about spidey #370

it's great to see that peter and felicia are becoming friends and partners again. they're both over each other, and all the old grudges are finally forgiven.

what's most notable about this ish, however, is a bonus little story about may parker written by j. m. dematteis. in it, may visits ben's grave to get some uneasy thoughts off her chest, and we get to learn more about her as a person as well as about her past. it's a little bit sad, a little bit funny, really sweet and very heartwarming.

damn it, marvel, what are you doing to my stupid heart?.. bonus: may, ben and baby peter under the cut.

i can relate to this oh so well.

@темы: marvel, spider-man

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@темы: repostkin

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about spidey #367

@темы: marvel, spider-man

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@темы: marvel, spider-man, repostkin

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not feeling so superior now, eh, ya hairless ape?

Defensive tool use in a coconut-carrying octopus

The use of tools has become a benchmark for cognitive sophistication. Originally regarded as a defining feature of our species, tool-use behaviours have subsequently been revealed in other primates and a growing spectrum of mammals and birds [1]. Among invertebrates, however, the acquisition of items that are deployed later has not previously been reported. We repeatedly observed soft-sediment dwelling octopuses carrying around coconut shell halves, assembling them as a shelter only when needed. Whilst being carried, the shells offer no protection and place a requirement on the carrier to use a novel and cumbersome form of locomotion — ‘stilt-walking’.

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@темы: quotes, useful links

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heheh

@темы: quotes

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i looove stackexchange.com


Number of legs in terrestrial vertebrates
(In answer to a question "Why don't mammals have more than 4 limbs?")

I think (might be wrong) that you have too selectionist a view of evolution. What I mean is that you are wondering why mammals have four legs and you're looking for an explanation of the kind "because mammal have this kind of need of locomotion and for this purpose four is the most optimal number of legs". Consider the following sentence: "If there is a need, natural selection will find a way!". This sentence is wrong! Evolution is not that easy. This falsy view of evolution is sometimes referred as panselectionist.

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@темы: quotes, useful links

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a nice combined post on evolution for future reference (in case i ever get too lazy to type while engaging in an argument).


Evolution: A Primer by Meg Dickson

There are a lot of different ways for humans to define the term species; the most famous one is the Biological Species Concept (BSC). This idea states that a species is a group of organisms that can breed with one another and produce viable, fertile offspring - meaning, children that live, and then can reproduce themselves. This method is mostly used in modern biology in almost every context, and is typically what is taught in schools.

This is not our only species concept. There’s also the Morphological Species Concept (MSC). This is also known as the Phenetic or Typological species concept. This designates that a group of organisms with specific, fixed morphology or phenotypes (aka overall similarity) designate a species. This was used by Linneaus to classify species back in the day, but now is mostly used only by paleontologists to classify species of extinct species by looking at fossils, since we can’t exactly see which fossils interbred with each other.

There is also the Phylogenetic Species Concept (PSC). This is, to put it bluntly, the smallest group of organisms that are evolving independently from all other groups. In short, it’s the smallest possible “clade.” More on cladistics later in this essay (because I’m telling you, this thing is going to be very, very long,) but this concept is honestly only used in phylogenetics and is not entirely helpful in any other context.

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@темы: quotes, useful links

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@темы: marvel, jessica jones

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SENPAI NOTICED ME pt. 2

it's been a few days but i'm still SCREAMING





gotta get on with that second chapter as soon as possible. read: i'm gonna spend another month and a half on it.

@темы: wander over yonder, ets

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got back to reading hpmor after a long break, the fic delivers.

"We brought in Arthur Weasley from Misuse of Muggle Artifacts - he knows more about Muggle artifacts than any wizard alive - and gave him the descriptions from the Aurors on the scene, and he cracked it. It was a Muggle artifact called a rocker, and they call it that because you'd have to be off your rocker to ride one. Just six years ago one of their rockers blew up, killed hundreds of Muggles in a flash and almost set fire to the Moon. Weasley says that rockers use a special kind of science called opposite reaction, so the plan is to develop a jinx which will prevent that science from working around Azkaban."

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@темы: harry potter, harry potter and the methods of rationality

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gonna put it here as a back up. holy shit, this idea's been in my head since december, and that's saying something cuz i only started watching woy back in november.

Eternal Traveler Syndrome (3466 words) by xaren_jo
Chapters: 1/?
Fandom: Wander Over Yonder
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Wander & Sylvia Zbornak
Characters: Wander (Wander Over Yonder), Sylvia Zbornak
Additional Tags: probability manipulation, Missing Scene, Gambling, Friendship, more tags to be added later
Summary:
"I guess it'd be too rude even for me to keep calling you 'brat' or 'runt' if we're doing this, so what should I call you instead?"
"You can call me Wander."
"That's not your real name, is it?"
"Nope."
How did these two become friends, anyway? This story directly follows the flashback shown in "The Waste of Time".

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Right now Sylvia could've been, no, should've been sitting in her captain's chair on the ship, counting and re-counting every last bill of her reward for the umpteenth time and revelling in a feeling of a job well done. She could almost hear the crinkling of the cash, smell the sweet scent of the finest Cerion-5 paper on which the fifty thousand credit notes were printed; instead, however, she was sitting at the counter in a somewhat seedy, barely illuminated bar, trying to get her banged up communicator to work again. The task would've been ten times easier, too, if she didn't have a fuzzy, hyperactive little bugger of a prisoner handcuffed to her right arm, who was constantly fidgeting and moving about, as if taxing her patience on purpose. The last ten hours she'd spent in his company had proved that no amount of physical or verbal abuse could silence him, and so she just tried to ignore him as best as she could. This felt like babysitting her younger brothers all over again, and it was a memory she was not willing to revisit, not now, not ever.

"Flarping finally," she sighed with relief when the device's screen lit up, and in a few more moments she was dialing a contact labeled "Doctor Massacre". A tad bit too ambitious for a second-rate villain, but as long as he was paying, Sylvia was keeping her opinions to herself.

"Why are you calling me?" was the first thing she heard when her employer picked up. His face was grainy, overscored by a deep crack on the screen, and it expressed the same amount of displeasure as his voice. Not a good start.

"I've encountered an unexpected problem, so there's going to be a delay, but I've got the target right here with me," by way of evidence she moved the communicator so that her captive was in focus of the camera; he beamed and waved his hand at the good doctor, whose face turned even more sour at the display.

"What's up, doc? Long time no see!"

"There was an unforecasted meteor shower at the resurfacing point. My ship's hull was pierced in several places, some of the navigational equipment got damaged, so I had to make a crash landing here on Patellud-"

"That's what you get for taking shortcuts in hyperspace," the doctor huffed. "Let me remind you that the deal was you bring him to my lab, you get the reward, and he most definitely is not here yet. So, again, why are you calling me?"

"The thing is, I'm completely out of money," Sylvia explained patiently, although a day's worth of pent-up anger was bubbling inside her like hell's own hot oil bath, about ready to overflow. "And the ship's repair is going to cost me. I can take a few jobs on this planet, scare up some cash, but it'll take time, so I meant to ask you to transfer some of the money in advance so that I can fulfil my end of our bargain as soon as possible. I'm really just a dozen parsecs away-"

"Nuh-huh, missy. No can do." She scowled at being addressed as 'missy', but decided to let it slide this time. "This is your problem, not mine. Besides, I know this pest entirely too well, he's a sneaky one. Who's gonna compensate my losses if he gives you the slip somewhere along the way?"

"Yeah, right." Sylvia scoffed and shot a look at the 'sneaky pest', who was preoccupied with folding a crane out of a crumpled napkin at the moment; the task of shaping brutally crushed paper into any recognizable form proved to be difficult, he even stuck his tongue out a little bit with eagerness. Meanwhile, the doctor went on undeterred.

"You deliver him to me in person, then and only then you get your reward. Capisce?"

"Look, doc, can you just - " Sylvia started, and then he hung up on her. Just like that. "You flarp drassing, frick fracking asshole!" She brought her fist down on the bar counter, hard. The glassware strewn across the counter board made an inappropriately jovial jingling sound, which in no way served to calm her down. "This job was supposed to be easy money! How did it go so wrong?" she asked rhetorically, staring down at her drinking glass. It appeared that wasting her last remaining pocket change on alcohol was not such a wise decision after all.

"Aw, keep your chin up, it's not so bad!" Of course, her captive, eager little helper that he was, must've noticed her sullen mood and decided to take it upon himself to try and cheer her up. "You were doin' so well before, if not for this unfortunate meteorite shower, you would've delivered me already! Look at it this way: out of all places to crash land on, it just happened to be this here fine lil' planet, with all the casinos, night clubs and whatnot. We're just makin' a stop here, takin' a break, you know?"

"Fat lot of good these casinos will do me when I've got no money left!" She groaned. "Besides, I wasn't talking to you, so shut it."

"Okay!" he responded, as chipper as ever. And he had every reason to be, really, because while this whole situation was a catastrophe for Sylvia, for him it undoubtedly was a lucky break. Not that he made any attempts at escape before, though. It almost seemed like he was content with Sylvia dragging him across several dozen solar systems to turn over to some baddie. However, after the exchange she'd just had with said baddie, she was left with the impression that the good doctor didn't really want the furry alien all that much, so maybe she wasn't as dead set on handing him over anymore. Then again, maybe it was four glasses of bad whiskey and her bruised pride talking. The nerve of this guy, talking to her like that, as if he was doing her some sort of favor!..

"Hey, Mal. Look at me." The bartender, an old, vaguely humanoid-shaped person, looked up from a game of cards he was playing with three of his other customers, and she waggled her mostly empty glass in his direction meaningfully. "Tell me what is wrong with this picture."

"Far as I can tell, nothing, Sylvia old girl," he replied, lazily shuffling a deck of cards in his hands. "Unless you got another thousand and a half stashed somewhere, o' course."

"Oh come on, I'll pay right back up as soon as I rustle up some money. Don't you trust me, ol’ buddy, ol’ pal?" She made her best effort to appeal to his maudlin, sentimental part, supposedly buried underneath the rough exterior, cocking her head to the side and putting a big friendly smile on her face, warm crinkles around her eyes and everything.

"If I made a habit of putting friendship before business, I would be out of said business in days. The only reason I'm not kicking your broke butt outta here is that you're good company, so be grateful."

"Gee, thanks," Sylvia grumbled, turning away and downing the rest of her liquor in one gulp. "Tightass." Something pulled at her arm, weak but persistent, and she whipped her head back around to find her captive half standing tiptoe on the bar stool and half lying on the counter, stretching the fibers that connected their handcuffed wrists to their limit to look over one of Mal's co-players' shoulder curiously.

"Say, what's this game you fellas're playin'?"

"Leave them be, runt," she said, about to tug the chain back, when another card player chipped in:

"Aw, the kid ain't botherin' us none."

"Yeah, don't be such a pill. He can watch the game if he wants to," Mal uttered, and that was that. "It's called poker, by the way." The 'kid' beamed at the assembled company and leaned in even more.

"Actually, I'd much prefer to join you, if I may?.. You're gonna hafta explain the rules to me, though." Sylvia sighed and moved her stool closer. She was getting a free, if unwanted, show, and she was going to be comfortable while watching it. Meanwhile, some looks were exchanged between the players, until one of them offered:

"Well, boyo, first things first, you gotta ante something. Fer instance, we usually start off with a hundred credits or so. Do you have anything to bet?" The small alien looked thoughtful for a moment, then removed his oversized headpiece and put it on the counter in front of himself.

"I got m' hat, will that suffice?" That raised an interesting question of the hat's exact monetary value, which was then promptly discussed in hushed whispers. Seeing their hesitance, he added:

"It's not just any hat, it's magic. It can give you whatever you need." All the murmurs quieted in an instant. Sylvia, however, couldn't help but sniff derisively at that.

"Sure, and I can fly in the air all by myself."

"You c'n see for yourself if you don't believe me." Apparently, he took no offense in her disbelief, as he was now offering her the hat's outstretched opening, holding it by the brim. Suddenly everybody in the room was eyeing her expectantly, not wanting to fall victim of such a silly prank themselves, but not completely dismissing the idea of such magical item's existence either. In a world where an electrokinetic living skeleton regularly topped the Galactic Villain Leaderboard, nothing of this sort could be considered entirely impossible anymore. As such, she had no other choice than huff incredulously, her whole posture emanating skepticism, and cautiously lower her hand into the hat's depths.

Turned out, the word 'depths' described the hat's insides aptly: as her hand dived in, first wrist deep, then elbow deep, she was never quite able to reach its bottom, even when she was submerged up to her armpit in it, which was ridiculous. She knew for a fact that her arm was longer than that. She muttered to herself, "What the heck," and looked up to meet the hat's owner's eyes; he offered her an encouraging smile and said, "Dontcha worry, it won't bite!" Still not reassured and somewhat uneasy, Sylvia tried poking her finger at the hat's inner side experimentally and, to her further surprise, found that no matter how far sideways she stretched her hand, she couldn't reach the edge, met only with more of the same limitless void.

Well, not exactly void; now that she more or less familiarized herself with the hat's infinite inner dimension, or whatever the hell that was, she could finally pay attention to things that kept brushing against her skin, bumping into the back of her hand only to disappear when she tried grabbing hold of them. As far as she could tell, they were numerous, all differing in sizes, textures and forms, even temperatures, and all equally impossible to seize, it seemed; after what felt like a minute of fruitlessly fishing around, grasping at nothing, just as she was starting to feel frustrated, something smooth and solid was pushed into her searching fingers. Sylvia clutched at it, her grip like a vice, and quickly pulled it out to assess her loot, which turned out to be a bottle of brandy.

"Oooh, exactly what I needed! Nice trick, pal," commended she and ruffled the alien's hair approvingly; he swayed a little under the sheer force behind her affections, but looked happy enough with the praise, smiling and hugging his hat to his chest tightly.

"It was no trick, but I'm glad you liked it." With that, he turned his attention back to the players. "So, are we on with that game?"

"I s'pose so," answered Mal and looked round the renewed roster. "You in, Syl?"

"Nah, I'll watch." It wasn't like she had any money left anyway.

"Place your antes on the table, folks. Yeah, you put that hat right over here, kiddo," he said, indicating his own side of the counter, which was peppered with a few crumpled hundred credit bills already. "I'll keep it safe for ya."

"You're making a bad bargain here, runt," Sylvia observed. "I can't say for sure how much that thing of yours is worth, but it's definitely more than three hundred."

"Thought you said you weren't gonna play," Mal grunted, frowning at her. Her prisoner fiddled with his hat for a few moments, looking unsure, then smiled apologetically at the five of them.

"I still don't know the rules, so why don't you guys decide?"

"I say you people raise the initial bet to a thousand and a half or so," Sylvia offered. "That's the price of a glass of the finest booze this establishment has to offer, surely a magical hat would be worth at least that much? And while we're at it, get a new deck, for grop's sake. This one's smeared and bent all over. Come on, give the newbie a fair game."

Mal huffed and puffed for a while, mumbling something mostly incomprehensible about "taking th' gropdam game too seriously" and "flarf narbling, meddling zbornaks", but ultimately obliged and produced a brand new fifty-two card pack from under the counter. The players added money to the pot almost without complaint; in fact, the guy next to them, who kept silent up until this point, spoke out excitedly, "Now this is getting interesting!" Sylvia's captive looked in her direction pointedly and, having received a nod of approval from her, grinned and carefully placed his hat next to their pile.

"Y'all done?" Mal asked when everything and everyone seemed to have settled. As the hum of acknowledging mumbles died down, he set to dealing out the cards, shuffled and cut previously under Sylvia's intense scrutiny, starting with a guy on his left (and thus on the far right from Sylvia and her little prisoner), who was still grumbling something under his breath. The orange alien was watching Mal's hands intently, almost vibrating in his seat with impatience, and as soon as he was dealt his first card, he reached out to grab it, so Sylvia had to slap his hand away.

"Hey! What was that for?"

"You have to wait until everyone's got their cards, dummy," explained she. "In poker, everyone gets a five card hand, then the game starts. You never played card games before?"

"Naw," he answered, rubbing at his arm absentmindedly. She probably should not have used as much force on him, Sylvia thought to herself. "I'm somewhat new to this galaxy, you know?"

"Huh. You're really not from around here, are you?"

"Yeah, yeah. Now can i take 'em?" This time he visibly restrained himself. Mal, who had just finished dealing out the cards and was now marking the remaining deck with a beer bottle cap, spared her mentee a favoring glance.

"You can, and be careful not to let anyone see what you got," she instructed, watching the others' expressions out of an old habit as he finally got his hands on his cards. Truth to be told, only two of them had what could be considered faces, and they tried their darnedest to keep their natural reactions under control, which had everything to do with the unusually high stakes she pushed upon this home game. The third player, the enthusiastic one from before, didn't really possess neither a head nor any discernible facial features at all and communicated through a translator device embedded in his translucent, obscured glass-like body; in other words, the guy had a natural advantage at poker.

"Um, you can see my cards," the small alien beside her pointed out as she stared down one of the toughest opponents she encountered so far. "Should I hide 'em, or maybe move or..."

"That's okay. I'm not playing, I'm just helping you."

"Oh! That's right! Silly me. What've I got, anyway? Sylvia?" He poked her in the arm to get her attention back; his eyes, however, were glued to his hand of five, even though he obviously didn't understand jack about what he was looking at.

"Let's see..." She finally looked down at his hands and moved her snout right up to where his ear supposedly was, hidden underneath soft orange fluff. Her guess wasn't that far off, apparently, seeing how he was eagerly nodding to her whispered explanations. "You have a king, a ten, and three fours, that's called three of a kind. Nothing stellar, but it's a good hand."

"That's mighty swell t' hear!" he whispered right back at her, adopting the same conspiratorial tone of voice. His choice of words, combined with the look of concentration on his round face, eyebrows knitted in thought, made her chuckle to herself. Then he asked a little bit louder, "So what do I do next?"

"Next, everybody makes their bets, then everyone who's still in shows their cards, and the highest hand wins," Mal chimed in. "Take your time deciding, but don't drag it out too much, okay?"

"More betting? But, Sylvia, i don't have anything else to bet," his voice dropped back to whisper again; meanwhile, the guy on the left tapped his finger on the counter, indicating a check.

"You can still win if the remaining two choose to fold or check and you have a higher hand," Sylvia murmured in his ear, just as the second player chose to fold, never showing his cards. She wondered whether the guy really had that bad of a hand, or if he felt as intimidated by Mr. Perfect Poker Face as she did.

"What do 'check' and 'fold' mean again?.."

The amorphous alien next to them uttered, "Call" and moved a two thousand credit bill towards the dealer. Sylvia heard her captive inhale sharply and then felt his body next to her go completely rigid. Was the hat that important to him? Why did he put it at stake in the first place, then? And most importantly, what did she care if the kid got ripped off for his stupidity?..

"Raise," said Sylvia and put her unopened bottle of brandy next to the pile of money, not without giving it one last goodbye squeeze, of course. "Before anyone objects, I'd like to point out that this bottle came from the hat, and if the hat was an acceptable bet, the bottle is, too. If you have any questions, you may consult with The Duchess of Whaling right here," she added, flexing her left arm.

"Some raise, huh?" Mal commented, just as the player on his left folded, not quite so excited anymore. Their last remaining opponent, however, did not scare as easily.

"I reckon a bottle of Saurian brandy's worth at least seventeen thousand, innit? Call," he said, counting off the bills.

"Lady Haymaker says make it twenty," Sylvia was getting bolder by the second, feeling like she had nothing left to lose; her prisoner kept silent with an anxious expression on his face, hands clasped tight in his lap.

"Twenty it is, then," the translucent alien answered heatedly, slapping the money against the counter. At least Sylvia was not the only one getting unreasonably invested in a card game now.

"Any more bets?" the dealer asked. "Then it's showdown time, starting with you, Bart," he added, pointing his knotty finger at the amorphous mass.

"But why? They raised last," Bart objected, whine audible in his computer generated voice.

"Cuz I said so. C'mon, cough it up, what you got?"

As soon as Bart's cards hit the table, Sylvia smirked and pushed her captive's hands down, forcing him to reveal his. Mal examined them briefly, then gave a quiet chortle and shook his head.

"You called twenty thousand with a pair of fives? You crazy son of a gun."

"What's that mean? Guys?" the orange alien asked, his previous tension finally giving way to renewed excitement; their opponent started talking simultaneously with him, trying to defend himself:

"I was on a lucky streak when these guys joined! I useta win with worse cards, too!"

"Hah! Streak, shmreak," Sylvia huffed, scooping up their winnings. "Luck's a flimsy thing, you can't rely on it," and then added, addressing her prisoner, "That means you won. Here," she clapped his hat back on his head, pulling it over his eyes, and smiled to herself a little. The guy sure was kinda adorable, for a stray.

"Well, I dunno about that," he said, adjusting the headpiece.

"About what?" She was counting their gains pointedly slowly, grinning cheekily at Bart all of the while.

"That thing you said about luck," the furball explained, giving the assembled company a cheeky smile of his own. "I'm feeling awful lucky right now. Anyone up for another game?"

@темы: wander over yonder, ets, fanfiction