#the flighty bird

[mote-historie]

George Barbier, L'Oiseau Volage (The flighty bird), Modes et manières d’aujourd’hui, 1914.

[notbecauseofvictories]

When I was younger, we had a clock in the garage that would sing bird calls every hour, instead of chiming or ticking or the regular things clocks do. (......I am fairly sure it was exiled to the garage by my mother, who hated the hollow, tinny sound of it.) Anyway, I mostly remember that clock because the mourning dove call was so distinctive---twoo, twoo, too too too, too too too. I can shut my eyes and hear that song, and it taught me to identify it with unerring precision, even though I couldn't pick out another birdcall to save my life.

To this day, mourning doves are one of my favorite birds. and when I caught sight of one perched delicately on my bird feeder I lost my ever loving mind and will take it as a sign of good things to come.

[kedreeva]

arcana 🤝 walnut the crane (may her memory be a blessing): humans are the sexiest birds out there

I took Arcana and Eclipse to my friends' place, with Indie, for the year. Arcana and Eclipse look VERY similar if you don't know what you're looking for. Blackshoulder hens all look almost identical, they're ALL white with brown and black speckles.... you have to look at the tail feather color and overall shade of the speckles to tell color. But they're both purple BS pied, the only difference is that Eclipse is also white eye, but thankfully that means HER tail is white and Arcana's in brown. One of them, I think Arcana, was wearing a legband, idk where Eclipse's went.

But when asked how to tell the difference between them, instead of citing the leg band or the tail feathers, I said, Oh, you'll know. Arcana will be the one propositioning you every day, tripping you by squatting in front of you and generally being a nuisance. Eclipse will be on the far side of the pen going "if you so much as perceive me I will throw myself into this wall to get away from you."

[ifthestarsarewilling]

jackal pixlriffs do you see my vision

[yrlocalghost]

every bird is here

[princess-adronitis]

Cuckoo Bird

(And she began to recite my greatest fear) Unintentionally

what if you never find it ? She asked me

What if you flit from thing to thing

Never loving anything?

I bit my tongue and could only nod

I am like a bird I wanted to say

I never had a home anyways

Everything I loved I had no say

In when it gets taken away

Each finger broken to make an open palm

I surrendered up the word “belong”

Every home I had , I was forced to make

Every nest I had, I was forced to take

- Feb 26/24

jm

[mostlybirdsandphotos]

belted kingfisher on some nice morning skies ( ˙꒳​˙ )

[rabbitwarcrimes]

you see a HELPFUL BARTENDER and an ABSENTMINDED SECRETARY out for a night on the town. what atrocities will they commit? probably tax fraud at the very least.

[i23kazu]

Ying im so ready to cause chaos hehehehehe

hehehe. you can be my little birdie on the lookout 👁️👁️

[hibiscuit-rose]

SEGA OWNS ANGRY BIRDS NOW LMAO

[puppy-saint]

dogboy this, catboy that, what about boys who want to be dogs but are too much like falcons? their hard won independence too valuable to be given up so easily, too guarded to let their mind stray far and actually submit. they can listen and take orders but they're just playing along to what you tell them because they want it to be as good as people say it is, want to be able to just shut their mind off and feel good. but it doesn't work that way for them. they aren't built to obey the same way dogs are- they were made to be able to fly away. boys who get angry if you show them sympathy even if they know you mean well. boys trying to let go of their need for control but will build two walls for every one that you manage to tear down. boys who aren't yours to keep, boys who you'll have to release if they don't run off on their own.

[androgynealienfemme]

"We go from store to store, trying to things on and inspecting them. I give my opinions on dresses and shoes, blouses and lipstick colors. Sometimes I say things that make the other women look at me, agape, as though my mouth has been possessed by that flighty queen from Queer Eye even while the rest of my body still looks like any other big dumb boy's. I say that I like a skirt but I wish it were bias-cut instead of A-line, or that I am not fond of the fashion for surplice tops, or that the post-WWII idiom in shoes this season is amusing but rarely looks good on actual feet, or that I like the look of a bolero jacket. I know the names of colors, heliotrope and coral and Nile blue, and I can say without hesitation whether a lipstick might look better matte with a bit of powder.

These other women look at me with wonder, their boyfriends and husbands having made a fetish out of refusing to learn such words under any circumstances, as though merely pronouncing the word "periwinkle" or "princess seam" could easily turn a strong man gay as a box of birds. They say to her, "That's your husband?" in voices that loiter between admiring and disgusted, as though they know that there's no force on earth that could make their men or boys take such interest in their clothing and they think they might really prefer that to the spectacle of me, filling an armchair, legs crossed ankle over knee, looking just right until I say "tea length."

The point is that she wants other girls to see what it looks like to have a boy so cracy in love with you, as I am, that he will spend an afternoon talking about capri pants to have a boy so delighted by you that he never calls you by your name, but addresses you always as "beautiful girl," or "my love" or occasionally and with great fondness, "boss." To have a boy who will happily fetch your next-size-down and carry your bags and charm the salesclerks at the register without flirting overmuch and just generally try to make himself as useful as possible, all for the dizzy and undying pleasure of making you happy. And even though I am not a boy, I look like one, and so I can be complicit with her in this kind of wonderful afternoon, part indulgence of her great beauty and style, part guerilla feminist activism.

Later, when we walk through the mall or down the sidewalk, me laden with packages that are clearly hers, I watch the eyes of the people we pass: the women who look at me with a certain longing, wishing they had their own boys to carry the bags. The men who look at her with an unmistakable hunger, wishing that they had the honor of schlepping for a girl like her, and then look at me with a certain edge of disbelief, not quite clear about why I get to squire this marvelous example of femininity around when they are clearly wealthier, more handsome, better hung. I have learned to meet all of these gazes with a calm kind of sweetness. There's no point in defensiveness or sheepishness or challenge. I'm the one holding her bags."

"Being a Shopping Switch” Butch is a Noun essays by S. Bear Bergman (2006)

[dark-elf-writes]

And introducing:

Callum “Rook” Aldwir - mage. Left their incredibly reclusive clan at fourteen with little more than a dagger and directions to the nearest bear cave to “make themself useful and feed something natural” from their keeper and “loving” mother. They stumbled into a small town at the edge of Arlathan forest half starved and scarred from a close encounter with a bear and a malfunctioning artifact but alive. They healed, they learned to master their magic (though they never lost their preference for a knife as a focus over a staff) and eventually they joined the Veil Jumpers. It became a running joke that Callum was part bird, always the first to fly off after a new artifact (though their interest has always skewed more toward the ancient works of art still preserved after so much time than the marvels of magic) or to test a dangerous path high in the trees. They leaned into it, eventually, drawing wings that they had tattooed down their arms so they could forever fly and never be caged again. A promise to themself written in ink. Then came a map. Then came a dwarf. Then came a wolf. Truly the world must be a joke if a disgraced Second turned Veil Jumper with the heart of an artist is the one leading the charge to save it.

!!! I think I just figured out my whole world state surrounding Wren and I’m frothing at the mouth for it.

Working title is “An Exaltation of Heroes” which includes:

Raven Tabris - rogue. Rose from the wreckage of her wedding day with blood on her hands and ash in her throat. Blood and ash follow her whenever she goes. The joining. The fall of Ostagar. Lothering. Blood and ash and agony are all she knows. Until she meets a Nightingale who sings where she can only croak. Who speaks of hope and the loving hand of the Maker guiding them. Who holds her cheeks so gently and tastes like wine and sunlight. She ruins that Nightingale somewhere in the twisting streets of Denerim, turns her lover as cold and hollow as she is. Pours blood and ash down her throat until that is all that remains. She wishes she had died killing the archdemon if only to spare her Leliana this continuing pain.

Lark Hawke - mage. They left Lothering with the echo of their sister’s bones cracking in their ears, and tried to hold onto some semblance of normal with ragged fingernails and endless chatter and quips that doesn’t quite hide the circles under their eyes or the house that gets more and more empty with each year. They handed their heart to a man they thought they could trust only for it to be ripped to pieces when the chantry exploded. He was never going to choose them. They should have seen it coming. He tells them they look beautiful before they drive the knife into his heart, his little songbird. (Still they chatter, still they sing, still they fight for this new world he would have loved to see… even if it tears them apart.)

Wren Lavellan - mage. Found half dead by Clan Lavellan when they were a child with strange vallaslin carved hatefully into their face so deeply it scarred. A sacrifice to gods who had long since abandoned them. A wolf among sheep according to their keeper as he raised the blade over their heart. The only survivor once their original clan turned on the ones come to save them. Every night they dream of wolves. Of one wolf. With tar dripping from its mouth and many eyes shut in slumber. Until one day the wolf is no longer sleeping. Until they leave to protect the clan that had once protected them and was once again the only survivor. A herald for another god they didn’t believe in. A stray bird locked in a cage of light and forced to chant instead of sing.

[demonic0angel]

Part 2 of Phantom’s Royal Court (click for clarity)

Introducing Dani and Valerie!

Extra notes:

+ While Danny’s design was created by looking at actual portraits of kings and manhwa men, Valerie’s design was created by looking at portraits of queens and Victorian hunting dresses.

+ Valerie’s entire design is meant to be very practical and very cool. Most of everything is removable or easy to move in for maximum comfort since she is a fighter, examples: the pleated skirt, the loose cape, the detachable skirt. I hope she comes off as badass and spooky.

+ I hope you’re beginning to notice that the Phantom Family will all have skull motifs >:)

+ Dani’s design was the hardest to make because I struggled to find a combination of cool and cute with practicality. In the end, it’s still a little impractical, but it looks cute and cool enough that I’m satisfied.

+ Dani’s hawk motif is given to her because I hc that her special trait in the group is that she’s the fastest of everyone else and she is canonically flighty. Hawks are also birds of prey and are small, but deadly predators. Also, hawk skulls are surprisingly very cute, which I liked.

Part one

Part three

Part four

[robolvrr]

iron throne. ✧✷✯

starscream x gn! human reader

two souls collide. starscream treats you in ways you should hate.

warnings: explicit. degradation. dom/sub dynamics.

you don't know how you keep ending up in this position.

this uncomfortable, delicious and desperate position. you are a speck in the universe. a nudge and ghostly apparition to beings that walk among your kind and loom over the world like gods.

you aren't anything to him. he claims that plenty.

so again - just why are you here?

"please, please-", a nasty gurgle of spit mixed to a whine, the pleas end when polished digits pinch your tongue. instead, you squeak, trying not to move as the confines of flexibility start to burn.

the other large, slender hand, metal and enclosed like an iron fist, grips the hair at your scalp. it exposes your throat in a disgusting way that makes every gulp visible.

it should not make your stomach flip, nor should the sneer proud on his handsome face.

"please what? please go faster? harder? stop altogether? i grow tired of your kind. as if any of your demands hold importance."

every word is a punch. a blow, internal, as he shoves the apparatus between his legs crudely into you. he has the option to lubricate, though chooses not to.

because he knows you're filthy. he knows your flesh, velvet holes do that all on their own and that you are always needy, even if it means some sting with the stretch.

still pinching the pink of your lolling tongue, he thinks he hears a muffled admittance of hatred. of course, that just means he goes a little deeper.

you shudder. he spits on you. it shouldn't feel good.

"you know, when my master takes over this shoddy rock. and our flags fly high in the skies - i will take you. you'll be mine. on my throne. in my lap, every morn, every evening. i used to wonder just what humanity could provide."

he's being awful. you know he's steadied his vocalizer, not giving the grunts, ragged huffs and downright out of character whines because you messed up earlier. you are missing out on how he begs when you really rile him up.

the moment he lets both of his servos grapple your body, you practically sob.

"s-starscream! please, please, i wanna. please tell me i'm still yours. i promise to not misbehave!"

he watches you like a hawk. your predatory bird. your shining demon in chrome and crimson.

does his spark stutter? surely not. instead, he smacks your behind hard that the bruise blooms swiftly. a yowl forces sniveling shrieks to sputter.

in a way, this is therapeutic for him. he despises organics, even though he likes to see the flighty beings cascade and dip in sunsets, sit in the silence of caverns where his pedes don't sink and get dirt on his plating.

lazily, starscream regards the dulcet mewl of his designation. of course. always clawing for attention.

like looking in a mirror.

so, he indulged. his spike finds a spot you've never played with and you keen, beautiful pearls of tears smearing down your cheeks.

intrigued, he uses his handle on your hips to use your entire weight to slam down on him, leaving you breathless and drooling.

disgusting. disgusting, disgusting, oh he should kill you now. squeeze you until you pop.

you'd beg for it too. degenerate.

"say it."

thoughts jump around, fumbling for the right response. it's impossible. he's glaring, hot and brutal. he won't let your nasty hands grab at his chassis. his wings are marvelous.

he tastes your sweat.

"lord. lord starscream. i.. i am yours, my liege."

"h... again."

"i'myours! all.. guh, ah, ahhnnn, yours! my liege! i'm gonna.. so close—"

he doesn't stop. he goes rougher and you know you'll be dizzy, passed out by the time he releases.

it won't be any time soon. not with how he bares his teeth, ready to tear you apart.

robolvrr 2024.

winkwonk. very hornee thoughts on the dash.

[daylite-writes]

Fragile Things - Yandere!Childe x Reader

At least he’s regretful when a punishment goes too far…

cws: kidnapping, isolation related punishments, yandere, self harm, softer yandere, heavier content.

1k words

~~~

“Baby, hey, look—look at me.” He was speaking firmly, his hands on your wrists, restraining you. Keeping you from clawing your skin any more than you already had.

You were absolutely inconsolable, babbling words even you couldn’t discern, sobbing, shaking. “No—no I-I—Ajax. A-Ajax.”

“That’s right. That’s right. Eyes on me. Oh baby. Too harsh? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so rough—”

You only broke down further, each hiccuping sob dragging you deeper as you tried to curl in on yourself.

Ajax hadn’t just kidnapped you. He’d been extremely thorough in breaking you. So thorough, a more logical you would have realized he underestimated how much you could take.

You’d been isolated, for the most part. Trying to escape the cabin in the snowy wilderness was not a good idea. Partially because, well, snow. And partially because it was easy to track people in the snow.

When he—inevitably—did catch you, he was upset. You knew the risk of punishment when you made the choice, but what he did was different to what you expected.

Your wrists, ankles, and neck all ached badly. For over a week you were locked up and shackled. And not the kind of locked up you were before the attempt. No, there wasn’t a warm cabin, a fireplace, or Tartaglia’s sloppy attempts at keeping you happy. A fucking closet. No light, windows. Ajax didn’t even speak to you when he left you food.

It was so different to everything you’d ever known, growing up in the free rolling hills of Mondstadt. You already struggled in the confines of the cabin, but kept silent and still in such a small space?

A week of that, and now he decided you were good. That you’d probably learnt your lessons. But that morning, when he went to let you out, to welcome you back with a teasing ‘I hope you learnt your lesson’ and a patronizing hug, he found you… in a less than desirable state.

Shivering not from cold, throat raspy and raw, eyes trained on the ground. You didn’t even notice him at first. Not as he spoke, each shackle falling off with a click. Not as his mood shifted as the light from the hallway illuminated your skin.

You’d been clawing at it, to the point of bleeding, stretching your limited dexterity in order to anxiously and unconsciously hurt yourself. Like a caged bird plucking it’s own feathers from stress. You’d only been brought to reality when he picked you up, jerking away from him as tears sprung to your eyes again.

He said something you didn’t process as you tried to stand up, stumbling like a doe on new legs, vision gray around the edges.

You weren’t sure how it all went down. But somehow you two ended up on the couch, settled between his thighs, your back to his chest as you shaked and begged and tried to get away, only partially aware. “No no no no—Ajax please.”

“Shh, shh, it’s okay, I got you. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He repeated, letting you claw at his forearms instead of your own skin. “Breath, breath little dove. It’s okay, It's all over baby. I’m sorry, it was too much, wasn’t it? You’re too fragile for me to be mean like that.”

You continued your quick, flighty, panicked breaths as he gently tried to get you back to reality. Eventually, you’d slowed down, settling against his chest, eyes still wide and breaths still quick. Like a live rabbit in the hands of a trapper.

“You with me, baby?” He asked gently. As your chest struggled to rise and fall again, you gave a quick nod, not looking up at him. Your eyes were trained on some far off spot, pretending to be anywhere else other than that damn closet. You weren’t sure you even realized—truly realized—you’d left. “There we go. There. That’s better darling. See? Everything’s alright now.”

“E-everything's alright…” you repeated, nodding to yourself.

“Yeah. See? Not too bad. I’m sorry for your punishment, I got all caught up in my emotions. I should have known you wouldn’t do that well alone, without me.” He laid his cheek on the top of your head, voice taking on something fond. A content sigh sounded above you. “You’re so soft. I need to be careful not to break you. But you need to be careful too, baby.”

You didn’t say anything for a moment, before squeaking out a soft, “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, no more escape attempts. Okay?” He said, and you nodded. He ran his fingers through your hair, having let go of your wrists when you weren’t paying attention. His blunt nails, worn from hard work, scratched gently at your scalp. “That’s right.”

It continued for some amount of time. It was hard to tell, really. You were on the edge of freaking out but somehow also falling asleep. Everything ached, from your ribs to your wrists.

At some point, he grabbed them again. Gentler this time. He lifted one, holding it gently as his thumb rubbed at your self inflicted injuries.

You felt like a caged bird, bars too tight and owner too inexperienced to keep you from plucking your own feathers from stress.

He sighed above you, and you turned your head away so as to not look at him. “Poor thing.” The condescending words felt strangely genuine as he laid his cheek on the top of your head. “It’s okay, I’ll take the week off and we can fix this, okay baby?”

He quieted for a moment, and belatedly you realized he wanted a response. You made a small, hollow noise of acknowledgement, which came out raspy from your throat.

He sighed again, as if this was so hard on him. It was hard to find the energy to be angry though. So you just stayed silent as he dropped your wrist and dragged you closer to him. He was cold to the touch, but even his love was warmer than isolation.

~

Not quite sure how this one managed to be both softer and rougher than my usual works. Sorry it was so short! And yes, the next part of traitor readers will be coming… eventually. I’m having a touch of trouble formatting it which is getting in the way of be writing it. Side note, I’ve expanded my fandoms open for requests! HxH and to a lesser degree HSR!