#rattlesnake cruelty

[is-the-snake-video-cute]

If Nevada doesn’t have any snakes then why do my friends keep claiming to see rattle snakes. And how do I make them stfu about killing the poor guys

Nevada has 28 native snake species, including five species of rattlesnake. It's a pretty rattler-heavy state!

That said, I'm sorry about your friends being cruel about it. This is one of those cases where, sadly, people often don't have a lot of empathy for snakes and don't believe anyone else genuinely could. One of the best things you can do is educate! Snakes are living creatures that have massive, positive benefits in their local ecosystems, and even if you don't like snakes, your friends should still respect them as fellow living members of the natural world.

I honestly recommend trying to set boundaries here, too. If your friends think animal cruelty is funny or something worth bragging about, or if they don't see it as a big deal when you ask them to stop, it might be time to think about if they're even people you want to be spending time with.

[ruthlesslistener]

maybe i shouldnt get into rattlesnake conservation considering how deeply it hurts me everytime i hear someone talk about how much they hate and fear them and the frankly gruesome displays of cruelty and violence that results of that fear and hate

[catsbeaversandducks]

“Popcorn is an opossum rescued two nights ago in rough shape and really struggling to survive in this weather. Did you know it’s not uncommon for rehabbers to be able to handle and even hold a wild opossum? They are so peaceful and docile in nature and are some of the most amazing creatures we have worked with. 

While we are not recommending you attempt to pick up any wild opossum you come across, we would love to spread the true facts about these awesome guys and put a stop to the common misconceptions about them that often result in unnecessary cruelty. Here are just ten amazing facts about opossums you all should know! 

1. They're Not Aggressive Even when confronted with a predator, they will use the infamous "playing possum" technique to appear dead and avoid an actual brawl.They can stay zoned out for hours, emitting a foul odor in order to further keep any bad guys at bay, but they'll never outright attack, even if they're baring their teeth.

2. They Rarely Have Rabies Unlike most other wild animals, possums are nearly completely immune to contracting rabies or passing it along. This is due to their natural body temperature being too low to maintain hosting the virus.

3. They Kill Thousands Of Ticks According to stats reported by the National Wildlife Federation, a single possum can potentially eliminate 4,000 ticks in one week thanks to their extreme self-grooming methods (either crushing or consuming the ticks burrowing in their fur).They also aren't susceptible to Lyme disease and therefore can protect humans from contracting it, as they rid an area of the real pests.

4. They Won't Destroy Your Lawn Or Property Unlike other nocturnal animals creeping around neighborhoods, possums won't destroy your lawn or property. If you happen to see one wander into your garage (a popular spot to see them pop up), and don’t want to share your space, simply leave a door open and remove any food that might have drawn them in. They'll eventually mosey on out without making a fuss. 

5. They're True Survivors They've been around longer than any other mammal. Possums are often called "living fossils" because they've been able to survive on our planet for millions of years — over 70 million, to be exact, which really shows their ability to overcome adversity.

6. They Help With Waste Management They are not picky eaters. If it's edible, they'll eat it. Including commonly dining on animals struck by vehicles on the road (bones and all), which scientists refer to as "carrion."This basically makes them nature's most efficient waste-management team and cleanup crew.

7. They're The Only Marsupials Indigenous To North America You have to admit, it would be a shame if Australia were the only home to marsupials! Plus, it makes possums even more of a unique part of our natural environment. 

8. They Get Rid Of Garden Pests They aren’t picky eaters when it comes to troublesome garden pests like slugs, beetles, and cockroaches, but they will leave the flowers or veggies you’re growing undisturbed. 

9. They May Be The Key To Battling Venomous Snake Bites The venom of rattlesnakes, cottonmouths, and other dangerous slithery snakes that might be hiding in your yard has no effect on possums.Researchers have been looking into whether they can find the toxin-neutralizing strain in their blood, which could potentially be used to treat humans who have been struck by poisonous snakes.

10. They're Actually Quite Smart Possums tested with a higher intelligence than more domestic animals like rabbits, dogs, and cats — particularly when it came to finding good food and remembering exactly where it was to go back for more.”

By Becky Zielinski  ABC Wildlife Rehab, Inc. 

[hayffiebird]

Taste of Strawberries, chap. 40 (part one)

Hayffie Post-Mockingjay Multi-chapter, Rated M

Four years have passed since the end of the war when Effie returns in to Haymitch’s life once again. An old friendship is renewed. Will it lead to something more?

Meanwhile Panem has entered a new era. The rebellion’s over, the borders are open but in the shadows, anger and mistrust are smoldering. Something that will affect Haymitch and Effie’s life in a way they never saw coming.

Author’s note: As always, dearest readers, thanks for supporting ToS through likes, reblogs, kudos, bookmarks, follows, favs, comments and messages! You fill my hayffie beating heart to the brim and I’m so happy you enjoy reading. Happy New Year to you all and I wish you the best 2024!

MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING for chapter 40, both part 1 and 2. Mentions of sexual assault, physical and mental abuse, eating disorder, suicide and animal cruelty.

Chapter 40

The writing on the wall (part one)

God, he needed coffee! Something strong at any rate.

Arms loaded with laundry Haymitch pushed inside his guestroom, a towel wrapped around the waist. The dirty clothes landed at the foot of the bed and he parked himself next to it. Cautiously so as not make his head explode.

Effie wouldn’t let him help with the twins. He offered but all she did was tell him to stay put while she carried them upstairs. One at a time.

Her excited murmurs fluttered in through the wall. A groan, more like a whine, slipped between Haymitch’s lips and he rubbed his face, still dripping from the shower. Big mistake. The room tilted. Like a bloody ship. Aspirin. I need aspirin.

Breathing through his nostrils, he sifted through the pile of yesterday’s clothes. Not a minute in, the silver hip flask dropped to the carpet with a sloshing sound. He peered at it, like finding a patch of strawberries. Or a rattlesnake. He hesitated, then plucked it. Cleared his throat. Swallowed what felt like a bucket of phlegm and gave the flask a little shake.

More left than he expected. But then again, Mr. Neighbor Whose-Name-He’d-Forgotten had been more than generous last night. All those stowaways in cupboards and cabinets. Apple whiskey. Passion fruit vodka.

He unscrewed the lid. Inhaled. Relished in the sting of those fumes. Inviting. Familiar. Full of promises.

But he could almost hear Effie’s voice, low and dangerous like a Buttercup growl,

“Go ahead. Do it. You’ll be on the next available train before you can say ‘Happy birthday!’”

The words were enough to cork the flask up. He headed for the garment bag instead. The one Effie laid out for him. Draped over an armchair.

The towel dropped to his feet but Haymitch paid it no mind. Curtains were all pulled and no one had any business going in here in the first place. Well, Effie possibly. But she‘d seen him naked so many times she wouldn’t bat an eye.

Z-i-i-i-p!

He peeked inside. Suspiciously.

Hm. At least I won’t be punished with a tuxedo in August.

He draped the outfit across the bed, having a proper look. Yeah, it could’ve been way worse. This was “casual” or pretty close. Something you might wear on the beach. A white floral shirt, patterned with soft green leaves and baby blue … forget-me-nots? Dress pants with room to breathe. Even a pair of underwear.

In short: a worthy male counterpart to Effie’s strawberry dress that she would have worn had he not ballooned her up via a twin pregnancy.

He pulled the shirt on. Worked the buttons, save the last two. Unlike her own self, post-birth, Effie knew his size down to the T. Still! Pants on he ran a hand through his damp hair. Combed it with his fingers.

Really, he’d got off easily.

Don’t fuck this up.

The quest for coffee brought him downstairs. Gray skies. Sun gone. Fingers crossed, they’d make it through today without a downpour.

He had but a second to relish in the empty kitchen before he realized it wasn’t.

Annabel stood by the counter, bent over a glorious chocolate cake the size of a small district. With deft, dexterous motions she piped out buttercream swirls through a star-tip, all along the edges. One more elegant than the last. He recognized the frosting technique from the bakery. And in the middle of the creation: a lone, unlit candle shaped like a teddy bear.

“Hey,” he said to say something. “That is some cake.”

“Thanks,” Annabel replied, eyes on her work. “It’s Eden’s old recipe.”

“That your sister or …?”

“Our nanny. We had many coming through but she was always my favorite. And she baked a chocolate cake every time one of us had a birthday.”

“Must’ve been a lot o’ cake.”

“I guess.”

They lapsed into silence. Annabel wasn’t the kind of woman who cared for pointless chatter and Effie’s spirit loomed over him, nudging him forward.

“I’m really sorry ‘bout last night. Don’t know what the fuck happened. That’s no excuse but …”

“I don’t need your sorrys, Haymitch.”

The words were spoken without anger. Without distance. No more heat behind it had she asked “Can you pass the marmalade?”

Haymitch gave a slight nod. Point taken. His eyes wandered across the room. The stack of plates. The pretty glasses. The napkins yet to be folded. “Something else I can do?”

Annabel’s hands stilled. He just had time to ponder if he said something stupid when she put the star-tip down and looked him straight in the eye. The sight pinched his insides. Chocolate brown eyes, holding within them the ghost of her father. Caesar Flickerman. Whom at the least expected moment would spring forward and send his 16 year old ass flying back into that plush interview chair of long ago.

But this wasn’t Caesar. This was Annabel. Just Annabel.

He waited for the berating, the chew-out, the more than fair scolding. Wondered if she’d serve him a dish he hadn’t already gotten over the years from Effie, Peeta, Katniss, Hazelle … The list was endless really.

Annabel brushed a lock from her forehead. Using her wrist, what with her fingers stained with chocolate. And the words finally uttered were the last he ever expected to spill from her mouth.

“Do you know we had a fall-out? Effie and I.” His surprise must have shown for she nodded. “Oh, yes. This was years ago. Before Kane and Alexander. Even before I became a spy for Plutarch.”

Leaned back, she rested her palms against the edge of the kitchen counter top.

“In the Capitol that Snow molded like a lump of porcelain clay … well, him and Volumnia Gaul, the Trinkets and the Flickermans weren’t even supposed to be friends. We’re all the top 1 % to the rest of Panem but there’s a strict hierarchy also within the city. But I guess Effie’s already told you all about that.

The higher up you go the less important the Trinkets get. There’s a reason you won’t find their name on any tape in any archive, before Effie became a Games escort. They’re wealthy enough but new money and trifle in comparison. In the eyes of the big dogs the Trinkets are what their name suggests: Knick-knack. Fool’s gold. Of little value.

We became roommates at the Academy through a simple error, nothing more. One I could have easily corrected had I reported it to professor Sickle. But why on Earth would I? She was so much fun. So fun and full of life. Extremely ambitious. Hungry to prove her worth, up to the point she sometimes didn’t see the forest for all the trees.

And a fashionista, of course. Oh yes. She loved her dresses! I barely knew her family existed but one hour with her and it was like I’d known her all my life. I wish I’d met her sooner.”

The woman fell silent.

“The Flickermans were part of Snow’s circle. The inner circle. One of five grand families moving in his orbit. The Heavensbees were another. The Cranes a third. So while Effie had play dates with people like Flavius Dolittle, I ‘networked’ over at the president’s mansion. From the moment I was born I belonged to Cordelia Snow.”

Haymitch’s eyebrows creased together.

“Cordelia?”

“Yes. His oldest daughter.”

“I thought he only had one.”

“Mm-hm.” Annabel’s voice was dry. “That’s what he wanted people to think at any rate. But he fathered four children, whether he liked it or not. Two boys first, back to back. I reckon a woman in Livia Cardew’s position wouldn’t dare otherwise. Two strong, blonde, sturdy little gentlemen with dimples to carry on his legacy. 18 months apart as is the ideal between your first and secondborn in the Capitol.

Oh, the citizens all but devoured them and it wasn’t until a few years later that they came sniffing back for a baby girl Snow. They adored the idea of a little briar rose. Adored and expected it. And before long, their first lady was pregnant again.

It almost killed her to have her. And the moment the girl was born it got clear something was wrong. Wrong in the eyes of the Capitol, at any rate. The light skin. The snowy hair. The red eyes.”

“Albinism?” Haymitch asked. He’d read about it somewhere. Annabel nodded.

“And there was something wrong with her foot as well. Some kind of birth defect. Even after multiple operations done by the finest surgeons the Capitol had to offer, she still walked with a limp. She was a slip-up in Snow’s eyes. A blunder. A chapter you didn’t particularly like and so you leafed through it as quickly as you could. When the baby was first presented to him, did he entertain thoughts of eliminating her? Seneca once told me that the president, and I quote: ‘takes pride in not being wasteful. He takes life for very specific reasons.’ So, at the end of the day, I guess he saw no reason to kill his infant daughter. Maybe that’s how unimportant she really was to him.

He still needed a girl, of course. A proper girl, worthy the name of Snow. And he got one, years later, despite the doctors’ verdict that his wife would never bear children again. His miracle daughter. A rainbow baby, at least in his book.

After that, Snow wouldn’t give Cordelia the time of day. Not the way he did the two boys and his youngest: ‘A once-in-a-lifetime beauty that people will write poems about.’

His oldest was brushed to the very corner of the Capitol’s eye. ‘Too sickly’ to preside over the Hunger Games or any other televised event alongside her family. The Capitol wasn’t that interested in the gangly, odd-looking, never-smiling girl anyway. Not when they had the little sister with her long eyelashes, lush curls and cute little hand-wave.

You’d think being confined to the mansion like an embarrassment, would turn miss Cordelia into a rebel but no. The little girl worshiped her father. Idolized him. I spent most of my childhood in her company. Apart from Tigris, Cordelia was the lowest of the Snows but she was still a Snow. A piece that would strengthen her father’s empire one day once she came of age. So, she never lacked company. Her rooms were always filled with girls, carefully handpicked. Saplings of prominent family trees going back generations. Not friends. More like ladies-in-waiting. All eager to win her favor, and yet I was the one she gravitated toward. Right from the start. I used to come home covered in bruises from where she pinched me. ‘Love taps’ as the grownups called them.

I think, of all the people in my life – even before my mother and father, before my sisters – Cordelia was the first to figure out I like girls. I remember when we were eight or nine, playing with her doll house, just the two of us that day. How those peculiar red eyes bore into mine with a fire that made me cower in fear.

‘Have you ever kissed someone?’ she asked. I didn’t know what to say and she never gave me the chance. Her little hand took mine with the grip of a child getting what she wanted. Then her lips pressed to mine and I was so chocked I couldn’t move. I just sat there – frozen-still, eyes open – until she bit my bottom lip so hard I shrieked and tasted blood.

I was scared to death of her. But I soon realized how dangerous that was. To be anything but delighted in the presence of a Snow. Just as it was dangerous to be anything but delighted when watching the Games.

The Capitol was a prison. A fancy prison but a prison nonetheless. We never suffered the way the districts suffered. We didn’t starve. Our names were safe from the reaping bowl. But life under Snow’s reign wasn’t a bed of roses either. Not in the way you may think. For every petal there was a thorn and if you weren’t careful they ripped you to shreds.

Do you know the suicide rate used to be sky-high in the Capitol? Especially among young people. Up to the point Snow created a new law, charging the family a penalty fee if your child jumped in front of a train.

Like most people, I learned to keep my feelings on the inside. Made myself a master of self-control. But back then I was still a child. And I dreaded the Games season every year. Since they wanted Cordelia out of the spotlight, Mrs. Snow arranged slumber parties during those weeks. At the mansion. Just for her daughter and her closest friends.

Big television screens. Loud girls dressed in their finest, packed tightly on sofas and recliners and pillows on the floor.

And food. Tables loaded with delicacies. All of Cordelia’s favorites. Way more than any of us could finish. Plates just carried in and carried out. Hours and days and weeks of leftovers just scraped into the trash while kids, kids like us, starved and died on the screen.

How many of us understood what was really happening? That the scenes played out wasn’t just some pretend reality witnessed through a camera lens? Watching, I wondered if I was going crazy. Wondered why no one seemed bothered by the nightmares unfolding before our eyes. The cold hard reality of those boys and girls pitted against each other. Children whom had done nothing wrong.

Every single one of us spectators were born into families whose wealth and privilege were built upon piles and piles of dead children and we could all stomach it?

I think that’s when my struggle with food first started. During those annual slumber parties. Even years after they released me from the psych ward there were still moments when I gagged on my food because images from the Games flashed in my brain.

Not Cordelia. She soaked up the Games, like a sponge. Each year getting just a little fuller.

They kept animals at the mansion. Snow may not spare her a minute of his time but he never questioned the expenditures when the girl wanted a new puppy. A new goldfish.  A batch of kittens. Without hesitation, without remorse she’d stab a tortoise shell with a corn holder. Clip a bunny’s paw with a stapler. Break her songbird’s wing and give it to the cat, watching the warbler fight for its life. I tried to stop her. Truly I did. I begged her to leave her pets alone.”

She held her arms out, palms up. Haymitch’s eyebrows came together getting a clear look on what he’d only glimpsed before. Cuts. Marks. Scratches. Pink reminders, not of Annabel’s unhappy mind like he thought, but another child with sharp objects. Scars not so different from his own.

Her arms dropped to the sides.

“Her own family didn’t care whether she lived or died. She hardly ever got to see the world outside those walls. Maybe torturing creatures smaller and weaker that herself gave her a sense of control. Made her feel big and powerful.

Maybe she hoped it would draw the attention of her father. Show him she was capable of doing what he already did to those children in the arena. In many ways she was his most loyal ally. Maybe he would have noticed, seen the potential in her, had she lived longer.”

To be continued …

[noamuth]

Combat

Dalamus is not a warrior. He was never a part of Menzoberranzan's army, and never got formal military training, but the highly competitive and sometimes literally cutthroat reality of business and daily life meant he had to know his way around a blade at the very least for self-defense purposes.

Dalamus uses a modified Sargh'elgg style of fighting. Sargh'elgg focuses on agility in combat rather than strength, and normally employs the use of a single light weapon such as a rapier. Dalamus favors a dagger in his right hand.

There have been times when he has had would-be thieves attempt to get away with his jewelry, or even attack him in order to steal from him. He has defended himself and killed in self-defense, without remorse.

His first real combat scenario was at his Blooding against the Displacer Beast, but even then it was mostly watching and waiting for the right time to strike. He did also kill someone during his Blooding, in self-defense.

He killed his brother, Orgoll--a premeditated murder--while Orgoll was distracted in a Trance state and did not have time to defend himself.

It is possible he has killed a jeweler rival before, albeit with "underhanded" tactics such as poison. Murder is murder but in Menzoberranzan one is only in trouble if they get caught in the act, no one cares enough to seek out perpetrators after the fact.

The only official training he got was during his consortship with Nedvyllanna, offered to him so that he may be able to protect the Matron Mother in the case of an emergency, ready to lay down his life for her. It provided him with experience using rapiers and swords as weapons, as well as help him refine his dual-wielding with his daggers, morphing his Sargh'elgg style into something resembling a Draa velve style, or a hybrid between the two. Although 10 years is not much to an elf, it is still 10 years, and a lot of training can happen in that time. In a one-on-one match, Dalamus can hold his own.

During his escape from the Underdark, he focused on running rather than fighting, and still ended up with an injury that would forever change his confidence in battle.

On the Nautiloid, he had a few small skirmishes with stragglers, but let the other survivors do the bulk of the fighting.

All this to say that while Dalamus has a decent amount of training plus almost two centuries of self-taught skills, has been in fights, and even killed others, he has very little actual combat experience, let alone combat experience within a group. He prefers to approach with stealth, although opportunities for stealth are far more limited on the surface than in the Underdark.

When confronted, his pride as a drow, his anger at his situation, and his pain all make him appear eager to fight, eager to prove at all times that he is strong and capable and unwilling to back down. But the truth is it serves the same purpose as a rattlesnake's tail or open mouth with fangs bared--saying "I don't want to fight, but if you threaten me further I will do my damnedest to make you regret it."

His back injury slows him down and can sometimes prevent him from twisting or bending without pain, the severity fluctuating day by day. The light of the surface affects his concentration, and the heat burns away his stamina at an accelerated rate compared to those who have lived there all their lives. And yet, all this forces him to try extra hard to appear dangerous in an attempt to avoid conflict.

If conflict becomes unavoidable, make no mistake, he is dangerous. He is vicious and does not fight honorably. He fights with speed and agility, and with poison if available, aiming quick strikes at vital or strategic points. He is not above using cruelty to gain an edge or prove a point, reveling in the feeling of power that cruelty offers.

Dalamus is most useful in combat at nighttime or in the shade, with indoor locations counting as shade. Light sources indoors will not affect him negatively, but removing light sources may give him an advantage depending on the amount of natural light present and the enemy type/abilities.

Whenever possible, he prefers to approach with stealth, and possibly poison his blades for an extra advantage early on. Having him focus on one enemy at a time will maximize his efficiency and end battles quicker than if he is thrown into a group.

He can use his darkvision or infravision to inform the group of unseen enemies--although both are mostly useful at night. Using infravision during the day, even indoors, will often have poor results thanks to the surface being naturally warmer than underground; it will cause a severe headache if used for too long.

When party members are at a disadvantage in the dark, Dalamus can use Faerie Fire or Dancing Lights to illuminate enemies or the environment. He can also use Darkness to blind enemies.

Dalamus has above average knowledge of poisons, and relatedly, antidotes. He is perceptive of traps, both mechanical and persuasive variety--although the latter might just be his paranoia assuming everything everyone says is a trap, just in case. He is good with lockpicks and for unlocking doors or chests.

Although he would never say it in such words, he is a follower, not a leader. He is used to living under strict rules and being given tasks and duties, being subservient under the priestesses rule. On the surface, however, his cooperation is a bit more difficult to secure due to distrust. Not that he trusted priestesses, but it was either obey or die. The surface does not seem so strict, and he does not view anyone as having a higher station than him.

[chaosprinceundivided]

Jaz definitely sounds like Thrax in my head. And Ventris probably sounds like Rattlesnake Jake--

I can see that. Jaz with that same influx of voice, flanging with a soft feminine sultry whisper to the masculine overtone. When pissed, it become a viper's spine-shivering pitch. Ventris, as a Unclean One of Shyish, absolutely give Bill Nighy energy. Gentle and fatherly with a edge of warning and firmness until pushed, revealing the heartless cruelty of Death that he embody.

[aercnaut-archived]

𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑹𝑨𝑪𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑺𝑯𝑬𝑬𝑻.

repost, don’t reblog

tagging: no one bc this is long as hell HOWEVER IF YOU WANT TO PLEASE TAG ME I WANNA SEEEEEE

nabbed from @manaborn

basics !

FULL NAME. lee joseph scoresby

NICKNAME. mr. scoresby?

GENDER. cis male

HEIGHT. 6’0”

AGE. 35

ZODIAC. virgo

LANGUAGES. english, spanish, and more that pullman didn’t specify but enough that he had to go through a list of the ones he knew to communicate with a shaman

physical characteristics !

HAIR COLOR. black with a few stray greys here and there

EYE COLOR. deep brown

SKIN TONE. tan

BODY TYPE. on the slimmer side of the dad bod spectrum. 

ACCENT. texan

VOICE. i’m bad at describing voices so i’m just gonna say its l.in manuel miranda

DOMINANT HAND. ambidextrous with a preference for his left

POSTURE. straight and confident

SCARS. main verse has three bullet wounds on his chest, one on his ankle, and one on the left side of his head

TATTOOS. has a sleeve on his right arm that features a design that resembles his mother’s turquoise ring, a hare that looks like hester, and a compass

BIRTHMARKS. a few moles and freckles on his face

MOST NOTICEABLE FEATURE(S). his eyes

childhood !

PLACE OF BIRTH. the country of texas (pullman gave no further elaboration)

HOMETOWN. not mentioned

BIRTH WEIGHT. he doesn’t know, but he was born a few weeks early

BIRTH HEIGHT. same as above

FIRST WORDS. hester

SIBLINGS. only child

PARENTS. cody and sophie scoresby

PARENTAL INVOLVEMENT. his mother did her best to raise him, but his father was a violent drunk who abused the both of them regularly. he learned his kindness from his mother, and his roughness from his father. he idolized sophie growing up, but now that he’s an adult in charge of a child of his own, he’s gotten to feel a little bitter about her parenting, too.

adult life !

OCCUPATION. aeronaut and hired hand

CURRENT RESIDENCE. the sky?

CLOSE FRIENDS. i.orek b.yrnison, l.yra s.ilvertongue, s.erafina p.ekkala, hester

RELATIONSHIP STATUS. single

FINANCIAL STATUS. chronically broke with more debt than what he knows to do with

DRIVER’S LICENSE. probably not.

CRIMINAL RECORD. is it under his true name? no. does it exist? yes. 

VICES. cigars, cigarettes, the occasional bottle of vodka

sex and romance !

SEXUAL ORIENTATION. bisexual

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION. biromantic

PREFERRED EMOTIONAL ROLE. submissive | dominant | switch

PREFERRED SEXUAL ROLE. submissive | dominant | switch

LIBIDO. average

TURN ON’S. intelligence, kindness, brunettes, a certain amount of chaos

TURN OFF’S. cruelty, materialism, self centeredness

LOVE LANGUAGE. touch and words of affirmation

RELATIONSHIP TENDENCIES. tends to get protective and a little jealous, but holds back to avoid being like his father. a lot of his negative traits in relationships tend to be from just trying not to end up like his father, which can be good (understanding, honesty, willingness to communicate), and bad (passiveness, rose colored glasses, and a tendency to run away from a relationship if an argument gets a little rougher than what he’s comfortable with.) he’s also married to the sky, which has left plenty of relationships grounded.

miscellaneous !

CHARACTER’S THEME SONG. never let me down again by depeche mode

HOBBIES TO PASS TIME. singing and making up songs on the spot with hester

MENTAL ILLNESSES. ptsd, anxiety

PHYSICAL ILLNESSES. after the shootout at cittagazze, lee has lasting pain in his chest and ankle, as well as chronic migraines from being shot in the side of the head

LEFT OR RIGHT BRAINED. right brained

FEARS. cliff ghasts, ghosts, killing, people with rattlesnake daemons

SELF CONFIDENCE LEVEL. lee is one cocky son of a bitch. even in verses that don’t use lin’s lee, he’s fairly sure of himself purely because of age an experience

VULNERABILITIES. his loyalty and dedication to people can be exploited very easily and has almost (or flat out has) gotten his killed several times

[desertleviathan]

From reading around FFXIV tumblr, I think the biggest difference between me and the rest of the community is attitude towards the Ancients, particularly those who did and didn't become Ascians. I don't want to yuck anyone's yum, so I'll describe my own experience only, and want to be clear that I'm absolutely not casting some kind of moral judgment on anyone else's experience.

If you're a fan of Emet-Selch in particular, this is all probably going to be a downer to read, and I recommend you skip it. This is just how a lot of these story beats felt when I experienced them... and a lot of stuff that other people are very enthusiastic about really didn't land for me at all.

Also, while I'm at it, spoilers abound for the entire story.

First of all, my Warrior of Light was never Azem, or associated with them in any way, and anyone in the MSQ who believes otherwise is mistaken. No prior version of my character was ever chums with these people. I frankly resent the implication that my character is only cool because he used to be part of the same crew where everyone else became Genocide Wraiths. Any story beat that tries to play on that connection is about as welcome as a mailbox full of pig crap for me. It really made the back half of Shadowbringers drag, and stopped the otherwise magnificent expansion from overtaking Heavensward as my favorite.

As far as I'm concerned Captain Siege Zabac isn't a reincarnation of anyone. Wherever he came from was where souls used to come from before the Ancients were sundered, shiny and new, unburdened by a prior life. And I'm sure a lot of people are like that, even if they may be split into a bunch of parts when that spirit tries to enter the divided world. I assume Ardbert was able to merge with him as an advanced function of the Echo, basically a variant of the same trick that let Fray jump out of the Dark Knight soul crystal and take up lodging in his mind. The Echo is literally described at one point as blurring the divide between Souls (I think by Lahabrea talking about how the WoL can understand his spooky ghost language but I might be wrong.)

Siege did not find Emet-Selch sympathetic, he found him to be an intractable lethal threat, and executed him. Just like when he killed Nidhogg, just like when he killed every Primal and Lightwarden and Blasphemy, just like when he tried over and over and over to finish Zenos until he finally succeeded. It was housekeeping. He perceived a being who refused to coexist peacefully with others, and pruned him like a weed in a garden. Like a rattlesnake in a nursery.

Was it tragic? For sure. It would always be better if a foe could stop being a threat and reintegrate into society, or at least exist peacefully apart from society. But my Warrior of Light isn't a diplomat or therapist, and when he gets involved in a situation it's usually because it's too late for negotiation. If the game offered me more agency on that, I'd for sure choose those options, but ultimately the central gameplay loop is about hitting monsters and bad guys with an axe until their HP = 0. So in order to not despise my own character, I have to assume he feels in his best judgment that there are no other options left. And also that he recognizes his own limits as a guy who's mediocre at best at communicating, but an absolute marvel at tactical-scale violence who collects new combat styles like other people accumulate pocket change.

And with Emet-Selch... let's say hypothetically the guy could be brought around to standing down the Rejoining plans. He was still directly involved in seven known cases of successful shard-wide extermination, each of which was accompanied by a mass extinction event on the Source. And two more nearly-successful attempts on the First and Thirteenth. And he personally oversaw the creation of the Garlean Empire, and the Allagan Empire before it, both of which were instruments of monstrous cruelty and destruction, largely at his direction. It's hard to say how many bad things a person can do before it's not possible for me to forgive them any more, but I think if the number of inhabited worlds you have scoured clean of life ever exceeds zero, it may be too late, no matter how charming and handsome you are.

When Siege went to Elpis, he found what he saw there obscene. Hermes' despair at the murderous cruelty baked into their civilization seemed entirely rational to Siege, although he obviously disagreed with the conclusions Hermes' later incarnation reached. (It also cast into clearer focus a lot of petty evil he'd overlooked his own culture, and at the very least, I suspect post-Elpis Siege has been reconsidering things like the amount of animal flesh in his diet and leather in his wardrobe.) He was most disappointed by the fact that Venat didn't seem to have any particular objections to any of it until he laid out the shape of the future for her and essentially locked her into a course of action where she had no further agency if she wanted to close the loop against paradoxes.

At least, that's how it felt to me as the player, that she acted the way she did because we told her that was how she was going to act, but she never displayed any particularly strong moral character before accepting that script. Anyway, when Siege fought her, she may have framed it as a test, but he was focused on removing yet another Ancient from the field. They had their chance to build the Etherys they wanted, and they failed. This star doesn't belong to them any more. But again, no malice, just housekeeping.

I think the only Ancient he doesn't have a grudge against is probably Hythlodaeus, who seemed too frivolous to have really considered how messed up their society was. It's a lot easier to forgive normal folks who stumble and make errors, since they're not positioning themselves as Great Moral Thinkers like Venat and Emet-Selch. If you're any kind of leader though, Siege expects more of you. So back in his own time, he watches the ongoing reformation of the Eorzean City States with some interest, aware that if Limsa Lominsa fails to broker lasting peace with their neighbors, if Gridania continues to use the "will of the Elementals" as justification for bigotry, and if Ul'dah doesn't purge the influence of the Monetarists entirely, at some point he'll feel compelled to intervene personally.

I'm bracing myself for an attempt to redeem Lahabrea. But they handled the final Zenos arc skillfully enough to make me stop grinding my teeth through his appearances, so there's some hope. We'll see.

[mewtonian-physics]

the scorpion and the frog. the boy and the snake. the spider and the fly. the inherent tragedy of a predator that causes its own destruction. or perhaps does not. perhaps it is only the prey who is destroyed. it does not matter. this is what predators do. and if you perish, you will succumb to your fate knowing that you did it to yourself, that you could not change what you were for anyone’s sake, not even your own. the cruelty of trusting against your better judgement, believing that just this once, they will not be what they are. just for you. because you are special. except you are not. and now they have you. and you believed in them. and now you will never believe in anything again. but who can you blame? as the scorpion drowns, as the rattlesnake freezes, as they curse their own fate because even the desire to live could not stand up to the demands of their very existence. as the spider wraps its web around you and you think how foolish you have been, because you knew what awaited in its parlor and you came anyway. it is their nature. it is what they are. you knew what they were when you picked them up. why think it would be any different?

[is-the-snake-video-cute]

Are rattlesnake roundups legal? My town holds one every year (it's absolutely disgusting, they hold "best kill" contests and everything) and I just don't see how something like this can be legal.

Appallingly, they're not only legal, but in my experience they usually have law enforcement in attendance. Rattlesnake roundups are disgusting displays of animal cruelty, and they're only legal because so many people believe rattlesnakes are evil, unfeeling animals deserving of cruel, painful deaths.

Here's my longer post on rattlesnake roundups, it includes links to some great factsheets and conservation websites. Obvious TW for very upsetting animal cruelty, but no graphic details in the post itself.

[florspinae]

@exalted--zealotry:ㅤㅤ'I worship you.' - f.fallens...

ㅤㅤHeart of corruption,ㅤashes to ashes and dust to dust.ㅤBetween ribs echo the laughter akin to a rattlesnake’s noise.ㅤThrough love,ㅤpersuasion,ㅤthe lowest of the efforts in sinking him deeply into his seat as words reached her ears amidst the darkest corners of the place where irises light up at the sight.ㅤㅤ❛❛ㅤㅤMy,ㅤreallyㅤ?ㅤㅤ❜❜ㅤㅤThe voice drenched in the whisper of the night,ㅤbore by a shudder,ㅤrasp,ㅤroarly tone that comes from lips in shades of vermillion.ㅤA female one,ㅤlaced with authority and sharpened at the edges with pure cruelty of times that were better.ㅤWhat stands there in the flesh is a being that knows the tendrils of the world do not have to be soft,ㅤwhere thorns can pry and tear apart everything they touch with the minimal attempt at itㅤ—ㅤa damage that would last a lifetime for the pain that has been inflicted since another lifetime.ㅤㅤWhat she has been taught and what has been acquired is a divinity worthy of being a herald of nightmares.ㅤAfter all,ㅤthe world needs balance.

ㅤㅤHer claws dig deep into his skin,ㅤlooking like the talons of a bird of prey catching up a mouse,ㅤichor pouring from the wounds as would a river only to be tasted upon seconds later.ㅤㅤ❛❛ㅤㅤWhat a good boy.ㅤㅤ❜❜ㅤㅤA lick of incisors that drive the necessity of more with each second of the ticking clock of their insane rhapsody overshadowed by her oblivious grandeur.ㅤIt takes a few seconds for the woman to lean down and grant the other one a kiss drenched with the metallic liquid once pried of.ㅤㅤ❛❛ㅤㅤThough you should work your ways to,ㅤㅤ❜❜ㅤㅤThe words roll from the tip of the tongue.ㅤㅤ❛❛ㅤㅤYou are lacking your gifts to me.ㅤYou better remember your place.ㅤㅤ❜❜ㅤㅤ

[westdallasgang]

Ralph Fults: The Barrow Gang member who outlived his peers.

Ralph Fults grew up middle class in the quiet rural town of Mckinney, Texas. Out of his seven siblings, only Ralph developed a pattern of troubling behavior. He grew physically and verbally combative with a reputation as a vicious street fighter. Ralph blamed himself for witnessing such graphic murders, one of them being a public execution when he was a child. His life of crime started at the improbable age of 14 when he was taught how to repair weapons and locks. By the time he met Clyde Barrow, he was 19 and he'd already escaped numerous jails and detention institutions, been sent to prison and brutalized by guards. Ralph was younger than Clyde, but far more wiser than him when it came to the outlaw life and prison. Whereas, Clyde hadn't been to prison yet.

Their first encounter was in the back of a prison transport truck on their way to Eastham Prison Farm. Ralph previously met an Al Capone mobster at Eastham and together they escaped solitary confinement six months prior and was being returned. Clyde was there because he had escaped a Waco jail. Having only heard wicked tales about Eastham, Clyde strikes up a conversation, asking if he'd been there. Ralph went on to tell him about all the cruelties he experienced to which Clyde very naively remarked with a grin, "Shoot, they can't do stuff like that."

Ralph's first impression of Clyde was that he, "looked more like a schoolboy than a convict" but overtime at Eastham together, he watched him "change from a schoolboy to a rattlesnake". Clyde promised he would one day raid the prison and free as many inmates as possble. A promise Ralph didn't think Clyde was capable of, until he murdered a vicious inmate. After prison, Ralph teamed with Clyde, Bonnie, and Ray Hamilton, and formed The Barrow Gang. Ralph also wreaked even more havoc with Ray Hamilton and his gang after the deaths of Bonnie and Clyde. Nevertheless, Ralph was able to turn his life around through religion and died at the age of 82. He was the last surviving member of The Barrow Gang.

[flowerkidlove]

Rattlesnake festivals are animal cruelty :/

i think the point of the sentence was the pussy eating joke and the festival bit was something they pulled out of their ass, i do this shit all the time just yesterday i said, in a joke rant "i'm puking out of my ass" in a fit of improv. that is just diarrhea! that is so silly billy!!! i didn't even know those things existed!!! i can't do shit about rattlesnake festies!! sorry!!!! ok goog bye

[rebeccathenaturalist]

Originally posted at my blog at https://rebeccalexa.com/the-last-rattlesnake-roundup/

Recently I read that the last rattlesnake roundup in Georgia is being renewed as a wildlife-friendly festival. Looking at the Whigham Rattlesnake Roundup event website, the photos from previous festivals show that there was a lot of fun to be had outside of catching and killing rattlesnakes, and this year’s reptile show had a bunch of talks that make me really wish I was closer! Plus it sounds like attendees got to see some impressive rattlers and other cool reptiles, alive and well. I wish everyone there the very best, and I hope their improved event brought them increased success and will continue to do so well into the future.

This news was a bright spot in my day, and it’s a sign of a trend toward the better. This is just the latest event that has left behind a legacy of cruelty and chosen to focus instead on rattlesnakes as fascinating creatures that have long inspired and awed humanity.

Rattlesnake roundups started in the early 1900s as a way to reduce numbers of rattlers and other snakes, and over time they became celebrations complete with all the trappings of your average country fair. The snakes themselves were, of course, rounded up, and today each of these events can account for the removal of thousands of snakes from their natural habitat. Most never make it back home, and are slaughtered after being handled in stressful conditions in the last hours of their lives. They may be kicked, mutilated, force-fed alcohol, harassed into striking targets, and stuffed into small containers in such large quantities that many are crushed to death. Some roundups, like the well-known event in Sweetwater, TX, give people money for the snakes they bring in, providing even more economic incentive to capture and kill as many snakes as possible.

Apart from the absolutely horrific and cruel treatment of living animals, anyone with even a basic understanding of how ecosystems work should be concerned by this point in this article. Whenever you remove large numbers of a native predator species from an area, the ecosystem suffers. Rattlesnakes are important predators of rodents and other small animals in their habitats, and they themselves may be food for other snakes, hawks and other birds, coyotes, bobcats, and other predatory wildlife, as well as various scavengers. The removal of rattlesnakes both contributes to rodent overpopulation, and may mean less food is available to other animals. 

The myth that humans need to be the ones to “keep the snakes in check” is based in a fundamental misunderstanding of how well the balance of nature fared for a very long time without our mass slaughters. Considering we still actively hunt coyotes, bobcats, and other mammalian predators, and thousands of hawks and other raptors die of lead poisoning every year (to say nothing of “shoot, shovel, and shut up“), we’re removing many of the animals that evolved over millions of years to help keep rattlesnakes in check.

Moreover, gasoline is very commonly used to drive rattlesnakes from their dens; this pollution not only persists in the environment, but it can kill, injure, or otherwise negatively effect many other species of animal, plant, and fungus, not just immediately but well into the future. This is especially true in fragile arid ecosystems where there is less rain to dilute or wash away the gasoline. And even when it is washed away, it ends up in local waterways where it can continue to pollute streams and rivers as it continues to spread through the watershed.

Finally, I want to add that these roundups are NOT the same thing as mass hunts of invasive animals like lionfish or Burmese pythons; while I personally feel that killing animals should never be taken lightly, removing invasive species is necessary in order to try to preserve the ecological balance. The Burmese pythons that have been decimating Florida’s native wildlife are not in the same category as native rattlesnakes that evolved in an ecosystem with checks and balances throughout their interrelationships with other species.

In short, traditional rattlesnake roundups are anything but sustainable or nature-friendly.

The move toward educational rattlesnake events isn’t new. All the former roundups in Pennsylvania and Florida are now tailored toward natural history while maintaining their celebratory atmosphere, and with Whigham’s evolution Georgia can now be added to the roundup-free list. Unfortunately, thirteen roundups are still listed as actively hunting and killing rattlesnakes, so there remains some work to be done.

But public opinion is changing, and with it comes pressure to get rid of old, outdated, and harmful ways of doing things. We don’t just see this with rattlesnake roundups, but outdoor-based economics in general. Traditionally communities have made money through extractive activities such as logging and mining. Even many tourist attractions like charter fishing, shellfish collecting, and foraging, are extractive by their very nature, taking animals, plants, and other natural materials from local habitats. Ecotourism, which has been on the rise in the past few decades, instead focuses on non-extractive activities like wildlife viewing and photography while boosting local economies in sustainable ways. The new and improved rattlesnake fairs that emphasize education are a great example of how communities can use the momentum of well-established events and also evolve them into something that can benefit from the growing demand for ecotourism.

Is it always going to be a smooth transition? Of course not. If an event had very little to offer besides “Let’s go kill some snakes!”, it’s going to have to find a different audience going forward. There may be a lot of resistance, especially from those who benefit economically from rattlesnake roundups who may be concerned their cash cow is about to disappear. And–let’s face it–there are those who will likely be perpetually convinced that “varmints” have no value other than as target practice.

Some may argue that we have bigger problems than a few thousand dead rattlesnakes. Sure, of course we do. Habitat loss is the single biggest cause of species endangerment and extinction, and is locked in a nasty feedback loop with climate change. But as I mentioned in last week’s article, we have lost 75% of all individual wild animals in the past fifty years. Every animal lost is a piece of that species’ genetic diversity gone, one less potential mate for another, fewer young being added to the population in the future, and the species becomes that much less likely to survive the other pressures we put on them as we destroy their homes. Would some have died naturally? Of course. But their natural reproduction rate was able to keep the species going before we began killing them en masse. As with many of our actions, it’s the rate at which we force change which is the problem. Even generally common species can become scarce locally when overhunted, which can throw the entire local ecosystem off balance.

And it is an incredibly easy thing to choose to just–not kill rattlesnakes. Much simpler than solving climate change, much less time-consuming than restoring habitats. By allowing wildlife to simply live their lives we’re making an incredible positive impact. We can increase that impact by actively celebrating these amazing creatures, dispelling myths about them, and spotlighting what makes their very existence valuable in the first place.

And that, to me, is a much better way.

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