#space trash

Set a couple of decades before the events of Space Trash, Yes Chef follows turbo-divorced bipedal isopod Mikal Rime, a head chef tasked with putting together an unforgettable dinner party for a weapons magnate's very forgettable wife. His penchant for rare ingredients takes him places his sous chef Susan wouldn't go with a gun.

This story has been cooking in the queue for more than a year, and I am beyond excited to finally be sharing it. It's set in the Space Trash universe, but focuses on some of the aliens that don't get much screentime in Space Trash and, like many of my stories, does not end well for anyone. Cws for body horror, some gore and animal death.

Either doc is good with mee

Lmao Audrey hilariously, pussy does not appear in either of these, but cunt does! Different meanings, same anatomy.

Space Trash:

Kaliphagon’s livid mouth puckered. Thin-skinned, just like all the spoiled rich girls in her platoon. Easy to provoke. “I’m not a princess,” she said.

“Oh, my mistake. Your language just has so many words for rotten little cunt, my backwards alien brain can’t keep up.” She stepped forward, staring down the plastic membrane and the blanching face within. “Hey, there’s some Standard for you. The cudgel half your population uses to beat the other half. How cosmopolitan.”

Dead Cherry:

Bex didn’t unfold her manicured hands from atop the desk. Between the long black nails, the glasses and the blunt bob, she looked like a techno vampire or perhaps a licorice stick who wished on a star to wake up the next morning as a beautiful cunt. “How did it go?”

Two great ones!

Purple, from Space Trash (I hope it's okay I'm doing paragraphs, I just think it flows better that way lol):

“I’m not buying any sexy magazines,” Mina said, “but Rix tells me those caps or whatever it is you put in that pipe of yours help you sleep. Tell me what kind you want and I’ll try to pick some up.”

“Oh.” She owed Rix a drink. Possibly ten drinks. “Uh. Anything dark purple. Or maroon, maroon’s cheaper. A dispo will probably have a strain called Liquid Moon, but if you can find—”

“Don’t tell me the names, I don’t want to know the names.”

Quiet, also from Space Trash:

With incredible effort, the abomination rose painfully to her feet. Her healing body clicked when she moved; nothing broken, or at least not for long. The high-pitched screaming terror deepened, settled. Went quiet. It would all be over soon, she told herself, peeling a shaking arm from her chest to push back the hair again. Only a little bit longer.

Ooh this is a really good one

From Space Trash (the introduction of beloved Rrl, who isn't named until the third book):

“🙱⑥❶ ⑩⑦②🗈 ②⓪🙧🙧⑥🖙?”

One spot over, a human man was waving at her. He sat parked in a striped lawn chair, shaded by a shipping vessel easily twice Virdi’s size, his polo shirt stamped with an orange logo. Massive circular sunglasses and a mesh cap hid most of his face.

From Dead Cherry (a line from Leo, Coop's predecessor):

“I was a made man by then,” he said, “but that didn’t matter much when it came time to clean house. You can always make new thugs, put fresh boots on the ground, but making a good arsonist takes time.”

Thank you for asking!