#and proceeded to align my screens on the floor of my kitchen using only my knees and raw unbridled willpower

[sketchychelsea]

Test printed my first two-color screen print! 🤘🔥

[saynotoshityouhate]

For Science Ch. 5

Ch. 1 // Ch. 2 // Ch. 3 // Ch. 4

Words: 1781

Tags: angst, love, neediness, bathtub sex, he’s too big but (spoiler) we make it work.

It had been three days. Three long, agonizing days since Bruce slammed the front door and ran away. Yesterday he sent a text, asking if he could come home. Seeing his name light up your screen made your heart jump, so happy to know he was safe and coming back to you. You responded with an enthusiastic yes.

He’d never left like this before - you’d never had a fight or had a moment where his emotions took over so badly. Of course you’d welcome him back, you’d never worried he would hurt you. Not anymore - not since he’d found this new happy medium between his two personas. Bruce clearly wasn’t as confident.

It was hard having him gone for those first few days of your new job at the university, and you’d wished he’d been there to laugh at some of the silly mistakes you had made. His bellowing chuckles were some of your favorite noises in the world.

Pulling up the driveway after classes were through, you saw Bruce’s car parked back in its normal place. Your stomach flipped, unsure what to expect, although you were mostly excited to see him.

You quietly opened the back door, walking into the kitchen. Taking off your heels, you heard soft, muffled classical music and smelled lavender and citrus. You smiled, heading straight to the master bath. The door was cracked open slightly, and you could see the warm glow of candles dancing across the shiny tile walls.

You knocked quietly on the door and pushed it open gently, just enough to stick your head inside. “Bruce?”

Bruce’s head was resting against the cool tile behind him, his eyes closed and his breathing regular. He must have just fallen asleep, his large frame filling most of the oversized jacuzzi tub. “Bruce?” You whispered again, awakening him from his dream. His warm eyes met yours, taking a moment to focus and register that you were really there. “Y/N, I -“ Bruce rested his hands on the side of the tub, beginning to push himself up to greet you. “No, no - stay there, you look so peaceful.” You nervously played with the hem of your untucked blouse.

“May I?” You lifted your hands to the top buttons of your blouse, pausing for Bruce’s approval. His adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he nodded, adjusting his dark glasses up the bridge of his nose. You proceeded in unbuttoning your crisp white shirt, setting it off to the side. Your back was turned to the submerged Bruce, but you knew the slight shimmy of your hips as you stepped out of your skirt and panties would excite him.

You backed yourself over to the edge of the tub, presenting your back to Bruce. He loved unclasping your bra for you. He took pride in being able to do it with just a flick of his finger, and seeing the tension leave your back and shoulders filled him with warmth. You moved the straps down your shoulders and dropped it to the floor, reveling in the ease of domestic life with Bruce - even in this uncomfortable silence.

Lowering yourself into the bubbles across from him, you sighed. The last few days had been hard on you, you were worried about Bruce, had started your new job, and had been brainstorming on ways to reverse your boyfriend’s physical predicament. You stretched your legs out in front of you, resting them against Bruce’s thighs. He took one foot in his large hand, rubbing the arch with gentle pressure. Your eyes fluttered closed at the wonderful release.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry for how I reacted.” Bruce’s eyes were cast downwards in shame. “I was so upset with myself, I didn’t want to risk anything happening…” You interrupted him. “No, I overreacted. I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I’m just happy you’re back.” You poked him with your other foot, asking him to do the same magic there as well.

“Where did you go?” You asked timidly, not sure you really wanted to know the answer. “I just went to the tower - Tony left my room as-is…just in case.” You made a noise of acknowledgement, your fingers idly playing with the bubbles that adorned your chest.

“I never stopped thinking about you.” Bruce extended a hand, inviting you to come closer. You accepted, allowing him to pull you onto his lap. You wrapped your arms around his neck. “I was scared, Bruce.” He held your face in his hand, rubbing your cheek with his thumb. “I’m sorry. It’ll never happen again.”

You kissed him fiercely, as if you wanted him to stop talking before he gave any excuses or reasons to leave again. You couldn’t help the whimpers leaving your chest, three days was a long time for you two to be apart.

Bruce’s cock throbbed against you, eliciting a groan from the large man. “I missed you so much,” he mumbled, nipping and sucking at your neck and collar bone. Moving to straddle his waist, Bruce’s hands found your hips, helping hold you steady.

“I wanna try - I think I can do it - I wanna try.” You ground your hips against his hardening length, your breaths already ragged and uneven. You knew it would hurt, but you wanted to do this for him. You were certainly wet enough. “No, I don’t wanna hurt you, don’t-“

You had your mind made up. Your much smaller hand took Bruce’s from his waist, bringing it to your core. “Stretch me out, please. I need you.” He could never resist you. Slowly inserting one large digit, knuckle by knuckle, his eyes were trained on you, closely monitoring for any inkling of pain or discomfort. You were feeling nothing of the sort. Your head was thrown back, the stretch sending delicious shockwaves through your limbs.

“One more, please” you breathed. “Y/N, I-“ You shot him a look, like daggers from your irises. “One. More. Please.” Bruce sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. He adjusted his fingers, slowly adding a second, drawing a moan from deep inside you. “I think - I think I’m ready. Please - give it to me? Let me make you feel good. Please?”

“Baby, I’m not sure about this. Let’s just start here, you’re taking me so well, maybe next time, we gotta take it slow.” You whined, loudly, and bucked your hips down onto his two, thick fingers. The water of the tub splashed over the edge. “Don’t wan’ take it slow, Bruce. Wan’ you - your cock. Puhleeeaase, Bruce.”

“The minute anything starts to hurt, you have to tell me, okay? Promise?” You nodded your head vigorously before pulling him closer and kissing him in gratitude. Bruce slowly removed his digits, leaving you empty and clenching around nothing but the bath water.

Bruce’s eyes were dark with lust, but still maintained the warmth of his concern for you. He held your gaze as he aligned himself with your opening. Every millimeter seemed to take an hour, your breath hitching in your throat as you stretched further to accommodate him. Bruce held your hips tightly, trying to maintain control and composure as you took him so well. It had been years since he felt the velvety warmth of a woman around him.

Your fingers dug into his shoulders as he continued to move slowly and methodically. You focused on your breathing, in through your nose, out through your mouth - pushing out whines and whimpers along the way. You attempted to hide your face in the crook of his neck, but Bruce pushed you back, wanting to keep an eye on you. “You’re doing so well, my girl, look at you.”

Looking down, you expected to see that he had completely bottomed out inside you, but there was plenty more left to go. His hand held the base, not allowing you to go any further, if that was even possible. You smiled up at him, so proud of yourself, feeling so full.

Bruce’s heart swelled - and he could finally relax knowing you were okay…better than okay really. You began to rock your hips, exploring your body’s limits, feeling the push and pull of Bruce against your walls. It was worth the effort.

You established a comfortable rhythm, riding him slowly, but forcefully. The waves of now lukewarm water splashed around you, adding to the symphony of delicious noises you both were making - the feelings sending you both into nonverbal bliss. Bruce began to tense, and you weren’t far behind. The only one with a free hand, you reached down to access your clit, quickly sending shockwaves of pleasure ripping through you. You clenched down on Bruce’s girth as you climaxed, sending him over the edge with you. His guttural growl sent vibrations through your skin as he filled you up for the very first time. You collapsed into him, every muscle giving out from the pain and exertion.

Bruce held your weakened body in his arms, both of you exhausted beyond belief. The tub had turned cold and you began to shiver. Concerned, he held you tightly with one arm while he used the other to push himself out of the bath. You clung tightly to his neck as he walked you to the bedroom. Placing your down gently, he dried you off with a towel and handed you your robe to snuggle up into before returning to clean up the bathroom. Once you were dressed, you crawled back to the pillows aligned neatly on your bed and waited for Bruce to return.

Wrapped up in your fluffy robe, you nuzzled into Bruce’s chest. “Can I ask you a question?” Your fingers idly traced his chest, droplets of water still gripping the coarse hairs on his sternum. Bruce grunted in the affirmative, his eyelids were heavy the minute his head hit the pillow. “If you could, you know, switch back. Would you?”

Bruce hummed. “I mean, I’ve thought about it. Done some basic calculations, consulted with colleagues…but that was all before.”

“Before what?” You whispered, tipping your head to look up at him, his eyes still closed gently.

“Before you. Before our life together. Before I saw the way your eyes light up when I enter a room. You read about that sort of thing in books, right? But I never knew it was real. And me? Of all people? In this state?” You sat up, captivated by his words, tears welling up and blurring your vision. His eyes met yours, one hand tracing your spine, while the other held yours.

“So no. I’m not interested in changing back. I am Bruce Banner, I am the Hulk, and I love you.”

[quitetheoppositeofcalm]

The Moment I Knew

Hey! This is the first thing I’m going to be posting. This is for any female readers, with no description. There is no name for your MALE s/o or friends. So if you wanted a Tom Holland x reader or Tony Stark x reader, or whoever you want. It is NOT in chronological order for the memory bits, just warning you. I did my best to base it off of the song by Taylor Swift and I’m quite happy with what I created. Hope you like it <3

Pairing: anyone x reader

Summary: y/n’s boyfriend was never on time and barely showed up when he was supposed to. It became a constant thing, that it started to hurt when he went back on his word.

Warnings: a lil bit of swearing, quite a bit of angst, crying, disappointment

Word Count: 3,458

Song Inspiration: The Moment I Knew, Taylor Swift

Note: Italics = memories, Bold = song lyrics

y/n had checked her phone one last time, as the last few guests walked through her door. a quick look and there was no sign of him. instead of showing her disappointment, she smiled and greeted the others, leaving her phone on the counter as she started to mingle with her guests. after all they were here for her, so she might as well put on a happy face and wait. 

her smile was forced as she caught up with old friends. she was tempted to pick up her phone and look for any messages that would have her heart leap into her throat from seeing his name on her screen. but she resisted because of his silly smile on her lock screen would have her giddy and her heart would ache with no reply from him. y/n didn’t want too much heartbreak on today of all days.

You should've been there

Should've burst through the door

With that "Baby, I'm right here" smile

y/n was waiting for him to meet her at the park. she had to wait for half an hour until he responded, saying he got caught up in practicing his guitar. she tore her attention from her phone as she looked around the park for any sign of him. her breath hitched in her throat as she met his warm eyes. his hair was tousled as he ran another hand through it, walking straight to y/n. a small smile graced his lips, embracing her in a warm and tight hug that made her heart leap into her throat.

“hey.” he said softly, slowly pulling from the hug.

“hey.” her voice was quiet and small, still recovering from hugging him. he always had that starstruck effect on her, even after all these years of knowing each other. 

“i’m sorry i was late, it is inexcusable and i kept you waiting. i get so distracted that it’s sometimes hard to pull my attention away from things.” he apologized quickly, his arms still around her, but there was distance. distance that y/n wanted to close because he was so warm and comforting.

“it’s fine. i’m just happy you’re here.” she replied, a soft smile gracing her lips as he kissed her cheek softly.

“well, where would you like to stroll, miss?” his voice mocking a posh british butler’s with his chin up, a mischievous glint in his eyes. her smile was brighter than the stars that were above them as they did their weekly nighttime stroll. 

And it would've felt like

A million little shining stars had just aligned

And I would've been so happy

y/n and her friends all had different colors on their faces, reflected from the christmas lights hung around the house. she turned away from the group, saying she needed another glass of champagne and offered to get anyone else a refill. she headed towards the kitchen, facing away from the front door as she poured more champagne into the glasses.

a small sigh escaped her red painted lips, as she looked over at the front door with the porch light on. just waiting for someone to walk through. the sky turned into a beautiful sunset, nearly time for dinner. and no sign of him. so she headed back to the group, trying to force the ball of hurt in her chest to disappear as the night carried on.

Christmas lights glisten

I've got my eye on the door

Just waiting for you to walk in

But the time is ticking

“you know how next week is my birthday right?” y/n asked, looking up from her book to the man on the other side of the couch. he glanced over, nodding with little attention towards her. she moved her legs from his lap and crawled towards him. “are you going to come over early?”

“i don’t think i will. i have to finish up a few things for work, but i should be there.” he responded, a small frown on his face.

she ignored the stab towards her heart, from him going back on his word but focused on the positive. “just as long as you come.” 

“i will be there, y/n. don’t worry.”

a reassuring smile in her direction, had the two of them back to focusing on their own things and the topic dropped with no worries. 

People ask me how I've been

As I comb back through my memory

How you said you'd be here

You said you'd be here

there were only a few decorations around her house, with a small tree in the middle of her living room. it had just been decorated earlier in the day, after y/n had tried waiting for him to show up earlier. like he said he would. she shook away the disappointment and called her friends to dinner.

y/n watched her friends, standing in her red dress and matching red lipstick. she realized that her dress didn’t have the purpose she wanted with the people who had shown up. she wanted to impress him tonight. to make him as starstruck as she always is around him. turns out it wasn’t going to go as planned.

And it was like slow motion

Standing there in my party dress

In red lipstick

With no one to impress

“come on, y/n. let’s go together. just forget about him and the whole male species.” an old childhood friend said, pulling her towards the small gathering of old friends.

“i really don’t want to. he will explain why he didn’t show up or reply to my messages. he isn’t as technology based as we are.” y/n defended him quickly. an upsetting feeling landed in the pit of her stomach as she started to dwell on the possibilities of why he wasn’t responding. 

“just have some fun for a few hours, and then you can go back to moping about him.” the friend replied and y/n decided the best way for them to get off her case was to just agree with no complaints. so she made her way inside, the cool air of the AC running, relieved her of the hot from the summer air outside. 

within a few hours the small group of old friends were laughing together, y/n feeling like she was the black sheep of the group. every time her phone buzzed, she quickly looked to see if it was him, but it resulted in just a social media notification which was irrelevant to her. she looked around the room, her heart aching for the man who was missing. 

And they're all laughing

As I'm looking around the room

But there was one thing missing

And that was the moment I knew

an hour or two after dinner, she was busy cleaning up from the recent attempt at beer pong. all of the others were outside on her deck, chatting and enjoying the cool night air. she wanted to have the rest of the night alone to mope around and cry, but didn’t want to kick out her friends for her own selfish reason. after cleaning the dining room table and the kitchen, she was about to finish drying the last dish, when she dropped the glass. 

the sound of glass breaking was heard through the house, followed by a shriek. a few of her friends, who were his friends first, came to see what had happened and found her holding back tears as she swept up the mess.

And the hours pass by

Now I just wanna be alone

“meet some of my closest friends, sweetheart.” he had taken her for a kayaking trip, inviting his close friends to join. he had already met her close friends so it was about time she met his. not to mention they had started to date only a few weeks ago, so he thought that if the relationship was going to have a future, his friends would help determine it.

a shy smile graced her lips as she introduced herself and they introduced themselves. and within a few minutes they were laughing and joking like old friends, and y/n couldn’t help the feeling of her heart swelling with happiness. 

after their kayaking adventure, which had nearly all of them fall into the lake at least 3 times, y/n decided to ride along with her newfound friends since he had to head home then straight to work and she had ridden in his car. she was quiet during the car ride, tipping the kayak was more work than it should’ve been. the others were talking about her boyfriend’s ex-girlfriends and ex-flings, joking around about them. one of the friends sat beside her, looked over and saw the tears threatening to fall.

“hey! stop with all that now. it isn’t funny for her, alright?” a small ‘thank-you’ smile was all she had to give to them to show them that she was grateful that they understood. some people don’t.

But your close friends always seem to know

When there's something really wrong

y/n finished cleaning the glass from the floor, ignoring the questions and proceeded on rushing down the hall towards the bathroom. she leaned against the sink, trying to reassure herself. she tried holding back her tears, letting out small hiccups and her breath catching each time.

it was silly. she was getting overworked because of a small glass breaking that had no significance towards him or her heartbreak occurring. yet something about that glass breaking caused her to feel like there was a crushing weight on her heart, threatening to crush it even more. she started to overthink, blocking out everything else which meant that she didn’t hear the footsteps of his friends that had followed her.

tears threatened to spill and she silently cursed herself for not using waterproof makeup. but in the end it didn’t matter because the sinking feeling of being nothing to someone started to whirl in her stomach again as she said 5 words in a broken voice.

“he said he’d be here.”

So they follow me down the hall

And there in the bathroom

I try not to fall apart

And the sinking feeling starts

As I say hopelessly

"He said he'd be here"

“what the hell?! you said you would be at the party yesterday and you didn’t show up!” y/n yelled at the man who casually was lounging on the couch. his eyebrow raised and a hand came up to run through his hair.

“i’m sorry. i was just-”

“busy. yeah i know. but you should know that small things like showing up or communicating if you are going to show up or not, matters to me! and it should matter to you as well.” she said, tears slowly falling from being disappointed once again by him.

“let me make it up for you.” his voice softening, standing up from the couch and making his way towards her.

“no.” she held her hand out towards him to stop him from coming any closer. her makeup ruined from her tears, dropping on her dress. “get out. i don’t want to see you right now. and you are not going to be able to make up for this with sex. i don’t want your damn body, i want you to show up and stay. and since that’s too hard for you then i want you to do what you’re best at and leave.”

a sigh was heard, her head down as he gave a quick kiss on the top of her head. “i’ll text you tomorrow.” he told her right before he closed the front door. once she heard his car leave her driveway, she broke down and fell onto the ground. 

tears streaming down her face as she tried rubbing them away, resulting in her hand stained with mascara and red lipstick. She had no idea why he never showed up when he was supposed to. he seemed so perfect at the beginning, sure showing up late was a bit of a flaw, but at least in the beginning he had texted her about why he showed up late. 

he was a package deal of happiness and disappointment.

And it was like slow motion

Standing there in my party dress

In red lipstick

With no one to impress

one of her friends, grabbed her and embraced her in a much needed hug. and that was when she broke down all the way from trying to keep it inside for such a long time. her loud sobs caused her other friends to follow the noise, still laughing until they saw her crying. it didn’t stop them from asking about him. about why he wasn’t the one hugging y/n, where he was, what he was doing nowadays, why he was missing from the party, why he was missing from her life so much. it hurt hearing the whispers over her loud sobs about how they were never going to work in the end anyway.

 “i-i just need a little time to calm down. i’m sorry. we ar-are going to have cake once i compose myself. c-can you guys please get it all ready for me, please?” she asked, trying to control herself from bursting out into tears as she wiped them away. they nodded, giving her reassuring but also pitying looks towards her as they left.

And they're all laughing

And asking me about you

But there was one thing missing (missing, missing)

And that was the moment I knew

she was crying behind the door that led to all of the guests at her parents’ house. a strangled sob forced its way out, as she held the back of the chair, trying to control herself before she approached the guests. but her thoughts running through her head made it harder and harder to compose herself and had her breakdown even more. her head was heavy and her eyes were droopy as she cried, her weight against the wall with one of her hands still clutching the back of the chair as the other one was covering her mouth. she didn’t want to be seen as broken and vulnerable to her extended family and she wanted to stop crying. but it was just so hard.

the door opened, her cousin’s face being the first to be seen until the door was opened wider and the rest of the family was there, staring at the crying y/n who was absolutely mortified to be found in such a vulnerable position. the pity from their faces was clear, they all knew the cause of her pain. and that she would never learn quick enough about when to stop before she was ruined.

What do you say, when tears are streaming down your face

In front of everyone you know?

y/n calmed herself down within a few minutes, wiping away the smudged makeup and telling herself to be brave and be strong. she slowly opened the bathroom door, walking down the hall slowly. she was scared that they would judge her. and that was when his voice appeared in her head and a memory overtook her thoughts.

And what do you do when the one who means the most to you

Is the one who didn't show?

“what if they hate me?” she asked, right before meeting his family. it was an official meeting, at their new years eve party, and this was the next step they decided on.

“then we elope when we want to get married.” he joked and her hand squeezed his tightly, making him wince. “calm down, sweetheart. they’ll love you. or at least like you. i dunno about my cousin though, he’s a tricky one to impress. but then again, your knowledge of completely random and irrelevant things will come in handy when trying to impress him. in fact, you will probably be his favorite one.”

a reassuring smile towards her made her heart soar above the clouds. then when he turned back to the road, she started to overthink again and tried to analyze everything that would happen.

“but i don’t want them to just like me. i want them to love me. is that too much to ask? yeah probably. after all, i’m not the smartest, nor prettiest, nor nicest person anyone will ever meet. not to mention i’m a bit clumsy when i get nervous. what if i spill red wine on your mom’s favorite couch or your dad’s dress shirt? or even the rug? or something white?! there are about a million things that could go wrong at this party alone!” she rambled on about the possibilities, not realizing he was grinning ear-to-ear about her nervousness. he pulled into the driveway of his childhood home and turned towards her, intertwining their hands.

“it doesn’t matter if they like you or not. because nothing they will say will make me upset and leave you. i love you too much for that. maybe to them you aren’t the smartest, nor prettiest, nor nicest, but you are you and that’s better than anything else… okay that didn’t really make sense, but what i’m trying to say is that being yourself is perfectly fine. you aren’t perfect but you’re you and it’s a good thing too. because i would not want to date steve jobs. if you’re this nervous about a party, which is your actual element, then repeat after me. i am brave.” he nodded for her to repeat.

“i am brave.” she said timidly.

“i am strong.”

“i am strong.”

“i am smart.”

“i am smart.” at this point, a smile broke out on her face. 

“i am beautiful.”

“i am beautiful.”

“i am okay and i will stop overthinking so i can live in the moment.”

this made both of them let out a small laugh, smiles wide across both of their faces. “i am okay and-”

You should've been here

And I would've been so happy

And it was like slow motion

“and i will stop overthinking so i can live in the moment.” y/n muttered under her breath as she turned the corner. the only light being the candles on her birthday cake that was on the counter. a wide, genuine smile was on her face at the sight of the cake. then they started to all sing to her, not the best, nor the prettiest, nor award winning, but it was brilliant. because it showed that they cared.

“make a wish, y/n.” someone called once they finished. closing her eyes, she thought of the one thing she wanted out of anything and she blew out the candles. a loud cheer erupted from everyone. someone started to cut the cake into pieces as the others gathered around her and gave her birthday wishes and hugs.

Standing there in my party dress

In red lipstick

With no one to impress

And they're all standing around me singing

"Happy birthday to you" 

“we need to talk.”

But there was one thing missing 

“please, just listen to me!”

And that was the moment I knew

“it really hurts and i want it to stop. so please make it stop.”

Ooh, I knew

“i’m so sorry. i never wanted to hurt you so i will stop…”

“please don’t leave me!”

Ooh

once everyone had cake and ice cream, they slowly left y/n’s house one by one. it was finally a peaceful night, being alone. she changed out of her party dress, slipping into her pjs and wiping away any remaining makeup from her face. after making a bag of popcorn and slipping under her covers, she decided to look at her phone. finally, after ignoring it for half of the night. 

a scoff came out of her mouth when she read the text message on her screen from him.

i’m sorry, i didn’t make it. he had sent it just 20 minutes ago

y/n thought about sending him a large paragraph saying how he manages to break her heart at the smallest things and how he never shows up. but she was done caring for the day. she was done worrying an wasting all of her thoughts about him and getting anxious when he never replied. her feelings would probably change in the morning and she would send the paragraph about her feelings, but right in the moment she wasn’t going to open up to him. she’s done it too much before, so in the moment currently, she sent 3 words instead. i’m sorry too

You called me later

And said, "I'm sorry, I didn't make it"

And I said, "I'm sorry too"

And that was the moment I knew

[fishprojects]

A witch named Lemony

I sometimes write things! Please give it a peek if you have the time! : D

Summary: A distraught mother summons a witch to find her daughter. She didn’t think it would work. 

Length: 7k 

Margaro Collins was gnawing on a knuckle, watching the television without actually taking anything in. Her leg was bouncing uncontrollably. She glanced at the clock again, but it was only forty seconds since she last looked. There was still too much time left. She reluctantly let her eyes fall on the screen again, it was a spy movie. She’d normally enjoy them.

There was a knock on the door and Margaro threw herself off the sofa. One hand twisted the handle without a second thought and she flung it open. She froze.

“Miss Collins?”

“Yes… and you are…”

“Lemony Southeil, we spoke on the phone?”

Margaro frowned at the girl on her doorstep. She did think the witch sounded surprisingly young on the phone but she thought it could just be a spirited voice. Even if her grandmother guessed Lemony Southeil’s age wrong from when they had first met, she should at least be 90 years old. If anything, she didn’t look much older than the sleep-deprived student intern at work.

“May I come in?” Lemony asked.

Margaro’s eyes flickered over Lemony’s appearance one more time. Barely out of her twenties, she had subtle Asian features as her grandmother had said. A round moon face, a little plump and long black hair. She was dressed in a simple pink peacoat with a blue suede handbag over her shoulder.

Almost reluctantly, Margaro stood aside.

Lemony picked up the wooden steamer trunk next to her and stepped in. As she passed Margaro, there was the faint smell of herbs and flowers.

“Shoes on or off?” Lemony asked, as she studied the house.

“Oh, you can keep them on,” Margaro mumbled. She side-stepped the witch, turning off the television and towards the kitchen. “Can I… get you a drink?”

“Water would be nice, thank you. That hill outside your house was quite the trek I didn’t think I’d make it,” Lemony laughed.

She turned to Margaro still laughing and stopped abruptly.

“Sorry, I know the situation is dire.”

Margaro didn’t say anything and went to the sink with a glass. She had her back turned, but could hear the witch wandering about the sitting area. The trunk was gently let down with a weary creak, and footsteps padded closer to the kitchen doorway.

“Surprisingly, you don’t look anything like Jill,” Lemony said lightly.

Margaro turned and handed over the glass.

“Jill, my grandma?”

“It’s been a while but I’m sure I remember correctly. Jill had dimples - the whole Collins family did.”

Margaro frowned again.

“I don’t mean to be rude, but… you don’t look as if…”

“I don’t look old enough to have met your grandmother as a girl, right,” Lemony said. “Well, being a witch does have its small perks. But you didn’t call me for my youth decotions.” She paused to take a greedy gulp of water. “I could give you something for that bruise, though.”

Margaro’s hand immediately flew up to the purple rose on her arm, half hidden by her rolled up sleeve.

“This isn’t about me, it’s about my Amelia.”

Lemony smiled. It wasn’t a kind smile.

“Could you show me the drawings you mentioned?” Lemony said, she emptied the glass but didn’t had it back. “Of the green man.”

Margaro took the witch to her daughter’s bedroom. Or her temporary bedroom anyway, the house was her sister’s after all. Blue-tacked drawings were neatly arranged on one wall in grid formation. Another drawing, only half finished were sitting on the desk, various crayons scattered across it.

Lemony gently traced a finger on the drawings. A thick green hedge with two stick legs protruding the end was placed next to a stick figure of a smiling girl.

“Green man, she calls him,” Lemony whispered.

“I thought she was making him up at first, but then I got worried it was some pervert preying on her in the woods,” Margaro said, wringing her hands. “She always would run ahead and off the path in those woods. I told her not to but-“ her voice pitched and her eyes and nose stung.

Lemony peeled one of the green man drawings off the wall. “Could I use this? Mind you, Amelia won’t be getting this back.”

Margaro nodded, not trusting her voice to stay clear.

Lemony put the glass on the desk so she could reach inside of her peacoat. She produced a box of matches with an unusually beautiful gold engraving. She popped a match and lit it. Then proceeded to burn the drawing. Lemony closed her eyes.

“Let me see with yours eyes,” she whispered.

The fire abruptly roared in a flash of green and ate up the rest of the drawing in two quick bites and disappeared under Lemony’s fist. She stood still, eyes still closed, clenching the remaining ashes.

When she finally looked at Margaro again, she smiled again. The ashes were dusted into the empty glass and dropped in several crayons.

“Your daughter’s green man isn’t a stalker or a pervert,” Lemony said, almost too casually.

“You know who he is? Is Amelia with him right now?” Margaro reached to grasp Lemony by the shoulders. “Where is she?”

Lemony stared. “Please don’t touch me.”

Margaro jerked backwards, holding her hands up defensively.

“I have some pre made spells for this kind of situation, but hopefully I won’t need to use them,” she said, back to her jovial self.

Lemony snatched the glass and marched out of Amelia’s bedroom, heading straight for her trunk.

“Open,” she commanded as she approached.

The locks and clasps clicked and the trunk fell open, the two sides falling flat on the floor, unveiling its contents. Margaro quickly peered over Lemony’s shoulder to look inside. It was rather haphazardly crammed together. Rows of corked bottles were aligned in a slotted shelf, two candles, an iron horse shoe, a laptop, several different coloured nail varnish, a small silver bell, acorns, a silk black cloth, a hand mirror and first aid kit.

Lemony picked up one of the bottles labelled camphor, and sprinkled several finely chopped leaves into the glass. A drawing app was opened on her phone. She scrawled a symbol onto the canvas. The hand holding the glass hovered over it, and she let its contents fall.

Margaro blinked.

If her eyes were being honest, she just saw the leaves, ash and crayons splash onto the screen, creating ripples over the opened app, as if it was actually made of water. The items slowly sunk below the surface and out of sight.

Her grandmother always swore by the existence of the witch named Lemony Dove May Southeil. When Margaro was a girl, her grandmother told her stories about the day they went to Brighton beach and how Margaro’s grand-uncle went missing. The police searched up and down the beach and could not find the boy. Days, weeks and soon months of waiting tortured the family. Then finally, the witch Lemony Southeil was summoned - a polite young lady carrying a large steamer trunk.

“She didn’t like tea or coffee, oh no, only asked for water,” Margaro’s grandmother had said. “She gave me a piece of candy and told me she was going to get my brother back. I don’t think I believed her. She didn’t look anything like a witch. She looked Asian! Imagine that! Probably was Chink or something rather! And so young! But she spoke like an Englishman and promised to find your granduncle.

“She asked for some of his favourite toys and clothes, dropped them in a bucket of water with some herbs and quiet words. She stared at it, we all did. But all we saw was our reflections looking back all confused. She then wanted to go back to the beach. So we drove her there.

“The witch told us to wait for her on the shore and not follow her. She began wading into the water. We were afraid she was gonna pull up his lifeless drowned body in the shallow but she kept going. Soon her head disappeared under and when she didn’t come back up, we all thought she drowned. Your great grandfather swam after her but couldn’t find the witch. We had to call the police again. They were convinced we killed her - and probably your granduncle too.

“Just as they were pulling us into their cars to take us away, we heard yelling. We could see the witch bobbing her head above the water, waving an arm for help. The coastguards swam after her, and all together they dragged out your granduncle. And he was alive. Alive! Without a drop of water in his lungs! He didn’t remember a speck, and the police had many questions for that young witch. But she had no time for it. She waved a hand at them and told them to leave her alone. And they did.

“She then accepted a small sum for payment and our gratitude. Your great-grandfather never touches another lady but he pulled that witch into a hug. She didn’t seem to like it much. But before she left she had us make a promise. Your granduncle was never allowed to go near the sea ever again, not one foot in the water. He can dunk his head inside as many baths or swimming pools as he pleases, but the salt sea was forbidden. Because he’ll be taken away again and she wasn’t sure she’d be able to get him out.

“That got me scared. I began crying like the sap I was. So the witch bent down and put a hand on my head. She told me if I ever really needed her - and it had to be very very serious and if no one else could help, she’ll come to me again. All I had to do was write her a letter with her full name on top and burn it in a fireplace.”

Amelia and Margaro was arguing as they walked home from her school. She then ran off into the woods and Margaro followed. She couldn’t find Amelia again. As much as she hated to, she had to call her husband - her soon-to-be ex-husband and the police. She was half convinced he kidnapped Amelia but he gave her a dirty look. An army of officers lead by her husband marched into the woods looking for Amelia. They never came out. Eleven hours later, the whole area was sectioned off until the rest of the police could figure out what to do next. No one was allowed into the woods anymore.

Margaro was forced back into the house and commanded to wait. She was ready to die. Without Amelia she really though the end of the world was upon her. She was crying uncontrollably when she called her sister who was six hours away doing a show. They made small talk to help Margaro pass the time and not mull over what could have happened to her daughter. They spoke about her grandmother who had passed away six years ago. They spoke about the witch her grandmother always went on about. Her sister still remembered how one was meant to summon her. Of course Margaro didn’t think it would work. But she was desperate. She was willing to carve symbols of Satan into the floorboards and bargain with the devil himself if he had the power to bring Amelia safely home.

Then the phone rang. And the caller said she was Lemony Southeil.

Margaro stared at the witch who was opening up google maps on her phone. It had already set directions to a point on the map.

“I normally wouldn’t involve outsiders, it would only put them in harm’s way, ” Lemony said abruptly. “But this case is a little different.”

She stood up so she could face Margaro properly.

“Your presence might actually help the situation,” she said. “Bearing that in mind, it might get a little dangerous. Well, a little to quite a bit. Or a lot. Most likely a lot.”

“I’m coming with you,” Margaro said. She didn’t care whether or not the witch wanted her to follow, she was going if it meant finding Amelia.

Lemony laughed dryly.

“Of course you do.”

Lemony picked up her handbag and begun walking to the door but in all of Margaro’s drowning anxiety she forgot something.

“The police are watching the house,” Margaro blurted. “They… don’t want me to leave.”

Lemony stopped dead in her tracks, she appeared to be thinking. She grumbled something and fished out a spool of white ribbon from her handbag. She then pulled up the hem of her peacoat to reach for her belt. It was a leather utility belt with small pouches aligned the front. On her waist was a pearl-handled knife hanging in a holster. She used the knife to cut a long length of the ribbon.

She held it out to Margaro.

“Arm, please.”

Margaro obediently raised her arm and the ribbon was tied around her wrist - it in fact had to be wrapped around her arm quite a few times because of its length. She was about to comment it seemed to have been cut too long but decided against it.

“You are not here, nor there, not anywhere,” Lemony murmured. “I want you to really believe it. You are not anywhere to be seen, Miss Collins. No one knows where you are.”

Margaro didn’t know what else to do other than nod.

“Then say it. I am not here, nor there, not anywhere.”

“I am not here, not there, not anywhere.”

The witch took a half step closer to her, her eyes old and serious. “You have to really believe it, you understand?”

Margaro nodded.

“Then you should bundle up, it’s a little chilly outside.”

Margaro was not sure if she still actually believed in the witch’s magic. She was not sure why she was following this stranger she just met, into the woods where a whole team of officers had vanished. With no credentials or proof of what she said she was - other than what could have been a few parlour tricks. But she was prepared to look stupid and go along with the charade as long as it brought her one step closer to Amelia.

She stepped out of the house whispering the magic words to herself. Alleged magic words. But Lemony did give her an ill-fitted encouraging smile when she heard her. They climbed down the steps and opened the front gate. The police were parked opposite her house, she recognised the man in the passenger seat. Then again, she knew nearly everyone in the local police force.

His head was bent low, most likely scrolling through his phone but the squeak of the gate made him look up. Margaro felt ice on her spine but Lemony repeated the phrase in front of her.

“I am not here, nor there, not anywhere,” Margaro said, still staring at the officer.

The man’s gaze lazily dropped down again, his partner in the driver’s seat didn’t even look awake. After ten seconds of no other response from the officers, Margaro breathed loudly through her nose.

She wasn’t sure what just happened.

“Let’s go, Miss Collins,” Lemony urged.

Margaro nodded and followed the witch away from the police car and down the hill, right towards the woods the green man lived.

The sleepy village Margaro had always lived in sat at the edge of Plymouth. It was grey, wet with many steep hills carving the land. Just ten minutes up the road were the open farmlands and horse breeders, sometimes a wooly black cow would casually block the road which Amelia loved. The closest train station was forty minutes by car, dotted mostly with local businesses and not even a cinema. Most children raised in the village would have to leave anyway as the closest university to them would have been Plymouth. The community’s treasure was the close-by National Trust forestry, 240 hectares of pinewood and lavender fields. Alongside the picnic areas, the walks, the bike routes were even bushcraft and survival activities made for all ages.

Margaro never liked the woods. Every time she went the soil was still damp and soft, it would cling to her heels and climb her legs. The trees were like giants looming over them, with the glints of sunlight between the branches looking like eyes. It watched the ants below like predators, waiting for them to near the dark shade at their feet.

But her husband and Amelia loved it. Every week they would hike it and every week Margaro would leave  hating it just a little bit more, aching needles in her legs, and mud on her jeans.

Amelia saw magic in the woods. She would run ahead ignoring Margaro’s calls to stay in sight and on the path. She knew she shouldn’t worry, the woods were always full of people, and Amelia had walked the route and off it enough that she knew it better than her times tables. She saw fairies in the lavender fields, goblins in the trees and water sprites skating over the lake. And protecting them all was her green man.

According to Amelia, the green man was a small man, smaller than even a human child. He wore moss like a heavy cape and hood. He smelt like the pine, had skin that looked like earth, a voice that sounded like tree bark. He was not very easy to see in his green disguise, and in fact Amelia has only met him a rare few instances. He was very shy after all. But she loved him to pieces.

Margaro recited this to Lemony over the phone. This interested the witch, and even more-so when Margaro mentioned the drawings of him.

“You think this green man has Amelia,” Margaro pleaded. “Please tell me if she’s safe. Is he dangerous?”

They were walking much too slowly for Margaro’s liking. The woods was not far from her sister’s house so by the time a taxi would have been arranged, they would likely be at the woods already. Despite that, Margaro wished she did call.

“Is he the reason why those officers hadn’t come out of the woods?” Margaro was begging now.

She wanted to grab Lemony and shake the answer out of her but couldn’t risk offending her again

“Do you believe in fairies?” Lemony asked.

“Do I believe in…”

Something in Margaro snapped. She stormed in front of Lemony, her shoulders square and jaw tight.

“Where the hell is my daughter?” she hissed.

Lemony averted her gaze. “She believes, doesn’t she?”

“The green man is a fairy, is that it?” Margaro demanded. “She’s been kidnapped by a fairy?”

The witch still refused to meet her hard gaze. “No, not kidnapped. That’s not what his kind does.”

Margaro inhaled sharply. Her shoulders sagged.

“Who is the green man?” she asked.

“You already know who he is, Amelia described him perfectly. Guardian of the trees, she calls him,” Lemony said. She dodged round Margaro so they could keep walking again. “”Either your 8-year-old either memorised a slice of Scottish mythology or found the genuine article.”

Margaro hesitated. “Is she in danger?”

There was a long pause.

“Ghillie Dhu dislike humans so they make themselves hard to see. It’s why they wear clothes woven out of moss and leaves as part of their disguise,” Lemony replied. “They’re well known to have the earth and tree roots eat up human trespassers and let you rot below. But- but-“

Lemony rose a finger to Margaro’s growing look of horror.

“They are kind to children and are equally well known to lead lost young ones out of the woods,” Lemony finished. “He won’t harm your Amelia.”

Margaro silently absorbed the information. Mythology was never a strong point for her to begin with, and she grew out of the church community as a teenager. It was growing more difficult and riskier to go along with the witch’s pantomime. Inviting her to the house was one thing, following her into the woods against the police’s orders was something else entirely. Amelia could be wandering home by herself already and be banging on the door, crying for her mother. And here she was, with a self-proclaimed witch off to find a Scottish fairy in the woods where a maniac could have butchered the police to death.

If anything, it was just the ammunition her husband needed in their custody battle. Blatant insanity and dabbling in witchcraft. If he ever finds a way out of the woods, that is.

“Are you completely sure?” she asked quietly.

“I’ve never actually met one,” Lemony admitted. “Like I said, they don’t like to be seen, especially by adults. But that’s why I wanted her drawing. I wanted to feel the memories she carried in it. And I believe her.”

Those words gutted Margaro.

“If…”

‘If only you did too,’ her husband’s voice was sneering in her ear.

“Ghilli Dhu are deadly creatures to man, and when you explained to me the situation with your… husband, I could guess why it could have had something to do with those disappearing officers,” Lemony said.

“What?”

They arrived at the mouth of the woods. Plenty of giant plaques pointing to the various car parks and entrances, but this was the route the Collins family always took. Margaro shivered and pulled the zipper of her parka closer to her throat.

The pine trees were unwelcoming as ever, all jagged black shapes like teeth bearing a curt welcome. The beginning of British winter blew cold air and dimmed the skies far too quickly. The frigid isolation it bore was only cut by the flapping yellow ribbons of police tape.

Margaro’s phone buzzed. One bar signal but it was her sister. She chewed her lip.

“Are you going to take it?” Lemony asked without looking.  Her eyes were up in the trees.

Margaro took a step away from the witch.

“Marble, you okay?” her sister’s voice had a little edge to it. “The show’s over, screw the encores, I’m getting in my car.”

“Don’t speed, Lily,” Margaro said as steadily as she could.

“Did the freak showed again? Have you call my lawyer?”

“No. He… they… there’s just a car watching the house, I guess in case if I was involved with Amelia’s disappearance.”

“Freak can blame you all he wants, it’s more fire for the lawyers. I’m telling you Abbie can handle this. Just hole up and I’ll be home soon, Marble.”

“Don’t speed,” Margaro said again. “I mean it.”

“Yeah, you got enough on your plate without worrying if I’m gonna kill myself on the road. Just remember Abbie can come see you if you want. It might even be safer that way.”

“Thanks, Lily.”

“See you soon, Marble.”

Margaro hung up and dry heaved for a moment. She felt sick. She didn’t know why.

Lemony was still staring up at the trees. She brought out a flashlight from her handbag and clicked it on, but it was not dark enough yet for it. She placed it under her chin so it lit up her face menacingly and she pulled a wide grin at Margaro.

Margaro frowned.

Lemony stopped smiling and pointed the light on the trail.

“Sorry, bad decision,” she said quickly. She then stuck out her free hand. “Undo the ribbon. Tie one end to my wrist, and I’ll do the same for you.”

Margaro raised an eyebrow but did as she was told.

“Tighter,” Lemony prompted. “Double knot it.”

Margaro obediently squeezed the knot to secure it. Lemony then tied the other end of the ribbon to Margaro.

Torch in hand, the witch ducked under the police tape with Margaro following quickly behind her, feeling the tug of the ribbon beckoning her into the magical woods she hated.

They walked side by side on the hikers trail. It was darker under the umbrella of pine leaves stretched over their heads. The torchlight dashed over the berry bushes aligned next to them. Lemony kept staring at them, her eyes darting left and right as if tracking something. Margaro tried to follow her gaze but only saw the outline of greenery off-path.

In Lemony’s free hand was the phone, they had 25 minutes left until they reach their destination.

“That will take us to Amelia?” Margaro asked.

“Most of the way, it depends on the cooperation of the green man,” Lemony said absently, but her attention was still on the shrubbery.

“You think he had anything to do with those missing officers?”

“I have a few ideas.”

“Like being dragged into hell by the fairy.”

“It has crossed my…” Lemony’s voice trailed off. She squinted into the dark. “Bugger all.”

Margaro felt the yank of the ribbon again as Lemony leaped off the trail. She waded through the berry bushes, the torchlight sweeping at her feet.

“What now?” Margaro whined.

Lemony pushed her phone into Margaro’s hands so she could search the ground freely with one hand, whilst the other held the torch over her head. Her fingers skittered across the earth until she found a black wallet. She flipped it open, revealing a metal police badge and photo identification.

She handed it over to Margaro. “Was he part of your daughter’s rescue team?”

Even in the poor lighting, Margaro was quick to put a name to the face. An honest, hardworking constable, with a boyish face, and who respected her husband.

Lemony was still searching the ground.

“What happened to them?” Margaro demanded.

Lemony ignored her, she was mumbling incoherent phrases as her hand probed further away from the trail.

“Lemony!” Margaro hissed sharply.

“Quiet, Honeytongue! He’s still alive!” Lemony yelled back.

Her hand stopped in front of a tree, and she drew a circle into the dirt. The more lines etched into the circle, the more elaborate the shape became. Margaro watched bemused, the ribbon biting at her wrist.

Lemony reached for her belt once more, and this time picked open one of the leather pouches, which contained a small bottle of cloves. She uncorked it and sprinkled it over the sigil.

“He is not yours to take, ancient one. He is not yours!” Lemony whispered so faintly Margaro had to strain her ears, yet the words carried weight in iron. Ice prickled her skin, her bones felt rigid, and all the pine trees seemed to have black eyes watching them closely.

Margaro wanted to go back to the trail, but she didn’t want to interrupt the witch. She couldn’t. No matter how much the trees didn’t want them there. She didn’t notice the cloves melting into the earth, but felt it shudder under her feet.

As if a child whose eaten too much, it moaned and twisted. Even the giant pine trees began to tremble as the vibrations grew stronger. The child’s stomach was full of gas and was ready to belch.

The sound of the first crack made Margaro fall to her knees. She dropped the phone and police badge. Sharp spiderwebs broke beneath her. The trees shifted uncomfortably. Margaro could hear their roots writhing closer to the surface.

Lemony was still in front of the tree, her hands buried in the earth, still whispering her iron words.

“He is not yours!”

The spiderweb cracks around the earth were expanding. Something was coming out.

Suddenly, the sound of an old man - no, a child, the grating of bark, the creak of floorboards - a new voice thundered over the violent rumble, and it demanded silence. The earth heaved with complaint but shrivelled into itself. The broken ground sealed and flattened. The trees stilled. But the eyes continued to watch, and the witch was not happy.

She was back on her feet, eyes furrowed, fists clenched. She glared at the black eyes squarely, refusing to look away.

“Does he really deserve this, slowly suffocating to death wrapped in tree roots?” Lemony shouted upwards. “Tell your trees to return them! You know this is not the way!”

She received no answer.

“What… was that?” Margaro said faintly.

Lemony paced about in a small semicircle, hands to her mouth. So Margaro looked back down at the earth.

“Where’s the constable?”

Margaro’s words finally made Lemony turn to her. A finger was snapped at her.

“We can still save him - maybe the others. Plead to your daughter to stop the green man,” the witch commanded.

Margaro gaped, not immediately processing the order.

“We have the attention of her captor, Miss Collins!” Lemony jabbed her finger up to the trees. “Tell your daughter she can save that constable!”

Then the trees shuddered. Margaro felt no wind on her face but they all seemed to shake their heads, rustling, snapping, laughing.

Margaro always hated the forest but this was different.

The witch picked up her phone and picked a leaf off it. Margaro noticed the destination on the screen was much shorter. Much closer. The witch closed the app and went through an image gallery. She opened a picture of a sigil - far more detailed than all the others she had drawn, and held it upwards.

“Cast away your glamour, ghillie dhu! A witch summons you!!”

The phone was whirring, far too loudly for  such a small thing in the witch’s hand. The screen burned with light, and the pine giants shrivelled back as far as it could. The old child with tree bark in his words yelped, perhaps in shock or pain. The woods empathetically shuddered and chaos erupted around them. Strange animal noises Margaro could not identify were whispering vigorously in all directions. And the black eyes moved with them.

Lemony looked at Margaro again, her long black hair spinning cobwebs over her wide eyes.

“Close your eyes,” she said - or did Margaro’s grandmother say it?

The calliope of light broke free from the witch’s phone. It flew with enough force to throw it out of her hand and stagger her. It flooded the sky, the forest, beyond Margaro’s squeezed eyelids and into her mind. All she knew was the explosion of light.

The old child with tree bark words snarled, and Margaro could hear the light burn him.

Then the light dissolved.

Margaro slowly opened her eyes again, white spots in her vision and the early evening darkness falling over the woods. But she could not miss the small figure perched on a tree branch above them, just out of reach of any human hand.

It looked vaguely human, with a face of a child but hard eyes of an old man, unkempt black hair with branches woven into them, and wore a hooded cape made of moss and leaves over its spindly body.

“Green man…” Margaro whispered.

The ghillie dhu bared its teeth. Uneven but sharp.

“Talk to him, Margaro. This is why I brought you here,” the witch said calmly. “He’ll listen to you.”

Margaro’s eyes darted back and forth between the fairy and the witch.

“You’re Amelia’s mother,” the witch urged. “Both you and him want the same thing.”

Margaro wasn’t sure about that.

“Amelia has no time for adults who refuse to listen,” the ghillie dhu spoke properly for the first time. His voice still grated like bark, his pronunciation was awkward, and just wholly made Margaro uncomfortable. “Go back to your paper laws and wooden masks, Margaro Collins.”

The witch knelt down beside Margaro who still hasn’t moved. Her eyes narrowed.

“What are you doing, Miss Collins? Talk to him!” the witch snapped. “Tell him to return your daughter and the officers, this is your personal business, not his!”

Margaro’s shoulders folded in itself. Her head bowed. She couldn’t speak. She had no idea what was happening and wanted to just leave the damned woods.

A hand gingerly touched Margaro’s shoulder - Lemony’s hand.

“Miss Collins, please don’t shut down on me now,” Lemony said gently. “You were strong for Amelia before, you can do it again now.”

She then untied the ribbon on Margaro’s wrist.

“You can do this, you’re stronger than you can even imagine.”

Margaro’s eyes and nose stung again, painfully, but she kept her jaw square. She looked up to face the ghillie dhu properly. The old child in green clothes.

“Please give me my daughter back,” she said quietly, but she knew he’d hear her every word. “I love her more than I could love anything, and I’d do anything for her.” Her breath hitched but her words came out clear. She rose to her feet, cautiously. “Please give her back. Please give me my Amelia back.”

She turned around, as if expecting to see her child also watching her from the trees. Somewhere.

“Amelia, pet, can you hear me? Mummy’s sorry, I didn’t mean to angry with you,” Margaro called out. “I know you love the woods, and of course you would - you were born here, this is your home. We don’t have to move away, we can live here if you want, as long as you’re happy, pet, it’s all that matters. So please, please…” it hitched again and this time she couldn’t hold back the sting of tears. She muffled a sob into a hand and hoped it would go away. She had shown weakness so many times in front of Amelia but now she had to prove to everyone that she had strength.

Margaro wiped her nose with a sleeve and looked back at the ghillie dhu.

“Please give her back, I want so much for her,” she begged. “My girl is my life, green man.”

The ghillie dhu’s face was unreadable. It slid off the tree branch and landed on the floor without a sound. The moss cape fanned out like green wings. The witch stepped aside. It walked towards Margaro, reaching no higher than her waist. It was even smaller than Amelia.

Margaro stiffened and squared her shoulders. She didn’t want to wring her hands and show her anxiety, so her hands stayed at her side, pinching the hem of her parka.

It then slowly, as not to frighten Margaro, stretched a hand and touched her elbow. The one where her bruise was.

“A man who hurts the mother of his child, is no father for Amelia,” he said gravely.

Margaro nodded, agreeing.

“Those who swear to protect man, and turn a blind eye to a hurt woman do not deserve to be called protectors,” he continued.

Margaro furrowed her eyebrows. She couldn’t understand what the ghillie dhu was saying, until her eyes fell to the police badge by their feet. Still open with the face of the constable staring back.

Her jaw dropped briefly.

“N-No, it’s not their fault, they just had too much faith in my husband,” Margaro stammered. “They look out for their own.”

“But they didn’t,” the ghillie dhu said. “They ignored your pleas in favour of the lies their friend fed them. They have all failed in their duty. And no one would ever judge them for it.”

The constable with the boyish face looked suddenly even younger to Margaro.

“It was my fault too,” Margaro mumbled. “Whenever there was doubt, I got scared and would go back to hiding it. It got too easy for me. Hiding was all I knew. And that was terrible for Amelia.” She shook her head. “Please don’t blame those officers, green man. They blindly trusted my husband but they did not mean any harm - especially to Amelia. They all adored her.”

The ghillie dhu’s eyes were cold.

“And Amelia’s father? Would you plead for his life too?” he asked.

Margaro’s throat felt thick. The bruises throbbed.

“Amelia loves her father,” she said, more despondent than she thought she would be.

“Even if he tortures her mother in front of her?”

Margaro closed her eyes. “There are days when he’s a wonderful man, when he’s kind and gentle. He always take Amelia to the woods every week without fail, it was his promise to her. It’s special to both of them.”

“Even if he controls every part of her life?”

“He gives her everything she wants, presents and more. She is daddy’s little princess. He sees so much of himself in her, they’re doing everything together. They love each other more than me.”

“Even if he hits her?”

Margaro breathed through her nose. She looked at the ghillie dhu again.

“I don’t want him to be her father anymore,” she said. “The moment he raised his hand at her, I knew it. It was the first time he had done it, and I want it to stay that way.” Margaro’s eyes blurred. “Amelia deserves better than that.”

The ghillie dhu nodded.

“Would you plead for his life, Margaro Collins?” the ghillie dhu asked once more.

Margaro let her tears leak out, her chin trembled for a moment so she cleared her throat to make sure she could hear herself speak loud and true.

“No, I won’t,” she said.

The ghillie dhu smiled at her, it was crooked but handsome. It held out a hand, and Margaro took it. The fairy walked her back to the hiker’s path, hand in hand, and pointed towards the lavender fields.

There was Amelia Collins, a flower crown in her hair, her book bag clutched to her chest.

Margaro let go of the fairy’s hand and ran into the field. She didn’t know if it was rude or not but her mind was blank the moment she saw her little girl, so pretty and perfect in her little garden.

Amelia began to cry.

“I’m sorry, mummy-“ she began to wail.

Margaro skidded onto her knees and threw herself onto her daughter. She cried loudly for the first time since a while. She kissed Amelia’s snotty cheeks and whispered ‘Mummy’s sorry too’ over and over. She wouldn't dare let go of her and picked her right up, carrying her out of the lavender fields.

When she was back on the hiker’s path, the ghillie dhu nor the witch was anywhere to be seen. But confused, mud-stained officers began emerging from the woods and joined Margaro on the path.

The police let Margaro take Amelia home, who was exhausted and a little hungry. The officers who had been gone for nearly 24 hours were to be questioned at length, as the police service were just about to get confirmation for a SWAT team to comb the woods to find them. Margaro didn’t care.

Her husband was the only one who never made it out of the woods. The local children were already spinning a story about the man who was spirited away, melting him into one of the village’s urban legends. A fairy tale.

There was no sign of the witch either. With the exception of her broken phone. The police took it with them but Margaro expected they wouldn’t find anything useful on it.

Two hours later, Margaro’s sister Lily came screeching into the driveway. Three speeding fines were on their way in mail but at least she was in one piece. The witch’s steamer trunk was no longer at the house. Lily dumped a pile of property magazines on the dining table, mostly of apartments closer to London - where they were planning to escape to. Instead, whilst Amelia slept in front of the television, Margaro asked Lily to sell the house to her. She had promises to keep now, after all.

Four days later, a short letter came with a PO Box address, requesting a cheque of £45.15 to cover a train fare. It was signed by Lemony Southeil. Margaro signed a cheque of £50 and included a thank-you card and a picture Amelia had drawn for her. She stuck a first class stamp on the letter and posted it the next day.

The police had come regularly asking questions about her missing husband. They left looking more suspicious each time. But Lily’s lawyer soon chased them away as her husband disappeared with his very comrades at arms, and Margaro was being watched at Lily’s house - by police, neighbours and two news stations.

“I miss daddy,” Amelia said, on her way back from school.

Margaro let her guide her through the long way back home - through the woods.

“I know, pet.”

“Will he ever come back?”

“I don’t know.”

Amelia swung her book bag back and forth.

“Will the witch ever come back?” Amelia asked.

Margaro stopped her daughter for a moment, knelt down and took her hands. She faced her daughter properly and gave her a serious look.

“Here is something special you need to remember, Amelia,” Margaro said. “If you ever need her, and it has to be very very serious, and if no one else can help, the witch will come to you. All you have to do is write her a letter with her full name on top and burn it in a fireplace.”

Amelia nodded slowly, nose wrinkling in concentration.

“But we don’t have a fireplace,” she said.

Margaro giggled and whispered in her daughter’s ear. “ I actually used the stove.”

Amelia laughed with her, and took her hand. They came at a forked road but Amelia knew which way was home. She probably could walk the woods blindfolded.

“I don’t remember the witch’s name properly,” Amelia said. “Do you think she’d mind?”

Margaro smiled. “The witch’s name is Lemony Dove May Southeil. And as long as you put your heart into it, I’m sure she won’t mind at all.”

[mrbonds0-blog]

Melanie’s Ambition

On the counter lay the dozens of bottles of fluids, all for paint, as she groggily hobbled her way to the bathroom, sick from the tiredness of the morning. She popped and screwed off the dozens of caps and lids, scattering the paint on her eyebrows, to her eyes and her cheeks, and squirting the fluid of gel into her hand to shape her hair exactly how she wanted it. The feeling of death after awakening was soon gone, and she was instilled with fervor the minute she snapped the last bottle of those dozens of caps.

Walking her way down the crisp white stairs, her shoes clacking down and echoing through empty and artless walls, and into her kitchen, where a small white dog flapped it’s tiny little ball of a tail, climbing out of her purse and to her foot.

“Hello, Puff,” she said to the small, yelping little thing at her feet, “are you ready for your breakfast?”

She called down the servants to scurry in from the main gates, through the garden and into her home, where they quickly sped up the best omelette that had ever existed, at least in her eyes. She unsheathed her fork and knife as more servants brought her a napkin to tuck into her chest, and she dined, staring at the rising sun through the dark horizon. The golden glistening of the egg sparkled as she popped each bite into her mouth, one she valued just a little less each time.

“I don’t really like the sun,” she said, “It always shows too much.”

Sometimes, she wish she could see through others.

She fetched the servants to take her plates and quickly gathered herself, walking to the mirror to reapply her lipstick and keeping everything to the perfection she wanted it to be.

She glided out her front door, peering at the well kempt garden she kept to look at once every so often. She quickly sniffed a rose, contorting her face, and threw it into the grass. Slow steps soon followed, the back door of her car opening as she positioned herself into the dark leather interior.

The review mirror in the front seat swiveled, a man with dark eyes behind darker glasses had a slight, thin smile across his face. “Where to, madame?” He asked beneath the brim of his hat.

“I decided I’d go to work today,” she said, glancing thoughtlessly out the right side window, clacking her nails on the side of the car. “Do me some good to finally get out.”

“We’ll be there in the usual time. Traffic will not be much of a delay, and we’ll be right on schedule.”

“Perfect.”

Resting her purse upon her sculpted shoulder, watching the endless stream of cars roll their way past her vision, Melanie drifted into a peaceful sleep, the driver watching ever so curiously from his tilted mirror. He chuckled as her head rested upon the car window, and the moan of the parking garage door announced her inconvenient arrival.

The slow jolt of the stopping of the car awakened Melanie, who quickly pulled out her mirror in fear that her scripted face would be out of touch. She popped a lid from her lipstick bottle and delicately touched her flops of hair which dangled from her painted head. She smiled, not in happiness, but in the reassurance that she would be able to be recognized.

The driver stepped from his car door and opened the door to Melanie, tipping his hat as she said him farewell. She looked up and down at the gray walls and floors illuminated by the mechanical light that she had another pay for, and scoffed at what a sad job they had done to her building.

The elevator swished as the numbers changed and the computer’s voice announced another careless floor filled with her tireless workers, at last approaching her destined level. The doors opened to a fountain springing clean, sparkling water into the mouth of a golden swan, other sculptures elegantly placed in her office. The smell of fresh pine hung in the air and the sunlight ever so slightly sent a shimmering glow through the glass desk that lay dozens of white, textless papers. She clacked her way to her desk and turned her back to the sunlight, to instead marvel at the fountain which lay before her.

The ferns surrounding her fountain seemed to grow as the sun rose it’s way into mid morning, haltered only by the scratching of her silver pen and the occasional ringing of her desk phone. She would always sigh and swing in her chair when she had to speak to another problem she cared nothing for, and proceeded to check the various social media sites that always seemed to snag her attention.

As the mouse wheel crawled it’s way down the screen, Melanie became quite bored with all the power she was supposed to have at her disposal. She turned to face the sunlight. “What is it that you have?”

Another phone call broke her attention. She quickly, haltered, to check her nails, then finally picked up the phone, answered in a hurried frustration. “What?”

“Ah, sorry to bother you at this time, Miss, but I’m afraid something is afoot at the estate.”

“And what is that, Mr. Bonds?”

“Well, it seems that many of the books from our library, along with the servant Samuel, have disappeared.”

Melanie let but a mere scoff. “I care nothing of them,” she said, “what use were those books anyhow?”

“I’m afraid not much use to the business, or the company,” Mr. Bonds said, “But they were some valuable stories.”

“What value do they have? They’re just books.”

Mr. Bonds laughed from his end of the phone. “Melanie, my dear, I’m afraid you value what a book has, and what one can learn from the many words within them.”

“Don’t trifle me with such poetry, I have important work to do.” A smile crept to her face, as she knew that was quite a lie.

“My apologies, my dear,” Mr. Bonds said his farewells, and the phone lines clicked.

Melanie pondered deeply about what had occurred at the estate. She put together that she did not know Mr. Bonds, and she did not know anything about the books that littered the halls of the library, that she occasionally looked at.

Melanie decided to call her research department for the company. She asked them for the databases they used. She wanted to know everything about a library.

They sent her files and files, pages and pages of information. She read all of it, devouring the information she uncovered. She felt dumbfounded she had never realized that so many words were all over the world, and not until this day had she found that it could be lifted from her perfect fingers.

She lifted the phone and dialed the number to Mr. Bonds, who answered much quicker than she had expected. “Hello?”

“Mr. Bonds,” she started, the mouse wheel still scrolling, “you were right. There is so much that I can know, I want all of it.”

“Careful, my dear,” Mr. Bonds said, “these things are not like money. You cannot splash things you know where you want,”

“Oh, Mr. Bonds, you know me too well,” she stopped there.

Why did he?

“Excuse me Mr. Bonds, but I’ll need to be going.”

“Take great care, and watch what you read.”

Melanie was puzzled by his next comment, and on went her way to uncover the city of secrets which layered beneath her feet.

For so much time, she was hungry. She sat and gestated with the wealth and power that the pig of the ex-husband had given her before he left, and now she was bored with what she had. This power that she had gave her another tool to exploit what she laid out beneath her.

She knew that how she acquired money was wrong, but it got people what they wanted. It got them what they craved, what they hungered for, what ambition had led them too. And now, hers had led her here.

The hours of the day had drifted, and the sun dipped it’s way to the bottom of the darkening sky, and a smile snaked its way onto Melanie’s face. She closed the lid of her laptop and waltzed her way to the elevator, and the dinging of the numbers flew by as the doors opened to Mr. Bonds, clad in a brown and gray suit, a puff of smoke curling in the mechanical light as a small smile hid under the brim of his hat, shaded by the darkened glasses.

“Evening, dear,” he said, “shall we make our way back to the estate?”

“Not quite yet,” she told him, “I wanted to make another quick stop.”

“Certainly,” he padded his way to the car door, opening the backseat door for Melanie, and stepping his way from the gas pedal into the cool night, where Melanie dissected each and every car that zoomed it’s way past the backseat window.

People were easier to decipher. Their faces were a tunnel into what they all thought, and Melanie was eager to exploit what she learned from peering into their faces. A smile or a frown meant a reaction she caused, so much power was within her words and her mind.

When she arrived at the estate she moved her way to the library, where she scoured through the many books that aligned its walls. Mr. Bonds brought her books on psychology, anthropology, studies of human nature, and she devoured each book like candy.

As the clock sneaked its way to the hour she must fall asleep, Melanie decided to finally shut the pages of the last book for the day and make her way to her master bedroom, taking the paint from her face, and staring at the lifeless beauty that stood before her in the bathroom mirror. She moved her head this way and that, staring and deciphering herself. What she had learned today, all the facts and information that were filled within her mind.

She fetched the servants to make the large bed with white sheets stained with white, and she dressed in her nightgown to fall into a dreamless sleep.

The arms of the sun groped their way into her bedroom as Melanie arose from her slumber. She looked at her clock that Saturday morning, and smiled, as she knew she we would quite valuable time at her disposal that day. She needn’t not apply her paint today, as she would not be needing to speak to a soul.

She paced through her bedroom, practicing. She crafted her words with elegance as she spoke to imaginary businessman, colleagues, even the working class she kept as toys in her building’s basement. Insults, goads and arts of persuasion were music from her tongue as she smiled from the success that words would soon bring her.

So much power was in the art of speech, so much ability of influence she could use on those around her. She sought more when she used it, more ways to toy with those that were lesser of her.

She finally wasn’t bored. Each bite of the omelette from her servant’s cooking no longer tasted the same. Each bite was different, another flavor into her life, another tool to gain her the power that she longed for all this time.

Her slippers padded through the halls of her estate as she made her way to the library, stumbling upon Mr. Bonds cross legged on a chair, his glasses on the brim of his nose, deep into a book.

“Good morning, Mr. Bonds,” she told him, he shut the book and tucked and folded his glasses into his breast pocket, “hello, madame, it’s wonderful to see you on such a beautiful day.”

“Enough flattery, for once,” she told him, “But I do appreciate your sentiment.”

“Ah, I hope you would,” he told her, stepping up from his chair with a slight exhale from his nose, and drifting his way over to her side. “Do you know why books are important now, my dear?”

“I do, I have learned much from the ones you have brought me, Mr. Bonds,” the conversation had shifted, and she could feel the power shifting with each syllable that Mr. Bonds arched from his mouth. The foothold that Melanie had settled in the beginning was now beginning to slip, the chasm in the entire favor of a man she barely knew.

“Knowledge, is, something that we all value,” he began, glancing ever so slightly up and down her figure, “however it is something that is never completely our decision.”

The air grew cold as Mr. Bonds walked his way to face her. His eyes peered into hers, and she could feel him decipher up and down, inside and out, twisting her guts and her mind into what she really was.

And what Mr. Bonds wanted.

“You are not a good person, madame,” he told her, “in fact, many of us aren’t.”

He laughed as he showed her his palm. “Our hands, they hold things. They give us the power to feel and to take charge, we can pull the trigger of a gun, fold the pages of a book, dial the numbers on a phone, or grab what it is we need. They see and feel everything we do and touch.”

What was once the golden light of the sun now cast an ominous colored gray as Mr. Bonds now looked straight on to Melanie, now backing ever so slightly.

“Watch your hands, my dear, and be careful what you see…”

“For, my dear Melanie, what you know is never entirely what you intended.”

“What is it you want?”

Mr. Bonds laughed. “I am surprised you figured that much out from our little discussion,” he began, “but I know what you want. And I would find that more dangerous than anything.”

“You’re fired. I will have you removed from the estate immediately, I never want to speak or hear from you again,”

“Ah, my sweet, you’ve always heard from me. Everyone has.”

She called her security, who marched up from the downstairs and escorted Mr. Bonds out the front door. She watched as they drove him away in the black car, his hand waving from the window.

For just a moment, she saw a small eye blink from the center of his palm.

She did not know what to think of Mr. Bonds leaving her estate. She had no knowledge of what she spoke of, and that bothered her to no end.

She hasted to her laptop, opening and finding all information she could about what he spoke of. Feeling, hands, eyes. How what she knew wasn’t her decision.

She stopped through her research upon a fatal discovery: what she was doing, at this moment in time, was exactly what Mr. Bonds had wanted. Questions swirled in her mind, about who he was, why he wanted what he wanted, why he was following her, even if he was following her.

The clacking of keys yielding results she could do nothing with. She scoured the land of the internet and databases, she ran through the library opening books with words that meant nothing.

And she was stuck.

Mr. Bonds was no longer here to help her, to aid her in the information she wanted. She cried, running her way to the bathroom.

She quickly arranged the bottles and vials that consisted of her various tools of makeup and quickly applied them. She did not want to be scared, she did not want to feel hunted and alone.

Tears merely fought their way down her cheeks, and colored droplets stained her bathroom counter. She cried more in frustration and threw them on the floor, the words of Mr. Bonds echoing through her mind.

Your hands feel...see… everything you do…

She stared at her hands. She cried into them.

She felt them wriggle. Something was in her hands.

She picked and scratched with her nails, trying to be rid of what lurked within them, she wanted to know. She wanted to have the power to see and feel what was in her hands.

Mr. Bond’s face misted it’s way onto the mirror, laughing, as eyes opened up in her palms, green and vast as the ocean.

She screamed and cried and smashed her hands on the bathroom counter, yelling in fear as she tried in desperation to destroy the strange things in her hands.

Mr. Bond’s face faded, as did what peered through her in her palms.

Blood stained her fingers and the bathroom counter, and she breathed heavily, and sat in the floor of her bathroom.

She cried. For she had nothing left to do.

An hour had passed, and she laid on the bathroom floor in her nightgown.

She huffed in frustration, and quickly threw on the nearest set of clothes she could find. She washed her hands vigorously and called down a servant to assist her.

A man bowed to her. “How many I assist, you, madame?”

“I need to find Mr. Bonds,”

An eyebrow raised on the puzzled servant, “my dear, I’m afraid his banishment has fled him to his former home, which is a few hours away from here,”

“Take me to him, now.”

The servant chuckled. “My dear, are you sure? You just ordered his banishment-”

“I don’t care. I need to see him.”

“I, uh…” he almost attempted another refutation, but a smile replaced his confusion, and he bowed. “As you wish, madame.”

The car ride passed, and she did not take the time to glance and analyze what fled past her window. Only tap in impatience and worry about what was to come.

All the knowledge she had acquired to spar with him with words had passed, and she felt nothing but angst and a drive to find what she really wanted.

She glanced nervously at her palms, sometimes pressing them into the car seat to avoid seeing another pair glance back at her.

The servant who accompanied her as her driver looked back through the mirror. “Are you alright, madame?”

She quickly crossed her legs and tucked her palms into her hands, and positioned herself to a posture she knew was meant to look genuine, “yes, I’m alright,”

“It seems something is on your mind.”

She decided to forfeit in her endeavor to mask her fear. “I’m afraid that it was Mr. Bonds who stole the books a couple days ago, and I’d like them back.”

“Ah, I see. I always had a suspicion with that long nose of his. Would you like any assistance?”

“No, no,” she told him, “I will be fine.”

“As you wish, madame.”

After the hours had passed, a crooked, gray house loomed over the car that rolled up to it’s old and weedy driveway. The lichens and ferns that surrounded the house crept its way to the mold and moss that coated its sides.

There was a large knocker in the front of the door, a circle with a gray, metallic eye that looked into Melanie. She put her hand to the knocker and hesitated in fear, then reeled in a sense of courage to lift.

A boom and an echo stirred a flock of crows, their ominous calls bouncing across the dark and tall trees that encircled the house of Mr. Bonds. Footsteps, soft and deliberate, approached the door, which slowly opened.

“Good afternoon, madame,” a wisp of smoke that fled the words into the air, circling and staining her sense of smell, “how many I help you on such a beautiful day?”

“You know what I’m here for, you know what I want.”

“Of course, my dear, come right in.”

She stepped with caution into the old house, the floorboards creaking under her step. Mr. Bond’s house was filled with bookshelves, and old paintings, one’s of history and others of unexplainable chaos, filled with story and life.

Yet, it was also dark, much violence was depicted in the stories that hung on the walls, and the titles of books sent shivers through Melanie, as she followed him into what was his hearth, and he sat his way into a rocking chair in front of his fire, picking up a book from the top of the stack to his left.

More bookshelves littered the hearth, the warm scent of the fire prickled at her hairs which now stood on end, and she crossed her legs and settled her palms into her hands. The carpet of a wolf skin looked hungrily up at her.

Mr. Bonds rocked back and forth through his chair. A slight smile was seen on his face as he trimmed through his book, the turning of the pages just loud enough for Melanie to hear.

“Why are you here?” He asked with such a bluntless she had never felt him say before.

“What did you mean? What did you do to me? Why are there things on my hands?”

“Oh, you think that has something to do with me, does it?”

“Of course I do. Your face on the mirror…”

Mr. Bonds giggled and stood up, to face the hearth. His hands were tucked behind his back.

“My dear, there is no need for such fear, you know all well what it is I want…”

Silence pulled the air. “No,” she told him, “I don’t.”

“I want what it is we all want,” he told her, “knowledge.”

She stared at him.

“It’s power, as we all know. You know just as much as I do what one can do when knowledge is held within one’s fingertips, Melanie.”

“Like what you did to me yesterday?”

“Oh, I had nothing to do with that, my dear. That was all from your mistake.”

“What is it you’re saying?”

Mr. Bonds stepped towards Melanie. His footsteps rung bells of death as he shadow grew behind him, a menacing display of might and power as he stood over Melanie. She cowered in the chair she was sitting in, underneath him.

He showed her his palm. An eye opened, and blinked.

“Your hands feel and see everything, my dear,” he told her, “you sought too much power.”

He laughed, and she stared at her hands, and her hands stared back, the eyes blinking at her, the shadow of Mr. Bonds growing and filling the room, the fire becoming a cold green as he laughed and laughed, each one becoming more painful to her ears. She collapsed onto the floor and covered her ears, feeling the lashes of the eyes in her hands padding against them, screaming in terror from what was around her. Mr. Bonds grabbed her wrists and hoisted her to his face, which was now covered in eyes, fingers crawling like worms to touch her, stroking her lips and touching her face, doing nothing but to simply feel her skin. She saw everything around her as the fingers crawled their way to her ears and she saw everything she had learned.

She cried in fear to make the things go away, all the hands and eyes that witnessed the terrible and unimaginable things that she now saw before her, the screams of those who knew too much, and she cried at the thing that held her to a face that was no longer a face.

Mr. Bonds dropped her to the floor, and she was sobbing. The hands and fingers crawled their way back into his brown and gray suit, and he breathed heavily, staring at the lifeless body that lie before him.

Mr. Bonds returned to his seat, perching his feet upon a stool, and continued reading. He flipped the pages of his book, and his cat perked up into his lap, and the fire turned back into it’s wonderful hugh of orange, and the cat closed its eyes, sleeping a dream filled sleep.

Melanie’s face had a plastered indentation of fear, forever screaming at what she knew, her palms open to a truth she had never wanted.