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turtlesandfrogs · 1 year

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I made this Pre-pandemic for a "Starting plants from the grocery store" class I was teaching, here it is edited down for anyone interested.

For saving seeds, the fruit should be fully mature for the seeds to be fully mature. Therefore, you can use seeds from a winter squash but not a baby zucchini, and the likelihood that the seeds of a tomato (or red bell pepper) will grow are much higher than for a green bell pepper. Unfortunately, many are either going to be poorly suited for your conditions, or hybrid, which we'll touch on later.

Stem cuttings are a great way to start many common culinary herbs! Especially basil!

Some tubers to consider starting from are sweet potatoes and actual potatoes.

And then of course, the bulbs! Green onions and garlic are your best bets!

These are outdoor plants and thus are Somewhat Fussy if you're going to grow indoors. Do not overwater them (eg, letting them sit in a tray of water for days) nor let them dry out completely. Try to keep them evenly moist, with thorough waterings that then pour out the bottom of the pot unimpeded.

Given that they are outdoor plants, a south-facing window (assuming you’re in the northern hemisphere) or grow lights are your best bet. If they don’t get enough light, they will turn pale and stretch towards their light source. They won’t grow as quickly or as healthfully as they would with sufficient light.

Examples:

Tomatoes & peppers! Tomatoes are the one that actually inspired me to make this because I saw this clip on starting plants from kitchen scraps, and they buried the whole dang half of a tomato! Don’t do that! What a waste of a tomato half! EAT your tomato! Take the seeds out!

If you’re intending to grow these outdoors, start them about 6 weeks before your last frost. If you have not grown plants from seed before, here’s some information from another class I taught: https://tinyurl.com/seedstarting2020

If you’re intending to grow them indoors the whole time, you will likely need grow lights for both tomatoes and peppers, and they like it if you keep your house on the warm side. I would suggest growing them outdoors and buying seeds for a dwarf tomato if you really want to grow indoors.

The down side is that most are hybrid, so when you grow out the seed, it's not necessarily going to grow well, be productive, or taste good. Even if it is open pollinated, it's probably been bred to thrive in conditions unlike those you can provide. If you need a successful crop, I highly suggest buying seed, or swapping with a reputable source. Although if you like and can find yellow pear tomatoes, those are an exception to this entire paragraph.

Basil! Basil is a great one to do stem cuttings of, get it started indoors, and then plant out once night time temperatures stay above 50f (10c). I prefer to start them straight into soil, and seem to have a higher success rate this way. To do this, remove all leaves except the top bud, and bury the stem in soil up to just beneath that bud and firm gently. Keep the soil moist and the pot above 60f, and you should have a good success rate. This method works for mint, lemon balm, rosemary, sage, etc, as well.

Green onions- really easy, put the bottom inch or so in soil and they’ll grow very well for you. I prefer soil over water because a) the water gets stinky, and b) they grow better and stronger in soil.

AND MORE:

Sage, rosemary, and thyme (also any stemmed herb): just like basil

Lettuce, carrots, beets: you get the tops, but usually they’ll try to bolt. Easier just to buy seeds. If you want, I usually start in shallow water and then plant as soon as I see roots growing. Again, keep the soil moist, and for these ones, keep them in a cooler part of your house. But really, they almost always bolt in my experience.

Sweet potatoes: Get them in the fall, it takes months for them to start growing (unless you're somewhere warm apparently? ). They will sprout, grow roots, take slips to plant outdoors once night time temperatures study above 50f (10c)

Garlic, just grab a clove and plant in the fall. Boom. GARLIC.

Squash- you don’t know what you’ll get, because they might be cross pollinated with another variety or hybrids. If you do grow it out and it’s bitter, don’t eat it, it’s poisonous. If you want to know more, search “toxic squash syndrome”

Ginger: Plant the rhizome in summer, harvest before frost, or overwinter indoors with a lot of light.

Pineapple: Doable, but it takes three years to get a harvest. Plant in well draining soil, and give it as much heat and light as you can.

Just for fun: (Unless you’re in the tropics or have a lot of patience.)

Mango, avocado, citrus. Take years, and a different climate than I have to fruit. If you’re in the tropics, go for it, but know that avocado pollination can apparently be tricky. I am not in the tropics, so I do not have direct experience with this. Citrus I think I've read also don't come true from seed.

Apples, pears: take years, and don’t come true to type. You do not know what you’ll get, and you’ll probably get something that is not worth eating (but would work for cider). These do need a cold dormancy period in the winter to do well. Of course, you could plant them and then top graft if it does turn out they don’t taste good.

Plums, peaches, apricots: take years, often do come true from seed, but peaches and nectarines are very susceptible to peach leaf curl, so may just die depending on where you are.

#gardening #vegetable gardening #yes that post made me remember but i did already have it written up #regrowing vegetables #pirating vegetables

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hom3landr · 4 days

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Icarus Falling

Chapter One: Flight Risk

Homelander X OC

When Vought decides to shut down a failing experimental program, a little winged loose end is left. Years later, a bitter young woman named Dove lives in isolation under Vought’s close watch. Not quite human but not quite a supe, Dove must use her wits to survive when Stan Edgar appoints her to The Seven for unknown reasons.

Dove’s tongue peeks out of the corner of her mouth as she concentrates on making her brush strokes as even as possible. The sudden garish swipes of polish scratch something in her brain. Her hands are steady now. She no longer leaves a mess all over her fingers from hands shaky with uncertainty. Instead, the ritual has become a balm to her constantly racing mind. The patience to achieve perfection is one of the few things that bring her peace. She prefers bright gaudy colors that irritate the eye. It makes her think of poison frogs and she envies their ability to maim simply by a touch. She wishes she could have had that mutation if she was destined to be a freak. She contemplates whether she’d like to try some nail art today. She isn’t good but that’s not the point. It’s not like anyone will see them anyway. No one ever sees her.

She neatly finishes her nail, happy with the final result. A bright neon green, her nails seem to shine in the beige bleakness of her Vought sponsored house. She supposes that she could make the place homier but she refuses. It feels wrong to make peace with what scraps Vought throws her. She refuses to take comfort in their blood money. Her body may bear signs of their interference but it’s still hers. Her body will have to be her home as it is the only thing she can trust.

Her feathers flutter gently as the oscillating fan blows lukewarm air on her. The sticky summer air lingers and her bare skin is damp with sweat. Her curls are pulled up away from her neck in hopes of some relief from the muggy air. Of course Vought didn’t feel like springing for working air conditioning for her. She guesses it’s because it’s not “cost-effective”

She stretches out her wings behind her, wincing slightly at the way her shoulder blades ache. They may be part of her but the human body isn’t made to have wings. Her muscles are forced to shift and pull in unnatural ways to account for the unfamiliar DNA. She’s no different than a poorly bred dog, too many elements being blended together and spit out without thought to nature’s elegance. The weight of them makes her constantly sore, even with the harness for support. It’s nothing fancy but the leather contraption helps take some of the strain off her back. Her wings are another reason she doesn’t decorate. Furniture tends to be a hassle more often than not when it comes to accommodating her. Couches and any chair with a back is a solid no-go, unless she wants a wing cramp. She’s currently sitting on her unfolded futon she uses as a makeshift wing-friendly couch.

She happily observes her nails as they dry, so used to boredom that watching the slick wet polish turn tacky is a decent passtime. She whistles a jaunty little tune along with the music playing softly on the radio. She decides that she will try some nail art. She could use a little cheetah print.

Alas, her relatively good mood instantly sours when a sleek black car pulls into her driveway. Her stomach turns. The only people who ever come to visit are Vought cronies, usually doing the bare minimum to make sure she’s still alive. Her house that was supposed to be her refuge becomes just another lab. She angrily screws back on the cap to her polish and sluggishly rises with a groan. She didn’t realize she’s due for another checkup so soon. She contemplates grabbing a shirt but decides they don’t deserve the privilege of decorum. She doesn’t feel like putting in the effort of trying to wrestle her wings into one. She never bothers when she’s alone.

Something still feels off and there is a prickle on the back of her neck as she watches the car park. She double takes when she sees the figure getting out of the car. It’s not some nameless lab tech. It’s not some suit here to chastise her for flying high enough to be seen. It’s Stan Edgar, the man whose machinations led to her fate but who never found her important enough to speak to directly. He’s almost a mythical figure to her and her throat tightens. She doubts this is another quick checkup to endure. This is something big.

Once more she wonders if she should grab a shirt. But again, she decides against it. Maybe she’ll get lucky and the shock of her nudity will give the old fucker a heart attack. Her shoulders pop as she shifts. Clad only in a pair of ratty denim cutoffs, she opens the door to stare brazenly at the leader of Vought with her hand placed impudently on her hip.

“It’s rude to show up without calling”

Much to her dismay, Edgar doesn’t even flinch at her exposure. Although the same certainly can’t be said for the two bodyguards flanking him. Even with their sunglasses, the tilt of their heads is an obvious indicator of just where their eyes are focused. She rolls her eyes internally despite never breaking eye contact with Edgar. She’ll die before she’s the one who blinks first.

“I thought a visit might be pleasant considering your…isolation.” He smiles emptily at her. She grits her teeth and fights the urge to spit on his fancy suit.

“I think our definitions of what “pleasant” means may differ. I consider it pleasant to have some privacy, Sir.” She cocks her head at him. Her wings fluff up with displeasure. She should probably use her manners in front of a man as powerful as him; especially one who technically owns her. There’s a tiny voice inside begging her to practice some self preservation. But then she looks at him and she remembers. He wasn’t in the lab with her but whatever tortures she had to endure were committed with his full knowledge and approval. As far as she’s concerned, he might as well have been holding the scalpel himself.

He seems as unfazed by her remark as he did at the sight of her bare chest. She clenches her fist as he looks at her like a bored parent waiting out their child’s tantrums while in time-out.

“Allow me to introduce mysel…” His polite greeting is abruptly cut off by Dove’s scoff.

Settle down. The voice inside her implores but she brushes it from her mind like flicking a flea.

“You’re Stan Edgar, Head of Vought. I know.” She replies, hackles raised at his infuriating calm. “You’re the one who dumped me here.”

He smiles.

Bastard

“A decision that was made with your wellbeing in mind. But if that is your grievance with me then allow me to supply you with some good news. May I come in so we can discuss it?” He asks as though she has a choice in the matter. They both know she doesn’t, not really.

She pauses, two sides of her viciously battling it out in her brain. One side wants to fight and push just to see how far he’ll let her go before his facade finally cracks. The other side just wants peace. She grits her teeth. If she wants him to leave, she’ll just have to endure his visit so she sighs and steps to the side. He nods and enters, flanked by his leering entourage. She does roll as her eyes at their stares this time and grabs a scarf she spies draped over the edge of a nearby table. She follows them over to the futon, threading it through her harness and tying it into a makeshift top.

She plops down on the futon, crosses her legs and looks up at him blankly. She doesn’t offer him a seat. Of course, there really isn’t a place for him to sit even if she did feel like being polite. The living area of her tiny one bedroom house is bare except her futon, a small table with the fan still whirring away and her radio, and a short cabinet that she mainly uses to store her collection of polishes and a few dvds gathering dust. The walls are blank and cold.

“You should let Vought know you are in need of some furniture.” Edgar remarks as he looks around at the sad state of her place.

“I’ll get right on that.” Dove says wryly. She has no intention to ask for anything from Vought.

“Actually, I wouldn’t bother just yet. That's one of the things I wish to speak with you about.” Edgar replies. Dove regrets sitting because now she has him looming over her. The power play was fun at the moment but she’s quickly realizing that Edgar has a way of making them feel pointless and immature.

“I didn’t realize you cared this much about my interior design.” Dove can’t help but retort.

“It does seem pointless to furnish this place considering you will be moving in the near future. I’m sure you’ll enjoy a place with a little more class.” He’s smug, clearly trying to lead her somewhere. He says it like he’s expecting her to jump up like her team just won the superbowl. There is always the undertone of condescension and superiority that makes Dove bristle. She’s known this man for all of ten minutes but that’s all she needs. She doesn’t even register the meaning of his words. She’s too angry and it clouds her judgment. She doesn’t immediately register that he’s offering her an out.

“Vought has class?” She bites out, her joking tone too harsh to be taken lightly. The hurt behind it is open and raw. Edgar’s smile drops. She should feel smug that she finally got the mask to drop. She doesn’t.

“I’m sure you think that your comments are cute but I came here expecting to talk to an adult, not a petulant child.” His voice sharpens but the pitch never changes.

Dove’s mouth snaps shut and she bites her tongue till she tastes iron. Her feathers fluff out involuntarily as she seethes. She’s tempted to snap back but she begrudgingly realizes that the sooner they can get through this conversation, the sooner he’ll be out of her hair. She frowns when she notices one of her still tacky nails has smudged.

Fucking great

“Fine, just tell me then.” She crosses her arms before promptly relaxing them, not wanting to let him know how much she’s pouting.

The corner of his mouth curls up but his eyes stay as empty as ever.

“How would you feel about finally putting your skills to good use?” He asks.

Dove double takes and stutters out a bemused laugh. Not once since they threw her out with the bathwater had they ever indicated she had any use besides what failed experiment they had been planning. She is baffled as to what they could possibly want with her.

“I think my current situation shows what Vought thinks of my skills. Can’t you get one of your precious little supes to do it?” She replies with sheer disdain.

Psh…Supes

Oh, she despises supes. Spoiled little brats. Spoiled pampered little brats. Vought’s golden children. They’re genetic freaks too but they get freedom and fame. They have lives and families. They only have to endure a little shot of go-go juice as a baby and the world is handed to them on a golden fucking platter. Meanwhile here she is, weak, hidden, abandoned. She had to endure endless tortures and for what?

“We need someone with your unique composition.” His face gives nothing away.

That doesn’t sound good.

“…Oh.” She shifts nervously. A sick feeling starts to brew in her gut. She becomes viscerally aware of the prickle of sweat under her arms and running down her spine “I’m not…going back, am I? You all promised me I wouldn’t have to go back there anymore.”

Edgar laughs. He fucking laughs.

“Yes and no, but don’t worry, we won’t have any need for that. I think you’ll enjoy what we have planned.” He replies with false peasantry. Dove inhales tightly. Her hackles are raised at the constant dancing around the question. She highly doubts enjoyment is on the table. When has enjoyment ever been on the table for her?

“Well, are you gonna tell me what it is?” She retorts sharply. The constant whirring of the fan grates on her strained nerves and in this moment she wants nothing more than to chuck it across the room.

Edgar nods at one of the bodyguards who steps forward to hand her a fancy embossed letter. She resists the urge to snatch it rudely from his hand. She minds her manners though, being careful not to rip the fancy paper. Edgar stares her down as she opens it. Luckily her nails are dry enough now to not stick.

Her heart stops dead as she reads.

WHAT THE FUCK

Her hands start to shake.

This is a joke

This is a joke.

This is a fucking joke.

What she is holding is a genuine, bonafide, official invitation to join The Seven.

Dove drops the letter like it’s a scalding hot coal. A furious stinging longing like nothing she has ever known throbs hot in her chest.

Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted? For your pain to mean something?

“No.” She replies shakily. “No, I don’t want it.”

She does. She wants it so bad.

“No.”

She knows what she is. She’s not a supe. She will never be a supe. That had been quite clear to her with every broken bone, every bruise, every slice of the scalpel. She was deemed unworthy with every scribble of a scientist's pen. Her only claim to fame is not dropping dead from her inhuman slurry of mismatched genes like the rest.

Whatever worth she has, it’s definitely not as one of Vought’s shiniest gems. She doesn’t have the luxury of hope.

“No? I assumed you’d be glad for the opportunity. Especially considering your…situation.” He nods at her wings and she draws them closer to her body.

“I’m…not one of them. I’m all but human. What need could you possibly have for me in The Seven. I’m…” She cuts herself off.

Weak

That’s the whole point of her existence really. Vought wanted to create a new breed of supes that weren’t supes. People with abilities but without the pesky super strength that makes things hard to manage. They wanted to corner the labor market. Who wouldn’t want to hire a worker capable of more than a human could ever be while still being easy to control? So, they turned to animal DNA, to see if they could generate specific traits based on carefully selected genes. It failed, the constant deaths of the subjects deemed it too cost ineffective to keep trying. When they shut it down, all they had to worry about was one winged little loose end.

“You let us worry about all that. You’ll just need to follow instructions and smile pretty for the camera.” He reaches out to take a shaky hand in his, his demeanor unnervingly parental in this moment. He pats it soothingly. She fights the urge to flinch away at the touch of skin. She’s painfully unused to human contact that doesn’t involve harm.

“What kind of instructions?” She’s wary.

“I told you, let us worry about that. I promise it won’t be anything you can’t handle.” His voice has warmed considerably as he tries to gain her consent without having to resort to more unpleasant means. After all, no isn’t really an option. Vought owns her. The invitation is merely a polite formality.

“No,” Dove repeats more firmly, a steely resolve in her eye

“No?” Stan Edgar raises an eyebrow.

Dove doesn’t want to hear anymore. What they’re giving her is not an out but a golden cage. She’s Snow White being handed the poison apple. She won’t be a victim of Vought’s plans again. She won’t be that stupid.

“What makes you think I want to do anything to help Vought out? What makes you think a bit of fame is enough to make me forget the shit you put me through?” Dove stands, staring Edgar down. She clenches her fists and the body language of his guards changes immediately. “If you try to set my ass in front of a camera I’ll spill everything. All I want is to be left alone.”

Edgar remains unphased by her outburst. He’d expected as much. The reports from her check-ups had informed him of her temperament. He has one more card up his sleeve before things have to get nasty.

“I understand that you’re disgruntled by your previous treatment. As an apology and as incentive for joining The Seven, Vought would like to reunite you with your mother. Remain as a member for one year and fulfill all your necessary duties, and we’ll get you in contact with her.”

His voice fades out into a droning buzz.

I have a mother.

Dove’s head swims.

She tries to speak but the words catch in her throat. She makes a strangled noise at the revelation. What can she even say to that? How is she supposed to respond to her whole world getting flipped on its head? Unwanted tears prickle in her eyes as her knees give out and she drops back on to the futon.

She’s always been so alone but all this time…

All this time…

“How come you never said anything? How come I didn’t…” Her voice trails off. “You’re lying.”

A photo enters her field of vision and she takes it shakily. There is a young woman in the picture, with curly hair and dark familiar eyes, Dove’s eyes. She doesn’t look much older than nineteen but the resemblance is unmistakable. She's wearing an all too familiar medical gown and her hand rests on the subtle swell of her stomach. Her expression is solemn. Dove chokes down a sob as she softly strokes the woman’s face.

“She signed a contract saying that she did not want any contact with the child post-birth. In recent years, she seems to have changed her mind. She’s expressed a desire to reconnect. If you agree to our terms, we can facilitate a reunion.” Edgar explains.

Dove can’t take her eyes off the photo.

Her mom abandoned her. She abandoned her to Vought’s heartless clutches. She’d walked away without a care. Dove should rip the picture up and tell Edgar to stuff it. She shouldn’t feel anything towards this woman…her mother.

Dove had never known where she came from. Vought had never specified. Now she has a chance to know. What is her mother like? Is she happy now? Why did she leave her alone? Why does she want her now? Did her mom ever love her?

Dove is furious at herself for feeling conflicted even as questions fill her head. She has so many questions she can get the answer to.

“I…” Dove flounders. She doesn’t want it. She doesn’t want anything else. She hates this mystery woman who left her in Vought’s clutches. She needs more than anything to be held in her arms, this woman with the dark sad eyes.

Don’t you fucking dare! Something inside her pleads. You’re going to regret it. You will never be free from them

Dove swallows thickly and with the finality of an executioner's swing, she gives Stan Edgar her answer.

“I’ll do it.”

#homelander #x oc #homelander x oc #Homelander x Dove #OC Dove #The Boys OC #big nervous about this one #my first time writing oc fic #y’all have no idea how long this took #No Homelander in this chapter yet but he’s coming

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jojikawa · 2 years

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could i possibly get a chamber nsfw one-shot or headcanons w/ a sub reader who enjoys spanking and bondage?

You sure can!

CHAMBER X FEM!READER

tw// NSFW, Fem-bodied reader, BDSM (bondage and spanking), creampie

“Hold still, mon amour.”

The voice of your French lover was deep. His breath was hot and it caressed your ear delightfully as he tightened his belt around your wrists.

You were currently bent over Vincent’s lap. Your eyes were covered and one of his hands secured your bonds. The other gingerly inspects your backside. He was slow and confident in his actions. His favorite thing was to rub you through your panties. This time you were currently already dripping wet. You shuddered and squirmed at his touch, unable to keep still against his cold fingers.

“I want you to…to spank me.” You muttered, fidgeting just a little more before he ceased your movements with a slap. It echoed throughout the room alongside a poorly stifled moan. “Look at your cheeks. They’re turning so red when I’ve barely touched you.”

You only whimper in response. You didn’t want to seem so needy but your body had betrayed you. You were completely exposed.

Lewd slaps filled the quiet room. He had removed his gloves and began to spank you, just as you asked. You jumped and yelped at the contact, turning him on so much. He loved to watch you struggle against your restraints.

Vincent would grab a good amount of your cheeks with every slap. He would spread them so that he could get a look at your pretty asshole. A large, heavy blush would cover his face at the thought of finally fucking it. You felt him getting more and more hard under you, making you anxious for when he would finally be done.

You were becoming a mess under him when your cheeks had become red from repeated spanking. You nearly stained his pants with how wet you were.

Vincent lifted you and put you onto the bed. “I think I like you better like this.” He wrapped his arms around your lower waist and propped you up by your ass so that it was in the air. You felt his exposed cock press up against your ass. He put it between your cheeks and thrusts without penetrating you. He did this until you felt precum leaking all over your ass.

His presence behind you caused you to blush. You felt so dirty from being used by the French man like this.

“Are you ready for me, mon amore?” Vincent rubbed the tip between the folds of your pussy. “Mhm!” You whimpered out. He grabbed your bound wrists and pulled you to him. “I want to hear you say it. Use that beautiful voice of yours.” He cooed into your ear. “Tell me you want me.”

“…I…I want you, Vincent.”

“Tell me what you want.”

“I want t-to feel you deep inside of me.”

Vincent hummed at your slutty speech. “Gentille fille.”

And without another word, he pushed inside of you, filling your tight hole with his evergrowing dick. Your lewd cries filled his ears. “Naughty girl.” Vincent slammed into you, fucking you so good that you squirmed at the pleasure. He loved seeing your movements limited by the bondage. He could really see why you enjoyed the idea of it. He never would have thought that such a shy girl would be into something so arousing!

“You know I’m the only person who can fuck you like this, right?”

“Yes, Vincent!”

“Vincent? Only when you make me cum is when you can call me what you want.”

“I’m s-sorry, S-Sir!” You slurred, trying to keep yourself from making a mess all over his bed as he pushed into you violently. His tip did more than kiss your womb. It bruised you with the rate he was going.

You had already felt yourself approaching your climax. You tried to hold it in for the sake of pleasing Vincent but he was just pounding you so well. His cock filled your count perfectly. Before you could even notify him, you had begun squirting all over his dick.

“Sir, I-“ You moaned uncontrollably but Vincent’s pace didn’t let up. Your walls contracting on his cock didn’t allow him to slow down. He came inside of you, his strong arms keeping you in place as he bred you nicely.

It took everything out of him to finally pull out. When he did, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of power. He completely cream-pied you. At the sight, he spread your cheeks to get a better look. It dripped out slowly and the only thing he could think was that he owned you.

“Oh my, Cherie, it seems as though we are meant for each other.”

#valorant x reader #valorant fanfiction #valorant imagines #valorant headcanons #valorant #chamber x reader valorant #chamber x reader #valorant smut #vincent fabron x reader #vincent fabron #chamber imagines #valorant chamber x reader #[💌] - request

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scattered-irises · 10 days

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hey! bishounen breeder anon here

i’m so glad you understand! but it sucks that your zexal era kaitos aren’t for public sale :/

see i wanted to breed my own original era kaito if possible because konami is absolutely cracking down on these kaito breeds, and it’s SO HARD nowadays to get anybody on board :/

i really thought you’d be on board too because i heard such good things about you

this culture of apartment style rival bishounens being more trendy really sucks. like, every other rival is available on the market for every era, ESPECIALLY setos. i just want the complete set for rivals, but 2011-2014 kaitos are such a rare find. the og features are just so much better than the revised, stretched out new era kaito >:(

i want my own original onion head. the other bishie breeders and konami constantly attack us, and those who still breed these 2011-2014 kaitos aren’t selling them either

feeling pretty disappointed overall :/ i thought i’d finally get some progress here because i joined this community so late. guess i’ll just look elsewhere

My good stockholder in HASDAQ (Hell’s Association of Securities Dealers Automated Quotations), the moment I announce that my poorly bred og Kaitos are for public sale, Konami will burst through my office in hell and confiscate all of them (Yes, they have people in hell…it is a corporation, after all). I cannot sell them to you even if I wanted to.

Due to my insistence on breeding and hoarding sickly Kaitos, I have become a pariah in the bishie breeding (BB, for short) community.

Yes, these new healthier Kaitos are very aesthetically displeasing. However, if you truly love Kaitos, you would buy a newer one for the sake of his health.

Another note, my Kaitos have a shelf life of maybe 7-8 days. I don’t think they are even worth purchasing. You may as well buy yourself a pack of organic strawberries, since they look and last about the same.

I wish you luck on your quest to find og Kaitos. I also hope you are prepared to handle the consequences that come with the og Kaito’s poor health.

Unless…you would be interested in purchasing a Christopher from me? He’s about as unhealthy as the OG Kaitos but I’m quite certain Konami has forgotten about him (I mean, there have not been any upgrades to his deck for about a decade now), so the Christopher side of the BB is a bit like the Wild West. Christopher breeders can do whatever the hell they want tbh. Here’s a selection of my Chrises:

#zexal #shitpost #christopher arclight #kaito tenjo #ask iris #bishounen #unreality/

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foulbearobservation · 8 months

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Lilith would absolutely adopt a retired racing greyhound: a poorly socialized creature bred for one purpose, the discarded once they were no longer useful to those i charge.

Also as the owner of a part greyhound, I think Lilith would really enjoy what pedantic little bastards they can be. They're all about loopholes and technicalities; they read the rulebook cover to cover, so they can learn how to get around them

YOU SEE MY VISION!!! YES!!! She has one of those pedantic asshole dogs and she loves it even if her partners don't necessarily lmao. Beatrice can't find it in her to be upset when she finds that the dog has stolen yet another sandwich off the coffee table because, in its defense, she only specified no stealing food from the countertop.

Of course it is Camila's little baby baby boy and must be addressed as such. Ava and the puppy run around the yard at breakneck speeds and they both consider it to be the pinnacle of fun 🥰🥰

#I've evolved I think the doggo is ot4's dog but mostly it's lilith's because lilith is the one who rly wanted it #lilith and the dog with matching don't touch me I'm nervous sweaters

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brightgnosis · 3 months

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Handshake on also being a petunia hater by the way! I'm not really impressed by those guys either. For me I think it's just the way they're bred to be so big, the petals just get floppy and shapeless. Are there any woody plants you think get overhyped in your local landscaping industry? When I lived further south mine was crepe myrtle but thankfully my winters are too tough for them, mwahaha!

Ok no but seriously. Let's talk about how horrible Crape Myrtles actually are; how, despite the fact their average cold hardiness is 0f, they're still hilariously (ironically) cold intolerant, and are really unsuited for half the areas they're sold for -- But how garden centers and nurseries (big box centers, especially) push them so hard anyways, despite this ... And so you just wind up with a bunch of incredibly ugly, half dead bush tree things everywhere as a result (because they also just don't grow right in half of these areas, either).

Let's also talk about how, for some reason, everyone who actually buys one always plants them in the worst damned locations somehow, and they never account for any kind of spread. And they never even care for them properly, either, on top of it. So they're not only frequently public nuisances or actively damaging to structures, etc, they're also often unhealthy, and usually really bad eyesores.

Because it's true. And literally nothing is uglier than a half dead Crape Myrtle that dies back more and more each year. Except, maybe, the Crape Myrtles that get trimmed into those weird false tree shapes. Those are so ugly to look at; I don't know why some people prune them that way- and it does absolutely nothing for their cold tolerance.

If I never saw another poorly maintained, half dead Crape Myrtle in Oklahoma (which is pretty much every one of them here) I'd be so happy 🤣

#birchwood-path #Answered Asks #2024 Asks #Gardening Asks #2024 #Gardening #Gardenblr #Plantblr #Oklahoma #Green Witch #Green Witchcraft #Disabled Gardener

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coleoffduty · 6 months

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oh shit. today's wip wednesday and i didn't even scream about any of them,,, whoop!

what's been rotting my brain as of late... oh yeah! bottomond. i'm loving the idea of distant-half uncle-aemond meeting lord of harrenhal luke and thinking 'just another one of my sister's poorly bred pups-' and it's this really charismatic mf who makes aemond's grumpy self just start swooning. i'm thinking like a two-parter, aemond being a bit self-loathing even through all of lucerys flirting, then some nice teasing, to which they get it on nasty style.

#lucemond #ao3 #wip

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erudianokabe · 4 months

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Monsters

My father often told me that I shouldn’t be here.

I can still remember the look of disappointment on his face when he realized what I had been striving so hard to achieve. As someone who served in the military, my father knew the hell that followed where war was concerned. A nation like Marley was one that thrived during battles. Conquest was something that was always on their mind. Defending and capturing territories was hardly anyone’s idea of child’s play, but for Marley, having monstrous weapons in the form of Titans, it might as well be the case.

He knew the perils of being a soldier. He knew the hardships and the trauma that came with it. Most of the time, he believed that these were things that I took lightly. After all, what did I know? I was just a girl who wanted to follow a dream that seemed too far-fetched to even… well… dream about.

It’s not as if I was following in my father’s footsteps, and it’s not as if I truly wanted to be a soldier in the first place. Perhaps if I’ve never happened upon that one boy from years ago, I’d never find myself here. In fact, now that I think about it, there were so many paths that I could have taken if all I wanted was to help people.

For one, there’s always a shortage of doctors in this place. When I say this place, what I meant is the Internment Zone. The “pure bred” people of this nation considered the inhabitants of the Internment Zone menaces. They were treated so poorly, as if they were plague incarnate. Shunned upon by society, these people— the Eldians, were nothing more than swine to many. Monsters and devils is what the people of Marley would call them… something that I never really understood. In fact, they looked pretty normal to me. Without the armband that they were forced to wear as a form of label, I feel like no one would have been able to tell the difference.

They were good people in my opinion, but one person’s thoughts and views hardly mattered in a society that was teeming with both fear and disdain.

When I think about what my own people do to these poor men and women, I begin to wonder just who the real monsters truly were.

Marleyans treat the Eldians like cattle… no, even worse than that. At least cattle were desired by most for their meat; prized for the sustenance that they can provide to the body. The Eldians… despite their use in terms of protecting a nation that would readily spit at them and leave them for dead, were used as weapons and were expected to die for the nation’s cause… the very nation that would abandon them given the chance.

But Marley can’t.

Despite their hate and their fear, they needed these people to fight their wars. Eldian children were trained and conditioned to inherit specialized titans in order to bring Marley victory. The chosen would be elevated to the status of Honorary Marleyan, a title only in name… the treatment, however? Still the same. Those who were found with crimes were sentenced to a fate worse than death… forced to become monsters that they didn’t even want to be in the first place. Others, of course, were conscripted for the part in hopes of better treatments… and where does that lead them? An untimely demise if one was luck, or a lifetime of trauma if anyone survived to live another day.

It was tough being an Eldian in the nation of Marley… you were less than the dirt that everyone walked upon.

It’s disgusting… this place… the people…

Everyone here were monsters; some worse than the rest.

I’m one of them, apparently. I’m not going to think of myself like I’m some kind of saint… after all, I’m in charge of training the children that would become the next generation titan shifters. I’m no better than anyone even if I want to be. But still, at the very least, I can do something to help them out. I want to understand the people who mine, considered evil.

And honestly… they were hardly the offspring of the devil. They were no different from the children that played along the streets of Marley’s capital… Well, I hope that at least, others saw it that way too.

But of course they didn’t.

The military only saw these children as weapons, expendable resources that needed to be replenished after a certain amount of time.

It was horrible.

I feel like a monster… and since I’m helping mold them to be weapons, I probably am one as well. But at the very least, if they were considered devils, then I should be too…

…because deep down inside, we’re all the same… aren’t we?

If my father could see me now, I hope that he’ll be proud of the monster that I’ve become.

#ic ◈ ◤ .OC. ◥#‖▤ Kristina Qual ◈ The Instructress from Marley #◤ .Field Tests & Experiments. ◥ Character Study #◤ .To You ◈ 2000 Years From Now. ◥ Drabbles

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kedreeva · 8 months

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The ask about Willow reminded me of when a jumping spider accidentally came in with the mail. After showing the little Miss that I meant no harm, I offered her my hand so I could escort her outside but she put two legs on my finger and then immediately backed up, then tried to go elsewhere. When I offered my hand again she did the same thing. Then just refused every time after. (She wasn’t panicking, she just, didn’t want to) When she hopped onto my hand by accident at one point, she immediately hopped off again. But when I offered her a paper towel, she had no problems and happily climbed aboard and waited while I took her outside.

I’m not sure if it was a sensory thing for the little Miss or if my hands happen to have some soap or something on them that she didn’t like, but I thought it was such a cute little encounter!

(And I figured you might get a kick out of it as well, or would maybe have some insight)

I do! It's because jumping spiders actually don't like the feel of human skin very much!

But, they don't like human skin the way wild or even feral cats don't want cuddles or poorly-bred mice are stressed in a cage, or wolves make terrible pet dogs- because they haven't been bred for it! A lot of people are still wild-catching their jumpers, but I cannot stress enough how important it is to turn to and support those who are doing selective captive breeding, especially if they've been doing it for a while. A breeder that keeps selecting for breeders most likely to readily crawl onto a hand will eventually produce slings that don't mind human skin.

The first time Willow hopped onto my hand, she hopped back off again, but she hadn't been held very often since she was still a little i8 sling. The second time, I suppose she was prepared for it, because she climbed right aboard with no qualms and has done the same since. She came from a captive breeder, and one that I will return to for another once Willow passes away in a year or two, because I'm sure by then she'll have even friendlier slings looking for homes.

#spiders #my pets #asks #anon asks #willow #I'm gonna get a male next time tho #I'm told that they're harder to find homes for #everyone wants girls because they live longer

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suspiciousmammal · 2 years

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are there any visible signs that a horse came from an unethical breeder? im trying to design a creature that's supposed to look horse-like and unhealthy at first glance, and im not sure what features to exaggerate to get that across. so far all ive got is make it too skinny. if there's anything in the posture or build of a horse that signals the breeder put their foals' health at risk in their effort to breed new traits, i'd like to incorporate it, but im not sure how to find that information.

There's a couple of things you can do. Quarter Horses bred exclusively for in-hand shows are often extremely overmuscled and just don't look right:

If you want to look at some more of these sorts of beefcakes for reference, look here.

Then there's breeders who breed "mini shetland ponies" or other mini pony breeds for the smallest possible size. These breeders usually disregard any health concerns, as the unusually small size of their ponies has a huge impact on their joints, or even how their teeth fit in their skull. Dwarfism is a genetic defect that is relatively common in those extremely small breeds.

Here's a pony with dwarfism. You can just tell that the body parts don't look proportional to one another.

I recommend you have a look through the craigslisthorses blog here on tumblr, as they post some very poorly bred horses.

#ask #halter horses #mini shetland ponies #id in alt

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goingrampant · 9 months

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The Boys #2 notes: Pages 3-4, 8-9

As page 3 starts, we have a moment with Wee Hughie crying on the bench and Billy Butcher looking at him with concern, and it looks like there might actually be some genuine empathy featured front and center. Wee Hughie is emotionally distraught at the loss of a loved one, and Butcher recognizes this and decides to give him some space. It's not a big challenge to traditional masculinity, but it allows for two whole panels of Wee Hughie's honest grief before getting back to toxic masculinity.

The third panel is only mostly about Wee Hughie's grief. It starts to transition into something to reassure the immature frat boys reading that this isn't about respecting men feeling emotional pain and instead about toxic masculine domination.

Discussion of a rape joke below the cut:

I literally just stared at this comic in disgust for a while before I could muster the resolve to write about it. Butcher lures Wee Hughie to the cause by demonstrating his manly domination through rape by proxy, using his dog as an extension of himself, making Terror rape another dog. It's tied into the fascist theme of opposing societal degeneracy, viewing everything through the lens of conflict and then mastering weakness through sexual domination.

While Wee Hughie is trying to grieve, his sobs are interrupted by a Shih Tzu's annoying yipping. The Shih Tzu is used to illustrate degeneracy, an offense to these men's sensibilities. Though this Shih Tzu is poorly trained, they hate it just for its breed, which they look down on (Butcher: "Horrible little things;" Wee Hughie: "I hate those wee bastards..."), as opposed to Terror the bulldog. Dog breeding is an application of eugenics, and they view the whole Shih Tzu breed as bad--the art style portrays it as especially gross--compared to the bulldog, portrayed as cute and lovable. That's a little fascist.

This Shih Tzu is portrayed homophobically as a male figure that has degenerated into femininity as illustrative of his lack of moral substance. He's named Benjamin--like he should be a proud, strong man-like dog--but is bred to be a fancy little dog meant for warming laps and looking nice, like a bitch. (No, not a pun; that's just what the word means in both contexts.) He looks ill-groomed and has fur collected into a little pink bow, and his owner--a little old lady--praises him for pooping in the middle of the road, totally ignorant of how poorly she's trained him, and has no intent of cleaning up after him. We live in a society, amirite.

So, because Benjamin is degenerate, Butcher tells Terror, "Fuck it." The dog looks cute (?) and, otherwise, like the opposite of Benjamin. Terror's colors are bright. He looks cheery. He's a properly masculine man dog.

There's a cut away from the plotline for pages 5-7, which I'll cover in the next post. For page 8, we come right back to Terror raping Benjamin with a panel overtly depicting the two of them. Terror has his eyes rolled back in pleasure, while Benjamin screams. Jesus fucking Christ, what the fuck is wrong with everyone involved in the production of this comic?

This isn't framed as horrific at all. This is framed as good fun, showing the degenerate portion of society what's what. Terror and Benjamin, though dogs, are somewhat anthropomorphized into a traditionally masculine man raping a degenerate feminized man to show the world what power looks like. These are hellish far-right politics on display. Fascism.

The little old woman hits Terror with her purse, trying to rescue her dog, but she is also part of the degeneracy and can't affect the truly masculine man-dog. Meanwhile, Benjamin yips in a distortion of his annoying yips, now like the "bitch" in a porn scene, played up to frame the masculine man-dog as especially masculine. Wee Hughie loves this, and it cheers him up (you know, from his moment of genuine human emotion) and endears him to Butcher.

Wee Hughie grins like trollface. He looks absolutely delighted at the spectacle taking place. A random man in the background also finds it amusing, laughing in delight, like that's the first good thing he's experienced all day. Butcher looks smug, like he's proud to uplift the world. Through rape.

Finally, Butcher leads Wee Hughie on a walk through the park and calls for Terror to join them. The old woman sadly collects her dazed dog as Terror, Butcher, and Wee Hughie casually stroll away. As an interesting detail, we can fully see Terror's testicles to emphasize his manliness. The dog then frames the two men as especially manly men in a degenerate world. Delighted, Wee Hughie shakes Butcher's hand, happy to have made a new friend.

I kind of just want to slap Garth Ennis across the face.

Don't trust men who like this comic.

I've seen people defend the comic by saying you're not supposed to like Butcher that much, that he's supposed to be a piece of shit, etc. That's not what I see here. He's framed as toxically masculine Mary Poppins, making the world better through fun chaos. From rape. It uplifts the worst parts of humanity, framing it as making the world better--like a fascist work.

The show is better. It unfortunately does nod to this scene through Butcher giving Terror a dog toy representing his enemy, Homelander, telling him to "fuck it," and then we hear rhythmic squeaking. It's still a rape joke, but it's much less nasty and doesn't tie in such fascist themes of macho men conquering degeneracy.

#the boys notes #the boys comics #the boys #rape culture #rape jokes #toxic masculinity #sus fashy content #homophobia #fuck this comic

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elvenferretots · 1 year

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Really need to know what are the similarities between owning a dobe and a ferret there's gotta be at least a small bit of overlap

Really, the biggest overlap is the amount of maintenance that goes into both.

My mom always used to tell me that when I was an adult, I would stop keeping ferrets. When I got my first ferret as an adult a decade ago, she said "Of course you got another one. You grew into the kind of person who can't just have a pet, you need a hobby. Most people don't want to put that kind of work and money into an animal."

Both of the boys have written training plans and exercise/enrichment schedules. They come to work with me frequently. My house is plotted out and gated off and laid out with both of them in mind. I keep a 3K emergency veterinary fund and a CareCredit card.

Both ferrets and dobes are prone to destructive behaviour when bored. Ferrets are digging animals and will literally dig up carpets and dig holes in furniture; they are notorious for destroying mattresses and couches from underneath. Dobermans are prone to OCD-type behaviour varying from spinning to chewing through walls (Ten has a very bad habit of digging through beds/furniture, much like a ferret, which pops up if his needs aren't being met). Both ferrets and dobermans tend to be chewers who eat things they should not, and are common recipients of obstruction surgery. All of this can be prevented with appropriate outlets, management, and training.

Both are very sharky as babies, and prone to temperament issues if poorly bred or poorly socialized. They need outlets and boundaries for biting and rough play. They often end up in shelters due to this. Again with the need for appropriate outlets, management, and training.

Both are prone to some gnarly health issues, and cost a bit to vet. Any ferret who is not from a private breeder will likely get any combination of their big three cancers: adrenal, insulinoma, and lymphoma. The best way to prevent these cancers is to get a well-bred ferret and leave them intact. The caveat of this is that female ferrets can go into shock and die if their body does not think they bred, so they need regular hormone shots or chemical castration to help with this. Dobes...well, you know about dobes. I just used my entire medical fund and a good chunk of my credit on my well bred dobe because he has a disease that we still cannot genetically test for and don't know your dog will get until they get it. And the breed is prone to multiple conditions like that.

Of course, most of the good things about them would be different! The big good thing that ties them together for me is how much both dobermans and ferrets weave their way into your very being. When you spend so much of your time and heart on any creature, they return it equally; but I feel like these guys multiply it. They get me out of bed in the morning. They give me motivation and purpose. They help me meet other passionate people (it's amazing how much the ferret show was like being at a dog show with the dobe people). And they each make me see things from a different point of view.

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lassieposting · 7 months

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Related to the catcalling thing - I haven't tried this myself, but one option when a stranger says something rude to you is to silently hold up your phone and take a picture of them, and walk away. Makes them think they're going to be reported to some authority, which hopefully makes them feel stressed, shamed/guilty, and less likely to do it again to someone else. If you're not comfortable doing that, you can also pretend to take a picture of them by just pointing your phone at them and tapping the screen. Another option: "Is your grandmother proud of you? Yeah? She shouldn't be." Guilt tripping is great. They SHOULD feel bad.

I have tried that, and it. Did not go well. People don't like having their picture taken when they think they're gonna get in trouble. I ended up having a confrontation with a poorly-bred smackhead who was doing his level best to intimidate me - getting all up in my face, waving his arms around and actually wrestling the phone out of my hand - because he'd caught me filming him kicking in someone else's back gate and trashing their yard. The only reason I stayed calm is because I shut down and went into Murder Mode - that flat-stare icy-voiced state of rage where you are Creepily Calm and unflinching - which is how I used to scare off bullies looking for a fight. There were people just edging past this 6ft strung-out chavvy wannabe rapper fuck-knuckle cussing and yelling at a 5'2 girl, because they were too afraid to get involved.

I got my phone back in the end, when the police showed up and put his ass in cuffs. I was offered an opportunity to make a statement that could be used as some kind of evidence in court (for the property damage/violating his ASBO, not for what he did to me - since I got my phone back and had no visible marks where he'd grabbed me to get it, I couldn't press charges myself), and he immediately began protesting about how that wasn't fair and I was a lying whore and I was gonna make up shit about him and blah blah blah.

So I, being spiteful and petty, promptly turned over the video I'd taken to the nice policeman, and gave him a statement. At which point, Fuck-Knuckle lunged at me, and spat that he'd seen me around [street I live on], and he was going to have his mates waiting for me when I left the house one day. (This has, so far, proven to be bull)

So like. Yeah, you can engage and challenge those fuckers, and more people should, but it's almost always more trouble or more danger than it's worth. I live in an area with a high population of deadlegs, petty criminals, and druggies, and you never know who's full of hot air, and who's Actually Unhinged and going to stab you. The chances of a confrontation turning nasty are very high and it's. Really a case of weighing up your chances and whether it's worth it.

With one arsehole, like that guy, I might try my luck and show some spine. With a gang of them, like those vile boys...the odds are not in my favour. So you just have to take it.

#backyard anon

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lauvra · 9 months

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Astounding how easy it can be to venture out into the world self-effacing, sans one regular shallow hindrance or another with a shred of a sense of purpose in pocket. I walked to the book store today with a clean face and wet hair on a mission to thumb through the philosophy section in search of anything cynical. Last legging up the stairs, essential oils perfumed my skin, hair and cognisance. A brunet crouched over filling and sorting the lower shelves turned his head to ask if I wanted help. Usually I'd say no, spare the unveiling of the vast ignorance of an ashamed drop out but on this day treading water in the middle channel of the week I said yeah, actually.

An hour earlier I'd been struck by one discovery as poetically mundane as that of one bred by consumption of LSD. You know, like finding happiness in a patch of grass with a bowl of fruit, turning seeds over between your fingers thinking wow... people really are made from people just like this orange was made from...

I confessed to the stranger that my entire life I'd casually viewed and used the term 'Cynic' as only a flawed emotional affect one must endeavor to overcome so as not to end up like Clint Eastwood in Gran Torino. Ever challenged conversationally, I earnestly mumbled the term 'humbug' as a descriptor for my idealised Cynic and thought of my deceased fifth grade teacher filing his teeth with his teeth. I hadn't been wholly wrong, no, only diagnosably modern. I had not the ancient eye to recognise Cynicism as a legitimate school of thought led by historical figures revered and mocked in equal measure, leading directly to other more thorough schools of thought such as Stoicism which opine Virtuous living to be the true path to ‘attain’ eudaimonia or; live a worthwhile existence.

Stoicism has seen its resurgence, often lauded by affluent grand-scale capitalists. To this observation I offer Diogenes own comment when a student asked to borrow a book; “You are a silly man. If you wanted figs you wouldn’t be satisfied with painted ones. But you take no notice of the practice of virtue and study only those who write about it.” Or; “Self-taught poverty is a help toward philosophy, for the things which philosophy attempts to teach by reasoning, poverty forces us to practice.”

Not me, spending three years compiling poetry and reflections in attempt to document my own undeniable post-covid transformation into this somewhat misanthropic disposition, all the while having confounded dizygotic words as identical in the womb and never thinking to grasp at the origin of the word I fought to overcome. TLDR/ girl considers the fucking dictionary.

After embracing the often-one-sided nude exchange that is purchasing books I came home with a Camus biography, The Great Sharkhunt by Hunter S. Thompson and David Foster Wallace's A Brief Interview With Hideous Men. Setting my small mound of brilliant, divisive white men to my right I settled in my office spot - or, the garage – or the less affectionate appellation applied by my ever-patient housemate 'Lozzie's ciggie den' to begin to exhume the bones of cheeky Diogenes, the first hit when typing Cynicism into the search engine. Tracing the etymological origin of Cynicism to the Greek 'Kunikos' meaning 'Dog-like;' as the Cynics were so often un-affectionately referred. Born of the year of the Dog myself, I suspect I'd take offense if I could experience much more than rabid curiosity, brief fits of poorly placed laughter, suspicion, and arousal these days.

Diogenes, as described once by Plato as ‘a Socrates gone mad’ lived by simple precepts, but appeared to take a pride in poverty Seneca would reject. One suggestion of his was that the meeting of one's natural needs was a virtue, he said that what is natural cannot be shameful or indecent. His life, therefore, was lived with extreme simplicity, inured to want, and shamelessly so. His determination not to adhere to the conventions of society didn’t settle well for some (he even deigned to eat meals... in public) which is apparently – but who knows, obviously not me - the reason "dog" stuck as an epithet for the Cynics. Questioned on this Diogenes replied, “Quite true, for I come back again and again to those who have sold me” and "Because I fawn upon those who give me anything, and bark at those who give me nothing, and bite the rogues."

Admittedly - and it's not so, I'd hoped this exploration might end in the realisation I could get away with changing less than I thought. The earlier quote on reading on virtue rather than taking action is not lost on me. Indulging my curiosity over how we've come to use the term commonly so aside from it's closer nature I asked the only Philosopher I have the privilege to know personally. He suggested 'it probably has something to do with the moment when being critical / offering criticism came to be seen as oppositional rather than supportive.' Good enough. I guess this changes less than I thought and the tenets of virtue itself are still thoroughly debated. Though I’m more cynical than misanthropic, you can still cover me in cow shit and feed me to the dogs.

P.S. “We come into the world alone and we die alone. Why, in life, should we be any less alone?” – Diogenes

P.P.S. Damn, bubba think I’ve heard that one before.

#me #word

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