make sure to cleanse your pipe periodically, especially after smoking w large groups of acquaintances or people with clashing vibes
Name your piece and take care of it, bond with it, and it’ll treat you well.
Charge the salt or rubbing alcohol you use when you clean your pipe. Throw in a couple sprinkles of herbs or essential oils to fit your purposes
Leave your piece sitting out at night and charge it under the full moon, or maybe put a crystal in the bowl overnight, or charge it using gem water
Consider having a personal pipe if you have the money for one, !!especially!! If you use weed as a part of your craft.
Instead of using incense to symbolize air, use a joint.
Use moon water in your bong. Cackle ominously and whisper “bubble bubble toil and trouble” for extra effect. Depending on if/which deities you worship, that might be disrespectful. Charged crystal water is unproblematic as far as I know, but be sure the crystal isn’t going to leave poisonous particles in the water.
Carve sigils into apple pipes. Smoke next to a tree or flowers and have a bonding smoke sesh. Apple pipes are a nice to leave as an offering to a tree or plant you’re trying to bond with, but make sure to ask first to see if the plant is comfortable with that. It could be seen as a sharing of resources and nourishment after a sesh, or a major disrespect ((bc u did just burn another plant for your enjoyment)) bury it near the roots or leave it out for the animals.
be careful with that tho bc the apple will have your magical signature on it.
Enchant your weed using the strain as a guideline if you have that information
Enchant your grinder to purify and filter out your weed, and remember to cleanse it every so often
CertifiedWizard’s Acute Assortment of Attunable Artifacts
Grandma’s Cookie Jar (wondrous item) (requires attunement)
This old and chipped jar has the word ‘cookies’ carved into into its weathered side. Every morning, a fresh batch of cookies fill the brim of this jar, and when eaten, reminds you of home.
This magical focus requires you to bake a batch of cookies and fill it before you are attuned. Once attuned, the jar gives you a +1 bonus to wisdom (insight) checks. This magical focus has an effect on several spells.
Charm Person: When the user of the cookie jar casts this spell, they can instead choose to make the spell at touch range, and offer the target a cookie. On a failed save, the target takes a cookie and sits down to eat it. If the target remains undisturbed for the duration of the spell, at the end it falls into a natural sleep for 1 hour.
Goodberry: When cast, a dozen oatmeal cinnamon cookies appear in the jar. Each cookie restores 1 hit point and gives the user advantage on checks against fear effects for 1 minute.
Purify Food and Drink: When casting this spell, roll a d20. On a 15 or higher, this spell doesn’t consume a spell slot.
Smoking Pipe of Snoop the Dog(spellcasting focus) (attunement optional)
This pipe is carved from the root of an old and gnarled tree, and the fresh green leaves budding from it imply the root is still alive. You can feel relaxed just from the fresh smell emanating from it.
This magical focus can be attuned by anyone, but only druids gain access to its’ hidden secrets. When a druid attunes to this item, certain spells are altered and enhanced.
-Thorn whip and shillelagh: cantrips do fire damage
-Fog cloud: can be cast as a bonus action.
-Goodberry: instead of making berries, makes 10 servings of a smokable herb. If a serving of this ‘Goodherb’ is smoked during a long or short rest, the user gains your spellcasting modifier as temporary health. This temporary health lasts for an hour.
-Flame blade: light is gone, and replaced with a haze of smoke, making you and everyone within 10 feet lightly obscured.
Guirelli’s Tokens of the Elements (Spellcasting focus) (requires attunement by a caster)
This token, fashioned into a medallion, features an elemental on one side and a evocation rune on the other. Tokens of all spell damage types exist, but force is by far the rarest.
Elemental Equity: This magical item can be used whenever you cast a damage-dealing spell of the corresponding type. After rolling for damage, you can flip a coin. On a heads, the spell deals max damage, on a tails, the spell deals the average damage. After using this coin it loses this ability until the next day at noon.
Dead Man’s Blade (sentient weapon) (attunable)
This old and worn weapon can be anything. a Dead Man’s Blade was a weapon wielded by a warrior so focused and willful, even dying in combat cannot stop them. The weapon is magical, and can have any magical bonus from +0 to +3. This weapon is sentient, but cannot communicate. The weapon exercises its’ will by assisting in combat, or by revoking its magical benefits. When the weapon approves of the actions of the wielder, it can perform a special action once per combat. When the weapon is neutral to your actions, it is merely a magical weapon. When the weapon disapproves of your actions, it is a normal weapon. The feats and stats for the weapon depend on the type of warrior who wielded it.
Class of the Weapon
Stats of the Weapon
int 12 wis 12 cha 14
minor rage: for 3 rounds, after you make a weapon attack, you have resistance to bludgeoning, slashing, and piercing damage until your next turn
int 16 wis 16 cha 18
minor inspiration: you gain an inspiration die that is a d4. you can apply it to a skill check or an attack roll.
int 14 wis 18 cha 16
minor blessing: you can heal an ally you can touch for 1d4
int 16 wis 18 cha 14
minor beast: a CR 0 beast attacks an enemy you can see. they must make a wisdom save of 10 or they are distracted and ignore you for a round to fend off the attack.
int 14 wis 15 cha 14
minor strike: as a bonus action after a normal weapon attack, make a strike with the handle of the weapon for 1d4 damage
int 14 wis 17 cha 14
minor tumble: when an attack misses you, as a reaction you can tumble to a space 5 feet from you. Does not provoke attack of opportunity.
int 14 wis 16 cha 16
minor smite: after a successful weapon attack, add 1d4 damage to the attack. add twice the damage if the target is undead.
int 14 wis 16 cha 14
minor bleed: on a successful weapon hit, deals 1d4 damage the next round. advantage to track enemies that have bled.
int 16 wis 14 cha 16
minor sneak attack: deal an extra 1d4 when attacking with advantage.
int 16 wis 14 cha 18
minor mana leak: when hit with a spell by a creature in range, deal 1d4 damage back to them
int 14 wis 14 cha 20
minor soul cut: make a ranged spell attack with the weapon (range 20/30). deals the weapon damage amount and type.
int 18 wis 16 cha 14
minor arcane blast: when attacking, casts a random combat cantrip at a nearby enemy.
Wooden pipe I carved. STONED clipper lighter. 5 grams weed. 2 ¾ xanax bars (2mg standard). 10mg evekeo (kind of like 10mg Ritalin). Half of a 10/325 Vicodin. And the seeds on top of the metal tin are opium poppy seeds.
How to make a weed pipe with literally zero preparation or planning
So, I hesitate to call this a “tutorial,” as yesterday I made the totally spur-of-the-moment decision to make my first pipe (with no actual materials on hand for said pipe construction), and I have no idea if this is actually a good way to do it. BUT it’s how I did it, and it turned out pretty well, so here goes, if any of you are interested in making a wooden pipe with random stuff in your kitchen.
Step 1: Grab a dowel. I had one left over from building some shelves, but if you don’t, dowels are at hardware stores, and also often big box stores like WalMart, Meijer, etc. Cut off a segment that’s a little less than twice the length of your drill bit (you can trim the length down later if you need to, but it’s good to start large.)
Step 2: select a bit the same size as your current pipe’s draw-hole and drill a hole into either end of the dowel. One end’s for your mouth, the other’s going to be your carb. It’s possible to free-hand this, but it helps to have a drill press to ensure that your holes meet in the middle. If you don’t have a drill press, consider making a smaller pipe, where you only have to drill in from one end (and then you can put the carb on the side).
Step 3: Drill a small hole in the side of the dowel until you intersect the first hole, and then pick a drillbit that’s somewhat smaller than your pipe screens. Use it to drill a somewhat bigger, shallow hole on top of the previous one. This is where the weed goes, guys.
Step 4: Shape it roughly to where you want it. I used a combination of belt-sanding and disk-sanding, but you can also carve and whittle it with a knife (or depending on the design you want, use a band saw, or a dremel, or a router, whatever, I’m not your mom.)
Step 5: If you *do* have a belt- or disk-sander, now’s a good time to slam that puppy down and give it a flat bottom. What’s the point of making your own pipe if it’s going to roll away and spill your weed? Nah son, you make that thing a sitter like the weed gods intended.
Step 6: Polish it up. Fine sandpaper, sanding foam, steel wool, yadda yadda. Don’t worry about getting it snorting-coke-off-a-Steinway-piano-smooth, ‘cause you’re about to fuck it up with the staining, but get it pretty smooth. Like, popsicle-stick smooth or a teensy bit smoother is good. Also use a variety of drill bit sizes to give your bowl some tapered shape (or if you have a conical grinder bit, use that.)
Step 7: Pop a screen in there and use a pipe cleaner to get out any sawdust (and more importantly, steel wool dust. You don’t wanna breathe that stuff in.) Try to ignore the fact that your pipe now looks like a really weird tampon. Or I dunno, embrace it, I’m not into period-shaming.
Step 8: Put your weed in it! Make your old pipes jealous! Smoke it down and make sure it draws right and everything works as it should!
Step 9: Assuming everything works as it should, it’s time to stain it. Now, you can use a polyurethane stain or what have you, but I’m breathing out of this thing while I hold fire against it, so I wanted something less toxic. Fortunately, I had a bottle of cheap shiraz and an old TV dinner tray on hand. (I should have popped out the screen at this point, but I didn’t.)
Step 10: Unfortunately, the shiraz didn’t absorb very readily when the pipe soaked in it at room temperature, so I put it on the stove and boiled it for a bit, causing it to absorb much more wine (and a wine much more concentrated in tannins and color, because the water and alcohol had partially evaporated while it was boiling.)
Step 11: After letting the pipe dry overnight and putting it in the microwave for a few minutes, the resulting wood was a nice, dark, rich purple (remember if you use the microwave to take out your pipe screen if you haven’t already.) Now of course, the wood fibers will have expanded while soaking, and it will no longer be smooth, but somewhat abraded-looking, as you can see below.
Step 12: So then I re-sanded it with steel wool, getting it back to a glossy smoothness. Now, this sanding of course lightened the purple shade, but that’s why it’s important to boil the wood at length rather than just dip it in cold wine–you want those tannins to seep in there really deeply. Again, clean the pipe thoroughly afterward to get rid of steel wool leavings. Lastly, after sanding, I dabbed and rubbed coconut oil into the wood with my finger–it gives it a shiny, even coat, but, again, without resorting to polyurethane or similar volatile chemicals. Nice, huh?
Warning for 2Doc one-shot under the cut! (more 2Doc than the last one)
Warnings: well, 2Doc, cursing, references to alcoholism, I personally feel like anything pre-phase 3 has a bit of an eerie feeling considering we know what ends up happening so warning for that, 2D being awkward.
Summary: Takes place during their stay in Jamaica following the completion of the first album. When Stu hears Murdoc leave his room in the middle of the night he goes looking for him. When he finally tracks him down, the two share a moment of sorts.
@ma-sulevin also made this request, but I might do another one for Krem and El…?????? But if I end up not doing it, I figured I’d tag you here too XD
The Inquisitor closed her bedroom door behind her with a sigh and leaned back against it, tilting her head back against the cool, smooth wood. She had assumed, or hoped, that with Corypheus defeated and things settled with Divine Victoria, things would become easier. Especially when considering that her fighting days were long behind her. Yet it seemed she was busier than ever. In place of endless campaigns across Thedas, she was subjected to a truly endless amount of paperwork, audiences, and meetings. She’d had to affix her name to so many papers, it hadn’t taken her much more than a few months to learn to write with her off hand.
She pushed away from the door and made her weary way upstairs, massaging the remnant of her left arm. It ached sometimes, even now. Some days she awoke and tried to brush her hair out of her face, or scratch an itch, only to relive the horror of discovering her arm missing.
When she reached the top of the stairs, she stopped, frozen in place. The balcony doors were open wide to the night, gauzy curtains blowing gently in the chill breeze. A muttering black crow with a queer little vest of green leather was pacing on her desk next to a package wrapped in simple brown paper.
She was across the room in a few quick steps, opening the little pouch in the crow’s tiny vest with a bit of a struggle, her fingers shaking. There was a scrap of parchment folded over and sealed with a blot of green wax and no signature. She cracked the seal and her eyes devoured the sparse words scrawled in a crisp, educated, yet hurried hand. The writing was mostly in Elvhen, and it took a moment to decipher the flowery, half-familiar language, but when she did, a smile broke across her face even as tears fell from her eyes.
He was careful never to reveal his location. Even though there were few people in Thedas who knew as much Elvhen as they did, it was never entirely safe to assume their letters couldn’t be read. Somehow, he managed to make the same old longing endearments seem fresh and new with every letter. Each page smelled of him, pine and cedar and the slight medicinal tang of elfroot. She kept them all bundled together and hidden away beneath a loose stone in the hearth. Foolish, perhaps, but she couldn’t bring herself to burn their only correspondence.
She turned her attention to the modest package and peeled the crinkling paper away as best she could. Inside the box, nestled in a protective layer of cotton and soft fabric was a beautifully carved wooden pipe with a long, curving stem. The bowl was painted with a complex, minute pattern of ivy and prancing halla, and beside it was a matching wooden box of dried elfroot. A note perched on top of it read: ‘To soothe your pain, whatever may ail you’.
She laughed, marveling over the lovely gifts. The crow squawked at her with a little hop of impatience, and the Inquisitor hurried to pen her response, filling her new pipe and lighting it before reaching for her quill.
A flicker of glowing orange mixes with dancing shadows in the corners of Watson’s eyes, wise and loving as they admire Holmes. The doctor sits, adjacent, unwound, untucked. The hairs on his lips twitch in a small smile as he brings the crystal patterned glass to his mouth. Lightly sipping amber drink from it, he hums, content. Holmes thinks he looks so beautiful with his waistcoats open, jacket jettisoned on the wooden rack in the foyer. He’s handsome as ever when his slicked hair falling down his brow from strong, determined fingers pulling silver-blond strands loose. Holmes has never seen anything, from the stars to the earth, as magnificent as his Watson.
Holmes reclines in his own chair, black leather against the lovely cream of his attire. He, too, is untucked and free, one loose curl unslicked from his smooth style and teasing at the tips of his strong, quizzical brow. One large hand holds a carved wooden pipe to his lips, streaks of red mahogany catching the flame’s color. He closes his soft lips around the bit, inhaling smoke deep into his lungs as similar silver clouds rise out of the flat’s chimney. He holds the smoke, warm in his chest, and closes his eyes, sinking deeper into his chair and exhaling a hazy puff with a low grumble. He can hear Watson chuckle at his obvious ease from across the way, licking the last dabs of whiskey off his reddened lips. Holmes knows how Watson’s eyes go when he watches him, and they match it now. It’s a funny look, one that he’ll never tire of, not after all their days expire.
It’s quiet in their sitting room, save for the crackling fire and the sips of pipe and whiskey. Curls of smoke rise above the mantelpiece and hang in a low mist. The color of the fireplace casts upon it warmly, leaving the room glowing with a faint pink-orange hue.
They often sit like this, the detective and his doctor, after a case, after a chase. It’s their private moment, their time alone, slow and calm and soft.
Holmes casts his eyes on Watson after a steady moment of silence. Watson looks back at him, fingers tapping against the glass delicately. He’s the only one who sees the Great Sherlock Holmes like this, mellowed and undressed, smoking heavily and lounging. The only one who knows his true happiness.
“John,” he says then, as if to remind him.
Watson turns his face towards the fire, column of his neck exposed by his untucked collar. There’s a peek of clavicle between two white halves. He sighs deeply, closing his eyes as it turns to a grumble. “God,” he breathes. “How wasted I am when you say my name.”
Holmes smiles, a small twitch at the corner of his mouth, elegant fingers pulling the equally elegant wooden pipe from his lips only to say it again, rolling off his tongue, teasing. “John.”
Watson then makes a sound that he reserves for them, deep in the dark when the city sleeps. It’s a sound Sherlock can’t often elicit, due their world’s watchful eyes, but when he does, he stores it away like a golden trinket meant only for him, only for them. It comes now, in the quiet of their flat, trailing along the smoky firelight.
His doctor opens his eyes to watch the flames, chest rising with a heavy breath. “…Sherlock.”
Then, in one smooth movement, Holmes crosses the space between their chairs and presses between Watson’s spread knees, kneeling before him. “John,” he says again. Watson looks down at him, at his vulnerable, pleading face, and glances to the one hand holding his pipe. The other touches the arm of his chair, mere inches from his thigh.
Holmes looks as if he wants to crawl into John, or have John crawl into him, and Watson’s chest is tight from wanting the same. Holmes presses up towards Watson’s lips, but moves to dust a breath over the shell of his ear.
“The curtains,” Watson says, hands abandoning the whiskey to find Holmes’ shoulders instead.
“Closed,” Holmes breathes into his neck. It’s a smoky breath, deep husks of smoke forgotten in Holmes’ lungs heating a damp spot on Watson’s neck.
“Truly?” Watson grips the bone and flesh beneath his fingers fiercely. It grounds him from the heavenly sensation coursing through his every nerve, Holmes at his jaw, pressing tender kisses beneath it.
“Yes, yes.” Holmes kisses a trail across Watson’s neck.
“Then touch me.”
At Watson’s command, Holmes’ pipe falls to the carpet, dark ash spilling against the golden pattern. His hands come to Watson’s thighs, touching him like he dreams to at day. He wishes to reach out and touch, anywhere, everywhere: on the town, at the close of a case. Anything to reassure his Boswell that he loves him just as intimately then as he does now.
Watson presses in as Holmes presses up, and the kiss lands so full and perfect that the haze of the sitting room swirls into their heads. Watson is bristly against Holmes’ smooth lip, but Holmes loves it, just as he loves the way it leaves a raw, red mark at the base of his tailbone.
Perhaps that will happen again tonight, they think, mouths moving in slow and purposeful kisses. Perhaps they’ll have another moment alone, to progress beyond small hand touches at breakfast and fond gazes across a sitting room.
The curtains are closed, the night is still, and Holmes’ bedroom is, as they well know, just down the hall.
Thing commonly found on my person; beyond my wallet and keys. (III)
Dixie Ingram pocket watch and chain with Celtic cross. Colt Detective Special, in .38 Special, Gideon’s New Testament, Speed loader, Antique hand carved match vesta. Savinelli pipe, picture of Jesus, and Captain Kelly’s pipe tool.
“He had a tall tankard in front of him, and was smoking a long-stemmed pipe curiously carved. His legs were stretched out before him, showing high boots of supple leather that fitted him well, but had seen much wear and were now caked with mud. A travel-stained cloak of heavy dark-green cloth was drawn close about him, and in spite of the heat of the room he wore a hood that overshadowed his face; but the gleam of his eyes could be seen as he watched the hobbits.”
He had a tall tankard in front of him, and was smoking a long-stemmed pipe curiously carved. His legs were stretched out before him, showing high boots of supple leather that fitted him well, but had seen much wear and were now caked with mud. A travel stained cloak of heavy dark-green cloth was drawn close about him, and in spite of the heat of the room he wore a hood that overshadowed his face; but the gleam of his eyes could be seen as he watched the hobbits.
Nowhere reclines on the roof of her tavern, watching the stars move across the sky. In one hand she holds a pipe carved to look like a dragon’s claw curled around the bowl, fragrant tobacco smoke exhales from her nostrils and she watches the city below her come to life in the night, the music from the outer patio drifting to her ears. A beautiful night in this new city… But a lonely one.