Amalgam Universe

“Absolutely not! There is no way in-”

*human calmly peels and eats a banana*

“Er, whatever you say, sir.”

The Membletak did not adapt well to their new, human captains. They did not adapt well to the insanity of their commanding officers.

And they did not adapt well to illogical commands.

But Captain Millbury was prepared.

“Sir. The odds against surviving such a manoeuvre intact are astronomical to begin with, you can’t possibly expect the

An alien and a human with a Han and Chewbacca-esque relationship

(I don’t think Hwell counts, that looks more like babysitting)

[AN: Well, yes, but Hwell does spend large volumes of time making gurgling noises…]

Ruscis still couldn’t believe this was happening, but a duty was a duty and this… being… hadn’t left her side since the convoluted happenings that involved saving its life.

“You remember what I said,” Ruscis repeated. “

Turnabout is fair play: Something the aliens consider utterly mundane and/or harmless, that is dangerous or terrifying to humans.

It was a disaster. The freshly-introduced Ambassador Harry still hunkered in her improvised bunker of relatively solid furniture, butter knife held tight to her chest in a white-knuckled grip. The ability to speak had left her and she would slash or stab at anyone who came close.

Until Sui'dut came to sort out the mess. Sui'dut, the only alien Harry trusted on

Ridiculous fact of the day: We went to the moon before we thought to put wheels on suitcases.

Some things are essential for cogniscent development. The ability to control heat is one. Civilisation in any form is another.

It is impossible to have a planet where the entire population are dancers. People must eat. People must learn. People must make insipid sitcoms and nobody knows why.

But some things… don’t always happen in the correct order.

“Wait,”

“Aliens do not understand papercuts.”

The death world menace flinched, howling in agony. “Idonotfirkinbelievethis!” It dropped the weapon it was holding. “Agodsdamnedpapercut. Afterallthis, agodsdamnedpapercut…”

The huddling assembly of survivors blinked in confusion. This creature had survived toxic gas, lacerations, contusions, concussion, shock, awe, and extremes of temperatures… and now it was halted by a relatively minor injury to its apparently thick hide.

It wasn’t even bleeding, there.

Yet the creature stopped. Retreated,

Prompt: That trick where you come up behind someone and pop a paper bag to make them jump, most often portrayed when someone is working on something that could (but probably won’t) explode.

[AN: I must have hit a nerve on the Interwebs, yesterday. Twenty-three notes on one silly story because of an equally silly side-fling. Must resist the temptation to do that from now on]

To the Galactic Alliance, need-to-know information is information that every citizen, denizen and in denizen

It was a companionable quiet, with the rhythmic “whud, whud, whud” of the engine accompanied by various tapping and clanking of everyone doing their jobs. Eventually everyone’s noises gradually synced with the main beat and suddenly the Lion King happened.

“I swear sir, I left for four seconds and they started a musical number" 

Goryx stared out at the rows of humans - still working, of course - as they continued to sing.

"TILL WE FIND OUR PLACE,