconds, the comm going straight to static and a quick glance at the HUD showed the Black Lion still on its flight path back to the Castleship. Keith exhaled in relief, and then focused forward, on the ships coming straight for him. No turning back now.

#

Shiro watched the Red Lion shrink to nothing but an arrow point on the forward viewscreen in the time it took to blink. There was a line of explosions along the Red Lion's flight path, and he trusted in Keith and his ability, but his team was out there scattered and it was such a helpless feeling that he couldn't quite swallow it down. And where was Lance?

Allura's hand on his shoulder startled him and Shiro didn't realize that he had cut the thrust until she did so. “Shiro,” Allura said. “We must head back; Coran will be preparing the teludav for our warp.” The Castleship couldn't warp without the Princess on board to channel the energy of the teludav drive; and they needed that tiny bit of prep time before they could go anywhere. The others would be fine, he trusted Keith to bring everyone back safely.

“You're absolutely right, Princess,” Shiro said, kicking the Black Lion's engines to full. He could still feel the faintest tug on the edge of his mind, those purple tendrils that had enveloped him and the strange way that it made his head throb. He winced, one hand touching the side of his helmet reflexively. When he lifted his hand he realized that Allura was staring at him with concern. “I'm all right,” Shiro said, his favorite lie to tell, and put his hand back on the flight control as the white marker for the Castleship popped up in the center of their screen. They were still too far out to properly raise its communications array, but Shiro was glad to see that the Castleship had reverted to flight mode, having already left the barren landscape of one of Eaphus' smaller moons. It would make their retreat all the easier.

“I'll drop you in the flight bay,” Shiro said, and Allura shook her head sharply.

“No. If you go back out--” she bit her lip and wouldn't meet his eye, and that throb in his head grew a little sharper. “Find out where Lance is,” she suggested, and that created another knotted ball of stress in his chest, because he had been avoiding very hard the black mass of reasons as to why Keith would launch and Lance wouldn't. Allura leaned forward and placed her hand on the holographic console, bringing up the comm unit and they were close enough now that static interference was all but gone. “Coran, we're incoming on the Black Lion,” she said. “The battleships are blocking our comm frequencies, Keith is bringing the others home.”

“Copy that, Princess,” Coran's voice jumped out of the comm, but there was an edge to it that Shiro could almost taste. “Rian and I have the teludav up and running, we're just waiting on you. And the others, of course.”

“Of course,” Allura said, and Shiro silently looked to the rear sensors, watching red dots vanish along the path of the Red Lion. Don't be long.

#

Pidge was trying to find the Yellow Lion on the sensor array, because trying to keep a bead on it when Matt couldn't fly her fucking Lion in a straight line for a solid ten seconds was making her extremely dizzy. It was much different being a passenger than the pilot. “For fuck's sake,” Pidge snapped, and was incredibly thankful that she had the foresight to keep the internal compensator dialed up because otherwise with all the barrel rolls he was pulling she would have been knocked around the inside of the cockpit like a pinball. “If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were trying to show off for Allura.”

“Katie, I'm giving you one last chance to shut the fuck up,” Matt said.

“You weren't even in the pilot program at the Garrison, you used to get sick in the simulators! Can you fucking cool it with the barrel rolls!!!” Just for that, Matt juked the Green Lion extra hard, faking out one of the drones that had swarmed after them. It blew past and clipped another drone, sending both of the Galra craft reeling in opposite directions.

Matt crowed at the maneuver, and then glanced over his shoulder at his sister. “I didn't get sick in the simulators,” he said.

“Shiro said you did,” Pidge took the moment of straight flight to try to ping Hunk's location again.

“He's a dirty liar,” Matt retorted. “And I do not have a thing for the Princess.”

“I didn't say you had a thing, I said you were trying to show off. Can I trust you not turn us upside down for thirty seconds to see if I can maximize our broadcast range to attempt to raise Hunk?” When Matt didn't maneuver the Green Lion violently Pidge leaned against the console, her injured arm cradled against her chest as she typed one-handed. The static through the comms spiked as she tried to reach through the interference to Hunk.

A drone broadsided the Green Lion hard enough to temporarily scramble the sensors as the Lion went tail over teakettle. The suicide run from the drone didn't do significant damage to the hull but several sensors along the left side of the display had gone red and flashing. “Shit shit shit!”

“It's no good,” Matt said. “Have you got the Yellow Lion on visual at least?”

“Do you see him on the screen?” Pidge snapped angrily. She swung her head around to the sensor array but it was just red dots. “Where is he?”

“I don't know.” Matt yanked back on the Green Lion's controls, not letting her slow up on speed and watching the circling drones more than anything. “What do you want to do, Katie? We lost him.”

A red arrow cut through the line of red dots on the sensor array and suddenly the Red Lion flashed by outside the viewscreen. It looped the Green Lion and drew up beside it, and Pidge's hand flew over the console, bringing up a low-baud transmission line. “Pidge!” Keith's voice was fairly clear. “Where's Hunk?”

“I don't know,” Pidge said, her voice tight. “We lost him off the sensors and the battleship is between us and him.”

There was a short silence and she was afraid that she'd lost Keith on the comm. “Get back to the Castleship,” Keith said. “The battleships are launching more fighters, we'll be overwhelmed for sure.”

“Not without Hunk!”

“I'll find him,” Keith said. “Red is faster than all the other Lions, we can outrun anything that the Galra throw at us. Get back to the Castleship.”

“Copy that,” Matt said, and Pidge slammed her hand into the console.

“No we don't--” she started to say,  but Keith had already looped the Red Lion away, headed straight for the battleship. “Matt, don't you dare listen to him.”

“Katie, you're hurt,” Matt said, and didn't turn to look at her. “Keith will get Hunk.”

“Green!” Pidge said, but the Green Lion didn't respond to her as Matt piloted the Lion away from the conflict, and back toward the Castleship.

#

Keith gritted his teeth, both hands tight on the flight controls. The Red Lion was a fearsome machine but even it could be quickly overwhelmed by the turbolaser batteries on the battleship, and coupled with the drone fighters it meant that getting around the thing was nearly impossible.

Shiro would be back to the Castleship by now with Allura, and Matt and Pidge were headed back that way. That only left Hunk and Illianya unaccounted for; and even as the Red Lion's sensors scanned at max capacity it wasn't pulling any information on the Yellow Lion. There were so many ships on his sensors that some parts of it were almost solid in color, and with their comms being jammed there was no point in even attempting a broadcast.

He was out of options.

#

“The Red Lion is incoming,” Coran reported, his hands flying over the consoles at the forefront of the bridge. Allura had hit the bridge at a run, practically flinging herself onto the control dais and bringing up the teludav operation. Shiro was only a few steps behind her. “The Green Paladin and her brother are both aboard now, in the Green Lion's launch bay.”

“Where's Hunk?” Shiro said, his eyes scanning the forward viewscreen and the overlapping data points that Coran had up. “Is the Yellow Lion already on board?”

“That is a negative,” Coran said. “I can't seem to raise him.”

Allura's hands froze above the teludav controls. “Coran, hail Keith. He should be in range of the Castleship by now.”

The video comm channel opened, and Keith's portrait appeared on the forward viewscreen. He was hunched forward, his hands on the controls and face tilted away. “Keith, what's going on?” Allura asked. “Where's the Yellow Lion?”

“I don't know,” Keith said, still not looking up. “He's not pinging on any of the sensor arrays, and I can't seem to get past the battleship. It's suicide.” He looked up finally at the comm, lost. “What do we do?”

Allura said, “we cannot leave him behind.”

“if we stay, we risk the Castleship being captures,” Rian said, and Shiro registered his presence finally, seated at one of the Paladin consoles. Lance's.

“Where's Lance?” Shiro said suddenly, but then the lift from the Lion launch bays open, and Pidge flung herself out of the elevator, followed closely by Matt.

“Are Hunk and Keith on board?” Pidge shouted. Allura looked over to Shiro, and Shiro rubbed a hand over his face, his heart pounding.

“Particle barrier up,” Coran said sharply, and Rian's hands flew over the holographic console in front of him. Before anyone really had a chance to brace the entire Castleship shuddered as a turbolaster blast sprayed and dispersed in a scatter of light thanks to the shielding system.

“The battleship is firing on us,” Rian reported unnecessarily. “The particle barrier is holding for now.”

Pidge threw herself in her seat, bringing up the holographic console and spotting the incoming Red Lion as the ship's information began to appear on her display. “Keith, where's Hunk?” she said, and Keith looked away from the video comm. “Where is he!?”

“If the Yellow Lion was destroyed I would know,” Allura said softly, hands still held out over the teludav console. “He's still out there somewhere.”

Shiro looked to Allura, but she wasn't looking at him, looking down at her hands still held out. He took a deep breath, then squared his shoulders and looked to the screen. “Keith, bring the Red Lion in,” he said. “We need to get out of here.”

“No!” Pidge yelled. “We have to find Hunk! He's out there!” She slammed her hand through the holographic console in front of her, scattering the light.

“Roger that,” Keith said, his voice a strange monotone as his image vanished from the forward viewscreen. Shiro took a deep breath before looking back to Allura, frozen in place. “Princess, we need to warp.”

“The Red Lion is safely on board,” Coran said. “Dropping the particle barrier to engage the teludav. Princess.”

“Understood,” Allura said, her voice and her concentrating finding their focus in the operation of the teludav. “Opening wormhole now.”

[ezatluba]

The Hummingbird as Warrior: Evolution of a Fierce and Furious Beak

Winsomely captured in poems and song, the birds are yielding new secrets about their astounding beaks and penchant for violence.

By James Gorman

Feb. 5, 2019

If you want to know what makes hummingbirds tick, it’s best to avoid most poetry about them.

Bird-beam of the summer day,

— Whither on your sunny way?

Whither? Probably off to have a bloodcurdling fight, that’s whither.

John Vance Cheney wrote that verse, but let’s not point fingers. He has plenty of poetic company, all seduced by the color, beauty and teeny tininess of the hummingbird but failed to notice the ferocity burning in its rapidly beating heart.

The Aztecs weren’t fooled. Their god of war, Huitzilopochtli, was a hummingbird. The Aztecs loved war, and they loved the beauty of the birds as well. It seems they didn’t find any contradiction in the marriage of beauty and bloodthirsty aggression.

Scientists understood that aggression was a deep and pervasive part of hummingbird life. But they, too, have had their blind spots. The seemingly perfect match of nectar-bearing flowers to slender nectar-sipping beaks clearly showed that hummingbirds were shaped by co-evolution.

It seemed clear that, evolutionarily, plants were in charge. Their need for reliable pollinators produced flowers with a shape that demanded a long slender bill. Hummingbird evolution obliged.

But hummingbirds also heard the call of battle, which demanded a different evolutionary course. Some of those slender, delicate beaks have been reshaped into strong, sharp and dangerous weapons.

In a recent paper organizing and summing up 10 years of research, Alejandro Rico-Guevara and his colleagues at the University of California, Berkeley, shared evidence gathered by high-speed video about how the deadly beaks are deployed in male-to-male conflict.

Like the horns of bighorn sheep or the giant mandibles of stag beetles, hummingbird beaks are used to fight off rivals for mates. This is sexual selection, a narrow part of natural selection, in which the improvement of mating chances is the dominant force.

The males use their bills to stab other males, and to fence — feinting and parrying, sometimes knocking the other bird off a perch. Some hummingbirds even have hooked beaks, with serrations that look like shark’s teeth. Dr. Rico-Guevara’s high-speed video shows males tearing out another bird’s feathers with those grippers.

The beak of a male tooth-billed hummingbird, found in the forests of Colombia, is adapted for battle.

This is only one of several findings by Dr. Rico-Guevara and others that have recently changed the way hummingbirds are understood, including the unusual way they process sugar, the way they use their tongues in nectar drinking, and the evolution of bill shape.

Douglas Altshuler, an ornithologist at the University of British Columbia, in Vancouver, said that Dr. Rico-Guevara’s thoroughness and attention to detail have pushed research on hummingbirds to new levels of excellence. “I think the body of work is great,” he said.

Richard Prum, an ornithologist at Yale who studies the kind of evolution that produces extreme male characteristics, described the research as spectacular: “Love this guy, love his work.”

Dr. Rico-Guevara began his study of hummingbirds as an undergraduate at the National University of Colombia. His adviser was Gary Stiles, a leading expert on hummingbirds, under whose tutelage Dr. Rico-Guevara wrote an honors thesis on how hummingbirds hunt insects to supplement their diet of nectar, which is pure sugar.

At about the same time, Margaret A. Rubega, an evolutionary biologist at the University of Connecticut, published a paper in Nature on the way hummingbirds bend their bills to capture insects. One thing led to another, and Dr. Rico-Guevara ended up at UConn, doing his Ph.D. research with Dr. Rubega on hummingbird tongues.

Alejandro Rico-Guevara, an expert on hummingbirds, at the University of California, Berkeley, left; and an Anna's hummingbird at a feeder at Dr. Rico-Guevara's house.CreditPeter Prato for The New York Times

The research on hummingbird tongues was groundbreaking. The dominant idea about how the birds suck up nectar was that the shape of the beak and the tongue produced capillary action, in which liquid rises against gravity because of mechanical forces.

This is what happens when a narrow tube is inserted into liquid, or when a brush soaks up paint even though only the tip is in the liquid.

Dr. Rico-Guevara and Dr. Rubega showed instead that the hummingbird’s feeding method was completely different: As the forked tip of its tongue is withdrawn up the narrow bill, it traps nectar.

All hummingbirds fight, including females, but only a few species have weaponized bills. Dr. Rico-Guevara found that males wage their battles to claim the best mating territories.

In some species, males assemble in areas called leks, away from the flowers that they feed on. In a lek, each male has a territory, and the females shop around.

The territories vary quite a lot in size, but about 270 square feet is typical — the size of a very small New York City apartment. Central territories are the most prized, and a swordlike bill helps a male capture and keep that prime real estate.

In other hummingbird species with weaponized beaks, males set up mating territories right on the richest patches of flowers, again fighting off rivals. For them, Dr. Rico Guevara said, it doesn’t really matter if they aren’t the most efficient nectar-drinkers — “just don’t let anybody else get to the flower.”

Extremists with wings

Hummingbird research is a rich, growing field, delving into everything from aerodynamics to how the birds process sucrose.

“In things that you can measure in any animal, like metabolism, they’re extreme,” said Dr. Altshuler. “Another way they’re extreme is in terms of their specialization.”

Hummingbirds also offer “opportunities to explore the limits of physiology,” Dr. Rico-Guevara said. They have the highest metabolic rate among vertebrates, and they specialize in hovering, “the most expensive form of locomotion in nature.”

Hovering, coincidentally, is a form of flight that is of intense interest to the designers of flying robots. “Everybody wants to replicate hummingbird flight,” he said.

The birds are also great to use in experiments, said Chris Clark, a biologist at the University of California, Riverside, who has collaborated with Dr. Rico-Guevara in studies of hummingbird flight.

The birds will fly readily to feeders. The presence of humans does not put them off. And, “they fly really well in wind tunnels and cages.”

Posters on the wall of the flight lab in Dr. Rico-Guevara's lab, left, and a male saw-billed hermit hummingbird, whose forked tongue is visible.

Hummingbird behavior is also of interest because they have been shown to be excellent learners. Dr. Clark said there is speculation that because they live on the edge in terms of their energy budget, they may require a great memory for where the food sources are.

In listing multiple areas of interest for studying hummingbirds, Dr. Rico-Guevara conceded that he’s attracted to them for another reason.

“What has kept me attached to them is their incredible personality,” he said. “They are very bold. They come to you to explore what you are doing. They are inquisitive.”

He can only hope that in his science, “My curiosity would match their curiosity.”

And he does have some poetic company. Not all poets got stuck on the beauty of the birds. D.H. Lawrence, in “Humming-Bird” imagines an ancient one at the dawn of creation.

Probably he was big

As mosses, and little lizards, they say, were once big.

Probably he was a jabbing, terrifying monster.

A black-throated mango and a lesser violetear doing battle at Finca el Colibrí Gorriazul, a coffee farm in Colombia.CreditChristian Irian

[instantlycoolturtle-blog]

Bee Hummingbird - Species Smallest Bird In The World

New Post has been published on https://www.birdsandblossom.com/bee-hummingbird/

Bee Hummingbird - Species Smallest Bird In The World

The Bee Hummingbird is the smallest species of hummingbird in the World, found in entire Cuba and Caribbean Island south of Florida.

They are primarily lived in dense forests and at edges of woods, where there have plenty of scrubs, epiphytes, and lianas. These birds are also well-known to habitat mountain valleys, swamplands, bushes, woodland, and backyards, occasionally found in open country.

The bee hummingbirds prefer places where there are Solandra Grandiflora plants, with a large number of attractive flowers and their favorite source of nectar.

Even with small size, the bee hummingbird can beat their wings about 85 times per second. During migration, they can fly about 20 hours continually without any rest or sleep. Their courtship display, the number of wing beats increase to about 200 times per second.  They hovers and moves incredibly and rapidly on flowers. The bee hummingbird lifespan is about 7 to 9 years in the wild.

Bee Hummingbird Description

The shiny, iridescent colors of feathers, make them the most beautiful and attractive birds. Their iridescence not always brilliant but depends on the direction of viewing. Compared to other tiny hummingbirds, which usually have slender appearances, the bee hummingbirds are chubby and rounded. The male has a green pileum and shiny red throat, gorget iridescent with extended near the neck.

The upper parts have bluish-green colors, and the underparts are mostly grey-white. The blue spots on their wing tips and tail feathers are black. The slender beak is relatively short and pointed than other hummingbird species. 

The female weigh is 2.6 g or 0.092 oz and 2.4 inches or 6.1 cm long, and some are a little larger than male birds.

The males weigh 1.95 g or 0.069 oz and 2.2 inches or 5.5 cm long. The Bee hummingbird lifespan is 7 to 10 years.

 Bee Hummingbird Feeding

The bee hummingbird feeds mostly on nectar, which they are taken from a wide variety of colorful plants.

Use their long, slender beak and tongues to drink the nectar while hovering with their tails rise upward.

They lick at the nectar of the flowers about 14 times per second. They may visit 2,000 flowers a day.

The bee hummingbirds visit 10 different plants, nine of them are found to be common to Cuba such as Chrysobalanus icaco, Hamelia patens, Forsteronia corymbosa, Tournefortia hirsutissima, Antigonon leptopus, Cissus obovata, Turnera ulmifolia, Pavonia paludicola.

They need to consume a significant amount to get very high energy everyday to support their high metabolism.

Occasionally eat insect or spider, by moving their tongue rapidly in and out of their mouth.

Small insects and spiders are important sources of protein mainly required during the breeding season. 

The female can catch about 2,000 small insects a day, and often snatch to branches, leaves, captured in flight, or taken from non-insect arthropods like spider webs.

Many native plants with blossoms, these birds feed deeply and depend on them for pollination.

The males create favorite feeding territories, where they aggressively chase away other male species or large insects such as hawk moths and bumblebees that enter to feed in their territory.

Birds use midair flights and threatening displays to protect their territories.

The bee hummingbirds are diurnal; they active during the morning and come on branches to roost at night. If the weather of their natural habitat is suitable for birds, they will not migrate to other locations. But seasonally, some need to travel in short distances areas for foraging, where plenty of flowers nectar are available.

Bee hummingbird Metabolism Rate

The metabolism rate and heartbeat are relatively higher and consume many times a day or go into torpor to conserve energy. They need large amounts of energy to retain their body temperature.

Birds can’t feed at night or during the cold winter nights in which they reduce body temperature to conserve energy. The bee hummingbirds require consuming a large amount of nectar, usually feeding up to half their body mass in food everyday, and up to eight times their body mass in water.

Sounds & Calls

Both the male and female communicate with each other through high-pitched calls, simple sounds, and not many soothing voices. Their calls may be the repetition of some notes or short warbles. These calls usually consisting of a single repeated song, each note can be less than a second. They can also produce a variety of vocal sounds include twittering and shrilling.

Nesting & Breeding

The breeding season typically begins at the end of the rainy season and the start of the dry season between March and June. When many trees and plants have flowers, particularly their favorite nectar plants, the Solandra and Grandiflora.

The female bee hummingbird builds a cup-shaped nest use thin branches, woven together with plant fibers cobwebs and lichens. The bee hummingbird nest is about 1 inch or 3 cm in diameter and bound together, green moss on the outside for camouflage in a sheltered location in a tree, bush, or shrub. 

The female also lines the nest with feather down, hair, and strengthen the structure with spider web and other tacky material.

Give the elastic quality, allows it to double in size when the young raise and need more room.

The nest is typically found on a thin, low, and horizontal branch about 3 to 20 feet from the ground. The males make different songs to attract females, which may be short warbles or a repetition of a few songs.

The female lays a clutch of two small eggs and incubates for about 22 days; the male defends the areas and the nectar flowers. The female only protects and feeds the chicks with regurgitated food for 20 to 40 days.

Most are fed partially- digest insects, as nectar is an inadequate source of protein for the growing chicks. The female pushes the food down the young throats with their long beak straight into their stomachs. The chicks leave their nest 18 to 38 days when their wing feathers are fully grown.

[coolstarstruckmentalitybouq-blog]

Bee Hummingbird - Species Smallest Bird In The World

New Post has been published on https://www.birdsandblossom.com/bee-hummingbird/

Bee Hummingbird - Species Smallest Bird In The World

The Bee Hummingbird is the smallest species of hummingbird in the World, found in entire Cuba and Caribbean Island south of Florida.

They are primarily lived in dense forests and at edges of woods, where there have plenty of scrubs, epiphytes, and lianas. These birds are also well-known to habitat mountain valleys, swamplands, bushes, woodland, and backyards, occasionally found in open country.

The bee hummingbirds prefer places where there are Solandra Grandiflora plants, with a large number of attractive flowers and their favorite source of nectar.

Even with small size, the bee hummingbird can beat their wings about 85 times per second. During migration, they can fly about 20 hours continually without any rest or sleep. Their courtship display, the number of wing beats increase to about 200 times per second.  They hovers and moves incredibly and rapidly on flowers. The bee hummingbird lifespan is about 7 to 9 years in the wild.

Bee Hummingbird Description

The shiny, iridescent colors of feathers, make them the most beautiful and attractive birds. Their iridescence not always brilliant but depends on the direction of viewing. Compared to other tiny hummingbirds, which usually have slender appearances, the bee hummingbirds are chubby and rounded. The male has a green pileum and shiny red throat, gorget iridescent with extended near the neck.

The upper parts have bluish-green colors, and the underparts are mostly grey-white. The blue spots on their wing tips and tail feathers are black. The slender beak is relatively short and pointed than other hummingbird species. 

The female weigh is 2.6 g or 0.092 oz and 2.4 inches or 6.1 cm long, and some are a little larger than male birds.

The males weigh 1.95 g or 0.069 oz and 2.2 inches or 5.5 cm long. The Bee hummingbird lifespan is 7 to 10 years.

 Bee Hummingbird Feeding

The bee hummingbird feeds mostly on nectar, which they are taken from a wide variety of colorful plants.

Use their long, slender beak and tongues to drink the nectar while hovering with their tails rise upward.

They lick at the nectar of the flowers about 14 times per second. They may visit 2,000 flowers a day.

The bee hummingbirds visit 10 different plants, nine of them are found to be common to Cuba such as Chrysobalanus icaco, Hamelia patens, Forsteronia corymbosa, Tournefortia hirsutissima, Antigonon leptopus, Cissus obovata, Turnera ulmifolia, Pavonia paludicola.

They need to consume a significant amount to get very high energy everyday to support their high metabolism.

Occasionally eat insect or spider, by moving their tongue rapidly in and out of their mouth.

Small insects and spiders are important sources of protein mainly required during the breeding season. 

The female can catch about 2,000 small insects a day, and often snatch to branches, leaves, captured in flight, or taken from non-insect arthropods like spider webs.

Many native plants with blossoms, these birds feed deeply and depend on them for pollination.

The males create favorite feeding territories, where they aggressively chase away other male species or large insects such as hawk moths and bumblebees that enter to feed in their territory.

Birds use midair flights and threatening displays to protect their territories.

The bee hummingbirds are diurnal; they active during the morning and come on branches to roost at night. If the weather of their natural habitat is suitable for birds, they will not migrate to other locations. But seasonally, some need to travel in short distances areas for foraging, where plenty of flowers nectar are available.

Bee hummingbird Metabolism Rate

The metabolism rate and heartbeat are relatively higher and consume many times a day or go into torpor to conserve energy. They need large amounts of energy to retain their body temperature.

Birds can’t feed at night or during the cold winter nights in which they reduce body temperature to conserve energy. The bee hummingbirds require consuming a large amount of nectar, usually feeding up to half their body mass in food everyday, and up to eight times their body mass in water.

Sounds & Calls

Both the male and female communicate with each other through high-pitched calls, simple sounds, and not many soothing voices. Their calls may be the repetition of some notes or short warbles. These calls usually consisting of a single repeated song, each note can be less than a second. They can also produce a variety of vocal sounds include twittering and shrilling.

Nesting & Breeding

The breeding season typically begins at the end of the rainy season and the start of the dry season between March and June. When many trees and plants have flowers, particularly their favorite nectar plants, the Solandra and Grandiflora.

The female bee hummingbird builds a cup-shaped nest use thin branches, woven together with plant fibers cobwebs and lichens. The bee hummingbird nest is about 1 inch or 3 cm in diameter and bound together, green moss on the outside for camouflage in a sheltered location in a tree, bush, or shrub. 

The female also lines the nest with feather down, hair, and strengthen the structure with spider web and other tacky material.

Give the elastic quality, allows it to double in size when the young raise and need more room.

The nest is typically found on a thin, low, and horizontal branch about 3 to 20 feet from the ground. The males make different songs to attract females, which may be short warbles or a repetition of a few songs.

The female lays a clutch of two small eggs and incubates for about 22 days; the male defends the areas and the nectar flowers. The female only protects and feeds the chicks with regurgitated food for 20 to 40 days.

Most are fed partially- digest insects, as nectar is an inadequate source of protein for the growing chicks. The female pushes the food down the young throats with their long beak straight into their stomachs. The chicks leave their nest 18 to 38 days when their wing feathers are fully grown.