#i had some weird fun writing this

[hier--soir]

congrats on 4k jessie! that’s so huge!

🫀number 50 on the prompt list for joel?

- @honeyedmiller 🖤

"I know, I know, I'm stuck with you. I wouldn't have it any other way."

warnings/tags: recent death of joel's f!partner [no explanation for how], brief mention of the funeral, grief and loss, hallucinations [auditory, sensory], non explicit smut - joel fucks a grave [saltburn you will always be famous], descriptions of blood but it isn’t real, dark subject matter but not dark joel, grave desecration, dead dove do not eat [if you don't wanna read it, don't].

word count: 600

A mellow breeze winds through the tall grass.

The small crowd has long since dispersed. Weathered faces painted with streaks of salt, mouths downturned as they murmured her name and dared not to speak of what had led to this day. He’s thankful to be alone now, with her.

The air is rich and humid here. Good weather for the garden to thrive in, she’d always said, toothy grin on show just for him.

With his knees planted in the earth, thick fingers caressing the ground where they’d once liked to walk together, Joel agrees that this is the perfect place for her. A little mound carved out in the middle of the acreage, in a spot so deep that only he will ever be able to find it once the grass begins to grow through her.

He would know the way to her in his sleep. Hours spent in the field behind the house, bodies twisting between yellow and green, wrinkled faces splitting into smiles upon getting lost again. The memories spill across his back and send his face crumpling against the dirt, throat tightening with low cries as his fingers fumble with his belt.

Just a man, alone with the woman he loves. And the soil feels forgiving beneath him. Soft enough that when he looks closely, he starts to feel sure that, in time, he could count each and every little grain of soil that holds her. That he could press his lips to each one and thank it for keeping her safe when he couldn’t.

And when he presses inside, her name a choked prayer on his lips, from the earth comes deep red. It seeps up through granules of fresh, soft dirt and greets him so kindly. To feel her warmth soothes his palms, his chest, the base of his stomach. A reminder of the way she would spill for him, bountiful and loving in the arms of his embrace.

This is close but not as close as he needs, yet he surmises that this will do; this can be enough.

It’s thick and viscous as it pours from the soil and lines the soft rolls of Joel’s flesh. Spins his skin maroon and makes him moan, eyes pitching black as heat curls in the base of his spine. Her earth clings to his skin, tacky and wet from his eyes and her overflow of red.

The long grass tickles his ankles, creeping beneath the legs of his jeans like whispers of fingers trailing along his skin.

If he keeps his eyes closed, fingers curled tightly in the dirt, he thinks he can hear her voice past the rushing in his ears. Dulcet tones that bypass the raging pulse of his own blood and set his skin alight with goosebumps as she murmurs his name.

It’s raining now, he thinks. Soft patter of water against the back of his shirt, the bare skin of his thighs. It thickens her earth, solidifies it beneath him, around him, until he’s panting, sobbing, letting her hold him as tight as she wants.

“I love you,” Joel cries, but he smiles through the tears when he hears her call his name. Distant, as if he’s only hearing it from the other room. Perhaps not as far as he’d feared.

So he coos softly, “I know, I know.” Curls his fingers the way he always loved to and strokes softly, body slack and shaking against her earth. “I’m stuck with you. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

[robinfollies]

and we believed ourselves when we said we’d never be alone again 🌼🌈💖

[isthatacalzone]

me: *seeing people yell about how they did Glintshore & Percy's death in the show*

also me: ..................anyway

[sysig]

You're still standing off to the side. Somehow, center stage has shifted from under your feet without you realizing, and you're standing in the wings, performing to no one.

Starring Role (Patreon)

[ioniansunsets]

i loved your heartsteel!kayn scenarios! can you possibly do a scenario of fem!reader helping heartsteel!kayn dye his hair :3

✖ Heartsteel!Kayn Getting His Hair Dyed by Reader ✖

✖ Word Count: 900

✖ Tags: Established R/S

✖ A/N: He has his default skin braid here. Stay tuned for more. I MISS THIS FUCKER'S BRAID OK. Also you are his long term partner! I thought it would be cute if you have been supporting him though all his ups and downs uwu

----

" For reals, you've done this before right. Don't fuck it up I swear to god I will cry I'm dealing with enough shit right now babe." " You're the one that asked me to do this for you, have some trust in me."

You comb through his braid and neatly section if off one last time before slapping on the DIY at home bleach. After getting kicked out of his old band Kayn wanted a full makeover, so with five boxes of bleach and some whining he convinced you to help him bleach and dye his hair. You stood awkwardly behind him as you comb in the bleach. Kayn wasn't wearing a shirt, so that he wouldn't ruin any tees. So it was quite a sight, hair down, topless, you pause for a bit and stare. After some thinking you sigh, you were going to miss his blue and black hair...it was so soft too...

" Hey I heard that sigh! You know I HAVE to do this...I want to change my image, show them I'm better without them!"

Kayn pouts, you see it in the mirror and laugh. Slapping on more bleach, sectioning it out and complaining once again bout how the long hair sticks to the gloves and makes it all messy. But ok, you work hard, with a roll of aluminum foil ready you neatly bleach his long hair. As you wait for the first bleaching to set in you throw a little of the leftovers on your hair too, just enough for one strip.

" Should we match colors?"

You see Kayn visibly perk up as he hears your suggestion.

" Really? I think that will be cute. Like a cringey couple."

He smirks, leaning back to take a good look at you in the toilet mirror. He starts laughing loudly.

" Wait are you copying me or making fun of me! Why bleach that same chunk of hair as the old me!"

The two of you chat for a bit as you wait for the bleach to set in, when times up you help him wash it all off in the tub. Damn his hair was really such a dark black, it was just brown now. You comment about it needed a few more rounds of bleach. Kayn sighs this time instead, exhausted already but his rockstar image was at stake, he wanted to look cool so he had to do this. He had a goal already, an ombre fade of pink and purple, it would be so cool. Sitting back down, you blow dry his hair and start on round two.

And round three. Orange.

And four. Yellow.

And five before the yellow finally lifts enough! You were finally free from seeing that yellow, orange hue! And-

Oh no. You look at a handful of hair in your hands from where you combed through his hair.

" Kayn I am so sorry..." " No! I cannot deal with this right now please. Y/N Tell me its fine." " I'll fix it!"

You too were unsure how to react, were you going to cry or laugh. After five bleaches, his hair kinda...fried off. Ah...you were REALLY going to miss his long hair. Promising to fix it, you grab some hair scissors and did your best. With Kayn doing everything to hold himself together while you save what you can and work out a messy cut. It actually looked really good. You tell him to look up as you blow dry his hair yet again. Promising it wasn't as bad as he thought it was going to be. Kayn tentatively pulls his hands away from his face as he looks at himself in the mirror. A smile slowly creeping across his face.

" Oh shit you really did fix it? The hell Y/N! Let's dye it right now! I still want that pink purple thing going down!"

He tilts his head left and right, trying to get a better look at it, an idol worthy style. Kayn nods, happy with what you've done with it. Quickly you work the colors onto his hair and yours. Laughing together as he admires himself in the mirror. Half an hour passes and you wash his hair and dry it off for the last time. Kayn himself also helping to wash the and dry your hair. You smile as the two of you admire your reflections.

" Is it me or are we looking super hot?"

He snakes and arm around your waist, pulling you close. Giving your cheek a quick kiss.

" I actually like this a lot I'm glad it worked out. Thank you Y/N."

Kayn gives you a warm smile as he runs his hands through his hair, giving it a little shake as it falls gracefully along his jawline. He turns his attention back to the mirror before he shouts.

" Oh shit yeah! Let me snap a photo!"

Kayn leaves the room for a bit, grabbing his phone and a nice shirt to snap a photo in. He returns, hand draped around your shoulder as he takes a mirror selfie with you both. The largest smile plastered on his face as he sits down and edits it to use as his new wallpaper. You would mourn his pretty braid but...he was still your charming boyfriend you could live with the new style. The short hair was starting to grow on your after all.

[triglycercule]

yall who cast reverse animal themes on my horror and dust,,, why we got BUNNY horror and PUPPY dust

ok but on a real note i was DYING drawing this. i cant believe its my first time drawing the 1 of the trio in a maid dress!!!! id like to thank underfella and calvateyla for inspiring me; i wouldn't have graduated from shit art college without you guys ❤️💜 (inspo) (SOMEONE GET THIS DOG OUT OF HERE DUST HAS A FUCKING CHAINED COLLAR???? 💀💀💀)

i didn't know what to do for the background either so i just added funny photos. HERE. yes its a coincidence the memes are both horror and dust themed i totally didn't plan that

[necrotic-nephilim]

I’m gonna be honest I didn’t realize the new 52 messed with Kon that much till I read your post and now I can’t get over the potential. I’m a Tim/Kon girly at heart so I would devour anything you write exploring the 52 vs typical Kon. Also Time being in a clone sandwich is 👌.

the new-52 messed Kon up SO bad it's ridiculous. like, to the point i would personally argue he's a completely unrelated character to pre-Flashpoint/Rebirth Kon. his personality, his suit, his origin, all different. the only real similarities are the name and powerset. and even New-52!Kon's powers are slightly different from pre-Flashpoint!Kon. New-52!Kon is a clone of a future version of Jon Lane Kent, cloned by N.O.W.H.E.R.E. to provide genetic material to Jon Lane Kent, whose body was not handling being half human/half Kryptonian well, it was a whole thing. New-52!Kon is also where we get the infamous "Kon-El means 'abomination of the house of El' and Kara basically named him a slur in Kryptonian culture" tidbit, because that is the only time that's canon. (originally Kon-El was a name gifted by Clark to accept Kon as his family way back in the 90s) he also never went by Conner Kent. New-52!Kon just straight up didn't have any real human identity or connections, outside of being very close to Tim and some Titans.

the very TLDR of Kon's history is: during post-Crisis/pre-Flashpoint, a clone called Superboy is created by CADMUS. at first, he's considered to be a clone of a dude named Paul Westfield and is not Kryptonian whatsoever, he was simply made to look like Superman and only has Tactile Telekinesis as a power. then, it was made canon that actually he was a clone of Lex Luthor and Clark Kent, but Lex hid this fact and slowly, Kon developed more Kryptonian powers. he's given the name Kon-El by Clark, and is taken in by the Kents, getting the name Conner Kent. then Flashpoint happens, we get the New-52, and we're given the above version of Kon-El, who is a clone of Jon Lane Kent, created by N.O.W.H.E.R.E. who has mostly very strong telekinesis powers and some Kryptonian powers. he's with the Titans for a bit, then at the end of the New-52, he kills some aliens and feels bad about it so he decides to fuck off and is never seen again, it's presumed he's dead but never confirmed. then Rebirth happens and DC makes Jon Kent the current Superboy, we get Supersons and all that, and it's assumed that no version of Kon-El exists. just at all. he's not around whatsoever, Jon is our only Superboy. *but* in 2019, we get a new Young Justice run and the pre-Flashpoint Kon-El is back, and we're given the explanation of: Kon got accidentally teleported to this alternate realm called Gemworld and then Flashpoint happened, and since that was a Crisis Event that changed the timeline, the poor lad got *erased* from the timeline, causing most people to *not fucking remember him* and for him to remember a timeline that no longer exists. some of the Young Justice team vaguely remember him, Ma and Pa Kent remember him, but notably, Clark *does not remember him*. it's not an issue of "Clark ignored Kon in favor of Jon" it's an issue of "Kon was erased from the timeline and didn't exist for years bc he was stuck in Gemworld and Clark just doesn't remember Kon or Kon's timeline" which to me, is far more tragic but i digress. since then, Kon has been back and is present in most significant Superfamily runs, with his own recent mini-series, Superboy: Man of Tomorrow. (which was very good btw)

so basically: the New-52 fucked Kon up so bad they wrote him out of comics for years and then brought back the pre-Flashpoint version, but never *explicitly* killed the New-52 version off. so hypothetically, it's possible that there are currently two characters existing in the DC universe named Kon-El who have been Superboy. and like i said above, one of New-52!Kon's only real significant relationships was with Tim, it was the only thing the New-52 managed to get right about Superboy, his closeness to Tim. they have a *lot* of moments that read incredibly queer. and ofc, it's just outright confirmed in Dark Crisis: Young Justice that Tim had a crush on pre-Flashpoint!Kon at some point. so while comics are intent on pretending New-52!Kon doesn't exist, i am intent on putting Tim in a clone sandwich.

because i do think it's fun to play with Tim having genuine feelings and potentially a relationship with both of them. and the fucked up nature of him not fully *remembering* his relationship with pre-Flashpoint!Kon (which is a canon thing, in YJ(2019) Tim has vague memories of Kon he's struggling to piece together and understand why he cares about this guy he doesn't recognize so much) and how frustrating that is for Tim. he knows he loves Kon, but it's all foggy besides that. and so it's even *more* fucked up if Tim dated New-52!Kon before he got emo and ran off into the unknown. obviously in canon no one has told current Kon about New-52!Kon bc comics are doing the good ol' tried and true of "sweep that shit under the rug" but for fanfic, i think it's fun to ask the question of: would anyone *tell* Kon? especially Tim? who now remembers dating both versions of them? would he admit to Kon that briefly, he had another Kon? how would Tim cope with that and move on? personality wise, they could not be more different. they dress and act and look different. they're not the same person, but there's certainly a questionable factor of Tim's dating history including two Kon-Els.

the idea i've had for a while is Tim slowly starting to date pre-Flashpoint!Kon again. it feels familiar and like home. and Tim has grieved and accepted that wherever New-52!Kon is, he doesn't want to come home, he didn't love TIm enough to stay and try. so Tim takes the Kon he has, and genuinely has a happy relationship. like for once, life is good and things almost make sense for Tim. but then, of course, New-52!Kon comes back. he decides he wants to try again and he finds Tim. only to find well. he's been replaced. and technically, he's been replaced with the *original* that he didn't even know *existed*. and if being a clone is bad enough, that just makes it a hundred times worse. because imagine knowing you're actually the second Kon-El your boyfriend who you never *technically* broke up with fell in love with. that's gotta give you some kind of complex.

so i think it's fun if both Kons try to step back and let the other Kon date Tim. both of them have reasons to feel like the "replacement" or "fake" Kon, and it makes them incredibly awkward with each other. do they count as the same person? bc they definitely don't *feel* like the same person to each other, but with weird timeline stuff, who can really say. them settling on an awkward throuple that's really meant to be Tim just dating them both but somehow they end up dating each other too is so fun for me. they both feel like imposters to the Superboy name but are so deeply in love with Tim Drake, it's the one thing truly connecting them. and then of course, Tim feels bad in that somehow, he's betraying both of them for having feelings for the other. but they make it work, with a lot of awkward angst and miscommunication. i just think it'd be fun. very difficult to write to get all the weird timeline nuances down in a way that's understandable in a fanfic (bc you can't just. infodump like i did on this post) but doable. also difficult to tag, because even though i argue these are two different characters, i'm pretty sure Ao3 groups them under the same character tag. so it'd be difficult to convey it's not *really* as selfcest-y as it would imply. comics, man. DC will never acknowledge New-52!Kon again, and he's admittedly a terrible adaptation of Kon-El, but. i think he was sort of neat in his own right and i'd *love* for DC to just inexplicably bring him back and make the current Kon deal with the consequences of all that. and them make Tim kiss them both. obviously.

[marlynnofmany]

Small-Scale Comedy

A lot of the time when our little courier ship makes deliveries to alien planets, the captain will send someone of the customer’s species for the hand-off. It puts them at ease to see a familiar face and all that. Usually. Other times, the customer is of a notoriously egotistical species, likely to feel affronted if the delivery person has a shinier exoskeleton than they do.

Guess which today was.

“Good greetings,” Mur said, looking up at the insectlike bundle of limbs that loomed over him. Our customer for today was colored in white and the palest pinks, edging into more vivid red at the ends of her legs, and the blades of her pincher arms. She looked like a murderous flower.

And while we had two perfectly eligible Mesmers back on the ship, one of whom I’d accompanied on similar deliveries before, Captain Sunlight had decided to send in two of the squishiest crewmates instead.

Mur lifted the package with half of his tentacles, using the rest to hold himself up at a respectable height. I stood behind him with the payment tablet. I tried to stand very still.

Instead of grabbing the box or offering to pay, the customer called imperiously for someone to come open it for her. We were indoors, in what I’d thought was an empty room aside from all the tables molded from the same brown clay as the walls, and the copious amounts of junk on them. (Buildings here were made of the classiest mud I’d seen in a while, with burnished tabletops and patterned walls. But the mess of scientific equipment and photography supplies was much less classy.)

One of the locals scurried out from one of the many holes in the wall that I’d honestly thought were decoration, but now that I thought about it, there had been a balcony at about that height outside. No need for elaborate doorways when you’re shaped like a centipede.

Yeah, our customer was a large bug person spending time among smaller bug people. This was a comparison that was probably only amusing to me, so I kept it to myself. I’m getting good at that.

The centiperson — no idea what they’re actually called — scuttled over and took the box from Mur. This looked like a risky operation to me, and I had my hands out to catch it just in case the leg-sized whatever toppled over backward, but everything went fine. Their many top legs clung to the box while that long body curled into an S, and their bottom legs skittered over to set the box on a table. Then the centiperson manipulated the combination lock with some very skilled little leggies, and opened the box.

The Mesmer swooped in to pull out a sheet of what looked like tiny stickers, muttering and inspecting it for flaws. When I was starting to wonder if Mur or I should remind her that she still needed to pay for the delivery, she handed it off to the centiperson, whose many legs handled it with more dexterity than her little wrist fingers could. Mesmer pincher arms are excellent at doing damage, but not great for detail work.

“Right, yes, money,” she said, turning back toward us. “Put those on the three in the test chamber!” That part was for her assistant, who was already climbing up onto a table full of terarriums and lightboxes. “Tell me they’re doing better!”

I held out the payment tablet. She grabbed it with a pincher and typed in her information, making me glad for the thick rubber casing on the edges. We could have used a metal case for it, but Zhee had demonstrated how easy those were to dent by crushing one with his own pinchers. It had turned out like a work of art.

“They are healthy,” reported the small voice of the centiperson. “I have applied the cameras.”

“And?” demanded the Mesmer, striding over without giving the tablet back. “Show me!” She peered down into a white-sided box that currently had a lot of lights aimed at it.

Before I could ask, something happened in the box to make the Mesmer exclaim in frustration and lift the tablet skyward. Mur made a noise, worried just like I was that she was about to smash it.

But instead she just stalked back over and thrust it into my hands. “Here. Either of you know much about animals?”

I, with my veterinarian training, had to answer, “Yes.” Mur was pointing at me with multiple tentacles.

“Good. Tell me what is wrong with these animals.”

I found myself ushered over none too gently, while the centiperson moved aside and the Mesmer spoke at length about the videography work she had come here to do.

“The final thing I need is a point-of-view recording from one of these, and I have acquired the absolute smallest of camera tabs, and I am starting to worry that the local population is diseased.”

“Why?” I asked uneasily. The white box held three tiny whatevers, each smaller than my last finger joint, as brown as the walls. They had froglike hopping legs, though none seemed interested in going anywhere. Their faces were pointed like bird beaks, and an itty-bitty camera tab sat on each head like a tiny hat.

“Their jumping is impaired,” the Mesmer said from above me. I made a mental note not to turn around quickly. “And I know that it’s not the cameras throwing them off; those have the molecular weight of smoke. I’m more concerned that something is wrong with all of the creatures here. None of the ones we’ve caught can land on their feet.”

To demonstrate, she stuck a pincher blade into the box, which made the three not-frogs scatter.

Wow, she’s not kidding, I thought as they landed on everything but their feet. They scrambled upright quickly enough, but that was some spectacular tiny pratfalls.

From right next to me, Mur asked, “Is there a disease that causes that?” He’d climbed onto the table himself, and was watching with interest.

“It’s possible,” I said. The centiperson was observing in silence, and I asked, “Are they always like this?”

“Yes.” The answer came quickly, in a flat voice that suggested this conversation had happened before.

The Mesmer waved a pincher arm, folded this time. “The entire population may be suffering from something, either a creeping illness or a low-level poison.”

“It could be,” I said slowly, watching the centiperson turn their head toward the ceiling in what looked an awful lot like exasperation. “Or these animals could be built like a small animal on my planet, with a similar problem.”

I had all their attention now.

“What problem?” demanded the Mesmer.

“Their inner ear is too small to work properly,” I said, gesturing toward the side of my own head. “The part that senses which direction gravity is pulling. It has fluid that needs to slosh around, but the channel isn’t big enough to do it.”

There was silence for a heartbeat, then Mur said “Wow,” and the Mesmer said, “WHAT?”

The centiperson just said, “That makes sense.”

“An entire species can be like that??” exclaimed the Mesmer, stepping back to where she could gesture without hitting anything.

“We did tell you,” said the centiperson.

“I thought it was toxins!”

The centiperson looked at me. “The common name for them is ‘headhoppers.’”

“I thought they had a habit of jumping onto people’s heads!”

Not replying to that, the centiperson produced a little hand net from the far side of the table, and deftly scooped up the tiny not-frogs. They really were about the size of Pumpkin Toadlets, just not bright orange, or fully frog-shaped. Once these had their tiny camera-hats removed, they tumbled willingly into a terrarium full of plants.

“Well,” Mur said, “That’s interesting.” He hopped to the floor with a splat.

The Mesmer was complaining to the world at large that fate was cruel and she’d never get the recording she wanted.

I looked to the local. “Are there any similar animals that are a little bigger?”

“YES.”

“Did you already tell her that?”

“Also yes.”

The Mesmer whined, “They’re nocturnal.”

“Flashlights exist.”

I stepped away from the table, careful to bring the tablet with me. “I’m pretty sure you can come up with a workaround. You should listen to your local expert here; sounds like there’s a wealth of information ready and waiting.”

The centiperson spread many legs and looked skyward, which looked grateful to me. The Mesmer grumbled but didn’t say no.

Already halfway out the door, Mur said, “Good luck with everything!”

I echoed the sentiment and followed him with a wave. The centiperson waved back: a rolling motion along one side that looked especially jaunty. The Mesmer’s arm motion was more of an “Ah, whatever,” but I’d take it.

“So tell me more,” Mur said as we walked back to the ship. “The tiny animals on your planet land on their faces every time? How are they still alive?”

“Well, they’re too small to really get hurt by it,” I said with a shrug. “And I’ve heard it said that any predator is probably laughing too hard to eat them.”

“Yup, that’s definitely it. Your planet sounds hilarious. I’d love to visit someday.”

“You should!” I said. “It’s a great place. Though you know what other animal jumps like that? Fleas.”

“What’s fleas?”

“Oh, let me tell you about fleas.”

~~~

The ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book. More to come! And I am currently drafting a sequel!

[sunsetsandsunshine]

~ 𝙲𝚊𝚗 𝙸 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚢 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝…? ~

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝚃𝙸𝙲𝙺𝙻𝙴𝚃𝙾𝙱𝙴𝚁 𝙳𝙰𝚈 𝟷𝟷: 𝙽𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃𝙼𝙰𝚁𝙴˚*• ̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*＊·̩̩̥͙

𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎: 𝙷𝚞𝚛𝚝/𝙲𝚘𝚖𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚝 (𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑, 𝙸 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚎 💗)

𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜: 𝟷,𝟽𝟿𝟻

𝙻𝚎𝚎: 𝙼𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚢 🐢🧡

𝙻𝚎𝚛: 𝙳𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚎 🐢💜

𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: 𝙼𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚎. 𝙸𝚝’𝚜 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚢….𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚜𝚔 𝚖𝚎 *𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚗𝚞𝚍𝚐𝚎 𝚗𝚞𝚍𝚐𝚎*

(𝙰/𝙽: 𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚢: 𝙳𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚐𝚞𝚢! 𝚃*𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙺𝚒𝚗𝚔/𝙽𝚂𝙵𝚆 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚜 𝙳𝙽𝙸!!!)

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝙲𝚞𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚗𝚢𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚋𝚒𝚊.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝙹𝚄𝚂𝚃 𝙲𝙰𝙼𝙴 𝙱𝙰𝙲𝙺 𝙵𝚁𝙾𝙼 𝙰 𝙿𝙰𝚁𝚃𝚈 𝙸𝚃 𝚆𝙰𝚂 𝚂𝙾 𝙵𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙺𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙻𝙸𝚃 𝙾𝙼𝙶‼️‼️‼️˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

Dreams were one thing. 

Mikey loved dreams. 

He adored dreams in fact. 

It was…his escape from reality; sort of like drawing in a sense. Except, when he dreamt…he didn’t have to do a single thing.

He could do anything he wanted…whenever he wanted without having to get the 'a-okay' from anyone.

And plus, the best part about dreams was that if there was an ice cream cat barfing up sprinkles…Mikey wouldn’t question it oneeeeee bit. 

That was the magical part about dreams. 

But…there were always two sides to a coin.

…Nightmares…were the opposite of dreams…

…And they were a whole other thing.

They could turn your most happiest memories and moments into horrid and scary ones.

It could turn the most greenest of valleys into nothing but dry ash, blowing away in the wind and fluttering and intoxicating the air. 

Or…perhaps…maybe nightmares were just…lonely. 

Perhaps…it was just lonely to be alone, watching you sit in your room as you break into cold sweat, the darkness weighing you down like a ton of bricks. 

And maybe the nightmares wanted you to be there with it…so it wouldn’t have to be alone…

'I could be lonely with you' as Beach Bunny would say…

But back to the initial topic, Michelangelo always hated having nightmares.

But what he hated more was not even remembering what said nightmares was about. 

It was terrifying for sure— I mean— he woke up from it so it must’ve been really…bad…right?

The box turtle sighed loudly, running a tired and shaky hand down his face.

…He should probably get some water while he’s awake; his mouth was as dry as the Sahara desert.

Or, better yet, Mikey could go find his brothers.

Well…one of them. Or at least see if anyone was awake.

The light scarlet eyed mutant hopped down from his bed, hugging himself with one of his blankets as he made his way towards the hallway, the darkness almost consuming him in the process. 

Even as a little kid, the box turtle was never fond of the dark. 

…You could never see beyond it. 

It was cold and…just, well, dark in general if that makes sense. 

Michelangelo never understood the appeal some people had to it.

The only time he did welcome darkness, though, was when there was light occumpining it. 

Like the moon. 

Or the stars. 

Or even car lights! 

It was Mikey’s small reminder that no matter where he was, there was always some glow or gleam with him…

So relitavley speaking, he should head to where the nearest light was…which was his immiediate older brother’s room. 

The smallest turtle opened Leo’s car door ever so slightly, peeking inside to see a very sound sleeping slider. 

The youngest buried down his disappointment as he quietly closed the door, going back into the darkness once more.

Leo barely got any sleep as is…

…And besides…the chance of accidentally waking him up was waaaay too high. 

It was fine, anyway. Mikey could try going to Raph’s! 

Michelangelo dragged his orange blanket with him, putting it around his shoulders as he tip-toed to Raphael’s room…surely he was awake, right? 

“Raph…?” The youngest called out quietly, looking into his older brother’s room. The smallest mutant wasn’t greeted with a small grunt of acknowlgemnt nor a kind Raph greeting.

What the light scarlet eyed teen was greeted with, though, was a loud, ear pierecing snore from the snapping turtle. 

Mikey snickered softly at his brother’s loud noises, going into the room and giving him his favorite Squishmello that was on the floor.

The alligator snapping turtle smiled in his sleep, squishing the plushie to his chest and his tail wagged slightly. The smaller turtle giggled at the action, walking out and closing the car door.

Alright…so the odd’s on Donnie being up…were…rather…slim but it was fine! 

Quite very much fine.

If the softshell was asleep, the light scarlet eyed mutant would just hed back to his room…alone; in complete darkness. 

…But it would be fine…!

Probably.

The box turtle quickly and quietly shimmied to his purple loving brother’s room buuut not before tripping over his own feet and stumbling in front of Donnie’s train car door.

And Mikey was supposed to be a ninja…pfft, yeah right. 

The youngest turtle got up on his feet, brushing off his knees and shoulders as he grabbed his blanket from the floor. 

Maybe if he just stood perfectly still until the crack of dawn…Donnie wouldn’t wake up…!

Besides, it’s not like the softshell heard him or anything.

“I can hear you trying to be quiet over there, Mikes.” The second oldest deadpanned, turning around of his bed so him and his little brother shared eye contact.

Well shit…

The youngest’s stomach twisted and turned with guilt, rubbing the back of his neck as he leaned on the doorway nervously, “Oh! H-Hey, Dee…sorry…did I wake you up…?” Michelangelo asked guiltily. 

“Eh, kinda. But it’s alright.” Donatello yawned, rubbing his eyes as he sat up on his bed, reaching for his desk as he put on his glasses. 

“…Are you going to come into my very humble abode or are you just going to continue to stand there?” The taller turtle asked, squinting into the darkness where the youngest was almost being consumed by.

Mikey shook his head ever so slightly, closing the door and hopping into Donnie’s bed with his blanket. The elder hugged the smaller turtle tight, rubbing his shell gently as Michelangelo melted into the embrace. 

The box turtle buried his face in his older brother’s chest as the other rested his chin at the top of the smallest turtle’s head, “Mhmmmm…your warm as fuck…”

Donnie bit back a loud laugh, instead, smiling faintly as he rolled his eyes fondly. 

Typical Mikey…

The second oldest wrapped his younger brother tighter in the hug, “Your literally using me as a blanket right now. I’m not your own personal heater, y'know.” 

“Ehhhh…you kinda are to be honest.” The other snickered. 

“Oh? You're just using me for my body heat, huh? And here I thought you loved me for me…” Donatello sniffled theatrically, wiping away a fake tear for dramatic effect.

“I do! But I also love you for your body heat.” The younger turtle giggled snarkily. 

Donnie scoffed, shaking his head slightly as he smiled; he couldn’t help but chuckle faintly.

"You're such a dunderhead, y'know that?” The older said as he scribbled at the youngest’s sides, grinning as Mikey almost immediatley squealed with laughter. 

“Here I am, pouring my heart out to you, being all sentimental and caring...and all you care about is my toasty body heat.” Donatello fake seethed, scribbling where the younger’s plastron met his shell. 

Michelangelo screeched loudly at his brothers squiggly and wriggly fingers, hugging his middles before turning around so his shell faced the young scientist. 

The light scarlet eyed turtle squealed, kicking his legs from under the bed sheets as his brother continued to tickle him, “N-NohoHAH! D-Deehee cahahome ohon dohon’t doohoo thihihis!” He squeaked, pulling on Donatello’s arms. 

“And where do you think you’re going, little brother?” The taller turtle asked, wrapping one arm around Mikey’s chest so his arms were at his sides. “You’re not going anywhere~!” Donnie grinned before scribbling his free hand all long the younger’s stomach. 

“OHO FAHAAAHACK! DEEHEE NOHO STAHAP!! THAHAT’S SOHO SOHO BAHAHAD!!!” Michelangelo screeched whilst laughing loudly and hysterically, kicking his legs so much that the blankets soared high in the air and fell on the floor. 

'And she was a fairy' ahh moment…

“I’m going to tickle you foreveeeeer! Eeheevihil lahahaugh!” The purple hoodie wearing mutant announced as he nibbled the crook of his baby brother’s neck.

Donnie laughed along with the other, his mind flashing back to times when they were very little…

…When they would lay together in the dark with fairy lights hung around the ceiling, infodumping about shows and movies as he would hold his younger brother close to him to keep him warm…

…It was just like when they were little kids.

Well, almost like when they were little kids. 

In their early childhood years there was definetly less hyena cackling…that was for sure.

“GAHAHAD DAHA— squeal NOOOHOHOHO!” The younger mutant squealed, shaking his head as a faint blush spread to his cheeks.

“Yeeeeeeees~!” Donatello playfully cooed, “And stop your loud Tom-foolery! You’re going to wake up the entire lair!”

“THEHEN STAH— squeal!! GOHOD— squeak SCREHEHEW YAHA— YOHOU! STOHOHAP TIHICKLING squeak MEEHEEHEE!” Mikey yelled through his laughs. 

“But you looooove it~!” The other smugly countered. 

“DEEEEEHEEHEE! PLAHAHEASE! YOHOUR GOHOHONNA KILL MEEHEE!!”

“Kill yohou?” The elder mutant asked in awe, pausing the tickling for a split second before mercilessly prodding where the other’s ribs would be.

The reaction was almost immediate as Michelangelo let out a loud, genuine scream before descending into hysterical fits of laughter. 

Mikey thrashed and squealed helplessly, throwing his head back on his older brother’s shoulder. “DOHOHAHA— squeak DOHOHAHANNIE!!”

“You are conversing with Donatello; yes?” 

“PLAHAHAHEASE!”

“Please what~? Pleeeeease keep tickling you~? Pleeeeease tickle tickle your oh-so ticklish ribs~?” 

“N-NAHAH! THAHAT IHIS NOHOT WHAHA— squeal IHI DIDN’T MEEEHEAN THAHAAAT!”

The softshell chuckled lowly, holding his baby brother’s wrists above his head as he lightly nibbled his ribs. 

The box turtle squeezed his eyes shut, throwing his head back once more as he could do nothing but happily laugh. 

“D'awww~! Are Mikey’s wittle wibs tickwish~?” Donnie teased, using his free hand to flutter along the orange cladded turtle’s neck.

“AAAAAHAHAHAH— SQUEAK!! NONONOHOHO! DEEHEE DEEHEE NOHO— SQUEAK SQUEAK— NAHAHA— SQUEAL— NOHO MOHOHORE!!!”

“No more~? Are you sure~?”

“YEHAHAHAH! YEHEHES YEHE— SQUEAL YEHEHES!!” 

Donnie gave his brother one last poke at the rib before stopping and hugging him from behind, resuming the gentle shell rubs. “I guess I really am nothing more than your own personal heater, hm? Just a walking furnace at your command…”

The box turtle mutant groaned loudly, flicking the taller turtle’s forehead slightly, “Deeeehee yohou knohow damn wehell thahahat’s nohot true.” Mikey pouted, snuggling in the embarce. 

"Yeah, yeah…I know, I know. You supposedly love me for more than just my body heat.”Donatello said as he let out a huff of laughter and rolled his eyes. 

The elder wrapped his arms tighter around his brother, resting his chin on the orange cladded teen’s head once more. 

The smaller turtle giggled at the action before yawning, snuggling into the other’s plastron, “Lohove yohou, dorkwad…”

“Pfft— dorkwad? Is that the best you can do? Really?” The softshell snickered. 

“Is ahass faced Atomic Lahass fuhucker good enohough fohor you?” The box turtle asked snarkily. 

“I’ll stick with dorkwad, thanks.” The older giggled. 

“That’s whahat I thohought.” Mikey grinned as he yawned, resting on his face on his brother’s chest, “Lohove you, Dee.”

“I love you too, Angelo.” 

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝙵𝙸𝙽˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙ 

(𝙿.𝚂.: 𝙸𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚌, 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐!!!)

[fellamarsh]

another thing i've been trying to do recently is read more self-published stuff. "but fell," you say, "you're a self-published author. surely you've been reading self-published stuff all along" and then i laugh for so long in response we both become uncomfortable.

see, the fear (which has for a long time been killing my mind) that i'll read other self-published stuff and find out that it's so much better than mine that i might as well stop writing forever kept me from doing that basically ever. i have a hard time not unfavorably comparing my work to others and had convinced myself i was being smart by withholding an avenue of de-motivation (reader: i was not being smart). it also doesn't help that i'm pretty low income and have a hard time spending money on books i haven't already read, and that self-published stuff isn't always available at the library---but really a lot of it was just me being a coward. which i'm working on. i could talk about how this particular cowardice is Very Silly, but i think enough has been said about it on writeblr and in the Writing Space in general that i don't feel the need to (though i will if anyone wants me to).

instead, i wanna talk about the self-published things i have read in the past few months and ask about the self-published things you love!

so: what happened was i got real sick, and while i was real sick i (naturally) read over 200,000 words of ace attorney fan fiction in the span of a few days. eventually i got bored of it (and also maybe annoyed at how people were characterizing some of my guys), but i still wanted to read something gay and romantic and nice, something i knew was gonna end happily, which isn't my typical fare.

now you may be saying (having gotten over all the uncomfortable laughter from earlier) "fell, you write gay romance. what do you mean that's not your typical fare?" listen. until a couple months ago i hadn't read a cut and dry romance novel since before i finished college. for context: i graduated in 2015. i know it doesn't make sense. i'm a guy who doesn't make sense.

but in this case it worked to my advantage. not the not making sense thing, but the not having read Published Romance in 1000 years thing. I didn't know where to start. I was very skeptical of everything the library had Available Now in the Gay Fantasy Romance category. what if it was all bad and also not good?

and then i scrolled past the familiar cover of our very own @ashen-crest's A Rival Most Vial.

now this was comfortable territory! this was a novel by a very nice writeblr person whose posts i enjoy! i already loosely knew the plot, i was familiar with the characters, i knew the names of things like rosemond street and the griffin's claw and that ambrose had blue hair and that at the end of it all there would definitely be Boyfriends. i didn't have to worry that this would be bad! i only had to worry that it would be really good!

but i wasn't worried about that, because i was officially Not Writing at the time, and because why the hell hadn't i read this book yet Ash literally emailed me some very kind words last year when my cat died??

Y'all, I devoured ARMV. If you haven't read it yet---especially if cozy fantasy is more your thing than it is mine---you should check it out Immediately. It was fun! It was heartwarming! It was sweet and earnest and confident! I was delighted to find it was occasionally hot! Ambrose and Eli snuggled up into my sick exhausted heart and found a permanent little place there. (Especially Ambrose. I have such a thing for Stiff Guys who Kind of Suck for Tragic Backstory Reasons and are So So Lonely They Don't Even Realize It. gawd)

(And a very small part of my brain spent the whole time wondering why I had been so afraid to really engage with the work my community is doing. The community that I'm in. The one I'm a part of. Why?! Maybe more on that later.)

But from there the curse was broken! I immediately devoured @stjohnstarling's What Manner of Man in a similar sort of frenzy (and hooooly shit guys am I excited for the expanded, finalized version to come out at the end of next month!) and started digging into @lurinatftbn's The Flower that Bloomed Nowhere (which I can already tell is going to be an All Time Favorite).

And now I want to ask you what your favorite self-published books are so that I can read them, too, but I think I will in another post that doesn't dedicate so much space to talking about my various and sundry Issues and isn't Terminally Long

[sforzesco]

‘Is there a point to any of this or do you just want to see how much more I can take?’ snaps Crassus. ‘Oh, I knew there was still some bite left in you,’ says Cethegus, thrilled. Cethegus teaches Crassus the art of politics and the ways of business. Sulla is not a fan.

Sulla: the Last Republican, Arthur Keaveney

Crassus, Catilina, and the Vestal Virgins, Ronald Syme

Sulla: the Last Republican, Arthur Keaveney

[spotaus]

Thinking about Orchid and her connection to my take on Gender (because this was meant to be about her and the Crew but it just devolved into a character analysis kinda??? More trauma-dumping maybe???) This is very much an oc/personal rant so feel free to ignore it 🫡

So, Orchid started off as a character I didn't really think much of (hear me out this is going to be relevant) because I wanted to add a 'girl' character but didn't know what to *do* with her, y'know? She was always going to be the strongest one there, she had the odds stacked in her favor with her parents. She was always going to be the gloomy side-character to match Reset's energy. But I think she's gone through every stage of Generic Woman I could possibly find.

At first she was angry and abrasive (think Fell!Sans) where every other word was a curse and she was likely to throw the first punch then laugh as she kicks her enemy while they're down. This was when Reset was a cartoonishly self-centered villain whose goal was simply to prove others wrong. Then Orchid became a sort of sisterly figure. This was short-lived, but she was the one comforting people who Reset would torment, but would ultimately follow his orders, because at this point he was actually a danger and sadistic. And then there was the phase where the story mellowed out and she became the token Goth Girl who, yes she was strong, but was heavy on the 'whatever' energy. Then there was her Era of deep self-loathing and anxiety about her worth that held her back and made her a much more timid and meek character who would only lash out on occasion.

Now, Orchid is the best of those iterations I've written yet. She's calm, level-headed, and a natural leader. Her father raised those traits into her. But she's very reactive, and can be silly, and when she's comfortable it's likely that air of importance transforms into something more comfortable and familiar. She laughs loudly and grins wide, she likes loud video-games but loves to read in the quiet. She's extremely disciplined, and normally no one can get through her tough exterior besides her best friend, Reset. She does what she does for her own enjoyment, sure, but she's thought of every angle and makes her choice to help Reset and control the others with her whole chest. She still worries she won't live up to her invisible expectations, and that and her loyalty are her two driving forces.

I know that Orchid is important to me because she's the longest-running female oc I've had. I have a rough relationship with womanhood/girlhood and I know looking back that Orchid recieved every ounce of my distaste for being a woman that I could shovel into her. That never made her less of a character, she was actually always one of my favorites, and rarely was she a 'punching bag oc'. I just... projected onto her a lot. And she's a good sign of how I've learned who I am. I've decided that my own femininity is something I could live without. I'd rather not associate myself with it, and I'd like to leave it in my past, focusing on a future where I'm not tied down with any gender roles or expectations. That won't happen, but I've come to terms with it myself. Orchid though? I figured out through her that I don't have to hate women characters. My own distaste for my circumstances doesn't mean I have to push it onto my characters (on God I've never expressed anything rude to actual people, that'd be rude as hell and uncalled for, but I have a bad habit of disliking fictional women in media). So, Orchid is a well-roubded character finally. She has motivations abd goals and a *lot* more depth than I ever expected her to. She's happy with being a woman, she's content. She's not treated differently for it in unfair ways by those she cares about, so she doesn't mind it. She likes to wear pretty outfits and lets Reset add bows to her ribbons. She doesn't let being a woman hold her back in the slightest.

So, yeah. Orchid is one of my babies. If I ever leave this Fandom behind for good, she's one that's coming with (Ichor, Orchid, and Pretender all have human designs I can use elsewhere lol-) but in the meantime I'll just rotate her around in my brain for a while longer.

If I'm right, she's been with me for nearly 5-6 years and I went through a *lot* with her as an outlet. So, she's kinda just like an old stuffed animal. A lil ripped, matted fur, maybe a stain or two, but there's a story there and that makes it important beyond belief.

[facetsofthecloset]

i'm sure it's been said but i feel like both Raxtus and Ronodin can be argued as "the only gay kid in the family and consequently shunned/rejected" and it's like. so weird bc Mull is so Mormon he'd probably rather eat his shorts than even acknowledge the possible existence of gays but

i mean. Raxtus literally has a fairy form. he's a fairy dragon.

Ronodin was just emo lol

and they both get so thoroughly rejected and sidelined by their families their whole lives and it turns Raxtus into an awkward but basically decent guy who runs back to the approval of his family once he's performed masculinity/violence enough to be accepted, only to then realize that he's basically just being used and still not fully trusted/accepted and having to betray them to save his real friends

(who sadly are probably actually homophobic but that's ok bc they're not dragon-phobic so that works out for him)

while Ronodin's like "fuck it. chaos and murder then!" and can you really blame him? he spent his entire life trying to conform to the "right" (in this case, Light) way of life, started spending time with the outgroup and learned to question things, then was told he was "too corrupt" to remain in his home

like. the symbolism is right there.

it's so funny, because sure Raxtus isn't a bad guy, but Ronodin definitely is and he pretty much gets sent to a type of hell at the end of Dragonwatch

and while Raxtus gets kind of a happy ending, like, him becoming an effective killer in a war and being accepted by his dad for being Good At Murder in the first Fablehaven series is presented as a happy ending. if Celebrant didn't wind up being the main villain for Dragonwatch, that probably would've been the end of it! gay kid learns how to soldier and is finally accepted by his homophobic family bc he's finally aggressive enough for them to love him

(i mean i have MANY issues with Celebrant being the main villain later and the reasons he's framed as bad but like. that's a separate rant lol)

the queer reading is right there. but also it's very bad and you can tell completely unintentional. or at the very least highly repressed. idk man i don't look into Mull as a personal individual bc i doubt i'll like what i see and i don't care that much but Dragonwatch was SO MUCH MORE MORMON than Fablehaven already was and it's so weird, seeing the fingerprints of it all over.

i feel like he either has a new editor or he's been doing this for long enough and sold enough books that he has the clout to veto changes made by editors or SOMETHING, bc i feel like? he's gotten worse?? and more unfiltered?? that or something happened and he's like. even more religious than before or something idk

like fablehaven was just kinda generic/bland fantasy with some fun ideas for magic items/powers/one sentence character premises, with just a hint of sus Mormon ideology, and then Dragonwatch just went. Full Mormon.

but then there's somehow even more weirdly queer shit. like. he's repressing so hard he's approaching queer from the other side??

idk man i wish this deeply mediocre man's writing wasn't a formative piece of middle school reading, leading to me still giving more of a shit than i really should over questionable children's literature now

[venom-ass-daily]

From Venom: The Last Dance (2024)

[beechaotic]

So, I don’t talk about my stories on here much. Maybe about different characters in passing, but nothing too in-depth. However, I wanted to share a story I wrote outlining how one of the main characters for my Sci-Fi story met her best friend (an alien) for a contest. I wanted to share it here to see if you guys like it, because I’m kind of proud of it.

Title: The Monster Who Saved Her

Word Count: 1,684 words

She was young, when she was taken.

She hardly remembers anything about Earth. Sure, she remembers bits and pieces of her language, her culture, things she learned; but she only remembers little things.

She doesn’t remember what different flowers were called, but she remembered that her favorite ones were multicolored (and likely genetically modified) with layering petals that curved around the center. She can’t remember any concrete or important words, but she does know how to say “Are you here to help me?” (because she said it too much on those ships; too many times she’d beg for help from anyone who would listen. They never helped). She also remembers the word “A-May”. She doesn’t remember her mother’s face, but she knows that her mother always sang to her when she had a nightmare. She had a beautiful voice. She doesn’t remember any common names from her homeworld, but she does remember that there was a girl she considered her best friend who was named “Estée”, which she said meant “Star”. She also remembered thinking it was fitting for the girl, as she had shown brightly and was always happy to shine light her on someone’s dark day. But she didn’t remember anything important about her life, her culture, her language.

She still remembers the night she was taken to the first ship.

She had been in her room, listening to her parents argue (she remembers that they did that often; that her father usually came home smelling gross and being clumsy, and that her mother would be mad every time). She couldn’t sleep because of the shouts and the banging of fists hitting counters. She curled up closer to her beloved toy, a little stuffed cat that her father had given her once when he wasn’t stumbling and his mood was light. She had named it Sarr-u, a suggestion from her mother. She remembered her parents joking that this was her first child, and that they would give all their money to the toy when they were gone.

She remembered hearing something break, and how footsteps echoed in the apartment. She remembered hearing her father shout in surprise, before hearing what she now knows as the shot of a High-Powered Plasma Shooter. Then, she heard her mother scream. She hid her head under the thin blanket. She stayed huddled there while she heard voices speak in an unfamiliar tongue. A tongue that she now speaks, that she knows better than her Homeworld’s.

She remembers hearing them slam her bedroom door open with such ferocity that she shuddered and tried to meld with Sarr-u. They ripped off her blanket, and she saw the horrors that had killed her parents.

She doesn’t remember what Humans look like, just vague features and skin tones; but she remembers knowing that these were not Humans. She remembers thinking that they were monsters, come to eat her soul and feed her bones to whatever monstrosities they called pets. She remembers screaming and clinging to Sarr-u as they picked her up roughly, how she squirmed and writhed in a vain attempt to get free. The monsters didn’t even react to her struggles beyond grumbling in their language. She remembers them taking her outside, where they were rounding up other children she knew from the apartment building. She remembers playing with them, their parents taking turns on who would watch the children each day. She remembers how they would all laugh and just be free.

Some of the children were crying, some were also fighting, but most were frozen in terror. She could tell now which ones had been with their parents when the “monsters” had barged in, which ones had watched the fatal blow. Those were the children that looked empty, like they weren’t even alive anymore. Like they were floating out of their body, far away from what was happening, where everything was safe.

The “monster” shoved them into cells with clear doors. She remembers trying to touch the barrier, only to get a jolt of pain through her hand. She remembers how she had pulled it away only to find charred flesh where limb had met with barrier. She remembers sitting in the corner of her cell and crying in fear. She remembers screaming for her “A-May” over and over again.

They were in those cells for what felt like decades, though it probably was no more than a year. The older kids would try to reassure the others by saying that they would make sure nothing bad would happen, that they would all get back home soon. She remembers believing them. That this would all end with a heroic soldier coming in and opening their cell doors, killing all of the “monsters” in their wake. The monsters always came back, usually bringing strange food with them. The food tasted like nothing and was always dry. It was also never enough to fully satiate them. And the water that they got was always warm, and they could only drink small mouthfuls at a time to save it. They never knew when they would next be fed.

Then, the monsters came back, not with food, but with cages. They began opening cells and loading children into the cages, even as the older ones screamed at them and the little ones cried in fear. Some of the older children even tried ramming themselves into the invisible barrier, and she watched as their skin and clothes got charred like her palm had been.

When they got to her, she didn’t fight back. She tried to hide away, to make herself too small to be seen. But it didn’t work, because they grabbed her anyway and shoved her into a tight cage without remorse.

When everyone was loaded into their cages, the monsters began to walk them out of the ship. They were put into a dark area where they couldn’t see. Some of the children cried, while others whispered reassurances. One even began to sing, soon joined by the other children held captive there. She remembers the song they sung vividly, how the childlike voices made it more haunting with the fear etched in every word.

“What do we do when we’re half-starved and mad?

We fight till we’re dead,

Fight ‘till we’re dead

What do we do when our enemies hound us?

We fight ‘till we’re dead,

Fight ‘till we’re dead

What do we do when the mob surrounds us?

We fight ‘till we’re dead,

Fight ‘till we’re dead!”

Now, whenever she hears someone singing a tune vaguely similar, she gets a jolt of peace. It was the only moment of true safety she would feel for a long time. Yes, she was in a cage and shrouded by darkness, but she also had people with her that she considered to be her friends. Estée was there, too. She kept trying to make everyone laugh, just like she used to.

She wondered sometimes where Estée was, and if she was safe. Was she still on one of the ships? Was Estée being tortured, like she had been? She could only hope that she was on one of the ships that actually care about Humans.

One by one, the cages were grabbed and taken into another room. As they were taken, the younger children would scream and wail, and the older children would try and shout platitudes. Eventually, she was taken into the room.

The room was a stage, with thousands of monsters staring at it from the stands. Her cage was roughly placed on the ground, and the monster at the podium she had glimpsed began talking. Monsters began shouting and raising their appendages. And with a chill, she realized that this was an auction. She was being sold.

She had heard of Humans doing this to other Humans in the past, but she never expected it to happen to her. She curled in on herself, desperate to disappear.

She was dragged onto a new ship, to a new cell. She was tortured and experimented on day in and day out. Eventually, they got bored of her, and sold her to another ship. This happened over and over again, until she became numb to the process.

Then, one day, after a long session of pain, she heard blaring alarms go off on the ship. Pounding resounded through the halls, along with the inhuman language she had grown accustomed to. Shots rang out from their weird guns, and she heard bodies hit the floor as shrieks filled the air. Soon, a new monster appeared at her cell door.

He was tall and very heavy-set. Not with hulking muscles, but with a broad body that years of hard labor would give you. But that wasn’t what caught her attention; no, it was that he looked like a pig.

Even then, her memories of Earth had begun to fade. But she remembers distinctly thinking “Wow, it’s like a pig on two feet”. He looked at her for a moment, before clicking some buttons on the keypad. The door opened, and he stepped inside. Weakly, she growled (a sound she had heard the monsters make to scare her), but he didn’t move away. Instead, he just held up his-hands? Hooves?-in a placating way. In a way that was so achingly Human, she couldn’t help but pause for a moment. He stepped closer, and she began to growl weakly again, curling around Sarr-u for comfort.

He kept his hands slightly raised as he approached, always in her view. He kept his movements slow and predictable, so as to not startle her. Slowly, he knelt down in front of her. Her growls petered out as she took in the kindness his eyes held. He made a strange cough-like noise, probably to try and calm her. Surprisingly, it worked.

He took her to his ship and showed her a room she could stay in. He taught her Galactic Common. And when the time came, he asked for her name.

She looked at him, her protector, her savior.

“My name is Burma, thank you for saving me.”

There you go, the story of a future Spaceship Captain, Burma! She actually has a stutter, but I imagine that that happens due to a head injury after she meets this guy.

Also, I have no idea what to name her alien friend. You guys have any suggestions? I would rather have non-European names, because in the Lore of this world, the aliens used to occasionally come to Earth and teach/talk to Humans. His species settled in like, the Caribbean. Don’t ask me what island, I haven’t thought that far ahead. However, I think it would be somewhere like Cuba, the Dominican Republic, or Haiti. So they picked up pieces of each other’s cultures.

Also, yes, Burma’s family is from Burma. However, she isn’t. She was born in America, since her family immigrated there before she was born. That’s why she said some things in Burmese, rather than in English. Like Sarr-u. It’s the Latin Alphabet version of the Burmese word for “First Born”. (Y’know how I put in the jokes her parents made? That was why).

Side note, I wanted to imply that her father was an alcoholic without directly saying it. I hope that came across in the text.

Anyway, yeah, that’s the origin story for my Ship Captain Burma! She learns Galactic Common AND her friend’s native language, which is comprised of grunts and chuffs.

Tell me what you think!!

Ps: I made up the song they sing, and I imagine it to a similar tune as “What should we do with a drunken sailor?” Because the contest wouldn’t let me use preexisting songs and I still wanted to show them singing.

PPS: None of the characters are white!! I didn’t decide the races/ethnicities for most of them, except for Burma and her best friend from Earth, Esteé. Esteé is Haitian and is very much not white. I imagine her having a VERY dark complexion. Not like those influencers social media pushes on you, darker than that. Like, Oh-Fuck-I-Can’t-Find-Makeup-In-The-Right-Shade-That’s-In-My-Budget kind of dark. Why did I come up with all this information about her AND MORE? Because I have no life. 🙃

[coquelicoq]

i'm now looking at my list of least favorite french words to pronounce and going "too many r's" for about 40% of them and "skill issue" for most of the rest. some of these are actually very fun to pronounce i just couldn't wrap my tongue around them a year or so ago, but now i can i guess??? so that's very exciting. makes me hope that someday i'll be able to pronounce the rest of them. this is a bit pie in the sky because i really don't see myself ever getting there with procureur du roi but you never know. and luckily the french abolished the monarchy so it's not like i'll ever have to use that phrase in modern conversation.

anyway here are the words i actually love pronouncing now: décaféiné diététicien filleul pneumonie

i now feel normal/neutral about these words that used to be hard for me: automne, condamner douloureux électricité, énergie inférieur, supérieur, etc. itinéraire lourdeur salmonellose sclérose subodorer succincte

words that are definitely within the realm of my current capability but i haven't practiced them enough: bugle hiérarchisation méditerranéen phtisie

words that are still the bane of my existence but i live in hope: [yʁ] plus at least one other r or [y] sound: chirurgie, fourrure, marbrure, moirure, nourriture, ordures, peinturlurer, procureur du roi, prurit, purpurin, sculpture, serrurerie, structure, sulfureux, tournure all words beginning with ur-, hur-, or sur- other difficult sequence of r's and vowels: construire and other -truire verbs; lueur and sueur; utérus too many r's: marbre, martre, meurtre, opprobre, proroger, réfrigérateur, rétrograde, rorqual difficult sequence of vowels and/or semivowels: coopérant, extraordinaire, hémorroïdal, kyrie eleison, météorologique, micro-ordinateur, micro-organisme, mouillure, quatuor, vanillier not pronounced the way i would expect from the spelling: indemne, penta-, punk just hard for some reason: humour