Little bunny

on survival

Jazz: Wow, haven't heard that sentence since we all moved out from home.

Dan: It has been missed

Dani: What's going on Danny?

Danny: First of all I want to thank you for coming to the meeting, as per the charder of our organization, I have provided substance in the form of pizza and soda.

Dan already eating: Much obliged.

Danny: Second of all, I done goofed.

Jazz: How big of a goof?

Danny: So big they could make a triple movie comfy series out of it.

Dani horrified whisper: That's a big goof.

Jazz: Explain what happened.

Danny: Okay, so remember how Mom and Dad sent out that email about clearing some storage space, and we had to call dibs on their inventions before the others did?

Dan: Yeah, I got the Fenton Specto-Messager and the Fenton-auto Coffe maker.

Dani: You only got it because you were awake at 1 am like the unemployed bum you are.

Dan: I'm self-employed!

Danny: Anyway, I got the Fenton Ghost Catcher. I wanted to use it to split myself and catch up on work. I figured now that I'm older, I would have a better understanding of my psych so the spilt would be more balanced. I was right! The only problem was I was too right.

Jazz: What does that mean?

Danny: The split made two perfect copies of me, Phantom and Fenton, without one having different personalities. They went about thier own lives for a week and then when we reunite our memories mixed. It turns out I may have done a lot during that week.

Dan: What you do? A crime?

Danny: Fenton got married to a hero. Phantom got married to some random civilian.

Dan: Oh, shoot. You should have committed a crime instead. Please don't tell me Phantom did a Soul Marriage.

Danny sadly: He did.

Jazz: Whats a Soul Marriage?

Dani: You know the phrase "until death do us part"? That is voided in a Soul Marriage- life or death can't come between them. They become soulmates and meet in every life, no matter how many reincarnations there are. Also, they can have offspring regardless of thier gender and species.

Jazz: Whoa. So who are the lucky men?

Danny: Red Robin and Tim Drake.

Dani: Daaaaaannnmmm. I didn't know you had game.

Danny: I didn't either but apparently I do. To much of it! What am I going to do!?

Meanwhile in the Batcave:

Dick: What do you mean you married two different men!?

Tim: It doesn't count, because I married them a Civilian and Cape

Steph:

So his back is a mess, his legs are broken, and maybe his fingers as well. His face is bruised, etc.

Imagine for a second you are Adrian surname The Eridian. Your spouse has been missing and presumed dead for around a decade, and suddenly one day an alien spaceship comes into orbit. And you cheer "Yay alien species have realized we have the same problem and have come to either give us a solution or join or efforts, too bad my mate is still gone."

Except he is not actually gone, because the eridian equivalent of a carebear decided to save them. And he doesn't want anything in return, in fact he is well aware that he might die A PAINFUL SLOW DEATH, shortly after fighting just to get the love of your life back to you. But it's ok :) because Rocky (yes he gave them a silly name) is my best friend! Oh- Are you ok-

“i don’t know, probably that i can have ilya’s photos on my phone now :).”

I explained the delicate situation to my mom, as my sister-in-law is letting the news get out by word-of-mouth from the immediate family rather than an awkward “unsave-the-date”. My mom obviously told my own family.

This is what's called a poetic epithet, and it happens all the time in writing. Consider, for example, Homer and his wine-dark sea, or Shakespeare and his death-mark'd love.

If you were then to start using them instead of the word they're describing, you'd be making a kenning. For example, if instead of describing the sun as honey-bright, you said "the honey-drop in the sky". Kennings are best known from Norse writings, like "the path of serpents" for gold, or "Grímnir's lip-streams" for poetry itself.

◡ – / ◡ – / ◡ – / ◡ – / ◡ – The sun / was ho/ney-bright / that af/ternoon

an illustration that language and its associated rules exist to lift up human expression and not to hinder it (and are both constantly changing and maintaining helpful usage to suit the needs of the moment),

as well as a devastating reminder that whenever you think you’re doing something new and oh-so-scandalously inventive, it was probably actually the well-trodden pasttime of a glorified theater kid several thousand years ago.

When you're talking about the design of the boat, you say "it".

When the boat is still being built, your say "it".

When the boat is nearing completion, you can say "it" or "she".

When the boat is floating in the water you probably say "she", unless there is still a lot of work to be done (e.g. no engine yet) then you say "it".

When the boat is officially launched and operating, you say "she". If you continue to say "it" at this point you are not incorrect but suspiciously untraditional. You are not playing the game.

If you are referring to a boat you don't really know anything about you may say "it" ("there's a big boat, it's coming this way"). But if you know its name, it's probably "she" ("there's the Waverley, she's on her way to Greenock").

If you are talking about boats in general, you say "it" ("when a boat is hit by a wave it heels over")

If you speak about a boat in complimentary terms, it's "she" ("she's a grand boat"). If you are being disparaging it may be it, but not necessarily ("it's as ugly as sin", "she's a grotty old tub").

If she has a boy's name, she's still she. "Boy James", "King Edward", "Sir David Attenborough"? The pronoun is she.

If it's a dumb barge (no engine), you say it. But if it's a rowing boat (no engine), you say she.

Imagine, after decades of your world becoming colder and colder, you are saved. A single Eridian, the only one of twenty three to survive, arrives in an alien ship, accompanied by a creature you can barely conceive.

Everything about the alien is so loud, hinges formed from tissue thumping and stretching in constant movement, even while unconscious. Completely organic, reliant of oxygen and hydrogen. Instead of a protective carapace, it regrows its damaged tissues. It has senses you do not, and technology so unlike your own, both able to utilise a force you have never heard of. The same force that killed almost your entire mission team. Highly adaptable, able to teach itself how to fly its ship in under a week, able to become fluent in the engineer's dialect in less than four years.

And if Erid's best engineer is correct (and there's no reason it wouldn't be), this creature not only managed to breed a predator of the warmth-taker to survive in various atmospheres, including Threeworld's, but also turned around to provide aid when it discovered that the predator could escape xenonite.

And you think: Surely, this creature which protects itself without a carapace, which sleeps so lightly and knows so much and learns so quickly, which saved two planets at the cost of ever returning to its thrum, surely, a creature so extraordinary must have a name to match

And you think: Perhaps it is strength, Mountain-Base or Lonsdaleite-Carapace. Perhaps it is intellect, Diamond-Claw or Lockpick-Mind. Perhaps it is courage, Song-Through-Silence or Path-Carver

And you think: None of these names hold the true weight of what this creature is to them. How do you describe something like that, which aids without expectation of anything in return, which risks its own life for the sake of a species it cannot touch, which performs miracles simply because it was asked.

And