Hurting Days

Wednesday, July 19th, 2017 04:40 pm
bairnsidhe: (Default)

Prompted by [personal profile] readera with the prompts ‘dealing with self harm’ and ‘summer treats’.  I hope you don’t mind I did both in one!

Warnings: Contains mentions of self-harm, discussions of un-ideal childhood safety, a semi-graphic depiction of using visual substitutes for self-harm including fake blood, and brutal violence against ice chips.  Current environment is supportive, but consider your headspace.


Zita pushed her glasses up her nose and squinted at the semi-sentient shadow that her girlfriend brought into their apartment in lieu of a pet.

"Nimbus, what in the full and actual fuck?" she asked as it twisted and danced across her kitchen counter like a particularly agile cat.  "You know you aren't allowed on the counters, shoo."

Nimbus didn't listen, but bapped her in the face with a tendril of shadow.  She spluttered out a few strong curses in Spanish and reached for the spray bottle of blessed sun-water to administer a teaching spritz, but Nimbus flowed down off the counter and took the form of a large, shadowy dog.  Darkmatter used this ability sometimes to send a message if she didn't feel like going out to smack the hands of the petty crooks edging her turf herself, and Quest liked it marginally better than Zita liked the usual cat-form.  Dividing her opinions like that, Quest versus Zita, superhera versus engineer, tended to give her friends headaches, but it was better than the headache of forgetting who she was and what she was supposed to know.

"What now?" she asked, as Nimbus locked ephemeral jaws on her skirt.  She sighed and let the crazy shadow drag her to the bedroom, where her girlfriend was curled into a ball.  "Dacia?"

"Go 'way," her girlfriend muttered sulkily.

"Nope. no can do,” she sighed.  “You made me promise to help you when you needed it.  What’s going on?”

“It’s a hurting day,” Dacia muttered, her voice still sulky, but holding a tiny note of hope.  “I really want to, but I can’t.  I promised not to.  But the feeling is under my skin and I just want to pry it out and smash it.”

“Oh, mi querido amor, lo siento,” Zita said, sighing into the words.  “Tell me about it, maybe I can find a way to help you beat this without hurting yourself.”

“It’s like this cold, hard feeling in my chest, and cold water in my veins instead of blood.  It’s like a cancer made out of snowmelt and ice.  I want to be warm, like you, but how can I when my own body is trying to convince me I’m an iceberg?  That I’m cold and hard and horrible?  It doesn’t stop, either.  It just gets more manageable, and I’ve only found one thing that helps any, but nobody likes it when I do that!”

“We don’t like it because we’re scared for you,” Zita reminded her.  “Hey, it’s summer, we could go sit outside, see if being in the warm helps you any.”

“It won’t work,” Dacia said flatly, “but we might as well.  It’ll make you feel better to try, I guess.”

“It will make me feel better,” Zita confirmed, and pulled out a pair of shorts made from microfiber material and really intended for sleeping.  “Put these on, the fuzzy might also help.”


Dacia got dressed, wearing a longsleeved shirt of dark gray and black cotton washed practically transparent over a purple tank top, not even bothering with the eye makeup or jewelry that made Zita’s aunts tutt at her.  It clashed a bit with the spring green of the shorts, but they didn’t go with anything and she liked them anyhow.  She petted her thighs as Zita pulled her out to their favorite park to sit and watch the neighbor kids play.

“What’s your favorite structure on the playground?” Zita asked, and Dacia curled into her side, not minding the fact that on days this sunny, Nimbus had to stay behind.  She liked cuddles, even if she didn’t like much else.

“I like the pirate’s nest,” she said, pointing to the crow’s nest accessible only by climbing nets and sporting a black flag with a parrot skull.  “It’s a safe place to go when the world is too scary.  It’s good to have that for kids, because they’re so much smaller than the worst of it.”

Zita frowned and Dacia bit her lip.  She hadn’t meant to make Zita sad, it’s just that the world was so much darker than the superhera in her girlfriend wanted to admit.

“I always liked the spray tree,” Zita admitted, pointing to the tall pole with it’s fine cool mist pouring from the outstretched branches of metal piping and fat drops clinging to the wide, flat ‘leaves’ of colored glass.  “It’s good for cooling off on days that it’s too hot and the air-conditioners aren’t working in the apartments.  Also, this park uses potable water, so it’s safe for the kids who don’t have good pipes at home to bring out jugs and fill them.”

“I… didn’t know that,” Dacia said slowly.  “It sounds like you’ve done that.”

“I used to,” Zita admitted.  “I wasn’t always who I am now, and my family has come a long way.  But I remember when heat was dangerous.  A good spray tree can help everyone stay a little safer.”

Dacia shivered in the warm summer air.  “Sounds scary.”

“It was,” Zita said with a smile.  “And then I picked up my cousin Ernesto’s tool kit one day and rewired a handheld fan to one of those little dashboard flowers to make it solar powered.  After that, I went from scared to stubborn, determined to learn how to fix all the things.”

“Your life makes so much more sense now,” Dacia muttered, thinking of her girlfriend's superhera alter ego.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Zita drawled.  “Come on, I want a snow-cone, let’s go get some.”

Dacia followed her girlfriend to the little concession stand and waited for the paper cone of shaved ice and syrup to be passed to her.

“Black cherry, your favorite,” Zita said with pride.  Her memory was sometimes a little spotty, so when she did recall favorites, she got all happy and shiny, like a puppy or a small child who’d been praised.

“Thanks,” Dacia said, trying to keep up the face she used in public.  She didn’t want to start crying here.  Vulnerability was fine in front of Zita, but not in front of random strangers.  “What did you get?”

“Lime and coconut,” Zita reported, licking the toxic-looking neon green ice.  “Could use salt, though.”

“Ew,” Dacia said, wrinkling her nose.  “Salt on ice cream?”

“It’s not ice cream,” Zita insisted.  “It’s just ice.  Salt on ice can be good!”

“You’re a freak,” Dacia said.  “But you’re my freak, so I guess it’s okay.”

“You know you love me,” Zita teased, sticking a lurid green tongue at her.  Dacia laughed in spite of herself, and it felt good, warm like sunlight and rolling down inside her like a drop of fudge sliding over a sundae’s top.  “Oh, you spilled.”

Dacia looked at her hand, where the paper cone had crumpled under the pressure of her fingers and a drop of cold cherry syrup ran from hand to wrist and down, down.  Her eyes tracked it greedily, watching the blood-colored liquid roll across her skin, raising goosebumps behind it.  “Wow”

“Dacia?” Zita asked, shaking her shoulder.  “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I just realized that I could use the visual to substitute the reality,” she said vaguely, licking up the streak of red.  “Remind me to go by the magic shop for prop supplies later.”

“I’m glad you found a safe way around that,” Zita said carefully as they passed a group of children playing with a bucket of ice chips, shrieking as they put them down each other’s shirts and batted them along the sidewalks.  A stray ice node of several cubes frozen together sailed past a boy’s hand and toward Zita.  Dacia darted her hand out and snatched it, dropping it when she realized what she’d done.

“Lady, are you okay?” a girl asked.  “I didn’t mean to throw that hard!”

“I’m fine,” Zita said, reaching out to hold Dacia’s hand.  “I think it was just bigger than you thought so it had more force when she caught it.”

“May I play with this one?” Dacia asked softly.  “I really want to see if it’ll smash when I step on it.”

“Yeah!” cheered the boy who’d fumbled the catch.  “Stompy boots, stompy boots!”

The kids cheered again and Dacia slammed her heel down on the clump, snapping free a chip.  The sharp snap echoed into the hard, cold lump in her chest, like an iceberg sheering off.

“That was… really fun,” she said, looking at Zita, who was smiling at her again.  “I’m going to go get more ice at the gas station down the street, I’ll be right back!”


Zita licked her sour and sweet ice as Dacia peeled off.  “Get a packet of salt from the food section while you’re there,” she called, “and have fun!”

My Lumps, My Lumps

Wednesday, July 19th, 2017 02:35 pm
bairnsidhe: (Default)
 My intensely frustrating lady lumps.  If you're not freaked by discussions of female health and want to know why I'm doing this, I've put the details in the black-out, just highlight to read it.

So I have PCOS, or Poly-Cystic Ovarian Syndrome.  Basically ovary zits, for the lay-person.  It's very painful and it decided to flair up again recently, so today is going to be spent laying down doing absolutely the minimum of things that use any muscle in my entire torso.  Fun times, NOT.

This however swings a bit of an upside, as I'll be tied to my laptop today for my own sanity and can't wander away from it.  As a result, I'm updating the ever-loving schist out of my various blogs and sites and if you'd like to see a feature, like a launch page, or a word-count accountability tracker or something, just let me know.  I'm also done editing my Queer Writing Zine for this last June, but I can't get to the printer today (Grrr).  I'll put up a separate post for that in a little bit.

As always, prompts feed the muse even if I don't get to it right away.  Let me know what you want!

Dark Matters

Thursday, July 13th, 2017 05:51 pm
bairnsidhe: (Default)

Dacia rolled her fingers across the smooth lines of her tool kit and sighed.  She had liked being a supervillain well enough in the beginning.  It had enough risk to keep her feeling alive without her mind wandering back to habits better left alone.  It didn’t hurt that her nemesis was super cute, either.  Sometimes Dacia would drop totally harmless glitter bombs just to watch Quest lunge for them, because the technologically-inclined superhera’s haptic controls did great things for her ass when she dived.

Now though, with all the changes to her life, with the time she almost really died and Quest saved her, and the time she called to confirm a robot battle and wound up spending five hours talking to her nemesis instead of trying to level Downtown with a fifty foot robot, well… Dacia didn’t feel much like supervillainy anymore.

Which wasn’t to say she felt heroic, not at all.

She just didn’t feel like anything.

She felt sad, and lonely.  She wanted to rage and terrorize, and force the darkness in her mind onto the physical plane so that everyone could see it.  But she didn’t want to at the same time.  Or she did want to but didn’t have energy.  It was all just a bit too confusing, and even Nimbus, the dark shadow that protected her was drifting gloomily towards a corner.  Sighing, she flicked the little jingle bell that hung from a repurposed Christmas ornament where she’d framed Quest’s contact info.  The superhera had said to call if things got really bad.  Of course, it was so much effort to pick up the phone.

Doooo iiiiiiit, Nimbus hissed at her.

“Aren’t you supposed to encourage my evil ways?” Dacia asked.  “Befriending a hero never makes a villain more evil.  And unless you forget, she’s my type, too.  Tall, sexy, cute, and straight.”

You’ll never get any villainy done while you’re mopeing, Nimbus snapped.  She’s good for you, and I get better mileage on you when you’re not busy dragging back on me.  I did agree in the compact to help you manage the depression.

“Fair enough.”  Dacia snagged the ornament and her phone.  

“Hello?” the superhera answered.

“Well, well, well, Quest,” she began, before parsing the sound of the word.  “Holy crap, you sound terrible, what happened?”

“Lab explosion, I caught a lungful of dust,” Quest explained.  “Can we reschedule whatever game you wanted to play?  I can try to make it, but I’m just not up to any of the big things I know you like.”

“You stay put,” Dacia said firmly.  “You are in no shape to so much as chase a mugger.  I’m not letting my favorite toys get broken because I don’t pay attention to squeaky wheels.”

She didn’t really mean it like that, but appearances must be kept.

“Thanks, Dac,” Quest sighed.  “I’m going back to bed then.  Please don’t let anyone level the city?”

“I’m not a superhera,” Dacia spluttered.

“Of course not, I’m not worried about villains, you’re the biggest name and you keep the rest in check with your example.  I’m worried about the damn city council.  They keep bugging me about being a sponsored hera and doing official city events.  I can barely do the recap conferences.”

“People suck sometimes,” Dacia said, nodding.

“Sooth,” Quest said into a yawn.  Dacia waited a moment before realizing the hera had fallen asleep on the line.  She hung up and snapped at Nimbus.

“Come on, we have crime to do,” she said.

I thought you told her you weren’t going to plot today, Nimbus said warily.  For a dark shadow, Nimbus cared a great deal about promises.

“I’m not, I’m going to commit an impulse crime and steal chicken and dumpling soup and that rosewater gelato she likes.  Then, I will break into her home, and hold her hostage, maybe tie her up with blankets, and make her watch Legend Dusters with me.”

Well, Nimbus sighed, flowing into place.  That’s different.


It's worth noting that this takes place before Dacia and Quest become girlfriends.  At this juncture, Dacia doesn't even know Quest's non-hera name.  Quest knows hers because for one, it's a lot safer that direction because Quest isn't given to blackmail or hostages, and two, Nimbus likes her and has partial say in what happens when Dacia is Darkmatter.

bairnsidhe: (Default)
The Existential Catumpillar
Outside my school,
Smokes lollipops and
Eats candy buttons,
And big thoughts,
He asks us
Deep fun questions
As we pass

"How much wood could a woodchuck chuck, if a woodchuck were given the basic respect due a living being?"

Sometimes, we
Will try to answer
And we're usually
Completely wrong,
But he wants us
To try anyway.

"Is it nobler to be, or not to be, or to be a busy little bee, or to be-bop?"

Sometimes, we
Laugh at the
Silly Catumpillar.
He says
That's okay.
Laughter is good.

"What is the sound of a tree falling in the forest if no-one can hear the bears shitting?"

Sometimes, we
Learn the things
The teachers can't
Teach us, and
we didn't know
we didn't know.

"Imagine if gender were a strict binary, only two options, no other choices or chance to change your mind."

"But it is," says one boy.

"Good job on that imagination," says the Catumpillar.

We all know
The Catumpillar
And we all know
That he is wise and good.
We need him
For comfort and joy

"What would you do, if you couldn't fail and you couldn't succeed, and mediocrity was socially acceptable?"

His legs folded
Two spoons in a bowl.
His butt firmly resting
A yard and five inches
Off the ground.

At night, I hum
And know he hears
My answers to his
Ice-Cream Koans

"Do woodchucks actually want to chuck wood?  I mean, have we ever asked them?"

"It is noblest  to put the bop in the bop shoo bop shoo bop.  Then someone's baby can fall in love with them."

"I'd assume it's the same as the sound of one idiot shutting up, since I've never heard either."

I don't always
Have answers
For the Catumpillar.
I think that's okay


(no subject)

Sunday, July 2nd, 2017 06:56 pm
bairnsidhe: (Default)
Long personal story that has noting to do with writing under the cut.

Read more... )

And that is how I ended up not getting back to Life-Partner’s house until 4:45 am.

bairnsidhe: (Default)
We humans are ever a frail and failing lot.
Now stumbling over our past, and hiding error
From those we seek to please, our shame lit hot
The chance we flub our fame is shining terror

I seek to ever my failings defeat in time
To master the ancient work of bard and pen
With truth to speak to power of meter and rhyme
I set my mind to task, to page I bend

And should to fix the opportunity arrive
In joy I edit, to perfection I then do strive!

Pan-- 2nd Draft

Monday, June 26th, 2017 05:34 pm
bairnsidhe: (Default)

This is an edited version of this poem. Much thanks to [personal profile] ysabetwordsmith for the con-crit that improved it!


Pan is for Panic

When nobody knows

How to pin you down

And so they trip over

Themselves instead.

Pan is for Pantheon

The long long list of

Virtues and vices

Deified into orderly lists

Of things you might want

Given human forms

Shapely and graceful

Male and female

And those that defy name.

Pan is for Pandemonium

Chaos’s favored child

The heart and soul of a storm

Riotous rout, a tumultuous

Outpouring of songs

Everywhere and all at once

Things they overlooked are

Now growing strong and

They are outnumbered

Reaching for answers

The cowed majority

Demonize and scorn

The open heart of you

Pan is for Pan

The great goat-horned god

Wildling of wild woods

Companion of nymph and satyr

Sexual being unbound

By restriction of rule of law

A rustic ruler of his own

Nature and nurture.

Battle blooded with gods

Child of trickster Hermes,

Fearsome to small minds

His greatest trick echoes

Across the sea at Paxi

Pan has never yet died,

He lives in the hearts of

His many soul-kin, lovers

Who seek where they find.

Pan is for All

Sea or Sky

Saturday, June 24th, 2017 12:45 am
bairnsidhe: (Default)

Twist-souled sister, an untamed curl

As Diana a goddess, a tom-boy-type girl

The traveler soul sits restless within

Sending you far from safe shores and kin


Bloody Fox, fear of the seas

Always too fast, your prizes to seize

The Hound who dogs your trail on the blue

One day, someday, will catch up to you


Home in the arms of family dear

You embrace the lady you’d grown to fear

Silks that you stole cut into a gown

Perfume from crimes ‘gainst the Crown


Across the bow of a ship that you espied

The bulk of the Hound of the Crown you defied

He’s come home to rest, no cause for alarm

Except that to dinner he’s decided to come


Your stays are now armor of ladylike mold

Your foe now a Hound to rest in your hold

He calls you his lady and blushes so well

A flower you give has something to tell


But the wild sea calls and soon the stays bind

You get back on your ship, role redefined

Sailing the junk-rig with your brigand band

Back to the life of a pirate and man


You see once more the Hound of the King

Now your Hound as well, if he could see anything

But he curses your name as you sail away

For he sees only who you are today


Many months sailing and a becalming truce

Your feud is cooling as love sparks between crews

You long for your baubles, your lace, and your tea

And you sail back to the home off of the sea


Your Hound there is waiting, faithful and true

To the Lady he loves, and that lady is you

He doesn’t suspect, and it stings all the more

When he sails away thinking you’ll stay onshore


On the seas lust turns into love and regret

For although he wants you, he cannot forget

The Lady left waiting, his angel of light

You bid sad adieu and sail out of sight


He comes to trouble, you come to his aid

You charge into battle, heart unafraid

He calls out as you fall, he sees you hit

And a gun in his hand to remember it


At home you recoup in lace and soft bed

He comes to visit and you about lose your head

Trying to hide what he doesn’t know yet

And now you understand his love and regret


Long months pass and you’re well to ride

He goes with you, his love hard to hide

You do the hard thing, he asks for your hand

He kneels at your feet, and you tell him to stand


A long engagement is required say you

He does not know all you need him to

Out on the sea you help him to find

The truth of your heart and your kind


Now back at home, you are planning a trip

Down past the Horn, the perilous tip

Your kinfolk are muttering, as is their due

But Lady or Pirate, you know he loves you.


This was inspired by Thorinsmut's smell the sea and feel the sky
, and while that technically makes this a fan-work, is so seven-degrees-of-separation that I feel okay posting it on my orig-fic page.  Go check it out for more genderfluid pirate adventures!  Although I may have just spoilered the entire plot.  Oh well.

bairnsidhe: (Default)
 I have completed the allbingo Pride Fest with each of the sixteen terms that were on the card getting a short or a poem.  At this juncture, I'm going to let anyone who wants to ask me to post one of the unposted works from my Month Of Pride Writing.  Simply reply to this post with the term from the bingo card that you want to see my work for.  At the end of the month, I'll assemble my work into a zine that will be made available for sale.

Pan--1st Draft

Thursday, June 22nd, 2017 02:59 pm
bairnsidhe: (Default)

Pan is for Panic


When nobody knows

How to pin you down

And so they trip over

Themselves instead.


Pan is for Pantheon


The long long list of

Virtues and vices

Deified into orderly lists

Of people you might want.


Pan is for Pandemic


Everywhere and all at once

Things they overlook are

Now growing strong and

They are outnumbered.


Pan is for Pandemonium


Chaos’s favored child

The heart and soul of a storm

Riotous rout, a tumultuous

Outpouring of songs


Pan is for Pan


The great goat-horned god

Wildling of wild woods

Companion of nymph and satyr

Sexual being unbound


By restriction of rule of law

A rustic ruler of his own

Nature and nurture.

Battle blooded with gods


Child of trickster Hermes,

Fearsome to small minds

His greatest trick echoes

Across the sea at Paxi


Pan has never yet died,

He lives in the hearts of

His many soul-kin, lovers

Who seek where they find.


Pan is for All


Wednesday, June 21st, 2017 03:42 pm
bairnsidhe: (Default)

Some days are lace

Ribbons and bows

Sugar and spice

And everything nice


Some days are for the girl.


Some days are leather

Denim and flannel

Snips and snails

And puppy-dog tails


Some days are for the boy.


Some days are for swirling
Cotton skirts o
ver soft leggings

Because they are also for forts

And crawling through bushes


Some days are for both.


It’s a special kind of freedom

It’s a special kind of cage

That the ever-shifting winds

Blow in who the child is today


Some days are for the fight


Against all the demands of
Steady e
arth-bound folk

Who don’t see why the wild

Wanders free in some spirits


Every day is for the soul.


Shifting as the flickering flame

And as steady and noble

As the ebb and flow of tides

The other element’s children

Every day is for hope.

Hope that someday
Our children's children
May be as they are
And someday be free,


To have their days too.

The Gay Space Army

Wednesday, June 14th, 2017 12:40 pm
bairnsidhe: (Default)

“That’s gay,” a voice accused over the group’s voice chat.  The tone was snide and insulting.  Charlie pulled a hissing breath between his lips, hoping it could be one isolated incident, a micro-aggression that could be endured, and not the first flake of a snowballing avalanche of hate.

“Damn right it is, son,” replied Sarge and Charlie hunched his shoulders in his computer chair.  Sarge was called Sarge because he was a Marine, old and battle scarred and using the internet since it was a military intranet that DARPA was considering letting the public have a version of.  “Gayest shit ever, and I should know, since it takes one to know one.”

The line echoed with shock from everyone in the pre-fight room.  “Sarge, you… you’re gay?” Charlie asked.

“Yes I am and I did not lose a damn leg to be told that’s wrong by some young fool on the net.”

“But… you were in the military!  The only reason I went DARPA instead of joining up was because I was afraid what they’d do to me when they found out!”

“Probably what Oscar and Delta teams did to me,” Sarge said.  “Ask why that was relevant and buy a shit load of lady-boy pin-up mags to find a better model for my unit’s tattoo, since a sexy woman tattooed on a gay man don’t make much sense.”

“Eh, you’re lucky Sarge,” Micro sighed.  “I came out to my squad and they requested a transfer for me.  I didn’t much care since when the Brass found out why they dumped me in with the ladies and those gals could party.”

“You were military, too, Micro?” Saph asked, her tone happy and light.  “I didn’t know that.”

“Navy, Saph, not as macho as the Marines.  I wasn’t even a SEAL, so it’s not like I carry that with me.”

“So, wait a second,” Devorak said.  “Sarge, Micro, and Charlie are gay, Sarge, Micro and Saph were military, and I’m a lesbian defence contractor.  Except for the newbie, we’re the Gay Army up in here.”

“Oi, I’m a fan of Taco Tuesday myself here, love,” Saph protested as the team laughed and Charlie watched the username of the new player wink out, resetting their wait time.  Somehow, he thought nobody would care, they were having too much fun modding their avatar’s armor to design a uniform for the Gay Space Army Guild that Devorak suggested.


The lovely and perceptive Pizilden over on Habitica has composed a march for the Gay Space Army, complete with voice re-enactment of the fateful discovery of Sarge's orientation.

Asexy Honey

Monday, June 5th, 2017 08:58 pm
bairnsidhe: (Default)

Asexy Honey hold me tight

Asexy Honey love me right

Cuddle me until the dawn

Hold my hand all night long


Asexy Honey… love me the way you do.


Asexy Honey kiss my fingertips

Asexy Honey curve those asexy lips

Smile like I’m the moon and stars

Give me that asexy love of ours


Asexy Honey… love me the way you do.


Asexy Honey ask me ‘bout my day

Asexy Honey take my fears away

For you my heart is an open book

Open it up and take a good look


Asexy Honey… love me the way you do.


Asexy Honey split your dessert

Asexy Honey my ice cream flirt

Learn all my favorite flavors

It’s life so we’re gonna savor


Love the way we do… my asexual honey and me.


Monday, June 5th, 2017 07:02 pm
bairnsidhe: (Default)

Quest straightened her shimmery white capelet as she prepared for the most uncomfortable, most annoying, least fun part of being a super heroine.  Press conferences.

“Relax, you’ll be great,” her PR manager Jean-Paul said.  “The city loves you.  You saved the day, again I might add.  Everything is going to be okay.”

“And Darkmatter thinks I’m the optimist,” Quest muttered.

“Get your heroic tuchas on stage before I carry you on,” Jean-Paul threatened.  Quest went.  She wasn’t a super-genius for nothing.

The announcements went fine, she could run down the details of Darkmatter’s latest plot and rattle off hotline numbers and donation information in her sleep at this point.  It was the question and answer session she dreaded.  The press, led by her ex will-they-or-won’t-they, Brian Bradson, had an unfortunate tendency to divert from the topics she could answer easily.  If they stayed on target, she’d be fine, but they always veered into messy personal matters.  Especially since she told Brian she didn’t think he was being smart with his choices.  Putting himself in danger and taunting her nemesis just to get rescued when it went horribly awry was no way to build a relationship.

“Quest!  Quest!  Over here!” called a plucky young reporter.  Quest privately thought all newspapers had a quota of plucky young people that had to work for them.

“Yes, you, young man,” she said, nodding at him instead of pointing.  When you could and sometimes did lift semi trucks with a finger mounted gravitation reversal ray, pointing was more than just rude.

“What do you have to say about the recent photos leaked of yourself and the as yet unidentified woman in an… interesting pose?”

She knew what he was talking about of course.  The media had been trotting out pictures Brian’s photographer Charlie took of her checking Dacia for injuries since she told Brian the answer was solidly ‘no’.  They looked a lot more intimate than it had been.

“The young lady has declined to approve her name being shared with the media, and has made a full recovery from the injuries I was checking when those photos were taken.  Next question.”

“I didn’t actually mean those,” the kid said.  He held up a tablet open to and a shot that made Quest’s gut drop.  She was hugging Dacia, the shorter woman resting comfortably against her chest, arms at the small of Quest’s back.  “These were released last night.”

Quest’s cheeks burned.  “My personal life is just that.  Personal.  Next question.”

“Does this mean you’re coming out as a lesbian?” shouted someone at the back.

“No.  I’m not currently identifying as lesbian, however my stance on the basic human right of all, regardless of sexuality or gender still stand.  Next question.”

“What about the rumors that this woman is the infamous villain Darkmatter?” Brian called and suddenly the crowd’s roar was a mutinous whisper.  Quest would be willing to bet it hadn’t been a rumor until just now.  Of course, Brian knew Dacia and Darkmatter were the same person, he’d been there when Quest talked her down once and the hazy gloom that surrounded her dropped enough to see her face.

“I’ve already said I won’t be betraying her identity to the public media, Mister Bradson,” Quest said with a glare, “and you of all people should know I have no problem talking about Darkmatter.  You’re the one who printed the words, and I quote “Quest spends so much time talking about her nemesis, it’s no surprise she has yet to be seen with a boyfriend or husband, it would be the rare man who could tolerate that level of infatuation with another man.”  End quote.  Make up your mind Mister Bradson.”

Brian blinked, his face growing dark.  Then the sky grew dark and roiling clouds appeared in the previously sunny sky.  Darkmatter dropped down from one like an acrobatic drop of rain, and slapped a canister from Brian’s hand.

“GRAB IT!” she howled, her powers forcing her voice into a tinny reverb that echoed oddly.  “HE HAS TETRAMINE!”

The crowd broke from their panicked freeze to dogpile the can of Quest’s only weakness.  The ordinarily harmless chemical could make Quest… dangerous.  Uncontrolled.  Darkmatter had used it once.  Only once.  She knew where the lines were, even if she claimed to like coloring outside them.  Nobody wanted a repeat of that, though, so when her shadow-minions lunged at the can, it was locked down.  She sauntered over to Quest.

“Sorry to interrupt your little show,” she sneered, the androgynous tone somehow catching the sarcasm.  “But nobody fucks you over but me.”

“Dac-- Darkmatter,” Quest sighed.  “I’m tired.  Can we do this another day?  I just… I just can’t right now.”

“Alright,” Darkmatter agreed.  “Tomorrow.  Tonight, go home to your little girlfriend and make the most of what time you have.  Muahahahaha!”

As Darkmatter vanished in a mist of gloom, Quest rolled her eyes.

“What did Darkmatter mean, girlfriend?” a reporter asked.  “You said you’re not a lesbian!  Are you bisexual?”

“Let’s just say I’m questioning,” Quest sighed.  Her supervillain girlfriend was going to get an earful tonight.  “Thank you for coming, no more questions.”


Thursday, June 1st, 2017 04:48 pm
bairnsidhe: (Default)
Kasperov once had another name.  A name that belonged to the person thon's parents thought they had.  It didn't fit Kasperov, so thon left it behind, like thon left behind ill fitting clothing and toys, labels and expectations.  Thon broke all the carefully laid out rules that were meant to shape thon into the person thon's parent's wanted.

Kasperov had never been that good with rules anyway.

Which might have been a contributing factor to thon becoming an internationally acclaimed assassin.

Kasperov was good at getting into places that other assassins couldn't.  All thon had to do was change into a disguise and suddenly everyone thought thon was a woman.  A different disguise, and passersby would see a man.  Nobody ever saw thon for thonself, and that made casually building a life on bullets and blood easy.  Everyone looked for the pretty man in the sharp suit seen going into a side room with the deceased, and nobody paid attention to the handsome woman in the blood-red dress and evening gloves leaving the servant's exit an hour before the body was found.

The costumes were draining, though, and Kasperov started to train in sniping, killing from a distance from the comfort of snug combat pants and bulky sweaters that remained genderless, like thon.

The work was harder than before.  Finding a perch was as important as picking the costumes had been, and twice as risky.  Getting clients was easier, with the changes in how people talked to each other.  The Dark Web was a killer's Christmas, a hundred angry, bitter souls with money begging to be taken in exchange for an ounce of lead.  The internet was also a gift for people like thon, whose souls refused to line up neatly with boxes for 'Male' or 'Female' no matter how hard their parents tried.

And parents did try.

Kasperov gave steep discounts to people looking to get revenge for gender trauma.  Angry men who wanted payback after years of being told to 'be a good girl' and shoved in dresses and lectured on the importance of being lady like.  Weeping women who had scars from the abuse intended to make them grow into men, mean and hard and everything these ladies were not.  And people who shifted, sliding from man to woman and back again, who hated the people who tried to tether the mercurial winds of the human soul to one idea.  Kasperov still had a hard time convincing people thon was neither, but at least the people who knew thon now were willing to play along.

Slowly, Kasperov built a family on the dark recesses of the internet.  Sillisandra the poisoner, who hid her kit under the impressive false bosoms meant to fill in for what nature neglected to give her, and her lover Zephyr, a tom-boy of a girl who could play anywhere from sixteen to twenty seven with a touch of make up and a wig over her inch long hair.  Martin the bodyguard, who had scars from a back-alley surgeon removing his breasts and tattoos of his poetry along them in arching rows, painstakingly inked by Kyle, his husband under Martin's real name and Kyle's dead one.  Cyrano the hacker and his sprawling set of spouses.  Mouse the spy, with her shy guile that got her out of so many scrapes and capers.

And it was good for a while.

And then it was great.

And Kasperov fell in love, and her name was Mirana and she was everything thon wanted.  Beauty, brains, humor, and her own arsenal stocked from her family's gun business.  She gave thon grenades for their anniversary.  Thon gave her hessonite earrings, that sparkled like her eyes with a rich red brown like her skin.  She wore them every day, and thon was never happier than with Mirana.

Mirana did not force thon to be a man, simply because she was a woman.  She did not force thon to be a woman simply because thon was not a man.  They were just Kasperov and Mirana, and that... that was enough.

Pride Month Bingo!

Monday, May 29th, 2017 10:02 pm
bairnsidhe: (Default)
I'm doing the June Pride Month Bingo, and I've decided to publicly post my card so that readers can suggest squares to try out.

If you want to see anything that relates to any square in the following card, drop me a comment and I'll get right on that!

Things in red I've done but will do again, strikethroughs are things I feel like moving on from for a while.



Sunday, May 28th, 2017 11:35 pm
bairnsidhe: (Default)
Family is...

Uncles in the kitchen heat
Toss salad, roast meat
In the oven bake the buns
Laughing at all the puns

Family is...

Aunties in the living room
Knitting needles, ribbon loom
Each of us obeys our muse
Talking of the daily news

Family is...

Cousins on the back porch
Bottle rocket, roman torch
Things that pop, sparkle, or glow
Preparing for the family show

Family is a lot of things
Feelings, promises, and rings
Humor and sharing,
Sympathy and caring,
Love that opens like a bud....

But least of all is Family blood.

Haikus for a Rainy Day

Saturday, May 27th, 2017 11:47 am
bairnsidhe: (Default)
Raindrops fall lazily
Painting in hazy watercolors
Memory of life

City lights become then
In the veil of falling rain
A thousand fireflies

Mystery of old
The myths we told our children
Seem real enough now
bairnsidhe: (Default)
You messed with the wrong witch

Some soapy water isn’t gonna do the trick

You murdered and you stole and you lied

You thought you could tear me down, Wiz you tried

Put me through torment, fear and pain

Guess that a scarecrow’s not the only one without a brain

I’ve got a secret I really think you oughta know because

I’m not the only witch in OZ

Yeah, you messed with the wrong witch

Tried to off me with an innocent

But she knows now that all your words are lies

Sure as she’s seen monkeys fly

I told her my side of the story, but a little less gory

And you should never hurt a Friend of Dorothy

We’ve got a secret we want to share with the man behind the curtain

We are stronger together that’s certain

Pretty sure you messed with the wrong witch

And now things are gonna switch

Get in your balloon, I have a twister waiting for you

Dorothy’s staying on the ground, she knows what to do

Go back home write a book where I’m Wicked to the core

Try to forget what here in Oz you’ll be remembered for

Got a message for when you land in Kansas with a crazy story

Never mess with a Friend of Dorothy

July 2017

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