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snailkites · 4 months

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Walnut the Crane dead at 42

White-naped Crane Walnut and her keeper/husband, Chris Crowe, in 2021. (Photo: Roshan Patel via NZCBI)

Internet sensation Walnut the Crane became ill on January 2, 2024 and passed away at age 42 at her home at the Smithsonian's National Zoo and Conservation Biology Institute (NZCBI) campus in Front Royal, VA. A necropsy revealed the cause of death to be renal failure. Walnut far outlived the average life expectancy for White-naped Cranes in captivity, which is 15 years. She leaves behind her husband, zookeeper Chris Crowe, with whom she had 8 offspring, including two housed at the NZCBI: daughter Brenda, age 18, and a granddaughter, age 1.

“Walnut was a unique individual with a vivacious personality,” Crowe said. “She was always confident in expressing herself, an eager and excellent dancer, and stoic in the face of life’s challenges. I’ll always be grateful for her bond with me. Walnut’s extraordinary story has helped bring attention to her vulnerable species’ plight.” (x)

White-naped Cranes are native to Mongolia, northeast China and southeast Russia, wintering in the Korean DMZ, Japan, and China. Habitat loss to agriculture, development, and ongoing droughts are factors in their decline, leaving them classified as Vulnerable by the IUCN. Walnut was an important contributor to efforts to restore the species.

Edit: for those unaware, I refer to the zookeeper as her husband because Walnut was imprinted on humans, meaning she considered him her mate and performed displays and courtship for him. As a zookeeper he was responsible for artificially inseminating the bird. This and more was the source of her viral fame.

#walnut the crane #conservation #crane husband #birds #white-naped crane #smithsonian #I visited the NZCBI last year and could hear various crane calling on campus

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rippersz · 2 months

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𝐄𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐃𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐬

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Zombie Apocalypse AU w/ Gwendoline Christie characters; (~9.2K words)

(Featuring: Larissa Weems, Brienne of Tarth, Jane Murdstone, Anna from WTM, Lucifer Morningstar, Miranda Hilmarson, Captain Phasma, and Jan Stevens) x Reader

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

It started about two months ago. Russia went down first, then Mongolia. China. India. And in the midst, Finland, Sweden, Norway, the United Kingdom, down to the very southern tip of Africa. The Ocean is no killer of disease, frozen or not, and encouraged it to ravage South and North America, then Canada and Greenland. Until every place was overrun by dead freaks. Stinking corpses and moving gore.

They traveled in herds, packs, whatever it was that people wanted to call them—murders, perhaps—and shuffled aimlessly across any land they could find. Eager for food, for sustenance, to fill the empty bellies that would never be full. Gorging themselves on creatures like you.

Officially ‘the other’. Officially ‘the enemy’. The sole survivor of a good group that was attacked some days ago because an idiot forgot to shoot one of the creatures in the head. And by sunrise, it was over. Screams echoed into the silence and you soon found yourself alone… running for your life with a duffle bag over your shoulder (slowing you down) and a gun in your hand (low on ammo). Trekking through thick woods in a heavily-infested Vermont town was not a good idea, but you had no choice. The house you were camping in was left behind, ravaged by bullets that you put into your friend’s heads, and every other spot nearby had been looted. You couldn’t move all of those bodies yourself. You couldn’t do much yourself. There was no army background attached to your name, no conspiracy theorist survival-obsessed gene in your body, and not much training in fighting either. All you could do was run. Run and run and run until you were miles away and your lungs started to burn. Not the most useful skill considering most people could run, but if you were quick enough to speed past the shuffling bastards, you were quick enough to make it to safety.

—

Safety…what a joke. A shit joke. A joke that was, quite honestly, the worst joke to ever exist. There was no safety. No place, nowhere. You’d been walking for a few hours, hearing nothing but the forest’s silence, and stumbling over leaves and branches. They ravaged the animals, took them into their mouths like they were people, and ate until there was nothing left. Not even a squirrel, or a fox, and the birds had grown weary of the vast number of hunters (both dead and undead) that found themselves in the woods looking for food. So no birds either. And no houses. And you were pretty sure, as you paused to catch your breath, that you were doomed.

Only a few bullets left and your aim was never perfect. One knife tucked into your waistband but it was getting uncomfortable, digging into your skin, and caked in blood. Creature blood. Everything smelled horrible. Like burning flesh or dirty meat, raw and soiled. You probably didn’t smell too good either. It wasn’t like the world still worked without the people; only a few places had running water and you couldn’t trust the creeks and rivers. The undead enjoyed walking through shallow water, knowing somehow that there’d probably be prey nearby.

But you hadn’t seen anything in a while. A long while. A suspiciously long while...

Everything was green and brown around you, whisked by wind and soil, and you stood out like blood against snow. The last thing you saw was yesterday. Ever since? Not a single flash of undead flesh.

You swallowed, throat embarrassingly dry, and tapped your fingers against your thigh.

It wasn’t good when everything was still. You were vulnerable, out in the open, and without a good few rounds of bullets to spare. Every muscle and organ in your body screamed for mercy, crying with the effort it took to keep surviving even when you didn’t want to.

You thought about it a few times; gave the gun in your hand a long look on several occasions, but ultimately decided that ‘opting out’ was only a last resort. Somehow, even amidst the chaos and hatred and swill of humanity’s nature, you managed to hold hope. And often wondered where it would get you. How it would get you. While you were sleeping? While you were already wounded? Fighting off the hands of a loved one? The twist of hope’s rope… would you feel it closing in around your neck? A literal metaphor for the eventual death you’d experience?

Thinking about it gave you a headache.

For where was the point in wondering?

You had no one else. Whatever form of death awaited, it would end up being your fault. Probably because you couldn’t run fast enough. Probably because-

Because-

Wait.

Somewhere behind you, on the right, was a low sound. A hum. The smooth whoosh of something quick. The parting of wind… the low growl of…

“Fuck.”

You shot off in that direction, bag smacking against your shoulder blades, and instantly felt the exhaustion pull at your body again. It lingered like a plague, like the undead disease, and you yearned to fall to your knees - to give in - but it wasn’t the time for that. You had to at least try. You had to at least make it over the hill. Right over the hill. So close but so far. You leaned forward, threw yourself at the ground, and grasped onto gnarled tree roots. The Earth smelled wet with decay, sweet with promise - you huffed against dry leaves. They crunched and scratched at your fingers, eventually crinkling into nothing when your arms worked to drag you up. You probably looked a little mad, scrambling up a steep hill to reach something that probably won’t save you, but there was no other option. The hum grew louder, the quiet was broken, and you only had a few moments to get this right.

“Help!” Your lungs caved around your scream, but the forest swallowed it instantly. Greedy trees with their greedy barks, wanting to keep you hidden from salvation. The hum grew louder. Your fingers grew clammy, sweating and slipping against rough wood.

You’d be bruised to high heaven later, and probably exhausted, but the hum and the growl of an engine meant a road and a road meant civilization and goddammit you just needed to get over the stupid fucking hill.

There was a loud ringing in your ears, nearly deafening, and making your voice sound fuzzy.

“Help! Help!”

Was that you? Were you the one screaming like that? Why couldn’t you be quiet? Those things could have been lurking… wandering nearby… coming up behind you, eager to grasp at your ankles and drag you back down to Hell.

A glance back over your shoulder, aching from the duffle bag, found nothing but blurred terrain and darkened leaves–a symptom of the setting sun. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. If the light went out, you’d be screwed. You couldn’t use the last of your matches and the world went black when evening struck. So there really was no choice. As the growl turned into a roar… there was no choice. Just a little higher- a little more. Your arms pushed, biceps straining against the cotton of your shirt, and your pants threatened to get caught on wayward sticks and tear into rags. The boots on your feet pressed hard against loose rocks, kicking them out of place, and gained just enough ground to push you up - over the ridge. The final stretch. Your chest pushed to the hard dirt and forced a grunt of effort from your tired body; the sound echoed through the woods, through the ground, and through the air that sat above the concrete road in front of you. Hard and vast, grey and long… you looked at it as though it were the holiest of grails, lying just beside it with your arms outstretched, your fingers still pulling at dirtied grass. Soil covered your skin, masked your features, caked beneath your fingernails, and when the roar of the speeding vehicle grew so close you had to close your eyes and wince, you knew raising a hand for help would not be enough. In the shade of the forest’s edge, half draped over the peak of the hill, you were inhuman to other survivors. Your dry mouth opened, your throat croaked, and your legs moved to push you up–closer–just short of the wind that caressed your hair when the car, the truck, ran past you with no second glance. You looked after it, watched it pass, and felt the burn in your heart grow into its own inferno. It licked at your insides, at your desperation, and had you hauling the duffle bag off of your shoulder and out onto the road. It rolled, a shuffling sound, and you followed after it with deep growls of effort and dwindling strength.

“Please,” you wheezed, panting for breath as soon as you staggered up to your feet.

In the distance, the car turned into a disappearing black spec. It drove and drove, out of sight, and you stood there, putting your arms in the air to wave it down and bring it back. To beckon it back. To beg and plead.

“Please please no-,” your voice was soft, weakened by days of rugged survival, “no…” rough and lost to the wind, it dissipated into nothing and you were forced to swallow again.

The thick smell of car exhaust settled against the steaming road. You watched the horizon, tracking the space in the atmosphere where the gold traced into a deep blue, and felt your bones quake beneath your skin. Their final cry. The last hurrah as you watched your future, the tatters of it, drive away from you.

Too late.

You were too late.

And you’d die there, on that road, and they may never come back and find you again in the morning. And your corpse would be chewed upon by undead bastards who would never give you a proper burial. And you’d be just another stupid human that found themselves trampled beneath the stinking feet of the walking dead.

Tears teased your eyes, burning the dry lands of your irises, and you felt the heart in your chest lurch against its cage.

Too late.

You were too late.

You had a duffle bag, a handgun somewhere off to the side, and the clothing on your back. One lasting water bottle, the knife you felt poking your side, and small bags of food that wouldn’t last you long at all. The tent, too, was destroyed by animals the night before. The most you could go was perhaps one more day, but your feet were aching so terribly that each step was a journey within itself. And you couldn’t push yourself to go further. There was no further. There was nothing in the woods and there was nothing beyond the road and you were running on fumes that no longer existed.

But you couldn’t just lie there and take it. You were about to reach over, bending at the waist, to grab your bag. To pull it up over your shoulder and trek on, even though it was pointless. But something stopped you.

Something–a sound–made you freeze.

It was faint. It didn’t sound like the undead, with their discordant groans and disgusting squelches, no… it was far. Getting closer. Closer. The hum and the growl. The purr of a motor. The hiss of pavement.

Your head snapped up, eyes bulging wide as you looked over the horizon to see…. Yes. Yes! Yes, it’s them! The car! A grin pulled at your lips. Halle-fucking-lujah! You felt the anxiety ebb, slowly falling away from your body, as they got closer. The black spec turned into a black blob, then a figure that took shape, and finally you could make out a Vermont license plate and the dirt that stuck to big wheels. Up close, it was a sleek thing, tall and well-built. Midnight black and aside from the splatter on the rubbered wheels, it was polished and clean. The dark paint reflected the bright world around you, turning it into weird warped versions of a faux-paradise. You swallowed at the feel of warmth against your legs, the exhaust from the truck flooding over the smallest sliver of skin around your ankles. Suddenly fearing a changed mind and bad intentions, you stumbled back until your heels pushed against your bag.

Tinted windows stared down at you, menacing and opaque. Not a thing to see behind them, even if you squinted. Nothing moved, nothing jumped, and you watched with bated breath for a window to roll down - until finally, it did.

The driver’s side. It went whirr-ing down, sliding for the shortest period of time in the world until only a shadow met you - and then a flicker of movement. And then-

“Oh my god! Jesus! Okay okay!” You flinched, not even hesitating to raise your hands above your head. You spread your fingers out, desperate to prove your innocence to the stranger in the car. And the gun they were holding, pointing at you, through the gap.

“Were you bit?” A rough voice, muted and deep, broke the atmosphere.

You shook your head.

“Words. Use them.”

“No,” you licked your lips, instantly deciding to turn around in a slow circle. “Not bitten. Not scratched.” You tried to ignore the way your hands shook, even as you shifted all the way back to face the gun’s muzzle.

“Ask where…” a voice, soft and feminine, came from somewhere beyond the driver’s seat. It was saying something, telling something, but faded into a whisper so quiet you couldn’t hear a thing. Your eyes shifted to the dark backseat windows, trying to see something- anything- and found no surprise in the lack of life.

“Any weapons?” The driver seemed to ignore the other person, and instead held the gun steady. You watched it with weary eyes.

“Yes.” And before they could ask, you tugged the knife out of your belt and the gun out of your pants pocket. They were held up in the air, another white flag, and you twitched the hand that held the firearm. “At least three bullets left, but that’s it.”

“And the others?”

You blinked. “Others? What oth-”

“Where is the rest of your ammunition? In the skull of a human or scum?” The stranger spat, and you detected the hints of an accent.

Scum… you’d never heard them referred to as that before. Your last group called them walkers, and some others claimed flesh-eaters. You were tempted to use ‘zombies’, but it felt rather silly. The world took that term too lightly, and the undead were nothing if not a very serious problem. But scum? Like they were beneath humanity and not its current destroyer? You’d ask about it later, you decided, if they deemed you well enough to take in.

“Both,” you breathed honestly, dropping your weapons to your sides with a heavy sigh. “They um- weren’t quite there yet. Got ambushed overnight.”

The gun still didn’t move.

“They don’t ambush. What really happened?”

Hm. They weren’t wrong. Animated corpses didn’t ‘ambush’, but when a herd of them went lurking about, it certainly felt that way. You didn’t think logistics were entirely necessary, but you understood the need for specifics. Trust among men was eviscerated in the face of danger, especially against those once living. You’d seen paranoia before, in others. Humans simply didn’t take each other in anymore… not without some level of severe mistrust. The second thought after seeing the truck drive off was that you probably wouldn’t be accepted anyway - you’d killed without technical reason. Could have just left. Run away.

But you didn’t.

You didn’t want to see them turn into those… creatures.

So what else was there to say? You stared at the gun, willing a click and the shot of a bullet, as you opened your mouth.

“A herd. A lot of them. Just… descended upon the place. Someone might’ve been walking around in the woods or something, and there was just not enough protection,” you paused, licking your lips, “...I was the last one alive. Had to shoot them and go.”

“How long since?”

“Few days, give or take,” you shrugged. The exhaustion only built as you stood there, trying not to sway and collapse in your spot. The truck was still running, hissing hot exhaust; it was the first genuinely warm thing you’d felt in so many days that you wanted to crawl underneath and take a nap. The world, turning to autumn, was growing chilly. There was no chance you could survive winter on your own.

“...Give or take,” you heard the driver scoff and laugh, bitter and mean. You frowned.

Then the window started going up, and you couldn’t help yourself. With a hard thunk, you pushed your shoulder hard against the car, and knocked on the thick glass with the butt of the knife. A look of utter desperation crossed your features, heavy and thick. Urgency, anxiety, fear forced any sense from your mind. There was no chance. There was no survival at all.

“No please- please I can’t be out here alone please- I’m smart and- and I can run fast and be an asset. Please,” you shook your head, searching with worried eyes, “please, please you can’t do this to me-”

Something dark spliced through the corner of your vision, dragging a shadow with it, and you just barely dodged the sudden swing of the truck’s backseat door. It bounced with force and you glanced back at the driver’s window once before stepping back and hastily swinging your bag over your shoulder. The knife and gun were slipped back into your clothing, concealed, and you held yourself strong as the black leathered interior bore itself to the world.

“-we can’t just leave them-”

“-on’t be stupid. They could be a liability-”

“-not stupid. We need more people-”

Voices, at least two, were rushed and tangled in an argument. You didn’t pay much attention to what you could hear, though the growing irritation was hard to ignore. It would be a hassle to be accepted, you knew, but you’d deal. There was no choice. The backseat door was open and there was a figure hustled back against the other window.

“The offer won’t last,” the stranger murmured, somehow louder than the two people in the front seats, and you decided not to take any chances in the world alone.

With a grunt, a push, and a final slam of the door, you found yourself in the truck. Your bag was pushed down by your feet, you tugged your knife out to rest it on your thigh, and you turned to say thank you- but was cut off by a cold blade at your throat. It grazed the soft dirty skin, less than a centimeter away from pushing, and you felt saliva pool in the back of your throat. Swallowing would have pressed you closer, so you fought the urge and only stared.

“Woah-”

“Try anything and you die. I don’t want a peep, not a shuffle. Do I make myself clear?”

The driver’s voice, clearer in such close quarters, was deep and mean. Accent, as you had clocked, from somewhere in the United Kingdom. It held a natural growl, a gruffness from years of smoking, perhaps, and you couldn’t help but sense the intimidation. It wasn’t fake confidence, you noticed, as you looked up and met the cool sharp grey gaze of a woman. Her hair, a deep blonde, was slicked back and short, ruffled slightly by the nape of her neck. A long neck… that led to strong looking shoulders. They were half covered by a jacket, but you could see the strength in the chords of her muscle. A force to be reckoned with. A leader, perhaps. She was pale, with a defined nose and lips twisted into a permanent sneer, and you probably would have thought she had some potential for post-apocalyptic modeling, if it weren’t for the scar that covered one half of her face. Slashed across the left eye, the wound was jagged and rough - it dragged from a point close to the exact middle of her forehead, right to the corner of her jaw. Thicker at parts and thinner at others, it split through a pale eyebrow and seemed to have permanently rendered her blind. The lid didn’t even move when one stormy eye shifted, and you suddenly felt extremely creeped out. Something about her was undeniably cold. Almost reckless, but her hand was so steady with control you knew not to make a move. She’d probably kill without hesitation, dump you back into the road, and drive off with the duffel. There was no choice but to answer, answer quickly, and do as told.

“Yes, clear.” Your head shifted half an inch up and half an inch down, still cautious of the blade.

But she didn’t move.

It was a battle of wills for just a moment, with your hands in your lap, empty and docile. You weren’t looking for a fight, or a staring contest, but the stranger didn’t let up until the figure to your right decided to sit up and speak.

“Ah they do not seem so bad. Look at them. Tired and scared, like sad city mouse,” another woman, one with a Russian accent and a voice a hint too loud, cooed.

Silence followed, persisted, for only a minute- and then the blade was tugged back so quickly you swear it nearly cut the air in two. The driver tsked as she twisted herself around, murmuring as she went.

“More like a rat.”

And then you were thrown to the side with a heavy wheeze as the truck lurched and began moving, working into a turn so you could go back the way they’d come.

You glared at the back of the headrest, not feeling above a little bit of irritation for some poor handling, but eventually grew bored. With some apprehension, your eyes flicked over to the person in the passenger seat. Their profile was strong, feminine, and you noted the unbelievably well-kept head of snowy hair. She looked clean, just like the driver, and a spark of hope welled up in your tired heart. Running water and food existed where they came from, wherever they were camped out, and if you played your cards right, you could finally indulge in some good hygiene. Unless the woman in the passenger seat was stingy with her water… god her skin was so clear, and she seemed to be wearing makeup. No one wore makeup anymore. Not the people in your old group and not the few stragglers you’d stumbled across. It simply wasn’t a necessary luxury anymore, but the woman sitting across from you, back straight and hands in her lap, seemed to think it was of the utmost importance. You wanted to speak, wanted to ask her name, but found yourself turning to your right - and catching the gaze of the person that opened the door for you.

“Anna,” your savior spoke, tilting her head to the left and regarding you with curious eyes. A pale hand, big and long-fingered, shot out and hovered above your lap. You glanced down at it, at the clean skin and the perfect fingernails, and knew that you hit the survivalist jackpot.

With a nod and a quick clasp of her hand, you whispered your name in reply. She nodded before leaning back against the door and crossing her arms; she seemed quite comfortable there, with a rather large gun resting across her lap. Her hair, blonde as well, fell in gentle waves to her shoulders. She saw with deep blue eyes - a contrast to the cold steel of the driver - and didn’t hesitate to flick them over your body in some sort of analytical search. Weapons, you figured, is what she was looking for. And the knife in your lap, which she eyed with some interest.

You wanted to say something, wanted to thank them, but it didn’t feel like enough. Nothing felt like enough those days. Asking something of someone was a risk every single time. And you’d asked—begged—them to take you in. You needed to pull your weight, no questions asked.

“Um- thank you for-”

“Shoot them.”

“What?!” You straightened up, eyes going wide as, in your peripherals, you saw Anna’s hand inch toward her gun. Through the rear-view mirror, you caught the way the driver’s brow twitched.

“You heard me. Shoot them.”

“Pha-”

“I said no talking,” the stranger growled, not even bothering to address the woman in the passenger seat. The white-haired woman looked frustrated, her red lips tugging into a frown, as she watched the driver double down on her focus. “Didn’t I say that?”

“But I-,” you wanted to plead your case, wanted to defend yourself, but were cut off.

“I am not going to shoot,” Anna said before you could speak. “Why do you expect her to be quiet hah, Phasma? We just saved her жопa. No need for fighting.”

You glanced at her, picking up on the Native tongue. Fresh off the boat, or perhaps visiting, with the way she said it so easily. Zhopa? Given the context, it wasn’t hard to tell what she meant. Yes, they had just saved your ass. And yes, you wanted to say thank you. Even if that Phasma person wasn’t too keen on a bit of gratitude.

“I hardly think thanking us for a kind deed is worthy of execution, no matter how much silence you require,” the fair-haired woman across from you said smoothly, throwing a slight glare to the woman on her right. And finally, she took that moment to turn around in the seat and make eye contact.

Something that proved to be far more difficult than you thought it would. Good lord, she was gorgeous. Pale skin, deep admiral blue eyes, and lips redder than blood. Not even a scratch on her face, not even a single spec of dirt - as if the apocalypse never happened and there weren’t dead people roaming every street in the world. In fact, she didn’t seem incredibly worried about the predicament the human species found itself in, and was looking at you with kind eyes, a furrowed brow, and a smile that she hoped was welcoming.

“My name is Larissa,” her hand, gloved in white fabric as soft as silk, reached out as an olive branch. You wanted to take it, wanted to feel something so lovely for the first time in a long time and create some sort of bond, but your hands were very dirty. A part of you guessed that Larissa hadn’t put them on earlier that day with the hope to return to camp holding soft fabric smudged with dirt and dried blood, so you only looked down at your palm and then back at hers.

“Oh uh- I don’t wanna get your gloves dirty-”

“Oh,” she glanced down, realizing that she was, in fact, wearing hand-coverings. “Later, then,” a warm smile shone back at you - and you were helpless, instantly offering her a nod in return.

“Finished?” The driver piped up, eyes cold as she stared at you in the rear-view.

As if on cue, Larissa turned back around in her seat, rolling her eyes as she went, and you could only fall quiet. Introductions were over, you were warming up to the easy heat in the car, and Phasma–if you dared address her by name in your head–had a good handle of the wheel. You were safe. For now. And with one last suspended look at the gun on Anna’s lap, you reached over for the seatbelt, tucked yourself in with a click, and leaned back in the seat. It was so suddenly comfortable, such a huge contrast to the shit you’d dealt with recently, that you couldn’t help but close your eyes and revel. Even for a moment. Even for a second.

—

“Get up,” a mean grunt, paired with a quick rush of piercingly cold air, tugged you from the depths of sleep.

Before you could even open your eyes properly, a shiver set itself into your bones. Eager to escape it, and the confines of the car, you jolted and scrambled for your seatbelt. Leaning against the open door, watching you grab your things, was the driver. Phasma? Weird name, but there was no time to dwell - especially not when she was looking at you like that. Eyes sharper than the knife on your lap, holding a polished chrome pistol in one hand, and waiting with some tension for you to hurry up. The duffel was pulled up onto your shoulder, the knife was tucked into your belt, and your hands scratched at the leather as you looked around wildly for your gun.

“We took it. You’ll get it back when you prove you’re not a complete imbecile,” she spat, peering down her nose at you. Disgust danced in her expression, sparking flames of unwanted insecurity, and you felt compelled to look away. Her nostrils were flared, her pink lips curled into something disdainful and mean, and you couldn’t help but watch the way her jaw shifted as she tensed, watching you watch her. The hatred seemed a bit out of place, too strong for normal trust issues, and you briefly wondered if perhaps she’d always been that way - even before the end of civilization. She was clearly a bitch, and not interested in showing you kindness any time soon, so you decided to forgo a response, ignored her glaring, and slipped out of the car without a word.

Before your feet were completely on the ground, and your bag was out of the way, the door slammed closed behind you, quick and sharp. The speed of it nearly clipped your shirt, and you whirled around to face the stranger’s irritation. She seemed to have lost interest in you and side-stepped your figure without another glance. One finger on the trigger, a shit-ton of audacity-filled swagger in her walk, and a back broad and strong. She looked like an outlaw, tall, mean, wearing grey with a belt around her strong hips and a leather jacket over her shoulders. You wanted to throw your gun at her and watch it hit the back of her head, but there was no way in Hell you’d be able to run away faster than she could catch you.

“Come,” you heard Anna speak, interrupting your train of thought as she trudged up to your left. You turned, seeing the way she cocked her head. “I’ll introduce you.” The gun swayed in her grasp as she turned, making little shuffling sounds in the grass.

The grass.

You went to go forward, but stopped. The grass. It was… terribly neat. Very well maintained. Not like apocalypse grass, which was flat and bloodied and mudded and dusted, but like rich person grass. Striking green grass, healthy, it bounced back behind you when you stepped on it. And the air… you took a deep breath and closed your eyes. It was fresh. Pure. Free of the smell of death and free of gunpowder and spraying blood. Just where on Earth were y-

oh.

Oh.

You looked up, finally, and found yourself in a courtyard. On all sides was a wall, sections of it made of brick, others of stone, and the rest of wrought iron fence, bolted hard into the ground; and across the way, piercing the sky, was a manor. Or what looked like a manor. No - what was definitely a manor. Dark, illuminated slightly by the deep blue of the atmosphere and the torches that littered the ground in neat paths, splitting off into cobblestone sections. You swallowed. It was gorgeous. Untouched. A world that seemed to run on and on while the rest of the globe went to shit.

How fucking lucky were you?

“Come! I must say twice?!” Anna called, giving you an exasperated beckon as she started disappearing behind the dark stone brick of the main entrance.

Sparing a quick glance behind you, you found a fortified gate and short stone walls - reinforced and built upon with barbed wire, wood, and sheets of metal. It must have opened up for the truck when you were still asleep, but was very much firmly shut and impenetrable once closed. You wanted to explore it more, wanted to study the mechanism and the layout and come to understand just how they managed to get the place so protected, but you didn’t want to leave Anna waiting. And a low rumble of thunder, far but rolling quick, told you that rain was eager to make her appearance - and you did not want to get caught in that.

After adjusting your bag and patting the knife in your belt for reassurance, you set off after the Russian stranger.

—

“So I am Anna, this you know already,” she pointed to herself, tapped her chest twice, then rolled her hand over to gesture to the clearing ahead.

It was beautiful, outlined against a dark wood. Rocky paths led to a big circle in the middle, and the ruins of stone benches and statues littered the camp. You could definitely see what it used to be - a beautiful place for the elite to sit, to bask, to enjoy the nice air and the wind. But the end of the world had gotten to it, not with the bearings of total destruction, but with the promise of change. A big spruce shelter had been built to the far left, reinforced with four beams and no walls - clearly just meant to keep the rain at bay while they worked outside. Beneath it, there were wooden benches and designated spots for farming equipment, guns, and even a water purifying system from the looks of it. If you assumed that sleeping quarters and showers existed in the castle, then they seemed to be in the best shape anyone could be in.

Even the people, who were busy going about their evening and tending to their duties, while you watched by Anna’s side and felt your excitement grow.

“Phasma was woman driving. Not so kind,” she tsked, giving you a knowing look, and you found yourself unable to ask about the strange name. You figured she wouldn’t have known the answer anyway. Then her hand moved, stealing your attention. “That is Jane,” she pointed to a pale woman sitting on one of the large stone benches.

Her back was turned, but you could see the severity of her expression in the reflection of a hand mirror. She was handsome, free of makeup, with jet-black hair. The strands fell from between her fingertips, spilling like water, as she threaded them into a braid around her head. Her movements were slow, methodic, and you watched, sort of hypnotized, as the long sleeves of her hooded dress stretched across her slim back. Tight along her arms and resting over the black pants covering her thighs, leading down to knee-high leather boots. Fit for an apocalypse, but somehow still chic. You watched her hands for a moment more, and turned slightly to her right when Anna gestured to the woman beside her.

“Miranda. Good girl, but way too skinskie,” she nodded to herself while crossing her arms.

The stranger in question–Miranda–was holding up an antique hand mirror for Jane to look into while doing her hair. They seemed to be the same height, though Miranda’s build was lankier and toned. The sleeves of her white top had to have been torn off, leaving freckled shoulders free to the air, and around one wrist was a black watch. It nearly matched the same leather as her belt, which held an attached holster and a sleeve for a walkie-talkie. Its antenna stood out against the baby blue of her uniform pants; tight by the hips but baggier toward the ankles, tucked into dark laced boots. Her hair was styled into a fair blonde bob, probably recently cut by the sight of such clean edges. It looked unbearably soft kissing the back of her neck.

“She was policewoman. Strong.” Anna commented, gazing at her from your spot by the castle wall.

You nodded absentmindedly, looking over the two strangers and the chess board that sat between them on the bench. Jane had black and Miranda white. The latter seemed to be focusing quite hard on the game, holding a pawn loosely in one hand, as the dark-haired beauty tsked and adjusted the hand mirror that slowly slipped to the side. You watched Miranda jump and offer what you assumed was a sheepish apology, as she tried to multitask. Her small smile was pink and soft, warm and welcoming. A friend, perhaps.

“Very…domestic,” came your soft murmur, sparked by the surprise of such a peaceful camp. In the past group, everyone was too busy trying to sleep, find food, or talk themselves through panic attacks. Maintaining sanity with comfort was not a priority.

“Da. Comfortable,” your companion nodded. “Jan is there, washing.” And you turned, yet again, to find a figure standing in front of a clothesline.

The combat boots made her seem tall, though they were a bit out of place—not really matching the long white sleeved shirt and full red skirt combo. Immaculate and clean, you noticed, though that was to be expected from a woman trying her hardest to get blood out of a white blouse. Her hands were covered by blue rubber gloves, with one clutched around a sponge and the other around the neck of a bottle of white wine vinegar. On the ground by her feet was a large pale jug of hydrogen peroxide and a bucket of what you assumed was water. And the blouse in front of her, held up by wooden clothespins, rippled from the breeze. It seemed to get colder and windier the longer the night went on, probably bringing the rain with it at some point. With any luck, it would clear up the light splotches of pink that covered most of the shirt’s chest up to the collar, but ‘Jan’ didn’t seem too patient and satisfied with that. She got back to her scrubbing a moment later, the strict waves of her blonde hair bumping gently against her neck.

“Jan is very chic. You go to her for fashion advice, no?” Anna tilted her head at you, dragging dark blue eyes over your face. The lawn lamps stabbed into the grass lit everything up with a sweet warm glow, bringing out the flames in her expression as she peered at you curiously. Very handsome, in her own sharp-featured sort of way. You couldn’t help the snort that bubbled up.

“Respectfully, I think fashion is the least of my concerns right now, Anna.”

“Hm. Maybe,” she hummed, shrugged, and gave you a once-over that set your heart racing before turning her attention back to the group.

“Brienne!” You jumped, flinching away as Anna’s loud voice carried into your ear. In the distance, a hulking figure shifted and unfolded, moving to look up at the call. They were sitting on a big pile of cut logs, holding a stone cylindrical sharpener in one hand and a… sword… in the other. Anna waved, talking to you gently as you both watched the figure’s expression change into one of suspicion. She was handsome. Pale, with the lightest blonde lashes and brows, and eyes that sparkled even from that distance. They squinted, drawing frown lines across her face, as she straightened up in her spot. You tried desperately not to stare at her figure, but it was impossible. The deep blue ribbed shirt clung to her torso like a second skin, wrapping tightly around strong biceps and broad shoulders. It was tucked into muddy green cargo pants, offsetting the brightness of the steel that covered the toes of her dark boots. You tilted your head and watched as she glanced between you and Anna before she finally decided to shoot the woman a firm nod. Anna’s lips quirked up into a smile. “She was once soldier. Good woman - she will protect you if you’re in trouble. Saved me many many times.” Her blonde curls swished as she nodded to herself.

That was good to know, you reasoned. Everyone seemed quite strong. Tall, too. And pale. The camp was gorgeous, the people seemed mundane enough, and the company was… well. Your eyes drifted over to Anna’s side profile, a silhouette of soft dips and curves, and you couldn’t hide the attraction you felt even if you tried.

“Larissa, you know too. She is leader, xорошо?” You didn’t really know what ‘harasho’ meant, but the light intonation of her voice had you saying ‘Yeah’ anyway.

Then an arm was winding itself around yours, jostling the bag on your shoulder and the gun slung around Anna’s body. It rested against her back, hitting her thighs, and you were suddenly powerless to the way she steered you further down the gravel path. Toward the right, there was a makeshift driveway; a patch of land ripped up from the grass and replaced with gravel, soil, and rocks. The black truck made an appearance again, probably having been driven up from around the back, and you watched with curious eyes as Phasma busied herself with a few bags and boxes from the trunk. Jesus, she was fit… tall and lethal. A small grunt left her lips when she hauled two boxes up into her arms, never faltering or pausing. Damn. You found yourself getting lost in the sight of her legs in those cargo pants, filling them out, until Anna clicked her tongue.

“Lucifer is strange, but ultimately harmless. Do not worry, they are not naked under the robe.”

Lucifer? Naked under the what?

You were going to take a quick glance around, to find whatever the hell Anna was talking about, but there was no need. Some feet in front of you, lounging on a red and gold velvet chase, was a lithe figure. They were almost glowing in the reflection of the walkway lamps, with the deep crimson of a flowing silk robe offsetting the smooth pale planes of soft skin. One elbow was propped up on the arm of the chair, and you traced the folds of flowing sleeves up to a slim forearm, wrist, and a delicate hand. Slender fingers were curled under the curve of a pale cheek, and you felt your heartbeat speed up at the sight of soft features and crystal eyes. And their hair, curled so perfectly into handsome shining ringlets of spun golden-web… goodness, they were…

“Luxurious,” you murmured, tilting your head as you watched the stranger chat with Larissa. She was standing over them, in front of the chase, and even at that height, you had a feeling that the one laying down was somehow a little bit taller. “Is Lucifer their real name?”

“Da,” Anna nodded, “little strange, no?”

“Yeah,” you gave her an odd look. “Strange as fuck.”

“Don’t get comfortable,” a voice growled from behind you, making you slip away from Anna’s hold and turn around. Phasma was walking past, holding a big bag under each arm. Her muscle was impressive, but dear god she was an asshole. You had to sort out that situation as quick as possible.

“Hey what’s your problem, man?” You spread your hands out at your sides before letting them slap against your thighs. “You picked me up, and while I’m grateful for that, I am, you didn’t have to-”

“Exactly,” she bit out as she whirled around and marched right back to you. Her breath was cool, washing lightly over your face, and she stood so close that your foreheads nearly touched. From that angle, looking up, you could reach out and trace the jagged line of her scar. It was quite attractive actually, even if her eyes narrowed as she watched you look at her. They were cold. Not an ounce of care.

“Don’t. Get. Comfortable.” Her lips twitched, carrying a silent threat.

“Okay,” Larissa’s voice, sing-songy and weary, cut into the conversation. “Why don’t we all take a moment to calm down, hm?” Her smile was blinding as she turned to you. One gloved hand hovered above Phasma’s right shoulder, but was instantly shrugged off the second it made contact. Her sneer didn’t fade even when she stepped back, eyes still flaming with anger. Larissa cleared her throat. “Y/n, you’re new here. Why don’t you and I have a little chat?”

Her expression, although kind, hid a sharpness that you didn’t think was wise to fuck around with. If Larissa was the leader, according to Anna, then it was her you had to charm. You didn’t really know why she was the top dog, especially because some of the other group members seemed more… abrasive… but clearly something about her was good enough to be the one in charge. And pissing her off, messing around with her people, was a one-way ticket to possibly turning into those fuckers lurking in the woods. So you didn’t really have a choice - and you didn’t really want one. No matter what, you’d stay. You’d be of some help. You’d stay on the soft grass, smelling the clean air. You’d become best friends with Larissa, the group would learn to like you, and you’d try not to combust when any of them looked your way.

Easier said than done though, of course. Especially when Larissa’s smile knocked down all of your reservations at once, in one big swing, and coaxed an obedient nod from your body.

“Okay. Yes. Sure.”

“Perfect,” Larissa’s grin, somehow, grew even wider.

“It’s getting late,” were Phasma’s parting words before she turned away and headed off toward two big wooden double doors.

You watched her strut without much thought, and found yourself on the other end of a staring Larissa. Her eyes were utterly striking in the evening light, and the outline of her face… a sight to be seen for a person as weary as you.

“So… is your group considered women only?” You murmured, peering up at her through your eyelashes.

Red lips twitched.

“Not intentionally. Though we have had the discussion before,” she contemplated her next words carefully, looking all over your face before resuming, “and we think it’s best if it’s just women. And Lucifer.”

“And Lucifer?” You still can’t get over that being their real name. Probably just picked out in a moment of edginess when they were a teen. Lucifer did sound cool, sort of bully-worthy. Like they were emo kid once upon a time.

“Lucifer is what many would refer to as non-binary. Not a man and not a woman. I hope that won’t be a problem?” Something flashed behind her eyes. Not a threat, but a warning. You couldn’t help but smile.

“Not at all. They and I are… one and the same,” you shrugged and adjusted the bag on your shoulder.

“How lucky I must be…,” someone purred from over your shoulder.

You tensed up, surprised by the closeness, and felt yourself grow a little weak at the tone. Like spiced honey, their voice was intense and smooth. You wanted to lap it up.

“Ah right on time for a proper introduction,” Larissa, ever the most efficient woman from what you could tell so far, found herself a golden opportunity. One hand shot out and gestured over to you, then to the person slinking around to your right. “Y/n this is Lucifer, one of the strongest members of our group. Lucifer and I make most of the big decisions, with the necessary input from everyone else. And Lucifer,” Larissa’s grin relaxed into a smile, “this is Y/n. Depending on our discussion of the rules, they may become a familiar face, so I suggest you play nice.”

You found that you couldn’t look to the side without short-circuiting. There was something.. something… about their aura that had you wanting to shy away and cower. It wasn’t the explosive intensity of Phasma or the consuming strangeness of Anna, or even the gentle but strong hand of Larissa… but instead a subtle sort of consumption. Utterly intriguing and fascinating - like they were put on the Earth to confuse humans. You didn’t even look at them and you could feel that. Didn’t even know them and you could feel that. Standing so close. So much body heat.

“It’s a pleasure,” they murmured, turning to you fully.

You swallowed, braced yourself, and looked up to your right.

Sweet holy Jesus. They were even more handsome up close. Just absolutely soft and glorious. And carrying the faint scent of… firewood? You cleared your throat.

“Um yeah- likewise. Hi.”

A flash of black, followed by measured footsteps in the grass, had all three of you shifting to see Jane walking past. Miranda was not too far behind, taking her time to cross the yard.

“Dinner is being prepared. Show face in the next 20 minutes or go to bed hungry.” Jane didn’t even spare you a glance before she disappeared behind the same doors Phasma had gone through.

“Thank you, Jane,” Larissa managed to call just before they closed behind her with a dull bang.

“Three moves…,” Miranda was muttering, holding the box for the chess set in one hand. “She beat me in three moves.”

“Oh it’s not hard. I would’ve beaten you in two,” another voice entered the fray, polite but amused. Jan, you recognized, as she sidled up between you and Larissa with a small smile on her deep red lips.

Miranda scoffed and turned to look at Anna, only to find that she was gone. One glance behind you revealed that she’d wandered over to Brienne, probably prompting her to go inside for dinner. You hummed, hiding the amusement of friendly banter. It had been so long since you felt even the smallest sense of normalcy. If they were so comfortable with each other, then it must have been a bit since they were all alone out in the world. You’d probably ask Larissa about that later - once everything was said and done.

“I would’ve beaten you in one,” Lucifer smirked as they pulled away and went walking inside. Had they been barefoot the entire time?

“That’s not even possible!” Miranda yelled, but the door was already shut. “...Is it?” She turned to Larissa, then to you, then back to Larissa.

“I don’t think so, Miranda,” Larissa smiled before looking at you. “Any chance you’re good at chess?”

Dear lord, having two sets of beautiful blue eyes on you was nerve-wracking, but you ignored the flush building up on your cheeks and nodded.

“Um yeah- it’s possible to beat someone in two moves. But it’s only black, I think.” You gave Miranda an apologetic smile and a shrug as she pouted.

“You will beat her next time Miranda,” Anna returned with Brienne in her wake. The sword she was sharpening earlier was still in her hands. “She cannot win forever.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Brienne cut in, her voice strong and deep. Her mouth was pulled into a light frown, and you noticed the scar that cut through the upper lip on the right. From the time before, you suspected. Otherwise she’d be turned. “She beat me and Phasma one after the other.”

Miranda sighed, tsking beneath her breath.

“Then there’s no hope…” Goodness, she looked like a sad puppy.

“Why not?” It slipped out of your mouth before you could grab it.

And of course, all of the attention then dragged itself over to you. Five sets of sea-blue eyes, all gorgeous in the glow of the evening lamps, traced lines over your tired body. In comparison to them, you looked a sight. Obviously having been picked up from the side of the road, unclean and awkward, somewhat detached from society. In your bag? Not enough clothing and not enough supplies. In your belt, peeking out from beneath your shirt? A knife, dirty and growing dull. And in your eyes? Lurking sadness and horror - the same which probably lived in the women that were observing you.

Larissa, thank goodness, finally broke the lull of silence.

“Brienne and Phasma were in the military,” she said gently.

“Oh. That makes sense.” And it did - Jane must have been an intellectual force if she beat people that used to be in the military before the world ended. Though that made you wonder… “What branch?” You turned to Brienne, not really surprised that you had to look up to meet her eyes. It seemed you’d been adopted into a camp of skyscrapers. Though the sharpness of her eyes had you swallowing. “I mean- if you don’t mind me asking.”

She seemed to consider it, sizing you up, before saying, rather shortly, “SAS. Then Delta Force.”

You couldn’t hide the way your eyes widened.

“Oh.”

“Oh, indeed,” Larissa hummed. “But I think now would be a good time to head in, wouldn’t you say?” She spared her smile for everyone, meeting the gaze of each woman, before finally looking at you and raising her eyebrow.

It wasn’t really up to you, so you just shrugged and waited for Anna to say ‘Da, da, xорошо’ before heading in. Brienne followed after her, then Miranda, who was studying the back of the chess box, and Larissa, who started taking off her gloves. Jan, meanwhile, stayed where she was and kept her eyes on you. They were curious and deep, never-ending, and lined with mascara and eyeliner. Mascara and eyeliner that… well it suited her, but goodness it was certainly intense. Dark and shadowed, but beautiful nevertheless. You couldn’t look away.

“Jan Stevens,” she breathed and gave you her hand, elegant and admittedly quite charming. Her nails were painted a deep cherry red. Utterly flawless.

At the sight of it, you weren’t entirely sure what to do. Your palms were still dirty, and sort of calloused, and you didn’t want to… ruin her. So you hesitated, stared at it, looked back up at her, and found her kind smile to be unwavering.

“Go on,” Jan finally whispered, giving her hand a pointed look, and you fell prey in an instant.

Quickly, you shot out to gently cup her hand into your own, and gave it a gentle shake. You felt strangely compelled to bring it up to your lips, but you weren’t sure that meeting a stranger in an apocalypse really called for such formalities. Even though you yearned to feel her skin beneath your mouth. It wasn’t proper; though you did think that Jan’s expression fell just a little bit. Like she was excited. Like she wanted you to kiss her hand.

“Y/n. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” she purred, looking you up and down, before turning toward the door. “Come quickly now. If we’re late, Jane will send us off to bed without dinner. And we wouldn’t want that.”

It probably would have been wise to consider and contemplate the fact that you were in a stranger’s camp, with a stranger’s group… but the saucy little wink that Jan threw over her shoulder sent a deep blush crawling up your cheeks. And just like that, without fail, you were one of the flesh-eaters… caught in the pretty paws of eight different beasts.

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Please let me know if my characterization is okay and if you'd like to see more. Be safe, darlings. - Rip x

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Far too many names to tag. Find it as you come.

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

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new-dinosaurs · 3 months

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Imparavis attenboroughi Wang et al., 2024 (new genus and species)

(Type specimen of Imparavis attenboroughi [scale bar = 20 mm], from Wang et al., 2024)

Meaning of name: Imparavis = odd bird [in Latin]; attenboroughi = for Sir David Attenborough [British documentary presenter and conservationist]

Age: Early Cretaceous (Aptian), between 119–123 million years ago

Where found: Jiufotang Formation, Liaoning, China

How much is known: Nearly complete skeleton of one individual preserved with feather traces.

Notes: Imparavis was an enantiornithean, a group of bird-like, flying dinosaurs from the Cretaceous. Although they would have looked a lot like modern birds, most enantiornitheans had teeth. Imparavis was an exception in that regard, being one of the few known toothless enantiornitheans. Prior to its discovery, the only other enantiornitheans confirmed to have been toothless were the Late Cretaceous Gobipteryx and Gobipipus from Mongolia and Yuornis from China, making Imparavis one of the oldest known enantiornitheans to lack teeth. (The describers of Imparavis additionally reinterpret another enantiornithean from the Jiufotang Formation, Chiappeavis, as toothless as well.)

Imparavis may have spent time both in trees and on the ground, based on details of its hindlimb anatomy. Its wing bones exhibit pronounced muscle attachment points, suggesting that it might have been capable of rapid, powerful take-offs.

Reference: Wang, X., A.D. Clark, J.K. O'Connor, X. Zhang, X. Wang, X. Zheng, and Z. Zhou. 2024. First edentulous enantiornithine (Aves: Ornithothoraces) from the Lower Cretaceous Jehol avifauna. Cretaceous Research advance online publication. doi: 10.1016/j.cretres.2024.105867

#Palaeoblr #Dinosaurs #Imparavis #Early Cretaceous #Asia #Enantiornithes #2024 #Extinct

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999-roses · 1 year

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unpacking 'sinophone' and its sinophobic roots

so. it never occurred to me to just type "sino diaspora" into google before.

and google is like "oi!! you meant sinophone yeah? here's wikipedia on sinophone" and here's like the other top results

I'm squinting. What the hell do you academics have against diaspora using the term diaspora?? I click.

inb4 this whole rant: I have no qualms with using sinophone as a language-family-use descriptor (like sinophone media), but coming from academia or as an academic field unto itself. but. the literature about wanting to use it as a demographics thing & separate it from "chineseness". just. looook if anyone knows that they're no longer like this let me know. with what im seeing, im having a bad faith moment

so... this is the academic that's hard pushed the term for sinophone.

"crit on orientalism might be complicit for allowing Chinese intellectuals to call themselves victim under an 'unreflective' nationalism" & "but the flipside may be a new imperialism" yeah?? any more unsubstantiated claims???

What a joke!! Clearly only takes authority about Chinese history from western sources, like literally has the uncritical echo of "X country doesn't deserve territorial integrity" that literally fueled western imperialism, and not just of China. Treaty of Nanjing 1842 ringing no bells? Sigh. National sovereignty is the barest basis against overt imperialism where someone just comes over and declares where you live their colony!!! ... is this a test in how far can you stretch the definition of imperialism or colonization? lmfao, China invests in poverty-relieving measures like building houses and improving infrastructure out in Tibet, Guizhou, Xinjiang, and you have the audacity to call that colonizing?!? 我真无言了。

different article by the same person:

laughable to think that the Chinese state even bothers to think I exist, let alone talk to me about my diaspora status. (I was born in the US)

also, people are really out there saying 'diaspora has an end date' huh

here it is. here is the 'scholar' conflating American or western imperialism with things Big Bad Scary Red China does.

Clearly mixing up concepts of tributary system with colonialism, and acting like historically (other than Yuan era under Genghis) that ancient China/Chinese culture was expansionist, going around trying to conquer peoples and set up colonies. Admiral Zheng He would spit on you.

Comparing the spread of culture and language in Ancient China to the colonization and subjugation that the French/Belgium did in Africa, or the British Empire, or the Spanish and Portuguese in Latin America, is so blatantly dishonest. The indigenous people of Tibet, Inner Mongolia, and Xinjiang still speak their own languages and use their own scripts, and yes, they learn them in schools alongside the national language... which is Chinese!!! Yes the Hanyu writing system was adopted and adapted by many neighboring cultures in ancient times, but you literally don't examine WHY? The fluidity in its system: frequently non-Han peoples invented characters to suit their language, like there's even some Canto-specific characters that are in use today. Another reason that Chinese writing system was so popular was because two Sinitic language speakers who do not speak the same language could communicate through the same script. Yeah, Ancient Chinese scholars and dignitaries often had an insufferable elite-ness and superiority complex, but describing their attitude as subjugating and forcing other people to adopt their system? What a wildly malicious mischaracterisation!

just... mask off, gringo butt-licker.

Please. where is the "Chinese containment" policy? The white papers reaffirming what the international community agrees, what Taiwan historically agrees (tho Taiwan held that it was the true capital/head of all of China), that Taiwan is part of China?? I know this article was written back in 2010s but are you seriously comparing American weapons deals and boots on the ground with Chinese military exercises in Chinese territory that haven't harmed a single civilian? "critical" my ass!

gotta love the title of this one. yeah, I know it, I've seen it before. the Chinese or feminist binary, pick a side /s

but hey in this piece she admits she's ignorant and unobjective and out of her league sometimes?

edit: found this:

yeah that about seals it for me. anti"diaspora" sinophobe

#sino diaspora #diaspora #逆向种族分子 #long post #chen yells at clouds. more at 10 #sinophobia #sorry. personal rabbit hole. and taking things personally #we're committing ad hominem crimes today folks #sure chinese->lunar new year. im fine w that. but can you fucks stop trying to take away chineseness away from people who still ID as???#this person is literally doing the western empire's work of laying ground for sinophobia #can't tell if this academic is a grifter or actually serious lmfao #as if american chinese diaspora don't call americans 老美 and call ourselves 老中. i mean yes i call myself 老美 when in china but hello??#you cloak your 'expertise' in the lingua & clothes & rituals of western academics. just shake your colonized ass for white people more #reading this drivel makes me want to go into asian american studies & grab this and shake it around like a ragdoll.#but im reminded that western institutions and definitely academics unquestionably cite western sources w/o hesitation #but give anything coming out of China even just academics not anything gov related with skepticism. so it's probably a no-fly #yeah sure im a 'sinophone' but im also diaspora so fuck you. 你忘了你祖先你的族梗。你这个逆子找白人拜金去了。就你这样做榜样？让海外华裔立起来？丢死人。跟你的英文大白菜出卖同类吧 #fuck you for saying that diaspora's connection to their heritage & culture are currently being severed& should be severed & studied as such #like literally uncritical of how exactly that happens. why so many diaspora have internalized racism driving them to scrub themselves of #their asianness heck even chineseness. try to scrub it all away but you still got an asian face. so fuck you #didn't look into 'asian american studies' much before but if it's a lot like this... well. 🤨#like this academic is so disconnected from our shared histories AHSIJIJDSIAJDAAAHAAHGGHGGG #+ my poasts #imperial core circus

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lazychailov3r · 1 month

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sennamybeloved · 8 months

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a love i'd cross oceans for.

selfshiptober day 1: first kiss.

▬▬ ship: khotun x lane (s/i)

▬▬ warnings: none!

▬▬ author’s note: i love this man so much it makes me look fucking stupid.

▬▬ reblogs always appreciated! ♡

Tonight, the Khan rides North to conquer Toyotama, leaving Castle Kaneda—and the Jito—to rot.

Lane is still unsure of what role she plays in this.

She spent the day watching the Mongols rangel their supplies and load up their horses. She listens to them talk amongst themselves; although she does not understand them, their tones, relaxed and placated, are familiar to her. With each passing day, they seem less like monsters and more like men.

Usually, she’ll spend her days at Khotun’s side, following him like a shadow. However, on this day, she made a point of avoiding him. She’s plagued with apprehension, as she isn’t entirely sure if she’s going with him, or if she’s one of the countless assets he’s leaving behind.

At first, she thought she’d be content with the latter. She’d be able to return to her old ways, wandering aimlessly around the land and compiling her findings in journals. Lonely, peaceful, and free. However, when she really, truly thinks about it—him being all the way at Castle Shimura, and her being stuck here, squandering alongside men she barely trusts, let alone understands—her heart aches and her stomach twists into knots.

She wants to go with him, she wants that more than anything, and the enormity of that want frightens her. If she’ll follow him North, into the snowy mountains that divide Toyotama and Kamiagata, where else will she follow him? To the mainland, to China, back to Mongolia? She can’t follow him forever. Well, perhaps she could, but what a terrifying commitment that would be.

Moreover, why couldn’t it have been anyone else? Perhaps a noble samurai, or a wayward artist just like herself. Why would she be willing to follow Khotun Khan, of all damn people, to the ends of the Earth?

Such a terrible predicament she has found herself in.

Dusk blankets the land in fog and darkness. The sun slips behind the horizon line, and the Mongols are ready to ride North. Lane stands near the open gate that separates the courtyard from the stables. Her gaze flits back and forth, observing the Mongols as they pass through, clad in armor and furs, weapons sheathed and bound to their bodies. Some glance at her, and some smile, but most regard her like a ghost and slip past her as if she isn’t there at all.

Including Khotun.

When she sees him approaching, a hulking silhouette masked in elegant armor, her face grows warm and her heart catches in her throat.

She watches him expectantly, but he does not stop for her. He does not even look at her.

She feels her heart sink into the pits of her stomach. In the hollow of her chest, she feels her ribcage constrict, closing in on itself. She feels pain and a profound sense of sorrow.

She watches him descend into his stables. He watches him tend to his horse (his favorite horse, a cream-colored mare; if there’s one thing Lane has learned from their time together, it’s his love of animals), she listens to him address his men in Mongolian, not understanding a word he’s saying, but noting how much gruffer his voice is when he’s not speaking Japanese. All of these things, entirely separate from his warlord persona, she will remember forever.

To be loved is to be changed, is a saying she once heard. To be loved is to be known just as much as it is to know. To love is to be haunted by memories from a time long past. To love, and to be loved, is to be damned.

But was this, whatever this was, truly love? It hasn’t felt like love until right now. The pain in her chest is something very akin to love.

Sorrow turns to bitterness, and Lane bites down on her tongue as she turns her head away from the stables. You may stay with my empire for as long as you’d like, she recalls him saying once, many weeks ago. Feels like it’s been a lifetime, since that night. Still, she did not specify if she may stay by his side, which permits her to conclude that yes, she is an asset.

An asset that will stay here, it seems.

Then, a voice. Gruff, deep, and familiar. “Lane?”

A jolt of surprise cracks through her like lightening. She hadn’t even heard him approach.

After nearly chokes in her own spit, she, hesitantly, lifts her gaze to meet the man before her. His eyes are partially obscured by the shadow of his helmet, rendering his expression unreadable. She imagines that he’s scowling at her.

“Uhm,” she clears her throat. “Hello.”

She tries to sound casual, not too nervous, but she failing quite miserably, she thinks.

Yet, Khotun continues. “Aren’t you coming with us?”

She blinks in surprise. Yes, she thought she was, and she’d really, really love to. She’d love nothing more. “Well… yes. I suppose. I just wasn’t quite sure if you wanted me to.”

Khotun huffs, almost seeming revolted by the statement. He tips his head back slightly with a sharp intake of breath, and the dim light of the setting sun illuminates his eyes. He decidedly isn’t scowling. In fact, he doesn’t look upset in the slightest.

“Why wouldn’t I want you to?” He questions, though it seems to be rhetorical. “I told you that you may stay with my empire for as long as you wish.”

“I know that,” Lane sputters anxiously. “But I thought, well, I don’t know. You’re looking for soldiers, not shadows. Didn’t think you’d view me as a very useful… asset.”

Khotun give a short, half-suppressed laugh. “You are not an asset, Lane. Be honest with yourself.”

Honestly, if she isn’t an asset, what else could she be? A companion? That sounds foolish. And yet, when she finally brings herself to meet his gaze again, she notes the warmth in his eyes and the subtle upkick of his lips. He seems happy, genuinely happy, to be in her presence.

He always seems like this when she’s around him, actually.

How had she not noticed that before?

Lane smiles, a dry, nervous chuckle escaping her clenched throat. “Alright, alright. Fine.” She relents.

“Then please, come.” He tells her. “Unless, there is something you’re apprehensive about?”

Suddenly, she’s on the defense, raising her palms placatingly as she shakes her head. “No, no,” she says. “I swear it isn’t anything like that. I suppose I’m just…”

A pause. She’s staring at his face, searching for subtle changes in his expression, for the tiniest hint of displeasure. Anything to justify the way she’s feeling, something that’ll allow her to harden her resolve and shrink away from him without feeling guilty.

Alas, she finds no such thing.

“I suppose I’m a little confused.” She says at last. “If I’m not useful to your conquest, why keep me around?”

There is a brief moment of awestruck hesitation before Khotun laughs outright. Its such a sweet, tantalizing sound, and it almost makes Lane forget that he’s laughing at her.

“I have a heart, you know.” He responds warmly.

Lane feels a sudden rush of heat rise to her face, and a smile comes unbidden to her lips. “So I’ve learned.”

The pair shares yet another string of half-suppressed chuckles before quiet falls over them once more, a peaceful duvet that goes uninterrupted by their fellow soldiers and nature both. She’s quick to notice how isolated they suddenly are; the crowds on either side have cleared, and now, it’s just them. Alone, hushed, peaceful, far away from prying eyes and chattering voices.

She stares at his face for longer than she’d intended to, growing lost in his stormy brown eyes and handsome complexion. She notes all of the little details of his appearance, from his neatly trimmed beard, to the healing scar that staggers across his cheek, to the faint, knowing smile that dances across his lips when he looks at her.

She wants to kiss him.

Hell! She’s fucking staring at him. Embarrassment washes over her like a tidal wave. She snaps out of her odd trance, and her gaze snaps up to meet his.

“I’m sorry,” is all she can manage, unable to bite down the smile in her voice.

Khotun responds with a huff of laughter. “Don’t be.”

He both looks and sounds so gentle and endeared. It makes her heart ache and her stomach twist into knots.

She finds herself overwhelmed by nerves and excitement both. Every subtle insinuation and looming prospect are of duel nature; she is horrified by what he may be feeling for this man, but at the same time, she craves him. Craves, craves, craves… it’s a craving that is sickening in its intensity, like an ever-growing hungry that gnaws at her flesh from the inside. She desires so much and so mightily that it hurts, oh, it hurts.

She wants to kiss him.

Oh, to hell with it. To fucking hell with it.

She leans up, pressing a soft kiss, tender and lovely, to the Khan’s lips. It’s quick, far too quick for him to react, but it is as real as the air they share; she would do it a thousand times more, whilst she also dreads the thought of the gesture ever being returned.

Is it dread, or is it perhaps love in a nasty coat? She rather not know.

“We should get going,” her words come out hurried and slurred-together; a blatant display of nerves, as if the blush that’s creeping onto her pale face wasn’t blatant enough.

The Khan’s reply is delayed by only a few moments, but to Lane, it feels like an eternity. “Yes. Gather your things, and be quick about it. We’re tight on time.”

Lane hardly dares to glance up at him before departing, but when she does, she finds that he’s smiling even wider than before. The sight makes her feel sick. She gives him a quick half-nod before turning on her heals and taking quick paces toward the castle.

She hates this. Everything about this. She hates him. It echoes in her mind like a mantra, reminding her of where she should stand on such a matter (revolted by his mere presence upon this land, seizing her first opportunity to escape his grasp and never looking back) but she knows that it’s all a farce. She adores him, craves him like she craves food or water, and will follow him anywhere, even on a bloody conquest.

Lane, you fool! She reprimands herself vigorously, but it does nothing to bring down the smile on her face.

#🏮⚔️ that boy is a monster ⚔️🏮#s/i: lane #lotus writes #self ship community #f/o community #selfships #self insert x canon #selfshiptober #selfshiptober 2023

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khushallgems · 1 year

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Fantastic deep pink Fluorite crystal on a silvery Arsenopyrite matrix with Prase Quartz and livaite Locality: Huanggang Fe-S deposit, Hexigten Banner, Chifeng City, Inner Mongolia, China & Size: 10 x 10 × 8 cm. Main crystal size: 5 cm. Credit: @thewildfangcollection #gemologist #crystal #quartz #aquamarine #Tourmaline #crystalcollection #khushall_minerals #crystalcollector #khushallcrystal #minerals_wholesale #mineralswholesale #quartzcollecting #crystallover #rock #khushallgems #gemstones #stone #dubanigems #minerals #ilovecrystals #crystals #khushalljewellery #mineralsforsale #gemsforsale #gemsshop #naturalstone #khushallfineminerals #crystalhealing #gems #tucsongemshow https://www.instagram.com/p/CnxFgkSqrqz/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

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ourladyofserows · 8 months

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Hematite included Calcite, Astro Gallery NYC

4 lbs, 7.5 x 3.5 x 4 inches

Huanggang Mines, Hexigten Banner, Inner Mongolia A.R., China

#astro gallery #orange white #orange #crystals #crystal #uploads #hematite #calcite #pink

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xtruss · 4 months

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Mappa Mundi: The Greatest Medieval Map In The World

— By Anna Bressanin | Wednesday February 14, 2024

Credit: CalimaX/Alamy

From a small island in the Venetian lagoon, a 15th-Century monk somehow designed an astonishingly accurate planisphere of the world.

On the second floor of the Library of Saint Mark in Venice, a map of the world occupies an entire room – and rightfully so, considering its historical significance and imposing size (2.4m x 2.4m, bigger than a king size bed). Completed in 1459, the Mappa Mundi is the compendium of all the geographical knowledge of the time and is arguably the greatest medieval map of the world.

Almost twice as large as the famous English Hereford Mappa Mundi (ca 1300), this exquisitely decorated planisphere showcasing Europe, Africa and Asia was the masterpiece of Fra Mauro, a monk of the Camaldolese order who lived on the small Venetian island of San Michele.

Although the monk never set foot outside Venice, his Mappa Mundi is amazingly accurate in its depiction of cities, provinces, continents, rivers and mountains. America isn't on the map, since Christopher Columbus would take his trip across the ocean 33 years later; and nor is Australia. But Japan (or in Fra Mauro's words, "Cipango") is there, making its first appearance on a Western chart. Even more surprisingly, Africa is correctly drawn as circumnavigable, long before the Portuguese rounded the Cape of Good Hope in 1488.

"It's the oldest surviving medieval map," said Meredith Francesca Small, author of the book Here Begins the Dark Sea, also describing it as the most complete medieval map to survive into modernity. "It's the first map to be based on science more than religion. The Hereford map is all propaganda, religious propaganda."

While the Hereford map depicted Heaven and Hell and was designed to serve as a compendium of the world's knowledge from a spiritual perspective, Fra Mauro took a scientific approach to his cartography. He declared in his inscriptions that he would "verify the text by practical experience, investigating for many years and frequenting personas worthy of faith who have seen with their own eyes what I faithfully report here".

There's more than scientific and historical relevance to it, though. The most striking aspect of the map, which immediately catches your eye after ascending the white marble stairs of the Library of Saint Mark, where some of the world's most precious and ancient manuscripts are kept, is its sheer splendour.

"It's huge, beautiful, fantastically crafted," said historian Pieralvise Zorzi. Beyond the outlines of countries and continents, Fra Mauro's Mappa Mundi is a magnificent golden and blue painting composed of minute drawings of gorgeous palaces, bridges, sailing ships, rolling blue waves and outsized sea creatures, plus a total of 3,000 cartigli – red and blue annotations written in ancient Venetian that tell stories, anecdotes and legends.

In Norway, for instance, a cartiglio indicates the location where the Venetian merchant Pietro Querini came ashore after a shipwreck. As the tale goes, he not only survived the accident, but he brought stockfish back home, thus starting the Venetian passion for baccalà (the creamy fish spread you can find in every osteria).

The Exquisitely Decorated Mappa Mundi measures an impressive 2.4m x 2.4m. Credit: Bildagentur-online/Getty Images

Another cartiglioindicates Tharse, the "kingdom where the Magi came from", then thought to be located somewhere between China and Mongolia.

All these annotations are legible on the map, and are relatively easy to decipher for Venetian speakers since the current dialect is not dramatically different from the idiom of the 15th Century. However, the inscriptions are also translated into English on an interactive map created by the Galileo Institute and Museum in Florence. Displayed on a flat screen in the same exhibition space as the Mappa Mundi, it provides the somewhat peculiar experience of entering the mind of a savant monk and reading the world through his medieval eyes.

It was not a small world. Although Fra Mauro lived his entire life in his island monastery in the lagoon backwaters, he tapped into the knowledge of travellers and merchants who crossed paths in the flourishing trading city of Venice that was "the capital of cartography at the time", explained Saint Marks librarian Margherita Venturelli.

“Maps Were Fundamental For Trade Because If You Have A Good Map, You Can Go Everywhere”

"Maps were fundamental for trade because if you have a good map, you can go everywhere," added Zorzi. "Every innovation in terms of cartography was welcome in Venice, and well-paid."

The Library of Saint Mark is home to one of the world's most significant collections of classical texts. Credit: Mo Peerbacus/Alamy

Fra Mauro's main source for Asia was merchant and fellow Venetian Marco Polo, who had published his travel accounts more than 150 years earlier. On the map, 150 locations are directly traceable to Marco Polo's Travels; for instance, the Mount of Adam was placed in the island of Ceylon (today's Sri Lanka), where, according to legends recounted by Polo, the first man's body was believed to be buried, together with his teeth and even his bowl, which was supposed to have the magical property of multiplying food.

Besides Polo, Fra Mauro had numerous sources around the globe. The fact that the chart looks upside down to contemporary Western eyes, with the south on top, might indicate that he was inspired by Arab cartography, like a 12th-Century map by North African geographer Muhammad al-Idrisi. The numbers that Fra Mauro lists as "the Distance of Heavens" are from mathematician and astronomer Campanus de Novara. "From the centre of the world to the surface of the Earth there are 3,245 miles. From the centre of the world to the lower surface of the heavens of the Moon there are 107,936 miles," and so on, he writes in the top left corner of the Mappa Mundi.

Fra Mauro also displayed a healthy scepticism and wasn't shy of criticising – as well as sometimes using –the revered Ptolemy's Geography, a treaty written in Alexandria, Egypt, by Claudius Ptolemy in 150 CE and lost for centuries to the Western world until it was rediscovered and translated in Latin again in the 1400s.

Fra Mauro's main source for Asia was merchant and fellow Venetian Marco Polo. Credit: The History Collection/Alamy

This Renaissance rationalist attitude also showed in the way he placed Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden outside of the planisphere, making it clear that Heaven is not a place on Earth; a statement that separated religion and geography and was forward thinking for any medieval man, let alone a monk.

These novelties, and the fact that the map was completed few decades before Christopher Columbus sailed to America, contribute to Fra Mauro's Mappa Mundi being considered the geographical link between the Middle Ages and the Renaissance. To contemporary visitors, his map is a reminder of the fact that maps were once not only practical tools, but also a matter of beauty – and a way to tell the most extraordinary stories.

#Feature #History #Medieval Map #Mappa Mundi #BBC News 🗞️#Anna Bressanin #Venetian Marco Polo #Saint Mark #Library #Fra Mauro

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tianshiisdead · 2 years

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Hello again! Back to asking you some more questions out of curiosity! You’re answers have always been so detailed and insightful!

After seeing a few posts of yours, I wanted to ask, why do you ship China/ Mongolia? It’s a fairly unliked, or at least unpopular ship in the English Hetalia fandom, so I’m curious to see your perspective? That, and how do you imagine their dynamic?

Hii! I'm so glad my answers have been good, I love talking so thank you for the questions! I'm sorry about how long this reply is, its pretty rambly

quick disclaimer: these r my opinions and thoughts, there r sensitive topics and such here as well that I try to treat carefully

SHORT ANSWER

(ignore the 'show' lol it's jus fav x fav)

LONG ANSWER (warning. its pretty long)

Hmmm to be honest, the simplest answer is just that I like and ship everyone with China who is my fav, I really like Mongolia, they have shared history, so I smash them together and call it a ship LOL

It's also bc I like Chinese history and the Yuan dynasty is a pretty prominent dynasty. Plus it's incredibly funny to me to see China bounced from one foreign ruler to the next in that little pocket of time where a part of China passed from Mongolic to Tungusic rulers while the Song dynasty grew and then shrank until it was finally fully conquered by Kublai Khan + going with the headcanon that nation-tans lived with their conquerers, I think China chilling with Mongolia during the Yuan dynasty is a fun image. It's a little difficult to write about because Mongolia (and, less relevantly, China as well) like, fractured a lot? It's not a single line of successive nations, and modern groupings and borders haven't always been this way ofc, so it's always a little hard to parse that in Hetalia terms. But it's fun to think about : )

Also, I will say I follow mainly Japanese artists on twitter and there's surprisingly a rather developed niche of Mongolia/China shippers

Dynamics

Dynamic wise, I focus on old history, but I like a variety of things! ぴよEX from pixiv has some really fun historical comics, the super serious Mongolian Empire and arrogant but expressive China are really cute when interacting, their casual day to day dynamic and interactions despite the situation are fun too. As a big China fan from a purely Hetalia point of view abt an event from many centuries ago, there's a feeling like 'wow he put a lot of effort into conquering China huh he tried really hard lol that's kind of cute... also he was the only one to Truly Have all of China until Qing dynasty came along... the Khitans and Jurchens all tried but were unable to fully conquer China... it was only Him 🥺'

I personally really love clingy China who reminisces about the old days and Mongolia who's a little tired of it, even though it's very unrealistic because the Yuan dynasty obviously wasn't a fun time for Yaoyao and then the Qing dynasty. ALSO was not a fun time for him haha so what would he even reminisce about... it exists in my heart though, a nebulous 'yeah maybe they hang out sometimes and China gets jealous over stupid shit and reminisces thru nostalgia lenses about how he once sat side by side with Mongolia and Mongolia tries to focus on the meal and not on the yandere beside him'. I also have a specific image in my head of Mongolian empire era Mongolia walking around with Song dynasty China tagging along to complain about stuff despite the lack of friendliness between their respective nations. Ahistorical but fun! The few Mongolia/China fics I've read in the English fandom that aren't openly anti-shipping are rather angsty fics about the Yuan dynasty, and though I can see why, I think it's much more entertaining to see their coexistence and casual day-to-day interactions in the ~century that the Yuan dynasty lasted, China's annoying peppiness, Mongolia half-listening to his flights of fancy while doing Big Ruling Things, etc. In general, the base of the ship for me is 'tall, annoyed, and serious x small, annoying, and expressive'. Like the first image I doodled specifically for this ask lol

Its place in English fandom

On the topic of popularity, I can understand why it's not as popular in the English fandom tbh the history between the countries has been very antagonistic and fraught w violence, esp in modern history, the 1900s and Mongolia's struggle for independence and such. and culturally there aren't that many similarities, aside from what's left over from the past rule's influence on culture and then there's a bit of cultural influence up north ofc. And then the topic of Inner Mongolia, as well as ethnic tensions... I'm not really in a place to comment and I'm not nearly knowledgeable enough to say anything, so this is just an acknowledgment it exists and also that it in my experience influences the English fandom, which, I mean good for them doing some research and staying away from sensitive topics and potentially offensive depictions

also the people who ship Mongolia ships in the English fandom tend to be Mongolia biases, and this ship is more of a China fan ship if that makes any sense? Like, if you liked Mongolia you might ship him with like, Tibet, have something fluffy and sweet and not... this toxic ship fraught with recent suffering, but if you like China there's a bigger chance of shipping him with Mongolia focusing on the Yuan dynasty. A bit of bullying for our fav little arrogant old guy. Meanwhile, there aren't that many China mains in the English fandom and the ones who are out there tend to ship him with yt ppl and focus on either AUs or modern history with a focus on China/western relations 😅 which I mean, fine, I do as well dsjjghfljk but fun historical ships like Mongolia/China aren't really popular.

Qing Dynasty rambles, kinda off topic

Another thing: the Qing dynasty! Okay so, I've read like. at least one english fic that had China turned into an oppressive little dickhead in this time period, but IMO and it's a very very personal and subjective thing, I don't think having China, that is Yaoyao, being the main force in the Qing dynasty makes much sense. This isn't like Yaoyao apologia LMAO it's more like, if each distinct and separate people and culture have their own nation-tan, I don't see why Manchu wouldn't. We may be sinicized now and I consider myself Chinese, but we are still a distinct people to the Han and Manchu were NOT Chinese back then!! It should also be noted that while the Manchu ruling class encouraged the mindset of a diverse China, 'Manchu Mongol Han' (满蒙汉) type thing, they were still conquerors who conquered China, Mongolia, and then a bunch of other places, and there was a hierarchy involved that had Han Chinese below Manchu. There were Han (and Mongolians and other ppl) who were promoted and integrated into the banner system or given Manchu clans or whatever and they were allowed to send their daughters in as concubines but the upper class was generally Manchu and there was a (failed) effort to retain traditional culture, meaning it can't be taken as 'Manchuria was consumed' sort of integration. Shoving 'well China was not in charge of China' in there kind of... changes the dynamics of Mongolia and aph China a little? Another, maybe more important point, is that Mongolia being conquered by the Qing dynasty in many cases wasn't initially a China Mongolia thing so much as a Manchu/Jurchen tribes vs Mongolian groups sort of thing, some groups fought with the Manchu, others were allied w Manchu Qing for protection against other groups, also iirc there were enmity/alliances left over from when Manchu were a bunch of little Jurchen tribes who either fought with the nearby Mongolic groups or turned to certain Mongolic groups for trade and alliances as protection. Like I get that in modern times HOW exactly the conquering went down doesn't matter as much as that it did and at that time China was the main force even ruled by outside conquerors, especially because the Qing dynasty is acknowledged as Chinese and the current country is a direct successor state to the successor state of this dynasty, but Hetalia content that directly addresses this history should take it into account. It's sort of like hmmm the Yuan dynasty's attack on Japan?

Of course, this is a sensitive topic! Lots of violence. Sooo it's the sort of thing that I'm hesitant to make 'content' about, but I do think about it sometimes. How would the relations go down? Idk bc Qing dynasty isn't one of my preferred periods for Mongolia/China but I thought I'd include it anyways since I've seen this era around in the English fandom and I had a Hot Take I wanted to express. It would be an interesting dynamic, though, bc then China goes hard trying to keep Mongolia in the republic era which was VERY VERY ruled by Han who were miffed about centuries of oppression under Manchu rule, lots of anti ethnic minority sentiment arose from that and the, ah, other events going on in during the late 1800s and early 1900s. so it's like... as a country it makes sense but how do you fit this into the characters? It's not like the characters have to like what's happening in their country of course, but I'd like to situate them in the time and atmosphere nonetheless. It's also a situation where China was getting hella brutalized during the late Qing/Republic era by western powers and Japan, so the usual line about this era for it is 'wow poor baby : (' which I admit I love, but it does leave Mongolia, any and all suppression of culture, and its independence movement by the wayside. A country and its systems can be very complicated because everything happens all the time and there's like a billion people involved but then u gotta find a way to balance it within these individual characters which is hard!! I've read so many fics in this era and it always focuses on a few specific character/country relations and inevitably leaves many big things out, everything just happens all the time huh!

I guess the timeline would be roughly:

Stirrings of trouble -> Manchuria gathering. some Jurchen groups are directly allied with Mongolian groups for protection while other Jurchen groups waged war on them and the Ming dynasty so this is awkward -> wowee China has been conquered uwu Yaoyao enters another Jin dynasty -> battle with Mongolia ig? or talks of alliance? The same thing applies to pre-Manchu unification, it's hard when all the different groups represented by one dude are doing different things and it's hard to say who gets the nation-tan -> ok now Qing dynasty is at its largest. China and Mongolia are both under Manchu rule, Mongolia has a bit more status but China gets kept closer to the rulers and in the palace cause obvious reasons. Do they interact? probably sometimes? i'd have to do more research on the details -> oh no the westies have arrived to do a bit of war and opium -> China has attacked and gotten rid of Manchuria, preferably while crying for the spice, but now that he has Mongolia he doesn't want to let go : ( misery -> and the rest is history. i guess

Closing

I'm sorry if nothing makes sense but I started writing and editing at midnight and I can see daylight through the windows so I'll leave it here

Finally: here's a link to PiyoEX's Mongolia/China compilation! There's a bunch of short comics about the Mongolian Empire/Song Dynasty part of history, some Russia Mongolia China, and one timeline of events with Mongolia celebrating Yuan dynasty, China celebrating Ming dynasty, and both of them side eyeing the new guy for the Qing dynasty dksljhgf

To be honest I don't usually think too deeply about this ship aside from teehee funny 1100s AD interactions and wow what if they went out in modern times and Mongolia had a horrible time and China couldn't stop clinging to his arm like a bug! And ofc that one irl video where China was thanking Mongolia for some sheep the gov sent, and some dude sang this song of thanks that was autotuned to hell, but the ship has a lot of potential for exploration, though it's sensitive and hard to handle correctly imo

#ask #mongolmaral #hetalia #monchu #hws china #hws mongolia #long post #tiart #tia rambles #aph china #aph mongolia

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new-dinosaurs · 2 years

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Daurlong wangi Wang et al., 2022 (new genus and species)

(Type specimen of Daurlong wangi [b: close-up of skull; c: close-up of eye socket; d: close-up of preserved feathers; e: frog skeleton preserved nearby; scale bars = 20 mm for b and 10 mm for c], from Wang et al., 2022)

Meaning of name: Daurlong = Daur dragon [in Chinese]; wangi = for Wang Junyou [director of the Inner Mongolia Museum of Natural History]

Age: Early Cretaceous (Aptian), about 121 million years ago

Where found: Longjiang Formation, Inner Mongolia, China

How much is known: Nearly complete skeleton of one individual with preserved feathers.

Notes: Daurlong was a dromaeosaurid theropod, making it a fairly close relative to Velociraptor and Deinonychus. It was especially similar to Tianyuraptor and Zhenyuanlong of the Jehol Biota (also from the Early Cretaceous of China). Like Tianyuraptor and Zhenyuanlong, it had relatively short forelimbs for its size, and was larger than most other Early Cretaceous dromaeosaurids that have been found in China, being about 1.5 m long in total length.

The type specimen of Daurlong not only preserves an exceptionally complete skeleton with feather remains, but also a dark mass in its abdominal cavity. In terms of shape and anatomical position, this mass resembles the preserved intestines of Scipionyx, a theropod known from a well-preserved juvenile specimen from the Early Cretaceous of Italy, and may therefore also represent preserved intestinal remnants in Daurlong.

Reference: Wang, X., A. Cau, B. Guo, F. Ma, G. Qing, and Y. Liu. 2022. Intestinal preservation in a birdlike dinosaur supports conservatism in digestive canal evolution among theropods. Scientific Reports 12: 19965. doi: 10.1038/s41598-022-24602-x

#Palaeoblr #Dinosaurs #Daurlong #Early Cretaceous #Asia #Dromaeosauridae #2022 #Extinct

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paganimagevault · 9 months

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Dragon of the Hongshan Culture 4500-3000 BCE

I found this interesting. The Neolithic Hongshan Culture seems to host the oldest (to date) archaeological finds of clearly depicted dragon art in the world. The people that lived there had haplogroups that correspond very strongly with modern day Uralic, Baltic, and certain Turkic speaking populations. But those same haplogroups are found in very low frequencies in China today. Genetics is obviously more complicated than just haplogroups, and some of these populations are quite different from each other genetically, but it's an interesting piece of information nonetheless.

From WorldHistory: "The earliest known depiction of a dragon is a stylised C-shaped representation carved in jade. Found in eastern Inner Mongolia, it belonged to the Hongshan culture, which thrived between 4500 and 3000 BCE."

From Wikipedia: "A genetic study by Yinqiu Cui et al. from 2013 analyzed the Y-chromosome DNA haplogroup based N subclade; it found that DNA samples from 63% of the combined samples from various Hongshan archaeological sites belonged to the subclade N1 (xN1a, N1c) of the paternal haplogroup N-M231 and calculated N to have been the predominant haplogroup in the region in the Neolithic period at 89%, with its share gradually declining over time. Today, this haplogroup is found in northern Han, Mongols, Manchu, Oroqen, Xibe and Hezhe at low frequencies".

From NationalLibraryOfMedicine: "The sequence of cultures include the Hongshan culture (6500–5000 BP), Xiaoheyan culture (5000–4200 BP), Lower Xiajiadian culture (4200–3600 BP), and Upper Xiajiadian culture (3000–2700 BP) (Figure 1). The Hongshan culture is one of the most advanced Neolithic cultures in East Asia, with social stratification, distinctive painted pottery and elaborate jade ornaments. Archaeological investigations suggest that hunting- gathering was the main mode of subsistence, but they also indicate early use of cultigens in the Hongshan Culture. The Xiaoheyan culture adopted the basic features of the Hongshan culture, but had a simpler social organization. It was followed by the Lower Xiajiadian culture, which was marked by a gradual shift to agriculture and the establishment of permanent settlements with relatively high population densities, while retaining some of the hallmarks of the Hongshan culture. It was replaced abruptly by a radically different culture, the Upper Xiajiadian, which was influenced by the Bronze Age cultures of the Northern China steppe.

The most ancient populations of the West Liao River valley exhibited a high frequency (71%) of haplogroup N1-M231. Because of the short amplicons needed for the ancient samples, it was not possible to type the diagnostic site P43 of sub-haplogroup N1b, so samples that yielded negative M128 and TAT mutations were defined as N1 (xN1A, N1c). Besides being the only haplogroup in the Halahaigou site, N1 (x N1a, N1c) was also predominant in the Niuheliang and Dadianzi sites. In the Dashanqian site, there were two subtypes of N1-M231: N1 (xN1a, N1c) and N1c-TAT. One of the nine Dashaqian samples was N1 (xN1a, N1c), and three were N1c (Table 1). N1 is particularly widespread in northern Eurasia, from the Far East to Eastern Europe. Its subtype, N1c, is found at low frequency but has high STR variability in northern China, suggesting that this region was N1c’s centre of expansion.

A single instance of O3a (xO3a3) was observed in the Neolithic Hongshan and Xiaoheyan sites, although this haplogroup was observed in just under half of the Bronze Age individuals. The Upper Xiajiadian individuals of the late Bronze Age had different subtypes of O3a-M324, O3a3c-M117. O3a-M324 is found today in most East Asian populations, and its subtype O3a3c-M117 occurs at the highest frequency in modern Sino-Tibetan populations.

The West Liao River valley was a cradle of Chinese civilization, together with the valleys of the Yellow River and Yangtze River, and there is considerable interest among scholars in the origin and expansions of the ancestors of the present-day inhabitants. Extensive analyses of extant populations have revealed that the most common Y chromosome haplogroup today is O-M175 (58.8%, n=176), followed by C3-M217(23.8%), N-M231(8.5%), and several relatively rare haplogroups, namely D-M174, Q1a1-M120, and R-M207. Our data reveal that the main paternal lineage in the prehistoric populations was N1 (xN1a, N1c), present in about 63% of our combined sample of all cultural complexes. It was the predominant haplogroup in the Neolithic period (89%), and declined gradually over time (Table 1). Today it is only found at low frequency in northeast Asia (Table 2). There appears to be significant genetic differences between ancient and extant populations of the West Liao River valley (P<0.001)."

#anthropology #genetics #archaeology #history #chinese history #dragons #art #ancient art #finland #turkic #museums #ancient history #neolithic

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amgalant · 1 year

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ngl Mongolia x China ship is spicy af

I mean there’s so many ways their relationship could go

#aph mongolia #aph china #hetalia

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beardedmrbean · 2 years

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Yeonmi Park, who defected from North Korea on a quest for self-preservation and freedom, told Fox News Digital that she is worried freedoms are being lost in America amid what she describes as the left-wing indoctrination in K-12 schools.

"This is exactly the dictator's handbook. I mean, it's [Adolf] Hitler's youth, Mao's youth and Kim Il-Sung's youth. They always go for young children because they have [not] lived their life enough to... have critical thinking skills. Their brains are very plastic, very malleable, and easy to observe information and believe it and [they're] innocent," she said. "And... big killers [who] want to seize power from the people, they always mobilize the youth. And that is the truth that [worries me that], as a parent myself, that I cannot protect my child right now in America."

Park was born in Hyesan and said that the people are so oppressed in North Korea that they do not have the ability to describe it – the words were stolen in Orwellian fashion.

"So the thing about North Korea is that is so oppressed to the point we don't even have the word for oppression… There's actually even the control of the language in words. And this is why it concerns me where there's such a something called a speech code, the things that we cannot talk about in America right now," she added.

Park said she is worried about what she calls the "massive indoctrination coming from the left" that is also introducing socialism to children.

"I'm willing to move anywhere it takes for me to protect my child from this brainwashing," she said. "So when one more person convert[s] every day like that, we are going to end up like North Korea eventually. So I think it's our personal responsibility to protect as many people… [and] children as we can from this massive indoctrination coming from the left."

Park escaped in 2007 when she was 13; it was a long and treacherous journey to China, Mongolia, South Korea and then to the United States in 2014. "I escaped North Korea when I was 13 years old... And that journey led me to become trafficked in China and sold as a child sex wife… Currently, I'm right now actually fighting for freedom even in America."

"A lot of people in America who are born into freedom, they never had to fight for their freedom… I had to fight for freedom… I fought for it… So I think it gives me unique perspective and unique appreciation for what I have here," she said.

Park is raising her 4-year-old son in Chicago and says she is concerned about the indoctrination in the daycare she sends him to. "It's really worrisome because… I cannot afford not to work and… do homeschooling. I have to have him [in the] public education system."

The indoctrination includes tenets such as "White privilege" and "White guilt" and, she said, is exactly what North Korea did in the name of "equity."

"[In America,] it's all about this hierarchy of victimhood. And I see that my son... [is] learning their school, who is privileged, who is guilty," she said.

Park added that Ibram X. Kendi's antiracist socialism, whose concepts are taught in many U.S. schools, terrifies her. She recalls how North Koreans gave up their land and rights for the sake of equality and e

"This is where it keeps me up at night. I never knew that I was going to be waking up at night and terrified being in America. I did that tons of nights in North Korea and China," she said.

"The definition of socialism means giving all the power to the government – they decide the means of production. They despise every aspect of our lives… In North Korea, they say, 'Okay, we're going to make sure everybody is equal... So give us all your land.' So we gave the regime all the land, so they abolish[ed] private property. Nobody could own anything. State owns it. And that is when they took everything, did not give anything back to us. And then when we gave all our rights, they didn't give anything back… That's a reality of socialism," she said.

Park added that those who promote the ideology fail to study history.

"That's why we keep repeating it. We have seen how this plays a role, a playbook for dictators. There is a playbook for this elite… to seize power from people. And this brainwashing is a seed of that like making sure that everybody [is]… brainwash[ed] to believe this is a way to get to that paradise. And the paradise doesn't exist," she said.

Park is currently working on a book, which will be released in 2023, called "While Time Remains: A North Korean Defector's Search for Freedom in America" that explores the parallels between some trends in the U.S. and North Korea, such as speech censorship and demonizing groups of people for the purpose of exploiting power.

#nunyas news #time for a new round of leftists bashing her #because they don't like what she has to say

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