#its the same way i mishmash x on my controller and end up using a pulse cell

[queseraphita]

im gonna end up finding some catastrophic way of blowing myself up without meaning to i can feel it

[meereens]

@asoiafrarepairs [a weekend in the stormlands]

argella durrandon x rhaenys targaryen

Argella Durrandon had been alone, watching the sunless waters slosh below the great seaward wall like black wine when the rider came. Maester Oswald was the one to inform her, with eyes as flat as his voice. Her father would not have sent only one man forth to proclaim a victory. Time slowed as she descended from the battlements, the wind lulling her along as it blew the ends of her dagged sleeves forward. Gold sleeves, gold fabric like the banners that had been raised so proudly when her father left to combat the invading horde. The man who had beaten the Dornish as a green boy and killed a green king before her lifetime rallied the men of the Stormlands easily, their brassy shouts melding with her own as all cheered his valor. He had placed a gauntleted paw on her shoulder and told her to keep Storm’s End from falling into the waves in his absence. He had given her a garrison of two hundred to aid in the task. 

Most of those men were in the courtyard now, the life sapped from their faces. Ser Harrold looked eons older than six-and-twenty, while Ser Brenwyl on his right had transformed his wide mouth into a straight line. At least they could stand each other’s company again; the other day she had found herself compelled to break up a heated game of dice, suggesting she would hand the instruments of their fun over to the sea god and his minions. The new face in the center drank from an offered wineskin, stroking the flank of his chestnut courser with his other hand. Its legs were caked with mud. He stumbled into taking a knee once Argella stood a hair’s breadth away from him. 

“My princess.”

She lifted a hand. “Rise.” 

He obeyed and glanced over at Ser Haldrick Cole.

“Ser Morrey, say your piece,” the commander said. If he had said it already, every soul presently assembled would have known before her, from knight to meandering washerwoman. Janson, the old, limping master of horse had crawled out from his post ahead of her to hear what had befallen their people’s champion. Ahead of her, his daughter, his heir, who should have been there to raise the gate. Ser Morrey heaved a breath, but Argella cut him off. 

“I assume my father is dead.” 

“Yes, Princess.” He seemed relieved to not have to say it to her himself, earning a quick glare. Small wonder her father had fallen if he had such yellow-bellies rotting his ranks.

“And what of his army?”

“The battle was done as soon as he was.”

They should have pressed on. Did the lords who had wet their beards with mead in her father’s hall and supped on pheasant swallow their oaths as well? Truer men would have fought for their homeland, for their king’s memory, for her. The battle was not yet done, not for as long as a Durrandon breathed; did they intend to serve her up on a golden plate? She raised her eyes from Ser Morrey’s apologetic ones and scanned the yard, a parade of statues swaddled in plate and mail, eying her in turn. Someone in the front started hacking, an ugly, feline cough that lasted long enough to disrupt the boiling in her veins. 

“You may speak on it more, ser,” she prompted.

“We met the enemy on the hills south of Bronzegate,” he began. “They had the high ground, but we had the numbers. Near twice as many men, and far more knights besides. It was drizzling as we closed in, by midday, storming. Your father’s bannermen wanted a delay, but he must have known the storm would ground the Targaryen monster. The rain blew from the south, blinding their men. He gave the command, and thrice we struggled up the steep and muddy slopes. It must have been night by then, or else the darkest day. As we broke through to the center, the dragon emerged.” 

Argella inhaled slowly. The dragon sicced on their hills was the same beast that had laid waste to the kingswood, incinerating Lord Errol. Lords Fell and Buckler had ridden back to warn her father of the creature and the queen who held it in thrall, the woman mated to her own brother. 

“It was impossible to see at first, hidden by the line, and with dark grey scales like the clouds overhead. The murk of the storm masked its true size as well, though it could fit a garrison on its back. Rhaenys Targaryen blinked, and the van went up in dragonflame. Panic set in, horses screeching, but your father did not yield. I fought until I heard shouts that he had been slain. By Baratheon, they said. Our spirits had been broken.” 

Her body would make no room for a yoked spirit, nor would her spirit permit useless grief. 

“Is yours broken still, Ser Morrey?”

He paused before answering. “Truly? It depends upon what happens next.”

“Then I shall tell you,” she said simply. Her father had possessed a deep, booming voice; thunder in a man’s throat, her mother called it. He could command any room by clearing his throat, a yard by uttering men! Hers was low for a woman, rich in timbre, but it had yet to capture the attention of an army. It had yet to inspire awe. She breathed deep within her and addressed not only Ser Morrey but all gathered under the white-and-grey marbled sky. You are my people, she thought. For as long as we last. 

***

She was the Storm Queen now, the first there ever was, in a world where another queen controlled the skies. Argella insisted on accompanying Ser Haldrick to watch the men drill with bows, spears, and crossbows. The grey-scaled dragon would fly hundreds of feet above their heads, armed with an intelligent rider as well as a flaming gullet. He knew as well as she did that their weapons’ chances of making meaningful contact were slim to none. Since she had barred her gates, however, maintaining the hope of a chance against the Targaryen threat was paramount. 

Privately, as they sat with a tankard of ale between them, Maester Oswald had invited her to speak in candid terms. 

“My terms are always candid,” she had said. “I would rather die a queen than live a wife.”

A row of men launched their spears into the air. Eight out of ten struck their makeshift targets in the belly. When the host approached, would her father’s killer ask the queen to spare her for her useful womb? Another row lined up to aim, spears at the ready, when a large shadow passed over the ground. She saw heads lift, heard the wonder worm its way through the fear as the shout rang:

“Dragon!” 

Slowly, her eyes made their way up until she was craning her neck to see. An overgrown gargoyle, that was what it resembled from afar, with its massive batlike wings. It dipped down long enough for her to catch a glimpse of its lizardine foot, gnarled and wicked, before it rushed higher. The beast abruptly took off for the top of Storm’s End’s sole tower, completing a lazy circle as Argella’s spine prickled from her vantage point. The beast was by rights an ungodly mishmash of creatures, yet moved fluidly, sinuously. When it brought itself low, sailing back toward the courtyard, she could comprehend it in full. Ser Morrey had been wrong about its scales. No dark grey, they were instead a varnished silver. She caught herself; mulling over a monster’s appearance as it prepared to cook her in her gown would not do. “To me!” Hitching up her skirts, she ran across the raised wooden platform without bothering to take stock of Ser Haldrick behind her. Her heart pounded frantically in her chest as she made it to the corner and went down the stairs to the yard itself, where the dragon still hovered. Her men had not broken out of the spell the sight of it had put them under. “To me, to me! Inside the tow—”

“I have come to parley!” Yelled Rhaenys Targaryen. 

She turned around, incredulous. The queen was visible on her dragon’s back, hands gripping two spikes for leverage. Her long, loose hair was a strange silvery color that could have been plucked from the moon, and it flowed effortlessly as she slid off her mount like it was ice. She wore ringmail but no sword, the black belt dangling from her crimson tunic empty. 

“Your intentions were not clear,” Argella said. 

She inched closer toward her with raised palms. “Forgive me. It is difficult to wave a flag whilst maneuvering a dragon.”  

Ser Haldrick caught up to her and edged his body in front. “I am the queen,” she reminded him. “I need no aid in this matter.”

“Of course.”

The dragon’s tail thunked against the ground, as if it were a bored child that wanted to leave because the sweets were elsewhere. Her crossbowmen had their weapons trained on it, poised. If she gave the command, some of them would hit their mark. Whether they could pierce through the shining scales once the bolts sprung free was another matter, and another still was the issue of the creature’s proportions reducing them to needles in a giant’s side. She crossed her arms. “Parley.”

Queen Rhaenys beamed. “I believe you know of the terms my brother offered forth. That you would marry Orys Baratheon, your dowry starting with the lands east of the Gods Eye. Massey’s Hook would come too, and the woods and plains from the Blackwater south to the Wendwater and the Mander’s headwaters. King Aegon would be your liege lord, and you would be Lady of Storm’s End. The sea is beautiful here, like the night sky,” she added, unexpectedly. “You can wake up to it for the rest of your life.” 

“I will wake up to it for the rest of my life regardless, should you kill me in a day,” Argella said. Rhaenys’ smile must have been stuck to her face, since her words did not tear it off. Being the Lady of Storm’s End meant being the lady of a usurper, come to rip her crown off her head and her gown from her shoulders. The queen could not dull the truth any more than she could sweeten the circumstances. “Orys is pleasing to look upon, and well-muscled,” she said. “He is a man in the summer of his life.”

“Then perhaps you should have married Orys Baratheon instead of your brother.”

She took the slap gracefully. “There are worse fates.” 

“Did he kill my father himself?” 

Rhaenys sighed. “Yes. Regardless, this is your way out.”

Out of a fiery death. 

Argella pictured the slight woman riding her beast to the top of the tower again, this time to meet her. She would call upon the wind to send such a gale that it could sweep the dragon up inside it and spit it out somewhere far away, or the sea to rise up and absorb all the flame it had to hurl. The Storm Queen would stare the dragon queen in the face and bare her teeth. The Storm Queen would not flinch. 

“You may take my castle,” she said slowly. “But you will win only blood and bones and ashes.” 

“While you could remain living in your castle should you cease talk of ruin.”

Her eyes locked onto Rhaenys’, surer than ever. Lightning ran through her gaze, a blue lightning strong enough to pierce through scales and char the flesh beneath. 

“Ruin is what you have brought to the Durrandons already. May you choke on ours sevenfold.” 

Instead of moving to leap on her dragon and commence the assault, Rhaenys moved closer. “You will not bend the knee?” 

She was looking down on Rhaenys, at the bridge of her nose. “None of us will. Down to the last man, we will resist you.” 

Whip-fast, she darted up and laid a kiss on her cheek. Argella glowered as the woman stepped back, bouncing on her heels.

“Farewell then, Durrandon.” 

Later, as she mused, she realized she did not know if she had meant it as a goodbye to her or her House.

[lailannajacobs]

Push My Luck

Pairing: Loki x Reader 

Prompt: “Is that mistletoe?” 

Word Count: 2k 

Warnings: Fluff!!! 

A/N: My submission for @sourpatchkidsandacokecan Merry Kismet writing challenge, thanks for letting me join!! I had been hoping to get this out before the new year but, as always, life’s a little crazy! This is a drabble in the Just Dumb Luck series, but no need to have read the rest! Hope you enjoy! <3 

The cold had seeped through your coat and to your core, and even the apartment building’s blast of hot air in the lobby hadn’t done enough to stop your shivering. Loki’s apartment was a spacious 4 1/2 on the 15th floor of a beautiful building on central park west. Yet, you had only ever been a handful of times in the months you had been dating. It wasn’t that you didn’t like his apartment, it was just that…you didn’t like his apartment.

Yours might be small, old, and falling apart, with all of its quirks that had taken you over a year to figure out, but at least it felt like a home. It had personality. It was a place you wanted to be. Loki’s felt like a realtor was about to bring in a new couple for showing at any given moment. You understood that, being gone as often as he was and that Earth wasn’t his actual home, it didn’t make sense to spend time making it a home. Which was why, although he had strangely insisted you meet him in his apartment tonight, you were having dinner at your place.

The elevator dinged, the doors opening to the cool grey of the hallway. Despite the fact that you were still cold, your shivering had ceased, and your breathing had evened out enough for you to wish you had grabbed a snack on your way out of work to appease your growling stomach. Reaching the end of the hallway, you got to the corner apartment and knocked on the door even if you were pretty sure he had left the door unlocked. Having someone break in wasn’t much of a concern for the god of mischief.

“Come in!” His muffled voice barely sounded through the door.

You pushed the door open, about to ask him why he had been so insistent on having you meet him here, but the words died in your mouth. His usually cold and impersonal apartment was decked out in holiday decorations - a mishmash of colours with no obvious pattern in mind - covering the cool greys and blacks. Holiday music drifted from speakers you had no idea he even had, and the smell of ginger and something else you couldn’t name, but that smelled delicious wafted through the air.

“Loki?” You took a tentative step forward, unsure if you had walked into the right apartment.

“In the kitchen.” He called.

You slipped off your boots but didn’t bother with your coat, walking around the corner to his kitchen, gobsmacked. He stood with his back to you, stirring something in a large pot on the stove. His black dress shirt was rolled up to his elbows, messily tucked into his dark pants as if he had physically fount in an attempt to get dinner started. You didn’t even know he could cook. Bard, the black, short haired cat, weaved around his legs, rubbing up against his owner happily. Loki glanced back, his messy hair half in his eyes and he shot you a sly grin that never failed to send your heart racing.

Approaching cautiously, you swiped a figurine of a moose wearing a Santa hat off the top ledge of the nearby windowsill, rolling it between your fingers and staring at it as if it might have the answers.

“Loki,” you mumbled again, still not sure what to do with all this information, “This isn’t an illusion.”

He raised a brow, “Really? I wasn’t aware.”

His familiar sass snapped you out of your daze somewhat and you closed the distance between the two of you to check what was in the pot, “Glad to know that despite everything here, you’re still the same sassy prince.”

With a final stir, he turned to lean back against the counter beside the stove and pulled you close so that you were standing between his legs. He pressed a kiss to your lips, his long fingers playing along your lower back.

“Hi,” You murmured when you pulled away, unable to hide the smile that still seemed to appear whenever his lips met yours.

“Hi,” He searched your face, green eyes bright, “How was your day?”

You smiled, “Good, but better now. How was yours? What brought all this about?”

“I’ll tell you later.” He drawled, leaning back in.

You leaned back, playfully avoiding his kiss, “So many secrets.”

His lips curled upward into that dangerous grin, “Oh but love, secrets are the best part.”

“So you say,” Before his charm could lure you back in, you noticed something above you, “Is that mistletoe?”

“It is.” He pulled you in a little closer. “And I believe it means we should kiss again.”

You laughed, “Do you now?”

“I do, and I should know.” He said, a thoughtful look on his face.

You leaned back, but he kept his fingers laced behind your back so that you couldn’t get too far. “How much of that myth is true?”

“Whatever do you mean?” The corner of his lips twitched upward into a coy smirk.

“You know…” You paused for a moment, trying to find the words that wouldn’t shatter the moment, “The fact that that we now kiss under mistletoe because…”

“I tricked someone into killing someone else?” His brow was raised in that deadpanned look of his.

You turned your attention to the moose Santa you had laid on the counter instead, “yeah…exactly.”

“None of it. There may have been an incident with Thor, mistletoe and a small, magical explosive but there was nothing the mighty god of thunder couldn’t handle. The myth was an embellishment I thought would be fun to make Midgardian’s believe.” There was a fond smile on his face that reminded you that there was so much you didn’t know about him. You wished, not for the first time, that his life wasn’t so distant from yours. His brows furrowed, “What’s bothering you?”

You shook your head and forced a smile back to your lips, “Nothing. Everything’s perfect. This is perfect.”

“I’m glad you think so, I wasn’t exactly…” For the first time since you had met him, he looked almost sheepish and unsure, lost for words.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, running your fingers through his hair, “You’re perfect.”

His brows furrowed, his eyes filling with an emotion you couldn’t recognize but that pulled on your heartstrings. You pulled him close, burying your face in his neck, neither of you saying anything for a long time.

Not quite understanding at first, it took you a moment to realize you couldn’t smell the usual citrus and pine that always seemed to cling to him, “Loki, what’s that smell?”

His whole body stiffened.

He pulled back, about to let go, but pressed a kiss to the top of your head before whirling around to his cooking. His back was too you as he stirred furiously, muttering words you couldn’t quite understand but knew from the general tone that he wasn’t in the least bit pleased. Experience told you that there wasn’t much he could do about the burnt taste now and you were going to have to find something else to replace it. Not wanting to be there when he figured it out, you went to take off your coat and to unpack your work bag.

When you came back into the kitchen, there was an uneasy look on his face and you tried to reassure him, “We’ll figure something else out as a replacement. I’m sure the rest of the meal is fine.” He still hadn’t told you what you were eating but you didn’t want him to believe that his efforts would go to waste, “We can go to the convenient store downstairs and pick up a readymade can of sauce or something and eat the rest.”

“Oh, uh, yes.” He nodded, “I’m sure we can do just that.”

“I can go now while you keep everything under control here,” You were halfway out of the kitchen when you heard his voice.

“Actually (y/n), I was hoping I could give you something first.”

Normally, you would have asked him if it could wait until you got back - the delicious smell in the apartment when you had walked in had reminded you of how hungry you were - but that same nervous look still hadn’t left his face.

You nodded, “Sure, what is it?”

He took in a long, deep breath, then a small black box with a sparkling emerald bow appeared in his open palm, “I was told presents were a holiday thing.”

Neither of you had said anything about presents but you had his wrapped under your bed in your apartment. You were pretty sure he hadn’t found out about his present, so the small, jewelry sized box took you by surprise. Stunned by everything he had done tonight, you couldn’t seem to move toward it.

“It’s yours.” He supplied as if you hadn’t understood that by the fact that he had it outstretched to you.

“You shouldn’t have.” You murmured, taking the box from him.

With his hand free, he ran it through his already messy hair, as if he had been doing that the entire time you had taken to put your work things away. Your heart began to beat a little faster in anticipation, partially mirroring his nerves as well.

When you popped the lid off, a silver, ordinary key sat in the centre of the plush white pillow. You stared up at him, “Loki? Are you asking me to move in with you?”

“Not exactly.”

Your smile fell and you realized just how much you had been hoping he’d ask you to move in with him, “Oh…then what exactly?”

“Not here… I know you don’t like this place. I know you think it’s cold and it isn’t your home, but your apartment is barely big enough for the both of us” He looked like he was going to run his hands though his hair again but instead stuffed them into his pockets instead, “The key doesn’t unlock any place in particular, but I was hoping we could get a place that it could, somewhere we both like…if that’s something you would like?”

“Really?” You asked, breathless. A part of you thought you might be dreaming.

“Only if it is something you would like.” He repeated as if he wanted to make sure you knew you could say no.

“Loki?” You waited until you had all of his attention, “Yes. Yes, I want to move in with you.”

He looked hopeful for a second, but the look vanished as quickly as it had come, “Truly?”

You cupped his face gently with both hands, “There’s no doubt in my mind.”

Although the relief in his face was clear, you pressed your lips fiercely to his, trying to erase any remaining doubt he might have.

When he pulled away he said, “But you must know, there is one condition.”

“What is that?” You asked.

“Bard is coming with us. I’ve found that I’ve grown somewhat attached to it.”

You chuckled, feeling Bard brush up against your leg in response, “I think I can handle it.”

His lips curled into a teasing smile and he leaned in for a kiss, but you leaned past him and turned off all the burners on the stove instead.

He cocked his head, a silent question on his fcae.

“Whatever’s in the oven has another 40 minutes to cook, right?”

He nodded.

“Good. I was just making sure the rest didn’t overcook while we were distracted.”

His devilish grin grew, revealing a row of pearly whites, “I thought you were starving. Wouldn’t you rather eat?”

You laughed at his mocking tone, “I’ve found something else to tide me over in the meantime.”

“Then who am I to stop you?” He pulled you closer, lips pressed firmly to yours, backing you up into the opposite wall.

[ezatluba]

The tiger next door: America’s backyard big cats

There are more tigers in American gardens than there are left in the wild. Alex Hannaford meets the owners who live cheek by jowl with their pets, and also those ensuring the big cats are treated without cruelty

Alex Hannaford

10 Nov 2019

It was the sort of headline impossible to scroll past: “Pot Smokers Find Caged Tiger in Abandoned Houston House, Weren’t Hallucinating: Police.” Last February, a group of people had snuck into a deserted house in Texas’s largest city to smoke marijuana when they stumbled upon a full-grown tiger in a cage – a cage secured by just a nylon strap and a screwdriver. Sergeant Jason Alderete of Houston Police Department’s animal cruelty unit, later told a local TV station: “It wasn’t the effects of the drugs. There was an actual tiger!” The animal was given a name, Loki, and sent to an animal sanctuary in the country, run by the Humane Society of the United States. You’d be forgiven for thinking Loki’s experience was an isolated incident – it isn’t.

An oft-quoted statistic is that there are more tigers in American back yards than there are left in the wild. According to the US Fish & Wildlife Service, there are between 3,200 and 3,500 tigers remaining in the wild globally. By some estimates there are 5,000 in captivity in the US, though there might be more. The truth is we have little idea how many there are in American ranches, unlicensed zoos, apartments, truck stops and private breeding facilities, due to a mishmash of state, federal and county laws governing their ownership.

According to the World Wildlife Fund, only 6% of America’s captive tiger population lives in zoos and facilities accredited by the Association of Zoos & Aquariums; the rest are in private hands. Some are regulated by the US Department of Agriculture and others by state laws, but some are not regulated at all. “In some states, it is easier to buy a tiger than to adopt a dog from a local animal shelter,” says the WWF.

In Texas, which lets each of its 254 counties regulate the ownership of dangerous wild animals, it’s hard to accurately gauge how many there are. In a state that prides itself on promoting individual freedoms, like openly carrying AR-15 semi-automatic rifles or bringing concealed handguns on to university campuses, it’s perhaps not surprising that owning a tiger is considered (by some) to be a God-given right.

The deplorable conditions in which Loki was found illustrate the fact that these “rights” can come at a cost. He was discovered in a 5ft x 3ft cage in the dark garage of the abandoned home. The cage’s floor was made of plywood. It was three months before police arrested his owner, a 24-year-old woman named Brittany Garza, who was taken into custody and charged with animal cruelty. She responded that she was in the process of relocating and had not abandoned the animal, as it had food and water.

Katie Jarl, the Humane Society’s southwest regional director, says there have been numerous similar incidents. In 2016, police in Conroe, a town north of Houston, received reports of a tiger roaming a residential neighbourhoodafter it escaped from someone’s back yard. “No one knew about them,” she says. “They were completely off the map.”

These animals are extremely complex and powerful and can kill a human being with a swipe of their paw

In 2009, a 330lb tiger escaped from its enclosure in Ingram, Texas, and was found in a 79-year-old woman’s back yard. In 2007, a one-year-old tiger “wearing a makeshift lead” was found shot dead in a wooded area off the motorway in Dallas. In 2003, in another Dallas suburb, a motorist spotted a four-month-old tiger roaming the side of the road. In 2001, a three-year-old boy was killed by one of his relative’s three pet tigers in Lee County, Texas. And in 2000, animal control officers near Houston spent three hours searching for a tiger that had escaped from a garden cage while its owners were out of town. That same year, in Channelview, Texas, a three-year-old boy had his arm ripped off by his uncle’s 400lb pet.

As for Loki, Jarl says a law-enforcement source of hers outside the city had got in touch to say the authorities had known about Loki’s owner for a long time. “She had been raising cubs in her home for years,” Jarl says, “in a county where there were no restrictions.”

This year, two state legislators filed bills aimed at prohibiting the private ownership of “dangerous wild animals”. But this is Texas, where the private ownership of pretty much everything is sacrosanct, and neither bill became law. There was “passionate testimony” on both sides of the debate, says the assistant to one of the legislators involved.

According to one conservation charity, four states (Alabama, Nevada, North Carolina and Wisconsin) do not regulate the private ownership of exotic pets at all. Brittany Peet, director of Captive Animal Law Enforcement for People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals (Peta), says there are a “patchwork of laws” regulating the possession of big cats. “And you can usually get around those laws by applying for a United States Department of Agriculture (USDA) exhibitor’s licence,” she says. “It’s as simple as filling out an application and writing a cheque for $100. The regulations are very minimal – as long as you have a cage where the animal can fully stand up and turn around you shouldn’t have a problem getting a licence.

“Everyone should be terrified and shocked by this,” Peet adds. “These animals are extremely complex and powerful and can kill a human being with a swipe of their paw. People keeping tigers in back yards are not experts. They don’t know what they’re doing, and they’re not providing these animals with enrichment and stimulation that they need in order to live relatively normal lives in captivity.”

Bill Rathburn disagrees. He believes he provided the seven tigers that once lived on his private, 50-acre ranch 80 miles east of Dallas, with more than enough enrichment and stimulation. For more than two decades, Rathburn and his now ex-wife Lou raised the animals from cubs. For the Rathburns, the tigers were a surrogate family.

I interview Rathburn over the phone and later he sends me a photo of himself and Raja, the first tiger he and his wife bought. The pair are nose to nose inside its cage. “That was the relationship I had with him,” he says. “I’m not a reckless person and wouldn’t have gone into the cage with him if I hadn’t raised him, or knew I’d be safe doing it. He was the most loving animal from the day we got him to the day he died.”

Not everyone in the Rathburns’ neighbourhood shared their enthusiasm. “Tiger sanctuary has residents growling,” read one local headline.

Rathburn is a former deputy chief of the Los Angeles Police Department and chief of police of the Dallas Police Department. In 1996 he was director of security for the summer Olympic Games, in Atlanta. It was while he was there that Lou bought their first tiger. Rathburn admits to feeling “kind of overwhelmed” initially, thinking about all the work and expense that would inevitably go into raising it. But when he came home he says he “immediately fell in love”.

The following year the couple bought two more tiger cubs “from a guy who had tigers in the back yard of his house in Houston”. Rathburn and his wife raised the cubs in their house. They installed a heavy mesh screen door “so they couldn’t get out of the pantry and wander round the house at night”. Outside, they constructed a cage complex. “If you saw it,” he says, “you’d realise it was a pretty good life for a tiger: a 10,000sqft play area with grass, trees and bushes, so they could run, play, hide, and chew on grass to help their digestive system.”

Raja lived to be 21. “He was unsteady on his feet towards the end,” Rathburn says. “I knew it was time to put him down. The vet came round and agreed. I was crying like a baby. It broke my heart.” Their second animal developed a tumour on her spine. When she died, Lou insisted on having her skin made into a rug. “And after we got divorced I ended up with the rug,” Rathburn says. “I have it over a chest in my bedroom, and it’s wonderful way to remember her. I talk to her once in a while.”

Eventually, he says, a neighbour complained to county officials about what they described as a growing tiger problem next door. “He got county officials upset, and two votes can sway an election in a rural area. So the county commissioners weren’t willing to extend my permit.”

I’m not a reckless person and wouldn’t have gone into the cage with him if I hadn’t raised him, or knew I’d be safe

Rathburn believes in regulation. “There should be adequate confinement areas, [and regulation] protecting animals and protecting people who might be injured by them.” But, he says, he stands by the rights of individuals to own big cats.

While this might sound incredible to someone in the UK, Rathburn’s sense of entitlement – this rugged individualism that says the government shouldn’t interfere with an individual’s right to own pretty much whatever they want – runs deep in America.

Marcus Cook has owned and worked with big cats since the early 1990s. Back then he was working for a zoo in south Texas, and when the owners retired and closed their business Cook adopted a couple of black leopards. “Anyone who says they can tame one is unrealistic,” he tells me by phone one morning from his home in Kaufman, Texas. “But they’re handleable.”

Cook says he’s owned everything “from small cats, like cougars, to lions, tigers, leopards and jaguars. The big guys.” He says his own firm, Zoocats, began as a hobby in 1995 and grew from there. He began to take the animals on the road around the US – to schools and fairs and temporary exhibits. Cook says it was all about education – “creating an entertaining wow factor” – but his critics say he was ruthlessly exploiting the animals for gain. He has been accused of numerous animal welfare violations, subjected to various complaints, and issued citations over the years.

Loki, the tiger rescued from the Houston garage, was taken to a vast ranch in Murchison, Texas, run by the Humane Society. Murchison, population 594, is a rural farming community 70 miles southeast of Dallas. The Cleveland Amory Black Beauty Ranch is situated discreetly, a few miles outside town, next to a remote country lane. You can see horses and cattle grazing in fields next to the road, but none of the exotic animals that also live here.

We feed him 8lb of food a day – humanely raised beef, turkey, large rats and rabbits

Noelle Almrud, ranch director, meets me at the main office and we climb into a truck to drive to the enclosures at the back of the ranch that house its two tigers. It’s not unlike a wildlife park, although there are no gawking tourists here and the enclosures are bigger. Loki lives in a quarter-acre fenced area, but he rotates each week from this into a three-acre enclosure next door. Both have an abundance of willows and oaks to provide shade.

As we walk towards the fence, Loki gallops over and makes a breathy snort that Almrud says is known as “chuffing” and signals affection. He rubs himself against the wire enclosure before running back to his water trough and jumping in. “He’s acclimated really well,” she tells me. “We feed him 8lb of food a day – humanely raised beef, turkey, large rats, or rabbits and supplements – six days a week, then he has a day of fasting, as he would in the wild.”

Two years ago, Almrud helped found the Big Cat Sanctuary Alliance, a network of reputable big cat sanctuaries whose mission was to strengthen the regulation of big cats in the US and get conservation facilities to work together to place rescue animals. But they face a big challenge, she explains: “Roadside zoos need shutting down, but where do you put all the animals? You couldn’t re-house all the tigers currently in roadside zoos in America. We need more money and more facilities. In a perfect world,” she says, “I’d like to be put out of business.”

Judging by the Texan appetite for big cats, that won’t be happening anytime soon.

[thelongestdamnreviews]

Dragon’s Dogma: Dark Arisen

I forgot to get a screenshot of the title, so here's a picture of me stabbing a cyclops in the head with the logo watermarked on the image.

I saw that Dragon's Dogma was in the December Humble Monthly and I had some interest in the game, so I jumped on it for $10.80 with a few other games.  I wound up finishing the game at 53 hours and finishing the postgame to unlock New Game Plus at 65.  I played the game with the Xbox 360 controller only.  I took my time, but I didn't complete all of the quests or even touch Bitterblack Isle (DLC area).  I played a little of each class but stuck mostly with Strider/Assassin.

Life in Cassardis is pretty nice as a fisherman.  The days pass by in absolute peace and you couldn't be happier.  And then one day, a dragon attacks your village and you feebly attempt to fight it off, only to get your heart ripped out of your chest for your trouble.  But you don't die.  You become something more than human, an Arisen, an ageless but not immortal being challenged by the dragon to reclaim your heart.  But along the way, there are many people who need help, and what better way to sharpen one's skills than slaying countless monsters and taking their loot?  

Nope, it's not even one of those conceptual hearts like the shape.  It's your actual, beating heart the thing takes!

Dragon's Dogma is a third-person action RPG.  To me, it felt a little like a mishmash of elements from The Elder Scrolls, Dark Souls, Shadow of the Colossus, and even Phantasy Star Online.  It still manages to stand as a unique product all the same, though.  The game takes place in a wide-open sandbox like TES, the combat is weighty like Dark Souls, there is climbing on giant enemies like SotC, and the team aspect reminds me of PSO though your allies are all AI-controlled.  You jump, you swing your weapon, you'll probably get knocked down, stunlocked, and die a few times starting out.  What I liked about the world was that enemies don't scale, like in Morrowind or Dark Souls.  If you go to an area you aren't meant to be in for a while, you'll certainly feel it in the encounters.  But on the other hand, you'll eventually hit a point where you overpower your enemies.  

Health had an interesting mechanic I've only seen in fighting games prior--a recoverable damage portion of the bar.  You have a green health bar, representing your current health, and when you take damage, you may have some white health bar, which represents how much magic and some other effects can heal you.  Grey/black bar is completely gone and can only be restored with items, resting, and some other things.  If you have a healer and neglect to take any restoratives, you can still be whittled to death, so keep that in mind.  Stamina governs all skill use, be it weapon or magic, as well as sprinting, clinging to giant enemies, holding objects/enemies/other people, and so on.  Thankfully, you can sprint infinitely in safe areas, so that's a very nice touch.  A weight meter pops up whenever you cross the next weight category threshold, and it's visible at all times when you're looking at the inventory.  

Sword, bow, or magic?  There are nine Vocations in DD, and they're all based around these archetypes and combinations of them.  A Fighter uses a sword and board to safely approach and dispatch enemies, while its advanced version Warrior uses only two-hander weapons to destroy enemies, and a hybrid Magick Knight can cast party-wide buffs and attack at range with unique spells as well as knock some heads in melee.  Each Vocation has nine ranks which determines the active skills and passive boons you can buy and equip, and each Vocation also adds a specific amount of points to your stats when you level up, so there is some potential for min-maxing.  You cannot sculpt an entirely-unique character out of all the skills you learn--for example, even though your Fighter can use a sword like the Assassin, you cannot use their Gouge ability.  Passive skills at least do transfer over, so there is still some flexibility to be had.  

Your Pawn is able to use six of the nine classes and they can learn and use skills exactly the same as you do.  You get to design your hero and their stalwart ally, the latter of whom will learn from your actions and attempt to act as you do when it comes to combat and other actions--this can be both good and bad, understandably.  Breaking off of combat to go pick flowers could result in your Pawn doing the same, just the same as clearing out the goblins escorting a cyclops first .  Monkey see, monkey do.  You are also able to hire two additional Pawns created by other players, though you've no impact nor control over their behavior or skills.  This is the most prevalent online aspect to the game (the other being an instanced fight against an optional superboss) and it's kinda neat to see how other people have built their helper, not only in appearance, but skills, behavior, and personality.  

Pawns are a lot more helpful than this picture leads you to believe, believe me.  

A neat thing about the character builder is that the features have a gameplay impact.  Apart from character height affecting hitbox, short and tall characters climb at different speeds, much like how a heavy character burns through (and recovers) stamina slower than a beanpole character, but they also don't flop around as much when a monster tries to shake them off while climbing.  Which is more important to you--stats or appearance?  You have specific things like faces and noses and eye shapes, and you can somewhat fine-tune them with sliders, like eyeball spacing or eyebrow height.  You're only able to pick hair/eye/skin color from a list as opposed to setting RGB values, but few games allow the latter.  There is a pretty wide variety of equipment for a number of slots:  Head, torso clothing, torso armor, leg clothing, leg armor, arms, a cloak, and two unseen jewelry slots.  Almost everything provides some modicum of defense, though some people would rather try to make an attractive ensemble out of the gear their class can use.  

The game repeatedly warns to be careful out in the wild during its loading screen tips, and it's not kidding.  While you are able to pause the game and spam health restores when things go poorly, you can't expect to do this and win every fight.  Part of combat is watching enemies and knowing when to block or dodge and when to strike back, but also striking to stagger or knockdown foes.  This applies mostly to the melee classes, but ranged classes need to make use of positioning and knowing where the enemies are, so one can't sneak up and interrupt your spell.  One neat thing is that you can actually grapple several non-giant foes that are staggered or downed--you can either pick them up direct to toss off a cliff for an easy kill, or hold them fast so your allies can get free shots while your opponent is vulnerable.  And your Pawns will do these too, so pay attention and work together to efficiently cut through everything in your way.  Just remember that even with a lantern, nights are still incredibly dark and spawns change depending on the time of day.  

When it comes to big monsters, you and your allies can and are encouraged to climb them, to gain better access to a weak point, to have a way to damage it even while it moves across the battlefield, or just to keep yourself safe from its attacks.  These fights are really where the teamwork aspect of the game shines.  You might climb on top of an armored cyclops to remove its helmet so your bow-using Pawns can drill its eye with arrows.  You might have a Mage pawn enchant your weapons with fire, which you then use to knock a griffon out of the sky by setting its wings on fire.  You might also hold on for dear life while the thing you're clinging to rages, pausing to replenish your dwindling stamina.  And the battle music changing as you've got the beast on its last legs is a nice touch too.  The controls are the only really bad part because it turns into tank controls (left/right to turn as opposed to move left/right) and it can be difficult to tell which way you're moving sometimes.  

Quests are your standard "kill X things" or "get Y items" and there are several optional escort quests.  There are no different storyline quests like the guilds in TES games, so that might be a letdown to some.  Several quests are given out on the notice boards in various safe areas, and these generally automatically reward you when you meet the criteria--though with some, you might suddenly find yourself with an extra heavy weapon you weren't accounting for, impacting your looting.  Other quests tend to deal more directly with people, as there's a somewhat obscure affection system which has some impact on the ending.  If you do some quests for one person and they start blushing with a pink glow around their heads while talking to you, you might have stolen someone's heart yourself.  

And speaking of thieves of hearts...

Music overall isn't bad.  Most people speak with a British accent or at least inflection (pretend that makes sense), and the dialog is a little dated.  Not like Elizabethan, but I can't remember ever hearing "aught" or "afore" before.  It kinda stands out to me, especially given how much Pawns tend to talk.  Pawns will make comments about things, either randomly or in proximity, and they'll note enemies and what strategies work if they know them.  There are only so many voiced lines so you'll be hearing them quite a bit, but that kinda lends the game a bit of charm.  I wound up using a trainer to adjust the sound levels due to the game assuming you're using headphones or surround sound, which I wasn't.  Look up the game on PCGamingWiki for information about that.  

The only really glaring problems I had were with the save system, fast travel, and combining.  There's only one save slot.  If you start a new game after having a save already, you erase it.  Thank goodness there's a mod for a save manager (or just using Steam Family Sharing) but that's still pretty limiting for a game like this.  The game also autosaves, but it's somewhat unreliable.  I have lost a couple of hours due to reloading a checkpoint save despite a manual save being more recent, but just get into the habit of manual save/loads.  There is fast travel, but it requires Portcrystals in the world and Ferrystones in your inventory.  There are a few Portcrystal stations placed in the world you can teleport to after an early quest, and there are portable Portcrystals you can place and warp to at almost any time--but there are only four in one run of the game and you can place a max of ten in subsequent loops, giving you a total of 13 warps with the three permanent locations.  And you are able to combine the things you find in the wild and buy in stores together to generate new items.  For example, a Shackle plus one of different kinds of metals gives a Skeleton Key, or you can combine herbs together to create more potent curatives.  When you select an item to start combining, you are given a list of known secondary items and the final product if known.  My issue is that there's no way to have that in reverse, a list of things you've made and when accessed, gives a list of every combination that makes it.  A minor issue I'll admit, but not having to consult a guide to remember how to make a Cerulean Concoction would've been a nice quality of life improvement.  At least you can do it right in the field instead of needing to be back home with your specialized equipment.  

Overall, I liked Dragon's Dogma.  I hyped myself a bit and it didn't quite make the mark, but I had a great time with it.  Just wish it was possible to have multiple characters without mods, so I could make specialized people like I always make in TES.  It controlled well and it was nice to have a small team at my back for an ARPG outing, and for the AI to mostly work well.  And slightly spoilery, but the final act (before postgame) was pretty satisfying.  When I think of a final boss dragon, this is kinda how I want the fight to go.  Even though it took me a little while during the actual fight because I kept getting grabbed or knocked off.  The game was a decent challenge, mostly at the start, but a lot of difficulty can be mitigated with a good team setup and bringing along the right items...and knowing your enemy, of course.  

Here we go again!  And wow at the timing on this shot.  

They're masterworks, all.  You can't go wrong.  

[ottomanbob]

on: Deep Work by Cal Newport

Cal Newport’s Deep Work is a triumph of self help. It embodies the qualities that make self improvement of the 21st century so great: driven by a desire to stand out from new age milieu and impractical horseshit, Newport pushes beyond the theories of Gladwell and idealism of Tim Ferriss to understand productivity. Newport’s an academic; an MIT educated professor of CompSci at Georgetown and he approaches his subject accordingly. Who gets shit done? How and why do they do it? And how does a beginner follow suit?

The central and opening argument of Deep Work is that the only way to ensure personal prosperity in an increasingly automated economy is to deliver quality knowledge work. Economic advantages aside, valuable knowledge work is a fulfilling pursuit for an individual and a way to ensure a deep love for one’s own career. 

**DEEP WORK **is serious-ass knowledge work that requires at least 90 minutes of unbroken focus to get into. Expertise and experience are required.

Once his thesis is established, Newport goes to incredible depths to provide a pragmatic structure for a life of Deep Work.

major personal takeaways:

Three types of deep work: monastic seclusion (Jung), bimodal (on/off every semester), rhythmic (daily habits enforced by a desire for continuity, but less predictable). There’s also the seemingly fantastic “journalistic” mode, in which one can enter deep work at a moment’s notice.

Strategy for rhythmic philosophy: “chain method.” Mark an X on your calendar for every DEEP WORK day. You will want to continue the Xs. Newport tallys his deep work hours. > Image via Attribution Engine. Licensed under CC0.

Misc tips: Have a standard daily starting time for your deep work. Make grand gestures (Rowling rented a swanky ass hotel to finish HP7). 

Don’t work alone. Selective collaboration is essential to breakthrough (see: adjacent positive breakthroughs). MIT had famous building that was accidental mishmash of depts. Caused breakthroughs. Shared common space for occasional interaction is far superior to open office plan.

5. 4DX business execution method: 

Focus on important stuff (pareto principal). 

Act on leads, not lag.

Keep score (i.e. calendar or hour tally). 

Weekly review, meetings on deep work.

RITUALIZE (obvi). Major Ferriss and many before him have popularized the importance of ritual. Think like an artist, work like an accountant:

WHEN/WHERE: Repeated locations and time frames.

Consistent “how you’ll work.” Use _freedom _app or pomodoro method. Cognitive enhancement routine included here.

Supplementation and support: methods for gathering materials, organizing work, structure of work.

Maximize Downtime. Idleness is a plus. But don’t be bored (dissatisfied with the present). Learn to live without distraction. This goes beyond mindfulness IMO. It’s about being inactive. But you don’t have to be thrilled or totally immersed in the moment. An elusive restfulness.

Replace distractions with focused work, then instead of distracting yourself, take breaks from focus. Idleness is vital for subconscious mind...

Productive meditation: take daily breaks to occupy body, but not mind. Focus on a specific problem. A walk in nature is much better than one in the city. Here’s how to PM:

Review variables (what am I working with?)

What are the next step questions?

Consolidate gains.

Repeat.

The important thing is to avoid loops. Direct your unconscious mind into new territory.

Learn to focus. Complex brain exercises are essential to laying down the deep work neurons. Newport recommends strategies for quick memorization of a deck of cards. After three days of practice, I’m able to memorize a deck in about 8 minutes. This was so fucking exciting. It reminded me off the deep cognitive joy I felt doing hard maths as a child and high school student. Other focus exercises I’ve tried or am trying: rubik’s cube (literally a one day skill), number and name memorization, chess. > Image by Israel Garcia via Attribution Engine. Licensed under CC0.

Internet blocks. 

1. No social media is a big one. I figured it out a couple of years ago but was a bit angsty in my reasoning. Turns out that the numbers add up: facebook doesn’t really make your life better. There’s the _any benefit fallacy _in which users argue for one great benefit ignoring the interminable downsides. (ie “I can stay in touch with my cousins!”) 

Have an internet Sabbath. I’m trying for saturdays.

Internet block periods during the day. An app can work, but a notepad is better as it will push for internal impulse control. Schedule your next 20 minutes of internet time. When you need to do research during your work, write down the topic and move on. When it’s time for the web, maximize it and get back to your offline mode ASAP.

DRAIN THE SHALLOWS. The term deep work refers to the alternative of the concept of “the shallows,” the space where our short attention spans play and stretch. Reading the NYT? Stop. Just cause its good journalism doesn’t mean it’s good for you. SAD!

Schedule your whole day. Your whole fucking day. I’m using gCal but Newport recommends a pen and paper strategy: > 1. Write your hours down the left column, skipping lines.

Schedule blocks no smaller than 30 minutes for routines, shallow work, deep work, breaks, etc. Batch shallow work and logistics together in “task blocks.”

Schedule disputed? Cross out your earlier blocks and move over a column, scheduling the rest of your day.

Conditional overflow blocks can be used for tasks whose length you have trouble predicting. If this, then that. 

Quantify activity depth. Know the value of the work your doing. Could a college grad learn to do this in a month or two? Yes? Then it’s shallow work. Deep work requires several months or years of experience and expertise.

**SHUT DOWN PROPERLY. **Have a shutting down routine and shoot for the same time everyday. Respect then end of your workday. You work 9-5. Not more, not less.

big one here, dealing with email. Make people who contact you do more work. Filter senders, not messages. Use process centric emails: “here’s what I am going to do, here’s what I want you to do, here’s how you’ll do it, how you contact me, and our next steps together.” Provide dates and times for meetings and don’t waste time or energy sending endless confirmations and thank yous.

There’s so much great actionable content in this book. I hope I’ll get around to listing more. I’ve also noted some of my own personal strategies when it comes to fostering deep work.

@ottomanbob’s tips:

**ORGANIZE YOUR DIGITAL LIFE. **KonMari that shit. Folders and deletions are as cleansing as pitching trash bags full of clothes. Use a black wallpaper or camouflage to hide your desktop icons.

2. **BEAR **is the greatest fucking program ever for note taking on OSX. It uses markdown and has a great minimal interface. Took a couple weeks to get the hang of it but holy shit. You can link notes together, create todos and routines, work on prose writing, etc. Blow google docs out of the water.

Monastic mornings. Ferriss and Newport argue for twice-daily email checks. I say, in addition to this, don’t even touch communication software and devices till 10 or 11 am, later if you can. 

**MINIMALIST WORKSPACE. **Unless you’re in vizarts, you probably don’t need anything but a notebook and laptop on your desk. Newport advocates for expensive notebooks, so you’re more intentional with your pages. > Image via Attribution Engine. Licensed under CC0.

conclusion

Always hope to add more. Thank you Cal Newport. Your book changed my life.

xx

adam