Tom teis (name pending)

Tom was an overworked programmer, who wished his hell would finally end. One night when he closed his eyes and fell asleep, he woke up in another world.

On the island he eventually made his way to, Tom met many monsters, but only one won his heart, Mothra. After a whirlwind romance and the blessing of both the Queen and Mothra's lover Battra, the two are now happily married.

Bio
Tom was an overworked and underappreciated sysadmin. After another long night of manually resetting all the servers in his workplace and updating their labeling, he wished wished he could escape from this hell of whirring disks, electronic beeps, and dusty corners. After passing out in the break room, he awoke to find himself on a different (better) planet. There were no servers to reset here, no wires to trace. After determining that he had not, in fact, been kidnapped, and that this was a land of plenty and of pleasant climate (but surprisingly no mosquitoes, so he didn't need to find a source of quinine), Tom felt a surge of hope. His hell seemed to be over, for now.

After spending some time on this planet, Tom remembered his Pioneering Merit Badge training and fashioned himself a makeshift raft using some long hollow plants, almost like bamboo, and some spun fibers he bashed out of some reeds. His goal? An island he could see peeking out through the mists when he looked out from the highest hilltop in his foraging area. He didn't know why he wanted to go there. Boredom, he supposed, or perhaps the hope of finding another living soul. He also fashioned several waterskins and prepared ample food in the form of jerky, mixed nuts, and dried fruit to prepare for his journey. He also made some oars and a makeshift sail. On a gray morning (he didn't know which day of the week--he'd lost track), he set off to the mysterious island.

It was a long, hard journey, full of peril and plight. He nearly capsized several times in rough seas, but thankfully he had lashed both himself and his supplies to the raft and remembered to add outriggers for stability. He arrived at the island after nearly a week at sea, low on supplies and exhausted but otherwise healthy. He spent the rest of the day searching for fresh water. After locating a pristine spring (what luck! No need to boil when it's straight from the stone), Tom made camp for the evening and ate the rest of his provisions.

The next morning, Tom found his campsite and the surrounding area littered in some sort of strange, brightly-colored scales. Tom would almost have guessed that they came from a moth, but no moth was that big, could even be that big. Though he was curious, he was also hungry, and in a wilderness situation, survival comes first. He set out to forage for food and materials to build his new camp. Weeks passed. Sometimes Tom found more scales at his campsite, sometimes elsewhere, sometimes nowhere at all. Tom vowed he would track those scales to their source as soon as he was able to do so without risking starvation.

Eventually, that day came. Tom hefted his handwoven backpack onto his shoulders after filling it with food and water and placed his chert handaxe in its beltpouch. It was a bright morning, and the mysterious scales covered his campsite, as he suspected they would. He had made a large campfire the night before, just to make sure.

Mostly, it was an easy track. The scales shone in the sunlight; they covered a wide area; and they consistently led up, up the mountain that had called to him from afar. Tom didn't have his kit, but he had rope, and it looked like an easy climb: mostly face or chimney and not much overhang. His path roughly followed a clear stream, so he was able to stay hydrated during his trek without depleting his resources.

Tom found, when he reached the mountain's base, that instead of the climb he expected, he had only a walk, for a path wound its way up the side. At the peak of the mountain, as he'd hoped, he found the source of the scales. She was at once magnificent and impossible. Far greater even than her carboniferous ancestors, she rested, wings folded, upon the exposed rock. Tom wasn't sure how she could even exist (especially in today's atmosphere), but there she was, abdominal bristles undulating gently in her spiracular breeze. Her setae looked so soft and inviting. Tom longed to bury himself in that orange-cream hair, but he couldn't, not yet. She would wake in the evening, and before anything he would introduce himself.

Over the ensuing months, and through methods known only to himself, his intended, and the Cosmos (who despite his entreaties would not leave them alone for any significant length of time. At least they were discreet) Tom courted her. The locals had rumors, of course, and laughed that they smelt smoke upon the mountain, but rumors and smoke were all they had. At the end of it all, Tom had more. He asked for her hand (one of them, anyway), offering a bracelet he'd acquired while she was distracted on one of their dates in Tokyo. She accepted. At last, Tom fell into her orange-cream setae, the snuggest embrace he'd ever experienced, and his new life of joy.