Red Dove

Lesson #6 Omnivores?!

This goes for minty things similarly btw. Like the spice and mint are chemicals that are supposed to protect the plant from being eaten!

Also I’m sorry I haven’t been replying to the “ask me anything” inbox I’ll get to it eventually promise!!

Lesson #7 smell

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR 2k FOLLOWERS IM SO OVERWHELMED AND EXCITED YOU GUYS ARE AWSOME I LOVE EVERYONES IDEAS AND FACTS THAT YOU SHARE XOXO <3 :D

Lesson #10 dreams

By popular demand here is one about dreams!! I’ll definitely do more about specific aspects of sleep since it’s such a huge biological difference!!

Thank you everybody for the countless ideas in the inbox!!

“Lesson #1 how far can humans see”

@deltatxt made this into a fanfic!! It’s awsome!! Go check it out!! Blinking in the starlight

“Lesson #2 endurance: persistent Hunting”

I headcanon that Eridians, tho fast sprinters, haven’t evolved to be long distance runners because of their cardiovascular system. So seeing a human run easily for more than a couple of minutes freaks them out.

Also Huge Thanks for all the love on my last post!! I’ll definitely be making this into a series!!

Five Reasons Why I Love Wolverine and Rogue's Friendship

On paper, Logan and Anna Marie shouldn't work.

One is a gruff, stubborn Canadian with a bad attitude, a tragic past, and is the best there is at what he does. The other is a spirited Southern Belle with a sharp tongue, a big heart, and enough strength to punch the Juggernaut into next week.

Yet somehow, these two became one of the most beloved relationships in the entire X-Men universe.

Perhaps it's because opposites often make the best families. Beneath the teasing, arguments, and sarcastic remarks lies a bond built on trust, loyalty, and genuine affection. Over the years, Rogue has brought out Logan's softer side, while Logan has served as a mentor, protector, and source of strength for Anna Marie when she needed it the most. In many ways, they understand each other better than most people ever could. Both have struggled with guilt and loneliness, and both have had to learn how to let others into their lives.

And while this RoLo fan will always believe that Ororo is Logan's soulmate and greatest love, one of the things I admire most about Wolverine is his capacity to form deep and meaningful bonds with the people he considers family. Anna Marie has always been one of those people.

While the comics planted the seeds of their friendship, it was X-Men: Evolution and the Fox films that really cemented the mentor and mentee dynamic between them. In the original X-Men movie trilogy, Logan became the audience's guide into the mutant world, but he also became a reluctant big brother and protector to Rogue. Their relationship became the emotional heart of those films.

What I love most about Logan and Anna Marie is that their relationship reminds us that family isn't always about blood. Sometimes it's forged through shared struggles, unconditional acceptance, and simply being there for one another when the rest of the world doesn't understand.

So for this week's Wolverine Wednesday, I thought I'd celebrate one of my favorite relationships in the X-Men universe: the unlikely friendship between a gruff Canadian Canucklehead and everyone's favorite Southern Belle.

Here are my top five reasons why I love Wolverine and Rogue's friendship.

5. Wolverine Was One of the First X-Men to Accept Rogue in the Comics

Logan understood what it meant to be feared and misunderstood. Long before many others fully trusted Anna Marie, Wolverine saw a kindred spirit and accepted her for who she was.

4. Their Differences Made Them Stronger

The Northern loner and the Southern firecracker couldn't be more different. Yet somehow, the Canucklehead and the Southern Belle balance each other perfectly. His cynicism is often tempered by her optimism, while her determination and sass keep even Wolverine on his toes. Their differences only make their friendship stronger.

3. They Never Feared Each Other

Both Logan and Anna Marie know what it's like to have others fear them because of who they are and what they can do. Yet neither ever saw the other as a monster. Long before Rogue earned the trust of many others, Logan accepted her without hesitation. And despite Wolverine's claws, berserker rage, and fearsome reputation, Anna Marie never doubted the man beneath the adamantium. Their friendship was built not on fear, but on understanding and acceptance.

2. They Understood What It Meant to Feel Alone

Both Logan and Anna Marie know what it's like to carry guilt, loneliness, and the fear that they'll never truly belong. Perhaps that's why they understood each other so naturally. Neither had to explain what it felt like to be different or to struggle with the fear of hurting others. They already knew. Through that shared pain and understanding, they found something both had been searching for all along: a family.

1. They Felt Like Family

To me, Logan and Anna Marie have always had a big brother and little sister dynamic. And like I said when discussing Ororo and Remy, not every meaningful relationship has to be romantic. Through all the heartbreak, adventures, and battles, the Canucklehead and the Southern Belle have built a bond rooted in trust, loyalty, and unconditional acceptance. More than teammates, they've always felt like family.

And honestly, that's what I've always loved most about the X-Men. At their best, they are more than just superheroes. They're a family. Families aren't always defined by blood. Sometimes they're forged through shared pain, unconditional acceptance, and the people who choose to stand beside you when the rest of the world turns away.

After all, every Southern Belle deserves a Canucklehead in her corner.

Whether you see Logan and Anna Marie as mentor and mentee, big brother and little sister, or simply two unlikely friends, their relationship remains one of the most heartwarming in the X-Men universe.

I hope you've enjoyed this week's exploration of another side of Wolverine as we celebrated one of my favorite friendships in comics.

Spoiler alert!!! It’s all of them. My favorite is all of them. I had to put five guys on each slot lmao🫪

I don’t like any of the gods of destruction so I put Kami. That counts right? lol

Also I thought putting Piccolo would be funny for fusion. It’s technically true i guess??. It’s specifically only Piccolo and Nail fusion (which is just piccolo) not Piccolo kami and Nail fusion (which is also just piccolo because I don’t believe he became the nameless namekian idc)

Can you tell who my all time favorite is? Shockingly, I know, its piccolo

This took me forever bc I decided to draw it instead of putting an image of the characters

The original was made by @lesbian-super-saiyan

Hello tumblr. I’m reviving my old blog from the dead with some of my PHM fanarts.

Carpathia received Titanic’s distress signal at 12:20am, April 15th, 1912. She was 58 miles away, a distance that absolutely could not be covered in less than four hours.

(Californian’s exact position at the time is…controversial. She was close enough to have helped. By all accounts she was close enough to see Titanic’s distress rockets. It’s uncertain to this day why her crew did not respond, or how many might not have been lost if she had been there. This is not the place for what-ifs. This is about what was done.)

Carpathia’s Captain Rostron had, yes, rolled out of bed instantly when woken by his radio operator, ordered his ship to Titanic’s aid and confirmed the signal before he was fully dressed. The man had never in his life responded to an emergency call. His goal tonight was to make sure nobody who heard that fact would ever believe it.

All of Carpathia’s lifeboats were swung out ready for deployment. Oil was set up to be poured off the side of the ship in case the sea turned choppy; oil would coat and calm the water near Carpathia if that happened, making it safer for lifeboats to draw up alongside her. He ordered lights to be rigged along the side of the ship so survivors could see it better, and had nets and ladders rigged along her sides ready to be dropped when they arrived, in order to let as many survivors as possible climb aboard at once.

I don’t know if his making provisions for there still being survivors in the water was optimism or not. I think he knew they were never going to get there in time for that. I think he did it anyway because, god, you have to hope.

Carpathia had three dining rooms, which were immediately converted into triage and first aid stations. Each had a doctor assigned to it. Hot soup, coffee, and tea were prepared in bulk in each dining room, and blankets and warm clothes were collected to be ready to hand out. By this time, many of the passengers were awake–prepping a ship for disaster relief isn’t quiet–and all of them stepped up to help, many donating their own clothes and blankets.

And then he did something I tend to refer to as diverting all power from life support.

Here’s the thing about steamships: They run on steam. Shocking, I know; but that steam powers everything on the ship, and right now, Carpathia needed power. So Rostron turned off hot water and central heating, which bled valuable steam power, to everywhere but the dining rooms–which, of course, were being used to make hot drinks and receive survivors. He woke up all the engineers, all the stokers and firemen, diverted all that steam back into the engines, and asked his ship to go as fast as she possibly could. And when she’d done that, he asked her to go faster.

I need you to understand that you simply can’t push a ship very far past its top speed. Pushing that much sheer tonnage through the water becomes harder with each extra knot past the speed it was designed for. Pushing a ship past its rated speed is not only reckless–it’s difficult to maneuver–but it puts an incredible amount of strain on the engines. Ships are not designed to exceed their top speed by even one knot. They can’t do it. It can’t be done.

Carpathia’s absolute do-or-die, the-engines-can’t-take-this-forever top speed was fourteen knots. Dodging icebergs, in the dark and the cold, surrounded by mist, she sustained a speed of almost seventeen and a half.

No one would have asked this of them. It wasn’t expected. They were almost sixty miles away, with icebergs in their path. They had a responsibility to respond; they did not have a responsibility to do the impossible and do it well. No one would have faulted them for taking more time to confirm the severity of the issue. No one would have blamed them for a slow and cautious approach. No one but themselves.

They damn near broke the laws of physics, galloping north headlong into the dark in the desperate hope that if they could shave an hour, half an hour, five minutes off their arrival time, maybe for one more person those five minutes would make the difference. I say: three people had died by the time they were lifted from the lifeboats. For all we know, in another hour it might have been more. I say they made all the difference in the world.

This ship and her crew received a message from a location they could not hope to reach in under four hours. Just barely over three hours later, they arrived at Titanic’s last known coordinates. Half an hour after that, at 4am, they would finally find the first of the lifeboats. it would take until 8:30 in the morning for the last survivor to be brought onboard. Passengers from Carpathia universally gave up their berths, staterooms, and clothing to the survivors, assisting the crew at every turn and sitting with the sobbing rescuees to offer whatever comfort they could.

In total, 705 people of Titanic’s original 2208 were brought onto Carpathia alive. No other ship would find survivors.

At 12:20am April 15th, 1912, there was a miracle on the North Atlantic. And it happened because a group of humans, some of them strangers, many of them only passengers on a small and unimpressive steam liner, looked at each other and decided: I cannot live with myself if I do anything less.

I may be the actual only human being on Tumblr with a post this popular that I not only don’t regret making, but am actually HAPPY whenever I notice a surge in its circulation. 

I never intended this to gain any traction at all (you’ll notice there’s no sources or anything–this was a personal ramble, prompted in good humor by a friend after I jokingly said that I wished someone would give me an excuse to cry about Carpathia on Tumblr so I could get it out of my system.) I literally expected to get, like, maybe 20 likes and a reblog, from friends, indulging me in my nonsense.

It just….means a lot to me that it’s touched so many people. I see a lot of tags to the effect of “HOW DARE YOU HURT ME LIKE THIS AND MAKE ME CRY ABOUT A BOAT” that are often really funny, but overwhelmingly the tags on this post are from people saving it for a rainy day, or remarking in a sort of quiet awe that they never even really thought about her role in the story–and God knows I never did, I learned it by complete accident much as most of the people who’ve found this post. 

And so many of you guys are taking strength and reassurance from the reminder not only that people are capable of amazing things together, but simply that kindness matters and that a simple, tiny act of compassion is never wasted. I’m just really glad to have been able to do that for some folks.

If I can just add one personal note. I need to emphasize something I only touched on in the original post.

I need to emphasize that Carpathia failed.

A lot of the tags and comments have a tinge of…despair, or guilt, or wistfulness about things like this happening so rarely. Or inadequacy, or just being overwhelmed or unhappy about not being in a position to step up in a comparable way. And I want to gently bring up the fact that this is still the sinking of the Titanic. 

They did not get there in time. They did not save the ship. It can be argued that they may not even have saved a single life; we have no way of knowing. This was still a horrific maritime disaster mired in arrogance and incompetence and a lack of care.

If the response to this story shows anything, it shows this: It matters that they tried. 

Even though they got there too late, even though the ship still sank. It matters that they tried. The difference between making the best reasonable speed after confirming the seriousness of the situation, and the miracle they pulled off–it matters. It makes all the difference. Even if it made no difference at all. Not one of you read this and concluded that I was stupid for caring so much when the Titanic still sank and all those people still died.

You don’t have to fix the world. You’ll likely be cold and sick and miserable and testy and scared, and unprepared, and in over your head, and entirely too small to be of any real use. It feels stupid, passing out blankets and coffee in the middle of an ice field knowing what just happened. It’s hard to feel anything but useless when all you can do is tap a wireless transmitter and promise help that you know will come too late.

It's probably already been spread around here enough already, but in case anyone's missed it; 7 hours after launch, commander Reid Wiseman, dealing with tech issues, uttered the generational quote "I have two Microsoft Outlooks and neither one of those are working."

After fixing the issues that were afflicting the onboard toilet, mission specialist Christina Koch (who has quickly become my favourite of the four) laughingly said “I’m the space plumber, I’m proud to call myself the space plumber.”

On Easter Sunday, the Artemis II crew hosted a makeshift egg hunt, by hiding packets of dehydrated scrambled eggs around their Orion capsule.

The way the crew always makes sure to make it very clear they're in space when doing interviews. From stuff like Wiseman just hanging out floating sideways on screen or Koch letting her hair loose so it can freely span out flowing around her.

While in transit, the crew decided to record a parody of those bad 80s sitcom intros where everyone turns and smiles at the camera.

When the crew reached the furthest point from Earth in the mission, they jokingly clambored over each other in an effort to get to the far side of the capsule, so that they could individually claim to be the furthest person from earth.

At the same time, on the ISS which was at the time on the other side of earth, the 7 astronauts onboard had a light-hearted race to the far side of the station, making jokes about being the furthest humans from Artemis.

On the way back to earth, NASA actually managed to establish an audio call between the crews of the ISS and Artemis II (where they shared the above info), and Koch called one member of the ISS crew, Jessica Meir, her "astro-sister" as the two of them previously spacewalker together in 2019. Meir then responded I'm so happy that we are back in space together, even if we are a few miles apart" (a few here being 230,000).

Carpathia received Titanic’s distress signal at 12:20am, April 15th, 1912. She was 58 miles away, a distance that absolutely could not be covered in less than four hours.

(Californian’s exact position at the time is…controversial. She was close enough to have helped. By all accounts she was close enough to see Titanic’s distress rockets. It’s uncertain to this day why her crew did not respond, or how many might not have been lost if she had been there. This is not the place for what-ifs. This is about what was done.)

Carpathia’s Captain Rostron had, yes, rolled out of bed instantly when woken by his radio operator, ordered his ship to Titanic’s aid and confirmed the signal before he was fully dressed. The man had never in his life responded to an emergency call. His goal tonight was to make sure nobody who heard that fact would ever believe it.

All of Carpathia’s lifeboats were swung out ready for deployment. Oil was set up to be poured off the side of the ship in case the sea turned choppy; oil would coat and calm the water near Carpathia if that happened, making it safer for lifeboats to draw up alongside her. He ordered lights to be rigged along the side of the ship so survivors could see it better, and had nets and ladders rigged along her sides ready to be dropped when they arrived, in order to let as many survivors as possible climb aboard at once.

I don’t know if his making provisions for there still being survivors in the water was optimism or not. I think he knew they were never going to get there in time for that. I think he did it anyway because, god, you have to hope.

Carpathia had three dining rooms, which were immediately converted into triage and first aid stations. Each had a doctor assigned to it. Hot soup, coffee, and tea were prepared in bulk in each dining room, and blankets and warm clothes were collected to be ready to hand out. By this time, many of the passengers were awake–prepping a ship for disaster relief isn’t quiet–and all of them stepped up to help, many donating their own clothes and blankets.

And then he did something I tend to refer to as diverting all power from life support.

Here’s the thing about steamships: They run on steam. Shocking, I know; but that steam powers everything on the ship, and right now, Carpathia needed power. So Rostron turned off hot water and central heating, which bled valuable steam power, to everywhere but the dining rooms–which, of course, were being used to make hot drinks and receive survivors. He woke up all the engineers, all the stokers and firemen, diverted all that steam back into the engines, and asked his ship to go as fast as she possibly could. And when she’d done that, he asked her to go faster.

I need you to understand that you simply can’t push a ship very far past its top speed. Pushing that much sheer tonnage through the water becomes harder with each extra knot past the speed it was designed for. Pushing a ship past its rated speed is not only reckless–it’s difficult to maneuver–but it puts an incredible amount of strain on the engines. Ships are not designed to exceed their top speed by even one knot. They can’t do it. It can’t be done.

Carpathia’s absolute do-or-die, the-engines-can’t-take-this-forever top speed was fourteen knots. Dodging icebergs, in the dark and the cold, surrounded by mist, she sustained a speed of almost seventeen and a half.

No one would have asked this of them. It wasn’t expected. They were almost sixty miles away, with icebergs in their path. They had a responsibility to respond; they did not have a responsibility to do the impossible and do it well. No one would have faulted them for taking more time to confirm the severity of the issue. No one would have blamed them for a slow and cautious approach. No one but themselves.

They damn near broke the laws of physics, galloping north headlong into the dark in the desperate hope that if they could shave an hour, half an hour, five minutes off their arrival time, maybe for one more person those five minutes would make the difference. I say: three people had died by the time they were lifted from the lifeboats. For all we know, in another hour it might have been more. I say they made all the difference in the world.

This ship and her crew received a message from a location they could not hope to reach in under four hours. Just barely over three hours later, they arrived at Titanic’s last known coordinates. Half an hour after that, at 4am, they would finally find the first of the lifeboats. it would take until 8:30 in the morning for the last survivor to be brought onboard. Passengers from Carpathia universally gave up their berths, staterooms, and clothing to the survivors, assisting the crew at every turn and sitting with the sobbing rescuees to offer whatever comfort they could.

In total, 705 people of Titanic’s original 2208 were brought onto Carpathia alive. No other ship would find survivors.

At 12:20am April 15th, 1912, there was a miracle on the North Atlantic. And it happened because a group of humans, some of them strangers, many of them only passengers on a small and unimpressive steam liner, looked at each other and decided: I cannot live with myself if I do anything less.