#setting brushfires

[asmoteeth]

More sillies for @sphnyspinspin

! NOT PERMITTED TO SELL OR COMMERCIALIZE !

[transformers-bold-bright-brisk]

Hey, hey, hey! Art coming your way!

If you’ve followed my other blog for a while you might recognize a couple of these characters. The height charts were mainly for helping me get the basic layout for each character’s design and I am absolutely proud about how each and every one of them turned out🥰🥰🥰

[nightmyst14-blog]

Regaining Treasures Part 5

Setting: Bunt Cheese has been moved to the medical bay, watched over by servants and the royal family. A few days later, they received good news.*

Pure Vanilla; *running into the throne room* He’s awake!!

Golden Cheese; *looks up from playing cards with Dark Cacao, gasps* Is he??

Pure Vanilla: *nods* Go and take a look.

Golden Cheese; * *spreads her wings and flies to the medical bay.* *rushes inside, and sees Burnt Cheese sitting up, petting the jackal on his lap*

Burnt Cheese: *blinks a few times, looking up* Ah.. Your….Your R-Radiance.. 

Golden Cheese; *stunned, staring* ….

Burnt Cheese: *bows his head, looking sad.* F-forgive me , my queen. For I failed in guarding our sacred gates from intruders. Any punishment you wish to place upon me, I will-

Golden Cheese: *flies over to him, hugs him tight* My baby!! *cries* My little moon, you’re back!!!

Burnt Cheese: *shocked, looking at her.* Ah- You’re not…

*Mozzarella and Smoked Cheese scramble into the room, Smoked Cheese pushing his sister’s wheelchair while hobbling behind it*

Golden Cheese: I missed you so much.. I’m so sorry, my baby!! You were the first to fall,  and I wasn't there!!!

Burnt Cheese: *shocked* I.. I am just your gatekeeper, I was just-

Golden Cheese: *cups his face* You work so hard to protect my kingdom, you forget yourself. Look at you, you can barely move your limbs..

Burnt Cheese: I-I will recover, your Radiance… The gates still need guarding…

Golden Cheese: Ugh, listen to me! I just-

Smoked Cheese: *interrupts* PRINCE Burnt Cheese Cookie ! Just SHUT UP!

Burnt Cheese: *looks over, his jackal ears laying flat against his head as he growls.*You dont get to-

Smoked Cheese; NO! Let me finish! *He flaps his stiff wings*

Burnt Cheese; *glares* ……

Smoked Cheese: Look here, you idiot. I'm the LAST person to say it, but LISTEN to her as our MOTHER, not as our queen! We thought we LOST you. As if you couldn't be brought back!

Burnt Cheese: Well.. I  failed in my task to guard the gates. I dont think she should have-

Smoked Cheese: No shut up! *grunts* Before being the Gatekeeper, you are our brother, her SON. The second prince of the kingdom! My baby brother! You didn't think we felt the same! YOU DIDN'T DESERVE TO DIE FIRST IN THAT ATTACK!

*the room fell silent, beside hearing the other ancients footsteps coming to the room.*

Burnt Cheese: *looks away, quiet.*

Smoked Cheese: *shaky sigh.* Despite everything… Despite our constant fighting.. You didnt think it HURT to see you all??? When your skull was beaten in?? When your mask cracked to reveal jam spilling from your head?? I was TOO late to save you!

Burnt Cheese: ….

Mozzarella: *worried* Smokey….

Golden Cheese: Birdie…

Smoked Cheese: I.. I couldn't save you.. *dips his head low* So I did all I could to save our sister… yet that failed.. They were too strong..

Golden Cheese:  That is not your fault, Smokey.. They swept down on you all so quick as a brushfire..

Mozzarella; *Nods* Even my best-made defenses couldn't work..

Burnt Cheese; *frowns, looks down at his hands and body all bandaged in places.* I still failed you all… It was my duty to guard the gates..

Golden Cheese; I don't care about that! *Hugs Burnt Cheese tight* 

Burnt Cheese: *grunts a bit in pain, looks at her* You radian- AH.. I mean, M-Mother..

Golden Cheese; *sniffles* M-My little moon forgive me.. You were closest to touching the outside world from our kingdom.. Yet you were chained to your post… unable to move.. It kept you from running.. I'm so sorry…

Burnt Cheese; *frowns, silent tears run down his face as he rests his chin on Golden Cheese’s hair, doing his best to hug her.*

Smoked Cheese: *sighs a bit, smiles. He gently rubs Golden Cheese's back.*

Mozzarella: *smiles* I missed you guys...

Golden Cheese: *Reaches for them* Come here you two. I .. I just.. Let me hold you three.

Smoked Cheese: *Helps Mozzarella over to Burnt Cheese's side, but he and Mozzarella join the hug.*

Golden Cheese: * wraps her wings around all three, cries tears of joy.* My babies.. My little treasures…

Burnt Cheese, Smoked Cheese, and Mozzarella: *hugs her tight, soon weeping themselves*

Golden Cheese: *smiles, sniffles* … all back.. All here… I won't let go of you three again..

*Pure Vanilla and the others watch this scene with tear-filled happiness, letting the little family to rest and regroup. The Golden Sovereign was dimmed for a moment, now it was just Golden Cheese and her little ones, all back together.*

Olive: * gently knocks, peeks in while carrying Fettuccine:* ..May we come in?

Fettuccine: Faba!!

Burnt Cheese: *looks* Little Mummy.. Youre alright...

Olive: She was waiting for you to wake up. *sets Fettuccine down.*

Fettuccine: *waddles out, climbs up into his arms.* Faba…

Burnt Cheese: *Smiles, kissing her head,* Missed you too, my little mummy…

Smoked Cheese: Wait, so Im an uncle?

Mozzarella: *giggles* You didnt know??

Smoked Cheese: No! I barely left the royal quarters! Being advisor is a lot of work you know!!

Burnt Cheese: Hush Smokey.. My head still hurts..

Golden Cheese: *laughs* Already back your antics aren't you? But.. things are going to change around here.

Burnt Cheese: Huh"

Mozzarella: What do you mean, Mother?

Golden Cheese; Well, Our abundant kingdom is still in need of repair and there are many citizens I must help to reawaken... So, I'm establishing trade between the other kingdoms, BUT..

Smoked Cheese: But?

Mozzarella: What is it?

Golden Cheese: I want you three to be the ambassadors for it, traveling to the other regions to spread out the tales of the Golden Sovereign!

Smoked Cheese; W-What..?

Mozzarella: We get to explore.. outside the kingdom??

Pure Vanilla; Yes. Your mother was talking about it with rest of us. THe other ancients and I think this a wonderful idea.

Golden Cheese: Its about time I let you three spread your wings and explore.. O-Only when you all are FULLY HEALED!! Not before then!!

Burnt Cheese, Smoked Cheese, and Mozzarella: *laughs*

Mozzarella: As you wish, mother.

Smoked Cheese; I always want to see the snow of the Dark Cacao Kingdom.

Mozzarella: Ooh! Finally! I get to visit Hollyberry kingdom and try their delicaicies..

Burnt Cheese: it will be odd to leave my post for the first time.... But I suppose I could try..

Golden Cheese: *smiles* Of course, my treasures..

Hope you guys enjoyed the main story of Regaining Treasures!

I plan to make a minisode and a BONUS thing for this. Nevertheless I hope you enjoyed this story!

[sabotsen]

Afterglow

Pairing: Noan x (gn!) Commandant / Reader

Notes: Set shortly after Noan’s affection story 6; word count 1.3k

Warnings: Subtle possessiveness

A fluke. 

Fate disguised as a coincidence. 

Isn’t that how it always goes in hero stories? 

A chance encounter that alters the alignment of stars and rewrites destiny for the better, with hope woven into every word and touch. 

But this is not a hero’s story, and fate has never been kind to him. 

It is not a moment of joy, with warm smiles and gentle laughter in the company of friends. It is not a moment of anticipation, spirits soaring high before the oncoming fight. This moment — quiet and peaceful — has been won only after the blood of comrades has stained your hands beyond recognition and their corpses paved the way to the top of this hill upon which you weather every storm. 

But even so…

Despite it all, he is grateful. 

How could he not be, with your head on his shoulder? 

Your breathing is slow and steady, his cloak a poor cushion against the hard, unyielding metal of his frame. Yet now and then, you drowsily nuzzle against his shoulder and almost seem to burrow into the worn folds of the fabric before settling once more against him. It’s enough to trigger an itch in his wires, a slow rolling brushfire that sweeps across him — quiet, without flare or noise. More than once he has brushed the hair from your eyes, his fingers curling as they trace a path from behind your ear down along the curve of your jaw. 

Still you do not wake. 

Not when he calls your name or when his touch drifts across your cheek like butterfly wings, a ghost of a touch too delicate to truly be missed. Just how much have you been pushing yourself lately? It hasn’t even been three days since you returned from a month long mission down on the surface and already the shadows beneath your eyes are just as concerningly dark as the first night he kidnapped you to this blind spot in Zone Z. Do you always throw yourself so recklessly into the fray, heedless of your health? 

How does Gray Raven stand it, watching you tear yourself apart like this piece by piece? How does Simon hold his tongue every time your paths cross, despite the endless worries that flow over like rain behind the closed doors of Dark Ares? 

You nuzzle against his shoulder again, a faint furrow in your brow as the blanket draped around your shoulders slides away. Noan cannot help the small smile that pulls at his lips as he adjusts the blanket and dutifully ensures you are properly bundled. His hands hover near your cheek, an itch in his fingertips to brush against your brow and coax that furrow away. 

You trust him — foolishly, kindly — and he still cannot wrap his head around why. It’s such a heavy thing — your trust — and he has long since known cold, metallic hands cannot grasp delicate things forever. 

Would that wake you? 

Would it cross a line somewhere, somehow? 

He settles for lightly brushing the hair from your face, touch far too light and mindful, before his hand drifts down to your hands resting in your lap. Slowly, with all the careful movements of a child reaching for something forbidden in the middle of the night, he cradles your hand in his. Immediately, your warmth sinks into him, gradual and welcoming. 

Your head on his shoulder, your hand cradled in his — a fragile peace lay nestled against him. 

It feels like Spring.

It feels like home.

Delicate, like a folded paper crane. Even the slightest moment could tear and rend everything asunder. The smallest bit of rain could eat away the body. Carefully, so carefully must he act — every word and action mindful and calculating. He can’t lose this — this friend, this trust, this warmth. 

Slowly, he laces your fingers in his, marveling at the softness of your skin against the hard edges of him. You stir in your sleep, fingers curling around his hand and weakly returning his grip. 

“Commandant.” 

Your title is a whisper upon his lips, gentle like flower petals. 

“You’re scowling again.” 

His free hand brushes against your cheek, thumb tenderly swiping just under your eyes as if to wipe away tears. Beneath his light touches, you seem to relax, the faint traces of tension fading from your expression. He feels the subtle shift of your weight as you lean upon him further, like a bird burrowing into a corner of the nest. 

Warmth seeps into him, sinking beneath cold metal and bleeding beyond colored wires. Down, down, down it travels — to a vast white expanse within him, where only snow thrives. It seeps in, like springtime rain, and melts the unending snow. Noan gently tilts his head, lips brushing against the top of yours as he soaks up every bit of your warmth like a sunflower desperate for the sun. 

The empty bridge framed by the black expanse of the stars are the only witness to this moment of weakness. He knows when the timer runs out, this will all be over. He will return you to your Gray Ravens, likely carrying you upon his back much like he did before. He will return to the cafe and slip that shackle back on his wrist once more. 

“Shall we run away again?” You had asked just hours prior, the playful smile on your lips marred only by the exhaustion you could not hide. 

He didn’t tell you the response he suppressed — suffocated, really — that you need only say when and he would answer your call without fail. He did not tell you how he hid a blanket in the library on the impossible chance he could sneak you away to Zone Z again. He did not speak of the joy that flared in his chest, bright and blooming, to hear your request. 

He had merely held out his shackled wrist to you, a small smile on his lips as he had replied, “You really shouldn’t make a habit of getting kidnapped by an infamous bad guy unless you want to be lectured for hours.”

Your laughter as you disarmed his tracker still rings in his ears. A precious sound — what would it take to make you laugh more often? How often do you laugh around your Ravens? 

Noan closes his eyes as his thumb brushes over the back of your hand in his as he curls himself around you. If only there were still softer parts to him left, maybe he could be of more comfort. You’re still sleeping so soundly, but it can’t be comfortable to use him as a pillow like this. The blanket he brought couldn’t be enough — it’s not, not to him. He has to do more, be more. 

Next time, then. 

The thought freezes Noan, barely suppressing the flinch that would have squeezed your hand — he could have hurt you. Next time? Will there be a next time? Would it be alright to hope for that? To trust in that? 

Noan calls your name softly, devoid of any titles. Caution laces his tone but it is no less gentle. 

Still you do not wake. 

Soon, this peace will end and his time will run out. You will return to the frontlines and he will return to his shackles, worn weary by painful tests and experiments under watchful eyes that neither trust nor care for him. 

“It would be nice,” he murmurs into your hair, “if you called upon me like this again.” 

Silence settles and the stars in the instance still frame the otherwise dark and empty room. Noan quietly tugs the blanket tighter around you and curls himself that much closer to you, every bit a child clutching a jar of fireflies for comfort. 

The feeling of you cradled in his arms — a paper crane, a firefly — 

This is enough for now…. 

[deluxewhump]

The Fundraiser

Cameron takes Zee to a fundraiser and someone from Zee’s home state recognizes him. Middle of frathouse arc timeline.

CW: bbu, previous identity

On an overcast Saturday morning in October, Cameron told Zee to shower and get dressed. He obeyed, and when he came down the stairs a grey windbreaker was thrust into his arms. He followed Cam out the door of their off-campus house and ducked into the passenger seat of his car. The door was stiff with the cold. He had to pull it firmly in order to get it to shut again. It slammed louder than he’d intended and he winced, waiting for a reprimand. None came.

“Cam?” he asked, trying to gauge his mood by his reaction to his name alone.

Cameron turned his eyes to his passenger as he turned the key and his 88’ Mustang growled to life. He was wearing khakis with a navy university hoodie and his green eyes were sleepy but not stoned. “What.”

A what with no inflection was a good response from Cameron. It was neutral, not fake-friendly but not tinged with warning, either.

“Where are we going?”

“Oh.” He actually laughed as he checked his dash’s gas gauge and rpm’s. The needle jumped and dipped as the Mustang idled in the unseasonably chilly air. “Nobody told you, huh?”

Zee shook his head. A few months ago, Cam would have let him ride in mystery or said something cryptic to make him nervous. Something like questions are above your rank, aren’t they? Or why spoil my fun, Z2?

But lately Cam had been more tolerable. Zee didn’t know if this was because he’d finally figured out what it is Cam wanted, which was not a perfect WRU product but a self aware, would-be equal demoted to the rank of subordinate— someone a little afraid of him but not too much, someone who would give him pushback if he went too far, but submit if he persisted. The other explanation was that it could be some strange change of heart after the time he’d come into Alex’s room and hung out with them. Maybe he just got sick of the performative bullying he’d spent so much of his hard earned money on for laughs, and was moving on. Either way, Zee was just glad moving on looked like more eye contact and conversation between them, and not being locked in a room somewhere forgotten, or abandoned to the brothers he considered even worse.

“Chapter fundraiser,” Cam answered mildly as he reversed out of the overcrowded driveway and onto the street. Zee could smell the car’s exhaust, and something like drifting smoke from a backyard brushfire in the dry air.

“A color run. You know, like a 5k but they dump a bunch of colored powder on everyone as they run? I’m manning a photo-slash-donation booth at the finish line today.” He pulled into a Dunkin Donuts half a mile from their street, on a divided highway dotted with office parks and medical buildings, ENT’s and orthopedic clinics with meticulously maintained black mulch landscaping.

The Dunkin had cream siding and tan trim, like it was trying to blend in with a more sophisticated neighborhood than its bright pink and orange colors warranted. Cam parked out front and absently told him “sit.” A few minutes later he returned with two cardboard gallon-boxes in each hand.

“Coffee and hot chocolate,” he said, setting one by Zee’s feet and the other in Zee’s lap. The warmth of its sides felt delicious on his hands. The Mustang’s heat was touch and go. “How anyone goes straight from a 5k to hot chocolate is beyond me, but I do what I’m told.”

Zee didn’t think it would be that hard, for people used to running in all sorts of weather. He’d seen Dominic mainline back to back tuna melts not ten minutes after a practice that had him as soaked in sweat as if he’d been swimming. Cameron was discerning and catlike in comparison— economical with his movements, apt to go a full day without eating and not even notice.

The thought of food made him hungry, but he was with Cam today, which meant he was on a Cam schedule. If Cam happened to eat, he might be offered food. More than likely though, Cam would have nicotine for lunch and not eat until much later when he was high. He put the thought from his mind.

The event site was already packed with people. Zee carried the gallon containers like dumbbells while Cameron got a backpack out of the trunk and led the way to the finish line. Their booth was already assembled. Anthony Shorey, always in shorts even if there was snow on the ground, was there with his hands crossed over his chest and tucked under his armpits for warmth, talking to a couple of girls wearing white hoodies and pastel leggings.

One of the girls saw Cameron and did what was meant to be a cutesy whine of his name, dragging out the N at the end. She saw Zee and her eyes slid to the boxes he carried. “Ohh, what’d you bring?” she asked, ignoring Zee entirely.

“Coffee and cocoa,” Cam answered, lifting his arm as she tucked herself under him into a hug. “Help yourself.”

There were two races scheduled, he learned. One started at eleven and the second at one. Sunlight was breaking weakly through the clouds as Cam set up their gear— a scannable QR code he taped to the table, a card reader, a cash tip jar with their Greek letters taped to the front of it. A cardboard box that had been left under the booth contained color run event lanyards and t shirts, which he set up tabletop in neat rows.

Zee set up the drinks on his end of the table, closest to the photo booth. He sat back in one of the plastic chairs and startled like an idiot when something touched his legs. It was a blanket, and Cam was holding the other end of it. A quick scan of his surroundings told him neither Tony Shorey nor the girls in running clothes from the next booth had noticed his flinch, but Cam had. He gave Zee a centimeter’s tilt of the head that Zee had begun to understand was an olive branch, a momentary reassurance of truce. Zee tucked the blanket around his legs and torso. “Thanks,” he said softly.

The first run brought waves of color-spattered participants past their booth, with many stopping in to take post-race photos together with their magenta, indigo and canary-yellow faces, hair, and clothes. Cam chatted and sold t-shirts. Zee spent most of his energy on just trying to look normal, glad he wasn’t covered in colored powder and made to run with his ankles tied closely together or something equally stupid. They would’ve if it was a frat backyard event. This was too big, too public. For all anyone knew he was a brother.

As the waves of completionists came through following the second race, he was more comfortable. David Shoaf brought new Dunkin containers and paper cups and replaced the nearly empty ones on the table. He took Cam’s place and Cam disappeared to a nearby booth where Zee kept glancing over his shoulder for him, uneasy being left without him in the way he used to be uneasy without Alex or Dominic. He was talking to a group of guys, two of which were covered in powder, and one girl, a ponytailed Amber Malloy who was not.

“Jamey?!”

Zee’s attention snapped back to the booth. In front of him was a twenty-one year old named Marshall Sains. His brain knew it immediately— provided the name with the face that was looking into his with a mixture of surprise and the specific delight that comes with encountering the deeply unlikely. Though Zee knew him immediately, it took a moment to place him. He rarely thought of anyone from before, except for the judge and his own mother, though he tried very hard to block those thoughts, banish them to his subconscious. There was discomfort in his life that he could control and discomfort that he couldn’t. Thoughts of before— of who he really was, belonged to the former category.

Marshall Sains belonged to before, he realized slowly. Not a brother, or a friend of theirs, or a guy someone knew who came around sometimes. Not a teammate of Dominic’s he recognized or one of Alex’s siblings. Marshall Sains was his friend in highschool. They had biology together, and B lunch. He drove a Toyota Camry, and his star athlete older brother had died in a car accident in 2010. People still stopped him and offered condolences when he was a junior in 2014, Zee had witnessed it more than once.

“N-no,” he muttered weakly. Absurdly. Adrenaline flooded his gut like a writhing pile of snakes. A group came out of the photo booth covered head to toe in garish colors like warpaint. Marshall Sains studied him, his smile freezing and dying on his familiar face, a few years older now but not much changed.

He was looking at him like he couldn’t believe it, like he was looking for something that might indicate he’d made a mistake— a cluster of freckles or the bridge of a nose that was not quite right. Zee knew he wouldn’t find it. He was right, of course, he was two feet away from his friend Jamey who’d disappeared from the face of the earth with nothing but rumors of where he’d gone and why.

He’d rather they all thought he was in prison. Or dead, really. Less humiliating that way.

In his peripheral vision he saw Cameron break away from the group he’d been talking to and come slowly back over to the booth, hands in the front pocket of his university hoodie, not inserting himself in the situation but hanging casually back as if to survey the runners as they completed their race. But Zee knew he was listening.

“Jamey. Oh my God. Dude. It’s Marshall Sains?” he laughed uncomfortably, like he was waiting for Zee to admit he was just messing with him and stand up to hug him and clap him on the back. “How the fuck are ya?”

“I’m sorry man,” Zee managed in his most offhanded, who-is-this-weirdo voice. “I guess I have a twin. But I don’t know a Jamey and I don’t know you.”

Marshall grew flustered then. The group that had come out of the photo booth were trying to pour themselves cups of coffee and he was in the way. Anthony Shorey was watching the exchange now with faintly raised eyebrows.

“I’m sorry,” Marshall said. “I could swear…” he looked into Zee’s face one more time, reluctant to accept that his own eyes would lie to him so boldly. Zee stared back, fully committed to his story now that the initial shock and panic of seeing someone from before had subsided. His ears still rang like someone had boxed them from the word Jamey tossed out in proximity to Cameron Byrne and Anthony Shorey and all these people who belonged firmly to after.

“You gonna buy a shirt or something?” Zee asked with a little more sting behind it than he would have liked. Marshall was a good guy. But it did the trick. He gave an awkward hands-up gesture and backed off. Zee watched his friend’s back disappear into the colorful crowd.

Cam offered to take back his post behind the card reader and Anthony gladly gave it up. Cam said nothing at first, blowing warm air into his big-knuckled hands and rubbing them together near his lips. Finally he turned to Zee, which spiked his adrenaline all over again and made his teeth clench in his skull.

“He was right, wasn’t he?”

Lying to Marshall Sains and the rest of the world was one thing. Lying to Cameron was pointless, and it would only irritate him. Zee nodded.

“Who is he?”

“A guy I knew in highschool.”

“Where was highschool?”

Zee swallowed. They’d never talked about any of it, and he didn’t want to get into it here, in the middle of a crowd of people. Cam didn’t like when he acted too much like a mindless boxie, but he didn’t think he’d like him talking about his life before either.

“Kentucky,” he answered flatly.

Cameron scanned the crowd absently. “Mm.”

Zee stared at the fine print on the back of one of the Dunkin boxes, too small to read from where he sat and therefore too small to set off the needling discomfort that reading larger font brought onto his vision like a migraine.

Cam’s hand was chilly but not unpleasant on the back of his neck. It was a gentle weight, and he squeezed lightly with only the pads of his fingers. Zee turned in surprise, wondering what he would find in Cam’s eyes. They met his intently.

“I can call someone to come pick you up,” he said. “Alex is around I think.”

“No,” Zee shook his head. “I’m good.”

Cam gave him a questioning look, and now the pads of his fingers were almost petting the back of his neck, a touch that could be controlling or casual— certainly common among fraternity brothers to clasp each other by the back of the neck like it was a scruff— and turning it into something intimate. His skin tingled.

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Drink something.” He nodded towards the boxes. “Either one, just get a drink.”

Zee reached for a paper cup and fumbled with the lever of the coffee box til steaming black liquid poured out. He hadn’t run the 5k at all but he felt like he’d sprinted it— his legs were shaky and his mouth was thick with saliva. He thought sweet cocoa might make him feel sick, and hoped caffeine would snap him out of his daze.

“Atta boy,” Cameron said under his breath, sliding the hand away from his neck. It wasn’t as condescending as it ought to be, or fake, or even really meant to be heard. It sounded something like simple camaraderie, even bordering on affection.

He sipped black coffee and felt the cold air on his neck where Cameron’s hand had been.

[greyknighterotica]

I’d just like to say that your confidence is shining through in the most recent asks. The way you talk about pleasing a woman, what you share about the things you take away from those experiences, how you engage with your partners on a cerebral level? It’s all very enlightening and feels very intimate. Like we’re getting to know Daddy on a different level. I don’t think you’re the exception but I do wonder where we find other men like you. Men who are as sure or as aware of what they’re looking for during a sexual or romantic experience. What app settings do we have to turn on to find that?

You're very sweet, thank you. It means a lot to hear this where I am right now.

I'm back in therapy, I'm doing mushroom meditation and tho my hopes were low, I really feel like it's making a difference.

There is simply an--emptiness in my mind where there was recently a rushing wind. A harsh wind, the kind that moves between the trees in a brushfire. Howling. Incessant.

Someone took a run at me last week, really tried to get my goat.

Instead of defaulting to anger, or what I used to consider the perfect response of being 'forward facing?'

I said, to them, in real time, aloud:

"Where you can't make friends, you can still find allies."

And that absolutely fucked them up worse than an insult or jeer I could have evoked.

So. Yes. Thank you.

I want to keep this configuration of me as well.

Besides the lack of podcasts? I'm pretty fucking happy with myself as well.

[sassenach77yle]

||COUNTDOWN || SEASON 4 EPISODE 09 || THE BIRDS & THE BEES ||

#83daysofoutlander☆

The light outside was dazzling after the taproom’s gloom. Brianna blinked, eyes tearing at the shafts of sun that stabbed through the shifting greens of a screen of maples. Then a movement caught her eye, below the flickering leaves. He stood in the shade of the maples, half turned away from her, head bent in absorption. A tall man, long-legged, lean and graceful, with his shoulders broad under a white shirt. He wore a faded kilt in pale greens and browns, casually rucked up in front as he urinated against a tree. He finished and, letting the kilt fall, turned toward the post house. He saw her then, standing there staring at him, and tensed slightly, hands half curling. Then he saw past her men’s clothes, and the look of wary suspicion changed at once to surprise as he realized that she was a woman. There was no doubt in her mind, from the first glimpse. She was at once surprised and not surprised at all; he was not quite what she had imagined—he seemed smaller, only man-sized—but his face had the lines of her own; the long, straight nose and stubborn jaw, and the slanted cat-eyes, set in a frame of solid bone. He moved toward her out of the maples’ shadow, and the sun struck his hair with a spray of copper sparks. Half consciously she raised a hand and pushed a strand of hair back from her face, seeing from the corner of her eye the matching gleam of thick red-gold. “What d’ye want here, lassie?” he asked. Sharp, but not unkind. His voice was deeper than she had imagined; the Highland burr slight but distinct. “You,” she blurted. Her heart seemed to have wedged itself in her throat; she had trouble forcing any words past it. He was close enough that she caught the faint whiff of his sweat and the fresh smell of sawn wood; there was a golden scatter of sawdust caught in the rolled sleeves of his linen shirt. His eyes narrowed with amusement as he looked her up and down, taking in her costume. One reddish eyebrow rose, and he shook his head. “Sorry, lass,” he said, with a half-smile. “I’m a marrit man.” He made to pass by, and she made a small incoherent sound, putting out a hand to stop him, but not quite daring to touch his sleeve. He stopped and looked at her more closely. “No, I meant it; I’ve a wife at home, and home’s not far,” he said, evidently wishing to be courteous. “But—” He stopped, close enough now to take in the grubbiness of her clothes, the hole in the sleeve of her coat and the tattered ends of her stock.

“Och,” he said in a different tone, and reached for the small leather purse he wore tied at his waist. “Will ye be starved, then, lass? I’ve money, if you must eat.” She could scarcely breathe. His eyes were dark blue, soft with kindness. Her eyes fixed on the open collar of his shirt, where the curly hairs showed, bleached gold against his sunburnt skin. “Are you—you’re Jamie Fraser, aren’t you?” He glanced sharply at her face. “I am,” he said. The wariness had returned to his face; his eyes narrowed against the sun. He glanced quickly behind him, toward the tavern, but nothing stirred in the open doorway. He took a step closer to her. “Who asks?” he said softly. “Have you a message for me, lass?” She felt an absurd desire to laugh welling up in her throat. Did she have a message?

“My name is Brianna,” she said.

He frowned, uncertain, and something flickered in his eyes. He knew it! He’d heard the name and it meant something to him. She swallowed hard, feeling her cheeks blaze as though they’d been seared by a candle flame.

“I’m your daughter,” she said, her voice sounding choked to her own ears.

“Brianna.” He stood stock-still, not changing expression in the slightest. He had heard her, though; he went pale, and then a deep, painful red washed up his throat and into his face, sudden as a brushfire, matching her own vivid color. She felt a deep flash of joy at the sight, a rush through her midsection that echoed that blaze of blood, recognition of their fair-skinned kinship. Did it trouble him to blush so strongly? she wondered suddenly. Had he schooled his face to immobility, as she had learned to do, to mask that telltale surge? Her own face felt stiff, but she gave him a tentative smile. He blinked, and his eyes moved at last from her face, slowly taking in her appearance, and—with what seemed to her a new and horrified awareness—her height. “My God,” he croaked. “You’re huge.” Her own blush had subsided, but now came back with a vengeance. “And whose fault is that, do you think?” she snapped. She drew herself up straight and squared her shoulders, glaring. So close, at her full height, she could look him right in the eye, and did. He jerked back, and his face did change then, mask shattering in surprise. Without it, he looked younger; underneath were shock, surprise, and a dawning expression of half-painful eagerness. “Och, no, lassie!” he exclaimed. “I didna mean it that way, at all! It’s only—” He broke off, staring at her in fascination. His hand lifted, as though despite himself, and traced the air, outlining her cheek, her jaw and neck and shoulder, afraid to touch her directly. “It’s true?” he whispered. “It is you, Brianna?” He spoke her name with a queer accent—Breeanah—and she shivered at the sound. “It’s me,” she said, a little huskily. She made another attempt at a smile. “Can’t you tell?” His mouth was wide and full-lipped, but not like hers; wider, a bolder shape, that seemed to hide a smile in the corners of it, even in repose. It was twitching now, not certain what to do. “Aye,” he said. “Aye, I can.”

He did touch her then, his fingers drawing lightly down her face, brushing back the waves of ruddy hair from temple and ear, tracing the delicate line of her jaw. She shivered again, though his touch was noticeably warm; she could feel the heat of his palm against her cheek.

“I hadna thought of you as grown,” he said, letting his hand fall reluctantly away. “I saw the pictures, but still—I had ye in my mind somehow as a wee bairn always—as my babe. I never expected …”

His voice trailed off as he stared at her, the eyes like her own, deep blue and thick-lashed, wide in fascination. “Pictures,” she said, feeling breathless with happiness. “You’ve seen pictures of me? Mama found you, didn’t she? When you said you had a wife at home—”

“Claire,” he interrupted. The wide mouth had made its decision; it split into a smile that lit his eyes like the sun in the dancing tree leaves. He grabbed her arms, tight enough to startle her. “You’ll not have seen her, then? Christ, she’ll be mad wi’ joy!” The thought of her mother was overwhelming. Her face cracked, and the tears she had been holding back for days spilled down her cheeks in a flood of relief, half choking her as she laughed and cried together.

“Here, lassie, dinna weep!” he exclaimed in alarm. He let go of her arm and snatched a large, crumpled handkerchief from his sleeve. He patted tentatively at her cheeks, looking worried. “Dinna weep, a leannan, dinna be troubled,” he murmured. “It’s all right, m’ annsachd; it’s all right.”

“I’m all right; everything’s all right. I’m just—happy,” she said. She took the handkerchief, wiped her eyes and blew her nose. “What does that mean—a leannan? And the other thing you said?”

“You’ll not have the Gaelic, then?” he asked, and shook his head. “No, of course she wouldna have been taught,” he murmured, as though to himself. “I’ll learn,” she said firmly, giving her nose a last wipe.

“A leannan?” A slight smile reappeared on his face as he looked at her. “It means ‘darling,’ ” he said softly. “M’ annsachd—my blessing.”

41 JOURNEY’S END

[artemistorm]

For the ask game: Hyrule and fire.

Here you go, I ended up writing an actual oneshot XD.

******

“—And Hyrule, your job is to stay here undercover, and at my signal, take out the monsters guarding the cage,” Warriors said, handing out battle orders.

“Got it!” Hyrule nodded.

“Ad whatever you do, don’t use fire, got it? This place is a dry as a stalfos. One spark—from any of you—and you’ll trigger a raging brushfire that’ll race towards the town and destroy the very thing we’re trying to save.”

“Yes sir!” Hyrule stood up straighter and mock-saluted, which Warriors ignored and led the rest of the heroes along the outskirts of the monster camp to be positioned in various locations in preparation for their attack.

The monsters had been kidnapping villagers from at least three different local towns and villages and forcing them to mine ore in the canyon caves. The plan was to destroy the monster camp, free the kidnapped villagers, and then raid the caves and free the slaves from the mines.

It was all very simple really, Wild and Twilight would pick off the lizal archers on the watchtowers, Four and Wind would sneakily freeze as many monsters as possible with borrowed ice rods and take them out of commission without the main horde noticing, Then Time, Warriors, and the rest would charge, the elder two taking out the dynalfos boss and the younger heroes routing the lesser monsters. Then in the ensuing chaos, Hyrule’s job was to free the prisoners and lead them away from the battle and back toward the village.

Waiting his turn to act, Hyrule crouched behind a stack of weirdly eroded boulders just uphill and downwind of the camp, drawing food in the orange dust of the desert canyonland. Mmm, fish skewers. Peaches. Deep fried rice balls. Apple nutcake. So tasty. Hyrule was starving. It was late afternoon, but Warriors wanted to get the battle done before nightfall, so they only had snacks with a plan to delay dinner until after.

Hyrule heard a commotion in the camp—shouts and squawks of surprised monsters and the yelling of Links. Hyrule climbed up the rock formation and poked his head just over the top. In the middle of the camp surrounded by lizalfos were Four and Wind! A pair of aeralfos swooped down with Twilight and Wild in their claws and dropped them in the dirt next to Four and Wind. Oh no! They had been caught!

The dynalfos roared and a third aeralfos appeared, straining to fly and carry another iron cage which it dropped over the four captured heroes, nearly crushing Twilight’s arm in the process.

A yell came from the west and Time, Warriors, Legend, and Sky charged the camp, splitting into pairs in an attempt to get to the trapped heroes from either side, but with most of the monsters in the camp still on their feet and going after the four heroes, Hyrule was more than a little concerned they all might be captured—or worse.

What to do? What to do? What should he do? Hyrule was rather small and he wasn’t very mighty, though he did have some powerful spells in his repertoire, the most powerful ones were fire-based and he wasn’t supposed to use them here.

But then again, the original plan was to thin the crowd, then cause enough chaos that he could rescue the villagers. Certainly four mighty warriors tearing through the camp was chaotic, but Hyrule had the power to cause even more chaos, divert even more attention away the captured villagers and heroes. With any luck, he could free the heroes and turn the tide of the battle in their favor.

It was time for… Maximum Chaos.

First things first, Hyrule snuck around to the cage of villagers and jumped out, startling the lone lizal guard and quickly dispatched it into a puff of smoke. He picked up the key and tossed it to the villagres reaching their hands out of the cage.

“Free yourselves and flee away from the setting sun to return to your village!” He instructed and slipped away, as quiet and unseen as a mouse.

The monsters didn’t have buildings per se, but they had erected a number of tents and shelters made of wood and cloth and old hides. Very flammable tents and shelters, ehehe.

Hyrule snuck behind one and channeling fire into his blade, he swung and sent a flaming phantom sword straight through it, setting fire to the structure. Then Hyrule bolted and ran to the next tent, chopped off the grabby claws of an aeralfos that tried to snatch him up, and he quickly set fire to the second and larger tent. It burst into flames even quicker than the first one did and Hyrule darted away.

Monsters noticed the rising flames and panicked, diverting attention away from the rest of the Chain. They rushed the larger tent and attempted to put out the flames. The dynalfos bellowed but the lizalfos and aeralfos paid no heed and instead fixated on rescuing pots and crates of provisions from the blazing tent.

Hyrule snuck up behind a lizalfos and shoved it into the flames with his shield before leaping away and out of reach of the blade of another. He skirted the edges of the camp and observed the battle. Now that the monsters attention was split, they had a much better chance. Warriors and Time kept the dynalfos busy (how much health did that thing have??) while Sky and Legend pressed inward toward the caged heroes, destroying any monster in their path.

“Hyrule!” called Warriors. Hyrule froze for a moment and turned his way. Oh no, was Wars going to yell at him for using fire? (This was hardly the time, wasn’t it?)

“More fire!” Warriors gave him a quick thumbs up before catching the blade of the dynalfos in a parry. Hyrule grinned and returned the gesture even though Warriors was too busy to see it.

Hyrule made quick work of the last three tents, then finally joined in the fray. He watched as between Legend’s power glove and Sky’s hysterical strength, the two of them lifted one end of the cage and sent it tipping over and crashing into two distracted lizalfos and a random chuchu. And with that, all the heroes and the villagers were free! A quick glance away toward the village showed Hyrule that the villagers had indeed escaped and were sprinting away from the battle and out of sight amongst the boulders and sandstone.

“Hyrule! Watched out!” Wind shouted and Hyrule looked up just in time to see an aeralfos diving towards him, its clawed feet outstretched. Suddenly the aeralfos froze solid midair. Hyrule rolled out of the way as it smashed into the ground and shattered into chunks, that poofed away a moment later.

Legend trotted up to him and helped him to his feet.

“It’s your turn to use the ice rod,” he said holding out to Hyrule. “Freeze any monster that moves and keep the fires you started from spreading into the brush. Got that?”

“Yeah!” Hyrule exclaimed and eagerly grabbed the ice rod. He’d always wanted to wield one of Legend’s elemental rods!

“Go do what you do best, go wreak some havoc!” Legend pushed him into the monster camp.

“Whoohoo!” Hyrule cheered and jumped into action.

A few minutes later, the battle was over, and the fires put out, and the Chain regrouped in the middle of the now-empty camp.

“Well that didn’t go according to plan,” Warriors acknowledged. “It was messy and chaotic, but it got the job done. The monsters are defeated and the villagers freed and there aren’t any major injuries.”

“All thanks to this little gremlin!” Legend said and ruffled Hyrule’s hair.

“Even though you used fire when I specifically told you not to, your quick thinking saved the day and prevented this battle from turning disastrous,” Warriors said.

“And for that, you get the first of the spoils!” Wild called from the burned-out ruins of what had been the monster camp’s food storage. He tossed a roasted bird leg to Hyrule who had to jump to catch it.

“Mmm! Dinner! It’s about time!” Hyrule cheered and took a bite. “Tasty!”

“Alright, alright, we can all have something to eat, and then we’ll head out for the mines in fifteen minutes,” Warriors relented. “Go enjoy the spoils of victory.”

“Ehehehe, maximum chaos for the win!” Hyrule laughed.

[whimsicaldiaeries]

🎀 SBG / CITY OF MIST: ereighkauh torres-santiago 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

behold, my newest City of Mist character-- except there's a twist: she's from a School Bus Graveyard Campaign (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ

HEYAAAA !! my friends and i, having read SBG together, is particularly fond of that special webtoon. since we're a dungeons & dragons friend group (i KEEP on mentioning this i'm SORRY i just love them and theyre essentially the catalyst for my creative strike this year but uhm, i'm on another tangent again xD) my wonderful DM friend, mel, said: "hey, what if we did an SBG oneshot?"

buuuut, there was another problem: if we we're gonna do an SBG oneshot, what TTRPG system would we use ?? obviously we can't use the D&D systems .... but there was another ttrpg system we were familiar with that mel introduced us to a few months ago !! CITY OF MIST !

we just got rid of the mythos theme card and replaced the 4 theme cards with logos, which you could see from above :]

the session is still yet to be held ... but i can't wait to update once we finish it !! if the oneshot goes well, there's a chance it might turn into a mini campaign (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

ON ANOTHER NOTE...

you might be wondering: "why is her name ereighkauh? don't you already have another character named ereighkauh?"

WELL HAUHAUHAUHAHU i actually have 2 more characters named ereighkauh !! my minecraft SMP, my water genasi from tht one oneshot, and this.

it's basically an EREIGHKAUH: THE MULTIVERSE kind of character collection, where projections of me, erika, are transported into that universe <33 that's why you could see that torres-santiago looks a little like me ... BECAUSE SHE'S BASED OFF OF ME !!

and trust, there are more ereighkauhs to come :)

ON ANOTHER ANOTHER NOTE... (oh god when will she stop yapping)

i just want to put up a bit of ET-S's lore out here:

ets family are filipino immigrants (we assume that SBG is in a western modern setting) > dad got framed for a crime > BOOM SHOT > ets mad > forms a rebellious activist organization seeking to reform system and inform mainly through graffiti and art > called brushfire syndicate > has gathered 15-20 members > its a tightknit community and they are all close > ofc ets has a different persona in BS > her jacket is INVERTIBLE, that pink one u see her wearing is her daily wear > the reverse side is a colorful neon graffiti glow in the dark jacket and every other synonymous adjective for CHAOTICALLY FUN jacket > but anyways she goes to art school

tbh her being a leader of a small org was on purpose so that when the team gets sent into the shadow realm they'd have easy access to supplies and safehouses XD + urban terrain mastery so she parkours the hell outta there WHAUJSDAKSD

AND ALSO !! she has a black cat and a golden retriever :) very important detail yesyes <3333

[transformers-bold-bright-brisk]

[ MASTERPOST ]

>> Be mindful that this will be forever under construction and continuously updated <<

PLOT OVERVIEW

The Autobot versus Decepticon War has been over for a really long time now. But as it turns out, post-war era isn’t as peaceful as some hoped it would be. Everything’s better than it ever was back on Cybertron after it was rebuilt with a much more reliable council being set in place, though there are still a few problems here and there.

Especially on the small planet Earth, where things get more difficult for certain groups of bots who maintain very different types of peace on the planet.

There’s the Rescue Bot Training Center over on the Mainland of America, where students are being trained to become the newer generation of Rescue Bots. Continuing their massive feats in helping Earth’s locals from being in danger of freak accidents to natural disasters.

And in a Vintage Salvage Depot for the Discriminating Nostalgist, lies the headquarters of a Cybertronian team of misfit law enforcers. Who are tasked with bringing gangs of criminal Decepticons—who’ve been making themselves comfortable on Earth—to justice.

ROLL CALL RESCUE RECRUITS OVERVIEW

At the Rescue Bots Training Center, a new class of recruits—Brushfire, Scorch, Slash, Prince, and Laserbeak—are there to follow in the senior class’s footsteps, to become Rescue Bots for varying different reasons than to just become heroes for the sake of helping others.

[ Rescue Recruits | Rescue Professors | Community Acquaintances | Adversary Individuals ]

REACH OUT TO REASSEMBLE OVERVIEW

When the infamous Steeljaw is still running rampant on Earth with his new, and albeit larger, pack of criminal Decepticons, the Bee Team needs all the help they can get. But the more the Bee Team expands its forces, the more others feel the need to appear as more of an outlier than others. Especially their one and only Officer Strongarm. Ever since Captain Bumblebee started taking on more roles outside of the Bee Team and placed Lieutenant Smokescreen of all bots in charge of them when he was away, the more Strongarm felt the need to take on more difficult cases to prove herself. So by doing that, she was able to strike a deal with the indebted Decepticon Sharpclaw—who takes advantage of Strongarm’s willingness to give her anything in exchange for her cooperation in upcoming investigations.

[ BEE Team | Steeljaw’s Pack | BEE Team Allies | Phantomjaw’s IOUs ]

[ RULES ]

| No Role-playing please, I’d like to do my best to maintain the non-fourth-wall-breaking immersion I have set

| No bigotry or hate speech of any kind, and be respectful of both me and other people browsing the blog

| No NSFW or 18+ content or engagement with me or the posts on this blog

| No reposting art or content in general without my permission or acknowledgment

[carnalapples]

💯📚!!

Thank you Rowan!! From these fic rec asks:

💯 a fic that makes you think #writergoals

OH, so many, but the first that comes to mind is Brushfire by elo_elo (@junkbabelna); it's a modern AU of DA, Cullen/Trevelyan done so, so well. I really love all their fics, but this one is very cozy and has amazing atmosphere, themes of healing and recovery, and I love the ways nods to canon are worked into to the setting.

On another note, for the Hunger Games, I love The Baker's Son by misshoneywell (@badnovels). I wish I could reread this for the first time; she writes horror/dark fic so well, all her fics haunt me in the best way!! I aspire to have this much of an impact on other readers.

📚 a fic you want to display on your bookshelf

This is a Downton Abbey fic, White Birds by lilabut; I have this saved to my kindle which is comparable?? I've reread it so much, I really think the author took so much of the potential of this storyline and the setting and brought it to life in a way the show never reached for me. Also it's just so comforting, like flawed family dynamics are everything to me.

Side note: the grown-ups by arbitrarily (@widespindriftgaze); this is the Mad Men fic that made me insane, I have never watched Mad Men but fics like this make me want to immediately, those feelings of longing and want and unsatisfaction that just come from a period of transition in life are all captured here so well!!!

[butts-bouncing-on-the-beltway]

What if someone asked me out on a date, huh? What if, and I'm not saying this SHOULD happen, but what IF a lady with a smile like brushfires and a voice like the river delta held my hand and played with her hair and told me she thought I had such a pretty mouth and she could kiss me for lifetimes if the world stopped for us? What if when I made her cum she smelled like creosote and Basin Pine, and for just a moment I felt utterly at peace between her legs? What if we watched the stars together and told each other stories of the new constellations we saw? What if her hands felt rough and her grasp firm on my skin and I whispered my prayers into the hollow her throat as we lay together along the old creek that finally ran dry? What if we were an oaisis for each other in the desert heat of our life works? What if our last kiss was at o'dark thirty while the september lightning sets fire to the sagebrush and bursts the redwood cones that will feed on our bones when we've finished with them?

What if you saw me, and I saw you, and for a hair's breadth of history, there was nothing else on earth that mattered?

[verodoodles]

Hello, PLEASE read! ⬇️❤️

This month has been a bit of a roller coaster for me, but before I get into it, I want to thank everyone who’s ordered from my shop so far this year. Your support has allowed me to get back some sense of independence and has helped me support myself and feed my kitties Harvey, Haru and Skitty.

Thank you SO much! ����

Now to the sale:

Over this last weekend, we experienced some super smokey air quality (due to three nearby brushfires) and in the evening time I noticed Skitty breathing a little harder than usual. Seeing him struggle was extremely alarming and scary. It was clear to me that it had to do with the smoke. Upon some research, we believe he actually might have kitty asthma 😞. Thankfully we have an air purifier but we also set up a humidifier and that seems to have helped him some but clearly we’re getting him checked out asap - UPDATE: at 3:15pm Today!

Thankfully I have enough funds to get him to our vet (I’m making an appointment as soon as they open!) but I don’t know what to expect beyond that.😥

So I’m holding a 20% off sale on my website this week, all the way up to my birthday on the 25th. I had initially planned to buy myself some new glasses, but Skitty’s health comes first.

Use the promo code: ILUVSKITTY at checkout to get 20% off! In addition, S&H is free in the US since I typically work that into the price. So it’s a great deal if you’ve been wanting to get some art by me! I have a lot of originals up for sale so I hope you find something you like.

If you’ve read to this point, THANK YOU so much. 🙏

This month is very bittersweet, as it’s my birthday month (the 25th) but also the same month I lost my oldest brother four years ago (the 19th). I’m trying my best to get by but now with Skitty having issues, I’m just not doing the best at the moment. It would mean so much to get shares on this!

Thank you.❤️

[littleziki]

Two tfa ocs I've been sitting on for a while, Fluxcharge and Brushfire (thank my mate for helping me settle on a name for him)

I'll be posting their individual backstories here soon once I've got proper profiles set up, so look forward to that!

I've got a while plot line ready for them, now to just actually write it out

[silverslipstream]

Happy WBW! What's the harshest part of your world? Be it a place, a law, something character-created or otherwise, what is just HARSH?

Happy Worldbuilding Wednesday Tori, thanks for the ask!

There a lot of things that are pretty harsh in White Sky. I mean, our solar system as a setting is pretty rough. The Moon is a borderline-police state stuffed with wealth disparity and an ongoing brushfire conflict between ELTO and various fringe groups, and that's just the domes. The helium-3 mining industry is a cutthroat corporate war between corporations, countries and the odd criminal syndicate, all in an environment that will kill an unprepared human in a couple of minutes flat. Mars is a sparsely populated, heavily controlled hellhole where the slightest inefficiency or failure is punishable by imprisonment or death, as well as the planet being freezing cold, inhospitable and covered in toxic soil. Even Earth is pretty rough: things may be gradually improving now, but there are still major wars, corporations rival governments and a lot of the world is ecologically devastated after a tumultuous mid-21st century.

ELTO themselves are pretty harsh as an organisation. They were originally formed as a sort of 'space United Nations' after a space-based war between the US and the former Soviet Union in the late 1990s/early 2000s. Initially, they were democratic and benevolent; however, more and more money started to be made in space development, and ELTO became a de facto 'first-world' club. Many developing nations are discouraged or outright restricted from space travel, while ELTO focuses their efforts on first-world nations like Japan, the EU and the United States. They've turned a blind eye to the imperialism of first-world nations (for example, the US/Mexico's current campaign to annex much of Central America, Colombia, Venezuela and Ecuador in order to claim more arable land and equatorial launch sites, or the lunar disputed territory between Japan and India) while exploiting favourable third-world countries for their own gain. Since they hold a monopoly on space defense, travel and assets in the signatory nations', there's not many countries who can stand against them. As the crew of the Caroline soon discover, ELTO's near-limitless reach has plenty of downsides...

[oldpokecardart]

Charmander illustrated by Mitsuhiro Arita

First featured in JP Base Set in October 1996, was included in the 2-Player Starter Set and “Brushfire” theme deck, then reprinted in Base Set 2, the “Hot Water” theme deck, Legendary Collection, and the “Lava” theme deck. Later was reprinted as a “Toys R Us”-stamped promo and in XY Evolutions  in 2016, got a 25th anniversary jumbo print in the Kanto First Partner Pack, then a holofoil print in the Charizard & Ho-Oh ex deck of Pokémon TCG Classic

Attacks:

Scratch

Ember

Other facts:

Depicted in spritework in the TCG GBC game

A prototype of this card exists with an early sketch by Arita

The art was re-drawn by Arita in 2008 for the Stormfront expansion