#they are so silly. the rabbit and the digger

[shurara-gundan]

frogs for @ninjakirkki! what the!

[bonefall]

This may be a bit of a silly question but I’m trying to research this for a fanclan and I cannot make a fox’s tail out of the non twoleg workings

So how would you/Windclan go about reinforcing the tunnels? Used to think it was just ‘put a thick branch up there and every few fox lengths, it’ll support all that’ and that doesn’t seem quite right anymore. Please and thank you 🐈‍⬛

I'm gonna try and keep this reply simple and not get into the in-depth mechanics of digging holes, that's a post for some other time and I'd have to talk about depth and learn math and shit

So very simply putting it, usually, you would naturally dig square tunnels, and this is where all the tension of digging comes from. See, a square tunnel is really bad for physically holding things up, so beams are there to help.

Think about a tunnel kind of like building a bridge. The tunnel is a structure that needs to hold up the dirt above it. Really, functionally think about how many bridges are truly flat; it's not many! You want Arches.

And, it just so happens, a tunnel ALSO wants to be an arch. I'm not sure if I'm explaining this well so I drew a little diagram of a cave-in;

[ID: A drawing of a square tunnel with a dotted line showing the arch of where the dirt will collapse. It progresses into the second drawing of a rock fall, revealing the arch of the first drawing.]

Most cave-ins aren't the ENTIRE tunnel collapsing, it's the part of the tunnel that WANTS to be arch. Arches good. Arches are physically the best way for holding things up. Problem is that you can't dig like that without dropping however many pounds of earth on yourself.

So really, what you want is a beam, not just a stick in the middle of the hole. You want to put a beam from wall to wall, supported by two columns beneath. Like minecraft.

Other various things;

Older tunnels are, actually, usually more structurally sound. There's been more time for them to "stabilize."

The deeper the tunnel, the more stable. This is because the earth above the tunnel is packed in better. You do NOT want to open up a staircase downwards like minecraft, the entrance will COLLAPSE.

However, naturally, a collapse in a deeper tunnel is more deadly and severe for obvious reasons.

Just to state the obvious, sand bad. You do not want to dig in sand. Sand Bad.

Canon vastly overstates the severity of shallow tunnel collapses. Cats will die in less than a foot of dirt :/ There's this part in DOTC where Jagged Peak activates a quicktime event and a burrow collapses on him and it was so profoundly stupid it's been in my head ever since

suffocating in an old animal burrow... girl... do you think rabbits are constantly dying in collapses? genuinely? In soft soil?

Gray Wing is like, "you almost out bro?" and Jaggy-P is like, "ya im coming" and then WHOMP. DIRT. thats not how this works thats not how any of this works

And as a final note... the problems with WC's portrayals of shitty parents aside, it actually makes perfect sense that Tallpaw would think his father Sandgorse is a lunatic for feeling safe with going right back in after a collapse. Tallpaw doesn't know that some kinds of cave-ins actually make the tunnel more safe, but Sandgorse, an experienced digger, would.

(unfortunately the writers don't know this. but i do.)

[weakling-grace]

Kaninchen by @aurorag98

bonus: quotes and parallels and full-circle themes from the fic that make me want to scream and cry and walk into the ocean

“You are a very obedient and quiet child, Kaninchen, you deserve a candy.” He would pat your head like a puppy and then take one of the candies your father kept in a vase for his guests. || “You have been a very obedient girl, Kaninchen, you have supported me more than anyone else, you deserve to be rewarded.” You shivered as you felt his breath on your cheek. When you reached his apartment, the first thing he did was kiss you. — You felt so vulnerable knowing that he had been watching you sleep, but then you remembered that he had done it before, when you fell asleep on your mother’s lap during a party. || I could only watch your mother sleep in her coffin, remembering how I crawled in between pleas when she got pregnant by your father in her third year of college. — Instead he knelt before you, that puzzled you and he noticed. “You should feel lucky, I never kneel before anyone.” He murmured pulling down your panties. || I lied to you Kaninchen, I knelt before your mother, before you. — “My little Kaninchen, I told you to find me when it was time, I can give you the fucking world and you turned me down so many times.” || "He did it to me before, he snatched you from my side!" I shouted clinging to her. She pushed me away, I was on the ground, crawling for her and just looked at me with disdain. —

“You’re beautiful, men will want to take advantage of you.” You could feel his breath on your lips, so close you could almost taste the whiskey on your tongue. His gray eyes looked as dark as a shark’s. || Your mother was beautiful, it was a common thing for men to try to please her. — He pushed you against the wooden table and made you turn around, the vase fell to the floor and shattered. He grabbed the back of your neck and pressed it to keep your face against the wood. || "Call me naive, Jeryd, call me a gold digger, call me whatever you want, I don't care about your opinion." She was about to leave, I grabbed her arm and forcibly kissed her. —

“Get off! Get off me!” you cried tearfully. He didn’t move away, you pushed him, but you didn’t move him an inch, you slapped him and he let you do it, let you hit him. || "Please let me go." She mumbled fearfully without looking at me, I pulled away unable to believe she was so afraid of me. —

In your mind you only heard your mother’s voice: “Stay away from the fox.” || “If I am a fox, you are a kaninchen.” He said tousling your hair and you just pouted. || When you were little you told him he looked like a fox, you were angry because your father always wanted to talk to him and barely paid attention to you, you had always believed he was a fox and children always tell the truth, your father scolded you, but he just laughed. || She growled and shook her head "No, silly mommy, that I'm daddy's princess and you're just a rabbit and rabbits are stupid, foxes kill them and daddy is a fox."

[alollinglaughingcat]

i have so many kittens rn its silly so i made a gallery of some (some!) of my cats' ages XD

Frito is a bottlefed kitten I just picked up today, alongside their three siblings, Cheeto, Dorito, and Lay. They're 3 weeks old

Maya is a stray kitten my mom found outside three days ago, and she's a bit older than a month old, around 5-6 weeks old

Checkers is my long-term foster kitten, whom I've had since she was 2 months old, and she's now 8 months old about. I also fostered her sister, California, for a month. Checkers had a bad reaction to fluids (or the needle was contaminated) that caused her skin to split open, and she's got a few months left of healing to go!

Mac n Cheese is my wobbly syndrome cat, whom I've had since she was 6 weeks old and I swore was still under a year but she's actually a month over at 1 year, 1 month! :O time flies!!! my baby's so fat now!

Gizmo, not pictured, is another cat I have, who's about 2 years and a half now. Very smart and knows sit, high five, and spin! :) My mom also found him as a stray, same age as Maya, and he gave all my cats (and me) ringworm lmao

Princington and Battle Axel were two cats I also had who are now deceased and they were the same age, only about a week apart, and would both be 3 and a half years by now (Prince died at 1 year, Axel at ~2)

Tweetie aka Sweetie aka Angel is a cat I've had since childhood, so I can't remember her exact age. She was born on my grandma's farm, and we took her and Tommy aka Mustard (now deceased) when they were weaned off their mom, so about the 5-6 week mark

Sheldon is another cat I have, big fatto, and my mom fostered him since he was a bottle baby and kept him because he had anger issues and she feared no one would take him and he'd get euth'ed. He's about 9-11 years, I'm not sure of when he came into the picture even though I remember him as a kitten

Shadow is our old boy, somewhere in the 14-16 year old range. His ears are all fucked cause he got something like a hematoma in them and blood burst. He's a good boy but hell at the vet, so since the ears aren't lethal/painful, we didn't do much past give him meds for infection and clean his ears. He has a sister named Macaroni who is very chill and does not look as old as Shadow does lol

Also had a cat named Princess and another named Misty before them, but only faded memories :)

I had hamsters (Digger, Gumball) and guinea pigs (Marvin, Sweetflower) previously as well, had a rabbit (Cookie Dough aka NumNum) briefly, and currently have one some-months old hamster named Buster who loves biting people, and two gerbils, Gemini aged 1 year and Mama Virgo a few months older. Gemini had a sister named Libra that previously mentioned California ate. My mom also has ducks, chickens, and guineas

and not to mention our dogs! Shaggy is like a 4 months old sheep-a-doodle, then Adrian the mini pom is like 10 years old, Rocky the Shih Tzu is 12-14 years old, and Sonny the mutt is pushing 19 years old! We previously had a pom named Destiny who died at like 15 and PP aka Penelope the German Shephard mix who died young at 10 years old because of arthritis/other conditions

its going to be so strange going from so many animals to 2-3 cats, 3 critters when i move for college lol

[theoneandonlyowengrady]

We’ll Get Out of Here (2)

Description: (I feel like I should apologize for how long-awaited this sequel has been. Oops). A few months ago, you were kidnapped mid-battle from your friends The Guardians of the Galaxy. You never gave up hope that they would find you, but recently, prisoner in some strange lonely stretch of universe, you’ve been keen to give up.

Warnings: blood/gore, violence, fighting.

Word Count: 4,829

First Part

“Y/N!” Peter cried, sprinting so hard and fast that you could see the pain of his heart racing all over his face. He strained, reaching, screaming, grasping for you.

They pulled you back further still. They dropped you to the floor of their cold grey ship and the door began to close, Peter shooting the solid metal as you disappeared. You crawled forward, stretching, crawling, legs sore and tired.

“Peter...” You cried, banging your fist against the metal door as his shots rang out around you, echoing over the rumble of the engine.

You woke with a start, your eyes caked in dirt, sweat, and blood. Your jacket, a pillow beneath your head, was spread out beneath you now. Your hair rested in a matted bun atop your head, long and dirty. Your breathing was hard and labored, and your heart pained to be back in that dream, to see Peter again, to reach for him and maybe, just maybe, this time you would find his hand and he would pull you out. And then you could go back to Earth and stop waiting for the future to bring Earth back to you. You could live normal boring lives together in some desert or city, the events of the past far behind you.

“Oh-sixty-four, wake up,” a guard grunted, throwing some gross beige mush down next to you. “Rounds in thirty.”

You looked to your right and out the small porthole of your cell. The stars were far off in the blackness. Somewhere out there, you hoped the guardians were searching for you. You knew that they would find you. They would save you.

It’s not like you’d been pathetic and hadn’t tried saving yourself. You looked down to your wrist at the lightning-like scar that wiggled up your forearm, and then to the shackles on your ankles. There’s a tall price to pay for escaping in these parts, you knew that.

You took a forced bite of the breakfast mush and shoved it away. You had lot a lot of weight the last few months. You were weak and tired. So tired. You hoped they’d hurry and find you, because you weren’t sure how much longer you had the will to fight it all.

After a minute, you stood up, dizzy for a moment until you could get your bearings. You picked up your old leather jacket and wrapped it over yourself, shivering in the hard metallic cold of the ship.

You trudged through the halls with your guard at your side, his sickly green skin wet and slimy. The chains rattled against the floor. You wore an electric choker around your neck as well, and it left your head pointed up and stiff. They put it on every morning before you began your shift, just extra insurance against your escape.

“Don’t try anything dumb,” the guard said, shoving you forward and into a large, glass-domed room filled with dirt and other prisoners digging tirelessly.

“When I get out of here, you’ll be the first person I kill,” you spat, turning towards him angrily.

He chuckled. “If you last that long.”

He closed the gate on the big botanic room and you turned to the rest of the prisoners, watering and picking food from the bushes and digging in the dry dirt. The ship, you thought, was some kind of colony in the sky. You hadn’t seen the people that lived there often, but in the times you had they seemed naive, clean, and high-strung.

“Y/N,” one of the other prisoners said, slamming an old shovel into your gut, “you’re a digger today.”

You sighed and stared at the gate, and then turned your attention slowly to the dome.

“Peter,” you said, “I’m waiting.”

“Peter, I’m waiting,” Gamora snapped, steering the Milano through a gang of hostile aliens.

“Give me a damn second,” Peter yelled, “we have to wait for the right moment.”

“The right moment was five minutes go!” Gamora said, diving sharply down and around another enemy ship.

“Quill, I think I’m siding with the green one,” Rocket said, “I’m not in the mood to die a fiery death today.”

“Yes, I agree with the bunny rabbit,” Drax said, tensing.

“I am groot,” Groot said.

“Exactly!” Rocket agreed.

“Will you all shut up!” Peter shouted, aiming for the center of a large, black ship. “I need, like, two more seconds.”

Gamora rolled her eyes and continued flying forwards.

“Peter-” Rocket tried.

“We can’t kill them all! We still need to question them! These ships are the same mark as-”

“Peter,” Gamora said, her voice low. “We can’t help her if we’re dead.”

“We can’t help her if they���re dead,” he said after a moment.

After another second, Peter fired, the shot ringing through space and colliding with the center of the big black ship. An electric shock pulsed throughout the fleet and left the ships disabled all around them.

Gamora took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Rocket dropped his head to his hands.

“I am Groot.”

Peter sat back and smiled. “Yeah, now we’ve got a lead.”

The screen in front of them buzzed for a minute, and then a strange face clicked on and flickered before them.

“We’re the Guardians of the Galaxy,” Peter said, “prepare to be boarded.”

The Guardians boarded the main ship, guns drawn, Peter in the lead.

“And to what do we owe the pleasure?” The old, wrinkly alien said, lips perched as he watched the group approach.

“We have some questions about an attack a few months ago,” Gamora said, “it involved a ship just like one of your fleet, and they took one of ours hostage.”

The alien threw his head back and chuckled. “We have thousands of ships in our fleet like those, and everyday there are new people taken aboard. My guess is the prisoner died long ago. Not many survive.”

Peter clenched his jaw and took a step forward. Rocket shoved his claws into his leg and held him back.

“You don’t understand,” Gamora said, “we’re going to need you to look up some specifics.”

Drax tightened his grip on his gun and aimed it promptly at the aliens head. The mood of the room shifted and darkened.

“I’ll need a location.”

“A dwarf planet not too far from here. We landed on a gang of thugs like yourself. We were hired for the job.”

The alien man sighed, “then it does truly seem like these events should be in your job description.”

Peter stepped forward and punched him hard in the face.

The man rubbed his hand along his jaw and sighed, eyeing Quill.

“This must be a touchy subject for you, boy,” he said.

“Give us the information we need, or I blow up this entire fleet.”

The man thought for a moment, and then conceded. “There was a report of an attack on a shuttle by a small group on a nearby dwarf planet. A few casualties, one prisoner. But as far as I know, the ship encountered the Jitauri and blew up not one week after that event. There wasn’t a report of the prisoner being dropped off.”

Peter swallowed.

“Where would they drop the prisoner off?” Gamora asked.

“Anywhere from here to the other side of the universe. We’re everywhere.”

“Let me try again,” Gamora grunted, “where between the explosion and the planet could they have dropped the prisoner off?”

The man sighed. “They couldn’t have,” he said, “your friend is dead.”

Peter cried out and threw another punch at the man, tears welling in his eyes as Drax and Rocket reached to hold him back.

You dug all day. Hundred of little holes. So many new and strange plants growing from them. Sweat dripped from your forehead and you sighed, looking up to the sky.

“Still waiting for your friends?” Another prisoner asked. “If they’re gonna face this fleet, good luck to them.”

“They’ll be fine,” you said mindlessly, still staring at the stars above the glass dome. “Stronger then people expect.”

“I hope so,” the other prisoner said, “if they’re coming for you, maybe they can free all of us.”

You snapped back to reality and looked to the prisoner talking to you. It was a girl around your age, with long orange hair braided back and around her head. Her eyes were far apart and her skin was pale and freckly with an undertone of blue. She smiled sadly at you.

“Do you think they’re still looking?” She asked.

You looked at her and at the sky, and then back to her. She'd been here much longer than you.

A little bit of doubt began to creep into your mind. It had been months, and you knew you hadn’t gone that far. About two days travel on the ship that took you here. And this was a big place, and the stars had stayed in the same positioning the entire time. You hadn’t moved. So why hadn’t Peter found you yet?

You sat in the dirt, watching everybody work as you took a short break. You sang to yourself, your mouth dry and lips chapped. Your voice cracked and whispered.

“I’m not in love...”

You felt the tears rising under your arms and up into your eyes.

“So don’t forget it... It’s just a silly phase I’m going through...”

You tried to imagine Peter’s touch. That night, the night you were taken, he was sleeping next to you. When you woke up, he was flying the ship, and you were alone. You’d give anything to have woken up besides him that last day. You kept singing.

You let your head fall against the wall behind you.

“And just because... I call you up... Don’t get me wrong, don’t think you’ve got it made... I’m not in love...”

Peter rested his head against the window and watched the stars pass as they raced back towards the dwarf planet they left long ago. The song played on around him, floating through the air like an old promise.

Gamora sat next to him and placed a hand on his knee.

“Peter?”

He grunted, still staring out the window.

“Peter, are you okay?”

He didn’t answer.

“Peter, we’ll search the radius of the planet. After that, we can try and find the wreckage of the ship. But really, all we can find now is closure.”

He moved his eyes and found hers, glazed and sad. Empty.

“You believe him? That asshole? You think she’s dead?”

Gamora thought about her words carefully. “We’ve been looking for a long time, Peter... If that ship was destroyed that fast... And you know she would’ve fought back. What are the chances that-”

Peter tensed. “Well we’re here now, aren’t we? So the chances are pretty good that this would all happen. And I can’t give up.”

“I know, and that’s why we’re scanning, and searching, and why we’ll find the wreckage, whatever is left of it-”

“So you’re looking for a body now?” Peter asked. He shook his head, tears welling in his eyes.

I’m not in love.

Gamora stayed quiet. She lifted up a gentle hand and brushed away some of his fluffy curls. “I’m looking for closure.”

Peter turned his face gently back towards hers, closer now. A few seconds of silence passed before he fell forward, leaning gently in towards her. He kissed her, the tears falling from his closed eyes and down his cheeks as the universe danced in the window behind them.

I keep your picture... Upon the wall... It hides a nasty stain that's lying there...

He placed a hand on her neck, just below her jaw, more tears peaking through his squinted eyes.

I know you know it doesn't mean that much to me...

“Peter!” Rocket called, “the scanners picked something up! There’s a fleet base about two days south of the planet! They might’ve left her there!”

Peter pulled himself away from Gamora, his cheeks soaked in salty tears. She blinked for a moment, sad.

“Let’s go. Top speed.” Peter stood and walked away from Gamora, who turned her attention to the window at her left.

I'm not in love... So don't forget it... It's just a silly phase I'm going through...

The song echoed out around them as they sped off into the reaches of space.

The next week you awoke from a relatively sleepless night. The shackles on your ankles ached and stirred as you moved. You stared out the window when you couldn’t sleep, hoping to see the milano fly up, Peter just out of reach.

The same nightmare of the night they took you came again, and Peter’s face was blurry now. You tried to remember it, to remember his voice and his hands, but it was all so far off now. How far away were they? Had they given up?

You pressed a hand against the cool glass of the porthole and felt a tear fall form your eye, draining on the floor at your head. Your jacket served as a blanket tonight, shielding you from the stark cold.

There was a rumble that shook the ground. Other prisoners stood up in their cells and called out.

“Shut up!” The guard shouted, “shut up!”

You struggled weakly to your feet, wrapping your hands around the hard bars of your cell. White-knunckled, you pulled yourself up to your feet, your knees shaking.

“What’s going on?” You tried, your voice weak and scratchy.

“None of your business, oh-sixty-four,” the guard said, banging the bars and your fingers, “step back. Back!”

You cringed, pulling your fingers into your chest. The floor shook again, and more guards ran down the hall.

Across the hall, you found the eyes of the orange-haired girl sitting in front of the bars of her cell. She had dried dirt smeared down her cheek, covering her soft pale-blue lips.

You turned and scrambled for your porthole, pressing your hands flat against it as you tried to look around.

“Peter,” you tried, your voice breaking. “Peter.”

The ground shook again, sending you to the floor, dizzy and and weak.

The milano shook restlessly as Rocket steered straight for the giant ship. A big glass dome decorated the center of it, reflecting the light of the stars.

“What is this place?” Rocket asked, leaning forward.

“A colony,” Gamora said, “he probably didn’t mention it because there’s civilians. We need to find a safe way to do this.”

Peter watched Gamora. Gamora kept her eyes trained forward.

“We sneak in,” Peter said.

“Well we’re already being shot at,” Rocket said, the milano shaking.

“Then we fight,” Peter said.

Rocket began firing at the approaching ships, a few of them spiraling out in flames. They dodged and swung, speeding around the colony in a blaze.

Peter swallowed, watching Gamora and the huge ship, the dome of glass stretching out over the center.

“Peter, I’m gonna drop you guys real quick once I get an opening. Get in there, blend in, hide, and try and find her.” Rocket yelled over the firing, surging forwards towards and open bay on the big colony ship.

Rocket dove towards the bay, Peter, Gamora, and Drax standing at the opening door, clicking their masks on.

They jumped out, flying towards the opening fast. Peter took the lead, speeding down towards the ship. He landed with a thump, rolling forwards until he slammed into a wall at the opposite end of the bay. Gamora and Drax followed.

They entered the ship, their masks dissolving as they clicked them off. Peter glanced back and Gamora and pressed his lips together, letting out a deep breath.

“Y/n,” peter whispered, pushing forward.

Guards were still running passed your cell.

“Do you wanna get out?” You asked, looking at the orange-haired girl across from you. She thought for a moment, and then quickly jumped to her feet and nodded firmly.

“I’m gonna need your help,” you said, “I’ve got these chains.”

She nodded again, holding onto the bars with both hands.

As a guard sprinted by, you reached out a hand and snagged a set of keys, quickly rolling backwards into the darkness of your cell. You fiddled with them, your hands shaking from weakness.

“God, Peter, I hope this is you,” you muttered, reaching outside of your cell to try and unlock the door. “Tell me if anybody is coming,” you said to the girl.

“Okay,” she said, “be quick.”

You tried key after key, shaking and fighting against your own strain to unlock your cell. After a minute, the lock clicked and the door fell ajar. You grabbed your jacket and wrapped it around you, sliding out the door and closing it behind you. You glanced up and down the long hall of cells and took the keys to the orange girls cell.

“They’ll kill us,” she said frantically, “I’m afraid.”

You reached a gentle hand through the bars and grabbed her wrist. “It’s gonna be okay. No matter what happens, we’re getting off this ship.”

She nodded, watching your eyes with a sense of hopelessness. Her door clicked open, and she slid out beside you. You closed it silently.

“Hey!” Another prisoner yelled. “Hey! Us too!”

You looked down the hall at all the desperate hands, skinny and dirty and desperate. You slid the keys to the prisoner that cried out and grabbed the orange-haired girls hand, pulling her through the hall. Doors clicked and flew open behind you both as you sprinted, prisoners joining you in your race to freedom.

“We’ve got a code red just off bay three,” a voice said, garbled through a communicator, just passed a turn ahead of you. You held out an arm to stop the people behind you, slamming yourself against the wall. You put a finger over your lips.

“Three invaders, all of humanoid descent, one green-skinned with red hair, one grey-skinned, one wearing a long cloak-”

You reached around the corner and locked your arm around the neck of the guard. He reached up and grabbed at your arm, clawing at your skin. The orange-haired girl grabbed him and helped you pull him to the ground. After a moment of wrestling, you found your way on top of him, all of your weight down on your forearm just over his neck.

“Three invaders-” you said, exasperated, “who are they?”

You felt hope trickled back in. You glanced up at the other prisoners, watching intently.

The guard gurgled and choked, flailing against the floor. Spit and sweat dripped from your chin and onto his face, and after a second his body fell still. You clenched your jaw and took a few deep breaths, standing up quickly. You rolled your shoulders and cracked your neck, the chains at your feet rattling against the metal.

With the band of prisoners behind you, another guard rounded the corner. You sent your elbow up into their face, your chains hitting the floor.

A soldier slammed backwards into a wall as Peter pulled his elbow back from his head. He grabbed him by the shoulders and slammed his knee up into his chest. He collapsed to the ground.

“Peter, I thought we were blending in,” Gamora whispered.

Peter look down at the bloodied soldier and dragged him behind a corner. He wiped off his hands and turned forwards, and empty hall stretching out before him.

“We’ve got three invaders, all of humanoid descent, one green-skinned with red hair, one grey-skinned, one wearing a long cloak-”

Drax grabbed onto  loose pipe in the ceiling and swung backwards, his legs stretching forwards just as a guard came around a bend. The guard flew back and slammed down on the cold ground, his communicator sliding across the hall.

A weak voice cut through the static, just barely audible.

“Who are they?”

Peter stopped, his ears twitching at the sound. His lips parted as he bent down to pick up the narrow watch, the voice breaking through the static.

“Peter?” Gamora asked, turning away from Drax as he pummeled the guard.

Peter stared down at the watch, waiting.

“Peter-” Gamora tried, “we need to go. Now.”

The static on the watch cut off and died. Peter looked up at Gamora, clenching his jaw and dropping the broken communicator to the ground with a clank.

The chains hit the ground.

You searched the guards on the ground for a key to set yourself free, but there was none.

“We need to keep moving,” you wheezed, pulling yourself around the turn.

“Y/n,” The orange-haired girl said, “if this is your friends-”

“It is,” you said, nodding, breathing frantically.

“They’ll find you. You’re in no shape to fight. They will find you. Come with us. We can get out.”

You looked over all of the other prisoners, all small and tired. They watched your every movement, every twitch and breath you took.

“If they’re on this ship, they’re in just as much danger as we are. I’ve never left them behind before-” You thought back to your dream, to the face Peter made as the doors shut in the shuttle and swept you away. You had left them then. That day, you didn’t fight hard enough, and you left them.

“You guys go,” you said after a moment of silence, “get to safety. Steal shuttles. Kick ass. Do whatever you can to get out and get home. I have to do this.”

The girl shook her head. “You don’t owe anybody anything, Y/n.”

You looked down, a drop of blood falling from your nose. You found her eyes. “I owe Peter.”

Blood dripped from Peter’s hand as another soldier fell to the ground.

The three rounded another corner and entered the big glass dome. A makeshift field of dirt and plants spread out before them, abandoned now and drenched in a red hue from the alarms they had set off.

A man lay in the dirt, his ankles in chains. there was a steal collar around his neck, as well as cuffs around his wrists. His eyes stared up into nothingness. Peter swallowed over the lump in his throat and pushed through the dirt.

“Peter, we need to find her fast,” Gamora said.

Peter ignored her and ripped up the plants, kicked the dirt up into the air. A smaller door on the other side of the dome opened, and a group of guards in all-black walked through, their boots crunching on the ground.

Peter reached under his cloak and pulled out his two guns, one for each hand.

You watched as the prisoners went in the opposite direction of you, towards the shuttles. There were so many of them, some of them carry rusty bars and others weapons from the guards. You knew you had done something right by them, setting them free. Nobody could stop them now.

You made your way towards the dome. Knowing how they all thought, you figured they would go for the most identifiable place. Your chains rattled as you limped through the hall, nose bleeding and head pounding.

“It’s just a silly phase I’m going through...” you sang to yourself, “and just because... I call you up... don’t get me wrong, don’t think you've got it made...”

There were shots ahead of you, behind the small door where the prisoners entered the big dome. You looked back one last time.

It was too late to join the others.

You kept singing, squeezing your tired eyes shut as you listened to the sound of shots firing.

Gamora ran up and wrapped her legs around the neck of a guard, throwing him to the ground. As she held him down, Peter sent a shot into his shoulder. He spun and shot a few more times, more guards and soldiers pouring in. Distantly, he could hear people screaming.

Dirt and plants exploded around him, fire erupting on the trees along the walls. The dome above was crystal clear, the stars around the ship shining bright and watching casually.

Drax pushed a small group soldiers into the wall over and over, leaving a giant dent in the metal.

“State your business!” a soldier screamed, shoving a gun into the back of Peter’s head.

The room began to fall quiet, the rest of the soldiers pinning their weapons on the three of them. Peter tucked his guns away at his side and put his hands up, his eyes finding Gamora’s.

“We’re looking for someone,” he said, brows furrowing.

The guard pressed the gun into his head.

Through the quiet, Gamora could just barely hear the sound of singing. She turned her head, listening carefully.

“I’m not in love...” You sang, more like a zombie now than anything else. The shots had died down. You limped still, chains dragging as you sang.

Peter could hear you now too. So could the rest of the guards.

As the door rose open, Peter saw you standing there, skinny and broken and chained, nose dripping blood. His lips parted and his breathing sped up. Gamora and Drax turned.

You found his eyes. He stood there with his hands in the air, guns pointed at him from ten different angles. 

“It’s just a silly phase I’m going through.”

The soldiers and guards looked at you, perplexed.

Your usual guard turned to you, eyes deadly.

“Oh-sixty-four!” The guard shouted, huffing towards you in the doorway.

You pressed your lips together, Peter’s eyes finding yours. Your heart flooded, seeing his face. His hair, curled so gently. Scratchy beard, pink lips.

The guard reached out for you.

You mustered up all your strength and punched him in the face, his gun falling from his hands. In that moment, Peter ducked and turned, tackling the soldier behind him. Shots erupted once again.

You dove and slide across the dirt for the gun, wrapping your fingers around the cold handle. You turned and pointed it at your guard.

“I told you, you would be the first person I killed.” You pressed the trigger, the shot sending you falling backwards as the guard crumbled lifeless to the ground.

You lay there, looking up at the stars. You thought about that fateful day on the dwarf planet, when they took you. How badly Peter wanted to save you. You felt safe in that split-second memory.

But then there was a knife in your side, and you gaged suddenly, crying out.

“Y/N!” Peter called, ripping out his guns and shooting in every direction. Peter screaming, his fists blazing and shifting as he filled with rage.

He shouted, and every soldier and guard around him fell to the ground. Gamora tackled the soldier that stabbed you, sending a shot through his heart.

You looked up at the sky.

Peter stared down at his hands, the flames fading now. Drax watched him, confused.

You smiled, blood welling up behind your teeth.

“Y/n,” Gamora whispered, placing a hand in your hair.

“You- you- you found me-” you struggled, shaking. “Jeez, can you get me out of these chains?”

Gamora tried to smile, her lip quivering. She shot at the chains and they fell from your ankles, into the dirt.

“Y/n,” Peter said, falling to his knees at your side. Your heart surged with happiness.

“I knew you’d find me, Peter,” you said, finding his eyes. He was crying. You smiled.

You felt his arms wrap around you and lift you, the stars somewhat closer. The memory blurs after that- he was running, carrying you. He was warm. So warm. And you were cold, still. 

“We’ll get out of here,” Peter whispered, placing a mask over your face. “Don’t worry, Y/n. We’ll get out of here. We’ll get- We’ll get out of here.”

You let your head roll back as the void of space confronted you with no walls to protect you.

You woke up the way you had fallen asleep, in Peter’s arms.

Your body was sore and tired. Your ankles burned from the freedom from the chains. There was stiff gauze wrapped around your midsection.

Peter was so warm, and he smelled like home. Even the lights of the milano seemed welcoming.

“Y/n,” Peter said, sitting up slightly to look into your eyes.

“Peter,” you said with a sigh.

“I thought you were dead. I thought I’d lost you.”

You smiled. “I thought you’d given up on me.”

Peter pressed his forehead to yours and closed his eyes. “I love you. I love you, Y/n.”

You pressed your lips to his. “You found me.”

He pulled you into his arms, gently tracing circles on the exposed skin of your stomach.

“When we get to Earth, I don’t want to live on a farm,” you whispered, your voice hoarse.

“That’s fine,” he said, “farms are overrated. All I need is a park and some birds to feed.”

You thought back to that fateful day one last time, and you smiled, sinking into Peter’s warmth.

“What a simple man.”

[writingwithcolor]

Hi, i was wondering if you had any tips on how to maintain religion in a post-apocalyptic/otherwise desolate setting. I have a Hindu character and a Jewish character and I want them to keep their religion and remain devout but I also want it to be realistic given the lack of resources etc...

Maintaining religion in a post-apocalyptic setting - Jewish & Hindu Emphasis

A lot of the signs of Jewish devoutness are things you can totally do in a postapocalyptic setting. I mean first of all, you can break any rule to save a human life, so if you’re not supposed to kindle a flame on Shabbat but you have to light a fire to not die, then you’re fine.

But anyway. Shabbat is about rest and renewal, so your character can take one day in every seven, starting at sundown (Friday night if they have a way of knowing what the days of the week were in the Before Times!) to rest, say the special prayers – if they’re devout enough to be “devout” as you said in your question, they’ll know a lot of this stuff by heart – and refrain from the kind of work you do on weekdays. Like maybe if they’re a posthole-digger they don’t dig any post-holes on “Saturday” morning.

Not eating pork, shellfish, rabbit, the back end of beef, and bugs is another thing – but again, people did wind up eating all kinds of whatnot in the Warsaw Ghetto – these rules aren’t meant to be dying over. If they know when Passover is in this world they can leave off eating bread for a week and maybe even cobble together a makeshift seder from memory.

If you have a married woman and she’s Orthodox she can still cover her hair. If she’s not Orthodox this is probably not an issue.

If they have any way of knowing when Yom Kippur and Tisha b'Av are, and it’s safe to do so, they can fast.

Especially if they’re Orthodox, they can start the day with the morning prayers. If this person is Orthodox and menstruating, and there’s water in which to do so, they can say the mikveh prayer while taking the bath after their period is all finished. (I’m Reform but I find comfort in this kind of thing, too.)

If we’re talking about someone who wasn’t raised in the normal world – I was assuming the apocalypse in this was recent, but I mean if they’ve never known normal-Earth – then they might have learned all these things by rote from parents or community instead of from going to temple.

It really is that simple – prayer and moments and remembrance. Actually, in my very first book, my characters are stuck in the middle of the woods as the sun goes down for Shabbat. They say the prayers anyway, using the sunset itself as candles. Here’s some art: http://shiraglassman.tumblr.com/post/78112396680/its-shabbat-shulamit-suddenly-realized-out

This, plus living up to Jewish values like tikkun olam (healing the world) and tzedekah (justice) and all that – that’s all it takes to feel like good/satisfying rep to me.

–Shira

As I’ve probably mentioned before, the term “Hinduism” is kind of a misnomer, as it implies that there’s one such thing.  If Christianity or Islam are families of sibling belief systems that share obvious commonalities, “Hinduism” is a huge family of distant cousins, groups of which often don’t seem to have much of anything in common and you just have to take their word that they’re related.  If you look hard, there might be a family resemblance.

I often think about this when confronted with the question of how I’d live my life in a post-apocalyptic wasteland (and this is something I consider with alarming regularity these days).  Which are the parts of my upbringing that are actually important?  What of it have I already jettisoned by choice or changes in circumstance and what more would I?  And what of it is silly garbage that’s going to get me killed by the next band of water bandidos marauding the blasted hellscape that is New New York City?

Anything that you might broadly categorize as a religion has aspects that range from the ritualistic to the philosophical so of course Hinduism is no exception.  I’d posit that extreme ritualism and extreme navel-gazing are both things likely to get you shanked by bandidos so in the interests of survival your character is probably going to want to tread a middle path.  Any rules against eating beef are probably out the window (unless it just makes them sick regardless).  So is strict adherence to doing a morning prayer or yoga, or meditating so deeply you don’t notice the bandidos coming.  On the other hand, there may be good reasons for maintaining dietary restrictions (e.g., you can’t trust that any food grown outside the Safe Zone isn’t deadly).  Meditation can relieve stress and you could probably use some stress relief after the apocalypse.  However, arguably these markers are matters of culture rather than belief (that is, not all Hindus eschew beef or practice meditation; those that do do because they were exposed to the concept somewhere).

This is a hard question to answer because it would really depend what kind of Hindu background this character comes from and how (if relevant) they related to their culture “before the fall” so to speak.  They may identify with one particular deity due to their circumstances (for example, Vishnu, to preserve the world they do have; Shiva or Durga, as a reflection of the destruction that presumably brought about said apocalypse, and from which there will hopefully come renewal; or Ganesh, to remove the obstacles they surely encounter every day).  I should note that were it me in that position, any identification with or invocation to a god would probably be extremely sarcastic: the gods didn’t prevent the apocalypse, why the hell would they help me now?  Again, it depends on the character’s personal outlook.

You might also consider some of the relations elemental factors have to most Hindu rituals and how that might change in this environment.  For example: water, light, fire, and food are all typically revered or at least valued greatly.

- Water is a life-giving resource and many Hindus revere rivers.  In a wasteland, protecting clean and safe water might very well have sacred significance as a matter of literal life and death.

- The divine is often thought to dwell in food and sustenance and gods receive offerings of food at festivals.  You may not be having very many festivals but the value of food may be thrown into stark new focus.

- Does this world lack for sunlight, warmth, or energy?  Orthoprax Hindu priesthood often revolves around keeping a sacred fire.  In a world where flame is the power source of a community, for example, the person who keeps the fire going could very well think of it as a sacred ritual, and maybe that’s a connection to the beliefs or practices they or their family held before.  You can even abstract it a bit more.  What if a postapocalyptic community runs off some relict solar panels?   Some character might see that as very literally depending on the sun for their survival.

If there is one thing that unites most flavors of Hinduism, it’s the notion of dharma, which is hard to translate, but loosely means “order” or “duty,” or more generally “that which is established or held firm.”  So, what about this character holds firm?  I’d say in such an extreme circumstance, devotion or religious practice is more than just throwing out the names of some gods every now and then to remind people of your roots (especially if you keep praying for help and it never comes).  It’s more about how you conduct yourself in relation to the world, and when you reach back into those old virtues ingrained in you by your family, how you exercise them relative to nature and the people around you when literally may not be sure that the sun will rise tomorrow.  It’s not easy but the apocalypse rarely is.

-Mod Nikhil

[tikkunhayam]

11 Questions

Rules;  Answer the 11 questions, then make up 11 questions for those you tag to answer! I was tagged by the fantastic @morganites-realgar

What movie best describes your life?

Where I am in life right now, I’d say Moana. I really relate to the whole “I want to chase my dreams but I also have responsibilities that fill me with joy and purpose and I’m just so sure that given enough time I’ll find a way to tie them together well enough” thing. Also I fucking love the ocean. Like so much. The line- “see the light as it shines on the sea/ its blinding/ and no one knows how far it goes/ and it feels like its calling out to me so come find me”  Oh my god do I feel things.

What song can you listen to over and over and over?

My song for forever-and-twice repeats changes daily/hourly tbh. Today it’s On Your Way Home by Casey Breves because its been stuck in my head all day.

Are your farts loud, silent but deadly or in between?

Usually both? But fortunately (or not??) for my easily embarrassed self, they are at least silent, and I can vacate the area while people politely pretend not to notice lol.

Are you allergic to anything?

I have the standard minor allergies to pollen. And I hate bananas, so I’ve lied to people about being allergic to them so I don’t have to eat anything made with bananas.

If we were to look in your browser history what would we find in the top ten?

HAHA JOKES ON YOU STALKER my laptop died forever last week and it took all my browser history with it. My new laptop has virtually nothing on it. 

What is your spirit animal? 

I’d like to think that if I were an animal I’d probably be a rabbit or something- constantly full of anxiety, needing to live in a social environment, fully prepared to fuck you up with my sharp claws and sharp teeth- although woefully inadequate at doing so.

What is your favorite quote? 

“All the world will be your enemy- Prince with a Thousand Enemies. And when they catch you, they will kill you. But first they must catch you. Runner. Digger. Listener. Prince with the swift warning. Be forever cunning and full of tricks, and your people will never be destroyed.” (this was me going from memory so some words may not be 100% to the text)

If you could have any pokemon (only one) which would you choose? 

My guy, its hard enough to only pick SIX in a game. But I would want a meowth- its pickup ability would help me find cool shit and since it knows Payday I’d always have an easy stream of income lol. But away from practicality? A dewgong.

What is your Hogwarts house?

HUFFLEPUFF

What is your favorite Paleozoic fossil?

Probably blastoids? It was the first fossil I found complete!

If you were a rock, what would you be and why?

I would be Jerusalem stone- a type of limestone that occurs in Israel. I’d be Jerusalem stone because as a limestone, it has a propensity to hold life in the form of fossils, but also has been used by the Jewish people for construction and artwork in Israel since ancient times.

And I tag... @smartalec1996, @kulindadromeus-from-scotland, @debatingfromthesaddle, @gordon-lazer-ramsey, @jetfuelcantmeltmyheart, @jobin... and anyone else who wants to participate (I would be perfectly happy for you to say I tagged you if you want to join in!!)

If you could have a conversation with any fictional character, who would it be, and what would you discuss?

If you could have any animal as a pet (in a fantasy world where all animals make good pets lol) what would you have?

Do you prefer saltwater or freshwater?

What classes/jobs are giving you trouble?

Fruits or vegetables?

What is your favorite tree?

Have you ever read a book/watched a show that changed your life?

Do you have a favorite scientific name?

What are your ideal pajamas?

Do you have any silly pet peeves that never really come up in daily life?

Would you rather be able to freeze time around you, or travel back in time?

[swordarkeereon]

Guest Post: New Release - Nightmare's Rise #newfiction #newreleases

Excerpt

Flynn cursed.

Gingerly, he felt around in the water for his lamp. Something slippery brushed past his fingers. He was about to pull his hand out when he touched hard, molded plastic. The head-strap floated in the water above it, a buoyant plastic fastener shining in the light of Makani’s lamp. Maybe that was what had touched him a moment ago. He pulled the lamp out of the water and flicked the switch. Dead.

“Crap,” he muttered. “Did you see that?” He turned to find Makani but couldn’t see her face past the glare of her lamp.

“See what?” A sharp beam of light caught Flynn square in the eyes. “Oh, sorry.” She took her lamp off and held it facing up at the ceiling.

Makani’s voice was barely above a whisper, her hands shaking. Whether from cold or fear, was anybody’s guess. The light shivered on the stalactites above their heads, and she worried her bottom lip between her teeth. “All I know is this place isn’t right.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “But I thought I saw…” Flynn shook his head. He must have imagined it. The shadows, the cool water, the confined space, the folk tales, they were all creating silly ideas in his head.

“Can you shine the light up there, above us?” He held his breath. He really didn’t want to see, just in case he hadn’t imagined it.

“Okay, yeah.” Makani treaded closer to Flynn and angled the lamp up again. She kept her eyes down at the water and whispered,

“There’s no fish here. Not even goby. No bugs, either.”

While she was looking down, Flynn looked up, squinting into the darkness. The light outlined something hanging from the ceiling. He exhaled, his furrowed brow relaxing. It was just a dark, wet stalactite.

Until it moved.

“Holy crap,” Flynn whispered. “You never said anything about bats in here. Big ones.” Really, really big ones. Bats would explain the lack of insect life but not the lack of fish.

“I never said, because there aren’t any. If there were bats, there would be guano…” Slowly, Makani looked up to where Flynn had his eyes trained.

Whatever it was, it was big. And breathing.

“We gotta get out. Now!” Makani sounded so terrified, the hairs on the back of Flynn’s neck rose.

Author Interview

Have you been writing for a long time?

Erin: Maybe? I recall starting a lot of stories but never finishing them. The first time I finished a story, I was 11. The first time I finished a story well, I was 15.

Mirren: I’ve always written. I’m not sure I’ve always written well, but that’s the point of practicing and growing.

What inspired you to start a writing career?

Erin: Twilight. No, seriously – if not for the success of the series and subsequent trends in writing and readership, I would never have considered dipping my toes in the water. That, and Mirren gave so much of herself to get things going for both of us. Without her support and legwork, nothing would have gotten out of the water.

Mirren: That’s pretty much how our collaboration started, yes. We were discussing the popularity of that and also 50 Shades of Grey and that we’d certainly write things differently. I’d never claim to be trying to be better than anyone, but we wanted to write something our way, but have wide appeal. I think we’ve done that with this series.

Is this book a stand-alone or part of a series?

Erin: Nightmares Rise is book one of a trilogy. And, if the winds blow the right way, there may be a companion book to them. Keep your eyes peeled!

Mirren: What Erin said. Book 2, Shadows Deepen should be out in early 2018.

Why did you choose this genre?

Erin: The genre chose the book. Actually, there were a few factors. First, romance comes naturally, which is ironic. Second, being raised in Hawaii meant I was constantly surrounded by stories about the supernatural. It’s just a part of the collective culture that comes with so many people mingling in a confined space. Those stories live on long past the teller or the culture that birthed them. It seemed only right to bring these spooky beings back to life in the modern world.

Mirren: We also wanted an exotic location which was familiar to one of us. Where in the world is more exotic and appealing than Hawaii? And the genre fit in afterward.

Do you have any advice for aspiring authors?

Erin: Just keep writing. Know that every story has already been told already but not by you, so it’s worth telling. Your vices will be your constant companion through the process. Try to develop some that are healthy. Nothing comes from a vacuum. Be prepared to work hard: finishing a story is tough but editing your own work is harder. And finding someone to publish it is even worse! But if you believe in your story, it deserves to be released into the world. A strong support system comprised of anyone who will listen and give honest feedback is absolutely necessary. They may not always say what you want to hear but they will assist your growth in vital ways.

Mirren: I agree with all of that, plus read, read, read and read some more. It’s the best way to train your mind to understand the methods used to put together a good story. Also you can see what you think doesn’t work and avoid that in your own work.

Author bios

Erin Yoshikawa Erin is a Scorpio born in the year of the rat. She currently resides on a small rock in the middle of the Pacific Ocean with one child and a plethora of native fauna to aid in the writing process. One time rock and roll queen, soup seller, grave digger, and world traveler, Erin enjoys a quiet existence working for The Man while not giving him the satisfaction of killing imagination and dreams. She has contributed to a few anthologies. Nightmares Rise will be her first full-length novel with more to come. Eventually. She hopes.

Erin Yoshikawa”s author page- https://www.facebook.com/erin.yoshikawa.author/?ref=ts&fref=ts

Mirren Hogan Mirren Hogan lives in NSW Australia with her husband, two daughters, dog, cat, rabbits and countless birds. She has a Bachelor of Arts (English/ history), a Graduate Diploma of Arts (writing) and a couple of degrees in education. She writes fantasy, urban fantasy and science fiction. Her debut novel —Crimson Fire— was released by The Dragon’s Rocketship Publishing in October 2016, with more to come. These include a trilogy co-authored by Erin Yoshikawa. She’s also had several short stories published and has co-edited two charity anthologies; for breast cancer research and Plan Australia.

Mirren Hogan’s author page- https://www.facebook.com/MirrenHoganAuthor/?ref=bookmarks