HHHHHHHHH

Not at all.

omg cool question, just grab my two! so the answer is like... "maybe sorta", in relation to the "Planck time" and "chronon".

which is to say, there may be a smallest possible time interval below which (quantum something something), but the universe wouldn't be 'updated' at the same time all at once like a timestep in a computer simulation. relativity makes the concept of 'the same time' kind of tricky. but we're getting ahead of ourselves.

so, in physics, we model the universe with equations like the Schrödinger equation, which says "this is how the quantum wavefunction evolves" or "this is how electric and magnetic fields interact with charge". and these equations usually have some special numbers in them that are like, the basic parameters of the universe, which say for example how strong gravity and electromagnetism are, how fast light goes, that kinda thing.

these constants may be given by a more "fundamental" theory. for example, the speed of sound depends on the elastic properties of its medium, so you could theoretically work it out using the underlying model of electromagnetism, lattice vibrations etc. but some of these constants we have no way to calculate based on something else, we have to do an experiment.

now, theoretically, we have two approaches here:

we can do an experiment to measure them relative to something we do know, like a particular metal bar, and say that is the "metre". so we can say, the speed of light appears to travel 299792.4562±0.0011 metres long (the best measurement in 1972)

alternatively, we can define our measurement system based on the constant. so now instead of the metre being a metal bar, a metre is exactly 1/299792.458 of the distance light travels in a second. now the uncertainty is in the precise length of the metre.

the latter may seem weird and counterintuitive, but it's considered more rigorous, since the speed of light is available to anyone anywhere, and keeping a metal bar an exact length turns out to be surprisingly difficult. (along the way, the metre was defined based on radiation.) the SI has since done their best to define all the units using this kind of "explicit constant", the last one being the kilogram, which stopped being a lump of metal in Paris a few years ago.

anyway, that's all a little tangential... the point is, when you do this sort of definition, it's natural to say, well that fraction feels a little arbitrary, right? what if we measured everything in, say, the length light goes in a second? but wait, the second is also very arbitrary (a certain number of exact caesium transitions). can we come up with a unit system where all the important fundamental constants end up with the value 1?

this is already a pretty standard thing in certain areas of physics. in relativity, it's common to say we'll measure space and time with the same unit (treating them as having the same dimension) so the speed of light is exactly 1, a system which we call "natural units". this may sound weird but the maths is just fine. this has interesting consequences, like energy and mass now have the same dimension (which is why you might often see physicists discussing masses of particles in energy units like electron-volts), and speed is dimensionless, but it's fine! however, we still have to have some unit of space or time to use as the basis of our measurement system.

so what if we took it further, and set more constants to 1, eliminating all dimensions? in other words, measuring everything against products of the fundamental constants? to make this work, we need to choose a suitable set of fundamental constants. this is where we go into Planck units. the idea dates all the way back to 1899, when Max Planck proposed doing it based the following four constants...

the speed of light in a vacuum, c, (which is the fastest speed that anything can go relative to any observer in special relativity)

the gravitational constant, G, (measures the strength of gravity)

the reduced Planck constant, ħ, (used throughout quantum mechanics)

the Boltzmann constant, kB (used in thermodynamics pretty much any time temperature is relevant)

to this we could also add electromagnetism by adding the electric constant (aka vacuum permittivity), ε0.

to make a Planck unit, you basically shove these together until they have the right dimensions. for example, say we want to measure energy which has dimensions [mass][distance]/[time]^2. well, the Planck constant has dimensions [mass][distance]/[time], the gravitational constant has dimensions [distance]^3/([mass][time]^2]). the speed of light has dimension [distance]/[time]. so if you mash then together as sqrt(ħc^5/G) you get units of energy. which turns out to be about 2×10^9J in SI units, which is a huge amount of energy.

the thing about Planck units is that they tend to be either really big or really small. of interest to this post is the Planck time, sqrt(ħG/c^5), which comes out as about 5.3×10^-44 seconds. this is basically unimaginably brief. written out in positional notation it's 0.00 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 0053 seconds. we apparently have not yet been able to measure time to within an uncertainty of less than 10^-19 seconds, and while someone has an idea of an experiment that could detect effects as brief as 10^-33 seconds, this is still way way slower than the Planck time.

so we can define a really small time, but why is this important? well, physics has - for most of the last century - been struggling with a puzzle of "quantum gravity". tl:dr is we have an amazing theory of small things called quantum field theory that has made some truly amazingly accurate predictions; we have an amazing theory of gravity called general relativity that has also made some truly amazingly accurate predictions; if you try to combine the two, it starts throwing out infinities and getting really logically confused.

so, physicists believe, there must be a more fundamental theory of 'quantum gravity', to which general relativity and the standard model of quantum field theory are just approximations, just like newtonian mechanics is an approximation of relativity that works well at small speeds. this theory is nicknamed the 'theory of everything'.

unfortunately, despite decades of trying and some really abstruse mathematical apparatus, nobody has figured out anything that looks like the answer. sure, there's ideas, most (in)famously string theory, but there's nothing which has shown the predictive power we demand of a good physical theory.

why is this relevant to time, and the Planck time especially? well, the 'Planck scale' is considered to be where our existing theories break down - it's where gravitational and quantum effects are on about the same scale. it's thought that to understand physics at times as brief and distances as short as the Planck scale, we'll need that new theory of quantum gravity.

but we might not have to go down that far. apparently one of the mathematical ideas that physicists have been trying on is that time might be 'quantised', i.e. coming in discrete steps like animation frames. the name given to this step is a 'chronon', although i don't know if you could exactly call it a particle despite the name.

some sources, including that article, seem to speak of the Planck time as the "smallest possible time interval" between two events. but I'm not really sure why this is said - and it's covered in citation neededs so it seems a little dubious.

unfortunately, QFT and especially quantum gravity is way above where i got to when i mental illnessed out of undergraduate physics, so i can't really explain why a chronon would be a useful concept or why the Planck time might be thought to be the smallest time. in the Schrödinger equation, in special and general relativity, and indeed in classical Newtonian physics, time is fully continuous - but this might be an approximation!

if there is a chronon, it's going to play in interesting ways with the relativity of simultaneity and quantum collapse and all that. like it seems you could very easily find a reference frame where events that are simultaneous in one frame are half a chronon apart in another. but the relationship between relativity and quantum interpretations is a subject i am not really able to address when I'm this sleepy lol.

welcome!!!!!! this is long overdue. i’ve been promising myself i’d made this forever. so here it is - the ultimate masterpost of wlw (women loving women) books. not all characters are lesbians, some are bi or pan, though all books feature f/f relationships and/or themes. there are 150+ recommendations, so enjoy!

YOUNG ADULT CONTEMPORARY:

the miseducation of cameron post by emily m. danforth

keeping you a secret by julie anne peters

grl2grl by julie anne peters

lies my girlfriend told me by julie anne peters

far from xanadu by julie anne peters

rubyfruit jungle by rita mae brown

annie on my mind by nancy garden

kissing kate by lauren myracle

everything leads to you by nina lacour

dare truth or promise by paula boock

gravel queen by tea benduhn

her name in the sky by kelly quindlen

tell me again how a crush should feel by sara farizan

no one needs to know by amanda grace

my best friend, maybe by caela carter

dirty london by kelley york

ask the passengers by a.s. king

empress of the world by sara ryan

pages for you by sylvia brownrigg

waiting in the wings by melissa brayden

breathing underwater by lu vickers

hood by emma donoghue

between you & me by marisa calin

starting from here by lisa jenn bigelow

about a girl by sarah mccarry

the flywheel by erin gough

the necessary hunger by nina revoyr

the house you pass on the way by jacqueline woodson

about a girl by joanne horniman

gravity by leanne lieberman

another life altogether by elaine beale

great by sara benincasa

the gravity between us by kristen zimmer

taking flight by siera maley

the road to her by k.e. payne

the summer i wasn’t me by jessica verdi

unspeakabe by abbie rushton

beauty of the broken by tawni waters

read me like a book by liz kessler

starring kitty by keris stainton

holding back by mila kerr

cam girl by leah raeder

not otherwise specified by hannah moskowitz

an unstill life by kate larkindale

look both ways by alison cherry

a story of now by emily o’beirne

my summer of love by helen cross

marionette by t.b. markinson

the difference between you and me by madeleine george

the bermudez triangle by maureen johnson

girl walking backwards by bett williams

FANTASY/PARANORMAL/SCIENCE FICTION:

the dark wife by sarah diemer

twixt by sarah diemer

the witch sea by sarah diemer

sugar moon by sarah diemer

far by sarah diemer

carmilla by joseph sheridan le fanu

ash by malinda lo

huntress by malinda lo

adaption by malinda lo

the traitor baru cormorant by seth dickinson

karen memory by elizabeth bear

bleeding earth by kaitlin ward

lady knight by l.j. baker

the second sister by rae d. magdon

wild by meghan o’brien

santa olivia by jacqueline carey

everafter by nell stark

iron & velvet by alexis hall

silver kiss by naomi clark

with her body by nicola griffith

ammonite by nicole griffith

the windup girl by paolo bacigalupi

a harvest of ripe figs by shira glassman

seven by jennifer diemer

braided by elora bishop

crumbs by elora bishop

labyrinth by pearl north

the drowning girl by caitlin r. kiernan

the red tree by caitlin r. kiernan

the big lie by julie mayhew

the first twenty by jennifer lavoie

the girl in the road by monica byrne

every dark desire by fiona zedde

CRIME/MYSTERY/THRILLER:

black iris by leah raeder

dangerous girls by abigail haas

far from you by tess sharpe

slow river by nicola griffith

the blue place by nicola griffith

stay by nicola griffith

vanished by e.e. cooper

keepers of the cave by gerri hill

hunter’s way by gerri hill

child of doors by j.s. little

scars by cheryl rainfield

trust me, i’m trouble by mary elizabeth summer

out of order by casey lawrence

reconstructing amelia by kimberly mccreight

vicious little darlings by katherine easer

HISTORICAL:

the paying guests by sarah waters

tipping the velvet by sarah waters

affinity by sarah waters

the night watch by sarah waters

fingersmith by sarah waters

the price of salt by patricia highsmith (also known as carol)

wildthorn by jane eagland

silhouette of a sparrow by molly beth griffin

lies we tell ourselves by robin talley

patience & sarah by isabel miller

the hours by michael cunningham

the well of loneliness by radclyffe hall

mrs dalloway by virginia woolf

the world unseen by shamam sarif

map of ireland by stephanie grant

hild by nicole griffith

honey girl by lisa freeman

letters never sent by sandra moran

fall on your knees by ann-marie macdonald

the last nude by ellis avery

the teahouse fire by ellis avery

olivia by dorothy strachey

the friendly young ladies by mary renault

moon at nine by deborah ellis

the marriage recital by katharine grant

the crimson ribbon by katherine clements

the other typist by suzanne rindell

days of grace by catherine hall

desert of the heart by jane rule

ADULT FICTION:

sing you home by jodi picoult

and playing the role of herself by k.e. lane

i can’t think straight by shamim sarif

stone butch blues by leslie feinberg

curious wine by katherine v. forrest

the color purple by alice walker

jericho by ann mcman

oranges are not the only fruit by jeanette winterson

gut symmetries by jeanette winterson

why be happy when you could be normal? by jeanette winterson

written on the body by jeanette winterson

where we belong by catherine ryan hyde

at the water’s edge by harper bliss

behind the green curtain by riley lashea

96 hours by georgia beers

all that matters by susan x. meagher

give me a reason by lyn gardner

ice by lyn gardner

my last season with you by s.v.c. ricketts

taking the long way by lily r. mason

nightwood by djuna barnes

living at night by mariana romo-carmona

choices by nancy toder

cassandra at the wedding by dorothy baker

landing by emma donoghue

stir-fry by emma donoghue

pitifully ugly by robin alexander

COMICS BOOKS/GRAPHIC NOVELS:

blue is the warmest colour by julie maroh

fun home by alison bechdel

dykes to watch out for by alison bechdel

honor girl by maggie trash

skim by mariko tamaki

potential by ariel shrag

strangers in paradise by terry moore

NON-FICTION:

odd girls and twilight lovers by lillian faderman

surpassing the love of men by lillian faderman

chloe plus olivia by lillian faderman

to believe in women by lillian faderman

sapphistries by leila j. rupp

inseparable by emma donoghue

passions between women by emma donoghue

dear john, i love jane by candace walsh

a woman like that by joan larkin

aimee & jaguar by erica fischer

the femme mystique by leslea newman

boots of leather, slippers of gold by elizabeth lapovsky kennedy

different daughters by marcia m. gallo

between women by sharon marcus

charity and sylvia by rachel hope cleves

lesbian culture: an anthology by julia penelope

alice + freda forever by alexis coe

(ʘ‿ʘ✿) “what you say ‘bout me”

the original post

First, it takes much more compute than he was expecting. He investigates, and finds that simulated-him also fantasized about being wealthy, got access to the local supercomputer, and started running simulations where he wins the lottery the day he graduates college. In retrospect this was predictable -it just means the simulation is high-fidelity. In fact, the simulated simulation is also high fidelity, and the problem keeps repeating. The chain of higher-level-him simulating lower-level-him, and making lower-level-him win the lottery on the last day of college, is at least hundreds of layers deep. He can't even trace how deep it goes.

Second, he wins the lottery on the day he graduates college. Which is pretty odd, since he doesn't remember buying a ticket.

What happened? Well, suppose he observes the chain of simulations and finds that it's, let's say, 209 layers deep. Each version of him thinks it's the real version, and has no clue that he's living in a simulation. From a standpoint of humility, he should ask something like "In each of the 209 layers below me, the version of me thinks it's in base-level reality, and is wrong. I am in exactly the same epistemic position as each of them. So what's the chance I'm in base-level reality?" Phrased this way, the answer is obvious.

Suppose you're a starving college student with access to a supercomputer, and you want to win the lottery. What if you deliberately set up this situation? I'm really not sure how to think about this, but who knows, it might work?

Okay, now suppose that you're in 10th century Persia. There's no such thing as supercomputers, and also you're a teenaged girl, and also the king is going to kill you tomorrow morning. What do you do?"

The second is a reply from cryptojuice that says "ok can someone explain how this maps onto a teenage girl in 10th century Persia bc that line is where they lost me"

He is an amazing stop motion animator and video wizard!

Here is how he made the banana illusion video

He is very good and you’ve probably seen his work with out knowing it.

That chocolate video, that’s Kevin Parry:

The fruit, Kevin Parry

He’s animated for Laika and does many illusion shorts on his Instagram and TikTok

Here’s his reel and some of the stuff he did for Kubo

middle earth isn’t saved because no one faltered or came close to despairing or who sank to their knees in weary defeat. it’s not saved by pride or conviction or even strength. it’s saved because enough people do what they have to do even if they have to do it in the darkness. in the dust. with the ashes of hopelessness and bitterness in their mouths. because enough people took another step. Frodo, Sam, Gandalf, Aragorn, Theoden, Boromir, Faramir, Merry, Pippin. And many don’t. For every hero there is someone who gives into the “reasonableness” of despair—Saruman, Denethor, Grima, even Gollum—but enough. Enough people said “it doesn’t matter if we lose, I will keep fighting” and then they do.

And that GETS me. It is the most hopeful thing about the lord of the rings to me. There is so much that sums up its spirit, so many beautiful quotes and moments, but to me it’s never been the most famous of the quotes about hope and love that hit me hardest but a line from the films. Before the battle for minas tirith, one of the soldiers says “we cannot defeat the armies of Mordor” and Theoden answers “no. but we will meet them in battle nonetheless.”

Estel is the alias Elrond gave to Aragorn in the books when he was a child to protect him until he came of age. It’s Sindarin Elvish for hope. But it’s a specific kind of hope. I don’t have my linguistic notes handy, so I can’t remember where Tolkien wrote out the full definition in his own notes, but it’s basically:

estel, n. hope, faith, trust, belief.

But there’s another Elvish word for hope.

amdir, n. hope, expectation, extrapolation. from prefix am to, toward + verb tiro look. Same root as in palantir, far-seer.

amdir is rational hope: you look at present circumstances, and look ahead to see what’s coming. It means calculating likely possibilities, outcomes. What’s the best you can expect to happen?

estel is irrational hope. You know there’s just no way to win. Amdir says you’re screwed, and you say, “I know, but I’ll keep going anyway.”

estel is a FOOL’s HOPE.

Ring any bells? Because you’re absolutely right. There are a lot of people who fail in LOTR because they only had amdir. Saruman was entrapped because he saw no hope of victory, so he threw in his lot with Sauron.

Boromir had been fighting a losing battle of defense against the forces of Mordor and knew there was no chance of defeating the overwhelming forces of Sauron save by some extraordinary means. He saw in the Ring a hope of saving his city by using it as a weapon. He knew “one does not simply walk into Mordor”… it’s too well-defended. Deep down, he wanted to try the amdir option, not the estel option.

And then there’s Denethor. Denethor, most of all, is the epitome of amdir. In the books he is a proud man, but rational. He’s the Steward of Gondor, and he takes the job damn seriously. His people are the bulwark defending Middle-Earth from being crushed by Mordor, which is visible from his window. He’s done a good job of marshalling forces and stockpiling resources for this battle — in the books, he does light the beacons to summon Théoden – and he actually has a palantir he uses to spy on Sauron.

His mind is strong enough to resist Sauron controlling him. So instead, Sauron controls the palantir, making sure it only shows off the greatness of Mordor’s armies, allies and weapons, and every last loss and setback of Denethor’s side. He knew very well Théoden had been held up at Helm’s Deep and would arrive too late. He knew Aragorn was coming to claim the throne, which didn’t thrill him: he thought Aragorn was just Gandalf’s puppet. And when he finds out Faramir had done what Gandalf wanted and sent the Ring into Mordor with a hobbit instead of bringing it to him flr safekeeping, he rails at Gandalf for risking everything on a “fool’s hope.”

The final straw is that, after Faramir is injured, Denethor looks into the palantir one more time to see if there’s any hope left… and he sees the fleet of black ships coming up the river. He thinks it’s more armies from Mordor. In fact, it’s Aragorn bringing a spare army to save the day. But Denethor thinks to himself, “checkmate. We’re toast.” And he decides to kill himself and his dying son rather than let them be seized as trophies by Sauron (or in his case, as a prisoner.)

Denethor gives into despair, but he is not a total madman in the books. He just has a meltdown because he only has amdir, not estel, and only a fool’s hope could win against impossible odds.

Also? Samwise is basically old English for “half wit.” He’s a wise Fool. Théoden and Aragorn do what they can to help, and in the and Aragorn leads his armies to the gates of Mordor to divert Sauron’s attention from Frodo and Sam as much as he can. But it’s Sam’s dogged determination to keep going even if it’s hopeless (amdir-less) that saves them all.

Note that I think Tolkien may have come up with the Elvish word amdir and written out its definition after LOTR was published. But the concept was obviously burbling around in his subconscious already. The more you look, the more you’ll see how the different flavors of hope show up in his writing

It’s the sort of hope that goes along with Tolkein’s concept of despair, which is that despair should be the product of nothing less than absolute certainty that everything is fucked, categorically, forever. But because no one can know that with any real certainty, by definition there is always hope. Not the hope of planning, or the hope of dedication, but the hope of “we don’t know how this is gonna shake out, but if we don’t know for sure then we can’t despair, and if we’re not despairing then we must still have hope left.”

Though here at journey’s end I lie In darkness buried deep, Beyond all towers strong and high, Beyond all mountains steep, Above all shadows rides the sun, And stars forever dwell; I will not say the day is done, Nor bid the stars farewell.

At the moment that he sings that, he has almost given up; he decided that finding Frodo was more important than taking the ring to Mount Doom himself, but now he has searched the whole tower and he can’t find Frodo. He’s determined not to leave without Frodo, but he doesn’t know where he is; he knows the orcs are coming back, and that if he’s still there at that point, he’ll be killed or tortured (or both), the Ring will be taken from him, and all will be lost.

So what does he do?

He sits down at the top of the tower, and he sings. He sings about how even though he is “buried in darkness”, beyond all hope of aid, he will not say the day is done. For even if he fails, he realizes that “in the end the Shadow was only a small and passing thing: there was light and high beauty for ever beyond its reach.” It’s such a very hobbit-y moment of courage and faith, where, faced with defeat and the loss of all he holds dear, he sings of the beauty that will still exist in the world, even should he fail.

By the time you realise that they can traverse water, it’s too late. The surviving members of your unit manage to make it back by shedding their excess gear and running for their lives; the slower ones were crushed to death within minutes.

You later describe the creature to one of the humans you captured, wanting to know the name of the monstrosity that will haunt your nightmares for cycles to come.

The human smiles as it speaks a single word, slowly and distinctly, in its barbaric tongue.

And at first you are, you’ve learned how to dodge. You’ve learned where their territories are. You know how to defend yourself.

But then one night you are sleeping in your shelter. You’re in a tree covered temperate part of earth. It seems benign. There are been no sightings of the dreaded “hippos” around. Not even any bears. But there is a slight rustle of the undergrowth. You try and ignore it telling yourself it is just the wind.

Then you hear the rustle again. closer this time.

You peer out into the darkness but see nothing amongst the trees.

The rustle again and now you realise you can smell something. It’s musky and slightly foul. It’s the smell of an omen, a warning. But what of? Where is this smell coming from.

You sit up, but it’s too late. The foul smelling creature is on you. You are hit with 17kg of coarse fur and vicious bites. Long dark claws tear in to you and you are pinned down white the striped creature tries to bite your throat.

It takes some doing but you manage to wrestle free. Blood drips from your wounds and already they itch with the sign of infection. The creature has a bloodied snout, rust rad, mingling with the black and white hairs. It lets out a terrifying growl from the back of its throat and looks to attack again. It’s between you and your knife, so your only choice is to back away.

Eventually the creature gives up and snuffles off in to the undergrowth, down a hole near your shelter you hadn’t noticed before.

When you make it back to your base you once again consult the captive human.

BAMrumblerumblethumpcrash!!!

You lost Jaxurn to a plant. Not even a mobile or carnivorous plant, just one that caused a vicious allergic reaction on contact that killed him in less than a rai'kor. Commander Vura'ko died to an insect bite, a tiny local pest that sucked a tiny bit of her blood and apparently replaced it with a bit of its last meal, which was full of disease. Backwash. She died to bug backwash. And yet you honestly envy them after that… thing you encountered…

When you got back to base the quarantine officer refused to let you inside. They had to roll a containment tank outside to put you in, because you all knew there would be no chance of eliminating the smell if it got into the ship’s air ducts. Smell. You wonder if your nasal slit will ever recover from this stench.

And the smell would. Not. Leave. After incinerating your gear the Q.O. had you use every cleansing agent they could think of, including a few janitorial ones, and still everyone fled the stench if they were downwind of your tank. Desperate to protect everyone’s nasal slits from the smell the quarantine officer interrogated the humans. From them, a glimmer of hope: there was a cure. Somehow the juice of a certain fruit on this mudball was the only thing that could break up the chemicals in the little horror’s spray. Immediately the Q.O. sent a team to recover buckets of the stuff and made you bathe in it. That was hours ago and it didn’t seem to be working, though. All it was doing was turning your blue skin an interesting shade of purple.

Sighing in frustration you wave the med-assist on duty over, who only approaches after checking the wind direction. Annoyed, you flip on the tank`s vox speaker.

It came for someone almost every night. 

Any soldier alone was a viable target for this native monster that moved unseen by any but the security viewers, usually only spotted in hindsight.  They were taken as silently as this earth-monster moved.  Sometimes they’d find the remains in the morning taken up a tree and hung there, mostly eaten, as if it were a grisly reminder that the monster was still there, waiting unseen, to strike again. 

What little they saw of the monster on the vidfeed showed true horror.  Yellow eyes that shone with all the light it could gather.  It had fangs as long as his grasping digits.  Claws half that size formed curved hooks that allowed it to climb up their fortifications with impunity.  And in the underbrush, its spots made it almost impossible to see clearly in the undergrowth, if it could be seen at all.

Even the native sentients, the humans, had a healthy respect and fear for it. 

The earth natives called the monster a leopard.  

It was a constant fear that muddied the senses, and let the monster hunt even more effectively as the soldiers were always on edge.  Sleep deprived with fear, it made them even better targets for the monster. 

But rumor was that there was worse on this planet.  Rumors of a monster like a leopard but larger, and bigger in every imaginable sense. Stripped instead of spotted, which leaped from the underbrush with a sound.

The troops were not-quite-looking at her in the way troops do when they don’t want to be seen to contradict a ranking officer, but can’t quite muster a correct Expression of Enthusiastic Assent.  “The name of this species,” she pointed out, “is synonymous with dullness and slowness in the language of the Earth barbarians.”  Well, one language out of several thousand—these creatures needed Imperial guidance more than any other world on record—but there was no point in confusing the rank and file.

“I would warn you not to fuck with us, mate.” Their forced guide, a prisioner, had warned with a chilling grin upon capture. “If you think a moose is bad, wait until you tango with a red back.” To this day Tar'van fears the creature known as the red back, and what horrors it would bring.

The prisioner turned out to be of little help,the stubboness of his people causing them to refuse the danger that the captured human warned of. Tar'van recalls a moment when one of his squad members approached a creature know as a dingo, insistent they had seen these creatures before and they were tame. They barely escaped with 5 of the original 7 members of his squad.

Another moment Tar'van recalls was the brutal mauling they witnessed by the hands of a creature called an ‘Emu’

“Don’t feel too bad,” the prisioner mocked. “We lost a war to the Emu’s as well.”

Now with only 4 members of their squad left, including themself, Tar'van had learned to listen to the prisoner, to be wary of the simplest of creatures. This human was of the sub-species of ‘Zookeeper’ after all.

The ‘Zookeeper’ looks off to the distance, where the creature is.

“It’s a kangaroo, leave it be and you’ll be fine.” Tar'van nods, a human signal of acknowledgement if they are correct. The human smiles a bit.

“That creature cannot possibly harm us.” Tar'van’s squadleader protests. “It is so docile. I will aproach it and bring back it’s head to show this human is a fearmongering liar.”

The human reels back, a look of disgust crosses their face and anger passes through their eyes.

“Fucking do it mate, I dare ya.” The human hisses. The squad leader puffs up their hoinn gland, a sign of pride to their species, and aproached the so called ‘Kangaroo’.

“This will be unpleasant.” A squadmate mutters as they watch their leader raise their fist and bring it down on the creature. The ‘Kangaroo’ looks a little stunned by the impact, before it raises itself upon its strong tail and uses its powerful heind legs to launch their squadleader backwards through the air.

Their squadleader lands upon the ground, unmoving with black blooded oozeing from them. It appears Tar'van is the squads leader now.

“I don’t know what they expected.” the human says, smugness filling their tone. “Kangaroos are fucking shreaded. 8-pack and all.”

Tar'van steps forward to the human, whom inches back in a sign of fear as Tar'van pulls their blade from its holster, and in their first act as leader, frees the human of the bonds around their hands.

They had faced Emu’s. They had lost one in the battle but had experienced them. But this was no emu.

Looking to their guide, they all stare in horror as his face changes from calculating to fear. Pure, heart consuming horror as he stares at the large bird. “Cassowary…” They mimic him in fear. Squawking the horrific name as another joins the first in the mad run towards them.

“Excuse me,” the native Terran guide speaks up in a tired tone, and the squad’s cheers die on their lips. “This is Japan. You haven’t seen what–”

“Silence, worm! No sting can penetrate this plating!”

The guide tries to warn them once again, merely earning a blow that throws them to their knees. The troops set out, morale high, certain in their ability to brave the wildlife now and thirsting for vengeance against the non-sentient native species. One soldier thumps his fist against a tree. A hollow sound follows.

In an instant, the soldier is the centre of a storm of the striped insects. At first, no one pays it any mind. Their little stings cannot penetrate the new plating, after all.

But then the soldier falls to his knees, and the squad stares in horror as the insects enclose him in layer upon layer of their own bodies, all moving. The squad’s medic yells a warning at everyone to stay back, watching the readouts of the unfortunate soldier’s armour on their diagnostic screen with undisguised horror. The insects aren’t even stinging. They simply keep moving, one atop the other, and the soldier’s body temperature is slowly rising until he drops to the ground, quite literally cooked alive. The insect swarm takes off, unharmed save for the ones that were crushed when the trooper fell.

The human bares its teeth. A smile, they call it. Something humans do when they are happy. Yet you can’t help but think of all the creatures with the their large fangs and sharp teeth. (What kind of species uses a threat signal as a sign of happiness?)

“Persistence and ingenuity.” The human answers, still smiling. 

“Is that a miniature tiger?”

“Why does this human own a small pack of wolves?”

The aliens ask their human captive why small wolves live with them. 

“Oh, you mean dogs? Yeah, they’re the only animals that can keep up with us.”

The aliens look at each other in fear. “What do you mean?”

“Oh well that’s why you guys ‘won’ is because humans aren’t super fast or strong. I think my middle school biology teacher called us pursuit predators? It means we evolved to hunt things by following them at walking pace until they had to stop to sleep and then catching up to them then. Dogs are the only animals that can keep up with us. Did you know one time a pack of wolves tailed a herd of caribou for three days straight?”

“Uh… okay, what about these small round things with big teeth?”

“Omg dude no if you give a hamster enought time that little fucker can chew through concrete :)”

The aliens aren’t expecting any difficulties with their underwater expeditions. Of course, that’s when four of the life signs on the central screen simply vanish, like they’d never been there. 

Alpha turns on the direct communication lines to the remaining submersion pods, and the only thing they hear through the tinny speakers is screaming. 

Alpha resists the urge to turn and stare at the shackled human standing behind them, but Beta, Gamma and Theta have no such compunctions. 

The human shrugs. “I mean, we’ve never really been down there so we’re not entire sure, but we’ve heard stories of giant squids and stuff. No smoke without fire, and all that.” 

“There can be neither smoke nor fire underwater, human, cease your prattling.” 

The human snorts. “It’s a phrase. A metaphor? Man, I don’t know, I studied marine biology, not literature.” 

The human is unable to tell them anything useful about what might have happened to the submersion pods, but retrieved footage later shows tentacled behemoths snaking out of the depths of disturbed silt and cold water, and crushing the submersion pods effortlessly, in full view of the outer-hull cameras. The monsters have giant beaks which rip through the organic alloy sheets, and into the bodies of the pod pilots within. 

The outer-hull cameras register the blue of fresh spilled blood and gore, at the same time the on-board cameras register screaming and the red glow of critical power failure. 

The last thing the aliens can see on the retrieved footage is thin, long, snakelike creatures appearing out of the darkness and gloom, creating their own light and descending upon the remains of their brethren. They are accompanied by creatures that look like plastic bags, but which feed upon the toxic remains of the organic alloy of which the pods were made.

2) Earth has Poison Dart Frogs, we’re clearly a Death World.

Such a one was Sarcal-<clik>, respected Third Claw of the 87th Legion. Not only an admired leader and a feared warrior (They had led the assualt on Urpga-9 after all), but one whose exo-skeleton and mist sacs were amongst the most elegantly beautiful of their generation (though they were apporpriately modest about such things). In every respect they were a warrior to aspire to be like, resplendent in the finest, hand-polished ceramic body armour, guaranteed (so the makers claimed) to be able to resist the claws of even the “tyg’er”, though no one was too keen to put that one to the test. They had volunteered for this duty, partly out of a love of the challenge, partly out of a desire to excel… There was a Dirt-ian song which included the lyrics “If I can make it there, I’ll make it anywhere” and this was being generally applied to the surivors of more than one tour of duty.

Simply having them on Dirt (There HAD to be a better name) was a source of pride for many, and relief for others (in the hope that a bad report from Salrcal<clik> would be enough to get Command to evacuate this godsforsaken planet.)

So it was a cause of great concern when Sarcal-<clik> could not be woken when it came time for their watch that night. Like any good soldier, they slept in their armour when sharing watch duty. Swiftly, an officer was called and when the visor was raised, it was not that they were dead which was the greatest shock, but the look of horror frozen on that noble visage.

The field surgeon performing the cursory autopsy could not identify cause of death beyond poison of some sort. The humans bearers on the squad hadn’t been near them, so they were in the clear, but beyond that, it was a mystery.

The prized armour was passed to the next in command, as Sarcal<clik> would have wished, and though the sqaud were not nearly as inspired as once they might have been, they continued the patrol, determined to honour their comrade’s memory. There would be poems composed of this mission on the Homeworld in Sarcal<clik>’s honour, and their behaviour would reflect on them all in the telling.

It was not long, however, before the second in command convulsed and collapsed. Not as stoic as Sarcal<clik> their death was just as horrific, but less restrained and though the surgeon was still not able to identify how such a powerful neurotoxin could have entered their system.

There was some understandable reluctance on the newly appointed second in command to take on the armour. it may have been beautiful and gleamed in the even the unpleasantly yellow Dirt-ian sun, but it now had a reputiation.

And it was one that was well earned. The scream of the dying soldier was heard by all. They took longer that the previous victims, and their last contorlled movement was to point to their hindfoot, but the armoured boot was perfectly intact.

After that no one would go near the armour, it had a bad reputaiton, it would be boxed up and returned to the Homeworld for display in some museum or other. Thus is was only two human bearers cleaning it before transport who were present when the small shape fell out of the toe of the boot.

“Careful matel! Funnel web!”

“Dead now. That explains a lot though. I guess tiger proof doesn’t mean spider-proof, and they LOVE dark spaces to hide in. Doubt the bite would show up on mottled skin like theirs.”

”Should we tell our high and mighty masters in case there are any more about?”

They exchanged a gleefully malevolent look and shared a smile.

“Why trouble them with such a trivial little matter.”

After a month it was exceedingly clear that the human concept of friendship was NOT a state of mutual trust and support but perhaps fear and subjugation from nature. Perhaps it was one of those clever tricks the humans used to lure each other to death, just like the fabled ‘greenland’

You see, having learned their lessons in “Australia” they chose to settle in near the old human civilization, where the humans had razed the landscape to set up personal habitats, driving the wildlife back.

How were they to know that driving back meant only about 10 feet, because after a rain, a massive beast heralding from millions of earth years came out of the water and ripped Lieutenant Grakshw into pieces in broad daylight. Attempts to recover his plated insignia for his family was met with a CONFLAGRATION of about 20 vicious writhing snakes that were very soon found to be venomous, as the loss of Captain M'gbrak soon proved.

Immediate restructuring of the fence separating the encampment from the ‘bayou’ seemed to work for precisely one week…

Like most of this death world, the area was prone to hurricanes and tornadoes for most of the year. The human built habitats seemed to weather it poorly, with many having bits blown off, exposing their vehicle ports or bathing dens to the elements.

The exploratory team did not account for what the humans kept in their homes. There were many canine and feline miniatures that they of course had protocol for.

They did not have protocol for the beasts with claws the length of their chest that were very hungry after their human handlers were removed

According to the human guide of sub class “control officer” many upstanding human homes in human sub colony “texas” kept full size predators (lions, tigers, and bears, …..no home) as pets and as it was legal in this dont as long as the animal was fed, there was no documentation on where or how many were hidden away.

The final transmission from settlement group Xyytar-B came from their designated human actually HOLDING several of the venomous beings that slaughtered M'gbrak in a flimsy plastic tub. Her accent was as hard to translate as ever:

“Yea y'all really fucked up when ya tried to poof us all. Now the tigers are hungry and the wolves are breaking out of their yards. Try watching animal cops before picking a habitat next time. Animal control out”

the op, whose name is currently "captain a.c.a.b.", is jeffrey cranor, writer of popular podcast "welcome to night vale"

the quote retweet is cecil baldwin, voice of said podcast, "welcome to night vale"

the tweet is liked by noelle stevenson, showrunner/creator of popular netflix show "she ra and the princesses of power"

the joke itself is comparing the tulsa trump rally to tumblr dashcon, which is a circa-2014 tumblr joke

Night Vale had to pull out of Dashcon, yes, because Dashcon refused to pay them. Likewise, Noelle Stevenson was there, & had to pull out part of the way through the con when she found out that she would have to pay for her hotel room. The Night Vale group let Noelle Stevenson stay with them in their room. (She has since designed merch for them + been invited backstage to their live shows.)

THAT'S BECAUSE THEY WERE THERE! HHAHAAHAH

Lumberjacks, like most megafauna species generally require more space than the average hardware store, even a big box store could provide. The misconception is that Lumberjacks are a social species because of how they often work and live together.

This is a matter of necessity, not preference, and a survival technique for thriving under the LogBoss.

A “pack” of Lumberjacks, if not under the environmental pressure of a LogBoss will naturally disperse until they each have a wide territory.

Lumberjacks rarely fight for territory.

One on one, a Lumberjack could drive out a Dad or Lesbian, however the latter tend to travel in social packs.

Lumberjacks will passively retreat on the presence of large numbers of people. Kind of like Sasquatch.

Getting a “pack” of Lumberjacks assembled would be hard enough unless they were forced into a Hardware Store by a LogBoss. In that case, they would already be in a heightened and potentially agitated state far above their natural behavior. This artificial scenario can be likened to a circus animal running amok. If it had been in the wild, the incident would not have occurred.

Free-roaming Lumberjacks are the cryptids of the Hardware ecosystem. They are surprisingly quiet and unobtrusive.

“It’s been almost a week already,” The warlock said, ignoring the suggestion. “He’s usually here by now.”

“Maybe you should try sending another ominous warning. Storm clouds over the palace?”

“I already did that a couple days ago.”

“Yikes. What about a skull burned into the grass?”

“They might think that means you’re already dead though.”

“Hmm. Burn a skull into the ground and then a number? And then make the number go down every day?”

“All this kind of assumes he hasn’t left yet, doesn’t it? Even if he was going to leave later than usual, he wouldn’t wait this long. Maybe I should do storm clouds over the tower? He would probably be able to see from wherever he is.”

The princess had just opened her mouth to respond when they heard the sound of a horse neighing outside. The warlock rushed to the window and looked out, furrowing his brow in confusion when he saw what was outside. This horse was white, not the soft gray of the handsome knight’s horse, and this knight had a significantly different build than the other. This new knight dismounted the horse and knocked on the tower door.

“Finally.” The princess stood and straightened her dress. “I was beginning to think he’d never show up.”

“It’s not him. It’s a different knight.” The warlock muttered, heading towards the door.

The princess frowned in confusion and settled back on the armchair, arms crossed. The warlock headed down the long spiral staircase, making sure to grab his staff on the way. Making himself look as intimidating as possible, he flung open the door, creating a strong magical wind that billowed his cloak menacingly as he glared down at the new knight.

“Who are you?” He bellowed in a booming voice that echoed throughout the clearing in which the tower was situated.

The new knight drew his sword, a smug look on his face that the warlock detested. The handsome knight never looked smug. Without so much as a word, the knight began to swing his sword. The warlock rolled his eyes, and with a wave of his staff, he blasted the knight back into the clearing onto his back. The horse whinnied fearfully and reared up before running away.

The new knight jumped back to his feet and brandished his sword again, but the warlock simply tsked and waved his staff once more, blasting the new knight back even further. Yet again the knight jumped up and attempted to charge, and yet again, the warlock blasted him backwards.

“I could do this all day.” The warlock said with a yawn.

“Release the princess!” The new knight exclaimed breathlessly, pointing his sword at the warlock.

“Where’s that other knight?” The warlock asked, examining his nails in an attempt to appear nonchalant.

The new knight ignored his question, and the warlock sighed heavily before blasting him back yet again. “It’s rude to ignore a question, you know.”

“Don’t play these mind games, wizard!” The knight cried out, rushing forward again.

The warlock frowned, and this time, instead of blasting the knight back, he cast a spell that caused vines to erupt from the ground and entangle the knight’s legs. The knight tried to hack at the vines, but a lower intensity blasting spell quickly knocked the sword out of the knight’s hand. The warlock stepped forward as the knight struggled to get free.

“First of all.” The warlock said, stepping closer to the struggling knight. “I am a warlock. Not a wizard.”

The knight spit in the warlock’s face. The warlock wiped it off his face, then dragged his hand across the knight’s face, sneering with disgust.

“Second of all, I assure you, you will know when I am playing mind games, and this is not it. Now, I asked you a question. Where is the other knight?”

The new knight frowned in confusion. “He left as soon as he heard that the princess was missing again, and he has not returned. We thought you’d finally bested him.”

Now it was the warlock’s turn to frown. “He has not arrived here. Something must have happened on his way here…”

With the warlock’s focus directed elsewhere, the vines loosened enough for the knight to break free, and he ran for his sword before turning and trying to charge the warlock once more, but the warlock simply stepped back inside the tower and closed the door, locking it behind him. He headed up the spiral staircase, too deep in thought to even notice how the knight shouted and cursed on the other side of the door.

“So?” The princess gave him a questioning look as he stepped back into the room.

“Something has intercepted him.”

The princess frowned. “Who could do that? I mean, if he can beat someone as powerful as you…”

“Oh no, I always let him win.”

“Well damn. Still, what could be on the way here that could stop him from coming if he hasn’t been hindered before?”

“I don’t know, I mean he’s passed by everything on the path a million times before without being stopped. Well, except that witch, I suppose.”

“Wait what? What witch?”

“Oh, a witch settled down a little way’s away from here a few weeks ago.”

The princess just stared at him for a moment. He was just about to ask her why she was looking at him like that when it hit him.

“Oh my god, he’s been captured by the witch!”

The warlock turned on his heel and hurried back down the staircase. The new knight was still trying futilely to break down the door. The warlock flung it open and blasted the knight back again, marching out into the clearing. The knight jumped to his feet and brandished his sword, charging at where the warlock stood, but the warlock simply kept marching forward, the knight running into a tree as he zoomed past.

“As soon as I get my sword unstuck from this tree, it’s over for you, wizard!”

“Warlock!” The warlock shouted without turning around as he continued marching.

The witch’s house was within a few hours of his tower, even by foot. At least, it was for someone like him, who knew all the shortcuts. It wasn’t long before he was at the witch’s door, knocking firmly on her door.

“Oh, so you finally came to meet the new neighbor.” The witch said a little irritably when she answered the door. “I’m sorry, but you’ve caught me at a bit of a bad time, I-”

The warlock ignored her, pushing past her into the house. There was a bubbling cauldron in the middle of the room, and tied to a chair next to it was the handsome knight. He was gagged, and had clearly been struggling, but now he was still, breathing heavily as he looked at the warlock with a mixture of confusion and wariness. The warlock turned to the witch.

“Release him.”

The witch sputtered. “What?! Why on earth would I do that?! And why would you want me to, anyhow, isn’t he your enemy?”

Instead of answering her, he pounded his staff on the floor, the sound magically magnified, and a powerful gust of wind blew out around the warlock, putting out every candle in the room, as well as the fire beneath the cauldron, knocking the witch off her feet, and, regrettably, also knocking over the chair that the knight was tied to.

The warlock walked over to the chair, met with no protest by the confused witch. The warlock knelt down and waved his staff over the bound knight, and the ropes and gag magically untied themselves. He held out a hand to help the knight up, half expecting him to refuse the help and get up himself. Instead, he accepted the offered hand and got to his feet. The warlock turned to the knight’s armor, which had apparently been removed by the witch, and waved his staff. The armor began to float behind the warlock as he led the knight out of the house.

The walk back to the tower was quiet. The warlock remembered the princess suggesting that the warlock finally ask the knight out. He felt his palms growing sweaty at the thought, but wouldn’t now be the best time?

He looked over to the knight, clearing his throat. The knight looked up from the ground, and the warlock found himself at a loss for words.

“What?” The knight asked.

“Well, um, I thought that maybe, you know, since I saved you, we-”

“Wait, saved me? I thought you just wanted me as your prisoner, and not hers.”

“Oh, no, I was saving you. Look, I…This whole, me kidnapping the princess and you coming to save her and me kidnapping her again and you coming to save her again, it’s all been a bit misunderstanding.”

The knight raised an eyebrow.

“What I mean by that, is that I…Well, I’ve never hurt the princess, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, and I’ve never hurt you either.”

“I just thought you were really shitty at this whole evil warlock thing.”

“Why were you just going to come with me then, thinking I was taking you prisoner but also thinking that I was a really shitty warlock?”

“I figured I’d get to the princess quicker, and I could just fight you off back at the tower.”

“Oh.”

“But if you didn’t want to hurt anyone, then what was the point of all this?”

“Well…You see…The thing is, I kind of…Like…You…”

There was a moment of silence.

“What.”

“Yeah, the princess is in on it, she gives me flirting advice while we’re waiting for you, and we eat chocolate together, and-”

“Wait, that was flirting? I thought you were taunting me!”

“Yes, well, we’ve established that I have communication issues, anyway, the point is that the princess and I are kind of friends and so we just hang out and she gives me tips, and-”

“So, wait, you guys just have slumber parties up there while you wait for me?”

“Yeah, basically.”

The knight looked at the warlock incredulously for a moment before throwing his head back and laughing. The warlock shifted from foot to foot self-consciously. When the knight finally stopped laughing, he put a hand on the warlock’s shoulder.

“Why didn’t you just talk to me?”

“Well, you know, communication issues and all…plus, the princess gets bored in the palace, and she gets to have all the chocolate she wants at my tower but no one will let her have any at the palace because the queen wants her to watch her figure, so…”

The knight chuckled a bit. “So what now? Do we head back, tell everyone the truth?”

“Well, I don’t think they’d accept the truth, they’d probably think I put you and the princess under some kind of spell, and then she wouldn’t have a way to get out of the palace once in a while…”

“Are you suggesting that we just…keep this going?”

“Yeah, maybe when you come to ‘save’ her in the future, you can hang around a little while, and we can walk together for a bit or have dinner together. Maybe sometimes I can even come into town in disguise and we can have dates then, but I do think for her sake that we should keep the ‘kidnap the princess’ thing going for a while.”

“Maybe one day when she becomes the queen and doesn’t have her mother breathing down her neck anymore, you can ‘kidnap’ her one last time and I can get one of the other knights to come with me, and they can bring her back and tell everyone that I was killed or put under your spell, and I can stay here with you, and we can both go into town in disguise when we want a date there, or to visit her, or my friends and family. I’ll tell them the truth, of course, they deserve that much.”

“Of course. sounds like a plan.”

“I kind of already have someone in mind for who to bring with me for the last kidnapping. There’s a certain knight that the princess has been watching train a lot, and given the way she shows off when her highness is watching, I think the knight might feel the same way.”

He didn’t know exactly why, maybe he thought the way the little flame flickered was pleasant, perhaps he enjoyed the way the thin trail of smoke danced above it.

Perhaps he was distracting himself from going back to sleep, the latest nightmare still fresh in his mind. He could almost feel the cold water invading his lungs.

So he distracts himself with the little flame.

“For how long, I wonder, can I keep this flame alight?”

He stayed awake all night, observing the little flame, feeding it small scraps of paper when it flickered too weak, gently patting it down when it consumed it’s candle too fast.

Exhaustion was creeping on him, he could barely keep his eyes open anymore, his common sense telling him he should put the little flame out before he fell asleep on top of it.

He ignored this advise.

Instead, he so carefully moved the little flame from it’s almost completely melted candle to a new, unused one.

Hopefully big enough to last quite a few hours.

Almost fearfully, he collapsed in bed, waiting for the horrible and familiar feeling of the icy waters encasing him on his sleep.

Instead, he dreamt of warmth.

—

Another day went by, then another, then a week, then two.

He learned how long each type of candle lasted, what sort of fuel feed the little flame the best.

It was now a bit of a pet project, to see how long he could make it last.

He remembers fondly how the little flame once encased the entire candle at once, flickering almost playfully.

Or how it hissed almost in annoyance, when he had to flicker it with water dropets to get it to a manageable size again.

He wasn’t sure when the pet project became just a pet.

Perhaps it was when he caught himself thinking up names for the little flame.

Perhaps it was when he decided on Orion.

In the following months not once did he dreamt of all encasing cold nor the impenetrable darkness of the depths.

He dreamt of warmth and light.

—

It was a holiday night, the kind that had most houses empty as entire families flocked together.

He was alone with Orion when the burglars broke in.

They weren’t expecting witnesses, just an easy job.

Though a single terrified man wasn’t too hard of a job.

They bought him down easily, and violently, demanding riches he didn’t have.

Orion gave a fearful flicker with each hit, it shook with each threat.

But when the bored and disappointed burglars took out the weapon, Orion roared.

The candle was ablaze in one second, the desk in two, and the burglars in three.

The little flame, now a massive, enraged inferno, embraced him fully and protectively.

He felt as much heat, as one would fill drinking hot chocolate in a cold winter night, with the company of a fully stocked fireplace and a warm blanket.

Orion’s body grew and grew, soon encasing the entire house, the flames growing so high and wide, and flickering so violently, they almost looked like flapping wings.

Later they will find nothing but an empty, charred plot of land, and blackened trails following the direction of the wind.

He left with Orion that night, never to feel cold again.

—

There’s the common misbelief that dragons hatch from eggs, when in reality, the infant form of a dragon is so frail, so small, that a misplaced breath might be enough to extinguish them.

But if one were to care for them long enough, love them long enough, the dragon will grow big and powerful, and return the favor.

—