Shabet's Place

Not a K-Pop Blog ~~ Mostly Sherlock ~~ Unapologetic Mary Apologist ~~ Non-Conspiracy Johnlocker ~~ Friendly to All Ships

[aki-anyway]

I’m in love

[redrobin-detective]

in the middle with you, along the seashore

After the events of Apocalypse gone wrong, or right depending on your point of view, Heaven and Hell never again speak to Aziraphale and Crowley. The Angel and Demon in question privately sighed in relief, believing they’ve narrowly avoided divine or demonic punishment. But that wasn’t the case at all. Their respective organizations had separately declared them lost causes; Aziraphale too reckless and scheming and Crowley too earnest and a bit of a softie underneath it all. This, the greater powers that be, decided, would be their punishment. They wanted the Earth and so they would have it. And so, every day after the almost-could-have-been Apocalypse, bit by bit, they became a little less ethereal.

It happened piece by piece, so slowly that no one even noticed at first, not even themselves. They had, by this point, given up any pretense of doing their job or even being mortal enemies. The Dastardly Angel and the Kindly Demon simply continued on as they chose, miracling whatever they desired without worrying about forms or appearances or fitting into the molds they’d been stuck in for millennia. For the first time, they felt free to spread their metaphorical wings even as their literal wings became a little less perfect, a little more corporeal with each passing day. Time marched on is always was wont to but for the first time it left little marks on the otherworldy beings, like early morning dew dripping down a curved blade of grass. 

It started with the little things. Crowley’s forked tongue flicked a little less, became less demonically sharp and a little more humanly round. Aziraphale’s almost imperceptible heavenly light dimmed until humans no longer unconsciously shied away from looking directly at him. Crowley’s slit pupils widened until they were simple circles, his bright yellow eyes fading to a warm burnt brown. He hardly even noticed when one day he put down his sunglasses and never put them on again. Aziraphale’s glasses went from being a fashion statement to an necessity, his wrinkles had a weight to them they’d never had before. One day, hundreds of years later, they took a look at one another and realized that they were almost unrecognizable, more closely resembling the humans they risked everything for than the divine creatures, always one step apart from humanity, they had once been. 

It was both a surprise and completely expected, they’d felt a touch less spry than before. Aziraphale slept a little more often these days, Crowley’s back ached if he spent too long hunched over the Bentley. They handled the loss of their divinity about as well as they handled the literal end of the world: they drank heartily and heavily, dismayed when they found it difficult to sober up like they had a century or two ago. Mortality pressed against them like a pressed flower tucked in-between pages: something to be seen and felt for a brief moment only to fade despite attempts to preserve it. Crowley disappeared for a solid year and never spoke of what he did in that time. Aziraphale closed up his shop and sat staring at his collection of books as if they would disappear before his eyes. Death had always been a constant companion but never had it been so close, breathing down their necks. However could they manage?

And yet they did, finding faith, as they always did, in humanity and in each other. These little humans went about their lives every day, risking life or limb every time they stepped outside and still they lived. They watered their flowers, drank their tea, loved, lost, lamented and laughed and one day, went on to the greater reward or their final punishment. And if those simple, tiny, insignificant people could do then so could they. A long time ago, a brave little boy had decided that humans were worth more than divine power; that leap of faith was what got them into this mess and it would be the only thing to save them now. They grasped hands, warm human hands with no scales or feathers in sight, and swore they would remain together until the end as they have been since the beginning. They made it official with a little ceremony in St James Park and set about for the rest of their lives. 

Aziraphale reopened his shop, forced now to occasionally part with one of his books in order to afford such frivolous luxuries such as food and home repair and toilet paper. His gut expanded a little bit and he was told he needed to jog a bit to keep himself in shape. He slept at night and woke early in the mornings, careful not to disturb his partner, to fix his hair and face to angelic standards always falling a bit short. An accident while cooking left him with a scar on his left thumb that had bled outrageously at the time, scaring the living daylights out of both of them. He looked at it sometimes to remind himself that somethings were permanent even if life was not. Sunrise was his favorite time of day; he sat there with his tea and watched from their small, cramped apartment and thanked God for this beautiful world and his chance to be a part of it with the man he loved.

Crowley did a little bit of everything, from car repair to office work to working at a little corner side floral stand with the occasional scam here and there for old times’ sake. There often wasn’t enough money but he always made sure his angel had his favorite expensive teas and biscuits. He’d formally enjoyed smoking but now found the toxin in his lung suffocating, now very aware of how fragile his human lungs were. Crowley rolled his eyes as his partner kept up with heavenly worship but allowed it; one day he spilled a bit of collected holy water on the former demon. He screamed in imagined agony only to open one eye to see a pale faced former angel and water dripping harmlessly off his uninjured hand. No one said God didn’t love a little irony. He felt too small and too big all at once, feeling properly unrestrained but also painfully limited by mortal circumstances. Sunset was his favorite part of the day, it was a reminder that the sun had almost set on the Earth for good but always left the promise of a new day tomorrow, one day closer to dying but also another day with his angel so that made it alright.

Years past, not quite the same way they did for humans but soon those years wore away at the pair. Aziraphale’s white gold hair became grayer and listless no matter how much he fussed with it. Crowley’s knees creaked painfully when he stood up, always trying and failing to hide the subtle wince from his partner. They never quite forgot that they were once divine but soon it became harder and harder to remember that they had once been anything but people, muddling about in the world. Aziraphale asked one day over the telly when was the last time they had miracled something or pulled out their wings. Crowley wiggled his back against the sofa, having long since lost the familiar weight of wings on his soul. There might have been a sense of loss once upon a time but something equally as important had replaced those once important powers. Instead he asked what his angel would care for dinner that night. 

So they had been there for the beginning and almost end of the world, the world was there for them when their time came. They were lying in bed, old, gray and nothing more magical about them than their memories. Aziraphale woke up from sleep and knew that, for the first time since Eden, he was alone. His demon was peaceful, his newly acquired wrinkles smoothed out, finally free of the pain and suffering that had burdened him the last decade or so. He ran his scarred thumb over his friend, his enemy, his partner in everything’s soft, human skin and kissed his forehead for the last time. He called the authorities to inform them of the death and laid his head on Crowley’s shoulder. He prayed until he was breathless for Crowley’s soul. His love had lost heaven once, the only hope Aziraphale had now was that he would find it again. By the time people arrived to take the body, Aziraphale had given into his love’s final temptation and followed him willingly into the dark. 

It is not the duty of this humble narrator to decide what became of that wily pair. Did they return to their shared heaven or sink back to the depths of hell? Or did they merely settle into a mixed up heaven and hell of their own making, for where else could a demon and angel make a home but somewhere in between? Someone once asked if a bird fell in love with a fish then where would they live? The obvious answer is along the shore, in the middle between land and sea. This is a story of ineffability, of the Apocalypse only not really, of bookshops and motorcars, fishes and birds and maybe even a little bit of love if you look between the lines. This is a story of an Angel who fell a little bit downwards and a Demon who rose a little bit upwards and on the Earth, on the middle ground between heaven and hell, they found their home with each other. 

[libraford]

pentragon I heard from a guy whose zucchini tasted bitter and shortly after he died. Can you do something wrong with growing zucchinis that makes parts of them poisonous?

Toxic Squash syndrome is something that happens if you eat squashes that are not meant to be eaten, such as ornamental pumpkins. Zucchini are notable for their ability to cross-pollinate with other squashes, so if you grow ornamental varieties alongside edible varieties, you risk contaminating your crop. 

If you take a bite out of a squash and it tastes bitter, it’s a contaminated crop. 

[thelabyrinthkeepersson]

To add to this - squash (and cucumbers) are part of the same family and contain a chemical called cucurbitacin, which in high concentrations is very bitter. Wild squash naturally contain more than garden varieties, which deters pests. However, garden squash can develop elevated levels of cucurbitacins due to stress - “like high temperatures, drought, wide swings in temperatures, or uneven watering.” Mild bitterness, such as slight bitterness that can be easily overcome with spices, isn’t anything to worry about. But if it’s very bitter, don’t even try to eat it. Even small amounts can lead to gastrointestinal distress.

Signed, the unfortunate sap who tried to persevere through the most bitter stuffed zucchini boat and ended up with a terrible stomach the next day.

Source: Nebraska Institute of Agriculture and Natural Resources

[libraford]

Yes. 

[blindbee]

[avodaco]

me when i get my student loan

[g8dtier]

this is the money cat. reblog in 30 seconds and you will find yourself with more wealth

[strikercorbie]

#this is the only money cat i will reblog because it’s actually doing the manekineko pose151,646 notes (via lolwhutninja)

OMG YOU’RE RIGHT

[nonespark-blog]

and it has its right paw up! the correct paw for this. and from the markings on its ears, it looks like it might be a calico cat. which is the luckiest kind!

[carrionbeast]

extremely lucky cat

[ladynorbert]

I don’t even care if it actually works, I’m mostly reblogging because it’s freaking adorable.

[sweet-cherry-fairy-deactivated2]

cute cat and need money, good post, 10/10

[allthenamesilikearetaken]

in case anyones interested in the other versions

http://www.namaii.com/manekineko/maneki-neko-types.html

[mmusclechan]

Y’know I reblogged this a bit ago and was saved from financial probation and getting kicked out of school because of it, just mere months from graduation. Got a call from the financial aid advisor telling me that they made a mistake with filing my account (or some other sort of clerical error) and said that, basically, they owe me money. Welp.

[winjennster]

Last time I reblogged the money cat, I won two $100 gift cards at work.

[beemble-bu-moving-deactivated20]

I’m just reblogging for the facts about lucky cats

[thatsamorayeel]

I’m just reblogging because c a t s

[dannykitchen]

Advice for girls: buy skinny jeans in the boy’s section

They’re more comfortable, still form fitting, and best of all: THE POCKETS. THEY HAVE ACTUAL POCKETS.

don’t believe me? look:

these are boys pants, and they look just as good on me as any other skinny jeans I own

See that phone? I’m going to put it in the pocket. Must be so small right??

Ah yes, girl pants length. Probably can’t fit any further than that-

what? what’s this?

Good god. Oh good lord in heaven. This is blasphemous.

Look at how much room is still there. There’s chaos in the streets. Babies are crying. Fashion designers are screaming out of fear of the unknown.

Buy your pants in the boys section, girls. Live in the beautiful world you deserve where you can fit shit in your pocket.

[prismatic-bell]

Curvy ladies: Men’s dress pants have more room in the butt. I don’t know why, I only know that all my dress pants for work are off the rack in the men’s department in Target. Literally nobody has noticed, except a couple of my younger coworkers who’ve asked me–you guessed it–”oh my god, where did you find pants with pockets?”

Tall ladies: men’s pants are easier to find in longer lengths than women’s pants are.

Trans ladies: Wanna get on this gravy train, but afraid people will misgender you for wearing clothes off the men’s racks? Step one: tell me who these people are and I will punch them in the face. Step two: if it doesn’t make you dysphoric, please don’t feel obligated to wear pants off the women’s racks if pants off the men’s racks are more comfy/useful to you. I’m a cis woman who’s been wearing pants from the boys’ section and, later, the men’s section, ever since I hit puberty and in thirteen years maybe, maybe half a dozen people have noticed. And it’s always women asking the oh-my-god-pockets question. You’re all good. <3

Fat ladies: you will pay the same for a pair of 42x32 jeans as for a pair of 34x32 jeans, instead of having to pay some kind of Fat Penance Tax by way of being in the “plus size” section. Also, did I mention more room in the butt?

Ladies concerned about modesty: For obvious reasons, there is more crotch space in men’s pants. Embrace it and enjoy a life free from cameltoe worries and spontaneous labia-wedgies when you squat down.

All ladies: I swear to god the waists in women’s pants these days are made specifically to fit exactly nobody so that no matter what you do, your underwear will show. Men’s pants do not do this. The waists sit where they’re supposed to and will actually lay flat against the small of your back instead of flopping open to show your unmentionables to the world. If you want hiphugger jeans, buy one leg-length too small and one waist-size too large and let them hang, and they still won’t accidentally show your undies. Men’s pants will last longer. They cost less, in a lot of cases. Embrace the men’s jeans. Buy the men’s jeans. Stop buying shitty flimsy women’s jeans that wear out in six months.

AND FINALLY: to determine your size in men’s pants, take a tape measure around your waist at its smallest point. This is your waist size and will be the first number in a pair of men’s pants. Next, take the tape measure from about an inch below your no-no squares parts, and run it to your ankle. (You may need a friend or parent to help with this.) This is your inseam length, and will be the second number on a pair of men’s pants. Men’s and boys’ pants are tailored the same way, so if you have trouble finding your waist size in men’s, hop over to the boys’ section. Feel no shame. If they’d give us decent fucking pants we wouldn’t have to steal theirs, right?

[thewinterotter]

Listen you guys, I am SO MAD ABOUT THIS. I’ve seen this first post before, and recently my mom said, “Hey, did you see that post on Tumblr about shopping for jeans in the men’s department?”

And I said yeah, I’d seen it, I’ve been through the Trying To Fit Clothes On My Stupid Body wars, and this post really only applied to skinny jeans because they’re so stretchy. It couldn’t possibly work for regular jeans! I have TRIED SO MANY TIMES. I’ve always shopped in the men’s department because women’s clothes are like 90% bullshit and 10% fake pockets.

But I hadn’t seen the second addition, which gave me more hope, and I decided to just try on a few pairs when I was at Old Navy the other day. They have some “classic” jeans with no give to them at all, which is what I was trying on years ago that convinced me it just wasn’t possible. (Jeans in my price range didn’t really come with any form of stretch back then, as I recall. Textile technology is bad-ass.) But these days they mostly have “flex” jeans that have some give to them. (Women’s jeans are usually labeled “stretch” but apparently men’s have to be “flex” like they need stretchy garments so their HUGE MUSCLES don’t just TEAR THEIR CLOTHES!)

This was totally an impulse decision so I couldn’t measure myself, but I grabbed a few sizes based on what I vaguely thought my measurements probably were and decided it couldn’t possibly be worse than the endless cycle of regret, dissatisfaction, and recrimination that is trying on women’s clothing.

The first pair I tried on fit like a DREAM. I’ve been gaining weight lately which is a whole separate nightmare (mainly centered around “but I don’t WANT to buy new bras, this is bullshit!”) and the reason I need to buy new jeans because nothing freaking fits me, and I was sure these wouldn’t either, but DAMN. They’re the best pair of jeans I own. Twice as thick, pockets twice as big, legs nice and loose (they don’t even sell women’s jeans with a cut remotely similar to this), and contrary to my super dumb opinion from before this experience, they’ve got my plenty of room for all my womanly curvey bits. AND because they’re actually a relaxed fit instead of trying to cling to every inch of me, they don’t show my weight nearly as much as my women’s jeans do, they’re easier to move in, they’re not constantly inching down my hips with every move I make, and overall they just make me feel GOOD about how I look which is a strange new sensation I could definitely get used to.

It’s like a miracle. I want to cry both out of joy and because of all the shitty jeans now filling my closet when I could have been buying comfortable, relaxed, pocket-having men’s jeans all these years. Many blessings to the posters above, may your crops grow and your cows give milk and your jeans hold all the gadgets you desire.

[thatoneartyishperson]

Also: men’s pants have constant sizes that are based off of actual measurements instead of the women’s whatever-the-company-wants-to-make-the-size sizes. They’re far more reliable and your size will translate to other brands.

[inconspicuouslyevil]

@get-dunkd-on help me remember this for our next Goodwill run lmao

[fenland-witch-deactivated202005]

I HAVE to try some men’s jeans. Sick of these super skinny show everything always having to be hitched up no pocket crap jeans!

[k-lionheart-deactivated20171126]

Honestly signal boost. Because imagine this actually starts some kind of ludicrous pants revolution that ends up causing women’s pants fashion company’s sales to tank, absolutely forcing them to realize men’s pants have always had the right idea and start doing that instead of this bullshit. Like just imagine. And don’t just signal boost this. Tell every woman you know. Tell every trans friend and every curvy friend out there. You see a lady down the street, stop her and tell her you’ve discovered a new gospel and it’s purchasing men’s pants. With the way women spread information when we’re excited, the mentioned scenario could actually be hella achievable

[akreliadeklavesht-deactivated20]

PRAISE THE UNIVERSE I FOUND THIS POST AGAIN

[what-even-is-thiss]

Guys. Gals. Non binary pals. As a trans ftm person who just recently started shopping in the men’s department and has gigantic hips full of dysphoria let me tell you a thing.

Athletic cut jeans have more room in the butt. I repeat. Athletic cut jeans have more room in the butt. You don’t need to go to the dress pants to fit your lovely curvy self in there. Go to the regular section or big and tall if you’re a bit taller and/or wider, and there’ll be a little section of athletic style jeans. They’ve still got the giant blessed pockets and the room in the crotch and if you’re really curvy with a large bone structure like I am you can get yourself some quality pants.

This has been an addition by your local nb trans dude. Thank you for your time.

[sulrae]

Reblog to save a fucking life

[al3xfierro-deactivated20191212]

@rebeloftheseas @hunter-the-sad-skeleton

[pedalfar]

[red-mage-shabet]

I NEED THESE!!

[blackboard-monitor]

so, this is what i’ve done all day apparently

[poorlydescribedpterrybooks]

this is a fantastic guide, A++

[krakensdottir]

Night Watch is my personal favorite, too. Got me into the rest of the series. Also, I highly recommend Monstrous Regiment (you want feminism, here it is) and any of the Death books. Like, any. Death is one of the best characters in the Discworld.

(Word of warning: Those like me who have a corporal punishment squick, watch out. Sir Terry did have one particular blind spot there and he WILL set that off. Only once or twice a book, generally, but still. Just so you’re warned.)

[brinylon]

The first book that really made me really like the series was Small Gods (2nd or 3rd book I read). I think Reaper Man is the first REALLY amazing one. My all time favourite is Night Watch, Going Postal is a close second.

[mikkeneko]

For anyone who’s been generally vaguely interested in checking out the Discworld canon but daunted by the number of books or confused where to start

[gingertodgers]

the brit guide to getting off

Following @aibidil‘s post about how they never knew that in the UK “getting off” with someone means kissing, rather than sex: I’m guessing some of you writers in British fandoms might want to start using it?

Which is why I’ve put together this quick, handy, only-slightly-randy guide for using “get off”.

1. literally every rule I post here will be contradicted by a fellow Brit.

2. write what you want, who gives a fuck about my rules?

with that out of the way…

3. getting off is the kind of kissing you do in a club, not in front of your parents.

4. while not all kisses are sexual in nature, getting off is always sexual.

5. “I got off with him” never “I get off with him”.

6. “Because you were too busy getting off with her” never “Because you were too busy gotting off with her”.

7. “I didn’t plan to get off with them!” never “I didn’t plan to got off with them.”

8. English sucks, I know.

9. Generally, I wouldn’t ask someone if they “got off” with someone, it sounds like I’m asking if they stepped off the bus.

10. When two characters are talking about someone else kissing: “Did you see Draco getting off with Harry?”, “Molly said she saw John getting off with Sherlock”, “I heard Nick and Louis got off with each other at Harry’s house party.”

[aibidil]

Go off, gingino

[schizophrenicarchivist-remade-d]

I know that John is the narrator, but it just hit me. John is the narrator.

The way we see the entire show is his interpretation of the events. It’s how he characterizes all the players. And he characterizes Molly as a meek, submissive woman who fumbles all over herself around Sherlock. Every motivation Molly has, in John’s narration, is 100% focused on Sherlock. It shows her having no ambition outside of him.

The only time we see the show outside of John’s narration is in Sherlock’s Mind Palace. That Molly is ENTIRELY different than the one we see in the rest of the show. The Molly in Sherlock’s Mind Palace is dynamic. She is controlling of the situation, and she is his savior. She helps him stay alive after being shot, and she keeps him focused. She disregards the rules in TAB, an episode which takes place entirely in the Mind Palace. She breaks the law in order to assert herself as a capable doctor, and even though Sherlock knows it is her, he still creates a situation in which she fools him. Her motivations have nothing to do with Sherlock when he envisions her. Her motivations are for herself and also a greater scheme to uplift other women.

To summarize, Sherlock sees Molly as not only his equal, but a mind to rival his own and to even best him. Meanwhile, John sees her as window dressing for Sherlock’s narrative. Sherlock even sees John as a misogynist in TAB. Every interaction John has with a woman is him being callous and dismissive and trying to assert control over them. He even considers suffragettes as a threat. The only woman he shows complete understanding and empathy with is Molly, and she isn’t even allowed to live her life as a woman. She’s posing as a man in order to keep her job. “Amazing what one has to do to get ahead in a man’s world.”

And since this episode is within Sherlock’s own mind, that means that this is how Sherlock sees John. That’s not to say that he hates John. He clearly doesn’t; he shows that John is incredibly important to him and a great motivator in his life. But he thinks that John is insensitive and in need of change.

TLDR: Sherlock is taking his Respecting Molly Hooper vitamins and John is sexist. John is an unreliable narrator because he tries to hide and gloss over his own prejudices.

[mychakk]

I totally agree with you about Sherlock and John’s attitude toward women in general and Molly in particular.

But we have to remember that we’ve seen scenes that happened outside of John’s knowledge, like You Do Count scene in TRF. The show itself started as John’s narrative, I think (hence the title: A Study in Pink - John sees Sherlock via pink glasses). But as it progresses, we are shown more and more independent scenes. You Do Count, Sherlolly Almost Date, Anderson’s theory about the kiss, but also Sherlock and Mycroft interactions, the scenes between Sherlock and the bad guys. I wouldn’t say that the show is only John’s interpretation of the events and character the same way we can tell for sure about the Mind Palace scene and TAB being Sherlock’s interpretation of the events and characters.

But you are right about John being sexist, misogynistic and dismissive, especially of Molly. Heck, in TLD he openly says that Molly’s is the last person Sherlock would think of (meaning John sees her as completely unimportant in Sherlock’s life/eyes,) and Sherlock proves humble completely wrong. The same goes for TFP, where John doesn’t hunk about Molly in regards to Sherlock, but the later knows right away to whom the coffin and words on the lead refers.

[mychakk]

Forgot to add that I always thought that John is dismissive of Molly because she doesn’t fit his ideal woman based on his first impression/superficial impression of her he had got. She seems submissive, demure, stuttery, eager to please. John’s ideal is boisterous, confident, assured woman. Just look at Eurus and who had she personated to catch both John’s and Sherlock’s attention. E from bus is boisterous confident woman who goes after what she desires. I bet Mary was exactly th same. And …so is Irene Adler. I think John pushes Sherlock toward Irene because in his mind this is ideal woman,

BUT! Sherlock has different tastes. He likes Molly. And Eurus impersonate initially self-conscious, moral, woman who turns out to be funny and enjoyable company. On top of that the only time Sherlock doesn’t like Molly is when she impersonates Irene’s style in TSiB during the Christmas scene. Because it’s not her and it’s not what he wants. But that was the only time John was impressed by her. Sherlock isn’t surprised by the slaps in HLV, but John is shocked. Because he doesn’t see Molly as she is, but Sherlock does.

[colonialfire24-deactivated20241]

This got better!!!

[cumberbabe-usa]

Bravo!

[mizjoely]

Excellent Molly Meta from start to finish to additional thoughts!

[red-mage-shabet]

Oooh I never thought of it that way...well done!

[brecbc123]

[kiramessa]

you mean to tell me a wolf carved this door

[arcade-lackey]

That explains why there’s a wolf on it.

[red-mage-shabet]

Talented wolf.

[southernsideofme]

[pencilscratchins]

miles “who’s morales” morales’s biggest weakness is the cover story

[scotianostra]

[fangirlycupcake]

Is that how you think I fucking walk

[des-merveilles-et-des-hommes]

[fuckyeahfightlock]

[bunjywunjy]

SOMETHING TO SNOUT ABOUT

you’re wandering across the plains of Mongolia, wondering where the fuck you left your horse. suddenly, the ground shakes! like the beginning of the stampede scene in the Lion King. you hear a distant thunder, as if caused by many hooves! like the stampede scene in the Lion King. you shift anxiously as the noise grows louder, wishing you’d paid more attention to the Disney classics.

suddenly the herd comes over the rise, and you laugh so hard you fall over and are immediately and tragically trampled to death.

surprise! it’s the-

and it’s rude to laugh. (but boy, is it hard not to.)

the Saiga (sigh-guh) is a goat-sized antelope native to the Eurasian steppe. they’re found from the Carpathian Mountains to Mongolia. and they uh, have a bit of a nose situation going on. 

and that’s the understatement of the century! the Saiga’s mighty schnozz is its defining feature, and no other hooved animal on earth has such a robust snoot. the Saiga pities their pathetic little faces for it.

that’s a lot of nose to look down. geeze.

so why this immense not-quite-trunk? maybe they use it to make noise, or to intimidate rivals? not so much, actually. both males and females have the tremendous facetrumpet, though females do lack horns and a desire to kill. (but more on that later.)

obviously this big ol clown honker must have some purpose, or it wouldn’t exist. or maybe God was just bored, who nose. (har!) but I kid, this punderful snout actually does have a purpose!

and that purpose is to look ABSOLUTELY STUNNING.

as I mentioned, Saigas are herd animals. and at some point, Evolution decided to provide them with a semi-helpful wedgie. that monster snout helps to filter dust kicked up by their 50ish neighbors out of the air they breathe, as they stumpf semi-majestically across the plains.

it also helps to warm the air they breathe in the cold months, which is an adaptation anyone who’s ever stepped out of their front door directly into a -10 hellzone is surely jealous of. (god, you don’t even know.)

I’m not bitter! I’M NOT.

and they migrate really far! herds of these ridiculous little antelopes can cross thousands of miles, and travel up to 72 miles in a single day! they ford rivers, brave valleys, and scuttle inspiringly across the tundra like they think they’re in a Lifetime movie.

their goal is to reach their seasonal feeding grounds; they spend the winters in the south and the summers in the north. like retirees, except without the tacky golf pants.

BRENDA, HAVE YOU SEEN MY SHORTS.

Saigas eat a wide variety of plants, including some that are toxic to other animals. like goats, Saigas put all of their skill points into the ‘eat anything’ slot. and it seems to have paid off; they were once found across all of Europe and Asia, and even in paleolithic North America! (though the end of the last ice age put a brutal stop to that.)

just imagine being a prehistoric hunter-gatherer and looking out your tent one day to see a moving sea of these ridiculous little muppet antelopes. I bet it was a fun time.

GROK, YOU’LL NEVER GUESS WHAT I’M LOOKING AT RIGHT NOW.

but I did promise I’d get back to the heart-full-of-murder thing, so I guess I’d better do that. Saiga are a lot like other ungulates in that their herds are mostly made up of females, with one attendant male who just kind of hangs out and get poached for his horns sometimes. at least, until breeding season. (DUN DUN DUUUN)

males spend the entire breeding season fighting each other for access to the ladies, which isn’t unusual for a hooved mammal! but what IS unusual is the fatality rate- 90% of these fights end with one male just fucking killing the other. I guess the Saiga ladies are just really into blood sport. 

maybe we can get them to just watch Game of Thrones instead like normal people.

but their conservation status is another story altogether. (it’s depressing how many species this is true for. welcome to the Anthropocene, I guess. the geological era where everything sucks.)

around two decades ago, more than a million Saiga wandered across the Eurasian Steppe. but unregulated hunting for food, trophies and the Saiga’s ‘medicinal’ horns decreased their numbers to less than 50,000 in just 10 years. and if that weren’t enough, bacterial infections have been taking huge chunks out of the remaining population: a mass die-off in 2015 killed half of them. 

but there is good news: these goofy little hooved bastards are now enjoying governmental protection and conservation efforts to raise their numbers. there are still around 50,000 of them and with luck and maybe a little less murder, these goatish nostril maniacs will be thundering across the plains once more. 

(lord willing.)

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IMAGE SOURCES

img1- Tim Flach img2- Saiga Conservation Alliance img3- World Atlas img4- elelur.com img5- Andrey Giljov and Karina Karenina img6- Mongabay img7- IUCN img8- LabRoots

[dankmemeuniversity]

[johnlockedinwarstan]

When people tell you “have you even read the book” and you look them in the eyes and say “yes, Mary Watson loved and appreciated Sherlock Holmes and his relationship with her husband in those too.”

I mean they had a place at their house for him to stay people.