#Rover Board

[pembrokewkorgi]

Run Rover

More Rover and Corky. This is pretty much what I expect their relationship to be like.

Posted using PostyBirb

[hybridcrows]

hrrk. painting

[rovermcfly]

Robert Redford gender envy moodboard

[zsofathewarriorcatsnerd]

School😖

[travelswithmx]

1, 2, 3, 4

[sforzesco]

The Art of Dreams: Reflections and Representations

The Tomb of Caterina della Ratta and the Iconography of the Reclining Reader in Renaissance Sepulcharl Art, Yonni Ascher

Ancestor Masks and Aristocratic Power in Roman Culture, Harriet I Flower

okay so just. play connect the dots with me for a second. Girolamo Basso della Rovere is Giuliano della Rovere's (Pope Julius II) cousin. Ascanio Sforza was a long time rival, and later ex-enemy of Giiuliano's. this kind of familial mirroring in the tombs, the way that Ascanio is being subsumed into a matching visual with someone of della Rovere's family is. interesting. because it goes well beyond the expected patron-client relationship between the pope and his cardinals. like, these were companion monuments.

there's also a kind of tragic romantic violence to it, given Ascanio's persistent loyalty to his family and Milan, and Ludovico's plans to have Ascanio's body brought back to Milan in the event of his death and interred in the same chapel as Beatrice d'Este.

[gyroidroves]

Join me in celebrating the mystery twins' birthday, perhaps?

https://magma.com/d/0XwyGhrtSF

[holdoncallfailed]

one of my favorite things in the world is learning about what other people experienced as “kid culture” growing up—i.e. what games they played, which songs/chants that everyone knew, which urban legends got passed around—because i feel like the world is so small when you’re a kid, and you just assume everybody all over the world knows the same songs you do cos that’s just a fundamental part of being a child. and sometimes they are the same, or very similar, regardless of culture, which is even more special. idk i just love hearing what funny names everyone had for things they did as kids.

[jcmarchi]

Mars Sample Return a top scientific priority, Lunine testifies - Technology Org

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/mars-sample-return-a-top-scientific-priority-lunine-testifies-technology-org/

Mars Sample Return a top scientific priority, Lunine testifies - Technology Org

At the western end of Mars’ Jezero Crater, a river channel and pile of sediments resembling river deltas on Earth hold clues about how Mars evolved from a more Earth-like world to the barren, inhospitable surface seen today.

Since 2021, NASA’s Perseverance rover has collected more than 20 samples of rocks and sediments from the crater floor, delta fan and hills above it – resources that could answer crucial questions about what happened to the red planet’s climate and geology and improve understanding of our own.

But those samples could be stranded on Mars if Congress fails to provide adequate funding for the space agency to design and build the Mars Sample Return mission, Jonathan Lunine, the David C. Duncan Professor in the Physical Sciences and chair of the Department of Astronomy in the College of Arts and Sciences, testifiedm before a congressional subcommittee reviewing NASA’s science programs.

“The benefit of succeeding in bringing back rock and soil from an ancient riverbed on a planet 140 million miles away is that it will tell the world that this nation has the imagination, will and courage to accomplish just about anything,” Lunine said in written testimony. “And that message is priceless. To not complete Mars Sample Return – to leave the samples stranded on Mars – would be … a national disgrace.”

Lunine was one of four experts invited to testify at the U.S. House Subcommittee on Space and Aeronautics hearing titled, “Advancing Scientific Discovery: Assessing the Status of NASA’s Science Mission Directorate.” Watch a replay here.

Earlier this year, budget uncertainty led NASA to plan for the lower of two proposed funding levels for the mission and to lay off staff at its Jet Propulsion Lab in California. Current appropriations bills defer a decision on funding, which could range from $300 million to nearly $1 billion, while the agency reassesses the mission’s architecture.

Nicola Fox, associate administrator of NASA’s Science Mission Directorate, said that after an independent review board’s “sobering analysis” of the mission’s costs and challenges last fall, the agency would complete its internal reassessment this spring.

“It’s our willingness to acknowledge these challenges and overcome them, to conduct science in ways that have barely been imagined, that makes us NASA,” Fox testified.

Lunine called Mars Sample Return the most ambitious robotic program the United States has ever attempted, requiring challenging new technology and involving multiple NASA centers and the European Space Agency.

But having served as a member of an independent review board that examined the mission last year, Lunine said he’s “supremely confident” that it can and will be done despite budget pressures requiring difficult choices.

“It can be done because American engineering prowess is up to the task,” he told lawmakers. “It will be done because as a nation we surely will not simply walk away from a daring, highly visible and scientifically important challenge.”

Successive National Academies of Sciences decadal surveys have identified the mission as the top priority in planetary science, Lunine said, to help answer the questions: Did life begin on Mars? How did Mars dry up? Exactly when did it dry up?

Only instruments in laboratories on Earth, instruments far more precise and powerful than those carried by the Mars rovers, can precisely analyze the collected rock and soil samples to determine their composition and age, Lunine said. In the same way, the samples Apollo astronauts returned from the moon established a definitive chronology for the earliest history of the Earth-moon system – the program’s most profound scientific achievement, Lunine said. More than a half-century later, moon samples continue to be studied by increasingly capable instruments.

“The samples returned from Mars in the coming decade will be analyzed not only by scientists active today, but by scientists who are not yet born, using laboratory techniques not yet invented,” Lunine said. “These precious records of early Mars will be a lasting scientific treasure and a legacy of American technological prowess.”

Source: Cornell University

Mars gifts – the best space gifts from the Red Planet, ranging from Mars-themed clothes to genuine, certified meteorites from Mars.

[starfleetwitch]

I'm currently experiencing the human version of zoomies but due to social norms I infact cannot not get up and run around my office like a 5 year old on red bull.

WHAT LOOSER DECIDED ADULTS CANT PLAY OUTSIDE DURING BREAK TIME?! LET'S PLAY HIDE AND SEEK! LET'S PLAY CATCHIES! LET'S GO LIFT ROCKS OUT SIDE AND SEE WHAT BUGS WE FIND!

[hazard-and-friends]

me trying to find a place for hazard to stay over thanksgiving weekend: and also if you scare my dog i will break into your house and beat you up

[attila-werther]

wait. wait a second

HEY

[capinejghafa]

Update: My cat fam will be staying home while I'm away for Xmas. My friend graciously offered to check in on them 🙂

[digitalcreation2023]

Landrover Laser Engraved Chopping Boards

Personalised laser engraved chopping boards, personalised to your requirements.

click the pic for info,

We have a large range of personalised items, tailored to your need,

We also supply trade prices for bulk orders,

message me if you want meore info ....

[p0orbaby]

Remember Cuddles in the Kitchen

summary: you go to your first game as the owner of The Arsenal

warnings: the teeniest start of some angst but that’s it

a/n: i wrote this in an hour, don’t judge, or do

word count: 1.3k

-

You arrive at the stadium in the kind of vehicle that hardly counts as a car anymore—a blacked-out Range Rover with plush leather seats, which are supposed to help with lumbar support or jet lag or something. It glides through the crowd outside the stadium as if it were water parting, leaving you in a surreal, weightless state as you stare out the tinted windows. People line up along the barriers, some of them with jerseys, scarves, others in crisply tailored suits, all of them fixated on the car as if it’s carrying royalty. In a way, you suppose, it is—at least, that’s what the club PR team likes to tell you.

The driver, whose name you can never remember despite his impeccable service, opens your door with precision timing, as if there were some imaginary stopwatch counting down the seconds it should take for you to step out. You have a fleeting memory of insisting to the board that you didn’t need this kind of attention, but that was waved away—of course you did, they’d insisted, it was all part of the club’s image. So here you are, stepping out into the sharp autumn air, the sound of fans and stadium chatter rising and folding around you.

People see you instantly, recognise you. A ripple of whispers, the odd “there she is!” or “our owner, that’s her!” float up from the throng. A camera flashes. It’s a bizarre mix of adoration and fascination, directed at someone who hasn’t even kicked a ball. They think they know you, these people, with their wide eyes and hopeful looks. They don’t, of course, but there’s no room for reality here, not in a world built on perception and spectacle.

You make your way through the stadium corridors, led by an assistant with a headset who murmurs into it like a stockbroker, keeping you insulated from the crush of ordinary fans. She’s brisk, polite, making small talk as you walk past murals of past players, glossy and smiling and set in that specific historical lighting that makes them look both heroic and outdated.

Eventually, you reach the suite. Inside, it’s the pinnacle of curated, near-stale luxury. Charcoal-grey walls, marble-topped counters, a buffet laden with food that looks more sculptural than edible—truffle-scented hors d’oeuvres and exotic fruits. You can’t remember the last time you ate at one of these spreads; it always feels wrong, somehow, to snack on pâté while everyone else is crammed into the stands, scarfing down chips and Bovril.

You glance at the screen on the far wall, where Leah’s name appears in the lineup. Your heart tugs, some deeply buried urge to be out there with her, watching from the stands, shouting with the fans instead of gliding through this marble-and-silver version of a stadium experience. You scan the field, your eyes finding her immediately. She’s focused, her whole body coiled with that easy confidence you’ve always envied, jogging alongside her teammates, every move smooth and efficient.

The fans in the lower section spot you from their seats, and a fresh wave of whispers and nods starts. A couple of people even clap when you’re shown on the stadium’s big screen for a brief second, a polite nod to their reclusive, mysterious owner. You smile, trying to ignore the flush of embarrassment, and settle back in your chair.

The match is a whirlwind, a blur of chants and shouts and, every now and then, Leah’s fierce concentration catching you off guard. She’s different out there, almost unrecognisable from the woman who drinks tea in your kitchen wearing mismatched socks. She’s something more primal, almost statuesque, moving with a determination that feels slightly otherworldly.

When it’s over, you wait in the suite, alone, watching as the champagne is removed, the food whisked away, and the staff disappear with their final, obligatory nods. The door opens, and Leah steps in, looking somewhat shy in her own space. Her hair is still damp from the post-game shower, and her cheeks are flushed from the effort, a hint of colour that feels more honest than the varnished elegance of the suite. She’s got that look—that bright-eyed, smug expression of someone who knows they played well but is too modest to admit it.

She stops, taking in the setup with a flicker of something you can’t quite place. A slight furrow of her brow, a narrowing of her eyes, as if she’s both impressed and vaguely amused by it all. She crosses her arms, eyeing you with a smirk.

“Bit much, don’t you think?” she says, her tone light but with an edge of something darker.

“Not my choice,” you reply, gesturing at the array of imported cheeses and miniature quiches. “Apparently, truffle-infused food is non-negotiable”

She snorts, but her arms stay crossed, her body language closed off. She looks around, her gaze lingering on the sterile decor, the impersonal luxury, and something in her expression tightens, like she’s uncomfortable here. “Feels like a mausoleum in here. Where’s the celebration? The noise?”

You shrug, glancing away, feeling an odd prick of defensiveness. “Apparently, being a good host involves keeping everything as quiet as possible”

She doesn’t smile, just watches you with that steady look. There’s a tension between you that wasn’t there before, something unspoken but heavy, and it catches you off guard.

“Is this what it’s like for you now?” she asks, her voice soft but pointed. “All this… pageantry?”

You hesitate, then nod. “This is what they want. The ‘owner’ experience”

She studies you for a moment, her gaze uncomfortably sharp. “And what do you want?”

The question sits between you, raw and unanswered. You don’t have a quick response, and that unsettles you. Because truthfully, you’re not sure. The distance between her world and yours, between the pitch and this hermetically-sealed suite, feels enormous, almost insurmountable.

Leah sighs, uncrossing her arms and taking a step closer. “I just… I don’t know. I thought it would be different. I thought… I’d come off the pitch, see you there, and it would feel like… like home, you know?”

There’s a pause, a heavy silence as her words settle over you. And it hits you, then—this isn’t just about the suite, the champagne, the hushed voices. It’s about the way this world has started to reshape you, molding you into something polished and distant, something that doesn’t quite fit with the person she fell in love with.

Without thinking, you reach for her hand, pulling her close. “Leah, I don’t care about any of this. I’d be out there in the stands with everyone else if I could”

She looks at you, her expression softening a little, but there’s still a hint of wariness, like she’s not entirely convinced. “Then why are you here?”

“Because that’s what they expect,” you say quietly, the words feeling oddly vulnerable. “It’s all theatre. None of it matters. The only thing that matters to me is… well, it’s you”

The tension in her shoulders eases, and she lets out a breath, her thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Sometimes it feels like I don’t even know this version of you. Like I’m just… watching from the outside”

Her honesty cuts through you, but there’s a strange relief in it too, as if naming the problem has made it more real, more manageable. “Then tell me what you need,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “Tell me how to make this work”

She looks at you, her expression softening, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “How about we start with a drink that doesn’t taste like money?”

You laugh, a genuine, unrestrained sound that feels like a release. “That, I can arrange”

You signal to the server, and within minutes, a couple of beers appear—actual beers, not the artisanal, locally-sourced nonsense. You crack open the bottles, handing one to Leah, and she raises it in a mock toast, her eyes glinting with amusement.

“To the queen of the royal box,” she teases, and you roll your eyes, clinking your bottle against hers.

“Long may she reign”

[natalievoncatte]

1. Leaves

Lena was, in all honesty, having the time of her life. Since they’d arrived here, she had finally relaxed. Really relaxed. Lex was gone. Capital-G Gone. The last of Cadmus had been mopped up. The Conpany was no longer a problem- L-Corp was being sold off, from entire divisions down to sales of old office chairs. The Estate and nine-tenths of the family holdings were all being sold off, and the money quietly funneled into a holding company. Sam Arias would manage Lena’s wealth.

Lena had nothing to do anymore, and it was glorious. She’d done what she’d never done in her entire life: rest. She ate when was hungry, slept when she was tired. She stayed up late finishing a thriller novel she’d grabbed off one of Kara’s tables and slept it off the following day. She could do whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted, so one day she said, “Let’s go watch the leaves change.”

“Not much of that in National City,” Kara had said, not looking up from her laptop.

Lena was flipping channels when she made the suggestion, another pedestrian activity that had been too far beneath her to ever indulge during her CEO days.

“I’m serious,” said Lena. “I’ll rent us a cabin, book a flight, and we’ll be there by tomorrow morning. Vermont, or maybe New Hampshire.”

Kara looked up. “I could just fly us.”

“Short distances only,” said Lena.

Kara weighed it for a moment. She looked at Lena for a drawn out instant, eyes darting this way and that. Lena knew she had a deadline; she had become privy to the details of Kara’s life ever since she started couch surfing at Kara’s place after dumping her chic penthouse on some petroleum heir from the Emirates.

She had been “crashing” at Kara’s place for three months and had her own key, but they weren’t talking about it. Lena had remained on the couch, falling asleep to YouTube videos of molten lava and cat purring sounds, while Kara puttered around the house.

There were moments of tension. Pauses during shared meals. Moments when they pressed closed on sofa, times when Kara got up to go to bed and Lena felt this yearning to follow that she never quite obeyed.

Kara was thinking. Hard.

“Rent a cabin?”

“Yeah, someplace remote. So you can take a break. You’ve been working harder than ever, Darling. It almost feels like you’re avoiding me.”

Kara swallowed. “Okay,” she said. “We’ll fly. The regular way.”

They did, arriving in Maine less than a day later. Lena rented a Land Rover (because they were on an Adventure) and did all the driving, three hours from the airport to the cabin.

Kara rode in silence, though Lena heard her gasp.

The trees were beautiful. They were alive with color, as if an impressionist master had made the world a canvas and run riot. It was more than a mass of reds and yellows and oranges. It was astonishing.

It was dark when they arrived at the cabin. Lena had chosen one with two bedrooms, though she hesitated when she did. It had a full kitchen with a gas stove and all the amenities but also a fire pit and picnic table and gazebo, and overlooked a private swath of a small lake. It was like something out of a Bob Ross painting.

They were both tired from the flight, or at least Lena was, and turned in right away. When she rose the next day, she cheerily told her cabin-mate she was headed into town to get some supplies.

Kara went out to chop wood. Lena, of course, watched a few swings before leaving. Kara didn’t really need an axe but Lena didn’t care; she was preoccupied watching the muscles of Kara’s shoulders and back as she swung the splitting maul.

Lena got back before noon and carried the groceries inside, enough for her to use the fancy kitchen to prepare a mighty feast for her companion.

She didn’t hear the sobs until she had most of it put away. Lena bolted to the back door and stopped.

Kara was sitting on the picnic table, feet resting on the long board that acted as a seat. She was holding a single golden leaf on her hand, studying it and sobbing softly to herself.

“Kara?”

She looked up, soft blue eyes wet with tears. Lena felt a wave of grief but also panic, rushing to the table.

“Kara, what’s wrong?”

“I,” Kara started. “Lena, I’m scared.”

Lena swallowed hard. “Why?”

Kara looked at the leaf. “Another year past. The leaves turn colors and fall, school starts, things change.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Alex is married now. They’ve got a kid to raise. Nia and Brainy will probably get married soon. We hadn’t had a game night in two months.”

Lena swallowed. Kara was right. When Lena had first joined, then rejoined, this wonderful found family had been aggressively social, and now they forgot to text as often as not. They all spent more time at home or at their real jobs than at the Tower. The world had just started moving on. Kara didn’t even wear the cape every day anymore.

“I know,” said Lena, her voice thick. “But you’ve got me.”

Lena felt her pulse start to race. Kara had been so distant, she couldn’t help wonder if she was enough. If boring, retired Lena wasn’t enough. Oh God, what if Kara was thinking about going to Argo? Or the future?

“Not forever,” said Kara, her voice cracking like glass. She let the leaf drop from her fingers. “Eventually you’ll go. All of you. Brainy, Nia, Alex, Clark if he doesn’t come back from Argo. You.”

“Oh,” Lena said, softly. “Oh, Kara.”

“I think I might be immortal,” Kara whispered. “I don’t feel any aches or pains. Nothing about me changes. I don’t forget things like people do. My body just keeps repairing itself and it never makes any mistakes. What if I’m just like this forever? Or even a thousand years? What if everyone is gone and their kids are gone and no one knows who I am anymore?!” she was frantic now, the words coming too fast.

Lena reached out, tentatively. She put her hands on Kara’s shoulders and pulled herself in, wrapping her best friend in a hug.

Birds chirped, the waters of the lake made soft glug-glugs, and all around them was the soft tapping sound of the leaves, already letting go.

“I won’t leave you,” Lena whispered. “Kara, I won’t. If I have to live forever I will. I’ll find a way. Tech, magic, fifth dimensional imps. I’ll find a way.”

Kara sighed, arms firmly around her.

“Do you need space?” Lena asked. “I could leave you alone for a bit. Look for a place when we get back, so I’m not on the couch all the time.”

“I don’t want you to leave,” Kara blurted, almost cutting her off. “I know I’ve been distant, it’s just… I keep looking at you and thinking about all the time I’ve lost and all the mistakes I’ve made and how I’ll regret it forever. We have so little time and I’m so scared I’ll lose you.”

Lena pulled back to look at her. “We have a long time to make more memories. As many as we can.”

“I’ll lose you too,” said Kara. “I know you want more. A family, a partner. You’ll start to have less time for me. You’ll all just fall away and I’ll be stuck here alone.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“How can you say that?”

Kara started to pull away. Lena stopped her with a tug on her arms. It stunned her, sometimes, how she could overpower a god with her tiny human hands. How she could stun the other whirlwind or a touch.

“Kara,” said Lena. “I don’t want someone else. I want you.”

“Me?” Kara squeaked.

Lena cleared her throat. “I wanted to tell you at the wedding. I mean, I didn’t dress like that and go stag for the hell of it. I just lost my nerve and you seemed so overwhelmed.”

Kara blinked a few times.

“You want me?” said Kara.

Lena felt a cold rush of terror. She’d just blurted it out, artlessly, unplanned.

“Like want me want me? Like kissing want me?”

Lena licked her lips. “Yes. I’d like to kiss you right now, if you let me.”

Kara settled back into the table, leaning forward. Lena leaned in, pushing her back slightly, moving her hands from shoulders to hips, scoring the way Kara tensed and trembled. She was hardly inexperienced, Lena knew, but something about this felt like a first kiss, even for her. It tasted like one, too, down to the quivery way their lips met.

Kissing quickly became something more. Lena didn’t know if she was pulling or Kara pushing. It didn’t much matter; the path led to the bed in Kara’s room, marked by a trail of shed clothing.

Years of anticipation overwhelmed them both; dinner was forgotten, and they didn’t even emerge until the next day.

It was in the morning sun, the light turning Kara’s skin gold, that Lena saw it. Twisted within one of the curling locks of hair, splayed around Kara’s head on the pillow, was a faintly visible thread of purest silver, chased through the gold like an engraver’s masterpiece. Lena couldn’t help but twirl the errant strands around her finger.

As Kara slept, she looked up through the window and watched the wind as it caressed the leaves.