What, the forest-dwelling entities with imperfect human mimicry who insinuate themselves into groups of hikers? Yeah, we had one of those. Clocked it immediately, of course. Honestly it kind of fell in that so-inept-it's-kind-of-charming range. We just played along until it'd had it's fill of marshmallows and shambled back into the treeline. We might have been violating some kind of killjoy wildlife contact best practices but what the hell, can't plan around every little thing. Why, what happened to you guys
It's a misconception that the mimics are hunting humans when they trail along at the back of hiking groups.
In fact, the creature you'll find suddenly walking beside you and acting as if they've always been there is almost certainly a juvenile, as the adults lose the ability when they reach reproductive age.
Recent studies suggest the forest mimic is less like a preying mantis (mimicry as a hunting strategy) and more like a cuckoo (mimicry as a protective strategy for their young). Adult forest mimics will leave their offspring near a group of hikers while they forage during the day, and retrieve them near trailheads in the evening. Groups of hikers provide safety from predators and allow the parents of the species the freedom to forage more widely.
For this reason, the traditional advice to never let a mimic into your vehicle is still very important, as this would separate the young mimic from its mother. If a juvenile forest mimic does follow your group to the parking lot, you can keep it entertained with trail snacks, dad jokes, and simple goofs. The mother will usually collect them shortly before sunset.
When you notice the woods around the trailhead go silent and feel a sense of nameless foreboding, find an excuse to avert your attention from the juvenile so it can sneak back into the forest to rejoin its mother, convinced it's fooled another party of unsuspecting humans.
Bayverse Optimus is the funniest transformers character design, in my mind. He just walks around with his titties somehow popping under that huge, flame patterned bra
Listen…. He may be cheating, but if You could have ambiguous telepathic powers, wouldn’t you do the same 😒 besides it’s Soundwave I doubt he’s above lowkey cheating in things like fishing ngl. Anyways, I’ve been doing some fishing (irl) and I get the appeal once again 😮💨 I don’t do it often but I really do like it when I do, highly recommend
Ray Bradbury’s short story “There Will Come Soft Rains” that was written in 1950 is set on the day of August 4th, 2026 (tomorrow)!! Now’s your chance to read it around the time it’s based in!
Audio: A recording of Leonard Nimoy reading it on Internet Archive.
I used to set this one for second year undergraduate creative writing seminars on writing science fiction on a double bill with Octavia E. Butler's "Bloodchild" and no-one here gets out alive.
Your artstyle is like your gut microbiome in the way its everything you consume and like and it also has all your bacteria up in it. Thats probably how that works
[VD: A weatherman is giving a report and pointing to a map, saying "feel like temperatures really take a tumble too, because after the storm-" before he is interrupted by the screen going black and then displaying a picture of some baby spinach. He says, "um," then immediately points to the screen and confidently announces, "this is baby spinach." /End VD]
I feel like this downplays how good his (and all TV meterologists') reflexes actually are.
That man is standing in front of a green wall. Those images are not actually appearing next to him. He sees them on a monitor next to his teleprompter, in broadcast perspective which is opposite of how he actually is standing.
I've done the weathercast simulator at my local science museum. It's fucking hard. This isn't just his skill to react to a new thing popping up next to him, it's his skill to react to an unexpected thing fifteen feet away from him and gesture to a blank wall as if that was totally normal.
atheistic representations of the iliad/odyssey are soooo boring. show me diomedes chucking a spear at aphrodite. where is athena giving odysseus an extreme makeover. give me achilles sopping wet full armor fighting a river god
Google quietly added generative AI capabilities to Google Earth, allowing anyone to generate false images on top of real satellite imagery. It seems pretty rudimentary, but the potential for disinformation is sky-high.
Anyway, did y'all hear that they nuked the White House?
Within the first few hours of its discovery, people on Twitter used this tool to generate an Epstein Island attraction at Disneyland, a mega-prison within Google’s headquarters, and a sequel to 9/11.
Google has already announced that they will be “rolling back” this feature because of screenshots like these:
The fact that they want to bring it back with “guardrails” is ridiculous. Screenshots like these are not the work of some malign actors, they’re instant proof that your idea is terrible on its face
nimble, a border collie-papillon mix, wins the 12” class in the 2024 masters agility championship. the first time a mixed breed has won at westminster ever.
Wanna know the fun part?
I played through it as Morandir.
The way I was roleplaying, Morandir actually got along with Meneldir pretty well. He saw him as a kindred spirit, another lonely outcast trying to make up for past mistakes.
Of course, their friendship mostly consisted of standing next to each other in the same dark corner and saying nothing, but they're both gloomy loners, so Morandir didn't see a problem with that. He figured that once they get this business in Cardolan sorted out, him and Meneldir could get to know each other a little better over drinks at the Pony.
And after what Halbarad told him about why Meneldir left, Morandir is really happy! Meneldir's not an exile after all! He (unlike Morandir) still has a home waiting for him! One that wants him back! This is great news, he can't wait to tell him!
and then Sarch Vorn happens.
and now that evil little voice in the back of head that says anyone who gets close to him suffers has just been, as far as he can tell, proven right.
Fandom: Lord of the Rings Online
Characters: Original Characters (Léonys of Rohan and Hathellang of Bree-land)
Notes: Me, doing a monthly writing challenge right now? It's more likely than you think. Pre-canon, in case it's not clear; 1712 Bree Reckoning is TA 3011 or SR 1411. Léonys is 12 and Hathellang is 14 (although both of them think they're older)
Lithe 24, 1712, Bree Reckoning
This is how it is to be Hathellang of Bree-land:
The coins are cold against your hot, sweaty palm, as you grip them tight to keep them from clinking together and drawing unwanted attention. You draw back into the corner of the Prancing Pony common room, where the shadows are deep and no one will think to wonder at one quiet little boy, and uncurl your fist to count your winnings.
Seven silver pieces and three copper stare back at you, and you do not try to suppress a smile. That’s enough for a full meal tomorrow, with a bit left over, and a mighty successful catch, if you do say so yourself. You slip the coins into your pocket and straighten up, turning towards the door of the common room, and then stop short.
There’s a girl in front of you, around your age, fair skin and short hair so light it’s almost white framing blue eyes that are glaring at you. You’ve seen her before -- she’s the three time running champion of the horse races that are held at the festival grounds in springtime, and she often appears at the market by the boar fountain surrounded by a gaggle of other children, most of them younger than her -- but you’ve never spoken before now.
“And where do you think you’re going?” she demands, crossing her arms with a scowl. “I saw you steal that money from Doris Mallow.”
“I prefer to think of it as ‘teaching a valuable life lesson about the safekeeping of one’s valuables,’” you say, straightening up in order to put the several inches you have on her on display.
The creases between her eyebrows deepen, and her eyes narrow. She seems thoroughly unimpressed by either your height or your joke.
“Listen,” you say, trying a different tack, “it’s nothing. She won’t even notice it’s missing. She’s five rounds in, and every one of them cost more than double what I took.”
The girl has the nerve to roll her eyes, and you think you don’t much like her. “And that makes it all right, does it?” she says, and then, without warning, she makes a grab for your pocket. You twist away, and she loses her balance and almost falls, but catches herself just in time and turns back to you. “You’re going to give that back,” she says.
“And you’re going to make me?” you say, smiling, although you would really rather get out of here by any means necessary. This girl looks more than ready to cause trouble you won’t be able to talk your way out of.
“If I have to,” she snaps, and makes another pass at you, but even as you twist away from it she changes direction with you, and you feel her hand grab the hem of your shirt.
For a moment, you forget where you are, and how many people are around, not paying you any attention, for now, and you lash out, slapping her hand away from yourself. “Don’t touch me!” you shout. “Who gave you the right to boss me around like you built the Bree-hill? What makes you better than me, besides the fact that you’ve clearly never gone hungry in your life?”
There are people staring, now, and as you breathe heavily, fists clenched, you regret yelling. On the other side of the common room, someone stands, and you recognize him; Watcher Redthistle, a few drinks in by the redness of his face, but still on duty, by the hauberk he’s wearing. He’s walking towards you. You swallow. The girl will tell him what she saw, and you’ll try to deny it, of course, but Redthistle knows you, knows how often you used to be in and out of the town jail for petty theft, and even though you haven’t been caught in years, he’ll never take your word over hers. Well, you think, the jail isn’t exactly the most comfortable place to spend the night, but at least there’s a roof and you won’t get rained on.
“What’s the problem here?” Redthistle demands as he approaches.
The girl turns to look up at him, and you tighten your clenched fists, waiting for the inevitable -- and then she speaks. “There’s no problem,” she says. “We were just… playing.”
Hogembarth’s head, she’s a bad liar.
Watcher Redthistle seems to have similar thoughts, as he looks between the two of you with narrowed eyes. You do your best to look innocent, but you know it looks out of place next to this weird little girl who is trying far too hard to look innocent. The watcher’s eyes stray back to his table, where a mug sits beside a plate of Barliman Butterbur’s famous mulberry pie and another watcher sits, carefully not looking at any of you, and Redthistle seems to come to a decision.
“You’re one of Lady Hackberry’s kids, aren’t you?” he says to the girl. “You’re not supposed to be out this late, you know.”
“I’m here with Burt and Tad!” the girl says, sounding affronted. “I’m their apprentice, they’re teaching me to hunt, and --”
Redthistle raises his eyebrows as he glances at the fireplace, where a small group of Hunters sit, repeating the same story they have been all night, though it grows in the telling every time. “Yes, well,” he says, “the ‘drinking until you can’t stand up anymore’ part of the training comes later. That’s journeyman stuff. Come on, I’ll walk you home.” He turns to look at you. “You and your… friend,” he says, and now all three of you are trying to look innocent. “I don’t recognize him, is he new at Lady Hackberry’s? From Combe or Archet, maybe?”
“I don’t live at no --” you start, but Watcher Redthistle’s hand lands on your shoulder and he looks at you very hard.
“Are you sure?” he says. “Because if you were one of Lady Hackberry’s kids, then you could go home, eat some dinner, have a good night’s sleep in a real bed, and then whatever happened after that wouldn’t be my business. And if you weren’t then I’d have to try and find out what you’re doing here by yourself,” -- there’s a warning in his eyes that he knows exactly what you were doing here by yourself -- “and that could take some time. My pie would get cold.” For a moment, the three of you are silent. Most of the eyes that turned toward you when you yelled have turned away, back to the Hunters. Redthistle is drunk, you could twist out of his grip, slide under his arm, lose him in the crowd, and slam the front door on your way to hide in the kitchen to throw him off the scent.
As if he can sense your thought, his hand tightens. “I heard Lady Hackberry took in some new kids recently,” he says. “From Combe or Archet, right?”
Then again, dinner sounds good. Some of your friends have taken the trip out to the Hackberry house before, where Lady Hackberry always has a place at her table for hungry children. You never have, because you don’t trust people who give things away for free, because you’re afraid that if you went they would make you stay, because it has to be some kind of trap or trick. But dinner really does sound good.
“Trestlebridge,” you grumble, looking at the floor.
“Trestlebridge, right,” Redthistle says, and his grip on your shoulder loosens. “Come along then.” He catches the girl’s arm with his free hand and steers the pair of you to the door.
“Come on,” the girl snaps. “I said I was here with Burt and --”
“Burt! Tad!” Redthistle shouts. “Léonys is going home! Say goodnight!”
The story pauses to allow for a chorus of drunken goodnights before resuming -- when you had entered the Pony earlier tonight it had been a single stag they’d taken down, but now it’s three man-eating bears. Very impressive.
“And why are you sending him home with me?” the girl -- Léonys -- demands.
Watcher Redthistle waits until you are outside and the door has slammed behind you to answer. “You lied for him, didn’t you?” he says. “In my experience, that means you enjoy his company.”
“I just met him!” she snaps.
“Oh, I think this arrangement works best for all three of us,” Redthistle says. “Otherwise I’m sure Lady Hackberry would be very interested in the sort of language those men are teaching you. Now come along.” He begins to guide the two of you down the road towards West-gate. Léonys grumbles and falls silent.
You are silent too. Watcher Redthistle’s words echo in your mind. She lied for you. She’d looked the watcher in the eyes and lied. You don’t know why, or what changed her mind, or if this really changes anything at all in the end.
But, you think, maybe you don’t dislike her after all.
