#cockatiel song

[peptozimbo]

Get a bird 😭

[five-crows-in-a-trenchcoat]

my bird looks at me as if she’s never known love until her precious miss miku starts playing and she decides she wants to be showered with affection. i know what you are you fucking weeb

[charlieslittlenest]

Okay nothing could have prepared me to deal with nugget(cockatiel) learning the garbage truck going in reverse sound, it’s so cute but like sir why are you doing that?!

[unholiestverse]

I'll never understand why everyone seems to hate mania (the fob album not the bipolar thing lmao) because to me it still fucking slaps like sorry not sorry ✋

[can-of-pringles]

A punk cockatiel is one that doesn't whistle September or the Cookie song /j

[outoflimbo]

it's irresponsible to own an exotic bird and not teach it to whistle "september" by earth wind and fire

[seemseem-no]

never in my life i thought that i would be reduced to glorified tool for skipping songs. and then i decided to get a cockatiel

[kotoku]

ᴘʀᴏʟᴏɢᴜᴇ - ᴏɴ ᴏɴᴇ ꜱᴛᴏʀᴍʏ ɴɪɢʜᴛ…

synopsis - on one stormy night, you find yourself in front of a dainty pet store. the store's warm lighting coaxed you into opening the door with a soft jingle, the smell of grass with a hint of vanilla instantly wafting over you. you had come in search of a friend, finding the emptiness in your home quite lonesome. will you find what you are looking for?

⋆˚🐾˖°

The rain pelted against the asphalt road, creating small puddles that drivers would mercilessly drive into that caused waves of water to splash onto the concrete sidewalk. The stop light flickered to yellow, then red, allowing you to cross the street safely. 

On the other side was a pet store with its bright neon lights shining through the early hours of the night, it had not yet closed. Ducking underneath the awning of the store, you shook off any remnants of water on your umbrella before closing it, pulling the door open with a jingle of a bell. 

Warm lighting flooded your vision, the atmosphere much warmer compared to the outside. Scanning the interior, your eyes landed on a small old lady who was sitting at the register. 

“Welcome! This is the Honkai Star Rail Pet Store, is there something you are looking for?” She croaked, eyes wrinkling as she gave you a friendly smile. You gave her one of your own, setting your umbrella near the entrance.

“Um, just a companion, nothing in particular.” You walked down the aisle towards her, the lady meeting you halfway. 

“Ah, we have lots of those! Follow me, young one.” She gestured to you to follow her, leading you to the back. “Here we are!”

Your eyes sparkled at all the cute critters that were in their own little area, animals ranging from fish to birds. This would be harder than you thought… The lady continued to lead you through the aisle, gesturing to each critter with a soft expression. 

“Here are our mourning doves, we have a pair of siblings named Sunday and Robin. They are quite friendly and love singing their songs.” 

“Some of the other birds we have are lovebirds, budgies, and cockatiels. Their names are labeled next to their enclosure.” Walking past some of the birds she mentioned, you saw names like ‘Black Swan’ and ‘Sushang’. Interesting names, you noted, walking closely behind her.

“We also have ferrets! Sparkle is quite the playful one, always popping in from seemingly nowhere.”

“Of course, we have cats and dogs as well. All varying breeds.” Looking at all the different kinds of cats and dogs filled you with excitement, they were all so cute and had their individual personalities! Turning towards the old lady in front of you, you gave her a lopsided grin.

“I..might need some time. They’re all so wonderful and I can’t make up my mind on who to choose.” You looked down the aisle of critters, gauging just how much time you would need to come to a decision. The old lady laughed, patting your shoulder.

“Don’t worry, young one, take all the time you need. I’ll be at the register if you need me.” Walking past you to return to her spot at the counter, you turned to walk down the aisle again, reading all the name tags and info as you went. Looks like you will be here for a while…

⋆˚🐾˖°

[k-n0-x]

༺ ♱✮♱ ¨:·Something Stupid-Chapter 4·:¨ ♱✮♱ ༻

A/N: Hey guys! I managed to get this chapter out early coz I am so hot and amazing at everything my social life is at an all time low and we have Easter break. Some foreshadowing if you guys can guess, but keep it to yourselves for now. Mommy issues y/n? That’s a first 😨😨😨😨. This chapter is also Lucifer basically being: “No, you’re so sexy haha don’t cry”

Also, the slow burn is burning now! YAYYA 🎉

Playlist:

Navigation

Enjoy! <3

꧁🥀☽💫✶♛🦢♕✶💫��🥀꧂

You sit on the patio of your home, feeling as though you’re rotting away. 

It’s been 5 days since Adam’s full blown out tantrum, but it feels like it’s been 5 lifetimes. 

A cockatiel lands on your table, its bulging inky eyes staring at you, vying for your attention. 

You laugh, and give it some crumbs of your leftover toast from breakfast that you couldn’t bear to finish.

The bird eats them graciously, and flies away, you watching enviously. 

Oh, how you wished you were that bird. Carefree, and not trapped in the gilded cage that you are in. 

If only… 

Bzz bzz

Your phone rings. The contact Mom glows on your screen. 

Unwillingly, you swipe right. 

“Hey mom, what's up?” This woman never calls you, unless there are three instances; she needs you to get her something of monetary worth, wishing you a happy birthday/any other significant holiday, or-

“Darling, there's something I need to talk to you about. A little birdie told me that you've been stepping out of line recently~” 

Ah yes. The third instance. The times when your actual fucking personality shows, even for a sliver of a moment, and how it  could potentially hurt your ‘relationship’ with Adam. 

“Mom, it's not that big of a deal. I just was feeling rough recently, and-”

“Well it doesn't matter what you feel does it? What matters is that you honour our family. Being married to Adam is what's best for you. You acting outwardly is seriously jeaprodising your relationship, and I am just trying to help you stop before it's too late,” Your maternal figure’s sing-song-like voice turns sharp in an instant, like it could cut through butter. 

“You were always a wild child, a disappointment, I am trying to help you-”

You interrupt. 

“How are you helping?! Belittling me, treating me as some sort of– some do Ill?! I have tried, given my whole entire fucking life, trying to please you in every way, but somehow, it's never enough! And when I do fuck up, suddenly I'm a failure in your eyes?!” 

Silence.

“You better mind your language young lady,”

“NO! I will NOT mind my FUCKING LANGUAGE. I will  swear when I want to, and I will do whatever I FUCKING WANT! I AM DONE WITH YOU AND YOU- YOUR WAY OF THINGS!” 

You press the end button, calmly. 

You storm up to your bedroom and closed the door. Calmly.

You look at the bookshelf, always so perfectly clean, scarce of dust. 

Perfectly clean, no imperfections. 

You let out a cry of irritation and just start throwing out books, ripping the pages of each, crumpling sheets of paper, sobbing hot angry tears while doing so. 

When that was done, you just bring the entire bookshelf down with a bang, and you stomp on it until you feel a sharp pain in your foot, surely that's a splinter right there. 

You stumble over into your bed and scream and cry in your pillow, amongst the mess.

You submerge yourself in your pillow even more, until your anger numbs away, leaving you with a throbbing pain in your head. 

Absolutely drained from your outburst, you drift off. 

꧁ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ꧂

Everywhere is foggy. 

You look around, looking for anything of use, when your attention is turned to a glowing light, placed on a rusted pedestal. 

Since it's the only thing that piques interest, you touch the fluorescent ball and yelp when it scorches your hand.

“Ow,” you pull your hand away and decide to look for anything else. 

As you trek through the nothingness, you  feel like you're being tugged down by an anchor, or treading through quicksand. 

Suddenly, the ground gives way under your feet. 

You’re falling. 

The cold air whistles through your ears. 

You try to fly with your wings, but nothing; it feels like they have been ruthlessly ripped from your body.

You feel as though you're being stretched, squished and deformed like play dough, until you hear and feel something cracking. As you fall, you look towards the light. 

At the entrance of the hole, there are many, unidentifiable figures, just, staring at your downfall. 

You want to scream and cry for help, but it feels like your mouth has been cemented shut. 

A faint noise calls your name, which sounds closer and closer each time as you fall helplessly. 

You make a successful-ish attempt to turn on your stomach. 

In your horror, you see a halo, cracked and muted of its previous glow. Your halo.

Not that far below you, there are hot red coals. 

Oh God. 

The voice becomes louder and closer and you hit the ground with a scream. 

You jump up, to find yourself back in the dump that is your bedroom, slicked with sweat. 

“Oh my God, Y/N! Are you alright?” Emily, who was tentatively paving the way to get to your pathetic self. 

“Emi, hi… Yeah, just eh, rough day,” you smile weakly at the Seraphim, who’s concerned expression shows that she doesn't believe you, but she doesn’t want to put you under pressure.

“What’s all of this?” Emily motions to the wrecked room.  

“Adam pulled a tantrum again?” 

“Huh? Oh that, nono, sorry uhm,” you pause to clean the room as it was with the snap of your fingers.

“Why are you here Emi? Do you need something?” You wipe your eyes, but your bloodshot eyes are still apparent. 

“No, I just wanted to hang out with you, but I can come back if it's a bad time,” The Seraphim stumbles over her words as she looks up at you, slightly flushing.

“No, no you can stay. I’m just a little bit shaken up, but yep you can stay. Uhm….” you trail off. 

This place is feels really constraining

You need an escape. 

“Hey Emily, wanna go on an adventure?” You put on a face of newfound enthusiasm. The Seraphim just had that effect on people.

“Of course! But er, where?” 

“Shh, it's a surprise, now let's go!” You push Emily into the portal you made and go in yourself. 

꧁ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ꧂

“Woah, this is what it's like?” Emily says as she looks around the hellish landscape like a lost puppy.

She snaps out of it when you drag her out of the way of a thrown carcass headed towards the both of you. 

“Yeah, let's head inside,” You manoeuvre her into the hotel. 

The lobby is more populated than your last visits to the establishment, though all faces are familiar. 

“Emily, meet Angel, Husk Alastor, Charlie, who you know already, and-” Your voice dies down in your throat at the sight of the Demon King, with his strapping jacket and top hat. 

What is going on with you today? 

“And Lucifer,” You motion to the King, who gives you both an acknowledging nod. 

Your heart misses a beat. 

“Well uh, there's one more but I don't know where she is… WOAH NIFFTY!”

The little scamp runs towards the Seraphim with a knife about to stab her with malicious intent. 

“Niffty, no. No stabbing any more angels we talked about this,” Angel grabs the knife from the housemaid and throws it in the trash can. 

“Ugh, not a bad boy,” Nifty grumbles and begrudgingly rushes off to god knows where. 

“Well everyone, this is Emily, not sure if Charlie has told you about her but-”

“Is she your kid?” Angel asks. 

“I’m sorry, what? Oh no, no she is not my kid pff,” you say. 

“Huh,”

“Well as I was trying to say, Emily here is another person on our side,” You give Emi an encouraging squeeze of the shoulders. 

“Well this is quite the improvement. Salutations! Pleasure to meet you,” The radio demon greets himself, extending his hand to shake Emily's. 

She takes it, though cautious. 

She turns to Charlie and warms up to the amicable face. 

“Hi, Emily, er obviously you know who I am,” The princess of Hell welcomes her, as some of the other Hotel residents go off doing their own thing. 

“Oh yes. Y/N told me about you, obviously we've met before, but under less casual circumstances,” Emily scrambles for conversation. 

Obviously, they need a little push to loosen up with each other. 

“Charlie, maybe show Emily the garden? Or maybe the entire hotel for that matter. Emi here has been dying to have a look around,” 

“Oh yes! Let me show you some of the suites, I decorated them myself,” Filled with giddiness, Charlie beckons the Seraphim upstairs.  

Emily turns to you, unsure. 

“Go on, don't worry, I'll be waiting here!” You give her a persuasive smile and shoo the pair upstairs. 

Now you had some time to kill…

“Hey!” 

“Agh!” You jump at the voice of Lucifer. 

“Geez, am I that scary?” He laughs and puts a hand on your shoulder. 

“Pff as if-” You snicker and give him a playful shove back.

“Anyway, how've you been? How's the old rusted machine been?”

“Are you always going to make digs and remarks at my husband in an attempt to get all three of his wives in your pants?” You raise an eyebrow sarcastically.

He sighs, feigning sorrow. “You know me too well. I thought it was the perfect plan, but clearly I'll have to tune it a bit,” The demon rattles on, but your brain fixates on the one word he said. 

Perfect. 

Something you try so, so hard to be, but apparently isn't enough for your mom. 

If your mom doesn't love you as you are. 

Well, what's to say anyone can? 

“Well, what do you say, Butter-Duck? You have to find a nickname for me, but I'll call you that regardless, hmm?”

His question brings you back to the conversation. 

Which, leads you to ugly, fat tears. 

Lucifer’s face contorts into panic. 

“Wait, I'm sorry, it's was a rubbish nickname, sorry I thought it was funny-” He puts a comforting hand on your shoulder. 

“No, no it's not that,” You rub your eyes, your voice croaky. 

“The reason is quite silly, really, it's fine, I'm just being stupid hahha,”

Lucifer is not convinced. 

“Listen, you helped me out the other day, and even though I'm not good at this comforting stuff, please, at least let me listen,” He gives you a weak, gorgeous smile, one that is enough to make you stop crying about. 

Okay, it's really becoming an issue of you being distracted by…

Him.

“Well, just an argument with my mom; basically just her saying how much of a disappointment I am and-” your voice creaks.

“And?”

“And I suddenly just don’t feel like her daughter,just a burden she has to put up with, and then what’s the point of all of this if you're not perfect,” 

And breathe. 

You put your face in your hands. 

“I’ll never find love,” 

“Hang on, but isn't Adam your husband? Don't you love him?” 

“No, I don't. It was a marriage purely organised by my parents. Completely transactional,” you mutter dejectedly. 

“Shit, that really sucks. Listen, I know it's hard to hear, but you need to hear it. Nobody is perfect. No one. That's what makes people interesting. And your mom wanting you to be that is far from perfect of her. Not sure if you're aware, but we're in Hell, right now, amongst many people who are basically morality rejects. But you, you're a Winner. Not in the physical sense, but also metaphorically. And for what it's worth…” Lucifer takes a moment to mull over his next words. 

“Many people love you, like Charlie and, that Seraphim, Emilia?”

“Emily” You amend. 

“Anyway, that's besides the point. The point is that you have many people that adore you, and that's what matters most,” Lucifer comes closer and stiffly puts his arms around you, which you return. 

“Thank you, Lucifer,” You sniffle into his shoulder. 

“No problem, anytime. You are my friend after all,” He gently smiles.

Your heart flutters. Friend? As in, person he considers more than an acquaintance? 

“So, what's this about a Butter-Duck?” You tease. 

“What? I thought it'd be a cool nickname for you,” He huffs. 

“Alright, alright… Let me think of a nickname for you then… Lulu!” 

He grimaces. “Ugh, that sounds like a name for a baby products brand!”

“Oddly specific, but if it annoys you more, all the better!” 

“Ugh, you're like worst than some sinners here I swear,” 

“Who said Angel’s can't be jokesters too?” You give him a wink. 

He coughs, a rosy red complexion appearing on his face.

꧁ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ꧂

Emily and Charlie come back into the lobby, to you and Lucifer making small talk on the couch. 

“Ready to go?”

 Emily nods. She goes to hugs Charlie, which is reciprocated. 

“Well, I’ll see you around?” You squeeze the demon’s king hand. 

He looks at you, and nods, hesitant to return the gesture, as if you were glass. 

“Yes, I will,” 

As you and Emily leave to make your way back to Heaven, you could've sworn you heard Lucifer whisper three words. 

“I love you,” 

You turn back with a questioning expression, but all that was on his face was nonchalance.

꧁🥀☽💫✶♛🐣♕✶💫☾🥀꧂

Word count- 2,194~

Taglist:

@dionysusismypatrongod

@glowymxxn

@froggybich

[bitesizedsurprise]

We got to talking about what pets certain Malevolent boys would have and it's pretty well agreed upon that The Butcher would have a little song bird. I'd go a step further and say it's not even really his bird; but an "Adopted" companion.

Dennis "The Butcher" Collins wiping out a target and almost leaving after clean up. As he heads for the door...a faint rattle and harsh shriek followed by rhythmic flapping. He follows the noise to find a large cage housing a small yellow cockatiel. He puts a finger through the bars and it nips at his fingers. He curses and smacks the bars. "Little bugger-"

He pauses but decides against popping its head off like a champagne cork. He turns to leave once more, whistling. As the door closes he hears it. Crisp and clear. A soprano holding a vibrato. He looks back at the little bird with a grin as it sings in turn. Back and forth.

"Well, little piss pigeon. Don't you know how t' sell yerself. Consider me convinced."

New York now has a free flying cockatiel that seems very fond of a woolen flat cap. Perching itself on the wearers head as he makes his way through crowds. Unseen but well heard.

[fymo-blogs]

Cockatiel (bird) and Persian cat stimboard? I know it's random, but these two animals are my favorite! (Ty if you can btw)

It is random, but we love random here!

🐱|🐤|🐈

🐈‍⬛|🐾|🦜

🪽|🪶|🌱

Persain & Cockatiel stimboard

Requested by: Anon

Themes: Persian cats, hearts, cockatiels

Song:

[hotgirlcastiel]

im so obsessed with this cockatiel whose favorite song is ‘september’ by earth wind and fire

[thedawningofthehour]

Okay @turtleinsoup I answered your ask game ask but it's not showing up on my blog? Which pisses me off because I actually wrote a fair whack. It's not in my queue or my drafts, but it's disappeared from my askbox so we'll see if it pops back up.

But I posted an Angel vid and said I'd post a second one separately, so here's Angel performing a concert to his friend that lives inside the bathroom mirror.

Some cockatiels sing songs. Angel just sort of...shrieks. Loudly. Until you interrupt him and his brain resets.

[timdoritos]

ok idk when her ACTUAL birthday is but we got her in august 2018 (i think.......) when she was 4 months old so i kinda just picked march 24. anyway shes turning... 6 years old this year :333

guys the flight rising wind holiday starts on my parrots birthday this is a sign....

[justrainandcoffee]

A Manual of Good Behavior and Polite Accomplishments (Alfie Solomons x fem!oc)

Or the first time that Rose said 'fuck you'.

Alfie Solomons x Rose Coldwell (ofc). Masterlist

Summary: An awkward encounter between Rose who was 10 years old, and her mother's employer ends with the girl teaming up with Alfie, also 10, teaching Da Vinci, the cockatiel, a new vocabulary. If the old man thinks he can control her, he's wrong.

Warnings: Old fashioned thoughts, even for a story set in 1890s. Otherwise it's just a kids shenanigans.

Words: 1.7k || The title of the fic is a real book that existed back then.|| I missed writing for them as kids 🥺❤️.

1898

Rose was only ten years old and it was with her mother in the house where she worked to help her. Mary Coldwell was visibly pregnant and couldn't do all the chores that the owner of the house wanted.

Very often Rose heard her mother talking to Mrs. Solomons, their neighbour, about this man: Mr. Clarkson. A rich gentleman about 50 years old, very proud of himself. He's everything a man living in London in 1898 should be. Richard Patrick Clarkson was a respectable man who drunk whiskey and smoked cigars. He played croquet and poker with friends that were from the same old school as he was.

The imminent arrival of a new century wasn't something that Mr. Clarkson wanted. Why, he asks himself, time has to pass? The nineteenth century it was a good century. He grew up in it and he couldn't complain about his achievements and the man he was. He wished he could say the same about the new generations.

He's in his living room reading the newspaper when he saw the daughter of his servant carrying some towels to the bedroom upstairs because her mother couldn't do it anymore. The child was whistling a song that she learnt in school and Mr. Clarkson found that incredible unacceptable. A little girl like her, shouldn't be whistling. That's for thugs and those teenage boys who spent their days bothering people. Whistling shouldn't be for girls, never.

"What's your name? And, how old are you?" he asked when the kid was coming down.

"My name is Rose, sir. I'm ten."

"You're a young pretty lady, Ms. Rose. I have something for you," the man said giving her an old book. Its yellow pages showed that it's some decades old and it had been accumulating dust on the bookshelf. "It belonged to my eldest daughter. She lives in Boston, now. She married a banker and has three kids. I want you to read this and give me your opinion next time you come here with your mother again."

"Oh… okay. Thanks, sir."

The book, thought Mr. Clarkson, it was going to help the girl to understand the importance of behaving like a proper lady.

Evidently, Mr. Clarkson didn't know Rose Coldwell.

The book caused the opposite effect on her. It was written a lot of decades before she was born and undoubtedly it was old fashioned. Something that a girl born in those years couldn't even imagine.

And that was what Rose said to him next time she went with her mother there. Obviously that wasn't the answer that the man was expecting.

"Young ladies do not speak unless a man allows them, Ms. Rose."

"But you asked me, sir. When a person asks something, usually the other gives an answer."

"You're a very disrespectful, girl! At your age my sweet daughter was very educated and knew the etiquette that girls like you don't know anymore!"

"What century was that, sir?"

"You're going to grow up one day, child. And you're going to be one of those who act like a man. Spitting out and whistling like you were doing the other day. Do you know what those women are? Slu…"

"I begged you do not talk to Rose ever again, Mr. Clarkson," interrupted Mary Coldwell, "my daughter's education is my responsibility so I'm going to request you to stop interfering with that."

The woman grabbed her daughter's hand and both went to the kitchen where she was cleaning the windows.

"Did he say something to you, Rosie?"

"No, mom. Nothing important at least."

She couldn't wait to return home to speak with her best friend, Alfie.

Alfie was also ten years old. He knew that after school his neighbour went to her mother's workplace to help her while her younger brother was with their grandmother. But he didn't know that the old man treated Rose bad. He knew her his whole life and as far as he knew, she wasn't very different from other girls he knew from school or the neighborhood.

"We're all whistling that stupid song," he said "how old is he?"

"Old enough to believe that a woman only speaks if a man wants to."

"That's ridiculous. Me mom, she probably can kick his ass if she hears that."

"He's unbearable. Do you want me to help to prank him?" Her childish smile made her friend smile as well.

"Of course, Rosie!"

"Aren't you going to ask me what I planned?"

"I don't care! If he said something to ya, then it's personal!" the boy put a hand on her shoulder "tell us your plan."

Mr. Clarkson had a cockatiel called "Da Vinci". Da Vinci repeated Shakespeare's sonnets that his owner taught him from the moment he acquired him. The bird also knew other phrases in French and some in Latin.

But any bad word.

Alfie hated birds and it wasn't a secret for anyone around him. Everything started seven years ago when a pigeon ate his loaf of bread. And he never forgave it. So Rose knew that he was going to hate Da Vinci, despite being a cute cockatiel. The plan was simple: taught the bird how to swear. To much Mrs. Solomons despair, her son was good at it.

After Mrs. Coldwell warning, Mr. Clarkson didn't speak with the girl again even when he still thought that she needed discipline. He wasn't against physical punishment, if it was necessary, and the Lord knew that she needed to feel it at least once. But he said nothing.

Da Vinci used to spend his afternoons in his cage next to the window, facing the street and enjoying the view of that corner of London. That day, Rose left the window open and threw a pebble out of it to show Alfie, who was waiting on the other side of the street, that he could approach.

"You're awful, mate!" Alfie said poking the cage with his finger "okay, Rosie needs me, right? And you're going to listen to me, bird."

For two weeks after school, for at least an hour, Alfie stood up under that open window to teach the bird his talent.

'Cunt' was the first word that the bird learnt causing a horror expression in his owner's face.

"It was you? Did you teach Da Vinci that word?"

"It wasn't me, sir. Besides, I thought you told me that I couldn't speak until a man allowed me. And there's not another man besides you here, so I didn't speak. Expect to my mommy who clearly told you do not talk to me."

Mr. Clarkson pursed his lips and with his hand told the girl to leave. His poor Da Vinci was being corrupted and he didn't know who it was.

"It was really fun," Rose said later to Alfie while they were doing the homework together. "I think you did it well!"

"I didn't finish, Rosie. I think I'm starting to understand that stupid bird. Maybe you can try, too. Just say fuck you in front of him, the beast learns quickly."

Rose was still a girl and despite what Mr. Clarkson thought, she didn't behaved like a thug. Her mother taught her well and she did learn. And until that moment in her short life she had never said the word fuck. Alfie clearly was, all the time.

By the end of the third week, Da Vinci was Alfie's best student. And his words were a mix of Shakespeare's sonnets and English slang from that century.

The day that Alfie couldn't go to his usually spot under the window, Rose approached the bird with a cookie in her hand.

"Hello, Da Vinci," Rose said.

The cockatiel looked at her. He knew the girl, so he didn't seem to be upset by her presence.

"Hello, hello!" repeated him.

The girl checked that the door was locked and approached the bird knowing that she was going to say it. She felt it in her heart. Mr. Clarkson would suffer a heart attack caused by the indignation, but the girl was ready. So she said it.

"Fuck you!" and she giggled covering her mouth with the hand.

It felt good, not to say it to the bird because she wasn't. But to imagine the man hearing it. So she repeated it several times. After that she gave Da Vinci the cookie and she ran away from there.

"What did you do, Rose?" her mother asked when she saw her daughter.

"Nothing, mum!"

"Rose…"

"I swear! I just gave the cockatiel a cookie," the girl replied. In part was true.

Alfie hugged his friend when he knew the good news. "It wasn't that bad, eh, Rosie? It's fuckin' easy!"

"I feel like an idiot, giggling after that."

"I want to hear it! It's not fair that only the bird heard you! I gave you the idea!"

"I'm not going to say it to you, Al!"

"Oh come on! I know you're not saying it to me! We're friends!"

The girl looked at him and said it. Both kids laughed out loud, Alfie didn't know but he opened a door that Rose never closed again. Swearing was part of her now.

And was part of Da Vinci, too.

It was six in the morning when Mr. Clarkson woke up. His maid already prepared him the breakfast and left the cockatiel on the same table as he was because the man liked to have breakfast with him.

"Would you like a cookie, Da Vinci?" Mr. Clarkson asked.

After few seconds in silence, he spoke.

"Cookie! Cunt! Fuck you! Cookie!"

The man sighed.

He didn't know everything yet. On his favourite chair in the library he had, was the book 'a manual of good behaviour and polite accomplishments' covered by Da Vinci's poop.

Rose left it there with the intention of giving him the answer he asked for.

[birdenjoyer]

Ok I'm writing this at 4am but I'm lying awake thinking about Freddie Mercury. Like, he truly did not anticipate how Not Boring his music was going to get. I think he could've predicted the Muppets cover of Bohemian Rhapsody, but Freddie Mercury Gets Stuck In A Slide And Calls For Mamma (ASMR)? I think not.

I'm told he was an animal lover. Did he know there'd be a cat-based cover of Bohemian Rhapsody too? That a cockatiel itself would cover his songs? Could he have known that 19 years after his death, a cockatoo would be discovered to be quite good at dancing, a revolutionary development in many scientific fields, and that that cockatoo would dance to a song he sung?

I'd be honoured. And I think he'd be honoured too.