Wrote up a little SU fic! Spoiler: Where The Vermin Play She’d just had a nasty fight with Pearl, and in her anger, she warped to the place that was all hers. Because for all its emptiness, for all the awfulness that had occurred there, there was something Amethyst found comforting about the Kindergarten. It was home to her. Even if she’d spent the past four thousand years (give or take) living in the temple with the other Crystal Gems, with a room of her own and everything, the Kindergarten was special. The walk to her hole was brief--it was close to the warp pad, for better or for worse. She curled up inside it, breathing in the scent of dirt and dust and finding nothing but comfort in it. The hole was a bit big for her, in her current form. She’d discovered several hundred years ago that people gave more leeway to young children, and had spent those years in the form of a young girl. She’d experimented with other forms in the past, of course--animals, mostly, but also a brief stint as what humans would consider a man--but this one...for now, at least, it felt right. It felt safe, just as the Kindergarten felt safe, even if it made her hole feel more like a cave than anything else. Amethyst looked over the walls to the cave. In her youth, insofar as a Gem could be considered to have one, she’d spend hours drawing on them with mud, scratching into the yielding dirt with sharp sticks. A few of those doodles still remained; a few self-portraits, but mostly drawings of the local fauna. The birds that flew overhead, the snakes that slithered across the ground, the rats and moles that would burrow into her space. Vermin, Pearl would call them--a disdainful term. But Amethyst never viewed them as intruders. To her, they were friends. Companions. Things--beings--that she could talk to. (She didn’t know how to talk very well before Rose and the others took her in, but what little she knew was more than enough back then.) She leaned back against the wall, frowning. Why did Pearl have to yell and fuss at her about everything? So what if there was mud all over her pants, or dirt beneath her fingernails, or food spilled down her front? Why did any of that matter? Maybe Pearl thought she was vermin too. Maybe Garnet and even Rose felt the same way. Maybe she really was a parasite. Amethyst hated that thought, and yet she couldn’t shake it. Not here. Not where all the bad things happened. Tears sprung to her eyes, and she stood up and walked back to the warp pad, hesitating slightly before stepping on it and warping back to the temple. She couldn’t stay there, not with those terrible thoughts lingering in her mind. “Amethyst, you’ve been gone for hours!” Rose exclaimed as Amethyst appeared back in the temple. The larger Gem hugged her tightly. “We were all so worried…” “I just...I wanted to be alone. Didn’t wanna talk to anyone.” She couldn’t stop the tears. “You guys think I’m bad. I’m a mistake.” Rose shushed her. “You’re not a mistake, dear. And you’re very, very good. I know you need to be alone sometimes...just tell me next time, okay? I was scared you’d been hurt.” Amethyst hugged Rose back, and Rose smiled. Even though she was getting dirt all over her dress, she smiled. “If you want,” Rose said, “I’ll tell Pearl and Garnet not to bother you. I won’t bother you either. You can just go to your room and relax, okay? Does that sound nice?” Amethyst nodded. It did sound nice. She headed into her room, breathed in the smell of water and mildew and rotten food, and thought to herself that maybe, just maybe, this was where she belonged. This was her space. Here's the properly-formatted AO3 version!
Prompt: A place of your own Spoiler: Circle The room at your mother's place stops being yours when you tell her that that thing is not going to wake up, ever. She looks at you, and then back at that thing, your twin, hah, as if, you'd know, and shakes her head. "I'm not going to give up.", she says, and continues moving from that thing's side to sleep to work to back to that thing's side. You take your stuff and leave, and Qhor procures you a small attic place between the levels, which you leave via the window more often than through the door. It's hot and stuffy, and, in the beginning, almost empty. A cot, a chest shared by your clothes and your stuff, several stacks of books from school, a stove, a bathroom niche. You're a serpent, you like the heat. You keep an eye on your stipend, and get to know your neighbours. You pay attention in school and excel at spellwork. You do odd jobs for people, and get more stuff. Sometimes you get messages from people who are interested in your work, and some you have to dropkick from your front door, but that's later, when many people know your name. You worked hard for that, between school and assignments and sleep you worked, and worked. Qhor is worried, and it's unfulfilling. There's something missing, and you keep looking for it and not even know what it is, or where to find it, so you go and go in hopes that if you just see enough, you can grasp it. ... No. You know what it is, that is missing. Your twin. The twin that is and isn't, an alive dead thing. A thing that should live but is rotting, and you're rotting with it and can't heal. It's the Torch that gives you the push, and you take a knife to the thing and cut it off before more of its rot takes you. You find your attic filled with all the things that you tried to fill the void with, fabric and ornaments and magic. You tear down your drapes and strike through the symbols. There's a skip in the world, and it separates into two. The Qhori can't see it, even though Qhor's roots come from that ghostly place. The sailors can't see it even though you almost slip through at night. You walk atop the land that once was when Kiliskalea still stood, long claimed by the waves. The Spiders know, and they let you pass. The Syklyet have legends, and wards, and ghostly trees cover the mountains at night. The Beladi have places where rivers once flowed, where then came desert, and where now irrigation projects are running. They have the stories, of creatures from the ghost lands. It's the land of your father, even if you've never met him. Someone else's land. This is not what you're looking for, and you turn back to Sylkyet, and the Spiders. The Spiders know, and you slip through their webs. There is no sky above the trees, you don't think, only void. Void of one of the twin gods, Caeri, Torch of the other, Haldr. A connection, maybe. You walk the lands between, and fight, because you can't do anything else. You lead, even though you're lost. You seek, what your mother would say you yourself destroyed. You seek, what you yourself say never existed in the first place. You burn a grove into the place that can never change, and set up base, a tent and a cot. It's a start. Some of those you guided return, traversing the ghost lands themselves. Star Torrent says she's worried, and that you're always welcome among the Blades. But you need to seal the pathway from the other side so the Strife cannot enter their world again. You miss the people you fought alongside with, and they would've taken you in, but... It's a connected place, not a connecting one, if that makes sense. Your base acquires storage, and you hang up the charms out of respect for the people who made them for you. You do not hang up drapes. Since it's sunday and there wasn't a prompt last friday, here's mine! Liminal Space(s)
prompt: liminal spaces this is... pretty autobiographical lmao in the dead of morning Spoiler Erin woke in the night and fumbled for his phone. Just past four AM - that unique hour where all but the most dedicated night owls had given up the ghost, yet even the most fanatic early birds had yet to rise. He wanted to join them again in slumber, but he felt unnaturally wired for this time of night. Morning. Whichever. Groaning, his hand found his glasses and slipped them on his face, squinting in the dark. With great reluctance he got out of bed and pulled open the blinds, staring out at the pre-dawn light. A whim stole across his mind and he hesitated, before throwing caution to the wind. "What the fuck," he muttered, "why not." Erin pulled on a sports bra (internally lamenting his failure to order a binder while he was off at college) and a t-shirt before padding through the house and slipping outside, into the backyard. It was still. The sky was shrouded, a blanket of clouds laid from horizon to horizon. There was no breeze, no swaying of trees or sound of wind chimes. The very air itself seemed to hang there, unmoving. Erin lingered there, on the back porch, in this dead hour of morning. The backyard hadn't really changed. A good third of it was taken up by the trampoline, on the right side. In the middle sat the swing set, and in the far left corner stood the shed. Close to the house were a pair of trees, which during his childhood Erin had evaluated for their suitability for climbing: one was useful if you wanted to climb onto the roof, but the other was better for climbing overall. He briefly desired to climb the second of these, but felt a strange unwillingness to disturb the stillness. The backyard hadn't changed in these long months, but he had. He was unable to shake the feeling that he had diminished instead of flourished in the time he had spent away at college. Withered, grown brittle. Held still while everyone else launched into motion, paralyzed, struggling to breathe. Now he stood here, hanging in the summer between one semester and the next like the air hung in this dead morning. Caught in between night and day, stuck straddling the threshold while he watched everyone else cross it. Uncertain about everything - what he ought to do; who he ought to be; whether to confess his secrets; whether any of those things really mattered. He had the summer, this first summer when all of his high school friends had come home, hosting summer get-togethers and getting summer jobs. He had this liminal summer, and then...? The future stretched out in front of him into an unknowable night. Erin stared out into the blank sky, which grew lighter as the dawn grew closer. But the clouds gave him no answer.
Prompt: Liminal Spaces Not happy with this one, concrit welcome. Spoiler: Traveller Hey there. Whoever you are. And whenever you find this. Do you even understand what I'm saying? ... Urgh. Scratch that. The name's Lycoris, Lycoris Tempestatis, born in Byzanz in the year 1796 of the Golgothan Calendar. When I last knew a definite date, it was the year 1821 of the same. I have no clue what year it's now. Can't even count the seasons here. Middle Europe was supposed to have four of those. ... I'm not in Europe any more, I don't think. Right next to it, in a way, and at the same time as far away as I can be, in space and time and reality. If you have found this, congratulations, you are in the same place. You're not going to be able to return. Where I grew up, we called it the Echo Beneath the Sprawling Sands and the Waves. Here, it's the Night Forest. It's the same, really. Spirits, lost souls, adventurers, a place that is and is not. A place the spirits say once was, and who am I to disagree? I wasn't alive back then. They were. It's strongest out at sea, the hammada wards it off. For all there's little growth there, it's ultimately safer. ... I came to Europe to see what their rites and legends were. The stories of the Echo and the Night Forest have parallels. It... it doesn't really matter any more. The Cities of Light were unhelpful, so I ventured deeper. I wandered the Romanian Carpates. I trekked through the Scottish Highlands, and don't think the calluna growing there anchors you in the world. It doesn't. I returned from Eire. You know. Fae Hill Island. Where the inhabitants of the real world are as much spirit as they're human. I was not prepared for the German Nachtwald. Absolutely and utterly not prepared. Say what you want about this place, but, the people who live here, in these hinterlands? They know how to deal with this place. Send the spirits right back, or kill them and make them into charms. And there's a lot of spirits here. Every pond has one. Some are even nice, might be the only reason I'm still around. Got drinking water, know which plants and beasts I can eat. Hunt I can, everyone could where I'm from. But I can't return. Can't go on, either. I can see the other places, the places outside the in-between, sometimes. When it's dark over there, at night, or when it's raining. Caves are natural places of passing, I think, but... Yeah. Not going to risk getting stuck where I can't find out again. One of those is enough, really. There's more places beyond out there. I see one now, all snow, from my feet to the horizon. Been seeing that one a lot, lately, must be because two of its inhabitants are regulars here. ... They're as much creatures of this place as they're creatures of the other place, where they came from. That's why they can pass over, I think. No, not going to actually ask. Aurora is fucking nuts, and the less said about Gobano the better. ... You know where this is going, right? If you thought that the line about not being able to go on, because I don't know what's out there, if you thought that line was bullshit, you're right. Because I need out of here. Too many trees. I can't see the sky above my head because the leaves cover everything. That's the thing about this place. You have to stop thinking in your normal dimensions. To get here, you need to go sideways, through the skip, along the B axis. And if your standard routes of travel are along X and Y, and strung along the A axis in a line... Then the only other way is up. Maybe I will see more than snow.
prompt: a space of one's own i wrote about aliens again lmao. inspired by this prompt from tumblr: "Four roommates are extraterrestrials who have taken human form in the hopes of learning about Earth’s culture. Unfortunately, each alien is from a different planet and believes the other three are normal humans." do not bare your teeth Spoiler Falcon stared into the reflective surface, carefully drawing human 'eyebrows' on the appropriate part of her face. As she did so, she repeated her mantras. Do not bare your teeth at your roommates. Do not show your aural cavities. Do not close your inner eyelids when anyone is looking. It was bad enough that her human roommates were all so tall. Most adult humans were, at least compared to Falcon. Damn it, her height was perfectly average for a Raoin soldier-type! But here on Earth she was short enough that some would mistake her for a human child. There was nothing she could do about her height, but everything else she could hide. It was a stroke of luck that her warm brown skin was within the normal range of human skin colors. Her inner eyelids, which gave her eyes an inhuman blue tint, could stay open while she was around humans. Her hair could be carefully brushed to cover her aural cavities, which did not resemble human ears. She could avoid baring her teeth, which were triangular and pointed, unlike the flat teeth of humans. She could pretend her lips were black because she applied "lipstick," to which end she had acquired human "makeup." And she could draw her best approximation of eyebrows onto her forehead. The best part was that apparently some humans drew on their eyebrows as well, and had "eyebrow pencils" for this purpose. Every morning she locked herself in the apartment's sole bathroom for the dual purpose of making sure she appeared human and giving her a little time to be inhuman. A space in which she could be Raoin. She gave into an impulse and bared her teeth at the reflective surface, closed her inner eyelids, which were a translucent blue. Nice and aggressive, she thought, eyeing her reflection. Fierce. Sharp. A soldier. "Are you done in there?" called a voice from outside. It sounded like David. "Just a moment!" said Falcon, examining her reflection. Good enough. She shoved her eyebrow pencil into her bag of makeup and shoved the bag into a cabinet. Then she took a moment to reinforce her new reality, staring into her reflection's eyes. Your name is Falcon, she told herself. You are not Raoin. You are not a soldier. Just a short human. Do not show your teeth. Do not show your aural cavities. She took a moment to repeat her mantras before unlocking the door. At the last possible moment, she remembered to open her inner eyelids; then she swung open the door. Sure enough, there was David, waiting patiently. She was the second-tallest of Falcon's three roommates, with pale skin, brown hair, and brown eyes. She wore some sort of rectangular objects in front of her eyes - perhaps they were small, transparent computer screens? Falcon was mystified, but knew better than to ask outright. She couldn't reveal herself as blatantly ignorant of human customs. "I just needed to clean my glasses," David said as she entered the bathroom. "Glasses" was one of the many words that Falcon's translation implant simply had no translation for, along with "makeup," "eyebrow," and "lipstick." She had figured out the translations for the latter two - respectively, the facial feature of hair above the eyes, and a decorative pigment applied to one's lips - but the former two eluded her. She hoped that David might unwittingly show her what she meant by "glasses," but David closed the door behind her. Maybe another time. since we haven't had a prompt in a while, here's mine! Keeping secrets - or confessing them. alternatively, if that tumblr prompt about alien roommates inspires you, feel free to write your own interpretation of that. i know i'm writing more for that universe haha
Bumping this because I totally need to write a Thing for your prompt, @garden, but also because I had a prompt idea of my own: Visiting hours. Make of this what you will.
Aaaaaaaaand I filled @garden's prompt. (i accidentally the humanstuck megidos w/ side solara oops) Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy and abortion, the latter as a major theme. Spoiler: Lips Sealed “Look, Aradia, you cannot tell anyone about this, okay?” Aradia nodded at her older sister, barely registering what Damara was saying--she’d heard it over and over again over the past few days. But it was okay. She didn’t intend to tell anyone. Damara had gone through enough without her classmates knowing she had gotten pregnant. As they walked to the clinic--miraculously free of protestors, for once--Aradia couldn’t help but feel a pang of fear, of concern that something could go wrong. Not the abortion process; she wasn’t worried about that, not in this day and age. No, she was worried someone might find out. That she might slip up and tell someone, or that people would find out some other way. She looked up at Damara, and found her expression unreadable. Blank, almost. Aradia couldn’t imagine what she was going through. For God’s sake, her big sister had just turned 18, and she’d already been forced into making a decision like this. And for Damara, it very much was a decision, one she agonized over for days after learning she was pregnant. Aradia had been supportive, but she had to admit...placing herself in Damara’s shoes was nigh-impossible, and she couldn’t puzzle out what option she’d take if she’d found herself in that situation. (She really, really hoped she’d never find herself in that situation.) She spent most of the appointment in the waiting room, busying herself with a book and a bit of overdue algebra homework until her phone buzzed. A text from Sollux, just asking her if she wanted to come over later. It would’ve been nice. Really, Aradia would’ve rather been nearly anywhere else, and her boyfriend’s house was always a fine option. (And he could probably help her out with that one damn problem in the homework that she was wracking her brain trying to solve.) But she couldn’t exactly leave. “im busy, sorry!” she texted back. He didn’t ask what she was busy with, and she was grateful for that. She liked that about Sollux--he didn’t generally pry. Realistically, Aradia supposed she could tell Sollux what was going on. He wasn’t likely to blab about it. But even if Aradia hadn’t promised to keep completely mum, Sollux’s brother was in Damara’s grade, and if he overheard...well, while Mituna wasn’t very high on the social ladder, word could definitely get out by way of him blurting something out. He didn’t exactly have much of a filter. If Sollux did ask, she’d just tell him she had a doctor’s appointment. She supposed that wasn’t completely wrong, at least. Damara came out into the waiting room, looking...well, surprisingly okay, all things considered. A bit puffy-eyed, but Aradia had seen her far worse. Damara glanced over to Aradia’s phone. “You didn’t tell anyone?” “Not a soul.” She held the phone up to show her, flipping through her recent texts to prove it. Damara gave her a watery smile. “Thanks. C’mon, kid, we’ve gotta get going.” Aradia stuffed her belongings back into her backpack and hoisted it over her shoulder. “Yeah. Wanna stop for ice cream first?” “...That’d be nice.”
I did a thing. Spoiler I woke up groggily. Drool was running down my check and had crusted quite attractively on one side, matting my thick beard down. I could feel the prints on my arm from the lined surface of the chair. My mouth felt dry and nasty. My eyes drooped. The nurse stood above me. Her white gown contrasted sharply with her brilliant red hair, as brilliant as my Winifred’s had been 30 years ago. What was now an aged and sparkling white had once been the colour of a bonfire on the sun and this young lady reached out to brush aside a strand of her hair with a practiced motion before reaching out again. “Hello sir? I need you to wake up sir, it’s time to leave.” I don’t know why she kept bothering me. I was clearly awake and alert. Silly girl. I took only a couple of tries to get to my feet and stepped forward to the edge of the bed that dominated the room. And there she lay, my beautiful Winifred, still with the smile creases on her lips and my ring on her finger. I reached out to take one of her resting hands and cradled it for a brief moment. Just like the last 3 weeks, it was time to leave. Time to go home to our empty apartment, full of knickknacks gathered over a lifetime of living. I didn’t mind having to go home every night and Winifred told me that she wanted me to be rested. We had a trip coming up in a couple of weeks anyway. I felt a hand at my back and turned around. Im sorry to say, to snap at the young lady. I knew it was her job but I wanted to at least wake up my darling before I left for the night. Something, though. Something. Winifred stood behind me. In her old thick knee length skirt, frilly petticoat, with the small flag pinned to her lapel that had been there so many years ago that night in the bar. Without even looking down I knew her shoes would be the same as before, thick soled no-nonsense kickers. My Winnie. I didn’t need to say a word, I knew why she was there and there was no need to turn around. Somehow I knew this would be the time for my final goodbye. Something, though. Something. I reached out to hug my Winifred goodbye for one last time and over her shoulder I saw the nurse from before. Still with her brilliant red hair, only outshone by my angels, her paper white cap perched atop of her, her delicate hands still shaking my lapels frantically as she was joined by her comrades. Oh. Oh so this was it then. Winifred and I turned. With our experience there was no need for words. One last time, I opened the door for her.
I miss this thread, so I'm going to cast Phoenix Down on it! Prompt: You all meet in a tavern. But what are you doing there?
@Aondeug I looked forward to seeing someone back in the thread participating, and instead I got that. It stings. It's not cool, not funny, and not appreciated. Please keep it out, or at least participate. That goes for you too, @seed.
Spoiler: Prompt: You all meet in a tavern. But what are you doing there? Ruja is scrubbing tables a they're cleared. The tavern is filling up with people looking for dinner, and if she doesn't hurry, they'll complain about mug stains. Kinvara help, she can't be everywhere at once, even if that would help with keeping a roof over her and her kid's heads, maybe even patched so well it doesn't even leak a little, and food on the table. It's still warm, still summer, and their clothing will keep a while before it needs more mending, more layers to keep warm. She should've never moved to the trading town, yet here she is. At least the scrubbing is keeping her attention off the two weirdos in the corner. Tuli sits in a corner, back to the wall, nursing her fourth drink, which she has set on fire. A long time ago she had sampled a drink consumed with a piece of burning sugar, but she has to make do. Her plan had been to continue travelling south, but their funds had been running low. Runner had dug something up on the notice board, with little questions asked, and a good payout if everything goes well. She doesn't like it. Too many ifs. But it's why both of them are here. Back corner of the tavern under the inn, seventh bell, while everyone is eating and no one pays attention. They need to keep moving. If they keep moving, maybe they can continue evading the monster that has been chasing them. The bigger the city to hide their trail and scent in the better. Runner cares less about the funds than about the nagging feeling telling her to keep moving, and she's balancing her chair on two legs, periodically pivoting to the next pair. She can live off the land and camp outdoors, and so can Tuli. Sylkyet is only harsh on agriculture, but less on meadows and critters, but Tuli is right. Once they hit Beladur, all bets are off, and then she'll be glad for every resource they had put away. It's the waiting that's horrible. Could the idiot who put up the notice please show up already? Anvernoy would love to hurry past the notice board without looking, but what if there's someone who needs something he can provide? All priests can supply some form of healing, but the Magari are uniquely qualified through their understanding of the flesh and flora. And sometimes someone just needs help with their garden. It's not like he's looking for adventures. He's not. He's been very responsible about this. Hasn't been out adventuring all spring and winter. He can't go running after every secret bandit hoard or ancient treasure that crops up, even if the call for hands is astonishingly unbiased, explicitly asks for someone with medical knowledge, promises equal share of whatever loot comes of it, and he'd even make it to the meeting place if he turns around now and heads to the tavern... When Inveyak arrives at the place they'd specified, there's three people at the table. The two... whatever they are, they look uncannily similar, and Inveyak isn't quite sure whether that's because they're twins or because they've never seen that people before, how are they not sticking out -- look straight out of a circus. There's smoke and periodical licks of flame coming from the cup the sour-faced one is drinking from, and the other one is balancing on their chair as if it was nothing. What perfect way to start a new ballad, with two mysterious strangers! The third one is a Beladi, and, from the way their clothes are cut and dyed, a Magari ...bard? Cleric, cleric was the word. Perfect, someone who knows their medicine. They do seem to shrink into the seat a little, a tad strange for one of those. There's nothing restrained about Magara. Inveyak is fairly glad that the sour-faced one's withering glare cannot, in fact, set them on fire, even if just because the acrobat's look is downright icy. They feel right at home in the eternal frost of Mernota. The cleric dares look tentatively hopeful. Inveyak grins broadly, and only barely manages not to suppress a "Dude, your drink is on fire." Ruja is empathically not eavesdropping. She knows Anvernoy, he moved here early last winter with the valleyside snow. Bad time for a newcomer, good enough time for a Magari. The other three, however, are new. There's a... Saleak, big guy, leathery, greyish-dark and wrinkly, furless skin. No horns, broad and flat snout. She sees these Saleak come through every few years. They travel and tell stories. Something to do with their religion. The other two, she can't tell. They're strange, narrow, not boneless but rather too many joints. Curled up like vines. Somewhere between Saleak and Beladi, she thinks, no fur even on the head like the Saleak, but closer to the Beladi's smoothness. They're talking about a series of caverns up Loterena's Horn. Excitement, riches, fame. She knows the type, and she knows the stories. There's ancient roads here, smooth, flat stones set into the soil, and tales about ancient treasure of a people long gone hidden away in the caverns. None ever returned from in there. Most didn't even manage to get there. The weirdo rocking on her chair insists she can get about everywhere without falling, and the weirdo who set perfectly fine beer on fire demonstrates some interesting control over it, having it float in shapes. The Saleak will pack a punch. Anvernoy, she knows, hasn't set foot much beyond the surrounding farmsteads, and keeps to the city. They're all doomed. Ruja interecepts their next round of alcohol. "You're missing something important", she says. "Someone who actually knows the area." eta: @IvyLB pointed out I slipped into 2nd person in places. Corrected.
