#octopuslike

[boypussydilf]

i wish sea monsters were real

[marlynnofmany]

How I Became the Token Human

The sign said “Earthling Wanted” in large print, and I, a perfectly eligible Earthling, said “Heck yeah.” Busy space station life bustled around me as I stepped close to read the details on the holoboard. Other ads were for the usual range of odd jobs and social events, but this one was specific.

And it couldn’t have been more perfect for me. A courier ship was contracted to deliver someone’s pet cat to them in deep space (I guessed that a breakup had happened while the owner was away, or their temporary job had turned into a permanent one) and while the couriers were perfectly capable of getting the cat there, this was several days of travel, and they hadn’t the first idea of how to care for an Earth animal.

Well, I thought with no small amount of smugness, They just got themselves an expert. I copied the holo ad onto my phone, then found a vaguely-private corner of a public seating area and activated the call. I stood up straight and professional, as if I was meeting a wealthy new client with an ailing Samoyed. Would they want a detailed resume? A rundown of the places I’d worked and trained, my range of expertise on animals big and small? Or perhaps a description of what I would do in various unexpected scenarios?

Nope. The octopuslike alien who popped into view — deep green, harried, and female unless I missed my guess — only had two questions for me.

“Great, you look like an Earthling,” she said. “How experienced are you in caring for cats?”

“Very,” I said, ready to add more.

“Good. Can you leave immediately?”

“Yes,” I decided, thinking quickly. “I just have to grab my things. Where’s your ship?”

“Meet us at the semiaquatic spaceport before the shadow covers it.” She glanced at something offscreen. “We leave before the solar sails have to fold. Be quick.” With that, the call ended.

I blinked once, then shoved the phone into my pocket and sprinted down the corridor. Passersby stepped aside and gave me disapproving looks, especially the group of red-pink bugfolk who chattered after me in their own language, but I dodged through the loose crowd without hitting anyone. Nearly tripped over a smaller-than-average Waterwill, which could have been disastrous given their “column of jello” consistency, but I hopped on by with a quick apology.

Are Waterwills really that fragile? I wondered as I ran. My biological studies had all been Earth-based. I knew the best way to hold a chameleon, pet a cat, and catch a chicken, but I hadn’t the foggiest idea how the friendly blobmonsters worked.

Well, maybe I’d find out.

I skidded into my small room and threw things into the suitcase. There wasn’t much to pack, since this was a temporary stop. Five minutes ago I’d been planning to trudge back to Earth and look for a new job. My old workplace was under new management and doing a reshuffling that made for a perfect time to take a quick lap around the galaxy, something I’d always wanted to do. It had been a great vacation. But there wasn’t much call for a veterinarian in space. Or so I’d thought.

One more jaunt, I told myself. It pays well enough to be worth it. And they clearly need my help. With a look about the room for anything I’d missed, I zipped the suitcase and shouldered my backpack, then cancelled the rest of my reservation at the control panel by the door.

A few more button presses, and the door wooshed open to let me dash off through the residential area, towing my suitcase on its repulsor plate behind me. That bag was much better than my old wheelie-case, which was always tipping over when I turned quickly. This one did have a tendency to slide around like a toddler on ice, but I was an old hand now at pulling the strap just right to keep it from taking anybody out at the knees. And honestly, I usually walked at a more reasonable pace than this. But time was short.

I glanced at a multiclock as I passed an elevator hub; sunset was coming for this side of the station. I wondered who had decided to make the station rotate in orbit instead of keeping one side facing the sun, but that was beyond my pay grade. Maybe it got too hot otherwise.

Long lines at the food court made me slow down, edging past a variety of body types before I reached a clear area and picked up speed again.

Success, I thought. Didn’t even bump into a scaly tail. This door? That door!

I found the dry-air-breather’s access port and hurried into the airlocks where steeply angled sunlight was streaming in. I only stopped once, to swipe my ID in exchange for a cheapo force-field exo suit. Just in case the separation of dry air, wet air, and water left anything to be desired. I’d made that mistake once. One experience of scrambling for the emergency cutoff switch in an airlock rapidly filling with water was enough.

Those octopeople breathe dry air, right? I fretted while I retrieved the exo disk. I think so. They just like more baths and moisturizers than I do. I’ll be fine on a ship made for them. Assuming the one I talked to doesn’t live in a scuba suit while onboard. But surely they would have said. Probably.

With my ID back in my pocket and the control disk stuck to my chest (using technology that was basically the inverse of my suitcase), I shoved out into the spaceport in a cloud of my own air. I was greeted by more air, rows of parked ships under a glittering force field between us and the stars, and an impatient-looking green tentacle alien waiting in view of the airlocks. She waved me toward her ship as soon as she saw me.

Strongarms, that’s what they’re called, I remembered. I guess I’ll get a name for this one once we’re on the way. With golden solar sails spread wide, the little round ship looked like a cartoon bat, or maybe a lemon that wanted to be a pirate ship when it grew up. The epitome of dignity either way. I made a note to say nothing about that either.

“Right this way; stand back while the door shuts; the animal is in the cargo bay with more food and junk than any sane creature could eat in the time we’ve got; I’ll introduce you after takeoff.” The green Strongarm didn’t give me a chance to do more than nod as she spoke. “For now, come grab a crash seat in the cabin. I’ll introduce you to the crew after takeoff too.” She sped down the narrow corridor with a quiet slapping of tentacles on the shiny blue floor.

I did my best to keep up, despite having to bend over as I walked. This ship was not designed for a tall species. At least the walls and ceiling were a clean white, not one of those squishy organic ships that made my skin crawl.

“Got the human,” she announced as the door to the cabin spiraled open. She waved several tentacles back at me, one pointing at a chair near the wall that had a fighting chance of fitting me. “Quick-quick.”

I ducked through the sphincter-door (also gross, but less so), waved at the dozen or so random aliens, then shoved my suitcase behind the chair and sat. The chair was cup-shaped and way too small, but at least the back was flexible. I could feel a localized gravity field in place of a seat belt.

These folks have a lot of faith in their ship’s power source, I thought as I lifted my backpack to where it would give me neck support. Here’s hoping we don’t crash. For lots of reasons.

The crew were mostly ignoring me, though in a polite way. Strongarms, Frillians, and a few Heatseekers. Octopeople, colorful fin-covered bipeds who looked like tropical fish that had learned to walk, and little lizardy folks. All air breathers, though two out of three had aquatic origins. As the engine hummed to life, I shut off my exo field.

Damp air caressed my face like someone breathing on me from uncomfortably close. Great. But it was breathable and wouldn’t damage my stuff, and we were already in space, judging by the viewscreen that had just registered some very quick movement. Only stars and a few distant ships were in front of us now.

“All right, introductions!” announced the green Strongarm. “You can call me Kamm. What’s your name, human?”

“Robin Bennett,” I said, sitting up straight. “Earth animal expert at your service.”

Kamm accepted that and rattled off the names of everyone else in the room, then gave a quick rundown of the journey we could expect. Three standard days, no wormholes planned, no asteroid showers or other hoo-ha expected.

And now that we were clear of the space station’s shipping lanes, we could make good time and move about the ship.

Kamm hopped out of her seat and hit the floor with a wet smack. “This way, animal expert. Let’s show you to your charge and your room.”

I grabbed my suitcase and followed, trying to be graceful while simultaneously ducking and high-stepping through the door. It was like walking around in a kids’ playhouse.

At least the cargo bay had a properly high ceiling. It also had many boxes of cargo, and one metal cage with a very distressed cat. The I-don’t-want-to-be-here yodel echoed off every wall.

“Well, there it is,” said Kamm with a wince. “It’s been this loud the whole time. I hope that’s not a cause for alarm?”

“Not the sound alone, no,” I said. “Let me take a quick look. Hey, kitty.” I approached with a gentle voice and quiet footsteps.

The tone of the cat’s yowling changed when it saw me, aiming for pity over volume. Poor little gray tabby sounded very lonely. A nameplate with paragraphs of contact information said “PICKLE” in all caps.

“Hello, Pickle. There there, kitty; it’s okay.” I greeted the cat with a soothing babble of syllables, letting it sniff my fingers through the bars, only noticing once it quieted that Kamm had stayed by the door.

“Oh good,” the alien said. “It likes you. Will you want the whole crate in your quarters, I hope? There’s enough room.”

“Yes, definitely,” I said, standing back up. The cat mewed in protest.

“Great. All the food and whatever should fit too. Grab a sled.”

At Kamm’s directions, I helped maneuver a hoversled under the cage, then down the hall. She led the way with a different sled full of airtight cases covered in labels. Her cart was the more rattletrap of the two, which I appreciated; the supplies wouldn’t be bothered by any jolts in height, but an anxious cat sure would.

Pickle yowled all the way to my quarters. Our quarters, rather. Kamm was eager to rush off once I said I had everything in hand, and I couldn’t blame her. But the noise stopped as soon as the door shut.

“Mew?”

“All right, kitty,” I said as I took off my backpack. “That door seems solid, so you probably won’t run off and get stuck under the brake pedal, or however they fly this ship. Do you want to come out?”

Pickle didn’t, when I opened the door, but I made myself comfortable on the floor by the cage and read through the info packet that had popped up on my phone. Pickle was a girl cat, five years old, spayed, fond of cheese and toys that crinkled.

Eventually she crept out to accept some gentle scritches and a warm lap. I was considering moving to the giant squishy cushion that passed for a bed when the door chimed.

“Ow!” Those claws were sharp when Pickle launched off me to hide in the carrier. I got to my feet painfully, shut the small door, then opened the big one. The ceiling was low in here too.

A maroon-and-teal Frillian stood there, just barely short enough to stand normally in the hallway. “Did you bring food, or would you like to join us for a meal?”

I looked back at the quiet cat. “I do have some ration bars, but I wouldn’t mind meeting everyone properly. Let me dig out some food for my charge here, then I’ll be there. Which way…?”

The Frillian gave me directions, then scooted off. I turned to the multiple boxes labeled “food,” and checked the info packet. Pickle had preferences.

But of course she was too scared to eat. I left the tray of high-quality wet food inside the cage alongside a dish of water and a well-chewed toy mouse that promised to have familiar smells. Then I gave her some quiet time.

And I got some fun time! The crew turned out to be outgoing and friendly, with many a joke ready about the types of food that my species was known to eat. They were mostly a carnivorous set, of one kind or another (fish, bugs, rodents; not a T-bone steak among the lot). They weren’t phased by any kind of plant food, but the existence of dairy products as a whole was soundly denounced as vile weirdness.

“Honestly, it makes sense,” I laughed. “Milk is the first food we eat when we’re born, then we found ways to make it into a bunch of other fancy things.”

“Yes, but why?” asked a bright red Heatseeker, his lizardy face intent. “Organic drippings sound like the absolute last choice of edible foods.”

“Spoken by someone who has never tasted ice cream,” I told him. “Or pizza! Those are some of the best foods out there.”

“I’ve heard humans mention pizza before,” said a large gray Strongarm. He gestured with something that looked like an uncut sushi roll. “What actually is it?”

I happily explained, then had to go on a tangent about bread, since that was apparently a weird human thing too.

“Really? None of you folks have food made of processed grains?” I asked, to a row of blank stares. “Guess not, but okay: it’s crushed grain and water with yeast — those are little microscopic creatures that help turn it into proper food — as I understand it, the air bubbles in the finished bread are their farts — I’m not doing a good job of selling this, am I? I swear it tastes good!”

The big Strongarm laughed loudest. “No, but keep going! You were going to circle back to ‘cheese’ and why it’s not rotten.”

I did my best, eventually giving up while insisting that they would probably like at least some of my species’ barbaric dishes if they ever got a chance to try them. It was a fun conversation. And the food was all right too. A bit fishy, but I’d had worse.

I was sad to see the meal end, with everyone scattering off to their various tasks, some of which might have been fun to help with: untangling cords or organizing cases or deciphering random space messages. But my duty was with the cat.

Pickle was caterwauling loud enough to be heard from the end of the hallway. I hurried in and comforted her again, opening the cage and settling in to rest on the cushion-bed with her snuggled next to me.

With nothing else to do, I drifted off into a nap that was more restful than expected, given the alien bed. I woke, braved the alien bathroom, then went back to sleep. Even after the vacation I’d been taking, it was a bizarre luxury to have no demands on my time. I didn’t even know what kind of day/night cycle this ship was on.

And it didn’t matter. I slept as much as I needed to, ate a couple ration bars, fed and played with Pickle, and I read a book I’d been meaning to get around to. It was nice.

Crew members showed up occasionally to invite me to meals, but otherwise I spent the whole trip in my quarters. And as much as I enjoyed the camaraderie of dinnertime, the guilt I felt every time I returned to piteous meows kept me from staying out longer.

I really would have liked to, though. They even had a music night with instruments I’d never heard of. There were spares that I was welcome to try.

But Pickle had been scratching at the cage the last time I returned, and if she tore a claw because I wanted to know what an alien trumpet sounded like, then I would have failed in my duty.

So I stayed with the cat who purred like an outboard motor, and I did some more reading. It was still nice. Peaceful. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to take a turn at the radio station, listening for gossip and distress calls and triple-encoded secret messages.

The end of the trip caught me off guard. Kamm showed up with a ten-minute warning before the time we needed to have the crate stowed in the cargo bay, and me seated in the cabin.

“Already?” I blurted. “Right, I’ll be packed up in a jiff. Got the sleds?”

In the rush of gathering things, ushering Pickle back into the carrier, and hurrying to the cargo bay, I didn’t really have time to Feel Things about the trip ending.

But I felt them anyway. I’d miss my little snuggle buddy. I hoped she had a good life ahead of her.

The man waiting at the spaceport a few minutes later, as close to the landing pad as he was allowed, was a grizzled old space marine type. Stereotypes said he would have been more at home with some vicious beast as a pet, but I’d seen enough mismatched owners in my time to just smile at how eagerly he waited. And the way his face lit up at the sight of his cat was heartwarming.

Pickle’s distressed meows turned to welcoming mews when her human scritched her through the bars. I didn’t have to remind him that he owed money before he could take her away; he was on top of that. Though I’m sure Kamm would have made sure if necessary. The two of them handled the transaction with speed. Then to my surprise, he opened the cage there on the landing pad.

Pickle clawed her way up his thick jacket to settle purring onto his shoulders, like this was where she was meant to be. Maybe it was.

“Thanks so much for bringing her to me,” the man said to Kamm, with a nod to me as well. “Gonna introduce her to the new family; now everyone I love is in one place.”

Kamm said a polite goodbye while I gave him a warm smile and wiggled my fingers at Pickle. The cat gave me a slow blink, purring hard and nuzzling his chin. Then the pair of them walked off to the rest of their lives.

“Come grab your stuff,” Kamm told me. “He left a big tip, which I’ll pass over to you. No way we could have done a thing to calm that creature ourselves.”

“Thank you,” I said. “It was my pleasure.” It really had been; going home seemed anticlimactic now. It was just a pity I hadn’t been able to socialize with the crew more. They were good people.

I followed Kamm back into the ship for the last time — or so I thought, until a pair of crew members called from the radio station about a message from their sister ship.

“They had a fuel leak, and only managed to coast into orbit of a moon four days out,” said the small Frillian. “They need fuel, repair supplies, and extra food for their cargo.” He looked from Kamm to me. “I don’t know what planet the cargo is from, but if you don’t have to be anywhere just yet…?”

I grinned. “I don’t, as a matter of fact. I’ll happily come along if you’ll have me.”

Kamm flipped a tentacle in what was probably a shrug. “Why not? It worked out well just now. And I want to see if you can play a flange horn.”

“Me too!” I said. “Let me just grab some provisions before we go. At least one of you folks has to try pizza.”

This was years ago now. I never did get a regular job back on Earth, and I don’t regret it one bit.

(A couple crewmates did regret the pizza, but at least it was funny.)

~~~

This is official backstory connecting these comics with this novel. Robin has had a lot of adventures, and is about to have more!

[squidkidghoul]

Octorok Ratings

Zelda 1: the original, and a strong start, it's cute, but still slightly threatening, it looks slightly like a bug, but still feels like an octopus, overall 7/10

Adventure of Link: It's slightly less cute than the last one but paved the way for better octoroks, I don't like that it has teeth, but in general it's still cute, and it's more octopuslike. 8/10

Links Awakening/Oracle games: definitely cute, but not really an octopus. It's a fine design, but it was done better in other games, I'll give it a 4/10

A Link to the Past: It's clearly an octopus, asides from the mouth, but that's really all it is. It is aesthetically pleasing to see them running around and firing rocks, but in my opinion, it's just a worse version of the AoL design. 6/10

Ocarina of Time/Majora's Mask: Another quadruped, but a more octopus-like one, also the first stationary octorok, taking the place of the zora in other games. I think they're a cool design, but they look weird and sad. 6/10

Wind Waker: These ones either have six or ten limbs, making them definitively NOT an octorok. They look much more like squid, which are my favorite animal. Overall, both charming and aesthetically pleasing but could be more Octopus-like. 8/10

Four Swords/Four Swords Adventure/Minish Cap: Another quadruped, they sort of became the default land octorok design, They're cute and better than the LA and OoA/OoS design, but really don't look like octopodes. 6/10

Phantom Hourglass/Spirit Tracks: Somehow, despite being in the same era as WW, and the WW type appearing in both games, It's another quadrurok. I get that it must be easier to animate four-legged ones moving on land, but still, OoT managed to do four-legged ones fine. They also just look weird compared to the MC design. 3/10

Skyward Sword: These ones really feel like a combination between Zelda 1 octoroks and OoT octoroks. They paved the way for BoTW octoroks, and I do like them, but they look sort of off, somehow. I'll give them a 6/10

A Link Between Worlds/Tri-Force Heroes/Links Awaking Nintendo Switch: These ones are my favorite of the 'land' type, they look like ALLttP, but have that charm of the Zelda 1, AoL, and MC designs. These seem to be the standard modern design, and I'm here for it. 9/10

Breath of the Wild: These ones are pretty much the previous ones but with a plant on their head and a different texture, and, as the last one is my favorite 2d design, this is my favorite design for 3d octoroks. They have that exact same 'cute but sinister' vibe that Zelda 1, AoL, and the previous one had. 10/10

[sm-baby]

gregory's wife: honey please come to bed it's late

gregory, haggard and crazy-eyed, hunched over a desk covered in scattered drawings of crazed octopuslike scribblings and etchings of ancient runes nobody can read anymore: THE VOICES-!

gregory's wife:

YES YEP THATS EXACTLY IT HAHSHSBEJ

Greg's wife: Hes going through a lot of mental trouble right now...the kids are starting to get worried.

Ms. Cathy, the reason: Thats crazy, man-

Amazingly, Kthanid/Ms. Karie has the ability to erase memories úwù ... So if either Cthulhu or Kthanid decide to pull the poor guy back in mortal bliss, they'd just make him forget everything until right before he saw Ms. Cathy's faccee.

[ketrinadrawsalot]

Octo-ber #19: The Larger Pacific Striped Octopus (or Harlequin Octopus) was discovered in 1977, but has only recently been scientifically studied. It exhibits many un-octopuslike behaviors, such as gregariousness, hugging while mating, and raising multiple clutches of eggs throughout its life!

[isa-carmona]

#imagination #sketchbook #sketchbookskool #day2 #isacarmona @sketchbookskool @koosjekoene .. today I felt like I was multitasking and needed at least 8 hands #octopuslike ... some threads - water, linking drawings, storytelling (at Newbury, Berkshire)

[krjpalmer]

MacUser January 1992

Utilities to juice up System 7 that much further were featured in this issue (although none of them could upgrade the Classic II to high-resolution colour). The Quadras (and IIfx running A/UX) were pitted against full-blown workstations, but in his back-page column, John C. Dvorak dwelt on the disappearance of the many other microcomputer companies that had started alongside Apple and cast dark aspersions on the newly announced Apple-IBM alliance (while also supposing Microsoft was now in trouble, having “to fight an octopuslike old-boysnetwork”), supposing in the end “It’s likely that 20 years from now, Apple will be as fondly remembered as the Sphere or the Altair are today--by nobody.”

[virovac]

Time travel Entrapta concept

Entrapta glared at her younger self from her cage with disdain.

Her hair twisted like coiling worms snake rather the octopuslike precision

She supposed this was what Hordak felt all the time in his arrogance, looking down on everyone for lacking his vision.

She felt a twinge of guilt remembering she had come back just to stop him; but science came first.

How small minded she had been from the start!

She hadn't appreciated how unique each runestone was, and assisted in a pointless plan to destroy one of them.

What could she have done if she had gained access to both runestones?!

She eagerly jumped at any chance to open new doors, not considering what others she was closing in the process.

She had turned away so many potential projects to assist Hordak, only to be met with stifling bureaucracy on the other side of the portal.

She was just one genius among many in the larger Horde, and they didn't like her. Hordak could only do so much to enable her, but neither of them had as much freedom as they had on Etheria.

She didn't know if she was risking her own destruction by time paradox at this point, but she would take this last chance.

All she needed to do was escape, and steal her younger self's body. 

---

Repentant yet still selfish antihero Entrapta anyone?

@shadsiethewriter

[fromtheshadcws]

sharks have lots of teeth, so i thought of them when i saw that reaper art with lots of teeth. (so gabe being secretly shark confirmed)

OH OKAY THAT MAKES SENSE.

uh, to a certain point.

wereshark gabe? LAUGHS. i mean in any kind of mer-verse he’d either be sharklike or octopuslike so i can see that, though for some reason this made me think of selkie!gabe too so 

[screentone37]

exhausted - inktober 2018 day 7

exhausted – inktober 2018 day 7

In Metal Gear 4, Snake is an old man, exhausted by years on the battlefield.

He wears a sneaking suit that helps him blend in, octopuslike, with his environment.

I try to convey that effect with a little ink wash. I’m not quite successful, but the effect is interesting, nonetheless.

As a little bonus, here’s the preliminary drawings.

First the pencil sketch, than the inks.

Onward.

[hell-yeahfilm]

THE TOCKS ON THE CLOCK

Desi, a girl with light-brown skin and dark-brown hair, explains that in the circular land where she lives, creatures called Tocks reside at each number of the clock face; with her dog and cat, she visits each one. First is the Phloon, a stringy, singing creature who lives on a dune at noon; she later takes a rowboat to see the octopuslike Gloor at 4 and ventures through a snowy forest to see the dangling, spiderlike Sline at 9. During her visits, Desi explains the Tocks’ traits, abilities, and personalities. Some are scary, but others are pleasant, such as the Thevin, a large, purple creature with a “toy train that / brings tea and lemon.” The trio returns to “where the Phloon stood at noon,” and at midnight, they receive good-night wishes from a giant, multicolored Zight. Young readers will enjoy the whimsical settings and the imaginative, engaging Tocks while familiarizing themselves with numbers and the hours of the clock. The brightly colored, cartoonlike illustrations include many fun details, as when Desi and her pets are seen dressed up for a posh party at the Thevin’s. Backdrops include quirky thematic elements, such as a wall decorated with the lyrics to “Hickory Dickory Dock.”

from Kirkus Reviews https://ift.tt/3lJKj0P

[marlynnofmany]

The Joys of Googly Eyes in Space

Just in time for April Fool’s Day, freshly liberated from being exclusive on Patreon, have a short story inspired by a comic about “eyes in the back of your head.”

~~~

Tentacle aliens are fun to surprise. They flail about in a way that’s more endearing than it should be. Not that I would ever try to prompt that kind of reaction on purpose, oh no.

Psh, just kidding; I absolutely would.

“Were those hidden under your head-fur all this time??” Floyd demanded, pointing a tentacle at my head and waving the others like the tail of a demented kite. “How was that not in the briefing?”

I was laughing too much to keep it up. “They’re not real,” I admitted, plucking the googly eyes from my hair. “Humans don’t really have eyes on the back of their heads. It’s just a saying. See?” I held them out in my palm, then after he’d stared for a silent moment, I stuck them on the console I’d been using. Right above the ID scanner, where the next person was certain to see them.

Floyd was thinking hard, his brow ridges scowling in his octopuslike face. The tentacles did the bulk of the body language, twining around each other, preoccupied.

“I have a use for your false eyes,” he declared. “Would you be willing to wear them again? Unnecessary question, I’m sure—”

“Sure I will,” I agreed. “I’ve got more, with fresh adhesive. What’s the story?”

Floyd’s tentacles curved in a way that resembled a human’s arms with fists on hips. Indignant. He was still frowning.

“Someone has been taking food from the stasis chamber that is clearly labeled as belonging to another,” he said. “I have a theory who is doing this, but haven’t been able to prove it.”

“I am in,” I said with a broad smile. “Thwarting lunch thieves is a time-honored tradition among my people. Do you want some disturbing human spices to put in the food?”

“No, I— Maybe,” he said, reconsidering. “If the first plan doesn’t work. I think humiliation will be enough of a deterrent.”

“The offer stands. So tell me about this plan.”

* * *

Floyd made the announcement to his unit before lunchtime, with me standing behind him like the exotic tall creature I was. He told them all that the thefts would not stand — the room where meals were kept would be guarded today by the human, who was supplied with a collection of fluorescent dye bombs. These were meant for outside repairs in particularly dark parts of space. They made for fine projectiles in the hands of a species known for their throwing ability.

The rest of the group mumbled their agreement with a range of expressions. Most of them were the same species as Floyd, with the same anxious tentacle movements, while a couple were a subspecies that looked more like squids than octopus, and several of the mantislike bug aliens rounded out the group. As far as I could tell, most of them approved of this plan, though a few were skeptical.

Announcement over, Floyd ushered them all back to work and me into the break room. My hair was still braided as usual, and I hadn’t applied the googly eyes yet. I did this now as Floyd made sure no one was looking. Then I set up my basket of fist-sized dye bombs and the tablet of my own work that I would be preoccupied with, and waved a conspiratorial goodbye to Floyd.

Refrigeration units and heat-stasis chambers lined the walls. I couldn’t face all directions at once, but I didn’t need to. I sat at a central table with my back toward the chamber where Floyd kept his lunch, and I unbraided my hair. Draped it over my shoulder and sat in such a way that the eyes would be nicely visible from behind me, but not from the door.

Then I waited. The diagrams and documents on the tablet were engaging enough that I didn’t mind the time passing, but not so much that I didn’t notice someone slip in the door quietly.

I held still, facing forward but straining my peripheral vision. It looked like one of the squiddy fellows, an exceptionally pointy-headed specimen I’d privately dubbed Kraken Craig. He had a proper name, but I couldn’t remember it. And it probably wasn’t as similar to an Earth name as Floyd’s tentacle-alien name was.

At any rate, Craig was being deliberately sneaky. He crept toward the stasis chambers, likely heading directly for Floyd’s just out of spite. I tilted my head, waiting for him to look.

He made the funniest noise when he saw it: a gasp-blorp and the thwap of tentacles flailing against the chamber in surprise.

I casually picked up a dye bomb and rolled it around in my hand. Craig scuttled for the exit, tentacles smacking the floor, all stealth abandoned.

He was met outside by Floyd and several others holding cameras. “Surprise!” Floyd announced. “I knew it was you!”

As the lunch thief tried to bluster his way out of this, I pegged him with a dye bomb in the back of the head. The poof of color made the crowd edge away, laughing. Craig whirled to glare at me. I plucked the eyes off the back of my head and held them up with my best innocent smile.

That led to an unprofessional swear from Craig and approval from the crowd. Floyd was still recording as Craig stormed off, trailing neon green that I’d probably have to clean up. Worth it.

“Can I have a copy of that video?” I asked Floyd. “I have some friends back home who would love to see it.”

“Absolutely,” Floyd said. “I will also offer you some of my lunch. I brought extra, and I believe it’s edible by your species.”

“As long as you don’t mind me covering it in spices!” I laughed. “Thank you. Maybe I can convince you to try just a dash of salt.”

“Isn’t that the one that’s just powdered minerals? I can’t believe your people eat rocks.”

“To be fair, they’re very tasty rocks.”

[dahniwitchoflight]

hi! hey do you know why people relate void with alcohol?, I mean yeah roxy, but I still don't see relation, also I have seen other people relate it with liquids, I think

Void’s connection to water (and all things liquids) is a pretty clear one, mostly because all of the symbolic language surrounding Void also surrounds Water

a Dark Abyss is equally a black hole of nothingness as well as a deep trench in a dark ocean, its also the idea of “the cosmic ocean” the black night sky filled with stars represented as dark waters that you can sail across

the color black itself being the traditional color associated with water, because of its nature as dark deep oceans of possibility, where all sorts of wonderful crazy things exist and life springs up from

I guess it’s clearer to say that all of the symbolism traditionally used for Water/Ocean is used for Void as well, and not just in homestuck, but in real world symbolism in general

some Homestuck specific ones though are Cetus being a denizen associated with Void, as Cetus is the great whale of misfortune, the horrorterrors being tentacled octopuslike sea creatures and their major interactions being with characters associated with oceanlife (Feferi)

the Dream Bubbles of possibility that exist in the Void being called exactly that, Bubbles in the dark cosmic ocean of Void

and the fact that at one point, some characters in the story do in fact literally sail across the Void in a pirate ship as if the Void were a literal body of water

(then the Void players in Homestuck all being associated with various liquids, Alcohol, Milk, Sweat etc)

Alcohol gets another +1 to Void though because not only is it a liquid, it’s is specifically a Liquid that makes things Voidy, you drink it and you become blurry, sloshed, you slur your words, making your speech less understandable, and you yourself are less able to understand others while drunk, so it just Voids out your speech, thoughts, actions, intents, perceptions etc from others while you are under the influence. It all blurs together, instead of becoming clearer like Light would do

[fruitsoftheweb]

“A prototype model of a soft octopuslike robot is manufactured in layers built up during a 3D printing process. An octopuslike robot similar to this one was pressurized with fluid and controlled with valves made by inflating two microchannels placed in contact, so that the expansion of the first closes off the second. The time delay between pressurizing the first and shutting the second was used to make the octopus robot raise and lower its arms.“

[ninalevy]

Kraken Loves Cthulhu for Valentine’s Day: Valentine’s Day has been pretty uneventful for us. The day went officially unacknowledged at both kids’ schools. Gone are the days of homemade Valentines for the whole class collected in a decorated shoebox. Both kids and my spouse claim to have little or no interest in chocolate, so not much gratification there either. But I couldn’t let the day pass completely without comment. We are still on a bit of a tentacle kick around here. Cthulhu mostly, but in a pinch, a Kraken will do. My exacting younger son informed me that the Kraken is too octopuslike and not squidy enough. He also suggested that the ultimate Valentine’s Day image would be of two roses exchanging or sniffing a human. Perhaps next year? And I just want to point out that I have not assumed the gender of either tentacle owner. (My kids have been embroidering the “did you just assume my gender meme” lately. More to come on that later, I am afraid)

[ebficnotes]

Lorebook: Pocket Guide to the Empire, 1st Edition/The Wild Region - the sload

Thras:

The coral kingdoms of Thras, a set of islands southwest of the Chain in the Abecean Sea, are home to a godless tribe of beastmen called the Sload.

These amphibious slugmen, perhaps the most hated race in all of Tamriel, were long thought to be extinct. After the Sload released the Thrassian Plague in 1E2200, which claimed more than half of the continent's population, the largest allied naval force in Tamrielic history sailed to Thras, slaughtered all the Sload they could find, and, with great unknown magicks, sunk their coral kingdoms into the sea.

Sadly, it has been reported that Thras has risen again, and that its masters, the Sload, have recently been seen in various areas of Tamriel. Citizens are encouraged to avoid these beasts, and contact the nearest Imperial authorities when they learn of one's existence. Much is remembered about the slugmen, and has been collected for you in the nearby sidebar. Be vigilant.

Collected from the Notes of Bendu Olo, West King of Anvil and Baron-Admiral of the All Flags Navy, and Dealer of Swift Justice to the Foul Spot of Thras:

Life Cycle: Juvenile: Disgusting little amorphous grubs.

Adolescent: Soft, squishy octopuslike things that cannot emerge on land.

Adult: No outside limit to age or size. Individuals seen on land in Tamriel tend to be older, corpulent adults; the trait of greed is common in these individuals, and they excel as merchants and smuggling entrepreneurs. Younger adults lack essential surface survival skills, and are rarely seen on land. Older adults collapse under their own weight unless buoyed by water.

Gifts: Perfect memory. They cannot read or write, but they remember everything they see or hear.

Magic-adept: All land-traveling Sload know the Recall spell at a high level of skill, and use it casually and frequently as the default mode of travel. It also provides the best defense; they teleport out of difficulty instinctively. We must be on our feet!

Liabilities: Poor grasping ability, weak tool use. [Sload slowly adapt their outer integument to conform with surfaces and objects, permitting them to pick things up or climb things like disgusting slugs.] Slow! They think very quickly, but never enough to suit their careful, deliberate personalities. They move slowly, and act slowly. It takes them a long time to come to decisions. They can answer questions quickly, if they choose to… which they seldom do.

Cautious. They have no word in their language for adventure. The closest equivalent means 'tragic disaster'. All their heroic myths are about individuals who sit around and think for years and years, consulting cautiously with wise Sload, until finally they act - always deliberately, always successfully. All their mythic villains act quickly, and always fail.

Morally Repugnant: Every Sload individual encountered has been a grasping, callous, godless, self-loving schemer. They do not seem to experience or display any familiar human emotions, though they are skilled diplomats and actors, and produce gross, exaggerated parodies of human behavior [laughter at lame jokes, weeping at apparent misfortunes, furious tirades at folly or ineptitude]. They have no compunctions about blasphemy, theft, torture, kidnapping, murder, or genocide. They break laws whenever they calculate it in their best interests. They do not perceive or honor friendship or loyalty in the familiar human terms, except for a cheerful affinity for those who defeat them or trick them in any endeavor. The adult form does not apparently reproduce, and shows no interest in the fate of its offspring.

https://en.uesp.net/wiki/Lore:Pocket_Guide_to_the_Empire,_1st_Edition/The_Wild_Region