a flock of birds

Okay so we have this rusty old thing in our one flower bed that would make an awful noise when you turned it and Buck Buck absolutely hated the sound of it, freaking out every time, wanting to somehow fight it??? Anyway I haven’t turned the Sphere of Rage for several years now and figured I’d see if it can still work its great and terrible magic.

let me tell you something:

no one is going to look at you, broken and shattered
and think -
damn, you are beautiful.

no one is going to come pick up your broken pieces off the floor and
assemble them into a beautiful whole.

hell,
you won’t even look at yourself and think -
I made broken look beautiful.

you know why?

because all those writers lied to you.

yes,
all those with their poems of scraped knuckles and
blood dripping down chins,
pomegranate songs and loves that ripped through you like
hurricanes.

liars.

so you and i,
we are going to make a plan.

you are not going to romanticize days when your brain tells you to smash that mirror,
you are not going to romanticize the lover who doesn’t understand you
but still writes about you.

here is what you are going to romanticize instead:

you are going to romanticize the first day of spring,
its gentle hands all over your body,
lifting you up until you are as light as a feather.

you are going to romanticize the tea and honey kind of love,
no hurricanes,
but sunshine that builds you up from within,
that helps you make it through the worst days.

you are going to romanticize gentle hands of a friend
in yours,
telling you that it is going to be okay.

because it is.

and don’t trust poets,
we’re no good,
we love pretending that our jagged edges tantamount to a beautiful disaster, but in reality -
there ain’t nothing beautiful about shaky hands holding a cigarette and
empty eyes staring at the cracks in the walls.

you know what is beautiful, instead?

the days when you can look at yourself in the mirror and smile,
scars and all.

music that makes your soul flow like a river,
books that offer comfort,
families flocking together like overgrown birds to keep you safe and warm,
friends that give you strength when you can find none,
lovers who make you laugh through tears.

baby,
from now on
you are going to romanticize healing;

honey dripping down your fingertips,
August nights that stick to your skin,
the day you find your purpose,
long car rides and singing so loud that no one can shut you up now.

bad news:
no one is coming to save you.

good news:
you can save yourself.

—  Lana Rafaela
my flock: treats
  • me: *throws whole piece of bread onto the ground*
  • chickens: jesus CHRIST we gotta consume this as quickly as possible and shove the LARGEST pieces down our throats lmao what is pacing??? what is choking??? what is tearing off a small piece supposed to do??? waste of time
  • me: *throws down whole strawberries, blueberries, chunks of broccoli*
  • chickens: exCusE mE???? the fuck is this??? did your dumb ass forget how to cut food down to size??? why have these not been carefully sliced to accommodate our delicate throats and beaks??? you forget your purpose here, human
I think we all crave for company. Birds fly together in flocks, wolves hunt together in packs, sheep moves together in herds, and the stars shine together in constellations. I think we’re at our fullest with life and feel the most alive when we have someone to experience and share it with together.
—  thaiql 
3

Across the frozen land, the flock of birds made its way through cottony clouds.

I made a bunch of paintings as part of the visual development for my Babayaga project. I like the idea of a land enshrouded with mystery, both quiet and intimidating. I like the idea of Babayaga exploring such a timeless and wild land with the Nameless Boy ! 

So your bird needs medicated

And you’re not looking forward to the fighting and the manhandling that might involve. But DON’T WORRY FRIENDS. Let me show you my secret weapon:

Motherfucking BABY FOOD. The secret to smuggling medicine into your little scream child and making them think it’s the greatest gift you’ve ever given them. And also the secret to training your healthy bird to see the medicine dropper as a vehicle for treats instead of medicine. Just choose their favorite fruit or veggie in baby food form. In this house the favorites are bananas, apples, pears, and sweet potatoes. 

(I can’t find the source anymore, but make sure you don’t get the combo flavors. The idea behind this is the combo flavors have more ingredients and potentially something not good for your birds. This banana baby food only contains two ingredients: bananas and a little bit of lemon juice.)

Keep reading

Headquarters Generator

Need a place to call your own? Roll on this table to see what’s available!

What kind of property is available? (Roll 1d6)

  1. A watchtower in need of a mason
  2. A longhouse, recently vacated
  3. The old ciderworks (though only the waterwheel and workhouse still stand)
  4. A natural rock crevasse
  5. An old jail filled by a despot and emptied by his usurper
  6. The sprawling manorhouse granted wide berth by locals

Where can it be found? (Roll 1d6)

  1. Just off the cart-path that leads down to the shore
  2. At the edge of town, just before the tree line
  3. Within the ruined foundations of the old despot’s castle
  4. Right where the river forks
  5. At the top of the cliffs
  6. Within a stone’s throw of the border

Staff are hired, but who are these strangers? (Roll 1d6)

  1. An old woman and her three dour sons
  2. A troupe of dwarves, hard working but stubborn
  3. A dapper tiefling who somehow performs the work of ten servants
  4. A dozen human women who fight amongst themselves constantly
  5. A mess of sallow skinned servants with wet eyes and gasping mouths
  6. Swarms of truly miniscule folk who approach their tasks like a wave approaches the shore

There’s something curious about this property. (Roll 1d6)

  1. All but the sharpest eyes seem helpless but to pass over it
  2. Sound echoes in a manner unsuited to the space
  3. The flicker of a torch often lurks around corners with no source to be found
  4. Bright birds flock near here, a different colour every day
  5. The temperature is always perfect inside
  6. Strangers often inquire eagerly with the locals about the place, but their intentions are never stated

There were tenants here before. What did they leave behind? (Roll 1d6)

  1. Elaborately carved wooden furnishings in need of a good dusting
  2. A heap of scrolls on all manner of topics, though unsorted and weather-worn
  3. Cryptic words of warning and a hand crafted ward against spirits and spectres
  4. Several wardrobes of clothes and costumes, all in good condition
  5. A hogshead of gnomish Gray OilBrau spirits
  6. An ancient calico cat that never seems to blink or eat

anonymous asked:

Origin companions react to a dwarf warden seeing a bird and screaming

Alistair: It takes him a moment to realize where their fear is stemming from, but once it registers with him he is a little confused. It is only when another companion points out that they’ve likely seen few if any surface dwelling creatures that he apologizes sheepishly and promises to keep them safe.

“After all, we wardens have to flock together. Get it, because birds of a feather? I’ll…just go away now.”

Morrigan: Her disinterest is clear, but unlike Alistair she at least has a quick grasp of the cause of their reaction. 

“Tis merely a creature of the air, warden, and of which you will see many in your time here on the surface. Now come– we have more important matters.”

Leliana: Immediately she is alert, looking around for enemies, but once the source of their fear is uncovered she cannot help but laugh. Leliana feel’s terrible about it afterwards, of course -she was amused, not cruel- and promises to keep them safe from avian threats in the future.

“If we require a songbird I am here, What sparrow can outsing a nightengale?”

Sten: He is not impressed. Even a dwarf is many times bigger than one small songbird, and they have bigger issues to face. They are above Orzammar now– it is time to face those threats.

“Vashedan, there is no time for such foolishness. Control yourself.”

Wynne: For someone who has also lived in a controlled society for most of her life the mage understands how new sights can be frightening. Of all the companions she is the most sympatheitc, and moves to comfort without chiding.

“There now, no harm done. Just a song bird on her way to her nest. She won’t hurt you, any more than you might fall into the sky. It’s all right.”

Zevran: He finds the situation amusing, most of all because this is the Warden he could not assassinate. If any of this ever gets out he will never find work again.

“Truly, my dear warden, you continue to astonish. Darkspawn and bandits do not phase you, but a robin is fear itself. Only a shame you are not so frightened of Crows.”

Ohgren: He’s screamed right along with them, the haze of alcohol making the bird seem as frightening as the arch demon, and so is of little help.

“Damn surface vermin! By the Stone why can’t things stay rooted where they belong?!”

Loghain: He has very little comment to make, but a part of his mind is both amused and infuriated that this is what brought him down.

Dog:

Originally posted by welcometoyouredoom

Shale:

Time freezes, the sun ceases it’s journey, and for the first time in so many, many years, Shale finds someone who understands them. A connection is forged then, one that shall never be sundered, and with surprising gentleness the golem places their hand on the Warden’s head.

“Do not fear, warden. Someday all the birds shall die.”

–Mod Fereldone