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mariamlovesyou · 5 months

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tuned into Plestia's live with Rahma Zein's second account (she got shadowbanned). key moments:

plestia talked about her adjustment to living in australia. "it's 1:30am now and it's normal for me and many palestinians who live abroad to be awake hours into the morning. i am scared of sleeping. because of the time difference, i'm scared if i sleep i will wake up to bad news. in gaza i was scared of the sound of the bombs, here i am scared of the quiet."

contacting family and friends in gaza is near impossible. "sometimes i feel like a crazy person, calling 20 times in a row hoping that on the 21st time the call might go through."

on the destruction of entire communities and neighbourhoods: "i'm scared when i go back to gaza i won't recognise it anymore. someone sent me a picture of my neighbourhood, and i couldn't tell it was mine at first. all my favourite places, cafes where the aunties used to give me extra food and ask about my day, have been destroyed. i dread looking at my gallery or seeing snapchat memories because most of these people in the pictures are no longer alive."

rahma asked plestia to talk about one story that stuck with her. plestia said "i remember walking one time on the 'safe corridor', that's what they called it anyway, and i saw an older woman clutching onto a donkey cart where her son's body was, refusing to let go of it. i asked my colleague what the smell was, he said it's dead bodies under the rubble. it was the first time i familiarised myself with the smell. the son's body was decaying and the woman told me about cats and animals eating away at it. i've had children talk to me about birds eating away at their parents' decomposing bodies and not being able to chase them away."

"it seems so silly to go to hospitals for minor sicknesses now. i can't even think about how many palestinian children are going to be terrified of hospitals now. there was a girl who was taken to the hospital to get treatment for injuries by one of the bombs, and while she was in the bathroom another bomb landed nearby. the impact from that sent the ceiling crashing down on her.. she got another injury while getting treated for her first one."

"i hate how people talk about our resilience - as if it's okay that this is happening to us. we are only surviving because we have to, because we have no other choice."

rahma brought up the way family homes are set up in palestine and asked plestia to elaborate. "basically, there are floors. someone will live on the ground floor, and then their married son lives with his children on the floor above them, and then their successors above them and so on. so when family homes are targeted, they wipe out entire families. many families officially no longer exist."

"i used to wear my journalist helmet and vest all the time, felt naked without it, even slept with the vest on sometimes until i realised it only made me more of a target. they didn't give me any protection, only headaches and back pain."

"i am an optimistic person, i loved covering sweet sentimental things, like at my graduation asking parents of top graduates how they feel about their children graduating. that's what i love reporting on. i wanted to cover things like that when i came back to gaza, show the beautiful side of gaza that the media didn't really show, but i didn't have the chance." "do you think they'll give you right of return?" "i can only hope."

plestia mentioned how hard it was being a journalist with limited access to the internet, charging facilities, no mics, lack of equipment and how difficult it was uploading things. rahma asked her what's one story that wasn't really recorded or posted due to these constraints; plestia said "the evacuations. sometimes they informed us about them, sometimes they didn't. you have no idea how hard it was, everyone looking for their family members, making sure every one was there, taking to the streets in 5 minutes and not knowing which way to go. i remember i went to my friend's house for shelter for 30 minutes before the first evacuation was announced and we ran to another family's house, stayed there for 2 days before another evacuation was announced. me, my friend, and that family all evacuated together to another family's house. there were already so many people there seeking shelter, it wasn't just one family staying there. none of us knew how long we had in any place."

before october 7th, palestinians were used to limitations on electricity. plestia used to plan her day's tasks around when the electricity was working. "for example when the electricity was on from 12 to 4, i would say i will do my laundry and charge the phones during this time. life wasn't exactly 'normal', but all of us pray to have those days back in comparison to what we are experiencing now." plestia also said that cars are running on cooking oil now because there is no fuel.

on hygiene: "many pregnant women have to give birth without any pain medication or medical attention. once we ran out of medicine, that was it. women who had to get C-sections couldn't stay to recover or get followup treatments because someone else needed the bed. we have no water, no tissues, no pads, barely any bathrooms. in the shelter schools you have to wait an hour before even getting to use the bathroom because of how many people are there."

"something you don't hear about is how many people die because of sadness. there's so many ways to die in gaza, because of the bombardment, because of starvation, the lack of resources, but i also know many elderly people who died because their hearts couldn't take it anymore. i have been in gaza before and lived through 4 aggressions, but nothing compared to this one."

a recurring sentiment that was echoed in the video: "sometimes i thought to myself: who am i recording this for? because we've already shown everything, we've already talked about everything. everything has already been said, the proof is everywhere, nothing i talked about today is new." rahma said the first video posted about what's happening in palestine should've been enough.

she is 22 today. plestia's closing words: don't stop talking about us, don't stop boycotting, don't stop protesting, please don't get bored of fighting for palestine.

#this is all off the top of my head if i remember other key points i will add them

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kinkandkreep · 11 months

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♡︎ 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞!𝐌𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐎'𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

♡︎ 𝑪𝑾: 𝑰𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒊𝒆𝒅 𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒄𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒅𝒖𝒃𝒄𝒐𝒏, 𝒊𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒊𝒆𝒅 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒐𝒖𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒑𝒉𝒚𝒔𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒍 𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒎, 𝑴𝒊𝒈𝒖𝒆𝒍 𝒃𝒆𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒏 𝒂𝒃𝒔𝒐𝒍𝒖𝒕𝒆 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒆𝒑, 𝒉𝒆 𝒂𝒍𝒔𝒐 𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒐𝒖𝒕

♡︎ "__" 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞

♡︎ 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞

.・゜-: ✧ :-.・゜-: ✧ :-.・゜-: ✧ :-.・ ✧ :-.・゜

You hadn’t heard from your cousin or friends in 2 weeks.

Normally, you kept in fairly regular contact, but for the past 14 days it had been radio silence.

You were almost too afraid to think of what that could potentially mean.

Two possibilities were most apparent to you.

A.) Miguel had made good on his word and-...harmed your friends

B.) Miguel had made good on his word and frightened your friends and cousin so badly they’d been successfully coerced into cutting off contact with you

Either way, you knew Miguel had something to do with it.

It also probably didn’t help that after he’d kidnapped you, he forced you to begin using the bugged phone. Even if you had talked to your girls, you assumed that Miguel would just be listening in on the conversation.

You sighed, brows turning downward in frustration. You were tempted to just throw the damn brick at the wall, but, as much as you were ashamed to admit it, you were a little terrified of how Miguel would react if you were to destroy his means of tracking you while he was away.

He would probably see it as a means of rebellion and obstinance, and might use that as justification to hurt you.

Your arms were still bruised from earlier, and though the bruising on your wrist had dissolved, the skin was still slightly tender to the touch, the bone creaky and sore.

You cradled the appendage in your other hand, sighing deeply.

You tried to be positive about the situation to the best of your ability.

It wasn’t all bad being with Miguel. He took very good care of you, when he wasn’t hurting you. He bought you everything you wanted and more, though you didn’t really care about material things. You still had access to the internet and television, albeit very limited. He didn’t allow you to sleep in the guest room as you’d requested, saying that “husbands and wives should sleep together, it’s only natural,” but at least his bed was very comfortable, and he said he’d let you redecorate however you desired.

You could eat pretty much whatever you wanted, though you could only order out when Miguel was home, so he could monitor the exchange between you and the delivery person. He made you breakfast every morning, and it was always delicious, but he rarely ever let you make yourself anything involving knives, for several obvious reasons.

It wasn’t all terrible.

Except for the fact that you no longer had any real autonomy, and there was a chance your best friends and favorite cousin had been murdered, which was, admittedly, a couple pretty major things.

“__! I’m home!”

A few days after your incarceration, Miguel had begun insisting that you greet him when he returned home from work or other outings.

“As a proper wife should,” he’d said, expression flat and chin tilted upward.

At first, you completely disregarded him, not even answering when he would call out for you upon his return.

After a little while though, Miguel’s patience ran out.

One day, he neglected to announce his return, and instead barged into the bedroom where you were, red eyes blazing with anger. Not even giving you the chance to speak, he snatched you up from the bed, dragging you out into the living room and tossing you to the floor.

A quiet “oomph” sounded from you as you landed on your knees, the skin covering them burning from the carpet.

“Why is it so difficult for you to follow simple instructions, __? I only asked you to begin greeting me when I come home from working to continue providing for you. Is that so much to ask?”

You didn’t speak, unsure of what might come out of your mouth in the moment.

Miguel had begun pacing, a signature sign of either his distress or agitation.

He stopped suddenly, bending down to grab you tightly by the shoulders, forcing you to look up at him.

“Well? ¡Contéstame!”

You held his stare for a moment more, before finally beginning to speak.

“You are…delusional, Miguel. I don’t even want to be here, stuck in this house with you. You think I’d honestly begin happily rushing to the door to appease you, when you’ve hurt me, and presumably other people that are important to me?! Are you insane?!”

You shook out of his now loose grasp, scooting back til you were on the other side of the room.

“You’re crazy, and I want nothing to do with you.”

The two of you sat in silence for quite a few moments, Miguel being oddly still, not meeting your eyes.

“Is that so?” Miguel’s voice was low, his breathing having picked up.

You watched with wide eyes as he quickly advanced on you, not even giving you time to move before he’d snatched you up again, a single hand wrapped tightly around your throat.

Your feet kicked in a panic, hands clawing at Miguel’s wrist.

You knew he was strong, though you’d never seen his strength in action like this. You weren’t the lightest person, and for him to be able to lift you almost a foot off the ground singlehandedly was alarming.

His gaze burned into yours, and you could swear that beneath the dark spots slowly clouding your vision, there was a sick sort of satisfaction causing a dull glow to emanate from Miguel’s red irises.

“If you don’t want anything to do with me,” he began, grip tightening further, “then perhaps I should just…make you go away.” His expression remained scarily flat, his tone even more so, though his words shook around the edges.

You could feel the energy steadily seeping out of you, and for a moment, you were genuinely afraid that Miguel was going to kill you.

After a few more torturous moments, your vision dimmed to almost completely black, and you felt your body go limp.

At the same time, Miguel finally released you, and you weakly dropped to the floor, sprawled out and exhausted from your ordeal.

The much larger man crouched down beside you, leaning forward til his lips nearly brushed yours.

“Never forget, that the only reason you still have breath in your lungs is because I give it to you. And just as I give, I can take it all away. You don’t want anything to do with me? Without me, you’d be nothing.”

He stands, leveling you with the most dismissive, scathing look you’ve ever seen on his face.

“I’m not crazy, __. You’re crazy for thinking you could ever leave me.”

Back in the present moment, you shivered at the memory, hand subconsciously coming up to massage your throat.

Looking at the time, you noticed that Miguel would be returning soon.

Begrudgingly, you stood, dragging your feet out into the living room where you took a seat on the couch.

“Any minute now,” you spoke to no one in particular.

You sat there waiting for just a bit longer, before you could hear the telltale beeping coming from the front door. After a second, Miguel entered, an expectant expression on his face.

Even after the encounter from before, you hadn’t quite worked up the fortitude necessary to actually greet him at the door, but at least now you acknowledged him.

Miguel recognized this as a small victory and decided to grant you mercy accordingly.

In the moment, he turned to you, brow raised.

You rolled your eyes, looking away momentarily before looking back to him. “Welcome home, Mig-...”

“Ah ah, that’s not my name. Not to you anyway.”

You glared at him momentarily, though it seemed to have no effect on the man.

“Welcome home, Gigi.”

Miguel grinned, beginning to walk into your bedroom.

“Muy buena, __.”

You watched him leave, huffing angrily.

He was so…infuriating.

He tried to be almost unbearably sweet and accommodating while at the same time being more than willing to toss you out of a window if you said anything similar to him being “crazy” or you not loving him.

He was crazy, as you’d said before. And it drove you nearly insane that he couldn’t see that his actions were wrong.

So caught up you were in your thoughts, that you almost didn’t hear Miguel calling your name.

“__!”

Your head snapped up, and in a brief moment of panic, you wondered for how long he’d been calling you. Seeing as you hadn’t been doing anything and seemed annoyed when he left, he probably thought you were intentionally ignoring him.

You both knew how much of a poor idea that was.

Quickly, you stood, making your way into the bedroom.

Miguel was in the middle of undress, and you were sure he’d called you on purpose, to see what you’d, since the beginning of your incarceration at least, been denying.

So far, he hadn’t forced you, but you didn’t put it past him.

The thought made you shiver.

“Yes Mi-...Gigi?”

You quickly righted your mistake at the eye Miguel gave you. He relaxed after a moment, turning back to what he was doing.

“I asked what you’d like for dinner.”

You paused, knowing it was too soon to ask to go out, but also not really being in the mood to eat anything he made.

“Uh…I was thinking we could order out.”

At that, Miguel paused, turning and giving you a critical glare.

“You’ve been wanting to eat out a lot lately. And always from the same place.”

Miguel began approaching you, shirtless and clad in only a pair of black shorts. You kept your gaze on his face as he stopped in front of you, expression familiarly, terrifyingly flat.

“Come to think of it, that same little delivery boy seems to be quite fond of you. Would be a shame if he became unable to continue making deliveries because of you.”

“MIGUEL!” The word shot out of you before you could stop it. You were beyond appalled at the implication, and beyond sick of him harming others and/or threatening to do so indiscriminately.

“You are supposed to be a hero! You cannot threaten to hurt people just because they speak to me! That boy is a child, Miguel. He’s done nothing wrong and he is not a threat, regardless of what you think.”

You were breathing harder now, feeling an anger you thought had been worn out of you speedily rising to the surface once more.

“You will leave him alone, you will leave the rest of my family and friends alone. Get a grip Miguel! I’m so sick of this insanity!”

You hadn’t realized you felt so strongly, and you certainly hadn’t considered saying anything like this to Miguel’s face. You knew that once the adrenaline wore down, you’d probably be in for a world of pain, but in the moment, you couldn’t care.

All this time spent having to bend over backward and walk on eggshells just to placate the volatile man and keep his temper in check had worn you down, and you were just…tired.

With this realization, you deflated, plopping down onto the bed and rubbing a hand down your face. Your skin was a little dry (you’d been somewhat neglecting to care for it like you normally would, what with all the stress you’d been under) and you could actually feel the puffiness beginning to form under your eyes.

You felt like crying, but you refused to let Miguel see you in such a weakened state.

So, you closed your eyes, and put aside your pride for just a moment to utter out an empty, “Sorry, Gigi. I don’t know where that came from.”

The silence that followed seemed to stretch on endlessly, and you took deep, even breaths, waiting for the outburst that you knew would inevitably come.

…

Except, it never did.

Instead, when you looked over at Miguel, you found him staring hungrily at you with lidded eyes, hands twitching with want by his sides.

‘Oh no…’

“G-Gigi?”

He didn’t respond, hands still twitching.

Finally, after several tense moments, he spoke.

“Wow, __.” Miguel chuckled as he spoke, slowly beginning to stalk towards you. “I don’t know if I should be angry or turned on right now. You’ve never spoken to me with such authority, and for the fact that you no longer have any, it makes this little outburst all the more astonishing.”

You scream as Miguel pounces on you, sound muffled by his lips smashing into yours. You try to wiggle out of the unwanted kiss, but Miguel holds fast, boxing you in with his knees and arms.

The kiss is loaded and sloppy, full of clashing teeth and tongues fighting for dominance. It’s so intense, that you can feel yourself becoming dizzy from both it and the lack of air.

When Miguel finally decides to pull away, a thin string of saliva ties you both together, which Miguel quickly dips in to lick away before you can swat at him. A very satisfied grin plays on his lips, and as he leans back, one of his thick fingers begins trailing down the length of your torso, starting by drawing ticklish circles around where your larynx rests in your throat, down between the valley of your breasts, across the soft, cotton covered expanse of your stomach and eventually resting right atop the border of your panties.

You hold your breath the entire time, afraid that even the slightest movement would upset the entranced Miguel.

“Muy valiente, pequeña mascota. Perhaps I should reward you.”

“Gi-...”

The word became caught in your throat when Miguel, with seemingly little effort, ripped your shirt down the middle, exposing your bra and underwear. You could see inside Miguel’s slightly agape mouth; his fangs had begun to drop, and you were very afraid in that moment that he would use them.

“Gigi, wait! Please stop. I don’t want this.”

You couldn’t help it now, and tears had begun streaming down your cheeks.

Miguel watched silently, his expression not really changing.

“Oh cariño, there’s no need to shed tears. I promise to make you feel so good. And you’ll make me feel good too, right?”

“NO! I don’t want this Miguel!”

“Well you don’t have much of a choice, now do you __?!” Miguel's eyes had begun to blaze an even more vibrant crimson, his whole face pinched in anger.

“I let you have your little moment, and now you will shut up and take responsibility for this! All this time I’ve spent being denied my urges because of your selfishness, well that comes to an end now. I’ve given you more than enough time to become comfortable, and now I will have what is mine.”

You watch, stunned as Miguel completes his spiel.

What on Earth had happened to the man you used to love? Who was this cruel monster that now stood in his place?

What if…what if, in reality, he’d always been this way, and just knew how to hide it well from others?

“What…what has come over you Miguel?” The words come out hiccupy and quiet, your watery, red eyes wide as you await the answer.

“Love.”

Miguel’s response is almost immediate, and somehow, his expression softens.

“I love you, __. So much, you simply don’t understand. But that’s ok! Because I’m here to help you understand. And in time you will. It’s ok to go to extremes to protect the people you love, and I would kill for you, __. Again and again. I’ll do whatever it takes to help you see that my love for you is true, that anyone who would try to come between us is a pest, and that pests must be exterminated.”

Miguel leans forward, eyes lidded once more and lips nearly brushing yours.

“Do you understand me, __?”

Unable to do much more beyond stare in shock and horror, you absentmindedly nod, barely registering Miguel’s pleased smile.

“Buena ninita. Good girl, __. Now...,”

Miguel leans back, a smirk shaping his mouth.

“Tell me you love me. And let me turn those tears of fear into tears of pleasure.”

.・゜-: ✧ :-.・゜-: ✧ :-.・゜-: ✧ :-.・ ✧ :-.・゜

Buy Me a Kofi?

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #spiderman 2099 #spider man 2099 #yandere miguel o'hara #across the spiderverse

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stealingfromwoolworths · 10 months

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Currently waiting for people to realise that yes, the autistic teens, kids, adults and elders who are always swarmed by aids, cannot speak, lash out, have limited speech, act “dumb”, run away into dangerous places (eg. Roads, pools ect.) when overwhelmed, are similar to the autistic stereotype or in general don’t act in a “civilised manner”

Have access to the internet

They are on tumblr

We are on tumblr

And we don’t appreciate being your punching bag, being excluded from conversations about accessibility, or used as a tool by high functioning autistics who want to say “oh look at me I’m not like the autistics who bite people or make weird sounds in public or need support, I’m just unique and have fun interests.”

We are real people and we are smarter then you think.

Edit: thanks to the people who pointed out that smart wasn’t the right word! So I’m going to add this: the opinions of me, a low functioning autistic who has the privilege to be able to write coherently and communicate my opinions and views in two different languages, holds the exact same weight as someone who cannot do any of those things and in fact sometimes it’s their opinion and views that matter more. The opinion of “smart” autistics matters just as much as the opinion of “non smart” autistics and people you would consider dumb. Lower functioning autistics who are not conventionally or, at all, “smart” are just as human, important and valuable and deserve to have their opinions taken into consideration just as much as I do writing this. You don’t loose your value as a human or as a disabled person when you aren’t smart.

#actually autistic #autism #disabled #mentally disabled #don’t come at me for using functioning labels I am low functioning #in fact I am barely functioning #disability #high support needs

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hachama · 4 months

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Step kid worries that her confidence/ ability in math means that her career options are limited. I figure she's probably not unique in that view.

As your official internet nonbinary parent friend and Actual Professional Engineer, please believe me when I say this: you don't have to be good at remembering formulas. You don't have to be good at working polynomial factorial square roots or love writing proofs.

If I need to use advanced math, I use a computer.

My math education gets used for two things: Google search terms so I can find the formula that I vaguely remember existing, and having just enough of a clue what the answer should be that I can tell if I maybe possibly set up the equation wrong. (Volume isn't negative. If you ever try to find the volume of a real, solid object and come up with a negative number? You did something wrong.)

My father was an engineer, before everyone carried a calculator with access to the sum total of human knowledge around in their pocket. He actually really liked math and was very good at it.

He called calculating Square roots in his head a "party trick." He never used that level of math professionally.

From this, you could deduce a couple things:

1) my father was a real party animal.

2) for most of us mere mortals, that level of math capabilities is unnecessary

Now, before any angry mathematicians and/or math educators turns up, there's an important addendum.

Doing math is about more than just learning to do math, it's like bicep curls for your brain.

Regardless, please don't let the math scare you away from something you like doing

#advice from a parent #math #stem #fun at parties

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craftingcreatures · 6 months

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Today I want to talk about the Pacific Northwest Tree Octopus (Octopus paxarbolis).

OK, so for those who don't know, the PNW Tree Octopus was an internet hoax created in 1998 consisting of a website detailing the animal's life history and conservation efforts. It's completely fake - saying that up front. This animal never existed.

But if you look at this from a speculative biology standpoint? It's genius.

There is one, and only one, thing preventing Octopus from colonizing and being hugely successful in terrestrial environments in the PNW, and that's the fact that no cephalopod has ever been able to overcome the osmotic stress of inhabiting freshwater. We don't know why this is; other mollusks evolved freshwater forms just fine. But if you hand-wave away that one, single limiting factor, the PNW is just primed for a terrestrial octopus invasion.

The Pacific coast of North America is an active tectonic boundary, meaning the coast transitions pretty much immediately into the Cascade and Coastal mountain ranges (contrast with the east coast and its broad Atlantic plain). It's also a lush temperate rainforest, with very high precipitation. This means lots and lots of high-gradient mountain streams with lots of waterfalls and rapids and cold, highly oxygenated water, and not as many large, meandering rivers.

This has important consequences on the freshwater fauna. For one, there are not many freshwater fish in the Pacific Northwest - the rapids and waterfalls are extremely hard to traverse, so many mountain streams are fish-free. There also just isn't much fish diversity in the first place - there's sturgeon in the big rivers, salmonids, a few sculpin and cyprinids and... that's pretty much it. These cold northern rivers are positively impoverished compared to the thriving fish communities of the Mississippi or Rio Grande.

Few fish means few predators, and depending on the size of the first freshwater octopus, salmon and trout just wouldn't be much of a threat. And while these rivers don't have much in the way of fish diversity, there's lots of prey available - crayfish, leeches, mosquito larvae, frogs and tadpoles, water striders, and other aquatic insects, just to name a few. So the first Octopus pioneers to invade the rivers would be entering what essentially amounts to a predator-free environment with lots and lots of food and no competition. Great for colonization.

These ideal conditions get even better once you get up past the rapids and waterfalls, since there's no fish whatsoever in those streams. Octopus, with their sucker-lined arms, are perfectly equipped to navigate fast-moving, rocky-bedded streams and climb up cliffs. They'd also be well able to traverse short stretches of dry ground to access even more isolated pools and ponds. In fact, once Octopus overcome the osmoregulation problem there's nothing at all preventing them from colonizing land in earnest, since the PNW rainforests are so wet; there's no danger of drying out.

Finally there's the question of reproduction. Octopus are famously attentive mothers, because they need to keep the water around their eggs moving and well-oxygenated. In a mountain stream, this wouldn't be an issue, because the cold, turbulent water holds lots and lots of oxygen. Breeding in high mountain streams would be ideal, and the mothers might not even need to attend to their eggs, freeing them up to evolve away from semelparity and allowing them to reproduce more than once in their lives; their populations would thus increase rapidly and dramatically.

I think, if octopus managed to invade freshwater ecosystems in the PNW, it would dramatically change the ecology much like an invasive species. They'd be unstoppable predators of frogs, bugs, slugs, maybe even larger animals like snakes, birds, and small mammals. Nothing would eat them except maybe herons, and things like bears and raccoons would give them a wide berth due to their venom. They would rule that landscape.

The tl;dr is that the PNW is primed for invasion by cephalopods, if only they could manage to overcome the osmoregulation problem and live in freshwater. If the Pacific Northwest Tree Octopus really did exist, it wouldn't be a shy and reclusive species on the brink of extinction; it would be a pest, an invasive, overpopulated menace you couldn't get rid of if you wanted to. I can just imagine them crawling up onto people's bird feeders and either stealing the nuts or luring in unsuspecting sparrows and starlings. They would sit in the trees and throw pinecones at hikers for fun. They would be some unholy mixture of snake and slug with the personality of a magpie and I am incensed that they only exist in fiction.

#long post #octopus #speculative biology #speculative evolution #spec bio #spec evo #pacific northwest #pacific northwest tree octopus #truly a shame that there are no freshwater or terrestrial cephalopods

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milaisreading · 7 months

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🌱🩷: Smn requested a pt2 of the U-20 team meeting crossdresser!Yn. So here it is!

Warnings: Reader uses she/her. In the story the boys will be using he/him when addressing Yn. Requests for this series are open.

⚽️Blue Lock belongs to Muneyuki Kaneshiro and Yusuke Nomura⚽️

"Hmmm?" Sendou squinted his eyes as he observed the Blue Lock team.... well, the starters more than anybody else. They were all somewhat interesting, but also boring to some regards, yet he couldn't stop looking at them. Or, better yet, a certain person in the team. The (h/c) haired striker of the team certainly stood out, as he looked way more... softer(?) than the rest of his team. Even his movements weren't like those from the other guys.

"Hey, Sendou. Stop staring into space and listen to what Aiku is saying." Hayate said lazily as Teru and Teppei nodded their heads.

"Yeah, we need to win this game."

"Sae is already being annoying with how 'lukewarm' we are." Cho rolled his eyes as Niou sent the older Itoshi and Shidou death glares.

"Sorry... it's just... that Blue Lock striker over there is very odd." Sendou said as he discreetly pointed at (Y/n), who was busy talking with Hiori and Kurona about something.

"Odd? He is just standing." Niou pointed out.

"Also, you being distracted resulted in him scoring the 2nd goal." Itsuki added in.

Sendou blushed in embarrassment and glared at his teammates.

"Shut it! And he is odd. Even the way he is standing is odd. It's as if I am seeing one of those idol girls."

"You have completely lost it." Teppei said calmly.

"Maybe we should limit your TV and internet access." Teru suggested.

"What are you all talking about now?" Oliver raised an eyebrow as he and Miroku approached them.

"Sendou think that (L/n) guy is a girl." Hayate simply stated.

"I never said he was a girl! I just said he reminds me of those idol girls!" The boy flushed a bright red.

"Oookkay..." Oliver said as he looked over at the said player.

"Regardless, let's just play now. Sae is already being an ass to me."

"Deserved." Miroku and Niou added in.

"Hey!"

As the 3 bickered, Sendou turned to look at the striker again. Sadly, this time, he wasn't as secretive, and Hiori noticed his staring, drawing (Y/n)'s attention to it. The two made brief eye contact, and Sendou swore he could feel his heart doing a flip or two as he stared into the player's eyes.

'Just what is it about you?'

Sendou thought that his encounter with the striker would end when the match ended, but no! They actually met up again at that karaoke bar, and again, Sendou had this weird feeling about the striker.

'He is just too perfect with girls... as if he knows first hand what they want to hear.' Sendou thought as he watched the boy's interaction with the two older girls. Meanwhile, Hayate, Teru, and Miroku were making fun of a pouting Oliver. Sendou watched as the striker's friends pulled him away from the girls.

"Stop being weird, Sendou." Cho warned the redhead.

"What?"

"You are staring at the dude like he killed someone." Teppei noted.

"Please, whatever sort of weird feelings you have for him, sort it out. It's getting stressful to watch." Niou added in as Sendou flushed a deep red as he tried to deny that statement. Itsuki snickered a little.

"You do have a weird fixation." Miroku said, walking over to the group.

"Bachira, please don't make a scene!" (Y/n) yelled as he pulled him away from an argument with Oliver.

"He does remind me of a idol tho... I have to give it to Sendou for noticing it first." Hayate added in.

"Please don't tell me you have been staring too." Niou groaned.

"In my defense, he is cute." Sendou grumbled at the statement Hayate made, and got even more agitated as Miroku and Teru agreed.

"So, a bowling match it is!" Oliver exclaimed, getting the attention of the rest of the team.

"What?" Niou wondered.

"We agreed to a bowling match with you guys." (Y/n) spoke up as she tried to get Bachira off of her arm.

"Losers buy the winners food." The (h/c) haired striker finished.

"Well, in our case Reo is buying the food." Chigiri and Isagi snickered.

"Aiyah... I guess. Bachira, can you let go of my arm now?"

"No." The bicolored boy said, which caused Chigiri and Isagi to grab onto Bachira to pull him off of (Y/n).

"There goes my hoodie." She sighed as the U-20 team watched in amusement... well, except for Oliver.

"And you! Blue Lock's number 12!"

"Ha?" The four looked at him in confusion, as the U-20 team sighed in defeat.

"Here we go." Cho and Teru said quietly.

"When the bowling game ends... how about you be a good brother to me and tell me your tricks on how you swooned those two girls soe easily." Oliver grinned, putting a arm around (Y/n)'s shoulder.

"What?" The girl asked, dumbfounded by the statement.

"Why is he touching (Y/n)?"

"I don't know... doesn't he have a disease or something?"

"His breath probably smells, too." Isagi, Chigiri, and Bachira commented among themselves, trying to hold themselves back from ripping Oliver away from their striker.

"Eh... I don't know." (Y/n) raised an eyebrow as Oliver pulled her out of the room.

"Hey!" The three Blue Lock players protested.

"Hold it right there! Where are you going with (Y/n)?!" Otoya's voice was heard from down the hallway.

"That's not how you hold a bowling ball, Hayate-san." (Y/n) noted as she watched the white-haired boy struggle holding the ball.

"What?" The taller raised an eyebrow.

"You need to grab tightly onto it with all 3 fingers... that's way too loose." (Y/n) showed the shaky hand that was holding the ball. Although she didn't play or like this sport much, she knew some rules.

"You might injure your hand like that." She said simply finished as Hayate observed her hand for a moment and then repeated the same hold.

"Thanks."

"Welcome, let's have a fair game then." (Y/n) said as Hayate was about to say something, but the girl got pulled away by Nagi. The U-20 player watched with some new found interest the striker.

'Odd... but Sendou was right... there is something about the number 12 that isn't like the rest...' The white haired boy thought.

"You think that something is weird about him too, don't you?" Sendou suddenly spoke up from behind Hayate, who slowly nodded his head.

"There really is."

"Hey, you two! Focus! I need those tips from (Y/n)." Oliver warned the duo, who looked at him in confusion.

"What?"

"I made (Y/n) promise to give me tips about girls, if we win." Oliver simply stated.

"You... are getting dating tips from your junior?" Cho asked in disbelief.

"This is gold. I wish I had my camera with me." Miroku chuckled as Niou held in a laughter. Teppei tried to calm everyone down, but he did find this whole ordeal funny.

"Shut it!" Oliver yelled with an embarrassed blush as Teru and Itsuki patted their captain's back, silently laughing as well.

#bllk #blue lock anime #blue lock manga #blue lock x reader #isagi yoichi #bllk x reader #blue lock requests #chigiri hyoma #bachira meguru #oliver aiku #sendo shuto #bllk sendo #crossdressing #blue lock u 20

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lunarmoves · 11 months

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for evermore

summary: you laugh—loud and carefree—and they have never wished so desperately before to be human. if only to love you for the rest of their life.

pairing: DCA sun/moon/eclipse x reader

mentions: gender neutral reader, possessive (obsessive) behavior, ruminations of a robot, dark thoughts ahead tbh (human mortality, fragility, death), oblivious reader if u squint, non-sexual intimacy, forehead kisses, mentions of blood and gore, moon is glitch'd, sun too tbh but its more subtle, sun's pov is like. sm lighter and then moon's is right out of an mcr song, unreliable narrator

a/n: this fic is inspired by @bamsara's iconic solar lunacy. sun&moon in this are very much deeply, irrevocably in love with u, but! when taken from the reader's pov, u can interpret that as you like! hope yall enjoy my silly little 4 am thoughts LMAO hope they make sense

word count: 2k

ao3 link

One of the kids has a bit of a crush on you.

It’s cute, really. Sun watches the way little Riley holds out a drawing to you—two stick figures holding hands together in a field of flowers colored lavender and cerulean. It’s clear that it’s supposed to be you and Riley, both of you happy as can be. You smile as you take the drawing, admiring the care Riley put into every stroke of their crayons.

“It’s us!” Riley says proudly, tiny fingers gripping onto your arm that holds the paper. Bright eyes look up eagerly at you for your reaction. “Do you like it?”

“I love it!” you reply with all the care and adoration you can muster into your voice. Your free hand reaches over to smooth down the hair on Riley’s head. “Oh, you’re so talented! Look how cute we are!”

Riley beams, bright and happy, and Sun thinks it’s so wonderful that you’re able to get along well with the kids. He twirls a crayon around in his hand, idly spinning it across metal joints and silicon, then returns to doodling across the paper in front of him. Long limbs have pretzeled their way into sitting at one of the kid’s tables not too far from your own.

“When I grow up,” Riley continues in a steadfast voice, “I’m gonna marry you. And we’ll get a biiiiig house with lotsa puppies! And kitties!”

“Lotsa puppies and kitties, huh?” you ask as you set the drawing down on the table and pull Riley closer so you can set them on your lap. You pinch at their chubby little cheek. “You ready for that much responsibility, squirt?”

Riley nods. Sun rests his chin on his palm, propped up on one of his legs. The hand holding his crayon continues to doodle. “Yeah! We’re gonna feed ‘em, and we’re gonna walk ‘em, and dress ‘em up!”

You hum out a response, but by then Sun is lost in his thoughts. It’s cute, he tells himself again, gaze not really seeing what’s before him as he glances at you and Riley. Humans and their little dreams. Their bonds and their emotions. The freedom they hold within their grasps. Silly, silly humans. Silly, silly, silly.

Sun looks down at his drawing. You and him, standing in front of a little house. Free as can be to live under a bright blue sky with puffy, cotton-candy clouds. He wonders what that is like. To live with someone so closely. Being there when they wake up and when they fall asleep. Seeing them at their highs and their lows. He wonders if that is even feasible, for someone like him. The freedom he dreams about rests just beyond the tips of his artificial fingers. He tilts his head to the side and releases the tight grip he has on his crayon.

Silly robot, he thinks to himself.

Then, he folds up the drawing and stuffs it into his pocket.

The pizzaplex, above all else, is a cold place.

Sun knows its lights are too bright and its colors too jarring at times. It’s something he has grown used to—the only thing he has ever known, really. He is not exposed to much, with how limited his boundaries are and how restrictive the access he has to the internet is. You give him new things to ponder about. You blow away the coldness like it’s nothing. And he thinks the warmth you bring along with you is something he has perhaps always craved, deep inside. Him, modeled after the sun. Ironic, he thinks.

You play around with the children as he tends to a checkout by the door. It’s quick work, it usually is, and he gives his regular old smile to the parents who pick up their kids and press kisses to their scrunched up little faces in greeting.

What a concept—kissing, that is. An action done by humans to express some of their pesky little emotions. He waves away the parents and closes the door, white gaze falling on you as you laugh while you chase a few kids around. The daycare was what introduced him to all the idiosyncrasies humans have—it is the only form of contact he has with people. And it is the only way he really learns about certain things he wouldn’t have known about otherwise.

He thinks back to Riley. He thinks about the rings he sees on humans’ fingers and the terms of endearment they call each other. He watches you spin around and lunge after another giggling kid who squeals and barely evades your grasp. You laugh—loud and carefree—then make eye contact with him for a split second. And Sun feels something strange in his chassis. Something that lights his insides on fire and makes his wires buzz in fervor. Maybe this is the warmth he’s meant to hold—that he is meant to be. His rays do a little spin.

Then Sun does what he does best. He swoops in, snatching you up from the ground and yelling out something-or-other about kidnapping you for his very evil, very nefarious plans. All in a day’s work, at the daycare. You smile up at him—so small, so tiny in his hold—and he thinks he wouldn’t mind seeing it again and again and again.

Moon thinks about the stars often.

He wonders what they look like, if they match the designs that dot his hat and pants. He thinks about you, standing under the night sky. Do you like the stars you see? Do you come to the daycare and compare the artificial ones plastered to the ceiling to the ones you experience every night? Moon doesn’t know if it is enough—if it will ever be enough.

He glides around the daycare on his cable, keeping a watchful eye on the slumbering kids below. You had been subjected to Riley’s grabby hands as they refused to go down without you by their side. So now you lay next to them, idly stroking their hair as they suckle on their thumb and snooze close to your chest.

Trapped now, he’d told you when he saw Riley latched onto your leg earlier. Bedtime for you. And you simply gave him a defeated smile and caved to the whims of the child.

Moon ponders about what that must be like—laying so close to another. Would you be as comfortable with him—with his body made of unyielding metal? Would you let him soothe you to sleep with the music box in his chest chiming out a gentle song that would waft through the air? Or maybe you would prefer another human. Hmm, another.

He remembers the kiss you had pressed to Riley’s forehead at their insistence and his fingers reach up to rub thoughtfully at his own. Pesky little emotions. His red gaze always finds itself trailing back to you, lingering on your form through the rest of naptime. And when the lights flick back on, he thinks that his time with you is always too short for him to bear.

It’s the middle of the night, long after you’ve gone home, and Moon stands in front of an arcade machine that’s turned off. He stares at his reflection in the dark screen, fuzzy red eyes lighting the space up in a hellish glow. One of his hands passes across his mouth smoothly—the sharp teeth that make up his grin. And he thinks back to the parents kissing their children on the cheeks. He thinks about all the ‘sweetheart’s, and the ‘baby’s, and the ‘love’s. He thinks about you.

Moon wonders what it would be like to be human.

To just—feel everything, all the time. To hear his heart pounding in his chest. He doesn’t have a heart—never will—but he wonders what it would be like to have one. He’d give you his heart without batting an eye, he thinks. Would you do the same for him?

He ruminates on what it would be like to hold your hand. To feel the plushness of your skin against the firmness of his metal. To look and see the difference between the two. Unnatural, he frowns. Disconnected. Two puzzle pieces that don’t fit together—not in the way he would like. He doesn’t belong to you and the thought strikes him hard enough to frazzle his wires. He imagines you with someone better suited that can live with you, grow old with you. Someone that is not him—not like him, broken and robotic as he is.

And Moon wonders if this is what it feels like to die. To have the wires ripped from his body and turned into dust. Something nasty festers itself in his hardware, sears through him like a vicious piece of malware.

He stares down at his hands, fingers slim and painted blue. And he sees them doused in ruby red. He wonders what it is like to have it running through tiny, tiny veins. So fragile. He wonders what it is like to hold your skin between his fingers and feel it rip into shreds. His grin tightens and he shakes his head minutely. He looks back up at his reflection and a gleam of purple flashes across his pupils before he seizes it and locks it away.

Eclipse stands in the middle of an empty daycare and watches as you enter through the large, castle doors.

It’s you, you’re here. They missed you so much, you were gone for so long you were gone for so, so long. But you’re here, and you’re safe, and you’re you.

You freeze when you notice them—looking at you with a too wide smile and too sharp teeth. Their head tilts at you and before they can even process their actions, they’ve already taken several long strides up to your form. Because you’re here, with them, so close they can touch you.

You’re looking up at them with an expression they can’t quite decipher. But they know it must be adoration! It has to be, it must be, what else would it be? And they lean down and reach out two of their hands to grasp at your smaller shoulders. They can feel your heart beating through their fingers.

“I love you!” Eclipse chimes out, hunkered down over your smaller figure. Casting you in their deep, deep shadow. And then they curl down to press the gleaming metal of their grin against your forehead. Again and again and again. I love you I love you I love you so much it hurts what are you doing to us don’t you know this hurts? You smile (you’re smiling, right? You have to be!) at them—confused, sincere maybe—your fingers balled into fists. And Eclipse thinks that if they were to dig through their software, through lines and lines of code, they’d find a little version of you there. Infecting them—constantly there with your kindness and your adoration. Their grin twitches, their eyes upturn. “Marry me!”

You say nothing, only look up at them, but that’s okay! That’s okay, it’s okay it’s okay, right? They are bubbling and boiling alive with the fire that runs through their wires. And they have never wished so desperately before to be human. So they can be with you—outside, under the stars, under the sun the real sun—and hold you, and treasure you until the end of time until you both die.

They think about you and them, standing in front of a little house in a field of lavender and cerulean flowers. They think about waking up with you and going to sleep with you. They think about the softness of your skin and the brightness of your smile. The blood in your veins that can so easily spill over their fingers.

And they know they are not human. They know you will grow old and you will inevitably move on—leaving them for a place they cannot reach.

But still, they think, they will love you until the end of your life. And until the end of theirs.

#i cant draw and solar lunacy made me insane so this happened #solar lunacy #dca x reader #fnaf moon x reader #fnaf sun x reader #moon x reader #fnaf sb #running on fumes rn #i can smell colors bro #sun x reader #the daycare attendant #daycare attendant x reader #dca #dca fanfic #fnaf eclipse x reader #fnaf eclipse #eclipse x reader #btw i can take this down if bam wants sdksjfhf no harm no foul

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meraki-yao · 8 months

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RWRB Movie Analysis: Henry's Seclusion and Perception-Part 1

“They used to call me the prince of England’s hearts, but now it feels like everyone hates me.”

“Hey, they still love you.”

“They love the idea of me. And now they are faced with the reality.”

These three lines stuck with me for some reason.

The time gap between the email leaks and Alex flying to London is significantly longer in the movie. In the book it was almost immediate, I think in the span of one or two days? But in the movie, it was a week.

In that week, Alex wasn't shielded away from media or news about the matter, seeing as he watched Miguel's interview on his laptop. We already know that his parents are ultimately incredibly supportive of both his sexuality and his relationship with Henry. The White House Staff, his team, are implied to be supportive as well, since I don't think the press conference and his speech was solely his effort, plus Zahra said she's proud of him. Him getting outted before he was ready was a terrible thing that happened to him, but amidst the chao and pain, he had a support system, and he wasn't limited to seeing a single side of the public's reaction.

Henry though? Henry and Bea, the only other person who supports him (I do think Shaan does care about and support Henry, but he's also a palace employee under orders), had all of their electronics, their tools to access the internet, outside information taken away from them. He was stuck with a brother who was endlessly berating him, a grandfather who was giving him the cold shoulder, and a neglectful, absent mother. Bea loves him, but when the rest of the family is crushing down on him there's only so much one person can do. Even in meetings, even if the situation is entirely about him, about his sexuality and relationship, he's not involved in discussions. There's a heartbreaking shot during Alex’s speech, where although he’s in the centre of the frame, although he's at the head of the table, the other people aren't facing him, they’re talking among themselves, not talking to him. And Henry looks like he desperately wants to be part of the conversation, but he can't cut in, and you can see his eyes drop and him giving up. I don't know if anyone has had that experience, of wanting to join in a discussion but constantly getting cut out or ignored, but I can tell you, it feels fucking awful.

So in that horrible, horrible week, Henry was forced into an information cocoon, where all the information he received was how bad this thing that was forced onto him was for the crown's image, how awful of a person he is for being gay and pursuing a relationship with Alex/ letting a “mad infatuation” ruin the image they made him create, and how others in the palace are dealing with this for him in a way he doesn't agree or have a say in. That's all he could see, and when that’s all you can see, it starts to feel like the definitive truth.

That's why it feels like everyone hates him. Because within the space he was confined in, save for Bea and Shaan, everyone did act like they hated him. No Alex, No Pez, No. Oscar, no public opinion. He was forbidden from seeing any support. That's why he feels so lost.

So when finally, he gets to see a sea of rainbow outside Buckingham Palace, he's so overwhelmingly glad and determined, as he realizes that he's still the Prince of England's heart, he is still loved by his people, perhaps even more so now, because he's one of them. He's their rainbow prince.

He's finally confident, as he takes his love's hand and steps out onto the balcony, greeted by howling cheers and applause, an ocean of support that he didn't get to see before, but was always there.

Alex was right all along.

"They still love you."

#rwrb #red white and royal blue #red white & royal blue #rwrb movie #firstprince #alex claremont diaz #henry hanover stuart fox #henry fox mountchristen windsor #nicholas galitzine #taylor zakhar perez #rwrb thoughts #does this count as meta? Idk #Just something that won't leave me #I wanna hug him #and anyone who's going through something similar #hugsssss #meraki essay

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tealin · 10 months

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McMurdo Internet

Internet service is supplied to Antarctica via a geostationary satellite. This far south, the satellite is only a few degrees above the horizon, and unfortunately for McMurdo, it's behind Mt Erebus. So the signal is beamed to a receiver on Black Island, about 20 miles away to the southwest, and bounced over to the sheltered alcove at the end of the Hut Point Peninsula where McMurdo sits.

The Chalet, administrative hub, with Black Island in the distance

The Black Island telecommunications infrastructure was installed in the 1980s, long before the internet we know and love today. It was upgraded in 2010 to allow more data transfer, mainly realtime weather data to feed into global forecast models. For this reason, it's probably the only place I've ever been where upload speed is remarkably faster than download speed – 60Mbps for outbound traffic, but only 20Mbps for inbound. Most regular internet use is receiving, not sending, so that's an entire base running on a connection that's only marginally faster than the average American smartphone. As you can imagine, this is somewhat limiting.

The limits to one's internet access actually begin before one even reaches the Ice. At the orientation in Christchurch, one is directed to a URL from which one must download and install a security programme from the U.S. government. It may feel like a hippie commune full of nerds, but McMurdo is an installation of the American state, and as such its computer network is a target of whatever disgruntled conspiracy theorist decides to hack The Man on any given day. Computers that are allowed onto this network (such as the one on which I am typing right now) have to have an approved firewall and antivirus service installed, then this extra programme on top of them. I am not sure what it does. For all I know the CIA is spying on me even now. (Hi, guys!) But you need to install it to get on the McMurdo Internet, such as it is, so I did.

To be honest, I was rather looking forward to a month cut off entirely from the hyperconnected world, so I was a tiny bit disappointed that quite a lot of day-to-day communication is done by email, and I would need to be on my computer a fair bit to get it. Had I known just how important email would be, I'd have installed an email client that actually downloads one's messages instead of just fetching them; as it was, the cycle of loading an email and sending the reply, even in Gmail's "HTML for slow connections" mode, took about five minutes, not counting the time it took to write. Tending one's email was a serious time commitment; sometimes I felt like I was spending more time on the computer in Antarctica than I did at home.

Crary scientists waiting, and waiting, and waiting

In a way, though, I was lucky, because I was technically a scientist and therefore had access to the one building on base with WiFi, the Crary Lab. And don't think you can just waltz into Crary with your laptop and poach the WiFi – in order to access it at all, you have to get set up by Crary IT with your own personal WiFi login. If you do not have Crary access, your portal to the Internet is one of a handful of ethernet cables in each of the dorm common rooms, or some public terminals in the main building. You can hop on, download your emails, maybe check the news or Google something you needed to look up, and then leave it for someone else. When most online time sinks are either blocked or too heavy to load, it’s amazing how little internet time you actually turn out to need.

Things that we have come to take for granted in The World are not a part of McMurdo life. Social media is pretty much out – the main platforms are bandwidth hogs even before you try to load a video or an animated GIF. There is no sharing of YouTube links, and no Netflix and chill. Someone was once sent home mid-season for trying to download a movie. Video calls with family and friends? Forget it. People do occasionally do video calls from Antarctica, often to media outlets or schools, but these have to be booked in advance so as to have the requisite bandwidth reserved. Jumping on FaceTime does not happen – not least because handheld devices have to be in airplane mode at all times for security reasons. Your phone might be secure enough for your internet banking, but not for US government internet!

It is, unavoidably, still a digital environment, it just gets by largely without internet access. Nearly everyone has an external hard drive, mostly for media that they've brought down to fill their off hours. If you want to share files you just swap hard drives, or hand over a memory stick. When the Antarctic Heritage Trust wanted some book material from me, I dropped it onto an SD card and ran it over to Scott Base on foot – a droll juxtaposition of high- and low-tech, not to mention a good excuse for a hike over The Gap on a beautiful day. It took half an hour, but was still faster than emailing it.

There is also a McMurdo Intranet, which includes a server for file sharing. Emailing someone your photos will take ages, but popping them into a folder on the I: drive and sending them a note to say you've done so (or, better yet, phoning them, or poking your head into their office) is much more efficient. To conserve space, this informal server partition is wiped every week, so you have to be quick about it, but it's an effective workaround, and also a good way to get relatively heavy resources to a large number of people in one go.

The telecommunications centre on Black Island is mostly automated, but like anything – perhaps more than some things, given the conditions – it needs to be maintained. There is a small hut out there for an equally small team of electricians and IT engineers; Black Island duty attracts the sort of person who might have been a lighthouse keeper back in the day.

Towards the end of my time on the Ice there was a spell where they needed to shut off the connection overnight, to do some necessary work. Given that most people's workdays extended at least to the shutoff time at 5:30 p.m., this meant essentially no internet for a large portion of the population, and some amusing flyers were posted up to notify everyone of the impending hardship.

Someday, faster, more accessible internet will come to Antarctica. It's more or less unavoidable, as communications technology improves, and everyone's work – especially the scientists' – depends more and more on having a broadband connection at all times. It will make a lot of things more convenient, and will make the long separation from friends and family much easier. But I'm pretty sure that many more people will mourn the upgrade than celebrate it. One can, theoretically, curtail one's internet use whenever one likes, but even before the pandemic it was almost impossible to live this way with the demands of modern life: I know from personal experience that opting out of Facebook alone can have a real detrimental effect on relationships, even with people one sees in the flesh fairly regularly, simply because everyone assumes that is how everyone else communicates. Being in a community where no one has access to assumed channels, and is more or less cut off from the rest of the world in a pocket universe of its own, levels the playing field and brings a certain unity. The planned (and, unarguably, necessary) updating of the physical infrastructure of McMurdo will wipe out a lot of the improvised, make-do-and-mend character of the place; how much would free and easy access to the online world change it in a less tangible way?

I'm sure the genuine Antarctic old-timers would shake their heads at the phone and email connections we have now, and say that no, this has already ruined Antarctica. It's not Antarctica unless your only link to the outside world is a dodgy radio. It's not Antarctica unless you only get mail once a year when the relief ship arrives. Doubtless the shiny new McMurdo will be seen as 'the good old days' by someone, someday, too. Change may happen slower there than elsewhere, but just like the rust on the tins at Cape Evans, it comes eventually, regardless.

For my own part, I'm glad I got to see 'old' McMurdo, such as it was, all plywood and cheap '90s prefab. The update will be much more efficient, and tidy, but yet another generation removed from the raw experience of the old explorers. My generation is probably the last to remember clearly what life was like before ubiquitous broadband; to some extent, Antarctica is a sort of time capsule of that world, just as the huts are a time capsule of Edwardian frontier life. I hope they'll find a way to hang on to the positive aspects of that.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to waste an hour mindlessly refreshing Twitter ...

If you'd like to learn more about the Black Island facility, there's a lot of good information (and some photos!) here: https://www.southpolestation.com/trivia/90s/blackisland.html

And this Antarctic Sunarticle goes into greater depth on the 2010 upgrade: https://antarcticsun.usap.gov/features/2114/

#mcmurdo station #antarctica #internet #wifi #connectivity #antarctic blog

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cacodaemonia · 4 months

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The fact that a huge amount of information on platforms like tumblr, instagram, and apparently also tik tok is now shared as screenshots of text instead of—you know—the text itself, which is easier to read and can also be scanned by screen readers, makes me want to burn down the internet.

Tumblr is a platform where you can actually make text posts! There's no character limit! Just. Put. The text. There!

Instagram is for photos, not fucking essays!

Tik tok is a video platform, so why the fuck are people sharing screenshots of Tumblr posts (without even linking to he original post, naturally) set to music and calling those videos?

I don't understand why so many people look at extremely limited (as in they have a very specific function and are not intended to be used in any other way) apps like instagram and tik tok, and go "Ah, I will now use this platform to convey information in the most convoluted, least accessible way possible."

Just?? Use a platform that's actually friendly to whatever kind of info you're trying to convey???

I'm sure there are all kinds of factors involved, especially when people are so driven by views/likes/whatever on one platform, but this trend has made the internet so much less user-friendly and accessible. It's like trying to eat soup with a butterknife, while also taking away other people's spoons and making them use butterknives as well.

#the screenshot plague #*old man yells at cloud*#seriously though #a friend sent me a poem on instagram recently that was just. like 9 screenshots. of the typed poem #FFS #i really liked it and wanted to save it for potential title ideas but i couldn't even find the poem on the person's website or other soc me #it only existed as screenshots so i couldn't copy/paste any of it #i typed out the parts i liked and saved a link to the instagram post in case i ever use the lines but jfc #the stupidest way to share text #accessibility #screenshots #the internet #tumblr #instagram #tik tok #screen readers

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sampsonstorm-critical · 2 months

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This is fucking bullshit. I am so sick and tired of my adult life being ruled by other people's kids because the parents are too fucking lazy to be a parent and supervise their children on the Internet. And to those who will say "well the parents work" then either teach your kids internet safety or take away their damn phones so they can't access it. Don't make it the entire fucking adult worlds problem. I got policed plenty while I was a child. Don't fucking do it to me when I'm an adult. This isnt right. This is a blatent violation of free speech and human rights. We all know what the government will do with this act. It has NOTHING to do with protecting kids. It has all to do with isolating the United States and closing off connections so people are unable to organize.

It will cut off abused children from seeking help. It will cut adults off from educational material containing "adult content". What? Are we going back to our elementary years "Christopher Columbus sailed the ocean blue in 14-hundred 92? Where we make cute little cut-outs of the bastard who tortured people? Yeah that's real cool to teach children. Not harmful at all. Wasn't harmful at all realizing all the propaganda I learned in school was BULLSHIT. When I could've been learning about; how to pay taxes, how to buy a car, how to buy a house, medical affairs, sexual education, how to clean properly, how to manage finances, types of trades. ALL THE SHIT TO ACTUALLY HELP IN MY ADULT LIFE.

Oh and you really wanna help kids? Let them fucking beat the shit out of their bullies and let those little monsters learn early, fucking with people for your enjoyment ISNT ACCEPTABLE, instead of your schools institution blaming the victim and sweeping the incident under the rug. Maybe then we wouldn't have so many adult monsters and people full of anxiety!

This will affect artists and indie creators who are primarily LGBTQ or who create adult related contents in their works. It will ruin any indie creators chances if they do not pair with a big company. It will systematically DESTROY our ability to connect and grow our audiences. It will be THE END for adult online cartoons, comics, web series, etc.

Oh and I'm saying this as someone who was groomed and had friends who were groomed. Wanna know why? Because my friends parents couldn't bother to be parents. But that also didn't stop us from watching bad VCR tapes. Kids are gonna find "harmful" content anywhere. It's called growing up. If you shield kids from the Internet you're just going to isolate and shelter them further while predators find a way around it once again. Hello the age of Normalizing the Dark Web which will put MORE people in danger including your precious children and minors. The Internet 2 will be the wild West again and the cycle will just repeat. Heed this warning. Leave the fucking internet alone. It's the last bastion of true freedom and if you take it away; SERIOUS CONSEQUENCES will come. Because people will finally hit their limit.

Leave it alone KOSA - REBLOG IF YOU AGREE

#anti kosa #helluva critical #hazbin critical #helluva criticism #helluva critique #helluva rewrite #anti hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel critical #hazbin hotel criticism #hazbin hotel critique #indie animated series #indie creator #indie animation #indie project #indie #sorry for putting this in these tags #i know there are people here whom this bill will affect

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brf-rumortrackinganon · 2 months

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Hello rumor tracking anon 👋🏻 I'm really sad with the horrible way almost all of the western media ganged up and bashing Princess Catherine for something so insignificant just because she refused to divulge her medical records information with the nobodies. She and the babies are subjects horrible memes now. What do you think KP should do in future to ensure they put these rogue press in their places and never bow down to their ridiculous demands of more access into the Waleses' private lives?

Part of it is that their hands are tied because of William's position as Prince of Wales and future king. They're public officials whose lives are subsidized by taxpayer monies, which means they have to allow the people access to parts of their lives. For much of modern history, the people have used the fourth estate as their representatives to the royals (and vice versa), but at some point the press appointed themselves as judge, jury, and executioner of the royal family, which caused most of them to go on enormous power trips and develop astounding cases of entitlement.

Anyway, KP being a quasi-public office means they:

Can't try to censor the press, control what they print, or regulate what the internet/social media says about them. Harry already tried and it's going to be worse if William tries.

Can't not talk to the press. Certainly, William and Kate individually and personally can not talk to the press and just let the KP office speak for them every/any time - but they do this already for the most part.

Can't not include journalists or the rota in their events. They're public officials. Their work has to be covered by the public, no matter how rogue or cooperative their representatives (the press) are.

But there's a loophole. There are a couple loopholes, actually:

KP can either work with the press or without the press - i.e. go directly to the people themselves.

KP can draw separate mutually-exclusive boundaries around private lives/children and their work.

KP can move farther away from the media hub of London.

Work with or without the media

Reform the rota. The main issue here is how? Term limits on the royal beat? Expanding the rota and diversifying the publications represented? Blocking where, when, and how the rota accompanies them (like Anne is able to)? That's something KP/William would need to negotiate with the rota, and based on what Scobie said in Endgame, the rota is not interested in changing anything unless they can personally benefit to the exclusion of everyone else.

Cut the press out of their dealings. This means communicating directly to the people via their social media accounts, which means more transparency. They've started this by controlling who and when photographs of their children are shared, now let's take it a step or two further and start using your social media or an official KP website to more broadly communicate and promote their work and engagements. The press can and will continue to cover them, but by reducing their exclusivity, KP can control the narrative a little better. What does this look like?

KP publishing their press releases, statements, announcements, and photographs exclusively to social media or a website.

Not giving the rota access to their friends for the big articles.

Commissioning and making documentaries of their work. A lot of what they already do is perfect for documentaries and longer content forms. I mean, Earthshot is primed for a documentary series to follow up on their winners or other finalists, show some of the decision-making, etc. When they travel, make a documentary about the trip. Or even produce documentaries/programs about their charities and patronages - they don't have to be in it!

Start using their YouTube channel and create more longer-form content instead of these 40-second Instagram reels. Where are they going? Who are they meeting? Why are they going to these places? What do these charities do? Show us everything that the rota or the press would ordinarily report on, and in doing so they'd take power away from the media.

Become more selective of who gets their personal photographs. Say no. Authorize it only for rota publications. Give the exclusive to one publication at at time. Make everyone use only what was posted.

Reform the KP staff. Especially the communications team. Bring in a lawyer or two. Hire some real communications/PR experts. Get a real social media manager to manage and organize your content. Prioritize communications as equally as the charity work instead of leaving it an afterthought. Develop and implement standards/policies for press engagement like:

KP Comms will accept press inquiries Monday through Friday 9am - 5pm. Press inquiries/requests submitted outside these hours will be addressed within working hours only.

All press inquiries/requests must be answered. Even if it's "no comment," every inquiry/request gets a response so that when a publication does become impatient and writes "KP has not responded," we pull them on the carpet for not giving us a chance to respond.

No comments or answers on questions concerning private matters (e.g. Kate's health) and our minor/still-in-school children.

(I've no idea if this is feasible or not. The bottom line is KP needs to introduce clear standards for working with and handling the press so the fourth estate can't use "they didn't respond to our request for comment" as a weapon anymore.)

Work more. Rumors and conspiracy theories exist when there's an absence of information. When there's no information or there's very little information, we make things up to explain what we see or don't see. The only way to address that is to give more information. And for KP, that means William and Kate both need to work more. They need to be seen more.

We know they're working. We see the results, but it's not enough anymore. They need to be showing progress towards those results. Show us the meetings you're having. Show us the visits you're making. Show us why this work and these accomplishments are important. Show us the meaning and the impact. Show us the bang your taxpayer's pound sterling.

If they want to keep their engagement numbers low because family first, that's fine - but it needs to be compensated elsewhere, and that is not happening currently (excluding the ongoing health crises). Yes, they prefer quality over quantity but what good is quality when you can't see it?

And that's where their content channels and social media can be helpful. (Just to make it full circle.) If they satisfy the people, the press and the media has no choice but to fall in line because the people - their consumers - aren't going to buy their products when they criticize the people they support and like. We see this happen all the time.

Boundaries

So then the next piece of it is their private lives, especially the children. For me, it seems like KP is under the impression that people are only interested in them for their private lives and the children.

I don't think that's true. I think because they're not very transparent about a lot of their work, whether it's the official royal stuff or the Royal Foundation or their personal charity work, people/the fourth estate default to wanting information about their private lives and the children. Maybe this is foolhardy of me, but I truly believe if William and Kate worked more and showed us their work more, most people would feel very satisfied by it and be very happy with the little we get about the children.

So we don't actually need to see the children, and KP doesn't need to include the children in their content. And frankly, KP shouldn't be including the kids in their content until they're old enough and responsible enough to consent to it - so the cadence they've struck with providing access to the children is perfect (family photos 4 times a year, individual photos for birthdays and special milestones, and 3-5 family work events/engagements a year).

On that note, I think KP underestimates how interested the normal general public would be in content produced about or for their work. I mean, people liked Kate and people liked William long before there were children in the picture, and people will continue liking them long after the children are grown and have flown the nest cottage. So why not go back to that very basic element: the main attractions at KP are William and Kate themselves.

Kate narrating a documentary about bee-keeping and honeymaking? Earthshot giving us a 6 episode documentary series about their winners narrated by Cate Blanchett or a 2-hour special about Cape Town and South Africa (and every Earthshot city) by David Attenborough or a local expert? A 30-minute travel program about Cornwall by the Duchy of Cornwall? 3-minute YouTube videos about their charities and patronages produced by the people who work there or who benefit from services posted ahead of their visits? William narrating a documentary about his homeless initiative in Cornwall? A summer exhibition in KP's display hall of Kate's dresses or a Kate-curated show of the Royal Collection or loans from her patronages?

My god, everyone would go ballistic. No one would even care that the kids weren't included.

Physical Distance / Move Away

Then finally, the third option for KP would be to move further away from the nucleus/media hub that is London. It does seem like the farther one lives from London, the easier time it takes to keep the press and media out of their personal lives. We see it with Anne (in Gloucestershire), Edward and Sophie (in Bagshot), and we saw it with the then-Cambridges when they lived at Anmer Hall 2014 - 2017 and during the pandemic. We also saw it with Charles, also in Gloucestershire at Highgrove House (albeit less successfully because he courted the press there at times).

The precedence is there for William and Kate to move their family farther out. Norfolk is out of the question because Rose is there so it would likely cause more media intrusion, so they'd have to find another place, one on enough acreage to ensure security and privacy and good schools. But they just moved the kids to a new school two years ago and would they want to uproot them again? Or so soon? Probably not.

So the only thing KP can really do to block, or further regulate, demands for access to their private lives is work. Simply put, William and Kate need to do more of it, more frequently, more openly, and more transparently. Give something for people to talk about so there's no time, space, or air for rumors, conspiracy theories, shame, or criticism. But unfortunately, that's not their priority. Their priority is family - which is totally and completely 100% fine - but KP is unwilling to see that boundaries around private lives doesn't mean boundaries around work. Or maybe they can't see how boundaries around the home and boundaries around work can be completely distinct and separate because how traumatic the media intrusion has been for much of their lives.

Anyway. Queen for a day, that's what I'd do. I'd sit William, Kate, and KP down and say "listen, something's gotta give. You want more privacy, you need to pay for it. You can pay for it with your work (do more of it), your kids (put them out in public more), your words (talk more), your distance (live farther from London and commute daily), or your sanity and health (do nothing and let the press run roughshod all over you). What's it going to be?"

And the thing is, it's not a unique question. Everyone everywhere has had to deal with this: what's my priority and how am I going to pay for it? KP has just skated for a very long time on do-nothing-and-hope-for-the-best and as we've all seen in the last 8 weeks, that plan doesn't work anymore.

Re-reading this before I post, I'm pretty sure I lost the plot somewhere in here. Sorry, readers!

#ask #theories #waleses #in this essay i will

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drdemonprince · 2 months

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It’s “urks me” anon. I agree with your reply very much. I know I sent the ask but you did not have to reply as in depth as you did and it genuinely made me feel a lot more comfortable with the space you are creating. I kinda wish you had explained yourself that well in the beginning but hey I of all people know online communication is difficult and this is an evolving convo. Also I’m going to be real your followers have been being a lot more annoying than you ever could be and it was affecting my mood when talking to you. It’s less that healthy people talking about risk management inherently annoys me and more that they are constantly slipping in microaggressions and minor misinfo when they talk about it. Even if the choices they are making are (sometimes…) reasonable it is so obvious that they were not listening to the important technical details vulnerable people were speaking and only heard “blah blah blah scary stuff and restrictions blah blah blah” like…!? I think overshaming is one piece of the puzzle. But I think a lot of people, including many so called allies and covid-aware people, simply don’t listen to us very carefully regardless of how diplomatic we’re being. Maybe they think they already know the technical details even though they clearly don’t? Idk it’s very irritating.

Thanks for your message. This is another place where I get very enraged at our public institutions for failing us so catastrophically! We have all been so systematically misled about COVID, and the actual infection numbers and other ever-evolving data on how it's currently spreading is actively covered up, and not made accessible by journalistic institutions, so on that level I do not hold individiduals reponsible for not understanding things.

Chronically ill, disabled, and otherwise COVID-conscious people have been forced to become the public health information apparatus and have done incredible amounts of thankless work geneating the data, reporting on it, monitoring wastewater levels, delving deeply into the latest research, creating infographics, and trying to spread the word to the public about it, but they have no assistance in it, and no platform beyond what they can build online. and those online communities tend to become siloed because of how social media algorithms work, and so people who have been spreading the facts relentlessly every single day routinely bump up against people who do not see those same posts hardly ever because they are in different pockets of the internet. Which comes down both to their choices and priorities, and due to algortihmic echo-chambers, and economic and political incentive structures silencing the work that COVID-conscious folks do.

And yes, also, people very much do shut down and turn away when confronted with scary information... that's a very well-established fact within public health and persuasion science that has remained a real barrier to public awareness campaigns for a long time. People do not process information about death and threat well at all. So much so that many public health intitatives of the past had to limit talk of death and scary outcomes if they want people to things like get a cancer screening or contemplate quitting smoking. the cigarette companies themselves funded "anti smoking" campaigns that were awash in images of death and bodily decay because they knew those kinds of messages shut people down and actually make them less likely to quit. (i write a lot about this stuff in my new book).

This is where conversations about tactics do become relevant again -- mentioning death or the direness of long COVID isn't "shaming", it's not moral sanctimoniousness, it's not "wrong" to do, it is accurate! but it doesn't usually work persuasively. and I do think there is more we could do to frame masking and taking covid mitigation measures as a thing for a person to take pride in, feel empowered by, and feel connected to others by doing, which generally is what we find to be more effective in public health research.

to return to the cancer comparison, we tend to find that "think of how much peace of mind you'll feel after your cancer screening! take a positive step for your health!" is a more effective framing that actually inspires behavioral change than "if you don't find out that you have pancreatic cancer in time you will most likely die. here are the stats on how many people die of it." That kind of messaging tends to make people less likely to take proactive steps. even though it's all rooted in actual facts.

I have seen some propaganda (postive connotation) evoking a kind of positive, empowering idea regarding masking at protests, but I'd love to see more of it. Sounding the alarm repeatedly does not work for a variety of psychological reasons. people get both numb to it if they've heard something is a "pressing serious life and death emergency" for long enough, and paradoxically, they also overwhelmed by the bleakness. we see a similar thing happening with climate change. these situations ARE dire and people SHOULD care, but in order to make caring feel concrete and possible, behaviorally, we have to frame information in an empowering way.

of course, there are COVID conscious people who do do that and devote lots of energy to crafting such persuasive messages! and still have to cope with being silenced, downgraded by the algorithm, ignored, attacked by anti-maskers, etc. and lots of people understandably feel that they have tried everything and that people still don't care. from where they are sitting as one person that's the emotional reality and that's often the lived intepersonal experience. but that appearance of other people not caring was engineered...and lord i hope we can find a way to socially engineer a collective way out of it, because what we are doing isn't working well enough. unfortunately the thing we need the most desperately is just more people spreading the message and giving a shit.

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