Classic and Reverse harpies, mermaids, centaurs, and nagas
as a species we have this habit of tacking human faces onto animals and when you think about it, it looks kind of stupid, but it looks even stupider backwards
so
“You should not be.”
The fckn reverse naga made me laugh until my lungs collapsed.
idk I just love how we Young People Today use ~improper~ punctuation/grammar in actually really defined ways to express tone without having to explicitly state tone like that’s just really fucking cool, like
no = “No,” she said.
no. = "No,” she said sharply.
No = “No,” she
stated
firmly.
No. = “No,” she snapped.
NO = “No!” she shouted.
noooooo = “No,” she moaned.
no~ = “No,” she said with a drawn-out sing-song.
~no~ = “No,” she drawled sarcastically.
NOOOOO = “No!” she screamed dramatically.
no?! = “No,” she said incredulously.
I’ve been calling this “typographical nuance” and I have a few more to add:
*no* = “No,” she said emphatically.
*nopes on out of here* = “No,” she said of herself in the third person, with a touch of humorous emphasis.
~*~noooo~*~ = “No,” she moaned in stylized pseudo-desperation.
#no = “No,” she added as a side comment.
“no” = “No,” she scare-quoted.
wtf are you kidding no = “No,” she said flatly. “And I can’t believe I have to say this.”
no no No No NO NO NO NO = "No,” she repeated over and over again, growing louder and more emphatic.
nooOOOO = “No,” she said, starting out quietly and turning into a scream.
*no = “Oops, I meant ‘no,’” she corrected, “Sorry for the typo in my previous message.”
I cannot express how strongly I absolutely love language and writing and communication but if anyone asks why I will be showing them this post from now on
this is great, but I got to “no no No No NO NO NO NO” and immediately started singing “mamma mia, mamma mia, mamma mia let me go”
no no no nO (no no no)= “No,” she said, sticking to the status quo
nuuuuuuuuu= “Oh no,” she said sympathetically, trying to stifle her laughter
For those youngsters who don’t know, the Eye of Argon is a legendary badfic relic from 1970, written by Jim Theis. It is, quite possibly, one of the worst things ever written.
It was originally published in a fanzine, the precursor of Fictionpress and A03.
However bad you are as a writer, you’ve only to read Eye of Argon and realize ‘oh huh maybe I suck, but I don’t suck this hard.’
So in the tradition of our nerd fore-bearers, let’s make fun of it. The original text I will put in italics. My comments will be regular text. All spelling errors from the original text are preserved.
The weather beaten trail wound ahead into the dust racked climes of the baren land which dominates large portions of the Norgolian empire. Age worn hoof prints smothered by the sifting sands of time shone dully against the dust splattered crust of earth. The tireless sun cast its parching rays of incandescense from overhead, half way through its daily revolution. Small rodents scampered about, occupying themselves in the daily accomplishments of their dismal lives. Dust sprayed over three heaving mounts in blinding clouds, while they bore the burdonsome cargoes of their struggling overseers.
Oh man. Oh boy oh man oh boy.
Oh, Eye of Argon. First paragraph and there’s so much to unpack already.
The last time I saw prose this purple I was reading Lord of the Rings Legolas romances written by 14 year old girls.
Also, here we see why, sometimes, you should put the damn thesaurus down.
Arriving after dusk in Gorzom,grignr descended down a dismal alley, reining his horse before a beaten tavern. The redhaired giant strode into the dimly lit hostelry reeking of foul odors, and cheap wine. The air was heavy with chocking fumes spewing from smolderingtorches encased within theden’s earthen packed walls. Tables were clustered with groups of drunken thieves, and cutthroats, tossing dice, or making love to willing prostitutes.
Consciousness returned to Grignr in stygmatic pools as his mind gradually cleared of the cobwebs cluttering its inner recesses, yet the stygian cloud of charcoal ebony remained. An incompatible shield of blackness, enhanced by the bleak abscense of sound.
He then vomited, because nausea is one of the lingering effects of a concussion severe enough to cause loss of consciousness.
Yes, really! Legitimately this is how Jim Theis chose to number his chapters! I shit you not!
A tightly rung elliptical circle or torches cast their wavering shafts prancing morbidly over the smooth surface of a rectangular, ridged alter. Expertly chisled forms of grotesque gargoyles graced the oblique rim protruberating the length of the grim orifice of death, staring forever ahead into nothingness in complete ignorance of the bloody rites enacted in their prescence. Brown flaking stains decorated the golden surface of the ridge surrounding the alter, which banked to a small slit at the lower right hand corner of the altar. The slit stood above a crudely pounded pail which had several silver meshed chalices hanging at its sides. Dangling at the rimof golden mallet, the handle of which was engraved with images of twisted faces and groved at its far end with slots designed for a snug hand grip. The head of the mallet was slightly larger than a clenched fist and shaped into a smooth oval mass.
God damn cultists these days. Clean your damn sacrificial alter after a sacrifice, you lazy bastards. Letting it get all caked in dried nasty blood is disrespectful. Fuck’s sake.
All knowledge of measuring time had escaped Grignr. When a person is deprived of the sun, moon, and stars, he looses all conception of time as he had previously understood it. It seemed as if years had passed if time were being measured by terms of misery and mental anguish, yet he estimated that his stay had only been a few days in length. He has slept three times and had been fed five times since his awakening in the crypt. However, when the actions of the body are restricted its needs are also affected. The need for nourishmnet and slumber are directly proportional to the functions the body has performed, meaning that when free and active Grignr may become hungry every six hours and witness the desire for sleep every fifteen hours, whereas in his present condition he may encounter the need for food every ten hours, and the want for rest every twenty hours. All methods he had before depended upon were extinct in the dismal pit. Hence, he may have been imprisoned for ten minutes or ten years, he did not know, resulting in a disheartened emotion deep within his being.
I’m going to refer to naptime as “Witnessing the desire for sleep” from now on.
“Up to the altar and be done with it wench;” ordered a fidgeting shaman as he gave the female a grim stare accompanied by the wrinkling of his lips to a mirthful grin of delight.
Yes please hop up on the alter so that we can sacrifice you please and thank you.
The girl burst into a slow steady whimper, stooping shakily to her knees and cringing woefully from the priest with both arms wound snake-like around the bulging jade jade shin rising before her scantily attired figure. Her face was redly inflamed from the salty flow of tears spouting from her glassy dilated eyeballs.
Jim stop jerking off to your mental picture of this terrified girl cowering in nothing but golden chains and type with both hands. You perv.
“Take hold of this rope,” said the first soldier, “and climb out from your pit, slut. Your presence is requested in another far deeper hell hole.”
Grignr slipped his right hand to his thigh, concealing a small opaque object beneath the folds of the g-string wrapped about his waist. Brine wells swelled in Grignr’s cold, jade squinting eyes, which grown accustomed to the gloom of the stygian pools of ebony engulfing him, were bedazzled and blinded by flickerering radiance cast forth by the second soldiers’s resin torch.
Guys guys guys Grignr is WEARING A G STRING
HE’S NOT A BARBARIAN HE’S JUST A VERY LOST MALE STRIPPER
As to “What is the difference between this and Conan the Barbarian” the answer is “Robert E. Howard was better at spelling.”
Chapter 7
WE’RE GETTING TO THE END!
With wobbling knees and swimming head, the priest that had lapsed into an epileptic siezure rose unsteadily to his feet. While enacting his choking fit in writhing agony, the shaman was overlooked by Grignr. The barbarian had mistaken the siezure for the death throes of the acolyte, allowing the priest to avoid his stinging blade. The sight that met the priests inflamed eyes nearly served to sprawl him upon the floor once more. The sacrificial sat it grim, blood splattered silence all around him, broken only by the occasional yelps and howles of his maimed and butchered fellows. Above his head rose the hideous idol, its empty socket holding the shaman’s ifurbished infuriated gaze.
Of course Grignr can’t tell the difference between a seizure disorder and death. He probably thinks wound care is “rinse in the nearest sewer”.
the most relatable moment in film history is from Star Trek: Generations when Riker asks a newly-emotional Data to scan for life forms and Data just has A Moment in the middle of the bridge because he can’t contain how much he enjoys life forms
I don’t know and this question has haunted me for my entire life.
Oh! Hey! Thing I know! Ok can you snap your fingers? One on both hand? Can you make a clap sound by smacking your palm on to your fist? If you answered yes too all of these then I’m about to teach you my favorite fidget!
So the basics is snapping one hand, then the other, and finishing it off with a clap. EZPZ🍋ska-weezy. I usually just let my non dominant hand do it’s snap and just sit their waiting to get clapped on. Just work on your rhythm until it sounds like a fleshy horse gallop almost.
Now if you want to do it like my sweet innocent bot Data here, all you gotta do it wait a half beat after the first clap, and do to more claps. “Life fooorms *SNAPSNAPCLAP, CLAP CLAP” like that.
My personal favorite variant of this fidget is snapping twice on each hand, once on the ring finger, once on the rude boy middle finger. 4 snaps, 1 clap, sounds like a fleshy firecracker.
Alas, I cannot snap using my left hand. Data’s incredibly-satisfying-looking gesture is forever just beyond my grasp.
-Ask yourself the last time you drank some water. Drink a few sips even if it wasn’t long ago. Coffee doesn’t count (neither does soda unless it’s the only option)
-When was the last time you ate? Get a small snack if able.
-Are ANY of your clothes too tight or uncomfortable? This includes socks, headbands, hats, and shoes.
-Stretch! Pop those shoulders, arch that back, straighten those legs. It Helps.
-If you happen to stim, do it! Do whatever feels right!
-Look for sounds, smells, etc. That are bothering you.
-Get your headphones and put on whatever music makes you feel happy/good/energetic.
-Loosen your shoulders, take some deep breaths. Drop your head and loosely roll your head. Try to relax as many muscles as you can.
-Close your eyes for a second.
-Did you take your meds (if you have them)? Do you need to take a Tylenol, ibuprofen Etc.?
-Are there allergens in the vicinity, are there any allergy medications you need to take?
-Breath deep.
I am by no means a professional and I don’t know what could be causing it but I know that these are kind of helpful. I’m not you and you aren’t me so these might not work. If the feeling bad is medical attention worthy, these might not help.
My girlfriend has an obsession with keys. Every time she finds a key, she says ‘this has a story, I wonder what it is.’ It doesn’t matter if the key is new or old, it has a story behind it.
Imagine getting headaches that eventually go away on their own. Imagine being able to shower or go to sleep or drink water and expect the headache not to still be there 12 hours later. I hate taking medication for them, but if I get even the slightest headache, it will only get worse and worse and worse until I take a full dose of painkillers.
I like being able to power through things to the other side via force of will! ….only. There is no other side.
I find headaches to be a different kind of pain. Break my toe? I can set that aside and power through it.
But headaches… They’re a direct assault upon my sanctuary!
I can’t escape a headache because normally I would lock myself inside my head, separated from the body where the pain dwells.
UGH YEAH. I used to be be proud of my pain endurance and the different “flavors” in which it could manifest… I was fascinated by the way that insect stings and bites hurt in unique ways, in how flesh injuries could be borne quietly. I thought of myself as very resilient!
Aaaand then I started getting recurring headaches and I just sit there clutching my head and whining and angry about it and annoying everyone around me because they get headaches, too, but they don’t make a fuss about it.
“‘No’?” echoed the space emperor. “‘No’?! No one. Ever. Tells me. ‘No’.”
He advanced, close enough that the threads on his rich robes could be counted by the naked eye. After a furtive glance over his shoulder, he dropped his voice to a desperate whisper and said, “Could you… could you do it again? Please?”
“No.”
The space emperor’s eyes shone like embers as he leaned forward, clasping his hands in front of his face. “So this… this ‘democracy’ you speak of. You’re telling me that people might… disobey me? They wouldn’t have to do everything I tell them to?”
“Not if they disagree with you.”
“They can do that?!” He licked his lips, trembling with excitement. “And voting! You say I… you say I could lose?!”
“Yeah, uh. And you probably would.”
“Incredible,” he breathed. “Why, I could kiss you!” With a surprised laugh, he stopped himself mid-step. “But—you wouldn’t like that! Right? You’d have an ‘opinion’? Gosh… do you think other people have those?!”
The space emperor let out a long, melancholy sigh and turned to the hero, his lip trembling with delicate misery. “I’m going to miss you,” he sniffed. “I don’t think I’ll watch, you know, when they… when they do it.” The tear that had been clinging valiantly to his eyelashes finally broke free and rolled down his cheek. “Oh!” he cried, and threw his arms around the hero’s neck with a great, shuddering sob. “Yours will be the only skull I drink from ever again—I promise! I will think of you every time, and I’ll pretend you’re still here with me!”
“Or you could just… not have me executed.”
The space emperor inhaled sharply and took a step back, his face red and puffy from crying. “That’s an option?!”
The serving-woman stood with her back ramrod straight and her eyes fixed firmly on the floor. Every muscle in her body looked tense, and only the rapid rise and fall of her shoulders betrayed her terror.
“You’ve ruined my gown,” said the space emperor, regarding the growing purple stain on his sleeve. “These fibers were harvested on Lutoya-29, a planet that was demolished six units ago. There is no other like it in the galaxy. I could have you harvested for washing-water for this.” He looked up and met the hero’s eyes, his thoughtful expression melting into a delighted grin. “But I don’t have to, do I?”
“No, Your Incandecense,” whispered the woman. Her sweat-beaded skin had grown translucent with fear.
“I don’t even have to have you killed at all!” he exclaimed. “I could… I could…” he cast around the chamber, as though searching for inspiration in the lavish furnishings.
“Please, Your Incandecense.” The woman’s voice was low and unsteady, but her gaze remained fixed on the floor. “I’ll do anything, please, forgive—”
“Anything! You’re right!” He clapped his hands and rubbed them together, stamping his feet in a little dance. “I could do anything! In fact—” he reached over the table and clasped the hero’s hand in his own. “Nothing is anything! I could do nothing! Nothing at all!” He giggled merrily and then froze, gingerly releasing the hero’s hand and leaning back. He tapped one bejeweled finger against his temple and gave an exaggerated wink. “Oh, right. Consent.”
The serving-woman’s eyes flickered to the hero’s for a moment, nervous questions burning in them. The hero gave a barely-imperceptible shrug and a very tiny, reassuring smile. The emperor did not seem to notice.
“Is there more wine?” he asked. “Splendid. Please. Do it again.”
“What…?” The woman’s skin flashed an alarming yellow.
The emperor gestured enthusiastically between himself and the crystal pitcher. “The wine. My gown. I think you should reacquaint them.”
“He wants you to spill the wine on him again,” explained the hero. “No, really. He’s, uh… he’s having an interesting day.”
“I am learning so many things,” said the emperor. “Did you know that you have feelings, too? It’s not just me! My new friend has feelings, that man over there has feelings, that… whatever that thing is has feelings!” He stood up and threw his arms wide in a sudden, emphatic motion, flinging droplets of purple liquid from his soiled sleeve. “Maybe everyone has feelings! Maybe robots! Maybe my enemies! Maybe—” he stopped, and the delirious grin vanished from his face. “Maybe the Lutoyans have feelings…” His voice dropped to a whisper, and he stared at the hero with a strange expression. “But… there aren’t any more Lutoyans…”
The space emperor took his breakfast in bed, bathed in sweet oils, allowed his hair to be combed and coiffed and his face painted with rare minerals, and then sighed in delicate frustration.
“None of this seems right,” he confessed to his wardrober, after rejecting the seventh gown he was presented with. It was deep blue silk, studded all over with crystals that glinted and sparkled like a night sky. “It’s just not working for me today.”
“That is one of the finest gowns in the galaxy, Your Incandescence,” said the wardrober. “It is an accurate starmap of the constellations as seen from your boyhood home, rivaled in beauty and quality only by your other raiments. But perhaps this is more to your impeccable tastes–” It offered an eighth gown, a trailing cascade of iridescent blue-green fabric layered with shimmering, diaphanous beetle wings. “A species of rare insect went extinct for the construction of this one,” it said. “It was considered sacred to the inhabitants of that world. Wearing this gown declares your might and majesty to the galaxy.”
The space emperor pursed his lips. “Hmm,” he said. “Not that one, I think.” There was an unfamiliar twisting sensation in his gut when he looked at the gown.
“I hope the feast is to your pleasure, Your Incandescence. We did not have much time to prepare before–”
“It is not to my pleasure!” cried the space emperor, lashing out and knocking the platter to the floor. The attendant winced as the tureen shattered and bent to clean it up. “I want to go back!”
“That would be inadvisable,” said the war magnate, rolling her eyes. “It is not yet safe for you to return planetside; there may be traps or other assassins lying in wait. I’m sure your friend is fine.”
The entire palace was climate-controlled, including the military wing, so there was no reason for the space emperor to feel so cold as he walked through the halls. It was just another concern to bring up with his doctor later that evening, along with the pain in his chest and difficulty swallowing around the tightness in his throat. He so rarely fell ill–even as a child, the diseases of the common rabble had never touched him.
The doctor would have to wait. He had more important business to attend to.
He ran his thumb along the special weapon the General had given him. It was simple in design, as unlike the ornate ceremonial laser he always wore at his hip as it was possible to be. He didn’t understand exactly how it functioned, but he didn’t need to; all that mattered was that it worked. The General assured him that it would be a most fitting punishment.
“What?” said the space emperor. “What just… happened?”
The General bowed his head and held out his arm. The space emperor took it numbly and allowed himself to be led from the room, away from the acrid smoke rising from the dead robot. “You must forgive me, Your Incandescence. I will bear the blame for this… unfortunate oversight. Walk with me, if you please, and I will explain.”
The sprawling facility seemed to become oppressively small. The space emperor sucked in an unsteady breath and discovered that oxygen had suddenly stopped working while he was distracted by the screen. “Air,” he wheezed, stumbling toward the turbolift. “I need air.”
Fierce heat rippled across his cheeks and all the way down his spine. The space emperor tore his gaze away from the Lutoyan, gritting his teeth against the unwelcome feeling. He adjusted the circlet furiously until he was sure that his entire head was protected by its energy shield.
“How kind of you to join me,” he forced out, squeezing his eyes shut and trying not to think about the way the muscles in the other man’s arms flexed when he tested his restraints. “I hope you are enjoying our imperial hospitality.” It was not the self-assured and dangerous voice he had planned to use, but something strained and uneven.
“Not really, no. This kind of stuff isn’t my cup of tea,” said the Lutoyan dryly. “Speaking of which… is that a coffee machine?”
A silence as heavy and uncomfortable as an unlicensed artificial gravity field settled over the room. With his head pinned to the platform, the space emperor could not lift his face to see the squad of soldiers he knew must have their lasers trained on the Lutoyan. The weapon prodded gently against his temple, chilled metal draining all the heat from his skin and sending a shiver down his spine.
“Tell them to release me and stand down,” the Lutoyan said into his ear. “Now.”
I dunno. I like the ‘put it through rock tumbler’ idea, but after that…well, I just sorta go by whim after that. Like ‘Aw shit this one would make a cool necklace’ or ‘hey these two are the same size! Earrings!’ or even just ‘SHINY ROCK NICE WILL PUT IN BOWL OF SHINY ROCKS AND PAW OVER THEM WITH GLEE LIKE A DRAGON’
