i'm reading the genius of birds by jennifer ackerman (amazing book) and today i learned that the first ever documented case of a bird making a tool to use as a weapon against another bird was a steller's jay breaking off and sharpening a stick to wield like a lance at a crow that was taking too long at a feeding station the jay also wanted to eat at. the jay tried to stab at the crow but narrowly missed, the crow lunged back, the jay dropped the stick, and the crow picked it up with the sharp end pointing towards the jay and pursued it into the trees

imagine the guy in front of you at mcdonald's is taking too long to order and so you fashion a blade on the spot and hold him at knifepoint. and then he steals your knife and points it back at you while chasing you out of the restaurant. and also the guy is twice your size

Yeah I said something similar yesterday but we can NOT let what happened to Renee Good cloud what happened to everyone else at the hands of these SS Demons!!!

Because we can’t disregard one person if we’re for human rights!

A new week and new shite from the world's dumbest tyrant. Trump sends a message intended for the Prime Minister of Norway saying that due to not receiving the Nobel Peace Prize - "I no longer feel an obligation to think purely of peace."

It is yet to be confirmed whether he is aware that Norway and Denmark are separate countries.

If I were an evil emperor in a fantasy world, I would have a an enormous aviary full of exotic birds that are exceptionally well cared for. They would be from a distant enough land that there would be very few people in my kingdom that knew much about them, they would be a friendly but not overly territorial species, and moderately intelligent. Like puffins. They would not, crucially, be able to imitate sounds and 'speak', but they would be very trainable and curious. Occasionally importing new birds for my aviary would be the Big Frivolous Indulgence that my political enemies make fun of.

I will also have a sorceror in my employ. When a hero or a renegade or a political rival is in a situation where I can safely kill them, they will instead be turned into a bird and added to my aviary. I would not brag about this; it would be a complete secret, known only to me and my sorceror. In situations where I capture multiple people working together, only one would go in the aviary;the others can be imprisoned or killed or whatever. If they escape and I reacquire them later, another one can go in the aviary. The point here is that nobody going in the aviary can safely assume that another bird in there is their teammate.

Because I would be trickling real birds in there, too. And I would train some of them to do 'intelligent' things like tap out prime numbers or scratch shapes into the dirt with their beaks. I would train some of them to pick at the locks and bars as if they were trying to escape. I would not train them all the same way, or train many of them at all.

Sometimes, a new bird goes into the aviary -- fellow revolutionary? Or just a bird? Is it trying to communicate to you that it's human, or just being friendly and imitating you because that's what smart friendly birds do? People would develop opinions and theories over time. They'd amass in a group of the smartest ones, pretty sure that they're closest four or five friends are humans, are using their invented little language of wing-flaps and trills with a human mind behind it... but can they ever really be sure?

Most people, when going into the aviary, would assume that all of the birds are captured enemies. So why are some of them hard to have ongoing communication with, to learn about, to plan with? Are these the natural communication barriers of someone in a bird body, or does being a bird make them stupider over time? Will that happen to them also?

Sometimes, if I capture a pair, I'll imprison them separately, then turn one into a bird and put them in the aviary at the same time as a real bird that's trained to have a couple of their partner's mannerisms.

When I interact with the birds, even in private, I won't secretly mock them or make clever veiled references to their past or act at all like I remember that they were once human. They are my birds, that I imported at great expense. And I've brought a treat for them; some fresh fruit, and another friend to share it with! A new bird!

Or is it?

Local council called out on Twitter

Maximum levels of petty.

They dragged Darren to the pits of hell(which he deemed under 50mm)

Darren’s dragging was completely deserved and self inflicted

Reader who intentionally fucks up everyone’s call sign just to piss them off.

It started with Soap (because what kind of nickname is Soap?). You thought it was infinitely funny that all these big, bad, serious military men were going around calling their comrade soap. So obviously your first instinct was to bully him, sue you!

“You comin’, suds?” You honestly didn’t mean to say it out loud, but you’d been calling him it in your head for so long it was bound to slip out.

Everyone stops short, “…suds?” Soap questions.

You giggle a little to yourself, your joke finally revealed, “yeah! Cause like…soap makes suds.”

He’s confused for a second before he joins the bit like he always does, “aye, soap does. Wanna see my suds, if ya ken what I mean.” He wiggles his eyebrows.

The team groans, “oh, come on, Soap! Gross!”

“What! The birdie started it!”

Ghost was the next victim. Again…weird nickname. He was so serious and emo all the time, and then he walked around with a skull mask and skull gloves with a name like ghost? He needed to be teased. He was begging for it.

“Okay…what’s the plan, Boo?”

He looks disgusted. “What did you just call me?”

You say it again but jump at him a little and flash your hands, “Boo! Y’know…like scary…like a ghost.”

“Sounds like a pet name,” you can tell his lip is probably curled under his mask.

“It is!” You don’t deny.

He looks away and continues the planning. Soap snorts.

Your captain had no nickname, which honestly you didn’t think was fair, so you burdened yourself with the task of bestowing one upon him.

You pull it out once he ends up pulling off some, frankly, crazy maneuvers. “Woo! Way to go, Bill!”

He turns to stare confused, “who the fuck is Bill?”

“You are!” you smile unabashedly, “like…the price you pay…with a dollar bill.”

“We don’t use those here, love.”

“…irrelevant.”

He rolls his eyes and walks away.

Now Kyle, lovely Kyle, had a fairly normal nickname (bless him), but you still decided to change his.

“Hey, Gas.”

“Hey, where—“ he stops and blinks, tilts his head slightly, “did you…call me gas?”

“Yup! It’s what I thought they were calling you when I first got here.”

He shakes his head incredulously, “you can’t call me gas.”

“What? Would you prefer petrol?” You think you’re funny.

“You’re incorrigible.” He stands to leave.

“I have other options! Gas wait! What about garr-bear? Gas come back!” You run after him.

They hate you. (No they don’t.)

Somebody at work keeps adjusting one of the perimeter cameras to have this beautiful artistic angle on the museum in a historical building across the way. The sun sets just behind it and the whole sky turns golden-blue, clouds streaked across the sky above. The lush tree line beneath the museum is perfectly lined up along the rule of thirds and the building itself towers above, almost mythical in its evening glory. Like damn, take a still from this camera and send it to the museum to frame and hang on their wall. I do need the camera to be pointing at the parking lot. Tho

The setting sun bounces off the skyscrapers downtown and hits the museum's windows and every one of them turns the same golden hue as the sky behind, reflected in the trees just starting to turn golden-orange beneath. The bottoms of the clouds take on the slightest tinge of purple and birds circle above, speckling the evening sky as they call autumn's last farewell. Someone's car got broken into in the parking lot last week, Tammy, point the damn camera at the cars

i do very much like the idea of jason being that responsible-irresponsible kind of older brother. like. he fits that kind of vibe, y'know? he knows he cant stop drugs from being dealt in the alley but he still cares about people so he just makes sure that no kids are involved and people have access to drugs in the safest avenue. i bet he's also like that as a brother.

he gives damian his first ever joint. not because he wants damian to smoke weed, but at 13 and starting his rebellious phase, jason would rather damian experiment in a safe environment with somebody trusted, like him. he did the same with tim and edibles.

tim and druke are allowed to drink at jason's apartment. they know if they ask politely jason will let them raid his fridge for beer, and the scandalised expression dick wore when all the siblings went to jason's place for post-patrol wind-downs and the kids instantly went to grab a pint unopposed was priceless. jason has it framed.

when bruce decided it was time to teach tim how to drive he was treated to a 25 minute expert speedrun around the backstreets of gotham without any hesitation until tim finally admited '.....yeah so actually i got given a couple driving lessons by jason.'

'when?!' bruce demands, baffled and slightly shaken by the driving style. he'd been hanging onto the ceiling for the past five minutes.

'like. i dunno. two years ago? it was around christmas.'

'two ye- WE DIDN'T EVEN KNOW HE WAS ALIVE BACK THEN!? YOU WERE LETTING THE RED HOOD GIVE YOU DRIVING LESSONS BACK WHEN WE THOUGHT HE WAS A RANDOM MURDERER?'

'well he caught me in bristol trying to joyride one of my mother's cars and said he 'had the responsibility of showing me the ropes'... of course i didn't get what he meant fully until i found out he was my brother, but it was still helpful.'

just jason being the irresponsible but still carefully supervising older brother that the younger ones adore and that stresses the Absolute Fuck out of helicopter parent bruce.

Fucking killer story map from NPR. A+++

This is fantastic!

One important takeaway from this article, if you're a gardener, is that there's a corresponding Heat Zone Map put together by the American Horticultural Society that isn't widely known.

They're trying to implement this info more in the Hardiness Zone map, but trying to account for too many factors in a single metric runs the risk of muddling the metric, so it's worth considering them separately.

I feel like I'm the last person alive writing in Word, but wanted to share this because it might save someone some heartache.

I am used to Word autosaving relentlessly; for the last few years it didn't really even have a "File>Save" command that I could see--it just autosaved like every five seconds or something. It took me a long time to get used not clicking File>Save at the end of every writing session, and I never really trusted it--with good reason, it turns out.

Apparently, when you turn off Word's new ai features, AutoSave is disabled and cannot be turned back on. There is toggle button in the upper left for it, but when I try to toggle it on, it says "Autosave is not available because of your privacy settings." I worked in my document yesterday, put my computer to sleep with the doc still open on the taskbar (my usual habit), and when I opened it today, the new work I did yesterday was gone.

This time I only lost about 300 words, which I had typed into my document from my longhand-writing in a notebook (so I guess I kind of autosaved them that way!), but if I'd really been on a roll, this could have been a disaster.

Be careful out there. Everything is terrible!

Yeah, they're baking it into essential compontents now so we'll stop turning it off. Noticed that in several programs. FFS I hate all of these tech bros.

Please may I introduce you to my good friend LibreOffice, which does everything Microsoft Office does except *checks notes* get progressively more hostile with every update. Free and open source, highly reliable, no AI, and it can save in Microsoft formats so you can pretty easily send files back and forth between programs as long as you're not getting truly crazy with custom formatting options.

EDIT IMPORTANT ADDITION: Also the autocorrect works. Because again: no AI. (Don't know if that's a problem in Word yet but it's a nice problem in google's products.)

"Diplomacy for the Feral and the Damned"

Bruce had just sat down in the Batcave with his second cup of post-patrol coffee—black as his mood, strong enough to keep a Kryptonian awake—when his private line buzzed. Not the Batline. Not the board line. The one buried so deep in encryption and passive-aggressive threats that even Oracle called it “Extra-Paranoid Mode.”

He stared. [Incoming Call: Vladimir Masters]

Bruce blinked. “…Oh, this is going to be a day.”

He answered with the flat monotone that had driven Gotham’s underworld into therapy. “Vlad.”

The holographic screen flickered to life—and there he was. Vladimir Masters, looking every inch the eccentric billionaire and possibly more ghost than man now. Silver-haired, in a robe that screamed “I paid three million for this and regret nothing,” surrounded by classical art, levitating books, and the faint crackle of ectoplasmic interference. The whole aesthetic screamed “If Lex Luthor was haunted by a Victorian novelist.”

Vlad beamed. “Brucie!”

Bruce’s eye twitched. “Don’t call me that.”

“It’s lovely to hear your voice, dear cousin. It’s been too long.”

Jason, eavesdropping from the shadows with popcorn, whispered, “Wait. Cousin? Since when do we have that brand of family drama?”

“Shh,” Tim muttered, scribbling something labeled Possible Interdimensional Ghost Cousins Conspiracy.

“I need your advice,” Vlad continued. “Something very personal. Deeply serious.”

Bruce sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What now, Vlad?”

Vlad leaned forward, the screen staticking briefly. “How do you get your children to be civil with you?”

There was silence. Real, echoing, existential silence.

“…I wasn’t aware you had adopted children, Vlad,” Bruce said slowly, like trying not to scare off a rabid raccoon.

“I haven’t. Not technically,” Vlad said breezily. “But my godson is staying with me. Lovely boy. Has the appetite of a black hole and the sense of self-preservation of a rabid badger.”

“...Oh god,” whispered Dick, “he sounds like all of us.”

“Cute that Masters thinks we’re civil,” Damian sniffed. “How charmingly misinformed.”

“Wait. He said godson?” Tim asked, eyes lighting up. “Do you think—could it be—Phantom?”

Vlad didn’t notice the peanut gallery commentary. “The boy has caused four minor diplomatic incidents, bitten a baron, vanished into the ceiling during a formal gala, and accused a senator of being a reptilian. Which turned out to be accurate, but the delivery was unkind.”

Bruce squinted. “That sounds like… Dick, Damian, and Tim at the Wayne Foundation Spring Gala ‘19.”

“I know!” Vlad pointed at him like a man discovering fire. “That’s exactly what I said! He’s like your sons! In one small, glowing, vaguely feral body!”

“Glowing?” Steph mouthed. “Definitely Phantom.”

“So, cousin dearest,” Vlad purred. “How do you get them to listen? How do you parent the chaos incarnate?”

Bruce took a long, tired sip of his coffee and simply said, “I don’t.”

“…You don’t?”

“I survive it.”

“Bold of him to call this survival,” muttered Cass as Jason started texting Alfred for cookies and emotional support.

“Each one is an unpredictable event wrapped in trauma and tactical gear,” Bruce continued flatly. “They will not listen. They may occasionally pretend to. But only after chaos. Much, much chaos.”

Vlad sighed, running a hand through his hair. “So there’s no secret Wayne method? No clever strategy?”

“...Cookies?” Bruce offered.

From beneath the desk, something gnawed at Vlad’s ankle.

He glanced down and hissed, “Danny, stop that, I told you we don’t bite family!”

“He said that senator looked like a snake,” came the muffled voice. “And I was right.”

Vlad groaned. “Why couldn’t he just be one kind of disaster? Why all of them?”

Jason grinned. “I like this kid.”

“New cousin,” Steph agreed. “Absolutely chaotic. Ten outta ten.”

Vlad looked back up at Bruce. “So. No help?”

Bruce looked thoughtful. “Keep fire extinguishers on hand. Avoid hosting events near chandeliers. Always assume they have at least two hidden weapons. And get used to being called ‘Dad’ at the most inconvenient political moments.”

A pause.

“Also,” he added, “tell him you’re proud. Even when he’s a disaster. Especially then.”

Vlad blinked. “...That worked for you?”

Bruce glanced around the cave. Steph had stolen Tim’s notes and was writing “FERAL COUSIN CLUB” across the top. Jason was already planning a trip to Amity Park. Damian was silently judging the snack selection of this new relative. And Dick was on his phone already texting Danny memes.

“…Eventually,” Bruce muttered.

“Charming,” Vlad sighed.

From under the desk: crunch.

“Danny! Stop chewing my furniture!”

Danny peeked out, sharp-toothed grin gleaming, eyes flickering green. “Tell B-man I wanna go to one of those galas next time. I wanna meet chandelier boy.”

Jason fist-pumped. “YES.”

Bruce just sighed. “...I’ll warn the staff.”

Ch👏

Artist is Paul Kenton!

Bruce Wayne is not to be harmed in Gotham. It's not pretty privilege, the guy tries to be better than the other upper echelons, to help Gotham and to be honest, he seems a little too pure for this world. The rogues try to work around him because he always gets in the way.

Soooo

We saying that the times Bruce gets kidnapped are some inexperienced roughs that are not from Gotham? Couse I'm here for that!

Just Imagine some rough trying to kidnap Bruce, but the guy can't get henchmen because they all are, hold up! Bruce Wayne?! No way!

Big Guy & Little One

Grundy was in pain.

It was pain worse than usual pain, the kind that ripped into something far more important than his body.

Grundy had learned that this was normal in the White Place.

Grundy did not like the White Place.

The White Place was full of People in White, who liked to hurt Grundy and stare as his body knit itself back together. They talked to each other about recovery time, and so much ectoplasm, and how is this possible, and other things that didn't make sense to Grundy.

Grundy hated the sounds of their pens on their clipboards. He hated the metals that burned where they squeezed his wrists, or ankles, or neck. He hated when those metals were sharp and in the hands of the People in White, cutting through him layer by layer and hurting in ways he hadn't yet grown immune to.

A pulse of familiar energy poked at him.

The Little One.

The Little One was nice, friendly, despite being small and weak and cold. When Grundy felt that way, he only wanted attack things, scare them so they went away. The Little One was good in a way Grundy could not understand.

Grundy let out a groan from somewhere deeper than his chest, the sound carrying greeting-pain-monotony, responding to the Little One despite being far away.

He did not understand how it worked, but he didn't have to. It was instinctive. Probably the most natural-feeling thing he could remember doing since… since a time he couldn't remember.

The Little One pulsed back sympathy-pain-solidarity. Grundy only felt saddened.

The Little One was far too good for a place like this.

— — —

Dani wasn't sure how long it'd been. It was kind of hard to tell time when you had no senses other than pain.

She knew that she'd lost a considerable amount of mass both during and after her capture, and she felt every missing milliliter like an unhealing burn.

The GIW had been siphoning her off bit by bit, probably to run experiments on, or make weapons with, or whatever. She hoped whatever machines they were using blew up in their faces.

There wasn't anything she could do but stew in resigned anger.

Not until she'd felt the telltale chill of another ghost's presence sweeping through her.

They were BIG, whoever they were. Not quite yeti-sized, but still much larger than most ghosts she'd met were. That, and they were absolutely packed with ecto; like they'd been absorbing it for decades, but it had no place to go.

She dreaded to think how the GIW had managed to capture someone like THAT.

Though they'd definitely startled at her first attempt at communication, they'd seemed very eager to return it, and the two of them had been pinging emotions and sentiments back and forth ever since.

It was a welcome reprieve from the dark, silent, painful void that Dani now existed in.

— — —

The People in White hurt the Little One. They hurt Grundy. He did not like them.

They were no longer white, smushed red beneath his hands and feet.

The hallway was red as Grundy trudged down it. He did not need to think about where he was going; it was as instinctive to find the Little One as it had been to communicate with them.

The door that blocked him from the Little One was closed. He punched it, but it was made of the Metal that Hurt. He broke the wall down instead. The door was too small, anyway.

Grundy did not care about the machines and rubble and fragile things he crushed as he walked. There was a table in his way, so he smacked it aside, ignoring the clang it made when it hit the wall, the shattering noises, and the papers fluttering to the floor.

There was a small tank, made of metal and thick glass, on the far side of the room.

In it, a blobby green substance lay, barely enough to cover the bottom of the tank. Something about it made Grundy feel like his skin was being torn off.

Hello?-how?-friend?! Disbelief and excitement came through, clearer than ever before. Pain was as ever-present as it had always been.

Grundy had torn off the lid before he even felt himself doing it. It joined the table in crashing into the wall and falling to the floor, significantly more crumpled.

Grundy reached his hand in, hesitating for just a second before setting it down on the surface of the Little One.

Greeting-friend. Grundy did not know what he was doing. It was purely instinctive, but he knew he had to do it. Offer-comewithme?

— — —

Offer-comewithme?

Dani's excitement gave way to confusion.

She… couldn't. They knew that, right? She couldn't really feel what was supposed to be her body, just formless pain, but she was pretty sure she was just a puddle of goo right now. She couldn't even move; there was no way she could go anywhere.

Then she felt it.

A gentle pull.

Their ectoplasm tugging at hers.

That was new. She'd never felt anything like it before.

It was inviting, though. She felt… safe.

So she went.

Like a miracle, the pain stopped.

It was shocking, the sudden lack of something that had burdened her for so long. The other's ectoplasm surrounded her like a cocoon of warm blankets, soothing as a balm.

"Solomon Grundy…" A deep voice drawled, coming from all around her.

Dani froze.

Those were words. She could hear!

She would totally be crying right now if she could. She wasn't even ashamed to admit it.

Wait, shit. Had he been introducing himself? Shouldn't she try as well?

"I'm… Dani. With an I."

It was weird, hearing her voice but not feeling any actual sound. It seemed her friend had heard her, though, responding with a grunt.

Dani exuded joy, the phantom sensation of a grin on her non-existent face.

"Well, then… shall we go, big guy?"

— — —

Sam glancing through the window: Hey, he's back!

Danny: Crude. What's he doing now?

Sam: He's just standing there. Menacingly.

Tucker: What did you do to this ghost to have it follow you around dude?

Danny: I might have wandered into his Hunt by accident. But he didn't even have up a claim scent!

Sam: What kind of ghost doesn't mark their territory?

Danny: That's what I said. I tried to talk to him about it, but he wouldn't hear me out, even though it was an emergency.

Tucker: What emergency?

Danny: There was a mugging going on. The guy with the gun was getting violent and I think he was about to kill a kid so I stepped in. Now Vengeance won't leave me alone

Sam: Vengeance?

Danny pointing at the figure on the roof across the street: He literally said "I am Vengeance". Whenever he does a lighting strike hits the sky so I'm going to respect it.

Sam opening the window: Hey Vengeance! Get out of here! Yeah, I'm talking to you! You wannabe Goth! Go on, get!

Danny: Sam don't interact with him! Now he's going to follow me around more!

Tucker: He might even go from staring at you from the shadows to like talking to you.

Danny: *sigh* I knew this move was a dumb idea.

Tucker: Hey, how else would we get Wayne Enterprise to fund our computer systems? We're this close to creating the best thing to ever happen to Tech Geeks!

Sam: GO ON GET! GET OUT OF HERE! SHOO SHOO!

Danny: Sam!