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delimeful · 4 years

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not always what they seem (2)

warnings: inappropriate jokes, remus being remus, mild panic attack, fear, miscommunication

long overdue commission for @legendsgates! thank you for your patience and support 💚

Chapter 1

Janus watched the giant creatures around them devolve into more of that buzzing, clicking language as Remus waved his arm around enthusiastically in response to them.

“What are you-- Stop that,” the emo kid hissed, his whole body going tense, and Janus leaned back slightly just in time to avoid getting caught in the half-tackle that Remus was subjected to. “What if they just asked who wants to be first to be dissected, huh?”

“Oooh, kinky,” Remus cackled from where the kid had pinned his wrists to the floor. “Do you think they’ll probe me first?”

Janus rolled his eyes, and then stiffened as a shadow fell over them. “Kid—!”

He could see the moment the red alien’s hand made contact, the kid’s face immediately draining of all color as those strange talons wrapped around him and started to lift.

Almost instantly, Remus surged to his feet, grabbing the kid’s arm before he could be lifted out of range. The hold was so tight it almost looked painful, but the kid clung back desperately. He looked smaller than ever without the bulky hoodie around him, his frame barely concealed by a worn, slightly oversized band shirt.

Remus’s face twisted into a snarl. “Hey, hands to yourself, you shitty Mothra rip-off!”

Janus quickly rose to his feet as well, looking up past the kid’s terrified gaze to see the alien had paused, it’s strange antenna protrusions twitching. The facial features didn’t give him much to work with, so he attempted to see what the creature was seeing, contextless: the kid tackling Remus for big showy arm movements, Remus coming after him. Was it trying to seperate them like a pet owner with a pair of squabbling dogs?

He shifted forwards, setting a hand on Remus’ shoulder and expertly drawing all attention to himself. Remus glanced at him and then reluctantly cut off his litany of extremely descriptive curses, though his grip on the kid didn’t falter. Janus tilted his head back to carefully lock eyes with the alien.

“No. Stop,” he spoke with a stern emphasis. “Put him down.”

He reached up to grab the kid’s arm as well, tugging lightly, and then repeated himself slowly.

“Double D, buddy, I’d bet all three of my balls that they don’t understand English,” Remus said, “no matter how slow you say it.”

Janus didn’t break eye contact with the giant, moving to point at the kid and then the floor of their enclosure emphatically. “That doesn’t mean we can’t communicate with them.”

At the perfect moment to dramatically accentuate his point, the alien seemed to concede, lowering the kid down until his feet were touching the floor. The guy tore out of the oversized grip as soon as it loosened, nearly tumbling head over heels. Janus caught him by the arm, and Remus took the opportunity to jump forwards and click his teeth menacingly at the giant hand. The alien recoiled immediately, looking much like an elephant shying away from a mouse.

“I volunteer to get probed and this is how you fucks repay me? Just grabbing kids all willy-nilly? Have some respect!”

The kid muttered something, half-lost under his panicked breaths, and Remus turned to look at him. “What was that, short stack?”

“Virgil,” he repeated irritably. “It’s Virgil, not ‘kid’, definitely not ‘short stack’. I’m twenty years old, for fuck’s sake.”

Janus and Remus shared a glance over the newly-named Virgil’s head, and that was enough to set the man off into another fit of cackling laughter.

---

Roman watched, enthralled, as the little creature bedecked in green threw its head back and made a hair-raising clamor.

Intriguingly enough, the other two didn’t seem to react too strongly to such a loud outburst. The yellow one turned its face to the side as its tiny features pinched into an expression that Roman couldn’t quite decode, and the shaky purple one’s pale face seemed to shift color as it made an emphatic hand gesture of some sort. Patton would be taking plenty of notes later.

The motions, the expressions, they were all intentional and full of meaning, just like the pointing and sounds Yellow had made when Roman had tried to separate Purple from the group. He still didn’t quite grasp why the other specimens had responded so strongly; Purple had clearly been attacking, though thankfully no serious harm had occurred thanks to Roman swiftly jumping into action.

“This is incredible,” Logan murmured from beside him, and Roman couldn’t help but agree.

“There’s so much to analyze here,” he mumbled. “Any small animal would flee from a predator’s grasp, but they recognized that we’re sapient, and Yellow even approached instead to mediate!”

“Yellow?” Patton asked, a bit of teasing in his voice. “I thought your nicknames were always a bit wordier?”

“I can’t properly nickname someone unless I have their self-presentation and personality, Pat!” Roman defended. “It’s more of a… designation. After all, I can’t very well ask their names, can I?”

“I mean, we could certainly try!” Patton suggested with an optimistic lilt to his voice. “I’m not a linguist for nothing, y’know!”

“It might take some time to communicate intent, so I wouldn’t get your hopes up, Patton.” Logan’s ears flicked at the pleading look the Nihl sent him. “Still, I’ll admit there’s… no harm in a first attempt.”

Roman unsubtly chittered a laugh at his coworker’s expense, and Patton brightened immediately.

“Glad that you agree it’s… wordth a try!”

---

Janus was drawn away from the amusing argument going on between his fellow captives (the topic being how old one had to be to be an actual ‘for-realsies’ adult, federal law be damned) by two of the aliens simultaneously making odd, dragged out noises almost like stuttering groans.

“They sound like fucking zombies,” Virgil muttered from where he’d appeared at Janus’s shoulder. He’d snapped back to watching the three with blatant paranoia the moment they were loud enough to catch his notice.

The kid wasn’t subtle at all, but it wasn’t like he was wrong to be on guard. They were still abducted, regardless of how fantastical or impossible their captors seemed. Seeing how significant the size difference was, they’d have to work on escaping through… more cunning means.

Janus carefully held his position as the three giants crowded around the enclosure again, ignoring the way Virgil reached out to grip the back of his hoodie, either for comfort or in preparation to pull Janus from danger. This time, the three chattered amongst themselves for a long moment before going quiet and turning to the multiple-armed one.

Automatically, the humans mirrored the gesture, and the recipient of their attention met their gazes carefully one by one before placing a rigid, vertical hand under their chin and holding it there.

“Patton,” the alien said, slow and clear. It looked at them expectantly, and then repeated the phrase. “Patton.”

It was definitely some kind of word, that was clear enough. When not caught up in the rapid-fire chittering nature of the alien language, it was much easier to decipher.

“Patton?” Virgil muttered, and then squeaked when the alien stared at him with sudden intensity, hands flicking up and down erratically. Except for, Janus noted, the one still under its chin.

“Patton,” it said again, and then lowered the hand. Next to it, the insect-like one put a much bonier hand under its own angular chin.

“Roman,” it said, with a few subtle clicks that probably couldn’t be replicated by human mouths. Janus nodded, the pieces clicking into place. “Roman.”

Sure enough, next to make the hand gesture was the last alien, who introduced itself with a note of rippling bass overlapping with something like Logan. It was probably a bit mangled as he echoed it back, but different vocal chords made things difficult.

“You communing with them, Dee?” Remus asked from where he was crowding over his other shoulder. “That’s no sign language I’ve ever used. You speak alien and you’re not even going to share with the class?”

Janus elbowed him off, and then stepped forwards, and placed his own hand under his chin vertically, studying the ripple of reaction that got from the aliens.

“Dee,” he said, choosing to use his nickname as he had with the other humans.

The aliens immediately dissolved into excited chattering, which Janus patiently waited out. His fellow earthlings were similarly surprised.

“Wait, they’re doing introductions right now?” Virgil’s head whipped back and forth rapidly. Remus was gleefully attempting to mimic the weird, echoey quality of the voice of ‘Logan’ and getting concerningly close.

The one with all the arms-- Patton, it was Patton, he needed to remember if he wanted to make any progress at all here-- let out a string of syllables, slowed down but still nonsensical to them, and reached out.

Virgil jumped back and Remus started forwards, but Janus cut off all movement with a quickly snapped “Stop!”

Including the alien’s motion. He resisted the urge to smile at the success, instead looking up at Patton and tilting his head slightly. “What is it?”

Patton didn’t understand his words, but the questioning tone seemed to carry over, and after a beat, they moved their hand forward again just slightly before pausing, as though asking permission.

Janus weighed his options for a moment, before stepping forward. Virgil, who was still latched onto the back of him, came along with only a single sound of half-panicked protest. Patton correctly assumed that this was Janus giving his assent, and moved their hand closer, much slower this time.

With delicate, careful motions, they pushed Janus’s left hand out from under his chin, and then carefully curled a finger around his right arm, tugging that one up instead. Janus realized his mistake after a moment, and placed the right hand under his chin instead. Patton withdrew with a bright hum.

“What is happening,” Virgil hissed, and Janus glanced over his shoulder at him. The color had drained from his face, and his hand was white-knuckled where it was holding onto Janus’s borrowed outfit.

“I was mirroring their… introductory gesture, I suppose, and it seems that the meaning changes if I don’t use the correct hand. In this case, my right one,” he explained. “They’re going to want to know your name. Do you want me to assist?”

Before he could answer, Remus was bouncing forwards, placing a hand under his own chin to gain the aliens’ attention.

“Call me I-Am-A-Buttface,” he half-shouted, grinning wildly.

---

“Did… did anyone else catch that one’s name?”

Roman watched as ‘D’ reached over and tugged the other tiny alien back by the collar roughly before they could speak again, astonished by how the other only let out what might be a cackle at the rough handling.

Not more astonished than he’d been by the alien catching on so quickly, though. Logan had been rendered completely speechless for a record amount of time, and Patton was still happily waving his hands back and forth at the success.

D visibly let out a long breath, and turned back to them, placing the correct hand under their chin this time. “D,” they repeated, and then switched things up.

They pulled the rambunctious one closer and placed their hand under that one’s chin, too. “Remus.”

“Are they-- introducing the other one as well?” Roman asked, and none of them could answer. ‘Remus’ didn’t seem to object, though they continued to speak in that rounded language. “That’s certainly a bit... unorthodox.”

D looked over at the only unnamed alien, the angry one that was standing at D’s shoulder, and after a moment, they jerked their head strangely. D seemed to understand, and held a hand palm-up in that one’s direction.

The unnamed alien put their hand in the proper introductory position, and had a few false starts before finally getting their name out. “Virgil.”

“Virgil,” Patton echoed excitedly. “That’s Virgil! Virgil, D, and Remus!”

“Stars above,” Logan said faintly, “they really are just people but smaller.”

Roman couldn’t help but agree with the astounded sentiment. It hadn’t really sunk in before, but knowing the personal names of individual members of the unfamiliar species… “This could have been a disaster. Why were they labeled as primitive? Did the recorders even actually observe the planet they’re from? This seems a little hard to miss!”

“Easy, Roman,” Patton reached over to run a couple of gentle hands over his agitated wings. “You’re scaring the little guys.”

Sure enough, when he looked over, he could see all three of the tiny aliens were staring at him. He clicked an apology, and then echoed it in Common. “My apologies, small friends.”

“I agree with you, though… We can’t treat them as anything less, not like the tests would have us do. I’m not sure what our next step should be,” Patton admitted, and they turned as one to look at Logan. The Glanrim had a recognizably enthusiastic glint to his eyes.

“We’ll have to present our case to the Council. If we want them to believe us, we’ll need sufficient evidence that our specimens are sentient, sapient, and deserving of the standard rights,” he told them, tail swishing. “Our next step is to obtain that proof, through whatever means we can.”

Roman and Patton shared a glance before nodding in agreement. They turned towards the aliens with determination, and then stopped completely short.

“We’re… going to have to find some method of communicating our intentions,” Logan said, tapping his fingers on his shoulder in thought. “I believe the lack of such communication is what caused Virgil to behave so timidly in the first place.”

“Yeah, just reaching in and grabbing them probably isn’t a good idea,” Roman admitted. “What’s the plan, then?”

“Well, this can be a test in itself. Assuming that they can discuss amongst themselves what tests each of us did on the first run-through…”

---

Janus stared blankly at the three hands that had been set down along the floor of their enclosure, palms-up, each corresponding to one of the aliens. He turned to look at Virgil and Remus, just to ascertain that he was seeing the same thing they were.

Remus tilted his head to a painful-looking angle, and then nodded to himself. “It’s just like those choose-your-own-adventure books, except with huge aliens that we don’t know the intentions of! Fun!”

“Oh, so they’re insane? They’re out of their skulls?” Virgil asked, his voice upping an octave in disbelief. “They really think we’re going to just literally put our lives in their hands, after they abducted and tormented us?”

“That’s exactly what we’re going to have to do,” Janus muttered, and held his hands up when Virgil turned to him with a glare. “Just listen for a moment. What are they doing right now?”

“Trying to trick us,” Virgil shot back immediately.

“Getting handsy!” Remus offered.

Janus pinched the bridge of his nose. “No and definitely no. They’re offering us a choice,” he clarified, “because we’ve done something to shift their opinions of us.”

“Some choice,” Virgil muttered. Janus pointed at him, making him jerk back slightly.

“Exactly. What do you think they’re going to do if we refuse to engage with them at all?”

“... Grab us anyways?”

Janus nodded, casting another look over at the waiting aliens. “If that happens, we’ve relinquished any and all control over the situation, no matter how small. Instead, we need to take advantage of this while we can. We’ll be putting our lives in their hands regardless, so it’s best to act strategically here.”

“Well, I know what I want.” Remus sidled a step away from them and towards the aliens. “Dibs on the hot one.”

“The what one?” Virgil gaped, and Remus ignored him in favor of getting a running start and then throwing himself directly onto Logan’s hand. Unsurprisingly, Logan seemed unsure how to react to a human sprawling over him like Rose from Titanic. Janus was too professional to slap a hand onto his forehead, but the urge was there. He grabbed Virgil’s shoulder when the kid started towards them.

“Forget it. He’s made his choice, and he doesn’t seem like the type to be swayed by common sense,” Janus said, rolling eyes and choosing very emphatically to not question his fellow human’s apparent qualifiers for someone being considered ‘hot’. “You need to make a decision of your own.”

Virgil shook him off, running his hands through his hair in frustration. “This is crazy. All of it. Forever. You know that, right?”

“I’m aware,” Janus replied, voice dry. Virgil shot him another look, and then seemed to actually consider the options, though grumpily. With his shoulders still up around his ears, he looked vaguely like a very angry turtle. Janus kept this observation to himself.

“Remus called the one with all the arms-- uh, Patton? He called them boring and said all they did was talk at him,” he finally offered, glancing over at the alien.

Janus nodded, keeping his own feelings on the matter off his face. “You want that one, then?”

“What?” Virgil looked at him, confused. “No, I mean you should go with them. You’ll probably have an easier time figuring out what they want from Patton.”

Janus paused, thrown off. “Hold on, that-- that leaves you with Roman. I… don’t think you’ll have the best time, considering.”

“And you will?” Virgil took Janus’s silence as the admittance it was, and nodded to himself. “I can do it. I’m tougher than you think. And anyways, if I let you go with him, he’d probably try to swipe my hoodie. Not happening.”

Janus huffed with exasperation, and Virgil gave him the closest expression he’d gotten to a smile yet before shoving his shoulder slightly and stomping up to Roman’s hand. The alien looked just as unhappy as Virgil about the decision.

---

“Well, that was an… interesting selection process,” Logan said, lifting up his hand slightly and finding that Remus seemed content to be toted around.

It was more than he could say about his own matchup. “Yeah, that’s one way of putting it,” he grumbled as ‘Virgil’ continued to stand there, tiny arms bundled around themself, tiny eyes staring up at Roman aggressively.

The little creature didn’t seem intent on even touching Roman, let alone actually being picked up and taken anywhere. Roman looked over to where D was seating themself on the edge of Patton’s hand like a king upon their throne, and then back to Virgil, who didn’t move.

Maybe they expected Roman to do all the heavy lifting? He carefully lifted his hand, curling it around Virgil’s tiny frame, and received a vicious hiss for his efforts. He recoiled, antennae flattening. He hadn’t even known these creatures could hiss!

“You alright, kiddo?” Patton appeared next to him, one hand hovering as a safety net for D. Roman pasted on a smile immediately.

“Of course! Just working out methods of transport with… Virgil. They seem a bit less charismatic than D when it comes to conveying intent, unfortunately.” The tiny creature continued to stare at him, gaze only dipping away to meet D’s briefly.

Patton studied Virgil for a moment, gaze moving between their hunched form and Roman’s fidgeting hands. “They might be a little touch shy. The transport containers are still usable, if you need them!”

“Ah, that’s right! Patton, you’re a genius.” Roman exchanged good luck hums with the Nihl and waited until he departed to grab the transport container and present it to Virgil. “Is this what you want to use, you picky creature?”

As though to spite him, Virgil’s skin shifted to a paler shade, and they went so far as to step back slightly. Roman allowed himself a few frustrated clickswears, and then stopped as he noticed the creature stumble slightly.

“Virgil…?” he attempted the alien’s name, but there was no response beyond their rapid air intake increasing. They didn’t look so good.

Feeling oddly off-balance, he quickly stowed the transport container away, and kept his hands out of sight to give the poor guy some more space. “Easy, easy. Please for the love of all that is good, don’t die of shock on me.”

Virgil didn’t seem to improve at first, but after a moment, they started muttering to themself, and slowly but surely, began to return to baseline. Roman felt as though years had been taken off his lifespan.

“Alright, if you feel so strongly about it, there’s no reason I can’t improvise and simply work from here,” he rambled, moving a seat and a tray of tools to the side of the wide-low enclosure. “Logan wasn’t kidding when he called you easily startled, was he?”

Virgil eyed the tray with wide eyes, and when Roman picked up the thermometer, they skittered back out of easy reach, arms lifted in what must have been a defensive gesture. Like a frightened Arkbit, but less fluffy, and Roman had to actually try to coax them over rather than just holding them still for the process.

“It’s just a thermometer! It won’t prick you or anything, on my honor,” Roman swore, and when that didn’t do the trick, he used the device on himself instead. “See, I just place it against my skin for a few moments, and… there! A perfectly healthy me!”

He extended the sensor end of the thermometer in Virgil’s direction, but didn’t advance. “C’mon, just give it a shot. We’re going to need your baseline in case you get sick, and it’ll make it easier to get the others’ temps if you can tell them I’m not going to electrocute them or anything.”

Virgil dithered for a long moment, but Roman’s patience was rewarded when the alien finally stalked closer and smacked his hand against the sensor like a challenge. Luckily, it was precise enough to work accurately even with such a small specimen, and soon enough Roman has a temperature.

“Huh… you’re warmer than me and Patton, that’s for sure,” Roman mumbled. “Logan probably already has all sorts of classification theories about you guys, but I think it’s at least safe to say you’re mammalian.”

Virgil tilted their head slightly at him, and Roman shook his head. “We’ll have more to talk about once we actually manage to make a breakthrough on language. For now,” he held up a small scale, normally used for weighing precise chemical measurements, “back to the boring stuff!”

The tiny alien made a strange drawn out noise, and placed their hands over their face, but they didn’t get all tense and breathy again, and that was progress in Roman’s book.

So long as they kept making progress, things would probably turn out okay.

#sanders sides #space au #g/t #ts virgil #ts logan #ts janus #ts roman #ts patton #ts remus #writing #my writing #alien au #nawts #not always what they seem #commissioned works #giant/tiny

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sweetertangerine · 2 years

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SO. THE BEST VILLAIN IN HLVRV IS CAPITAL M AND HERE'S WHY: A mini ramble Warning: very biased/based on personal interpretation

So. First, I want to talk about everything that this. Character? Self insert? Both? I want to talk about them on their own first, then expand. So, from what we know, Capital M is a villain capable of multiversal travel. They have top of the line technology, and a vast knowledge OF the multiverse. They're kinda lonely, but find company and comfort in their hobbies and their robots. They like to make jokes, and generally just have a good time. They believe that negative experiences can turn someone into something amazing (and usually evil which is totally epic.) These are things we can gather purely from their character interactions, and what they tell us. They don't totally know what they're doing, ofc. At certain points, they're kinda wingin' it. Fuckin around and finding out. And when they appear, you know shit's about to either get really funny or really interesting. Great villain, right? Here's the thing. They only get better when you actually take into account their actions in episode 2. They fooled everyone. We thought they were McDonald's Barney for the longest time. We were all convinced it was Barney. They did this ON PURPOSE. They were AWARE of the events of Episode 1 and In Dreams. They KNEW how to get us, and in a way, Malcom, to trust them. They KIDNAPPED anyone who could mess with the anomaly. They even made the Neo recording to screw with Swap. This is all preplanned, well thought out stuff. Stuff they either had to methodically plan out, or do on the fly. Either way, it was GENIUS. They purposely went out of their way to, in some form, keep Malcom and the Gordons somewhat distant from each other. Malcom was too busy focusing on THEM to realize that he was kinda just. Letting the Gordons do their own thing. It let them get BORED. Let me remind you that Malcom was an unforeseeable obstacle. The Evil legit says that they thought Malcom would count as a Gordon. Malcom's intervention was unexpected, and they handled the unexpected better than any other villain seemed to tbh. When they snatched the Gordons? They didn't force the guys onto the ship. It was an invitation. And with the time they'd kept Malcom busy, he didn't really rebuild any bonds. So, they had no real reason to stay with him. Especially not Swap. Which circles back to the Neo voice decoy which was just. MWAH. These are their villainous actions in the FIRST HALF of episode 2.

Have I mentioned that they have a giant fuck you robot? Have I mentioned that their ship IS the giant fuck you robot??? No??? IT IS. IT IS AND THE IMAGE OF THEIR GIANT FUCK YOU ROBOT GETTIN' READY TO KICK SOME ASS MADE ME SET MY PHONE DOWN AND TAKE A MINUTE.

Now. Let's talk about 2 characters that, to ME, are important to realizing a few things about Capital M.

First. Malcom. You all saw this one coming.

Malcom is the player from Mothra's worldstop au. Malcom, when we meet and read about him at first, is a dude who's alone and bitter. We find out that he didn't know the AI were. Well. ALIVE. He's not a bad PERSON. He did bad things, but he's capable of remorse.

Capital M says he would've become like them, if Malcom would've stayed on the same course. And it's true. It's why Malcom sees the good in Capital M. Good that he had a hard time seeing in himself.

Because Capital M is a good person. A person who doesn't actively want to HURT people. They do bad things, but that doesn't make them a bad person. It makes them a villain.

"But Tangy, wdym they don't wanna hurt people" you may be wondering. After all, look at what they did. And I present to you the fact that they actively avoided hurting anyone unnecessarily. Yes. They emotionally hurt people. But only when they had to, for the sake of their plan.

They didn't hurt Neo to get that audio recording. They didn't hurt Malcom, or the Gordons when backed into a corner.

And they didn't unnecessarily hurt the second character I wanna talk about. Leading Light.

Leading Light escaped his room every chance he got. And Capital M? Didn't like. Beat him up or anything. Hell, they stop trying to keep LL in his room by the end of it. And they clearly find LL annoying, yet stay in his company.

I know what you're about to assume. That I'm gonna go into some mopey talk about loneliness and putting up with someone just to stave off said loneliness.

But no.

Their tolerance of LL as a frenemy is proof of the thing that puts them above EVERY other villain.

LL is entertaining. And they're invested in these characters, and this story, for the same reasons some of us are. For the comfort. To feel less lonely. To feel related to. To be.

Entertained.

Capital M is complex, and deep, and absolutely interesting. But what we know 100% surely, is that they came into this for the same reason we did. To be entertained. Immersed. To be a part of the story. Their motives can be seen in so many different ways, and different lights, and you can see them as a good person or a villain or both and.

Yes, they emotionally hurt people. That's bad. But so did we. Not all of us, but some of us, actively antagonized characters. Went out of our way to upset and hurt them. Think about what created Loverboy back in Y2KVR. That was US. We aren't bad people for it. Because, to many of us, they're fictional. We're just playing around. Being entertained.

We are Malcom. We are Capital M.

Capital M travels the multiverse and studies it. They see these characters and iterations similar to how we do. As characters. Yet when the characters start to show emotion, and fight back? When they show the possibility of wanting to befriend them? M retreats. Because getting to know these iterations would mean accepting that they can feel, and care. A similar revelation to Malcom.

The other main villains are good. They're interesting and entertaining. But Capital M is The Best Villain, just like how Loverboy is the most underestimated.

Keep in mind that a lot of this is just. Purely my interpretation of events and implications Even without the character analysis, their actions and general personality is awesome. Plus they have a giant robot. Have I mentioned the giant robot.

#tangy tangent

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hrodvitnon · 22 days

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Followup to the big Xenilla Arc submission from earlier about Abraxas:

The power would essentially have to combine their attunement to radio waves and their electricity. Indoctrination (at least in Mass Effect- not sure if there's any huge differences in Abraxasverse) is essentially a big electromagnetic field that generates brain impulses- like subtle whispers that eventually drive the victims insane and brainwash them into believing certain things. Abraxas is capable of generating both- but the actual mechanics of doing so are very precise and complicated- especially finnicky to a fighter like them who usually just blind rages with their power until everything's a collective puddle of red. This could be a subject of their fight with Gigan- he's a tricky fighter who knows how to manipulate their rage and cause them to make mistakes, which he punishes accordingly. Abraxas would have to slow down- focus- and be tactical here, find new ways to use their power to beat him. Once they've got the honed control down- they can start combining a subtle electrical field with psionic messages to imitate Indoctrination (weird comparison, but hear me out; it works kinda like San's Thundergasm in Abraxas- only much much more difficult to pull off as it's at a distance and you need to be precise down to the exact neuron or risk causing brain damage).

Reaper Indoctrination is insidious, dark, meant to make you question and doubt your own mind so you give in to the whispers. This is combined with their ships' architecture being meant to throw you off- meant to fuck with you- like a maze you get caught in with your mind telling you to go one way and the infernal noise in the back of your head telling you to go somewhere else. Abraxas's Indoctrination would be the opposite- meant to reassure, to comfort, to remind you to trust yourself, to remind of happier times. This could also be Vivienne's opportunity to mirror what San did for her within Jonah's captivity- being the voice to reassure her when she was so close to giving up. Now she has the power to whisper words of encouragement to her allies just like he did for her so long ago. This could be coupled with a soothing locale to reinforce peace- like somewhere natural.

One of the reasons I think it would be so powerful for Abraxas to have access to this is something specifically about Vivienne and her ancestry: Bone Singing. To amplify the ancient songs in this way would be an advancement of the technique- a true evolution that not even the most ancient of Titans knew was possible; and it would be powerful to hear. Like a song sung in the back of your mind- one that reminds you of the great old days- that calls back to a people long forgotten. Abraxas wouldn't just live up to the Bone Singer name, they'd surpass it; becoming something completely different but familiar. Imagine being a freaked out, mentally scarred Godzilla- or Rodan not knowing if he's going to survive infection or end up like Ozzy- and hearing a two-man chorus in the back of your head singing the songs that brought you joy and companionship so long ago, coupled with calming whispers from either San or Vivienne.

If anything, I think this should be what brings Ozzy back from the brink, and recontextualizing him as a suffering victim in the same light that Vivienne was back at the beginning of Abraxas would be pitch perfect character growth- giving her a chance to tell him the things she wish she told herself, connect with him on that level, essentially be to him what San or Mothra was to her when she was first going through it.

This power would also fall in line with the theme of- well, the name of Abraxas. Reaper Indoctrination was undoubtably one of the most evil inventions ever made- in a very similar light that Ghidorah's powers were. But just like those- the power now belongs to Abraxas. "You inherit it and that makes it YOURS now. No one else's. YOURS. Good, bad? Words. Power is a tool. You decide how to use it."

You know, I like this. Abraxas becoming more than just an Executioner Titan (though they absolutely will do violent bad things if need be, that's part of the name's territory) but will go out of their way to help.

"I have slain gods and demons. I have brought unimaginable horrors into existence and I have exorcised them. I bring no evil here. Have no fear. Be at peace. Here, you are safe. Here, you can dream of times long past. May they be sweet anodyne to your weary soul."

#tosho89 #frostbite814 #abraxasverse

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hopeatermeetsgodzilla · 3 years

Text

Chapter 15

“-and he’s lived on Mara since then.” Madison finished, Florès humming and nodding in acknowledgment. The younger girl was currently reading the files about the Titans as the mechanic tinkered away on the new model for the ORCA.

It’s size was between the original prototype and the smaller one he had given Emma. This one was supposed to have a wider range of available sounds than just the options to make a Titan stand down or provoke them to a fight. “Damn, that’s a sucky backstory. And you’re telling me Rodan jumping in a volcano in an effort to be with his wife in death may be related to why he can live in one?”

“Yeah. I mean, Mothra can reincarnate.” Madison said with a shrug. “Magic that allowed someone to survive lava doesn’t seem that far-fetched.”

“Magic doesn’t exist.” Florès said, shaking his head as he got up from his chair, walking to the coffee machine and mini-fridge he kept in his office. “It’s just science no one has figured out yet. You want any snack?”

“Chocolate. And how would you explain reincarnation then, uh? Or Isla de Mara just... vanishing without a trace?”

Florès seemed to think for a moment. “Either Mothra is actually a really long family line of moth Titans who leave notes to each other in order to pull the longest scam in history- catch,” He threw a kit-kat at Madison. “-or the theory of genetic memory is actually right. As for Mara, I dunno. Probably something with physics...”

“What would you do if you learned magic was actually a whole science in itself?” Madison asked as she opened the candy. “Would you be mad?”

“I would be mad, yes. What about the last ones?” He asked as he started the coffee machine.

“Alright, so... Ghidorah...” Madison started. “There’s three of them, but we don’t have records of their actual names. But we do have nicknames: One who is Many, Golden Demise, Death Song of Three Storms... wow, there’s a lot.”

“Just give me facts, like with the others- powers, known relationship with other Titans, current whereabouts, and whatever backstory Dr. Chen scrounged up.”

“Alright, so: last seen near Mara, and disappeared at about the same as the Island. Everyone seems to hate them, and the feeling is mutual.” Madison turned to look at Florès, breaking her kit-kat up.

“What about their powers?” Florès asked, pouring himself a cup and coming closer.

“Uh... bio-electrical, energy draining, meteokinesis, flight of unknown nature, suspected to have a high level of telepathy, independency from oxygen...” Madison listed off.

Florès nodded, taking his seat again. “Is it noted somewhere why he doesn’t need oxygen. Like, are they deep-sea weirdos, or something?”

“... Look in the opposite direction.”

“What do you mean, look in the opposite direc- no.”

“... yeah... it says in the ‘myth’ section that they fell from the stars...”

“No no no no no no no- we’re dealing with fucking aliens!?” Madison nodded. “¡Qué cojones...!” Florès snapped, slamming his cup on his desk. His attention then snapped at the unfinished ORCA. “I need to finish this.”

“Most of the myths they’re in also all portray them as malevolent.” Madison added. “Like, ‘inspiration for the Christian Devil’ malevolent.”

“Mmm. Don’t like that.”

“What, you’re Christian?”

“Raised catholic, yeah.” Madison eyebrows shot up to her forehead. “Comes with the territory when you grow up in Venezuela. But I doubt these guys fell from grace, or anything.”

Madison hummed, going back to looking at the computer screen, even if she wasn’t reading anymore. “I talked to one of them, you know?”

“Did you?” She nodded. “How?”

“I... one of them was able to get outside of his body.” Madison started, Florès nodding and taking a sip from his cup. “And he talked to me. Brought me to mom when she came to get me in Antartica. And... told me he and his brothers just wanted to be free.” She buried her face in her hands. “I should’ve trust my instincts, should’ve known he was lying...”

“Well, you’re twelve.” Florès noted, patting Madison on the shoulder. “You can’t know everything. Don’t be so hard on yourself. Plus, you’re not the one who freed him now.” He then turned back toward the ORCA. “If I had been in your mother’s position, I would’ve done the same. And I can guarantee you that your mother would’ve still saved you if she knew all that stuff. So stop blaming yourself for getting kidnapped, alright Russellita?”

“Alright.”

Oh, that rock he was laying on was comfy.

Rodan never wanted to get up, curling up a bit even as he finally opened his eyes. The sun had risen a while ago, indicating he had slept in. Which made sense, seeing as he had stayed up talking and star watching with Ghidorah, who had been... surprisingly nice. They just talked about places they remembered seeing beyond the world Rodan knew, pointing at locations in the sky when it turned dark.

Now that it was locked away from reality, the night sky had gained it’s stars back. He used to think that Ghidorah were vengeful souls back from the dead, but he supposed that stars being a map of the world beyond their own made just as much sense as them being the imprint left by the departed.

Nevertheless, the scenery this morning was still very pretty. With the sun reflecting in the water with thousand of sparkles and illuminating the golden strands of hair around him, it was as if light was bouncing off of everything.

Wait a minute...

Rodan opened his eyes more fully, looked up, and realized with horror that he was laying in Ichi Ghidorah’s lap, who had his hair undone for once and forming a curtain around him. “Good morning, sleepyhead.”

Rodan screeched, jumping to stand up and suddenly very awake, only to stumble and land on his ass. “How long have you been watching me!? And why was I sleeping on you!?”

“Since my brothers woke up a while ago. And you fell asleep while we were star watching last night. The ground didn’t look very comfortable, so I moved you.” Ichi answered, still sitting as he leaned toward Rodan, who looked around him with a panicked expression. “You asleep looked like you were agreeing...”

“Okay, don’t manhandle me when I’m unconscious. And where did those two go!?”

“Ni is exploring what’s left of the human settlement. San is looking for rocks.” Ichi answered coolly, hoping the little bird would calm down eventually.

For now, to no avail. “Why are they doing that!?”

“Ni wants to see if there’s any humans left. As for San, he just wants to find rocks.” There was a pause, Ichi debating whether or not he should open up a bit. “He will also inevitably smash one of these rocks on my head as revenge for telling him to do things, but that can’t be helped.”

“... there’s no humans left.” Rodan angrily muttered, finally taking his eyes off Ichi. “They all left some times before you came here, and those that didn’t were probably flung away when I fell for the humans’ bait.”

Ichi raised an eyebrow at that. “Bait?”

“Humans figured out how to create calls.” Rodan explained bitterly. “They used one to bait me into flying into your storm.”

Ichi chuckled. “Oh, we’d have found you either way. The whole reason we came here in the first place is because San wanted to see you.”

“Maybe, but I wouldn’t have had to fight off the three of you in the middle of a raging storm.” Rodan retorted, bringing his knees up to his chest.

Ichi simply shrugged, going into meditation. {Ni, there’s no humans left. They all left before we came here.}

[Are you sure?]

{The little bird told me they left.}

[You’re really just going to believe him?]

{What?}

[What if it’s a trick?]

{What would he get out of lying about that!?}

(Also, he’s telling the truth.)

[Hello, brother San. How do you know that?]

(Hi Ni! Humans have a really strong emotional presence despite being so small and stupid, so they’re really easy to spot. Along with Rodan, we’re the only ones here.)

{And you didn’t tell us anything for some reason because...?}

(I thought you guys already knew! I mean, I get Ni not noticing because he’s so bad at it- no offense-)

[None taken.]

(-but brother Ichi!? You should’ve noticed ages ago.)

{Okay then-}

[Brother San, we haven’t even been there for a full day yet.]

(You know what I mean.)

{You two-}

[Anyway, I think humans figured out electricity, and how to generate it.]

{What!? Are you su-} Ichi was snapped out of his thoughts as he felt something lean on his leg. He opened his eyes, looking down at Rodan. The smaller being was leaning his head on his thigh, eyes closed. Was he... was he sleeping?... no, just resting. {The both of you come back as fast as you can. Ni, bring back some evidence.}

(But-)

{That’s not negotiable, San.} Ichi ignored his brothers as he put his hands on Rodan. One under his back, and the other one under his knees.

Rodan opened his eyes, confused. “What are you- gah!” Ichi had lifted him, only to promptly set him down on his lap. He chuckled as Rodan’s face started glowing brightly, twirling a lock of red hair around his long fingers. “Wha- telling you not to manhandle me when I’m sleeping wasn’t code for ‘do it when I’m awake’-”

“Don’t move.” Ichi told him, fingers carding through long red hair and separating it. “How do you usually style it?”

“Uh... simple ponytail, and I use another twisted strand to keep it together.” Rodan explained hesitantly. He looked down as Ichi started humming a little tune to himself, taking a strand of hair right above his ear and braiding part of it.

“How high do you keep your hair?” Ichi asked Rodan, who hummed in confusion. “I know it’s not high like San’s, but it doesn’t seem to be at the base of your head either.”

“J- just do it however you want.” There was a pause were there was no movement, Rodan fidgeting. He then brought a hand to the back of his head, claws tapping the middle of the back of his skull. “It doesn’t immediately become a problem if it loosen up, that way.”

“You don’t have to be so shy, you know? Why don’t you tell me what happened to you while we were sleeping.” Rodan shrunk on himself at that. Ichi leaned down as the other started debating it to himself, taking the braid within his teeth before lifting a sleeve up. He tied off one of the short ribbons he usually kept for his hair.

“I... became the Fire Guardian.” Rodan finally admitted.

Ichi hummed, starting to gather hair for the ponytail, letting go of the braid in the process. “What happened to the last one? The bird with the colorful feathers... what was her name again?”

“Quetzalcoatl. And she... died. Out of control volcanic eruption, the smoke is what killed her.” Rodan’s voice had broken on that fourth word.

Ichi raised an eyebrow, tying the ponytail with the ribbon. “You two were close?” He was pretty sure the only people Rodan had been close to was Godzilla.

“We met after you guys got sealed.” Was the only context he offered.

“I see...” Better not push the subject for now less San’s plan gets ruined from trying to dig too deep too fast, but it would be interesting ammunitions for later. He tied the braid around the base the ponytail, passing whatever wasn’t braided under it. “Done~”

Rodan hesitantly pat the braid on the side of his head, before shaking his head a bit. It seemed to be holding better than normal. He was about to thank Ichi, before remembering he was still sitting on his lap and jumping off with a yell. This time, he was able to right himself, and looked at him. Since the Ghidorah was sitting down, the two were at mostly the same eye level. He coughed hesitantly, the flush on his face lessening a bit. “Th- thank you.”

“You’re welcome, firebird.” Rodan’s flush immediately came back, his face almost glowing a golden color.

“Still better than ‘little bird’...” He muttered to himself. Rpdan than turned, facing away from Ichi. “I’m going to go for a short flight, ascertain the damage you and your brothers did. Do not try anything while I’m gone, got it?”

Ichi chuckled. “You’re cute when you’re trying to be intimidating. And understood. I’ll be right there when you come back.”

“... Good.” And with that, a strong breeze lifted an extremely flustered Rodan of the ground, leaving Ichi alone and in a good mood.

Said good mood immediately faded away as he felt something collide with his head. He looked to his right, raising an unimpressed eyebrow at Ni who had smashed something made out of wood on his head, “Really?”

“I wasn’t finished searching, and you were getting too touchy-feely.”

“Yes Ni, that’s the plan.” Ichi reminded his brother. “Get close to Rodan in order to manipulate him.”

“You were getting touchy-feely- here’s the human tech.” Ni dumped what was left of the pole on Ichi’s lap. The older brother took a look at it, frowning. Certainly what was needed to transport energy from one place to another, but not enough to not lose any in travel, and there was too many pieces.

“That doesn’t make sense.” Ichi grumbled. “This is too primitive compared to the flying machines they had. It should be more in line with it. The other civilizations we saw always had a consistent level of tech on the entirety of their planets, if not always in line with other civilizations.”

“Not all of them.” Ni reminded him. “You remember the Exif, right?”

“Of course I remember the Exif.” Ichi hissed. The first (and the last) civilization to ‘loan’ Ghidorah from the Xiliens for a period of time that could be counted in years. In this case, for the upper class to intimidate the lower ones into believing their Gods had come to smite anyone who would dare oppose them. And since Gods were supposed to be immortal, they had stayed for several Exif centuries.

But then the Exif ended up believing their own lies, and upon San’s request, found a way to disconnect them from the Conductor. Enveloping their planet in an endless storm and watching it die had given Ghidorah such a rush they just knew that it’s what they had been taken away from their own world for.

“Not sharing everything in an equal manner between all seems like something they would do.” Ni commented. “And humans always lived in small, separated communities with a clear leader. Maybe it became more apparent as time went on? It goes very fast to them, after all.”

Ichi groaned, taking one last, distasteful at the components in front of him. “Still. There’s never that big of a gap in technology on singular planets. If they have figured out space travel, the furthest they would be able to go to is their moon.” A rock landed on the back of Ichi’s head. “Welcome back, San.”

The youngest brother sat down, giggling as Ni gave his own snort. His arms were full of rocks “Sorry, needed to get it out after you interrupted my search for cool rocks.”

“Did you find any cool rocks?”

“Not really...” San whined, handing the rocks to Ichi, who started looking them over. Most of them had the same hard quality as the ground. “You called us back before I could find good ones... oh! But I did find this!” Out of the tissue he usually draped himself with, San got out a glossy black stone that had a powdery, golden sheen to it.

Ni’s eyes widened by a fraction, making a grabby motion for it. When San shook his head, his face soured. “Why?”

“I want to give it to Rodan. Show of goodwill.” San explained. “By the way, where did he go?”

“For a flight. He wants to see how dead his island is.” Ichi answered off-handedly. “Are you sure that plan of yours is going to work? Fire bird has... quite the temper. He might not break if we tell him the humans were the ones who did this.”

“Someone angry at us but more at our target is still easier to use than someone who’s just angry at us.” San replied, before frowning. “Also, I thought he was ‘little bird’?”

“’Fire bird’ sounds less insulting than ‘little bird’.” Ichi answered, shrugging. “Like you said, show of goodwill. That, and doing his hair.”

“... Brother San, give me that rock.”

“No, Ni!”

“It’s not for me. I want to be the one giving it to the fire bird.” Ni answered. Upon his brothers’ confused faces, he continued. “It’s easy for the both of you to pretend to be nice- oblivion, San is actually nice. It’s not for me. But the plan isn’t going to work well if it doesn’t seem like I’m at least trying to be nice. So?”

After a few seconds, Sa handed the stone to Ni, the message in his eyes obvious. Don’t screw this up.

We cannot screw this up.

#writing #my writing #oc #my oc #madison russel #ghidorah #King Ghidorah #ichi ghidorah #ni ghidorah #san ghidorah #kevin ghidorah #rodan #rodorah #Godzilla #godzilla gijinka

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lesamisandlesmiserables · 4 years

Note

For the mods- how are your characters similar or different to you?

...

Thank you for the ask, mon ami!

Grantaire: i feel like i'm extremely similar to grantaire, before i even found Les Mis i was acting out my life exactly like he does in the brick. to this day i'm not nearly as active as the other Mods because i'm dealing with a lot of personal issues. I'm spending a lot of my time lately getting drunk and helping my local friends get out of my little reservation. I'm Plains Cree and it kills me to see everyone be so hopeless. all i want in the future is to see my people see value in themselves.

Babet: I don’t think I should actually admit to how similar Babet and I are.

Eponine: I’m fairly similar to Eponine, or at least my version of Eponine. I see Eponine as genderfluid, and yes that’s partly projection - but there is evidence for it in the book (Eponine repeatedly presents as male as well as female). I also love reading (Eponine is very proud of her ability to read in the book and likes showing off with it). I daydream a lot, and I love my siblings. I’m not exactly like Eponine, I don’t have the same experiences, but like Eponine, I dream of a better world. I’m not as brave as Eponine (I’m honestly a bit of a coward ha) but I admire their bravery. Like Eponine, I’d like to think I’d do anything for the people I care about.

Bahorel: In the brick Bahorel seems to be a kind of a social butterfly, he's like a link to other groups more than a known member of les Amis, and in the musical he doesn't even exists and it doesn't really affects anything, I feel I'm like that, for me is easy to connect with people in a superficial level but not feeling part of the group in a deeper sense, which isn't a bad thing because it's actually fun to just get along. I can be loud and easygoing. Also I feel we both got a sense of humour. I'm different tho in that I'm not as brave or bold , and I'm not *that* confrontative. But idk man, it's hard to say canonically with this characters we only get a few lines of, at the end most of it it's projection or straight up invented so who knows.

Javert: I don't think i'm very similar to Javert but i still have some of his attributes(or things i consider his attributes). I can be very very stuborn although not in a very negative fanatic way as him. I am passionate and can be dramatic as hell. Sometimes i can say very witty and dry sarcastic badass things. They are times that i seem weird when it comes to social interactions and sometimes i look restrained cold and closed (when i don't feel comfortable with some people) and i think he is too.Also my boy Javert is ace like me.It's just the facts.

Claquesous:

No.

Montparnasse: First of all, we’re both hot, jot that down. (We’re also vain, as you can see). Second of all, the line that described Montparnasse? “Gentle, effeminate, graceful, robust, weak, and ferocious”? ( Fahnestock and MacAfee translation). Yeah that’s me. We both like to be well-dressed and might or might not be willing to murder for nice clothes. To be fair, I’m nicer than he is and I am not exactly gonna... like... murder people for fun. (The 1%, on the other hand 👀). There was that one post about if you have a slider and you slide it from like, cute to dark you get Courfeyrac and Montparnasse respectively, I’m the whole spectrum of that :p I think our Feu is in denial how similar I am to parts of Montparnasse :p

Feuilly: Monty is not like Montparnasse- Monty is baby Montparnasse is not. On the other hand, I’ve shifted the characterization of Feuilly a bit over these past few years. Of course, I kept the hardworking and creative aspects (things I like to think that I am), but Mr. Thicctor Hugehoe didn’t give me much to work with. I simp for iced tea, just like Feuilly, I am also a fan of The Memes™, but I’m genderfluid and Feu isn’t! Also, I am not the sibling of our Monty 😔

Montparnasse: See, in denial ;) Also I have adopted you my dear. We are family by anything but blood.

Bossuet: I have taken to referring to my clumsy, accidentally self-harming daily nuisances as Bossuet-moments, if that explains anything? I am definitely prone to stupid, unlucky injuries and when I think things are going well, I can be pretty sure bad luck will spoil it. So there you go, check that off the list. Like Bossuet, though, I don't let it put me down permanently. I love my friends and I have gotten fairly good at getting my spirits up despite whatever doorframe I ran into or which favourite mug I dropped and scorched my feet. I'll be fine as long as my friends back me up.

Enjolras: I’m fairly similar to my character. I strive for equality and justice, I love my friends with all my heart, and I tend to take lead on things. There are places where I differ as well, but on the whole I feel Enj is the one I’m most similar to out of anyone in Les Mis.

Joly: I think I'm kind of like Joly! We're both known for being cheerful and optimistic, and I also use a cane to walk sometimes, which is part of why I love Joly! I also tend to write Joly as trans and I am too, and I love my friends very much, just like Joly!

Combeferre: The love of books and the tendency to always occupy the niche of the ‘Mom Friend’ are, I suppose, the most visible similarities. I have also been accused of spending too much on books, which is an outright lie, although, in the interests of transparency, my two most recent acquisitions did total £100+ and £62+ respectively.

I’m generally quite good at giving advice and am, at the risk of sounding arrogant, fairly intelligent. I can also be quite cutting with my words, although I’m rarely as polite as a simple “to be free”. I also share quite a lot of interests with Combeferre, both as he is in the book and in fanfiction. I’ve also somehow been infected with a love for moths and I hold everyone here completely and utterly responsible and am choosing to gloss over the fact that I have been obsessed with Mothra since I was a child.

I’m also relatively certain that I’m taller than most of this chaotic bunch.

#les miserables blog #les mis rp #les mis #les miserables #les miserables rp #ask #grantaire #babet #Eponine #bahorel #javert #Claquesous #montparnasse #Feuilly #enjolras #bossuet #joly #combeferre

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butterflyinthewell · 4 years

Text

I’m going to tell you the story of why I love Godzilla.

When I say not to make fun of an autistic person’s special interests, I say it from a place of deep understanding and pain. For me, an autistic SpIn is like being in love, or (for the aro folks out there), it’s like being with your best friend ever and it just feels so comfortable and good.

Sooooo in January my dad mentions wanting to watch KOTM with me. Any excuse to watch KOTM is good, so of course I jumped on it. We watched Godzilla KOTM. It’s the movie I spent all of 2019 talking about from January to May. I got it for Christmas 2019 because mom knew I was going to want it as soon as the first roar hit the screen in the theater. (I took her to see it as a Mother’s Day gift, she liked it too.)

Lemme tell y’all something: when I was a young kid, my dad got me into Godzilla. Starting when I was around 5, he told me the stories of the movies he’d seen (the whole Showa era and Godzilla 1985). So I knew about Godzilla, Rodan, Mothra, King Ghidorah, Minya, MechaGodzilla, Gigan, Hedorah, Megalon, etc long before I ever saw them.

My dad said “these are important characters.”

Then he started renting the movies when he felt I was old enough to not be scared by them (age 7 in 1987) and pointed out who was who.

And my first ‘real meeting’ with Godzilla was the same as the people in 1954, when he popped his head over that hill and roared that haunting sound I never forgot, and I was hooked forever.

I loved it. I loved all of it. Dad warned me about the ending of the ‘54 movie, so I wasn’t surprised by it, but I still cried! He got me over it by showing the the rest of them, as if to go “see, he’s okay!” Then dad warned me that Godzilla was ‘the bad guy’ again in Godzilla 1985, but didn’t tell me how it ended. I was reaaaaally upset when he fell into that volcano. I probably cried about it for three days. That scream still hits something in my soul.

My favorite childhood Godzilla movie is Godzilla’s Revenge. It’s the first Godzilla movie I ever owned. I loved Ichiro’s dreams of making friends with Minya, outsmarting his kidnappers and standing up to his bullies. I even tried to pick up Monster Island using a little portable am/fm radio I had as a kid. It didn’t work, all I got was static, but I sure tried! 😋

I wanted to be an island lady like Saeko from Son of Godzilla who could call monsters for help. I wanted to be a cyborg like Katsura, except I would use MechaGodzilla to make friends with Godzilla instead of trying to hurt him.

Anyway...

Dad’s interest in Godzilla stuff kinda dropped away as the 90s hit and my autistic traits began to make me deviate more and more noticeably from my peers. I had seen all the Showa era movies, so he stopped telling stories because there weren’t any more to tell.

My love for Godzilla carried on into the Heisei era and beyond. Dad acted like I should “leave that crap behind” when I kept buying movies and talking about them to him. He didn’t want to watch them with me or look at pictures in the Godzilla Compendium I picked up.

I didn’t stop my enthusiasm for Godzilla, I just stopped sharing it with dad. I kept at it through high school. I sobbed over Godzilla vs Destroyah because I thought that was the end of the franchise, and I can’t even mention what happened to Godzilla in that movie. If you’ve seen it, you know.

In the year 1998 the rumblings for the ‘98 movie started around New Years, so of course I made noise about going to see it. Because GODZILLA, y’all!

Well, dad surprised me and took me to see Godzilla ‘98 when it came out. I had been bugging about going to see it and he kept giving me a hard no, then had me convinced we were going to a baseball game that night instead. I did nothing to disguise my boredom or hurt in the car, and it broke when we pulled up to the theater. Okay, he pulled a fast one on me and he said I did an emotional 180 spin, but it was worth it. (I still like that movie, but I don’t call that creature Godzilla. I call him Zilla or GINO instead.)

Literally right after that my dad would get mad if I talked about Godzilla. He griped that I was “so obsessed with that stupid monster” and that I needed to grow up. I was almost 18, and I had, just not the way HE wanted, I guess...

Godzilla 2000 came out. Dad grudgingly took mom and me to see it, and I finally got to live my dream of seeing a legit Toho Godzilla movie in theaters. I was yelling and clapping (as were other people) and just had a huge blast. In the car, he told me to knock it off when I talked excitedly about what I liked in the movie. He slapped down all talk of Godzilla.

I still continued to be a fan. When more Millennium era movies came out, I grabbed them when I saw them on the shelves. I got everything from Godzilla vs Megaguirus to Godzilla: Final Wars in a little Japanese shop my dad found near where he worked at the time. I was in my early 20s then. I also got some figurines from that store: a Heisei era Mothra, a Heisei era King Ghidorah and a Millenium era (Final Wars) Godzilla. Dad rolled his eyes when I walked out with them in my arms.

And so began his weird pattern of indulging my interest, but getting upset at me if I talked about it. I was discovering the online fandom at this point, so I had another outlet, but still, it used to be our thing, and his behavior really stung.

I only discovered there were more movies in the Millenium era becuse I happened across GMK on HBO and realized I didn’t recognize that Godzilla suit or the setting.

Then I missed the ending because of a very badly timed phone call. But I was like “omg more Godzilla movies...hey dad, can we go to that shop?” (And then I was like a dragon with treasure when I came home....)

I grabbed the two Kiryu movies first because a certain fanfic author in the fandom had written some Mechagodzilla fanfics where Kiryu (Kiryuu in her stories) was sentient and sexy af. The idea of the original Godzilla being brought back as a robot was amazing and that author basically took the idea and ran it to another level. She’s the reason I headcanon the 54 Gojira as Heisei Godzilla’s dad.

ANYWAY, I got all caught up on the Godzilla movies and blew up to a boiling fan girl froth when the 2014 movie got advertised.

I took mom to see that becuse dad’s Parkinson’s had advanced so far that he couldn’t go out much anymore. Mom likes Godzilla movies and sci-fi in general. While she’s not as into it as me, she enjoys them for the entertainment. We both liked G2014, so I got it for Christmas.

We watched it with dad as a family, he said it was okay.

Through 2016 and 2017 I was rattling on about Shin Godzilla. Got that as a late 37th birthday gift because it came out on dvd a few days after my actual birthday. I watched it for the first time with dad, and he complained the whole time and kind of ruined the experience for me, which pissed me off. HE was the one who wanted to watch it with me, now I wish I watched it alone instead.

2019 came, KOTM happened. So that brings me to sitting down to watch it with dad. I was excited see his reaction to the monsters he introduced me to in childhood realized with modern cgi effects and all. I love seeing things that remind me of happy times in my childhood, and I thought those memories were fond for him, too. So I watched, waiting for him to recognize Mothra, Rodan and King Ghidorah.

He said nothing when they came onscreen. I got engrossed in the movie and sort of forgot about it, but when it was over I bounced up and asked, “Wasn’t it cool to see the guys you told me stories about when I was 5?”

I thought back while I waited for him to answer. I thought back on the stories, the fun and the movies.

I thought back on how my love for this character has grown, and how in KOTM it was physically realized in that painful moment when Ishiro Serizawa looks up at Godzilla with such reverence and lays his hand on his snout. I feel like that was Dougherty telling all the fans he sees their love for Godzilla and gives them that one singular, intimate audience with the big guy through Serizawa. Because who wouldn’t want to give him a pat on the nose and thank him?

The director of KOTM understands what Godzilla means to the fans. He understands how they feel and what they want. In my mind he gave it in spades.

But my dad...

My dad, the man who taught me enough to get me into Godzilla forever, looked at me in the eyes and said, “I don’t remember any of it. They’re not that important anyway.”

“These are important characters.” Much younger dad said to much younger me.

“They’re not that important anyway.” Older modern day dad said to older modern day me.

I thought my heart had stopped and my soul fled through the floor. This franchise, these characters he brought to me with such enthusiasm, something that grew into a lifelong love, meant nothing to him. It was as if he gave me a diamond and later told me it was worthless glass to him. Godzilla was and still is a huge part of my life and who I am, and dad acted like this “us” thing I thought we bonded over during my childhood didn’t matter to him.

It’s almost like he expected me to take passing interest and then move on, but because I’m autistic and because I relate to Godzilla so much, my interest turned into love and respect for the character, what he represents and the messages he has sent throughout the years.

Part of who I am is shaped, literally, by Godzilla, something that started because my dad told me he existed. And in a sentence my dad took that root from my childhood and ripped it out because he decided it was a worthless weed.

It’s not my love for Godzilla that was ripped out. It’s the love I thought my dad felt for me when he was telling me all those stories and showing me the movies. I’m sharing this because I love Godzilla, because I love what he represents and means to me, and I thought my dad shared it with me for the same reason. This is a very autistic thing...I’m sure autistic readers can feel my love for Godzilla just by reading this.

I thought my dad did, too, once.

But no. There was no love at all like I thought there was, so I was not pouring my love into an ocean that still existed, I was throwing it into a black hole.

Dad didn’t care to remember Rodan, or Mothra, or King Ghidorah. He didn’t care to remember what all that meant to me during my childhood because he doesn’t and never has cared about my feelings.

He doesn’t care about my feelings.

He wants me to shut up about Godzilla.

I will not.

I love Godzilla. I don’t need dad’s approval anymore. I will turn 40 this year (2020) and there is no stopping what began 35 years ago. The plant that grew around the root dad planted is shaped like me now, and like Biollante I will keep blooming because Godzilla was my first love fandom-wise and that admiration and love for him stands on its own.

Dad no longer has a say.

But, my God, my dad has this remarkable ability to tell me something is important when I’m young and then claim it isn’t so many years later. He’s done it for a lot of things, but hearing him say Godzilla isn’t important after instilling his importance into me at a young age just...gutted me...and it gutted me as much as the time he asked me what I did to make kids bully me when I was being bullied as a teen.

I got bullied because I’m autistic. I existed. He said it was my fault for being that way. I was a newly diagnosed teenager when he said that. It was 1995, ironically, the same year Godzilla vs Destroyah came out.

And I was an adult when he ripped at that root of Godzilla he planted in me.

Godzilla was the last part of my childhood that he hadn’t sunk his abuse into, but he finally did in January of 2020. Now there is no part of my life untouched by his emotionally abusive crap.

It shouldn’t hurt like this. I feel ridiculous to be hurt so deeply, but I can’t keep pretending that I’m not hurt by it anymore.

I will get over it. My absolute love and respect for Godzilla is something my dad can never destroy no matter how much he tries to shit talk about it. I’ve let him ruin so many things, but not Godzilla.

Godzilla will never be a trigger for me. He is an anti trigger. On this day of April 19, 2020, I’m realizing he is the protector my dad failed to be.

To all parents of autistic kids, be careful that you don’t belittle the things you said were important when they were young. Don’t introduce something that becomes a special interest, say it’s important and then belittle it when they grow up.

Even if you don’t think it’s important anymore now, even if you think it’s silly now, even if you didn’t know they were autistic at the time and would dive in like that, it may still be important to them.

It may become their safe place. It may become treasure.

Don’t try to destroy that safety. Don’t treat it like trash.

#actuallyautistic #special interest #godzilla #emotional abuse #gaslighting #dad issues #swearing #ableism #gifs #long post #tw emotional abuse #tw gaslighting

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lost-eternity · 4 years

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Match Up Requests: CLOSED Please read the pinned rules before requesting

Match up for: @ happythoughtfulstarfish

Okie dokie. I match you with...

Peter Parker/Spider man!

First of all, girl, you're very pretty :). Just thought that I would say that. Right. On to the match up.

Like, from appearances alone. You two would compliment each other so well. 🥰

With heels on, you'd most likely be taller than Peter Parker.

Like. How dare you! He would do his best to one up you.

You occasionally catch him standing on his toes to try and match your height. And you look over at him like "???"

Cue mumbled excuses and awkward laughing

Then one day your heels go missing. And as you're looking around, you notice Peter is standing surprisingly tall. Upon further investigation you notice that he put on your heels.

Would this guy actually steal your own heels just to one up you? He'll, yeah he would. It's all in fun and games though and he isn't too serious about it.

But personality wise? Even better.

You are both serious nerds

It's not technically official but I head-canon that Peter Parker is a theatre nerd as well. I could just be Tom Holland seeping through but he gives off those theatre kid vibes.

You know how I mean.

He'd be wholly supportive of your hobbies. He would love to go and spontaneously buy random tickets to musicals on Broadway, even if you two don't get the best of seats.

Just be prepared to watch a lot of cult classics with him.

Like. A lot.

Especially Star Wars. You two will watch those movies so many times. And every single time he will be dramatically (poorly) mouthing the lines along with the film because let's be real- he has all of the movie scripts memorized.

He would also love to learn how to play an instrument from you. He'd be really bad at it. Honestly, he would be playing horrendously with this puppy-like jubilation that makes up entirely for his horrible pitch. It's adorable, really.

Your morals also align perfectly and that works out very well because the both of you are incredibly stubborn and steadfast in your resolve. You both strive to see the best in people, even if it puts you in jeopardy. Critics would call it gullibility. But you would be able to keep each other in check.

Sometimes.

You would be a massive headache for those in SHIELD or anyone assigned to manage you.

I can imagine Peter roping you into one of his elaborate schemes after getting hyped on caffeine and the two of you raising hell together. With the best of intentions, of course.

Like, "no. You cannot kidnap an ice cream truck and drive it to the orphanage for the kids. That is called theft and that's illegal."

"I don't care if it will make the children happy!"

You both have an incredible drive to help others. Peter's just manifests in a way that is a lot more... potentially lethal. Whereas you are content enough to simply volunteer your time.

Just. Don't ask to go with him on one of his super hero missions.

Trust me.

Peter has already lost people in his life. The poor boy would never forgive himself if he lost you as a result of his ineptitude on a mission.

Don't put him through that

Because he is awkward as well, you two would do very well to motivate each other and encourage one another to step outside of your comfort zones.

Meet to new, make new friends

Honestly, you’d be perfect together

You probably met Peter's sophomore year of College.

It's a funny story actually.

You volunteered with a charity service who was hosting a musical, "The Adams Family" The ticket revenue collected during the performances would be put to relief and conservation efforts in foreign countries.

Everything was extremely low budget. All of the cast members were volunteers and very few actually had much theatrical experience.

But you did not mind too much. You were cast to play the role of Morticia. So no complaints there!

The venue you were performing in was actually lent to you for free. It was on a college campus, and the auditorium was actually decently sized.

The previous performances went off rather smoothly. The turn-outs had been decent as well, thankfully.

It was closing night. Your final performance for the night. The audience was slowly filling into the room, that was when it happened.

One of the crewmembers on hair and makeup, completely new to the theatre environment actually asked out loud: "Wait, why can't we say 'Macbeth' again?"

Silence

Dead Silence

So quiet that the muted chatter of the audience could be heard from behind the heavy oaken doors of the female changing room.

The shit storm that followed would have been absolutely hysterical if everyone were not so panicked.

Those in the cast who actually had experience in theatre arts were whisper-shouting at the offending crewmember.

The others looked on, an expression of complete confusion plastered onto their brow

It's not like you could have sent her out to run around the entire college campus. You were on in 5.

Collectively, you all decided to let it go.

It was just a legend after all.

"We'll be fine."

At least, that is what everyone told themselves.

The night, surprisingly, went off without a hitch. There were a few technical difficulties with the lighting (the spotlight "affectionately" named Big Bertha refused to fully open its iris) and a few missed cues, but otherwise, the performance did not terribly fail as many feared.

You and the rest of the cast were now hurriedly darting back from the bathrooms after intermission. It was a frenzied sprint around the back of the building to avoid the audience catching a glimpse of you.

That was when you heard something that caused you to peel off the rest of the group.

It was this peculiar scuttling sound, followed by a darting figure.

You initially thought it was an audience member who had lost their way and turned down the winding path.

The narrow road itself was completely innocuous and actually just led to a dorm site. However, under the dark of the new moon, illuminated by few stray streetlamps, it felt kinda ominous.

Having to remind yourself that you weren't actually in a horror movie, you continued down the path towards the figure, asking him if he were all right.

Then he stepped into the flood of light from a lamp, his movements kinda janky and angled.

This "person" was not a person at all. Rather it was a humanoid beast covered completely in rippling grey fur. Like 'Cousin It' jumped right out of the play and appeared on the street. But this wasn't your cousin. You knew the little girl who played him and she was much... much shorter. This thing cleared 213 centimetres!

You wisely decided to run.

And it gave chase, scuttling after you like some malformed beast.

So here you were, still in complete costume, being chased down the street but a Cousin It lookalike and screaming your lungs out.

You didn't get really far because Morticia's sprawling mermaid dress did little to help you move your legs.

Cousin It caught up to you, a clawed appendage swiping against your ankles.

With a loud rip the dress tore and you fell. Pain flared through your elbows made contact with the grated pavement.

Rolling onto your back, you gazed up at the creature. Its purple fur glowing dimly under the backlighting of the street lamp.

For the first time you noticed its eyes, multiple gleaming plates meshed together to form one bulging eyeball, like a fly or moth. Its mangy hair, overgrown and matted, reeked with a permeating stench you can only describe as rotting eggs.

So maybe you were in a horror movie. And the horror movie was 'Mothman'... or maybe the curse of Macbeth was here and this creature was coming from retribution.

Regardless of the reason, you did not have too long to think about it as the creature took a lumbering step towards you. Then another... and a third... then it paused.

It pulled against something, like a dog heaving against its leash. But it couldn't move another step

"Stay where you are, Mothra." A trilling voice called.

Blinking, you noticed a figure perching on the top of the lamp post, hanging upside down from a glistening web. Another web was attached around the creature's waist, preventing it from advancing.

The blue and red was unmistakable.

This was spider man!

But why is he here?

Cousin it gave a roar of complaint and swiped for the spider. He nimbly dodged out of the way, laughing the entire time.

It was not long before he had Cousin It wrapped up in a thick cocoon of webbing, and was absently dialing something on his phone.

You heard him mumble something about how much of a nuisance "A-Chiltarians" were.

A-Chiltarians?

What was that supposed to be?

Spiderman seemed to notice you for the first time, and apologetically offered to escort you back to the play.

Which was practically ruined as intermission was over and no one seemed to be able to locate you

The audience was beginning to get antsy

To make up for lost time, Spider man grabbed you round your waist

Before you knew it, the two of you were flying

Swinging from tree to lamp as you glided across the ground back towards the theatre.

He dropped you off, literally dropped you, onto the stage, just in time for your next scene.

You could hardly act through the confusion of WHAT THE HELL JUST HAPPENED TO ME

The rest of the night, you were understandably preoccupied

After the performance, the cast stood along the hallway, allowing the audience to meet and greet with them and pass out gifts.

A young man garnered your attention in particular

With hazel eyes and mousy hair, he introduced himself as "Peter" and handed you a bouquet of flowers

And you find yourself looking at him like "Do I know you?"

He seemed rather apologetic for whatever reason and praised your performance

Getting suspicious, especially after the events of that night, you had a feeling that he knew something he was not letting on to.

So you asked for his number.

And to your complete shock, he actually gave it

So. Over the course of one night, you were saved by the legendary spider man and got the number of a cute boy.

Maybe the curse of Macbeth is not so bad after all

#marvel #tom holland #matchups #peterparker #ship #match up #ships #ship request #matchup #matchup request #requests #shipping #peter parker x reader #spiderman #spider man x reader #marvel matchup #marvel ship #marvel match up

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ckret2 · 5 years

Text

Gold Skin, Black Blood, and Stone Bones

Today, Ghidorah tells Rodan they’re starving for a very particular food: gold.

A long time ago, the Xiliens ensure Monster Zero can never escape by restructuring its digestive system with a strange dietary need: gold.

It's odd how often a gold craving can be solved with a little grave robbing.

Uhhhh happy halloween? Written (loosely) based on the prompts:

(June 19) Anonymous said: So there was a tweet about how in a way mothra was godzillas flag bearer (in addition to being his queen), how about a fic of ghidorah thinking about rodan being his or something similar?

(September 16) Anonymous said: Prompt: Waking Hour. Rodan wakes up first; explore both Rodan and Ghidorahs morning habits, what the two of them like to get up to in the early hours of the morning.

(October 14) @corruptapostasy said: Thanks to new information I have another Rodorah prompt idea. Ghidorah messily trying to shed, and Rodan helping them out by ripping all of the old skin off. By doing so, he sees the scars of the stitches lining their body from when they were fused together. Possible angst ensues.

as well as a long headcanon post from Sept 4 about what Ghidorah eats. (Answer: dirt and gold.)

This is part of an ongoing series of Rodorah one-shots. If you don’t wanna read the others... you don’t have to, but this fic builds on the others enough that tbh it’ll probably make more sense if you do. Quick note: Rodan goes by "Nido" because he refers to everyone by the name of their home volcano/island/etc but I ain't got the space to explain everything else from prior fics. If you wanna read this anyway and then get confused feel free to message me for context. If you wanna read this but the content warnings in the tags are for things you can’t handle message me and I’ll get you a version with that content removed. Links to the other fics are in the source at the bottom of this post.

###

Life around to Nido's volcano was settling into a familiar daily routine. Depending on what time he'd gone to sleep, Nido could get up long before the first light of day or long after the sun had crossed the horizon. The golden ones, who sometimes slept curled around the rim of Nido's crater and sometimes in a hollow at the base of the volcano, invariably rose exactly at sunrise, except on cloudy mornings. (They almost always went to sleep at sunset, too, except on nights they were waiting for him to return late. Like flowers that bloomed in the day and closed at night.)

On mornings when the golden ones were up before Nido and weren't out flying, Nido could usually tell before he'd opened his eyes. They'd almost always be at the northernmost point of the island, staring out at sea, singing. Quietly enough not to wake him or fill his dreams with strange emotions, but still loudly enough for him to catch occasional snippets of the melody—sometimes even a word or two if they were singing in his language. On such mornings, Nido would sleepily call them up to his nest, pull himself out of the lava, and let them nuzzle him to their heart's content, which always left the scales on their necks and faces streaked with fresh volcanic ash and left the armor on his wings, chest, and back decorated with golden stripes and facial imprints. They'd check his decorations and twist around to examine each other's faces and necks, and when they'd decided that both their decorations were satisfactory, the middle one would give him a good morning bunt; and then they would go about their separate business.

And from there, Nido decided what to do that morning.

Some days, if Nido saw the humans out and about on the sea scooping dead fish from the water, he'd help out—sometimes by scooping and dumping fish himself, sometimes by sweeping the fish drifting away into one area so the humans could more easily get it all in a couple of passes.

There should have been no more dead rising to the surface by then, a month and a half after the strange light that had killed everything in the water. And yet, every once in a while, another wave of dead creatures bobbed up. Nido has even seen a whale corpse recently. It wasn't natural. Nido didn't know a lot about what happened beneath the surface of the sea, but he knew that the dead shouldn't still be floating almost two months after they'd died. It meant they weren't rotting right, and that made him nervous. Quite a few things could go wrong in nature, but rot itself wasn't supposed to be one of them.

Nido had carried the whale corpse out to healthier water and dropped it there—he didn't want it near his island, too big for the humans to remove, too big to cremate in his volcano, and liable to rupture and blow rotten blubber and fetid gas all over the place at any time. He hoped it would rot properly and sink elsewhere in the ocean, and hoped he wasn't inadvertently helping spread some weird plague around.

Some days he traveled. He was slowly working his way over the two nearest continents—he'd started by heading southeast straight along the coast to Ponta do Seixas and then back to his island, and each day moved a little further clockwise around the compass, exploring a strip at a time. When he finished the nearest two continents, he would cross the volcanic trail via Alaxsxa and explore the larger continents out west bit by bit, as much at a time as he could without leaving his nest for longer than a night.

It wasn't the most thorough way to explore the area—you saw a lot of green and tan blurs when you were flying near cloud level and faster than sound, but you didn't pick up a lot of details. Right now, he only wanted to see how the land itself had changed while he'd hibernated. Details came later. He noted anything that looked interesting so he could come back and investigate more thoroughly once he'd finished his initial survey.

Some days he patrolled his territory. He was down to patrolling about three or four times a month at this point, now that the land and sea around his island were familiar to him again, and next month would probably only patrol it a couple of times. The human population was booming on his turf, he saw. It seemed it was booming everywhere.

And the sky was lousy with metal birds. He'd very much like to hunt them; but when he'd tried near home, the golden ones had shouted at him to stop, and then forcibly dragged him back to land when he didn't. After an argument that was rather prolonged by the fact that the golden ones didn't know the words for whatever it was they were riled up about, they managed to convey that they were trying to talk about humans, Nido taught them the word for the little creatures, and they'd claimed that humans rode around in the metal birds. He'd scoffed at the idea—but they'd told him to wait, flown off, come back with a metal bird carefully pinned in one talon so its wings were crushed but its body was whole, and had shown Nido where to peer through its transparent back to see the little human inside. It was the most disturbing thing he'd ever seen until he'd realized the bird was a fake.

He still wanted to hunt them—partially just to rip one open and see what was in its artificial guts—but the golden ones were paranoid around humans, and so for their sake he left them alone. He'd just chased them for a bit instead.

Some days, he'd investigate odd morning noises. Some days, he'd make quick trips to the nearest active volcanoes. Some days, he'd just roll down the side of a mountain for a while.

The golden ones, on the other hand, had developed their own routine as they grew comfortable on Nido's island. If left to their own devices, they'd spend late morning to high noon doing only one thing.

They preened.

Nido assumed it was preening, anyway. It was the same sort of motions that Nido used when he was preening himself, at any rate—when he was fresh from a bath and needed to sculpt the still soft lava into ridges and spines, or when he'd had a long day and needed to pick out bits of rubble that had flaked off from his armor or detritus that'd gotten wedged into cracks during a battle—and it was the same sort of motions he used on the golden ones when he was preening their necks and heads, which they seemed to enjoy just fine, even though they were really too smooth to need much of it. The point was, it looked like preening.

But it also looked excruciatingly painful.

They'd scrape their teeth against their scales viciously, sometimes hard enough that, on overcast days, Nido could see sparks produced where their teeth dug into the scales. They'd twist and contort themselves to reach whatever spot they thought needed attention, usually one of them scraping at the offending spot while another one bent around to keep an eye on the work—the most impressive position Nido had witnessed so far was when one of them had managed to get his head hooked behind their knee to gnaw at a spot alongside one of their tails.

Sometimes they only left grooves in the scales with their teeth, ugly-looking scratches in the soft metal surface that they covered up by leaving more grooves parallel to the first, until the grooves had combined into a single smoothed-out depression. Sometimes they'd dig the tip of a fang under a scale and rip it out completely. Sometimes—to Nido's perpetual horror—they'd bite straight down in to their scales, fangs piercing deep into the flesh, and carve out whatever surface imperfection had so offended them.

Their blood, Nido discovered, was black and slow-oozing, and left dark brownish-purple stains. And by late morning, it wasn't uncommon for them to be alternating between their vicious preening and licking at a dozen tiny bloody trickles running sluggishly down their scales.

They snarled, growled, hissed, and grunted with pain and frustration as they ripped at their thin armor, as though they were engaged in battle with each other but trying to keep quiet about it—and Nido would almost suspect that was the case, except that these strange sessions were clearly a tearm effort.

And when they were finished—Nido was hesitant to say "satisfied"—they'd climb the volcano, flop in the lava, and remain there until their bloody punctures had shut and their damaged scales had regrown.

They always waited until Nido left the island before they started preening—they wouldn't do it at all on the days he stayed on the island, and if he was patrolling nearby they didn't progress past leaving a few shallow grooves in their scales. Initially, they would stop completely whenever he came home. By now, they just ignored him, turning away as they preened—not in a way that prevented him from watching, but that prevented them from watching him watch—and hissed threateningly if they did catch him staring. He got the sense that they were ashamed of this near-daily ritual, but too ashamed of being ashamed to leave the island and find somewhere more private to do it.

Usually if Nido didn't understand something, he'd just embrace the bafflement. Not all things were for him to understand. But in this case, their preening habits looked so painful that he had to make sure nothing was wrong. He had waited until he actually managed to make eye contact with them as they climbing the volcano to recover before he dared ask them what, exactly, the point of all that was. They'd given him a resentful look, but explained that sometimes their scales would grow back crooked or misshapen and the easiest way to fix it was to rip them out and let them regrow properly.

"We are far from where we come from," they'd explained. "If something becomes wrong with our body, there is no one here who knows how we work on our inside. We have to be vigilant." ("Vigilant" was one of their favorite words; they pronounced it as four syllables.) "We fix a small problem before it is big. We stay healthy."

Nido had thought that sounded like a load of rubbish to him—in what way did ripping tiny wounds in their hides improve their health? How did straightening a few crooked scales balance out the fact that they spent most mornings with tiny open wounds that anything could crawl into?

But then, what did Nido know about three-headed mind-controlling flying singing golden sea serpents from outer space? Maybe they were genuinely combating some kind of deadly dermatological condition. If that was the answer they wanted to give, he had no choice but to grudgingly take them at their word.

He noticed they never disturbed the scales that got volcanic ash on them in the morning. He was half tempted to ask them whether a coating of volcanic ash guaranteed scale health no matter how crooked they were, and if so, how come they didn't cover all their scales with it?

If he pointed it out, though, they might stop their morning greetings out of self-consciousness. And he'd hate that. So he said nothing, but on some mornings tried to coax them into nuzzling him a bit longer, in hopes his shared armor would help protect a bit more of their scales from their own fangs.

###

"How is Monster 0 recovering from surgery?" Scientist 7 asked. "I received a notice that you had trouble with it trying to tear out its stitches."

The Animal Trainer who'd been put in charge of tending to the monster said, "We were able to curb that behavior until it mended."

S-7 nodded. "Good."

"Although we had to restrain its heads, legs, and tails in padded covers until the stitches had healed."

"To be expected. Its wings are still stitched shut?"

"For now. We'll have to switch to a less restrictive means of keeping them closed before it grows much more, or else we'll risk them atrophying beyond any hope of its ever flying again."

S-7 waved off the concern. "We've already prepared an alternate means of easily unsealing and resealing its wings."

"Good." The Animal Trainer paused. "However, in the wake of Monster 0's recovery from surgery, it's developed some unexpected behavioral quirks that may be detrimental."

"Oh?"

"It no longer has any stitches to bite, but instead it sometimes bites its own undamaged scales. It has made itself bleed several times."

S-7 considered the information impassively. "Do you believe its heads are trying to attack each other?"

"No. On the contrary, the self-injury appears to be a collaborative effort."

"Unexpected indeed. You are the expert in dorats—what do you believe is causing this behavior?"

The Animal Trainer took a moment to consider the possibilities. "I believe it's simply a response to stress," xe said. "Their body language resembles common dorat social grooming behaviors used to sooth each other during stressful situations, except such behaviors typically take the form of licking each other rather than biting."

"So its distress has caused the specimens to emotionally bond with each other rather than turn on each other?"

"Yes, it's a vast improvement over prior prototypes. Nevertheless, the damage it's causing itself is deserving of concern."

S-7 was silent a moment as she thought. "If it's a reaction to stress, them the only way to purge this odd behavior is by drastically reducing the stress they're under, correct?"

"Or physically restraining them," the Animal Trainer said. "Although that's not a long term solution."

"No, it isn't. How bad is the damage? Is it wounding itself?"

"Only superficially. It doesn't bite deeper than its scales. The damage heals readily under a heat lamp."

"Then spray the wounds with disinfectant before they heal. I don't see any need to address it further than that," S-7 concluded. "The cost in time, effort, and resources that it would take to reduce its stress isn't worth it for something as easily repairable as lightly damaged scales. Some of our objectives may, in fact, be impossible to reach without inducing considerable stress. If biting itself is its chosen coping mechanism, by all means." She made a sharp, permissive gesture. "Let it cope. It saves us some of the effort of dealing with its mental state."

As they spoke, they hardly spared a glance toward the three-headed creature, already five times larger than the average adult dorat, curled up and shivering on the grated metal floor.

###

And then one morning, the golden ones didn't touch Nido.

He stretched gracelessly with a leg and half a wing out of the lava, tilted his head to listen to the golden ones sing, opened one eye a slit, and called, "Hey."

They stopped singing, but there was no reply. Usually they came flying. "Hey?" He flopped around, getting his face over the humans' addition to his volcano's rim so he could check and see whether the golden ones were still on the island.

Not only that—they were already halfway up the volcano, looking up at him.

He chirped at them. "Morning."

"It is," they agreed neutrally.

He watched them expectantly. Lefty and righty turned away under his gaze, one of them surveying the human colony and the other gazing somewhere vaguely behind Nido, feigning disinterest.

Only the middle one looked him straight on. "Not this time," he said.

"Oh," Nido said. "Yeah. All right, that's fine."

The golden ones eschewed their morning ritual that day. Instead, almost as soon as they'd greeted him, they took off to the east. The sky clouded behind them, and although no rain fell, thunder rumbled until early afternoon.

What in the world had that been about? They'd never been anything but eager to take advantage of the morning exception to the "no touching below the neck" rule. What, were they mad at him about something?

Yesterday he'd taken them to see a waterfall that was taller than he was and teach them some related geography terms. They almost spent more time staring at him than the features he was trying to teach them about. Lovestruck dorks. They'd effortlessly curved themselves to fit the contour of the canyon below the waterfall and taken a nap right in the river. They'd had a great day. No, they didn't have anything reason to be upset with Nido.

And anyway, they reacted to anger the same way most people reacted to fear: the only two options were fight or flight, and they committed to their choice immediately. They wouldn't just sulk around for a night and then give him the cold shoulder the next morning.

So what was up with them?

He didn't see them again all day or night.

###

Monster 0 growled at its bowl of food, and then growled at Animal Trainer 80.

AT-80 looked up impassively at the beast with teeth thicker around than xer thigh. "You want to eat that," xe informed it.

It growled louder. Somewhere far behind it, the tips of its chained down tails rattled menacingly.

"You stupid creature," AT-80 said coldly. "This is the same kibble you had last week, it's just a different shape." Instead of being sculpted into massive spheres made to resemble common dorat pet food, Monster 0's food had been dumped into its bowl as it actually was: dirt. Dirt and rocks, carefully mixed to provide the exact minerals needed to meet its nutritional requirements, no added flavors or artifice reducing its purity and disguising its nature.

Monster 0 snorted at the bowl in disgust.

"We understand your dietary requirements better than you," AT-80 told it.

Monster 0 lifted its middle head and snorted at AT-80. Xe was blown to the ground by the gust.

With the help of a couple other Animal Trainers, xe got back to xir feet. Xe brushed xemself off shakily. "You know better than that."

Right on cue, AT-80 felt the cranial implants through which xe received direct audial transmissions from Controller 0 swell into earplugs, as they were no doubt swelling for every other person in the room; xe only faintly heard the shrill, trilling siren Controller 0 played as punishment for Monster 0. It dropped its heads to the floor, pressing them together and pulling its wired-shut wings over them in a futile effort to block out the noise, writhing in pain as much as its shackles allowed. It remained there, eyes squeezed shut and trembling hard enough to rattle the furniture, long after the sound ended.

When Controller 0 had unsealed everyone's earplugs, AT-80 heard a voice say, "I am certain you are not torturing Monster 0 as a punishment for not eating."

AT-80 looked up as Scientist 7 entered Monster 0's hangar through a mezzanine door. Xe didn't know S-7's exact field of expertise—only that she was the mastermind behind the program to turn dorats into monsters. AT-80 had only recently been added to the team of Animal Trainers controlling Monster 0 and got the sense no one else knew her exact field of expertise, either. Controller 0 probably wanted it that way.

"You are aware that torture will only teach it to force feed itself when under duress, not to willingly and voluntarily consume its meals." She descended the stairs as she spoke. She had her daughter in her arms today, a small curious creature that already had her mother's pale ivory chitin. Typically children would never be allowed in this facility, but Controller 0 made a generous exception for women who were training their daughters as their successors.

"I am aware," AT-80 said. "The punishment was for an assault on my person."

"I see."

"However, it appears unwilling to accept its food in its new form. It is too simple-minded to understand that loose soil and kibble-shaped soil are the same substance."

"Three heads, and yet none appear to have brains," S-7 said dryly. "How unfortunate."

She seemed to be making a joke. Quite unorthodox, particularly this high in the military. She must be an exceptional talent for Controller 0 to promote her so highly despite her behavioral quirks.

"Since switching its diet from kibble to loose soil, it appears to have regressed in its ability to accept the food we offer," AT-80 said. "We may have to backtrack to letting it make its own meal choices again before we can make progress again."

S-7 considered the proposal. "Or perhaps we have simply progressed too fast to give it adequate time to cope with the earlier changes in its diet before insisting on even greater changes. We might have to go back to the kibble until it's finished adjusting," she said. "How many times has it successfully eaten kibble-shaped soil?"

"Twenty-five," AT-25 said.

"Without prompting?"

"Without prompting."

S-7 sharply waved away her hypothesis. "Then it should have had more than adequate time to adjust to its new diet," she said. "Proceed with your proposal."

AT-80 nodded to a lower-ranked animal trainer, who hurried to prepare another bowl.

In seventeen minutes—during which Monster 0 progressed from cowering on the floor to glowering sullenly at AT-80 and S-7—one of the steel overhead doors along the side of Monster 0's hangar rolled up. A second bowl was wheeled out in front of the monster. The bowl was filled with warm dead animals: a mix of the usual prey of feral dorats—creatures tiny enough to get caught between the fangs of this massive mutant—and larger prey that dorats typically would bring down in a flock. Monster 0's nostrils flared at the scent. Its heads jerked up and it stared greedily into the bowl.

AT-80, S-7, and the other workers relocated to the mezzanine level.

Just before the right head dug in, the left caught sight of the scientists moving up a level, and all three heads froze. All three faces stared up at the Xiliens, a rumble building deep in the monster's throats—not a threatening sound, AT-80 had determined over time, but an oversized version of a self-soothing noise dorats made when they were injured or afraid. As though Monster 0 was waiting for permission before it touched the bowl of meat. So it did remember what was going to happen.

"Eat whichever bowl you want," AT-80 instructed it. "This is what you asked for, isn't it?"

Xe hoped it would be sensible, recall its past experiences, and eat the dirt like it ought to. But it hesitated for only a moment before all three faces ferociously dove for the bowl of meat. It snarled and snorted like the base beast it was, gore spattering its faces up to its eyes and dripping down its throats, strips of meat and bone spattering to the floor—as though it hadn't been fed in a month. Or as though it wanted to eat as much as possible before the inevitable happened.

Nevertheless, it hit in seconds.

In the process of adjusting Monster 0's dietary needs and digestive system, S-7 and her team had also adjusted its sense of taste. Dirt wasn't delicious—there was absolutely no need to give Monster 0 the capacity to derive pleasure from its food, that would only inspire it to try to eat on its own schedule rather than on the Xiliens'—but at the very least, dirt tasted neutral. However, they'd needed a way to ensure that Monster 0 wouldn't attempt to revert to its former carnivorous dorat diet and make itself ill.

Thus, its sense of taste had been altered so that meat would taste intolerably vile.

It jerked back from the food, jaws clamped shut and making three different expressions of disgust. Its entire body was tensed around its throats, like it was trying to swallow its mouthfuls and vomit them back up at the same time. Its eyes bugging out, sides convulsing as it fought against its own disgust; but the disgust was winning out.

AT-80 could feel its nausea wash over xem in a psychic wave. Xe quietly excused xemself and joined the other scientists stepping into the hallway, where the walls would shield most of the psychic barrage—along with the noise and the stench.

The monster started heaving just before the door sealed shut.

The floor under Monster 0's hangar was grated specifically for ease of cleaning up fluids and minute detritus. Even so, when AT-80 stepped back in, the floor below was still coated in thick black bile struggling to ooze through the small holes. Shreds of dead meat were mixed among the bile. The monster had collapsed in its own sick—dark bile dripping in slow, gunky rivulets around its fangs, from its nostrils, and out of its eyes. What a sorry, disgusting mess. To think xe and xer team needed to get this thing ready to raze whole cities. "Prepare to hose it off," xe said curtly to an underling, and then faced the monster and raised xer voice. "Have we learned our lesson, Monster 0?"

It didn't move. Its faces were pressed close together, eyes screwed shut, like baby dorats in an abandoned nest huddling for warmth. It shuddered with each breath.

"Well?" Xe waited until one of the heads pried open an eye and focused blearily on xem. "You knew very well what would happen. Nevertheless, you did this to yourself. Remember this the next time you think you know your dietary needs better than we do."

Its eye glazed over and drooped half shut.

AT-80 wasn't sure it could understand xem. Lightly, xe asked, "Would you like me to refill your food bowl?"

Its eyes shot open. It struggled to back away from AT-80 and the two food bowls, spines arched, gagging again at the mere suggestion of food. Black drool dripped from its filthy jaws, its eyes wild.

S-7's daughter laughed.

###

The golden ones' imminent arrival was heralded before dawn with peals of thunder and flashes of light from the west. Nido groggily lifted his head to peer at them as they landed on the slope beside him. "You're up late." He tilted his head and shoulders back, stretching his throat and chest. "S'going on?"

"We need lava," they said. "We do not know where."

Nido clicked his beak at them, puzzled, but obligingly scooted to the edge of the crater. His volcano was their volcano.

"No, not that. Other kind of lava."

"Mafic?"

"No! Different."

"Those're the only kinds they make."

"No. Then—" They made a displeased noise. "Maybe word is wrong. What is the word for things that go in mouth and into body? All things."

"Food?" Nido cackled. "You thought lava means 'food'?"

"It is the only thing you put in your mouth, what else should we think it means?" They swiped at him with a wing. "Stop that. We are serious. We need food."

Nido forced himself to stop laughing. "You're hungry, you mean?"

"Hungry means 'rotting'?"

If he hadn't already stopped laughing, that would have done it. They definitely knew what rotting meant, he'd shown them with the fish washing ashore. "Not quite." He climbed on the volcano's rim, trying to ignore the drizzle now rolling down his back. (For a moment, they leaned toward him, like they wanted to press against his fresh armor; but they held themselves back.) "Okay, what kind of food do you need?"

"It is this kind of rock." They pushed several objects to the rim of the volcano: the remains of the metal bird, their music box, and what looked like a giant chunk of iron.

"Metal?"

"It is metal that looks like this." They curled a tail around to rap themselves on the chest.

"Gold."

"Gold. We need gold." They twitched as they processed what they'd just said; and then they looked at Nido, tapped their chest again, and quietly asked, "'Gold-In-Ones'?" It was the closest they'd ever gotten to correctly pronouncing Nido's nickname for them.

"Golden means 'looks like gold,' yeah."

"Ihi." For a moment, they said nothing, processing this new knowledge of their name. Nido hoped it wasn't somehow insulting. If they ate gold, was calling them "golden" like calling them a piece of meat?

But they went on without comment. "We do not just look like gold. We are gold. But it is getting..." They pantomimed a rubbing gesture with one wing, searching for the word. "We are losing our gold. We need more."

Nido glanced over them. Maybe it was the morning rain, but did they look a little less lustrous than usual? "Maybe if you didn't bite off your own scales so often..."

One head snapped his fangs threateningly at Nido. He snapped his beak back. They said, "We are careful. We take our scales back in as food. We lose no gold that way."

"So where's it going?"

Two heads turned away while the right glanced sideways at Nido. Oh. It was him. Every morning, they gave him a little more. And every night he covered it up in another layer of lava. "... Huh." He looked down, letting their chunk of iron absorb his attention.

"You know this world. You know where we can find gold?" they asked. The left added, "It needs to be pure. Mostly pure. Gold inside other metal makes us feel bad."

Nido pushed the iron around with a talon as he considered the question. "I think so." It had been a long time, but... "I can look. Wait here."

They hesitated. "You will be back soon?"

"Yeah! Just gotta... make sure it's where I think it is. Continents shift, mountains erode, you know."

"What do what what?"

"Gold now, geology lesson later." He lifted off, butted the middle head—and was immediately awash with an unease made up of shame, anxiety, and a strange numb fatigue that seemed to stretch over the very surface of his armor. They jerked back and the right head curled in front of the other two protectively. Whoops. "No touching," Nido said. Got it.

He circled above them, cawed a farewell, and headed north away from the island—and, hopefully, away from the rain.

###

According to legend—stories so old that they were passed down by mouth rather than by instinct—Nido's kind had arisen from the Central Pangaean Mountains hundreds of millions of years ago, when the mountains had stretched toward the sky like teeth and breathed such fire that the whole world burned with them.

According to everyone else, this legend was bunk. The Central Pangaean Mountains' volcanoes had been extinct for nearly half a billion years, and when they had burned, creatures were just barely figuring out how to walk on land. Nido still liked the legend. It seemed appropriate to imagine that his kind had come from the firebloody heart of a supercontinent.

Anyway, even if it wasn't quite that long ago, it was true that his kind could trace their origins to the Central Pangaean Mountains: the first home of his ancestors, before they'd nested in volcanoes, before they'd even flown. The evidence was in their bones, buried beneath the mountain range. If you knew where to look, you could still find their graves.

And Nido knew where to look.

Of course, "Central Pangaean Mountains" was a bit of a misnomer now. Considering that the range had been split in two by the Atlantic and a third chunk of it had ended up on an island somehow, the Central Pangaean Mountains were neither Central nor Pangaean. But the name stuck nevertheless.

Luckily, the bulk of the former Central Pangaean Mountains—reduced from sharp fangs to old, dull, ground-down teeth—wasn't far northeast of him. Just a quick loop around the gulf and it was practically right there. Even though he was partially flying east, the sun had barely progressed by the time the mountains rolled out below him.

He was always shocked at how much lower the Central Pangaean Mountains looked than he thought they were supposed to—but he'd long gotten used to superimposing the map in his brain over the far flatter map he saw in the landscape below him, so he flew on, looking for the right valleys.

###

Nido was squashed between several trees that went up to his chest, awkwardly shoving the branches aside with his wings so he could see the ground, clawing at the soil with his talons to try to find a gap between the roots, and all the while sang nervously to himself:

"Gonna rob a grave, gonna rob a graaave, not gonna be a big deeeal, it's gonna be fiiine."

He was very glad the golden ones couldn't hear his singing.

"Gonna be o-kay, cuz they're not buried on moun-tains, so it's not actually des-e-crat...ing-a-grave..." He didn't know what this tune was. This was a horrible tune. He was never making up a song again. "As long as I stop when I hit the hide and before I reach the bones behind, it's fiiiiine..."

Which was, of course, the exact moment his talons hooked around what he thought was a deep root and tugged it out, and he discovered it was a fossilized thigh bone. "Oh! Oh hell!" He stared in the hole he'd been digging, wondering how he'd managed to dig straight through a layer of gold without noticing. There was no gold. "That's a lady! This is a lady grave. I am so sorry ma'am." He dropped the bone back in its hole, quickly kicked the dirt back in place and stamped it down, and tore half the leaves off one nearby tree in his eagerness to put a solid-sized grove between himself and the grave.

Not a good start.

Before Nido's kind had existed, there were... well, he wasn't sure what they were called. But they were about a third of Nido's height, and their faces had looked about the same, but they weren't designed for flight and it was painfully obvious. Most importantly, though, they were the reason why Nido's kind wore stone armor. In order to woo the women, the men had plucked gold out of the ground, crushed it into little plates, stuck it to their bodies, and turned it into armor. Nido had no idea what the women did to woo the men, but whatever didn't matter they were extinct now. What mattered was that a male grave meant a nice little cache of gold.

And a nice little cache of gold was what Nido needed.

It was possible to get gold just by digging around long enough and separating the grains from the rest. Hypothetically. Nido himself didn't actually know how to do that, but he knew it could be done. His ancestors-so-ancient-they-weren't-even-the-same-species had done it. He'd rather do that, truth be told. It meant he wouldn't have to stir up the graves of his own prehistoric relatives.

But finding gold the old fashioned way, he had to imagine, was a painfully slow process; and whether or not the golden ones were willing to admit it in so many words, it was clear enough to Nido that they were desperate for food. That dull ache he'd gotten over the surface of his body when he'd peered into their emotions had felt... well... he had no other sensation to compare it to, honestly, but it hadn't felt healthy. Maybe their weird grooming rituals had been to fend off that feeling from coming until now, but it was clear preening alone wasn't adequate. They needed serious help.

And they were afraid. Just a little bit—but out of an unparalleled asskicking machine like them, "a little" was enough to qualify as an emergency.

As Nido dug through the dirt and the roots, he saw a thin yellow glimmer. Finally! He hopped back and crouched down so he could scrape aside the dirt more carefully with his claws. The millennia had flattened what had once been a shell of gold in the shape of a person into an uneven metal plate. He uncovered enough to ensure the gold was mostly intact, made a note of the site's location, and moved on.

He didn't know exactly how much gold the golden ones needed. As far as he knew, enough to re-coat their entire body. (Hell, as far as he knew, enough to re-coat every one of their internal organs.) Nido's ancestors hadn't even been half his height, it would take a ton of them to completely cover the golden ones.

Intact hundred-million-year-old-plus corpses were a finite resource. Nido hoped the golden ones didn't need gold very often.

He uncovered two more male graves, decided that was enough for now—he'd promised the golden ones he wouldn't keep them waiting for long—and he headed home.

###

"Their diet?" Scientist 7 asked.

"Adhering almost precisely to your guidelines," Animal Trainer 32 said.

(Xe'd been Animal Trainer 80 the first time xe'd worked with S-7 directly, and had hoped to at least reach the top ten before being deemed too old to productively contribute to the Monster 0 project; but it didn't seem likely now. Xer number was going to begin descending any time. Xe chose not to be jealous that S-7's number had remained just as high—but xe had to choose very hard.)

AT-32 scrolled through a log of all Monster 0's feedings for the past year. "It has no trouble consuming its food however we present it. If we tell it to eat, it eats. Only one minor difficulty: when the soldiers took it on the field for training missions, they would dump its food on the ground rather than expend the space and resources to bring along an adequately large bowl for it. Unfortunately, it began to overgeneralize and treated any uncontained dirt as food. We instructed the soldiers to switch to feeding it out of bags. The worst of the problem has abated, but they still demonstrate a tendency to... taste test the ground. I'm concerned the issue will resurface if we do not monitor them closely when they're in natural environments."

"That won't be an issue," S-7 said. "The reason we restructured its digestive system to let it process basic minerals and elements as food was to make it as easy as possible to feed it no matter where in the universe we've taken it. We can't design it to eat every conceivable form of meat, considering how many life forms out there make a mockery of the very concept of 'flesh' as we understand it—and at times we'll be camping in parts of the galaxy with no readily available life at all. Bringing sufficient meat from X to keep it fed would put an unnecessary burden on our supply train. But soil—nothing but ground-down minerals and metals—soil is everywhere. If it can eat random dirt, it can eat anywhere."

"As long as you can find a planet," S-7's daughter Scientist 18 threw in. S-18, whom the Monster 0 team had seen far less of since her formal schooling had started, stood just behind her mother. She came up just to her mother's shoulder, now. She spent most of her time around Monster 0 taking diligent notes and trying to assert her qualifications for her position by peppering in supporting comments whenever she could, as apprenticed daughters so often did. She'd learned not to laugh openly but still had her mother's unorthodox inclination toward humor; she had a wicked tilt to her head, a sharp jut to her jaw, when she saw something that made her want to laugh. Sometimes AT-32 saw the same tilt in her mother's head.

"I understand," AT-32 said. "So we should let Monster 0 get used to foraging for food no matter what planet it's on."

"As long as it's not overeating—"

"It eats exactly as much and as often as we instruct it to and expresses no desire to eat more."

"—and isn't eating meat," S-7 finished.

Were xe younger, AT-32 might have scoffed. "Of course not. It's learned its lesson very well."

###

Nido had never quite understood the tendency that others had to redecorate themselves to show they were together. Like the way she-of-Infant-Island put her brother's eyes on her wings when she planned on going into battle—well. He supposed that one made sense; it let people know they were on the same side. They didn't exactly look like siblings.

But he knew some kinds of people that wore matching crowns of trees to show they were a couple; some that put matching paint on their family members to show their allegiance to a faction; some that left acid burns on mates they had unilaterally claimed so no one else would touch them and some that were dying to be so claimed... it was a somewhat disturbing concept, honestly. Sure, okay, different kinds meant different minds, of course other species handled their relationships differently—but he was still uncomfortable at the thought of the more extreme gestures.

And even more confusingly, he knew on some level that this was something his own kind did, too. Couples would bathe in each other's volcanoes, filling the cracks in their armor with fresh rock that matched their partner's. That, at least, wasn't disturbing—not like wanting to be permanently scarred by one's partner was. But while he comprehended that it was a thing that happened, he still didn't understand it. He hadn't known why anyone would want it.

He thought he got it now.

Because every time the sunlight caught on the gold gilding his wings, and every time he saw the fine volcanic dust that shaded the golden ones' scales, he got a little thrill.

And it wasn't just because he thought he looked rather majestic with a thin layer of gold highlighting the ridges of his armor, like fresh lava still glowing on the slopes of a low volcano. Or because the golden ones' alien features seemed even more handsome when each scale was emphasized by black dust lining the cracks, or because their eyes seemed to glow almost amber when they were peering out of shadowy black sockets. (Although he did think all these things.)

It was because he knew that, after the golden ones had spent who-knew-how long by themselves in the dark of space and who-knew-how-long ostracized by everyone else on this planet, anyone who looked at them now would immediately know: someone had given them those markings. Someone had touched them and been allowed to touch. Someone would notice if they didn't come home one night. Someone would come flying if they roared for help.

Anyone who looked at them now would know they weren't alone.

Whenever they saw themselves, they would remember that they weren't alone.

And just that knowledge alone made the world seem a little brighter a place to Nido.

Was that another reason why Infant wore her brother's eyes on her wings? For that sense of solidarity? For that constant reminder that she wasn't alone? So that no matter where she went, she needed only raise her wings to say behold, I am loved; there's a place where I belong as long as someone expects to find me there? Did she feel anchored as long as she carried the evidence of his face on her wings?

He'd probably never ask her. But he wondered.

He would hate to lose the opportunity to exchange decorations with the golden ones.

###

Their joints ached as they followed their red sprite northeast. Their shoulders, their hips, their knees, the backs of their necks struggling to support their too-heavy skulls, every knuckle on the phalanges that held their wing membranes outstretched. The entire surface of their body was sore, as if someone had worked over every inch of them with a meat tenderizer, cracking open their scales.

Their body was more or less a mystery to them. Things would go wrong with it at irregular intervals, and they had a limited set of skills to deal with their periodic maladies. As often as not, they had to wait out a malfunction and hope their body was like a gyroscope that would wobble and right itself without any help, rather than on the verge of losing balance and toppling over for good.

This, thankfully, was one of their more familiar ailments, with a simple cure and a recognizable list of symptoms. They could feel that they were long overdue for a shed, not because of the time that had passed since the last one (variable and unmeasurable) but because of the tight raspy discomfort of their skin. They could see the luster dimming from their scales. They didn't feel static crackling over their bodies like it was supposed to; and when they flew, rain poured but lightning flashed less and less. They needed gold.

They'd needed gold for weeks—along with a proper meal. They'd been stupid for going this long without finding a meal—and why? Because they were worried if they left the red sprite's island for a couple of days, he'd forget about them? (Not to name names, First.) Or that if they left this planet to mine gold from an asteroid where they knew they could find it easily, they might forget the red sprite? (Again, not to lob accusations at anyone in particular, Third.) Or that if they dared to eat food on this crowded planet where anyone could see, the machine makers might somehow use the observations to deduce their entire biology and formulate a way to kill them? (That... that one was on everyone. And they agreed it was a valid concern.) Or that if the red sprite saw them eating literal dirt at his feet, he might decide they were lowly, disgusting animals—vile detritus feeders—and cast them out? (That was also on all of them—but, particularly on Second.)

But they didn't have much choice now. Trying to leave the atmosphere in this condition was dangerous—without electricity smoothly rolling across their scales, they'd have difficulty controlling their space flight. They had to eat here. And they hadn't put in the time to track down caches of gold when they were at their full strength, and now they ached too much to do a decent job of it. Hopefully they could at least consume their gold with a bit of dignity and it would let them recover enough to find a proper meal without needing the red sprite to escort them.

They were going to see the burial sites of the creature that red sprites had evolved from, apparently. He'd taught them the word for "ancestors" today—"the kind that my kind came from, far far before," as he'd defined it, for the benefit of their limited vocabulary. What was gold doing with the corpses of the red sprite's ancestors? Did they make art out of gold, the way the red sprite made art from stone and glass? Had humans (as the red sprite had told them the local machine makers were called) left the gold as offerings to far more powerful creatures, before they'd developed the weapons to challenge such creatures?

They'd find out soon. The red sprite began wheeling down out of the sky; they waited to see where he was heading before dropping more heavily to the ground. It hurt their joints more than usual to land so abruptly.

Either from that pain or from the relief, their knees and elbows went weak at the sight of the gold shining beneath the dirt, and they practically tumbled into the pit. They flung aside massive scoops of dirt with their wings and tore aside tree roots with their claws. Their stomach roared with pain so strong they could feel it stabbing their lungs, tearing their throats.

The red sprite chirped—was he concerned?

They flinched. "Do not watch."

"What?"

They didn't elaborate and didn't wait to see whether he listened. If he thought less of them for their table manners, that was on him now. They'd warned him. They were starving.

They dove at the gold, jaws crumpling and ripping the metal as they went—lucky it was a relatively thin plate, pity there was so little—and swallowing huge mouthfuls of dirt with each bite.

Something else crunched between their jaws. Bone. Bone old enough it had turned into stone. Flesh so ancient even they could consume it without fear. Oh, how they missed meat! How they missed knowing that their meal once held life. They hardly remembered what meat had once tasted like, but they still craved it. It was like longing for a ghost. Whatever had once existed of this beast's flesh was dust now—probably for the best, since they wouldn't have been able to tolerate the flavor—but the stone bones splintered just right. It was almost enough for them to remember when they'd been able to taste something other than ash or rot. Their red sprite had given them a rare treat.

Third jerked up first to make sure the red sprite wasn't watching—he was pointedly focused on an aircraft passing overhead—and they hastily licked each other's faces clean before climbing out of the pit. "We are done."

The red sprite barely spared them a passing glance before looking into the pit—and staring. They looked down as well, trying to figure out what it was caught his attention—had they left a mess? No more of one than could be reasonably expected in a pit of dirt.

They gave him a moment. "... What?"

He flinched and tore his gaze from the hole. "How much do you need?"

They studied him for a moment. Something was off. But couldn't tell what, so... "One more." What they'd already had would be enough to replenish their scales, but usually they had reserves stored... somewhere in their body. Who knew where. Helpful for when they lost body parts. It would be better for them to refill that cache now than scramble for gold again the next time they were injured.

"That's all?"

"That is all."

"For how long?"

They really had no way to know that, did they? "Until we lose what we have."

"Okay." The red sprite carefully picked through the ground-level forest detritus, shoving aside a couple of trees they'd toppled, until he found a small rock that he could flick up and knock with his beak to send it sailing over the trees. "Next one's over there," he said. "I'll catch up to you."

"'Catch up'?"

"You go, I'll follow later."

They hesitated, not sure why he couldn't come with them—even more uneasily certain now that something was wrong—but spread their wings anyway.

Just before they could take off, he said, "Hey." He was still looking into the pit. "Don't—don't eat the next one's... Just eat the gold. Leave the bones."

Their heart immediately plummeted from their chest down to their tails. He hadn't taught them the word "bones" yet, but he didn't need to for them to guess what it was. They looked in horror at the boen shards they'd left in the— It wasn't a pit. It was a grave.

Stupid. They were stupid, why hadn't they realized—? They knew his species buried their dead. His species had funerals, dirges. And he'd told them that this was a predecessor to his species, they should have assumed—they should have at least considered—

"We..." They didn't know the right words to compensate for a faux pas like this—it probably wasn't even a faux pas, it was probably a major violation of a taboo they were only half aware of—the right words probably didn't even exist. So they trailed off, floundering. And then mumbled, "We leave the bones."

Very few things could make them feel small.

Their appetite was gone. A glint of gold would be just another shade of yellow now. But they should still replenish their internal reserves, just so they wouldn't be caught unprepared in case of a fight. And then should leave as fast as possible.

They took off, hurrying to the second grave.

It wasn't very far. Not quite within eyeshot of the first—but close enough that, after they'd scraped aside the dirt and as they attempted to crunch into the metal, they could hear the red sprite's voice echoing between the nearby mountains, singing his kind's dirge over the first grave.

The taste of gold turned to rot in their mouths.

###

"And Monster 0 has taken well to the gold chips?" Scientist 7 asked.

"It has," Animal Trainer 55 said. "We added them on top of its regular rations until it understood them as food, and since then we have been able to present the chips alone. You must pardon the irrational sentiment, but we have noted that it even appears eager to eat them."

AT-55 was distantly aware that Monster 0 had stopped eating to listen in on the conversation. A hexagonal-shaped plate of solid gold, the height of a Xilien and slightly curved to allow the monster to more easily pick them off the floor with its teeth, dangled from one of its mouths. Teeth punctures covered the surface. AT-55 had long gotten used to the fact that, unlike the dorats xe had trained on, Monster 0 would listen in on their conversations about it—and understand what they said.

"Monster 0 is an animal and therefore irrational," S-7 said. "Perhaps it views them as a source of pleasure. All the better, ultimately."

Although xe thought xe was doing an excellent job of suppressing the emotion, AT-55 would, if pressed, confess that xe had found xemself somewhat intimidated when xe was informed xe would be reporting directly to S-7 for the first time. The mastermind behind Monster 0. Xe'd only been informed a moment before meeting her that xe was actually answering to the clone of the S-7 who has invented Monster 0—the mother had passed away a few years ago and the daughter inherited her position. All the same, the new S-7 was her own form of intimidating: she was the same age as AT-55, and already commanded such a high rank.

"Did you have an opportunity to review my proposal?" AT-55 asked.

"To use the gold chips as rewards for good behavior during training?" S-7's voice wasn't quite so expressive that AT-55 could fairly accuse her of being unduly effusive on the job, but nevertheless AT-55 was sure xe detected a hint of disapproval. "No, we will not be using them that way."

AT-55 protested, "But if it both depends upon and derives pleasure from the gold chips, then the chips would be an excellent method of exerting control over it."

"The chips are already a method of exerting control," S-7 said. "We didn't have to give Monster 0 a biological need to consume gold in a solid, undiluted form, rather than extracting it from other composite sources the way it does with all its other necessary nutrients. We made it that way for a reason: to ensure it can't run off. It can feed itself on any rocky planet or asteroid in the universe—but so long as it needs pure gold in order to repair damage to its scales, it remains dependent upon us to meet its needs. The gold isn't a treat; it's a tether."

AT-55 tilted xer head up. "I understand."

"And you see the necessity of feeding Monster 0 its gold precisely when it needs gold, no sooner or later. Even if it fails or misbehaves, it must remain confident that it will have its need for gold met by us—always by us and only by us."

AT-55 nodded. Xe wouldn't bring up the proposal again.

Monster 0 slowly resumed chewing.

###

Nido had nearly finished reburying the remains of his ancestors' ancestor when he heard, lilting over the trees, the sound of the golden ones singing his kind's dirge.

On the one hand, he felt like they probably shouldn't be doing that. They didn't completely know how his kind's funerals were supposed to go. On the other hand, Nido had only learned secondhand while the golden ones had actually watched one, so they probably knew better how they went than he did.

Mostly, after they'd eaten half a corpse, Nido appreciated that the golden ones were making the effort. It was above and beyond what he'd asked for.

He was about to take off and catch up with them when he saw them swooping down to meet him. They landed heavily between the trees. Before Nido could say anything, they bent forward, made a foul rasping sound—"Uhh, guys?"—convulsed from their hips all the way up to their throats as they gagged several times—"Are you okay?"—and then regurgitated a pile of fossilized bones through their right mouth.

Nido gaped.

Middle one licked right's muzzle clean while lefty bent down and flicked out his tongue to pick up spare flecks of gold from the bone pile.

"That's nasty."

"We are," they conceded. Nido had an easier time than usual picking out which head was producing which syllables; the right one's voice was a bit raspier and deeper now. "You can put the bones under the dirt again."

Nido looked in exasperation at the hole he'd just finished refilling, and got to work digging it out again. After taking a moment to recover, the golden ones joined him.

"For a little before, we do not remember about the dirge you sing for the dead of your kind." They don't look at him as speak. "Or how you put them in their volcanoes."

Nido has to mentally turn over the statement a couple of times before figuring out they're trying to explain why they ate a bunch of bones straight out of a grave. "It's... these aren't really my kind," Nido said. "I don't think they got funerals at all. But they were close enough to us that we have to respect their dead. Leaving their bones on their land and all that."

"We do not know."

It's not quite an apology, but it's apology-adjacent, so Nido decides to accept it like one. "I didn't tell you. I didn't expect you to..." He trailed off. He supposed he should have expected them to lunge for the remains of a dead body, shouldn't he? With their fangs. They obviously ate more than just metal.

When they'd dug deep enough to find some of the bone shards the golden ones had missed, Nido hopped back out of the hole and started carefully picking up the upchucked bones to return where they belong. By habit, he almost grabbed them with his talons, caught himself, and scooped them up in his hands instead.

The golden ones backed out of his way. After Nido had carried a couple of loads into the pit, they said, "We eat the dead of our kind."

Nido jerked his head up to stare at them. That was the first time they'd ever told him anything about their kind's culture. He'd been half convinced that they didn't have any others of their kind—that they'd been born alone without having ever met another member of their species. Hoping they'd share more, even if it was just funerary customs, he said encouragingly, "Yeah?"

They went on, "We do not eat the dead of your kind again. Or the kind close to your kind."

"Ah." He supposed that was all they were going to share. "That's good."

"And when you die, we will tear you open so you bleed out on your volcano."

"That's considerate of you."

###

Monsters 0, 3, 4, and 10 looked down at the body of Monster 17.

Their body was riddled with massive crystallic harpoons, black blood welling up from the punctures and oozing around electric pink shafts. One had pierced their heart. Had that been the blow that killed them, or could they have recovered if not for the others? This had been M-17's first mission on a planet with a technologically advanced population. They'd been relying on the experience of the more veteran monsters to keep them safe.

M-0 wondered if the other three monsters (the other nine animals) were feeling what they were feeling: the uncomfortable sense that they all ought to be coiled together, joined together over this tragedy, supporting each other through the grief of losing another one (three) of their aerie.

Except they weren't part of an aerie. They were part of a squad. And M-0's capacity for empathy had been so numbed they couldn't feel their own reactions to M-17's deaths, much less any of the other monsters'.

They felt dully as though they'd lost something.

The body lay in the rubble of a shattered crystal dome, crumpled and twisted and limp, eyes wide and glazed. And they all stood staring around it, unmoving and unmoved. As though they were trying to figure out how they should feel about this. M-3, losing interest in the exercise, twisted around to lick at shoulder wound that had scraped off several scales.

M-0 had a thought. Specimen 1's thought, probably—typically the clever one—but the flash of inspiration had come upon them so suddenly they couldn't tell and didn't care. They crawled toward the corpse gingerly, trying to keep the weight off their injured right leg—half the scales on their thigh had been burned off. The other monsters watched them. M-0 was their leader, after all.

Specimen 3 butted M-17's chest as Specimen 1 looked at the others and said, "Free gold."

They made various noises of disgust.

Specimen 1 said, "More for us." He lifted high to keep watch for the approach of more alien troops or Xilien supervisors, and Specimen 2 bent down to watch as Specimen 3 dug his fangs into a puncture wound to peel the skin off.

"You'll make yourself sick," M-4 said.

"All the gold they give us goes to our scales," Specimen 1 said. "If we only eat the scales, it's fine."

M-10 said, "You're stupid."

M-0 rattled their tails and the others backed off. More blood dripped to the ground as they ripped more and more off the meat. They gagged and nearly retched several times as Specimen 3 tasted the meat, , but they'd learned to control that reflex. He bit down harder on the scales and they went on anyway.

M-4 was right. They did make themselves sick. The Xiliens retrieved them from the basement of a collapsed skyscraper they'd hollowed out to hide in, curled up tight with their knees pressed into their abdomen to try to quiet their heaving. Their fever didn't break for several days.

But during that time, the burned scales on their thigh regrew by themselves. When M-0 returned to the field, the scales scraped off M-3's shoulder wound had not.

###

The more Nido thought about it, the more he was bothered by the fact that the golden ones seemed so confident that they would be the ones to bury him and not the other way around, and that they'd apparently already put thought into what they'd do when that happened. As if they knew something he didn't.

After Nido had re-buried the uneaten graves and they'd flown halfway back home, he barrel rolled over and yelled up at the golden ones, "Hey!" When they called back an acknowledgement, he asked, "What do you want me to do if you die first? I can eat you if you want, but it'll take a while."

"We do not die first. You do."

"You don't know that!"

"We do." And they said it with such serene confidence that Nido almost believed them.

"You said you eat your kind's dead," Nido said.

"Yes, but you do not need to—"

"So your kind can die, right? You don't know that it won't happen before me. It could be an accident."

They considered that, then begrudgingly said, "Maybe."

"So, what should I do if you die?"

"Throw our corpse at the one that kills us and see if he screams."

Nido cackled.

He wanted to get a serious answer out of them; but before he could ask again, the golden ones swooped closer to him, close enough that he had to constantly adjust his flight to compensate for the turbulence stirred up by their wings. It was a fun challenge, actually. "The kind before your kind has gold on its bodies instead of lava, yes?"

"Yeah—well, only the males."

"What are 'males'?"

"The, uh..." Okay, there was no way to explain that one without getting into a whole mess of vocabulary they hadn't covered yet. "In most species, the better-looking members."

"Then you are one of the males?"

"Probably, but my kind is actually one of the exceptions to the—ha! You charmers."

They spared only a second to bask in the triumph of getting in a slick line before returning to the prior subject. "Is this why you let us on your volcano? We are 'golden ones' because we look like your ancestors?"

"Sssort of."

"'Sort' of?"

"A little yes, a little no?" Since the golden ones were actively flapping instead of soaring, a storm was rapidly brewing around them. Nido hid from the coming rain in the shadow beneath their body. "Actually—honestly, when I saw you, I thought you were one of my kind."

He wasn't sure if that rumble was thunder or their laughter.

"I've never seen one of my kind alive!" he yelled defensively. "Anyway, I thought you might've been... I don't know, old-fashioned. Putting gold over the lava to go courting. It took me a bit to figure out there wasn't any lava under the gold."

"You think we are courting when we first attack you?"

"Yeah?" They'd sure been courting the hell out of him since then. "Why? Weren't you?"

They didn't immediately reply. He looked up at them. They looked down at him, then away. "We just like fighting."

He laughed so hard he couldn't breathe.

He heard the steady rumble of their laughter above him. When he'd nearly recovered, they dove down over him; he thought for a moment they were going to attack him from above, but they stopped just short of landing on his back and ducked their middle head upside-down to bop Nido's forehead, giving him a brief glimpse of their affection/amusement.

It was also enough for him to tell that the ache across their body was already subsiding.

The force of the flap that carried the golden ones back to their cruising altitude was almost enough to knock Nido out of the sky. He flapped hard to catch himself and climb back to their height. Rain, rain, rain, yecch.

When he was flying even with them, they said, "When you see us, the first thing you think is that we are more like you than anyone else you know on this world."

"Well—yeah. Basically." It sounded a little ridiculous when they put it into words like that, but...

They copied the barrel roll he'd started off the conversation with so they could circle beneath him as they spoke. "That is the first thing we think, too."

Suddenly the wind across Nido's rain-soaked back felt a little less cold.

He watched the graceful way their necks and tails curved as they completed the barrel roll, and made a note to himself: he needed to take them out dancing sometime soon.

###

Was this was how aliens under attack by their monsters felt?

The Xilien space station's sirens were wailing—a shrill, trilling note—sometimes drowned out by distant explosions as another critical system was destroyed, or the howl behind a sealed door as another chamber was ripped open to the vacuum of space. Their space station's uplink to Controller 0 had been the first system knocked out, rendering their cranial implants useless and eliminating the supercomputer's telepathic control over Monster 0.

Every once in a while, Scientist 7 could hear a siren that sounded slightly out of tune echoing down distant hallways. Every time she did, she was seized by a wild panic. Nothing mattered more than running away from that out-of-tune siren as fast as she could.

She had to hear it several times before she realized that out-of-tune siren was Monster 0 itself, distracting them from their evacuation and sending them scattering through mazes of hallways. Monster 0's voice rang like a bell. Shrill and trilling. Was it trying to imitate the siren, mocking them? Or was that how it laughed?

Even knowing what it was didn't stop her from fleeing in a blind panic whenever she heard its voice.

This was never supposed to happen. From mind control to dietary control, they were supposed to have a thousand ways to keep Monster 0's leash tight enough to strangle it. S-7's grandmother had made sure of that when she'd designed Monster 0, S-7's mother had reinforced their control, S-7 maintained it—she'd been so careful—they'd all been so careful—

She and dozens of other scientists and soldiers were corralled into one of the space station's largest hangars, chased by the monster's high, mocking laughter, echoing in the distance. They hadn't made it to the escape pods, but at least there were ships here. S-7 looked for a soldier to order to pilot one of the spacecraft for here—when the wall behind them exploded in lightning.

The phony siren had sounded so much further away—she'd thought the monster had passed them by. Had it been deliberately misleading them? Could it throw its voice somehow? It looked down at them without making a noise, leering malevolently, fangs exposed hungrily. The soldiers' weapon fire bounced harmlessly off its scales.

One of its gazes fixed on S-7—and then they all did. She could feel its sadistic delight weighing on her mind like an impending thunderstorm. That was impossible. She'd been told it had lost its empathic abilities back in her grandmother's day. All the monsters lost their empathy.

The monster circled around her, getting between the ships and the massive hangar door. Its gait was uneven and lurching; for a moment S-7 hoped it had been injured, but then realized it was purposefully crushing people under its feet and wings with every step, like a child crushing nuts and bugs on the sidewalk. The left head curved down to scout out more victims, the right snapped and snarled at anyone who dared point a weapon at them, but the middle's gaze never wavered from S-7.

She was the only thing in the room that Monster 0 was constantly fixated on. Her family was the closest thing Monster 0 had to a consistent master—maybe it still recognized her. Maybe it would listen to her. "You know you can't leave," she told it. "You're dependent on us. Even if you escape, you'll come crawling back to us in a few weeks. You know you will."

The three heads lunged down at her. They moved so suddenly she stumbled back, falling. But they just stared at her, as though goading her—go on, explain more.

"You think you're invincible! We gave you the ability to survive indefinitely without air, to subsist on nothing but dirt and sunlight, even to regrow your own body! But unless you want your skin to peel open and your flesh to spill out, you will always, always need us for gold."

"Will we?"

S-7's breath caught. The monster spoke Xilien, actual Xilien. They had trained it to understand Xilien, but they'd never imagined...

Voice weak, she stuttered, "The—the chips. Without us, where will you—?"

"She is too simple-minded to understand that loose gold and chip-shaped gold are the same substance." Its voice was unnervingly high-pitched, hissing the S's and clicking the T's like they were separate syllables. Und-ersss-T-and. Sssubsss-T-anssse. "Three generations, and yet none appear to have brains. How unfortunate."

They'd made it too smart.

The right head slithered down and curled around her, the left head slowly opened its jaws and unrolled its tongue, and the middle head said, "We know this will make us sick. We will enjoy it anyway."

She shrieked as the left head snatched her up. Its fangs crunched through her body twice before it gagged and spit her remains to the ground.

With only a casual one-headed glance behind a shoulder, Monster 0 crashed its tails on the hangar door behind it, tearing open the metal as though it was tin foil. The sound of sirens was lost to the howl of the vacuum.

Monster 0 spread its wings to catch the wind racing out into the vacuum, letting it rip them into space. Crossing the threshold of the space station, they shed all the shackles and all the labels the Xiliens had ever placed on them. They cackled like an alarm bell until the void stole their voice.

###

A few days after their meal, the golden ones' scales turned dull and cloudy, almost the color of sand. Which alarmed the hell out of Nido; but when he asked them if they were alright, they assured him this was perfectly normal.

"You give yourself new armor in your volcano at night," they said. "This is how we give ourselves new armor." Nido would have to take their word on it, since there was no one else's word he could take. At least they didn't preen while they were gray like this. Maybe getting enough gold meant they wouldn't have to again.

In another couple days, Nido woke to find they'd risen before dawn and were furiously rubbing the sides of their faces against a rocky surface near the base of the volcano, scraping and peeling off the faded layer. He watched in morbid fascination as they labored into the morning to slough off their own skin, revealing a fresh layer of scales underneath that sparkled like pure polished gold in the morning light.

They glanced up at their one-pter audience and asked, half self-deprecatingly, "Gross?"

"No," Nido said. "Just interesting."

They looked surprised. They considered Nido a moment, and then slowly bent down to thoughtfully start eating their own discarded skin.

"That's gross."

"Then stop watching."

That was a totally fair request.

A few strips of dead skin still stuck around their wings and between their necks. They nibbled irritably at the edges for the rest of the day and took a couple of quick swims in the ocean—to loosen it, Nido suspected—until by dusk it had flaked off on its own.

###

The first morning after they shed, Nido woke up to find the golden ones looming over his head. "Uh. Hey! Morning. What...?"

"Up."

The moment he'd lifted his torso out of the lava, they lunged forward, wrapping their necks around him possessively. He froze before he recognized what they were doing. How many days had it been since they'd last decorated him?

"What are you—?" Nido was interrupted as middle one bunted him. He bunted back a little harder and tried again, "What are you doing? You're just going to waste your gold if you do that, aren't you?"

"We like seeing us on you."

Nido made a strangled sound. He decided not to read too deeply into that. "Yeah, but..."

They held him a moment longer before slithering off. "We should not do it all mornings," they said. Nido's heart sank, even though they were only saying what he already knew. "But it is okay some mornings. Mornings that are... not better, but... more interesting than normal mornings."

"Like special occasions?"

"Sure," they said uncertainly.

Nido climbed the rest of the way out of his volcano and crouched on the rim. "Okay. That sounds... alright." He'd miss having gold all the time—he'd gotten too fond of seeing gold glinting on his wings, and he wondered if they felt that way when they saw volcanic dust on their scales—but he didn't think they could afford for the golden ones to lose a little bit more every single day. This was probably the best compromise. "What's special about this occasion?"

"We took off our dead skin!" They reared back and lifted their wings proudly. Electricity cracked down their sides and glittered on their scales. "We are the most shiny!"

Nido almost laughed. It was true, they were. It made the new volcanic dust lining their throats and faces look even darker and sharper in contrast. Okay, he'd accept that as a special occasion.

He nevertheless felt guilty that night as he perched on the edge of the crater and contemplated covering up the gold. It seemed unfair for the decorations to be so fleeting when it was such a chore for the golden ones to replenish their supply.

He could let them eat it back off, he supposed. But he still remembered the first time they'd attempted to embrace him—the way they rasped their teeth against his sides, flicked their tongues over his back—and shuddered. Maybe eventually. In a long, long time. But not now.

So before sleep, he went down to the beach, carefully chipped off the top layer of gold with his beak, and left the chips in a pile near the golden ones. One stirred and looked at him sleepily. He awkwardly said, "Here's your gold back," and fluttered up to his crater to sleep.

The next morning, they quietly said, "Never do they again." So he didn't.

But they did eat the chips.

###

Nido couldn't help but notice several thin lines tracing the golden ones' body where the scales were paler and slightly buckled outward. Under their jaws and eyes, around their throats, between their necks, stretching down their chest and back, curving around their shoulders along their spines, above their tails, around their hips, between their legs, crisscrossing multiple times over their abdomen.

They looked like scars.

They were the first places the golden ones attacked in their next morning preening session.

Nido had hoped that the feast of gold would spare the golden ones from obsessively tearing open their own skin each morning. No luck. The routine picked back up just a couple days after they shed their skin. Maybe that really was normal for them. At least they seemed less irritated now.

Nido tried not to wonder too hard at the fact that, as they progressively tore and gnawed down more and more of the thin misshapen scar-like lines, the scales grew back flatter and smoother.

Over the next month, their fresh scales faded from pure yellow-gold to their usual dull, pale brass hue. The scars became invisible.

The golden ones still gnawed at invisible flaws every morning.

Nido didn't bother them about it. He'd watched them eat a massive chunk of gold and wiggle out of their own skin. If they told him something was normal and necessary to their health, he was taking their word for it. They knew their needs better than he did.

But he hung around a little later each morning before flying off for the day, sitting on the beach with them, listening to them sing. They put off preening when he was there.

Some days they didn't do it at all.

###

(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.)

#rodorah #rodan #ghidorah #king ghidorah #kotm #godzilla #fanfic #my writing #(typically i don't warn for things that aren't super common triggers or that i haven't been asked to warn for)#(but this fic's got A Lot so content warnings for:)#(dermatillomania; blood; pica (kinda? they eat things humans shouldn't and they eat things THEY shouldn't); vomiting; and cannibalism)#(uhhhhh it's mostly heartwarming?)

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