#rhoan: prepared

[artagansilvermoon]

prepared | lovell, rhoan & artagan

Rhoan and Lovell might not have realised their heats were both coming but the faerie had. He could sense the change in their attitudes, they both became grumpier and possessive and needy, all at the same time. Artagan had only experienced one heat with the both of them and he had felt the need to hibernate for weeks afterwards just to get his energy back. This time, he wasn’t going to be unprepared for what was coming. As stupid as he felt, he made sure to do yoga and stretch every day in case it hit, knowing he needed his muscles to be heated up. He also placed lubricant around the suite in various places as well.

He was lazing about in the living room when he could hear the commotion start. He might not have the senses that wolves did but it felt like he could smell the heat in the air. Unfurling himself, he wandered from room to room, checking in on them both. “You don’t look so good,” he commented absently, resting a hand on Lovell’s waist and one on Rhoan’s shoulder. The heat was radiating through their skin, almost burning him. “So should we just get naked and get started?” he asked, casually pulling his shirt off. It was better than it getting torn, he rather liked that one. 

for: @varcolax and @rhoankennedy

[saturdayam]

Saturday PM #10

Saturday PM #10 is here!

Saturday PM returns for FALL 2020!

This issue is a BLOCKBUSTER and represents the BEST of DIVERSE SEINEN fro around the World!

Features EXCLUSIVE SERIES:

CODENAME: VILLAIN from Saudi Arabia

YELLOW STRINGER from the USA

4STRIKES from the USA

RHOANS from the Philippines

UNDERGROUND from the USA

And new series from SENEGAL which promises to bring a cool version of AFROFUTURISM to our magazine -- prepare for

OBLIVION ROUGE!!

Finally, a few articles help to educate the indie manga fan with the happenings and people behind this thread of mature of geek culture:

COTORI CLOTHING

TOKYO GHOUL

So, are you ready? JUMP IN!

[twinsimskeletons]

Their history essay was on war – specifically the cycle of advantage between infantry and mounted units. It was a topic Law should have found fascinating, but his mind had been elsewhere during the classes and preparation work. He’d even drifted after Rhoan in a dream-like state to find a free computer room.

Rhoan hadn’t commented on it, but Law wasn’t going to assume that he’d keep his silence for long. Law’s mind was so very rarely distracted from work, but then he had been wrestling with a strange new concept all week.

He had barely admitted it to himself, but his first instinct was to talk about it with Rhoan. Rhoan, as blunt and as indiscreet as he was, was still Law’s closest friend beyond Eilidh. And unlike Eilidh, Rhoan had often commented about how clued up his parents were. Law had never met them, but according to Rhoan they were staunch protestors of inequality and often dragged him along to various events to make their voices heard. He knew it was unlikely that Rhoan would do more than bat an eyelid.

[young-forsythe]

A quick story for Scarlett @scarlettsbearhugs, who is stuck in the hospital and requested a gay adventure story. It turned out to be a gay fairy tale, because I couldn’t help myself.

* * * * *

The Tale of Vashti’s Tree

Long ago, in the time before magic-makers and medicine-weavers, the land of Rhoan suffered beneath the cloud of a terrible plague. The royal family looked upon their dying people and wept, for though they sent food and blankets to every home, they could not stop the disease. And thus the queen beseeched her ancient and wise mother for a solution.

“You must seek the Tree of the North,” the Grand Dame said. “It lies on the highest mountain, across the deepest river and the widest plain. It is said a cure lies in the wrinkled bark. Fetch a twig from this great tree, and your people will be saved.”

The queen thanked her mother and rushed to tell her daughter, Princess Vashti, the kindest, bravest, most cunning warrior in all of Rhoan. Together they wasted no time gathering what was necessary for the quest. Vashti departed at dawn astride her fierce steed and rode with the rising sun at her right hand.

She traveled for days and nights without rest, over stone and briar and stream, relentless in her desire to save her people. Finally, when the full moon shone on her polished plate armor, Vashti stood before the Tree of the North. She bowed deeply before it. Then, quick as a cobra, she unsheathed her sword and severed a green twig from the drooping boughs.

She caught the twig as it fell, careful to wrap the base in soft silk and dip it in a bottle of moon-dew from her mother’s rose garden. A hand graced her shoulder. Vashti rose to see the most beautiful woman she had ever witnessed. The stranger towered over the princess, her moonlight hair cascading over gossamer robes dyed like opals. Two lovely beetle-black eyes blinked down at Vashti. The princess struggled to keep the blush out of her face.

“I am Myrna, the spirit of the Tree,” the stranger intoned. “It is I who grant the gift of healing. You may take this twig, but know it is useless without my blessing.”

“How may I gain your blessing, most noble and, ahem, beautiful spirit?”

“I have devised three tests for you. Should you prove yourself to be kind, brave, and resourceful, I will travel with you and deliver your people from harm. Go forth, and know the twig you have taken will wilt in fourteen nights.” With this, the spirit vanished.

Vashti turned and began her long trek down the mountain. She had not traveled far when she heard the cries of a child. A young girl clung to the sheer face of the mountain, only a single stunted sapling preventing her fall. Vashti cast about for a foothold. She found nothing but loose rock. Desperate to save the child, she took a length of rope and secured it around her shield, forming a seat. She lowered it down to the girl. “Be not afraid!” Vashti called. “I promise I won’t drop you!”

The girl gazed up at Vashti with a sickly smile. She climbed onto the shield and Vashti almost buckled beneath the impossibly heavy weight of her passenger. But the princess was nothing if not a stubborn fool, and she dug her heels into the mountain path until the little girl stood on solid ground once more. “You have proven yourself,” the girl announced, and vanished.

Vashti continued down the mountain with little interruption. She began to feel uneasy at the quiet when she came across a little bench in a copse of trees. A laughing stream rushed by merrily. To Vashti’s utter fear, however, a familiar face lounged on the bench in the arms of another man. It was the woman Vashti courted years and years ago. Their love burned steadily for many moons before it shattered into ice. Vashti had not seen her ex-lover since. Her heart jumped in her chest like a frightened rabbit, but still she rode on. How many nights had she lain awake, imagining this moment? How many angry speeches had she prepared?

Vashti held her hands steady. Now was not the time for lovers’ quarrels. She had her kingdom to save. Besides, she thought with a glance at the figures on the bench, it was not her place to disturb their peace, no matter how much pain she had endured in the past. They did not deserve it. Vashti whistled a tune to herself until the lovers were out of sight. “You have proven yourself,” her ex-lover murmured, and vanished.

The final test did not come for a day and a night, until Vashti crossed a great barren field of rocks. A dog limped towards the princess, rising like a mirage from the hot stone. Its lolling tongue and wheezing breath begged for water. Vashti took stock of her supplies. She had very little water in her skins. The most she had was moon-water for the frail twig, and she knew to sacrifice that would doom her quest altogether.

So the princess dismounted. She constructed a little shelter of stone for the poor dog to stave off the sun’s burning rays. Then she strode off in search of a cactus, and, with one fell blow, slashed open its nourishing flesh. She filled a bowl-shaped stone with as much water as it could carry. This she presented to the dog. When it had slurped its share, it wagged merrily and licked her face. “You have proven yourself,” it woofed, and vanished.

A hand rested on Vashti’s shoulder. She jumped and turned to see the spirit Myrna smiling down upon her. “I see that you truly are kind, and brave, and resourceful. I give you my blessing. Come, let us deliver your people.” The spirit offered her hand.

Vashti found herself whirling through the air, over river and plain and forest, higher than an eagle and faster than a hawk. The enchanted breeze let her go just over the castle courtyard. Her horse whinnied in confusion. Vashti raced to dip the magic twig in the fountain, and as she did, a tremendous tree burst from the stones, roots and branches pouring over the tiered fountain just like water. In the blink of an eye a new tree stood proudly above the castle. Rhoan was saved.

In the years after the plague had dwindled, Vashti grew to be a lovely queen, though she often found herself lonely. One beautiful evening she took a stroll around the Tree. The spirit Myrna was waiting for her. “There is something I must ask and offer, princess,” she decreed.

“What is your request?” Vashti replied, and her heart beat like a flower begging to open. 

“I ask for your hand, and offer my own, so that we may hold each other forever and always, as equal queens of Rhoan.”

Vashti delighted in Myrna’s offer and caught her up in a powerful warrior’s hug. They were wedded the next spring beneath the Tree’s silvery foliage and lived happily ever after.