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anonymous asked:

I know that Moonwort has a sister, right? Does she have a name yet, or are you still working on it?

yes moon has a sister ! Her name is Lunaria and shes @arhimharellan MC.
We didnt rly discuss it but i assume that one or the other went traveling somewhere far in each universe.
She’s the younger sister and she big and strong and will probably kick your ass if she wasn’t worried about ruining her new boots. According to Erin ofc.
I drew her awhile ago i dont remember posting it

altho her design is probably a bit different now cuz erin dont draw her as much as i draw moonwort

Some personal musings

I’m… not great with people. That’s probably fairly obvious to anyone that’s been reading the shit that I post here for awhile, but it’s worth stating anyways. My problem is that sometimes I try to convince myself that maybe shit has changed and that I’m actually friendship/relationship material and this ends about as well as you would expect. And yet, somehow, I still haven’t fucking learned. I keep trying. On one hand I understand why because for some bizarre reason I crave emotional closeness even though I lack the ability to really properly empathize with people. On the other hand, we’re on something like the fifth go-around of this bullshit and I should really know better at this stage. Ah well. Back to the grind. I’ll just focus on work and going back to training and see how much closer I can get to some of my other life goals before I try t do something stupid again.

Five Stages of Grief... Pt.4

A/N: This is the next part of the saga, you can find part one here, part two here and part three here.  I’m not sure about this section but I’m posting it anyway.. just as a warning this has a few mentions of “stuff from the other end” so a fair warning. I’d love to know what you think about it. 💜

Jack’s feet arched as he twisted away from the pain of a thousand tiny needles being pressed into his soles. He knew there wasn’t – he could see his feet, and the only thing touching them was his duvet. Yet the pressure was still unbearable. His whole body was being assaulted by wave after wave of sensation, each one just as unpleasant as the last but in a different way. His arms were still tingling from the vestiges of what had felt like fire being sent through his veins. He was shivering; unable to tell whether he was too hot, too cold, or the right temperature.

He closed his eyes; he didn’t know what time it was. He’d been drifting in and out of consciousness for what could easily have been days. He relished the lulls, where could slip off to sleep and get some respite. Then the spasms gripped, cramping the muscles of his legs into strange, tight positions, and nothing Jack could do would make them subside. He just had to wait them out…

And when they receded, his bones were filled with a hollow ache that sapped all the energy out of him. All he could do was lie – trying to breathe through it, as the pain crushed down into him, becoming heavier and heavier until any tiny movement made him weak and shaky again.

It seemed never ending. His whole body crying out for some – any – kind of relief. But whenever he reached that low of horrific pain, so strong he’d rather be dead than face it – cool hands caressed his skin, mopping his face with a damp cloth, and sorting where he’d become entangled in the bed covers. Jack knew it was Blake – and that kept him going.

The needle sensation had morphed into a burning heat, rippling across his feet and searing up his shins. He was lying on his back, his eyes still closed and trying to breathe in an even rhythm. His insides were writhing, fighting within him like piranhas desperate for a feed, and Jack felt like the bed underneath him was pitching as he clung on. He just needed to get back to sleep for a little while, then this feeling would surely pass.

The back of his throat felt tight and sticky; and he could feel a muscle just above his belly button giving an involuntary jerk. Then again. And again. It sent a cold, creeping sensation of discomfort right the way up his chest; he closed his mouth tight and continued to breathe evenly through his nose. His stomach was doing its best impression of a washing machine, and swallowing while lying on his back was becoming uncomfortable.

Hic-gnn!” A painful jolting of his stomach caused him to take a sharp intake of breath; he opened his eyes, floundering weakly to try and get in a most comfortable position. “Hmmmmlll…” The noise was involuntary, as was the rolling heave that travelled up his chest. Then a hand seized his shoulder firmly and rolled him over onto his side, his head flopped to the edge of the bed and a bucket was brought up towards his face. “Hrrkk!” He retched fiercely again, the quick movement over onto his side made the contents of his gut slosh alarmingly as he gasped a snatch of air in. “Hbbbrrrlllk!”

Bitter liquid flooded Jack’s mouth and he opened it, allowing it to spill into the bucket. He squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to look at the frothy bile now pooling in the bottom of the bucket. His chest was aching, each breath caused another gag.

K’hhhrrrr!” Jack’s eyes began to water as the sick feeling in his throat overwhelmed him. “Hicckkkll!” He brought up a small amount of chunky sick and the lingering taste of sour lasagna coated his mouth.

“That’s it,” a voice encouraged, giving his shoulders a squeeze as he spat into the bucket, “good man!”

Huuuurrrkk!” More puke forced up his gullet, and because of the awkward position Jack was lying in he felt it travel the whole way up. “Bll-eeeuuurrkk!” He retched again, feeling like an iron band was being compressed around his chest; he whimpered as a trickle of vomit ran out of the side of his mouth and down his chin. His heaves were dry now, and each felt like nails scraping at the back of his throat.

“Alright…” A cool cloth wiped the sick from his chin. “Lie back now…” Blake very gently eased Jack onto his back and he gasped for air as his stomach kept jerking infrequently. “You’re doing really well Jack.”

It didn’t feel like it. Jack felt horrific – and he wanted it to stop. He groaned aloud, curling his arms around his midriff. His back hurt, his chest ached and his belly churned. This was torture…

Blake had known things were beginning to go downhill when Jack elected to go to bed. He wasn’t one to admit defeat easily, so it was a sure indicator that he must be feeling lousy when he crawled into bed and fell asleep. Blake had thought that’d be fine, until Aiden explained exactly what opiate withdrawal was like, and Blake could feel fear bubbling inside him as he took the seat in Jack’s room to watch him. He hadn’t realised that at any point Jack could stop breathing – so he really needed to be watched constantly.

Blake was used to living on only a few hours sleep – he was pretty much hardwired to that, but now every time Jack made any kind of movement, Blake panicked. By 5am his eyes were scratchy and red from him rubbing them, but he didn’t want to go to sleep. He couldn’t wake Aiden up either, he had a placement shift at the hospital in a few hours and Blake could do that to him. He was sagging, physically, when Aiden came to check in on them before leaving. Blake wished he wasn’t going. He wished Aiden could take over for him so he could go to bed, but he had to go – so Blake took the opportunity to brew himself a coffee and wash his face to try and reinvigorate a bit. Then, wrapped in a blanket, he settled back into Jack’s computer chair and allowed himself to doze gently.

When he’d come round from the brief doze, he’d been wondering about getting himself something to eat, he was sure it must be nearly lunchtime – then Jack made a noise. Jack was curled over on his front, his face pressed into the pillow and his duvet entangled around his legs. It was a strange burbling noise like a kettle just beginning to boil. Blake had approached the side of Jack’s bed, just as a geyser of brown liquid poured from Jack’s mouth. Blake had yelped in surprise but Jack didn’t rouse from unconsciousness. He slept on, emitting a small gargle as he breathed in, as the sick dried into his pillow.

Blake snapped into action, collecting a damp flannel to clean him up and a towel to go under his head in case of any more spillages. A bucket was placed beside the bed and Blake gently sponged away the vomit clinging to Jack’s face. He didn’t wake, but the clammy, sweaty feel of his skin told Blake just how his body was coping.

That had been over five hours ago, and Blake was desperate for Aiden to  come home because he was worried and exhausted in equal measure. For how tiny Jack was he seemed to contain an alarmingly large amount of vomit. The first few waves had appeared with very little warning; a tiny wet belch which was the precipitate for a projectile amount of puke to come gushing from his mouth. Blake’s reactions had become super fast in order to get Jack over the bucket so the splatter of puke didn’t mess anywhere else, and he was able to identify an impending bout of sickness by the little flickering muscles that tensed in Jack’s belly.

What was worse now was Jack’s body was continuing to try and purge itself even though there was nothing left inside it; and the dry, grating retches turned Blake’s stomach, making him boke alongside Jack.

Jack was shivering now, panting as the urge to heave further passed, his eyes were open but he wasn’t fully awake. His unkempt hair was stuck onto his forehead, and his cheeks were flushed bright pink.

“Jack?” Blake said quietly, reaching out to mop the flannel across Jack’s sweaty face. Jack didn’t respond, he was still looking blank, like he wasn’t quite there.

Uuurrp!” Jack let out a weak, airy belch, and rubbed his hand across his chest looking pained; Blake cautiously scooped up the bucket just in case. “Urgh…” He slumped back down onto his towel covered pillow and closed his eyes; Blake watched his chest rise and fall as he laid still. Eventually he opened his eyes again and looked directly at Blake, his mouth moved, but no sound came out. “Drink…” He forced out, his mouth moving slowly as the word took a lot of effort to squeeze out.
“Here,” Blake perched on the edge of Jack’s bed and brought a water bottle up to his lips; Jack gulped greedily at the liquid. “Careful!” Blake warned Jack, pulling the bottle away from him in order to slow him down. Almost instantaneously an ominous gurgle issued from Jack’s belly as it suddenly received the influx of cold water and sent it straight back up.

The bucket was planted firmly on Jack’s knees just as the spurt of water came gushing from his mouth; he hung over the bin, breathing raggedly, and a small whimper escaped from him.

“It’s okay,” Blake ran his hand across Jack’s shoulder blades, “it was just a bit too much, too quickly…” Jack gave a tiny nod of his head, still taking deep breaths.

Once his breathing calmed down and he rested back, Blake rose the bottle to his mouth again. This time he took small, gentle sips, and after a few he seemed satisfied.

Blake waited until he was sure that Jack was falling asleep again before he took the bucket to wash it out. He stared at the water from the shower head, cleaning away the residue of sick from the bottom of the bucket; his eyes were blurring in and out of focus and he found himself leaning forward so the mid section of his thighs were digging into the rim of the bath. He felt an empty sort of tiredness settle behind his eyes, like his body was acting on autopilot but the rest of him wasn’t even awake. And although he longed for Aiden to come home, a niggling part of his brain told him that it wasn’t fair for Aiden to have worked a twelve hour shift and then have to come home and look after Jack…

Jack was moaning in his sleep as Blake returned the bucket to beside the bed; every so often his whole body gave a judder and a pained groan would escape his lips. Blake felt slightly redundant – what could he really do? It was difficult, and Blake yawned, he could hardly keep his eyes open.

He started awake and knew something was wrong – Jack was covered in sweat and whimpering like a dog with a thorn in its paw; the room smelled awful. With a horrid realisation Blake saw the fear in Jack’s eyes and understood – he’d had an accident.

“Jack?” Blake started, keeping his voice low and gentle, but Jack looked like he might cry.

“Get out,” Jack croaked weakly, pulling his duvet right up underneath his chin to hide his soiled sheets.

“Jack, it’s okay,” Blake tried to reassure him, although the smell in the room was turning his stomach.

“Get out,” Jack repeated more forcefully; tears were leaking out from his eyes and mingling with the sweat on his face.

“I’ll get you a towel,” Blake told him, “you just come and have a shower to clean up. Leave your bed, I’ll sort it.” Blake left before Jack could yell at him. He stood in the hallway, breathing deeply, and trying to figure out how he was going to deal with Jack’s room. The bucket might come in useful for him too…

He moved to fish a towel out from their dryer and hung it over the radiator in the bathroom, then retreated into the kitchen. He didn’t want Jack to feel any more humiliated than he already would, but he listened carefully and after a few moments he heard the door to Jack’s bedroom open then a scuttle of feet across the hall. The sound of running water came through the wall and Blake knew he was in the shower. Blake flicked the kettle on, trying to avoid the task of cleaning Jack’s room for a little longer.

He was pouring the water into his mug when he heard the bang of the front door and his heart leapt into his chest.

“Blake?” Aiden’s voice was music to Blake’s ears and he practically dropped the kettle in his haste to greet him.

“Aiden!” Blake wrapped his arm tightly around Aiden’s waist and squeezed, reassured by the tight hug he received in return.

“Are you alright?” Aiden asked as Blake held on for a few extra seconds.

“Yeah, just tired,” Blake replied, trying to put aside all of his previous thoughts now that Aiden was back. “How was your shift?”

“Fine,” Aiden was looking at Blake with an odd expression on his face. “I got to put in another butterfly IV, so I’m not far from being signed off on them.”

“That’s super!” Blake grinned, but even he could hear that the tone of his voice wasn’t quite as enthusiastic as it should be.

“Has it been bad?” Aiden inquired.

“He’s…” Blake paused, checking the water was still running. “He’s had an accident.”

“Ah…” Aiden seemed to understand. “Is that why he’s in the shower?”

“Yeah,” Blake nodded, “I told him I’d clean his room.”

“Well, why don’t I do that?” Aiden offered.

“No, Aiden – that’s not fair on you,” Blake protested, but Aiden shook his head.

“I’m a nurse, it’s no problem,” Aiden insisted, but seeing the unsure look on Blake’s face he added: “I’ll do Jack’s room if you make me a cup of tea, deal?”

“Okay,” Blake answered. The selfish part of him was really pleased that Aiden was going to do that for him. He got out another mug for Aiden and hoped that Jack would stay in the shower long enough for them to enjoy their tea. But even if he did, Blake could feel the weight of responsibility for Jack’s withdrawal bearing down on him like a physical presence.

The tired, heavy sensation which he’d felt earlier seemed to dig in further. This was merely the beginning of a long way to go…

anonymous asked:

Do you know good sprousehart fics?

Hello, anon! Thanks for the ask 💕 There’s not a lot of SH fics out there, but the first ones that I ever read that I actually still love were by @sleuthsofriverdale, who does some wonderful one-shots. My fave has to be “After Everything” which is a lovely piece about C and L post-WonderCon. It’s great. Go check her out!

There’s also this lovely little one-shot from AGES ago (like, before I even knew SH was a thing) called “London Calling”, and it’s adorable. Mads makes an appearance and the MiLi friendship is awesome in it. I love it. You can find it on Ao3 here.

Also, um… I guess mine?? *smiles shyly* Lol. Assuming you haven’t read them yet, you can read “Tomorrow”, which is from L’s perspective, here… and “Coming Home”, from C’s perspective, over here.

Anyway, hope that helps! There’s certainly not a lot out there (although I haven’t checked WattPad), mostly because I get the sense that people are wary of it (which is understandable) or are wary of writing it. RPF is super hard, y’all! But hey, if you’re looking to write it one day and need a beta, ya know, hit me up.

Against All Odds by CSM

Summary: Post 3x14. Time Travel. Going back in time. Changing the future is not an exact science but he knows if anyone can do it, it’s her. If there is one thing Eleanor Queen can do, is be a hero. After all she has heroes’ blood pumping through her veins.

AN: Thank you @oh-monteith for the amazing art yet again

Read it on AO3

Ellie’s fingers click across the keys with easy, and growls when she gets the error message, why did her mother have to be so paranoid?

Ellie bites her lip in frustration, her eyes trained on the blank computer screen as she tries to think up a way to overcome her mother’s passwords the normal way. The sudden sound of high heels clicking on the steel stairs has Ellie freezing in shock. Her heart hammers against her chest as Ellie holds her breath, part of her praying it’s her aunt again, a small part of her hoping its that one voice she hasn’t heard in over half a decade.

“Oliver Queen! You better not be messing with my computers! Who am I kidding of course you are, that’s why I got the notification that someone signed into my computers. I told you the search will take at least 24 hours. I know things with your new BFF are all kinds of stupid, but you…you aren’t Oliver.”

Her backs to the stairs, but Ellie doesn’t dare turn around. She’s not ready, she doesn’t know if she’ll ever be. She clenches her fists when her hands refuse to stop shaking. She takes a deep laboured breath, trying to calm her racing heart. The footfalls have stopped and she knows her mother isn’t going to stay quiet for long and will call in the calvary any minute now.

“Who are you?” This time her voice is hard and forceful and Ellie just knows from experience that her half-assed excuses aren’t going to cut it.

“I need your help.” Ellie says her voice wavering slightly.

She bites her lip, cursing for letting her emotions get the best of her and takes a deep breath yet again.

“That wasn’t my question.” Felicity counters

She blinks back the tears that are threatening to fall as she finally spins the chair around to face her mother, who is standing at the weapons table an arrow head clasped between her fingers, very much in a defensive stance.

Her mother’s blonde hair is tied up in a ponytail, glasses perched on her nose and she is impeccably dressed, exactly as Ellie remembers. There are fewer age lines along her face and her dress is a little shorter than Ellie remembers her ever wearing, but for all intents and purpose it is her mother standing in front of her. Ellie just wants to run up to her and hug her and never let go. She needs her mother to tell her that she’s not in over her head and this plan of hers is not farfetched.

Ellie needs her mother to tell her she’s going to be alright.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” Ellie promises, raising her hands in defense but doesn’t move from her seat.

Felicity’s grip tightens on the arrow head as she takes a step towards Ellie, her eyes narrowing and filled with suspicion. If Ellie thought her aunt’s hard looks were too painful, it’s nothing compared to complete blank look her mother gives her. The utter lack of recognition from the woman that usually knows Ellie inside out, is more than unnerving, it breaks Ellie’s heart more than she could imagine.

“You say that, but yet you’ve yet to answer my question.”

“Ellie.” Ellie answers mentally slapping herself for giving Roy her real name the night before. “My name is Ellie and I need your help.”

“My help? Not the…” Felicity gestures to the Arrow suit resting in the mannequin to her left. She then narrows her eyes, “who are you? How did you even find this place and more specifically me?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Ellie says dismissively, “I just need to access your computers for about an hour or so to do some searches and then I’ll be out of your hair. You wouldn’t even know I was here. In fact, let’s pretend this never happened, you never saw me.”

Ellie spins around to face the computers and her nose scrunches up as she goes over her words. That was not an example of her having things under control. It’s probably the worst explanation in history, and she knows her mother would not buy that for a second, she just hopes that this younger version of her mother is more gullible.

“Alright, and what exactly are you looking for?” Felicity asks as she walks up to her desk, leaning against the metal table looking at Ellie expectantly.

Ellie has to bite back a groan because she has that tone, that ‘you are talking bullshit Eleanor, but I’ll play, for now’. It’s the tactic that her mother has used for as long as Ellie can remember, on both her and her father. In fact Ellie remembers one specific time, when she was 7 and her dad took her to teach her archery with his bow and arrow set. They had recently renovated their basement as a workout area as well an office for her mother. Ellie wanted to learn how to use her dad’s bow which he was able to cater to Ellie’s size, the arrows however we bit too large for Ellie to handle and they learned that the hard way when one stray arrow embedded itself in her mother’s brand new computer screen on the other side of room. Suffice to say, when her mother found out, her dad tried to get them out of trouble and it failed, epically.

“I can’t tell you.” Ellie says truthfully pulling herself out of those memories, “I just need a secure network to search for some sensitive information.”

Felicity scoffs as she folds her arms and looked at Ellie one eyebrow slightly raised, “Alright, Madonna. You clearly know your way around computers if you were able to break in here…then again I’ve been questioning the security of this place for months now…anyway. You also tried to get pass my passwords by using my backdoor method, something the boys don’t even know about. So, I’m going to ask again who are you and what do you want?”

katezold replied to your postmay i ask what series it is that you hate? you…

I haven’t read/bought her stuff yet. Can you PM/ask me what the issue is? I only know one person who has read them and they love it. So now I’m curious.

Here’s my answer to a similar question

Here’s a good video on Throne of Glass.

Here’s another good post.

Basically her books are filled with white “feminism”, racism, homophobia, transphobia, glorifying toxic masculinity, glorifying abusive relationships, horrible, horrible ableism, and to top it all off, everything is needlessly gendered (“purely male promise”) and sexualised and super horny and it’s still somehow marketed towards teens and tweens as “epic fantasy” with “political intrigue” and “strong female characters” and it’s frankly disgusting as fuck.

But Tumblr loves her books because there are white girls in the lead that are “strong” and “independent” who are also “feminine”, there’s super badly written “snarky banter” and you just know Tumblr lives for that shit, and lots of hot sexy Fae “males” are asshole bastards but they’re attractive so it’s ok!

It’s really shitty for me personally to try to find people who are into similar stuff that I’m into, because SJM dominates the lady-centric YA/NA fantasy/romance genre and most people are into her. I’d be into her stuff too if not for … everything I mentioned above.

;;someday I’ll learn not to pay attention to the stuff in the Eugene/Josh tags bc omg. I’m so fucking tired of people purposefully ignoring all the brave things Eugene has done and the fact that Abraham’s death made him regress just to characterize him as this sniveling coward that apparently slunk off to the Saviors in the night rather than being pressganged into their ranks.

Yet another bullshit post like, “Eugene has never claimed to be anything but a coward. He had a tiny moment of bravery, but at the end he’s still the guy that lied to everyone repeatedly, to use and manipulate them into keeping him safe.” A tiny. MOMENT. OF BRAVERY. YEA SO TINY. SO TINY WHEN HE HAULED TARA OUT OF THE WAREHOUSE TO SAVE HER AGAINST A HOARDE OF WALKERS. SO TINY WHEN HE LITERALLY PUT HIS LIFE ON THE LINE TO DIVERT THE SAVIORS TO SAVE MAGGIE, WITH EVERY EXPECTATION HE WOULD DIE.

This shitass post goes on to criticize him for not taking ‘nighttime guard duty’. How the fuck do you know he didn’t. And why the fuck does it matter when he’s literally put his life on the line several times for this group?

Like, fine, hate Eugene. Think he’s the worst thing to ever happen to the show and he deserves to die, etc, but this revisionist bullshit is getting really old. Hate him for who he actually is and the things he actually DID, not this sniveling coward character you’ve built up in your head as a punching bag. Fucking hell.

September 15

This one is technically not yet history, because at the time of posting, the little craft has about half an hour left to go.  That said, let’s proceed.

In 2017, NASA’s Cassini space probe ended its twenty-year mission at Saturn.  After a nearly-seven-year-long journey there, it orbited the ringed planet for 13 years and just over two months, gathering copious amounts of information about the planet, said rings, and many of its moons.  It landed an ESA probe called Huygens on Titan, the first-ever soft landing in the outer Solar System.  It discovered lakes, seas, and rivers of methane on Titan, geysers of water erupting from Enceladus (and passed within 50 miles of that moon’s surface), and found gigantic, raging hurricanes at both of Saturn’s poles.  

And the images it returned are beautiful enough to make you weep.

On this day in 2017, with the fuel for Cassini’s directional thrusters running low, the probe was de-orbited into the Saturnian atmosphere to prevent any possibility of any contamination of possible biotic environments on Titan or Enceladus.  The remaining thruster fuel was used to keep the radio dish pointed towards Earth so the probe could transmit information about the upper atmosphere of Saturn while it was burning up due to atmospheric friction.

This is us at our best.  We spent no small amount of money on a nuclear-powered robot, launched it into space, sent it a billion miles away, and worked with it for two decades just to learn about another planet.  And when the repeatedly-extended missions were through, we made the little craft sacrifice itself like a samurai, performing its duty as long as it could while it became a shooting star in the Saturnian sky.

Rhea occulting Saturn

Water geysers on Enceladus

Strange Iapetus

Look at this gorgeousness

A gigantic motherfucking storm in Saturn’s northern hemisphere


This image is from the surface of a moon of a planet at least 746 million miles away.  Sweet lord


Vertical structures in the rings.  Holy shit

Titan and Dione occulting Saturn, rings visible

Little Daphnis making gravitational ripples in the rings

That’s here.  That’s home.  That’s all of us that ever lived.

Saturn, backlit

A polar vortex on the gas giant

Icy Enceladus

(All images from NASA/JPL)

Humans are Weird

So, I just thought of my own humans-are-the-weird-ones thing. What if humans were the only race to develop clothing and other things that are used simply to change our appearance. The other races don’t use clothing for protection from their home environments, and use vehicles for exploring non-native environments. Armor exists, but in a non-ornamental way, and generally doesn’t do much to change appearance, or is at least non-individualized. Makeup and nail polish are unknown, though tattoos and piercings are known to be used by some cultures for ranking and identification purposes and are not used ornamentally by any race other than humans. Hairstyles are not unknown, but are all generally for practical (keep it out of the way! I need insulation! I need shade!) reasons.

At first, aliens just think that there are a lot more humans than there really are, that humans that look alike with small differences are just family members, and that humans just naturally tend to be known solely by their family name. (Like, Alien “Ralph” meets Human “Bella Tailor” one day, sees her the next day in a different outfit, and thinks that he/she is meeting a relative of the human he/she met earlier, and that their family name is “BellaTailor.”)

Humans, at first, just thought that aliens were terrible at matching faces and names… and that they were apparently all nudists, but hey, who cares? Different cultures and races and all that, you know.

“Hello, BellaTailor. My name is Ralph. I believe I met your relative the other day. How is she doing?”

“I do not have a sister, Ralph. You must be mistaken.”

“That cannot be! She looks just like you, only more… pink, I believe is the correct color-word… and has your name! You must be relatives! It would be too much of a coincidence for you to not be related!”

“Where… exactly… did you meet my ‘sister’?” 

“Oh! We were on the same shuttle together. I must admit I am surprised; I thought that there was only one human on the ship’s roster.”

“Ralph, I am the human you met there. Remember how we talked about how uncomfortable those one-race-fits-all shuttle seats are?”

“But… no… you are different colors and patterns! This is a terrible joke. I wouldn’t suggest trying it on anyone else.”

“Dude, all I did was change my clothes. It’s not like I’m a whole ‘nother person, despite what commercials and such would have you believe.”


“Right… nudist… um… let me just… show you?”

Bella precedes to take off her top (not like they’ll care, they’re nudist anyway, right? eep, here goes nothing, really hope this is okay). Ralph thinks she means that they’re a race that sheds their skin, though he’s put out and puzzled over how no one mentioned that fact to anyone. After all, shedded skins can really clutter up an area, especially at the rate she seems to shed, though it could explain a few things. Bella, frustrated, puts her top back on, takes Ralph to her quarters, and shows him her clothing (which was still mostly packed due to limited storage space). Ralph finally sort-of understands, but the idea is totally trippy and weird to him.

“What did you think I brought so much luggage for?” 

“Well, I didn’t really want to pry, and your planet is… a bit… cluttered…”

*sigh* “Dude, I can’t… I just… urgh! WHY ME?!?!?!”

After many misunderstandings the aliens are brought to understand that humans can change their appearance in many ways, practically at-will. 

Then the whole issue of “camouflage” comes up. By this point, humans have developed advanced camouflage that automatically mimics the wearer’s surroundings. The other races react in various ways. Some are rather neutral about this discovery. Others are afraid. But many desire to obtain the art and secrets of “camouflage” for themselves. The earth and humans are now at the center of a conflict that borders on war - Intergalactic war. Because we’re the only race to have actually thought of camouflage. Thankfully, the other races begin to catch on before full-blown war is unleashed, but it is a very close thing.

@howtotrainyournana @crossroadsdimension Look! I came up with one! :D YAY for tired-brain-creativity! WHOOO (don’t really feel tired now, but I should be, and I know I will be when I have to wake up in four hours. :/ why does the coffee only seem to work when you actually want/need to sleep?)