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Our very own tower of studious isolation. Bachelor wizards unite!

Read more about trilobite beetles and larva here!

Photos by melvynyeo

The ribbon eel or Bernis eel, is a species of moray eel. The presumed juveniles and subadults are jet black with a yellow dorsal fin, in adult males the black is replaced by blue, and adult females are entirely yellow or yellow with some blue to the posterior.

Here come the most Extra of turtles and tortoises

Indian Roof Turtle, about as close to a dragon turtle as we’re likely to get.

Burmese Roof Turtle, with a banana for a head

Diamondback Terrapin, the Rorschach of turtles

Red-Bellied Short-Necked Turtle, just look at those colors!

Burmese Starred Tortoise, geometrically chic

Radiated Tortoise, also geometrically chic but maybe more art deco

Painted Terrapin, no need to send in the clowns

Leopard Tortoise, breaking the mold with a little art noveau

Bell’s Hingeback Tortoise, “You think box turtles got it on lockdown? Hold my noms and watch this!”

Impressed Tortoise, what it says on the tin

Cane Turtle, otherwise known as “Winner Of Turtle Death Glare Competition Since Forever”

Eski Kermen is a medieval town located just 6 km from Mangupa, in the Bakhchisaray region in Crimea. The town is located atop one of the flat-topped mountains called mesa, which are normal for this part of Crimea, and is famous for its more than 300 caves. The caves were built in the 6th century and was used for human habitation because of the safety they provided and the shelter that they offered from the elements. Over the centuries the dwellings grew and housed several hundreds of people at one time. Religious life was important to these people who had a few temples and churches built in the caves. One of the churches still has frescoes that depict Christ and Mary, although the frescoes are beginning to show the wear of the elements.

The “cave city” was inhabited until the arrival of the Mongols in the 13th century. Due to the mountainous terrain, the town is difficult to reach and was therefore one of the last to succumb to the Mongol onslaught. After the caves were abandoned by the residents, for a brief period, the neighboring villagers began to use the caves for commercial purposes. Today, the caves of Eski Kermen makes for a great day-trip and for hikes.

some people think writers are so eloquent and good with words, but the reality is that we can sit there with our fingers on the keyboard going, “what’s the word for non-sunlight lighting? Like, fake lighting?” and for ten minutes, all our brain will supply is “unofficial”, and we know that’s not the right word, but it’s the only word we can come up with…until finally it’s like our face got smashed into a brick wall and we remember the word we want is “artificial”.

long-distance mech pilots don’t need to worry quite so much about traveling light. when you’re walking around in several tons of metal, especially one built to wander, you aren’t quite to the point of needing to choose which of two keepsakes you have room in your bag for— there’s plenty of space for both.

Things are different for interstellar knights.

You see, whether wandering alone or setting off on some quest for their lord, a knight’s only home is their armor. Anything they bring with them, they must carry within that armor, even through battles— and as such, every gram and every cubic centimeter can make the difference between life and death, and every calorie chosen to replace a keepsake can make the difference between survival and starvation. As such, a knight’s inventory is heavily optimized— and so is their armor itself. What matters more, the heating system or the EVA boosters? The extra fuel storage or the emergency release mechanisms? Pick one, and you’ll have no room for the other unless you can cut corners somewhere else. Every single element of a knight’s armor is there because they made the conscious decision to put it there. Every weapon they’ve attached to their shell had to replace some traditional aspect of a life support system. Every inch of their shells are packed full of every system that can fit until it’s tight against the pilot’s skin to leave them bruised whenever they exit their shell.

it doesn’t take long for them to realize which superfluous components are the weakest link.

They start small, at first— often as simple as a haircut to help a tighter helmet fit better. Some try to lose weight, but quickly regret it when they find themselves near starvation on some distant moon. The ones that survive past their first year are the ones that are willing to take things a bit further— the toes on both feet, to make room for a slight jump booster. One of their ribs, perhaps— replaced with a battery that connects to the armor through a cable that winds around bones and muscles. It’s only a matter of time before they do something about those bones and muscles too.

those who have only heard the stories will say that a knight’s armor is their home. Those who have met one, seen them exit their armor and seen just how little is left of the body inside— they will say that a knight’s armor is a part of their body. Integrated into them until they cannot survive without it. Both are wrong. Even some knights cannot pin down the true answer— what they really feel as they connect their armor to the components of it that they have placed inside of them. The best ones do, though. They know it well.

A knight’s armor is not a part of their body. Their body is a part of their armor— their home, to be renovated and optimized as they see fit. To be replaced, improved, amputated and eviscerated so that it can be remade into the glorious works of art that the heroes of the galaxy become as they charge into battle and become a story worth remembering.

As the armor learns to reach into your veins, pulling oxygen from the carbon dioxide you exhale and weaving it back into your blood, the space once taken up by inefficient organic lungs becomes the home of the heating system, warming you from within no matter what part of the void between stars you find yourself in. As it recycles amino acids into proteins again and infuses them back into what tissues remain, you’re free to remove your old digestive organs and find a home for your armor’s main computer, kept safe at the center of your shell. Many knights choose to put their own organic brain down there next to it, incidentally making room for more optical systems in their skulls.

Your armor is no longer simply “a part of you” and you are no longer simply “a part of it.” It is you. You are it. Your bones, its power cells, your organs its systems. You are its brain and its CPU in equal measure and its beautiful exterior plates, painted with the symbols of the lord you serve or simply the cause you stand for, will inspire others to take up arms themselves and let themselves become part of it.

your body, your home, your masterpiece

I’m sorry friends, but “just google it” is no longer viable advice. What are we even telling people to do anymore, go try to google useful info and the first three pages are just ads for products that might be the exact opposite of what the person is trying to find but The Algorithm thinks the words are related enough? And if it’s not ads it’s just sponsored websites filled with listicles, just pages and pages of “TOP FIFTEEN [thing you googled] IMAGINED AS DISNEY PRINCESSES” like… what are we even doing anymore, google? I can no longer use you as shorthand for people doing real and actual helpful research on their own.

And speaking of scurvy, I am eternally amused by the thing where some ancient form of healing that was born in a time where people didn't know exactly how the human body works, or what causes it to stop working sometimes, that still somehow worked. Like how so many old folk medicinal plants were listed as a cure for various ailments that - from a modern view - are clearly just symptoms of scurvy, and the plant itself is rich in vitamin C.

I recall reading some story, no recollection of the exact time or place, where the king of a large empire suffered from constant horrible headaches and was incapable of falling asleep unless drugged or blackout drunk. Sick of taking temporary fixes to dull the pain and having to be sedated every night, he called up some old sage healer who was said to know how to fix things nobody else could explain, and the healer heard his symptoms and went

"Hmm. You spend too much time being a king. Your skull is packed so full of kingly thoughts that they don't all fit in there and that's why your head is in pain. You need to spend time not being a king." And prescribed him to schedule three days every month where he must go to a peasant village where nobody knows he's the king, live with a family there under a fake name and identity, work in the rice fields with them, eating the same food and sleeping on the same mats. Absolutely nobody is allowed to address him as the king, speak to him of any royal or political matters, and he himself is not allowed to think any kingly thoughts or think of himself as the king.

And naturally, this worked. Taking a regular scheduled break from a highly stressful office desk job to completely decompress, paired with physical exercise in the form of hard but simple physical labour, plain and simple food and Just Not Thinking About Your Fucking Job All The Time does help chronic stress, which here was worded as "spending too much time being a king clogs your brain."

Sometimes you do have ghosts in your blood, though I'm not entirely sure whether you should do cocaine about it.