#northern hemisphere red admiral

[whatnext10]

The Red Admiral is a Beautiful Brush Footed Butterfly

Painted with Sunlight Another one of our early spring butterflies that is now on the wing is the red admiral (Vanessa atalanta). These pretty and colorful butterflies are also sometimes known as the red admirable, the northern hemisphere red admiral, or the northern red admiral. Like the common buckeyes, they are members of the brush footed butterfly family. They are common throughout most of…

[jessitasquirreldragonage]

Have some of my random crack theories about Dragon Age that may or may not have actual information to back them up. I haven't looked into it heavily at all, but I believe them too much to consider them just headcanons.

Feynriel is a reincarnation/connected to one of the Evanuris and that's why he's both a Dreamer, and looks like an elf despite being human.

The Golden City was most likely Arlathan.

Elves have some sort of resistance (not immunity, just like... less severe symptoms) to Red Lyrium.

Solas lost his "immorality" when he woke up from Uthenra. Until he got the energy from Flemythal in the post-credits scene he was no different than most other elves (in terms of mortality. He was generally healthier and more in tune with his abilities due to his past, and due to not having gone through the oppression)

Solas is dying (in the sense that he's like terminally ill) because of the power he took from Flemythal.

Thedas is in the southern hemisphere of its planet BUT its planet has a reversed rotation (when compared to earth) as it still has the same seasonal patterns as our real-world northern hemisphere does

Solas's love and admiration for Mythal is a trauma response.

Sandal is something similar to OldGodBaby!Kieran, but like, for the Titans.

Solas was to the Evanuris as Sera is to Solas and his disdain for her is like an adult being embarrassed by their younger self.

Hawke, regardless of Here Lies the Abyss's conclusion, has a chance of returning in Dreadwolf. But the Grey Warden, regardless of the result of that quest, does not.

[winterpinetrees]

Long Character Bio for Ryn.

Name: Councillor Ryn Stormson Mercuralis

Pronouns: He/Him

Species: Elf (Spark)

Age: 233 (about 40)

Special skills: genius tactician, sailor, just google Air Force Pararescue and see what they can do.

Appearance notes: 5’7 with a strong athletic build. He is ethnically ambiguous as most commonborn elves are, with wavy dark brown hair and dark gray eyes. Ryn has calloused hands and a tattoo of northern hemisphere constellations over his shoulders. He wears a noble vambrace with exactly two red dots. He has somewhat rectangular pointed ears.

I think this is going to be the longest bio. I rotate this guy around in my brain constantly. He’s just… in the wrong setting. He’s doing great, but he fundamentally should not be here.

Ryn Stormborn Mercuralis is the second most politically powerful person in the Elf World. He’s in the bottom 5% in terms of magical power though. Ryn has one biological son (Fen) but is also a father to Ishtar’s other kids. The coup would not have been successful without him. Thanks to his upbringing, Ryn views humans as well, human. He knows what a war crime is and wants to commit as few as possible. That being said, he wholeheartedly believes that global conquest is the best path forward. This will require war crimes.

Ryn was born about as far from the high nobility as possible. He is a spark from a harbor town parallel to the Gulf Coast. His people are Voyagers. What they lack in magical ability, (you will rarely find a Voyager that isn’t a spark or less) they make up for with grit. Ryn’s last name “Stormson” is actually a title given to the boldest and most skilled Voyagers. It means that Ryn can fly planes like a fighter pilot, sail solo across an ocean, and has basically every skill admired by the Voyagers. He earned this title by the equivalent of his late teens.

Around this time, the human world was going through the Industrial Revolution. Most elves believed that humans would discover radiation soon, and make it to space. Some, especially the nobility, felt threatened by this. Elves, for comparison, hadn’t sent anything to orbit in seven thousand years. Voyagers had been the best astronauts back then, but that was dozens of generations ago. All Voyagers want to go back to space, but it’s viewed as an impossible dream. But Ryn was a Stormson in his 60s. He’d already done the impossible, so why not do it again?

Ryn left home to try and join the nobility when he was 20 in human years. He not only survived the YA novel-esque noble school known as the Conservatory but excelled. He allied with Ishtar Mercuralis to win the final wargame and they earned global fame. Ryn became a rising star of the nobility, but was all but disowned by his people. Voyagers do not kill other kids. Guess what you do at the Conservatory. In the following decades, Ryn has used his power to slowly drag elf society back into a space age. They haven’t built any rockets yet, but they’re getting damn close, and public opinion is finally on his side.

Ryn is a peerless tactical genius and near-perfect shot, but without much magic, he is helpless in noble combat. His relationship with his birth culture is also complicated. He kept his title “stormson” even after joining Genus Mercuralis, and has been trying to raise all three of his children with Voyager values in mind. It’s really difficult though. The voyagers believe in curiosity, equity, and teamwork. The nobles run their entire society on eugenics. It’s Not Great.

If Ishtar is strength, then Ryn is resilience. He might not be able to crack a continental plate like she can, but the ocean and wind eventually wear everything down. Or at least Ryn likes to think of himself as the storm. He’s not. Ryn is a sailor at sea. He’s been dealing with powers he can’t match for centuries now. He can’t get out, he can’t take any of his choices back… and he doesn’t want to. Ryn has always done the impossible and he sees no reason why his luck should run out now. Ryn has forgotten how close he is to drowning.

Ryn watches a lot of softer sci-fi, both human stuff and elven media from the elf space age nearly ten thousand years ago. He is very emotionally invested in NASA. The song I associate with him is Notos by the Oh Hellos.

[nimbusnomade]

35+ Awesome Japanese Winter Words

Fuyu (冬)

 Fuyu is the Japanese word for winter. It’s one of the four seasons in Japan. The other Japanese seasons are haru (spring), natsu (summer) and aki (autumn).

Samui (寒い)

Samui means cold in Japanese – and it is one of the most useful Japanese words for winter! If you’re in Japan during the winter months, you will hear almost every conversation start with samui desu ne – cold, isn’t it!

Yuki (雪)

Yuki is the Japanese word for snow. Snow is a symbol of winter in Japan, the same as many other northern hemisphere countries.

Japan is a large country with several different climates, so it doesn’t snow everywhere in Japan. The northern regions (especially Hokkaido) can be covered in snow for several months each year. But other parts of Japan (especially south of Tokyo) rarely see snow. Still, snow is a popular theme for winter cards, art and decorations.

Here are a few other snow related words in Japanese for you:

大雪 (oo yuki) – heavy snow

初雪 (hatsu yuki) – the first snow of the season

雪遊び（yuki asobi） – playing in the snow

雪合戦 (yuki gassen) – snow ball fight

雪祭り (yuki matsuri) – snow festival. The most famous snow festival is held in Sapporo, Hokkaido each February.

Kazahana (風花)

Kazahana is the Japanese word for snow flurry. If you are studying kanji, you might recognise the two characters that make up this word – 風 (kaza, wind) and 花 (hana, flowers). So a flurry of snowflakes is like little white flowers drifting in the wind. What a romantic image!

Ski (スキー)

Skiing is a popular winter hobby in Japan. The Japanese word スキー (ski) has been borrowed from other languages, so it’s easy to remember! It is written in katakana – the Japanese script used for foreign loan words.

Yukimi (雪見)

If you already know something about Japanese culture, you probably know that in Japan, people love to honour the changing seasons with different rituals that celebrate nature. Maybe you’ve heard of hanami – the spring time tradition of going to view the cherry blossoms. Well, yukimi means viewing the snow! Japanese people will often take the time to drink tea while admiring the snow.

Yukidaruma (雪だるま)

Yukidaruma means snowman in Japanese. Just like any other country, children love to build cute snowmen when it snows.The first part of the word, yuki, means snow. The second part, daruma, is a kind of round Japanese doll. Yukidaruma do look more like a ‘daruma’ than a ‘man’!

Bonus word: yukiusagi (雪うさぎ)

As well as snowmen, Japanese children love to make yukiusagi – snow bunnies! Usagi means rabbit in Japanese. Yuki usagi are smaller and easier to make than snowmen. Usually they are decorated with red berries for eyes and green leaves for ears.

Shirokuma (白くま)

Shirokuma means polar bear. Literally, it means white (shiro) bear (kuma). There aren’t any polar bears living in Japan, but a lot of people love them because they look cute, so they are kind of a symbol of winter and snow.

Kurisumasu (クリスマス)

Kurisumasu is Christmas in Japanese. It’s written in katakana, and of course it comes from the English word Christmas. Merry Christmas in Japanese is メリークリスマス (merii kurisumasu).

Christmas is not a big event in Japan because the country does not have a big Christian population. In fact, December 25th is a normal working day.

And it’s not considered a family day like in other countries. Christmas (or more especially, Christmas Eve) are actually thought of as romantic days in Japan! Christmas Eve is the hottest date night of the year – similar to Valentine’s day.

However, lately celebrating a western-style Christmas is becoming more and more popular in Japan.

Learn about some unique Japanese Christmas traditions here!

Oshougatsu (お正月)

Oshougatsu is New Year in Japanese. As we mentioned, New Year is much bigger than Christmas in Japan. In fact, many people consider it to be the most important holiday in the year. A new year represents a fresh start, and new hopes for the year ahead.

Most companies in Japan are closed from January 1 to January 3, and sometimes longer, to allow employees to spend time with their families.

The New Year period is typically a family time in Japan, with lots of traditions and special food.

Here are some other words associated with the New Year in Japan:

大晦日 (oomisoka) – Oomisoka means New Year’s Eve in Japanese.

年越しそば (toshikoshi soba)  – Toshikoshi soba is one of many traditional dishes served at New Year in Japan. Soba are buckwheat noodles, and toshikoshi is another word for New Year. They are traditionally eaten on New Years Eve because the long shape symbolises long life.

おせち (osechi)  – This is traditional food served on New Year’s day. All the ingredients of the meal have some special meaning for good luck over the next year.

 初夢 (hatsuyume)  – the first dream of the New Year

年玉 (otoshidama)  – New Year’s gift, typically money given as a gift to children at New Year in red envelopes

年賀状 (nengajou)  – New Year’s greetings cards

There are actually different greetings, depending on whether you say it before or after the new year!

Hatsumode  (初詣)

Hatsumōde is an important New Year tradition in many Japanese families. It means the first visit to a shrine or temple in the New Year. Many people try to go on January 1st, but any time in the first three days is OK.

Due to this tradition, Shinto shrines in Japan are extremely busy in early January. Many of them have a kind of festival feel, with food stalls outside and lots of activity.

During hatsumode, people buy omikuji (pieces of paper with fortunes written on) and pray for their wishes for the next year.

Kotatsu (炬燵)

If you’ve ever spent a winter in Japan, the kotatsu will be your best friend! A kotatsu is a low table with a heater underneath. You can sit around it to keep your legs warm and toasty in the cold weather. They usually have a blanket attachment to keep the heat in, and for extra coziness.

Most Japanese homes don’t have central heating, so the kotatsu is an important way to stay warm in winter! Usually the family will all gather around the kotatsu and hang out on cold evenings.

Mikan (みかん)

Mikan are Japanese mandarin oranges. They are a common winter fruit in Japan. They are grown in the south of Japan, especially Ehime prefecture. It has lots of vitamins and keeps people healthy in winter.

Japanese people especially love to enjoy mikan while sitting around the kotatsu!

Here are some other winter foods in Japan:

ゆず (yuzu) – another Japanese citrus fruit with a kind of lime/lemon taste

かぼちゃ (kabocha) – Japanese pumpkin

おでん (oden) – kind of stew with boiled ingredients such as boiled eggs, fishpaste cakes, potatoes and daikon

鍋 (nabe) – a warming hotpot dish full of vegetables and meat or fish

焼き芋 (yakiimo) – roasted sweet potatoes which are often sold by street vendors or food trucks in winter

いちご (ichigo) – strawberries. Strawberries are considered summer fruits in many other countries, but in Japan they are most popular in winter.

もち (mochi) – rice cake sold and eaten especially at new year, and also used in new year decorations.

Fuyu gomori (冬ごもり)

Do you like to escape from the world and stay indoors all winter? If so, you’re taking part in fuyu gomori – winter confinement or hibernation! The kotatsu is the perfect place for fuyu gomori 🙂

Setsubun (節分)

Setsubun is considered the last day of winter and beginning of spring in Japan. It takes place on February 3rd.

On setsubun, many Japanese families take part in a tradition to scare away evil spirits before the new season starts. For this tradition, the father of the household dresses up in a demon mask and comes to the front door of the house. The other family members throw soy beans at him, shouting 鬼は外! 福は内! (Oni wa soto! Fuku wa uchi!), which means ‘Demon out! Luck in!’, to chase him away. This is supposed to bring happiness for the new year.

Some people also attend a shrine on this day, or eat a special sushi roll called ehō-maki facing a lucky direction.

[dragonflight203]

Mass Effect 1 replay, post Noveria missions:

Noveria

-Businesswoman: Everyone who came back from Peak 15 is being reassigned offworld.

Nice to have confirmation there were some survivors, at least.

-Li was definitely intended for some kind of upgrades related to the Mako. You speak to him, say you’re here for vehicle repairs, he says that’s what he likes to hear, then… nothing.

I'm curious what the Mako repairs would have entailed. Not being able to fix it with Omni-Gel? Being able to enhancement to move faster, etc.?

-It’s odd that there are missions available after Noveria, but they’re not added to the journal unless you stumble upon them. It’s possible to add the post-Feros missions to the journal during Feros if you find the triggers in HQ.

Archeron

-Altahe – The skybox showing the planet it shares an atmosphere with is cool.

-What are the red pyramid shaped things in the base? Are these ever explained?

They look vaguely like eggs, but I don’t think they’re rachni eggs. For one there’s no queen, for two I think those eggs were visible in the room containing the rachni queen and they looked different.

-Once again, a rather sad mission. These folks were just doing their jobs, then died because their supply ship was stocked with hostile creatures. They weren’t engaged in illegal experiments or used as test subjects, they’re just collateral damage.

Erebus

-Quaji – The initial survey saw geometric patterns in the northern hemisphere deserts that were only visible in ultraviolet. The Normandy doesn’t see them.

More atmosphere building in ME1. The writers certainly enjoyed phenomena witnessed once, then never again.

-Nepmos – The description mentions a “five kiloparsec ring” around the galatic core. There’s a lot of molecular hydrogen and many stars form there; it’s too dangerous to travel.

I think this is the first mention of the galactic core being a dangerous place to travel too, which is a key element of ME2. Interestingly, there the danger is the proximity of the black hole.

-The contrast of the lit sky to the black clouds is very pretty.

-I think this is the only time in the game where there’s a buried safe box. Odd it would only be used once.

-This mission is very different from a typical UNC world, which is a nice change of pace. There are NPCs to talk to, and there’s more to do than just exploring the a base or mine with the same layout as every other base or mine.

I wish the UNC worlds had contained more diversity like this – it’s a small change, but when doing so many of these missions it helps prevent repetitiveness.

-Hmm. Rachni Queens don’t need males to breed, but brood warriors are male. What occurred in their evolutionary history to make males preferred but not necessary?

Gorgon

-Unidentified Space Facility – Once again, we learn that Cerberus is the source of the problem. This time in a Terminal log from an agent overseeing the rachni tests, Flores.

Liara: Cerberus? I do not believe I have heard of that organization before.

Girl, did you get hit on the head? I’ve taken you to every UNC world. We’ve been razing Cerberus bases and doing damage control for what must be in game months by now.

But seriously – what was the original plan for this mission? For that to be Liara’s line, the original order of the missions must have been quite different.

In the final game, most players probably learn about Cerberus very early, from the Admiral Kahoku missions. Liara’s line hints that at one time this would have been the start of the Cerberus plotline.

-Flores mentions these rachni are different than the Noveria rachni; they were raised in proximity of the master control unit.

So, they were raised in proximity of the queen. That means they should be sane. Given that Flores regrets not treating them as POWs, I presume they were more self aware and capable of planning.

However, they never even attempted to communicate with Shepard, so in game they come off as the same rachni. Also odd that the queen did not mention them or attempt to retrieve them (if freed).

-In the final log, Flores addresses a general. Who?

In ME1, Cerberus is an Alliance black ops gone rogue. So the general may have been the general that originally oversaw Cerberus, or stayed in contact with them after they broke away.

In ME2, Cerberus has been retconned to work in isolated cells. This can still work – it’s a general that Cerberus has recruited.

-Flores also says to use one of the other projects. Given that in the UNC: Cerberus assignment we saw Cerberus experimenting with rachni, husks, and Thorian Creepers, I assume that’s what Flores is referring to. Abandon rachni, proceed with husks or Thorian Creepers.

-After you blow the station, it’s gone from the map. Small detail, but I appreciate the consistency.

Edit: Corrected assignment from Hades' Dogs to Cerberus

[whatthecrowtold]

#unhallowedarts "Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs / Upon the slimy sea" Coleridge's "Ancient Mariner"

Coleridge's memorable Night Mare Life-in-Death by Sir Noel Paton

"Her lips were red, her looks were free,

Her locks were yellow as gold:

Her skin was as white as leprosy,

The Night-mare LIFE-IN-DEATH was she,

Who thicks man's blood with cold."

"'God save thee, ancient Mariner!"

From the fiends, that plague thee thus!—

Why look'st thou so?'—With my cross-bow

I shot the ALBATROSS."

"Water, water, everywhere / But not a drop to drink". Famously misheard. But probably not quite the condition of Coleridge’s, when he opened the gates for British Romantic literature with his famous piece of seaman’s yarn. Opium dissolved in alcohol, laudanum, was the propellant of choice to drive the Lake Poets to bizarre, picturesque landscapes, dreamscapes, when Romanticism dawned upon the Northern hemisphere and Coleridge consumed it quite like a sailor on shore leave. Or a depressed poet with a writer’s block, along with the travelogues of actual mariners and their journeys to the eternal ice of the poles. A heady mixture. And he became a dreamer, Coleridge did, grasped his Homer and set forth on a journey to the icy poles of his own imagination, populated by Gothic ghosties and ghoulies and other things that did go bump in the mindscapes of most of the age’s writers worth their salt.

"The souls did from their bodies fly,—

They fled to bliss or woe!

And every soul, it passed me by,

Like the whizz of my cross-bow!"

(Probably not Coleridge's most sure-footed lines...)

The sea herself, the natural habitat of Ancient Mariners, becomes a backdrop, a scenery for crime, curse and punishment and a low road to bring on the horrors and, at last, redemption for the titular hero. The Ancient Mariner. Who foolishly and famously shot an albatross and brought bad cess galore on himself and the ship’s company. The sea, the sun, stars and the moon, especially the moon, become symbol-charged stage props on the poet’s and his not-so-jolly tar’s Campbellian journey inwards, “white” as a colour of ill omen shimmers through Coleridge’s historising lines, a rare occurrence in Western literature and enthusiastically seized on by Poe and Melville from across the pond, in their maritime tales.

"The spirit who bideth by himself

In the land of mist and snow,

He loved the bird that loved the man

Who shot him with his bow.'"

But like his Bostonian admirer’s naval narratives from more than a generation later, Coleridge’s “Ancient Mariner” is spooled seaman’s yarn and not exactly Marryat or Conrad. But it apparently does not want to be a log at all. Even though Coleridge read at least some of those for inspiration. It is Gothic imagination and its set pieces of angels, demons, death and femmes fatales where Coleridge’s manifest dream content leaves the most lasting impression, even two centuries after its publication.  

"Upon the whirl, where sank the ship,

The boat spun round and round;

And all was still, save that the hill

Was telling of the sound."

Instead of the world-famous take on Coleridge by Gustave Doré from 1866, yours truly chose the less known but still quite evocative ones by Sir Noel Paton's, published three years earlier.

A complete edition with the full set of Sir Noel's artwork for Samuel Coleridge's "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner" (1797) can be found below as facsimile:

[rk099]

Autumnal Adventures: Chasing Fall Colors in Nature

As summer bids farewell and temperatures start to cool, nature transforms into a breathtaking canvas of warm hues. Autumn, with its vibrant foliage and crisp air, beckons adventurers to immerse themselves in the beauty of fall colors. Embarking on a journey to witness the changing leaves can be a magical experience, and there are numerous destinations around the world that offer a spectacular display of autumnal glory.

1. New England, USA: The Epitome of Fall Foliage

Renowned for its picturesque landscapes, New England stands out as a quintessential destination for fall enthusiasts. States like Vermont, New Hampshire, and Maine boast an awe-inspiring tapestry of reds, oranges, and yellows. Take a scenic drive through the Kancamagus Highway or explore the charming villages of Woodstock and Stowe for an authentic New England fall experience.

2. Kyoto, Japan: Serenity in Autumn Splendor

In Kyoto, the ancient capital of Japan, fall is a time when the city's historic temples and gardens become adorned with the fiery hues of maple leaves. Kiyomizu-dera and Eikando Zenrinji are particularly enchanting during this season, providing a tranquil setting to witness the elegance of Japanese autumn.

3. The Lake District, England: Reflecting Autumn's Beauty

The Lake District in England transforms into a poetic landscape during fall. The combination of reflective lakes and the surrounding hills painted in autumnal tones creates a serene and picturesque atmosphere. Explore the trails around Derwentwater or Windermere to witness the magical interplay of water and fall foliage.

4. The Dolomites, Italy: Alpine Splendor in Autumn

For those seeking a mountainous adventure, the Dolomites in Italy offer a unique blend of alpine beauty and fall colors. The jagged peaks, complemented by the golden hues of larch trees, create a mesmerizing contrast. Hike through the Alpe di Siusi or drive along the Great Dolomites Road for an unforgettable autumnal experience.

5. Blue Mountains, Australia: A Southern Hemisphere Delight

While autumn in the Northern Hemisphere is synonymous with fall foliage, the Southern Hemisphere has its own version of this season. In the Blue Mountains of Australia, the eucalyptus trees undergo a subtle transformation, casting a bluish haze over the landscape. The Wentworth Falls and Govetts Leap provide stunning vantage points to admire the autumnal beauty.

Tips for a Memorable Autumnal Adventure:

Plan your trip during the peak of fall foliage for the most vibrant colors.

Pack layers to stay comfortable in the changing temperatures.

Capture the beauty with a camera, but also take moments to simply immerse yourself in the surroundings.

Research local festivals or events that celebrate autumn to enhance your experience.

Embarking on an autumnal adventure to chase fall colors in nature is a soul-stirring journey. Whether you choose the classic charm of New England, the tranquility of Kyoto, the rugged beauty of the Dolomites, or the unique Southern Hemisphere experience in the Blue Mountains, each destination promises a palette of colors that will leave an indelible mark on your memories. So, lace up your boots, grab your camera, and embrace the enchanting beauty of autumn.

[thecreatureawaits]

Creature Awaits #205

Each week I plan to feature an amazing creature, admiring God's fantastic artistry.  Hopefully it’ll brighten someone’s day to see something new and interesting if they haven’t seen it before. : )

This month, we'll be featuring beautiful animals in silvery shades!

(Beautiful capture taken the talented photographer known as ZooFanatic (CC BY 2.0))

The Silver Fox

Scientific Name: Vulpes vulpes (Same as Red Foxes, see notes.)

Region: Most of the Northern Hemisphere naturally, though also introduced to Australia, where it is considered an invasive species

Size: Up to about 3'6" (~1m) long, including the tail

Interesting Notes: The Silver Fox is actually the melanistic variant of the Red Fox and makes up about 10% of the species' population. Usually melanism will cause an animal to have entirely black fur or scales, but these beautiful foxes grow a fine, glossy black or brown-black under coat with a bright, silvery outer coat - which can be tinted toward blue, brown or ash. Sadly, this has caused them to be highly valued in the fur trade; however, with continued efforts - including the development of increasingly realistic synthetic furs - hopefully that will be less and less a threat to these intelligent, reclusive and uniquely beautiful creatures. 

[youmap]

Best place to see northern lights

Surely you've heard of the aurora borealis before. This is a famous and beautiful phenomenon that we can most often see in the sky in the Arctic and Antarctic regions. However, these are not the only places where we can admire the beauty of this phenomenon. Explore with us the best place to see northern lights!

What is the best place to see northern lights

By aurora we mean a natural light show that can often be seen in the night sky in the northern hemisphere! The lights are created when charged particles from the sun interact with the atmosphere of our earth. The particles are attracted to the earth's magnetic poles, and when they collide with atoms in the atmosphere, they create a truly mesmerizing and beautiful light show. We can admire it in different colors, such as green, pink, purple or red.  Auroras are worth watching at a certain time, and by that we usually mean the period from September to April - that's when the nights are longer and the air is clear. As for the hours, the best time to view the sky is between 9pm and 2am! As for specific countries, the best place to see northern lights we can definitely consider Scandinavia, Iceland, Greenland, Canada and Alaska!

Do you want to learn more?

If you want to learn more about best place to see northern lights, then check out YouMap's official website and their social mapping app! Don't wait, check out what it has to offer you now, you're welcome!

[daydreaming-away-reality]

The Sweetest Thank You

Bunnymund x Reader | ☁️ | 1.1k |Mother Nature!Reader

Having been around for so long, you often were not surprised by things. As Mother Nature, or (Y/N) as you preferred to go by, you had seen cities rise and fall, animals adapt, along with friends who come and go.

You liked to think that everything happened for a reason.

Forest fires? A chance for new plants to grow.

Bad thunderstorm? An opportunity for people to stay inside while nature to reconcile with tensions building up in the atmosphere. Or a way for you to express your anger you really needed it.

Love?

Well, that one was a bit harder to explain since it was out of your control. But love to you was sharing a special kind of happiness with someone who meant the world to you.

Love was something special. 

Despite everything that changed in the world, love seemed like it seemed to persevere.

When you had first met Bunnymund, you had been bringing a touch of spring somewhere in the Northern Hemisphere. While there were spirits for different seasons, you liked to step in occasionally to help. Nature was your specialty after all.

It was rare for you to meet many new spirits with how big the world was, but getting to see another spirit was always a welcome surprise for you.

Bunny had been complaining about how cold it was as you were checking up on a flower patch that wasn’t going to bloom for another week. Having realized that the two of you could see each other, you soon learned that the dedicated Guardian of Hope was scoping out the area for Easter which would be arriving soon.

Hearing about that, your (E/C) eyes were drawn back to the flower patch behind you. 

“You know what could bring more hope into the world? Flowers.”

You had explained how sometime beautiful things had the power to encourage hope and had offered to teaching how to wield the magical powers over flora.

Although the two of you never intentionally met up with one another, you would always take the time to catch up and talk whenever the opportunity arose.

Spending some time in your favourite forest, you were spending the day checking up on the plants and animals that lived there with you. The gentle warmth of sunlight tickled your skin as you waved to the little critters that happily darted around you.

The excited sound of bird chirping paused you in your tracks. As you approached, one of the birds flit over to the branch next to you.

“Good morning,” you greeted softly. “What’s gotten you all so excited?”

A series of chirping came back as a response. 

Surprised by the response, you looked at the little guy with a confused smile. 

“What do you mean a visitor came by?”

Another chirp caught your attention as some of the other birds flew towards you. They seemed pretty determined to take you somewhere.

“Okay, okay,” you agreed to their insistent words. “Lead the way.”

After a few minutes, you arrived at a small clearing with carefully wrapped gift sitting in the middle. Giving the birds a look, you moved over to the package. It was small and fit in the size of your palm. On top of the gift was a handwritten note, waiting for you to read.

To (Y/N). Happy Valentine’s Day, I hope you like my gift.

From Bunnymund

Smiling softly at Bunny’s note, you set it aside and opened up his gift. Once you removed the wrapping paper and opened the box, a gasp left your lips.

A necklace with a small charm of a red rose glimmered before you.

It was rare for you to get gifts, so you knew you’d cherish it right away, but something about this carefully chosen gift had another meaning behind it. One that created a strong desire within you to find the Guardian of Hope.

Red roses meant I love you.

Even though you wouldn’t expect Bunny to be a flower expert, he should have known that much at least.

Putting on the necklace, you took a moment to admire how beautiful the gift was before taking off. There was a bunny you had to find.

As Bunny nervously hopped around, he couldn’t concentrate on anything around him. Having dropped off his gift for you not too long ago because he didn’t know how to give it to you in person, he had been worried ever since.

What if you didn’t like it?

He enjoyed spending the time he had with you and he was certain the feelings were reciprocated. Neither of you had expressed moving past friendship in the past couple hundred years of knowing each other, but Bunny felt like he had to at least let you know how he felt about you.

What better time than on Valentine’s Day?

“Bunnymund!” 

The sound of his name scared as he nearly jumped. Spotting you moving quickly towards him, the first thing his green eyes spotted was the necklace.

The one that he had given to you, resting gently on your collarbones.

A smile broke out on his face as you dove towards for a hug.

“Why didn’t you give this to me in person?” you asked, voice slightly muffled as you nuzzled into him. 

“Ah, sorry about that (Y/N),” Bunny said. He could feel his cheeks heating up as he tried to think of a possible explanation without showing his concerns.

You didn’t give him the chance to explain though.

When you leaned back from the hug, Bunny was left speechless and in awe of how beautiful you were. Your (H/C) hair a little messy from the wind and your (E/C) sparkling with happiness. 

Bunny had fallen for your amazing personality, but you were stunning in every possible way that had him head over heels in love you. Everything about you was perfect to him.

When your eyes fluttered shut and your face moved closer to Bunny’s, he froze. 

Your lips gently brush his own, hoping to convey your unspoken feelings for him. Even though it only lasted for seconds, this moment felt like it could last forever for both you and Bunny.

When you pulled back, a pink tint dusted your cheeks as you whispered, “Thank you so much for your gift, Bunny. I love it.”

Your sweet words had the Guardian a bit flustered. Pulling you back into the hug, he could hear his heart racing. As if it weren’t going fast enough, your next words were probably enough to stop his heart altogether.

“I love you, too.” 

[lastxviolet]

Madripoor is for Lovers (Zemo x F!Reader) - Ch. 2

Summary: Y/N is a SWORD agent recruited to help Sam and Bucky track down Karli and the super-soldiers. When Helmut Zemo joins the team, he takes a special interest in her. The friendly union is wrought for disaster, but then things take a turn for the worst when Y/N is taken as collateral. Will Zemo keep her forever? Does she even want to escape? And what happened in Madripoor that made the whole thing so complicated?

Warnings: 18+ / eventual smut / kidnapping

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32878015/chapters/81589774

The plane completed its descent, jolting you awake and away from the dream of what happened next.

His hands inside your dress and the moment in the evening that stopped feeling like an act.

“We are here,” he confirmed, gripping your hand and leading you from the plane.

The air wasn’t cold anymore and smelled like spring. It was May in the states and DC had felt the same so it was possible that you were still in the northern hemisphere. The United States and Canada weren’t options for the criminal, neither was Germany.

Italy?

He spoke to the driver in German and although you recognized the words, you had no clue what they meant. A short drive later and the car stopped. He untied the blindfold and you took in the sight of a lone chateau at the end of a lavish driveway. He opened the door and motioned for you to follow.

“No gun,” you questioned, eyeing his relaxed demeanor.

He smiled. Although you were angry and the sun was too bright, you were glad to finally be able to see something again.

“Not necessary,” he nodded at the rolling hills around them. “Where would you run?”

You glared at him, letting him know that this was still against your will and that any familiarity you’d had, was gone.

“You’re very confident that I prefer your company over death,” you hissed, eyeing the wilderness.

“You’ve come with me this far.”

Your eyes met his. It was impossible to know what he was thinking beneath the stern exterior.

“You could’ve screamed for your comrades,” he shrugged.

“There was a gun aimed at my temple.”

“Or jumped out of the plane.”

Again, you glared at him. If looks could kill.

“This way,” he said, clearing his throat. “Please.”

You followed him, debating if you could make it to the car or even out of the compound before Zemo shot you or caught up.

The terrain was unfamiliar, and now you were in a foreign country, alone and uncounted for.

Zemo slowed and matched your snail’s pace, signaling that it was time to hurry up. You moved slower despite his hand on your back and he clicked his tongue. You made the journey last as long as possible until there was no choice but to cross the threshold.

“Your room is up the stairs and to the right,” he said, eyes on your face.

You stormed up the wooden stairs, making each groan with your anger.

“Dinner will be ready soon,” he called after you.

You slammed your door in response. The wall shook and you half hoped it’d bring the whole house down, taking you and Zemo with it.

An hour later, you entered the small and intimate dining room. A round table sat in a nook surrounded by windows, looking out onto the cliff-like drop below. You didn’t even glance at the food before you. There was only Zemo, and convincing him to let you go.

“Is your room to your liking?”

You scoffed. “My cell is fine, thank you.”

Unfortunately, your warden was fond of conflict, and difficult people. The words only seemed to intrigue him further. His eyes danced over your face, glancing down towards the exposed skin on your chest and then up to your lips.

“They say a pessimist sees the difficulty in every opportunity,” he mused.

“I’m a pessimist because of intelligence,” you quoted.

His eyes twinkled again, he knew, as you did, that it came from an Italian philosopher. It was applicable but also, a guess.

He raised his glass towards you before finishing the quote. “But an optimist because of will.”

In true Zemo fashion, he neither confirmed nor denied your suspicion. You lifted your glass of red wine towards him with a scowl.

You ate in silence for a while, you, staring out the window, Zemo, eyeing you. You made it half an hour before the weight of his stare became unbearable.

“So what’s your game plan, with all this,” you asked, waving your fork to yourself and then to him and the house.

“Do not ask questions you already know the answer to,” he chided. “It is beneath you.”

“My life for your freedom.”

He sighed then, almost like he didn’t like that answer either. It was the right one, you both knew that but it looked like it pained him. Seeing that flicker of humanity hurt more than you wanted to admit. It'd be easier if the man beneath the mask wasn't real. It'd be easier if he'd been lying and there weren’t two versions of him. You wished that there wasn’t a charming and passionate man beneath the evil Baron facade, but there he was again.

“Prison is not an option for me,” he admitted, laying down his fork. “But I am sorry that it had to be you.”

You nodded and scoffed, rolling your eyes for good measure.

“I do hope to make you comfortable, in the meantime — ”

“Before you kill me,” you interrupted.

He clicked his tongue again and glared. It was the plan he orchestrated and yet, he didn’t seem to like it.

“I may not have to,” he corrected.

You laughed then, with little care for his strained expression. “Have you met the Dora Milage? They’ll go through whoever they need to, to avenge their king. They don’t know me nor do they care about me. You don’t have the winning hand that you think you do.”

“You are forgetting about your colleagues. They've lost one of their own. If not loyalty, then pride will make them come for you,” he corrected.

Again, you smiled at his miscalculation. “I’m a foot soldier, not an avenger; not a super soldier; not one of them.”

"There is no such thing as small people, only small — ”

“Great,” you bellowed. “More wisdom! Your riddles and literature are useless now. You should’ve spent more time studying negotiations while you were incarcerated. Why didn’t you take Bucky? Or Caps little assistant? The US would’ve been at your feet for them back. You could’ve gotten a pardon and a reward!”

“I have no need for a reward,” he spat.

Your chest was heaving, out of anger, out of nerves, but most of all because the man in front of you was once again, impenetrable.

“Or a pardon from the great United States,” he continued, almost in a whisper.

Your eyes snapped to his but he avoided your gaze. He swirled his wine and stared off into space before inspecting you again. Something was missing, something that didn’t make sense.

The glimmer of humanity returned, despite his best efforts to hide it.

He’d been the main orchestrator of his outbreak from jail. He had private homes, apartments, transportation, weapons, cars, everything. He could run forever but he didn’t need you to do it. How was this life any different than what it would be if he was free? He watched you come to the realization and winced as it clicked into place.

“Why am I here,” you whispered, squinting.

He was silent and looked back to the window.

“Zemo,” you whispered. “Look at me.”

Funny enough, he followed the order.

His lips moved in silence but words didn’t escape.

“Why did you choose me?”

He pursed his lips in exasperation. It was no secret that he liked having the upper hand but he’d shown you all his cards a moment ago. You wondered why he hadn’t bothered to lie.

“I chose you because they wouldn’t — they won’t.”

He stood up and leaned against the sill, sipping wine in small swigs and staring out at the greenery.

“You would die for your country, Y/N,” he explained. “I find that admirable — heroic even but the problem, for me, is that they would let you.”

“Let me?” You repeated the phrase slowly, trying to understand the point.

He let out a huff. “If you caught a grenade in the name of bettering America, what would happen?”

You cocked your head in question. “I die? Maybe get a Purple Heart?”

“And then what? Would they bat an eye before rejoicing you — celebrating you and your sacrifice? Encouraging others to do the same in your name?” He paused and stared at you.

“No….no they wouldn’t because your death would mean that their wars are working. Another name in the long list of people that they were willing to gift to the god of war.”

“That sacrifice is what I signed up for — it’s my choice,” you explained, confused about where he was taking this.

He nodded and yet made no amends or clarification. The angry veins in his forehead receded and his gaze flitted away like he couldn’t bear to continue. You suddenly wondered if he'd even sent a ransom note, or whatever kidnappers do. The look in his eyes, told you no. The tone of his voice told you that he might not ever.

“Then you are doing your duty as a prisoner of war here, with me.”

He smiled and your anger dissipated. You lunged to grab onto any remaining frayed piece of it but there was nothing left. All those years of training and fighting, all to succumb to an evil man in a fitted turtleneck. You hardened your expression in an attempt to remain vexed.

“Your circumstance could be worse,” he concluded.

“And what of your circumstance?”

Silence ate up space between you. His gaze was set on you once again and then it seemed like you were the only two in this room, this home…the world.

“Better than it has been in a long time, schatzi,” he sighed.

“How so,” you asked, pushing for information.

He shrugged. “I am free and I am alone….with you.”

You winced and shook your head. “Don’t,” you whispered.

His brows furrowed. “In previous interactions, you did not seem to resent my…affections, Y/N.”

Butterflies ravaged your sternum, bringing memories of the night at Sharon’s with it. If it was different, if he had turned over a new leaf, then it would be easier to admit your feelings.

“Is this your version of affection? Holding me hostage?”

“Yes,” he breathed, coming to sit next to you, so close you thought he might touch you.

“Let’s not…talk about it,” you whispered, trying to push away the longing in your chest.

“I would like to,” he pushed.

All you could do was stare. The memories should've stayed in Madripoor. It should live in your brief collective drunk past. But you could see that it weighed on him as heavy as it did on you.

“That is fine,” he sighed. “I can talk if you will listen.”

You nodded once. The residual affections plagued you and it was impossible to keep your heartbeat at bay. The thought that he might feel the same was exhilarating and terrifying.

“It was you who assisted me with my escape plan. You who tracked Karli. You who guessed that I’d betray you on countless occasions. You who ensured that we evaded Captain America as long as we did. You who played your part so well that everyone in Madripoor thinks I have taken a wife.”

“Your point,” you hissed, deadpan.

“The super soldier solution does not increase intelligence, as you know. Nothing does. Even all the books in the world cannot alter what is already there. Either you are born with the glorious burden, or you live in ignorant bliss,” he explained.

He reached up and brushed his thumb along your forehead. “I know your burden, Y/N, because I share it.”

A stuttering breath left your chest. Compliments were the easiest forms of manipulation. You’d studied it, known it, resisted it in many years of training but this felt different. Everything he did and said, felt different.

“I do my job Zemo, that’s it.”

“You excel,” he corrected. “You make the rest of your colleagues look like newborns and yet they don’t...value you. Not like I do, Liebling.”

“If this is about the incident at Sharon’s,” you said, recognizing the nickname. “It was a mistake.”

He chuckled. “An optimist would call it a happy accident.”

“I’d call it life-ruining,” you said, trying to decipher the feelings of anger and something warm inside your chest. “If it led you to this.”

“I understand if you hate me,” he explained. “But you should know that living here with your hatred will be akin to breathing, for me, if it means you are safe. Natural and life-bringing.”

Your face gave nothing away but he’d stunned you.

“The evil baron is becoming less and less of a character.”

“They say hate itself is a version of love,” he mused, ignoring your words and staring at your lips.

The word knocked thought and common sense back into your head. This wasn’t love. This was ownership and selfishness. A myriad of terrible things that had tangled you both in this mess. It’d spurred from fascination and proximity but for love to grow, there has to be more. There has to be more good than bad. You looked around the home, owned by the man in front of you. Both beautiful, breathtaking even. But not enough to trade your freedom for.

“How convenient for someone with so many enemies,” you hissed.

His eyes squinted then and the Baron who commanded respect in Madripoor returned. There was this side of him too, you reminded yourself. And it seemed to be winning over the side who loved books and witty conversation.

“Are you my enemy, Y/N?”

For the first time, you didn’t know what to say. Before this, it wasn’t safe to call him anything other than an enemy but now? He ruined any chance of normalcy or redemption. The question lingered between you and it struck you how close he’d gotten. It would take almost nothing to start a repeat of the night at Sharon’s. But this was a different man.

“I didn’t have to be,” you breathed before breaking eye contact. You gave him no time to answer before fleeing back to your room.

[yegarts]

Yorath House Artist Residency Blog Post 4: Winter

Words by Adriana A. Davies, Jan 21, 2022 Artwork by Marlena Wyman Jan 22 – Feb 2, 2022 Artists-in-Residence at Yorath House

North Saskatchewan River looking north from below Yorath House

Since time immemorial, human beings have been afraid of ice and snow. Indigenous Peoples in the Northern Hemisphere donned warm clothing made of the skins of fur-bearing animals and used snowshoes to get around. In Northern Europe, the Swedes invented cross country and downhill skiing, saunas and a honey liquor called mead, and that began to change things.

Being born in warm, southern Italy, my first Canadian winter after immigration with my family as a child was a huge shock. My parents took my siblings – sister Rosa and brother Giuseppe – and I to the old Army & Navy store downtown (that’s where most immigrants first shopped) and bought us our first winter gear. Rosa got a wool coat and ugly brown long stockings; Giuseppe and I got one-piece snowsuits with long zippers that inevitably jammed. My suit was red. Against all instructions not to do so, I licked an icy lamp post and jumped on the ice on top of puddles and broke through, and had to walk home with water-filled boots.

I quickly learned to respect winter and fear the cold. I admit it: I am a wimp who prefers to look at winter through a picture window. Yorath House has plenty of those and during the cold spell this January, it is a wonderful place to be. I wrote my first poem there watching the snow fall but I’ve been writing winter poetry for a long time.

The dualities of winter – cold that can kill and also the extreme beauty of frozen landscapes – have captivated me. I remember reading Anglo Saxon poems at the University of Alberta and the later Icelandic sagas that told of life in Northern climes. One account described it being so cold that words froze in the air as people spoke and, when spring came and they defrosted, the air was full of a cacophony of sound. Here are some winter poems.

Snow

In the North Saskatchewan River Valley, Snow has formed A white crust That cracks And settles In footprint shapes.

Underneath, The brown leaves Are undergoing A transformation— Becoming New soil. The Yorath House grounds Are over-run by dog walkers on this winter day. The dogs run ahead Evading their owners, On the track of wildlife. They disappear For minutes on end And I am left alone wrapped in silence. It is almost too cold To be walking outdoors. Fingers and toes Chilled to a dull ache. Ice forms around eyelids And scarf covering my mouth. Nature asserts itself, Making the human irrelevant In this landscape Where sleep and death Are one And absolutes converge. No sunshine Or bird song In this dark place Defined by negatives. An eternal winter of the heart. Beyond the solace of human touch. Hoar frost has covered everything. So much whiteness— Field, trees and sky. All the same But different— Incandescent. So easy to forget That one lives in a populous city Visible above the trees At the top of both river banks. Black swallows Break from the tree tops And form a ragged line As they fly for the horizon.

Walking the Dogs

The beagles are ready to walk. They bay excitedly And run in circles, Tangling their leashes around themselves and us. They are off— One moment dragging me behind, The next, Stopping so suddenly That I nearly trip over them, As they inhale deeply, Whatever catches their eye in the grass— Whether the scent of another dog, Or morsel of discarded food. Others we meet Are of enormous interest To these curious hounds, Who want to bound up To adults, children and other dogs, And must be restrained By a pulling back on the leash. Their unbounded enthusiasm, And enjoyment of the fall day, Leaves no leeway for reflection, Or melancholy. Only when they tire, As we climb the final hill, Do they settle to a sedate pace, Leaving me in charge at last, Able to admire the golden haloes, Punctuated by clusters of red, Which are the Mountain Ashes In their fall glory, And to contemplate The grove of fir trees Pierced by a single shaft of light, Which focuses on the leaf-strewn earth, And feathers out to the spiky edges Of the trees surrounding the clearing. It is not only the beagles who perk up With excitement When the suggestion is made, "Let's go for a walk."

Winter Dawn

Dawn's rosy finger Warms the grey clouds And tips with fire the smoky stacks Of the mist-shrouded power plant. Another winter dawn And journey to work, Driving on the river road, Conscious of the vapour coming off the water. Tree branches outlined in frost, And the valley edges Crowned with highrise apartments— All part of this dream. The coldness rather than driving me indoors, Catches my imagination And I wonder At the metamorphosis. The palette of white and grey, Is augmented by mother-of-pearl, As warm life asserts itself And night becomes morning.

Reflections on Nature and Art

1 Silent ravens Soar Above the desolation, Making invisible patterns In the cloudless sky.

2 The birds are audible But not visible This winter morning In the city. Bare-branched Mountain ashes and poplars Provide no shelter. Only dense firs With their crowns of cones Offer hospitality. Songs emerge From nowhere— Sweet, Repetitive, Melodic. I have no language To describe them Other than— Chirp, chirp To-whit, to-whit. But they have Animated An ordinary morning Walk to work, Made the trees emerge From between buildings And remnants of houses On this once residential street Nature asserting itself And gladdening the heart.

3 The air is heavy With snow. No distinction between Earth and sky, Only the ribbon of asphalt Leading onward. Suddenly, A flock of snowbirds Appears, Hanging in the sky Like a character In Chinese calligraphy.

Their wings formed By a sable brush Dipped in Indian ink. Other than us, The only living element In the landscape. Until the clouds begin To move And the wind picks up snow Sweeping it down The length of the valley Disturbing the stillness. Heeding a secret call, The cluster of buntings Explodes outward And they disappear Into the pervasive Whiteness.

Snow Storm

Jagged bowing, Suggestive of icicles and cold winds, A long-dead composer’s evocation of the seasons, My background on a winter day. But the real snow Drifts down, Gently, Past dark spruce branches, And the frozen blood-red berries Of Mountain Ash. It accumulates, Imperceptibly, The stillness punctuated By the rhythmic rise and fall of bows, On massed fiddles, Now evoking the descent Of myriad individual flakes Audibly drifting down. But behind can also be heard the silence That is so much a part of falling snow.

Now, the flakes are denser, As the sharp, insistent violin bowing, Is joined by the guttural rasping of cellos, And the snow drifts and eddies around the halo of a street lamp. In the music, The storm rises and abates, But, today, nature does not toy with us, Offering only a contrast, To quiet reflection, On what the next year will bring.

Gathering of Crows

Winter afternoon, Trees outlined in the half light, Branches bare Except for the occasional Detritus of an empty nest, Evidence of another season. Some trees Have black shapes in them, Like over-sized leaves. On a closer view, A congregation of crows emerges, Sitting at branch ends in silent colloquy. So many, Perhaps fifty, Perched For no apparent reason, That I could discern In this urban landscape. An enigmatic picture That I take away. Nature, Defying me to find meaning In a gathering of crows In Midwinter.

My Parkview Garden

The trees in my back garden Are fir, Manitoba maple And another, I cannot name.

On this winter morning. They are still and, Seemingly, lifeless Until a slight movement Catches my attention. A squirrel, Leaps from branch-to-branch And tree-to-tree, Finishing with a high-wire act On the powerline. The contemplation of winter, When plants do not grow, The clearing, empty of birds And their sweet song. That time of endings, Of being trapped In the ruins of the past, Unable to evoke remembered music. Always, the clearing in the woods, In the River Valley. The stillness, Silence, The pastness of things. The inexpressible beauty Of the snow, Blinding in the sunlight And masking death. The birds have fled But I am here, Contemplating winter And making my own music. The sound of the wind Wrapping itself around the house, Whistling past obstructions And making the cold siding crack. This signals a subtle change That is not evident Until morning When water drops from the eves. Warm Chinook winds Have come over the mountains, Loosened the grip of winter And given us a taste of spring. The insistent drip of water Creates stalactites And stalagmites Of yellowy ice. But this is only temporary— Nature teasing us with hope; The next night, the house tenses, It is winter again.

[tasmyn-pearce]

Smoke on the Water, Fire in the Sky || Tasmyn & Ulfric

TIMING: 5/24/2020 (Last Sunday)  PARTIES:  @big-bad-ulf​ SUMMARY: Two Non-Humans attempt to go moongazing and have a bonfire picnic at Hanging Rock. What could go wrong? (Smoke Monsters, smoke monsters could go wrong.)

Ulfric took in the scene he’d set up along the edge of Hanging Rock with satisfaction, although truthfully nature had done most of the work for him. The uninterrupted night sky sparkled brightly over the bonfire pit and picnic spread, and the sound of waves lapping against the cliffs below was only vaguely reminiscent of distant, muffled screaming and both things set the mood for… whatever this was supposed to be. People didn’t generally take him up on offers to go moongazing, at least not in human form, and he wasn’t exactly sure how to proceed or how to classify the meeting. Regardless, it would be nice to spend some one on one time with an adult who wasn’t the spawn of his sworn enemies. He heard footsteps along the cliff path, and fiddled with the thick blanket he’d laid out to straighten it before turning to greet the approaching woman. “Tasmyn? It’s good to meet you properly,” He offered her his hand to shake with a smile. Her proximity didn’t trigger a reaction that signalled recognition of one of his kind, but after the incident with Morgan he was more careful about getting his hopes up in that regard, so the disappointment bore softer edges.  “I thought we could enjoy a bonfire picnic along with the view.” Leaving her side for a moment, he retrieved a small tupperware container from a wicker picnic basket and presented it to her unceremoniously. “I managed to find some of those strawberries you asked about. Stubborn things grow in abundance around train tracks, human plans be damned.”

Tasmyn was looking forward to seeing the moon, and the stars of course! They deserved equal recognition, equal respect. After all, human scientists claim that the light we see is from stars that have already exploded. That was insane, and very metal. She followed the directions that the internet man gave her, she thought about looking up a map beforehand, but this wasn’t her first time in a forest, she was confident she’d be able to figure it out. After getting a bit turned around a few times, she finally made it to the clearing. “Yes, hi! Ulfric?” Usually she tried to take people’s names whenever she could, but he was being nice and offered to show her a good moon spot, so she was paying forward some kindness, even if he might be human. “Oh my! A Moonlit picnic? Bonfire? Do you know how to start a fire? Cause I don’t. And strawberries??” Tasmyn was pretty shocked at how lovely the set up was, so she decided without any real evidence that this man must not really be human. No human could do something this lovely. In fact, it might be the nicest thing anyone had done for her in years. “This is all truly wonderful. Thank you, genuinely.” She told him, looking up to make eye contact with him and grinning. “And you went on train tracks for the berries! How marvelous!” She grabbed the container and immediately took the lid off, picking up one of the berries and putting it in her mouth. “MMmmm, you want one?” She asked, picking one up and offering it to him.

“You make it sound a lot more daring than it was,” Ulfric chuckled, “I knew the next train wasn’t coming through for at least an hour, they have these handy things called timetables they’ll just give you at the station.” He left out the part where his presence on the tracks did still technically count as trespassing. “But yes, I’ll bite,” the werewolf accepted Tasmyn’s offering, warmed by her excitement. The small red berry was tarter and earthier than the kind you’d find in a grocery store, but all tastier for it. “The complicated part is the assembly,” he surveyed the conical, balanced structure of the bonfire with pride. Digging a pit beneath it, finding stones to place around it to prevent the fire spreading as well the materials to build the actual fire had been physically demanding, but it had made for quite a peaceful afternoon on the cliffside with only his thoughts and the waves. He was glad someone appreciated the effort. “Lighting it is quite easy,” he pulled a book of matches from his coat, motioning towards the gap between the logs which exposed the kindling, before holding them out to her. “If you’d like to do the honors?”

“People always take the fun out of things. I’m sure it was a fun adventure even if the danger level was low.” Tasmyn replied, wondering suddenly if this man was a warden who lured her to her doom. People did say she would learn to be more careful online. The thought passed almost as quickly as it formed, as her eyes widened slightly at his comment. “You built this?” She had foolishly presumed that the structure was already there made for anyone who happened to be out here, but no - Ulfric had taken his time and come out here to build this. A soft blush crept over her face as she grabbed the matches from him. “Yes, absolutely.” She held the matches in her hand and made her way over to the bonfire pit. “Right here?” She asked to verify, then pulled a match out and struck it against the matchbook. She admired the flame for a moment before carefully placing the flame against the kindling, letting it light then dropping the matchstick into the fire. Almost immediately she reached her hands out to feel the warmth of the new flames.

Ulfric nodded encouragingly as the flame sparked to life. “Yes, like that. You should make a wish too, it’s the right time for it.” His eyes drifted out over the ocean and up towards the glowing main attraction that had brought them both there. “Waxing crescent moon; the phase for planting your intentions and desires so that they’ll grow over the next cycle.” He sighed and lowered himself onto the picnic blanket, and then onto his back with his arms crossed behind his head. Strategically, he’d taken up the position to shield his eyes from the bonfire’s light, so they wouldn’t reflect it back at her (Tasmyn seemed unfazed by the sordid history of Hanging Rock, but he wasn’t sure how she’d react if her companion suddenly looked possessed), but he found he was also surprisingly relaxed. It had been awhile since he’d spent time with someone who didn’t depend on or at least expect something from him, and as sacred as his duties were, it was a relief to shrug off some of that weight for a moment. “Do you know any constellations? That bright star just to the west of the moon is Canis Minor, the lesser dog.” Ulfric traced a line from the centre of the moon to the star with one finger so that she could follow. “And then all the way on the horizon its companion the great dog, Canis Major is leading all the stars in setting for the night.” He left out the propaganda about the celestial beasts supposedly belonging to hunters, so as not to spoil the mood.  

“I didn’t know the moon phases had certain things you’re supposed to do with them.” Tasmyn said with some excitement in her voice. That sounded so fun, such a wonderful way to honor the nature of it all. After taking another moment by the flames, she made her way over to the blanket that was laid out and took up the spot next to Ulfric just in time for him to start pointing out constellations. Maybe she was lying down a bit too close, but she wanted to be able to see what he was pointing at - and she never was very good at giving people personal space. “I know a few, ones that were over the town I grew up in. This is maybe a silly question - but would they be the same ones above us now?” Sometimes Tasmyn was embarrassed at her lack of booksmarts, chalked it up to years of Spriggan-only education. But she was comfortable around Ulfric, comfortable enough to ask a potentially stupid question. “Canis Minor.” She repeated, her eyes following his hand as he traced out the star formation. “Wow. That’s such a beautiful story. I didn’t know they all had stories with them. How’d you learn so much about all of this?” Tasmyn heard the fire crack slightly and the noise startled her, her body tensed up and she looked over towards the flames. But it was nothing, the fire was just growing and the sparks were crackling as they do. After watching smoke start to form at the tip of the flames, she turned her attention back to her picnic buddy. “What else do you know about the sky?”

Ulfric held back a laugh in case she took it as a slight against her lack of knowledge in the subject, rather than just being amused at her earnest enthusiasm. “It’s not silly, they’re mostly the same in the northern hemisphere, it’s just their positions and the times that they appear that change.” It was thought that had brought him a lot of comfort when he’d first been forced to leave his home, that he could still look up and find the same bright point in the sky as his family members who remained. “I grew up in a small village where there was much to do but listen to old stories.” He answered in fond remembrance. “Well that, and fight with my siblings but that doesn’t impress people as much.” He noticed Tasmyn tense listened in for any sound of an intruder making their way up to the clifftop, but heard nothing but the waves, though the flames did seem to be burning brighter. “Well, not much that can be backed up scientifically, but where I grew up they used to say the moon is chased across the sky every night by a wolf called Hati, and the sun is chased during the day by another wolf named Sköll. Some even say if they ever catch up they’ll swallow the heavenly bodies whole and cause the end of the world, but, uh…” He shifted uncomfortably. “I’m sure that part was just added for dramatic effect.”

Tasmyn looked up longingly at the stars as he spoke. She liked that the stars she was seeing were likely the same as her parents and loved ones. She liked less that her not-so-loved ones were under the same stars, but she pushed those thoughts for the time being. “I grew up in a very small village too! We were quite isolated, only some people went into the other towns and it always sounded like a dangerous trek.” Naturally she left out the part that her village was Spriggan-Only. But that wasn’t necessary information. She didn’t want him to think she was a freak. Ulfric had a nice way of speaking, as he explained the story of the sky to her she felt like she could really see it all written out there in the stars. Spriggans in her colony were known to be creative in their truths and half-truths, but making up stories was never their strong suit. “Nothing wrong with a bit of dramatic effect. It makes it that much more…” She paused briefly, searching for the right word. “That much more interesting, that much more comforting.” Just then Tasmyn heard the fire crack again. She wasn’t startled this time, but she did look over towards the flames. At first she thought the smoke was just growing very rapidly, but then she saw… were those arms? Arms of smoke reaching out towards her. Quickly she stood up, taking several steps backwards away from the fire, almost tripping over a few rocks as she moved. “What! Why! Oh my god are the witches mad at us? For disturbing them? It’s okay witches! We aren’t here to disturb you.” Trying to reason with a smoke monster wasn’t her finest moment.

Ulfric was surprised at Tasmyn’s description of how she grew up. Human communities who live that kind of self-sufficient lifestyle were increasingly rare, what were the chances that two people from such similar situations would end up in the same small Northwestern town? The spirits of his ancestors must have had some hand in guiding them together, though he wasn’t sure if his efforts to protect the wolves of White Crest so far had been enough to warrant such a reward. He was about to gently argue that comforting maybe wasn’t the right word for a tale of Ragnarök when she suddenly jumped up. “What? What’s wrong?” He leapt up as well into a defensive stance, but could neither see nor hear any trace of what had her so startled. “If I did something to offend you, you can just—” He coughed to clear his throat, tasting smoke. Odd, since the breeze wasn’t blowing in their direction. “You can just leave.” Maybe she had caught a glimpse of the firelight bouncing off his eyes after all, since she seemed so scared and hadn’t been able to think of a better excuse to get away from him than ‘witch ghosts’. “I won’t stop you, and nothing’s—” His speech was interrupted with more coughing. “Nothing’s going to hurt you.”

Tasmyn was beyond confused about what was going on, and felt awful that he thought he had done something to offend her. “You’ve been lovely… it’s that thing that’s ruining things!” She exclaimed, pointing towards the cloud of smoke that was heading towards them. Tasmyn didn’t understand why Ulfric didn’t seem to see the increasingly growing smoke monster that had begun to form. To her, having never seen a creature like this before, that could only mean one thing. This thing was sent to kill her and that’s why she was the only one who could see it. “No! No! Stay away from him!” She yelled at the creature, hesitantly moving closer to it to try and grab it off him or shoo it away. But as her hands tried to make contact with it, they went right through. The creature seemed to dissipate then reform where her hand had gone through. “It’s not hurting me, it’s hurting you! Can’t you see it?? Stop breathing in it’s smoke!” Tasmyn picked up a few small rocks from the ground and threw them through the monster, but every time something went through it, it always just re-formed.

Ulfric tensed and pivoted in the direction that Tasmyn pointed, poised to fend off an attack, but none came, at least not in the form he was expecting. The taste of smoke on the air was getting stronger, and he soon found himself subjected to another coughing fit, all the while groping blindly around him whatever thing or creature had set her off, but his fingers slipped uselessly through the air. In all the coughing and flailing he lost his balance and failed to dodge one of the rocks she hurled at the invisible menace, which smacked him firmly in the temple. “Ow, hey! I don’t see anything, and I don’t think that’s helping!” He called out, rubbing the bruised area, though it came out considerably raspier, and less calm than he’d intended. The mention of smoke stood out to him though, as despite the relatively clean appearance the air around him appeared to all his other senses to be thick with it, a vile ashen sensation coating his mouth and nostrils and stinging his eyes. “Water cooler—With the basket,” he managed to splutter, “We’ll put it out.” If there was something wrong with the smoke their best bet would be to stop it at its source.

Admittedly the idea to throw rocks at a smoke monster wasn’t Tasmyn’s finest moment. But it had been all that she could think of at the moment. “I’m so sorry!” She exclaimed, immediately stopping what she was doing. Her breath became so heavy, she evidently had gotten too close to the smoke and breathed some in. She coughed heavily, then nodded at his suggestion. “Okay! Okay!” Tasmyn ran over to where the basket was and found the water cooler. Quickly she unscrewed the top of the cooler and made her way over to the fire, dumping the contents of the container onto the flames then stomped out the remaining hot coals. As soon as she felt confident the flames were out she turned back to see if the monster had in fact disappeared with the elimination of the fire. A sigh of relief passed through her lips as she saw that nothing was attacking Ulfric anymore. “I am so sorry,” she told him, small tears beginning to form in her eyes. “I don’t know what that thing was, but it had to have been here to get me. My god he must’ve found me…” She trailed off, looking around them to see if anything was out there in the woods near them. “This is all my fault.”

Much to Ulfric’s gratitude once the flames were thoroughly quenched the choking sensation dissipated, though he was left hunched over, humbled, and hacking his lungs out by the time it did. Not a position he was used to being in, but one he took advantage of to heap handfuls of soil onto the remains of the bonfire, to make sure any surviving embers were smothered. “I think it’s mine actually,” he managed to retort once his airways had become less obstructed. “This spot is reported to be cursed, but in my defence, I doubt there are many places in the world where something tragic or bloody hasn’t occurred at some point in history.” He covered his mouth and cleared his throat, and when he pulled it away in the moonlight he thought he could make out a dark smudge of ash. Even if he never saw what caused it, he couldn’t deny he’d felt something real. “What did you see anyway? Why would someone be after you?” He asked, finally registering what Tasmyn had said, eyes darting in every direction in anticipation of another threat.

Even though the monster had dissipated with the flames, Tasmyn still felt on edge. Could he be right? Was this just the work of the witchy spirits that had been brutally killed on this very cliff? She thought she had been careful in her last move. Stole a random name, took the passport, made her way to America as someone other than Tasmyn. Maybe witch ghosts was the reason they were attacked… but that didn’t explain why she was the only one who could see it. “No, no, the witches wouldn’t make only one of us see it.” She mumbled, without fully realizing she had said it outloud. “I-I should go… If he’s here, I can’t let him…” Tasmyn turned to run away from where they were, then she stopped herself briefly. She looked back and then picked up the container of strawberries that Ulfric had picked. Even though she had little proof, she was convinced that her husband was behind this attack. She turned again, this time actually running away. “I’m so sorry!” She shouted as she left. She had an awful pit in her stomach, feeling awful for getting him attacked and then running away, but it felt like the safest option? He had been so nice to her, she didn’t want to be the reason he got hurt.

[chaoskirin]

The Seven Seas--Final Chapter

Fandom: Queen Genre: Sci-fi/Gen Rating: PG Chapter 4 Word Count: 2003 TOTAL WORD COUNT: 8073

A couple notes: I originally outlined this for the inclusion in a zine. When that didn’t happen, I sort of set the project aside for a while... But after The Seven Seas of Rhye came up on my playlist recently, I decided to expand it a bit and write it. My original target for zine printing was 4 pages or 4,000 words, so I’ve expanded it a little. I hope you enjoy the end. Thank you for reading.

---

The magnitude of a concert can be outlined by several things.

First, the talent. In the case of Queen, this was largely a non-issue, as they were four of the most talented people on the planet. To be fair, this was Roger's assessment, and Roger possessed an ego roughly the size of a stack of thirty blue whales. For the purposes of comparing size, it might have been more logical to select something land-based, such as school buses or football fields. However, in dealing with an ego so large, one must delve into the outright ridiculous or downright strange--sometimes both at the same time. Therefore, whales.

Roger's ego was only surpassed by Freddie's, which no scientist has ever been able to measure.

Second, pizazz. No concert performed by Queen could ever be any less than a spectacular free-for-all of pyrotechnics. A smorgasbord of sparkles... Each properly calibrated to draw the most admiration from the crowd. Professionalism demanded a panel of lights so bright and hot that it could melt the cheese right off a hamburger from a whole kilometer away. If the entirety of the fire brigade wasn't on standby, the show just wasn't worth anyone's time. On the other hand, if the venue burned to the ground in the middle of the concert, it made for particularly bad press. It was a very fine line.

(There are other, more mundane things that go into making a concert a huge success, but this is not a bedtime story, and boring the readers to sleep would be far from ideal.)

But most of all, a crowd defined the magnitude of the concert. Without a crowd, nothing else mattered. That was Roger's expert opinion, at any rate. Which meant on the day of Queen's impromptu, unplanned, desperate, world-saving, hail-Mary concert, Roger Taylor delivered.

Though the fallow field stretched for acres in every direction, it was full to capacity, with people pressing in shoulder to shoulder, eliminating any space between them. Queen's stagehands--those they'd been able to rouse from their vacations--struggled to keep the crowd away from the makeshift stage. This task was hampered by a rather massive electronics rig that jutted out into every opportune space... much like an exploding flan.

John and Brian bent over it, whispering to each other as if they were the best of friends. If one could hear their words, though, one would understand that these were not the hushed intonations of friends--barbs abounded; when Brian called John an incompetent buffoon, John retorted by telling Brian in no uncertain terms that he was a technologically inept upside-down tortoise who couldn't wire his way out of a paper bag. When Brian noted that no one would need to wire their way out of a paper bag and that only an uncivilized rutting salmon wouldn't just tear through it to escape, John insinuated something terribly rude about Brian's dear mother.

In other words, they weren't friends at all. They were brothers.  

"Five minutes," Freddie said for the thirteenth time. Delays, as always, remained a trick of the trade. "Is this thing gonna work or not?"

"The aliens are in place?" John asked. One of the lighting scaffolds dimmed, casting the shadows under his eyes into positively evil relief.

"Yes. All of them. Leader, Glasses, Arsehole, and their entire crew." Freddie gestured up onto the far corner of the stage, where they'd built a tiny set of bleachers for the occasion--so tiny that Roger had to squint to see them. The slug-like creatures undulated over them like... Well, like an exploding flan. One must never fail to re-purpose a simile where appropriate, after all. Their shining silver ship lay just behind them, reflecting the light of the setting sun.

John looked at Brian. Brian looked at John. Neither of them trusted each other, and yet they both trusted each other implicitly, with their very lives. They were and would always remain a true paradox in every sense of the word.

"You guys can make out later," Freddie said. "Is the thing ready?"

Brian rolled his eyes. "I can say with absolute certainty... That is, with nearly every resource available to us... Ah, there's a VERY strong likelyhood--and a very TINY possibility that... I guess what I mean is that were I a betting man, which I'm not. Well, I am occasionally, but there's a time and place for it, and it's probably not here. Let me put it this way. I believe, with every fiber of my being--"

As Roger wondered if Brian had an off switch, John interceded: "We're as ready as we'll ever be."

"Good enough," Freddie said.

Brian thanked John for his ability to summarize. John patted Brian on the shoulder. They all climbed onto the rickety stage as the crowd cheered.

The aliens also cheered. Probably. Never easy to tell when you were sitting behind a drum kit several meters away from something approximately the size of guitar pick. Freddie acknowledged the would-be invaders with a nod, put his hand over the mic, and turned to the others.

It was never a good idea when Freddie put his hand over the mic on stage.

"I've changed some of the lyrics, darlings, for this special occasion."

Roger, who would be singing backup, paled enough for Freddie to see, even in the shadows. Freddie smiled and flicked a dismissive hand. "Don't worry, dear. Everything still rhymes."

"But... rehearsals!" Brian argued. "Our chance at--!"

But Freddie had already turned back to the crowd, his microphone live. "We've got something special for you tonight I think you're going to love. A new song!"

He waited, as all great showmen did, for the crowd to both cheer uproariously and fall to silence. As they were taking just a bit too long to get to the silence part, Roger smashed one of his floor toms as close to his own mic as he could get, creating the wiggle of noise juuuuust prior to a sound system emitting feedback. It had the desired effect.

With a devious grin, Freddie sat at the piano and stared daggers at the aliens. In the few seconds between the stage hand whisking away the standing mic and the sound crew activating the mic at the piano, he said, "This is what you wanted. This is what you're gonna get."

Ominous.

Even from the opening piano riff, the crowd was hooked. On their feet. Cheering. And Freddie sang the Seven Seas of Rhye for the first time in public, with some modifications which would never be heard again:

"Fear me, you lords and lady creatures. I descend upon your earth from the skies. I command your very souls, you unbelievers. Leave me what is mine--The Seven Seas of Rhye." Not bad so far, Roger thought as he eyed the special red button just to the side of his bass pedal. Out of all of them, he alone could be trusted with the proper timing, and it had to be perfect. If it wasn't perfect--

Well, it would probably still be okay. But Freddie thrived on perfection, so perfection it was.

The second verse got a little weirder.

"Can you hear me, you slugs and sluggy counsellors? I stand before you naked to the eyes! I will destroy any snail who dares abuse my trust-- You'll leave me what is mine--The Seven Seas of Rhye."

Roger, whose eyesight was very bad to the point where sometimes he couldn't even be sure whether he was staring at his own drums or a series of giant, empty bowls, glanced over at the alien bleachers. He thought--he hoped--they were no longer cheering.

He eyed the red button again. Not yet. First, he had to try to keep up with Freddie's lyric alterations; at the last minute, he decided maybe it would be better to loudly hum into his mic instead, then--either out of charity or mischief--Freddie kept the lyrics exactly the same as he'd written them.

"Sister... I live and lie for you. Mister... Do and I die. You are mine, I possess you. I belong to you forever."

Roger didn't hear the next verse. At all. Brian took over singing along, and Roger played on shoddy muscle memory--After all, he'd only just learned the song, so no one could blame him for missing a strike or two on a cymbal.

If Roger knew anything, though, he knew timing so implicitly, so instinctually... and he knew exactly when...

"I'll come out alive," Freddie sang. His arm blazed with hidden pyrotechnics as he pointed directly to the aliens' home planet of Denmark.

And Roger smashed the button next to his bass pedal.

Freddie sang, "Be gone with you, you small and shady conquerors," and the sky exploded with the most precise of direct hits. As Brian had calculated, Denmark lay at an amazingly fortunate and perfect angle to explode from earth's northern hemisphere. At least, that's what Freddie wanted them to think--for a Queen explosion, this one was rather small, but it had to look real.

Despite their tiny size, Roger could hear the aliens' audible gasp even over his drumming.

Unwilling to break his stride, Freddie continued.

"Give out the good, leave out the bad evil cries. I've challenged the mighty Leader and his arsehole-- And taken what is mine. The Seven Seas of Rhye!"

Although everyone had doubts that the ploy would work given its absolute simplicity, the aliens still piled back into their ship, their slimy backsides squirming over each other like maggots in roadkill. As the ship lifted off to retreat, the stage crew covered their escape with a helpful volley of fireworks that exploded just a bit too close.

Roger turned his eyes to the sky just in time to see the silver saucer streak away into the sunset.

---

"Am I going to wake up at some point?" John queried hours later. Long after the concert ended and the crowds had filed out, Queen still sat on the stage as their crew cleaned up around them. "I feel like that should have been a dream. Was it?"

"I was thinking maybe we were dead," Brian answered, after which the two of them shared a private chuckle.

"No, we're not dreaming and we're not dead," Freddie said. "We've single-handedly saved the planet from annihilation, all thanks to yours truly."

Roger sighed. He knew this whole thing would go right to Freddie's head. Any attempt science made at measuring his ego now would backfire tremendously. People would die if they ever tried to figure out Queen's prodigy of a singer, and they would have been asking for it. No one could pin down Freddie Mercury and hope to survive.

"They'll be back," Brian said, after which John applauded him and handed him a certificate printed on expensive parchment. It was already framed.

Bran scowled. "This says, 'award for the most obvious statement ever,' and it's sealed by the prime minister and the queen."

"I've had that in my suitcase for the past year," John said. "Figured tonight you'd say something stupid enough for me to give it to you."

"But the queen," Brian stammered. John shrugged.

"Be that as it may," Freddie said, "Captain Obvious is correct. They'll be back, but I suppose that's a problem for the future."

Roger very much thought that was the right way to look at things. After all, the future wasn't real. It couldn't hurt them. And with every day that passed, the future technically got farther and farther away. By right of its very existence, the future could never be the present, and Roger preferred to live in reality.

As a dubious corollary, Roger also believed the past didn't exist, insofar as he couldn't get drunk in it. So maybe he wasn't the right person to ask.

"So now what?" Brian asked. "What do we do?"

With a smile and a flourish, Freddie said, "We play, darling. We play."

[solsticexolos]

This was posted by a poultry genetic expert and someone I very much admire on Facebook and they gave me permission to share it;

"RANT

Extreme breeding gives ammunition to Animal Welfare Groups

I've written more often about this, regarding to:

the extreme Serama with backwards folded necks, wry tails and very short life spans

the vault of the skull in Silkies which lack bone material (compared to Polish) and therefore suffer from neurological injuries

silkied naked necks (Show girls now accepted in the EU) in colder climates because the Na/Na animals are stripped of feathers on the sides and cannot keep themselves warm in the Northern hemisphere

frizzled Serama, or even silkied frizzled that cannot keep temperature and die before their time

silkied Serama that are kept outside like normal chickens in the Northern hemispere and have short life spans

lack of freedom of vision in the Silkies of American type (bearded and crested), resulting in eye infections, starvation, and with a vault triple handicapped

leg problems in straight legged birds for height, and therefore lack of bend of hock as in German Brahma and Malay and other large game breeds

Now you probably think or say: NOT in my birds, I have NEVER experienced such things.

Well, let me surprise you, the above problems don't fall out of my keyboard for no reason, you cannot make these things up.

They exist and are extremes, they are deviations from Red Jungle Fowl, the default chicken.

You are not relieved from responsibility only because you did not have this in your birds, if you have these breeds.

YOU are part of the community of breeders. There is a collective responsibility because the ones that want to kill the Fancy, don't know you, yes you as a person, you are nonexistent. Let me explain this.

What does exist is the Fancy as a whole, that is all people who have a few or few hundred (pet)chickens.

The Fancy exhibits at public places, freely accessible to anyone who pays an entrance fee and often that is not even necessary to visit show.

What we see as exhibitors and/or visitors is not always nice, like empty drinking cups, not for 2 hours but for a whole day, dry cups.

Even on huge national shows on the best locations, in the most civilised countries.

No feed, sick birds, birds with injuries, these things are very rare, but do happen. And more bad stuff, "the poor chickens are in small cages for 2 or 3 days, away from home and their friends, what a stressful life they live!"

This, this will be enough for an animal welfare group to make photos and complain at the city council and the rest you can guess.

Animal shows in general are under a magnifying glass.

Animals are not Things, they are living beings. And domestic animals, created by humans over thousands of years too.

Domestic animals and humans are one entity and we are the ones responsible for their welfare, thriving, health.

Till now, the animal welfare groups were only a small problem. Although they caused bigger problems in Germany and Holland before.

Doom

If there are excesses in breeding of extreme traits, just like in the dogs, the problems the Fancy faces will grow.

And I, even as a breeder, don't blame the animal welfare groups for their call to stop it.

That is called 'self-cleaning capacity' to keep breeders that cross the line of animal welfare in check.

Not for themselves, even if they perceive themselves as the most important creature in the universe or the god of something and everything, but for the Fancy as a whole.

The Fancy itself is more important than YOU. YOU are not more important than millions of breeders in the world.

And YOU are responsible for the suffering of animals when you stand by and say nothing when you see animal welfare is violated by breeding to the extremes of what genetically is possible without immediately killing the bird.

What is violation of animal welfare?

If you cannot see that, you should not have animals.

The inability to step in the paws and feet of animals to experience their life at your property, means you are a danger to domestic animals and the Fancy.

Perhaps to your fellow humans too.

Breeding domestic animals according to standards of which some are more than 180 years old (that is 5 to 6 human generations!) and are part of our cultural biological history, is a huge responsibility.

If you think you and your ego are more important than animal welfare and the history of domestic breeds, go collect stamps, you are part of the problem.

It is known people are extremely selfish and conscienceless when it comes to CARE for other creatures when that care has to compete with their ego and entitlements.

Do you like people who laud extreme breeding, hoping they breed a more disabled (in my eyes) bird than the bird in the next cage?

People without a conscience?

It is sick behaviour and it is suicidal.

For the Fancy, if that is of any interest for those people who often don't think further than "I do what I want on my property in my time for my dime", immediately followed by "me, me, me."

This attitude is what causes most problems today, everywhere.

Since I see the EE (for overseas readers: The European Poultry Organisation) is taking a more lose approach towards the overwhelming amount of chickens bred into the extreme, I want to call breeders to take responsibility.

Just like the extreme environmental changes, there is a way to stop extreme excesses and lack of moderate use and that is extinction of humans.

The planet will not suffer from that fact. It will balance out and life continues till the sun dies.

The same is happening with the Fancy. Although the EE is keeping a watchful eye on animal protection groups, the latter are becoming more and more powerful.

They do have sometimes reasons though.

Let me be clear I am not an activist, I promote fun, joy, thriving and health for both humans and chickens. What I write here is common sense.

Facebook already banned advertisements of animals. You want more restrictions? Eventually no chicken breeding at all, apart from industrial hybrids?

Because industry controls the money, so the governments, so you are only a little blood mite somewhere in a dark corner in a coop of society, regarding your voice.

Industry already attempted to kill us, during the first massive outbreaks of bird flu.

The Fancy is threatened by external forces since the early 2000s, don't give another threat, the animal welfare groups, ammunition to whipe out the heritage of the 6 generations of grandfathers and -mothers before us.

Thank you for reading, enjoy the holidays and spend as much time with your birds as possible, take (a lot of) care.

Sigrid van Dort"

(Posted by Sigrid van Dort,

https://www.facebook.com/sigrid.vandort)