i always laugh whenever we have to centrifuge bacteria because imagine you’re just chilling in some broth with your buds and then someone comes along and puts you in a tube and spins you at fucking 14,000 rpm
to add to this “humans are weird” thing did you know that humans are the only species on earth with the ability to throw things with any significant degree of accuracy and force (apes can throw with about the force of a human ten year old, but cant lock their wrists well enough for accuracy)
and we just never really think about it bc its so easy and simple to us that pretty much all of our sports are based around the concept of throwing things accurately
so what if the concept of projectile weapons takes most species FOREVER to get the hang of, or even come up with in the first place. a human goes onto a ship and throws some trash into the nearest reclaimer, shouts “kobe!” and all the other aliens on board absolutely LOSE THEIR MINDS
@caffeinewitchcraft I hope you don’t mind me tagging you but I thought of you and your short stories when I read this ^_^
(Funnily enough, @iwouldbemerry tagged me in this too! And you both are so right!)
Yesenia blew it. Her one and only chance to serve on a Federation vessel (”A what? No, we’re a flag ship for the Intergalactic–” “It’s a reference, let me have this–”) and she’d blown it. The written portion of the interview had gone well, and the oral, but she’d tripped during the physical. Literally tripped. In front of the Captain and the First Mate and the head of Medical–
She gloomily takes a bite of her protein bar. “Why do science officers need hand to hand anyway? We’re not the ones going planet side!”
G’Rung, one of her friends from training, pats her on the back with one feathery appendage. “Maybe you didn’t do as badly as you think. I mean, I can’t believe they pitted a human against a V’afinog! Surely that’ll count for extra.”
Yesenia perks up. “Yeah?” She thinks back to the fight. She thinks she actually did get a hit in when she fell–it may have been accidental but it was still a hit. “Yeah, you know what? I probably did okay!”
“And you’re the first human to even get to the interview stage,” G’Rung continues encouragingly. Around them, their other interview group mates nod, murmuring agreement.
“And you’re really good at Botany,” Marsul says. He gives her the close-lipped smile that means he’s genuinely happy, careful to cover his sharp teeth. “They’d be dumb not to accept your application.”
Yesenia is touched. Marsul and her had never gotten along after the whole smile misunderstanding. Apparently he’d thought she was threatening him for the longest time. “Thank you!” She balls up her protein bar wrapper and looks for a trash can. She spots one behind her and, not wanting to leave just yet, twists in her seat and tosses it toward the narrow opening. “Kobe!” The wrapper doesn’t even touch the edge of the receptacle, nothing but net, and she crows victoriously.
When she turns back around, everyone is staring at her.
“That was lucky,” Marsul says finally.
Yesenia glances around the table, not sure what’s wrong. “Luck has nothing to do with it, dude. That’s talent.”
She’s trying to lighten the mood. It doesn’t work.
G’Rung gapes at her. “Are you saying you did that on purpose?”
“Well yeah,” Yesenia says. “The thing’s like ten feet away–”
“Throw this,” Marsul demands, shoving his own wrapper across the table to her. “Throw it.”
“Bossy,” Yesenia mutters. She scoops up the wrapper and throws it. Again, it goes in. And the next one and the one after that and the one that they have her throw from twenty feet away (that one might be luck).
Her group mates go crazy.
“Come on,” G’Rung says, tugging her up urgently, “Come on, come on, come on!”
“What?” Yesenia stumbles out of her seat, eyes wide. “What’s going on?”
Marsul is right on their heels as G’Rung drags Yesenia out of the mess hall. “We have to show the Captain! If he sees this he’ll have to let you on the ship!”
“Sees what?” Yesenia asks. “And I thought you said I did great!”
“I lied to make you feel better,” G’Rung says, pressing the button to the lift that’ll take them to the command deck. “You did terribly against the V’afinog, I know that hit was an accident–”
Marsul darts around them to open the door and practically shoves them both through it. “Captain! Sorry to barge in, but you have to see this!” He looks around, eyes fever bright, and then snatches up a data chip. He shoves it into Yesenia’s hands. “Throw it!”
“Captain,” Yesenia says, looking at the Leekylan sitting in the command chair with wide eyes. “I am so sorry for–”
“I don’t have all day,” the Captain says, iris-less eyes blinking slowly. “And, frankly, if this is something that’ll help your case, you want to do it after that physical exam.”
“Told you,” G’Rung hisses in her ear. G’Rung flaps feather hands in her direction. “Do it!”
Yesenia swallows and tosses the data chip back into the drawer it came from. Marsul darts forward, grabs it, and hands it to her. Yesenia does it again.
“And targets–!” G’Rung swoops down and takes off their shoes. “The wall–!”
Yesenia, unable to read the Captain’s face, decides to just go with it. She lobs G’Rung’s shoes at the wall, hitting the same spot each time.
When she’s done, she turns to the Captain, fidgeting nervously. At her sides, Marsul and G’Rung are practically vibrating with nerves and excitement.
The Captain considers her for a beat longer. “Your Science application was denied due to your inability to defend yourself,” he says. And then, before Yesenia’s heart can crash straight through the floor, he adds, “But, in this case, I believe that this skill more than makes up for your failure in sparring. Congratulations and welcome aboard.”
Yesenia gapes at him. “I– thank you, sir! But–”
“No buts!” G’Rung says, grapping her arm again. “Thanks, Captain, we’ll just be going.”
Marsul picks up the rear, closing the door before he can change his mind.
oh my GOD so i was talking to a buddy in psychology and then this kid came in who looked exactly like him and gave him a book he’d forgotten at home
and i went “holy shit you have a twin?!?” and he was like “yeah! his name is jason!” and i was like “????? i thought YOUR name was jason”
long story short i have one of them in my math class and another in my psychology class and i’ve developed a friendship with both of them but i thought they were the same person this entire time
remember this post? not-jason is refusing to tell me his name and everyone’s keeping it from me so i’m just calling him not-jason
The first guy who heard a parrot talk was probably not ok for several days.
Actually, weird history fact about that. The island of Bermuda’s first name was Isle of Devils, being thought to be filled with demons and angry spirits when it was actually just filled with some loud ass birds.
I wonder if the Inquisition has debriefings? Like, after the entire crew gets back from a mission they have a meeting with the advisors regarding everything that happened.
Or maybe everyone in the party is required to write a field report? I bet Cullen reads them all, just sifting through endless crap from the Inner Circle:
Sera’s reports consist only of crude drawings and obscenities – he actually finds those entertaining. She’s quite inventive and the point is always rather clear.
Cassandra’s are always perfect and detailed, if not a bit stilted. Not that he minds.
Dorian’s are always about the lack of amenities or certain comforts. Can’t you order us thicker blankets? I was freezing the entire time and there was a rock under my back.
Blackwall’s reports are always helpful, he makes notes about soldiers, or various things that need to be done in the area.
Iron Bull’s are always just an account of the things he killed or fought. Sometimes he’ll share a good joke he heard too.
Vivienne’s are to the point, crisp and tidy, never wanting. She’ll also tack on notes about the Inquisitor, or her companions, bits of pertinent information.
Cole doesn’t write reports, but sometimes he’ll pop into Cullen’s office and tell him a few things of note before disappearing again.
Solas’ are scholarly, recounting the areas they’d explored and interesting landmarks, usually with a very detailed map attached.
And then there are Varric’s, written on fine vellum imported from a printer in Kirkwall, the penmanship always neat, and flowing over the pages. And there are many pages as Varric describes, in that detailed way only a writer can, the exact way his boots squelched while in the Fallow Mire; the damp, musty smell that clung to him after spending ten days soaking wet on the Storm Coast, without a chance to dry out; the biting chill that cut through him in the Emprise du Lion, and the way the dark branches of the bare trees struck a bleak contrast against the snow. The fucking endless snow.
It’s when they return from the Hissing Wastes and Cullen sees that Varric’s report is eighteen pages detailing exactly wherehe found sand on his person, that Cullen informs him he is exempt from writing any further reports.
Curly–
Thanks for sending us to Emprise du Fucking Cold. This is exactly what I wanted to be doing at this stage of my life.
Everything is frozen. The wind sounds like it’s screaming when it sweeps through the trees, and it bites through fabric and leather and anything else that tries to stand in its way. Bare black branches stretch out their bony fingers and leave stark, torn shadows over the ice. The only color comes from red lyrium, and there’s so much of it, what sun there is shines through it like stained glass.
The ground crunches. Wolves howl. Ravens caw with doom in their eyes. There’s snow everywhere. I’ve got snow in my boots, snow down my back, snow up my sleeves. Do you know what it’s like being damp for days at a time? It chafes.
[This goes on for several pages.]
Everybody here looks like they’re awaiting the cold embrace of the grave. ‘Wolves took our last sheep, and Uncle Boris has the ague and will soon breathe his last, and little Peter isn’t long for this world, but ah, well, death awaits us all,’ they seem to say, and go back to their porridge, or whatever the hell it is people eat in this Maker-forsaken place. Of course, if I lived here, I would, too.
This place is the worst. Also, we killed some demons today.
Like something you’d find on one of those soft/nature blogs?
Well you are in for a surprise
The Bolton Strid in England is one of the most innocent looking streams.
Though it looks like you could just hop across the rocks, but if you miss you will die for sure. It packs very rapid currents just a couple of feet below its surface. No one really knows how deep it really is. Nobody who has ever fallen into the Strid has survived. It has a 100% fatality rate.
It’s always the things I google expecting to be false that wind up being horribly true.
“It’s relatively common for people to assume they can jump the creek, walk across its stones or even wade through it (again, just looking at it, the Strid really seems to be only knee-deep in places, and certainly not the instant, precipitous drop into a watery grave that it is). Most of the time, they never even find the body. Which means there are just dozens of corpses down there, pinned to the walls of the underground chasms, waiting for you to join them…”
how dare you leave out the best quote
“It’s exactly how water works in a video game: It looks all stupid and harmless, but the second your foot touches the surface, you get some bullshit drowning animation and die instantly.”
Starting off with my favourite discovery scenario- Marinette having a meltdown after having an entire season of intense bonding and romantic moments with the boy of her dreams hit her in an instant.
I legit laughed hard at this for 10 minutes xD This is the most accurate reveal scenario I’ve seen out of this fandom.
