#Daybird

[fanclangen]

Updates 2

-Daypaw is granted her warrior name, Daybird.

-Mousekit is apprenticed to Olivawillow, and is given his apprentice name, Mousepaw.

-Pythonpaw begin developing a crush on Daybird.

-Ferncatcher, from the mountains, had stumbled upon JasperClan’s camp when she met Curlypatch. Curlypatch led her to Jasperstar, where they allowed her to join the clan.

-Ferncatcher and Daybird are on a patrol when they find an injured cat near the thunderpath. The two cats hurry to rush the loner to Slitjaw, where she’s able to save the stranger. Jasperstar invites the loner, Stronggaze, to join the clan. They happily agree.

[goddesstrolls]

TW: Death, decapitation, gore

Arjenn stared at the window of his mark’s hive, on the fifteenth floor of a high-rise apartment.

The first time he’d done this, getting that high was a conundrum. This time, however, he was more aware of the magic at his disposal, and thus better prepared.

He pressed his fingertips to a rune drawn on the back of his arm, and a pair of spectral black wings sprouted from his back. They glittered in the sunlight, iridescent like raven feathers. With just a few flaps of these wings, he reached his mark’s balcony.

He landed on the railing, balancing easily with his tail and wings; He’d left his shoes at his camp. It was the middle of the day, if he ran into anyone out and about he probably had bigger problems.

The balcony door was open, letting in the summer breeze. He heard the sound of a knife on a cutting board from inside. They were undead, it was no surprise that they were a daybird.

Arjenn pulled the raven’s feather from his hair and stepped down to the balcony floor. The feather lengthened and sharpened into a shortsword in his hand, and he used it to part the curtains and peer into the apartment. These curtains were sheer and the sun was at his back, if his mark could see the balcony door from the kitchen, his cover would have been blown already.

Ears turning this way and that, he took in the sounds of life. A voice down the hall, muffled but talking and laughing behind a closed door. Someone walking around the kitchen. He attuned his senses further, eyes gleaming red, and saw his mark’s aura glowing from behind a wall twenty feet off- The kitchen.

He pressed his fingers to another rune on his arm, and then another. He padded up to the kitchen, his runes making every motion entirely silent; Not even his heartbeat could be heard. He moved his blade into the kitchen entrance, using the reflection to give himself a view into the room.

His mark was a jadeblood, and currently busy chopping up ingredients. A pot bubbled away on the stove. He heard laughter from down the hall.

When she turned her back to him, moving towards the fridge, he stole into the kitchen and raised his blade to her turned back.

He brought it down on her neck, but she noticed him at the last second, flinching- And his blade met her neck too low, leaving a deep gouge but nothing fatal. With the deep wound, light seeped from the injury and into his blade.

She immediately lashed out at him, fighting tooth and claw, a bloody hiss escaping her as eyes gleamed solid yellow and her skin began to glow. He simply stepped back, moving faster than her, movements hastened by his magic.

She lunged again for his throat. Arjenn shifted and pointed his sword at her neck, plunging it through with the help of her own momentum forward. He forced the weapon sideways, half-decapitating her again before wrenching out the weapon; Stunned, she was still enough that he could finish the job with another slice.

Her head fell on the kitchen floor with a dull thud, and her body followed after, blood pooling on the linoleum.

Arjenn wiped off his blade on the inside of his cloak and tucked the weapon back into his hair, staining the white strands jade.

He knelt, and began to draw runes on her pale skin with her own blood. He filled every inch of exposed skin, and then hovered a hand over her collarbone. A few indistinguishable words carried to the kitchen, the other troll in the apartment seemingly unaware of what had transpired.

He pulled his hand away and an orb of light came with his hand from her chest, the rainbow drinker glow fading fully from her skin. Arjenn pressed the orb into his own chest, absorbing it.

His blade had sapped her life force, fueling itself and him; And now his body would serve as a vessel to carry her soul directly to Death’s open arms.

He moved her body to lie her on her back on the kitchen floor, and moved her head as though to reattach it to her body. He wound gauze heavily around her neck to disguise the injury, and then straightened.

He turned off the stove with a click, and the oven too, in case it was some time before the other troll present discovered this. When he gave the kitchen a cursory glance, he spotted a notepad on the fridge. With a sigh, he stepped over and scrawled on it in large, heavy letters, smudging jade blood on the paper.

“I’m sorry”

It meant nothing. It only served to allay his own guilt. But that was how it had to be, whether it was a righteous cause or a pact with a goddess of Death.

He left smudged pawprints in blood as he padded back out of the kitchen. He didn’t care to hide the evidence. If someone sought vengeance, so be it.

Another laugh from down the hall, and he caught a sentence; “I think dinner will be ready soon.”

Arjenn let himself out through the balcony, spreading his feathered wings and soaring into the bright sunlight.

[bear-cubs-art-things]

I know it was late last night so chances are I'm probably gonna do another one for the daybirds

No promises though.

[birchbritches]

Daybird

Who's tooling around in the rooster shed too early, knocks awake and we have to hear it all day when night's only just come?

Some thing, this, procurement of an agitatable daybird and its ubiquitous ongoing not innocuous, knocking awake all hours

aching to be in the right timeframe, circadianly appropriate or otherwise resembling the nature creeping in.  

[darka-3363]

i just found your daybirds series on ao3 and i just have to tell you it’s absolutely amazing, i love it so much

Thanks a lot! I'm very glad you like it 🥰

[motherhoodinhollywood]

It’s all about ranking the original Superman movies and The Daybirds!

[christasclothes]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: RELEVANT Skincare Toner & Serum.

[formeryelpers]

Daybird, 240 N Virgil Ave, Ste 5, Los Angeles, CA 90004

There are so many new hot fried chicken shops but Chef Mei Lin’s Daybird manages to stand out with a unique flavor profile: Sichuan style fried chicken. The fried chicken thigh reminded me of Hot Star’s popcorn chicken filet (Taiwanese style) because of the shape, juiciness and crunchy exterior. The spicing is different and Daybird’s chicken is better (and I like Hot Star) because it’s crunchier and more flavorful. Also, they use better chicken (Jidori).

The menu is simple: chicken tenders, chicken sando, sides, sauces, and drinks. Choose your spice level: no heat, mild, medium, hot and extreme. Extreme is made with ghost peppers so it is spicy enough to burn your mouth.

Szechuan hot chicken sando ($13.50): Jidori chicken thigh fried in rice bran oil, cabbage slaw with pickled chilis. The sandwich was ready sooner than I expected (under 10 minutes). The chicken was a flattened boneless filet. It smelled incredible – like citrusy Asian spices. The fried batter was thicker, super crunchy, very spicy and super flavorful – one of the most flavorful fried chicken batters I’ve ever had with lots of different spices lending to the complexity of flavors. There was a bit of sweetness and lots of burning heat. The meat was tender and juicy. Superb. Loved the light, fresh, crunchy cabbage slaw and pickles. The bun was a soft, sweet, brioche bun. It wasn’t heated. I prefer a warm bun. Also, the bun got soggy towards the end and I was eating pretty fast. The chicken piece was big enough to stick out of the bun (way out) and there was plenty of slaw.

Order at the door. There is no seating. They’re in a strip mall with parking.

4.5 out of 5 stars

By Lolia S.

[firewalkwithme92]

there is a bird singing outside... sir, pls it's 2 am

[renderotica]

Renderotica SFW Image Spotlights

See NSFW content on our twitter: https://twitter.com/Renderotica

Created by Renderotica Artist  Daybird

Artist Gallery: https://www.renderotica.com/artists/Daybird/Profile.aspx

[fanclangen]

Updates 1

- A small kit named Mouse is dropped off at the border by a loner. The loner cannot care for the kit and had noticed a group of cats settle near the shore, so they decided it would be best for the kit to be raised by this group. Mouse is given the name Mousekit by Jasperstar and is raised by Slitjaw in the medicine den.

-Mousekit’s favorite cat is Daypaw, he feels most comfortable around her.

-Pythonkit is apprenticed to Bassneedle and becomes Pythonpaw.

-Gravelkit is apprenticed to Curlypatch and becomes Gravelpaw.

-Gravelpaw begins admiring Pythonpaw from afar, beginning to crush on the fellow she-cat.

-Oliva is waiting outside of the border, unsure if he should proceed with asking to join these strange cats, when Curlypatch stumbles upon him. He is brought before Jasperstar before being given his warrior name, Olivawillow.

[sweetwhumpandhellacomf]

Nachtperle

Angry shouts pound at Fritz’s ears as the crowd surrounds him, throwing stones and rotten fruit. “Freak!” “Unlucky!” “Cursebringer!”

“I’m not, I’m not,” he tries to protest, limping as fast as he can to escape them. Another bad year, with heavy rain bringing drowned crops and too many insects halfway through summer. Three in a row, with sacrifices to the guardian bringing no relief.

They have to blame something. So they blame the odd-eyed, lamed bookseller, perennially unlucky and twitchy. His bad luck must’ve spread to the farmland. It’s the only excuse, in their eyes.

“Sacrifice him!” someone shouts, and Fritz’s eyes, one blue and one brown, open wide. “Let the Nachtperle eat him!”

He tries to bolt, but his badly healed knee fails him, twinging painfully and giving out. Fritz gasps and stumbles, scrabbling for his cane as it goes skittering away from him on the cobble. The crowd descends like locusts on an unwatched field, dragging him even as more rocks pelt his struggling form. An empty sack is thrown over his head and the drawstring pulled tight, almost choking him as it blinds him. Someone wrestles his hands behind his back, and he feels coarse rope bind his wrists together, too tight.

“Please,” he begs, his voice and sobs muffled. “Please, I’ll just leave--I don’t--” His breath hitches and he bites his tongue as big hands pull him up and throw him onto a hard surface. “I don’t wanna die!”

“Neither do we, sonny,” someone answers. “It’s us or you.”

---

The trip out to the cave in the woods isn’t long. Fritz went on a few trips to deliver sacrifices when he was younger, before his luck ran dry and people started to avoid him. He remembers the bumps in the road, the sound of the bridge across the small stream. But it was always a hog or a stunted bull, some clothing made from flax or some rare jewels the miners found. Never a person. Never a living person offered up to the guardian.

The Nachtperle, known for the rare sightings where its eyes gleam like pearls in the night. Fritz has spent more than one late night trying to see it flying over the town on the hunt for prey.

He always wanted to know what it looked like up close. But not like this.

He keeps quiet on the trip. The townsfolk driving the cart ignored his pleas on the way past the gates, so he figured trying any more would just make him feel worse. He still cries, though, every time he realizes anew that he’s going to be killed and eaten by the local guardian. By the time the wagon comes to a stop, his head hurts and his throat is dry.

“Time to go, sonny.” Hands grab him and pull the sack off his head, and he blinks in the afternoon sunlight, trying to get his sight back. They don’t even let him walk, just dragging him by the upper arms to where offerings are left, the flat rock several yards from the cave. His hands are pulled out behind him, tied to the stake behind it so he can’t escape.

“Least your parents don’t have to see this,” the man says, sighing. “Gonna see ‘em soon, if you pray to Above.”

“Please,” Fritz begs one last time, staring up at the three who’d signed his death warrant. They shake their heads, one by one, and leave him to his fate.

Fritz curls in on himself, closing his eyes tight and listening to the wagon leave. They won’t stay; it’s forbidden to watch a guardian take its sacrifice. And even so, it won’t come out of its den until dusk. He still has a long time to wait.

---

The hours drag on, and Fritz finds a numbing cold creeping in from the shaded surface of the stone. He tries to find peace in his surroundings, listening as the daybirds are replaced by the nightbirds, as the sky grows orange, purple, deep blue.

It doesn’t work. He doesn’t want to die. He wants to be at home, closing up his shop for the night, then making himself dinner and reading a good book before bed. He closes his eyes, swallowing a sob.

Maybe it’ll be quick. Maybe he won’t even see it coming.

But when he hears the scraping of claws on stone, he can’t help but open his eyes and stare death in the face.

...Death looks remarkably human. Those pale yellow, pearl-like eyes are interrupted by slits like a cat’s pupils, but the Nachtperle seems to look like any ordinary townsfolk, at least until Fritz sees the huge, scaly wings slowly spreading out above it, dark as night. He recognizes rough-polished gemstones strung onto a necklace, past offerings turned into jewelry.

The guardian tilts its head, shaggy brown hair falling over its shoulders. Death, as it turns out, is beautiful.

“Please don’t kill me,” Fritz rasps, his voice soft as he gazes up into those moonlike eyes.

The Nachtperle huffs softly through its nose, crouching closer as it examines Fritz. He twists with it, trying to watch its... their? Their movements as long as possible. When he sees a rough stone knife in the guardian’s hand, he flinches and curls up tight, shutting his eyes again.

When he only hears the soft sound of rope being cut, Fritz’s dread grows. Is this creature going to take him inside their lair first, just to drag out the sacrifice as long as possible? His hands pull free of the stake, and he yelps in surprise as wiry arms wrap around him and lift him up. He struggles weakly, but there’s a scolding sort of noise from the Nachtperle, and he stills, except for his shaking. He’ll do what he can to avoid angering this creature.

The nighttime sounds of the forest fade away, replaced by a soft silence and the sound of clawed feet on stone. Fritz keeps his eyes shut tight, as if having them open would make a difference. He just doesn’t want to see it coming.

When he’s placed down on a soft, cushioned surface, he’s confused, and he opens his eyes again out of instinct. To his surprise, there’s light from what look like old oil lanterns hanging from the ceiling and sitting on the floor. He’s lying on a sheepskin, padded from underneath with something. He tries to look around for the Nachtperle, wondering vaguely if they’re fetching something to cook him with, when he feels rough hands at his chafed wrists.

“Still,” they mutter, and the bottom drops out of his stomach. He swallows and nods, staying still as fingers work at the knot, eventually undoing the rough rope and pulling it away. He pulls his hands around to his front with a groan, holding them close and pressing into the soft woolen surface to ease the ache.

He hears the Nachtperle moving around more, and he keeps still, exhaustion starting to catch up on him. Something is set down in front of him, and he peeks his eyes back open to see a rough-hewn cup full of water and a few strips of dried meat. “Eat,” the Nachtperle encourages, crouched in front of Fritz. “Drink. Stay. Yes?”

“Y... Yes,” Fritz answers, his eyes roaming over the guardian’s form, taking in the scaly raptorlike feet, the tail swishing behind them on the floor. They can speak. They can use tools, and--they cook.

All his life, Fritz had been taught that the guardians of the lands were barely smarter than animals, and only protected humans as long as sacrifices were offered. He was offered as a sacrifice--he should’ve been... very, very dead already.

Slowly, he sits up and takes the cup of water, drinking it while maintaining contact with those big, unblinking eyes, When he finishes it, the Nachtperle takes it back and walks to another part of the cavern, and he starts to eat the meat. When they return with the cup refilled, they crouch to watch him for a few more moments.

“I hunt,” they say, voice coarse as if it’s never been used. “You stay. You sleep. Yes?”

“Yes,” Fritz agrees slowly, nodding. He couldn’t walk back to town at night, and even if he did, he’s certain he’d be killed on sight. Even if the Nachtperle is going to kill him later... right now, they’re feeding him, they’re giving him water, and they’re not hurting him or judging him.

They hum and nod, standing again. “Stay, sleep,” they repeat, before grabbing a spear from a rack on the wall and exiting the cave.

Fritz finishes the meat and the second cup of water, then sinks back down into the sheepskin, exhaustion overtaking him. He is very scared, but very confused, as he falls into a dreamless sleep.

[bear-cubs-art-things]

What does "daybirds" means? /gen

That was a bad analogy now that I think about it-

I just meant people who were awake during the day /nm

[tomchatt]

OMG this chicken sando from @daybirdla is on 🔥 in a good way! Chicken thighs are brined, battered, and twice-fried to dark crispy goodness in hot rice bran oil before being dipped in 🌶 oil amped with Sichuan peppercorns, chili de arbol, and gochugaru peppers (a holy trinity of Chinese, Mexican, and Korean heat). The cabbage / pickled shallot/ chili slaw adds an acid hit, with a sweet bun to keep your mouth from completely burning up in flames of delight. (There are five spice level options, and I did opt for “hot”, which is one notch below “extreme”. I can only imagine the latter induces extreme delight just before your face melts like the Nazis at the end of the Indiana Jones film. I had no regrets.) Love how the chicken protrudes abundantly out of the bun like a tongue of flame. If you remember Chef Mei Lin’s Nightshade (and her Sichuan fried quail on milk bread), you’ll recognize Daybird as her phoenix rising from those ashes. Recommend the Hong Kong milk tea to help calm your tongue after this delicious sandwich. #food #realfood #lafoodie (at Daybird) https://www.instagram.com/p/CSP51bDhEqP/?utm_medium=tumblr

[darka-3363]

Writing Obi-Wan and Quinlan bickering with each other is honestly a pleasure, but also it is hard to incorporate other characters to their talk, because it's like the whole world stop existing around them, and I actually need them to interact with other people and the surroundings and such.

Stupid lovebirds, I love hate them so much.

[theragnarokd]

When they were both very young, Oliver never looked alive unless he was looking at the sky. When Ned's second shape came to him as owl feathers, he gave thanks for it like the blessing that it was. He couldn't take Oliver high up with him, but perhaps he could bring him little pieces back.

When the war came, they made Ned their spy. He went away for longer and longer,and he saw things he never wishes to carry back with him.

Oliver traveled, too, in the skyships, and sometimes Oliver would climb to the highest point and he and Ned would fly together, touching wings.

Oliver's ship fell far from home, and he found himself in servitude to a man who treated him like a glass doll. Oliver killed him so he could make his way home.

The road home was long and harrowing. He made it there, and never once stopped looking at the sky. Scanning it. He saw nothing but airships and daybirds.

His hometown was much changed by the war. Some of his old friends gone, parts ruined, people with horrible stories behind their eyes. Oliver didn't ask. He kept his eyes resolutely upwards.

Sometimes it wasn't enough. He'd wake up at night to voices chiding him for killing, even as he swore at them and asked if they would have taken his place at that man's house. He wouldn't cry. Not for that man, not for anyone he didn't know was dead. Not for certain.

When the dregs of the war came marching home, Oliver stuck back and kept looking at the sky. There wasn't so much as a cloud.

Someone tapped him on the shoulder.

Oliver spun around and nearly tackled Ned off his feet, the way he'd snatch him out of the sky when he was still too young to realize they couldn't fly together on Ned's wings.

Ned gestured down, shakily, with his one remaining hand. "I can't fly anymore," he said. "I'm sorry."

Oliver looked him straight in the eye. "Either we'll find a way, or I'll love you on the ground."