#exolinguist

[rat-tomago]

made my star trek thinly veiled self-insert oc and no i will not b normal abt it

[deuterosapiens]

So, we're roughly halfway through Andy Weir's Project Hail Mary. As a sci-fi novel, it's a bit of fun. I have one teeny-tiny nitpick though, which is effectively me complaining about science fiction writers, especially hard sci-fi writers, completely floundering sciences that aren't like, hard sciences. I cannot vouch for the accuracy of the astrophysics or anything, but having also read The Martian, I can only assume it's fairly accurate, or at least plausible once you account for the unobtainium applied phlebotinum that is Astrophage (cool word!) as a fuel source.

My nitpick is this.

First Contact stories are cool, but no matter how strong the science, the communication part is probably very boring for the action-adventure crowd. This page details Ryland's process of learning to communicate with the ET, Rocky. Before the page break, we had learned the words for "yes," "no," and the numbers one through four. After this page break, we have evidently learned thousands of words and by the end of this section, Ryland and Rocky are starting to have complex discussions about their respective stars being eaten.

Now, I'll allow that Ryland is using a computer program to facilitate most of the Eridian language vocabulary learning process. And most of the translation and communication process (on account of Rocky's language being basically purely based on musical chords). I will still insist that there is no conceivable way in this or any other hell this language learning process can even begin to make the slightest semblance of realistic sense.

I know Arrival isn't exactly the most accurate film in.existence regarding alien language learn (Sapir-Whorf hypothesis who?), but at least it understands that learning a language takes time. Learning an alien language with no reference material which you yourself cannot actually speak due to being physically impossible to pronounce for human beings will take, to say the least, a significant bit longer.

"Yeah, but aliens aren't real-" shush! Don't care! Yes, it would take a significant amount of time for Ryland to learn Rocky's language. Yes, it would be extraordinarily boring to show that learning process on the page. Don't care. I read three pages of the hypothetical function of the Hail Mary Astrophage-powered Spin Drive.

Exolinguistics (Futurama) is a cool science, dagnabbit! Treat SLA with some respect!

Rant over.

[the-demi-jedi]

Writing project poll #2

Thanks for helping me decide that my exolinguist girlfailure Kris will be aro/ace!

Now I'm on the verge with another thing. What do you think is a better name for a symbol that's etched into a person's body and gives them basically superpowers? Here's what they look like:

[indigosabyss]

Meanwhile With Tommy and Kamran (Part 7)

Parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, and 6

Tommy wasn’t sure how to deal with Kamran’s breakdown. Death was- it wasn’t exactly a foreign concept to him. His first memory was waking up surrounded by it. But this was different. This was the other side of death.

The mourning of it.

The Kaplans also looked at a similar loss, but they were both looking towards him for some way to manage it. Offset it.

Like he was supposed to be able to know.

Of course he was. Kamran was kind of his only friend ever. What kind of friend didn’t know how to comfort him?

“Hey,” he finally said, sidling close and putting a shaky arm over him, feeing a little like he was going to vibrate out of his body; a sensation which normally meant a lot of explosions. “It’s going to be okay, alright? We’re going to get you through this, I promise.”

Kamran grabbed Tommy, and pulled both his arms around him, squeezing until Tommy’s ribs creaked.

He knew what this was, vaguely. A hug.

He didn’t remember ever getting one, though. Maybe he had, and the memory was just gone. But it didn’t matter, because he had a friend now, and he needed this hug just as much as Tommy did.

The tears dried eventually. Tommy shrugged Kamran off for a few seconds to go get him a glass of water, and then pulled a blanket over him. They had been running for three straight days now, never being able to drop off for more than a few minutes. The guy was going to crash. Hopefully now.

“I think-” he said to the Kaplans, once Kamran was successfully lulled over. “I think he’s going to be fine.”

“But what about you?” Mr Kaplan asked, frowning.

Tommy didn’t acknowledge that. “We’ll be out of your hair tomorrow, by the sounds of it. Don’t worry about it. You guys mind if I crash here with him instead of that guest bedroom?”

“That’s fine,” Mrs Kaplan decided, but neither of them looked particularly happy with the situation. Well, there was nothing to be done if Kamran couldn’t go up the stairs, and Tommy wasn’t being separated from him. Not if Damage Control went as far with them as they had with chasing Ms Marvel.

The couple retreated, closed the lights, and left Tommy to sit and watch Kamran’s slightly glowing form.

He didn’t expect to be able to sleep. Yet his body had somehow relaxed enough in this brief moment of quiet for him to be dragged under.

-----

They weren’t woken by Damage Control throwing explosives in through the windows, which was the most optimistic thing Tommy could say.

No, instead, he was woken roughly by this sharp, authoritative knocking at the front door. Which was possibly worse.

Mrs Kaplan came down immediately, before Tommy could settle on what to do. She gestured for him to go back into the drawing room, before going to open the door, her voice sickly sweet as she answered. “Yes?”

There was an agent on the other side. Tommy was just tall enough to see over Rebecca’s shoulder to see the black uniform and reflective sunglasses perched on a no-nonsense face. He could see another pair of shoes, possibly attached to legs, but not the top of the person’s head. Outside, there were a lot of loud motor noises.

“I’m Agent Maria Hill,” she said. “Here to make a pickup.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mrs Kaplan said, her voice icy.

When Hill next spoke, it was to be mildly amused. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m not Damage Control. I’m with Strategic Aerospace Biophysics and Exolinguistic Response. We’re dealing with Damage Control as we speak, but right now, I need to make a pickup.”

Kamran was shifting behind Tommy, now coming to stand beside him and listen intently. A third voice inserted itself into the conversation, and Kamran noticeably tensed.

“Please, I got a call that someone I know is here, and I haven’t seen him in a long time, so if he’s here-”

Kamran moved past him before Tommy could stop him. No, Tommy could have stopped him. He just decided not to, because the guy wasn’t stupid. He knew what he was doing when he bounded to the front door, and looked at the girl like he could scarcely believe it, “Kamala?!”

There was shrieking and crying and hugging from both parties, as the girl Tommy hadn’t been able to see properly before threw herself at him, jumping slightly on the spot.

“I thought you were dead!”

“So did I! What happened to your family?”

“Long story, we were in space. Remember how the Sun went real dim a couple days ago…?”

“We’ll clear all that stuff up with the police – and have already dealt with Damage Control,” Hill was promising Mrs Kaplan, who had a similar look of relief on her face. “The kid’s got a bright future ahead of him, if not in the Avengers program, then just as a regular upstanding member of society.”

“Cool deets,” Tommy said, speeding so that he was right next to all of them. Kamala jumped slightly, but looked ecstatic at the show, and Hill twitched. He didn’t care. Or tried to give off the aura of not caring, as he drawled, “What about me?”

What happens to me?

Can I get the out he gets?

Hill looked at him for a second, confused. “I’m sorry, who are you?”

“Tommy Shepherd!” he insisted, because he was so sick of being treated like he was invisible all this time. “I’ve been experimented on, same as that guy! We shared a wall, and broke out together. C’mon, you’ve gotta know me.”

“I know you,” a voice said, and it was super trippy, because it sounded almost like his voice. Except somehow more worn and desperate.

Tommy looked past Kamala and Kamran and Hill, and out on the porch, where there stood a boy.

A boy who looked almost exactly like him.

[finished the last two ficlets, so uploading them both now]

[skelswritingcorner]

So, I've been lacking in some of my Transformers fics in terms of writing them. Because of that, I'm making a poll for what I should write next. Some of these have some progress in them, and others aren't written yet.

EXPLAINATION FOR POLL OPTIONS!

Mercenary!Reader Part 3/A Body So Stubborn: Part 3 of A Vessel, A Stranger, An Experiment and A Question, A Scar-Covered Body, A Sister? Ailith spending time with the mechs of the Lost Light.

Explaining an Organic Phenomena Pt. 2: Likely has another name, likely involves Buddy (Seraphina Frost) explaining her endometriosis to Smokescreen and the others.

An Exolinguist and the Scavengers: A side story to Ailith's story involving her twin Makayla and the chaos she experiences with them as she tries to find Ailith.

A Council of Ducks, Plushies, and a Cassette?: Sequel to the fic I wrote with a title parodying a TikTok POV video. Involves rubber duck debugging.

[ledarth]

Le Puppy...

Judith Fero.

────────────── ·  ·  · ♡

❝ Why does it take a survivor to live? I don't want an existence sprinkled with great memorable moments, I want a good one. I'll make a good one. And I accept that it will be sprinkled with bad, heartbreaking memorable moments. That's how it should be anyways. ❞

Age:: 24 years old.

Height:: 169 cm.

Born in Benin. Raised in the South of France. Studying for her PhD in the U.S.A.

Polyglot:: Goun, French, English, Spanish and Archaic & Post-Cicero Latin.

Alignment:: Neutral Good.

Sexuality:: She cares little for gender but does need for a connection to form before any sort of sexual desire arises.

Hobbies:: Strong Swimmer since youth, Books were her home once so Literature holds a special place in her heart, Photography and Cinema she is newer to but she has been delving into it earnestly.

Trained in:: Kajukenbo, Nikkyu currently (brown belt with two stripes).

Specie :: Varies on the verse.

The Vampire Diaries/The Originals: Currently mortal. (But an unaware werewolf who hasn't killed anyone yet thus not triggered the curse. This way she can still be turned by a vampire if before the curse is triggered, probably killing the potential gene in the process)

Teen Wolf: Mortal. Substitute Teacher at Beacon Hills High.

Shadowhunters: Mundane-yet-Sighted in the employ of the Paris Institute formerly but now transferred to the New York Institute as a Intelligence Analyst so fully trained to protect herself.

MCU: Interning as an Intelligence Analyst for S.A.B.E.R, somehow, following a M.A Thesis labeled: "Towards a communal grand strategy and foreign policy vision to approach extraterrestrial and extra-dimensional threats." that Bruce Banner actually read and heavily critiqued which led to some interesting Twitter Exchanges. The subject of her current thesis being: "Exolinguistics as a tool of diplomacy and understanding extraterrestrial and extra-dimensional history and customs." Perhaps leading towards a typology of the currently known extraterrestrial and extra-dimensional nations/people/populations.

DC(CU, Series and) Comics: Mostly Broke Gothamite though currently writing for the international politics section of the Gotham Globe. Currently living in downtown Gotham and relatively near crime alley. (Former member of We Are Robin depending on the timeline.)

The Blacklist: She's an Intelligence Analyst newly transferred to the task force who happens to be related to a number through his daughter with whom she went to college with in London. Number 171: Yusuf Idowu, known as Ijapa (The Turtle in Yoruba). Head of one of the biggest drug cartel in Nigeria, moving mostly cocaine with growing importance in Europe, especially Southern Italy and the the Netherlands. He is stopping by the U.S.A as a neutral ground between him and some head of a Central American drug trafficking syndicate to hopefully begin a partnership. Ijapa's choice to increase foreign partnerships comes from a growing interest in establishing a certain hegemony in Nigeria, thus controlling the flow of drug in the Gulf of Guinea.

To Be Added.

Personality:: Not particularly eye catching, Judith carries a rather cold aura. She will deny having a resting bitch face but will admit that smiling doesn't come naturally to her. It's more so brought out of her, by people, by events. She makes herself irremarkable à la Clark Kent, camouflaging in what some would call 'basic' pieces of clothing and an inherent discretion. It's not that she can't make herself noticed if she so wills, no, she likes making herself a wallflower, quiet, forgettable. It allows her to leisurely observe others, she notices but only states so if she has a reason to. It makes her seem trustworthy to others too, capable of keeping secrets, of compartmentalising when it comes to her own emotions. Panic though, does silence her, takes away her voice and freezes her body for so very important seconds before she can get it back together. When interacting with others, she tends to be introverted though perfectly adequate in social settings, even drawing people to her, rarely out of her features but her achievements, her poise, her discourse, do stand out. She will happily entertain a heated conversation or trade barbs but has little interest in polite niceties and small talk at the coffee machine, rather quiet on the job. She consumes alcohol for the experience in terms of flavor, not particularly seeking the buzz and having a pretty good tolerance born out of downing a good chunk of shots in undergrad. Patient, she is able to enjoy the process of things, no matter how long and drawn out, no matter how frustrating on the moment. Curious, she is eager to learn, to pull things apart and get in there to figure it out but also to peek, to peep, to keep an open hear. She likes to have the in, to know what is happening in the room where it happens but pays little more than passing interest to what she believes is just gossip.

Backstory:: To Be Written.

[ncc-101017]

Personal Log

Star Date: 75010.2

I return to duty after three months of intensive integration and recovery on Trill at the Symbyosis Commitee Campus.

Well, one month tense negotiation and interrogation followed by two months of intensive recovery.

Sonan's death was--still is unthinkable. However it was no question that in that moment I would accept Baz, the symbiont. To turn him away would be to turn away Sonan and seven other souls. To not accept would be against everything I worked for as a qualified Host. To protect them in times of crisis is an honor, even if temporarily. Re-association would not be tolerated long term. I knew this.

I did not know that Baz was not onboard with 'temporary'. The first feeling I remember was relief. Not quite mine, not quite not-mine. Then an overwhelming rush of resolution. I knew then that Penn Te'are was gone. That my name was Penn Baz. My husband and former host Sonan Baz was dead.

And this was not going to go over well.

To their credit, The Symbiosis Commission was only doing their job. They were persistent that I should relinquish Baz. It was not too late by medical standards. And, truth be told, I might have agreed, if it wasn't for the insistence of Baz bubbling within me that this was what was wanted. After a month of tense negotiations, the committee was forced to agree. A representative of Starfleet was called to perform a mind meld with the symbiont. It expressed that this experience was highly prized for this individual symbiont, irrelevant of the hosts. While I'm not sure yet if I myself completely agree, I accept this honor and adventure. Even if it complicates my grief...

After some integrations and orientation, I was deemed fit to return to duty. I was not to return to The Valentine and reassigned to The Hardaway with orders pending. 820 personnell, heavy weaponry and regenerative hull, I'm pretty sure we aren't about do be doing milk runs. Suits me fine. You don't become Starfleet for the mundane.

The crew is definitely an interesting mix.

The only one I've been able to meet personally thus far is my 'Number One'. Commander Orlal Oronat had been kind enough to provide me with a detailed report regarding my senior staff. She seems most adept at maintaining morale onboard. She has also populated my calendar with crew events and organizations. Goodness. For a ship with no family support, it seems that we do not lose the ability to care for our crew.

Captain Kovek. Helmsman. I'll say I'm shocked. The Vulcan who performed our mind meld doesn't captain his own vessel; He is flying mine? Not a coincidence clearly, but I'll leave it. His service record is nigh legendary. Replimat talk is that he outstripped a Vesta in a Galaxy class. Let them "observe" me, I look forward to seeing his performance.

Let's see, Chief Engineer. LT. Commander D'yan Jrooi. He's just completed a fellowship the Daystrom institute hosted by Temporal Affairs. I'll admit to being curiously disturbed. Something about Daystrom and time evokes the sound of the Prime Directive shattering. I'll keep an open mind, I imagine that a Sikaran is more interested in automation than auto distruct.

Lt. Commander Niri. Oh..a Tamarian. A freshly minted Chief Science Officer. Exolinguistics specialty. It seems she's working on a Standard Tamarian for Terrans as a part of her continuing studies. Per her status update the project is "Mother-in-Law, her visit extended". I guess that means "a nightmare".

Dr. Fuya has recently taken over the position of Chief Medical officer. He's by all accounts an exceptionally well loved man. Glowing recommendations from the Kais overseeing the orphanages on Bajor and commendations from Starfleet medical for courage under fire. There's some mention here of ruffled feathers due to the current organization overhaul in Sickbay. It seems the doctors impeccable bedside manner may be reserved for the patients.

Let's see, and to round it all out my Tactical Officer, Commander Sivalaa Maata has recently returned to ship duty after completing an intensive security training detail with former KDF and Ex-Borg Personnel. Her file also shows various leaves and assignments to all corners of known space. Though I'm seeing a conspicuous absence of Orion or her larger colonies in that list.

All told, it appears we are well suited to handle whatever Starfleet wants to throw us into. We've got one more night in space dock before receiving our orders and it seems that everything is running smoothly. I'll spend some time unpacking before I make my rounds and get familiarized with the faces.

Sonan, I'm not so sure that we should be doing this. I really hope this isn't a giant mistake. Of course, if it is a giant mistake, at least it's a historic one. Who doesn't like making history?

Right....big smiles everyone in there. Here we go.

[etymologyofmind]

Pushing the Bounds

Previously...

And now...

Within the body of a ship, normal space was usually taken for granted. Certainly, there were occasions where anomalous this or unprocessed that made it through the shields or warp fields, but usually it was a pretty stable environment, by design. Most species who travelled through space needed such stability, integral as it was to biological function, so it was uncommon that the inside of a ship endured abnormal conditions for very long. Automation kicked over, suppression systems kicked in, and sometimes, in dire scenarios, atmosphere kicked out, with a number of safety protocols aligned to trying to keep crew in when the rest of it had to go out. MacDougal’s Gambit, however, was such an audacious plan, that much of the routine protections which had not been disrupted by the predation of the pack had needed to be put on standby, or disabled outright, to allow the effort to take place.

On the bridge, a decision had been made to press on into the unknown in a desperate bid for survival. Controls made of light and energy had received inputs calculated by a team of mad geniuses who had proposed that the best way to squeeze power out of dying engines was to literally squeeze it, and had thus fabricated a circumstance where the ship’s warp field—its tether to reality in the much more abstract stratum of subspace through which it travelled—had been compressed and focused through a lens of spacetime which would theoretically vault them across an unexpected expanse of space, while leaving behind the impression they had been destroyed by the forces they toyed with. Combining theories of transporter mechanics and warp field theory, gravitational force and spacetime lensing, the crew of the Vellouwyn had stacked edge case against edge case into a faint chance of success. As soon as the final keystroke was locked in, powerful mechanisms of science distorted the powerful forces of nature, and the battered ship leapt through the eye of the needle as if pursued by angels and demons alike, pulling their warp bubble with them in an inversion field which had the anticipated effect of destroying the warp focus gate.

The unanticipated effect was that it had pulled subspace through with it, and though the Vellouwyn’s jump was intended to be brief and stealthy, the hole it ripped in the fabric of the sector falling away behind it was anything but.

Deep in Engineering, Crewman Owouom Hotler was manning a monitoring station, a third-tier backup in case something went wrong. He was no warp expert, no engineer in fact, having a specialization in exolinguistics and exopictics which came naturally to his race of polyglots, but the Gambit was so unconventional that it was considered to be an all-hands-on-deck scenario, and no member of the crew was found resting during the jump. When the moment came, however, it was immediately apparent to Hotler that something had gone wrong, and that he was quite possibly the only crew member who would not be cripplingly affected.

The Vohn Barran people were few in number: their kind were probably an engineered species, derivative of some other which had either been made extinct or had left the Beta quadrant behind long ago, and the few colonies which persisted had been run by the Emerald Chain for centuries. Literal slaves, unable to function without the life support systems provided by their dominant owners, Hotler’s kind had been given to industrializing the least hospitable environments imaginable, working through asteroids without life support, class Y planets, and other such terrain while their populations were managed like cattle. It had been barely half a century since the Federation had liberated them, but the Vohn Barran had taken to their freedom fervently, and invested their gratitude and passion into the society which had given it to them. Regardless of the efforts of federation scientists and the persistence of the Vohn Barran people, there had yet to be developed any therapy or procedure which could fully liberate them from their life support apparatuses, as an un-augmented Vohn Barran had never been found to be compatible with any of the standard environments favoured by other species.

As such, when the Vellouwyn fell into subspace in its compressed envelope of reality, Hotler found himself suddenly buoyant, not as though gravity had failed, but as if it had thickened into a fluid state. The light of the ship took on a distinctly blue cast, dark and deep with shadow, and nearby holograms and projected controls distorted into fragmented apparitions. He felt the pressure of the environment around him pressing down dangerously on his leathery outer skin as the nictating membrane over his eyes slid into place reflexively, and the environmental collar he wore continued to provide sustenance as he flailed to get his bearings, but it was barely a heartbeat before he recognized that none of the rest of the crew would be able to endure these conditions like he could.

Point of fact, a crew member nearby—his friend, Crewman Quorrok—flailed in a look of sudden panic and agony, and started struggling to find footing in an environment which offered him little purchase. From the corner of his eye, he could see that further down the engineering section, the Saurion exobiology specialist who had taken such an interest in him, Crewman Solnus, was scrabbling at the deck plating to try and find proper purchase as he struggled to move aft. Hotler knew that if there was anything to be done—and he did not know if there was anything to be done—he would need to act fast. Glancing over his controls as he had been drilled to do, the readouts told him that something was wrong with the warp field dynamics, beyond what had been anticipated by the Gambit. It was compressed, as expected, but distorted, almost as if it had produced a twist in its projected frequency, and it rotated around the ship like a screw. He would not be able to do anything from this station, but if he could reach the emergency controls that they had set up at the injection chamber…

Hotler had aced courses in zero gravity training. Moving in low to no gravity environments had been bred into the instincts of his people. He had also mastered courses on various other special athletics, from aquatic to climbing, high gravity to low atmosphere, and the adaptable Vohn Barran was in his element here. Catching a hooked toe on the edge of the console behind him, he clamped his hind-heel onto it so that he had a solid grip, then bent powerful legs to launch himself down the channel along the bottom level of the engineering lower deck. The warp drive, in its horizontal configuration, was not a standard for Star Fleet ships of this century, but the Vellouwyn was nothing if not unique; it spanned nearly four decks in length, with scientific research stations studded along its length, and the foremost segment now missing to have formed the warp lens they’d just launched themselves through. Kicking off of bulkheads and grappling with ladders, he sailed over Solnus’ head, not pausing to give him any fruitless comfort, and made his way to the emergency control station.

Midway along the warp core, Hotler came upon the scene. There was a cross-brace here at the second segment of the core where power systems ran through from floor to ceiling, and wall to wall. If anything aboard the Vellouwyn could be considered ‘central engineering’, this was it, and for the Gambit, most of the important officers were here. Warp Systems Specialist Jan’aar was reaching for one of the consoles, his craggy Xindi Arboreal eyes bulging with effort and asphyxiation, while nearby the Denobulan-Antaran that served as Chief Engineer, Huda Vantel, floated as if transfixed by some unseen spike. Pratt Denning and Tendan Omar seemed to be struggling with one another, trying to right themselves and panicking for the resistance of the other, while the Tellarite specialist in Fundamental Forces, Fargan Dend, was swiping at something half seen, which Hotler’s broad-spectrum vision told him was probably the Holographic CTO, trying to manifest in the broken light. None of them were very lucid, nor very much in control, so he kicked off of the bulkhead, moving to the console that Jan’aar was groping for and assessing the situation.

The information on the console was not helpful; Hotler was, again, not an engineer, and it was much more complicated than he was able to interpret. However, one index along the side listed a surprisingly large number of defected safety protocols, and levels of threat and risk reaching well outside of range, next to a glyph which was flashing ominously with the words ‘Emergency Abort Sequence’. With no better option, the Vohn Barran tapped the glyph, and suddenly the world collapsed desperately back into focus. The klaxon sound of red alert howled desperately around him, nearly masking the repetitive whumph as the bodies of his fellow crew fell heavily to the deck around him. He suspected that the scene was similar throughout the ship, and hoped he’d been fast enough to have spared his ship most of the damage. An instant after the blue light swung back to a fuller spectrum, Doc snapped into existence, checking Hotler’s unresisting form aside to feverishly enter commands into the console. “See to the team!” he barked; “Get me Jan’aar, I need him to cap this reaction!” was all he said before investing his full attention into the work.

Hotler was, unfortunately, also not a medic, but the recent endeavors with the pack hunt had left him with more insight and trivia into how his more normally adjusted crew worked with injuries and trauma. He could probably stem bleeding, certainly knew what a tourniquet was, but wasn’t entirely sure how whatever had just transpired would have affected a space-normal humanoid body. He leaned down next to Jan’aar, and, mercifully, found him already trying to recover. Blood flowed from his nose, and, surprisingly, his ears, which Hotler suspected was a bad sign, but the Arboreal was resilient, and both waved the Vohn Barran’s help off, and accepted his help up, with good humour. Getting him leaned against a console near Doc’s position to recuperate, Hotler started working his way around the engineering nerve center, working to try and get the team stable.

It wasn’t long before Solnus joined him, looking little worse for wear, probably somewhat more resilient as a Saurian than some of the others: amphibious nature ran among his people, and he had redundant membranes like Hotler’s nictating eyelids and an impulse which sealed his nostrils when submerged that probably served him well. The Kiley, Pratt Denning, was snoring fitfully in an unconscious state which wasn’t something Hotler wanted to risk disrupting, and the Fargan Dend had pulled himself up beside Jan’aar to get to work on whatever it was they were doing. Hopeful for a general recovery, he allowed himself a moment to relax. A moment after his muscles untensed, he felt a hand grip him by the elbow, and, startled, turned to see Doc, the Holographic department head of the Technology division who’d pushed him aside scowling at him. If he could sweat, this would be where he would.

Doc looked him up and down, callously took a grip on the breather which was anchored into Hotler’s face, and gave it a firm, but gentle, shake. “Seventy-three seconds, Crewman. That’s worth a commendation. Go see who else you can help; I’ll be filing this in my report.” He smiled a half smile, which looked begrudging on his stern face, but there was unmistakable pride in the holographic eyes. “Check in with Sick Bay and see if they need you first.”

Then he was gone, back to the console, chattering with Jan’aar and the others to try and deal with the technology of the situation, leaving Crewman Hotler more off guard than he’d been when the world fell out of the warp bubble. Mutely, he turned and walked towards the corridor with the turbo lifts, intent on making his way to Sick Bay as ordered.

Surprises waited there, but he didn’t know that; not yet. Nor, unfortunately, did anyone else.

[specgram]

Rejected Alternate Titles for SpecGram—∅-Exolinguistics—The Journal of (Z/X)e(r/n)omorphs

[elbiotipo]

The Biopunks in Campoestela:

Marcos: The Captain, a Exobiologist tasked with finding new life and new civilizations by the Agencia Federal de Exploración. Very well versed in both biology and history. Born on old Buenos Aires back at Mother Earth, which makes him a little too proud perhaps.

Florencia: Exobotanist partially hybridized with plants. Formerly a terraforming director at Aerolito, very concerened about the interaction of different biospheres around Campoestela. A bit of a hippie compared to her hardworking colleagues.

Ariel: The engineer. Pretends he doesn't know too much about biology, but since all his friends do. Aloof and sarcastic, but still hardworking and loyal to his crew, but MOST importantly, his ship. He might actually be in love with it.

Melanie: The pilot. A cat-like alien from Finistella in the Esteloplatense Confederation. Switches between sleepy hibernation and hyperactivity in an instant. Sympathizing with the Socialist Interstellar, she tries to convince all her companions to unionize, even if they all are already.

Marina: An exolinguist in an exchange program from the Reino da Saudade. Knows probably far too much insults for her own good. Is concerned at the proliferation of the Tandar language all over Campoestela, replacing other languages. Writes poetry but keeps it very well hidden.

Pancho: Literally the exact same character.

The Campoestela guys as characters in Biopunk Argentina:

Beto: Former bus driver, now amo entre los amos del aire owner of a biotech supply company in Haedo. Owns a cool little van and he delivers and installs, personally, to the interior of Argentina and sometimes other countries. Well travelled and a bit overworked, but still young, with very few biomods. Loves to listen old rock and history podcasts in long trips. Probably Ariel's uncle.

Ragua: A VERY washed up idol/gamer/singer/model/whatever from the Golden Age of Biopunk (just a few decades ago, honest!) who came from the US back when Buenos Aires was the capital of Biopunk. Has lots of shark-style biomods because that what was in at the time. She's quirky and smart, if a little out of touch. She's still recognized by her former simps (and modern fans of the classics like the Biopunks), but tries to keep a low profile

Suisini: The product of a biopunk very obsessed with succulents, Suisini is indeed, a botanical intelligent uplift. He (let's not even get started about gender in plants) literally grows inside Beto's van, and has the ability to produce substances that are very useful to Beto, but he's also a great... well, sarcastic, grumpy and incomprehensible, but still great friend. Worships the sun. It makes sense to him. Smoked weed with Florencia once.

huh, they fit quite wel.

[rat-tomago]

hmmmm what Wacky DS9 Antics would b good 4 a vulcan 2 find themselves in the middle of...... not even liek smth tht happened on the show but just some shit tht u kno would only happen 2 those bitches

[falco-cassini]

Advent calendar 24

As I read about and wrote down chosen words I camed up with several ideas for the way to sum up my work. Unfortunately other duties held ma back from finalizing one of them. In following days, I will post something that will sum up my little challenge.

Maybe I haven't post daily but, I think that I was consistent enough to actually learn something about Stoicism and to create thing that resemble glossary.

Star Trek’s Stoics: The Vulcans - Have a nice read

Merry Christmas to those of you who celebrate, to others, have a good day.

P.S. Late edit: Here goes summary I mentioned.

[the-demi-jedi]

I'm planning my next writing project and I still can't decide, so I'll ask for Tumblr's opinion. Which one should Krisandri, my main character, be? For context, Kris is a five-foot-nothing exolinguist girlfail, think slightly similar to Marcille from Dungeon Meshi with the power of languages and gravity instead of magic.

[bcnes-archived]

Abruptly, McCoy's head turns to look at Will, leaning ever-so-slightly forward with an intensely scrutinizing look in his eye. "What's the Starfleet? You're joking." A moment or two passes, considering something deeply, and then he leans back again. "You're not joking. My god, Jim really did toss you in the deep end and leave you to drown."

It's not an entirely fair claim and he knows it, but it's an easy second nature to blame most of the things going wrong in his life currently on Jim, both because Jim knows he doesn't mean it and because on some level it's true. McCoy probably would be living a much easier life right now if he'd left a much-younger cadet Kirk to bleed out on a biobed rather than sparking the fool notion that he ought to call Leonard up twelve years later and stick him on a starship in the middle of space.

But Jim has been spending plenty of time enough with the Enterprise's latest guest, at least more than he does most of the rest of the crew, and it's only natural that the occasional piece of information should slip past him given he's a million miles and then some away from Earth and 500-plus years out of time.

"The Enterprise is operated by Starfleet, that's correct. That's who assigned us to this post," he gestures very vaguely around the whole of the room. "I mean, we're sure as hell not here for the fun of it." A very brief pause follows. "Well. The captain might be here for the fun of it." Not that Jim doesn't take his Starfleet career seriously and all that. The list of commendations that man has received is so long it puts McCoy to sleep. He wonders if there'll ever be a chance to really introduce Will to the ins and outs of the service. Maybe at their next starbase - they're sure not going back to Earth any time soon.

"In any case, we haven't got much of a choice. The captain picks his away party for each mission, determined by the needs on the planet below. Botanists, exolinguists, geologists, historians. It's a very large ship," he arches his brow to punctuate the statement, "and we don't want entire teams running around doing nothing at all. We're not visitors - we're researchers, sometimes even diplomats."

He opts not to mention that, more often than not, Kirk's landing parties are not so carefully pieced-together and instead he simply goes with whoever he wants down there with him. At least for initial investigations - the captain is good at his job and knows exactly what each situation requires once he's assessed it properly. But initially, yes, it's Spock and McCoy that find themselves out there.

There's a slight smile and a nod at Will's clear excitement towards the idea of the ship's stores, even if in the back of his head he's trying to gauge the odds of wrangling Kirk down here to give him a proper tour. He supposes if you're not pointlessly wandering up to the bridge as often as McCoy is you wouldn't see the man all that often, and only he and Spock have his off-duty routines memorized. "Outfits, sure, of course. And the means to make them - there's a department for that, actually. I can show you both, if you've got a minute to spare. Doubt anybody's going to come in with much worse than a hangnail on a day like this." He can afford to take ten himself to stretch his legs, is what he means.

the look offered to mccoy suggests he hasn't heard of either of those things - the starfleet or the federation, that is - and hesitation is clear in the way his lips part, resting separated as he ponders whether to query about such or not. his legs, dangling off the doctor's desk, cross one over the other.

" right - so, what's the starfleet? is that who watches over the enterprise? " he asks, finally. " you don't need to explain the rest of what you just said, though. you represent the federation, so you have protocol to follow. uniforms are a part of it. i understand that. i'm a bit more surprised people would prefer staying in the carriage - i mean, not to sound rude or anything, but you fly for quite a bit. thought people would wanna get out when they can. "

though, he supposes the enterprise is huge. it displays quite a lot of halls to memorize and get bored of, and that is if you ever do reach that point of boredom. not only that, but there are the activity rooms - more than he'd suspected initially, actually, as he recently found out there is room with an entire pool in the starship - so he can see why some would prefer to stay in.

when mccoy speaks once more, the pool loses its place as the room he most recently learnt of, evidentiated by the surprised widening of his eyes. " you have stores in here? full stores? oh my god. i didn't know that! " . . just how big is this vessel. " though, you mentioned apparel. like, casual outfits and stuff like that? i mean, it's fine if it's not, i can just buy fabric and make my own clothes. "

a pause. " if they sell sewing kits, that is. it would make it easier to tell me apart from the crew. though, to answer your question - yeah, i haven't spent much time with him. he seems to be quite the nice man, but y'know. i don't tend to go to the bridge quite often, so i only see him once in a while around the halls. "

in actuality, he remains mostly in the cafeteria and other more casual spaces most of his time - either that or his room, where he continues to write. his presence is only in the bridge in the occasion he has a question about their schedule or any other aspect of the ship.

his eyes dart to the door. " how far away are these stores? "

[tinkertailorlizardspy]

CAN SOMEONE TELL ME HOW TO SAY BITCH IN VULCAN IT'S IMPORTANT

[skelswritingcorner]

I might do a little sideseries of my Mercenary!Reader fics involving her twin sister and the shenanigans that happen before the two reunite. It's going to involve the Scavangers. It's probably gonna be titled something like The Scavangers and the Exolinguist (because that's what Makayla is in the story).

I gotta make a design for her first, though.