#Real Module

[edrdo2ank]

https://www.futureelectronics.com/p/semiconductors--real-time-clocks/stwd100nywy3f-stmicroelectronics-2002188

Real time clock power loss, automotive timing device, Real-time computing

STWD100 Series 5.5 V 13 uA Surface Mount Watchdog Timer Circuit - SOT-23-5

[rooksunday]

hi okay so we’re onboard with fox and his droid buddy and all i’m saying is

there’s a universe where the kaminoans weren’t quite as confident in their product and they slid one perfect android into each dispatched division, to report back on defects in the clones in the field. to protect the IP, and all that.

the AD units don’t know what they are. why would they need to know that someone else sees through their eyes? besides, all vode know they are observed from the moment they’re decanted until the moment they die. what would one more set of eyes be, after all that?

anyway what i’m saying is that, in the coruscant guard, those eyes are thorn’s.

but the force is dark on coruscant and it does strange things to thorn’s circuitry. he gets blackouts—but many in the guard experience blackouts. he should report them—he feels strongly that he’s supposed to report them and yet—but it’s probably just the weather. the job. not getting enough fresh air or laps. that’s probably it.

then thorn is lost on scipio, and all his data is lost with him.

(by that point the kaminoans don’t bother issuing new AD units. the war has firmly cemented their galactic reputation.)

time passes. then, one day that resembles every other murky day, a knock comes at fox’s door. it’s honk!, the mouse droid that adopted fox for some absurd reason, and behind him trails—

fox stares. “that’s a b1 in a trench coat.” he jolts to his feet, drawing his blaster in the same motion, and shouts, “that’s a kriffin’ b1 in a karking trench coat! i’m going to hang widget by his toes!”

the clanker dodges the first shot, and the second, and then fox yelps as honk! tases him in the shin and—

“what in haran is going on in here?” stone demands, bullying past the crowd. he stops in the doorway to fox’s office and has to take off his helmet. “i reiterate my question more forcefully.”

fox is hopping, holding onto his shin with one hand, and waving his blaster in the face of a placid b1 droid. a droid wearing a trench coat. a droid with red wings painted on the crest of its chassis.

“honk! is a separatist! arrest these droids!” fox yells. his eyes are wide and his forehead glistens with sweat. he has, stone notes, impeccable balance.

“i’m not a separatist, sir,” the b1 says. “you said they’d never take me, anyway. remember?”

it sounds—

fox’s blaster hand is shaking. “i don’t— i don’t know what you’re— stone! shoot it!”

stone didn’t reach for his blaster. he’d get decommissioned, but he waved off the troopers crowding behind him, and he didn’t reach for his blaster.

at least the clanker would shoot him in the front. stone swallowed.

“sir, i—“

“commander—“ the clanker started.

fox barked a command, underscored with a wave of his blaster. “no!”

a flurry of beeps came from the region of fox’s ankles, loud in the standoff. honk! whirred around fox’s desk and chittered at stone. he glanced at his vambrace, then honk!, then the clank— then the droid. then fox.

fox’s hand was trembling on his blaster. he could’ve shot the droid a dozen times by then but he hadn’t. he didn’t seem able to look away from those red wings for more than seconds at a time.

stone swallowed again.

he’d been wishing for thorn to come back for a long time, and now he finally understood the warning in all those tubie tales. be careful what you wish for didn’t cover even half of it.

[jaggybot3000]

wait. i might sound super fucking stupid but is there any chance be born is just really just mind singing by himself

nowhere was it stated heart or soul sang in the song too, iirc it's just common for ppl to speculate on which of them is singing. even in the lyric video (where in the description chonny jokes about releasing the songs in the wrong order, meaning he already had a good idea of the lore/characters) there is only black lettering upon a white background, which is mind's signature. what if the voice changing is just the equivalent of voice cracking for mind. have we ever thought about that. this is highly embarrassing for him

(edit: hiiii if u see this check out my awesome reblog where i overthink on this way too much ty)

[enbyblades]

I’m pretty sure that my head is entirely empty and there is a tiny Pharma dancing where my brain should be, and I feel like Optimus head is like that but with Starscream in your comics. I have no context for this, Pharma just make my autism go brrrrrrrrr.

no ur absolutely right.

[arkiwii]

im ok (lie)

[leavingautumn13]

the astromundi cluster certainly is a place [spelljammer scribble comic]

[Rahifa and Hrissock are npcs in a campaign i'm writing]

[the-wereraven]

I hate you, Intergrated Marketing Communications

[vimbry]

this poor person who's on the radar rn fighting for their life in the replies about the characters they drew actually being firefighters because a bunch of people saw a vaguely similar uniform and came in like "umm, acab ://"

[altairair]

WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE'S GETTING A THIRD MODULE?!

IS THAT EVEN LEGAL

[countingprimes]

sometimes i see queer people make low hanging anti straight jokes, and they'll often pre-defend themselves by saying straight people don't need defending as if the queer community isn't populated by tons of straight people, straight trans people, straight ace people, straight poly people. queerness doesnt exclude exclusively opposite sex attracted people and it bothers me to see these jokes and their subsequent defenses because normative society certainly rejects these folks because of their queerness and now you are inside the queer community rejecting them for who they desire. i think about straight trans folks the most who are out here under fire from normative society who turn to the queer community for support only to be inundated with sentiments like straight people are actually the real lesser than folks, and it's easy enough to say straightness is valorized in normative society so shitting on straight people is punching up, but i can't help but be keenly aware that the queer straight people tend to be queer in the ways which are often excluded from queer community. so actually yeah i do think straight people need our protection, not heteronormative culture, but individual people? yeah. the "coming out as straight" jokes are all haha good times fuck the straights until you think about the fact that straight trans people when they come out are functionally doing that. after all how many straight trans people used to think they were cis gay people. and we, inside the queer community, turn their experiences into a mean spirited punch line designed to reject them from queer community.

like sorry i just don't think we are gonna find queer liberation by trying to figure out which group we are allowed to make fun of for having the wrong sexuality.

[collarful-clover]

Repost to make Kaitocest antis mad

[mx-lamour]

"CoS is actually a Western."

Hang on. I have something for this. (I was going to reblog this, but things got out of hand fast, so here's an entirely separate post instead. Be warned... it's long.)

I usually like to share just some of the most dramatic/cinematic moments from our game, and Ezra's perspective in particular, but hoo boy. Hopefully this will give you some insight into the utter weirdness that also went on through most of our campaign.

The party was traveling south, toward the ruin of Berez.

We notice a bizarre row of thin wooden walls on either side of the road ahead, propped up from the behind by long angled beams. Only a couple of small one-room structures jut out from the back of them.

The wheels of Ezmerelda's wagon creak lightly, crunching along the dirt road as we approach the anomaly. We can see that the front of the walls are painted to look like buildings. Amongst them are a few figures. A man wipes his brow with a handkerchief. Jaunty piano music wafts through the scene.

In a sudden shattering of glass, something crashes through the window of a building labeled "saloon". Ezra approaches the object now lying in the road. It's a thin wooden cutout, painted on one side to look like a man.

We look around. All the figures in this theatrical setpiece are painted cutouts, animated by a series of ropes and pullies. Dulan spies a zombie or two through the gaps between facades, operating the mechanisms.

This is undoubtedly one of Strahd's works.

For context, we were aware of two separate personifications of Strahd von Zarovich, but were still not entirely sure why the duality existed or what to do about it.

Our first was one we dubbed "Strahd von Strahd", an unhinged caricature with a deep and thoroughly exaggerated Dracula voice, who had encouraged us on other occasions to participate in small theatrical scenes (this wild west town was an escalation of a sort we had not yet encountered).

The other, we labeled "Business Strahd", who we had begun to speculate the existence of only after meeting Ezmerelda, and had only recently confirmed/witnessed at Yesterhill.

Ezra lights one of his shoddy cigarettes.

We peer through the busted saloon window. It's set up with a few tables and chairs, some of which are occupied by more ambient cutout figures. Off to one side, a zombie sits at a harpsichord. There's a man behind the bar, wiping the inside of a glass with a rag.

"Do we want to start placing bets that's Strahd in disguise?" Ezra mutters warily.

After some hesitation, we steel ourselves—Ezra casting a protection on himself—and bust dramatically through the swinging doors.

As we enter, we're startled by a tray lowering jerkily down to us on ropes from the ceiling above. Presented on it are a stack of black cowboy hats, and a pile of metal brooches shaped like stars, the word 'deputy' etched on each of them. A sign suspended between the ropes of the apparatus reads: Choose your role.

Kreig scoops up one of the shiny metal stars. Dulan, who acts like an elder brother around Kreig, joins him, and pins a star to his vest. There's a silly moment where Krieg sees this and goes to mimick Dulan, but then we remember the barbarian isn't wearing a shirt, so he kind of just stabs it into his pec instead.

Ezra dons a black hat. The tray raises back up into the makeshift rafters.

"What can I get you?" The line is flat and stilted. The human bartender is sporting a thousand-yard stare.

Kreig asks for water, since we've been traveling a while.

"Good choice. Three sasparillas."

Ezra sniffs at the substance this the poor man hands us, which was described as essentially a brownish watered-down apple vinegar. Kreig tries to drink some of it and resists the urge to make a sour face, in an effort to be polite.

While Dulan tries to chat with the barkeep, Ezra wanders away with his cup of swill to survey the rest of the setup. There are more zombies, dressed in western outfits, suspended from the ceiling. For now, the corpses hang inert.

The saloon doors swing open again, and Rahadin stands in the doorway. He's decked out in classy outlaw attire: black leather jacket, black boots adorned with shiny silver spurs, and atop his head is a black cowboy hat. But he still wears a sword on his hip.

He catches Ezra's eye and nods to him. "I don't know how you can stand to drink in here, ol' Dynamite McCoy." The background music and other ambient sounds abruptly cease.

Ezra lifts his glass slightly. "Ale's ale," he says blandly.

"I know what you mean, but I wish they would serve a better class of folk in this establishment."

"What do you mean?" Dulan chimes in.

"I mean that you two," says outlaw Rahadin, addressing deputies Dulan and Kreig, "are scum of the earth."

Dulan plays into it, puffing up his stocky dwarven chest. "I'm the long arm of the law in this town!"

"You won't talk so high and mighty when Gravedigger Jim comes into town." We naturally assume that this is in reference to Strahd.

"Them's fightin' words," Dulan declares, trying to figure out what the end goal of this playacting is supposed to be.

"Gravedigger Jim sent me to tell you, you've got one last chance to leave this town. If you want to see another sunrise, you'd best be gone by high noon."

"The junior deputy and I ain't goin' nowhere," Dulan retorts. "Go find yourself a new town to harrass."

The human bartender interjects lamely, "Now now. I don't want any trouble in here. Take it outside or be done with it."

Rahadin fixes the deputies with a look. "You've been warned."

He's about to leave. But Kreig pipes up. "Well, wait. Why don't we put aside our quarrels and you have a drink with us?" He plops a coin down on the bar. "A round for this... gentleman."

The barkeep pours another drink. Rahadin strides up to the bar and levels Kreig with a look. "You're not going to win me over with a drink, so what's your game, junior deputy?"

"No game, just trying to enjoy my day. It's mighty hot out there, so I figured you could use something to quench your thirst," Kreig says. Rahadin reaches for the glass, but then Kreig adds, "Unless you ain't up for it," in some unfathomable challenge.

At that, Rahadin takes the drink, throws its contents on Kreig, and sets the glass back down on the bar with a decisive thunk.

"Thank you," Kreig says. "I needed that." And pours his own drink over Rahadin's head.

Rahadin steps back, pausing to let the liquid drip off of him. "Thanks," he says dryly, and picks up a chair from a nearby table.

Dulan raises a hand. "Now, the barkeep asked us to take it outside," he says loudly. "This is a civilized place."

With incredible mid-swing restraint, Rahadin merely lays the chair down on its back atop the bar. He tells Dulan, "Your junior deputy would have preferred the chair," and walks out.

"As far as I can tell, you've just invited yourself to a duel," Ezra observes from his place far on the sideline.

"Get your kind out of my town!" Dulan grumbles emphatically, gesturing at Ezra's black hat.

With a pointed look, Ezra sets his own glass down on a table, turns, and walks out after Rahadin.

Outside, wagons have been moved into the road at either end of the set. A couple new cutouts, depicting gangs of tough-looking outlaws, have come into play. And Strahd is there, standing in the middle of it all, dressed in his usual Count attire, but with the addition of a black cowboy hat.

Rahadin reaches into a barrel on the side of the road and starts pulling out hand crossbows. He offers one to Ezra.

Strahd also acknowledges him pleasantly. In his most outlandish Dracula voice, he says, "Good evening, Ezra. You have chosen an interesting part to play today. Welcome to the other side."

Ezra plays it cool. He tips his hat in reply.

Back inside the saloon, the piano music resumes. The zombies in the rafters are lowered down and become vaguely animate. They seem to follow Dulan and Kreig, but do not attack. So Dulan continues to play the game. "You were born in this town," he says, rallying the mock townsfolk. "We will defend this town. No low-down cattle rustlers are going to take it from us!" The zombies grumble and groan in raucous agreement. There are ambient cartoon sounds of bullets loading into chambers, and cylinders spinning, despite a distinct lack of weaponry. A table is flipped on its side and hefted up by zombie arms. Dulan, Kreig, and the unlikely crew huddle behind it like a massive shield.

A hawk cries in the distance.

"Come on out of there, you yellow-bellied cowards!" Strahd calls richly from outside the saloon. "Face Gravedigger Jim!"

Dulan, privately reeling at the absurdity of all this, somehow plays that classic Western sound [wa wa waaa... wheeooo-oo...] to inspire Kreig, who rages as they stomp through the doorway with a gaggle of zombies and a table in front of them.

"Howdy pilgr—Oh no, they're rushing it!" Strahd yells. "Next cue! Next cue!"

Strahd throws his cape aside, and draws out not a crossbow, but an actual, literal hand gun. Something none of our characters have ever seen before. He aims, and just obliterates the head of one of Dulan and Kreig's loaner zombies. The other zombies keep moving, treading over the now mostly-headless corpse.

Kreig advances toward Rahadin, slapping the crossbow from his hand with the flat of his blade. "We can still settle this calmly," he says.

"You should have let me keep the crossbow," Radahin replies coolly. He draws his sword. "And, by the way... this is calm." The man makes three melee attacks.

"Gravedigger Jim!" Dulan improvises, "Unlike your name, you'll be hangin' from that tree, like your father before you!"

As an aside to Rahadin, Strahd comments, "He's totally off-script, but I love the energy."

Ezra takes another puff of his dwindling cigarette, playing the cool observer, letting the bosses handle it. He keeps his eyes trained on the barrel of Strahd's gun.

"You keep my papa out of this," Strahd banters, leveling it at Dulan.

Ezra's eyes flash when he sees the spark. The revolver backfires in a gout of flame that billows back at Strahd's face, igniting his clothing.

Strahd blinks. "Son of a bitch," he remarks. "Rahadin, you warned me, but I really wanted to give it a try."

Kreig attacks Rahadin, who vanishes in a puff of smoke. A molotov cocktail hurtles at Kreig from above, smashing to the ground by his feet. Kreig dives out of the way, glancing up at the trajectory to see Rahadin standing on a makeshift balcony.

Dulan pulls a rope from his pack and ties a lasso. He makes himself invisible.

"Why don't you let me give it a whirl," Ezra offers, extending his hand to Strahd and nodding toward the gun. "Those things can be a bit finicky."

In a miracle of dice rolls, Strahd practically shrugs as he relinquishes the revolver. The fire consuming his sleeve licks Ezra's hand in the exchange. Ezra doesn't flinch. With a breath like blowing out a candle, he extinguishes the flames.

Relieved of the gun, Strahd draws his sword instead. He and Rahadin converge against Kreig, Rahadin flinging a terrifyingly dark rusty dagger at the barbarian from aloft. Together, they take him down. Rahadin remarks, "I told you he would have preferred the chair."

Dulan catches Strahd with the lasso. He pulls on the rope, calling the remaining zombies to help him. "Pull!" he yells.

Strahd topples over. He rolls on the ground a bit, palms up in mock despair. "No! You have captured me! How can this be? I, the great Gravedigger Jim, will go out the same way as my pappy."

"This is why one shouldn't get tangled up in the wrong side of the law," Dulan declares.

Ezra makes his way over to Kreig. Goes to remove the nasty-looking dagger from him, but it falls apart in his hands, disintigrating into nothingness and leaving behind an infectious-looking oozing black wound in Kreig's hide. Ezra carefully burns it away, sparing him his descent into death.

Dulan and Ezra spare a glance at each other, trying to figure out where to go from here.

Rahadin watches the conclusion of the little episode with his elbows propped on the balcony railing, chin resting on a closed fist.

"Oh no, you won," Ezra says lamely.

Dulan leans down to Strahd, still wriggling on the ground. "You have to hang me," Strahd insists.

With aid of the zombies, Dulan sets out to hoist the rope up somewhere nearby. He avoids moving the lasso from Strahd's arms, so Strahd does it for him, positioning it around his own neck like he's adjusting a bowtie.

And then he hangs. He makes a dramatic show of gurgling and going limp.

"And, cut!" he announces, slashing easily through the rope and dropping gracefully back to the ground. "Good work everybody. You really studied the material this time. A marked improvement on your last show. Great work. Get some water, stay hydrated, and... we will move onto the next scene." And with that, he simply walks away.

Strahd makes his exit between two of the building facades. Rahadin turns, too, leaving through a doorway behind him on the balcony. The zombies de-animate and crumple to the ground.

Ezra hurries after Strahd, still intent on gleaning some additional insight. Throughout this encounter, the man has been wholly committed to his act, completely devoid of caution or care, never once breaking character. There's been no trace whatsoever of the Strahd von Zarovich from his own journal, nor their encounter at Yesterhill, nor even Vasili von Holtz. He would truly have to be the most talented actor in the world, or this is a completely different entity. So, who is he really? And why is he wearing Strahd's face?

Strahd is standing with Rahadin by his black carriage, giving him notes. "I think we need to do better next time. They seemed to be a tad confused. Maybe a bit more stagecraft. But they seem to be taking hold, starting to dig into their parts. Fantastic." Rahadin opens the carriage door for him and Strahd steps inside.

Ezra approaches them as Rahadin climbs up to the coachman's place. "Good evening, Ezra," Strahd greets him again. "You made an interesting choice today. I think perhaps you need more practice, but I like this new direction you are taking your character."

Ezra takes off his black hat and sets it on the carriage seat next to Strahd. He touches Strahd's arm. "I said I was here to help," Ezra reminds him, and surreptitiously casts Remove Curse, just to see what it will do.

It does nothing. He can't feel any difference, can see no change in Strahd at all.

Strahd pats Ezra's glowing hand amiably. "Oh, but you seem so hot and clammy. Perhaps you should see a doctor." He settles into the carriage, then, closing the door.

Before they depart, Rahadin leans toward Ezra, regarding him over his shoulder. "There are always more black hats available, should you decide it suits you, Ezra." He flicks the reins, and they're off. The ominous black carriage rolls north, back up the road.

In the background, Dulan had the spirit of the wizard Emari [it's a magic item situation] trail after Ezra. When Ezra returns, Dulan regails the group with the information Emari gleaned from the interaction [Dulan is the only one who can see/hear the wizard's spirit].

When Ezra was speaking with Strahd, Emari said, Strahd's mind was a minefield of incessant cacouphanous screams and wails. And Rahadin's thoughts were shielded completely from detection.

A direct reversal of a previous encounter we'd had with both of them.

[perilegs]

i know i have my thesis done and everything and my graduation is just a few courses away but if i flunk uni it's bc i cannot stand the teaching style of one (1) teacher

[autistudyblr]

28.9 - maths classes

i had my first problems class! it was just very basic complex numbers, so most of us knew all of it anyway. there were some weird proofs as extension questions though! i also had a maths module lecture & tutorial, with maths degree students in it! it seems interesting so far.

i've also got a cold, so i've been carrying a flask of tea everywhere, and drinking about 4 lots of it a day :')

🎶 attractive today - motion city soundtrack

[poisoneeveelution]

Vigna I love you

[blemiria]

Knight Primus TL

Hi, quick disclaimer: I'm not perfect at mandarin and could have made mistakes. I am not a translator, I just merely wanted to do my best to share this in english, if there is anything inaccurate I apologize. I got it off of the prts wiki here.

This is a dream. Maria thinks.

An unfamiliar MC fixes their clothes, ice cold radiance enshrouds the entire arena, the night sky far away, unnecessarily boxing her in.

She turns back, seeing some battle ready knights. Their silver armour dazzling, the nod their heads towards Maria acknowledging her. A couple of the seniors come forth, reciting a couple vague words. She sees the Grand Knight Russel among them, these aging heroes in their twilight grouped in formation, carrying a shield walking towards her.

Maria recognizes that shield. Engraved upon it the Nearl family emblem, draped in the Nearl family flag, it's a shield that she could not be more familiar with. Maria knows what this entails, panic begins to set in, uncle refuses to be a a Knight Primus, sister also refuses to recognize the modern knight institution, then what should she do?

Or... what does she want to do?

Maria looks around to the four corners. Sister isn't here. Auntie also isn't here. Mlynar, Vogelweide, Kowal, Marcin, none of them are here. She wants to run away, but her reasoning binds her there. This is an important stage, she cannot retreat, no matter her wishes.

The panic pushes Maria to sink into a past. It was a hot workshop, she was giving a new sword for her Margaret. Vogelweide and Kowal were bickering as usual, Zofia was carefully wiping the sweat off her forehead, adjusting her messy hair. Mlynar was at a tree, not far away quietly watching over this all, and on the other side of the road there was also the distant childhood memories of her father, mother, and the old Nearl who left behind their hope in the form of the spear's shadow...

"Henceforth, you are the knight primus of the Nearl family."

Maria accepts the shield, the lonely weight leaving her unsure. She hasn't yet left her previous scene, she still is carefully reading her blueprint, controlling the furnace. She doesn't want to forge the armour that brings people joy, nor does she want to forge the spears meant to be doused in cold blood.

She wants to forge an "ideal." "Ideals" can protect those she loves, can become the source of strength for heroes, can support her, so she doesn't fear the confusion and loneliness to come.

The sound of metal striking metal rings through her ears evermore. Covering joyful cheers, covering honour.

"Maria." A familiar voice gently calls her.

She raises her head, the bustling arena empty with no-one to be seen