#<- hes an invasive species hes going to eat all the plants and wildlife

[rbtlvr]

if you look in the dictionary under the definition of '(derogatory (affectionate))' you see a picture of him btw

(Totally Not Leo jester guy belongs to @liketheletter-l)

#rottmnt #idfk what to tag this as WHEEZE #rise of the tmnt #tmnt #like okay im putting it in the tags bc who is going to stop me. its TECHNICALLY rise fanart its fine dont worry about it #[posts art at 11:30 at night. like a normal person] #anyway he needs to stop being so fun to draw #eye strain #probably. idk but better safe than sorry #good lird my tags are all over the fuckin place #my art #i think thats everything. probably #anyway sets him loose in the wild. be free #<- hes an invasive species hes going to eat all the plants and wildlife #this is the worst idea ive ever had

[vinsmokewife]

the flower fields

day 19 of a very zosan centric kinktober - sex pollen

Canianthus – A name given to a species of invasive plants specific to this particular island. The plant’s thorns attach itself to a host and begin to grow more flowers inside the wound. Eventually, this plant will kill the host and spread itself using the hosts body. Zoro and Sanji are lost in a forest when Sanji is poisoned by one of the local flowers. The only way to save Sanji from dying is by sating the desire inside.

huge big warning for dubcon as well as slight body horror and gore. this is also a tad darker as well as it's the fuck or die trope. this is tagged as dead dove do not eat on ao3 for a reason.

Canianthus – A name given to a species of invasive plants specific to this particular island. The plant’s thorns attach itself to a host and begin to grow more flowers inside the wound. Eventually, this plant will kill the host and spread itself using the hosts body. 

“This is the last time I follow you anywhere,” 

The trouble with trying to make sure that Zoro doesn’t get lost is that you end up getting lost yourself. Sanji wasn’t sure how he did it, but he knew for a fact that both of them where not where they wanted to be. In fact, neither of them knew where they were supposed to be. They were stuck in a forest and had been previously with the others but then got separated. Despite trying to herd them both back, Zoro ended up getting them more lost and giving them both a headache. 

“I don’t see you giving any good suggestions on where we are supposed to go either,”  

Zoro could have sworn though that they had been this way already. Sanji didn’t know why Zoro was so insistent on leading too but they definitely had been this way before. This forest was impossible to navigate. Everywhere just looks the same. 

“I don’t know where to go but at least I’m not pretending that I know where to go...” This was the perfect moment to light up a cigarette and try to assess the situation that they are both faced with, but it was so difficult when it was just all greenery with nothing to break it up. The more ground they covered, the better but at the same time, all Sanji felt was confusion over where they were going. They both stopped so they could look around and... 

“We’ve not been through there yet,” 

In front of them lay a small clearing. It was different from the others as it was covered from head to toe in flowers. Small, bright coloured flowers. They had definitely not been that way before. 

Stepping into it, they continued walking but they definitely hadn’t walked through here before. Neither men recognised any of the local flowers. It was also slightly strange that a forest as big as this, they haven’t come across any wildlife yet. Surely, they would have to be some- 

“Fuck!” 

Zoro suddenly turned at the sound of Sanji’s voice only to turn and see Sanji suddenly hunched over looking at his ankle. 

“What now?” Zoro asked but then he saw. There was a huge gash up Sanji’s trousers' and then up his leg. It was red and puffy already, “When the hell did you get that, cook?” 

“Just now. These flowers have huge thorns,” Sanji noticed the flower next to him. Although they were very pretty looking, it had angry sharp thorns on it with blood on it, “We have to keep moving,” 

“Can you move? I am not carrying you over a flower prick,” Zoro rolled his eyes. 

“It wasn’t just a flower prick your asshole,” Sanji shot back but yes, he could move his leg. It was a little painful but nothing he hadn’t already dealt with before, “And I wouldn’t even give you that satisfaction. Keep moving,” 

Zoro managed to avoid the flowers and Sanji wasn’t stabbed by them again. They walked for a while but at some point, Sanji started to feel...dizzy. He suddenly stopped against a try, “Wait...shit fuck...” 

Zoro stopped and turned. He noticed Sanji looking pale leaning against the tree. As much as he wanted to keep going and he wanted to roll his eyes at Sanji and tell him to get on with it...it was getting dark, and it felt like they had been walking ages away from that flower field. 

Plus, Sanji really didn’t look well. 

“Perhaps we should set up camp...”  

“No... we need to keep going,” Sanji started to try to mobilise all over again but as soon as he got up, he was seconds away from falling flat on his face. He didn’t want Sanji to fall and knock himself out, so he walked towards him and grabbed his shoulders, “No. We need to set up camp.” 

Sanji’s skin felt all...tingly when Zoro touched him. Strange? Was that something that happened often? He didn’t know. But either way, it was so hot, and Sanji was trying to remove his suit jacket because it was just getting so hot. 

“Great fine whatever,” Sanji mumbled before throwing his jacket on the ground. Another sign to Zoro that something was wrong. Sanji normally liked to keep his suits clean if he could. He wouldn’t just throw his coat on the ground like that. Sanji was quick to topple against the tree. Zoro was concerned but became focus on setting up camp...they could figure out the rest later. 

---- 

It was night time and Zoro was just about having a nap when the sound of someone groaning woke him up. 

Once he set up camp, Sanji got in a tent. His condition seemed to have deteriorated rapidly. Problem was that with no Chopper, neither of them could really do much about it. They were completely lost too. So, Zoro would have no choice but to carry him tomorrow. Zoro wanted to stay up and keep guard, but it didn’t end up working that way. He needed to sleep. This forest was starting to unsettle him. Not because of anything but in a whole forest, why was it just them? Where was the wild life? What about all the bugs? There weren’t even bugs. 

Just...flowers...and lots of them. Everywhere. Bright beautiful flowers with deadly thorns 

The noise jolted him out of his sleep. He turned his head to the sound of where it was coming from, and it seemed to be the tent. Sanji must still be awake.  

Zoro was about to close his eyes again when he heard it again. It sounded like... Sanji was... 

No, had to be his imagination. But Sanji sounded like he was in pain. Zoro tried to ignore it and go back to sleep but he couldn’t bring himself to do that. There was some... concern if Sanji was really ill. 

“Oi, cook!”  

Zoro called out. No reply. Zoro realised that this meant that he had to get up. Not because he was concerned or anything but if Sanji was really bad then he would become a reliabilty on the trip back. So, Zoro got up and headed over the tent and began to open it up to... 

“Ah!” 

Zoro didn’t know what he was expecting to see but it wasn’t this. Sanji must have stripped off his entire suit and it was strung across the tent. The blankets and other things that Zoro had left him where over the place. Sanji’s skin was flushed red, and he was... not wearing any clothes at all. The gash on his leg was bright red and... giving off a smell. Or at least that was what Zoro described it as. It had to be. As soon as he opened the tent, he was met with a waft of a smell. It wasn’t a bad smell. Flowery. 

That was when Zoro noticed the flowers. They were literally growing out of the gash now. 

Zoro was about to turn away when Sanji, not bothering to even cover himself up leaned forward and grabbed Zoro. 

“W-Wait... Fucking listen to me Mosshead,” Even when ill, Sanji knew how to get Zoro’s attention, “The flower...it’s done something to me...I.. I don’t know how to explain but...” 

“Why aren’t you wearing any clothes?” Zoro asked rather bluntly looking everywhere but Sanji. 

“I...I’m too hot but it’s not like... I just wanted my clothes off but...I...I feel strange... Fuck...” 

“We need to get you back to the ship...” Zoro said, going to grab Sanji’s things. The longer they left this...the messier it was going to get. 

“I... I think the flowers are some sort of...” Sanji could only let go and sit on the floor. Oh great. Zoro didn’t know what to think of that. He wanted desperately to get Sanji to Chopper as soon as possible. However, Sanji placed a hand on his arm, “I... fuck, Moss head it hurts...I feel...awful,” 

“What happened to this is nothing I haven’t dealt with before,” Zoro was trying to hide the concern he felt but it was impossible. He didn’t want Sanji to die; especially when Zoro didn’t really know what to do about it. 

“I... I...” Sanji wanted to say something, but it was hard when his whole body ached for something. Something he did not want to ask Zoro for. Something he didn’t want, “I need you to listen to me for once...It’s not...a pain like being stabbed or being kicked...it’s a pain...like...fuck I don’t even know. I think the flowers are aphrodisiacs. There.! 

Oh. 

Zoro just stared dumb founded. He didn’t really know what to think of that.  

“Well, can’t you just jack off or something,” He had a funny feeling he knew the answer to this question, but he thought he’d ask on the off chance. 

“I’ve tried. I can’t. It doesn’t work like that.... I think it...” 

The answer stood heavy between the two men. They knew what was causing this, but it was only the two of them and surely... 

“I’m not having sex with you if that’s what you’re about to ask me...” Zoro grunted. The smell was beginning to give him a head ache. Damn, this whole situation was starting to give him a headache in general.  

“Do you honestly think that I want to have sex with you?” Sanji almost yelled back at him, “This is a fucking life or death situation. This plant is going to kill me, meathead,”  

“We don’t know if that’s going to solve this?” Zoro was still prepared to carry Sanji back on his back, “We need to find Chopper,” 

“Look at my leg, dumbass!” Sanji gestured, “The goddamn flowers are going to eat me alive before morning comes. You don’t even know where Chopper is. Believe me, I’d rather choke on my own vomit than fuck you, but I don’t have much options. Maybe...maybe once the need is sated, the flowers will go away,”  

This was a mess. Sanji was going to die possibly if Zoro doesn’t just go through with it. Although they didn’t know for certain, Sanji had a point. He will die before they find Chopper and it will be all his fault if that happens. And Zoro is loyal to his crew. He would do anything for them...even.... 

“Fine,” Zoro said, placing his swords down with a clunk, “But tomorrow, we find our crew...” 

“Fine. Don’t think I’m happy about this too,” Sanji groaned but stayed seated. 

“And I’m topping,” Zoro immediately added. 

“I don’t think I have the energy to top so fine by me,” Sanji said, although begrudgingly. 

Zoro removed the clothes he was wearing. This was not an act of love or even lust. He was doing it to save his crew. He would have done it for anything of them. It just happened to be Sanji didn’t it. He sat in front of Sanji who was leaning back on his arms. It was only then that Zoro noticed his naked form. No surprise to him but Sanji had really strong legs. He only began to notice the vines that were climbing off his leg. 

Then there was the weird lubrication coming from the plant that was just getting bigger and bigger on his leg. Zoro scoped up some of it. Well, at least there was that, because why would they have packed lube in the first place. 

“You aren’t...going to use that are you?” 

“Well,” Zoro coated his fingers in the sticky substance, “Do you want me to go in dry?” 

“...Good point,” 

Sanji leaned back. God, it felt so embarrassing like this was a medical procedure and not Zoro going to fuck him. He was hesitant to open his legs, but Zoro took his hand to part them. 

“The sooner we do this, the better,” Zoro grunted. It was... odd seeing Sanji in such a way that he’d never seen before. He almost...found this quite exciting. Nothing Sanji was bickering with him about something but with a red face and flushed skin, Zoro almost liked this.  

Zoro’s cold slimy finger reached down and rubbed his finger against Sanji’s hole which got a jerk but by the look on Sanji’s face it was more of a pleasurable jerk. More like Sanji was enjoying this. But that was probably just his imagination. 

“...Hm... Feels weird...” Sanji grunted nervously.  

Zoro then pushed his finger inside. Sanji let out a strangled moan as his head slipped back. Zoro didn’t want to make this weirder than it actually was although watching Sanji and seeing how he was reacting was...interesting. 

“Are you...enjoying this...?” 

“Shut up,” 

Zoro moved his finger around a little bit before he slipped another one in... and started to scissor his fingers as to stretch him out. Looking up, he could see that Sanji may have been finding this more enjoyable than he said but he watched the way those vines seemed to get longer and longer by the minute. So, he then pulled his fingers out once he thought he had stretched them out enough. But Christ, just how sensitive did Sanji had to be. Just from those fingers, Zoro felt as if Sanji was close to coming undone but that was maybe the effects of the aphrodisiac.  

“Sanji...are you okay?” 

“Fuck. Do you pussyfoot around this every fucking time?” Sanji was breathless and cheeks were all rosy, “I’m going to die from the rate you're going,” 

He was fine.  

“I’m the one saving your life here,” 

It was only then that Zoro grabbed a handful of the lubricant and stroked his cock with it. He didn’t even want to question why he was hard too. He grabbed his cock and climbed over Sanji, trying to be mindful of the flower in his leg before he pushed his cock inside the other.  

“Fuck...”  

Sanji threw his head back. He couldn’t help it and Zoro couldn’t deny how good Sanji felt around him. How nice that Sanji felt wrapped around him. How snug and warm he was. Part of him wished that this wasn’t just a saving your life situation and it could be longer than that. Would Sanji be open to doing this more often? But then he remembered that Sanji was only doing this to save his hind and would likely go back to be is usual self-afterwards. 

“I’m going to...move,” Zoro grunted as he pulled his cock back until only the head was nestled inside of him then pushing it back in. Then again, and again until Zoro had found rhythm. He never had considered that he had never done this before, but he didn’t view the act as being lustful. He just wanted to save Sanji...that was all... but why did Sanji have to feel so good around him. 

“Fuck...” Sanji grabbed his shoulder. Zoro watched him seeing his face was in absolute bliss. Like the pain was being taken away and that made him feel even more...nice. 

“Do you like this...?” Zoro asked again, but Sanji didn’t respond. He seemed a little more out of it than when they began so Zoro didn’t press it and just continued. His pace was steady. Not too hard and not too fast. He wasn’t expecting anything out of this until Sanji buried his head into his shoulder. 

“Ah!” Sanji’s hips bucked and Zoro felt the glorious pleasure of Sanji clenching around his cock. Then watched Sanji’s face in absolute rapture as he came over his wist. Zoro wasn’t far behind as he could help but cum deep inside of him when he got to watch such a beautiful expression of pleasure when he finished. 

The two men were left panting, and it was only afterwards, Zoro realised that what they had done would change them. 

“Sanji...are you okay?” 

But Sanji never answered. Apparently, he was too tired for that. He just curled up and fell asleep. He didn’t really acknowledge Zoro too much, but Zoro noticed the vines began to shrink. Maybe Sanji was right after all...but at what cost. 

Zoro moved away and lay with his back to Sanji, stuck with the knowledge that what they had done would follow them forever. 

- 

People have noticed an aphrodisiac affect that comes from the flower once it has been settled. It has also been found that once engaging in sexual activity the plant will die off the hosts body. 

#one piece zosan #zoro x sanji #zosan fanfic #roronoa zoro #vinsmoke sanji #zosan #kinktober 2023

[twocolorz]

Mr.Freeze Headcannons + Batman Au?

.

.

.

This took me nearly an hour to write.

He's most definitely trans, him and nora are t4t cuz ofc. He also does the Mr instead of Dr cuz of it.

He and nora wanted to start a family of their own, they had a whole room nearly done painted until the surrogate backed out at maybe 7-8 months because they changed their mind. They had a whole list of cute names: Gunther, Ludwig, Lisle, etc. There was most definitely hand-made toys for the baby too.

He knew some rouges before his incident, those being Harvey Dent, and Pamela Isley. He still talks to them every now and then.

Since Nora's sickness victor has became more malnourished, barley eating, showering, etc...he locks himself away while trying to find the cure, he also has a small territory near the docks of gothem. He has gaurds at the territory boarders and some animals now live there to escape the harsh city he doesn't mind much with the animals, but humans he'll shoo away- if they're homeless he will make sure they'll have a escort to the nearest homeless shelter, he isn't that heartless towards the helpless.

He has two rooms for guest that provide warmth and some snacks.

.

.

.

Harvey unfortunately being unpredictable when picking the phone up- shouting and immediately threatening before realizing it's victor than he'll be like:

HD (Harv): "Oh! Hey victor how's you doin?, how's nora by the way?"

VF: "...She's..doing fine, I suppose...her condition has slowed down very fortunately,"

Harvey is also inlove with edward and victor, he's most definitely Bi and Poly. Though he knows he could never be with victor for obvious reasons. Harvey and Edward are a duo, just doing random shit cuz they feel like it. If they wanna be fruity and steal luxurious cars? They're gonna do that. They also act fruity with one another, though edward himself doesn't think much behind the flirting, as he sees if as a platonic and mutual thing they have...but Harvey thinks otherwise :[

Harvey is afraid of acting on feeling while Harv isn't since most of his actions are from impulse. The two go by They/Them or He/She btw ^^ (I haven't decided on their pronouns exactly yet ;-;)

He misses his old life sometimes, where it was just him, Bruce and Gilda. He misses them both very much, Gilda moved somewhere out of gothem but Bruce's still visits him and makes time for both Harvey and Harv.

.

.

.

Than there's Ivy always talking with victor, when she has time of course just checking to make sure he's okay, victor has developed an eating disorder since Nora's sickness. She also had a huge crush on nora at one point, no questions. She's dating harley though, and they go on crime spree honeymoons btw.

She often resides in the abandoned and overgrowth in a small part of gothem a few houese near the park. She welcomes and allows the homeless to stay as long as they don't harm the plant life there and stay away from her and her hideout.

She will immediately take out any species in her park that she sees as invasive and a danger to the wildlife there.

.

.

.

That's all I got for now

#headcanon #batman au #trans headcanon #trans mr freeze #trans victor fries #trans victor freeze #pamela isley #poison ivy #harvey dent #two face #big bad harv #poly headcanons #headcannons #lesbian headcannon #bisexual headcanon

[henify]

A woman walking her dog makes a surprising discovery in a Cumbrian lake – shocked to find out the true identity of the creature. Residents in Cumbria, England were taken aback when they stumbled upon a spiky, dinosaur-like being in a small water body near their homes. View this post on Instagram A post shared by Nick Dixon (@nickdixonitv) Dubbed Fluffy by those who rescued it, this tough-shelled creature, despite its misleading name, hails from overseas and boasts a "nasty bite" capable of severing a finger in a single snap. Continue reading to understand the significant threat posed by this prehistoric being to a small lake in Cumbria, England. In the past week, a dog and its owner were leisurely walking along the shores of Urswick Tarns – an area rich in limestone known for its diverse plant and animal life. It was there that they encountered a dinosaur-like entity, adorned with spiky armor covering its back. View this post on Instagram A post shared by The Reptile Report (@thereptilereportofficial) Perplexed by the unfamiliar sight, the individual took a photograph of the peculiar creature and shared it on social media in hopes of gaining insight. The post caught the attention of Denise Chamberlain, a council member in Urswick, who had previously worked in Florida and immediately recognized the carnivorous creature, known for its "nasty nip. In an interview with PA Media, Chamberlain remarked, "I looked at it and immediately thought, ‘oh goodness, I know what you are.’" Identifying the animal as a juvenile alligator snapping turtle, she added, "These turtles have a natural defense mechanism: when you go near them, they open their mouth. View this post on Instagram A post shared by Jb Minter, MS, DVM, Dipl ACZM (@dr.jbminterdvm) Chamberlain then embarked on a rescue mission to safely retrieve the turtle, likely abandoned by an owner unwilling to care for the formidable creature with powerful jaws capable of easily snapping through bones. These dinosaur-like turtles, commonly found in swamps and rivers across the southern U.S. and in Central and South America, can reach weights of up to 200 lbs and live for over a century. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FsIbgMzXsqs "These species are invasive, they’re non-native, and I knew it was going to upset the ecology of the tarn, which is very finely balanced," she expressed concern. The turtle, having no natural predators, could wreak havoc on the lake's wildlife and upset the delicate balance. "That type of creature, while it’s not going to breed, could do some real damage to the fish stocks and eat all sorts of local wildlife. The rescue mission involved Chamberlain approaching the turtle with extreme caution, equipped with safety gloves and a shopping basket to transport it to a new home. The turtle, resembling a prehistoric dinosaur, was captured successfully, albeit not without a warning snap of its powerful jaws. After a meal of raw chicken, Chamberlain transported the turtle to Wild Side Vets in Barrow-in-Furness. Dr. Kate Hornby, the clinic owner and veterinarian, stated that while the creature could deliver a painful bite, it posed no significant danger at its current size. I’m hoping you’ve all enjoyed seeing ‘Fluffy’ on the news. He’s generated a bit of a media storm 😂 we’ve had people from...Posted by Wild Side Vets on Saturday, February 10, 2024 Wild Side Vets encourages responsible pet ownership, emphasizing that the turtle had likely been abandoned at the tarn. They urge people facing difficulties in caring for their reptiles to seek help rather than abandoning them in suboptimal conditions. Referring to the turtle as "Fluffy" for the time being, the vet mentioned that its gender remains unidentified due to its size. The turtle will be relocated to a wildlife center in Cornwall, providing more suitable conditions for its well-being. Locals have expressed

their appreciation on social media for Fluffy and the rescuers, with many commending the successful intervention and expressing admiration for the unique creature. As Fluffy prepares for relocation, this incident serves as a reminder for prospective pet owners to exercise caution and diligence, considering the long-term implications of caring for animals that may not stay small forever. Share this story to spread awareness and gather opinions on this fascinating creature!

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs, “Mimicry.”

Trying to get back into more stories about how weird humans are in general. It is very difficult though, since I am short on ideas lol. Also, prepare for some world building! :) The rundi home planet was fun to design.

I hope you like it anyway. 

The engines of the GA transport ship kicked up a storm of blue dust as it descended towards the sandy desert plateau. Little creatures fled in earnest from the buffeting gusts of wind and the loud rumbling of the engines fleeing out into the dessert on many legs and stumpy wings. Twisted, yellow-barked bulb trees cracked and bent under the powerful gusts of wind swaying gently back and forth as the billowing blue dust cloud came to overtake them.

The GA shuttle landed lightly on the surface of the planet, three-pronged body burying it’s struts deep into the desert planet’s sandy skin. Dirt continued to swirl up and around the shuttle, until the engines were cut, and the power was stalled.

With a low whirring grumble, the ship whined into dormancy allowing the dust to settle and leaving nothing but the low mournful whistle of wind in the desert.

The shuttle door opened, and the Rundi scientists jogged out onto their home planet’s dusty surface, their feet padding softly against the sand. The dark greens and brown of their skin, while not exactly camouflage against the blue sand did help them to blend into some of the lower lying rock-shrubs on the horizon.

The air in the desert was bone dry and dusty blue. The horizon was a haze of wind blown sand against a green/yellow sky. 

The slow expansion of the rundi sun had turned their once, yellow star, red. It had been like that for many years now, and not even their most ancient texts remembered the days when the sky was blue.

Boots clattered on the ramp down onto the sand, and the human placed his hands on his hips wide eyes staring out at the strange alien planet’s surface.

“Everything alright, Jim.”

The human turned coming face to face with the GA ship’s pilot. He grinned, “Couldn’t be better.” Together the two of them walked down the ramp and onto a light dusting of blue sand. The human reached down scooping up a cup of the strange and beautiful sand, letting it trickle through his fingers.

“Thank you, commander, for offering to help.” he turned to look at the Rundi, “And thank you immeasurably for giving me this opportunity to help you. I never would have thought…. I mean I am a wildlife expert, but alien wildlife…. That's an entirely different story.”

The rundi bowed their heads as was their manor, though they weren’t entirely sure what the human had said. He had a strange accent that threw off cheaper translation models. While many of the older models COULD understand the multitude of human languages, deviations in accents was still nuanced and difficult to pick up for even the most expensive piece of equipment.

He turned to look at the commander, “Do you know what makes the sand blue. It is the most fascinating thing I think I have ever seen.” 

The commander picked up a handful of dirt and let it trail through his fingers, “I think it has to do with the extreme presence of copper in the soil, oxidized copper likes to turn blue, and with bacteria in the soil producing ammonia, i think you can get even darker shades than this.”

The human lifted his head smelling at the air, “it’s very dry, obviously this is a desert planet, or at least a dessert on a planet.” 

“A dessert planet.” The commander said, motioning to the group of rundi who stood out in the sand examining the plants for signs of wildlife, “Rundi are actually allergic to water, which is why they were making us wear gloves and masks.”

“Allergic to water? How do they survive then?”

“They can get moisture in other forms, I guess. Water being as scarce as it is on this planet, at least on the surface. There are vast underworld reservoirs and rivers, which feed the plants you see here. Their roots are extremely deep, deeper than any earth plant. Eating those plants provides the Rundi with everything they need.” He motioned onward, “The thoraxes act as a sort of fat deposit so they can go for months at a time without eating.”

“That’s quite amazing, Commander. You know about as much about other sentient species as I do about our more animal friends.”

The commander smiled the skin wrinkling up around his one remaining eye, “I have had plenty of time spent with them.”

“Ill bet.” All in one moment, he clapped his hands together, forcing the attention of the Rundi who turned to look at the strange human, in his boots, shorts, and shirt, probably the most under-dressed human they had ever seen.

“First things is first.” he turned around to look at another group of similarly dressed humans emerging from the inside of the shuttle, “We are here to catch, sedate, and transport the Strangit. We want to make sure that it stays as relaxed and as stress free as possible, which is why we will bate it, and then dart it from a distance.”

“How do we know our sedation will work?” one of the humans asked, raising a hand.

“We have done some non-invasive testing with the DNA sequences of these creatures and found that their structure is similar enough to accept the drug in the same way a Rino or a hippo might, so hopefully we won’t be proven wrong Also, if you find any other creatures during our tour, just use the little boxes on your hips to catch them, and secure them. We want to relocate as many of these critters as possible, but we want to do it in the nicest way we can.”

He turned to look at the Commander who stood to the side of the group, “Do you think you can help us out.”

The commander nodded, “Always willing to help. Just tell me what I need to do.”

He clapped his hands together. “Excellent, lets get to work.”

-

The following Rundi scientists were a little more than fascinated by the pack of humans, and especially their leader as they began a slow movement up through the sand sweeping back and forth for signs of the Strangit, last spotted in this area. They had heard that some humans were capable of tracking their prey over long distances by using nothing more than small changes left in the land by their prey, footprints, or clumps of hair, sometimes the very formation of the land itself.

Their feet were almost silent on the sand, and when they communicated, they did it in a low rumble. Sometimes, they didn’t even speak at all, simple motioning at each other, communicating silently over long distances. The lead human kept his eyes to the ground crouched low legs always moving zig-zagging from rock to rock until at one moment he stopped, and called the others in with a sharp piercing blast.

He had no equipment with which to make that sound, though humans were known for their ability.

“See these, right here. Looks like tracks. I’ll wager to say it passed by here not too long ago.” He motioned upwards at the blowing sand. And with the rate at which this sand is blowing, I would reduce the time even more than before. We should move silently from here.” The rundi held back, watching as the humans condensed down their group slowly moving around each other their eyes forward, their bodies focused on their hunting. The main human spent most of his time in a low crouch, sometimes dropping down to all fours so he could better see the dirt and the ground underneath.

None of the rundi could see what he was looking for, but he seemed sure they were close.

It was just then that a strange warbling chatter echoed up form the other side of a short sand dune.

The humans went very still, and the forward human held his finger to his lips motioning the other into position.

The human with the dart gun quietly padded up the side of the hill concealing himself against the bowl of a rock, cozied inside a divot created by the sand and the wind.

With a wave of his hand, the human motioned the others closer, including the Commander, who knelt in the soft sandy circle about him.

The rundi tried to stay quiet as they approached, ready to hear the plan.

“That first call.” he whispered, “Was the male, its a mating call, and the second one was a more distant female. Now the females tend to travel in herds, while the males are generally loners, so if we mimic, the sound of the female, and make it think that there is a larger group of us, we might be able to drawn him over and into our line of sight, without risking it getting startled or agitated.

The chattering sound started up again, receiving a response not a moment later.

He motioned the other humans away, who scurried off to hide themselves, creating a spot for ambush. 

Watching from a distance, it was rather unnerving, the way the humans seemed to know inherently how to behave, how to spread out, and how to hide themselves, creating an open break in their circular line for the creature to come.

It was even worse when the sounds came.

The lead human, in line of sight to the Rundi, cupped his hands around his mouth and began the warbling call of a female strangit. Off in the distance a male call answered, following that the other humans began to mimic the sound of the first. A human to their right added in soe of the related huffing noises, their chest raising and falling in shorts bursts.

They did whatever they could to create the noise they were hearing, using their hands, adjusting their tongues and tilting their heads back.

It was terrifying.

A few of the Rundi felt shivers run up their backs as they imagined their ancestors traveling in large groups and hearing a cry for help, running to hear that cry and being pounced upon by a group of humans mimicking their own voices.

Sand shuffled off on the other side of the hill.

Footsteps thudded against stone , and the Strangit crested the horizon, its massive back spikes jutting almost three feet up into the air. Its body was stocky with muscle, its feet were large, round and flat, and from a distance it was at least the same height as a tall Drev, though with much more mass.

A single giant tusk jutted out from the bottom of it’s chin nearly scraping the ground as it walked. 

As a male of the species, instead of being blue to match the sand, Like a female, they were a sort of ruddy yellow color with spots of green dappling it’s back.

When it moved, the sun reflected off those spots of green.

The creature lifted it’s head looking around for the female’s it was sure it had heard.

One of the humans made one last call, and the great beast turned to face the sound, seeming almost confused when it saw nothing.

The Rundi watched as the armed human gently slid into place on his side, using the sandy hill to steady his weapon.

There was a low pop, and the beast jumped bellowing at the sky before turning around and running in the opposite direction.

“We got him!” Someone yelled, and together the humans broke from their line of cover and went racing after the creature.

Like a pack of wolves they followed the creature at a distance as it galloped through the open sand leaving a  trail of dust behind it. The human’s feet kicked up dust, and they pulled to a slow stop as the creature slowed, wobbled and then tipped onto its side resting heavily in the sand. The rundi caught up as the humans were speaking with each other.

“Just give it a few minutes.”

While they waited the Rundi looked to the humans with concern, “Is it common…. For humans to mimic their prey.”

The humans laughed, “Not really, we record things instead. Most animals on our planet can tell the difference. However, we are generally pretty good at somewhat reproducing most noises.”

“Go on.” They asked 

Intrigued.

While the other humans walked off to inspect their prey, a few remained behind and seemed to be having fun demonstrating the different calls animals on their planet make.

One of the sounds a long, drawn out howl sent shivers up the Rundi’s backs. 

“You know, wolves are fun to mimic, but the one sound I think it might be impossible to make is a roar.” 

“I mean yes, but have you ever tried to make an Elk sound.”

“Oh, I can do an elk.”

“No way, lets see it.” 

What followed was a competition based on who could make the strangest animal noise. The elk was pretty terrifying and screeching repeating call that rose in octave until it was no more than a piercing note on the air repeated multiple times.

“Ok, ok, that is pretty.”

“Is it acceptable to use props.”

“Why.”

“Because if it is, I can accurately mimic a two strike dirt bike.” 

There was laughing from the other humans, “Ah yes, I forgot about that breed.”

“I have an uncle who owns a dirk bike farm.”

It took a moment for the rundi to realize that the humans were simply joking. As it would soon come to light, humans could also mimic the sound of non-organic objects.

Looking back and fourth at each other, they collectively decided it would be best if this was never mentioned to the humans.

IT seemed as if they had not evolved to hunt like this.

But if they knew.

If they knew the power of their own voices, the rest of the galaxy might be in serious danger.

Looking over at the Strangit, the Rundi shivered at the thought of hearing a familiar call in the distance just to show up, and be met with the sharp glistening teeth of a hungry, smiling human.

Poor creature. 

#humans are insane #humans are space orcs #humans are space australians #HUMANS ARE WEIRD #earth is a deathworld #Earth is space Ausralia

[goldenraeofsun]

Remember Me, Honeybee

Part I

Two hours into the farmers market, and Dean’s had enough. Even the gorgeous day outside, sunlight streaming down from a cloudless sky, does nothing for him.

Next to him in their produce stall, Sam rearranges their vegetable display with all the intensity of Bobby Fischer facing off against the Soviets. He adjusts an eggplant a few inches to the left, eyes it critically, and moves it back where it was.

Yesterday, Dean got sunburned from too many hours in the sun harvesting. But before he could even think about a shower, a visitor pounded on their door because some neighbor ratted them out to local Fish and Wildlife. So on top of dealing with a peeling forehead and an aching back, Dean had to take care of Ms. Rosen nearly breaking and entering to get at Sam or his watercress - she wasn’t really clear on which was her priority.

Sam, the cowardly sasquatch, bolted the moment her car tires pulled up to their farm.

It took an hour to get Ms. Rosen to leave. First, Dean had to show her Sam’s pet watercress plants at the edge of their property. According to Ms. Rosen, they’re an invasive species, which Sam could’ve mentioned to Dean at some point. Then, Ms. Rosen explained the $150 fine - all the while heavily implying she could dock a few bucks if left alone in a room with Sam.

Dean forked over the money. Sam’s virtue got to live to see another day.

At least Becky gave Dean plenty of blackmail material. If Sam pisses him off one more time, guess who’s getting Sam’s phone number faxed straight to her field office?

Dean was looking forward to sharing the whole story with Cas when they pulled up to the farmer’s market that morning. But his favorite beekeeper, potter, and candlestick maker is notably absent again.

As Hannah steps away from her stall to replenish her display, Dean seizes his chance. “Be right back,” he calls to Sam as he darts out behind their table.

When she catches sight of him, Hannah turns her back to lift a crate of soaps that would’ve left Dean sore for days. Goddamn angel strength.

“I may be a dumb human,” Dean starts, “but even I know that angels don’t get sick.” His voice drips with disdain. “Where’s Cas? The real reason, this time. Not that BS you fed me last week.”

Hannah sighs, her normally refined tawny wings fluttering in barely-concealed agitation. “He’s… indisposed.”

Dean folds his arms over his chest. “Cas has been here, rain or shine, every market for two whole friggin’ years. Is he,” he forces out the words, dread trickling down his spine, “dying or something?”

“No.” Hannah shakes her head. “He’s not mortally ill. He’s just indisposed.”

Dean gawks at her. “What the hell does that mean?”

“You have customers,” Hannah says shortly.

Dean waves off a soccer mom armed with a bushel of kale and a hungry leer. “Sam’s handling the orders.” He points at the line in front of Sam, and the lady walks off in a huff.

“Is that right?” Hannah asks innocently once Dean’s attention darts back to her.

“Cut the crap,” Dean says sharply. “Why hasn’t Cas shown for the past two weeks? The real reason. None of that indisposed bullshit.”

Hannah sighs. “You’re keeping me from my own customers.”

Dean raises his eyebrows. “So you’d better talk fast.”

Hannah makes a face like she smelled Sam’s post-Chipotle farts. “Castiel was cursed.”

“What?”

“Keep it down,” Hannah hisses, leaning in. “He - well, it’s a long story. Our cousin, an archangel, cursed him.”

“For fuck’s sake, why?”

Hannah’s lips purse. “Gabriel has been very hard to contact for the details. He apparently thought Castiel was moping too loudly or too frequently. ”

“Moping?” Dean echoes, his brow furrowing. “Cas always seemed fine to me.”

Hannah shrugs. “Ask Gabriel. Now, if you don’t mind,” she lifts her nose into the air, wings straightening, “I have customers.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean retreats to his vegetable stand, his head swimming.

Dean never saw himself as a farmer until his health nut little brother decided to ditch his high-paying (and stressful) lawyer job to play Green Acres, and Dean, naturally, followed since there was no goddamn way Sam knew his way around a tractor. Sam was more likely to mow down his own gigantor foot than move a clod of dirt. Luckily, to Dean, an engine’s an engine.

At the farmers market, Sam’s booth was placed next to Cas’s. On their first day, Cas walked over with a complimentary jar of honey. He was stilted and awkward, sure, but he was also the first one to welcome them into the fold.

Lost in thoughts and worries about Cas, Dean almost gives a customer a twenty dollar bill instead of a one, blanks on when their summer squash will be in season, and accidentally rings up asparagus as broccoli.

“Look,” Sam says after apologizing for Dean’s latest mistake, “why don’t you head back and check on the tomatoes? It’s winding down here.”

Dean dubiously eyes the hubbub of people browsing vegetables.

Sam gives him a light shove towards their truck. “Just go. I know you don’t want to be here, anyway.”

Dean grimaces. “It’s that obvious?”

“To everyone and their grandmother,” Sam says under his breath.

Asparagus Man at the front of the line nods gravely.

“Thanks,” Dean says sourly to both of them.

“Go check on Cas,” Sam says as he gestures for the next customer to step up to the register. “Swing by and pick me up in a few hours.”

* * *

At the foot of the unpaved driveway up to Cas’s house, Dean cuts the engine. He taps his fingers on the steering wheel, debating with himself. Cas might not want visitors.

But Dean brought pie.

Homemade, of course. And if it was supposed to celebrate Sam’s birthday tomorrow, what Cas doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Sam likes cake better, anyway, because he’s a freak.

Dean grabs the pie, shoves open the door, and strides up the dirt road to Cas’s house before he can talk himself out of it for good.

This is what you do for sick friends, anyway. Charlie drove all the way up to the city with chicken noodle soup, Settlers of Catan, and prime gossip on Benny’s on-and-off-again thing with Andrea when Dean had the flu a few years ago.

Dean is just being a good friend. It’s not weird.

He knocks on Cas’s cobalt blue door, his heart beating double-time behind his ribs as the seconds wear on with no answer.

Dean dawdles on Cas’s welcome mat. He tries again. Cas’s house isn’t exactly small, with its pottery studio in the basement and wax room in the back. Cas might be in his nest, on the can, or in his garden by the hives. Hell, with this mysterious curse, Cas might not be home at all - but stuck in some angel hospital being poked and prodded by docs. He probably should have squeezed Hannah for more details.

The door opens as Dean contemplates, for the hundredth time, bailing with his tail between his legs.

“Hello?” Cas says, peering curiously at Dean.

“Cas,” Dean says, relieved. From one cursory look, Cas seems normal. His hair’s fucked up, of course. His dark wings are equally unkempt, feathers sticking out every which way. All typical Cas.

Cas blinks. His mouth opens, closes, and opens again. But no sound comes out.

“You’re up,” Dean says stupidly. Of course Cas is up, or he wouldn’t have been able to answer the damn door. Dean shifts his weight to his other foot. “Hannah mentioned you’d, uh, been cursed,” he says awkwardly.

Cas relaxes a fraction. “Ah, yes, I was.”

Dean gives Cas another once-over. “I just found out this morning, so I thought I’d stop by. Bring pie." He holds up the pie as evidence. "See how you are. But you look good.”

Cas squints at him, his head tilting. “Thank you?” he asks like he had a half-dozen responses in his head and chose that one at random.

“No prob.”

Cas’s gaze darts down to the pie in Dean’s hands for the first time. “Would you like to come in?”

Dean grins. “Yeah,” he says, stepping inside. “I’ll take this to the kitchen. I’m starving. Do you wanna eat it now?”

Cas gestures him forward. “This way.”

Dean throws him a funny look but follows him to the kitchen he’s been in about a hundred times before - for Cas’s annual Spring Equinox party, for a handful of dinners with other farmers in the area, for water breaks in between weeding Cas’s bee-friendly garden.

Afternoon sunlight from the beautiful day outside streams through the large windows that overlook the back porch and garden. It illuminates the kitchen table, absolutely covered with what looks like all of Cas’s beekeeping books.

Dean clears enough space for pie and strides over to the drawer for the baking utensils, saying over his shoulder, “I hope you’re hungry.”

When Cas doesn’t answer, Dean hastily turns back around - only to find himself practically nose-to-nose with Cas.

Dean takes an instinctive step backwards, his ass smacking the drawer closed again. “Dude,” he says in a strangled voice. His heart pounds in his chest at the close proximity and intense look in Cas’s eye. “We talked about this. Personal space.”

Cas retreats, his brow furrowing. “My apologies,” he mumbles. “I must have misread the situation.”

“I - yeah - I guess,” Dean stutters as he grabs plates and stacks two forks on top.

Cas falls heavily into a seat at the kitchen table. Silently, he moves enough books around for them to sit and eat.

Dean eyes the haphazard piles as he takes his own seat. “D’you have a problem with one of the hives or something?”

Cas shakes his head. “I don’t think so,” he says, his brow furrowing. “But it’s hard to tell.”

Dean snorts as he cuts them both slices. “I thought you knew everything about bees.”

Cas shoots him a dour look. “I did,” he says pointedly.

“Did?”

Cas fusses with a pamphlet on colony collapse. “I’m trying to catch up, but there is a lot of information to learn.”

Dean frowns. “Catch up to what?”

“To where I was,” Cas says, head tilting.

Dean sets the pie server down to focus on Cas, since he’s not making any goddamn sense. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Cas looks at him like Dean’s the one who lost his mind. “I don’t remember how to take care of them.” After a beat, he clarifies, “The bees. I’ve spent the better part of two weeks relearning how to maintain the hives, harvest honey, check if there is enough honey to harvest...” he drifts off, looking more than a little lost.

Dean blinks. “That’s the curse?” He grimaces as he forks off a generous corner of pie. “Dick move on Gabriel’s part. That’s your goddamn livelihood.”

Cas tilts his head, eyes narrowing. “He didn’t just make me forget the bees.”

Dean chews at Cas thoughtfully. “What else? Please tell me you forgot that time with the goat and a hooker.”

Cas stares at him. “I don’t remember anything.”

Dean’s next bite of pie freezes halfway to his mouth. “What do you mean anything?” he demands.

“I didn’t think it needed explaining,” Cas says waspishly, as all the pieces finally fall into place for Dean. “I thought Hannah told you about it.” His feathers rustle against the back of his chair.

“Hannah only said you were cursed!” Dean flails, “Not that you have goddamned amnesia. Do you know what pie is? Do you know who I am?”

Cas blinks, a little taken aback by Dean’s reaction. “I retain my general knowledge. I know what pie is,” he says. “I don’t remember eating it, but I know it is meat or fruit wrapped in pastry.”

“Oh my god.”

Cas’s gaze falls to the uneaten pie in front of him. “And, no, I don’t know who you are.”

Dean blinks, all the blood draining from his face. He forces out, “You’re serious.”

“I’d hardly joke with a stranger,” Cas says frankly.

Dean lets his fork drop back to the plate with a clatter.

Cas peers at him curiously. “The curse erased all my personal memories, but I was assuming we were friends, is this right? You know your way around my house, and Hannah wouldn’t have divulged my condition to just anyone.”

“Yeah,” Dean says gruffly, “we’re friends. I - my brother and me, we have a stand next to yours at the farmer’s market.”

“Oh,” Cas says. “Work colleagues, then.”

Dean snorts. “A little more than that.”

Cas bites his lip. “But you told me to respect your personal space. If we were -”

“Woah!” Dean cuts in before Memento can come up with any more bright ideas, “We’re close friends, alright?” he says before Cas can get another word out, “But not… like that.”

Dean doesn’t even know if Cas goes for humans. Most angels don’t. Cas never mentioned any romantic partners, and Dean never pressed. Better to keep that box locked up tight. Cas never shied away from giving his opinion to Dean or anyone else. He’s the most blunt, sincere person Dean knows - angel or human.

If he felt anything for Dean - the barest speck of more-than-friendly feelings, he’d have said something.

“Oh,” Cas says, and, behind him, his wings droop the smallest fraction.

Dean scans the table and pushes Cas’s worn copy of The How-To-Do-It Book of Bee-Keeping by Richard Taylor his way. “Test me.”

“What?”

Dean shovels more pie into his mouth. “As’ me anyfin’,” he mumbles.

Bemused, Cas opens the book to a random page. “How do you use a bee escape?” he reads aloud.

“Do you know what they are?” At Cas’s headshake, Dean holds his fingers about three inches apart, “They’re little plastic doodads with little bee-sized holes in the middle. You slide ‘em in the hive right before you’re about to harvest. Once they’re fitted, you smoke out the bees, one comb at a time. Once they’re out of the way, you can scrape off the honey.”

Cas’s eyes narrow. “Do you also keep bees?”

Dean can’t help his loud laugh. “God no,” he says as he closes his mouth around another bite of pie. “I’m just a farmer. But I’ve helped you out a few times.”

At least twice a month since Dean moved to this corner of semi-rural America, but who’s counting. Honey is only harvested once a year, but Cas can always use an extra set of hands in his garden. Or around the house. Dean’s worked off more than one argument with Sam by kneading clay in Cas’s pottery studio basement.

“So you know all this from me,” Cas says dubiously.

“Sure do,” Dean says, smacking his lips as he debates another slice of Cas’s get-well-soon pie. “You’re a good teacher, and once you get on a roll about the bees, it’s kinda hard to shut you up.”

“Sorry?”

“Don’t be,” Dean says as he cuts himself another (smallish) slice. “I look hot in a beekeeper suit, anyway.”

Cas frowns, confused. “Do most humans find baggy coveralls and heavy veils sexually appealing?”

Dean snorts. “That was a joke.”

Dean doesn’t mention that he finds the beekeeper getup hot as hell as long as it’s Cas wearing it.

It’s just - Cas doesn’t usually bother with the veil since he likes to have a full range of vision when caring for his bees. Dean once let a whole comb drop on his foot at the sight of Cas bent over, wholly concentrated on the hive, a barely-there smile hidden in the corners of his mouth. His blue eyes were luminous in the bright sunlight, and every few seconds he would lick his lips, probably to wipe away the beads of sweat gathering on his upper lip.

“Oh,” Cas says, a faint blush touching his cheeks. His gaze drops to his plate, and his wings sag behind him.

Dean mentally kicks himself. Cas might still have all a whole encyclopedia shoved in his brain, but jokes will fly right over his head like so many of Cas’s precious bees. Since Dean started hanging around, he had been getting better with the jokes and references, but Total Recall Cas got that goddamn factory reset, so Dean has to cool it for now.

“Forget it,” he tells Cas. “I’m an asshole.”

Cas squints across the table at him. “You are not.”

“Huh?”

Cas carefully spears off a bit of pie. “You came by to check on me, offer me food,” he slips his fork into his mouth, eyes closing as he savors the tart cherries and buttery pastry, “stay and talk.”

“I, mean, yeah,” Dean says, wrongfooted, “we’re friends. ‘S the least I could do.”

Cas has another bite. “This is really good.”

“Thanks,” Dean says before he crams the rest of his slice into his mouth. He studies Cas as they both eat, an uncomfortable foreboding settling deep in his stomach. Now he sees it, how Cas doesn’t look at him with any familiarity. It’s more like, to Cas, Dean is some fucked up jigsaw puzzle slash zoo animal. Eventually, Dean has to ask, “Are you going to get your memories back?”

Cas shakes his head, his expression hardening. “I’m not sure.”

Dean’s mouth falls open. “Are you serious?” He braces both elbows on the table. “But you were cursed - there’s gotta be a way to break it. That’s how curses work, right?”

Cas exhales a slow sigh. “Gabriel did say there was a way to break it.”

“And you haven’t yet?” Dean demands, almost offended on Cas’s - his Cas’s - behalf. “You’re okay forgetting your whole life?”

Cas’s eyes narrow. “Are you insane?” he hisses, his feathers puffing up like an angry cat. “Of course I am not ‘okay,’” he says, air quotes and all, which Dean hasn’t seen since he told Cas they were lame. (He felt bad about it for a week afterward and gave Cas a free apology pumpkin. First of the season.)

“I am able to navigate the outside world as well as a human toddler,” Cas continues heatedly. “What do you think I’ve been trying to do for the past two weeks?”

Dean huffs an impatient breath. “What have you tried so far?”

Cas grimaces. “Gabriel said it could be broken like all curses could be broken.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“I have no clue,” Cas says frankly. “I spent a week in Heaven’s archives and libraries. The most common way to break curses is by consuming a stone taken from the stomach of a goat -”

Dean makes a gagging noise.

“-or bathing in the blood of a virgin at the new moon.”

“Not any less gross,” Dean says emphatically. “Where the hell are you going to get virgin blood? Are they talking about, like, a whole virgin? Or does born again count?”

Cas shakes his head. “The new moon was four days ago.”

Dean frowns. “Did you have to do the blood thing?”

From the look on Cas’s face, Dean isn’t going to make him watch Carrie anytime soon.

“So I went to more obscure magic,” Cas continues. “I tried bathing in a natural source of water. And then I ran a bath and filled it with salt, since salt repels evil.”

“All I’m hearing is lots of bathing so far.”

Cas rolls his eyes. “I lit sage in every room and burned three types of wood. I wore an evil eye bracelet. I sprinkled consecrated water blended with honey over the threshold.”

“No dice?”

Cas throws him a baleful look. “I have ants now.”

Dean snorts. “Well that sucks,” he says, since what else can you say when your best friend swaps all his memories for a Bug's Life?

Cas sighs. “From my notes and research, I can’t leave the hives completely unattended, so I’ve spent the past few days trying to figure out how not to kill them,” he says, gesturing to the rest of the kitchen table. “Once I’ve determined if the bees will survive on their own, I can look back into the curse.”

Dean purses his lips. “Have you prayed to Gabriel? Tried to convince him to take it back?”

“Every day since it happened,” Cas says, his face somber.

“Alright,” Dean says, grabbing Cas’s empty plate, “I can’t help with the curse stuff since I save the teen witch adventures for Sabrina. I can help with the bees, though, if you want.” He gets to his feet and dumps the plates in the sink.

Once his back is turned, he frowns as he thinks his words over. Who knows if this Cas actually wants him around? This Cas doesn’t know him from Adam.

To the dishes Dean says, “The next beekeeper is a few towns over. I could give him a call for you, if you’d rather have him. Cain’s mostly retired, so he’d probably have the time to show you the ropes.”

“Is Cain an angel?”

Dean laughs over the splashing water. “No, he’s a crotchety old bastard who would rather live with bees than people. You get along.” He sets the rinsed plates out to dry and faces Cas. “I’m sure you have his number in your phone too, come to think of it.”

Cas meets Dean’s cautious gaze with his usual soul-searing stare. “I wouldn’t mind if you helped me. Maybe I could call Cain if there are any advanced problems we can’t figure out together.”

Dean smiles. “Sounds like a plan.” He jerks his head towards the backyard. “You wanna get suited up?”

“Now?” Cas asks, alarmed.

“No time like the present,” Dean says as he walks out of the kitchen without waiting for Cas to follow. “Come on, we’re wasting daylight.”

* * *

Cas stares at his beekeeper suit, hanging in its usual place on his screened back porch, next to his gardening gloves.

“You okay?” Dean asks. “You’ve got a spare in your shed, so I’ll grab it on the way.”

Cas picks up the suit like it’s about to bite him.

“’S a good thing I’m here,” Dean says as Cas slowly unzips the front. “It’s always a bitch to get your wings covered.”

Cas’s wings slump. “I have a feeling this is going to be more trouble than it’s worth.”

“Hey,” Dean says, taking a step forward, “no, it’s your bees. You love them.”

Cas frowns. “But I don’t remember how.”

Dean grins. “Then you’re a lucky son of a bitch who gets to fall in love with something all over again.” He sighs wistfully. “What I wouldn’t give to erase Star Wars from my brain and watch it again for the first time.”

“What is Star Wars?”

“A trilogy of movies from the 70s and 80s,” Dean says, his smile widening.

Cas nods. “I’ll have to rewatch them, then.”

“Damn right,” Dean says. “I gave you the DVDs for my birthday last year, so they should be around here somewhere.”

“For your birthday?” Cas asks, eyebrows rising. “Isn’t gift-giving normally the other way around?”

Dean shrugs. “But I’d been bugging you to watch ‘em with me for years. Trust me, it was an awesome birthday.”

Cas opens his mouth like he’s not sure where to poke holes in Dean’s story first, so Dean reaches for the wing covers. “I think we should do the hard part first.”

“You’re currently the expert,” Cas says as he sets the suit aside.

Dean frowns as he takes in Cas’s black wings, reflecting muted tones of magenta, purple, cobalt, and green. Normally, Cas rocks the sex wing look - a few feathers askew here and there like someone raked their fingers through them - but now his wings look more like Cas stuck his alulas in an electrical socket.

Without thinking, Dean says, “It’s gonna be hard to get them in the wing covers. They’re a little messed up, dude.” As Cas’s face falls, Dean adds quickly, “Nothing a little grooming can’t fix.”

Cas flushes. “I haven’t been able to reach my whole wingspan on my own. Hannah offered-” he breaks off, his gaze skittering around to settle just over Dean’s left shoulder. “But I don’t know her, not really, so I was uncomfortable accepting.”

Dean takes a step back. “I mean, you don’t need to do it. I’ll have to touch a couple feathers to get these on you, if you’re okay with that.”

Cas swallows. “No, you’re right. My wings are a mess.”

Dean’s fingers practically tingle with the urge to reach out and smooth down the closest feathers, but he shoves his free hand deep into his pocket instead.

“Can you help me?” Cas asks.

Dean quietly dies inside.

Cas’s wings flutter in anticipation, and Dean is so, so weak.

“Yeah,” Dean says gruffly as he drops the wing cover and approaches Cas’s back. “You sure, man? I - I’ve never done this before.”

Cas turns his head. “Never?”

Dean clenches his hands into fists. Don’t touch. Not until he says so. Dean can keep his goddamn hands to himself. Cas deserves that much.

“Do you want me to walk you through it?” Cas asks softly. “I know how, since it’s only personal memories about my life that seem to have been affected.”

“Ah,” Dean hesitates, a hundred and one wing kink porn videos flashing through his head like popup ads. “No,” he coughs, “I know the mechanics.”

Cas’s eyes narrow. “Are you sure?”

Dean fidgets in place. “‘S like picking beans, right? Don’t pull on them too hard. They’ll come off if they want to come off. Make sure nothing is sticking out at weird angles.”

Cas makes a face. “Did you just compare my wings to legumes?”

“Maybe?” Dean says defensively. “Look, I know vegetables, and I know what your wings are supposed to look like. What else do you want from me?”

Cas’s mouth opens, but no words come out. With a sigh, he faces forward, presenting his wings for Dean.

Dean inhales a deep breath. Christ, his hands are goddamn shaking. Get a fucking grip, Winchester. He lightly touches the base of Cas’s left wing.

Cas shivers, the feathers rippling.

Dean yanks his hand back.

“Sorry,” Cas says sheepishly. “You took me by surprise. Please continue.”

Gently, Dean grazes the base of the wing again. The feathers rustle like under a moderate breeze, but Cas doesn’t tell him to stop, so Dean keeps going. He feels along the surface of Cas’s wings, most of the feathers slipping, glossy smooth, under his fingertips - until he catches the first snag. Nerves rocketing up to eleven, Dean tugs lightly on the first feather out of place.

Cas sucks in a breath.

It comes loose, and Dean has a fleeting, stupid thought to steal it for himself. But he lets it flutter to the floor.

Dean soldiers on, biting his lip as he tries to keep himself from grabbing handfuls of feathers and burying his face in Cas’s wings. Meticulously, painstakingly, he combs through the mess. As he moves closer to the second joint, Cas’s feathers, which had been subtly shifting the whole time, stiffen.

“You okay?” Dean asks.

Cas nods, stilted. “Please continue,” he says, his voice rough.

Dean frowns. If Cas is uncomfortable and doesn’t want to tell him, Dean’s not going to be the asshole who turns a blind eye to the signs. He withdraws his hands, and Cas’s wings -

They flare out, seeking Dean’s touch.

Without thinking, Dean blurts an astounded, “Dude.”

“Apologies,” Cas says, and, from this angle, Dean has primetime viewing of the back of Cas’ traffic light-red neck. His wings retreat to fold stiff as a board behind Cas’s back.

“Hey, no,” Dean says as he lays a hand along Cas’s wing, petting it gently. “I just wanted to check in with you.” He grins lopsidedly, not that Cas can see him. “Communication is important.”

Cas coughs. “Indeed,” he says, and his voice still sounds off. “Please continue. I,” he breaks off, turning a little in place so Dean can see half of his face, “I was enjoying it.”

“Good,” Dean says with a little too much enthusiasm. “I - uh, me too.”

Cas blinks. “You were?” He frowns. “Grooming is… boring. A chore.”

“Not for humans,” Dean says as he picks up where he left off. “We don’t have big fancy wings to lug around everywhere. They’re-”

“What?” Cas waits, clearly expecting an answer.

Dean sighs. “Cool,” he supplies lamely. “Your wings are cool.”

Dean can’t see Cas’s face with his back turned, but his wings fluff up ever so slightly, so Dean counts it as a win. “I’m glad you think so,” Cas says quietly.

“’Course,” Dean says, easy as pie. He pulls on another feather, and, when it doesn’t come out, tucks it back into its proper place, “I’ve never seen an angel with wings like yours. Malachi’s got dark grey ones, and I thought they were your shade of black, but they’re not. Plus, he’s an asshole.”

Cas chuckles. “I don’t see how him being an asshole has anything to do with his wing color.”

“No, but, if you ever run into him - an angel with dark grey wings - now you know.”

“So you’re only looking out for me.”

“You don’t know this yet,” Dean tells him conspiratorially, “but I’m awesome.”

“Yes, I’m beginning to see that for myself.”

Thank God Cas can’t see Dean’s face. Equally embarrassed and pleased, Dean rambles, “You should also watch out for Metatron - the white-winged dude who runs the thrift shop down the road. He’s been angling to set up shop at the farmers market for fucking ever even though he has a storefront for all his crap. Whoever said white wings meant purity was full of shit because Metatron’s a douche.”

Cas laughs, and Dean nearly slumps over in relief.

He can still make Cas laugh.

“Hannah, she’s okay,” Dean continues as he combs through the rest of Cas’s secondaries and coverts before he gets to the primaries, large and built for flight, and completely within Cas’s reach to groom himself. “But her partner, Duma, hates you for some reason, so I’d steer clear of her.”

Cas’s wings dip a few inches. “It doesn’t sound like I’m on good terms with many angels.”

Dean lightly runs his palm over Cas’s flight feathers - while he’s back here, he might as well. “I guess not,” he admits because Cas is right, “but they’ve all got massive sticks up their asses, so you’re better off.”

“They’re family.”

“They’re dicks,” Dean corrects. “Come on, you’re goddamn cursed with amnesia , and not one is here helping you out? Dick move for dick angels,” he finishes.

“Hannah visited.”

“Like I said, Hannah’s okay,” Dean says as he straightens up.

“At least you’re here,” Cas points out.

“Yeah,” Dean says bitterly as he brushes out bits of fluffy down near the base of Cas other wing, “After two weeks.”

“You said you didn’t know.”

“I should’ve.”

“How?” Cas asks, sounding baffled.

Dean scoffs as he cards his fingers through the shorter feathers near the bone of Cas’s wing, “You didn’t show at the farmers market. You always show.”

“But-”

Dean shakes his head. “I should’ve known something was up.” He yanks a little too hard on a feather, and the brittle shaft breaks between his thumb and pointer finger. Dean lets it fall to the floor in disgust. “But Hannah said you were sick, and I didn’t know if you were the type who wanted company or everyone to stay the hell away. And then I talked to Sammy, and he said angels don’t really get sick like we do.” He exhales a slow breath, consciously holding himself back from tearing any more feathers out. Cas doesn’t deserve that, especially after all the shit he’s dealing with.

“We do get sick,” Cas says, his voice breaking through Dean’s morose reminiscing of the past week, “But never with the type of illnesses that can be treated outside of Heaven.”

“That’s what Sammy told me,” Dean says heavily.

“You were worried?”

Dean pokes him in the muscular part of the wing. “Of course I was worried.”

Cas’s head tilts, but not enough that Dean can make out his expression. “Because we’re friends.”

Dean swallows. “Yeah,” he says quietly, “because we’re friends.” He tugs on a few more feathers, and one comes loose. He holds it between his fingers for a beat, rubbing his thumb along the vane. With a sigh, he moves onto Cas’s other flight feathers. He gives them a few long strokes, unable to help his smile as he feels at the power, the potential, all hidden in Cas’s wings. But, eventually, he has to straighten up.

“All done,” he says with forced cheer as Cas turns around to face him.

Cas blinks a few times like he’s coming out of a trance. “Thank you,” he says gruffly.

He spreads his wings.

Dean’s breath catches in his chest, and his awe must show all over face, judging by Cas’s barely-there smirk. But, dammit, Dean’s going to enjoy the sight. Cas never puts himself on display like this, preferring to play the nerdy beekeeper in a trench coat rather than an almighty Angel of the Lord.

Cas turns his head to inspect Dean’s work. He gives an experimental flap, sweeping all the old feathers littering the floor up into the air. “Thank you, Dean,” he says sincerely. He folds his wings back, and Dean’s heart aches for something he never had in the first place.

“Don’t - don’t mention it,” Dean chokes out.

A fluffy piece of down drifts down to settle on Cas’s nose. He goes cross-eyed to keep it in view.

Dean cracks up. Grinning, he reaches up to brush away the offending bit of down.

Cas catches his arm in an iron grip, his own face oddly intense.

“Cas?”

But before Dean can finish his sentence, Cas pulls him closer and seals their mouths together.

Dean lets out a muffled (completely manly) noise of surprise against Cas’s lips before muscle memory takes over. As Dean kisses back, Cas makes a light soothing rumble in the back of his throat, his touch gentle and warm. Dean’s other hand grasps desperately at Cas’s shirt, anchoring him in place. An electric, bubbly feeling is exploding in his chest, a wild kind of joy Dean normally would tamp down, tell himself, watch out for the other shoe to drop.

Other shoes like Cas’s missing memory.

Dean freezes, and it takes him a long moment to realize Cas isn’t moving either. His grip on Dean’s arm has gone slack. Dean opens his eyes to find Cas’s eyes wide open and glowing with an electric blue light.

Fuck.

Dean’s watched his fair share of angel-on-angel porn and more than his fair share of angel-on-human porn, and kissing’s not supposed to do that.

Dean takes a stumbling step back. “Cas?” he tries.

But Cas doesn’t move. He doesn’t give any sign he heard Dean at all.

Dean falls forward, tripping over his feet. He grips Cas, hard, by the shoulders. With his heart in his throat, he gives Cas a small shake. “Cas?” he tries again, and his voice sounds alien to his own ears, loud and breathy with his panic. He shakes him harder. “Cas!”

Several agonizing seconds pass, and the light slowly dims from behind Cas’s eyes, leaving behind his normal blue.

“Dean?”

Dean’s knees nearly give out with relief. “Hey,” he says weakly, “Nice to have you back, buddy.”

Cas blinks a few times. He swallows, a strange expression coming over his face.

“You okay?” Dean demands. “What the fuck was that?”

Cas stares at him. “That was the curse breaking.”

Read Part II here!

#profoundnet #angel castiel #beekeper castiel #farmer dean #fluff #wing grooming #amnesia #mutual pining #friends to lovers #rae writes fic

[alarawriting]

52 Project #39: Seista Nikita

Wow, my brain is a sieve lately. I just didn’t notice it was getting to be 5 pm until it was almost 6.

I wrote this story originally in senior year of high school, in a college creative writing course. Even if your political views don’t change over time, the culture around them does. The Culare was a mockery of ridiculous extremes of environmentalism and animal rights, a la PETA and suchlike. I wouldn’t write a story like this nowadays because the pendulum’s gone so far in the other direction, I wouldn’t see that worthy of mockery, even though I still disagree with such extremes as much as I ever did. I am very fond of the trickster heroine, though, so I’m publishing it anyway. It’s kind of a stupid story, but I still think it’s funny. There have been some revisions made, so if you note things that didn’t exist in 1987, that is why.

-------------------------

Once upon a time, in a distant province that never appeared on any map, probably because either a. it was too small to bother with or b. someone bribed the mapmaker, or possibly both, an evil beast called the Culare reigned. (It was pronounced like “Cool air”, but if anyone tried to spell it that way, the Culare would eat them.) Some said the Culare was an experimental mutation; others, an ecologist gone mad. The Culare was an intelligent lion-like being with teleportation powers who took the concept of “protecting the environment” to a degree so ludicrous, not even the most extreme environmentalist would support it. He refused to let the human beings in his province harm the native wildlife by picking it or killing it. That would have been reasonable, but he also wouldn’t let people pick anything they planted themselves, even on their own property. If the plant in question was native, he wouldn’t let them harvest it, and if it wasn’t, he wouldn’t even let people plant it, claiming it was an invasive species. And of course he wouldn’t allow anyone to raise animals for food. Not even unfertilized chicken eggs. (He also took a dim view of the cellophane wrapper industry.)

If people wanted to eat meat, they had to find roadkill, or something that had been killed by another predator. The problem was that the Culare thought that “protecting nature” meant preventing predators of any kind from killing other animals… which meant there were very few animals who’d died of anything other than starvation or disease as their populations exploded. If they wanted to eat vegetables or fruits, people had to find things that were lying around on the ground.  In the beginning of the Culare’s reign, there had been shipments from other countries of rice, and bacon, and potatoes, and tomatoes, and whatever else people wanted to eat. But the Culare wouldn’t tolerate ships that consumed fossil fuels coming in to the ports, and the people of the small nation couldn’t pay enough to make it worth sending sailing ships. Also, packaging. If the food came in anything other than packaging made from recycled matter, which would biodegrade, the Culare would eat the people who brought it.

The Culare himself was sustained on sunflower seeds and papaya juice… when he wasn’t consuming errant humans.  

(Some said the whole thing was a scam, giving the Culare an acceptably environmentally correct reason to eat people. None of them said it very loudly, though, or else they never said it more than once.)

One day, an old man who had once worked for a living making cellophane wrappers, and his 20-ish son Harold, were out, searching for rotten apples and fallen nuts to eat. It was hard enough to find such things, when the entire country was desperately trying to find the same things so they wouldn’t starve to death.  It was made even more difficult by the fact that it was springtime. You might think that the reason springtime was an issue was that nothing had had a chance to get ripe enough to fall, and you’d be correct enough.  But the bigger part of the problem was that Harold was in love, with a girl named Seista Nikita, and he seemed to think that he could live entirely off air, sunlight and his love. At least, one would suspect that from how much attention he was not paying to finding food.

The old man finally got ticked off at the way his son was paying next to no attention to the task at hand, and hobbled off.

“At last,” Harold thought. “That old geezer’s gone. Him and his stories about the glorious days of Saran Wrap! I’d much rather sit under a tree and think about Seista.” With that, he sat down under a tree and thought about Seista.

At the height of his romantic musings, he saw a bunch of flowers. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if I could pick them and give them to Seista,” he thought, ignoring the fact that Seista would probably prefer nearly anything to flowers. Quickly, he looked around. He saw no one. His hand reached out and he plucked the blossoms.

Suddenly there was a burst of acrid smoke, and a huge lion-like beast appeared in front of him, kind of like the Wicked Witch of the West. “The Culare!” Harold babbled, and tried to hide the flowers.

“SLEAZOID,” the Culare rumbled. “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO THOSE FLOWERS?”

“Well, it was – it was an accident, yeah. I – you see, I, I thought they were looking ill, that’s it, and I tried to lift them up to inspect them. Yeah, that’s it. And – and they accidentally came loose, yeah—”

“FOOLISH SLIMEBUCKET, DO YOU REALLY EXPECT ME TO BELIEVE SUCH A RIDICULOUS STORY?”

“Oh, please don’t eat me!” begged Harold. “I’ll never do it again!”

“THAT’S WHAT THEY ALL SAY. BUT IT ISN’T GOOD FOR ME TO EAT A HEAVY MEAL THIS EARLY IN THE MORNING. I’LL COME BACK FOR YOU AT SUNSET.”

With that, the Culare vanished.

Harold ran straight to Seista Nikita’s house and told her the news. “And so we must be forever separated, beloved,” he said, tears in his eyes. “For I am doomed! At sunset tonight, I am destined to lose my life at the hands of the Culare. The paws? The claws? I’m not sure ‘hands’ is the correct thing to say here…”

Seista sighed. “You would go and do something like this, wouldn’t you? Stop moaning like that, you sound like a dead cow. I’ll kill the Culare for you and save your idiot backside. Okay?”

“Okay,” Harold sniffed.

So Seista Nikita put on her very tall platform shoes. These shoes were easily a foot and a half tall. You wouldn’t think anyone would be able to walk in such shoes, unless maybe they went to clown college and learned how to use stilts. Seista was a very acrobatic and skilled young woman, though, so while she wobbled a bit, she managed to stay upright all the way to the nearest meadow, which was badly overgrown with wildflowers, pokeweed, ground cover plants, and about half a billion tiny mimosa seedlings. She began to pick flowers and toss them into the air.

The Culare appeared. “SLEAZOID!” he boomed.

“Come and get me, shag-face!” Seista yelled, which was a reference to his lion-like mane rather than some sort of rude reference to a private activity. She kicked off her shoes, directly in front of the Culare, and ran. The Culare tried to pursue, but he tripped over her shoes and broke a forepaw.

“Damn,” Seista said, after escaping. “Those shoes were big enough that he should have tripped over them and broken his neck.” The thought occurred to her that perhaps she should have factored in the fact that he had four legs, and therefore had better balance than she’d accounted for. “I’ll just have to think of something else!”

An hour later, after getting into sneakers and sensible clothes, she climbed a tall cherry tree, went up as far as she could before the branches could no longer hold her weight, and began to pick cherry blossoms. It wasn’t long before the Culare appeared. “YOU AGAIN?”

“Nah, nah, nah nyah nah!” Seista taunted.  She was tall and strong and very acrobatic and fairly smart, but she was, admittedly, more than a little childish.

The Culare leapt at the tree and began to climb up. Seista waited until it had almost reached her, then dropped, letting go of the branch she was on… having already checked that there was another branch right below her. From there, she clambered down as fast as she could go. She figured that would hold him until he starved to death; the Culare was obviously a type of cat, and cats are terrible at climbing down trees.

So she went home to Harold, who was watching a Tarzan movie. It was an animated Disney reboot in 3D. “Well, I took care of that problem.”

“Really?” Harold turned, his 3D glasses sliding off his face. “O my beloved, my thanks know no bounds—”

“Skip it.”

A bulletin interrupted the Tarzan movie. “We interrupt this movie for an important bulletin.”  This was impressively implausible, since the movie was on a streaming service and you wouldn’t think anything could break into and interrupt one of those.

The Culare’s face appeared on the television. “SEISTA NIKITA, IF YOU’RE OUT THERE, YOU’RE DEAD!”

Seista stared in shock, as the movie resumed. How had he gotten out of that tree? …oh yeah, he could teleport. She probably should have thought of that.

“I thought you said you took care of it!” Harold whined.

“Shut up, I’m trying to think.” Tarzan swung across the jungle floor on a vine. The 3D was powerful enough that he visibly swung toward Seista, despite the fact that she wasn’t wearing 3D glasses. “Oh! That’s it!”

“What’s it?”

“Harold.” She patted his very handsome cheeks. “I love you dearly but you’re too stupid to know what I’m talking about.”

***

Nearby, there was a ravine, where Seista found a tree on one side. With a very long rope, tied to an upper branch of the tree, and a rock tied to one side of it, she flung the rope to the other side, getting it caught on the other side of a bush. There was a bridge a few hundred feet away; she ran down to it, crossed it, and went back to the bush.

With the rope held in one hand, she picked a dandelion.

The Culare appeared. “THAT’S IT! YOU’RE DEAD!”

As he leapt at her, Seista grabbed the rope and swung to the other side.  The Culare roared and leapt at her, apparently unable to see the cliff through the bush.  It turned out he couldn’t teleport if he was in midair; he fell to his death in the ravine below.

She and Harold were married the next week. Three months after that, Seista left Harold to find herself, and ran away to a country where she worked as a stuntwoman in movies. Harold mooned over her for another month before finding his next true love. Seista herself never married again, having decided that being tied down by romance wasn’t for her… particularly since she seemed to be sexually attracted to idiots. She had many fun and satisfying sexual relationships with people whose stupidity didn’t have to impact her life very much.

#52 Project #comedy #trickster tale #fairy-tale-ish

[tisfan]

The Works

Title: The Works Written by: @tisfan (3023) Square: R2 - Hydra Won (swapped square) Rating: Mature (for horror) Triggers/warnings: Tags: Hydra Won, ambiguous ending, incomplete Created for: @tonystarkbingo Word count: 2346 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23753566/chapters/59696779 Summary: It had been his last act, getting the sleep-pods onto the ship and launching it, the whole time, holding Hydra at bay, keeping her here, keeping her distracted. And then she’d struck, casting some evil magic over him, over--He couldn’t remember.

__________

¬░▒╛┐z░¬ date ┴╗╣⌐g__d morning soldier ▒¬º╖ç

The old AI wasn’t working. 

Which had been the plan, Barnes, get it together. 

The man above him -- well next to him now that Bucky had sat up -- was something like a vision. They exchanged names, greetings. The man. Tony. Had asked some questions.

Bucky’s lips were warm. Tingling. 

Tony had kissed him. To wake him up. To break the spell.

“Hydra won,” Bucky said. He wasn’t even sure he was speaking out loud, but he must have, because Tony was responding.

“That’s long since over,” Tony said. “There’s no Hydra anywhere in this sector.”

“She’s sleeping, because I was sleeping,” Bucky said. “I shut her down by shutting myself down. She might be back.”

“I didn’t see anyone else on this ship, except you and an awful lot of rabbits.”

“Rabbits?” Kobik had had some pet rabbits; a whole hutch of them. Part of the experiment. Could a space station become truly self-sufficient? The answer still looked like no, but some hutch and farm animals did function pretty well. There’d been goats at one time, too, but in the last days of the war, Bucky thought they’d all been eaten.

“They’re all over the place. My AI tells me they’re rabbits. I’ve never seen one, honestly.”

“Where th’ hell’d you grow up you ain’t never seen a rabbit,” Bucky wondered.

“I did mention the part about three hundred years, right?”

“Right, yeah,” Bucky said. “Uh, is there anything to eat?”

“There’s some mealpacks back at my ship,” Tony offered. “But unless your stuff is in permastore, I don’t think anything from here will be safe.”

“Water?”

Tony pulled out a canteen. That, at least, hadn’t changed much in form or function for centuries. Spout to put liquids in or to drink from, a standard filtration system, and a strap to carry it with. Why improve on something that was already perfect? Filters would, of course, adapt over time to whatever contaminants were in the water. “Human physiology hasn’t changed all that much,” Tony said. “I don’t think my filters will hurt you. But you have to be careful. Don’t drink from a Centurian’s canteen. They add in a lot of stims and endorphins to their water. Warrior race, but it gives the rest of us a twitchy stomach.”

“Good to know,” Bucky said. “How will I know who they are?”

“Don’t worry, they’ll usually tell you,” Tony joked. “They’re blue-skinned marsupials, with a red crown of-- head spikes, for lack of a better word.”

“Marsupials?”

“They carry their young around in a stomach pouch until they’re old enough to walk around. It’s a convenient arrangement,” Tony said. 

“Okay, then,” Bucky said. He took a few sips of Tony’s water and then returned it to him. The nanites in his system would filter anything harmful out, and if he could eat soon enough, would get him back to fighting fit. Otherwise, he might possibly go into a cyber coma. He didn’t see the need to alarm Tony just yet. It wasn’t urgent. “We can check the mess, see if there’s any supplements left. They won’t go bad.”

Worst case, he could probably chase down one of the rabbits and skin it for food. 

The whole station was both dead and alive at the same time. The hydroponics bay had escaped containment; there were vines and plants everywhere.

They’d probably grown, at least somewhat, in the remains of the dead. Bucky shuddered. 

The rabbit colony hopped in and out of the dense plant growth. Unafraid, and why would they be? A rabbit only lived nine or ten years. There had been generations of them, since they last saw humans.

“Did, uh, did the colony ship get away?” Bucky asked. 

It had been his last act, getting the sleep-pods onto the ship and launching it, the whole time, holding Hydra at bay, keeping her here, keeping her distracted.

And then she’d struck, casting some evil magic over him, over--

He couldn’t remember.

»£┼¬░▒-▒¿╟┼longing▒░┼╝º

“We never came across any ships from the Ring,” Tony said, as if apologizing, “but if you can give us mass and trajectory, I might be able to track it down for you.”

Sleep pods would last. If Bucky’s lasted, theirs would last.

He shook his head, wondering. Maybe they’d gotten out, maybe they’d gotten away. Away from Hydra, locked in her cold sleep with Bucky.

He wondered where she was.

She might still be on the station. He turned his gaze on Tony. That would be a strange form for her to take; Tony seemed sincere. But then, witches always seemed sincere, didn’t they?

“Sir, I’m reading some strange energy spikes in the station,” a voice said, coming from-- from Tony.

“My AI,” Tony said, as if apologizing. “Anything hazardous, Jay?”

“Not as yet, but you might want to consider retreating in the next few hours. Radiation levels are rising.”

“What’s the plan with the bunnies?” Tony asked. “Can we evacuate them to a planet?”

“I’ve already sent out a beacon pod, locating the station. Hopefully it will be able to float through the Ring, and broadcast from there.”

“Good job.”

“Of course, sir.”

“You’re worried about the wildlife?” Bucky asked, incredulous. Definitely not the witch, then. She wouldn’t have cared about the life of a bug, beast, or boy.

“They’re alive,” Tony said. “There’s no point in killing them. We’ve got biologists back on the various Initiative ships that can relocate them somewhere that they won’t be an invasive species. Well, technically, they’ll be invasive, but a careful selection will make sure they will fit in with the local ecosystem. Worst comes to worst, we can sell them as pets and novelties on Knowhere Station.”

“We do have cargo space in the lower deck,” JARVIS pointed out, “if you’re not planning to salvage much.”

“Salvage, right,” Tony said, snapping his fingers. “I got so carried away by Sleeping Beauty here that I forgot I was looking for valuables. What say you, hot stuff? You got anything worth selling on this floating coffin? Split it with you, 50/50.”[]

¥ƒ▀¥▒╜┼┼pжавыйÉ»¥┼╟╞─rusted▒╗▓

Bucky shook his head. “I think it’s all salvage now, rules of the drift,” he said. “Do you have policy in place for survivors?”

Back in his day, anyone found on the drift in space -- hypersleep accidents happened often enough that people could outlive their assets, their grandkids, their governments -- that some effort was made to track down any remaining property, they got a six month high intensity sleep-learning degree, and sent off into the world with a small stipend.

Bucky’d known a couple of them. Steve Rogers had done a Big Sleep, seventy years or more. Gone to sleep as a Private, cook’s assistant during the war and woke up as a Captain through time in rank.

Strange thing, really. 

“You might be considered the longest standing prisoner of war,” Tony said. “Not that it matters, there’s a fortune to be had on this station. Split it with me, you won’t have to worry about it. This is all approved salvage. I have a license.”

He knew his way around the station, even with the plants and the rabbits. The rabbits were freaking him out a little; they kept following-- sticking their curious noses out of the underbrush. He wondered how they’d lived so long. Usually life support shut down when no one was breathing it.

Which meant Hydra had to be on the station somewhere.

“Why split it with me, then?” Bucky wondered. “License for salvage, you don’t need to--”

“Because I may be an asshole a lot of the time,” Tony said, “but I am not one hundred percent a dick.”

╜£Éëδ╗»╟┼╞─┬┴seventeen╜╝╗▒»▒┼

“If you want,” Bucky said. They finally made it to the messhall, and the sub-freeze was still reading green, so Bucky used his thumb print to open it. “I can recon some of these food packs.”

“You call this stuff food,” Tony said, incredulously. “You, my friend, you have been suffering. Recon has come so far since your day. Jay, can you dish up a four course for us?”

“Of course, sir,” JARVIS said. 

“What’s considered a high value item?” Bucky wondered, picking out a few recon packs. He added water to the cooker, stuffed the packet in the slot and watched as the not-particularly interesting, but high calorie, high vitamin cereal poured itself into a reusable cup. The spoons were a little iffy, so Bucky added more water, and then drank it as a gruel. Yuck, but it would keep his systems intact for a while longer. Just a little while longer.

He just needed to know what happened to Hydra.

Where was she?

Not in the messhall, that was for sure.

Tony was still running down a list of items -- elements that could be repurposed. Titanium, protactinium, thorium. They’d had those in ample supply at one point. Potable water, preferably in ice form, which was easier to tow. 

“Wait, what was that last thing?”

“Etherium gas,” Tony said. “Might as well as for unobtainium, or wishalloy.”

“What, why?”

“As far as we know, stable etherium is a fantasy,” Tony said. “We’ve got plausible theories, but no one’s ever gotten a hold of the stuff before. I was spinning castles in space.”

“Um.”

╟S│ªS▒»░▒O1█┼daybreak▒»╟╗╣╕ë

“We have a tankful, at least,” Bucky said, “if nothing’s changed. That’s what we were mining, here--”

Tony was staring at him as if he’d said the moon really was made from green cheese.

“A-- let me get this straight. A tank. How much is in a tank?”

“It’s not really my department,” Bucky said, “but last I checked, about twenty thousand gallons of liquid etherium.”

Tony stopped moving, he seemed to stop breathing.

“I think we just became the richest men in the galaxy,” he said, finally. “Show me where this tank of yours is. Can we detach it for hauling?”

Bucky nodded. It was the gas, he thought. That attracted Hydra. She’d come because of the gas, and they’d fought her over the gas.

Witch.

Monster.

╟╗▒░ªÜfurnace▒»½▒╟┼╣

“Tony--” Bucky said, reaching out his hand. He caught hold of the other man’s wrist. “The gas--”

“Perfectly safe, cupcake,” Tony said. “We’ll make sure there’s no leaks, then we can just haul it away. Easy peasy, nice and cheesy.”

Bucky was pretty sure the phrase didn’t go that way.

And it wasn’t safe.

If Hydra was still on the station, that would be where she was.

Hibernating, maybe.

Or just waiting. Lurking. 

He wanted to speak, it was like he’d forgotten the words, and so instead of saying anything, he just turned and led Tony deeper into the station. Down into the Works, the mag-engines and the hydropods, the storage and the plumbing, the fuel cells. It was dark there, wet and heavy somehow. The plant life stopped, which wasn’t surprising, and while there were a few rabbits down this deep, they didn’t seem… normal.

Mutations, perhaps.

Bucky shuddered the thought away.

Tony had said he’d sent out a beacon.

Help-- someone could help them.

Maybe someone would come.

I don’t have to run faster than Hydra, I just have to run faster than you.

Not true, and everyone knew it. Hydra was so fast. She was there before you even knew it. She wasn’t a sight, or something to touch. A witch, some sort of presence.

“Here,” Bucky said. “This is the shut off station. We’ll need to disconnect, and run diagnostics. That can take a few hours--”

“Don’t worry, Jarvis is already in the works, he’s a lot faster than your old systems,” Tony said. “We’ll be on our way back to civilization before you’re even sleepy.”

╟»▒░½Ü¢Ö▒»╟┼nine┼»Q▒»░▒╟┼

“Do you hear something,” Bucky said. He took a few steps down toward-- he didn’t even know. Something was down there. Calling him. Like a magnet that he was too pinlike to resist. A flame, to draw away a moth. It would burn him up, and he knew it, but he could not--

“Hey!” Tony’s hand was hard on his wrist, the fingernails biting lightly into his skin. “Hey, Bucky. You okay?”

“No, I don’t think I am,” Bucky said.

“Jay, how’s it look?”

“You may come back to the ship at any time, sir,” JARVIS said. “I can handle the disconnect from here.”

“Gotta be sleep-shock,” Tony was saying, “I’m so sorry, you seemed okay, let me just--”

Tony was leading him away. 

Away from answers.

Away from--

▒┼╟╗╦Ñ▒»╟benign▒┼╫D░▒½¬

“It’s all right, you don’t have to do anything else, I’ve got you,” Tony said.

And he did. Somehow, this man was… carrying Bucky. Like he was a sleepy child. Bucky blinked.

“Nanites,” Tony said. “They’re pretty amazing. I know you had ‘em back in your day, my scans show you’ve got some yourself. I think there’s something interfering with yours, though. Maybe they’re just old. We can do a filter, get you fixed up. It’s all right, just let me take care of you.”

That was nice, somehow. The idea of just letting go. Of letting Tony take care of things. Letting him take care…

Of Hydra.

Would it even be possible? That the witch could be defeated by something as simple and small as human technology?

“Jay, get me a stretcher, would you, buddy?” 

Bucky couldn’t see anything; everything was getting cold, frozen. His eyelids were frozen shut. Winter--

Winter was coming.

The winter. 

He remembered climbing into the sleeppod, knowing she was right behind him, knowing--

He’d known something, once. 

What was it--

▒┼╟»ª╣╝»homecoming▒»╣¥╝¡☺”

Static in his head, like snow. Freezing. He was so cold. Tony’s hands were on him, but he couldn’t see, and if Tony was talking, he couldn’t hear it.

She was coming.

Hydra was coming. 

They’d woken her up, somehow, and she was on her way to claim him.

“You need to run,” Bucky said, hoping Tony could hear him. That he could do something. Anything.

Live.

Run.

Run.

▒»╟┼┴▒½¡╝one▒ªñªú┼╝│

“Tony, run--”

“Freight car.”

Bucky closed his eyes and went away.

The Winter Soldier was here.

“Hail Hydra.”

A/n - @27dragons wouldn’t let me post this until everything was resolved, so, I have written 2 more chapters and I will post them in the next 2 weeks or so.

#tonystarkbingo2020 #winteriron #horror #space bunnies #not mutually exclusive #apparently

[ezatluba]

Tasmanian devils, known for their ferocious temperaments, have been plagued by a contagious facial cancer in recent decades.

Tasmanian devils return to mainland Australia for first time in 3,000 years

Scientists hope the scrappy predators' reintroduction can balance ecosystems ravaged by invasive species.

JASON BITTEL

OCTOBER 5, 2020

It’s been 3,000 years since the Tasmanian devil’s raspy shriek rang through the forests of mainland Australia. But now, thanks to a dogged reintroduction effort, 26 of these endangered tiny terrors have returned.

No bigger than a lapdog, these marsupials are famous for their ferocity and powerful jaws, which can reduce large carcasses to smithereens in minutes. But in the 1990s, the species was hit with a contagious and deadly mouth cancer, causing its only remaining wild population, on the Australian island state of Tasmania, to drop to just 25,000 animals.

It’s unknown why the species disappeared from Australia millennia ago, but it’s likely due to human actions—when early hunters killed off most of the continent’s megafauna, the devils had nothing left to eat.

As scavengers, devils play a crucial role in maintaining a balanced, healthy ecosystem—which is why scientists have been trying so hard to bring them back.

“We've worked for over a decade to get to this point,” says Tim Faulkner, president of AussieArk, a species recovery organization. The group collaborates closely with the nonprofits Global Wildlife Conservation and WildArk to orchestrate the release of captive-raised animals into a thousand-acre fenced area called Barrington Wildlife Sanctuary, just north of Barrington Tops National Park in eastern Australia.

Despite their fearsome reputation, “they’re no threat to humans or agriculture,” he adds.

Tasmanian devils, Sarcophilus harrisii

Even still, reintroducing animals is uncertain business, so the scientists did a soft launch of 15 devils in March of this year. The team used radio-collars to check in on the released devils, as well as put out kangaroo carcasses for food as the animals adjusted to their new home. After all of the devils showed signs of thriving, the scientists felt optimistic enough to release another 11 individuals on September 10—and now they beasts are mostly on their own.

“They're free. They're out there,” says Faulkner. “We’ve got some basic means of keeping an eye on them. But essentially, now it's over to the devils to do what they do.”

Fighting off invaders

To prepare for the devils’ arrival, Faulkner’s team fenced off a large chunk of protected eucalyptus forest, took out invasive plants, cleared leaf litter that can lead to forest fires, and used humane lethal control to remove red foxes and feral cats—introduced predators that have devastated the continent’s small mammal populations. (Read how quolls, a cat-size marsupial, were reintroduced to mainland Australia.)

Tasmanian devils enter their new home in the eucalyptus forests of eastern Australia.

Feral cats don’t prey on the devils—in fact, it’s the felines that might need to be concerned.

“The presence of devils on the landscape seems to put the cats off a bit,” says David Hamilton, a devil expert and research assistant at the University of Tasmania who was not involved in the reintroduction project. Devils don’t usually eat cats, but instead force them to hunt during dusk and dawn to avoid run-ins with the nocturnal devils.

It may seem minor, but this small shift in behavior can actually protect night-dwelling native species, such as bandicoots, several species of which are considered endangered in Australia. Interestingly, bandicoot populations increase where devils are more prominent than cats, says Hamilton. (Learn more about invasive species and their impact on the environment.)

This is exactly what Faulkner and others hope Tasmanian devils will do Australia—stabilize the continent’s ecosystems against invaders.

But it’s “a big unknown” what will happen when the devils go up against red foxes, which are larger than cats and more equal in size to devils, Hamilton cautions.

There’s also the question of whether reintroducing devils will have unforeseen consequences for other sensitive species. For instance, in 2012, an introduced population of devils in Maria Island, off the coast of Tasmania, led to the disappearance of several short-tailed shearwater colonies.

Feral cats and common brushtail possums, both non-native to the island, were already preying upon the seabirds, and though the devils started suppressing those predators, they also began eating the seabird eggs and hatchlings too.

“Theoretically, they shouldn’t have a negative impact [in Australia],” says Hamilton. “But you have to think about the entire ecosystem when you’re doing things like this, and that’s a big ask.”

This is why it’s particularly important that the reintroduction is starting off inside an expansive but fenced-off environment, he adds.

‘Ecological blink of an eye’

Assuming all goes well, the triad of conservation organizations plans to release 40 additional devils into the same protected forest over the next two years. And they’ll have company.

As the ferocious Tasmanian devil battles a fatal cancer outbreak, Australian biologists are breeding a viable, cancer-free population in captivity.

Since removing the cats and foxes, Faulkner’s team has also begun releasing other imperiled native species into the same habitat, including Parma wallabies, long-nosed bandicoots, long-nosed potoroos, and rufous bettongs. (Learn about the silent decline of the platypus, Australia’s beloved oddity.)

AussieArk plans to release even more of those species over the next six months, in addition to eastern quolls, brush-tailed rock wallabies, and southern brown bandicoots.

These tiny mammals are crucial to keeping their environment clean and healthy by dispersing seeds and reducing wildfire intensity by digging up leaf litter and speeding up its decomposition.

“It really comes down to these smaller, terrestrial ecosystem engineers that turn over leaf litter,” Faulkner says. “A bandicoot turns over an elephant’s [weight] of soil each year. One bandicoot.”

If the experiments prove successful, there are 370,000 acres of protected land nearby into which the reintroductions could expand, he adds.

“I really believe that over time, we'll see the devil become a normal part of mainland Australia,” says Faulkner. “It was here 3,000 years ago. You know, that's an ecological blink of an eye.”

[sciencespies]

Meet the Ecologist Who Wants You to Unleash the Wild on Your Backyard

https://sciencespies.com/nature/meet-the-ecologist-who-wants-you-to-unleash-the-wild-on-your-backyard/

Meet the Ecologist Who Wants You to Unleash the Wild on Your Backyard

The land is ten gently sloping acres in rural southeastern Pennsylvania, at one time mowed for hay, with a handsome farmhouse that Douglas Tallamy bought around 20 years ago. It isn’t much to look at, by the standards most Americans apply to landscaping—no expansive views across swaths of lawn set off by flowerbeds and specimen trees—but, as Tallamy says, “We’re tucked away here where no one can see us, so we can do pretty much what we want.” And what he wants is for this property to be a model for the rest of the country, by which he means suburbs, exurbs, uninhabited woods, highway margins, city parks, streets and backyards, even rooftops and window boxes, basically every square foot of land not paved or farmed. He wants to see it replanted with native North American flora, supporting a healthy array of native North American butterflies, moths and other arthropods, providing food for a robust population of songbirds, small mammals and reptiles. He even has a name for it: Homegrown National Park.

A creek on his land supports native plants adapted to “getting their feet wet,” Tallamy says, such as skunk cabbage.

(Matthew Cicanese)

On a June day in 2001, not long after he bought the property, Tallamy, an entomologist at the University of Delaware, was walking his land when he noticed something that struck him as unusual. Before he bought it, most of it had been kept in hay, but at that point it hadn’t been mowed in three years and “was overgrown with autumn olive and Oriental bittersweet in a tangle so thick you couldn’t walk. The first thing I had to do was cut trails,” Tallamy recalls. And walking through his woods on the newly cut trails, what he noticed was what was missing: caterpillars.

No caterpillars on the Oriental bittersweet, the multiflora rose, the Japanese honeysuckle, on the burning bush that lined his neighbor’s driveway. All around him plants were in a riot of photosynthesis, converting the energy of sunlight into sugars and proteins and fats that were going uneaten. A loss, and not just for him as a professional entomologist. Insects—“the little things that run the world,” as the naturalist E.O. Wilson called them—are at the heart of the food web, the main way nature converts plant protoplasm into animal life. If Tallamy were a chickadee—a bird whose nestlings may consume between 6,000 and 9,000 caterpillars before they fledge, all foraged within a 150-foot radius of the nest—he would have found it hard going in these woods.

Tallamy knew, in a general sense, why that was. The plants he was walking among were mostly introduced exotics, brought to America either accidentally in cargo or intentionally for landscaping or crops. Then they escaped into the wild, outcompeting their native counterparts, meeting the definition of an “invasive” species. By and large, plants can tolerate a wide range of environmental conditions. But insects tend to be specialists, feeding on and pollinating a narrow spectrum of plant life, sometimes just a single species. “Ninety percent of the insects that eat plants can develop and reproduce only on the plants with which they share an evolutionary history,” Tallamy says. In the competition to eat, and to avoid being eaten, plants have developed various chemical and morphological defenses—toxins, sticky sap, rough bark, waxy cuticles—and insects have evolved ways to get around them. But as a rule, insect strategies don’t work well against species they have never encountered. That’s true of even closely related species—imported Norway maples versus native sugar maples, for instance. Tallamy has found that within the same genus, introduced plant species provide on average 68 percent less food for insects than natives. Hence, a plant that in its native habitat might support dozens or hundreds of species of insects, birds and mammals may go virtually uneaten in a new ecosystem. Pennsylvania, for example.

Demonstrating that point might make for a good undergraduate research project, Tallamy thought. So he asked a student to do a survey of the literature in preparation for a study. The student reported back there wasn’t any. “I checked myself,” he says. “There was a lot written about invasive species. But nothing on insects and the food web.”

That, he says, was the “aha” moment in his career, at which he began to remake himself from a specialist in the mating habits of the cucumber beetle to a proselytizer for native plants as a way to preserve what remains of the natural ecology of North America. He was following in the footsteps of Wilson, his scientific hero, who went from being the world’s foremost expert on ants to an eminent spokesman for the ecology of the whole planet. “I didn’t exactly plan it this way,” Tallamy says with a shrug. “In the musical chairs of life, the music stopped and I sat down in the ‘invasive plants’ chair. It’s a satisfying way to close out my career.”

As a scientist, Tallamy realized his initial obligation was to prove his insight empirically. He began with the essential first step of any scientific undertaking, by applying for research grants, the first of which took until 2005 to materialize. Then followed five years of work by relays of students. “We had to plant the plants and then measure insect use over the next three years, at five different sites,” he recalls. “To sample a plot was an all-day affair with five people.” Out of that work eventually came papers in scientific journals such as Conservation Biology (“Ranking lepidopteran use of native versus introduced plants”), Biological Invasions (“Effects of non-native plants on the native insect community of Delaware”) and Environmental Entomology (“An evaluation of butterfly gardens for restoring habitat for the monarch butterfly”). And then popularizing books aimed at changing the face of America’s backyards: Bringing Nature Home: How You Can Sustain Wildlife With Native Plants and, this year, Nature’s Best Hope: A New Approach to Conservation That Starts in Your Yard. And in turn a busy schedule of talks before professional organizations, environmental groups, local conservation societies, landscape designers—anyone who would listen, basically.

Squirrels aren’t the only animals that like acorns. Weevils develop inside the oaknuts, and the larvae, in turn, nourish blue jays and woodpeckers

(Matthew Cicanese)

When insects disappear, humans may not take much notice, but the recent population declines of two species have received a great deal of attention: the monarch butterfly, because it’s an iconic, easily recognizable and beautiful creature; and the honeybee, because it’s needed to pollinate crops. But those episodes are symptomatic of a larger disruption in the ecosystem. Tallamy estimates that the worldwide population of arthropods, chiefly insects, has declined by 45 percent from preindustrial times. Without insects, it would be the case that lizards, frogs and toads, birds and mammals, from rodents up through bears, would lose all or a large part of their diets. “The little things that run the world are disappearing,” he says. “This is an ecological crisis that we’re just starting to talk about.”

Tallamy is 68, graying, soft-spoken and diffident. In his talks he cloaks the urgency of his message with an understated wit, as when he presses the unpopular cause of poison ivy, whose berries at certain times of the year are an important food for the downy woodpecker and other birds. “When do you get a rash from poison ivy?” he asks an audience. “When you try to pull it out! Ignore your poison ivy. You can run faster than it can.” To which many people would reply: “Nature had plenty of poison ivy and insects in it the last time I was there.”

But to Tallamy, that attitude is precisely the problem. It speaks to a definition of “nature” as co-extensive with “wilderness,” and excludes the everyday landscape inhabited by virtually all Americans. The ecosystem cannot be sustained just by national parks and forests. A statistic he frequently cites is that 86 percent of the land east of the Mississippi is privately owned. A large fraction of that acreage is either under cultivation for food or planted in a monoculture of lawn, a landscape that for ecological purposes might as well be a parking lot.

To Tallamy, spiders serve as a linchpin species to birds because they are the second most important food, outweighed in nutritive value only by caterpillars.

(Matthew Cicanese)

Tallamy incorporated his thinking into “Homegrown National Park,” an aspirational project to repurpose half of America’s lawnscape for ecologically productive use. That would comprise more than 20 million acres, the equivalent of nearly ten Yellowstones. The intention is to unite fragments of land scattered across the country into a network of habitat, which could be achieved, he wrote in Bringing Nature Home, “by untrained citizens with minimal expense and without any costly changes to infrastructure.” The plots wouldn’t have to be contiguous, although that would be preferable. Moths and birds can fly, and you’re helping them just by reducing the distance they have to travel for food.

“Every little bit helps,” Tallamy says. “Most people don’t own 50 acres, so it’s not going to be that hard. The minimal thing is, you plant a tree and it’s the right tree. Look at what’s happened at my house.”

The idea was picked up by the writer Richard Louv, who coined the term “nature-deficit disorder” in his jeremiad Last Child in the Woods, and by the Canadian naturalist and philanthropist David Suzuki, whose foundation is supporting an effort to implement the project on a limited scale in Toronto.

Even a small patch of Pennsylvania woodland, if allowed to grow wild, generates a vast ecosystem: Native crabapples persist into winter and feed foxes and wild turkeys.

(Matthew Cicanese)

Tallamy walks his land in all seasons, wrenching from the soil the occasional Japanese honeysuckle that made the mistake of venturing onto his property, checking up on his winterberries and sweet pepperbush, looking for leaves that have been chewed by insects and the stems of berries eaten by birds. Occasionally he will do a moth survey, hanging a white sheet in his woods at night behind a mercury vapor lamp. The diversity of insect life he encounters is eye-opening even to him; last year he added more than 100 species to his property list, including a few he had to look up to identify. (There are around 11,000 species of moths in the United States, and 160,000 worldwide.) Near his front door is a 35-foot-tall white oak that he planted from an acorn, ignoring the advice some landscapers give against planting oaks, because you won’t live long enough to enjoy them at their mature size, which may take 300 years. “Well, if you can only enjoy a 300-year-old oak, I guess that’s true,” he says dryly. He has collected 242 species of caterpillars from the tree in his yard—so far.

Tallamy is a great proponent of the ecological benefits of caterpillars, a single one of which has the nutritional value of as many as 200 aphids. “They’re soft, you can stuff them down the beak of your offspring without damaging their esophagus,” he says approvingly. “They contain carotenoids. Birds take the carotenoids and build pigments out of them. That’s how you make a prothonotary warbler.”

He acknowledges that not all homeowners enjoy the sight of caterpillars munching on the leaves of their trees. For them he recommends what he calls his Ten-Step Program: “Take ten steps back from the trunk and all your insect problems go away.”

Mushrooms enrich the teeming soil when they decompose.

(Matthew Cicanese)

Tallamy’s principles have a particular resonance with people—like me—who consider themselves environmentalists but landscaped on the principle “if it looks good, plant it.” He says he’s sometimes surprised at how well his message is received. “I thought there would be quite a bit of push back,” he muses. “But there hasn’t been. I’m suggesting we cut the lawn area in half. I assume they just aren’t taking me seriously. Early on I remember a nurseryman in the audience glowering at me, and I heard him muttering ‘You’re trying to put us out of business.’ I don’t want to put them out of business. I get a lot of invitations from the nursery industry, trade shows, landscape architects. All I’m saying is add one criterion to what you use when you choose your plants”—whether a plant is native. “You can’t argue against it.”

Actually, you can. Tallamy has a long-standing scientific disagreement with an entomologist at the University of California at Davis, Arthur Shapiro. Shapiro grew up in Philadelphia, where, he says, the Norway maple on his block in the 1960s was host to at least three species of moth caterpillar: the American dagger moth, the Crecopia silk moth,and the Lunate Zale moth. “Tallamy invokes the diversity of caterpillars as an indicator of the superiority of native plants over nonnative plants,” Shapiro says. “It’s unsurprising that most of them feed on native plants. What goes right by Tallamy is the extent to which native insects switch and adapt to nonnative plants.

“Here in California we are probably more heavily impacted by naturalized plants than any other state except Hawaii. Our low-elevation butterflies are heavily dependent on nonnative plants. Their native host plants have been largely eradicated, but to their good fortune, humans introduced nonnative plants that are not only acceptable but in some instances superior to native hosts. Most California natives in cultivation are of no more butterfly interest than nonnatives, and most of the best butterfly flowers in our area are exotic.”

The much-reviled (but also beloved by some) eucalyptus trees that have colonized the Central California coast now harbor overwintering monarch butterflies, Shapiro says, although for the most part the insect populations they support are different from those found in native habitats. But his attitude is, so what? The marine blue, a butterfly native to the desert Southwest, where it feeds on acacia and mesquite, has expanded its range into the suburbs of Southern California, feeding on leadwort, a perennial flowering shrub native to South Africa. It is botanically unrelated to acacia and mesquite, but by some accident of biochemistry is a suitable host for the marine blue caterpillar, which has adapted to its new host. “That sort of process is happening all the time all around us,” Shapiro says.

Tallamy begs to differ. The examples Shapiro cites, in his view, represent either anecdotal findings of limited scientific value (like the caterpillars on the street tree from Shapiro’s childhood), or anomalous exceptions to the rule that introduced species support a fraction of the insect life of the plants they replace. A ginkgo tree might look like a functional part of an ecosystem, but the Chinese native might as well be a statue for all the good it does. The well-publicized instances of alien species that found American vegetation to their taste—Asian long-horned beetles, European corn borers, gypsy moths—have created the misleading impression that to an insect, one tree is as good as another. But those are exceptional cases, Tallamy maintains, and the great majority of insects accidentally introduced to North America are never heard from again. “Remember, the horticulture trade screens plants before they introduce them into the market. Any plant that is vulnerable to serious attack by native insects is screened out.”

On one level, this dispute reflects that Tallamy and Shapiro have studied very different ecosystems. As Tallamy wrote in Bringing Nature Home, he was “forced to slight western North America and focus on the Lepidoptera that occur on woody plants in eight states of the eastern deciduous forest biome.” The scientists’ disagreement is also partly over time scales. Tallamy acknowledges that natural selection will allow some native insects to evolve the ability to eat whatever is growing in front of them, or be replaced by species that can, and that birds will figure out a way to make a living off the newcomers. But he thinks this is likely to take thousands of generations to have an impact on the food web. Shapiro maintains he has seen it occur within his own lifetime.

It’s fair to say Tallamy sometimes pursues his passion for native flora to the point of single-mindedness. He is the rare environmentalist who doesn’t bring up climate change at the first opportunity, not because he doesn’t care about it, but because he wants to stick to his chosen issue. “Climate change is not what’s driving this problem,” he says. “If there were no climate change anywhere, it would be just as important. It’s driven by poor plant choice and habitat destruction. I don’t like to mix the two. Right now the culture is, ‘Every problem we have is related to climate,’ and that’s not the case.”

He also can be nonchalant about some of the adjustments and sacrifices entailed by his plan for saving the planet. He suffered from allergies to ragweed pollen for decades, he writes in Nature’s Best Hope, but is willing to forgive the plant on the basis that “the ragweed genus Ambrosia is the eighth most productive herbaceous genus in the East, supporting caterpillar development for 54 species of moths.” He doesn’t sugarcoat the fact that the phylum of arthropods includes, besides butterflies and honeybees, about 900 species of Ixodida, which includes ticks. “I think I’ve had Lyme around a half-dozen times,” he says, as he plunges casually into a chest-high thicket in early autumn, “but I’m one of the people who get the rash”—the telltale bull’s-eye marker of an infected bite by the deer tick, which not all patients evince—“so I was able to catch it and treat it each time.”

Anyone following Tallamy’s landscaping dictums might want to, at least, tuck their pants into their socks when they walk around their yard. That is a small sacrifice given the enormousness of the problem he wants to solve. But even people willing to give over half their lawn for the benefit of caterpillars might be daunted by the task of replacing it according to Tallamy’s prescription. Saving the ecosystem isn’t as simple as just letting nature take over your backyard. In nature the race is to the swift, even for plants. “There’s a time in the spring when plants from Asia leap out before plants from North America,” he tells an audience, projecting a picture taken in a local park in late March. “All of the green you see is plants from Asia, the usual suspects: multi-flora rose, Oriental bittersweet, Japanese honeysuckle, privet, barberry, burning bush, ailanthus, Norway maple, all escapees from our garden. You go into almost any natural area around here, a third of the vegetation is from Asia.” Invasive species are called that for a reason, and repelling them is hard, and never-ending, work.

Moreover, not all native plants are created equal, at least from the point of view of an insect. Across a wide range of North American biomes, about 14 percent of plants make 90 percent of the insect food, he says. These are the keystone species that keep the food web healthy, and the most important are four genera of native trees: oaks, poplars, willows and cherries. But also hickory, chestnut, elms and birches, and joe-pye weed, aster, marsh marigold, skunk cabbage, snakeweed. Some seem worth planting just for the poetry of their names: Chickasaw plum, chokecherry, wax myrtle, devil’s beggar’s-tick, false indigo, hairy bush clover, cypress panicgrass.

But insects aren’t the only creatures that evolved to consume the native vegetation of North America. Tallamy’s ten-step rule for making insect damage disappear to the naked eye doesn’t apply to deer. As he trudges alongside a shallow ravine on his property he points to a small clump of trees on the other side that have been denuded from the ground up to nearly shoulder height. “There’s the browse line on Eastern red cedar,” he says sourly. One reason landscapers favor certain exotic species is that deer don’t eat them. Tallamy’s solution for controlling deer is another one of his idealistic, if not altogether practical, recommendations: “Bring back predators!” he says cheerfully.

Tallamy stops on his walk to adjust a wire barrier around a native azalea. “If I wasn’t around to keep up this fence,” he muses, “the deer would eat it all. So you say, why bother?

“That’s a good question.

“But I do.”

“Natural” doesn’t always mean untouched. Tallamy uproots invasive plants, like this fast-growing porcelain-berry, a vine originally from East Asia, introduced in the 1870s.

(Matthew Cicanese)

I visited Tallamy not long before he set out for ten days in the mountains of Peru, where he was consulting with organizations that promote the practice of growing coffee plants beneath the tree canopy (“shade-grown coffee”) to conserve bird habitat. He wanted to investigate which trees provide the best ecological diversity. Before I leave, he quotes Wilson one more time, from his famous talk on “The Importance and Conservation of Invertebrates.” The passage goes like this:

“The truth is that we need invertebrates but they don’t need us. If human beings were to disappear tomorrow, the world would go on with little change….But if invertebrates were to disappear, I doubt that the human species could last more than a few months. Most of the fishes, amphibians, birds and mammals would crash to extinction about the same time. Next would go the bulk of the flowering plants and with them the physical structure of the majority of forests and other terrestrial habitats of the world.

“The earth would rot.”

Wilson gave that talk in 1987. “It was,” Tallamy says dryly, “a theoretical worry back then.”

So it is less of a theoretical worry now, and more of a real one. But Tallamy is doing what he can to head it off, and he wants the whole country to pitch in. Homegrown National Park is meant to bring about not just a horticultural revolution, but a cultural one, bridging the human-dominated landscape and the natural world. “If you do this at your house or in your local park, you don’t have to go to Yellowstone to interact with nature,” Tallamy says. “You won’t have bison, you won’t have Mystic Falls, but you can have nature outside your door. Isn’t that what you want for your kids—and for yourself?”

To Tallamy, the nation’s backyards are more than ripe for a makeover. Here are some of his suggestions to help rejuvenators hit the ground running.

1. Shrink your lawn. Tallamy recommends halving the area devoted to lawns in the continental United States—reducing water, pesticide and fertilizer use. Replace grass with plants that sustain more animal life, he says: “Every little bit of habitat helps.”

2. Remove invasive plants. Introduced plants sustain less animal diversity than natives do. Worse, some exotics crowd out indigenous flora. Notable offenders: Japanese honeysuckle, Oriental bittersweet, multiflora rose and kudzu.

3. Create no-mow zones. Native caterpillars drop from a tree’s canopy to the ground to complete their life cycle. Put mulch or a native ground cover such as Virginia creeper (not English ivy) around the base of a tree to accommodate the insects. Birds will benefit, as well as moths and butterflies.

4. Equip outdoor lights with motion sensors. White lights blazing all night can disturb animal behavior. LED devices use less energy, and yellow light attracts fewer flying insects.

5. Plant keystone species. Among native plants, some contribute more to the food web than others. Native oak, cherry, cottonwood, willow and birch are several of the best tree choices.

6. Welcome pollinators. Goldenrod, native willows, asters, sunflowers, evening primrose and violets are among the plants that support beleaguered native bees.

7. Fight mosquitoes with bacteria. Inexpensive packets containing Bacillus thuringiensis can be placed in drains and other wet sites where mosquitoes hatch. Unlike pesticide sprays, the bacteria inhibit mosquitoes but not other insects.

8. Avoid harsh chemicals. Dig up or torch weeds on hardscaping, or douse with vinegar. Discourage crabgrass by mowing lawn 3 inches high.

#Nature

#Nature

[applekitty]

N-X is a mirrored scarfy right? What do they do in ur universe?

indeedle! 

i answered this in an earlier ask with

mirror scarfie (aka n-x) is basically going to be an invasive species that overpopulates dreamland and attempts to destroy the local ecosystem and wildlife through sheer volume

but i’ll ellaborate more. shadede buys these creatures on purpose and lets them roam wild like as soon as they’re bought. they’re like rabbits with how fast they reproduce and start causing ecological problems for the few animals who live around. they eat a LOT of plantlife which means there’ll be no plants for anyone else to eat! so naturally, the pumpkin patch that’s near pupupu village gets absolutely decimated alongside other crops, then eventually even kabu is in trouble bc kabu is a tree!

so shirby  and friends have to stop the n-x’s from eating all the plantlife, when they find that n-x’s are really super duper friendly and can be easily domesticated. they bring a n-x to mirror yabui (whose name escapes me) who then says he can make it so they stop reproducing and also ship them off to an adoption shelter he knows outside of dreamland. so it’s essentially a huge wild goose chase to find all these n-x’s, which they do, and the day is saved and all the plants grow back. shirby has pumpkin pie. the end

#they speak #Kagami no Kaabii #at least that's what i got for now the ep could change by the time i actually write it lol #Anonymous #if you mean 'what do they do' by what powers they have then uhh #they walk around and eat a lot lol

[rjzimmerman]

Excerpt from this The Conversation/EcoWatch story:

They go by many names — pigs, hogs, swine, razorbacks — but whatever you call them, feral pigs(Sus scrofa) are one of the most damaging invasive species in North America. They cause millions of dollars in crop damage yearly and harbor dozens of pathogens that threaten humans and pets, as well as meat production systems.

As a wildlife ecologist, I am interested in how feral pigs alter their surroundings and affect other wild species. In a recent study, members of the lab I directed through mid-2019 at Mississippi State University showed that wild pigs are a serious threat to biodiversity.

Using trail camera surveys to monitor 36 forest patches between 10 and 10,000 acres in size, we determined that forest patches with feral pigs had 26 percent less-diverse mammal and bird communities than similar forest patches without them. In other words, many wildlife species seem to be excluded from areas where pigs are present.

This finding is concerning because feral pig populations, which have been present in North America for centuries have rapidly expanded over the past several decades. Recent studies estimate that since the 1980s the pig population in the U.S. has nearly tripled and expanded from 18 to 35 states. They also are spreading rapidly across Canada.

Feral pigs have a unique collection of traits that make them problematic to humans. When we told one private landowner about the results from our study, he responded: "That makes sense. Pigs eat all the stuff the other wildlife do — they just eat it first, and then they go ahead and eat the wildlife too. They pretty much eat anything with a calorie in it."

More scientifically, feral pigs are extreme generalist foragers, which means they can survive on many different foods. A global review of their dietary habits found that plants represent 90 percent of their diet — primarily agricultural crops, plus fruits, seeds, leaves, stems and roots of wild plants.

Feral pigs also eat most small animals, along with fungi and invertebrates such as insect larvae, clams and mussels, particularly in places where pigs are not native. For example, one recent study reported that feral pigs were digging up eggs laid by endangered loggerhead sea turtles on an island off the coast of South Carolina, reducing the turtles' nesting success to zero in some years.

#feral pigs

[hiddenbysuccubi]

My audition for Disneyland’s Jungle Cruise: “Welcome to the Jungle Cruise! Any first-timers aboard? Good for you, please tell your friends, unless you hate your ride, in which case tell your enemies!” (boarding ends, ride starts) “Welcome aboard, I’ll be your Skipper, Kyra. I haven’t lost a passenger since the last cruise. Please keep hands and feet inside the boat, there’s an extra tax for digits left along the route, believe me, the local wildlife don’t want your number.” Extra: “Remember to watch your kids! It’s... not in my job description.”

(pass by Indiana Jones line / exit) “We’re starting off on our journey. Just on your right, here you’ll see our most invasive species, the human! Wave goodbye, as you’ll hopefully never see them again.” “If you look off to the side it’s the first sign of danger! D-A-N- wait I didn’t learn how to read. Stay in school, folks! Or you’ll end up on this cruise. Again, and again, and again...” “Don’t worry though, your Skipper here knows how to interpret all signs of Danger here in the Jungle. Just like that danger there- waiting in line for 90 minutes for Indiana Jones. (I shake my head)” (head towards tiger) “And here we have the Cambodian tribe, folks. Of course we have here an indigenous Tiger - meaning for the kids, it’s here 365 - It can jump 25 feet, don’t worry though, we’re under 25 feet away. It’ll jump right over us.” (pass snakes) “And don’t worry about our snakes, folks, they’re only interested in finding Indiana Jones. He’s on the other side of the river! Of course, they can also jump 25-” “Oh the one in the water? That’s just ginger. She doesn’t snap” (pass elephants) “Now folks, we’re entering the secret elephant bathing pool. Go ahead and take a picture, they’ve all got their trunks on. Just don’t wave at them unless you want a bath. They like to wave back.” “Look at those wrinkles! Just shows if you shower too long you’ll uh, turn into an elephant.” “And this is squirt, he likes to shower anyone he thinks hasn’t bathed. Did you all take a shower yesterday? No?? Get down, get down! ...False alarm.” (goes to monkeys) “This used to be one of our safari camps... seems like its gone ape/bananas. Hey there’s my jeep! The lights are still on! That’s some battery power. We’ll never get it turned-over.” “This is the part where I like to point out my favorite plant-life. Uh, that one. And that one. Definitely that one.” “Oh look over there! Don’t make any banana sounds guys, that gorilla can jump over 25 feet!” (approaching falls) “Alright folks, we just entered the Nile river... if you don’t believe me, then you’re in.... A boat. Folks, if you were in de Nile, I’d be calling my lawyer.” (Two bull elephants) “Folks here we have two bull elephants. Can you guess their names? We wanted to call them Left and Right, but they’re Down and Up. They can’t tell direction.” (Africa) “We’re now headed into Africa, such a lovely area. Just look at all those animals gathering to watch those Lions watch over that sleepy Zebra. Ah... the circle of life. Let me just point out the animals. Furry donkey... long necked cheetah... Painted horse... Those’re lions... two sun-burned bald eagles....” “There’s some of our previous travelers, went a bit off road... just proves you never argue with a rhino, they always get their point across.” (after) “We’re headed into the Hippo-Pool folks, now Hippos are very dangerous, but like I said, I can see danger in the Jungle. Now wiggling ears and bubbles, that means danger! ....We’re in trouble.” “Now let me scare them off like I scared off my boyfriend! ‘We Need To Talk!’ and if that doesn’t work, cover your ears.” *pop gun goes off* “....Just like with my boyfriend.” (the rest) “We’re now heading into head-hunter territory, not a great place to be-headed.” “Looks like they’ve put their heads together (skulls pass on canoe) and are having a party, though, let me try to translate...” “Maca. Uh huh, Rena, uh huh. Does anyone know the Macarena?”  “Look out it’s an ambush! Spear, spear. And if you look over there, a different kind of bush....” (waterfall) “Now the moment you all waited for! The backside of water! O2H! And for those of you on the other side of the boat, the frontside of rock.” “And here we have some limestone, though most people take it for granite. I’m sure you’ll appreciate the sediment.”  (Piranha) “Watch out here, we’ve got man-eating piranha! Women and children, you’re safe. Just throw your loved one over-board if you need, here’s your chance. Men, don’t worry, if you survive, we’ve got something else to take the women away next.” (boa constrictor) “Just be careful, he’s suffocating.” (end) “We’re nearing the end of the tour, on your left you’ll find Trader Sam. He’s quite interesting, Sam is, in fact he can jump over 25 feet-” “And there’s the dock! You folks have just survived the world famous Jungle Cruise! If you enjoyed your tour, once again my name is Skipper Kyra! If you didn’t, I’m Kyle. I never liked him.” “Please stay put until we’ve reached a standstill. When you exit, please watch your step, and watch your head. If you happen to miss your step, and hit your head, please watch your language! ..This is Disney.

#Disneyland #Disney #Jungle Cruise #Kyra

[lillayalightfoot-blog]

So I wrote this a while back. Its the first draft of a short story that’s going to end up in my WIP set of short stories about magic in the modern world. Let me know what you think!

Aaron heaved a breath as he rounded another bend in the track. He paused for a moment, to take stock of his surroundings; sunset was nearing and he'd never reach the peak of the mountain before it was dark. Groping through caves looking for a sleeping dragon in the dark didn't appeal much to the young mage so he began to cast about for somewhere to make camp for the night. He turned his head, focusing to cast his senses wider than mundane abilities allowed, and felt the aquatic life teeming nearby in a stream. He needed fresh water and so he set off in the direction of those little sparks of life generated by the fish and frogs and other water creatures that made the stream their home.

When he reached the stream, he bent to fill his water-skin (he really couldn't abide the taste of metal that modern flasks gave the water they carried) and, after taking several long pulls from it, began to make camp.

Aaron had been travelling now for some months, determined to make good on his desire to see at least one of every kind of dragon. Currently, he was on his way to the mountain top where local magic users had claimed a rare quartz dragon had made itself a home. Quartz dragons were very rare, but Aaron was determined to complete his quest and begin his research into his chosen field of study.

The last quartz dragon that Aaron had heard tales of had been sleeping deep within a mountain when a team of miners had unwittingly disturbed it. Assuming they'd found a quartz deposit, the miners were horrified when the deposit moved. The dragon had clawed its way out from the mountain burying the team of miners under what was later assumed to be an unfortunate rockfall due to one of the tunnels collapsing.

Aaron looked about at the somewhat basic camp he had fashioned. Unfortunately, his cridhe was water and, while it soothed him to be near a source of water should anything untoward approach in the night, this branch of magic didn't lend itself well towards making camp in the wilderness. Still, he had a basic shelter and a fire crackling and overall things could have been worse. Tomorrow, he would set off for the mountain peak and hopefully find a dragon that was willing to let him study it for a short while.

Dragons were notoriously highly intelligent, and as such it made convincing them to do anything that they considered pointless very difficult. A dragon is born with its instincts and its intelligence, which grows as it matures, and they live life governed by those instincts and their own desire - they therefore believe the study of dragons to be a somewhat pointless endeavour. They live long lives and spend much of it as close to a source of their species element as possible.

Aaron had found a water dragon living at the bottom of what mundane locals believed to be a very deep natural hot spring with restorative properties (in actual fact, it was the presence of the dragon that gave those waters a certain rejuvenating quality).

He had also found an ember dragon living inside a dormant volcano. His water cridhe had served him well on that occasion as he drew water around himself and over his skin to prevent blistering in the sweltering heat.

Dragons tended to prefer surroundings that reflected their elemental cridhe. As such, when Aaron had begun his journey, he'd had a good idea of where he might find examples of the 8 core dragons: Ice, Moon, Ember, Sun, Lightning, Wind, Crystal and Earth. However the gem dragons were much rarer than the core dragons. Being the infertile result of the coupling between a crystal dragon and one of the other 7 core types, they were produced infrequently and often lived in unusual surroundings; unlike the 8, they seemed to have no preference for a certain habitat, making them harder to find.

Aaron shook himself out of his musings and prepared to retire for the night. After eating some of the dried meat and bread he had with him, he bedded down inside the shelter and went to sleep. His dreams that night were filled with multi-coloured dragons, swooping and diving around him as he stood on the crest of a hill.

He woke when the sun's rays began to pierce the sky overhead. After foraging for some berries that were growing by the bank of the stream, he disassembled his shelter and scattered the ashes from his fire. Looking upwards at the terrain ahead, Aaron estimated that he could reach the peak within a few hours. From there, he'd have to rely on his senses, mundane and magical, and his common sense to locate the cave system that led deep within the mountain. If there was a dragon here, he had chosen his den well. Few would climb so high on this mountain, distanced as it was from any human population, and the cave system had no other entrances beyond the ones at the peak.

It was a gruelling climb. The mountain was covered in brush and trees that made moving in any one direction consistently impossible. Instead, Aaron was forced to follow a trail likely made by a group of deer passing through- if he found a dragon in the caves, Aaron would have to remember to ask it if it fed on the local wildlife. These types of dragon were so rare that the information that even the best libraries held were mostly deductions rather than confirmed facts. The trail that Aaron was following didn't lead straight to the top, instead it meandered across the side of the mountain, heading up in a route that twisted and turned frequently to avoid obstacles or too steep a path.

Finally, after three hours of climbing, the path broke out from the trees and Aaron was left standing in an open area at the peak of the mountain. After catching his breath, he cast his mind outwards, straining for anything that might lead him to the opening of the cave system that hopefully held a dragon. As he searched, he began to slowly walk forward. His range was fairly wide but it still might take several searches from different locations at the peak in order to locate the entrance. With his awareness spread like this, he could feel the life around him- he could feel everything from the nest of fledgling birds up a nearby tree to the herd of deer that grazed in a clearing further down the mountain, through the trees. He was looking for anything that might indicate a cave opening. Potentially a bear looking to use it for hibernation (it was, after all, nearly autumn) or an absence of plant life around the entrance. Anything that he could use to narrow his search.

Aaron was careful as he walked forwards- it was easier to focus on his widened senses and the sparks of life around him if he closed his eyes but he didn't want to trip and potentially dangerously injure himself on the mountainside. He was keeping half a mind on the ground in front of him, attempting to step around several large rocks, and so nearly missed the very sign he'd been looking for- to the north-east there was an area without any life, no animals and not even grass. That was his best bet for a cave entrance and so he set off in that direction.

As he strode in the direction of what was hopefully a cave's entrance, he focused his senses downwards, into the earth. This was a slightly risky endeavour- he'd encountered as many dragons that were keen to open their minds and share their knowledge as he had dragons that viewed it as an invasion of privacy and grew angry if they felt another mind brushing against their own. Aaron had no desire to come face to face with an angry dragon deep underground. After several minutes of walking and gently probing the area beneath the ground with his mind, Aaron felt a presence stirring in response to his. He experienced a curious brush against his mind and reached out in response, focusing hard on sending feelings of curiosity, friendliness and above all peace along the link.

The quartz dragon, for Aaron could at once sense that this was who was attempting the link, sent along feelings of surprise at encountering another individual capable of linking in this way and returned the curiosity. Aaron got the fleeting impression that it had been some time since this dragon had spoken to anyone. Dragons were not sociable creatures by nature, most tended to live solitary lives the majority of the time. The one exception was when a dragon reached the age where they could mate- then they tended to seek one another out and form huge hordes of hundreds of dragons. These hordes would fly from place to place, often staying as part of the group for several years before finally bonding with another dragon and leaving to begin the process of nesting and mating.

This dragon however was old, even by dragon standards. Aaron focused on a sense of curiosity at his (for it was indeed male) solitude and received the impression that the dragon's inability to produce hatchlings had left him an undesirable mate in the view of other dragons. It was at this point that the dragon's mind began to retreat from the link, leaving behind a final impression that Aaron should journey into the cave to speak properly. Though mind links were a good way to communicate ideas quickly and over distances, they were imprecise as only impressions and senses could be communicated, not specific words. Aaron was therefore as keen as the dragon to conduct a proper conversation and relieved that the dragon appeared to be open to speaking to him. And so, he began the descent through the cave system.

An hour later, after a veritable labyrinth of turns through the extensive subterranean cave system, Aaron was finally drawing close to the dragon. Without his senses to guide him in the dragon's direction, Aaron surely would have become lost- as it was, he had come to several dead ends and been forced to double back. Unfortunately, while he could tell the general direction of the dragon, this didn’t always correspond to the exact course through the caves. Nevertheless, he was finally near to his goal.

#my writing #writing #writeblr

[carnegiemuseumnaturalhistory]

A Pittsburgher Undertaking Native Tree, Shrub, and Forest Restoration on a Small Budget

Our guest blogger notes that he has no formal training in gardening or botany which perhaps makes this an even more inspiring story. In the past two years this one individual (with the help of a friend) has planted 1,500 native trees and shrubs as well as numerous native forbs on about 15 acres of his own property and that of willing neighbors. His goal is to attract pollinators such as native songbirds, butterflies, moths, and other insects. His plans include planting at least 500 more native trees and shrubs each upcoming year. We invited him to share his experience, written in his own words, on this ambitious endeavor as part of a blog series inspired by our new exhibition We are Nature: Living in the Anthropocene.

Motivation

My parents taught me bird watching starting from my preteens. I finally saw my first pileated woodpecker (Brookgreen Gardens, South Carolina) at age 14. Canoeing through the Okefenokee swamp in southern Georgia/northern Florida in the spring, we would see brilliant yellow/orange-ish prothonotary warblers flitting some 20 feet away among the knees of towering cypress trees and also the flocks of honking sandhill cranes overhead. One of my daughter’s middle names is Dendroica for the warblers. The other daughter is named after the tallest tree species (if I am pressed, I am not sure if it is for giganteum or sempervirens; my father calls her “little twig”). And my son is named after the last name of the most famous modern biologist. This project for me is about giving back. I am no expert about what I am contributing here. I welcome corrections and comments. The other motivation is that this project is doable with not much money, and anyone could do this. If you do not have the land, find a willing neighbor/friend who does, and start planting natives and removing invasive plants on their property.

Pittsburgh and Western Pennsylvania

Pittsburgh and Western Pennsylvania are marvelous ecological areas and the birth areas of noted environmentalists such as Rachel Carson and Edward Abbey. We get plenty of rain, even in the summer, which means we do not have the droughts observed in other parts of the country. Western Pennsylvania is riddled with creeks, which are ample places to plant native trees and shrubs that will never have to be watered as the creek riparian zone will take care of them. We also have clay soil (I know I will swear about the slate rocks when digging holes with a posthole digger by hand), which holds moisture and minerals. Lots of things can grow here. Because of topography, there are many places where houses cannot be built, so there is ample space for native trees, shrubs, and wildflowers.

Pittsburgh National Park

We can think of Pittsburgh as “Pittsburgh National Park,” and the city already supports a huge biomass of bird populations such as the thousands and thousands of crows wintering here each year. If we would just plant lots and lots of flowering trees such as the dogwoods and redbuds and hawthorns and shrubs such as northern bayberry (Myrica pensylvanica), we could increase the habitat to attract more beautiful songbirds such as rose-breasted grosbeaks, cedar waxwings and scarlet tanagers to spend more of their time here. I grew up in the Piedmont area of North Carolina, and every spring we would be greeted with the explosions of the dogwoods and redbuds that are endemic in the woods. The same could be done here with our hillsides that are refractory to building houses but not to populating them with dogwoods, redbuds, serviceberries, and hawthorns.

Growing native plants in large clusters

I am no expert on native plants and have consulted with many people as well as just Googled information. Somewhere I had read of a research study in which the authors determined that the planting of 250 wild flowers of one species was necessary to get another butterfly species to appear. A guiding principle is to identify multiple high wildlife value specimens, and then plant lots and lots of each of those species. (I should note that most wildlife management principles state that diversity is better than lots of one species; in my case I am promoting clusters of diversity). If we all wanted to purchase watermelons, but the markets would only keep a few in stock, we would eventually stop making plans to go to a market with the purpose to get a watermelon. And if a bird encounters not one serviceberry tree, but instead a forest of 300 serviceberry trees, we may instead have enticed a flock of these birds. For example, I have observed a flock of cedar waxwings rushing back and forth among a cluster of black cherry trees to eat the fruit. A solitary tree would get less activity. With sufficient establishment of native trees, shrubs, and wildflowers, we may entice birds to nest in the area. The Powdermill Nature Reserve (part of Carnegie Museum of Natural History) Bird Banding project has documented the precipitous decline of songbirds, with some declines as much as 70 percent over the last 50 years. We can repopulate our yards and our woods and our cliffs along the rivers and highways with native species that will restore habitats and help stabilize the populations of the songbirds that are left and perhaps even help grow them. 

Early in this project I was fortunate to get a state of Pennsylvania biologist on the phone, and he emphasized that I should concentrate on plant species that use lots of water as these species will generate lots of biomass. With the drainage creek behind by house, I am inspired to plant along its sides every step of its 1000 feet. I am on 2 acres plus. I also have multiple agreeable neighbors on similar or larger acreages, and all these neighbors have acres of woods that they leave alone and have allowed me to remove the invasive trees, shrubs, and grasses and plant the hundreds of native trees, shrubs, and forbs. I am inspired by the biologist at Indiana University who mowed an old overgrown field in Bald Eagle State Park to set back succession to an earlier stage of growth. The mowing was done in wide strips so that as those areas grew back they could mow additional areas. In the following spring he was able to observe several pairs of nesting golden winged warblers, a songbird species that has had a precipice decline in the last 50 years. While I do not expect such spectacular success, one can use the Allegheny County population data from eBird to gauge which songbird species we may be able to attract to nest in the area. In the woods behind my house, I have seen wood thrushes and hooded warblers sporadically each year. Perhaps the growing of a smorgasbord of native trees,  shrubs, and forbs will entice them to lengthen their stays. 

Bambi

One white tailed deer consumes 200 pounds of leaves and twig matter each month, roughly a ton per year. Typically, when one sees one Bambi, there are another 4 browsing within 50 feet, which is the equivalent of 5 tons of leaf and twig destruction each year. As a gardener, I think of Bambi as rats with long legs. While Bambi has evolved to eat everything, they have yet to develop a taste to eat galvanized steel. For this reason, metal cages are used to protect any plant at risk for Bambi. We have made metal cages from half inch mesh hardware cloth, chicken wire and 16 gauge welded wire fencing. Cages range from 1 foot high to 2 foot high, to 3 foot high to 6 foot high with diameters of 6 inches (18 inch linear fencing made into a cylinder) and 8 inches (24 inch linear fencing made into a cylinder). I am not planning to remove the cages. If I had more funds, the cages would be typically 8 feet tall and 2 to 3 feet in diameter as is done at the Pittsburgh Botanical Gardens as well as at Nine Mile Run in Frick Park. 

507 trees and shrubs planted in November 2017 

In November 2017, we planted

100 northern bayberry (Myrica pensylvanica) seedlings, one to two feet in lengths (www.coldstreamfarm.net)

100 Norway spruce (although it is not a native, Norway spruce is recommended by the Penn State Extension, and I hope to someday attract crossbills which also fly over to Norway) four-year transplants, 12-15 inches in height with 12-15 inch long roots (Mussers Nursery, Indiana County, PA)

100 red-twig dogwood (Cornus sericea; www.coldstreamfarm.net) two to three foot in length seedlings

102 two to three foot long pagoda dogwood stakes (Cornus alternifolia; www.wholesalenurseryco.com/product/pagoda-dogwood-stakes/)

100 eastern white pine four-year transplants, 12-15 inches in height with 12-15 inch long roots from Mussers 

5 black willows from Mussers

Soon after planting, 4 inch by 6 inch rectangles of paper were folded over and then stapled in place over the terminal buds of the white pines to protect them from winter browsing by the deer 

In spring 2017, I got 300 six-year eastern white pine transplants (Mussers Nursery) that had roots of 2 feet in length. It took me multiple weekends and after work hours that spring to manually posthole the holes for these six-year transplants.  Rotting in the basement while waiting to be planted, at least 100 trees did not survive the planting process/the summer. 

I learned my lesson. I purchased a gas-powered auger with a 6-inch diameter by 30 inch long bit from Home Depot online. The 6-inch bit is much easier to dig with than the 8-inch bit. My volunteer and I and the gas-powered auger were able to dig over 100 30-inch deep, 6-inch diameter holes in just a couple of hours. This time we got four-year white pine transplants with only 15-inch length roots and planted them the same day we picked them up. The eastern white pines will grow to 100 feet and the spruce trees should grow to 50 to 75 feet. It is like planting an ‘instant forest’.  Half inch mesh two-foot hardware cloth cut into two foot sections to prepare cylindrical cages were used to protect the red-twig dogwood seedlings. Each cage was buried about 4 to 6 inches to prevent deer and weather from knocking over the cage.  I purchased 4 rolls of 100 feet by 6 feet of 14 gauge welded wire fence (Deacero Steel Field Fence 6 ft. H x 100 ft. L (7745)) from Ace Hardware, and what with shipping cost a total of about $500. We made 50 cages from each roll using tin-snips.  102 cages were used for the planting of the pagoda dogwood cuttings. About 12 inches of these 6 foot cages were submerged into the hole to prevent deer and weather from knocking them over. Native dogwoods other than the common flowering dogwood (Cornus florida) were chosen because of the flowering dogwood’s predilection for Anthracnose, a fungal infection that can make the tree look ugly and potentially die. The pagoda dogwoods were planted in moist soils, and the tall cages should protect them from the deer and allow the dogwood to eventually achieve 20 foot heights. 

The costs for planting in November 2017 The 100 spruce, 100 white pine and 5 black willows from Mussers cost $341 plus the cost of gas driving to pick them up. The 100 red-twig dogwood ($146 plus shipping) and the northern bayberry ($172 shipping included) were from Cold Stream Farm. The 102 pagoda dogwood stakes shipped from a Tennessee wholesale nursery were $187. The 200 foot of 2 foot hardware cloth to make the 100 cages for the red-twig dogwoods was about $140. And the pagoda dogwood cages cost about $250. 

So the cost of planting 507 trees and shrubs was about $1250 or about $2.50 total per plant which overall is economical. Labor is considered to be voluntary and is not included in these calculations. On the other hand, I am still living in my old unfixed house with my ancient toilets of which one takes 20 seconds to flush and is relegated only to flushing liquids. In 2015 when I got the house, I had repair insurance for the first year though I was unable to convince a plumber that a toilet that took 20 seconds to flush needed to be replaced under that home repair insurance plan. My skimping on fixing my old house allows me the funds to plant a forest that will live for ages. 

Invasive plant garlic mustard (Alliaria petiolata) removal With garlic mustard, I like to pull the first years of this biennial plant whereas others suggest pulling the second year flowers and leaving them to dry and die and decompose. Rosettes are hand pulled and can be left to dry out and die. First year plants including the entire root can be pulled after rains that softened up the grounds. The removed plants are placed in the crooks of tree branches to allow the garlic mustard to dry out and die and decompose.  

Example future project: American woodcock project One section of the woods is fairly open with a couple of acres of privet with moist soil and the idea is to replace the privet with alder (300 alder seedlings can be purchased from Mussers Nursery for $150 total) to improve the area to possibly attract woodcock so that the birds have space for their mating dances and space to look for earthworms. We have a heavy duty hand weedy-shrub pulling device (Pullerbear) which can be used to pull invasive shrubs such as privet, multiflora rose, and Japanese barberry out of the ground.  

Some sources of information on the web 

Landscaping for Birds - A go to website from Cornell Ornithology.  I use this website to help decide which classes of trees and shrubs to plant in mass. 

Beechwood Farms - Audubon Society of Western Pennsylvania. Beechwood Farms has an excellent native plant nursery. 

eBird - (dates and populations and locations) of birds in Allegheny County from ebird.  

PSU Extension Lawn Alternatives - One of many excellent sites from Penn State Extension. 

Garden Planner Dripworks - Where I get my drip irrigation supplies. 

Prairie Moon - This is where I purchase about a hundred-dollars of native forbs and shrub seeds each January. 

Howard Nursery - Inexpensive trees and shrubs that can be ordered each January through early March from Howard Nursery. Presently have been getting grey dogwood and smooth alder seedlings from them. Recommended to order in January as soon as the website opens as they run out. 

Musser Forests - Mussers Tree Nursery. Being only about a 75-minute drive from Pittsburgh. 

Cold Stream - Cold Stream Farm wholesale nursery. Relatively inexpensive source for northern bayberry, dogwood shrubs, buttonbush seedlings and more. 

Audubon Native Plants - Audubon native plants database. For each plant, there is a listing of which native birds are attracted. 

Wildflower - Wildflower database

This blog series depicts Pittsburghers and their commitment to improving the local environment to celebrate our new exhibition, We are Nature: Living in the Anthropocene. Each blog features a new individual and explains the ways in which they are helping in areas of sustainability, conservation, restoration, and climate change. This blog was written in the author’s own words. Any opinions in this blog are the author’s own and do not necessarily represent that of the museum. 

#Pittsburghers #conservation #restoration #sustainability #nature anthropocene

[liliannorman]

Conservation is going to the dogs

Kayla Fratt greets a driver as he hauls his boat toward one of three boat ramps in Wyoming’s Yellowstone National Park.

“Can my dog check your boat?” she asks. “He’s looking for zebra mussels.”

The driver, curious, agrees. He and his family climb out of the car, asking Fratt questions as Barley, a border collie, goes to work. Barley sniffs his way around the boat, while Fratt tells the family about zebra mussels. 

Native to Russia and Ukraine, the mussels have cropped up in lakes around the world. They’re small. Adults are usually the size of a fingernail. But they reproduce in massive numbers, clinging to and gumming up drainage pipes, power plants, waterways and more. Zebra mussels eat the algae that native mussels and other aquatic animals need to survive. Without food, the native species die off. Meanwhile, the zebra mussels continue to spread. They’re what scientists call an invasive species. 

WD4C detection dog Barley sniffs the bow of a boat in search of zebra mussels.Working Dogs for Conservation

The only way to fight these mussels is to stop their tiny larvae from hitching a ride to new places. But those larvae, about as big as the width of two human hairs laid side-by-side, are tough to spot. They get into the tiny crevices of boats and motors, hiding until they reach a new lake. There they float free, starting a new infestation.

Barley’s tail starts a slow, sweeping wag. He closes his mouth and sniffs more intently. He senses something. When he locates it, he lies down with his nose pointing to the spot. Fratt inspects the area closely and pulls out a hidden vial. The vial contains zebra mussels. She had planted it on the boat while Barley was working. 

It’s a super big deal — and fortunately rare — to find zebra mussels during a boat inspection, Fratt says. The vial will help keep Barley’s nose homed into the target scent. Fratt pulls a squeaky ball from a bag and throws it to the dog for a vigorous round of play.

Fratt and Barley are key members of Working Dogs for Conservation, or WD4C. The Montana-based organization trains dogs to help with conservation projects. These programs include searching for invasive species like the zebra mussels and tracking rare and endangered animals. Some WD4C dogs live in Africa, where they help park rangers fight wildlife poaching, the illegal killing of wild animals.

These dogs aren’t ordinary pets. Some started out as service or military dogs and didn’t do well in those lines of work. Most detection dogs did start off as pets, Fratt says. But they’re “ball-crazy” and full of energy. And that can be too much for some owners to handle.

“The dogs tend to end up in the shelter a lot,” she says. The reason: “Because they’re so high energy and go-go-go.” That boundless energy often isn’t a good fit for pet owners, Fratt says. But it’s ideal for a detection dog. A ball is the perfect reward. It’s easy for the person who works with the dog, its handler, to carry. A ball can’t spoil the way food treats might. And ball-crazy dogs will do almost anything to get that reward. That makes them easy to train.

These dogs learn that when they smell a certain scent, they get to play with their ball. Each dog is trained to detect specific odors. It might be those zebra mussels. Or it could be the poop from a certain species of animal — or the animal itself. It might even be plants or plant parts. All are organisms that can be easy for people to miss without some help.

Fighting a plant invasion

On a recent day in Iowa, two WD4C dogs, Utah and Lily, are working with biologist Aimee Hurt. Hurt helped create WD4C and directs their special projects. Noses raised to catch the wind, the dogs dash across the tall-grass prairie. They are snaking back and forth in search of the scent that will get them their ball. It’s hard work on a hot day. They take turns hunting for their target, Chinese bushclover. 

This invasive species releases chemicals that prevent other plants from growing. And it is taking over native landscapes across the eastern United States. It looks a lot like round-headed bushclover, a close relative that’s native to the United States. Even for people who are trained to tell the difference, it’s easy to miss these shorter plants in the sea of tall grasses.

Utah signals to WD4C handler Aimee Hurt that he has found Chinese bushclover.Working Dogs for Conservation

Each time a dog finds a patch of Chinese bushclover, it lets Hurt know. She marks the patch with a flag and takes careful notes. Someone else will return later to remove the invaders.

Utah and Lily are an essential tool in the fight against invasive plants. Their super-sensitive sniffers pick up odors that people can’t detect. What’s more, they are able to tell scents apart, even ones that are quite similar. Those two types of bushclover, for instance. Other dogs, trained to find scat, can tell droppings from diseased deer from those of healthy deer. Or one type of bear from another. Some dogs can even identify scat from one individual animal.

Scent detection dogs aren’t new to the world of conservation. Samuel Wasser first put dogs to use in his research in 1997. Wasser is a conservation biologist at the University of Washington in Seattle. He has studied animals the world over using only scat: baboons, bears, elephants, sea lions, owls, caribou and more. Wasser discovered that he could get DNA, hormones, toxins and other information out of scat. By studying those bits of dung, he can find and follow an entire population of animals without ever seeing one individual.

Wasser directs the university’s Center for Conservation Biology. At one point, the center had 21 detection dogs working on projects. “It became hard to manage all those dogs and projects,” Wasser says. So the program shrank to five dogs. This helped to better focus on key projects at his center. Many of the original dogs got old and retired from detection work to live with their handlers.

Center for Conservation Biology detection dog Eba checks the air for the scent of orca scat.Samuel Wasser/Center for Conservation Biology/University of Washington

Some dogs now working at the center are trained to detect scat from orcas (killer whales). Sitting at the bow of a boat, they sniff the air blown toward them from a pod of orcas. When a whale poops, the dog leans in that direction, telling the boat driver where to go. Researchers can then scoop the goopy poop into a plastic container and take it back to the lab for study.

This work has led researchers to conclude that orcas that live off the coast of Washington “are on their way out,” Wasser says. One big reason is hunger. Human activity has reduced the number of Chinook salmon, which is the favorite food of these orcas. Pollution is another problem. Pollutants get into the whales’ bodies, where they’re stored in fat. When the orcas go hungry, they burn that fat, releasing toxic chemicals into the blood where they can now harm the whales.

Other dogs working with the center are tracking wolves and their prey. Wolves are becoming more common in central Washington. Researchers want to know how their presence might be affecting other predators in the area. The dogs on this project are trained to find scat from carnivores: wolves, coyotes, cougars, bobcats and black bears.

In four six-week sessions, the dogs found 8,000 piles of poop — most of which would have been missed by people relying strictly on sight. 

“We know where we found the [scat],” Wasser says. And from the poop, “we get DNA, telling us who pooped and what they were eating.” This lets the team see how the various carnivores are moving around. And that’s leading to insights about how competition with wolves is changing the diet of those other carnivores. Says Wasser, “Dog sampling is fantastic for that.” 

Not for everyone

Detection dogs can be incredibly useful to conservation biologists. But not every dog — and not every handler — is cut out for the job. Fratt and Wasser agree that high-energy, ball-crazy rescue dogs make great detection dogs. It can be a win all around — especially when homeless dogs find a home and a purpose helping wildlife. 

However, not all of those dogs work for every project, cautions Karen DeMatteo. She’s a conservation biologist at Washington University in St. Louis, Mo. Choosing well can mean the difference between a successful project and one that fails.

In Argentina, DeMatteo’s Chesapeake Bay retriever, Train, helped her find scat from jaguars, ocelots, pumas, bush dogs and small spotted cats called oncillas. Tracing their movements by tracking scat, her research team is now working to create protected areas between farms and communities. Train was perfect for this job because his thick coat protected him from plants with spines and prickles. His medium size let him clamber over some obstacles — such as fallen logs — and burrow under others. And his solid paws gave him good traction on the uneven ground.

Karen DeMatteo rewards her dog, Train, with his ball and play time after he locates scat in Argentina.Juan Pablo Zurano/Got Scat?

A dog’s height, coat and paws are important things to consider when choosing a dog for a project, DeMatteo says. Searches in tall vegetation need tall dogs. Short dogs have to work too hard just to break through the brush, she says. They’ll wear out too quickly. If the area is thorny, then dogs with longer fur will be better protected. But if there are lots of ticks or burrs, that long fur will become a problem and shorter-haired dogs should be used instead. Even the shape of the foot matters, she notes. Narrow feet will sink in mud or sand. Wide feet that splay out to support the dog’s weight are better in those situations.

Proper training is critical to a successful project, DeMatteo notes. If the samples used to train dogs are too limited, the dogs will be more likely to make mistakes in the field. All scat from a certain species of animal, for instance, won’t smell exactly the same. (Think about how yours might smell differently after different meals.) If too few samples are used in training, dogs might end up looking only for females, for example, instead of including males too, or only flowers in bloom instead of that plant after it has gone to seed. 

Exposing the dogs to a variety of samples actually helps them narrow down what they are looking for. They’re able to ignore odors that might have come from how the samples were collected or stored. And if there are other species that eat the same foods, it’s important to include those when training the dog, DeMatteo says. Otherwise, “the dog may locate samples that you are not looking for,” she says. For example, it may find both coyote and wolf scat when you only want wolves.

Handler Kerry Julvezan watches Jasper search for scat as part of the Center for Conservation Biology wolf project.University of Washington

Just as important as the dog and training is the handler. “Handlers need to be able to have both physical and mental endurance,” DeMatteo says. They have to spend time away from friends and family when they’re out in the field. Personality matters too. Handlers must be able to watch their dog closely during training and while working. People who are easily distracted when they’re supposed to be working will miss important cues from their dogs, she says. Many dog-loving people aren’t cut out for the job.

And even if the dog and handler might be perfect for a job, they both need special training before they can work in the field. “Knowing how to train for basic obedience is not the same as training a dog for work in varying field conditions,” DeMatteo says. 

Wasser agrees. Knowing how to sit or shake hands isn’t part of this job. “You don’t want that dog to heel,” he says. For most detection dogs to work effectively, they must be off leash. “You want that dog to be out there really working and to trust you. And you’ve got to trust the dog.” A good handler has that trust. “Our dogs never run away,” Wasser says. “Because we’re holding their most treasured reward — their ball — and they know it.”

Working with detection dogs “can be rewarding and exciting,” DeMatteo says. “It can bring you to beautiful environments, allow you to explore amazing cultures and meet incredible people.” And, she adds, “it can allow you to collect data on species in environments that are impossible using other survey techniques.”

It also “requires hard work and attention to detail to be successful,” DeMatteo says. Is it worth it? She thinks so. Success provides the data needed to protect threatened and endangered animals. For dog-lovers, it’s more than taking your furry friend to work — it creates a close, lasting partnership that really makes a difference.

When dogs go wild

Dogs aren’t always a good thing for conservation, especially when they run free. Some dogs escape captivity and become feral, or wild. Others belong to people who let them run loose. In either case, dogs can — and do — endanger local wildlife.

That threat may be direct. Julie Young is a wildlife biologist with the U.S. Department of Agriculture in Logan, Utah. She and her coworkers have seen free-roaming dogs hunt and kill mountain sheep in Central Asia. They have watched dogs chase gazelles in Tibet. In Mongolia, dogs chased after endangered saiga antelope. 

Dogs can pose less obvious problems, too. They spread diseases, such as canine distemper virus and rabies, that can kill wildlife and even people. They compete with local predators for food. And they have been found hunting livestock. When this happens in areas with wolves or other wild predators, those predators are usually blamed and sometimes killed. 

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