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People Laugh At Clowns… (a summer tale for Patreon)

Jul20

“No clowns were funny. That was the whole purpose of a clown. People laughed at clowns, but only out of nervousness. The point of clowns was that, after watching them, anything else that happened seemed enjoyable.”

― Terry Pratchett, Men at Arms

🤡

Written to Vedia’s prompt, because I was feeling like I needed to write random things today. 

🎪

It seemed to appear overnight.

It always did – and it always came for the same five days, no matter when in the week it fell. June 19-June 23.

This year that was a M-F, and Annie and all her friends bemoaned all the time they wouldn’t be able to go. Not until Friday, not until classes and chores and work were all done for the week.

Their parents didn’t go, either. They speculated amongst themselves who, exactly, went on weekdays, but the place always seemed full and there was always noises coming from the tent. Continue reading →

Collar Rapport?

Jul18

First: Slaves, School
Previous: Portals

Kayay appeared as they were leaving Portals and heading for their next class. There was a tall, broad, red-uniformed student on either side of Kayay, making Kayay look very small and very pitiful indeed.
Desmond knew anything he said would be taken wrong, but Jefshan and Wesley handled it, stepping forward and making fussing noises over Kayay, completely ignoring the goons of Physical Team that were clearly there to escort Kayay.

Once they were gone, possibly believing that the rest of Kayay’s dorm-mates would stop any future escape attempts, Kayay’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I found something.”

Desmond looked at Kayay and from there to the rest of their group. It was Jefshan that asked, carefully, “So… ‘something’? Like, an exit, a dragon, and room full of collars?”

“I found another stairway,” Kayay hissed. “LIke the first one. It was…”

“Ahem.” The teacher standing in the doorway was short, red-faced, and a little too round. The collar around their neck – gold with embellishments – seemed to pinch tightly, as if it hadn’t allowed for their weight gain. “There is a class, I believe? And it would do better with all of its students?”

That went without saying, but Desmond bowed apologetically anyway. “Of course, Professor…?” When the professor did not fill in a name, Desmond continued a little more quickly than he’d meant to. “We’re coming now.”

“Next time, don’t be coming, be to class when it is begun. In, in, all of you.”

They piled in and sat down, finding this one a class with all three colors filling the room.

“Now, this is Collar Rapport. Your collar is an important part of your magic and of your life, as you are going to quickly discover, if you have not already. Thus, you must work up a rapport with your collar, so that you and it can better understand each other. To begin with, we are going to sit quietly for twenty minutes, listening to what our collars have to say – yes?” The professor’s face pinched unpleasantly. Desmond turned to see that Cataleb had a hand up.

“What if I don’t want to talk to my collar? It doesn’t have anything intersesting to say.”

“Well, then, you will never get anywhere with your magic, now will you?”

“Fine with me. I didn’t want magic anyway.”

“Well then, child, sit quietly for twenty minutes and don’t listen to anything! The rest of us are going to sit and listen to our collars!”

It didn’t seem like the best way to “commune” with anything,” Desmond thought, but he was not in charge of the class, the professor was. He sat quietly, getting into as comfortable a position as he could, and closed his eyes. Hello? he thought.

::Hello. I am still here, the same as I was yesterday and the same as I will be tomorrow. How do you think we can get an A in this class? And how do you think we can get better at portals?::

Is this how I commune with you? He formed the words very carefully in his head. Unbidden came a picture of him holding the collar, a wispy figure mostly unclear within the collar, and staring at it intently.

::Normally, you would just speak out loud. As far as I have ever been able to tell, most people here do not look askance at someone talking to their collar out loud. Or, rather, as it looks to them, talking to themselves out loud.::

“So, like this?” he murmured

“Excuse me?” The professor was in front of him before he had even opened his eyes. “I said we would sit quietly, yes, and listen to our collars, yes?”

“Yes?” Desmond offered.

“So you are sitting and talking, why?”

“…because my collar told me to?”

“There is a difference, young man, between listening to your collar and doing what your collar suggests! Quietly now, backs straight, looking straight ahead. We will not be the sort the murmur furtively in corners!”

::Well then, someone has an issue.:: Desmond’s collar sounded, he thought, almost as taken-aback as he felt. ::Well then, back straight, there you go. Look ahead, I have no idea why. Mmm, get a little smile on your face, like you’re thinking of a particularly nice memory, or maybe of someone sweet you knew before you came here – there. That’s nice. Now you’re obeying all of the ridiculous orders and here we are, communing. So. What do you think of your classmates?::

Communing is gossiping? Desmond found the best way to do this was to think the words very very clearly and just not move his lips – imagine he was speaking as he would imagine a shield.

::”Communing” is supposed to be working with your collar to do magic, because we are half of your power. But this twit wouldn’t know proper communing were it to wrap around that throat and squeeze. So we’re going to gossip. That Cataleb is no good, I tell you. Surprised that they made it all the way up the stairs.::

Who didn’t, then? Someone didn’t, right?

::I don’t keep a class roster in here, you know. Someone didn’t, presumably. They pick 28 people who have potential. I don’t know why 28, don’t ask. but they do. So someone didn’t. I wonder if they soften the stairs for the next most likely to fail, or if they just, well, run without enough some years.::

That’s gruesome. Desmond’s face twisted up.

::Expression. Remember. We’re communing.::

This is ridiculous. He focused on his expression anyway, until it was politely bland.

::Think about it this way.:: The collar’s tone, such as it was, seemed to shift to something calming, or maybe coaxing. ::There might come a time when you have to talk to me without anyone knowing. Forming your thoughts the way you’re doing is a very good first step, and doing it while keeping your face clear is a bonus.::

I thought you said nobody would mind if I talked out loud to you? He had to work to keep his face from showing anything, but the professor was coming his way, which made it a little bit easier. He didn’t want to be lectured again on proper collar etiquette, at least not by someone who didn’t appear to know what they were talking about.

::Here. Consider, however, if you happened to be assigned to guard the caravans that ventured out of the country.::

Desmond considered. That would be fun, wouldn’t it? He sat up and imagined himself helping a trader with his work while keeping up force-shields to fend off monsters.

He really had no idea what sort of threats were in the passes and beyond, he had to admits, but he’d heard stories of monsters left over from the magic wars. With everything he’d seen, it seemed a safe bet.

I wonder why the stairs don’t have monsters.

::They want most of you to survive, don’t they?::

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A New World, a beginning of a story

Jul14

Kael drifted off in a haze of fumes.

It hadn’t been exactly what she’d intended to do, but the Blessed Mugwort and the Watery Cress together ought to create a long and dreamless, ageless and still sleep, even if she’d been aiming for more of a quiet watching throughout the ages. Something must have gotten in the mix – probably that last batch of adventurers.

Kael dreamed of a time when such idiots didn’t come traipsing through, just because her tower was black, or just because they’d heard that she was generous with the potions that they needed.

She closed her eyes. This hadn’t been meant to put her to sleep. It really ought to bother her, she thought.

But it was such a nice dreamy sleep. And she couldn’t hear the stupid adventurers anymore.

She woke. She felt stiff and hazy, a little bit lost. It had been a very nice dream, the sort of dream where people came and pounded on her door and couldn’t get in. It was the sort of dream where the elves who had scorned her needed her help yet again, and she wasn’t there, so she didn’t even need to say no. She could just… not help, no guilt, no problem.

She rubbed her eyes and found they were covered with a thick layer of dust. Dust. That had meant to be a nap, even if a long one, not-

Kael sat up. Her tower room was just the same, stones where they belonged, potions covered in a thick layer of dust and grime. Everything was exactly as she had left it, except…

Except the walls were covered in a haze. The window was covered in blue smoke. The doorway was completely obscured.

Well, then. She had done it, if even by accident. She had taken her tower out of time and out of space.

The problem was, she supposed, why had she woken up at all? She had put no end time into the spell, because she had expected to end it herself when she was ready to move on.

She stretched and stood. Her body felt the same. Her robes looked the same – they had not mouldered away, although the dust had worried her for a bit. Imagine sleeping on forever while everything rotted away from her! Imagine rotting away herself while she slept!

She wandered to the windows and door, but the haze wouldn’t clear. Well, she wasn’t a wizard for nothing; she was going to have to clear the spell herself and hope that an unknown-length nap had not rusted away her skills.

Seventeen bottles later, one lit flame, and an incantation that sounded right and felt a little like nails ripping through her throat, she had eliminated the fog. Pleased and yet worried, Kael walked to her window to look over the countryside. She pushed away the heavy, thickly-spelled curtains.

She was greeted with grey and silver, white and black, noise and more noise. Her tower overlooked dozens and dozens of other towers, some of them nearly as tall as her proud and wild Black Tower. There were people everywhere, dressed in strange fashion and moving quickly about.

Kael sat down in her favorite armchair. How long had she slept?

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The Hidden Mall part IX

Jul14

🏬🛍️
The door opened into sunshine.

That was at the same time the best and worst thing Abigail could think of. She dragged Liv into the sunshine, refusing to let go of her arm.

They were in an atrium, one a lot like the center of their mall – the mall they’d started out in. Sunlight poured in from the windows above. Trees grew up and over the center garden, and fountains bubbles and burbled through the trees.

Abigail looked up; the glass in the windows looked intact. She looked around; the floor was clean and she could see lights on. Those seemed like good signs.

“I don’t hear any people,” Liv whispered. “The fountains are really loud, but there’s no people.”

“One thing at a time. There’s also not nightmare clowns following us. Okay, let’s head this way…”
She was picking a direction more or less at random at this point. Maybe they’d run into a friendly shopkeeper. She hoped to everything she could think of to hope to that they didn’t run into any Beavers.

Rather than Beavers, the first thing they ran into was Vic Carter and three of her cronies. Abigail stopped dead, but Vic didn’t look at them and neither did the cronies. They walked along, down the center of the hall, not talking, not really seeming to see anything. Vic was smiling, not her normal sneer but a plastic expression.

Actually, Abigail considered, as she side-stepped to get a better look, all three of them looked plastic. Their clothes were shop-window fresh – Tammy Molner’s was even pinned a bit in the back, like they did on the mannequins – their walk was a little stiff, and their smiles were fake and silent.

“Did you-” she whispered to Liv. Liv wasn’t paying attention to her. Abigail turned to see what her friend was looking at.

Kevin. Kevin and Tommy and their friend Greg. Or, at least, that was Kevin’s distinctive Roman nose and Tommy’s short flat-top and Greg’s blue eyes. But they were wearing Tommy Hilfiger clothes, not Hot Topic and thrift-store and House of Guitars T’s. They were walking stiffly, not ambling. And they were all wearing little plastic Ken-doll smiles.

“Tommy?” Liv called out, before Abigail could even think about stopping her. “Tommy Bellaforte?”

He turned towards her. His eyes settled on her. The three of them started moving towards Abigail and Liv.

“Liv?” Abby was squeaking. She was fine with that. “Run.”

🎒🏦

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Beauty-Beast 21: Change of Pace

Jul13

First – Previous – Landing Page – Next

🔒

As if understanding how overwhelmed Ctirad was feeling, Timaios gave him simple, direct orders for breakfast. “Sit here by me on the bed, we’ll eat off the lap tables, and eat as much as you want to eat but no more.” Ctirad, freshly scrubbed but still feeling like his brain was foggy and strange, managed a quiet “yes, sir” and nothing more.

Timaios left him sitting like that on the bed while he dressed and cleaned up for the day. Ctirad had fallen into a pleasant trance of time-to-my-self-in-comfort by the time he felt his master’s hand on his chin.

“You would tell me if something was wrong, correct?”

Not normally. This was not normal. Ctirad reviewed the day and found himself blushing. “Sir, I. That was wonderful. I liked it. I wanted it. I just… you’re so uh. I.” He couldn’t look away but he focused on Timaios’ lips and not his eyes.

“May I guess?”

“You’re in charge, sir. I mean – yes, of course?” What was he supposed to say when Timaios asked him permission?

“The attention is more than you’re used to and you’re overwhelmed. You need some time to re-center yourself?”

“…Oh. Ah.” To the list of new things with this Owner Ctirad added understands me. “Yes, sir.”

“I’ll tell Shel to give you an hour to yourself before the shopping trip. That should be long enough?”

“…Yes. Yes, sir?” An hour. “What should I do, sir?”

Timaios chuckled and tousled Ctirad’s hair. “Stay up here, in my rooms, until Shel comes to get you – this time, after this, you can use the gym when you’re left alone. But you can do whatever you want up here. It’s time to yourself, the idea is to do things for yourself.”

He really was different. Ctirad half-bowed, because he had no idea what to say. “Thank you, sir.” Well, that seemed like a good start. “I mean – I mean it? Thank you very much.”

“You’ve been lovely and patient, Ctirad. You deserve a little peaceful time to relax.”

“Thank you,” he repeated. “I’ll do that.” He knelt and waited for Timaios to leave, because… because he didn’t know anything else to do. He wasn’t scolded or laughed at or told to move, so he supposed it was not the worst idea.

Once he was sure Timaios was gone, Citrad stood and rolled his shoulders and his head. He did jumping jacks, checking to make sure the floor made little-to-no-noise, and push-ups and sit-ups. Then he did it all again, squats and lunges and running in place, until he actually wore himself out.

He showered again and toweled off, put on the one pair of sweat pants he had been given to wear, and paced around Timaios’ rooms, exploring every nook and cranny.

There were a lot of those – nooks, crannies, hidey-holes, everything tucked away in its own concealed place. He found a drawer of sex toys and handled every one of them, making sure he wouldn’t be freaked out when the time came for Timaios to use them on him.

When his hour was up, the knock on the door almost surprised him. Ctirad was in a full split, head down on his knee, trying to gauge exactly how much flexibility he’d lost. “I’m here,” he called.

“I’m Shel.” The man that walked in was an irish-looking man with islands-brown skin. He was taller than Ctirad but not a giant like most people here, and he was dressed casually in jeans and a T-shirt and carrying what looked like the same over his arm. “My stuff won’t fit you well, but it’ll fit well enough for you to get into the stores. Ah, I’m supposed to take you shopping, that is. I mean, looking like you do, they’d let you into the stores in your altogether, just to get a chance to look at you, but I’m imagining that’s not what you want.”

Want again. Ctirad considered the question, as much as it wasn’t really a question. “I think,” he said carefully, “It wouldn’t do for Tim Kaprinsky’s new … boyfriend? or whatever to be wandering around town naked. Wrong sort of gossip, right?”

“Mmm, you’re probably right. Besides, at least with you clothed, I won’t be upstaged quite so – shit, I’m sorry.” Shel sat down in front of Ctirad. “You’ve got a really, really good poker face, dude, but you’ve got some tells. I was teasing, I promise. I’m not into guys, that’s not what I do for the boss, and I don’t really mind that you’re prettier than I am. That’s, uh, in your job description. My job description is to look sleek in a suit and buy everything, find everything, clean everything, and making things disappear. Today, my job is to get you clothes.” He handed Ctirad the pile of clothes he’d come in carrying. Ctirad took them, feeling a little numb. “If you don’t mind – and I mean that, if you mind, tell me to butt out – can you tell me where I put my foot in it?”

Ctirad flipped through the pile of clothing and pulled on the shirt, suddenly feeling shy. “I- uh.” He minded. On the other hand, he was trying to be friendly and polite here. No need to start off on a bad foot with the staff. “I’m self-conscious about my appearance,” he managed, sounding as bland and clinical as he could.

“Hunh. Right, I can see that. So, is clothes shopping going to be stressful for you?”

Ctirad peeled off his sweats and pulled on the jeans. They were too long for him, but cut so that looked purposeful. “That’s a face I’m doing for the boss,” he explained, trying to still sound clinical and mostly succeeding. “That’s not about me, it’s about what the boss wants me to look like.”

“Okay.” When Ctirad looked up, Shel was nodding slowly. “So you can do it, as long as we make it a job. Right. That’s going to make casual clothes hard – no, it won’t,” he corrected himself, “we’ll do it the same way. All right, did you eat something?”

“Yes, sir, I mean,” Ctirad coughed. “Yeah. I ate.”

Shel snorted. “I’m a wage sla – I’m an employee, just like you. Well, a little different, I suppose. I volunteered.”

Ctirad’s head snapped up and he stared at Shel wordlessly. Fuck, he knew?

🔒

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Funeral: Shower Negotiations

Jul13

First: Funeral
Previous: Funeral: Kitchen Negotiations

“They’ll be at it all night,” she whispered as she led him upstairs. “Or at least a few hours. They always are. It’s how they handle… being them. All right, here’s the shower. You’re not body-shy, are you?”

“What?” He stared at her, and then at the bathroom – so suburban, with its pastel decorations clashing with the Human Anatomy shower curtain Chitter had insisted on.

“Your body? Can I see it naked?”

“…you Own me. You were there for that part, right? The part where you agreed to own me as your Bound Servant?”

“I was there.” If she was the sort of owner he thought she was, she might slap him for that tone, but she was pretty sure that wasn’t where she wanted to go with this and even more sure that it wouldn’t change his behavior in any helpful way. “And I’m asking. Can I see you naked?”

“…You really are young,” he muttered again, not quite looking at her.

“Can we hold off on references to my age except in cases where I’m missing a pop culture reference or didn’t actually see Lincoln assassinated, please? I’m young. Yes. I want to not steamroll over you, yes. I don’t think those are necessarily the same thing.”

“You’ve got to have a reason, then.” He looked uncomfortable, possibly because she was snapping at him but just as likely because they were standing in a pastel bathroom that was not really designed for two adults at once.

“Of course. I have to own an assassin Named Death Comes Silently for five years. I’d like to survive my sixth and seventh years from now. In addition, I like to think I’m not a screaming bitch, unlike most of my family.”

He smiled crookedly. “White sheep.”

“At your service. Or, ah, you’re at my service, I suppose. So are you going to take your clothes off, or am I going to shower while you watch?”

He blinked. “You’d do that?”

“Listen. That is….” Senga shook her head. “Have you noticed what I do?”

“Something like femme fatale with a side order of honeypot traps and a whole lot of kicking ass. Explains why you clean up so nicely.”

“…Thanks. There’s a story behind that comment that you will tell me someday, but today is not that day. Yes. I’m more uncomfortable with someone seeming me unarmed than undressed. Why don’t you help me with these buckles?” She turned her back on him and presented him the buckles.

“The dress has three bullet holes in it.” Still, he began unbuckling the dress. He had giant hands, but they seemed more than deft enough as he worked the buttons and buckles. “You could just step out of the holes.”

“Not quite. It’s a surprisingly durable dress, other than a couple holes. I just need to get better at mending these things. Ezer gets all swoony and silly when I ask him to fix up bullet holes. Ah, thank you.” Erramun peeled the dress down off her hips and pushed it to the floor and she stepped out of it. That left her in heels and stockings with a long run.

And then he started rolling her stockings down off her legs, his touch somehow far less intimate and far more careful and almost-clinical than she’d have imagined possible. Still, his breath was trailing down her back as he pulled off first one stocking and then the other and Senga found herself shivering.

“No holes in the stockings,” he commented quietly. “So the only bullets you took were body shots and somehow you managed not to run your stockings while fleeing from gunmen.”

“Really expensive pumps,” Senga answered, or tried to. Somewhere in the middle she gasped a little, as his breath hit the back of her knee. “I can run like the wind in them and they still look pretty damn sexy.”

“Yes, they do.” He lifted her foot to pull one of those shoes off. “But I imagine you don’t want to shower in them.”

“You know,” she managed, almost conversationally, “when I met you, you didn’t seem to be the sort of man who was skilled at, ah, playing valet.”

“I have quite a bit of skill undressing women, thank you.” His voice held a bit of a chuckle in it. “But this, no, I haven’t done this in a long time.” He reached up for her lace panties and both hands stopped, resting on her hip bones. “Do you like it?”

It should’ve sounded needy. Instead it sounded like a challenge.

Senga thought about turning around to see his face, but with him now kneeling behind her, that would put his face – “I do like it,” she answered quietly. “Do you?”

He didn’t answer for a moment. Senga didn’t give in to the urge to turn around.

“I believe I do.” He hesitated again. “I didn’t think I would, you know. Being yours. Serving you.”

“I didn’t think you would, either.” Now she turned around. “Here, stand up so I can return the favor?”

She managed to catch a glimpse of a strange look – somewhere between surprise, shock and discomfort – on his face before he stood up. “Of course. You didn’t think I’d like it?”

“It’s not like we really had a good choice in the matter… I should’ve gotten your shirt off before you stood up.”

He pulled his t-shirt off and dropped it on the toilet. “Let’s just assume you meant my pants.” He gave her a small but genuine-looking smile.

Senga returned it with her own, a little broader. “I did not mean to wander off for a whole day when you were still adjusting to the Bond and all that comes with it.”

She unbuttoned his pants and slid her hand between the zipper and his skin. His stomach was flat, with just a bit of fuzz.

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Time to Move – a story of Dragons Next Door for Patreon

Jul13
This is set early in the life of Aud and Sage. 👪

So there we were, living in a tiny studio apartment between the artsy district and the tracks, holding our first child, Jin, just an hour after birth.  The midwife had come and gone and we were staring and the faint glow coming off of our first child with a bit of consternation.

“You,” I said, feeling far too calm (it had to be the tea I’d brewed for childbirth), “are not a wizard.”

Sage raised those eyebrows at me.  “You are not a witch.”

We’d both known it for a long time, of course, or at least suspected strongly.  You don’t go into a relationship with someone while they are still in school at a prestigious institution for wizards or witches and not notice a thing or, and if that hadn’t done it,the forms we’d each chosen for the wedding vows might have, or the family members that did and didn’t attend the wedding. Continue reading →

Patreon! A Repost and two summer ficlets

Jul11

Originally posted Oct. 28, 2011
🎃
Officially, the Sandborn Institute and Lady Cassidy’s Academy for Young Ladies did not have mixers. There was nothing the Black Tower wanted to hear from the Pumpkin, and nothing the Pumpkin wanted to say to the Tower.
Read on!!

This is just a little story of summertime and beaches, because I wanted to.
😎

At first, we all thought it was some asshole in a particularly good Godzilla costume.

Read on!!

This is written to @medic‘s very enthusiastic “More, more!” to No Rest on This Beach
😎

So there we were, eight-foot Godzilla-like thing on the beach smashing sandcastles and throwing around policemen, and I, at least, had been planning for a nice quiet weekend blending in with the locals and watching the myth of the supernatural from a nice safe place.

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Leave it to the Professionals, a continuation for summer Patreon

Jul9
This is written to @medic‘s very enthusiastic “More, more!” to yesterday’s No Rest on This Beach, a ficlet of summer, beaches, and a kaiju.  😎

 

So there we were, eight-foot Godzilla-like thing on the beach smashing sandcastles and throwing around policemen, and I, at least, had been planning for a nice quiet weekend blending in with the locals and watching the myth of the supernatural from a nice safe place.

I counted heads.  Not five, six of us.  Ten had come here, the ones that get called Amazons in deference to Diana, First of Us (never mind all the myths, she was First in all the ways that count).  The sixth, Youngest Sister, had decided to be Supergirl today.

Well, we all had to have our phases.  I gestured to Leda, she of the cornrow braids, and she stepped forward and pulled a long “prop” sword from her beach bag.

Jitsuko had a golden lasso that happened to be a very nice garrotte.

I had Thor’s hammer, or at least a replica of it.  Thor doesn’t like to part with his actual weapon.

We circled the lizard-thing slowly.

Nzingha spoke.  “Surrender now,” she told the thing.  We always told it to surrender.

They almost never did.  I could pretend I was sad about that, but you probably wouldn’t believe me, and I wouldn’t fault you one bit.

“Ladies,” the cop still standing tried. “I know it’s tempting to try to be Wonder Woman, but let’s leave this to the professionals.”

“Yes.” Sarojini told him.  She was young and proud, her smile a little sharper than those that had gotten a bit worn down, like me.  “Why don’t you leave it to the profes-oh!”

The fight was on.  The thing had grabbed for Jocasta. Jocasta was not that easy to grab, and that sword was no prop.

We did our best to make it look staged.  There was a risk in that – the thing had actually hurt the police officer and a bystander; someone could get angry at the convention.  We still wanted to play it off as a fake if we could. My sisters and I, we prefer to be as quiet as we can.

Even when godzilla shows up on the beach while we’re on vacation.

Godzilla had no intention of going quietly.  He ended up throwing Agaidika across the beach and into the ocean, but Agaidika takes to water like, well, a fish does, and splashed back up in quite a good mood and looking like the goddess that she was rising from the waves.

In the end, it took the replica of Thor’s hammer, the pretend-prop sword, and the garrote, and we ended up with a very subdued monster who was turning a bit grey around the gills.

We all held our breaths.  This is where the police could be a very big problem, if they wanted to.

The oldest officer, a senior who had hurried onto the scene while we fought, took a look at the creature – clearly, by this point, inhuman, and then looked at all of us, superhero swimsuits and prop weapons.

“Well done, sisters.”  She saluted us, and we saluted her back.  It’s always good to have a cousin on the local police force, after all, and there was more than one reason we liked this convention.

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No Rest on this Beach, a summer tale for Patreon

Jul8
Part of my continual crosspost/mirroring project, saving all of my Patreon posts to my WordPress site

This is just a little story of summertime and beaches, because I wanted to. 😎

At first, we all thought it was some asshole in a particularly good Godzilla costume.

There was a convention going on, after all, just a couple blocks away, and there were at least three people within sight wearing a Deadpool mask, a matching speedo, and nothing else, to say nothing of the Warhammer angel stoic in her black armor over on the boardwalk.   I myself was one of at least five women in Wonder Woman swimsuits getting a little surf-and-sun on in between panels. Continue reading →