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isfjmel-phleg · 1 year

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August 2023 Books

The Unselected Journals of Emma M. Lion Vol. 1-6 by Beth Brower

Although I had to fight myself a bit to ignore anachronisms, I did enjoy these! The earlier ones more than the later ones, but I will definitely be continuing this series as more come out.

And I know it's setting us up to ship, but am I horrible for thinking that none of Emma's potential suitors are a good fit

Towers in the Mist by Elizabeth Goudge

I normally like most of Goudge's books, but I regret I had a hard time getting through this one. As ever, the prose was lovely, but I struggled to get invested in the characters.

Deep Secret by Diana Wynne Jones

I liked this one on the whole, but it took me forever to finish for some reason! I've started the sequel and am finding that it's more approachable, or maybe I'm just reading it at a better time.

Father's Arcane Daughter by E. L. Konigsburg (reread)

This is a bizarre book, but I love it and keep coming back to it. The characters may not be easy to like, but what's behind it is evident, and the emotion very poignant. There's also a TV film adaptation (titled Caroline? and it's free to stream in a few places) that's pretty close to the book and well-done.

Beyond Authority and Submission: Women and Men in Marriage, Church, and Society by Rachel Green Miller

I don't read a lot of books like this, but someone around here recommended it, and I've been struggling for a while with this issue, so I picked it up. Miller makes a lot of good points and I really appreciated what she had to say (and wish I could share this perspective with some churches I'm familiar with).

The Aviary by Kathleen O'Dell (reread)

The initial setup and atmosphere of the book are great, but I regret that I didn't enjoy this one as much on the reread and probably won't be visiting it again.

The Edge of In Between by Lorelai Savaryn (reread)

I reread this one as a refresher while researching the TSG paper and was able to put more of a finger on why this one doesn't work for me, either as a story or as a retelling. It's not just that Savaryn completely changes the themes and focus of the story she's retelling, but the result is heavy-handedly allegorical. Reminders that This Is A Metaphor For Grief are everywhere. Characters feel less like living humans than representations of things. They're oddly self-aware of their problems and all their causes and there's a lot of talking like a grief counseling session rather than ordinary people. It feels like A Message that happens to have a story rather than the other way around. Even in a middle-grade book, there should still be room for the reader to independently think about and analyze the themes rather than have everything spelled out, and I didn't get much of that here.

Wintle's Wonders, Circus Shoes, and White Boots by Noel Streatfeild (reread)

I was in a shoes reread mood, and a bit curious if the British editions (as two of these are) differed significantly from the American editions. White Boots seemed pretty similar to Skating Shoes, but Wintle's Wonders has a noticeable amount of material that's cut from Dancing Shoes. Mostly details that flesh out the world and characters a bit more, but there's also a conversation between Rachel and her uncle about her late father (his brother) that furthers their bond and should have been left in.

I love Streatfeild's protagonists. A lot. Even though most of them are unusually talented in the arts or a sport, they feel very real. Rachel Lennox is important to me because she's a very rare thing: a quiet, shy, bookish fictional heroine who isn't also perfectly nice and sweet but angry and frustrated and understandable for it even when she's mistaken and it's relatable. I want to protect poor exploited child-celebrity-in-the-making Lalla, despite her occasional obnoxiousness. And Peter and Santa's weird isolated upbringing that leaves them unequipped to handle the real world...strikes a chord, even if the way Streatfeild plays out their arcs doesn't always work for me.

Also apparently circuses in the late 1930s did have whole families of performers who lived and traveled with the shows, if the portrait that Streatfeild offers of that life is accurate. It lends a bit of surprising plausibility to the background of a certain famous fictional circus child who debuted in 1940.

Speaking of which...I've read a lot of comics in the last few weeks.

Damage (1994)

A rather obscure series that didn't get to live up to its potential because of an early cancellation. It's got its share of clichés (like a girl whose personality is basically "love interest" and who gets fridged) and dated stuff, but Grant is a compelling character who's worth reading the series for.

Various issues of New Titans

I was just here for pre-Alabama Bart and Grant. No idea what's going on with anyone else, but these boys were robbed of a promising friendship.

Titans (1999) #1-19 plus a few others

I was mostly here for a continuation of Grant's story after he got stuck in canceled-book limbo, but I also got sucked into all the Drama with the five original Titans, who are all on the team when the book begins. There's not a lot of Grant, but what's there is well done. Some weird elements in this series, and some plotlines I didn't love, but I appreciate the overall character-focused approach.

Jason's (re)introduction in Batman, A Death in the Family, and Under the Hood

I knew the gist of all this already but actually reading it all...yikes. Sad about this forever.

Superman: Last Son and The Third Kryptonian

I want to be familiar with all the kids in the superfam, which means I need to meet Chris. More of these to come. So far there hasn't been much done with his character. But he meets Tim at one point and they have some cute interactions, which I appreciated.

The stories that focus on the action aren't so much my thing, but I like that sometimes the series slows down to allow the characters to take a breather and bond. There's an issue that's just the family going to a beautiful other world/dimension to have a picnic and chat...and that's basically all that happens, and it's refreshing.

The Life Story of the Flash

Silver Age comics were wild. What even were some of those storylines. But the narrative does its best to ground the mythos's established ridiculousness in the humanity of the characters, which works.

Why don't we have any adaptations that give us this book's characterization of Barry? He's analytical, methodical, scientifically-minded, and a neat freak. He proudly wears bow ties, a crew cut, and a pocket protector. He's a certified Iowa boy and a comics nerd. He doesn't want a reporter to take his picture after he solves a case at his civilian job because he isn't the story. He considers himself boring and when his girlfriend tells him she finds his analytical mind attractive he coughs an entire lemonade through his nose. He's late to everything except the time he shows up five minutes early to a date because he's going to propose (on top of a Ferris wheel, no less). Bless his heart. Very different from the reckless, hyperactive speedsters who would succeed him, and the tension between his temperament and his powers is a fascinating contrast. The recent TV series was sleeping on some excellent material to work with.

#random personal stuff

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scotianostra · 2 years

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On November 7th 1619 Elizabeth Stuart was crowned Queen of Bohemia.

Elizabeth was the eldest daughter of James VI, and Anne of Denmark. She was thus sister to King Charles I and cousin to King Frederick III of Denmark.

Born in at Falkland Palace, Fife,on 19th August 1596, she was named Elizabeth in honour of the then-ageing English Queen, Elizabeth I, who had remained childless. Her older brothel was Prince Henry, of her other siblings, Charles would however go on to inherit the throne.

To all intents and purposes, Elizabeth had a happy upbringing at Linlithgow Palace, one of the grandest of Scotland’s royal residences, and one of my favourite places to wander around.

In 1603 her father James succeeded Elizabeth I to the English throne. Elizabeth was handed over to the care of Lord and Lady Harrington and took up residence at Coombe Abbey, Warwickshire.

Lord Harrington indulged her passion for nature, and in a secluded wilderness at the end of the park arranged the construction of a number of little wooden buildings in all the different orders of architecture which housed paintings and stuffed animals. He also established an aviary and a miniature menagerie (she continued to collect various animals throughout her life) which was later expanded to include meadows stocked with the smallest breeds of cattle from Jersey, Shetland and the Isle of Man. Elizabeth referred to her miniature world as ‘her Territories’ and ‘her Fairy farm’ and she engaged a pauper family as keeper of her birds and beasts.

Elizabeth idolised her older brother - they shared a love of life which eluded the sickly Charles, four years younger than his sister. Her letters to her brother Henry reveal a deep affection and and mutual respect. In 1605 she writes ‘My noble brother, I rouse you from sleep to remind you that I am your most humble servant, and desire above all that I might have the pleasure of remaining in your good graces and your best loved sister.’

Henry’s sickness and death on November 6, 1612, in the midst of Elizabeth's betrothal celebrations devastated her. It is not mentioned in Elizabeth’s letters of 1612 or 1613, a silence that suggest great mourning however her strength of character can be demonstrated by her attempts to gain access to Henry’s isolated sick room. Disguised as a country girl, she tried several times to gain admittance to Henry but was recognised and turned back. Henry’s last words were his sister’s name.

By the age of 12 Elizabeth’s political value was such that a member of the influential Hapsburg family, King Philip III of Spain, put himself forward as a eligible suitor. While Queen Anne relished the opportunity of a glittering Spanish throne, James’ mind was set on a Protestant:Frederick V, Prince Palatine of the Rhine in the Holy Roman Empire, frequently known as the Palsgrave.

Luckily for Elizabeth, Frederick was her own age, handsome, athletic, of a winning personality and generous. In many ways he resembled her brother Henry, with whom he developed a deep friendship. Frederick could not fail to love Elizabeth although she was initially more reserved.

On Valentine’s Day 1613, a spectacular wedding ceremony took place in the Royal Chapel at Whitehall Palace in London. At the time of their marriage, Elizabeth and her young groom Frederick V were destined to achieve international power and influence. However, by 1621, Elizabeth was in exile, destined to be remembered as the ‘The Winter Queen’, a derogatory epitaph that reflects the short duration of her rule in Bohemia, with her union with Frederick deemed a political failure.For almost two months, the young couple were feted and feasted in London before setting out on their journey to their new home in Heidelberg, in south west Germany. Elizabeth and Frederick eventually reached the Palatinate and its capital in Heidelberg situated on the banks of the river Neckar.

Six years later, in late 1619, Frederick and Elizabeth were crowned King and Queen of Bohemia (today part of the Czech Republic) at the invitation of the Bohemia Confederacy to prevent a Catholic incumbent ascending to the throne. Barely a year after receiving the crown, the couple were defeated at the Battle of the White Mountain, and driven from their court in Prague and deprived of all their Palatine lands by the Hapsburg Holy Roman Emperor Ferdinand II, events which led to one of the longest and most destructive conflicts in human history:The Thirty Years War.

During their separations whilst Frederick was on campaign, the couple wrote to each other three or four times a week, sometimes even twice in one day. Frederick describes Elizabeth as his ‘only heart’, he ‘kisses her mouth a million times in imagination’.

Frederick died unexpectedly from the plague at Mainz while on perpetual military campaign in 1632. So long as she lived, Elizabeth’s rooms were draped in black, and in memory of Frederick special days were set apart for fasting. She later wrote ‘though I make a good show in company, yet I can never have any more contentment in this world, for God knows I had none but that which I took in his company, and he did the same in mine.’

Elizabeth lived on in the Dutch Republic for a further 30 years, in voluntary exile, returning to England in 1661, a year before her death and a year after the restoration of her nephew, Charles II.

It is through Elizabeth’s daughter, Sophie, the Hanoverians went on to became our monarchs.

#Scotland #scottish #royalty #bohemia #princess #mary queen of scots #history

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brutish-invasion · 1 year

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Who are your partners? 👀

Woo hoo woo, here we go...

Legal Gay Husband

His name is Rex and we've been consistently some flavour of involved since 1957. I got him from the ocean! He just washed up on the beach! For free! He says that sometimes I smell like a dog bed despite never having owned a dog.

The Council

William, August, James #1, Peter, Vaughn, Lalo, James #2, George, Charles, Llewellyn, Simon, and Nicholas: twelve other self-identified mods who convene in various configurations to chatter and screw. It's like an aviary of colourful exotic birds that learned human speech via James Joyce's private letters (you know the ones).

Extracurriculars

An unforgivably sexy man with whom I am so so cozy, but I think he'd wring me out like a fat little chamois if I introduced him as a "boyfriend." I don't know. I might enjoy that. He agrees that sometimes I smell like a dog bed.

(Play your cards right and YOUR name could go HERE, dear reader!)

This post brought to you by ModCorp Age Regression Technologies. Put a little more life into your... life. None of it's perfect, not even the slogan.

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robsmithjr · 21 days

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August 28th events & birthdays - from Swampy's Florida live.

I live drew this last week right here. Made it up as I placed ink on paper. no pencils. I’ll be doing the same this evening. Celebrated birthdays of native Tampa & baseball’s Lou Piniella. Also, Miami native and actress Roxie Roker, from ‘The Jeffersons’. Aviary bookmaster, Roger Tory Peterson is noted for documenting so very many of our Florida birds with the heron. George Church was born on…

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swampysflorida · 21 days

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August 28th events & birthdays - from Swampy's Florida live.

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fictionkinfessions · 2 months

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( please post august 8th, 2024 )

thinking about you a lot today, my brother. i know it's not just my birthday. i'm gonna do my best to enjoy it (i'm going to the zoo! can you believe it? they have a wild aviary exhibit, and i'm thrilled to be going!) but i wish you were here, still. i try not to think about it - look where that got me - but still. if you're out there, i really hope you're doing alright, and i hope you make the best of today, too. i'd give anything to give you the biggest hug in the world, and tell you what kinds of birds i get to see today. you are missed.

yours, m. tokito.

#fictionkinfessions #fictionkin #mtokitokin #happy birthday!#mod party cat

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xtruss · 1 year

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Illustration by João Fazenda

The Burning of Maui

The governor called the fires Hawaii’s “largest natural disaster” ever. They would more accurately be labelled an “unnatural disaster.”

— By Elizabeth Kolbert | August 20, 2023

The ‘alalā, or Hawaiian crow, is a remarkably clever bird. ‘Alalā fashion tools out of sticks, which they use, a bit like skewers, to get at hard-to-reach food. The birds were once abundant, but by the late nineteen-nineties their population had dropped so low that they were facing extinction. Since 2003, all the world’s remaining ‘alalā have been confined to aviaries. In a last-ditch effort to preserve the species, the San Diego Zoo Wildlife Alliance has been breeding the crows in captivity. The alliance keeps about a third of the birds—some forty ‘alalā—at a facility outside the town of Volcano, on the Big Island, and the rest outside the town of Makawao, on Maui. Earlier this month, the Maui population was very nearly wiped out. On the morning of August 8th, flames came within a few hundred feet of the birds’ home and would probably have engulfed it were it not for an enterprising alliance employee, one of her neighbors, and a garden hose.

According to the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, “many factors” contributed to the ‘alalā’s decline, including habitat destruction, invasive species, and the effects of agriculture on the landscape. Owing to these developments, Hawaii’s native fauna in general is in crisis; the state has earned an unfortunate title as “the extinction capital of the world.” Of the nearly hundred and fifty bird species that used to be found in Hawaii and nowhere else, two-thirds are gone. Among the islands’ distinctive native snails, the losses have been even more catastrophic.

Last week, as the death toll from the fires in West Maui continued to mount—late on Friday, the number stood at a hundred and eleven—it became clear that the same “factors” that have decimated Hawaii’s wildlife also contributed to the deadliness of the blazes. Roughly a thousand people have been reported as still missing, and some two thousand homes have been destroyed or damaged. The worst-hit locality, the town of Lahaina, which lies in ruins, was built on what was once a wetland. Starting in the mid-nineteenth century, much of the vegetation surrounding the town was cleared to make way for sugar plantations. Then, when these went out of business, in the late twentieth century, the formerly cultivated acres were taken over by introduced grasses. In contrast to Hawaii’s native plants, the imported grasses have evolved to reseed after fires and, in dry times, they become highly flammable.

“The lands around Lahaina were all sugarcane from the eighteen-sixties to the late nineteen-nineties,” Clay Trauernicht, a specialist in fire ecology at the University of Hawaii at Mānoa, told the Guardian. “Nothing’s been done since then—hence the problem with invasive grasses and fire risk.”

Also contributing to the devastation was climate change. Since the nineteen-fifties, average temperatures in Hawaii have risen by about two degrees, and there has been a sharp uptick in warming in just the past decade. This has made the state more fire-prone and, at the same time, it has fostered the spread of the sorts of plants that provide wildfires with fuel. Hotter summers help invasive shrubs and grasses “outgrow our native tree species,” the state’s official Climate Change Portal notes.

As Hawaii has warmed, it has also dried out. According, again, to the Climate Change Portal, “rainfall and streamflow have declined significantly over the past 30 years.” In the weeks leading up to the fires in West Maui, parts of the region were classified as suffering from “severe drought.” Meanwhile, climate change is shifting storm tracks in the Pacific farther north. Hurricane Dora, which made history as the longest-lasting Category 4 hurricane on record in the Pacific, passed to the south of Maui and helped produce the gusts that spread the Lahaina fire at a speed that’s been estimated to be a mile per minute.

After visiting the wreckage of Lahaina, Hawaii’s governor, Josh Green, called the Maui fires the “largest natural disaster Hawaii has ever experienced.” In fact, the fires would more accurately be labelled an “unnatural disaster.” As David Beilman, a professor of geography and environment at the University of Hawaii at Manoa, recently pointed out, for most of Hawaii’s history fire simply wasn’t part of the islands’ ecology. “This Maui situation is an Anthropocene phenomenon,” he told USA Today.

A great many more unnatural disasters lie ahead. Last month was, by a large margin, the hottest July on record, and 2023 seems likely to become the warmest year on record. Two days after Lahaina burst into flames, the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration issued a revised forecast for the current Atlantic hurricane season, which runs through the end of November. The agency had been predicting a “near-normal” season, with between five and nine hurricanes. But, because of record sea-surface temperatures this summer—last month a buoy in Manatee Bay, south of Miami, registered 101.1 degrees, a reading that, as the Washington Post put it, is “more typical of a hot tub than ocean water”—noaa is now projecting that the season will be “above normal,” with up to eleven hurricanes. Rising sea levels and the loss of coastal wetlands mean that any hurricanes that make landfall will be that much more destructive.

A few days after noaa revised its forecast, officials ordered the evacuation of Yellowknife, the capital of Canada’s Northwest Territories. A wildfire burning about ten miles away would, they feared, grow to consume the city. The Canadian Broadcasting Corporation called the evacuation order “extraordinary.” This summer has been Canada’s worst wildfire season on record, and, at times, the smoke has spread all the way to Europe. There are currently something like a thousand active fires in the country.

Two days after the Yellowknife evacuation was ordered, another Pacific hurricane—Hilary—intensified into a Category 4 storm. Hilary was being drawn north by a “heat dome” of high pressure over the central Plains, which was expected to bring record temperatures to parts of the Midwest. The storm’s unusual track put some twenty-six million people in four states—California, Utah, Nevada, and Arizona—under flash-flood watches.

How well humanity will fare on the new planet it is busy creating is an open question. Homo sapiens is a remarkably clever species. So, too, was the ‘alalā. ♦

— Published in the Print Edition of the August 28, 2023, New Yorker Issue, with the Headline “Fire Alarm.”

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fuckthisshitimin · 2 years

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Aviary August, #2: ruddy quail dove, #3: horned grebe and #4: i'iwi!

[ID: Three digital ketches of birds signed Meaningless Mikhaïl.

First, a ruddy quail-dove, perched on a branch over a duck background. Its head, wings and claws are in shades of red, its belly a warm nude yellow.

Second, a horned grebe and her little ones, swimming in a blue background. Its feathers are a messy mix of colors ranging from a dark grey to a pale gold, with bright red accents. The babies are white with black streaks, cuddled in the adult's wings. Adult and babies' eyes are all bright red.

Last, an i'iwi eating from a yellow flower on a branch, over a pale blue background. It is entirely red, its beak closer to orange, while the branch and leaves are all painted orange. End ID.]

Slowly catching up, I'm having fun with these. They'd be good warm-ups I think!

#aviary august #mikhail draws #described #ruddy quail dove #horned grebe #i'iwi

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ajaviary · 3 years

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Info & Master List

Commissions - Open (Google Doc) | Taglist

Rules | Asks - Open | Requests - Closed (Will open for my Winter Event)|

Hey Everyone,

I’m an anime fan and I enjoy writing. This seemed like a great place to share my writing and chat with others who are just as interested as I am in just about anything and everything anime, movies, books, art and other interests. This also my way of increasing my own talents and getting a general feel of opinions.

Be warned I write for a lot of MHA OC’s in my Blood trilogy series, so you will probably see random Quotes or scenes floating around and maybe they’ll catch your interest.

Anyone can follow me, I don’t mind (Just watch the warnings on some stuff). If you want to chat about OCs, Fanfiction, some of my fics, your own, or anime whether it be episodes, or current characters or characters you like feel free to drop a message or an ask. Sometimes I can be slow to get to them, because of work and my college courses, but I try my best.

I started new blog @hallows-eve-aj It’s where I’ll be reblogging my writing so it isn’t eaten up as much here. I did open a third blog @severedxchain its a blog where I’ll do a lot of reblogging of other art work and writing of other authors on here. I’ll have NSFW mostly reblogged there. If you guys have anything you want me to read, commit on and reblog, just let me know! Happy to help get everyone's work out there!

~ AJ Aviary

Guide:

🌸 - Fluff

❤️ - NSFW

🔪 - Dark Content

💥 - Action

🍁 - Fall in Love Event

———Current Works———

🍁 Fall in Love Event 🍁

(Currently Closed - Will open my Winter Event once I catch up) (4/8 - Completed)

BNHA:

Blood Ties (Active) - 174,748 words (Ch 16) 🔪🌸💥

Blood Bonds (Active) - 99,844(Ch 10) 🔪🌸💥

Blood Orphans (Active - 88,949 (Ch 8) 🔪🌸💥

Blood Lilies (Active) - 15,511 words (Ch 2) 🔪🌸💥

Bloodlines (Active) - 9,978 Words 🔪🌸💥

Vested Interests - (Active) - 14,722 🔪🌸💥 ❤️

My Secrets to Keep (Active) - 23,718 🔪🌸💥 ❤️

Metropolis Showdown - 12,899 🔪🌸💥 Longshot - (Tina x Seph) - 3082 - (Commission) 🔪🌸💥

My Rose Garden Sanctuary (Masaru x Hikari) - 2562 - (Comission) 🔪 🌸💥

Shatter Me (Pt1) - 4400 (Aizawa x Reader) 🔪🌸💥❤️

Hollow’s Eve (Pt1) (Pt2) (Pt 3 18+) (Pt 3 Fluff) - (Aizawa x Reader) 🔪🌸❤️

Silent Reverence - 2000 (Aizawa x Reader) 🔪🌸💥

You and Me - 1128 (M Insert x Reader) ❤️

Midnight Confessions - 7695 - (Shouto x Reader) (Secret Santa) for imaginexmeintheuniverse 🌸

Love Surrendered - 3463 (Dabi x Reader) for Touya’s Peach 🌸🍁

Burning Adventures - 3306 (Dabi x Keigo x Reader) for Sunnyfunerals 🌸 🍁

Tell Me You’re Mine - 3198 (Shinso x Reader) for Henhouse-horrors 🌸🍁

To Dance in a Sea of Stars - 3988 (Natsuo x Reader) for Chronic-claire-universe 🔪 🌸🍁

Our Ever Lasting Love - 1238 (In Progress) (Poly x Reader) for Adminbryantsaki 🌸🍁

Collaboration Events:

Vulnerable (Event) 6426 (BNHA - Aizawa x Fem Reader) 🔪🌸❤️

Drowning in Despair (Event) 3641 (BNHA - Aizawa x Fem Reader) 🔪🌸❤️

In Heat (Pt 1) (Event) 4906 (Alpha Aizawa x Omega Fem Reader) 🔪🌸❤️

Are you Afraid of the Dark? (Event) (BNHA Shigaraki x Fem Reader) 🔪❤️

Feeding The Wolves - (Mythology) 8522 (BNHA Jiro) - BNHarem August Collab 🔪🌸 💥

A Phantom’s Surprise (Event) (BNHA Monoma x fem reader) - 🌸

Come Fly with Me (Event) (BNHA - Hawks x Fem Reader) 🔪🌸💥

I’m Yours 9/24 (Event) (BNHA - Shota Aizawa x Fem Reader) 🔪🌸❤️

??? 11/30 (Song Event) (BNHA - Katsuki Bakugo x Reader)

Trick Me 11/30 (Event) BNHA - Aizawa x Fem Reader) 🔪🌸❤️

Winter Holidays (Event) BNHA - ??? X Reader

Sam’s 800 (Event) MHA - Toga 🔪🌸💥

Assassination Classroom:

Coup De Grace (Active) 52,115 - (Irina x Karasuma) 🔪🌸💥❤️ (Ch 1 Pt 1) (Ch 1 Pt 2) (Ch 2 Pt 1) (Ch2 Pt 2) (Ch 3) (Ch 4) (Ch 5 Pt 1)(Ch 5 Pt 2)(Ch 6 pt 1)(Ch 6 Pt 2)

Let the Ashes Fall

-MHA Roleplay- (Bakugo x Kirishima x Reader) 🔪🌸💥

(Prologue Pt1)|(Prologue pt2)(Prologue Pt3)(Prologue Pt4)(Prologue Pt5)(Prologue Pt6)(Prologue 7)(Prologue 8)(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3)(Part 4)(Part 5)

Let The Ashes Fall Random Scenes:

(A Dream) 🌸

Jujutsu Kaisen

Eyes on Me (Pt 1) (Active) 3840 - (Satoru Gojo x Utahime Iori)

Asks:

Kirishima/Bakugo (MHA) - 🔪🌸

Mirio/Tamaki (MHA) - 🔪🌸

Midoriya/ Gn Reader (MHA) - 🌸 (in the works)

Tamaki/ Fem Reader (MHA) - 🌸 ❤️ (in the works)

Excerpts:

Blood Orphans Ch 3 Mayhem’s Moment Fight Scenes Shohei (OC) x Mr. Compress (LoV) - 🔪💥

Katsu (OC) x Spinner (LoV)- 🔪💥

Naito (OC) x Muscular (LoV) - 🔪💥

Galahad/Daichi (OC) x Saisho (OC LoV) - (Pt1) 🔪💥

My Secret’s to Keep (Same Universe as Blood Orphans/Ties)

- Alexis (OC) x Shota Aizawa (UA) - (Scene1)(Scene 2)🔪🌸 - Masaru (OC) | Keigo Tamaki (Hawks) - 🔪

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practically-an-x-man · 4 months

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Francesca (Jimmy Luciano sidepiece)

Summary: On August 9th of 1915, a young man is shot and killed in the Tunnel of Love. For a hundred and nine years after that, he fights his way back.

Or, how Jimmy Luciano became a ghost.

Tags: Backstory, origin story, OC-centric, period-typical homophobia, major character death (I mean he's a ghost in the fic so-), title based on a Hozier song

Word Count: 4.1k

____

“Are you sure about this?”

“Please, my dear, I have a plan. An excellent plan, in fact.” James Luciano insisted, taking a few backwards strides to look at the young man walking just behind him. He couldn’t help but let his eyes trace down Robert’s figure, his slim frame only accentuated by the crisp gray waistcoat hugging his body. He made Jimmy feel underdressed - and that was saying quite a bit, when he was dressed up in his own right, with his best wool vest and his only sport coat around his shoulders.

He stumbled into someone behind him and quickly spun back around, holding his hands up in surrender.

“Sorry, so sorry,” he muttered with a sympathetic grimace, pretending to ignore the glare he received in turn. Even that small glimpse of conflict made something flinch, deep within him. He never enjoyed having anger turned his way. Mundane anger all-too-quickly became righteous anger, anger with purpose, even if that purpose was dreadfully misplaced. And he knew this world around him would be quick to find that purpose, if they learned of the company he kept.

This plan of his was as dangerous as it was simple.

And all for a kiss. All for something as ordinary, as common, as a kiss.

“Come now, Robby, we’re nearly there.” Jimmy said, doing his best to recover his energy. He’d been living in this world all his life, after all. It wasn’t about to change. He could let it beat him down, or he could try to seek happiness where he could.

So he moved ahead, weaving through the crowds until he found himself before the Tunnel of Love. Waiting there were two young women, smoothing their skirts and making idle chatter until Jimmy approached them.

“Good afternoon, ladies, you’re both looking lovely today.” he said, greeting them each with a kiss on the cheek.

“Oh, like you’d know.” one of them chirped, smiling back at him. Jimmy scoffed, pressing his fingers to his chest as if wounded.

“Please, doll, I do still know a beautiful woman when I see one. And I seem to find myself in front of two of New York’s finest.”

They both reddened at that, a demure and almost trained gentlewoman’s flush high on their cheeks. Marie waved a hand at herself, a theatrical swoon to match Jimmy’s own grandiose compliments. Dorothy wasn’t so easily swayed, and merely reached out to touch his forearm.

“You know, there’s only one reason you aren’t already married, Lucy.”

James Luciano chuckled at that old nickname and offered her a brief shake of his head.

“It’s a fairly significant reason, my darling. Thank you both again for all your help.”

“Oh, sure. It’s no trouble.”

That was an understatement, of course. If this didn’t pan out, it could mean trouble for all four of them. Already Jimmy found himself feeling faintly guilty for the level of danger he could be placing two lovely young women - two of his closest friends, one of whom was married with a child of her own - into, just for the sake of a single stolen moment. This was trouble, quite significant trouble, and each of them knew it. He admired their bravery and their generosity in great and equal measure.

“Er- hello,” Robert said, finally catching up to the group of them and offering his hand out to shake, “I’m Rob. Friend of James’. Pleasure to meet you both.”

“This is Dorothy and Marie, my coworkers from the aviary,” Jimmy said as the introductions were shared. He waggled his fingers playfully in the direction of his partner. “Looking to help a couple lovebirds get together.”

“And this involves Coney Island?” the other man asked, glancing around at the crowds and attractions around them. The sheer volume of people looking about made Jimmy a little nervous, but nobody even spared them a glance. This was good. Perhaps things would go smoothly indeed.

Jimmy lifted his hands towards the building in front of them, a tall hut with a triangular roof. He supposed it was made to look like a mountain, like the ride had been carved into rock. The entrance was framed with irregular, stony pillars, and a steady flow of people (nearly all of them couples) trickled in.

“The Tunnel of Love,” he said, “Six minutes of beautiful romantic solitude, free from any prying eyes or expectations. It’s simple, really. You’ll go in first with the lovely Dorothy, and then I will follow you with my dear Marie. There’s a concrete lip around the central channel, and once we’re past the lights I’ll simply hop ahead and join you, and Dorothy will step aside. Then we merely have to remember to switch back before the ride is through.”

“This feels… elaborate.” Robert muttered. He passed one hand over his hair, once elegantly coiffed but now mussed and windswept from the coastal breeze. Jimmy had the sudden image of running his own fingers through those loose blond curls, and yearning gripped him like a hand around his heart. It took a Herculean effort to shrug it off.

“Oh, it’s not so complicated. And you get the easy job.” he replied with a brilliant grin, “I’m the only one who needs to get his socks wet.”

“I don’t know, James… I don’t trust this.”

“You don't trust me?” Jimmy reeled, placing a hand theatrically over his heart. Robert just rolled his eyes.

“You know that's not what I mean. I mean I don't trust this… this plan of yours.” he said, “Why don't we just walk over to the carnival booths, and I’ll win you a prize, and then we can take our affections back to your apartment? Somewhere… private?”

“Because I don’t-” he blurted, then huffed and corrected himself, “Because for one thing, my neighbors would have many questions, and they would not all be pleasant. And for another, I don't want to leave this behind closed doors all the time. I mean…”

He ran a hand over the back of his neck, mildly embarrassed at his outburst. Yet still no eyes had drifted their way. There was too much uproar all around him, all the cheers and screams and roving conversations of the amusement park.

“I know this is still hidden, this idea of mine, but at least it's better.” Jimmy continued, and spread his arms at the spectacle around them, “This is Coney Island! It's one of the things people love about New York City! Not just some poor bird-lover’s apartment in the nobody-cares corner of Brooklyn, if you catch my meaning.”

“I do. I just…” Robert responded, his fingers fiddling with the dark frames of his glasses. It was a nervous habit of his, had been for as long as Jimmy had known him. “I just worry, James. There are a lot of people here.”

“A lot of people who aren’t even looking our way!” he protested, “Robby, please… Six minutes. I’ve thought this through. It’ll work.”

He was silent for a long time. Jimmy wrung his hands together, ducking his eyes as he waited for his partner’s response.

“Alright.” he finally said, and Jimmy’s heart soared. Robert nodded, then offered his elbow to the women before him. “Dorothy, if you wouldn’t mind.”

He was racked with anxiety the whole walk into the Tunnel of Love. There was no reason for such fear, he told himself: he walked with a beautiful woman on his arm, as did Robert ahead of him, as did many of the couples forming the queue behind him. They appeared ordinary, without suspicion. As was the plan.

Jimmy watched as Robert, acting the part of the perfect gentleman as he always did, helped Dorothy gently into the floating raft. Her balance faltered once, and he steadied her with a hand against her lower back - not too low, but low enough to catch her. Once again, Jimmy found himself frozen with longing. He wanted so badly to feel Robert’s hands on him the same way, even just the softest brush of his fingers.

But he was forced to pull himself out of his thoughts, as their raft floated into the dark and the next approached. Jimmy stepped inside easily and offered Marie his hands, becoming a pillar of balance for her to navigate her skirts and find a seat inside the raft. The employee managing the ride gave their raft a gentle push, and the two of them floated into the dark.

The tunnel was dim but not impossibly so, illuminated by lanterns at regular intervals affixed into the walls. The sounds of softly-moving water echoed across the concrete, covering whatever sounds may have come from the rafts ahead. There was, as Jimmy had surmised, a narrow stone lip at either side of the central channel, perhaps meant for workers to walk along as they lit the lanterns or rescued stuck rafts.

He waited perhaps a moment longer than he should have, until the noise and warmth of the entrance had fully faded and the air grew cool around him, and then Jimmy stood up and carefully stepped onto that slim concrete ledge.

The floats did not move especially fast, and he caught up to the raft ahead in only a half-dozen brisk steps. Jimmy crouched, offering Dorothy a hand for support as she too stood up and strode onto the stone barrier. So far, it all appeared to be moving along as planned. He hadn’t even gotten his socks wet.

“Thank you, dear,” Jimmy whispered, and kissed her on the cheek. It was about the only place he’d ever kissed a woman, a simple peck on the cheek in greeting or in thank-you. Little did he know, it would be the last kiss James Luciano would have in his life.

He stepped into the raft, nearly falling as it tipped in the water. Just as his balance began to list a hair too far, Robert grabbed his hand and tugged him fully into the boat. Jimmy stumbled, his knees knocking painfully into the wooden seat of the raft, but already he found himself grinning.

This would work. A kiss in the dark, a single moment stolen amidst the dangers of the society around them, sealed within stone and rippling water… this would work.

And so he allowed himself to give into those simple wants, to run his hands through his lover’s hair and pull him in closer. Even now, he wished these moments didn’t have to be so hidden. He wished he could woo and court and marry like any of those couples out on the street, any of those in the rafts behind them. He wished a great many things, but above all he wished he didn’t have to hide his affections. He had so much love for the world.

“I have wanted this…” Jimmy sighed, now closer to his partner than he’d ever been before, or would ever be again, “For a very long time.”

And the world flashed bright before him.

At first it was only a sound, like the roar of a great beast. It echoed through the tunnel, that sound, accompanied by a gleam of blinding light that caught the water below. Jimmy flinched without knowing what it was he’d flinched at, only that it was something loud and terrible.

Then it came again, like thunder and lightning, and this time he was thrown to the bottom of the raft. The pain came late, but it came all at once, alongside a fountaining spray of liquid. He took a breath and found himself choking, spitting salty copper onto his own clothing.

He heard a shout, perhaps his name, but the sound seemed to come through a deep fog. It was followed by another, sharp and cruel and echoing down from the other end of the tunnel. He could not make out the words.

He had the sense that he was dying. He’d been shot, and he was bleeding- covered in it, doused in it, and it was still coming - and the world was beginning to fade in a way that was somehow both terrifying and comforting. Even the pain had dampened, though it sparked back to life the instant he tried to move.

Screaming erupted above him. He couldn’t move, couldn’t even lift his head, helplessly splayed across the bottom of the raft. He couldn’t see his attackers. He couldn’t see the girls. He couldn’t see Robert.

Two more flashes, perhaps more, lit up the tunnel. Jimmy’s thoughts crept along, slowing in time with his heartbeat. He was suddenly certain, dreadfully certain, that he would not see the sun again.

James Aaron Luciano died at 4:28 PM on the ninth of August, 1915.

He returned at 4:29.

____

At first, he wasn't so much as a whisper. He was merely intent, a concentrated bubble of energy like a star from the cosmos.

Help me.

The crowds bypassed him. Their eyes never turned his way. If he was lucky, extraordinarily lucky, one would pass through the invisible web of what now made up his being, and they would pause, and a cry would spring up from him with all the hope that he’d this time manage to find his voice-

Help me.

But no voice ever came. The one who’d passed through would shudder and leave, and soon they’d forget, and he was once again left alone.

Help me.

His name. He'd have to start with his name.

____

His name came to him in time, and from there he became a voice on the wind. A man’s voice, he remembered that much, flat and cutting all at once because he’d lived in New York his whole life and never wanted to leave.

He still didn't want to leave. He knew that much, and very little more.

But he knew his name was James.

“My friends- I need to find my friends. Robert, Dorothy, Marie-”

Now a few more of them would pause, or turn to their friends and ask if they’d spoken. It still wasn’t enough. They still moved on within moments, and the strange whispering voice became nothing but a story to frighten their children.

“I need a hospital, please. I think I'm bleeding. I think I'm- I think I'm hurt, badly.”

He had the sense that time had passed. He didn’t know how long. But the booths had been repainted, the barkers had aged or been replaced, the mingling crowds now wore strange and unusual fashions.

“Help me. Please. I need your help.”

But it wasn’t enough. It still wasn’t enough.

____

He scraped together something of a body, something visual. It wasn’t quite right. It wasn’t quite human.

His hands glowed blue like the base of a flame. Even when he peered at them from only inches away, the details were fuzzy. This wasn’t right. He knew his body. He knew there should have been a freckle on the back of his left hand, just between the second and third knuckles. He knew there should have been a small scar at the base of his right forearm, a little divot in the flesh he’d once earned from a particularly ornery African Grey. He knew his skin should have been pale, so pale one could see the faint blue outlines of his veins through his flesh, so pale his knuckles and palms were a lively pinkish-red.

But instead he was blue, with all his intricacies smudged away like wet ink across a page.

It still wasn’t enough. The onlookers saw him, but pretended they didn’t. He only caught so much as a glance before they ducked his eyes, muttered and whispered and steered their friends far away. Because he was now something else, something other, something unexplainable.

Because he was no longer truly human, at least in their eyes.

He had grown separate from the world he loved so much. Able to watch from afar, but no longer deemed worthy to participate.

There had to be more than this. He’d scrape it up from the lingering fragments of his soul if he had to.

Something had to be keeping him here for a reason. He couldn’t be doomed to wander.

Could he?

____

Closer. He was closer.

He’d found the details, little by little. Now he could look at his hands and see the pale crescents at the base of his fingernails, the bones of his knuckles pressing against the skin when he closed a fist, the faint dark hair dusted across his hands and forearms. He could glance down and see the knitted wool fibers of his vest, though the fabric was marred by thick red blood.

And he remembered more. He remembered his life. His name was James Aaron Luciano. Jimmy. Lucy. He was born in the summer of the year 1882, to an ironworker father and a seamstress mother. He spent most of his life working for the New York Zoo, cooped up in the aviary with all manner of exotic birds. He’d never much fancied women.

Finally people began to look his way, and this was a relief. Many of them grew frightened when they saw the wound in his chest - still gushing blood, no matter how he pleaded for it to vanish - and so he learned to disappear when their eyes fell on him. He’d never wanted to frighten people. He loved people. He always had.

Through his questioning, and a great deal of trial and error, he learned that it was now the year of 1941. If he’d lived, he would be nearing sixty. Somehow he’d lost nearly thirty years, in all the time it took to pull himself back together again. It hadn’t felt that long. But then again, time had a habit of falling away from him, these days.

He asked about his friends, about Robert, yet nobody seemed keen on giving him a straight answer. Perhaps they’d been forgotten by time. Perhaps that was a good thing. History always seemed to remember those who died, rarely those who lived.

So he sought out the ones who looked like his Robert - if not him then a child, a grandchild - and directed his questions there. Many of them were handsome men, and as his questions trickled away into grim certainties, his questions grew into flirtations in turn. After all, it wasn’t as if they could shoot him again. He’d already been ripped from this earth, and he trusted that there was no human force that could draw him away from it a second time.

For a while, he kept track of the time through a girl. She would come in the afternoons, once a week, and would sit on the beach with a book. Jimmy missed reading. In his life, he could hardly be seen without a book in his hands. And though he’d tried to find that passion again, even in just the newspapers dropped by passers-by, his fingers simply fell through the pages. He had no weight, no solidity. He still did not belong to this world.

But the girl would read aloud to herself on those quiet afternoons. She had a stutter, a bad one, and the doctor had prescribed her a healthy dose of Charlotte Brontë to overcome it. At first Jimmy would stand behind her, invisible and intangible, and peer at the pages over her shoulder. Yet he quickly found that he could complete a page in much the same time as it took her to get through a paragraph, and this left him waiting for quite long stretches of time, and so eventually he chose to merely sit beside her and hear the story through her young and stumbling voice.

He never learned her name, and she never even knew he was there with her. She grew older, her stutter much better, her visits less frequent, but he still grew to treasure them either way. She was his one source of stories, at least until his own fingers could find the page again.

This was better. If it weren’t for the way he still floated through the world like a secret, and the way that time seemed to have lost its grip on him, he’d feel almost human.

Almost.

____

Finally he bridged that final gap. Finally his feet touched down on the boards underneath him, and his steps clacked and echoed like all the others around him. Finally his fingers fell solid against the page of a newspaper, the wooden frame of a carnival booth, the hand or forearm of an attractive man.

He felt none of it, but he no longer passed through. That was about the best he could ask of himself. It had taken long enough just to get this far.

He still wandered. He still made his best efforts to charm the young men he found walking alone through the theme park. Something within him, something deep and primal and inexplicable, told him these actions might someday be worth something. It hadn’t happened yet, and perhaps it never would, but it filled a few of those empty spaces.

Years passed. Sometimes he still asked for the date, and was surprised to learn that over a century had passed since the final moment of his life. He was both aware of it and wasn’t, in a strange way - it felt like a long time, but perhaps not that long. His whole existence seemed to have boiled down to a set of paradoxes. He was human but wasn’t. Noticed but ignored. Forever alive yet perpetually dead.

And both aware of time and always reminded of how it passed him by.

But he still clung to humanity with an iron grip. He wasn’t ready to leave them yet. He wasn’t even sure he could.

2024. A hundred and nine years. A world he’d never have seen if not for this afterlife- and there was something beautiful in that, yes. His broken heart was warmed at the sight of the summertime parades, rainbow cloth hanging in every window and lovers of all forms having the courage to walk together in the streets. Perhaps this was what the Good Lord meant to give him, placing him in this afterlife for a hundred and nine long years: a glimpse at the world he’d once only dreamed would be possible.

It wasn’t his world. He could only watch it pass by around him. But at least he hadn’t faded into the cosmos without knowing this world could in fact be real.

His feet took him through the crowds, past the Ferris Wheel and the Cyclone and that infernal Tunnel of Love until he found himself amidst the rows of carnival games. Stuffed toys smiled at him from hooks along each colorful booth. He’d always liked those little trinkets. They had… personality.

A low swear drew his eye, and Jimmy looked over just in time to see a plastic ring ricocheting off the grid of glass bottles inside the booth. The gentleman who threw it - tall, bespectacled, wearing a jacket with an interesting logo on the sleeve - muttered something under his breath and fidgeted with the remaining two rings in his hand.

His second effort was just as disastrous, but it made Jimmy smile from afar. Robby had always been awful at these little games too. For all his posturing that he’d win Jimmy a prize, he only ever walked away with lighter pockets and nothing to show for it.

Jimmy found himself approaching. There was something interesting about this one, something that drew him in like even the others had not. He wasn’t sure what precisely it was, or if it was simply a projection of his ongoing loneliness.

Nobody looked his way as he leaned against the booth. The young gentleman tossed another ring, still without success. Without comment, the barker scooped up the rings and returned them for another go-around. Jimmy had the sense that he’d been waiting here a while, tossing rings for no prize simply to pass the time. Maybe he was waiting for a loved one to catch back up. Maybe it wasn’t worth extending his efforts at charm.

But he wanted to try. He wanted it more than he’d wanted much of anything in this afterlife. This new drive almost surprised him. He felt more alive than he had in over a century.

Jimmy reached up, pointing towards the rows of plush purple teddy bears over his head. Each one was only about as big as his hand, some of them leaking cottony stuffing from split seams. The gentleman turned his head- and stopped, fixed his eyes pointedly forwards.

So he’d heard the stories, then.

But James Luciano had no desire to vanish. Not now. This time he wanted to be seen. This time he wanted to be known.

“These little guys are cute, don’t you think?”

#my writing #heart in your hands fic #my ocs #jimmy luciano #oneshot #origin story

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rabbitcruiser · 3 years

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Aquatic Bird House, Bronx Zoo (No. 3)

The current Aquatic Bird House opened on September 24, 1964, on the foundation of the original house, which was opened on November 8, 1899, with the rest of the zoo. The building features a multitude of mostly open-fronted enclosures mainly focusing on coastal and wetland habitats and the species that rely on them. Scarlet ibises, roseate spoonbills, a Madagascar crested ibis, giant wood rail, pied avocets, Baer's pochards, common terns, African spoonbills, silver teals and Forster's terns are among the residents here. The exhibit also features an outdoor pond home to a flock of American flamingos and Orinoco geese, and a large aviary home to greater and lesser adjutant storks. The zoo is one of only three zoos in North America working with the endangered storks and has bred them several times, including the hatching of two chicks on June 27 and August 15, 2015. The Aquatic Bird House is also home to another endangered stork species: the Storm's stork. The zoo is one of only two in the United States working with this species; the other being the San Diego Zoo. In May 2014, the zoo opened a new nocturnal enclosure for a North Island brown kiwi in the building, and in May 2015, a colony of Australian little blue penguins from the Taronga Zoo were added.

Source: Wikipedia

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skippyv20 · 4 years

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Skip, Julie here. Silver Tree husband is Abe Levy. Interesting article on her start in the movie industry in The Press Democrat 19 August 2005. “airline employee shot “Aviary” with small budget and Lofty aspirations”. I can’t see how many children they have.

Thank you Julie😊❤️❤️❤️❤️

3/05/21

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zyanyaevelina · 4 years

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Huitzilopochtli (pronounced Weetz-ee-loh-POSHT-lee and meaning "Hummingbird on the Left") was one of the most important of the Aztec gods, the god of the sun, warfare, military conquest and sacrifice, who according to tradition, led the Mexica people from Aztlan, their mythical homeland, into Central Mexico. According to some scholars, Huitzilopochtli could have been a historical figure, probably a priest, who was transformed into a god after his death.

Huitzilopochtli is known as "the portentous one", the god who indicated to the Aztecs/Mexica where they should build their great capital city, Tenochtitlan. He appeared in dreams to the priests and told them to settle on an island, in the middle of Lake Texcoco, where they would see an eagle perching on a cactus. This was the divine sign.

Birth of Huitzilopochtli

According to a Mexica legend, Huitzilopochtli was born on Coatepec or Snake Hill. His mother was the goddess Coatlicue, whose name means “She of the Serpent Skirt,” and she was the goddess of Venus, the morning star. Coatlicue was attending the temple on Coatepec and sweeping its floors when a ball of feathers fell on the floor and impregnated her.

According to the origin myth, when Coatlicue's daughter Coyolxauhqui (goddess of the moon) and Coyolxauhqui's four hundred brothers (Centzon Huitznahua, the gods of the stars) discovered she was pregnant, they plotted to kill their mother. As the 400 stars reached Coatlicue, decapitating her, Huitzilopochtli (god of the sun) suddenly emerged fully armed from his mother’s womb and, attended by a fire serpent (xiuhcoatl), killed Coyolxauhqui by dismembering her. Then, he threw her body down the hill and proceeded to kill his 400 siblings.

Thus, the history of the Mexica is replayed every dawn, when the sun rises victoriously over the horizon after conquering the moon and stars.

Huitzilopochtli’s Temple While Huitzilopochtli's first appearance in Mexica legend was as a minor hunting god, he became elevated to a major deity after the Mexica settled in Tenochtitlán and formed the Triple Alliance. The Great Temple of Tenochtitlan (or Templo Mayor) is the most important shrine dedicated to Huitzilopochtli, and its shape symbolized a replica of Coatepec. At the foot of the temple, on the Huitzilopochtli side, lay a massive sculpture portraying the dismembered body of Coyolxauhqui, found during excavations for electric utility works in 1978. The Great Temple was actually a twin shrine dedicated to Huitzilopochtli and the rain god Tlaloc, and it was among the first structures to be built after the founding of the capital. Dedicated to both gods, the temple symbolized the economic basis of the empire: both war/tribute and agriculture. It was also the center of the crossing of the four main causeways that connected the Tenochtitlán to the mainland.

Images of Huitzilopochtli. Huitzilopochtli is typically portrayed with a dark face, fully armed, and holding a snake-shaped scepter and a "smoking mirror", a disc from which emerges one or more wisps of smoke. His face and body are painted in yellow and blue stripes, with a black, star-bordered eye mask and a turquoise nose rod. Hummingbird feathers covered the body of his statue at the great temple, along with cloth and jewels. In painted images, Huitzilopochtli wears the head of a hummingbird attached to the back of his head or as a helmet; and he carries a shield of turquoise mosaic or clusters of white eagle feathers.

As a representative symbol of Huitzilopochtli (and others of the Aztec pantheon), feathers were an important symbol in Mexica culture. Wearing them was the prerogative of the nobility who adorned themselves with brilliant plumes, and went into battle wearing feathered cloaks. Feathered cloaks and feathers were wagered in games of chance and skill and were traded among allied nobles. Aztec rulers kept aviaries and tribute stores for feather-workers, specifically employed to produce ornate objects.

Huitzilopochtli's Festivities

December was the month dedicated to Huitzilopochtli celebrations. During these festivities, called Panquetzalitzli, the Aztec people decorated their homes held ceremonies with dances, processions, and sacrifices. A huge statue of the god was made out of amaranth and a priest impersonated the god for the duration of the ceremonies.

Three other ceremonies during the year were dedicated at least in part to Huitzilopochtli. Between July 23 and August 11, for example, was Tlaxochimaco, the Offering of Flowers, a festival dedicated to war and sacrifice, celestial creativity and divine paternalism, when singing, dancing and human sacrifices honored the dead and Huitzilopochtli.

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latenightsleuth · 3 years

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(Image from: https://disappearedblog.com/disappeared-episode-list/)

The Loxahatchee Horror – Could It Happen to Your Aviary?

If everyone in your household should suddenly disappear, would anyone notice? If they did notice, would they have the initiative or the authority to break into your house to rescue your birds from starvation? In the case of Moses Lall, the well-known bird importer, the answer was no–at least not in time to save the lives of most of the approximately 1,000 birds whose cages lined the open field behind his rented house. On June 15, l994, after the continued urging of several concerned parties, local authorities entered the property. The gruesome sight that they beheld was something that should appear only in ones’ worst nightmare.

What Happened

Moses Lall and his aunt, Lila Buerattan, both natives of Guyana, South America, had lived on a rented 5-acre ranch in Loxahatchee, Florida, since December of 1992. They had moved to the rural community with the idea of starting a large bird-breeding farm. They spoke with no one in the local avicultural community, nor did they interact with anyone at any of the surrounding ranches. They lived extremely private lives, and no one, except their veterinarian, was ever permitted to see their birds. In fact, they even refused to purchase a license that would have allowed them to legally breed and sell birds within the state of Florida. When approached by Florida Fish and Game officers the previous year and urged to purchase a permit and undergo the minimal inspection procedures, they declined. They claimed that the birds were not for sale or breeding, and were being maintained for their personal pleasure. Most of us locals who knew of them never saw them, and were aware of their existence only because we all used the same feed company. In fact, it was the feed company that began sounding the alarm that something was wrong.

On June 9th, the driver for Bird Haven Feed Company arrived to deliver the weekly supply of primate biscuits, sunflower seeds and dried corn to Lall’s farm. No one was there to let him in. Finding no one at the gate to receive the feed was highly unusual. Realizing that they never purchased reserve supplies, and not wanting the birds to go hungry, he piled the feed up in front of the gates. They tried to reach Lall by phone to make sure all was well, but no one answered. Feeling uncomfortable about the situation, they returned the next day. The feed was still piled up outside the gate and had been ruined by the rain. At this point, they called several local aviculturists, as well as Lall’s veterinarian. The questions put to all of them were the same: Do you know where Moses and Lila are? Do you now them well enough to jump the fence, walk through the pack of dogs and go around to the rear of the property to see if someone has been feeding the birds? They all gave the same negative answer.

Between the 11th and the 15th of June, several concerned parties, including the seed company and the veterinarian, began calling the authorities and demanding that action be taken. As birds were starving to death, the concerned parties were sent in a circular motion from one agency to the next. The Palm Beach County Sheriffs’ Department, upon hearing the story, said that animal abuse was the jurisdiction of the Palm Beach County Animal Control. When Animal Control heard the words macaws and parrots, they explained that jurisdiction over exotic birds had been taken way from them and given to Florida Fish and Game. Florida Fish and Game explained that since the facility was not permitted by them, they had no right to enter. They added that if, in fact, birds were starving, a misdemeanor had been committed and that was the jurisdiction of the Sheriffs’ Department.

On June 15th, the feed company contacted Bob and Liz Johnson, who rescue abused, mistreated and crippled birds through a branch of their nonprofit organization, Life Awareness Inc. At that point, Liz contacted me and Dr. Susan Clubb to get a full update on what avenues had been pursued. Upon discovering that pleas for action had been thwarted by “red tape,” she called the Sheriffs’ Office and made demands. After “much insistence,” they reluctantly agreed to send out someone to investigate. The deputy immediately called the Johnsons and reported that our worst fears had been realized. The Johnsons, Dr. Clubb, I and my daughter Stacie raced to the scene to offer assistance in the feeding and care of the birds. By that time, all three of the previously contacted agencies were present.

We were totally unprepared for the sight that we encountered. It was a horror beyond belief: row after row of cages with either dead or dying green-winged and blue-and-gold macaws. Literally every pair of macaws had at least one dead member. Several had succumbed to starvation and dehydration, with their heads in their empty food bowls–a final desperate move with the hope that food would arrive before their last breath was drawn. Although the collection was made up predominately of large macaws, there were also hundreds of smaller parrots and toucans. These included Amazons, hawk heads, African greys, Jardine’s, Pionus and mini macaws. Most of these had succumbed. There were several cages with 25 to 30 birds in them that had either one or no survivors. It was a miracle that any of the birds were alive.

The feed company had told us what the farm’s approximate weekly consumption was. By taking inventory of the feed that was left in the garage, we were able to determine that the birds had not been fed in at least 10 days.

Inside the house awaited another horror. Incubators, still operating, contained dead babies that had hatched but were never fed. Aquarium brooders that were lined up against the wall all had one or two dead baby blue-and-gold macaws. All had starved to death, sitting on clean bedding, while waiting for their next meal. An open bucket of handfeeding formula was on the kitchen counter with a bowl and spoon next to it. It appeared as if someone had changed the bedding in the brooders and was ready to mix up some formula when he or she was interrupted. With our assistance, Dr. Clubb was able to tube-feed those that were too weak to eat or drink. One died in Bob Johnson’s hands while it was waiting to be tube fed. Another 60 birds that were too far gone died the following day. In all, there were only 335 birds left alive from the flock of almost 1,000. The following morning, the birds were taken to the Palm Beach Animal Control facility. Food donations, as well as volunteer labor from all the local bird clubs and organizations, began pouring in. When Lall’s family from Guyana tried to claim the birds as family property, they were presented with a bill for $130,000. The majority of this bill was Animal Control’s standard charge of $10 per animal per day for the care of confiscated animals. Ten dollars per day multiplied by 335 birds adds up very quickly. As the Lalls fought to regain the birds at a more reasonable price, the bill rose to approximately $180,000. On August 22, a judge ordered that the birds be auctioned off individually to the general public in order to raise the most money. Exactly what happened to Moses and Lila is still officially a mystery. Those who knew them said that they truly loved their birds and would never have deserted them. Moses and Lila are now considered dead. The murder investigation cannot proceed any further until their bodies are found. There were also two other people staying at the farm that were originally considered missing. They were Daljeet “Harry” Gobin, a fellow Guyanese, and Felix Eyuom, a reptile dealer from Africa. Harry Gobin is being sought for questioning.

The purpose of this article is not to try to solve an unsolved crime. It is to make everyone aware that such things can and do happen. Although this situation may be unique due to its magnitude, it is not unheard of on a smaller scale. It is not uncommon to read about animals dying from lack of care due to the undiscovered death or incapacitation of those responsible for their care.

What You Can Do

To prevent such a calamity from happening again, each and every one of you should have a plan. This plan should ensure that, should anything happen to you, it will be discovered without delay and your animals will be cared for. This can be as simple as a regularly expected phone call to a friend, a relative or someone’s answering machine. A simple statement like “I’m okay” is all that is necessary. The receiver of the regular call must be ready to notify someone who has been given written authority by you to break into your house and aviaries to care for your birds if you cannot be located. It must also be specifically stated, in a notarized document, who will hold and care for your birds until your whereabouts are discovered, or until your estate is settled. Your birds must never be allowed to be considered legally abandoned.

Lall’s birds were considered abandoned. They suffered the ultimate fate of being sold to the highest bidder without regard to the bidder’s expertise. Two thousand people converged at the auction on September 10th. Most were there to buy a cheap bird for their kids. Most bought bronco wild breeder macaws with the intention of turning them into pets.

Luckily, due to some generous monetary donations, the Johnsons were able to purchase the birds that were blind or crippled. These were purchased to be retired to the parrot sanctuary that they maintain.

All the birds were sold in small temporary holding cages with no doors and with two tiny metal cups. The idea behind no doors was to keep the public from opening the cages at the auction site after the purchase. It was explained to the buyers that the birds should be transferred to suitable housing after they were removed. Unfortunately, two weeks later buyers were still showing up at local vets with their purchases still in the temporary cages with no doors and nothing but the two tiny cups for food and water. As time went on, a large percentage of the birds were diagnosed with papilloma infections.

All proceeds from the publication of this article will go to support the parrot sanctuary run by the Johnsons. Private donations are also appreciated. Their address is Life Awareness Bird Sanctuary, P.O. Box 641032, Miami, FL 33164.

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