in the back of my mind

welcome to hawtcocoa's writing blog! i decided to create a seperate blog for everything writing related just to keep things organized :3

currently, i'm working the sequel to my rottmnt future AU fanfiction titled sanctuary, which you can read on my ao3.

most of what I post here will be sanctuary related or aptly titled under (or tagged) #sanctuaryverse, as sanctuary is part of a series.

anything involving leo and mayfly (my female oc) will be titled under (or tagged) #leofly.

I might also post writing snippets or thoughts unrelated to sanctuaryverse, which will be tagged under #cocoa ramblings.

i'll answer questions about my characters and post snippets as well as updates for my current fics!

some of the snippets i post here will be featured in future fics, so don't be surprised if you get deja vu while reading my stories ao3.

don't forget to read my carrd byf!!

Language of the Utrom (Aagron)

In the sequel to "sanctuary", (my rottmnt future!au fic, go read on ao3) I created a language for the Utrom (aka Kraang), who play a major role in the story. I thought I'd share how it works.

Utrom = non-infected Kraang. The Utrom are the species, the Kraang is what they become AFTER the virus that infects them.

Aagron is the official language of the Utrom. The language itself is mainly dead, only survived by the Councilors in the Hidden City who recorded it in the Archives during their time as scribes. Renet and Usagi were also taught the language; Usagi is more fluent than Renet. Some general grammar rules:

“I don’t want to go without you, dude,” the box turtle urged, reaching for his hands. 

“I can’t follow you into the sky, master,” the rabbit told him. His eyes were glassy with moisture he fought to suppress, the fur just below his lower eyelids already pressed down, wet white mulch. “You must understand this.”

“I know,” Mikey answered. “I only want you there when I do.”

the world is far too frigid to acts of empathy

hate is selfless, to love is to lose

if nothing at all made sense, it never will

the humble child, capable of feeling

the only thing left of joy and mirth

has been trod upon by larger men

face sullied by dirt

if I must return to my mother’s womb

to even feel again, love again,

if it means that I must weep in my crib to find joy in another’s arms

then I too, shall be trampled

Mouse was a nickname slapped on by her schoolmates. She never cared for labels. Much.

One particularly hot day, Mouse is sketching a flower she saw on a nature hike the previous afternoon. Everyone else is swimming; not Mouse, who hates getting her already thin hair wet. But something catches her eye near the deep end with the lily pads. A girl with long legs, skin as dark as the sacred night, in an orange and white hibiscus bikini that looks expensive. The beads at the sides of her hips that hold up the bikini string clatter when she exists the water, searching for her towel. Long rows of black braids decorate her crown, and Mouse leans over to get a closer look—

And falls out of the tree.

Everybody laughs of course, because it’s 1987 and there’s nothing funnier than a nerdy girl falling out of a tree. But pretty girl runs over. “Are you okay?” she asks. Mouse answers that she’s fine. Water from her still wet body drip around her. The girl then introduces herself as Celine. She immediately shows interest in how Mouse got up in the tree.

“Oh, I just…climbed it.”

“Wow. I wish I was good at climbing trees.”

Mouse pushes her hair from her face. “…Maybe I could teach you.”

Celine smiles, Mouse studies the two tone color of her lips, like desert sienna and midnight sky. “Cool. Then it’s a date. Tomorrow at 2?”

Mouse nods, and Celine walks away.

Ofc the two get closer after that; the willow tree becomes their refuge. Mouse learns a lot of things abt Celine after that: she’s also 17, her birthday is in August, one month before Mouse’s. Her parents are doctors. She reads gossip magazines. She really likes Ella Fitzgerald and Toni Braxton’s music. And…

“I’ve got a huge crush on Whitney Houston. She’s so pretty.”

Of course, Mouse doesn’t know what this means. A celebrity idol? A strong admiration? Or…

Either way, if Mouse is gonna have to look like Whitney to maybe have a fighting chance, she’s screwed.

Mouse’s unrequited feeling continue to develop. One night, Celine and her sneak out to the willow tree again. They sit in a branch together, watching the stars. Celine begins to sing a tune, and it’s beautiful. When she finishes, Mouse tells her so.

“Thanks,” Celine replies. The Vaseline on her lips makes them glow in the moonlight. “So are you.”

It takes a minute before it registers in Mouse’s head, but not a moment sooner because then Celine kisses Mouse’s cheek, and everything (for moment) is right and wonderful in the world.

And then Mouse wakes up. Shoot.

She’s in her cabin bed, sweaty and gross. Celine sleeps in the one beside hers, perfect.

Had it been a dream?

Later in the mess hall, Celine gives Mouse a knowing look. Guess not.

What would her father say? Her mother?

Mouse has to tell her the truth. How she feels.

And then Celine is gone.

“Her parents came early to pick her up,” the camp counselors explained. “There was a family emergency.” The rest wasn’t important. Mouse drifted back to the tree, alone.

There was something nestled into their spot. A note, and a charm bracelet Celine always wore. The emerald hearts glittered in the sunlight. And the note smells like Dior.

Sorry I left. Family junk, you know. It’s funny how good things always end right at the moment you’re having fun. You were one cool sugar cube, Mouse. I left you something so you wouldn’t forget about me.

Miss you. C.

And for the first time in a long time, Mouse cries.

It’s September of 1998. Mouse is attending a company mixer. She hates parties. The woman stands to the side, watching the interactions of her peers. It’s almost as dull as her office job is. Filing taxes for Axion Corp. is horribly boring, but the pay covers her apartment and cat, so it’s not too bad.

She hates the city. She misses her cat Wrinkle, she misses the mushrooms, the willow tree, white hibiscus.

Mouse has never really stopped thinking about it.

Celine’s charm bracelet is a little tighter now. She seldom leaves the house without it.

An inebriated man approaches her, asking for her number. Mouse stares at her feet. The drunk man’s friend shoos him away, before also asking for her number. Talk about unlucky.

Mouse pretends to spill the cocktail she’s been sipping on onto her shoes.

“Excuse me. I should clean this up.”

In the bathroom, Mouse locks herself in a stall again. It’s just like high school. Just like summer camp. She’s 28 now. Adults don’t cry in bathroom stalls. But Mouse does anyway, because she’s never cared much about labels—or so she’d like to believe.

She still has to face the world. Mouse leaves the stall.

And then, in the corner of her eye, leaning up to the mirror and in a tight orange dress with one slit and heels that match her earrings, it’s—

The woman looks over, like nothing ever happened between them. “Hey, sugar cube.”

Mouse’s eyes widen. “…Celine…?”

“It’s been a while.” Her gaze is fond. “I haven’t heard from you. Good to see you’re doing okay.”

Okay was an understatement. “What are you doing here?” Celine continued.

Mouse shrugged, pretending to care about her mascara and not Celine’s. “Company mixer.”

Celine winced. “Why are you here?” Mouse asked.

“I’m on a date.”

Time paused. Oh. “With who?”

“Some guy I met at a concert. He’s a real piece of work, I’ll tell you that. Keeps hitting on girls at the bar.” She fixed her lashes. “I snuck in here to get away.”

Mouse shuffled awkwardly. “Oh.” The air spoke instead. “…your makeup is pretty.”

Celine smiled. “Thanks. It’s Whitney’s look, but I added my own flair.”

“You always would,” Mouse added dreamily. The cocktail started to speak for her. “I mean, you always added your own spice to everything. Made it prettier. Better. You added spice to my life, even if it was just for a summer.”

Celine’s face went hot. Mouse couldn’t stop herself as she approached. “I haven’t stopped thinking about it, Cece. I—I can’t. I’ve got your bracelet, your note. I never thought I’d see you again and what if I don’t? What if I blow the chance to tell you—" Mouse cut herself off. Celine’s eyes were wide. Mouse shrunk. “…I’m sorry. This…that wasn’t me.”

But Celine just looked at Mouse fondly. She took her hand, the one with the bracelet. “We should get out of here,” she whispered.

Mouse went red. “Ah—"

“Second chances don’t come every day, Mouse.” Celine smirked. “And I know you wanna.”

Mouse swallowed. The volume of Celine’s afro eclipsed her senses. “W-what about your date…?”

Celine shrugged. “He won’t notice I’m gone. I’ll get us a taxi and call him in the morning.” And the morning left Celine’s lips so sweet, Mouse could kiss them.

So she did.

And suddenly, they were back in the willow tree, a backdrop of stars and planets unnamed, all theirs.

Mouse broke away first, and Celine whined in longing. “How long have you wanted to do that?” She pouted. “Be honest, sugar cube.”

“Forever,” Mouse panted. “Since forever.”

Slipping out of the restaurant, catching up with one another, watching the stars in the park away from the hustle and blare of the city, was the easier part.

Getting their hands off of each other was much, much harder.

where the flowers grow unbridled and make the air sweet

where the trees spread their roots as they please, dropping pollen with their expectations

carried away by wind to unnamed places

where the grass is not choked by the asphalt

and the sky is filled with clouds, not exhaust

or the tired sighs of man

where the soil is rich and perfect between the teeth

damp in the right places

weeds between molars, my weakest knives yet full of blood

and its light is rich and full in the sky,

as the water drips from the brow of heaven

find me with the fireflies

dance with me and the night creatures

the ones whose songs are seldom heard

let the dewdrops settle, refreshing tomorrow

to capture the light that filters through clouds

paper letter stamps of grey;

and remember this night where my lips met your skin

when you tasted like the sapphire dark

and everything I could want fit in your fingers perfectly,

kept ever near when the sun returned

"Leo was, for a brief moment, allowed to be by her side, two of the things he absolutely adored close to him where he could hold them, have them near, keep them safe. His chin anchored on her head, breathing in her scent as he memorized every rise and fall of her voice.

And Leo asked Mayfly about death. Mayfly had told Leo it didn’t hurt. He wanted to believe her, but he found it hard to.

Either way, it didn’t matter. Leo didn’t think he deserved a life without pain. But he didn’t want to think about it, not right now, not while he could still hold her, taste her skin beneath his tongue, between his teeth, hear her call out for him, even for a moment…

It ended like everything else, but she had wanted him near her. “Close,” she had breathed, hibiscus and cotton, “where you can have me.”

He wanted to, Leo wanted, so badly.

But he couldn’t let it distract him from what he knew he needed to do; he needed to make up for lost time, time he had carelessly thrown to the wind, to train Infantry for the next horde, to prepare for another potentially violent winter, to stock up supplies in case the blizzards shut them in again, the weather now so unpredictable under the rule of a Kraang-age Earth, every beast becoming more and more resistant to the frigid temperatures; he needed to heal quickly so he could work again, lead, be useful; he needed to focus because the list of things to do never ended, and Angel demanded his attention at four in the morning and Emi at three, and then there were others whose names he needed to remember because their stuff was overdue, and he needed to get it together lest he fall behind and drag the rest of the clan with him—

But when he was alone, laying in his bed at night, failing to sleep, he dreamt about the want, the want that replaced what needed to be his priority, the curve of her jaw and the softness of her hands, the earthy timbre of her voice and the scent of her hair…

Leo would dream about Casey, his…son in her hands, soft pressed to softer, somewhere safe where it was just them and things could be normal again, or better than, and they wouldn’t have to be perfect or try anymore because it would be enough, for both of them, for three of them. And Leo felt selfish for wanting it even though deep down he always had, knowing how much everyone had suffered already, how many more would suffer if he failed to do what he was created to.

But it couldn’t be too much to ask, could it? A field, dotted with flowers, the colors didn’t matter. A clear sky, the sun at high noon. A stream running fresh with clean water, and her. That seemed easy enough.

He couldn’t ignore duty, but neither could Fate. It drew him further into his mind, into his own space where he couldn’t be hurt anymore, where to feel wasn’t so painful. He would hold Casey, wrapped close to his chest in his scarf, and dream about better as the nights began to lengthen.

Time passed, weighing heavy with responsibility. Thoughts matured, fantasy cultivating seedlings in his mind. 

And suddenly, Leo found the once clean divide between the need and the want began to steadily blur itself."

the last chapter of "sanctuary".

read chapter 29 on ao3:

"Mayfly felt the nothingness siphon every hurt, every pain, every ache and burn, diluting it with an unexplainable mass that was everywhere she was beginning to not be able to feel. 

A sweet numbness. Escape. Peace. At last.

If she could find her mouth, Mayfly would have cried out in joy. But instead the feeling unfurled behind her now defineless form, ebony and cool, smooth and clean. Sweet water ran over the outline of her everythingness, dripping from her all, refreshing the unquenchable thirst she had begged Death to satisfy. She could feel it now in the expanse of this empyreal lacuna beyond time and space, on her lips and tongue, never once dry, overflowing, running over. And soon, there was more to join Them; The Others beckoned the spirits near, to greet, soon waves of presence joined their communion with gentle mirth, eager to see their newest arrival, one reborn. Mayfly could sense them in the air; the Ones Lost, they had introduced themselves by, taken into Heaven’s arms too early. It panged inside of her spirit which was now all of her, heartbreak now a sensation across her skin, her fingers, her face and wings—the soft taste of graham cracker and the scent of lemonade, large and rolling over like the coat that decorated the mountains of the earth, the gentle embrace of weeping leaves and tear flavored crepe myrtle, whites and violets and greens blooming behind the darkness, surrounding her.

They were here. All of them, at last. And no sorrys were needed, nothing was there to explain, just the overwhelming feeling of timelessness, we found you, we missed you.

Barely had they changed, still gentle and mild. Mayfly could almost feel the braids crowning her brow as her grandmother plated them, the kind words of her late sister writing lullabies in the absence of sky, totally engulfed by their auras. And there were more Mayfly couldn’t name, rising from the waters alongside the Ones Lost like pillars of alabaster and clay lost to time, those of Generations Past—yet they all welcomed her as if she were their own, open arms and even wider spirits, pure and present. Mayfly let herself settle into their all, surrounded by the sound of humming, like dutiful bees in a colony, singing in reverence for the arrival of their queen, as if to welcome a figure of the highest importance after waiting for so, so long.

Mayfly closed her eyes again, feeling herself fade, letting herself fade. She was safe here. It was okay, finally, forever. Rest, our Love, they cooed, You have done well.

In that moment, Mayfly knew, accepting the loss as it left her, that she truly had died.

Just be, she echoed. Rest.

…But something was missing. 

Mayfly couldn’t recall what it was, heavily intoxicated by the afterlife, but she could feel it in her spirit, and that was everywhere now, all she was now was spirit, entirely raw in its simplest form.

But what was it that made her pause, causing the Others to touch her face in sweet and careful question? Yes, what? Tell us, they wanted to know, only to make her happy, to rest. Peace, they wanted peace.

Mayfly felt herself thinning, then swelling with a feeling that her new body couldn’t process, filling every corner. Dark and consuming it was, but the Others refused to shy away, seemingly familiar with it.

Longing. 

She recognized it now. Every need was satisfied here, for there was no need, simply quiet, surrounded by the stars. But Mayfly knew a part of her still resided somewhere else, where she was mortal. And the Others looked upon her radiant face in great pity, holding her close as she realized what desire was paining her.

She missed Leo."

read chapter 28 on ao3:

"Leo bowed, heavy heart pulling him closer to her, trying to let the words comfort himself as the salt of his tears ran hot against his face. He cradled her hand in his as he begged the ancestors to let her hold on a little bit more, wait, please. Her spirit would remain for them to claim another day, just not now, just a bit longer. He took her hand to his beak, staining it with leftover tears in a wash of aloe and myrrh as he pressed a kiss into the soft skin. Don’t go, stay.

Not in this place, dark and unforgiving. Not here. Let it be somewhere with peach blossom, somewhere running dense with milk and honey, a field of pea flower and lavender, slices of pear flavoring the air, a crown of dew to grace her brow, moondust to blush her cheeks and eyelids, nectar to seal her lips for slumber.

Mayfly sighed into his embrace, eyes closed, as if she were reading words that she had no strength to say from behind her eyelids, an ancient script of beautiful things. A whisper of a smile found her face then, just enough to curve the edges of her lips and crinkle the alabaster portions of her skin, one of either certainty or acceptance—and it scared Leo that he couldn’t tell the difference.

He could feel it, the beauty flowing through her hands into his, coating his heart, healing him.

Her hands were so wonderful—rough in all the softest ways, maps of age and experience whittled by time, carved in sweetly, as if when her palms were still plush with the dough of being newly born, Urania had pressed them into the charts of the stars herself, every constellation and comet streak imprinting, cupped between her fingers and dotted with Messier moles and black holes, tiny nebular veins airbrushed with star clusters that mapped the dark expanse of her rich and quenching skin.

And here they were, weakening, and Leo could do nothing but watch.

Fate was not a cruel mistress, but an inhumanly unsatisfied one."

read chapter 27 on ao3:

"Routine was the conditioner of the mind. What was repeated became accepted, acclimated, numbed. Before Leo knew it, his world was permeated by destruction and death, yet he found no problem with it. He couldn’t find much of anything, nothing was there to be felt.

Frostbite numbed, yet it stung his fingers, standing up from a topside lookout point in the horrible January freeze. Anesthetics numbed too, and still the slider could feel the trace of scalpel cutting skin, needles passing through divorced flesh to reconcile his injuries. But after…only after did the pain come. 

Was that why he hated to be alone? 

Leo didn’t want to think anymore, it dulled too much.

Around him, everything seemed unfinished, a light sketch of blueprints for something to come. If at once he were erased, taken out of the grand plan, an imperfection, he wouldn’t be surprised.

Hope was…hope had gone, somewhere. Leo couldn’t be bothered to find it again."

read chapter 26 on ao3:

"Leo pondered the sky. He knew the sun didn’t rise, it was the earth that turned, that the stars were never stationary, silently combusting at will or at random. Not every star that shone overhead existed anymore, some had disappeared long ago, their beams of light yet to accept the reality that was their absence.

Time moved in tiny, hard to notice scrapes that were invisible to the busy and untrained mind until night fell and the sky was opened up, tiny crystals in their own specific order repositioned again and again at the turn of each month, the apex of each year, over and over until they inevitably faded away.

Leo found himself missing it more often. Huge, almost gargantuan chunks of time ripped out of his life, something he was positive he would have noticed by now yet he remained none the wiser. It never felt like enough, always running somewhere else he wasn’t. 

It was frustrating. 

Something about the word manic described him then; the constant spiral, the loop of progression and survival no longer sated him, like those tiny scrapes had evolved into grating, heavy stones, wearing down his outer layers to the soft inside, unfamiliar to exposure, unable to hide anymore.

There wasn’t a next best thing waiting for the slider on the other side of the bridge, the sea, the cliff.

The edge.

All that he was left to face now was what had gotten him started in the first place, incentive becoming a destination. 

Denial.

There had to be more, he had reasoned. There had to be another chance, another opportunity, better. But there wasn’t. There was nothing—nothing new, nothing tangible for him to grab at; dreams were dreams, fate was fate. 

Leo couldn’t change the past. He knew that. But now, he understood. And as he stoked the fire around he and Mayfly’s campsite, watching the woman settle her body into the tall, dry grass that blanketed her like a golden robe, he wanted to do more than just apologize.

Leo wanted to disappear."

read chapter 25 on ao3:

"She looked down her hand, resting on Leo’s, as still as it were trembling. “After everything, she…she told you to go back. For me. Crawling and bleeding but finding you, it was my sister who did that. And I’ll never understand why—” and Mayfly’s voice broke under the burden of her tears, “why you listened to her.” Mayfly turned to face Leo, her eyes stained with moisture that mirrored the afterimages of stardust, that carried a trail of glitter as they began spilling across the nebulas of her skin, angry at time’s refusal to turn back one second more, a second something to rectify what she blamed on her existence, and it shattered Leo into needlelike shards. “You could’ve turned away. You, you could’ve left me there to burn along with everything else, and you knew how dangerous it was even though you didn’t even know me, but—” Mayfly’s throat caught. “You went back for me, Leo. You went back. To think that all this time you’ve thought of yourself as a burden, when all you’ve ever been is…a blessing, it’s…”

Mayfly sniffed, nose twitching, before she became overwhelmed with her emotion. Sobbing silently, she buckled underneath some invisible weight, shoulders trembling as she humbly submitted herself to the pain of them both. “I’ve never wanted to do anything more than deal with…with your all, your everything,” Mayfly admitted.  “I don’t listen to you as much as I should, Blue. Somehow I figure I know it all better than you do, that I can’t believe that it’ll be okay because it never really has been.” Mayfly turned her face to him, lips crimped as she fought back her sobs. “But I’ll follow you, Leo. Wherever. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do. …Know that.”

The slider looked at Mayfly, observed her with his eyes up close like she would blow away if he breathed too hard. Leo found her so pretty, so unbelievably beautiful, dusted with sweat and honey, scent of lavender, every curling grace of hair crowning her brow, the teak that orbited her irises like the rings of a faraway planet, the patches of light damasked into a rich and glorious dark that seemed to melt into her form, blooming like nebulas against the infinite serenity of space, here beside him of all people, of all beings, to tell him she wanted to be nowhere but by his side, his everything, his all."

read chapter 24 on ao3:

"An object of desire now absent, a piece of heaven, a fallen angel.

The facade, Mayfly hoped, would now be stripped away, violently peeled off of falsely pearly flesh. Yet that nacre sheen remained, Mallory’s soft cheeks as round as the clouds that brushed the butterfly blue heavens, eyes the color of nurtured paradise, fertile and dull all at once. No, she should be dim, for Mayfly’s own wings had been clipped, revoked; that explained the thickening layer of blood on her hands, the sweat on her back, what what once was perfect, desired, divine, should be tainted, ruined, soiled just like—

One streak of blood had altered the otherwise perfect image of the woman, slashed across her cheek. A quiet sacrifice of her own essence for the life of another, reparation taken by fate. It rolled down Mallory’s milky complexion like a tear. No hand wiped it away, as heaven only sat to watch what she had willingly pledged to bear its fruit."

read chapter 23 on ao3: