#the sunbeam effect is actually killing me every time it's used like the way it dissipates in law's panel is so funny

[cosmicrhetoric]

the down bad brothers (and law)

[gwennavierre]

Doki doki

Adrien realizes something about his everyday ladybug.

Ladybug realizes something about her kitty.

-----

Marinette was a busy person. School, crushes, liars, bullies, akumas, friendship drama... those were things most teens in Paris dealt with, but Marinette was also Ladybug, the Guardian of the Miracle Box, and a budding fashion designer.

While others ran to hide from akumas, Marinette transformed into Ladybug to fight and defeat them with the help of Chat Noir and the occasional temporary miraculous holder.

While her classmates got to go to bed at a reasonable time after doing homework, Marinette stayed up for hours getting to know the kwamis and work out who would best be suited to be a temporary holder for them when needed.

And while other teens practiced their passions in waking hours, Marinette worked tirelessly through the nights and over weekends to finish commissions. Her non lucrative hobbies tended to get pushed aside, which was frustrating since they helped her relax...

She decided she could kill two birds with one stone (so to speak... Orikko wasn't a fan of that phrase..) by sharing her own interests with the kwamis while working on her current fashion projects.

A few of the kwamis had taken a shine to the anime shows and manga collection Marinette had. Some preferred reading the Japanese comics out loud to their Guardian as she stitched or crocheted. They delighted in making different voices for the characters or taking turns reading, emphasizing the sound effects and even acting out the fight scenes (Tikki especially liked acting out the romantic scenes solo and making Marinette giggle uncontrollably as she passionately kissed the air space in front of her own tiny face).

Marinette hadn't realized just how much more time she was spending watching anime and reading (or at least listening to) manga until a normal morning of class was about to start.

She had gotten there early for a change! Not planned, Tikki had simply set her phone alarm for earlier while she slept in an attempt to get her holder to class on time for a change. It worked, though Marinette realized what had happened the moment she burst through the classroom door. She had been scowling at her purse every few moments while idly sketching at her desk since then.

Her anger at her clever kwami dissipated however, when a certain blond boy waltzed into the room with the grace and energy of a gazelle. She couldn't help the love sick sigh that escaped her as he made his way to his desk, a small smile on his lips growing into a full grin as his eyes met hers.

"Good morning, Marinette!" His voice was sunbeams and she wanted to curl up in it and take a cat nap.

"G-good morning Daydreaming. I mean Adrien. Sorry.. I was daydreaming. Not that you're not a daydream because you are! Not, I mean. You're just a regular dream. I mean person. I... what I meant was... um..." Marinette wished more than anything else in that moment that the desk would turn into a black hole and suck her I to it.

Until she heard Adrien laughing softly. Until she saw the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. Until she heard his next words to her...

"I'm sorry for laughing, Marinette. I promise I'm not laughing at you, though. Not exactly anyway... it's just... you tend to get flustered like this sometimes and while I usually just pretend I don't notice so you don't get embarrassed, I... I honestly think it's adorable. Like... utterly ridiculously freaking cute and I had to tell you. I... I hope you don't mind me saying that." His voice had gotten quieter towards the end, his eyes glued to the sketchbook on Marinette's desk, his right hand rubbing the back of his neck, and his cheeks lightly flushed with pink.

Marinette had noticed all of this, somehow, and was staring at him in mild shock, eyes wide and unable to close her jaw for a moment.

When she came back to her senses (debatable), the first thing she did was clutch her chest dramatically and whisper just loudly enough for Adrien to hear: "doki doki"

...

...

Shocked green eyes snapped to mortified blue ones.

Marinette slapped a hand over her mouth in horror.

Adrien grinned like a kid who was given free reign in a candy shop.

Before he could stop her, however, Marinette stood up and shot to the classroom door, nearly colliding with a few classmates making their way in. She didn't return until the bell rang and steadfastly avoided Adrien's gaze whenever he turned around in his seat.

____

Shortly before class was supposed to get out, there was a muffled commotion from down the road.

Great. Akuma. Marinette made a quick request to use the bathroom, leaping out of her seat before the teacher could respond. She didn't notice Adrien leaving the classroom shortly after.

____

"Good job!" The superhero duo bumped fists after the miraculous ladybugs had cleaned up the mess made by the akuma. It had thankfully been a quick one. Ladybug had seemed a bit preoccupied during the battle. Chat didn't seem to mind, though. In fact... he looked quite pleased with himself. Ladybug raised an eyebrow at him.

"You're in a good mood today, kitty." She smiled at the smirk on his face, happy to have something else to think about other than her embarrassing blunder in the classroom earlier...

"Is it that obvious? Heh. I guess I am." Chat Noir searched Ladybug's face, wanting to tell her what happened but only if she genuinely wanted to hear about it. She tilted her face towards him and smiled expectantly. Good enough for him!

"So, uh... today, um. Do you read manga?"

Ladybug frowned in confusion. "Yeah? But... what does that have to do wi-"

Chat waved his hands in a mildly impatient gesture. "Getting there, just... context will help. So! I got to class and there was one person there already. This girl... I... I've been kinda crushing on her for a while..."

Ladybug felt something tighten in her chest at that, but dutifully chose to ignore it. She was happy he had finally started moving on. She was proud of him. This girl in his class was probably no where near as cool as her anyway. Wait, what? Ladybug shook her head to rid the intrusive thoughts and paid attention to her partner again.

"... she's always been like that around me but I thought it was because she hated me at first, or just felt uncomfortable because I'm fam- er... familiar or uh... something." Chat cleared his throat awkwardly. Ladybug gave him a look that seemed to be encouraging him to continue though her smile seemed a bit... off.

"Anyway. So today I say good morning to her and she starts fumbling over her words. They seemed so... I dunno... She kept accidentally calling me a dream, a daydream actually... and I just... I started laughing because it was sooooo cuuuute!" Chat had brought his closed fists to rest under his chin and his eyes glazed over at the memory of Marinette's earlier word salad.

Ladybug's brain was buzzing. It was driving her nuts. She knew what it was but it couldn't be... so that meant it wasn't. Right? Isn't that how things work? Oh, he's still talking. About that girl. Who just so happens to have done the same thing she did this morning. Funny thing, coincidences.

"... she ACTUALLY SAID 'doki doki'!! Can you believe it? Like... her eyes could have literally had hearts in them. There's no way I misinterpreted that, right? She likes me, right?? I mean... it makes sense, all the times she got flustered. It wasn't because she doesn't like me after all!!"

Chat had started pacing in a circle around what apparently was a lifelike statue of Ladybug, seemingly unaware of the switch.

"She ran out of the room right after and then left right before the akuma so I haven't had a chance to talk to her since, but I think, no wait, I KNOW she likes me and I want to ask her out and now I won't feel awkward asking to marathon an anime or something because she obviously likes that kind of thing too and I can't believe I didn't know that about her before but now I DO know and that means I can... um.... Ladybug?"

He stopped and stood directly in front of Ladybug, a look of concern and mild embarrassment on his features. Ladybug's eyes that had appeared to be staring into a void snapped to his. Her mouth clicked shut. Her face blossomed into a deep blush and she took two giant steps back from Chat, stumbling slightly. It was Chat's turn to frown in confusion.

"Ladybug, what's wrong?"

"N-nothing. I have to fo gome. Go home.

Chat's eyes narrowed. "Your school is already out for the day?"

"Yes" she lied. "Shirt day today."

"Um... okay? You mean short?"

"That's what I said."

Chat scratched the top of his head between the cat ears. Ladybug was acting really strange... it's almost like she's... no. It can't be. Can it?

"Ladybug... are you...."

"Chat..." It was a warning. But Chat Noir had to know....

"Are you jealous?!"

__________

Shall I continue this or leave it as a one shot?

[lizzy-williams]

𝘧𝘭𝘢𝘮𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 2

🔥Warnings: slight angst, drug references, drug dealing, language.

🦎Theme: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9tC-FOXioDo

In Your Arms by Sunbeam Sound Machine

((He do be vibin tho))

masterlist

𝘠𝘖𝘜 𝘏𝘈𝘋 𝘉𝘌𝘌𝘕 taking care of Newt for weeks now after he was released from the burn unit, his burns getting better slowly, soon enough turning into scars. You took over his drug dealings, partly because Newt didn’t have the strength, but mostly because he didn’t want to scare away customers from the product. 

But there was something that Newt insisted on having. He wanted to have the apartment as hot as hell, heaters in every corner of his place. Without the heaters, he would say he was freezing, and it would bother him enough to where he wouldn’t sleep. 

You were getting used to the intense heat that went through Newt’s apartment. He was excited about it, mainly because it was an excuse for you to wear less clothing.

You were usually the one to tend his wounds, and take care of him. You ended up just living with him.

Finally, after 4 long weeks of restless nights and illegal transactions, he was finally fully healed, the burns and blisters turning into smoothed over scars. But he looked similar to two-face from batman. 

But even after he was healed, he insisted on keeping the heaters on, and you didn’t mind. What happened to him would most likely cause PTSD, so whatever made him comfortable was fine with you. 

You pulled up to the apartment building, people outside enjoying the nice weather. It was an especially warm day in Woodmere, Louisiana that day. You waved to a few people that waved your way as you brought the groceries up the stairs. Of course, it was nothing substantial. 

Cups of noodles, hot chocolate, waffle mix, anything and everything warm or served hot. That’s what he liked. But it was also nice for you to also get out, so you didn’t get heatstroke, but your body was slowly getting more used to it. 

You walked to the door, the black one with a white painting of a newt on it, giving the secret knock. Seconds later the door opened, stopped by the chain lock. As you caught a glimpse of his face, his eyes went soft. The door closed and was reopened. 

“Anyone follow you?” he asked, the heat brushing over your body like a hairdryer as I entered. 

He looked out the doorframe, closing the door once again, locking every lock. You went into the kitchen, setting the bags down, Newt follows, the red silhouettes, and shadows covering the area. 

“Heard from your cousin lately?” you asked, knowing he followed you. 

“Yeah, I gave her some more product. She’s got some good connections.” he leaned up against the kitchen’s doorframe. 

“That’s good,” you smiled, putting the groceries away, “How you feelin’?” you asked, looking back at him.

“Good. But I would be better if you stayed here for the rest of the night,” he sighed. 

“Newt, honey, you know that I gotta go into work today,”

“But it’s not like you need the money,” he objected, walking closer to you, now leaning against the counter. 

“I know...,” you thought about it. You really didn’t need to. He was right, “I guess I could just...,” you turned to him, your body inches from his, “Call in sick...” as he smiled at your words.

“Give me a kiss...,” he muttered, pulling you closer, his arms pulling you by your waist closer to him. 

You were only recently starting to kiss him again, but the burns didn’t bother you. You were happy to be able to touch him... love him, be close to him. Hell, even sleep in the same bed. 

“Mario Kart?”

“Hell yes,” you responded, dragging him to the couch. 

******

After you played Mario Kart, you ended up watching a few movies. You eventually ended up laying together on the couch, his arms wrapped around you from behind you as you heard him dozing off. 

You shifted more towards him. You missed this. Being able to touch him, kiss him. You also loved getting closer with Robin, you two actually spent more time together. 

You did research while he was recovering, and actually found out what was going on, and the technical name for what happened with Newt... what his “superpower” was. Spontaneous combustion. Otherwise known as extreme heat thermoregulation. 

You couldn’t explain it. But you wouldn’t dare go to anyone professional. He would test on him, and then you’d never see him again. And you didn’t think you could bare that. 

“Newt? You still up?” you muttered.

After a few seconds without a response, you sighed, picking up his scarred hand, tracing over the bumps and cracks of the scars. Normally with third-degree burns all over the body, it would take close to a lifetime to heal all the burns. But at least the pull kinda saved him from that. And you were somewhat thankful. 

But you couldn’t help but want to try it for yourself... what was your power? Newt said it himself... everyone was different. But after he got burned, he also told you one of the deadly side effects... which was that one hit would kill you. But on the other hand... superpowers. 

You slowly got up, doing your best not to wake your boyfriend as you did. You were never really one to try the product. You only ever did weed. Heavy drugs were a no-go. Were these pills really drugs though? There were no laws against them yet, and yes they were lethal, but so are knives, and they weren’t illegal because everyone has some in their home. 

You went into the back room, jumping over the large hole in the middle of the floor. You opened the door to the backdoor, making eye contact with the freezer. That’s where we kept the pills that were for you two, just in case something went wrong. 

You took a frozen pizza box, shaking a case of the pill into your hand, putting the box back in the freezer, closing it. You opened the case, taking the pill between your fingers, looking at it. 

“Curiosity killed the cat,” you joked to nobody but yourself. 

You twisted it, flinching back as you did. Your nerves were racing. It was like the first time you were about to smoke weed. You were about to be introduced to a whole new way to look at things.

You took a deep breath in, putting it between your teeth. Here we go.

“STOP!” you heard Newt yell from the end of the hallway, making direct eye contact with you, “Don’t fucking move.”

Now or never.

You suddenly downed it, the feeling of the pill going down your throat making you shiver as Newt raced towards you. 

You began to twitch and convulse just like Newt did when he took Power. You felt your insides burn and clench, the most mind-splitting headache you had ever had take over your brain. 

“FUCK!” You yelled out in pain. 

But soon the pain died down to a dull ache as your head started to fill with words that weren’t your own. 

“Fuck, what did it do to her,” you heard Newt’s voice say and you looked over, shocked to find that his lips weren’t moving.

“What?”

“Fuck, I can’t tell what her power is... at least she didn’t die. Thank fuck, I couldn’t stand losing her” you watched in awe. 

You were telekinetic. 

“Babe... I can hear you...”

“I didn’t say anything...?”

“No, no,” you muttered, walking over to him, putting your hands on his face, “I can hear you...” 

“What the fuck are you talking about, baby?” 

“Think of something. Anything. Doesn’t matter what it is, just something.” you demanded, Newt skeptical but compliant. 

“Weed. Robin. You.” 

“Aw, that’s really sweet,” you commented.

“Holy shit, you read minds!!” he exclaimed, pulling you in, hugging you, “You’re gonna be okay!” 

“Yeah, yeah I am,” you laughed.

“Thank fuck, thank fuck, thank fuck” he repeated in his head over and over and over. 

“This could actually be... really useful,” he said, out loud, making you look up at him in confusion. 

“How so?”

“Well, we’re drug dealers. It would be really useful to see what our customers are thinking. It would also be easier to tell a cop from a druggie. We could really use this...,” 

“Alrighty then. Whatever you say, captain,”

******

You had been using the pills all week. And it was really starting to take a tole on your body. And the extreme heat that filled Newt’s apartment really wasn’t helping. 

You were now planted on the couch, taking as much Advil as you could, taking just at the suggested dose. 

“Hey, baby,” Newt said gently, bringing you a bowl of soup in the kitchen, setting it in your lap, “How you feelin?”

“Tired. Sick. Tired.” you grumbled after mumbling a ‘thank you’ for the soup. 

“We can give you some of my leftover pain-killers? Maybe those would help your head calm down.”

At this point, you were willing to try anything just to get rid of the throbbing of your head. You nodded quietly, gently rubbing your temples. Newt leaned over and gave you a kiss on your bare shoulder (seeing as you only had a bra and underwear on due to the extreme heat) and stood up, most likely to get the drugs. 

He soon returned, a glass full of water with ice and 2 pills, handing them to you. He then sat down on the couch with you, your body scooting over and placing a pillow on his lap before laying down your head, Newt beginning to watch the movie you had on for background noise, playing with your hair, gently gliding his hands over your scalp. His other hand was rubbing up and down your back, making you drowsy, the pain pills already starting to set in. 

“I love you, Newt,” you muttered. 

“I love you too, baby”

And with that, you began to fall asleep, comfortable in your lover’s arms. 

((Ahhaha, I love writing Newt stuff, I’m obsessed with Project Power, go watch it so you can get some of the references I hid in both part 1 and 2. I’ll continue to make more stuff on him, blurbs, and stuff. Some will be connected to this fanfic, some will not.))

[lost-your-memory]

Old friends, aliens and curiosities - Part I

Listen, I can’t stop thinking about this gifset made by @lonely-night in which H.G Wells (Warehouse 13) & Lena Luthor (CW Supergirl) are old friends and working together in the present to retrieve a curiosity (A ping, darling) meant to kill Lena. 

So this is VERY AU-ish and with a crossover no one knew we needed but well, we do. Here’s the first part (it covers the two first gifs, I think), I’m gonna try to write the whole thing.

---

“Uh, I’m really sorry to disturb you Miss Luthor but … You have a … an unexpected visitor.”

Jess’ uneasiness can be felt through her clipped tone and the slight pauses she marks in between her words. It’s so strong that even the disembodiment caused by the interphone doesn’t mask it. 

Lena looks up from the blueprints she’s been studying for the best part of the last hour and frowns. 

She’s specifically left instructions not to interrupt her under any excuse, not unless it was a matter of life or death and until today, Jess has never, not even once, disobeyed her. She’s always been nothing but an exceptional assistant, excellent at keeping Lena’s days smooth and organised amidst the ordinary chaos of everything going on in her life. 

Lena glances at the TV playing in a corner of her office and sees Supergirl displayed on the screen, apparently busy dealing with the newest menace in town. Besides, Jess knows better than to allow Kara in nowadays.

Lena sighs and rolls her shoulders, a vain attempt at getting rid of the tension permanently settled in her muscles and at the base of her neck. 

“What is it, Jess?” Lena asks, a finger on the button of the interphone. 

She doesn’t want to sound too short but really, she’s getting tired of interacting with people. She’s never been good at it but it’s been even worse lately, with the amount of betrayal she had to endure.

There’s a beat on the line before Jess’s voice echo again. 

“The woman says her name is … H. G. Wells?” 

Another voice instantly jumps on the line, thick with a British accent Lena hasn’t head in years. Centuries even.

“Oh for fuck’s sake! This is ridiculous.” 

The doors to her office suddenly open wide and Helena Wells strides in with a trademark smirk on her lips and a knowing gleam in her dark eyes. 

“Lena Luthor, long time no see!” Helena greets, walking around the office as if it was hers.

Jess stands in the doorframe, looking utterly confused and at a loss as to what to do. Lena doesn’t blame her, Helena Wells often had that effect on people.

“It’s alright Jess, I’ll deal with it. Thank you,” Lena smiles at her assistant, who only hesitate for a handful of seconds before nodding, closing the doors in her way out. 

Lena sighs again and swirls her chair toward her open bay windows.

“You’re done quite alright for yourself, Lee,” Helena appraises from her spot on the balcony. “I always knew you’d make an excellent inventor.” 

The way the sun hits her hair causes silver reflections to sparkle and glow and her fair skin looks a little out of place in this sunlight but her smile is wide and genuine. She looks incredibly good for someone who’s been bronzed for centuries, Lena thinks. 

“Thankfully, this century is a little kinder to woman with ideas,” Lena retorts, keeping her voice neutral and clipped. “Not by much, mind me, but it’s still an improvement from the outrageous and blatant misogyny of our time …” 

“I’ve seen your president, I’m not entirely convinced,” Helena replies without missing a beat. She comes back into the office and instinctively walks toward the liquor cabinet. “Drink?”

“It’s eleven in the morning …” Lena shakes her head, annoyed by how at ease Helena seems to be in her office. 

“Like that has stopped you before,” Helena chuckles and the low sound makes Lena’s skin tingle with memories. 

Images of a buried past flash in front of her eyes, a man in tweed with a bowler hat and an awe-shuck attitude. The echo of a spontaneous laughter. A living room filled with books and leather couches and armchairs. A mischievous child with remarkable wits and a smile that looked a lot like Helena’s. 

Lena shakes her head and glares at her visitor. “Let’s cut the chase, shall we? To what do I owe this unexpected and quite frankly, not so welcome visit?” 

Helena’s smile fades. For a moment, she focuses on making her tumbler swirl in her hand, slow and steady. The amber catches sunbeams sometimes and it sends bright sparkles of light all across the room, a myriad of lively tiny dots with a honey-ish glow. 

“We used to be … friends,” Helena eventually says, nostalgia lining her voice. “The best of friends even, once upon a time.”

Lena doesn’t reply, she simply stares and waits. 

The past has brought her nothing but pain, ever since she got debronzed, and she doesn’t want to reminisce it. 

Helena seems to understand that because she doesn’t add anything. 

Instead, she comes to sit in one of the chairs in front of Lena’s desk. Her eyes are dark but Lena still knows how to read them, even after all that time. She sees the loss, the regrets and the tentative affection in the soulful brown irises, the obnoxious heaviness of a life filled with painful memories. 

Lena sighs and nods, offering a smile to her friend. She’s never been able to stay mad at Helena, despite everything they’ve been through.  

“Believe it or not, it’s actually lovely to see you again, Lee,” Helena smiles in return. It’s a little tentative but the brown of her eyes lit up, shining with hope and joy. “I should have … reached out sooner.”

Lena chuckles and shakes her head before arching a brow.

“I’m guessing you’ve been busy with all sort of evil plans, which is what prevented you from reaching out to your oldest friend …” 

“You’re not too far off, actually,” Helena chuckles again but something in the way the muscles of her jaw move tells Lena she’s been spot on. “However, I … calmed down. I let go of most of my anger and desire for revenges and now I’m …”

Helena pauses and tilts her head, seemingly looking for her words. Lena knows better than to speak so she waits.

“I’m not exactly happy nor am I in peace, but … I’m at ease with myself. I’m back at working for the warehouse, it provides me with a purpose and keeps me sane.”   

Lena lets out a dry laugh at that.

“Did you just say that working for the warehouse keeps you sane? Who are you and what have you done with Helena Georges Wells?”

Helena throws her an unamused look but the smirk on her lips is smug. 

It’s familiar and comfortable, it almost feels like no time has passed since they used to work for Warehouse 12 together. Lena finds herself relaxing a little more against the back of her chair.

“You’re one to talk, what happened to Agent Luthor, anarchist extraordinary?” Helena retorts, waving a hand around the office. “You used to hate every form of government, warehouse included, and now you basically supply every single one of them with tech weapons.”

Lena shrugs.

“People change, don’t they? Beside … that way I know exactly what kind of weapons end up in our government’s hands and I can make sure it’s as safe as possible ...” 

“Hm, that’s one twisted point of view,” Helena arches an unimpressed brow but there’s another smile tugging at the corner of her lips, one Lena recognise as praise. She’s seen it on Helena before, usually reserved for Christina or even Wolcott but, in rarer occurrences, it’s been directed at her too.   

“Look at us. Sharing anecdotes about our lives as if no times has passed …” Lena smiles and then her voice soften. 

“It’s been a long time, Helena. I’m … happy to see you too.”   

That earns her a bright, wide smile. 

For a brief moment, it’s like they’re back to that happier time they don’t really talk about, one where the echo of a laughter only them can remember never fades.

[ckret2]

No Tongue, No Teeth

If Rodan and Ghidorah are supposed to be courting each other, then it’s high time that Rodan explain to this big clueless alien what exactly that means on Earth.

And meanwhile, the Monarch scientists responsible for translating titan language are driving themselves crazy trying to figure out what the hell Rodan and Ghidorah are talking about.

This is part of an ongoing series of Rodorah one-shots. If you don’t want to read the others, all you need to know is: Ghidorah doesn’t speak any Earth languages so Rodan’s teaching them, and at this point they’re making an A in “creative uses for limited vocabulary” but a C+ in grammar; and Rodan’s never heard the word “Rodan” before and considers himself Nido. Links to the other fics are in the source at the bottom of this post.

###

"Look at them." Xochitl pressed her fingertip to a screen displaying a live feed from one of the many cameras Monarch had trained on the volcano. It was barely past dawn, with reddish sunbeams breaking weakly through patchy morning rainclouds—it had been raining since Rodan and Ghidorah had come home yesterday—and the two titans were sitting together in a narrow valley between the eastern side of el Nido del Demonio volcano and the neighboring hill. Rodan was chattering steadily to Ghidorah, pausing to shake off the morning drizzle every once in a while, and Ghidorah only occasionally cut in with questions or requests for clarification. "They've never been this chatty. Or this... this incomprehensible. It's like they're speaking a completely different language."

Arturo decided not to point out to her that they were.

"I can't believe it." Xochitl propped her elbows on her wobbly desk and planted her face in her hands. "Days they spend in the Antarctic circle. And when they come back, I can't understand a thing they're saying."

Arturo patted her shoulder sympathetically. This had the effect of causing her to crumple down to the desk, hiding her face in her arms in despair.

Dr. Xochitl Flores Rosales was the primary mind behind “lenguaje de los pájaros titánicos (para principiantes),” the YouTube channel produced by Outpost 56-B—which consisted of a trio of trailers at the edge of the volcanic rock on the outskirts of Rodan's territory. For weeks now, she and the rest of 56-B had been studiously recording every single squawk and trill that came out of Rodan and Ghidorah's mouths as Rodan painstakingly—and with copious easy-to-follow pantomime—taught Ghidorah his language. She'd been stitching videos together out of footage they were taking of the titans from dozens of different angles, editing and subtitling every word between them, and then releasing the videos to the public. (To the consternation of Monarch HQ, who hadn't approved a project utilizing footage that they thought of as Monarch property.)

Until now several days ago, Outpost 56-B had been riding high, buoyed by the explosive popularity of their real-time language lessons and their Monarch-unauthorized Twitter account documenting the odd-but-oddly-harmless day-to-day activities of Isla de Mara's two resident titans. Even the false alarm from several days ago had ended happily: after a long night spent sending very serious updates to the official Monarch HQ Twitter account about the unexpected skirmish between Rodan and Ghidorah, the resulting hurricane-wreathed chase scene through the Atlantic down to Antarctica, and the subsequent far more vicious fight, it had been a relief to receive pictures from the Antarctic Outpost 32-B skeleton crew showing Rodan and Ghidorah cuddling up against each other like nothing had happened. 56-B had promptly added an impressive array of heart emojis to the pictures, added a caption celebrating that the lovers' spat hadn't ended in an apocalypse, and posted it to their very unofficial Monarch Outpost 56-B Twitter account.

(Monarch HQ, again, asked them not to refer to Rodan and Ghidorah as a romantic couple, even as a running joke for their Twitter audience, due to the fact that they had no idea what was really going on between Isla de Mara's two titans; and until they saw evidence that the titans were actually some sort of mating pair, 56-B was deeply abusing the reputation of scientific authority that came from the name "Monarch" by referring to them like they were. 56-B responded by pointing out that half the times Godzilla was mentioned on the official Monarch Twitter account, Dr. Russell's totally unproven "alpha" label was still getting flung around, despite the fact that last week Godzilla had sat on a beach for six hours trying to untangle a fishing net from his dorsal plates while Kraken occasionally snuck up behind him to re-tangle the net.)

No apocalypse had happened. 56-B's personal favorite soap opera couple had come back from the brink of a breakup, gone on a cruise together, and literally cuddled for warmth. Rodan, newly-adopted pride of Tamaulipas, had done what no other titan had done thus far by defeating Ghidorah in single combat. And now they'd come back to Rodan's nest with naught but a light summer rain to disturb the weather. This should have been a happy homecoming.

But while the two titans in question had spent the last few days fighting/chilling in Antartica, riding on a supercarrier, and setting off a goddamn volcano on Bouvet Island, the 32-B skeleton crew had sent absolutely useless videos that didn't help the 56-B crew understand a single thing Rodan and Ghidorah were saying. They'd barely managed to pick out a couple of new words when the wind was right. Xochitl had spent several hours straight furiously rewatching footage from a Monarch observation ship, palms pressing her headphones to her head, volume turned up to maximum, staring at her laptop with her eyes two inches from the screen, trying desperately to lipread two creatures that didn't have lips to read as Rodan dropped rocks one after another in front of Ghidorah and she knew he was teaching him to count, dammit! She KNEW he was! And she couldn't hear the numbers!

If the U.S. Navy didn't turn over the footage they'd recorded while Ghidorah had been lounging on their supercarrier, she was taking a rowboat to Washington D.C. and challenging Admiral Stenz to a fistfight.

So here Xochitl was. On the verge of pulling out her hair because she no longer understood a damn thing coming out of their mouths. This was sobering news for “lenguaje de los pájaros titánicos (para principiantes).”

"Rodan's even changed the name he's calling Ghidorah," she grumbled. "Just slightly. But you can hear the difference if you compare recordings. What does it mean?"

"Maybe it's a rank thing?" Arturo suggested. "Since he beat him in a fight?"

"Shut up. That's what Russell would say." She sighed heavily, propped her chin on the desk, and put her headphones back on. "Okay. Shit. I'm going to figure out what they're talking about if it kills me."

"Good luck," Arturo said solemnly.

"At least Rodan's explaining new words again," Xochitl muttered. "He's usually easier to understand when he's explaining new words. Damn."

"What's he teaching now?" Arturo asked.

"Body parts," Xochitl said. She watched dully, copied the way Rodan stuck out his tongue, and frowned. "I think he's telling Ghidorah not to lick him?"

Arturo considered that. "Okay," he said. "That's reasonable. I wouldn't want Ghidorah to lick me either."

###

"Chest," Nido said, puffing his chest out demonstratively—and inadvertently showing off the newest golden face print that the golden ones had left on him. (It was a fabulous bit of decoration, he thought.) The golden ones dutifully echoed the new word. "Back." He turned. "Wings," spread wide. "Tail," wiggled.

"Small tail," the golden ones' left head added unhelpfully.

Nido gave him an exasperated look���well, they couldn't all have a million miles of spines hanging off their asses, could they?—but grudgingly conceded, "Small tail." He turned back around, wiggled his feet, then his hands, "Talons. Claws."

They repeated the new words, then waited attentively for whatever he said next.

"No touching," Nido said.

Their tails drooped.

"Touching is after courting," Nido said. "Do you understand?"

"Yes," they said. One of the voices in that chorus sounded gloomy. 

"Before courting: head and neck." He kicked a couple of rocks at the appropriate anatomy on the golden ones, since compared to them he didn't have much to speak of in the way of a neck. "Touching head and neck is okay. Not body."

"Is body touches head okay?"

Nido thought about that. He'd never considered that arrangement before. He tried to imagine a wing rubbing his head, and said, "No. Not okay."

"Is head touches body?"

Technically, in proper courting, that was a no-no too. But he was really getting to like the way that they left golden imprints in his armor when they pressed into him just after he emerged from a lava bath, and he didn't want to say no to that. "Sssometimes."

"What is 'sometimes'?"

"Between yes and no?" Nido tried.

The golden ones gave him a collection of perplexed/affronted looks. "'Maybe' is between yes and no," the right one reminded him.

With a careful mask of mildly curious indifference, the middle one asked, "'Sometimes' is between maybe and yes?"

"Is 'probably,'" the left one supplied, and then dodged as the middle one snapped halfheartedly at his horns.

"No, no, uh..." Nido tried to think of another way to illustrate the word to them. "Sometimes, the sky is raining; sometimes, the sky is sunny."

"'Sunny'?"

"Sunny! You know 'sun'. Sunny is 'the sun is here.'"

The golden ones considered that, then made a satisfied noise.

They weren't supposed to be talking about the weather. Nido tried to remember what the original question had been.

Right! Boundaries! "And no tongue," he stuck his out demonstratively, "and no teeth." He didn't really have teeth to demonstrate that with, so he clacked his beak a couple of times and hoped they'd figure it out from context.

"After courting?"

"No! Not before or after. No tongue, no teeth."

Middle and right immediately looked at left head. Lefty reared up, looked at Nido with the deepest of offense, and said, "Tongue tastes you."

Nido hopped up to the golden ones, made deep, soulful eye contact with each of them, and said, calmly but passionately, "I want you to not taste me."

Lefty made a displeased noise.

"Do you understand?"

They considered the question. "What is 'want'?" the right one asked. The other two, sensing an opportunity, immediately piped up: "What is 'not'?" "What 'taste'?"

Oh, they were comedians now. He fluttered up, brandishing his talons at their faces. They backed off with only one stray snap at his feet, making a rumbling noise low in their throats that was probably either a death threat or a sound of amusement. Nido was going to take his chances that it was the latter.

He landed a bit up his nest's slope. "No tongue, no teeth," he repeated. Then, considering what little he instinctively knew about mating, amended himself: "Maybe teeth, after courting. Sometimes. No tongue. Do you understand?"

"Yes!"

"Good!" So there was one topic covered. What next?

They'd been up since long before dawn discussing courtship—which Nido had attempted to convey to the golden ones was the process of getting from "maybe love later" to "yes love now"—and, specifically, all the rules and rituals that went with courtship; and since Nido was the winner of the most recent fight to determine whether they were going to continue courting, that made Nido the one in charge of deciding the exact way they were going to handle this.

He'd like to think the rules he'd laid down so far weren't tyrannical. Some people, he knew, went into courtship with a list of rigid standards and demands that they required any prospective partners to meet. Nido wasn't interested in any of that. He'd always thought that, when there was finally someone else around to court, he'd let his suitor do whatever they wanted to demonstrate what kind of mate they would be. It made more sense to him than commanding them to fit into Nido's preconceived notions. If he'd been sticking to some list of standards he'd developed without having ever courted before, would he be entertaining a courtship from a three-headed gold-plated alien? No, he would not, and his life would be poorer for it. Preconceived notions could get stuffed. Nido was going to be lax about the rules.

He just needed to be sure that the golden ones weren't going to, like, make him feel like they were about to eat him. He figured that was a very reasonable baseline level of trust for any healthy relationship.

They'd started with nests. It was normal to hang out at the reigning champion's nest, and honestly kinda weird to hang out at the loser's nest; but considering that the golden ones didn't have a nest, Nido was going to say it was understandable that they'd been hanging out at Nido's instead. And now that he'd won their most recent fight, it actually made sense for them to hang out at Nido's place. If the golden ones wanted to choose their own nest and then won a fight, then Nido would be expected to visit their place.

(He didn't tell them that they shouldn't choose an Antarctic volcano for their nest—he did, after all, want to see what they were actually like, not demand that they change their behavior to impress him. But privately, he thought that if they did choose one in Antarctica, that was going to be a pretty strong indicator that they were going to have irreconcilable differences.)

And they'd covered fights. They could each challenge the other to a fight at any time. The most recent loser had the right to turn down challenges; but the reigning champion did not. (Some people considered accepting a challenge mandatory no matter what. While Nido thought that in an ideal world, everyone ought to be ready to throw down at all times, he had made enough friends who didn't like fighting to recognize the value of allowing people the option to say no. But he thought a current winner really had no excuse to refuse a challenge to their position.) Fights were called when one combatant hit the ground, yielded, or fled.

Because the current winner was the combatant who'd recently proven to be the more impressive potential partner, they were therefore the one who needed to be impressed by the other combatant. Consequently, the winner had the right to issue (non-combat) challenges to the current loser and to set the terms of courtship. The winner also got to lead the loser around if they decided to go out on any flights together, and—of course—they hung out at the winner's nest. Now, the loser didn't have to get dragged out on any flights if they didn't want to go. They were allowed to turn down requests to go out. But most didn't because usually, if the loser was courting the winner, it was because they actually wanted to spend time with the winner, right?

And now, after a quick lesson on words for body parts, they'd covered physical boundaries—which would hopefully prevent the golden ones from coiling around him like a hungry sea serpent as a sign of affection again—so what was next? They'd hit the most important topics, Nido felt. At this point he didn't really have any rules, per de. But maybe the golden ones would appreciate an overview of the kinds of things that normally came up during courting? Since Nido had no idea what kind of alien frame of reference they were coming from? He could touch on common things like dancing, offering gifts, kidnapping and murdering each other's enemies, and appropriate grooming behavior. Or maybe he should call it a morning and let them figure out their own way. Not that he wanted to leave them completely floundering—

"Is fighting touches body okay?"

Oh, they had another question. "Fighting is different."

"What is 'different'?"

Nido opened his beak, realized he had no idea how to concisely explain the idea of "different" with the words they had available, and decided to skip that question for now. "Yes, touching during fighting is okay—"

"We challenge winner."

"What?"

With a squawk, Nido was tackled by a hundred forty thousand tons of static-charged gold.

He wildly slashed his talons at their abdomen until they rolled off of him, cackling madly all the while.

Oh, he liked them.

He liked them a lot.

They'd barely gotten back on their feet and wings before he launched himself straight at them, claws aimed for their throats.

###

Arturo had been put in charge of both the camera feeds monitoring the tussling titans and the big red "call the Armada de México for help" button while Xochitl pored over the mountain of footage they'd collected that morning, listening to sentences over and over as she picked out new words and phrases.

"Any luck?" Arturo asked.

"Mmr," Xochitl said distractedly.

He gave her a moment. Then he tried again: "Any luck figuring out what they're doing?"

"What?" Xochitl finally looked over at Arturo.

He gestured at the camera feeds. "Is this just a little argument, or should—" He was interrupted by a fractured bolt of lightning lancing down the side of the volcano and a crack of thunder that rattled their furniture. "Should we be calling for help?"

"Oh. Yeah, no, no they're fine. Don't worry about them."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah." She tapped a finger on her headphones. "They're playing."

"Oh." Arturo paused. He looked back at the camera feeds. Ghidorah had one set of teeth latched into Rodan's shoulder while Rodan tried to claw through his chest. Arturo looked at Xochitl again. "Sorry, what?"

"It's a—I think it's a ritual? Rodan's started using way more complicated grammar—the winner gets, uh... social benefits. Picking date night destinations and the like."

"Oh." Arturo looked at the camera feeds again. In his opinion, anyone who fought like that over a date night ought to be well past breaking up and on to filing for a restraining order, but— "Hold on. 'Date night'? Like joking-around-on-Twitter 'date night,' or like actually...?"

"They keep using a handful of words they obviously worked out when we weren't recording that I haven't definitively translated yet," Xochitl said, "and—they're discussing some kind of social rules—Rodan defined the word for whatever this rule system is using one of the words we don't have. But, from the context, the most reasonable translation that fits that context is that he's laying down dating rules."

Arturo's jaw dropped. "You're serious? So that's—" the island rumbled as somebody got knocked over, "that's actual titan dating?"

Xochitl tipped back her chair, arms crossed triumphantly. "Dr. Rodan-fought-Ghidorah-to-steal-his-'rival-alpha'-title Russell can suck my entire ass."

A particularly heavy thud knocked over Xochitl's chair. "Shit."

###

Nido was pretty sure that the golden ones' faces just weren't built to properly make shit-eating grins. Nevertheless, as Nido flopped back first into his volcano and let the lava ooze soothingly into his new bite wounds, he could feel them exuding the aura of a shit-eating grin. "What."

"We win."

"No!" Nido flailed back upright. "You do not!"

"Do," they insisted. "We fight. You fall. We are winner." They took turns with the sentences—which made their accent much thicker than when they traded off with the syllables each was best at pronouncing, but incalculably increased their smugness.

"Not a fight!"

Some of their smugness dissipated as they gave him a wary look. "What?"

"A fight in the sky is a fight! A fight on the ground—" he dismissively flicked a chunk of rubble from the hive the humans had built over the top of his crater, sending it bouncing and clattering down the side of the volcano, "is not a fight. You're not a winner if you don't win." With the last word, he raised his wings, pantomiming flying, reminding the golden ones that that was the other definition of the word: you're not a winner if you don't fly.

"You—! You are—!" The golden ones stopped there, apparently unable to conjure up a word that illustrated exactly what they thought of Nido. They were making that low, deep, rumbling noise that he'd determined was either a threat or a laugh. 

"Cheater?" he offered them gleefully. "Liar? Fraud? Hustler?"

They climbed to the edge of the crater, loomed over Nido, and venomously hissed, "Insult."

Nido flopped back and cackled until he choked on his own lava.

They leaned over the crater and bunted his forehead so hard he momentarily saw stars. Now he was sure: they were laughing.

Somewhere southward, a couple of scientists at 56-B were adding a viciously cutesy photo filter to a shot of the bunt and posting it to Twitter.

###

(Replies/reblogs are welcome! Check the “source” link below for my masterlist of KOTM and Rodorah fics, as well as my AO3 and Ko-fi links.)

[spiteweaver]

previous | next

Atsushi was waiting for them on the stoop, having yet to gather the courage to knock. When the door swung open of its own accord, he rushed to fix his hair and smooth his travel cloak. Phantasos watched with equal parts amusement and concern. “Come from Aphaster?” he asked.

“Yes,” Atsushi replied breathlessly.

“Have fun with Carnelian?”

Atsushi’s anxious expression gave way to an annoyed frown. “You’re ten eons too young to be goading me, boy,” he warned. “Where’s Dreamweaver? It’s imperative that I speak with them.”

“Me ‘n Junior are all you’re gettin’,” Phantasos said. “Dede’s still recovering.”

“Really? A couple of...?”

“Watch it.”

Atsushi tutted. Clearly, this arrangement didn’t sit well with him, but Phantasos was prepared to insist. After a moment of looking put out, however, Atsushi relented. “Very well,” he said, “I’m only the messenger after all. It’s none of my concern who sees to this mess.”

“Is something wrong in Aphaster?” Junior asked, his voice high with panic. “I--I can fetch Telos and Zo--”

“No,” Atsushi said, “it’s Crucis.”

“Oh,” said Phantasos, “is that all?”

“What’s he done this time?” Junior sighed.

“I was on my way back from Aphaster,” Atsushi went on, “and I stopped by the observatory to inquire into an odd phenomenon I’d noticed out ‘round the nesting sites there. If Telos isn’t aware of it yet, she soon will be; it’s a funny bit of magic, I can’t quite describe it.

“Anyhow, I thought Crucis would have some idea as to what was causing it, so I sought his aid in the matter. But when I arrived, it became quite clear to me that he’d already begun his own research into it.”

“Clear how?” Phantasos asked.

“Strange magic?” Junior added. “Around nesting sites? Phantasos, do you think...?”

“Morpheus,” Phantasos concluded.

“I’ll let the two of you sort this out,” Atsushi said, turning with a jaunty wave. “I’m washing my hands of it. Crucis will be able to explain it better than I could; I may be an Arcanite, but I’ve never really understood all of that mumbo-jumbo.”

“You understood it well enough to nick a piece of the Seat,” Phantasos jeered.

Atsushi groaned. “Just go,” he said, “before I decide to nick a piece of your wicked little soul, you useless child.”

“Crucis!” Phantasos shouted. “Crucis, open up!”

There was a bang, the sound of glass shattering, and a quiet curse from inside the observatory. Phantasos and Junior shared a nervous glance. Crucis was meticulous with his equipment; whatever had happened must have put him in a bad way. Unfortunately, neither of them could open the door without Dreamweaver present--not unless they wanted to blow it to smithereens.

“Do you think we should...?” Junior made a vague gesture.

“Let’s wait,” Phantasos said. “I’d rather not piss him off any more than he probably already is.”

“Did Atsushi send you?” Crucis asked, his voice muffled through the thick, white walls of the dome. He cursed again, and a section of the wall slid open. “That rat,” he hissed, “I told him to keep his mouth shut.”

It was immediately apparent to Junior that something was very wrong. Crucis’ eyes had taken on a pale, glassy sheen, his pupils no longer visible, and he seemed to stare through the both of them, as if at something neither of them could see. Junior had seen this before, though only in books.

“Crucis,” he murmured, “have you been communing with--with them?”

“What?” Crucis looked irritated, a rare flicker of emotion turning his lips downward. “No, no, you know I gave that up ages ago. Get in here; you’ve come all this way, so I might as well finish spilling the beans. Godsdamned necromancers...never know when to...”

He led them into the observatory with faltering steps. His hands were outstretched, searching for obstacles, or something to lead him. Suddenly, with a gasp, Phantasos exclaimed, “You’re blind!”

“Temporarily,” Crucis assured, “only temporarily. At least, it should be temporary. The magic isn’t harmful to those it affects, but I was toying with it in ways it shouldn’t be toyed with, so I’m the outlier. With a bit of tweaking--”

“What did you do?” Junior asked, grasping Crucis gently by the elbow. “Crucis, you know better than to experiment with foreign magics! How many times must you learn this lesson?”

“My little sibling was born with pale eyes,” Phantasos said. Crucis winced at the accusing tone of his voice. “What--did--you--do?”

“It shouldn’t have affected your sibling,” Crucis mumbled. “It was only meant to affect me. But adjusting for my own power, the otherness of the magic, possible interference from the energies inherent to the Sunbeam Ruins, and potential leakage from the Seat...” He grimaced. “Yeah,” he said, “that’d do it.”

“The Seat’s leaking?!” Junior cried.

“Everything leaks,” Crucis replied, “you know that. It’s usually minor, nothing that could harm us or the environment--but I’m an Arcanite, and the magics I was testing seem to have originated in the Starfall Isles, so it’s possible some of that errant leakage found its way into my spells, thereby amplifying their area of effect.”

“All right...” Phantasos shouldered past Junior, and pushed Crucis down into the nearest chair rather unceremoniously. Junior started to protest, but wilted under Phantasos’ harsh glare. “Enough waffling around,” Phantasos spat, “tell us exactly what happened and what you were messing with, or I’m taking you straight to Lutia.”

“Go easy on me,” Crucis said, “I’m blind.”

“I like you, Crucis,” Phantasos growled, “but you know I’m not as patient as my parents--nor am I as merciful. I’d sell you to the Shade for one corn chip if it meant protecting this clan.”

“Phantasos,” Junior squeaked, “this--this isn’t how a king behaves--”

Crucis held up a hand. “He has every right to be angry,” he said. “I was reckless, and I’m sorry for that. I can assure you, though, that your sibling is in no danger. I’ve been observing this anomaly for weeks; I swear on my life, my blindness is a fluke, and the child will suffer no such ill effects.”

Phantasos gripped the arms of Crucis’ chair tightly. There was a nightmare inside of him, just the same as Dreamweaver, and Junior could see him warring with it. Tentatively, he reached out, and placed a consoling hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Morpheus is all right,” he said. “Isaiah said so, and now so has Crucis. They’re all right, Phantasos.”

“Yeah...” Phantasos’ shoulders slumped, and he leaned back, running his hands through his hair exasperatedly. “Yeah, ok,” he said, “you’re right. Sorry, Crucis; I didn’t mean to go all bad cop on you.”

“It’s fine,” Crucis insisted. “Family drives dragons mad. That’s why I don’t have one.”

“Except Xerxes,” Junior teased.

“So what are we dealing with?” Phantasos asked again. “You still haven’t explained what you were observing.”

“An anomaly,” Crucis replied, “in the magic around nesting sites. I first learned of it through my contacts in the Starfall Isles. Children there were hatching with strange eyes; paler, or darker, or far too many, or radiating pure Arcane energy. According to all the readings official investigations had yielded, these mutations caused no harm to those born with them, and did not alter their magic in any significant way.

“I thought it might be a natural consequence of living in the Isles; odd magic crops up there aplenty. Then I began noticing strange readings here in the Sunbeam Ruins that were eerily similar to those gathered in the Starfall Isles, so I launched my own investigation. Turns out, the anomaly has spread; I’d wager it’s affected every Flight by now.”

“What does that mean for us, though?” Phantasos pressed.

“Nothing,” Crucis said with a shrug. “We’ll just be seeing dragons with odd eyes from now on. If I had to guess, the anomaly is likely to evolve, leading to magical differences as well as physical, but I don’t predict anything harmful arising from it. Might see an uptick in seers, diviners, misaligned-mages, that sort of thing; nothing to worry about unless you’ve got a debilitating phobia of things with eyes where they shouldn’t be.”

“Is...?” Junior looked to Phantasos. “Is that really it?”

“That’s it,” Crucis said. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“What a lame first mission,” Phantasos complained. “I mean, I’m glad we aren’t all in mortal peril again, but I was hoping for something a little more exciting. I threatened to sell you to the Shade for one corn chip for nothing.”

“Well,” Crucis said, “if it helps, you might be pretty busy for the next couple of days. This is just a theory, but if your sibling was affected by my tinkering, others probably were as well. Actually, I’m working on a way to bottle the anomalous magic and bend it to the user’s will--”

“Crucis!” Junior chided. “Do you know what sort of panic this is going to cause?! You’re being too casual about this!”

“Dede’s gonna kill you,” Phantasos informed. Unlike Junior, he didn’t appear the least bit perturbed. In fact, he was smiling, in the same way Dreamweaver did when they were feeling spiteful. “Lutia’s gonna kill you.”

The color drained from Crucis’ face. He sank down in his chair, his unseeing eyes wide with unmasked fear. “Don’t tell her,” he pleaded.

“I won’t,” Phantasos replied, “but I can’t speak for my dede.”

[owowatsdiss]

Gays in Space

In light of recent troubles you may be asking yourself, "What the hell, can't I have one good thing?"

Well as a matter of fact,

you can.

Welcome to gays in space, a masterpost

~

Perhaps japan has stolen your heart and dyed your hair when you were thirteen, if so maybe Sailor Moon is right for you

I'll admit this probably isn't your introduction to sailor moon but you also didnt realize how incredibly gay it actually is.

Thats because for this you're going to have to be exceptionally careful about where you watch it.

The sailor moon on your tv as a kid had all the gay erased and told you they were cousins. With the right kind of japanese dub thats faithful to the original you get playful flirty quips and uncensored lesbian romance.

~

Perhaps you like to locally source your entertainment and only the freshest, indieist, content can brew your morning cup of joe, if so maybe what you need is On a Sunbeam

Words cannot describe how gay this is. Its only job is to be a lesbian romance in space and it is fucking acing it. This comic is beautiful and more importantly should get you that fix of positive gay space content you crave.

~

We've all gotten a plastic lightsaber as a child and subsequently broken it over the side of a tree, or at least I think we all have, lets not debate it too hard, point being what you need is some gays in Star Wars

~

Star Wars: Aftermath

Welcome to your new favorite book trilogy. Forget lord of the rings, hunger games is over, and for the love of fuck, burn those copies of fifty shades because I've got something better.

Thats right our man Sinjir is one of the main characters of this book and taking us on a gay journey through space while a bunch of assholes lose their shit about it.

Admittedly it takes until about book two to get to the level of gay you crave. But with the introduction of Conder we've got full on gay romance, gay tension, gay pinning, in star wars.

Now this is the first thing I've pointed you towards that isn't free, here's how youre gonna make it cheaper.

Check your local library. Maybe it's free for you. Who knows. Sit in barnes and noble and read it in it's entirety. What are they gonna do kick you out?(maybe)

If all else fails check your email and see if google play sent you five bucks off a book, which they do sometimes.(use the email search bar)

~

Another gay star wars book, sortof, From a Certain Point of View

From a Certain Point of View is a collection of 40 starwars related short storys and we care about exactly one of them.

MSE-6 and Men by Glen Weldon is a short story about a mouse droid capturing the love affair of a stormtrooper and an imperial officer.

It's cute, it's short, and near as I can tell it's the only star wars story that's sole focus is gay romance.

Now I probably wouldn't buy the whole book, for this one you've seriously just gotta head into a book store and read the part you're interested in.(not to say the book isn't good but alas the other 39 aren't gay related)

~

The Kotor series

A series of videogames taking place in the extended universe it's got space combat, space romance, and writing so sharp it could kill a man.

Kotor is a game series riddled with gay romance, but for this one you'll have to look up whichever one you're interested in and see what your gay romance options are. There are sooooo many choices. I actually can't list them all. Seriously look them up. In a world where you get maybe one token character on the side, here you'll have more gays then you can romance.

~

Perhaps you hate Star Wars, perhaps you're bummed out that the only videogames options mentioned involved my favorite laser space jesus, worry not because Mass Effect 3 is what you need

I've got only one thing I need to say about Mass Effect 3. Gay sex controversy. That is a real honest to god article. Shit my life is a gay sex controversy. Fucking iconic.

For this one yet again not really free.(for kotor games it depends.) But its also kind of an old game. So you'll find a used copy or maybe even pirate it.

~

Well you knew it was coming. Honestly shocked I managed to hold it back this long. So with all the casualness someone can recommend a webcomic longer than war and peace, let me tell you about Homestuck

It's beautiful guys. It's just literary perfection. I love everything about it. It's hilarious. It definitely understands life better than I do. The characters bounce off eachother and you can actually see the way they make a dent in eachothers live. The interests they have they actually geniunely have those interests. I'm almost positive hussie actually has all of the hobbies he's given his characters. It's just shockingly well written. And I recommend it more than anything else on this list.

Not to mention it's gay. It's so gay. Every grey character in the picture above is a gay space alien. And thats just the people I can show you.(tumblr says im at my photo limit)

It's literally a race of pansexual polyamorous space aliens. Seriously find me something gayer than that. You can't.

~

Honorable mention Neon Genesis Evangelion

Gay for only the briefest briefest sliver of a second. In a series this interesting it warrants perhaps a moment of your consideration.

~

Well I'll admit this is sortof for the voltron fandom. They definitely seem to be having a rough time of it. And recommending steven universe a million times doesn't really do them justice.(but if you haven't gotten a steven universe recommend yet it is also well worth your time) And if anyone knows of any others I'm very interested and I'll add them to this list.

[shardclan]

The Great Staroak still stood as monumental as ever on a lonely northwest cliff of the Focal Point. If it had suffered any ill effects as a result of Lutia's magic, it had already made a full recovery. The branches stretched high and mighty, undamaged by all the dangerous debris that zipped through the air. There were a few dusty remnants of organic lights in the boughs. The wedding ribbon, rubbed with ash from the ancestral nests of the two coatls who married beneath it, still held in a perfect knot around the trunk.

Last anyone knew, the two were still together. They had re-homed to a lair in the Viridian Labyrinth that was dead now; abandoned by its Presiding One. They would indeed be together forever.

Trapped in good memories, Lutia hoped.

Ashes had stretched out in full shape and was--at least physically--taking it easy after his near death experience. It was clear that his mind was about as still as the Vortex. He was gnawing at one of his whiskers and kept shuffling his wings. The longer Lutia went watching him, the more antsy and irritated she became. Lucky for both of them, Techne and Camellia soared down to meet them before either of them could snap.

Just like the staroak, the eons had scarcely affected Camellia, though here was a subtle but permeating sense of both mourning around her. It made sense, she had stayed behind to guard their dead and mourn in place of the families who could not return. But her true nature couldn’t be defeated by mourning. She was a necromancer, death and grieving were natural parts of every day life for her. Even in these lonely ruins of a home that no longer welcomed them; even with the black veil she still wore to walk this graveyard of their old lives, Camellia was warm and vibrant and alive.

"You look well, Lutia."

The archmage became immediately aware that Camellia was one of the few she hadn't been able to apologize to. She had said all of her apologies, but only to the dragons that lived in the Sunbeam Ruins now. Camellia had never come back from her pilgrimage. She had no idea what their new home looked like, what new faces there were. Heaven had been the most precious thing in her life once. Did she have any idea what he looked like now?

"I'm sorry," she said somberly. "You've carried a heavy burden because of me."

Camellia smiled, and laid a cool hand on Lutia's nose. With just a single, tender pat, Lutia knew Camellia had forgiven her long, long ago. Probably well before Lutia had even begun to forgive herself or make amends. "How are my children? Is Rubedo alright?"

Lutia turned back to Ashes, and his ears flicked up. "Ah, ahem; yes, he's fine. The opalescence isn't life-threatening as is. But he has some peculiarities. He appears to siphon Arcane magic from the atmosphere." He held up a hand, gesturing to the first three of his digits. "And that place where his fingers are all chalcedony can siphon the magic directly from other dragons."

Techne's crest rose. "Is he with someone who knows? He could kill people."

"Person," Ashes corrected distractedly. "First order of business for any siphoner is to know how deep their well is, and after testing, Rubedo proved to have very little capacity to store magic. If he managed to drain someone to the point they died, it would be fatal for the both of them. He's like a living focus, but he'll never have the capacity to perform any major magic from his own wells. At the same time, his ambient absorption is so potent that getting him out of the Isles is probably the best thing you could have done for him."

Camellia clasped her hands, worrying as only a mother could. "And Phasmatis?"

"Perfectly healthy, and her runes point toward some kind of bone magic." Once assured that Camellia had asked all she looked to, he looked to Lutia. "I think that's been the ice breaker. Care to make your report?"

"I'd rather hear how you got here. You teleported without a magic circle, and you claim you weren't even trying to do so. Do you know how momentous that is?"

"Wait, wait," Techne interrupted. "He did fucking what?"

"Not by choice," he said quickly. "I think I will be able to make sense of it a bit more depending on what Lutia found and anything you may have discovered about...how Rubedo was born."

Lutia gave a conceding shrug and started from the top for the two coatls’ sake.

Alief first, eons ago now. Found half-shifted and seemingly freshly born out in the Abiding Boneyard. Nothing especially magical about him, and he was insensitive on top of that--couldn't use empathy worth a damn, and incapable of assuming a humanoid shift. Next, well--they already knew about Roentgen. She had undergone the change right in front of them all. On Lutia's journey to the Isles, there had been Moksha on the Highland Scrub  and Artha in Emberglow. The fore a skira seemingly far older and more experienced than Alief, and the latter a marzal, new and young and happy with her new existence.

Ashes breathed deep, and Techne locked onto him. "Something you wanna share with us, bright eyes?"

He fidgeted. "Did you find anything on the Windswept Plateau, Lutia?"

"No, but I didn't look too closely. It's fairly obvious the mutation has something to do with the Seat, and without Middlemist, I would have had to bring them with me. Especially after being near it, I don’t think any level of proximity would have been wise."

"But you think there will be one in Wind too," Techne insisted to Ashes.

Ashes rubbed his hands over his snout. "Yeah, I do. Maybe more, but that depends on Camellia's story."

"My story? There's nothing really to say. I saw a nice looking male and I might be a grave tender but I'm not dead. I knew it would be highly offensive to the Arcanist to bear children here, so we went to the floes."

"And the father showed no signs of opalescence?"

"None."

"I followed up with him," Techne said, digging into her satchel for her notes. "Irrelevant rune purpose, no signs of even slight crystallization upon physical examination, and a follow-up nest yielding four offspring with no signs of the same opalescence."

Lutia and Ashes rocked back. "You nested with him?"

"Yes? Is that a problem?"

They glanced at Camellia, who immediately started to laugh. "Oh don't look at me, you know I've never kept the males as my own. I just like the children."

"That was dangerous though wasn't it? What if you had given birth to more opalescent offspring?" Ashes scratched his chin. "I don't know it just seems really...un-lightning like? You always yell at me about being reckless."

"Yeah, cecause you're fuckin' reckless. You don’t make plans, you just do stuff to see what’ll happen. I conducted a trial where no matter what happened, valuable information would be gleaned. I have no third gene at all, so if one had manifested, we would know it was potent. We would also know it was something ambient that's seeped way out into the world." She wagged her notes under Ashes' nose. "Instead, we've found out that this manifestation is, for now, localized to dragons who have been exposed to the Seat."

"That trial has weak power," Ashes mumbled.

"Well you can be my guest and run it a couple more times if you're not convinced. Keep trying until you bring more half-crystallized brats into the world just to satisfy your curiosity!"

"Not the time," Lutia growled. "You're both right. It's a tiny trial, but it's the only one we've got and the conclusion makes sense. Now, Ashes, you seem to have been chewing on a big thought ever since I got you away from the Seat. I’m dying to know what’s on your mind."

Techne crossed her arms. "Yes, do tell. I'm very eager to hear about this supposed instance of spontaneous teleportation."

"I'd appreciate it if you held your skepticism," Lutia warned. "He crashed through the air right into me while I was still inside the Chalcedony Circle."

Now it was the coatls' turn to be taken aback. Camellia rushed to the imperial's side and Techne stood mouth agape. "You were inside the celestine ring? And you actually lived? Aren't you the Arcanite who can't do magic?"

Ashes smiled thinly. "That'd be me. It was a close call. Camellia, I'm fine. Lutia took care of me."

"You're getting a celestine scrub after we're done here," she said imperiously.

"Yes, ma'am."

He rose carefully, and began to pace slowly. He grabbed a block of gypsum. Illustrating his thought made them flow better, and the cliffsides here were rife with bands of obsidian to write on. He looked back over his shoulder at them, licking his lips. It was unclear if it was from nervousness or that excitement.

"I just wanna warn you guys. This is going to sound really, really crazy."

The three females glanced between one another, and sat down preemptively.

[knittedkikwi]

So, I was building a backup character for my paladin, cause my group is going into a battle soon. The last battle we were in, I dropped immediately thanks to a banshee, so I figured be prepared. My group really only has one real healer, not counting me and the ranger. Our spell slots tend to go to other things. I had made this character ages ago for a one shot and wanted to flesh her out a bit. Well, that fleshing out somehow turned into a 2200 word story. I’m not a writer, so don’t expect this to be good. But for some reason, I needed to write this. And I don’t think I’m finished yet, because this girl needs a happy ending.

Warnings: there is violence in this. mentions of blood. I’m not really good at descriptions, so not too gory. But also not clean.

10 years old

“Focus, Ceto. Feel the water’s desires and then change them to match your own.”

Ceto quickly glanced at her father before returning to studying the glass of water before her. Slowly, ever so slowly, the water began to rise out of the glass. Ceto could see her father smiling out of the corner of her eye. He didn’t know that she had been practicing on her own. Ceto narrowed her eyes and concentrated on the image in her mind. The water began to swirl and shift until it roughly resembled a stuffed bear.

“Fen! Fen, get in here! Look what my daughter can do!” her father shouted as he looked what Ceto had just created.

“Our daughter, dear. Just because she looks like you doesn’t mean she’s yours alone.” A rather short, tan human woman with frizzy black hair walked into the room.

“But-“

She held up her hand and mimicked her husband’s voice, “’But she can breathe underwater.’ I’m well aware, Zale, that you’re very proud of being a genasi. But guess what, she’s learned some stuff from me too.” Fen looked at her daughter and smiled, “Why don’t you show your father what you got from me, sweetie.”

Ceto looked up at her mother with a smirk. She took a moment to lower the water bear to the table before creating a small flame in her hand. The only warning her father received was a dangerous glint in her eye before the flame was flung at his head. Zale dropped to the floor with a yelp, narrowly dodging the small fireball. Ceto and Fen doubled over laughing while he picked himself up from his newfound prone position. Ceto could tell he was trying to look mad, but he ended up somewhere between disgruntled and amused.

“Just because I’m a water genasi doesn’t mean I’m fireproof.” He walked over to Ceto and mussed her hair slightly, sending it shifting like ripples on a pond, “Well done, my little kraken. But next time, try not to throw that at my head.”

“You should have seen your face! You went pale as a ghost!” Ceto giggled. She was laughing too hard to notice her father’s eyes flick to the corner of the room.

                                            ___________________________________________________

13 years old

Ceto hunkered near a boulder just below the water line. Her long, dark green hair swirled and twisted above her, slowly shifting to lighter green at the end. The resulting effect looking rather like seaweed caught in a sunbeam. She had a theory that her teal skin combined with her hair would give her an advantage.

She hadn’t considered the fact that her mother had trained with her father for years.

The water around her started moving rapidly away from her. Her mother was walking down the trench that now stretched from Ceto’s hiding place to the beach.

“Ceto Asrai, is that the best hiding spot you could find? Your father could do better and he’s two feet taller than you. You’ll have to try better than that, sweetie. Did you try using guidance to make it easier?”

Ceto groaned. “Yes, mom. But you know guidance isn’t as good as pass without a trace. If you would just teach me how to cast it, I might actually stand a chance in this game.”

“You’re not ready for pass without a trace yet. You’ve only just learned speak with animals,” Fen said as she placed her arm around the young druid’s shoulders. “Come on, your dad said you’re ready for a wild shape lesson.”

“Really?! I’ve been begging him to teach me for ages!”

“Yes, really. He’s at the cabin waiting for you.”

                             ___________________________________________________________

Fen and Ceto walked back to the cabin, chatting about spells and druid circles the entire way.

Ceto had earned her silver, which she wore as a necklace, a two months ago by casting her first proper spell. Cantrips were great for practice and learning the fundamentals of nature magic, but a spellcaster only earned their silver when they cast a first level spell.

She wasn’t a full druid yet though. She needed to join a circle first. The inducted new members when they reached 15, so long as they had earned both their silver and their claws. You only earned your claws once you could reliably wild shape. Her father, however, wouldn’t let her try until she could “see the animal, understand the animal, know the animal better than they know themselves.” Whatever that meant. Would it kill him to give a simple explanation for once?

In the mean time though, both Fen and Zale had tried to sway Ceto to favor their circle. Zale was part of the circle of the moon and kept leading her into the forest near their cabin so she could study every animal they could find. Fen, however, was circle of the land and was trying to temp Ceto to specialize in spells by casting spider climb on her and letting her walk on the ceiling.

Their conversation had shifted to the different types of spells Ceto might learn if she chose the circle of the land as they approached their little cabin at the edge of the forest. As they drew closer, they could hear what sounded like someone’s panicky shouting.

“Go away! Why are you here?”

“Zale?” Fen said as they walked up to the door. Ceto’s father turned as they came into the room.

“Oh, hello. There were…bears…trying to…raid the pantry. I was trying to scare them off.” He was shifting uncomfortably, glancing around the room everywhere but at the two women.

“Dear, you’re a terrible liar. What was it?”

Zale finally looked at Fen. Ceto could see something in his eyes, but couldn’t figure out what it was. When he looked at Ceto, he deflated and said “Squirrels. There were squirrels in the kitchen.”

“Dad, you can turn INTO a bear. You’re telling me the best you could think to do to scare off some squirrels was to shriek at them?” Ceto said.

Zale paused for a moment before nodding. “You’re right, kraken. How about we go do that lesson and you can show me how you would have scared off the squirrels?”

Ceto ran over to her father, so distracted by the thought of finally learning to wild shape that she paid no mind to the random puddle of water in the middle of the floor.

                             __________________________________________________________

14 years old

“You’re right. She’s dangerous.”

Ceto had become increasingly concerned about her father over the past year. At first, he was just shouting at “squirrels.” Then he stopped making excuses, seeming to speak to someone who wasn’t there. Anytime Ceto asked who he was talking to, he would brush her off as if it was nothing. Zale became anxious, sometimes angry, but mostly scared during these one sided conversations. Then it escalated to arguments. At least before, he always seemed to be arguing against something. Now he seemed to be giving in to whatever he was hearing.

The other day, she came home to find him just staring into the fire. It was the calmest she had seen him in weeks. Ceto was hesitant to disrupt the little peace he seemed to have found, but she needed answers.

“Dad?”

He looked at her, though his eyes didn’t seem to focus. “Ceto?”

“Dad, what are you doing?”

“Thinking.”

She looked at him confused. The father she knew had always been rather jovial. He liked to talk and joke. Now, he seemed a shell of himself. His was so pale now that his skin looked more like ice than the vivid teal he had passed on to her. And he was answering with single words. This was beyond concerning.

“Thinking about what?” she said, keeping her voice low and calm. She hoped that might help him open up to her.

“My father.”

“You’re father? What about him?” Ceto had never met her grandfather. She didn’t even know his name. The only thing she knew about him was that he was not allowed anywhere near their cabin.

“I think I finally understand.” At that point, Zale stood up and shuffled out of the house into the forest.

­                              ­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­___________________________________________________________

15 years old

Three months after Zale Asrai left his family to disappear into the forest, Ceto and her mother were sitting at the table discussing her upcoming induction into the circle of land. After her father’s desertion, she was too hurt to even consider joining the circle of the moon.

Ceto had asked her mother about the conversation she’d had with her father that day, but Fen couldn’t figure out what Zale meant. In the 20 years Fen had known him, Zale had only ever talked about his father once, shortly after Ceto was born. He’d told her that his father was never to be near Ceto. That his father had hurt him as a child and he would not put his daughter in danger. Fen had agreed and they never spoke of him again.

Fen and Ceto were debating whether she should specialize in coastal magic or forest magic when the back door opened. Ceto watched her father shamble in, looking haggard and covered in filth. He still had that distant stare from all those months ago.

“Zale?!” Fen said, reaching for the staff near hear.

“DAD!” Ceto stood and started moving towards her father. Zale’s eyes seemed to be attracted by the movement and finally focused on her. She stopped in her tracks from the sheer malevolence she saw in them.

“Dangerous. Dangerous. Must defeat the threat.” Zale spoke, but his voice sounded unearthly. Ceto was frozen in place as her father advanced on her. With a roar, he transformed into a large bear and lashed out at her.

Ceto felt white hot pain erupt across the right side of her head. Before she could so much as scream, another large paw hit her, this time catching her in the face. She felt a claw catch on something before continuing on to shred her ear and the side of her head. Another swipe across her stomach had her on the floor.

She couldn’t think, couldn’t move, couldn’t see. Why couldn’t she see? She barely registered when a wall of stone appeared between her and the raging bear. She felt hands drag her back, heard a voice speaking, felt a cloth wipe the blood out of one eye. None of it registered as she screamed and clamped a hand over her other eye. Or what should have been her eye.

“CETO! I need you to move your hand so I can heal you!”

Her mother’s voice finally snapped her out of her daze, just in time to see a portion of the wall shift and warp until a large hole formed. Her father stood on the other side, returned to human form. Fen looked around in horror when she realized what he had done.

“Shit! I forgot he could do that. I need you to run!” Ceto heard her murmur something and gesture with her staff before turning to face Zale. He was already shifting back into bear form.

Ceto felt her skin toughen from the spell. She tried to shuffle away while she had the added protection but only made it as far as the door before collapsing from the pain. She listened as her parents fought, spell against claw. Her mother eventually wore her father down enough that he had to shift back to humanoid form. They kept battling, neither gaining the upper hand. At long last, they both collapsed. Fen was able to crawl over to where Ceto had fallen. She used the last of her energy to heal Ceto as much as she could. It was barely enough to

“Run, Ceto. You need to run. I love you.” Fen pushed the staff into her hands before closing her eyes. Ceto didn’t know what to do. She felt the wounds on her stomach close slightly. Enough that she could stand. Barely. Her mother was dead on the floor before her and she didn’t understand why.

“Ceto?!” She heard a pained wheeze come from where her father lay. His voice sounded back to normal now, if she even remembered what normal was. “Ceto, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Why? Why did you do this?”  Speaking hurt. Everything hurt. But her fear and anger burned brighter than any pain. “You killed her! You tried to kill me!”

“Cursed…haunted….don’t know why….….My father…….did the same to me……ghost drove him mad…..thought I was stronger..……run….I’m so sorry…my little kraken.”  The was a sick gurgling sound and then nothing. Ceto was left completely alone. What had been a happy home until just over a year ago was nothing more than shambles and a graveyard.

Ceto fell to her knees sobbing. What did that even mean?! He was haunted? Haunted by who? None of this made any sense. The pain and the sorrow made it hard to think.

“Dangerous”

Ceto’s head snapped up. She could have sworn she heard someone. Her mother? She crawled over to where Fen’s body lay, but there was no life there. No breath. So who…

“You’re all dangerous.”

She definitely heard a voice that time. She looked towards where it had come from. Before her stood a woman. Pale and thin, with long, stringy hair. Her clothes were dripping. She looked like she had wandered in from the beach, but something seemed wrong. She was too pale, too thin. And those clothes were several centuries old.

Oh. Haunted. Ceto used what little strength she had to run and never looked back.

[clan-fuildarach]

beginner mistakes 

vaska returns to her old fuckup ways and also is a useless lesbian about ailbhe

~

After fleeing the market in disgrace, the Cú na Mara had found another safe port a little further north. Morning dawned bright and breezy, as wind from the interior of the Windswept Plateau cleared away the oppressive heat rising from the Ashfall Waste.

Vaska stood at the crow's nest, gazing out at the coastline with wide eyes. It was so rare to see such a nice view without having to bother with flying. Leaning against the wooden railings, she stared off into the distance, trying to catch a glimpse of the Cloudsong. The cloud-scudded sky was empty of any tell-tale flash of orange.

“Hey! Hey, Vaska!”

She turned to see Lehine and Ailbhe pull themselves up into the crow's nest. Vaska studiously avoided looking at Ailbhe. Lehine was waving a couple of large green glass bottles.

“Check it out,” Lehine said excitedly, producing a corkscrew from somewhere in her clothing. Handing one bottle to Vaska, she set about starting to uncork the second.

Vaska turned over the bottle, searching for a label. “What is it?”

“I don't know,” Lehine said, “but it was the cheapest shit I could find at the market. The shopkeeper said it would burn my mouth out!” Apparently very enthusiastic about this thought, she gave the corkscrew a final inexpert tug and succeeded in opening the bottle.

“I've been telling her we shouldn't,” Ailbhe said, in a vaguely pained tone. “We can't be getting drunk when there's work to do, right? Why don't we wait until this evening?”

“Don't be silly,” Lehine said, taking a sip directly from the bottle. Lowering it with a gasp, she went on rather hoarsely, “there's nothing going on, Leo and the others are out looking for another market. We just have to hang out here until he gets back.” She elbowed Vaska with a grin. “Tell her, Vaska.”

Vaska bit her lip. Both of them raised good points, but disagreeing with Lehine would seem cowardly, and disagreeing with Ailbhe just didn't sit well with Vaska. But, at the same time, Vaska didn't want to look churlish in front of Ailbhe.

“It should be fine,” Vaska said. “We can just stay up here.”

Ailbhe thought about it for a good few seconds, a tiny, adorable frown on her face. Then she nodded and smiled, flashing her stubby tusks. Vaska felt herself blushing and quickly turned away again.

It was nice. Just the three of them and two bottles of unspecified alcohol that may or may not have actually been floor cleaner. They sat together, Lehine complaining loudly about how the market trip had been cut short the night before, Ailbhe visibly struggling not to gag every time she raised the bottle to her lips. Vaska sat directly beside her, thigh-to-thigh.

Ailbhe's hand lay, unsuspecting, on the floor. Vaska stared at it. The conversation – both Lehine and Ailbhe were now sharing stories about their childhood in the Sunbeam Ruins – had started to pass right over Vaska's head. Someone passed the bottle to her and she took it without really paying attention, almost spilling half her mouthful of drink down her front.

“Vaska, are you okay?” Ailbhe had turned in to face her; Lehine had wandered off and was trying to climb one of the innumerable ropes running from the mast.

Vaska nodded quickly. “I'm fine. Um. How are you?”

Ailbhe smiled. Vaska literally felt her heart skip a beat.

“I'm fine! Can't complain – I got a letter from my parents a couple of days ago, it was really sweet.” Her golden eyes were so warm. Any more drinking and Vaska would probably start composing poetry about them. She hastily set down the bottle.

“That's really great,” Vaska said, stumbling over her words a little. “I remember them from my training, your mother is so sweet. Your father, is, uh...”

Ailbhe laughed. “I know, I know, but you get used to it.” She sighed wistfully and reached for Vaska's hand all on her own. Abruptly, Vaska didn't know whether she was supposed to be happy or horrified, surely her hand was all awful and sweaty, why would Ailbhe ever want to hold it-

“I heard about the healing thing,” Ailbhe said, apparently blissfully unaware of the minor mental breakdown Vaska was going through. “That you can't get a proper tutor. That sucks!”

This was a good distraction. Vaska nodded. “I really wanted to be a healer, too, I thought it was, like... my whole future... but no one wants to teach me.” She squeezed Ailbhe's hand for support. “What's wrong with me? Luke was fine with it before but now I think I've done something wrong and I don't know what... maybe I should apologise...”

“Well, I don't know about that,” Ailbhe said. “I don't think you did anything wrong? Everyone is really busy and maybe the healers don't have time to take on an apprentice. It's probably not your fault.”

Vaska nodded, reassured. “Yeah... yeah, maybe I should just try in a couple of months, or when Fiach isn't so busy with Tadhg.”

“That's a good idea,” Ailbhe said encouragingly. She glanced away briefly, almost bashfully. “To tell you the truth, I really like hanging out with you and, um, it would suck if you had to have healing lessons all the time... but that's kind of selfish, I guess.” She shrugged limply. “Sorry.”

Do something, Vaska's inebriated mind screamed at her. Kiss her! But what if Vaska was reading the signals wrong, what if Ailbhe really did just think they should be friends, what if-

Oh, shit, she was still waiting for a response. “Uh,” Vaska stammered out, “don't be sorry. I feel the same way. This is... fun.”

Ailbhe was getting kind of close. Really close. Vaska couldn't move for a moment, and then it all just sort of came naturally to her, her awkwardness and anxiety scrubbed away by Ailbhe's warm presence.

They were inches apart, Vaska's eyes drifting shut in anticipation, when Lehine fell. The rope simply gave way, and with a yelp Lehine was gone.

“Oh my gods!” Ailbhe leapt to her feet, releasing Vaska, and ran to the edge of the crow's nest. Vaska followed, her heart pounding, and leant over.

Lehine had fallen once before from the top of the mainmast but that time she'd managed to catch a roll of sailcloth and break her fall. She'd had no such luck this time. Far below on the swaying deck, a small ring of dragons stood around Lehine's still form.

It was a mad rush to get down to the deck, Ailbhe hot on Vaska's heels, the rope ladders burning at their palms. Vaska reached the deck in record time, staggering slightly as she attempted to keep her balance.

“Is she okay?” she called, pushing through the dragons to reach Lehine.

Lehine was breathing, but her breaths were tight and shallow. She clutched at her calf, where – oh, gods, Vaska could hardly look. There were shards of bone tenting the skin, poking out in places, leaking golden blood. Vaska turned away, nauseated.

“Lehine!” Ailbhe threw herself down by Lehine's head. “Hey, stay awake. We'll get a healer.”

Lehine groaned something indecipherable.

“What was that?” Ailbhe said, concerned.

“Ha... ha,” Lehine said weakly. “you guys are so... fucking gay...”

“Ssh, don't speak,” Ailbhe said. She glanced up. “Someone get a healer!”

No one moved. Tadhg, the youngest in the crowd, raised his hand as if he was answering a question in class. “Um,” he said in a tiny voice, “dad and Luke are out... I think Zeta went with them.”

Vaska forced herself to look at Lehine's injury again. It was a broken leg. Just a broken leg. But the sight of it brought back horrible, blood-soaked memories of the clan camp burning around her, Faolín bleeding out... Vaska had been unable to help out then. But now she could. Before refusing to teach her any further, Luke had taught her how to mend broken bones.

How difficult could it be?

“They'll be back soon, right?” Ailbhe said.

Tadhg only shrugged.

“No, it's okay,” Vaska said, “I know this. Someone get me some paper and ink.”

“My hero,” Lehine gasped, as Tadhg ran off to plunder Fiach's supplies.

Now armed with paper and a pen, Vaska set about cutting the paper into spell tags, running through her limited knowledge in her head. There was the healing rune, the depth modifier, the time – well, she didn't know how long it would take, so she could leave that out. This was a bigger heal than the minor cuts and fractures she'd attempted in the past.

“Ailbhe, Ailbhe-” Lehine grabbed at Ailbhe's hand as Vaska started to write. “If I die here... promise me... you'll actually kiss Vaska-”

Vaska finished the first line of her spell and quickly placed the tag onto Lehine's leg. Blood began to soak into the paper.

“Shut up,” Ailbhe said, with a faint, shaky grin, “it's just a broken leg, you're not going to die.”

Lehine snorted in amusement. “On second thought, maybe... climbing the ropes was a mistake...”

The bleeding was stopping. Vaska added another script to the tag, this one focussing on drawing the fragments of bone back together into a whole. Heat radiated from the paper as the spells took effect.

Vaska was just finishing up the second tag when Lehine froze. A deep shudder ran through her body. Then she started to cough.

“Uh... that shouldn't happen,” Vaska said quietly. She glanced back at her tags, reading through the spell scripts, trying to spot the mistake. Lehine was hacking and retching now, blood running down from her lips. It looked like she was trying to cough up a lung. Ailbhe tried to hold her still but Lehine was shuddering, bringing up bloody mucous and... something else.

Tadhg, who'd hung around to watch, abruptly turned and waved. Vaska sat back, numbly reading and re-reading her spells, feeling increasingly faint. She'd done something wrong, but she didn't know what.

“Dad!” Tadhg called. “Hey, Lehine's hurt!”

Vaska turned. The exploration party had returned, just in time to catch her in the act of killing one of her best friends. Fiach was with Leo, showing off a new pen he'd just bought. Luke and Rúth were both burdened by heavy rolls of paper, chatting animatedly.

Fiach's smile fell away and he started hobbling over, but Luke got to Vaska first. Dumping the paper unceremoniously on the deck, they snatched the pen off Vaska and got to work. They didn't talk to her. They didn't even look at her.

Vaska sat aside, nausea tugging at her guts. Luke discarded her spell tags and instructed Ailbhe to tear up some of the fresh paper to make new tags. They wrote without hesitation, and within a minute Lehine's chest was plastered with glowing spell tags, her leg ignored for the time being. Slowly, she stopped coughing. Her breaths turned into a weak wheeze.

Rúth leant over the scene curiously, apparently the only person present who wasn't particularly concerned about Lehine.

Finally, Lehine's breaths evened out. She remained unconscious, but the sound of her steady breathing was enough to bring tears of relief to Vaska's eyes. Luke turned their attention to Lehine's broken leg, writing a short and very simple spell that served to make Vaska feel even more embarrassed.

“Is she going to be okay?” Ailbhe said softly.

“She'll live.” Luke rose to their feet and stretched, discarding their pen. Then – just as Vaska had been dreading – they faced her for the first time.

“Luke,” Vaska said faintly, “I-”

“Come with me.” They grabbed her by the upper arm and practically dragged her away from Lehine, towards the edge of the deck. Vaska scrambled upright and allowed herself to be led, her head low, her face on fire. Luke shoved her against the railings and released her, watching her expectantly.

“There was no other healer around,” she said quietly. “I thought she was going to bleed out. Otherwise I'd have waited, I really would...”

“Well, you're not wrong,” Luke said. “Blood loss is a major concern with compound fractures.”

Vaska frowned. “So... what did I do?”

“You didn't limit the speed,” Luke said. Amazingly, they didn't even seem angry. “It went too fast and caused some neoplasia, which metastitised... you can always tell when they start coughing like that, it's when you know it has spread to the lungs.”

“Oh.” Vaska stared out at the gentle sea, then quickly glanced back at them. “Was she... was she going to die?”

“Yes. And even now, her lung function might be impaired for the rest of her life.” Luke met her eyes. “Vaska, this is very serious magic. You know enough to be dangerous, and that's my fault, I suppose. Not that you're completely free of responsibility, because, honestly, one of the very first things I told you was that you have to place limitations on a spell. So that one's on you.”

Vaska nodded, accepting this.

“Look,” Luke said. “If you come down to my room later I'll show you what exactly you should have done back then. And then... well, I guess then I should teach you how to reverse the neoplasia... and then how to restore lung function...”

Vaska's eyes widened. “You mean-”

Luke made a bad-natured noise, then nodded. “Yeah. Fine. I'll be your... your teacher. And you'd better appreciate it, I have a busy schedule and it's not my decision to train someone how not to kill people. But I don't have a choice.”

A shaky, delighted grin appeared on Vaska's face. “Oh my gods – do I need, like, equipment or anything? How early in the morning should I visit? I can-”

“On second thought,” Luke said, cutting her off with an upraised hand, “how about I go to you when we have a lesson. Or whatever. Anyway, I'll be busy looking after your friend so I suppose you can shadow me for that.”

“Right,” Vaska said, nodding eagerly. “Thank you so much, uh, sir? No, professor – doctor?”

“It's just Luke.”

“Of course, duh – um, I'd better go and check on Ailbhe... and apologise to Lehine. Is that okay?”

Looking all too pleased to get rid of her, Luke nodded and waved her away.

[talmondspeaker-blog]

A Sadly Chance Meeting

Quentin tensed as the woman lowered her dark hood, and then cried out softly when he saw her face; the sound was as though he’d quickly had the breath crushed out of him by a mountain. It was Jane. Shit.

He hadn’t realized, had never even considered, but of course, of course she would be here in the past. Quentin had been so focused on getting here, so focused on the Beast and his own pain that it had never even occurred to him. He had been stupid, again.

“Quentin? Quentin Coldwater? You’re here early, it’s still years too soon. What are you-” she cut off as Quentin stumbled and fell to his knees. “Quentin what’s happening!? Is he here? Were you attacked? This is too soon!” Her eyes darted in every direction, scanning each shuddering tree for the Intruder.

Quentin still couldn’t respond; he was shocked through. He’d already been through the worst pain, this wasn’t fair. He had thought he was already in as much pain as he would ever be, and still this was somehow worse. The universe had one last curtain to pull back. His brain was freezing, and he couldn’t think. Every second counted now, there was no time to waste, and still; he couldn’t… think. Images kept flashing through his mind. The world tilting up and down, the two of them moving with each other and the ship, the light draping lazily over her shoulders.

“You-” he began, doing his best to hold back tears. “You’re here.” He was being stupid. Again. Still.

“Of course I am, but what are you doing here? Quentin, this isn’t right, this is too early!”

It took all his willpower and every bit of borrowed strength he had just to stand, and keep his face from showing the fractures beneath. He could remember this part only vaguely from last time- it had been a blur up to the very last, but he thought he knew the script well enough. It had been years later in the past, in the last loop, but it should still apply.

“So- so you’re the Watcherwoman?” He wasn’t very convincingly calm, but he held together at least. “I mean, of course you are. But why? You terrified Jane as a kid. I mean, you.”

After a brief hesitation, she smiled wryly. “Yes, I was a proper villain for myself, always pushing myself to be my best. In fact, I always grew up to be just a little bit stronger than that Watcherwoman.”

Quentin understood now, he’d been through a time loop with memory intact, and the mechanics made as much sense now as any other formula did. But he remembered his line.

“That hurts my brain..”

“Well, out with it then. Why are you here early?”

It took him a moment to gather his thoughts. The sound of ocean waves, beating on the side of a boat. Sunbeams spearing the darkness below, ephemeral motes drifting lazily through. Too long, too long, too long, his brain still couldn’t focus with the knife of ice twisting somewhere in his chest.

“You have the watch still. I need to get to my present, your future. The past was the only way to get here this time.”

“This time?” Shit. ”How did you…” She trailed off. “I suppose Fogg told you, then. It never goes as well when he tells you.”

It was a fair guess, even if it was off. He’d been told twenty seven out of his forty times through, but as far as he knew, he died all forty. It was funny, she was brilliant, but that seemed like an obviously backwards thought, and he almost laughed aloud. He was losing his damn mind.

“There’s not a lot of time. I’ve prepared this time, I have a plan. But I don’t know how long I can be ready. This is our last chance, please.” Quentin felt the pain of talking with her normally and of being this close building up. Quentin wasn’t likely to last another minute, and time DID still count.

“What do you mean, last chance?”

Shit. Shit Shit Shit. He couldn’t handle this. He was still being stupid, still too slow, still not thinking. What was he going to ruin, interfering with the past from a second time loop?

“Quentin? Did something happen to the watch? To me?” She was frowning now, her brows furrowed in a look he knew well. That had been the last look he’d seen on her face, a look of consternation that said she was unhappy with the way the world was going, and was about to become unpleasant about it. He had almost forgotten her haughty offense at things that weren’t what she considered right. Quentin considered lying, but as soon as he thought of it, he remembered how Jane had been acting when they had met this most recent loop. And he also remembered the look she got when she thought nobody was looking and dropped her affectations. It was clear then: Jane knew, in her future, his past. Shit. Had that always been how it had happened? Or had him screwing up now changed her future, his past? He closed his eyes. No, the time was the same. Nothing was changing yet, that much was clear. So he had already had this conversation; he had already observed the effect, he couldn’t NOT cause it now, but still… Shit.

“I’m so sorry Jane, but… You died.”

“Oh,” she said simply. Her face was more relaxed, her posture somewhat diminished; the affect of Jane was dropped for a moment “Did I at least die doing something, ah, terribly brave?”

Waves that had no business being so cheerful, whispering constantly with the wind. They came sloping in smoothly, building up heads of boiling cream foam, rearing up for a moment, mint green and paper-thin in the sunlight, before breaking in a long line with a sound like tearing fabric.

Quentin swallowed hard, keeping tears back by sheer force of will. He couldn’t let himself get dragged back down into the memory, there was no time for a spiral. Even still, his voice wavered now. “You did. You were so brave… You-” he stopped to clear his throat again. “You saved my life from the Beast. And you gave me a secret that’s going to help us win this time.”

Jane didn’t break down. She’d never been one for anything so dull as crying, it wasn’t the right kind of dramatic. She blinked, she sniffed, but her eyes stayed clear even as Quentin’s watered. After a deep but quick breath, she said tersely, “Ah, well. I'll expect a good temple in my honor. Be sure I get a proper statue, yes? Good likeness, mind the chin.”

Quentin let out a choked laugh. It was so like her, vanity coupled with just a little self deprecation. It was so like the ALIVE her, not the dead memory Quentin carried around with him. Her face here was animated, warm and whole. For what had seemed like a century, her face had been only cold. Cold empty eyes, cold blue skin, just below the offensively cheerful water.

“I’m so sorry, Jane. I’m so so sorry that I couldn’t save you.”

“Oh Quentin,” she said softly, “it was never your job to protect me. My little volunteer tomato.”

In for a penny…

“It was this time,” he said

"What do you mean?"

“I remembered, this time.”

She paused for a moment. Was she actually speechless? He could hardly blame her.

“How could you have, Quentin? No cast on you, but you’ve never been masterful enough for that, not in a single loop so far.”

He might have been offended, but after having looked back at his previous self, in his newfound power, it was true; he had been laughable, really. Volunteer tomato indeed.

“The Beast made a mistake this time,” Quentin whispered. He no longer had the control to maintain a normal voice. “He didn’t wait for us at the end, like usual. He came in, a day early. He killed... everyone. He was so angry with me, after I wouldn’t give you up, he tore Brakebills apart, and made me watch as he spent nearly a week... EATING them. My friends, my classmates, even the teachers couldn’t stop him, he just kept bringing them before me and...”

Quentin shuddered. It was still almost unreal, that week. Bound by some magic he hadn’t even seen coming at the time, sustained by it as well as held to. The horror hadn’t faded, that was what he had kept thinking. There was no happy place to go to, no escape, and no numbing; he just kept on being horrified as he watched everyone he knew eaten alive. He’d even found Julia, somehow.

“Then how did you escape?” asked Jane. She was only barely shocked by this. Quentin figured that after thirty nine times watching so many people die, one more couldn’t be much worse.

“I didn’t,” Quentin mumbled. “He killed me too, at the end. But I hadn’t realized at the time that he’d given me power as well. I should have, I might have broken free and stopped him then, but... everyone was dead. How could I have remembered the power I’d gained when my father died? And compared to that... Well, you started the time loop over again, the next day you said. And when you did, I remembered. All that pain, and it gave me enough strength to remember the previous loop. So I went and found you immediately, before Brakebills even brought us in for testing. I remembered all of that as well, and with my new strength, magic is nothing now. So we worked together, discussed everything, and it was... such a relief, for us to have somebody to share in that looped time. Everyone else, it took such efforts to guide the thread of time through that tiny needle hole, line it all up. You know how exhausting it is to be alone, manipulating your friends.”

She was frowning deeply now, her eyes actually cast in shadow from her brows. “So what happened, then?”

He couldn't help it; he let out a quiet sob and said, "We fell in love, Jane."

[childrenofathoria-rp-blog]

◆Out Of Character Information◆

Name/Age: Sora, 27 Preferred Pronouns: She/Her Timezone: EST Desired Character: Jade Nicoline

◆Character Information◆

(1) What pronouns will your character be using? Would you like to list their sexuality at this time?: She/Her, Homoromantic Pansexual

(2) Any changes or comments?  I would like to suggest Lindsey Stirling for Jade’s faceclaim, but I am flexible so if there is conflict I’d be fine looking for another. I would also like to request that we add a sibling to Jade’s history. I feel that a younger sibling would further push her to offer herself up in place of her father. Adding a small child into the mix is more plausible than two adults agreeing to send off their only daughter in their place, in my opinion. FACECLAIM CHANGE: Freya Tingley

(3) Why this character? I see a lot of room for growth with this character. When I read through Jade’s bio, I see a pure gentle girl with hopes and dreams. But I also see a hidden streak behind those carefree eyes, a mischievous witch with a curiosity for her craft that I am very intent on exploring. I see fear, pain, shame, curiosity, love, and a childlike innocence that, despite her past, refuses to be extinguished. She is loyal, respectful, and needs a sense of home and family in her life. Something that I believe could be both beneficial and dangerous considering the ultimate secretive wants of her coven.

(4) Interpret this character: 

I am very curious to see how Jade’s connection to her coven will ultimately effect both her beliefs and personality. Jade is a mischievous little bugger and developing strong powers for her age. And how does she use them? To play pranks and knock down her competition. I would like to explore how she would react when her curiosity gets the better of her in terms of magical prowess. Would she go against her coven, her family, the only people who fully understand her for answers? How will she react when she is refused information that she is not high ranked enough to know? Would her personality get her into trouble with non magic folks? Well, that one is not really a question. That one is almost sure to happen; still fun to explore, though. Something else I really love about Jade is her awkwardness.

I don’t see it as a hindrance but something that just adds to her interesting personality. She is a strange one, I imagine that she rambles on when speaking, passion in her eyes, her odd expressions the only sign that her mind is flipping through ideas a mile a minute. She is as unpredictable as the weather itself, giving no heed to social cues or unspoken rules. Happy as a sunbeam to walk into town totally barefoot, blood from a simultaneous hunt-memorial-ritual splattered up her arms, and twigs in her flowing hair. She is nature personified. Beauty and grace, unpredictability and power. Embracing both life and death in one confusing expression. 

Given Jade’s history and how hard she had to work to pay off a debt, I believe that these experiences have shaped her into almost hating the exchange of money. I like to think that she now understands the value of finances and whenever possible, rebukes the power it holds over people. Due to this, Jade probably lives a simpler lifestyle, trading goods or skills for that which she desires. This would also suggest that she is against the form of currency that the Kingdom is pushing upon the land. This is only one aspect of the Kingdom but a rather important one for Jade. I am not sure yet if this means that she is necessarily “against” the ruling power, but something tells me that she is not so keen on being told what to pay and when to pay it. Jade is not one for capitalism and despises the idea of being kept under someone’s thumb.

Before becoming a member of the Coven of the Mighty Oak, Jade had been lost. Even with her parent’s support and protection she never quite felt that she belonged. She had always been a free spirit to an extent but never fully understood the what her magic and wandering soul could accomplish until the fated day that she met Matilda. Instantly, she felt a strong, powerful connection to the witch that she had never felt with anyone in her life. Not even that of her own mother. There was a sort of bond between the two in a matter of moments, as though she had met a long lost friend whom she had spent her life with; perhaps in another existence. Jade loves her family deeply; even after her father’s mistakes, she still cannot find it within herself to feel anger towards the man. 

Yet still, despite the love and memories that she shared with her bloodline, Matilda’s bond was stronger. A complete stranger instantaneously becoming more familiar than her own family. Time passed with two souls, Jade’s love and admiration for her mentor growing more and more until the day she was invited to join The Coven of the Mighty Oak. A series of emotions was to follow: blinding excitement, happiness, sudden realization, nervousness, fear, self doubt. 

She had heard stories of Matilda’s home, her family, and allies. She learned of the Green Man and how he protected them with a fierce love and natural balance and found herself questioning her place with such amazing people.The feeling did not last however as the girl was met with open arms, seamlessly falling in to place with the others of the Hallowed Oak. The young witch was relieved to find that after only a week she began to doubt that she had ever even had a life outside of the forest. After years of being log in a fog, Jade was finally home, surrounded by people who understand her. People who relate to her struggles and offer helpful assistance. 

After several years absorbing every spec of knowledge that she could, Jade left the Hallowed Oak to start a little farm in the hills of Brailston.Her home is very small, only a wide hearth and kitchen with a small room in the back which holds a small cozy bed and a heavy wooden chest where she kept certain trinkets. This is her home away from home, spending her days tending to her bees and crops and her nights cozied up by the fire. But the girl refuses to stay away from the Hallowed Oak for long. Frequently making trips out to her Coven’s central location with pack fulls of honey, cakes, vegetables, and various handmade goods for her fellow witches.

◆ Interview Questions ◆

(1) Question One: What’s the worst weather you’ve ever produced? Was it on accident or purpose?

Okay, so, I was experimenting with different ways to stun my bees so that I could safely collect their honey, right? I was worried that spraying them with smoke was bad for them and decided that there HAD to be a better way. There was this book I found about how some insects go dormant in the cold, that they could feel winter in the air and go into this hibernation state. So I figured, “Hey! If I could lower the temperature slightly, the bees would simply nod off and go to sleep for a little while letting me gather up the goods.” That’s uh… that’s not how it happened. Unfortunately, I sort of used too much of… something… in my spell and uh.. well. I sort of froze everything solid. Killed every one of those poor bees and ruined half my crops. On the upside, the bees were so cold that they solidified into this hard stone type material that ended up making a really neat necklace. I uh… I don’t do ice magic at the farm anymore…

(2) Question Two: Are there any other raw ingredients from nature you find easy to work with?

Hm, that depends on what I’m using it for. I love roots, specifically the roots of trees. You have to be careful when working with them though, you don’t want to dig too deep or accidentally damage the roots while exposing them. They are fascinating, so fragile yet so powerful that they support life in all of the forest. Touching exposed roots is similar to reaching into someone’s chest and gripping their heart. You must be gentle, cautious, you are holding life itself in your palm. Feather’s are also great, there are so many spells you can do with feathers! Air, wind, flight, freedom, dreams, balance, all seeing… so many things. Oh, and teeth! Especially dragon’s teeth! I’ve never seen one, though. Actually, I’ve never known anyone whose seen one either. But could you imagine the power in those things? Wow..

◆Writing Sample:◆

Bushes bursting with berries lined up in rows before the surveying witch, each branch reaching out to offer up its bounty of blues and reds. The crops were doing very well for this time of year, something not every farmer could say for themselves. In fact, a bitter cold wind from the east had stunted if not completely killed most of the crops on this side of Athoria. Save for one. Jade walked the paths between rows of plants leaving a haunting yet melodic tune as she went. She felt the cool soil beneath her feet, each step keeping beat with her quiet song, the words being swept away with the gentle breeze of the day. Lifting her hand, she carefully ran just the tips of her ash coated fingers over the tops of the hearty crops, making sure to greet each and every one individually.

“You truly are magnificent.” The witch spoke, the sudden stop of her tune a bit jarring and leaving a strange feeling in the air at its absence.

Finding her way to the very center of the garden she knelt down, lifting the skirt of her dress so that her knee would settle down into the earth. With a soothing breath, she slipped her blackened fingers deep into the loose soil, grabbing a fist full of dirt and silently reciting a well worn prayer. When her scriptures were spoken she lifted her clump of earth, leaving behind a hungry hole which she quickly fed a tightly wrapped parcel. A flash of mischievousness crawled over her face as she sprinkled the excess soil over her mark. Lastly, she brought two fingers to her lips, transporting her kiss to the waiting curse below.

“It’s a real shame you don’t belong to me.”

Jade stood, taking one final look over what would soon shrivel and die. She almost felt sorry for the deed but the guy had it coming. Every other farmer was struggling, this would simply level the playing field. Bowing her head in reverence to mother earth, the girl grinned wickedly and trotted off down the worn forest path to tend to plants of her own.

[readbookywooks]

13 My first impulse is to scramble from the tree, but I'm belted in. Somehow my fumbling fingers release the buckle and I fall to the ground in a heap, still snarled in my sleeping bag. There's no time for any kind of packing. Fortunately, my backpack and water bottle are already in the bag. I shove in the belt, hoist the bag over my shoulder, and flee. The world has transformed to flame and smoke. Burning branches crack from trees and fall in showers of sparks at my feet. All I can do is follow the others, the rabbits and deer and I even spot a wild dog pack shooting through the woods. I trust their sense of direction because their instincts are sharper than mine. But they are much faster, flying through the underbrush so gracefully as my boots catch on roots and fallen tree limbs, that there's no way I can keep apace with them. The heat is horrible, but worse than the heat is the smoke, which threatens to suffocate me at any moment. I pull the top of my shirt up over my nose, grateful to find it soaked in sweat, and it offers a thin veil of protection. And I run, choking, my bag banging against my back, my face cut with branches that materialize from the gray haze without warning, because I know I am supposed to run. This was no tribute's campfire gone out of control, no accidental occurrence. The flames that bear down on me have an unnatural height, a uniformity that marks them as human-made, machine-made, Gamemaker-made. Things have been too quiet today. No deaths, perhaps no fights at all. The audience in the Capitol will be getting bored, claiming that these Games are verging on dullness. This is the one thing the Games must not do. It's not hard to follow the Gamemakers' motivation. There is the Career pack and then there are the rest of us, probably spread far and thin across the arena. This fire is designed to flush us out, to drive us together. It may not be the most original device I've seen, but it's very, very effective. I hurdle over a burning log. Not high enough. The tail end of my jacket catches on fire and I have to stop to rip it from my body and stamp out the flames. But I don't dare leave the jacket, scorched and smoldering as it is, I take the risk of shoving it in my sleeping bag, hoping the lack of air will quell what I haven't extinguished. This is all I have, what I carry on my back, and it's little enough to survive with. In a matter of minutes, my throat and nose are burning. The coughing begins soon after and my lungs begin to feel as if they are actually being cooked. Discomfort turns to distress until each breath sends a searing pain through my chest. I manage to take cover under a stone outcropping just as the vomiting begins, and I lose my meager supper and whatever water has remained in my stomach. Crouching on my hands and knees, I retch until there's nothing left to come up. I know I need to keep moving, but I'm trembling and light-headed now, gasping for air. I allow myself about a spoonful of water to rinse my mouth and spit then take a few swallows from my bottle. You get one minute, I tell myself. One minute to rest. I take the time to reorder my supplies, wad up the sleeping bag, and messily stuff everything into the backpack. My minute's up. I know it's time to move on, but the smoke has clouded my thoughts. The swift-footed animals that were my compass have left me behind. I know I haven't been in this part of the woods before, there were no sizable rocks like the one I'm sheltering against on my earlier travels. Where are the Gamemakers driving me? Back to the lake? To a whole new terrain filled with new dangers? I had just found a few hours of peace at the pond when this attack began. Would there be any way I could travel parallel to the fire and work my way back there, to a source of water at least? The wall of fire must have an end and it won't burn indefinitely. Not because the Gamemakers couldn't keep it fueled but because, again, that would invite accusations of boredom from the audience. If I could get back behind the fire line, I could avoid meeting up with the Careers. I've just decided to try and loop back around, although it will require miles of travel away from the inferno and then a very circuitous route back, when the first fireball blasts into the rock about two feet from my head. I spring out from under my ledge, energized by renewed fear. The game has taken a twist. The fire was just to get us moving, now the audience will get to see some real fun. When I hear the next hiss, I flatten on the ground, not taking time to look. The fireball hits a tree off to my left, engulfing it in flames. To remain still is death. I'm barely on my feet before the third ball hits the ground where I was lying, sending a pillar of fire up behind me. Time loses meaning now as I frantically try to dodge the attacks. I can't see where they're being launched from, but it's not a hovercraft. The angles are not extreme enough. Probably this whole segment of the woods has been armed with precision launchers that are concealed in trees or rocks. Somewhere, in a cool and spotless room, a Gamemaker sits at a set of controls, fingers on the triggers that could end my life in a second. All that is needed is a direct hit. Whatever vague plan I had conceived regarding returning to my pond is wiped from my mind as I zigzag and dive and leap to avoid the fireballs. Each one is only the size of an apple, but packs tremendous power on contact. Every sense I have goes into overdrive as the need to survive takes over. There's no time to judge if a move is the correct one. When there's a hiss, I act or die. Something keeps me moving forward, though. A lifetime of watching the Hunger Games lets me know that certain areas of the arena are rigged for certain attacks. And that if I can just get away from this section, I might be able to move out of reach of the launchers. I might also then fall straight into a pit of vipers, but I can't worry about that now. How long I scramble along dodging the fireballs I can't say, but the attacks finally begin to abate. Which is good, because I'm retching again. This time it's an acidic substance that scalds my throat and makes its way into my nose as well. I'm forced to stop as my body convulses, trying desperately to rid itself of the poisons I've been sucking in during the attack. I wait for the next hiss, the next signal to bolt. It doesn't come. The force of the retching has squeezed tears out of my stinging eyes. My clothes are drenched in sweat. Somehow, through the smoke and vomit, I pick up the scent of singed hair. My hand fumbles to my braid and finds a fireball has seared off at least six inches of it. Strands of blackened hair crumble in my fingers. I stare at them, fascinated by the transformation, when the hissing registers. My muscles react, only not fast enough this time. The fireball crashes into the ground at my side, but not before it skids across my right calf. Seeing my pants leg on fire sends me over the edge. I twist and scuttle backward on my hands and feet, shrieking, trying to remove myself from the horror. When I finally regain enough sense, I roll the leg back and forth on the ground, which stifles the worst of it. But then, without thinking, I rip away the remaining fabric with my bare hands. I sit on the ground, a few yards from the blaze set off by the fireball. My calf is screaming, my hands covered in red welts. I'm shaking too hard to move. If the Gamemakers want to finish me off, now is the time. I hear Cinna's voice, carrying images of rich fabric and sparkling gems. "Katniss, the girl who was on fire." What a good laugh the Gamemakers must be having over that one. Perhaps, Cinna's beautiful costumes have even brought on this particular torture for me. I know he couldn't have foreseen this, must be hurting for me because, in fact, I believe he cares about me. But all in all, maybe showing up stark naked in that chariot would have been safer for me. The attack is now over. The Gamemakers don't want me dead. Not yet anyway. Everyone knows they could destroy us all within seconds of the opening gong. The real sport of the Hunger Games is watching the tributes kill one another. Every so often, they do kill a tribute just to remind the players they can. But mostly, they manipulate us into confronting one another face-to-face. Which means, if I am no longer being fired at, there is at least one other tribute close at hand. I would drag myself into a tree and take cover now if I could, but the smoke is still thick enough to kill me. I make myself stand and begin to limp away from the wall of flames that lights up the sky. It does not seem to be pursuing me any longer, except with its stinking black clouds. Another light, daylight, begins to softly emerge. Swirls of smoke catch the sunbeams. My visibility is poor. I can see maybe fifteen yards in any direction. A tribute could easily be concealed from me here. I should draw my knife as a precaution, but I doubt my ability to hold it for long. The pain in my hands can in no way compete with that in my calf. I hate burns, have always hated them, even a small one gotten from pulling a pan of bread from the oven. It is the worst kind of pain to me, but I have never experienced anything like this. I'm so weary I don't even notice I'm in the pool until I'm ankle-deep. It's spring-fed, bubbling up out of a crevice in some rocks, and blissfully cool. I plunge my hands into the shallow water and feel instant relief. Isn't that what my mother always says? The first treatment for a burn is cold water? That it draws out the heat? But she means minor burns. Probably she'd recommend it for my hands. But what of my calf? Although I have not yet had the courage to examine it, I'm guessing that it's an injury in a whole different class. I lie on my stomach at edge of the pool for a while, dangling my hands in the water, examining the little flames on my fingernails that are beginning to chip off. Good. I've had enough fire for a lifetime. I bathe the blood and ash from my face. I try to recall all I know about burns. They are common injuries in the Seam where we cook and heat our homes with coal. Then there are the mine accidents. A family once brought in an unconscious young man pleading with my mother to help him. The district doctor who's responsible for treating the miners had written him off, told the family to take him home to die. But they wouldn't accept this. He lay on our kitchen table, senseless to the world. I got a glimpse of the wound on his thigh, gaping, charred flesh, burned clear down to the bone, before I ran from the house. I went to the woods and hunted the entire day, haunted by the gruesome leg, memories of my father's death. What's funny was, Prim, who's scared of her own shadow, stayed and helped. My mother says healers are born, not made. They did their best, but the man died, just like the doctor said he would. My leg is in need of attention, but I still can't look at it. What if it's as bad as the man's and I can see my bone? Then I remember my mother saying that if a burn's severe, the victim might not even feel pain because the nerves would be destroyed. Encouraged by this, I sit up and swing my leg in front of me. I almost faint at the sight of my calf. The flesh is a brilliant red covered with blisters. I force myself to take deep, slow breaths, feeling quite certain the cameras are on my face. I can't show weakness at this injury. Not if I want help. Pity does not get you aid. Admiration at your refusal to give in does. I cut the remains of the pant leg off at the knee and examine the injury more closely. The burned area is about the size of my hand. None of the skin is blackened. I think it's not too bad to soak. Gingerly I stretch out my leg into the pool, propping the heel of my boot on a rock so the leather doesn't get too sodden, and sigh, because this does offer some relief. I know there are herbs, if I could find them, that would speed the healing, but I can't quite call them to mind. Water and time will probably be all I have to work with. Should I be moving on? The smoke is slowly clearing but still too heavy to be healthy. If I do continue away from the fire, won't I be walking straight into the weapons of the Careers? Besides, every time I lift my leg from the water, the pain rebounds so intensely I have to slide it back in. My hands are slightly less demanding. They can handle small breaks from the pool. So I slowly put my gear back in order. First I fill my bottle with the pool water, treat it, and when enough time has passed, begin to rehydrate my body. After a time, I force myself to nibble on a cracker, which helps settle my stomach. I roll up my sleeping bag. Except for a few black marks, it's relatively unscathed. My jacket's another matter. Stinking and scorched, at least a foot of the back beyond repair. I cut off the damaged area leaving me with a garment that comes just to the bottom of my ribs. But the hood's intact and it's far better than nothing. Despite the pain, drowsiness begins to take over. I'd take to a tree and try to rest, except I'd be too easy to spot. Besides, abandoning my pool seems impossible. I neatly arrange my supplies, even settle my pack on my shoulders, but I can't seem to leave. I spot some water plants with edible roots and make a small meal with my last piece of rabbit. Sip water. Watch the sun make its slow arc across the sky. Where would I go anyway that is any safer than here? I lean back on my pack, overcome by drowsiness. If the Careers want me, let them find me, I think before drifting into a stupor. Let them find me. And find me, they do. It's lucky I'm ready to move on because when I hear the feet, I have less than a minute head start. Evening has begun to fall. The moment I awake, I'm up and running, splashing across the pool, flying into the underbrush. My leg slows me down, but I sense my pursuers are not as speedy as they were before the fire, either. I hear their coughs, their raspy voices calling to one another. Still, they are closing in, just like a pack of wild dogs, and so I do what I have done my whole life in such circumstances. I pick a high tree and begin to climb. If running hurt, climbing is agonizing because it requires not only exertion but direct contact of my hands on the tree bark. I'm fast, though, and by the time they've reached the base of my trunk, I'm twenty feet up. For a moment, we stop and survey one another. I hope they can't hear the pounding of my heart. This could be it, I think. What chance do I have against them? All six are there, the five Careers and Peeta, and my only consolation is they're pretty beat-up, too. Even so, look at their weapons. Look at their faces, grinning and snarling at me, a sure kill above them. It seems pretty hopeless. But then something else registers. They're bigger and stronger than I am, no doubt, but they're also heavier. There's a reason it's me and not Gale who ventures up to pluck the highest fruit, or rob the most remote bird nests. I must weigh at least fifty or sixty pounds less than the smallest Career. Now I smile. "How's everything with you?" I call down cheerfully. This takes them aback, but I know the crowd will love it. "Well enough," says the boy from District 2. "Yourself?" "It's been a bit warm for my taste," I say. I can almost hear the laughter from the Capitol. "The air's better up here. Why don't you come on up?" "Think I will," says the same boy. "Here, take this, Cato," says the girl from District 1, and she offers him the silver bow and sheath of arrows. My bow! My arrows! Just the sight of them makes me so angry I want to scream, at myself, at that traitor Peeta for distracting me from having them. I try to make eye contact with him now, but he seems to be intentionally avoiding my gaze as he polishes his knife with the edge of his shirt. "No," says Cato, pushing away the bow. "I'll do better with my sword." I can see the weapon, a short, heavy blade at his belt. I give Cato time to hoist himself into the tree before I begin to climb again. Gale always says I remind him of a squirrel the way I can scurry up even the slenderest limb. Part of it's my weight, but part of it's practice. You have to know where to place your hands and feet. I'm another thirty feet in the air when I hear the crack and look down to see Cato flailing as he and a branch go down. He hits the ground hard and I'm hoping he possibly broke his neck when he gets back to his feet, swearing like a fiend. The girl with the arrows, Glimmer I hear someone call her  -  ugh, the names the people in District 1 give their children are so ridiculous  -  anyway Glimmer scales the tree until the branches begin to crack under her feet and then has the good sense to stop. I'm at least eighty feet high now. She tries to shoot me and it's immediately evident that she's incompetent with a bow. One of the arrows gets lodged in the tree near me though and I'm able to seize it. I wave it teasingly above her head, as if this was the sole purpose of retrieving it, when actually I mean to use it if I ever get the chance. I could kill them, everyone of them, if those silver weapons were in my hands. The Careers regroup on the ground and I can hear them growling conspiratorially among themselves, furious I have made them look foolish. But twilight has arrived and their window of attack on me is closing. Finally, I hear Peeta say harshly, "Oh, let her stay up there. It's not like she's going anywhere. We'll deal with her in the morning." Well, he's right about one thing. I'm going nowhere. All the relief from the pool water has gone, leaving me to feel the full potency of my burns. I scoot down to a fork in the tree and clumsily prepare for bed. Put on my jacket. Lay out my sleeping bed. Belt myself in and try to keep from moaning. The heat of the bag's too much for my leg. I cut a slash in the fabric and hang my calf out in the open air. I drizzle water on the wound, my hands. All my bravado is gone. I'm weak from pain and hunger but can't bring myself to eat. Even if I can last the night, what will the morning bring? I stare into the foliage trying to will myself to rest, but the burns forbid it. Birds are settling down for the night, singing lullabies to their young. Night creatures emerge. An owl hoots. The faint scent of a skunk cuts through the smoke. The eyes of some animal peer at me from the neighboring tree  -  a possum maybe  -  catching the firelight from the Careers' torches. Suddenly, I'm up on one elbow. Those are no possum's eyes, I know their glassy reflection too well. In fact, those are not animal eyes at all. In the last dim rays of light, I make her out, watching me silently from between the branches. Rue. How long has she been here? The whole time probably. Still and unobserved as the action unfolded beneath her. Perhaps she headed up her tree shortly before I did, hearing the pack was so close. For a while we hold each other's gaze. Then, without even rustling a leaf, her little hand slides into the open and points to something above my head.