#bluejay sounds

[ballad-of-the-eleventh]

this is a mika stan account now get the FUCK out before i lock the goddamn doors

[quietbluejay]

Decided to take break from work to read Promethean Sun, it's a snack sized novella so it was what 30-40min?

A cheap price to pay to know never to read anything by Nick Kyme ever again. And it did give me distraction from the pain. I've read worse, it's true, but at this point i feel like it'll be hard to top False Gods, lmao, so I'll basically always be able to say "I've read worse". (BLACK LIBRARY THIS IS NOT A CHALLENGE)

I still don't understand what happened. Is what Lexicanum says right??? (I got the dude being actually the Emperor, it's the why Vulkan went full burn them all mode at the end I'm still ??? on)

Only good part was:

Exodite Eldar Psyker Lady, you had 2 scenes, maybe 30s of page time and no dialogue but in my head you managed to escape with your large dinosaur and lived to fight another day...

[top-wing]

I've been inactive, so here are some Top Wing gifs I have saved in my storage!

Look at them movin and groovin nyehe

[libelelle]

I saw this and instantly thought "Omg Linnea would love this"

THATS SO AWESOMEEEEEEEEE mutuals lets make bird sounds together ill go first SKWAA SKWAA SKWAA

[ghostprinceiii]

The plan was to Make Actual Lunch, and Do Laundry, but instead I used up literally my entire burst of energy on going down the street and buying a pumpkin pie of all things, which I don't even feel like eating??? Huh?? The first 20 minutes in like a month that I don't feel Completely Out Of It, and this is how I use my one decision-making braincell.

[chillydownhere2]

Source Me laf@ilyF ❤️

[lostandbackagain]

I'm so invested in the folcharts as a couple when resa's talking then mo immediately lies to and excludes her for no reason. she's the only reason your dumb ass is even alive and you haven't treated her like an adult and your partner in months fuck is wrong with you

and then he tells her he doesn't care if she goes back home without him lmfao men ain't shit

[timewizard-oldman]

i love hearing crows while waiting for the bus in the morning....... <33

[technicolorxsn]

thinking abt the left right game.....

[headspace-hotel]

I am being driven to madness by the fact that bees and butterflies aren't better studied than other pollinators because they are more important to the ecosystem, they are just better studied because...people like them more?

Seriously

My plants are attracting HUGE amounts of flies, ants, wasps, and moths, and when I identify them and look them up there is no information! Especially flies, wow. They're so diverse, there's SO many different kinds. I'm getting a ton of bee-mimic flies and hover flies.

Wikipedia says hover fly larvae eat aphids while the adults are pollinators. That means they are beneficial in two ways at once! But most of the Wikipedia pages for species are only one sentence, if they exist at all. Likewise here's the wiki page for the most common bee mimic fly where I am. It's one sentence!

If you only pay attention to butterflies and bees, and plant the plants that are the best for butterflies and bees, you would maybe neglect keystone plants that support the largest amount of other insects. And these insects are like, a massive proportion of the bugs in a healthy ecosystem. And birds and mammals need bugs for food! A lot of birds are mostly insectivorous, and anyways, an unbalanced diet of all bird seed can't be healthy even for the omnivorous birds. They need to eat a variety of foods!

Not to mention that larvae are necessary for feeding baby birds!

The back yard is overflowing with birds. There are red-bellied woodpeckers, a gray catbird, a barn swallow, tree swallows, wrens, sparrows, house finches, goldfinches, bluebirds, bluejays, grackles, orioles, cardinals, doves, and a bunch of others I'm forgetting about, and they are constantly singing and making a commotion, and it's louder now than the ugly man-made sounds that are always barging in through the quiet.

[acotarmemes]

Did Buttmunch make it to the Night Court?

YES! He did and VERY SAFELY!

icons by @copypastus

Since it's @cassianappreciationweek, I also wrote a little ficlet of:

The Adventures of Cassian and Buttmunch

Read on AO3, or below the cut.

"Cassian? Cassian, are you listening to me?"

It tickles. Oh, gods, it tickles.

Cassian squirms a little, tilting his head and wrinkling his nose. He's sure Nesta is saying something terribly important and while the sound of her voice is a symphony of sun and skies, it takes all of his self-control to contain himself.

"Yes, of course! I, the best husband in the world, devote my complete attention to my beloved wife."

"What was I saying?" Nesta deadpans, folding her arms across her chest. She drums her fingers across her bicep, patiently waiting for Cassian's excuse.

Before he can say anything productive, he bursts into a fit of giggled, and bites his lip. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I swear I was listning. But if you could repeat yourself, I would love you forever."

"You'll love me forever even if I don't," she counters without missing a beat. Her eyes trail him up and down, watching him squirm, nearly cross his arms over his chest and decide against it. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing."

Her gaze narrows, and she steps closer. Nesta draws her hands back, and strikes hard and fast, tickling his sides. All is lost—completely lost!

Cassian bursts into laughter. "Mercy, mercy!"

"Not until you—Ah!" Nesta's yelp is sudden and pitched as she jumps back. "What's that?"

From the inside of his vest, a tiny baby bluejay pops its head out, using Cassian's chest hair as a tiny little toupee. It chirps at Nesta happily, then wiggles back into the comfort of Cassian's clothes.

"Well, you see, I wanted to ask how you felt about birds?"

"Cassian!"

He knows it isn't very fair to ask Nesta to keep the baby bird when he's already got the baby bird, but he is the General of the Night Court and battles aren't always won with fairness.

***

"What do bluejays eat?"

Azriel's voice is quieter than the little singing bird. He squats by the makeshift nest, watching the hatchling bury itself in scraps of Cassian's old clothing and hair they definitely didn't just pull out. They wanted to swaddle him in Cassian's scent, what else were they supposed to do?

"I dunno."

"Tamlin didn't give you a list?"

"Well, he did, but I lost it."

Azriel pauses, and looks up at Cassian unimpressed. Of course, Cassian would adopt a baby bird and of course, he would decide to wing it. Pun intended. The shadowsinger sighs, and conjures little shadow tendrils to entertain the chick.

"His name?"

"Buttmunch."

A small smile creeps on Azriel's features. The two of them high five in some inside joke no one else is privy too.

"Want to make a bet?"

Cassian tilts his head, his bun following the motion and going lopsided. It's still too early to be stylish. It's just Azriel, anyway. He cocks a scarred brow, already invested in this brewing game. He doesn't win often, but this time, he will. If it's about Buttmunch, nobody knows his baby as well as he does.

"Gather food. Label them. Whoever's food Buttmuch picks wins."

"Okay, what do I win?"

"Your name goes first. Buttmuch, son of Cassian and Azriel. If you win."

"HELL YEAH!"

***

The meeting is running long.

Cassian leans his cheek into his fist, half-lulling himself to sleep. There's only so much court things he can take. He is a man of action, a do-er, not a talker. His only saving grace is the grumpy little bluejay sitting on Rhysand's shoulder. Buttmunch didn't want to get up. Buttmunch also didn't want to left alone in Cassian's room.

He's in a mood, Cassian had told his brother, but Rhysand insisted that his winged-nephew join him.

The hatchling looks especially angry, trembling a little as he—oops.

"Buttmunch the first! Son of Azriel and Cassian!" Cassian yowls between fits of laughter. He gets up and swoops his little birdy with a grin. "I guess that's meeting adjourned? I'll buy you a new suit. Oh, and I told you so."

"With what money? You owe me from last time I spotted you."

"Sorry, gotta go! Potty training!"

***

The problem with being the most handsome and innovative male in the Night Court is that everyone wants to be him. Cassian rescued Buttmunch, and now Azriel wants one too.

He rushes to the texted location—to where his brother found an egg all by itself on the ground. Cradled in the mud at the banks of swampy water lies Buttmunch's future brother.

"Should we wait for the egg to hatch?"

"I don't know. Buttmunch game ready made."

"Ready—Ready made?"

"Yeah, hatched and chirping and all. He just kinda fell out of a tree."

The two of them stand there, inspecting the egg. Cassian feels little feet scractching at his head as Buttmunch pops out of his bun, joining in the open display of curiosity.

Beside them, the water sloshes. Both Illyrians turn their attention to the murky depths.

"Is that—"

"RUN!"

A giant crocodile bursts out of seemingly nowhere, snapping its jaws at the two idiots invading its nest. Cassian holds onto Buttmuch while running for dear life.

"Sorry, Butt," Cassian says, breathless, once they reach safety. "We'll find you a sibling."

***

The scare by the swamp weighs on Cassian's mind. What if Buttmunch had fallen off? What if Cassian forgot to hold onto him and he'd been eaten? Oh, he'd be inconsolable if he lost his baby chikie.

"You're not a baby anymore. Look how chonky you are. That's teen-bird chonk. That means you're ready to fly," he lectures. "It's for your safety."

"Are we sure he understands?" Feyre squats down to scratch his fuzzy little head. "He is so cute."

"Did you understand your parents when you were born?"

"No. I was a baby."

"Okay, well, Buttmunch is a genius. Look at this." Cassian twirls his finger. "Do the cyclone!"

Right on cue, Buttmunch turns in a circle on the spot. The hatchling chirps and preens at his papa-bat.

"That's it, I'm kidnapping him and keeping him forever."

"You can try, but he's imprinted on me. It's why Tamlin let him live with me instead of releasing him back into the Spring Court forests."

"We'll see when he learns to fly and becomes independent. So, how do we start?"

As one of the last people who learned to fly, Feyre is the perfect teaching assistant to Cassian. The three of them stand on the roof. They try to show Buttmunch to flap his wings, but the chick only tilts his head to the left and to the right in confusion.

"Like this," Cassian takes big leaping steps, flapping his wings in demonstration.

Buttmunch hops after him excitedly, but his wings are tucked firmly at his sides.

"Okay, what if I just pushed him off the roof? His instincts are bound to kick in, right?"

"What if I pushed you off the roof?"

Feyre regards Cassian like he's lost his damn mind. Flying isn't easy and rushing that process isn't going to make Buttmunch successful. She bends down to scoop the tiny bluejay into her hands. He nestles into the warmth of her touch and that gives her an idea.

"Fly," she tells Cassian.

"What?"

"Just fly. Pretend like you're leaving him behind."

Cassian frowns. Abandonment seems… cruel. He looks between Feyre and his munchkin, then steps back off the edge. As soon as he disappears, Buttmunch cries out desperately. Cassian swoops back up into the sky, flapping his wings and keeping a distance between them.

"Go to papa," Feyre tells Buttmunch, extending her arms.

The chick remains focused on Cassian, spreading its little wings and flapping. He tries and tries, trying to lift himself when Feyre decides to give him a little momentum. A little toss up into the air where she can still catch him and there he goes.

"He's flyin'! My baby boy is flyin'!"

Buttmunch's trajectory is a little unsteady, dropping a little as he tries to meet Cassian in the air. Oh, he doesn't seem sure at all, but he's determined. He chirps, chirps, and Cassian likes to say he's announcing his arrival—I'm coming! I'm coming!

Cassian cheers him on and catches him, howling his victory. His Buttmunch is the best, the very best!

***

Flying is freedom.

Flying is boundless.

He can go as far and as wide as he pleases, with nothing to stop him except his own will. Cassian soars through the clouds above Velaris, a fierce blue dart beside him. He twists his body, torpedoing through the white wisps, and the bluejay mimicks his prowess.

The two of them were meant to fly.

Velaris boasts the most beautiful sights, but there is nothing like the endless sky welcoming him and his Buttmunch with open arms.

[ballad-of-the-eleventh]

I know a lot of people are annoyed at Scaramouche being playable as “Wanderer” but honestly I just think it’s funny. That is THE most transmasc ‘i-have-not-figured-out-a-name-for-myself-yet’ thing I have EVER heard

[artdecodude]

'Burbank Industry' : An 8 foot wide by 24 foot high mural that greets you as soon as you enter Burbank City Hall. Created in 1943 by Los Angeles area muralist Hugo Ballin (sounds like I made it up to appeal to you fellow kids). Some of Hugo's other well known works are in the DTLA Edison Building as well as Griffith Observatory. I chopped it up here so you can click on each section & zoom in on the mind numbing detail (like the puppy, the bluejay family, and his signature at the bottom right) (plus no way tumblr lets me upload the 65mb jpg.) 📸:me/June2024

[top-wing]

Penny: Swift, I never ask you for anything! When did i ever ask you for anything?

Swift: Yesterday. You said [imitating Penny] "Swift, please take me to the Lemon Shack! I really want some kelp icers!"

[evapillar]

Me: wow I can hear so many different birds!! I wonder what they are!

Merlin Sound ID: yes, there are six different species in this parking lot

One (1) mockingbird: I AM A BLUEJAY I AM A CARDINAL I AM A NUTHATCH

Man: 0 Machine: 0 Nature: 1

[edutainer2022]

This was inspired partially by this whump prompt about bed sharing. Besides, I had advertised to @janetm74, @astranite and @idontknowreallywhy a sprained ankle for Scott after my own recent injury. This is one go at it of several I have in mind. A harmless late night conversation between Dad and Scott over the latter's bum foot leads into a wormhole of unexpected deeper anguish. Jeff has a lot of emotional revelations ambushing him upon return from Oort Cloud. But it all gets better. Jeff loves his eldest boy so, so much.

SLEEPLESS

He was miserable and in pain. But mostly stupid. His body burned through the painkillers, Virgil made sure he took for his sprained ankle, somewhere halfway through the movie. He didn't want to take more to be out of commission the next day. They were grounding him anyway, of course. Dad was taking over several conference calls with TI at The Desk as well, because apparently Scott was now only good for lounging on the couch cushions, his foot propped up. Dad's firm stare made that part non-negotiable.

Virgil and Alan were sound asleep after the movie, so they decided to leave them be, tucked in together with a throw blanket. Gordon had his hands full, literally, with a still wobbly from orbit and now sleepy John, helping him along to his rooms, and was likely to crash there too. Scott didn't want to worry Dad more with needing an anesthetic cream, so made his best to hide a wince, a gasp, and a limp, before making it upstairs and bidding Dad good night. A detour to the bathroom to rumage through his own med-kit seemed like too much trouble. He's been through worse pain. He'd be fine.

So now Scott was wide awake in bed, every minute move, twist or tug of his foot - a pure liquid fire of agony on pulled and inflamed tendons. A bathroom with the coveted anesthetic now seemed a whole world away. He felt miserable and stupid, and lonely, and maybe wanted to cry a little. And for someone to come over and help, but he wouldn't ever dare worry them or take away from their rest. He opted for a grunt and some angry squinting against treacherous tears. He'd glare daggers at someone, but he would need a mirror for that.

In answer to his thoughts a door hissed open. From the size of the silhouette Scott first thought it was Virgil, checking up on him. But the steps of the visitor were heavier. Slower. Dad!

Jeff wasn't using his cane for the short trip to his son's room. He had a tube of sports anti-inflammatory gel in one hand, likely, from his own medical kit on hand. Dad perched carefully at the foot of Scott's bed and yanked the cover up, pulling the bruised and swollen foot into his lap. All without a single word. Scott tried to squawk in protest.

"Dad! I'm fine! You don't have to!"

The soothing gel was cool on the skin. Dad's hands cool too, careful and daft.

"C'mon, Bluejay, you should know better by now. I haven't been around lately, but I've been doing this a while, son. I KNOW when you're in pain!"

"How did you know I wasn't asleep, Dad?"

Jeff chuckled at that, giving the injured ankle another gentle pass and a knead with his fingers.

"Dad-radar. A bit rusty but ever true!"

Scott exhaled in relief as the applied anesthetic was already taking the edge off, and relaxed against his pillow. It felt so good to have Dad so casually take care of him. It felt so safe and comforting, he immediately felt guilty. He should be the one taking care of Dad, exhausted by his ordeal and still recovering. He should be putting up an unwavering front, not a wobbly bum foot.

Jeff considered his handywork, gave Scott's knee a pat for good measure and tucked the covers back, but not before shifting Scott's foot carefully on a couch throw pillow, installed in his bed by Gordon the day before, for elevation. Dad put the cream away on the bedside table and loomed over Scott again.

"Now, kiddo, I can give you another pill for the night. I know your system burns through them like Thunderbird One through fuel. But just one."

Dad's posture went tense, his eyes darker, even in the shadows. Scott's heart constricted as a sudden guess occurred - a memory of him nearly overdosing that one time his body (and mind) was so stressed and he was so desperate to just GET BETTER ALREADY after THAT PLACE, was probably a lot fresher for Dad than for himself or his brothers after... everything. It WAS an accident, but maybe Dad never quite shook the shadow of a horrific doubt.

Scott shook his head. No pills.

"I'm good! Thanks, Dad."

The last part came out small. Timid.

Dad's features relaxed and he moved to sit back down on the bed and lean on the headrest.

"OK! Now scoot over, Bluejay!"

A pillow was yanked from beneath Scott's head and rested on Dad's lap. Jeff patted it, inviting Scott to relocate. Scott tried to protest again, but large hands were already guiding his head and shoulders onto the pillow. Fingers automatically raked through his ungelled hair. Dad's other hand landed on his shoulder, rubbing soothing circles. Scott shifted carefully not to pull his ankle again and curled into a ball, like a giant cat in Dad's lap. He felt so snug. So safe. Of course the ugly mug of shame reared again.

"Dad! You need to rest!"

"And I do rest. See? No prancing around."

Dad wiggled his toes in garish neon green socks with alien head prints, now perched on Scott's comforter, comically. There was a smile in his voice. But the palm on Scott's shoulder tightened in a soft, but pointed squeeze.

"You need to rest too, Bluejay. Or you can tell me why you haven't been sleeping, if you want."

Scott's whole frame froze for a moment. He tried to deflect with a quip - that hardly failed.

"My foot hurts!"

Jeff rubbed his palm up and down his son's arm for comfort.

"I know, kiddo. But you haven't been sleeping for some time before that. That's why you got a cramp on your run, that's why your leg gave, and you twisted and sprained that ankle."

Scott coiled tighter on himself, facing away from Dad, eager to spring and run. Run away from that conversation - bum foot or not.

Jeff sensed the son's tension and shifted his ministrations to small circles over the young man's upper back.

"I told you I've been doing this a while, son. Your sleepless tells are kinda my forte since you were two days old."

Silence stretched. What Jeff missed through Scott's childhood, he certainly compensated a thousandfold after Scott was retrieved from THAT PLACE and could barely make it through an hour of sleep, plauged by nightmares and memories. Eight years stranded in space didn't dull Dad's instincts - Scott, indeed, hadn't been sleeping, unless passed out with exhaustion, ever since the Zero-XL mission came back. How could he?!

A rugged breath came out with barely audible words:

"I was late."

Jeff's hand hovered over his shoulder.

"Come again?"

Scott squeezed his eyes shut and drew in more air.

"I was late to save you! The planetoid was already falling apart, and you weren't there! I was late! I failed you! I should have come sooner! I should have never stopped looking! I should have..."

Eventually he was heaving dry sobs, close to hyperventilating, blurring disjointed apologies out.

Dad was now clutching him with both arms, rocking in cadence with Scott's full body shivers. Arms, treacherously weakened by years in low gravity, struggled to pull the lean muscle mass of the son's body close to his chest. Jeff settled for tugging gently at Scott's upper arm to coax him to look up at the father.

"Can you look at me, Bluejay? Please! Look at Dad!"

Jeff's voice was hoarse, toned down in a long forgotten habit not to startle. He also didn't quite trust it not to quiver, shellshocked by the boy's anguish.

A blue eye, clouded with tears, finally peeked up at him. Then Scott reluctantly uncurled from a ball and twisted sideways to face Dad. That was a win.

"Look at me, Bluejay! Stay with me! Good. Good! Where am I?"

Scott blinked owlishly once, twice, processing the question. When understanding hit the pain flared up again. He tried to hide it beneath lowered lashes, but Jeff was relentless.

"Where am I right now, Scotty? Indulge me!"

Scott sighed.

"You're here, Dad."

"And how did I get here, son?"

Jeff took a moment to grab a sleeve of his hoodie - Scott's old hoodie, to be precise, now almost swamping his father's frame - and wipe the tears from his son's cheeks and chin.

Another sigh was accompanied by a dismissive flail.

"It's not... I was LATE, Dad! I promised Alan and I couldn't bring you back! I nearly lost you!"

"That's not quite how I remember it, Bluejay. You were tumbling past me into the void among all those boulders."

That certainly topped the charts of the vivid images that kept the father up at nights quite often. The fact that Scott stayed behind alone in the danger zone, having sent Allie away, against all protocols, would have to be a conversation for a different time. For a different time of the day, for sure. For now he had a different matter at hand.

"Scotty, there's no scenario, universe or timeline, where I would choose my own life over yours! Or your brothers'. I'm here. I'm home. You got me here, because you stayed strong and true. You kept IR going. You kept our family going. You kept the company going. You spared no effort or expense to build Zero-XL. You led your brothers and you saved me. Dad's right here! I've got you, son! I love you so much! You can rest now!"

That too would have to be a far longer and even more emotionally wrought conversation, once the sun was up. It might need to involve Dr. Ross, the family psychologist, who'd already wondered tentatively if Scott wanted to resume therapy after Jeff's return, or if Jeff would consider father-son sessions to work through their new dynamics. But that too would have to wait till dawn.

For now the interim goal was almost accomplished. Scott's blinking became slower, his breathing more even. Jeff rejoiced when he managed to cradle the boy's head against his chest, as Scott folded into a cuddle after some careful prodding. Broad shoulders going limp in Dad's firm hold heralded him finally succumbing to slumber after weeks, possibly months of guilt-infused insomnia. But a father had too much on his mind to sleep just yet.