vulpes caeli stellati

Rules: Make yourself with this Picrew, tag the last song you listened to and then tag your moots!! 💕

... At the request of a friend :)

(I don't look like this at all but those are my transition goals sooo)

Project Hail Mary soundtrack!!

I dont know how to link song, my last song was Mr. Blue Sky by Electric Light Orchestra!

Wooo I haven’t used picrew in so long

this isn’t what I look like irl, but god do I want to sadly, I am generic blonde-haired white girl (“girl” used very loosely)

Part 1

the second installment in my series of long rambles about a culture I made up!

this is a companion piece to my conlang, Kule'Ilen, and I highly recommend you check it out, as I will occasionally be using some words from it.

now, onto the backbone of Theelin society: the arts!

so, i've finally decided to put all my scattered notes on the mythology and culture that i've created into a single place! :D

this is a companion to the conlang i've been creating, Kule'Ilin, and I highly recommend you go check that out, because 1. I will occasionally be using words from there and 2. i've put a lot of work into it, and it has evolved quite a bit from when I first posted about it.

this will, of course, be cut into multiple parts, as I have quite a lot of things to say and months of work to show off. this first part is the basics of how I interpreted their biology, and, ironically, one of the very first things I actually wrote down.

so.

*inhales*

okay, I need to explain some things. when most people think "sea shanties", they think "cool song that sailors made for some reason". but shanties actually had a much more practical purpose: synchronization.

on large cargo ships, there were a ton of tasks that would require sailors to work on a task for an extended period of time and remain perfectly in sync, such as bringing the ship in to dock, pumping it dry, raising anchor, etc. to stay in time, they would sing a song with a beat that matched the tempo of whatever task they were doing. with everyone singing the same song at the same time, it was an effective way of keeping people from screwing up.

so, we all know that clones have to have a lot of things perfectly in time, like marching. if they were a perfect product, this wouldn't be an issue, but that's not the case. they're human! they're going to mess up! and those that do are often punished or flat-out decommissioned. so, what if they developed their own sort of shanties as a way to keep that from happening?

and yes, I know about military cadences and marches, but this wouldn't be the same. a cadence is a call-and-response sung between military personnel with marching or running, mostly initiated one member (often a drill instructor), and a march is made with music. Both of those options would have been impossible on Kamino: the march because no instruments, and the cadence because having it done by one person means there's someone you can blame, and therefore, someone you can punish.

a sea shanty is sung by everyone at once, which makes it very hard to punish (you can't exactly decommission 2,000 troopers all at once if you want to meet quota). plus, with a shanty, it's much easier to simply whisper at a level the Kaminoans wouldn't hear it(they mostly likely evolved from an aquatic species, their above-water hearing is probably terrible).

so. yeah.

clone trooper space shanties.

The Body that Carries Him

A pre-canon Hades Fancomic with the headcanon of transmasc nonbinary zagreus, all posts will be tagged #the body that carries him comic or #bch comic

This post contains the spread cover, and graphics for summary, tags, and content warnings! + the additional extra cast introduction for the major characters (also listed in alt text)

start to read the prologue here! (on tumblr)

here she is! the finished product! not my best work, but I have other things I need to do. (might edit the lightsaber later tho…)

vers with cloak:

as of right now, I'm writing a Star Wars clone-centric fic (i'll link it here when I post it), and writing from the perspective of a clone has made me think of some things. like the clones' vocabulary.

there are a lot of metaphors and idioms that we use as daily parts of speech that the clones likely wouldn't use, or even know.

for example: in the first draft of "On The Moon of Arcus II", I used the adjective "chalk-white" to describe something. but the clones wouldn't know what chalk is, and therefore, wouldn't use that phrase. I went back and forth a bit, but ended up replacing it with "plastoid-white" because it's something that they interact with daily and have a very strong (positive) connection to.

that entire debacle got me thinking about what other sayings they might use in place of ours, or just entirely new ones they made up. these are the ones i've made so far:

putting all your men in one dropship - putting all your eggs in one basket

trying to fit two heads in one bucket - an overall pointless and idiotic task that will only end with people getting hurt

we're backed against the same wall - we're all in the same boat

marching in the wrong line - barking up the wrong tree

rations under the bed (referring to a habit a few cadets picked up of stealing ration bars and hiding them for snacks) - skeletons in the closet/a secret that, if found out, could get a lot of people hurt

shifty eyes - cold feet

(ironically, I think that the single one that would stay the same is "your day are numbered". a clone with a defect that became very noticeable (i.e. issues with vision/balance/hearing, aging faster or slower than expected, visible changes to hair or eye color) would likely have very little time until a long-neck took note and had them decommissioned, even with their brothers helping to hide it. as such, they would start counting the number of days until they die. their days are literally numbered)

i was working at a little cafe where I could deny service over bad behavior, harassment etc. & mask mandates had just ended a week before & already people were being weird about me still wearing mine—an N95, the kind shaped kinda like a duckbill.

so this man walked in, looked at me sooo scathingly, laughed at me, and said “damn. never known a woman to choose…practicality over looks.”

And I just said, “oh. you can go, you’re not getting a drink.” And he said, “what???”

I said, “sir, you just walked in at 6 am & called women impractical and me ugly in one sentence.”

you guys have no idea the sheer amount of dopamine currently flooding my system

this is. like. a huge accomplishment for me. the only other time I've been able to stick with a writing project for as long as this was a microfiction assignment in sophomore year of high school.

here it is! (still using the placeholder title because I haven't committed to a permanent one yet)

On The Moon of Arcus II

Chapter 1

i am an alien (my rocket ship is human bone and skin)

“I am an alien

My rocket ship is human bone and skin

I'm something smaller staring out the skull

With a panel of wire and

Buttons I don't understand

Spamming every one of them

So, does being human mean pretending to know

What’s going on?!”

-What’s Going On?!, Elio Mei

.home (n)

a familiar or usual setting

Home is not a place clones know.

They know the word, of course. 

They know that putting the letters herf - osk - mern - esk together implies a certain definition that aligns with “home”.

They know that, by technicality, Kamino is their "homeworld", and therefore their home. It is where they have lived for most of their lives. It is where they were born, where they grew up, where they learned almost everything they know today.

But it is not home. Not in the sense it should have been.

A home is a place that exists, whether you like it or not. A home is a place you survive.

But a home?

A home is a place where you can live. Where you can set down your bucket and not have to worry about an instructor’s lecture on properly caring for your gear. Where you can smile and don’t have to fear a longneck’s gaze because too much emotion is “an undesirable trait”. Where you can feel… what’s the word…

Safe.

It’s not something you can point out on a map. It’s not as easy as putting a pin on the great tapestry of stars that is their galaxy that reads “HOME IS HERE”. It’s entirely something you can describe, or even name.

But, as CT-7606 looks out at the calm, placid waters of Arcus II-A, he decides that, if he had to point out exactly what home would look like to him…

“Hey, Aver!”

… it definitely wouldn’t be this.

Aver sighs, letting his head hang for just a moment before lifting himself up off the durasteel railing. He stretches his arms up above his shoulders, feeling the muscles in his back protest against the sudden movement, and turns to face his brothers. 

Catch and Sixer are sauntering up to his left, walking along the path surrounding their listening post. Catch looks mildly bored, which, considering he always looks mildly bored, could mean both nothing and everything. Sixer, meanwhile, is wearing a smile that makes him look like the cat that caught the loth-rat. 

“Look what the tooka dragged in!” Sixer laughs as they finally reach him, slinging an arm around Aver’s shoulders. He rolls his eyes, smiling softly at his brother’s antics. 

“Yeah, yeah, you got me. What am I needed for this time? Triple set something on fire again?”

“Nope,” Catch says, enunciating the ‘p’, giving it a sharp pop. Leaning back against the railing, he continues. "Personnel meeting. Apparently, Spinner wants us all at the mess for some big announcement.”

Aver raises an eyebrow. It’s not often that their Sergeant had something to say that couldn’t be relayed over comms or by word of mouth. If he wanted, he could probably count the number of times they’ve had an all-person meeting on one hand and still have fingers to spare.

As if reading his thoughts, Sixer nods sagely. “I know, right? It’s totally wizard.” 

Catch snorts and gives Sixer a smack upside the head. “That’s not what that means, and you know it, idiot!”

Aver snorts in amusement, leaning away from his place on the railing as the three of them start the short walk back to base, his brothers chattering all the way.

Though they might try to hide it, he knows about The Game. Whenever he goes “missing”, they all go off, sometimes in teams and sometimes alone, to see who can find him first. Whoever does gets… he doesn’t know. Bragging rights?

He’s well aware of this bad habit of his; to disappear for hours on end to stare out at the sea. He doesn’t know why, but he just finds it so calming. Watching the waves rise and fall, hearing them crash against the plastoid-white cliffs, feeling the endless breeze against his skin. It just makes everything else fall away for a little while. When he’s out there, it’s just him and the water. 

Most of his brothers, on the other hand, find the sea that surrounds their post on one side deeply unnerving.