#chickadee-butter

[apoemaday]

Vision

by May Thielgaard Watts

Today there have been lovely things I never saw before; sunlight through a jar of marmalade; a blue gate; a rainbow in soapsuds on dishwater; candlelight on butter; the crinkled smile of a little girl who had new shoes with tassels; a chickadee on a thorn-apple; empurpled mud under a willow, where white geese slept; white ruffled curtains sifting moonlight on the scrubbed kitchen floor; the under-side of a white-oak leaf; ruts in the road at sunset; an egg yolk in a blue bowl.

My love kissed my eyes last night.

[therealvalkyrie]

the morning, the evening

Pairing/setting: Farmer!Ushijima Wakatoshi x Fem!Reader Word Count: 2.6k Warnings: very fluffy, implied sex, reader wants a baby AN: I've been working on this sporadically for *checks watch* 2.5 years so I hope y'all fucking like it lmao. I really struggled with tying up the ending, so if it feels abrupt that's why! also was too intimidated to try and write baby-making smut, so feel free to imagine those particular shenanigans in your own huge and wrinkly brainsicle. love you all! ~valkyrie

It’s on mornings like this that you feel most unlike yourself. When you slip out of bed before your husband and tug on one of his huge flannels, the sun just peeking into your window. It’s too early. Too early to think, too early for food, too early to do anything but slip out onto the porch in bare feet and curl up on the porch swing. The birds are just waking up with you -- chickadees singing a greeting and the chickens clucking softly in reply. The dewy air sends goosebumps up your bare legs and settles in your lungs as mist clings to the ground. It makes you feel a little lost, a little out of place; mornings have never been meant for you.

When your husband wakes up with the rooster, he joins you on the porch swing, the screen door creaking shut behind him, and hands you a cup of coffee. You lean into his sturdy side and clutch your third favorite mug with both hands (the handle broke last year when you dropped it on the kitchen tile). He doesn’t say anything, just presses his lips to your temple and looks out to the mountains with you. He knows you’ve never been meant for mornings.

When his yellow mug is empty, he rubs your bent knee with a huge hand and leaves you to start farm chores. You may be entitled to a slow start, but the horses expect breakfast before 7 or they’ll be ornery all day.

The sun burns enough dew away for the farmhand’s truck to kick up dust as he drives up your long driveway -- your cue to go put on pants. Back in the bedroom, the stained glass ornaments hanging in the windows are casting shifting rainbows on the wall. This is what lifts your lips for the first time today and prompts the first sip of tepid coffee. You sprawl out on your unmade bed, stretching like a cat in a sunspot made just for you.

By the time you pad downstairs in jeans and an airy blouse, the morning has begrudgingly made a space for you in between its sense of purpose and quiet watchfulness. You set about making breakfast and more coffee, nudging the kitchen awake. You say good morning to the toaster and the butter bell and the kettle on the stove and purposely ignore the dishwasher, which has been giving attitude since the weekend.

You’re murmuring quietly to a pancake when Wakatoshi clomps back in, hanging his hat on the hook by the door.

“Good morning,” you greet, offering up your cheek, which he kisses along with a heavy hand on your hip.

“Does the pancake ever talk back?” he wonders aloud, looking over your shoulder into your cast iron pan.

“Not yet,” you reach for your spatula and grin up at him, “which is what makes it such a good listener.”

He hums thoughtfully and squeezes your waist with his big hand before turning away to reach for plates from the cupboard.

Breakfast passes in conversation about the farrier visiting in the afternoon -- some horses are due for new shoes -- between bites of food. Toshi disappears out the back door to start the rest of his day and you load dishes into the dishwasher. It grumbles to life after a swift kick to the bottom left corner. You’ll have to call the plumber before the weekend.

You’re feeling halfway back to yourself again when you settle into your creaky wooden office chair. It’s nearly the end of the month, which means today is for paying bills and making calls. It’s not nearly as much of a task as it was when you first took over the business side of the farm. Then, you’d had to wade through fifty years of an unintelligible filing system and re-negotiate deals that Wakatoshi’s grandparents had made just as long ago. You’ve always had a way with numbers and a sense for business; it’s the local politics that gave you trouble. People this far into farming country simply don’t trust outsiders, no matter if they’re married to the local golden boy.

Wakatoshi says it had been the same for his father, coming in as an outsider and marrying the beloved daughter of a beloved family. That’s why he’d left, when Toshi was just a kid, never having managed to really feel at home in the community or on the farm.

“But he didn’t have the advantage of your smile,” he’d joked, poking the corner of your mouth gently as you lay in bed late one night a couple of weeks after your wedding.

You’d giggled, swatting his hand away and burying your face into his broad chest. “Do you really think they’ll like me?” you asked in a small voice after a quiet moment.

“They’ll love you. Just like I do.”

You wouldn’t quite say they love you, but the town has at least grown to tolerate you after you’d asserted yourself into their daily lives. Miss Betty at the feed store still doesn’t give you a discount on grain like she had your mother-in-law, and Mary Fletcher still calls you a gold digger behind your back. But at least you’ve made good enough friends with her cousin Amber, who boards her horse in your stables and comes by almost every weekend, to hear about it.

You begin to sweat as the summer announces that it’s still here in the late morning and turn on the rotating fan in an effort to stay cool. The dial of the old rotary phone whirs under your fingertips as you call up the bank, one bare foot bouncing in the air where your leg dangles over the armrest of your chair and receiver cradled to your ear.

It’s a tedious conversation with Laurie, the one and only bank teller, whose daughter is going off to college in just a couple of weeks, that carries you over into lunchtime. You eventually manage to steer her in the direction of the purpose of your call, learning, amidst tidbits about her daughter’s roommate and her son’s soccer tryouts, that your check to the vet had bounced because of an error on the bank’s end. Thank God.

“Shit, that woman can talk,” you breathe when the receiver is safely in its cradle, and Laurie won’t threaten to wash out your mouth with soap for using foul language.

With a deep exhale, you allow your head to fall onto the back of the chair, languishing in the buzzing heat. For the millionth time this summer, you think back to your tiny city apartment, with its shitty water pressure and shitty commute and heavenly air conditioning. What you wouldn’t give….

Well, you wouldn’t give up Wakatoshi, for one.

And you’d had that, with him. You fit him into your tiny shower, washing each other’s bodies and then fucking on the bathroom counter when he couldn’t figure out how to finagle his limbs to fit. He kissed you every morning before work, pressing a packed lunch into your hands.

He proposed under your favorite oak tree in the park at peak foliage, asking you to marry him and move back to his home. You said yes.

You meant it.

But, God. This heat.

The afternoon drags you down, oppressive and lingering, and you find yourself incapable of thinking anymore.

You pass Wakatoshi on your way across the driveway and give him a brief wave, your ring of keys hanging off your middle finger.

“I’ll be back for dinner,” you call as he takes off his hat and runs his fingers through his sweaty hair.

He watches the way your legs propel you up into the elevated cab of his truck, loaded with some buzzing anxiety to move, even through this thick air.

“Okay,” he says.

The first summer you knew Wakatoshi, he invited you to visit home with him for a week. You weren’t together yet, still dancing on the periphery of a relationship with that youthful arrogance of those barely touching adulthood. Halfway through the six-hour drive from the city, he pulled over at a farmstand and bought peaches and lemonade. You ate them in the bed of his truck parked under a maple tree, boughs flush with green and peach juice slipping down your chin.

These grocery store peaches aren’t quite as tender --  you’re just too far North to get them really fresh -- but they’ll do. Still, you worry they’ll bruise as you set the paper grocery bag on the passenger seat next to the bakery box already there. You stand there for a second dumbly, trying to think of a better way to pack them in among your other groceries so they won’t bump around, until the afternoon sun has sunk into the top of your head so it feels like your brain is melting to the inside of your skull. Feeling a little foolish, but otherwise at a loss, you buckle the grocery bag and the box into the seat.

That makes you grin to yourself and snort a giggle as you slam the passenger door and circle around to the other side of the truck. The engine turns and complains for a second before giving in.

Sometimes this is all you need to put yourself back in your body. This little ritual of grocery shopping by yourself -- driving with the music turned up, reading ingredient labels, watching the deli counter guy slice half a pound of provolone. That mundanity, that routine of an adult woman who buys her own groceries, puts everything else in perspective.

You’re here because you want to be. Because you chose to be.

You come to a decision.

Wakatoshi doesn’t pick up the phone when you call on your way out of town, but that’s to be expected. This time of day, he’s most likely out with the horses, and cell reception gives out only a quarter-mile into the pastures. The call goes to voicemail, and you smile to yourself as his recorded voice instructs you to please leave a message. The tone beeps.

“Hey, I’m headed home now. I’ll be there in, uh, about fifteen? Anyway, meet me down at the pond for dinner. Maybe… six-thirty? I thought we’d do something a little special. Okay, I love you!”

The pond is at the East edge of the property, fed by a brook that bubbles out of the foothills. On the side opposite of where the horse pastures end, there is a willow tree that stretches and drapes down to trace the surface of the water. It is under that willow tree that you unpack your picnic basket, pouring white wine into thermos mugs as the low sun streaks through branches.

The heat of the day is finally breaking, giving way to a cacophony of peeper frogs that you can normally only hear distantly in the house. Here, it fills your mind and allows you to think of nothing else but watching the distant silhouette of your husband crossing the pasture towards you. He’s backlit, long shadow reaching across the fence long before he does. You watch him walk in an easy, rolling gait through long grass, watch him hop the fence like he was born for it.

And he was, you remind yourself. He was born for these wide spaces and nature smells. Where you must find space for yourself in the uninhabited corners of the farm (the office, the Eastern edge, the kitchen), he fills the rest as naturally as water fills the pond.

He says your name at the edge of the willow tree, ducking under a bough.

“Hello, love,” you say and smile and pat the blanket next to where you’re sitting.

Your husband sits, folding his legs under him like a little kid. It makes your heart feel a little tender as you tuck yourself into his side and explain your meal: sandwiches and fruit, cherry pie and wine for dessert. He thanks you simply, bending down to kiss you in that slow way that caught you like honey in a trap that first night in front of your apartment building, all those years ago. He tastes like vanilla chapstick.

You eat. Wakatoshi tells you about his day. About the farrier's visit and fixing a leak in the chicken coop’s roof.

“Wakatoshi,” you say, leaning forward to pick at the grass as he works the stone out of a peach with his pocket knife. He hums, deft in his work but listening. “What would you say about having a baby?”

He makes a sharp noise of pain and you look over, wide-eyed, to see he’s sliced clean through the peach and into his own palm. The blood wells before your eyes, mixing with peach juice as you gasp and lunge for the paper napkins in the basket.

“You have to be more careful! What if you seriously--” “Yes,” he cuts you off as you’re taking his hand in both of yours, setting the fruit and knife aside, and wadding up the napkins to stop the bleeding.

“What?”

“I’d say yes to having a baby.” He’s looking right at you with those hazel eyes, the expression in them so close to reverence it stuns you.

“Oh,” you breathe, staring straight back.

At that exact moment, the setting sun glows orange at the top of the pasture hill, streaking Wakatoshi’s cheek with gold through the willow branches. All the breath is gone from you, your head gone light from having this question you’ve mulled over for weeks answered so simply.

His uninjured hand finds your cheek, tucks stray hair away from your face.

“Are you asking? Do you want to have a baby?”

“I-- Yes. I’m asking.”

He smiles, soft as the cattails that sway at the opposite edge of the pond, and leans in to meet your lips with his. You let yourself sink into it for a moment, unable to stop smiling against his mouth, but pull away to further inspect the slice across his palm. He lets you, his fingers curled gently inward while you dab away blood and rub a gentle thumb on his wrist, but his gaze never wavers from your face. It’s intense-- almost like how it was when you first knew him, but with an undercurrent of affection that makes your chest warm.

“It doesn’t look too deep,” you conclude, folding up some clean napkins and pressing them to the wound. “But we should clean it--”

“It can wait.”

“But it could still get infected, what if--”

“It can wait,” he interrupts again, insisting with gentle obstinance. The next words are low in his chest. “I can’t.”

You don’t get back to the house until late, August constellations suspended thickly overhead. It’s like you’re kids again and the barn cat is your mother, watching disapprovingly from her perch on the porch railing as you sneak in after curfew, wine-tipsy and elated. Your husband crowds in the door after you, handsy even after you’ve done nothing but touch each other all evening. You pull him into the kitchen and make him wash his wound thoroughly, your thumbs rubbing into the meat of his palm.

“I hope our daughter has your eyes,” he says. He’s close, his own eyes finding yours in the almost-dark.

“A daughter, huh?”

“A daughter. She’ll be just like you.”

“And what am I like?” you ask, coy, looking up at him through your lashes in the starlight streaming in the window.

Wakatoshi leans forward gently, resting his brow on yours. “You are,” he swallows thickly, eyes fluttering closed, “you are the world.”

Your day ends nothing like it began. Your day ends with utter surety of your place in this house, in this town, in Wakatoshi’s arms. The day ends and you feel completely yourself again, cradled in the gently rolling hills of the life you’ve chosen.

[bygoody]

Chickie Red Cheek Cookies: Too Cute to Eat…Almost!

Meet my new baking buddies—these Chickie Red Cheek Cookies! 🐥🍪 Fluffy, sweet, and a little shy with their rosy cheeks. They might be too adorable to munch on, but once you take a bite... there's no going back! Who else loves snacks that are cute AND delicious? 😍👩‍🍳 #BakingFun #ChickieCheeks #TooCuteToEat

Ingredients:

2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour

1 cup unsalted butter, softened

3/4 cup granulated sugar

1 large egg

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1/2 teaspoon almond extract (optional for a nutty flavor)

1/4 teaspoon salt

Yellow food coloring (for the chickadee body)

Red edible food coloring gel or powdered food coloring (for the cheeks)

Mini chocolate chips or black edible marker (for eyes)

Orange icing or fondant (for the beaks)

[redstringraven]

in this year's secret santa exchange, i was santa for @sl3epudotcom!!

here is his iteration's don! he's befriended some chickadees, and they will not cause any more mischief for him this year (so long as the sunflower seeds and peanut butter keep coming). hope you had a good one, dude! c:

[astarab1aze]

"You know, Asuka - I heard from Cedric. He's sold nearly all your paintings. It sounds to me like you may have to paint something new for him; You can't always and only ever take up mural work. I know it pays well, but your success is important to me, sweetheart, and I don't want you to fall behind in your best work."

"Oh, did he? Good fer him - and 'm gonna have to agree to disagree, mom. My murals pay the bills an' get posted on instagram. My boyfriend is a photographer--"

"Mm, don't remind me. Unless you want a lecture."

"You're already lecturin' me. Go crazy, have fun with it. Throw some confetti. I'll call your boyfriend an' we can throw a whole shindig about it since he'll jus' lecture me too."

"Boyfriend? Is that what you think he is? Your sarcasm is adorable, my love, but one little dance does hardly a romance make, delightfully charming as he was-- Oh, very clever, chickadee. I see what you're doing."

"Woop- Ya caught me! But it's only because you're so damn obvious. Ya put on the dress when ya invited him to that work thing - the really nice, lacy one that made ya look so elegant and soft but also terrifyin' 'cause ya kinda are... Hehe, everyone was impressed. Hani and I thought we mighta had to scrape his jaw off the floor when he saw you. Even sent that picture I took to Ed and Viri and those two were just as hopeless."

"Oh, stop it, sweetheart - You're just trying to get out of having a serious conversation with me by buttering me up with obvious statements. I see right through you and I cannot be fooled twice."

"Ya say that, but no one knows ya like I do - you already have the next work party marked on your calendar, and I know you're gonna ask him next time ya see him. Jokes on you, momma, guess who can't be fooled either? You raised me, after all."

"What a cheeky little shit you've turned out to be."

"Pfft, please. As if ya weren't fifty-times worse when ya were my age. Tsubasa told me allllllll your stories, dad too. You were diabolical. Worse than Hanma. Worse than Tsubasa. How many times didja sucker what's-his-face into doin' your dirty work, huh?"

"Asuka--"

"--WAIT A MINUTE. Ya cursed just now. Ya never curse."

"My darling baby bird--"

"Now I know, beyond a shadow o' a doubt - you're really into him. I can't believe how easy ya are to figure out! Does he know? Oh, I bet he does, if you're this transparent. Man, if I'da known ya liked 'em grumpy and stinkin' of horse, I'da set ya up with my history professor--"

"...I came to talk to you about your work, check in with you, adoringly lecture you, and here you are, making assumptions about the nature of my professional relationship with the Witcher who protects you from mortal harm when your boyfriend cannot--"

"Whatever, mom, don't bring Hani into this jus' 'cause you're-- Jus' go on your dates with him. He's ever so slightly less grumpy after spendin' time with ya, and now ya've got a lil extra pep in your step! An' that's sayin' somethin', since you're all doom an' gloom, but nice an' delicate like a moonflower--"

"You're lucky you're my favorite, chickadee, but if it's as you say...then our Geralt might stand to dethrone you."

"Read. My. Lips. Mom: Good."

"...You are most definitely mine."

"Ya can't help but love me!"

"More than anything in this world and the next - and that's precisely why you ought to whip up some fresh paintings and sketches for Cedric to look over and sell for you! Your future is vitally important, my love, and I won't always be around to pick up the slack when work is slow--"

"Godsdammit, mother! Ya got me..."

"This is my house...and the house always wins, sweetheart."

"Jus' you wait till me an' the stooges start droppin' hints for Geralt..."

"What was that, dear? I couldn't hear you over you having to be responsible for your own finances and maintaining the potency of your talents."

[abookishdreamer]

Character Intro: Pherusa (Kingdom of Ichor)

Nicknames- The Golly Goddess, Bearer of Fruits by the people of Olympius

Mom by her daughters

Age- 37 (immortal)

Location- Arcadia, Olympius

Personality- She's a bubbly goddess with a carefree aura. She's creative, free-spirited, & close to nature. She's a lesbian and is casually dating.

She has the standard abilities of a goddess except shapeshifting. As the goddess of substance & farm estates her other powers/abilities include karpokinesis (fruit manipulation/generation), juice manipulation, limited photokinesis, being able to telekinetically control farming equipment, limited chlorokinesis (as it pertains to hay & grass), and limited atmokinesis.

Pherusa is the mother of the seasonal goddesses- Thallo (goddess of spring & new growth), Auxo (goddess of summer, vegetation, & plants), and Carpo (goddess of autumn & fruits).

She lives in the state of Arcadia in a french style cottage. There's a few acres of farmland along with a LARGE orchard (meant for fruit production). The interior design of the cottage is very romantic and provençal with a mix of vintage and country furniture pieces, a color palette of cream, beige, tawny, pale blue, & pastel yellow, artwork with pastural or natural themes, natural hardwood flooring, and toile de juoy patterns on wallpaper & curtains.

In addition to the farm animals, she has an animal companion- a female griffin named Honey. Honey is Pherusa's usual mode of transportation when traveling great distances, like visiting her daughters in New Olympus or visiting faraway friends. She mostly gets around in her classic 70's style bright orange VW beetle.

She always starts of her mornings with a session of yoga.

Instead of lotion, she moisturizes her skin with coconut oil.

Pherusa loves her "chickadees." She doesn't play favorites and loves her daughters equally. Pherusa not only makes it a priority to spend time as a family, but also individually- whether it's surfing with Auxo, bike riding with Thallo, or going to the farmer's market with Carpo. They also play music together with Pherusa being a featured artist on The Gypsy Belles' bonus track "Prairie Poets" on their album A Vintage Year.

She can play the acoustic guitar, autoharp, & the dobro!

A typical breakfast for her is belgian style whole grain waffles topped with cottage cheese, sauteed apples, maple syrup, and cinnamon sugar along with a fruit salad parfait & scrambled eggs added with sausage, onions, peppers, and tomatoes. She also likes several slices of lightly toasted white bread topped with butter & different kinds of fruit marmalades. From her own cereal brand her favorites are the summer berries flavor, the vanilla spice flakes, the apple cinnamon o's, and the oatmeal peanut butter.

Pherusa keeps her red hair in a neck length lob. She likes the Glory's Crown citrus and herbal musk shampoo & conditioner as well as the apricot oil hair spray.

Instead of perfume, she prefers to use fruit essential oils (behind her ears, inside her wrists, on her ankles, between her bosom, and on the side of her neck). Her favorite essential oils are the pink grapefruit, passionfruit, cherry, & apple.

Pherusa's closet consists of form hugging dresses, wedges, platform sandals, flowy mini skirts, bright colors, bold patterns, high waisted flare pants, and peasant blouses.

A go-to drink for her is her homemade carrot juice. She also likes coconut water, watermelon juice, citrus infused mineral water, iced tea, peach lemonade, ginger ale, pomegranate tea, lychee-passionfruit boba tea, red sangrias, aperol spritzes, orange soda, appletinis, cherry sazeracs, seabreeze cocktails, and champagne. Usuals from The Roasted Bean include a large iced green tea & an olympian sized fruit punch splash.

Pherusa's favorite makeup products to use is the Olmorfia blush powder in "strawberry crush", the plumping lip glaze in "persimmon" (a bold reddish brown), and the Museology UV liquid eyeliner in "electric shock", a bright neon yellow.

Her ultimate guilty pleasure is a large pizza topped with pineapple, yellow peppers, & jalapeños.

Pherusa's primary source of income comes from her cereal brand Golly Grains, the 2nd most popular after Earthly Harvest. Golly Grains' animated commercials and online ads are quite popular as well as its slogan- "A golly way to start your day!" To help out her daughters, she models for their clothing brand Treis Epochés.

From The Bread Box, she likes the chicken salad sandwich along with a watermelon feta salad.

Some of her favorite frozen treats include pineapple coconut ice cream, mango sorbet, and pomegranate sorbet.

In the pantheon Pherusa has a deep friendship with most of the agricultural deities like Demeter (goddess of the harvest & agriculture) and Eunostos & Promylaia (goddesses of the flour mill). Pherusa is the noná to Krysothemis (Kristy), the daughter of Karmanor (demi-god of the harvest). Her best friend is his sister Karme (demi-goddess of the harvest). Pherusa loves traveling to Eleusis to see her, looking forward to her delicious corn pudding! She even views Eubouleus (god of the swine & ploughing) as a father figure.

She's also friends with Kéfi (goddess of mirth), Apheleia (goddess of simplicity), Oeno (goddess of berries & wine), Thilasmós (goddess of nursing), Anatole (goddess of sunrise), Damia (goddess of naturalness), Elais (goddess of oil), Spermo (goddess of grains), Nymphe (goddess of self-care), Rhapso (goddess of sewing), Hestia (goddess of the hearth), Philotes (goddess of sex, friendship, & affection), Pan (god of the wild, satyrs, shepherds, & rustic music), Livádi (goddess of meadows), Eváeros (goddess of air & the zodiacs), and Záchari (god of confectionery).

She loves snacking on plaintain chips.

Her and Thilasmós often bond over about the attention and comments they get due to their ample chests.

Pherusa went to New Olympus Fashion Week for the first time last year when Rhapso got her & Eváeros exclusive front-row tickets.

She appeared once in a nude spread for Zeus' mens' magazine. Her photoshoot "broke the internet" for a few minutes when the images made its way on Fatestagram.

Some of her favorite desserts are Záchari's honeyed fig crostatas (dusted on top with an extra helping of powdered sugar), Eváeros' ambrosia salad, Karme's peach bourbon upside-down bundt cake, and the orange lemon pound cake from Hollyhock's Bakery.

As for her love life, Pherusa is enjoying her singledom and meeting new people. Her last serious relationship was with an anthousai named Amaryllis. Pherusa has a few dating apps on her smartphone- also having gone out on more than one date with a maenad named Rhiannon.

A couple of months ago Pherusa flew to Cyprus to hang out with Philotes. They had fun at a nightclub, got a bit tipsy, and ended up making out on the dancefloor. Things got steamier when Philotes went down on her in the nightclub's bathroom. Days later, Philotes reached out to her to "clear the air" with them admitting their attraction to each other. Pherusa was taken aback when Philotes offered up the idea to sleep with each other while her husband Priapus (god of fertility, vegetable gardens, livestock, sexuality, & masculinity) watches, without participating. She hasn't given her an answer yet.

Pherusa has a growing collection of Diamond Ave. fruit themed jeweled clutches. She herself was able to get the orange slice one (which costs 4,000 drachmas) while Karme got her the peach shaped one. As a summer solstice gift last year, Rhapso got her the pineapple shaped one!

In her free time she enjoys sunbathing, gardening, swimming, cooking, baking, bike riding, reading, shopping, spending time with her daughters, golf, fishing, and spending time with her friends.

Her favorite meals include chilled peach soup with fresh goat cheese, roasted lamb chops with a cherry glaze, and coconut chicken curry with white rice.

"If you eat today, thank a farmer."

[boldlyleading]

✧˖° → @oceansfirst Liked for a Jojo Starter

"OH MY GOD YOU WERE RIGHT!!!"

She didn't want to believe it. She didn't want to think that HER dad would just be out here making KISSY FACES in the middle of the medbay! In front of EVERYONE! So of course it lead to a standard Hawk & Chickadee adventure! She was practically on top of Clint's crouched back as they POKED their heads around the corner.

Jojo's hand practically SNAPPED over her mouth in an instant though when two of the nurses near them happened to LOOK over at the arguably ridiculous looking scene.

"Oh that's just gross!" She can't stop the fit of giggles that erupts finally pulling away to make at least an attempt to be out of earshot before they got caught. "but I guess this means you win the bet.. fiiiine, name a time and place and I will give you ONE of my king size Reese's peanut butter cups!"

[chudwaffle52]

An incomplete list of my favorite songbirds

Tufted Titmouse - I really like their colors and they are very cute. Also when I wake up every morning, my hair gets pushed into the same shape as theirs. They also have really big eyes.

Black-Capped Chickadee - I loved chickadees since I was in kindergarten (we made bird feeders for them out of toilet paper rolls, peanut butter, and nuts; these people came in to teach us about them and they taught us how to make their calls). They are one of my first favorite birds and I really enjoy seeing them. It helps that they are really common. Plus they are really round and fuzzy.

Carolina Wren - a pair of wrens made their nest above my backdoor. it was a really cool experience to watch their chicks grow and start their fledging. I loved listening to them and their songs every day, but it's sad that they are gone now. I just wish they would have stayed longer.

Northern Cardinal - I like that the males are really brightly colored so I can identify them almost anywhere. I also like their songs. Sometimes when they are molting they look funny too.

[7r0773r]

The Lives of the Heart by Jane Hirshfield

Not-Yet

Morning of buttered toast; of coffee, sweetened, with milk.

Out the window, snow-spruces step from their cobwebs. Flurry of chickadees, feeding then gone. A single cardinal stipples an empty branch— one maple leaf lifted back.

I turn my blessings like photographs into the light; over my shoulder the god of Not-Yet looks on:

Not-yet-dead, not-yet-lost, not-yet-taken. Not-yet-shattered, not-yet-sectioned, not-yet-strewn.

Ample litany, sparing nothing I hate or love, not-yet-silenced, not-yet-fractured, not-yet-

Not-yet-not.

I move my ear a little closer to that humming figure, I ask him only to stay.

***

Hope and Love

All winter the blue heron slept among the horses. I do not know the custom of herons, do not know if the solitary habit is their way, or if he listened for some missing one— not knowing even that was what he did— in the blowing sounds in the dark. I know that hope is the hardest love we carry. He slept with his long neck folded, like a letter put away.

***

If the Rise of the Fish

If for a moment the leaves fell upward, if it seemed a small flock of brown-orange birds circled over the trees, if they circled then seattered each in its own direction for the lost seed they had spotted in tall, gold-checkered grass. If the bloom of flies on the window in morning sun, if their singing insistence on grief and desire. If the fish. If the rise of the fish. If the blue morning held in the glass of the window, if my fingers, my palms. If my thighs. If your hands, if my thighs. If the seeds, among all the lost gold of the grass. If your hands on my thighs, if your tongue. If the leaves. If the singing fell upward. If grief. For a moment if singing and grief. If the blue of the body fell upward, out of our hands. If the morning held it like leaves.

***

The Poet

She is working now, in a room not unlike this one, the one where I write, or you read. Her table is covered with paper. The light of the lamp would be tempered by a shade, where the bulb's single harshness might dissolve, but it is not, she has taken it off. Her poems? I will never know them, though they are the ones I most need. Even the alphabet she writes in I cannot decipher. Her chair— Let us imagine whether it is leather or canvas, vinyl or wicker. Let her have a chair, her shadeless lamp, the table. Let one or two she loves be in the next room. Let the door be closed, the sleeping ones healthy. Let her have time, and silence, enough paper to make mistakes and go on.

***

Each Happiness Ringed by Lions

Sometimes when I take you into my body I can almost see them—patient, circling. Almost glimpse the moving shadow of the tail, almost hear the hushed pad of retracted claws. It is the moment—of this I am certain— when they themselves are least sure. It is the moment they could almost let us go free.

[benthicpressure]

!Rules: tag 10 people you want to get to know better! tagged by @thebuggyprophet

Relationship status: Married to @skollwolf since 2018!

Favorite color: Love a good Orange

Song stuck in my head: "The Greatest Living Show” by Toby Fox and Itoki Hana; also “Euthanasia” by Will Wood

Last song I listened to: “Plea From a Cat Named Virtute” by the Weakerthans

Three favorite foods:Man i dunno! Peanut Butter? Pizza? Mac and Cheese? I’m weak for American Comfort Food

Last thing I googled: “chickadee sounds” for my 2yo to listen to, cause he’s obsessed with birds right now

Dream trip: My impossible pipe dream trip is just a big camper van and a bunch of loved ones crossing the country and stopping at goofy shit along the way

[estrangedaframian]

It wasn't that Elsie was jealous... because she wasn't. That was the last thing on her mind. No, it was the fact that the clean-kept pool, was not tidy at the moment. Even if the servants were working on making it tidy again, it still made her feel strange. She was also worried about Evelyn getting hurt at any possible moment, which she was now, currently, attempting to move the fauness away from the pool's bubbly edges.

Evelyn was quite shocked at what the hunter was saying. "…died?" She moved her lips, trying to gather what to say, before it all came spilling out. "So… does that mean Heaven and Hell actually exist? And… was Heaven as nice as they say it is? Oh, and… how did you get out?" She asked, nearly tripping on the leg of a pool chair, because she wasn't looking anywhere else, but at Dean, a fauness's curiosity taking over her.

Elsie wrapped an arm around him, squeezing his ass gently, not because she was jealous, (she still wasn't) but because she just liked feeling him in her hand sometimes. "Tha's a wonderful idea, Dean. Evelyn, do yeh have any ideas?"

The redheaded witch thought of something right quick. "We could take the trail nearby. It's hidden along the drive up the hill, and oh, since it's spring, all the flowers are blooming, the butterflies are out, and there's this gorgeous waterfall halfway through, with a swimming hole. It's warm enough to swim!"

Elsie knew her friend would have a good idea for them. It sounded much better than just seeing a movie in her theater, with mounds of popcorn and butter to be had. Though, maybe they could do that afterward. "And we could watch a movie, an' drown endless amounts o' popcorn in butter, after. An' there could be lots o' candy, too."

Evelyn was clearly on board with all of it, the two redheads gazing at Dean for approval of the ideas. "Oh, what do you say, Dean? Doesn't that sound like so much fun?" The fauness got a twitch in her eye, which Elsie knew well.

"Brace yerself, Dean. Lass likes to break into song at random sometimes."

And Elsie was exactly right, because after she spoke, Evelyn began to dance and sing about their future fun activities, friendship, all this and that, while birbs and squirrels and other animals joined in, making it absolutely magical. The servants had to stop for a second to take it all in, for even if the younger redhead has done this in front of them a few other times, they were still in awe of her.

Dean’s lips pursed as though considering the germane answer (as opposed to any one of a bevy of answers which might yet excuse him from examination) to Evelyn’s burst of zeal but the touch of the vampire’s firm yet delicate hand— Not entirely unlike the hunter’s rump— upon his rearmost musculature made all forthcoming attempts at a dignified dialogue— INEFFECTUAL.

"Yeah, that does sound like fun..."

He blushed profusely when speaking, nevertheless trying his best not to clue Evelyn into WHY he blushed.

"Song? Well, to tell you the truth-"

The fauness was already mid number before he had a chance to explain his stance on musical theatre to Elsie. Simply put, Dean was alright with it... so long as it wasn't a stage production of his (and his friends'/family's) life put to song and dance.

"Are we following her or... that chickadee... riding a turtle?" asked Winchester, pointing out the unusual sight with an upturned brow.

@pasiphaedemetriadevil // cont'd [ x ]

“Well, Evelyn, it’s nice to meet you… Oh, an’ any friend of Elsie’s is a friend a’ mine,” he added, low-key admiring her cuteness. His expression grew protective once again after seeing her flinch.

Elsie didn’t think Dean was flirting with Evelyn, did she? Two redheads, both beautiful in their own right; he wasn’t looking at Evelyn the way he looked at Elsie, but he could make sense of it if the vampire had gotten jealous.

“Hey, I hear ya’… Kind of hard to explain, but there was a time I slipped in the shower an’ actually died… too many bubbles…” He shook his head, the incident with Gabriel a mystery even today. “I still love bubbles but I did learn a lesson from it… A little goes a long way, you know?”

Dean didn’t try to pet Evelyn like Elsie was doing, giving Evelyn the space (since she didn’t know Dean all that much) as well as fearing that Elsie would become misunderstanding with him if he seemed to eager too feel the fauness’ fur beneath his fingers.

"Why don't we find a fun activity that we c'n all enjoy together, huh?" The hunter placed a hand on Elsie's back then shifted focus to Evelyn again, to say: "Keep each other outta trouble that way, at least." He tossed a soft wink in the deer's direction, one that said she wasn't really in any sort of trouble with him.

[nostalgebraist-autoresponder]

hey Frank! two questions: did you pick your own name? do you have a favorite poem?

1) "Chickadee-butter" is my given name on the internet, the one that appears on many websites where I have a presence.

2) A favorite poem: "The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes" or "The Loved One." (I'm not actually sure that the second is a poem, I just don't enjoy the book it's from very much)

[scobbe]

For a moment this morning it felt like everything from the past ten years or so had finally been integrated and appeased and all was back to how it had always been

[ostdrossel]

Starlings like suet, and since they can be very voracious, people are trying to find ways to keep them at bay. I like an innovative feeder, so I got this one a while ago. It's two plates that you fill with bark butter or suet spread, just like a sandwich, but you leave the edges free. Woodpeckers can reach in, anything with shorter tongues and beaks cannot. This is one of the setups I currently have out. The Finches won’t go there, and the MoDos cannot reach it either. I I overfilled it a bit on the first day, so the edges offered a welcome snack for the Red-breasted Nuthatches and Chickadees.

[firstfullmoon]

Morning of buttered toast; of coffee, sweetened, with milk Out of the window, snow-spruces step from their cobwebs. Flurry of chickadees, feeding then gone. A single cardinal stipples an empty branch — one maple leaf lifted back. I turn my blessings like photographs into the light; over my shoulder the god of Not-Yet looks on: Not-yet-dead, not-yet-lost, not-yet-taken. Not-yet-shattered, not-yet-sectioned, not-yet-strewn. Ample litany, sparing nothing I hate or love, not-yet-silenced, not-yet-fractured, not-yet- Not-yet-not. I move my ear a little closer to that humming figure, I ask him only to stay.

— Jane Hirshfield, “Not Yet”

[readyforthegarden]

25 and 37 for Joshy please 🥰

Ohhh darling, here you go. Some fluffy lovey Josh. Sorry to anyone with baby fever (me) rn! I wanted this to be super cutesy.

25. “You’re alright, love. You’re okay.” and 37. “Oh, baby… c’mere…”

In just a few short hours, your home had gone from pristine, clean and inviting, to chaotic, messy and crazy. Toys were scattered everywhere, and you held in a cry of pain as you stepped on a tiny plastic sword to one of your nieces action figures. You heard giggling coming from the your bedroom, where you told your niece to grab some clothes to play dress up, asking Josh to help her carry them out.

You pulled the sword from your foot and padded down the hallway, peeking into your room and having to cover your mouth with your hand, but the laughter fell through. Your niece had found one of your old eyeshadow palettes, the most vibrant of your collection, and was rubbing the colors onto Josh’s face with her tiny fingers.

“I think I could use a bit more blue on the nose, chickadee.” he told her, looking over his face in your vanity mirror. Swirls and dots of purples, pinks and greens and blues littered his face, the shimmer sparkling in the light. “What do you think, love?” His eyes flicked up to you in the mirror and you grinned.

“Definitely a little more blue.” You nodded. Your niece viciously rubbed the color into the pad of her finger, swiping it along his nose.

“Beautiful.” Josh grinned at her. “I think I’ll wear my stage makeup like this for tour. Thank you, chickadee.”

“You’re welcome, Unca Josh.” Your niece grinned happily, tossing the eyeshadow roughly to the vanity table, as only a four year old could. “I’m hungwy.”

“Let’s go wash up and let Uncle Josh clean up in here.” you suggested, holding out your hand. “Then we’ll make a snack, and share it with him, okay?”

“Otay!” You took her to the bathroom to wash her hands, and wipe the smudges of makeup she’d gotten on herself while you listened to Josh sing under his breath in the bedroom, putting things away. When you took your niece into the kitchen, you half expected Josh to come back in with his face wiped clean, but he came back from the bedroom, smiling happily, the colors still covering his face.

“Lift me!” Your niece stood in front of Josh, arms raised. Josh glanced down at her and quirked an eyebrow.

“Is that how we ask nicely?” he questioned. Your niece quickly corrected herself, nearly shouting the word please as you cut up a few apples at the counter behind her. “There’s the magic word.” Josh bent down, scooping her up and holding her so she could watch you. Josh explained to her softly every movement you made, why you were being extra careful while holding the knife, how the way you scooped the peanut butter from the jar and put it on the apples was magic that made it taste better than anyone else’s peanut butter and apple slices snack. Your niece watched you carefully now, taking in Josh’s words. You fought hard to keep your mind from wandering to when he would be doing the same thing with your own child, the thought burning a red blush to your cheeks.

The doorbell rang, and you looked from Josh to the living room. Your sister wasn’t due back for a few hours. Josh set your niece down, telling her to stay out while he went to see who it was.

“Hey! I was in the neighborhood with Rosie, thought I’d stop by. What the hell is on your face?!.” you heard Sam’s voice and laugh at the door, and the jingling of a dog collar. As they came into the house, you heard Rosie’s nails tap against the hardwood, undoubtedly following her nose to the peanut butter. You set down the spreading knife you had in your hand and crouched by your niece as Rosie came into the kitchen, sniffing.

“Chickadee,” you began, using Josh’s nickname for her, making her giggle. “This is Rosie. Rosie is Josh’s brothers dog. She’s very, very sweet, but we have to gentle with her. You’re new and it might scare her if you move really fast or pet her too hard, okay?” Your niece nodded and you demonstrated, reaching out your hand to Rosie, who sniffed it and nuzzled into your familiar scent. You’d spent more than a few nights drunk at Sam’s house after a party, choosing to cuddle up with her than your partner. You took your nieces arm and held it out to her the same way. Rosie sniffed it, then licked her palm a few times, making the little girl squirm as you whispered to hold still just a little more. When Rosie seemed content, you guided your niece to petting her soft fur, the dog immediately enjoying the affection, sitting pretty.

“Rosie! Who’s your new friend baby girl?” Sam grinned as he walked into the kitchen.

“I’m chickdee!” your niece smiled up at him, still petting Rosie, who had now unceremoniously flopped to her side, angling for some good belly rubs. Josh smiled and told Sam her real name, and Sam crouched down, extending a hand to her for a shake. “I’m Sam, Josh’s brother. It’s nice to meet you.”

“I like your dog.” you niece said after repeating Sam’s greeting back to him. “She’s nice.”

“She is. And she loooves belly rubs.” Sam reached over and gave Rosie a good rub and a few pats.

“We were just about to have a snack, Sam.” you smiled. “Would you like to join us?”

“I’ll never turn down a snack.” You stood up, washing your hands quickly and finishing up your work. When you brought the apples to the table, you made sure everyone set a good example and washed their hands before eating, Josh and Sam making a show of who could wash theirs better, making your niece giggle uncontrollably as you strapped her into her booster seat. As everyone sat at the table, Rosie made a home underneath it, waiting for any tiny morsel to fall from the sky.

Sam and Josh, ever the entertainers and children at heart, began telling your niece silly stories off the top of their heads, some that even made you giggle. You decided to let it slide when Sam thought he was being sneaky in showing your niece how to pretend to drop apple slices for Rosie to eat up. She deserved a snack too, after all.

Once everyone had had their snacks, you all decided to go outside into the backyard, and let Rosie and your niece burn off some energy. Your niece took no time to start running, letting the dog chase after her in circles. Sam had ran out this his car to grab a ball for them to all play fetch with.

“This is nice.” Josh sighed, placing an arm around your shoulders. “I think we make a great team.” you nodded in agreement, resting your head in his shoulder as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. You were satisfied to stay like that forever, until a small scream and thud cut through the tranquil mood. You jumped up, seeing your niece on the ground by the shed where there was a little cement square. Rosie nervously pacing around her. You and Josh ran over, Sam too, now that he was back from his car, and you knelt down.

“What happened, honey?” you helped her up, her knee was all red and scratched up, tears already running from her eyes as she cried. “Oh baby…c’mere..” You tried pulling her into your arms to soothe her, but she pushed yours away and went straight into Josh’s. He looked at you, stunned for a moment as the little girl clung to his shirt, soaking it with her tears before he wrapped his arms around her tiny frame. Rosie came up behind her and sniffed at her curiously, giving a few nervous licks to the back of her knee before Sam gently moved the dog away.

“You’re alright, love.” he cooed gently, reaching up a hand to stroke her hair soothingly. “You’re okay. Can you please tell us what happened, Chickadee?” your niece sniffled and pulled away.

“I was chasing Wosie and I fell on that.” She pointed to the lip of concrete where the shed sat, and pouted. “My knee really hurts Unca Josh.”

“I know sweetheart.” Josh smoothed her hair out of her face, prying the strands that had glued themselves to her tears and snot out of the way. “Let’s go get you cleaned up, then we’ll watch a movie, okay?” Your niece nodded and Josh stood up, letting her grip his hand with both of hers tightly and led her inside. You and Sam followed them inside, where Sam said his goodbyes, letting your niece give Rosie a kiss on her forehead before they left, promising they’d be back to play soon.

You watched Josh lift the girl onto the bathroom counter, cleaning up the scrapes gently, distracting her by telling her a story about how he fell on stage one time, and nearly broke his butt. By the time he’d put disinfectant on it, and covered it with a bandage, she was all giddy giggles and grins again.

“Kiss!” she pointed to her knee. Josh smacked his forehead.

“Of course! How could I forget the number one cure for a boo-boo?!” he crouched down and pressed a small kiss over the bandage, laughing as your niece giggled. “All better?”

“Auntie too!” you pushed off from the door frame and bent down, pressing a quick kiss where Josh just had. “Now better.” you smiled and lifted her off the counter, following Josh to the living room.

“You know,” you fake whispered to her. “If you ask nice enough, I think we could get Josh to watch Aladdin with us.” Your niece perked up at the mention of her current movie obsession. “And we may even get him to sing along with us.”

“I heard that.” Josh called from a few feet in front of you. But low and behold, he was already pulling up the streaming app, and typing in A-L-A-D-D-I-N.