The Secret Lives Of Real Birbs!

Touchstarved Backgrounds [For Reference]

— all assets belong to Red Spring Studio

— MC's Room [Morning - Noon* - Night - Fogfall - ??? - ??? ]

Hey, that’s me

Something just happened

Also, tell my partner thanks for the sketch (allthescom, everywhere but most active on Ig)

The tea is RED! Guys the tea is red... its normally green.

Doesn't ais have a teapot that he dumps out water (or whatever it is) from the spring

photo referenced robot yuri

It's the last day of April

pretty fish :3

the strong and noble coelacanth

i hate the part of depression that’s like all the things that bring me joy are empty and i can’t do anything. like come on bitch i know you love book can you just be happy about book :/

Your Touchstarved headcanons are wonderful! You are almost single handedly keeping me sane while I wait for the full game. Truly, you are a blessing to this fandom.

I was wondering if you had any thoughts about what any of the LIs would think of an MC who is a Writer/Artist. Maybe they had to give it up for a while when they left to go to Erridia?

Or...

Since MC is broke, what do the LIs think of them showing affection through gifts, even if they haven't got money? I can imagine they make simple, inexpensive things like paper flowers for Leander or friendship bracelets for Ais.

Anyway I hope you have a great day, keep up the good work and thanks for posting so much good stuff.💐🌼

I’m actually crying you’re so sweet THANK YOU SO MUCH?!! AVCKHVCEBFC 😭😭

I took it a step further, I hope you don't mind.

This is 1/2 :)

Disclaimer! They/Them for MC because we love inclusivity!

Kuras

Writer

He’d probably figure it out rather quickly. The way they would meticulously jot down notes, the endless stream of ideas, and their thoughtful insights into various u̶n̶c̶o̶n̶v̶e̶n̶t̶i̶o̶n̶a̶l̶ topics. Or perhaps he had caught glimpses of their constantly ink-stained fingers. Either way, it became another entry in Kuras' catalogue of fascinating things about them. Undeniably intrigued, he couldn't help but wonder if their writing reflected their innermost thoughts and desires—if each word they wrote held a piece of their soul, waiting to be discovered by someone willing to delve into the depths of their imagination—or perhaps if it was simply a creative outlet for emotions they couldn't express otherwise.

Kuras found himself wanting to uncover the layers of complexity that made up the enigmatic individual behind the pages of their notebooks. And he was more than willing to take on that challenge.

Taking into consideration the fact that perhaps the MC wouldn't be able to afford fancy writing tools or notebooks, often writing down messy notes in napkins with worn-out pens and crayons left behind by patrons at the Wick, Kuras would gift them a brand new notebook and a set of pens, hoping that the small gesture would encourage the MC to continue expressing themselves through writing and perhaps even open up to him about the deeper secrets of themselves they had yet to reveal.

Vere

Artist

As a fellow artist himself, Vere knew to recognize talent when he saw it, no matter how subtle or unassuming it may appear at first glance. After all, true artistry is not just about skill but also passion and dedication. He didn't miss the way the MC's eyes lingered a moment longer on the brush strokes of a distant painting in a random Eridian shop with such reverence, as if trying to capture the essence of the art itself, before moving on, or the way their eyes focused on the lightning dancing across the sky and their fingers twitched with an unspoken desire to create. 

Vere could sense the raw artistry bubbling just beneath the surface; he saw in them the same hunger for self-expression and longing for freedom that had driven him to pursue his own artistic endeavours. 

So he carefully crafted a plan. He discreetly left behind pens and paper in the MC's vicinity. He didn't directly hand it to them, opting to let them stumble upon the supplies, hoping that the MC would take notice and feel compelled to pick up the tools on their own accord. Don't ask him why he did so; he doesn't know the answer himself. Perhaps because of an inexplicable curiosity and a desire to see if he could spark something within the MC, to see if he could ignite that same creative flame that burned within him. Or maybe it was simply a gut feeling. Regardless, he watched from a distance as the MC began to tentatively pick up the pens and paper, their eyes alight with newfound inspiration. It brought a g̶e̶n̶u̶i̶n̶e̶ satisfied smile to his face, his tail wagging back and forth in contentment.

Leander

Dance

Leander figured the MC used to be a dancer. It was obvious if one paid close attention; their perfect posture, precision, strength, and flexibility in their body were a dead giveaway. He'd notice the gracefulness in their movements, every step deliberate and full of confidence, and the fluid transitions between postures.

Leander found himself bewitched. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the MC as they'd effortlessly glided around the Wick, their feet barely making a sound against the hardwood floor. It was effortless, seamless, and utterly captivating. He will admit he couldn't help the small smile once he'd noticed the subtle way they would often tap their feet to the rhythm of a song roaring throughout the tavern.

It was a talent that couldn't be hidden, no matter how hard they tried.

His plan was simple: He needed some sort of opening, somewhere to insert himself into the situation without coming across as intrusive (o̶r̶ a̶g̶g̶r̶e̶s̶s̶i̶v̶e̶… o̶r̶ d̶e̶m̶a̶n̶d̶i̶n̶g̶… o̶r̶—). He would simply attempt to start a conversation with them and praise their dance skills, hoping to learn more about that talent of theirs—maybe even ask them for a dance later in the evening—while also finding a way to subtly steer the conversation towards more personal matters.

N̶o̶, i̶t̶ w̶a̶s̶n̶'t̶ n̶e̶r̶v̶e̶s̶ t̶h̶a̶t̶ f̶l̶u̶t̶t̶e̶r̶e̶d̶ i̶n̶ h̶i̶s̶ s̶t̶o̶m̶a̶c̶h̶. I̶t̶ w̶a̶s̶ p̶r̶o̶b̶a̶b̶l̶y̶ t̶h̶e̶ e̶x̶c̶i̶t̶e̶m̶e̶n̶t̶ o̶f̶ t̶h̶e̶ u̶n̶k̶n̶o̶w̶n̶ o̶u̶t̶c̶o̶m̶e̶ t̶h̶a̶t̶ a̶w̶a̶i̶t̶e̶d̶ h̶i̶m̶ a̶n̶d̶ b̶l̶a̶h̶ b̶l̶a̶h̶ b̶l̶a̶h̶—

Mhin

Sculpture

They noticed something was up because the MC. wouldn’t. stop. staring. at their face. The way their eyes lingered on Mhin's features made them feel self-conscious, as if every flaw and imperfection were being scrutinised under a microscope.

Mhin couldn't decipher the intent behind the intense gaze, but it left them feeling both uncomfortable and strangely flattered. They couldn't help but wonder what it was about their appearance that captivated the MC so intensely. It was as if they'd seen something in them that no one else did—something worth examining closely.

They tried to maintain a neutral expression but ended up shifting uncomfortably in their seat, trying to break the look that seemed to be piercing through their very soul. 

It wasn't until the MC finally spoke up, complimenting Mhin's bone structure and suggesting they would make a great model for a sculpting project, that Mhin made the connection.

The revelation made Mhin feel incredibly flattered and intrigued, as they had never considered themselves to be particularly striking or noteworthy. The idea of being immortalised in stone by someone talented was… intimidating. And somehow humbling.

Ais

Architecture

He is observant, and can easily notice a person who seems particularly interested in a specific thing. He observed them, their body language, facial expressions and the way they looked at things around them, their eyes tracing the fine details from afar—it was almost like they were analysing them.

What made his suspicions clear was...the Seaspring. F̶i̶n̶a̶l̶l̶y̶ t̶h̶e̶ d̶a̶m̶n̶ t̶h̶i̶n̶g̶ w̶a̶s̶ u̶s̶e̶f̶u̶l̶ a̶t̶ s̶o̶m̶e̶t̶h̶i̶n̶g̶ b̶e̶y̶o̶n̶d̶ b̶r̶i̶n̶g̶i̶n̶g̶ d̶e̶s̶p̶a̶i̶r̶

It was the way they looked at the building in particular; their eyes darted around, as if examining every inch, every line and curve of the temple. He’d smirk to himself, eyes following their every move, as if he could read their thoughts.

He’d bring them anything; from papers, inks and rulers to wood and other building materials. He’d let them demolish, remodel, completely renovate the fucking thing—he couldn’t care less, as long as he had somewhere to rest at night. Besides, their smile was worth more to him than any amount of power he could be offered.

I could make another one with Singing/Music, Theatre and Design or Ceramics perhaps….

who let this bird on the train