⟢ Transmission
cover: x-men '92 #3 takeda manga bubble gum variant + pinterest board
synopsis: you belong to an alien race that is derived from the shi'ar. your descendants, the shi'ar, are an avian-descended humanoid race of extraterrestrial beings that hail from the planet chandilar. due to your fondness of creative arts, both your race & the shi'ar who inhabit M-31 look down upon you. they have successfully neglected you. this has led you to become a member of the x-men. (For better, or worse.)
content: reader is nonverbal, writer just wanted an excuse to write an alien reader, so traits are muddled as a result.
word count: 2,070
⟢
You get the feeling the other X-Men don't quite understand you. You could be wrong; maybe they do. It's just not in the way that Remy does.
Ever since he had found you abandoned, it was obvious he had a fascination with you. Ever since you two had met, you were bound at the hip.
It was strange.
The way your eyes suddenly lit up as you peered into Remy's own, the way your feathers puffed up when he'd come far too close. He smelt so good, and his flesh felt addictive. When he brought you onto his ship, your hands touched briefly. Your forked tongue couldn't help but fly out the side of your mouth from the sensation; your feathers bristled.
The interaction was electrifying, and that's exactly how you knew you simply had to have more. You had no preconceived notions about Earth back then; now you do.
But you don't really understand this. You're having a hard time understanding him. The home he inhabits is large, accommodating a large group of mutants. Everyone in the household is kind to you, yet some speak to you more than others. You do not mind.
You study patterns, collect and compare data. After a while, everyone becomes predictable. The one your team calls Logan is ill-tempered, but he is kind-hearted. He can be found around the basketball court or in the danger room.
He is fond of alcoholic beverages. You learned this the hard way.
"You really like dat t'ing den , huh?" He's staring at you from the door frame, arms crossed languidly.
Your claws keep toying with the metal staff. You have the urge to wrap your whole body around it, but you pull your eyes away from the weapon to meet Remy's. He looks amused, yet something else overrides his features.
Mutants and humans alike have a lot of different words for emotions of this variant. From your research, you've learned this is called concern.
He is still keen on you, though, you can tell because of his scent. He smells peppery, with a twinge of amber. He masks his scent, his usual cologne adding a note of sandalwood. You found out that's another odd thing he does. The smell is stronger now, the pheromones making your tail perk up at its end. What has concerned your mutant?
"You a metal bender now cheré?"
He closes the distance between the two of you, and his scent infiltrates your mind. It's gradual at first—then all at once. You let the warped piece of metal fall onto the mattress beneath you.
The bed frame creeks when Remy sits down beside you. "'S'all good, t'ink I know exactly where you can put that strength ta' use." You only tilt your head curiously at him, wondering if he'll stay this time.
You still do not understand why he feels so strongly about giving you a "room." Remy informs you that for humans (and mutants), privacy is important, but you cannot understand what's so private about an enclosed box with a smaller, softer box in the middle.
You much preferred sharing a room with your trusted mutant, but apparently, sleeping together was not socially acceptable behavior. Apparently, that was reserved for moments of intimacy. You also learned this the hard way.
Despite this, Remy is in your private space right now, so you try to please him by giving him all sorts of "intimate" attention.
"Magneto asked me ta' wrangle up a'nother mutant. Told 'em I bring you along."
You're on your feet immediately, and your tail slaps between the floorboards and the edge of the wooden bed frame. He doesn't even say jump, but no doubt your response would be something like how high.
You chirp instead, chittering in a manner that signals that you comply. Though Remy is not fluent, he seems very proficient in understanding your vocal cues and body language.
"We go 'n get'chu some dinner afterward, yah?"
You chirp again, though this time you drawl it out, curl it so it sounds more like a trill. You don't miss the impish smile that crosses his features.
You've been keeping a journal of sorts, one to document your favorite experiences on earth thus far. Last week, you made the mistake of leaving it out in the main room.
Though he could not understand the scribblings of your language, he must have understood your attempts at spelling out the words and making deductions. He must've understood your careful illustrations; nothing extravagant, just the burger and fries he had gotten for you last week.
Something about his scent changes now; it doesn't dwindle, but it mingles with something else. The scent isn't unwelcome, it just isn't his. It belongs to someone younger, and it's sweet rather than musky. It reminds you of the sticky fluid you saw Rogue putting on her pancakes last week.
Remy leans forward on the bed now, his legs on either side of the staff, "Hold your horses now, you gone 'ave to bend this back into shape." You already have your back turned to him.
There, with the door left ajar, you're able to make out the form of Jubilee, seeing the shade of her yellow coat. You crook your head to the side at her appearance, and you croon at her like a hummingbird.
"Mmm?"
"Oh!" She exclaims.
"I heard something about dinner is all…Soo, like, count me in?"
⟢
It does not take long to wrangle the children, thankfully. In fact, you've only needed to gather one child.
From the data you've gathered, you learn this is far from the first occurrence of her running away. You don't quite understand why a mutant would run away from adequate housing. You assume she's not getting her needs met. You don't bring it up during the walk to the diner; you simply keep your eyes steady on the sidewalk.
"Stop taking her to these old hole-in-the-wall places. Next time, I'm choosing!" Jubilee states from somewhere behind you. You hear her footsteps drawing closer, closing the distance that was once between her and Remy.
Remy shrugs, and you hear the silver buckles on his coat clink together. "Lemme guess p'tite, you wanna take 'er to de mall?"
"Well, no duh." Jubilee clicks her tongue, Becca lets out a huff of air; something that resembles stifled laughter.
"And wha 'bout horse girl? You think Gambit got class, no?"
"No way, you are not bringing me into this." Becca wags her finger in his direction.
Everyone is speaking of something you have not yet familiarized yourself with, but it dawns on you that they have been speaking about you. He holds the door open for the kids, doesn't move when they enter. You peer down at him inquisitively when you pass.
Unsurprisingly, the restaurant smells exactly as you had envisioned. Greasy, and excessively sweet. You suspect that he has a preference for this sort of thing.
With your feathers littered across your skin instead of thin-hairs, and your head nearly brushing the ceiling—You should feel out of place here. You stand behind Remy, your form overshadowing his own. He does not seem to mind.
Becca nudges him in the side, then whispers, "Can we sit at the booth?"
"Shame you t'ink I'd want it any other way chérie."
You follow the team to this so-called booth, standing behind each X-Men to observe their behavior. Seemingly, A booth is just a table with odd-looking chairs.
You think it bizarre, but so are you.
Becca slides into one side, then Jubilee takes the other. They both seem well-acquainted with the place and each other, so this only makes sense.
"Mmm?" Your eyes smooth over his form again, drawn to his eyes. Your blank stare meets his own.
He hums low; you feel it through your feathers, it sends a thrill somewhere down your spine. You're receptive to his vocalizations. Receptive to him.
When he speaks again, he motions to the table, "Don't matter to me none, you go 'head cheré." It's soft, patient. Like he's not in any rush to get back to the mansion.
You slide your body to the far right corner of the leather bench, till your elbow presses against the trim of the window. Remy sits down beside you shortly after, barely occupying the space at all. He has the mass of an average human, you'd say, but you want to give him as much space as possible. Even if it's rather uncomfortable.
A human comes over and places a few books of laminated paper on your table before leaving. You know she'll be back soon, so you take the menu between your taloned hands.
You try your best to make sense of it, though to you, it's just a bunch of muddled colors and perplexing descriptions. You flip to the third page, and things start to look more familiar again. A bacon cheeseburger and steak cut fries.
"Can you order for us?" Jubilee asks, her voice cutting through your thoughts.
There's that look again, concern. You see it in the way he knits his brows; you notice the sweat that lines them. You don't hear it in his tone; it's something tucked away as soon as it comes.
"'Course, long as you need p'tite." Jubilee nods her head, then she's gone, disappearing behind the restaurant to the restroom.
You look back at the booth in front of you, but Becca is nowhere to be seen either.
it's just the two of you now.
Remy deflates, and you watch all the tension leave his muscles. It's nestled somewhere else now. His hand is tucked away in his pocket, hidden under the table. You aren't sure why, but you place your hand over the shape of his, almost like an experiment.
You heard that touch is good for humans, especially when their cortisol levels are elevated. Remy isn't exactly human, and your claws do not look as aesthetically pleasing as fingers—but you hope to encourage feelings of safety.
You chatter softly at him. It's nothing he can understand, yet a part of you wonders if it'll soothe him. You both feel a bit of each other, yet the fabric prevents direct contact. Through it, you feel something rectangular. He's twiddling with it.
There's no speaking for a while, not until the lady comes back. Somehow, Remy knows exactly what to get for the girls. You're still unsure, so you point to a photo on the menu. The woman walks away again, and you feel a thumb brush against your own.
"A float, hm? Y'got good taste,"
"Mmm."
You aren't able to provide much commentary, but Remy speaks to you anyway.
You find it bizarre, but so is he.
He keeps speaking—and you've heard Logan say that Remy could talk for hours, that you either love hearing him talk or hate it. You've never felt anything of the latter. Even if Remy's charms had worked on you, you doubt it'd be this effective. You like hearing him talk because he's also good at listening; good at decoding, too.
You always know when he has something to say; usually, you can feel it. Right now, you feel how soft his fingers are when they rub against your own. You usually see those same fingers wrapped around a thin white stick.
"She from a troubled home, sometimes…She get scared."
"Mmhm…" You murmur.
It takes you a while to realize he's speaking of Becca. Suddenly, everything makes a lot more sense. You understand it, even. You never thought you'd be able to take up this much space, either. You croon again, and your eyes wander back over to the restroom. For the first time, something in your expression changes, and you feel something akin to concern. Wonder.
Remy must see it too, because he's soft with you. "They be back soon, cheré, can promise you that." You theorize that's something he'll make sure of.
With a nod, you draw your hand away from his. You're quite fond of his warmth; it's something you find yourself pining for it as soon as it's gone. It comes in the form of this gnawing pain; it feels like something is eating away at your stomach.
You're hungry.
"Mmm?" You call for his attention again. This time, you point at one of the main courses on the menu.
"Anythin' you need 'ta know."
⟢
. . .
At some point in time, Becca and Jubilee return. Somehow, the girls order before either of you do.