Hey I'm Mairzy Marzipan! I'm a writer. Currently working on Real Toys and other oddities. This is a place to store and show off my work. I'm @mairzydont on twitter and mairzymarzipan is my main here. Email me at [email protected]
Well I guess I lied. I’ve mostly been writing in the project lately, which we’ll be calling the Book of Names.
The main characters I feel are Zsarina, the Mummy and Draculeech. They’re all trans. Here they are talking about deadnames, and their relationships to them.
“So they got your deadname,” the Mummy says, picking thorns out of his gauze, “and you’re like- home free. Free to come and go and we’re totally sane around you.”
“Best part,” Zsarina says, “I can’t even remember my deadname,” she grins, reaching for a berry in the middle of the bush, “it’s like that part of my life is finally buried, yanno?”
“So you don’t remember him?” Draculeech asked, plopping a bunch of raspberries into the bucket.
“Eh, I dunno,” she still couldn’t reach the thing without being scratched. Probably pointless to try but also Zsarina was the kind of person who did a bunch of pointless shit, “I mean. I remember pretending to be him. Walking around in his skin. But,” she shrugged, “without his name, it’s like, those memories are less legitimate. Just this nightmare that’s fading out,” she smiled up, “it’s pretty rad.”
The Mummy smiled big, “That’s really super,” and he sighed, “wish it worked out that way for me.”
“What do you mean?” asked Zsarina.
“I mean, like you said. Wish I had thought to give my deadname to Little Lemur instead of my name,” he shrugged, “but what can you do about it?”
“Huh,” Draculeech asked, “so you remember your deadname?”
The Mummy frowned.
“It’s all I remember.”
“Wait, seriously?” Zsarina asked.
The Mummy nodded.
“Yowch,” said Zsarina.
“Can’t you just come up with a new real name?” Draculeech asked, “You did it before.”
The Mummy looked at them.
“Sorry,” Draculeech said, “I don’t- really have a deadname? I mean, I never really had a problem with the old one. So I guess I just said a dumb.”
The Mummy sighed, “No, you didn’t. It’s a good questions. Just,” he shrugged, “it’s just not the same. I mean, had a practice under that name. My diploma has that name on it. My checks do. Did,” he put his hand on his face, “and worse, my deadname is there. With all the memories attached to it. Like, mocking me. Punishing me for ever thinking I had a right to my own gender.”
“Oh god,” Draculeech said, “fuck that girl.”
“Seriously,” Zsarina shivered, “she sounds a total terf.”
The Mummy laughed, “She is kind of a terf, isn’t she?”
“She’s no good,” Zsarina said, “and she’s wrong. You did so much good when you had that lost name. So much damn good! So many accomplishments! No one gets to take them away from you! Not even some dumb book.”
The Mummy stood up taller. His bandages crinkled around his eyes funny.
“What?” Asked Zsarina.
“Yanno, when I was an egg and I heard that annoying boy band play on the radio every day that week, I never thought- never thought! That the lead singer would be aggressively confirming my gender one day.”
“Annoying?!” Zsarina crossed her arms, “We had harmony. We were good, alright?”
“Ehhh,” the Mummy shrugged.
“Wow,” said Zsarina.
“Sorry! Just not my taste. I still like you as a person, though.”
“Yeah,” she Zsarina brushed some hair off her shoulder, “well I guess I can put up with you.”
“Jeez,” said Draculeech, “just kiss already.”
Zsarina and the Mummy glared at them. Then Zsarina snapped her fingers.
“If you said your deadname out loud, do you think it would disappear, too?”
“Eh, I’ve tried,” the Mummy said, “when it’s 3am and I can’t sleep.”
“Oof,” said Draculeech.
“Well it doesn’t matter,” Zsarina said, “and yanno? Now I feel like an idiot, because I totally did realize you were trans.”
“Really?” The Mummy held his head at a jaunty angle.
“Yeah, yeah,” Zsarina brushed his arm to free him of some leaves, “so you pass, big guy. Don’t let it go to your head.”
“I really thought you knew,” the Mummy shrugged, “I dunno why, though.”
“Well everyone knows every trans has trans-dar, duh,” Draculeech said, “but Zsarina’s is just muddled up right now.”
“You and your genderlessness are throwing her off,” the Mummy said.
“Ha!” Draculeech pumped an arm, “So that’s what I’m useful for!”
“Congrats, you found your purpose.”
“So, what kind of monster do you think I would have turned into?” Zsarina asked.
“A goddess,” the Mummy said with no hesitation. There was a pause. Draculeech became interested in the tails on their coat.
“Um,” Zsarina said.
The Mummy put his hands over his face, specifically his cheeks, “Oh, uh.”
Zsarina laughed, “Alright then,” and she laughed, “I doubt that, but that was fun.”
This is a long one and probably won’t be in any finished product
The Mummy thrusts his hand right into his gut. Zsarina has to remind herself that there’s no gut there, because otherwise it looks like something out of a b-movie where they forgot the blood. He rummages around a bit between the strips. “I’m not hungry anymore,” Tsarina declares.
“I didn’t know you were hungry,” the Mummy says.
Zsarina cocks her chin up a bit and smiles, waggling her foot. “Oh,” the Mummy says, and turns to the side, embarrassed.
“My bad,” Zsarina says, “that was really dumb.”
“Oh no, it was a good joke,” the Mummy pulls his hand out and presents to her a small tub like the size of a ring box. With one rubber coated finger he rubs the ointment on her burn.
“What a cute baby condom,” Zsarina says.
“They’re called finger cots, actually.”
“I know what a finger cot is,” ugh, she can’t even get a dirty joke in. Lame.
The Mummy rolls his eyes and dresses the wound. Gauze kind of spews out of him but as much as it does, he doesn’t seem to lose any on his arm. Finally he bites the strip with his razor blade teeth and wraps it around the arm. He leans in and Zsarina bites her lip.
“Alright,” the Mummy pulls back, “you’ve got be more careful out there.”
“Mmm-hmm,” Zsarina rolled her arm, then shouts, “ow!”
“Oh?” The Mummy says, “Is that the same ‘ow’, or another ‘ow’? Don’t poke it!”
“I didn’t poke it,” Zsarina says, “it’s not that. I think my shoulder’s hurt too.”
“Huh,” the Mummy says, “and it didn’t hurt before?”
Already suspicious, huh? Zsarina holds her shoulder and hisses. Academy award winning. “Can you just look at it?”
“Alright,” the Mummy leans in closer this time, and Zsarina puckers her lips. She strikes like a barracuda but the Mummy pulls away before she can reach his mouth.
“Hey!” he shouts.
Cold terror takes root in Zsarina. She just fucked up. She plays with her hair, “Not into tall girls, I take it?”
“No! Zsarina,” the Mummy stops himself, “I mean. Zsarina. I’m not a kisser.”
Zsarina blushes. She can’t not notice the nervousness in his voice. She lets her heart float like a butterfly and leans toward him, “Hey. Do you? Like me?” she grins.
“No!” he says way too quickly.
“Oh!” Zsarina plays with her hair some more and giggles nervously.
“No, really,” he’s gesturing way too much now, and his voice sounds shrill but kind of excited. “I mean,” he spins, then seems to realize he’s cornered, and his frame falls. He sits on the bench with her. He strokes her hand.
“All right,” he admits, “so maybe the crush is both-sided.”
“Oh,” Zsarina’s sunshine melts.
“What? You don’t have a crush on me? But why’d you kiss me?”
“Because I’m a slut, duh.”
The Mummy jolts, and Zsarina clenches her teeth, “Oh, jeez. Sorry, Mister,” fuck, it is so hard to address someone with respect in this place where names don’t exist. Calling him ‘mummy’ right now just seems disrespectful. “It’s not anything against you. I just, yanno, I don’t know you yet.”
The Mummy shakes his head, “It’s not that. Zsarina, don’t use that word, ok? It’s vile.”
“Mister?”
The mummy gives her a pointed look.
“Oh! Slut. Well, what of it? I am a slut. I’m also stupid bitch.”
“Zsarina.”
“No. I own my sluttitude. I live the slut lifestyle.”
“There’s no such thing as a slut, OK?” He throws his hands in the air, “Let’s drop it,” he huffs. It’s a prickly subject for him, honestly, to the point where Zsarina wonders if it her jokes are even worth it. “Well,” he says, “now I feel like a dumbass for confessing to you. But you have to admit, you were sending a pretty mixed signal there.”
“Sorry,” Zsarina rubs the back of her neck, “it’s a cultural barrier, I guess. Be in L.A.,” she counts on her fingers, “get hammered out of your fucking mind, kiss every man, woman and enby that catches your eye.”
“Oh. Alright. And the ‘getting hammered’ part?” the Mummy asks.
“OK, so I skipped a step.”
The Mummy laughs, and Zsarina’s glad for it. She takes his hand. It’s so soft- so squeezable! Like a teddy bear.
“Do you want to try for, a more straightforward kiss?”
“Zsarina, I have razor blades for teeth.”
“Oh, yeah!”
“You just remembered?” he chuckles.
“Yeah,” Zsarina shrugs, “let’s do it!” she leans into him.
“What?” he pulls back, “No! Zsarina, I’ll hurt you.”
“That’s hot.”
“No it’s not. I’ll tear your lips or your tongue to shreds.”
He’s standing up now. His body language is definitely closed off; upset. And yet Zsarina, the hot mess that she is, just has to come in with another trashy quip.
“Yeah, tear me up, Daddy.”
“Zsarina, what the fuck?”
Zsarina’s mouth goes dry. The Mummy’s staring at her with reproach. She crosses her arms.
“Who fucking cares if I get hurt, anyway?”
“I do. I care.”
“Oh right, because if I die, I can’t destroy that book and get everyone’s precious humanity back.”
The Mummy blinks, “Do you think that’s the only reason I like you?”
Zsarina takes a heavy breath and then lets it out.
“No,” she gets up to take his hand, “I’ll leave it be. I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.”
She squeezes his hand, then throws her arms around his shoulders. He lets out a little gasp, then sighs.
“Zsarina. You’re not in Hollywood. Country folks need a fair bit of warning before you glomp them.”
“OK,” Zsarina backs away, but it’s against her instincts. There’s a part of her that wants to lash out at the Mummy. Punish him for actually liking her. Show him what a mistake he’s making because- well, he is, isn’t he? She’s going to fuck this up. That’s not a guess, that’s the facts. She’s going to fuck this up. The longer she doesn’t fuck it up, the worse it’ll be when she finally does. She wants to implode it right now. Minimize the damage.
She doesn’t, though. She just says, “You know, Mummy, I bet you’re like, an extraordinary cuddler.”
The Mummy laughs, “Well, yeah. I have no bones. The kids love piling on me.”
“The fuck? That must be. Ridiculously cute,” especially with the kids being one baby lemur and one baby badger. Honestly, Zsarina could get a little jealous that she never got to turn into one of the monsters here.
“It is! I mean they are. I’m not cute, just there.”
While Zsarina’s trying to come with a clever argument, the Mummy says, “You know, if it was just me, I’d say don’t go to the middle of the forest.”
Zsarina blinks, and cocks her head, “You don’t want skin again?”
He pulls at his cheek, causing the fabric to buckle, “This really ain’t that bad. And it stays sterile.”
Zsarina smiles, “You’re like a walking clinic.”
“I really am!” he smiles and reached into his chest, pulling out a capped syringe, “See? Any kind of medical supply I want!”
Zsarina cringes though, “OK, maybe you should stop letting the kids cuddle up on top of you.”
“Oh don’t worry,” he stuffs it back under the wraps, “they disappear if I don’t want them,” he grins, and shrugs, “I’m basically a black hole! I make no sense. That’s fine, though.”
Zsarina smiles, “Can I hug you?”
He nods.
She hugs him around the chest and buries her face in his shoulder. It’s only a little bit scratchy- not nearly as bad as a beard.
“You’re awfully affectionate for someone who doesn’t have a crush on me.”
She shrugs, “Maybe I can be convinced to crush.”
The Mummy laughs, nervous.
“Wouldn’t you like. I dunno. Want to go home, though? Like I hope you’re single if you’re crushing on me. But don’t you have like, a family at home?”
“Not much of one.”
Zsarina leans her cheek on his cheek.
“Yanno, I think I kind of identified with you as a kid more than the character you played on TV.”
Zsarina exhales through her teeth and pulls back “That’s rough.”
“Not everything. But the parents who didn’t give a shit about me and left me with an abuser? Yeah that was a thing.”
“Bah,” Zsarina crossed her arms, “adults suck.”
“A lot do, yeah.”
Uncomfortable now, she looks around, a particular hunger at the back of her throat, “Yanno it’s a marvel you haven’t all gone nuts here without booze.”
The Mummy shakes his head, “Doesn’t help.”
“Yeah. I know.”
There is uncomfortable silence between them. The Mummy nearly strokes her, but shyly stops himself. She pretends not to notice.
“I want to help them,” she says.
The mummy chews on his gauze lip, severing it like he feared he would do to hers. She licks her own lip in sympathy.
“Do you really?” he asked, “Or do you feel like you have to?”
Zsarina feels a lump in her throat. She shuts her eyes.
“Sorry! Did I- say something wrong?”
“No,” she sighs, “I would like to. But honestly,” she gestures to herself, “look at me. I don’t think I can.”
She sits on the bed again. The Mummy sits with her and strokes her arm. They’re quiet for a while.
“You don’t think I can either, huh?”
“I think it’s super dangerous.”
“Yeah?”
“I mean, obviously you have more chance to succeed than any of us nameless. But. Fuck,” he holds his head.
“Yeah?”
“It’s bad. Who knows what magic has popped up now. And Lionhart and his goons are out there waiting to pounce on you. You shouldn’t have to just because there was glitch with your name.”
She puts her hands on her knees, “I want to, though. I mean, Batticorn is such a sweet kid and she fights for everybody. I think somebody should fight for her. Even if it’s a broken old tranny with PTSD.”
“God, Zsarina, I wish you wouldn’t say those things about yourself.”
She squeezes his arm. “You’re so nice. How do you get off being so nice to a pile of trash?”
“God damn it.”
“OK. Sorry.”
This time, he leans his head on her. It surprises Zsarina, but he’s incredibly light.
“I think Batticorn needs out of here,” he says, “and Vampire Leech, and Hide Behind and the kids, too. The forest drains them of happiness.”
Zsarina nods.
“But we can find someone else.”
“Nah.”
“Nah?”
“How long is it gonna take for another trans person to come to this dump, and give their deadname away?” She stands, “I believe in fate, Mummy.”
“You do?” he sounds dubious.
“Well, I don’t believe in God, so I gotta have something.”
The Mummy sighs.
“I came here for a reason, I think. So, I’ll do my best.”
Sorry I you haven’t seen much of me. I went through a couple of weeks where I actually did not write at all. Not just ‘didn’t write anything worth publishing, no, I mean, I did write. At all.
I didn’t feel like wasting your time right then. Depression be like that. I am a bit better now, but blank weeks might come up again.
Some choice bits of the mc of The Book of Names, Zsarina. She a rough-around-the-edges party girl. Admittedly, I haven’t written a lot lately. I’ve got a lot of projects going on right now and writing is taking a backseat.
That being said tho, I adore Zsarina, and I hope to write her more soon.
“What’s a glass person like you doing way out in these woods?”
“I believe it was you who came into my territory,” even if they weren’t glass, they were certainly- something. Completely transparent. Zsarina could see the trees through them- although a little warped. Their eyes were without iris or pupil, their nose without nostrils, and their lips didn’t move when they spoke. Their voice was low and soft, and gave no indication of an assigned gender. Same with their naked body in general, which not only lacked breasts but nipples, and also toes, and other bits used for assignations.
Zsarina smirked, “So you live here?”
“So to speak,” they hooked her arm. How cool they felt on her skin! Where they even a person? Make up just didn’t get this good, “which you like to see where I call home?”
“Better than what I was up to,” Zsarina said.
“I’m called Diamond Man,” they said. Well, he said. “And yourself?” he said that a little too quickly.
“Oh, you know,” Zsarina said, “America’s trashfire, that ass clown, slut, little-miss-freak. That last one is dumb by the way,” she put her hand on her hip, “because fucking look at me. I ain’t little.”
Diamond Man looked closely at her face.
“Uhhh,” said Zsarina. She was used to hanging out with some strange characters, but she had to admit that this gem-hewn man was a little stranger than the rest.
“No, no. These aren’t your name.”
She smirked, “You can call me Babe.”
Diamond Man lead her to a literal cabin in the woods, and Zsarina screwed up her mouth. The place looked like the home of an axe murderer for sure, or at least a please she would die of mold inhalation- if the rood didn’t fall on her first. Maples exploded from all four corners of it, and the bowed roof had a nice layer off moss on it.
Diamond Man put his hands behind his back and bowed a little, “Don’t you want some shelter from the cold?”
“It’s the height of summer, dude.”
“Oh. Is summer the hot one?” Diamond Man asked, “I can’t tell. I’m made of pure diamond.”
Zsarina narrowed her eyes, but there was no reading the man with no expressions. She threw her hands up in the air, “Welp! If someone’s gotta cut me up into little pieces in the woods, it may as well be someone interesting!” She grabbed his hand, “Let’s get this over with, Dime.”
Diamond Man cut up some pears instead, and presented them to Zsarina with little toothpicks. The toothpicks were handy when picking fibers out of her teeth. The cabin was more solid than it looked from the outside, although a bit lacking in wall decor. Things were comfortable, but utilitarian.
“Aren’t you hungry, though?” she asked.
“I don’t eat. I’m made of pure diamond.”
“Uh-huh. You’ve already used that line,” she cocked her head, “you’re not really, are you? You’re like, not human at all?”
A bit from a new-ish project I’m working on. I realized very early that my interpretation of notfm was wrong, but I liked my interpretation, so I wanted to write in a setting that was a forest that stole people’s names and turned them into monsters.
Anywho, here’s a guy’s name going away.
So the doctor told the lemur his name. It came out easily but then turned visible and solid in front of his eyes. It took on the shape of a white bird. It flapped its wings several times, making a wind that pulled at his face. At his mouth, specifically. His mouth opened wide, of its own accord. The doctor tasted bile and hot black tar came up through his throat. It whirled around the bird, then clung to it like cement. But instead of being rock heavy, the bird flew up into the sky and darted out over the trees.
TFW you accidentally turned yourself into a giant bug, but you’re too shy to tell your friends and just go on letting them think that you’re dead or you ate yourself.
Bugbug must have taken Hatacular’s advice seriously because it was forming words with with its wings. Thinks like ‘hello’ and ‘Fire’ and ‘hungry’. It tripped on vowels, especially P’s and B’s. It couldn’t manage S’s at all. Well, lots of people has lisps.
His wings. Bugbug identified as male, but not, to Hatacular’s surprise, as an alien.
“Then how did you get up here? Or you like a mole person?”
“Really, Fury?” Hatacular asked, “Does he look like a mole to you?”
“No, but he could be from underground, or even Atlantis.”
“No,” Bugbug said, “I’m not,” but wouldn’t explain further.
“Well, did you eat Mr. Eastcott?” Fire Fury asked.
“No.”
“Then what happened to him?”
Bugbug twiddled his mitts and clicked his mandibles, uncomfortable.
“Bugbug,” Fire Fury said in a warning tone.
“Lefft.”
“Left to where?”
Bugbug gestured vaguely “Other plazze.”
“Which is?” asked Hatacular.
“Bugbug, is our boss dead?” Fire Fury asked.
“No! Alive! Alive.”
“Well is he kidnapped?” asked Hatacular.
“Nooo. Fine. Unhurt.”
“Uh-uh,” Fire Fury said, “and how do you know this?”
Bugbug shook his wings. He stood taller, and said, “Fire Fury, I have to tell a thing.”
The supers quieted and looked at Bugbug anxiously.
“I am...er...I mean- I don’t know. Avout Eezzcot.”
They sighed. Well, a big help he was turning out to be now that he could talk.
“What are you, an amnesiac? Do you know anything?” There was fire on Fire Fury’s tongue- literally. She swallowed it down.
“Amnesiac bugs seem to be a thing in the city,” Hatacular mumbled.
“You really are a numbskull, aren’t you? Joan of Arc doesn’t have a gang. She’s a one-woman show,” she sounded a little bitter, “I’d make a great deputy, though.”
“So, in other words, you want to get in her metal pants.”
Fire Fury went red, and spurted flames from her nose, then said, “Watch it. I could barbecue you.”
“Vegetarians are better cooked sauteed, actually.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
bonus content! with @dahlialittlejames‘s Cass as Fire Fury
I binge watched The Tick recently, and it spurred me to write Bugbug and friends in that universe. But before I got to Winnie, I wrote Phillip.
If Phillip Harmonica was a super hero, here is his origin story.
Hatacular was a category zero last time he’d been tested. The whole orphanage had gone to AEGIS as a group when the obvious powers of Kenny Beck had emerged. The boy who would become Hatacular had hated his results at the time, especially when Kenny was adopted by AEGIS operatives. Now Hatacular was glad that it wasn’t him who got adopted into the AEGIS lifestyle.
The boy- let’s just call him Phillip- Phillip’s family was the nuns and the boys who never seemed to manage to permanently leave the home. Phillip grew up into a hospice nurse- work that he completed with the utmost care and delicacy. His life changed when Mr. Milliner died. Phillip felt bad for the old man. No family members to visit him, but wealthy enough to will himself to Harmony Grove before dementia clouded his every decision.
As Phillip was confirming the lack of pulse, his fingernail caught on the old man’s green leather gloves. The old guy had worn them everyday was here and couldn’t be convinced to remove them. Fine by Phillip- these folks were dying so he might as well let them pass in whatever state of dress or undress they wanted to.
Phillip didn’t think much of it until he clocked out for his break and he saw the gloves again- on his own hands. They were quite irremovable- despite Phillip’s best efforts.
He lost his job, of course. It wasn’t just that he stole the gloves- he couldn’t feel pulses with hands permanently encased in leather. He was done being a nurse. The gloves, however, got him started on his new path as a superhero. They summoned Mr. Milliner’s hat when he snapped his fingers- what appeared to be just an old beat up panama but could fly, follow commands, and cut through metal beams. It could also nest on his head and show him recorded video- including a film made by Mr. Milliner himself.
The fungal alien roots in the gloves embedded deep into his body- into his nerve structure and even his bones. Along with making him a little more resistant to damage and strengthening four of his senses, it gave him control of the amazing alien hat-shaped organism. Mr. Leland Milliner’s assets became a donation to the local animal shelter, but Phillip- if that was really his name- inherited Mr. Milliner’s legacy as Hatacular.
Another July bit. They’re real fun to write but what can you expect for the author insert chara
I got listening to some sad music, so I wanted to write a good-bye. Context: Basil and his new frog friends and his roommate have just come to a kind of magical barrier in the forest on the way to Basil’s home. The frogs and former frog can step through, but July can’t.
JULY: You're not ever coming back, are you?
Basil looks to Henry, who looks away.
BASIL: I don't think so. I’m going to either save Frogdom and take my place my place as Prince again or...
He trails off. July inhales, sniffs, and kneels down.
JULY: Henry, my dude, you gotta watch his back.
HENRY: With my very life.
BASIL: Thank you for everything, July.
July stands up.
JULY: Thank you for paying your rent.
Basil puts his palm on the side of July's face.
JULY: Ugh? OK.
BASIL: This is a frog gesture of affection. It means that I have deep love and respect for you.
JULY: Weird, but alright.
July hugs him.
BASIL: Oh!
JULY: And this is a human gesture of affection.
BASIL: Interesting? I think I like foot-putting better.
July laughs and withdraws, and wipes a tear from their eye.
JULY: Goodbye, Naveen. And good luck.
BASIL: Naveen?
July shrugs.
JULY: I still don't know your true name. Was I close?
Basil smiles wistfully.
BASIL: Pretty close.
He steps through. The frogs bow to July, and hop through themselves.
But anyway, I’m gonna leave you with this snippet showcasing July. July is Basil’s roommate. Basil’s valet Henry, still a frog, lives in a tank in July’s living room. Basil can understand frogs. Henry can understand humans. July cannot understand frogs.
JULY comes in, banging a bedroom door. They're a twenty-something enby with a green mohawk and a gray pajamas.
JULY: Hey, Baz.
Basil swallows, Kermit-like.
BASIL: July. Did we wake you?
JULY:(sarcastically) Oh nah, I always get up at 5am naturally.
They pour themself a coldbrew from the refridgerator and
pulls up a chair next to the tank. Henry looks down wearily
at them, and July winks.
JULY: Hi, Buddy.
HENRY: Hello, July.
JULY: What's news?
HENRY: Fixed the submaricar. Anura's gonna help me move it outside to test it.
JULY: Ate sixty flies today, huh? *And* you alphabetized your moss collection? Impressive, my dude. Fist bump.
They gently push their fist against the glass. Henry rolls his eyes, but repeats the gesture.
JULY: I love this little man.
HENRY: They're adorable, but dull as a post, Anura.
BASIL: That's not true.
JULY: No, really. He's my second favorite guy who lives in this house.
Soz I got nothing new- I just started on CampNanowrimo so I’ve been kind of focused on this.
So I’ll just share this old sketch from when I first started The Human Prince, which is what I’m going be focusing on this month. Also here’s this old bit of prose which was the first I wrote for the concept
Since then I’ve decided to turn it into a screenplay.
“You are a very ugly human.”
“Well of course, I am human,” the human said.
“But even among humans, you’re ugly,” Demi said.
“Oh,” the human looked down.
“You have much too much hair,” Demi said.
“Humans are hairy.”
“Not all humans. You know George Knowles? His head is shiny.”
“I bet he’s hairy elsewhere. Humans are miserably hairy.”
“He must be,” Demi reasoned, “he covers most of his body with clothes. He must be ashamed.”
“Most humans are, I think.”
“Fine. But you have an unusual volume of hair.”
Human pinched some of his hair. The hair was long and reached past his shoulders, and more hair grew from his chin, too, like it did on some humans, “I really do.”
“And your eyes are small, and too close together, even for a human.”
The human frowned, “I was hoping you wouldn’t notice my eyes.”
“How can I not? You’re looking at me. And you have teeth.”
“I do,” he said apologetically.
“Not only to you have teeth, but they’re very large, and your mouth seems too small for them.”
“I feel quite the same way!”
“You have a nose that’s pointed.”
He touched it, “It’s pretty bad, isn’t it?” He sighed, “I must be the ugliest of humans.”
“You are,” Demi said, having known many humans in her life, “but you speak frog, and no human can do that,” she hugged the yellow rubber ball the human had retrieved for her, “and you did help me get my toy back. So thank you.”
“It’s a pleasure,” a human said, “I want to serve the frogs of the world.”
“How very noble of you,” Demi said, “what is your name?”
“It’s- radio.”
“Radio is your name?”
“No, not radio- I meant to say- toaster.”
“Ah, nice to meet you, Radio Toaster. I’m Demi, the Blue Devil Frog.”
Radio Toaster had both his hands on his face, “You don’t understand, Demi. I keep trying to say it but I can’t seem to say my name. It must be because of the the- vacuum cleaner.”
“What about a vacuum cleaner?”
Radio Toaster let his hands drop, “Nothing,” he said weakly, “you’re right- Radio Toaster is my name.”
Nathanael could actually hear his wooden heart as it pounded faster in his chest, like a horse with a weird, limping gate. "You're gonna hurt me to hurt Uncle Christian," Nathanael recited to the floor, "are you, gonna kill me?"
"Posh, darling, that would be such a bore.
So Nathanael had a fate worse than death awaiting him? He backed up as far as he could into the toy table, then started to shake.
"Cowering?" Turquoise made a sound between a gag and a caw, "This behavior? From a Hero?"
This kind of shocked Nathanael back into action, "T-Turquoise," he said, sounding very Clara-like indeed, "Revenge is- you don't want that. Living well is the best revenge. Get away from him. Be your own bird."
"That sounds like the sort of nonsense a weak human who can't get revenge would spout," she put her talon on his chest, "or a weak, pathetic human who's not willing to be the pawn in my revenge plot."
"Seriously, Turquoise," Nathanael tried to wedge his fingers under her talons, but they were gripping tight, "it's not me who made up that saying," he said, "it's really old. Yanno like, inner peace and forgiveness and stuff."
"Forgiveness!" Turquoise cawed, "You're quick to bring that up, now that you fear me. But would you forgive him, for what he's done to you?"
"Of c-" jeez. Nathanael wanted to say yes. Saying yes would probably be the smartest thing to do right now. So he didn't understand why he cut himself off and said, "no way.”
"Hmm. Honestly. That, at least, is a heroic trait."
"But that doesn't mean I want to-" he blurted, then caught himself.
It doesn't mean I want to hurt him, Nathanael had been thinking. But if Nathanael got hurt, Christian wouldn't be hurt, would he? Sure, he'd probably be upset for him but- it was clear that the reason Turquoise was doing this to Nathanael was because Christian was not present.
"So, what are you planning to do again? Maybe we can brainstorm on the plan a little bit for maximum revenge potential."
Turquoise was staring behind him. Nathanael worried that Pirl had finally stepped out of the bathroom and had become her next target, but there was nothing there except for Barbie and the horse and the rat.
"Err," the toys? "nope," he picked up the Breyer horse- the most meaningful tribute on this table- and stretched it out to the peahen, "not at all. You can have them. You can have them all if you need to."
"Hoo-hoo-hoo," Turquoise cocked her head, "such a perfect tableau."
"Tableau?"
"Yes," Turquoise said, "these pieces- the toys- they fit together so perfectly," he beak came close. It was impossible for Nathanael to lean back anymore so his wooden back clonked on top of the toys, "your face. Your face is perfect."
Nathanael cringed. The dry feeling in his mouth wigged him out. "It would be a lot more perfect if it was fleshy. Wait. Are you coming on to me?"
"Oh Hero. Don't be so human."
She pecked him on the top of the head. It reverberated through his skull and neck and all the way down through his arms and legs. The room shook- or he was shaking. Everything was just kind of a shaking blur for a few seconds. When he was able look around again, the floor under him had changed. It was bumpy- big globs in front of him- and mostly wood? There seemed to be a drop off in front of him that Nathanael indistinctly stepped away from. Something crinkled as he stepped back. He'd walked into clear plastic, and behind said plastic, a too happy face of a white girl staring at some fixed point on the ceiling.
Nathanael started before realizing what he was looking at. The too smooth texture on the bright pick hat- the perfectly painted eyes that didn't move, and the line between the chin and the neck.
"B-Barbie," he said, "if you're as big as me, that means that I'm-"
The bird fell to the side, then rolled over. He thought she might be hurt but she was just lying on her back like a pup. A pup that stretched from wall to all. She petted her chest with her wing, "Come here, Hero. Tell me all about it."
Nathanael blinked. Well. Well? It wasn't the most impossible thing to happen to him recently. Or ever, he realized. Liked customers at the door, the recollections came sauntering in. The year Christian and Astor first met, and Nathanael actually had a conversation with Astor's cat. When Hilda was a baby and it started snowing blueberries in his backyard in Berylia. Each weird encounter ended the same way- with a ring of amethyst, and Christian or Astor filling his mind with so much fluff he couldn't think his own thoughts.
He climbed onto the bird's chest and sat with his legs crossed. The chest feathers were as soft as comforters. She had kind of fruity aroma- like honeydew melons. But brined? It wasn't exactly unpleasant.
"What's on your mind?" Turquoise asked, "It seems like there's a lot."
Mice were feared. Mice who scratched in the walls. Mice who ate half the food and got dirt all over the other half. Mice left their vexing fleas on everyone’s feet. Fritz had a lot of worry about mice, but the Prince was there to protect him.
His father had explained it to him. How nutcrackers were the protectors of the homes, just as gargoyles were the protectors of churches. Gargoyles needed to be ugly to scare off the demons that might attack the church, and nutcrackers needed to be just as ugly to scare off the demons of the home.
Nutcrackers were just small, wooden gargoyles. But all gargoyles were angels, too, so so was Fritz’s nutcracker. He had no name. Actually, that’s not true. It’s blasphemy for humans to speak the names of angels. The only thing Firtz could call him was The Prince, because he was a prince among nutcrackers.
The mice were not demons. They were less than demons. They are dirty and the mere agents of demons. And they feared The Prince. When Fritz threw him into a swarm of the awful creatures they scattered. When Fritz slept with the prince in his arms, the mice could do him no harm. And the boy carried the Prince around with him everywhere he could. In play, to meals, and he even had him tucked over under his arm during chores.
The only time Fritz was separated from his protector was when Fritz went to church, or when one of Fritz’s older siblings took the nutcracker away to repair him. This happened often, as throwing the Prince was of of Fritz’s most popular defenses.
The Prince’s awareness was questionable- a dreamy reality that may or may not have been there. He was happy to serve the boy- or so he would think later, looking back. Mostly he regretting being still, and unable to kill the little monsters.
Yep, I’m still writing notfm fic. I wrote this just after the werewolf update came out.
The only difference is I decided to put this on ao3.
Jerry still has gay dads. Deal with it.
He was nine years old the first time.
Not that he hadn’t reacted to the moon before. Child Jerry seemed to get a little more preoccupied and energetic that one day of the month, or so he heard. His dads laughed and said that Jerry was storing up energy for these ‘rambunctious periods’. Being muscular lumberjacks who had been hell-raising kids themselves, they weren’t daunted by a little boy who suddenly took to gnawing on the furniture.
But everything changed that day in the woods. Jerry woke up particularly energetic and ready to do an honest day’s work. It was the first day he cut a tree all the way through without one of his dads finishing or starting it for him. It was a thing skinnier than him, but he was proud. His dads cheered and he went on his Papa’s shoulders.
It was while chopping the tree up into logs that he got itchy. Like, terribly itchy. Bugs on his skin and under it. His dads were in midst of some kind of argument. His Father had broken the handle to his axe and Papa was telling him he had to be more careful, and Father shouted back that he was being careful.
“Dads?” Jerry said weakly, but the lumberjacks got heated and the boy’s words couldn’t be heard. He groaned, and glanced up into the sky. Huh, the moon was up early. It was pretty up there in the blue, like a weird eye. An eye looking straight at him- inside of him, even.
He couldn’t stand it anymore. He ran off toward the closest trees. Things got tight and even more unbearably itchy, and then suddenly, release.
Jerry ran. He ran faster than he had ever run before. A stream came into his path and he leaped over it with grace. He could smell the world around him- trees and squirrels and water. Everything looked and sounded beautiful.
He climbed a tree and howled with joy.
The howl took him by surprise. His howls had never sounded like that before. Actually, they had never felt like that before. He put his hand on his throat, but there was hair in the way.
He barked, noticing his body. It wasn’t the way he recognized it. It was big and muscular, but not in the same way of his dads. Grey fur covered everything. His nose so long that it was always in his vision.
“Aia ray roof!” He said out loud, but it seemed that he couldn’t speak. I’m a werewolf. Somehow, it all seemed to fall into place, to answer a question he always had had.
He just had to show his dads! He jumped down from the tree and landed on confident paws. He realized that he was unfamiliar with this part of the forest. The trees had hard, bulbous bark and it seemed particularly close to the the source whatever it was that made it snow all the time here. He was scared until he realized he could smell his own trail.
He followed it back, and over the stream again, which he realized was more like a brook. He stopped himself and sniffed it. He could never leap over this without wading when he was just Jerry…
He howled again because he was happy. It felt good to express how happy he was, so he howled again, and again. Then he followed the trail again. It wasn’t long before new scents entered his nostrils. Father and Papa! He had never smelled this before, not consciously, and yet now he knew that this was their smell.
He rushed toward it, into a clearing where the two men were standing back to back, holding their axes. He loped up to them, wagging his tail. “Roo rarr ree!” He ran a circle to show off his new form.
Papa gasped, “There it is!”
“What’s that on it’s neck? Is that Jerry’s shirt?”
Huh? Why were they calling him an it? “Rawr? Ra-ra?”
“It hurt Jerry?” Father’s teeth showed, “I’ll skin it alive!”
Jerry yelped, and ran. His dads followed with determination. Jerry was faster, but every time he would take a rest, his dads would show up not long after. At one point he lost his shirt. It continued until dawn broke and Jerry was just too tired to keep running.
He woke up warm, but bruised and beaten. His fathers were over him. They cried and they hugged him and admonished for going off alone in the cursed forest, “Thank god we saved you from the werewolf in time!”
“But Papa-” Jerry said weakly. Everything about him was weak, and small. In a way, he hated how he was now that he had gotten to be a wolf. But at least he could talk.
Father cut in, “If I ever see that werewolf again, I’ll turn it inside out and roast it on a spit!”
Jerry jumped. Father noticed and embraced Jerry, “It’s OK, son. You’re safe now.”
Jerry hugged him because he’d been robbed of words.
Everything was different after his first transformation. Although he still looked like a skinny little boy- no relation to either of his bear fathers- he found it easier to carry logs for longer and his reactions were faster. Even his wolfy sense of smell seemed to stick around,and he identified the unique scents of just about all the residents of Border Village.
His friend Little Red Riding Hood noticed, and she asked him to be a sparring partner. Jerry was clumsy was a sword, but easily bested her and hand to hand. He was particularly apologetic one day when he gave her a black eye. “I shouldn’t fight you anymore, I’m sorry.”
“No, please do! You’re really strong, Jerry. If I practice against you, I’ll just keep getting stronger,” she hissed as her grandmother pressed a cool steak into her eye, “I want to get as strong as I can possibly get.”
Jerry stopped going into the forest, though. It was suggested by his Dads. Jerry still wasn’t talking about his encounter with the werewolf, and his dads thought that he might be traumatized. They graciously offered to let him stay with with Granny Hope and Red while they went into the woods.
A door was open, and Jerry couldn’t close it. He couldn’t put away his strength or his sense of smell in a box. Neither could he pack away the transformation. At first he was able to push it off until after his dads or the Hope family were asleep, but it creeped in earlier. Using herbs he’d gotten from the apothecary, he made his family get sleepy earlier on those nights.
Being a wolf in his or the Hope house was unbearable. There was the self loathing about what he was, the anxiety that he would be found out. Granny Hope had a shrugging attitude about werewolves, “They’re just creatures, like crows or cats,” she’d say. But somehow Jerry didn’t think she’d have that same attitude if she discovered him.
The wolf, too, was anxious on these nights. His paws would hurt because he wanted nothing more than to run freely. Well. Of course that’s not what he wanted, but his body wanted that. He also got hungry on these nights. Painfully hungry. He could stave that off by taking second and third servings for supper. His choice of space also kept his wolf self from being anxious. If he was free to wander the house, or even confined to his room as a wolf, he felt more anxious. He was much more comfortable when he put a blanket down in a closet or something, and locked himself in. Tight spaces soothed the beath. Sometimes he could even manage to in the closet.
The werewolf turned out to be an excellent excuse for itself. When his dads or Granny Hope found him naked on the floor of the closet, he could just say that he was scared of werewolves because of that encounter. This also served fine, as the years went out, to keep him away from the forest. Even during the broad daylight, Jerry would stay home. This perturbed Papa.
“How will he ever support himself if he never learns a trade?”
“Have you seen his craftsmanship?” Father said, “The boy’s an artist. He doesn’t need to cut wood like us.”
And indeed Father was right- Jerry was growing a love of carpentry. Every piece was a little more adventuresome- a little more intricate. His pieces starting fetching good money from the adults of Border Village. Jerry starting working commission.
And so Jerry persisted, maintaining a delicate balance of training and herbs and closets. He was happy, he told himself. Yes, he was surrounded by people who loved him- or part of him, anyway. And he could make beautiful things. This was more than a werewolf deserved.
Everything got worse when Father died.
Jerry was thirteen. Papa came home and Father didn’t. Papa was panting and wild eyed, and embraced Jerry, “Thank god you stayed here, thank god!”
The lumberjacks had been bringing wood back when they walked into a wolf pack. They defended themselves as best they could but the pack was out for blood. Then the forest Witch appeared in their midst, laughing, and created an explosion. One wolf was knocked back in the blast, hitting Papa who was knocked out.
When he came to, the wolves were gone. The Witch was gone, too, but there was a giant, bloody lizard chewing Father’s axe. When the lizard saw Papa, it rushed him. Papa attacked it with both axes and chased it under the water where it got away.
“What are you saying?” Jerry’s voice shook, “The lizard ate Father?”
“No son, don’t you get it? The lizard was just a scavenger. It was the werewolves. With that Witch!”
The Witch, of course. Jerry had heard rumor of terrifying blue haired woman who control a pack of werewolves for murder and mayhem. Werewolves...
It was the thing Jerry wanted to hear the least. Papa took him by the shoulders, “Oh Jerry, I’m so glad you stayed here with your friend. Jerry, you can’t ever, ever encounter a werewolf.”
“I won’t,” Jerry said weakly.
“You have to promise me you’ll never go into the forest!”
“But I don’t!”
“Promise me,” Papa had tears in his eyes, “not for any reason. Just stay home. Make your father proud. Make beautiful furniture.”
Jerry nodded, and cried into his Papa’s breast.
The wolf was bigger.
It was lots of little things that made it bigger. Like Jerry’s temper being shorter. He had no patience for the children on the schoolyard or the teachers. He was known to get into fist fights.
“What are you trying to prove, Jerry?” Papa said, “Life doesn’t need to be any harder for us right now.”
“I know that, Papa.”
“Then why can’t you just settle?”
Jerry couldn’t answer that with words.
He was so angry he hurt Red again, much to his dismay. Red forgave him, though, and Granny Hope called for a break. She offered the kids a warm berry tea.
“Strength isn’t all swordfights and matches,” she said as she removed the teabags, “this is strength, too. One must know when to mend oneself.”
“I’ll be fine, Grandma,” Red said, “it’s just a bruise.”
“I know that, Little Red, and I wasn’t talking to you,” she turned to Jerry, “you’ve suffered a terrible blow, recently.”
“My Father,” Jerry said, and put on a strong face, “I’m OK, though. It’s my Papa I need to worry about.”
“I can tell you do,” Granny Hope said, “and he worries about you.”
“Well, he shouldn’t,” Jerry said quickly.
“And why is that?”
Jerry couldn’t say.
“I worry about you, too,” Red said.
“Why?!”
Red and Granny Hope both looked a little off put by that exclamation. Jerry gritted his teeth and let himself drink a gulp of hot berry tea. Mmmm. This really did feel good.
Red took his hand, “When I was a little girl, my mom- didn’t come home,” Granny Hope looked away, “I was so scared and so upset,” she chuckled, “I tell everybody the reason I want to become a great sword fighter is to kill all the monsters in the Black Forest. But really, sometimes I feel like if get to be good enough, maybe my swordsmanship can bring her back.”
“Red,” Granny Hope said, and Red put up a hand.
“I know, I know,” she said, “it doesn’t work that way. But it feels that way. It’s been so long, Jerry, and there’s not a single day that I don’t want her back,” she squeezed his hand, “you know, if you ever feel ready to talk about your Father, you can talk to me.”
Jerry was terribly moved by this. How wonderful his friend was. He loved her. He wanted to tell her everything. How could he? He couldn’t even mention his Father’s death at the teeth of werewolves without having to talk about werewolves in general and-
“Do you hate werewolves, Red?”
“Of course,” Red said, “after what they did to your father, how could I not? I’ll slay any werewolf I see on sight.”
“Well then,” Granny Hope said, “it’s a good thing you’ll never see one- you’re never going into the cursed Black Forest.”
“Of course, Grandma. But if they came here-”
“That’s enough brave talk out of you.”
Jerry gulped down his tea.
The full moon came and Jerry did what he always did- herbing his Papa to sleep and locking himself in the closet. But the next day there were scratches on the door and blood on the wood.
“Jerry, this has gone on long enough. You have to stop it now. You’re not a little boy, you’re a man. No more closet sleeps,” Papa said, scrubbing the blood out of the floor, “don’t you realize this makes it harder?”
“I’m sorry,” Jerry choked. He didn’t remember scratching at the door.
The next full moon, he tried sleeping in his room. When he woke up the next day, the window was open, there was a dead, partially eaten chicken on the floor, and a gross feeling in his stomach.
He washed the blood out and got rid of all the evidence, but the chicken kept him rolling in his bed all month. He had hurt a chicken. He had hurt and killed a living thing with his jaws and he didn’t even remember it.
“Why won’t you talk to me, Jerry?” Papa asked, “I can’t help you if you won’t talk to me.”
“I’m fine, Papa, really.”
“Jerry, you smashed the fruit bowl when I asked you about school.”
Jerry had gotten a cut on his arm from crushing the bowl in his hands. He tried not to touch it.
“I’ll save up money to get you a new one.”
“No- Jerr- that’s not-” Papa sighed, “please just tell me what’s wrong. I’m scared. I feel like I’ve lost you just like I’ve lost your Father.”
Heya! Welcome to my writing blog- where I store all my writing in one place! And maybe sometimes my visual art if I’m feeling so inclined.
Projects
Real Toys
Real Toys is the (epic?) retell of The Nutcracker and the Mouse King…but it’s set in the 2010s, the multiverse is involved, and every character is queer in some way. That’s uh…how I’m pitching it right now. I guess I need a better pitch.
Characters:
Nathanael, the protagonist, a dorky Oregonian who finds himself getting swept up in his uncles’ demon hunting bullshit and turning into a doll trapped in another universe. As you do.
Hilda, Nathanael’s nerdy sister. She becomes an apprentice demon hunter when Nathanael goes missing.
Christian, one of said demon hunting uncles. He’s an old gay who likes Earth, Wind and Fire and has too many yellow flower shirts in his closet.
Turquoise, an angry bird trapped in a tree. Until she’s not.
Louisie, a cool thief doll with knives for hands. She has a dark past, so she likes to fill her present with jokes and games.
Hussar, a horse who misses his father figure and is trying to rule a country in his stead. Thinks Nathanael is his dad.
The Human Prince
A species-reversed The Frog Prince that follows the plot of Iron Henry more. Also it’s inspired by an aesop fable. Ace and gay mcs, and a lot of cool frog facts.
Characters: Coming Soon!
Uninanimates
This takes place in a universe where, if people die as the result of an object, or touching something that means a lot to them, they will come back possessing that object. As you might imagine, this makes life odd. I’m not quite sure how to write this story, but for a few drabbles here and there, but it’s a universe I like to play in sometimes.
The Glen Project
A collaborative project between myself, @giac-of-many-trades , @jumpy-pale-leaf and myself. Glen is a project about rewriting fairy tale in a world, if you get immortalized into a tale, you get immortalized for real. It’s crossover but it’s also trying to have a feminist view of these stories.
The Island of Misfit Dorks
As it turns out, I have a lot of OCs that I developed independently who don’t really fit into any of my other projects. Five of them appeal to me especially, and I write drabbles about them interacting from time to time.
Characters
Winnie, a gay rich boy who woke up one day as a gigantic bug. Or maybe fairies did it. Or maybe he mutated himself in an accident. In any case, Winnie is a bug superhero now and he’s much happier for it.
Fanfic
This should be p self explanatory: Sometimes I write fanfic. Find it here.
I’ve been a bit sour at tumblr lately, but I’ve gotten over myself, and I want to get back into posting weekly prose here.
I’ve got a new project. It’s young but I’ve been working on it p restlessly. The working title is The Human Prince. It’s a take on The Frog Prince, but species-reversed, and follows the structure of Iron Henry more.
You’ll see more of that. And Nathanael’s exploits, too.
