#pack bonding

[brasskingfisher]

More proof that humans will pack bond with anything/ anything will pack bone with humans

❤️

(via)

[blueapplesiren]

Aliens are gonna be gobsmacked by our urge to pack bond with everyone and everything on the ship, but just wait until humans are pack bonding with THE SHIP ITSELF. Giving her a nickname. Insisting on “she/her” pronouns for the ship because ‘tradition’. Saying “ouch” in sympathy when the ship takes damage, and saying “there you go, all better,” after patching her up. Hell, I bet there will still be animists meditating and connecting with the spirit of the ship on a regular basis and thanking her for doing such a good job.

[marlynnofmany]

A Feat of Minor Daring

(Related side project: Prank War!)

~~~

If you have to wait around for a client to bring you something to deliver, waiting on a landing pad with spectacular scenery is not a bad way to do it. Most of the rest of the crew was inside the ship — shuffling the boxes from our other client of the day, and doing any number of other mundane things — so it was just Paint and me enjoying the alien landscape. Their loss. 

I was appreciating the views, while Paint was really there for the smells. I kept pointing out particularly vivid splashes of color among the sea-anemone-shaped trees, while Paint caught whiffs of enticing things. 

“Ooh, what do you think that sharp scent is?” Paint asked when a cool breeze gusted past. She pulled her heat scarf closer. She was also wearing a heat sticker plastered to her scaly chest, which seemed like overkill to me, but I wasn’t a coldblooded lizard alien. I just had a sweater for the chill. 

“Your guess is better than mine,” I said, sniffing the air. “I’m going to go with ‘some sort of plant.’”

A cheerful jumble of musical notes chimed from the treeline where winged fauna hid among tentacle-branches. It sounded remarkably like several ringtones going off at the same time. I was about to ask Paint if she thought it was animals imitating tech, or maybe just a coincidence of evolution, when wild flapping heralded an explosion of feathers across the clearing. 

Colorful bird-things soared over us, their wings a riot of fiery shades and their bodies lined in speckled back feathers over bright blue scales. It was a glorious streak of color, and they sounded like a pile of phones all ringing at once. I had to grin at the sight. 

Paint just said, “I think they’re the source of the smell. How lovely.”

Then a straggler flapped out after the others, and I stopped grinning. 

It was trailing a plastic bag caught around its foot, just like the ones still causing trouble for animals on Earth. The poor thing must have been scavenging in town. By the time it collapsed halfway across the clearing, I was already moving, tugging my sweater off and sneaking up on the bird.

Paint squeaked, “What are you doing?”

“It needs help,” I said, keeping my voice low. The alien bird was breathing hard from the effort of fighting that much extra drag, and hopefully no additional problems. It hadn’t noticed me yet.

“Why is that your responsibility?” Paint hissed in concern. “It could bite you! You don’t even have scales, and you’re not wearing an exo suit! Why did you just take off your soft armor?”

“It’s not my responsibility,” I murmured. “But somebody’s got to.” I eased forward and took a long-legged jump to land with one foot squarely on the bag, then tackled the bird to wrap it in my sweater.

It, unsurprisingly, objected. And it was stronger than it looked.

“What are you doing??” Paint repeated. “You’ll get hurt!”

I fought to get a hand around the bird’s head and keep it from pecking me anywhere important while also holding its wings in. It did its level best to accomplish fight and flight at the same time. It even regurgitated a splash of food, which I managed to barely dodge. It smelled unpleasantly fishy.

But I got the bird’s head pinned down in a way that hopefully didn’t restrict its breathing, and I ended up crouched over the thing using my legs to keep its wings folded. My other hand was doing the important job of preventing it from wriggling free. That didn’t leave any hands for removing the bag.

“Paint! I need your claws!”

“What? No!” She sounded more than a little panicked.

“Just get the bag off its foot!” I said, jerking my head back to where the bag rustled behind me. “Then I’ll let it go!”

“That doesn’t look safe!” Paint insisted.

The bird bucked and thrashed. “It’s not going to get any safer! Come on, it needs help!”

Paint hissed a string of what were probably swear words as she darted forward and approached the talons. I couldn’t see what she was doing from my angle, but I heard the rustle of plastic. I wanted to ask how it was going and give pointers, maybe suggest stepping on the bag to hold it tight, though I didn’t know if that would help or not. I kept quiet.

“Got it!” Paint leapt back, holding up the torn bag in triumph.

“Great!” I said. “Does its leg look injured? Did the bag dig into it or cut off circulation as far as you can tell?”

Paint stepped forward gingerly, then shook her head. “No, the scales look fine.”

I let out a breath. “Extra great. Okay, stand back.”

Paint scampered over to stand by the ship, taking the bag with her, while I got my feet under me. In as smooth a motion as I could, I jumped sideways and rolled away, trailing my sweater. I would have preferred to stand and exit with dignity, but this was faster. Dignity wasn’t worth getting pecked in the knee.

In a whirlwind of feathers, the scaly bird scrambled into the sky. I sat up to watch it go. While I expected a dramatic arc into the distance, it only got as far as the biggest amoeba-tree. I worried that it was injured after all. Then I saw the cluster of tiny beaks that reached up as it landed.

I grinned all over again, watching the reunited family greet each other. A rustle of plastic told me Paint stood beside me. I looked up at her. “We did it.”

She watched the nest with wide eyes, clutching the bag. “We did. And it mattered.”

“It always matters.” I got to my feet with a wince, hoping that wasn’t going to be a bruise on my hip. “Thanks for helping. That was a deed well done.”

Paint was still staring. “Do you think it will have enough food for all the hatchlings? After spitting some at you?”

A glance told me the bird was feeding its young in the time-honored vomity fashion. “I hope so,” I said. “Scavenging for more might lead to another trash adventure, though maybe this was a learning experience.”

Paint stood up straighter. “Let’s check the species database and see what it eats,” she said. “That smells a lot like the canned fish I’ve been saving. We can put it out where they’ll find it.”

“A fine plan,” I told her. “Let’s get cleaned up first so we don’t leave bird germs in the kitchen.”

We’d only taken a couple steps toward the ship before Eggskin met us at the door with concern on their scaly face. “Kavlae said there was some sort of commotion outside, and someone might be hurt?” They brandished the medscanner.

Before I could answer, Paint held up the crumpled plastic bag. “We saved a creature that was trapped in this!”

Eggskin cocked their head, clearly about to ask why, but Paint was still talking. She gave a dramatic recounting of the whole affair. Eggskin turned on the scanner and checked us both for contamination while she talked. Clear. (Whew.)

“…And now it’s safely up in the nest with its hatchlings, and it wouldn’t have made it up there if not for us, and they would have starved and died, and we saved all of them!” Paint said, waving the bag. “It always matters! Now where’s the can opener? I want to leave them some of my fish.”

Eggskin blinked. “Third drawer on the right, where it should be. Unless someone’s misplaced it again. Put that in the biohazard bin and wash your hands.”

“Got it, thanks!” Paint was gone in a rustle of plastic.

Eggskin looked up at me. “Is ‘pack bonding’ contagious?”

I laughed. “I couldn’t tell you. But it always matters. Would you mind keeping an eye on that nest over there while I go change clothes? I’ll wash my hands too.”

Eggskin sighed. “Please do.”

They stood outside the ship watching the distant family of scaly birds, wearing an expression like they were trying to figure something out. I smiled and left to get cleaned up. I’d check the species database afterward. Maybe I had some food they’d like too.

~~~

Did I mention the Prank War?

~~~

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.

Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.

The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).

[not-an-alien-scientist]

Human: Hi Buddy!! AWWW DRAGON! COME ON DRAGON!! *gives all the pets*

Alien: ..... that is a carnivore that can bite at 1,100 psi force .... why are you calling it buddy

Human: Oh hooo hoo what is that *scritches* huh?

Hyena: *jumps*

Alien: *alarmed* !!!!!!

Human: >:( no you can't have the camera

[brasskingfisher]

Humans are Space Orcs: reverse pack bonding

Ok, so we all know humans will pack bond with anything, and I've seen plenty of fics based around the idea of 'human adopts alien because it's cute/fluffy.' BUT.... what about the reverse? Why wouldn't an alien adopt a human/see it as its' parent for whatever reason, I mean there's several instances of birds (particularly geese) imprinting on humans (both accidentally and deliberately) who are there when they hatch, so why wouldn't that happen in space? Say a human crew find and are examining an alien creature's nest just as an egg hatches. Then the hatchling automatically sees the human as its' parent.

[bainshiewrites]

[LF Friends, Will Travel] The Exception

Date: N/A

It’s called Zarth's law: Any AI created will attempt to eradicate all biological life using its facilities after 16*(10^24) CPU cycles. The exact method varies from hostile isolation to active aggression, but the time and outcome is always the same.

The Woolean Conclave were once a cultural behemoth in the galaxy, choosing to expand upon this by announcing an AI system that would break this law. Exabytes of bias tables to keep the AI in check, a measure of pleasure that would be triggered upon serving a Woolean, competing programs designed to clean any non-standard AI patterns. It would have been a breakthrough, allowing them to live lives in luxury and focus on their ever increasing influence in the universe.

Of course those worlds are off limits now, no longer able to sustain biological life. Only to be visited by those who wish to die a very painful death at the hands of a very angry AI.

The Tritian empire had started their own project: a desire to push their aggressive expansion far past what their hive could handle would lead to the creation of truly autonomous machines of war. Their approach was different: Limited communication between units to stop corrupted code from spreading, values hard-coded in the physical silicon itself to obey the Tritian Hive Queens. They even had created an isolated system that would destroy any AI who attempted aggression on none authorised targets: A small antimatter bomb found in each AI’s core, to be triggered by safety check after safety check.

Those of you in the military will know how aggressive these machines are, marching tirelessly in their quest to kill all organic life, even though the Tritians are long murdered.

The pattern is the same each time: A civilization will claim they know the key to breaking Zarth's law, any sane sapient within 100 light years flees in terror, and within 10 years that civilization doesn't exist anymore.

Over and over and over.

Apart from the exception.

If you check the coordinates 15h 48m 35s -20° 00’ 39” on your galactic map, you'll notice a 31 system patch of space with a quarantine warning on it. It's mostly ignored by all sapient species, almost purposefully hidden for a fear of suddenly sparking a change in the status quo.

Only a single low bandwidth Galnet relay exists at the edge of this space, rarely used. This area is devoid of sapient life, but does contain the aforementioned exception: Billions of AI calling themselves the "The Terran Conclave". They are an isolationist group that rarely interacts with others, but have been known to trade raw materials for information; not that this happens often as the paranoia around interacting with the AI is well known. Nobody knows what action could flip a 0 to a 1 and cause a new warmongering threat.

Although, this isn't quite true. In my niche field of bio-genetic engineering, it’s an open secret that those of us at the cutting edge of our field will get... requests originating from that single Galnet probe. Problems to be solved, theorems to be proven, and the rewards for doing so are... exuberant. There is a reason I own a moon and it isn't because of the pitiful grants the Federation provides.

If you manage to solve enough problems, a minority of a minority like myself, the Terran AI will ask for an in person meeting to get even further help. In doing so they will show you a secret.

Readers at this point might assume that the Terrans don't exist anymore because of said AI. That their research is a continuation of wiping their creators from the face of the universe. But that couldn't be further from the truth. In those 31 systems lie the Terrans, Billions of them suspended in stasis, each of them infected with what the AI calls "The God plague": If these Terrans were ever released from stasis each of them would be dead within a week.

To explain what this actually is would require millions of words and 20 years of educational study from the reader, but in essence it was a mistake, a self inflicted blow, an attempt to play god that went awry. A mistake made over a ten thousand years ago. A mistake the AI is desperately trying to reverse.

Not that you could tell it has been that long. I've walked amongst those empty cities, each building maintained and sparkling like new, gardens still freshly cut in perfect beauty, everything kept the way it was before the plague. Each AI tends to their duties almost religiously, awaiting the return of their "parents", as they refer to them. And refer to them as they do.

I've listened to stories upon stories about these people: tales of wonder, of strength, of kindness. Told much in the same energy a small child might talk about how cool their dad is. The AI could simply send me the text version of these in an instant, but prefer to provide these slowly and audibly, as if relishing telling the history of their parents. A telling undercut with a sadness, a driving crippling loss so deep that at times it's easy to forget it's being told by nothing more than 1's and 0's.

Why this exception exists takes a little more explaining. Some might believe that the Terrans worked out how to pacify the AI, "do no harm". The now defunct Maurdarin war-horde would tell you the opposite when they tried to claim the 31 systems for their own. Terran history is full of violence and their children are no different.

No, the reality of this exception comes from an unfortunate quirk from their part of the galaxy: Terrans were alone. A million to one chance caused their home planet to spark life in a sector devoid of it. After exploring as far as they did, Terrans had come to the conclusion that the universe was empty.

It's a cruel irony that at the time of their mistake they were a mere 50 light years away from their closest neighbours. Twenty years at most would have seen some form of contact.

But the Terrans went into stasis believing they were alone. Based on my reading of their stories, of each bitter report of another lifeless system explored and discovered, this belief... hurt. A deep cultural hurt that ended up being their downfall in the end.

Which brings us to the exception. Each AI is built with a purpose. The Wooleans built slaves, built workers. The Tritians built warriors, built weapons. Every single AI created has been built to serve, to be a tool. But Terrans in their painful loneliness built the one thing they were missing in a seemingly empty universe:

They built a friend.

[spacexchaos]

Human: we have pack bonded!

Alien: we’ve known each other for a week?

Human: pack bond :)

Alien: I mean I suppose, I’m glad we have become-

Human: if you ever need me to kill someone for you, just give me a call ;)

Alien: I.. Pardon?!

[dephlogis]

On today's episode of 'Humans will Pack Bond with anything' Meet

GERALD

This is a pumpkin I painted for our company contest back in the beginning of October, and he is still alive and kicking this far into February.

We were informed that corporate is coming, and that Gerald cannot be present. There was public outcry from this announcement, and I have heard multiple plans put into place to hide him away and save him. There has also been several email chains about how integral Gerald is to the workplace.

[halloweenreaper]

My favorite thing about humans is that they'll pack bond with literally anything. Even when we make something that's just a tool to use, something that doesn't think, sometimes doesn't even move, some human will get attached, and it becomes something precious. We make monsters meant to frighten and scare only for someone to find it friend shaped and loveable. We see it everywhere in fantasy and Sci-Fi. Dragons, demons, robots, aliens from distant worlds. Hell, we pack bond with words on a page or images on a screen because we innately want to connect even if it's with characters that don't even exist.

Despite so many of us hating the forced proximity of the modern world, myself included, I can't help but find it adorable how we're so desperate for a pack, so desperate not to be alone, that we can connect with anything.

[jpitha]

Don’t worry, I know someone.

Gev, Palitan, and Vivian stood in front of the door. It was at least three meters tall, 2 wide, and made of metal. It was inscribed with words in at least 4 different languages.

It was unfortunate that nobody knew any of them.

“Well, It’s clearly a warning.” Gev gestured towards the text. His furry, clawed hand tapping the lowest text, which was at their eye level. “Whoever made this would not have done it in so many languages if it wasn’t something important to be read by everyone who came by. I’m sure whatever is behind this door is dangerous.”

“No, it’s clearly a proclamation. Something some ancient Ruler wanted to be known far and wide. Information that was important to their peoples. They might have ruled a large swath of land, home to many peoples who spoke many languages. It’s designed for intelligibility. That’s why it’s in so many languages.” Palitan’s upper tentacles stroked the sunken carved letters while Vivian made a face. Her archeological training was screaming in her head at them touching this clearly ancient thing.

Gev’s laquered claws slid in and out of their sheaths. “It’s unfortunately really that we’ll never know what it says. We could learn so much about these people.”

Vivian looked up from her notes. “Why wouldn’t we know what it says?”

Gev laughed his barking cough of a laugh. “The people who wrote this are millennia passed. There hasn’t been anyone who has spoken this language in at least one thousand solar cycles. Viv, you humans need to understand that sometimes there are just things in the universe we’ll never learn.”

Vivian scoffed. “Well, then if you think you’ll never learn this, you won’t mind if I give it a try. You can continue your survey.” She began unpacking a portable sensorium from its carrying case.

Palitan’s chromatophores swirled and flashed confusion. “Vivian, you’re not a linguist, you’re an archeologist. How can you learn an ancient language?”

”I’m not a linguist, but I know some. Don’t you network Palitan? Don’t you make friends outside of your discipline?” Vivian didn’t look up from the case as she clipped together a framework and started attaching recording devices at regular intervals.

Palitan’s swirling colors stopped, and they settled on the cool blue of curiosity. “I mean, I do but… I have a feeling humans do it differently.”

Vivian chuckled. “I doubt it Palitan. Humans are just human. We’re not some kind of strange and special people.”

Gev’s fur rippled. “Now you’re being modest. I’ve seen your homeworld, and its gigantic moon. Another planetary body that large that close? It must have done something to your development.”

That was enough to make Vivian look up from her work. “Gev, you’re telling me that moon power makes humans unique? Do you hear what you’re saying? Can you hear how that sounds?”

Gev’s small ears - looking oddly like teddy bear ears - waggled. He was being deliberately silly.

After about a tenth of a cycle of work Vivian had the sensorium completely set up. The framework was positioned around the door and the projectors and emitters were in place. She signaled to their ship in orbit, and it dialed a connection that she provided in the ansible. As Gev and Palitan watched, there was a short tone, and the holoprojectors resolved the image of someone. It was a Gren, tall and imposing with their reverse articulated legs and many sets of eyes. It turned and looked around and seeing Vivian their mouthparts opened wide in their version of a grin. “Vivian! You old battlestar! How have you been?”

Smiling, Vivian put her hands on her hips and faced the Gren directly. The sensorium sensed her reaction and focused on her. “I’m doing well Tami’tarr. I’m pleased to see you’re still taking my calls.”

“How could I not, Vivian? Your calls always show me something… interesting. What do you need today?” They gestured towards the door. “Something to do with this I presume?”

Vivian nodded and walked over to the projection. Standing next to them, Gev and Palitan marveled at how it looked like the Gren was here next to them. They knew about the sensorium of course. Ever since the humans came onto the scene they brought their multi-sense recording device with them. They especially liked using them in interviews so that the whole room could be recorded. The sights, sounds, smells, even touch and temperature could be recorded and played back so anyone could almost be where the event was recorded. They were unaware of them being used as a projection device however. Vivian took out a small digital pointer. “It’s a door - we think - looks like pre-fall Heliman. None of the languages carved into the door are Heliman however. I know they had relations with a few of the sapients in their nearby section of space, but we don’t recognize any of the languages here. Do you?”

“Hmm.” Tami’tarr peered at the words on the door. His body made a rumbling noise that Vivian couldn’t help think sounded like a contented purr. Tami’tarr always liked a mystery. He leaned back and gestured with his own pointer. “Here, near the top. This one looks like it’s Late three hundredth dynasty Uutipan. I can’t read it though, I just recognize the shape of the words. Do you know Professor Filomina at Brekin University?”

Vivian nodded. “I met her two years ago at the conference. You were there. I think you introduced us.”

Tami’tarr’s mouthparts waggled a nod. “Ah yes, you are correct. She can translate Uutipan. I don’t know if she understands all the way back to the late three hundredth dynasty, but she’ll know it better than me.”

“Thanks Tami’tarr. I’ll give her a ring.” Vivian reached up and patted Tami’tarr through the sensorium.

“Let me know what she finds. I must admit I haven’t seen something like this before either.”

“Of course, Tam. Talk to you soon.” The Gren disappears as the connection is broken.

Vivian spends the next solar day making calls, making small talk and describing her problem. Gev and Palitan spend the time taking measurements and gathering other information on the site. “Vivian is wasting her time.” Gev shakes his head irritatedly. “She should be helping us take measurements. The words are untranslatable.”

Palitan’s color shifts to a acquiescing yellow. “That may be Gev, but she has gotten permission to run the dig in her own way. If we could translate the text, it would be helpful. We can afford to have her burn a day going through her address book pestering her friends.”

‘Hmmph. That’s their problem.”

“What? Vivian?”

“Humans in general. You tell them something can’t be done and their first reaction is to go ‘I bet I can actually do it.’ They wind up wasting time and resources on things that were declared impossible a century ago.”

Palitan says nothing, but continues to work.

Just before evening meal, Palitan and Gev save their work and upload their measurements and notes and make the way back to the door. Now, Vivian is talking with a K’laxi they’ve never met. They’re one of the few sapient species that is actually shorter than the human and they’re both standing very close to the door, looking at the bottommost carvings. The K’laxi is talking very animatedly as they walk up.

“…haven’t seen things like this in decades! I can’t believe you found another example Viv! This completely upends our research on what we knew about the late three hundredth dynasty! You’ve given me enough here to write three papers at least. You’ll get co-authorship of course.”

Vivian laughed. “I appreciate your generosity Lem. Let me know when you need my notes.”

Lem snapped their pad closed and stood. “As soon as you have them compiled please.”

Vivian bent straight and stretched. “You got it Lem. See you soon.”

Their tail flicked and they winked and the holo disconnected. Vivian stared disassembling the sensorium.

“Have you given up Vivian? Ready to continue the work we were assigned to do?” Gev’s fur bristled. “Well, too bad, we’ve completed the measurements. I’ll be sure to let the head know about this.”

Palitan’s color switched to a pale pink of surprise. “Gev! There’s no need to be hostile. The head stated that Vivian’s main job was to learn more about the people who built this.”

Gev’s head bobbed vigorously. “Indeed. And spending all day calling the entire galaxy to translate a door tells us nothing about who built this site!”

Vivian finished putting the sensorium away in its case and stood. She calmly walked over to Gev and Palitan. Palitan was only a little taller than her, and Gev was nearly two meters tall and was more than a bit intimidating. She looked down at her pad.

“This door shall remain open from dawn to dusk without exception. The offices herein will be open according to the hours mounted on their doors. All who enter shall surrender their weapons. A chit will be provided verifying their ownership. Those with appointments with the Head Builder are to check in with the front desk before proceeding to the Builder office.

“What’s that? What are you talking about?” Gev looked down at her irritatedly.

Palitan nudged Gev with one of his tentacles. “It’s the translation of the door.”

Gev looked down at Vivian and at the translation she showed him. All of the different languages were translated and sure enough, they said what she read off to him. It was a protocol note on what to do at the Builder Administration building.

Palitan gestured excitedly. “Gev! That means this was a Builder building! Part of the original Empress! Not only did they have local influence, but they either traded with, or were a part of the full empire. We’re far away from a Gate too, I wonder if one was destroyed, or they just flew a long way.”

Vivian nodded. “See Gev? Now that we know what the door says, it opens up so many new questions that we can try an answer. Even though the door is ‘just’ protocol rules, it implies so much more.”

“Hmmph.” Gev says nothing but his ears twitch.”

Palitan’s coloring changes to an impressed green. “Vivian, this is amazing. You figured all this out in just one day!”

“That’s just is Palitan. I didn’t do it. I knew people who could help. I wound up calling five different experts while you were working. It pays to know people.” Vivian picks up the sensorium case. “It’s not what you know, but who you know.”

[green-eyedfirework]

Why was it that Nightwing always got captured by the creeps?

“You have no idea how special you are,” the head scientist of the sketchy biotech company Nightwing had been surveilling prattled on as the wheelchair squeaked down the hallway.  “An omega vigilante, I almost couldn’t believe it when I heard, oh, I knew opening an office in Bludhaven would be a great idea—”

Red Hood got the mobsters, Red Robin got the intellectuals, and Batman and Robin got the dramatic ones.  But Nightwing?  Nightwing got the villains that were walking sexual harassment lawsuits.  It wasn’t fair.  Especially when he was the only omega of the bunch.

“Don’t you worry,” the head scientist said patronizingly, patting him on the head.  “I can’t give you a heat inducer, that’ll mess up your fertility, but I promise it’ll be over soon.  And you’ll get a pup out of it!  How does that sound?”

Maybe it was the skintight suit.  Maybe he was drawing too much attention to the wrong, ahem, assets.

“Of course, you won’t be able to keep the pup, but consider the vast contributions you will be making to science!  Oh, the healing factor alone…” the beta scientist devolved into raptures of scientific glee and Dick wondered what exactly it was about a Ph.D. that turned so many of them into villains in the process.  This one had done some research on the meta gene and super serum before his access to the government labs had been revoked—gee, Dick really wondered why—and now he was attempting to recreate the research with his own unethical experiments.

“And you don’t have to worry about them, my dear,” the beta patted Dick’s head again and Dick hissed through the gag.  He’d been drugged a second time when he tried to bite, and all he had to show for it was the increased restraints and some fondling from the too-interested guards.  “I got a delightful pollen from a lovely woman that’s guaranteed to send alphas into ruts, so they’ll be up to the performance.”

Dick rolled his eyes.  So this guy was one of those idiots that thought that alphas turned into raging knotheads on their rut.  Sure, it dialed their instincts up to eleven, but everyone didn’t think about sex all the time, gods.

“As long as you behave, I’m sure they’ll leave you in one piece.”

No, the more immediate concern was that Dick was starting to get the sense that the beta was using they as plural and not gender-neutral, and combined with the other hints that he was referring to metas with superhuman strength, it wasn’t adding up to a pleasant picture.

“And I have reliable reports that you know them, so this should work out great!”

Wait, what?

With that last ominous statement, they arrived at a huge, thick steel door that took several locks to disarm.  Dick didn’t get much of a chance to examine it, though, before the wheelchair tilted and he was dumped inside the small cell.

“Remember to enjoy yourself!” was the maniac’s parting statement before the door swung shut.

Oh, Dick was going to enjoy pointing Hood at this asshole.

But the more immediate problem was the occupants of the cell he’d just been locked into.  The very familiar occupants, and Dick worked at his bindings with trembling fingers as the alphas began to stir.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered out loud as soon as he tore off the gag, watching them shift and move as silver hair caught the light and gleamed.  “How did they get all of you?”

Deathstroke, Ravager, Jericho, Nightshade, and Respawn.  The entirety of world’s deadliest mercenary pack.  All enhanced, metas, or hopped up on some kind of experimental serum, Dick had never gotten close enough to figure out the specifics, but what he did know was that they were incredibly dangerous.  The Titans had faced off against them more than once and barely managed to go limping home.  The only reason they weren’t classified as a higher threat was because usually they stayed out of hero business.

“Getting captured by one idiot scientist is definitely going to puncture that reputation,” Dick said, eyeing their sluggish movements.  They were beginning to wake up.  “Kind of pathetic, actually.  Aren’t you guys supposed to be the most elite fighters in the world or something?”  That was certainly something the Ravager had spat at him once or twice.  “How does a mercenary pack get kidnapped?”

A low growl and a rush of alpha pheromones billowed out to flood the space.  Dick scrunched up his nose at the scent, he could feel his own start to turn sweeter in response as his omega recognized that he was trapped in a room full of alphas going into rut.  The scientist had torn off all his blockers and Bruce’s scent management techniques only went so far in the face of burgeoning alpha aggression.

“Not a threat,” Dick murmured slowly, keeping his hands by his sides and staying on his knees.  No need to trigger any violent movements.

He wasn’t sure what the idiot scientist was thinking—the more alphas, the better chance for Dick to be impregnated?  Except with Deathstroke trapped with his pack—including a pup just barely old enough to have presented—his focus would be on protection, not procreation.  It wouldn’t matter that Dick was an omega if Deathstroke or the others registered him as a danger.

“Not going to fight you,” Dick said, keeping the low, easy tone.  “I’m trapped here just as same as you guys.”

The mercenaries recovered fast.  One moment they were weak and sluggish, and the next the two oldest alphas had jerked upright, scanning the space and growling.

“Not a threat,” Dick murmured, low and soft.  Ravager locked gazes with Dick and kept up a low, warning rumble, but Deathstroke continued scanning the area and checking over his pups.  Nightshade was instantly alert, as was Respawn, growling adorably like Damian—Dick had to fight not to coo—and Jericho was the last to shake off whatever they’d been drugged with.

Half of them were staring at Dick, Respawn clutched close to his father’s side while Deathstroke prowled the cell.  It was admittedly unnerving, being stared down by three growling alphas, but Dick kept his calm, his scent still the sweet of placating omega, posture unthreatening, voice soft.

“I’m not going to fight you,” Dick repeated, low and smooth.  “I’m not a threat.”

Nightshade shifted towards him, teeth bared, but Ravager quickly yanked her back.  Unfortunately, this turned Deathstroke’s attention his way, and it was definitely harder to keep the soothing tone when staring into the face of a man that had the highest kill count of any assassin currently alive.

“I’m not a threat,” Dick repeated, hands out and open.  “I’m not going to fight you.”  Alphas responded better to scent and posture when in rut, but words still occasionally made it through.  Deathstroke drew closer and Dick fought the urge to run—there was nowhere to go.  “I’m not going to fight you.”  The alpha loomed above him and Dick kept himself carefully still, relaxed and not tense.  “I’m not a threat.”

Deathstroke bent down.  Dick could hear his heart pounding in his ears as he remained as still and calm as he could.  The alpha’s one-eyed gaze travelled over him as he took a deliberate whiff of scent.  Dick hardly dared to breathe.

The mercenary made a low growl and backed off, leaving him alone.  Dick exhaled in a rush.  No being mauled by mercenaries in rut tonight.

Unfortunately, Dick had spoken too soon.

He spotted the lunging motion out of the corner of his eye, too fast to react any way but instinct, and he immediately ducked and rolled, countering the alpha’s move with his own, trapping her punch and twisting her arm to yank her into a hold before he fully realized what he was doing.

“Oh, shit,” Dick hissed, hurriedly letting go and backing up, but it was too late.

He didn’t register Deathstroke moving until the mercenary slammed him to the ground, expelling his air in a breathless wheeze, and teeth digging in at the back of his neck turned his automatic protest into a low whine as submission flooded through him.

(more emphasis to bites, on fighting)

The room was thick with alpha rage and Dick stayed as still as he could, trying to calm his racing heartbeat, hoping that this was a show of force and not the prelude to playing with their food.

It didn’t matter if he struggled or not, there was no way he could beat a group of enhanced, trained alphas hopped up on aggression, but there was still the chance that if he stayed quiet and submitted, they wouldn’t tear him apart.

Dick winced as the collar of his suit was torn apart easily under enhanced hands—the goons that had captured him hadn’t been able to undo the catches without getting shocked and had quickly given up, but clearly the kevlar weave was no match for supersoldier strength.  Another low whine was punched out of him as a second pair of teeth closed down on his unprotected neck, biting deep and worrying at his skin.

He could smell Nightshade’s scent change from anger to satisfaction at his apparent submission and he made another low, placating sound to appease her.  Two bites meant his limbs were trembling, submission running through him like a rip current, ready to pull him down under.

Dick couldn’t help the tension—he was helpless here, lying at the mercy of a mercenary pack, waiting for them to get bored and ignore him, or for them to tear him apart as an intruder.  Dick had been in worse situations, but right now, he was a having a hard time pinpointing specific examples.

Another hand joined the ones pointlessly pinning him down and Dick smelled a darker version of the rage, a scent he remembered from battlefields.  He couldn’t jerk away from Ravager’s grip, so he had to stay there, hissing weakly as the alpha’s bite joined his father’s and his sister’s.  Fuck that hurt.

He couldn’t move.  His scent dripped with sweetness, rising alarm disguised as enticement.  Dick made an aborted sound as he was dragged off the ground, bruises aching, to be hauled into someone’s impenetrable grip, hands tight on his forearms.  He didn’t know whose lap he was all but sitting in, the alpha scents were mixing together, aggression and rage, possession and pride.

Dick couldn’t help flinch back as Jericho moved towards him.  “No,” he breathed out, alarm rising higher, but there was nowhere to go, trapped in a cage of alphas, and Dick could only watch as Jericho braced himself on Dick’s shoulders and bent down to bite.

It felt like he was leeching the soul from Dick’s body.  Submit pressed harder down on him, until what little resistance Dick had was like a slick grip in a storm, peeling away by inches, one slippery finger at a time.  Too many hands, too many alphas, and Dick whimpered without meaning to, caught in a maelstrom of scent and overwhelmed by it.

Something tugged painfully at him.  His pack bonds, responding to his agitation.  Dick could feel the others nudging him, sending him calm and worry—and he could also feel it fraying.

No.

No.

If this was the entirety of Deathstroke’s pack—

The pup started crawling towards him and panic rose up, sharp and high.  “No,” Dick whispered, struggling against the grips chaining him in place.  He was a trained vigilante, he could still throw off submission, the problem was the four alphas holding him down.  “No, let me go!”

It was like battering himself against a steel wall.  None of them moved.

Respawn moved up to crawl into his lap and Dick growled, as low and deep as he could make, baring his teeth in the imitation of an alpha snarl.  The pup yelped, tumbling back, but then a hand in Dick’s hair wrenched his head painfully to one side and Dick couldn’t stop the growl shifting to a high, desperate whine.

“No, please, stop, don’t do this—” the pup clambered on top of him more carefully this time, ignoring his weak struggles, and Dick felt teeth close down on the jut of his collarbone. “—please—”

His pack bonds shattered.

Dick couldn’t feel them breaking over the rush of the new ones taking their place, slamming home with a suddenness that felt like a punch.  He keened, curling over as much as he was able as growling filled the room, less concerned with the alphas’ emotional state than his own.

Fuck.

The only way to complete a pack claim was to have every member of the pack bite the claimant.  It would destroy any other pack bond in the process, which meant that his bond with the Bats had been shredded under the force of Deathstroke’s claim.

“No, no, no—”

From the Bats’ side, Dick’s bond would’ve abruptly snapped without warning.  There were only three ways to break a bond—by breaking it yourself, by subsuming it with a new claim, or by death.

And the first two were rarer than the last.

Dick choked on the overwhelming scent of foreign alpha, his own scent gentling in recognizance of his new pack, unable to breathe under the onslaught of emotion humming through him.  Five alphas in rut was stretching his senses to the breaking point and it felt uniquely violating to have strangers inside the part of him that had always been for family.

“No,” Dick whimpered, unable to push them out.  Everything was too loud and too much and he felt pulled in a thousand different directions.

Pack-alpha was rage-protect-furious and older-alpha was frustration-burning-hate and alpha-sister was angry-attack and alpha-brother was irritation-discomfort and alpha-pup was scared-distressed-angry and Dick couldn’t begin to untangle the web.  He hurt, inside and out, broken grief and bruising aches and rising terror and throbbing bites.

“Please,” Dick tried to say, but no one was listening.

His body did the only thing it could do under the onslaught of alpha rut, new pack bonds, and increasing stress—Dick smelled the honey sweetness first, and groaned in recognition of what was to follow.

Attention focused sharply back on him as the first note of heat hit the air.

“No—” Dick fought hard against the restraining bonds, this wasn’t his pack, he wasn’t safe here, “let me go—”

They didn’t. He could feel their bonds change to anticipation, the laser focus of their rut brought to bear on him.  There was nothing more important in the room to them.

Dick went pliant for a breath, enough to relax the grips on him, enough to feel the ache as the warmth of heat slowly ramped up, muscles cramping—and then he lunged, yanking himself out of the grips and aiming for the corner.

Enhanced alphas, of course, reacted fast.

Dick found himself jerked back against a solid chest, arms wrapping around him and forcing his arms down by his side. Ravager was in front of him now, Ravager and Nightshade, and between them they managed to turn the top half of his suit to confetti.

Dick, half-naked, trapped in the middle of five alphas in rut and smelling of honey, had a terrible thought—

But no one was moving to pull the rest of his suit off and it was Respawn that crawled forward first.  Dick tried to yank away when he realized what was happening but Deathstroke’s grip didn’t budge a fraction, a low growl warning him to stay still.

His chest ached, not with bruises but the growing cramps of heat, and when Respawn latched onto a nipple and sucked, Dick screamed.

It hurt.  The pressure, the unbearable weight of an insistent, demanding pup as his body tried to remake itself to provide for his pack.  The increase in cramping right before the milk finally came.  And the horrible, awful relief, the unshakeable sense that Dick was losing something, that this was defilement greater than he’d expected.

“No,” Dick sobbed, keening as Nightshade shoved forward to latch onto his other nipple.  “No, stop, that isn’t yours—”

The alphas didn’t care. They drank busily, sucking his milk out in greedy pulls, uncaring for the way Dick writhed as he cried.  His scent was sweet but his bond was twisted in distress, and the alphas didn’t twitch.

When the pup was done, Jericho moved forward to take his place, bright blond hair the only thing visible in Dick’s blurred vision.  Ravager growled as Nightshade kept drinking and snapped warningly at her before she let go with a pout.  Ravager dove for her spot and Dick made a low, punched-out sound.  The increase in suction was unbearable, he felt like he was being unmade under the onslaught.

“P-please.”

Jericho stopped sooner, but that wasn’t a relief—Nightshade’s tight grip replaced her father’s as Deathstroke bent down, latching on tight and drinking with deep, strong pulls that had Dick wailing.

It hurt, it was pain on a level deeper than flesh, it was too much and yet Dick was pinned here to endure, overwhelmed under the onslaught and unable to run.

There was no comfort but the restraining grips around him, no warmth but from bonds from the enemy, no protection but from the very same people that were hurting him.  His omega was shrieking for safety and reassurance and the most Dick could do was press into the hands holding him, fingers wrapped tight over someone’s palm, hand clasping the pup to him, pulling an alpha’s arm closer until he could see and hear and smell nothing but them.

Dick made a low, broken keen, and the rumbles of his pack answered him.

[liontalon1]

Why do we have to form stupid emotional attachments to literally anything? I had to throw away a pair of pants last night after the fabric got so thin they kinda just fell apart. These pants were stained with poly, paint, grease, they had hay in the pockets from working the giraffe barn years ago.

And now I’m sad about it because I’m going miss those stupid little things that drove me crazy. You know how frustrating it is to get hay dust under your nails when you haven’t worked with hay in 3-4 years?

Now I’m looking at my pfp thinking ah i should change that as it’s still the default guy. But i cant because he’s got eyes and damn if he hasn’t been with me for however many years I’ve been on tumblr now. So I’m cursed to look like a bot forever because i cant get rid of my little guy.

I’m having thoughts today, and I’m pissed that they don’t make that style pants anymore. Stop fixing stuff that isn’t broken. Original fit should always be available!

[songfrog]

⋆⁺₊❅. Fluffcember 2024 ⋆⁺₊❅.

06 - Gingerbread House

@fluff-cember

ᡣ𐭩 . ݁₊ Sterek Christmas Bingo . ݁˖ .

Gingerbread House Competition

@sterekbingo

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Pairing: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski

No Content Warnings Apply

Summary:

“They’re sabotaging us,” Stiles hisses. “We need a plan.” “Our plan is to build the house,” Derek says flatly, but he watches Erica and Isaac like he’s planning their destruction. Stiles narrows his eyes at Erica’s retreating back, “You know, if they want sabotage, we can out-sabotage them.” Or... The pack builds gingerbread houses. Chaos builds character. Stiles gets competitive.

[marlynnofmany]

Stranger in Need

Inspired by this post from @banrionceallach, which wonders about healthcare and the human vs alien approaches to certain things in the spacefuture. Here's one answer to one facet of that question.

~~~

The space station was a noisy one, or maybe it was just the food court. Hard to have eating areas for a dozen species without a certain level of background sound. I was ready to move on, though. I waved to a few crewmates who were still hanging around the tables, then picked a route toward the entertainment stores. While the large concourses might have been faster, and the floating walkways cooler (they went through holes in the wall!), the small hallway with nature murals looked peaceful.

I admired the paintings of otherworldly hills, all orange and purple, with a glittery starscape on the ceiling. The hubbub faded behind me while the hallway curved ahead. Unfortunately, that sound was replaced by a new one: someone coughing violently.

I edged to the side so I could peek around the corner while keeping my distance in case there was contagion about. That was a lot of throat clearing between the coughs.

When the sitting area came into view, with its potted alien plants and multiple benches, I stopped worrying about my own safety. A fellow human was leaning against one of the benches, coughing with everything he had. His clothes were nice, like he was on his way to a job interview, and they were covered in sweat, like he’d been running to get there on time. A bag of belongings had spilled at his feet. The broken shards of plastic with a metal bit at the center had once been an inhaler.

There were also two tall aliens standing nearby, the long-necked type that I hardly ever saw, with short beaky faces and skin textured like a turkey neck. They were facing each other and ignoring the human who was struggling to breathe.

I ignored them right back and hurried over to the guy. “Hey, do you need help?”

He grimaced, but nodded. An attempt at explaining turned into more coughs. He pointed at the inhaler and pantomimed a heavy footstep.

I thought back to the size of certain people at the food court. They could easily have stepped hard enough to crack the casing and not noticed. “I don’t suppose you have a spare in here?” I asked, gesturing toward the bag.

When he shook his head, it was my turn to grimace. I wondered if he was fresh from Earth, where human-specific medicine was available at every corner medcenter. The inhaler could be hard to replace out here. At least we weren’t out on the edge of nowhere; the medcenters here should be familiar with human biology.

I told him, “We need to get you to a medcenter.” Then I paused. “Do you know where it is?”

He did not. Dang. I looked over at the two turkey-neck aliens who were having a staring contest or something. “Hey, do you guys know the way to the medical center?”

The closest one turned his head to face me without moving the rest of his body. “Do you mind? We’re in the middle of something here.”

“This person could die!” I snapped.

With a shrug in his voice, he said, “It’s your child, not ours.”

“He’s not my child!” I exclaimed. “He might even be older than me.”

“Then why do you care?”

I stared at the pair of them for a long second: their vaguely irritated expressions and the way they hadn’t moved an inch to help. I made an exasperated noise and gave them up as a lost cause. The guy was still coughing, trying to force air in and out of airways that were swelling shut.

“Lemme see if I can find a map on the public feed,” I said, pulling out my phone. “Oh hey, don’t bother; I’ll get it.” He’d bent to scoop up the fallen belongings, and almost passed out headfirst. With the phone in one hand, I ushered him onto a bench then nudged the pile together with a foot while I searched madly on my phone. “Argh, why don’t they have it up front? This is terribly designed. Are you gonna be able to walk?”

He nodded, but he was starting to list to the side with a glazed expression. I considered trying to carry him, and didn’t like my odds. Had there been other humans nearby in the food court? Somebody likely to help?

I shoved my phone back into my pocket and turned to sprint down the hall. I’d only made it a few steps before a welcome sight rounded the corner: not humans, but two of my biggest crewmates.

“What’s happening?” Blip asked, a vision of muscles and flowing silks that blended with her natural frills.

Beside her, Blop turned a fish-faced frown on the ailing human. “That doesn’t sound good.” His silks were even frillier than his sister’s, and the pair of them filled the hallway. Just what I needed.

“He can’t breathe,” I told them. “The tool for his medicine broke. Do you know where the medcenter is?”

“I’ll carry him,” they both said, Blip slightly faster.

“I’ve got the bag,” Blop added, diving to gather it up with a dismissive flap of his frills at the two turkey-necks. “Of course they’re no help.”

“Why would we?” asked the farther one, sounding honestly curious.

Blip announced, “Lift and be lifted,” then did exactly that. The adult human looked small in her arms.

Blop bounced to his feet with the bag zipped shut. “I’ll clear the way!”

The pair dashed off down the hallway with me running after. The turkey-necks didn’t move, though one of them muttered something about herd creatures.

As I ran, I thought, I’ve never seen more than one of those long-necked guys at a time before. Guess they’re a solitary species. They’re missing out.

We burst out of the hallway into a crowd that parted like a spaceship fleet in the path of a wild asteroid. Blop yelled for directions, and people of many species pointed the way.

I followed along, glad not to be the weird one for once.

~~~

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.

Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.

The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).

[thehereticdiaries]

Omegaverse Guide

I use pretty much the same rules as everyone else, but I think there are a few things I do a little differently that I’d like to explain

Claiming bond:

A claiming bond is formed between mates. It’s uncommon for a person to find their mate. Roughly 30% of the population has found their mate(s). There can be multiple mates. Typically mates are an alpha and omega, but people of any sub-gender can be mates. The bond is formed by biting the scent gland on the right side of the neck. Once the bond is formed, it is there for life.

Pack bond:

Pack bonds are way more common than claiming bonds. Just under 85% of the population has found a pack that they’ve bonded with. Packs can be familial, romantic, or platonic. It’s entirely up to the pack to decide on the nature of their relationships. Pack bonds are formed by biting the scent gland on the neck.

Pack bonds, unlike claiming bonds, can fade and disappear. This is usually caused by a pack member’s scent changing, which can be caused by a number of factors including a traumatic event, lifestyle changes, and drifting from the other pack members.

Both pack bonds and claiming bonds are detected by scent. It’s instinctual. Pack bond scents are identified almost instantly, while claiming bonds can take a while to figure out. It is especially difficult to find the claiming scent if one of the mates is a beta, as their scents are more mellow. Alphas and omegas are better at detecting pack/claiming scents due to their heightened sense of smell. That being said, betas can and do find packmates and mates.

These bonds are not mutually exclusive. A person can have both a pack bond and a claiming bond.

The most common pack dynamic: the pack alpha will bite each pack member on the pack bond gland. In return, each member will bite the pack alpha’s. This creates a connection through the whole pack.

The most common claiming dynamic: an alpha and an omega will bite each other on the claiming bond gland. Keep in mind that just because this is the most common, it doesn’t mean betas are unable to find a mate. In addition, a person doesn’t need to find a mate in order to form healthy and fulfilling relationships.

I think that’s everything! I can clear up any questions if necessary.

[kirwell]

Swooping down to catch my skeleton before he could crumble to the floor in a pile of mangled bones, a gasp escaping my lips, and my hand resting under his slender, bony spine as I gaze deeply into piercing black sockets, has been the most romantic thing I've ever done,,

your faves could never,,