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xtruss · 10 months ago

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Forbidden Fruit! Inside Mexico’s Anti-Avocado Militias Michoacán

The Spread of the Avocado is a Story of Greed, Ambition, Corruption, Water Shortages, Cartel Battles and, in a Number of Towns and Villages, a Fierce Fightback

— By Alexander Sammon | Tuesday 11June 2024 | The Guardian USA | Harper’s Magazine

An Avocado Farm in Yoricostio, Michoacán. All photographs from Mexico, August 2023, By Balazs Gardi for Harper’s Magazine © The artist

Phone Service Was Down. A fuse had blown in the cell tower during a recent storm. Even though my arrival had been cleared with the government of Cherán in advance, the armed guard at the highway checkpoint, decked out in full fatigues, the wrong shade to pass for Mexican military uniform, refused to wave me through. My guide, Uli Escamilla, assured him that we had an appointment and that we could prove it if only we could call or text our envoy. The officer gripped his rifle with both hands and peered into the windows of our rental car. We tried to explain ourselves: we were journalists writing about the town’s war with the avocado, and had plans to meet with the local council. We finally managed to recall the first name of our point person on the council – Marcos – and after repeating it a number of times, we were let through.

To reach Cherán’s militarised outskirts, we had driven for hours on the two-lane highway that laces through the cool, mountainous highlands of Michoacán, in south-central Mexico. We passed through clumps of pine, rows of corn and patches of raspberry bushes. But mostly we saw avocado trees: squat and stocky, with rust-flecked leaves, sagging beneath the weight of their dark fruit and studding the hillsides right up to the edge of the road. In the small towns along the way, there, too, were avocados: painted on concrete walls and road signs, atop storefronts and on advertisements for distributors, seeds and fertilisers.

Michoacán, where about four in five of all avocados consumed in the United States are grown, is the most important avocado-producing region in the world, accounting for nearly a third of the global supply. This cultivation requires a huge quantity of land – much of it found beneath native pine forests – and an even more startling quantity of water. It is often said that it takes about 12 times as much water to grow an avocado as it does a tomato. Recently, competition for control of the avocado, and of the resources needed to produce it, has grown increasingly violent, often at the hands of cartels. A few years ago, in nearby Uruapan, the second-largest city in the state, 19 people were found hanging from an overpass, piled beneath a pedestrian bridge, or dumped on the roadside in various states of undress and dismemberment – a particularly gory incident that some experts believe emerged from cartel clashes over the multibillion-dollar trade.

A Sculpture of an Avocado at the Town's Entrance in Ziracuaretiro, Michoacán. Photograph: Marco Ugarte/AP

In Cherán, however, there was no such violence. Nor were there any avocados. Thirteen years ago, the town’s residents prevented corrupt officials and a local cartel from illegally cutting down native forests to make way for the crop. A group of locals took loggers hostage while others incinerated their trucks. Soon, townspeople had kicked out the police and local government, cancelled elections, and locked down the whole area. A revolutionary experiment was under way. Months later, Cherán reopened with an entirely new state apparatus in place. Political parties were banned, and a governing council had been elected; a reforestation campaign was undertaken to replenish the barren hills; a military force was chartered to protect the trees and the town’s water supply; some of the country’s most advanced water filtration and recycling programmes were created. And the avocado was outlawed.

Citing the Mexican constitution, which guarantees Indigenous communities the right to autonomy, Cherán petitioned the state for independence. In 2014, the courts recognised the municipality, and it now receives millions of dollars a year in state funding. Today, it is an independent zone where the purples and yellows of the Purépecha flag, representing the Indigenous nation in the region, is as common as the Mexican standard. What started as a public safety initiative has become a radical oddity, a small arcadia governed by militant environmentalism in the heart of avocado country.

But the environmental threats posed by the fruit have grown only more pressing since then. In the US, avocado consumption has roughly doubled, while domestic production – mostly confined to drought-stricken corners of central and southern California – has begun to collapse. The resulting cost increases have encouraged further expansion in Mexico, attracting upstarts that are sometimes backed by cartels, whose members tear up fields and burn down native trees to make way for lucrative new groves. Some landholders and corporations are getting very rich. I had come to Cherán to see whether this breakaway eco-democracy could endure in the face of a booming industry.

As We Drove into the Centre of Town, home to 20,000 people, the narrow streets hummed with activity. Colourful murals commemorated various anniversaries of the uprising. Exhortations to protect the earth adorned white stucco walls. Vendors sold mushrooms, vegetables and grilled corn. Stray dogs traipsed through the plaza. We parked in a gravel lot down a sidestreet and began asking around for Marcos. Eventually, a man wearing a parka emerged from a nearby building. As we shook hands, Uli joked about our holdup at the checkpoint, but Marcos didn’t laugh. He scanned the square suspiciously, as though worried we’d been tailed.

A Member of the Community Police Force in Cherán, a town in Michoacán. Photograph: Andrea Murcia/The Guardian

Marcos led us into the town hall, and I followed him up a staircase and came face-to-face with a floor-to-ceiling portrait of Emiliano Zapata, the Mexican revolutionary and champion of land reform. Above the doorways of offices hung photos of Cherán’s own armed comuneros next to photos of pine saplings. In the modest legislative chamber, I took a seat in front of a U-shaped banquet table, where the elected council meets. Half of its dozen members were seated, attending to paperwork. When they saw me, they began a second interrogation, asking what my motivations were and what exactly I was there to see. They squinted at the business card in a plastic sleeve that I was passing off as a press credential, handing it back and forth. Another lifesize portrait of Zapata frowned at me from the wall.

I understood their suspicion. Just weeks prior, the neighbouring state of Jalisco had sent its first-ever shipment of avocados to the US. Violence in the sector was increasing, with reports of drone-bombed fields. A few months earlier, inspectors from the US Department of Agriculture, which verifies the fruit’s quality for export, had received threatening messages. And there were plenty of reasons for avocado groups to size up Cherán: its fertile soil, its abundant water. Besides, what revolutionary regime isn’t a little paranoid?

But the council eventually agreed to show me the full sweep of its operations. I was told to report by 7am for rounds with the patrol unit that surveys the region and wards off threats. Together we would head to the frontlines.

The Avocado has Been Grown and Eaten in Mexico for Centuries. The glyph representing the Maya calendar’s 14th month features the fruit, and Aztec nobles often received it as tribute. “Looks like an orange, and when it is ready for eating turns yellowish,” observed the Spanish coloniser Martín Fernández de Enciso in 1519. “So good and pleasing to the palate.”

For the better part of the 20th century, however, the fruit failed to catch on. Among the challenges faced by marketers were the fruit’s many names: alligator pear, aguacate, avocado, Calavo – the last a portmanteau of California and avocado. (The name in Nahuatl, an Indigenous language, ahuacatl, is slang for testicle, and was never really an option.) Money was poured into advertising to fix the problem, and California funded research on farming techniques, though these still didn’t solve for the novel taste. Growing ranks of producers, and the small consumer base, led to ruinous drops in price while costs kept increasing. Water and land got more expensive as new housing developments demanded more and more.

By the late 1960s, only farms that produced more than 5,000lbs (2,270kg) of the fruit an acre each year were profitable. Agribusiness began to look south of the border in the 70s. The California Avocado Society, a collective founded by growers, deployed multiple research missions to Michoacán, where envoys made careful note of the region’s plentiful water. “In this area, water is free,” marvelled their report from a trip in 1970. Local avocado growers’ only concern was “how to divert the water into channels on their property and to get the water to the trees”. At that point, imports of fresh avocados from Mexico to the US were prohibited by federal regulation (established in 1914 to protect California farmers), but the large avocado firms began investing in the region anyway, with designs on selling the fruit elsewhere.

Avocado Orchards in the Mountains of Michoacán. Photograph: Marco Ugarte/AP

The North American Free Trade Agreement (Nafta), when it went into effect in 1994, largely kept the ban in place, but crippling droughts and exorbitant land and water costs eventually pushed California’s industries into accepting a slow repeal of protections. Many small domestic growers were facing bankruptcy; the larger firms that weren’t had already invested in Mexico. After decades of malaise, the avocado became a surprise winner, and a cipher of the promise of free trade – “Nafta’s shining star”, as one consultant later put it.

After achieving notoriety as one of the most spectacular commercial food failures of the 20th century, the avocado finally entered the mainstream. Guacamole and avocado toast became two of the most successful gustatory trends of the 21st century, pushed with prime-time Super Bowl ads. Michoacán’s avocado production went from about 800,000 tonnes in 2003 to more than 1.8m tonnes in 2022. Over the same period, the US’s avocado consumption quadrupled.

Today, groundwater in Michoacán is disappearing and its bodies of water are drying up. Lake Zirahuén is polluted by agricultural runoff. Nearly 85% of the country was experiencing a drought in 2021, and experts project that the state’s Lake Cuitzeo, the second largest in all of Mexico, could disappear within a decade. In part because of the conversion from pine to avocado trees, the rainy season has shrunk from around six months to three. So profound is the drain on the region’s aquifers that small earthquakes have newly become commonplace. The 100-mile avocado corridor has, in effect, become the only live theatre of what is often referred to as “California’s water wars”.

It’s unclear whether the avocado can survive this changing climate. But in Michoacán, the more pressing question is whether its residents can survive the avocado.

At 6:45 the Next Morning, Uli and I reported to the town jail, where we’d been told we would find the ronda tradicional comunal, the community police. The ronda – by some counts the town’s largest agency, and the only one for which jobs do not rotate every three years – is tasked with all security, manning the checkpoints, guarding against poachers and even punishing public drunkenness. Through the darkness I could make out a commander meting out orders to officers wearing flak jackets, helmets and fatigues. It was almost time for a shift change. An unfamiliar truck by the sand mine would need to be investigated; everyone was reminded to keep their weapons on them at all times.

The ronda is most heavily armed while guarding the forest. The job is to monitor the entire 27,000-hectare region of Cherán, ensuring that there is no illegal logging, no burning, and no planting of avocado trees. I was assigned to join a unit of four people, each carrying a rifle and handgun. We were headed to the north-east border, where a new avocado grove had recently appeared. But 30 minutes into our drive, the crew were diverted to a new job, which would involve confronting some loggers laying claim to a different patch of forest. Any local loggers could be backed by monied avocado interests, or cartels, the crew told us, and it didn’t take much for bullets to start flying. Our safety couldn’t be ensured, they said, and our seats in the truck would be needed to transport reinforcements. They deposited us back at the jail, where we waited to be assigned to another patrol group.

After a few hours, a second pickup arrived, staffed by a team of three. We loaded back in and headed out of town on a sunken dirt road, up into the mountains. As the truck lurched over potholes, we passed spindly pines – some replanted, others old-growth – as well as another sign, this one in red: the community in general is prohibited from planting avocados.

Avocados in an Orchard in Uruapan. Photograph: Carlos Jasso/Reuters

The truck’s driver, Edgar, had spent eight years in the ronda, enlisting not long after the uprising. He’d done construction work in South Carolina before getting deported. I asked if he’d encountered illegal avocados in Cherán. He said he had. Everyone knows the rules, he told me, “but there is still tension here, even now”. When avocados are discovered, patrols dig up the trees and destroy them. The offending planter will be sent to the town jail, where he’ll be forced to issue a formal apology and pay a fee. A repeat offender can have his land requisitioned by the government.

We drove until the road ran out, then parked above a sweeping hillside. A barbed-wire fence ran along a dirt trench, marking the division with the neighbouring municipality of Zacapu. At our backs were a wall of pines; in front of us, rows of juvenile avocados. The trees grew right to the edge of the muddy border. All of this had been old-growth forest until four years ago, Edgar told me. He pointed to a barren hillside in the distance. Eight months prior it had been full of pines, but it had recently been clearcut, marking the next stage of the forward march. Soon, it too would be covered with avocados.

There Was Something Else Edgar Wanted Me to See if I was willing to venture with him into the woods. We returned to the truck and drove cautiously through deeper and deeper puddles until the trail was completely washed out. We parked, left some nonessentials, and began our trek with three militants in full protective gear.

As we passed into denser forest, the patrolmen sometimes paused to rustle the pine needles blanketing the forest floor, exposing the mushrooms that grow naturally in the area. On occasion, one of them would find a bright orange lobster mushroom, which I was told tasted just like pork. Those were pocketed for dinner. Finally, we emerged into a blackened clearing, which abruptly gave way to a ravine. All around us, the trees and shrubs were charred.

A few months earlier, Edgar explained, this area had combusted. Loggers had been fast at work clearcutting the forest, in anticipation, I was told, of avocados. To expedite the process, they set fire to some stumps, which can be especially flammable in the dry season. The blaze quickly jumped the town line of pine trees and took off in Cherán’s forest. Edgar, along with volunteers and dozens of members of the ronda – 80 people in all – attempted to quell the conflagration.

They dug a perimeter right below where we stood. Having no ready water source, they tossed dirt on to the flames with shovels. Edgar spent three days and two nights on the fire line, long enough for the containment effort to succeed. But the losses continued to mount, as many of the rescued trees succumbed to blight in the weeks that followed. Eventually, the sickly trees were cleared. Four hectares of pines were lost.

Wildfires are a major concern in the region, and an estimated 40% of them are now purposefully set to clear the way for avocado groves. Forests are set ablaze or levelled by chainsaws, quickly and indiscriminately; planters then suture avocado saplings on to the barren earth. Reforestation has since become a critical component of Cherán’s economic strategy. In only a decade, the town has managed to reforest much of the town’s 20,000 hectares with native pines. It underwrites these efforts by selling juvenile pines, bred in a nursery, to nearby landscapers and farmers, and by harvesting pine resin that is used in everything from turpentine to oil to chewing gum. At the town’s mill, dead and diseased trees are turned into two-by-fours for construction, or fitted into wood pallets to be sold to trucking companies.

An Avocado Vendor at a Market in Mexico City. Photograph: Nick Wagner/AP

The reforestation campaign is also a water policy. Recent studies have suggested that the vapours released by pine trees can help seed clouds, substantiating in some sense the folksier notion – which I heard repeatedly – that trees bring rain. The deeper root structure of tall pines also helps convert precipitation into groundwater, providing a pathway for rain to travel to the water table during the rainy season. Avocado trees, short and appetent, are a drain on the water table throughout the entire year. A mature avocado tree demands as much water as 14 adult pines. The forestry strategy, I was told by Edgar and others, was one of the chief reasons that Cherán had been able to escape the water problems that afflict the rest of the region. “You see, the clouds are only in our town,” Edgar half-joked as the afternoon sky darkened.

The Uprising in Cherán Became an Inspiration, and led to a wave of copycat outbursts across Michoacán in what became known as the autodefensas movement. Vigilante groups took up arms and notched a number of victories, succeeding where the state had proven inept or corrupt. Community policing initiatives followed. For a time, this approach even enjoyed the tacit support of then-president Enrique Peña Nieto.

But the movement quickly dissolved. Many autodefensa organisations were infiltrated by former cartel members; some began selling drugs to raise money for weapons. Others were bankrolled by wealthy avocado interests sick of paying bribes or seeing shipments robbed. By 2018, the autodefensa system had, in many ways, become indistinguishable from cartel control.

Take one especially perverse example: in 2020, a group of avocado farmers formed a group called Pueblos Unidos, claiming to be protecting their livelihood against cartel extortion. The group’s membership ballooned to around 3,000 in a short amount of time, even scoring some international media coverage for their attempts to clean up the avocado supply chain. They lacked Cherán’s environmental commitments from the get-go, and were soon linked to the Knights Templar Cartel. On the day I left Michoacán, they were involved in a standoff with authorities that resulted in the kidnapping of national guardsmen, the torching of a car and more than 100 arrests. According to Mexican officials, it was one of the biggest cartel busts ever.

The Cherán council told me that dozens of other localities in Michoacán have adopted its model of governance, forming an archipelago of radical environmental resistance. While each town has its own method of implementation, the charter remains basically the same: a democratically elected council, a militarised commitment to environmental protection, and no political parties or avocados.

Council Members in Cherán Town Hall

Twenty minutes from Cherán is the town of Arantepacua, which achieved official independence in 2018. When we drove over, a small team of labourers was at work building a checkpoint. No one stopped our car for questioning.

The town square was flanked by a crumbling church and a peach-coloured municipal building. I was trying to get in touch with the mayor, Alberto Martinez, but he wasn’t responding on WhatsApp. I asked a woman if she knew where I might find him. “He’s right there,” she pointed, “the small one in green.”

Standing on the corner was an excitable man, his hair neatly combed, wearing a pressed polo shirt tucked into khakis. He shook my hand vigorously before I’d even spit out an introduction, and pulled me into the administrative building behind him, where a portrait of Zapata again loomed above the entrance.

Sitting at one of the two desks in Martinez’s corner office, bottle-feeding her four-month-old child, was Maria Elena Soria Morales, a 33-year-old school teacher who is now serving a two-year term as the head of security, elected alongside another woman. She oversees the kuariches, the town’s version of Cherán’s ronda.

But Arantepacua’s adoption of the Cherán model, Maria told me, had little to do with environmental despoliation, at least at first. On 5 April 2017, Michoacán state troopers came to retrieve what they said were stolen vehicles. The town had had a longstanding feud with the state government because of territorial disputes and what I was told was overzealous policing.

Officers with shotguns kicked down the door of the house that Maria had taken shelter in, she told me, one shooting at her and another pointing a gun at her sister. A helicopter circled overhead. A terrified schoolboy in a red sweater, running toward the forest, was shot, his body flying through the air “like a kite”, Maria said, fighting tears. Four people were killed.

Left: A member of the community police at Cherán's entry checkpoint. Right: Cherán

The next day, the town set up a makeshift checkpoint at its highway exit to prevent the police from returning. Then they began to overhaul the government. “After that, we got organised to elect our own authorities,” she told me. “If we don’t organise ourselves, this will never stop. We have to do it like Cherán.”

Arantepacua’s new government made environmental protection a priority, and outlawed avocado cultivation on communal forest land. “It harms the soil,” Maria told me. “When we drive on the road to Uruapan, we can feel the chemicals in the air and we know how bad it is. So we don’t allow it.”

Now one of her top concerns is the water supply. In recent years, the water level in the town’s well has sunk lower and lower, while the neighbouring town of Capácuaro cuts down its forests, and nearby Turícuaro expands its avocado operation. “We hear that they’re doing it on the top of the mountains,” she said. Still, she told me, the town was doing its best. Her baby burst into tears, and she whisked him away for a nap.

I Wanted to See What Life was Like in the Thick of the Avocado Corridor, a stretch of fertile soil and clement weather that yields an astonishing year-round harvest. I headed to the outskirts of Yoricostio, 55 miles south-east of Cherán, where I visited a farming hamlet full of avocado orchards.

I pulled into a parking lot in front of a church, where two farmers were leaning against a pickup truck. They took me on a tour of the groves, which, by every indication, made them a handsome profit, and then to the home of Ernesto, a local avocado farmer who was hosting a number of his neighbours. Avocados weren’t the only thing being farmed on Ernesto’s holdings; there were also pepper plants, beans and pumpkins.

Left: Frutas Finas, an avocado packing plant in Tancítaro, Michoacán Right: An Engineer at Frutas Finas monitors avocados on the packaging line

Three decades ago, he didn’t grow avocados at all. “I remember 31 years ago when Ernesto planted the first tree,” Marilu, his wife, told me. “His father told us there was no point.” But the decision paid off, and they had expanded their footprint steadily. Now they were selling avocados for export to the US and had hired additional workers to harvest the crop. Theirs was a midsize operation, and the money seemed to be good enough – their pickup truck was new and their two-storey home beautiful. They had plans for renovations. But there were problems of late. The year prior, for the first time, they had to dig retaining ponds and set up rain barrels to secure enough water for a desiccated avocado harvest. The other crops, too, needed to be watered by hand. “The climate has changed,” Marilu told me. “It’s hotter, drier. We used to water all our plants just with the rain. Not any more.”

Above the town was a small dam, and a reservoir to draw from in case of drought. That winter a work crew, armed with expensive heavy machinery, had begun laying a pipe at the foot of the dam. They claimed to be acting on behalf of the local water authority, but their story kept changing. Some of the farmers complained to the local government, to no avail. Others alleged corruption.

“You don’t have to be very smart to figure out where the water is going,” said Noemi Mondragon, a local farmer. The unfinished pipeline seemed to be pointed toward a new 200-hectare avocado grove. “People say that the avocado is the devil,” Noemi told me. “That isn’t true. There are ways to raise it sustainably.” As she saw it, the biggest problem with the avocado was that “it brought greed, which brings ambition, which brings scarcity”. Water levels at the dam had already reached new lows. “Look at the size of the pipe,” she added. “If they get that water, the dam will be empty in two weeks.”

The farmers told me that they had scared off the construction crew the day before Christmas, with a shovel-wielding Marilu at the front. Staring down a menacing foreman and a line of tractors, she told me, she’d filled in the basin where the pipe was being laid. Noemi and other neighbours joined, shoulder to shoulder, until the group grew large enough to drive the workers away.

Given the exceptional amount of avocado-related violence in the region, the story struck me as surprisingly tame. Earlier that year, a prominent anti-avocado activist had been kidnapped and beaten in another part of the state. Months later, I expressed some confusion about the account, and found out that the farmers had also been stockpiling guns, many of which were illegal. They’d left that detail out.

Left: Avocados for sale in Cherán. Center: The forest near Cherán. Right: A donkey pulls wood collected in a nearby forest

Still, the situation reminded me of Cherán’s path: the alleged corruption, the threatened water supply, the uprising. It seemed like the town might be open to a radical environmental overhaul, to save their community and some elements of their way of life. It wasn’t hard to envision a near future in which that was one of very few viable outcomes.

Farm workers pick tomatoes in the countryside near the town of Foggia, southern Italy, September 24, 2009. Every year thousands of immigrants, many of them from Africa, flock to the fields and orchards of southern Italy to eke out a living as seasonal workers picking grapes, olives, tomatoes and oranges. Broadly tolerated by authorities because of their role in the economy, they endure long hours of backbreaking work for as little as 15-20 euros ($22-$29) a day and live in squalid makeshift camps without running water or electricity. Picture taken September 24, 2009.

But when I mentioned Cherán, no one praised it as an inspiration; no one seemed to know what it was at all. And there were critical differences. Cherán had been a relatively poor, Indigenous community, cut off from the green-gold rush.

The farmers of Yoricostio had managed to tap into a global flow of water and wealth. Was there a way forward for these farmers that wasn’t also a step down? If the climate or the industry abandoned them, which way would they point their guns?

Later that afternoon, the farmers gathered around a grill, where Ernesto was searing pieces of beef. They placed a big bowl of guacamole at the centre of a long picnic table and passed around a jug of mezcal, encouraging me to pour myself a drink, and then another. The clouds gathered overhead and light rain began to fall. Then it stopped.

— A Longer Version of this Piece First Appeared in Harper’s

#The Long Read #An Article #AVocados 🥑 🥑 🥑#Mexico 🇲🇽#Food 🍲 🥘 🍱#Mexico 🇲🇽 Food 🍲 🥘 🍱#Farming #Features #Harper’s Magazine #The Guardian USA 🇺🇸

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justlemmeadoreyou · 11 months ago

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1. prepping (restaurant owner!harry x chef!y/n)

summary: you landed your dream job as a line cook at harry styles' prestigious haus kitchen restaurant in chicago. the tough chef job demands focus, but it's really hard when your boss looks like harry styles.

words: 4.3k

warnings: nothing major in this one

Your palms were sweating as you gripped the steering wheel, driving through downtown Chicago towards your new job. You kept glancing down at the address on the printed directions, double checking that you were heading the right way. The last thing you wanted was to be late on your first day.

Ever since getting your culinary degree, you had applied to what felt like hundreds of restaurant jobs, desperate to get your foot in the door of a real professional kitchen. But very few places wanted to hire someone so fresh out of school with no actual experience.

Finally, after months of dead ends, you had landed a line cook position at Haus Kitchen - one of the hottest farm-to-table restaurants in the city. You could scarcely believe your luck when you got the call saying you were hired.

Haus was the brainchild of Harry Styles, international superstar singer turned chef. After his chart-topping solo music career, Harry had traded in artist life to pursue his lifelong passion for cooking. Using his accumulated wealth, he opened up Haus five years ago to rave reviews, quickly earning a well deserved Michelin star.

You vividly remembered watching Harry's transition from a pop idol to dashing culinary entrepreneur play out in the media. As a teenage girl, you had been obsessed with him during his One Direction days.

Your bedroom walls were plastered with Harry's posters and you had relentlessly played their songs, sighing over his tousled hair and pouty lips. Then as you got older and Harry went solo, your boyband crush evolved into more of an intense celebrity infatuation as he cultivated a cool, rebellious image.

There were countless gossipy blind items about his infamous hellraising, flings with models and socialites, and run-ins with the law. You had followed all the scandalous Harry headlines with rapt attention - from getting papped stumbling out of nightclubs with an endless parade of beautiful women to getting arrested for drug possession outside Soho clubs.

But finally in his late 20s, seemingly bored of rockstar debauchery, Harry had pivoted to reset his image as a knowledgeable culinary entrepreneur. You admired how he transformed from tabloid bad boy into a refined, successful businessman and chef.

He began studying haute cuisine under the tutelage of famous European chefs, traveling abroad to hone his skills further. While continuing to record new musical projects independently, Harry started establishing himself in the culinary world through guest stints on TV cooking shows and food/wine events.

With his brooding good looks, charming personality, and serious culinary chops, the world fell for Harry's new sophisticated image. Before long, he was the subject of breathless puff pieces in food magazines as "the sexiest Renaissance man in the kitchen." It seemed natural when Harry soon opened up his passion project Haus to capitalize on his popularity and love of food.

Now nearing your mid-20s, your teenage fannish obsession had cooled into more of an admiring celebrity crush. You had stayed aware of Harry's journey, but your priorities were focused on graduating culinary school at the top of your class and finding your own big break in the Chicago restaurant scene.

So when you landed a job at Harry's iconic Haus, it almost didn't feel real. Not only would you be working at one of the city's most exclusive spots, but under the same roof as a chef you had admired for ages.

Not that you expected to have any real personal contact with Harry himself, you reminded yourself as you merged onto the exit for downtown. He was an internationally famous mega-celebrity who had to have hundreds of staffers, not to mention being handsomely paid to just be the smiling face of the business while professional kitchen vets like Paul Thomason handled the day-to-day operations.

Still, you had to admit to yourself that a tiny part of you tingled at the mere idea of being in the same building as Harry Styles...hopefully catching a glimpse of that handsome, endlessly charming man in the flesh...

You shook your head dismissively and double checked the directions again, annoyed at getting so easily distracted. This was your big break, your first serious job in the industry. You needed to bring your A-game and focus, not dwell on silly celebrity daydreams.

It was your fantasies of becoming a respected chef that needed to take priority.

You pulled into the parking lot for the restaurant, double checking that you had the address right. The sleek, modern building had a neon "Haus Kitchen" sign glowing over opulent double-door entrances flanked by velvet ropes and cheerful outdoor seating areas.

Taking a steadying breath, you cut the engine and sat for a moment, giving yourself a pep talk. This was it. No more messing around doing coursework or labs - this was the major leagues with all the intensity of a real professional kitchen. You had to bring it all day, every day.

As you climbed out of your beat-up Honda, you smoothed down your spotless new chef's whites, making sure everything looked pressed and presentable. With your knife kit tucked under your arm, you walked towards the entrance with purpose, chin held high.

From the moment you stepped through the doors, it was like being transported into another world. The smell of simmering sauces, roasting meats, and freshly baked bread envaded your senses. Even hours before opening, the energy and hustle for dinner prep was palpable.

Off to the left was the main dining room you had studied photos of online - effortlessly cool with vaulted exposed wooden beam ceilings, brick accents, and casually modern decor. Pendant lighting glowed cozily over tables draped in white linens and rustic chandeliers hung over plush tufted leather banquettes. A lively bar area centered the space, stocked with top-shelf liquors and backed by a dazzling display of custom glassware.

In the distance ahead, you could hear the clamoring of the kitchen in full swing. Your stomach did a nervous flip - this was it. Taking another fortifying breath, you headed through the archway.

You emerged into a large, sleek open kitchen layout, all stainless steel and butcher block islands. Uniformed cooks were buzzing at their stations like a well-oiled machine under the barked commands of an older, stocky man you immediately recognized as Head Chef Paul Thomason.

Despite his gruff reputation, watching Thomason in action was nothing short of mesmerizing. He moved between stations with the easy grace of a conductor, sampling sauces, tweaking seasonings, and directing the workflow with gruff orders. There was no wasted movement or micro-expression as he continually tasted and perfected dishes, alternating between thoughtful contemplation and decisive action.

Though you had only seen Thomason in pictures and television appearances, his fierce focus and mastery were unmistakable. This was what true professional kitchen expertise looked like in the flesh.

Feeling like a mouse that had wandered into the lair of a lion, you hovered near the entrance, uncertain of what to do next. The kitchen team flowed around you in a choreographed dance, deftly ignoring your presence as they prepped and plated flawlessly.

After a few minutes of anxious loitering, the intimidating Thomason seemed to finally notice you. His grizzled features contorted as he scowled, looking you up and down through eyes squinted with decades of kitchen smoke exposure.

"You must be the new kid," he said gruffly, crossing his bulky tattooed arms over his broad chest. Even without raising his voice, Thomason had a rumbling bass that easily carried over the kitchen's clanging din. "Christ, you're shorter than I expected. Think you've got what it takes to keep up around here?"

You nervously clutched your knife kit closer while trying to not look as flustered as you felt. "Y-yes, chef!"

You swallowed hard, hyper aware of everyone around you now watching the interaction. "I, uh...I came ready to work as hard as it takes. Whatever you need from me."

Thomason grunted, squinting at you for another long moment in consideration. Then he jerked his head towards the back. "Get changed out quick and meet me back here in 5. I'll get you started on prep and we'll see what you're made of. Don't keep me waiting."

"Yes, chef!" you responded immediately, wincing at how high your voice had gone up an octave.

Without another word, Thomason turned and strode back into the controlled chaos of the line, immediately redirecting his attention to sauces and garnishes. Letting out a shaky breath, you scurried towards the changing rooms, heart jackhammering.

Well, you were officially in the thick of things now...

You hustled back out to the kitchen, trying not to look frazzled from your rushed change. A young Hispanic line cook spotted you and waved you over to his station.

"You the newbie?" he asked, not unkindly. When you nodded, he jerked his head towards the walk-in refrigerator. "Thomason wants you to start by breaking down some of the produce delivery for prep."

"Got it, thanks," you replied, eager to prove yourself. The line cook gestured you through the door into the immense chilled walk-in.

You blinked as your eyes adjusted to the cold, taking in the sights and smells of the impressive stockpile. Shelves upon shelves were stocked with an array of fresh seasonal produce - crates bursting with leafy greens, bushels of root vegetables, flats of vibrantly colored tomatoes, exotic fruits, and mushroom varieties you had only read about.

Your culinary school had humble basics for ingredients, nothing like the bounty of locally-sourced, meticulously selected provisions that Haus Kitchen demanded. You felt a thrill at getting to work with such an extraordinary pantry.

Respirating clouds puffed from your mouth as you scanned the inventory tagging system. You had been taught similar protocols in your food safety courses, but there was something exhilarating about putting that knowledge into practice in a real professional environment.

Grabbing a stack of plastic totes, you made a game plan for which items to start prepping first based on perishability levels and what would be needed for that evening's specials. Though you started out slow at first, you steadily built up a cadence of meticulously cleaning, trimming, and sorting into appropriate storage containers.

By the time Thomason stuck his head in to check on you an hour later, you had developed an efficient system and made solid progress through a mountain of deliveries.

The head chef grunted in approval as he inspected your neat stacks of prepped produce, crossing his arms as he looked you up and down with a critical eye.

"Not bad, kid," he rumbled. "Clearly know which end of a knife to use, at least. C'mon back out, got some protein fabrication for you to tackle next."

You diligently followed Thomason back out to the main kitchen, wiping some sweat from your brow with your sleeve. Despite the industrial cooling system, the heat blazing from the ovens and range tops made the open kitchen feel like a furnace.

As Thomason led you to a stainless steel butcher's block island, you couldn't help but gawk at the array of gleaming knives hanging from magnetic strips overhead. The blades were works of art - sleek, razor sharp, and clearly extremely expensive.

Gesturing you over, Thomason grabbed a boning knife and twirled it deftly before handing it to you. "Let's see how you handle breaking this down."

He gave the block a solid smack with his meaty palm, indicating for you to get started on the glistening slab of beef tenderloin before you. Taking a steadying breath, you gripped the bone-handled knife firmly and leaned over the cutting board.

"Yes chef," you murmured before carefully piercing the thick cut of meat, angling the blade with practiced precision from all your training.

Around you, the kitchen bustled with the usual rattling pans, sizzling ranges, and Thomason's occasional barked orders. But as you fell into the rhythm of deftly separating fat and sinew, the noises began to fade from your awareness.

You were completely focused on your knife work, confidently sawing through the tender flesh as you reduced the tenderloin down to portions and trimmings for other stations to further break down. It was meditative, almost hypnotic, the way you instinctively slid the blade along rendered paths of butchery.

After your initial intimidation of the intense Haus environment, you started to find your groove and calm amidst the choreographed insanity surrounding you. You were so laser-focused on the satisfaction of properly executing each slicing technique that the rest of the kitchen chaos became mere white noise.

You had no idea how long you stayed absorbed in the butchery, but eventually you became aware of a presence at your elbow. Glancing up, you nearly jumped to see Harry Styles watching you work with an unreadable expression, hands shoved into the pockets of his slim-fitting slacks.

His dress shirt was rolled up to his elbows and the fitted cotton fabric clung to his toned arms and chest, a few chest hairs peeking out of his slightly undone top button. A single necklace rested in the divot between his sculpted collarbones, drawing your eye to the alluring hollow of his throat as he swallowed hard.

You froze mid-slice, mesmerized by watching the tendons in Harry's wrist and forearm flex as his hands flexed restlessly in his trouser pockets. After a beat, his pillowy lips curved into an easy smile, crinkling the delicate crow's feet at the corners of his kaleidoscope green eyes.

"Afternoon," Harry said in that lazy, husky drawl that used to make millions of fans swoon. He flicked his eyes down to your handiwork before bringing them back up to your face. "Looking good there, newbie."

You blinked, not trusting your ears for a moment before realizing with a jolt that Harry was very much real and quite close. Like, unnecessarily close for your over-stimulated brain to handle.

"Uh...I-I, um...th-thank you?" you croaked out, wanting to cringe at how lame you sounded. Get it together, this wasn't the time to geek out–you instructed yourself.

But Harry didn't seem to notice your fumbling, simply giving you a dimpled half-smile before reaching around you to snag a stray piece of trimming from the butcher's block. He inspected it contemplatively before popping it into his mouth, those plump lips wrapping obscenely around the bite as he chewed and ruminated with relish.

"Perfection," he declared after swallowing, shooting you another crooked grin like you were co-conspirators sharing an inside joke. With a subtle wink, Harry pivoted on his boot heel and sauntered off, whistling a jaunty tune.

As he retreated, you risked a glance down at his form-fitting trousers shamelessly admiring the way the fine fabric cupped the ample curves of his pert backside. Even at his age, Harry Styles had the muscle-toned body of a man decades younger - long, lean muscles taut under golden tanned skin.

You blinked hard and shook your head, annoyed at catching yourself ogling your new boss like a drooling fangirl. Pull it together! This was totally inappropriate and unprofessional. You had zero business daydreaming about someone who gave you your paycheck, no matter how obscenely famous and heartthrob-ishly handsome they were.

Firmly re-focusing on your knife work, you determinedly put Harry from your mind and tried to re-immerse yourself in the rhythm and refuge of the butchery. But the memory of his distractingly lush mouth so close kept replaying over and over, preventing you from recapturing your previous sense of meditative flow.

Dammit, you needed to get a grip! This kind of inappropriate crush on your employer was exactly the kind of silly, immature behavior that would make you look like a unprofessional joke in a serious kitchen environment. Blowing an opportunity like this was not an option.

Later, as you untied your apron strings and joined the team in breaking down the last stations for cleaning at closing, Thomason sidled up alongside you. You braced yourself for more of his typical gruff rebukes or criticisms.

Instead, the veteran chef simply gave you a long, considered look before saying gruffly, "You did good work today, kid. I can already tell you got the stuff to handle it around here if you keep your head down."

You blinked up at him in surprise before managing a small smile. "Thank you, chef. I really appreciate that."

Thomason grunted noncommittally before wandering off, likely to oversee something else. As you tidied your workstation, you couldn't help feeling a small glow of pride. Despite the craziness of your first day, you had seemingly passed this initial trial with flying colors.

As you left through the back entrance into the quiet night air, you took a deep breath and allowed yourself a satisfied smile. Maybe, just maybe, you really did have what it took to succeed in this highly competitive environment after all. For tonight at least, you had handled the punishing pace and standards. Tomorrow was another day to prove yourself all over again.

***

Your day started before sunrise the next morning, brewing a strong coffee and reviewing the notes you had taken the previous evening about which menu items needed prepping. By the time you arrived at Haus, reinvigorated by the crisp morning air, the kitchen was already a hive of activity in preparation for lunch service.

The intense scrutiny under which you worked only amplified with the daylight. Every slice, every sauté was carried out under the watchful eyes of Chef Thomason and his steely gaze. More than once, you felt his presence looming over your shoulder, inspecting your work with the same critical eye as a diamond cutter examining a flawless gem.

"This slice is uneven," he barked, startling you. You flinched, resisting the urge to make excuses as he continued, "The portions all need to be identical for plating. Paying attention to details like that is the difference between a sloppy meal and a stellar one. Don't let it happen again."

"Yes, chef," you replied tightly, making a minor adjustment to your knife work. Though his words stung, you had to admit Thomason was completely right. In a restaurant of this caliber, any minor imperfection could spell disaster.

You redoubled your efforts, pouring all of your concentration into each preparation, each plate. By the time the end of your shift rolled around, you were drenched in sweat, your feet screaming from being on them for 12 hours straight. But you had successfully made it through day two without any major mishaps.

As the whirlwind of dinner service finally calmed to a stopping point, you stood in the kitchen obediently waiting for Thomason's inspection and inevitable critique. But to your surprise, he merely gave a curt nod of approval before waving you off.

"Not bad, newbie," he grunted. "Get a good night's rest. We'll need you back bright and early tomorrow."

Those few gruff words of acceptance warmed you more than any high praise could have. For Thomason, a man of very few words, his small nod seemed to indicate you were, for the moment, living up to his exceedingly high standards.

The high from that small victory buoyed your spirits as you made your way towards the back exit, already dreaming of the few hours of sleep you might be able to grab before starting the cycle over again. You were so wrapped up in your thoughts that you nearly bowled someone over coming around a corner.

"Whoa there!"

You froze, looking up into the grinning, mirthful eyes of Harry Styles himself. Up close, the force of his charm and magnetism practically crackled in the air around him like a physical force. His sweater clung distractingly to his lithe, muscular frame and his chestnut hair was casually tousled. A pair of small diamond studs glinted in each ear.

"Sorry about that, H-Harry," you stammered, resisting the urge to take a flustered step back. You were vividly aware of just how little physical space separated the two of you. "I wasn't watching where I was going."

If he noticed your frazzled state up close, Harry didn't let on. His pink lips merely curved in an easy, dimpled smile. "No need to apologize. I don't usually make a habit of lurking around blind corners, to be fair."

You laughed before you could stop yourself, surprised at how easily he was putting you at ease despite your elevated heart rate. Up close, Harry's eyes weren't just green - an entire kaleidoscope of colors ranging from jade to emerald to amber seemed to shift and dance in his gaze. It was...dazzling, frankly.

Clearing your throat, you forced yourself to take a subtle step backwards, putting a more professional amount of space between the two of you. The last thing you needed was to do something wildly inappropriate that would get you fired before the end of your first week.

"Still, I should have been paying better attention to my surroundings," you replied, aiming for a respectful, levelheaded tone. "It's been a really intense couple of days just trying to stay on top of everything."

Harry nodded in understanding, arching one perfectly sculpted brow. "Thomason hasn't let up on you at all, I take it?"

When you shook your head ruefully, he chuckled. "I know that seems like his permanent state - gruff, perpetually unsatisfied, and grumpy as a hibernating bear. But honestly, the fact that he hasn't fired you already is a good sign you're doing well."

You blinked at him in surprise. "Wait...really? But he critiques everything! I feel like I've gotten nothing but corrections so far."

"Exactly." Harry's dimples flashed as he grinned. "That's how you know he sees potential in you. If Thomason didn't think you had what it took, he wouldn't waste his breath giving feedback. He'd just cut you loose and hire someone else to start over."

His words were like a soothing balm on the anxiety and self-doubt you'd been carrying around for the past couple of days. You hadn't realized that Thomason's critical approach was actually a twisted form of acceptance and mentorship. The revelation caused the hard knot of tension between your shoulder blades to finally release.

"Huh," you exhaled, unable to stop the small smile tugging at your lips as you finally understood Thomason's tough love. "I guess I should take that as a compliment then."

"Absolutely," Harry agreed with an approving nod. Then his expression softened around the edges, growing earnest as his gaze searched yours. "Look, I know it's a huge adjustment and the pace here can be absolutely brutal starting out. But for what it's worth...I think you've got what it takes to be something really special in this kitchen."

You felt yourself flush at his unexpected praise, your stomach fluttering with a swarm of nervous butterflies. Harry held your eyes for a lingering moment before seeming to mentally collect himself.

Clearing his throat, he flashed you one more crooked grin. "But don't take my word for it - the proof will be in your work. Stay focused and trust the process. I've got faith you can handle it."

With that, he brushed past you, his shoulder grazing yours in a way that made your entire body buzz with friction. As Harry sauntered off down the hallway, you couldn't stop yourself from turning to watch his retreating form - the easy, rolling gait, the tantalizing sway of his hips below the slim cut of his trousers, the tousled waves of his chestnut hair.

You let out a shaky exhale, feeling off-balance and electrified all at once. Get a grip, you scolded yourself firmly. That was your boss - your incredibly famous, wealthy, and wildly attractive boss. Daydreaming was a one-way ticket to catching inappropriate feelings and potentially torpedoing your entire career before it even started.

And yet...you couldn't quite silence the part of your brain reliving Harry's velvet tone and intense eye contact as he professed having faith in your abilities. Just the casual warmth of his voice and proximity had set your heart pounding in a way it hadn't since you were a hormonal teenager, utterly dazzled by his rock star persona.

Shaking your head, you forced yourself to turn on your heel and head for the exit. Overthinking could only lead to dangerous territory. You needed to stay laser-focused on your work - that was the only way to succeed at Haus and make your culinary dreams a reality.

As you stepped out into the fresh evening air, you paused for a moment on the deserted back stoop, closing your eyes and taking a few centering breaths. When you opened them again, you felt the last fluttering tendrils of Harry's heated presence dissipate, replaced by a familiar sense of determined calm.

This job was your priority now, not silly schoolgirl crushes or indulging fantasies about your wildly unattainable boss. You knew better than to get distracted by daydreams that could only lead to self-sabotage.

With a decisive nod, you strode towards your car with renewed focus. You would prove yourself at Haus through your skills and work ethic alone. No other agenda, no unprofessional entanglements allowed.

Your passion was cuisine, creating nourishing dishes that delighted - that had to remain your sole priority. You couldn't afford any distractions from that lest you squander this incredible opportunity. Steadying your breathing, you looked forward with fresh clarity and resolve.

Tomorrow was a new day to earn your place in Harry's formidable kitchen. And this time, you vowed, you were utterly prepared to meet the challenge with your complete and undivided focus.

♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡

tell me if you like this! this is an idea for a new series that will probably have 6 parts??? i guess. but do tell me if you like it! because there's no use in writing when nobody reads 😭😭

feedback | masterlist

taglist: @freedomfireflies @gurugirl @thechaoticjoy @styleslover-1994 @gem1712 @ellaorchard @bxbyysstuff @opheliaofficial07 @rafaaoli

@tchlamqtsgf @the-mouse27 @indierockgirrl @vrittivsanghavi @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @drewrry @me-undiscovered @tbsloneely @whoreonmondays @kathb59 @avalentina @kittenhere @speedywritingharrystylesjudge

@mypolicemanharryyy @theendx888 @ladscarlett @daphnesutton @youcan-nolonger-run @prettythingsworld @chesthairrry @becauseheartsgetbroken-hs @hisparentsgallerryy @harryhitties @storyschanging @selluequestrian @islakp217 @swiftmendeshoran @princessaxoxo @tenaciousperfectionunknown @hermoinelove @chronicallybubbly @angeldavis777

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acti-veg · 2 months ago

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I’ve been admiring the success of animal agriculture industry shills on this platform for a while now, so I’d like to share my own price list for any potential interested parties:

£5: I will pretend that I own a leather coat passed down in my family since WWI.

£12: I will forget that any other materials exist besides leather, wool and plastic. For an extra £2, I’ll also shame some poor people who can’t afford to buy animal fabrics in the process.

£15: I will (with a straight face) claim that I only eat cheeseburgers because some indigenous people have to hunt to survive. Alternatively, I can claim that food deserts are the reason I eat meat, despite me not living anywhere near one.

£20: I will weaponise whatever social justice issue is in vogue at the time. I can pretend I believe quinoa is picked by child slaves, vegans eating soy is responsible for deforestation, or that the mere suggestion that animals should have rights is racist or ableist. Enough people who also secretly feel bad about not being vegan will share it uncritically that it’ll drown out anyone offering a sensible rebuttal.

£30: While professing to be a leftist, I will abandon all of my existing anti-capitalist values as soon as animal agriculture is mentioned, and argue for a level of trust in corporate entities that would make a Republican blush. When questioned about this inconsistency, I’ll silence my critics up by asking them if they’ve ever worked on a farm. The fact that I haven’t either will hopefully never come up.

£50: I will make a series of claims about how vegans are destroying the environment. I will make sure these posts appear in the vegan tag, then react with shock and fury when vegans respond to it. I will not be asked for a source, but if I am, I will respond with a 1989 study published in Big Beef Magazine, while insisting on an impossible burden of proof for anyone trying to disprove my claims. No one will question this.

£100: I’ll pretend that I think that veganism is only for rich, white, able-bodied people. When people who don’t fit that stereotype tell me I’m erasing them, I will ignore and/or block them. I’ll have to also pretend that I think beef is less expensive than rice, beans or lentils. When someone calls me out on this, I’ll just move goal the goalposts and start ranting about how not everyone has time to cook. I’ll need another £5 to forget how to read every time someone quotes the Vegan Society definition at me.

Anyway please get back to me if you’re interested; we’ve started pretending fur is sustainable now too so I’ve got my eye on a humane (lmao) mink coat. Chat soon my problematic faves, as a huge lover of leather it would be a genuine pleasure to lick your boot.

#my prices may be too low but we’ll let the market decide #vegan #anti-vegans #humour #satire #original

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dixons-sunshine · 1 year ago

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hiiii, i was wondering if u could do more with daryl x ex popstar reader ? it’s ok if not but take ur time <333 i love ur work 🫶

Daryl Dixon x Former!Celebrity!Fem!Reader Headcannons

Word count: 573.

A/n: Headcannons based on this fic I wrote. I didn't have any ideas on how to write a part two, so I made headcannons instead. I hope you like it!

➳༻❀✿❀༺➳

★ Daryl saw you around the quarry long before he actually met you.

★ He could see how everyone bestowed privileges on you, giving you extra food, extra water, etc. However, he didn't have the faintest clue why they did that. And he didn't ask why, either.

★ He didn't emerse himself in pop culture, so he had no idea who you were.

★ Merle definitely tried to shoot his shot with you multiple times, seeing as you were one of the many women's who's magazine photos he used to, ahem, do things to.

★ Surprise, surprise, you rejected him each time.

★ After Daryl officially met you and Merle revealed to him that you were famous before the outbreak, he tried to distance himself from you.

★ However, you were dead set on befriending him, and in the end, he couldn't resist anymore.

★ The first time Daryl ever realized that he had romantic feelings for you was when you were in the CDC.

★ You and your daughter shared a room with him that night, and both of you insisted he play a game of Uno with you after you found a pack of Uno cards.

★ The two of you continued playing the game long after your daughter eventually went to bed, and made the game more interesting by adding alcohol to the mix—everytime somebody had to pick up due to a +2 or +4, they had to drink as well.

★ Daryl had never felt that relaxed in his life, and while the alcohol was slowly fogging up his mind, he thought to himself that you were the most perfect woman he's ever met.

★ That thought had sobered him up, and he realized that he saw you in a way that friends shouldn't.

★ The first time the two of you ever shared a kiss was at the prison.

★ He had just returned from the woods with Merle and you were rightfully pissed at him.

★ During an argument, you had unexpectedly grabbed him by the front of his vest and pulled him into a kiss, effectively ending the argument.

★ The two of you never officially established your relationship. The two of you just simply were together after that.

★ Your daughter absolutely adores Daryl.

★ Her and Daryl have an unbreakable bond.

★ He teaches her everything he knows, and she absorbs everything he says.

★ Because of him, she was able to help find food during those eight months on the road after the farm fell.

★ The first time she ever called him "dad" was when the two of you reunited with him after Terminus.

★ The two of you had managed to get out with Tyreese, and you had been with him and Carol when the others were trapped in Terminus.

★ While Rick and Carol ran to Judith, and Sasha ran to Tyreese, Daryl had dropped his crossbow and ran straight for you and Nicolette.

★ It was nearly impossible to tear the three of you from each other's arms. You all clung to each other for dear life, shedding tears of happiness and relief.

★ Without really thinking about it, she had accidentally called him dad.

★ “I missed you, Dad.”

★ Daryl was stunned, but he had shared a small smile with you, happiness overtaking his being.

★ “I missed ya too, Nic.”

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ceeplays · 2 years ago

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Favorite Mods for Better Pets:

...aaand I'm back! ☀︎ It's been such a busy summer for me, but I've been wanting to post this list for several weeks now. So happy I'm finally getting the chance to sit down and put this together for y'all. One aspect of the game I'm always looking to improve with mods and cc is our sims pets, and now with the addition of horses, even more so. So, here's a list of my favorite mods and cc for all animals in the game (there's even a mod for your bees!). As always, thanks to all the creators and I hope you all enjoy.

More info and download links below the cut.

Gameplay Mods:

Selectable Pets by CharityCodes

Bathe Pets in Sink by Szemoka

Pet Care Activities by @adeepindigo

My Pets by @littlemssam

Anti-Fear Training for Pets by @littlemssam

Better Farm Animals by @littlemssam

Better Saddle Control by @littlemssam

Calm Bees by @littlemssam

Check Horse Skills by @littlemssam

Check Pets Needs by @littlemssam

Dog Walking Service by @littlemssam

Go For A Walk With Cats by @littlemssam

Go For A Walk With More Pets by @littlemssam

Kids Go For A Walk With Dogs by @littlemssam

Lead Horse by @littlemssam

Longer Pet Naps by @littlemssam

No Spoiling Dried Animal Food by @littlemssam

Special Paddock Gate by @littlemssam

Boarding Stable Lot Trait by Flauschtrud

Animal Shelter Lot Trait by KiaraSims4Mods

Default Replacements/Overrides:

Pequichor Horse Eyes by @rheallsim

Mirror Mirror Horse Eyes by @doptera-ts4

Dolce Eyes for All Animals by @wrixie

Under Your Spell Horse Ranch Animal Eyes by @incandescentsims

Daydreamin' Horse Ranch Animal Eyes by @nolan-sims

Smaller Eyes + Eye Geom Fix for Horses by @objuct

Goat Retexture by @blue-ancolia

Rabbit Retexture by @blue-ancolia

Horse Skin by @minervamagicka

Horse Skin by @nesurii

Adoption Pet Carrier Override by @largetaytertots

Pet Leash Override by @largetaytertots

Pet Leash Override by @diabolicalsims

Pet Treats Override by @diabolicalsims

Pet Brush Override by @diabolicalsims

Horse Trailer Made Functional by SassandFreckles

BUILD/BUY Favorites:

Animal Shed Recolors by @beansbuilds

Horse Food Bags by @cath-cc

Horse Countdown Set by @objuct

Cottage Dreams Collection by @miikocc

Toddler Pillow Pet Beds by @diabolicalsims

Pet Toys by @diabolicalsims

Vet Waiting Room Magazines by @diabolicalsims

The Petit Cheval Set by @syboubou

Veterinary Clinic Set by @syboubou

Ultimutt Indoor Potty Pad by @ravasheencc

Muttropolitan Pet Clutter by @ravasheencc

Purrfect Pet Clutter by @ravasheencc

Meowdern Pet Clutter by @ravasheencc

Carousel Cat Bed by @pixelvibes

Chicken Cat Bed by @pixelvibes

Paw Love by @leosims4cc

Western Set by @leosims4cc

Natural Colored Horse Balls by SassandFreckles

CAS Favorites:

Stuff for Dapper Dogs by @sforzcc

Stuff for Cranky Cats by @sforzcc

Service Cat Vest by Sturmfalke

Service Dog Vest by Sturmfalke

The end! ♡

#ceeplays #ceesfinds #ts4 cc finds #ts4 mods #ts4 resources

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doomsayersunited · 9 months ago

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A Decade Of Doom!

I started this blog ten years ago to compile the growing evidence that our planet would not longer be able to sustain human life by 2050, thanks to our continued, capitalist-fueled efforts to destroy all the systems we rely upon to sustain life. The first thing I put up here was this essay, on February 20, 2014. Now, a decade later, I thought it might be "fun" to look at what's changed: 1) Earth Overshoot Day

In 2014, "Earth Overshoot Day" (the day that humanity collectively consumes more resources from nature than it can regenerate over a year) was August 19th. Now, in 2024, Earth Overshoot Day is August 1st, 2.5 weeks earlier. At this rate and assuming things don't accelerate (even though they are likely to), Earth Overshoot Day will be around June 17th by 2050. 2) Biocapacity Biocapacity is the amount of resources contained on the planet required available to sustain life, measured by area. In 2014, I calculated that the planet had a biocapacity of 1.7 hectares per person. By dividing the total available biocapacity today in 2024 with the current global population as I did then, it now appears that there are just 1.5 hectares of planetary resources left per person to extract all the materials needed to sustain life, as well as all the area available to dispose of waste. That's a 12% loss over ten years. At that rate, we can expect to lose another 30% of biocapacity by 2050, going down to just 1.05 hectares per person by then, and that's assuming that the rate of biocapacity loss does not accelerate further and that the global population suddenly stops increasing after a run of non-stop increases spanning five centuries. Oh, also a reminder that the average human requires 2.7 hectares of land to sustain its current consumption habits/levels. So. 3) Individual Conservation To illustrate the futility of individual conservation at this point in the apocalypse, let me give you an example: If you were: a fully-vegan localvore living in a one-bedroom apartment with nine other people and using 100% renewably-generated electricity; who did not ever use motorized transportation of any kind or buy new clothing, furnishings, electronics, books, magazines, or newspapers and recycled all the waste you generated that was recyclable, you'd only require 1.4 hectares of biocapacity to sustain yourself. That is close to the kind of lifestyle extremism it would take to live sustainably. Deviate from that level of stoicism even slightly (say by living in a two-bedroom apartment with three other people instead of a one-bedroom apartment with nine other people and taking a single, four-hour roundtrip flight, once a year) and you're now consuming 1.6 hectares of biocapacity, which means you're using more resources than the world has available for you if everything was divided evenly among everybody. Of course, biocapacity, like all resources, are not divvied up evenly among everybody, which is why there are currently 114 different armed conflicts happening worldwide - the highest number of armed conflicts since 1946. 2023 was the most violent year in the last three decades. 4) Other Signs Of The End Times In my 2014 essay, I referenced the work of geologist Dr. Evan Fraser, who studies civilization collapse. In his book Empires of Food, Dr. Fraser noted common signs of a civilization about to collapse, which began to appear about two decades before it all goes completely to hell. Those signs were: -a rapidly-increasing and rapidly-urbanizing population We've added 700 million people to the planet since I began this blog in 2014. And where is everyone moving to?

-farmers increasingly specializing in just a small number of crops " "As farm ecosystems have been simplified, so too are the organisms that populate the farm. A farm that specializes in a limited number of crops in short rotations does not, for example, look for plant varieties that do well in more complex rotations with intercropping. A beef feedlot operation wants breeds that gain weight quickly on grain diets and does not want cattle breeds that digest well pasture grasses and thrive in all year outdoor environments on the range." The result? Recent estimates put the loss of global food diversity over the last 100 years at 75%. Over the 300,000 species of edible plants that exist, humans only consume about 200 of them in notable quantities, with 90% of crop plants not being grown commercially. -endemic soil erosion Climate change and the need to raise more crops have combined to increase the rate of agricultural soil erosion globally. Back in 2014, when I started blogging about the end of everything, the UN had already determined that there was only enough fertile soil left to plant 60 more annual crops. So, by 2074, we won't be able to grow food, full stop. This of course comes at a time when the global population continues to increase, and with it the need to grow more food. If projections are accurate, we will need to increase food production by 50% over the next three decades to feed everyone. -a dramatic increase in the cost of food and raw materials When I started this blog in 2014, I noted that 2011-2013 had seen the highest food prices on record. So what's happened since then?

It's important to point out here that the current food price spike started in 2020, so if Dr. Fraser's calculations are correct, the food system will collapse sometime around 2034, taking civilization with it. I closed my debut essay on this blog with a quote from the (now deceased) climate scientist Dr. James Lovelock, who advised a Guardian journalist to "enjoy life while you can. Because if you're lucky it's going to be 20 years before it hits the fan." That interview was published in 2008. We have four years left to enjoy.

#doomsday #human extinction #apocalypse #climate change #global warming #capitalism #civilization collapse

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vintage-tech · 1 month ago

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Science is an interesting thing... Wikipedia says:

Warfarin first came into large-scale commercial use in 1948 as a rat poison. It was formally approved as a medication to treat blood clots in humans by the U.S. Food and Drug Administration in 1954. In 1955, warfarin's reputation as a safe and acceptable treatment for coronary artery disease, arterial plaques, and ischemic strokes was bolstered when President Dwight D. Eisenhower was treated with warfarin following a highly publicized heart attack. It is on the World Health Organization's List of Essential Medicines. Warfarin is available as a generic medication and is sold under many brand names. In 2022, it was the 85th most commonly prescribed medication in the United States, with more than 8 million prescriptions.

The rat poison ad is from the monthly farm magazine Country Gentleman, December 1954. The medical reference is from Google.

#technology #vintage #1950s #medicine #rodenticide #it's both!

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drmaddict · 1 year ago

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Spooky Girl

Summary: Ghost, Soap, Rudy and König have a girlfriend who just likes things, that are a bit spooky. (Just a few little scenes that my brain spit out.)

Wordcount: 2.497

Ghost

"Are you growing your hair out, L.T.?" Johnny laughed and flicked Simon's wrist.

Simon reacted as expected. Not at all. He stared at Johnny motionlessly.

"Fits the look, after all.", the sergeant winked at him.

Simon rolled his eyes and pulled his sleeve over the hairband on his wrist.

Johnny continued to grin. "My sisters say these scrunchies are best for the hair. There's less friction. So no split ends."

Simon continued to stare at him.

"Are you going to tell me why you've got that thing on?", he grumbled.

"No.", was Simon's simple answer before he turned back to his food. It was nobody's business. (Y/n) was nobody's business, or what was between them. It was still too fresh anyway. This was his first mission since they had met. He wasn't sure what to make of this relationship yet. He liked her. It wasn't because of that. He was just too used to being alone. It scared him. His therapist would probably have found a bigger, more important-sounding word for his emotions, but fear seemed appropriate enough to Simon.

She was weird. He was weird too. He had started to like the weirdness. He was probably too old for her. Maybe he wasn't. He'd never been in a relationship. He'd never had to discuss the fact that his hoodies were actually HIS hoodies until a few months ago. She had only told him that they were hers now, as if that was the most normal thing in the world. But she looked really cute in them. She'd beamed at him when he'd unceremoniously thrown three of his hoodies on her bed.

"Until I get back.", he'd mumbled.

She had then pulled her hairband off her head and put it around his wrist. The black satin with the little skulls on it was soft and had immediately clung to his skin.

"So that you'll really come back.", she had said and kissed him on the forehead.

"Always.", he had mumbled.

"Who is she?" Johnny asked him directly. He looked at him with gentle playfulness.

Simon snapped out of his memory. He looked into his friend's blue eyes. "You don't trust me with a 'he'?", he grinned under his mask.

"Well then HE definitely has long hair."

Simon shook his head in amusement. "A little one from home. It's still fresh."

"Photo?", Johnny continued to grin.

Simon shook his head.

"Oh come on!"

"No Johnny."

Johnny looked at him like a petulant puppy. "At least describe her.", he sulked.

Simon sighed and rummaged for a small photo in his pocket. The boy wouldn't stop anyway. He plonked it in front of the sergent and stared at it.

Johnny stared at the photo. "A goth chick?" Johnny reached for the photo, but Simon immediately pulled it back to him and put it away. Johnny looked at him in surprise. "Hot.", he grinned.

Simon just grumbled.

"Yes, I get it. I can see it. You fit together."

Another grumble.

Johnny grinned like an idiot.

"What?", Simon snapped at him.

"Does she have a friend?"

Simon just rolled his eyes. His cell phone buzzed.

A message from (Y/n). When he opened the message history, he saw a picture of a rabbit skull.

'For your collection?' it said underneath.

Simon looked at the picture. He had been glad, that she didn't see his little hobby as disgusting. But that she was now also participating in it. It was a beautiful bone. Completely intact.

'Beautiful. Where did you get it?‘

'Judas picked it up on our walk.‘

Judas was her dog. A stubborn but tough creature. It was probably her type.

'Put it on the ant farm. I'll bleach him when I come back next week.‘

'The three of us are waiting for you. ;)'

When he looked up again, Johnny was still grinning at him.

"The little one really has you wrapped around her finger."

Simon just raised an eyebrow.

"Good for you L.T."

Simon grumbled in agreement.

Soap

"What magazine did you cut that out of?" Kyle laughed.

Soap pulled off his boots. "Huh?" he groaned and looked at his friend.

Kyle pointed to Johnny's locker page and the photo hanging in it.

Johnny followed Kyle's suggestion with his gaze and immediately furrowed his eyebrows. "That's my girlfriend you douche!"

"That's never your girlfriend! She's far too pretty... Apart from the fetish make-up."

Johnny threw his boot at Gaz. "Don't talk about my girl like that!", he growled.

Gaz raised his hands defensively. A grin stretched across his face. "Oh come on."

Johnny continued to scowl at him. Simon came into the changing room and looked at them both wordlessly. Without another comment, he went to his locker.

"How can you always train with that thing on your head?", Johnny asked him.

"Habit.", came the curt reply.

Johnny rolled his eyes as Gaz clapped his hands with a laugh. "So you've got a type!"

Johnny looked at him in confusion. Simon paid him no attention at all.

"Dark and intimidating," Garrick winked at him and nodded towards Simon.

Johnny followed his gaze and a blush immediately appeared on his cheeks.

"I don't have a type!", he barked.

Gaz chuckled in amusement. "Sure."

Simon slammed his locker shut conspicuously loudly and disappeared just as wordlessly as he had come.

The two of them looked after him.

"She's very different from him.", Johnny grumbled immediately.

"Is she?"

"Yes, she's very reserved, but when you get to know her better, she's really funny. She likes to tell jokes, you know? Even if she's more into dark humor. And she likes her order, but accepts my chaos and she's not immediately put off by my job. Well, she goes to therapy, but she's actually really tough."

"Where did you two meet?"

"At a shooting range for my brother-in-law's stag party. She's really amazing. She could almost be a sniper and..." Johnny eyes widened.

Gaz grinned knowingly.

"Oh God! I'm dating L.T.!" Johnny exclaimed, overwhelmed.

"Really, how did you notice?"

Johnny threw his second boot at him. "What if I'm just trying to replace something with her?", he asked anxiously.

Now Gaz looked at him, confused. "What now?"

"Well... What if I subconsciously just saw her as a replacement. God I'm such an asshole."

"How many times did you try to enroll before you were finally eighteen?", Gaz asked him firmly.

"I stopped counting. What's that got to do with it?"

Gaz shrugged his shoulders. "You're nuts, but you know what you want. You've never accepted an alternative before."

Johnny looked at the photo in the locker. "No I never have."

Gaz nodded. "You clearly have a thing for mentally unstable Halloween decorations, but that doesn't mean you only want the girl as a substitute."

Johnny nodded. "Yeah, you're right. She's really great, you know?"

Gaz grinned. "I'll take your word for it."

"She always makes chocolate muffins, that look like the little coal men from Chihiro.", Johnny smiled at the photo. "And she can cook! I really put some weight on the last time, I was with her. It's almost like the good old times at grandmas.", he grinned to himself. "Even if it scares me a little, how relaxed she is with the house ghost."

"Please what??" Gaz blinked at him in surprise.

"The house ghost. She calls him Edgar. After the guy who built the house. She bought this old victorian house and at night you can always hear the back door banging open and shut and someone running up and down the stairs. But never up to the top floor. That was built on later. I nearly wet my pants the first night, when I went to see what was going on and this gigantic mirror fell on me. The thing was secured with six sturdy wall anchors! SIX! Well, I didn't set foot in the house for two weeks after that, but she says she's negotiating a deal."

Gaz looked at him with horror in his eyes.

Johnny shrugged his shoulders. "I'm used to it by now. But the noise is a bit annoying."

Gaz gave him a forced smile. "You see. You don't have anything like that with Ghost... No ghosts with Ghost."

Rudy

He was sitting in his small kitchen with Alejandro, listening to everything about Ale's last date, until they were interrupted by a loud noise.

Ale flinched in surprise and looked at the kitchen counter behind him. Rudy immediately ran to the counter and grabbed a cell phone. He wiped the green icon across the display and held it to his ear.

"(Y/n)s phone. Rodolfo on the line. - Yes, you forgot it here. - No, no problem. - Good. See you in a minute."

He placed the device on the kitchen table and looked into Alejandro's shocked face. "What? Was? That?"

"(Y/n) left her cell phone."

Ale looked at him like he was stupid. "What was that sound?"

"Her ringtone?" Rudy replied hesitantly. "Yeah... Her taste in music is a bit... special," he admitted, looking at the device again.

"A bit? It sounded like a pig had been tormented.", Alejandro said indignantly.

Rudy grinned. "Somehow that relaxes her." He rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed. "I think the band was called... I can't remember. Lorna something."

Ale looked at him skeptically. "Wait. Is she coming over? I can finally see the mystery (y/n) with my own eyes?"

Rudy sighed. "Be nice, please."

"I'm always nice."

"Hmph."

Ale gave him an annoyed look. "I'll pull myself together."

"No subliminal threats.", Rudy stated firmly.

Alejandro started to speak, but didn't get the chance.

"And certainly no direct ones!"

The colonel fell back against the back of his chair, annoyed. It wasn't as if he had no manners. If anything, some even found his temperament attractive.

"Fine," he grumbled.

Rudy nodded in satisfaction as he heard the front door open.

"Hey." (Y/n) called down the small hallway.

Rudy stood up and walked towards her.

Alejandro didn't know what he had expected, but somehow he had always imagined her... pinker.

When Rudy spoke of his girlfriend, it sounded like he was talking about the sweetest creature on earth, who couldn't hurt a soul. Alejandro had envisioned a girl in a summer dress with pink lipgloss kissing Rudy on the cheek.

What he saw was a girl dressed in black. Transparent cut-outs, heavy boots and various buckles adorned her body.

Her lips, which Alejandro had always imagined to be pink, were painted black, just like her eyes.

She gave Rudy a quick kiss on the lips. "Sorry, I'm only here for a moment. Sofia got tickets for a concert today. I'd rather not ask how. Oh hi!"

She waved to Alejandro.

"This is Alejandro." Rudy introduced him.

He waved at (Y/n), overwhelmed.

"I'm (Y/n)." she replied quickly.

"You sure?" asked Ale before he could stop himself.

Rudy immediately gave him a warning look before turning back to (Y/n). "Be careful."

She kissed him again on the tip of his nose. "I'll text you when I get home. Bey Alejandro!" she called out and was already gone again.

Alejandro looked dully into the hallway. Rudy looked back with a raised eyebrow.

"Well I didn't expect THAT.", Alejandro said.

Rudy sighed.

"Oh come on! You described a lamb!" He threw his hands up in the air dramatically. "Not a little vampire. No matter how cute she seems to be."

Rudy sighed devotedly and sat down at the table.

"She's just like I told you."

"So... a black lamb?"

The corners of Rudy's mouth twitched. "Yes. That fits."

"To get back to the, let's call it 'music'."

"I don't get it either.", Rudy smiled with amusement.

König

"Little bat?" König asked his girlfriend cautiously. She was sitting in one of his shirts next to his legs in front of the couch, looking thoughtfully at her puzzle, while the movie of her choice was playing on TV.

"Yes Bear?" she asked without looking up.

His eyes darted to the television at a particularly organic sound, before quickly settling back on her.

"Um... I know I said 'My job is war and I can take more than nornal humans'."

(Y/n) looked up and grinned mockingly.

"But I admit that your warning was probably... justified."

She grinned at him openly. "No (y/n)! I've seen and done things-"

"All right!" he interrupted her. A woman on the television screamed. "Is this girl still alive?" he asked in disgust.

(Y/n) pressed a button on the remote control and the movie stopped.

"There's no way anyone could survive something like that," he huffed.

His little bat just took a sip of his coffee. "The lore is, that Art keeps someone alive ,until he's satisfied. He decides when you die."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"It's horror. It's not supposed to make sense." She patted his gigantic thigh. "You held out very well, but you dropped out of the movie. You lost the bet. You have to order today.", she smiled mischievously.

He grumbled and reached for the tablet.

"No! You have to call! That was the bet."

He looked murderously at the phone. He hated ordering food. Which made no sense, considering his job and his career in it. He was a grown man. He made most people afraid, but still. These everyday situations weren't exactly easy for him. It wasn't like it used to be, but it would never be normal either. Nobody had to like him in his job. No one expected him to be polite. In the real world, there were all these rules and unspoken regulations.

"Like always?" he asked her. She just nodded and went back to looking at her puzzle.

Sometimes it was funny. They both weren't the most confident when it came to social interaction, even though the world always thought they should be. Him because of his body. Her because of her look.

They had started making bets. The loser had to make phone calls or tell the waiter in the restaurant that the food was going back.

He ordered the pizza and felt (Y/n) put a hand on his knee. He had started wiggling his legs again. A habit that had always upset his mother. She stroked his knee with her thumb and he brought his limbs back to rest. With a sigh, he tossed the cell phone towards the pillow. It was nice that he didn't feel any anxiety with her. It was nice to have someone who gave him the space to find peace.

"What kind of picture is this going to be?", he asked her, stroking her hair and looking at the dark puzzle.

"Blackness."

"Blackness?"

"Yes. It's just black." She grinned.

"Why?"

"Because we as humans like to play God. The nice thing is... There's a reference picture."

He grinned. He loved how she was amused by little things like that. He loved his little bat. Her and her bloody pointless puzzle.

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world-of-wales · 1 month ago

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What are your thoughts on this new public persona of Meghan's?

I have been thinking about this a lot yk? Especially after the show trailer dropped. I don't blame her for trying to get into the lifestyle influencing shtick, despite all my thoughts on her and her career trajectory, the tig was quite possibly the most steady piece of work she had pre harry. So, it makes sense that she'd like to go back to that. I mean there's only a few chances that you can milk 2 years of ur life that you spent in the UK. Logically she would have had to pivot to a different strategy, and this is her doing that.

But the thing is, I don't think she or her team realise is that this whole thing is not new, people have seen this formula already from different people across both sides of the Atlantic. And they saw it years ago. It's like she's permanently frozen in the early 2000s era and is trying to emulate that. Yes, people used to like lifestyle shows and maybe some people still do, but you would be naive to think this is the type of content they want to consume in 2025. There's been a complete shift in the narrative surrounding them.

For instance, take the aspect of wealth, these aspirational lifestyle shows/blogs etc enjoyed a lot more popularity pre-social media. And a lot of it had to do with the fact that there wasn't much public discourse over how it's just the rich showing off their lives to us all regular people. At most, you would get one opinion piece in some magazine or somewhere about how these shows are not it. But that was about it. Now, post social media, people have a proper channel that they can use to express their criticism of all this. And they do it too. There's a very anti-rich movement brewing on the surface, and you can easily see it. People don't want to see you try and show them how you are living a picture perfect life and telling them how they should be aspiring to live theirs, when they are completely detached from what you are showing due to circumstances.

Across the globe there's a cost of living crisis, food inflation is at an all time high. People are unable to buy the basic necessities of life. Water and electricity bills have skyrocketed. People, especially the younger generation cannot even fathom investing in their own homes as the costs of real estate/home loans etc etc, are too much to bear. Healthcare systems are overshot, just look at the USA, whose audience this show is primarily targeting - you just had a Luigi Mangione. People are being pushed below the poverty line every day.

Fresh produce is a luxury now and there's no denying that fact and we already are seeing it being portrayed as an aspirational item signifying oppulence and wealth. Just look that photoshoot Hailey beiber did, the kardashian fam has been having these parties with all those fruits as decor, one of them even posted a photo with cut oranges in a flower bouquet. And people can try to deny all this, but the fact of the matter is that just as things start going above the reach of regular people they are co-opted by the rich and high class to show off their wealth and living standards.

In this climate a very very rich woman, a royal essentially for all means and purposes, put out this show about how -

she uses all this organic produce (which is one of the most expensive product categories already), People cannot afford all this rn,

has all these beekeeping, chickens etc etc to source all the things she uses (animal farming across the world has been rising in costs, just these past 3 days I have been interviewing farmers in areas bordering india's national capital and all of them even the bigger players have had things to say about how their costs have risen dramatically when it comes to the animals and their care, while profits are going down the drain because of corporations) I took this photo on Thursday on the drive back home.

When she goes and harvests her own veggies, etc, she forgets that there's a farm crisis going on, not just in the developing world but also in the developed states. Farmers are just not able to sustain themselves with the income they have. And suicides among them have risen by a huge margin. She is trying to project their situation as very glamorous without putting in any thoughts of the ground reality. This is a hobby for her, but it's a very bitter reality that countless people suffer from due to apathy from everyone, including their governments. Farmers have had very visible movements across the world these past few years, trying to get their concerns addressed and still continue to do that.

This show looks to me like nothing except a personal ego trip of somebody who's unable to grasp the simple fact that nobody in the real world can relate to this or think about this kind of life at all. Tone-deafness has always been a primary characteristic of the way the sux potray their problems, but this takes the cake. It's the sheer lack of sensitivity and glamorization of an extravagant life that nobody can afford & the disconnect between it and the real world realities is what gets me. She isn't being an authentic, this is my true self person with this show. It's contrived disingenuous slop for me that's just been made for the rich by the rich.

There's a lot more I want to say, but this is already so long that I'll stop here.

#ash's asks #anons #sux

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ronqueesha · 12 days ago

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It's Warhammer facts time!

The food most commonly eaten by Imperial citizens is corn. Regular, average sweet corn that we eat IRL, in all its different forms. It's one of the few plants that survived the destruction of Terra's ecology, largely thanks to how it can grow almost anywhere. It's been a staple of offworld human colonies since humanity first colonized the stars tens of thousands of years ago.

Agri-worlds are planets that have had the majority of their landmass flattened into continent-sized agricultural fields. The Imperium uses these endless fields to ship food to all the hungry planets of the galaxy. Of course, this is the Imperium we're talking about. They do not practice sustainable farming on a planetary scale. Every single Agri-world is eventually doomed to have its soil collapse from over-production. Many inhospitable and barren planet that has some tiny shred of human population living on it were once agri-worlds that were farmed to death.

The meat that MOST people eat, if they're lucky, is grox meat. Groxes are large lizards that have been domesticated and bred on agri-worlds in countless number. Like corn, they can live just about anywhere, so are perfect to be shipped to any part of the galaxy.

Corpse Starch is a bit of a meme because it's not REALLY eaten by that many people in the galaxy. Only the truly desperate and downtrodden citizens in the worst hive cities have eaten it. And is often used as an emergency food ration for soldiers when zero other supplies are available. As its name implies, corpse starch is the ground-up remains of dead people, processed into tasteless sludge packed into tin cans. Its whole existence is a meme referencing Soylent Green. In fact, corpse starch is also known as "soylent veridian" in some parts of the galaxy, if the reference wasn't blatant enough.

Games Workshop's official stance is that Warhammer 40k and Warhammer Fantasy/Age of Sigmar are completely separate universes with no real crossovers. This stance was a little different in the past, with lots of little cheeky references in old codexes and magazine articles. Such as the non-canon notion that the entire 40k galaxy is actually contained in a bottle on the shelf of a wizard's tower.

BUUUUUUT - ever since Doom Eternal came out, the stance seems to have followed a path similar to how the Doom franchise treats hell. There is only one warp, only one sea of souls that connects all life, and all life across multiverses. The four chaos gods are constant because they are the same four beings in the warp, although they are viewed by very different lenses depending on where an observer thinks of them. Their greatest daemons likewise can appear in any reality the gods wish them to be, though the daemons themselves are unaware of how they're being used as toys. That's why you can play as Skarbrand/Kairos/Kugath/Nkari in Total War Warhammer 3, and also have those daemons on the tabletop in a 40k game.

Likewise, there is a character with an identical name, design and backstory in both fantasy and 40k. Be'lakor was the first ever champion of chaos. From an ancient unknown land, he was the first to gain their favor, and was forever transformed into an immortal daemon prince with immense power. But the gods quickly realized they gave him too much power, and his ambition and evil proved a threat to their grand design. So Be'lakor has forever been cursed to be toyed with by the gods, his schemes for revenge and domination always thwarted. In Fantasy he was even forced to crown another person the everchosen, and watched that man literally destroy the world.

And if you like Richard Armitage's voice, he did the voice acting for Be'lakor in Total War Warhammer 3. Just saying.

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probablyasocialecologist · 9 months ago

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What differentiates the fragile and polluting farm economy we have today from one that regenerates the land while producing a diversity of food in an unstable climate? The fundamental difference between these two farm economies is that one is capital-intensive, while the other is management-intensive. A management-intensive operation is one in which the primary asset of the agricultural operation is the observation, engagement and intervention by farm workers.7 A management-intensive operation simply has far more farm worker engagement per acre than a capital-intensive operation. In a capital-intensive operation, the primary assets are capital investments acquired using loans from a bank, which are then utilized to operate at the greatest scale possible using as little labor as possible, with the goal of reducing production costs and maximizing profit through the achievement of economies of scale. Both management- and capital-intensive operations utilize labor and capital to achieve a yield. What differentiates them is the balance between labor and capital. Management-intensive farms tend to be smaller, as the importance of human observation and engagement acts as a natural barrier to developing scale. These smaller farms also tend to be more diverse, as crop rotation and the inclusion of animals are prioritized in order to maximize ecosystem health and to reduce inputs. A system of small, management-intensive farms working in a decentralized self-organizing network would mirror the resilience, productivity and diversity of an ecosystem that has been freed from industrial disturbance. What a healthy ecosystem demonstrates is that the most efficient means of cycling energy within a system is through a complex network of relationships between mutually beneficial organisms. It is resilient not just because it is diverse, but because it is a decentralized self-organizing system, wherein portions of the system are capable of functioning on their own should they be severed from the larger network. These are the features that we should be trying to replicate as we design a new agricultural economy. By orienting ourselves towards management-intensive operations, we would be doing just that.

#farming #agriculture #agroecology

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valley-of-headcanons · 10 months ago

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Could you maybe do headcanons of the bachelorettes with a farmer who gets lonely easily? If not all of them, then maybe just Emily, Leah, and Haley.

emily, haley, and leah x lonely!farmer || headcanons

loneliness is a rough battle, but these bachelorettes are here by your side <3

warnings: none really, takes place before dating

requested by: anon! hii, tysm for the request! i really enjoyed writing this one, i feel pretty lonely a lot of the time too. these lovely ladies sure can combat that shit tho! this is my first time really writing for emily and feeling kinda good about it, so there's that! hope you like it :)

emily

• Emily is not the most lonely person. She used to be, but she found solace within herself. She has her life in order, and she took charge! But, she does remember how she used to be. There once was a little girl who was nervous, who didn't know what to do with herself. But, she found it. And maybe she could find the solution to yours as well.

• When you opened up to her about everything, she tried her best to be understanding. She nodded along, thinking hard for a solution. She hummed, before hopping up for her chair. She raced to the other side of her room, grabbing a crystal. She plopped it into your palm, closing your fingers around it.

• “It's moonstone! It's used to combat loneliness! I know you're having a rough time right now, but I'm gonna help you through it as much as I can! This is just a stepping stone, and something you can use if you truly need it, but I'm gonna try and stop by more often. I'll check up on you once a day if I can, 'kay?”

• Emily would pop in at the most random times at the most random of occasions. Down at floor 20 of the mines? Emily would shout a little "hey!" at you from the ladder. In the cave of your farm? Emily would sneak up behind you and scare the daylights out of you. Chopping hardwood in the Secret Woods? Emily's sitting on a stump eating her lunch while waving at you. She made your life so much more interesting, and much less lonely.

• As you two start dating, her visits are a bit more frequent and usually come bearing gifts. Food she made for you, a small gemstone she thought you might find useful on your journey for the day, maybe just a flower she picked out of the ground she thought you might like. She wants you to feel her love and warmth, even in unconventional ways. Putting Emily and conventional in the same sentence is nearly impossible, and you can't get enough of it.

haley

• Haley seems like the kind of person to be a socialite. She's stereotypically beautiful, kind of mean, and looks like she'd be the life of the party! But there's not much of a "party" in Pelican Town. She feels a bit like an outcast, so when you open up to her about your loneliness, she can relate a lot.

• She is a great listener, opting to stay quiet while you talk about how lonely it gets on your farm. It's much different from the big city, in good ways and bad ways. Haley listens, filing her nails as she hums along to your problems. She nods, understanding what you mean completely.

• “Yeah, I get you. Me and you aren't so different, y'know. I have better style and much better taste, but ... maybe we could be lonely together ... or something like that- I don't know- like- ... like friends. That word is not something I use a lot, so be grateful! ... but if you're ever feeling lonely, I'm a call away. And I'll call you whenever I feel lonely. Deal?”

• Calling Haley became a daily ritual. If you were doing something time consuming yet boring on your farm, you'd dial her up and talk for a while. About a magazine she was reading, who she saw at the Saloon together, anything. She'd hate to admit it, but talking to you was the brightest part of every day. You were her safe space, away from all the loneliness of Pelican Town. She was yours, too.

• Eventually, you two start dating, and the loneliness has been brought down to a minimum. You two spend an enormous amount of time together, pretty much attached to the hip. Who else would you ever need? If you're ever feeling lonely, even with her, let her know. She'd do anything to make you feel more comfortable. You're changing her for the better.

leah

• Leah's cottage felt so far away from the rest of Pelican Town, so she definitely felt the loneliness you had brought up to her one day. She listened, nodding along and agreeing to pretty much every word you said. She tried thinking of solutions, wanting to fix the problem you both had. Maybe you two could help each other, in the long run.

• The idea struck her. What if you two just did things separately but together? Working alongside each other, not necessarily speaking, but enjoying each other's company. Maybe the time she spent carving her sculptures wouldn't feel as lonely.

• “I got an idea. Maybe you could start fishing by my cottage, and I could set up shop outside? So you wouldn't really be alone, but I wouldn't be bothering you. Doin' things together, but not together ... do you get me? I knew you would. I guess we're just on the same wavelength! Tomorrow, twelve o'clock? I'll see you there, farmer!”

• Almost everyday, you met with Leah. Twelve o'clock, sharp. You would sit by the river, fishing away, while Leah carved at her newest sculpture. You shared the peaceful scenery of the forest, enjoying the soothing sounds of the river beneath you. You slowly started sharing occasional words, which turned into endless conversations. Those conversations were the highlight of Leah's day, week, month, year, lifetime. She couldn't get enough of them.

• You didn't feel nearly as lonely once you started dating, as Leah would offer to work alongside you whenever she could. Of course, if you needed emotional support, she would put down her supplies and care for you. You mattered a lot to her, and she happily took your loneliness into her hands. She loved you and cared for you deeply, and for once in her life, she knew that you felt the same exact way. She would do anything for you.

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