#caching strategies

[freemicrotools]

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[serviceable-mechanism]

As passover rolls around again this year, i think it's a good opportunity to examine the fascinating interaction between capitalism's neverending drive towards profit seeking, and a product specifically designed to be unpleasant and unappetizing

Passover, for the unaware, is a time when (particularly strong willed) practicing Jews abstain from risen bread and a fair variety of other grain-based foodstuffs, and eat matzah in their place, to commemorate the historical suffering of the Jewish people. As such, matzah itself, the bread of affliction, is specifically intended to be, more or less, pretty bullshit. It's hard and nearly flavorless and cold and boring and nothing at all like warm soft beautiful sourdough bread my beloved (may we be reunited soon). As a result, attempting to sell matzah puts advertisers in a difficult position, presented with the task of making this horrible bullshit (i like the soup, okay?) look like something one would choose to eat outside of the confines of religious tradition

To commemorate this holiday, I'd like to look at a few of the approaches they have taken

Manischewitz

Right off the bat, we've got the brand recognition to carry this one through, and to be honest that's largely all a good box of matzah should need, considering the 99% of the time it will be bought out of obligation. Often considered to be the "autism of religions" Judaism is a faith that celebrates the importance of tradition above all else, so Manischewitz is going to have an advantage from jump. That said, I find the phrase "perfect for Passover" to be particularly redundant in this context. If you're Jewish, it hardly needs to be said, and if you're not, well, please eat something that tastes good instead

7/10

2. Manischewitz (again)

Here's where we hit our first roadblock. In addition to the brand name being sized down, thus lessening the advantage granted by cultural cache, this particular product makes what I would consider to be a rookie mistake. Onion flavoring. That is, they attempted to make matzah taste good. While tempting, this is ultimately an error. It's not supposed to taste good. It was designed and perfected by our most talented artisans for three thousand years to be be the culinary equivalent of watching paint dry. It is absolute hubris to believe yourself capable of turning that into an appetizing snacking treat with the addition of a little bit of onion powder

4/10

3. Streit's

In general, this one is not particular offensive in any direct sense. It has bold, bright colors, and a clear image of the product. I feel that "thin and crispy" is a particularly unnecessary addition, as, yeah man I should sure hope they are, and the addition of (light) salt edges this just a little closer to attempting to taste good, but these are relatively minor complaints. My true issue with this is the assertion that this matzah is meant to "pair with soups, spreads, and salads." This is false advertising

5/10

4. Yehuda Matzos

On the surface this appears to be a relatively inoffensive example, but the longer one looks, the more the cracks begin to show. The images present give off a particularly sickly yellow quality that makes them just a tad less appetizing than they already would be, and the description of them as "Matzo-Style Squares" really sells the unsettling quality of this whole display. And they're also gluten free. Yes, I know some people have dietary restrictions, but as far as I'm aware, most people who are gluten free already don't eat all that much bread anyways, and with the helpful acknowledgment that this particular product is "not a replacement for matzo at the Seder" as in the one time where actually eating the stuff is part of suggested tradition, I fail to see a scenario in which these things are consumed. It also, obviously, loses points for the "Imported from Israel" banner in the lower corner, though I'll get into that in a moment

3/10

5. Holyland

There is basically just the one advertising strategy being employed here. It's subtle, but with a keen eye I'm sure you can figure it out. The natural issue, of course, is that it's an inherently polarizing one. It positions itself such that one's political alignment is the only deciding factor in the decision to purchase it, and without other appealing characteristics, this is ultimately a losing strategy.

Obliviously, the primary issues here would be the ongoing genocide and human rights abuses, but as that's largely out of the scope of this particular post, I'd like to focus on how inappropriate a pro-Israel message is when it comes to the celebration of Passover specifically. Ultimately, the story of Passover is that of Jewish escape from bondage and slavery, leading to a forty-year of wandering through the desert looking for a home. That is, it is a celebration of the history of the Jewish people specifically as a diaspora. As the period of Jewish chattel slavery in Egypt is considered apocryphal from a modern lens, one should approach the narrative not as an earnest recounting of true events, but as a metaphor for the Jewish condition as a whole. And from this framework we understand the forty years in the desert searching for a homeland not to be a specific literal stretch of history, but instead a collective journey that the Jewish people undertake, to escape antisemitism broadly. Considering how antisemitism is alive and well to this day, one must come to the obvious conclusion that this is a journey we are still in the middle of. In addition to the fact that ethnostates as a whole are an evil endeavor, the idea that Israel should exist at all, is, from a Jewish perspective, incredibly hubristic and antithetical to the message Passover means to instill in us.

0/10

6. Streit's (again)

To lighten the tone somewhat, here we have something almost passable. Passover matzah. That's what it's for, that's what it is. And with what appears to be a depiction of the bitter herbs meant to be consumed alongside the matzah during a traditional Passover seder, this branding subtly hints at the clear implication: you are eating this because of your traditions. No attempt is made to make the matzah itself look good, and I respect that. That said, I balk at the idea of purchasing an entire five pounds of the stuff, but that inherent revulsion is in conflict with my desire to find out what exactly the "Passover game" enclosed inside entails.

7/10

7. Yehuda Matzos

I hate this. No, I will grant you, matzah is not supposed to be good. You are meant to long for the taste of bread. You need to want it. But, at the same time, there's no need to make it taste worse than it already does. It may be the bread of affliction, but, like, maybe not too afflicted, and I really think that making it whole wheat ruins my last shred of enjoyment of the stuff. This one's also from Israel

3/10

8. Streit's (again)

Go fuck yourself.

0/10

9. Rakusen's of Yorkshire

There's really a lot to say with this one. From the completely superfluous "vegan" sticker in the lower left hand corner (they're flour and water), to the helpful description of these as "crackers." There is just such a monumentally small target audience for this. I'm sure the population of British Jews excited to celebrate the coronation of King Charles with a holiday snack...exists, I don't imagine they're particularly numerous. Also, doing some research, King Charles' coronation took place on the sixth of May, 2023, while Passover of that year took place between the fifth and thirteenth of April. What event could this possibly be appropriate at? Having them for the coronation itself would mean eating matzah outside of the timeframe in which it is specifically necessary to do so (untenable), and having them for Passover of that year means saving this box in your pantry for a month so you can get questioning and uncomfortable looks from your friends and relatives during the Seder. Additionally, I really can't tell if I think it's antisemitic or just pretty funny that they thought a possibility of winning money was one of the best ways to advertise matzah.

1/10

10. Streit's (once again)

Finally. Now, here is something to be celebrated. Note the helpful yellow ribbon in the lower right corner, and the glaringly prominent "UNSALTED" staring us in the face. No salt, no flavoring, no bells, no whistles. There is nothing here to differentiate this particular product from any other box of matzah, except the specific advertising flourishes being utilized. And what flourishes would those be, precisely? "For each box of this matzah that goes unsold, a woman will die of breast cancer. This will be on you." That's right. Sure, you can rely on creative flavoring, to mask the taste of bitter affliction. You can offer cash prizes, nationalist posturing, or an appeal to tradition. But only Streit's is out here advertising their matzah the right way. The Jewish way. With guilt.

Buy our matzah. If you don't, you're a bad person.

10/10

[bestanimal]

Round 3 - Reptilia - Falconiformes

(Sources - 1, 2, 3, 4)

Our next order of birds are the Falconiformes, represented by one living family, Falconidae, commonly called “falcons”.

Falcons are carnivorous birds with strongly hooked bills, sharply curved talons, and excellent eyesight. Falcons feed on small animals such as birds, mammals, reptiles, and insects. The omnivorous caracaras mainly specialize in scavenging carrion, adapting for a more foraging-focused lifestyle. Several species will stash food supplies in caches. Rather than using their claws and beak to kill prey, like the Accipitriformes and owls do, falcons mainly use their speed and the impact of high velocity to dispatch their prey. The family lives worldwide, absent only from the densest forests of central Africa, some remote oceanic islands, the high Arctic, and Antarctica.

Falcons are solitary hunters and pairs guard territories, although they may form large flocks during migration, and some species are more social. They are monogamous, although some caracaras may also employ alloparenting strategies, where younger birds help adults (usually their parents) in raising the next brood of chicks. Nests are generally not built (except by the caracaras), but are co opted from other birds. Around 2–4 eggs are laid, and mostly incubated by the female, with the male guarding the nest and bringing her food.

Falconiformes evolved in the Early Eocene, around 55 million years ago, with the Falconidae family likely originating in South America during the Paleocene (30.2 Mya). They are most closely related to seriemas, parrots, and passerines.

Propaganda under the cut:

The widespread Peregrine Falcon (Falco peregrinus) (image 1) is considered the fastest animal on the planet, reaching over 320 km/h (200 mph) during its characteristic hunting stoop (high-speed dive). However, the highest reliably measured speed was only 184 km/h (114 mph)… though still impressive!

The Peregrine Falcon owes its worldwide success to humans spreading its main prey item, the Rock Dove (Columba livia) (in the form of the Domestic Pigeon [Columba livia domestica]) around the world. A cliff nester, it has also taken advantage of tall buildings and bridges as nest sites, and is one of the handful of animals to have benefited from the spread of urban sprawl.

Humans have not always made things easy for Peregrine Falcons and, like the Bald Eagle, they nearly went extinct between the 1950s and 1970s due to the use of the pesticide DDT. While DDT was not lethal to the adult birds, it interfered with their calcium metabolism, making them either unable to lay eggs, or lay eggs which had thin, brittle shells which could not stand the weight of a brooding adult. Other birds also suffered brittle eggs impeding their reproductive success, meaning less prey for the falcons. Peregrine Falcons were also persecuted and shot by farmers and hunters, and went locally extinct in areas such as the Eastern US and Belgium. Peregrine Falcons were bred in captivity, and the restriction of DDT use eventually allowed released birds to successfully breed in the wild. The Peregrine Falcon was removed from the U.S. Endangered Species list on August 25, 1999.

The Laughing Falcon (Herpetotheres cachinnans) (image 4) specializes in feeding mainly on snakes, including venomous ones such as coral snakes, and some large ones as well. It usually hunts from a perch, dropping or pouncing on its prey "with an audible thud".

Unique among caracaras, and falcons in general, the Red-throated Caracara (Ibycter americanus) mainly feeds on the larvae of bees and wasps, as well as adult insects, fruits, and berries.

The smallest falcon is the sparrow-sized Black-thighed Falconet (Microhierax fringillarius) which typically measures between 14–16 cm (5.5–6.3 in) long, with a 27–32 cm (11–13 in) wingspan. It mainly feeds on insects, including moths, butterflies, dragonflies, alate termites and cicadas, occasional small birds, and lizards. The Black-thighed Falconet is social, often found in loose pairs or groups of ten or more which all hunt and feed together.

The largest falcon is the Gyrfalcon (Falco rusticolus) (see gif above). Females are bulkier and larger than the males, at 51 to 65 cm (1.7 to 2.1 ft) long, with a 124 to 134 cm (4 to 4.4 ft) wingspan, and a weight of 1,180 to 2,100 g (2.6 to 4.6 lbs). One female from eastern Siberia was found to have weighed 2,600 g (5.7 lbs). Breeding on the Arctic coasts and tundra, the Gyrfalcon has a variety of color morphs ranging from dark brown to pure white.

The endangered Mauritius Kestrel (Falco punctatus) is endemic only to the island of Mauritius, where it is restricted to the southwestern plateau's forests, cliffs, and ravines. In 1974 the Mauritius Kestrel was close to extinction, with only 5 to 6 known birds, including 2 in captivity. The species had declined due to the use of DDT, as well as invasive species like domestic cats, mongooses, and crab-eating macaques, which had been introduced to the island. After considerable pioneering conservation efforts, which included collecting eggs from the wild birds and raising the hatchlings in incubators, the numbers had increased to around 400 birds as of 2019. This conservation achievement is regarded as one of the most successful and best documented bird restoration projects in the world. The Mauritius Kestrel was proclaimed the national bird of Mauritius in March 2022.

The Amur Falcon (Falco amurensis) has one of the longest migrations, breeding in south-eastern Siberia and Northern China before migrating in large flocks across India and over the Arabian Sea, to winter on Southern and East African coasts.

The omnivorous Yellow-headed Caracara (Milvago chimachima) feeds on a variety of foods, including carrion, adult and larval insects, crabs, fish, reptiles, amphibians, mammals, bird eggs and nestlings, horse dung, fruits of the Oil Palm (Elaeis guineensis), coconuts, maize, and seeds. They have been observed picking ticks from cattle, capybaras, and tapirs, and have even been reported to forage for small invertebrates in the fur of Brown-throated Sloths (Bradypus variegatus).

Falcons were deified in ancient Egypt, represented by the sky and sun god Horus, who was considered the ancestor of the pharaohs.

Falcons are important in the (formerly often royal) sport of falconry, which originated on the Arabian peninsula. While today, other birds of prey such as hawks and owls may be used, falcons are still the most popular and most effective birds used. Falcons may also be used in abatement work, using simply their presence to keep pigeons and gulls away from public areas.

The Saker Falcon (Falco cherrug) used by Arabs for falconry is called by Arabs "Hur" and has been used in falconry in the Arabian Peninsula since ancient times. Saker falcons are the national bird of the United Arab Emirates, Saudi Arabia, Qatar, Oman, and Yemen and have been integral to Arab heritage and culture for over 9,000 years. They are the national emblem of many Arab countries.

While beloved by many, falcons are also often persecuted for their predation on game and farm animals. The Guadalupe Caracara (Caracara lutosa) once inhabited Mexico's Guadalupe Island, where it was described as "evil" and "vicious" by colonists. The falcon was targeted by a hunting and poisoning campaign led by goat herders on Guadalupe Island, and is one of the few species known to have been purposefully driven to extinction. Farmers proclaimed that it was a predator of young goats, though these claims were greatly exaggerated. Meanwhile, the invasive goats were destroying the natural habitat of the island, leading to the extinction of several other endemic species. In December of 1900, the bird collector Rollo Beck encountered 11 Guadalupe Caracaras and killed 9 to preserve as scientific specimens. He may have shot the last of the caracaras on Guadalupe Island. By 1906 the Guadalupe Caracara was considered extinct. In an apparent case of coextinction, the ischnoceran louse, Acutifrons caracarensis, was only known to live on the Guadalupe Caracara.

The Crested Caracara (Caracara plancus) (image 3), now the only living relative of the Guadalupe Caracara, has adapted to a scavenging lifestyle, like most other caracara species. It is dominant over Black (Coragyps atratus) and Turkey Vultures (Cathartes aura) at carcasses. Lacking the good sense of smell that Turkey Vultures have, it will often follow them to find food. Interestingly enough, however, the less social Crested Caracaras have been observed exhibiting social behaviors with Black and Turkey Vultures, including preening them and being preened in return.

Crested Caracaras are native mainly to central and South America, and some parts of Texas. However, Florida is home to a relict population of Crested Caracaras that dates to the last glacial period, which ended around 12,500 BP. At that time, Florida and the rest of the Gulf Coast were covered in an oak savanna. As temperatures increased, the savanna between Florida and Texas disappeared, separating the Florida and Texas caracara populations. Florida’s caracaras were able to survive in the prairies of central Florida and the marshes along the St. Johns River.

Many falcons, as well as many other birds of prey, now face threats from the use of rodent poison. Most rodenticides are anticoagulants, forcing a rat or mouse to wander for days in search of relief, eventually internally bleeding to death. Rodenticide poisons remain in dead and dying rodents, and are then ingested by predators who see them as easy prey, such as falcons. Rodenticides can stay in the falcon’s body for months, and will accumulate if the falcon eats more poisoned rodents. If the rodenticide does not kill the falcon, it can still build up in their system and be passed on to the next generation. If not treated, the falcon(s) will begin to exhibit neurological symptoms, internal bleeding, and eventually external bleeding, and will slowly and painfully die. When the falcon dies, other animals may scavenge its body, continuing the cycle of poison.

[phaeton-flier]

I often feel that criticism of makeup has become impossible, at least online. Not wearing makeup is kinda like being a vegan in that just mentioning it will make a very specific group of people feel very insecure and thus they will loudly defame you rather than admit that you may have very understandable reasons for doing so. They just don't want to be persuaded because that would mean admitting they were wrong.

I don't know how to talk to these people. I get some decent responses when I focus the conversation on how the makeup industry is built on predatory advertising. There are people who respond fairly well to the capitalist consumption angle and that's not nothing but it doesn't get it as far as I'd like it to go. People's habits are rarely meaningfully changed by pointing out how those habits play directly into huge damaging systems.

I usually think it's still worth talking about despite the difficulties because at the very least you can introduce a new argument to people. They won't be persuaded in the moment but maybe years down the line it will mean something.

Other than that I'm at a loss. Every conversation about the makeup industry has to have 50 caveats about how it's fine to enjoy makeup for self expression so we just never seem to get any further in the conversation.

So the bad news is that there is not One Secret Trick to getting people to not raise their cached responses to these things. The good news is the the general strategy is similar to that for Vegans.

Just living your life, and posting about it occasionally, and not fitting to the stereotypes of the dumbest evilest Vegan people will expect from seeing thirdhand jokes will make a difference.

Most persuasion is slow, and boring, and happens years down the line as people slowly let evidence gather in their mind and let their psychological defense against being wrong wear down. You will not see it happen, but that does not mean it was not worth it.

Take breaks and post about other things. This helps you keep your sanity about the state of the world. Because, you know, this whole posting thing should be fun.

[valy-gc]

Creature Name

Common Name: Cindermice

Scientific Name: Ignisomys calidus

Physical Description

Average Size:

Body length: 15–20 cm (6–8 inches)

Tail length: 20–25 cm (8–10 inches)

Appearance:

Small, round-bodied rodent with thick, soft fur resembling embers.

Fur shifts in color from smoky gray near the head to glowing orange along the belly and limbs.

Large, expressive eyes with a slight red sheen, adapted for low light.

A long, smooth tail that emits gentle warmth and faint wisps of heat when excited or threatened.

Unique Trait: Its body radiates warmth, making it a living heat source.

Diet

Type: Omnivore

Primary Foods:

Nuts and seeds rich in oils to fuel its internal heat.

Root vegetables and dried grasses.

Small insects for additional protein.

Special Adaptations:

Has a specialized metabolism that converts food into heat energy.

Stores excess warmth in its fur and tail, which slowly dissipates over time.

Habitat

Environment: Cold climates, such as snowy forests, tundras, and mountainous regions.

Shelter: Nests in burrows, tree hollows, or even inside human dwellings where it provides warmth in exchange for food.

Behavior and Living Habits

Activity Cycle: Crepuscular (most active at dawn and dusk).

Social Structure:

Lives in small family groups, often huddling together for shared warmth.

Forms bonds with humans and is sometimes kept as a companion animal.

Territoriality: Non-aggressive, prefers to flee rather than fight.

Reproduction

Mating Season: Late autumn to early winter.

Reproductive Strategy:

Gestation lasts approximately 5 weeks.

Litters typically contain 3–5 pups.

Young are born blind and furless but develop their signature ember-like glow within two weeks.

Nest: Insulated burrows lined with soft, dry vegetation to retain warmth.

Behavior and Temperament

Defensive Behavior:

When threatened, its tail flares with heat, deterring predators.

Can release a brief pulse of warmth to startle attackers.

Foraging Habits: Stores food in underground caches for winter months.

Interaction with Humans:

Often kept as pets by those in cold regions.

Friendly, docile, and enjoys curling up with warm-blooded creatures for shared heat.

Used in folklore as a symbol of home and hearth.

[ilynpilled]

edited for person im arguing with lol

we do not excuse jaime for just being an inexperienced teen, we are acknowledging the reality of it straight up not being possible for him to teleport over from 7 to the drawbridge of 26 faster than it takes two men to finish scaling the walls of 26 (the text confirms twice that the scaling was happening already when jaime was murdering aerys) to prevent an order the text says he doesnt know about that also contradicts a command that he explicitly gives to his father’s men after hearing incomplete information about the state of the situation. and all this after he finishes committing one of the most significant oathbreakings in history and the most defining act of his life of murdering his own king to prevent a whole city from being nuked. he was left alone as the only kg to guard the red keep. there is a core issue here of him being unable to do all of this alone even if he had all the information. even if he tried to do everything in his power and had all the right suspicions and the knowledge to act he would have been unable to stop it. the text emphasizes this, it emphasizes that he was with the king, slitting his throat, to save a city, instead of being near or at the drawbridge at maegor’s (a knight of the kingsguard is positioned there usually for a reason). jaime was surrounded by the kg, experienced adults, who for two years enabled an erratic and paranoid tyrant to burn people alive, start a war by doing so, rape and abuse his wife, and place caches of wildfire across a city. and all this time these adults have told jaime nothing but “accept this, you swore to obey, stay near him. keep your oath.” but the person that has to be condemned for “incompetence” and “cowardice” (because, yes, based on all this information it is the only ground you have. there is no evidence of malicious intent or apathy of any sort. we know what information he has. we know what he thought during) is him. i dont even blame rhaegar, again, he expected to return “we will talk when i return”, and even finally do what was long overdue and deal with aerys, and he was likely confident he would because of a prophecy that i know concerned an existential threat to humanity, and he did not know what would happen at the trident and that his father would be so paranoid that he would lock elia and her children in the red keep (if you use the argument that jaime should know and think about everything his father may or may not do the very minute he is found murdering the king by the men that tell him, incorrectly, that the place is secured, and he should suspect that his order to spare everybody that yields is already being contradicted by a secret order of his father’s, then this same exact argument can be applied to rhaegar and he should have had a different strategy or a safety net, or been more cautious when it comes to the threat his father represents or straight up just been able to deal with him as if it is that easy. his family were just not allowed to leave with rhaella and viserys (who was named heir, with aegon effectively disinherited) as elia wanted because aerys felt like he was betrayed by dorne and lewyn after the trident (also speaks to what duty rhaegar even expected of jaime when he left. it is present in their last conversation. what threat he is aware of. we see what he tells him. both he and darry expect him to remain with the king at all times and serve as a hostage against tywin and keep aerys in check. they also know he is just one person)

why is jaime even singled out? not other kingsguard who knew he was in the city alone (post the trident or before the trident) and that aerys is a tyrannical threat (but my vows and orders wahh), not pycelle, not tywin, not the men that did the horrid action themselves. in order to absolve rhaegar of any and all responsibility when it comes to naivety or lack of foresight (neither flaw is a detriment to his moral character) u shift the blame and criticize jaime for the exact same thing in an even more absurdly unfair way. you guys want him to be someone this evil and apathetic from the beginning, with his guilt over failure rooted in that, when the whole point is that he stagnated and morally deteriorated due to how cynical all of this made him.

and regarding the argument that he is considered the most skilled kg by these people and so they rightfully think that he should be able to handle the red keep and all these responsibilities alone: “Selmy had never approved of Jaime's presence in his precious Kingsguard. Before the rebellion, the old knight thought him too young and untried; afterward, he had been known to say that the Kingslayer should exchange that white cloak for a black one.”

[rhamrhanch]

Shepherd of Death, Don't Herd Me

Part Two: Show Me Your Sincerity

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Ramattra/Reader (gender-neutral pronouns)

Word Count: 4K

Warnings: canon-typical violence, hurt/comfort

Next Chapter // Masterlist

chapter under the cut ↓

---

Ramattra’s first memory was of waking up alone. There were others before that—visions of destruction, hazy scraps of what he’d done during the war. But he had never considered those to be his own. They were the actions of a godlike AI, driven to a madness of its own creation. They were not his memories. The day his life began, the emotions he felt; those were uniquely his own.

He remembered how his system burst with consciousness, forced to bear the overwhelming weight of sudden life. He remembered the confusion as he fought to maintain his sanity amidst the brutal assault, his circuits ripping themselves apart from the inside. Beside him lay a body; it was himself.

No, not himself—another R-7000, coolant leaking from the gaping hole in its chest. Dead, but never really alive either.

His central processor crackled with heat as a tidal wave of information poured into his mind all at once.

Humans. Anubis. Crying. Screaming. Blood. Death.

A thousand subroutines flashed across his HUD.

ERROR: Unable to process sentience. Retrying…

ERROR: No sense of self located. Searching cache…

ERROR: “Ḩ̶̗͐͐E̵̱̦̹̖̐́̈́̂L̶̠̤͚͓̐͠P ̴̖́̌̔M̶̛͕E̷̡̛͑̕̕͜” is invalid parameter.

ERROR: Message overflow.

When he finally dragged himself from the quagmire of death and destruction that surrounded him to civilization, desperate for help and staggering on weak legs like a newborn lamb, he was brutally awakened to the nature of this new world. It was a world of blinding hatred, towards omnics for their devastation in the war, towards him for leading them. There was no empathy, no pity for their position as tools in a war they did not desire. Empty shells incapable of choice, forced to reckon with the violence they wrought in a body that was not their own.

There was no place for him in this world.

Even among his peers in the Shambali, Ramattra stood out. He was the only Ravager in the monastery; a hulking figure compared to his companions, who in model and manner so closely resembled the humans he was made to destroy. A constant reminder of his purpose during the war, and the ultimate banality of his creation.

Still, he persisted, searching for enlightenment by the glow of the Iris. There must have been something worth protecting about this world for Aurora to make such a heavy sacrifice. So, he doggedly followed his master’s teachings. His hands, once forged to destroy, would build bridges towards the day omnics and humans could live together in peace. But over time, his once steadfast beliefs were chipped away, over and over again. Every day, omnics, his people, were killed, while he preached pacifism to their murderers. He couldn’t take it anymore; there had to be another way.

Leaving his brothers was difficult, but a necessary step on the path to liberation. He freed as many omnics as he could, as nonviolently as he could, collecting allies along the way—but it wasn’t enough. For as many omnics as he saved, twice as many were killed. He needed to change strategy again.

His allies argued against him. They said his methods were too drastic, that there was a better way. He didn’t understand them, why they weren’t being drastic enough. Their people were one generation, finite. Every minute spent trying to find peace meant another part of them was lost forever—time could not be wasted.

King’s Row was a new start for his cause. Humanity could no longer ignore what it wrought on his people, forced to witness the seeds of brutality they sowed bear its bitter fruit.

And what had his efforts earned him? Abandoned by his comrades, condemned by his former master—for what? For all their preaching, violence was the one thing humans understood at the core; they were practically connoisseurs of it. His actions were a mere drop compared to the ocean of blood that stained the annals of human history. If he was to be condemned, then so be it. For the future of his people, he would shoulder that burden alone.

He found a new benefactor, a sympathetic patron to his cause. There were rumors of Talon’s other endeavors, but he paid them no mind. The petty squabbles between humans meant little to him, especially now that he had as many resources as he could dream of at his disposal. Paris, Busan, Rio, Toronto… For as long as his people felt no safety, neither would humanity. They would acknowledge the decades of suffering he witnessed at their complacency, by will or by force.

Gothenburg had been his next target. But it had ended in failure, with his command ship sitting at the bottom of the North Sea. Now a defunct organization of vigilantes, Overwatch still felt entitled to interfere with his mission. The hypocrisy of it all was infuriating.

Something soft touched his leg. One of his power cores had been compromised by that armored brute’s hammer; the trauma seemed to shut him down as a reflex. The automatic reboot kickstarted by the remaining units was slow, but he appeared to be regaining some sensation.

The softness moved up his body. He tried to reach out, seeking its source, but his arm wouldn’t move. Alertness spread through his chassis. There was a strange imbalance—something clouding his spatial awareness. His optic sensors restarted, and it was then that he realized he was slouched over; unable to correct his posture, his range of vision was limited. He looked to the side—ah, that’s right. That man, part metal and part meat, had sliced through his shoulder. His right arm was gone.

There was a gentle pressure on his chest. His optics flicked down, head still unmovable. A human was sitting in front of him, hand splayed on his ribs. Out of reflex, he tried to shove you away. But his arm was motionless, actuators still slow on the uptake. He could only watch you.

Your face was obscured by a cap, but from this angle he could see the gun holstered at your waist. It slid against your thigh as you stood up, leaving him for your workbench. He couldn’t move his head to follow you, but it wasn’t long before you returned, crowbar in hand. To his horror, you jabbed the thing into his chest and began to pry him open.

Anger flooded his system, the overwhelming heat of it stimulating his internal fans to life. The absolute gall to dare disassemble him, with as much grace as a child holding a stick.

You were absorbed in your dissection—a foolish mistake. His chest plate slowly cracked open, exposing the tender circuits and wires of his internal machinery. Residual power surged through his body, making his fingers twitch.

Finally.

Ramattra lunged forward, clamping his hand around your neck—but his fist would not close fully. There was a strange tightness in his wrist, like a rubber band pulled taut, unable to stretch anymore.

It was of little consequence, though. Your flesh was pliable and gave easily to the weight of his palm. He could not resist the creeping satisfaction as he brought you to your knees, no longer at the behest of your primitive instruments.

His optics scanned your face, analyzing your features for any semblance of familiarity. There was no recollection of you in his memory, but a brief search unearthed a photo of you from Talon’s records. Besides your name, all the information next to it was redacted; only one line remained.

$15,000,000 BOUNTY.

Interesting.

You clawed at his hand fiercely. He slackened his hold on you, irritated at the reminder of your frailty. It had always frustrated him how fragile humans were, a thought that resurfaced as your heartbeat drummed against his fingertips. Ramattra simply could not understand why his people, intelligent beings of metal and machinery, were constantly trampled beneath the foot of such a physically weak species. His people were too willing to remain docile, naively hoping it would convince humans to treat them with respect. But what they lacked in viciousness, he would more than make up for.

He dug his thumb against your jawbone, drawing a noise of pain from your throat like wine from a pome. Perhaps he should just kill you, refuse his mercy for a world that had no shred of mercy for him. His thumb teemed on your pulse point as he considered it—but your next words intrigued him. An engineer, you choked out desperately. Someone who can help him.

The idea was so ridiculous, so presumptuous and devoid of all logic that he almost laughed. Yet his processor analyzed your words anyway, evaluating the probability of escape.

He was already at a severe disadvantage—alone in an enemy environment, no allies aware of his current location. You were armed, while he, in the most literal sense, was not. Even if he killed you before you had a chance to draw your weapon, the only exit in the room was the door. Down a working power core, he would not be able to sustain his Nemesis form. That, combined with his missing arm and staff, meant he stood little chance against the other agents roaming the facility.

Ramattra retracted his fingers from your neck, letting you fall to the floor. He would humor you, for now.

“Fine, human. Let’s see if your words match your will.”

You rubbed at the harsh marks on your neck, saying nothing. Your composure was impressive, considering the position you were in. He watched you shuffle forward, outstretched hand reaching for the open cavity of his chest. Instinctively, he grabbed your arm, halting you in place. A human had never been this close to him before, let alone to the point of repairing him. Even with this little pressure, Ramattra could feel your pulse racing where his fingers met the thin skin of your wrist. To have you any closer than this—it was risky.

“Be careful,” he warned.

You nodded, eyes resolute. “I will.” But you still didn’t move, hands clutched in your lap as your eyes searched his chest.

“What is it?”

“Um, could you show me where your voice box is?”

He sighed, annoyed. Weren’t you supposed to be an expert? Although, he had changed things around many times over the years; his internal machinery was certainly not the standard anymore.

He pointed to a spot just below his neck, tapping on the box there—his vocal synthesizer. You leaned forward, gingerly placing your hand on his shoulder. You were being especially careful to avoid touching his exposed wiring, he realized.

His central processor suddenly burned in his chest as you straddled his right leg. Your body was warm, stiflingly so. He could feel every movement you made as you shifted in place, readjusting your position. With two fingers, you slowly rotated the converter, pulling it from his neck. A groan nearly escaped him when your nails scraped against the wires that trailed behind it. His hand gripped his thigh; he needed something to hold on to, and it definitely would not be you.

This was made all the more challenging when you rolled the wires between your fingers. Unable to hold it back any longer, a heavy sigh left him, echoed by the hiss of air rushing through his auxiliary vents.

By the Iris, this was humiliating. Here he sat, a Ravager, losing his composure so quickly at the hands of a… mechanic.

You paused your examination, wires still pinched between your fingers. He desperately hoped you wouldn’t ask.

He was not so lucky.

“Can you feel pain?”

He could not answer. He had no words, just as confused by his own body’s reactions as you were. The silence seemed to make you nervous.

“That is—I’m only asking because I need to use a soldering iron to repair these cables. If possible, I’d like to avoid causing you any discomfort.”

The laughter came quickly, a mixture of frustration and disbelief at the absurdity of the situation. It made a ghastly sound, scratchy and hiccupping with static. It was incredible how unaware you were of the amount of discomfort he was already in.

“I was built to lead omnics into war. What purpose would there be for me to feel pain?” This line of questioning was approaching a vein of conversation he did not want to indulge in. “Your feigned concern is unnecessary. Do your job properly and refrain from asking me pointless questions.”

That seemed to do the trick. You said nothing, leaving his lap to get something from your workbench. He was relieved by the space, but his leg felt strangely cold in your absence. The sensation wound up his circuits, coiling around his central processor until it finally decoded the feeling—he wanted you there.

The quiet scrape of the soldering iron was a welcome distraction from his thoughts. His optics wandered the room while you worked, analyzing his surroundings. There was a shelf behind you packed with junk—coils of wire, worn leather straps, old batteries. A crate sat next to it, filled with partially disassembled firearms of various make and model.

What captured his attention, though, were the projects mounted on the wall. There was a robotic arm configured with a cannon attachment, what looked to be a self-loading gun, and others whose function he could not discern. All impressive feats of engineering—but an omnic engineer, evidently, you were not.

Your picture flashed on his HUD again. You were clearly familiar with omnic repair on some level, yet you had nothing to show for it. An omnic engineer who spent their time building weapons for Overwatch. What would warrant Talon to place such a high bounty on your head?

“All right, finished.”

That was quicker than he expected. Your image faded away from his vision, replaced by your actual face.

You leaned back against his knee and gestured at his neck. “Try speaking now.”

He scoffed. “Am I supposed to be impressed?” To his astonishment, the words echoed strong and clear, perhaps even better than before. It felt… good.

You seemed satisfied, clapping your hands against your lap. “Shall I look at your hand next?”

His hand? Ramattra looked down to where it sat on his lap, flexing it experimentally. This was something he could fix on his own. He did not want to extend his stay here any longer, especially when he was struggling to control his reactions this badly.

“That is unnecessary,” he replied, more curtly than he intended to.

You only tilted your head at him. “Really?” Your gaze flicked down to his hand, then back to his face, doubtful. “It doesn’t seem to be at full function.”

Your persistence was annoying, Ramattra thought.

“Is that your astute deduction?”

The attempt to knock you down a peg only incited you further. He watched the flesh of your cheek shift as you clenched your jaw.

“I’m familiar with the reputation of your model,” you replied sternly. “If your hand was at full strength,” you pointed to the deep bruises blooming on your throat, “you would have broken my neck.”

He was angry now. The sureness with which you spoke, as if there couldn’t be any other explanation—and the fact that you were correct, above all else. That was most loathsome of all.

“Your arrogance is extraordinary,” he growled. Unbothered, you simply shrugged.

“You wouldn’t be the first to say that.”

Ramattra was stunned. He knew that you knew he could still kill you at any moment. It would have been easy, like breaking a toothpick. Yet the air with which you spoke was so cavalier, confident that this situation would still play in your favor. An insulting reminder of the way humans trifled with life. But if you wanted to gamble on it, who was he to deny you?

“Well, then,” he said, extending his hand to you like a wolf beckoning to the sheep. “You are welcome to try.”

Cautiously, you took his hand between your own. His palm dwarfed yours as you turned it over, bending some of his fingers experimentally. Your touch was not as overwhelming as when you had fixed his voice box, but an electric signal still danced down his back when you ran your fingers between the divot at his wrist. Suddenly, you released him, and he was surprised by the disappointment he felt.

“Giving up already? I expected more of you.”

“No.” You grabbed the crowbar again and stuck it into the joint at his wrist. “There’s some wear in the joints of your hand, but if the problem is your grip strength,” you grunted, prying the upper panel of his forearm open, “then the issue likely extends here…”

You trailed off as you gazed at the inner mechanism of his arm. Ramattra assumed you had reached the limits of your abilities and was about to make another snide comment… but then your hand smoothed upward, drawing his arm closer to your face almost in reverence.

“Using hydraulic motion instead of electric actuators,” you murmured. Your head suddenly snapped up to him, eyes alight. “Is this the standard method used in all R-7000s?”

He was taken aback by your reaction—there was a pause before he answered. “Yes. It allows for a greater application of force.”

You nodded your head superficially, clearly more occupied with studying his arm.

This was… unexpected.

In the past, Ramattra encountered human engineers who would spend their time repairing omnics, few and far between as they were. Your knowledge, the quickness of your diagnosis—it far exceeded anything they had been capable of.

He wanted you to say something, to ask another question so he could fully gauge your abilities, but you did not. Instead, you reached across his chest and grabbed something from the counter next to him.

“The cylinders in your arm are rusting. That’s why you couldn’t close your fist completely,” you explained as you dripped oil sparingly from the bottle in your hand on his wrist. It trickled slowly through his arm. A strange sensation, but not one he was unused to. What surprised him was when you began rubbing his arm with a cloth, working the oil in. Your grip was strong, continuing to massage from his forearm up to his hand and wrist.

To say it did not soothe him would be a lie. He could not remember the last time someone had taken such care with him.

Not even among the Shambali had this happened. The other monks knew little of how to repair Ravagers, and the human mechanics in the nearby village refused to. Many days he had sat in the atrium of the monastery, disturbed from meditation by the stiffness in his shoulders.

Your touch was gentle, but firm—a tender paradox. It was with alarm that he found he did not want you to stop. He wanted you to keep touching him, wondered how your hands would feel on his shoulders, his neck, tapping down the segments of his spine. He wanted to catalog each one and file it away in his memory, a balm for himself when he must suffer these aches alone. But there was a pressing question on his mind that could wait no longer.

“Who are you?”

Your eyes were unyielding, focused on your work. “I’m an engineer.”

“You are hardly just.”

The hand stroking his palm paused. A moment passed before you replied, “I don’t know what you mean.”

“An engineer of your caliber that specializes in omnics is a rarity,” he said. “Why do you squander your talents?”

The words came out as a hiss, but he couldn’t help it. There were omnics suffering everywhere, his current discomfort a mere fraction compared to the pain they endured daily at the hands of humans. You could be out in the world, helping them. Yet you were here, wasting your time with Overwatch. Why?

Your figure flashed red on his HUD, the afterglow of your racing heartbeat. You masked it well, seemingly unshaken as you tossed the soiled cloth into your toolkit.

“Why would I tell you?” you scoffed, moving to rise. Ramattra’s hand gripped the meat of your forearm, its restored strength anchoring you to the spot. You had done a fine job repairing it, perhaps to your own detriment.

“There is a bounty on your head,” he growled, dark and full of a strange resentment he couldn’t place. “Is that your excuse?”

That got your attention. Your eyes cut into him, placidity gone from your expression.

“You’re in no place to chastise me,” you snapped, “leader of Null Sector.”

The air was tense between you, like a lit match over gunpowder. He could feel your arm trembling, could see the way your chest rose rapidly. You were afraid. Still, your gaze was unflinching as you stared up at him.

He realized then that he could not make you say any more. Your resistance to being found by Talon was even stronger than your will to live.

His grip loosened, and you tore your arm away from him as though it burned you. Slowly, you rose, picking up your toolkit as you did so. His optics watched you carefully—how you crossed to the shelf, back facing him. The way your hand lingered at your waist, waiting.

You were too slow on the draw, but it was to be expected. A human getting the jump on a Ravager was as rare as a blue moon. He had seized you before you could even release the safety on your gun.

“And to think,” he said, twisting your arm downward. You gritted your teeth, trying to fight back against him, but it was useless. Your hold loosened, and the gun clattered to the floor. “We were getting along so well.”

“You won’t take me to them.” It was phrased like a demand, but he could sense the underlying fear in your tone.

“No.” Your eyes widened in shock. Human expressions always gave away so much. “But I will not let you stand in my way.”

He could see the glimmer of hope in your eyes fade like snow as his hand wrapped around your throat. With its function fully restored, he could be much more precise this time. Your hands instinctively shot up to grab his wrist as his fingers tightened. It was a futile final effort to escape your fate, as it took only seconds for you to go limp, arms falling loosely at your waist.

Once he was certain of your unconsciousness, he lowered you to the ground, placing you on your side. For a moment, he watched your chest rise as you took shallow breaths, lightly disturbing the hair curtaining your face.

Ramattra abandoned you in the workshop. He slipped through back corridors and hidden passages, remaining undetected. When he was finally far enough from the vicinity of the base, he allowed your picture to flicker on his HUD again.

The steadfastness with which you spoke, your conviction in the face of death; few humans boasted such inner willpower. He understood now why Talon placed such high value on your head. A person like you was a rarity, indeed.

Against his will, the memories of your touch resurfaced. It was clear to him that you were more than just an engineer who could fix omnics. The gentle way in which you handled him, how you tried to avoid causing him discomfort—you had clearly done this before, likely for many others.

He wondered what would have happened had you met in his younger years, when he was still a monk of the Shambali. Perhaps you would have been allies, or maybe even friends. But that world was a distant dream to him now.

His hand flexed, still reeling from your touch. For the sake of his mission, he prayed you would never meet again.

[egypt-museum]

"Funerary datasets are the chief source of social history in Egyptology, and the numerous tombs, coffins, Books of the Dead, and mummies of the Twentieth and Twenty-first Dynasties have not been fully utilized as social documents, mostly because the data of this time period is scattered and difficult to synthesize.

This culmination of fifteen years of coffin study analyzes coffins and other funerary equipment of elites from the Nineteenth to the Twenty-second Dynasties to provide essential windows into social strategies and adaptations employed during the Bronze Age collapse and subsequent Iron Age reconsolidation.

Many Twentieth to Twenty-second Dynasty coffins show evidence of reuse from other, older coffins, as well as obvious marks where gilding or inlay have been removed. Innovative vignettes painted onto coffin surfaces reflect new religious strategies and coping mechanisms within this time of crisis, while advances in mummification techniques reveal an Egyptian anxiety about long-term burial without coffins as a new style of stuffed and painted mummy was developed for the wealthy. It was in the context of necropolis insecurity, economic crisis, and group burial in reused and unpainted chambers that a complex, polychrome coffin style emerged.

The first part of this book focuses on the theory and evidence of coffin reuse, contextualized within the social collapse that characterized the Twentieth and Twenty-first Dynasties. The second part presents photo essays of annotated visual data for over sixty Egyptian coffins from the so-called Royal Caches, most of them from the Egyptian Museum in Cairo."

— Recycling for Death: Coffin Reuse in Ancient Egypt and the Theban Royal Caches, by Kara Cooney

[whencyclopedia]

The Bar-Kochba Revolt

The Bar Kochba Revolt (132–136 CE) was the third and final war between the Jewish people and the Roman Empire. It followed a long period of tension and violence, marked by the first Jewish uprising of 66-70 CE, which ended with the destruction of the Second Temple, and the Kitos War (115-117 CE). In many ways, the Bar Kochba Revolt differed markedly from its predecessors. For the first time, the Jews presented a united front against Roman forces and fought underneath a single charismatic leader, the eponymous Simon Bar Kochba (also given as Shimon Bar-Cochba, Bar Kokhba, Ben-Cozba, Cosiba or Coziba). It was marked as well by strong religious passions, with many apparently believing that Bar Kochba was the promised messiah who would lead the Jewish people to final victory against their enemies.

In its initial stages, the revolt was surprisingly successful and may have resulted in the destruction of an entire Roman legion. It is possible that the rebels regained control of the city of Jerusalem, and they must have held large portions of ancient Judea. The Romans, however, regrouped and adopted a scorched-earth strategy that ultimately extirpated the rebels and laid waste to the country. The war shattered Judean society and led to far-reaching demographic and political changes, with the majority of the Jewish population of the province killed, enslaved, or exiled, and their national hopes definitively crushed. The Jewish people would not regain their political independence until the Zionist era and the establishment of the State of Israel in 1948 CE.

The Problem of Sources

Unlike the revolt of 66 CE, the historical sources on the Bar Kochba Revolt are scanty at best. The war had no chronicler such as Josephus Flavius, at least none whose work has survived. The primary non-Jewish sources are an epitome of Cassius Dio's Roman History and a handful of lines by the ecclesiastical historian Eusebius, the bishop of Caesarea. The war is also briefly mentioned by the Church father Jerome. While by no means comprehensive, these sources do provide several important details.

The Jewish sources are not per se historical and, while also scanty, are found throughout the rabbinical literature of the period and after, in particular, in the Jerusalem and Babylonian Talmuds. While they are often clearly legendary and unreliable in nature, they do paint a general picture of the Jewish experience of the war and its aftermath.

In addition, several important archaeological finds have shed light on certain aspects of the revolt. Coins minted while Judea was temporarily freed from Roman rule indicate the existence of an independent Jewish state for a brief period. In the 1960s CE, a cave in the Judean desert was found that likely once housed refugees from the revolt. Called the “Cave of Letters,” it contained a cache of documents that included several letters from Bar Kochba himself, which shed unprecedented light on his personality and style of rule.

Continue reading...

[klbwriting]

Adventures In Atlantean-Sitting

Chapter 1

Fandom: Aquaman

Pairing: Ormxfemale!Reader

Warnings: violence

Summary: Atlanteans have attacked a coastal surface city, framing Orm for the attack. In a bid to keep Orm secret and the council off his back Arthur gets the help of YN, a metahuman with tracking abilities, to track Orm and let him stay with her while they figure out the real attacker. Orm is not too pleased about having a babysitter.

Notes: here is the second fic! I hope you enjoy! This will be posted in the evenings (for me at least), comments/critiques are appreciated

Traveling the US had become almost fun to Orm after the last year. He had explored national park, lakes, even got all the way to Alaska to see the northern lights. Anything that the country had to offer in nature he had done. Now he was ready to try maybe giving the less natural world a shot. That's what first led him to Coast City, shining on the California coast and one of the nicer cities in the country if the magazine Orm had read was correct. Being here he believed it. It was big, but not overwhelming, there was good food, the people were decent, and he even found a cheap place to sleep while he visited, something he didn't always have. For the first few days it was wonderful.

Then the attack happened.

Orm hadn't been exactly where it happened but he had seen the emergency vehicles, saw a green metahuman flying that way. So Orm went the opposite way. He had to keep his head down and out of trouble or else get sent back to Atlantis and that sandy prison he spent four years in. No thank you. Instead, he went back to his room, sat down and watched the news on the television. He had held no great love of the surface but seeing the destruction that was happening did not sit well with him now. Then he saw the attackers clearly. He was sure no one without enhanced eye sight would be seeing this clearly, thank Poseidon, but there were at least three Atlantean highborns with energy rays shooting randomly at buildings, creating as much smoke as they could. It was a confusing strategy. Why just make a mess? Was this some kind of warning? He knew Arthur wasn't the brightest man in the world...or even in a kindergarten class...but he had better sense than to do this. This was rogues, someone sending a message. Orm just couldn't fathom what it could be. He got up, going to the adjoined bathroom to get a drink and noticing the cup he had this morning was gone. Strange, they must replace them daily. How wasteful. He shrugged some and went back to the main room, turning off the TV and deciding on a nap instead.

"You found what at the attack site?" Arthur asked the council, looking at the documentation of evidence. Green Lantern had reported an Atlantean weapon found in some rubble, but the DNA that was on it couldn't be possible.

"The tyrant king Orm Marius's DNA was used to activate the weapon," councilwoman Yavon spoke. She looked pained at the statement. "It appears that he not only escaped his prison, but he also survived the attack against you with the Black Trident." Arthur sighed. This made no sense. Orm was in Coast City, Arthur knew that, but he had spent a year just walking around the country, being completely nonthreatening. He even seemed happy sometimes. What had changed? Arthur frowned more.

"How is his DNA even able to activate these weapons still?" he asked. The council shifted nervously, like they had hoped he wouldn't be smart enough to ask. People underestimating his intelligence would never not be annoying.

"It seems that some of the weapons' caches in that part of the ocean had not been updated to remove his ability to use them," council Horath spoke, sounding bored. Arthur glared at him.

"Are we keeping you from something councilman?" the king asked, wrapping his fingers around Atlan's trident. The councilman sat up a little straighter.

"No, your majesty, I am just glad that finally the escapee slipped up. I have been warning this council that the former king has been living, traveling the North American continent for a year now and everyone ignored my warnings. Well here you are, plan as day, seeing that he is in fact alive and now has found weapons to attack the surface with," he said. Arthur sighed. He couldn't hold off Horvath any longer. This was too much to argue with.

"Yes councilman, I see that we have gravely mistaken your warnings, what we thought was paranoia was insight into a criminal who was cunning enough to hide in plain sight. We will not make that mistake again," Arthur said. Horvath seemed satisfied, a haughty grin on his face. Another councilman, Orlan, stood up.

"Let me send my son after the king, he is a general with the battalion in that part of the ocean, Orvex will be able to find him and bring him to justice," he said. Of all the council member Orlan was the worst. He was constantly trying to undermine Arthur or wrestle just a little more power away from someone else. It was aggravating and unnerving and Arthur knew he had to be careful with the handling of this situation..

"Let us not jump to such things just yet. Sending a general to the surface with a small army may concern the people there. They might take it as an act of war and we don't need them trying to find Atlantis and drop a nuke on us Independence Day style," Arthur said, drawing blank looks from the others. God he missed his wife, Mera at least was starting to understand his references. "I know a metahuman on the surface. She has incredible power, she will be able to track down Orm and even subdue him, all without get the military involved. She lives around where the attack occurred and I'm sure she knows the area enough to know where he might be hiding. I just need the DNA evidence to take to her. She will use that to find and captured my brother." He could see Orlan seething at his son's big moment being taken away but Arthur needed to make sure that Orm didn't do this. If he did Arthur would cart his tantrum having ass back himself, but if he didn't he needed to warn his brother that someone knew he was alive. And was trying to use him to start a war with the surface.

[sirfrogsworth]

I don't think I've ever been this mad watching a YouTube video.

We keep joking about how everything is going to turn into The Handmaid's Tale but we are pretty much fucking there in Texas.

We need to stop arguing about a presidential race we don't actually have a way of changing. We are wasting so much energy right now.

Biden sucks.

Vote for Biden.

Now that we settled that...

We need to focus our energy on local politics. These are elections we can actually influence and win. All of the horrific anti-trans laws are local. All of the horrific anti-abortion laws are local. We need state reps and mayors and governors. We need to grassroots the shit out of local elections and fundraise for progressive candidates.

If we had local congresses filled with progressive majorities, we'd have to worry much less about a Trump presidency. Yes, he can still do a lot of damage, but almost all of the draconian shit is on a state level right now.

People were giving Biden shit about mask laws. But all of the mask mandates were done at a state level. It's the governors who did that shit.

Focusing solely one one political position is screwing so many marginalized people. If we can elect local reps and school board members and get them some political experience, they can then move on to higher positions. They can build their political cache and go from state to federal. And eventually maybe one of them can even run for and win the presidency.

We are attacking this from the wrong vector. People want instant results and I get that. But the long game is the better strategy. Not to mention the long game allows for long term results. If we build a progressive infrastructure from the ground up, it cannot be toppled by one crazy dipshit.

So, let's think local and get this done, eh?

[foone]

I don't have a story to for them yet, but I wanted to write this down so I don't forget: my One Hundred and One Magical Pistols setting has an animal called Cyclic Cats.

They externally look much like earth/regular cats (which also exist in this setting), except their fur always has red/orange patterns in it, though sometimes they're mostly black and you can only tell them apart from regular cats by the redness of their toebeans.

They have the same diet and attitude to humans as regular cats, but their life cycle is very different: they're not born live, they hatch from eggs. These eggs are usually hatched within their parents' old skin.

See, Cyclic Cats molt. They shed their old skin when they reproduce. The original cat lays a sort of caterpillar cacoon and the shed skin will be attached to it. After a few days, the cacoon breaks and a kitten (looking much like a kitten of a regular cat, but not a newborn: they're about the size of a newly weaned kitten) will hatch from it, but this isn't the offspring of the cat: it's the same cat, just reverted to kitten form. If the cat laid fertilized eggs, they'll hatch from the body of the shed skin. They'll appear similar to their parent, but smaller and more like a newborn regular-cat kitten.

These hatchlings are blind like regular cats, but don't feed of their parent, at least not directly. Cyclic Cats aren't mammals, there's no milk. Instead the parent will chew up food and give it to their hatchlings, much like how baby birds are fed. This'll usually included the parents old skin, as they'll eat it to avoid wasting the food.

Anyway, slightly weird reproductive strategy aside, Cyclic Cats are much like regular cats in terms of ownership. They enjoy living around humans (especially because we feed them) and have long been a part of many human activities: they're a quintessential part of any brewery, bakery, or farm, as they help keep mice away from the grain and hops. They don't get along with regular cats, with both sides being territorial, but it rarely causes direct violence: both types of cats tend to avoid each other's territory, presumably through smell.

If keep alone or they've been fixed, they'll molt every couple years, while fertile Cyclic Cats will usually molt & lay eggs once a year, usually in the early winter. Their litters are usually only 1-2 eggs, though egg caches as large as 5 have been reported.

Their lifespans are longer than regular cats: 20-30 years for wild/outdoor cyclic cats, 30-40 for domesticated indoor cyclic cats.

Their distribution is slightly different: although both types of cats are domesticated and live with humans (even outdoor "wild" cats being descendants of domesticated cats), Cyclic Cats are more common in cities and largish towns, while regular cats are more common in farms and small villages. It's not known why this is.

In general conversation (in Unity, the most common human language) both cyclic cats and regular cats are just called "cats". When it's necessary to distinguish which type of cat they are, the two species are called "milk cats" and "cyclic cats". In the religious language of Old Tower, there's no singular word for both types: milk cats are written feles, while cyclic cats are murikeps.

Oh yeah, one final thing: cyclic cat gender is complicated. Traditionally they were considered a single-gendered species but it's now believed they have either two or three genders. It's basically impossible to tell their gender externally, as they don't have external genitalia. They reproduce sexually (through cloacal kissing like many birds) and any of the genders can be the "mother". Usually when two cyclic cats mate only one will become pregnant, but double pregnancies are not that rare. All two or three genders can mate with the other genders.

As for what the genders are, it's tricky. One theory is that it's male and female: males stick to "home" areas, defend it from other animals, and raise the young. Females travel farther and tend to bring food back, while males catch "vermin" animals entering the home.

The other theory states that "male" and "female" are meaningless labels for cyclic cats (especially given that both can lay eggs) and there's actually three genders: parents, soldiers, and hunters. Parents are more likely to lay eggs, and always stick to the home. Soldiers stay closer to the home, but will wander a bit to catch vermin and fight other animals getting too close to home. Hunters travel farther from home, primarily to catch food, and will avoid other large animals rather than fight them.

There is also a less accepted theory that this isn't a gender thing at all, and it's more based on ages: hunters tend to be younger "teenage" cyclic cats, then parents are mature adults, with soldiers being the elderly cats.

They've got some compelling evidence in terms of their observations on cyclic cat ages and their lifestyles, but it's hard to tell the ages of cyclic cats (they turn back into kittens every year or three!) so we only have their word that they tagged then properly and are correct about the ages. More research is ongoing, as always.

[spacetimewithstuartgary]

Perseverance team confronts a stubborn engineering challenge

The Perseverance team have faced a stubborn engineering challenge. After successfully collecting a core called "Green Gardens" from the "Tablelands" location, the rover struggled to seal the sample tube, despite multiple attempts. This isn't entirely unprecedented—for a previous sample called Mageik, it took 40 days before being successfully sealed.

The Green Gardens core is particularly exciting for the science team because it contains serpentine minerals, which may have formed billions of years ago when water interacted with rocks before the Jezero crater impact. On Earth, serpentine-rich environments can support microbial communities, making this sample particularly important to understanding ancient Mars' potential for life.

The science team was torn with competing priorities: sealing up Green Gardens as quickly as possible vs. continuing to our next important science stop, "Broom Point." Several options were considered:

stay put and focus on sealing

start driving and keep trying to seal Green Gardens on the road

dump the Green Gardens sample from the tube and try extracting another core at Tablelands (this was the most drastic option)

The science team went with (2), a dual-track strategy that would allow them to keep mission momentum while giving the engineers time to develop new approaches to the sealing challenge. The risk was that option (2) would keep the Green Gardens sample open for potentially a long time—depending on how obstinate the sample sealing would be—leaving the rock core exposed to the harsh conditions of Mars' surface.

It was a trade that mission scientists were willing to make, and Perseverance has been making impressive progress down the west side of Jezero crater's rim. With a downhill tilt there of 16 degrees, rover imagery is providing sweeping views of the landscape ahead toward Broom Point, where the rover will be tasked with studying the bright bedrock bands in the week to come.

And the optimistic approach paid off, because the latest attempt to seal Green Gardens worked. The next time the science team sees Green Gardens will be in a laboratory on Earth, when they will finally learn what story the serpentine minerals have to tell.

IMAGE: NASA's Mars Perseverance rover acquired this image using its onboard Sample Caching System Camera (CacheCam), located inside the rover underbelly. It looks down into the top of a sample tube to take close-up pictures of the sampled material and the tube as it's prepared for sealing and storage. This shows the “Green Gardens” sample after its successful sealing on March 1, almost two weeks and multiple sealing attempts after it was collected. This image was acquired on March 2, 2025, at the local mean solar time of 20:30:12, on sol 1433 — Martian day 1,433 of the Mars 2020 mission. Credit: NASA/JPL-Caltech

[nogetron]

Anansi, the eight legged trickster. Anansi was born between the union of his mother Asase Yaa and Nyame the creator. Anansi was a crafty and cunning deity, the embodiment of knowledge, preferring to use strategy and deception over brute strength. With his father, Anansi sculpted the Human body, with Nyame providing the breath of life, and Asase Yaa giving them their blood. Anansi lived among the humans, noticing that their lives were dull and held no laughter and excitement. So Anansi spun a thread to the highest heaven and climbed up to meet with his father. Anansi asked Nyame for ownership of the endless cache of stories that Nyame held. Amused by his son’s brashness, Nyame offered Anansi an impossible test, to capture the four most elusive beasts on earth, Onini the python, the Mmoboro hornets, Osebo the leopard, and the forest spirit Mmoatia. Anansi accepts the challenge and consults with his wife Aso formulating a plan to trap each of his targets. He tricked Onini into being wrapped up with a branch, he caught the Mmoboro by having them seek refuge in his cabalash, he ambushed Osebo with a pitfall trap, and the spirit Mmoatia became stuck to a doll Anansi covered in sticky sap. The spider gleefully brought his bounty to his father. Nyame was delighted by his son’s accomplishment, keeping to his word Nyame gave Anansi the endless stories he once held, however Nyame went further and bestowed Anansi as the Lord of Stories. Anansi ventured back down to earth and shared his stories among humanity, bringing joy and happiness to the people. But later on, Anansi felt that humans had misused the knowledge he gave, deciding that he’d take back all knowledge and hoard it for himself. He gathered every last bit of wisdom and stored it in his calabash, planning to hide it at the top of the tallest tree. Anansi held onto the gourd as he climbed, however his son advised him that he should tie it to his back as he climbed. Anansi disregarded his son’s advice and continued to climb until, because of the cabalash, he lost his grip and plummeted to the ground. The cabalash shattered, with Anansi shouting profanities in frustration. But as he calmed down he realized that despite him gathering all the world’s knowledge, his son still tried to put him on the right track. Coming to the conclusion that his knowledge should be shared and not hoarded, Anansi and his son blew the knowledge into the wind, spreading wisdom into all living things.

These stories, called Anansi stories, are incredibly prolific among west Africa, and even Africa itself. Anansi narratives are incredibly varried, from him fighting the embodiment of Jealousy, to him becoming bald. Anansi can play the role of the protagonist and the Antagonist of the narrative. According to some Akan beliefs, Anansi is viewed as being one and the same as Nyame others say that he’s the reincarnation of Nyame or the manifestation of Nyame’s Emanation Odomankoma, However in some beliefs Anansi isn’t connected to Nyame at all. Some tales elaborate on his family, describing his children as Ntikuma his firstborn son, Anansewa his beautiful daughter, Nankonwhea his gangly son, and Afudohwedohwe his last born son. Anansi is the epitome of the trickster god archetype connecting him with many a god and mortal across the world, such as the Irish Lugh, the Anishinaabe Nanabozho, the Polynesian Maui, the Australian Wahn and the Norse Loki. The trickster is an integral part of the numerous african mythologies, Anansi’s counterparts include the Vodun Papa Legba, the Yoruba Eshu, the Egyptian Set, the Dogon Ogo, and the San Kaggen, with their ancient ancestors possibly being the origin of the Tricksters across the globe. Anansi himself has given rise to other traditions as well, his stories being brought to the new world from the shackles of the slave trade. Slaves would tell his stories and inspire those who listened to rebel against their captors. Such stories intermingled and exchanged with other enslaved cultures, giving rise to the Bantu Br’er rabbit, in Haiti anansi was revered under the name Guede but in other cultures his personality splits into Ti Malice and Bouki. Anansi’s name is an ever changing one, in his homeland his was called “Kwaku Anansi” with his name being rendered as “Ananse” and “Anancy”, in the Americas his names were “Kompa Nanzi” “Nancy” “Aunt Nancy” “Sis’ Nancy” and “Ba Anansi”.

[fostersffff]

Nintendo Direct 3/27/2025 Predictions

Inexplicably, less than a week ahead of the Switch 2 Direct, Nintendo has announced a Nintendo Direct that is explicitly for upcoming Switch 1 games. Let's speculate!

Metroid Prime 4 release date. Even though I think Metroid Prime 4 will be a showpiece for the Switch 2, it is still technically a Switch game, as it was announced in Summer 2017. Surely there was some PR calculus going on that a scuffed Switch version that run correctly on the Switch 2 would be better than making it Switch 2 exclusive. Or maybe it's perfect on the Switch and this will be Nintendo's final magic trick for the system.

Kirby: Planet Robobot Port/Remaster. Between leaks suggesting as much and GoodSmile coincidentally putting the Robobot Armor Nendoroid pre-orders that will come out July 2025, this is most assuredly happening. The real question is: will the extra mode ala Return to Dreamland Deluxe's Magolor Epilogue be focused on Susie or the Robobot Armor?

New Fire Emblem. Engage came out at the start of 2023, and development was done for over a year before it released according to the leaks that came out a few months before it was revealed. Hard to think IntSys hasn’t been cooking up something in the meantime, whether it’s a new installment or a remake.

Chrono Trigger HD-2D remake. 30th Anniversary, Square-Enix's HD-2D games have been doing extremely well, every conveniently accessible version of Chrono Trigger is scuffed in some way, not unlike the bad mobile ports of Dragon Quest I-III (which, for the record, the DQIII HD-2D remake sold like gangbusters). This is a pretty safe bet.

Koei Tecmo Does Some Shit. I think it's really weird Nintendo announced they're adding a bunch of Koei's SNES strategy games to the Switch Online on 3/28. That feels like some kind of calculated move, but I couldn't possibly say for what, since neither Romance of the Three Kingdoms nor Nobunaga's Ambition are especially well-beloved in the West. Also, Dynasty Warriors Origins and Warriors Abyss just came out, so I have no idea what they could be cooking.

New Mario Kart, also coming to Switch. On the one hand, that new Mario Kart is without a doubt being positioned as the Killer App for the Switch 2, but on the other, the attach rate for Mario Kart 8 Deluxe is insane- statistically, if you own a Switch, you own Mario Kart 8 Deluxe. I feel like they’d want to capitalize on that by making it available everywhere, in the same way Sony caved and made Miles Morales and Horizon Forbidden West and God of War Ragnarok available on the PS4.

Deltarune Chapter 3 & 4 shadowdrop (to be followed shortly afterwards on PC and other consoles). Frankly, I was kind of expecting an announcement to be made during the Switch 2 Direct- I genuinely think Toby Fox has that kind of cache with Nintendo these days- but this seems an even more likely avenue to do this.

Mega Man Legends Legacy Collection and Dissidia Duodecim Switch Port (new content optional). These have no basis in reality, I just want to will them into existence.

Silksong Cancelled Live.

[cooali]

day 9 bird of the day 🦜

the california scrub jay is a bird native to western north america. it doesnt migrate and can be found in cities and towns, they are quick to become tame and are frequent visitors to bird feeders! people often refer to the bird as a blue jay, but that is a completely different species.

they are a midsized bird, with a loud, harsh and scratchy call most people dont enjoy. when they mourn a fellow srub jay, they can make these screeching sounds for minutes next to the dead bird as a type of funeral song. they forage in pairs or small family groups, and feed on small frogs and lizards, eggs and insects. nuts, berries and even fruit and vegetables from backyards complete the diet.

the scrub jay stores food in caches all around their territory, and rely on excellent memory to find these hiding spots again, often after a long period of time!!! they have shown to have the ability to plan ahead and make sure to hit the caches in a certain order, as to be fully stocked for the future. this ability to plan for the future makes them the only non-primate and non-dolphin capable of this trait!!!!

another strategy they use is to steal from caches placed by other birds and species!! they also have the ability to mimic the sounds of other animals to defend themselves. so it is no surprise they are among the most intelligent of animals :)!