#we did see the coloured wings! but my camera is not capable of capturing then

[clavainov]

katydids // tettigoniidae

saddle-backed bush cricket - ephippiger ephippiger, barbitistes serricauda (m)

great green bush cricket - tettigonia viridissima, dark bush cricket - pholidoptera griseoaptera

blue-winged grasshopper - oedipoda caerulescens (f), red-winged grasshopper oedipoda germanica

other grasshoppers 🤷

[tallyovie-writes]

Pictures of Us | f. w. Part 2

part 1

Summary: all the paintings choose a student to patron, the Lady chooses you and watches as you and Fred Weasley grow in the same direction

Warning:none, might contain little angst, nothing serious

2k words

@sirenswhispers @discoverablefeelings @capture-the-moment-on-camera @sophieswizardswheezes

Sixth year, December

The corridors buzzed with excitement. With only less than two weeks to the Yule Ball boys were running around in desperate need of finding partners while girls were frantic about not being asked. Of course the already paired ones watched the madness spread with a smug smile on their lips.

The Paintings also had the time of their lives, the new puppets on their chessboard gave back a little life to their fading colours. Now they could play matchmaker from an even bigger selection.

The Lady wanted to be proud to say she did not take part in such childish acts, but she had a mission with those two before the second task. It's not like she could do much, but occasionally if she heard a french boy talking about inviting her patron to the dance she faked sadness as she gave the poor boy the news that you were indeed taken.

You weren't indeed taken.

Madness has yet to engulf you, but you weren't calm either. Collita was asked by a bulgarian boy, but you had doubts whether there weren't threats made by her that overpowered the poor boy's common sense.

You would have been fine with the two of you going together, but now that she had a partner, you weren't planning on being the third wheel.

You forced these thoughts out of your mind for now. You had more important things going on.

The Lady's corridor was full of students as usual, so you weren't surprised when you entered the DADA classroom someone almost knocked you off your feet.

"Watch where you are goi.....oh..." you started telling off your attacker, but as you looked up Fred Weasley held eye contact.

Ever since that encounter in the potions storage room things have changed. You haven't really met after that, the two of you gave a wide berth to one another. No funny business, no prank. When you did run into each other, a sudden awareness filled your body. He made no snarky comments, his usual sarcasm nowhere to be found. You didn't bring up the secret of the castle, and he didn't bring up the date. Like an unspoken deal has been made without either of your knowledge. It was awkward at best. You didn't think anyone noticed, there was only bad blood between you before.

He didn't reply, he didn't apologize for running you over. He took a long look at your face, lingering on details only he could see. Without his usual grin, he left the scene as fast as he came, robes flying around him.

"What was that? Has something happened between you two?" seems like someone noticed after all.

"Nothing besides me agreeing to a date, him agreeing to let me in on a secret, and our mutual ghosting. How is your french boy by the way?" you feigned innocence.

Collita's jaw hit the floor.

"I'm joking. Don't get your knickers in a twist."

"You know I wouldn't even be surprised. With all the sexual tension you two radiate, I wouldn't put it past you that I could find you in a broom closet with him."

Now it was your turn to let your jaw hit the floor.

"Well then, good to know nothing is going on..."

Boy, if you'd known...

Sixth year, yule ball

It wasn't that bad of an evening. You could say it could have been quite magical. The house elves outdid themselves, even the usual house rivalry crawled back to its gloomy hole.

The icicles lost their naturally given cold arua just like the stone walls' usual grim facade. White dominated, but was quickly swept by the wide range of colourful dress robes, Dumbledore's glittery lilac fabric showing how it's done properly.

It really wasn't your date's fault either that you didn't really enjoy yourself. The poor boy tried everything, but besides polite conversation you weren't capable of anything else.

You were standing alone by the food table, the ravenclaw boy left a while ago to try his luck somewhere else, probably with bigger chances.

You saw Collita bent over from laughter silent tears running down her face, her date was watching her with parted lips in amazement. Eyes big, positive surprise written on his face. Collita did that to people. She was naturally gifted with a charming personality, she drew you in, spoke to you like you were on a pedestal.

She made you feel seen. A secret talent that you were rather jealous of on several occasions.

Suddenly you felt sick of the swirling mesmerized faces, the colours were too vibrant, the music too loud, too many bodies pressed together.

Before the walls started closing around you, you left your previous position and made your way to the exit that led to the gardens. The only sound that was registrateable to your ears were only your own footsteps.

Fresh air cut your rapid breathing shorter. You slowed down, the Great Hall's chokingly sweet smells started to fade away into the night.

"Wouldn't say rushing to the night with only a light silk material covering you was a smart choice, wasn't it? I took you to be a lot smarter than that, love. You're gonna get sick." a soft voice interrupted you.

Fred Weasley stood next to the bushes.

"Well, being sick would mean I wouldn't have to see your ugly face in class, so..." you replied but your voice lacked its usual fierceness. You were too tired.

He chuckled at your reply.

"I don't wanna go back there.." you started in a low voice, barely understandable, but gathered your poise and frowned as you said the last sentence. "They are too happy in there anyway."

"Is that jealousy in your voice?" he found so goodly which strings of you he should pull.

"And what if it is?" you snapped at him.

A ghost of his usual smug grin appeared on his face.

"Get your big nose out of my business by the way!"

"Well love, you know what they say about big nosed guys..." he lazily shrugged, hands in the pockets of his robe.

"Get lost, Weasley, I'm not in the mood today."

Maybe it was the hint of desperation in your voice, or the pathetic look you might have presented, but he stopped picking your brains.

"Come in, Y/S/N, you might even find the bloke of your dreams tonight." Fred tilted his head to the side.

"I'm not interested in 'finding a guy' to be my only goal." you scoffed at his remark.

"Well then, as the only guy you talk to right now, I feel obligated to spare you from the clutches of the cold and sickness, so pretty please get your ass in here."

"I'll stay until I decide it's enough. But thank you for your concern. Bye Fred Weasley, 'find the girl of your dreams' tonight." you rolled your eyes at him.

Little did you know, he already did.

Despite the cold, the Lady felt your frozen heart start melting, even if you haven't realized yet.

Sixth year, few days after the Yule Ball

"I don't understand why you thought it was a good idea to freeze your pretty little ass out there in a low cut silk dress in winter."

You groaned out in frustration.

Collita didn't spare you despite the fact that you were bloody sick, and fuckin hurting everywhere.

"Madam Pomfrey said you won highest fever of the year." she mentioned between stealing a few of your get-well sweets. "At least you finally won something." she winked at you.

"Get out, and let me suffer alone you bimbo!" you hissed at her, but the sharp pains shooting down your neck really destroyed to effect you were trying to achieve.

"Alrighty, my little pathetic friend, I suppose I can leave you to your demise. Be a good and obedient patient." she sent you a kiss and strolled out the Hospital Wing.

**

In the Hospital Wing, after curfew

After Collita left you to suffer on your own Madam Pomfrey gave you a light sleeping tonic. You welcomed the sweet oblivion in the place of pain.

A light noise disturbed the calming darkness. Opening your eyes was a too heavy task, so you relied on your hearing. A soft fumbling could be heard, but the person near your bed executed the deed quite clumsily as the most colourful swearing left their mouth.

Fighting against the tonic's luring effect, you tried opening your eyes. When you did, you almost jerked back in surprise.

Fred Weasley stood there with an innocent smile on his face, like a child caught in a naughty act, his hands were midair frozen on the spot hovering above your stack of sweets.

"What the fuck are you doing in the middle of the night standing near my bed?" you demanded and pulled your blanket further to your neck. "Are you setting up a prank?"

"Have a little faith in me, Y/N...if it were a prank you would only know it before it happened and that's already too late. Can't a bloke visit his sick classmate? The classmate he warned against the cold?" you scoffed at his pointed stare.

"In the middle of the night?"

He started scratching the back of his neck.

"Good point. A point I should probably elaborate on." he didn't seem like someone who wanted to elaborate.

"Don't let me stop you from doing that..." you rolled your eyes at him.

He seemed a little awkward and you could barely hide your amusement. It is not every day a Weasley gets a little intimidated and loses his usual cockiness.

"You see..." he started but his gaze was still fixated on his hands. "...I felt a tad responsible for you catching a cold.

Your eyebrows raised in surprise.

"If it weren't for me dancing on your nerves in the garden making you irritated enough to stay outside longer than intended, you wouldn't be here right now." he sounded a little guilty and you couldn't help the warmth that started spreading in your stomach.

You started to chuckle.

"Weasley. It's alright." you felt a sudden bravery envelop you as you said the next words nonchalantly. "You owe me another secret and we are even."

You waited for his reaction.

He didn't disappoint. He lifted his head, brown eyes locking into your own. Now you weren't sure if it was a wise idea to make him remember your deal back in the potion storage room.

"And here I thought I could bribe you with chocolate that I nicked from the kitchen...you are not a woman easily pleased." he didn't seem that sad about this fact.

"Where would be the fun in that?"

"Right."

Silence fell upon the two of you. Eyes still interlocked, you weren't sure if minutes or hours passed by. The Hospital Wing's darkness faded, and the freckles splattered across his face became more contrasted than before. He tilted his head to the side, his gaze burned your skin.

Suddenly becoming aware of the weirdness of the situation you cleared your throat and looked away.

"Since the tonic made me hungry like a wolf, I'll accept that nicked chocolate." you said, trying to break the silence.

Fred smiled and threw you the bar he fumbled around with before. Your catch was nothing sort of graceful and you felt embarrassment tint your cheeks.

Looking down at the bar in your hand you felt your eyes grow big.

"How did you know this is my favourite?" you asked astonishment, creeping into your voice.

"Lucky guess." he shrugged. You didn't need to know that every time the Grand Hall's tables were filled with this, he couldn't look away from the joy radiating on your face. Just like now.

"Your taste is impeccable, I gotta say."

Oh yes, his taste was indeed impeccable, but not just in chocolate.

[sprnklersplashes]

The One Where Robin Gets Bronchitis

Sometimes, true love isn’t always epic kisses, breaking curses, fairytale weddings and romantic dances.

Sometimes it’s pushing your girlfriend away from you because you have viral bronchitis but she has no sense of self-preservation and keeps trying to kiss you.

(fluff, pure fluff friends)

Robin buries her face in her pillow as she hears the door close, Gideon leaving for work. On her bedside sit roughly five different kinds of medicine (she’s far too tired to give a real count) and a litre bottle of water, as well as a basin beside her bed despite knowing she won’t throw up. That’s what happens when her best friend-slash-roommate is an overprotective hypochondriac whose Mum Friend instincts kick into overdrive when someone is sick (especially when that someone is Robin, the girl he’s been looking out for since they were toddling around Storybrooke’s playpark together).

She lets out another cough, pressing her tissue to her mouth.

“You look like St Therese,” Hope says, casually as they can with five hairpins between their teeth. Since it’s entirely their fault Robin is in her tired, fevered, miserable state, Robin Facetimed them once she woke up to make them feel as guilty as possible. Now she’s curled up on one side, away from the harsh light of her window, her phone propped up by a stack of books and wearing the cat onesie she bought herself as an early Christmas present, all while huddled underneath her comforter.

“Who?” she asks.

“St Therese. You know, the French saint who died of coughing blood. Her last words in her diary were something like ‘wow there’s a lot of bubbly stuff on my mouth right now’. Or something.”

“Or something,” Robin agrees. “Anyway, I’m not coughing blood. I’m coughing mucus which is arguably worse.”

“What colour?”

“Hope!”

“What?” they sigh. “My dad said that you can tell a lot by the colour of your mucus.”

“Your dad grew up in the 1800s and wouldn’t know what antibiotics were if you threw them at his face. He probably threw little lavender bags at you when you got sick.”

“You know, technically you’re shit talking your future father-in-law there,” they remind her. Robin pulls a face at the camera as Hope slides another hairpin into their black locks before pulling them apart. “And for your information, it was rosemary.” They look down for a second, biting their lips like a nervous child, which in a lot of ways, Hope still is. Or at least in Robin’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Rob.”

“Don’t worry about it, H,” she replies before letting out another cough, making Hope flinch. “Just hope your date with Melody was worth it.”

“It was,” she replies, a pink blush on their pale cheeks. Robin giggles and looks beyond the phone screen to her bedroom door, where the scarf she lent Hope for her date is hanging on a hook. Hope swore up and down last Friday their bout of bronchitis was over and begged and pleaded (and admittedly, screamed a little) for their parents to let them go out with Melody that night for their two month anniversary. They had agreed, on one condition, Hope wrap up a warm as humanly possible. And since their scarf was lost in her Bermuda triangle of a bedroom, Robin had agreed to let Hope borrow one of hers, only after making Hope look her in the eye and swear they were better now. And they did.

And now she’s here.

“Was there a goodnight smooch?” she pries, giggling again. She’s pretty sure the fever is causing her to regress to a schoolgirl.

“I don’t kiss and tell,” they say coyly, only to have realisation slowly dawn on them. “Um… I’m just going to check up on her. See if she’s… you know…”

“Caught your disease?”

“It’s not my disease!” they squeak indignantly, standing up and putting their bag on their shoulder. “Anyways I have to go. Mom will arrest me if I’m late for class again.”

“Can she do that? Is that in her jurisdiction?”

“No idea and I don’t want to find out,” they answer. “How do I look?” They gesture to their outfit; black and pink hair tucked into a deliberately messy braid, graphic t-shirt and paint-splattered denim dungarees with a plaid shirt over it. Complete with winged eyeliner and dark lipstick.

“Gorgeous,” she tells them. “Gorgeous and gay.”

“That’s the look I was going for. Anyway, chug orange juice and go to sleep. Because you look like shit and I don’t want you to look like that. I’ll see you later, Rob.”

“See you, Hopey.” Hope clicks off the call and the screen goes black. Robin puts her phone to the side, groaning as another coughing fit makes her bed shake and brings up more mucus. Green again. Lovely. She pulls the blankets tighter around herself, pressing her face into her pillow and begging Zeus (who she knows is real, god damn it) to just either fix her messed up body or let her go the hell to sleep.

She hates being sick. She always hated it. When she was younger her mum had to wrestle her from the front door, Robin all dressed in her school uniform and insisting she was going despite her chicken pox/vomiting/fever/whatever was wrong with her this time. She can think up a million and one deep explanations for it or she can be blunt and honest; it’s boring. Storybrooke even on a good day, as much as she loves it, is boring with its small town and days planned out to the second, two restaurants, one bar and one nightclub that barely qualifies as a club. But when she’s sick and confined to her bed, she finds herself desperate for anything to set her free, even just to stand in the woods and shoot arrows at a tree for half an hour.

When it’s clear sleep isn’t coming, she pushes herself out of the bed, her comforter still wrapped around her shoulders like her brother with his cape in the Enchanted Forest. She stuffs as many of the pills and medicine in the pocket of her onsie as she can before grabbing her water and making her way to the living room. She had planned to get a glass of juice from the fridge as well, but all she can do is collapse onto the couch and pant, the short walk from her bedroom to the living room having used up what little energy she had.

She grabs the remote and whacks on Netflix while chugging her water. Hopefully, a season or three of Brooklyn Nine Nine can distract her from herself.

It’s three hours later when Alice comes in and by then she’s feeling at least fifty percent worse. Her chest is aching, her throat is raw from coughing and despite the fact that she’s only gotten up once to get the carton of orange juice from the fridge (the glasses are up too high and getting one would involve breaking her blanket cocoon) and refill her water, she’s spent the last half an hour trying to catch her breath. In short, she’s miserable, and not even the human ball of sunshine she calls a girlfriend can make her feel better.

“Good afternoon, the beautiful light of my life, how are we feeling today?”

“I want to die.”

“No you don’t.” She plops down the plastic bag on the sofa and takes out her so-called remedies. “I brought you chocolate… I brought you headache pills… oh, and Hope told me to get you this.” She chucks a bottle of something blue, wincing a little when it hits her face. “Sorry, my love.”

“It’s fine,” she says. “My reflexes aren’t great right now.” She takes a look at the bottle, grateful when she sees Hope told Alice to buy her a smoothie and not some Enchanted Forest cure-all made from tree bark and frogs or something. “Thanks, Al.” Alice settles herself on the couch beside her, kicking off her boots and tucking her legs up underneath her. “How goes the dog shelter?”

After the whole curse business was over with, it wasn’t long before Alice realised she needed a new job. For one thing, real estate in Seattle is a bitch even when it’s a cursed neighbourhood and your landlord is Michael Banks, but there was more. Alice wasn’t a fan of having nothing to do, and she wasn’t used to it either. Her dad had kept her days in the tower choc-a-bloc full of activities (if her old diary is anything to go by, she barely had time to breathe). And despite how good she was at the beignet truck; that was only part time and it wasn’t capturing her imagination like Sheriffing did for Emma or teaching did for Snow. So when she saw an advert for a vacancy at a dog shelter, who was she to say no?

“Oh, it’s fun,” Alice says. “Lots of little puppers. We think Matilda’s nearly ready to give birth.”

“No way,” she says, taking a drink of the smoothie. Nectar of the gods, she thinks. “I remember when she first got pregnant. And you still don’t know who the father is?”

“Nope. She’s a frisky girl is our Matilda.” Robin chuckles and plays with her comforter. Alice turns to her, giving her the big, sad eyes she thinks only Alice is capable of, somehow wise beyond her years and innocently childlike at the same time. “How have you been, love?”

“Fine,” she sighs fondly, taking her girlfriend’s outstretched hand. “I sent some e-mails, I watched TV, I’ve been staying hydrated, I scolded Hope for making me sick-”

“Oh it’s not her fault,” she tells her. “Not really.”

“Uh, she lied and said she was better and then put my scarf around her bacteria ridden neck,” she points out. “I think that makes it her fault. Speaking of, have you heard from Melody at all today?”

“Melody as in Hope’s girlfriend, Melody?” Robin nods. “Can’t say that I have, why?”

“Because if our little Hopey planted one on her then the little mermaid probably has what I have.” She lets out another cough as if to prove her point. Thanks, universe, she thinks.

“You should really stop meddling in her love life,” Alice points out, opening the chocolate she’s pretty sure was meant for Robin and breaking a square off for herself. She then sheepishly hands her the bar and Robin takes it, unsure if she should be eating chocolate in her condition but hey, can’t hurt more than the bronchitis already does.

“I don’t meddle,” she says through two squares. “I’m just… you know… giving guidance.”

“Of course you are, my darling,” she says. “Now why don’t I make you some tea?”

“Ugh, please,” she sighs, not realising how much she wanted a cup until Alice had mentioned it. “Honey in it?”

“Anything for my honey.”

Not five minutes later they’re on the couch together, Alice pressed into Robin’s side. She feels kind of bad for not putting her arm around her, but again, that would involve breaking her blanket cocoon and she’s just not up for that. She can’t even hold her hand since both of hers are stuck inside the blanket and wrapped around her mug of tea.

If there’s an award for worst girlfriend ever, she wouldn’t win it per say, but she’d be a contender for sure.

Alice doesn’t seem to mind though. Not when she’s pressing kisses along her blanket-covered arms and shoulder and runs her fingers through her hair. Combined with Robin’s own illness-induced exhaustion, it’s almost enough to send her to sleep right on that sofa. Alice must have picked up on that, because she feels her lips, gentle and delicate, against her cheekbone and for a moment it’s nice.

And then it’s not.

“Woah, woah, wait,” she says, half wriggling away from her. Alice draws away quickly, her blue eyes wide, and if Robin wasn’t confined within a blanket, she’d kick herself. Their joint curse may be broken, but that doesn’t mean that the after-effects of what Gothel did to her father’s heart doesn’t hang around Alice and bleed into every other relationship she has. Robin wastes no time in pulling her hand out of the blanket and grasping Alice’s softly and gently squeezing it. “Hey, hey it’s okay. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I’m sorry,” she replies, a telltale flame of anxiety in her eyes. Robin’s thumb moves in soothing circles on the back of her hand, something that tends to bring Alice back to her. “I’m sorry I didn’t-”

“Alice,” Robin interrupts, caressing her cheek. “It’s not your fault. It’s mine. It’s just… this is crazy contagious, babe. I don’t want you to catch it.” Alice’s bad mood breaks immediately, her normal, crazy, wonderful smile gracing her face and Robin can breathe.

“Well you know, my love,” she begins, walking her fingers up her arm. “All that time in the tower gave me a wonderful immune system.”

“Did it?” she asks. “I’m not sure that’s how it works…”

“It is,” she says, resting her chin on Robin’s shoulder and looking up at her, all big sparkling eyes that scream “butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth”. Robin wonders how many times Rogers had to deal with those eyes.

“Maybe. But I don’t want to risk you getting sick. Okay babe?” And that’s what makes Alice nod and settle for resting her cheek on Robin’s shoulder, playing with her fingers gently, linking and unlinking them. Robin can’t stop a small noise of contentment in the back of her throat as she leans against the sofa, maybe, hopefully, finally getting that sleep she’s been craving all day.

Until Alice kisses her cheek again. Exhausted as she is, she thinks (hopes) that it’s a hallucination brought on my her drugged up, over-tired mind, until that stupid girl she’s in love with kisses her again, higher up this time, landing on her cheekbone.

“Alice!” she groans, opening one eye. Alice smiles bright as the sun and innocent as a rose. It’s adorable and it makes her briefly forget what she was going to say. Briefly. “Stop.” Her girlfriend pouts as Robin presses a finger to her cheek and pushes her back. “I’m contagious.”

“I’m sure you’re not, Nobin,” she says, rubbing her arm. “And maybe I won’t mind…” Her fingers crawl up Robin’s arm like a spider and before her muddled brain can register what’s happened, Alice kisses both her cheeks and manages to sneak a peck on her lips before Robin slaps her face away.

“No,” she orders sternly, poking Alice in the chest. “Or you’ll get sick too and I am not dealing with you being sick.”

“What’s wrong with me being sick?” she asks indignantly.

“Nothing,” she replies, taking a sip of her smoothie and neglecting to mention the time Alice got the flu and begged Robin to call the hospital, convinced she was dying. It was only her own lack of strength that stopped her from walking there herself. She turns on her side and looks up at her girlfriend, in all her unruly hair, wide eyed goofy grinned glory. Everything she loves. “Al… please. I just don’t want you to catch this. It’s not fun. Believe me.” She strokes a stray lock of hair away from her face and pokes at the dimple in her cheek. “As much as it is taking care of you, I don’t like seeing you in pain.” Her face softens and she leans into Robin’s touch. “Okay, babe?”

“Okay, my love,” she responds, tickling the inside of Robin’s hand with kisses. “Now come her, let me cuddle the nasty bronchitis.” Robin nestles her head into her favourite pillow (Alice’s lap) and sighs as Alice begins gentle running her fingers through her hair. She feels herself slipping further and further away, the sleep she’s been desperately craving finally coming as the sound from the TV fades to white noise. She makes a mental note to thank Alice for coming over to see her.

If she’s not sick by next week.

Robin winces as Alice lets out another hacking cough, followed by a long, pained groan. She sounds vaguely like a wounded animal. A wounded bunny. Robin came over the minute Alice called to cancel their date tonight, letting her dad go off to his shift at the station. She tied Alice’s hair back and even came prepared, giving her the hoodie she just loves stealing before making tea and switching on the TV for her.

She’s going to be such a great wife, she thinks proudly.

“So you’ll never guess who has bronchitis,” she says into the phone teasingly, sitting on the edge of the couch, her phone wedged between her shoulder.

“Okay let me guess,” Hope says on the other end. Of course she called Hope the second she found out what Alice had. “Could it be your girlfriend who, despite repeated warnings that you were a contagious little bitch, smooched your face like there was no tomorrow?”

“I do not have bronchitis!” Alice snaps weakly, burying herself under the blanket. “It’s just a little cold-”

Robin turns her phone on speaker just in time for Alice’s bi-hourly coughing fit, complete with green mucus staining the tissues.

“Yeah that sounds like bronchitis, babe,” Hope says on the other end of the phone. “I would know. I started this whole debacle.”

“Oh speaking of, how’s Melody?” Alice asks, half sarcastic. Robin clamps her hand over her mouth to muffle her laughter. “Papa said he saw your Ariel at the pharmacy yesterday.”

“Melody’s awesome,” Hope says flatly. “Melody’s doing great. Don’t worry about Melody. Anywho I have to go. Lacrosse practice.”

“Knock them dead!” Alice tells them between coughs.

“Do not knock anybody dead,” Robin says sternly. “See you later.”

“Bye. Tell your girlfriend she’s a dumb lesbian.” Robin laughs as the dial tone rings in her ear.

“Hope says you’re a dumb lesbian,” she says as she sits down beside Alice. Alice curls up tighter under her blanket, her face barely peeking out.

“Hope’s the dumbest lesbain,” she says, about as mean-spirited as a kitten eating a lollipop. She groans again, so high and so long that it borders on wining, and Robin tries and fails not to find it adorable. Even if the saddened look on her face does tear at her heart.

“Okay, come here. Come to Robin.” Alice shifts and shimmies in her blanket burrito until she’s semi-upright, enough at least for Robin to cuddle her and kiss the fabric of her hood (not her face, as she knows). Her bony shoulders poke against Robin’s chest as she tries to get comfortable and her hand pokes out of the sleeve to take hers.

“You were right,” Alice admits, playing with Robin’s fingers. “I should have left you alone.”

“Well… not leave me alone, per say,” she replies, nuzzling into her head, feeling the wild mane beneath her hoodie. “Having you around sure helped me get better. And who else was going to make me tea and bring me chocolate?” She feels Alice’s smile, despite her burrowing so far into her jumper that only her eyes are visible.

“Nevertheless,” she begins, her voice scratchy and teetering on sleep. “I promise I’ll listen to you from now on.”

“No you won’t,” Robin says fondly, kissing the tip of her finger and tapping it on Alice’s nose. Her face scrunches up and her eyes flutter shut. Her shoulders drop and Robin knows she’s fast asleep by now, but that doesn’t stop her talking. “And I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

[sussex-nature-lover]

Thursday 18th February 2021

Robins, Robins and yet more Robins. Part 1

This photograph was taken late afternoon last week, when the light level was low both inside and out and was captured on my mobile phone - wouldn’t you know it, the camera battery was on charge, but hey, it’s better than nothing and I have enhanced it on the laptop to check that my eyes weren’t deceiving me.

Second pane down on the left, one Robin on the Tower ‘Italy’

Third pane down on the left, four Robins

Third pane down/second pane in three Robins - one is at the LHS rear of the  hanging feeder set on the ground behind the seed tray

Third full pane down on our right, one Robin on the brow of the bank.

A total of nine Robins

Now, you might wonder why I’m highlighting this poor quality photo? but it’s only in the last couple of weeks that my nature Guru challenged me to capture three Robins within the same frame. I kept talking about how many Robins we were seeing and I was quite conscious that I probably sounded like rather a windup merchant, but as you can see, even if you discount the less visible bird by the hanging feeder on the ground, a count of eight in one shot is beyond amazing really.

I’ve also reported to Guru that there is very little evidence of any aggression, the House Sparrows are far and away more aggressive at the feeders and they’re well known to be sociable and tolerant of each other, even nesting very close together. You can buy Sparrow Terraces for nesting: now that IS close.

Example design

Sociable Sparrows feeding together

By contrast, Robins, known to be the ‘Gardener’s Friend’ who will even come and take mealworms or suet from your hand, are not so friendly with other Robins. Their pretty and distinctive red breast is actually, in the males at least, a tool for their breeding capability - in terms of desirability and attractiveness -  and dominance. Males can be so aggressive that they have been known to fight to the death and the reason juvenile Robins mature without the customary red plumage, is to protect them from attack by older and stronger birds. 

Juvenile Robins seen in August, note the speckled head and neck and the merest flush of red breast

Here’s one that was made earlier

Dominant birds, take the highest perches, sing the loudest and have the biggest and brightest breasts. It would seem they have all the tricks.

This tail bobbing is also a territorial gesture

Because we know all these things about Britain’s (probably) most loved garden bird, then it’s all the more curious why so many would tolerate each other within one garden. I have a vague theory that the garden is extensive, both front, sides and back, with lots of hospitable habitat and of course, we have the whole of the woods beyond. I reckoned that given we provide a generous amount of food, drinking water, bathing options and potential nest sites which aren’t in close proximity, then perhaps the Robins have relaxed somewhat and adopted a ‘room for everyone’ approach. Highly unusual obviously, but perhaps not impossible. Just for reference, the width of the patch at the beginning of this piece is approx 7′6″.

The other thing I noticed is that there appear to be two distinct types of Robin, with some overlapping between them.

Here’s an example of the type of bird we’re most familiar with

What I note is a slender and sleek profile, it’s a very recognisable silhouette; the extensive deep coloured face and breast travelling down to the belly, which is a light grey colour, just paler than the grey S shape from eye level between the breast and the wing.

There are three subspecies of Robin that concern us: the British Robin (ssp. melophilus), the Continental Robin (nominate subspecies rubecula) and the Russian Robin (ssp. tataricus). It is always vital in developing skill in identifying races to get to know the plumages and movement of the local form first.

Now quite obviously in severe weather birds can fluff out their feathers to trap air as a layer of insulation and puff out their body shape quite considerably, but during the past week when it was so cold here, there was still a distinction best evidenced by these birds below and that’s even giving leeway for the difference in angles and poses.

What you can see here is a smaller but much rounder, more compact bird and whether it’s here or there, I think this shape often has a shorter tail.  It’s very evident from the side profile and behind. The breast is a lighter and brighter orangey colour and much less extensive and the underbelly is a snowy white. You can see far less and lighter grey and more soft brown plumage.

A selection of different Robins last week

I needed to do some reading up around the topic and found excellent notes from the late Martin Garner.

We must consider the time of year and the tones of the plumage:

Adult Robins have one complete post-breeding moult per year, so in Autumn birds are in fresh and darker fully saturated plumage. 

Spring birds will have older, paler and more worn plumage. 

Females average very slightly paler on the breast than males. 

First-winters average a little paler on the breast and upperparts than adults. 

Thus, while the differences are subtle, adult males in Autumn are the darkest, and second-calendar-year females in Spring are the palest.

Because of high mortality in the first year of life, a robin has an average life expectancy of 1.1 years; however, once past its first year it can expect to live longer and one robin has been recorded as reaching 19 years of age - Wikipedia

NB The Woodland Trust has a slightly more optimistic c2 years estimate

We also need to consider the age and maturity of the bird. It’s not always possible to tell, although again, Autumn with fresh plumage is the best time to try. I often fall to my own flight of fancy in saying a bird or animal has ‘a young look about it’ 

All ages can have pale thorn-shaped tips to the greater coverts - these are the contouring feathers which cover the base of the flight feathers. Tips on adults are smaller, slightly darker orange and less obvious. 

On first-winters, the buff tips tend to be large and pale, almost a round-bottomed triangle on the middle and outer greater covets. 

Adults also have more rounded tips to the tail feathers, which come to a tapered point on first-winters.

Of particular note is that first-winter females often have no blue-grey in the forecrown, which is usually present in other plumages.

I’m never going to remember all that and will find myself constantly referring back.

First Winter male bird judging by the buff tips and crown?

All of these Robins, except for the juveniles of course, have been photographed in my garden within the past two weeks and believe me, I have hundreds more photographs.

It’s lunch time now and this has rather gone on a bit, I haven’t even come to the Nature Watch second theory part either, so I will eat and reflect and make a part two to the big Robin mystery entry and post other photos that I haven’t used here. Look out for it tomorrow as it needs some thought to try and ensure I don’t tie myself up in knots.

In the meantime here is my current favourite Robin, purely because it’s exceptionally easy to identify. I’ve called it The Joker.

Others in the series are Hearts, Diamonds, Clubs and Spades.

You can’t mistake the pattern on that breast can you!

Conservation of the Robin

The biggest threat to Robins is prolonged, severe winter weather. During cold nights robins use up to 10% of their body weight to stay warm. If they are unable to replenish these fat reserves, it can be fatal. Providing food on bird tables during cold weather can make a big difference to their survival.

Did you know?

The Robin became the iconic bird of Christmas in the Victorian era, when postmen were nicknamed robins due to their red waistcoats. Robins began to appear on Christmas cards to represent the postmen who delivered them.

What Did I Learn Today?

The UK Robin population has increased by 45% since the 1970s and continues to rise. Hoorah! (Probably mostly in our back garden 😊)

NOTE FROM THE KITCHEN:

Lunch is actually brunch. A bake at home baguette warm from the oven, with grilled back bacon and fresh tomato slices. The tomatoes have been cooked with a little thyme and a spot of Balsamic vinegar for extra flavour.

[delightfulcollectiontacothi-blog]

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