#Recalcitrant buttons

[play-my-game]

[elsewhereuniversity]

Hi! How close is the current crazed sewing kit to completion? I’m a textile major- wait sorry, introductions- call me Rivet (not like the frog, like the metal thingy that holds things together) she/her. Anyways. I’m a textile major and I want to create the worlds most fucked up non-euclidian quilt. Its my capstone project. If the kit’s already claimed or not ready for usage/consumption/harvest, that’s alright, i have some favors and a variety of the currency the goblin market uses, but i’ve really got my eye on the weaving tablets and myriad pins of this iteration. I promise i’ll use it all though! Or, at least, i’ll keep the odds and ends tucked away for future projects. I’m willing to trade a ship in a bottle that sails on an ocean affected by tomorrow’s weather, a cursed bonefolder that actually, yknow, folds bones instead of paper, and a bolt of fabric i spun and wove myself. Nothing overtly magical about it, but it is a nice shade of red.

The fourth crazed sewing kit is ready and it is yours.

A swatch of bloodstained blue velvet

Swatches of stiff fabric that shift chameleon-like to match any other

A walnut shell containing yards of fabric woven from starshine

A bloodstained pincushion in the approximate form of a person, filled with human hair and fingernail clippings, among other things

A seam ripper that only cuts the threads you intend it to

A pair of iron shears, decorated with gilt filigree, which only cut things that have been measured twice

A needle of steel, which is efficient but bites

A needle used to stitch a wound, which now only pierces flesh

A needle of silver, used as a sword by a very small hand. Any thread spun through the eye is unbreakable while it's being sewn.

Thread of human hair, cut and regrown

Thread of human hair, golden

Thread of horsehair, one strand jet black and one snow-white

Thread of gold and of silver, the first of which sooths and the second of which energizes

Thread of variable length, glowing as though white hot

Fabric-pencils which trace possibilities, leaning theatrical

A mannequin which wants nothing more than to swap places with you, and will do so at the first opportunity

A spool of oakwood plated with gold, which ensures you will have just enough thread to finish any project you use it with.

A drop spindle of oakwood which turns hay to gold

Two buttons of silver which shine in the dark, from a coat made of night-sky

A squatcho from a beret, seemingly made of lead inside the fabric casing.

Pliers plated with sterling silver, to remove recalcitrant needles

[esor-ogramira]

Boop!

I literally can't boop you back, because this fucking hellsite hates me, and me in particular. The Boop-o-meter refuses to show me booping anyone, and literally nothing happens when I click the STUPID FUCKING BOOP button! I've tried it on Firefox and Edge!! NOTHING FUCKING WORKS!! I've disabled the fucking adblocker I have on Firefox... AND NOTHING WORKED EITHER!!!

And apparently, I'm the only one who's having the stupid recalcitrant issue.

So if you- or anyone else- have any possible fix, PLEASE, PLEASE, let me know!

[sixhours]

Chapter 6 - The Ghosts of Babylon

Series Chapter Index | Read on AO3 | Complete

Rating: Explicit, 18+, here be smut and violence Series tags: Joel Miller x You, Joel Miller x Reader, Joel & Ellie, mostly follows canon, LGBTQ+ characters, y/n is bi/pan, y/n is ~45, violence, pregnancy, abortion, medical trauma, emotional trauma, panic attacks, sex work, suicide, smut, slow burn, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, romance, no use of y/n, reader has longish hair, Joel can lift you, smallish age gap (~11 years), I've probably forgotten some so please let me know <3

~*~

You’re tending to a patroller’s sprained finger in the back of the clinic when you hear a commotion from the waiting area, panicked yelling. The flashback takes you the way it usually does, sudden and violent, stealing your breath, your heart a pounding rush in your ears.

You’re standing in a hallway full of gurneys, watching Joanna’s jerky, painful crawl toward you as you try desperately to kick her away. Your white sneakers slip and slide on fresh pools of blood as your girlfriend reaches and grabs for your ankle, her grip cold and burning up at the same time.

Jo.

You swallow hard, coming to. You’re not at the hospital, you’re in Jackson.

Not now. Not now, can’t do that now.

“Handle this,” you snap at the watching nurse, hoping she doesn’t hear the tremor in your voice.

“Lemme go! No! I need her !” The voice is high and plaintive, young and scared.

“Ellie?”

You step through the waiting room doors to see the girl struggling with a male nurse, desperate and flailing. Her eyes lock on yours, filling with relief.

“Joel…his heart…” the girl starts, then bursts into tears.

Shit.

You grab the portable defibrillator and the med kit you keep by the door, following the girl out of the clinic. “I’m going, it’s at the end of Rancher Street, send backup,” you tell the nurse behind you.

The door to the house is wide open when Ellie and you crash into the living room. Joel is sitting back to the wall of the kitchen island, clutching at his left shoulder with a grimace, conscious, but his skin is sickly gray and shining with sweat.

You’re on your knees next to him, feeling for a pulse, ripping the buttons off his flannel armor with practiced ease. His exposed chest heaves in fast, gasping breaths. “Joel? Can you talk?”

He gives a nod but doesn’t speak, eyes shining with fear.

“Did you take anything?” you ask. He shakes his head once.

“Is he gonna be okay?” Ellie’s wavering voice interrupts, and you turn, having momentarily forgotten she was there. 

“Ellie, I need you to go get your uncle,” you say, thinking fast. “Can you do that?”

“Uncle…you mean Tommy?”

“Yes. Hurry.”

She runs off and you turn back to Joel. You can’t work with her standing over you, and if you need to use the AED, you don’t want her to see it.

“Sure you didn’t take anything? Pills? Been drinking?”

“Don’t drink,” he gasps out. “My shoulder–”

“Family history of heart attacks? High blood pressure, anything like that?”

“Dunno,” he grits his teeth. “Parents died…early…”

You pull a stethoscope from your go bag, fitting the earpieces and pressing the pad just above his sternum, listening for the telltale signs of arrhythmia. His heartbeat is fast but regular, galloping in his chest.

“Breathe,” you say. “Deep breaths.”

He shakes his head but does as he’s told, slowing his breath down. His face begins to regain its color with each exhale.

You sit back on your heels, pulling the stethoscope down. “You might have had a small one…but I don’t think you’re having a heart attack right now.”

He looks up at you, confused.

“I want to get you back to the clinic for an EKG so we can be sure.”

“No–”

“Not an option,” you cut him off. “If not for you, then for Ellie. She’s scared as hell and needs to know you’re going to be okay.”

At the mention of his daughter, he’s suddenly recalcitrant, scowling but nodding.

You pause, thinking. “Have you had panic attacks before, Miller?”

He meets your eyes in a silent glare as if to say, who hasn’t?

“This was different. Shoulder’s been givin’ me grief, my whole arm went numb. It’s never been like that.”

“May I take a look at your arm?”

He looks like he’s going to refuse, but then reneges, stiffly moving to pull down his left sleeve in an attempt to slide it off. The movement is enough to make him cry out in pain.

“Easy, easy. Let me.”

You slide the sleeve off his arm, running up the smooth, warm muscle of his bicep and around to his back, examining his body in a way you’ve never been allowed before.

“Fuck,” he snaps when you press into the meat of his shoulder, flinching and hissing in pain.

“Aha. Ever had a rotator cuff injury?”

He shakes his head, grimacing as you probe the tender area and the muscles and tendons around it.

“Well, Miller, I think that’s what you have here. Could be just a strain, could be a tear, hard to know for sure without proper imaging.”

“That all?”

“You’re not young,” you say. “You lift something the wrong way, twist yourself into a tight space, pinch a nerve…even a few rounds of particularly athletic sex can do damage at your age.”

At your age.

“Like, say…up against a wall,” you continue, lips quirking in a distinctly unprofessional smirk.

The look in his eyes says he either wants to throttle you or rip your clothes off and take you right here on the floor. You know the line between the two is razor-thin.

He doesn’t get a chance to respond because there’s a flurry of activity at the door. Ellie has returned with Tommy, and the backup you requested is right behind them. Thankfully it doesn’t look like you’re going to need it.

“Think you can walk, Miller? Or do we need the stretcher?”

~*~

The neighborhood asshole is surprisingly pliant as you apply the sticky pads and wires to his torso. You get to see the scar on his abdomen– not a bite , you decide–and this time he doesn’t flinch when you touch it in passing.

Ellie stays by his side as you wait for the machine to take a reading, biting her cuticles and watching him like he might evaporate into dust if she takes her eyes off him for a second.

The protector becomes the protected.

The girl’s eyes drift to the scar on his abdomen, and you don’t read curiosity in her gaze, only memory, something painful and deep. His hand reaches for hers and holds it tight, and you have to turn away. The exchange lasts mere seconds but leaves you feeling like an intruder.

Well, you are.

The EKG is clear, as you suspected it would be, and you return with the good news. You lean against the door frame of the exam room, suddenly bone-tired.

“I think we should do an echo to be safe, but it doesn’t have to be tonight. I’m going to give you a brace for your shoulder. You need to wear it,” you say to Joel, emphasizing each word. “If you don’t keep it stable, it could tear. And no lifting. Nothing…athletic.”

His eyes bore into yours as you give him a tiny, knowing smile.

Ellie looks relieved enough to cry, but she doesn’t, just punches Joel on his good arm. “Don’t fuckin’ scare me like that, man.”

“Go home and get some rest,” you say softly.

They head out, her tucked under his arm, and you could swear you hear him whisper an apology as they leave.

~*~

You find him at your office when you return from a house call the next day, waiting in a folding chair outside the door.

“Miller?”

He jumps up when he sees you walking toward him, hands shoved into his pockets. You notice the subtle wince and the careful way he holds his left shoulder as he stands.

“Everything okay?”

“Fine,” he says. “Can we talk? Maybe somewhere…private?”

You arch an eyebrow.

“Not for that,” he ducks his head, a flush in his cheeks.

“Alright, come in.”

He follows you inside the converted supply closet where you stay when you have a rare free moment. There’s a shelf running along the back wall, a set of filing cabinets, two chairs, a desk, and a cot behind it. 

“You want coffee?” You edge around him to get to your desk, gesturing to the folding chair in front of it. 

“Sure.”

You measure out the water for the electric kettle and set it to boil, then spoon precious coffee crystals into two mugs.

“Instant?” He wrinkles his nose.

“Desperate times…desperate measures…and the times are always desperate.”

The kettle froths and beeps. You pour the boiling water into the mugs and slide one across the desk.

“Damn,” he grimaces, taking a sip. “That’s worse than the sludge at the mess hall.”

“It’s better with cream.”

He looks at the mug, looks at you, then back at the mug. “Doubt it.”

“I suppose you can do better?”

“Wouldn’t be hard to,” he mutters, but he takes another sip anyway.

“So, are you wearing the brace?”

He reaches over and tugs at the edge of his collar, pulling it aside to reveal the beige elastic band across his neck and left shoulder. “Ellie threatened to break the other arm if I didn’t.”

“That sounds about right,” you smile. “And…any chest pain? Shortness of breath?”

He shakes his head. “It was…what you said. Panic attack.”

“Do you have those often?”

He takes a deep breath but doesn’t answer.

“I have them, too,” you say, the confession tumbling out before you can stop it. “I guess we’ve all seen some shit we can’t un-see.”

“More than you know,” he whispers.

The pause stretches into silence.

“I wanted to say I’m sorry,” he says finally. “For pulling a gun on you…when El was sick.”

You nearly choke on your drink. You have to feign a coughing fit while he looks on with an expression of mild confusion.

“An apology? From Joel Miller? Be still, my heart,” you say when you can finally speak.

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters. “Laugh it up. But I mean it. I appreciate you looking out for her…and me.” 

You gasp, putting a hand to your chest in mock surprise. “An apology and a thank-you? Careful, Miller, you’re going soft.”

He smirks at this, finishes the dregs of his coffee, and pushes the mug back to you.

“Holy shit. Was that a smile ? Is it my fucking birthday or something?”

“Shuddup.”

You lower your voice to a rasp, leaning in. “And here I thought you just wanted to bend me over the desk.” 

His face falls, and he looks so deeply uncomfortable that you almost regret saying it. “Yeah, about that. We can’t…I can’t…do that anymore.”

“There are other positions that won’t put pressure on your shoulder–”

“It’s not about…my arm,” he says, then clears his throat. “The new joist will be up tomorrow. Tommy said he’d swing by and help me fit it in. We can’t finish it up pretty, there’s no drywall, but at least the pipes won’t freeze up again. Then we’re done. No more, uh… payment necessary.”

“Ah…I see,” you say softly. “Then I guess…it’s been nice doing business with you, Miller.”

He nods, licking his lips. After a long moment, he stands to leave, hands on his hips, looking like he wants to say something else.

When he doesn’t, you look down at your desk, pretending to focus on your paperwork. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Take care of that shoulder. And I want you back here for an ECG next week.”

~*~

That night, you return to your little green house and climb the stairs to the attic to check the radio. There’s a new broadcast from FEDRA on the recorder; something about transmission disruptions along the network due to the events in Kansas City, letting you know it might be a while before you hear anything else.

You’ve been thinking about Joel since he left your office, having broken off your little arrangement. You knew the contracting work wouldn’t last forever, and you got the sense Joel was ashamed of your trysts–he fucked you like he couldn’t wait to get away from you–so it’s not a surprise, exactly, but it changes the nature of the job.

But more importantly, Ellie requested you at the clinic and was even ready to fight off another nurse to get to you. She trusts you, and Joel…well, you don’t think he’s going to be a problem now. He seems to have softened, the health scare bringing out some tender underbelly of humanity in him. Yes, you decide, this has been a positive development all around.

You pull the chain to turn off the overhead bulb and climb down from the attic. At this rate, you could be back in Boston before the snow flies.

You’re surprised to find the thought isn’t exactly a comfort.

[esthermitchell-author]

I think we've established I'm evil... And I enjoy sharing (gifting is my love language). So, I just finished this bit of add for my novel, and since it's sorta Christmas season, and I just really want to share this (more sweet, fluffy stuff... aren't you just sick of it? Yeah, me neither), here... Enjoy! 😉

Christmas Morning

The sound of Jemmy's giggling, from somewhere in the hallway, roused Crowley from sleep, first. Stretching, he luxuriated on the feel of toasty warm blankets against his skin, and contemplated staying right where he was, burrowed in his nest of bedding. He already knew Aziraphale was up and about. Much as he might enjoy waking up in a snuggle, his angel wasn't much of a sleeper, so it didn't offend or worry him that the angel was usually out of bed and about his day long before Crowley found his way to consciousness.

It also usually meant Aziraphale took care of most of the morning parental duties, because although their daughter acquired his own love of sleeping, she seemed to have also gained Aziraphale's internal clock that woke her up with the sun. Smiling to himself as he heard the quiet creak of the bedroom door opening, then the patter of little feet on the bare wooden floor, he waited until he knew Jemmy was right beside the bed, reaching out toward his arm, and pounced, lifting her off the floor and onto the bed, tickling her until she squealed with laughter, "Lee-lee, sop!"

He released her, then, his smile growing as she cuddled into him, reaching her little hands to pull his arms around her in silent demand for a snuggle. He obliged, dropping a kiss on her head, then nibbled at her cheek when something sticky met his arm. Sugary, and tasting of oranges. He hummed curiously. "Fafa made you something sweet for breakfast, I see."

"Fafa tay..." Her little brow wrinkled and her lips moved as if she was trying to remember how to say unfamiliar words. "Tay-pesss... tapes! Tapes oooossess!"

Crowley nuzzled his face into her silky curls, not sure if he wanted to laugh at how adorable she was, or groan that she was already slaughtering French. "Crepes Suzette, poppet."

"I tay!" She pouted at him. "Tapes oooossess!"

He gave up, lifting an eyebrow at her. "You did. Does fafa know you're upstairs?"

"He does, now." Aziraphale's quiet voice, which always managed to be warm and gentle, even when he was being stern, drew Crowley's gaze to the bedroom door, and his heart flip-flopped in his chest at the sight of his angel, arms crossed over his chest, shirt sleeves rolled to just below his elbows. He barely heard his husband scolding their recalcitrant daughter for climbing the stairs on her own, his attention distracted by the sight of his angel looking less than completely buttoned up and put together. Made him want to prowl over there and peel that bow tie off him...

He blinked, aware he should add his own admonishment to the mix, because those stairs were dangerous for a not-quite-two-year-old who, while she might be miles ahead of human children of her age, was still wobbly enough on stairs she could injure herself. They still had no idea what might happen if she did something dangerous enough to discorporate herself.

That thought jolted Crowley's attention back from the suggestive vision his angel made right now.

"You should have waited for fafa," he murmured to Jemmy, touching his fingertip to the tip of her nose. She already looked too miserable to scold properly.

"Sowwy." She snuggled into him, then peeked out at Aziraphale like she thought that bashful little pout was going to get her out of trouble. Might've -- okay, probably would've -- worked on him, but since Aziraphale was the one who perfected it centuries ago, Crowley doubted the angel would be swayed by the attempt.

He met his husband's wry smile, and watched his blond head shake, before Aziraphale crossed the room to the other side of the bed and opened his arms to Jemmy. "Why don't we let lee-lee get dressed, and go wash your face? Then we'll all open presents, all right?"

Jemima heaved a little sigh, nodded, and dutifully crawled across the bed to let Aziraphale lift her into his arms.

With a wink for Crowley and a mouthed Merry Christmas, Anthony, his angel carried their daughter out of the bedroom, pulling the door closed behind him.

[rehfan]

What’s that face? — Tag Game

Rules: Pick a situation from one of your fics and post a screenshot of the expression you imagined your blorbo is making in that scene.

No one tagged me, but here’s a bit from my latest WIP…. “La Belle Dame avec Mercí” mostly because I wanted to remind people that I still am writing shit, I’m just SLOWWWW and I have a full-time job.

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader — Fake Relationship Trope

(This fic is dedicated to @hard-candy-writing and is inspired by their post.)

A/N: Cosmo is an OC.

*******************

[Cosmo] took each of you by a respective elbow and led you over to the defunct freight elevator in the drums section. He took the warning tape off one side and it and the sign attached fell to the floor. He pressed the call button and the elevator doors opened with a soft hum. “In you go,” he said to you. Dumbly, you obeyed.

“Is it safe?” you asked, remembering at the last minute that you were up one story.

“Oh yes. It’s just stuck. No power to the elevator itself, just the doors, and the brakes have it frozen in place. Going to cost me a fortune to fix, so until then…” Cosmo shrugged. He gestured for Eddie to enter.

Eddie was more recalcitrant. His arms were crossed as soon as Cosmo had released his elbow and he stood stock still. “I’m not doing time in the shaft with her. I don’t care what she has to say.”

Cosmo evaluated him soberly over the rim of his glasses. “That’s your fear talking.” Eddie huffed dismissively. “Edward. You will enter this freight elevator if I have to beat you senseless with that crash symbol. Now go.” He pointed inward and Eddie looked from him to you.

He shook his head, his mane of hair waggling along with the motion. “Nope. Not doing it. I have nothing to say to her.”

“Then just listen,” said Cosmo. “For God’s sake, man! Take it from a dude who has loved and lost four times! Get the fuck in the shaft and let the lady apologize.”

“That’s just it: she doesn’t love me. And I may not know much about love, but this isn’t about love. This is about using people. And Jesus Christ, do I know what that looks like! And she’s used me for a stupid and selfish reason and I’m done! She needs to leave me the hell alone. Starting now.”

Eddie didn’t know where the words were coming from, but they felt right. Like a perfectly balanced sword in his hand made just for him. It felt good to say what was hurting his heart so much. But a small part of him hated the sound of the words, the forming and voicing of them was simple, natural, and free. The hearing of them, the tone they took, and the effect on your face was another matter altogether. You were clearly hurt.

You watched all of this from the farthest corner of the elevator like it was a tennis match: Eddie objecting, Cosmo deflecting and returning the serve. If you weren’t directly involved, you might have found it entertaining. But you were involved. Matter of fact, you were at the crux of the conversation and it made you heartsick. “Please, Eddie,” you begged quietly. “I only want to say sorry.” The metal walls made your voice echo, magnifying your pitiful state.

Something in Eddie’s eyes shifted, softened. But only for a moment. “So say it then. And get out. I’ve got to spend time with my real friends.”

“Edward.”

“Call me Edward one more goddamned time, old man!” he snapped at Cosmo.

[grimalkinmessor]

any thoughts/headcanons about transmasc light

Not really...? I mean I just see transmasc Light the same as canon Light. His personality doesn't really change and neither do his circumstances, because he passes.

Though I do see transmasc Light as having a more strained relationship with Sachiko than canon Light, because as soon as her beloved little Light-chan figures out that she's actually a boy, Light bulldozes everything in his way and rejects anything even remotely feminine so he can become the man he wants to be. His relationship with his mother included in that. Soichiro, on the other hand, is bewildered but far less recalcitrant about his daughter turning into a son than he would be about his son turning into a daughter. He's always wanted a son, after all.

In canon context the only differences would probably be Soichiro being far more wary of letting L put cameras in his house/Light in confinement. Not because he thinks L would do something perverted, but more because he'd like to preserve Light's secrets and modesty. Soichiro actually ends up better understanding the value of lying by omission if Light is trans, I think.

Misa, repressed bisexual that she is, would be super weird about it. She'd be far more eager to get into Light's pants, though she'd also be conflicted about how attracted she is to him once (if) she got there. She's still super attracted to him, of course—but transmasc Light probably gives Misa either a gross new fetish or a complex form of denial. Maybe both.

L literally would not give a shit. Neither would Ryuk. The Task Force would be weird about it when they inevitably found out (i.e. Aizawa being more protective of Light, Matsuda seeing it as "okay" to flirt and/or try to woo Light, etc etc) but no one else would be. Watari has an entire orphanage full of queer audhd kids, so he's also unphased. Ryuk doesn't give a shit about human gender norms beyond how they affect Light's plans and how interesting they are. L probably uses it to prod at Light's buttons and test his reactions but beyond that he also doesn't care—it doesn't register on his radar as something important.

[likecastle]

Ronance Femslash February - the makeover scene we didn't see

OK, here’s my second pass at the prompt @allnewtpir sent me! It’s still not quite what you were looking for, I think, but much closer to actually covering “the makeover scene we didn't see.” It’s also a continuation of yesterday’s ficlet, but from Nancy’s perspective this time.

I’m accepting Ronance prompts all month for Femslash February. Anon asks  are totally fine, and you’re welcome to send more than one prompt. Don’t be shy! Please, keep them coming! You can find previous prompts I’ve filled here.

Robin pauses before she can take the bra from Nancy’s hand. “What now?” Nancy asks, trying and failing to temper the annoyance in her voice.

Robin winces. “Uh, if I get changed now,” she says, sounding almost apologetic for the first time since they started getting ready, “I’m going to get nail polish all over your clothes.”

Nancy lets her arm drop. Robin’s right, of course. Nancy should have considered this order of operations earlier, but Robin had come out of the bathroom, her legs looking a million miles long in Nancy’s too-short bathrobe, and Nancy had sort of forged ahead to the next task she that occurred to her without thinking things through.

“All right,” Nancy says with a sigh, “come here.”

Robin closes the distance between them, shoulders slumped. She doesn’t exactly look thrilled at the prospect of letting Nancy undress her—and why would she be? Nancy flushes hot as she unties the belt of the robe, and she tells herself it’s just embarrassment—for not having had the forethought to allow Robin to do this herself.

“Arms out,” Nancy directs, and Robin puts her arms out like a paper doll.

Nancy manages to get the robe down Robin’s shoulder easily enough, and carefully bunches the terry cloth up to ease it around Robin’s hand. Up close, Nancy can’t help noticing how good Robin smells, almost spicy like incense—not an ostentatious scent, but something that clings close to her skin even after her shower. It makes Nancy want to lean in closer, but she tries to focus on the task at hand. They repeat the same awkward maneuver to get the other arm of the robe off, and Nancy scrupulously averts her eyes until Robin’s turned around, her pulse hammering hard in her throat. Robin obligingly slips her arms through the straps of the bra and lets Nancy fasten it for her. As her fingers brush the smooth skin of Robin’s back, she wonders if anyone else has ever touched Robin here. And then she finds herself thinking about what it would be like to run her hands up Robin’s back—how for a boy who was used to encountering recalcitrant hooks and eyes, the uninterrupted expanse of Robin’s back under his hands would feel like an unexpected luxury.

“You seriously wear one of these every day?” Robin asks, and the sound of her voice startles Nancy out of her thoughts. “No wonder you’re always so pissed off.

“I’m not—” Nancy starts to say, but it’s pointless trying to argue with Robin. “Slip next.”

Robin has to bend low so that Nancy can get the lace-trimmed slip over her head, and Nancy tries not to let her hands linger as she tugs the slippery white fabric down Robin’s sides. She’s just glad Robin had the foresight to put on her underwear and pantyhose in the bathroom, because helping Robin into a pair of stockings really would have been humiliating for both of them.

The blouse goes on easily enough, though she has to stand uncomfortably close to Robin to do up the little pearl buttons, and the feeling of Robin’s chest rising and falling under her fingers makes something move, tidelike, in Nancy’s own chest. It almost makes her want to cry for some reason, which is just ridiculous.

“What is this made out of?” Robin asks, squirming unhappily in a way that brings her even closer to Nancy. “70% polyester, 30% repression?” When Nancy glances up, Robin looks miserable as a wet cat, and Nancy tells herself to get a grip.

She has to lean down to help Robin step into the skirt, and she holds her breath the whole time, afraid of catching another breath of that delicious spicy scent—or worse, finding out what it smells like mingled with the creamy vanilla of her shaving cream. At one point, Robin loses her balance and has to put a hand on the top of Nancy’s head, and it almost makes Nancy weak in the knees—or maybe she’s just been holding her breath for too long. They really don’t have time for this, she reminds herself firmly, and straightens up to put Robin’s cardigan on, tugging a little harder than is strictly necessary.

“There,” she says finally, breathing out at long last. “All done.”

Robin turns to examine herself in the mirror. “It’s . . . horrible,” she breathes, as if she’s in awe of how much she hates it.

As much as she wants to, Nancy can’t really argue with this assessment. The pale colors don’t suit Robin at all, and Nancy has to admit that the frilly collar doesn’t flatter her long neck as well as the looser tops Robin usually wears. “You look—fine,” she says, and she can hear how shrill the lie sounds.

Robin shoots her a baleful look. “You’re usually a better liar than that, Wheeler.”

“You need shoes,” Nancy says, and turns away to hide her blush.

[melodrama-ticcc]

.: 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 :.

abstract: this is an oc x roronoa zoro drabble detailing a young woman's troubles with jealousy, insecurity and anxiety. writing and original character by me. i do not own or claim the rights to one piece. minor spoilers for the land of wano arc. (this drabble is to be continued.)

if you enjoy my writing, please feel free to check out my blog and submit a request! thank you for taking the time to read my work.

---

sanguineous in nature, the subtlety of its ligneous textures drew itself in soft, closed grains. incarnadine lacquer glossed over the ridges of its luciferin hallmarks. a leering mouth grinning something enviously sinister. with swinish tusks and ferine teeth protruding from its heinous grin. a burly nose scopes the mien of the demon, it's nostrils wide caverns that meet with a point before ascending a taper. where its bridge meets the brow, the creature takes an invidious countenance. in which its brow delves passed the line of sight to bare a malignant scowl. orbs sheen gallantly in gilded chromaticity. its pupils bleak and empty, carrying an endless abyss of darkness. bestial horns billow from either flank of its head, only consummating the onryo's demonian origins. such a perdition, its facade exudes an aura of foreboding. only vanward does this apparition reap contemptuously, as its semblance is incontestably covetous and prejudicial. but it is also melancholy.

for as the apparition bows its occiput, its, or rather, her visage illustrates one of anguish and torment. a woeful banshee whose animosity consumed her. her leering mandible wailed with eternal sorrow. her once scowling brow upturnt in insufferable tribulation. she was a creature driven ill by the refractory hysteria of her abortive desires. a demon born from envy and enmity condemned to a perpetuity of great atrocity and travail. a hannya.

perhaps it was due to her woeful past, that she became so distraught over these frivolous matters. or her primitive ideologies that the concept of true love did in fact exist? otherwise, her habitual persistence to attach herself to those she valued so dearly.

perhaps it had been all three.

but the triviality of these exhibitions were far more pivotal through her own perception than they necessarily tended to be.

and so, as she donned that treen mask that exuded such impenetrable evil, it was much more than just a facade utilized to veil her identity to the people of this land. much more than a symbol of sanguinity to the institutionalized prospects of wano.

it was whom she had become.

when nami and sanji had inquired about her wellbeing, she simply gesticulated. their concerns were met with an impetuous hum, before she removed herself from the cask of sake she had been leant against and began her descent in the opposing direction. she watched the kanjiki on her feet plant circular imprints into the freshly fallen snow. the bamboo brimmed conical upon her head casting a shadow that hid well her bleak bearing.

cerulean jade tresses drape effortlessly over the strong forearm of a swordsman. a delicate, graceful arm rests deliberately over the man's chest. another snakes purposefully round his nape. dainty fingers pressing against the bare skin of his tanned exterior. her face, the temptress, was irresistibly beauteous. fragile features adorn her faultlessly round face. imposing sapphire eyes are framed by her elegant, dark lashes. ones that, even the most recalcitrant of men could not resist gazing into. the same one's that gently kiss the tops of her cheeks with their tips as she rests, head nuzzled at the apex of his broad shoulder. she does not stir, but sleeps soundly in his arms. she does not shiver in respect to the bitter winter that lies outside that old shack they rest in, but rather glows a most pleasant pink in the warmth of his presence. her button nose scrunches in glee, and her scarlet-painted pout simpers in satisfaction of her own actions. it is as if her it is her ambition to evoke some sort of reaction of rango. her intent to forlorn her into a disgraceful disposition.

the envisage in which brook had just itemized to nami, sanji, robin, franky, and herself was an iteration engraved to her memories. one that, despite her pertinacious efforts to cease the illustration, vigorously persisted in her consciousness. perpetually, without clemency. a relentless mental torment that both enraged her and filled her with heartache. with each chimera, her wrathfulness only burgeoned.

zoro's lineament prostrated her mental process. his felicity was present in the way his lips formed a content grin. eyes were shut peacefully in slumber. from the waist up, his body is bare. wrapped meticulously in bandages to aid in rehabilitating his injuries from the day prior. on his right, the cerulean-haired siren wrapped up in his burly arm. which held her against his body by her impossibly thin waist. his left arm was bent back behind his scalp in his customary leisure. he is tranquil. he is serene. his traditionally hardened facade is softened in placidity. zoro seems, reposeful. it was peculiar to see such an anomalous sight. he was empyrean. for such a man known for his devilish nature, celestial was not typically an adjective used to elucidate such a man. on contra, he looked it. and some part of her longed to be able to provide such a comfort for him. she repined it.

prevalent was this matter, as the most recent rendition to the swordsman and the harlot's endeavors. verily, this had been an escalation through a series of irrefutable instances. there had been the initial indication of interest when zoro had demonstrated his ungodly strength to protect her. her compulsivity in making such calculated displays of affection toward him only reinstated the cogitation. most always, when rango had seen them together, the vamp insinuated a unrequited exploitation toward the moss-haired pirate. only, he had yet to draw cease to such unnecessary exhibitions. this, however, this had been the conjuncture. at the forefront of all their impertinent acts, was the two of them sleeping together. that only solidified rango's tribulations of her unlabeled lover and the mysterious courtesan. conceivably, it was consequential that she and her crewmate had not yet defined the venereal relations between them.

and then, as the golden rays of day shine prettily through the cracks of that old shack, infuriatingly faultless unto the other woman's striking beauty. a tender caress, precedented by the amorous osculate of her besmirched pucker placed fondly amongst the fine line of that idiot's jaw. then he, so virile, returning the predilection serried the breadth between their veneer's with a silken kiss to her forehead.

amethyst optics glimmer with saturnine tears. aggrieved, her lips cusp and writhe into a lour. anger and sadness birth feral resentment. for the heart was a heavy burden, and love was a pernicious affair.

[johnwhowell]

Stream of Consciousness Saturday - Prompt - "PH"

  The coffee machine is slow to wake up today. A check of the vitals shows no problem, but the command buttons, once pushed, seem to have no effect on performance. Thinking back to the day when working a farm, the most reliable way to motivate a recalcitrant piece of machinery was a sharp physical rap with a heavy wrench. In the kitchen, the meat mallet is the moral equivalent of a heavy wrench.…

[f1]

Lewis Hamilton takes shock pole position for Hungarian F1 Grand Prix

Lewis Hamilton took pole for the Hungarian Grand Prix, with an extraordinary lap at the Hungaroring for Mercedes. He beat the Red Bull of Max Verstappen into second place with a superlative lap, threading the needle of this demanding circuit for his first pole of the season and his first since Saudi Arabia in 2021. Lando Norris was an excellent third for McLaren and his teammate Oscar Piastri was fourth while, in what was an enthralling session, Zhou Guanyu claimed fifth for Alfa Romeo, the Chinese driver’s best result. There was disappointment for Mercedes’s George Russell, who went out in 18th after being caught in traffic on his final hot lap. Daniel Ricciardo, in his first competitive session on his return to F1, put in a great run in a recalcitrant AlphaTauri to finish in 13th, out-qualifying his teammate Yuki Tsunoda at the first attempt, with the Japanese driver finishing in 17th. Sergio Pérez, who finished ninth, went out early in Q3 to put in a marker and duly opened with a strong time. However the competition was enormously tight and Norris promptly went quicker with a 1min 16.904sec lap. He was pipped by Verstappen who had a fine third sector and then Hamilton who was rapid to take second, a tenth back from the Dutchman. On the final runs with the track reaching its maximum grip the tension was high, pole still very much up for grabs. Verstappen was very swift in the middle sector but could not improve on his time, Norris went close but behind them Hamilton had gone out last, looking to eke out every ounce of rubber laid down. He nailed an extraordinary lap, hurling his car through the corners, the rear twitching as he fought for control. He crossed the line just three-thousandths of a second from Verstappen in 1min 16.609sec, with the top five separated by eight-hundredths of a second and featuring four different teams. It is the first pole for Mercedes since this race last year when Russell took the top spot and Hamilton’s 104th pole is his ninth at the Hungaroring. F1 is trialling its new alternative tyre allocation at the Hungarian Grand Prix, central to which is mandatory tyre use in qualifying. Hard tyres only were allowed to be used in Q1, mediums in Q2 and the softs in Q3. The intent of the trial is to see if fewer sets of tyres can be used over a race weekend to reduce the environmental impact of the sport. The number of dry tyre sets now available to the team has been reduced from 13 to 11, a reduction of 160 tyres across the grid, representing potentially 3,680 over a 23-race season. Each driver has three sets of hard tyres, four sets of medium and four sets of softs to use over the weekend, making more demands of how they are best used strategically across the three days. skip past newsletter promotion after newsletter promotion Quick Guide How do I sign up for sport breaking news alerts? Show Download the Guardian app from the iOS App Store on iPhone or the Google Play store on Android by searching for 'The Guardian'. If you already have the Guardian app, make sure you’re on the most recent version. In the Guardian app, tap the Menu button at the bottom right, then go to Settings (the gear icon), then Notifications. Turn on sport notifications. On Saturday F1 announced it had renewed its contract with the Hungaroring to host the race until 2032. The meeting has been a permanent fixture on the calendar since it was first held in 1986. Charles Leclerc was sixth for Ferrari, Valtteri Bottas seventh for Alfa Romeo, Fernando Alonso eighth for Aston mArtin and Nico Hülkenberg tenth for Haas. Carlos Sainz was 11th for Ferrari, Esteban Ocon and Pierre Gasly in 12th and 15th for Alpine, with Lance Stroll 14th for Aston Martin. Alex Albon was 16th and Logan Sargeant 20th for Williams and Kevin Magnussen in 19th for Haas. via Formula One | The Guardian https://www.theguardian.com/sport/formulaone

[rjalker]

Okay I haven't finished reading this one yet but it starts out really well so I'm gonna post it here.

You have my sincerest apoogies if it goes off the deep end into horrific levels of racism or misogyny further than I've read so far.

Originally posted in November 1930, in the science fiction magazine Astounding Stories of Super-Science.

You can read the November edition on Project Gutenberg here.

You can find all the editions of the magazine on Project Gutenberg here.

You can read the properly formatted version of this story here on the web archive. You'll be able to read it directly on the web archive, as well as download it as a PDF or ePub and other formats.

Written by Harold Vincent Schoepflin, and published under the penname Harl Vincent.

This story is public domain, meaning you can do anything you want with it. It belongs to no one and everyone. You could make it into a movie, or rewrite it into a full-length novel, or turn it into a musical or a play, you can literally do whatever you want.

===

Vagabonds of Space

A Complete Novelette

By Harl Vincent

From the depths of the Sargasso Sea of Space came the thought-warning, "Turn back!" But Carr and his Martian friend found it was too late!

===

CHAPTER I

The Nomad

Gathered around a long table in a luxuriously furnished director's room, a group of men listened in astonishment to the rapid and forceful speech of one of their number.

"I tell you I'm through, gentlemen," averred the speaker. "I'm fed up with the job, that's all. Since 2317 you've had me sitting at the helm of International Airways and I've worked my fool head off for you. Now—get someone else!"

"Made plenty of money yourself, didn't you, Carr?" asked one of the directors, a corpulent man with a self-satisfied countenance.

"Sure I did. That's not the point. I've done all the work. There's not another executive in the outfit whose job is more than a title, and you know it. I want a change and a rest. Going to take it, too. So, go ahead with your election of officers and leave me out."

"Your stock?" Courtney Davis, chairman of the board, sensed that Carr Parker meant what he said.

"I'll hold it. The rest of you can vote it as you choose: divide the proxies pro rata, based on your individual holdings. But I reserve the right to dump it all on the market at the first sign of shady dealings. That suit you?"

The recalcitrant young President of International Airways had risen from the table. The chairman attempted to restrain him.

"Come on now, Carr, let's reason this out. Perhaps if you just took a leave of absence—"

"Call it anything you want. I'm done right now."

Carr Parker stalked from the room, leaving eleven perspiring capitalists to argue over his action.

He rushed to the corridor and nervously pressed the call button of the elevators. A minute later he emerged upon the roof of the Airways building, one of the tallest of New York's mid-town sky-scrapers. The air here, fifteen hundred feet above the hot street, was cool and fresh. He walked across the great flat surface of the landing stage to inspect a tiny helicopter which had just settled to a landing. Angered as he was, he still could not resist the attraction these trim little craft had always held for him. The feeling was in his blood.

His interest, however, was short lived and he strolled to the observation aisle along the edge of the landing stage. He stared moodily into the heavens where thousands of aircraft of all descriptions sped hither and yon. A huge liner of the Martian route was dropping from the skies and drifting toward her cradle on Long Island. He looked out over the city to the north: fifty miles of it he knew stretched along the east shore of the Hudson. Greatest of the cities of the world, it housed a fifth of the population of the United States of North America; a third of the wealth.

Cities! The entire world lived in them! Civilization was too highly developed nowadays. Adventure was a thing of the past. Of course there were the other planets, Mars and Venus, but they were as bad. At least he had found them so on his every business trip. He wished he had lived a couple of centuries ago, when the first space-ships ventured forth from the earth. Those were days of excitement and daring enterprise. Then a man could find ways of getting away from things—next to nature—out into the forests; hunting; fishing. But the forests were gone, the streams enslaved by the power monopolies. There were only the cities—and barren plains. Everything in life was made by man, artificial.

Something drew his eyes upward and he spotted an unusual object in the heavens, a mere speck as yet but drawing swiftly in from the upper air lanes. But this ship, small though it appeared, stood out from amongst its fellows for some reason. Carr rubbed his eyes to clear his vision. Was it? Yes—it was—surrounded by a luminous haze. Notwithstanding the brilliance of the afternoon sun, this haze was clearly visible. A silver shimmering that was not like anything he had seen on Earth. The ship swung in toward the city and was losing altitude rapidly. Its silvery aura deserted it and the vessel was revealed as a sleek, tapered cylinder with no wings, rudders or helicopter screws. Like the giant liners of the Interplanetary Service it displayed no visible means of support or propulsion. This was no ordinary vessel.

Carr watched in extreme interest as it circled the city in a huge spiral, settling lower at each turn. It seemed that the pilot was searching for a definite landing stage. Then suddenly it swooped with a rush. Straight for the stage of the Airways building! The strange aura reappeared and the little vessel halted in mid-air, poised a moment, then dropped gracefully and lightly as a feather to the level surface not a hundred feet from where he stood. He hurried to the spot to examine the strange craft.

"Mado!" he exclaimed in surprise as a husky, bronzed Martian squeezed through the quickly opened manhole and clambered heavily to the platform. Mado of Canax—an old friend!

"Devils of Terra!" gasped the Martian, his knees giving way, "—your murderous gravity! Here, help me. I've forgotten the energizing switch."

Carr laughed as he fumbled with a mechanism that was strapped to the Martian's back. Mado, who tipped the scales at over two hundred pounds on his own planet, weighed nearly six hundred here. His legs simply couldn't carry the load!

"There you are, old man." Parker had located the switch and a musical purr came from the black box between the Martian's broad shoulders. "Now stand up and tell me what you're doing here. And what's the idea of the private ship? Come all the way from home in it?"

His friend struggled to his feet with an effort, for the field emanating from the black box required a few seconds to reach the intensity necessary to counteract two-thirds of the earth's gravity.

"Thanks Carr," he grinned. "Yes, I came all the way in that bus. Alone, too—and she's mine! What do you think of her?"

"A peach, from what I can see. But how come? Not using a private space-flier on your business trips, are you?"

"Not on your life! I've retired. Going to play around for a few years. That's why I bought the Nomad."

"Retired! Why Mado, I just did the same thing."

"Great stuff! They've worked you to death. What are you figuring on doing with yourself?"

Carr shrugged his shoulders resignedly. "Usual thing, I suppose. Travel aimlessly, and bore myself into old age. Nothing else to do. No kick out of life these days at all, Mado, even in chasing around from planet to planet. They're all the same."

The Martian looked keenly at his friend. "Oh, is that so?" he said. "No kick, eh? Well, let me tell you, Carr Parker, you come with me and we'll find something you'll get a kick out of. Ever seen the Sargasso Sea of the solar system? Ever been on one of the asteroids? Ever seen the other side of the Moon—Uranus—Neptune—Planet 9, the farthest out from the sun?"

"No-o." Carr's eyes brightened somewhat.

"Then you haven't seen anything or been anywhere. Trouble with you is you've been in the rut too long. Thinking there's nothing left in the universe but the commonplace. Right, too, if you stick to the regular routes of travel. But the Nomad's different. I'm just a rover when I'm at her controls, a vagabond in space—free as the ether that surrounds her air-tight hull. And, take it from me, there's something to see and do out there in space. Off the usual lanes, perhaps, but it's there."

"You've been out—how long?" Carr hesitated.

"Eighty Martian days. Seen plenty too." He waved his arm in a gesture that seemed to take in the entire universe.

"Why come here, with so much to be seen out there?"

"Came to visit you, old stick-in-the-mud," grinned Mado, "and to try and persuade you to join me. I find you footloose already. You're itching for adventure; excitement. Will you come?"

Carr listened spellbound. "Right now?" he asked.

"This very minute. Come on."

"My bag," objected Carr, "it must be packed. I'll need funds too."

"Bag! What for? Plenty of duds on the Nomad—for any old climate. And money—don't make me laugh! Vagabonds need money?" He backed toward the open manhole of the Nomad, still grinning.

Carr hesitated, resisting the impulse to take Mado at his word. He looked around. The landing stage had been deserted, but people now were approaching. People not to be tolerated at the moment. He saw Courtney Davis, grim and determined. There'd be more arguments, useless but aggravating. Well, why not go? He'd decided to break away. What better chance? Suddenly he dived for the manhole of Mado's vessel; wriggled his way to the padded interior of the air-lock. He heard the clang of the circular cover. Mado was clamping it to its gasketed seat.

"Let's go!" he shouted.

CHAPTER II

Into the Heavens

The directors of International Airways stared foolishly when they saw Carr Parker and the giant Martian enter the mysterious ship which was a trespasser on their landing stage. They gazed incredulously as the gleaming torpedo-shaped vessel arose majestically from its position. There was no evidence of motive power other than a sudden radiation from its hull plates of faintly crackling streamers of silvery light. They fell back in alarm as it pointed its nose skyward and accelerated with incredible rapidity, the silver energy bathing them in its blinding luminescence. They burst forth in excited recrimination when it vanished into the blue. Courtney Davis shook his fist after the departing vessel and swore mightily.

Carr Parker forgot them entirely when he clambered into the bucket seat beside Mado, who sat at the Nomad's controls. He was free at last: free to probe the mysteries of outer space, to roam the skies with this Martian he had admired since boyhood.

"Glad you came?" Mado asked his Terrestrial friend.

"You bet. But tell me about yourself. How you've been and how come you've rebelled, too? I haven't seen you for a long time, you know. Why, it's been years!"

"Oh, I'm all right. Guess I got fed up with things about the same way you did. Knew last time I saw you that you were feeling as I did. That's why I came after you."

"But this vessel, the Nomad. I didn't know such a thing was in existence. How does it operate? It seems quite different from the usual ether-liners."

“It's a mystery ship. Invented and built by Thrygis, a discredited scientist of my country. Spent a fortune on it and then went broke and killed himself. I bought it from the executors for a song. They thought it was a pile of junk. But the plans and notes of the inventor were there and I studied 'em well. The ship is a marvel, Carr. Utilizes gravitational attraction and reversal as a propelling force and can go like the Old Boy himself. I've hit two thousand miles a second with her."

"A second! Why, that's ten times as fast as the regular liners! Must use a whale of a lot of fuel. And where do you keep it? The fuel, I mean."

"Make it right on board. I'm telling you Carr, the Nomad has no equal. She's a corker."

"I'll say she is. But what do you mean—make the fuel?"

"Cosmic rays. Everywhere in space you know. Seems they are the result of violent concentrations of energy that cause the birth of atoms. Thrygis doped out a collector of these rays that takes 'em from their paths and concentrates 'em in a retort where there's a spongy metal catalyst that never deteriorates. Here there is a reaction to the original action out in space and new atoms are born, simple ones of hydrogen. But what could be sweeter for use in one of our regular atomic motors? The energy of disintegration is used to drive the generators of the artificial gravity field, and there you are. Sounds complicated, but really isn't. And nothing to get out of whack either."

“Beats the rocket motors and bulky fuel of the regular liners a mile, doesn't it? But since when are you a navigator, Mado?"

"Don't need to be a navigator with the Nomad. She's automatic, once the controls are set. Say we wish to visit Venus. The telescope is sighted on that body and the gravity forces adjusted so we'll be attracted in that direction and repelled in the opposite direction. Then we can go to bed and forget it. The movement of the body in its orbit makes no difference because the force follows wherever it goes. See? The speed increases until the opposing forces are equal, when deceleration commences and we gradually slow down until within ten thousand miles of the body, when the Nomad automatically stops. Doesn't move either, until we awaken to take the controls. How's that for simple?"

"Good enough. But suppose a wandering meteor or a tiny asteroid gets in the way? At our speed it wouldn't have to be as big as your fist to go through us like a shot."

"All taken care of, my dear Carr. I told you Thrygis was a wiz. Such a happenstance would disturb the delicate balance of the energy compensators and the course of the Nomad would instantly alter to dodge the foreign object. Once passed by, the course would again be resumed."

"Some ship, the Nomad!" Carr was delighted with the explanations. "I'm sold on her and on the trip. Where are we now and where bound?"

Mado glanced at the instrument board. "Nearly a million miles out and headed for that Sargasso Sea I told you about," he said. "It isn't visible in the telescope, but I've got it marked by the stars. Out between the orbits of Mars and Jupiter, a quarter of a billion miles away. But we'll average better than a thousand miles a second. Be there in three days of your time."

"How can there be a sea out there in space?"

"Oh, that's just my name for it. Most peculiar thing, though. There's a vast, billowy sort of a cloud. Twists and weaves around as if alive. Looks like seaweed or something; and Carr, I swear there are things floating around in it. Wrecks. Something damn peculiar, anyway. I vow I saw a signal. People marooned there or something. Sorta scared me and I didn't stay around for long as there was an awful pull from the mass. Had to use full reversal of the gravity force to get away."

"Now why didn't you tell me that before? That's something to think about. Like the ancient days of ocean-going ships on Earth."

"Tell you? How could I tell you? You've been questioning me ever since I first saw you and I've been busy every minute answering you."

Carr laughed and slid from his seat to the floor. He felt curiously light and loose-jointed. A single step carried him to one of the stanchions of the control cabin and he clung to it for a moment to regain his equilibrium.

"What's wrong?" he demanded. "No internal gravity mechanism on the Nomad?"

"Sure is. But it's adjusted for Martian gravity. You'll get along, but it wouldn't be so easy for me with Earth gravity. I'd have to wear the portable G-ray all the time, and that's not so comfortable. All right with you?"

"Oh, certainly. I didn't understand."

Carr saw that his friend had unstrapped the black box from his shoulders. He didn't blame him. Glad he wasn't a Martian. It was mighty inconvenient for them on Venus or Terra. Their bodies, large and of double the specific gravity, were not easily handled where gravity was nearly three times their own. The Venusians and Terrestrials were more fortunate when on Mars, for they could become accustomed to the altered conditions. Only had to be careful they didn't overdo. He remembered vividly a quick move he had made on his first visit to Mars. Carried him twenty feet to slam against a granite pedestal. Bad cut that gave him, and the exertion in the rarefied atmosphere had him gasping painfully.

He walked to one of the ports and peered through its thick window. Mado was fussing with the controls. The velvety blackness of the heavens; the myriad diamond points of clear brilliance. Cold, too, it looked out there, and awesomely vast. The sun and Earth had been left behind and could not be seen. But Carr didn't care. The heavens were marvelous when viewed without the obstruction of an atmosphere. But he'd seen them often enough on his many business trips to Mars and Venus.

"Ready for bed?" Mado startled him with a tap on the shoulder.

"Why—if you say so. But you haven't shown me through the Nomad yet."

"All the time in the universe for that. Man, don't you realize you're free? Come, let's grab some sleep. Need it out here. The ship'll be here when we wake up. She's flying herself right now. Fast, too."

Carr looked at the velocity indicator. Seven hundred miles a second and still accelerating! He felt suddenly tired and when Mado opened the door of a sleeping cabin its spotless bunk looked very inviting. He turned in without protest.

CHAPTER III

A Message

The days passed quickly, whether measured by the Martian chronometer aboard the Nomad or by Carr's watch, which he was regulating to match the slightly longer day of the red planet. He was becoming proficient in the operation of all mechanisms of the ship and had developed a fondness for its every appointment.

Behind them the sun was losing much of its blinding magnificence as it receded into the ebon background of the firmament. The Earth was but one of the countless worlds visible through the stern ports, distinguishable by its slightly greenish tinge. They had reached the vicinity of the phenomenon of space Mado had previously discovered. Carr found himself seething with excitement as the Nomad was brought to a drifting speed.

Mado, who had disclaimed all knowledge of navigation, was busy in the turret with a sextant. He made rapid calculations based on its indications and hurried to the controls.

"Find it?" Carr asked.

"Yep. Be there in a half hour."

The nose of the vessel swung around and Mado adjusted the gravity energy carefully. Carr glued his eye to the telescope.

"See anything?" inquired Mado.

"About a million stars, that's all."

"Funny. Should be close by."

Then: "Yes! Yes! I see it!" Carr exulted. "A milky cloud. Transparent almost. To the right a little more!"

The mysterious cloud rushed to meet them and soon was visible to the naked eye through the forward port. Their speed increased alarmingly and Mado cut off the energy.

"What's that?" Mado stared white-faced at his friend.

"A voice! You hear it too?"

"Yes. Listen!"

Amazed, they gazed at each other. It was a voice; yet not a sound came to their ears. The voice was in their own consciousness. A mental message! Yet each heard and understood. There were no words, but clear mental images.

"Beware!" it seemed to warn. "Come not closer, travelers from afar. There is danger in the milky fleece before you!"

Mado pulled frantically at the energy reverse control. The force was now fully repelling. Still the billowing whiteness drew nearer. It boiled and bubbled with the ferocity of one of the hot lava cauldrons of Mercury. Changing shape rapidly, it threw out long streamers that writhed and twisted like the arms of an octopus. Reaching. Searching for victims!

"God!" whispered Carr. "What is it?"

"Take warning," continued the voice that was not a voice. "A great ship, a royal ship from a world unknown to you, now is caught in the grip of this mighty monster. We can not escape, and death draws quickly near. But we can warn others and ask that our fate be reported to our home body."

A sudden upheaval of the monstrous mass spewed forth an object that bounced a moment on the rippling surface and then was lost to view. A sphere, glinting golden against the white of its awful captor.

"The space-ship!" gasped Mado. "It's vanished again!"

They hurtled madly in the direction of this monster of the heavens, their reverse energy useless.

"We're lost, Mado." Carr was calm now. This was excitement with a vengeance. He'd wished for it and here it was. But he'd much rather have a chance to fight for his life. Fine ending to his dreams!

"Imps of the canals! The thing's alive!" Mado hurled himself at the controls as a huge blob of the horrible whiteness broke loose from the main body and wobbled uncertainly toward them. A long feeler reached forth and grasped the errant portion, returning it with a vicious jerk.

"Turn back! Turn back!" came the eery warning from the golden sphere. "All is over for us. Our hull is crushed. The air is pouring from our last compartment. Already we find breathing difficult. Turn back! The third satellite of the fifth planet is our home. Visit it, we beseech you, and report the manner of our going. This vile creature of space has power to draw you to its breast, to crush you as we are crushed."

The Nomad lurched and shuddered, drawn ever closer to the horrid mass of the thing. A gigantic jellyfish, that's what it was, a hundred miles across! Carr shivered in disgust as it throbbed anew, sending out those grasping streamers of its mysterious material. As the Nomad plunged to its doom with increasing speed, Mado tried to locate some spot in the universe where an extreme effect could be obtained from the full force of the attracting or repulsive energies. They darted this way and that but always found themselves closer to the milky billows that now were pulsating in seeming eagerness to engulf the new victim.

Once more came the telepathic warning, "Delay no longer. It is high time you turned back. You must escape to warn our people and yours. Even now the awful creature has us in its vitals, its tentacles reaching through our shattered walls, creeping and twining through the passages of our vessel. Crushing floors and walls, its demoniac energies heating our compartment beyond belief. We can hold out no longer. Go! Go quickly. Remember—the third satellite of the fifth planet—to the city of golden domes. Tell of our fate. Our people will understand. You—"

The voice was stilled. Mado groaned as if in pain and Carr saw in that instant that each knob and lever on the control panel glowed with an unearthly brush discharge. Not violet as of high frequency electricity, but red. Cherry red as of heated metal. The emanations of the cosmic monster were at work on the Nomad. A glance through the forward port showed they had but a few miles to go. They'd be in the clutches of the horror in minutes, seconds, at the rate they were traveling. Mado slumped in his seat, his proud head rolling grotesquely on his breast. He slid to the floor, helpless.

Carr went mad with fury. It couldn't be! This thing of doom was a creature of his imagination! But no—there it was, looming close in his vision. By God, he'd leave the mark of the Nomad on the vicious thing! He remembered the ray with which the vessel was armed. He was in the pilot's seat, fingering controls that blistered his hands and cramped his arms with an unnameable force. He'd fight the brute! Full energy—head on—that was the way to meet it. Why bother with the reversal? It was no use.

A blood-red veil obscured his vision. He felt for the release of the ray; pulled the gravity energy control to full power forward. In a daze, groping blindly for support, he waited for the shock of impact. The mass of that monstrosity must be terrific, else why had it such a power of attraction for other bodies? Or was it that the thing radiated energies unknown to science? Whatever it was, the thing would know the sting of the Nomad's ray. Whatever its nature, animate or inanimate, it was matter. The ray destroyed matter. Obliterated it utterly. Tore the atoms asunder, whirling their electrons from their orbits with terrific velocity. There'd be some effect, that was certain! No great use perhaps. But a crater would mark the last resting place of the Nomad; a huge crater. Perhaps the misty whiteness would close in over them later. But there'd be less of the creature's bulk to menace other travelers in space.

His head ached miserably; his body was shot through and through with cramping agonies. The very blood in his veins was liquid fire, searing his veins and arteries with pulsing awfulness. He staggered from the control cabin; threw himself on his bunk. The covers were electrified and clung to him like tissue to rubbed amber. The wall of the sleeping cabin vibrated with a screeching note. The floors trembled. Madness! That's all it was! He'd awaken in a moment. Find himself in his own bed at home. He'd dreamed of adventures before now. But never of such as this! It just couldn't happen! A nightmare—fantasy of an over-tired brain—it was.

There came a violent wrench that must have torn the hull plates from their bracings. The ship seemed to close in on him and crush him. A terrific concussion flattened him to the bunk. Then all was still. Carr Parker's thoughts broke short abruptly. He had slipped into unconsciousness.

CHAPTER IV

Europa

When Carr opened his eyes it was to the normal lighting of his own sleeping cabin. The Nomad was intact, though an odor of scorched varnish permeated the air. They were unharmed—as yet. He turned on his side and saw that Mado was moving about at the side of his couch. Good old Mado! With a basin of water in his hand and a cloth. He'd been bathing his face. Brought him to. He sat up just as Mado turned to apply the cloth anew.

"Good boy, Carr! All right?" smiled the Martian.

"Little dizzy. But I'm okay." Carr sprang to his feet where he wabbled uncertainly for a moment. "But the Nomad?" he asked. "Is she—are we safe?"

"Never safer. What in the name of Saturn did you do?"

Carr passed his hand across his eyes, trying to remember. "The D-ray," he said. "I turned it on and dived into the thing with full attraction. Then—I forget. Where is it—the thing, I mean?"

"Look!" Mado drew him to the stern compartment.

Far behind them there shone a misty wreath, a ring of drifting matter that writhed and twisted as if in mortal agony.

"Is that it?"

"What's left of it. You shot your way through it; through and out of its influence. D-ray must have devitalized the thing as it bored through. Killed its energies—for the time, at least."

Already, the thing was closing in. Soon there would be a solid mass as before. But the Nomad was saved.

"How about yourself?" asked Carr anxiously. "Last time I saw you you were flat on the floor."

"Nothing wrong with me now. A bit stiff and sore, that's all. When I came to I put all the controls in neutral and came looking for you. I was scared, but the thing's all over now, so let's go."

"Where?"

"Europa."

"Where's that?"

"Don't you remember? The third satellite of the fifth planet. That's Europa, third in distance from Jupiter, the fifth planet. It is about the size of Terra's satellite—your Moon. We'll find the city of the golden domes."

Carr's eyes renewed their sparkle. "Right!" he exclaimed. "I forgot the mental message. Poor devils! All over for them now. But we'll carry their message. How far is it?"

"Don't know yet till I determine our position and the position of Jupiter. But it's quite a way. Jupiter's 483 million miles from the Sun, you know."

"We're more than half way, then."

"Not necessarily. Perhaps we're on the opposite side of the sun from Jupiter's present position. Then we'd have a real trip."

"Let's figure it out." Carr was anxious to be off.

Luck was with them, as they found after some observations from the turret. Jupiter lay off their original course by not more than fifteen degrees. It was but four days' journey.

Again they were on their way and the two men, Martian and Terrestrial, made good use of the time in renewing their old friendship and in the study of astronomy as they had done during the first leg of their journey. Though of widely differing build and nature, the two found a close bond in their similar inclinations. The library of the Nomad was an excellent one. Thrygis had seen to that, all of the voice-vision reels being recorded in Cos, the interplanetary language, with its standardized units of weight and measurement.

The supplies on board the Nomad were ample. Synthetic foods there were for at least a hundred Martian days. The supply of oxygen and water was inexhaustible, these essential items being produced in automatic retorts where disassembled electrons from their cosmic-ray hydrogen were reassembled in the proper structure to produce atoms of any desired element. Their supply of synthetic food could be replenished in like manner when necessity arose. Thrygis had forgotten nothing.

"How do you suppose we'll make ourselves understood to the people of Europa?" asked Carr, when they had swung around the great orb of Jupiter and were headed toward the satellite.

"Shouldn't have any trouble, Carr. Believe me, to a people who have progressed to the point of sending mental messages over five hundred miles of space, it'll be a cinch, understanding our simple mental processes. Bet they'll read our every thought."

"That's right. But the language. Proper names and all that. Can't get those over with thought waves."

"No, but I'll bet they'll have some way of solving that too. You wait and see."

Carr lighted a cigar and inhaled deeply as he gazed from one of the ports. He'd never felt better in his life. Always had liked Martian tobacco, too. Wondered what they'd do when the supply ran out. One thing they couldn't produce synthetically. The disc of the satellite loomed near and it shone with a warmly inviting light. Almost red, like the color of Mars, it was. Sort of golden, rather. Anyway, he wondered what awaited them there. This was a great life, this roaming in space, unhampered by laws or conventions. The Nomad was well named.

"Wonder what they'll think of our yarn," he said.

"And me. I wonder, too, what that ungodly thing was back there. The thing that is now the grave of some of their people. And what the golden sphere was doing so far from home. It's a mystery."

They had gone over the same ground a hundred times and had not reached a satisfactory conclusion. But perhaps they'd learn more in the city of golden domes.

"Another thing," said Carr, "that's puzzled me. Why is it that Europa has not been discovered before this; that it's inhabited, I mean?"

"Rocket ships couldn't carry enough fuel. Besides, our astronomers've always told us that the outer planets were too cold; too far from the sun."

"That is something to think about. Maybe we'll not be able to stand the low temperature; thin atmosphere; low surface gravity."

"We've our insulated suits and the oxygen helmets for the first two objections. The G-rays'll hold us down in any gravity. But we'll see mighty soon. We're here."

They had entered the atmosphere as they talked and the Nomad was approaching the surface in a long glide with repulsion full on. It was daytime on the side they neared. Pale daylight, but revealing. The great ball that was Jupiter hung low on the horizon, its misty outline faintly visible against the deep green of the sky.

The surface over which they skimmed was patchworked with farm-lands and crisscrossed by gleaming ribbons. Roadways! It was like the voice-vision records of the ancient days on Mars and Terra before their peoples had taken to the air. Here was a body where a person could get out in the open; next to nature. They crossed a lake of calm green water fringed by golden sands. At its far side a village spread out beneath them and was gone; a village of broad pavements and circular dwellings with flat rooms, each with its square of ground. A golden, mountain range loomed in the background; vanished beneath them. More fields and roads. Everywhere there were yellows and reds and the silver sheen of the roads. No green save that of the darkening sky and the waters of the streams and ponds. It was a most inviting panorama.

Occasionally they passed a vessel of the air—strange flapping-winged craft that soared and darted like huge birds. Once one of them approached so closely they could see its occupants, seemingly a people similar to the Venusians, small of stature and slender.

"How in time are we to find this city of golden domes?" Carr ejaculated.

As if in answer to his question there came a startling command, another of the mental messages.

"Halt!" it conveyed to their mind. "Continue not into our country until we have communed with you."

Obediently Mado brought up the nose of the Nomad and slowed her down to a gradual stop. They hovered at an altitude of about four thousand feet, both straining their ears as if listening for actual speech.

"It is well," continued the message. "Your thoughts are good. You come from afar seeking the city of golden domes. Proceed now and a fleet of our vessels will meet you and guide you to our city."

"Now wouldn't that jar you?" whispered Carr. "Just try to get away with anything on this world."

Mado laughed as he started the generators of the propelling energy. "I'd hate to have a wife of Europa," he commented. "No sitting-up-with-sick-friend story could get by with her!"

CHAPTER V

The City of Golden Domes

With the Nomad cruising slowly over the surface of the peaceful satellite, Mado sampled the atmosphere through a tube which was provided for that purpose. The pressure was low, as they had expected; about twenty inches of mercury in the altitude at which they drifted. But the oxygen content was fairly high and the impurities negligible. A strange element was somewhat in evidence, though Mado's analysis showed this to be present in but minute quantity. They opened the ports and drew their first breath of the atmosphere of Europa.

"Good air, Carr." Mado was sniffing at one of the ports. "A bit rare for you, but I think you'll get along with it. Temperature of forty-five degrees. That's not so bad. The strangest thing is the gravity. This body isn't much more than two thousand miles in diameter, yet its gravity is about the same as on Venus—seven eighths of that of Terra. Must have a huge nickel-iron core."

"Yes. It'll be a cinch for me. But you, you big lummox—it's the G-ray for you as long as we're here."

"Uh-huh. You get all the breaks, don't you?"

Carr laughed. He was becoming anxious to land. "What sort of a reception do you suppose we'll get?" he said.

"Not bad, from the tone of that last message. And here they come, Carr. Look—a dozen of them. A royal reception, so far."

Suddenly they were in the midst of a flock of great birds; birds that flapped their golden wings to rise, then soared and circled like the gulls of the terrestrial oceans. And these mechanical birds were fast. Carr and Mado watched in fascination as they strung out in V formation and led the way in the direction of the setting sun. Six, seven hundred miles an hour the Nomad's indicator showed, as they swung in behind these ships of Europa.

They crossed a large body of water, a lake of fully five hundred miles in width. More country then, hardly populated now and with but few of the gleaming roadways. The sun had set, but there was scarcely any diminution of the light for the great ball that was Jupiter reflected a brilliance of far greater intensity than that of the full Moon on a clear Terrestrial night. A marvelous sight the gigantic body presented, with its alternate belts of gray-blue and red and dazzling white. And it hung so low and huge in the heavens that it seemed one had but to stretch forth a hand to touch its bright surface.

Another mountain range loomed close and was gone. On its far side there stretched the desolate wastes of a desert, a barren plain that extended in all directions to the horizon. Wind-swept, it was and menacing beneath them. Europa was not all as they had first seen it.

A glimmer of brightness appeared at the horizon. The fleet was reducing speed and soon they saw that their journey was nearly over. At the far edge of the desert the bright spot resolved itself into the outlines of a city, the city of golden domes. Cones they looked like, rather, with rounded tops and fluted walls. The mental message had conveyed the most fitting description possible without words or picture.

The landing was over so quickly that they had but confused impressions of their reception. A great square in the heart of the city, crowded with people. Swooping maneuvers of hundreds of the bird-like ships. An open space for their arrival. The platform where a committee awaited them. The king, or at least he seemed to be king. The sea of upturned faces, staring eyes.

Mado fidgeted and opened his mouth to voice a protest but Carr nudged him into silence. The king had risen from his seat in the circle on the platform and was about to address them. There was no repetition of the telepathic means of communication.

"Welcome, travelers from the inner planets," said the king. He spoke Cos perfectly! "Cardos, emperor of the body you call Europa, salutes you. Our scientists have recorded your thoughts with their psycho-ray apparatus and have learned that you have a message for us, a message we fear is not pleasant. Am I correct?"

Carr stared at the soft-voiced monarch of this remarkable land. It was incredible that he spoke in the universal language of the inner planets!

"Your Highness," he replied, "is correct. We have a message. But it amazes us that you are familiar with our language."

"That we shall explain later. Meanwhile—the message!"

"The message," Carr said, "is not pleasant. A golden sphere out in space. Helpless in the clutches of a nameless monster, a vast creature of jellylike substance but possessed of enormous destructive energy. A mental message to our vessel warning us away and bidding us to come here; to tell you of their fate. We escaped and here we are."

The face of Cardos paled. He reached for an egg-shaped crystal that reposed on the table; spoke rapidly into its shimmering depths. Hidden amplifiers carried his voice throughout the square in booming tones. It was a strange tongue he spoke, with many gutturals and sibilants. A groan came up from the assembled multitude.

Cardos tossed the crystal to the table with a resigned gesture, then tottered and swayed. Instant confusion reigned in the square and the emperor was assisted from the platform by two of his retainers. They never saw him again.

One of the counsellors, a middle-aged man with graying russet hair and large gray eyes set in a perfectly smooth countenance, stepped from the platform and grasped the two adventurers as the confusion in the square increased to an uproar.

"Come," he whispered, in excellent Cos; "I'll explain all to you in the quiet of my own apartments. I am Detis, a scientist, and my home is close by."

Gently he clung to them as the larger men forced their way between the milling groups of excited Europans. No one gave them much attention. All seemed to be overcome with grief. A terrible disaster, this loss of the golden sphere must be!

They were out of the square and in one of the broad streets. The fluted sides of the unpointed cones shone softly golden on all sides. Alike in every respect were these dwellings of the people of Europa, and strangely attractive in the light of the mother planet.

Not a word was spoken when they reached the abode of their guide. They entered an elaborate hall and were whisked upward in an automatic elevator. Detis ushered them into his apartment when they alighted. He smiled gravely at their looks of wonder as they cast eyes on the maze of apparatus before them. It was a laboratory rather than a living room in which they stood.

Detis led them to an adjoining room where he bid them be seated. They exchanged wondering glances as their host paced the floor vigorously before speaking further.

"Friends," he finally blurted, "I hope you'll excuse my emotion but the news you brought is a terrible blow to me as to all Europa. Carli, our prince, beloved son of Cardos, was commander of the ship you reported lost. We deeply mourn his loss."

Carr and Mado waited in respectful silence while their host made effort to control his feelings.

"Now," he said, after a moment, "I can talk. You have many questions to ask, I know. So have I. But first I must tell you that Carli's was an expedition to your own worlds. A grave danger hangs over them and he was sent to warn them. He has been lost. Our only space-ship capable of making the journey also is lost. Six Martian years were required to build it, so I fear the warning will never reach your people. Already the time draws near."

"A grave danger?" asked Mado. "What sort of a danger?"

"War! Utter destruction! Conquest by the most warlike and ambitious people in the solar system."

"Not the people of Europa?" asked Carr.

"Indeed not. There is another inhabited satellite of Jupiter, next farthest from the mother planet. Ganymede, you call it. It is from there that these conquerors are to set forth."

"Many of them?" inquired Mado.

"Two million or so. They're prepared to send an army of more than a tenth of that number on the first expedition."

"A mere handful!" Carr was contemptuous.

"True, but they are armed with the most terrible of weapons. Your people are utterly unprepared and, unless warned, will be driven from their cities and left in the deserts to perish of hunger and exposure. This is a real danger."

"Something in it, Carr, if what he says is true. We've no arms nor warriors. Haven't had for two centuries. You know it as well as I do."

"Bah! Overnight we could have a million armed and ready to fight them off."

Detis raised his hand. "You offend me," he said gravely. "I have told you this in good faith and you reward me with disbelief and boastful talk. Your enemies are more powerful than you think, and your own people utterly defenceless against them."

"I'm sorry," Carr apologized, "and I'll listen to all you have to say. Surely your prince has not given his life in vain." He was ashamed before this scientist of Europa.

A tinkling feminine voice from the next room called something in the Europan tongue.

Detis raised his head proudly and his frown softened at the sound of dainty footsteps. His voice was a caress as he replied.

A vision of feminine loveliness stood framed in the doorway and the visitors rose hastily from their seats. Carr gazed into eyes of the deepest blue he had ever seen. Small in stature though this girl of Europa was—not more than five feet tall—she had the form of a goddess and the face of an angel. He was flushing to the roots of his hair. Could feel it spread. What an ass he was anyway! Anyone'd think he'd never seen a woman in all his thirty-five years!

"My daughter, Ora, gentlemen," said Detis.

The girl's eyes had widened as she looked at the huge Martian with the funny black box on his back. They dropped demurely when turned to those of the handsome Terrestrial.

"Oh," she said, in Cos, "I didn't know you had callers."

CHAPTER VI

Vlor-urdin

The time passed quickly in Pala-dar, city of the golden domes. Detis spent many hours in the laboratory with his two visitors and the fair Ora was usually at his side. She was an efficient helper to her father and a gracious hostess to the guests.

The amazement of the visitors grew apace as the wonders of Europan science were revealed to them. They sat by the hour at the illuminated screen of the rulden, that remarkable astronomical instrument which brought the surfaces of distant celestial bodies within a few feet of their eyes, and the sounds of the streets and the jungles to their ears. It was no longer a mystery how the language of Cos had become so familiar to these people.

They learned of the origin of the races that inhabited Europa and Ganymede. Ages before, it was necessary for the peoples of the then thickly populated Jupiter to cast about for new homes due to the cooling of the surface of that planet. Life was becoming unbearable. In those days there were two dominant races on the mother body, a gentle and peaceful people of great scientific accomplishment and a race of savage brutes who, while very clever with their hands, were of lesser mental strength and of a quarrelsome and fighting disposition.

Toward the last the population of both main countries was reduced to but a few survivors, and the intelligent race had discovered a means of traversing space and was prepared to leave the planet for the more livable satellite—Europa. Learning of these plans, the others made a treaty of perpetual peace as a price for their passage to another satellite—Ganymede. The migration began and the two satellites were settled by the separate bands of pioneers and their new lives begun.

The perpetual treaty had not been broken since, but the energies of the warlike descendants of those first settlers of Ganymede were expended in casting about for new fields to conquer. Through the ages they cast increasingly covetous eyes on those inner planets, Mars, Terra and Venus. Not having the advantage of the Rulden, they knew of these bodies only what could be seen through their own crude optical instruments and what they had learned by word of mouth from certain renegade Europans they were able to bribe.

While their neighbors of the smaller satellite were engaged in peaceful pursuits, tilling the soil and making excellent homes for themselves, the dwellers on Ganymede were fashioning instruments of warfare and building a fleet of space-ships to carry them to their intended victims. It was a religion with them; they could think of nothing else. An unscrupulous scientist of Europa sold himself to them several generations previously and it was this scientist who had made the plans for their space-fliers and had contrived the deadly weapons with which they were armed. He likewise taught them the language of Cos and it now was spoken universally throughout Ganymede in anticipation of the glorious days of conquest.

"You honestly believe them able to do this?" asked Carr, still skeptical after two days of discussion.

"I know it as a certainty," Detis replied solemnly. "It is only during the past generation we have learned of the completeness and awfulness of their preparations. Your people can not combat their sound-ray. With it they can remain outside the vision of those on the surface and set the tall buildings of your cities in harmonic vibrations that will bring them down in ruins about the ears of the populace."

There'll be nothing left for them to take if they destroy all our cities: nowhere for them to live. I don't get it."

"Only a few will be destroyed completely, to terrify the rest of the inhabitants of your worlds. Others will be depopulated by means of vibrations that will kill off the citizens without harming the cities themselves—vibrations which are capable of blanketing a large area and raising the body temperature of all living things therein to a point where death will ensue in a very few minutes. Other vibrations will paralyze all electrical equipment on the planet and make it impossible for your ships of the air to set out to give battle, even were they properly armed."

"Looks bad, Carr," said Mado glumly.

"It does that. We've got to go back and carry the warning."

"I fear it is too late," said Detis. "Much time will be needed in which to develop a defense and surely it can not be done within the three isini before they set forth—about four of your days."

"They leave that soon?" Carr was taken aback.

"Yes, with their one hundred and twenty vessels; forty to each of your three planets; seventeen hundred men to a vessel."

Carr jumped to his feet. "By the heat devils of Mercury!" he roared, "well go to their lousy little satellite and find a way to prevent it!"

Ora gazed at his flushed face with unconcealed admiration.

"You're crazy!" exploded Mado. "What can we do with the Nomad?"

"Her D-ray can do plenty of damage."

"Yes, but they'd have us down before we could account for five of their vessels. It's no use, I tell you."

But Carr was stubborn. "We'll pay them a call anyway. I'll bet we can dope out some way of putting it over on them. Are you game?"

"Of course I'm game. I'll go anywhere you will. But it's a fool idea just the same."

"Maybe so. Maybe not. Anyway—let's go."

"Just a moment, gentlemen," Detis interposed. "How about me?"

Carr stared at him and saw that his eyes shone with excitement. "Why, I believe you'd like to go with us!" he exclaimed admiringly.

"I would, indeed."

"Come on then. We're off." He was impatient to be gone.

Detis busied himself with a small apparatus that folded into a compact case, explaining that it was one that might prove useful. Ora left the room but quickly returned. She too carried a small case, and she had donned a snug fitting leather garment that covered her from neck to knees.

"What's this?" demanded Carr. "Surely Miss Ora does not intend to come with us?"

"She never leaves my side," said Detis proudly.

"Nothing doing!" Carr stated emphatically. "There'll be plenty of danger on this trip. Well have no woman along—least of all your charming daughter."

Mado was leaving everything to his friend, but he grinned in anticipation when he saw the look of anger on the girl's face.

She stamped her little foot and faced Carr valiantly. "See here, Mr. Carr Parker!" she stormed. "I'm no weakling. I'm the daughter of my father and where he goes I go. You'll take me or I'll never speak to you again."

Carr flushed. He was accustomed to his own way in most things and entirely unused to the ways of the gentler sex. He could have shaken the little vixen! But now she was standing before him and there was something in those great blue eyes besides anger; something that set his heart pounding madly.

"All right!" he agreed desperately, "have your own way."

He turned on his heel and strode to the door. Giving in to this slip of a girl! What a fool he was! But it would be great at that to have her along in the Nomad.

They found the public square deserted, the gilded dwellings hung with somber colors in mourning for Carli. Ora and Detis were very quiet and preoccupied when they entered the Nomad. The five isini of lamentation for the young prince had not yet passed.

The two Europans were delighted with the appointments and mechanisms of the little vessel from Mars. They investigated every nook and cranny of its interior during the journey and were voluble in their praise of its inventor and builder. Neither had ever set foot in a space-flier and each was seized with a longing to explore space with these two strangers from the inner planets. They would make a couple of good vagabonds along with Mado and himself, Carr thought as they expressed their feelings. But there was more serious business at hand. They were nearing Ganymede.

"Where'll we land, Detis?" Mado called from the control cabin.

"Vlor-urdin. That is their chief city. I'll guide you to the location."

They took up their places at the ports and scanned the surface of the satellite as Mado dropped the ship into its atmosphere. A far different scene was presented than on Europa. The land was seamed and scarred, the colors of the foliage somber. Grays and browns predominated and the jungles seemed impenetrable. A river swung into view and its waters were black as the deepest night, its flow sluggish. A rank mist hung over the surface.

"The river of Charis!" exclaimed Detis. "Follow it, Mado. No, the other direction. There! It leads directly to Vlor-urdin."

By good chance they had entered the atmosphere at a point not far from their destination. In less than an hour by the Nomad's chronometer the towers of Vlor-urdin were sighted.

It was a larger city than Pala-dar and of vastly different appearance. A hollow square of squat buildings enclosed the vast workshops and storage space of the fleet of war vessels. Their huge spherical bulks rose from their cradles in tier after tier that stretched as far as the eye could reach when the Nomad had dropped to a level but slightly above the tips of the highest spires. The spires were everywhere, decorative towers at the corners of the squat buildings. Everything was black, the vessels of the fleet, the squat buildings and the spires of Vlor-urdin. Death was in the air. Rank vapor drifted in through the opened ports. There was silence in the city below them and silence in the Nomad.

Ora shuddered and drew closer to him. Carr was aware of her nearness and a lump rose in his throat. A horrible fear assailed him. Fear for the safety of the dainty Europan at his side. He found her hand; covered it protectingly with his own.

CHAPTER VII

Rapaju

Detis was setting up and adjusting the complicated mechanisms of his little black case. A dozen vacuum tubes lighted, and a murmur of throbbing energy came from a helix of shining metallic ribbon that topped the whole. Flexible cables led to a cap-like contrivance which Detis placed on his head. He frowned in concentration.

"The psycho-ray apparatus." Ora explained. "He's sending a message to the city."

Evidently the influence of the ray was directive. They had no inkling of the thoughts transmitted from the alert brain of the scientist but, from the look of satisfaction on his face, they could see that he was obtaining the desired contact.

"Rapaju," he exclaimed, switching off the power of his instrument, "commander of the fleet of the Llotta. I have advised him of our arrival. Told him that a Martian and a Terrestrial wish to treat with him concerning the proposed invasion of their planets. His answering thought first was of fiercest rage, then conciliatory in nature. He'll receive you and listen to your arguments, though he promises nothing. Is that satisfactory?"

"Yes." Carr and Mado were agreed. At least it would give them a chance to look over the ground and to make plans, should any occur to them.

The Nomad circled over the heart of the city and soon Mado saw a suitable landing space. They settled gracefully in an open area close by the building indicated by Detis as that of the administration officials of the city.

A group of squat, sullen Llotta awaited them and, without speaking a word either of hatred or welcome, led them into the forbidding entrance of the building. Close-set, beady eyes; unbelievably flat features of chalky whiteness; chunky bowed legs, bare and hairy; long arms with huge dangling paws—these were the outstanding characteristics of the Llotta. Mado stared straight before him, refusing to display any great interest in the loathsome creatures, but Carr was frankly curious and as frankly disapproving.

Rapaju leered maliciously when the four voyagers stood before him. He looked the incarnation of all that was evil and vile, a monster among monsters. Sensing him to be the more aggressive of the two visitors from doomed planets, he addressed his remarks to Carr.

"You come to plead with Rapaju," he sneered, his Cos tinged with an outlandish accent, "to beg for the worthless lives of your compatriots; for the wealth of your cities?"

"We come to reason with you," replied Carr haughtily, "if you are capable of reasoning. What is this incredible thing you are planning?"

Mado gasped at the effrontery of his friend. But Carr was oblivious of the warning looks cast in his direction.

"Enough of that!" snapped Rapaju. "I'll do the talking—you the reasoning. I've a proposition to make to you, and if you know what's best, you'll agree. Otherwise you'll be first of the Terrestrials to die. Is that clear?"

"Clear enough, all right," growled Carr. "What do you mean—a proposition?"

"Ha! I thought you'd listen. My offer is the lives of you and your companion in exchange for your assistance in guiding my fleet to the capital cities of your countries. Not that our plans will be changed if you refuse, but that much time will be saved in this manner and quick victory made certain without undue sacrifice of valuable property."

"You—you—!" Carr stammered in anger. But there was no use in raising a rumpus—now. They'd only kill him. Something might be accomplished if he pretended to accede. "Go on with your story," he finished lamely.

"In addition to sparing your lives I'll place you both in high position after we seize your respective planets. Make you chief officers in the prison lands we intend to establish for your countrymen. What do you say?"

"Will you give us time to talk it over and think about it?"

"Until the hour of departure, if you wish."

Carr bowed, avoiding Mado's questioning eyes. He looked at Ora where she stood at the side of Detis. She flashed him a guarded smile. He knew that she understood.

Rapaju relaxed. He was confident he could bribe these puerile foreigners to help him in the great venture. And sadly he needed such help. The Llotta were not navigators. Their knowledge of the heavens was sadly incomplete. They had no maps of the surfaces of the planets to be visited. Their simultaneous blows would be far more effective and the campaign much shorter if they could choose the most vital centers for the initial attacks.

"Now," he said, "that we understand one another, let us talk further of the plans. Then you will be able to consider carefully before making your decision."

Rapaju could be diplomatic when he wished. Carr longed to sink his fingers in the hairy throat. But he smiled hypocritically and found an opportunity to wink meaningly at Mado. This was going to be good! And who knew?—perhaps they might find some way to outwit these mad savages. To think of them in control of the inner planets was revolting.

They retired to a small room with Rapaju and four of his lieutenants, Detis and Ora accompanying them. Ora sat close to Carr at the circular table in Rapaju's council. Carr thought grimly of the board meetings in far away New York.

Rapaju talked. He told of the armament of his vessels, painting vivid pictures of the destruction to be wrought in the cities of Terra, of Mars and Venus. His great hairy paws clutched at imaginary riches when he spoke glowingly of the plundering to follow. He spoke of the women of the inner planets and Carr half rose from his seat when he observed the lecherous glitter in his beady eyes. Ora! Great God, was she safe here? He stole a glance at the girl and a recurrence of the awful fear surged through him. In her leather garment, close fitting and severe, she looked like a boy. Perhaps they would not know. Besides, there was the perpetual treaty with Europa. It always had been observed, Detis said.

As Rapaju expanded upon the glories to come he told perforce of many of the details of the plans. One thing stood out in Carr's mind: the vessels of the Llotta were not equal to the Nomad in many respects. They must carry their entire supply of fuel from the starting point and this was calculated as but a small percentage in excess of that required to carry them to their destinations. Their speed was not as great as the Nomad's by at least a third. If the Nomad led the fleet from Ganymede they might be able to get them off their course; cause them to run out of fuel out in the vacuum and absolute zero of space. He kicked Mado under the table and arose to ask a few leading questions.

Ora was whispering to her father and he nodded his head as if in complete agreement with what she was saying. These two were not deceived by his apparent traitorous talk, but Mado was aghast. Carr wondered if Rapaju believed him as did his friend.

"We'll do it, Rapaju," he stated finally. "In our ship, the Nomad, we'll guide you across the trackless wastes of the heavens. We'll take you to our capital cities; point out to you the richest of the industrial centers. We have no love for our own worlds. Mado and I deserted them for a life of vagabondage amongst the stars. We ask no reward other than that we be permitted to leave once more on our travels, to roam space as we choose."

Mado attempted to voice an objection but Carr's hand was heavy on his shoulder. "Shut up, you fool!" he hissed in his ear. "Can't you trust me?"

Rapaju's eyes seemed to draw closer together as he returned Carr's unflinching stare. He walked around the table and stood at the side of the tall Terrestrial. Suddenly he grasped Ora's jacket, tore it open at the throat. He ran his hairy fingers over the bare shoulder of the shrinking girl and gurgled his delight at the velvet smoothness of her skin.

With a roar like a wild animal Carr was upon him, bearing him to the floor. His fingers were in that hairy throat, where they had itched to twine.

"Dirty, filthy beast!" he was snarling. "Lay your foul hands on Ora, will you? Say your prayers, if you know any, you swine!"

Then his muscles went limp and he was jerked to his feet by a terrible force, a force that sent him reeling and gasping against the wall. One of Rapaju's lieutenants stood before him with a tiny weapon in his hand, the weapon which had released the paralyzing gas he breathed. He was choking; suffocating. A black mist rose before him. He felt his knees give way. Dimly, as in a dream, he saw that Ora was in Detis' arms. Rapaju was on his feet, fingering his neck and laughing horribly.

"The treaty, Rapaju!" Detis was shouting.

Ora was sobbing. Mado was in the hands of two of the vile Llotta, struggling wildly to free himself. The Martian's eyes accused him. He shut his own and groaned. Opened them again. But it was no use. Everything in the room was whirling now, crazily. He fought to regain his senses, crawled weakly toward the squat figure of Rapaju where it swayed and twisted and spun around. Then all was darkness. The gas had taken its toll.

CHAPTER VIII

The Expedition

Carr awakened to a sense of wordless disgust. Fool that he was to spill the beans as he had! All set to put one over on the leader of the Llotta, then to come a cropper like this! He knew he had been spared for a purpose. The gas was not intended to kill, only to render him helpless for a time. He opened his eyes to the light of a familiar room. He had awakened before in this bed. It was his own cabin on board the Nomad. What had happened? Had he dreamed it all. Europa, Ora, Rapaju—all of it? He sat up and felt of his aching head.

"Oh, are you awake?" a soft voice greeted him.

"Ora!" he exclaimed. It was indeed she, beautiful as ever.

"Sh-h," she warned, placing the tip of a finger to his lips. "They'll hear us."

"Who?" he whispered.

"Rapaju—his two guards. They're in the control cabin with father and Mado."

"What? They've taken the Nomad?"

"Yes. We're under way. They've forced Mado to guide them but do not trust him. Rapaju spared you as he believes you more capable. He'll hold you to your word."

"Lord! But what are you doing here?"

Ora dropped her eyes. "He—Rapaju—" she said, "inferred from your action in assaulting him that you were very fond of me. He holds me as a hostage for your good behavior. Father volunteered to come along. He persuaded Rapaju to allow it. Swore allegiance to his cause. Of course he wouldn't leave me."

Carr gazed at her in admiration of her courage. She had been nursing him, too! What a girl she was!

"Ora," he said huskily, "Rapaju was right. I am fond of you. More than fond: I love you. I never knew I could feel this way."

"Oh Carr, you mustn't!" She drew back as he scrambled to his feet. "They'll find us. We must not show that we care. Rapaju is a beast. He wants me for himself and is delaying the time only until you have brought the fleet safely to the inner planets and to their great cities. He—"

"The skunk! Wants you himself, does he? Why, why didn't I kill him? But Ora, you said—you do care—"

"Ha! I thought so!" Rapaju stood in the doorway, grinning mockingly at the pair. "The impetuous Terrestrial is up and about. Back at his old game!"

"Please, please, for my sake, Carr!" Ora pressed him back as he tensed his muscles for a spring.

"Sorry I was so slow," Carr grated, over her shoulder. "Another five seconds, Rapaju, and I'd have had your windpipe out by the roots."

Rapaju scowled darkly and fingered his throat. "But, my dear Carr, you were too slow," he said, "and I live—and shall live—while you shall die. Meanwhile you'll carry out your agreement. Come, Ora."

The girl hesitated a moment, then with a pleading glance at Carr stepped from the room.

"All right now, Parker," snapped Rapaju. "Into your clothes and into the pilot's seat. You'll stay there, too, till the journey's over. Get busy!"

One of his guards had appeared in the doorway. Carr knew that resistance was useless. Besides, seated at those controls, he might think of something. Rapaju'd never get Ora if he could help it!

Mado's shoulders drooped and his face was haggard and drawn, but he summoned a smile when he saw Carr.

"Hello, Carr," he said. "You all right?"

"Sure. Rapaju says I've got to take the controls."

"Very well." Mado shrugged his broad shoulders and slipped from the pilot's seat. Two ugly Llotta guards were watching, ray-pistols in hand. "The chart is corrected, Carr, and—"

"Never mind the conversation!" Rapaju snarled. "There'll be no talk between you at all. Beat it to your cabin, Mado."

The Martian glowered and made as if to retort hotly.

"But Rapaju," Detis interposed, speaking from his position at one of the ports, "they'll have to consult regarding the course of the vessel. Mado is more familiar than Carr with the navigation of space."

"Shut up!" roared Rapaju. "I know what I am doing. And, what's more, you'll not converse with them, either! I'm running this expedition, and I'm not taking any chances."

Detis subsided and followed Mado through the passage to the sleeping cabins.

The ensuing silence was ominous. Carr could feel the eyes of the Llotta upon him as he examined the adjustments of the controls and peeped through the telescope. A glance at the velocity indicator showed him they were traveling at a rate of eight hundred miles a second. He studied the chart and soon made out their position. Jupiter was a hundred million miles behind them and they were heading almost due sunward. The automatic control mechanism was not functioning. Evidently Mado had kept this a secret—and for a purpose. He wished he could talk with his friend. They'd plan something.

"Like your job?" Rapaju was gloating over this Terrestrial who had dared to lay hands upon him.

"Yes, but not the company." Carr was disdainful.

"You'll like it less before I've finished with you. And get this straight. You think we're dependent on you to guide us to the inner planets, and that we'll not harm any of you until they are reached. Don't fool yourself! I've watched Mado and I've spent much time in the excellent library of the Nomad. I've learned plenty about the navigation of space and can reach those planets as quickly and directly as you. But it pleases me to see you work, so work you shall. I'll check you carefully, and don't think you can deceive me. Don't try to depart from the true course. The sun is my check as it is yours, and I'll keep constant tab on our position. Get it?"

"A rather long speech, Rapaju." Carr grinned into the evil face of the commander.

"Still defiant, eh? Suits me, Carr Parker. We'll have some nice talks here, and then—when it pleases me—you'll suffer. You shall live to see your home city crash in utter ruin; your people slain, starved, beaten. And, above all, there's Ora—"

"Don't defile her name in your ugly mouth, you—!"

Carr bit his tongue to keep back the torrent of invectives that sprang to his lips. This would never do! He'd get himself bumped off before they were well started. And while there was life there was hope. He'd stick to his guns and think; think and plan. If only he could have a few words with Mado. They must get out of this mess. There must be a way! There must!

Rapaju was laughing in triumph. Thought he had cowed him, did he? Boastful savage! If he could navigate the Nomad himself, why didn't he? Liar! He and Mado were godsends to him, and he knew it! His speech at the council table had been the real truth.

Foreign thoughts entered his mind. Detis, good old Detis, was using his thought apparatus in his own cabin! He paid no attention to the words of Rapaju when he left the control room. Detis was on the job! Between them they'd outwit this devil of Ganymede.

"Keep your courage," came the message. "I've read the thoughts of Mado and he bids you examine the chart carefully. He's made some notations in the ancient language of Mars. The automatic control of the Nomad can be used when necessary. He has not advised Rapaju of its existence."

Carr was encouraged and he concentrated on a suitable reply. But, though he did not consciously will it, his thoughts were of Ora.

Instantly there came the reassurance of her father. "Ora is not in immediate danger. Rapaju is saving her for his revenge on you. And I'm watching her constantly. A ray-pistol is concealed in my clothing, its charge ready for the foul creature in case he should lay hands on her. But you must plan an escape, and salvation for your worlds. Examine the chart at once."

He looked from the corner of his eye and saw that one of the Llotta guards was watching intently. He peered into the eye-piece of the telescope; made an inconsequential change in one of the adjustments. The guard stirred but did not arise. He looked at the chart with new interest, scanned its markings carefully. What had Mado marked for his attention? There were hundreds of notations, some in Cos and a few in the ancient Martian, all in Mado's painstaking chirography.

Ah, there it was! A tiny spot almost on their course, with Mado's minute notation. Sargasso Sea! What did it mean? Did Mado intend to lead the fleet into the embrace of that dreadful monster they had so fortunately escaped? An excellent idea to save the inner planets. But suicide for them! He'd do it though, if it weren't for Ora. She was so sweet and innocent. She must not die; must not suffer. Another way must be found. He groaned aloud as he realized that her predicament was the result of his own bullheadedness. If only he hadn't insisted on the trip to Ganymede. But then there was the problem of preserving the civilization of the inner planets. It had to be met.

There was a commotion behind him; a feminine shriek from the after cabins; loud shoutings from the beast called Rapaju. Carr's heart skipped a beat. He was paralyzed with fear. But only for an instant. With a bellow of rage he whirled around and started for the door, charging the two guards with head down and arms flailing.

CHAPTER IX

Nemesis

The Llotta did not use their ray-pistols. They were too busy attempting to elude the mad rushes of the powerful Terrestrial. Besides, there were good reasons they should not kill him—yet. Carr drove one of them halfway down the passageway with a well-planted punch. The other was on his back, hairy legs twined around his waist, an arm under his chin, drawing his head back with a steady and terrible pressure. He whirled around, trying to shake off his beastly antagonist.

But these powerful legs and arms held fast. He tore at the hairy ankles where they crossed in the pit of his stomach; wrenched them free. Still the creature clung to him, twisting his head until it seemed his neck must break. He found a waving foot with his right hand; wrenched it mightily. There was a sharp snap and the foot dangled limp in his fingers. He had broken the ankle. With a howl of pain his assailant let go and dropped to the floor to crawl away like a whipped cur.

In a flash Carr saw that the brute was reaching for his ray-pistol where it had dropped during the encounter. He kicked it from the reach of that hairy paw and sprang after it. With one of those little weapons in his hands the odds would change! His fingers closed on its grip just as Ora rushed into the room, closely followed by Rapaju, whose distorted features were terrible to behold. The cabin was full of them now; the guard he had first knocked down; the lust-crazed commander—the one with the broken ankle. All but Detis and Mado. Carr faced them alone.

So close was Rapaju to the girl that he dared not use the pistol, and now the uninjured guard was circling him, trying to get in a position where he could use his ray-pistol without endangering his commander. Carr fumbled for the release of the weapon he held in his hand; found it. The guard threw himself to the floor when he saw it raised; shouted a warning. But it was too late. The deadly ray had sped on its mission of death; struck him full in the middle. The twisted body lay still a moment and then collapsed like a punctured balloon, leaving his scant clothing in a limp heap—empty. A worthy miniature of the D-ray, this little weapon!

He turned to face Rapaju and saw that he was shielding himself with Ora's body. She had fainted and now hung drooping in the arms of the beast. Where was Mado? Detis? Good God—he'd killed them! Carr thought of that little spot on the chart. Must be very close now. They'd pass so near there'd be no escape. But he could not reach the controls without taking his eyes from Rapaju. That would have to wait.

Rapaju was backing toward the door, still holding the limp figure of the girl before him. The injured guard lay moaning on the floor.

"Drop her, you devil!" Carr shouted desperately as he saw that Rapaju soon would reach the passageway.

Then suddenly he reached for the controls and pushed the energy lever to full speed forward. He braced himself for the shock of acceleration and saw Rapaju and Ora thrown backward into the passageway, the girl's body cushioned by that of her captor as they were flung violently to the floor. Madly he rushed to the narrow entrance and tore at the hairy arms that encircled the slender waist of the girl. He jerked the snarling commander of the Llotta expedition to his feet and slammed him against the metal wall.

"Now, you damn pig," he grunted, "I'll finish the job. Dirty scum of a rotten world!"

He dragged his victim into the control cabin and threw him to the floor. But Rapaju was like an eel. He wriggled from under him and snatched from the heap of clothing the ray-pistol of the disintegrated guard. With a yelp of triumph he rose to his knees and leveled the weapon.

A well placed kick sent it spinning and Carr was upon him. He snapped back the head with a terrible punch; then lifted the dazed creature to his feet and stepped back.

"Stand up and take it like a man!" he roared.

Rapaju shook his head to clear it and rushed in with a bellow of rage. Just what Carr wanted! Starting almost from the floor, his right came up to meet the vicious jaw with a crack that told of the terrific power behind it. Lifted from his feet and hurled half way across the room by the impact, Rapaju lay motionless where he fell.

Carr was at the telescope. Their speed was close to fifteen hundred miles a second. The monstrous mass of Mado's Sargasso Sea loomed close in his vision. Off their course by a hundred miles or more. They'd miss it all right. He had the situation in hand now on board the Nomad. But how about the fleet behind them? He thought fast and furiously. Another two minutes and they'd pass the thing; the inexplicable horror which had accounted for the golden sphere of the Europans. Could he use it? Suppose the fleet of the enemy—

The idea was full of possibilities.

He rushed to the stern compartment, and scanned the heavens for the massed body of spheres he knew would be the fleet of the Llotta. At this speed they must have fallen far behind. Yes, there they were. Not so far behind at that. The battle in the control room must have been a shorter one than it had seemed. He returned quickly to the controls and reversed the energy, to give the fleet a chance to catch up to him.

Closer came that mass of whitish jelly. And now it was much larger than before. The terrible creature, for living matter it was, beyond doubt, was growing with the rapidity of a rising flood. Great tentacles of its horrid translucent substance reached in all directions for possible victims. He sickened at the sight. But what a fate for the fleet of the Llotta! If only he could maneuver them into its influence.

He changed his course slightly and headed directly for the monster, again increasing speed. Perhaps—if he calculated the forces correctly—he could dive through it again with the D-ray to clear a path. But no. It was a miracle they had escaped before, and now the vicious thing was more than double its previous size. Once more he altered his course. He'd cross in front of the thing; skim it as close as he dared and shoot from its influence on the far side. The greater mass of the enemy vessels and their lack of a quick-acting repulsive force would prove their undoing.

Full speed ahead. A rapid mental calculation—an educated guess, rather—and he set the automatic control. Turning around to start for the stern compartment, he saw that Ora had recovered from her swoon and now stood swaying weakly in the passageway.

"Ora!" he exclaimed delightedly. He rushed to her side and supported her in a tender embrace.

"Rapaju?" she questioned with horror in her eyes.

"Won't bother you for a while, dear. But your father—Mado?"

"He gassed them. They'll recover." The brave girl had regained her composure.

"Good! But, come! Time's short." He half carried her to the rear, berating himself the while for his inability to pay her closer attention. With arms still around her he placed her at one of the stern ports.

"What is it, Carr?" She sensed his excitement.

"The fleet—see! We'll destroy them."

The spherical vessels were close behind, huddled together in mass formation and following the Nomad blindly.

"How, Carr?"

"Lead them into it. Wait tall you see! There's a—"

The Nomad lurched, and changed direction. Cold fear clutched at his throat. That devil of a guard! Why hadn't he killed him? He dashed through the passage, Ora at his heels.

Sure enough, the crippled guard had dragged himself to the controls; was manipulating the energy director as he had seen Mado do. They were heading directly for the terrible monster of the heavens!

No need now to peer through the telescope. The thing was visible to the naked eye. No power could save them! Carr hurled himself at the guard and tore at the hairy paw which gripped the lever. The throbbing of strange energies filled the air of the room, and Carr's brain pulsed with the maddening rhythm. The red discharge appeared at the projections of the control panels. He forgot the fleet of the Llotta, forgot the menace to his own world. Only Ora mattered now, and he had not the power to save her!

As in a daze he knew he was wrenching mightily at the body of the powerful minion of Rapaju. His fingers encountered heated metal—one of the ray-pistols. He felt the intense vibration of the weapon as its charge was released. But he still lived. The beast who held it had missed! Dimly he was conscious of the screams of Ora; of the yielding of the creature who fought him. An animal cry registered on his consciousness and he shook the suddenly limp Llotta from him. He knew somehow that his last enemy was gone.

A quick glance showed him that Ora was still on her feet, braced against the wall. The red veil was before his eyes. He grasped the controls, and fought desperately to keep his strength and senses. A streamer of horrid whiteness swung across his vision; slithered clammily over the glass of one of the forward ports. They were into the thing! It was the end! He groaned aloud as he fumbled with the mechanisms and strove to formulate a plan of escape.

The fleet, he knew, was just behind. An enormous mass. The repulsive energy astern would be terrific. He turned it full on. The whiteness obscured his vision. Then it was gone once more. A single streamer waved before him and encompassed them. The movement of these members must be inconceivably rapid, else they'd be invisible at the speed the Nomad was traveling. Full speed ahead. The repulsion full on in the direction of the center of the mass as well as astern. The framework of the Nomad creaked protestingly from the terrific forces that tore at her vitals.

Then suddenly they were released. The Nomad was shooting off into space. The resultant of those combined forces had done the trick. Only the edge of that devil-fish of space, had they touched. Free—they were free of the monster! The red veil lifted. He rushed to Ora's side. She was kneeling at one of the floor ports, breathing heavily but unharmed.

Below them they saw the swiftly receding mass: the fleet of the Llotta diving headlong, drawn inexorably into the rapacious embrace of the vile creature of the heavens. An instant the awful whiteness of the thing closed in greedily about the many spheres of the fleet; swallowed them from sight and contorted madly and with seeming glee over the triumph. Then, in a burst of blinding incandescence, it was gone. The monster, the fleet—everything—blasted into nothingness. The fuel storage compartments of the vessels of Ganymede had exploded! The heavens were rid of the inexplicable growing menace; the inner planets were saved from a terrible invasion. And the Nomad was safe. Ora, Detis, Mado—all were safe!

At his side Ora was trembling. Gently he raised her to her feet, and took her into his arms.

CHAPTER X

Vagabonds All

Together they cared for Detis and Mado; made them comfortable in their bunks until the time when the effects of the gas would wear off. Lucky it was that Rapaju had used the gas pistol rather than the ray. Perhaps it had been a mistake. Or perhaps he had needed the scientific knowledge of Detis, the familiarity with the inner planets that was Mado's. At any rate, they had no delusions regarding his designs on Ora or his hatred of Carr. By his own passions had the commander of the fleet been led to the error that cost him his life and made possible the destruction of his fleet.

Carr was torn by conflicting emotions. The delectable little Europan was most disturbing. He'd never had much use for the other sex—on Earth. Too dominating, most of them. And always thrown at his head by designing parents for his money. But Ora was different! Her very nearness set his pulses racing. And he knew that she cared for him as he did for her. Those moments in the control cabin after the explosion! But something had come over him since he cut loose from the old life. Wanderlust—that was it. He'd never go back. Neither would he be content to settle down to a domestic life in Pala-dar. Wanted to be up and going somewhere.

"Oh, Carr, Carr!" Ora's voice called to him. "Mado is awake. He wants you."

Good old Mado! Why couldn't they just continue on their way as they had started out? Roaming the universe in search of other adventures! But the silvery tinkle of Ora's laughter reached his ears. She was irresistible! He forgot his doubts as he hurried to his friend's cabin.

Mado was staring at the Europan maiden with a ludicrous expression of astonishment—gawping, Carr called it. And Ora was laughing at him.

"Your friend," she gurgled, "doesn't believe he's alive, or that I am, or you. Tell him we are."

Carr grinned. Mado did look funny at that. "Hello, old sock," he said, "had a bad dream?"

"Did I? Oh boy!" Mado rocked to and fro, his head in his hands. Then he displayed sudden intense interest. "Rapaju?" he asked. "His guards—the fleet—what's happened?"

"Ah ha! Now you know you're alive!" Carr laughed. "But the others are dead and gone. The fleet's gone to smash—and how!"

"But Carr. How did you do it? Tell me!"

Mado threw off his covers and clapped his friend on the back, a resounding thump that brought a gasp from Ora.

"Your Sargasso Sea did it. And it's a thing of the past, too. Wait till I tell you about it!"

Ora tripped from the room as Carr sat on the edge of the bunk to spin his yarn.

"But man alive!" Mado exclaimed when the story was finished. "Don't you know you've done a miraculous thing? I'd never have had the nerve. That damn creature out there had more than four times its former attracting energy. That's what made it impossible for the fleet to get away. And you—you lucky devil—you just doped it out right. The fleet of the Llotta gave you a tremendous push from astern when you used the repulsive energy. If they hadn't been there with their enormous mass to react against we'd all have been mincemeat now along with the Llotta. You Terrestrials sure can think fast! Me, now—Lord, if it had been me, I'd have thought of it after my spirit had departed to its reward—or punishment. Glory be! It's the greatest thing I ever heard of."

"Rats! You'd have done the same as I did. Probably would have missed it a mile instead of nearly getting caught as I did. A good thing the fleet's gone, though. Mars and Terra—Venus, too—they'll never know how close it was for them. Wouldn't have sense enough to appreciate it, anyway."

"They would if they ever got a taste of what the Llotta planned. But what's wrong with you Carr? You act sore. Want to go home?"

"Me? Don't be like that. No—I'd like to carry on as we planned. There's Saturn, Uranus and Neptune yet; Planet 9; a flock of satellites and asteroids. Oh, dammit!"

Mado looked his amazement. "Well, what's to prevent it?" he demanded. "The Nomad's still here, and so are we. I'm just as anxious to keep going as you are. Why not?"

But Carr did not reply. Why not, indeed? He strode from the cabin and into the control room. The Nomad was drifting in space, subject only to natural forces that swung it in a vast orbit around the sun. He started the generators and drove the vessel from her temporary orbit with rapid acceleration. Out—out into the jeweled blackness of the heavens. There was Jupiter out there, a bright orb that came suddenly very near when he centered it on the cross-hairs of the telescope.

The excited voices of Ora and Detis came to his ears. The booming speech of Mado. Why couldn't he be sensible and companionable as they were? But a perverse demon kept him at the controls. They'd think him a grouch. Well, maybe he was! But the vastness of the universe beckoned. New worlds to explore; mysteries to be solved; a life of countless new experiences! Anyone'd think he was the owner of the Nomad, the way he planned for the future.

They were in the control cabin now—Mado and Detis and Ora. A moment he hesitated, eyes glued to the telescope. Then, with a petulant gesture, he reached for the automatic control; locked it. Shouldn't be this way. They'd think him an awful cad. And they'd be right! He whirled to face them.

Detis was smiling. Mado gazed owlishly solemn. Ora clung to the arm of her father, and her long lashes hid the blue eyes that had played such havoc with the emotions of the Terrestrial.

"Carr," said Detis, gently, "we must thank you. You saved our lives, you know."

"Aw, forget it. Saved my own, too, didn't I? By a lucky break."

"It wasn't luck, Carr." Detis was gripping his hand now. "It was sheer grit and brains. You had them both. If you hadn't used them we'd all be corpses—or disintegrated—excepting Ora, perhaps. And you know the fate that awaited her. Instead, we are alive and well. The fleet is gone. Rapaju's body and that of his guard drift nameless in space where you disposed of them through the air-lock of the Nomad. The inner planets need fear no future invasion, for the resources of Ganymede have been expended in the one huge enterprise that has failed. All through your quick wit and bravery. No, it wasn't luck."

"Nonsense, Detis." Carr returned the pressure of the scientist's hand, smiling sheepishly. He pushed him away after a moment. He didn't want their gratitude or praise. Didn't know what he wanted. Ora still avoided meeting his gaze. "Nonsense," he repeated. "And now, please leave me. You, Detis. Mado, too. I'd like to be alone for a while—with Ora. Mind?"

Mado's owlish look broadened to a knowing grin as he backed into the passageway. Detis collided with the huge Martian in his eagerness to be out of the room. They were alone and Carr was on his feet. Nothing mattered now—excepting Ora. Suddenly she was in his arms, the fragrance of her hair in his nostrils.

Star gazing, the two of them. It was ridiculous! But the wonders of the universe held a new beauty now for Carr. The distant suns had taken on added brilliance. Still they beckoned.

"Carr," the girl whispered, after a time, "where are we going?"

"To Europa. Your home."

"To—to stay?"

"No." Carr was suddenly confident; determined. "We'll stop there to break the news. Then we'll be wedded, you and I, according to the custom of your people. Our honeymoon—years of it—will be spent in the Nomad, roving the universe. Mado'll agree, I know. Wanderers of the heavens we'll be, Ora. But we'll have each other; and when we've—you've—had enough of it, I'll be ready to settle down. Anywhere you say. Are you game?"

"Oh, Carr! How did you guess? It's just as we'd planned. Father and Mado and I. Didn't think I'd go, did you, you stupid old dear?"

"Why—why Ora." Carr was stammering now. He'd thought he was being masterful—making the plans himself. But she'd beat him to it, the adorable little minx! "I was a bit afraid," he admitted; "and I still can't believe that it's actually true. You're sure you want to?"

"Positive. Why Carr, I've always been a vagabond at heart. And now that I've found you we'll just be vagabonds together. Father and Mado will leave us very much to each other. Their scientific leanings, you know. And—oh—it'll just be wonderful!"

"It's you that'll make it wonderful, sweetheart."

Carr drew her close. The stars shone still more brightly and beckoned anew. Vagabonds, all of them! Like the gypsies of old, but with vastly more territory to roam. The humdrum routine of his old life seemed very far behind. He wondered what Courtney Davis would say if he could see him now. Wordless happiness had come to him, and he let his thoughts wander out into the limitless expanse of the heavens. Star gazing still—just he and Ora.

[alessandraesmee]

Alessandra “Alice” Esmee Lestrange: character introduction

Basic Information

Full Name: Alessandra Esmee Lestrange Nickname(s): Alice Age: 29 Date of Birth: 6 December 1952 at 12:06pm Hometown: Kincardine and Mearns, Aberdeenshire, Scotland Current Location: Hogsmeade Ethnicity: white Nationality: Scottish Gender: Cisfemale Pronouns: She/her Species: human, witch Orientation: bisexual Religion: atheist Occupation: auror Living Arrangements: a cottage on the outskirts of Hogsmeade Language(s) Spoken: English, some French and Italian Accent: Scottish Left or  Right Handed: ambidextrous

Magic Information

School Attended: Hogwarts Hogwarts House: Hufflepuff Blood Status: pureblood War Alliance: Order of the Phoenix Wand: cedar, dragon heartstring, 11”, slightly springy Patronus: bay mare Boggart: her father Amortentia: coffee, pine, pencil lead, tea Quidditch?: yes, beater Prefect?: no O.W.Ls: Potions; E, Charms; A, Herbology; O, Transfiguration; E, Defense Against the Dark Arts; E, History of Magic; P, Astronomy; A, Care of Magical Creatures; E, Muggle Studies; O N.E.W.Ts: Potions; O, Charms: E, Herbology; O, Transfiguration; E, Defense Against the Dark Arts; E, Muggle Studies; O

Physical Appearance

Face Claim: Ivana Baquero Hair Colour: dark brown with auburn highlights Eye Colour: russet brown Height: 5’3” Build: curvy Tattoos: thistle half-sleeve on upper right arm, badger on left hip Piercings: two lobe piercings Clothing Style: simple, casual, and comfortable; lots of jeans and t-shirts and sweaters for off hours or slacks and button-downs at work with an emphasis on muggle trends Distinguishing Characteristics: full lips, round eyes, apple cheeks

Health

Physical Ailments: none Neurological Conditions:  ADHD, undiagnosed Allergies: dust Sleeping Habits: Alice sleeps when her day is done, but her days are so packed she usually only gets 4-5 hours of sleep a night Eating Habits: Alice generally tries to eat healthy, but she isn’t above getting distracted by work and skipping meals Exercise Habits: Alice is very physically active; she still practices her ballet and goes flying regularly, she also practices her dueling and hand to hand combat, and has a routine that balances cardio and strength training Emotional Stability: medium Sociability: high Body Temperature: average/warm Addictions: none Drug Use: none Alcohol Use: social

Personality

Positive Traits: assiduous, generous, idealistic, curious, self-confident Negative Traits: headstrong, opinionated, single-minded, presumptuous, recalcitrant Goals/Desires: to make the world a better place, to live authentically, to help people Fears: getting trapped in a life she doesn’t want, losing her sense of self, marriage, being unlovable Hobbies: quidditch, sketching, ballet, various outdoorsy activities Habits: doodling, fidgeting, playing with her hair, chewing on things

Favourites

Weather: thunderstorms Colour: earthy oranges; rust, amber, bronze, etc Sport: quidditch Beverage: coffee Food: bubble gum Animal: otter

Family

Father: Roderick Lestrange Mother: Astraea Lestrange, nee Carrow Sibling(s): Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange Children: none Pet(s): black cat named Pepper (d. 1976), brown and white cat named Cinnamon (b. 1978)

Relationships and Connections

Relationship status : single, married to work People they admire : [tbd auror mentor] Someone they’ll talk to about anything : Ted Tonks Someone they couldn’t live without : specifically? no one; but Alice needs some sort of social life (friends, coworkers, etc) she wouldn’t do well as a loner or isolated Do they want to get married? : no; despite having some evidence to the contrary Alice still thinks of marriage the way her mother taught her to, as a state where she would have to give up her independence and her identity Do they want kids? :  yes and no, Alice loves kids but doesn’t really fancy being a single mother Someone they wish things had turned out differently with : her family; even though Alice doesn’t regret cutting ties with her family, she still wishes they could have been the sort of family her friends have Someone that makes them laugh : could be anyone, Alice laughs easily

Extra

Zodiac Sign: sun; sagittarius, moon; leo, rising; aquarius MBTI: ESFP Enneagram: 6w7 Temperament: sanguine Moral Alignment: chaotic good Primary Vice: wrath Primary Virtue: diligence Element: fire

[waywardwrestlewritingwaif]

Messed Up, part 4

I think this one is done! Kinda angst but not as angst as the previous parts which you can find:

one two three

Pairing: Daniel Garcia x OFC

Word count: 2,815

Content advisory: graphic sexual content

You retreat to the hotel like you’re running from an advancing army, rushing to your room and balling yourself up on the armchair that overlooks the courtyard and swimming pool like you’re hiding from certain death. Red Death.

Thinking about all the things Daniel Garcia has done to you when you hadn’t provoked him, you can’t imagine what viciousness and cruelty he’ll pull out now that he feels you’ve actually wronged him. Is he going to get you fired and make sure you can never get a refereeing gig again? Or will he see that you’re kept on so that he can make your life a living hell on an ongoing basis? Either option is terrifying and you don’t know how you can possibly avoid your fate.

This is why you never stand up for yourself. It can only make things worse.

Your whole body feels like it’s stretched over barbecue coals, burning slowly and you’re unable to escape the fire. It’s enough that you go to collect some ice from the machine but then you give in to the urge to do more and you go all the way downstairs, out to the pool that’s drained for the winter, out into the icy night air.

You take a seat on one of the chaise lounges that have been left out and give yourself over to the sensation of being refrigerated, of being chilled all the way to your bones. The flames of fear and humiliation are gradually extinguished by the freeze of reluctance. There’s nothing you can do. You can just sit here and let yourself go numb alone in the dark.

“What are you doing out here?”

That frightening, familiar voice cuts right through you as his shadow looms in front of you, blocking all the lights from the hotel.

“Nothing,” you choke. “Leave me alone.”

“Don’t be crazy. It’s freezing out here. You’re not even wearing shoes.”

It’s true. You came out here in your sock feet because you’d been that desperate to get out of the heat. So what if Daniel knows you’re a weirdo? He’s known that for years. He knows that more than anyone you have in your life now.

“I’m fine,” you grunt, kicking out at him. “Go away.”

“No, come on, I’m not leaving you out here. You’re going to get sick.”

He bends over you, his bulky winter jacket blocking your view so that he’s the only thing you can see.

“Just go,” you insist. “I don’t want to be around you. How the hell did you even know I was here?”

He waves an arm towards the building behind you.

“All the rooms look out on the pool. They even advertise it. I could spot you anywhere.”

He grabs hold of your arms and pulls you to your feet even as you try to resist.

“You have to come inside. You’re going to freeze to death out here.”

It’s humiliating to be bundled away like you’re a recalcitrant child, wrapped close to his body to keep you from escaping. But there’s more than enough strength in his wiry frame to hold you in place and pull you along after him, even as you drag your feet and try to twist away.

He crowds you into the elevator, holding you close as he pushes the button for the third floor.

“What the hell are you doing?” you whine. “I’m on the eighth floor. Where are you taking me?”

He doesn’t say anything. He just continues to pull you along until you reach a room, not your room, and ushers you inside. He lets go of you in order to pull the covers of the bed down and you could run away but you don’t. You stand there and watch, dumbly, as he crawls onto the bed and motions you forward.

“Get in. You’re half-frozen and you need to warm up.”

You should run away but you don’t. Instead, you climb into the bed with him and let him pull the covers over both of you as he pulls you against him. You are half-frozen and you haven’t even realized exactly how cold you are until you’re pressed against his warm body, your arms bent against his chest, his hands resting against the back of your head and the base of your spine. Reluctantly, you feel yourself thawing.

He doesn’t speak for a long time and when he does, it’s barely more than a whisper.

“You make me feel insecure. You always did.”

You try to pull back to look him in the eye but he holds you tight.

“Doesn’t change anything,” you grumble.

“I know. It’s an explanation, not an excuse. I just needed you to hear it.”

His arms tighten around you and you feel his lips press down on the crown of your head.

“I feel uncomfortable,” is all you can manage.

“Would you rather be on the other side?”

“No,” you whine, “not that kind of uncomfortable. I’m uncomfortable because I’m next to you.”

“I know,” he murmurs, rubbing your back a little. “Try to sleep.”

Improbably, you feel yourself drift off, even though every part of you is on alert. It feels strangely comforting to have him hold you like this. Even stranger, it feels natural.

*

You’ve no idea how long you doze for, although it doesn’t seem like it’s terribly long. You don’t fall deeply asleep because you feel aware of where you are and who you're with the whole time but you also feel like you’re floating in another universe, a parallel universe where Daniel Garcia is your lover and not your nemesis and you ride that wave as long as your mind will let you, until it breaks and you open your eyes to find yourself face to face with Daniel, trying to process what’s been going on.

At first, you think he’s asleep, but then you see his eyes move a little and you realize that he’s just awake and trying not to stare at you. It’s like he doesn’t want you to feel uncomfortable and it’s such a nice gesture, so unexpected, that when he finally does look at you just for a second, you lean forward and press your lips against his. It’s not a kiss, just a touch, but when you pull back, you stare at him long enough to gauge his reaction. His breathing quickens and he looks down like he’s trying to compose himself and before he can, you kiss him again, playfully capturing his bottom lip between yours before pulling back with a little grin.

This time, he looks you right in the eye with an excited expression and he kisses you, pulling you flush against him and softly easing his tongue between your lips, intensifying the kiss and pulling your leg around his waist. The two of you are making out like you were still in high school, hands hesitantly slicing under each other’s clothing, forbidden parts grinding together, needy sounds coming from both of you.

He pulls back for a second and gasps. “You think I’m-”

You cut him off with a kiss, spurred on by the moan he gives when you roll yourself on top of him. Gently, he pushes your face back, holding it in one hand while he locks eyes with you.

“What’s this about?” He murmurs.

“You were nice to me, coming to get me by the pool. I want to be nice to you.”

Honestly, you’re not sure why you’re doing this. Yes, there is that part of you that’s still nursing the same awkward teenage attraction to Daniel, the feeling that you’ve always been ashamed to admit to because you should hate him for the way he’s treated you. And you do feel a little pathetic for jumping at the opportunity, even though you’ve resisted a little in recent weeks. But there is undeniably something you love about knowing he wants you, that he wants you enough to keep arranging these opportunities to be with you, even if he acts like an ass through most of them.

You help him out of his clothes and although you see him without much on every week and although you’ve had your hands on his member before, it’s still sort of shocking to see him lying naked in front of you and you giggle a little, raising your hand to your face in case he thinks you’re laughing at him.

He’s clearly aware that his body is something to be proud of but he still moves a little on the bed like he wants to make sure that you’re impressed. You run one hand down his chest, letting your fingers trail over the lean muscle, giggling once again when he jumps.

“You’re ticklish?” you laugh. “In your line of work?”

“A little. Most of the time, the guys aren’t tickling me, you know.”

You press your lips softly against the skin of his abdomen, flicking your tongue over the hollows near his hip bones and enjoying the shivers it sends through his whole body. At the same time, you run your hand over his cock, already partly erect, and feel it grow harder under your touch. You edge your face closer, letting your breath condense on the head of his prick as you stroke it a little more firmly.

“Hey, get undressed. Let me see you.”

You give him a wink and shake your head, ending the discussion by sliding him into your mouth, humming in satisfaction at the sharp cry this elicits. Back when the two of you first met, when you’d first had thoughts about what it would feel like to be with him, this wasn’t something you even knew how to do. So perhaps it’s just as well that he’s getting this version of you, not that he seemed to mind what he had gotten from you before.

“Oh my god, Carrie!”

You catch yourself starting to crack up and you have to pull back for a second, hardly able to believe what you’ve just heard.

“Oh finally, you’re laughing about it.” He shakes his head and gives you a little smile. “About time.”

“Was it supposed to be funny?”

“Well I was an asshole about it but, I mean, it’s kind of our little joke now, right?”

Not once when he’s called you that have you ever thought of it as “our little joke” and yet hearing it put that way, it feels harmless. You had an accident once at a high school wrestling meet. He made fun of you but now… that’s in the past?

“Not so sure you want to be nice to me anymore?” he chides.

But you do. You return to what you were doing, basking in the cascade of praises and compliments he unleashes on you, the increasingly desperate and needy sounds you’re drawing from him as you slide and stroke and lick until he finally erupts in your mouth and falls silent.

As you pull away a little, you feel his fingers weaving their way through your hair, gently stroking your scalp.

“That was…” He’s breathing heavily, his torso slightly damp with sweat. “That was every bit as good as I’d imagined.”

“You’d imagined that?” you chuckle.

“Yeah. A lot.” He tugs your hair a little. “Get up here.”

You slide so that you’re next to him but still a little removed, suddenly feeling nervous about what will happen if you get too close. He gives you an impish look for a few moments before he slides one hand over your hips, under your skirt, pushing your tights and underwear down in one motion.

“Hey!” you wiggle a little but you’re already half undressed, so you let him finish what he’s doing.

Having dealt with what’s underneath, he tugs at the top of your skirt.

“This too. Off.”

You feel like resisting but you’re not sure why. It’s silly. You can still taste him and yet you’re hesitating about letting him see you from the waist down. So you push your skirt off a little awkwardly, feeling your cheeks run hot as you do.

“Up here.” He pats his chest, then, when he sees your confused expression, “Sit on my face.”

“No.” You shake your head to drive home the point.

“Come on, you’re 2 and 0 with me. Let me at least try to give you something.” Seeing that you’re still hesitating, he leans forward, cupping your face in his hand. “Please, Carrie?”

“Again with that? I still don’t know if I think it’s funny.”

He grins and lays flat on his back. “Ok, so shut me up then.”

That does make you laugh and so, when he gives an exaggerated gesture to encourage you, you do crawl on top of him, although you’re still feeling a little ill at ease.

“Relax,” he says softly, kissing the inside of your thigh.

“I’m worried I’m going to slip and suffocate you or something.”

He laughs and slowly runs his tongue all the way along your slit.

“Ok, first of all, you ask any heterosexual guy how he’d like to die and that’s pretty much going to be at the top of the list.” He pauses to suckle you clit for a second. “Second, I’m more than strong enough to push you off me and I really, really want to do this so don’t worry about what could go wrong.”

He doesn’t give you a chance to respond because he thrusts his tongue up into you, pinning your hips in place and going at you like he’s acting out some wild fantasy he’s had until you feel yourself reach that unmistakable tipping point. Realizing that you’re about to lose control of yourself, you try to move away but he holds you exactly where he wants you, until you reflexively grind against him, giving in. Your palms are pressed against the wall so hard that you think you might push through to the next room but it holds steady as you feel yourself break apart for him, a near-sob escaping as you reach your peak.

He turns his head a little and kisses your thigh, and you can feel him smiling when he does it. It takes you a few seconds to feel stable enough to climb off him and even then, you can’t do much but pant and smile when you look at him. He stares back like there’s something wrong with you.

“What?” you laugh. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He rolls his eyes and leans over, grabbing hold of your shirt. You twist away.

“You still won’t let me see you?” He gives an exaggerated pout.

“I don’t know.” Self-consciously, you fold your arms so that you’re pinning your top in place. “I should get going anyway.”

At that, he looks legitimately saddened. “You don’t want to stay?”

“If I leave in the morning, there are going to be more people around. Someone could see me.”

“Didn’t realize I was something to be so ashamed of.”

“What?”

“Would it be that fucking terrible if someone saw you coming out of my room? People at this company pair off every other day.”

“But… you’d…” You can’t find the words to say what’s going through your mind, or at least you can’t figure out how to arrange them to do what you want.

“Yeah, I was a shit to you in high school. Yeah, I’ve been a shit to you since I got here, probably even earlier tonight. I get nervous around you and I act like an idiot because it’s just… it’s a way of feeling less nervous.” He takes hold of one of your arms and tries to pull you a little closer. “Let me try to make it up to you.”

“You really don’t care if someone sees me coming out of this room in the morning?” You raise an eyebrow.

“I don’t care if someone walks into this room and sees you here right now, sitting there naked from the waist down but for some reason insisting on keeping everything on the top half totally covered like you’re some kind of perverted news anchor.”

You laugh and he uses the opportunity to push you down on the bed.

“Fine, keep your shirt and whatever else on, but stay here.”

Slowly, you slide the rest of your clothing off, avoiding his eyes although you can’t help but notice the pleased expression he has. As much as the two of you have gotten up to, you still feel self-conscious being naked with him but it helps when he wraps his arms around you and runs his hands over the parts of your body he hasn’t become acquainted with yet.

“See?” he whispers. “This is nice, right?”

You’re not sure you’d say “nice” exactly, but whatever it is, it does seem to feel good.

[jomiddlemarch]

It’s all in the wrist action

“Fluff already,” Alina hissed at the egg whites in the mixer, squinting at the video playing on her phone. She had the practice tent to herself as Nina and Jess, the other two contestants who were allowed to avail themselves, had decided to indulge in a Pitch Perfect marathon with a singalong and a plentiful supply of Pimm’s cup. Rain walloped the heavy canvas walls of the tent and Alina envied it; she’d very much like to hit something herself or scream, but neither of those seemed likely to get her egg whites to properly and efficiently meringue, which she was now treating as a verb, regardless of whether it was linguistically acceptable.

“On your own, I see,” Aleksander Morozov, the judge of the baking show everyone both dreaded encountering and respected in equal measure. They weren’t filming, but he was just as put together as if the whole crew were there with the cameras trained on them, in a pair of slim, dark jeans, navy, open-necked button-down and a oatmeal cardigan that should have looked like a Sunday afternoon with grandad and instead made him look like he’d wandered in from a photo shoot in Milan or some female-gaze-centered porn. He wasn’t supposed to be in the tent now but she couldn’t exactly say that, could she?

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Alina heard herself saying, so evidently she could.

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” he said. Was he flirting with her? Alina would have pinched herself to verify she wasn’t dreaming except her egg whites were still being recalcitrant and she never would have dreamed herself in her ratty lime-green trainers.

“You’re watching me,” he said, which seemed like a weird, provocative comment when he was the one who’d sort of snuck up on her and then she heard his baritone voice, much softer and smaller, and remembered the phone in her hand.

“You’re famous for your Italian meringue,” Alina said. “I can’t ask for advice on the show, but there’s no rule against reviewing already available footage. The program links directly to them, I didn’t have to search for them.”

“It’s okay. I can’t give you any advice now either,” he said. “It wouldn’t be ethical.”

“I’m not asking for special treatment,” Alina bristled. Her egg whites didn’t do anything, just rested there in the well of the bowl. If they’d already taken on some body along with the hot sugar syrup, this entire conversation wouldn’t be happening.

“You don’t need it,” he said, taking a step closer, peering into the mixer. He was quite tall and good Lord, he smelled amazing, which she hadn’t noticed before when the tent was full of the scents of baking and the nose-destroying pine cologne Matthias always wore for good luck during the technical. Aleksander smelled like smoke and spice, like candlelight and autumn, which she’d already admitted on-air was her favorite season.

“You are special. You do know that?” he said. It wasn’t advice about the freaking meringue but it still felt like he’d crossed a line, in terms of the show anyway. Fans sometimes complained the judges played favorites but if anyone had ever heard what he said, the entire baking Internet might explode or combust or in some other way be transformed by the heat in Aleksander’s dark eyes, the warm resonance of his low voice.

“I—uh, I don’t know what to say, thank you? I’m just, I need to practice, you know, because the show-stopper and, Zo has been really blowing it out of the water,” Alina said, the words tumbling over each other, hanging on to the spoon in her hand with a death-grip to keep from reaching out to Aleksander and grabbing him by the cashmere lapel and dragging him down to kiss her, egg whites and ethics be damned.

“Practice makes perfect, they say,” he answered. “It took me a while to figure out that meringue. Don’t give up, Alina.”

“No, I won’t,” she replied, feeling pretty sure everything he said had another meaning, the richness of butter laminating and elevating ordinary pie crust into something magical.

“Watch the whole webisode,” he said. “You’ll see what you need to. I’ll look forward to the finished product.”

“Thanks,” she said. There was another gout of rain against the wall of the tent.

“I’ll let you get on with it,” he said. “I brought a spare umbrella. I’ll leave if for you, so you don’t get too wet on your way back.”

Alina gulped, willing her egg whites to do something, anything, or for lightning to strike, the Queen to arrive with a coterie of yapping corgis. Too wet, he’d said, meaning the rain but it was possibly the most erotic comment she’d ever received.

“You’re very kind,” she managed.

“No, I’m not,” he said, smiling, almost more terrifying than when he frowned.

“Then you can work on that,” she said. “Give Prue a break from being good cop.”

He laughed and that was definitely terrifying as was her reaction to him.

“Practice makes perfect,” he repeated.

*

She knew she’d won the show-stopper before he extended his hand to shake, when he finished a bite laden with Italian meringue and cherry compote, uttering a single word.

“Perfect.”

[anonymousdandelion]

Out of Battery

Written for the @flashfictionfridayofficial​ prompt “no battery life,” have some more ineffable duo! Featuring the downside of those newfangled handheld telephonic devices, and a demon to the rescue.

Aziraphale stared in baffled dismay at the blinking red light on his new handheld telephone. The screen bore an image of a rectangular bar with a thin red line across one end — that, apparently, being the only thing the abruptly recalcitrant object was willing to muster.

He pushed the On/Off button a few more times, futilely. He shook the device around in the air. He set it down on the desk, put his hands on his hips, and gave it a good, stern talking-to.

No matter what he did, the dreadful object simply refused to turn on.

He had just graduated to cussing at his phone in Sumerian when Crowley sauntered into the bookshop, then stopped, taking in the unexpected scene that confronted him.

“Hey. What’s up, angel?”

“This,” Aziraphale said ominously, jabbing an accusatory finger at the telephonic failure lying insensate on his desk, “is down.”

Crowley stepped closer, following the angel’s gaze, and reached out to pick up the phone. He pressed the On button, and the blinking icon reappeared.

“Ah,” he said, and nodded.

“‘Ah,’ that’s all you have to say?” Aziraphale glared at him. “Two weeks I’ve had this absurd, overcomplicated machine you talked me into using! Two weeks! And here it is, already broken! It won’t do anything other than show me that dull picture. Is that supposed to be modern art? This never used to happen with my old telephone. I knew this was a mistake, I told you it was, you just can’t trust any of this newfangled technology…” 

“Whoa, whoa. Easy there.” Crowley put a hand on the angel’s shoulder. “It isn’t broken, angel. It’s just out of battery.”

“What?”

“That picture with the red line means there’s no battery life left. You just need to plug it in.[1] The phone came with a cable, it’s probably buried under Bibles or something. We’ll find it.” He pushed the key to summon the display again. “You said you’ve had this on for two weeks? The real miracle is that it lasted so long in the first place.”

“I didn’t do any miracles,” Aziraphale said. It occurred to him, belatedly, that he could probably have fixed this current problem with a miracle, if he’d thought of it. But anyway, he’d always have known the problem had been there.

“No, but it’s a smart phone. It was probably trying extra hard because it wanted to make you happy.” The demon’s expression went soft. “Trust me, I know what that’s like.”

“...Oh. Well.” Aziraphale blinked, the sudden change in tone having caught him off guard. “Well, I must say, you… you do a much better job of making me happy than this thing.”

The demon grinned. “Somehow, I get the feeling that’s a pretty low bar right now.”

“It is,” Aziraphale conceded. “And you gave me the thing, so that’s a serious point against you too at the moment. But even so. You still” — he flushed at the audacity of the declaration he was about to make — “make me very happy.”

“Oh. Mrgh.” It was the demon’s turn to be taken aback by the moment of sentimentality. 

They looked at each other for a moment, sharing small smiles. Aziraphale found himself incapable of properly maintaining his previous bad mood with regard to the telephone. It was odd how Crowley could himself be immensely annoying when he wanted to be (and occasionally even when he didn’t want to be)... and yet, his presence always seemed to smooth over other annoyances.

“Anyway,” Crowley said finally, and cleared his throat. “Your phone is fine. I’ll show you how to plug it in so this doesn’t happen again. But in the meantime…”

He lifted the phone, held it to his lips, and breathed gently on it, just as he had once breathed life into a dead dove. 

There was a moment of suspenseful silence. Then the phone vibrated, played a short tune, and the screen lit up.

Crowley handed it back with a flourish. “One resurrection complete. It’s a good thing you taught me how to do that for the Arrangement. Now, let’s go figure out where that charging cable went. What do you say to dinner afterwards?”

~

[1]  Phones were one of the few pieces of technology that Crowley remembered needed plugging in. (And, therefore, one of the few pieces of technology that needed plugging in when he was around them.) This was because he had himself played a fairly significant role in influencing tech companies to make devices with poor battery life; there was nothing like a phone out of power for spreading soul-tarnish. He opted not to mention at the moment that he was probably at least partly to blame for Azirpahale’s new phone’s present predicament.