#wild seed stitch

[theresattrpgforthat]

THEME: System-Neutral Settings (Fantasy Edition)

Sometimes what you need, rather than a new ruleset, is a setting that makes your system sing. These are a series of system-neutral settings that you can pick up, borrow from, or use wholesale in a game of your choice! 

All of these settings would work very well in fantasy or fantasy-like games.

Into the Riverlands, by Ostrichmonkey Games.

The Riverlands rests at the heart of the world. A great current of life and movement that winds and weaves its way through the mountains and valleys of the central continent. The Riverlands stretch from the south to the far north, acting as the lifeblood of continental travel and trade.

The Riverlands are a region of vibrancy and mystery. A colorful mosaic of peoples that call it home, and the strange twilight forest that surrounds it. Explore the bustling and vibrant City of Bridges, the mysterious and primeval Forest, the distant and crumbling Empire, and even further afield.

The backgrounds of The Riverlands have interesting themes, from the mercurial Trickster-Poet to the strange Forest Dweller, to the patient Marsh Apiarist. Picking up a game that is very light on rules, such as Tunnel Goons or Into the Odd, would allow you to slot in a character that fits inside the Riverlands without having to carry as much of the dungeon-delving as traditional OSR games. 

Ultraviolet Grasslands and the Black City, by WTF Studio.

The Ultraviolet Grasslands and the Black City is a tabletop role-playing game book, half setting, half adventure, and half epic trip; inspired by psychedelic heavy metal, the Dying Earth genre, and classic Oregon Trail games. It leads a group of ‘heroes’ into the depths of a vast and mythic steppe filled with the detritus of time and space and fuzzy riffs.

This game is designed with a d20 game in mind but much of the setting feels very fitting for an OSR-style regardless of the dice you use. There are 200 pages of interesting locations with encounter tables and plot seeds. Some of the locations in this city include The Porcelain Citadel, The Steppe of the Lime Nomads, The Glass Bridge and The Forest of Meat. The world is weird and resists the tones of high fantasy by populating the world with insectoids, fungal colonies, strange drugs and ancient machines. If you want acid fantasy that mixes the in a bit of weird science or post-apocalypse, this is the setting for you. The designer of this setting also has a free player guide, as well as a creature generator supplement. 

Into the Wyrd and Wild, by Feral Indie Studio.

Beyond the reach of roads, past the scope of mortals there is a darkened place. A shadowed tree-line where no-one dares cross and whose boundaries go undisturbed.

This is not the woods of peaceful fey and beast, but the dark and twisted children’s tale that kept you full of terror. It is a world of fear, madness, and bloodshed; ruled over by the uncaring watch of ancient trees. There is no bargaining with the primal forces that rule the uncivilized world, as you have nothing they could ever want.

The woods do not care for you. Never forget that.

Another dark fantasy setting, Into the Wyrd and Wild includes more than a list of beasts and NPCs for the characters to encounter. It includes a way to think about money in the setting, how to emphasize exhaustion, and various other rules that demonstrate the danger and violence to be found inside the Wilds. One of my favourite sections of the book is about the Court of Broken Branches, a faction built out of abandoned children, stitched up with silver stitches and led by a magical Queen. An incredibly evocative setting and a top-tier piece of work in terms of design.

Guidebook to the Viridian Maw, by Orbis Tertius Press.

This 24-page PDF of the digest-sized zine contains fodder for a wilderness sandbox campaign in the Viridian Maw: an overgrown meteor crater, mutated and reshaped by fungal influence. To get a sense of it, check out the free download for the one-page version of the setting.

Everything is system neutral & stats agnostic, though the material is written with genre assumptions leaning toward D&D/OSR games (but usable for games like Apocalypse World or Dungeon World, too).

If you want a game that sinks your players deep into a thick, dangerous forest, this is a great option for you. There are tons of great descriptions of beasts and plants that your characters can encounter, including Driftnettle, a floating kelp-like creature that prey on the unaware and asleep, and the Sporehorn elk, a symbiotic partnership between an elk and a colony of fungi. Much of the encounters you’ll find in this zine will prompt changes to characters that make them weirder, so it might be a good idea to let your players know about that before playing in this setting.

This game works for dark fantasy, but I’ve also used it as inspiration for a Changeling: the Lost game as well!

Into the Sea Woods, by Diwata Ng Manila. 

The Sea-Woods is the way it has always been: just beyond the village, across a wall that bars the rest of the roots from coming forward. No one ever knew why that wall was built. Was it meant to keep the Woods out or keep the Village in? One thing's for sure, things changed when a tree stood up from its spot and punched a part of the wall until it collapsed. It then promptly walked deeper into the woods, clearing through a small path.

Never heard of a tree walking before? Ah, then you really must be new here, aren't you?

This is a small collection of micro-settings that are whimsical and evocative. This is more of a friendly forest than a scary one - great for setting a Studio-Ghibli kind of tone. There’s a bit of a formatting issue with the current version, but the ideas present in each setting give a great amount of inspiration for making locations that feel safe and yet unique for your play group. My favourite is the Cabin, a house that always has a warm cup of tea and a freshly made bed, despite having no visible caretaker. Rumour has it the Keeper only appears at night, and if she does, she’ll bet her heart on a game of poker. I've also used inspiration from this setting in a Changeling game before, to great success!

The Gardens of Ynn, by Dying Stylishly Games.

The Gardens of Ynn is a point-crawl adventure set in an ever-shifting extradimensional garden. Each expodition generates its route as it explores, resulting in new vistas being unlocked with every visit. It's a big garden full of whimsy and delight and surreal perils. 

The Gardens of Ynn are a constantly re-arranging set of gardens that act as a magical maze. As a point-crawl adventure, this is a great option for a point-crawl game, but it might also be an interesting piece of inspiration for a horror game of some kind. This book begins with some basic lore about the Gardens themselves, followed by a d20 table that adds how deep you are in the Gardens to determine which area you happen upon next. Each area has a description, and many areas have additional roll tables to determine what can be found, or what kinds of encounters you might find within.

#tabletop games #game recommendations #indie ttrpgs #system-neutral #dnd

[whetstonefires]

If I was going to go back in time to disrupt history with a single technology the temptation would be incredible to make it knitting.

Like I don't know how much that would really do to alleviate human suffering en masse so it's not the heroic option like idk an understanding of germ theory on the level necessary to improve child mortality in the long term? But it would be so cool to see what happened.

Because knitting in the form we know it is basically a 20th century invention.

I hate that! It doesn't seem right at all, huh?? Knitting is over 1000 years old, that's all we know we don't have the artifacts to say more precisely than that, but it spent most of that time being pretty exclusively a means of making socks, and not a viral sensation of a sock method, either. The purl stitch was figured out and then forgotten again.

That's nothing. That's like 0 time, in the history of string.

And then, almost every knitting technique of any serious elaboration, all the complicated stitches and the cable knits and all that: less than 150 years old. Cannot believe this. Wild. What is humanity.

Anyway I just want to see what would happen if you went back to before the proliferation of the loom and taught knitting to a bunch of different communities across the mesolithic world. Some of them would keep it up, if you seeded it widely.

Knitting is way more nomadism-friendly than weaving, so at the very least the early proliferation of knit fabrics would alter the economic balance of pastoral and agricultural communities. i feel like it would also have interesting impacts on the fishing net.

#hoc est meum #knits are not suitable for all the same purposes as woven cloth #and if you want a fine dense fabric it's much less efficient #but stretchy fitted garments... #quick simple lace #the interesting cultural angles opened up by like #linen mesh #being relatively efficient to make

[spade-riddles]

I can’t find it now, but one of 🎃’s posts said something about all the next moves will look the same as the ones before and then whatever is going to happen will happen quickly. (Or…something like that).

I haven’t been around long enough to know if this looks like all the moves before. I guess? The lyric change was wild though, that seemed very different.

Anyway, are we thinking the posts were real or are we being punked? Gut take.

Oh 🎃’s posts are genuine. They have already been proven legit. I found the one you were referring to. It was the last message:

... The homestretch begins with what looks identical to all the steps taken before. But it is not as it has been before. And it is not what it ever will be again. No. The moment is new and sovereign and special. Pregnant with possibility. The glass overflowing all at once after a maddeningly constant drip, drip, drip. Just like that shift in the wind, just like that stitch, just like that parchment and just like that seed, I am not yet what I one day will be. And also, I am. Because I will one day be it. So on this night of All Hallows Eve, as the veil between this life and the next is thinner than ever, I whisper to you: The finish line is closer than it may appear. Transformation is imminent. Hold on to your blind faith a moment longer, now. And remember that reputation is illusion, expectation the magician. I hope you get more treats than tricks this year in your orange, pumpkin shaped pails. You are all truly dear to me. Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye. And also…hello! 🎃

[lurkinglurkerwholurks]

Wishes & Dreams

First posted: April 23, 2019

Focuses on: Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd, Alfred Pennyworth

Favorite bookmark: "👌👌👌👌👌👌👌 that good shit"

Tier: Middle of the pack at best

This is my “behind the scenes” series where I indulge myself horribly by annotating my fics. Link to the fic itself above. Thoughts below the cut.

Another ficiversary request, and this was one I allllllmost declined, just because "Breathing" was so perfect for me just as it was. But because I used TQT as a framework for the last fic, I knew I had to continue that with this one, so it was fun to figure out whose POV and how. Alfred as a kind of Petrus just made sense.

The nightmares were bad that night. He knew they would be. When the screaming began, it was not a question of if or even when, but rather a question of who and in what order.

It's one of those things that are so obvious once they're said out loud, but until they are... Like, of course Jason is going to have some PTSD consequences, but so are the others! Even Tim and Damian, who weren't affected by Jason's first death, saw him get stabbed and almost die and also their dad faint. Lots to process.

No one had slept on the flight back either, not truly. Master Jason had dozed off and on, twitching and muttering in his sleep only to quiet again when Master Bruce murmured in his ear. Masters Tim and Damian also had subsided into hooded, disassociated states close to rest but not quite there. Alfred himself had split his time between the entirety of the family, assessing young Damian’s bruises, monitoring Jason, and taking turns at the helm with Master Dick. As for his part, Bruce never left Jason’s side.

The whole title thing is such a bother. I go back and forth on how Alfred refers to them all within the privacy of his own head. Here I just split the difference and established the initial naming with the title and then dropped it from there.

Ordinarily, Jason would protest being called a boy. Much like Damian he was in that way. And, truth be told, there was little boyishness left in his appearance. Death had filled him out in ways Alfred could scarcely believe, broadening his shoulders and deepening his voice. Death and that wretched al Ghul clan. It was a man, not a boy, who had protected his brothers at great cost to himself, a man who had hid the truth to spare them further damage. But it was still a boy who had fussed under Alfred’s care, the same boy who used to squirm away from plaster over skinned knees and ice packs to swollen eyes blooming black. And it was, in many ways, still just a boy who had fought to reach his father’s side, when he had thought there was danger afoot.

I will never be over Jason dying as a child and coming back so radically changed physically. Like, think about the cases where kids are abducted and are found years later as adults themselves, how wild that seemingly instantaneous shift is for their families.

Alfred couldn’t wholly stifle the grunt as he heaved himself to his feet. His hip had gone stiff in the waiting, the movement sending a twinge down his leg to match the ache in his lower back and the gritty burning behind his eyelids.

I love seeding human fallibility into Alfred.

“Master Jason.” Alfred’s voice was soft now, low and conciliatory in the proper way for frightened children and dangerous men.

🥺

The sweat-plastered head snapped in the direction of his voice. Blue eyes stared but did not see. A splotch of red was beginning to spread across his abdomen, staining the cotton t-shirt. That would be stitches popped, then.

Let me tell you, writing a KOA scene from Petrus-as-Alfred's view is such a trip. (Not in the least because Alfred is far more Galen.)

“Is there danger?” “Does he need water?” “Aw, Jay—Al, I’ll get him a new nightshirt, don’t worry.” “I can fetch some clean bandages.” “Was it a nightmare?”

I think they would be offended, being compared to the attendants, but they are. yap yap yap

Into the silence, Bruce spoke. “Your brother has made his wishes clear. To bed with you, or to the kitchen for warm milk if you can’t sleep, but it is time for you all to leave.”

I don't know that Bruce would like his TQT foil any better, though. 😂

He was watching Jason on the off-chance that the boy decided to throw the second knife now clutched in his hand. They would likely be safe—though thrown in panic, the first projectile had not been aimed to injure—but Alfred thought it wise to monitor against, regardless.

Jason would never, even in anger or panic or fear. As long as he recognizes them, he wouldn't.

“That was the worst,” Jason groaned as he sagged into his father. Bruce hummed. “You always were an overenthusiastic puker.”

This pops up again in later fics and is stolen directly from my brother, the kid who would puke so aggressively that he would bust blood vessels in his face.

Jason huffed a shaky laugh, then turned to press his forehead against the side of Bruce's neck. That was something he used to do as a child, Alfred remembered with a start, wondering how he could have forgotten. When compared to Dick, Jason had always been the more standoffish of the two, but he had been known to cling when truly distressed. 

It isn't only Bruce and Jason who forget the little things. Loss and distance steals from us all.

“Bruce,” Jason whispered, “promise me you’ll make sure I’m dead next time. Promise me you won’t bury me alive. Or cremate me. And promise me you won’t bring me back.”

I love it any time this is addressed in a fic, even in passing. Sometimes other people have Jason want the exact opposite, and that's okay too. I just like it when it's something he's clearly thought about and stressed over, because of course he has!! (And if you know TQT and know what this conversation actually was in that story.......)

Bruce had his face turned so his lips were pressed into his son’s sweaty, matted curls. A single tear had streaked his face, shimmering in the light before disappearing into the tired lines that creased his skin. Old. They had all become old when Alfred had looked away.

😭

“I’ll make sure you have some sort of alarm, how about that?” Bruce offered. Despite the hitch in his voice, he sounded warm and soothing, much like his own father, God rest his soul.

They've lost so much.

Alfred sniffed disdainfully as he reemerged, his heart tucked neatly back into his pocket. 

That's him. That's Alfred Pennyworth.

“Alfred’s not old,” Jason protested with a yawn. “He’s immortal. That’s a different thing.”

That's him. That's Alfred Pennyworth. But also wow what a thing to say immediately after their last conversation.

Despite the night’s fright, both of the bed’s occupants were blinking dozily by the time Alfred closed the kit again.

That's an adverb we as a society should use more often.

“The privileges of an old man. You are all still little boys to me.” Alfred bent and pressed his lips to Jason’s forehead, then to Bruce’s. “Goodnight, sirs. Only the sweetest of dreams to you both.”

Alfred as Petrus. Alfred as Phresine. Six of one, half dozen of the other.

#fanfic bts brain dump #jason todd #bruce wayne #alfred pennyworth #batfic #fanfic #batfam

[oneweirdbookaddict]

March Recovery Day one- act of kindness (Time and Wars)

Exactly what it sounds like lol Time does something nice for Wars

788 words, no warnings :)

~~~~

“Hey, Old Man?” Rulie’s voice breaks through the soft conversation of the night, and he glances up to the boy.

The simple motion causes the little group of Rulie, Legend, Wind, Twi, and Wild to all break into laughter, causing a grin to pull at his own lips despite not knowing the joke.

“You just admitted it! He called you Old Man and you responded!” Wild wheezes, and Wind laughs even harder.

He rolls his eye playfully, shaking his head.

It had been a nice day- warm, sunny weather, no attacks or battling, he’d let the boys sleep in a little bit and settle in for the night earlier than usual.

It was a nice night, too- a little cool with the sun setting, but the fire kept them warm.

The boys had grouped off to do their own things for the night, from engaging in conversation with one another to reading or writing letters.

He’s glancing down at the letter he’s writing when the captain catches his attention.

Wars sighs at the fraying in his scarf, fingers brushing over it.

“You ok, Capsicle?” Wind asks, draped over the captain’s shoulder from behind.

“Yeah, of course.” Wars says easily, grabbing the sailor and lightly tossing him to the ground.

“Capsicle?” Sky murmurs to Legend, who merely shrugs.

Wars and Wind wrestle on the ground, both laughing, scarf forgotten in the pile of their stuff.

Four glances up from the book he’s been reading since they settled for the night, smiling and shaking his head before going back to reading.

Wild glances up from chopping veggies for tonight’s meal with a laugh, tossing a pumpkin seed at the pair when they get too close.

“Hey, watch the fire,” Rulie warns with a smile, causing the two to pause for a second.

Take a step away, then go right back to it.

Even he has to smile, shaking his head as he does so. His boys are crazy.

While the two are distracted, he eyes their stuff and walks over. Inspects the captain’s scarf, noting the fraying.

He has some thread that would match it surprisingly well, and it’s not too bad yet. He could repair it.

Malon taught him some basic sewing, he’s sure he could fix it.

So he folds it carefully, tucking it into the pouch on his back. And tells the captain he folded it up and put it away when Wars inquires about its whereabouts.

~~~~

As he’d predicted, the scarf is a rather simple fix. He’s no expert like his wife, but even he manages to fix it up alright without it being noticeable.

He just took the first watch, made sure the captain didn’t get the second, then settled down with a lamp when the rest had settled in to sleep.

Carefully redid the hem of the fraying fabric with small, careful stitches.

Inspects his work carefully, deeming it acceptable. Malon would do better, but… they work with what they’ve got.

He wonders too late if Legend possibly could’ve done a better job- but banishes the thought quickly. Too late for that, and he’s honestly glad to be able to do something for the captain.

The young man has been a tremendous help during this whole journey, taking lead when need be and doing anything possible to help him out.

It doesn’t come close to repaying him, but… it’s something.

He sets it away, satisfied.

Wakes Four for second watch, settles into sleep easily, and wakes up in the morning to the captain holding the scarf with a frown.

Hands brushing over the newly repaired edge, glancing up at him.

He offers a small smile. “Captain. Good morning.”

Wars gives him an odd look. “Did you do this?”

He feigns innocence. “Do what?”

“Fix it. The fraying.” Wars insists, showing him the stitches. In the light, he notices it’s a bit messy, a few stitches crooked or slightly misplaced.

“Yeah.” He admits. “I can undo-”

He’s cut off when Wars pulls him into a hug, arms wrapping around him tightly.

“Thank you.” Wars says softly as he slowly hugs back.

“Anytime, Link.” He says in the same tone, gently rubbing Wars’ shoulder. Getting a hug- or any sort of contact, really- from the captain was rare. “Thanks for all the help during this craziness.”

Wars nods, slowly pulling away. Takes a slow breath, smiling softly at him. “Glad to help you out.”

He nods, but Wars stops him.

“Time. Thank you. Really.” The captain says softly, hand brushing over the end of his scarf again.

He nods, offering an arm for the captain again.

Wars accepts the hug, head resting on his shoulder.

“Anytime, Captain.” He says softly, gently patting his friend’s back. “Anytime.”

~~~~

#wars needs more love #ok I love him #March recovery #marchrecovery #marchrecovery2024 #legend of Zelda #legendofzelda #linked universe #linkeduniverse #Lu wars #Lu time #Lu warriors #wars Lu #time Lu #warriors lu #wars linked universe #time linked universe #warriors linked universe #linked universe warriors #linked universe wars #linked universe time

[sunny-days-and-warm-mournings]

Rules of Revelry

— Be kind to those who gifts you fruit and honey, the trees had given their bounty but the roots held things you cannot refuse.

— If a child gives you a crown of flowers, a bracelet of daisies if you are as kind to yourself as you are to the ground that holds, you can bend down and tell them your secrets.

—They will giggle and laugh, because they are beings from someplace else and their duty is to make you theirs. Slowly, until they own your secrets and you'll see your name in a goblet of wine.

— The crows you see overhead is not a warning, but a welcome to the land. You will hear them croon and you will find trinkets in the brim of your hats.

— The ravens are different, for they are there to welcome Fall. To whisper to the falling leaves and sing to the little bones underneath the gardens. They are there to welcome, always, and they bare their teeth to those unwelcome.

— Pine cones and pine needles make great fires. Throw a cone into the hearth and you'll see life brimming from it's sap.

— When it is Spring, you will see the deers prance about in the forest. Sometimes there are things hanging from their antlers— lovely things like chains of delphinium and baby's breath touching their ears.

— Sometimes they fall off and you can take them. Just don't take them too far away from their home or something else will follow you.

— Summer is different. You bend down to the shores of the river and the fish are grown too big for their own good.

— You will see their eyes shimmer underneath those waters. Glittering like pearls or glowing like forgotten amber. Be sure to catch them.

— Fall is where you'll hear the singing. In Spring, you'd hear a subtle hum that followed the deers and the touch of something from the petals. In Fall, there is someone singing, like a siren of the mountains.

— His voice had brought down nations, and the men who had followed his voice had always come back different. There is a fog in their eyes, a shake in their bones and they go to the forest at the middle of the night. Their remains found hanging over the branches of old trees.

— Festivities is what they call that voice. That celebration of wedding and funeral bells, the cries of birth and grief, the joy of life and living. Good seeds from forest fires. Bones of archaic things that makes you wish you were there to witness.

— That was only a good thing.

— Winter is where you'll find those half-decayed corpses of animals that doesn't exist. Ivories from the first breath of a renewed life. A sacrifice to be made so that Festivities wouldn't raze Winter's heart to the ground.

— You must build a shrine. It doesn't quite matter where you'd put it as long as it important. The one who will hear your prayers will find you amusing, and think to entertain you.

— Festivities loves gifts, and even more so gifting them. He loves many things from wine to little bundles of dried up flowers, old liquor and the freshest of meat, old clothe stitched with tears and flesh and iron, bearing the weight of decades in it's hem. He loves them, and he will cherish them as much as he cherishes those who greets him.

— (He was cherished, too. Because those who were touched by death and tragedy were changed in a way that cannot ever be the same. They yearn for relief, pray and sing for it, and they sacrifice what needs to be sacrificed in order to achieve it. He was loved and he was heaven because all living things always loved to hope.)

— Festivities is a gentle wild thing and he will tear you apart the moment you forget who you are, but he will grieve for you for the way only gods could.

— Only go into the forest in the Spring and Summer, but not until the sun is drowned out by the beat of the void. There are things there that weren't always monsters, and have never been monsters or could've been monsters at all. As obsolete as the moon, as hazed as the rustling of pelts and the swish of ashen feathers.

— (Mabon loves Festivities. Samhain and Yule, too. Ostara and Litha spoil him, and Imbolc and Lugnasadh and Beltane kisses his hand. Festivities welcome them like a lover who cannot be loved.)

— If you find gifts on your windowsill, usually after dawn, be sure to return the favor and leave honeyed fruits at the edge of the meadows.

— They tell you you shouldn't give your name to the Faefolk, but you cannot change your name to the One Who Feasts. He already knew you from the moment you cried the first time, and every achievement that left you grinning.

— Festivities loves you like tragedy does to peace.

#writing prompts #writing prompt #writing #creative writing #gothic writing #my writing #possible gods #seeds #dark fantasy #fantasy #aesthetic writing #cryptic writing #cryptic #ominous #prompts

[system-of-a-feather]

anon to avoid harassment: i had a parrot that was neglected when i was younger, primarily because i got the bird as a gift when i was a young teen, and teenagers are not qualified to look after an animal that essentially has the same attention needs as a human toddler.

i think the reason parrots are often a neglected animal is similar: a lot of these birds have attention requirements that are downplayed or not mentioned at all by breeders or stores, and these needs are kind of unrealistic for anyone with a full time job or school to meet while living alone.

over a decade later, i have kind of adopted the opinion that in about 90% of cases, owning a parrot is not good for the animal. obviously exceptions exist, but it reminds me a lot of how recently the reptile hobby has normalized captive lifespans of 10 years in animals that easily live 20-50 in well-qualified zoos and sanctuaries.

i am glad your birds are cared for, i just wish this wasnt a minority case.

Oh yeah for sure. I posted that as a light hearted nudge at just how fucking loud they could be (which is one of the many reasons they are horrible pets) and how its ironic that they are one of the most commonly neglected and abused pets (no statistic but based on my experience) DESPITE also being one of the hardest to actually ignore unless MAYBE we are talking about budgies MAYBE.

Parrots are often neglected cause they are wild animals that are completely normalized to be living in homes. They are absolutely not pets and should never be adopted as though they are pets.

All animals and all pets have a difficulty and a lot of needs that are often neglected and under-estimated and under-spoken which is just a chronic condition of humans with pets - but most don't understand that parrots - even the smallest ones - live 15~ years and the bigger ones can live as long as a human. On top of that, they have extremely (with variation between species, but generally) high social needs as they are all prey-animals and flock-animals as well as high enrichment needs as they are all foragers and in the wild find their foods, homes, and care for themselves by tearing apart wood, plants, fruits and vegetables, so they will destroy your everything.

Then on top of that, parrots are extremely pretty and are extremely smart and extremely cute so they are a really cool and awesome thing to have in your house on a surface level, but they will shit on everything you own, they can't be kept in a cage (contrary to almost every depiction) and they will throw bird seed and feathers everywhere constantly + allergies from dander, so they are horrible decorative (BAD EVEN IN CONCEPT) pets despite that they are usually sought after for being aesthetic

But theyre so smart and wouldnt it be cool to have a pet that can talk to you yet actually most of them are extremely behavioral, a LARGE majority never learn to speak and often in my experience its usually only a result of adapting to having to use humans for enrichment (both entertainment and social needs) which in my opinion would better be done with a bird which would then deter the motivation to teach them to speak (not a bad thing if they do, nor is it a red flag since they do bond and substitute with humans well and filling the need with another parrot is not always viable). If they aren't tame when you get them they can literally bite off your finger depending on the species and send you to the hospital in need of stitches if they go for your face. If they don't want to go to the cage and you don't want to youll be chasing that bitch around for at least half an hour (if you are lucky) and you better hope they dont get hurt while you do that. I could go on about behavioral issues and how god damn horrible and grating pets they can be if they are untame and how much patience and understanding of parrot needs, body language, and behavior is

Then there are all the injuries and illnesses they can get along with all the household items that are toxic and poisonous (note, remember, these birds can not be kept in a cage and they have two wings that can take them to places you couldn't think of). The general vet bills, the on the spot crisises that can happen such as broken blood feathers that if you aren't prepared to handle can get injured and result in a dead bird pretty fast.

Like its all cute and fun and games seeing a cockatoo screaming and throwing a tantrum online, but when its your daily for 70+ years and that's just how it communicates, its a whole different story. Which speaking of which, if you are getting a big parrot at an age where you can probably provide it's needs and afford it, you probably are going to die before the bird IF you care for it right so good luck planning for it to have a good home AFTER you die.

I could literally write a doctoral thesis on why parrots are horrible pets and why I would very much directly like to murder breeders who do it for hobby and why trying to find Popsicle a friend was PISSING me off because I REFUSE to buy from a breeder and lovebirds are so frequently targets of breeders as they are prolific and have a quick turn about.

(Also I've read up on them before I took popsicle in and honestly, out of all the 'small birds' lovebirds are by far the hardest to both tame and care for which makes this even more depressing)

We were raised with birds since we were a kid (finches and parakeets) and a lot of unfortunate situations that I won't go into because there is trauma there - but we ended up with 0 birds at a point of time and one of the few genuinely good things my oldest sister did for me was get me a cockatiel and while we were like 10 at the time, she made us write a 4 page research paper on them before she'd support me in making our parents let me have one. She basically raised me more than I raised her if you ask me and from there we ended up rescuing a few more since my mom was wanting birds again (all of which are still with us, save for one born-disabled male that lived 14 years happily despite being disabled, he died peacefully by euthanasia) and all

But like... my birds aren't pets and they are never treated like them, largely because my brain doesn't comprehend birds as anything other than 'kin' in a way beyond the usual "my pets are my family". It's hard to explain because its not a verbal feeling / experience, but my brain can not look at a bird and not feel "same species" as I've tried to logic it into trying to see a bird as a bird. It doesn't work. *shrugs*

But I'm far aware of the plight of them, as with the lovebird saga, Popsicle came from a neglectful home. Pocky came from a neglectful home. Avery came from a home that probably wouldn't have been neglectful but a dangerous, underprepared and unsuitable home (shes special needs, so much so that my mom who rescued her gave up on her after two years and thus I took her rehabilitation personally). Lucy is the result of my mom's (problematic) belief that all of the birds should get the opportunity to breed once and so he's a baby I've raised from a chick and is the son of my "mom" (first cockatiel and emotional support animal). In my mom's flock though, we have a "bird we are fostering for a college student who will surely come pick her up after 12 years", a bird that the owners thought they could raise on a boat (cant), a bird that was extremely clingy and the owner couldn't handle, and a bird that was bonded to the disabled one (I bought that one from a breeder - derogatory - solely because he was being kept UNDER the table in a dark corner so people wouldn't look at him and it broke my heart cause he looked half dead)

Largely if you have a parrot and are struggling to manage it entirely with a fulltime job, a good way to add "buffer" is to give them at least one bird of their own species to have in a big cage with plenty of enrichment.

Over here I have a fiance and am neighbors with my mom who has her "retirement flock" (they're all old birds save for one XD) and so it helps a lot there, but our birds get let out in the morning while I get ready for work, then get let out the moment I'm home and I regularly spend at least an hour or two with all four of them. Plus I pretty frequently take them along with me to shower, on walks in a carrying back pack, and honestly even let them sometimes visit the "retirement flock" just to make sure they are getting a lot of different experiences cause they deserve it.

Lucy is partially leash trained (partially in the sense that he was good for short walks to the mailbox and back but we haven't done it in a while due to new area and having lost the leash) but we had him doing that before too since he's physically and mentally able to.

I forgot where I was going with this XD But yeah you are 100% right in that.

#alter: riku #ask #asks #parrot posting #bird posting #birdblr #birblr #parrots #parrot trade #pet trade #pet trade tw #animal abuse tw #animal neglect tw

[emeraldreverie]

Loz Reads 2024 Roundup pt 1

I am an avid reader. Here's Storygraph links and my reviews to some of my faves that I read this year.

Gender Outlaws: The Next Generation by S. Bear Bergman, Kate Bornstein

I think this definitely achieves what it sets out to do. Some pieces I loved, some I vehemently disagreed with, some will be touching me with echoes for decades. I def recommend.

Heavy: An American Memoir by Kiese Laymon

An important witness, hard to read needing digestion and space. I am compelled to reread it.

I'm a Terminal Cancer Patient, But I'm Fine. by Hilnama

A gracious, earnest, upfront depiction one person's experience with a terminal illness. I deeply appreciate how sincere and kind Hilnama depicted her situations and approach. Definitely some valuable lessons and reflections to take away that I appreciate being shared.

Good Omens: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch by Terry Pratchett & Neil Gaiman

I have read The Book. Now I can watch The Show.

Yes it was good. I will likely read it again immediately.

[note for this tumblr post: am rereading, am in s2 of show]

Shubeik Lubeik by Deena Mohamed

Fantastic. Enthralling and compelling. Love the world set up and the philosophical questions it inspired!

A Stitch in Time by Andrew J. Robinson (audiobook)

I have read the prose of this before. This time I opted to listen to AJR's audiobook and legit cried when it finished. Thank you AJR for such a deeply felt book. My absolute favorite trek book.

The Single LIfe vol 1: 60-year-old lesbian who is single and living alone by Morishima Akiko

I demand more. So much more. *grabbiest of hands*

Emily Wilde's Encyclopaedia of Faeries by Heather Fawcett

A delight. Truly fun and fantastic.

Seeds for the Swarm by Sim Kern

It drew me in hard and didn't let go. Great writing, great rep, great action. Excited if more happens!

Is Love the Answer? by Uta Isaki

Great! Really. An empathetic and honest discovery of self and realization of the falsehood of normality. Representation of both ace and aro orientations, of multiple flavor combos. I highly recommend.

(cont'd in pt 2)

#loz rambles #loz reads

[adelaidedrubman]

another wednesday another wip

tagged by @starsandskies my beloved for wip roundup! sending tags out to @shallow-gravy @florbelles @henbased @blackreaches @heroofpenamstan @derelictheretic @preachercuster @belorage @vasiktomis @stacispratt @marivenah @aceghosts @indorilnerevarine @blissfulalchemist @ishwaris @shellibisshe @bluemojave @snake-in-the-garden @nuclearstorms @strafethesesinners @redreart aaaand whoever else is so inclined.

a little excerpt from chapter 13 (maybe 14? currently in the editing stage and deciding if it will be split in twain) of wildfire. warnings for It’s Jessie’s Turn to be Vaguely Creepy and Make Things Weird

She slammed the door behind her as she entered, giving it a quick kick for good measure, only to find the impact jolting through her leg to shoot pain rippling straight through her sewn together middle.

She cursed under her breath, curling in on herself, pain of her injury all the more pronounced with neither the extreme of exhaustion or adrenaline to dull it. She cursed, banging a fist against the door to support herself against it as she evened ragged breaths.

Once she felt steadied she slowly slipped her arms from the heavy denim jacket, shedding it and hooking its collar on the peg hanging from the door.

…And then leaning against it again, ever so briefly, to inhale along the denim, catching one last whiff of that airy, fresh linen scent of detergent lingering deep within its threads, now topped with the earthy scent of dirt and wild grass she slept atop the night before. She took another, deeper breath — one that reached deep enough to make her center ache as it filled her, stretching her stitched together seams as she tried to memorize the smell, study it closer to make out the subtle, hidden notes of sandalwood and leather.

She grunted in exhale, relaxing her full body to press against it in something almost like surrender, chest and hips flush against the door, only abdomen curled away. She shook off a shiver, focusing to shove a hand into the pocket to pull out the bottle stashed there.

She trailed eyes along the worn label, bothering to read it for the first time as she set it atop the dresser.

Amoxicillin.

Add it to the small but growing list of things John Seed hadn’t completely lied about, she supposed.

[javaberrychip1998]

Assorted thoughts about fairy textiles/fashion:

Obviously fairies use leaves and flowers and stuff like that as fabrics. They use pixie/fairy dust to make the materials stronger and easier to work with. A single strand of silkworm thread or spider silk is often used to sew things together, with a pine needle or dry, thin blade of grass as a needle. (Porcupine quills are far too long, more likely used for spears and other weapons) For fairies in regions where they can’t farm insects for thread, thin blades of grass can also be used as thread, though the stitches will be more prominent.

Materials are used in accordance to their availability. Because of this, most fairy clothing is green, as leaves of many shapes and sizes, as well as grass, are abundant in most fairy regions. Flower petals come in a variety or rarity that effects their price accordingly. The most common color after green is yellow, with dandelions and buttercups being plentiful. Dandelions in particular are used as fluffy skirts for fairy children, or as hats. There was a brief fad of using dandelions as wigs, for fashionable yellow hair, but the trend was short-lived. (Obviously once dandelions turn to fluff, they are very affordable resource used for stuffing pillows, comforters, and children’s toys)

Next most common is white and then pink. Pale pink isn’t too rare, but brighter pinks are usually saved for special occasions. Rhododendrons are a classic choice for a prom dress. Purples are less common, and blue clothing is very rare, usually reserved for fairy nobles and royalty.

The color rules are of course not absolute, as ultimately it depends on the rarity of the flower itself. Fairies that reside in a garden will often have more of a variety to choose from than those that live in more wild areas. Fairies with a particular interest in fashion will frequently choose to live in a garden for this very reason. However, fairies from wilder areas may even travel a fair distance to secure a rose or lily for a special occasion. Fairies with enough wealth or status can have the rarer materials brought to them for a price. In particular, flowers with a very brief blooming-period (like magnolias) are incredibly expensive, and are a favorite of the highest of royalty. An orchid will likely only be seen on the fairy queen herself.

The common fairies will much more often be seen in clover, grass, dandelions, and the occasional violet. Even amongst the mass of green clothing, there is still a good variety, as there are many different shapes and patterns and shades of leaves a fairy can use. This of course varies greatly depending on the region. Any time that fairy nobles travel long distances for political purposes, a fairies home can easily be determined by what they wear.

The most common armor is made of pinecones as plate-mail, with acorns as helmets. Maple seeds can even be used as wing-covers for protection, particularly for young fairies who’s wings are still developing. Thick blades of grass make decent belts, and any particularly sturdy leaf is used for more practical items like bags or shoes, which need the extra structure. Another use for sturdy blades of grass is as boning for corsets. The fluffy and abundant petals of a clover make for a lovely petticoat. Flowers that are too small to use as clothing will often be used as hats or jewelry, or other adornments.

Insect wings may be used occasionally for fashion purposes, though it is somewhat controversial, similar to human opinions on fur and leather. The ethics of it is hotly debated.

#random thoughts about fantasy races #this is just word vomit and I apologize #and yes I did play one of the pixie hollow games which definitely inspired this #I’ve been taking lots of walks with my sister’s dog and it’s making my childhood fairy obsession come back

[ivorygarcia]

2023 Reading Journal

The Sword of Rhiannon by Leigh Brackett

The King's Spinster Bride by Ruby Dixon

The Cargo by John Hundley

Three Part Dead byMax Gladstone

The Beast of Blackmoor by Milla Vane

The Nemesis From Terra by Leigh Brackett

Prince Lestat by Anne Rice

The Stoneheart Bride by Kati Wilde

Pretty Bride by Kati Wilde

The Midnight Bride by Kati Wilde

The Silmarillion by J.R.R. Tolkien

Prince Lestat and the Realms of Atlantis by Anne Rice

Liches Get Stitches by HJ Tolson

The Lady and the Orc by Finley Fenn

Taken to Voraxia by Elizabeth Stephens

Broken by the Horde King by Zoey Draven

The Galactic Rejects by Andrew J. Offutt

The Man Who Loved Mars by Lin Carter

Taken by the Horde King by Zoey Draven

The Darkness on Diamondia by by A.E. Van Vogt

The Seeds of Time by John Wyndham

Throne of the Horde King by Zoey Draven

Teacher's Pet Wolf by Kati Wilde

The Empress of Salt and Fortune by Nghi Vo

Chains of the Sea by Robert Silverberg

Thongor and the Wizard of Lemuria by Lin Carter

Beyond Control edited by Robert Silverberg

Quest for the Future by A.E. Van Vogt

Currently Reading: Deep Space edited by Robert Silverberg

28/52

#ivory speaks #bookblr #books and reading

[ciceroandlucien]

Skyrim’s warm season came and went and the cold winds of Hearthfire were upon the province before Cicero knew it. He had stayed busy during Sun’s Height and Last Seed, mostly traveling to and from Markarth where he had taken contracts with Arynelle. He was grateful for the lull in jobs from the Reach when the weather turned; he didn’t care if he never saw another stone bed.

Nazir sat in the main chamber, stitching up a tear in Arynelle’s shrouded armor that had resulted from a knife fight that ended in her favor. Cicero slipped up to Nazir soundlessly and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“By Sithis, Cicero! You scared the shit out of me. Don’t you have a contract to take care of?”

“Cicero has completed all of his contracts. Unless Nazir has another one available, no, Cicero has nothing better to do.”

“How about an errand then? The sanctuary needs an arcane enchanter and I need someone to run to Riften and let Delvin know. He’s our guy for that sort of thing. If you wouldn’t mind handling that for me, I could see to it that there’s a little gold involved for you as well.”

“Say no more, Speaker! Cicero will gladly help out.”

Cicero did not say so, but he had been searching for a reason to return to Riften. At first he wished only to visit Vex and sort out what feelings may exist between them, but as the weather changed, Cicero was reminded of the upcoming anniversary of the night he said goodbye to yet another piece of his heart. He felt drawn to Riften to visit Mjari’s final resting place. 

“Excellent,” Nazir replied. “The sooner you can go, the sooner we will have one more tool at our disposal.”

“Cicero will leave first thing in the morning,” he assured the Speaker. 

“Great. I’ll see if I can’t secure us a few soul gems to get started.”

Cicero trotted off to his room to pack. He needed less than usual for a trip with no contract, so he decided not to take his usual knapsack. He preferred not to unpack it and instead grabbed the other bag in his room–Mjari’s. He had removed all the items and put them in his drawer now, so it lay empty. In it he tucked the things he never traveled without: gold and lockpicks, along with a robe, and he would get food for the journey along the way. He pulled the drawstring on the knapsack and hung it on the end of his bed, ready to leave as soon as the sun rose. 

A restful night followed and Cicero awoke feeling the best he had in ages. The soft bed helped, but he felt comforted knowing he was returning to Riften now. He would make peace with Mjari and let her part of his heart go, so he could finally heal. 

Nazir handed Cicero a note of debt on his way out, assuring him Delvin would handle the monetary part separately with Nazir. Cicero stuffed it in his satchel and headed into Dawnstar for rations before he was off.

Thornir set him up with enough sweetrolls, carrots, cheese and bread to last him til he could reach the Nightgate Inn and added a couple bottles of wine into the bag as well.

“It’ll keep ya warm on the cold nights,” he told Cicero.

It had been quite awhile since Cicero had taken a solo trip and he found himself lonely and somewhat vulnerable. He became more watchful of his surroundings and wary of the few strangers he passed along the way. He’d brought his ebony dagger, of course, but he had no intention of fighting anyone, if he could help it. Maybe a wild animal, if it came to it.

At sun’s peak, Cicero found a place to rest and eat. From his perch he could see Fort Dunstad, overrun with bandits. A wolf had wandered to the fort and he took in the entertainment of them attacking it while he munched on his bread and cheese. Three bandits had fallen victim to the wolf and Cicero found himself impressed by the wolf’s abilities. He thought about how the wolf might make a good companion animal, should it be able to be tamed, but then he remembered Arnbjorn and the desire to have anything to do with any canine at all vanished. Instead he began to root for the bandits and as he silently urged them on, he watched an archer from the top of the tower expertly take aim and loosed an arrow straight through the wolf’s heart. The wolf fell limp and the bandits immediately set upon it, removing its pelt and flesh, presumably for a meal.

Cicero stared hard at the archer at the top of the tower. They did not move from their roost and rather than observing the other bandits, the archer appeared to be looking out into the trees. Looking at Cicero.

“Oh,” Cicero gasped, realizing he had been spotted. He scrambled to gather his lunch and move on for fear of being tracked down by more bandits than one person could handle alone. 

When he was out of sight of the fort, Cicero paused for breath and looked back at the road. No signs of life. Cicero thought of how ridiculous it was for him to be running when there was not even a true conflict, but he chalked it up to not being used to being alone again.

The next few hours passed rather slowly for him as he made his way toward the Inn. It would be dinnertime by his arrival and he was ready for a hearty meal. He snacked on a sweetroll in the midafternoon and when the sun was setting he hurried to reach the Nightgate Inn.

“Hello there, Traveler. Come to the Nightgate for food or lodging?” Hadring greeted Cicero from the porch of the inn.

“Both,” Cicero replied. They walked into the deserted inn together and Cicero sat at a table, dropping his knapsack to the floor beside him. The inn was warmer than the outside and Cicero spun on his bench to face the fire while he waited for Hadring to serve him.

“We don’t have many passers-through here,” Hadring told Cicero, setting down a plate of goat leg and grilled leeks. Beside it he set another plate of the same. “Business has been awful since we lost the orc’s patronage. Never learned his real name, but the beast did leave us a small fortune after his passing. It’s getting us by for now, but I worry we’ll be in trouble come sun’s dusk. There will be fewer travelers still and I’ll still have to keep the place warm.”

Cicero made room for Hadring on the bench and they ate side by side.

“The biggest fear,” Hadring said, biting into the goat leg, “is that I’ll end up having to advertise for the mages or mages-to-be heading out of or into Winterhold. All that magic business makes me nervous and I just know we’d get one of the destructive ones comin’ through here making a mess of things.”

Cicero was silent. He had no opinion on mages or investment in the prosperity of the inn. He would be gone by sunup. But he listened to Hadring speak, the man clearly needed an outlet. 

“Pick any room you’d like,” the innkeeper invited. “They’re all open. Every last one of them.” He sounded defeated. Cicero began to feel pity for the man.

He pulled his belongings to a room and shut the door. The bed was neat and the room was tidy. He lit a candle and browsed the books available on the shelf by the door. A Kiss, Sweet Mother, how lovely. He knew it by heart, but took the book down to the bed. He read through it in the fading candle light and when the wax had all burned down, he set the book on the nightstand and fell asleep.

He awoke before sunup, as he had planned and gathered his belongings again. He slid the book back on the shelf and beside it placed a coin purse with two hundred gold in it, enough to keep the inn going a little longer. Cicero had found fondness for the innkeeper after learning he allowed the book to sit on the shelves of the rooms. He left without saying goodbye.

The sun emerged from the horizon as Cicero came upon Lake Yorgrim. He watched the forest around him spring to life with the sun. Foxes and rabbits crossed his path, a lone wolf had approached but ran off when Cicero drew his dagger. Along the lake Cicero passed more than a couple fishermen and hunters taking advantage of a beautiful morning. The warm sun put Cicero in a good mood and he began to sing and hum to himself as he walked.

At a certain point on the lake, Cicero was faced with the decision to head to Windhelm and take a carriage the rest of the way or continue on foot. He counted his gold and decided a carriage would make for an easier trip and headed in the direction of Windhelm.

Clouds moved in over the sun as he approached the gates of Windhelm. Good weather never seemed to grace the town with its presence. Cicero waited by the gates for the carriage to come. 

When it finally arrived, Cicero climbed aboard and found a seat next to a Dunmer woman and her child. It occurred to Cicero that this was his first time seeing a merchild and he smiled at the little one. The Dunmer child buried their face into their mother’s cloak and refused to look at Cicero again. Cicero didn’t let it bother him to be rejected by the merchild, though and when the carriage stopped in Shor’s Stone, the Dunmer stood to depart the carriage. Cicero managed to catch the eye of the child again and he held up a gold septim to them. The child’s eyes widened and he flipped it forward into the child’s open hands. The child finally returned a smile to Cicero but nuzzled into their mother’s cloak once more as they stepped off the wagon.

With the stop in Shor’s Stone, the trip was extended somewhat and Cicero arrived in Riften after dark. He paid the carriage driver, whom he did not recognize and hopped off the back of the wagon, landing on the familiar soil of the Rift. He had been so preoccupied with the lovely day, the shy merchild and the time of arrival that he almost forgot why he had come to Riften in the first place. He opened his satchel and confirmed he still had the letter of debt for Delvin. Then he passed through the gates into Riften.

The city was quiet in the darkness, the guards that were on patrol all leaned against buildings with their arms crossed. Cicero passed one and could hear the light sound of snoring coming from behind the helmet. When he reached the secret entrance to the Cistern, he paused to be sure no one was looking before engaging the button to open the entrance.

The Cistern was full of life as Niruin loosed arrows on the practice dummies while Brynjolf spoke with Garthar and Rune off to one side. Vipir the Fleet sat on the crosspath toward the center of the Cistern and eyed Cicero as he passed. Sapphire sat with Cynric at a table full of food. Other faces Cicero did not recognize were seated on beds conversing with one another. When Cicero approached the Ragged Flagon, Dirge stepped in front of him.

“What’s your business here?” he demanded.

“That is between me and Delvin Mallory,” Cicero responded and slipped by the large Imperial man. Dirge huffed but allowed him to pass. 

Delvin sat at a table with Tonilia eating a horker loaf, but Tonilia excused herself when Cicero approached. He took her seat and greeted Delvin.

“Cicero has been sent by Nazir to request an arcane enchanter for the sanctuary,” he told Delvin.

“Aye, I wondered when you’d be coming round for that. Didn’t imagine it’d take this long. I can set you up if you’re good for the gold.”

Cicero handed Delvin the note of debt.

“This’ll do just fine. Tell Nazir that he can expect it before Hearth Fire’s end, would you?”

“Yes, brother, Cicero thanks you,” Cicero replied happily and stood.

“Oh, but don’t leave yet, Cicero,” Delvin said, grabbing Cicero’s arm. “You and I have something else to discuss.”

“We do?” Cicero slid back down to the seat.

“Yeah, I heard rumors you and Vex got a little cozy up in Dawnstar awhile back.”

Cicero looked around uncomfortably.

“Ah, don’t worry, I’m not telling anyone else here. But you’d tell me if you got in her pants, wouldn’t ya? If you didn’t, I can tell you when you can catch her bathing in the lake for a sneak peek.”

Cicero filled with rage and he curled his hand into a fist. Delvin immediately backed off, seeing Cicero’s reaction.

“Forget I said anything,” he whispered, holding his hands out to de-escalate.

Cicero relaxed his scowl and smiled darkly. 

“Delvin,” he purred. “Do you forget that Cicero kills for fun?” He locked eyes with Delvin. “Cicero suggests you don’t find yourself near the lake anytime soon lest you find yourself floating in it facedown.”

Delvin moved his chair back and stood. 

“Let Nazir know about the table,” he told Cicero again before walking off toward the Cistern. 

Cicero helped himself to the remainder of the horker loaf and asked Vekel for an ale to accompany it. The day felt endless and he knew he had to find a place to rest his head, but he couldn’t bring himself to take Shadowfoot Sanctum, even if it was available. 

“You’re in town late,” Vekel commented as he set the ale down on the table. “The Sanctum is occupied but I’ve got a room off the side here if you need a place to lay your head.”

“Vekel the Man always knows what Cicero needs,” Cicero commended. “I would appreciate that,” he added. 

“No charge, I overheard how you handled Delvin just now. He’s been chasing Vex for years. Can’t seem to take no for an answer. You’d get a kick out of the threats she throws his way. I’m just waiting for the day when she goes through with one.”

Cicero laughed with Vekel and when he was finished eating, Vekel showed him the small quarters in which he could sleep. It was humble, but Cicero needed only to pass the time until the morning when he could face the task of returning to Mjari’s final resting place. Cicero did no settling in to the room, he simply dropped his knapsack and laid down, pulling the blanket up over his shoulders. A good night’s sleep would do him well.

#iluvcicero #cicero the assassin #cicero #skyrim #cicero skyrim #skyrim cicero #cicero fanfic #skyrim fanfic #thieves guild #nazir #nightgate inn #dawnstar #windhelm #riften #delvin mallory

[brianedner]

15 - Illegal House Plants

15 – Illegal house plants

 Videos on this trade here, here, and here.

 Luz finished putting the bandage over the stitches in one of her latest customers, a trio that the mob boss sent on a job nearby her. It went south fast, resulting in one of them getting shot beneath their left floating rib and them not being able of steeling whatever they were sent to get.

 “Ok, here’s some medication. Take two a day to help with the infection. Try not to do anything to strain yourself or break the stitches.”

 The man she was treating grabbed the bottle she handed and reached to grab his shirt. “Thanks Otter. And sorry for doubting your abilities.”

 “It’s fine. I’m a teenager who admitted to never patching up bullet wounds before beyond classes from a unnamed school. It would be suspicious if you did trust me. If you want to repay me, you could tell me what you were trying to steel.”

 The man looked to his two companions for a few moments before turning back to her. “Promise not to laugh?”

 Luz shot him a look. “The only reason I would laugh when bullets are involved would be if one of your friends shot you in the butt.”

 He relaxed a little at that. “Ok.” He then took a deep breath before continuing. “WeWereTryingToRobTheBotanicalGardens.”

 Luz just stared at him for a few seconds. “Did you say the Botanical Garden?”

 He just nodded.

 “Did they get permission to have an exhibit of plants used to make drugs?”

 He shoot his head. “They have a Philodendron Spiritus Sancti, or PSS. A very valuable and desired leafy plant.”

 “They shot you over a plant?”

 “It’s not as ridiculous as you might think. Thanks to the mix of an increased number of people living in small apartments with no yards and quarantine forcing everyone to spend long periods inside caused the demand for house plants to skyrocket. The fancy ones can fetch big money with the right buyer.”

 That last line peaked Luz’s interest. “How much are we talking?”

 Later in the shack

 Luz sat in a yard chair next to the shacks garden while Willow was working. She was staring in shock at the screen after watching several videos and articles on the illegal house plant trade.

 “I can’t believe it.”

 Willow looked up from her garden and over to Luz. “Can’t believe what Luz?”

.

She looked up from her laptop. “The Dudleya succulent can go for $50 each overseas. Saguro Cactus is $100 for each foot tall it is. The Philodendron Spiritus Sancti can go for $15,000. That’s just the ones I found the prices for in the articles. Orcids and Venus Fly Traps apparently have high prices as well.”

 Willow just looked on in shock. “There is a black market for normal house plants?”

 “Yes! It’s the endangered ones that fetch the really high prices, and the trade is even driving certain species to extension in the wild because smugglers keep hunting them down and digging them up to sell.”

 “That’s horrible!”

 “There is a plus side. One of the articles mentioned that a method to fighting this is to flood the market with science made clones of the rare ones to drive down the demand. If we could get you the seeds, you could grow lots of the really expensive and rare ones so we could flood the market and drive down the prices and demand in the area. It won’t stop all the poaching, but they would have fewer customers to sell to around here.”

 Willow grinned. “Make money and help protect plants? I am so in. Where do we get the seeds or starter plants for me to work with?”

 Luz turned her laptop around to show her the website that was already up. “My clients today said they have a number of the most effected plants at the botanical gardens. Want to go solo or bring a date?”

 Willow turned a little red at that. “Me and Hunter aren’t dating.”

 Luz began to grin like the Cheshire Cat. “I never said Hunter.”

 Willow just shot her a look. “Do you really want to do this with me?”

 She held her hands up in a surrender position. “All right, but do you still want to bring Hunter so that you have back up?”

 Willow didn’t answer for a few seconds before sighing. “I’ll see if he is available.”

 Botanical Gardens (Inspired by this)

 “I’ll pick you two up in a hour. Have fun!”

 “Thanks Camilla, we will!”

 Camilla drove her minivan (with new adjustments by Amity) away from the lot, leaving Willow and Hunter in front of the building. Hunter was busy looking at the map he got online.

 “Ok, there are three green houses and an outdoor path. The green houses are separated into desert plants, tropical plants, and native plants. The outdoor path has more native plants and trees too big to fit in the green houses. Where do you want to go first Willow?”

 Willow turned to look at the map and crossed checked it against a list she was able of getting from Luz’s latest patients. “Let’s see. I would suggest going to the tropical area first to see the PSS and carnivorous plants. After that we can just wander around it for a while before heading over to the desert to check out the succulents and cacti. We can then swing to the native plants and the outdoor plants at our leisure.”

 He smiled at her. “Sounds great, lead on.”

 The two walked into the tropical greenhouse side by side, but no hand in hand yet. They immediately walked with the crowed to the PSS hanging from the ceiling. They were all looking at its beautiful leaves, though Hunter privately wondered what was so special about a fern like plant with massive leaves. It didn’t even have any flowers!

 Willow herself was admiring how glossy the leaves were as she did a small spell circle with her hand in her pocket to make another small branch grow off the main body directly upwards so no one could see it. the branch then clipped itself and dropped down behind Willow’s back into her palm, where she then had it slither up her arm and fashion itself like a bracelet on her upper bicep under her long sleeve shirt.

 She continued to admire it for a while before moving on to look at the dozens of other beautiful plants all around the green house. She stopped to smell the orchids, watched the feeding of the carnivorous plants, and even saw a vanilla plant next to a coca tree.

 She made sure to grab small trimming from all the ones on her list with her magic and hid them under her clothes.

 After about 15 minutes wandering around, they moved on to the desert green house. Inside they saw a large bed filled with dozens of different kinds of succulents. The sheer variety of colors and shapes was astonishing.

 “Ok, I think I can understand why there is a craze around these guys.”

 Willow smiled at Hunter. “Looks like we will make a plant lover out of you yet.”

 He just rolled his eyes. “I already love trees and flowers, it’s the things like ferns and PSS that I can’t understand the fascination behind.”

 Willow just gave him a smile before turning her attention back to the succulent collection. She cooed over how cute they were to cover up her magical clipping of each one into Hunter’s backpack.

 They then wandered around looking at the 5 ft tall Saguro Cactus, listening to all the things that came from the blue agave, and cooed again at the tiny cacti. All the while continuing to gather small clippings.

 After 15 more minutes they wandered into the third and final green house for native plants. These were less exciting looking as the other, not just because they have seen these around more but also because they were much cheaper. They did see several pretty flowers though. This green house was mainly just used as what they told Camilla they would be doing, hanging out together while looking at plants.

 After 15 minutes of looking around the green house they finished their tour by taking a walk side by side down the path between the trees and flowers. Not taking any samples, but just enjoying each other’s company.

 And if their hands wandered into each other’s grasp once or twice, no one else would know.

 1 week later

 Luz knocked on the door to the shack’s basement, right on the sigh Willow had put up that read “Willow’s green house, KEEP OUT!”

 “Willow, are you down there?”

 There was no response, with her looking back at Hunter in worry.

 “She has been down there since breakfast. Should one of us go down there?”

 Hunter just shook his head. “You heard what she said, and you can read. Willow doesn’t want anyone down there unless she invites us. Do YOU want to get on her bad side? I’ve seen what she did to that Odalia look-a-like, and I would rather trust that she knows what she is doing then risk being used as fertilizer for her plants.”

 “She is not THAT scarry.”

 …

 “Ok she can be, but she is a nice and loving person that won’t hunt people without a good reason.”

 “Like trespassing?”

 Luz openly groaned at that. “Fine. If you are too scared, I’ll do it myself.”

 She then turned to the door and opened it, revealing a lite stairway leading downwards.

 ‘Gulp.’

 Luz steeled her nerves and walked slowly down the stairs. When she reached the bottom, she saw that the room had been completely converted into a horticulturalist’s dream come true. There were magical lights fixed to the ceiling, large tables covered with plants of all kinds, and glass walls set up to separate them based on their preferred temperature.

 “Willow? Sorry for coming down here but disappeared after breakfast and it is now 1pm. I just wanted to make sure you had lunch.”

 She walked between the rows of orchids towards the back, where she though she heard someone making noise.

 “Willow?”

 As she rounded the corner, she saw Willow sitting at a computer Lux had never seen before wearing a headset and talking to someone.

 “Ok then. Half now and Half after I deliver the PSS to you. Would you prefer it being on your door step at 9 ish, midnight, or 7 am ish?”

 “Willow?”

 “Midnight it is then. Pleasure doing business with you. Plant Coven out.”

 Willow then took off her headset before stretching in her office chair, which Luz also never remembered seeing before.

 “Will-“

 Luz suddenly found herself pinned to the wall by multiple creepers growing on them and a fist pulled back and ready to strike.

 Willow relaxed after realizing who was there.

 “Oh, sorry about that Luz. I guess I was more into this than I thought I was.” She then looked down to her watch. “I guess I missed lunch?”

 Luz could only nod her head before the vines let her go and she dropped to the floor like a sack of flour.

 “It’s ok, I have done the same thing multiple times before. What were you doing?”

 Willow smiled and pointed to a dozen potted plants hanging over her head. “I was just selling these Philodendron Spiritus Sancti online. Thanks to some help from the mob boss, I was able of getting into contact with the people those patients of yours were trying to sell to. They paid $12 grand for one of these, I just locked in another buyer for $16K, and I have buyers for the other 11 stuck in a bidding war that has an average price of $14k each. The hardest part is going to be shipping to areas far enough away we can’t use our staffs, but the boss said he would help with that for a fee.”

 She then swept her hand through the green house. “I also have a similar story for dozens of these guys here as well. They aren’t nearly as expensive as the PSS, but at this rate I will be making more selling these plants then we were making selling drugs.”

 Luz could only look on in shock. “As impressed and happy that you were able of making enough money off your passion to pay for it, I do have three important questions.”

 “Where did the computer set up come from, how are we going to launder all of it, and are you hungry?”

 GROWL!

 Willows stomach decided to answer the 3rd one for her.

 “I am going up to eat something now, and Vee’s camp friends helped out with the computer set up. I paid for it with the profits from the first PSS.”

 Her face began to drop after that, but there was still a small smile. “The money is defiantly too much to launder though, but I might actually have a lead on another front for us.”

 She then reached over and picked up a small purple flower off her desk.

 “This little guy here will be getting us a in with about a dozen fancy restraints that will gladly help us with our little problem.”

 Luz could only look at the flower with skepticism.

 “Is this a new drug plant you grew?”

 Willow just giggled. “No, but you wouldn’t know it by the price.

 “It’s Saffron, and I’ve been making a pound a day for the last three days.”

 The second I heard about this; I knew I had to do a chapter about it. This is a serious issue that needs as much attention as possible to help with it, and something that Willow can easily take advantage of.

 The botanical garden is based off of the Marsh Botanical Garden at Yale, though I am only using the youtube video and its website to do it since I have never been.

 YouTube Marsh Botanical Garden: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X8AJC3sdWKY

Youtube on Plant trade: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J-9Ukc3T5PE, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KirP2ef1lJ0, and https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hCka_8DjKGU&t=28s.

 If anyone knows of what we can do to help stop this illegal trade, comment and I will edit the chapters to have it in the end notes.

 I am doing “Fanfic info dumps” on multiple series to help other fanfic writers with their works. They are on DevientArt here (https://www.deviantart.com/1228248) because Fanfiction and AO3 both said I couldn’t post them there.

 Fanfiction: https://www.fanfiction.net/u/5646512/

Tumbler: https://at.tumblr.com/brianedner/luzs-crime-list-masterpost/dia848df51z4

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrianEdner1/works

#the owl house #owl house #the owl house luz #the owl house Willow #the owl house Camilla #huntlow #the owl house hunter

[rainbowlinoleum]

Edited Version of guljerry’s Response to Anonymous Ask “Bubba + gift”

[All content below belongs to its author, @guljerry . I just fixed the formatting quirks on the original post and, while I was at it, corrected some mild grammatical errors and gave Chop-Top his semi-canonical childhood name “Bobby.” Please DM for removal, and go support the original post!]

Drayton’s truck rumbled down the dirty road that led away from Sawyer property, out towards the gas station, past an old cemetery, and eventually into the heart of town, which wasn’t much. But Bubba rocked excitedly in his seat next to Drayton. He didn’t get to go into town often on account of wearing the mask on his face. Drayton said it "unsettled" people, but Bubba wasn’t sure what that meant. It was a nice mask that Drayton had made for him out of the softest cow leather so it didn’t hurt his face, but protected it from things that did. Drayton had even allowed him to make a few sloppy stitches onto the mask, which had pleased Bubba very much. If he learned how, then maybe one day he could make one all on his own.

Bubba peered out the window as the truck trundled. They passed fields that were freshly plowed and sewn with cotton seeds, and through the cracked window Bubba could smell the strong scent of tilled earth. The cotton fields soon faded and turned to wild countryside full of tall, green spring grasses and dappled with bright pops of color from the blooming bluebonnets. The color of the flowers was so intense that it almost hurt his eyes to look, and yet they were so pretty he couldn't possibly look away. He pressed his fingers to the glass of the window and licked his teeth, then took a deep breath, now filling his nose with the scent of the wild grasses and flowers instead of the dirt.

What a birthday present! It was nice to go for a ride with his brother. Drayton had promised something special for his birthday, and this must have been it. Oh, Drayton was harsh with him sometimes, sometimes scared him when his voice was loud or when he hit him for being foolish or messing things up, but sometimes he could be very kind, too.

“Now, when we get into town, you’ll have to take your mask off. Understand?”

Bubba touched the stitching on his mask and shook his head fretfully.

“I know it hurts your face to go on without it,” Drayton said, “but you'll learn, boy will you learn— sometimes life is pain! Oh, it sure is. But it’ll only hurt a lick, then you’ll get through it, and why… I suppose you might get a present out of the deal. You just gotta behave, do what I tell ya to do, and be a good boy. So that means you’ll have to take your mask off just a bit.”

Bubba flexed the fingers of one hand repetitively as he struggled between agreeing to obey his older brother, and knowing how it would hurt…

“Nine years old… you’re a big boy now,” Drayton said, and he took his eyes off the road to glance over at his brother. “A real big boy to boot— you grow outta clothes more often than a dog licks its dick.”

Bubba looked down at his shirt, not quite understanding Drayton’s analogy and temporarily distracted from his decision. He had put on his nice shirt since he was going out of the house. Bubba liked to look nice when he could—for dinner or the rare outing. The buttons were pulling across his chest and especially over his belly. The cuffs of his pants were riding well up his shins too, and his feet were all but crammed into his shoes.

“Hm!” Bubba said, and touched each one of the buttons on his shirt all the way from the collar, down to the last, and up again.

“I know it’s your nice shirt. We’ll find you a new one I s’pose… so you can grow out of it in a month's time,” Drayton shook his head and repeated, “Never seen a boy grow outta clothes like that. Nubbins and Bobby were small little things—didn’t get their growing 'til they were a lot older than you.”

Bubba tuned out the rest of Drayton’s droning on about him, how he was going to be the size of an oak tree, and maybe they shouldn’t feed him so much…

Bubba supposed he would take his mask off once they got into town. It was so rarely that he had such a treat, so he must obey and he could be a big boy, and a good boy, and withstand his face hurting for a little while. And a present! Drayton had said that he would get a present.

Soon they passed the gas station, and then the graveyard too.

Once in town, Drayton pulled the truck into a space along Main Street.

“Well, here we are,” Drayton said.

Bubba trailed his fingers nervously around the edges of his mask. His stomach seemed to tie up into a tight knot as he anticipated how it would hurt.

“Take it off like a bandage: a rip and it’s done!” Drayton said, reaching for the mask.

Bubba cowered away from him and made a sudden noise. He wanted to do it himself if it was to be done at all.

“Alright then, do it, boy,” Drayton said.

Bubba loosed the straps on his mask, and it fell away from his face and into his lap. The spring sun shining through the windshield stung immediately, like pin-prickles all over his cheeks and nose and forehead. He made a small whining sound.

“Here, wear this. 'Least it’ll keep the sun off your face,” Drayton said, and he fetched a straw hat from the back of his truck and placed it on top of Bubba’s nest of wild brown curls. The feel of the inner band pressed against his forehead was uncomfortable, but it did help with the sun.

Bubba remembered that he was supposed to get a present, and he decided it was better to think about that than the pressure of the band or the pain of his face.

Upon getting out of the truck, Drayton came around and took Bubba by the hand. He was old enough that he wouldn’t need an adult to hold his hand, but around people that weren’t family, Bubba often became confused and upset. Since he wasn’t allowed out much, his world consisted of his brothers and the animals on the farm. On the occasion he did get to go somewhere, even just to the shops in the heart of a small, small town, on a lazy day… it still made the world seem so big and strange to him. Though there were only a few people milling around on the sidewalks, it was still too many. They were strangers, unknowns, and they filled him with fear that made him feel sick and brought the urge to wiggle the fingers of his one hand, or to hit himself in the head, or to cry out at Drayton in a string of gibberish.

He hunched his shoulders and moved closer to Drayton for protection and squeezed his hand as tightly as he could, keeping his gaze down at the cracks in the sidewalk instead of looking at any people.

“Look up while ya walk or you’ll run into somethin’. How many times have I told ya?” Drayton admonished him.

In situations like this, it almost physically hurt him to hold his head up and look straight ahead. Keeping his eyes averted to the ground seemed safer. He didn’t want to see the other people around them. They were too many, too much, too big, too loud, too strange and unknown. Their shoes tapping along as they walked just seemed to grow louder and louder until it was all he could hear vibrating inside his ears. He squeezed Drayton’s hand harder still. He was trying so hard to be good— so hard! But now that they were here he just wanted to go home to safety again.

“Look here,” Drayton said as they came to a stop.

Even though they had stopped walking, it seemed to take a moment for everything to fall into place around him. The world just kept moving even when Bubba stood still sometimes; bright and noisy and offensive. He glanced up a bit to see Drayton pointing, and then he followed the direction to the door of a shop.

“The General Store,” Drayton said. “We come here once last summer.” Drayton paused and frowned. “A lady scared ya and you wet yourself. I hope you’re gonna do better this time. Couldn’t get the smell a urine outta my truck for months.”

Bubba nodded. He remembered the scary woman with a queasy feeling. But he supposed that if anyone scared him today, he would do much better and not wet himself— after all, he finally stopped doing that in his bed at night, so he must be growing up for real. 

Bubba went over the list of things he was to do and not do in his head: don’t think about your face hurting, don’t howl if you get excited, keep your head up and look ahead, don’t get scared by a lady, and don't pee. It was a lot of things, but he wanted his promised present, and even more importantly, he really wanted to be a good boy.

“In we go,” Drayton said, leading him on into the store.

A little bell chimed above the door when they entered, which startled Bubba. He hunched and glanced around briefly, trying to pinpoint the source of the noise. Upon seeing the bell at the top of the door, he had the urge to ring it again, and again, to hear the chime over and over. Now that he knew where the sound was coming from, it was not an unpleasant sound. Most unpleasant sounds just came from other people.

“Howdy there, Drayton. Who’d y'bring there?” A big man wearing an apron peered at them from behind a counter. 

Bubba was briefly concerned with him, but then his attention was distracted by the array of colorful candies in jars and barrels all along the shelves and the outer part of the counter. The excitement was building, and already he wanted to yowl with joy like a happy pup. The fear of the people around him was replaced with happiness at all the pretty things he could see. Oh, there were a lot of things, pretty things, all around him, and that was overwhelming too, but that at least felt better. He wanted to scramble away from Drayton and touch everything. How did everything feel and smell, and what was the weight of it if he held it in his hands? What would he touch first? He made a small whining sound but Drayton squeezed his hand.

“Why, I brought Bubba today!” Drayton answered the man behind the counter. “He’s nine years old today! Nine! You remember bein’ nine years old? Boy, what a time to be alive. Catchin’ frogs at the creek and runnin’ barefoot through the grass!”

“Nine? Lord Almighty, he’s the size of a house! What you been feedin’ that boy?”

Drayton side-eyed Bubba with an odd little look, giving the boy a smirk and a little giggle with a spark in his eyes before turning back to the store clerk.

“Oh, nothin’ special,” Drayton said, “Just good ol’ Texas homecookin’. Family recipes! We put real heart into our cookin’! Ah—our hearts, that is! A Sawyer ain’t a Sawyer if he don’t know his way around the kitchen! You might say we make it finger-lickin’ good— ha– our fingers the ones to be licked, a course.”

Bubba ignored the adults' conversation and just itched to look all around the store.

“We just come in for Bubba to pick out a present. It’s his birthday, y'see, and for once I got a little extra in my pocket so… I thought I’d let the boy have a treat,” Drayton explained. “Go on, Bubba. You look around, but be real careful. Pick out somethin’ you want while me an’ Earl here shoot the shit, as they say. Go on.”

Bubba headed away from Drayton to have a look around the shop. There was a huge barrel full of peanuts, and when the men weren’t looking, Bubba sneaked one away and licked it. Upon tasting how salty the outer shell was, he hated it and promptly put it right back. He made his way down an aisle containing all sorts of boxes and cans with things on it that he mostly couldn’t read. He recognized the words "flour" and “sugar” on some dusty bags, since those were things he often watched Drayton cook with and Drayton had eventually taught him what the words on the bags were. It had taken months of pointing and repetition. Bubba could messily write some words too, but that was from taking a very long time to memorize them. Understanding how the letters went together was a little more complicated and sometimes it seemed like too much to understand. Drayton said it was okay, that Nubbins couldn’t read or write much either, always jumbled around all the letters— and that apparently Bubba wouldn’t ever need to know how anyway.

Still, sometimes he wanted to know how to do things. He felt proud when he could finally learn something and do it right. All those times Drayton had looked at him in a kind of sad way, and told him things just wouldn’t stick… but sometimes he surprised them and they did stick after all– if people gave him enough time to practice, and to remember, and didn’t get too mad when he got things wrong.

He recognized the word "soap" on a box on the next aisle and also remembered that it wasn’t for eating. Nubbins had once convinced him that it was for eating, that it was in fact good for him, and Bubba had eaten quite a few handfuls of the terrible tasting, gritty powder and then spent the next few hours throwing up foam and hollering in pain while Drayton slapped a giggling Nubbins. Another time he had been convinced to eat dog poo and then he’d gotten worms out his bottom, and yet another time he had been convinced to chew on a leaf of poison ivy. The terrible itch in his mouth and throat would never be forgotten. Drayton had tied his wrists at one point to keep him from clawing his neck to shreds in a desperate attempt to relieve the itch inside.

In the end, Bubba had been told strictly to never eat anything that his brothers told him to.

Finally, Bubba stumbled upon an aisle full of children’s toys. He was amazed at everything— so many wonderful things! Where to start? There were paddle boards, rubber balls, marbles, jacks, tops in all sorts of bright colors, wooden cars, a set of wooden blocks, soft-looking dolls, and furry teddy bears with big ribbons around their necks. How pretty! Bubba reached out to one of the bears and pet the soft fur over and over, then ran his fingers along the smooth and shiny surface of the bow. He wanted to wear a bow around his neck!

He touched the yarn braids and button eyes on the dolls, then sat down with one of the wooden cars and just stared at the wheels as he spun them. He was completely fascinated with the little bits and pieces of things, and had Drayton stayed talking to his friend for hours, Bubba could have been completely happy to spend just as much time in silence spinning wheels on cars or touching button-eyes or ribbons. The feeling of becoming entranced by these things was good— it shut down the rest of the world and narrowed his focus onto something calming and fascinating. It even helped to subdue the pain in his face a bit.

Finally, he replaced the car, though his fingers itched to keep spinning the wheels. There were so many other things he wanted to touch and to look at, and it might be a very long time before Drayton ever brought him back here again.

He admired a train set, a bright red fire engine, a wooden pop gun, and a display of shiny yo-yos. He got down onto all fours to peer into the windows of a painted doll house and was delighted to see little people inside. There was a little metal robot that walked if you wound a key in the back, and a dog that wagged its tail if you wound a key in its belly, and more dolls of all shapes and sizes with pretty little dresses and happy faces. Bubba clapped his hands in delight. He loved all of them!

He worried his thick lower lip with his teeth— some still small, while others had been lost and replaced with too-large adult teeth. All of them were crooked and seemingly shoved into his mouth every which way.

Which toy would he choose for his present? There were just so many choices that he was certain he couldn’t ever decide. It was always difficult. It felt better when someone just told him what to do or at least only made him pick between two things. Even then it was still hard to decide.

Though he loved the cars, there were already cars at home that Grandpa had carved for him, a few blocks scattered here and there, and even a dirty old doll with missing glass eyeballs. It wasn’t a pretty doll like the ones here, and Bubba decided that he wanted something pretty. Maybe he should pick a new doll. He would be oh-so-careful not to let it get dirty. He licked his teeth and drew his fingers over the rosy, painted cheeks of one of the dolls.

But maybe something that he didn’t have would be better. He could still pick something pretty…

His gaze fell onto a little tea set painted with delicate blue flowers. They reminded him of the bluebonnets dazzling the spring countryside, and that made up his mind for him.

Clutching the box with the tea set inside, Bubba hurried back to the front of the store where Drayton was leaning on the counter– "shooting the shit," Bubba supposed. He held up the tea set for Drayton to see and made an excited sound.

“Ah! Ah-uh!”

But don’t be too noisy or people might stare, Bubba remembered, so he tried his best to contain himself. It was a lost cause, however, as he began to wiggle all over like a dog getting a really good belly scratch.

“Alright, that’s what you want. Calm down now,” Drayton said, taking the tea set from Bubba’s hands and placing it onto the counter.

“You buyin’ yer brother this for his birthday?” The clerk eyed Bubba and then Drayton, concerned. “Pardon my sayin’ so, but a nine-year-old boy ought to be playin’ with boy things, not no damn girly tea set. Lord amighty, Drayton, he don’t know what to pick. Go pick 'im out somethin’ he’ll like. Maybe a… a car, or a play toolset, or hell, a boy his age can have himself a nice knife.”

“Oh, we got more than enough knives around our house,” Drayton said. “Bubba knows what he likes. He done picked that out. You gonna take my money for it or stand there lookin’ like you sucked on a lemon?”

“But Drayton— the boy–”

“Now see here, Earl. We don’t get any extra pennies too often, and it’s the boy’s birthday, I said. You wouldn’t deny a simple child the pleasure of havin’ a thing he wants on his birthday, would ya? I thought you were a stand-up guy, not some dog-dick sumbitch!” Drayton drew a few crumpled dollar bills from his pocket and placed them on the counter.

The clerk sighed.

“It ain’t right,” he muttered as he slid the tea set into a paper bag. “Even a simple-minded boy ought to know better’n to play with girls' things. He’ll grow up to be some kind of…”

Bubba cowered back as Drayton leaned over the counter and gave the clerk a look that usually put the fear of God into Bubba himself.

“Bubba’s just Bubba, and he’ll grow up to be a fine Sawyer, just like the rest of us… unlike you McCoys. Y'all can’t seem to keep yer opinions to yerself. Well, my pa used to say opinions are like assholes: everybody’s got 'em, and they mostly stink.”

Drayton snatched the paper bag from Earl.

The clerk huffed.

“Fine, then. Uh— listen, don’t be upset,” he said to Bubba, who was still cowering. “I’d rather not have to mop up a puddle a piss off my floor… nine years old.” The man huffed. He drew a shiny red lollipop out of a jar on the counter and handed it to Bubba, who looked timidly at Drayton for permission to take it.

“Go ahead,” Drayton said. “That chickenshit owes you a free candy and then some! Upsetting you on yer birthday! The nerve some people have. That’s why you only trust Sawyers…” Drayton continued to ramble as he led Bubba out of the store, Bubba happily licking on the tasty lollipop.

When they were back home, the lollipop was long since finished, Bubba’s lips and the chin of his mask smeared red and sticky. He was overjoyed to have his tea set and barely remembered to wash up before playing with it. He didn’t want to get his new thing dirty with his sticky hands.

“Look here, everyone!” Drayton called. “Bubba got a birthday gift… and I bet he’d like it if you boys sat yer asses down and had a little tea party with ‘im.”

Drayton motioned to the kitchen floor, where Bubba was carefully taking out each cup and saucer and lining them up in a neat little row… first the teapot– it was the tallest– then the cups, then the saucers.

“Ya gotta give the cups and saucers out to your brothers. Like this here,” Drayton said, kneeling down to place a saucer and then a teacup on top of it. “I’ll fill 'em up with some water and y'all can make-believe. Here, gimme the teapot.”

Bubba held the teapot protectively to his chest.

“I ain’t gonna break it! …'Less you don’t mind me.”

Bubba quickly handed over the teapot, but he didn’t feel relieved until Drayton had finished pouring the "tea" and the pot was placed back safely at his side.

“I don’t wanna play with no tea set…” Bobby complained, pushing his glasses up on his nose.

“It’s yer brother’s birthday!” Drayton shouted. “Do what I’m tellin’ you to do!”

Nubbins had already sat down on the floor with Bubba and was grinning, giggling a little, running one fingertip along the rim of his teacup.

“Tea!” Nubbins exclaimed.

“It ain’t real tea, dummy,” Bobby said, “But uh… yeah. Yeah, pretty cool gift, Bubba. Slap me five!” He held his hand out for Bubba to slap, then Bubba held his hand out, and Bobby slapped it back. Bubba grinned widely, delighted that his brothers were going to play with him.

“Do we get gifts too?” Nubbins asked, lifting the teacup and sloshing some water onto his shirt.

“It ain’t y'all's birthday!” Drayton hollered over his shoulder from where he was washing up dishes the boys had left in the sink from breakfast.

“Hey— hey, wait a minute!” Bobby placed a hand on his brother’s arm to stop him from drinking. “You gotta put up yer little finger like this.” He demonstrated while lifting his own cup. “All proper-like. Bubba likes things to be all nice and proper-like, don’t'cha?”

Bubba nodded his head several times and then mimicked the way his brothers were holding their teacups. A pudgy pinky stuck out, he carefully sipped the "tea" through the mouth hole of his mask.

It was just about the best birthday ever.

#tcsm #the texas chain saw massacre #the texas chainsaw massacre 2 #bubba sawyer #drayton sawyer #nubbins sawyer #bobby sawyer #grandpa sawyer #rainbow's ramblings

[carolinayourspiritmaster]

Herbs and roots picked at dawn have a very special power – it was time to remove a large, old Epazote pot, and plant a new generation for the next years. It was filled with useful, gorgeous roots – these have no medicinal value (actually, they are toxic, so don't even try), but they will be great for magic.

Epazote (Pasote in the Islands) is one of my favourite herbs, since childhood – while I agree that it is an acquired taste, its medicine is one of protection, calming and empowering.

Like a quiet warrior, this Spirit needs warm weather, full sun, and well-aired soil without excess humidity. If temperatures do not go below zero, the plant self-seeds easily, and actually, if not kept in containers, becomes a fierce competitor for garden space.

When it comes to magic, Epazote is wonderful in blessing, protection, and even banishing magic. There is a wildness to this plant's Spirit, definitely not one for beginners or people who are extremely avoidant of conflict. Epazote fights, and wins, and will confront you. Works beautifully with Purple Basil when it comes to healing that needs to happen immediately – in a way, this is a “whatever means necessary” combination of herbs.

Not related, but also, I finished the blackwork on the cross stitch piece, and now I'm considering adding redwork and even goldwork. Embroidery is always an open, fully creative process for me, that explores my folklore and heritage, so no piece is ever really finished.

[inquisitorius-sin-bin]

What's been your favorite part about developing Plainsmen culture?

Thanks for asking!

Incorporating little bits of knowledge from my local region, forgotten parts of human history, and grounding Star Wars sci fi in fact.

Examples:

The pregnancy test, using rye seeds? Based on an Egyptian papyrus showing pregnant women urinating on barley and wheat seeds. Scientific testing has shown this to be roughly 70-85% accurate in predicting pregnancy, due to a chemical compound in pregnant women's urine that causes seeds to sprout faster.

Beetle clan's use of insect exoskeletons in the production of red dye comes from a long human history of doing the same <- btw this article on the subject is incredible.

The placement of Theo's tent on top of a plateau above his camp comes from experiences at Moundville Archeological Site, where the patrician members of society were thought to have residences on top of earthen mounds raised higher than other residences, and the highest mound was thought to be for the highest ranking member of society. The region the Dactillion clan inhabits is already full of plateaus, so I don't think it is outlandish to think they would put their leader on a raised platform even higher than that.

The Bluestem that the Kite clan uses in their ceremonies and smoke before business meetings is actually one of the predominant native grass types of North American prairies, but is so poorly known that I didn't feel I had to change the name. No, you can't actually smoke it, I just wanted to borrow the name of something important.

Toothache grass, which I briefly describe in one chapter, is a real grass which has a chemical in its root similar to lidocaine. My academic advisor in college was a botanist, and he taught us all about native plants on out outings as a member for the Society for Conservation Biology. I have chewed on the roots of Toothache grass, and it does make your mouth go totally numb!

I have a deep passion and feel of loss regarding my region's prairie ecosystem, which is formed from an ancient seabed, much like Utapau! It would share similar soil and rock types to Utapau, and I've been in the natural limestone cave systems as well to survey life within. If you've never been within a natural cave system, it's a wild feeling! Crawling on your hands and knees, counting bats and cave crayfish and cave salamanders, it's a beautiful thing. Turning all your lights of so you can experience true darkness- just don't think about The Descent movies. I try to incorporate bits of my personal experience where I can.

The stitch-weaving Bolen and the rest of Weaver clan does? That's Tunisian crochet. I can't Tunisian crochet yet, but I do regular crochet and knit. I just think Tunisian crochet is the most beautiful fiber art I've ever seen, the stitch variation is incredibly beautiful and the drape is spectacular.

The singing I describe from the Pau'an is based on a combination of knowledge from avian respiratory systems and throat singing mechanics. In Last Shot, Fyzen Gor describes feelings something in his "hollow bones". I extended this to mean Pau'an have hollow bones, and like birds, have air sacs that extend into those bones. They were said to scream loud enough to be heard halfway across an asteroid, so it makes sense they have an extensive volume to their respiratory systems. Throat singing is accomplished by reverberating tones through the throat at specific frequencies, so to me, it followed that a more expansive respiratory system, like those in birds, would allow an expanded range of throat singing like we see in humans.

#ride or die q&a #ride or die fic #thanks for asking!