#and so are the aliens

[marlynnofmany]

Things to Do on Ice

I adjusted the heat shawl against my neck, tugging my collar over it to keep out the chill breeze. Heatseekers sure knew what they were doing when it came to warming devices. A regular scarf had nothing on this. It was almost enough to let me forget the snowy temperatures on this alien planet. 

Not that I could fully forget, with the snow drifting down into the streets anywhere there wasn't a storefront with a heat-field umbrella. The city-goers were from a range of species, and anyone who didn't have heavy fur was bundled up against the cold in some way. 

Even Zhee, who objected to coats on the grounds that they covered up his glorious purple exoskeleton, was sporting a range of scarves and bracelets that radiated heat. It seemed like an inefficient way to keep warm to me, but that was his business. 

Speaking of business, there were hours left before our ship was due to leave, and everyone was taking the chance to see the sights. Zhee and I had volunteered to scout out the tourism hub. Several others would be joining us shortly. 

“Is that the sports arena?” I asked when a wide building loomed ahead. 

“Yes.” Zhee pointed out a sign with his pincher arm. I'd missed it because of all the burly, yeti-like locals milling around in front of it. “One building, many sports, all open to anyone.” 

I was more than a little curious to see what sort of sports were played here. “Let's take a look! Paint and Eggskin will probably come here first anyway; it's bound to be warmer in there.” 

“A valid point,” Zhee agreed, stepping quickly. His clicky bug feet had the most adorable little booties on, for all the world like something a toddler would wear to keep from slipping on the kitchen floor. The sparkly thread woven through the rim probably meant they were high fashion where Mesmers were concerned. I hoped they were waterproof.

I tromped through the slush in my normal human boots, and soon enough we entered the arena doorway to a much more comfortable temperature. I found the control tab for the heat shawl and turned it off, though I left it draped under my shirt.

Zhee deactivated several bracelets. “A respectable range of sports,” he observed.

I scanned the signs. “I don’t recognize the names of any of these.”

“The viewing areas are this way,” Zhee said, padding off down the main hallway. “Perhaps you will recognize one if you see it in action.”

Surprisingly enough, I did.

“Is that hockey?” I asked a moment later, staring through the big window at the ice rink where two mixed teams of local yetis and offworld Smashers careened around in chase of something small. The full-body thumps vibrated through the floor.

“They’re calling it ‘puck chase,’ Zhee said, reading a sign.

“That’s amazing. We have this exact sport where I’m from.” I looked for differences. The puck looked bigger and heavier, and the sticks were a different shape. Judging by the amount of violence going on, the rules were probably different too. But it was very much the same on the surface, with goalies in front of nets and everything. “I suppose it’s an obvious sort of game to think up when there’s a lot of ice around, but still. I know a few people who would have loved to see this.”

Zhee sniffed. “It’s a bit pedestrian.”

“I suppose,” I said with a smile. “Not your style?”

“I’ve never been one for the more feminine sports,” Zhee said with a flick of his antennae.

“Feminine?” I asked.

He pointed with a pincher arm, keeping it carefully folded. “All this ‘protect the nest; steal the enemy’s egg’ nonsense.”

I blinked. “I guess that’s one way to think of it.”

“Judging by that sign though, there promises to be something more masculine down this way,” Zhee said. He headed off down the hallway.

I hurried to follow. The sign in question had another name I didn’t recognize, though I could guess. I dodged around a trio of yetis — which smelled like cinnamon and herbal tea, with none of the wet-dog scent I’d been subconsciously expecting. I reminded myself not to make unflattering assumptions, and caught up with Zhee just as he turned the corner.

“There we are!” he said in satisfaction. “Now that’s a sport. Even Trrili would have to appreciate this one.”

Figure skating. Aliens of a variety of body types and clothing styles glided around on the ice, leaping and spinning and generally being as flashy as they could. Somebody with wings was even doing a high-speed series of flips that were almost certainly a mating dance. Every skater moved past the others with elegance and grace, a far cry from the violence in the other room.

“I’ll be here for a while,” said Zhee’s voice, already farther away.

I turned to see him gliding toward the entrance to the arena, reactivating his heat bracelets and pulling a currency card from a belt pouch. A vending machine just inside the door looked like it sold force-field ice skates to fit any foot.

“All right, I’ll keep an eye out for the others,” I called after him, though I doubt he was listening. He disappeared through the door in a gust of cold air.

I looked around at the passersby, some of whom were watching the action with recording devices. I quietly got out my phone. I had a suspicion that seeing a praying-mantis-shaped alien strut his stuff in the manly art of ice dancing was about to be very memorable.

I was right.

~~~

Shamelessly inspired by this post.

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book. More to come! And I am currently drafting a sequel!

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

the fact that shakespeare was a playwright is sometimes so funny to me. just the concept of the "greatest writer of the English language" being a random 450-year-old entertainer, a 16th cent pop cultural sensation (thanks in large part to puns & dirty jokes & verbiage & a long-running appeal to commoners). and his work was made to be watched not read, but in the classroom teachers just hand us his scripts and say "that's literature"

just...imagine it's 2450 A.D. and English Lit students are regularly going into 100k debt writing postdoc theses on The Simpsons screenplays. the original animation hasn't even been preserved, it's literally just scripts and the occasional SDH subtitles.txt. they've been republished more times than the Bible

[yesokayiknow]

i hope that sometimes fifteen's psychic paper shorts out and shows what fourteen's thinking back on earth. he tries to sneak in somewhere and the guard's like this just says 'need to pick up cat food'? and fifteen's like 🥺 they got a cat

[puppetmaster13u]

Y'know sometimes I wonder what Ras reaction was to the Justice League. Like he practically offered Bruce the chance to be one of his generals, straight up offered for him to be his heir, and was turned down.

Do you think he's offended. Because oh, so his organization isn't good enough, but that merry band of idiots is?!

[redsray]

I love the idea of the Wayne kids dropping extremely vague and disturbing comments during galas. Especially when in uncomfortable situations or if they're just bored. They pull out things from their nightlife too. Other times they just make shit up.

Socialite: Oh, dear, your cheeks look so sullen! Who sucked the life out of you?

Tim, dead serious: An old man with a goatee.

Socialite: Uh... what?

Dick: Once I broke my knee so badly that I swear I could see part of the bone sticking out.

Socialite: Good lord. How on earth did that happen?

Dick: Just clumsy gymnast things ^^

Socialite: The white streak is certainly a bold fashion choice.

Jason: I saw someone get decapitated once, so I could be doing worse in terms of what's on my head, yknow? At least I have one.

Socialite: What's your favourite colour, sweetie?

Damian: Red.

Socialite: Oh that's lovely!

Damian: Like the blood of my enemies.

Socialite: Oh.

Socialite: You must be new to these kind of events.

Duke: Uh, yeah, they're kind of scary. But I've had worse.

Socialite: Worse.

Duke: Well I've been left on top of a skyscraper before with no way down just to 'get over my fear of heights' so, yes.

Socialite: You don't talk very loud, do you? I can barely hear you.

Cass, with a straight face: If I spoke any louder every glass in the room would shatter.

Tim, behind her: I can vouch.

[somerandomdudelmao]

Let me show you one of my original concepts :>

Because. Why not haha👍

Characters refs Masterpost

Next

[ciil]

what makes us any different?

[justl-12]

leyendecker study with pearl (she doesn't look like shes looking at the note but eh)

i miss season 9

[mud-muffin]

This is totally how it all happened 💗

[fearandhatred]

the genocide is fucking crazy bc at the end of the day it's so extremely xenophobic. like it is genuinely unthinkable for this to happen to a western or white-passing country. it would be shut down so quick

[softestaries]

If they ever bring David Tennant back for a special episode (again), it should literally just be a bit of him sat in a coffee shop, chill vibes, until the Tardis goes sailing past the window with like seven aliens chasing after it, and Tennant just takes a sip of his tea like not my problem not my problem not my problem -

[marlynnofmany]

An Impressive Number of Arms

“Hello!” I said, holding up the clear travel crate. “Here are your small hopping animals!” I really wanted to say frogs, but they weren’t from Earth, and neither were the people I was handing them off to.

“Excellent,” said the one-armed alien. She stood more solidly on that single leg than I ever would, regarding me with one large eye. It was weird to see her mouth instead of a breathing mask. The air on her ship was unbearably damp by my standards, and I couldn’t wait to get back on the shuttle.

The other Solo spoke up from behind her, a greenish-blue to her purple-blue. “Do you have the crawling animals too?”

“Yes, sorry,” I said. “Mur is bringing those.” I called back into the open hatch of the shuttle, “Need a hand, Mur?”

“Just double-checking the seal,” my coworker called back. “And why would I need a hand when I have tentacles? Absurd human phrasing.”

I turned back to the clients, setting the crate on a table. “He’ll be right out.”

Before I could get the payment tablet or strike up some small talk, an authority figure walked into the docking bay. Well, hopped. But she made it look regal. And the other two immediately folded in half to bow. I did the same briefly, hoping it was the right amount of deference.

“Are the creatures lively?” she demanded.

“Oh yes,” I said, waving a hand at the crate while keeping my other arm at my side. It wouldn’t do to emphasize my abundance of limbs.

The boss turned her one eye on the purple underling. “Open the lid and check.”

I blurted out, “It’s clear. You can see them.”

That just earned me a glare. “False sides can be faked.”

Yeah, okay. Guess we’re doing this. I shrugged, hoping it looked polite, and stepped back for the purple one to unfasten all the safety catches. Maybe the frogs will behave themselves.

Of course they didn’t. The first one leapt right at my face, and I caught it in midair. Others were springing everywhere with excited little peeps. The purple one shut the lid hastily, but it was much too late.

“Hm. Good,” the boss said. She turned on her heel and bounded toward the door. “Make sure you clean up thoroughly.”

I’d like to say I was flabbergasted at that, but I’d been working with people of one sort or another for long enough to know better. The customer is often an idiot, and you’re obliged to pretend they’re not.

“I got one!” said the green guy. “Open the lid again!”

“The others will get out!” objected the purple one, trying to slap her hand over another tiny frog-thing.

“Who designed this crate?” the green one lamented.

“Here, I can do it,” I said. “I’ve had practice.” The frog I’d caught was small enough to hold in one hand without worrying that I’d squish it, so my other was free to slide the lid back an inch, covering the rest of the opening with my forearm. I dumped the frog in and closed it, then held my hands out for the next one.

The Solos were grateful. We did our best to catch the many little beasties that were spreading across the docking bay. I caught twice as many as they did, and put them all back one at a time.

The green guy shook his head. “That two-armed advantage,” he grumbled.

“We appreciate your help,” said the purple one, giving him a sharp look.

“No problem,” I said. “I’m happy to put my arms to use.” It was only showing off a little to catch two different frogs at once. “I think we’ve got most of them, just missing the ones that have gone into hiding.”

“Hiding inside our shuttle?” asked Mur’s voice.

I looked up to see him posing in the entrance with a frog wrapped in almost every tentacle. He towed the snail crate behind him on a glider pad. The seals looked fine.

I cocked a hip. “Nobody likes a show-off, Mur.”

His grin made him look like a cartoonishly proud squid.

The Solos fell over themselves thanking him. I put my two frogs away, then took his one at a time while the Solos peeked into corners and crevices in search of strays. Eventually they were all back in the crate, none the worse for all the excitement.

I didn’t know if they were destined to be food, royal pets, or something else, but they were healthy and accounted for on my watch, dagnabbit. I even got out the medical scanner to count how many were in the crate, because there was no way they’d hold still long enough to do it the old-fashioned way.

“Yes, that’s all of them!” I declared. The Solos looked visibly relieved. “Good job, team!”

“You’re welcome,” Mur said with false humility.

“Yeah yeah,” I said. “You and your more-arms-than-the-rest-of-us-combined. What took you so long to come out, anyway?”

“Oh, that.” Mur leaned in with a tentacle shielding his mouth from lip-reading on any cameras that might be in place. “Whoever made the snail crate did a bad job. The lid popped open in transit.”

“What?” I asked while the two Solos looked appropriately alarmed.

“Not to worry. I got them all.” He looked exceptionally smug, waving his tentacles gently.

I just shook my head and took out the payment tablet.

“Don’t tell the boss,” said the purple one as she took it. She had to set it on the table so she could use her single hand to tap in the information.

“Not a word,” I promised.

“I will only brag to trusted ears,” Mur said. With a glance at me, he added. “I think now is a fine time for a round of that card-flipping game that you lost so badly at last time. I’m on a roll.”

I pointed a finger at him while I accepted the tablet back with the other hand. “Oh, you are on. There’s no way I’m going to let you be this smug twice in one day.”

He grinned some more. I was pretty sure he was definitely going to be that smug again, but I’d give it my best shot. On the behalf of people with only two arms everywhere.

~~~

The ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book. More to come!

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

going through my old journals as part of therapy homework and i'm reading a section written in the emotional wreckage of a full-on breakdown when i get hit with this line:

There is never a satisfying answer to ‘Why didn’t they love me?’

like wow babe. good fucking point

[yesokayiknow]

i know we won't but GOD i hope he never tells her he's an alien i hope we have a whole series of ruby thinking he's just a time travelling human until he gets hurt and is like ohhhhhh ruby love can you check my pulses and she's like check your fucking what now

[corioheinous]

Alien Stage is so crazy to me because it’s. It’s about many things but what stands out to me the most is how the children of Anakt Garden during times of extreme hardship and fear and literal alien colonization, instead of looking toward some omniscient being(s) for salvation or succumbing to cynicism/nihilism, they look toward each other to find hope. All it takes is a connection with one person, just one instance of butterflies in a society where things like love and romance are all but obsolete, and now they’re making that person their God their reason to live and breathe and wake up every morning. (Or, in some cases, to give up their lives. If it means protecting the life of their beloved.) And it’s like. It’s as if what sets us apart from aliens or simply what makes us human is our capacity to whole-heartedly, unabashedly love one another. Even to the end of ourselves.

[andsewingishalfthebattle]

Novice sewing pattern: Cut out shapes. Line up the little triangles on the edges. Stitch edges together. We've also included step-by-step assembly instructions with illustrations.

Novice knitting pattern: yOU MUSt uNDerstANd thE SECret cOdE CO67 (73, 87, 93) BO44 (63, 76, 90) 28 (32, 34) slip first pw repeat 7x K to end *kl (pl) 42 * until 13" (13, 13, 15) join new at 30 pl for 17 rows ssk 27 k2tog mattress lengthwise BO and sacrifice a goat to the knitting gods. WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU WANT "INSTRUCTIONS," I JUST GAVE THEM TO YOU