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botanyshitposts · 2 years

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I'm crazy sad. Like, had to pull over sad... just heard on the radio that the seed repository in Ukraine has been destroyed in a round of shelling.

Would you consider talking about seed repositories and the tragic losses we face when one is damaged? (Submitted by @sfiddy)

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Oh, yeah. this is one that always comes to mind for me when war happens, but i kind of avoid talking about it because it seems so secondhand when compared to the human suffering of war. like, i doubt the people fleeing ukraine are super concerned about the seeds in their city. but still, it's vitally important.

the purpose of seed banks, public or private, is to act as a repository for genetic diversity. for those not acquainted at all, a seed bank is a place where scientists/researchers/horticulturalists/etc put collections of seeds in a freezer and care for them with the intention of keeping them alive in dormancy for as long as possible. it's important (to me at least) to note the purpose of seed vaults, because there are several: the biggest one, which attracts the most funding and public support, is the preservation of crops and crop diversity, from large brands to small local varieties to heirloom stuff. the secondary one is the preservation of biodiversity: the protection of seeds that are on the brink of becoming extinct (important note here: not all seeds can be stored in a bank. many orchid seeds, for instance, are called 'recalcitrant seeds', meaning that they can't really be stored conventionally in a freezer for long before they die, just because of how the seed is built. figuring out how to store these seeds is a whole other Deal).

for the purposes of this, i'm gonna focus on the crop section of things. a good example is, ironically, the introduction of 'turkey red winter wheat', a kind of cold-tolerant, drought-tolerant, high-yielding wheat brought over to the US by ukrainian immigrants in 1874. the immigrants were mennonites who were opposed to military service on the basis of their religion, but the russian empire where they lived had lost a war, and the new occupants of the area planned to force them to serve. they left for the american great plains-- for those unacquainted, a notoriously difficult to farm area of the US, known for the dry climate, the dust bowl, and various crises around water that have kind of plagued the area for over a hundred years now. in addition to their seeds, the immigrants also brought over knowledge about how to farm extremely dry environments. as it turns out, the american west wasn't so different from their local area of ukraine in terms of the crops it could grow, and turkey red wheat was the first kind of wheat that could really be grown in the american west with any kind of success. for a while after it was a go-to variety, even when all the american-bred crops failed there. this was pre-modern breeding, too-- heirloom seeds. even after more hardy wheat reached the west, breeders still bred turkey red into new varieties. you can still find it today, although it isn't nearly as prevalent as it used to be.

let's say that the ukrainian seed bank destroyed in the war had a variety of local crops (which...it most likely did), and that a number of those were uniquely suited to dry, cold environments. if something happened, and the crops currently being grown in the american west failed, be it due to the water in the watershed running out, climate change, or disease targeting the most popular brand of crop that season, breeders could go to the seed bank-- where workers would have been monitoring the seeds for years, growing them out and producing new seed to replace the old when needed-- and would have 'new' diverse genetic material to breed into more well-adapted crops. climate change is huge for this, too. we need crops that are hardier, more accustomed to extreme environments, resistant to new diseases, pests, and conditions, etc. and this is without considering the soul-crushing part of it: that these seeds, which were probably grown in the same family or community for generations, having been tailor-made years before for a certain set of circumstances before finding their way in part to the seed bank as farmers moved to more modern commercial seed, could just be ended. like, they could just go extinct, and then it's gone forever.

(side note: this is such a loving, meticulous, careful part of humanity that even if they couldn't be bred into new crops, i still think they would be worth saving. it reminds me of the corn grown by mexican peoples pre-colonization, where many different areas, having successfully created corn from grass after 9,000 years of intense breeding, had their own specific, specially-bred variety of maize, not only to suit their needs but to have as a part of their identity and culture. these are still grown today, and you can find some of them-- as well as maize varieties from many other native peoples, the long shadow of colonization aside-- in seed banks!)

a finishing note: thinking about this kind of thing always makes me wonder if this would be a cause worth dying for in a life or death situation. i know that sounds weird to the point where out of context it sounds glib and tasteless, but... it has happened before.

the leningrad seed bank was the largest in the world at it's time (in 1941), with about a quarter of a million different kinds of seeds stored inside. during the siege of leningrad in world war two, soviet botanist nikoli vavilov and his team of seed researchers protected the seeds for the entire 3 year siege, literally taking shifts guarding them. they refused to eat any of it, even as the nazis had cut off food supplies. nine of them died from starvation. i don't know what i would do in that situation and honestly my advice to any person not myself dying of starvation in a seed bank would be to eat the fucking seeds because human lives come first, but vavilov and his team obviously thought differently. the seeds from the collection eventually fell into SS hands and ended up at the nazi seed bank, the SS institute for plant genetics (???? you would think they would be against that kind of thing given the egregious eugenics????)... but i can't help but wonder if any of them still survive, either in herbarium form (where the seeds would be dead, but kept for reference or scientific study) or as a living line grown out every so often for fresh seed.

But yeah, there you go. the good news is that seed banks often share seeds between each other, meaning that i have no doubt that at least some of the seeds in that seed bank were survived by other banks around the world.... and, the best news: newer reports say that they only destroyed the seeds that were above ground about to be planted, not the seeds that are still being stored in an underground bunker forming the majority of the collection. apparently this same seed bank has survived world war two... i kind of wonder if some of vavilov's stuff was (or is) there.

#submissions #seed banks #seedposting #kind of a somber one lads.... sorry #ukraine #nazi mention /

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pradame · 7 months

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Toast many ways 🍞 🥑 🍳

Smashed avocado, pesto, parmesan cheese, over easy egg

Sliced avocado, red pepper flakes, agave

Smashed avocado, scrambled eggs, grilled cherry tomatoes, cilantro, green onions

Sliced avocado, tomato, balsamic glaze, basil

Smashed Avocado, honey sriracha, red pepper flakes & ground pepper

Smashed avocado, grilled onion, poached egg, red pepper flakes, ground pepper & cilantro

Smashed avocado, cucumber, cherry tomatoes, lemon juice & ground pepper

Smashed avocado, sliced tomatoes, balsamic glaze, feta cheese

Sliced avocado, grated hard boiled egg, sriracha, ground pepper

Sourdough, cream cheese, heirloom tomatoes, ground pepper, basil, lemon juice

Smashed avocado, sliced purple onion, yellow tomatoes, red pepper flakes, ground pepper, hot sauce

Cream cheese, avocado, turkey bacon, red pepper flakes & agave

Hash brown, smashed avo, tomato, egg, everything but the bagel seasoning, hot sauce

Raspberry jelly & brie

Peanut butter, bananas, chia seeds, cinnamon, agave

my choice of bread: sourdough but you can use what you desire

#recipe

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bottlehawk · 1 year

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dave strider using the alchimeter while trying to make apple juice and discovering other "kiddy" cul de sac lifestyle mommy blog snacks like string cheese. fruit bars. those gerbers cereal puffs. gogurt. applesauce pouches. annie's crackers. veggie chips. dried plantains. literally just baby carrots in a little baggie. rose turns up her nose at them after being forced to eat heirloom pumpkin seeds and probiotic yogurt drinks instead of doritos and red bull her whole life. but dave goes wild for that shit. once they start being able to alchemize Actual food as well he starts hoarding ten different types of hummus in the fridge and makes smoothies with bananas and acai and agave nectar and greek yogurt. he forces everyone to eat "fruit pizza" when it's his turn to cook and it's some horrendous shit with like strawberries and blueberries and cucumbers on top of a tortilla with cream cheese. he keeps edamame captchalogued in his sylladex and gives them to people to calm them down. which he needs after rose comes down for dinner with a hangover and is faced with a "lettuce wrap" with spinach, turkey bacon, avocado, bell peppers, and walnuts. for the fifth time in a row.

#homestuck #dave strider #rose lalonde #alcoholism #child abuse #child neglect #bottlehawk text #he is reliving the pampered suburban childhood he never got to have #his wanting to eat healthy + minimal knowledge of cooking = mommy blog recipes #rose eats a sloppy joe on the roof when dave gets the whole meteor on a collective lean meat diet

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alaezasmystery235 · 1 year

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rules, disclaimer and notes ☆

[ Disclaimer ] : this reading was made for entertainment purposes only. this is obviously a general reading so takes what resonates and leave when it doesn't, you don't need to force your energy to read this and leave such a bad comment just to say it doesn't resonates with you at all because the answer is very obvious!

lastly, be happy and enjoy reading my works — feedbacks, comments, likes, reblogs and follows are really appreciated by the reader. (that's me, lol :3)

[ source and creditable ] : All of the pictures are collected and downloaded from 'pinterest' i don't own any of them but credits goes to the rightful owners however edits goes and belong to me only @alaezasmystery . I use the editor tools canva and kapwing for the header and divider.

Extra credit to @daninixx for giving permission to use her rules and disclaimer.

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ＰＩＬＥ 1

LOVES LOVES LOVES Coffee

Has long hair , straight and soft

Winter is prominent , May have their birthday or it's their fav season . Also loves Christmas !!

Height is between 5'10 - 6'1

Plays guitar or takes singing lessons

Work related to healing , crafting or humanity

Has an outgoing personality. But doesn't indulge in social functions often

May have a brother or sibling whom they trusts the most

Loves beaches and spends time in solitude

Smells good and has a clean cut , Muscular fit .

Their spirit animal can be Bear and Spider

Very very good at sex .

Green Blue eyes . Specs are coming for some .

Has won some medals or prizes on sports such as swimming , yoga or HITs .

Loves savory foods and often dines at fine restaurants

May keep charms or souvenirs for luck . I'm getting some kind of family heirloom

Aesthetic Vibes :- Softcore & 90s

Their handwriting can be small in font and slanting .

Places I got = Turkey , Israel , Japan

Zodiac signs = Taurus , Sagittarius , Aries

ＰＩＬＥ 2

Quite different from your usual types

Has a big friend circle / Friendly & Outgoing

Loves astronomy . Possibility of being a starseed.

Full of surprises and enjoy life to the fullest

virgin and have a high sex drive

Height can be between 5 '7 - 5' 8

Fashionista . Loves mainly caps and bracelets

Divine Connection . Has witchy vibes .

Loves animals and wants a pet

Curly short healthy hair . Black and Red are prominent .

Graduated . Has some kind of major . OR just finished college

Not too old & young . Age between 22- 27 .

Loves Cars and bikes in colours blue / White .

Aesthetic vibes :- Dark Academia & Glam

Always on the GO !!! Doesn't like lazy people .

Has some mommy issues .

Intimidating , Majesty and model vibes

Loves to compose either books or music

Very pretty hands and nails

Places I got = USA , Florida , Brazil , Northampton

Zodiac signs = Leo , Scorpio , Aquarius , Pisces

©️ @alaezasmystery 2023

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#pick a pile #pick a card #pick a photo #pick a pile reading #pick a card reading #future spouse #future partner #soulmate #channeled message #aesthetic pictures #free tarot reading #tarot reading #tarot readings #tarot community #intuitive #love #alaezasmystery

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azure-cherie · 2 years

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Sylvia Plath for each zodiac

Aries

Burning the Letters

I made a fire; being tired Of the white fists of old Letters and their death rattle When I came too close to the wastebasket. What did they know that I didn’t ? Grain by grain, they unrolled Sands where a dream of clear water Grinned like a getaway car. I am not subtle Love, love, and well, I was tired Of cardboard cartons the color of cement or a dog pack Holding in its hate Dully, under a pack of men in red jackets, And the eyes and times of the postmarks. This fire may lick and fawn, but it is merciless: A glass case My fingers would enter although They melt and sag, they are told Do not touch. And here is an end to the writing, The spry hooks that bend and cringe, and the smiles, the smiles. And at least it will be a good place now, the attic. At least I won’t be strung just under the surface, Dumb fish With one tin eye, Watching for glints, Riding my Arctic Between this wish and that wish.

This fire may lick and fawn, but it is merciless: A glass case My fingers would enter although They melt and sag, they are told Do not touch. And here is an end to the writing, The spry hooks that bend and cringe, and the smiles, the smiles. And at least it will be a good place now, the attic. At least I won’t be strung just under the surface, Dumb fish With one tin eye, Watching for glints, Riding my Arctic Between this wish and that wish.

So I poke at the carbon birds in my housedress. They are more beautiful than my bodiless owl, They console me — Rising and flying, but blinded. They would flutter off, black and glittering, they would be coal angels Only they have nothing to say to anybody. I have seen to that. With the butt of a rake I flake up papers that breathe like people, I fan them out Between the yellow lettuces and the German cabbage Involved in its weird blue dreams, Involved as a foetus. And a name with black edges.

Wilts at my foot, Sinuous orchis In a nest of root-hairs and boredom — Pale eyes, patent-leather gutturals! Warm rain greases my hair, extinguishes nothing. My veins glow like trees. The dogs are tearing a fox. This is what it is like — A red burst and a cry That splits from its ripped bag and does not stop With the dead eye And the stuffed expression, but goes on Dyeing the air, Telling the particles of the clouds, the leaves, the water What immortality is. That it is immortal.

Taurus

Rhyme

I’ve got a stubborn goose whose gut’s Honeycombed with golden eggs, Yet won’t lay one. She, addled in her goose-wit, struts The barnyard like those taloned hags Who ogle men

And crimp their wrinkles in a grin, Jangling their great money bags. While I eat grits She fattens on the finest grain. Now, as I hone my knife, she begs Pardon, and that’s

So humbly done, I’d turn this keen Steel on myself before profit By such a rogue’s Act, but—how those feathers shine!Exit from a smoking slit Her ruby dregs.

Gemini

Two Views of a Cadaver Room

(1)

The day she visited the dissecting room They had four men laid out, black as burnt turkey, Already half unstrung. A vinegary fume Of the death vats clung to them; The white-smocked boys started working. The head of his cadaver had caved in, And she could scarcely make out anything In that rubble of skull plates and old leather. A sallow piece of string held it together.

In their jars the snail-nosed babies moon and glow. He hands her the cut-out heart like a cracked heirloom.

(2)

In Brueghel’s panorama of smoke and slaughter Two people only are blind to the carrion army: He, afloat in the sea of her blue satin Skirts, sings in the direction Of her bare shoulder, while she bends, Fingering a leaflet of music, over him, Both of them deaf to the fiddle in the hands Of the death’s-head shadowing their song. These Flemish lovers flourish; not for long.

Yet desolation, stalled in paint, spares the little country Foolish, delicate, in the lower right hand corner.

Cancer

The Everlasting Monday

Thou shalt have an everlasting Monday and stand in the moon.

The moon’s man stands in his shell, Bent under a bundle Of sticks. The light falls chalk and cold Upon our bedspread. His teeth are chattering among the leprous Peaks and craters of those extinct volcanoes.

He also against black frost Would pick sticks, would not rest Until his own lit room outshone Sunday’s ghost of sun; Now works his hell of Mondays in the moon’s ball, Fireless, seven chill seas chained to his ankle.

Leo

By Candlelight

This is winter, this is night, small love— A sort of black horsehair, A rough, dumb country stuff Steeled with the sheen Of what green stars can make it to our gate. I hold you on my arm. It is very late. The dull bells tongue the hour. The mirror floats us at one candle power.

This is the fluid in which we meet each other, This haloey radiance that seems to breathe And lets our shadows wither Only to blow Them huge again, violent giants on the wall. One match scratch makes you real. At first the candle will not bloom at all — It snuffs its bud To almost nothing, to a dull blue dud.

I hold my breath until you creak to life, Balled hedgehog, Small and cross. The yellow knife Grows tall. You clutch your bars. My singing makes you roar. I rock you like a boat Across the Indian carpet, the cold floor, While the brass man Kneels, back bent, as best he can

Hefting his white pillar with the light That keeps the sky at bay, The sack of black! It is everywhere, tight, tight! He is yours, the little brassy Atlas — Poor heirloom, all you have, At his heels a pile of five brass cannonballs, No child, no wife. Five balls! Five bright brass balls! To juggle with, my love, when the sky falls.

Virgo

Virgin in a tree

How this tart fable instructsAnd mocks! Here's the parody of that moral mousetrapSet in the proverbs stitched on samplersApproving chased girls who get them to a treeAnd put on bark's nun-black

Habit which deflects All amorous arrows. For to sheathe the virgin shapeIn a scabbard of wood baffles pursuers,Whether goat-thighed or god-haloed. Ever since that first DaphneSwitched her incomparable back

For a bay-tree hide, respect'sTwined to her hard limbs like ivy: the puritan lipCries: 'Celebrate Syrinx whose demursWon her the frog-colored skin, pale pith and wateryBed of a reed. Look:

Pine-needle armor protectsPitys from Pan's assault! And though age drop Their leafy crowns, their fame soars,Eclipsing Eva, Cleo and Helen of Troy:For which of those would speak

For a fashion that constrictsWhite bodies in a wooden girdle, root to topUnfaced, unformed, the nipple-flowersShrouded to suckle darkness? Only theyWho keep cool and holy make

A sanctum to attract Green virgins, consecrating limb and lipTo chastity's service: like prophets, like preachers,They descant on the serene and seraphic beautyOf virgins for virginity's sake.'

Be certain some such pact'sBeen struck to keep all glory in the gripOf ugly spinsters and barren sirsAs you etch on the inner window of your eyeThis virgin on her rack:

She, ripe and unplucked, 'sLain splayed too long in the tortuous boughs: overripeNow, dour-faced, her fingers Stiff as twigs, her body woodenly Askew, she'll ache and wake

Though doomsday bud. Neglect'sGiven her lips that lemon-tasting droop:Untongued, all beauty's bright juice sours.Tree-twist will ape this gross anatomyTill irony's bough break.

Libra

Epitaph for Fire and Flower

You might as well haul up This wave’s green peak on wire To prevent fall, or anchor the fluent air In quartz, as crack your skull to keep These two most perishable lovers from the touch That will kindle angels’ envy, scorch and drop Their fond hearts charred as any match.

Seek no stony camera-eye to fix The passing dazzle of each face In black and white, or put on ice Mouth’s instant flare for future looks; Stars shoot their petals, and suns run to seed, However you may sweat to hold such darling wrecks Hived like honey in your head.

Hatched with a claret hogshead to swig He kings it, navel-knit to no groan, But at the price of a pin-stitched skin Fish-tailed girls purchase each white leg.

Mouth’s instant flare for future looks; Stars shoot their petals, and suns run to seed, However you may sweat to hold such darling wrecks Hived like honey in your head.

Now in the crux of their vows hang your ear, Still as a shell: hear what an age of glass These lovers prophesy to lock embrace Secure in museum diamond for the stare Of astounded generations; they wrestle To conquer cinder’s kingdom in the stroke of an hour And hoard faith safe in a fossil.

But though they’d rivet sinews in rock And have every weathercock kiss hang fire As if to outflame a phoenix, the moment’s spur Drives nimble blood too quick For a wish to tether: they ride nightlong In their heartbeats’ blazing wake until red cock Plucks bare that comet’s flowering.

Dawn snuffs out star’s spent wick, Even as love’s dear fools cry evergreen, And a languor of wax congeals the vein No matter how fiercely lit; staunch contracts break And recoil in the altering light: the radiant limb Blows ash in each lover’s eye; the ardent look Blackens flesh to bone and devours them.

Scorpio

November Graveyard

The scene stands stubborn: skinflint trees Hoard last year’s leaves, won’t mourn, wear sackcloth, or turn To elegiac dryads, and dour grass Guards the hard-hearted emerald of its grassiness However the grandiloquent mind may scorn Such poverty. No dead men’s cries

Flower forget-me-nots between the stones Paving this grave ground. Here’s honest rot To unpick the heart, pare bone Free of the Fictive vein. When one stark skeleton Bulks real, all saints’ tongues fall quiet: Flies watch no resurrections in the sun.

At the essential landscape stare, stare Till your eyes foist a vision dazzling on the wind: Whatever lost ghosts flare, Damned, howling in their shrouds across the moor Rave on the leash of the starving mind Which peoples the bare room, the blank, untenanted air.

Saggitarius

Maenad

Once I was ordinary: Sat by my father’s bean tree Eating the fingers of wisdom. The birds made milk. When it thundered I hid under a flat stone.

The mother of mouths didn’t love me. The old man shrank to a doll. O I am too big to go backward: Birdmilk is feathers, The bean leaves are dumb as hands.

This month is fit for little. The dead ripen in the grapeleaves. A red tongue is among us. Mother, keep out of my barnyard, I am becoming another.

Dog-head, devourer: Feed me the berries of dark. The lids won’t shut. Time Unwinds from the great umbilicus of the sun Its endless glitter.

I must swallow it all.

Lady, who are these others in the moon’s vat— Sleepdrunk, their limbs at odds? In this light the blood is black. Tell me my name.

Capricorn

Recantation

‘Tea leaves I’ve given up, And that crooked line On the queen’s palm Is no more my concern. On my black pilgrimage This moon-pocked crystal ball Will break before it help; Rather than croak out What’s to come, My darling ravens are flown.

‘Forswear those freezing tricks of sight And all else I’ve taught Against the flower in the blood: Not wealth nor wisdom stands Above the simple vein, The straight mouth. Go to your greenhorn youth Before time ends And do good With your white hands.’

Aquarius

Insomniac

The night sky is only a sort of carbon paper, Blueblack, with the much-poked periods of stars Letting in the light, peephole after peephole — A bonewhite light, like death, behind all things. Under the eyes of the stars and the moon’s rictus He suffers his desert pillow, sleeplessness Stretching its fine, irritating sand in all directions.

Over and over the old, granular movie Exposes embarrassments—the mizzling days Of childhood and adolescence, sticky with dreams, Parental faces on tall stalks, alternately stern and tearful, A garden of buggy roses that made him cry. His forehead is bumpy as a sack of rocks. Memories jostle each other for face-room like obsolete film stars.

He is immune to pills: red, purple, blue— How they lit the tedium of the protracted evening! Those sugary planets whose influence won for him A life baptized in no-life for a while, And the sweet, drugged waking of a forgetful baby. Now the pills are worn-out and silly, like classical gods. Their poppy-sleepy colors do him no good.

His head is a little interior of gray mirrors. Each gesture flees immediately down an alley Of diminishing perspectives, and its significance Drains like water out the hole at the far end. He lives without privacy in a lidless room, The bald slots of his eyes stiffened wide-open On the incessant heat-lightning flicker of situations.

Nightlong, in the granite yard, invisible cats Have been howling like women, or damaged instruments. Already he can feel daylight, his white disease, Creeping up with her hatful of trivial repetitions. The city is a map of cheerful twitters now, And everywhere people, eyes mica-silver and blank, Are riding to work in rows, as if recently brainwashed.

Pisces

The Sleepers

No map traces the street Where those two sleepers are. We have lost track of it. They lie as if under water In a blue, unchanging light, The French window ajar

Curtained with yellow lace. Through the narrow crack Odors of wet earth rise. The snail leaves a silver track; Dark thickets hedge the house. We take a backward look.

Among petals pale as death And leaves steadfast in shape They sleep on, mouth to mouth. A white mist is going up. The small green nostrils breathe, And they turn in their sleep.

Ousted from that warm bed We are a dream they dream. Their eyelids keep the shade. No harm can come to them. We cast our skins and slide Into another time.

Thank you 💕

#sylvia plath #sylvia plath poem #zodiac #astro community #astrology #aries zodiac #taurus #gemini #cancer #leo #virgo #libra #scorpio #saggitarius #capricorn #aquarius #pisces

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foodies-channel · 6 months

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🍥 Roast turkey and heirloom tomato

🍔YouTube || 🍟Reddit

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allamericansbitch · 19 days

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what do you think about a certain youtuber constantly referring to joe as the heirloom turkey?

i dont know who that is and my life is better for that

#answered #anonymous

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texastrophyhunters · 1 month

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"Elsie" meets "Tom"

By Jim Heffelfinger

I was determined to hunt this special bird, a Gould's turkey, with my great-grandfather's 1894 L.C. “Elsie” Smith side-by-side, Damascus steel, double hammer, double barrel 12-gauge. A great friend of mine had the cracked stock fixed on this family heirloom as a Christmas present to me. He also loaded up some No. 6 shot reduced-power loads with Pyrodex that was safe for firing in the 130-year-old Damascus steel barrels. My son Wyatt agreed to come along and help which was special to me because it was Wyatt who got me into turkey hunting in the first place.

We were mostly big game hunters, but when Wyatt was 10 years old and a brand-new hunter education graduate, he told me he wanted to hunt turkeys because he loved dinosaurs so much. With the help of some friends and youth turkey hunting camps, we learned together and became quite good at it. After I called in both Merriam’s gobblers he harvested up to that point, he returned the favor on this hunt.

The fourth gobbler we talked to that day was a stubborn bird with commitment issues. He was hot to answer every hen yelp with a gobble, but would not cross a deep ditch between us and him at 50 yards. The reduced-power loads I was using means I needed a 30-yard shot or closer. I thought he figured out a way around the ditch but the hen he was with started walking away.

Predictably, he followed her up an open, pine-covered hill. Wyatt called and called more aggressively but the tom kept gobbling as he walked out of our lives. When the tom neared the top of the hill I decided I had no choice but to try to sneak up the hill and make something happen on the other side. Wyatt called aggressively to keep him gobbling and cover my rapid stalk up the hill after him. The big tom answered him almost every time, but then fell silent as I approached the top of the hill. Wyatt followed me far behind calling more aggressively to make it sound like the hen was following him.

As I approached the top of the hill, I started sneaking and carefully looking into the clump of pine trees where I last saw him when suddenly he gobbled in my left ear! He had circled back and surprised me because of Wyatt’s aggressive yelps from the bottom of the hill. I swung Ol’ Elsie to the left, put the bead at the base of his head and squeezed the front trigger. The shotgun roared with a belch of gray smoke and the turkey fell where it stood.

The old heirloom did its job just as it did countless times on small game in my great-grandfather Frank's hands. I am lucky I didn't have time to think about the shot or I would have surely missed. The bird was 21 pounds, had an 11-inch beard and 1 1/8-inch spurs.

Jim Heffelfinger writes for the Journal of the Texas Trophy Hunters and works at his day job as a wildlife biologist for the Arizona Game & Fish Department. You can find Jim on Instagram: @Jim.Deere, and at deernut.com.

#texas trophy hunters #hunting #wild game #turkey #turkey hunter #turkey hunting #shotgun #damascus steel

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butididntpourthewhiskeys · 3 months

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I happy she releasing soon so we don't have to talk about this no talent actor anymore. Joe killed his own career with his bad acting skills

Literally I want the joever chapter to end. There’s so many beautiful things in her life right now & it’s sad that we’re still talking about the heirloom turkey

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theascent · 10 months

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connections + plots masterlist

*this list is in no way complete, matteo is always in need of connections *if something stands out to you, please message me ! all can be tweaked if need be.

Sonata One↳ The Accidental Companionship taken by adeline bourbon

whilst the dulcifying lagoons of venice prompted ink to flow effortlessly across his brimming journal, they did little to patch the cavity of loneliness that slowly eroded his gut. partaking in what he does best, matteo relayed the spectacular sights of venetian canals and mosaics to his friend back home - only, it wasn’t his friend who answered his letter. a slip of his wrist partnered with a fumbling post-boy provided for a strange, yet comforting relationship over the remainder of his travels: matteo now had someone to converse with about both his woes and his feats, whilst the stranger was given the opportunity to see the world through a poet’s eyes. the two strangers formed a peculiar companionship that he hoped would no longer be shrouded in mystery, and that they would finally meet in person in france.

Sonata Two↳ The Friendship

matteo finds it rather tedious to maintain friendships, especially given his penchant for international escapades. the gentlemen back home are far too immersed in the lives of lords and first-borns to converse with the likes of a rhymester, no matter his favorability with the nobility. though there is one individual with whom he’s shared many a story with since their time at sea, and there’s an understanding between the two that whenever matteo finds himself back home, he would send word of his arrival. they aren’t confidantes, but they are indeed comrades - a relationship matteo plans to deepen now that his stay in france appears prolonged.

Sonata Three↳ The First Love taken by alina lorraine

when matteo was a mere twenty he fell in love for the first - and last - time. it was without question that he engaged in rakish behavior long before meeting his beloved, after all, he was a man armored with flowering words capable of pricking even the most guarded of hearts. yet as dances shifted into promenades, he began asking his servants to arrange for the arrival of his soon-to-be partner. the heirloom ring that once weighed heavily in his pocket offered his heart the same fate as it then sat collecting dust in his desk drawer. how could matteo expect to give them the life they deserved when the bustling bazaars of turkey beckoned him?

Sonata Four↳ The Deal

matteo needed money; his allowance had already dwindled thanks to the eldest schellenberg, but it was time he took matter into his own hands. when he wasn’t swindling precious jewels, he found himself gambling with the gentleman in versailles. whether on the newest horse to arrive from england or the undefeated boxer for two years running - matteo betted. yet there was a factor that set him apart from the rest; he just wasn’t any good. upon running into you on his swift (albeit, crazed) attempt to escape the expecting fists of those whose wallets suffered from matteo’s lack of fortune, you agreed to front him the money. but it came at a cost. you wished to use his words to [enter character motivation; ex: seduce, persuade, convince, etc someone].

plots:

*these are more than welcomed to be tweaked to fit a certain character’s storyline and/or personality

“The Negotiation.” or

“matteo helps you make the [insert title] jealous by pretending to be interested in you. in return, you promise to introduce him to one of your wealthy friends.”

aesthetics: sneaky glances. champagne flutes. not-so-subtle exclamations. atrocious winking. fake laughter. dance cards.

“Busted.” or

“to earn money, matteo writes for hire, he produces poems for members of society to gift their lovers, for a small price. you think you’ve received the most ardent profession of love - that is, until you see matteo exchanging a similarly looking paper with a nearby gentleman.”

aesthetics: crumpled paper. smeared ink. ingenuine apologies. scoffing. clinking of coins. pitying stares.

“Prideful.” or

“you and matteo went to university together, and long story short, you owe your ‘exceptional writing’ distinction to him. through certain circumstances you hear about his financial predicament, and offer him funds as compensation for his help back in college. and let’s just say, matteo does not embrace your ‘help’ with open arms.”

aesthetics: clenched teeth. bitter whiskey. flying fists - down onto tables, of course. humorless chuckles. unbuttoned shirts.

“Muse.” or

“matteo always found comfort in his quill, and after a less than desirable evening, he found himself in your company; company that assuaged him far more than his pen ever could. and so he asked to meet again. and again. and after each rendezvous, when he was alone in his study, he put his pen to paper and wrote.”

aesthetics: stained fingers. a setting sun. good-natured banter. gifted poems. reluctant partings. promises of next time.

"Thief." or

"though unbecoming of a lord, matteo begins to pickpocket the unsuspecting members of society - though he maintains that this is a last resort. and he does pretty well, that is, until you lay your eyes on the diamond necklace dangling from his pocket and the suspiciously bare neck of a nearby titled woman. will you use it as blackmail? will you want in?"

aesthetics: glittering jewels. waves of dismissal. wide eyes. a thundering heartbeat. negotiations. bitter begging.

"Partner." or

"being removed from society for years rendered matteo clueless when it came to recent betrothals and the current financial standings of those staying in versailles. and yet somehow he met you [tba], a member of non nobility with a near palpable resentment towards those in power. matteo was (he supposed) a criminal, yes. but he wasn't stupid (debatable). the last thing he needed was a pissed off prince. he needed your knowledge, and you, a cut of the fortune."

aesthetics: confirming nods. hurried whispers. dark hallways. subliminal messages. observant glances. "good job".

"Regret." taken by kiraz ekim or

"matteo can't afford to put his heart on the line, not when his dream is in jeopardy. and so he uses and discards people without care, as if they were valued at no more than a dinner towelette. it was different this time, though. at night he lay awake, eyes trained on the ceiling, staring but never truly seeing. how could he manage to sleep when the image forever burned beneath his lids, seared into his thoughts was the look on your face when he told you the truth." *can be friends turned enemies or lovers turned enemies

aesthetics: withheld apologies. deep breaths. weary eyes. one step forward - one step back. foreign feelings.

for artistic muses: please teach him how to paint for muses with two left feet: please let him teach you how to dance for non french muses: maybe he stayed with you during his travels

lastly, he needs enemies. and lovers. whether the relationships are built on a lie or not, i would like to see him eventually settle down.

#matteo ⊱⋅•⋅ wc #idek if these make sense but #please take one

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late-to-the-magnus-archives · 7 months

Text

Pedantic, chapter five - a Malevolent AU

Arthur Lester is the best IT architect in the world, and the reason Carcosa, Inc. has its fingers in every pie. Government, medical, everyone in the world uses its systems. Arthur is also going blind and nearly gives up… until a deeply annoying cybersecurity programmer prods him into trying something new.

Chapter Five: Arthur ran.

AO3

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Doe was surprisingly easy to talk to.

Arthur found himself doing it at random times. “I can’t believe he signed me up for the fitness package! What the fuck!”

That asshole. Wanting you healthy. How dare he.

“That should be a question mark, you prick,” said Arthur.

Pedantic.

“No, that’s you,” Arthur huffed, clinging to the side of the pool.

“Now, Mister Lester,” beamed the physical therapist from hell, “you’re not done laps yet!”

“I’m sending godsdamned Kayne poison frogs for Christmas!” Arthur cried, and continued swimming while John laughed at him.

Yeah, can’t compare to my dinner, John said in response to the stunning lobster tail, corn succotash, and heirloom brown rice creation Arthur was eating. This was followed by what looked like mushy o-shaped noodles in a glutinous red goo, vaguely in the shape of a can.

Arthur choked and had to take a moment to reply. “Fuck, Doe, you’re paid better than that.”

Fuck, Lester, I like this stuff. Go fuck yourself.

Instead, Arthur took a picture of himself, mouth open, forkful of lobster poised and ready to chomp.

There was silence for a long moment.

Arthur chewed. Swallowed. “Choke on your pasta, Doe?”

Did you mean to send me that?

Arthur blinked. He squinted at his screen. “Uh. Why?”

It was hot.

Wow, okay. He could not see that. “Why?” Arthur said again, baffled.

The way you’re looking at the camera, intense and hungry and challenging. Your mouth, lips already reddened from eating. I can’t see what you’re about to eat, either—since I assume that’s what was going on—so it’s just… inviting.

“Oh.” Arthur had no idea how to respond to that. “I’ve never sent that kind of picture before.”

Well, you did a bang-up job for your first one.

Arthur’s face continued feeling hot as he finished his dinner and never came up with a good reply.

John sent four cat pictures in a row, and they told a story.

Photo one: Guy the cat peeks over the top of the counter. Photo two: Guy the cat is blurred in motion as she leaps for the countertop. Photo three: Guy looks moderately startled as the papers she landed on slide due to her inertia. Photo four: One paw and the tail of Guy the cat are visible as she falls over the other side of the counter, having pulled everything that was on it down with her.

So that’s how my day is going, said John.

Arthur laughed and laughed. Maybe he just hadn’t socialized enough in a while, but this little misadventure—including its disastrous end—was the funniest thing he could think of right now. “She all right? You all right?” he asked finally.

Yeah, yeah. She pulled my sandwich down, but free turkey for her, I guess.

That had not been conveyed in the photos. Arthur laughed again.

Aw, shut up, said John. Let’s get to phase two already.

“Sure,” said Arthur, disappointed they already had to get to work.

Arthur extended his stay. He was beginning to enjoy swimming laps—the control of it, the regularity, the focus required—and John was doing amazing work translating his design into reality.

It wasn’t the same as coding himself. It wasn’t; but it was still good, and he didn’t feel the terrible, itchy mental stuttering he did when not creating.

This could work. This… could really work. And the program they were creating…

This would save lives. This would enable wise decisions for the future—and for countries with greedy insurance, the TOS prevented this information being shared.

It’s not like all the details weren't already out there, anyway. All of it was publicly accessible. Anyone could have done what he and John were doing… if they knew how.

This personal database—connected to a highly secure and personal virtual server—would use every single record of every single known ancestor, including photographs with identifiable medical clues, to help predict what an individual might go through, genetically—and if he was right, it would be 98% accurate.

The results were fully owned by the individual. Not easily accessible by insurance, doctors, employers, or anyone else. It would, he hoped, help prepare people like him. He also knew it could be misused in the wrong hands. So… it would stay in his.

John’s. Technically. But his.

Nobody had to use it who didn’t want to, and any employer or insurance who tried would be open to such lawsuits they’d never try again.

It was good. It was useful. It felt right.

I think we’re ready.

Arthur took a deep breath. The sunset had turned the Hudson’s black sparkles slightly red, a portentous color, and he felt ready. “Do it.”

A link appeared in his feed.

He went through the process. Signed up. Had Cassilda read both the long-form TOS (listening so carefully for all legal wording—this was fucking specific), and ensuring the shortened TOS summary was clear and missed no pertinent details and provided no “out” for the unscrupulous.

John sent numerous texts explaining exactly how he’d secured all data.

So far, so good. Arthur finished signup and provided his personal information.

Within minutes, Arthur saw what he knew. Then, he saw what he didn’t know.

Tie-in information from unnamed DNA relatives. Information about how these unknown relatives had responded to space travel. Information how relatives he didn’t know he had responded to living under the sea or in the desert or high in mountains and rarefied air. Incredible.

Well?

“It fucking worked. Okay, hold on.” He logged in as administrator to see how it looked from the other side. Beautifully anonymized. Wow. “Did we do it?” whispered Arthur as the sun finally set. “Really?”

Tested successfully on systems as old as Play 1.3 and as new as 14 beta. I also signed up several times with slightly different info, but the same ancestry, and got the same results.

John have to have multiple identities to pull that off. Multiple social security numbers. Arthur was reminded the man was genuinely dangerous. “That’s incredible.” He poked around.

All the other “users” were anonymized, too. As a simple admin, he couldn’t see it.

What had John put into the system? If Arthur went into the back end now, Doe would see it. He could wait. Yes. “Share features?”

The proper warnings came up when I tried to share with you.

“Which you obviously didn’t go through with.”

Nope.

“You owe me something personal.”

A beat.

My connections are family. High up in the company.

Ooh! “Come on, Doe. Give me more than that.”

Fine. Kayne is my uncle.

Arthur spit out his drink. “WHAT?”

I promise you I hate him more than you.

“He’s your uncle?”

Step uncle. The worst.

Somehow, this made Arthur consider the fact that Kayne had family, which made him a human being, which made him (somehow) a sexual being, and Arthur groaned.

You okay? The text that just came through was weird.

Cassilda sent his groan? “What was it?”

Ooooaaaauuaaauaaah.

The program didn’t do any better reading it back.

Arthur laughed. “Oh, what the hell?”

He’s worth that response, believe me.

“So he’s why you have the job.”

No. He’s just a connection.

And Arthur lost his mind. “Am I really smart to trust you?” slipped out.

Yes.

The breaths between replies seemed too long. “Why?”

Because I’m on your side. I meant everything I said.

“I want to believe you.” He didn’t say the weight in his chest was terrible. He wanted John as a friend. He didn’t want the bad thing to be real. He feared what he might have entrusted, if John might betray him. A million fears.

How can I prove it to you?

“Tell me where you were until a year ago.”

Nowhere.

“Come on, Doe.”

Nowhere. I mean it. I was nobody, doing nothing. All of this has been a surprise to everyone.

“That makes no sense. You’re too knowledgeable. You didn’t just… absorb decades of information in a month.”

No, I already had the information. I mean… nobody knew it mattered that I did. I was found, like you.

“But I was found because I entered a contest.”

No, you were found because they were looking.

“What did you do that they found you?”

I was looking for more information. I ended up breaking into Carcosa’s systems because I wanted the data.

Oh, bullshit. "That didn’t happen.”

It did.

Bullshit! “Do you really think I don’t have monitoring set up? I’d have known.”

I circumvented it.

Fuck, fuck, fuck... “How?” Arthur demanded.

John told him.

Told him exactly how he exploited an issue Arthur hadn’t known existed, tweaked loopholes he'd never considered, dug up coding wormholes that just felt unfair, and Arthur knew it was the truth.

He felt… sick. No: he felt humiliated. “And you still wanted to help me after that?” he said, sounding angry, suddenly furious that the anger didn’t get translated. "I'm that easy to get around, all my hard work, all my fucking life's work, just like pushing open a door for you, is it?"

Don't be stupid. It wasn't easy. And yes, of course I want to help you. Your mind is

“Is what?” Nothing. “Is what?”

Beautiful.

Arthur wiped his eyes. Confused didn’t cover it. “You don’t know my mind. You don’t know me.”

I do. I speak your language. This program is my love letter to you, in your tongue.

Stunned.

Arthur was stunned.

Spooked.

Arthur was spooked.

Arthur did not know what to say.

Panicked.

Arthur freaked out.

Arthur.

“Cassdila, block…” Could he do it? Could he? No. Fuck. “No. Cassilda, silence all notifications from John Doe.”

Done, Arthur.

He couldn't stay still. Couldn't stay in sight of the home of the man who'd... done whatever this was, unraveled his supposedly brilliant code like a knot in yarn and then made him a 'love letter.' Arthur checked out that night and bought his own ticket home, and even after they’d given him the drug so he would sleep through the dangerously interdimensional travel, he still felt like he was running.

--------

CHAPTER SIX

Notes:

Guy was my spouse’s Siamese when we married, and yeah, she was a really special kitty.

#john x arthur #arthur x john #malevolent #malevolent podcast #malevolent fic #malevolent fanfic #john doe malevolent #arthur lester #kayne malevolent #malevolent au #pedantic fic

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birdmomblogs · 2 years

Text

a brief profile on feathers in indigenous cultures and skyloft

i believe the people of skyloft are direct parallels to the indigenous peoples of turtle island (aka north america). although this was probably unintentional, nintendo still managed to portray this fairly accurately and i feel everyone should acknowledge that. in this essay i will…

… you know what??? yeah, i will actually do this. remember these are just my headcanons and i am not forcing anyone to adopt them.

in this short essay i will be discussing the importance of the feather to irl indigenous folks and how this can parallel to skyloftians.

there are several indigenous cultures so feathers can have several meanings!! i’m part indigenous but indigenous culture is incredibly diverse across north america so i can't speak for all nations, tribes, etc. but i can describe overarching significance of feathers across several nations.

1. feathers are a great honour to wear. traditionally, not everyone could wear them. they are a symbol of great power and connect the wearer, the creator and the bird from which they came together. they have to be gifted or earned, often times through battle or bravery (traditionally the eagle is most revered for this purpose). this is why feathers are typically only worn by those of higher status in many nations.

2. feathers come to the wearer with purpose, never by accident. when a feather falls from the sky it's a gift from the sky and that bird. it is still living and carries that birds energy. the feather is considered living and has rights of its own just like the earth, water and other humans do. wearing that feather means you are accepting whatever wisdom, power and courage that bird is gifting you.

3. to reject the gift of a feather or hide one away is a huge disrespect. do not let your feather touch the ground once received (treat it like you would your country's flag).

4. feathers may sometimes become family heirlooms. 5. feathers may also play important roles in ceremonies and can be used as a form of contact with spirit animals (an aside: if you are non-indigenous please stop saying you have a spirit animal. you genuinely have no idea how harmful this off-handed comment can be.) and other deity-like beings.

6. not all feathers used or worn are eagle feathers (which are a form of the strongest medicine, meaning bravery, strength and hope and serve as a spiritual guide) of course. because of this, i’ll share a list of some other significant birds and their meanings:

Crow = balance, skill, and cunning

Falcon = speed, movement, and soul healing

Dove = kindness, love, and gentleness

Bluebird = happiness

Hawk = guardianship and far-sightedness

Owl = wisdom

Raven = creation and knowledge

Turkey = pride, fertility, and abundance

Woodpecker = self-discovery

Wren = protection

Swallow = love and peace

Kingfisher = luck (Source)

even if you are gifted a feather that is not listed here it still has all that great importance i listed before.

7. in modern times, indigenous people now also use feathers in their fashion and in home decor (ex. dream catchers). the most important thing to note is although this is more casual, the feathers are still highly revered. because of this, the last thing i want to say is that if you are a non-indigenous wearing a feather just for fun or as a fashion statement this is highly disrespectful lest you do not know the significance it holds. you should be acknowledging the culture from which this is coming from because indigenous folks of turtle island (and elsewhere in the world) have been mocked and abused for way too long and enough is enough. give our people recognition. if you are non-indigenous and still wish to wear feather jewellery (whether metal or synthetic or real) you still can!!! but know what significance your fashion choice holds. be an ambassador for indigenous rights and for the love of our sacred earth BUY THE JEWELLERY FROM AN INDIGENOUS ARTIST. don’t buy it from claire’s or romwe, etc. please.

now for the skyloft part!!!

loftwings clearly hold some type of religious and/or cultural significance in skyloft. they are sky people, bird people, etc.

think about it…

those with higher status or things related to the goddess have bird imagery on them (see point 1 for reference).

the goddess pedestal, zelda, link, gaepora, the hylian shield and the sail cloth all adorn this type of imagery.

granted there are a few other skyloftians that have some bird imagery that don’t really fit in with this point... i’m going to elect to ignore them anyways because nintendo obviously didn’t intend for it to have some indigenous significance in the first place and i just really like this headcanon!

anyways, that’s just some quick insight to why i have this headcanon!

when i see redesigns of sky (skyward sword link) and sun (skyward sword zelda) that include actual real feathers in their fashion i automatically connect it to why and how indigenous people of turtle island wear feathers. for many of these redesigns, it’s common that the feathers are gifts from their loftwings and like… see point 2 because that’s what i just described!! I totally believe the people of skyloft are parallels!!

again, these are just my headcanons and feathers have importance in other cultures around the world not just indigenous people from turtle island. so it’s also totally okay to use feathers for other reasons like that!

anyways, my hope with this accidental essay is that maybe more people will start to acknowledge that there is a huge cultural significance behind feathers and maybe that more creators will consider that when designing. i hope this was insightful to read! and thanks for reading the whole thing if you did! edit: a friend asked me to compare the loftwings and their colour significances in reference to indigenous cultures and there are more parallels there so i will def write that soon!

#legend of zelda #loz #loz headcanons #legend of zelda headcanons #Skyward Sword #skyloft #loftwings #skyward sword headcanons #birdmom posts #birdmom writes #loz skyward sword #loz sksw #loz sky #loz sun #in this essay i will #long post #this essay was like 4 pages long in my word doc #i cut it down just a lil for posting #this whole essay started out as me just passionately talking about headcanons in frulleboi's server and now here we are

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