Going off of other tumblr posts about humans being survivor space orcs and humans being loving frienddog pet buddies to other alien ships, what if the ability to attach to things was a trait of earth critters.
As long as a behaviour helps achieve the same end, evolution doesn’t care what the behaviour is. So you get both bats and birds with entirely different structures, methods, and styles to flight for different niche purposes (long distance vs. nimble acrobatics) but they both succeed at flying. The same can happen for social structures and space travel.
For most other life in the universe, social bonding isn’t a thing. You get people that you get well along with or don’t. Property isn’t necessary if it doesn’t have a function, people don’t get attached to objects. People strive to increase their station/power and therefore overall happiness, whatever that means to them, which is what encourages a group of them to work together for efficiency and shared earnings. (For example, that is. There are lots of things that could encourage life to reach spaceflight. Like spite. Or blind chance.)
On earth a few animals have evolved favoritism behaviour. Getting attached to objects, other animals, and ideas for no reason other than they like them. This helps ensure the survival of a group, so it encourages repetition. Humans are the only spacefaring creature that has favourite ROCKS because of this. Imagine having a favourite pebble out of the entire universe full of mineable minerals!
It’s just common sense that if you want to survive, add a human to your crew. Because of the space orc endurance toughness thing, being able to survive things others can’t, and being determined to keep going. Combine that with the happy space dog thing where, essentially, you put a Kirk in with a hundred Spocks. The dog Kirk is the one who’s always happy to explore and meet people and make friends and likes everyone. So if you have a being who enjoys your presence for no material reward AND extends their instincts for survival to things they’ve bonded on, you’ve basically got a big bodyguard for your entire crew. For free. You don’t have to pay it. You just have to say ‘thank you’ when it gifts you useless trinkets it found or made.
So you get these ships, and you can always tell which room is the human’s room. It’s the one full of hoarded junk. There’s sheets and dry film stuck to the walls that it ensures you is coded with dyes to make a message. The message isn’t really important, just nice. The human likes it. The human collects lumps of polycarbons that it tells you represent icons of aesthetic and memory. You don’t understand, because your memory works just fine without a visual reminder, but you learn that apparently there are different kinds of lumps and they mean different things.
The human has clothes it prefers when all its body coverings function about the same. It has days it prefers. It has abstract concepts it prefers. It has noise it prefers, and carries the noise around with it.
How would that affect a creature that prefers nothing? A species that constantly strives for a better station would have ambitions and goals for being transported to higher ranks on better ships. Logically, it would also prefer the smartest, strongest, nicest humans to protect their investments. A creature like that would check the stats on available and working humans for hire and want the best one they can afford.
But if you asked a crew which human they would want to work with? If you give them enough time, they’ll start saying their own.
“But isn’t the one on ship 4-aNui 0.93s faster at achieving the emergency fire plan escape?”
“Yes, but ours likes us more and would be more efficient at helping us, specifically.”
“That’s what humans do. They’ll like anyone they’re introduced to.”
“Yes, but ours likes us.”
“The better one will like you too if you give it enough time. I thought you knew this?”
“But I like it.”
I wear sunshine on my lips and stars on my nails. My hair is a garden of roses that blossoms in a different color every morning. I drink galaxies for breakfast and use ribbons of moonbeams sprinkled with comets as laces for my shoes. My eyelids are the wings of hummingbirds and my skin, the velvet blackness of night seasoned with stardust. My breath is the scent of wildflowers and magic. And I wear music as jewelry around my neck.
You’ve known me as the dreamer who lives within you and the creativity you lost as you grew up. I helped you discover your imaginary friends and whispered in your ear to create your own world. I replaced your ordinary eyes with kaleidoscopic diamonds and your nightmares with dreams of flying. You still see me in children: the five-year-olds who pray to the Easter bunny and the eight-year-olds who wear rose-colored contact lens, viewing the world as a big bundle of joy where everyone is happy. You wish I’d never left you when your parents fought and got a divorce or when your first love broke your heart into pieces. You think I faded inside you little by little every time your teacher said you’d never amount to anything in life or during those sleepless nights when you felt unloved and believed you no longer belonged anywhere.
You wish you could trade all your ‘growing up’ for just one more day of staying a child. To feel my soft fluttering kiss on your salty, world-weary cheeks as I lead you once again into the world you created and then abandoned. And to help you rediscover the pirate ships and treasure chests hidden in scudding masses of clouds. To just be a child again, nothing else.
You think you outgrew me when your turned thirteen when all your friends seemed more interested in their own bodies than your fairytale stories about flying imps and green-skinned witches. You let the world turn you angry, cynical and disappointed. You learnt that not all people are good and that rainbows don’t really lead to leprechauns’ pots of gold. Growing up had changed you and you blamed me for letting you down.
With every day of disbelieving, I was vanishing within you until one day I was nowhere to be found. Your head full of dreams wilted as real-life responsibilities mounted on your shoulders and left you on your knees. Soon, I became just another tattered memory you remembered occasionally on bus rides back home and sighed at.
But one evening, you stop to look at the moon. It is deliciously glowing and hangs crescent in the sky. You casually envision a Siamese kitten sitting on the inner curve of the moon with its kinky tail waving at the stars. And just like that, you hear me laugh. That laugh you hadn’t heard for years; that laugh that still rang with innocent delight and childlike wonder.
I say to you, “Remember, I’m the dreamer within you. The bottle of rainbows in an ocean under a rainstorm. The sweet clusters of dew in a field of parched grass. You’ll never lose me, you just have to find me. But I’m always there.”
You then realize you’ve been wrong this whole time. It wasn’t me who had let you down, but yourself.
wasn’t referring to verbal truth. I
was referring to,” and then there was a brief pause that was followed by a light press to
the center of your stomach. Your back laid flat against the wooden bench before the predatory loom of his figure appeared overhead, “Candor of the body. Which you, my love, are the
absolute queen of.”
With an exchanged swipe, taste forthcoming as the two of you
had intended. Too sweet, muttered against your lips – lips that curved
into ones of amusement at his feigned disfavor for your particular arrangement
of the poison. Too bitter, slipped past your teeth in retort, the air of
the syllables brushing against his breath; a dance of icy exhales in a burning
winter night. His mouth twitched at that, following your suit into similar
enjoyment of the playful critique.
“Maybe not my coffee, but sweet in other aspects, no?” He
spoke in a devilish dialect of insinuation and lust; one that, before
encountering him, was unfamiliar to you. Adoration, it managed to claw at your
chest with great vigor each and every time he glanced down at you through
darkened tufts of raven hair. His words wrapping their way around you entirely
until they sounded of music. The notes gliding across your bones as his voice
conducted your motions.
Everybody says ‘not a day goes by that I haven’t thought about you’ and I felt like that was the stupidest saying because one day you would forget. One day you wouldn’t think of her. One day everything would be great and you’d make it all the way through without memories popping into your head. It was just bound to happen. But then it happened to me. A year gone by and not a single day that she hadn’t been on my mind. And it’s not like it just happens once and then the rest of the day is normal. It’s constant memories. It’s pictures in my head. It’s voicemails. It’s her smile when I close my eyes. It’s her laugh that I still hear. It’s her hazel eyes that are branded into my thoughts. So now I don’t take it lightly when someone says 'not a day goes by that I haven’t thought about you’ because I’ve been through it and it’s a pain I would never wish on anyone.
“…I’m gonna show you tonight! I’m alright! I’m just fine! And you’re a tool so, so what?”
You belted your heart out up on stage, pumping your fist in the air to empower your words even further. It was a good thing you knew all the words, too, because your mates had bought you so many drinks your vision was crossed and blurred you couldn’t have read the lyrics to an unfamiliar song. Then you would have just been a blubbering fool butchering a karaoke performance. And that would have been embarrassing.
Singing yourself blue in the face—and drinking yourself into oblivion—served as the perfect outlet for your aching heart. Hours earlier, you’d been dumped. Or more accurately, replaced.
It’d been a week since you’d heard from your long-term boyfriend, and while you knew he was on holiday with his mates—a holiday you hadn’t been invited on—it was still odd that you hadn’t heard from him at all. Not even a text to let you know that he’d made it to Amsterdam. You didn’t expect too much communication; you trusted him to treat you right, but, silly you, you thought your boyfriend might actually miss you and want to say hi.
Last night after seven and a half days of nothing, you completely lost it and called him forty-seven times in a row. And not a single one was answered. So you rang your closest friends and they came over, laptops and tablets in hand, and intense cyber-stalking commenced.
It only took thirty-four minutes for your good mate Lindsey to unearth a damning post on Insta that your boyfriend was tagged in by a girl you kind of knew. The picture itself wasn’t awful; honestly you couldn’t make out much besides silhouettes and drinks. Even the caption wasn’t much; all it said was, “this guy” with a random slew of emojis. But the funny thing was, when you tried to search for it yourself, nothing came up. Meaning you were blocked. You weren’t meant to see this picture.
Twenty-two minutes of super-sleuthing was enough time for your oldest friend Ashley to find every social media account the girl had, and then eventually uncover her phone number.
In thirteen minutes you had a text drafted to her that was so long it was broken into five different parts when you hit send.
And one minute and fifty-four seconds is all the time your boyfriend—well ex-boyfriend—allowed you to speak to him today before he told you he was coming back tomorrow and there’d be no need for you to come see him. Tomorrow or ever again.
So your mates did what they knew best. They took you out, got you absolutely smashed, and then got you up on stage to pour your heart out. Somewhere in between I Will Survive and Total Eclipse of the Heart, you got a bit weepy and ended up calling your brother from the toilet. It took you awhile to realize you weren’t actually sobbing to him but his voicemail, and as soon as you did you pulled yourself back together and headed out for another drink and a rousing rendition of Since U Been Gone.
The few other patrons in the pub were hardly paying attention to your drunken warbling on stage, only breaking from their conversations when your mates would cheer at the end of each song, some of them even offering half-hearted claps. If they were annoyed, they certainly didn’t let on. Most likely, they pitied you; for Christ sake, you pitied you.
When your song ended, you finished the rest of your drink and began flipping through the songbook. Liberation was surging through you and you wanted a song to match your mood; something to serve as a proper fuck you to the twat you’d wasted the last few years of your young life on.
The book closed on your fingers, and you stumbled back in surprise. Were books automated now too?! You still weren’t over the automated tills at Tesco, would you now have to get used to robotic books closing on you when they’d had enough?!
You looked up, your blurred vision slowly coming into focus as you swayed on the spot. A robotic book didn’t close itself on you, a person had closed it. Which was rather rude of them.
“[Y/N],” he repeated. Finally he came into view and you cocked your head in confusion.
“Hazza?” you slurred, taking a step closer to get a better look. You nearly toppled off the stage, but Harry was quick to grab you by the waist and steady you before easing you down.
We’re both crying in my flat again
but it’s not about each other.
It’s about weakness. Yours and mine.
Your ability to get on a plane and sleep in my bed.
My ability to let you.
How we touch and it means nothing;
but we do it anyway.
A force of habit
like flicking the ash off a cigarette
or removing your shoes by the door.
I am the motion you go through
when you can’t find another good bed to die in.
Yours are the hands I want on my throat,
but only when you’re gone.
Only when they’re not really your hands.
Just the memory of pressure.
If aliens thought our normal habits and personalities were weird, imagine how they’d react to the mandela effect.
J'il-rak watched the ship’s two human crew members debate for a few seconds as he walked over. Just as he got in hearing range, Human-Rose stormed off after yelling “You’re hopeless!”
“Human-Steve, what were you talking about just now with Human-Rose?”
“Oh, just arguing about whether it’s Berenstein Bears or Berenstain Bears. It’s Berenstein.”
“I’m confused. What are you talking about?”
After Human-Steve explained, J'il-rak was perplexed.
“You… remember things differently?? How is that possible??”
“I don’t know man, human brains do this sometimes.”
“So your brain just makes up memories.”
“And you don’t know why.”
“That is correct.”
J'il-rak walked away, very concerned and confused. He would have to tell the humanologists about this. If they believed him.
To be fair, at this point what wouldn’t they believe?
A/N: This came to me when I was at the library and the song ‘Stay With Me’ by Sam Smith came on. Let me know what you think? I’ll do it as part of my Jeff x Reader series. ALSO I will be doing all of my requests as well, and some of them that I do will just be your memories of Jeff. Should I make it a separate series? Let me know what you guys think! :D
This is just a preview!
“Are you sure you don’t want to go with me? Because I was thinking,” your boyfriend rubs his thumb across your lip. “We can stop and…” he trails off, biting his lip.
You roll your eyes. “You get a taste and now you can’t stop.”
He chuckles at that. “Technically I didn’t get to taste you,” he grins when notices how your cheeks turn pink. “But that can change.”
Suddenly a body bumps into you from behind. “She can’t go anywhere,” Hannah, who has had too much drink, slurs. “She has to stay here and… and…”
“Fine,” Jeff huffs. “Hog my baby.”
You give him an apologetic smile. “Hurry back,” you lean up and kiss him softly. “We can take advantage of one of the rooms. I’ll let you have another taste.”
“Fuck,” he rasps. “I love you.”
“And I love you,” another peck to his lips you watch him walk over to his car. Why he volunteered to do a beer run was beyond you. Once he’s gone, you turn to Hannah. “You’re a mess.”
She giggles. “No, I’m clean!”
You sigh and wave Clay over who just walked out of the house. “Where’s Jeff?”
“Beer run,” you answer and he frowns.
“But he’s been drinking.”
“He had two beers, two hours ago,” you chuckle. “He’s fine.”
You and Clay try to handle a tipsy Hannah, but she was a sassy drunk. She took her empty beer cup and throws it at Alex. Your brother raises a brow. “Why did she throw a cup at me?”
You can’t help but laugh at that, “She must’ve mistaken you for the trash can.”
“Ha ha ha,” Alex gives you the finger. You laugh again.
But your laugh was cut off by the sound of tires squealing and the sound of- “Oh god, Clay,” you cry. “Jeff!”
You woke up to feeling of something on your face. You sit up and blink the sleep out of your eyes. It’s Jeff’s fingers, twitching against your cheek. Your eyes widen, “Help! He’s awake!”
The Doctor opens the door, giving you the okay to go in. “Come on, sweetie,” Mrs. Akins takes your hand in hers and gives it a gentle squeeze. You look over at Clay and Hannah, both of them giving you a smile.
When you walk into the room, the first thing you want to do is throw yourself into his arms, but you don’t. He’s sitting up, but he still looks weak. The doctor follows in behind you.
“Look who’s here to see you, Jeff,” he gives a smile. “Your family. They’ve been here since day one,” he points to you. “Especially this one.”
“Oh honey,” Mrs. Atkins rushes over to her only child. “I was so worried- we all were.”
“We’re so glad that you’re okay,” Mr. Atkins adds in.
“When can I go home?” Jeff asks, voice rough. “I hate hospitals.”
“Soon baby, soon.”
His eyes move from his mom to you. You smile, “I’ve missed you.”
so patroclus is often portrayed as being kinda weak and in need of protection but i think we forget that patroclus is kind of a certified badass on his own ?? like he literally killed a kid over a dice game .. he went into battle dressed as achilles and people believed it was him .. like i’m all for protecting my soft gay son but its good to be reminded than he can and will kick your ass and i think thats beautiful
Be like the sky. The sky is always the sky whether there are clouds or no clouds. It doesn’t complain. It doesn’t try to stop the clouds from coming. The sky is a good metaphor for the beingness. Your moods, feelings, thoughts, projections and memories and just like clouds passing.
just neurodivergent things: questioning whether your memory loss is due to dissociation or if most people don’t remember a lot of their past (and most of what you do remember is so out of context you can’t place it anyway).