ok but like, one of my major headcanons is that when chief was a kid/back during training, he’d like, eat bugs. raw. and alive.
Which, when it comes to survival training, is alright when you don’t really have much to eat out in the forests of reach, but it’s a whole other thing when he sees the biggest fucking alien equivalent of a cockroach he’s ever seen, and he is extremely tempted to eat it right then and fucking there in front of a full platoon of marines and spartan IV’s.
And Cortana or Roland or whoever has to physically tell him, please, don’t fucking crunch on the damn bug like it’s a juicy, disgusting, wriggling hotdog.
When the Spartans showed up on Jericho VII we had never seen anything like them. No one had. And they were terrifying. They were taller than a hingehead and armored like some kind of luxury-model Scorpion, and they moved so fast you could barely see it. Add in the glassy mirrored faceplates, and they might as well have been robots. Hell, we thought they were robots until Blue Two opened her mouth and cracked a joke. I was too shocked to even remember it.
But there was one moment where they seemed more human than anyone i’d met in the 10 years since the war started.
O’Callaghan was sitting against a tree cleaning his rifle to prep for the assault, and this nasty fucking bug started crawling down the trunk. Now, I’ve been stationed on enough different rocks to know that the big ones aren’t usually poisonous but they’re violent motherfuckers. And this one climbing toward O’Callaghan’s ear was the size of a golf ball even if you didn’t count the legs.
Before I could even say anything, it disappeared in a blur of green, and there was Blue One, holding it between his fingers as gently as you please and looking at it with his head tilted a little bit like there was nothing in the world more important at that moment than really truly appreciating this weird ass bug, like someone had told him to stop and smell the flowers and he took that advice totally and completely to heart, even on the front lines.
He took off his helmet. I don’t know what I expected, but the man underneath it was definitely not it. He was human alright, but he couldnt have been even 25 years old, even though his scars and the look in his eyes made you think he’d been fighting for 30.
But then he did something that rocked me to my very core. Something almost as bizarre and alien as the Covies we were here to kill. He took that giant ass bug, struggling as hard as it could between his fingers, and fucking ate it. Just popped the whole damn thing in his mouth, started chewing, and put his helmet back on like it was nothing. And then Blue Five spoke up.
“John, what the hell?”
I don’t remember the rest of the battle. I spent it trying to wrap my head around the fact that he had the most normal fucking name in the army.
i really really mean it please write muslim characters, it’s really not that daunting literally all you have to do is throw in a few casual qualities.
have them squint uncertainly at the meat options in a restaurant and ask if there’s pork in the sandwich. have them mention on the phone “oh, i’m gonna stop by the mosque first for prayer but i’ll be there soon.” have your hijabi girls squeal over cute scarves in mall store windows and swoon over sparkly pins. have them kindly reject a glass of water and say “oh, i’m fasting today.”
just don’t make their religion their only defining aspect. like??
for most women, wearing hijab is about as casual as wearing a shirt or pants. give me a badass woman on a mission to save the world just like you’d write literally any other badass woman on a mission to save the world— this one just happens to keep her hair in a headscarf and is careful not to eat certain foods?
and not all muslim women wear scarves, a lot of them just choose not to or they decide not right now but they’ll do it later? like, give me a girl who’s absolutely determined to break a world record and halfway through the story she shows up in a headscarf for the first time and it’s no big deal.
give me a kid who’s on the search for an ancient magical artifact and also they get anxious at some point cause they’re busy but prayer’s gonna start soon and they don’t wanna miss it. have them whip out their phone and search for the nearest mosque. have them find some quiet place to pray alone, like in the corner of a hotel room they just booked while their travel companion’s watching TV with the volume turned down low.
just?? do a bit of research (when are the prayer times, when is ramadan, what are halal foods, mosques in texas, etc.) and write!!! muslim!!! characters!!!
I’ve noticed on some tags of this post that you guys wanted the hear the audio, so here it is!
Transcription:
“and I’m the baby Griffin.”
“And I’m Griffin, and I’m a child.”
“I’m Naruto.”
Griffin: [sneezes] “Sorry guys, I think I’m just coming down with a touch of basketball feverrrrr” Justin: “You have to say your name.” Griffin: “Griffin McElroy, I have basketball fever.”
Griffin: “And I’m Griffin McElroy. I am playing Minecraft. Right now.” Justin: “Right this second.” Griffin: “While we record the show.”
“I’m Hank “The Spank Tank” Jankerson“
“I’m your sweet baby Jesus brother, Griffin McElroy.”
“I’m your sweet baby, Griffin.”
“I’m Travis.”
“Uh, I’m Griffin McElroy, and, yeah, I’m just gonna, I don’t have shit to do.”
Griffin: [makes obnoxious dolphin noises] Justin: “why. why” Griffin: [continued dolphin noises] Travis: “why are you doing that” Justin: “how could this…” Griffin: “It’s my- it’s how I commune. It’s how I commune with my dolphin brethren.”
Griffin, in a spooky voice: “And I’m the baby New Year-” Justin: “Welcome, Baby New Year!” Griffin” -ghost, I’m the ghost of Baby New Year.”
“I’m your babiest brother Griffin FUCKING McElroy.”
“And I’m Griffin McElroy, the Emperor of Piss.” [laughter]
“I’m your sweet baby brother Griffin McElroy and look at how sticky my hands are! Gonna put ‘em right in your pockets and get all that sweet change out.”
“I’m your oldest brother, Justin McElroy- no wait”
“I’m Justin McElroy Junior.”
“I’m your sweet-ASS brother Griffin McElroy.”
“And I’m Griffin. Guys, what the fuck even is goin’ on anymore?”
Justin: “And what’s your name, little one?” Griffin: “It’s- I think its Ghoul Rat Fin Mummy Rat.“
Griffin, in a shaky voice: “And I’m Pimbles, the- [laughing] and I’m Pimbles, the bread man.”
There’s this fic on AO3 that, according to my history page, I have visited 176 times. Which means I alone am responsible for 176 hits on that fic. I commented on some of the chapters, but only a few, because I feel like a stalker when I comment every week. I gave it kudos, but I can only give it one, even though it’s one of my favorites.
So just remember, when you’re looking at that hit count and wondering why you don’t have that same number of kudos (divided by the number of chapters, because each one of those also counts as a hit), it might be because some people out there love your fic. They read it when they’re feeling down. They open it in the waiting room at the doctors office, or in the lonesome dark of night. They turn to it in celebration when they did something right. They open it over and over so they can send the link to their friends, or just to revisit the characters that they love. They checked it ten times in one day, hoping that you had updated.
A disparity between hits and kudos does not mean that your readers didn’t like your fic, or that they were too lazy to hit the kudos button. It means that some of them came back, and there’s nothing that makes me happier about my writing than that.
Time's Vengeance 