“Hey Goediun, did you finish- ah hell, not MORE earth wildlife.”
“This planet’s completely fucked up Clyod.”
“What the fuck are THOSE?” Guenoid demanded, peering over his co-worker’s mass to squint at the pojection.
“Third-most dominant carnivore on the planet.”
“Yeah but what’s the little thing next to it?”
“Same species.”
“You’re emusifying me.”
“Absoultely not. This thing’s got the genetics from hell. Apparently they just have hundreds if not thousands of copies of any gene they might need and can suffer drastic radiation, inbreeding or rapid enviornmental selection and come out mostly functional organisms. Both of these are actually pretty far from the species average- here, this is a more common specimen.”
“Oh that’s not so bad-”
“Remember how the Humans are Pursuit predators?”
“Oh no. Don’t tell me it can do that endless “Fun Run” Human-Steve did last year for the Beeblebrox Children’s Hospital?”
“It can!” Goeduin writhed gleefully at his partner’s discomfort. “They can do continuous runs for hundreds of miles through the polar regions of the planet, and at tremendous speed! Some of them have a sustainable gallop of over 50 miles per hour!”
“What’s that in civilized Units?”
“uuuuhhh… 210?”
“FUCK.” shouted Clyod, collapsing back into the sleeping tank, though he suspected that there would be no rest for him this cycle as images of the wretched earth creature pursuing him flashed through his ganglian network.
“They’ve got a bite strength that can snap through our building materials and even human bone!” Goeduin continued, vibrating with the kind of wild humor that belied genuine terror. “Thier senses are even more accute than Human-Steve’s! It’s got his entire hearing range and then up into our ‘hypersonic’ vocal range!”
“Great, it can tear me apart after hearing me talk smack. Terrific.” Clyod sighed, dedicating himself to another round of nightmares.
“And it’s Chemosensitivity! They can track prey by the oils left from the prey’s footsteps for MILES! they can even track scents through the air and underwater or buried in in six feet of ‘concrete’!”
“Good grief. With compettion like that, it’s no wonder the humans are so barbaric. Please tell me it’s stupid.”
“They’re comparable to juvenile humans in terms of reasonaing capacity and may be more socially intelligent than adult humans, living in communal groups that can have DOZENS of members. Also they hunt in packs.”
“WHY??” Clyod begged “Why do you even subject yourself, and furthermore, why subject ME to this kind of knowledge? I won’t be able to rechage and be all gross and floppy in the morning.”
“Human-Steve is getting one.”
“…Pardon?”
“Humans keep them as domestic companions. Apparently they’re socially intelligent enough to get humans to raise and feed thier young for life.”
“and. Human-Steve. Is taking on one of these? He’s not worried about it eating him?”
“He said it might nibble on his appendages while it’s teething but that the one his parents kept when he was an infant-”
“HIS PARENTS HAD A DANGEROUS CARNIVORE IN HIS HOME WHILE HE WAS AN INFANT?”
“He showed me many images of them playing and cuddling together. They are quite fond of human children, and not just as snacks.”
“Please tell me he’s getting the little kind.”
“He’s getting a variety called a “Siberian Husky”. He said it was very fluffy.”
7 Ancient Ruins Around The World “Reconstructed” with GIFs
In these GIFs made for Expedia by NeoMam and Thisisrender, seven architectural wonders are reconstructed into their original form, allowing us to see how the ruins visible today developed from the initial structures in all their glory.
Identified from the top:
The Parthenon Athens, Greece / 432 BC
Luxor Temple Luxor, Egypt / 1380 BC
Nohoch Mul Pyramid (Coba) Quintana Roo, Mexico / 100 BC-100 AD
Temple of Jupiter Pompeii, Italy / 200 BC
Milecastle 39 (Part of Hadrian’s Wall) Northumberland, England / 100 AD
The Pyramid of the Sun, Teotihuacán Teotihuacan, Mexico / 200 CE
Area Sacra di Largo Argentina—Temple B Rome, Italy / 101 BC
The strongest warlock in all the land uses his power to constantly kidnap the princess. Most people believe it’s because he’s in love with her, but they have it all wrong. He’s in love with the knight who always comes to save her.
She sighed in exasperation. “Again, Mortimer? Again?” She didn’t bother screaming as he scooped her over her shoulder. “Seriously? I’m in the middle of negotiating a very important-”
“I know. They’ll wait. It’ll give you some political oomph, anyway.”
She poked him in the ear. “Not as much as it used to.”
“Witnesses,” he hummed.
She inhaled deeply, and let loose as operatic a scream as she could manage.
“Thank you, dear, that sent them scurrying. My ears are ringing, too.”
“I told you to start wearing hearing protection.”
“Could you kick just a little?”
She obliged, rolling her eyes, and gave another scream for good measure when he threw her into his Horrible Hearse, but gave up the pretense when the door was snapped shut, and arranged her skirts neatly, pulling out a bottle of brandy from where they were stashed.
The royal family employs no bodyguards. A would-be assassin discovers why.
“Please?” the crown prince said hopefully.
The assassin hesitated. “I’m not sure I’m comfortable with this.”
“Come on, you’re doing great. Just one stab, it’ll be easy-peasy.” The prince spread his arms wide, leaving his throat and chest vulnerable.
“Look, I’m going to level with you,” the assassin said. “I took this contract on the assumption that you were a bad dude. Usually when a country goes bankrupt this fast, it’s because whoever’s in charge is raiding the treasury. But once I infiltrated the guard, I actually had to spend time around you, and you’re just.” The assassin threw her hands up in disgust. “You’re a really nice person! There’s no getting around it! So I’m not super on board with murdering you now. Nothing personal.”
“But if you don’t, my sisters won’t get the life insurance payout, and the country will be in debt for the next century!”
“I’m pretty sure arranging for your own assassination is insurance fraud.”
“Your whole job is to commit murder,” the prince said, “and now you’re worried about a little insurance fraud?”
The assassin pinched the bridge of her nose. “Okay, let’s back up and think about this rationally. Have you considered faking your own death?”
This was not what I was expecting, and it is glorious.
You drop a small piece of food on the floor, and decide to kick it under the oven/couch/whatever because you can’t be bothered to pick it up. As you’re walking away, you hear a very quiet “Thank you!” from under it.
“No problem,” I say, the words passing out of my mouth on autopilot, before my brain engages and I freeze.
I turn, and look at the fridge. It seems to be the same fridge that was here when I moved in.
I mean, I’m also kind of embarrassed. I never do that, I know that’s how you get roaches, but my back hurts so bad that getting up and down is next to impossible, much less bending over. “Um, you holding up okay down there?” I ask.
There was silence.
“I know that we’re probably the only apartment in the building that doesn’t have a bug problem. That’s, well, that’s you, right?”
Again, silence. But I know I heard it.
“Listen, I can’t really bend over right now, but if you’re down there and hungry, like, there’s half a rotisserie chicken in there that’s about to go bad. I was going to throw it away, but if you could use it-”
my storytelling final! or, that week i almost went blind cross-hatching!
it’s a couple weeks old at this point, but i’m still proud of it (all that cross-hatching…) even though looking back at it now i can see a ton of flaws or things i just could’ve done better. maybe i’ll redo it one day.
the page colors are kind of wonky because they’re photographs; i didn’t have a scanner big enough for the pages.
Tell Miles, the wind
whispers, that he’s a little bitch.
It’s only through years of long practice that Dyta’s
able to keep a straight face. The King’s name is Miles? Everyone just sort of assumed he was named after
his great grandfather, King Raymus since that’s what he’s written all over the
kingdom. She tries to remember if she’s ever
heard of a Prince Miles–
“Well?” King Raymus (Miles) asks. He looks down his nose at Dyta, thin
lips thinning further. His knuckles are white around his gaudy
scepter. “What did the Wind say? Will my reign be remembered? Am I truly
the greatest King across the six kingdoms?”
There’re actually 208 kingdoms, the wind
hisses out from underneath the door. Which Miles would know if he
weren’t a little bitch.
“Yes,” Dyta blurts out. The guards’ glares
have been growing each moment she’s been silent and she’s not interested in
finding out at what point they use the
spears they’re holding. “Super remembered.” She brings her hands up, trying to
gesture just how remembered the King is,
but the shackles around her wrists hinder the movement. “The wind knows
your truth, King Raymus, and it spreads that truth across the globe.”
You never interpret correctly, the wind whines
through the gaps in the stone walls. You are the worst wind-speaker
I’ve met in centuries.
Dyta’s the only wind-speaker in centuries.
That’s why she’s in this whole prisoner mess to begin with. It’s just luck that
King Mi-Raymus is vain enough to spend the majority of her
captivity asking after what the world
thinks of him.
There are much worse applications of her
ability. Spying, for example. And assassination, though she tends to stay away
from that one, much to the wind’s chagrin.
Fic idea I was struck with the other day and keep thinking about: a Vulcan adopts a cat.
Still thinking about this, even though I’m not writing the fic!
This Vulcan, I’m calling her T’Pen, goes to a shelter and gets a cat, and the shelter employees are like, a bit weirded out? But obviously they’re going to give her a cat, I mean, she’s a Vulcan, she’s Super Responsible, she takes all the pamphlets and listens attentively to all the advice the shelter employees give her, even though it is obvious she researched a lot on her own.
Then T’Pen asks the shelter folks what she should name the cat and runs into That Thing Humans Do Where They Confound a Vulcan With Their Weird Ways
Shelter Employee 1: oh, you can name a cat anything! That’s what’s great! People names, common nouns, whole phrases.
Shelter Employee 2: yeah, nothing sounds weird on a cat. Everything from Chad to Cupboard is fair game.
SE 1: yeah, I mean, you can’t call a dog Chad, that would be weird
SE 2: I wouldn’t fuckin’ trust anyone who named their dog Chad
SE 1: oh word
T’Pen:….
T’Pen: ….fascinating.
Later, in the interest of furthering her anthropological study of Earth, T’Pen has a houseparty and she invites her coworkers, many of whom are human, but others which are aliens, and are fascinated by T’Pen’s cat
Vulcan Co-worker: T’Pen, what have you named this small Earth feline?
T’Pen: I have named him Marmalade.
Vucan co-worker: Is that not the name of a type of Terran fruit preserve? I do not understand the logic behind this choice.
T’Pen: the logic is self-evident to a human.
Human Co-worker: T’Pen, omg, you have a cat! What’s his name?
T’Pen: thank you for your inquiry. His name is Marmalade
Human Co-worker: oooh! yeah, that makes sense, because he’s orange and sweet! lmao, great name
Vulcan Co-worker: …
Vulcan Co-worker: ….fascinating
Human: So, how’s Marmalade?
T’Pen: He has the peculiar habit of walking on my workstation.
Human: Aggravating, isn’t it?
T’Pen: We Vulcans do not feel human emotions. However, I would prefer it if Marmalade stayed off my workstation, particularly when I am working.
Human: Get a box.
T’Pen: Murdering Marmalade seems an overreaction.
Human: No, you need a box with interior dimensions approximately the same as Marmalade’s body, and set it on the floor next to your workstation. Marmalade will sit in the box.
T’Pen: Why do you believe that this will work for Marmalade?
Human: We don’t know. It’s just something cats do. If he fits, he sits.
T’Pen: … Fascinating.
Vulcan Commander: T’Pen, you are posting videos of your cat. Explain.
T’pen: My colleagues are amused and entertained by Marmalade’s interactions with his environment. I am amused and entertained by their reactions as reflected in the comments.
Vulcan Commander (reading): “U haz done me a startle”?
T’Pen: Some of them like to verbalize what they believe are Marmalade’s thought processes. He is a cat, so they imagine that he does not grasp human spelling and grammar.
Vulcan Commander: … Fascinating. As you were. (signs off)
T’Pen (returning to her meal): Now I can haz lunch.
I need more people to write more bits of this.
The Vulcans going “…Fascinating” is hilarious for some reason.
It’s hilarious because it’s the closest they can get to saying “what the fuck”.
I’m not the most eloquent writer, but I’ve had this idea kicking around for a while and figured I’d put it out into the universe.
A lot of the basis for the “humans are space orcs” stuff is the idea that we’re pretty durable compared to many species, yeah? When it comes to physical trauma, we can bounce back from most things that don’t kill us outright, especially given the benefit of hypothetical space-age technology, and adrenaline is one heck of a drug when it comes to functioning under stress.
But that doesn’t make us unkillable, and even though we can survive debilitating injuries and not die from shock, it doesn’t mean it’s fun. Dying of shock sucks, but at least it’s probably quick.
So - Imagine a ship, adrift in space, slowly being drawn into a star or something. In order to save the ship, someone has to repair the hyper-quantum-relay-majig on the hull or in the engine or whatever. Bit of a problem though- there’s a ton of deadly, deadly radiation (Wrath of Khan style) or poisonous fumes or, I dunno, electrical current, between the crew and the repair. Like, enough to kill most species instantly, so the crew is just like, ‘welp, guess we’ll die then’. But then.
BUT THEN
They ask the human. Because everyone’s heard the stories - you’re basically unkillable, right? Could you survive long enough in there to fix it? And their human goes real quiet for a second, but still says ‘Yeah, I could fix it’. And the rest of the crew is like, ‘Whaaaaaa, it won’t kill you?’ and the human repeats “I can fix it” (which isn’t an answer, but no one catches that, not yet at least), so they send ‘em in. And the human fixes it, they come back, the ship flies to safety, and the crew is thrilled to survive. If the human is a little quiet, well, they’re entitled after pulling off a miracle. Everyone else is just excited to get to the nearest station’s bar to tell their very own human story, cuz, ‘those crazy humans, amiright?’.
The good mood keeps up until the human is late for their next shift. At first it’s just faint unease, but- but they earned a bit of a lie-in, right? No reason to begrudge them some extra rest, even if it is a little weird for them to oversleep. They’ll be fine. Humans are always fine.
(Right?)
(…Wrong.)
-What is… help. Help!-
- ake up! You have t-
- been days. You need sleep, you-
- nother transfusion. We could-
- out of sedatives!-
A week later, the crew finally reaches the station. They stumble into the bar, haggard and haunted. And over the next months and years a new rumor about humans starts to make its way through space. A rumor unlike any before.
‘Be careful with your humans’ it whispers. ‘Their strength is not always a blessing. Be sure they don’t do something they can’t come back from, because when a human dies… they die slowly.’
