I keep seeing people on Beau Post say that fluffy = happy and. no. it very much does not. so here's a visual reference for anyone curious.
No puff (neutral)
Smallpuff (comfy) - note the relaxed body language and lowered wings.
Bigpuff (defensive) - note the tension in her body (tense wings, head pulled toward the body). Most pigeons will do this around the nest when they see a threat (in this case it was a chicken who wasn't anywhere near her and didn't even try anything, but Beau is a very defensive nester) and it usually is followed by a nasty wing slap and/or a bite.
You will also see pigeons stretch their necks out and flatten all their feathers when scared and ready to run, but nesting birds will usually pick fight over flight.
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my favourite sexuality for comic book characters to be is "we made this other character canonically queer because of their relationship with them but for some reason they are still canonically straight"
like wade wilson? mostly canonically queer because of the period where he was married to cable. he was in a queer relationship, so we have to just make him canonically queer. (Yes I know it's not the only reason, I have read all his extremely camp early 00s comics, but lets be real they'd have kept insisting that was all just a joke if it wasn't for Cable and Deadpool).
cable? definitely straight. 100% straight. obviously cable is straight. his relationship with wade is only gay during the & Deadpool, in the Cable part of the book it's very straight. He stands next to a woman sometimes, that's how you can tell it's not gay.
Kitty has, finally, been allowed to come out, but for like a decade, Illyana was canon queer because she dated Kitty, but Kitty was definitely straight and would never date a woman, and no one at marvel thought there was anything weird about that.
[Image Description: a very straight character, interacting with another straight character, in a very believably straight way]
Marvel has way more of these, mostly by virtue of having more queer characters and also chris clairmont (you can never understate the impact of chris clairmont in these matters) but Tim Drake and Kon Kent spring to mind from DC.
I think you could even make a solid argument that 616 Tony and Steve are that, given Tony is out now and Steve, somehow, still isn't.
anyway you don't really get these in any other medium, because they require multiple writers who all wildly disagree with one another to all write the same characters to happen, but i love them, and as much as I want Cable and Kon to come out, I kind of hope this never stops happening in comics, it's just never not funny.
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"You're so pretty."
Victoria's movements are soft, half formed, as though she'd not quite thought the action out before it started. She feels her ears heat up with embarrassment. It had been happening more often lately - moving before she can think clearly, as though dealing with two separate entities within herself, brain and heart. Perhaps Jennyanydots' amused diagnosis of "twitterpated" was not too far off the mark; there had certainly been enough reasoning to back it up.
Plato blinks, slow and confused, as though being pulled from a dream. And perhaps he was; he'd been staring at Victoria for the better part of an eternity, focused, but very clearly somewhere else. He did that sometimes - disappear somewhere she couldn't quite follow him, eyes hollow and dark. Victoria wishes she knew where he went; perhaps one day he'd tell her.
The staring, she couldn't fault, however; she'd been staring at him right back.
"What?" he asks, furrowing his brow.
"Pretty," Victoria signs again, submitting to having been caught, exaggerating the movement so he'd get it. Perhaps he'd been half paying attention, and only seen the tail end. "You're very pretty."
Plato wasn't much for laughing, Victoria had come to know - smiling, yes; Plato had developed such an easy smile over the year spent with them when they could coax it out of him. Laughing, on the other paw, not particularly, though he was never able to put quite into words why that was. Perhaps he was self conscious of the way it sounded; perhaps he hadn't much in regards to a sense of humour.
Be that as it may, for some reason, that affirmation plasters bewildered scrunches between his brows and his eyes practically disappear under his eyelashes. It even gets that odd, wheezing noise he'd make when particularly amused.
The queen could only be partially annoyed and a teeny bit embarassed - he was very handsome when he smiled, afterall, one fang hanging slightly lower than the other. An in consequential flaw that did nothing, Victoria thinks, flustered, than make him even prettier.
Victoria huffs. "What's funny?"
Plato tosses the motion back haphhazardly, as though brushing the thought aside. "You're funny."
"Not funny." Victoria frowns. "I'm serious."
Plato sobers immediately, smile gone as quickly as it came - it's like a candle being blown out; a night and day difference. The temperature in the clearing seems to cool as he continues to study her. There is an undeniable feeling creeping at the back of Victoria's neck that she may have mis-stepped somewhere, but all she'd said was...
She presses on, feeling an ache begin deep in her chest. She repeats herself, motions firm. "You're very pretty."
"I am not," he says after a long moment. There is an expression on his face that is difficult to read - he does not look embarrassed or pleased, even humbly so; he almost looks as though he is about to cry.
"Yes you ar-"
"You-" he points at her firmly, cutting her off, jaw set. The motion towards her is quick and harsh as a result, unsheathing his claws in the process. He startles as she does, horrified, staring at the space that has swelled between them; he is a breath away from scratching her.
"You," He points to her again after a moment, claw carefully pulled back this time. "Are very pretty. Not me. Look." He motions to the whole of himself, as though that were enough to dissuade her feelings. It only steels her resolve further.
"You look-" she insists, touching her paw pads to the delicate skin of his cheek to demonstrate. Plato flinches as though she'd hit him in retaliation; it looks to have been a struggle for him to resist moving away, but the desire is clearly there. There is fear burning in his eyes -anger and remorse and upset - like a bird trapped in a cage of teeth, waiting for its bones to snap in on themselves after the hunter had toyed with its prey.
Victoria pulls back, tangling her paws in her lap. The ache becomes a gnawing hurt. The fear in Plato's eyes burns hotter, guilt shining just beneath the surface.
"Please." Plato sets his jaw, and the fear fizzles slowly - forcibly - last of the flame suffocated. But he does not get near her again. He is gone to that place she cannot follow. "I cannot...do not lie to me."
"I am not lying," she manages, tears at the precipice of her eyelashes. The silence grows even heavier between them
"Then," he continues at last, breath hitching eyes wide and astonished, and Victoria feels ice settle at the base of her spine. After a moment, his expression dulls again. The smile on his face returns in a flash, a plaster over a wound, but it is bitter, cool. Empty. "You are being cruel? I did not think you had it in you."
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