#i want to live in a forest

[ostdrossel]

I did some yard work today, using the nice weather to mow over the first load of leaves and doing some cleanup. There is not much going on birdwise, and the Evening Grosbeaks that are seemingly visiting everybody in Michigan are snubbing me. But I watched the super woodpecker docu from PBS tonight with one of my favorites.

[moodboard-d]

[little-pup-pip]

25 Days of Agere Moodboards! Day 24: Ideal Vacation!!

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

of course my Welcome Home oc was gonna be a dragon. big ol plush dragon. Derry my beloved <3

[toxictranny]

𓇢𓆸

[compacflt]

Rumors from Pearl Harbor.

When Admiral Kazansky first comes to Pearl, he brings with him about half of his previous staff, all exceptionally-hardworking people hand-picked over years—advisors, flag aides, secretaries, ranks all over the board. But his new hires, upon getting acquainted with the old guard, are shocked to discover that his previous staff still hardly knows him at all.

“He keeps to himself, mostly,” Lieutenant Commander Hartford explains over a pint. “I made the mistake of asking him once what he did for fun. You know, like, hobbies and stuff. He blinked at me for a second, and then said, ‘I read.’ That’s it! I read! My advice to you newcomers would be, don’t ask him questions about his personal life, because it tends to be pretty boring.”

“It sounds to me like he’s a walking, talking Wikipedia page,” says Captain Calvert, who worked for the previous two Pacific Fleet Commanders and thinks she knows how to deal with them by now. “We owe it to ourselves to figure him out. It’ll make our lives easier, anyway. So, let’s put our heads together: what do we know about him?”

What they know are his habits, which they’ll come to learn intimately over the next few years, and which are admittedly pretty boring. Admiral Kazansky is one of the first to show up to work in the morning and one of the last to leave in the evening. He often answers e-mails past 2300 hours, but never later than midnight. Jokes never catch him off-guard; he rarely smiles, and when he does, it has an ulterior motive. When he’s not working, he’s scheming and making plans to go back home to San Diego, and his requests for leave are always granted, because he works like a pack mule from home anyway. He signs off every e-mail with “Sincerely,”…

“Is he sincere, though?” asks Chief Warrant Officer Kent halfway through Admiral Kazansky’s first year. (Admiral Kazansky is surely unaware that his staff now spends the second Friday of every month chit-chatting about him over drinks in downtown Honolulu.) “I can’t ever tell. And he lives in Hawaii. San Diego’s nice, I know, but what’s so different about the beaches there that he can’t get here?”

“I genuinely don’t think he’s human,” confesses Commander Stoddard. “People warned me about that when I came here, and I laughed it off, but… he keeps his desk biologically sterile. Not one fingerprint, but I’ve never seen anyone wipe it down. I’ve looked through his drawers. Don’t judge me, I got curious. Everything squared away, like he’s goddamn Einstein or something. Have any of you ever seen him in his civvies?” No one has. “God damn it, where does he shop for groceries? No one’s seen him at a grocery store? Does he even own a pair of jeans? Does he wear his uniform to bed, too?”

“He probably goes grocery shopping on the whole other side of the island to avoid all the enlisted kids,” laughs Captain Calvert. “Come to think of it…you know how he always eats lunch in the office? It’s always a salad. And always the same kind of salad. This guy survives on one cup of coffee and one spinach salad a day. Maybe he really isn’t human.”

They build out their wealth of knowledge and come to learn that Admiral Kazansky is defined by his extremes, by what he always does and what he never does. Admiral Kazansky gets his uniforms dry-cleaned every week, though he never spills anything on them. No one has ever seen Admiral Kazansky stumble over his words while giving a speech, or trip over a sidewalk curb, or push a “pull” door. He is always polite and never friendly. Sometimes he is cold, and sometimes he is cruel in his patience with you when you’ve fucked up, like a cat toying with a hemorrhaging mouse. But he never raises his voice. He is always immaculately put-together, well-groomed, constructed every day like a product on an assembly line. Nothing is ever out of place. Allegedly his umbrella once turned inside-out during a rainstorm; he disdainfully shook it once, as a hunter might pump a loaded shotgun, and it flipped itself right-side-in again. The laws of physics do not seem to apply to him. Nor do the natural embarrassments that come with being human. Admiral Kazansky is never flustered, never harried, and never falls apart.

“I found this old picture of him shaking hands with another pilot on the Internet,” says Chief Warrant Officer Kent in Admiral Kazansky’s second year. “Smiling like the Cheshire Cat. Never seen him smile like that in all my years working with him. And he had frosted tips, too. Like Guy Fieri on a diet and steroids. It was the eighties, sure, but it’s like he knew how to have fun, once upon a time. Wonder what happened to him.”

“I feel lonely for him sometimes,” says Commander Stoddard. “Strict guy like that, no family, no friends, no wife, nothing to live for but the Navy? He’s like a workhorse with blinders on. Nowhere to go but forward. That’s a lonely existence.”

“Not if you’re a robot,” says Lieutenant Commander Hartford. “I swear, sometimes he breathes and it makes me jump, ‘cause I forgot he was alive!” —What else doesn’t Admiral Kazansky do?

That’s when they realize that none of them, not the old guard nor the new, has ever, not once, ever seen or heard Admiral Kazansky sneeze.

And they all finally give up the game and quit arguing and agree that, no, he really isn’t human after all. He must be some cyborg from the future sent to whip the Pacific Fleet into shape, and you can’t ask for too much humanity from someone who’s doing a pretty damn good job of it.

The rumors start soon after that. Jokes that could get them all tossed out of the Navy, but probably won’t. Jokes that accidentally spread like wildfire.

Yes, Admiral Kazansky could be a cyborg, but he also could be a Mormon fundamentalist, or a Scientologist, or a really weird Catholic. Maybe he goes home to San Diego so often because in his spare time he’s really a mule ferrying cocaine across the Mexi-Cali border. That’s what he does for fun. He eats spinach salads because he’s a reincarnation of Popeye the Sailor Man, and he needs all the super-strength he can get to deal with the Navy’s modern-day bullshit.

“I don’t know if that story makes sense,” laughs Captain Calvert on the phone with her husband in Washington, “but it makes more sense than the real Admiral Kazansky does!”

So the rumors get spread around.

“I don’t know if you know this,” Maverick comments, watching Ice make their bed from the relative comfort of the bedroom doorway, “or if I should tell you this, because you might crack down on it, which would be a shame, ‘cause it’s funny. But every time you send a mass e-mail to the Pacific Fleet commissioned officer corps, you become the main topic of conversation between all of us officers for a solid day and a half.”

“Oh?” says Ice with a smile, struggling to fit the last corner of the fitted sheet to the mattress. He sighs, tugs on the strings of his old ratty-ass hooded sweatshirt, and looks at Maverick balefully through his glasses. “Help me out over here, would you? —What are people saying? All good things, I hope.”

“Not really,” Maverick says, stuffing a pillow into a pillowcase as he stares out the window into the San Diego sunshine. “Some pretty crazy shit, actually. Hard as hell for me to keep a straight face. I heard this one—you know, people are saying you eat nothing but salads?”

“Oh,” laughs Ice, hospital-cornering the free sheet. “Yeah, that one’s kind of true. I bring salads in to the office sometimes.”

“You hate salads.”

“I know, it’s torture! Move over.” He bumps Maverick out of the way to tuck in the last corner. “But, I figure, if a man torments himself with spinach-and-arugula salads three times a week, you ought to respect his commitment. It’s all an act. You get to a certain Defense Department paygrade, it all starts being storytelling and stagecraft.”

“Or trickery and deception, depending on how you look at it.”

“Sure. But you could say that about everything. —Besides, I’d rather the Navy discuss my salads than discuss… well, this.” He gestures to Maverick, then down to the bed. They start tugging the comforter over it together. “How much slack you got over there?”

“‘Bout a foot.”

Ice pulls his side down a couple more inches to match, then flips the top up. “Is that it? That’s all people are saying about me?”

Maverick grins and bends down to pick up a pillow. “They’re also saying that you’re the reincarnation of Popeye the Sailor Man. I yam what I yam and that’s all what I yam, and all that. Think fast.”

Ice doesn’t think fast, and the pillow hits him square in the face, and he laughs again as he catches it in his arms. “Shit, that’s good,” he says; “I was just about to call Slider, think I’ll tell him that one. That’ll make him laugh. Popeye Iceman.” He tosses the pillow onto the made-up bed and pulls out his cell phone, but—then he frowns, grimaces, mutters “Ah, no,” and turns away to sneeze.

[mosslingg-sideblog]

mentally i am him

[aengelren]

Mikasa being left out because she was socially awkward due to her situation. Eren and Armin got to know the other boys so she was left alone :(

[eerna]

The Oleander Sword is so good. literally feeling like kicking my feet and giggling rn. what happened to Tasha Suri in that year between book 1 and book 2

[drdemonprince]

your post about only communicating the minimum needed reminded me of the gricean maxims (concept in linguistics describing how people communicate)! your advice was very similar to the maxim of quantity :)

From the UPenn School of Arts & Sciences site:

Grice's Maxims

The maxim of quantity, where one tries to be as informative as one possibly can, and gives as much information as is needed, and no more.

The maxim of quality, where one tries to be truthful, and does not give information that is false or that is not supported by evidence.

The maxim of relation, where one tries to be relevant, and says things that are pertinent to the discussion.

The maxim of manner, when one tries to be as clear, as brief, and as orderly as one can in what one says, and where one avoids obscurity and ambiguity.

[ride-a-dromedary]

I personally think a nice way to give us more chances to talk to Halsin in Act 3 is giving us the option to ask him for a new story from his 350 years of life, and we get a new tidbit of information that changes based on how high his approval is, or whether or not he's being romanced. If the approval is low, he shares little or refuses. I want a chance to hear about how much he studies, meditates, and hibernates and not just the salacious parts!

[fxckin-blackbeard]

A Stormy Evening

|| @pyramultimuse - Killian Jones ||

ᒥ🌟ᒧ—        A storm had been brewing, Edward knew it was coming the moment he went out to the stable to water and feed the horse that morning. The soft breeze, the eerie quiet in the trees, and one glance to the clouds in the sky he was certain. He was excited, truthfully. A wild storm brought him peace and calm. His time at sea taught him many men feared a storm, but never did Edward. Wild winds, unforgiving and ruthless waves, and unrelenting rain brought him nothing but a sense of belonging, as though the sea itself reflected his soul for what it was.

That evening, once the torrential rain and whipping winds had begun, he found himself slipping outside. Now, there he laid on the side of the fountain in the garden. One arm hung down in the fountain's water, swaying back and forth to feel the movement of the water against his skin. On his back, brown hues stare up at the grey clouds, Edward drifting off deep into his thoughts. Silver hair, dampened by the rain, splayed out over the marble, no longer able to be blown by the wind.

The man draws in a deep breath, taking in the scent of wet moss, leaves, and soil surrounding him. He can hear the sound of rain drops dancing on green leaves of the forest, only for the wind to whistle through mere moments later.

While he missed the soothing rock of the ship by swells, the creaking of old wood, and the smell of fresh salt on those wild winds, he had to admit enjoying a storm in the woods was nearly as soothing as it would be on the deck of the Queen Anne. It was certainly different, from sounds and smells, but it wasn't terrible.

Edward's head lulls to the side, and he watches rain disturb the surface of the fountain's water. It was no raging sea, but a look of calm and peace on his face said he didn't seem to care. And so, he'd happily enjoy the storm there on the fountain, arm lazily moving through the water as he continues to watch the downpour on the surface.

[abirddogmoment]

Do you know how specific scent training is? Like if you train a dog to find mallards they can find other ducks, but they're not going to indicate at sparrows for instance. So how specific is it?

Hi! So short answer - depends on the dog and how well they contextualize.

If you have a dog predisposed to finding birds, they're probably going to find all birds and then generally learn which ones you (the human) care about. So say for example your dog shows you a crow, a sparrow, a mallard, a teal, and a finch. You reward the mallard and the teal, and you ignore the others. Eventually your dog will release that you only care about some birds and their indication on crows and sparrows amd finches will fade.

If, on the other hand, you have to teach a dog to indicate birds from scratch, you might have to contextualize more. So you'd teach your dog that you reward when they look at ducks in a pond, and then they'd seek out ducks in a pond (hopefully). Then you'd have to teach that you reward when they find ducks in a field. Then ducks on a path in the woods. Then you might have to teach them that you don't care about herons in the pond. And so on and on, depending how quickly they understand what you're rewarding.

It really depends on what connection your dog makes in their puppy brain, and there isn't a good way to control that. But it's a fun thing to try anyway, especially if it's something you and your dog find enriching!

[alumirp]

Flying Low

A magical AU where Law is a raven shapeshifter, but has had his wings torn off, so he is always using a cane to balance himself and he lives in seclusion in the forest. He absolutely doesn't trust, well, anyone. Whether humans or other shapeshifters or any other race, he doesn't approach anyone and does everything he can to not let them approach his home either. But that changes when one day a guy just falls from the sky. It literally falls from the sky. Right in the middle of Law's herb garden and although he really wants to get rid of this invader, he can't get rid of his curiosity because Law's house is in the middle of the forest, far from peaks or mountains, so where the hell is this guy came from and, even better, how did he survive the fall? Curiosity (and his sense of duty as a healer) causes Law to drag the guy inside and nurse him back to health. 'The guy' soon wakes up and gets a name, Luffy, who reveals himself to be a priest of the Sun God's temple, which makes sense to Law, since Luffy's magic seems totally opposite to his, a raven whose species is constantly attributed to the Goddess of Darkness, Nika's enemy. All this, however, does not explain how Luffy fell out of nowhere from the sky and it only gets worse when not even Luffy knows how it happens. Unfortunately for Law, meeting Luffy is a path of no return and in the blink of an eye his isolated and peaceful life is disturbed by the priest who, after returning to full health, becomes a noisy guest in Law's small cabin. Things get weird when Law's wings start to grow back, white instead of black, at the same time that Luffy also starts to change. For worse. His health simply declines and his magic grows and becomes out of control, becoming a danger to everything around him, excluding, in some way, Law. Desperate to understand and help Luffy, Law begins his journey out of seclusion toward the capital's temple, where Luffy is said to serve as a priest. But dragging a time bomb in the shape of a man all the way to the capital is not simple when you are alone and Law has no option but to accept the growing number of people who seem to be drawn into Luffy's orbit and who decide to accompany them on the journey

[loversgothic]

those fairy doodles are going further. dreamy helped me brainstorm and craft fairy mirage

[theintrovertedextrovert]

Oldmarriedcouple- LeviHan

Part 1

I think LeviHan would directly jump to the old married couple version of themselves and their dynamic would be something like:

Hange:- "Oh fuck I think I accidentally snorted a titan toenail-" *proceeds to vomit*

Levi:- "YOU DISGUSTING PIECE OF SHIT I'M NOT GOING TO PUT UP WITH THIS HENCEFORTH-" *while holding their hair and gently rubbing their back*