#and there were many ducks and geese to look at | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

paper-mario-wiki · 5 months

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Do you do farm stuff Scout? Or would you like to? Like owning chickens or tending an outdoor garden, that sort of thing?

From ages 7 to 19 I lived on farms, and was made to be an active participant in maintenance and usages of the facilities I don't know why the fuck I'm typing it like this, but I grew up on a farm. I was kinda in charge of everything, but slacked a lot and my brother had to cover for me. That said, I still spent a LOT of time doing chores.

At one point or another I've been responsible for most every farm chore you can really think of. All the basics like raking leaves, milking goats, collecting eggs, feeding chickens- but also the big stuff like moving tons of hay, herding flocks, caring for large animals such as llamas, alpacas, horses, and cows, as well as delivering babies, gutting and plucking fowl (only chickens and turkeys, though I've also cared for ducks and geese), dehoring, hoof cleaning, corpse transportation, crop maintenance, winter ice removal by breaking up frozen water troughs in 10 below weather (thought this was usually circumvented by anticipating the cold and setting up water heaters beforehand), constructing enclosures, slaughtering pigs, and etc etc etc etc etc all that shit. Bunnies snakes mini horses donkeys. All that shit. Farm stuff. Ya know.

Moved away when I went to college and immediately plunged into a mixed-zoning district in the Fushimi district in Kyoto. This was a really good transition from rural living to city living, because mixed zoning districts have blocks dedicated to apartment complexes and family homes right next to blocks of rice fields and ponds, which was behind the 7-Eleven I bought most of my food from.

Now I live in a SHITTY mixed zoning area in SHITTY America where we never stop hearing cars because there's a massive parking lot nearby and constant police sirens, not because the area is particularly dangerous, but because there's like 2 police stations nearby.

My ideal housing goal, which also happens to be my current goal in life, is to reach a slightly more rural version of the Kyoto living situation. The goals are very distinct:

0. I'm editing this one in after the fact to note that while I've used Kyoto as an example a few times in this post, I'm just looking for an area that feels right and would happily live in any prefecture that fits my needs.

I want to not be tied directly to a visa which would draw me away from doing whatever work I really want to do, like my student visa did later on when school started getting worse as professors were struggling to learn digital classroom mechanics. The visa I'm shooting for is dependent on a few ideas I have for businesses, but that's still kind of a long shot.

I want to be in a position of relative financial freedom so that I can spend enough time genuinely living there instead of just being tied to a computer all day, limiting me to the world I already know. This one's the big one, so I'm still workin on that. That said, recently I've been taking some pretty massive steps towards making this a more tangible circumstance. Fingers crossed.

I want to have a home that I own instead of renting, and I'd like to work with a Japanese architect to actually construct it. Again, these are big big plans, but I think a life goal is a thing worth thinking big about. And it's not like I'm trying to build a mansion, or even a family-sized house, I think I'd be content with three bedrooms, a kitchen, and common room. Of course, in keeping with the "dream big" spirit, in a world where I've got enough money to have a nicer, slightly bigger home, I can imagine as many as 5 bedrooms. It's nice to imagine in this "perfect" outcome that I've got a reason to have enough space for guests to sleep over. A local community, or an otherwise tangible, real-world web of relationships would be nice. Like, Real Adult Socializing Shit.

I want to have a significant emphasis on self-reliance on this home. As far solarpunk as I can reasonably go, without biting off more than I can chew as someone who's kinda limp-wristed. In a gay way and a feeble way. I figure this will come down to solar panels, water filtration, a well, and a garden (or at least the space to have gardening stuff like pots and soil). Some chickens would be nice too, but I don't know that I'd ever take on livestock proper.

I want to be properly submerged in trees without being more than a 5 minute bike ride from a train station. Somwhere like Yase-Hieizanguchi Station in north Kyoto is a good example of station that's on the edge of a metropolitan area and the forest. There was an apartment there I almost got, but backed out when covid hit cuz I decided moving across town would be a whack decision.

This is a BONUS goal, but I think it'd also be nice to not compromise on a single location, and instead have a home out in the inaka, while also having a small apartment rented in the city I can go between whenever I need to. In a world where I can afford a plot of land out in the country, but would still need to travel into town for business, that would be nice. Though in that scenario I'd likely need to also take on the arduous task of getting a Japanese drivers license. If I know far enough in advance that I want to take this specific route then I could bypass that last one by getting an international license before moving to Japan, but after moving to Japan you're barred from getting an international license.

I couldn't tell you in honesty that I'm a Salt of the Earth, Red Blooded American Farmer in my heart, and in fact I could not WAIT to move away from the farm. I hated that I didn't have a say in living on a farm, and was made to take care of animals. But what I DID enjoy about that life was the stillness. The opportunities of perfect silence. The stars unobstructed by light pollution. The ability to explore. Those things I was incredibly grateful for. And as such, in my perfect world, I would like to live on something like a farm again one day, just on my own terms.

#anon

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kedreeva · 16 days

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(disclaimer: I am not saying this from a place of hostility to geese)

how did 3-year old you survive feeding geese :( when I was 4 I was feeding ducks and geese (which I was about the same height as at the time) at a local pond and they chased me and tried to bite me until my parents picked me up and ran. I didn't try to scare them and I was a generally quiet child, do I just have Bad Vibes to them or something? or is it something to do with their past experiences/socialization as Pond Ducks/Geese? nowadays whenever a goose or swan so much as starts staring at me I'm like "ok time to go :)"

Without knowing more about the situation, I can't say what particular thing you did, but I can say that geese don't chase people for no reason at all. It's possible you got too close rather than letting them come to you, it's possible you were just plain too close to their nesting site, it's possible you performed a movement that (in goose) suggested your desire to start a dispute. It's possible you were feeding them from your hands and they associated your hands with food, and were simply looking for more food, or attempting to chase you away from the food.

And to be clear, I'm definitely not advocating for people letting small children feed geese, honestly no one should be feeding wild animals, mostly because it familiarizes wildlife with humans and that can be bad, but also because it opens too many opportunities for humans to do the wrong things and end up hurt or scared. As a 4yo, it wasn't your responsibility to know how to interact with geese- it was your parents' job to monitor your actions, the actions and reactions of the geese, and remove you from the situation before it became a problem (or not put you in that position in the first place). The geese are blameless for acting like geese and you are blameless by reason of being 4 years old.

I ALSO want to be clear that being SCARED of something DOES NOT equal HATING something. Hate can stem from fear, and fear can stem from hate, but they are not the same thing. There are PLENTY of people, for example, who are terrified of spiders but who will either remove them from a place with a cup and paper, or fetch someone to do so, to prevent a spider from dying for the crime of being small. You (general) can be afraid of something and still treat it with respect. You do not have to hate the things you are afraid of.

#geese #be afraid of them all you want #it's the people acting like geese are the villains in their origin story that are my problem #asks #anon asks #we always mind our business around waterfowl and other wild birds #I had a group of geese in the street with their babies once #and I needed to leave work to go home #and instead of trying to chase them out of the road #I gave them some of the bird-safe treats in my car and then walks into the grass #and they followed me looking for more #So i tossed some into the grass and left via the now-clear road with no conflict #you just gotta ask them not tell them #and again..... they literally cannot chase you if you don't run #and they're more bark than bite they do not actually want to fight you #unlike swans who DO want to fight you

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quotesfrommyreading · 11 months

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In the terrible winter of 1932–33, brigades of Communist Party activists went house to house in the Ukrainian countryside, looking for food. The brigades were from Moscow, Kyiv, and Kharkiv, as well as villages down the road. They dug up gardens, broke open walls, and used long rods to poke up chimneys, searching for hidden grain. They watched for smoke coming from chimneys, because that might mean a family had hidden flour and was baking bread. They led away farm animals and confiscated tomato seedlings. After they left, Ukrainian peasants, deprived of food, ate rats, frogs, and boiled grass. They gnawed on tree bark and leather. Many resorted to cannibalism to stay alive. Some 4 million died of starvation.

At the time, the activists felt no guilt. Soviet propaganda had repeatedly told them that supposedly wealthy peasants, whom they called kulaks, were saboteurs and enemies—rich, stubborn landowners who were preventing the Soviet proletariat from achieving the utopia that its leaders had promised. The kulaks should be swept away, crushed like parasites or flies. Their food should be given to the workers in the cities, who deserved it more than they did. Years later, the Ukrainian-born Soviet defector Viktor Kravchenko wrote about what it was like to be part of one of those brigades. “To spare yourself mental agony you veil unpleasant truths from view by half-closing your eyes—and your mind,” he explained. “You make panicky excuses and shrug off knowledge with words like exaggeration and hysteria.”

He also described how political jargon and euphemisms helped camouflage the reality of what they were doing. His team spoke of the “peasant front” and the “kulak menace,” “village socialism” and “class resistance,” to avoid giving humanity to the people whose food they were stealing. Lev Kopelev, another Soviet writer who as a young man had served in an activist brigade in the countryside (later he spent years in the Gulag), had very similar reflections. He too had found that clichés and ideological language helped him hide what he was doing, even from himself:

I persuaded myself, explained to myself. I mustn’t give in to debilitating pity. We were realizing historical necessity. We were performing our revolutionary duty. We were obtaining grain for the socialist fatherland. For the five-year plan.

There was no need to feel sympathy for the peasants. They did not deserve to exist. Their rural riches would soon be the property of all.

But the kulaks were not rich; they were starving. The countryside was not wealthy; it was a wasteland. This is how Kravchenko described it in his memoirs, written many years later:

Large quantities of implements and machinery, which had once been cared for like so many jewels by their private owners, now lay scattered under the open skies, dirty, rusting and out of repair. Emaciated cows and horses, crusted with manure, wandered through the yard. Chickens, geese and ducks were digging in flocks in the unthreshed grain.

That reality, a reality he had seen with his own eyes, was strong enough to remain in his memory. But at the time he experienced it, he was able to convince himself of the opposite. Vasily Grossman, another Soviet writer, gives these words to a character in his novel Everything Flows:

I’m no longer under a spell, I can see now that the kulaks were human beings. But why was my heart so frozen at the time? When such terrible things were being done, when such suffering was going on all around me? And the truth is that I truly didn’t think of them as human beings. “They’re not human beings, they’re kulak trash”—that’s what I heard again and again, that’s what everyone kept repeating.

— Ukraine and the Words That Lead to Mass Murder

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captainzigo · 2 months

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since I have been making my little pony comics for the past few months, I have basically forgotten what every single one of my duckverse comic prompts means. I had a big list full of one sentence prompts for duckverse comics that I was going to make, and I was reading through it yesterday, because I thought about making one. I was surprised to find out that I have no idea what any of them mean. instead of just deleting the list, I have decided to share with you. For what good it will do you. Think of this as a little shout out to the people who followed me for duckverse content. i havent forgotten about you. it’s also a little peek in my twisted mind. my horrible creation process. a behind the scenes look from hell. the list of prompts is below the break

max college fund

launchpad rescue hero

costco 22¢ per bite

house of mouse

door to darkness

because i’m hispanic?

donald cousins catch and release

fish wife

the greatest skateboard trick in the seven seas

backyardagins movie

evil versions boy band

gladstone gay moms

the poor part of town

private army of freaks vs my boys

you own the town. you are politics - what do you think taxes are for - not gladstone bail - id be doing everyone a favor

kids table is great actually

donald cry gold swim

beautiful gold moon

villains table

these lovebirds

gladstone can’t read

gladstone hyper specific thrift store shirt

louie seeing anyone right now?

managed my uncle’s finances

june dolls episode

may louie webs spy episode

house of mouse christmas hdl want to come

propeller cap start to turn. big wind. its a helicopter landing. thanks babe

double gay batteries

daisy likes donald snoring

if you can understand anything he says then yeah!

sora. quack pack. bald monkey

i respect your pronouns. i dont not respect YOU scrooge

why are you friends with my rival’s girlfriend

we’re sisters now too???

The dancing hacker - do you know how hard it is to lucid dream

are you guys playing dancing hacker?

how did you do that? Those dice were rigged i mean.

you guys were supposed to prepare a musical number every session

Lady in pink but with a knife

girl boss? No girl lady. But not a girl.

sephirof at the door. never seen Donald that serious in my life.

I have a superhero alter ego - like super Grover?

louie x robin the frog

daffy: i’m getting you a job in Hollywood, kid! You gonna make big times. Why? uh… i’m friends with your mom.

Duckburg community college is the only community college that does dance scholarship

duckberg community ducks, and the Duckburg University geese

in helicopter: you ever going to get tired of having our dates like this? no never.

donald take responsibility for our son! panchito what

babe your costume is terrible. why are you still in a sailor hat

tasha austin gay lesbian solidarity

hey webby! *glittery hands*

webby diary

shake for trust? glitter on hand. body slam

why did t you tell me your girlfriend is a pilot? tasha said i shouldn’t tell you because of what happened to you pilot ex. he’s still alive!

pablo: sleeper agents be like time for my next mission

CHRISTMAS GIFTS

WHATS UP T-BOYS?

donald’s boyfriends what does gladstone have against gay people

donald you should wingman for me. i thought you were gay

dugan duck is your secret kid isn’t he

huey ponytail

donald has three boyfriends why can’t i have two

woops i mexed up their super powers - let’s go, t boys! i didn’t make them trans! they were like that before, right?

your brother donald has like five partners. yeah and i’m not my brother donald. you’re right. i should date your brother donald

dewey damn girl your ass phat what are your pronouns. katy nun/ya

tying normie trans girl to a chair turbo pablo

don’t worry. the promise ring is just a tracking device

punch buggy gets steadily more and more violent

dewey’s many licenses

duck twins cobwebs

beaks: help! #911

katy can not entertain in her tiny trailer

uno gaydar donald i finally give you a job and you’re being gay on the clock??

when mom comes in and you have to hide your DS under your pillow

HDL Tulin

HDL chart

#ducktales #ducktales 2017 #donald duck #dt17 #duckverse

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mangoisms · 11 months

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i'll be the dangerous ledge (you be the parachute)

━ chapter seven: you be the parachute | read chapter six

━ pairing: tim drake x f!reader

━ word count: 4.2k

━ warnings: none

━ masterlist

After making a hearty dinner — tomato soup and grilled cheese like he did when you were hurt — you change out of your work clothes into something you’re more willing to get dirtied and you advise Tim to do the same.

You have a specific pair of jeans that have several paint stains on them, as well as one streak of dark clay that refuses to leave. The same goes for your shirt, though with less stains and more just ratty and old, something you don’t mind getting dirty. Tim does the same, changing into an older pair of jeans and an old t-shirt from his time in high school. Though the both of you need to don windbreakers for the biting winds and drizzles of rain, you shed them when you enter the class, hanging them up along with your belongings and pulling aprons over your clothes.

Hana, the one who oversees the class, waves at you. “I don’t think we’ll be getting many people, so just help yourselves. You know where everything is and what to do.”

You give her a thumbs up and lead Tim towards the back of the class. A few other people are here but they are already working on their own things, talking softly to each other, voices drowned out by the spin of the wheels.

His eyes take in the class curiously. Several wheels are near you, along with some modeling stands and other desks for glazing and painting. You go over to the shelving unit at the back, where in-progress projects are kept.

You have a little figurine of a duck that you made for him that needs to be painted and fired again after that. You aren’t sure if you can do it without him suspecting who it’s for, though. It’s a joke gift, really, after talking to one of the science aides about the lethal geese that hang around the Reservoir at Robinson Park and the considerably calmer ducks. It’s a birthday gift, though you’ve been thinking you want to do something else in addition to it, something a little more meaningful. You just haven’t found out what yet.

“So?” you prompt.

“What are you going to do?”

“Not sure, to be honest. But for you… I think just to be safe, we should start you off with the molding stuff.”

He narrows his eyes slightly at the wheel, then the molding table.

You smile. “Or, let me guess, you want to try your hand at throwing?”

“It can’t be that hard,” he says.

This is a not-so-familiar side to him but one you’ve noticed regardless. Tim can be a bit… arrogant. Or at least, come into things assuming he can do it without issue. This, you guess, is a byproduct of the rich boy upbringing, which makes sense. Truthfully, it is not so bad compared to some of the other breeds of rich boy in this city but still.

“I know you were reading how-to guides while we had dinner —” he opens his mouth to protest but a raise of your brow silences him, a slightly sheepish look coming over his face “— but it really isn’t as easy as it may seem.”

“Well, I have you,” he says, which flusters you — the intended effect, you think, by the small, satisfied smile that tugs at his lips.

“Alright, fine,” you mumble. You don’t try to get him to just sit down and wait for you to collect things, spying the curious look in his eyes, so you let him shadow you as you collect everything you — he — needs to get started.

“I want to make a mug,” he tells you when you ask, since you need to wedge and weigh out the clay.

“Alright —”

“For you,” he adds, and you jolt.

“You don’t need to —”

He says your name softly, stopping you. You two are close, with him hovering right near your elbow, body heat palpable in the scant few inches between your bodies.

“I know I don’t need to,” he says. “But I want to. When are you going to understand?”

“After you make me a wonky mug, maybe,” you say, lips twitching to fight off a grin, face heating again.

Tim smiles, too, the lightest you’ve seen him today, like a weight physically taken off his shoulders — for the most part.

Your heart skips a beat and you look back at the clay, weighing out a chunk for a mug.

At the wheel with a bowl of water, towels, and the clay, you walk him through everything. You pull up a stool on his right side, to give you control of the pedal and thus, the speed. You run through sealing the clay to the bat — the actual surface of the wheel that spins — then centering it. After you make a divot in the center with your thumbs, you are ready to push into it, to start creating the walls.

Well, he is ready. Under your watchful eye and careful instructions, of course. And inserted reminders about his stance.

“Elbows on your thighs.”

“You didn’t do it like that,” he complains but does as you say, anyway.

“I’ve been doing this longer than you,” you remind him, grinning. “Okay, come on. We can start making the walls now. Use your index and middle finger to slowly push down.”

Your foot finds the pedal again, the wheel humming as you press it, making it spin once more.

Tim, hands now covered with wet clay, hesitates.

Your foot eases off. “I promise you, this clay is more scared of you than you are of it.”

“I’m not scared,” he mutters, but you know him. Tim Drake is a perfectionist. There is little that escapes his sharp eyes. You would wager a guess that he doesn’t want to mess up. And how can you mess up if you just… don’t touch the clay anymore?

Yeah, you get it.

“Think of our ancestors. We’ve been making pottery for thousands of years. They made mistakes, too. Those mistakes are treasured now, you know.”

“But I don’t want to make a mistake. This isn’t for future anthropologists and archaeologists,” he says, a little petulant. “It’s for you.”

Oh, wow.

Your breath hitches in your throat. You clear it.

“Well, perfection is a false ideal, anyway. The nice thing about things like this is that it’s handmade and that it’s not perfect. So, here.”

You lean forward, inserting yourself into his space (for the sake of this clay, that’s it) and pressing your hands over his. Your hands are covered in wet clay by now but because it’s still wet, it’s not too unpleasant. His hand is warm, too, which is… not what you should be focusing on.

“Like this,” you say, folding your index and middle finger over his, tilting your head sharply to get a good look at the clay. Your foot finds the pedal again and the wheel hums, abiding by your wishes for more speed.

You instruct his other hand to hold against the outside, to help shape it more. But he hesitates again, so you scoot further into his space, until your knee is pressed to his, your arms brushing, and you can place your left hand over his.

“Sorry,” you mutter. “I know I’m in your space.”

“I don’t mind,” he says quietly, breath ghosting over your ear and you have to suppress a flinch at how close he is. Everything about it makes your pulse jump to unhealthy heights but you force yourself not to let it carry you away. Trembling hands won’t help anyone right now.

“Alright,” you say, and together, you slowly, slowly pull the walls to dimension. Every motion flows into the next. Two fingers to lower the bottom inside with his left hand. Three on the outside from his right hand. Tim is pliant under your instruction, when ordinarily you might expect some pushback.

But you can’t do everything.

“Three fingers inside, one thumb outside. Gotta keep going while I grab the sponge.”

He grunts quietly in acknowledgement, seeming to focus more now as he does as you say. Your hands are only away from each other for a short few seconds as you grab the sponge, lightly pressing it to the bottom, pulling excess water to prepare to pull up the walls even further.

“Here,” you say, and he takes the sponge from you, holding it still against the bottom of the clay. “Good. Keep it there. We’re in the home stretch now.”

He lets out a slow breath. You can feel the exhale against your cheek and resist a wild shiver. His breath smells like spearmint, the gum he’d chewed on the drive here.

You swallow, staring at his hands, which doesn’t really help your pounding heart, just cause… Tim has really nice hands. Long, slender fingers, surprisingly calloused but still soft, somehow. The knuckle of his left pinky is a tiny bit wonky and he says he accidentally broke it playing football with a friend when he was a teenager and it didn’t heal quite right.

You should stop thinking about his hands. Too bad that’s kind of a thing with pottery.

“Four fingers inside. Keep your thumb out.”

He says your name. “Help me out a little.”

“You’re doing good.”

“But I can do better if you’re guiding me,” he says, a little beseeching, breath warm against your cheek in a way that has your heart skipping a beat.

Jesus.

You think you might spontaneously combust. It’s not the weirdest thing to ever happen in Gotham. And no one could blame you, either. Frankly, you’d like for anyone to be in close quarters with Tim Drake when he asks you to do something for him and try to say no. Or retain full function of their brain. Impossible.

“You’re doing good, way better than I did on my first try throwing a mug, but alright,” you mutter, sliding your left hand over his, forcing you once more into close proximity with him. His right hand holds the sponge as you instructed.

With his left hand, four fingers press to the inside and a thumb on the outside, helping further lengthen the walls slowly.

You feel the fingers of his left land part just a little, yours nearly slipping through the gaps, and you knock your knee against his. Doesn’t affect him, either, since, ignoring your earlier reminder, his elbows aren’t sitting there anymore.

“Don’t start.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You don’t need to,” you grumble, face heating.

You know what he’s thinking about. That stupid scene from that movie from the, like, eighties. You know the one — the one with the… weirdly sensual pottery scene. Hana told you all about it on your first day of class. That that wasn’t how things went and if anyone did want to do it, they could do it in the privacy of their own home. Not, you know, in class with all of you.

And, to be clear, that isn’t what is happening here, either. He knows better than that.

(You think.

Probably.)

“I’m sorry,” he says, in a tone that tells you he is not very sorry at all; it’s teasing, if anything, in a way that makes you want to catapult yourself across the classroom to get a little space between you.

That is the unbearable part of this.

You kind of want to shove your stools back, put your hands on his cheeks, and kiss him for, you don’t know, a really long time. Forever, maybe. Of course, that’s not biologically possible but it’d probably be a nice way to die and in Gotham, crime capital of the United States and of horrible, miserable deaths, that’s, like, gold, right?

The thought shrivels something inside of you, reminding you sharply of what did happen today. That six people are dead.

You shove the train of thought away immediately. Now isn’t the time to think about that and you don’t want to set him off, either. This is about him and you would hate for him to notice the shift and start comforting you.

It’s a two-way street, you know that, and it’s fine for you both to be equally comforted but thus far, you haven’t been able to do much for him. You want to, though. He seems to be handling everything that happened today worse than you, for reasons you aren’t sure of, and you want to be there for him.

Luckily, it seems like he didn’t notice.

“Have you seen it? Ghost?”

“No, and I am not interested in seeing it,” you say matter-of-factly. “I’d like to keep my experiences with pottery untainted, thank you very much.”

Tim laughs and the sound goes straight to your head. Literally. He’s still close to you, so you feel the warm exhale from his lips, spearmint tickling your nose and making you want to do inappropriate things. To him, preferably.

Anddd you don’t need to be thinking of that right now. Okay. Alright. You’re chill. You’re cool.

“Look,” you say. “We’re nearly there. Just a little bit more length…”

He focuses again, actually concentrating on lengthening the walls of the mug now. A minute passes before you nod and pull your hands back. He does the same. Your foot eases off the pedal.

You grab a ruler, recalling the measurements you two had agreed upon, and measure the height of the walls and the width of the cup itself. It’s bigger than a normal mug, but since he insisted on it being a mug you didn’t have to baby, it’ll have to be high fired to get that durability, which will make the clay shrink.

Tim waits as you work, seemingly bracing himself.

“Looks good,” you say, pulling it back and setting it to the side, sending him a small smile. It does look good. The walls need to be smoothed with a rib and there’s one part of the rim that looks… a little wonky but it’s not bad. Not bad at all.

When Tim scrutinizes it, reaching forward, you gently push his hands away. “It’s fine.”

“But —”

“It’s cute.”

“Not the word I’d use.”

“And supposed to be mine, so, I think I get the final call.”

“You know what you are?”

“The soon-to-be proud owner of this mug?”

He doesn’t expect that and you know he doesn’t expect that because he flushes, pink rising in his cheeks in a… decidedly tempting manner.

But of course, Tim Drake is not one to let himself be overtaken so easily.

“No,” he says slowly, leaning forward, into your space, holy hell, you think you might actually spontaneously combust now as he gets close enough for you to see the silver flecked in blue irises, thick dark lashes framing them, the sharp but not unpleasant scent of eucalyptus clouding your senses and, huh, you know, this isn’t very platonic of him, not very platonic at all but the thought of Tim Drake flirting with you is a laughable one —

And naturally, as you think that and promptly freak out internally because it unfortunately makes logical sense, you are an adult, you’ve never been in a relationship but people have flirted with you before, thank you very much — well… Tim takes advantage of your brief moment of shock. So, you don’t see his hand dip into the bowl of water, softening the clay on his fingers and then —

“You’re bossy,” he finishes, eyes twinkling in a way that tells you he doesn’t seem to actually mind and then you’re gasping, jerking away as he smears some of wet clay on your cheek, facade breaking as he grins, the force of it making his eyes crinkle.

“What are you?!” you hiss. “Twelve?!”

You would know.

He laughs, of course, and you can’t truly be mad at him, no, not at all, even if it’s the kind of messing around that Hana would side-eye you for, but fortunately she has her back to you two, deep in conversation with the few pairs of people who came to class today.

Absolutely no one is paying attention to you, so, you think it’s only fair that you return the favor and he lets you, well-aware of you dipping your hand back into the water and then smearing an even bigger streak over his cheek. (While you also ignore the feeling of the soft skin, warm to the touch, warmer than usual, his flush having not left quite yet.)

And the fact that he lets you, watching you with a gaze full of affection and a mischievous grin, has the rapidly-unspooling warmth in your chest become too much. Like you are a star about to go supernova.

But with that comes relief. To see him back to himself, no longer looking so… haunted. You can’t tell the full extent of what you would do to protect it, to protect a small bit of happiness for him to have whenever he needs, but you think it’s a lot. Anything short of murder, maybe.

(Even that depended, though.)

“Here,” you say, shoving the rib into his hand. “Smooth it out. You’re on your own now.”

Tim doesn’t protest, still smiling faintly as he does as you say. You scrunch up the side of your face, feeling the clay on your cheek.

He does an okay job — not the worst, anyhow — and then you guide him through taking it off the bat and centering it upside down for trimming the bottom. After doing so, you work on pulling the handle just using the molding stand; instead of waiting for it to dry, you apply a little bit of heat, then you apply it to the mug.

“That’s it?” he asks, going to the sink to wash his hands.

“That’s it,” you affirm, putting the mug in the shelving unit right beside it. “It needs to be fired once before you can glaze it. Then again after that. You can come in whenever, just tell them you were with me.”

“Are you going to work on anything?”

You hum thoughtfully, glancing at the clock. You got here at seven and it’s about to be eight. The center doesn’t close until ten but if he has places to be…

“I was just wondering,” he adds, stepping away from the sink to let you take his place, drying his hands on a paper towel. Clay is still smeared on his cheek, grey standing out against the pale skin. “That way I can help. Or watch if you’re tired of my… amateur efforts. Either way. This is… nice.”

You soften considerably at that, glancing down at your hands, watching the clay fall away under the warm water and soap. After everything… you think you finally have an idea about what you want to do.

“You can help me, then. Think I’d like to make a mug as well.”

Tim nods and tears another piece of paper towel, running it briefly under the water, presumably to clean the clay from his cheek.

You finish washing your hands just as he finishes cleaning the clay off his cheek. Your hands will get dirty again but the clean feel is a nice break before you do.

You dry your hands, then, still using the damp paper towel, attempt to clean the clay off your cheek.

Tim snorts quietly.

“Am I close?”

“No.”

“Aw.”

He smiles and holds out a hand. You relinquish the paper towel to him and he dampens it under the water, then reaches up to press it to your cheek.

You resist letting tension take hold of you as his eyes focus on your face. Like always, you are unused to the sharp attention he gives you but part of you is endeared, too, seeing him dedicate himself to the task. Tim doesn’t do things in halves. Only absolutes. It’s not great for your heart.

To distract yourself, your eyes stray to where his streak was once. The skin is clean, but this close, you spot a few leftover flakes of grey clay.

“There,” Tim says, gently patting your cheek with the dry end of the paper towel.

“You’ve still got some,” you mumble, taking the paper towel from him and switching to a cleaner patch on the damp side, then gently dabbing his cheek.

“Thanks,” he says, his eyes on your face, the look there making your heart pound out of rhythm.

You pull back, not as gentle as he was about patting the spot dry — his cheeks are still warmer than usual; the thought of it being because of you is a dizzying one — then toss the towel.

“Ready?” you ask, fixing your apron.

Tim clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck when you glance at him, his gaze elsewhere. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s do it.”

“Right.”

You two spend another hour there throwing the mug. Tim is the one sitting adjacent to you this time, helping in the beginning but seeming to settle as you go on, apparently happy to just watch you do your thing.

You… try to prod about any preferred glazes or designs, mostly by asking what he thinks would look good, and you get some useful bits of information that you’ll be able to use the next time you come here. Or, well, sometime after that. This mug requires a bit more work than usual. At least for what you have in mind for it.

But it should be ready by the time July rolls around.

The sun has set when you two step out. The rain isn’t coming down as hard as earlier but it’s still drizzling, making streets and sidewalks glisten under street lamps and traffic lights.

In a considerably better mood than earlier, the two of you stop at O’Shaughnessy’s for a shake and fries, then return to Rose Oaks. You keep the food at your place while he heads up to change and you do the same. You check on the boys while you wait for him to return, finding Manny and Diego climbing into the little shelf on the side, while Sid dips in the saltwater pond.

You smile faintly and go back to the couch. On the coffee table, for once clear of schoolwork as you are officially caught up before finals, the bag of fries sits next to the drink carrier, holding two medium chocolate shakes.

Tim returns a few minutes later, letting himself in with the spare key he has, now dressed in sweats and a black t-shirt that stretches flatteringly over his shoulders.

In the mood for something light and nostalgic, you switch on Ice Age, the two of you relaxing on the couch and eating your dessert. Sleepiness weighs down on you with more time that passes.

Tim finishes his shake and fries after you, leaning forward to set them on the coffee table. When he sits back, he is closer to you, your arms pressed together. The warmth of his body and the faint scent of eucalyptus lulls you. It doesn’t help that you shut off the lights, the only light coming from the TV, showing the white snowscapes from the movie.

The sound of your name is a surprise but not unwelcome. Especially not from him and how he says it, syllables wrapped in a sleepy kind of warmth. He’s tired, too. You understand. Even if he may have been at his place for most of the day, it must’ve been emotionally draining to deal with everything else.

You lean your head on his shoulder, eyelids heavy with sleep. “Yeah, Timmy?”

His hand finds yours in your lap, slightly calloused fingers gliding against yours, a softer palm following.

You feel his head lean against yours. “Thank you. For today.”

“Thank you for letting me do it for you.”

Tim squeezes your hand and you think he’ll pull back.

He doesn’t.

Instead, with some movement, you find the blanket thrown over the back of the couch now draped over your laps.

With his hand in yours, the comforting scent of eucalyptus surrounding you in tandem with his body heat, you surrender too easily to the pull of sleep.

(Later, in the early morning when the sun hasn’t risen but is just about to break the horizon, you stir, not finding yourself in your bed like last time but instead held tightly in his arms, your legs tangled beneath the blanket which isn’t really necessary, with the body heat he emanates. In his sleep, Tim breathes slow and soft, warm exhales of air tickling the skin of your forehead as you two share a pillow. And too sleepy and warm to care, you burrow into his arms, which tighten around you in his sleep, close your eyes, and drift back to off to dreamland.

A few hours later, you’ll wake again, but alone this time, disappointment gnawing at you at the realization.

At least until the bathroom door opens and Tim steps out, his hair mussed, pillow creases still on his cheek, and he bids you a sleepy smile and asks what you want for breakfast.

And this is when you will realize you are past the point of no return. But you don’t care that the chances of him returning your affections are so laughably low that it actually isn’t funny. You don’t care about any of that. You just care to keep him around. For as long as you possibly can.)

reblogs are appreciated!

#tim drake x reader #red robin x reader #dc comics x reader #dc comics imagine #tim drake imagine #red robin imagine #tim drake x y/n #tim drake x you #red robin x y/n #red robin x you #batfam x you #batfam x y/n #batfam x reader

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a-dinosaur-a-day · 1 year

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Anachronornis vs Conflicto

Factfiles:

Anachronornis anhimops

Artwork by @otussketching, written by @raptorcivilization

Name Meaning: Anachronistic screamer-faced bird

Time: 56.22 to 55.80 million years ago (Thanetian stage of the Paleocene epoch, Paleogene period)

Location: Willwood Formation, Wyoming, United States

Ducks - they’re everywhere nowadays. But they weren’t always everywhere. And they didn’t always look like ducks. Anachronornis was an early anseriform (an early duck, if you will) which in life would have looked a lot like a modern screamer. In particular, Anachronornis’s beak looks a lot like that of the living screamer, suggesting that anseriforms ancestrally had this pointier beak shape (which was retained by closely-related galliforms), and the spatulate shape of modern ducks is a much more recent evolutionary innovation. Other aspects of Anachronornis’s anatomy more closely resembles those of spatula-billed Paleogene anseriforms, however. And this makes our understanding of morphological evolution in anseriforms that much muddier. In any case, Anachronornis seems to be a stem-anseriform - perhaps less closely related to modern anseriforms than the Tall Boys, presbyornithids, are - but these early ducks are scrappy enough that the phylogeny could change without warning. Interestingly, Anachronornis lived not long before the Paleocene-Eocene Thermal Maximum - that’s quite a late appearance for something in that part of the tree. Hence the genus name. Anachronornis lived near water in wet subtropical forests, alongside lithornithids, sandcoleids, a lizard, and various mammals. Based on the morphology of the bill and hindlimbs, it may have fed on floating aquatic plants while wading in shallow wetlands - doesn’t seem to have been a dabbler or diver like many modern ducks.

Conflicto antarcticus

Artwork by @otussketching, written by @zygodactylus

Name Meaning: Contradiction from Antarctica

Time: 65 million years ago (Danian stage of the Paleocene epoch, Paleogene period)

Location: Seymour Island, López de Bertodano Formation, Antarctica

The evolutionary history of the fowl - chickens and ducks - is a controversial one, owing in no small part to the sheer diversity of basal taxa from the Galloanseran group. Existing prior to the end-Cretaceous extinction, Galloanserans went through the same adaptive radiation that everything did following the extinction - leading to a wide disparity of animals that show a weirdly diverse mosaic of traits. Conflicto is one of such taxa. Literally occurring in a fossil formation that tracks the transition from Cretaceous to Paleogene, Conflicto appears on the Paleogene side of the boundary, possibly a direct descendant of other Anseriformes that were present in Antarctica in the latest Cretaceous. But it's survivorship is not, in fact, the weirdest thing about it. Conflicto, despite being a stem-anseriform, and thus early on in the evolution of the group, had a weirdly duck/goose like beak. It was similar in structure to the bill of waterfowl, just not as wide. It also had large nostrils, much wider openings than modern ducks and geese. The problem with this is the fact that the earliest branching-off members of Anseriformes - the Screamers - have chicken-like beaks. As such, the original hypothesis for bill evolution in Anseriformes was that they started with chicken beaks, and later the group composed of geese, ducks, and magpie-geese evolved a spatulate bill the one time. However, Conflicto coming prior to the splitting off of screamers and having such a bill throws this idea into question - and this won’t be the last word on the subject, I assure you. Showcasing a partially-spatulate bill makes Conflicto an important piece of the puzzle of anseriform evolution. In its post-apocalyptic world, Conflicto was surprisingly not alone - living in a temperate to subpolar fern forest, it was able to feast on a wide variety of gastropods, bivalves, worms, and echinoids. When it comes to vertebrates, however, Conflicto was alone - the last survivor of a previously vibrant Cretaceous environment.

DMM Round One Masterpost

#dmm #dinosaur march madness #dmm round one #dmm rising stars #palaeoblr #dinosaurs #paleontology #polls #bracket #march madness #anachronornis #conflicto

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creaturefeaster · 5 months

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How did you get into birdkeeping?

Saw chickens on a small lot one day riding to the store, age 15 or something like that. Pointed and went LOOK A CHICKEN.........

My step dad asked plainly, do you want chickens? I responded, YEAH?????????

A couple weeks later I got 5 chicks after a bunch of researching on town ordinances and poultry law and all that kind of stuff. Also just how to take care of them of course. I lived in suburbia with my parents at the time so I could only get 6 chickens (hens only) maximum.

A year and a half later I went over that maximum with 3 new hens anyways lol.

But while we were setting up a second pen for these new chicks, my step dad came home suddenly from work mid-day with 3 rescued ducklings he saved after the mom got hit by a car. He just dumped them on me because I was the only one who knew how to handle birds. So I learned to take care of ducks, too.

At this point, almost 2 years into bird keeping, I moved out to the rural forest with my then-boyfriend. Rehomed the original 5 hens I had, took the new 3 hens and the 3 ducklings to my new home, and it all spiraled from there.

I let the ducks go when they were old enough to fly, I had to handle a guinea fowl alongside many more chickens my bf's family had-- that none of them really did much for at the time. They had a nice coop but apparently they were an impulse buy from his animal crazy older brother who didn't actually take care of them, he just wanted to buy them. So since I was already geared with the knowledge of chicken keeping, I just took over and cared for them as well.

All of those hens have passed since, only two of the 3 hens I took with me still live, and they are very old now.

About a year before I moved from that home into a new home with my then-fiance, I wanted to try another shot at raising ducks, and putting them down in an old barn near a pond on the property. Because that was a couple acres away from the house, I wanted to make sure they had a guardian, and so I got a gosling alongside the ducklings. That would be Sebastian.

Fast forward after I've moved, I now have many more chickens and geese, and they're basically my life. All because I pointed out a chicken once a long long time ago, and my step dad humored me.

I just kinda fell into it and kept falling into it ^^;...

#very grateful for how my bird history has gone though #because i think id just be a basement dwelling hermit if not.#they make me go outside every day and they make me laugh and they make me work #my 16 year old ass would have not imagined carrying more than 20 pounds of anything #but just two days ago i was carrying an 80+ bale of hay down a hill all on my own #all for my birdies........

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mickittotheman · 2 months

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Weekly Tag Wednesday

Huge thank to @mickeym4ndy for tagging me! I love these things 🤠

how’s your day going? could be worse! my boss was absolutely wilding today but I did get to spend most of my shift writing fanfic so that was nice.

are you okay? My Chemical Romance song plays faintly in distance

what is your favourite shade of your favourite colour? hmm definitely a pale sort of sky blue, kind of like this

are you single? very

are you happy about that? most of the time?

what age do you feel in your brain? what brain? jk lol sometimes i feel like a little kid, sometimes i feel well past my prime. I’m in my mid-twenties though.

do you feel like the good times are behind you or ahead of you? hopefully ahead!!!

do you have a best friend? yes i have managed to maintain the same one since middle school

did you have a childhood pet? so many! over the course of my childhood I have had rabbits, chickens, ducks, geese, turtles, a tortoise, crabs, hamsters, mice, fish, dogs, and turkeys (the turkeys sadly only survived one day)

do you sing or whistle around the house? sometimes i sing if no one is around and i’m in the mood

do you light candles or incense? candles but only on special occasions because i get sad when they’re all used up

are you busy Friday night? it's my dog's birthday! also the ides of march so very busy all around

if you were a circus performer which act would you be in? my heart says knife thrower my brain says clown

what is your favourite outfit? hmmm i have these really soft worn dark green pants that look killer with a black shirt and an open dark teal button up layered over so probably that. bonus points if i add in a leather belt and boots and also my totebag with cartoon dogs on it. Another strong contender: tannish/orangish pants with a white tee open navy button up and my socks with weiner dogs that have hotdog buns and toppings. ideally though i would live in my pajamas (which are also almost all dog prints)

what's the last thing you created? I've been working on a fic for fun for a while now! haven't shared any of it yet but maybe someday lol.

what is your favourite fic or book of all time? ooooh so hard to choose. I absolutely loved etherized against the sky by snarfle. I’m a huge sucker for angst centered around secrets and misunderstandings and miscommunication. also it was so funny but also tricked me into a few unwilling therapeutic breakthroughs.

what are you looking forward to? sleeping! I am so tired lol. also my dog's birthday party of course.

what can put you immediately in a better mood? anything to do with my special interest. and also puppies

do you like hugs? ehhhhhh i’m like one of those cats who will rarely tolerate hugs and even more rarely enjoy them

what is something you wish people understood about you? that i have no idea what is going on at any time ever and that everything is also so very scary but i am being very brave about it

Tagging: @wh0lemilk0vich @jezzibelle89 @swiftfootedachilles @sillygoofygoobersstuff @jademickian BUT only if you want to of course if not this is just me saluting you and also it might be thursday by the time yall see this sorry 😬🫡🫣

#weekly tag wednesday #very fun!

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butcherlarry · 11 months

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Exercise Fic Recs 18

I am honestly surprised how much I have been reading. Holy Moly.

look how sweet life has become by susiecarter (Superbat, WIP (but will probably be finished tonight). A six plus one fic for Clark Kent week. Slice of life and very sweet 💗)

The Power of Family and This Stalker I Found by JackHawksmoor (Batfam, WIP. An AU were Bruce found Jason after he was resurrected, and Tim joins the family. Also, Tim knows about them being vigilantes, but the fam doesn’t know that he knows, so shenanigans ensue.)

Everything Will Be Just Fine by lonelynpc (Batfam, WIP. More goth dad Battinson)

always an angel never a god by Arwriter (Batfam, complete. Trigger warning for suicide attempt. Jason gets hurt, and Bruce talks to him about his concerns. Much hurt/comfort ensue.)

Unbelievable by BoredomBeckons (Superbat? Kinda? They are at least good friends :) Complete. Bruce’s persona is a bit too good. Clark thinks Batman is joking when he tells him his secret identity. Shenanigans ensue.)

WE’LL SWIM WITH THE CURRENT. by orpheusaki (Batfam, complete. Mermaid AU. Bruce carries baby mermaid Jason. It’s super adorable.)

Giant of the Waves by supermanstoddlerleash (Superbat, complete. Mermaid AU. Bruce goes to visit his boyfriend, who happens to be a giant fuck off mermaid shark 💖)

Action and Re-Action by Mithen (Superbat, Complete. A retelling of Bruce meeting Clark.)

Dynasty of frauds by msOdds (Superbat, WIP. Omegaverse Injustice AU. Palace drama!!!! In Kandor!!!!)

the color violet by TheResurrectionist (Batfam, complete. Slice of life. From the point of view of a EMT. Newly warded (is that a word? it is now) Dick gets hurt, and New Dad Bruce deals with it.)

I was in a candy mood, so I got the snickers latte with my croissant.

There is a pond next to were I work, and it is common for us employees to take a walk around it during lunch. I always see so many cool birds, and I’ve been itching to bring my nice camera there to get some good pictures. The only time I’ve willingly come to work on the weekend, and it’s for some birds, lol.

I FINALLY GOT A GOOD PICTURE OF A BLUE HERON!!!

Also look at this little guy! A robin! And he caught himself some breakfast!!

The whole geese family!!

BABIES

MORE BABIES

I’VE BEEN DETECTED

Grackle!

Green Heron! I’ve only ever seen the big blue guy, so it was excited to see this little green guy!

I was so excited when I got this picture, because I only see them when they’re flying! It’s a barn swallow! For a while, I couldn’t figure out what kind of swallow where flying around the ponds. I thought they were probably barn swallows because of the red bellies and necks, so I’m super happy I got this picture to confirm my suspicions!

I also saw some new birds at the arboretum, along with the usual suspects :)

A male and female wood duck:

I had no idea what this guy was until I got home to examine the pictures, but it’s a yellow-billed cuckoo!

A red-bellied woodpecker:

I crossed paths with another birder when I was walking, and he let me know that there was an owl in the area I was coming up to! I was so happy I was able to spot him. A barred owl:

I have been trying to get a picture of this little guy for a while. An Acadian flycatcher:

PHOTOGRAPHER SPOTTED. AGAIN.

Tree swallow!

a cute little white-breasted nuthatch!

A BEEEEEEEE:

I just really like this view:

Pretty flowers!

Lily pads!

More flowers!

I also have tomorrow off because of the holidays, so don’t be surprised if you see another post from me with more birds!

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queenlua · 4 months

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TIL some heckin wild facts about river otters, apparently those dudes will fuckin devour the shit out of birds (!!!) given the opportunity:

source 1

A year ago I visited Point Reyes, California, over Thanksgiving and worried some sort of mass incident had occurred. There were so many dead pelican carcasses strewn about a very large area near the water in one location I was exploring. I took photos and videos, imagining getting in touch with authorities to stop whatever dreadful incident was occurring. Then someone who saw me photographing the carcasses said she heard a rumor it was the river otters grabbing the birds from below. It made sense, because the feathers were still there, but the flesh and organs were entirely gone. I did not witness the otters doing this, but the landscape looked like a bomb had gone off in the middle of a flock of pelicans.

source 2

The past several years at Big Twin Lake, Okanogan County (by Winthrop) there has been a mini-wildlife spectacle where, at dusk, hundreds of ducks fly into a small patch of open water kept open by a bubbler. Often one could see (and hear) 8-10 duck species in the aqueous mosh pit (mostly both species of goldeneyes, but also buffleheads, common and hooded mergansers, teal, mallards, scaup, wigeon, sometimes swans or geese), some arriving after dark. The ducks would depart by first light, presumably to avoid the ever present Bald Eagles. (BTW - the spectacle was discovered during a CBC). This year the massive numbers of ducks didn't show up. A few ducks would land at dusk and then quickly take off. Flocks of goldeneyes and mergansers would circle a few times and then fly elsewhere. We initially wondered if it was because it has been warmer and there was more open water around. We also noted at least one river otter regularly cruising around or lolling on a dock but didn't connect the dots. At the Twisp CBC potluck I mentioned this year's lack of ducks and also mentioned that the folks who came to see the ducks, got to see the otter as consolation. One of the many amazing naturalists who participate in the Twisp CBC mentioned that river otters can wreak havoc on waterfowl and showed me multiple photos of otters carrying scoters and other ducks. The next morning they watched a Hooded Merganser narrowly escape the otter. It's a cool example of the impact one or two predator individuals can have on the behavior of hundreds of individuals (likely the majority of the ducks overwintering in the upper Methow Valley).

#like i knew they ate invertebrates n such but #birds! damn! much trickier quarry!#fascinating stuff #birding

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dansnaturepictures · 4 months

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12 of my favourite photos to take in December 2023 and month summary

The photos are of; Goldcrest at Lakeside Country Park, Blue Tit at Lakeside, Long-tailed Duck at Hayling Island Oysterbeds, mushrooms in Abbey Gardens, Roe Deer at Lakeside, turkey tail mushrooms at Fishlake Meadows, Silver-sided Sector spider at home, winter heliotrope at Lakeside, view at Winnall Moors, view at Southsea, view at Hayling Island and the stark looking rose bush in the garden with a few fading rose hips and yellow leaves.

December was a charming month packed full of wild wonder for me, a month where I had to do things a bit differently led to a huge focus on local areas and a couple of relatively fresh places for me visited and I saw some amazing wildlife to have a fitting end to an incredible year for me. In my birdwatching a final addition to my highest ever year list to bring my 2023 total a neat 220 came in the form of a bird I have a huge bond with and admiration for, the Black Redstart at Southsea Castle. This came a day after being mesmerised by wonderful views of the Long-tailed Duck and other birds at Hayling Island. Red Kite, Marsh Harrier, Stonechat, Rock Pipit, Nuthatch, Kingfisher, Jay, Mute Swan, Brent Geese, Red-breasted Merganser and Great White Egret were other key birds of my month. On my Lakeside walks the Goosanders continued to give with more fantastic sightings of them and the Common Gull was another welcome frequently seen winter visitor. Cormorant, fine views of Tufted Ducks, the cheery constant of Great Crested Grebes, Goldcrest, Green and Great Spotted Woodpecker, Jay, marvelous Redwings, Song Thrush, Wren, so many smashing moments seeing Long-tailed Tits, Kingfisher and Ring-necked Parakeet have been other key Lakeside sightings to bring me joy this month.

It has naturally quietened down for insects this month but I did manage a butterfly sightings with a probable Peacock seen quickly flying over at Lakeside and a hoverfly there on Christmas Eve. Grey Silverfish as well as frequent sightings of Long-bodied Cellar spider and the Silver-sided Sector spiders were interesting to see at home. It has been a memorable mammal month ending perhaps my greatest year of watching mammals with magical moments connecting with Roe Deers at Lakeside and Winnall Moors and a fair few Grey Squirrels and Brown Rats seen. Likewise with fungi a quieter month but multiple turkey tail sightings and some splendid candlesnuff fungi among others kept the interest up.

In a wet and relatively mild month a notable thing was how almost bizarre it was to notice things with plants a few weeks/months ahead of where they should be, from the verge at Lakeside bursting with winter heliotrope in flower and a violet to the hazel catkins beginning to adorn the landscape and the forsythia hedge out the front having a few flowers. Wild carrot and white deadnettle were two of a few of the summer/all season flowers I enjoyed in flower in places too. It was a great month of observing seed heads from fleabane to hogweed including gripping old man's beard and in an incredible fruit year bits of fruit still going like rose hips, hawthorn berries and holly berries. Mistletoe a key seasonal sight. Finally I enjoyed many breathtaking moments immersing myself in the outdoors at special sites taking in beautiful landscapes, with great sky scenes including the rainbow and the moon key to this month too. Happy New Year all!

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unrestrainedbalderdash · 9 months

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Top 5 bird species? (btw I love seeing your bird and Riddler fan art posts on my dash)

Swordbill Hummingbird. It's a silly guy, with such a long beak, I love birdies that look so disproportionate

2. Common wood pigeon. They're a common guy, but they're like little friends, they're such cuties, and they like to come into my garden. There's a pigeon couple around my street and they cuddle on the rooftops and it's so adorable. They're the first bird call I could recognise with their "COO COOOOO COO! COO COO COO!"

3. Moorhen. I've seen a couple of these, and their feet look so silly and big. Used to think they were coots. This is a baby and its feet are so so silly

4. Emerald Starling. Riddler colours.

5. European Herring Gull. Aka seagulls. They're evil [affectionate]. I've seen one yawn and make a noise like a cat meowing. Now that I love birds I no longer fear them and they hold no power over me.

There are so many birds out there so I'm giving an honourable mention to Canada Geese (who aren't as evil as everyone says they are) and ducks because they're so cute. I love waterfowl

#wauk wauk

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thebestorworstofit · 1 year

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if you ever wondered what an autisty adhd brain looks like in action this basically sums up the last two hours of my night:

me starting a reply i already have planned out: alright cool i know what i’m doing i’m gonna knock this out easy peasy. *92 seconds later* my completely out of pocket brain: IF YOU DON'T GOOGLE 18 DIFFERENT KINDS OF DINOSAURS AND FIND OUT IF THEY SLEEP LAYING DOWN OR STANDING UP RIGHT NOW YOU'LL LITERALLY NEVER KNOW HAPPINESS AGAIN. *literally 7 seconds later* me: *opens google to look up dinosaurs* wow, i do not know how to spell dinosaurs… my absolute whore of a brain: hey, hey..... HEY - google the names of all of prince's siblings right now. me: woah, how many siblings did he actually have?? my goose goblin of a brain: banana, bananas in pajamas, stripes, polka dots, what did they throw in the fire on are you afraid of the dark, how many goosebumps books were there, those anamorphs books were weird, i wonder if anyone else remembers them too, wow i'm old, my back hurts, where is my hoodie i'm freezing, tacos, hula hoops, bing bong, inside out was such a good movie *hums whos your friend that likes to play bing bong bing bong* oh he was a silly goose, goose, baby geese, ducklings, spring time at disney, disney ducks, remember when i was obsessed with the mighty ducks? oh yes the hockey phase, and the kings too... i wonder where i put my crown - OH, wait, so, how many siblings DID prince have? princes, prince naveen, parades, magic happens parade, just a little faith and trust and with a little pixie dust the world was made to be yours, HEY GO WATCH A VIDEO OF THAT PARADE YOUVE SEEN 30 TIMES RNRNRNNRNRN GOGOGOGO

#ooc

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tilltheendwilliwrite · 8 months

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Reflections

Chapter Four

Master List / Real People Master List / Reflections Master List

Pairing: Mia MacAlsdair x Au Tom Hiddleston

Warnings: second hand embarrassment, Mia's a badass, confrontations, 18+ Minors do not interact

A/N: I apologize in advance should my Scottish/English interpretations be incorrect. I am Canadian playing in a world of my own making. Do not @ me.

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A month passed swiftly, and Mia settled into her new life with a gracious heart. She knew just how wrong everything could have gone and how blessed she was that it hadn't. The reality was, her blessing was so great, it was almost too good to be true, and for the first week at Ashwood Farm - the name of her grandparents' home - she woke every morning, opened her eyes to the wood and dab ceiling, and sighed in relief because it wasn't a dream.

Once, a very long time ago, the farm ran sheep, but in the last few generations, the MacAlasdairs had moved into acquiring business holdings instead. Still, there were a few horses, a flock of ducks and geese, and a coup of chickens along with Jasper and Eddie - the pair of farm dogs, a golden retriever and a border collie. They were very friendly, and every day, when Mia walked the border fence of stone, they went along with her.

The dogs belonged to Henry, who looked after the animals and grounds. According to Cora, he was in his early forties and a confirmed bachelor. A little gruff around the edges, he wore his beard scruffy and a knit cap pulled low, taming his head of copper curls. He had the physique of a man used to hard labour, and if Mia hadn't recently come out of a disaster of a relationship, his deep voice and fit body might have given her pause, but as it was, she felt little in the way of attraction though the man was good looking. Hazel eyes watched her whenever Mia crouched to pet the dogs or stopped to stroke the horses' soft noses.

He'd introduced himself that first day with almost an annoyed growl, stared hard at the bruises around her eye, then turned on his heel with a command to follow him when Mia asked about her grandfather's woodworking shop.

She expected him to lead her to a quaint little shed, not a miniature stone cabin with big, bright windows. It had a great pot belly stove in the corner, long work benches, shelves, and miles of storage. Though it was currently covered in dust and wood chips, half the cottage seemed dedicated to a lounge area where her grandfather likely sat to read, drink, or spend time with friends in his 'mancave.'

The idea of it made her giggle, and Henry cast her a curious glance, before telling her he could assist in cleaning out the space if she wanted to take it over.

Mia thanked him but ultimately declined. Her grandad's half-finished pieces would remain, though she would put them up on display, and until she knew what to do with them, his tools and extra pieces of wood could be packed up and placed in a corner out of the way.

Within a few days, she had her studio set up between her grandfather's work benches and his sitting room. The long tables would give her a drying area, while the space in the middle had the best light.

Once she was all set and working again, Cora visited under the pretense of bringing her tea - they both knew she was snooping - but Mia didn't mind. But when Cora gasped and gushed over Mia's paintings, exclaiming at what she was seeing, Mia blushed.

She knew they were good, having sold many at craft fairs and gained a few commissions from people she met, but the validation was nice.

Mia painted portraits on mirrors sourced from auctions, thrift stores, yard sales, pretty much anywhere she could buy a decent piece of glass or a pretty frame. She called them Reflections for the care that went into the work, and it was a multi-step process to create.

First, the outline of the portrait was marked, and the underside of the picture was painted. For commissions, she liked to talk with the person about their goals, hobbies, great loves, and the things that filled their soul. Those things were painted on the mirror, but backward, like window painters who created the outline first so the image could be properly seen from the outside.

One had to peek behind the paint to see the inner reflection.

Then, on a second piece of glass, cut to fit the mirror perfectly, she painted the portrait of the individual. She kept them as photo-realistic as possible but did so with bright colours. A portrait could be blue and pink and yellow, orange or green; it really depended on how she felt at the time of the painting or the requests made by the customer.

Then, the pieces were sandwiched together, creating a double effect. One had to look closely to see the inner understanding of a person's soul in the reflection.

It had taken years for Mia to perfect her craft, and she still had to make sure she sourced the correct kind of mirror to give her the depth she needed. She would need to find new suppliers now that she was in Scotland, but there was an auto shop in town that did windshield repair, and upon finding out who she was, the owner appeared happy to deal with her.

Now, a month in, she knew quite a few villagers by name thanks to the shopping trips with Cora, who gleefully introduced her around.

It seemed Cora made bread, pies, and other amazing pastries for the farmers market that took place monthly. Much of the fruit and veg came from the gardens and orchards around the house. When Cora asked if she would still be alright with that, offering the same deal - fifteen percent of her earnings for using the kitchen and harvesting Mia's land - Mia agreed but knocked the price down to ten percent. Cora argued that fifteen was perfectly fair and refused to pay a penny less. Sighing, Mia relented but asked if Cora would mind her tagging along to the market.

This was when Cora somehow convinced Mia to open a booth with her artwork beside Cora's.

And thus, on a blustery May day, Mia - the proud owner of a new pop-up awning - was finishing setting up beside Cora.

They left up two walls on each tent to keep out the wind but kept the ones at the front and between their booths open, just in case Cora got busy and needed a second set of hands.

Mia displayed what she could do around her booth, on tables and hanging from quickly sourced Amazon finds. Some paintings were full-sized in gilt frames, propped on easels, or hanging from hastily erected wire. Smaller paintings, those the size of regular printer paper, sat in cardboard boxes like old records waiting to be flipped through. And still more, pendants Mia painted with hyper-realistic flowers under glass hung from little stands.

Henry hadn't seemed too keen on helping, but Cora browbeat him into packing the truck and getting them to the town square in Kelso early in the morning.

It had been a long time since Mia exhibited, and though she was excited, she was also nervous. Most people now knew she was a MacAlasdair. Would they think she was cheeky for attempting to sell her art at a decent price when she didn't need the money?

Her fears were unwarranted when people began to trickle by. Soon, Cora was doing a hopping business, and Mia was busy talking about what she did and why.

Throughout the morning, she found three people interested in commissions and eagerly handed out hastily made-up business cards.

She just finished up with a woman wondering if she could do something similar to commemorate the loss of her husband's best sheepdog - to which Mia gave an enthusiastic yes, she would love to paint a dog - when Cora called her name.

Friendly smile plastered on, she turned to find a stunning brunette, two young boys - their faces sticky from something sweet and chocolatey - and a tall, strapping man.

"Mia, ye've not met the Hiddlestons of Highpark Castle. This is Emma Bruce, her lads Keegan and Calvin, and Kristopher Hiddleston."

She crossed to stand behind Cora's baked goods covered table and held out her hand to the woman. "It's a pleasure. I see your home every day on my walk."

Emma grinned, her blue eyes bright and sparkling. "I've heard so much about you already! The whole village is buzzing regarding our new Canadian transplant. How are you adjusting?"

Mia laughed and shook the firm grip, smiling at the boys. "Just fine for the most part. There's been a bit of culture shock and a steep learning curve, but I'm figuring it out." She leaned closer and stage whispered, "But if you happen to have a Scot's saying dictionary, I would like to borrow it."

"Ock! Yer fine. Ye always blink like an owl when ye dinnae ken something," Cora huffed.

Emma laughed and winked. "Try being married to one. The brogue gets thick, and even I struggle."

"I did wonder," Mia chuckled, her accent very posh English.

"That's what happens when a Scottish keep ends up in the hands of an English Lord," the man laughed, holding out his hand. "It's a pleasure, Mia. Please, call me Kip. Everyone does. And I must say, I adore what you're doing here."

Hand firmly caught in his, Mia allowed him to tug her back into her booth, where he oozed charm and cooed over her work.

"I would love to have one of these for my fiancée. She would adore it!" he proclaimed, causing Mia to frown.

"Fiancée?" she murmured, glancing at Emma.

Kip snickered. "She's my sister."

"Oh!" Mia blushed. Emma said she was married to a Scot, and Kip was the upper crust side of an English accent, but she and Kip looked nothing alike beyond the bright blue of their eyes.

Emma was short with a petite, curvy frame and dark hair. Kip was tall and fit, more like a runner than a lumberjack. His sandy blond hair had a touch of copper, but not enough to call it strawberry, just enough to make it shine with red lights, even with the grey and cloudy sky hiding the sun.

"Don't trouble yourself, love," he winked, his smile flashing straight white teeth.

"Ignore him, Mia," Emma quipped. "He's just annoyed you're not fawning all over him."

Mia frowned. "Why would I?"

"Ugh! I'm destroyed. My heart will never be the same," the man pouted as Emma's boys laughed.

They looked about seven and ten and immediately made fun of their uncle.

"Looks like your fame hasn't spread to Canada, Uncle Kip!" Keegan snickered.

"Yeah, guess you have to try harder," Calvin giggled.

Kip huffed and playfully locked both boys in headlocks. "Bah! Perhaps Mia doesn't like movies, television, or theatre?"

"I like movies," Mia muttered, still perplexed. "I also like TV."

The boys burst out laughing. "See! Not that famous!"

Kip pouted. "Mia, darling, come on! Throw a man a bone. The Essex Serpent? Crimson Peak? Kong: Skull Island? For pity's sake, woman! Thor Ragnarok?"

"Ragnarok?" Mia tilted her head. "You were in Ragnarok?"

Kip raised his hands, triumphant. "Yes! I played Loki."

She blinked, arched a brow, and scowled. "Oh, you're that guy."

"I beg your pardon?"

Mia sighed and thrust a hand through her hair, muttering, "Odin's one eye," before forcing a smile. "Look, no offence, but I prefer the other guy."

Emma squeaked and slapped a hand over her mouth, but her eyes danced with utter delight.

"Other guy?" Kip asked, crossing his arms.

"Yes, the one in the first two Thor movies and Avengers. I'm not great with actor names, which is probably why I didn't recognize yours, but I never understood why they replaced the other guy. He made an incredible Loki. I was impressed." As was the God he portrayed, though her Loki was still annoyed about the hair. "I thought he put real passion into the role and gave him such depth of emotion. Nothing was more powerful than when he confronted Odin about being a Frost Giant. The utter hurt and betrayal gave me goosebumps. And in Avengers, when he was fighting Thor on the tower, and that single tear trickled down his cheek at sentiment." Mia shook her head. "Magic."

Kip stared, mouth agape, while Emma beamed, and the boys giggled like they had a secret.

"What? I know I can get a little passionate-"

"Tom!" Emma squealed. "It was Tom! Our brother Tom played Loki in the first three movies."

Heat burned through Mia's face. Talk about fawning like an idiot. And to his family, no less.

"Gods, I'm so embarrassed," she groaned, slapping a hand to her forehead.

"No, no, darling," Kip chuckled. "I agree. Tom was a better Loki than me. Would that he could have continued excelling as an actor."

"Unfortunately, our parents passed away unexpectedly," Emma murmured sadly. "The estate and responsibilities fell on Tom as the heir. He gave it all up to come home and take over as Lord of Highpark."

"And allowed me to rise under my own star," Kip smiled gently. "Had he stayed in the industry, I know many of the roles I've won would never have come my way. He put me forth to replace him in many of the parts earmarked for him, and when Ragnarok came up, it was because of our near-identical looks and voice that I was granted that opportunity as well. I owe my brother quite a lot," he murmured, staring at her curiously.

Suspicion caused Mia to squint at him. "What?"

"Hm? Oh, nothing. Nothing. Now, back to my commission."

He began talking about his fiancée, going on about how they just had a baby and how she was an actress rising on the Hollywood stage. He spoke about how they met doing Broadway and thought she would adore Mia's work.

With her birthday coming soon, he wanted to surprise her with something unique and special, and Mia's art was right up that alley.

Mia nodded along, making notes on her phone as they went, jotting down everything from the size he desired to her favourite colours to little tidbits Kip doled out about how great of a mom she was and how happy they were together.

The love fest gave Mia a pang in her chest, but she didn't let her smile waver.

Mia handed him a business card and asked him to email her so she could send him her contract and questionnaire. She informed him her commissions were first come, first served, and if he didn't want to wait for his painting to act soon as she already had a few interested parties.

Kip snorted, pulled out his phone, and shot off an email as she stood watching, amused.

Mia's phone pinged. She pulled it from her pocket, read the subject line, and burst out laughing. "Do me first? You're lucky I enjoy a quirky sense of humour."

"I thought you might," Kip snickered, tucking her business card away with his phone before the boys tugged at his hands. "Speak soon, Mia!"

She chuckled along with Cora and Emma as the obviously bored children dragged him away.

"It was a pleasure, Mia. Come by the house one day. We'll have tea. I'd love to get to know you better," Emma smiled. "Any time, any day. I'm usually free."

"I'd like that," Mia agreed. "I'll let you know when Kip's portrait is finished. We can kill two birds."

"Lovely," Emma nodded, giving a little wave as she headed off. "I should rescue Kip before the boys convince him more ice cream before lunch is a good idea."

"Bye!" Mia waved, watching them go.

"So…"

She turned to face a smirking Cora and arched a brow. "What?"

"Familiar with our Tom, are ye?"

Mia's face burned, and she hurriedly turned away. "Stuff it, old woman."

Cora cackled and went to speak with a customer.

In a lull around mid-afternoon, Mia escaped her booth to walk around. Cora assured her she would hand out cards to anyone interested, and said she'd heard Mia's spiel enough times to give the speech herself if necessary but would call her to come back if someone wanted to speak with her.

Mia walked the market with genuine interest, happily stopping to sample what she could where she could or stop and talk to the fibre artists, potters, and wood carvers when they weren't busy with other customers.

She wound up the proud new owner of three gorgeous wool sweaters, a cute purple toque - though she confused the poor woman when she called the knit cap that - and matching mittens. She bought a pair of heavy mugs in a black glaze speckled with white and shot through with smears of colour. They looked like galaxies on clay, and she had to own them. And when she stopped at the wood carvers tent, a bowl of ebony wood with a high polish caught her eye, as did a matching carved raven.

Mia headed back to her booth with her treasures in tow and belly full of samples.

Cora chuckled when she saw her. "I told ye to take a few bags."

"I did!" Mia laughed, tucking her finds under a table out of the way. "I ran out of room. There are just so many talented artisans here. Between the food, the drink, and the art, this could be a dangerous place to come to more than once a month."

Cora chuckled, but her laughter died on a gruff, "Canna help ye?"

Mia rose and turned to see a man in his mid-thirties, with brown hair and eyes, his long black coat twisting around his legs in the wind. He was staring at her, his face a mask of unreadable granite.

Something about him gave Mia the willies.

"Ye want something, Benedict Campell?" Cora snapped.

The man cast her a disdain-filled glance before returning his focus to Mia.

"I came to meet our new resident," the man said, his accent thick.

"Nice to meet you," Mia nodded, even as Cora snorted.

A squint came to his eyes as he studied her before he stepped into Mia's booth. "Yer younger than I thought."

Mia frowned. "Thank you?"

"Braw, too." He took another step toward her.

Mia pressed backward. The man sent chills up her spine.

The quorking of a raven gave her courage, and she straightened her spine. She'd worked in customer service and dealt with worse creeps before. "Is there something you want, sir?"

He arched a brow, amusement curling his lips into a cruel smile. "I was hoping ye would sell Ashwood Farm to me."

Mia crossed her arms and lifted her chin. "Nope."

The other brow joined the first in his hairline. "Surely yer not staying in Kelso?"

"I am, I can, and I will."

"Ye've had yer answer, Campbell. Aff wit ye!" Cora demanded, stepping between them, her brogue thickening.

He sneered at Cora before glaring at Mia. "Think about it. I'll give ye a great price."

Mia snorted. "Gods, no. Please leave."

"Yer makin'-"

Mia stepped around Cora and into the man so aggressively he stepped back in surprise, and she walked him backwards out of her booth.

"My sign is No. My number is No. My answer is No. You need to let it go! Bye-bye now!" Yes, she did just quote a Megan Trainer song. No, she didn't regret it.

Mia wiggled her fingers, cocked her head, and sashayed back into the tent.

"This isn't over."

"Yep. It is. There's nothing that will make me sell the last link I have to my heritage and family, so please, kindly fuck off," Mia smiled sweetly. "Attempt to harass me in any way, and I'll set my lawyers on your mangy ass."

Campbell scowled and stalked off.

"Ock, now ye've done it," Cora snickered.

"Done what?" Mia asked.

"That's Benedict Campbell. He's a high-mucky muck property developer. He's been after Ashwood Farm for years, but yer grandad always told him to feck off, too. So good on ye, but ye may want to give Fergus a call and let him know Campbell's up to his shenanigans again. Fergus had to cease and desist his arse once already."

"I'll do that," Mia murmured, glaring after the asshole.

"Just ken, his da is Kelso's mayor."

Mia sighed and rolled her eyes. "Joy."

"Not to worry. You own the building the mayor's office resides in."

The utter glee Cora took in that fact made Mia laugh. "Well, eviction is always an option."

Cora snickered before eyeing Mia appreciatively.

"What?"

"Ye stood up to him."

Mia shrugged. "Of course. He's just a bully and a chauvinistic pig."

Cora frowned and waved a hand in the direction of Mia's face. "I thought…"

"Oh. Yeah, no. That was a one-off, and after I picked myself off the floor, I threatened Colt with a lamp. I'm not a pushover, but five years of nitpicking beat me down. He was subtle and slow about it. It took taking the hit to wake me up. But no, I spent a lot of years in foster care. You toughen up quick."

"Mia," Cora murmured, pity crawling across her face.

She turned to fuss with the display she knocked over when Campbell caused her to retreat into the table. "It's not like I was abused, but you learn fast to be independent, and yeah, you figure out how to take a punch and throw one."

"Lord, love a duck," Cora muttered before grabbing Mia and yanking her down for a hug. "Well, no more. Ye've family in me now. Me and Henry. We'll look after ye."

"Thank you," Mia sighed. She didn't mean to upset Cora, but sometimes her filter… didn't. "I want you to know I'm really happy here, more so than I thought I would be. And I've met so many people. It's like I finally found… home."

"That's 'cause ye have, lass," Cora murmured. "Ye truly have."

Mia pulled back, her smile damp but still bright. "So… there's a booth at the end where the Anderson kids have a box full of kittens…."

Cora snickered and shook her head. "If yer getting one, get two. They can have a playmate. We'll train 'em to stay off my countertops, but they'll be good to keep down the mice."

"We have mice!" Mia hissed.

"In a house that auld? Of course, we've mice! But a couple wee kitties, and they'll solve the issue right quick."

Mia shuddered. "Yeah, okay, yeah. I'm getting two."

Cora chuckled. "Text Henry to come get ye. Ye can head to the store and get what's needed afore they close."

"I've always wanted a cat," Mia grinned and hugged Cora again. "Thank you, Cora!"

"Bah!" She flapped her hands, her cheeks red. "Tis yer house."

"But you live there, too, so if you didn't want them, I wouldn't get them."

Cora eyed her, bemused and shook her head. "Yer a good lass, a little strange but sweet. Now, gaun. Aff wit ye. There's a good dent in yer work, and mine, so packing up will be quick when yer back."

Mia giggled, nodded, and hurried off, pulling out her phone as she rushed to see if the kittens she fell in love with were still available.

As Mia settled down for bed that night, it was with a pair of furry bed warmers. The grey kitten with the black tiger stripes she called Tyr, and the white with the cinnamon mask, ears, tail tip, and toes she named Idunn.

They were wonderfully sweet, loving, and adorably affectionate. It surprised her how affectionate when they followed her around the house rather than running off to explore.

There was no fear in the pair. She expected them to be skittish and hide under the furniture, but they didn't. They pounced along behind her, chasing her heels as she set up a litter box near the back entrance and a second in her bathroom. She wanted to keep the scamps with her at night for a while, just until they were comfortable, but she didn't need any accidents.

Crawling into bed, she smiled when they scrambled up the bedding, jumped across the comforter, and climbed into her lap, where they snuggled together and began to purr.

Mia smiled and stroked their soft fur as she looked around her room.

Candles glowed on Loki's altar next to his new raven statue, a fire crackled in the fireplace, and fresh flowers bloomed on the mantle in a polished crystal vase.

Beyond the windows, the night closed in around the farm. It was still overcast, so she couldn't see the stars, but there was hardly any light pollution on the farm. One day, she knew she would look up and see the glory of the cosmos again.

The night sky in Canada could be so majestic, but it was hard to see from the city. Out here, on Ashwood Farm, she imagined it would be spectacular.

The presence beside her drew her from her musings.

"Thank you."

For?

Mia looked up, but there was no one there. Not physically at least.

She smiled and held out her hand. The warmth of someone grasping her fingers filled her with peace, comfort and joy.

"Everything. I know you had a hand in all this."

If I did, you deserve it. The hardships of the past have not soured your spirit. You make me proud, girl.

Mia blushed and pulled her hand away. "Thank you, Loki."

If you really want to thank me, you will read the good parts out loud.

Mia laughed at his teasing. "You're terrible."

You love it.

Yeah, she did.

Next Chapter

#reflections #au tom hiddleston fiction #rpf #real people fiction #tom hiddleston

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