I was nervous, understandably. Humans had a remarkable, fearsome reputation. First contact with the human race had been when the Shianb research colony had selected a familial unit for study and the genetic-mother had torn her thumb from it’s socket in order to escape a binding, strangled a Shianb scientist guard with her bare hands, and violently killed any Shianb that had tried to stop her until she had retrieved her young and mate and then piloted the ship colony back to her home planet. It was a terror inspiring event, but one that was quickly shown to not be unusual. As we figured out how to speak and deal with the human’s peacefully, the InterSystemAlliance had adopted a human phrase directly into the ‘Language, Physiology, and Behavior of Inter Stellar Species Data Collection’: Don’t fuck with humans. Which oddly enough had a completely different meaning to the phrase “don’t fuck humans”.
Hirriib linguists were practically oozing excitement pheromones over the flexibility of the word ‘fuck’.
But I had managed to hire a pair of humans to my ship. Genetic-siblings they were, which ensured previously established pack bonds which were essential to human health, and one was a scientist as well as a weapons expert, a dual specialization common among humans. They were boarding today and I was excited and nervous, my cranial ingota flashing despite my efforts to keep myself under control.
With a trill of the automated doors opening, the humans stepped into the meeting room. They were tall, one ducking through the doorway and the other a length of their skulls shorter. The tall one had their dark cranial hair shorn off and was wearing a loose fitting torso covering with the words #redinstead written on it. Their eyes flitted around the room, never once looking at me directly while their hands made a rhythmic flapping gesture that seemed quite similar to my own habit of contracting my spinal spikes to soothe myself. That must be Danyell Jimson, the scientist and weapons expert. The shorter one had to be Damon Jimson, the hand to hand combat expert. He had impressive cranial hair that stood out from his head in dark, tight curls and pieces of metal inserted through the flesh of his brow hair and the cartilage of his ears in a display of fierceness. He was also wearing a torso covering that proclaimed #redinstead. I would have to query what that phrase meant and log it. He stepped forward and held his hand out in the traditional human greeting of ‘not immediately aggressive’ and clasped my paw gently which meant he was friendly. I held my paw out to the taller one, Danyell Jimson, but Damon Jimson held a large hand out to stop me.
“Don’t touch them.”
My ingota flashed with confusion and anger. “You are isolating them? Human’s require contact to strengthen pack bonds! That is cruel!”
Damon Jimson shook his head, a visual negative cue. “No, not all humans are comfortable with physical contact.”
Danyell Jimson was staring at my ingota and made several gestures with their hands that I was not familiar with.
“They want to know why your crest is changing colors.”
“It is my ingota. It is a visual communication of my emotions. How did they communicate with you? I was told that humans are not telepathic and do not communicate outside of my species’ auditory range?” I was flashing confusion again and Danyell Jimson was staring at my ingota with the hyper focus of a predator. I contracted my spinal spikes.
“It’s sign language, their hands are making words. It’s a visual communication language. Danyell doesn’t communicate verbally.”
“Amazing!” I blurted out, broadcasting awe and fascination. I had been unaware that humans communicated nonverbally beyond simple body language. The only other species besides my own with a form of visual communication beyond basic body language within the contacted solar systems was humans! I couldn’t suppress a flash of giddiness at the thought that my species held a similarity to the intimidating humans.
Danyell Jimson spoke with their hands again and Damon Jimson bared his teeth in a amused/friendly/pleased visual cue. “They said they’ll teach you ASL if you teach them what your crest colors mean.”
My ingota lit up with excitement. “This is excitement. I would be most interested in exchanging non verbal language knowledge with you, Danyell Jimson.”
Danyell Jimson tapped rapidly on their handheld device and held it to their head with the excitement color emanating from the screen, making a gesture with their other hand, a clenched hand with the ‘thumb’ pointing up, a visual cue for approval/excitement/agreement.
I mimicked the gesture with my paw, extending my prehensile dew claw in lieu of a thumb. I could tell that I would greatly enjoy developing a pack bond with Danyell.
This is only slightly related, but can anyone think of how an alien would react to a panic attack/sensory overload?
Well! My story “The Thing in the Walls Wants Your Small Change” made it only the Nebula reading list! This has never happened to me before, I am amaze.
This is amazing! Tears in my ears and bouncy with joy, right now. I love that little comic/picture, but the things you did with it! The way you built a whole set of characters out of the littlest interactions! The worldbuilding!
I was in charge of feeding the prisoners. This had been my task since the Queen had taken me and 2 dozen other Murania as hostages. The others had not survived long, but I adapted. Obeyed.
The Queen had taken a human. A rare being this far into the Deep, but one feared from one end of the galaxy to the other. According to the Encyclopedia of Sentient Beings Capable of Space Travel, humans needed a diet of roughly 2000 calories a sol served in traditional 3 portions a sol. Which meant that I had to approach the human three times a sol. I could not fail my duties.
The first attempt at feeding the large being ended with a tray thrown at my head with enough force that it would have caved my skull if I had not ducked in time. The human was raging, slamming their entire body against the containment bars with enough force to shake the floor and… and roaring. I cleaned the mess of nutrient paste as fast as I could and fled.
But five hours later found me trembling in front of the human’s cage with another tray of nutrient paste. The human had calmed and was glaring at me intently. I knew they did not speak Murania, but still I spoke my native language as I offered the food again. I did not get to speak it often and missed the sound. “Guria?”
The human tilted their head and to my shock, repeated the word, then repeated it again until they mimicked the sound perfectly, even with the slight whistle at the end.
I offered the tray. “Guria.”
They eyed it suspiciously so I tasted it, showing it to be safe. “Guria.”
They held their hand out and I gave them the tray, scuttling to a safe corner before they could attack me with it again.
They tilted their head again and scowled, then spoke in broken Common. “I thank”
I fled, claws scratching against the shiny floor.
Another five hours passed all too soon and I was back at the human’s cage with the final meal of the sol. They were moving slowly around the cage with their ear pressed to the wall, tapping with their knuckles. I watched them for a moment, confused at the erratic behaviour, but only managed a few seconds of observation before their head swiveled directly towards me and they stopped to face me.
I walked closer and offered the tray. “Guria.”
They took it. “How talk thank in you mouth talk?”
“Meesh Meesh.”
They opened their mouth and let out a loud, short bark, a laugh according to the ESBCST. (I studied it dutifully when they were brought aboard.) “Meesh Meesh!” They pointed to themselves. “Michael.”
My wings ruffled, the sound was so similar! I pointed to myself, “Mikel”
The human shook their head and pointed to themselves. “Me Michael.”
I jerked my head in an upward motion called a nod. “Yes, you,’ I pointed to them, “Michael.” I pointed to myself. “I, Mikel.”
They laughed again. “Michael, Mikel. Much same.”
I chittered. “Very similar, yes.”
Their eyes narrowed. “You work here?”
I bobbed sideways, a bit noncommittal, “As I must.”
“Must work?”
I searched for the simplest way to translate what I meant across the language barrier. “No work, in there.” I pointed to their cage. “Work, out here.” I hopped encouragingly. “You work soon, yes?”
The human bared their teeth and snarled. “No work. Fight.”
My wings flattened against my spine and I fled. Humans were so aggressive.
The next sol I completed my first duties and then found myself lingering outside the containment hall. I was apprehensive about what mood I would find the human in this time. I fluffed my wings out to convey confidence and clicked in with the human’s first meal.
“Mikel! Guria?” They were bouncing on the front part of their feet, hopping up and touching the ceiling, then dropping to the floor and pushing themselves up with their arms repeatedly.
“Yes. What are you doing?” I slid the tray to where they could reach and backed to a… well not safe but safer, distance.
“Work body. Stay strong.” They flopped over onto their back and turned their head to look at me. “Meesh Meesh.”
“Zuan.” I bobbed sideways before deciding to ask them the question I had been mulling over. “You’re Nice, mean, nice, mean.”
Michael laughed. “Yeah. Head bad.” They hooked their fingers like claws and shook them around their head. “Scare, tired, Fight.” They gestured to the bars and glared. “Not like.”
I nodded. “I know that feeling.” A chime sounded, signaling the Queen’s approach. I flattened myself to the floor and made way.
The Queen slithered in, her scaled body scraping against the floor with a sound that made my feathers stand up. She reared to her full two meter height and flicked her tongue out to taste the air.
“Human. You are mine now, you will serve the glory of me.”
Michael looked her up and down and whistled lowly then pronounced in exact Common. “Ugly. Mother. Fucker.”
I gaped at them in horror. They dared insult the Queen to her face?
The Queen hissed, but smugly coiled. “You will serve me, human. I know your kind. You are loyal. I feed you, I provide you shelter. I give you safety. You will love me.”
The human backed up, crouching into a fighting stance. “No love, mother fucker.”
The Queen wiggled and slid towards the exit. “You will serve me.” They paused to pat me on the head. “You have duties, tiny one.”
The next several sols passed in the same manner. I did my duties, I fed the human, we exchanged words. At night I tended my secret garden grown in glasses of water and composted nutrient paste from seeds and cuttings I snuck from the Queen’s hoard. The human was learning not only Common but Murania at a breathtaking pace. We could hold whole conversations now and I was no longer… completely apprehensive about approaching their cage. Michael had not acted aggressive towards me at all since the Queen’s visit.
The rare human plant called a “green bean” plant had fruited after several months of care and pollinating with the tip of my own feather. I was ecstatic over the first fruits of my secret labor and I felt that Michael would appreciate my excitement and maybe a taste of his home planet. Humans were said to be incredibly empathetic and sentimental.
That morning I secreted a pair of bean pods in my uniform and headed for Micheal’s cage. They seemed to notice something was different right away, peering at me with concern. “All okay, Mikel?”
I nodded and nervously whispered. “Secret, right?”
They lowered their voice and moved closer to the bars. “Yeah, secret.”
I showed him the beans. “I grew these. It’s the first harvest from the plant! It’s a huge secret, but I wanted you to have them.”
Michael stared at the beans with an expression I didn’t recognize for a long time before whispering, their voice strangely rough. “You get trouble for these?”
I nodded and tried to shove the beans into their hands. “Yes, a lot of trouble. Take them!”
They took them and smiled. “Meesh Meesh, Mikel. This…. This mean lot to me. I can’t say enough. Meesh Meesh.” They bit into one and grinned, crunching happily. “Very good! You do good!”
I chittered and ruffled my wings, pleased with the praise. “Zuan, Michael.” I gave them their tray of nutrient paste and fled.
The next day (human word for sol) I found a broken something in the Queen’s trash bin. It was silvery and had a lot of moving parts and made me think of Michael. I shoved it into my uniform and snuck it to Michael. They were overjoyed and immediately began fiddling (another human word I find pleasant to use) with it.
I found I enjoyed making Michael happy and kept my eyes out for things to gift them. A broken flute, a torn book, a shiny rock shard, a discarded pipe, a bit of string. It all was random junk, but Michael was still so happy for each item. It… was a pleasant feeling, almost like being back with my brood mates.
Then… Then the alarms sounded one morning and the ship rocked with an explosion. Frightened, I grabbed my precious green bean plant and rushed instinctively towards Michael’s cage.
Only to find they weren’t there. The bars were broken, bent outward and a piece of the wall was torn open, exposing sparking wires and smashed circuits. The lights were flickering and I could hear screaming. I decided to run for the escape pods and hoped that the Queen died in that explosion.
I had barely skittered into the hallway when I found Michael. They were fighting with a guard twice their size, but easily leaped around it’s bulk and stabbed it in the base of the skull with some sort of spear. A primitive weapon, but still deadly in the hands of the human. Michael rode the body of the guard down to the ground and leaped off, brandishing the spear at me.
Frozen in fear, I distantly realized the weapon was made from the shiny rock tied to a piece of pipe. I was to die from a weapon I provided then.
Except, Michael lowered the weapon and smiled. “Mikel! I find you! Come on! We get out of here!”
“Out… Escape?”
“Yeah! C’mon, I stole codes for ship!”
I followed them numbly, too scared and shocked to process that not only had a single human escaped a 1st class prison cell with just bits of junk, but had also destroyed the Pirate Queen’s ship, and was taking me with them.
It wasn’t until we were flying fast and far from the wreckage, headed towards a Trading Station, that I found my voice. “Why… Why would you save me? I…” I didn’t know how to express the fact that I was nothing, tiny, worth only for cleaning while the human was strong, big, and apparently a fearsome and brilliant warrior.
Michael glanced at me from the corner of their eyes. “We friends, Mikel. Friends no leave friends. Also, you trapped like me. On other side of bars, but trapped same.”
“Friends? But Queen provided for you, you were supposed to bond with her?!”
The human looked at me incredulously before laughing long and loud, his head thrown back with the effort of it. “No Bond with Queen, she put me in cage. You! You give me food, you talk, teach, you bring me presents. You good friend. Queen Piece of Shit.”
“Oh.” Michael had bonded with me. And.. I with them it seemed. And we were free. “Meesh meesh, Michael. You’re a good friend too.” I hugged my green bean plant. “What now?”
“I thinking I turn in Queen head for bounty, use money buy good ship again. After, you want go home or you want explore?”
My wings flared in excitement. “Can I have a garden room on our ship?”
Michael grinned and tossed his arm (gently) around my shoulders. “Yes, you have garden room. Grow lots plant in space. Explore! Garden! New Planet! New Seed!”
In 2012, North Carolina’s Coastal Resources Commission studied the
question of sea-level rise and the likelihood that coastal areas would
be inundated by severe weather, concluding that the seas were likely to
rise by 39" over the century; the Republican legislature, backed by
property developers building in low-lying coastal regions, passed a bill
prohibiting any such research and decreeing that the seas would rise at
the same rate that they had through history, without regard to any
science about accelerating rates fueled by climate change.
Today, the regions that were greenlit for development by the move are
square in the path of Hurricane Florence and stand to be some of the
hardest-hit in the nation, thanks to sea-level rises that outstripped
the legally decreed limits on what the ocean was allowed to do.
sea-level rises that outstripped the legally decreed limits on what the ocean was allowed to do
And King Canute, late in his years and full of the memory of defeats and victories, took his courtiers with him down to the sea, and there placed a chair within the surf, and sat upon it, crying aloud, “I command the tide to halt!” But the tide did not halt, and it rose about him. Then he rose from his chair, and turned to his courtiers, and said, “You see, now, the limits of my authority. There are some things even a king cannot do.”
And up from the ranks of the courtiers spake a North Carolina Republican, saying, “Hold mine ale and watch thusly.”
by Timmy D (and Kon stop labeling everything in the fridge as bird food it doesn’t stop Bart he literally ate dog food once because Cassie said it was high in nutrients which is true but also wth why would she say that in front of him when she KNOWS–)
RIGHT OKAY SO don’t ever let my family say i don’t do stuff for them BECAUSE I FRICKIN’ DO i not only gave up my last reeses cup for cass but i also sacrificed MY LIFE
i repeat, my L I F E
for the gremlin
okay so anyways it was my turn to patrol alone because hur dur dur mr. robin redbreast head was off being a bobbsey triplet and mr nightass was off world and cass and steph ANDF WHTEVER THE POINT IS that i was off to be a single man of wonder for the night which is. like. total win.
#1 right here
so im breaking up fights and skulking around like sherlock holmes / edgar allen bro because i say “CRIME BE NEVERMORE”
caw caw motherfucker red robin is here
so look the thing is penguin is a shit but a classy shit he wanna a lamborghini sip martinis and look hot in bikinis
SO HE WORK BITCH
(im sorry steph was studying for midterms and she marathoned britney from 1990 to present and she played that one like 8 times because her film 300 paper on Christoper Nolan (pffft) was due and we may ahve taken jello shots not sure)
back to the aquarium That I Have Not Mentioned Until This Point But I Was There. so Gotham aquarium is on drugs because they’re like “oh how nice a moray eel exhibit how could this go wrong?”
HOW COULD THIS GO WRONG IN THE MOST DANGEROUS CITY IN THE U.S. OF A
and moray eels are like expensive as fuck to transport and marine fish are becoming more and more protected by the Law so penguin was like “bitch i’ll just import it from my backyard”
and because im #1 i knew this thing that he would do because I’m a detective and i know things
look i’m not going to explain what happened but i did end up in the tank with the moray eels and here’s a science lesson kids:
moray eels live in tropical and subtropical seas and have a wide jaw with sharp teeth. this jaw enables them to grab onto their prey. Romans kept them in seaside pools bc Extra af and bravissimo taste
(so now we know why penguin wanted them yum yum social status)
moray eels generally do not attack humans unless provoked and
#1 man of wonder got a date with that beauty only the thing on the menu was ME
so i ditched bc im not steve irwin tho i wish i was
i nearly drown, break the lock but also coincidentally my hand, escape the tank, and save the day! WHOO!
#1 DOES IT AGAIN CAW CAW
cue approx 28 minutes later im at the manor after texting steph to patrol with a screenshot of britney’s “work bitch” music video bc my hand is shot like its p much shattered which haaahhhhhh not the plan but im cold and hungry and what i reallY REALLY want is a trix yogurt
sidenote: trix yogurt is the 90s in a cup
but i only have disgusting european goat yogurt at the apartment because 1) I’M AN IDIOT 2) i was trying to eat healthy and be an adult but we all know that’s not going to happen because instead you end up walking down to the freezing garage at midnight with a broken hand staring into the renegade emptiness and struggling to open the lid of the trix yogurt AND IT TASTES SALTY BC OF UR TEARS
anyways i don’t have a spoon so im doing it the old fashioned way and scooping the yogurt with my tongue when a car (the C4 Chevrolet Corvette which was bruce’s dad’s car so i can deduce they’re coming from somewhere nice but not too nice maybe like a science thing) comes in at steady pace and im like cool cool just licking up my yogurt. and then the car stops.
Tony’s New Assistant by MarbleGlove: The one where, instead of becoming a supervillain when he fell to Earth, Loki somehow ended up as Tony Stark’s personal assistant.
This Has Been a Public Service Announcement by Nokomis: One, two, three, four, Cap declares a prank war. Four, five, six, seven, the wtf factor of Peter’s life has dialed to eleven.
Amateur Theatrics by galaxysoup: Magic and mayhem collide as Loki is de-aged (with the appropriate level of amnesia to boot) in the midst of battling the Avengers.
Stars, Hide Your Fires by Yellow Distress: Tony learns he has a bio kid–now orphaned–named Peter Parker. No one ever accused Tony of being calm or rational when faced with responsibility. And they shouldn’t start now. (Ok, so this is an angsty one, but it’s the kind of angst that trips my fluff trigger, so.)
@kiragecko understood if you’re not into the fandom, but I think Stars Hide Your Fires has the vibe you like. (Yes, it takes its title from the same shakespear quote as my Tim wip, but utilizes it differently.)
Amateur Theatrics is one of my favourite stories! I’m not IN the fandom, but I definitely LIKE the fandom.
He just wants to makes his plans, follow his plans, and have no wrenches thrown at his plan.
Is that too much to ask?
Example, when he makes a plan to help with his sleep debt, okay when he’s forced to. Yesterday Alfred cornered him, loomed over him listing every medical study on how the efficiency of the human mind decreases without adequate rest.
It ends up being a pathetic exchange.
Something like, “Master Tim, do you even know the last time you have had six hours of sleep?”
Tim had opened his mouth to argue, he’s got this, finger raised and ready–
“In a row?”
Tim’s mouth snapped closed, his body deflating faster than a balloon.
“Why, it’s been weeks. How completely unacceptable.” Then Alfred patted his hand, gave him that patient, expectant look and helpfully rearranged his schedule.
Deleting everything on his itinerary.
Tattle-telling him to Tam. Informing the Teen Titans of Red Robin’s condition and need. Coercing him to hand over his case files, all of them, to be locked down for the next 24 hours. It’s not fair.
It leaves him no options but to concede. So he makes a plan. A sleep plan.
His breathing shudders. A rattling thing too quick, his fingers shaking because it’s almost like he’s back there.
In his own grave.
With the pressed suit tailored too tight on him, strangling him. Where the wet, moldy smell of earth fills his nostrils and he screams.
And screams.
But no one comes.
Who’d come for a dead man anyway?
Jay kicks off his sheets and sweeps an arm over the nightstand, knocking every item to the floor. His water glass breaks and that’s good.
The destruction, the mess is better, better than–
Jay slaps the sides of his cheeks with his hands. Stay here you dumbfuck, you’re not there.
Yet his senses play tricks on him. The memories so heavy that phantom sensations wave in front of his eyes. He couldn’t move then, only squirm as he scratched the coffin cover. His hands bloody, half his nails gone because Bruce hadn’t scrimped. Had gotten the good stuff, the good mahogany. Jay reaches to squeeze his knees because they hurt, sting as like they did when finally, finally he found a weakness in that fucking box and rammed his legs through it. And that taste. That goddamn taste of decay and dirt every time he gasped and tore at the turf.
He doesn’t know how long it took to crawl to the surface.
“But I hate you little shits most,” Jay says, shouldering the guest bedroom door open roughly, He slams the tray of soup and crackers on the bedside table between the two coughing, sniffing invalids. “Honestly, what kind of dumb fuck takes a swim in the dead of winter?”
“Screw you, Jason. I wouldn’t call being chained and thrown into the harbor a leisurely swim.” Tim says venomously. But unfortunately, he doesn’t look much of a threat when his lap is blanketed in white tissues. In fact, there might not even be a single space of the bedspread left not covered in the clumped wet balls.
It had been cold. So cold when the thugs shoved them off the boat. The water slammed against their chests like ice. Tim managed to get one breath in before the harbor creeps over his domino mask, his hair and to sucks them under. Tim has five minutes. He can hold his breath for five minutes. Has Damian been trained? How long—
Jay raises both his eyebrows, “Excuse me? This is the thanks I get? I slave all day in the kitchen for yer bony asses and instead of a single thank you, it’s screw you? Ouch, Babybird.” His hands motion grandly to the food tray.
kiragecko 