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Humans are unstoppable...Until they arenât.
Iâm not the most eloquent writer, but Iâve had this idea kicking around for a while and figured Iâd put it out into the universe.
A lot of the basis for the âhumans are space orcsâ stuff is the idea that weâre pretty durable compared to many species, yeah? When it comes to physical trauma, we can bounce back from most things that donât kill us outright, especially given the benefit of hypothetical space-age technology, and adrenaline is one heck of a drug when it comes to functioning under stress.Â
But that doesnât make us unkillable, and even though we can survive debilitating injuries and not die from shock, it doesnât mean itâs fun. Dying of shock sucks, but at least itâs probably quick.
So - Imagine a ship, adrift in space, slowly being drawn into a star or something. In order to save the ship, someone has to repair the hyper-quantum-relay-majig on the hull or in the engine or whatever. Bit of a problem though- thereâs a ton of deadly, deadly radiation (Wrath of Khan style) or poisonous fumes or, I dunno, electrical current, between the crew and the repair. Like, enough to kill most species instantly, so the crew is just like, âwelp, guess weâll die thenâ. But then.
BUT THEN
They ask the human. Because everyoneâs heard the stories - youâre basically unkillable, right? Could you survive long enough in there to fix it? And their human goes real quiet for a second, but still says âYeah, I could fix itâ. And the rest of the crew is like, âWhaaaaaa, it wonât kill you?â and the human repeats âI can fix itâ (which isnât an answer, but no one catches that, not yet at least), so they send âem in. And the human fixes it, they come back, the ship flies to safety, and the crew is thrilled to survive. If the human is a little quiet, well, theyâre entitled after pulling off a miracle. Everyone else is just excited to get to the nearest stationâs bar to tell their very own human story, cuz, âthose crazy humans, amiright?â.
The good mood keeps up until the human is late for their next shift. At first itâs just faint unease, but- but they earned a bit of a lie-in, right? No reason to begrudge them some extra rest, even if it is a little weird for them to oversleep. Theyâll be fine. Humans are always fine.Â
(Right?)
(âŚWrong.)
- What is⌠help. Help!-
- ake up! You have t-
- been days. You need sleep, you-
- nother transfusion. We could-
- out of sedatives!-
A week later, the crew finally reaches the station. They stumble into the bar, haggard and haunted. And over the next months and years a new rumor about humans starts to make its way through space. A rumor unlike any before.
âBe careful with your humansâ it whispers. âTheir strength is not always a blessing. Be sure they donât do something they canât come back from, because when a human dies⌠they die slowly.â
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Sunday Six(ish)!
âWhat the Hell? How did you get pastâ?â
âIrrelevant,â Sherlock replied, waving a dismissive hand.
âNot irrelevant! Weâre talking about a potentially serious breach of department security!â
âOh, please, Sherlock sneered. âIf you were that concerned about security, somebody would have locked the door labeled âemployees only.â As it was, all I had to do was look like I knew where I was going.â
Donovan reached up and pinched the bridge of her nose between a thumb and forefinger and muttered something under breath that sounded like âGrandmother give me strength,â before raising her eyes to nail Sherlock. âRight. So why shouldnât I just lock up you for trespassing?â
âExcerpt from the upcoming chapter 29 of âThe Devilâs BlazeâÂ
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Chapter is over 7000 words and I'm having great fun writing Donovan/Sherlock snarky banter.
In the AD club, writing, if anybody cares to come keep me company.
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In the AD club, writing, if anybody cares to come keep me company.
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Sunday Six delayed-
Hi Lovelies,
I appreciate all the love and support. Despite our best efforts to influence the universe, though, it wasn't enough. After having The Talk with the doctors and getting an extremely awful "best prognosis" my family made the painful decision to respect my father's living will and take him off life support on Friday. I'm...as okay as I can be (taking my meds, eating, sleeping, etc.), but very, very sad. Please know I treasure you all and I'll be back in a little bit after I have more time to grieve.
Love,
DG
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Sunday Six delayed-
Hi Lovelies,
I'm not sure what my writing is going to be like for a little while. My dad's taken a sudden and dramatic turn for the worse and things aren't looking good. Any karmatic juju, good vibes, prayers, sacrifices to the gods, lit candles, etc. would be much appreciated.
Thank you,
DG
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Dithering....
Do I post 2/3rds of the current chapter, or do I make people wait and finish the entire chapter? I need somebody to babble at...
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Nature is weeeeiiiiirrrrdddd....
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Sunday Six!(ish)
So personal update: my dad (finally!) got his lung transplant and I'm taking shifts like the rest of the immediate family. Sitting around on hospital floors is terrible for my hips (believe me, trying to sit in the chairs they provide is worse!) but it does give me hours of quiet time for writing!
~*~
Later, back in his cabin, Sherlock gave into the urge to pace. âIt makes no sense!â he growled to the roomâs other occupant, only to receive a sleepy doggy yawn in reply. âThere is a pattern here; there must be, but what is it?â
Spinning around Sherlock let his gaze fall on the mostly-unadorned walls. The cabin was made up of split logsâhardly the best surface to adhere items to, but beggars, choosers and all that. Sherlock sighed again. There was nothing else for it. Heâd hoped to keep his evidence wall locked in his mind palace in the interest of preserving his coverâhis cabin was cleaned weekly, after allâbut the concussion was making it impossible for him to do so...
âExcerpt from the upcoming chapter 29 of âThe Devilâs Blazeâ Â
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Sunday Six(ish)
âThe law of parsimony dictates that the strange smell and the traces of ash I recovered are due to the mysterious cigarette I found. That ties in with the traces of ash particles I found in Scottyâs nasal mucus, Strakerâs autopsy, Melba Toastyaâs necropsy, and the video evidence of Cream Soda. Why a strange smell, though? Tobacco is prevalent enough in this society that it is readily identifiable. Tobacco also hasnât been reported to have an adverse effect on livestock. Something else, then, but what? Mollyâs claim that marijuana smoke resembles nothing so much as a dead and decomposing skunk aside, what could the ash be comprised of?"
âExcerpt from the upcoming chapter 29 of âThe Devilâs BlazeâÂ
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Ok, I've seen this sentiment before, but the amount of Kindle Unlimited ads I've been seeing is forcing me to repeat it-
Kindle Unlimited is offering two free months of unlimited ebooks. As a trial. Which will then become a paid subscription.
Your local library is offering unlimited ebooks all the time. Forever. No contracts, no predatory practices, no tracking of how long you spend on each particular page in the hopes that information about your habits can be sold for a profit.
Use your library. They want so badly to give you all of the things for free.
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Sunday Six delayed-
It's my anniversary and Spouse and I have plans to gorge ourselves on Irish chips, Guinness and Jameson's when he get home from his last gig. In the meantime, enjoy a bit of a BaggenShield AU that bit my brain the other night. Basic premise is post Battle of 5 Armies. Bilbo's the one injured, Thorin's sane again, and he's got a lot to atone for. Mostly, though, I like the idea of dwarves being master brewers.
~*~
âThe gold is cursed,â Thorin said bluntly. âEven if it wasnât cursed, I wouldnât wish to destroy your economy by flooding it with gold that nobody can use in the winter.â
âSo what do you propose, then?â Bard demanded harshly. âNothing for our aid?â
âNo, not nothing. What I have to offer is far more valuable than gold would be to you right now.â
âAnd what is that?â Bard asked skeptically.
âSeasoned wood,â Thorin replied, raising his chin. âCoal. Rock oil. Salt pork. Tanned leather and furs. Wool. Quarried stone. Mortar. The skills of my masons to rebuild Dale.â Seeing Bardâs confusion, Thorinâs smile became grim. âThror was a gold-sick fool, plundering the kingdom and hoarding everything for his own. Contrary to what you men think, the true scope of Eraborâs wealth lay not in the gems or gold of its stone. As I have been so brutally reminded, my kingdomâs greatness came from its people. Our wealth came from our alliances and our ability to trade our skills and craft for goods and resources. As a very wise hobbit once told me, food, cheer and song are far more valuable than hoarded gold.â Thorin lowered his chin and met Bardâs gaze evenly. "I do not deny that the riches Smaugâs plundered from Dale lie within our halls; they shall be restored to you in due time. As shall the hobbit's share of the treasure, but all that must come later. The wizard said the gold must be melted and reformed to remove the wyrmâs taint, first.â        Â
âAnd what of the elves?â Thranduil interjected sarcastically. âThe White Gems of Lasgalen were always ours.âÂ
Thorin took a deep breath through his nose to stem the rising tide of anger. âI would give you the necklace of Girion,â he began. âOnce it is located, that is. Five hundred emeralds as green as grass seems like a fitting reward for the ruler of the MirâGreenwood. Furthermore, I would offer this.â Thorin picked up the small cask heâd brought with him and set it down in the middle of the table. âHere,â he offered, edging it towards Thranduil whose eyes began to gleam with unmistakable interest.
âWhatâs that?â Bard asked.Â
âSomething that a wood elf would appreciate more than ordinary gems,â Thorin replied dryly. âWell-aged Dwarven mead. Thatâs but a sample,â Thorin continued, turning to meet Thranduilâs gaze. âThe wyrm had no interest in the cellars; we found mead, wine, brandy, Uisce beatha, and more, some dating back to the beginning of Throrâs reign. I offer you fourteen barrels of each; one for each member of my company.â
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Sunday Six delayed-
Spent the weekend adulting and just woke up from what was supposed to be a short nap.
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WTF?
I almost want to use this as a plot for another casefic!
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Sunday Six!
âLook at this,â Sherlock insisted, beginning to lay papers on top of Donovanâs already-cluttered desk. âThis is a copy of the exceptionally aggressive bulls list that John Watson was compiling.â He pointed at three highlighted names. âNote those; theyâre important. This,â he continued, opening a manila folder and pulling out the document inside, âis a list of betting matches placed at various rodeos and the winners thereof. Do you see the pattern?â
âExcerpt from the upcoming chapter 29 of âThe Devilâs BlazeâÂ
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I love "Richard III". I am SOOOO ENVIOUS of folks who are fortunate to see this production in theaters!
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