#fish identification is very important

[ratatatastic]

can you tell gaber and davies both caught a remora on the cubbies fishing trip today 🤣🤣

Panthers Development Camp | 7.9.24 (x)(x)

[clannfearrunt]

Hi I'm spitting out biology (and a liiiiitle bit cultural) musings more of them. These guys are actually terrestrial holothurians (sea cucumbers). I'm putting my stonks into echinodermata we have to believe in their Powers to evolve new and exciting shapes.

The people who keep symbiotic fish in their tentacles call themselves Anemones, while the ones that reject the fish as parasites and wear shell-like hats over most of their tentacles call themselves Nautilus. In the modern day there is an increasing population of those who consider themselves neither of these things but due to the history of these two cultures there isn't a widely accepted colloquial name for the species as a whole.

They're not cnidarians so they don't possess stinging cells, but they produce a thick venomous mucous from their tentacles that causes paralysis and inflammation on contact for various other animals. They evolved as social ambush predators that would jump on their prey and slather this mucous over them to subdue them. Their ideal diet is like 60% meat and 30% fruits, with bonus whatever the fuck else they feel like eating as a treat.

The venomous mucous may have been what initially started the Nautiluses' practice of covering most of their tentacles, along with protection from the sun and aerial predators. They have a long history as a multi-species people, and keeping contact venom just exposed around your loved ones without resistance to it is just plain dangerous. These days it's more of a visual identification and religious thing though.

These guys don't have real eyes, but are covered in light sensing cells all across their skin. They have shit visual acuity and can't see very far, but they're usually aware of the general silhouette of large objects a few feet around them, and are sensitive to movement. The Anemones, at least, formed a symbiotic relationship with a species of amphibious fish partially due to them being able to see farther and with higher acuity and warn them of things they might not have picked up on by themselves.

There's a lot of in-universe debate over the exact intelligence of the clownfish, but the average seems to be kind of parrot-like, with occasional exceptionally intelligent, probably sapient individuals. They're hard to study, because they're usually extremely shy towards other people, plus Anemones tend to develop a very strong bond with their clowns that skews their perception of what their own fish is capable of. In the modern day the relationship between Anemones and their fish is largely religious rather than out of any real practical necessity; the Anemone religious hegemony considers these fish as one half of a full person, and places an extreme importance on maintaining this relationship. This is usually fine and what ever, but can place Anemones and clownfish alike into difficult situations when the relationship is unwanted or cannot be maintained properly for whatever reason. It's also the reason Anemones and Nautilus have historically considered themselves separate, often rival species; the presence of the clowns or lackthereof have been considered mutually repulsive and a sign of something being deeply Wrong about the other group.

Most terrestrial holothurians are small, trundling insectivores, but there is one large species these guys share a close evolutionary relationship with. The dropbear are solitary, arboreal ambush predators that used to share much of their range with Anemones, but are currently critically endangered in the wild. Anemones, with their very low visual acuity and poor sense of smell, have a very hard time distinguishing dropbears from members of their own species. It's thought the need to tell friend apart from foe is what drove them to develop complex vocal capabilities.

Side note the Example Anemone here is wearing an extremely hastily designed example of traditional Anemone accessories; they didn't have a nudity taboo and actually prefer to keep most of their skin uncovered so they can see, but they enjoyed wearing accessories with tactile or audible elements built into it. Beads were often placed so they'd click together when moving, and combined with knots in the cords were often arranged according to their traditional system of cord "writing" so that people could read each other's clothing.

These guys support themselves on land through an endoskeleton made up of a network of mesodermal ossicles and catch connective tissue. When threatened, they can dramatically loosen their skin and let a predator or perhaps a guy easily tear off whatever part of their body they've grabbed, allowing for an easy getaway with relatively easy wounds to regenerate. This easily gooped skeletal structure does make them very prone to fatigue though. It was fine, because they're ambush predators. They were just supposed to be sitting there most of the day. Please.

[yamayuandadu]

Sorry If i am bothering you but i want to know what role did the wilderness and its animals play in Mesopotamian mythology?

I like answering questions about Mesopotamia which indicate genuine interest, so no need to worry.

The most straightforward answer would be that the wilderness was generally perceived negatively (see ex. Wiggermann’s Scenes From the Shadow Side). The steppe in particular was usually portrayed as a place where one can get robbed at best and as the dwelling of ghosts, demons and the like - or just straight up the underworld -  at worst. The mountains were frequently viewed as a site of confrontations between gods and their opponents but more neutral or even positive portrayals pop up in literature too. It’s also important to note that the marshlands were viewed pretty firmly positively. As for wild animals: by far the best overview of Mesopotamian zoology is offered by Jeremiah Peterson in his dissertation A Study of Sumerian Faunal Conception with a Focus on the Terms Pertaining to the Order Testudines. Niek Veldhuis’ Religion, Literature, and Scholarship: the Sumerian Composition Nanše and the Birds, with a Catalogue of Sumerian Bird Names is really good too. There’s also quite recent Entomological Knowledge in Ancient Mesopotamia by Vazrick Nazari but you should bear in mind the author is an entomologist, not an assyriologist, so some sections are… less than reliable and sources as old as from the 19th century, and as questionable as Paropola’s phantasmagoric visions,  are employed once the focus shifts away from identification of insects.

More under the cut.

Animals were generally seen as an essential part of the world outside human dwellings. Positive comparisons to certain taxa - wild and domestic cattle and lions - are very common in myths, royal hymns, and other genres. The bovine analogies are so popular in Mesopotamian texts that even scorpions could be metaphorically described as a sort of bull.

Demonic traits could be attributed to some animals viewed as dangerous: snakes, scorpions and dogs in particular. Additionally, omen texts indicate that ants were seen as messengers of Ereshkigal, presumably because their burrowing lifestyle made the Mesopotamians assume they could move all the way down to the underground land of the dead. Finding ants while digging foundations for a new building was therefore an ill omen; seeing flying red ants above a house, meanwhile, was a sign the owner is at the risk of being killed. Due to such risks, behavior of ants was sometimes observed by religious specialists, and some of the namburbi protective rituals specifically deal with them. Locusts were a bad omen too, but that’s a given. On the other hand, moths were viewed as bringers of good omens.

Some deities were associated with the wilderness, and broadly with animals dwelling there. Most notable examples are Ninkilim (addressed as “lord of the creatures”; his name was at times confused with ninka, “mongoose”, leading to the development of the idea that he was a deified mongoose himself), Sumugan (though he was associated with domestic animals too) and to a smaller degree Numushda, arguably. Ennugi, a minor courtier of Enlil, could be addressed as the creator of grubs, though a similar role is also attested for the mythical king Alulim; attestations are limited to incantations against field pests, though. For more context see here.

A special case is Nanshe. Two of the major literary texts focused on her focus on interactions between her and animals - Nanshe and the Birds and Home of the Fish. These belong to the subgenre called “enumeration literature”: while there is an actual plot, and deities are involved, the goal is mostly to fit as many terms from a single category into a single composition. As a result, Nanshe sounds… unusually passionate (fixated, even) on the core topics. I think it makes for really unique characterization but alas, as a major Mesopotamian deity who fits neither into questionable Bible takes nor into the madonna-whore complex she’s not getting anywhere in popculture. Something that’s generally missing from the Mesopotamian repertoire are myths involving anyone turning into an animal. There are two notable exceptions, Enlil and Namzitarra, which involves Enlil turning into a raven to test a devotee, and Dumuzi’s Dream, in which Dumuzi asks Utu to turn him into a gazelle to escape underworld gendarmes pursuing him.

Major gods were not theriomorphic, and with some small exceptions (Tishpak, whose skin is in one case described as green and scaly; Ishtaran, who might have been depicted with the lower body of a snake) didn’t even have any animal body parts. However, deified animals are nonetheless also attested - multiple examples of divine bulls are the main example, obviously (for instance Indagara, Buru, the borrowed Hurrian Sheri and Hurri, possibly Magiru, “obedient”), as expected divine lions also pop up every now then, but that’s not all.

There’s a number of deified birds, though most of them occur only in Early Dynastic sources which do not provide any real insights about their character. One example that comes to mind is the deity Kiki or Ninkiki (“lady of the kiki); we have no clue what sort of bird the kiki was though, other than that it was loud enough to be compared to the storm. Nirah is a deified snake.

Deified invertebrates are much less common but it’s still worth bringing up Eḫ, a member of the court of Nungal whose name is pretty semantically similar to English “bug” (though it might also specifically refer to a louse. There is also an either divine or demonic centipede, Ḫallulaya. Among the numerous ancestors of Enlil there is a pair named Engiriš and Ningiriš, “lord butterfly” and “lady butterfly”. It is often claimed that Uttu, the goddess of weaving, was portrayed as a deified spider, but the evidence is at best limited, see here and here for details. Peterson doesn’t list her among deified animals.

A mythical creature listed in enumerations of Ninurta’s enemies, kulianna (“friend of heaven”), might be a supernatural dragonfly, though it’s also possible it was imagined as something else altogether and the link to dragonflies is just the result of homophony with Akkadian kulīlu, “dragonfly”. For more detail see here, p. 89. In art there’s a fair number of depictions of animals behaving like humans, but the full context of such works remains poorly known. There’s a brief overview here from p. 237 onward. 

Especially in Assyria wild animals were customarily hunted by kings, and trophies acquired this way served as a way of showing off the extent of their dominion. It has been suggested that they could eventually acquire apotropaic qualities, as evidenced by the preparation of protective statues  of the apsasîtu, the burḫiš and the nāḫiru, sometimes interpreted as water buffalo, yak and whale. However, the meaning of these three terms remains uncertain, for some recent considerations see here.

[t00thpasteface]

your 20,000 leagues posting prompted me to finally read the book to completion, so thanks for that. couldn't focus much on the dynamics between the characters as i was so engrossed in the pages long fish identifications

it's such a good book because it's like. to any other protagonist this would be a nightmare from front to back. to NED LAND this is a nightmare... but the NARRATORis a sheltered, entitled professor who thinks himself very capable of field work but has NO sense of scope for what the real world is like for other people.

that's why i think the 50s movie dropped the ball so hard. ned land got a lot more focus as someone we should allegedly be rooting for, but what he excels at is having this semi-antagonistic role where he defends and protects aronnax, the narrator, while also striving to drive a wedge between protagonist (aronnax) and deuteragonist (nemo). the book deals with such HUGE concepts like The Entire Ocean and The Entire British Empire and Several Entire Species, that it's important for ned to be essentially neutered and reactive (and punished by nemo for being active) at every turn, especially at the end... even when he finally gets his much-hyped escape chance, it's not even clear if they really are sneaking out and whether nemo is allowing it to happen.

the threats and conflicts are so far beyond real, full comphrension by the individual— by ANY individual. even nemo's very personal, humanizing grief is for something so much larger than just his family, and it drives him mad because his body crumples under the weight of the world's suffering like a failed imitation of atlas. ERGO... i think it's very fun and fitting that the narrator just. doesn't even have the ability to grasp the vague suggestions of all these conflicts. he doesn't even really fully see them until they're all colliding into each other in the third act. it's so eerie. men are dying around him, he's living inside a literal killing machine, and yet he treats it more like an exotic vacation than anything else. it makes you wonder, if it took aronnax that much to open his eyes, what hope does any other sheltered academic have, back on land where these struggles may as well be unbelievable fiction to them?

[wulfums]

In Crittertopia, does the village have jobs for the critters to get? Is there a school or school-like thing for any children that live in Crittertopia? Do any of the critters start to dislike their werecritter form during the plot/aftermath? Just Curious? :)

I think their main goal is Survive and Find A Cure (Though Egos and Social Drama and shit gets in the way. )

Also part of the plot is about the fact that Charlie is super pining for Pim but doesnt want to accept it and just. Refuses to. So he specifically keeps starting beef w Allan bcuz hes projecting onto him bcuz Allan is in a Happy Marriage now. He also keeps making excuses to not be around Pim even though they planned to Adventure to find the cure before the Werecritterism fully kicked in (Once it kicks in it heightens emotions like. A lot. Charlie isnt great at emotional regulation to begin with.) but after Charlie is Struggling with how he feels </3 Pim worried this is some sort of really bad effect of the disease and that if he isolates he might die or something so Pim is very worried abt Charlie (Literally all Charlie has to do is. Communicate. And he'd find out Pim is into him too lmao)

No kids because I dont want to deal with that also theres no major kid characters in the show. Thankfully. In general I think it doesnt effect them just bcuz I truly dont want to write any.

Theres no jobs or anything, but everyone just kind of gravitates to what theyre good at. Like Whatwulf is Really good at catching fish (He could already do it before all this. Now he can do it Better.). Allan is really good at gardening and plant identification which is like. Really important. Sadly they both get fucking banished and after everyones like "we didnt think this through huh"

[meta-squash]

I love how many of Ishmael’s digressions could be serious or tongue-in-cheek and it’s so hard to tell sometimes. Any of the digressions where he’s talking about human nature in particular are mostly serious, but the identification of whales as fish (a whale is a fish because it’s not a walrus, etc) with all its false information is so hilarious.

And combined with some of the other tangents like the phrenology of whales, and the one where he claims St George and the Dragon is actually about a whale, it feels like some of these are at least slightly humorous.

Which I think is actually really cool because his more philosophical musings and those discussions of human nature and all the religious symbolism give it a lot of layers and there’s so much going on, but then you get to a moment like “the dragon St George fought was actually a whale and maybe the horse he was riding was actually a seal” and it’s Melville going “Haha! Gotcha! Remember this whole thing is a story being told by a sailor suffering from grief and trauma and desperately wanting the tale of his crew to be really important and for every detail to seem like something he’s Thought A Lot About. Except that sometimes those thoughts are ridiculous because he just really needs to believe it’s all worth it and able to be turned into something Epic (of the literal definition) instead of just one more guy telling a tale.

(sorry going on a different tangent that just came into my head here)

Also compare this whole story to all the sailors he encounters in the inn at the very beginning who pointedly Do Not Talk Or Tell Stories when they eat together, and how surprised Ishmael is when they don’t swap stories with each other and instead are totally silent. Him recording this story is the opposite of that silence. He gets to tell his entire tale, uninterrupted by other sailors. And he gets to spin it how he wants; other sailors might have opinions or thoughts about whales/whaling/practices/peoples that would cause them to question him. But he’s telling his tale to people who are not whalers, so he gets to tell it how he wants to.

[potchatok]

Sutviprra continue to claim the Continent

Seafaring tribes, who enjoy cooperation from the permanent island dwellers, became a trade link between islands and the continent. They navigate by stars and have extensive oral folklore, with hymns to pass time and stories of adventures on the sea.

Meanwhile, tribes from the rivers of deserts reached temperate north. While savannah tribes have one-use tools, made from stones found on the spot, river population have carried their items wherever they go, allowing them prioritize quality over expedience. With that, ancestors of this group have manage to develop the idea of craft. If early River Populations have carried around crudely salvaged animal hides, in modern day they have durable and even sometimes decorated leather. These particular Sutviprra live on the coasts, while others find themself landlocked.

Continental climates are generally more extreme, so inland Sutviprra experience colder winters. Also, while costal population can rely on fishing, walling themself from outside dangers, Sutviprra hunters have to venture into the wild and put themself in direct competition with apex-predators. That prompts some sort of defenses inbuilt into the clothes. Bones, scavenged from previous prey and sharpened into spikes are implanted in clothes around short, yet vital neck.

This group is comprised of victims of interspeceal competition. Though where brain and technology cannot help, other bodily adaptations stepped in. When population of Sutviprra is pushed northward with no tools to help, only the bulkiest, baldest and the most energetically efficient.

Meanwhile, those who drove previous group out of their habitat enjoy results of their success - vast territories of rivers and even lake, where early proto-cities appear and open the second center of flourishing trade.

The covering of the front legs is in particularly interesting, since colorful webbing, used for identification and emotion expression - now invisible, make for an interesting impact on culture and impressions. Philosophies of stoicism and religious ideas of bottling of emotions while on the stone as sacred duty spring up among these tribes. While plain-dwelling Sutviprra read this concealing as a attempt to hide from responsibility or even as a cover for the dead - soulless and, therefore, patternless and “faceless”. Though, during rests and indoors boots are no longer needed, allowing for finally conveying their worries and happiness, accumulated during the day. Also, speech and folklore is very expressive, substituting for the motions of their fans.

Though in some tribes boots manage to avoid becoming a staple of the culture, and whenever mountains are crossed the footwear is abandoned, while need for additional expression remains. Middle-South populations utilize different pigments from plants from their environment to paint their clothes and tools. Like with Jungle Population, meanings and importance of meanings varies from tribe to tribe.

Southern Great Lake Population descends from mix of two previously mentioned cultures. Unique mix gives potential for new ideas, and environment allows them to experiment, providing for a milder less drying climate. This is the third center of trade on this Continent.

That means the next thing is gonna be on languages and so far there will be three starts - from Eastern Shallow Sea, From Center Savanna Lake and The Great Lake System.

[maytheoddshq]

Sawyer Bell (she/her). D6 Tribute. 109 Victor. 25. Sophia Ali.

Tw: drugs, violence

  There was a group of them. Train hoppers, people who lived in the liminal spaces of the tracks, who moved through the vast expanses of District Six, lulled to sleep by the constant motion and shuttering of train cars. Sawyer was born in these liminal spaces, her mother caring for her deeply, though without many resources to give her the things she wanted to. Still, the bond between mother and daughter was strong, and the two of them were thick as thieves throughout Sawyer’s childhood. Sometimes they stayed in one place for a season or two, but never longer than that. Sawyer never had a second parental figure, never wanted one. She never fully learned to read or write, either, as this was not important in a world where oral storytelling ruled, a world where running from Peacekeepers and picking locks was more important than learning the history of Panem. Sawyer was smart, though, and picked up on everything fast. She was athletic and enjoyed the mobile lifestyle she and her mother lived.

She was Reaped in the summer of 92, Games 109, when she was 13 years old. The train to the Capitol was so much nicer than the ones that she, her mother, and the people they called family camped out in. The food was rich and full of taste, easy to come by. No stealing, no sneaking. It made itself available to her on silver platters.

  In training, she excelled at plant identification, learning the unfamiliar ones quickly, learning, too, the runes that spelled out their names. She also found that she did well with some of the weapons. Archery was impossible but knife training proved fun. She was short and lithe and a kind trainer helped her learn how to use that to her advantage. She didn’t do as well in the interview, freezing up in front of the cameras and all those faces in the audience. But no matter.

  Her district partner was 17, a boy as rough around the edges as she was. Mercury made a promise that they’d stick with each other until the end, though he would never answer her questions about what would happen then, if they were the last two standing. Most likely, they both knew, it would never come to that. Mercury was stronger and bigger than her, and would fare better than she would.

  The tributes were launched in a semicircle onto a thin wooden boardwalk, three feet wide, that stretched around a large, brilliantly blue pool of water. They were all clustered on one side, while the boardwalk on the other side of the water was empty. The cornucopia rested in the middle of it, boasting packs, food, water, weapons — but there was just one path to get to it, one wooden path that led to the center of the lake, and it was on the opposite side.

  During the countdown, Sawyer saw several of her fellow tributes preparing to jump into the water. It looked inviting, as blue and beautiful as it was, but it was also steaming. A thin layer of fog lay just above it, indicating that it was hot, very hot. She didn’t need to dip her toe in to know that. So when the countdown ended, she stood where she was, watching three, then four, then five tributes dive into the water, those with the fastest reflexes, and instantly begin to trash, scream, their bodies boiling.

  She chose not to stick around to find out what would happen next, instead catching Mercury’s eye and jumping off the back of the boardwalk, falling into a dead sprint away from the water, the cornucopia, and all of its promises.

  The land was sparse, red nearest the water and then brown as it stretched further away. She and Mercury found a river whose waters flowed quickly, and after waiting in the shrubs for an animal to come along and test the water, they deemed it safe enough. Mercury fashioned a spear and after a few hours, managed to catch a fish. Sawyer started a fire after a few false starts and a lot of cursing, and the two ate and drank.

  Over the next few days, she and Mercury stuck close to the river which seemed a bountiful source of food and water. They weren’t the only ones who thought so, though, and were joined by mutts of all shapes and sizes, as well as some of their fellow tributes. On the third day, Mercury took on another tribute, one from Eleven, and killed him, bashing his head in with a rock. It was the first violent death that Sawyer had seen, and she knelt to the ground, sobbing, unable to control herself despite Mercury’s best efforts at calming her.

  The next tribute they came across was one from Three. This time, she assisted in the fight, though the final blow came from Mercury, who dug a knife he’d gotten from a sponsor into the tribute’s chest. On the fourth day, resting by a lake, Sawyer felt a sharp pain in her leg. Pulling up her pant leg, she saw a very small black tick. Being trained from childhood to avoid ticks, knowing the dangers they could cause, she used her fingernails to pry it from her skin before it dug too deep into it. She then drowned the tick in the lake, wiping her hands and thinking how proud her mother would be of her smarts. But after a few hours, it became clear that she hadn’t removed the tick fast enough, as her leg began to swell. The pain was immense, and she spent the night crying, intermittently soaking her leg in the cold lake water, but it did nothing. In the morning, the gentle beeping of a gift came down from the sky. Antibiotics, which she took immediately, gratefully.

  In the afternoon, a large beast trapped them between it and the lake. The bison-mutt was angry, approaching as if they’d encroached on its territory, which perhaps they had. They had no choice but to jump in the lake, swim away as fast as they could. Only Mercury managed to grab something — the knife that had kept them safe so far. The rest of her medicine and their canteens were left behind.

  Without the rest of the antibiotics, her leg began to swell again, red and tender and painful, and walking became impossible. On the sixth day, there were only four tributes left — the two of them, and the pair from One. Her leg pained her so greatly, and no more medicine was coming, so she had to often stop to rest as they walked. They moved aimlessly, not sure where they were going or what they were doing. Both aware that the end was approaching, and they were both still alive. The terms of their promise soon to expire.

  During one such rest, in a large empty basin of dirt and mud, she closed her eyes for only a moment while Mercury stepped away to pee. When she opened them again, there the Careers were, looming over her, both smiling, blood smeared on their cheeks. She screamed, scrambling up and beginning to run, though her leg gave out on her after only a few yards and she fell. Certain death was coming any moment, she hid her face in the dirt, not wanting to see what would happen next — but nothing did, except a very loud noise behind her, which caused her to sit up and turn. Water was shooting out of the ground, sweeping up the two Careers with its force. The sound of the cannons were drowned out by the noise of the water, and their bodies were thrown dozens of yards away.

  Mercury returned, asking what the noise was. He hadn’t heard the cannons, hadn’t seen the bodies, immersed in the water as they had quickly become. She didn’t tell him, afraid of what he’d do when he found out they were the last two.

  In mid-afternoon, the earthquakes began. They escalated over the course of a few hours, and in the evening, just before the sky would darken and show the faces of the two dead Careers, revealing to Mercury the they were the final two, the biggest earthquake yet came, knocking them both off their feet. Mercury dropped the knife; it landed next to Sawyer’s hand. Before she could do anything, the earth cracked open before them, and red-hot lava started to spill from it. It made its way towards them quickly.

  “We have to run,” Mercury yelled, getting up, but Sawyer knew two things immediately:

  They were the last two. If one of them died, it would be over. There would have to be no running.

If they ran, he would be fast enough, and she would not. She would succumb to the lava flow and die.

  In the end it was the thought of her mother that drove the knife into Mercury’s leg. He turned around, shocked, the moving earth causing him to fall. She crawled on top of him and dug it into his chest, just as he had done to the boy from Three. The final cannon sounded as the lava reached her heels.

  At first, Sawyer returned home, living in her new mansion with her mother. But her mother didn’t like it, and she increasingly began to speak to the shadows, telling them that Sawyer was not the daughter she’d known. Sawyer couldn’t stop her mother from succumbing to madness, having been driven insane by watching her daughter fight for her life in the Games, after a life of instability and uncertainty.

  When her mother ran into the Wilds, Sawyer didn’t follow. She knew that she wasn’t the daughter her mother had known before, anyway. She wasn’t who her mother would want with her. Her comfort meant nothing.

  The house became too big and empty, so at seventeen, Sawyer moved to the Capitol. There, she bought a sun-filled Loft, and the glamor of the city lifestyle caught up with her. She made friends with Capitolites who introduced her to all of the best things — clubs and dancing and drugs and men. She was swept up in it all, wanting life to feel as far away from the Arena as it possibly could. Sometimes when she drank something strong, took an even stronger pill, she saw Mercury’s face on the men at the club. That was always when she knew it was time to go home.

  She was first called up to be a mentor, replacing her own, who had died, in 100, for the 124th Games. It was summer, everything was hot and sticky, and she was 21 years old. Those first few Games, her tributes fared okay, but not great. She spent most of the time drinking, escaping the Tower to party, escaping the demons that followed her everywhere there.

  And then Cat Miller won. She had done it. She’d brought home a tribute. And as glad as she was to have Cat alive, to have any of her tributes alive, she didn’t know if she’d had much of a hand in it.

  While she’s slowed down a bit with partying, mostly because the hangovers have gotten worse as she’s neared her twenty-sixth birthday, she hasn’t lost her ways entirely. She enjoys spending the night in someone else’s bed, enjoys drinking and some of the more exciting pills. She has little direction, little focus as a mentor. Her mother was right: the girl she used to be is gone, probably forever.

  So the morning of the 132nd Reaping, her last ever, she is surprised to meet that little girl. The fourteen year old crying into the dirt. But meet her she does, complete with a pain in her leg that has gone mostly phantom over the years, when her name is called and the escort turns around to look at Sawyer, standing behind her, already on the stage.

  + : resourceful, quick learner, charming

- : rash, unfocused, acts shallow

[cmbenvs3000f24]

Unit 5 Blog Post

A topic that interested me this week was citizen science. This is a concept that has recently increased in popularity, and refers to research projects that rely on volunteers to collect data (Sullivan et al., 2014). I  wanted to learn more about how technology has improved the accessibility of citizen science, and how this relates to nature interpretation. 

What I found surprised me! Citizen science has a big impact on conservation and scientific research. A review that I read on citizen science in conservation showed that studies relying on volunteers were able to collect data on a wider scale than a research team alone. Technology also makes this research more accessible. Online tools can be used, whether to help connect people to projects that need volunteers, provide online trainings, or allow for easier submission of data (Kobori et al., 2016). 

One cool integration of technology and citizen science is the program eBird. This is an app that allows birdwatchers to submit abundance and species counts of birds around the world (Sullivan et al., 2014). I have used eBird before, when I worked with seabird species in Newfoundland for a summer job. It was a fun way for me to learn bird identification, and the app was very easy to use. It was quick and simple to post an observation, so my team and I would post regularly when we were out conducting fieldwork. However, I just thought this was a fun way to start birdwatching. I had no idea how useful this data can be to scientists and conservationists. In a research paper that I read this week, I learned that by 2013, eBird had collected 140 million separate bird observations, by 150,000 volunteers. This data contributed to over 90 articles published in peer-reviewed journals, and these numbers are only growing (Sullivan et al., 2014). Another recent study shows that eBird data, when carefully filtered, provides abundance estimates on species in the United States, such as waterfowl, that are very similar to those collected by government officials in the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service (Stuber et al., 2022). This means that eBird can be used as a reliable source of information, and the data collected could be important for making conservation decisions. 

I think that because citizen science is important for research, it is a great tool to use in nature interpretation. It can be offered as a next step for audiences, to take the information they have learned in an interpretive program and use it to contribute to nature conservation. For example, audiences participating in a beginner birding course could be encouraged to download eBird, and start birding more regularly. This builds on the interpretive program by encouraging people to continue to get outside and birdwatch, and allows audiences to intentionally use their new knowledge to make a difference. The improved accessibility of citizen science, and its direct implications on conservation decisions, make it a valuable way for audiences to engage with their environment and take interpretation to the next level.  

Some bird observations that I made in Newfoundland and posted to eBird.

Works Cited 

Kobori, H., Dickinson, J. L., Washitani, I., Sakurai, R., Amano, T., Komatsu, N., Kitamura, W., Takagawa, S., Koyama, K., Ogawara, T., & Miller-Rushing, A. J. (2016). Citizen science: a new approach to advance ecology, education, and conservation. Ecological Research, 31(1). https://doi.org/10.1007/s11284-015-1314-y

Stuber, E. F., Robinson, O. J., Bjerre, E. R., Otto, M. C., Millsap, B. A., Zimmerman, G. S., Brasher, M. G., Ringelman, K. M., Fournier, A. M. V., Yetter, A., Isola, J. E., & Ruiz-Gutierrez, V. (2022). The potential of semi-structured citizen science data as a supplement for conservation decision-making: Validating the performance of eBird against targeted avian monitoring efforts. Biological Conservation, 270. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.biocon.2022.109556

Sullivan, B. L., Aycrigg, J. L., Barry, J. H., Bonney, R. E., Bruns, N., Cooper, C. B., Damoulas, T., Dhondt, A. A., Dietterich, T., Farnsworth, A., Fink, D., Fitzpatrick, J. W., Fredericks, T., Gerbracht, J., Gomes, C., Hochachka, W. M., Iliff, M. J., Lagoze, C., La Sorte, F. A., … Kelling, S. (2014). The eBird enterprise: An integrated approach to development and application of citizen science. In Biological Conservation (Vol. 169). https://doi.org/10.1016/j.biocon.2013.11.003

[lindsaystravelblogs5]

Episode 3

What about birds!   Faroese Starlings probably outnumber all the rest a hundred to one, with Hooded Crows coming in second.  Several species of geese - almost impossible to identify because they have hybridised so much - come next, with Eiders after them.  I have identified thirty-one species all up, but often I have only seen one or two birds of each species.  I have seen several that I can’t identify at all, and probably won’t because the resources on Faroese birds are very poor.  An example is the Faroese Goose.  There are lots of references to its divergence from three or four other species but despite hours of searching, I have been unable to find any reference to its species, much less its subspecies.  There are plenty of lists of birds that have been seen here - about 370 species - but most are vagrants or accidental sightings of lost birds, with nothing indicating conclusively what species they are.   Interestingly, there are huge bird cliffs here, with millions of breeding pairs of several species, all of which seem to have flown south to warmer climes at this time of the year.  In total, I have probably seen no more than twenty gulls.  And apart from a few Herring Gulls, they have nearly all been too far away to make a conclusive identification.  

An interesting snippet about bird identification was when I was trying to identify some of the geese.  Merlin (my main guide) suggested they were either Taiga or Tundra Geese.  It turned out not to be either, but I noted that in the US, they are regarded as a single species.   In the rest of their habitat, it was noted that a million years ago, a single species diverged into two distinctly separate species until about sixty thousand years ago, when their habitats overlapped and they hybridised, so it is now difficult to distinguish one from the other - hence the US doesn’t try, while the rest of the world does.  Fascinating, and I have no doubt that geese are not the only example of this form of evolution. 

Back to some miscellaneous observations One day, we visited all six villages on one island.  They are all a bit similar, but quite quaint to us because we haven’t been there before.  All villages (except a mountain village we saw on our last day) are built around a lovely, protected harbour, usually in a fiord.  Protective rock moles are constructed around most of them. Fishing is obviously an important industry along with pastoral pursuits (mainly sheep).  We saw some small market gardens on our last day, but not big enough to constitute any form of industry – they must import almost everything. 

Most of the houses are made of wood, many with thick sod rooves, with long grass often sprouting on top.  They are usually painted quite brightly in blue, red, yellow or black, usually with the door and window frames highlighted in white.  Black seems quite popular for both rooves and walls, presumably to absorb a bit more heat.  It is quite rare to see a white house – although there are some in the larger towns (of which we have only seen two).  There are a few stone houses, but many stone sheds that we suspect provide some protection for the sheep during the winter.  None of them appear to be mortared, but they are so cleverly constructed that they probably don’t need it. 

Most villages have a church as their main, or at least their most important, focus and we have explored a few, mainly from the outside.  They often have historic graveyards around them and we saw one that had graves (mostly of very young children) dating back well over 350 years.  It really does make you stop and think about what life was like so long ago.  The conditions must have been frightful and life very hard for the pioneers - they didn’t even have the internet.  And with not a tree in the whole country, finding fuel must have been impossible.  (That is a lie – yesterday we saw a whole plantation of trees – perhaps a dozen or so, but none apart from that.) Their tools were very rudimentary and their houses pretty minimal, so frigid conditions would have prevailed for much of the year, and I presume many people died in the cold.

[milkwizard]

HEY for everyone being all woe begotten in the notes, there has been a recent development in the ivory-billed woodpecker's situation. First of all, the Ivory-billed Woodpecker was never officially declared extinct because there have continued to be enough sightings and so forth to keep it off the list. This is important, because this means that the territory of the ivory bill has been PROTECTED UNDER THE ENDANGERED SPECIES ACT SINCE THE 1930S

Very recently, as in the last year or so, researchers have published video and an in-depth presentation of evidence that attempts to show that that fricking bird is still out there. Is it bullet proof? No. But it is peer reviewed and there are scientists and the University of Pittsburg involved, not just eyewitness accounts from random birders. The video is very small and conglomerated from hours and hours of drone footage, but they've based their tentative identification on things like flight patterns and markings (which are distinct from other woodpeckers). Again, not a super zoom lens national geographic photo, so it could still be a pilleated Woodpecker or another similar species. REGARDLESS OF WHETHER OR NOT THIS IS AN IVORY-BILL IT IS STILL IMPORTANT TO SUPPORT. The US Government is a hair's breadth away from declaring the ivory bill extinct, and therefore removing that layer of protection from another chunk of Louisiana's wetlands.

Fortunately, US fish and wildlife service has since decided to keep the ivory-billed on the endangered species list FOR NOW. The status of the Ivory-Bill is still being determined now thanks to this research, and they are still working in the field to find more evidence of it.

You can find the paper and presentation and a bunch of other stuff at the website for the project.

1946 guidebook with now extinct American birds.

[marciamattos]

"Madagascar, 1890's."

Identification:

The official name of the country is the Republic of Madagascar ( Repoblikan'i Madagasikara ). The extent to which Malagasy from different regions view themselves as sharing a unified culture is context dependent. In terms of international politics, they see themselves as Malagasy unless they are recent immigrants or members of one of the minority populations (i.e., Chinese, Indo-Pakistani, and Comorian). Domestically, however, in the political arena, there is a significant degree of regionalism that is loosely based on ethnicity.

A common regional division is between those ethnic groups living on the high plateau and the côtiers , who inhabit coastal areas (or live outside of the high plateau region). Historically, the largest ethnic group is the Merina located on the high plateau. The traditions of this group (e.g., turning the bones of the dead) represent many Malagasy, and are often portrayed in tourist documents as the primary island traditions. However, people who live in some outlying coastal regions do not identify with or observe these traditions. The highland/ côtier division can be understood in terms of the historical domination by the Merina Empire, which was originally centred on Imerina (the current capital Antananarivo).

There are some common cultural practices that all Malagasy share. Consulting with, and reflecting upon, dead ancestors ( razana ) guides the living in making choices about social, moral, and religious aspects of everyday life. The building and maintenance of tombs and observance of religious ceremonies related to ancestors are central to the way of life for most Malagasy. Another important commonality is that kinship terminology is consistent across different ethnic groups.

Location and Geography. Madagascar is located off the eastern coast of southern Africa in the Indian Ocean along the Mozambique Channel. It is the fourth largest island in the world with a landmass of 226,498 square miles (586,889 square kilometres) which includes its offshore islands. It is one thousand miles long (1,609 kilometres).

Regional ethnic divisions loosely coincide with geographically distinct locations. To some extent internal migration has resulted in sharing some customs such as spirit possession ( tromba ). The West Coast is characterized by deciduous trees on dry, open savanna grassland sloping toward the sea. It was once, like much of the island, thickly forested. Sakalava is the dominant ethnic group in this region. They are involved in agriculture fishing, and cattle herding. The East Coast consists of several narrow bands of lowlands that lead to an intermediate zone of steep bluffs and ravines abutting a 1650 foot escarpment which provides access to the central highlands. The Betsimisaraka, the second largest ethnic group, is the most numerous group pursuing trading, seafaring, fishing, and cultivation. The South west is defined by the Ivakoany Massif to the east and by the Isala Roiniforme Massif to the north and includes the Mahafaly Plateau and the desert region. The arid south west is inhabited by Antandroy and Mahafaly who pursue cattle raising and limited cultivation. The northern end of the island features the Tsaratanana Massif with an elevation of 9,500 feet. The coastline is very irregular. The Antankarana inhabiting this region are involved in cattle raising and tropical horticulture. The High Plateau (Central Highlands) contains a wide range of topographies: round eroded hills, granite outcroppings, extinct volcanoes, and alluvial plains and marshes. It is defined by an escarpment along the east coast and a more gradual slope along the west coast. The predominant ethnic groups are the Merina and the Betsileo. The capital, Antananarivo, located in this region, is the largest town, with over one million people, and is an ethnic melting pot. The Betsileo live south of the Merina and are considered the best rice farmers in Madagascar.

History and Ethnic Relations:

Emergence of the Nation. The Malagasy people are of mixed Malayo-Indonesian and African-Arab ancestry. It is generally accepted that the first migrants appeared between 1,500 and 2,100 years ago. One migration theory asserts that what is considered the Malagasy mix arrived already blended having followed a coastal route over a long period with stops in India, the Arab peninsula, and eastern Africa. Another theory contends that the common elements the people share were developed from interactions over a period of time after the arrival of various immigrants groups.

National Identity. Malagasy history has been marked by both international and domestic tensions, some of which are present in contemporary society. During the eighteenth and nineteenth century there were four main kingdoms: Merina, Betsileo, Betsimisaraka, and Sakalava. Friction between the Merinas, the largest ethnic group, and the other ethnic groups during the pre-colonial period eventually resulted in domination by the Merina Empire. Ethnic groups that controlled regions outside of the high plateau were classified as a single group called côtiers even though they were made up of unaligned kingdoms. Two Merina monarchs were responsible for establishing political dominance over the island: King Andrianampoinimerina (reigned 1797-1810) and his son Radama I (r. 1810-1828) who succeeded him upon his death. Radama I was forward-thinking with an interest in modernizing along western lines. He organized a cabinet and invited the London Missionary Society to establish schools. The latter action was to have far-reaching effects. Successive Merina rulers embraced or rejected advances made by France to control the island. In 1894 France declared Madagascar a protectorate, and a colony in 1896. The colonial period was marked by the vacillating popularity of French influence over Merina elites. Nationalist sentiments against the French emerged resulting in various concessions made by France to give the Malagasy people greater control. This eventually led to independence on 20 June 1960. Political tensions between the main Malagasy groups (high plateau and côtier) still exists today and are characterized by the perception that the central government does not meet the needs of the côtiers. Each of Madagascar's presidents has struggled to achieve a viable cultural balance between the acceptance of western ways of life, most notably French, and the safeguarding of traditional Malagasy customs. That which has emerged as quintessentially Malagasy in the national sense is a constantly evolving product of all of these influences.

Read more: http://www.everyculture.com/Ja-Ma/Madagascar.html#ixzz3wY6WBQaT

[bestcommercialfishingpermits]

Essentials To Check Before You Sign Off On a Bill Of Sale For a Boat

If you’re planning to buy a boat, it’s a good idea to have some familiarity with the documentation process. The bill of sale for a boat is one such piece of paperwork that you need to be aware of. You must have all of your documentation in order before you can legally operate your boat. If you buy a vessel, you must record the purchase with the United States Coast Guard immediately. Without documentation, you could face fines, penalties, or docking of your boat until the matter is resolved. Here’s what you need to do before you sign off on your bill of sale.

Boat Registration The registration for your boat is vital for being allowed to operate it. Before being allowed on the water, you must have your vessel properly registered, both at the state and federal level. There are exceptions to this, but for the most part, it’s required for any and all boats. Registration gives you a number for your boat, which is used for identification purposes. You will need some data regarding your boat as you go through the process, so having it all collected at the time you submit documentation is very helpful.

Hull Identification Number Much like your car, truck or SUV has a vehicle identification number, your boat has a hull identification number. This is unique to the vessel and doesn’t change, even if the boat is sold. All federally registered boats must have the hull identification number (HIN) displayed on the vessel, according to guidelines. This number will be vitally important any time you fill out paperwork relevant to your boat, so it’s important to know what it is and keep it somewhere you can access it when needed.

Boat Length The length of your boat is also a factor in your bill of sale documentation. Boats that are 26 feet or longer must be registered with the United States Coast Guard. However, you may still need to register them at the state level. You could also be required to register them at the federal level if you are using the boat for commercial fishing purposes. States differ in their requirements so be sure you are aware of the guidelines where you live.

[narutardad]

Three

Loch was surprised to arrive in Canada and see that there was indeed a S.H.I.E.L.D base. Hidden as a former post office, the jet landed on the roof of a huge brick building on Adelaide Street in Toronto. As they touched down, the Quinjet disengaged stealth mode, and the group within exited onto the roof. Two agents awaited them outside a rooftop fire exit.

"Welcome to the Great White North, Agents." one of the two agent’s said, a wry smile playing on his lips. He seemed to be nearly rocking on his heels in what Loch sensed was excitement. "I'm Agent Burrows, and this is Agent DeSwan. Follow us, please."

Loch followed as the caboose of the march, taking her time to look over the edge of the building to see the streets below. The streets of Toronto were… very similar to New York except there wasn’t hoards of people walking in packs like buffalo. There was a strange smell in the air. Almost like salt water fish in the hot sun.

Entering the building, they were met with more agents who handed them security badges, burner phones and some other identification that they would need. Loch had never really been through all of this before, so when she finally stood there with her fake ID and files piled to her chin, she admittedly felt a little overwhelmed. Lochlyn didn’t even have time to ask any questions before they were escorted to their respective cars to be relocated to their safe houses.

Sam stood next to the two agents who flew with the group and was getting into the large black jeep in front of another smaller car. A dusty grey Nissan that looked like it needed a serious repaint. Bucky was loading several large duffle bags into the trunk of the Nissan and slammed the lid closed.

“Okay.” The soldier began, resting against the side of the vehicle. Sam wandered over and so did Loch. “Everyone knows what we’re doing?”

Sam nodded but Loch shook her head. She hadn’t really been paying attention when Agent DeSwan was briefing them. She was too concerned at looking through all the new documents and things she had been given.

“We’re gonna meet at our rendezvous point at four o’clock. Sam, your safe house is closest to the last known incident. You’re gonna be scoping that area for anything that might tell you where our guy went.”

            “Since when were you in charge?” Sam asked with a playful smile. Bucky shot him a disinterested look but continued.

            “Loch, you and I are on surveillance duty. We’re just gonna walk around Toronto and see if we can catch this guy in the act. Maybe we can catch him before he does anything else stupid.”

            “What do we do if we see him?” she asked, now feeling clod feet creep up on her.

            “You’ll stay back and I’ll try and deal with it. If thing’s go sour…”

            “You call me and we’ll sort it out. You’re a last resort. Don’t expose our trump card, okay?” Sam finished for his partner, giving Loch a firm but gentle order. Loch nodded, knowing this was very important that she didn’t blow it. This guy was dangerous. And she’d fucked things up before. She couldn’t let it happen again.

            “Okay, now that everyone is aware of the plan, we split up and get to work.”

            Loch and Bucky piled into the Nissan and Sam into the Jeep. They peeled off in opposite directions, and Loch could finally get a good look at the city up close. She knew she shouldn’t expect much from a large city, but it was… disappointing. Loch saw homeless encampments, people passed out on the sides of the streets, their heads lolled back, dazed. Trash bags lined the curbs the further away from the Post office they drove.

            “It’s not… as nice as I thought.” Loch found herself saying out loud. Bucky looked over for a second as they came to a red light.

            “Things are tough up here. Especially where we’re going.”

            “It’s a shame we can’t help them… S.H.I.E.L.D should help them. They have the money and resources.” Loch mewed slightly, her heart sinking as the neighborhoods seemed to look more like slums.  

            “S.H.I.E.L.D doesn’t operate like that. You know that. This is for the Canadian government to fix…”

            Loch sighed, and her eyes fell on a group of kids standing around a lamp post. They didn’t look much older than fifteen or sixteen, but they were all puffing great white clouds of scented vapor from their tank sized vapes. Lochlyn shook her head and forced herself to look away from the window.

            The ride to the safe house wasn’t long after that. No more than ten minutes later they were parked outside a moderate sized house. The windows had closed curtains and the yard was poorly kept. More trash bags lined the end of the drive way and a grey tabby cat sat unmoving on the front porch.

            “I guess this is it.” Bucky said as he looked at the house from the car. Loch gazed at the horrendous excuse for a house, and nodded.

            The two of them got out of their car, and Bucky grabbed both the duffle bags from the trunk, carrying them over his shoulders like they were filled with feathers. Loch new otherwise, as she had tried to help, only to nearly fall over from the weight.

            The inside was no better than the outside. The carpet was stained, but even without the stains that smelled oddly of cat piss, the disgusting grey and brown color of the pattern was an eyesore. The furniture, that looked like it was from the early 90’s, was covered in plastic and a thick layer of dust. The whole main living room smelled like mold, and old cigarettes.

            The kitchen was small, modest and filthy. Everything was dusty, and there was old grease splattered and solidified on the backsplash. The kitchen also consisted of a tiny circular table and two chairs, one missing a leg.

            Loch dragged one of the duffle bags to the back bedroom. There was no bed, but inside the duffle bag were two collapsible cots used for camping. It also contained some blow-up mattresses and think fire blankets.

            “They couldn’t send us with pillows at least?” Loch complained under her breath as she pulled out the sleeping equipment and started to pitch the cots. She was relieved to see that the mattresses were at least powered by a motor to inflate, so she plugged them into the dirty, old sockets and let them inflate.

            Bucky entered the bedroom carrying the second duffle bag. He threw it down on the floor next to one of the cots and began to go through it. Loch watched as he removed two AR rifles and several other weapons like handguns and knives. She tried not to watch, and kept her attention on the mattresses. Sometimes, Loch completely forgot who Bucky was at work. It’s not like she was often deployed on missions with him. She was so used to the quiet but funny introvert who liked staying home with a game of Risk, or hanging around the compound bar and having a few beers he could never get drunk off of.

            Loch surveyed the makeshift sleeping area when she was finished; a stark contrast to the usual comforts of home. The room, devoid of any personal touches, emanated an air of transience that didn’t feel… like… well she couldn’t describe it exactly. It felt empty. It reminded her a lot of Bucky’s apartment.

She stole a glance at Bucky, who was meticulously arranging the arsenal of weaponry on the floor. The dichotomy between the mundane act of setting up cots and the arsenal of lethal instruments laid bare the duality of their lives. She didn’t even know how to shoot a gun. She didn’t need to. She was a walking loaded weapon herself. Her emotions like a finger on the trigger, and the safety was off.

“What’s wrong?” Bucky’s voice broke through the silence, and Lochlyn’s thoughts. She jolted a little, looking over at Bucky. He was seated on the floor, now looking at her with a puzzled gaze. She immediately put on a fake smile.

“Nothin’. Just thinking about stuff.”

“About what stuff?”

“Stuff that’s none of your business.” She said, feeling a little passive aggressive. Bucky didn’t seem to take it personally and gave her a hard stare. She knew this look. The ‘if I try hard enough, I can read your mind’ look. She clicked her tongue and sighed, rolling her eyes in an exaggerated manner.

“Knock it off. It’s not gonna work.”

He remained silent, continuing to stare her down as if all he needed was sheer determination. She groaned, pulling off her boot and throwing it across the room at him. Bucky batted it out of the way with his arm and laughed.

“I almost had it. You ruined my concentration.”

“Boy, the only thing you concentrate on is being an absolute fucking goof, mkay?” Loch quipped playfully before retrieving her boot. The super soldier held his hand over his heart with a smile.

“Oof, ouch my heart. You’re verbally abusing me. I’m gonna report you to HR when we get back.” He said sarcastically, only to be clobbered again by Lochlyn’s boot.

“Report that, hm?” she snickered and smacked him in the shoulder with the boot before balancing on her other foot to put it back on. Bucky pushed himself to his feet, brushing dust from the carpet off of his jeans. Loch managed to get her boot back on and the soldier clapped his hand on her back.

“Lunch? Before we have to meet up with Sam?”

***

Bucky and Loch enjoyed sandwiches on their walk through the city. Subway seemed to be the cheapest option, so Bucky enjoyed a cold cut with green peppers and olives, meanwhile Lochlyn chowed upon a chicken, bacon, ranch club; minus the ranch. The streets of Toronto seemed to have some kind of music playing from everywhere. Shops were crammed shoulder to shoulder like sardines in a can with outdoor displays for consumers to browse. There were a lot of eye-catching things from street food to cheap carnival plushies that you wouldn’t even think about spending three dollars, let alone ten.

Honestly, the streets could bee in hellfire and chaos, but Lochlyn was just happy to walking around with Bucky. She walked alongside him, her arm laced through his, which his hand was buried in the pocket of his thin jacket. Their shoulders bumped lightly as they walked, but neither seemed to mind.

“Aside from the fact we’re looking for a psychopath; this is a nice vacation away from the compound.” Bucky said through the last bite of his sandwich. Loch shrugged, agreeing with him. He was right, it was nice.

“Yeah, nice to get away from… well… you know.”

“Your mom?”

“Everyone. It’s not that I don’t love my mom and Happy… and the Compound is like a second home, what with Clint and his family moving in… but it just-” she sighed, trying to string together what she was feeling.

“I get it… It was the same with me when I came back from Wakanda. People are so nice, but there’s always that… look they give you. Even if you’re prim, proper and put together.”

“But you got to prove to everyone that you can help. I haven’t gotten to show everyone that I’m just as capable.”

The two of them stepped up to a cross walk curb, waiting for the signal to walk. When it changed, they stepped off the curb and onto the tarmac. Loch was staring at the ground, thinking about if she could really prove herself. She didn’t want people to look at her like she couldn’t handle herself in a fight. She knew she could never fill the shoes of her father, or even the big six, but she had to prove she was useful.

Loch didn’t have time to look up when the sound of screeching tires came hurtling towards Bucky and her. The sound of metal scratching against metal as the car was crushed upon impact. Screams and cries of the people in the general vicinity watching as debris flew in every direction. Loch saw a flash of red light as Bucky’s arms shielded her from the collision.

But it was unnecessary. The impact never hit them. In fact, when Loch and Bucky eased up and looked around, there was a perfectly circular rea with car parts littering the road. A totaled chevy was tossed to the side of the road, the entire front of the vehicle seemed to be cut off. Melted by what looked like two extremely precise lasers. A huge trench lied in the black tarmac leading to the front of the car, which was smoking.

Bucky and Loch looked around, noticing the source of the screaming was not aimed towards the nearly flaming vehicle, but rather the man levitating a few feet above the wreckage. Loch and Bucky recognized him immediately as the target. The man they were looking for. He was clad in red, black and white with a long cape billowing behind him. He looked like someone straight out of a comic book. That bright ken doll hair and unnerving blue eyes that looked down at them.

“And just when I thought I was saving two innocent civilians.” The man spoke, his voice echoing around them like it was being broadcasted in their heads. Loch only had to meet his eyes once to know he was a horrible man. The way he stared back at her. He could see into her soul. It wasn’t even a question. This guy was bad.

“Bucky…”

“Relax, Loch. Just stay back.” Bucky’s voice was firm and serious as he stepped in front of Loch defensively.

“Okay, look Clark Kent, we don’t want to fight you. Just… ground yourself so we can talk about this.” Bucky barked at him as he pulled the leather gloves off his hands, exposing the black and gold Vibranium arm he kept hidden. The man seemed disinterested in what Bucky was saying, cocking his head to the side dangerously to look past the super soldier.

“Does this mudman speak for you?” he asked, directing his question at Lochlyn, who didn’t reply. She couldn’t understand why he was even talking to her.

“No, no, don’t look at her. Look at me.” Bucky yelled again, before tearing off the sleeve of his jacket to have full range of his arm. The gold joints and groves glistened in the later afternoon light.

“First of all, show a little respect. It’s Guiding Star to you.” He scoffed with a sneer, “Secondly, you really think I’m interested in your little prosthetic after that amazing display of raw power? You’re laughable.” The man mocked the soldier, slowly floating down towards the ground where he touched down, light as a feather. Loch grabbed her phone and quickly began to dial Sam’s number, holding the phone up to her ear. Bucky still standing between her and the stranger. It rang twice before Sam’s voice picked up.

“Loch? What’s ha-”

“Sam. He’s here. And he’s mad…. We need your help. Now. Dundas and Starling.” She said quickly before hanging up. She knew Sam would find them using Redwing. Right now, she needed to focus.

“Look buddy, I don’t know what your whole… gimmick is, but that death ray thing you’re doing. You gotta stop.” Bucky spoke confidently, really showing no fear. Loch didn’t know how he could speak with the confidence of a bull. The man stood unconcerned, an unpleasant smile on his thin lips. Loch didn’t like it. He looked at Bucky like he was a bug, or a lizard, and he wanted nothing more than to step on him.

The tension in the air crackled like electricity, but Bucky remained surprisingly composed. Lochlyn, on the other hand, felt the weight of the situation sinking in as she anxiously awaited Sam's arrival. The stranger's unsettling smile only added to her unease.

Bucky, undeterred by the stranger's indifference, continued, “I don't know what comic con convention you came from, but you need to come with us. I’d really rather arrest you without the whole… yanno, punching and shooting thing.”

The man laughed, before aiming a punch directly at Bucky, who braced himself for impact. Lochlyn’s heart sank as she watched as if in slow motion, the man’s powerful fist come within a half an inch of Bucky’s face before his hand hit dead air. The shockwave of the collision sent the man backwards, flying into a parked bakery truck. The pavement cracked from where he had been standing, due to the shock.

Bucky lowered his arms, looking around before looking back to Loch, who was staring down the spot where the man had been catapulted into a truck. Her eyes crackled with a toxic looking yellow light that flickered like what could only be described as the power of a hundred nuclear bombs.

Bucky began to push her back, shaking Loch by the shoulders. She blinked a few times, looking at Bucky in shock. She had a headache that pulsated at her temples and the fear but also pride in Bucky’s eyes told her something really bad just happened.

“Lochlyn. We need to get out of here… that was amazing, but we have to go find S-”

Bucky didn’t finish as a blur powered right into him, taking him off his feet and dragged him deep through the rubble of the road. All Loch had to do was blink, and Bucky was ten feet away from her, buried deep under rock as the stranger floated above him, dusting off his hands as if he had touched something foul.

There were hardly any people around now, but the sound of police cruisers could be heard approaching from the distance. Loch looked around for anyone. She had never seen someone take Bucky down like that. So… fast.

Lochlyn felt a surge of panic as she scanned the area for any signs of help. The stranger, seemingly unbothered by the approaching sirens, turned his attention to her. He slowly walked towards her, a look of amusement and twisted curiosity in his almost too perfect face His eyes glowed with an unsettling energy, and she could feel the weight of his gaze on her. As the anxiety built up inside her, she could feel the boiling energy tingling throughout her body.

"You're quite the anomaly, aren't you?" he remarked, his voice carrying an otherworldly echo. Lochlyn clenched her fists, readying herself for whatever might come next. He cocked his head again, and Loch saw it once more. That arrogant, pompous glint. He thought he was better. She could see it in him. He thought he was a God.

Before the stranger could make another move, a burst of wings announced the arrival of Sam, soaring down with Redwing by his side. He circled over the roof tops for a second before landing down with a puff of dust between them. Lochlyn's relief was palpable, but the stranger seemed unfazed, and that worried her. A super soldier couldn’t handle him… what if Sam couldn’t?

"Step away from her," Sam demanded, his wingspan expanding as if to shield Lochlyn from any potential threat. He held the iconic red white and blue shield on his arm as if challenging him.

The stranger chuckled, a sound that sent shivers down Lochlyn's spine. "Ah, the Falcon. How quaint. I thought they’d send someone a little more… relevant.”

“It’s Captain America to you, asshole. Why don’t you put it in park before anyone else gets hurt?”

The man boastfully laughed, throwing the deepest disrespect in every breath.

“You’re not Captain America. Captain America is dead. You’re just the diversity hire because the real Celebrity kicked the bucket.”

The sound of rubble being pushed over with a groan as Bucky pulled himself from under a rather large piece of concrete.

“You disrespectful bastard.”

Sam's eyes blazed with fury, and Lochlyn could feel the tension in the air. The stranger's words lingered like a bitter taste, but Sam didn't let it deter him. He stepped forward, shield raised high.

“I might not be Steve Rogers, but I damn well earned this shield. And I won’t let you disrespect everything he stood for.” Sam's voice carried a weight that echoed through the desolate street.

“Blah, blah, blah. Did you rehearse that? It sounds like you rehearsed. Anyways, you little people bore me.” He sighed. Loch watched it happen at the speed of light. The man’s eyes glowed a threatening red before two blazing hot beams of pure condensed light came flying at Sam took a knee and deflected it with his shield. It didn’t pierce it, but the beam ricocheted and hit a building, smashing several windows in the process. It left a deep black scorch mark across the vibrant paint. The man repeated, each time, the impact driving Sam further back. Loch could see him struggling, the sweat beading down his face. He was laughing Maniacally as police cars began to surround the area. Police in uniform aimed their firearms at him. He stopped laughing and threw a disgusted look at the authorities before leveling his gaze across the crowd.

Loch was paralyzed as she watched the blood and gore explode. Police officers were decapitated, and sliced in half with the force of pure heat. Blood sprayed, coating her face and hair. Sam and Bucky ducted for cover, screaming for Loch to snap out of it as she watched blindly as the carnage flood the streets with blood. The sirens faded in her ears as she felt her own blood pumping through her head, beating like violent drums.

“LOCHLYN! LOCHLYN, WE NEED TO FALL BACK! LOCH!” Bucky yelled at her, dragging the agent by her wrist. Her legs moved as if on auto pilot, but she couldn’t focus. Not on what Bucky was saying. Not on the screams, or the flying hands that hit the puddles of blood with sickening splashes. She could however, hear the sound of the man’s laughter as he slaughtered the police in droves like cattle.

When the screaming faded and Loch was finally able to hear Bucky through the pounding headache and echo of the laughter stuck in her head, she felt like a brick of lead was sitting in her stomach. Covered in blood, all she could smell was metal. It made her sick. The three of them clambered down an alleyway, collapsing against the wall. Bucky looked the worse for wear, with a huge gash across his cheek that was smearing blood across is face. That was nothing compared to the amount of gore Sam and Loch were covered in. Sam was trying to wipe his goggles off, but Loch just sat. Staring at the ground, the fresh memory of what just happened playing in front of her eyes like a cinematic movie.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Bucky was the first one of the trio to say anything. Sam was shaking his head as if trying to convince himself that the events that had just transpired… hadn’t. Loch had no words. She still couldn’t get over what she had just seen.

“Lochlyn, you good?” Sam asked, looking over to see Loch in a state of mental paralysis. She shook her head, eyes wide as she stared at her feet. Lochlyn could feel only two things in that moment as the adrenaline of fear faded from her mind. Rage and shock.

“Sam… I don’t know if I can do this…” Loch said blatantly, blinking as she looked up and stared at both men who gazed at her with surprised looks. They knew better than anyone that Loch never threw the towel in on a mission.

“I just mean… I want to…” Lochlyn broke her gaze and stared back down at her feet, clenching her fist in anger. The hatred she felt spreading through her chest like a virus… she didn’t like this, “all those cops…” she released her fists and held her head as she felt an earth rattling headache coming on.

Even when Bucky dropped himself down next to her, groaning as he leaned into the wall, she didn’t look up. He tossed his arm around her shoulders, exhauster from being dragged through concrete. Pulling her close, he sighed, but kept his silence.

“I want to rip him apart…” Lochlyn whispered, barely loud enough for even Bucky to hear over the oncoming ambulance sirens. It only made the electricity in her brain spike out of control. Flashes of bodies played in her mind, each like a bomb going off in her brain.

“I know, kid. But you know that won’t solve anything. We need to bring him in. Play by the rules.”

“Come on guys, we should report back. I’ll call for a car to come get us.” Sam spoke up, now on his feet. His once blue and white uniform now crusted with drying blood.

***

Arriving back at the post office, the S.H.I.E.L.D agents were more than accommodating and understanding. When Agent Burrows came to pick them up from the alleyway, he was horrified. Loch was dead silent the whole ride. She couldn’t stop thinking about the North Guardian or whatever he called himself… That disgusting smile and the way he carried himself. Calling Bucky a mudman as if he was subhuman.

The car engine shuddered, making a dangerous sound, and Lochlyn caught herself; exhaling to relax. She leaned into Bucky who was in the back seat with her. His arm still draped around her as if it could shield her from all the horrible things racing through her mind. It didn’t work.

When she was debriefed back at Headquarters, Loch got the sense that her fellow agents were treading very lightly upon eggshells. Instead of asking her questions right away, like Bucky and Sam, they let her shower, get dressed in clean clothes, and tried to give her something to eat. She denied it, leaving the McDonalds burger on the table. She was so grateful when it was all over. She only lost her temper once, which did startle Agent Burrows, but he brushed it off with a nervous laugh and continued.

Bucky awaited her arrival outside the debriefing room. He was now cleaned up, a heavy hoodie over a pair of grey sweats. He had both his hands full with a Styrofoam cups of piping hot coffee. As soon as they saw each other, Bucky pushed off from the wall he was leaning on.

As Loch approached Bucky, her exhaustion evident in the lines on her face. The weight of recent events seemed to have settled on her shoulders, but there was a glimmer of gratitude in her eyes as she took one of the coffee cups from him.

"Thanks," she murmured, cradling the warm cup in her hands. The aroma of the coffee wafted through the air, a welcome comfort in the midst of chaos. She felt so empty inside, which was only amplified when she felt the hot liquid boil like lava as it trickled down her throat. She walked with the super soldier, neither of them saying much. Lochlyn was oh so grateful for that. She didn’t know what she was supposed to say. Loch half hoped she could just forget, but knew that was an impossibility.

            Bucky and Loch were chaperoned back to their safe house, where the two agents were dropped off on the curbside. Loch sighed, her cup of coffee now two thirds empty. She wished for more coffee. Loch really didn’t know if she could continue this mission. Her heart ached as Bucky wrapped his arm around her and began to walk the silent agent towards the house.

            Once inside, that musty, old mold smell almost snapped Lochlyn out of her trance.Bucky had wandered off to the kitchen to dispose of his now empty coffee cup. She looked around, and as if she was reliving the trauma right in the living room of the dilapidated safe house, she felt the tears swelling. This whole time, she had tried to keep a stone-cold face, showing very little emotion aside from shock. It was like a crack had formed in her façade. And like a dam; one crack spread like a web and soon, the floodgates were gushing.

            Loch stood in the closed doorway, sniffling pathetically. Her shoulders shook but she was unable to prevent the onslaught of tears which fell down her face.

            As if called by a dog whistle that only the Winter soldier could hear, Bucky came rushing into the living room. There was a look of calm concern across his face as he hurried to Loch’s side. The lights within the safe house seemed to faintly flicker as each tear hit the carpet with a muddled ‘thup’.

            “W…why did… i… come?” she croaked, her voice breaking with every syllable. “I… I’m… n-not ready… for… this.”

            The soldier gripped Loch tightly to him, and she found herself crying like a pathetic child into his chest. Her eyes leaving wet stains on the sweatshirt he wore. Bucky did not care in the slightest. He gently stroked the back of her head; as she wrapped her arms tightly around his torso. He was soft, and his body gave off a comforting warmth. His heart beat was slow and soothing, but her mind continued to race.

            “I…I’m sorry…” Lochlyn sniffled, pulling away from Bucky in the hopes of sparing his sweater from any more snot and tears. Bucky sighed, but didn’t let go of his embrace.

            “Don’t…” Bucky said, resting his chin on the top of her head, “You didn’t do anything wrong. Don’t go apologizing for shit you didn’t do.”

            This only made Lochlyn cry harder. She didn’t know what she did to deserve such patience and sympathy from Bucky. She just squeezed her eyes shut, burying her face in his sweater, inhaling a deep, shaky breath. With his cool, smooth metal fingers, Bucky gently tugged at Lochlyn’s hand, lacing their fingers together as he held her waist.

            “Just breathe, I’m here… this too will pass.” He muttered to her, planting an ever so delicate kiss to her temple. The ache in Loch’s chest slowly dulled, but did not go away.

Bucky continued to hold her, providing a sense of solace in the midst of the storm raging inside her. The rhythmic sound of his heartbeat against her ear started to synchronize with her breathing. Lochlyn clung to the warmth of his touch, feeling the reassurance that she wasn't alone in this darkness. They stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, an unspoken understanding passing between them. Bucky knew he couldn't erase the pain, but he could be a steady anchor in the turbulence. After a while, Loch dreaded letting go.

[floridafishkeeper]

@the-lonelyshepherd I'll make my advice Florida specific here but I highly recommend people join me on FB at North American Native Fish Keepers to have a community resource for the general whole of North America. You can also private message me here or there if you're in Florida looking for advice.

So in Florida the first thing you need to have as stated is a fishing license if you're going to be in saltwater or collecting from a boat you may need additional licenses, there is an easy app for this on the FWC website you can get a free regular state fishing license as long as you are resident from local bait shops and Walmarts.

In Florida most of our non-game fish species can be collected with dip nets, cast nets, and traps. Non game fish includes things like killifish, live bearers, invasive cichlids (excluding peacock bass), most other invasives and other small innocuous shiners, darters etc.

In Florida game fish must be taken through legal means even if you're taking small ones to collect. The fish must meet slot regulations when collected, and in most cases needs to be taken with hook and line. In Florida it is important to know that game Fish includes the majority of our Sunfish all the way down to Dollar sunfish something that you wouldn't typically consider game.

You need to check the fwc's prohibited species list to see an up-to-date list of species that you are not allowed to take as far as invasives go. It's pretty short as far as fish go but basically piranha, walking catfish, snakeheads, green sunfish, and any species of tilapia that is not a production species (Mozambique, blue, Nile). These species must either be returned immediately to the water or disposed of. Any invasives not on the prohibited list are legal to take without limitation and typically by any means legal in the state. This includes things like plecos, jack dempseys, live-bearers etc.

You also want to look at the list of protected species of course but it's not a super hard one to memorize for Florida. I always recommend taking pictures on location getting identifications on the spot or coming back later to recollect after you have grabbed an ID.

In general though the vast majority of fish that you're going to find in a small ditch or pond in the state of Florida aside from bass and Sunfish are legal to take with a dip net. If you want to get started right off the bat I would say find any local ditch that's currently full of water and run a dip net through it and see what you get you should see things like mosquito fish, Molly's, least killifish etc in locations like that but sometimes you'll find stuff even more rare.

My favorite resource for figuring out where to find individual species in your area is INaturalist. This is a very easy and very free to use app that has been well documented here in Florida so there are up-to-date population locations and all you have to do is search your area and you can see every single species of fish and where it's been collected with surprising accuracy.

If you live in the city I recommend opening up Google maps and using satellite mode to find small ditches and bodies of water and drainage systems that might be running through the city these are excellent places to go and look for fish.

Killifish and live-bearers are definitely the small staple of Florida along with a handful of shiners and slack water species. You'll also be looking for the beautiful pygmy sunfish and dwarf Sunfish species. Nothing beats the first time you catch your first melanistic golden ear topminner though!

what’s the best way to get into native fishkeeping? currently have 3 running tanks but no native species and im really interested in starting a native tank (florida based) but its really hard to find the resources to figure out how to get started 💔💔 any help would be appreciated :))

First thing I'd do is get a fishing license! Catching and keeping native fishes starts there. Make sure you pick up a copy of your local fishing regulations and read through them. Learn what is legal and what isn't - sometimes things like the number of specimens of a given species or method of catching are regulated. Always follow your local laws!

Second would be to learn what fish species you have locally. Just because a species is native to Florida doesn't mean you'll have easy access to it. I suggest you go wading in local creeks, streams, and bogs and see what you can find! Just uh watch for snakes and gators. I've stumbled upon a few while down your way. Maybe also look into iNaturalist to see what fish can be found in your area too.

Third, think about the biotope you want to try. You have great freshwater, brackish, and saltwater options. Don't overlook your native killifish and livebearers! Eastern Mosquitofish are somewhat drab in most areas, but in FL you can find a very handsome black and white marbled variant. They really stand out! Our Fundulus killies are all winners too. But the native burrfish, damsels, and sunfishes are all neat too!

Fourth, pick up a book on native fish keeping for some ideas. Our Native Fishes by John Quinn is a good one I like.

Maybe ask @floridafishkeeper their thoughts! They seem to be very knowledgeable on the local species.