#the wren is so so tiny

[thereissomethingunderthestairs]

Wren skull i cleaned yesterday…

[minamill]

Family album

details under the cut

[oftenlyshitposting]

i personally think sabine has very kissable and chompable cheeks

LOOK AT HER DOES SHE NOT LOOK LIKE SHE DESERVES TO HAVE HER CHEEKS CHOMPED AND PEPPERED WITH KISSES??????

and guess who deserves to chomp sabine's cheeks?

this feral pookie blonde lesbian right here:

you can't convince me they both aren't so enamoured with each others' faces

sabine loves to kiss the tip of shin's nose

shin loves to boop at sabine's perfect nose

sabine parts shin's bangs and kisses her forehead

shin squishes sabine's cheeks and kiss her lips

sabine probably leaves trails of kisses all over shin's little moles and freckles; shin would definitely kiss sabine's dimples and her smile lines haphazardly

[padawansuggest]

Boba: I’m the same, but cooler. I do drugs now.

Fennec: He did drugs once and the force led him to a tree.

Boba: It was an awesome tree. I saw the ghost of my Buir and Ba’Buir and they laughed at me and I think I’m force sensitive now but I’m afraid to find out.

Sabine: *is a little shit* Huh. I think we should go talk to my master about this, I’m sure she can help :)

Ahsoka: *standing stock still in the middle of Luke’s new school while the twins look at her funny* I feel this odd sense of impending doom. My padawan is doing something she shouldn’t be :(

[rancidsugar]

[bonzybonztea]

Breathe

two doctors from different races having to work together for months, one has a condition that flares up when stress is too much...and the other knows exactly what is needed ;; I had to change out the well worn tip on my ipencil and I felt like I was dying while drawing this lol by gosh i got used to the feel of the other one ah

[squidthoughts]

ok i see eye of scion there was only one bed, and raise eye of scion there was only one wardrobe. sabine forced to wear shin’s clothes. (baylan forcing shin to share her clothes bc really why would shin want to share with the enemy when she could just wear nothing instead) sabine in one of shin’s two (2) colorless off-grey tunics. sabine in shin’s colorless pajamas. shin seeing her just slightly-to-big clothes on sabine’s skin and not knowing how to identify how that makes her feel-

[sodrippy]

creature of the day

[ookaookaooka]

i had a lot of free time today so i spent like three hours documenting as many plants as i could identify in the 300-foot long parking strip i use as a garden. the amount of biodiversity in such a small place is WILD

[ask-wren-zhang]

Egg wishes everyone a wee...

𝑴𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝑪𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒎𝒂𝒔 🎄💥

Ya filthy animals 😝

This gem is provided by the mighty and all powerful @kiwiplaetzchen !!!!🥝💙💖💥

[lohxy]

brayden i have nowhere to go from here

Get out of my head get out of my head get out of my head…PLEASE get out of my head 🙏

[wren-of-the-woods]

I used @finishwhatyoustarted-event as motivation to finish up an old ficlet! Silmarillion fandom, G, 0.7k, also on AO3.

~

Fëanáro loved the language.

The elves made it; it was theirs. Theirs, and theirs alone. No Vala was responsible for it. Nobody else could possibly claim credit for it save Eru himself. They always have had it and they always would have it. They were the Quendi, the ones who speak.

Fëanáro loved the forge, loved to create things of beauty where there were none and to make things of wonder and delight. He loved to wander the land, to seek out new and undiscovered things. For many years, he could delight in the pleasures of the world without hesitation. He eagerly took the knowledge offered by the Valar and used it to achieve things unheard of. 

But the Valar were meddlers. They were fools. They were thieves. They would take what they wanted from the elves and claim that it was their right. They would say it had been they who taught the arts to the elves. That the elves could have made nothing without their aid. That this gave them a right to whatever was created by the craftspeople who had surpassed the Valar’s skill many years ago. And the elves, foolish as they were, believed them.

The Valar could have no such claim on the language. They never have, and they never will. Words belonged to the Quendi, and they always would. That made them precious. As precious as the brightest stars.

But they were impermanent. Transient. They did not have the great stature and majesty of the stone towers in Valimar, nor the solidity of the metals of the forge. They are the wind blowing through towers and cities of the mind; sometimes a gentle breeze, sometimes a great and moving tempest, but always temporary. Always changing. Always passing away. Even the greatest song, the most moving speech, would be lost and forgotten in time.

Numbers could be recorded with repeated markings on stone or cloth or rope or paper. It was much harder to record words and sounds. There were the picture-like symbols that the Vanyar would sometimes use to record history, of course, but they were cumbersome and imprecise and only conveyed simplified meanings at best; far too clumsy to be much use to someone like Fëanáro. The vast majority of the knowledge and history of the Quendi was passed through verbal communication only.  

Fëanáro would not tolerate this.

Works of language deserved every bit of the credit given to great feats of engineering or works of art. They deserved to be passed down through the generations without change, shown to anyone who would see them. The Valar should be made to see that they do not own the Quendi. The language would be as immovable as the stars, fixed and unchanging in its beauty. Its current course of incessant change, of unreasonable divergence from what is right and good, would be stopped.  It was perfect as it was. Any change could only result in the downfall of the one thing the Quendi could indisputably call their own. 

It must be set down and recorded. It must be made to stay put. It must be perfected, polished, and purged like the finest jewel.

Ñolofinwë had said this was impossible. He had said that words were like the wind, and that nobody could possibly catch the wind in a bottle and keep it on a shelf. Arafinwë had butted in and added that even if one could, it would no longer be the wind — without motion, wind is nothing more than air.

Fëanáro ignored them. He had learnt, over the years, that the only voice worth listening to in these things was Nerdanel’s. If anyone else said that something could not be done, Fëanáro would simply complete his project with greater eagerness and be ready to flaunt his success in their face. But if Nerdanel says something cannot be done, then it truly is impossible.

This time, Nerdanel said it is a wonderful idea. She even offered several suggestions on where to start — perhaps he could use a simplified form of the explanatory diagrams he would sometimes create when making blueprints, or of the historical tapestries woven by the Vanyar. Fëanáro had taken her thoughts eagerly. She was usually right about this sort of thing. 

The paper was spread out in front of him, ready for his ideas. Countless new worlds would be opened up when he succeeds. He would succeed. He always did. If one had enough determination, creativity, and skill, anything is possible, and he certainly had a surplus of all three. All he needed was time.

He touched his quill to the paper, and began.

[feyringo]

I absolutely adore her.

[crowboy-bebop]

i had to lure a bird into our apartment so i could let him out of our window (he got trapped in the hallway where the screens dont open) and the high of being so close to a bird is going to carry me for the rest of the week

[chaos-with-a-twist]

cant believe i had to organically decide to watch ahsoka and find out about all the potential gayness myself instead of my mutuals putting it on my dashboard and stuffing the saphics down my throat. I TRUSTED YOU GUYS

[clementiens]

i saw a winter wren for the first time and a brown creeper not for the first time but i hadn't gotten a picture before and got some good shots of both :)