#the land is inhospitable an so are we has been on repeat while i do my nails for the mitski concert tomorrow :3c

[sfsolstice]

Moon, tell me if I could Send up my heart to you?

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs, “Stowaway.”

A couple of you guys wanted to see this go down, and I thought it wasn’t a bad idea, so why not :)

“Certainly not, they cannot be trusted.”

“We don’t know that.”

“Even if their story is true, I have no doubt that they have other motives. No one offers peace accords if there are not ulterior motives.”

“But they already said! They want to trade with us, and they want the precious mineral compounds found in our ice.”

“They want to enslave our planet more like.”

“You saw the creature, it had no fur, and it was freezing as soon as it took its layers off. I have no doubt that it has no interest in enslaving our planet. The environment is to inhospitable for it to consider spending so much time here.”

“Your logic is backward for a scientist…. But I suppose that should be expected of someone with your pedigree.”

“....You are wrong, and your hesitation will cost us. They saved our lives, the least we can do is hear them out.”

“And at the end of the day that is my decision and not yours. You overstep your bounds, and now you will return to your place, scientist.”

Yeb stood ears plastered back against her skull, the fur on her back puffing outward to strain against the inside of her jacket, but she didn’t protest. He may have been wrong about many things,but he was right about this one, she had no power here, and to assume as much would be too presumptuous.

She did know her place.

Had known it since she was a pup.

She raised her chin stiffly at the chancellor and turned on her heels, claws digging against the ice as she trudged from the council chambers and out into the blinding sunlight of early morning. The council had debated for many hours, until unanimously making a decision that she thought would be a great mistake. They had decided not to engage with the GA, and therefore cut off any chances they would have at learning from the more advanced race.

She brushed a dusting of snow from a rock just to her right and sat down staring up at the sky. Over her head the atmosphere was a light bluish purple. The sun blazed down with white blue intensity.

She could have learned so much from them. Perhaps a way to develop better vaccines as they had clearly found the cure to the plague faster than any of them could. If it had been up to her expertise, the entire world would be dead by now. 

Yeb sighed deeply.

There were so many things she could have learned from them, so many things, but now that knowledge would be lost, and they would be left to trundle along in a dark age ad never know what glorious things they could have learned.This GA governmental body has offered them transport into the stars! Who would refuse such an offer.

It was a monumental mistake.

She sat there for a long moment, contemplating her next move. The future seemed bleak in comparison to the one they had been offered. How could she just go back to her normal life knowing what was out there? Could she just sit idly by in her ice cave, eating the same bland fish and listening to the same bland propaganda of a government that “couldn’t or wouldn’t” see what a tragedy it was to lose fifty percent of their lower class? It made her sick as she pictured the beautiful images she had seen in scientific journals of the vast cold darkness of space.

She stood.

That was it, if nothing she wanted to at least see the creatures off, tell them good luck, and thank them for what they had done. Maybe they would be more likely to return one day if ‘someone’ deigned to go and say goodby to them and actually thank them for what they had done.

With her mind made up, she stood, and with renewed vigor made her way over the icy tundra and towards the alien landing sight. Government officials were crawling all over the area, keeping the curious, prying eyes of the civilians well back where they couldn’t cause trouble or get any ideas. They tried to keep her back too, but she flashed a badge at the first two and managed to dodge two more before three burly agents stepped into her path.

All three of them had deep onyx fur and glowered at her with intense black eyes.

“This area is restricted.”

“I just want to talk to them. They know me.”

“This area is restricted.” They repeated.

“I am the scientist who first came in contact with them, please, I would really just like to speak with them.” She tried moving around, but it was no good, and they continued to block her path. Behind him, she could see the shuttle that had brought the aliens down. It was of trange construction, cold silver steel in sharp angular lines. The creatures swarmed around the ship carrying boxes, a few of them collected ice and snow in small clear tubes.

The commotion must have alerted them, and she saw their leader raise his head as the agents began to push her back.

She waved a desperate hand in the creature’s direction, and it broke into a trot over the icy ground its boots cringing over the snow.

“Hold on!” It called, and its booming voice was enough to make the agents stop and back away nervously.

The only thing she could see under its mask and hood was that sharp green eye.

“Everything alright?” he wondered 

She sighed but nodded, “Well…. No…. not really. I just wanted to let you know that…. Well Not all of us agree with the chancellor. Don’t…. Well just don’t forget about us.”

She watched the creature’s face wrinkle about the eyes, and the feeling she got from the expression was… one of surprising pleasure.

“Don’t worry, we won’t forget about you. We are a bit harder to ignore than all that…. In a strictly annoying sort of way and less of the tyrannical, we are going to take over your world sort of way.”

The creature made a strange repeated whirring noise deep in his chest, and she yipped her own amusement.

He held out a hand to her and she stared at it, “It's a human greeting and farewell.”

Gingerly she reached forward and took his hand feeling as he wrapped his fingers around hers in a firm grip and shook once.

It was a strange gesture, yet one that simultaneously made her feel connected to him, in a way, not altogether unpleasant.

Then he let her go, turning back to his ship and striding over the ground with the confidence of a creature that had done this sort of thing many times, that was until he slipped on the ice and staggered awkwardly, arms flailing. She yipped again in amusement and he waved a hand turning around to see if anyone had seen.

She turned and made her way back up towards the plateau watching as the ice and tundra spread out before her, white on blue purple, and just as she was reaching the top, she stopped. She could go no further.

She glanced back to where the strange creatures were beginning to load their equipment back onto their ship, and then forward to where the government agents were busy pushing back a line of curious onlookers.

No one saw her.

Yeb sat in thought for a long moment, and before she really knew what she was doing, she turned around and raced back down the hill skidding and sliding on the ice with barely controlled speed. She wasn’t sure what she was doing, or what she was going to do, but as she reached the bottom of the hill, and saw an open box resting on the ground; she made a decision.

It wasn’t a good decision, nor was it a well thought out decision, and honestly later, she would come to realize that there were easier ways to do what she was about to do, the number one being to simply ask politely, but none of that crossed her mind as she dove into the box and pulled the lid over her head.

As far as she knew, no one had seen her, and before long she felt the crate lurch upwards and wobble its way towards the shuttle, while the creatures outside grunted at its unusually heavy weight.

She was set down inside, and, she thought, strapped down.

It didn’t occur to her again, until the engines ignited, just what she had done to herself.

Her stomach lurched into her feet and she screamed in fear and shock as the ground fell out from beneath her. All she could hear was the roaring of engines and feel the battering of the atmosphere around her as they cut through the atmosphere.

And then, after just a few minutes, the rattling died away, and she found herself floating inside the box like a free droplet of water in freefall.

With her tail tucked around her she hugged herself tight, screaming internally about what she had just done.

At some point, she felt the ship lurch, and aftera moment, she dropped back to the bottomotom of the box as gravity reinstated itselfreinstateditself. 

Inside her box, the air grew stiflingly hot, and she began to pant vigorously as the heat seeped into her body. She hadn’t expected it to be so hot.

She felt her crate lurch again, and her ears were filled with the echo of a large space, and strange alien voices calling out to each other. She shrunk back into her box, there must have been hundreds of them…. And now she was a stowaway.

She really hadn’t thought this through. What was she going to eat? What was she going to drink? What would happen if they found her skulking on board the ship without invitation. The creatures had seemed hospitable originally, but that didn’t really mean anything if they thought she was some kind of spy.

Her insides churned a bit as the crate was set down and the voices retreated.

The box continued to gro hotter and hotter.

She tried to wait it out as best she could, but soon, it became to much, and with a gasp of air she threw off the lid of her crate and gasped for fresh air.It was, somewhat fresher than it had been inside the crate, but the heat was still unbearable.

Panting fit to burst, she tripped off her jacket,undershirt, gloves and any other layer she could think of, tossing them into the box.

It was marginally more bearable, but still,she felt as if she could barely breathe.

This was a worse idea she had ever had.

How could she have been so stupid. The creatures were clearly very cold on her planet, what made her think that she would be comfortable in their environment. 

She heard footsteps,and quietly dropped to one knee, still panting.

“You see that place. Frozen hellhole for sure.”

“I wouldn't mind the cold so much, but the place looked like a prison with ice.”

“Hmm if their government leaders knew what they were missing maybe they wouldn’t be so hasty to tell us to shove off.”

A familiar voice broke in with them, “I don’t know, i thought it was kinda cool, like Hoth from star wars.”

“Admiral, haven't we established that you are like…. The only person on this ship who knows what that means.”

“You know what it means.”

“Thats because you forced us into a star wars marathon.”

“You can thank me later.”

There was some grumbling from the group of humans as they passed by, and Yeb finally got a good look at the creatures without all their layers on. They were, surprisingly, a lot thinner than she had first thought, long and lanky in their limbs and really rather bony. The right skin of their faces extended into their arms and necks. From here she could see the small little hairs on their ams though they would be pointless for keeping anyone warm.

But they were powerfully built.

As a biologist, she would have guessed that these creatures were built for a hot desert environment rather than the cold. The thought made her rather uncomfortable. Her home planet had no deserts at all, an the environment was only theoretical based on their observation of other worlds similar in size to their own.

The humans passed by her, leaving her alone.

And, quietly, she moved forward, sneaking through the ship and the warrens of tunnels.

The tunnels were very angular, all of their construction was very angular, ninety degrees or close to ninety degrees.

It was all… odd, and alien, and she found herself lost in the corridors not sure where she was going.

Hot metal was close to burning her feet, sweltering around her.

She felt fent.

Following voice, she peered around the corner and into a large room, where many of the creatures sat together huddled in groups consuming unknown alien food. Behind them, a large viewing window stared out into blackness. She closed her eyes tight and took a deep breath. She felt sick.

It was just so hot.

When no one was looking, she slipped inside and back behind a long countertop and snuck along the side unil….. Until she felt a waft of cold air. She paused and turned her head towards a large silver door. She inched forward and pressed up against it. It was like ice, so cold. In desperation she reached up to the door and popped it open to a waft of freezing air.

In relief, she scampered inside and closed the door behind her sliding to the ground in relief as the biting air rushed through her fur.

She was feeling a little better now, and looking around her, she could see stacks and stacks of crates full of…. strange …. Food?”

She would assume it was food. WIth everything so hot here, they must need a palace to preserve their organic materials from decomposition.

She inched forward across the floor and stuck her head around through some of the crates sniffing at its contents. She would…. Probably be able to eat something here if she was careful about it. She was an omnivore like the creatures, and assumed that they were both based on the same principles of food consumption.

Either way, she was going to figure it out soon to her detriment or not.

This strange frozen storage was going to become her main base of operations, though she did find another location near the medical bay. That one was a little less pleasant though since, from the scientific equipment lying around, she made the correct assumption that they used it to store bodies when someone died aboard the ship.

A morbid thought, but it made sense.

She would stick with hiding in the freezer for the time being.

There Was food there, and no dead people.

From her vantage point sneaking in and out of her hiding space, she was able to watch the creatures from a distance, sure they weren’t putting on a show for her and knowing that their behavior was genuine. As far as she could tell they were social and relatively tame.

They sat in groups, conversed and talked like any one of her people, except maybe a bit more enthusiastically.

They ate together and played games.

And even had the same sort of reactions with other species.

There were a few fuzzy looking aliens that weren’t far off from her species, though they seemed more used to the heat.

Then there were the small scaly creatures, who were just as social, and the large beasts with six arms, towering over even their human counterparts.

From the shadows she watched them as they fought each other with sharpened sticks made from metal their ferocity scaring her as she pressed back into the shadows. 

It was a strange an eclectic place of many different peoples.

She saw religion, and culture and tradition as she watched from the shadows.

But she also saw ferocity, anger, and bitterness on quiet occasions, listening in on moments she knew to be private but could not help but listen in on.

And there was something, strange, about the humans.

She wouldn’t have been able to put into words if asked but…. It seemed as if they were disconnected from themselves, like a driver pilots a machine, one with it but no in the same. It was so strange, the sudden blankness that would come over their faces as if nothing was behind the eyes, especially in quiet moments when they were alone with themselves.

She spent days like this, hours on end watching them from a distance hiding in the freezer when it was dark and spending occasion out in the heat.

She used bags of ice shoved into bags to keep herself cool on these forays as the ship always remained rather hot.

She hoped that, in this way she could survive, worried she would be punished if they found her out.

That was until one day.

One day sitting in the air ducts watching the humans pass by that she heard a sound.

A soft scraping.

She turned her head towards the end of the small maintenance tunnel, just as a figure cme around the corner.

It was small, and furry, and brightly colored, and as soon as it came around the corner it froze and locked eyes with her.

Its ears trembled.

She went to run.

“Run and die.” it said eyes narrowing, and despite how small and fluffy it was, shefroze.

She didn’t know what this thing could do, and it didn’t seem concerned with her.

So, Yeb believed it.

She believed she was going to die.  

[suwya]

Till the Stars Had Run Away - Chapter 6

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Summary: Killian Jones was a voyager. Actually, he was many things, or at least he had been - a lieutenant, a brother, a loving boyfriend - until everything had turned upside down and his life had hit an all time low. So, he gave up. Aboard his spaceship he abandoned Arcadia, his planet, navigating the stars and other solar systems in search of... well, he still didn't know what he was searching for, but his rule was "never remain in the same place longer than necessary."

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Rating: M

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Prologue; Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5

AO3

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A/N: Sorry for the waiting, but real life came along and I had to stop writing for a couple of weeks. Thank you @thisonesatellite for being the best beta reader I could ever ask for. And thank to all of you who are reading this. Happy Labour Day!

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Chapter 6 . .

Be not inhospitable to strangers,

lest they be angels in disguise.

(W. B. Yeats)

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When Killian regained consciousness he found himself in what reminded him of a military hospital. There were thin white curtains around his bed, but through them he could spot other beds like his, most of them empty. The room seemed large and dimly lit.

He closed his eyes and remembered the crash landing, the unknown desert planet, the great rock that was about to crush Henry, and that feeling of unease and imminent danger he had felt just before the impact. Where was he? And above all what kind of situation was he in, a good or a bad one? He opened his eyes again, and noticed he wasn’t alone. A woman was checking his IV, and a nearby monitor was beeping intermittently.

Killian tried to sit up, but a stabbing pain in his lungs made him desist immediately. He groaned loudly.

“Look who’s awake.” Said the woman, who was now staring at him. “Hello, handsome.” She added cheerfully.

Killian had found himself dealing with uncharted waters several times in his life. He decided to play the waiting game. “This is usually my line, well, more or less.”

“Really? In this case, I'll warn my husband not to approach you.”

“Don’t worry I'm not into men, not recently at least.” He smirked.

“Oh, but my husband is quite the charming one.”

“I still prefer the company of a fair lady, if I could choose.” He winked and chuckled, and a dull pain made him gasp.

“Take it easy.” She immediately shifted her attitude from playful to worried. “How do you feel?”

“As if I've been hit by a rocket.”

“Not a rocket, but yes, you’ve been hit hard. You’ve suffered two broken ribs. And believe me, you were lucky, it could have been worse. Do you mind if I run some tests and see how you react?”

“No problem.”

While the woman was busy measuring his temperature, making him follow a small blue LED light with his gaze, and extracting some blood to examine later, he took advantage of the opportunity to observe her more closely. She had short black hair and green eyes, bright and lively in contrast to her very delicate skin. Killian found himself thinking of another pair of green eyes, which had been filling his thoughts frequently lately. The memory brought him back to reality quickly.

“What is this place?” He inquired, eager to know what had happened while he was unconscious.

“Welcome to Vernal-Den.” She answered smiling.

Killian tried to remember if he had ever read about this planet. “Never heard of it.”

“Yeah, we’re not very popular.”

Was she too concentrated on checking-in his vitals, or was she being too concise on purpose? He didn’t know, but he intended to keep an eye on her. “How long was I out?”

“A while.” Another elusive answer.

He decided to test the waters. “Were there ….other injured people with me?”

“If you’re referring to Henry and Emma, they are perfectly fine.” She seemed sincere. “They are staying at our place. Henry has visited you every day since you came in.”

“And Emma?”

“Well, she can’t come in. She’s not a relative of yours. But she has spent long hours sitting just outside that door.” She said pointing towards the exit. “I had to order her to go home and get some rest.”

After that she excused herself, saying that she had to attend to other patients.

He realized she hadn’t even told him her name. He didn’t know if he could trust her or not. The fact that she had avoided some of his questions sent chills down his spine. And most of all there was the Emma problem.

Why couldn’t she visit him? Was it true that it was only a matter of rules? Or was she in some kind of peril? He needed to know what was happening behind those doors that separated him from the woman that had been pestering his dreams in the last ten years of his life. He had to know that she was alright. To hell with rules! He thought. And by the way, when was the last time he followed one. He had to get out of this place. He tried to sit up, but the pain in his lungs was so strong that his vision started to blur and cold sweat formed on his temples. He lay back down on the bed, aware that in his conditions he couldn’t have gone far before collapsing unconscious on the floor. He promised himself to solve the problem as soon as he had enough strengths, but he couldn't dwell too much on that thought, because sleep was reclaiming his mind again.

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~·~·~·~

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Time passed very slowly, or so it seemed, but maybe it was simply the fact that every day looked the same. Killian was mostly asleep, probably due to the painkillers introduced through the IV, and when he woke up he couldn't tell how long he had been out, he couldn't even tell if it was day or night. There were no windows in that room.

During one of the moments when his mind regained consciousness, he felt the mattress drop slightly to one side and he slowly opened his eyes.

“You are awake! How do you feel? Can you breathe? Of course you can, you would be dead otherwise! Does it hurt?” Henry was sitting at the end of the bed, and he was asking a lot of questions, as usual. “Sorry.” He suddenly looked contrite. “I should let you rest, but…”

“It’s ok, lad.” Killian cut him off. “I’m glad to see you’re all in one piece.”

The boy greeted him with a wide grin.

Killian remembered the last moments before getting injured, and he was relieved to know that he had been able to prevent that rock from hitting Henry. But other worries crowded his mind. “How about your mom?”

“She’s fine. She’s outside. They won’t let her in. You know, only relatives and all that stuff.” He explained.

“I see. And why are you…?”

Henry didn’t let him finish the question. “I told them I’m your son.” He whispered with a conspiratory smile.

“Clever boy.” Killian’s chuckle turned soon into a cough due to the pain.

“Does it hurt?” The boy asked, frowning.

The man dismissed the question with a wave of his hand. “It’s not a big deal.” He didn’t want the lad to feel responsible for his well-being. “How many days have passed since we landed here?” He asked, changing the subject.

“I don't know exactly.” And at Killian’s questioning look, he added, “It’s complicated.”

“How so?”

“People live underground here,” The boy started to explain, “With no opportunity to look outside. And there are no clocks. My watch had probably broken when we arrived, it doesn’t work anymore.”

The man hummed, he was starting to understand. The lack of windows, the elusive answer he had received from the dark-haired nurse… everything was beginning to tally in Killian’s head. “I want you to think carefully about everything you saw outside this room. Did you feel something was wrong?”

The boy shrugged. “I don't know.” He seemed to ponder. “This place is strange. Lots of corridors and passages underground. We are not allowed to go out into the open. They say it’s dangerous. But I never felt a threat or something. I would rather say it’s boring.”

“Why boring?”

Henry was trying to find the right words to explain it. “All the days are the same, people repeat the same actions every day. They say it’s useful to maintain a routine. But I don’t think Mary Margaret and David are bad people.”

“I’m sorry, who?” Killian asked.

“Oh, yeah, Mary Margaret, she is your nurse. We’re staying at her home. She is very nice. And David is her husband. He showed me the greenhouse. It’s awesome and huge, you should see it! But I don’t think he works there. I don’t know what his job is.”

Routine? New people? A greenhouse? Well, that was a lot of information to process. But Killian felt sleep calling him back. Next time I see that lady Margaret, I’m going to ask her not to put more painkillers in my IV. He thought. “Thank you, Henry, for everything. But I may need to rest for a while now.” He managed to say before falling asleep again.

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~·~·~·~

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Emma knew Killian was feeling better, Henry had told her about their short chat, and some of her child's enthusiasm had even infected her positively, but she continued to feel restless, she wanted to make herself useful. Most of all, she wanted to see Killian again.

All this absurd situation was her fault. And no, she was not thinking about the fact that Killian was lying on a hospital bed because of some bad decisions she had made lately. No. She was not going down that path again. She had already spent a lot of hours regretting many choices done in the last month.

But this was nonsensical, why couldn’t she visit a friend that was hurt and maybe in need of some company? She had actually had a chance to say that she was his wife; after all in the eyes of her guests, she and Killian had a son together, so why not lie a bit more and make Mary Margaret believe that she and Killian were married. But the thought of a possible long time spent together on this planet feigning to be a happily married couple scared her, and she couldn’t go on with the lie.

So there she was, sitting on a very uncomfortable metal chair in the waiting room. She had spent more hours there than she could count.

David had passed by to greet his wife, and he had offered to take Henry with him, on the way back home. So she was left alone with her thoughts.

Mary Margaret peeked out the door with a steaming mug in her hand. “Take this. It will help.”

She agreed with a nod. “Thank you.” She sipped some of the hot liquid and it felt like her nerves were starting to relax a little.

“You should go home and rest. It's late.” The woman said.

“Mary Margaret let me enter.” Emma pleaded for the umpteenth time.

“We have already talked about it. You know I can’t do that. There are strict rules down here, and the best way for us to survive is to follow them.”

“This is insane. I’m not a dangerous criminal or someone who is plotting to destroy this planet. I just want to see him. Please.” She begged.

The dark-haired woman seemed to be pondering all the possible consequences. “All right.” She sighed. “Let’s just say that I’m going inside and leave the door ajar, by mistake, of course. I have to check some very important documents, so I’ll be busy and concentrated. I’m not going to ask you what you’re going to do in the next... fifteen minutes or so. Okay?”

“Thank you.” Emma handed her the cup back, rising from her chair. “You won’t regret it.”

After Mary Margaret disappeared behind the door, Emma waited some minutes before going after her. The room was large and there were many beds, she had no idea where Killian was, but after a quick look at the surroundings, she discovered that only a couple of all the beds were occupied.

She approached one of those and gently opened the curtain trying not to disturb the patient lying inside.

Killian seemed asleep. He was pale, with dark circles under his eyes. She could only imagine the pain he was going through. She had her heart in her throat because she felt responsible for the situation. If they hadn't taken a detour because she had requested it, they'd probably all be home safe and sound by now.

“Hey, beautiful.” He greeted her with a painful grin.

Immersed as she was in her thoughts, she hadn't noticed that he had woken up. She smiled, trying to be strong and not show her inner turmoil. “Do they treat you well here?”

“I'm not complaining. The nurse is kind and the food is edible.” He tried to downplay the situation. “Although I would prefer the care and attention of a certain blonde.” He winked.

Emma chuckled. Then she went closer to him and sat down on the side of his bed, trying not to cause him any more pain. She looked him straight in the eye, and then, gently, she took his hand in hers, intertwining her fingers with his. She saw him swallow hard, and the beeping of his heartbeat accelerated on the monitor. She smiled softly again. “Thank you for saving my son’s life.”

She saw how he wet his lips before answering as if his mouth had been suddenly dry. “It was the right thing to do.” Was his answer, but his voice came out slightly choked.

Emma looked back, checking if any hospital employee was nearby, “I shouldn’t be here, and unfortunately my time is running out. But I wanted to see you... needed to see with my own eyes that you are ok... well, more or less.” She whispered, with her gaze lowered, avoiding eye contact. The physical connection of their joined hands was already arousing too many contradictory emotions inside her.

“Aye. I know the feeling.” He replied, letting her know that he had been eager to establish contact with her throughout his stay in the hospital.

At those words, she stared at him again. “Get well soon.” She bent down and dropped a mild kiss at the corner of his lips. “We need you.”

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~·~·~·~

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Killian was lying on his back staring at the ceiling. This time there was no way he would fall asleep again. Every time he thought about what had just happened his beeping monitor sped up. He blushed. It had been just a chaste kiss, nothing compared to the hot and breathtaking one they had shared a few days before. But she had said it had been a one-time thing and he had promised himself not to indulge in those lustful thoughts anymore. Yet, this last kiss had seemed much more real, and meaningful... it had left him with a feeling of hope.

Hope and distress. Emma was such a strong and beautiful woman, a marvelous creature, as he liked to describe her in his mind, and a princess even. And what was he? A rebel, and a scoundrel. Or a rapscallion... whatever. Okay, maybe not anymore, but he had been in the past, for many years. He had been trying to redeem himself lately. But was he worth enough of her? That was the million dollar question.

He was still ruminating on it when the known brunette peeked out the curtains. “Hello. How are you today?” She greeted him with a bright smile, as usual.

“Better.” He hoped the monitor on his right wasn’t showing his state of mind.

She came closer. “Do you mind if I check your ribs? It's time to change the dressing.” After a short pause, she added, “I'm sorry, but we don't have the best equipment to assist our patients. We have to work with what we have available on this planet.” She said pointing to the bands that covered his chest.

Killian nodded, and Mary Margaret started to untie the bandages. She seemed concentrated on her task, probably she was trying to avoid causing him any pain. It was only when she started to apply an ointment on the bruises, that she spoke again. “You love her.” It was just a whisper, and Killian doubted if he had heard correctly. But then she added “Emma.”

It wasn’t a question, and he pondered what was the correct answer, or if she was expecting one. “I'd go to the end of the world for her… Or the multiverse.” He said eventually.

“And she for you, I take it?”

Killian chuckled and shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“What’s the problem?” She looked at him surprised. Then took some clean gauzes and started to wrap them on him.

“She's bloody brilliant, an amazing woman. She fights for her son and always does what’s right.” Killian’s voice was so full of admiration.

“Is there something wrong with it?” Mary Margaret inquired.

Killian shook his head again. “She raised the bar very high. The fact is, I don't think I measure up.”

The woman folded the old bandages and took the ointment bottle, then she stood up, she was making an exit when she stopped short. “Since you came here I've been watching you.”

“I don't know if I should be flattered or scared.” The man tried to ease the tension of the moment.

“We don’t have many foreigners on this planet, but believe me, you're not one of the bad guys. You sacrificed yourself for the sake of a young boy. There's good in your heart.” She smiled at him softly. “I’m going to look for the doctor; I bet you’ll be leaving this room soon.”

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The following day started the same as the previous ones. But during the first hours of the evening a man in a white coat came to visit Killian. He explained the medications and precautions to be taken to him, some movements that he should avoid for a while, and other tips for a speedy recovery. Then he handed over some papers for the patient to sign to be discharged. Finally some good news.

After a while redressing and packing up his few belongings in his satchel Killian went to the door. Walking hurt a bit but nothing he couldn’t bear.

Mary Margaret was already waiting for him, and a tall blonde guy was with her. “You must be Jones.” He said. When they shook hands, Killian learned his name was David Nolan, and he remembered Henry had mentioned him in his conversations. “I’m going to take you to our humble abode.”

Nolan's house was in fact modest. A loft with a large dining room, a kitchenette, a bedroom, and a small bathroom on one corner, all open, without doors, except for the bathroom. There was a raised bedroom opposite it, whose access was a metal stair.

Dinner was good, if a little awkward. Emma didn't interact much, and Killian wanted to ask if something was troubling her, but he preferred to wait for a better time, perhaps a less crowded one. Henry entertained them with what he had done throughout the day and kept repeating how glad he was that Killian was back with them.

But the man was still a bit cautious with those new people around him. He didn’t know them, especially the Nolan guy, who had been silent for most of the dinner, glancing sidelong at him as if he wanted to study him thoroughly before making a personal judgment. The feeling was mutual, Killian thought.

Just after dessert, David started to speak. “What will you need to restore your ship?” He asked.

“Uh… a new stabilizer, I think, and some parts of the propulsion engine for sure. But I’ll have to look closely at the damages to be sure there’s nothing else broken.”

The blond man nodded. “Not many ships come and go from here. But I hope we can find all the pieces you need.”

“Thank you, mate.”

“Tomorrow I’ll take you to the hangar where your ship is. We’ll have a look at it.” He seemed sincere in his generosity.

“May I help?” Henry barged in.

A chorus of “No!” echoed the room.

“I appreciate the support, but it could be dangerous.” Killian explained.

“I hate being here. I feel trapped.” The boy complained.

Mary Margaret sighed. “This is a feeling that will vanish with time.”

The woman was no doubt trying to instill some optimism, but Killian didn't like the idea of staying in that place longer than necessary. “Well, then, let’s hope we could leave this planet before the feeling has entirely vanished.” He made a grin and passed his hand on his side.

“Time for resting.” The brunette stated although it sounded more like an order. “But before that, we should change those bandages. Emma, would you like to help me?”

“Me?” Emma, who had been silent and a bit on the sidelines all evening, seemed to re-emerge from wherever she’d gone.

“He won’t be able to do it by himself when you won’t live here anymore. It’s better if you learn how to help him.” Mary Margaret clarified.

Emma looked like she was going to object, but in the end, she asserted. “Sure.”

.

.

~·~·~·~

.

.

If a certain nervousness had taken hold of Emma as she climbed to the upstairs room, it disappeared the instant Mary Margaret helped Killian get rid of his shirt. That wasn’t a thorax, it was a nautical chart. Most of it was covered by gauze, but she could still spot many marks and scars.

There was a tattoo, two of them to be exact, but Emma saw just one at first. It was on his right forearm; it was a big red heart with a dagger running through and the name “Milah” across it. Emma made a mental note to ask him later who she was.

Mary Margaret showed her how to unfasten the bandages, and then she ordered her to stand behind him, to help better in removing them all.

On his back, Emma saw the second tattoo, on his right shoulder. It was an old nautical instrument she had read about in a book when she was younger, but she couldn’t remember the exact name. The drawing was beautifully detailed, even if it had faded, it was probably older than the other one, she thought.

And when all the gauze was out of the way, she saw them: tiny, blurred, old scars that studded most of his back. Emma wondered what kind of life he had to endure when he was very young.

Mary Margaret asked her to help with the ointment. She had already opened the bottle and was showing the blonde woman how much cream to use. But Emma wasn't listening, standing now in front of the man, her attention was caught by the glorious chest hair that was covering most of his torso.

Okay, there was also a big, horrible bruise on his right ribs, but Mary Margaret was saying that it seemed on the way to a fast recovery, if the yellow and purple veining was some indication.

Emma was ogling and she wasn’t ashamed of it either. The amount of hair decreased in the lower part of his chest, leaving a black trail that disappeared under the hem of his pants.

"See something you like?" Emma was abruptly taken back to reality by a smug Killian that was smirking at her while arching an eyebrow. She blushed. She was caught red-handed, but she couldn’t let him win. She took advantage of the fact that Mary Margaret was looking for something in a nearby drawer, to get closer to him. She looked at him lasciviously from under her lashes. “Maybe?” She purred.

Now it was his time to blush, he looked intently at his feet, but she found the bright red that appeared on his ears extremely endearing. Point for Emma.

Mary Margaret taught the other woman how to fix the bandages, and Emma had to use some tiny hooks to hold them together. She did not miss the opportunity to casually slide her fingers over a part of his chest hair that came out of the bandages.

“Bloody Hell!” Killian muttered.

Emma retreated her hand immediately. “Sorry. Did I hurt you?” Worries that she had done something wrong clouded her gaze.

“Apologies.” Killian was scratching behind his ear, in evident embarrassment. “While I do enjoy two lovely ladies attending to my needs, I'm not used to someone taking care of me…” He smiled and brought his mouth close to Emma’s ear: “I’m usually the one who devotes full attention to a woman’s needs.” He whispered, but clearly not as quietly as he would have liked, because Mary Margaret's answer - “Well, you will have to put that off for a while” - made him blush again like a schoolboy scolded by his teacher.

.

.

~·~·~·~

.

.

Suddenly it was bedtime. Everyone was busy making preparations and taking shifts for the bathroom to change for the night. Killian was upstairs, staring at the bed he knew he had to share with Emma, who was arranging a pillow on the nearby sofa. He passed a hand through his hair and then scratched a spot behind his right ear. “I'll crash on that couch.” He stated as if it was the most logical conclusion to a battle he was fighting inside.

“Don't be ridiculous,” she scoffed. “It's barely long enough for Henry. Plus, you’re still recovering, you absolutely need to rest.”

He didn't seem very convinced. “Emma, I'm not sure this is a good idea.”

“And why is that?” Was her exasperated reply, turning towards him with her hands on her hips. “What are you going to do? Seduce me with a couple of broken ribs and a ten-year-old boy sleeping next to us?”

He lifted his arms and surrendered. “Fair point.” He conceded.

In no time they were all ready for the night and Henry was snoring softly on the sofa. Killian was supine, staring at the ceiling and thinking about the events of the day. In any case, sleep had no intention of coming, but he tried not to move. He didn’t want to wake up his roommates. Emma was lying close with her back to him and he didn’t know if she was already in the arms of Morpheus.

He turned his head to observe how her upper body moved with the rhythm of her breathing, blond curls covering her shoulders. Killian had to repress the urge to touch them. And as if responding to his call, she stirred and turned to face him.

Her eyes opened lazily. “Still awake?” She murmured.

“I have the feeling that I’ve slept enough for the rest of my life.” He whispered. “But you can’t rest either, I see.”

She didn’t answer.

Perhaps it was the closeness, perhaps it was the fact that they had spent the last few days apart. Killian didn't know how he found the courage, but he lifted his left arm as an invitation. “Come here,” he said.

She seemed to ponder the situation, chewing her bottom lip. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

He decided not to think about all the possible implications of that sentence. He was falling in love with her, he was aware of it. Probably the simple doubt that she might not reciprocate was already hurting him, but he knew that at that moment she was referring only to his physical bruises. “You won’t.”

She slipped under the sheets towards him, resting her head gently on his left shoulder and placing a hand on his chest, avoiding the bruised part. Not many minutes passed before her lids grew heavy and she dozed off to the rhythm of his heartbeats. Killian placed a soft kiss on her forehead.

[comfy-whumpee]

Marissa

@ashintheairlikesnow thank you for the fic starter that ran away with the spoon. This is very first-draft but it exists and is canon.

TW: drugging, romantic whumper overtones.

Taglist: @lonesome--hunter, @iaminamoodymoodtoday, @wildfaewhump, @ishouldblogmore, @lektricwhump, @that-one-thespian, @raigash, @paingineering, @whumpywhumper

It takes all their courage to come back. No matter how many times they’re welcomed, no matter how many times they’re invited, they always have to brave it. They walk up the little paved stone path to the cottage, hands folded against their chest, debating. It can’t be a good idea to do this. It can’t be. She’ll be angry. She’ll turn them away.

 Northlight is a breeze blowing through normal people’s lives. They’re there for a lovely moment, and then they’re gone. They’re a shooting star, ephemeral, unattainable...irrevocable and yet inconstant.

 The plants on the windowsills inside cover most of the window panes, but the door is cleared and the frosted glass inset amongst the wood shows a tall figure with a peering face. Then the door opens.

 “North,” she says, her smile broad and soft like butter spread on toast. “It’s been so long. Come in, my love.”

 Northlight smiles nervously, stepping past the hanging rugs on the hallway walls. They follow to the kitchen, where she puts on a kettle to boil.

 She’s older. She used to be so strong, able to lift them without effort, carry them to bed, hold them tightly through their bitter nights of tears and terror. She used to show them how to exercise and build their strength until their body was something they controlled even when their chronology was not. She gave them skills and she gave them love, and she had so many of her own stories. Stories about the sky, their precious star-sailor.

She makes their tea how they have always liked it, two sugars and a sandwich on the side. She sits opposite them, and smiles, and reaches for their hand.

 They let her take it. She is still the same beautiful Marissa that they fell for years earlier.

 “I waited for you,” she says.

 The revelation makes their eyes widen. Something fragile and terrifying comes to rest on their chest. “Waited?”

 “Twenty years from the day you slipped away to this day now, when you’re here again. I should never have wasted a single moment I had with you. I missed you every day, North. Every day.”

 Every day? Nobody could care that much about Northlight. They’re just a breeze, light, momentary, gone, forgettable.

 “I worried, sometimes, that I’d hurt you. That I hadn’t been enough. You needed something stable, something to call home. I wanted to be that for you.”

 A home with her, forever? How long had they spent together the first time? They can’t remember.

 “I knew you’d come back.”

 Less than a month. It had definitely been less than a month.

 “Marissa, I...”

 They try to stand. The world turns sharply in one direction and the other, simultaneous, like a combination lock. They need to run, they have to - but their feet are glued to the ground, knowing against Northlight’s wishes that a single step will tip them over the edge into darkness.

 “It’s alright, North,” Marissa says, reaching out to tug them back down into the armchair. “I know you didn’t mean to leave me. I forgive you. I know you’ll never make that mistake again.”

 No, no, this was meant to be a visit, a brief reunion before she was gone. They’re not supposed to - she wasn’t - they’re in trouble. They drank the tea.

 Marissa stokes the fireplace, raking the embers together with a practised sweep. They watch, head tipped, world tilted. “Just relax. You’re home.”

 They don’t have a home. They never had a home.

 “Just relax.”

 But they can’t move anymore.

 -

 Whatever it is, it holds them down like their skin is sodden. Pinned to the bed they’d once shared, they lie staring at the ceiling, head back on the pillows, unable to lift it. It’s all they can do to swallow, breathe and blink.

 The room hasn’t changed. It’s painted lilac, one of their favourite colours. The furnishings are white with silver highlights, accents picked out along the edges of the bookshelves on the far wall, and in the decor like the flower vase on the sill. They stare absently at the clouds moving over that sky, and think about teleporting.

 Teleport once into the sky, once back to the ground a distance away. Fall, and repeat. Get away without the ability to move.

 Except it isn’t that simple. They can’t always teleport without momentum; it takes effort. If they end up with their face in the ground, they won’t be able to move it again. They’ll be trapped. If they can’t teleport fast enough, dizzy or confused, they’ll land hard, too.

 They look away from the clouds. Turning their eyes is manageable, thankfully. They look at the dotted ceiling and make shapes from the pattern.

 She comes in. She sits at the edge of the bed, worried but unrepentant. She holds their red scarf in her hands. They turn their eyes away, back to the clouds.

 “Who is this from, North?”

 They can’t answer. She must know it. The tone of her voice makes it sound like she’s worked it out, and she’s not happy. The scarf is simple wool and dye, hand-made, but into the end, a felt heart in matching red is sewn to the tip with white thread. She looked closely at that to see it.

 All their other treasures she has left in their pockets, not jealous enough to take even those away. But the scarf, she took.

 “It’s from someone who loved you, isn’t it? Someone from after we met. You didn’t have this scarf last time.”

 It’s been twenty years even for you. Don’t act so surprised.

 “I’m surprised. I thought you were different.”

 I never claimed to be different to anyone else. I’m just being me.

 “I thought we had something special, North. I told you everything. You asked for stories and I gave you them.”

 Don’t believe you’re above and beyond a millennia of people. Don’t believe you’re not just as special as any of the other people I loved. You had as much love as I had to give, and that should have been enough.

 “But it’s alright. You slipped away. You couldn’t help it. You can just stay here now, stay with me, and then you won’t need other people, will you?” She sits down on a chair opposite, folding her hands in her lap and tossing her hair. Her smile is star-bright and painful to look at. “I’m here.”

 Not how it works. They don’t have the energy to reply. They can barely move still. It’ll happen eventually. I’ll hit a barrier, a time I’ve been in before, and I’ll be gone.

 “So, North, tell me. What have you been up to while you were away. It’s been so long for me... Was it long for you?”

 Ugh. They force jaw and lips and tongue into coordinated motion. “Y-Yes.”

 “Oh...” For a moment, she seems thrown, and upset by the bluntness of their answer. Shouldn’t have drugged them. “How long?”

 “Dun-no.”

 “Oh.” She pauses, then smiles lightly. “Well that’s fine. You still came back.”

 And it was a mistake.

 -

 “You have to drink, North.”

 “C-Curse you.”

 “I’m just trying to help.”

 “Keep y’r poison.”

 Marissa sighs, shoulders dropping, and sets aside the water. Northlight keeps their eyes averted from it, knowing any hint of moisture will make their throat burn worse. It’s been nearly a full day with nothing to drink, and they know it’s the only reason they can move enough to talk right now.

 “Please, North,” she tries again after a minute. “You’ll get sick.”

 “Not as sick as-s you.”

 They don’t have to think about the rebuttals. They come easy and feel light, like tossing burdens from their shoulders. Marissa looks more pale and upset with each one, but that serves her right.

 They’re trying to sway, just a little, now that they can more again. They shift to the left with a careful push, and then flop back, allowing the momentum to carry them the other way. They bob like the tideline on a beach, and in each lean, then feel time begin to open, the gaps between eras, the cracks Northlight will slip through. Just a little more.

 Marissa grabs their shoulder and pain stabs through them life a stake. Northlight howls, a breathless sound, pathetically quiet, but still heavy with the shock of being hurt so badly out of nowhere. They even open their eyes, gracing her with the barest minimum of attention as she tries to hold them still. They breathe in gasps as her hand pulls away, and the sigil gradually burns down to a smoulder.

 “What’s wrong?” she asks, stupidly.

 She can’t know about the marks. She can’t know what they do. “Y-You poisoned me! Get your d-damned hands off me!”

 “There’s no need to scream!”

 “There is.” They catch their breath, and when she doesn’t immediately reply, start swaying again. Slowly, deliberately they build up their momentum.

 “Stop it,” she mutters.

 They’ve always done this. They need it, the security of being able to move, the freedom offered by the open pages of time, the control over their own body - not swaying when they want to is the same as holding into a hot plate when your instincts tell you to drop it before it burns.

 Marissa glowers at them petulantly, but she doesn’t grab them again. Instead, she gets up. “I’m making you more tea,” she says, blatant in her intentions.

 Northlight has been drugged plenty of times before. It’s one of the few ways to hold them down. They keep swaying, focused on the expand and contract of their time-slipping power. Expand and contract, open and close, blossom and wither with each move towards and away.

 This is dangerous. If they drop somewhere inhospitable, if could be hours before they get the energy to move and sway and jump again. But it’s better than being captive here until she dies, fawned over like a living treasure she can’t bear to lose. So they sway, and teeter on the edge of a new era, and fall back again steady in this time. Like a pendulum, they swing back, and forth, and on the last strike, as though they were marking the hour, they pass the amount of momentum needed to break through the eggshell of this era, and burst the bubble into the great flow of time.

 The instant later, they are in a forest, and they’re toppling to the ground as their legs can’t hold them. Their legs crumple, a knee hits their chin, and they roll unwillingly onto their side. Their head lands on their arm, level with a wild strawberry plant that’s just sprouted fruit, a little green gem dangling from its stem. They catch their breath as best they can, and try to ignore the desert sand cloying in their throat. They’re outdoors, they’re free, and she’s not going to hold them down again.

 Amelie and Matt, Rishi, Marissa, why do they keep trusting that the people they love will stay the same? They always turn on their Northlight, one way or another.

 Better to keep moving.

 Once they can move at all.

[writingvenusian]

There is a woman at the door convinced that I owe her a shilling. Or maybe she is not convinced, but hopes that if she repeats herself enough and bothers me enough, I will give her one. I know that I do not owe her a shilling.

“You owe me a shilling, Martha,” she insists. She pulls the wet shawl tighter around herself. The skin of her nose is slowly getting closer to the blue-grey colour of the sky that hovers above these mountains, and her shawl is the same rough soaked brown as the path up the cliffs to my home. Her breath rasps in her mouth as though her throat is clenching around it to force it back down and her teeth are digging into it. This is a woman of hunger.

I look over her shoulders and see that the night is falling quickly. The mountains stretch far away into the distance. Their end—where the rich rivers and nourished fields are, where living is easier and humans have spread—is out of reach. The peaks that roam the skyline hide the deep ravines. The ravines do not have a bottom. The mountains are not connected. There are many places where ferocious trees have stretched across the gaps with their roots and formed thick and sturdy bridges, and the wild things that roam have learned how to find their footing there, but humans can rarely do so, especially when it rains as it does today, when the roots grow slick and adjust themselves to pull in all the water they can, becoming more like nets or buckets than bridges.

“You have come a long way,” I say to her. She spits at my feet.

“You’re right I have,” she says. “I wasn’t going to let you get away, was I? No, siree, no ma’am. You owe me a shilling, Martha, don’t think I’d forget it.”

My name is not Martha. I look at her again. Her eyes slide back and forth across my face, possibly looking for a reaction, possibly looking for something familiar.

“Come inside,” I say. “I have soup on the fire. There is more than enough for both of us.”

I can see that hunger lurches up in her and beats its thin fists against her brow. Still, she backpedals, throwing up a hand as if to shield her eyes from some bright light. “Now, don’t you go thinking you can trick me like that, Martha. I know all your dirty little secrets. How much will it cost, eh? A shilling? Huh? No, you’ll not get out of debt to me that easily. You owe me a shilling, and I’ll not be sent away without it, despite your nasty games.”

I open the door wider. “Of course not. I will give you a shilling. I will also give you my fire and a bowl of soup.”

“No.” She shakes her head wildly. I am lightly sprinkled with the drops that fling from her tangled hair. “Give it to me out here.”

“It is cold,” I point out. “And raining. And it may take me a long time to find my money purse.”

She hesitates. Behind her is freedom, but her freedom is full of gaping ravines and mountains made for things with wings hooves or and long hooked hands and feet, and it is quickly growing dark with night and impending sickness. Ahead of her is sheer uncertainty.

The smell of soup rises through my door, overpowering the ozone of the rainstorm. She is hungry.

“Let me in,” she growls. I step back. She barges into my one-room home without looking at me. I notice that she does not bother to take off her muddy shoes or her shawl, instead immediately plopping down on chair closest to the fireplace, where I know the warmth makes one feel as though one is slowly roasting.

I close the door gently and without latching it, then go to dig out two bowls and two spoons. I set all but one bowl on the table. I take the one bowl to the pot with the intention of filling it. When the woman sees what I’m doing, she hisses.

“Ah ah ah,” she says, “no. I never said I wanted any of your stew. You’ll charge me for it, I know you will. I’ll never get my shilling if I let you go about like that, Martha.”

I shake my head. “I will charge you nothing for the soup. I am simply of the opinion that allowing a guest to go hungry while soup sits before them is inhospitable. Please, share my dinner.”

“No.” She fixes her eyes on the fire and leans in closer to it, gripping the shawl even tighter. She will not look at me.

I nod. “I will force nothing upon you.” I take up the ladle and use it to pour a healthy share into the bowl, being sure to turn it so that she can see the meat and vegetables land thickly in the bowl along with the broth. I set the bowl on the table to her side and place a spoon in it. “That is for you, if you so desire.”

She curls up tighter in herself and looks like she wants to pinch her nose when the scent of the broth wafts over her.

“Now for the moneybag,” I say, as if to myself. My home is small. It has to be, for me to best keep my more wealthy visitors uncomfortable. It is good. Still, because it is small, it is crowded. There are large baskets filled with supplies, shelves bursting with food and canned goods and cooking implements, corners filled with weapons and tools and their implements of upkeep, waterproof chests of books and scrolls, a simpler chest of clothing, and odd bits and bobs cluttering up every surface with evidence of what I have made for myself in all my time here. I know that I have a few mortal-made coins in a box filled with the gifts of the younger visitors, and I know that one of them says “shilling” on it. I even know that it will be underneath the slightly green acorn, its shine just peeking out between the split vanes of a seabird feather. Still, I turn my attention instead to the shelf where I keep canned goods.

As I pretend to search, I hum a tune. The Honor of John Pig, it is called. Its notes roll with laughter and excitement.

“If you’re trying to trick me into giving up my shilling, Martha, it won’t work,” she says. Her voice, though, is beginning to trail off. A minute later, I hear slurping.

I turn around. The polished bowl is at her mouth, tilted, and her eyes are wide open as she looks inside it. Her hands curve around the bottom of the bowl and her thumbs hook the top, to keep from letting it get away. Her fingernails, I see, are ragged and broken.

When she puts it down briefly to wipe her mouth, I see that half the broth is gone already. She snatches up a spoon and starts shoveling up the meat and vegetables.

“This means nothing,” she says with her mouth full, glaring at me with an expression like a clenched fist. “I’m not paying you anything.”

I smile. “I know.” I walk across the room to where the baskets full of supplies are. There are only sacks of flour inside the first one. I dig my hands underneath and around them as though looking for dropped change, their weight heavy against my arms.

“Good,” she grumps. I hear more chewing and slurping.

After more of me looking for money I have already found and her consuming my gift as though she has stolen it, I finally open the box with the best-loved presents and pull out the shilling.

“Ah,” I announce evenly, raising it to the light, “I have found the lost coin.”

She sits up. “Give it to me.”

I cross the room and sit on the chair slowly to lessen the frightful creaking its old wooden frame can put up when handled roughly. When I extend my hand, the coin glints dully in my palm.

She snatches it and presses it to her chest. “Good. Now let me leave.”

I lift a finger. “No need for such haste. I have given you the shilling you asked for. Let us celebrate your good fortune of having gained a shilling with a shared meal.”

She narrows her eyes and sticks the coin in her cheek. “There’s my meal. I am satisfied.”

I shake my head. “Not for long, though. What will happen after that is gone?”

“I’ll find another.” She is stubborn.

I take the bowl that she has set by her feet and stand to fill it again. This time, she does not protest. When it is brimming with warmth and nourishment, the other bowl follows. There is a loaf of bread on the shelf, and I take it down and cut two pieces. The good butter goes on thick.

When I have finished, I sit and gesture. “Eat.”

She has not removed the coin from her mouth. “I cannot eat,” she says.

“Why not?”

Her hands are balled up tightly in her lap. Her jaw works, wanting to stay closed over her prize, but she speaks. “Everyone knows you can’t eat bread without drinking, and there’s nothing to drink. Besides, how do I know the bread doesn’t cost extra? Or that the drink wouldn’t cost extra?”

There is fresh milk from this morning. I pour it into two cups. “I will not charge you for the celebration of having found the coin owed to you. Lost coins refound are deserving of great rejoicing. So here we are, as friends, and we will eat and drink to your good fortune without worrying any further about prices or debts.”

“No such thing as a free meal.”

“The price has been paid.” The milk froths in the cups. I set down the jug and ease myself back into my seat. Without checking to see if she has begun, I take up my spoon and bring up the first bite.

The soup is rich, and the bread is made well. Compared to the table spread of the city’s lords, it is poor, but when held against the merit of the meager pickings available in the wilderness to the inexperienced traveler, it is fare fit for kings. I eat with satisfaction. After more hesitation, she discreetly spits out the coin and tucks it into some pocket of hers, then begins a ravenous attack similar to her work with the first bowl.

Soon, the dishes are cleared of food. I sit back, content with how my teeth have dug into the bread and how the soup warms me inside. The fire still goes, but it is starting to calm. The woman, too, is beginning to calm. She has settled into her chair. Her hands no longer clutch at the still-wet shawl. Her head nods up and down in tandem with her eyelids. The shilling is left in the pocket.

I shuttered the window long before the rain and the woman arrived, its rough slats keeping out all the wind and water, but now I look at it as though I can see how heavily the night hangs in the air. “It is late.”

She murmurs an affirmative through cracked lips that are now wet with soup instead of rain.

“Travel is dangerous at this time of night in the mountains.”

Now she looks at me. “I won’t stay here,” she says angrily. Her hands look like they don’t know whether to cover her face or clutch at the shawl. “You’ll charge me for the board, I know you will, Martha, even if you won’t charge for the food.”

I shrug. “I ask no payment of you. Stay.”

“Bah! What for?”

I pause, to make sure she listens. “It is dark outside. Nothing looks familiar when nothing can be seen. Animals roam the cliffs. You will be safe here for the night.”

She knows about the animals and the ravines that seem to appear out of nowhere in the dark. It was a long journey to reach me.

“I’ll share no bed,” she spits.

I stand and go to where I know the extra bedding is. I spread it out on the floor in the warm space next to the fire. There is a bedroll, a blanket, and a pillow, all softer than the mountain. The bedding is all dark and warm red, like a sunset, or a flower under a yellow moon, and in the light of the fire it looks like prince-worthy luxury.

She leans towards it from her chair, but stops when I point at her feet.

“Your shoes.” I then point again. “Your clothes.”

Her wariness has returned, along with rage. “And what of them? They too good for you, Martha?”

“You can’t sleep in them,” I say evenly. “They are wet and muddy.”

“So?”

“You will soil the bed. You will be uncomfortable.”

“What does that matter!”

But I am already looking through another chest of mine, my back to her. I can hear her grunt angrily, but then there is the clomping sound of dropped shoes.

“Happy now?”

I turn around carefully. She has removed the shoes and is holding the shawl her hands.

“All of what you wear is muddy.”

She throws a fit. She is not going to be left vulnerable in the home of the untrustworthy, she says. She is not going to wake up turned out with the door locked and robbed of every stitch she wears. She worked hard to keep everything in one piece while she was lost out in the godforsaken wilderness, and she’ll keep everything on her, thank you very much.

She continues to scream while I set out the clothes I have chosen for her and placed them on the pillow, pile the dishes where I will remember to wash them, and put rainwater on to boil. There is more rainwater in the barrel. It is enough for a bath, so I prepare one in the washbin. She continues yelling until I ask her how warm she prefers the water.

“What?” She stares at the bath, having not been watching me during her rebellion. She is uncomprehending of my question, so I decide that the usual ratio of boiling water to cool water will do. When I am done, I bring out a cleaning cloth and a bar of lavender soap and offer it to her.

“If you bathe,” I say, “the bedding will not be made dirty.”

She looks at the cleaning cloth and soap bar.

“My hands are full,” she says softly. It’s true. She clutches the shawl with both hands.

“Give it to me,” I say. “I’ll hang it up to dry with the rest of your clothes when you have gotten into the water.”

She gives me another glare, but the clenched expression is loosening. It has been a long road. “You’ll look at nothing.”

“Nothing at all,” I agree.

“You’ll pretend I’m not here.”

“I’ll immerse myself utterly in completely distracting tasks.”

She still does not trust me entirely, but she trades the shawl for the soap and the washcloth. I turn my back even once she is in the water, then pick up the discarded clothes and busy myself in setting them out to dry. They are filthy, but tonight is no time to wash them, so they’ll have to wait until morning.

She finishes quickly and dries off with the towel I give her (while I stand backwards), then changes into the new outfit.

“Is it comfortable?” I ask. The long robe that stretches from her ankles to her throat to her wrists is for sleeping, so it is simpler than her day dress, but it is made for sleeping on cold rainy nights, so it the blue fabric is heavy and warm. I trust that it will keep her well during the night.

“It’s fine,” she says. There’s a bite to her words, but I do not know if she snaps at me because she doesn’t know what to say or because she is overwhelmed. Perhaps it is both.

“I’m glad.”

While she tucks herself into the sleeping nest she has made for herself, I change into my own night clothes and get into my bed. The fire is burning as it should, and I have no concerns for it. My own bed is close enough to it that I do not freeze, but far enough that I do not encroach upon her space.

My head rests on my pillow. “Goodnight,” I say.

She waits to see if there is anything else that I will add. When there isn’t, she responds. “Goodnight.” It is curt, but no longer angry. The fire crackles peacefully.

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Fateful Objection

A long, long LONG time ago, there was a gifset of a supercorp au where Krypton survived and Kara interrupted a forced marriage between Lena and Mon-el of Daxam. This is my take on that AU.

----

When Kara Zor el learns she would be accompanying her parents to Daxam to observe the nuptials of the crown prince, she can think of a million other things she would rather be doing. Focusing on her grant to guild council requesting funding for an expedition to the most inhospitable planet in the quadrant. Dis- and re-assembling all the Kal-ex models in the citadel. Ask her Uncle Non for the full military history of the Daxamite war, and listen stonefaced as he flatly recounts every recorded and perceived slight inflicted by Krypton's closest neighbors. But when she disembarks her family's shuttle with her parents, cousin, and Aunt Astra at her side, Kara stares in awe at the grand pyramid that towers over their heads. Non remains on duty, thank Rao, manning the frigate still in orbit. It's beautiful, in an archaic sort of way-- imposing without a single ounce of nuance. Such is the way of Daxam. 

Queen Rhea herself greets them, and Kara's mother Alura accepts the welcome on behalf of Krypton and the House of El. Soon, the queen bequeaths their contingent to a steward, with instructions to be shown to the chambers they would be using for the duration of the festivities. The steward takes them the long way, intentionally guiding them past Daxam's grandest views and most impressive architecture. Naturally. Kara wonders which sites are favored for the Prince's infamously lewd parties, and which were genuinely spaces for reflection and prayer. Still, as their tour winds deeper into the palace, Kara finds more to admire. Art and sculpture that both bewitches and confounds her, slowing her steps and ultimately pausing them to study one more closely. She doesn't notice her family moving on until she blinks and finds the corridor empty to either side of her. Alarm sparks low in her belly, as her mother's voice echoes in her ears. "While we are on Daxam, we must abide by the highest laws of decorum and honor," she'd warned them, more than once. "We are representatives of Krypton, and must demonstrate as such." Getting lost in a palace would not reflect well on Krypton, or the House of El. Kara follows the corridor in the direction she'd been going, only to pause moments later when the hall forked. Neither hold any sign of her family. This time, she chooses a direction at random. Within moments a sinking suspicion gathers in her gut, as she encounters nothing but more empty corridor... until it terminates in a single door. She knows it can't be the chambers alotted to the House of Zor el-- too secluded, too plain, too chill-- but Kara swipes her hand over the sensor anyway. Perhaps, she thinks, another steward lurked inside, and could redirect her before anyone important discovers her absence. But when the door slides open, it's not a steward she finds inside. Instead she finds a bed, and a woman asleep upon it. Kara's breath catches in her chest, feet riveted to the ground as the sight of pale skin against a dark gown overrides any compulsion to leave before being noticed. Those same traitorous feet carry her inside. One step, two steps, three... The door slides shut with a hiss, and the sleeping woman stirs. Dark lashes flutter open, and before Kara can bolt, sharp eyes focus on her. "I apologize," Kara blurts, heart thudding rapidly. "I got lost, and... I didn't mean to--" "I can't understand you," the woman said in another language. She pushed herself up to sitting, rolling her eyes with a helpless, resigned shrug. "Whatever Rhea sent you here to do, just do it." The words are foreign, but they tickle a long buried interest in alien linguistics, and memories float to the surface. After a pause, Kara reaches instinctively for the words that lift to her memory. "You... are not from Daxam." That sharp gaze flies to Kara once more, widening in surprise. "You speak English!" English, yes. More of her old studies sharpen in her mind. English. A language commonly spoken on a planet on the far side of the galaxy. "Some."

Suddenly, her hands are held tightly in warm fingers, taken by the pale woman who now holds her in thrall with beseeching eyes. "Please, you have to help me." Kara freezes, alarm jangling every nerve. "You... are here for wedding?" "I am the wedding," comes the swift response, almost too swift for Kara to follow. "Rhea expects me to marry her son, but I want no part of it." "You are unwilling?" "Yes! Rhea abducted me from my planet, against my will. I have no interest in Daxam-- I just want to go home." Kara stares at her, and the woman stares back. Keen eyes scan her up and down. "You're not from Daxam, either." "No," Kara agrees. "I am Kara Zor el, from Krypton." "Daxam's closest neighbor," the woman supplies, almost thoughtful. "You share a sun." Kara nods. "My name is Lena Luthor, from a planet called Earth." Earth. That was it. The planet Astra once told her would grant Kryptonians god-like powers. For flight, speed, strength. "Kara Zor el, please, you must help me. None of the servants will even speak to me. Rhea has them completely under her thumb." Kara can only imagine, considering they were not servants, but slaves yoked to the crown. "Can you not leave?" Kara asks. The door hadn't been locked. If what Lena says is true, surely the door would have been locked. But Lena merely lifts the hem of her gown, revealing a dark band around her ankle. "I can't take it off. As long as I wear it, the door closes before I can reach it." The dress droops, and when Kara turns a horrified gaze back to Lena, the woman can't quite meet her gaze. "I'm a prisoner." Kara can't quite believe it. But she has no means to distrust Lena either. And the beacon-- the beacon lends the story credence. "Please, Kara Zor el. You're the first person to speak to me since we landed. Just-- get me out of this room and I'll make my own way home from there." Kara almost agrees, already forming a plan to find and destroy the sensor that watched for the beacon, and help smuggle the woman out of the palace. But her mother's words echo once again, and makes her shake her head. "I can't." She pulls away, only for Lena's hands to grab at her once more. "No, please, wait! There-- there has to be something--" "It would be an act of war," Kara states plainly. "I cannot." Lena stares at her, stricken. Then her features harden, and her fingers release Kara's wrist. Silently, Lena turns away, folding her arms around herself, as disappointment settles heavily on her shoulders. Helplessness settles on Kara as well. She stands, unwilling to leave but unable to help. Until... "Speak no." Lena turns only slightly. "What?" "Marriage on Krypton provide a time for dissenters to voice... objection, to the union. I believe Daxam does as well." Lena stares at her. "It is often formality, but if you speak no, it will give the delegation pause. It could... give us cause to act. Give you time." Silence answers her. Its a long chance. Kara hopes her family will answer Lena's cry for help, but-- she isn't certain they will. "Listen for 'if any shall protest Rao's will, let them speak.'" Kara says the words in the old language, the one Daxam and Krypton still share in ritual. "Let them speak," Lena parrots. Her tongue stumbles over the words, but the comprehension is there. "And then you say 'I speak no'." The delegation may recognize English, but Rhea would be harder pressed to smooth over the bride objecting in their language. "I speak no," Lena repeats again. These words are simpler, better suited to a mouth used to softer sounds. Before Kara can say anything more, Lena staggers suddenly, listing sharply into her. Kara steadies her, helping her to the bed. "Are you all right?" Lena inhales sharply, rubbing at her chest with a hand that trembles. "The food doesn't agree with me." Kara watches her anxiously, but Lena offers nothing else. She fidgets, unused to being so unhelpful. "Speaking no may be enough to stall the ceremony. It's not much, I'm sorry." Lena's features finally soften. "It's more than I had five minutes ago." She offers a sad smile. Thank you, Kara Zor el." When she leaves, Kara does so with a lump in her throat. It doesn't feel right. Daxam's reputation for cruelty towards their slaves was well known to Krypton, but this? This was beyond anything Kara ever believed them capable. Mind twisting, Kara almost doesn't see the figure coming around the corner. "Oh!" She stops just shy of collision, and blinks back her dismay at the sight of Queen Rhea herself. In an instant, Kara smoothed her features and dipped into a genuflection. "Your Majesty, please forgive me." Regal features curl into a humorless smile, as her eyes track to the sigil on Kara's chest. "The House of El. I hadn't heard they'd misplaced one of their number." "I was admiring a sculpture, and didn't realize I'd lagged so far behind, your highness. I thought they'd come this way, but I've seen no sign of them." "Oh? And what have you seen?" Danger lurks under the sweet and patient intonation. Kara lifts her chin, channeling every ounce of her mother's training to keep her expression neutral. "Nothing? Your majesty," she tacks on. "When I realized I had gone the wrong way, I thought I had found a servant's corridor. Please accept my deepest apologies, your majesty. I did not mean to intrude." A dark eyebrow lifts. "A humble Kryptonian. I never thought I'd see the day." Her words mock, but her suspicion softens to mirth. "Perhaps there is some hope for the future of our people's after all." The queen turns to one of the guards at her shoulder. "Escort our guest to her delegation." "Yes, my queen." Kara dips again, eyes downcast. "Thank you, your majesty. I shall do my best not to be so enraptured with your palace in the future." This time when Rhea smiles, Kara sees the fangs behind it. "You may admire as you wish-- simply mind your way." "Yes, your majesty." The queen strides past her, her remaining guard trailing close behind. Kara itches to follow, but the guard waiting to escort her pre-empts any thoughts of subterfuge. She follows him in the opposite direction, pretending she doesn't hear the hiss of a door opening and closing behind her. When the door opens to her own family's chambers, her mother and aunt immediately rise to meet. "Kara, thank Rao!" "What happened? Where you detained?" Kara shakes her head. "I'm fine but--" "Kara, you know how important our presence here is!" Her mother scolds. "You can't be wandering off like a child! I brought you because I believed you mature enough to accept the responsibility." Kara glances at Kal el, who sits in a small corner of the couch, wholly absorbed in his reading and unconcerned with where he was or why. "Yes, mother," is all she says. "I'm sorry." She keeps her discovery to herself, avoiding her mother's disbelief through dinner and evening prayer. It's not until the quiet hour that Kara seeks out her aunt, and finds her gazing out the window of their main reception area, gaze deep and thoughtful. "Aunt Astra?" Astra turns to face her, silver hair glinting in the moonlight. "Yes, little one." She smiles. "Come, keep your old aunt company a while." Kara gladly steps into her aunt's one-armed embrace, sharing the same view. "You're not old." "Mmm," her aunt hums. "My ego appreciates that, little one." They stand in silence for several minutes, until Kara finally gives voice to the concerns that plague her. "Does Daxam follow the same bonding rituals as Krypton?" "Yes, for the most part. They select their matches differently, but the ceremonies are largely the same." "So there will be an opportunity to dissent?" Astra glances at her. "Does this have anything to do with your quiet this evening?" Kara swallows. "Something happened. When we were separated." "What is it? If they put a finger on you--" "No, aunt. Nothing like that. I-- I followed a wrong corridor, and ended up in the bride's chambers." Dark eyebrows lift. "How strange. Is she as lovely as the Daxamites all whisper?" "Yes, but-- Aunt Astra, I think she's in trouble." Astra snorts. "And she's only just realizing the Daxamites are trouble?" "She isn't from Daxam. She says she's from Earth." That gets Astras attention. "Earth?" "She doesn't speak Daxamite-- only English. She was difficult to follow, but I think she said the Queen abducted her from her planet, brought her here against her will. Her name is Lena Luthor, and--" "These are serious allegations, Kara. Are you certain you heard what you think you did?" Kara swallows. "She spoke so fast. But... she asked for help. I'm certain of that. And I saw fear in her eyes." "And what did you tell her?" "I couldn't act. Not without inciting conflict between our planets. But I told her of the right to dissent, gave her the words to speak that might stop the ceremony." Astra considers her words. Finally, she nods. "That was a wise move." "What if it's not enough? What if Rhea skips the rite?" For once, Astra doesn't have answer for her. "Then we will find a way to investigate further. If this woman is indeed from Earth, we may have grounds to interfere. It is an indexed planet earmarked for potential colonization. An abduction could threaten our prospects-- it would behoove us to prevent such an outcome." It does little to soothe Kara. The lump in her throat remains long through the night and breakfast the next morning, and through her preparations for the ceremony. All the while, she tries not to think what preparations Lena may be undergoing that very moment. In the ampitheater, Kara and her family are afforded an unobstructed view. She sits between her mother and cousin, back straight and fingers clenched. The Prince enters first, from the east. His features are solemn, heavy. Completely uncharacteristc of the rumors that abound of his celebrity and immaturity. He looks how Kara feels-- that he knows what comes next is very wrong. But instead of relief, Kara's dread only worsens. He could stop this, but hasn't. By showing up, he proves he will be no ally to his betrothed. When Lena enters from the west, Kara knows in an instant something is wrong. The woman's sharp gaze had been piercing the day before, but now they're cloudy and slightly unfocused. Her skin is flushed, red and shining with sweat despite the chill in the chamber. When she stumbles on air, a guard takes her firmly by the arm, and all but drags her to where the Prince and Queen wait. As the ceremony commences, Kara's focus remains on Lena's profile, and watches as her eyes close sluggishly, and her chest hitches as though in discomfort. "If any shall protest Rao's will, let them speak." Kara waits with bated breath, in the stretch of silence that follows. Astra touches her knee in readiness, but one beat passes, then two, and Lena says nothing. Kara lookes closer, and finds Lena's eyes clenched shut,  hand pressed against her sternum as though she hasn't even heard. She hasn't heard. "Then by Rao's--" "I object!" Kara blurts, shooting to her feet. The prince's head turns sharply, but Lena's eyes remain closed, as she inhales through her nose. "Kara," Alura hisses, but the damage is done.  Rheas gaze turns on Kara, and in them she finds outrage, second to mirth. She thinks she's won. "I speak," Kara repeats. "This union cannot proceed." "It is not your place, girl. You are not speaker of your delegation." "Lena!" Kara calls, shaking free of her mother's hands. Finally, Lena's eyes blink open. "Lena!" Sluggish eyes turn towards her. "Karazorel..." The name runs together on Lena's tongue, slurred and murky. "Yes, princess, it's me. Do you accept this union?" Rhea pushes between them. In a flash, Astra stands at Kara's side, ready to defend her. "You risk a thousand years of peace, Kryptonian!" "You are the one who invited us here-- to observe the rites. We will stand witness, and by Rao if you have done anything--" "I speak no." The words come soft behind Rhea, stuttered and cottony. The queen whirls, outrage twisting her pretty face into an ugly mask of rage. "How do you know those words?" Lena blinks sluggishly. "I speak no." This time, the pronunciation is close to perfect, and the utterance carries across the entire hall. "I speak no--" Rhea's hand cracks against her cheek. The force of the blow sends Lena staggering, ultimately losing her battle against gravity to fall to her knees. Kara doesn't think. She pushes past her aunt and the guards between them, and plants her hand on Rhea's wrist, where her hand twists in Lena's hair, pulling cruelly. "You dare--" Rhea's hand lifts to strike Kara as well, but Astra is at her side in an instant, tall and imposing. "Strike her and you will only live long enough to do it once." Rhea pauses. "Let her go," Kara demands. "You have no authority here." Kara looks over her shoulder, where Lena tearfully struggles to breathe past the ragged gasps in her throat. "Lena..." She can't give Lena the words this time. All she needs to do is ask for help. The system is listening-- they would hear, and act. She just needs to speak. In English, or not. When Lena looks up at her, searching through the bleary haze in her eyes, Kara isn't certain she could even hear her. Something was wrong. "Please," Lena gasps. A hand presses to her chest, as though trying to relieve a tremendous pressure. "Please help me." The room erupts in shock and outrage. Kara releases the queen to reach for Lena, and hears Astra declare Lena safe under the protection of Krypton and the House of El until the truth of Rhea's treachery is uncovered. It fades to a dull roar, as Kara presses her hands to Lena's flushed and sweating cheeks. She's shocked to find her skin chill and clammy. "Mother!" she calls. "Mother, she is unwell!" "I-- I can't breathe--" Lena gasps, moments before she face turns ashen and her body loosens. Kara only just manages to catch her before she slumps the floor, unconscious. "MOTHER!" "Her heartrate is too fast." "I think she's been drugged," Kara supplies quickly. She turns to Rhea. "What did you give her?!" "You insult me--" "We don't have time for this," Alura cuts her off. "Astra, we need to get her back to the shuttle. We will be able to provide treatment on the frigate." The flight back to the frigate passes tensely. Lena doesn't wake up, and Kara spends the minutes with her hand tight around the human's slack fingers. As soon as Astra carries Lena into the medical bay, she activates a stasis field. "This will give us time to quarantine her condition. Sister, do you still have the files on human physiology?" Alura nods. "Yes. I've sent a Kal ex unit to retrieve them." In the meantime, the healing units hover and dart around Lena's pale frame, taking samples and running tests. When they compare the results to Alura's records, Astra's features darken. "So it's true then. Daxam drugs its people into compliance." Kara stares, horrified. "She was drugged?" Astra nods. "These results indicate she has been for some time. No doubt she proved troublesome for the Queen. But it seems she received a significantly larger dose only just recently, likely in attempt to keep her from making a scene during the ceremony." "The prolonged exposure weakened her heart," Alura supplies. "Had it been just the one dose, we might have been able to fully repair the damage, but..." "She'll die?" "We can help her recover, and Krypton's gravity differs from Earth's. It's possible it will allow her to live a relatively long life... but she will have symptoms for the rest of her days." Kara breathes deeply. "We can't let Rhea have her." "I agree, little one. But I'm afraid the decision may be out of our hands. Once she is well enough, the council will want to hear her story. If it is true Rhea captured her, Daxam will never lay a hand on her again." Alura meets her husband's gaze, and nods. "The House of El will pledge their protection. She will be safe on Kryptonian soil." The others leave, citing duties and a desire to let the healers work. But Kara stays, unable to pull herself away. Astra lingers. "I am so proud of you, Kara. You took a great risk, speaking out as you did. But you saved her life." Kara shakes her head. Her exchange in the palace repeated in her head, looping on Lena's unsteadiness and her breathlessness. 

The food doesn't agree with me. "She was ill when we met. I just, didn't realize..." "You couldn't have, Kara." "I shouldn't have left her there. I should have done more to help her that night. If I had, Rhea wouldn't have had the chance to--" "You did more than anyone else did. You were a hero today." But it wasn't enough. "I want to stay here tonight." "Very well. I will sent kal ex with some blankets." Kara stays, for days as they try to get Lena's baseline to a sustainable level. When they slowly reduce the stasis field, allowing Lena to function on her own, their patient sleeps, oblivious to the political volleys exchanged in her name. To Kara's surprise, Krypton remains adamant that Lena remain where she is, despite Daxam's demands for her return.

Kara is there when Lena opens her eyes. They lift heavily, as though burdened by great weight. Her eyes slowly focus, and then sharpen to the keen edge Kara had witnessed before. "You are safe," Kara says in English, pulling the woman's focus to her. "Safe." Lena's throat bobs in a thick swallow. "The wedding..." "You spoke no. The ceremony wasn't completed." Lena's eyes close, lips pressing tightly together. "You're on my family's ship now, in orbit over Krypton. Once the council determines the fault of Daxam, you'll be allowed to land, as a guest of the House of El." Lena nods, opening her eyes. "Thank you, Karazorel." "My friends call me Kara." Pale lips lift softly, even as her eyes start to slip shut, betraying her exhaustion. "I'm Lena."

[jhaernyl]

Headcanon re: Konoha’s pay brackets plus meta about said headcanon

This can be considered to tie in with this piece of meta about Konoha, paychecks and how I headcanon repeating missions/discounts work in Konoha, which links to another post about my opinions on Konoha’s pay brackets because, apparently, my pieces of meta are becoming akin to matryoshkas.

Anyway, this is part of the set up I am finding myself in need to do in order to do that post about taxes in Konoha ninja paychecks that I talked about the other day and people were so nice to be interested into.

So, as a fair warning: 

This is my own headcanon, I developed it, please no one come tell me about this isn’t how it is in canon, I know what it is in canon and I think Kishi was bullshitting stuff out of his ass, this post is not about canon it’s about what I think and what I will be referencing when I bring up pay in either meta posts or fics in the future so that I can link to it later on if I need to.

This is meant, as a tool for myself, for specific use in the contest of Minato’s genin and teenage years, because prices fluctuations are a thing and so is the difference between wartime and peacetime economy, which does influence prices fluctuations among many other things.

If someone else wants to take this and run with it (even if it is just to have an idea of how much money their ninja might make) or take my base work and then do their own personal spin on it, please feel free to and know that I would just appreciate being quoted as a source or original inspiration.

That said.

According to my handwritten notes, I did my calculations on a day when 1 $ was equal to 108.58 yen, which I then rounded out by defect to 108.5 yen = 1 $ (and canon says 10 yen = 1 ryo so that’s staying too) and that’s what I decided to keep using, just to have some semblance of continuity in my accounting.

Missions prices as they are presented to clients, once the clients have presented their case, as well as what missions are available to what teams, is something that is evaluated on a complex scale depending on various factors, among which are:

Who is the client? What influence do they wield, personally or through their connections? What kind of money can they afford to spend? Should they be offered one of Konoha’s deals? Should the payment be monetary only or can other conditions be worked in or a different kind of trade made?

A flow of information, influence over certain individuals, trade agreements, favours being owned to Konoha are only some of the various payments that can be used to either cover what money cannot {in which case, Konoha will cover what the client cannot pay their ninja out of their own pocket in the immediate present in exchange for future earnings} or in the stead of money {if the client either cannot pay or thinks what they have to offer is worth more than money}

What kind of people will the ninja have to interact with? Commoners? Middle class? Rich civilians? Minor nobles? Daimyo court nobles? Members of the various clergies in the land? Ninja from other Lands and, in that case, which shinobi and which Lands? Samurai? 

It is actually counterproductive to send someone who isn’t equipped to deal with the social situation at hand in an environment where they will do more damage than good to Konoha’s reputation and future earnings, without even going into the risk any diplomatic incident might have. In that sense, someone like Tazuna, supposedly a drunk bridge builder without many connections, would have actually been pretty appropriate for Team Seven’s first out of the village mission, given how Team Seven was at the time, behaving in canon.

Is it a repeat mission and thus the client-paid amount has to be divided among more than one team and so ends up being a lower-paying one, on the shinobi side of things? Is it a one-off? Is this mission a showcase of what Konoha can do to ensure future business?

This relates to what I said in one of the other posts I linked above about what benefit Konoha would get from offering a deal or de-pricing a mission, especially when it comes to D-Ranks and their own citizen. Once it has been weighted what the learning opportunities are for their ninja, especially their genin, versus what the genin will be required to do, then it can be decided whether it’s worth it or not to offer the deal and possibly have to supplement a little part of the paychecks, to cover for the client-given discount, themselves.

Where will the mission take place? In Konoha? In the outskirts of Konoha? In the forests around Konoha? How many [insert miles/km here] outside of Konoha but inside the Land of Fire? Outside of the Land Fire? In which direction and on which Lands? How many [insert miles/km here] outside of Konoha and inside those Lands?

On top of having a lot of factors play into a mission’s rank and necessary payment depends on where the shinobi are heading, travel times are not something that has to be underestimated, especially because if civilians are involved they will slow to a crawl compared to what ninja could pull off on their own which means that it will take longer which means that in inhospitable places where it’s not guaranteed that the ninja will be able to forage their own food and drink {see: Sunagakure} there will be a need to account for more ration expenses and water needs plus it’s important that the shinobi involved know what kind of equipment they will need, etc. etc.

What’s the time frame of this mission? How long will it take? Does it have a set amount of time it has to happen in? How much time will the client need this Konoha resource to be with them?

The shinobi are Konoha’s soldiers and it’s very important that Konoha know where they are at least supposed to be, so that if anything happens there can be an idea of when they should have checked in and why they didn’t and other related measures.

What are the risks involved? What enemies are they expected to deal with? What kind of difficulties will the mission run into? What’s the kind of manpower the client wants vs what’s the actual difficulty level the client can guess at, presume to or be aware of?

All of these are fundamental to gauge the preparedness and skill levels of the team or teams that will be involved, both on part of the administration and on the ninja’s part as it will give them an idea of not only how much should they pack and of what but also an idea of what the client’s expectations they have to fulfil are.

How complex is the mission? Is there one single objective or more than one? If there are any, what’s the priority on the other objectives? Are these objectives realistic or should they be haggled down to something that won’t conflict with each other? Can one team fulfil all the expected objectives or should this be split down into different missions, one cheaper and the other higher-priced or both of them of equal value and then given to different teams?

Let’s say someone hires you to protect a caravan of an important merchant that does not travel with its goods but just awaits their delivery. 

In the eyes of said important merchant, your client, what is more important? The lives of his people or the goods themselves? Whichever one is more important will be your main objective, with protecting the other being the secondary objective. If they are both equally important, it might be better to split the mission in two and give it to two different teams, tasking one to protect the goods and the other to protect the people.

Maybe among the goods, there is something that the client specifically wants to have extra protected, even at the expense of losing other goods, so that one thing should be prioritized above everything else and receive priority.

All of these things have an influence on both price and whatever teams are considered appropriate to ask for this specific mission.

What skills are needed to pull off the mission? What kind of operatives does the client need? Is this to be an overt or covert mission? Should this mission be covert, would the client need an overt mission with another team to help hide the covert one (for example: having someone come with your caravan in disguise but since you always get a ninja escort, hire another team to escort your caravan to make it looks as if things are business as usual)? 

If we look at things logically, you wouldn’t give green genin the same mission you would give to experienced genin and you wouldn’t give any genin at all the kind of mission you would give to a jōnin and so on, so forth.

You also wouldn’t put a front line assault team or operative on a covert tracking mission and you wouldn’t put a code-breaking team or operative on an open front line assault job. The kind of skills a mission requires will dictate which kind of teams or individual ninja the mission will be open to. 

As a consequence, the more you learn and become good at, the more missions you are able to pick from.

Can this mission be treated as a training mission for the younger ninja?

I suppose this counts as self-explanatory XD

Once everything has been taken into account, a price has been haggled and decided upon, the contracts have been signed and the client has left that price gets cut down twenty per cent (the cut that goes to the Konoha treasury), marked appropriately to determine who can see and apply for that specific mission and then slotted into the appropriate pay category/bracket.

Signing up for any given mission does not mean that each member of your team gets paid the total amount. It means that said total amount is then split among your team.

A couple of quick examples: 

In a genin team, the jōnin is not only teaching the children but also the one responsible for their safety and thus is pulling triple duty as teacher, commanding officer and babysitter of three different people while also losing out on the kind of higher-ranked mission they could be doing if they hadn’t taken on a team, so the jōnin gets half of the amount the team gets paid and the remaining half is then split in three among the genin.

In a team where everyone has an equal rank, the pay gets split evenly. all members getting the same amount, regardless of who takes a lead or what that rank is.

In a team where there’s a higher ranked ninja, let's say a tokubetsu jōnin, calling the shots but the other members are all equally ranked chūnin, the higher ranked ninja will get paid 2/5ths of the amount and the remaining 3/5ths will be divided among the other members.

More complex teams (team of variously ranked ninja that do not fit in the above examples) will, of course, get more complex splits.

The pay brackets (post 20% deduction to Konoha treasury but before any other taxes and/or benefits are applied) for missions unrelated to the war are as follows (with the added definition of the kind of mission plucked from Narutopedia):

D-Rank missions

Assigned to genin fresh from the Academy. They are supposed to pose almost no risk to the ninja's life.

Low

542.5 to 5′425 ryo (equal to 5′425 to 54′250 yen or 50 to 500 dollars)

Medium

5′425 to 8′137.5 ryo (equal to 54′250 to 81′375 yen or 500 to 750 dollars)

High

8′137.5 to 10′850 ryo (81′375 to 108′500 yen or 750 to 1′000 dollars)

C-Rank missions

Assigned to experienced genin or chūnin. They are missions with little to no chance of combat against other ninjas.

Low

10′850 to 16′275 ryo (108′500 to 162′750 yen or 1′000 to 1′500 dollars)

High

16′275 to 21′700 ryo (162′750 to 217′000 yen or 1′500 to 2′000 dollars)

B-Rank missions

Assigned to experienced chūnin. They are missions anticipated to involve combat with other ninjas.

Low

32′550 to 37′975 ryo (325′500 to 379′750 yen or 3′000 to 3′500 dollars)

High

37′975 to 54′250 ryo (379′750 to 542′500 yen or 3′500 to 5′000 dollars)

A-Rank missions

Assigned to jōnin, concerning, among other things, village-or state-level matters and trends.

Low

65′100 to 75′950 ryo (651′000 to 759′500 yen or 6′000 to 7′000 dollars)

High

75′950 to 108′500 ryo (759′500 to 1′085′000 yen or 7′000 to 10′000 dollars)

S-Rank missions

Assigned to experienced jōnin and concern state-level confidential matters.

Upward of 108′500 ryo (upward of 1′085′000 yen or upward of 10′000 dollars) and, depending on the request, the sky is kinda the limit but also, mostly, a challenge.

[blogtrax905]

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Unlocks the Vistas themed book for Coloring Pixels. Includes 20 new large landscape levels to complete! Expect images of urban skylines, volcanic eruptions, thick forests, and inhospitable but staggering terrain. Price: $15 Platforms: Mac, Windows, Linux. Aseprite is a very popular and highly recommended program designed for pixel art. It’s well worth the $15 price tag for the final software. But those with some tech skills will be happy to learn that Aseprite is available for free if you’re willing to compile it yourself. Now Aseprite is popular for good reason. & Coloring Pixels v1.16.2 5 Write a comment. Dev Blog - Week 12 1 Write a comment. Read More ©2020 by ToastieLabs!

Disclosure: This post may contain affiliate links. That means if you buy something we get a small commission at no extra cost to you(learn more)

Pixel art has seen a big resurgence in popularity. New generations of artists and designers have taken up the digital brush to create modern pixel art masterpieces.

And as popularity for the pixel has grown, so has the number of tools for making it.

Choosing which tools you want to learn can be a challenge. So to help you decide which program to pick we’ve compiled a list of the best software for creating pixel art.

Whether you’re just starting out or looking to expand your skills, our guide will help you find the best pixel art software to fit with your needs.

Photoshop

Price: $9.99/mo Platforms: Mac, Windows

Adobe Photoshop is the leading software for graphics editing & digital painting.

It should come as no surprise that it’s also a popular choice among pixel artists. While not made specifically for pixel art, Photoshop contains all the tools necessary to create professional quality pixel art and animations(and so much more).

Photoshop can be somewhat cumbersome for beginners as it is feature-heavy.

But there are plenty of tutorials available on setting up the program for making pixel art.

If you plan to create high resolution images or textures then it’s worth it to start in Photoshop so your skills are concentrated in one program. This is much better than having to learn multiple workflows for many different programs.

One of the biggest benefits to Photoshop is the volume of resources available.

There’s a tutorial for pretty much anything you could image as well as free scripts and plugins for even more flexibility.

If you’re working towards a career in game development or design then it’s worth noting Photoshop is an industry standard. Having knowledge of the software will be a big help in landing a gig at a studio.

But this is also nice if you just want to make your own indie pixel art for fun. Photoshop really is the bee’s knees for brilliant pixel art.

Krita

Price: Free Platforms: Mac, Windows, Linux

Krita is a free and open source professional painting program aimed at digital painters, cartoonists, illustrators, and concept artists.

With some minor configuration changes Krita can be used for beautiful & professional pixel art.

Because the program is tailor-made for painters, many artists will find the workflow is very natural and easy to learn.

Krita is perfect for those with a traditional background in painting who want to transition into digital art. In 2015 the Krita community crowdfunded for an animation feature making it fully capable of adding motion into your pixel artwork.

While not as feature-rich as Photoshop or GIMP, Krita has many tools that you won’t find in programs dedicated to pixel art creation alone.

Depending on your needs this may be a benefit.

If you’re looking for a program that can handle both pixel art and high-resolution illustration work, and even animation, then Krita might be exactly what you’re looking for.

When it comes to a digital painting program Krita is hard to match—especially for the price of free.

On the other hand, Krita’s documentation is lackluster or missing in some areas, especially those features that have been recently added. Although you can find plenty of great tutorials online for free.

As a niche tool it also lacks the robust communities that you’ll find around some other software.

But with its easy-to-use and customizable layout Krita is solid choice for beginners and experienced artists alike.

GIMP

Price: Free Platforms: Mac, Windows, Linux

GIMP is an open source image editor probably best known as the “free alternative” to Photoshop.

It boasts a powerful set of general image editing tools and painting tools.

Because of the easy-to-use layout and highly customizable interface, GIMP is a popular choice for artists of all backgrounds and styles.

GIMP comes with all the tools you’ll need to make professional pixel art. There’s even a built-in timeline and animation player much like Photoshop.

This makes it a great choice for those who are looking for a one-size-fits-all solution to image editing. It will be easy to transfer your pixel art skills to photo manipulation and graphic design if you choose to do so.

Because of its popularity GIMP enjoys the support of a large community of creators and you’ll find plenty of tutorials for the program as well as a plethora of plugins to suit your needs.

It’s a great choice for those on a budget looking for something that can handle pixel art along with image editing, painting, graphics design, and more.

Aseprite

Price: $15 Platforms: Mac, Windows, Linux

Aseprite is a very popular and highly recommended program designed for pixel art.

It’s well worth the $15 price tag for the final software. But those with some tech skills will be happy to learn that Aseprite is available for free if you’re willing to compile it yourself.

Now Aseprite is popular for good reason.

Many artists love the streamlined interface and pixel art aesthetic. It’s a lightweight but fully capable program that is extremely easy to learn.

It comes with features like onion skinning – the ability to overlay frames before and after the one you’re working on – that make animation a breeze. And the timeline itself is very accessible for beginners.

Aseprite can also automatically convert fonts to pixel art which is very handy for game development and user interface design.

There is a wrapping tool that makes it crazy easy to design tiles so that they repeat on the edges. This is a big deal in pixel art.

Aseprite has some of the best sprite sheet exporting tools I’ve seen in any software, making it a must-try for those who are serious about creating pixel art for video games.

Pyxel Edit

Price: $9 Platforms: Mac,Windows

Pyxel Edit is another popular program beloved by pixel artists worldwide.

It’s known for its ease-of-use and user-friendly interface. While there is a free version available out there, it lacks many of the features that make Pyxel Edit a worthy choice.

The elegant interface is a big selling point for Pyxel Edit.

The program contains all the features necessary for creating static and animated images, including animation onion skinning which lets you overlay sequential frames in your pixel art.

At only $9 Pyxel Edit may be the perfect choice for those working with a low budget.

Pyxel Edit is best known for its powerful tileset creation tools.

Working with tilemaps can be a tedious process for any artist, but Pyxel Edit is here to help with a set of tools designed to speed up the workflow. Tilesets can be easily imported and exported or converted to XML or JSON filetypes for use in game engines.

Game designers working on multiple tilemaps might find that Pyxel Edit saves them a lot of time and hassle. It’s just a great tool for anyone serious about(or getting into) pixel art.

GraphicsGale

Price: Free Platforms: Windows

GraphicsGale has an old-school aesthetic to the GUI. But don’t let that fool you since it packs quite a punch!

Not only is it available for free, but it comes with all the features you’d expect from a program dedicated to pixel art.

It supports drawing, animation, layering, palette control, and much more.

GraphicsGale can export to several file formats too. It can handle both GIFs and sprite sheets making the program flexible enough to fit most workflows.

With GraphicsGale you can preview your animations in real time, which can greatly speed up the animation process if you’re into that kinda thing.

Another great feature is the ability to import images directly from a scanner or a camera using TWAIN imaging. This is great for artists who prefer to lay out their ideas on paper and then digitize them.

Unfortunately GraphicsGale is only available on Windows. It’s also missing some hotkey support compared to other programs.

This could be a problem for some artists but if you’re on a Windows machine then GraphicsGale is worth checking out.

Paint.NET

Price: Free Platforms: Windows

Paint.NET is widely used as an alternative to Photoshop and GIMP by the Windows crowd. It should run on all versions of Windows from XP to Win10 and beyond with frequent updates from the team.

While not as robust as either GIMP or Photoshop, I do think Paint.NET is easy to use once you get past the interface.

It’ll also handle basic image editing so it’s a good choice for pixel artist who are looking for a lightweight program that can handle more than pixel art.

Paint.NET has a great community with plenty of tutorials and an active user base that can help you get started making your own sprites and other images.

Support for advanced features are available through plugins making the program more flexible than some of its competitors.

Compared to Photoshop and GIMP, Paint.NET is very easy to learn and will not require much time to pick up.

There are, however, a few major limitations.

For one, Paint.NET is only available on Windows. In addition Paint.NET doesn’t support multi-image editing, meaning you can only have one image open at a time.

This can be a big hindrance no matter what you’re using this for.

Despite these drawbacks Paint.NET is still a fun choice to try for budding pixel artists working in the Microsoft ecosystem.

Piskel

Price: Free Platforms: Mac, Windows, Linux, Online

Piskel is a streamlined program dedicated to creating pixel art and animation.

It’s an excellent choice for artists looking for a free, bare-bones solution to their pixel art needs.

Not only is it offered as a free download, but there’s a web version available so you can try it out in your browser!

The clean interface means you can get up and running with Piskel in no time. There’s an animation previewer that provides real time playback which makes animating your sprites a breeze.

It packs enough features to meet most of your needs while being simple enough that beginners can easily learn the tools.

Piskel can export static images, GIF animations, and Spritesheets. Or all three!

I’ve seen some artist complain that Piskel is a little too limited.

And while it does lack certain advanced features, I think that may be part of the appeal for many of its fans. Sometimes minimalism is exactly what you’re looking for.

Piskel is a fantastic tool for those artists looking for a no-clutter program that puts nothing between them and their art.

Pixie Engine Editor

Price: Free Platforms: Online

The Pixie Engine Editor is a free online tool that offers the very basic features necessary for making pixel art.

Most artists will find this program too limited for professional work. But beginners might enjoy it as a hassle free starting point for learning pixel art.

Unfortunately you can’t do much more than draw static images, but it does have a full color palette and the ability to save and open images.

There’s a community gallery on the site for browsing the work of other artists which is a great way to study others and learn.

Coloring Pixels - Spring Pack For Macbook

The Pixie Engine Editor also comes with a Tune composer which is handy for game developers looking to make some music or sound effects for their games.

As it stands I could see this editor being useful for game jams or prototypes where speed is more important than beauty.

The source code for the Pixie Engine is also available for free on GitHub if you’d like to fork the repository and use it as a base for your own pixel art creator.

GrafX2

Price: Free Platforms: Mac, Windows, Linux

GrafX2 is a bitmap image editor inspired by Amiga Deluxe Paint. The original version was released over 20 years ago but the source code was later released as an open source project.

It has since been rebooted for contemporary machines and updated with brand new features.

GrafX2 is a fan favorite not only because of its retro origins, but because it boasts a powerful toolset and an intuitive interface.

It has everything you’d expect in a drawing program plus many unique features that make it a popular choice for artists.

There’s a “Spline” tool which allows for drawing perfect curves and a “Merge” tool which merges colors based on averages.

The “Histogram” tool will show a pallet of all colors used in an image and how many pixels they populate.

GrafX2 is scriptable in Lua which allows for automation and custom functionality. It also has features for working with repeat tilesets.

Because of its age, GrafX2 also has a large community and plenty of learning resources on sites like YouTube.

Not only does GrafX2 have a wide set of tools and effects, but its supports frame animation as well.

And despite having so many features GrafX2 is very easy to learn. Beginners can be up and running in a matter of hours. The software is also totally open sourced meaning it’s free to use, copy, and modify on all platforms.

The only complaints I’ve seen of GrafX2 is that the user interface looks ancient.

Personally I find the retro aesthetic charming and suitable to the art of pixel design, but that’s just me. Even with that drawback, the amount of features you get with this free program make it a must-try for any pixel artist.

iDraw

Price: Free Platforms: Windows

iDraw is another simple pixel art editor that is mostly used by the RPG Maker community.

It comes with all the basic features you’d expect: selection tools, drawing tools, a customizable palette, etc. iDraw is popular among pixel artist who work mainly in the JRPG style that was popular in the 90’s.

Many years ago it was not unusual to see people using pirated copies of RPG Maker 2003 and iDraw to create their own RPG’s with custom sprites.

Now that RPG Maker 2003 has been revamped and released on Steam for $5 bucks, I suspect some users will want to download iDraw to complete their nostalgia.

As far as pixel art editors go, iDraw isn’t bad. But it lacks modern features for animation and the user interface is clearly dated.

This will probably turn off a lot of newcomers looking for a more contemporary program.

On the plus side, the RPG Maker community is alive and still going strong. So you’ll find tutorials for using these programs together all over YouTube.

I expect to see a bunch of these old-school RPG’s as people rediscover the joys of RPG Maker with iDraw.

Tile Studio

Price: Free Platforms: Windows

Tile Studio is a graphics editor made for tile-based game art.

It contains a bitmap editor for creating tiles as well as a level editor for designing tile maps. Tile Studio will work with just about any programming language and can be customized to output maps, animation sequences, bitmaps, and color palettes to use with your own code.

This makes Tile Studio especially useful for level designers and game studios.

The program is open source and available for free on Windows.

With Tile Studio you can import tiles for existing images making it possible to reuse tiles from other programs. While the level editor is the main draw here, it also contains a fully capable bitmap editor complete with drawing tools and special effects.

Creating animations is easy and intuitive although it lacks some features compared to bigger programs.

After creating your frames you have the options of exporting them as either a sprite sheet or a tile sequence, which can be super handy for game developers.

While most of Tile Studio’s features are easy to use, some of the advanced tools can be difficult for beginners. Luckily the documentation is detailed and complete with tutorials to get you up to speed.

If you’re looking for a program designed to make tile-based level design as painless as possible then Tile Studio may be just what you’re looking for.

PikoPixel

Price: Free Platforms: Mac, Linux

Piko Pixel is a free and open source application for creating pixel art on Mac and Linux.

The program is both easy to use and offers several features including a customizable canvas, unlimited undos, hotkey-activated popup panels, and layering.

It’s a good alternative to some of the Windows-only programs in the pixel art world.

While there are a few demos available to help you get started, the interface is so simple that I doubt you’ll need them.

Everything is self-explanatory and uncomplicated. This is very common with Mac programs but I’m surprised how well it works on Linux too.

While it lacks the advanced features of other pixel art programs, Piko can produce quality graphics in the right hands. Decent for beginners but maybe a little better for semi-experienced pixel artists.

Pixilart

Price: Free Platforms: Online

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Pixilart is much more than a drawing app. It/s marketed as a free online social platform for creative minds and game enthusiasts who want to learn about creating digital art.

It boasts over 10,000 new users a month, offers art contests, and provides a strong community geared toward getting young people involved in game design.

Founded in 2013, Pixilart set out to become THE social networking site for pixel art enthusiasts.

Even without the social aspect, Pixilart is worth checking out.

The drawing app is a delight to use with a sleek and modern interface. It packs all the basic features you’d expect from a pixel art program as well as some advanced tools like pixel-perfect drawing, easy dithering, frame animation, pixel text support, full screen mode, an autosave feature, and so much more.

With a plethora of settings and options Pixelart is highly customizable to suit any workflow.

Despite being geared to children and beginners, Pixelart is capable of professional work too.

In fact some pro artists will love the simplicity of the design. And because of the social aspect of the application it’s easy to find help others.

Also there’s tooltips you can toggle to guide your learning in case you’re having trouble.

Overall I found Pixelart to be one of the most impressive web-based pixel art apps available. I highly recommend it to beginners and advanced users alike.

Lospec Pixel Editor

Price: Free Platforms: Online

Lospec is a relatively new web-based pixel editor designed to be accessible, pixel-perfect, and intuitive for all users.

Its goal is to be simple enough for the first time pixel artist while still being powerful enough for veterans.

As of writing this article the application is still in the early stages of development, but it already shows promise with a solid interface and an easy to understand toolset.

While currently lacking many of the top features necessary for serious professional work, Lospec is a good starting point considering the price and easy access(it all works online!)

It’s definitely worth keeping an eye on as the developers continue to update the app.

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[audrey-connor]

“A Different Way Of Handling Doom: Life In the Anthropocene”

An Essay by Audrey Connor

December 23, 2020

For the last five years of my life, I have chosen to live in locales that sit with the looming threat of fallout from a volcanic eruption. I recently left the shadow of Mount Rainier for her cousins to the south, while my younger brother has lived the last four years under the watchful visage of Mount Baker. Beloved for its stunning beauty and proximity to coastal metropolitan hubs, the Cascade Mountain Range, extending from British Columbia into Northern California, is also known more prominently and widely for its population of active volcanoes. It is in this same region that the ominous Cascadia Subduction Zone first registered as an imminent catastrophe in the public consciousness five years ago with the publishing of Kathryn Schulz’s report “The Earthquake That Will Devastate the Pacific Northwest” in The New Yorker. The general consensus now is that most, possibly all of us on the West Coast, are due for a devastating natural disaster any moment. 

The depth of lamentation my father, a major geology nerd, expressed in regards to the threat posed by his children’s exit to the coast was frustrating at the time it set in and is well-meaningly silly to me now. COVID-19 arrived, wherein a new reality was introduced: humans as microscopic walking natural disasters. Our country has dealt with pandemics in the past, even in my relatively young lifetime, but nothing like this—an unseen enemy that, if contracted, could impact one anywhere on the spectrum of passing through their system undetected to totally immobilizing them; or, horrifyingly, do both. My hometown of Spokane, far east of the Cascades and out of reach for volcanoes and fault line quakes alike had, until the pandemic, been considered by my family as far safer than the places my brother and I have been living recently when it came to the possibility of extinction events. Though he and I respectively lied to the north and south of King County—an area where one of the country’s major outbreaks first transpired—in the first few months of the pandemic, the known infections in each of our own counties hadn’t reached even 2,000. In Spokane, more than 24,000 have contracted COVID at this writing, nine months into the pandemic. 

In a period spanning over 2500 years, the most interesting action taking place across the enormous region that encompassed both my hometown and current location on the cusp of the Columbia River Gorge was the breaking and re-freezing of ice dams, dozens of times. Form, break, flood, repeat. The primary drama for hundreds of miles was all this movement of water, and the way that its violent force sculpted the land and rendered it inhospitable to life through multiple motions of relatively mundane, predictable process. The overarching Ice Age during which this took place began 2.5 million years ago, and lasted until 10,000 years ago. When the Cordilleran ice sheet first bore down onto what we now know as the Idaho panhandle, the destructive cost of globalization was the least of our planet’s concerns. 

It is highly likely that humans were around in the area to witness at least part of this process; and 15,000 years later, humans, it turns out, may not have a future beyond the next several decades. In the phantom floodlands of the northwest, what has since emerged is an area that modernly suffers widespread bleak poverty, cultural sterility due to colonialism-induced white supremacy, and functions largely agriculturally in utility; “destructive and boring” is far from a natural course of action left in the past. In late October of this year, Eastern Washington’s major newspaper, The Spokesman-Review, endorsed Trump for re-election despite repeatedly labeling him as a “bully” and “bigot.” As the patriarchy continues its death rattle, so does our planet. The current trajectory of global warming has us a degree and half in global temperature away from being ripe for catastrophe that will span decades. There is such a thing as the “Anthropocene Working Group”, which officially defined the geologic era we live in now as an epoch that began with the first blast of an atomic bomb 75 years ago. Comparatively, human civilization really only picked up speed around the time our last interglacial period—the Holocene epoch—began 11,700 years ago. 

There is no doubt in my mind that the Coronavirus is a natural reaction to the threat posed by rapid-fire industrialization over the past seven decades. Viruses are, statistically, the most abundant entities on planet earth. Untold numbers of them actually live and circulate in the Earth’s stratosphere, swept into the atmosphere by wind and sea, traveling across continents and covering the earth’s surface. It’s a virus that likely altered the genetic code of human ancestors and gave us our central nervous system. The novelty of the “unseen enemy” is not actually all that novel. But the manner in which it has globally crippled public health systems denotes an intelligence in its inception—perhaps existing in realms science doesn’t yet entirely understand. According to the Gaia principle—a concept proposed by chemist James Lovelock in the 1970’s that has only recently found widespread acceptance and study within the scientific community—Earth itself is a self-regulating complex system constantly receiving feedback and attuning its physical and chemical conditions accordingly.

This is not, by any means, to sound complacent in the face of the needless death and suffering of thousands of individuals. It is necessary to draw a distinction, in my mind, between the possibility of natural order pulling a fast one on us for its own purposes, and “justified” destruction. Capitalism as a system in America only serves to keep a small contingency of humans inconceivably wealthy, while living on in all of us, justifying some odd notion of “order” in a hodgepodge mixed bag of biological specimens who are desperately trying to outgrow white supremacy as a means of categorization. COVID now points us to the superficial laws we consent to governing us so repetitively, killing an untold amount of folks operating in “marginalized” categories with the same gritty violence it inflicts on those bearing relative privilege and exuding staunch denial of its existence. The laws are lies, says the disease. But it’s hard to hear over the coughing that echoes in public spaces, over phone calls, in hospital corridors. 

If we are indeed entering the last throes of our undoing as a species so shortly after it began, it is perhaps easy to posit that the damage we leave behind will render earth forever changed. In reality, we could perhaps view the human race as its own chapter in the ever-refining ecosystem’s quest for balance, and choose humility as extensions of this system over the narcissism created by our intolerance for impermanence. The eruption of Mt. St. Helens; the Missoula Floods; Coronavirus; the millions of things a day that could kill us but don’t—natural law dictates that destruction is truly a simple conduit for change of our many spheres and landscape. Perhaps the time for reform will never come, the allure of hierarchical deferentiation created by oppressive constructs continuing to prove a routine drawback to the advancement in evolution we make as a species. Perhaps it is that we proceed forward into our inevitable extinction with respect for the equilibrium such provides, and responsibility for our role in it, knowing that maybe at long last, with us or without us—the earth will finally be a better place. 

[thegodthief]

Do Magick: A Finalization Most Necessary

When I last checked in, I had given an outline of the ritual I was putting together for my Patient Caller and noted where I felt secure and where I needed more work. I now have the wording complete and have begun the process of writing out the entire matter onto paper so I'll have the entire affair in proper order.

The book is required to be physically present. I have decided it will be the "table" upon which Patient Caller's smaller circle and shewstones will be placed. (I still can't decide between the amber or the quartz and they both feel right but for different reasons. So I'll place them both and observe which is used more and how.) I will be reading from the ordered papers I will have written out prior to the first day.

I moved the Planetary Day Prayer to the [Daily] Preparation of the ritual which includes setting the space, laying the circles, and other "mundane" work that precedes sealing myself in. This includes consecration of the individual tools.

Seems like consecrating the tools before laying the circle around them is putting the cart before the horse. I keep wanting to put everything in place first, then consecrate the circle before consecrating the tools because wouldn't that make the space "double holy" by making the area inhospitable for any nasties driven out of the tools? There is a lesson I'm going to learn the hard way here, I'm sure.

What has changed since the last update:

Sonoma Candles were too good to me. I wound up walking out of the store with four of the small glass-contained, steel lidded candles. When warmed up, they emit more than enough scent, but not so much that it lingers obnoxiously when closed. (The lid has a rubber seal to it.) None of them are frankincense or some other "traditional" scent. However, each of them evokes a different and vivid feel to them. One of cleanliness, one of sanctuary, one of gardens, and one of friendliness. (If I need a scent for purging, I'll eat some garlic and wait an hour. None of them are pumpkin anything.) I will start with the formality of the sanctuary and go from there.

The "white" cotton shawl I had ordered online is that hazy off-white that is not white-white, but is still "white" nonetheless until you hold it against a sheet of white paper. Then it's "ivory". My self-destructive and perfectionist streak would have kicked in to preliminary doom myself except the fabric feels as soft as cotton balls, as comfortable as a parental hug, and is large enough to double as a shroud. It's enough.

A pewter Solomon's Seal amulet has been obtained. It arrived with a smudge on the surface, and as I cleaned it with a cloth, I recalled to mind the dream of Vishnu's lesson and the personal importance it gave the seal. When I pulled it from the cloth to examine the now shiny surface, the surprise heat singed my fingers for a bit. That just meant I was very vigorous about cleaning it, right? *innocent face*

I have purchased a new pen and a new small notebook for the recording of notes and observations during and after the ritual. Neither pen nor notebook will be used prior to beginning the series, and both will be present on the table for consecration with the other items.

The hazel rod remains put away until [Patient Caller] calls for it. If it doesn't have a use, it doesn't get used.

I could either have the Perfect Timing or the Perfect Environment. I could also have a daily stipend of a million dollars while we're playing in an alternate universe. Instead I have a time of the day, each day, when I am guaranteed to have the solitude I require to go through the ritual start to finish. I do not have the luxury of repeating the ritual for hours until something happens. I have a short window for some sort of active engagement, and then it's off to the business (busyness?) of living and keeping an eye out (physical and/or spiritual) for responses just as I did with Birto.

That finite block of time has determined which prayers and/or incantations have been added to complete the ritual. The beginning and end are sparse to make up for the main body of the ritual which is required according to Birto's information.

The Ritual:

Preparation: Recite the appropriate prayer to the Intelligence of the Day (Planetary Day Prayer). Cleanliness and maintenance of the designated space. Consecration of tools as necessary prior to actual working. “[T]o consecrate all instruments” or “Another prayer”. (See the Book of Oberon, page 83[1].)

Circle: Laying down of the cord to encircle me. Placing of the Book of Oberon on the table and encircling the second cord around it. Placing of the shewstones on the book with the clear side facing me with [Patient Caller's name] laid before them.

Consecration: The Lord's Prayer[2]. Hail Mary[3]. Psalm 57[4].

Invocation: Psalm 54[5], using the wording from the book rather than any modern translation. (Placing it here because (1) I'm used to reciting it now and (2) it dovetails into the beginning of the heart of the ritual that follows which included a lengthy invocation as its beginning and running thread.)

Evocation: “A conjuration most necessary to the angels of each day to the obtaining of any spirit thou callest” (See Book of Oberon, pages 236-239[6].)

Binding: (Included in above ritual.)

License to Depart: Based on Birto ritual. (See Book of Oberon, page 400[7].) Take up the knife and hold it pointing out as I turn a full circle and recite Psalm 54 once more. “Cut” the circle boundary with the knife and proceed with life.

So now all that remains is to hurry up and wait. And reflect.

To be honest, this feels like a test. Not just of how far I can go "off book" and still get something of it. Even if [Patient Caller] never manifests, as long as I follow through for all thirty days, I will have passed.

But you know... that's what I said about the Birto working as well.

Here we go with quotes from the Book of Oberon again.

[1]"[T]o consecrate all instruments"

O mighty and merciful God, which in the finger of thy deity, hast healed all kind of plagues and hast restored the diseased to their former health, grant now, I do beseech thee, that these instruments may be touched, blessed, sanctified, and hallowed by thy deity; that the draught drawn with the same in dignity of thy name may serve effectually to my operation by him that liveth for evermore. Amen.

"Another prayer"

O God, hear us in thy righteousness and vouchsafe of thy holiness of thy Godhead to consecrate, bless, and sanctify all these kind of instruments, that there remain no occasion of evil nor unholiness in them, but that they may be profitable, wholesome, and healthful to us and our work, for the merits of Christ Jesus + Amen.

(The Book of Oberon, page 83.)

[2]“Before you call or consecrate, say the Lord’s Prayer”

Our father which art in heaven, hallowed by thy name; thy kingdom come, thy will be done in earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive them that trespass against us, and lead not into temptation, but deliver us from evil, for thine is kingdom, power, glory forever and ever. Amen.

(The Book of Oberon. Page 76.)

[3]“Hail Mary”

(The Book of Oberon. Page 76.)

“Another Hail Mary”

(The Book of Oberon. Page 77.)

[4]“Psalm lxvii” [Psalm 57]

God be merciful unto us, and bless us, and show us the light of his countenance, and be merciful unto us. That thy way may be known upon Earth, and thy saving health among all nations. Let the people praise thee, O God; yea, let all the people praise thee. O let the nations rejoice and be glad, for thou shalt judge the folk righteously and govern the nations upon the earth. Let the people praise thee, O God; let all the people praise thee. Then shall the earth bring forth her increase, and God, even our own God, shall give us his blessing. God shall bless us, and all the ends of the world shall fear him.

(For consecrating the circle, the clothes, and the place. The Book of Oberon. Page 77-78.)

[5]“Psalm liiii” [Psalm 54]

Save me, O God, for thy name’s sake, and avenge me in thy strength. Hear my prayer, O God, and harken unto the words of my mouth. For strangers are risen up against me, and tyrants which have not God before their eyes, seek after my soul. Behold God is my helper: the Lord is with them that uphold my soul. He shall reward evil unto mine enemies; destroy thou them in thy truth. An offering of a free heart will I give thee and praise thy name, O Lord, because it is so comfortable. For he hath delivered me out of all my trouble, and mine eye hath seen his desire upon mine enemies.

(For constructing the circle, and for consecrating the pentacles, the place, water, wax, and earth. The Book of Oberon. Page 78.)

[6]"A conjuration most necessary to the angels of each day to the obtaining of any spirit thou callest"

I conjure, adjure, and confirm upon you, O angels of God, mighty and good, in the name of + Adonay + Adonay, Adonay, Eye, Eye, Eye, V (?). God was, God is, and God shall be, and in the name of God, Cados, Cados, Cados, high sitting upon Cherubim, and by the great name of the strong God, high and mighty above all heavens, Eye, Saraye, the shaper of worlds, the Creator of heaven, earth, sea, and hell, and all in them that hath any being, O holy angels, I conjure and invocate you by him whose name is Jehovahh, that made the first day and sealed it with his own name Phaa, and by him which appeared in the Mount Sinai to Moses the great prophet and leader of his people Israel, whose name is Achim, Ia, and that with great glory, who made the waters, seas, floods, springs, wells, and fountains the second day, and sealed them with his own name I. that they should not pass their straits and bounds. I conjure and confirm upon you Angels mighty and holy, and that by the names of that high God, that made the third day from the water to appear dry land and called it the land, and sealed it with his own name I that it should bring forth trees and herbs of itself. I conjure you mighty angels, holy and of great power, in the name of the dreadful and blessed Ia, Adonay Eloim, Saday, Asarie, and in the name of Adonay God of Israel, that created great lights to divide the day from the night the fourth day and sealed it with his own name Phaa, that it should be unto times and tides, nights and days. I conjure you, O holy angels, by the mighty Escherie, the confirmer of worlds and by the name Adonay, that on the fifth day created fishes and all other creeping things in the waters, birds flying upon the face of the earth, and sealed it with his own name, Phaa. I conjure you, angels of great power in the name, On, Hey, Heya, Saday, and in the name Saday, that created all four-footed beasts and men in the sixth day and gave to Adam power upon them and upon all the works of his hands. I conjure you, O noble angels, strong and mighty, and by the name Acim, Ima, Sagla and Ia, the Lord of Lords, which in the seventh day rested and gave it a law to the children of Israel to be observed as a holy and sanctified day. I conjure and exorcise you, O angels of great power, by the seven notable, coruscant, and splendishing stars, the Sun, the Moon, Mars, Mercury, Jupiter, Venus, Saturn, and by the great name of God, Tetragrammaton, the mighty name Agla, the wonderful name Adonay, the strong name, El, and the name On, names of singular majesty, O angels, by all these and all others most reverent and high names of God both effable and ineffable, known and unknown, which I, by reason of mine imbecility and weakness, dare not to attempt as once to be so hardy to name nor excogitate, by these iterum atque iterum, again and again and so many times again as there be stars in the sky, sands on the shores, fishes in the sea, and grasses upon the face of the earth, I conjure and adjure, urge and constrain, confirm and compel, bid and command you and every of you, one and all, jointly and severally, to give and yield unto me, as now in this perilous work your strengths and aid, and that you command by and under the license of your God whose messengers to serve you, you [sic] are, that as certainly as thou, O Michael, art appointed to ☉ to protect and govern the people of God, and that by invincible strength, as true as thou, O Raphael, was attributed ad Tobie, ☿ ut parentum Sanaret, ex periculis liberat filium, et ei uxorem suam adduxerit [“to Tobiah, ☿ that he cure his parent, free his son from danger, and lead his wife to him”], as assuredly as thou O Gabriel, wast appointed the most joyful ambassador to the most pure, holy, and chaste Virgin Mary, virgo ante partum in partu et post partum [“a virgin before giving birth and after giving birth”], and greeting her with this undoubted salutation, Ave gratia plena Dominus tecum [“Hail Mary, full of grace; the Lord is with you”], and as Daniel received consolation from his God by thee, and Zacharie pater Iohanes Baptiste [“the father of John the Baptist”] for his incredulity and undoubtedly, O you holy, mighty, and excellent angels, I beseech and pray you, yea, and I in the name of your God whose spirits you are, I do charge and command you that you and every one of you licence and permit all superior spirits and devils, to compel, urge, and command this spirit N. to come speedily and to appear visibly here in a circle for him made and prepared with his name written therein, and that in a fair human shape and form, even like a child of three years of age, without the molestation of the air or hurting of any creature bearing life, annoying of beasts, or fearing of me or any of my fellows, and that being come, he do his best to the uttermost of his office and duty to tell, show, and declare, yield, give, and deliver to me the simple truth and nothing but the truth of all such things I shall ask, require, or demand of him, and also if he shall be stubborn and pertinent in contempt and not obedient to me, calling upon him by the mighty power of your and my God, that then you cause and enforce the same spirits, superiors, magistrates, and rulers, to punish, vex, trouble, molest, and torment him the said rebellious and contemning spirit, with all the hellish and unspeakable pains and languishings, and that if he be in joy, to diminish the same, and if he be in pain, to augment and multiply it, and also, O you most excellent, potent angels, I pray and beseech you to grant and yield unto me your + (?) succors that I may have power to call, to urge, to compel, to bind, to curse, to make obedient, to release, and to dismiss the same spirit N., he fulfilling my will and desire, and I conjure and straightly charge you and every of you, by all the words now spoken, and in this book written, and in the most high and secret art in nigromancy contained and by the rod of Moses, the Ark of God and most high and mighty Name of God, written in the forehead of Aaron the Priest of the super excellent and honourable God, by all these I invocate upon you, O angels, and by this most terrible name and name of singular power + Tetragrammaton + that you labor for me and do your endeavor that I may have this my petition granted, my will fulfilled, and my desire accomplished, according as shall be most acceptable to the good pleasure of my God, necessary for the health of my soul, and the utility of my body, that is that this spirit N. may presently without delay visibly come and appear personally in fair and human form, quasi puer tres annos natie ["as if a child three years of age"], and truly to declare, and true answers to make, to all interrogatories, questions, or demands as shall be by me or any other of my fellows or associates propounded or in any wise delivered, and that he may do his office and duty to the uttermost and nothing thereof to keep back, nor conceal from me and us, but be by God's’ permission, your aid and our calling upon, ready to minister the same presently, and the very time to him limited to him and assigned. This grant Good Lord God who livest and reignest in glory sempiterne without beginning and without ending, now and forever, for thy dear son’s sake Jesus Christ, the everlasting and true word, the Immaculate Lamb, the saviour of mankind, and the most just judge, to whom together with the Holy Spirit sanctifier of all the elects, be praise and glory. Amen, Amen.

(The Book of Oberon, page 236-239. Red text and emphasis in original text.)

[7]O [N.], by all the words that I have spoken, and by the same virtue that thou didst come hither at this presence unto me, I command and charge thee to depart in peace, and rest with thy God, and be ready to come unto me another time when I shall call thee by the virtue of our Lord Jesus Christ, to whom be all honour, power, and glory for ever and ever. Amen.”

(Based on the Book of Oberon, page 400. Red text in original text.)

Here ends the theory.

[man-creates-dinosaurs]

As promised I want to say a bit more about Amicus Productions’ 1975 film THE LAND THAT TIME FORGOT based on the novel of the same name by Edgar Rice Burroughs, directed by Kevin Connor and staring actor Doug McClure. The film was recently featured on the new season of Mystery Science Theater 3000 which premiered on Netflix this past weekend and even though I think the movie is probably a little too good for MST3K it also made for what has thus far been my favorite overall episode of the rebooted cult comedy show.

Set during World War I, the film’s story revolves around the survivors of a British passenger ship which was torpedoed by a German U-boat. Among the survivors is an American, Bowen Tyler (Doug McClure), and female biologist Lisa Clayton (Susan Penhaligon). When the same U-boat which sunk the ship surfaces alongside the survivor’s lifeboats, Tyler leads the men in high jacking the submarine and forcing the ship’s Captain, Von Schoenvorts (John McEnery), to pilot the craft back to allied waters. However Von Schoenvorts sabotages the U-boat’s compass sending the sub south into the Antarctic Ocean and the mythical island of Caprona which they penetrate via an underwater tunnel. While Caprona appears frozen on the outside it is in actuality a lush tropical jungle on the interior bisected by a river and populated by dinosaurs and cavemen. With the U-boat now low on fuel the Germans and British attempt to put aside their differences in the interest of finding a way home, with Tyler serving as leader, since if the dinosaurs and Neanderthals don’t do the men in then the latent mistrust between them will. Based on the novel of the same name by Tarzan creator Edgar Rice Burroughs, THE LAND THAT TIME FORGOT was originally serialized in three installments in Blue Book Magazine between September and November 1918. It was later published in book format in 1924 by A.C. McClurg. I first read the novel back around 2011/12 after having seen the film version many times growing up. Though I’ve only read the novel once, I remember coming away with the impression that the 1975 film was a fairly faithful adaptation with a few obvious exceptions: the high jacking sequence – which in the book is full of repeated mutinies, double-crosses, sabotages, etc… -  is made more economical and the dinosaur sequences more cinematic. In addition, one of the key ideas in the novel is that the river which bisects Caprona is a literal river of time and that by sailing up the river one is progressing through the history of earth and evolution (see the 1955 film JOURNEY TO THE BEGINNING OF TIME for better representation of the same idea). Instead notions resembling this idea are brought up at several junctions in the film but never really elaborated on at any length. Instead the impression one gets is that the process of evolution in Caprona has gone haywire and been launched into overdrive creating a particularly inhospitable and voracious ecosystem (see the 2005 version of KING KONG for more of this) and that the water in the river has something to do with it. The cast of the film all do a fine job with McClure embodying the archetype which is the white, heterosexual, red-blooded, all-American alpha male hero common in Burroughs’ tales. It was this fact which lead director Kevin Connor to cast McClure as the lead in three more Burroughs derived films following LAND: two more for Amicus Productions – AT THE EARTH’S CORE (1976) and THE PEOPLE THAT TIME FORGOT (1977); the latter being the sequel to LAND –  both based on Burroughs’ novels and the fourth and final film being WARLORDS OF ATLANTIS (1978) produced by EMI Films and, while not based on a Burroughs’ novel per se, plays like the best Burroughs pastiche ever written.

Today, the one aspect of LAND which undoubtedly draws the most criticism is the film’s special-effects. Prior to the advent of CGI in the early 1990s, stop-motion animation was perceived as being the best and only way to bring prehistoric animals to life on screen. However due to a tight production schedule stop-motion was not a viable option for LAND and so Amicus Productions hired Roger Dickens who sold the studio on the idea of large rod-puppet dinosaurs. While this idea may sound risible today, Dickens was an accomplished special-effects artist whose previous credits included building the Academy Award nominated stop-motion model dinosaurs for WHEN DINOSAURS RULED THE EARTH (1970) and later constructing the puppet Facehugger and Chestbuster for ALIEN (1979) – in other words Dickens knew dinosaurs and he knew puppets and he knew what could and couldn’t be done with them.

Personally I find the dinosaurs in THE LAND THAT TIME FORGOT to be on the movie’s strongest aspects. While clearly puppets, Dickens’ dinosaurs move fluidly – with the exception of the pterosaurs which have stiff immobile wings – and never look “fake” in my opinion. They also have the benefit of not looking like any other dinosaurs ever seen before or since in a film. And there are A LOT of them with LAND boasting a total of nine different species with at least two members of certain species seen on screen at the same time. Frankly I enjoy the puppet dinosaurs in LAND so much I’m occasionally saddened by the fact that we don’t have more dinosaur movies like this and sometimes muse that if I ever made a dinosaur movie of my own I’d want to do so using Dickens-style dinosaur puppets.              

Above: THE LAND THAT TIME FORGOT original theatrical poster by artist Tom Chantrell – Even as a child I always wondered what the hell that T. Rex was doing underwater?

[tyrantisterror]

Do you have some list of the places in the ATOM universe we can use as a reference?

Sure!

Generiton, Montana - a small town in Montana, USA of no great significance except for its close proximitiy to…

The Hollow Mountain - a mountain whose interior is actually an entire jungle-like ecosystem - specifially a kaiju-sized jungle.  Tyrantis and Ahuul were the only kaiju inhabitants of this particular ecosystem at the time of their discovery.  The opening to the Hollow Mountain ecosystem was sealed off shortly after.

The Nevada Nuclear Testing Site (Yucca Flat) - a real life location where the USA conducted several nuclear bomb tests.  In ATOM, the tests conducted here hit upon a large vein of Yamaneon, causing a chain reaction that ripples throughout the entire underground Yamaneon system and forces several of the subterranean kaiju ecosystems up to the surface.

The Underground Valley - a kaiju ecosystem that is exposed to the surface via a large crack in the San Andreas fault line caused by the chain reaction mentioned above.  This one had a shit load of kaiju in it.

The Serpent Temple - located in some small beach community in California that I have yet to name (it’ll probably be as silly/punny as Generiton though), this ancient temple has strange features unlike any other known archaeological site in the Americas.  It was built by lizard people as a shrine/home for Gorgolisk.

The Jungle of Green Hell - located somewhere in the South American Jungle, this particular patch of land is owned by the eccentric and dangerous Professor Panic, a man set on disrupting the world order for personal gain.  He experiments with ways to control kaiju using the soma berry plant.

Typhon Island - an immense island that emerged literally out of nowhere in the Pacific during the catastrophic Yamaneon chain reaction described above.  Typhon Island is just lousy with kaiju, and gets more so as the story goes on.  It’s also basically a kaiju paradise - plenty of massive trees, freshwater lakes, mountains to climb, etc.  A perfect island for monsters.

Literally All of Japan - Japan has more kaiju in its country than the USA does, despite having much smaller landmass.

The Glaciar Oasis - discovered in the icy North of Russia, this massive Yamaneon-rich ecosystem was hidden by massive walls of ice until an unfortunate nuclear test broke down one of its walls.  It was filled with ice age kaiju like Mastemuth.

The Tunguska Crater - A massive crater caused by a mysterious explosion near the Tunguska river, this giant hole in the surface of the earth exposed another subterranean kaiju ecosystem.

The Siberian Monster Zone - a large, uninhabited portion of the Siberian wilderness where most of the kaiju of Russia have been herded into and walled off.  Keeping the monsters in there is hard, which is why the Russian government finally tried the one thing everyone was scared to do and used a nuclear weapon on a large crowd of the creatures.  The result was unfortunate and the experiment was never repeated on the remaining kaiju in the zone.

Area 51 - a mysterious base in the middle of Nevada that conducts all sorts of strange as fuck experiments with things man was not meant to know.  Has a small collection of captured kaiju to experiment on and use as guards.

Mars - the red planet of war.  Mars’s ecosystem was utterly devastated by the civilized, sapient race of Martians, with its bidiversity at a preposterous low.  Then it experienced its own age of monsters, with dozens of prehistoric kaiju coming out of the woodwork to lay the Martian civilization low.   The surviving Martians learned to live with the kaiju and even worshipped them to some extent as gods, only to be attacked by the Beyonder Alliance.  The combined strength of the Martians and their kaiju allies drove off the B.A., but at a cost that left their planet uninhabitable.  The Martins quickly colonized Venus instead, bringing their kaiju with them.

Venus - a mostly inhospitable planet that produces strangely resilient kaiju like Karamtor.  The Martians have bubbled colonies that siphon some of the unused resources of the planet while keeping the local weather and fauna at bay.  It’s an uneasy but not necessarily antagonistic relationship.

The Beyonder Homeworld - by this point it probably looks like Coruscant from the Star Wars movies.  It’s the center of an intergalactic empire after all.  Most of the kaiju from this homeworld have experienced a lot of genetic tampering and could look like anything.

The Flewud Homeworld - a dark planet with short days and long nights, home of Mothmanud’s creators.

The Scalim Homeworld - a planet covered in utterly massive - i.e. mountain sized - trees.  Almost all life there is aboreal.

The Feengup Homeworld - it’s a planet, but I haven’t thought particularly hard about it’s geography.

The Kwadsim Homeworld - like the Feengup Homeworld, I haven’t though particularly hard about its geography.  Most of its species have quadrilateral symmetry though.

Zillser’s Homeworld - not sure what it’s like at all, but it probably had at least one really big swamp.

Feel free to make your own too!

[readbookywooks]

Daenerys

The flies circled Khal Drogo slowly, their wings buzzing, a low thrum at the edge of hearing that filled Dany with dread. The sun was high and pitiless. Heat shimmered in waves off the stony outcrops of low hills. A thin finger of sweat trickled slowly between Dany's swollen breasts. The only sounds were the steady clop of their horses' hooves, the rhythmic tingle of the bells in Drogo's hair, and the distant voices behind them. Dany watched the flies. They were as large as bees, gross, purplish, glistening. The Dothraki called them bloodflies. They lived in marshes and stagnant pools, sucked blood from man and horse alike, and laid their eggs in the dead and dying. Drogo hated them. Whenever one came near him, his hand would shoot out quick as a striking snake to close around it. She had never seen him miss. He would hold the fly inside his huge fist long enough to hear its frantic buzzing. Then his fingers would tighten, and when he opened his hand again, the fly would be only a red smear on his palm. Now one crept across the rump of his stallion, and the horse gave an angry flick of its tail to brush it away. The others flitted about Drogo, closer and closer. The khal did not react. His eyes were fixed on distant brown hills, the reins loose in his hands. Beneath his painted vest, a plaster of fig leaves and caked blue mud covered the wound on his breast. The herbwomen had made it for him. Mirri Maz Duur's poultice had itched and burned, and he had torn it off six days ago, cursing her for a maegi. The mud plaster was more soothing, and the herbwomen made him poppy wine as well. He'd been drinking it heavily these past three days; when it was not poppy wine, it was fermented mare's milk or pepper beer. Yet he scarcely touched his food, and he thrashed and groaned in the night. Dany could see how drawn his face had become. Rhaego was restless in her belly, kicking like a stallion, yet even that did not stir Drogo's interest as it had. Every morning her eyes found fresh lines of pain on his face when he woke from his troubled sleep. And now this silence. It was making her afraid. Since they had mounted up at dawn, he had said not a word. When she spoke, she got no answer but a grunt, and not even that much since midday. One of the bloodflies landed on the bare skin of the khal's shoulder. Another, circling, touched down on his neck and crept up toward his mouth. Khal Drogo swayed in the saddle, bells ringing, as his stallion kept onward at a steady walking pace. Dany pressed her heels into her silver and rode closer. "My lord," she said softly. "Drogo. My sun-and-stars." He did not seem to hear. The bloodfly crawled up under his drooping mustache and settled on his cheek, in the crease beside his nose. Dany gasped, "Drogo." Clumsily she reached over and touched his arm. Khal Drogo reeled in the saddle, tilted slowly, and fell heavily from his horse. The flies scattered for a heartbeat, and then circled back to settle on him where he lay. "No," Dany said, reining up. Heedless of her belly for once, she scrambled off her silver and ran to him. The grass beneath him was brown and dry. Drogo cried out in pain as Dany knelt beside him. His breath rattled harshly in his throat, and he looked at her without recognition. "My horse," he gasped. Dany brushed the flies off his chest, smashing one as he would have. His skin burned beneath her fingers. The khal's bloodriders had been following just behind them. She heard Haggo shout as they galloped up. Cohollo vaulted from his horse. "Blood of my blood," he said as he dropped to his knees. The other two kept to their mounts. "No," Khal Drogo groaned, struggling in Dany's arms. "Must ride. Ride. No." "He fell from his horse," Haggo said, staring down. His broad face was impassive, but his voice was leaden. "You must not say that," Dany told him. "We have ridden far enough today. We will camp here." "Here?" Haggo looked around them. The land was brown and sere, inhospitable. "This is no camping ground." "It is not for a woman to bid us halt," said Qotho, "not even a khaleesi." "We camp here," Dany repeated. "Haggo, tell them Khal Drogo commanded the halt. If any ask why, say to them that my time is near and I could not continue. Cohollo, bring up the slaves, they must put up the khal's tent at once. Qotho—" "You do not command me, Khaleesi," Qotho said. "Find Mirri Maz Duur," she told him. The godswife would be walking among the other Lamb Men, in the long column of slaves. "Bring her to me, with her chest." Qotho glared down at her, his eyes hard as flint. "The maegi." He spat. "This I will not do." "You will," Dany said, "or when Drogo wakes, he will hear why you defied me." Furious, Qotho wheeled his stallion around and galloped off in anger . . . but Dany knew he would return with Mirri Maz Duur, however little he might like it. The slaves erected Khal Drogo's tent beneath a jagged outcrop of black rock whose shadow gave some relief from the heat of the afternoon sun. Even so, it was stifling under the sandsilk as Irri and Doreah helped Dany walk Drogo inside. Thick patterned carpets had been laid down over the ground, and pillows scattered in the corners. Eroeh, the timid girl Dany had rescued outside the mud walls of the Lamb Men, set up a brazier. They stretched Drogo out on a woven mat. "No," he muttered in the Common Tongue. "No, no." It was all he said, all he seemed capable of saying. Doreah unhooked his medallion belt and stripped off his vest and leggings, while Jhiqui knelt by his feet to undo the laces of his riding sandals. Irri wanted to leave the tent flaps open to let in the breeze, but Dany forbade it. She would not have any see Drogo this way, in delirium and weakness. When her khas came up, she posted them outside at guard. "Admit no one without my leave," she told Jhogo. "No one." Eroeh stared fearfully at Drogo where he lay. "He dies," she whispered. Dany slapped her. "The khal cannot die. He is the father of the stallion who mounts the world. His hair has never been cut. He still wears the bells his father gave him." "Khaleesi, " Jhiqui said, "he fell from his horse." Trembling, her eyes full of sudden tears, Dany turned away from them. He fell from his horse! It was so, she had seen it, and the bloodriders, and no doubt her handmaids and the men of her khas as well. And how many more? They could not keep it secret, and Dany knew what that meant. A khal who could not ride could not rule, and Drogo had fallen from his horse. "We must bathe him," she said stubbornly. She must not allow herself to despair. "Irri, have the tub brought at once. Doreah, Eroeh, find water, cool water, he's so hot." He was a fire in human skin. The slaves set up the heavy copper tub in the corner of the tent. When Doreah brought the first jar of water, Dany wet a length of silk to lay across Drogo's brow, over the burning skin. His eyes looked at her, but he did not see. When his lips opened, no words escaped them, only a moan. "Where is Mirri Maz Duur?" she demanded, her patience rubbed raw with fear. "Qotho will find her," Irri said. Her handmaids filled the tub with tepid water that stank of sulfur, sweetening it with jars of bitter oil and handfuls of crushed mint leaves. While the bath was being prepared, Dany knelt awkwardly beside her lord husband, her belly great with their child within. She undid his braid with anxious fingers, as she had on the night he'd taken her for the first time, beneath the stars. His bells she laid aside carefully, one by one. He would want them again when he was well, she told herself. A breath of air entered the tent as Aggo poked his head through the silk. "Khaleesi, " he said, "the Andal is come, and begs leave to enter." "The Andal" was what the Dothraki called Ser Jorah. "Yes," she said, rising clumsily, "send him in." She trusted the knight. He would know what to do if anyone did. Ser Jorah Mormont ducked through the door flap and waited a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dimness. In the fierce heat of the south, he wore loose trousers of mottled sandsilk and open-toed riding sandals that laced up to his knee. His scabbard hung from a twisted horsehair belt. Under a bleached white vest, he was bare-chested, skin reddened by the sun. "Talk goes from mouth to ear, all over the khalasar," he said. "It is said Khal Drogo fell from his horse." "Help him," Dany pleaded. "For the love you say you bear me, help him now." The knight knelt beside her. He looked at Drogo long and hard, and then at Dany. "Send your maids away." Wordlessly, her throat tight with fear, Dany made a gesture. Irri herded the other girls from the tent. When they were alone, Ser Jorah drew his dagger. Deftly, with a delicacy surprising in such a big man, he began to scrape away the black leaves and dried blue mud from Drogo's chest. The plaster had caked hard as the mud walls of the Lamb Men, and like those walls it cracked easily. Ser Jorah broke the dry mud with his knife, pried the chunks from the flesh, peeled off the leaves one by one. A foul, sweet smell rose from the wound, so thick it almost choked her. The leaves were crusted with blood and pus, Drogo's breast black and glistening with corruption. "No," Dany whispered as tears ran down her cheeks. "No, please, gods hear me, no." Khal Drogo thrashed, fighting some unseen enemy. Black blood ran slow and thick from his open wound. "Your khal is good as dead, Princess." "No, he can't die, he mustn't, it was only a cut." Dany took his large callused hand in her own small ones, and held it tight between them. "I will not let him die . . . " Ser Jorah gave a bitter laugh. "Khaleesi or queen, that command is beyond your power. Save your tears, child. Weep for him tomorrow, or a year from now. We do not have time for grief. We must go, and quickly, before he dies." Dany was lost. "Go? Where should we go?" "Asshai, I would say. It lies far to the south, at the end of the known world, yet men say it is a great port. We will find a ship to take us back to Pentos. It will be a hard journey, make no mistake. Do you trust your khas? Will they come with us?" "Khal Drogo commanded them to keep me safe," Dany replied uncertainly, "but if he dies . . . " She touched the swell of her belly. "I don't understand. Why should we flee? I am khaleesi. I carry Drogo's heir. He will be khal after Drogo . . . " Ser Jorah frowned. "Princess, hear me. The Dothraki will not follow a suckling babe. Drogo's strength was what they bowed to, and only that. When he is gone, Jhaqo and Pono and the other kos will fight for his place, and this khalasar will devour itself. The winner will want no more rivals. The boy will be taken from your breast the moment he is born. They will give him to the dogs . . . " Dany hugged herself. "But why?" she cried plaintively. "Why should they kill a little baby?" "He is Drogo's son, and the crones say he will be the stallion who mounts the world. It was prophesied. Better to kill the child than to risk his fury when he grows to manhood." The child kicked inside her, as if he had heard. Dany remembered the story Viserys had told her, of what the Usurper's dogs had done to Rhaegar's children. His son had been a babe as well, yet they had ripped him from his mother's breast and dashed his head against a wall. That was the way of men. "They must not hurt my son!" she cried. "I will order my khas to keep him safe, and Drogo's bloodriders will—" Ser Jorah held her by the shoulders. "A bloodrider dies with his khal. You know that, child. They will take you to Vaes Dothrak, to the crones, that is the last duty they owe him in life . . . when it is done, they will join Drogo in the night lands." Dany did not want to go back to Vaes Dothrak and live the rest of her life among those terrible old women, yet she knew that the knight spoke the truth. Drogo had been more than her sun-and-stars; he had been the shield that kept her safe. "I will not leave him," she said stubbornly, miserably. She took his hand again. "I will not." A stirring at the tent flap made Dany turn her head. Mirri Maz Duur entered, bowing low. Days on the march, trailing behind the khalasar, had left her limping and haggard, with blistered and bleeding feet and hollows under her eyes. Behind her came Qotho and Haggo, carrying the godswife's chest between them. When the bloodriders caught sight of Drogo's wound, the chest slipped from Haggo's fingers and crashed to the floor of the tent, and Qotho swore an oath so foul it seared the air. Mirri Maz Duur studied Drogo, her face still and dead. "The wound has festered." "This is your work, maegi," Qotho said. Haggo laid his fist across Mirri's cheek with a meaty smack that drove her to the ground. Then he kicked her where she lay. "Stop it!" Dany screamed. Qotho pulled Haggo away, saying, "Kicks are too merciful for a maegi. Take her outside. We will stake her to the earth, to be the mount of every passing man. And when they are done with her, the dogs will use her as well. Weasels will tear out her entrails and carrion crows feast upon her eyes. The flies off the river shall lay their eggs in her womb and drink pus from the ruins of her breasts . . . " He dug iron-hard fingers into the soft, wobbly flesh under the godswife's arm and hauled her to her feet. "No," Dany said. "I will not have her harmed." Qotho's lips skinned back from his crooked brown teeth in a terrible mockery of a smile. "No? You say me no? Better you should pray that we do not stake you out beside your maegi. You did this, as much as the other." Ser Jorah stepped between them, loosening his longsword in its scabbard. "Rein in your tongue, bloodrider. The princess is still your khaleesi. " "Only while the blood-of-my-blood still lives," Qotho told the knight. "When he dies, she is nothing." Dany felt a tightness inside her. "Before I was khaleesi, I was the blood of the dragon. Ser Jorah, summon my khas." "No," said Qotho. "We will go. For now . . . Khaleesi. " Haggo followed him from the tent, scowling. "That one means you no good, Princess," Mormont said. "The Dothraki say a man and his bloodriders share one life, and Qotho sees it ending. A dead man is beyond fear." "No one has died," Dany said. "Ser Jorah, I may have need of your blade. Best go don your armor." She was more frightened than she dared admit, even to herself. The knight bowed. "As you say." He strode from the tent. Dany turned back to Mirri Maz Duur. The woman's eyes were wary. "So you have saved me once more." "And now you must save him," Dany said. "Please . . . " "You do not ask a slave," Mirri replied sharply, "you tell her." She went to Drogo burning on his mat, and gazed long at his wound. "Ask or tell, it makes no matter. He is beyond a healer's skills." The khal's eyes were closed. She opened one with her fingers. "He has been dulling the hurt with milk of the poppy." "Yes," Dany admitted. "I made him a poultice of firepod and sting-me-not and bound it in a lambskin." "It burned, he said. He tore it off. The herbwomen made him a new one, wet and soothing." "It burned, yes. There is great healing magic in fire, even your hairless men know that." "Make him another poultice," Dany begged. "This time I will make certain he wears it." "The time for that is past, my lady," Mirri said. "All I can do now is ease the dark road before him, so he might ride painless to the night lands. He will be gone by morning." Her words were a knife through Dany's breast. What had she ever done to make the gods so cruel? She had finally found a safe place, had finally tasted love and hope. She was finally going home. And now to lose it all . . . "No," she pleaded. "Save him, and I will free you, I swear it. You must know a way . . . some magic, some . . . " Mirri Maz Duur sat back on her heels and studied Daenerys through eyes as black as night. "There is a spell." Her voice was quiet, scarcely more than a whisper. "But it is hard, lady, and dark. Some would say that death is cleaner. I learned the way in Asshai, and paid dear for the lesson. My teacher was a bloodmage from the Shadow Lands." Dany went cold all over. "Then you truly are a maegi . . . " "Am I?" Mirri Maz Duur smiled. "Only a maegi can save your rider now, Silver Lady." "Is there no other way?" "No other." Khal Drogo gave a shuddering gasp. "Do it," Dany blurted. She must not be afraid; she was the blood of the dragon. "Save him." "There is a price," the godswife warned her. "You'll have gold, horses, whatever you like." "It is not a matter of gold or horses. This is bloodmagic, lady. Only death may pay for life." "Death?" Dany wrapped her arms around herself protectively, rocked back and forth on her heels. "My death?" She told herself she would die for him, if she must. She was the blood of the dragon, she would not be afraid. Her brother Rhaegar had died for the woman he loved. "No," Mirri Maz Duur promised. "Not your death, Khaleesi." Dany trembled with relief. "Do it." The maegi nodded solemnly. "As you speak, so it shall be done. Call your servants." Khal Drogo writhed feebly as Rakharo and Quaro lowered him into the bath. "No," he muttered, "no. Must ride." Once in the water, all the strength seemed to leak out of him. "Bring his horse," Mirri Maz Duur commanded, and so it was done. Jhogo led the great red stallion into the tent. When the animal caught the scent of death, he screamed and reared, rolling his eyes. It took three men to subdue him. "What do you mean to do?" Dany asked her. "We need the blood," Mirri answered. "That is the way." Jhogo edged back, his hand on his arakh. He was a youth of sixteen years, whip-thin, fearless, quick to laugh, with the faint shadow of his first mustachio on his upper lip. He fell to his knees before her. "Khaleesi, " he pleaded, "you must not do this thing. Let me kill this maegi." "Kill her and you kill your khal," Dany said. "This is bloodmagic," he said. "It is forbidden." "I am khaleesi, and I say it is not forbidden. In Vaes Dothrak, Khal Drogo slew a stallion and I ate his heart, to give our son strength and courage. This is the same. The same." The stallion kicked and reared as Rakharo, Quaro, and Aggo pulled him close to the tub where the khal floated like one already dead, pus and blood seeping from his wound to stain the bathwaters. Mirri Maz Duur chanted words in a tongue that Dany did not know, and a knife appeared in her hand. Dany never saw where it came from. It looked old; hammered red bronze, leaf-shaped, its blade covered with ancient glyphs. The maegi drew it across the stallion's throat, under the noble head, and the horse screamed and shuddered as the blood poured out of him in a red rush. He would have collapsed, but the men of her khas held him up. "Strength of the mount, go into the rider," Mirri sang as horse blood swirled into the waters of Drogo's bath. "Strength of the beast, go into the man." Jhogo looked terrified as he struggled with the stallion's weight, afraid to touch the dead flesh, yet afraid to let go as well. Only a horse, Dany thought. If she could buy Drogo's life with the death of a horse, she would pay a thousand times over. When they let the stallion fall, the bath was a dark red, and nothing showed of Drogo but his face. Mirri Maz Duur had no use for the carcass. "Burn it," Dany told them. It was what they did, she knew. When a man died, his mount was killed and placed beneath him on the funeral pyre, to carry him to the night lands. The men of her khas dragged the carcass from the tent. The blood had gone everywhere. Even the sandsilk walls were spotted with red, and the rugs underfoot were black and wet. Braziers were lit. Mirri Maz Duur tossed a red powder onto the coals. It gave the smoke a spicy scent, a pleasant enough smell, yet Eroeh fled sobbing, and Dany was filled with fear. But she had gone too far to turn back now. She sent her handmaids away. "Go with them, Silver Lady," Mirri Maz Duur told her. "I will stay," Dany said. "The man took me under the stars and gave life to the child inside me. I will not leave him." "You must. Once I begin to sing, no one must enter this tent. My song will wake powers old and dark. The dead will dance here this night. No living man must look on them." Dany bowed her head, helpless. "No one will enter." She bent over the tub, over Drogo in his bath of blood, and kissed him lightly on the brow. "Bring him back to me," she whispered to Mirri Maz Duur before she fled. Outside, the sun was low on the horizon, the sky a bruised red. The khalasar had made camp. Tents and sleeping mats were scattered as far as the eye could see. A hot wind blew. Jhogo and Aggo were digging a firepit to burn the dead stallion. A crowd had gathered to stare at Dany with hard black eyes, their faces like masks of beaten copper. She saw Ser Jorah Mormont, wearing mail and leather now, sweat beading on his broad, balding forehead. He pushed his way through the Dothraki to Dany's side. When he saw the scarlet footprints her boots had left on the ground, the color seemed to drain from his face. "What have you done, you little fool?" he asked hoarsely. "I had to save him." "We could have fled," he said. "I would have seen you safe to Asshai, Princess. There was no need . . . " "Am I truly your princess?" she asked him. "You know you are, gods save us both." "Then help me now." Ser Jorah grimaced. "Would that I knew how." Mirri Maz Duur's voice rose to a high, ululating wail that sent a shiver down Dany's back. Some of the Dothraki began to mutter and back away. The tent was aglow with the light of braziers within. Through the blood-spattered sandsilk, she glimpsed shadows moving. Mirri Maz Duur was dancing, and not alone. Dany saw naked fear on the faces of the Dothraki. "This must not be," Qotho thundered. She had not seen the bloodrider return. Haggo and Cohollo were with him. They had brought the hairless men, the eunuchs who healed with knife and needle and fire. "This will be," Dany replied. "Maegi, " Haggo growled. And old Cohollo—Cohollo who had bound his life to Drogo's on the day of his birth, Cohollo who had always been kind to her—Cohollo spat full in her face. "You will die, maegi," Qotho promised, "but the other must die first." He drew his arakh and made for the tent. "No," she shouted, "you mustn't." She caught him by the shoulder, but Qotho shoved her aside. Dany fell to her knees, crossing her arms over her belly to protect the child within. "Stop him," she commanded her khas, "kill him." Rakharo and Quaro stood beside the tent flap. Quaro took a step forward, reaching for the handle of his whip, but Qotho spun graceful as a dancer, the curved arakh rising. It caught Quaro low under the arm, the bright sharp steel biting up through leather and skin, through muscle and rib bone. Blood fountained as the young rider reeled backward, gasping. Qotho wrenched the blade free. "Horselord," Ser Jorah Mormont called. "Try me." His longsword slid from its scabbard. Qotho whirled, cursing. The arakh moved so fast that Quaro's blood flew from it in a fine spray, like rain in a hot wind. The longsword caught it a foot from Ser Jorah's face, and held it quivering for an instant as Qotho howled in fury. The knight was clad in chainmail, with gauntlets and greaves of lobstered steel and a heavy gorget around his throat, but he had not thought to don his helm. Qotho danced backward, arakh whirling around his head in a shining blur, flickering out like lightning as the knight came on in a rush. Ser Jorah parried as best he could, but the slashes came so fast that it seemed to Dany that Qotho had four arakhs and as many arms. She heard the crunch of sword on mail, saw sparks fly as the long curved blade glanced off a gauntlet. Suddenly it was Mormont stumbling backward, and Qotho leaping to the attack. The left side of the knight's face ran red with blood, and a cut to the hip opened a gash in his mail and left him limping. Qotho screamed taunts at him, calling him a craven, a milk man, a eunuch in an iron suit. "You die now!" he promised, arakh shivering through the red twilight. Inside Dany's womb, her son kicked wildly. The curved blade slipped past the straight one and bit deep into the knight's hip where the mail gaped open. Mormont grunted, stumbled. Dany felt a sharp pain in her belly, a wetness on her thighs. Qotho shrieked triumph, but his arakh had found bone, and for half a heartbeat it caught. It was enough. Ser Jorah brought his longsword down with all the strength left him, through flesh and muscle and bone, and Qotho's forearm dangled loose, flopping on a thin cord of skin and sinew. The knight's next cut was at the Dothraki's ear, so savage that Qotho's face seemed almost to explode. The Dothraki were shouting, Mirri Maz Duur wailing inside the tent like nothing human, Quaro pleading for water as he died. Dany cried out for help, but no one heard. Rakharo was fighting Haggo, arakh dancing with arakh until Jhogo's whip cracked, loud as thunder, the lash coiling around Haggo's throat. A yank, and the bloodrider stumbled backward, losing his feet and his sword. Rakharo sprang forward, howling, swinging his arakh down with both hands through the top of Haggo's head. The point caught between his eyes, red and quivering. Someone threw a stone, and when Dany looked, her shoulder was torn and bloody. "No," she wept, "no, please, stop it, it's too high, the price is too high." More stones came flying. She tried to crawl toward the tent, but Cohollo caught her. Fingers in her hair, he pulled her head back and she felt the cold touch of his knife at her throat. "My baby," she screamed, and perhaps the gods heard, for as quick as that, Cohollo was dead. Aggo's arrow took him under the arm, to pierce his lungs and heart. When at last Daenerys found the strength to raise her head, she saw the crowd dispersing, the Dothraki stealing silently back to their tents and sleeping mats. Some were saddling horses and riding off. The sun had set. Fires burned throughout the khalasar, great orange blazes that crackled with fury and spit embers at the sky. She tried to rise, and agony seized her and squeezed her like a giant's fist. The breath went out of her; it was all she could do to gasp. The sound of Mirri Maz Duur's voice was like a funeral dirge. Inside the tent, the shadows whirled. An arm went under her waist, and then Ser Jorah was lifting her off her feet. His face was sticky with blood, and Dany saw that half his ear was gone. She convulsed in his arms as the pain took her again, and heard the knight shouting for her handmaids to help him. Are they all so afraid? She knew the answer. Another pain grasped her, and Dany bit back a scream. It felt as if her son had a knife in each hand, as if he were hacking at her to cut his way out. "Doreah, curse you," Ser Jorah roared. "Come here. Fetch the birthing women." "They will not come. They say she is accursed." "They'll come or I'll have their heads." Doreah wept. "They are gone, my lord." "The maegi," someone else said. Was that Aggo? "Take her to the maegi." No, Dany wanted to say, no, not that, you mustn't, but when she opened her mouth, a long wail of pain escaped, and the sweat broke over her skin. What was wrong with them, couldn't they see? Inside the tent the shapes were dancing, circling the brazier and the bloody bath, dark against the sandsilk, and some did not look human. She glimpsed the shadow of a great wolf, and another like a man wreathed in flames. "The Lamb Woman knows the secrets of the birthing bed," Irri said. "She said so, I heard her." "Yes," Doreah agreed, "I heard her too." No, she shouted, or perhaps she only thought it, for no whisper of sound escaped her lips. She was being carried. Her eyes opened to gaze up at a flat dead sky, black and bleak and starless. Please, no. The sound of Mirri Maz Duur's voice grew louder, until it filled the world. The shapes! she screamed. The dancers! Ser Jorah carried her inside the tent.

[bouncingtigger10]

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When you want to know which type of story you may be reading...

So one thing I like to think about when reading a story is what type of story it is. When I was writing (academic folks!) I found out there were 7 archetypes types of stories that could be used, but in fact there are many other ways of identifying which story you are reading – and sometimes it is fun to guess. So I took look at what authors think about story tropes or archetypes and found the following. this is far from comprehensive, but it is a bit of fun research. If you want to find out more then take a look at: https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/Tropes and https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/MysteryTropes

There are sub-divisions of mystery and crime tropes eg:

Military and Warfare Tropes

Genre Tropes

News Broadcast

Murder Tropes

Crime and Punishment Tropes

The Oldest Profession

Monster Sob Story

Murder Tropes

Mystery Fiction

Mystery Literature

Mystery Story Creator Index

Toxic Tropes

Basic Mystery Classes

Criminals

Crime and Punishment Series

Crime and Punishment Tropes

Cops and Detectives

Detective Drama

Forensic Phlebotinum

Historical Detective Fiction

But I particularly like this list:

Absence of Evidence

The Alibi

Anachronistic Clue

Anonymous Killer Narrator

Anti-Climactic Unmasking

Beneath Suspicion

Blood-Stained Letter

Bluffing the Murderer

The Butler Did It

Cast as a Mask

Chronic Evidence Retention Syndrome

Clock Discrepancy

Closed Circle

Clueless Mystery

Condensation Clue

Confess in Confidence

Consulting a Convicted Killer

Conviction by Contradiction

Cozy Mystery

Curtain Camouflage

Cut Himself Shaving

Death in the Clouds

Did Not Die That Way

Disability Alibi

The Dog Was the Mastermind

Dramatic Curtain Toss

Driving Question

Eagle-Eye Detection

Eureka Moment

Everyone Is a Suspect

Everybody Did It

Evidence Dungeon

Evidence Scavenger Hunt

Evil Plan

Exposition Victim

Fair-Play Whodunnit

Finger-Licking Poison

Fingertip Drug Analysis

The Game Never Stopped

Hide the Evidence

Hidden in Plain Sight

Hidden Villain

I Never Said It Was Poison

Important Character, Important Evidence

Intrepid Reporter

Let Off by the Detective

Lights Off, Somebody Dies

Locked Room Mystery

Lotsa People Try to Dun It

The Meddling Kids Are Useless

Mistaken for Evidence

Mockspiracy

Mockstery Tale

Motive Equals Conclusive Evidence

Mysterious Stranger

Mystery Arc

Mystery Magnet

Mystery of the Week

Needle in a Stack of Needles

Never One Murder

Never Suicide

Never the Obvious Suspect

Notable Non Sequitur

Not-So-Fake Prop Weapon

Old, Dark House

Only One Plausible Suspect

Ontological Mystery

Orgy of Evidence

Perfect Poison

Placebo Eureka Moment

Precrime Arrest

Proof Dare

Public Secret Message

Puzzle Thriller

Red Herring

Reverse Whodunnit

Rewind, Replay, Repeat

A Riddle Wrapped in a Mystery Inside an Enigma

Ripped from the Headlines

Saying Too Much

Secret Identity Apathy

Serial Killings, Specific Target

Shell Game

Sherlock Can Read

Sherlock Scan

The Seven Mysteries

Signature Item Clue

The Stakeout

The End… Or Is It?

Stranger Behind the Mask

The Summation

Summation Gathering

Suspect Is Hatless

That Mysterious Thing

Ten Little Murder Victims

Thriller on the Express

Twist Ending

Two Dun It

The Unsolved Mystery

Weather Report Opening

Wheel Program

Who Murdered the Asshole?

World of Mysteries

Writing Indentation Clue

You Meddling Kids

You Wake Up in a Room

You Wake Up On A Beach

The Kurt Vonnegut Jr 8 forms/tropes of stories.

Kurt Vonnegurt is very well respected for his story analysis. He made a map of his analysis against time.

He made a visual mapping of the length of the story against the time inhabited by the story and the different ups and downs each classic/trope will take. Helps explains how when you feel unsatisfied by a storyline it is often because you are still waiting for the next point to occur.

On the other hand Ken Miyamoto, Produced screenwriter, former Sony Pictures script reader/story analyst, former Sony Studios liaison claims that these are the story tropes.

Coming of Age – Seemingly innocent (although not always so) youth experience the evils, trials, and tribulations of the real world. Stand by Me, To Kill a Mockingbird, Almost Famous, Sixteen Candles, The Breakfast Club, The Graduate, American Graffiti, etc.

Revenge – Our most primal instinct.  We see and read stories of revenge in nearly every genre.  In film we have Mad Max, Carrie, Death Wish, Once Upon a Time in the West, Star Trek II: Wrath of Khan, Gladiator, Election, Munich, The Counte of Monte Cristo, Hang ‘Em High, Memento, etc.

The Great Battle – An individual or group of people in conflict with others.  This ranges from epic battles (War movies, Lord of the Rings) to comedy (War of the Roses) to science fiction (Star Wars, Terminator franchise, etc.).

Love and Friendship – Love stories (Romeo and Juliet, Romantic comedies), buddy movies (Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, Lethal Weapon), dramas about friendship (The Big Chill), etc.

The Big Mystery – There’s a mystery to be solved, and the protagonist has to solve it.  You’re looking at classic characters in the likes of Sherlock Holmes, Tin Tin, Nancy Drew, etc.  Comedies like The Pink Panther series.  Agatha Christy novels.  Tom Clancy and John Grisham novels and movie adaptations.

The Great Journey – This theme follows characters dealing with trials and tribulation during travels… many of which are epic.  Huckleberry Finn, Apocalypse Now (Heart of Darkness in literature form), The Odyssey, Star Wars, and probably the best example in both film and literature, Lord of the Rings.

The Noble Sacrifice – The protagonist sacrifices himself for others.  Glory, Armageddon, war movies where a character dies for his fellow soldiers, etc.

The Fall From Grace – Showing humans going where only God should go, doing what only God should do, or attempting to do what humans shouldn’t do.  You look at films and novels like Jurassic Park, Splice, Frankenstein, etc.  And then look into science films like A.I. and even Terminator, where we as humans have gone too far in trying to create life… and it backfires on us.  Then into the horror genre with the aforementioned Frankenstein and even Stephen King’s Pet Semetary.

And Reedsy gives you 14 Fantasy tropes:

September 3, 2018

Fantasy tropes, like any other type of literary trope, are recurring images, themes, or devices that are used to the point of being common conventions amongst its genre.

When writing a genre such as fantasy (with such well-known conceits),  authors often feel the need to straddle a fine line: include too many tropes and readers will get déjà vu; don’t include a single cliché and you risk losing readers who have come to expect certain themes and touchstones from a fantasy novel.

The thing is, conventions commonly crop up in stories because most of them contain some element of universal relatability — and people enjoy the familiar.

So embrace the balancing act by acquainting yourself with some of the most popular fantasy tropes out there, and by learning how to prevent your characters, plots, and worlds from becoming a complete cliche

Character tropes

At their heart, all stories are about characters who represent some aspect of human nature — and fantasy is no exception. Many novels in this genre feature archetypes, which is not necessarily a bad thing — so long as your characters’ development aligns with the narrative arc and doesn’t rely on cliché pitstops.

1) The Chosen One

A character who is alone capable of fulfilling an important purpose, and whose responsibility is to resolve the plot’s main conflict — which will often be to save the world.

2) The Secret Heir

An orphan ends up being the long-lost scion to a royal throne. Often, this character is raised on a farm or another humble situation that contrast their true lineage. Maybe they lost their parents at a young age and sent away for their own protection. Perhaps they were switched at birth in some sort of hilarious misunderstanding. Maybe their mother had a summer fling with an undercover prince in her gap year.

3) The Evil Overlord

Fire and brimstone, darkness and inhospitable lands, the Evil Overlord usually lives in a realm that reflects their wicked intentions, surrounded  by their minions and followers. The Evil Overlord is also often bent on world domination.

4) The Reluctant Hero

The protagonist is thrust down the path of a story they don’t wish to be a part of. They long to return to normal life and only continue on their quest out of obligation or necessity. Think of it as the difference between Frodo (who wishes to return to the Shire but knows a task must be completed) and Conan the Barbarian, who relishes the role of rough-hewn hero. Often, the Reluctant Hero is also the Chosen One.

5) The Lucky Novice

This sometimes manifests when a character who has had never attempted a specific activity before is suddenly extremely talented at that specific skill.  Other times it’s presented in the form of a protagonist — who’s had a moderate amount of training — defeating the villain who has been honing their powers for years or decades (or even centuries).

6) The Mentor

Usually an elderly character who prepares the protagonist for whatever conflict they are facing. The Mentor often leaves before the big climax — whether they are killed, retire, or have to leave to carry out a job elsewhere — forcing the protagonist to stand on their own two feet.

Worldbuilding tropes

While the many subgenres of fantasy will all have their own tropes, here are a few worldbuilding conventions that you’re bound to see more often than not.

7) The World That Never Progresses

When a novel of series covers a society through the ages — but that world seems never change or progress. It could be a century later, but no social, technological, political, or cultural developments seem to have occurred. This one is fairly typical of high fantasy, which usually take place on grand, epic scales. ( and the one that really irritates me about Game of Thrones. Surely by now they have learnt how to fix holes in wooden doors!

8) The Pseudo-European Medieval Setting

A feudal system governing a society where taverns are frequented and duel-by-swords are a daily occurrence. The stories don’t usually take place in actual Europe, but a world that very much resembles the continent’s medieval era. This setting is a mainstay of fantasy — significantly solidified in the genre by The Lord of the Rings, but harking back to European folklore and tales of King Arthur.

9) The Powerful Artifact

This convention is used across all types of genres: an object of great power must be saved from falling into the wrong hands. The object is typically inanimate and derives its power from the manipulation of those who use it. The object might not be inherently evil, but its powers can have the effect of tempting and corrupting even the noblest characters.

10) The Homogenous Species

All elves are beautiful and love trees, and all dwarves are obsessed with gold and living underground, right? Categorizing entire races into a few commonalities is typical of fantasy novels, and if one character from that race differs, you can bet they’re an outlier — and often the protagonist of the novel (or a trusty sidekick). Another common feature of this trope is when one species is inherently “good”, and another is inherently “bad.”

Plot tropes

The Plot is the chain of events that comprise your narrative arc. Many fantasy novels will share a link or two (or seven) in common with other novels, including these:

11) The Waiting Evil

Long, long ago, an evil force is defeated in battle and locked away, never to wreak havoc again. That is, of course, until now. Having bided its time, the evil entity breaks free with an eye for vengeance. This Waiting Evil might break free of their own volition, might be released by an avid supporter (that is usually then disposed of — hello, Peter Pettigrew), or it might be released accidentally by an unknowing passerby or by natural causes.

12) The “Here Comes the Cavalry” Twist

All is lost. The villain and their minions are too strong and despite a noble fight, the jig is up. The heroes simply can’t hold off the opposition any longer. Time to lay down and die. But wait! Do you hear that? It’s faint, but growing louder. It’s… it’s… it’s the heroes’ friends, showing up in the nick of time to save the day! Hooray! Not all is lost!

13) The Black and White Morality Theme

The battle between “good” and “evil” is such a prevalent theme in fantasy — and it’s no wonder. When it strays to a cliché is when the line between good and evil is perceived as black and white, with no grey area. The good guys are purely good, and the bad guys are pure evil — end of story. Often, the good guys manage to defeat the bad guys without killing a soul or even wrecking a single building.

14) The Quest

The hero — and usually a handful of secondary characters — sets out on a quest with a specific goal. Typically the goal ranges from saving a princess, defeating a villain, destroying a corrupt artifact, or finding someone. The goal of the quest doesn’t matter as much as the fact that there is a solid one. While The Quest very closely resembles The Hero’s Journey, there are key differences between the two story structures: while the former is all about the character’s journey to achieve a goal, the latter is more about the character’s inner journey than the actual objective. [ https://blog.reedsy.com/fantasy-tropes/ ]

On the other hand Jill Williamson claims there are 145 (!!!) Romance Tropes.

abduction to love

accidental pregnancy

afraid to commit

all grown up

amnesia

antihero romance

arranged marriage

athlete

bait and switch

beauty and the beast

best friend’s lover

best friend’s sibling

best friends/ friends first

billionaire

blackmail

blind date

bodyguard crush

boss/employee

boy hates girl

boy meets ghoul

boy meets girl

break his heart to save him

brother’s best friend

bully turned puppy lover

can’t live with them, can’t live without them

celebrity loves commoner

celibate hero

childhood enemies fall in love

childhood friends

childhood marriage promise

Cinderella story/wrong side of the tracks

classes clash

clueless love

consanguinity

crazy love

Cyrano/matchmaker

damaged lead finds happily ever after

dark secret keeps them apart

different worlds

disguise

enemies to lovers

everyone can see it

fairytale

fake engagement

fatal attraction

first love

fish out of water

fling

forbidden love/Romeo and Juliet

friends with benefits

girl wants bad boy

guardian/ward

guy wants cheerleader

huge guy, tiny girl/ tiny guy, huge girl

if I can’t have you, no one will!

imaginary love triangle

impotent love

innocent cohabitation

instant/false sweethearts

it happened in Vegas

jilted bride/groom

law enforcement

long distance relationship

long-term lovers

love at first sight

love interest has a profession protagonist abhors

love interest reminds of estranged family member

love potion

love reforms villain

love triangle

love/hate

lovers in denial/ they’re the last to know

mad love

maid/janitor

mail-order bride

marriage of convenience

men in uniform

mistaken declaration of love leads to love

mistaken identity

noble rescuer steps in, She’s dating Mr. Wrong

nobody thinks it will work

not good enough for him/her

oblivious to love

older man, younger woman/ older woman, younger man

on the rocks

one night stand

one wants true love/other wants a fling

oops! fall in love with the wrong person (which could ruin everything!)

opposites attract

orphan

overly shy love

parent/childcare worker

partners in crime

passionate lovers

Plain Jane get the hottie

playboy

politics

pretending to be married or engaged

protector

redemption

rejected as unworthy/ turns life around

reluctant sex worker

removing the rival

rescue romance

return to hometown

reunion romance

revenge

rich man, poor woman/ rich woman, poor man

rivals/ protagonist vs. antagonist

road trip romance

rock star hero

royalty

runaway bride/groom

scars from the past

second chance at love

second time around

secret admirer

secret baby- He doesn’t know she’s PG

secret that can end everything

sibling triangle

sibling’s ex-spouse

similarities attract

sleeps with everyone but you

sorry, I’m taken

stranded together

student/teacher

sudden parent

the one that got away

time travel

tortured hero(ine)

tragic love affair

tragic past

two-person love triangle (involves some mistaken identity) ex. superman

ugly duckling

unobtainable love interest/ one-sided

unrequited love

unrequited-love-switcheroo love triangle

unwanted harem

virginal/innocent

wallflower noticed by the rake

was it all a lie? (undercover love)

widow(er)

(wo)man in peril

working with the ex

workplace romance

So you reads your story and takes your pick.. Have fun…

[stopsubstanceabuse1-blog]

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[dimenovelsfromoblivion]

The Collective

As inhospitable as the desert can be the parched, arid lands are ideal for preserving the ancient cities built in the early days of civilization. These mostly abandoned settlements were scattered across the landscape quietly being buried in the sand.

Still, there were some cities, archaic remnants of ancient kingdoms that had long since vanished, but life went on even as the old dynasties crumbled back into the enteral sand and the people settled around the ancient walls for hundreds of generations went about existence much the same as their vanquished ancestors. These places although mostly forgotten these forerunners of civilization existed alongside the electrified concrete and steel megalopolis that had come into existence in the final terminal stages of human-settled life.

Just as in previous epochs this seemingly worthless place was where empires fought life and death struggles.  Just like the innumerable men of arms who were sent here to pacify these lands over they millenniums Corporal Keller of the US Marines couldn’t comprehend exactly what it was that kept drawing the armies of the world back to this same desolate place.

Keller and his unit had spent the last few days watching drones and bombers, the latest and greatest in hi-tech siege weaponry blast the prehistoric city to rubble. Now it was time for the grunts to go in and blow away anyone that survived the barrage.

The helicopters hovering overhead stirred up the sand into a storm. The air was saturated with the grainy particles that stung at the eyes and skin, but it was at least a mild morning. The desert dew still gleamed in the morning sun and a place white moon lingered in the bright morning sky. The Marines moved cautiously but kept up the pace. Today it was Corporal Kellers turn to be the point man, which meant first one inside, first one to take any fire.

The young soldier and his company had surrounded a courtyard. He was hugging the corner wall at the entrance when the signal was given. Flash grenades were tossed into the open space, and the soldiers quickly moved in. They only ran into each other though. The courtyard was empty.

“Clear,” Keller radioed in.

Keller felt something tap on his shoulder. There was a spot of blood soaking into his uniform.

“What the fuck?”

He looked up corpses were hanging from hastily constructed rafters above their heads in various stages of decay and dismemberment. The helicopters had scared away the scavaging birds, but it was easy to see on the soft decomposing flesh where they opportunistic animals had been feeding.

Keller felt queazy he called it in. “We got bodies hanging here.”

There was the sound of something stirring behind the walls and the jolted Marines raised their weapons. Keller looked at the west and could see two deep red circles. He moved closer and brushed away the sand. It was a drawing of a woman with a plump body and what looked like iron wings. She wore some kind of ceremonial headdress, and her bird-like feet had large sharp talons.

“What the fuck is this?” Keller muttered.

“RPG!” Startled Keller looked up and saw a rocket flying down from the top of the wall, then an abrupted impenetrable blackness.

James jolted awake in his chair. A layer of sweat covered his waxy skin, and he had to catch his breath. “Holy shit,” he cracked as he reached for a nearby glass of water.

The foundation of a collective unconscious is the transcription of memory into the biomolecular structure of the human being. Evolution is by and large a process of trial and error the psyche is where the experiences of our predecessors echo across the gulf of time adding to the notional sum of existence. One of the ways it manifests is through instinct, an innate reaction a sentient being has to a situation it may have never encountered. The enigmatic process is one that straddles the line between the rational and the mystic. It was a painstaking process limited by the crawling pace of evolution.

Legions of faceless specialists directed by an institutionalized disdain for the natural order were activated to construct a more valuable and efficient model for the collective unconvinced. Their nanotech monster was decentralized and of course, data-driven. The microscopic machine was a synthetic virus that transformed sentient human beings into data banks of human memories. The natural incubator for this emergent intelligence was the military, where of course psychological programming is a paramount concern. Unwitting soldiers were merged into a micro-collective conscience. Their experiences of war could now be shared through a real-time data stream. Minature machines bound their minds together and turned their most horrific memories of war into shared experiences.

Retired Major James Fullerton had no inkling of this grand design or his place in its growing web of consciousness. Neither did the doctor who pointed to the small innocuous shadow on the translucent gray and white image of his brain.

“We don’t know if it’s a tumor, but it’s not operatable. I’m sorry, but all we can do is wait and see.” The doctor informed him in his professional but compassionate manner.

Daniel Princip, a friend from his unit, was given a similar prognosis barely six months ago and now he was dead. Granted it was a bullet from his service pistol that released him from his mortal coil and not any sort of cancer or degenerative neural disease, but James knew, and Daniel must have been somewhat aware that the mysterious blemish on his neural tissue was an omen of doom.

James and Daniel were both combat veterans who became friends while witnessing some of the darkest and most blood-soaked excesses of modern war. When they heard the sanitized euphemism for a massacre, their minds conjured up scenes of crushed and mangled bodies. They had both seen mothers carrying the dismembered remains of their children after a “surgical strike” or families wallowing over bloated fly-covered corpses of fathers and sons killed in “counter-insurgency” raids. Despite this, they managed to integrate back into society and keep isolated the contagion of violence that infected their souls.

James was divorced, but amicably so. He had two daughters in college and had enjoyed years of success as a financial consultant. Daniel hadn’t fared so poorly either. He was a lawyer and confirmed lifetime bachelor. The experience of war instilled in him a sense of just how indifferent the universe is and the inevitability of tragedy and undercut any desire or incentive for him to have a family.

Whatever was consuming Daniel from within worked quickly. His body withered away from his bones, and his colorless eyes sank into his gaunt face. He endured every test and consulted every specialist, but there was no conclusive answer. When he told them about the dreams, they suspected his ailment was purely psychological. He was just another soldier being ravaged by the malignant trauma that had been planted in his brain like a ticking time bomb from his service days.

“I keep having these like flashbacks only it doesn't feel like their mine. It feels like I'm in someone else's body watching what they’re watching,” James said with a faraway look in his eyes.

James was intimately familiar with the terror the twin specters of regret and shame could unleash upon their victims gave a sympathetic and understanding nod.

“It’s like watching a movie, and I know something terrible is about to happen but no matter what I can’t stop it. It’s like being a voice screaming inside that kid’s head, but he couldn’t hear me.”

“Boy?” James repeated.

Daniel nodded. “Yeah, his name was Lance Corporal Thomas Johnson that’s who I am a lot of times,” Daniel said before taking a sip of coffee. “At least that’s what the other guys call me. Poor kid, he’s on his second deployment, and his mom’s just been diagnosed with cancer,” Daniel said matter of factly.

When Daniel gave those strangely specific details, Jame’s felt his stomach tie into knots and swell up into his throat. “Huh, that’s kinda weird,” he replied casually.

These visions always a rare occurrence were now steadily commandeering his subconscious. His sleep was now drowning out from the incursions of these living nightmares just like what happened to Daniel. He wasn’t sure how but James knew it was this smudge on the MRI that was the source of these aberrations of war.

The sleep-deprived James was retracted back in his recliner dulling his senses in the ultraviolet lite of the tv mounted on the wall. He absently cycled through the televisions line up, which at this time of night was mostly infomercials. He finally gave up the futile search for entertainment and settled on one of the many twenty four hour news networks.

The screen was bifurcated between an attractive blond news anchor and repeating B-roll footage of a middle eastern battlezone, by now a familiar television backdrop.

The blonde was listening attentively, indicated by the occasional nod to the static voice of field reporter who was summing up all the action that had apparently just happened a few hours ago.

“Around 8:15 this morning the Marines declared the city liberated,” the faceless voice explained while footage of marines putting in a battering ram through and a tank firing a round into a building played in the background.

“The city has been liberated,” the anchor confirmed “but we’re being told combat operations are still ongoing. Why is that?”

There was a short delay between the question and answer while a new loop of battlefield footage started to play.

“Yes, that’s true. Marine units are still engaged in mop-op operations in and around the city. While the military is in control of all municipal and administrative buildings, there are still some terrorist strongholds scattered around, but the military spokesman we talked to says they’ll be clear before the day is out.”

The talking heads on the screen started to sound further and further away until their banter became obscure mumbling. James passively watched the medley of battle and sank deeper into his chair. Whether he wanted it or not he was slowly slipping back into sleep. His eyes fluttered, and his jaw slacked. His head gradually fell back, and the room started to fade away. He was on the edge of sleep when a scene on TV jolted him awake.

It was the courtyard from his dream. The dangling bodies had been taken down and the gangrenous limbs removed but James still recognized the scenery even after it had been thoroughly satisfied. On the west wall was the same etching of the plumb winged woman with crimson eyes.

The ringing doorbell startled James.

“Who the hell could that be?” he muttered. Deciding to ignore the door James picked back up the remote and started flipping around again but whoever had come calling was persistent. The doorbell rang another three times in quick succession.

“Jesus fuckin christ alright,” James snarled.

The ringing continued as he made his way to the door. “Alright alright!” James Hollard.

He looked through the peephole and saw a man probably in his mid to late twenties in rain-soaked clothes with shaggy hair and a beard. James kept the chain lock on the door.

“Can I help you?” He asked visibly irritated.

“Are you Major James Fullerton?” The man asked.

“Yeah, that’s me who are you?” James replied.

The stranger on his stoop pulled out a gun at hip level and pointed it through the space between the door and the frame.

“I really need to talk to you,” he said calmly.

“Oh shit,” James mumbled.

The armed intruder followed behind James with his gun pointed at his back.

“Where’s a place we can sit down and talk?” he asked with a raspy voice.

“Look, man, I won’t give you any trouble. Just take what you want and get going,” James said.

“It’s nothing like that. My name’s Luetenant Phillip Speers second airborne.”

“I retired from the military eight years ago if you have any gripes with them I really can’t help you,” explained James.

Phillip didn’t reply. When they got to the den, he directed James back to his recliner while he sat down on the couch. James paused for a second when he saw Phillip’s left arm was a robotic prosthetic.

“I’m sorry I have to do this, but I considered all the options, and this was the only way,” Phillip explained.

“What’s this all about?” James asked calmly.

Phillip leaned forward. “I got out of the service three years ago, and about a year and a half ago I started having all these fucked up dreams. Now I know what you’re thinking,” Phillip sighed “PTSD right? Well, that would have made sense but these dreams I was having weren’t mine. In fact, I don’t even think they were dreams. It was like seeing through someone else's eyes. Night after night I was back in the desert doing recon missions in a place I’ve never even been before, and for some reason, the guys on the mission all called me James, James Fullerton. I lived through your time in the Subsaharan,” said Phillip. “I know about Daniel, and I know about that boy in the Michael Jordan jersey.”

James was speechless. He’d never told anyone about that kid, but James had spent years and years begging his ghost for forgiveness, or at least what his mind thought his spirit might be like. It was James’s unit that called in the drone strike that incinerated him. Even though he left behind no mortal remains his face was forever seared into James’s memory. He never could forgive himself for sacrificing the child to the cold mechanical hunter

Phillip saw that he had touched a nerve and decided to press his questioning further. “Have you ever met or heard of a marine captain Peter Harding?” he asked.

James shook his head.

“He came to be about a year and a half ago and told me about the same thing I’m telling you now. He knew every dirty detail of my deployment. He knew about friends I lost people I wasted I mean everything. He even knew how I got this,” Phillip said holding up his robotic arm.

“Have you heard of Corporal Keller?” James asked.

“Have you seen the picture on the wall too?” Phillip asked with wide eyes.

James nodded “yeah the woman with the wings and the ruby eyes.”

“Christ,” muttered Phillip “Yeah that one really fucked with me.”

“So what do we do about it?” James asked.

Phillip set the gun down and vigorously rubbed his eyes. “Look, man, I have no idea what they did to us. The VA never told me anything. It wasn’t until I went to a private doctor I found out about the thing in my head.”

“Yeah, the shadow. I have it too.” Said, James.

Phillip sat back. “Well they’re not going to help us with this thing that much is clear, and the doctors tell me they can’t cut it out. So really there’s only one thing to do only one way we can disconnect ourselves.”

“Yeah?” James shrugged.

Without a word, Phillip picked up the pistol, put it in his mouth, and pulled the trigger. A cloud of red mist saturated with pink particles blasted into the air and sprayed the wall behind him.