Neanderthal - Tumblr Posts
I am so sad about the extinction of Neanderthals! I am inconsolable! I just can't help thinking about how similar they were to us and how they possibly had community care, tending to indivuals who weren't "useful." Maybe it is more than human to care. Maybe we were cursed to be alone on this earth.
The Hazening
(This is a tf story I wrote as a commission on FA. Figured I’d post it here for you guys to enjoy, too.)
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“Look, man, I seriously stuck my neck out to even get you this chance at joining the frat in the first place. You’ve seen what other frats do for hazing. You should thank me!”
Chris looked dubiously at the jockstrap and tube socks. His rich black hair was cut back into a fade on the sides to expose the glasses that sat firmly on his nose. “Look, Jack, I know you want to be able to hang out more, but this—”
“Is easy compared to what I had to deal with,” Jack said seriously. His blond stubble and blocky face had only become more prominent and masculine over the last year since he joined the frat. “Nu Phi Lambda’s seriously cool, man. They accept anyone, so long as they pass the test. You wear it to the party, hang with some of the guys for a while, meet the pres, and there you go!”
“And the reason they’re being so easy on me is because…?”
Jack rolled his eyes. “Because I asked them to. That, and I may have said this was the most embarrassing thing you’ll ever have to endure.”
“So, you lied for me?”
“You’re saying you won’t be uncomfortable wearing just that underneath your clothes?”
“… Point.”
Jack smirked. “See? I’ve still got those mad debate skills.”
Chris rolled his eyes. “Sure, you do.”
“Oh, and one more thing. They’re gonna be checking to make sure you’re actually wearing it, so be ready for some bros to give you a wedgie.” He chuckled. “Well, to try, anyway.”
“Seriously?”
“It’s hazing, man. What’d you expect?”
“Something that isn’t so immature?”
Jack chuckled. “I’ll see you at the party, ‘little bro.’ Don’t be late,” he sang as he left the room.
Chris groaned as he looked at the two articles of clothing. “The things I do for friendship,” he muttered under his breath.
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Well, Jack hadn’t been wrong. The discomfort was definitely there. Every step Chris took brushed the fabric of his jeans against parts of his body that weren’t used to such exposure, and the straps of the strap would rub occasionally against his skin. He was confident he’d likely develop a rash by the end of the night. Or at the very least, chafe marks. He would have worn boxers over the gear to mitigate the situation, were it not for the warning Jack gave.
Chris had only experienced a wedgie once before, when he was swimming in an old childhood friend’s pool. The yelp he’d given when he was lifted bodily in the water had echoed through the neighborhood, and he still winced whenever he thought back on the old memory. The tube socks he wore now encompassed his feet in a thick cocoon that pressed slightly against the walls of his shoes and sent a strange tingling sensation up the soles of his feet with every step. It wasn’t like he was being tickled, but it was certainly distracting.
“Chris!” Jack grinned as he shouldered through the crowd of upperclassmen to reach his friend. “Glad you made it, bro!” The man had become the embodiment of the frat bro stereotype from the backwards snapback to the tight tank and shorts marked with the frat’s logo. Tanned and swollen arms nearly consumed the would-be-pledge in a bear hug that would break a lesser man. This was soon followed by a loud snap.
Chris stiffened like a board as his eyes widened and he gaped disbelievingly at his friend.
“Just checking.” Jack grinned. “Good on you for not bringing boxers.”
“Jack….”
“Oh, calm down, man. One night of immature revelry won’t kill you.” Jack rolled his eyes. “Come on. Pres is waiting.”
The party had yet to get fully underway, so it was easy to weave or shoulder through people without consequence. Tall thick border hedges provided all the privacy the event would need, if not noise protection. As for what antics might come that night as a result of said privacy…. Chris didn’t want to think about it. The inside of the frat house was more like a mansion than a house, with rich dark wood floors and a brighter reddish paneling for the walls. Jack guided him to the left, where a pair of doors opened into a broad study lined with ornate bookshelves, complete with the moveable ladder. It was the picture of a Victorian manor study. And there, behind the desk, stood the tallest, broadest, and most imposing man Chris had ever laid eyes on.
“Yo, Kyle! I brought him,” Jack announced. His face split into a broad grin. “Told you I’d get him here.”
Kyle was a burly man with naturally wavy brown hair and thick eyebrows. His arms were nearly twice the size of Jack’s, and his green eyes were highlighted with a golden outline. Darker hairs stood out on the backs of his hands and along his arms before slipping under the tight sleeves of his polo. When the behemoth leaned onto the desk, Chris had the impression of staring down a gorilla, rather than a man.
“So, this is the one you told me about, huh?” His voice was deep and gruff with just a hint of a growl that carried in the undertow.
A heavy smack to the back sent Chris catapulting onto the desk. He braced for all he was worth to avoid accidentally knocking heads with the man that presumably would be the one to decide whether he was worthy of joining the organization in the first place.
“Doesn’t look like much,” Kyle continued bluntly.
Jack folded his arms. “Neither did I when I pledged. Look at me now.”
Kyle didn’t bother looking at Jack. His focus was on the man who couldn’t hold a gaze for a few seconds before looking away. “You wearing your gear?”
“If you mean the jockstrap and socks, yes.” Chris’ cheeks felt like they were on fire as his voice hushed. “Are you guys seriously going to give me wedgies?”
Kyle rose to his full height and folded his vascular arms. “Part of the deal. You could say that strap is more for protection than it is a test. Do right by it and you’ll fit in, no problem.” He strode around the table and extended a hand. “It’s tradition for the leader to welcome guests, even if they don’t pass snuff.”
Chris’ whole hand was swallowed in the fist as Kyle shook with gentle controlled movements. The man probably could have broken his arm, if he’d been so inclined. A few second later, the familiar snap of spandex rang through the room. Chris yelped and jumped briefly. Kyle smiled. “Watch yourself tonight, pledge. Part of the fun is facing a challenge.”
Chris glared at the man. “And here I thought I was actually going to like you.”
Kyle huffed a chuckle. “You still might by the end of the night. Go on. Have fun. This party’s meant for more than just pranking. I want to see just how well you rush. Good luck.”
When the door clicked shut behind them, Jack was positively ecstatic. He thumped Chris excitedly on the back. “Dude! He totally likes you!”
When Chris was certain his eyes weren’t about to be knocked out of his skull from the sheer force of the blows, he spoke acerbically. “That’s not the impression I got.”
Jack was completely undaunted and pulled his friend against his side. “Trust me, bro. I know these things. You’re in. You’re totally in.” He whooped in delight. “I can’t wait for tonight!”
“Yes. I can hardly contain myself. Woohoo….”
Jack chuckled. “You’ll see soon enough, little bro. You’ll see.”
“Is this going to be your thing now?”
Jack smirked. “Maybe.”
Chris groaned. “I don’t know if I’m strong enough to survive this.”
“Courage, my friend. Courage. The night is still young, and there are many vain and foolish delights to tempt and tantalize.” He grinned. “I’ll make a bro out of you yet.”
Chris barked a laugh. “You can try.”
Jack smirked. “Wait and see, bro. Wait and see.”
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The party went into full swing as soon as the sun began to set. Torches were lit, burgers were served, and the beer flowed like mead in a Viking feast hall. Drunken revelry filled the air with hoots, growls, and howls as various antics were performed and thrust on would-be-pledges. Keg stands, beer pong, the works.
And all the while, Chris was on guard, ever alert for groping hands and would-be-attackers. But these “bros” were more cunning than Chris had given credit for. When Jack had ceased to serve as a proper distraction, they found other means to “test” him. The card tables were notorious, especially when they got into a round of strip poker.
Somehow, he always found himself getting stripped. And then would come the familiar smack of the waistband. By the time he left those tables, his waist felt like it was burning. The straps had been pulled and snapped so much by now, he was shocked they hadn’t lost their stretch.
He stumbled toward the drink table. The tingling had intensified in his feet, and he was tired of all the antics. But he had promised Jack he’d stay, and he wasn’t about to break his word, even if the guys were being lunkheaded jerks.
“Rough night?” the keep asked as he filled another cup.
“You could say that.” Chris groaned and leaned against the makeshift counter where the drinks were mixed, then served in the punch bowl to the side or in individual orders for the older frat members.
“Sounds like you could use a pick-me-up.”
Chris sighed. “I just don’t really feel like I belong here, you know?”
“Do you want to belong?”
“I want to be with my friend. Does that count?”
The keep shrugged again. “It’s a start.” He passed a cup Chris’ way. “In my experience, if you want to feel like fitting in, and you’re having trouble, it might not hurt to get a little help in loosening up. And no, I’m not talking drugs. We don’t do those here. Ever. Anyone caught with those gets immediate disbarment.”
“And what do you recommend?” Chris sipped his drink and sighed. The flavor was surprisingly sweet, with a warmth that seemed to spread through his chest, then back into his throat again as the drink went down.
“A little liquid courage never hurt anyone.” He shrugged. “Or you could work off some of that aggression in the other places. There’s wrestling and arm wrestling, you know. Even a sumo mat and one of those stick pit things. You know, the game where you knock someone off while you straddle a beam? Try some of them out. Let loose. Live a little. And if you’re really that upset over something people are doing to you, why not pay them back? Fair’s fair, in my opinion.”
“I still don’t know.”
“You don’t have to know to do. Take a risk. Live a little. What’s the worst that could happen?”
“I get in a fight.”
“Would that be such a bad thing?”
Chris drained his cup and took the second that was proffered. “Have you seen their size?”
“I have. Have you seen yours?” He shook his head. “You think too little of yourself. Think little and you’ll be little. So stop thinking and just be for a while.”
“Just be? That simple?”
“Simple’s usually the best.” The keep offered a third cup. “A few basic ingredients, and you’ve got a kickass drink. Why not let it be the same for a man? Isn’t that one of the sayings people use, the clothes make the man?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“So, let your clothes do the talking for a while. It’s not like it’ll kill you to try something different for a night.”
The warmth had spread through Chris’ whole body by this point, and a hint of a smile pulled at his face, despite his attempts to quash it. “Just for a night, huh?”
“Just for a night. Just to try,” the keep offered again. “Who knows? You might actually like it.”
Chris chuckled. “Fat chance.”
“Fat is easily trimmed with exertion.” The keep smiled as he took the cup back. “Why don’t you go burn some of it off, until that chance comes along, hmm?”
Chris sighed. “I suppose I should try.” He rolled his eyes and adjusted his crotch as he rose back to his feet. “Thanks for the drinks.”
“Any time, stranger. Feel free to come back if you need. I’ve got plenty to choose from, and good advice to offer. It’ll put some hair on that chest of yours.”
Chris chuckled ruefully. “Can it put muscle on, too?”
The barkeep smiled knowingly. “That’s up to you and just how much you decide to follow those clothes of yours.”
“Sure, it is.” Chris’ cheeks flushed as he walked away from the bar. His legs tensed as he scratched his glutes. But he did feel a little better. “Maybe just … one game of sumo.”
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Chris leaned heavily into his steps as he finally emerged from the cocoon of padding that had been his badge of honor for the last ten rounds and replaced his shoes. His belly burned. His blood surged. And as for his rear, well … he was getting used to all the “attention.” If they didn’t snap his waistband, they smacked him, instead.
“Bro, that was awesome!” one such frat member raved. “You toppled Titan! You toppled the %&$*ing Titan!”
Chris smiled sheepishly. “Thanks.”
“That’s my bro!” Jack hooted as he pointed from across the way and beat a meaty fist against his chest in salute.
“To the hero of the ring!”
A cup was shoved in Chris’ face, and he took it. “Uh, … thanks?”
“Go on, bro, drink up! You earned it!”
It … was hot in that costume. And he was feeling thirsty. He took a hesitant sip. It wasn’t the sweet flavor he’d had at the bar, but it wasn’t bad. There was a hint of orange in the brew that offset the bitter flavor from the hops. The flush deepened, and a goofy smile pulled at his lips. He hardly even felt the snap this time around.
He laughed, a curious hiccupping mixture between his usual higher register and a lower bass. A heavy thump on the back nearly sent him tottering. Then came the deathgrip on his waistband, followed by the largest snap to date.
And that wasn’t the only thing to snap.
Chris came to, thrashing in some much larger arms. The poor soul that had unleashed that rage was being raised to his feet. Instead of frustration, though, there were smiles.
“Calm down.”
Chris immediately went limp at the command. He knew that voice, and he knew those arms. Kyle had broken up the fight. Chris could already feel his sides throbbing.
“Get them some ice to dull the pain.”
The others scattered, and soon both men were nursing ice packs. Jack lumbered to the pair and frowned. “You all right, bro?”
“He’s fine. Just a little too eager, I think,” Kyle rumbled.
Chris’ head felt strangely muted as he looked over the frat president and his friend. It was like someone had worn out the spark plugs up there, and now he just … existed. He grunted as he nursed the ice pack. “M’fine, bro. Really.” Kyle said he was fine, so he was fine.
Jack grinned. “Did you just call me bro?”
One of the sparkplugs finally managed to fire properly. “Don’t get used to it.”
Kyle grunted. “If you want to fight next time, do it in the ring.” His thick brow furrowed like thunderclouds over his eyes. “And remember you’re rushing the frat. That means letting the rest of the guys have their fun.” He deliberately grabbed the waistband and snapped it. “Get used to it.” He snapped it again. “Let it happen.” Once more. “Embrace it.” He yanked especially hard, then leaned next to Chris’ ear after the last snap beat against the pledge’s skin. “You might just be rewarded.” He chortled, though it sounded more like a growl. “Hell, you might actually come to enjoy it.”
Each successive snap acted like a depth charge to Chris’ brain. His knuckles felt sore, probably from the blows that were exchanged in the fight. His hands ached, as did his feet. His head tingled as invisible fingers pricked and massaged at his scalp and deep in his conscious, scouring expertly for those few spark plugs that were still working. His mouth gaped as he stared into those eyes. The rough handling had forced him into a semi-stoop. “Uhh….”
“Got it?”
Another snap. The voice that answered sounded strangely distorted. “Got it….”
“Good.”
Chris blinked at Kyle. The president looked … bigger, somehow. His sleeves strained against his arms to the point of almost breaking, and the hair along his arms had thickened. “You look … funny.”
Kyle smirked. “So do you. Now get back out there. I want to see you make a real party animal of yourself.”
Chris couldn’t help but chuckle. “Think I already have.”
“Give it time, Chris. Give it time.”
A heavy thump on the back almost sent him sprawling. Chris nodded and grunted as he adjusted the pouch on the jock strap. The thing was starting to feel a little tight.
“Come on, bro.” Jack grinned as he laid a meaty arm around Chris’ shoulders. This time, the weight didn’t feel so overwhelming. It felt … comfortable. “Let me introduce you to the world of beer pong.”
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“Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug!”
The chant rang through the air as Chris guzzled a whole pint of beer in one go. He slammed the glass onto the table, followed by laying his elbow into the platform as he awaited his opponent. He smirked at his old friend. “The student has become the master.”
Jack finished guzzling his beer and smacked his own glass onto the table. “Don’t get ahead of yourself there, caveman.”
Chris grinned. “Me chug. Me drink good. Me fight good. Now, me wrestle good.” He shuddered as the tingling spread from feet and crotch through his body and into his head. A low rumble of pleasure surged as he hunched forward. His arm twitched in anticipation. His knuckles stood taut against the skin. His nose burned red from the alcohol that now raged through his bloodstream.
A rally of hoots roared in Chris’ ears as heat radiated pushed against them from within. It felt almost as though his own heartbeat were forcing the members to expand as the cool night air breezed over them. Seconds later, his hand clasped his friend’s in a grip of iron. Both furrowed their brows.
His arm burned. His chest strained. His lats and traps bunched and heaved as he engaged his core, pectorals, biceps, and triceps. A low growl escaped Chris’ lips as he bared his teeth and strained against the force of his friend’s arm. He wanted to win. He needed to win, to dominate. It just … felt right. The same lust burned in Jack’s eyes as the two locked in combat. He wanted to say something snappy, but … he just couldn’t think. It was like his brain was putting all the effort into the fight, too. He spread his legs wide on his stool.
Finally, two rips tore through the night as the table resounded with the defeat of a competitor.
“Oh, snap!” someone shouted.
Chris gaped disbelievingly at the table. His arm was throbbing, but it held Jack’s pinned to the table, like a wrestler waiting for the final count. Neither seemed to notice or care how the sleeves of their shirts had torn or how prominent their pectorals had become as the collars strained against their torsos. They heaved and finally grinned at one another.
“The winner is Chris!”
The crowd cheered, then broke out in a rousing shout. But Chris wasn’t greeted with the lauding of his name. Instead, the frat bros adopted the phrase that had defined their shock at the upset. “Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap!”
Jack leaned next to his friend as they rose to greet the crowd. He scratched a pec idly. “Congrats, bro. I think you just won your nickname.” He seized his friend’s wrist and pulled his arm into the air. The chanting increased in volume as Chris stared dazedly into the crowd.
“I … I don’t know what to—” SNAP! The strap smacked against him. He hardly felt it. It was as though the force transferred from his waist, through his torso, into his chest, and finally struck home at his Adam’s apple. It throbbed and surged forward as his voice dropped like a stone. “—Say.” The invisible hands were at work again, this time on his jaw and face. His nose didn’t feel so much stuffed as swollen. His forehead thickened into a more prominent slope as his brow was slowly massaged and his eyes sunken into the hollows that were rapidly forming over them.
Jack grunted as he released his friend’s arm and thumped his own chest with a thick, hairy hand. “Don’t say. Do.”
Chris saw the hand reaching out of the corner of his eye. He knew what was coming. But he couldn’t stop it. No, he didn’t want to stop it. The band snapped again. His chest swelled with the sudden intake of breath. His head spun. And before he knew it, his mouth was already open, his throat resonating with a deep primal roar as he beat his chest with his fists. A gnarled carpet of thick hair sprouted on the backs of his hands and surged up the back of his arms.
The hooting and cheers intensified. The will of the many pounded against the one. They wanted him. They needed him. And who was he to deny them? His legs thumped heavily over the podium as he approached the stairs. The socks clung more tightly as the walls of his shoes strained and finally detonated with twin POPs that were drowned out by the siren call of the frat. Broad swelling feet bulged in their cocoons as he plodded heedlessly down the stairs.
Rough hands seized him, brushed his swelling muscle, his growing hair. Snap after snap resounded in his ears as thick powerful legs burst from the sheath of their respective pant legs, or what remained of them. They’d become more akin to a pair of shorts. Now they draped like a loin cloth, leaving just the waist band and a clear view of a swollen pouch that continued to grow and strain with his body mass. And still the name echoed. Still the call rebounded.
Who was he to deny them?
And with the acceptance of that name, that brutish call, something unlocked. Chris let go of his worries and cares. He let go of thoughts for the future. He was almost naked. There was no shame. With every snap, he grew. With every hoot and cheer, the candle of conscious thought guttered. Thick hairs sprouted over a torso that was rapidly becoming more rigid and carved. Each snap of his waistband another blow of the chisel. Thick hairs formed a treasure trail from his navel while his shirt rode up his torso.
Even crouched, his head stood above the rest now. He felt good. He felt better than good. He raised both arms and flexed. The other sleeve tore open as the mounds pumped into rigid peaks. Wisps of hair sprouted from under the collar. Chris didn’t even have to think. He was beyond thinking. He roared as he tore his shirt apart like so much paper. The rip of the fabric filled his chest with a primal growl of satisfaction that was followed by the snap of the final strands giving out. He shucked himself of the garment and threw it into the crowd, exposing the carpet of hair that had grown over his pecs and chest and curved downward in a V, then spread over his abs.
The hoots grew louder. The cheers devolved into a motley mob as the men that were no longer men surged and crashed against the rising cliffside that was Chris. The candle flame could hardly survive under the onslaught, and finally was snuffed by the winds of the frat. The light died. The ember burnt out, and the smoke trailed out his lips in the last intelligent phrase of the night. “Snap like. Give Snap more. Give Snap ALL!”
The rest of the night passed with victory after victory for the new alpha. Chris had accepted the role his clothes had given him, and he reveled in it. He outchugged, outwrestled, and outmatched every opponent. He hooted and grunted. He shoved and he surged. And most importantly, he continued to grow and dominate as his broad shoulders and deformed head stood high above the rest of the tribe. Yet, despite his virility, despite his dominance, despite every surge of growth and victory he gained, the strap and socks clung to him.
Snap didn’t mind. Snap didn’t care. The night was theirs.
The fire that had replaced the candle was his.
And they would feed it or face his wrath.
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Chris groaned as he finally came to. The room was blurry. His mouth felt like something had died in it and dried into mummy powder. And his head. He groaned again as the daylight struck sledgehammer blows on a spike that drove directly through his skull and into his brain.
“It lives!” Jack’s voice was unmistakable. It also exacerbated the headache.
Chris moaned and turned over on the bed. “Just let me die already,” he croaked.
“No can do, bro.” Jack grinned as he walked into his friend’s line of sight. “Pres wants to see you stat.” He sat on the bed and proffered a frosty glass of water and a handful of ibuprofen. “You’re gonna need these. Drink it all and get dressed.” He motioned to a set of sweats and a shirt with the frat’s logo on the left pectoral hanging from a wardrobe door. A fresh pair of tube socks and a large jock strap were draped over the shirt.
Chris cursed and took the proffered medicine.
“Drink it all, bro. Trust me, the water helps.”
When Chris finally mustered enough will to move, he swung heavy legs out from under the covers. The filthy tube socks pooled at his feet, and he easily slid out of them. The jock strap had completely lost all sense of elasticity. He had to hold it in place.
“Bro, do you mind?” Chris asked.
“Dude, it’s just us. Not like I haven’t seen the rest of it.” Jack chuckled. “You were pretty wild last night.”
“What?” Chris swore as the strap dropped to join its companions on the floor.
“Dude, just get dressed.” Jack shook his head. “I won’t look,” he promised. “There. Happy now?”
Reasonably mollified, Chris strode to the doors and pulled on the gear. The jock strap fit snugly over his body, and the pouch held comfortably while still showing off his heft. He scratched it instinctively as he reached for the next article of clothing.
“Boxers and briefs are in the drawers, if you want them,” Jack informed.
Chris’ head whipped back, but his friend was staring at the door to the room, instead. The dirty socks and strap were clung in one of his meaty hands. “No peaking,” he insisted.
“Bro, chill. It’s not like you’ve got anything to be ashamed of, anyway.”
A smirk pulled at Chris’ lips as he smacked a hand against his bicep as his voice dropped into a husky pantomime of Jack’s bass. “People pay to look at this bod, bro.” The smirk passed and he swayed on his feet. Why … why had he said that? That wasn’t—he didn’t—
“Easy, bro.” Jack was there in an instant. Thick hands rubbed Chris’ shoulders. “Relax. Kyle will explain.”
“I … I feel—This is wrong.” Chris’ hands ran over well-defined abs. Hairs brushed gently, soothingly over them. His thick, broad hands. “What … what did you do to me, bro? I … I feel—” He swore again. “My head. Why … why can’t I think straight?”
“I told you, bro. It’s the hangover. Just get dressed, all right? Kyle’ll get you straightened out. I promise.”
“My voice!”
“Is fine,” Jack assured. He raised the coat hangar and shoved the clothes against Chris’ chest. “Come on, bro. Get dressed. Kyle’s waiting. And you don’t want to keep the pres. waiting.”
Chris’ eyes clouded briefly, and he grunted. “I … don’t….” The sweats and shirt clung in all the right places to show off his newly enhanced physique. When he turned to face Jack, the two were eye-to-eye. Jack was wearing sneakers. Chris wasn’t.
“Come on, little bro. We don’t have all day.”
The socks were like old friends, and the tug of the fabric over his feet made Chris shudder in pleasure. The two friends thumped down the halls in relative silence. Those who saw them nodded gravely or otherwise communicated their acknowledgement in body language, rather than the spoken word.
Instead of the trekking to the study, Jack led his friend down the halls toward the basement, where Kyle towered with his usual intimidating stature. His arms were folded, his broad face turned in a flat line as he stared at the pair.
“Here he is, Sir,” Jack said softly as he bowed his head.
Kyle extended a hand. Jack handed over the discarded strap and socks wordlessly.
Then kyle turned to a door his body had obscured. “Come with me, Chris.”
It wasn’t a request, and even if it was, Chris felt instinctively that he couldn’t disobey. A flash of memory passed. Those thick arms holding him, pulling him back. They could easily do so again.
Their steps were muted by the carpet as they strode into a room walled off by rope on either side. Placards were mounted to the wall, at first with torn underwear and the remnants of socks. Then, as they progressed, the tatters grew less, though the stretching increased. Briefs, boxers, jockstraps, tube socks. Larger and larger.
“Our frat is very old, Chris,” Kyle began. The silence of the room made his voice feel heavier than it ever had before. “And we have a sort of tradition that passes with it.”
Chris’ body tingled, and he adjusted the pouch on his jock as it tightened. His clothes felt snugger than they had a moment ago. “What sort of tradition?” he asked. “And for that matter, what the hell is going on? Why do I look like this? Why do I sound like this? What happened last night?”
“Listen.” The command was calm, but the order snapped like a gag over Chris’ mouth. “I’m heading into my senior year here at the university. That means I have two semesters to pick a replacement and train him up to take my place in the frat.” He motioned with his free hand. “Look around you. Tell me what you see.”
“A bunch of old clothes.” Chris cleared his throat. The tingle had spread there now, too. The deeper pitch didn’t feel so forced anymore.
“These belonged to every president of the frat from its founding to now. Each of us wore the gear. Each of us grew, just like the other pledges. You wanna know what makes these ones special?”
“Wait, you mean everyone who rushes the frat turns into … this?” Chris motioned to himself.
“More or less.” Kyle smirked. “Usually less.” He approached a placard that bore his name in neat bold typeface over a sheet of brass. “This one’s mine.” He grinned proudly as he looked on a pair of boxers that had burst at the crotch and rent down the legs. “Tore those suckers wide open. But you.” He turned and smacked Chris on the back. “You took the cake, Snap.”
Chris flushed as his pectorals perked and the drooping fabric of the sweats started to hug his thighs and calves. “Snap?”
“Your new nickname.” Kyle smiled as he presented the strap. “You stretched these things to their limit and nearly burst the pouch. It’s a miracle the strap didn’t break when the others tried to snap it. That’s a new record for this material.” He pushed his finger against the fabric for emphasis. The silhouette of the finger was clearly visible.
“I … wore that?”
“It’s not like it looked this way when you started.” Kyle rolled his eyes. “Point being, Snap, you’re our new MVP. And more importantly, you’re going to be the frat’s new alpha.” He strode to a blank placard that lay on a plinth, then took a hammer and nails that had been laid aside to properly display the garments. “You’re my successor, little bro.” He smirked and hung the placard on the wall next to his. A set of ropes already waited for him to cordon off the zone, and a quick flick of a switch beamed the spotlight over the wood and metal, where Chris’ name flashed. “The old you? That’s gone. And honestly, good riddance. Trust me, this is way better.”
“But … but my major, my life. What am I supposed to say to my friends?”
“What did Jack say?”
“He called it a second growth spurt….”
“So, go with that. There. That settles it.” Kyle thumped his hand heavily on Chris’ back. This time, Chris didn’t budge.
“But … but I liked being smart.”
“You still are, Chris. Just not in the same ways.” Kyle wrapped his arm around Chris’ shoulders as they broadened. “Your interests might be a little different now, but you still have the same focus and drive. And more importantly, you have want. Which means you push yourself to get your desires and lead others to follow. If you want order, you can impose it. If you want to just … let go and de-stress for a while, that works, too. You want to work out and bulk up? No problem.” He grinned. “You’re going to make a great president, Chris. But I have to teach you how to fit the part. Your body’s helping with some of the driving, but now it’s time to take the wheel.” He chuckled. “Think of me as your coach. And practice is in session.”
Chris panted as he hunched forward and his eyes glazed over. “Bro….”
“That’s right, Chris. That’s right. We’ll make a right frat bro of you in no time.” He chuckled as his brow protruded and his muscles strained. “You’ll love being Snap. Trust me.” He chuckled again as his knuckles became more prominent and the shelf over his eyes formed into a unibrow. “And you can call me Grog.”
I’ve been recovering from a concussion, trying to take it easy, trying not to look at screens too much. Can’t remember the last time I’ve gone this long without drawing, but really felt the itch to doodle a couple Neanderthal portraits today
I think it went well! Have had hominins on the mind lately, and it was nice to experiment with a very casual stab at paleoart in that area
"En lo que parecía una noche cualquiera una neandatal normal se despertó, no podría conciliar el sueño por el cuál decidió dar una caminata cerca de la curva dónde acampada con su grupo, aquella le llamó la atención el subir una montaña por el cuál lo hizo, se detuvo viendo las extrella por el cuál se dio cuenta de algo único, una extrella estaba cayendo, era verde y brillante con una hermosa cola de fuego, aquella neandatal se sintió asombrada y en vez se asustarse sintió que era una señal que significaba que así como se despertó por casualidad y sintió la atracción de salir, fue la única de esa noche en admirar esa hermosa extrella, sintió que ella iba a ser especial y aria algo único, con orgullo la obcervo hasta el amanecer y la acompañó hasta que la luz del día lo desapareciera, pasó los días y luego pasaron las semanas y las semana pasaron a meses, los meses pasaron a años y los años se volvieron en décadas y aquellas décadas se sumaron a siglos y aquellos siglos se volvieron miles de años, no se volvió a presentar aquella extrella hasta que en una noche cualquiera una mujer líder de su grupo sintió nostalgia de visitar la tierra dónde camino alguna vez, aquella al llegar a ese lugar subió a la misma montaña que alguna vez escaló y al hacerlo vio la misma extrella que vio miles de años atrás, suspiro admirandola y recordando la primera vez la vio con tristeza pero felicidad de lo lejos que había llegado en su vida"
Como algunos ya sabrán hoy se presentó un cometa el cuál se dice que aparece solo 50.000 años y los primeros en verlos fueron los primeros seres humanos, a pesar que no logré verlo lamentablemente por dónde vivo de todos modos estaba lo suficientemente inspirada para dibujar esto
¿Ustedes si lograron verlo aunque sea en Televisión?
Stop squirming!
Neanderthals finger combing the tangles out of each other’s hair after washing
~
A letter from a female to a male upon realizing they were left behind when their clan migrated (a poem I wrote earlier, but I thought would be funny in this context)
Neanderthals are dead.
Denisovans are too.
You're the only one left,
So I guess you'll do.
Sure, she’s a little weird looking. But after a few dozen fermented berries, you won’t care (Neanderthal woman reconstruction and photo by University of Zurich).
A paper published in Cell this week describes the results of whole-genome sequencing for five Africans from three hunter/gatherer tribes. The paper reports the discovery of “ancient DNA” sequences in all five Africans. The sequences are previously unknown in modern humans, including other modern Africans, and although the sequences are similar neither to modern humans nor to other human populations — such as Neanderthals — the paper’s authors say the DNA sequences most closely resemble Neanderthals.
One of the paper coauthors, U-Dub genomicist Joshua Akey, told the Washington Post that this was evidence a “sister species” of Neanderthals once roamed Africa (weird because Neanderthals are believed to have originated in Europe and their bones have never been found anywhere in Africa, and Neanderthals were not a species).
It’s not impossible that the gist of what Akey is saying is true — that some population of ancient Europeans went south into Africa and bred with local populations — but the evidence he and his colleagues present is not strong enough to support that claim.
I also disagree with the scientists calling the human source of these ancient DNA sequences a “sister species” of Neanderthals. That suggests the population from which these sequences came were European in origin. We don’t know that.
The New York Times article about the Cell paper is better.
At stake here is how modern humans came into being.
The old idea is that our ancestors originated in Africa, then migrated and replaced populations of human-like (but nonhuman) species wherever they ended up.
The newer, more accepted idea is that new humans (who originated in Africa) actually interbred with older humans wherever they went, and this melding of genes helped produce the world’s many unique groups of modern humans.
Despite what the Post and Times articles suggest, Neanderthals were not a separate species — they were human. And so too could the genetic sequences found in these Africans have come from another group of early humans, perhaps endemic to Africa, as yet unnamed, and roaming through and amidst populations of more modern humans, occasionally interbreeding and mixing new genes with old, old genes with new. Gene flow works both ways, after all.
- Deutsch / German -
Mettmann: Neanderthal Museum
Das Neanderthal, dem der Kirchenmusiker Joachim Neander seinen Namen gab, befindet sich irgendwo zwischen Erkrath und Mettmann. Düsseldorf ist ebenfalls gar nicht so weit weg. Bekannt ist die Gegend jedoch aus anderen Gründen: 1856 stießen Bauarbeiter hier auf Knochenreste einer vorzeitlichen Menschenart.
250.000 Jahre lang lebten die Neanderthaler in Europa, angepasst an die rauen Lebensbedingungen der Eiszeit. Dass es sie überhaupt gab, deckte erst der Fund ihrer Überreste vor gut 150 Jahren auf.
Weitergehende Informationen bietet das 1996 eröffnete Neanderthal-Museum. Der markante spiralförmige Bau liegt nur wenige hundert Meter von der Fundstelle entfernt. Das Neanderthal Museum widmet sich der Geschichte der evolutionären Anthropologie.
Das Neanderthal-Museum ist sowohl von außen als auch wie von innen ein sehr modernes Gebäude. Multimedial und mit Hilfe zahlreicher Exponate vermittelt das Museum anschaulich die Entwicklungsgeschichte der Menschheit und präsentiert aktuelle Forschungsergebnisse.
Auf mehreren „Etagen“ kann man hier die Geschichte der „Ureinwohner des Neanderthals“ entdecken. Das Museum ist wie eine Spirale aufgebaut, daher auch barrierefrei – was mir persönlich sehr gut gefallen hat. Ein Aufzug führt ebenfalls in alle Etagen.
Gleich zum Start der Ausstellung gibt es einen „Info-Schrank“, der allerhand Informationen zur Geschichte enthält. Für alle Spielkinder gibt es einige Interaktive Ecken, an denen man Geschichten hören kann, Schubfächer mit Informationen rausholen darf oder einfach mal im Kieselsand nach versteckten Knochen buddeln kann.
Nur die ganzen Vorfahren, die hier überall rumstehen, sind zunächst recht wenig gesprächig. Das ändert sich jedoch mit dem Audiosystem. Jede Replik der Evoultion hat ihren eigenen Text.
Dazu erfahren die Besucher auf Infotafeln allerhand über das Leben, die Sprache, die Ernährung, die „Arbeit“ – und was man halt alles über den Neanderthaler inzwischen rausgefunden hat.
Man lernt hier auch, dass eigentlich der Bergbau Schuld am Fund des Vorfahren Homo neanderthalensis ist. Die haben beim Buddeln Gebeine gefunden, die dann durch mehrere glückliche Zufälle als „menschlich“ identifiziert wurden.
Der Neanderthaler war allerdings nicht der "Urmensch", kein Homo primigenius, wie man irsprünglich gemeint hat. Er ist sogar eine relativ späte Erscheinung unter den verschiedenen Hominidae, die während der 500 000 Jahre der Eiszeit gelebt haben.
Etwa um 40 000 BC verschwindet er, ohne Nachfahren zu hinterlassen. Die Ursachen seines Erlöschens sind bisher nicht klar durchschaubar, stehen aber im Zusammenhang mit dem plötzlichen Auftreten derjenigen Menschenform, der auch wir angehören: des Homo sapiens.
Viele Informationen sind über Kopfhörer zu hören, die man für den Rundgang ausgeliehen bekommt. Wer das alles auf seinem eigenen Handy hören will, kann sich seit einiger Zeit auch eine Neanderthal–Museums–App herunterladen, die zu allen Punkten interessante Informationen hat.
Wir sind in knapp 2 Stunden durch die Ausstellung geschlendert, die in verschiedene Bereiche aufgeteilt ist und schauen uns anschließend noch die aktuelle Sonderausstellung über die Gladiatoren Roms an.
Das Museumsgebäude liegt nur wenige hundert Meter von der eigentlichen Fundstelle von 1856 entfernt. Es gibt einen eigenen Verbindungs-Fußweg, der auch barrierefrei ist.
Öffnungszeiten: Dienstag bis Sonntag von 10.00–18.00 Uhr
Montags (außer an Feiertagen) ist das Museum geschlossen!
Eintrittspreise inklusive Audioguide
Erwachsene € 11,00
Kinder (6 bis 16 Jahre) € 6,50
Mini-Ticket (4 bis 5 Jahre) € 5,00
Familien (min. 1 Kind 4 bis 16 Jahre) –15%
Studenten (mit Ausweis) € 8,00
Menschen mit Behinderung (mit Ausweis) € 8,00 (Begleitpersonen- Ausweis-Kennz. B- haben freien Eintritt.)
Erwachsenengruppen (ab 15 Pers., Anmeldung erforderlich) € 10,00
Schulklassen, Jugendgruppen (Anmeldung erforderlich) € 5,00
Kindergartengruppen (Anmeldung erforderlich) € 4,00
Out here missing the neanderthals. Might make a game about it
"Neanderthal" by Frank Frazetta.
