#junco-eyes

[plushieclan]

Gathering: Moon One

TW: Death mention

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“Now, remember… you’re Shimmerpaw’s littermate,” Darkstar reminded Nightpaw. She nodded.

“I remember the story Dad. I’ll be ok.”

Nightpaw looked behind her. Tonight’s gathering would be the first since the attack… and the first she ever attended. The entire clan was with them— Darkstar said it was to look stronger.

She hung close to her friends as they made it to Four Corners. It was an old Twoleg den. Nightpaw had a lot of experience with those.

At the center, a strange light emanated from a smooth, round cylinder. She bristled; wait, it was fire!

Sandpaw put his hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry. It’s not like real fire. It stays in that cylinder.”

She sighed. “How did you know that was what I was thinking?”

“Because that was my reaction too.” he laughed with a mrrp.

They laughed together for a bit, until Darkstar hushed them. She took the opportunity to have a look around.

The three other clan leaders were sat at the highest part of the den. The first was a very old black cat— he was lighter than Darkstar, but much bigger than him. She assumed he was Badgerstar of Treeclan. Next was one she knew a little more— a tom with a maroon coat and white upper half. That was Finchstar. He was the youngest of the leaders. When she looked at the last leader, she felt fear.

His coat was a light ginger. It was spotted— but what drew her gaze was his crimson eyes. They were sharp. Piercing red. That must have been what he got his name from, she thought. Redstar.

He cleared his throat, starting first.

“We have had a good moon. Swampclan has welcomed two new warriors, Junco-eyes and Ploverbelly.”

He paused to allow the gathering to yowl their names. The Crystalclan cats merely glared at him. That didn’t seem to phase him— he continued as usual.

“And one new apprentice. Welcome, Hawthornpaw! And thank you to the Wanderers for shifting her our way!” He motioned to another cat on the balcony, seemingly a member of the Wanderers.

“Why is a member of a rogue group up there with the leaders?” she asked Starleaf.

“The Wanderers aren’t just a rogue group.” she said sternly. “It’s their job to rotate cats around our area. Taking exiled cats away from their clans and placed elsewhere, as well as placing interested kittypets and loners into the clans as well as anywhere else they desire. In that way, they’re like a fifth clan to us. You should know this— I was born into the Wanderers. And so was Shimmerpaw.”

Nightpaw chuckled nervously. “Look, I pay attention. I just didn’t realize the Wanderers were so… big and important, I guess.”

Nightpaw’s gaze was shifted to a pretty little cat— Hawthornpaw. It was clear— she was a former kittypet. Her pelt was a rare one in the wild. With luxurious cream fur and brown points, she couldn’t have been born a warrior.

Meanwhile, the two warriors looked somewhat familiar to her. Their grey pelts just seemed to remind her of something.

Starleaf murmured to her.

“Swanjaw’s kits.”

Nightpaw gasped. She remembered them! They were in the Bayclan nursery with her— just a few moons older!

“Wasn’t there three of them?” she asked.

Starleaf nodded. “Yes, but… Woodpeckerkit was a black kitten. They… well, you know.”

She looked away. She didn’t want to think about that.

Starleaf nudged her, pointing to the leaders again. Finchstar had rotated to speak.

“Grangeclan has not had much occur this past moon. However, we have one new apprentice, Firepaw.” he spoke curtly and quickly, before stepping back.

The aforementioned Firepaw was a very red cat. Next to her, her not-as-red mother and very blue father looked proud as they could be.

Up next was Badgerstar, who ambled to the front.

“Treeclan has recently lost a young apprentice. Perchpaw will be remembered for her enthusiasm and determination. A moment of silence for her, please.”

Everyone was quiet, besides the wailing of another Treeclan apprentice.

After that moment, Badgerstar left the front. It was Darkstar’s turn.

He went up to the front. “We have two new apprentices.” he said, with a smile. “Our kits are growing up. Nothing could be better!”

Nightpaw wasn’t stupid. She could easily tell that he was lying through his teeth. But the others seemed to have bought it.

“With one last thanks to Starclan, the Gathering is adjourned.” Everyone began to break for socializing.

“Leafy!” A cat cried, lunging at Starleaf. She was a cat with a pinkish hue, and strange pendant around her neck.

“Hello Pearlheart. How are you?” Starleaf mrrped happily.

Another cat was behind Pearlheart. This cat was a lot scruffier— she was a brown tabby with a red bandana. “You should be less forceful, Pearly.”

She pouted. “But I was so worried after I heard about the attack!”

The other cat noticed Nightpaw. “Who’s this, Leafy?”

“Oh, I’m Nightpaw! I’m Shimmerpaw’s sister.” she said quickly.

Starleaf motioned something to the two mollies, whose eyes went wide.

The brown tabby nodded. “We understand, Leafy.” She turned to Nightpaw. “It’s nice to meet you, Nightpaw. I’m Dovelight, deputy of Grangeclan. I’m an old friend of your mama. Take care of ol’ Foxtail for us, will you?”

She nods. They must know Foxtail Barley, Shimmerpaw’s mother. “I will.”

Pearlheart spoke as well. “And I’m Pearlheart, Grangeclan cleric! Your mom is very dear to me. I don’t know what I’d do without Lea-without Foxy!”

“Oh um— I’ll tell her that too!” She shot Starleaf a scared look.

Starleaf chuckled. “It’s alright. They can be trusted. They’re my best friends.”

With that, a wail erupted from the Treeclan gathering. A young molly apprentice, the same as before, was mourning.

“Go comfort her.” Starleaf signaled to Nightpaw.

“Wait, isn’t she from another clan?”

“War is rare. Friends in other clans are much more important… especially in this time.”

She noticed how Starleaf’s gaze lingered on Redstar.

Nightpaw nodded. “Alright, I’ll go help her.”

She walked over, mulling over what to say.

The apprentice was a white and brown molly, with a beautiful butterfly ornament attached to her ear.

“Hey. I’m Nightpaw. How are you feeling?” She whispered, sitting down next to her.

“Not good. Obviously.” she sniffled. “I’m Lynxpaw.”

“She was your sister, wasn’t she? I’ve lost a littermate too. I understand how it feels.” Nightpaw said gently.

“I knew the curse would take one of us.” Lynxpaw said, looking at the ground. “But why Perchpaw?!”

“Oh my stars, Lynxpaw, you need to shut up about the curse!” A dark tom apprentice snapped at her.

“Well, how do you explain our family’s luck then! You don’t believe it’s true, but now Perchpaw is gone!” she yowled back.

“Woah, woah, woah, enough!” Nightpaw heard the sound of Shimmerpaw behind her. “What’s this about a curse?”

Shimmerpaw laid herself to the other side of Lynxpaw, forming a tight huddle around her.

“My family is cursed. Every generation, when four kits are born… one will die horribly as an apprentice. We don’t know why. My father lost his sister as an apprentice, my grandmother before him… and so on.” Lynxpaw explained.

“Starclan has said that there isn’t a curse!” The dark tom lunged, only to be caught by the red apprentice from earlier.

“That’s enough.” Firepaw said, holding him back. “This is a Gathering. Fighting isn’t allowed.”

Nightpaw looked over to see if Starleaf could help, but she was deep in conversation with the Grangeclan deputy and cleric. Dang it!

“Yarrowpaw, I wish you would just believe the facts.” Lynxpaw muttered.

Nightpaw looked between this spat of littermates with extreme worry. “Um, hi. Firepaw? I’m Nightpaw. Do you think you could deal with Yarrowpaw for us?” She addressed the red Grangeclan apprentice.

“I’ll take care of it!” she winked. “Also, nice to meet you.”

With that, Firepaw dragged the unfortunate Yarrowpaw away from the girls.

Lynxpaw sighed. “My brother… he doesn’t believe in the curse. But it almost seems like he doesn’t care at all.”

“I’m sure he does—” Nightpaw started.

“He’s so mean to you. You don’t deserve it.” Shimmerpaw interjected.

Nightpaw shot her a confused look.

Shimmerpaw merely signed “validate her not justify him”

“Yeah, he’s a jerk!” Nightpaw said with gusto. “Don’t worry, I’m sure Firepaw is giving him a piece of her mind!”

Lynxpaw sniffled. “Thank you. But… he isn’t the worst of it. I feel like the clanmates who believe in the curse are worse…” she trailed off, then continued. “Sometimes, I feel so isolated with my clanmates. I feel like they hate me because of my lineage. It’s like they didn’t even mourn Perchpaw— they didn’t even care she was killed! They just see her death and my whole family as an extension of the curse. To them… our lives are nothing more than an inconvenience!”

Nightpaw leaned in. “I-I’m sorry.”

“My aunt is the deputy, you know. She had to fight so hard for that spot… she couldn’t become it until Starclan itself declared her worthy. But Badgerstar hates her! He’s been pushing her to step down for years!”

Nightpaw was confused. “Can’t he just replace her?”

Shimmerpaw shook her head. “No, any deputy appointed by Starclan sign cannot be removed for anything other than a crime against the warrior code. She’d have to step down herself.”

Lynxpaw cried. “It’s so awful! My aunt is a really good deputy, but why doesn’t anyone see it? My sister was full of enthusiasm, she had dreams— and yet, nobody mourns her but me!” She quieted down, her head hung low. “I-I don’t want to go back to my clanmates yet.”

Nightpaw merely stayed with her. “We’ll stay with you until the Gathering is over.” Shimmerpaw nodded in agreement.

“Thank you.” she murmured.

Firepaw bounded over. “Yarrowpaw is dealt with. I informed his mentor.”

Nightpaw could see a gray tabby molly scolding Yarrowpaw. He wouldn’t be a problem for a while, she suspected.

“Thank you.” Lynxpaw said.

“It’s nothing. By the way, I’m Firepaw!”

They all could tell. She was the youngest apprentice there with such fiery red fur. It was fluffy and stood out for its extravagance, especially here in the clans.

“Nice to meet you, Firepaw.” Shimmerpaw grinned. “Come sit with Lynxpaw here. The more friends, the better.”

“I don’t know how to thank you more.” Lynxpaw had eyes wider than the moon.

“No need. We’ll stay with you until the end.” Nightpaw nuzzled into Lynxpaw.

They kept their promise, sitting by her side until Starleaf beckoned them over to leave. Nightpaw was left with a good impression of the clans— and more importantly, two friends she could rely on in the future.

[balconybirds]

I love himmmmmm

(Oregon dark-eyed junco)

[acrosstobear]

CALLUM ILOTT Practice debrief in Toronto by Action Sports Photography

[biropen]

What the actual fuck

[200isoshearwater]

backyard pics, put up a birdbath and they love it :)

[atvbs]

i looooove talking abt birds. thats def a special interest of mine. yeas. birds.

[sebring5]

9-1 by Henry Via Flickr: Anna’s hummingbird

[ostdrossel]

It was very nice

in the last two days, today, I didnt even wear socks for quick runs outside. The Cardinals are singing up a storm, the Groundhog made a first showing, the Juncos begin to leave, and I have planted some tomato and okra seeds (inside still). I am also keeping an eye on migration forecasts, and things look very promising for the coming weeks. Here are two handsome male current regulars, showing all their colors to improve mating chances.

[plushieclan]

Prologue part 2

TW: Injury, implied death.

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Night yawned, picking herself up from her nest. She slept beneath a Twoleg porch with her guardian, a grouchy old cat named Rime.

“Let’s get a move on before Snotlout starts bothering us.” Rime barked, referring to the kittypet that lived in the house above.

“But I wanted to sleep in!” Night whined.

“You sound like a kittypet. Come on, let’s hunt.”

As they stepped through the Twoleg place, Night had an idea. “Can we hunt on the other side of the Thunderpath today?”

Rime grunted. “Do you think you’ll find them this time?”

Night sighed. “I really hope so.”

It wasn’t always just Rime and Night. Once, she was known as Nightkit— a cat born of the clans in the wilderness beyond the Twoleg place. Night was only just a moon old when her clan was attacked, and everyone slaughtered within it. Sometimes, she wanted to go back to her old territory, but there seemed to be new residents. A clan she didn’t recognize prowled in their old hunting grounds. She was always chased off before she could make her way to their old camp.

Night knew that after all this time— half a year, as Rime called it— the likelihood of her parents still being alive was slim. Still, she held onto hope that someday, she could rejoin her family in whatever form they existed in.

“If you join those there feral cats, I won’t be coming with.” Rime said sadly. “My old bones wouldn’t be able to live there in those meadows. I won’t be able to support myself on those slim pickings.”

Night nodded. “I know, Rime. I know there isn’t a high chance of anyone in my old clan still being alive. I’ll probably stay with you until you keel over— but that’ll probably be a long time away!”

Rime swat at the young cat’s head playfully. “Stop flattering me, Night.”

They didn’t end up crossing the Thunderpath— Night figured that was for the best anyways. As much as she hoped to find her family again, she knew she’d probably be chased away again.

They spent the latter half of the day chasing away the cold by hiding under their porch. The Twoleg nests provided a lot of heat, which was needed for the chillier days. Night found herself drifting to sleep once more.

When she awoke, it was to the smell of smoke. The porch was saturated with it— the Twoleg nest must be on fire!

Night ran out from beneath the porch frantically, hacking out a lung from the smoke. She couldn’t see Rime anywhere. Where was he?!

“Rime!” she yowled, looking for any trace of the old tom. Twoleg monsters swarmed the nest, and Twolegs raced around. One spotted her, approaching.

She hissed, running away. She’d find Rime later. First, she needed to get to safety! She realized the only place that was safe would be the other side of the Thunderpath.

Taking a deep breath (before coughing up a storm), she ran across. She hasn’t properly looked both ways, but she was desperate!

She heard the sound of a deafening bellow, causing her to jump. A monster was barreling towards her!

She bolted, but it was not fast enough. She felt unimaginable pain as she flew to the side of the Thunderpath. Her eyes fluttered as she coughed weakly. Was this how it ended?

The last thing she saw before she faded into unconsciousness was a group of cats, faintly in the distance.

—

Night found herself curled up in a warm nursery, wedged between a little black cat and a large gray cat. It was a dream she had often; it was her mother and sister. She didn’t remember their faces, only their scent and the way they felt that fateful night.

As always, though she wanted to stay in the warmth, she untucked herself from the cocoon and waddled out of the nursery. She was a very big kit by this point— nearly one whole moon, and exploring was on her mind. Leafpelt was so strict, always keeping her in the nursery. Well not tonight!

She crouched down as to not be seen by the other warriors. As sneaky as possible. She made it all the way to the warriors den before someone saw her.

“Now, what are you doing?”

A white molly stood before her.

Blazestar!

Little Nightkit stammered, facing her leader.

“Um… I wanted to explore.”

Blazestar chuckled. “How very brave of you. I remember when Puddlesplash and Swanjaw were still kits. They did the same thing.”

Nightkit gasped. “Really?”

Swanjaw and Puddlesplash were Blazestar’s own children. She’d seen Swanjaw duck in to tend to his three kits, who were much bigger than her.

“They’re just like me? So I could become a great warrior someday?” Nightkit said.

Blazestar smiled at her. “Of course.”

Night wanted to savor this moment. Surrounded by the happiness and tight-knit life of her clan. However, she knew what would come next.

She heard yowling at the center of camp. Blazestar looked over. Her face was as horrified as Night remembered.

“Oh, is someone playing? I want to play to!” Nightkit yipped, waddling towards the noise.

Blazestar stopped her. “How about we play a special leader game?”

“Ooo, I want to play that instead!” she said.

Blazestar lifted her by her scruff and dropped her higher up the hill. “It’s called Grangeclan run. Run through the gap in the bushes and keep going until you reach Grangeclan camp. Whoever gets there first wins! I’ll give you a head start.”

She stammered. “But… I don’t want to run so far.”

Nightkit looked back at Blazestar when an unfamiliar cat pounced on her. Blazestar yowled, throwing them off. “Nightkit, run!”

She sprinted as fast as she could, following her leader’s commands. Fear quickened her steps. Did Blazestar know the clan would be wiped out? She wondered about it many times over.

As she ran, she cried out, “Leafpelt! Mommy! Where are you?!” But Night always knew things ended the same. Leafpelt was always gone, and she was always running.

—

“You’ve inhaled a lot of smoke, huh. And survived a monster hit— I wonder who you are, little cat.

Night slowly opened her eyes to see what looked something like a small cave. Two toms sat at the entrance— one was a gruff, black tom with a large scar on his muzzle and the other was a calico with a white back half— though neither was looking at her. She didn’t think they knew she was awake.

“What are we looking at here, Rainfeather?” The black tom asked.

“Well, she seems to be around six or seven moons, I’d reckon. It’s old enough. Besides… she was saying Starleaf’s old name. I think it’s her.” The other tom, presumably Rainfeather responded.

The black tom sighed. “After all this time… she was right. Nightkit…”

He turned, and she pretended to be asleep. She wasn’t even sure why. He padded over to where Night lay. He pressed himself next to her.

“Do you even remember me, Nightkit? You were so young when everything happened. Please, wake up. Your mother and I miss you so much.”

He was her father?

She knew that her father used to see her in the nursery every day. His name was Darkheart, she thought. She couldn’t remember his face, but if it was true… she’d be so happy.

She pretended to wake up. “Darkheart?” she said. “Are you really my father?”

He looked overjoyed. “Yes, Nightkit. It’s me. Darkheart. I’m so glad you’re awake,” He barked to Rainfeather. “Get Starleaf. Quickly!”

He turned back to her. “Are you ok? Does anything hurt?”

She thought about it. Her throat was still sore and scratchy from the fire, and she could feel a dull pain in her leg. “My throat hurts. My leg, not as much.”

“The poppy seeds are working then.” He sighed. “I’m so glad you’re alright.”

A gray molly entered the den, her purple eyes shining. “Oh, Nightkit! You’re alright!”

She joined Night’s other side. Her scent was just as she remembered from that night as a kit. It was really her— Leafpelt!

“Leafpelt, mom, it’s really you!” she cried.

She nuzzled Night. “It’s Starleaf now. And your father is leader— Darkstar is his new name.”

“That means— you rebuilt the clan?” she asked.

“Yes. With help from my former kin in the Wanderers. We’ve done a good job of creating this new clan. It’s called Crystalclan. When you’re well enough, I’ll show you around.”

She felt at peace. Somehow, the impossible happened. But someone was missing.

“Where’s Ravenkit?” she asked.

Darkstar sighed. “With Starclan, now.”

Her heart dropped. It hurt, but part of her knew. She just didn’t want to accept it.

“Please focus on healing for now. We’re just so happy we got you back. Don’t worry about anything else.” Starleaf rested her muzzle on Night’s head. “I’m sure Ravenkit will visit you in your dreams.”

—

It took Night a few days to heal enough. She wasn’t perfect yet— her throat still required a lot of honey and poppy seeds to feel normal— but she could walk without pain. Starleaf had shown her around the camp.

It was a small sandstone cave, with a stream rushing through the center. On the higher side was the nursery, where a queen was currently grooming her kits’ wild fur, and the elder’s den. It was empty for now, but Starleaf said that some of the older warriors would be retiring there soon.

On the lower side, the cleric den was a large outcropping of the cave. An open section allowed for a patch of grass, where Rainfeather grew important herbs that couldn’t be found with foraging. Two extra caves acted as the recovery den where she slept and Rainfeather’s den, where he also kept his herb stocks. The warrior’s den was also on this side— a stout log dragged into the cave lined with nests. At the very center of the lower half was the crystal rock, which towered above everything else.

Darkstar was stood upon the rock. Night wondered what was going on.

She touched noses with Leopardcloud, filled with excitement. A warrior apprentice… it was something that seemed impossible just a few days ago. Nightpaw was practically bouncing. A new dawn awaited her, she just knew it!

[acrosstobear]

CALLUM ILOTT Friday, 2023 GMR Grand Prix by Action Sports Photography

[biropen]

What the fuck

[simpingforstardew]

misty [chapter three]

pairing: sdv harvey x reader

synopsis: harvey has always been a man of routine and order— although just as he begins to tire of his life in pelican town, a new farmer moves to the valley and turns his life around. chapter three.

warnings: poor overworked harvey :(( please enjoy my harvey playlist while you read ♡ (this is crossposted from ao3).

word count: 1.6k

<< last chapter | next chapter >>

The fluorescent lights of the clinic cast a harsh, sterile glow, illuminating the white walls and linoleum floors of Harvey’s small office, casting an unnaturally pale glow over the cluttered desk. The clatter of the doctor’s footsteps on tiled floors echoes through the empty hallways.

Today was supposed to be different. Today was supposed to be his day off.

For the past two weeks, Harvey had been working overtime, sacrificing his days off to update Pravoloxinanone prescriptions, coordinate with healthcare professionals around Ferngill, and arranging appointments for the townsfolk. Turns out that without the distraction of an attractive farmer, the passing work days have been unforgivingly laborious.

He could, in theory, ask Maru to pick up some extra shifts, to stay behind a couple hours more. He knew she was eager to help, but he couldn’t bring himself to burden her further. She had her own responsibilities, attending college lectures online while juggling part-time work at the clinic.

A sudden death rattle of his fax machine shattered the silence, its mechanical whirring cutting through the stillness of the office like a knife— a relentless reminder of the endless stream of tasks demanding his attention.

He glances at the clock on the wall, his tired eyes struggling to focus through the thick lenses of his glasses.

3:30 pm.

Another hour wasted, another day lost to the demands of his job. He sighed wearily, running a hand through his greying hair. Harvey still couldn’t tell if the strands of silver were a testament to his age or his perpetual stress. He didn’t know which answer he would prefer.

He gazed out of his window, watching sparrows gracefully darting through the clear sky above. Dark-eyed juncos, specifically— Junco hyemalis. Harvey’s brief fascination with bird-watching while at University always managed to resurface during moments like this, when searching for an excuse to look away from his work.

The sight stirs something within him, prompting him to break the monotony. Locking himself in his office, Harvey realized, would only consign him to an evening of fatigue. So, he pushes away from his cluttered desk, picking up his green overcoat from the coat rack as he leaves the clinic.

Hurrying down the cobblestone path, Harvey’s mind races with a cacophony of thoughts. He fails to notice you walking his way until it is too late.

You collide with a jolt, and Harvey stumbles backward. The doctor could practically hear his heart pounding in his chest. His dishevelled appearance must have been evident, his fatigue and stress written plainly across his face.

“Oh, shoot, I—,” You panic, rubbing your shoulder bashfully, “I am so sorry, Harvey I-,”

“No, no, It is perfectly fine— I was just, distracted tthinking about a recent article I read about the recent rise of…” His voice trails off, acutely aware of how awkward he must sound, “Whooping… cough.”

“Hm, that doesn’t sound like much fun,” you grimace sympathetically.

“Oh, on the contrary! Pertussis is actually rather fascinating, that reminds me to reach out to Jodi and Shane to see if they can book a vaccination appointment for Vincent and J—”

“You’re doing the thing.” You interrupt, recognising a fellow workaholic when you see one. A kindred spirit.

“What thing? I am not doing a… thing.”

“Sure you are— you’re doing the thing I used to do at my old job,” Your tone gentle but firm. “You grovel and moan over your work, it stresses you out so you take a break, then you realize you’re stuck thinking about the work that was stressing you out!”

“Well, I am a doctor— There is no way for me to not think… I- I have an entire town to look after for Yoba’s sake. ” Harvey retorts defensively.

“Of course, and that’s the problem.”

“That is..?”

In that moment, as you notice the doctor picking as the skin on his fingers, you see the bags under his eyes; the paleness of his skin. You had seen undead creatures in the mines more full of life.

“Who’s looking after you, Harvey?” your voice softens, concern evident in your eyes, “I mean, I don’t want to pry, but I’m not surprised you’re stressed with the weight of the valley on you all the time. But you can’t manage that burden alone. Nobody could.”

“O-Oh, I um—,” Harvey falters, stammering as his defences crumble in the face of your genuine concern, “Appreciate your candour, truly, but you do not need to worry about me. My well-being shouldn’t be any of your…” He huffs, his cheeks flushed.

Despite his larger stature, Harvey’s wide eyes scanning your face anxiously made the man appear small; weak. You ignore the impulse to take his rosy cheeks in your hands, or to clasp his hands to calm his nervous fidgeting.

He clears his throat as his phone rings— a blocky grey mobile, a model you haven’t seen since 2005.

“I- need to take this call, I’m sorry.” He leaves, jogging back to the clinic. As you see him leave, you wonder what exactly he was apologising for.

As you push open the creaky doors of the saloon, the sounds of clinking glasses and laughter wash over you like a warm embrace. The dimly lit room is filled with the scent of aged wood and the tang of whiskey.

“Hey there, stranger!” Sam’s booming voice cuts through the din, drawing the attention of the entire room. His grin is as infectious as ever, and you can’t help but return it as you make your way over to the group by the pool table. Abigail and Sebastian wave you over eagerly, their faces lit up with genuine excitement.

“Hey gang, sorry I got caught up with something,” You drop your backpack on the polished wooden floor as you crash onto the plush sofa next to Abigail.

It’s been years since you’ve all been together like this—no screens or avatars, just flesh and blood friends reconnecting in the real world. You couldn’t help but feel a wave of nostalgia wash over you. Sure, Sebastian is now a little taller, Sam a little more pierced, Abigail a little more muscular. Despite what has changed since you last visited the valley to see your grandfather, the gang was still here. And with the way you all slip into conversation, it’s as if you never left.

As you settle in, taking in the familiar faces and the comforting hum of conversation, Abigail leans in with a mischievous glint in her eye. “So, what’s going on with your love life? It seems like every time we’d chat online, you’d either be lovesick or swearing off romance altogether.”

Your smile falters slightly.

It wasn’t as though you weren’t looking for love— if anything, you consider yourself quite the romantic— but with the chaos of the farm, dating seems out of the question.

“I don’t know, Abs. I’ve come to realise that dying alone is underrated,” You quip with a chuckle, hoping a comedic distraction will satisfy as an answer, “Honestly, the freedom of being single rules, you guys should try it some time.”

“Nahh,” Sam lets out a hearty laugh, flopping down on top of you and Abigail with all the grace of a newborn foal, “We’ve got the dating thing down, shout out to your lonely ass though.”

“Sam!”Abigail gasps incredulously, pushing the blonde off with a huff, though there’s a fondness in her eyes that belies her words, “Don’t be an dick!”

You all share a laugh as Sam looks up from his crumpled position on the floor, his puppy-dog eyes silently pleading for forgiveness.

Sebastian places his drink on a nearby table, sauntering over to the three of you, “Well, (Y/n) if you ever need a wingman, you know where to find me.” He smirks at you before picking up the pool cue resting against the wall.

“Pfft, as if they’d pick you to be their wingman when I’m right here!” Sam stands up, looking frantically between you and Sebastian before dropping dramatically to his knees, “Right, bestie? You’d totally trust me to pick you out a partner!”

Before you can imagine what having the punk as your wingman would entail, the bell above the bar’s front door chimes: Elliot strides through the saloon, exchanging greetings with Emily and Gus before running his fingers through his auburn hair. You wonder what shampoo he uses.

The poet’s eyes scan the room until they land on you. “Ah, apologies for the interruption. Have any of you seen Harvey, perchance? This is the second time he has failed to show…” Elliot’s voice trails off, concern etching lines into his chiselled features.

“Oh, I saw him earlier. He seemed,” Overworked? Exhausted? Close to death? “…busy.”

“Ah, well that certainly sounds like him. If you happen to run into him again, do try to convince him to re-join society.” Elliot laughs, although there is no more humour in his statement as there is truth.

As the author leaves, the conversation in the saloon continues to flow. Despite your best efforts, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you might have overstepped with Harvey earlier— the thought gnaws at you.

You don’t know why you are so worried about him, surely he can look after himself; surely it didn’t matter if he has somebody in his life to look after him. You try not to think about somebody else being there for him. Somebody else holding him at night. Somebody else wiping away his tears.

Instead, you force a smile, joining in the laughter, as your concern for Harvey lingers, a shadow over the otherwise cheerful atmosphere of the saloon.

[venerablemonk27]

Now that spring is here, we're starting to see some changes in the local bird population. New faces are starting show up, and even the year-round species are out singing and generally being visible. There's territory to claim and potential mates to attract, after all. But while many species are just arriving or passing through, one that's dear to me is just about ready to depart.

[ID: A male Dark-eyed Junco stands in the newly-revealed grass and dead leaves. Juncos are small birds, about the size of a sparrow. This one is the slate-colored variety, with a dark grey head and upper body, contrasting with bright white underparts. He's facing the camera and looking slightly to the left. His eye is dark brown, nearly black, and his triangular bill is pale pink. End ID]

The Dark-eyed Juncos are strictly winter residents of southern Wisconsin, preferring to nest in Canada, the Northeast US, and parts of Appalachia. This past weekend, I could tell they had migration on their minds.

[ID: Another male Dark-eyed Junco, standing among dead twigs and sunflower seed shells. This one is darker grey in the head and breast, with lighter grey on the wings and a bit of rust color on the back. End ID]

For most of winter it's fairly common to see a solitary Junco or pairs or small groups picking through the snow under the birdfeeders in our backyard. But now they're forming a flock of at least 30 birds, foraging together and singing their loose trilling song. It's as if they know they have a long flight ahead, and every moment of daylight must be spent filling the tank and gathering their compatriots.

[ID: A male Dark-eyed Junco forages in the twigs and leaves for scattered birdseed. Juncos scrape at the ground with both feet simultaneously in a little hop, then inspect the freshly-exposed ground for tasty morsels. This one is mid-scrape, with debris flying around it. End ID]

So I decided to sit on the deck with my camera for a while to bid the Juncos farewell until next winter. I've been scattering seed back there every so often, and the other birds aren't exactly neat or careful when digging through the feeder above. As such, the Juncos have lots to choose from while poking around between the squirrels and the Mourning Doves. Once I sat down, they didn't seem to mind me at all.

[ID: A female Dark-eyed Junco inspects the ground for bits of seed. The females are distinguished from the males by their paler grey upper parts, sometimes with more brown and tan shades mixed with the grey. End ID]

Though, the birds did seem to mind when my kid joined me on the deck, brandishing his bright green snow shovel. They scattered to the trees or the fence and stayed there until I convinced him to put the shovel away in favor of coating the deck boards in a thick layer of sidewalk chalk.

[ID: A female Dark-eyed Junco sits on a wooden fence, waiting patiently for the danger posed by a nearby four-year-old to pass. The wind is catching the white feathers on her left hip and flipping them up like the flounce of a skirt. End ID]

As the sun sank lower in the sky, I figured I better get dinner started. I spent another minute or two listening to the evening birdsong before capping my lens and helping to knock the chalk dust off my kid's coat and pants. This sudden activity caused the Juncos to scatter once again. Have a safe trip little ones. I'll see you when the snow flies.

[ID: A female Dark-eyed Junco stands in the dirt, looking at the camera with head cocked to one side, as though she's wondering what this person finds so interesting about her. End ID]

[sebring5]

9.2-1 by Henry Via Flickr: Hummingbird

[froopinghiddles]

Say howdy to Capsa, everyone!

Thanks to @squad-724 making a Clone OC Picrew, I have finally done what I have been putting off for ages: I have made myself a boi!

I detailed him out a bit more from the original, the most important distinctions being his tattoos and paint.

Going back to the roots of his name and thinking about what materials ancient field medics had on hand, I thought primarily about herbal medicine and medicinal flora.

That sent me down a rabbit hole, and I finally landed on chrysanthemums, which were used in many cultures as a holistic panacea - antiseptic, anti-inflammatory, digestif, etc. - and decided to use abstractions of the mum as Capsa’s motif, both for his tattoo and his paint, albeit in different ways.

The tattoo is stylized to still resemble the original picrew design, whereas I modeled the design of his paint off of Western-style button-down shirts, as a nod to both the original joke I made in the notes and the personality and interests I’ve developed for Capsa.

I imagine Capsa as being very mindful of the lack of bacta to go around and gaining an interest in local medicinal flora of whatever planet their next battle is taking place on, just as a stopgap measure until he can radio to get troopers back to the ship and a legitimate med bay. But in reality it looks more like he’s forcing his poor, already injured vode to eat questionable looking plants and fungi lmao HE’S JUST TRYING TO BE RESOURCEFUL

Capsa spends his downtime listening to the Star Wars equivalent of Southern Rock and Country, with a soul connection with Spolly Parsec (Space Dolly Parton, obvi), and watching Western Holodramas coming out of Wild Space. His favorite drink is iced shig (half sweet, half unsweet) and would not say no to some chicken and waffles (he is my son, after all).

He tries to go out dancing when he’s on leave but he truly has no sense of rhythm. He’s doomed.

He’s trying to figure out the sexuality thing but he hasn’t settled on anything yet so he’s going where life takes him, there. Pretty eyes will do him in, always, though.

The scar on his cheek is from shrapnel, which also nicked his ear at the same time. His batchmate Junco (@lamaenthel!) jokes that it makes him look like a stray tooka. Capsa says that it makes him “distinguished” but privately mourns the fact that it messed it the tattoo on that cheek.

(Bonus points to whomever translates the auresbesh on his chest plate lol)

[ravensvalley]

#TheWhiteJunco

His Leucistic color reflects the softness, the purity, the vitality…

Some people would say Albino but actually it is a Leucistic bird. And for people that are not familiar with this term, Leucism is a genetic condition in which there is a partial loss of pigmentation which causes the white, pale, or patchy coloration of the feathers; but not the eyes.

Our little friend here has arrived Yesterday morning with a flock of about 25 Dark-eyed Junco to have breakfast with us and still here today. I've seen in the past some partial decoloration on a few birds like on Pigeons and others but never a completely decolorated one under my eyes.

((I'm sure there is no need to say that we opened a directory in the computer and took over 50 pictures of it. Right?))

So according to experts Leucism occur at a rough estimate of 1 in 30,000 birds and to see one with a complete decoloration like the "Great White Raven" in Vancouver Island, is "RARE" and you need to be very lucky.

Good day folks!